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rip-quizilla · 10 months

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Eat Me

Pairing: Older!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Popstar!Reader

Summary: (TLDR: you perform with Corroded Coffin, act like a brat the whole time, and Eddie makes you pay for it.) Two years after your hiatus from the music industry, you're back and all grown up now. After collaborating with early 2000's metal sensation Corroded Coffin for several songs off your new album, you debut the new tracks live in a surprise performance with the band during their tour- and the tension between you and frontman Eddie Munson is so thick, you're barely able to keep your pants on throughout the set. (Songs referenced are by Demi Lovato from her album HOLY FVCK, which inspired this fic. I highly suggest listening to the songs "Eat Me" and "Freak" while they're performed in the story for the complete experience!)

Word Count: 14K

Tags: 🔥SMUT, age gap (reader is 27, Eddie is 47), Reader is a brat (Eddie can handle it), fingering, squirting, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap up!!), light degradation, reader has blue hair, reader is a grown-up child star, for the purposes of this fic Corroded Coffin started in the 90s instead of 80s for timeline reasons

🖤🖤🖤

You had no fucking clue what you were doing.

It had been two years since you’d put out music. Two. Years. That’s enough time for a person’s relevance to crawl into a hole and die, which is something you had been strongly considering doing for the duration of those two years.

It was a tale as old as time- child star grows up. Child star is not a child anymore, but the world only wants the star to be a child, so if the star wants to keep being a star, they do not. grow. up.

But you grew up, and guess what happened?

The world hated you for it.

So you stopped trying to be a star. You’d dropped off the face of the earth and deleted every social media app from your phone. You’d bought a house in the mountains, and thanks to modern technologies like Amazon and DoorDash, you basically never had to leave. It was a little scary how easily you had become a hermit living in a cabin in the woods. Your life quickly became a never ending cycle of reading, binge-watching tv, and dying/cutting your hair whenever the mood struck (The latest spontaneous color change had left you with a surprisingly pretty shade of faded blue).

It was easy, running away… until it caught up with you.

After all, at your core you had always been a performer. From your first audition at five years old to your big break at twelve, to the first album you’d put out on your television network’s record label- you had always been a person who had something to say and craved an audience to hear it. When your audience had turned on you, it had jolted your rhythm enough that you forgot the words to a song you’d been singing as long as you could remember.

It had taken you a couple years, but eventually you figured out that when you play the same song on repeat for long enough, it gets old.

So you wrote a new song.

To be more precise, you wrote a whole album. Literally.

Some of the songs were composed, some still needed a tune, but the message of the album was clear: I’m not that little girl on your TV screen anymore. You don’t have to like it, but you sure as hell can’t change it.

The minute you’d figured that out, you’d called your team. Once they understood the direction your career was headed, they helped get everything in order for your re-entry into the fray that had driven you out in the first place.

There was only one part of the album that made you nervous.

I know two years doesn’t seem like that long, your agent had said, but the public eye doesn’t have a very impressive attention span. You only have half of the album composed, right? This is the perfect opportunity to make the other half of the songs collaborations with artists that are in the public eye!

The idea made sense. Their popularity helps you, and if the songs go over well, then it helps the other artists too. The only issue was that these songs were way more vulnerable than what you used to write… hell, half the songs you’d recorded before your hiatus were written by whatever run of the mill joe schmo had gotten the kid-friendly execs’ stamp of approval. Even when you’d split from the network after turning twenty-three, you’d kept your songs strictly PG-rated since you knew the majority of your audience were minors. These new songs, though…

You weren’t an idiot. The themes of these songs were not subtle. Anyone who listened to these new songs was going to see a side of you that wasn’t all that pretty. Were you ready for that? Were you ready to bare that darkness to not only the world, but to other artists who meant to help you make music out of it?

Your anxiety about the album had gotten even worse when your agent had given you the list of potential collaborators.

One song that you were particularly proud of called “Eat Me” had some very metal undertones to it, so you’d told your agent that you’d like to collaborate with a metal band or artist to compose the music that would match the lyrics. Almost immediately, your agent had suggested a collaboration with Corroded Coffin.

The band had been HUGE when you were a kid, topping charts throughout your childhood and making a name for themselves as one of the most culturally relevant turn-of-the-century metal bands. Even now, they were a household name. Your older brother had been a huge fan, so you’d actually listened to their music quite a lot growing up. They weren’t some random collaboration- if Corroded Coffin read your lyrics (which were basically your soul laid out on display) and thought they were shit? It might just send you spiraling right back to your cabin in the mountains.

You had been equal parts thrilled and terrified when your agent told you they’d agreed to collaborate on the song.

Currently, you were sitting in your home-away-from-home, a cozy apartment that you rented on a month-to-month basis whenever you needed to be in New York, which just so happened to be where Eddie Munson, lead singer/guitarist of Corroded Coffin had asked to meet with you. It was your album, so you had invited him to come to your place and discuss his ideas for the song. You shifted nervously on your couch and glanced at the time on your phone. He was ten minutes late- that shouldn’t bother you, a lot of musicians had a habit of running late. Just because you didn’t subscribe to that stereotype didn’t mean you had to judge him for doing the opposite.

When you finally heard the buzz of your doorbell, you practically hopped off the couch. You peeped through the little door viewer to catch a glimpse before you had to look one of your childhood heroes in the eye. You… you hadn’t been adequately prepared to see this.

Eddie Munson had been attractive in his hay day- you could admit that. You’d seen the pictures of him on their album covers, the press photos, the magazines… he had always been cute in a scruffy sort of way. You hadn’t bothered Googling what he looked like now, which you were currently regretting since you had not been adequately prepared for the father of all DILFs to be standing on your doorstep.

After doing some quick math, you came to the conclusion that Eddie Munson must be in his mid to late forties at this point. His hair was still long and curly and thick as hell, but you noticed other details that you distinctly remembered were not present on the album covers you remember from your brother’s CD collection- dark, whiskery shadow along his cheeks and jawline. Tattoos creeping up from the collar of the crew neck shirt he wore, as well as every inch of his arms. A nose ring. Smile lines. Soft creases forming between thick brown eyebrows.

Eyebrows drawing together in confusion because you weren’t opening the door.

Shit. You inhaled sharply and hastily made to open the door. Breathe, you instructed yourself, taking a moment to blow out a semi-relaxing breath before turning the doorknob and plastering on your best entertainment industry smile.

“Hi!” you said, a little too peppy- you knew you sounded too peppy because the rockstar in front of you actually flinched when your high-pitched sorority girl voice slapped him in the face. “Sorry, I think I’m a little caffeine-riddled, I just finished my third cup of coffee.” You said apologetically, swinging the door open wider for him to step through the threshold into your apartment.

“Too many frappuccinos there, huh popstar?” His voice… if it hadn’t been so condescending, you might have melted on the spot. Your pride, however, had to argue with your clenching thighs.

“Uhm, no-” you laughed, keeping your voice airy as you shut the door and leaned back on it to ensure it was closed. “-just cold brew, rockstar.” You couldn’t help but add that quip at the end, seeing how he had just called you popstar like it was the same as calling someone a pussy or a wimp. What was his deal?

He looked at you with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest, and then turned back as if you hadn’t said anything at all. He simply sauntered through the hallway to your living room, where you had laid all the necessary materials for your composing process across the coffee table- but he wasn’t looking at that. He seemed to be inspecting your walls, the decor, the old pictures that sat in frames on your floating shelves, the records you had displayed above your turntable. His eyes surveyed everything like he was a judge at a fucking science fair, and your heart was starting to race as you started to irrationally wonder if you fell short of his expectations or something.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat to get his attention.

He turned to face you, irritation flashing across his expression like a cloud blowing past the sun. You took a breath. Calm down, you chided yourself mentally, he’s probably just a prick, don’t take it personally. Be professional.

“Can I get you something to drink?” You chirped politely, to which he smirked and shook his head.

“Don’t trouble yourself, sweetheart.”

You bristled; sweetheart? Who did he think he was, Don Draper? Was this the 1950’s? Were you his fucking secretary? Your blood pressure rose by the second.

“Hm.” you respond, chewing your lip to keep a snarky response to yourself. “Well, we can go ahead and get started if you want.” You gestured to the pages strewn across the coffee table. Notebook pages with your lyrics written out in black pen, empty pages of sheet music that you planned to fill out with a melody to coincide with your words as the morning went on. Your acoustic guitar sat securely in its stand beside the couch, eagerly awaiting your hands to make the message in your music come alive.

Munson sunk into the cushions of your leather couch, manspreading enough to make you feel like a guest in your own apartment. His forearms rested on the thighs of his ripped charcoal jeans as he surveyed the pages before him. He grabbed the notebook page full of lyrics first, chuckling when he saw the title.

“Eat Me, huh?” he raised an eyebrow at you, and the way he was holding the page between the two of you left only the top half of his face visible from where you sat. You noted that Eddie Munson had extremely expressive eyes. “That’s a pretty evocative title for such a squeaky-clean ‘lil diva.”

Your brow furrowed. “That’s kind of the point.” Using your pointer finger to pull the page down, the bottom half of the rockstar’s face coming into view and spiking your blood pressure again when you saw that fucking smirk still on his face.

That’s it. This guy is an ass.

“Maybe my agent didn’t accurately portray my vision for this album,” you said, struggling to grit out the words without coming across angry. “If that’s the case, I’m very sorry we got our wires crossed.”

Ready to listen, Munson leaned back into your couch and crossed one booted foot over his knee, an arm thrown across the top of your couch cushions. The picture of nonchalance.

Cocky bastard.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I haven’t put any music out in over two years.” you began. “This isn’t just a new album for me- it's more like a debut album for the new direction I want to take my career in. Up until now, I’ve been portraying a very different side of myself that…if I’m being honest, it wasn’t really me. It was childish and immature and I…”

You huffed out a heavy, frustrated sigh. “-I can’t do it anymore, I can’t keep being a kid, I’m twenty-fucking-seven years old, for god’s sake.” the rockstar’s eyebrows jumped up at hearing your expletive, obviously amused.

What the fuck? Here you were, being vulnerable with a complete stranger, and he thought it was amusing? You half expected him to laugh, but you brushed past it and decided to ignore this asshole being even more of an asshole.

“What I’m trying to say is this is a very personal album for me. It’s very different from what I’ve been putting out, and that is very much the point. Does that make sense?”

You watched as he slowly nodded his head, mulling over your words. “So…it’s like a coming of age thing?” he ventured, “Like, ‘little girl’s all grown up and sexy now’ all that?” his mouth turned up at one corner. “How very Miley Cyrus of you, sweetheart.”

You scoffed, physically recoiling a bit. “Are you being serious right now?” you balked.

He shrugged.

Oh, you fumed, that is it. Fuck this guy.

You stood from the couch, finally snapping after holding yourself back from giving this asshat a piece of your mind. “What is your problem?” Munson’s smirk faded a bit, but his smug air remained intact as he stared up at you.

“Look sweetheart-”

“No.” you cut him off, stopping him with a hand in the air. “Stop calling me sweetheart like you know me or like that isn’t a condescending fucking way to speak to someone. You have done nothing but talk down to me since you walked through that door, so no, you do not get to talk to me like that, I don’t care how famous you are.”

There wasn’t a trace of a smile on his face now, and you took pride in that. Maybe there was a conscience in there somewhere that was telling him I told you so right now.

You took the page from his hands and held it up for emphasis. “If you had just read my fucking song before making assumptions, then maybe you would have understood that this song is actually a social commentary on people like you who assume the direct trajectory of a child star’s career is to go from cute and childish to sexy ‘girls gone wild’ or whatever the fuck.” you spat, practically shaking the paper in your hand. “I’m allowed to grow into whoever I damn well please, and that’s exactly what this song is about. If I want to write a song about sex- and I’ve written a few, they’re on the fucking album- I’ll write them because that’s what I want to write! I’m not doing it for shock value or because I like attention; hell, I’ve been a literal hermit in the woods for two years, I don’t give a fuck about attention!”

You finally paused to breathe, and you knew your eyes must look absolutely insane because the man before you genuinely looked terrified.

Steeling yourself, you inhaled and exhaled slowly, attempting to push down some of that hysteria. “Sorry.” you bit, “Didn’t mean to unload all that on you. It’s just… this song is a part of me, and you just belittled it without even reading past the title.” You looked him directly in those big brown eyes and thought- hoped- for a second that you saw understanding in his gaze. “That was shitty. I’m not letting other people make me feel like shit anymore.”

When you were finished, silence took over. It settled over the room like a reprieve from a short but heavy rainfall before the sun showed itself again. Suddenly, Eddie Munson stood from your couch and marched to your door, letting himself out with a sharp click of your doorknob latching closed.

Okay. That went well. The lead singer of one of the most famous metal bands just came to your apartment, got yelled at, and ran away. You were just starting to ponder how you would explain this one to your publicist before you heard a knock at your door. Tentatively, you opened it- you didn’t need to look through the peephole to know who it was.

Eddie Munson stood at your door wearing an expression that you hadn’t seen yet today- he looked open, compassionate, and sorry. One hand in his pocket with the other outstretched, tattoos winding up the expanse of skin, rings glinting light from the sconces on either side of your door. He was offering his hand.

Smiling slightly, you accepted his gesture. You grasped his ink-scarred hand, feeling the cold metal of his rings press against your skin as you shook it. “It’s lovely to meet you-” he said your name softly, and you realized that when he had entered your apartment earlier, you hadn’t even exchanged pleasantries. Hadn’t introduced yourselves, almost as if fame got rid of the need for normal human introductions. Now, here he was, remedying that.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Munson,” you said, voice less chipper than it had been when the two of you originally stood in these same spots. “I’m a huge fan.”

He winced at ‘Mr.’, clapping his other hand over yours tightly. “Please, for the love of god, don’t call me Mr. Munson.” his big brown eyes pleaded with you. “Call me Eddie.”

Your smile widened as you nodded. “Eddie.” you repeated. “Is this you telling me we’re starting over?”

He let go of your hand, and you felt a sudden chill as the warmth of his skin left yours. “If that’s alright with you?” he replied softly, turning up the end of his sentence like a question.

Instead of saying yes, you simply stepped back to make room for him in your hallway. With a pleasant grin on your lips, you gestured for him to step inside. “Let’s get started, then.”

After sitting down on the couch once more, Eddie took the sheet of notebook paper on which you’d scrawled a part of your soul written in verse and began to read intently. Leaving him to digest the song completely (also because you felt awkward sitting there in silence as he read your work) you left to grab two water bottles from the kitchen. When you returned, he had already grabbed a fresh sheet of notebook paper and begun jotting down notes.

You placed the bottles on coasters, bracing yourself for the criticism that you knew was coming-

“You were right.”

Huh?

You craned your neck to see what he had written on the notebook paper. “About what?”

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Eddie yanked the paper out of your line of sight. “About this song, it’s completely different from what I’d assumed you would write. Actually,” he grinned. “-it’s kinda fucking metal.”

You smiled, once again reaching for the page. “Then let me see what you wrote-”

“I’m not finished yet, keep your panties on.”

The two of you worked for hours that afternoon, Eddie suggesting lines and chords as you wrote corresponding notes and chords on your sheet music. It didn’t take long for you to grab the acoustic guitar and begin strumming out portions of the song until it was finished.

Both of you agreed it was something to be proud of.

“Hey, uh,” Eddie stuttered before exiting your apartment that evening, when you were both happy with the work you’d done for the day. “I hope you know how sorry I am for being such an ass when I got here earlier-”

You shrugged, any traces of anger melted away at this point. “Eh.” you smirked. “You made up for it. That song might be my favorite on the album now, honestly, I meant it when I said I was a fan of yours- wouldn’t have trusted it with anyone else.”

He smiled at you warmly. “I’m honored to have such a talented fan.” The door was open, but he wasn’t leaving yet. Instead, Eddie stood with his tattooed arms crossed over his chest leaning his weight to one shoulder against the doorway. “I mean it though, you’re a talented songwriter. If you want to collaborate on any other songs, just say the word and I’m back here.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, “Dead serious.”

Smiling excitedly, you ran to your notebook, flipping through the pages until you found what you were looking for. You looked up at Eddie, a knowing grin on your lips. “Remember those songs about sex I mentioned?”

***

The original plan for your album had been to collaborate with multiple artists for about fifty percent of your album, while the other fifty percent would only feature you. What ended up happening was slightly different.

The more songs Eddie saw, the more passionate he became about the message you were working to convey through your lyrics. He ended up reworking every single song with you in a completely collaborative process, where he never overstepped, never tried to take over- simply understood what you were trying to say and added the extra ‘oomph’ each song had been needing to truly become what you had envisioned.

“I feel like I really can’t just call this my album now, Eddie, you’ve contributed way more to this to just be credited as a featured artist-”

You’d first voiced concerns about how to credit Eddie in the album a few days into your songwriting spree. It became an easy routine, Eddie would come over first thing in the morning, and the two of you would sit in your living room working through your songs and ordering takeout until the sun set.

“Well it’s not a collaboration album with Corroded Coffin,” Eddie had replied, sticking a bite of noodles into his mouth. The two of you had been seated at your kitchen table, white boxes of Chinese food, napkins, and torn chopstick wrappers decorating the space between you. “Those fuckers haven’t even met you, they don’t get credit for anything they ain’t playing on.”

“But I’m talking about you.” you pushed, “If we keep going the way we’ve been, you’re going to be a vital part of the composition for every track on this album! I’m not going to let you avoid credit for that.” you gazed at him, unable to hide the admiration you’d begun to feel for the artist at your table. “Let me list you as a composer for every track you help me with. We already know you and your band will be featured on Eat Me and Freak, so obviously you’ll be credited for those…”

As you continued to ramble on about how Eddie would be credited for each and every song lyric he suggested, he got distracted looking at the way your hair glinted slightly different shades of blue in the sunlight that filtered in through your balcony window. His eyes followed the light along your skin, taking in the way it glistened off the dewey shine on your cheekbone, how it shone directly into the corner of your eye so that colors he had never noticed were brought to the surface of your irises…

This wasn’t the first time that Eddie had gotten distracted watching you rant about something you were passionate about. He knew he was supposed to be listening, that it was very important that he knew what your songs were about, that he understood the details of your plans for the album so that you wouldn’t have to repeat yourself later- but dammit, you were just so pretty. Really fucking pretty, it was hard for him not to get distracted. Initially, this whole collaboration had just been something that Eddie’s publicist had suggested for getting the newer generation listening to Corroded Coffin in time for their new album to drop at the end of the summerl, so when Eddie had first waltzed into your apartment he’d been expecting a kid; an innocent, teeny-bopper sort of persona. He hadn’t expected a loud, firecracker of a woman with hair the color of his old denim jacket.

Eddie wasn’t an idiot. He was well aware that he was old enough to be your father. You were what- twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? Definitely under thirty. And here he was, pushing forty-seven with a salt and pepper shadow on his jawline. The hair on his head hadn’t started graying yet (he dreaded the day that he would have to use *gulp* hair dye) but he knew it was only a matter of time. For him to be ogling you like this? It would probably make you uncomfortable if you knew how often his eyes forgot to look away when you left the room. What was that old saying? Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave-

“Eddie?”

Shit. He’d missed an entire conversation, hadn’t he?

He gave you his best apologetic smile, which didn’t work at all. You sighed, hanging your head low exasperatedly. “You didn’t hear a word of that did you?”

“Not a word, zoned out.”

You threw a fortune cookie at him.

***

You and Eddie didn’t see each other for a while after recording the album. Eddie was there with the rest of Corroded Coffin to record the two tracks that they were featured in for the album, but after that plus a few guitar parts Eddie had been kind enough to record for some other songs, the two of you hadn’t had a reason to see each other.

That was why you were so nervous for tonight.

After working all summer and the better part of the fall, the album was finally finished. Copies of CDs and special edition vinyl were already being shipped out to music stores across the country and set to hit shelves in a week, so tonight was the kickoff event for your publicity tour: you would be joining Corroded Coffin tonight onstage for a surprise performance of Eat Me and Freak. Tonight was October 31st, and premiering those songs on Halloween with the metal king that helped you make them the masterpieces they were? This was just one of those moments when the stars aligned poetically.

You looked yourself in the mirror, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves before heading to sound check. It had been a couple of months since you’d seen Eddie, but that wouldn’t matter, right? You’d spent a whole week workshopping incredibly personal- in some cases, intimately personal- songs with the guy, so singing onstage with him shouldn’t be a big deal. You were a professional, so it didn’t matter that you hadn’t performed in over two years, you could do this. Never mind the fact that this was the first performance of the rest of your career; never mind that sometimes the way Eddie looked at you make you feel like your knees were about to buckle; never mind that Eddie Munson, rock god and sex symbol of the metal world, was going to be within touching distance the moment you set foot on that stage…

A knock at the door of your tiny dressing room startled you, along with a voice letting you know that sound check was about to begin. Decisively, you grabbed your water bottle and headed to the stage before you could psych yourself out any more.

When you got to the stage, Eddie was the first person you laid eyes on. He smiled at you, dark curls flying around his face and forming a sinful-looking halo around his face as he gave you a friendly nod- god, he was gorgeous. Waving back at him, you returned the nod and grinned. You wouldn’t be going on until the end of their set, so you situated yourself on an empty stool backstage with a view of the band.

Their practice was fascinating to watch, how all four of the band members were so obviously masters of their craft, each ear trained to notice any imperfection in the way their instruments sounded through the stereos. Every once in a while, Eddie would look your way out the corner of his eye, just to check if you were still watching; you always were. Whenever he saw you looking directly at him, never glancing down at your phone or at the other band members (besides the odd look thrown in Gareth Emerson’s direction; the way his curls bounced was honestly hypnotic), he’d hold your eye contact, smirk into the microphone, and continue to belt out the lyrics to his songs with a smidge more cockiness than he had been prior.

When the time finally came for you to join them, you took a deep breath and strutted to where Eddie stood in the center of the stage. No one had handed you a mic, so you weren’t sure where you were supposed to stand until Eddie moved aside to make room for you at his mic stand.

You looked questioningly at Eddie. “You don’t need your mic?”

He chuckled, placing a hand on the small of your back as he put his lips to your ear. You figured he was just trying to avoid the mic picking up his voice, but the hand on your back… that was new. Was this a move? Was Eddie Munson making a move? On you?

Oh.

That’s a fun development.

“This one’s all you, darlin’.” Eddie said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’ll stay out of your way. Also-” He pulled away enough to look you in the eyes, and your lips must have been a little too close to the mic because it picked up your fucking gasp. You jerked your head away from the mic, cursing yourself for being so nervous.

Eddie definitely noticed, but all he did was chuckle, still staring at you with giant doe eyes framed by smile lines and bushy brown eyebrows. “-it’s good to see you, popstar.” There was no condescension in his tone this time; all you could find in his gaze was kind, genuine joy that you were here, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

Confidently, you gripped the mic with both hands, smirking at Eddie through your side eye. You didn’t bother leaning away from the mic when you replied, sprinkling sultry into your voice. If Eddie Munson was trying to drop a hint, you wanted him to know you were receiving it.

“It’s good to see you too, rockstar.”

***

Mic check went flawlessly, which meant it was time for you and the band to eat in the green room while fans began lining up outside the venue, waiting for the doors to open.

You had a couple drinks with the band while biding your time before you had to get dressed for the show. Much to your delight, Eddie never left your side the whole time. You had been close to him in your living room day after day when you’d worked on your songs, but this was different; you kept noticing little glances and touches that spoke louder than words- how his hands lingered longer than expected, never missing a chance to touch your arm or place a hand on your back to guide you as you walked. How his eyes were most focused whenever he was looking at you, and he never seemed to give you passing glances- every look he gave you was intense and purposeful, it made you shiver in a very good way. When he and the band left to get ready for showtime, he took a moment to check on how you were before leaving to go to his dressing room.

“You nervous?” he asked. There wasn’t any judgment there, just concern for you.

“Yes,” you admitted, “But I think I’ve got it.”

Eddie smiled widely, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and squeezing you tightly. “Oh I know you’ve got it, angel.”

You caught his wrist, holding it to your shoulder before he could retract it. Turning to him, you batted your eyes a bit before raising an eyebrow. “Angel, huh?”

Eddie inclined his head, eyes narrowing flirtatiously. “What, should I switch back to sweetheart?”

You smirked. “Only if you wanna make me mad.”

It took everything in you not to shrink back from him as he leaned forward, practically glowering over you. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but must have decided against it. You saw his tongue poke into the inside of his cheek as he nodded to himself, eyes narrowing further as if he were having a whole conversation within his head that you weren’t privy to. Finally, he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze and you let him go, staring at him with every ounce of confidence you could muster.

“...I’ll remember that, popstar.” he said, voice low and gravelly and sure to throw you into a coma if he said the right words with that voice at the right time. You didn’t let him see how much he was affecting you, though- save for a little grin that you couldn’t hide as he smirked at you and walked away.

When he exited the green room- and you were sure you were alone- you finally let out a breath that you’d been holding for what seemed like entire minutes. You grabbed your drink, chugging down the rest of your liquid courage in the hopes that it might also cool you down a bit.

***

The cheers from the crowd were deafening, and the gravity of what was about to happen was starting to get to you.

Corroded Coffin was about to start the song that would be your cue to join them. You stood in the wings like you had during sound check, this time fussing over your outfit to ensure every piece was in place. The fact that it was Halloween combined with the tone of your new album had influenced your wardrobe choice for the evening- ripped black jeans that were more rip than jean, a strappy black bustier top with a plethora of silver buckles that decorating the surface of your bodice where the sides attached at your sternum, fishnet fingerless gloves, and your favorite part of the outfit: the biggest platform boots you’d ever owned. You remembered seeing them and falling in love immediately with the straps that decorated the entirety of the shoe, as well as the silver buckles on each strap that matched your top like a dream. Paired with your blue hair, you looked strikingly goth and nearly unrecognizable from the girl your fans remembered.

When Eddie announced you onstage, you had to take a deep breath before joining him out there. Slow inhale, slow exhale… and then you were overtaken with hot stage lights.

Out on the stage, you could really take in the size of this crowd- it was far larger than what you were used to, and when they realized who you were, they went wild. You couldn’t help but be intimidated until you felt Eddie’s hand gently grounding you as it ghosted the skin on your back.

His lips tickled your ear as he leaned in and whispered in your ear out of range from the mic, “Knock ‘em dead, sweetheart.”

You felt a flare of indignation intertwined with delight, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little evilly into the mic at this little shit of a rockstar.

He did that on purpose.

You looked at him with the biggest smirk on your face, and it matched the smug, sultry grin on his. Silently, he nodded at the audience as if to say ‘Well? They’re waiting.’

You looked over your shoulder at Jeff on the bass, nodded, and right on cue as Jeff began the first note of the song, the entire stage was flooded with scarlet light.

***

Eddie could tell you were nervous. Flirting with you probably wasn’t helping, and for all he knew, he might even be making you uncomfortable.

However…

Over the years, Eddie’s gotten more perceptive when it came to the subtleties of body language. He didn’t miss the fact that you’d been leaning into every touch he ghosted over your skin, no matter how overt or fleeting those touches might have been. He’d seen the change in your eye contact when it lingered a little longer than necessary- that shift from attentive to intrigued, even a little wanting at times.

The only question was what you wanted, and Eddie was really hoping it was him.

As he watched you take his place at the mic, standing monochrome in scarlet light, he bit his lip as he tried to hold back the salacious grin that slid across his lips; he was unsuccessful.

Eddie hit his guitar part easily as you purred the lyrics that the two of you had slaved over into your microphone.

Be more predictable

Be less political

Not too original

Keep to tradition, but stay individual

Thrusting ever so slightly with his warlock, Eddie channeled the rage and rebellion of your lyrics into every word, smirking with the next few lines- they had been one of the first additions to the song that he’d made, and you more than did them justice.

Dirty but washable

Winning but stoppable

All that I’m hearing is

You wanna make the impossible possible

Even though you’d been nervous earlier, it looked like you’d been able to shake it all off. Confidence was rolling off you like waves, strength in your comfort onstage practically seeping out of your pores. Eddie felt proud, yes, but mostly? He was turned the fuck on by it. His eyes never left you as you carefully removed the mic from its stand and leisurely strode to the edge of the stage as you sang the next lines, punctuating the last with a little shake of your head and a comically disgusted wrinkle of your nose.

Is this what you’d all prefer?

Would you like me better if I was still her?

Did she make your mouths water?

Ugh.

Just like you’d practiced, flashing white lights littered the stage right on cue when the drums opened up the chorus, and you belted those lyrics with all the anger and exasperation that he knew you’d felt when you’d written them. You were a force to be reckoned with- this was that girl he’d met when he’d walked into your apartment acting like a jackass; this was the firecracker of a woman who wasn’t afraid to tell him exactly what she thought.

I know the part I’ve played before

I know the shit that I’ve ignored

I know the girl that you adored

She’s dead, it’s time to fucking mourn

I can’t spoon-feed you anymore

Dinner’s served, it’s on the floor

I can’t spoon-feed you anymore

You dropped to a crouch, for the end of the chorus, legs bent but spread slightly, and flashing lights glinted off the metal buckles of your platform boots. Your voice ripped from your chest as you belted into the mic.

You’ll have to eat me as I am

Eddie was incredibly grateful for the crouch you’d dropped into, because it gave him a view of your ass that was so perfect, he actually groaned. Swooned, practically. Thank god you had his mic and the music was loud enough that no one noticed. He hoped. However, anyone with eyes could probably see that he was basically undressing you with his gaze right now, so he really needed to get it together unless he wanted to be on a front page tomorrow for the wrong reasons. He cringed, imagining the headline Munson Ogles Popstar Half His Age. Mid-Life Crisis? Yeah. His publicist would love that one.

You stood back up, stalking the edge of the stage as you sang the second verse. When you were about halfway through, you turned to look over your shoulder at Eddie, and it just about knocked the breath from his lungs. Your eyes- lined in black and zeroing in on him like something out of his metalhead fantasies- smoldered like embers on the edge of a cigarette as you sang the second half of the verse to him.

Longer hair and tighter clothes

Would you like me better if I didn’t oppose?

Silver platters, pretty bows…

You were at his side now, turned sideways from the crowd so you were facing him as he turned to face you in tandem. About a foot away from each other, the only thing between you was his guitar, thankfully big enough to hide the way his hard-on was quickly growing harder with every moment you looked at him with those eyes.

Your expression shifted, eyes rolling as you threw your head back in mock boredom, amping the lines up to the extreme. As you lifted your head back up, you looked at him with the brattiest fucking face Eddie had ever seen as you delivered the final line of the verse into the mic.

…Fuck.

And then you smirked, tip of your tongue peeking out of your lips and you winked at him.

Fucking. Winked.

Ohhhhhh, you were doing this on purpose. You had to be.

And Eddie couldn’t do shit about it, because you were in the middle of a performance, on stage, jumping around in platform boots and screaming the chorus into your mic like fucking banshee. So he channeled every ounce of sexual frustration into shredding the fuck out of his guitar and staring you down, salivating at the way you blazed on that stage like a witch at the stake. Then, about halfway through that chorus, at the edge of the stage and working the crowd for all they could give you, Eddie just about had a heart attack.

Because you dropped to your fucking knees.

You let the music take control of you, screaming ‘I can’t spoon-feed you anymore’ into the mic, you dropped down to one knee followed by the other as you delivered the final lines before Eddie’s solo.

You’ll have to eat me as I am

You held your last note long and loud, widening your knees and leaning into a backbend that didn’t stop until your upper back touched the stage behind you. Eddie was amazed that he was even able to remember his part when you were in front of him doing that. Jesus Christ.

Eddie continued to play, and he saw you crane your neck just in time to make eye contact with him as you delivered the next line of the song. You brought the mic to your lips, your knees still spread open and your spine deliciously arched.

Choke on it!

God…you were gonna kill him.

You pushed yourself back into a kneeling position, facing the audience. As Eddie’s guitar solo became more complex, and his playing more impressive, your jaw dropped as you looked to the audience and fanned yourself, as if you were all sharing a joint reaction of ‘wow, are you guys hearing this too?!’. Eyes crinkling from your smile, you brought the mic to your mouth again.

Choke on it!

Once you were back on your feet, you stood at ease in the center of the stage as you waited out Eddie’s solo. When he finished, you stared down the crowd as you delivered the last chorus. At this point, Eddie could see some of the spectators mouthing the words along with you, and his chest swelled with pride at your ability to win over a crowd that hadn’t even been expecting you on stage. Hell, knowing his fans, most of them were probably older than you by several years, and yet here they were singing your song.

When you drew your first breath after the final note, the crowd went wild. He expected you to be staring at them, soaking up the energy of a satisfied throng of fans, but no- immediately, your eyes were on him, an ear-to-ear smile stretching across your face. You had just absolutely killed your first song performed in two years, and you wanted to share your joy with him before you shared it with anyone else.

Eddie couldn’t help but mirror your smile- it was the least he could do, after the way you just made his heart swell to triple its usual size. He took a few steps over to where Jeff stood with his bass, nodding to the mic in a silent question, to which Jeff gladly stepped aside.

“If this is what happens when you take a two-year hiatus,” Eddie said slyly into the mic, “then maybe you should do it more often, rockstar.”

The crowd cheered again, and you looked caught off guard by his calling you rockstar instead of popstar. To Eddie, it made perfect sense- tonight, there was nothing pop about you. You were rock & roll incarnate, his equal in every single way. You took a few steps back until you and he were the same distance from the edge of the stage, and as long as he was speaking, your eyes never left him.

“So I’ve been working with this absolute badass on an album- well no, I’m giving myself way too much credit, she wrote an album, I plucked a few guitar strings, yada yada yada-” You giggled as Eddie reminded the crowd of your name, loud and clear, so they knew who to look up on Spotify later. “-anyway, her album drops in a week, that last song you heard was called…”

Eddie looked at you with expectant eyes and a devilish smile. He wanted to hear you say it. Just for fun. He enjoyed being a little shit.

You smirked into your mic. “Eat Me.”

The crowd cheered again, all it took was hearing you say two little words. Eddie knew the feeling.

“We’ve got one more before our lovely guest has to leave the stage, and this one is my personal favorite off the album.” Eddie started warming up with a couple chords from the song before adding, “This is Freak.”

You had replaced the mic into its stand at center stage, which was where Eddie headed to meet you. During sound check, you had asked him if he would need his own mic for this one, but Eddie- selfishly- had said it was no problem, and he didn’t mind sharing. That was a drastic understatement though, since he would happily leap at any excuse to have his lips close to yours in any capacity at all.

You smiled at him, and you were doing that thing again- that thing where you looked at him like you were giving him a dare. That thing where you touched the tip of your tongue to your upper lip.

Eddie wanted to bite that lip.

Instead, he smoldered down at you as he began the opening chords to Freak.

***

You may not have been sure about Eddie’s feelings before tonight, but you were now.

He wanted you. Bad. So bad, you felt high off the lust that was rolling off the man beside you.

You could tell by the way he was looking at you that he wanted to do so many things to you here and now, but due to the giant crowd before you that wasn’t an option. The power trip of knowing that every move you made was driving him crazy and he couldn’t do shit about it made you feel bratty as fuck, and you channeled every ounce of that into each word of your next song.

Pinch me, singe me, inch me to the edge

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let the sultry lyrics take over, arms bending as you brought them up to dance above your head as you stretched your neck back. Your pose mimicked the way you might have stretched across a bed, arching your back slightly in a way that you knew would make Eddie’s mind wander to all the right places.

Prod me, laud me, ungodly but heaven-sent

As the tempo picked up for the bridge, your lips brushed the mic and you bounced slightly to the beat. Looking up at Eddie, you felt your chest tighten when you saw how blown his pupils were as they zeroed in on you. There was nothing silly or flirty in his gaze now- this was lust, want, need… it was predatory in a way that made you shiver.

Get your tickets to the freak show, baby

Step right up to watch the freak go crazy.

Eddie’s guitar launched into the chorus with you, both of your mouths breaking your little standoff by smiling because you couldn’t help yourselves- performing together, this close, singing lyrics that the two of you connected with- you were having so much fun.

Am what I am and what I am is a piece of meat

Take a bite just to watch me bleed

Freak

Say what you want and what you want is behind your teeth

Ain’t gotta spell it out for me

Freak

Now Eddie’s lips were the ones on the mic, his throaty voice tearing through the air in a way that made you stop short from its power alone. He sang the first two lines on his own-

Bait me, you can cage me

Even plate me, I don’t care

You joined him for the bridge on one side of the mic while his mouth remained in place at the other, and his voice dropped down to his chest to create a sound that was more growl than song. He sounded demonic, feral- damn, you wanted to jump his bones right now.

Get your tickets to the freak show, baby

Step right up to watch the freaks go crazy

As you both sang the chorus together this time, your eye contact across the microphone was charged with feelings reflected as though you were looking in a mirror. Anticipation for what would happen after this show was building with every lyric, and as he growled his lines into the mic you wondered what the headline would be if you stuck your tongue down his throat right now.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t how you wanted to start this next leg of your career- at least publicly. Different time, different place. Like, say, in about thirty minutes. In your dressing room. Against a wall, preferably.

When you finished the chorus, Eddie shredded through his guitar solo like a bat out of hell, even improvised a scream into the mic that made your jaw drop yet again. Upon hearing it, you couldn’t help but let out a surprised laugh, hopping up and down in your platform boots and headbanging along with him. After he’d finished, you took hold of the mic stand with both hands and began chanting repeating lines that would take you through to the next chorus before ending the song.

Came from the trauma, stayed for the drama

You sang the line twice before Eddie joined you for the third and fourth repetition, that deep, ripping croon tearing its way through his throat and out of his plush pink lips less than an inch from yours. You wanted to turn your head and look at him so badly, but you were so close that you’d be locking lips if you did.

As you both sang the final chorus, you pulled back just enough for your gazes to meet; you were rewarded with lust blown umber eyes, sweat-soaked curls framing a face as timeless as music itself, and a grin that sparked pure joy in your very soul.

If this guy can fuck, you might just fall for him.

Eddie prompted the audience to cheer for you one more time after the song was over, shooting you a smile as he brought you in for a friendly hug. He was in front of thousands; you knew his hands would remain in strictly G-rated areas (unfortunately), but he did whisper in your ear out of range from the mic.

“Wait for me in your dressing room.”

Bingo.

You thought about following his lead- waiting patiently in your dressing room for him to finish up his show then have his way with you- but you had a better idea. You tilted your head up quickly to bring your lips up to his ear, your clear lip gloss catching its shell.

“I’m gonna keep watching you in the wings- you can do whatever you want after that.”

Your eyes met as you pulled away, and you let yourself revel for a moment at the way he looked at you- like he wanted to, well…eat you. Eyes so dark they were almost black under the stage lights, he shook his head slightly in disbelief. Again, you felt that familiar rush of adrenaline from driving him crazy when he couldn’t do a fucking thing about it; you were beginning to think you might be addicted.

As Corroded Coffin finished their set, you stayed offstage and did exactly what you said you would- you watched Eddie every second. You were like a sponge soaking up every flip of his hair, every deft movement of his fingers as they flew across the frets of his guitar. Every once in a while, his eyes would flick to where you stood, checking to see if you were still there, which of course you were. Each time he saw you, you watched as he shook his head again, or rolled his eyes, or- in one case which almost resulted in you melting into a puddle on the floor- maintaining eye contact as he belted out lyrics to songs he wrote, with a gaze so smoldering it felt as if there were no one in the whole arena but the two of you. With every minute, every note, every song- you felt him spinning a web around you like a spider trapping its prey, and you willingly anticipated the moment he would finally storm off the stage and drink you dry.

And that’s exactly what he did.

The last song ended, and Eddie wasted no time in ripping his guitar from his torso, handing it to a roadie without a second glance and grabbing you by the hand. You didn’t protest as he pulled you into a corner backstage away from any prying eyes. Before you could think a coherent thought besides Wow, I’m wet, Eddie took both your wrists in his strong, ring-dappled hands and slammed them above your head against the wall. His eyes, black with lust and wolfishly hungry, bored into yours as he used the last ounce of restraint to hold himself back long enough to ask the vital question, “Tell me, you want this?”

He bit the words out; growled them into your face as your eyes widened, desire painting your expression a gorgeous shade of pathetic as you nodded desperately. A deep groan sounded from his chest as Eddie pressed his pelvis against yours, and you gasped at how hard he was. “Words, sweetheart, I need you to say it.”

That familiar flare of indignation in your chest mingled with the flames in your core that burned for all he had to give you. Your eyes shifted, screaming rebellion that harmonized with the submission that your body so desperately craved. The corner of your mouth quirked up in a mocking half-smile. “Fuck yes, I want it, what do you think I was bouncing around out there for-”

His lips murmured a “Fucking Christ,” as he cut your sentence short, smashing his needy mouth against your burgeoning smirk. His arms crumbled as he finally felt the release of his skin on yours, caging you in as his forearms collapsed against the wall, hands still closed around your wrists. His biceps flexed, framing your faces as he all but devoured you in a kiss that was so wanting, so possessive- it claimed you. It ruined all kisses that came before it and would ever follow it.

He was ruining you, and you committed the way his whole body covered yours and made you feel both safe and coveted to memory, imprinting it on your mind knowing that you would probably never feel this wanted ever again.

Then, just as soon as he was on you, his touch lifted away.

A needy whine escaped your lips before you could hold it back. Eddie slotted his tattooed hand into the space where your neck met your jawline, thumb caressing your skin as he smiled sweetly down at you- but his eyes were anything but sweet.

“I gotta go back out for the encore. Go take these off-” you melted into his touch as his other hand played with the buckles at the front of your top. His hand at your neck crept back, taking your chin between his thumb and the middle knuckles of his forefinger as if he were scolding a child.

“-and wait in your dressing room.”

Your eyelids were heavy, and you smirked as you opened your mouth to argue-

“And don’t fucking argue with me.”

You bit the reply into your bottom lip- you could save the brattiness for later. Just as Eddie had begun to pull away, his eyes dropped to your teeth on your lip and in half a second he was on you again.

He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, running his tongue along the soft skin before biting down firm enough to set off your mental alarms yet soft enough that you didn’t feel any pain from it. He pulled away once more, letting your lip go with a little pop.

“Been wanting to do that all night.” Eddie said, his shit-eating grin back in full force as he winked at you and jogged back to the stage. You stayed put for a second, smiling like an idiot as you heard the roar of the crowd, imagining what Eddie must look like while he returned to the stage with lips pink and swollen from his attempt at eating you alive. No one would know why he looked out of breath and a little extra happy… but you would.

You’d never walked as fast in your life as you did in that moment, making a beeline for your dressing room, fingers already beginning to work on the buckles at your sternum.

***

When Eddie opened the door to your dressing room about ten minutes later, the gigantic grin on his face fell instantly when he saw you lounging on the couch in the same clothes you’d been wearing during sound check, sans your oversized skull sweatshirt. Your black shorts and knit tank top still showed plenty of skin, but he had explicitly told you to take off your clothes and wait for him. You were still in the mood to brat out, apparently.

You looked up at him from your phone, smiling sweetly with challenging eyes. “Hi.”

Eddie closed the door behind him, leaning against it as it shut. “Hi.” he mimicked, crossing his inked forearms over his chest. He stared at you silently, expectantly.

You raised an eyebrow, coyly pretending not to know what he was being so pissy about. “What?”

Eddie pushed off the door, walking towards you at a pace that was agonizingly slow. “You know what.”

You huffed haughtily, looking back at your phone and pretending to be more interested in your screen than the man who’d had you panting up against a wall ten minutes ago. “Well that’s a little presumptuous of you, I’m not a mind reader.”

It didn’t take Eddie long to cross the expanse of your tiny dressing room, deftly sliding the phone from your hands and placing it on a low table beside the couch. “Should’ve known you weren’t listening earlier,” Eddie tsked and shook his head in disappointment. “I know you were a little distracted back there, sweetheart, but when I told you to take your clothes off, I meant it.”

You sighed as Eddie stared down at you from where he stood, towering over you as you laid back against the couch cushions. His gaze devoured you piece by piece as it roved over your wide eyes, glossy lips- your shoulders still shining from sweat after giving your all to the stage, your chest as it rose and fell with your quickening breath.

“Well,” you purred, like a cat who knew they were the center of attention and didn’t mind it in the slightest. “You didn’t say not to put on clothes after I took the other ones off…”

As you spoke he leaned forward, placing a knee on the couch between your legs so that your heat was only inches from his thigh. His hands splayed across your rib cage, admiring the stark contrast between his ink-covered hands and your soft, cream-colored shirt. It was thin enough to see… wait, were you-?

Eddie smirked, a breathy laugh escaping through his nose as he pulled the fabric taut, confirming his suspicions that yep, you weren’t wearing a bra.

Oblivious to Eddie’s train of thought, you continued, “...if you wanted me to just wait here for you naked then you should’ve been more specif-”

Rrrrriiiiipp!

Your jaw dropped, cold air hitting your bare breasts without warning as Eddie tore your shirt open. You squealed, your shocked voice jumping up several octaves. “Eddie!” but your eyes told a different story. You were pissed, but the anger you felt was nothing compared to how fucking hot he looked after doing something as dominant and unexpected as ripping your fucking clothes off.

He raised his eyebrows, giving you a moment to push him away in case he had gone too far- but you didn’t. Instead, you narrowed your eyes up at him and crossed your arms over your bare chest, pressing your cleavage together the way you knew would drive him nuts. “That was fucking Gucci!” you pouted.

Eddie laughed, taking your crossed arms and shoving them up above your head over the arm of the couch as he mockingly imitated your high-pitched “‘That was fucking Gucci!’” he lowered himself over you, bringing his face to the hollow of your neck, and you heard him inhale the scent of you from your collarbone to your ear. He wrapped his lips around the underside of your ear and sucked, then bit, savoring your little moan at the sensation. His mouth met your ear as he growled, “Wouldn’t have happened if you’d just done as you were told, instead of being a little fucking brat.”

Eddie pulled back, sitting up on his knee that was still slotted between your legs as he cupped his hands around your naked breasts. He kneaded them, played with you like he was testing out a brand new toy. He addressed you without looking up into your eyes as he continued to paw at your chest. “You gonna be a good girl now and do what I tell you to?”

You raised your eyebrows, amused that he expected your submission so quickly. Smugly, you looked up at him through narrowed eyes, placing your hands behind your head like a pillow and sighed petulantly.

“Fucking bite me.”

His eyes snapped up at you, thick with predatory disbelief at your cheek even when he had you half naked beneath you. He’d been challenged before, sure- but at this point, when he had his woman pinned down and moaning under him, he was usually the undisputed decision-maker during sex. The smile that bloomed across his lips was devilish, almost like there was a beast within him that had been kept safely under lock and key- until you’d said that.

Eddie was on you, grabbing one breast and enveloping the nipple in a harsh suck of his lips, biting down on the little nub hard. You gasped, the sound a lewd, sharp moan that brought out a laugh in him so nefarious it gave you chills. He looked up at you with eyes alight with amusement and feral need that shook you to your core.

“Oh, baby-” he laughed, crawling up until his face hovered over yours. “-I’m gonna have some fucking fun with you.”

Taking your face in his hands, Eddie Munson kissed you like it was what he had been put on God’s green earth to do. His lips moved against yours with a beautiful mix of urgency and devotion, like you could just tell that right here, right now, there was nothing else he cared about except making sure you knew exactly how badly he wanted- needed- to make you his. He slowly lowered the rest of his body until his pelvis was flat against yours, grinding into your clothed heat and exploiting the chink in your brat armor that was the his fucking size.

You bucked your hips up into him, craving friction as you moaned into his mouth. Eddie chuckled, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “What’s the matter baby, you need something?”

You pouted against him, moving a hand to reach between the two of you and palm him through his jeans, but he knocked your hand out of the way, continuing to dry hump you to insanity. You whined as he bit your pouting lip, sucking it into his mouth before his tongue slipped into yours. It explored you, tasting you as your tongue happily let him in. You felt his hand creep down your torso, giving your abused, bitten tit a little squeeze before traveling further down to the button of your shorts.

He undid the button with ease before you registered that he was taking off your clothes after he had denied you access to do the same to him. “Hey,” you panted, reaching for him, “you first, that’s not fair. I’m nearly naked and you haven’t even taken off your shirt.”

Eddie chuckled, tilting his head to the side as he feigned confusion. “Fair?” he asked, “Since when did you want to play fair?” He reached back down to your shorts, button already undone, and gently pulled down the zipper. “You were the one out there- as you said- ‘bouncing around’-” His hands raked up your thighs until they reached the hem of your shorts and slowly tugged them down as you lifted your hips slightly so he could remove them smoothly. Eddie smirked; NOW she does what I want her to do. “-knowing full well I couldn’t do a damn thing about it… and that fucking wink-” His eyes rolled back in his head just imagining it. He groaned as he pulled your shorts from your feet and discarded them on the floor. “-what the fuck was that, huh? Trying to get a rise out of me, baby?”

You giggled, bubbly laughter floating into a breathy sigh as Eddie’s finger traced the line of your slit through your panties. “Hmmmmm, like it when you call me baby.” you hummed.

He raised an eyebrow, “Oh you do?” His finger traveled up over the fabric, and he chuckled when you bucked up into his touch as the pad of his finger passed over your clit. That finger slipped under the elastic waistband of your panties, pulling it upwards off your skin as far as it could stretch. “You’re entirely too happy right now,” he stated, matter-of-factly. He let go of the elastic, making you jump with a breathy whimper as it hit your skin with a soft sting. “I’m switching back to sweetheart.”

You whined and he laughed as he continued to play with the elastic on your panties. He stared at them, entranced, before a wolfish grin took up residence on his face. “You like these?” he asked, and you knew where this was going right away.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. “How kind of you to ask this time.”

The grin grew, and he took the crotch of your panties into his fist, grabbing the fabric above it with his other hand to do the same. You ground your hips against his knuckles as they brushed your pussy, already soaked and eager for any friction you could get. “Yeah, you know what,” he voiced, as if he were simply thinking out loud. “I don’t really care if you like them or not.”

And with that, another article of clothing was ripped to shreds by Eddie Munson and his stupid, tattooed, ring-covered, sexy-as-fuck hands.

This time you couldn’t even be offended; you were just fucking feral at this point. While he was still distracted by your panties, you quickly shoved yourself up to a kneeling position, startling him enough that he moaned into the fervent kiss that crashed into his mouth. The two of you knelt on the couch cushions, hands grabbing at fabric desperately in a quest to make your skin connect at every square inch you had. Eddie allowed you to pull his shirt over his head, and the shallow breath you had left was instantly knocked from your lungs when you took in the ink that decorated his torso. Some tattoos were old and faded almost blue, while others looked newer- song lyrics, mythical creatures, hellish images adorned his skin like a tapestry that belonged in a museum- but it was here, under your hands. All for you. You couldn’t hold yourself back from bending down a little lower, sliding your tongue up his sternum over the masterpieces scarred into his skin and licking a long, broad stripe from his chest until you reached the tip of his chin. You felt him shiver, arms tightening around you after shoving the remains of your tank top over your shoulders. You started to push him back, planning to open his pants and show him what else you could do with your tongue- but Eddie wasn’t about to let you be on top after the way you’d been acting all night.

“Mm-mm, nope.” he mumbled, stepping off the couch.

“I’m just trying to suck your cock, baby. Please?” You looked up at him with your best puppy-dog eyes, widening your legs as you knelt on the couch facing him, squishing your boobs together in that way that usually got you exactly what you wanted. For some reason, Eddie was immune.

He placed his hand along your neck, thumb and forefinger squeezing just enough for him to feel your pulse. The way your eyes widened, looking up at him the same way you had when he’d shoved you up against a wall earlier- it brought a satisfied hum out of Eddie, and he loved the way he could feel your heartbeat quicken slightly. There was no hiding what you felt when his hand was wrapped around your throat.

“You like calling me baby, sweetheart?”

You gulped. He felt it, of course, and he had to hold back a laugh- you looked so cute like this. Made him want to break you just to see what you’d be like when he picked up the pieces.

Your eyes were blown wide, like a hunted fox with nowhere to run. “Is that okay? Can I call you baby?”

His face crumpled- god, you were adorable. Eddie smiled sympathetically, “Oh you can call me whatever you want, sweetheart-” His thumb moved up to your bottom lip, stroking gently before working it into your mouth; he groaned, head thrown back when he felt your soft, wet tongue swirl around his digit and coat it with your spit.

“-don’t care what you’re calling me as long as you know I own your ass tonight.”

And then you moaned- oh, you fucking moaned his name around his finger in your mouth, and his cock twitched at the way it sounded. He wanted to record that, play it on loop, put it in a fucking song, hell- anything for him to be able to listen to it again and again and again. He wanted everyone to hear it, to know it was his name on your fucking tongue.

His thumb ripped from your mouth, replaced by his middle and ring finger, delving surprisingly deep into your mouth as you gagged around them. Your tongue quickly resumed its previous motions, lapping at his thick fingers and sliding over, under, around, between them. You reveled in the taste of metal as you tongued his silver rings. You gasped when he removed his fingers before, without warning, he slid them into your weeping pussy.

Your expression was beautifully obscene, eyes wide with surprise while your mouth- glistening with spit from his fingers leaving in a rush- fallen open in a silent scream. Eddie thrust his fingers up and into you repeatedly, forcing you open wider and wider with the rapid motion.

“Actually, I changed my mind,” Eddie grit into your ear, “I don’t wanna hear anything but my goddamn name leave that pretty ‘lil mouth until I’m done with you, aright?”

You were moaning, but evidently that was still not enough to deter you from being your snarky self. “Well that’s unrealistic, I’ll probably say more than just tha- ah! Oh fuck-!”

Eddie’s pace was relentless, fingers ripping through you with a vengeance as he muttered “Bratty little slut-” spearing you over and over as you sped toward the white-hot precipice that wasn’t quite release, but certainly what Eddie intended to pull out of you.

You moaned as what felt like a dam within you suddenly gave way, flooding your inner thighs, Eddie’s hand, and the couch beneath you. Eddie smiled wide, the muscles in his arm screaming pointlessly- he wasn’t going to stop until you’d given him every last drop there was to give.

“-yeah, not so bratty when you’re squirting all over my hand, are you baby? What, are you trying to say something? Spit it out, popstar-”

The noises tumbling from your lips were anything but coherent, Eddie knew that. He just kept grinning like a kid in a candy store as you babbled sounds that might have been his name, might have been a prayer, might have just been yes, yes, yes, Eddie, god yes!

Whatever it was, it was music to his ears.

Eddie looped his arms under your knees, pulling you into a sitting position with your legs wide open. Dropping to his knees, he stared at your spread pussy, glistening with the slick he’d just wrestled from you. His hands, wet with all you’d given him, grasped your thighs firmly but gently as he looked up into your eyes. It might have been the post-orgasmic haze you were experiencing, but for a second, Eddie looked at you with nothing in his eyes but care and admiration. His gaze shone like sunlight as he looked up at you, your stomach creasing from the crunch position he'd placed you in, your breasts rising and falling with each breath- the way he stared at you made you feel like an angel.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” he whispered, hands squeezing your thighs affectionately. Before you could even react, his tongue was on you, lapping away at your soaked pussy. You mewled, head thrown back and spine arching as unraveled you from the inside out. He traced endless intricate shapes over your clit, your lips, your hole- thoughts flew from your brain as you let his mouth drive you fucking wild. His ministrations slowed at one point, causing you to open your eyes- you couldn’t even remember when you’d closed them- and look up at Eddie.

Upon looking up, you were blessed with the sight of Eddie Munson, close-cut beard soaked with your slick, shirtless, pantsless, and currently pulling off his black boxers to reveal a cock that made you salivate on sight.

You let your brattiness fly out the window- there would be time for more of it later, but right now you needed that cock in one of your holes and you didn’t quite care which one.

Eddie stroked himself leisurely, eyes boring down into yours the whole time. “Tell me what you want, babygirl.”

You spread your legs open wider for him. “Please.” you whined.

Eddie shook his head, disappointed, sinking to his knees again. “See, this is what I knew would happen,” he murmured, sliding a finger around your clit at a torturously slow pace. “I can’t believe you got fucked stupid already and I didn’t even have to use my cock, those were just my fingers, baby.” From the slick sounds you heard from below your line of sight, you knew that he was jerking himself off as he played with your pussy. It was enough to pull a desperate moan from your throat. He licked one flat, wet stripe from your opening to your clit before murmuring against you, “Can’t even use your words and tell me what you want, sweet girl’s been fucked too dumb to make decisions, is that right?”

You found yourself nodding ‘yes’, the dirty words flying out of his mouth in rapid succession throwing your brain into overdrive. He was right; you barely had the brain capacity to think right now, much less match his attitude with snark. All you could do was stare up at him with wide eyes, waiting for whatever he planned on doing next.

Eddie clicked his tongue, tilting his head as he looked at you pityingly. “That’s right, don’t worry baby I’ll just make all the decisions now, okay?” He rose, leaning over you as he placed a knee to your side and stroked himself, lining up his fully hard cock at your entrance. Your heartbeat quickened, excitement and anticipation building now that you knew his cock would be inside you soon. You mewled as his tip stroked your slit, up and down and up and down again… and stopping at your hole, hovering outside you.

You looked up at him desperately, only to breathe in sharply upon seeing his devilish grin paired with coal-black lust-blown eyes.

“Beg for it.”

You sighed so heavy it became a sob, frustrated and scrunching up your face like you were ready to throw a tantrum.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you whined.

“There she is.” he murmured.

If looks could kill, your glare would have sent Eddie Munson to his deathbed. He matched it with a condescending smile that spoke volumes of the power trip he was on right now. Leaning in slightly closer, he repeated himself. “Beg, sweetheart.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

Eddie shrugged, backing up just enough for his cock to leave your skin- you knew it was over from there.

“Wait!” you cried, eyebrows drawing together desperately under his cocksure gaze. Christ you didn’t want to beg, but you might not have a choice. Eddie waited patiently, stroking his cock absentmindedly as he watched you squirm below him.

You looked up at him, giving him your best ‘fuck me’ eyes. “Please fuck me Eddie.” Your voice was honey sweet, soft and submissive.

Eddie crouched down, sticking a finger in his mouth before he used it to play with your pussy, stroking circles around your clit and pumping it slowly in and out of you. “Aww, baby…” he crooned before narrowing his eyes. “-we both know you can do better than that.”

You groaned, back arching as your hands fisted frustratingly into the cushions. “Eddie, pleaaasse-”

“Try harder, sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Eddie you fucking prick, just fucking fuck me, please, I need your cock-”

Eddie smiled- that was good enough for him. “‘Atta girl.” he groaned deeply as he pushed his cock into your waiting hole, your thankful moan mingling with his.

His dick was perfect, filling you deliciously and long enough to just hit that spot beneath your clit that made your nerves go berserk. You didn’t realize how loud your moaning was until Eddie shut you up by covering your mouth with his own, swallowing down every sound you made and repaying you with noises of his own.

“God, baby- so fuckin’ tight-”

You moaned, squeezing him as his cock speared you again and again. You were so built up between your squirting earlier and Eddie’s talented tongue- you were already getting close.

As if he could read your mind, Eddie grunted out as he continued thrusting into you, “I’m nearly there already, baby, you gonna cum with me?”

You whined, nodding ‘yes’ as he pacified your mewling with his thumb. You lapped at it lewdly, covering him with a thick layer of your spit before releasing it with a pop. Eddie brought it down to your clit, working gentle circles around your bundle of nerves as his thrusting picked up the pace. You squirmed under him, chasing your release as you listened to the filth that poured from his mouth while he fucked the living shit out of you.

“Jesus, fuck, so tight- my sweet girl, gonna fucking ruin you. Gonna make you come undone on my cock, just a fucking mess, gonna cum so hard on my cock-”

That last thing he said seemed to jerk him back into reality- his eyes grew wide, snapped out of his high as he looked down at you. “Shit, I don’t have a condom…baby, I’m so sorry, shit, where should I-”

You reached down, raking your nails softly over his hips. “I’m on birth control.” you said, smiling calmly. You kicked yourself for being so eager; normally you would still insist on a condom even with your implant, but Eddie just did something to you. “You haven’t been fucking any random groupies, have you?”

Eddie huffed, his laughter strained by his fast-approaching orgasm. “You’re the first in a while, angel. Last I checked I was clean, but I can still pull out if you-”

“Inside.” you whispered, grasping his ass and pulling him deeper into you. “I trust you, Eddie, I want you to fill me.”

His movements stuttered, big brown eyes wide and watching you like you were a miracle unfolding underneath him. He was still for half a second before his thumb resumed its movements over your clit as he thrusted faster, harder than before.

“Oh fuck, you want me to fill you baby? You want my fucking cum?”

His cock speared into you as deep as it could go, Eddie’s attention to your clit driving you over the edge with relentless speed. “Yes, I want it Eddie, fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Fucking take it baby, cum on that cock.”

Eddie groaned as you clamped down on him, his seed spilling inside of you while your pussy fluttered around him. You arched your back until your face was pressed into the cushions behind you, muffling your whimpering voice as you moaned his name.

A few moments passed, the air thick with the sound of heavy breathing and the smell of sex, before Eddie slowly pulled out of your wet heat. You laid there for a moment before you felt Eddie clean his sticky spend from your thighs and ass using a tissue.

“Normally,” he said gently, “I would use a warm washcloth to do this, but we have limited options.”

You sat up as he finished, smiling up at him playfully. “That sounds nice,” you said, “maybe I shouldn’t have listened to you earlier, made you wait until you couldn’t take it anymore and just whisked me off to your place.”

Eddie sat down beside you, pulling you into his lap. He looked up at you with nothing but content sweetness in his eyes, any trace of the feral dominance from earlier gone for now. “I mean, we can still do that.”

You beamed, “Really?”

Eddie scoffed, tugging you closer. “What do you mean, ‘really’? You think I need to be desperately horny to want you in my bed?”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the mention of his bed. “I don’t know… I guess I didn’t know if you wanted this to just be a one time thing, or…” You trailed off, unsure of what Eddie’s expectations had been for what happened after.

Eddie’s eyebrows drew together, confused. “Sweetheart,” he said, his finger tracing circles on your thigh affectionately. “We can hash out details whenever you’re comfortable… but tonight? I would count myself a very lucky man if you came home with me tonight.” He touched his forehead to yours, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose. “Okay?” he asked.

You looked down, suddenly shy upon hearing his honey-sweet words. You gave him a quick peck on the lips before looking him in his big brown eyes. “Okay.” you whispered.

Your eyes stayed connected, melting you until your lips met his again, kissing him sweetly as his hands worked their way to your ass, squeezing as he sighed into your kiss.

“Alright,” he grunted, playfully slapping your thigh as a signal to stand up. “Let’s get you dressed.”

You giggled. “In what? You ripped up all my clothes!” you held up the shredded panties, shaking your head in disbelief.

Eddie shrugged, stepping into his boxers. “I didn’t rip up all of them, don’t be so dramatic.” He picked up your shorts, tossing them to you. “Just go commando with the shorts and wear your sweatshirt, no one will know.”

You sighed, stepping over your torn Gucci tank top and retrieving your bra from where it sat neatly folded in a chair. Eddie looked over his shoulder at you as you began to put it on and gasped.

“You did have a bra!”

You smirked, reaching behind your back for the clasp. “Yeah… I wanted to see your face when I wasn’t wearing one.”

Eddie shook his head, smiling like an idiot as he buckled his jeans. “Unbelievable.” he chided, “Was it worth it?”

You tugged your sweatshirt over the bra, taking a few steps in Eddie’s direction until you were close enough to snake your hand around to the back of his neck and pull him down for one more kiss. When you pulled away, Eddie looked down at you entranced, blinking rapidly as if emerging from a dream. He could only describe the feeling in his chest as complete and utter euphoria.

You grinned up at him, eyes alight with adrenaline that still lingered from your performance onstage and absolute infatuation with the man before you.

“So worth it.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #rockstar!eddie munson #older!eddie munson #popstar!reader #inspired by demi lovato's album holy fvck #brat!reader #dom!eddie munson #rip-quizilla

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d6volution · 6 months

Note

imagine jax eaves dropping over you, his one and only fuck buddy and ragatha, something about you confessing to RAGATHA ?? spoiler alert she was helping you to practice your confession to jax !! he doesn't know about that part since he left silently fuming, now here he is waiting at your room. long story short jealous sex turns fluffy :)

yes yes a thousand times yes.

---------

tags: oral sex, rough oral sex, jealousy, misunderstandings, confessions, smut, and fluff.

minors dni.

more below the cut.

You and Jax had established a .. friends with benefits type of relationship as of late. The next best thing to keep your brain stimulated was well... sex. And boy did it work, Jax knew how to push your buttons, among other things. But... as time passed, your feelings began to change into something much stronger. Lust was becoming .. love? You felt so silly thinking it ... so how the hell were you supposed to say it?

Unfortunately, it wasn't easy to read Jax, so you couldn't even tell if he felt the same way. There was a fifty percent chance he'd deny you. And that was all too high. You'd need help on this endeavor, and you knew just the doll to ask.

A short while later, you arrived at Ragathas door. Lucky enough to have Kinger become a distract for Jax to sneak away. Once she swung the door open, the words erupted from your mouth. "Woah, woah y/n slow down ! Wanna come in?" You caught your breath and nodded, a little embarrassed.

"So, Jax, huh? He's... not my first choice for you, but I will be 100% supportive!" She said with a smile. "Thank you, Rags.. I just know how to confess to him. What if he..laughs you know?"

"Hm.. yeah, I see. He can be a jerk sometimes! heh.. But, I think if you're serious.. he'll listen. Like really listen. I have an idea! Practice on me."

"W.. What? On you? That'd be, too.." Your voice trailed off.

"Come on, y/n it's just me!" She nudged you and caused a smile to lift at the corner of your lips.

"Fine." You rolled your eyes before straightening up your back and looking the doll in the eyes as if to get into character.

"I've.. wanted to talk to you about this for a while now.." You started your 'confession.'

Unbeknownst to you, Jax finally managed to shake off Kinger and was searching for you. He checked your room first , then a few others before ending up in front of Ragatha's. "I finally get rid of that nutcase and you ditch me. Givin' me a taste of my own medicine, huh?" He spoke outloud just before he rose his fist to knock on Ragatha's door.

Before his knuckles could make contacr with the wood, he heard your voice and leaned in. That permanent smile was growing on his lips. He was evesdropping, of course, because why wouldn't he?

Unfortunately, this was the first time he regretted doing so, he heard you.. confessing!? He quickly pressed his head a bit harder to the wood. Making out the words carefully.

'I love you. I.. wanted to tell you for the longest time but I didn't think you saw me in that way.'

Love? Her? Since when?

Jax felt clenched his fist , absolutely seething. Sure, you were only friends with benefits, but maybe you should have disclosed our feelings for the rag doll before allowing him to rearrange your guts.

He stomped off to your room like that of an upset child and waited , sitting your bed and staring at the door.

Meanwhile, you were giving Ragatha a goodbye hug, squeezing the doll. "Thank you, that helped a lot. I'll .. let you know how it goes." You parted ways and headed to your room, knowing Jax would either be there or eventually show up sometime tonight. You were in a chipper mood, full of confidence as you swung the door open to your dimly lit room.

Immediately, you felt the wave of anger hit you. It was thick in the air. And Jax was sitting there, his eyes on the ground and his smile not there. "Jax..?" Your voice was small, you couldn't muster up anything more than that.

"So, you and Ragatha, huh?" He almost spat. "Y'know I knew you were a slut but, .. you really had me fooled."

"What? Jax? I can explain— it's not what you think." You said and nervously scoffed towards the end of your sentence.

He took this as you laughing at him, "C'mere, doll." His voice was flat, not playful and teasing like it usually was. Your body didn't want to move.

"Now."

You shuffled over, a familiar heat growing in between your legs. You knew this was a misunderstanding and knew you could clear it up if he let you speak.. but he was also really fucking hot right now.

"Jax just listen to me please." You begged.

"On your knees toots, ya know. I was here first, befofe her. If she's gonna have you, its not gonna be til im done with you first." He said, pointed at the ground, and you instinctively fell to your knees. "That alright with you doll?' He was still checking in, making sure he wasn't really doing something you didn't want but you nodded eagerly.

"Like I thought, a slut." He scoffed and gripped the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he pulled his semi hard cock from his pants. "Be a good girl and suck me off, I want you to go back to Ragatha with the taste of me on your lips." His words morphed into a whisper towards the end, and a breathy chuckle escaped his lips. Your stomach was in knots.

He yanked you forward again, and you whimpered, lips brushing against his tip. Your mouth opened and accepted him inside with ease. He moaned, "Mn.. yeaah.. ya think you have the luxury of takin your time? Nah." He slammed your head forward and you scrambled in between his legs , gagging on his cock as he used your throat like a flesh light.

"J.. Just like that, take it .. gonna shake that little brain up til you forget about her.." He groaned, and your eyes fluttered shut. Trying hard to keep up with his thrusts, but they were too sporadic. To harsh, yet your cunt throbbed the entire time.

He was quick to spurt ropes of cum into your mouth, pulling back— his cock slipping out of your mouth with a lewd pop. "Nh.. hhaa.. " You tried to catch your breath. "Now, what were you tryna say earlier doll?" He leaned back on his elbows, also trying to catch his breath.

"I was .. practicing my confession to.. ragatha.. it was just practice..f-for you.. Jax.."

His ears seemed to get straighter, pointing directly up upon hearing that. He immediately slid off the bed and kneeled next to you. Gathering your face in his hands and wiping your damn hair from your face, "Me? You.. were plannin' on confessing to me..? If this is some kinda joke y/n—"

You cut him off and planted your lips onto his cheek. Peppering his face in kisses. "It's.. not a joke. I love you, Jax." You were flushed, your body still so turned on yet filled with emotion as well.

"So , you wanted me to face[censor!!] you huh? Ya could've told me to stop ya airhead." He teased and stared at you with a softer grin.

"I didn't want you to, you getting all jealous was actually pretty hot."

"Was it now? C'mon toots, on the bed.. I got some makin' up to do." He said and helped you onto the soft mattress, "Oh and.. I love you too. Took ya long enough."

#the amazing digital circus #ask #jax tadc #jax x reader #minors dni #jaxsmut

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hollyhomburg · 1 month

Text

Before I Leave You (pt.68)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your time is running out. minute by minute, breath by breath, kiss by kiss.

Tags: Angst, Hurt (no comfort yet), illusions to past mental health issues and past domestic abuse, mentions of low-self-esteem, internalized shame and self-shaming behaviors, themes of abandonment, speeding, guns, violence,

W/c: 13.4k

A/N: ahhhhh so here we are! i've been dreaming of this chapter since the very beginning of the series! this is like...the ultimate chapter...thank you for giving me a little bit of extra time to sit with it! we've still got a bit to go! there is a little section near the end where the chapter will prompt you to click on a link to play kate bush 😂 if you feel like you'll be distracted by music in the background you don't need to push it- thats just the song that i always heard playing in my head whenever i heard that part playing.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Hobi is sitting on the edge of the nest sipping at his ice water when you come back into the nest room. Someone has drawn all of the heavy curtains over the windows and they pool on the floor at the rim of the room. The plastic pulled up too. The evidence folded and put away for later burning. Like a bad memory or a piece of clothing that doesn't fit right. Shoved in the back of the closet.

The rage and fear and panic are harder to put away. The conviction is not so easy to hide. You can’t put it down the same way that people file their taxes or their children's old scribbles.

You- like a child, have not been able to color between the lines. You- like a child, are messy.

You can’t stop yourself from walking over to him. Drawn to him where he sits nursing his injuries like a moth to a flame. You feel every heartbeat spent in his presence; every breath shared sticky like smoke in your lungs. Every second is savored and every second burns.

You want to ask him if he’s alright, but questions like that seem very pointless now.

Hobi’s not alright- but he will be. He will be okay forever if you do what you have to do. Now that you’ve decided it’s all you can think about. You rarely ever get to know that your last day with someone will be your last day, and now because you know- you look at him a little harder. A little longer.

You wonder what he’ll look like in 10 years and in 20. If he’ll get crow’s feet from smiling so much. If the salt water he loves so much will eventually grow into his features and make him look like something ancient.

You wonder if one day he'll get so many freckles that the tops of his shoulders will be permanently a shade deeper than the rest of his skin- Or if Seokjin’s sunscreen will spare him from the simple pleasure of looking like your favorite thing. Hoseok has always been one part sunshine one part everything else.

He looks pale right now. It hasn't been summer in months and you won't get to see him get all freckly and sun-kissed again.

Growing old is a privilege (you don’t want to grow old) and you’re reminded of that every time you look at his throat and see the bruises there (you wish you and Hobi could stay as you are- like this, in this house- both alive and healing- forever) but you can’t.

You can’t.

You touch his shoulder softly and his head jerks up, body going tense and then slack when he sees it's just you.

It’s quiet up here. The others are just downstairs and they’re making a lot of noise. Hoseok turns, setting his glass of water down on the floor, leaning into your hand in the same movement. It would be cute if he didn’t have black bruises crisscrossing his throat and blood in the whites of his eyes. In truth, every blink only convinces you that this is what you have to do. This is what you need to do.

You know that at any moment the pack is going to come looking for you. That they’ll all come and fill the room with their soothing noises and sweet concern. You're not too worried about finding the right time to slip away. Moonbyul’s given you 24 hours after all.

We didn’t get enough time, did we? I’d have liked more.

Hobi tries to speak and you shush him, he makes a frustrated hum of a noise. You sit down next to him when he tugs you, hand vicelike on your wrist. Your heart is beating really fast. You wonder if he can hear it or at least smell your distress. The whole house is a tangle of distressed scents; your rain, Yoongi’s ocean, Hoseok’s burnt caramel. burning burning burning. It disguises your scent. Hoseok can’t smell how you’re panicking.

You smile at him, and Hobi tries to speak again. unsuccessfully.

“Here your phone-” but Hoseok doesn’t reach for it, he doesn’t reach for anything but you. Pulling you closer to him. His thumb pressed to the pulse point of your wrist, where your skin becomes thin and sensitive. Pulling you until your thigh lines up against his.

The nest up here is the only place in the house that smells somewhat normal, still soaked with your sleepy muted scents from a few days ago (How long will it be until your scent fades from the house?) You take a deep shaky breath, trying to savor it. Hoseok bites his lower lip.

Hoseok starts on your thigh. His hand squeezes it once and then he starts to write. It’s slow going. He can only write one letter at a time but-

“D-O-N-T”

His eyes are positively boring into yours as your breath hitches and you start. “Hobi I-” he repeats it again, writing it out faster. You grab his hand squeezing it. But he pulls it out of your grasp.

“N-O”

You huff, frustrated and close to tears but stealing yourself not to show him your true feelings. How hard this is. You duck in low, kissing over one of the bruises on his neck. He jerks back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. And part of you is just begging him to let it go. You’re half sitting in his lap now all so that he can write out his distress on both your thighs.

“Alright- just stop.” You can hear the rest of the pack on the stairs. It’s getting late, they’ve done all of the cleaning they can manage for today. You can hear Yoongi on the stairway talking to Jin:

“Maybe we should just burn the railing, there’s definitely a bullet or two in it still.”

Jin’s reply is near hissed, utterly scandalized in the way that only Jin can sound. “It is mahogany Yoongi.”

Hobi writes on your thigh, a single tear trailing down his nose. He’s usually a little bit better at keeping himself together but the stress of the day wore him through. Polished all of his usually stubborn edges like the ocean polishes sea glass. He’s too tired to properly argue. Letter by letter as he goes.

“P-R-O-M-I-S-E M-E,” he writes across your thigh.

You have maybe a second before they’re upon you. You have to be convincing. Have to, or else Hobi might tell. You don’t think he’ll get in your way. You don’t want to think about what you’ll have to do if he does.

You dart forward, pressing your lips to his in a way that you don’t really feel, in a way that has him pushing you a little off of him. Trying to reassure him in the only way you know how.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying and he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips skimming soft across your jaw and your lips. Pressing at the corner of your sad smile like he can peel the fake expression away from your face and have you tell the truth for once.

“I promise, okay? I promise.”

Hoseok is not convinced. He doesn’t believe you all the way. But the pack is up here before he has a chance to write out anything more. Yoongi appears in the doorway, smelling of soap and bleach, a bit of it turning the corner of his shirt yellow where it should be black. His eyes cautious but so loving it takes your breath away a little. He treads softly over to the two of you; like he's worried about spooking you.

The moment between you and Hobi passes when Yoongi's hand curls over the back of your neck and you tilt your face up at him. And he interprets the glassiness there as something else. something more sensitive and more like omegaspace than what it is. you falling through space and time, you dying and drowning infront of him.

He probably thinks Hoseok was just comforting you.

Yoongi’s hand settles softly on the ball of Hoseok’s shoulder too. an equally as tender touch. Long fingers splaying against his collar bones, cradling a bruise there forming. Asking softly, eyes all dark with the anguish and apology of it-

“Do you think either of you can stomach dinner?”

As always, you say you can hot because you want to, but because you know it will make him happy to see you eat. You might not get many more opportunities to make Yoongi happy- you should take this one and savor it.

Yoongi loses that vaguely wounded look in his eyes with every bite you lift to your mouth. His scent sublimating into something sweeter as the night darkens and quiets.

You can tell Hoseok is not convinced of your promises when he stays glued to your side through the whole of dinner. Almost stubborn with how he resists Yoongi’s prodding and Namjoon's. Changing out the cool dressings on his throat and shaking his head at Namjoon’s suggestion that he sleep propped up against the back wall of the nest, where it’s safest. Eyes tracking your movements as you get up and brush your teeth.

His focus remains solely on you, even when Jungkook carries Tae out of the bathroom and places her among the softest things in the nest. When Noodle squirms his way out from under the bed and tries to worm himself in between his legs. Nudging under his elbow with his pink nose.

He wraps himself around you as you get ready for bed. An arm slung protectively around your waist to pull you flush against his front where you couldn’t squirm away without him feeling it and waking up.

It feels like buying time even though you're too distracted to properly enjoy it- the way they try to cheer you up. Everything that they do to try and make things better feels far away like a photograph- a memory just out of reach- the colors a little off.

Jungkook needily wraps himself around Tae and croons soft reassurance into her ear about how pretty her hair looks, how soft her pajamas make her. And would she like some of her skincare routine? Jungkook will do it for her, will pat it across her cheeks, and won't drag it under her eyes to preserve the state of her wrinkles.

Tae answers all his requests with a simple shake of her head. Eyes still frighteningly blank, that 1000-yard stare that you've all seen on your faces at one point or another, that you see in the reflective surface of Namjoon's phone in the nest, discarded and not charged.

Tae's scent is something awful- none of her usual roses and all cinnamon. Does Tae smell more like her old self because that version of her was always afraid? Or was being a boy the first thing she hated and that's why she smells like boy tae now?

You hate it. You can tell the others hate it too. Yoongi drags her close to scent her silly. cheek and neck going all pink from how hard he scents her, and then scents you, and then goes back again.

Jungkook can do little more than cuddle Tae with Jimin, his big hands smooth down her thighs, while Jimin brushes her hair gently- careful not to let the bristles brush her scalp. He's learned how to take care of her over the last few months and he's the gentlest when it comes to detangling. Not like you- who's so used to ripping through your hair without thought.

Up and down their hands go as Jin fluffs the nest around you all. Making the edges of it higher, and more protective of the fragile pups at the center (like fluffy duvets could ever block bullets. In his dreams- Jin’s love is enough to keep you all safe).

Yoongi and Namjoon are only too happy to oblige him with the nest-making and the general fussing. But in between Jin’s request for a hairdryer and another cold cloth for your hands. You catch them watching the door like they half expect some new threat to appear.

Certain things are harder to ignore; like Yoongi sitting on the edge of the nest with a gun balanced across his thigh. Or the heavy thud of a fresh box of bullets, rattling in their acrylic case when Jimin sets them down on the floor. The red shotgun casings lined up in pretty lines- just like Tae’s lipsticks downstairs.

You ask for one of Hobi's sweatshirts and Yoongi puts the gun away to go and give it to you. Hoseok fingers the edge of your shirt stroking over the meat of your hip idly. But every inch of him is taught like he’s going to have to grab you and hold you down. You lace your hand with his and turn to give him a look.

Yoongi’s back with a sweatshirt but it’s Jin who demands to dress you- to guide your fragile and freshly wrapped hands through the holes. Jin pulls it down around your hips with a soft huff before he gets distracted looking at the bruises on your back and side. From getting thrown back into the wall and from an errant elbow. Every time you twist even a little bit- they ache.

A tub of soothing cream that the pack usually uses for the more wanted kind of bruises sits open on the edge of the nest.

The pack moves about in pairs, here and there. Going down to the ground floor in sets of two. Unwilling to let anyone out of sight. There are guns everywhere, Jimin must have let loose his hidden stash of them. A shotgun leans up against the bathroom door. A handgun with an extended stock is always close at hand. There's a larger plan lingering here. You hear it in Jin's soft reassurances. Said hushed over your heads.

"Witness protection isn't as bad as you think it is Yoongi-"

"It won't work- don't you think we know how it works? That won't be safe enough."

"We have at least a few hours, we don't need to make any decisions now."

Jungkook’s scared voice, “Are we really going to have the leave? The house and everything?” A pause. A look is shared between Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi. Jimin's eyes remain focused on Tae.

“Maybe bunny, we have to wait and see.”

“Do we have a carrying case for Noodle?”

“I think it’s in…” Yoongi trails off, but Namjoon answers for him.

“Yeah, it’s in the basement.”

They set about keeping watch for the night. those of you that aren't nursing wounds that is- mainly Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon- Guns remain at the ready and loaded. Jimin will go first, Yoongi second, and Namjoon last.

Jin tries but Namjoon nudges at his chest and growls in a way that has all of your ears perking up. The pack alpha’s commands can’t easily be ignored. Jungkook tries too to convince them too but even Hoseok shakes his head at him. No one is under any illusions of how fragile this peace is.

No one asks Namjoon to leave the Christmas lights on- but he doesn’t shut them off all the way- leaving just one string lit as a bit of a nightlight. None of you are quite brave enough to risk the darkness.

Hoseok stays close by, his hand clutching your wrist more often than not. Even when the pack settles in for sleep. He wraps his arm around your waist and settles in behind you, caging you in.

(Hoseok’s arms are not the prettiest cage you’ve ever been in but they are the cage you’ve liked the most. You think you’ll miss his arms and his hands. They’re so pretty and long, you lean down and kiss one where it’s gripping the nest and he makes a small noise in surprise that quickly gets swallowed by the hungry quiet.)

The quiet is very hungry, every brush of fabric against skin, every slight movement of the pack sets you a bit on edge. You think it will be hard to sleep- wound up as you are.

You don’t think you're even tired until your head hits the pillow and you have to struggle to stay awake. You want to stay up and listen to the sound of your pack, their soft and measured breathing, the sound of kisses shared above your head, the feel and safety of being in the nest. You want to commit the rhythm of them to memory.

Hoseok’s soft rasping breath on the nape of your neck evens out the more that his swelling goes down. It goes from hissing to more of a squeak as the night settles. Tae shakes through her aforementioned panic attack with all of you piled around her. You get your hand on her ankle at least.

Yoongi and Jimin’s shushing is the only punctuating sound in the half-light. Because what can you say besides sweet nothings when you know she has a perfectly valid reason to fear falling asleep?

You savor every little twitch of their trauma-worn bodies as you flit in and out of an uneasy sleep. Every slight sigh and hand on you rousing you. Jungkook, brushing his fingers through your hair. Hobi, pressed along your back like a second skin shifting and trying to tilt his neck to a more comfortable angle.

You get too hot with Hobi wrapped around you like that, eventually tugging at his sweatshirt that you wear and almost purring when kind gentle hands help detangle you from it with a soothing little shush sound so that you hardly have to wake. Yoongi, around midnight.

Yoongi’s thin but strong fingers rub a soothing touch along your jaw. Soothing away a small sad noise you make that has him curling around your front. The sound of Namjoon's low voice as he says something to your mate and then takes his place at the helm of the nest to stand guard.

“It’s okay pup, I’m here- I’m not going to let anything happen to you- not now- not ever.”

It’s unfortunate, but Namjoon can’t let Tae sleep for more than half an hour before checking her pupillary responses, making sure that her brain isn’t swelling. Concussions are no joke and Namjoon does not take chances with his prettiest alpha. He sends her back off to dreamland with a comforting scent mark and a soothing grumble. After the 5th hour when the risks turn nominal, he decides to just let her sleep.

But Hoseok doesn’t sleep, he can’t really. The pain keeps him awake and what with the way that his neck is injured he can’t find a comfortable position. He shifts and settles the whole night. Keeping you close with that arm around your waist every time you squirm so much as an inch away.

He’s restless until Namjoon gets up to get one of Jimin’s painkillers.

He’s resistant even then, half asleep still fighting. Trying to move away and shaking his head at Namjoon. Namjoon mistakes his unwillingness for simple fussiness and not for fear. If Hobi falls asleep it will be substantially easier to slip away- you watch from below as Namjoon props hobi up and pinches his jaw to make him open his mouth, encouraging the alpha to show his tongue with a prod of those gentle hands. His eyes are barely open, exhausted as he is.

“I know it hurts to swallow Hobi but you’ve got too.” Regardless of his shaken head, Namjoon insistently nudges his mouth with it. Soothing his gag with a stroke of his thumb down Hoseok’s Addams apple. A kiss to his lips for being good.

“This will help the swelling go down, you’ll be okay by morning.”

It’s minutes before they take effect. Slowly- Hoseok’s arm melts away from your stomach. His grip on you slackens from the drugs and his breath evens out. You say a quiet goodbye to him in your head and turn around to face him and kiss his forehead.

At least the last time you touch, it’s soft like that. At least the last time you touch him- it’s gentle.

Yoongi, Jimin, and Namjoon trade-off. A gun shared between the two of them. Perched on the edge of the nest. Eyes on the vacant stairway Infront of them. Listening for every creek and whisper met with a held breath and hand tightening around the gun. Waiting for the violence that you can all feel coming.

You won’t let it hit them; you won’t let it into this house again. Not while you’re still breathing.

When you're sure that Hobi is asleep you roll onto your back and stare up at the Christmas lights twinkling in the dark. You remember watching Jungkook hang them for you. You remember. You'll always try to remember; you promise yourself right then and there that you'll never let the memory slip away. No matter what happens.

You look over at Kookie, face so peaceful in sleep, a pillow hugged to his chest belly down in the nest, cheek squished close to the top of Yoongi's head on your other side. His back rising and falling.

Jungkook has always been a pretty omega. You reach over to him to stroke down the stiff bridge of his nose, to commit his face to memory. When you turn back to Hobi, you do the same, touching across the heart shape of his mouth, the subtle roundness in his cheeks everything. You look around at all of them- your pack, sleeping softly- sleeping safely. Namjoon's wide back, his shoulders that could hold the world up. Unaware that you're watching him.

You’ll remember all of it, every car ride, every trip to the beach. Every joke and jab. You’ll store each of the memories like a found thing in your pocket. A piece of seashell or sea glass.

You’ll take Jungkook’s laughter and store it- a memory to use when you need to remember that it’s okay to be young for a minute more. When you need to look after yourself you’ll remember how Jin did it and follow his example. And when you need to rest and be soft you'll remember yoongi. You’ll remember Tae like a tube of lipstick and see her every day in the color pink. And Jimin-

Jimin has a hard time sleeping. Even when Namjoon takes the last shift. He sleeps with one hand on a gun, spaced protectively in front of Tae. His bad arm unfolded from his sling. Putting his body between her and the staircase. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the knowledge of that when he glances back, just to check and make sure that Tae and Hobi are still breathing. You hide your open eyes from him when he turns, going extra still and feigning sleep.

Namjoon tamps down on his instincts; the last thing he wants is for his scent to go sour and possibly rouse them. But in the quiet, Namjoon's mind has too much room to fan out and overanalyze. Panic is a particularly alluring drug, his mind festers in it. Rolling around in bad ideas the way that Noodle would roll around in a puddle of catnip.

If he got the pack together, put you all in cars, and drove you far far away from here would that be enough to keep you all safe from harm? Or would that only be temporary? Is temporary safety worse when you know what you have to come back to? Or should he just try to talk to these people, barter with them something. Would money be enough? How much wouldn't Namjoon give?

You are dreadfully similar to him. Only his planning stays in its infancy stage.

It isn’t all silent. Noises punctuate the night here and there. Namjoon is so on edge that he all but snaps his teeth at the shadows. An alpha on alert.

Namjoon’s ears perk up at every car that dares to drive by your narrow street, the neighbor two houses to the left who leaves for work in the city at 4:05 every morning, right on time. Noodle and the sound of his scrabbly little paws on the stairs, zooming up and down them until Namjoon gets up to scruff him too.

Your freaking cat does not like Namjoon on a normal day, he's only ever loved you and Hobi and tolerated Tae and Jungkook- condemning all the rest to hisses and claws, but Noodle settles with Namjoon's hand on the back of his neck. "See, that wasn't too hard was it?"

Noodle gives one last half-hearted hiss as Namjoon places him gently in the nest where he stays put after curled up around Tae’s head like a fluffy little hat. Purring and licking at her forehead. All but taunting Namjoon with his yellow eyes. Flinty and knowing in the darkness. Bushy tail flailing every time the alpha glances back.

You think you’re being quiet when you push yourself up onto your hands and knees. Untangling Hobi’s arm from around your waist and pulling yourself to the edge of the bed. He's out cold from the painkillers. Barely even stirring.

Noodle stirs however, darting from the nest with a small murr sound as if to say, "see- she's awake so why can't I be?" Tail raised high as he prances to the doorway.

You look striking in the half darkness, a pair of Yoongi’s green flannel pajama pants rolled up several times to fit properly around your hips. A thin white tank top that's almost falling down one shoulder. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the need to hold, the need to protect. He makes a soft noise in his throat and your head jerks in his direction.

You swallow, and your lips look dry, eyes glassy and innocent in their tilt when your mussed hair fluffs over your shoulder. Messy from where Hobi was nuzzling it in his sleep.

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

Namjoon wordlessly holds his hand out to help you get out of the nest without teetering or disturbing the others. Noodle dashes back down the stairs with a soft meow. Tae sighs and re-settles, smacking her lips and Jimin’s arm tightens. Your mate turns face up in the nest, chest rising and falling, mouth opening like he can taste your scent on the air.

Namjoon doesn't doubt he can, honed in on you and focused as he always is.

Namjoon doesn’t let go of your hand when your feet find the smooth floor. Instead, he checks the wounds on your hands and verifies that they’re clotting. The margins slotted together properly for minimal scarring (he'd redone the glue-suture after your shower with only gentle scolding). He presses a kiss to the bandages after they're re-fastened. Letting his lips linger there for a second.

Namjoon has always had big hands, warm and steadying as they cradle yours. Small and chapped and scarred.

Instead of continuing on downstairs, you linger for a second by Namjoon’s side. Eating up every breath he breathes, his scent, and the comfort of having him nearby. Something you know you won’t have forever. (Somehow- you know that this will be the last time that Namjoon holds you. You can wait one minute more. You can give him one more minute). He sets the gun to the side and pulls you between his legs.

“Joonie?” You ask.

Your pack alpha wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles forward, rubbing his spiky head across your midriff. Nose nudging the dimple of your belly button and the slight pudge there with a quiet happy growl.

Namjoon will never not be happy that he can see the evidence of the pack’s love on you. Will never not feel proud of you and how far you've come. He nuzzles, resisting the temptation to bite and nip with a breath let out through clenched teeth.

Namjoon feels your quiet laugh against his cheek. Your warm soft skin swelling with laughter. Namjoon’s face is blushing red when he pulls back to look at you in the darkness. Corralled in the safe circle of his arms, fingers digging into your hips and squeezing.

“What are you doing alpha?”

“Just thinking- just-” Namjoon’s voice gets so much lower in the nighttime, it's a gravely growl. A sound that paints pictures of lightning and clouds hovering low like a blanket.

“When all of this is over, I want to go somewhere new.” Namjoon's hands tighten on your waist. fingers pressing to either side of your spine, thumbs sitting on the soft bones of your hips. “-With you. Just you. Just the two of us. Maybe.” Namjoon fights back a fresh blush at the confused cock of your head. “Maybe- like- a fancy Airbnb? Or something? Would that be fun? Would you like that?”

You pause, humming. Indulging Namjoon in this as he holds you, fingers rubbing endlessly up and down the sensitive small of your back. Eyes wide and imploring like a child.

You're only too happy to forget for a second and imagine. What would happen if you didn’t leave tonight? What would happen if you found some way out of this?

It’s easy to go further than just thinking about a simple weekend getaway. You Imagine far into the future; a day that you'll never see. A future with Namjoon and the pack. It hits you with such a profound heartache when you think it that you half expect to look down and see your white tank top speckled with blood. The ache so keen and visceral but-

Namjoon would be a good father.

He’d be kind and patient. He’d never snap. He’d never yell. For a moment that’s all you want to think about- not a stupid weekend but a lifetime. A family. A world where you’re never yelled at, where you don't have to be afraid, where nothing is hard, and even if it’s hard you do it together.

If you had pups, you know Namjoon would treat every skinned knee like it was surgery. Would never tell them to walk it off or say it wasn’t that bad. You know that he’d go through every tea party with gusto and stay up late to help them with their homework. That he’d struggle to say no but that you might never need to. It would be lovely- getting to give something small and innocent so much safety. It would be nice to have pups with Namjoon.

You can’t say you don’t want it, but you know in that moment that you won't get it. You'll never get to see Namjoon be a father- even if the pups aren't yours or are just his and Jin's. You’d love them all the same. What use is it to Imagine things that you’ll never get? What good are dreams like this but to tease you, just out of reach.

Namjoon nuzzles into your stomach again. His nose drawing soft circles just under your belly button.

You’d be a shit mother anyway. Too fragile. Too nervous. Too hurt. Too much of everything. You'd fuck them up just by being you. You'd fuck them up the same way you've fucked up this perfectly good pack. You've brought nothing but destruction upon them. The evidence of your wreckage is everywhere. The bullets in the ceiling, the blown apart door. Your hands and Hobi's throat. All of this is because of you.

You snap back to the present, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You’re gnawing at your own leg to survive. All things that bite cannot resist it. What good does hope do at the end other than to hurt?

You can't resist asking Namjoon for more, curled around you like a protective barrier to keep out all the world's hurts (or to keep you in).

“If we went? Where would we go? If we made it- What would it be like Joonie?”

Namjoon rests his chin on your belly button and looks up at you. Completely unaware of the longing tearing its way through you, of what you’re thinking about. Not just one trip or one year, but ten or twenty or thirty.

“Maybe south, to see the cherry blossoms?”

“We couldn’t go, not without Tae- cuz of the pink, and Hobi- cuz of the flowers”

Namjoon nods, agreeing. “Yeah- she does really like anything that’s pink.” There is a Tae-shaped smile on his face, you can feel it stretching your lips too. But he shakes it off, head bowed before you. Eyes closed against the image.

“Still, somewhere safe and quiet just for us, just for you and I to take a deep breath and-” Namjoon trails off, looking up at you. His eyes sparkle with the idea of it, all the little moments he’s picturing.

A private morning where he wakes up to just you. Where you hog his warm spot and his pillow in the chilly spring air. Your cold toes pressed to his shins with nothing to do but appreciate each other and take your loving slow and intentional. Your body and his body and all the space and laughter that you want in between. An idyllic picture of two young people quietly in love. Gently in it.

After almost losing all of it, he wants the chance to properly appreciate you one-on-one. The others too- but they’re asleep, and sleeping vessels cannot reply to Namjoon’s daydreams. You are the only one awake.

(In Namjoon's fantasy, he'll give each of his packmates a different trip. every one of them even if it's just the ones he's recently almost lost that have him thinking of these particular plans.

Hobi would want just a day trip. Namjoon knows the alpha doesn’t really like to be separated from the pack for all that long, a few hours sure. Maybe to some vintage stores that he’s been eyeing to the city or the botanical garden.

Seokjin he’d take somewhere grand and big and full of adventure, maybe to 6 Flags or something. Jin likes to be reminded that he’s allowed to be a kid again, that he doesn’t always have to look after everyone all the time. That he has Namjoon to lean on.

Tae, he’d take somewhere gilded just as she is, like teatime at the Ritz- or maybe abroad to the castle of Versailles. The hall of mirrors and a million pictures of Tae in pretty dresses, twirling. In Namjoon’s head- he watches her turn and flutter slowly like a top. Spinning and spinning).

But none of that is quite your style. You don't really crave outings or adrenaline or gilded things. Your wants are much more simple maybe- because you've always known how priceless quiet and peace is. Gentleness is all you've ever really wanted- not excitement or acclaim or ego.

“A little cabin somewhere in the mountains, a spot for just us. We wouldn’t even have to do anything, A staycation. A night or two.” As the world spins on, you are who Namjoon craves to be still with.

You swallow hard, lingering, still half leaning over him still. Letting him nose at your jaw and purr.

“That would be so nice Joonie."

You swallow, throat thick with something. You lean forward pressing a kiss- too brief, to his lips, Namjoon’s lips part and he breathes gently. You blink back the glassiness in your eye and hope that Namjoon dismisses it as the light from the moon streaming through one of the skylights. All white and black. Wrenching you through something that feels like film. You commit the feel of him and the sound of his voice to memory and then pull back.

“I really need to get a glass of water.”

Namjoon shifts to get up, to come with you, but you just laugh at him and push at his shoulder, he flops back onto the bed.

“I can go on my own Joonie.” He grumbles but stays put. Nosing at the goosebumps on your arms and leaning to retrieve Hobi’s sweatshirt from where you left it in the nest. It smells like sleeping pups and Jin. Milky and soft and safe. Namjoon’s body shivers happily when he sees you put it on.

You squirm out from between his legs. His palm stays wrapped around the tips of your fingers. They slide out of his a little, and then all the way.

“It’s not safe.” You heave a tired sigh, what he thinks is a tired sigh but is actually you trying your hardest not to cry. You lean over him to grab the gun from where it’s rested against the nesting barrier. Getting your phone while you’re at it and sliding it into the pocket of your sweatshirt.

“Is that better?” Namjoon grumbles but still lets you go. Sitting there on the edge of your nest and guarding the others. You look back at him from the top of the stairs and smile.

The house is quiet, with no creeks on the stairs and no winds blowing across the roof. No sound at all in the house beyond your quiet footsteps that Namjoon listens to as you go down the stairs.

Feeling every second of your distance like the sluggish beat of his heart, thump thump thump. Namjoon looks back to look at his pack. Their bodies curled and resting, so gentle in sleep. After a few minutes, there are footsteps on the stairs, small soft ones.

Thump.

“They’re so beautiful” Namjoon comments to you. Waiting for reply.

The silence gnashes its teeth, still hungry.

When Namjoon turns back, it’s not you standing at the top of the stairs- just Noodle with his tail raised high. His yellow eyes glow almost florescent in the darkness, meowing and hissing so loud it might wake the others.

“Noodle, quiet.” The cat just doesn’t quit, batting at Namjoon’s ankles, claws and all. “Noodle- hush.” He scoops up the fussy cat, but Namjoon’s only reward is some claws to his forearms and some more squirming.

Downstairs, he hears a sound that makes him pause. Instincts going from at peace to on edge.

Thump

The front door opens and closes softly with a soft click of the metal doorknob.

Thump

Namjoon goes to the top of the stairs, holding Noodle in his arms before the cat squirms and falls to the floor with a thud. “Pup?” he calls, hushed. You don’t respond. Only silence greets him, sated at last.

Thump, breath, thud.

Namjoon waits a moment, listening for a response that doesn't come before he goes down the stairs, Noodle nearly trips him on the way down, hissing and pacing back and forth in front of the door. The ground floor of the house is completely absent of you- absent of anyone friend or foe. The room is soaked in the blue darkness of morning that is not quite dawn. The white countertops are unassuming and the plates stay in their places.

Thud.

The couch still has its dark spot from where Jin cleaned it. The tangerines are safely in the bowl back on the counter shining like several small suns or planets. Everything is empty empty empty.

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

Namjoon checks the shoe rack. Your sneakers are missing, the same ones that match Hobi's and usually sit side by side with his. The spot where they should be empty.

Thud

Your wallet is missing from the bowl just inside the door.

Thud

Namjoon looks out onto the street and finds it empty.

Thud thud thud

Namjoon does not panic, Namjoon does not head out onto the street and chase you down- maybe he should have. He should have done any number of things. The sun is just barely rising turning the sky into that honey blue-green color and Namjoon just stands there and stares.

Namjoon is frozen. What kind of alpha is he- why kind of alpha freezes instead of fights or flights?

Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud

A few minutes pass and something must tip off the packmates upstairs- either the empty nest or the sound of Noodle yowling and quite literally trying to bite Yoongi's ear off.

The next thing Namjoon is aware of is Yoongi is on the stairs, looking pissed off, looking terrified. almost falling down them with the speed at which he descends.

He takes the stairs down two at a time, colliding with Namjoon at the bottom of them. He looks like a puffed-up cat, hair wild and eyes equally as glaring as Noodles when he shakes Namjoon, just a little. “Where is she? Namjoon? Where did she go? Where is my mate!?"

Is it Yoongi's scent- acrid and angry- that knocks him out of his stupor? Or is it the top of his ruffled head almost colliding with the bottom of Namjoon’s jaw when the beta shakes him again.

Namjoon stutters, panic making him inarticulate. So scared he repeats it twice. "I don't know- I don't know, I- she said she was just getting a glass of water. I swear-"

Yoongi's fists tangle in the front of Namjoon's shirt. He sounds sick with it. Voice twisting in pitch.

"You were supposed to keep an eye on her- you weren't supposed to let her out of your fucking sight.”

There are other people on the stairs, roused by the sound of raised voices. A lone light flicked on sends everyone into yellow chiaroscuro. Namjoon is still staring at the street, heart thundering quicker than your footsteps as you run. The streetlights wink out behind you as you go. Fleeing with the night and bowing under the weight of oncoming daylight. Running as fast as your body can carry you.

Could he catch up if he started running now?

It's Jungkook, his dark hair pushed up at the side where it rested against the nest, who asks, “What happened?What’s going on?”

Tae’s eyes dart between Yoongi and Namjoon, her pink silk dressing gown wrapped tight around her shoulders. “Where’s the pup?”

"Yeah Namjoon, where the fuck is my mate??" Yoongi grits his teeth, shaking Namjoon so hard it almost knocks him off his feet and sends him careening a little into the narrow dresser table that the pack keeps by the door for gloves and mittens and keys and wallets.

“I don’t know, I don’t-"

Jungkook and Tae have just spilled out from the stairs into the entryway when Yoongi’s hands hit his shoulders, pushing and then digging into Namjoon’s skin. He’s shaking so hard he can hardly speak.

“You were supposed to be watching her. You were supposed to make sure she was safe-”

“Yoongi- hey- Stop” Tae’s not shaking anymore when gets her hands on his shoulders pulling him away from namjoon where he simmers. Jin is still asleep upstairs. Hasn’t been roused by all the tense voices. Too tired from yesterday- from staying up to scrub blood with Yoongi.

Jungkook skitters to the door as Jimin and hobi descend the steps. nearly bouncing on his heels as he opens the front door letting in a gush of cold air. “What are we waiting for? lets go."

Yoongi's face crumples. “I don’t get it, where did she go- why would she have-”

Hoseok swallows but talks softly, the swelling’s gone down enough even though the bruises look a million times worst in the sunlight streaming through the window. It’s not even 6am yet. His soft hiss is gentle, but the pack pauses to hear it.

“A deal- I think she made a deal.”

It's the first words he’s been able to speak since the attack. Vocal cords straining with every word. Everyone quiets to listen to Hobi. Jimin’s got the shotgun in his hands. He leans it up against the doorway. The heavy thunk punctuates the shocked quiet- but hobi continues.

“When the man was here- she tried to barter our lives with hers." Everyone looks to Tae. And her eyes lower to the floor.

“She did say that but I didn’t think she was serious, I just thought-”

The conversation is a flurry, everyone talking over each other as conversation explodes. Yoongi's face twists from devastated to enraged. “Jesus fucking Christ- that stupid stupid-”

Jungkook clings to Jimin's t-shirt, “What are we going to do? Hyung- what should we-”

Jimin hasn't spoken a word yet, and softly draws Jungkook's hands away from his shirt. “Where would she even have even gone?"

“Did someone pick her up?” Hobi’s words seem to ring out, even though his voice is so fragile.

Namjoon shakes his head. “No- I was listening, I didn’t hear any car in the road- not for like the whole hour.”

“So, you were listening enough to hear the street but not to stop her from literally walking away from us, great. Good to know Namjoon.”

“Yoongi that is like- the opposite of helpful.”

“There's still the matter of where would she have gone. She didn't take a car-” Hoseok looks up in Tae’s direction. She sees the realization light across his face.

“Hobi?”

But Hoseok ignores her, lurching to the small cabinet by the front door; the pack’s drop-off points for their keys, their wallets and your fuzzy little purse from your first ever date with jimin and tae as well as a good slice of Tae’s collection of little red pocketbooks. They keep their things this way because Namjoon loses his keys at least once a month a nd having a communal spot always helps the general disorder of having 8 people live in one house.

Hoseok scrambles not for your wallet but for his.

He reaches for his wallet. Opening it and searching but-

The train ticket is gone.

Your train ticket- the one that you gave Hobi for safekeeping so many months ago is missing from where he usually keeps it in the last slot. Right next to that folded poem of Tae's and an old gift card. In its place is just a simple folded note, a new piece of paper that hasn’t been worn soft at the edges yet. Torn from the same pad of paper that Jin writes the grocery list on. Hoseok’s hands shake as they fish it out. 5 words that aren’t nearly enough.

I’m sorry, I love you.

You’d never told him that- that you loved him. Not after you’d had sex and he’d confessed. Not in the tangle of moments that followed with Jimin bloody and the pack breaking. You’d never spilled your heart to him that way. In the back of his head, he realizes that there just hadn’t been time.

This is the first time you’ve told Hoseok you love him and maybe the last. Hoseok’s heart beats quick. She loves me. Thump. She loves me. Thump. She loves-

Hoseok shoots off like a bullet out the open door, thundering across the porch slats. Too fast for the rest of the sleepy pack to properly anticipate and follow. Peering out after him, a little sluggish and a lot shocked. His socks skid and slip as he tries to arrest his momentum and almost falls as He doubles back for his shoes.

The rest of the pack stares down at him blankly as he tugs them on, sprawled there on the floor just outside the door. Hands shaking too much for bunny-eared loops. He doesn’t even bother to lace them before he’s lunging for his car keys in the bowl too. Nearly knocking over the table in his haste.

“The train station- she’s going to the train station.” He gasps.

The words you shared that night ring in his head, playing on repeat. Like a record that’s been scratched too many times. He’s replayed those moments too many times. He’s not sure if he remembers it correctly.

“Give me one chance, let me try to convince you to stay and if I can’t- then I’ll let you go, and I won’t tell Yoongi what train you took.”

The countless times you’d joked with him after that, the moment so light that Hoseok didn’t notice the weight behind them.

“You still got that train ticket?”

“Of course I do.”

Hoseok never thought that you’d use it. He thought that the ticket would have stayed frayed and pretty in his wallet until you framed it or something. Until you could look back on it and laugh and say things like “remember that night? Remember how it used to be before we loved each other?”

“No, I don’t, can you remind me?”

This is not that, this is not the future that Hoseok had imagined for the two of you. This abject terror. Suddenly Hoseok is unmoored, suddenly he is falling. Usually, you can see the end from a mile away. Is it worse if you lose the person you love because of circumstance or because they decide to leave on their own? Hoseok never thought you'd actually do it.

Hoseok thought your promise last night meant something. Later when he’s not so scared he’ll remember that he’s angry about that.

The rest of the pack explodes too. Jungkook doesn’t bother to put on his shoes- just heaves Hobi up by his shoulders and pushes him towards his car. Yoongi snatches both of their pairs from the floor and joins them. Cold feet on the small pea-gravel driveway. Jimin darts forward wrenching off his arm sling regardless of Namjoon’s protests.

“I’ll drive” Jimin doesn’t have to wrestle with Hoseok’s keys for long. Even with his hands numb Jimin is still the best driver. He won’t pull corners or care about hitting curbs. He reeves it with a roaring purr while the rest get in and looks at Tae in the rearview mirror. Standing on the porch looking breakable and not all there still. Her eyes on his have that same peculiar weight, the same weight that makes Jimin’s blood sing with purpose.

If there was ever someone that Tae needed, it was you. Not Jimin. He will haul you back from the edge of hell if he needs to, for her. because this is not the ending that you and tae deserve. Jimin will tear you from hell. Teeth and sin and all.

Jungkook has barely shut the door before Jimin peals out, reversing until the tires screech against the asphalt and leave dark lines in their wake. Tire tracks, strings of fate, shoelaces. He shoots off down the street and out of sight, knocking over a trash bin with a clang and leaving Tae and Namjoon back on the porch.

Hoseok knows the name of the station you were most likely to go to but not how to get to it. It's an 15 minute walk, maybe a 10 minute run and it's already been 8 since you left. Jimin points his car in the direction of the main road while he pulls it up on his cell phone.

With every sharp turn Yoongi and Jungkook slosh in the back seat and hit into each other. Some early morning commuter honks his horn at Jimin but he doesn’t even see them. The scenery flickering by and the asphalt melting away underneath the wheels of Hoseok’s red car. The small grey towns melt away, Break lights bleeding less than they should. The engine stutters and engages but no one cares about the uneven acceleration. Hoseok would total this car in a heartbeat if it meant getting you in time.

At the straightaway Jungkook stoops to slip his feet into his shoes, Yoongi holding his shoulder. The phone in between them slides on the leather seat, spitting out its electronic voice, overly cheerful.

"Re-routing!"

“Wait Minnie- go left.”

“Fuck!” Jimin makes the turn just barely, sparks skittering and burning out as he goes over one of those tiny reflective dividers. Hoseok curses every pothole for damaging their momentum and slowing them down.

“Are you sure? Are you sure that it’s this station that she'd go to?” Hoseok’s heart is thundering in his ears, beating furious and fast.

“Almost positive.” Yoongi holds onto the back of Hoseok’s chair to keep himself in place.

“We have to get to her before she gets to the city. Can’t you go any faster?” Jimin jerks the wheel around a flashy BMW. Almost hitting them with how close he gets. Jimin lets the speedometer answer Yoongi's question. Pushing 60 in a 35 and then 70.

Your note is crumpled tight in Hoseok's fist, a tiny bit of yellow paper that he unfolds and looks at before shoving deep within the confines of his jacket.

Yoongi is not looking at hoseok when he says his next sentence. Hoseok's not even thinking about his old pack, he's just thinking about the fact that you love him and he never got to hear you say it. Not when Yoongi pulls himself almost between his and Jimin’s seat and repeats the same to Jimin again, the same only different.

Thud.

“We have to get to her before Moonbyul does, if she gets to her- I don't know what I'll be able to do Minnie- even with the power that I have Moonbyul still has more-”

Hobi’s flinch is visceral, jerking like he's shocked.

He turns around to look at Yoongi as Jimin blows through a stop sign and then a red light. Jungkook winces and doesn’t say anything. Pushing Yoongi’s shoes across the seat. “Hyung- you should get ready to run.”

Hoseok and Yoongi look at each other. Hoseok's turned almost all the way around in his seat to stare at Yoongi- more specifically Yoongi’s mouth. He’s not sure if Jimin’s painkillers would make him hallucinate but that’s the only logical reason his brain can come up with after hearing that name- her name- come out of Yoongi’s mouth.

“What?"

Jimin's voice is deathly quiet. "Hoseok- turn the fuck around. If I get into an accident at this speed you will die if you're not facing forward to the airbag."

Hoseok turns back to face the road. Jimin grips the wheel so hard his knuckles are white. “Thank you.”

The sunlight is just cresting the tops of the trees. Dotting the scenery blue and yellow. Hoseok’s ears are ringing with her name.

Yoongi pulls himself closer to Hoseok, hands still gripping the headrest, the only thing that keeps him from bobbing and moving with the movement of the car. Eyes locked on Hoseok's face in the rearview mirror.

"I said something- I said something and you're having a thought."

"I fucking hope so-" Jungkook's quip goes unnoticed. Unnoticed through the volley of honking horns as the red car tares through the street. By some miracle, they haven’t passed a cop car yet.

Hoseok looks in the rearview mirror, at Yoongi’s face. Biting his lower lip. “It’s nothing just that name.”

Hoseok looks at Yoongi and all he can think about is how he'd never said- he'd never told Yoongi their names. Saying them or even thinking them reminds Hoseok too much of his own begging. What kind of alpha begs for an omega to hurt them- to stay?

Yoongi just about puts himself in the front seat of the car as Jimin breaks hard to navigate around a tractor-trailer. Riding on the shoulder, the rumble strips vibrating all of them hard and roaring just like Hoseok’s blood thundering through his ears.

“Moonbyul? Moon Byul-yi? You know it?”

Hoseok shivers, the reaction of his body route, unavoidable. Jarring. Trauma builds itself into your bones whether you like it or not. Triggers are not so much a part of you as they are a light switch that makes the worst parts of you turn on.

"Yeah- I do. It’s the name of my ex-pack omega.” Now it’s Jimin’s turn to be distracted, and he almost gets into an accident for his troubles. They’re silent for a second, Yoongi and Jimin look at each other.

“It could be the same name.”

Yoongi scrambles for his phone on the seat right as Jimin makes a turn and it goes flying. He finds it underneath Hoseok’s seat, hands slippery with sweat on it.

“Hang on, I think I have a picture of her somewhere.”

Yoongi scrolls all the way to the back in his phone. Switches to Instagram, going back and back and back through time, and then he's sticking it in Hoseok's face.

Seeing her face feels like Yoongi’s slapped him. Her face is on Yoongi's phone. Why is her face on Yoongi’s phone? Her hair is longer than it was when they dated, she must not have cut it since. But it's definitely her.

Hoseok feels like he's spinning, it's been so long since he's seen her face but it's definitely the one from his nightmares, the one he sees grinning and crooning false praises that have stuck to Hoseok's soul like glue. The face that he sees behind his eyes and sees in every criticizing comment only on his bad days. She's standing shoulder to shoulder with Yoongi, both of them in black suits along with a man that looks enough like Yoongi for him to guess that that's his brother, your ex-husband.

Your abuser and his and Yoongi in between them. Hoseok can only hear ringing in his ears, he knows he sounds accusatory when he snaps. "How the fuck do you know my ex-pack omega?"

“She’s my cousin. Are you sure that's her?”

Hoseok feels like he’s spinning. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

“I thought you said your old pack was all omega’s?” Yoongi knows Hoseok’s lore, knows it like he knows the back of his hand. He looks up, hair falling across his face. Hoseok frowns jabbing his finger at the phone.

“I did. She’s an omega.”

The dissonance hits him and Yoongi almost wants to disagree but then-

Hoseok watches the lightbulb go off, Yoongi’s eyes widening imperceptibly as he paws at the phone and Hoseok’s hand. The car sickness lurches in his stomach as he turns to look back at Yoongi, and the g force hits him as Jimin takes another turn Impossibly fast. The seatbelt across Hobi’s chest engages with a click, digging into his skin and the bruises on his neck with a painful jerk.

“Are you sure? Hoseok- you have to be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

This is all a game of leverage. A game of who knows what secret and what gets exchanged for whom. Yoongi spent most of last night wondering about Moonbyul's motivation, and now he knows why.

Hoseok is holding onto Yoongi’s phone, they’re hands gripping it together. “Is this who she’s going too? The one who tried to kill us? Is-” Hoseok has to swallow to get the words out right. “Is Moonbyul the one trying to take her?”

“Yes.”

Hoseok shivers, eyes darkening, scent spiraling wildly. His muscles trembling as he thinks about it. You and Moonbyul.

Yoongi pulls himself around Jimin’s headrest. Hand on his throat, digging into his scent gland. He doesn't have time to explain to them.

Only alphas can lead the family, only alphas can rule. If Moonbyul isn't one- that calls into question the legitimacy of her rule. The families would never stand to see an omega on the throne, she'd be ousted, probably killed for daring to lie. The families would tear her apart piece by piece and Yoongi would let them.

If Moonbyul is the person who hurt Hobi- and now she's going after you- that's two people that Yoongi loves that she's directly hurt. Yoongi is thinking all sorts of dangerous things. But they have to get to you first.

If Moonbyul isn't an alpha then Yoongi's just found his leverage and maybe the whole reason why the pack was targeted in the first place.

A packmate for a secret. Yoongi imagines the worst-case scenario; Don't tell and I won't hurt her. Don’t tell anyone and she lives.

How long had she stewed and festered- knowing that Hoseok was out there- knowing that he knew the secret that could lead to her undoing. Maybe she thought his knowing would never come back to bite her, and had intended on tying up the loose end later. Maybe she didn't know Hoseok had found his way into Yoongi's arms until after the old Don and Beta had died. She probably thought that they’d never put it together- at least not until it was too late.

Whatever her reasons, this has gone on long enough.

Yoongi opens his mouth, but Hoseok’s body is taught like a spring-loaded and ready to burst. His voice a near growl.

“Jimin, I need you to drive.”

~-~

Tae and Namjoon are left standing there on the porch. Namjoon left staring after them as they hurl away from the house. Running his hands through his hair hard. Thinking of what to do until-

Tae tugs on his sleeve, “Your phone- Joonie- you should call her.”

“Right- fuck-” Namjoon goes and gets it, and comes back to stand with Tae on the porch. “Come on- come on pick up.” Namjoon paces back and forth on the front porch, the snowmelt from the roof drips out an uneven rhythm onto the railing. the cold spray hitting his stress-warm skin.

Tae stands by the door. Frozen, a statue of Namjoon’s distress. Inside, Namjoon hears a voice. Jin coming down the stairs, probably roused by the sound of the car screeching out of the driveway and down the road.

“Tae? Where is everybody?”

“Pup’s being stupid. The others left to go get her before she’s like- really really stupid.”

Jin freezes in the doorway, fist rubbing his eye. He sounds smaller and younger than Namjoon’s ever heard him. “Am I having a bad dream?” namjoon's pacing stutters and then starts up again. Jin doesn't need him right now, Jin he can help later.

Tae takes Jin's hand and leads him to the outdoor furniture. The cushions have to be damp but they sit anyway. Tae pulls her knees under her and rests her cheek on Jin's shoulder. “That’s what I thought too at first.”

Namjoon almost sobs when he hears it- the click of the dial tone and a single breath. He can hear the thud of the train in the background, the hiss of pressure against the scratchy speaker.

“Pup? oh thank god, stay where you are- the others are-”

“Namjoon? Joonie stop- I didn’t pick up so that you could convince me to come back. I only picked up because I never said goodbye.”

Namjoon freezes, and he feels like the snowmelt from the roof has just dripped down his back. Growing frigid more with each word. If there was ever a question on if you’d gone willingly or been taken- it was answered with that.

“Pup, come home right now or I swear to god-”

“No! For once you’re going to listen!” You’ve only shouted at him a handful of times and he’s hardly ever heard you sound so serious.

"No- you can't-"

“Namjoon, The second you say anything to try and convince me to stay is the moment I hang up, so what is it gonna be?”

Namjoon goes silent and stops his pacing. Holding the phone so hard it feels like the plastic and metal might break.

Namjoon’s very being hinges on every syllable you say, Like the ocean hinges on the moon. Water tethered and kept from the shore by something as simple as gravity. Tae is right there. Tae is watching the driveway not saying anything with that same blank look Namjoon has seen on your face countless times.

All at once Namjoon is reminded of you in the summertime back when he first met you and trauma had you all quiet. Staring off into space in much the same way. Small and fragile and worth saving. You’ve always been that for him; worth saving.

Jin scrubs a hand across his face, clearing himself of the last little bits of sleep. He holds out his hand for the phone, but Namjoon doesn’t give it to him just paces right by him as he listens to you.

“I only picked up the phone because I have some things that I want to say to you.”

You sound more settled and less angry but just as resigned and convicted of what you're doing. Like no part of you doubts your choices. Namjoon wishes you sounded angry, that you sounded sad, but you don’t sound like any of those things.

“I'm not leaving because I think I don't deserve a life with you and the pack. I’m not leaving because I think that I’m not worth your love. I’m leaving because for the first time I know that I am.

“For the first time I understand why Yoongi left and why he didn’t come back until he knew it would be safe. Because when you love something the way that I love you, you’ll do anything to protect them. Can you really blame me Joonie? For doing what you might have done?”

You continue on like you’re not wrenching Namjoon’s heart clean from his chest. Like you’re not a hurricane on his very being- dark and thunderous tearing through him as impersonal as wind. Namjoon’s heart thuds and thuds and thuds.

“Before I leave you, I want you to know that if I loved you less- I might have stayed.”

Namjoon’s lungs ache, ache and sting and swell with words he can’t say, he can’t breathe. His mouth screwed into a soundless sob. He actually might be having a panic attack. He's never had one before- he's not sure if he knows what one feels like. If it's like this- if it's like this he can understand why people call them an attack.

It's frantic, like he's chewing off his own leg to get out of your words. The panic is so terrible. Namjoon hasn't been this scared since he was a child. At least Yoongi had the fucking decency not to make his leaving so visceral.

Namjoon is bent over, tears dripping down his nose, sagging almost to his knees. “Why are you doing this to us!? To me!”

Something jiggles the phone, something that makes your voice all warbly- Namjoon imagines you on the train in a window seat. Resting your cheek against the balmy glass while you talk to him. Staring out at the scenery racing by. Hurtling towards your future like a comet or maybe an asteroid (something more destructive- more appropriate for the wretchedness filling Namjoon’s lungs like tar, the desiccated bodies of the dreams he had for you and the plans he made with you in mind clogging his lungs and making it hard to breathe).

Who knows, maybe off between the trees and the road, you see a red car zooming, trying to keep pace with the train.

Namjoon’s heart feels like it’s skipping too many beats.

“Something Jin told me the other day got stuck in my head and I keep thinking about it, would you like to hear it?”

You take his silence for permission and Namjoon does not turn to look at Jin and Tae sitting on the outdoor furniture. They just sit there; they don't do anything. Namjoon wishes there was something they could do or something he could barter for your safe return but you already have all of him and all of him wasn't enough to make you stay.

“Jin showed me this little article the other day- a few weeks ago now. He can tell you it in more detail but basically, it was about these mice.”

Namjoon struggles to say something- unsure where you’re going with this but desperate to keep you on the line. At least until the others get to you. Drinking down your voice, the whisper of your breath, everything.

“They made like- two test groups, they wanted to measure like- willpower- or how long they would try to live before they gave up. It’s kinda dark I guess. I'm not a good judge of things like that you know.”

Your laugh is the prettiest and saddest thing that Namjoon’s ever heard. He wants to record it and save it for later like some hidden track and he never wants to hear it again.

“Anyways- they put the mice and a bucket of water and timed how long it took for them to stop swimming, to stop trying to live. They’d try for a little while but give up pretty quickly. Like- an hour. That’s how much will to live that they had: an hour’s worth of it.”

Namjoon breaks, shouting, “I don’t want to talk about mice I want to talk about getting you the fuck home!”

Namjoon can hear your smile in your voice, And no-no-no you won’t even let him fight- you won’t even let him snap at you and engage with it. Namjoon’s seen you sad, he’s seen you defeated. He’s seen you so hungry you could hardly hold your head up. But seeing you convicted of this punishment is worse than anything.

“Anyway- they just killed the first group for a baseline. But with the second group just before they died- just before they went underwater- They took them out of the water and dried them off.”

Your voice goes hushed at the end. The morning sunlight cuts across the top of the house yellow. The tree too- it’s early morning- Namjoon’s favorite time of day and he won’t be ever able to properly enjoy it again. Won’t ever be able to wake up at this time of day and not think about the morning you left.

“They let them rest and gave them some food.”

Namjoon feels like he’s about to have a heart attack, blood thumping and hitting against his ribcage. Bullying out the flowers and the butterflies in his stomach.

“Cuddled them a little.”

Namjoon stands at the doorway to the pack den. Hands so tight in their fists that they ache and ache. Namjoon’s hands have saved countless people’s lives before, and they’ve saved yours too- but right now they just hurt.

“And when they put them back in,”

Noodle meows dolefully from the door, swatting at Jin’s ankles and then purring around Tae’s. Namjoon’s knees are shaking.

“They lasted for a whole 12 hours longer. Because they thought they might be saved. Because they had some love to remember. They were able to last for a lot longer than they would have otherwise.”

His face is screwed something terrible with how hard he’s sobbing. How is it that just an hour ago you were safe in his arms, talking about getting away from here. Just an hour ago. It's still 5am a time zone away, if Namjoon got on a plane and flew there- would you still be safe? Is there any way to turn back time?

You only get to love people for as long as you get and not a second more. You get what you get and you don't get upset. Yoongi might have been your lifeblood, the air in your lungs and your reason for existing, but you’d still be that fragile creature close to drowning if it wasn’t for Namjoon.

“Namjoon?” You say his name once and then softer, a croon. “Joonie.”

He's sobbing too hard to see, “Don’t-”

“Thank you for drying me off.”

The phone clicks and disconnects.

Namjoon falls to the stairs, ass in a puddle but none of him cares. He remembers the first day he heard you speak, sitting on these stairs while he helped Yoongi fix the railing. Namjoon remembers the summer heat and feeling scared for you for the first time- because the railing felt so rickety and the last thing he wanted was for you or Jungkook or Hobi to fall. Namjoon is the one who is falling, hurtling towards destruction that stops and ends with his heart.

His hands hurt. He remembers laughing with the others and stealing sips of sweet tea. Nibbling on the sour lemons, sweaty and hot and dusty. His eyes feel like they’re going to fall out of his head with how hard he’s crying. He remembers that you’d poked his dimples and called them pretty, he remembers feeling tired after but fulfilled for it.

One scene in summer and the other in winter now. At the beginning of a relationship and now at the end. The stairs still creek, the wind still blows and Namjoon's hands are still sweaty.

Namjoon sobs loudly and it echos across the empty cul-de-sac gut-wrenching. People cry differently when they lose people they love. Namjoon has heard people cry like this after he’s told them bad news, no sign of brain activity. We did everything that we could. I'm so sorry. It sounds different now that it’s coming out of his own mouth.

He actually might pass out with how hard he’s breathing. Teeth dig into his lower lip so hard he tastes blood. He’s still holding the phone to his ear. “Pup- wait- I love you- you can’t do this to us- to me.” But you’ve already hung up on him.

The dial tone tears through him like a bullet. Namjoon should be bleeding, broken hearts don't hurt this much without blood. People don’t hurt this much without actual wounds.

Eventually, something touches his back, a soft furry creature that only makes Namjoon sob harder as Noodle bullies his way under Namjoon’s arm and licks at his fingertips. Before long there’s hands on him. Jin and Tae pull him up and onto the furniture. One hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder. Jin grabs his wrist. Circling it gently before he holds his hands and nudges them until they relax from their clenched fists.

Namjoon cries.

Together they watch the road and wait for the others to return.

~-~

(Hidden playlist ▶ Play track?)

“Shit!”

They miss the first train by just a few seconds. It screeches away from the platform when Jungkook gets out of the car. Standing there for a breath and watching it pull away. The metal thud screech of it drowns out Yoongi’s voice.

Jimin hits the wheel and growls before he revs the engine and turns, almost hitting a fire hydrant with how quick and jerky he backs up and accelerates. Leaning forward through the window to snap at Jungkook.

“Get back in the fucking car!”

Jungkook does, the door barely latching and almost swinging free as Jimin peels out of the parking lot. Slamming back shut when Jimin does a near 180 to accelerate back onto the main road.

“Sorry hyung,” Yoongi doesn’t need to reply- they all know that every second matters.

Jimin almost collides with a car stopped at the light before he drives on the shoulder, spinning around them. The train matches the road at this part of the tracks so it’s easy to follow it. They keep pace with it as Jimin pushes 70 miles an hour and then 80.

Jimin keeps the gas pedal well acquainted with the floor until they're going faster than the train. Weaving in and out of traffic back and forth, getting honked at and almost cut off several times. Leaving his packmates to grip to seats and their handles. Worried about getting thrown off but still- not wearing their seatbelts.

“We’re never going to make it! It’s too fast! We’re going to hit traffic soon!” The closer they get to the city the less likely it is that they'll be able to catch up to you. It's nearly early morning rush hour, another 30 minutes and these roads will be at a standstill.

“Hang on- let me see the map,” Hoseok watches Yoongi look at it.

“If we go to the next station, we won’t make it. But, if we try to go to the one after that and cut it off-” A look around the car says everyone agrees with Yoongi. Jimin steps on it, and there are a terrifying few minutes where Jimin’s driving skills honestly make them all count their prayers and promise things to gods that they’re already not fond of- but when they skitter and screech into the next station he hears it.

“The next inbound train will be arriving shortly, please collect your belongings. And remember-“

Hoseok is hot on the announcements heals. Sliding to get out of the car before it’s really stopped. “If we miss this one just go to the next station without us-”

“-if you see something say something.”

The train is coming- Hoseok can see the lights about a 100 feet down the tracks and it's moving fast. Yoongi almost makes to get out but Hoseok just shoves him back inside. Jungkook gets out of the car too, bolting in the direction of the stairs. “Hoseok-”

“Yoongi- Just go!”

There are maybe three flights of stairs up, then 50 feet across the tracks, and then the same amount of steps down. He and Jungkook book it up them. Making every second count. Hurtling through time and air. Ignoring the sore and tired pulse of their muscles. They’re clearing the top step and the train is below them. A silver bullet careening and destined to do damage but slowing down.

They bolt across the landing past the ticket kiosk and through the push doors. The train is stopping with a hiss of breaks and a screech of metal. A release of pressurized air that billows up to them warm carrying with it the smell of tar and city.

Hoseok’s lungs are burning. Jungkook is usually faster by just a little bit and would be on any ordinary day. They might be roughly the same height but Hoseok doesn't do cardio nearly as often as Jungkook does. Jungkook's the one who runs every day, who does cardio like it's sleeping and marathons like they're mid-afternoon naps. Who works out and hones his body to a lethal edge just because he can.

But he doesn’t run like Hoseok does.

Hoseok runs like his life depends on it- the same way you would run if he was walking into Geumjae’s arms. You’d never let Geumjae touch even a hair on Hoseok’s head and if- if Moonbyul is who you’re going to- then there is more at stake than just your phsyical safety, too much at stake for Hoseok to be held back by his body.

Hoseok thinks of the tiramisu. Of walking with you on the beach. Of making your nightime stacks just the way you like it. Of holding you that one time you almost fell into the water. Telling you that you had to be careful. Hoseok remembers driving out in his car, tugging your seatbelt to make sure it fit snug. Standing with you side by side in the flower refrigerators at work and the feeling the first time you’d rubbed your scent gland to his. Every playlist of his with your name on it, every song that you ever shared. All of that- she’s going to destroy all of that if Hoseok doesn’t get to you in time.

He remembers how small she made him feel. How small you were when he first saw you. He won’t let you get that way again. Hoseok won’t let you disappear.

Jungkook is the one who would win this race on any other day, where the stakes any different, but just this once Hoseok is faster. Hurling himself over the concrete as fast as his body will take him. Hoseok cuts through the air like wind.

They run, feet thumping. Bodies thudding, hearts and lungs delivering oxygen to their needy muscles. Beat-up sneakers gripping the concrete. Down and down the stairs, plummeting. Almost tripping and falling on the slippery concrete steps. The doors start to close just as they round the corner.

By some miracle of blood and sweat, Hobi's the one who overtakes Jungkook. The doors are closing and the train's metal shell is beginning to hum and vibrate as it makes to pull away from the tracks.

In a last-ditch effort, Hoseok throws himself in the direction of the closing doors.

~-~

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Do i think that hobi could have actually warned the pack what she was planning to do? Yes. Do I also think that he thought he had more time to warn them and really wanted to sleep off his near death experience? also yes. Namjoon giving him drugs obviously didn't help. i honestly don't think he was thinking clearly.

this is one of those chapters where everything could have gone differently if they'd just been given a little bit more- but i digress- we all know life isn't so neat and tidy.

I can't not write thinking about the angsty alternative ending for bily- but you guys should know the namjoon/m/c scene...if things had gone poorly in this chapter- this would have been the last time they spoke or touched each other for 3 years- for those who are wondering about the alternative ending- i will NOT be posting any of it on AO3. Only on tumblr through asks! i'll try to tag the super triggering stuff but yeah.

when i think of namjoon and the m/c and their relationship- i think that what they want most for each other is to just see the other old and happy like- that becomes the foundation for their relationship. thats why it's namjoon who she thanks. it also doesn't escape me that yoongi is not in this chapter very much- this is intentional. just wait for next chapter and his anger! i swear its so fucking hot my god i really wanted them to fuck in the next chapter but i just don't think it's going to happen.

the og version of this chapter called for jimin parking hobi's car on the tracks and literally letting the train hit it- not derail- but just hit it. just to get it to stop for the m/c however i figured that was going a bit too far.

Me writing any part with jimin in it- "what if i added a bit of religious trauma to it?"

the line where namjoon talks about his hands hurting is like- directly related to me, because my hands didn't hurt all the time before i started writing bily but now my Knuckles hurt almost every morning. After writing for more than an hour they hurt. i guess when you love something enough it hurts you lol i don't mind.

the "you want a lifetime with them" lines are mostly a callback to like...grey's anatomy. namjoon's charecter is LOOOSELY based on mcdreamy of course the whole...neurosurgeon thing and i am 3 seasons into a re-watch so~ you will have to tollerate that cringeworthy refrence~

i've always wanted to structure a chapter around the thud and thump of a heart and yeah!! i think did a few back but i wanted to do it again~

i don't think i was very subtle with the hoseok train station and the train ticket parts of the story like- i think i forshadowed pretty heavily that it was eventually going to be used but! i hope you liked the big reveal.

how did you guys like the cliffhanger? should i spoil it for you when i've always said that bily would get a happy ending????? i mean...come on... we all know hoseok's gonna be fast enough right?

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silkscream · 4 months

Text

CHAPTER 1: I'LL BE YOUR PLASTIC TOY

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: angst, suggestiveness, making out, light bullying

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i am here to ruin everyone's lives. apologies in advance

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

March, 2008

“Hey, Twigs. Wanna see something cool?”

His honeyed voice chills your spine, his breath warm right by your ear. You roll your eyes as you turn to face Satoru, grinning with all his teeth as he tugs at your wrist.

“What is it, Satoru?” you sigh.

“You have to follow meee,” he sings, pulling you away from the table you’re setting and towards the side of the porch. It’s secluded. Private. “Bring the spoon.”

With furrowed brows, you oblige. It isn’t like you have a choice. You had followed him around like a puppy ever since you’d met him as a child. You continue to, regardless of your determination to separate yourself from him.

His favorite shadow. His little pet.

The two of you aren’t as close as you were when you were children, but it’s still impossible to refuse him when he has a request. You blame it on your mother and her professionalism. You figure you had inherited it from her. That hyper-politeness. You find that you blame the ocean blue of his eyes more often. Always sparkling.

He walks a few feet away from you, still grinning. You blink at his tall figure. He's currently dressed in a baby blue dress shirt (sleeves rolled up, of course) and black slacks. His Sunday best for the fancy brunch at the Gojo Estate. Every April, your mother summons you to help set up, then rewards you with a plate and time to play with the other kids. She would continue her work, serving the family and their guests. You would pretend that you weren’t part of the staff.

There hadn’t been a point in you staying for the afternoon in years. Only if Satoru begged you to, and even then, he hadn’t bothered to do so since junior high.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” you huff, crossing your arms. You wipe your sweaty hands on your smock.

“I’d never let you get in trouble, you know that,” he smirks. “Now, throw the spoon at me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“I want to throw way more than a spoon at you right now.”

“Relax, Twigs. Do this for me. Please?” he pouts. You can see his bright blue eyes peeking out of his black sunglasses, framed by snow-white lashes. It was unfair how pretty he was. How easily he could persuade you.

Sighing, you throw the spoon in his direction. It stops right in front of his face as if there’s an invisible wall. He laughs in victory when he sees your confused expression.

“What was that?”

“My Infinity. I’ve perfected it so that it’s automatic. Took me a lot of willpower before but now it’s as easy as breathing.”

“Congratulations,” you reply dryly.

It was typical of Satoru to be invincible. Untouchable. It had been a quality of his since birth, now manifested into a literal power to aid him against threats. You’d been on the outskirts of such threats when you were younger, but Satoru would always spare you the details.

Watching him grow in his adolescence had been like watching a sprout bloom. It shot toward the sky exponentially until it became a tree in record time. You, meanwhile, were still a sprout. A window, they’d called it. Able to see the horrors produced by human nature but unable to do anything about it.

Your head snaps up, alert when you hear your mother yelling your name from the porch. She points a hard gaze at you, then softens it when she sees Satoru.

“Satoru-kun, do you mind if I steal her for a minute? I need some extra hands for the tamagoyaki.”

Satoru nods, expressing his courtesy to your mother in his usual charming poise. It used to work on you before, but it often irks you now. The way he dazzles people to get what he wants. You would rather die than admit it was a characteristic of his that you envied.

He tugs at your braid before you walk away.

“See you later, Twigs,” he calls after you. A playful lilt to his voice.

“You won’t.”

Satoru has you memorized. Since the two of you were five years old, he considered you his mirror image, though you never believed him.

Often, when he sees you now, his heart leaps the tiniest bit in his chest the same way it did when he was thirteen. He’s gotten better at ignoring it. He’s perfected the art of ignoring you ever since high school started.

He likes to indulge during times when you’re not looking. At the moment, you’re concentrated on a flower arrangement, a blush painted on your cheeks from the heat. He’d watch you do this when you were kids, too. Your face would be in a concentrated frown, tongue peeking out. Nimble fingers perfecting an ikebana arrangement.

Sometimes he missed it. He decided long ago that it would be better if he didn’t.

You two had been inseparable since the day the Gojos' hired your mother as a maid. He remembered you hiding behind your mother’s legs, chewing on the end of one of your braids. You would stay in the guest house of the Gojo estate with your mother, and you would become Satoru’s best companion.

Both of your mothers would arrange playdates. Satoru’s mother wanted him out of her hair. Your mother wanted to work without your constant interruptions. You were needy, an only child, but Satoru would always please you with his company. It was why you adored him.

He’d show you all his toys and teach you all the games that his extended family would show him to make you feel included. He’d have you sleep in his bed, which would go under the radar until the two of you were fourteen. It would be innocent and wholesome. Satoru would show you the stars he’d learned about and you would look at him as if he’d hung them in the sky himself.

Satoru often reminisces about the shape of your body to this day. Sometimes, he misses it when he’s alone in his king-sized bed in the winter. Even with the heat on, there’s still something missing, and then he thinks of you.

When you were kids, you’d sleep together, legs and arms intertwined. Drool on the same pillow. Wake up to an abundance of pancakes from your mother.

You had been half a friend, half a plaything. Satoru’s counterpart. Feet kicking each other under the breakfast table.

At age five, you’d seen the same curse together. A harmless thing, chameleon-like, with eight legs on each side. It had a nasty face, one that you had recognized from your nightmares. It had been exciting at first, knowing that you shared the same ability as your best friend. You believed that you would grow with him and become as talented as him.

But that was an exaggeration. Satoru's parents knew how isolating it would be for their son to be the strongest. Your technique never came.

Satoru acted as your protector, then. Expelled the small, vicious curses in the corners of your room like they were bugs. You’d watch him train, his body overgrowing with knobby knees as you sat on the sidelines. And while you grew up with him, you only got smaller in his periphery. Always lesser. Always weaker.

It’s the reason you’d grown apart. At least that’s what he tells himself.

Satoru had grown into a tall, arrogant child. He treated school as a hobby and still made the highest marks, which angered you to no end. It didn’t matter to him, anyway, knowing that he’d become a company's CEO or the best jujutsu sorcerer in the world. He had his future in the palm of his hands. You were not a part of that. You weren’t even sure of a future of your own.

Sometimes he would have nightmares of you dying in his arms at the hands of a curse too big for him to control. During adolescence, he experienced many threats to his safety. He knew he couldn't live with himself. He couldn’t bear to see you endure the same.

So, without explanation, Satoru Gojo pretended you didn’t exist. He exchanged the necessary niceties in school and when you'd come over with your mother, though he'd never ask you to stay the same way he had when you were kids. He was often occupied with new friends, anyway. Often busy working on his technique. Nothing that was your business, of course.

You resented him for it.

Now, you’re enduring your last year of high school with him, and you are trying so badly to be good. You should aim to make good enough marks to attend a decent university on a decent scholarship. God knows you aren’t fit for the world of jujutsu sorcery.

In a way, you’re okay with the mundanity of your life. Satoru’s absence in your heart convinced you of that.

Satoru’s attendance at school is only an illusion of normalcy for his parents. His mother insists on it. Barely a sorcerer herself, she had wanted to give her son the option of living a normal life. With his grades and wit, she knew that he could easily be successful as a businessman or a doctor.

Despite this, Satoru knew he would enroll in Tokyo’s Jujutsu Technical College with Suguru. He had met Suguru when he was fifteen, trying to exorcise a curse that only got snatched by a dark-haired thief, one who would end up as his best friend.

Satoru saw Suguru as his only equal. He had no one else to relate to about jujutsu sorcery.

Certainly not you.

But still, he was closing another year of high school, his last. Then he could be free from his parents’ restraints. It was easy for him to be the best and make the most friends. It was a shame that he’d have to leave them all behind.

You’re a ghost in Satoru’s wake. Always near, never faltering yet never consuming too much space. As the school year progresses, he ignores you like a mosquito bite. Harmless but still itching his skin. Always reminded of your presence even when you do nothing to draw attention to yourself.

And then there are times that you do.

“I’m sorry, sensei,” you mumble, stunned in the doorway of the classroom.

It’s a nondescript weekday in May, one that’s wet with rain, which explains your damp hair and clothes. Your appearance conjures a succession of snickers. The sound of low laughter taunting you and whispers gossiping about you.

You’re too tired for it. You don’t want to be here at all.

“I’m disappointed,” your teacher relays. “You’re usually never tardy.”

“It won’t happen again,” you muster.

You hear more whispers. It hangs on your shoulders as you sit in your seat, still and heavy as you attempt to take notes.

Should’ve worn something more sheer, than she’d get the attention she wants, huh?

Nah, not like her tits are even good enough to be seen like that.

Bet she’s hiding something from all of us. Maybe we can get her to strip in the girls’ locker room and give us a show later.

“Shut the fuck up,” a voice growls. You hear it, turning your head, and your eyes fall on Satoru’s fiery blues.

You wonder if the feeling of his gaze searing into the back of your head is worth mentioning. It makes your face hotter, the flush of humiliation warming your neck as your peers snicker at you.

You manage to get through class without crying. Haru, a boy you were closer with in previous years, offers his sweatshirt to you as you collect your things.

“She’s good,” Satoru interrupts as you strip off your damp sweater. Within seconds, he has you under his arm. He ushers you out the classroom door. His oversized jacket drapes over your shoulders.

“Gojo,” you hiss. “He was just being nice.”

“Or he wanted to see you in a wet t-shirt. I don’t think white was the best move for today, by the way.”

Your face heats up when you look down. You realize the extent of skin that’s visible from the sheerness of your damp white shirt. It mortifies you more when you realize that Satoru had caught it first.

“Right. Thanks,” you mumble, hiking up your bookbag tighter on your shoulder.

“So helpless sometimes,” Satoru sighs. He shoots you a devilish smile that combats your scowling frown. “Why don’t you call me by my first name here?”

“Because we’re in school and it’s polite.”

"Twigs, are you scared of being associated with me?"

He blocks the door of your locker, leaning against it and towering over you. Satoru had always taken up as much space as possible without a care in the world. You were the opposite -– always compartmentalizing yourself to be smaller. Malleable. Amicable.

He’s too close for comfort, nearly breathing down your neck. He only moves when you kick him pathetically in the shin.

Satoru’s smile only grows bigger as you ignore him. He wonders if he could get your fuse to blow in front of him right now. This place is usually where you’re composed, regal, and expedient. One of the school’s top students.

He knew you had an edge to you, wild as you were when he had known you as a child. But you had only grown to be responsible and sensible. He thinks that his mother would be relieved if he acted more like you.

“Coming home with me or what?” Satoru quips. The way he says it makes your stomach stir. It's an almost salacious suggestion despite its innocence. Satoru always made everything sound more exciting than it was.

“Why would I?” you raise a brow.

“My mother would like to see you. She told me she had some hand-me-downs for you to try on." You know I’d love nothing more than to see you parade around my house dressed like my mother in the 70s.” He grins in amusement.

“Okay, sure, whatever.”

“Yo, Satoru!”

His head whips around to see one of his buddies, crowded around other jocks. Satoru is quick to leave you without so much as a goodbye.

July, 2008

After your semester, you end up second to Satoru. It’s no surprise to you despite how much it infuriates you. You are never anything more or less.

"Congratulations, Twigs," Satoru murmurs to you. He startles you from your thoughts. You slam your locker closed.

“Why are you still calling me that?”

“Because you’re my Twigs,” he pouts.

Yours. It’s a funny lie. Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

He pouts childishly like he always does. There’s a devilish spark in his blue eyes underneath his sunglasses, though you can barely make out his irises from his height. Satoru’s growth spurt had him at over six feet tall by the time he was sixteen. It was obvious that he’d only grow taller.

You scoff, rolling your eyes at the nickname. If you were in middle school again, the notion would warm your heart. It had been a stupid nickname he’d tease you with ever since you were both ten. You had been angry at him for reasons that escaped you, climbing up the tree in the backyard of his estate as high as you could until he begged you to come down.

You wouldn’t, of course. You were always stubborn like that, and Satoru loved it.

You were also much clumsier when you were ten, slipping your foot as you attempted to climb a different branch and falling into Satoru’s arms. It had been a miracle you didn’t break any bones, but thanks to Satoru’s freakish strength, you were unharmed. Only disheveled with leaves and twigs stuck in your frizzy hair. He had called you Twigs ever since.

“I’m not your anything. Even if my mother is still your fucking maid.”

“Aren’t you my maid, too? My little servant?” he teases.

You wonder if he knows how cruel it is, even if it’s a little joke.

“I’m nothing to you,” you mumble. You attempt to hold a faster stride on your walk home. Maybe you’d advance enough to leave him in the dust. You could be the best runner on the track team if you managed that.

But you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t. Not a chance.

“What was that?” Satoru calls after you.

“Nothing!”

“Slow down,” he whines, running fast enough to follow your stride, much to your annoyance. Him and his stupid, long legs. His taunting smile. “Don’t you wanna come over?”

“Why would I?”

“Your mom’s probably there. And we can celebrate the end of exams.”

“I have… stuff to do,” you stammer.

“No, you don’t,” Satoru chuckles. “The semester’s over. Summer’s here, baby.”

“Don’t call me that!”

He laughs again, the sound twinkling in your ears like a beloved song. It makes your cheeks warm. You don’t want him to see it.

Yet, he wraps his arms around you, chin nestled to your collarbone as if you were joined together. In a blink, the two of you are in his kitchen, with whiplash only an after-effect. You still hadn’t gotten used to his ability to warp.

“I hate when you do that.”

“You like it, I know you do,” Satoru taunts. “It excites you. I can tell because your cheeks get all flushed.”

“They do not!”

“Sure, they don’t, Twigs.”

“You’re annoying,” you huff, dropping your school bag on a chair.

Satoru greets your mother with a kiss on the cheek as you follow behind him. She has tea prepared in the sitting room for you and him, along with dorayaki and matcha Swiss rolls.

“Your mom’s the fucking best,” he muses as he gobbles down a third roll. You watch him in feigned disgust. Sipping your tea, you mumble something unintelligible in agreement.

“What, you aren’t hungry?”

“No.”

“Try this.”

“I have. She’s my mom.”

“C’mon, Twigs, open up.”

Satoru leans over the table with a Swiss roll between his fingers, waving it in front of your face. There’s no point in protesting -– he’d probably knock something over from his eagerness to annoy you. You part your lips to take a bite, and at the same time, he shoves it into your mouth.

“Satoru!” you groan.

“Stay still.”

You swallow your bite and he wipes his fingertips on the corner of your mouth. He’s close enough to feel your breath on his face, licking up the frosting on his thumb nonchalantly. He chuckles at the flustered look painting your face into a scowl.

“I’m done. I’m going to do the dishes.”

You excuse yourself to retreat to the kitchen before you can so much as make eye contact with Satoru again. He has to be teasing you with his small touches. It’s something he would’ve done when you were twelve, yet the notion now would be different.

The two of you were in completely different social spheres. He had separated himself from you years prior. It would be a rare sight for him to be so touchy with you in public, acting as if you were like him.

Someone who had a big kitchen. Someone who didn’t have to think about expenses.

It’s a miracle that he leaves you alone as you clean the kitchen, washing dishes to keep your mind occupied. After you’re done, you decide to cut up a bowl of strawberries. You knew they were Satoru’s favorite. Knowing him, he’d still crave something sweet after demolishing all the desserts.

You nick yourself. A careless act — you aren’t paying attention, mistaking the sharp side of the knife for the dull one. It slices the inside of your thumb. Cursing under your breath, you hover your hand over the wound. You heal it within milliseconds without so much as a second thought.

This is when Satoru kicks at something. The wall or a potted plant, you don’t know. But it’s a plea for attention and it brings your focus to him, your head snapping up to meet his gaze and his childish pout.

“I saw that,” he says, lowly.

You freeze under his scrutiny. You don’t say anything.

“So you’ve been lying to me.” It’s a seething accusation instead of a question.

He gets so close to you without you even noticing. He towers over you again, swallowed by the whole of his shadow, and his betrayed frown is petulant like a child’s.

“Satoru—”

“You said you didn’t have a cursed technique.”

“I—I didn’t. Not until later—”

“When?”

Your eyes are wide as you look up at him, hands trembling. He takes a step forward, taking up more space. It reminds you of your worth. The mere fact of him belittles you in that way.

“When I was thirteen. My kitten, Aki. The stray. You remember him, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“He got hit by a car one day, and I couldn’t stop sobbing. And I was holding him in my hands all bloody. And then, I brought him back to life. It just happened.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You search Satoru’s face. There’s a bit of betrayal in it, mostly surprise. It boils your blood in the slightest bit — because why is it so shocking that you ended up with a cursed technique? You may have hidden it from him for a few years, but was it something so unimagined for you?

You assumed that you would always be a plaything in Satoru’s eyes. Something so easy, so useless.

“It wasn’t enough,” you exasperate.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it does, Satoru. It’s so—”

Insignificant. Small compared to you.

He waits, swallowing the lump in his throat. Eyes flaring like comets.

“It doesn’t matter,” you repeat. “I don’t even want to be a sorcerer, and even if I wanted to be, I could never keep up with you. I don’t see the point in pursuing this if I’m better off just studying at a normal university—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Your technique is amazing. It’s like Shoko’s! You could’ve —”

“Satoru,” you emphasize. Your tone shuts him up, your hardened gaze, the lightning in your eyes bright and sharp. Menacing, even. You can sense the sound of him swallowing, a lump lodged in his throat loud enough for you to hear.

White lashes flutter. A frown is still displayed on his face. It’s now that he notices the slight bags under your eyes. Evidence of burden, of nights spent awake under the unforgiving moonlight.

You look at him in a way that feels damning — like you’re coaxing something from him. He knows better — knows that his anger is misplaced, that you’re right.

You having a healing technique is nothing compared to him. Even then, he knows that you probably aren’t interested in combat or the world of jujutsu sorcery in general. It doesn’t affect him so negatively. So what is he so angry about?

The question is in your eyes, pleading. He already knows the answer despite not admitting it to himself. He knows that the prospect of you having a cursed technique doesn’t mean you’re stronger than him. He assumes you wouldn’t surpass him, and wouldn’t think you to be someone who would even think about it.

Satoru knows he’s angry because he feels very close to you. He had at least thought he was close enough with you to know about your cursed technique. It was finding out that you were hiding it from him that made him angry. Learning that you had it manifest in front of you and didn’t bother to fucking tell him about it.

He can’t voice any of these frustrations. He knows you’d yell at him, and criticize him for thinking he’s entitled to you. It’s inappropriate and unfair, but in his younger years, he often felt that he was entitled to you. He’d known you since you were so very little, so vulnerable. He had protected you from all those curses, hadn’t he? He held you in his arms in his bed for years. That had to have meant something to you. It certainly meant something to him.

“Sorry. I just wish you told me earlier,” he says softly.

You apologize. Meek beneath him, eyes avoiding him.

“I know,” you sigh. “I have to go. I’ll see you later, Satoru.”

You don’t see him for a week and a half. It should be typical to you. It’s not like him to reach out or go out of his way to see you. He’d always been like that, giving you no expectations. And yet, his radio silence had crawled under your skin.

It’s stupid to expect him, anyway. There’s no reason for him to show up at yours, much more of a reason for you to show up at his, but you don’t need to. Your mother does that for her job and it has nothing to do with you.

There’s a Tuesday that’s so quiet, so plain that even the rain falters after two hours to only grant the town wet pavement. You’re curled up with a book in your living room when you hear a succession of knocks on your door. An erratic rhythm, the same as the special knock you would use with Satoru.

It’s him, of course. He smirks at you, an oversized t-shirt loose off of his lanky figure. You try not to fixate on the sweat of his exposed collarbone. You look him straight in the eyes through his pitch-black sunglasses.

He has a large bouquet in his hands. He grins at you. For the first time in a little while, you feel brave.

“Confessing your love to me this afternoon, are you?” you pester, a brow raised.

Something like that, Satoru thinks.

“You wish.”

He walks past you, brushing your shoulders much to your annoyance. He sets the bouquet on your kitchen table in its little jar, peonies drooping despite how hard he tries to fix them.

“It’s from my mom to yours. As a thank you and a birthday wish and stuff.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “That’s very sweet of her.”

He hums in agreement, rocking his heels back and forth as his eyes roam your house. It isn’t his first time here, but he acts the part, hands buried in his pockets as he observes you like a wild animal.

“Will that be all?”

“Dunno,” Satoru shrugs. “What were you up to before I showed up?”

You shrug, too, attempting to mirror his nonchalance. You had long ago buried your paperback in a drawer, promising to return to it by the time Satoru left. But still, he lingers, in front of you, taking up unnecessary space in your childhood home. Too tall and too pretty.

“Just cleaning my room,” you lie.

“Can I see it?”

“Why?”

“Been a while,” he shrugs. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, it’s a mess right now. I didn’t get very far.”

“Like I care,” Satoru chuckles.

He stares at you for a bit, heartbeats passing the time in your head. Fuck, he’s serious. He’s already leaning towards the staircase.

“Okay.”

You’re hyper-aware of him behind you, eyes exploring the length of your body. If you had known that he would show up unannounced, you would’ve changed into one of your long dresses or a pair of jeans. At the moment, you feel too bare in your tank top and corduroy shorts. You feel like a child outgrown.

Satoru takes up as much space as usual, long limbs splayed over your tiny twin bed. You don’t permit him to sit on your bed, but he does it anyway. He looks at the pictures on your wall, takes in the sweet smell of your sheets. It’s similar to your clothes, your flesh. Your hair. He’d live in it if he could.

“How cute.” He gestures to a cat plushie by the head of your bed.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” Satoru laughs. “It is cute. It’s so you.”

A certain fervor blossoms in your gut at that. The image of him stretched out on your little bed. Despite your closeness with him when you were younger, he had never spent much time at your house. It took you a few years to understand why.

“You should invite me over more often.”

“I don’t invite you over ever.”

“Well, you could start.”

“Why?” You stand by the wall, shifting your weight towards it as you lean backward. You cross your arms in defense, even though he hasn’t said anything to provoke you yet.

“It’s comfy here. I like it.”

“Thanks?”

He sings your name, beckoning you to him. You take three steps at most, holding your breath. Standing in front of his knees.

“Come sit, Twigs.”

“Told you not to call me that,” you breathe.

“Don’t care,” he grins.

He reaches out to you, pulling you between his knees with a hand on your waist. He smirks at the sound of your gasp as he tugs at your wrist.

“In my lap. C’mere.”

It’s difficult to refuse Satoru Gojo. His eyes drink you in, ocean blues glimmering and reflecting the afternoon sunlight. You’re still between his thighs. He tugs you without much effort, making you stumble into him. Your hands hold onto his shoulders as you settle into his lap. He holds the small of your back as you straddle him.

“Wanna try something.”

You say nothing. Your eyes flutter closed when you feel his fingertips grazing your jaw.

There’s a softness against your mouth. You don’t dare open your eyes.

You sense a sharp inhale behind the lips that kiss you, but they stay. Wetting between your mouth with the slight of a tongue. Tasting sweet like honeysuckle.

You whine, opening your mouth a bit more. You swallow down divinity. It's misguided affection that you had wished for when you were so much smaller. It might mean something bigger to you now if you thought about it for longer. You don’t want to. You refuse to.

But Satoru kisses you hard, excited and eager. His tongue peeks into your mouth and you taste strawberries. Lips soft and supple and melting against yours.

He groans, fisting your hair in his hand as he deepens the kiss, falling more and more into you. He smiles against your mouth as he coaxes a small sound out of you. It crawls out of your throat for him to taste with satisfaction. He’s always dreamed of you in his lap, but he could never tell you that.

You’re breathless, weak, and melting into him as he wraps his arms around you. Caging you in so that you can’t escape. So fucking warm in his embrace.

It takes a second for you to notice the hardness growing underneath you. It prods your center as you mindlessly grind into Satoru’s lap. When you realize, you squeak in embarrassment, and he clutches you harder.

You sigh into each other, eating the other up. Heat surges through you, from your forehead down to your core, to your weak, sensitive legs. Hot from the feeling of him in your mouth. Hot from the proximity of your core to his.

You pull away, exhaling unevenly as you try to catch your breath. You’re shy under his gaze, unwrapping yourself and covering your body as if you’re naked.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re so cute,” he chuckles. “Acting like that was your first kiss.”

“What if it was?”

He raises a brow as you look away with flushed cheeks. You’re still on his lap and he takes the opportunity to remind you of this, shifting you in his lap and causing friction. Your eyes are wide as you quickly attempt to untangle your limbs with his.

“That was your first kiss?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes at the sight of his leering smile. God, you knew this would happen. Satoru would never let you live it down.

“I’m going to kick you out—”

“No.”

He grasps your wrist in his hand. It’s small compared to his palm, engulfing you. His other hand grips your hip firmly but softly. He only moves it to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

“How was it? Tell me.”

“Good,” you breathe. “Felt good.”

For the first time in a long time, he looks at you like you have invented something new. There’s a bit of astonishment. Wonder and admiration. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. You were easily deluding yourself with the expression of his sapphire blue eyes.

“Felt good for me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you do that?” you ask, giggling nervously.

“Just wanted to.”

“I want you to kiss me again,” you whisper.

“I want to do more than that,” Satoru mumbles. But he knows better. It’s the best decision for him to get you off his lap right now before he loses composure.

You both hear the sound of your front door opening as if it’s timed -- your mother.

“I’ll kiss you later, okay?” Satoru murmurs.

“You will?”

“My parents will be gone this weekend. To Okinawa. You should come over on Saturday.”

“Okay. I will.”

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #juijutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you

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creepling · 7 months

Text

disguised lessons - stepbro! j. slaughter / 1k

well um... i just wrote that on a whim. idk what came over me. i am truly rotted in the brain. so enjoy, i guess?

tags: smut - MDNI. fem!reader. stepbro!johnny. reader loses virginity. ment of pantie sniffing and masturbating. johnny is a manipulative lil shit. praise. oral (m receiving). cowgirl. stomach bulge. possessive. degrading by the end. unprotective sex. hints at an age gap.

Johnny knew the consequences that came with Nancy marrying another man. He’ll disappear like the rest of him, without a trace. But this time, the package came with a cute little step-sister. Naive as they come, you try not to take too much space in the household. When Daddy wasn’t home, Nancy scorned you and made it known you weren’t part of the family. Johnny, however, seemed to enjoy your company. He wanted it a little too much for a step-brother.

Having an older brother after years of being a sheltered-only child was exciting. And his behaviour did not stick out as abnormal but conflicted with your consciousness. Johnny liked touching you. Touch you wherever he wanted. Grazing the small of your back, tuck your hair behind your ear. He teased your blushing. He discovered that you were easy to carry and made it routine to pick you up. To feel your thighs around his waist, your timid hands grip his shoulders for support. He’d chuckle at your whines to put you down.

When he started to get adventurous, he’d test the limits when Nancy and your dad weren’t around—becoming the man of the house when they left for work—snooping in your room when you’re downstairs making lunch, smelling your clothes and beating off to your scent. Going around the house shirtless in the Texan heat, clocking your desperate urge not to feed your eyes on him, making your conflicts worse by lingering in your bedroom, leaning over your bed, the stretch of his abdomen clouding your mind. It was only a matter of time before Johnny would the fuck the slut out of his step-sister.

It all started when you both had the house to yourself for the night. You lay across your bed reading a book. You wondered if he would make his daily trip inside, your stomach tender and topsy. He didn’t bother knocking, causing you to shift as the door creaks open. Johnny walks in. Just wanted to check up on ya. You couldn’t help but smile. He took his regular spot on your bed, spreading along the bottom, holding himself up with his strong arm. Muscles flexing. Your face grows hot.

I’ve been meanin’ to ask ya something, Johnny ponders, his hands fidgeting with the bed throw. Are you a virgin?

You were shocked, slapping your hand on his shoulder. Why would you ask me that?

I’ll take that as a yes, Johnny smirked. All you could do was look dumbfounded.

That’s a shame. Guys your age don’t want a virgin girl. They want them nasty. Trust me, I’d know. I was that age once. Johnny shrugged, trying to hide his smirk at your disappointment.

That can’t be true. Daddy says guys want respectable girls to marry.

Well, your Daddy don’t know everything. Johnny said, his eyes lingering over your body. But I could teach you a few things since I'm your step-brother. Your breath hitches as he moves closer to you, cupping your chin. I could teach you how to fuck properly. How to suck off a guy. How to ride him. It could come in real’ handy when you find that special someone.

Bewitched by his stare, you follow his gaze as you kneel on the bed, watching as Johnny stands up and unbuckles his jeans. It ain’t as scary once you try it, Johnny soothes, patting your head.

Your lips were timid around his tip, moaning surprisingly as he bucks his hips, his cock stuffing your tiny mouth. It’s good to keep eye contact, Johnny grunts, guiding your head for your doe-like stare to fixate on his lustrous gaze. Yeah, that’s it, good girl. Once your mouth salivated, Johnny eased his length inside, holding your head in place. You squeeze your eyes shut, tears streaming. You choke as his tip licks the back of your throat. Yet, you didn’t want to protest, feeling your cunt pulsing at the deep groans escaping Johnny’s mouth. You like my cock, don’t ya lil sis? You might not want another cock after mine.

He taught you all the techniques. How to swirl your tongue around his shaft, open your throat to take him all in, and massage his balls. Giving the puppy-dog eyes that drive him mad. He could feel himself growing close to a climax, so he pulled out of your swollen mouth and picked you up in his arms. How’s about time I show you how to fuck good, ay girl?

You cradled his lap, his hands exploring your body, lurching his lips around your nipples. He holds you in place as you whimper, squirming as he attacks your sensitivity. Positioning his cock under your dripping cunt, Johnny guides your hips to sink on his length. His eyes glazed as he watched the shock on your face.

Johnny, it hurts- You protest, but his hands are keeping you firmly in place. Your legs shake, whining at the pain of his cock filling you.

It’s okay, darlin’. You’ll get used to it, Johnny says, caressing your cheek. There, it’ll soon go away. You’ll enjoy it, I promise.

You soon get used to his length, the pain washing away. It began to feel like a pleasurable ache, the knot in your stomach gradually coming undone. You look down at Johnny’s immersive hands on your waist, guiding your hips to grind down into him. Your back arches, and you sigh a moan, easing yourself into it.

That’s it, you’re doing good. Keeping doing that, Johnny reassures. He leans back and lets you take full reign, gazing at the perky breasts pressed together, your hands on his chest. You move in places to feel comfortable, running your walls up and down his cock, moaning as his length pumps into you. He felt so good, and you felt ashamed to enjoy it. Your step-brother’s cock fits inside you so perfectly, and he looks at you in a way you desire to be looked at.

Johnny was in bliss, his fingers pressing against your stomach, feeling the bulge of his cock inside you. It drove him crazy, seeing his innocent little step-sister riding his cock. You’re a natural, He breathed out. Keep riding me like that, and I’ll make it a habit.

And he did make it a habit. Every single day. Giving you daily step-brother lessons on how to fuck good. How someone should fuck you, pleasure you into oblivion. Encouraging you to lean into your lustrous instinct and become available to him. It became more than just pleasing your future man and more about how to pleasure him.

No other guy’s cock will be better than your big brother’s, Johnny would grunt into your ear, bending you over the bed and drilling into you. He fucked you anywhere he pleased, in the bed, in the shower, on the couch. Johnny couldn’t contain himself around you. He liked it when you were home alone, so you could be as loud as you wanted. The more you gave yourself to him, the more he gave into his rough instincts. His praise turned degrading, and his thrusts fucked you into becoming a slut for his cock. Look at you, desperate for stepbro's cock, Johnny teased you. You give him into him every time. That’s what good step-sisters are for, right? Who knew you were such a little whore? God, ain’t I glad I came into your room. I would’ve missed out on this nice little pussy.

#johnny slaughter x reader #johnny sawyer x reader #tcm game #johnny tcm #texas chainsaw massacre #smut #creepling.brainrot #cw stepcest #tw stepcest

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randxmthxughts · 1 year

Text

All For You - Neteyam x Ta'unui ! reader (enemies to lovers) - pt. 1

*Ta'unui is the Eastern Sea water clan that was attacked by Quaritch

masterlist

part 2

summary: When Quaritch attacks the Ta’unui water clan looking for Jake Sully, the clan’s Tsahik forces her younger sister, Y/N, to escape and seek refuge from the Metkayina clan. As Y/N deals with the trauma of losing her home, she discovers that she isn’t the only outlander in the village. She develops conflicted feelings for Neteyam but the tensions grow when Y/N finds out that Neteyam is the son of Jake Sully - the man she hates.

genres/tropes: angst, romance, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, slowburn

other pairings: Loak x Tsireya, Kiri x Ao’nung, platonic relationships (Y/N x Kiri x Tsireya, Y/N x Jake, Y/N x Neytiri)

warnings: war, mentions of blood, PTSD, trauma, survivor guilt, character near-death experience, slightly aged up neteyam, dialogues are supposed to be in na'vi, not english, lots of side eyes, braids swaying, and neteyam appearing out of nowhere like the batman lol

word count: 30,2k (ik this is insane)

a/n: i’m so sorry because this is so long but i spent about two weeks working on it night and day, and i have never been so hyper fixated on a character before. i would love for this not to flop bc otherwise i might feel a little dumb, so if you enjoy it, please spread some love :) i always go through the reblogs to see if anyone said anything in the tags, so…

the set up is a little slow but bear with me

____

It all happened in a blur. You always believed that in a time of danger, you would be skilled and strong enough to protect your clan. But as you watched the sky demons, disguised as Na’vi, pointing their weapons at your people and burning your homes, you felt like a useless coward. If it wasn’t for your sister’s, Tsahik’s, quick thinking of causing a distraction and pushing you into the water, you would have been dead by now. She sacrificed herself for you to live.

You can’t make out how much time has passed since you finally made it to the unfamiliar reefs, as you collapsed on the sand, breathless and disoriented. You could only hope that you reached the correct destination: the Awa’atlu village. The distant sounds of horns announced your arrival, and strangers started to surround you in a circle. When the Olo’eyktan approached you, you managed to summon the rest of your strength to stand up and greet him.

You’re weak, and judging by his face, you’re sure that the explanation you give him is too vague. You hope that despite your mumbling, he understands that you were asking for refuge to escape from the sky demons. As the villagers around you start whispering, the only thing that comes to your mind clearly is “Jake Sully.” They killed your people, set your village on fire, shot your ilus... All because of Jake Sully.

“Jake Sully,” you repeat in a low whisper, your eyelids suddenly feeling heavy.

“Where is your ilu, child? Did you swim here by yourself?” Olo'eyktan asks, examining you with a hint of worry.

You wince at the mention of your ilu, the painful memory of its death still too fresh. It seemed unfair that you weren’t fast enough to save both of you. You had underestimated the demons, thinking you were too far away when a bullet suddenly pierced through your companion, acute pain reaching you simultaneously through the bond. You ilu did its best to swim through, bringing you to safety before you felt its body sink underneath you with a final shriek. Yet you couldn’t even mourn.

You were still in the open water, alone, unsure of where to head. You screamed as you pulled yourself together and started to swim, pushing through exhaustion and soreness in your muscles. You couldn’t afford to stop until you reached the unfamiliar land. You owed your sister to survive this.

“They killed my ilu,” a sob escapes your throat, your knees suddenly going weak.

“Easy there,” you hear a low voice beside you, as a pair of warm hands snake around your waist, supporting you to stand on your feet. You glance down at the hands, and realize that they are different. Blue-skinned.

“She needs to rest. She must have been swimming for hours,” Tsahik steps out, “What clan do you belong to, child?”

“Ta'unui.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Your first night in Awa’atlu, you’re too weak to get out of bed. The Tsahik had placed you in a small empty marui, close to hers, so she could easily check on you. In moments of consciousness, you catch glimpses of people and snippets of conversations. When they ask you questions about your arrival, you can only answer by nodding and shaking your head.

Ronal, Tsahik of the Metkayina clan, says that you could have died out in the open water. She thinks it’s a miracle, and whispers prayers to Eywa while massaging your muscles with various balms. You can’t protest really, even when the balms start stinging and making your muscles clench and burn.

Tsireya, the daughter of the Tsahik, always remains by her mother's side, carefully observing her actions, and joining her in prayer. You guess that she is the tsakarem. Watching Tsireya reminds you of the time when your sister was a tsakarem, following your grandmother around to learn from her.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

On the second day, you feel better. You gradually regain consciousness and start to move your limbs. Despite the pain and the slowness of your movements, you feel the life return back to your body. Tsireya stays with you even after her mother leaves.

“Are you feeling better, Y/N?” Tsireya perks up at your movement.

“Yes,” you’re surprised by the hoarseness in your voice.

“Don’t worry, your voice will be back to normal soon,” Tsireya finds your reaction amusing.

You’re not a big talker but Tsireya is a pleasant company. You don’t feel pressured to react or reply, as she talks to you about her village and her clan. You can see how hard she tries to keep you distracted from the pain.

“You'll be just fine here. There is even a family of forest Na’vi who joined our clan a while ago,” she says, “You can imagine how difficult it was for them to learn everything from scratch! Oh, but they were so determined!”

Your ears involuntarily perk up, as you listen to Tsireya’s story. It’s really the first thing she tells you that intrigues you. Encouraged by your interest, Tsireya continues.

“You will recognize them right away. They are blue,” she giggles, covering her mouth, “But they have been accepted and are a part of the Metkayina now. I am very happy they’re here.”

A faint memory of blue-skinned hands supporting you reappears.

“When I arrived… Was it a forester who caught me?” you ask.

“That’s right! Neteyam,” Tsireya nods, “He is the oldest son. You might have hurt yourself if he didn’t catch you in time.”

“Neteyam” you repeat to yourself.

Tsireya tells you just a little more about the foresters, until her brother Ao’nung fetches her back home.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

On your third morning of isolation, Tsireya visits you with a girl, who seems to be around her age. It’s not hard to guess that she is a forest Na’vi, her blue skin and yellow eyes giving it away immediately. But there’s something else you notice about her: she has an extra finger on each of her hands. You think back on the demons that had five fingers, and feel a shiver run down your spine. When she notices you staring at her, she hides her hands behind her back.

“This is Kiri, Kiri this is Y/N,” Tsireya introduces you with a smile, “Kiri is from the forest. Remember I told you about the family?”

Kiri doesn’t seem to be as talkative as Tsireya, perhaps even a bit shy. You greet each other but she keeps her distance, clearly still uncomfortable around you. Despite her similarity with the sky demons, you feel like you can trust her. Kiri is strangely beautiful, not like your sister or Tsireya, but there’s something about her that fascinates you. You’ve never really seen a forester up close before, so…

“Is your voice back?” Tsireya grabs your attention, kneeling next to you.

“I think so,” you breathe out, “It’s getting there.”

“Oh, it has gotten much better! I can’t wait to hear it, once you’re fully well. I bet you have a great singing voice,” she beams, and Kiri lets out a chuckle. You can’t help but smile at that.

It takes some time for Kiri to warm up to you. With the Tsahik’s approval, Tsireya took over today’s checkup on you. She knows the order of the balms by heart and works in confidence, while Kiri watches. From time to time, Kiri gives her a recommendation, and Tsireya gladly engages.

“Were you a tsakarem as well?” you ask Kiri.

“I used to be. My grandmother is the Tsahik of Omatikaya,” Kiri sighs with slight disappointment.

“And since you moved here, you can’t do that anymore?” you continue logically. She nods.

“My grandmother had to find somebody else to replace me, right before we left.”

You notice how Tsireya throws a sad look at her but Kiri only reacts with a forced smile. She doesn’t like to be pitied.

“Actually, Kiri’s doing better than all of us,” Tsireya suddenly adds with a proud smile, “Kiri has a special connection with the Great Mother.”

“It’s not a big deal, really,” Kiri protests but Tsireya shakes her head, disagreeing.

“When we were out swimming the other day, we suddenly lost Kiri. We were looking for her for hours and found her asleep at the very bottom. Even the most skilled Metkayina swimmers can’t stay in the water with no air for so long!” Tsireya articulates with her hands to convince you, “And she was completely fine. Oh! And Kiri can also make fish follow her, it’s so funny!”

Tsireya giggles recalling the memory, and for the first time, Kiri joins her.

“You have to show me, I’ve never seen anything like that,” you smile.

“We’ll go together this evening. I know you’ll be fully recovered by then,” Tsireya excitedly claps her hands. Kiri only nods.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Tsireya was right. By the evening, you have confirmation from Ronal, and you’re free to explore the village with her daughter as your guide. You find that while Awa’atlu is not similar to your village, it’s also not too different. But the water around the island seems calmer than what you are used to. It makes you slightly anxious.

Tsireya tries very hard to make you feel at home. She introduces you to everyone on your way, including her brother’s friends. Among them, you notice another forester who doesn’t stare at you like the locals do. Even when you catch his gaze, he doesn't seem overly curious. Just like Kiri, keeping his distance.

That’s Lo’ak, Tsireya reminds you, the third forest-child. It takes a fool not to catch on the chemistry between her and Lo’ak. The way she talks to him almost makes your teeth hurt, while he gets shy every time he is caught staring at her. But they seem to pretend to be just friends in a social setting.

Now joined by Ao’nung, his friends and Kiri, you all go swimming together. Tsireya and Kiri walk protectively next to you, with the boys ahead.

“Let’s see if you can swim faster than Lo’ak,” Ao'nung teases you, his friends laughing. Lo’ak playfully hits him in the arm.

“She’s from a water clan, you skxawng,” Kiri comes to your defense, and you have to suppress a smile.

“I didn’t mean to anger you, oh daughter of Eywa,” Ao'nung continues to tease, pretending to kneel in front of Kiri, “Please have mercy on me!”

Kiri rolls her eyes, and shoves him, as she walks ahead. You catch Ao'nung watching after her, and exchange a knowing smile with Tsireya.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Swimming helps you regain strength in your body and in your mind. Just the way you noticed, the water here was calmer than back home, relaxing the soreness out of your muscles. This was going to be your new home. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad.

Surprisingly, the boys’ teasing doesn’t bother you. While Kiri jumps to your defense ever so often, you think it was more of a distraction than anything else to you. As the sun starts setting, you float on your back, watching the sky, the painful memories slipping away. Your moment of peace is interrupted by shouting coming from the shore. Your ears perk up at the sound of your name, and with a hope that it might be someone from your village, coming back for you, you quickly turn to look. But it’s not. Instead, you see a tall blue-skinned Na’vi, waving you over.

“Y/N! Tonowari wants to see you!” he shouts again.

“It’s Neteyam, come on,” Tsireya passes by you, swimming to the shoreline. You follow her.

Once closer, you can see Neteyam more clearly. He greets both of you with a warm smile, his intricately braided hair swaying around, as he moves.

“Father wants to see Y/N?” Tsireya asks, as she gathers her long hair to squeeze out the water.

“I saw him on my way over here,” he says, his soft gaze lingering on you, “He wanted me to get the ‘new girl’ to talk to him.”

Unlike his brother, Neteyam seems to be more intrigued by your presence, his gaze sweeping over your features, one by one, as if trying to memorize them. While it’s not as intrusive as others’ staring, you find his attention to be way too forward. You protectively cross your arms on your chest.

“I’m Neteyam, by the way,” he offers you a formal greeting, that you’re forced to reciprocate.

“Y/N.”

“I guessed so,” he chuckles, like it’s the most obvious thing you could have said, “Everyone knows about you.”

Tsireya interrupts your exchange by gently pulling you by your wrist.

“Come, Y/N, I’ll walk you to our home,” she smiles, then throws a look over her shoulder, “By the way, Lo’ak is currently getting talked to into sneaking out at night to swim with Payakan.”

You see Neteyam’s face change, as his warm smile gives way to anger, and he turns on his heel, heading towards the water.

“Lo’ak!” you hear him shout before diving in. Tsireya giggles beside you.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When you first sit down in front of Tonowari, you can’t help but feel dwarfed by his intimidating presence. So you’re grateful when Tsireya asks if she can stay in the room with you. Tonowari’s gaze softens, unable to deny his daughter, and Tsireya gives you a reassuring smile before blending into the shadows.

You’re not surprised that he wanted to talk to you. Sure, he was aware of what had happened from your first interaction, and from Ronal, who gathered more information while you were under her care, but he wanted to clarify every detail. You take a deep breath and begin to recount everything.

Tonowari rarely interrupts you to ask questions but for the most part he simply listens with unwavering attention. You see his expression change from understanding to concerned, the more he hears.

“Was there any warning to their attack?” he frowns.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, trying to get rid of the painful memories, “My theory is… whoever they were looking for, our village was the first one to suffer. We heard nothing from the neighboring clans, so I’m guessing it’s only because we are on the very eastern coast.”

“You think they’re moving from east to west?” he asks. You nod.

“It’s why I came here, really. I think your village is quite far from ours.”

Tonowari hums, deep in thought. You sit in silence for a while, another reason nagging at you. You’re not sure if you need to tell him this but you do.

“And because I used to hear about your village. My sister and I lost my mother when we were kids but we knew that she wasn’t a local back home,” you hesitate before continuing, “My sister thinks she would have relatives from here.”

“It’s not impossible,” Tonowari nods his head, “We heard many stories of Na’vi from different clans mating and moving across the islands. We might even find someone from your mother’s family.”

You hear Tsireya’s soft gasp, clearly the thought of it appearing more intriguing to her than to you. You nod to express gratitude but you’re not really sure you want to meet anyone. It’s always been just you and your sister, no one can replace her.

“And you said they were looking for him, huh?”

“Jake Sully? Yes, he’s the reason they attacked us,” you answer, feeling your face flush with anger, “They had weapons, and were shooting anyone who resisted or tried to run. Then they started to burn our homes, repeating his name over and over again. There was also a human kid with them who translated.”

Tonowari’s face falls so suddenly, you would have thought that he has been hiding Jake Sully himself this whole time. You hope that wherever that man is, the sky demons find him before they can reach you. Tears begin to well up in your eyes. Tonowari notices and leans in.

“Don’t worry, child. We do not want war, but if they come here, we will be protecting our land and our Na’vi. Including you,” he hesitates before patting your head, “You’re one of us now.”

You lean into his touch, allowing him to slightly mess up your hair.

“For now, let’s keep this to ourselves, so that there is no panic. I have to think.”

You take that as a signal to stand up, and quickly wipe your eyes before Tsireya can see.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

That night you can’t seem to fall asleep. It feels lonely in your marui, and you start considering asking to be moved to a more crowded location. You turn on your mat a few times before catching a movement of two shadows on the other side of the wall. You sit up alerted, looking out. Eventually voices catch your ear.

“Lo’ak, if you don’t come back right now, I will wake up dad,” somebody whispers.

“He doesn’t care anyway, he’ll only get mad at his favorite,” you hear Lo’ak, and see one of the two shadows disappear.

The other shadow stands still, still in front of your wall. You don’t have to guess that it’s probably his brother Neteyam, whom you met earlier.

“Psst,” you hear his voice, his shadow moving.

And again. He moves closer to the entrance of your marui, as you stare in silence. What does he want?

“Y/N? Are you asleep?” you hear his very apparent accent.

“What?”

Your glance falls to his figure now leaning against the entrance to your room. He gives you a sheepish smile.

“What do you want?” you squint to make out his features. His eyes and freckles glow in the dark and you notice his ears perk up, as if he’s excited.

“It’s Neteyam,” he gestures to himself.

“I know,” you’re annoyed. You know who he is, does he think you can’t see him?

“Oh, right. I just didn’t want to scare you, so I…”

“Starting with ‘psst” certainly didn’t help,” you bite, “Shouldn’t you be checking on your brother anyway?”

“Technically, I can’t do anything except wait. Then, if it gets suspiciously long, I follow him,” he grins like it’s the funniest thing.

You stare at him quietly, wondering what he's doing in your room, in the middle of the night. Neteyam shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.

“Uh, right. Sorry if we woke you up,” he scratches his head, “I was going to check on you anyway, just didn’t mean to at this hour.”

“Why would you check on me?” you frown.

“I thought you might like someone to talk to you, about moving and stuff.”

“I can talk about it to Tsireya, I’m fine.”

“I know, she’s nice,” Neteyam crouches down, to bring himself on your eye level. He looks embarrassed, “But she thought it would be a good idea for me to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re both new here. You see, my family and I moved here a few months ago -”

“I know,” you interrupt him.

“And I get what you’re going through.”

This frustrates you. According to Tsireya, Neteyam is the son of the sixth Toruk Makto. She didn’t tell you much but they left their clan on their own, they wanted a fresh start. As far as you can tell, you and him had nothing in common. You were forced out of your home and had to give up on your life without a choice. How can he get what you’re going through? He has a family. You have no one.

“Just because we’re both outlanders doesn’t mean that you have to pretend to relate to me, Neteyam. We’re not the same,” it comes out more aggressive than you intended. You notice his ears lower, along with his gaze, “I don’t need a forest boy teaching me the way of water. You’re not my savior.”

Neteyam’s face falls, like you hit a cord with your words. But he didn’t mean to offend you, he only meant good. From the moment he saw you, he thought he recognized something familiar in your expression: longing for home. So when Tsireya suggested one of the foresters befriending you, he thought that you would easily get along. Right now, though, this seemed like a horrible idea.

“Not trying to be a savior, just a friend,” he mumbles, standing up, “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You scoff, as Neteyam walks out without a glance back.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

The morning is disturbed by the loud sounds of horns, announcing something important. You quickly walk out of your marui to find groups of Na’vi heading towards the center of the village. Tsireya told you that it’s where her father calls for meetings. When you spot Kiri, moving along, you join her. She’s holding hands with a kid.

“Hey, Y/N, this is Tuktirey,” Kiri gestures.

“Tuk,” the kid corrects with a smile and greets you.

“Nice to meet you,Tuk,” you smile back. Judging by her skin, you guess that Tuk belongs to the family of foresters.

“So, should I be worried?” you ask Kiri, motioning to the Na’vi in front of you. It’s really a little crowded for your liking.

“Not sure,” she admits, “These announcements confuse me, I can’t tell when it’s good or bad thing. Often it’s nothing bad though, don’t worry.”

Despite Kiri’s reassurance, you approach the center with a feeling of worry. The feeling in your gut is confirmed as soon as you catch a glimpse of Tsireya with a troubled look on her face. You notice her holding someone’s hand. Blue, five fingers. You can’t see him but you’re sure it’s Lo’ak. When she meets your eye, you mouth to her.

“Is it bad?”

She shakes her head in disappointment. It’s very bad, you think.

When Tonowari clears his throat and steps into the center, everyone falls silent. He keeps it brief, retelling about the attack of the demons on your village. Tonowari suspects that it’s only a matter of time before the sky demons attack again, so everyone must be prepared. It is now prohibited to be alone in unsafe areas, going out in the open water, or too deep into the trees.

You feel knots forming in your stomach, when panicked questions pour on him.

“The Metkayina needs to be prepared for any outcome, even war,” Tonowari raises his voice again, “Start proofing armors, repair your weapons. Always be on the lookout.”

“This is crazy,” Kiri whispers to you, “I can’t believe that we escaped here to live in fear again.”

It confuses you. You knew that her family moved to live with Metkayina but Tsireya didn’t tell you why. It is bizarre now that you remember that Kiri’s father is Toruk Makto. Why would he leave his home? You make a mental note to question her about it once you’re alone.

“Kiri, are we going to leave again?” Tuk tugs at her sister with a sniff.

“Mawey, Tuk,” a gentle voice replies instead, as a hand slips around Tuk, caressing her cheeks, “Tuk, Tuk, Tuk.”

Your eyes follow. It’s a tall beautiful woman with bright yellow eyes. You can’t shake off the feeling of how familiar she looks.

“My mom,” Kiri says to you, “Neytiri.”

Right. She looks very similar to Neteyam. Neytiri’s eyes flicker to you, and she graces you with a smile. You bow to greet her.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Once dismissed, you and Kiri fall into the same pace. You don’t talk but you instinctively follow her to the beach, where a group was seated, working on their weapons. Tsireya, Lo’ak, Neteyam, Ao'nung, and Ao'nung’s friend Roxto. You and Kiri sit with them, closing the circle. Sensing that the silence is caused by the same reason you’re feeling anxious, you follow their example and take out your knife. You didn’t have a polishing rock like the others, so instead you focus on reattaching the loosened up string to the handle. You feel Neteyam’s watching you but once you catch him, he looks away.

Kiri meddles with her belt, deep in her thoughts, and you can tell she’s just as anxious as you are.

“Okay, I’m going to say what I think,” Kiri breaks the silence, grabbing everyone’s attention, “This is not good, right? There’s something else they’re not telling us.”

Tsireya’s eyes snap to you but both of you remain quiet.

“No shit, Kiri,” Lo’ak mocks her.

“Shut up, skxawng,” she reaches forward to slap him.

“Hey, you two,” Neteyam gently pushes Kiri away from his brother.

You notice how the younger siblings shoot him an annoyed look but calm down anyway. Last night, Neteyam didn’t seem to hold much power over Lo’ak but right now it appeared that he had some sort of authority. It’s like the possibility of danger made the dynamic between them shift.

“Nothing’s going to happen, they’re probably lying so that the youngsters stop sneaking out to the forest at night,” Roxto breaks the silence with a snort, then looks at you for support, “Come on, if it was that serious we would be probably doing much more right now.”

There’s some truth to his words, you think. Tonowari did not even come close to explaining how dangerous it could get. Taking measures, like staying within the perimeters of the islans, is hardly something that would keep you safe. Deep in your thought, you continue tightening the string. Neteyam shoots you another glance, and when you look back up, he pushes his polishing stone towards you. You nod at him in appreciation, as you take the tool.

“It’s because of your conversation yesterday with my father, right?” Ao'nung suddenly asks, turning to you. Tsireya tsks at her brother but you sense it is too late.

“Y/N? What do you know?” Kiri adds, concerned.

You sigh, feeling their eyes on you, examining your every small movement. You can almost hear Tsireya’s quiet gasp, as you open your mouth to answer.

“Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this, so keep it to yourself… It’s bad. The demons had many powerful weapons, it took them minutes to burn down my whole village. I don’t know how strong the defense can even be to keep them away. It’s going to be an unfair fight.”

“What do they want? The islands?” Ao'nung pushes for more information.

“They’re looking for a man, who they think is hiding in a water clan,” you answer, noticing how everyone’s ears perk up.

“Do you know who he is?” Lo’ak asks.

“Lo’ak, don’t -” Tsireya tries to interrupt him.

“His name is Jake Sully,” your voice turns with anger, “I’m not sure what he did to them but they were set on killing him. And killing anyone who’s protecting him.”

Dead silence hangs over you, and you suspect that there’s something they’re not telling you. The forest-siblings hang their heads, and you notice Tsireya squeezing Lo’ak’s hand.

“Wait, so they’re looking for your dad,” Roxto turns to Kiri, “They’re looking for you.”

“Your dad?” you turn to Kiri, “Is Jake Sully your dad?”

Kiri nods, almost ashamed. You feel your throat hurt, as realization washes over you. You escaped exactly where Jake Sully was. It was his kids now sitting in front of you, in their new home, enjoying their care-free life, while your village was burned down to the ground.

“It’s your dad!” you feel anger escalating. You stand up, “I’ve lost everything because of him! The demons thought we were hiding him but he was here all this time!”

“Y/N, it’s the demons’ fault,” Tsireya stands up too, trying to calm you down, “He only wanted to keep his family safe, he doesn’t want war.”

“We didn’t want war either, but here we are,” you throw your hands in the air, feeling your body shake out of resentment.

“My father has done nothing wrong,” Neteyam stands up as well, his voice low.

“Your father is wrong for hiding here, while the other clans are at risk of being wiped out!” you’re so frustrated, you wish this was a joke they were playing on you.

But why isn’t anyone agreeing with you? You look at their faces for support but no one dares to speak. Lo’ak keeps his head hanging, and Kiri storms off without a word. A chuckle of disbelief escapes from your lips.

“I guess the great Toruk Makto isn’t that great after all,” you throw bitterly. Neteyam clenches his jaw.

“Y/N, don’t say that. He just wants peace,” Tsireya starts again.

“We all want peace!” you protest.

“You think it’s so easy, huh? You think he’s hiding?” Neteyam raises his voice at you, “He’s not to blame for their vengeance!”

You hiss at him, more angered. How dare he protect the man who caused all of the chaos? How can they ignore the fact that soon enough they will be losing their homes just like you did?

“It is easy!” you hiss again, “Let him go out there and face them alone, before they burn down this village too!”

“That’s unfair, I’m not losing my dad,” he growls.

“I lost my home!”

You’re not sure how things escalate this quickly but one second you’re at a distance growling at each other, and in another instance you lunge at him, catching him off guard. Neteyam falls on his back, as you hold him down with your legs but he’s quick enough to catch your arms before you can even touch him. You hear concerned voices in the background but your only focus is punching him.

The two of you snarl, and as you struggle to free your arms from his grip, he flips you over. Your back hits the ground with a sharp pain but it gives you just enough room to kick him in the gut. Neteyam winces in pain, yet quickly regains his composure by pinning you down, this time paying special attention to having your knees locked together.

“Skxawng,” you let out, frustrated.

He doesn’t hit you back but he does just enough to stop you from moving, his skin feeling hot against yours.

“Dude, dude,” Lo’ak runs up to him, putting his arms over his shoulders, “Get off her.”

“Not unless she calms down,” Neteyam hisses, completely unaware of the group of adults headed towards the two of you. You try to move but he pins you down again.

You catch a glimpse of Roxto and Ao'nung chuckling at the fight, while Tsireya covers her mouth in concern. Then, you spot Neytiri.

“Neteyam!” she shouts. Neteyam pauses at the sound of her voice, ears perking up.

“Shit,” Lo’ak whispers, backing away, “Neteyam, get off.”

“That’s right, get off me, you skxawng,” you say, humiliated by the position he put you in.

Defeated and angry, Neteyam shoots you a quick look, before finally releasing you from his grip. You huff out of frustration, as you sit up, trying to recover your breath. By the time Neytiri approaches the scene, Neteyam’s already standing with his head hanging low. Lo’ak stands a little behind, as if to avoid the confusion of who’s at fault.

Neytiri’s eyes run you up and down, then examine her sons, as if trying to piece together what happened. She remains quiet, before kneeling down in front of you, and taking your hand in hers. You’re all surprised by her gentle demeanor.

“Are you hurt?” she asks you, lifting your arm to examine it. Then moves to get a look at your back.

“I’m good,” you shake your head, freeing yourself from her grasp.

“Neteyam,” Neytiri stands up, now turning to her son, anger evident in her voice, “Apologize. Now.”

“Mom, they were just joking,” Lo’ak tries to tone down the situation but she shuts him up by raising her hand.

Without a second of hesitation, Neteyam nods and meets your eyes, before saying loudly for everyone to hear.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” you hiss, annoyed.

“Mother, can we go now?” Lo’ak asks.

Neytiri nods, and three of them walk away. Soon enough, you can hear her scolding her oldest son. Tsireya runs up to you, helping you up to your feet.

“Y/N, are you hurt? You just recovered!” she sounds genuinely upset.

“I’m not hurt, he didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about that. I didn’t know,” she lowers her eyes to the ground, “Not until the talk you had with my father.”

“I know, I don’t blame you,” you sigh, “But why would you send him to talk to me?”

“I thought he could help,” she explains, hoping you’d understand, “Lo’ak is not talkative, and Kiri’s hasn’t been taking the change very well. Neteyam’s the only one who likes it here. So I thought he’d be the best to talk to.”

You nod. She makes a good point. But his whole attitude, the pretentious novelty, it pisses you off. Acting tough and proper when his mother is around, but in reality, selfish. He doesn’t care that you’ve lost everything because of his father. He has a new home he likes. And siblings, and parents... You feel jealous.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

You are a good hunter. You have a good aim, and you’re fast. You used to think that you would be a good asset in danger but the way you froze, when you were attacked by the demons, makes you hesitant. What if that happens again? What if you come face-to-face with them and freeze?

The air outside of your room is refreshingly cold. You watch the dark sky hang over the sleepy Awa’atlu. In an attempt to clear your head, you start wandering around the village, eventually stopping at the terrace blending into the beach. Your ears perk up at faint voices, and as your eyes follow, you find two Na’vi by the water, oblivious to your presence. It looks like they are pretending to wrestle each other, letting out occasional laughs. You recall your earlier not-so-pretend fight with Neteyam and sigh out of frustration, taking a seat on the grass.

As one throws the other one to the ground, you think you recognize Neteyam. He laughs, swaying his hair, then gives a hand to help out his companion to his feet. The other Na’vi is taller than him, with broader shoulder, longer hair. Your breath catches in your throat, as you guess who that might be.

“Yeah, that’s him,” you hear a confirmation, and almost jump up.

Lo’ak is standing next to you, his gaze forward.

“Jake Sully?”

“My dad,” he confirms again.

You turn your attention back to the two Na’vi wrestling, and you watch them for a moment. Eventually, Lo’ak sits down next to you.

“Neteyam’s his favorite,” he says, “He’s the perfect son. The mighty warrior.”

“The mighty warrior?” you repeat.

“He likes to call himself that,” Lo’ak explains, “To piss me off.”

“Does it work?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “It pisses me off.”

“Why aren’t you pissed off at me?” you turn to face to him.

“Why aren’t you?” he asks in return, “You’re angry at Neteyam but not at me.”

You pause. You’re not really sure why Lo’ak joining you didn’t frustrate you, the way Neteyam’s presence would. Maybe it’s because Lo’ak seemed guilty earlier. He didn’t stand up for his dad, so there must be something both of you agree on.

“He pisses me off too,” you answer, turning your gaze back to Neteyam in the distance, “I don’t like when people pretend to care. Because once something threatens their peace, they really show how they don’t give a crap about you.”

“Neteyam doesn’t pretend about caring,” Lo’ak disagrees, “Sure, he pretends all the time but not when it comes to caring. He cares.”

“Not about me anyway,” you scoff.

Lo’ak falls silent. You got him there, you had a point. Thoughts race through your mind, as you try to comprehend what to make of this. Perhaps you judged too quickly, not knowing the whole story. What if it was your sister? Would you be willing to put at risk the peace of your village to protect her? No, that would never happen. She would face the enemy herself, not even letting you have a say in the matter.

“My father is not a bad guy,” Lo’ak interrupts your thoughts, “I’m not saying that he does everything right but… we’re all he got.”

You don’t react. You don’t really want to hear him justify his dad, make him seem vulnerable.

“He turned down his whole life for my mom. Left everything he believed in behind because he wanted to be with her,” Lo’ak continues, “Even became one of us… He is one of us.”

“Is that why…” you instinctively glance at his fingers, and Lo’ak shifts, “Is it true? Tsireya said that Eywa blessed him.”

He nods. You let out a tired sigh. It’s exhausting to think about it. His father was blessed by Eywa, he is the Toruk Makto. Who are you to disagree with the Great Mother?

“I don’t know anymore,” you admit defeated, “I just don’t think it’s fair… that others get punished. More harm can be avoided.”

“I know,” Lo’ak agrees with you, “But the demons are stronger, they never give up. We woke up to war every day back home.”

You listen to him with curiosity. You don’t know much about their past life but you wonder if the war really was a constant in the forest.

“It’s why we moved, you know?” his voice hitches, “My father knew that they were never going to let us live peacefully, so we tried hiding here instead.”

You hum. You’re not sure if it’s the tiredness creeping up on you, or genuine empathy, but you feel sorry for Lo’ak. He seems to feel at fault for the consequences of his father’s choices. It’s almost like he speaks more to himself than to you. Justifies things to ease his heart.

“Seems like they’re done,” Lo’ak gets up, “I’m gonna go before dad catches me sneaking out.”

You force a small smile, as you watch Jake and Neteyam dust the sand off their bodies. It takes you a while to move from your spot, but not quickly enough, as Neteyam spots you from a distance. He keeps his eyes on you, and you can almost feel your blood boil.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

For the next few days, things change rapidly. You notice that everyone is busy with their chores, rushing, and preparing, the feeling of danger weighing down on them. Tonowari orders for the hunters and skilled fighters to divide into pairs, assigning them to guard the island every night. Divers work on protective armors for their ilus. There is a big shift in the air.

Speaking about these measures to Tsireya gives you an unsettling feeling. You don’t talk about the Sully’s to her, even though they’re constantly on your mind. You just can’t believe that Tonowari agrees to protect them.

Tsireya’s still hesitant to bring them up when you question her about her father’s plans, even though you’re well aware that Jake Sully actively participates in the matters of protection. She doesn’t know that it’s been keeping you up every night. To trust this man to protect you, when he is the reason for the attacks. His name alone forces painful visions of your sister and her mate, crouched down on the sand, with a weapon pointed at them.

“Have you talked to Kiri, since the…?” Tsireya starts hesitantly. You haven’t. It upsets you because in a short time, you had begun to see Kiri as a friend.

“Not really,” you hang your head, “I didn’t want to attack her, it’s just…”

“I’m sure she knows,” Tsireya nods, “She protects her father but she feels guilty too. When she heard about your fight with Neteyam, she kind of scolded him.”

Tsireya bites down on her lip, hiding a small smile. You can’t really help a smile stretching your lips too. You would have loved to see Neteyam getting scolded. Just the thought of it makes you feel a little better.

“I feel bad, it’s not her fault,” you admit.

“Maybe you two can talk it out?” Tsireya asks hopefully.

“Maybe.”

“I’ll let her know.”

Unlike the other siblings, you’ve seen plenty of Lo’ak in the past few days. Mostly because you’re only hanging out with Tsireya, and, well, Lo’ak wants to be around her. It’s silly excuses, when they sneak away, leaving you alone. She even got in trouble for wandering with him around the guarded areas.

Lo’ak doesn’t make you feel awkward. The two of you don’t really talk but neither of you feels pressured to. You like to think that you and him reached some sort of understanding the other night. Partially, you feel bad for him for having Jake Sully for his father, and Neteyam, as his older brother. As a younger sister to Tsahik, you can relate to the pressure of always reaching for, yet never getting it all.

But when it comes to seeing Neteyam in the village... The angry looks that you exchange with him when passing each other just make your whole body ache. You barely hold yourself back from hissing at him. It’s bad. You already had not one, but two people you hated.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

That evening, when you return to your marui, you’re surprised to find Kiri waiting for you. She stands up, as you approach, and the two of you look at each other for a moment before you pull her into a hug.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you, the other day,” you admit, pulling away from her, “It’s not your fault.”

“I get it,” she sighs, “If I were you, I’d be mad. I’m kind of mad now.”

While you dreaded this conversation, it goes quite smoothly with Kiri. You don’t feel judgment on her side for disagreeing with her father. You think it’s unfair that the only person who makes you feel less of an outsider has to be the daughter of Jake Sully.

“I feel angry because I can’t get used to the thought of just sitting here and waiting?” you finish on a higher note, hoping that she can relate, “Because while we’re here, the demons are killing innocent Na’vi. Village by village. It’s terrifying. I just wish I could do something to protect them.”

Kiri nods and stares off into the distance, deep in her thoughts. You can feel the guilt she beares on her shoulders but she fights it to protect her family. Suddenly, she turns her head, yellow eyes glistening, like she has the brightest solution.

“Y/N, how well do you know the islands?” she asks.

“Um, there are about hundreds of them but I know roughly where the settlements."

“So if we wanted to warn them about the intruders, do you think you would be able to map them out and guide us there?”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Now that you think about it, you feel like a fool for not figuring it out earlier. Why didn’t anyone?

Sure, news would travel between neighboring villages but you were forgetting that the Awa’atlu was on the very far ends of the islands. And, by the time the others were warned about the possible attacks, there would be nothing left.

When you and Kiri propose the idea of swimming to the islands, and first-hand warning their Olo’eyktans, Tonowari hesitates. Not many in his clan are familiar with the other settlements, especially within the Eastern reefs, and underestimating the time frames could cost him lives.

“We don’t have to warn everyone, just as many as we can,” you plead, “And what if we the close-located clans fight back in unions. Surely, they would respect your advice as the Olo'eyktan.”

“It worked when Toruk Makto did it,” Tonowari hums in agreement, “It would be difficult to unionize all of the islands but there is a better chance of surviving for smaller unions.”

“They at least deserve to know what’s coming, please,” you push further, and eventually gain an approving nod from him.

Quickly, small groups of the best Metkayina swimmers are formed to be assigned for the realization of the plan. While most of them are familiar with the neighboring islands, you’re the one mapping out the Eastern Sea settlements for them. And although Tonowari immediately turns down your offer of joining them, you feel slightly better for at least contributing.

You go over your roughly drawn map on the sand one more time with the final group of three Metkayina swimmers, your goal to ensure that they are aware of the safest paths to approach the villages. The group is gathered around you, listening carefully, and as you talk, you feel someone watching you from afar. It’s Neteyam. You take a moment to refocus before finding the track of your words again.

“Thank you, Y/N, we got it from here,” Sokxot, one of the swimmer says, when you finish up.

You stay to watch as they swim away on their ilus, in your mind, praying to Eywa to guide them safely to their destination. When you think you’re left alone, you’re surprised to find Neteyam here. You frown at him. What does he want? Intimidate you with his staring? You’re taken aback when he decides to approach you.

“Y/N,” his greets you with a calm voice, then points to the map you drew, “This was your idea?”

“Kiri’s,” you correct him.

“Still, you helped a lot,” Neteyam stares at the map, as if trying to memorize it. You roll your eyes at him.

“Guess I don’t like sitting and waiting for danger,”

“I really hope this makes a difference,” he says, sounding almost sincere.

You watch after him as he walks away, and let out a sigh. The two of you were too grown to act like kids.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

On the third day since their departure, two groups of Metkayina swimmers return with updates. Tonowari immediately calls for a meeting, and it's revealed that a significant number of villages have already been warned of the impending danger. The warned clans also started sending out their own swimmers, forming a whole network between the hundreds of villages.

But more importantly, you had the first case of a union between three smaller clans on the Eastern islands that managed to prepare just in time for the attack. Taken aback by the preparedness of Na’vi, the sky demons suffered greatly in numbers. Of course, the clans had casualties, but they managed to force the enemy to back away, and keep their homes safe.

It's the first good news that the Metkayina have heard in weeks, and you can see the happiness on their faces. You feel a sense of satisfaction with what you've achieved, and even Tonowari can't help but sneak a smile as he urges everyone to remain careful and calm.

To celebrate your little victory, Tsireya invites you to swim with her and the rest of her friends somewhere special. You didn’t mind that the Sully’s, especially Neteyam, were joining. You thought you would ignore him and allow yourself to enjoy being a little carefree.

Tsireya takes you to a sacred place - the Cove of Ancestors, where you could express your gratitude to Eywa by the Spirit Tree. Mesmerized by the beauty of it all, you can’t stop looking around. And judging by the reaction of the Sully kids, it’s probably their first time here too. Tsireya excitedly watches your faces, when showing you the Spirit Tree from afar. Underneath the surface of water, its roots glow with unique undertones, breathing in and out.

“Tsireya, this is incredible,” you awe, as she gives you a giddy smile.

“Come,” she waves you over, disappearing under the water.

With Tsireya, Kiri, Lo’ak, and Ao’nung disappear too. Distracted by the sight around you, you fall a little behind, and find yourself not too far from Neteyam. He is not a bad swimmer but he is definitely slow compared to you.

You’re not really thinking about it, when you stay back to watch him. It’s almost entertaining how greedily his eyes take in the surroundings, seeming almost golden in this light. A smile tugs at your lips.

Your skin shivers, as a cool wind wraps around your body. Then you notice it. A single woodsprite appears in the air, flying around you and grazing your skin. You feel blessed to witness a sign of the Great Mother, but as you reach out to gently touch it, it moves away. Your smile fades, when the seed starts floating around Neteyam’s head. Is Eywa trying to tell you something? Maybe you were being too harsh with him.

With another blow of the wind, the woodsprite disappears, leaving Neteyam completely oblivious to what just happened. When he turns around and meets your gaze, your throat tightens. His expression is unreadable. What is he thinking?

“I should probably catch up with the rest,” you clear your throat.

Neteyam only nods, and as you swim past him, it almost seems like you catch a hint of disappointment on his face. You can’t be distracted by the sign right now.

When you reach the Tree and submerge, you find Tsireya, Lo’ak, and Ao'nung already linking their queues to the roots. Trying not to disturb them, you quietly swim to the opposite side, bringing out your queue. From the corner of your eye, you spot Neteyam but you decide to ignore him.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Words cannot describe how healed you feel, when you open your eyes. As if your inner and outer worlds have finally merged again, making you whole. With a smile, you swim up to the surface to reunite with the rest of the group, ready to share your happiness, when you notice troubled expressions on their faces.

“Did anyone see Kiri before we came here?” Lo’ak asks, and everyone shakes their heads, “Shit, Neteyam.”

“She said she’d swim a bit more before joining us by the Tree,” Tsireya replies.

“Alright, everyone, let’s divide and start looking for her,” Neteyam orders, calling out to his ilu.

It doesn’t take much convincing, as quickly, one by one, all of you get on your ilus and disperse.

Tsireya’s story about Kiri falling asleep in the water resurfaces in your mind. It happened before, right? Kiri is probably fine, you try to convince yourself, but you can’t help the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach.

As you swim up for a breath, you take a deep dive again, determined to search for Kiri in the depths of the water. Silent prayers to Eywa express your gratitude, when your gaze is drawn to a small figure hidden between tall leaves. Your heart skips a beat as you realize what you are seeing: Kiri's whole body is glowing with an otherworldly light. In all your years, you have never seen anything quite like it.

Noticing that she has begun to violently shake, you quickly swim to Kiri, and gently pull her queue away, forcing her body to go limp. Desperately, you try to get her out of the leaves, but it seems that the harder you try, the tighter they grip her limbs.

Your mind starts racing, and panic begins to set in, when you suddenly see a pair of hands cutting down the leaves around Kiri's body with a small knife. Right, a knife! You take out yours and start helping. With the last of the leaves cut, Kiri's body begins to float upwards. Neteyam quickly wraps his arm around her middle, and signals for you to follow, as he places her on his ilu and swims to the surface.

You race after him, your heart pounding in your chest. As you break the surface, Neteyam’s already positioning Kiri’s body on a flat rock, gently shaking her. You join him, noting how calm and collected he seems.

“Neteyam, there’s something wrong. She was still linked and shaking, when I found her,” your voice breaks.

“Shit,” he curses, and checks for Kiri’s breath.

You watch as he starts performing something strange: Neteyam breathes air into Kiri’s mouth, then starts counting as he presses down on her chest in an unfamiliar rhythm. A wave of fear washes over you, when you notice his hands start shaking.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Neteyam curses again, “Help me, please.”

“I don’t know what to do, Neteyam,” you panic, “She’s not breathing!”

“When I stop pressing, just try to breathe out as much air as you can into her mouth,” he orders, and continues counting.

“Alright, alright,” you try to calm yourself down.

You do your best following his instructions, and it seems to put him back on track too. But as time drags on, and Kiri still doesn't respond, both of you begin to feel a sense of despair.

Just as you're about to give up hope, Kiri moves weakly beneath you, and finally takes a breath on her own. You let out a sigh of relief, tears streaming down your face.

“It worked,” Neteyam’s eyes glisten, as he checks for her breathing.

"We need to take her to Tsahik, right now," you breathe out, and he nods.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Everything afterwards happens in a blur of confusion. Your heart races, as you nervously pace around Tsahik’s marui, where Kiri is getting examined by a group of strangers: a Na’vi wearing human clothes, and two sky people who arrived on a flying ship. Jake and Neteyam are with them in the room, talking and talking, but you can’t quite understand.

There is a tension in the air when Neytiri returns with Ronal. She raises her voice at them, and before you can even begin to wonder what's going on, the men exit the marui, leaving the women alone. You catch a glimpse of Jake as he passes by you, and for a moment, you feel struck by his presence.

He looks tired and scared, like he has been suffering for a long time now. You recall your conversation with Lo’ak. While in your mind you are convinced that he is the bad guy, seeing him in this state makes you feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

“You don’t have to wait,” Neteyam pulls you out of your thoughts. His words are not necessarily ill-intended, but you still feel out of place.

“I want to make sure she’s alright,” you explain. Neteyam only nods, “What are they saying?”

He falls silent, as if contemplating whether he needs to reveal to you whatever he knows.

“She’s going to be better, right?” your voice hitches.

“Hey, hey,” he crouches down next to you, “Of course, she will. Kiri is very strong.”

It’s only a second of vulnerability showing on his side, before the usual mask slips back onto his face, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking. At all. Both of your attentions are quickly drawn back to the marui, when Ronal steps out. Jake rushes to her side, with Neteyam and you close on his heels.

“She is weak but the Great Mother granted her another chance,” Ronal answers, “Now, she needs her rest.”

“Thank you,” Jake expresses with sincerity in his voice, before disappearing into the marui. From the inside, you hear soft sobs. Neteyam hesitates to take a step, glancing back at you.

“Go in, see for yourself,” you encourage him, and he complies.

At the risk of interrupting their family moment, you sit down slightly far from the marui, waiting. You’re not sure how much time passes, when Jake walks out. You shift uncomfortably when he approaches you.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he clears his throat, as he crouches in front of you, “You saved my daughter.”

“I only found her,” you admit, “If it wasn’t for Neteyam…”

“You did well, you got to her just in time,” Jake interrupts, “Neteyam said that you even helped him with chest compressions.”

“I don’t know what that even was,” you genuinely chuckle. You only guessed it was something borrowed from the sky people.

“Yet you saved her, thank you,” he insists with a small smile.

You look at him, trying to read his face. There’s something in his eyes that suggests he’s being genuine. He breaks the silence again, this time his tone more careful.

“I know about your fight with Neteyam. He didn’t want to tell me the reason but I guessed it was something serious. There’s really not many things to get him to act like that.”

“I can’t possibly agree or understand your decisions,” you remain calm, despite the rushing heat to your face, “I think it’s unfair.”

“I know, I’m not always making the best decisions,” he shakes his head, “And I get why you don’t like me much but I can’t risk losing my family.”

“You don’t have to,” you interrupt, “If you just go out there alone, they’ll stop hurting everybody else.”

“I wish it had been that easy. I don’t even care about my own death anymore, but I just know it won’t be enough,” he seems defeated, “They will come for my family next. Everything that I care for, and more. They did once already.”

“But aren’t you the one they’re looking for?”

“It’s grown beyond vengeance at this point,” Jake shakes his head, “They caught Lo’ak and Kiri once, and Tuk… they had Tuk. If anything happened to them, I don’t know what I would have done. We barely got them out, it was…”

“Must have been terrifying,” you finish for him. You think back to your sister getting caught, held at a gunpoint, and your chest hurts with sudden empathy for him.

As a father, it must be times more terrifying for him to see his kids in the hands of an enemy. It makes sense now: the great Toruk Makto had a weak spot.

“I think I get it,” you nod in understanding, “When they captured my sister... I have never been more scared in my life. It still keeps me up every night.”

“I’m sorry,” Jake sighs, “Do you know if she’s…?”

“Alive? I don’t know. She promised to come looking for me, once it’s safe but it’s been weeks now,” your voice hitches, “When they were about to capture me, she pushed me out of the way, which really pissed them off. Especially their chief.”

“I hope you get to see her again,” Jake reaches out, to pat you on your shoulder. You let him, “It is honorable to sacrifice yourself for the other to live. Eywa will bless her for keeping you alive.”

“I feel like I failed her, hiding here,” you look away in an attempt to hide the tears filling up your eyes, “I should have stayed there.”

“It’s not your fault, kid, you did your best,” Jake gently touches your chin to turn your face back to him. When he notices your tears, his eyebrows knit together in worry, “She would be proud of you.”

A small sob escapes your lips, and you feel ashamed to break down in front of him. You’re caught off guard, when Jake pulls you into a hug. It’s strangely comforting how tight it feels in your throat, as you bury your face in his chest, letting yourself silently cry. You feel him pat you on the back, until you can finally slowly recover your breath.

“Dad?” Neteyam’s voice grabs both of your attention. He leans against the entrance of the marui, looking confused between the two of you.

You instantly pull away from Jake, hanging your head in a mix of strange emotions. It’s not every day that you receive comfort from the very person you thought was your enemy.

“I’ll be right there,” Jake says, standing up, “Do you want to see her, Y/N?”

You nod in gratitude, wiping away your tears before following Jake. As you enter, Neteyam gives you a puzzled look, like he’s trying to figure out what the hell you and his father were talking about. Your eyes land on Neytiri, sat by Kiri’s side, holding her hand in hers.

“How is she?” Jake asks, sitting down next to his mate and pulling her into his side.

“She is going to be better, once she rests,” Neytiri answers quietly, returning her eyes to Kiri, and stroking her cheek, “My child.”

You feel out of place in the presence of the Sully family. Just a few days ago, you thought you hated Jake, and now you find yourself caring for his family.

You suddenly realize that if he knows about your fight with Neteyam, then Neytiri surely knows too. You can't help but wonder if she hates you. Standing there, you feel like an intruder, interrupting their vulnerable moment.

“Y/N,” Neytiri's voice pulls you out of your thoughts, “Thank you for saving my child.”

“You did good, kid,” Jake adds, then turns his gaze to Neteyam, “Both of you.”

As you open your mouth to protest, Neytiri cuts you off with a firm tone.

“Get some rest. You too, Neteyam.”

As much as you want to say something, anything, there's a strange authority in Neytiri's voice that makes it impossible to disobey. It's strange because she reminds you of your mother - strong, stubborn, yet caring. You were never able to disobey your mother.

“It’s okay, kid, you can check on Kiri later,” Jake encourages.

With a grateful nod, you leave the marui. Neteyam silently follows you out.

“Um, I should probably go tell the others now,” he grabs your attention.

“Yes, Lo’ak must be worried,” you agree with him.

Lo’ak wasn’t allowed to be with you in the marui. He was staying with Tuk, until further instructions, whereas Tsireya and Ao'nung got scolded by their mother for not keeping an eye on Kiri, and were sent home right away. Neteyam and you were the only ones who were overlooked in the matter.

“Thank you for helping me back there,” he scratches his head, “If it wasn’t for you, I could’ve lost her.”

“I don’t think I deserve the credit here, ‘Teyam,” you pause.

Did you just call him by his nickname? ‘Teyam? Do you think you’re friends? Shit.

His eyes widen and you catch just a tiniest hint of a small smile before he bites down on his lip to hide it.

“Neteyam,” you correct yourself, “I froze when I couldn’t get her out of those leaves. I can’t believe I forgot about my knife.”

“Hey, and I panicked. But in the end, we kind of made a good team,” he snorts.

“Right,” you chuckle at the irony.

Because you’re both headed in the same direction, Neteyam and you walk together in silence. After a while, he catches your attention again.

“I saw you talking to my father,” he hesitates before meeting your eyes, “Can I ask you about it?”

“You can ask him if you want.”

“So it went badly?” Neteyam guesses.

“No, not half as bad as I expected,” you stop in your tracks, before admitting, “Actually, I think I kind of get it.”

Neteyam only nods but you’re not sure if he really understands the value behind your words. He hopes that it means a change of your perception but deep down, he still feels a little scared. You don’t talk for the rest of the way but you don’t seem bothered by his presence, your thoughts now occupied with the woodsprite you saw earlier. Maybe Eywa was right and the two of you can mend this after all.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

“Y/N,” Tsireya’s soft voice wakes you up. She has a bright smile on her face, “Kiri’s awake! I thought you’d like to see her.”

Together, you make your way towards Tsahik’s marui, already noticing the Sully’s and friends coming and going. Tsireya pulls you along with her, but miscalculates her grip, causing you to bump into someone. It’s Neteyam. You can feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Mawey, Y/N,” he grins, as he steadies you by your shoulders. You can hear Ao’nungs low chuckle but ignore him.

“Sorry, Y/N,” Tsireya whispers to you.

“I’m fine,” you smile at her, then turn back to Neteyam. He still keeps his hands on you, “Neteyam.”

“Good morning to you too,” he says, finally lowering his hands. Still, you’re too close to each other.

Before things get more awkward, Kiri’s voice breaks the tension. She calls out your name, and you rush to join her by the mat, taking her hands in yours with worry. Kiri weakly smiles in response.

“I promise, I am doing better,” she reassures you, “And for that I have to thank my saviors! You hear that?” she loudly asks.

“I was worried sick for you, and you’re joking,” you roll your eyes at her, but can’t help a giddy smile. You’re glad she’s back to her normal self. You stay with her for some time, questioning her about her health, as she tries to swat you away.

“Out, out, Kiri has to eat!” Neytiri’s voice interrupts your small exchange, “And rest!”

She walks in with a bowl of cut up fruits in her hands, on her way managing to usher out some of the visitors.

“Mom,” Kiri whines annoyedly.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

That night you’re haunted by a nightmare. You’re swimming in the crystal-clear water, the warm sun rays piercing your eyes with a satisfying itch. From afar, you make out the beach which you would recognize anywhere: you’re back home, in your village. As you dive into the depths, you suddenly feel a hand clasping yours but the feeling is familiar. It’s your sister, swimming alongside you.

You smile. It reminds you of the old times, when you were little, spending your time swimming and holding hands with your sister, so none of you gets lost. Suddenly, the darkness engulfs you, making it hard to see. You look up to find a massive cloud forming in the sky, and you try to pull your sister with you to the surface. But she doesn’t budge, instead letting go of your hand with a small smile. Gasping for air, you break the surface, before diving back in for her, but this time she’s even farther away from you. You try to reach her again again and again, but each time the air in your lungs gets thinner, as she slips further away, eventually hitting the bottom.

You wake up, with your sister’s name lingering on your lips. It’s still dark outside, and too early for the morning. To clear your head, you head towards the trees, deeper on the island.

As you push through the dense bushes, you finally reach a small clearing nestled between tall trees. Then bang! All of a sudden someone throws you off your feet, hitting your back against the ground, and you see a familiar face hover above you. He’s so close, you can feel his braids grazing your skin. Neteyam. You growl.

“What the hell?” you slap his chest angrily, but he doesn’t budge, his arms firmly planted by the sides of your face. His knee rests between your thighs, restricting your movement.

“This is a familiar pose,” he smirks, and you roll your eyes at him, “Why aren’t you asleep?”

You notice a headpiece he’s wearing that you’ve never seen on him before. It looks like the ones that guardians assigned by Tonowari wear during their shifts.

“I was trying to clear my head. Why aren’t you?”

“I’m guarding,” he smiles, “This very same area, by the way.”

“You’re a guardian?” you snort.

Neteyam shakes his head amused, swaying his braids over your skin. Almost mocking you.

“Get off me,” you lightly slap his chest again, but he has something else on his mind. To tease you further, he pins your arms, and pushes his knee against you, right between your thighs.

You know that it’s innocent on his side, but your body reacts differently, separate from your mind. You feel blood rush to your face, as your ears, like a pair of wings, suddenly flutter in pleasure. Of course this doesn’t escape his eyes. You can see his pupils dilate, and an unreadable expression covering his face. You want to hide and scream out of embarrassment.

“Please,” you plead, and he pulls away from you so fast, it’s almost like he takes a leap.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he apologizes, keeping a small distance between you.

He’s embarrassed too, you think. He doesn’t meet your eyes, but you can almost see how hundreds of thoughts are rushing through his brain in an attempt to change the subject. You sit up, dusting off your skin in uncomfortable silence, until he finally dares to speak up.

“Do you want me to walk you back?” he scratches his head, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“No,” your voice is so low. Shit, “I need to clear my head.”

“Did you have a nightmare?” he asks gently.

You stand up, to dust the remains off your back and knees. You feel Neteyam’s eyes roaming over your body.

“I saw my sister in my dream,” you finally answer, “It just confused me more.”

“Confused you about what?”

“The signs. I can’t figure out what Eywa is trying to tell me.”

“Tell me,” Neteyam offers, it’s not an order.

You hesitate. Opening up to him out of all Na’vi? To be fair, you’d rather tell someone who doesn’t care about you, who would just listen for the sake of curiosity, not pity or empathy. But also he looks so sincere and trustworthy. Is the tiredness suddenly affecting your perception of him?

“Well,” you sigh, “Ever since my parents died, I could feel their presence whenever I talked to Eywa. And the other day, by the Spirit Tree, I thought that if my sister were dead, then I’d feel her too. But I couldn’t.”

“And the nightmare makes you think otherwise?”

“Yes. In the nightmare, we were swimming but every time I tried pulling her with me to the surface, to get her out, she wouldn’t budge. It’s like she didn’t want to be saved.”

“A nightmare can be just a nightmare, Y/N,” Neteyam pats your shoulder to comfort you.

“This was different,” you shake your head in disagreement, “I can feel it. I just wish I didn’t get my hopes up.”

Faint voices catch your attention. Neteyam’s ears perk up, as he focuses on the sounds in the distance, suddenly very aware of his surroundings.

"What do you hear?" you ask but he brings his thumb to your lips, shushing you.

“If the other guards hear you, they’ll take me off the duty.”

It feels like an eternity as he keeps his thumb over your lips. He stares off into darkness but all you can do is look at him. You admire how the moonlight highlights his features, his freckles and eyes glowing in the dark. His breathing is slow, strangely calming. You can’t help but think that the headpiece suits him even though it doesn’t prevent some of his braids escaping and framing his face. It’s almost funny how they seem to have a life on their own, swaying from left to right with every small movement he makes.

There is a flutter in your chest, as you realize how handsome he is. Shit. Maybe you’re just tired.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, lowering his hand from your face, and it finally seems to catch his attention. You let your fingers linger on his skin for a little longer before letting go.

“Your purpose is to get me in trouble, isn’t it?” Neteyam smiles.

“What?” you frown at him.

“First, it was the fighting, now you happen to sneak away to the area I guard, so I get busted?”

“I didn’t intentionally -” you start justifying yourself but he’s quick to interrupt.

“I know, I’m kidding.”

Kidding. You admit that, given your history, it is a little funny. You can’t help but smile back.

The exhaustion seems to creep up on you, as you let out a yawn.

“I am probably going to regret this,” Neteyam mumbles, as if more to himself, than to you, “You know how Kiri sometimes falls asleep in random places?”

“Yeah?”

“Since you don’t want to go back to your bed, you can crash here,” he scratches his forehead, slightly embarrassed, as he points to the patch of grass in front of you.

“You want me to sleep here?” you snort.

“I’m just saying, give it a try. I promise I will be on the lookout.”

You consider it for a second. It sounds ridiculous but the lush grass does seem inviting, softer than your bed. Another yawn creeps up on you. Is it bad that you want to stay here for a while?

“I-I’m not sure I can sleep here,” you admit. Not under his gaze anyway.

“Oh, come on, it’s easy,” he suddenly warms up.

Neteyam stretches out on the grass and waves you over with the biggest grin.

“This is what Kiri does. She just lies down, relaxes, and just like that, she’s off to her dream world,” Neteyam imitates his sister, “Come on.”

“Alright,” you give up, as you walk over to him.

You know it’s innocent but you still feel nervous. Neteyam pats the grass next to him, encouraging you to lay down. You comply, and he watches you relax, as he tousles some of the grass beneath your head. This was a bad idea.

“Feels good, right?” he asks, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at you.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. It does.

“I’m starting to understand why Kiri falls asleep so easily,” you say, and hear him chuckle.

“Right? Sleeping outside is way more fun. There is just something about the open sky,” he sighs, “It reminds me of home.”

You keep your eyes closed but you can sense Neteyam’s still watching you.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Oh, nothing,” he sounds flustered, like he got caught, “I just thought you had fallen asleep already.”

“Neteyam?”

“Hm?”

You turn your head to look at him, meeting his curious golden eyes.

“Can you tell me something? I’m not too sleepy yet,” you admit.

“What would you like to hear?” his voice is soft. So soft, you have to tense your ears to hear him.

And he talks. It was easy to guess that Neteyam would speak about the things he values the most, about his family. You’re conflicted between hearing him out and discovering this new world you never knew existed, or leaving him here alone to avoid the guilt weighing down on you.

He tells you about his mother with pride, about her accomplishments and how she stood up for the things she believed in. He mentions that her clan was closely acquainted with the ‘good’ sky people who lived near the rainforest where he was born. These were the ones that tried helping Kiri yesterday. He also tells you about his father, who came from a star, and how he was almost killed by his mother before being saved by Eywa. He speaks fondly of his grandfather, whom he was told to look like, and who was a skilled warrior and protector of his clan, despite never having known him personally. And he tells you about his grandmother, who was strict but deeply loving. He missed her everyday since moving.

As Neteyam talks about the rainforest, his eyes light up with excitement. His descriptions are so vivid and detailed that you can almost see the towering trees, the creatures, and the weapons used by the Omatikaya. At times, he has to articulate with his hands and body to explain it. You feel your tiredness slip away. The more he talks, the more intrigued you get by his life, his stories.

At some point, you overtake the conversation, telling him about your home. You’re rushing through your words because there is so much you want to share. As if its pure existence depends on how much you can recall. At first, Neteyam has a guilty expression that eventually turns into a curious one. Sure, he’s been living with a water clan for months now but the way he reacted to your stories could make you think that he had never even seen water up close.

Hours pass, as your voices get smaller, and drowsiness completely takes over the two of you.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When you wake up, you feel slightly restrained around your middle. You’re holding onto Neteyam’s arm, wrapped around your middle, and your legs intertwined. Shit.

“Neteyam,” you turn around, slightly shoving him, “”Teyam.”

He slowly opens his eyes, blinking the sleep away. It takes a moment for him to focus on you. So close, you think. Too close.

“Do you mind?” you gesture at his arm.

Neteyam’s a little slow in the morning, you notice. His eyes lazily follow your movement, roam over your body, as if trying to understand what happened, until he finally realizes. You swear, for a second you hear a faint flutter of his ears.

Your eyes snap back at him, and he sheepishly smiles, pulling away.

“Finally,” you mumble, as you get off the grass, “I should…I should go, I promised Tsireya that we’ll do this thing, um, in the morning.” Why can’t you lie?

“Right, and my shift’s over, so my mom will be looking for me,” Neteyam nods his head.

“Uh, well, I’ll see you around then?” you hesitate.

“Sure.”

Is he brushing you off? Slightly embarrassed, you turn around and walk ahead. When you hear his voice call out to you, your heart skips a beat.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Friends?”

You pause for a second, then nod with a smile. His face lightens up. Let’s try.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Trying is definitely a good word to describe this new friendship you’re developing with Neteyam. Within a group, you still keep your distance. So much, that it almost seems like your friendship is supposed to be a secret. You’re scared of being called a hypocrite if you get too close. But you were on good terms with Lo’ak, and basically best friends with Kiri, so there’s really no reason for anyone to call you that. Ugh, but it’s different. Neteyam is different.

When you’re hanging out with the group, you’re always distracted, keeping an eye on him. He doesn't seem as interested in you though. On the contrary, his attention is divided between disciplining his siblings and breaking apart Ao’nung and Kiri from biting off each other’s heads.

Very rarely, in those quiet moments when you go to swim by yourself, you can catch him watching you from a distance. You find it hard to read his expressions, Neteyam is too good at hiding whatever he’s feeling. You, not so much.

Ever since your talk with Jake, and the night you spent with Neteyam, you have conflicted feelings. You’re not sure where you stand anymore. Having voiced your opinions loudly on your first days, you almost expect to pick another fight with him. But you also kind of dread it.

And the tension between you is not anger anymore. He’s still annoying at times but you learned to find it amusing, rather than frustrating. Sometimes, when he looks at you, your heart jumps. And well, it’s not looking good for you.

In those rare moments when you two are left alone, you bicker. It’s strange because you’re almost convinced that he enjoys provoking you on purpose. Neteyam thinks that his responsibility as a guard gives him some sort of control over you. He likes to play the savior.

“Hey, I’m neither Lo’ak, or Kiri, you can’t boss me around!” you frown, after he suggests you don’t go for a swim past the curfew.

“As a guardian, I make sure that everyone’s staying safe,” he raises his eyebrows, like he already won the argument.

“Isn’t your job looking out for the outsiders? Like humans? With weapons, you know? Not terrorizing me for wanting to swim!”

“I sometimes really think you’re doing this on purpose just to see how far you can push me.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Time really seems to stretch out when you don’t get news from the other islands for a few days. Tonowari doubles the guardians around the village, and sends out a small group of swimmers for updates. It must be bad.

“Do you know anything?” you ask Tsireya.

Tsireya tries to be the best daughter to her parents but hanging out around you, the Sully’s, and her brother even, really challenges her sometimes. She knows she’s not supposed to tell you anything but when you all look at her in anticipation, she gives up eventually. To be a good brother, Ao'nung beats her to it from time to time.

“Tsireya?” Lo’ak pushes, knowing just the tone to use on her.

“You can’t tell anyone, I mean,” she looks at Kiri, “The last time the demons attacked one of the villages was a few days ago. The reason we didn’t get any news was because they wiped it out. Completely.”

You see her eyes glisten with tears, and hang your head in defeat. There really isn’t anything you can do, huh? No matter how hard you try. Nothing at all.

“Tsireya, what else?” Kiri wraps her arm around her shoulders.

“And… our attempts to save these clans are turning out to be more damaging,” she sniffles, “Now that the sky demons know that Na’vi are armed, they have doubled their forces. And they are more brutal. Some of the clans think of running from the islands before they get caught.”

“Shit,” Lo’ak curses, “But your dad must have a plan, right? My parents were with him the whole day yesterday. I can tell they’re hiding something.”

“Lo’ak, I can’t tell you,” Tsireya pleads with him.

“They want to take out their chief,” Ao’nung suddenly speaks, “They suggested luring him out and killing him.”

“But your father said he won’t be attacking first,” Lo’ak frowns.

“That’s right, my father won’t. But your father considers it.”

Ao’nung words send the group into a panic, as everyone starts talking, asking for more information. You gulp down, trying to ignore this anxious feeling in your chest. Once again, painful images of your burning home appear in front of you.

Knowing that your plan has caused the destruction of another village makes you feel like shit. This can’t be happening. You can feel yourself losing your grip on your breathing as your body begins to shake. The others continue to talk, but their words become muffled and indistinct, drowned out by the noise in your ears.

“Mawey,” Neteyam whispers to you, taking your hand in his, “Just breathe, Y/N.”

You nod but your body won’t comply. The longer you can’t seem to breathe, the shakier you get. Neteyam squeezes your hand, and starts loudly breathing in and out of his mouth.

“Just follow my lead, alright? Breathe in,” he waits for you to repeat after him, “And out. Right, just like that.”

After many attempts of repeating after him, you finally seem to calm down your breathing, and your heartbeat slows into its natural rhythm.

“Good girl,” he gives your hand another squeeze, “Are you alright?”

“I need to get out of here,” you whisper to him.

“Then let’s go,” he says, pulling you to your feet. You don’t protest.

When both of you walk away, still holding hands, you feel everyone’s eyes turn to you. Ugh. You’re definitely going to be questioned to death for this by Kiri and Tsireya, though right now you don’t care. You just want to be somewhere else.

Neteyam leads you towards the trees. When you reach a small stream, he comes to a stop.

“Hey, you feeling better?” he asks softly, still holding your hand. You nod, looking down at his fingers tightly wrapped around your palm.

“I feel so guilty, for causing more pain,” your eyes start filling up with tears, as you rush through your words, “ I’m scared that we won’t be able to stop them. And I do this thing where I freeze in the most dangerous situations, it’s like my mind takes me to a bad place.”

“Y/N,” Neteyam’s voice is concerned, “I promise, nothing will happen to you.”

“But it’s nightmares every night. I swear, I sometimes can’t tell them apart from the reality,” you admit, looking back at him.

“Mawey, you’ll get through this,” Neteyam comforts you, “I trust you because I know you have a strong heart. But Y/N… what’s happening to you is very familiar.”

“In what way?” Neteyam sighs before opening his mouth.

“My father has this same response sometimes, like panicking and losing your breath. The nightmares. He says that it can happen when one suffers through something very bad, like war, or losing someone close.”

“Well, how did he stop it?” you frown at him.

“He didn’t. You can’t really stop it,” he shakes his head, with a pained expression on his face, “But my mother helps him.”

“How?”

“She talks to distract him. Reminds him that it’s in the past.,” Neteyam answers, then gestures at your hands still interlocked, “She holds him.”

You nod, and squeeze his hand in appreciation. A few tears escape from your eyes, as you look away. Neteyam brings his hand to your face, wiping them away.

“Don’t cry.”

“Am not,” you sniffle.

“Seriously, don’t,” Neteyam grazes your cheek with his thumb, “It upsets me.”

“Why would you care?” you snort.

“Oh, because it’s creepy!” he teases, making you smile, “Seeing you cry is probably going to send the rest of our friends to Eywa.”

“Shut it,” you smack him, but he only laughs.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Tsireya suggests adding beads into your hair, as she works on your braids. Usually, you would have your hair in small braids, but she convinced you to try out a hairstyle similar to hers: braids at the roots, to prevent hair from falling into your eyes, and letting the rest flow in its natural way. You roll your eyes at the way Tsireya beams at you but you’re secretly happy to be distracted.

The two of you sit on the grass terrace, with two Elderly Na’vi not too far. They seem to enjoy watching Tsireya’s wonders on your hair, and you feel infinitely thankful to them, when Kiri plops down in front of you. She can’t grill you with her questions in their presence.

“Kiri, are you next?” Tsireya asks her, a hint of hope in her tone.

“No, my hair’s too short for all of that,” Kiri gestures at Tsireya’s long curls.

“Nonsense, I think it would look very pretty on you.”

Tsireya continues convincing Kiri, while she works on your braids, when suddenly you sense a movement. The Elderly Na’vi, now seemingly disinterested, walk away, leaving the three of you to yourselves. Oh, sweet Eywa, please don’t.

“So…Y/N,” Kiri beats you to your silent prayer, “You and Neteyam.”

“What about me and Neteyam?” you quirk your eyebrow at her. You’re going to play dumb.

“What’s happening between you?” she squints at you, “And please don’t tell me that you’re in love with him.”

“Oh but I think they would look great together,” Tsireya adds in her dreamy voice. Shit.

“What are you two talking about?” you roll your eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks, “He’s annoying.”

“But like in a cute way?” Kiri tries to crack you.

“In a way that makes your heart flutter?” Tsireya adds.

“Are you thinking about Lo’ak right now?” you turn to look at Tsireya with a sly smile. If you just get to switch the topic, you will give yourself a small window to flee. She looks taken aback.

“Hey, don’t distract us!” Kiri interrupts, waving at you, “It’s alright, Tsireya, we all know he likes you back.”

Tsireya gulps down in embarrassment but doesn’t say anything. Kiri stares at you expectantly.

“What?”

“You were holding hands,” she states.

“I hold hands with Tsireya all the time too,” you’re definitely overplaying, “Neteyam and I are just trying to be more…civil.”

“Yet when you were panicking, it was Neteyam, and not Tsireya, holding your hand and taking you to the trees,” Kiri notes.

Is she playing a smartass? Caught off guard, your eyes widen.

“Why did you go into the trees, Y/N? Were you doing something you didn’t want us to see?” Kiri pushes, trying to crack you.

“Stop it,” you hiss at her.

“I just find it disgusting that he would go for my friend, right after Lo’ak already stole Tsireya from me,” Kiri crosses her arms in front of her chest, “All of you are inconsiderate.”

“A brother for a brother,” Tsireya whispers, and you can’t help but laugh.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kiri raises her voice.

“Come on, Kiri. Ao'nung is always flirting with you,” you explain, then wince in pain, as Tsireya pulls on your hair.

“Sorry!” she apologizes immediately, “I was just agreeing with you, didn’t mean to pull your hair.”

“You two are unbelievable. Ao’nung is terrible. No offense, Tsireya,” Kiri denies, “And don’t switch topics here, Y/N! You and Neteyam were jumping at each other’s throats since you met, now suddenly you consider him a friend? What happened?”

“Well, there was this time when we had to team up to save your ass,” you tease, enjoying Kiri’s escalating anger, “No, but really. I think we were just really scared for you.”

“Ooh,” the two of them awe in unison, “So that’s it?”

“And Eywa,” you mumble under your breath.

“Eywa?” Kiri’s ears perk up, as she leans in. Right away, Tsireya drops your hair, as she quickly positions herself next to Kiri, her attention now fully on you.

“Well… back when we went to the Spirit Tree, he and I fell a little behind. Then I saw a woodsprite floating around us. Neteyam had his back turned, so he didn’t even notice.”

“Do you think Eywa wants you two -” Kiri doesn’t finish.

“No, it was more of a sign for me to stop resenting him,” you shake your head in embarrassment, “So now I’m trying to listen and be nice to him.”

“That makes sense. Eywa wouldn’t bless you as a couple anyway, it’s too soon,” Kiri says.

“No, it’s not,” Tsireya disagrees, “They’re both capable of choosing mates before Eywa.”

Kiri opens her mouth to protest but then decides against it.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not the time,” you shake your head, and the girls seem to agree with you, “And Neteyam is not the one. He is my friend. So please stop teasing me for giving him a chance.”

Content with your answer, Kiri drops it. You suspect that Tsireya hasn’t been fully convinced by your words but she is too kind to keep pushing you. You give her a grateful smile for understanding. If anything, she can relate in some way.

Speak of the devil… When you see Neteyam approaching you, you can feel the girls’ eyes on you, looking for a reaction. Neteyam throws a quick look at you, slightly surprised by your hair, but says nothing. He doesn’t like it? You feel a little insecure.

“Hey,” he bows quickly, “Kiri, mother wants you back at home for dinner.”

Kiri rolls her eyes but gets up from the grass. Tsireya follows.

“My family is probably waiting for me too.”

“You’re lucky you have no one telling you what to do, Y/N,” Kiri blurts out, then covers her mouth.

“Kiri!” Tsireya tsks at her, but it’s a little too late.

When it came to dinners, you were mostly having them alone, or sometimes skipping them at all. For your first two weeks, Tsireya would drag you to her house for every single meal but eventually you restarted hunting and actually enjoyed preparing your own meals.

“Y/N, you coming to our place tonight?” Tsireya encourages.

You prepare yourself to politely decline her invitation but Neteyam beats you to it.

“Actually, what do you think about joining us instead?” he asks softly.

Both Tsireya, Kiri and you look at him in surprise. He had never invited you directly in front of others. Not even Kiri has. And the idea of you spending the evening with his father. Yikes. Sure, you somewhat felt more comfortable seeing Jake in the village but sitting in front of him for dinner is totally different.

“Um, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you mumble.

“Nonsense, Y/N, now that I think about it, I should have invited you a long time ago,” Kiri suddenly jumps in, “And after you saved my ass. Mom and dad would love to thank you.”

“Especially my mom,” Neteyam adds.

If they think they’re making a good point, they must be completely unaware of how uncomfortable you feel around Neytiri. She is intimidating, you think. You can never even talk to her.

“Well?” Neteyam nudges you with a warm smile.

You bite your lip, trying to think of an excuse. Any excuse. But your head is empty, as the three of them look at you expectantly. Tsireya nods her head at you with an encouraging smile.

“If you’re sure,” you admit your defeat.

Happily, Kiri swings her arm around you, leading you towards their marui.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Sully's marui is bigger than yours, it’s not surprising. They are a family of six after all, you are a single child. Still, you think that you could never live with so many people: losing your parents at a young age made you well acquainted with sharing a room with only one person at a time. Now you share it with no one.

When you shyly walk in, you think your heart is going to jump out of your chest. Kiri pulls you by your hand.

“Mom, dad,” Neteyam grabs their attention, “We invited Y/N to share today’s meal with us.”

“Hey, Y/N,” Jake’s ears perk up, as he stands up with a small smile. You bow. Little Tuk copies her father as she runs up to you, curiously examining you.

“I hope it’s okay,” you smile sheepishly.

“It’s good that you came. You need to eat well,” Neytiri walks up to you with a bowl of food in her hands.

“Mom,” Kiri rolls her eyes, “Y/N eats fine, stop.”

“Not fine enough for a hunter,” Neytiri turns to you, “A good hunter must look after themselves. So eat.”

You nod your head with a small chuckle escaping your lips, as you take the bowl from her. Neteyam gives you a proud smile.

When all of you are seated to eat, Lo’ak rushes into the marui, barely catching his breath.

“Sorry I’m late,” he throws, quickly sitting down next to you, “Oh, hi, Y/N.”

You greet him back, then notice a non-verbal exchange between the siblings. They seem to be doing this way too often. Lo’ak shoots a questioning look at Neteyam, but Neteyam just rolls his eyes at him, and returns to his food. Lo’ak tries again with Kiri. Kiri shrugs her shoulders, then smiles pointing at Neteyam with her eyes. Lo’ak snorts.

“Lo’ak,” Jake grumbles.

“Sorry,” Lo’ak gets back to his bowl without being able to retrieve his smile.

At first, you feel awkward. While they exchange some news with each other, you don’t participate, simply observing them from underneath your lashes. Tuk excitedly tells about her new friendship with a young ilu. Lo’ak shares that he was swimming with Payakan. Jake gives him a displeased look but doesn’t say anything. You think that the food is very good. It’s a shame that you can’t enjoy it because you feel uncomfortable. Why did you have to agree?

“Y/N,” Neytiri turns to you, “I’ve seen you hunt near the trees. Do you prefer it to the water?”

“It depends,” you feel like she is testing you but you don’t want to lie, “I feel most comfortable in the water. But sometimes it gets boring, so I look for the prey in the green. It’s more challenging.”

Neytiri nods, and you notice Jake’s and Neteyam’s approving smiles on you, which makes you feel like you passed the test. Whatever the test was.

“Mom is an excellent hunter,” Kiri adds, “You should join her sometime.”

“I will only be a distraction,” you try to disagree, as you hear Lo’ak chuckle next to you. Is he enjoying how much more uncomfortable his family can make you?

“Lo’ak,” Neytiri slaps the back of his head, “Have you tried hunting on an ikran, Y/N?”

“No, I’ve never even flown,” you give her a sheepish smile, as her eyes widen in surprise. You suppose it’s pretty common, since you grew up around the water.

“You’ve never flown!” Tuk exclaims, as if you are missing out.

“Then it’s decided,” Jake announces, exchanging a knowing look with Neytiri. Oh no.

“Next time I go flying, I will take you with me. You will enjoy it more than swimming,” she smiles.

You and Neytiri. Going to fly. You can’t even speak looking into her eyes, are you sure you will be able to fly with her in the air? At a height? While she hunts?

“Don’t worry, Y/N, you have nothing to be scared of,” Neteyam encourages you with a smile, “I’m sure you will love flying.”

Tuk nods in agreement, clapping her hands together. Neteyam finds his sister’s reaction amusing and lovingly pats her on the head. You enjoy this side of him a little too much, as you watch the interaction with a small smile.

“Like what you see?” Lo’ak whispers to you with a grin.

“What?” it’s hard for you to play cool when he just caught you.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak acts disinterested, biting down on the piece of fish, “Just warning that you’re being too obvious.”

“Just like you’re obvious with the chief’s daughter,” you whisper back, and watch as Lo’ak chokes on his food.

“Eat slower, Lo’ak,” Neytiri scolds him.

As the evening goes on, you feel slightly more at ease. Although the thought of you dying while flying with Neytiri nags at you, you try to push it to the back of your mind for the time being. You and Kiri eventually find a thread of your own conversation, and you occasionally catch Neteyam’s gracing you with his proud smiles.

When you’re finished with thanking them for having you over, Kiri stands up instinctively to walk you out. You’re both confused when Neteyam jumps to his feet, gently pushing his sister out of his way.

“It’s too late for you to be out, Kiri,” he says, his accent thick, “I will walk Y/N home.”

“Since when am I not to be out at this hour?” Kiri is baffled, as she turns to Jake with an expectant look, “Dad?”

“Since you started falling asleep underwater, Kiri,” Jake throws her a knowing look.

When you exit the marui with Neteyam close on your heels, you’re caught by surprise, feeling his arm snake around your shoulder. As you’re about to react, you almost stumble in the dark, and Neteyam helps you keep your balance.

“It’s a bit uneven here, especially in the dark, many stumble,” he explains, as he lets go of you.

“Thanks,” you mumble, looking at him, “Why did you have to invite me?”

“Did you have other plans?” Neteyam quirks at you. You shake your head.

“Still, after everything I said and did, I feel like you all must hate me.”

“You gave me a second chance, right?” Neteyam smiles, “Why wouldn’t I give one to you?”

You shrug your shoulders.

“And just so you know, no one hated you.”

“Not even you?” you tease.

“Especially not me,” Neteyam’s voice is serious. You shy away from his gaze.

As if being unseen in the darkness is equivalent to being unheard, the two of you walk slowly, quietly. You notice how the last bit of sun sets down behind the horizon, and watch in admiration.

“I love it here,” Neteyam admits, following your gaze, “I miss home, and the sky in the forest. But there’s something about the water…”

“What is it that you like about the water?” you ask him curiously.

“I don’t know, it just makes my heart race,” he whispers, looking back at you.

“I would love to see the forest. But I think I like it already,” you whisper back, meeting his golden eyes.

There’s a moment when you think something is going to happen. You’re both terrified and impatient for him to do anything. When did he become so different? Were you just blind before?

Neteyam’s eyes jump all over your face and your hair, like he’s trying to take it in. You hope that you’re not giving away how much you think you’re growing to like him at this moment.

“Your hair looks pretty like this,” he says, reaching for one of the locks draping over your shoulders.

Your heart skips a beat when he twirls a strand of your hair, watching it curl around his long fingers.

“Very pretty,” he smiles, looking back at you.

“Tsireya talked me into it,” you smile sheepishly, as you gently pull your hair back from his grasp.

He turns his head to the side, braids swaying with him. You have to force yourself not to reach your hand to tug them.

“Well, we’re here.” It takes you a second to realize that you’re in front of your marui.

“Right,” you gulp down, “Thanks again for inviting me, it was surprisingly delightful.”

“Wait till you fly with my mother,” Neteyam chuckles, noticing your terrified face.

“Oh, sweet Eywa,” you bite your lip.

“Don’t worry, she won’t let you get hurt,” Neteyam backs away, ready to leave, “I can be there to look after you.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

In a long time, since you had arrived, this is the first time you see Metkayina so overjoyed. From afar, you were all watching as their soul-sisters and soul-brothers, the Tulkuns, were returning home. The Sully’s were looking at the water mesmerized. Being foresters, they probably never even seen Tulkuns before.

You think back to your soul-sister whom you had seen many years ago. You were still a little girl back then but the memories you had with her kept your heart warm all this time. Sadness graces your face when you imagine her returning home and finding your village destroyed, with you nowhere to be found.

And although your soul-sister wasn’t among the Tulkuns, you still enjoy watching their interactions with the Metkayina clan. You swim in between them with a giddy smile, catching glimpses of silent conversations and excited exchanges, especially between the younger Na’vi. Not too far, Neteyam catches your eye. He is unlinked from his ilu, which swims around him with a delighted noise.

“Y/N, this is incredible!” he gestures.

“It is,” you agree, returning his smile.

You spend more time swimming and taking in the scenes unraveling in front of you. What’s even more entertaining is watching Neteyam and Kiri admiring the Tulkuns, and trying their best to understand what they’re saying. Of course, for foresters who had never seen Tulkuns, it was difficult to differentiate the subtle changes of tones and sounds they made. Lo’ak seems more comfortable, and you guess that it’s due to his bond with Payakan.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

That evening, the Metkayina celebrate. While there were no new attacks from the sky people in the past week, you can’t help but feel uneasy, suspecting that something worse is going to happen soon. Like this short moment of happiness is just the calm before the storm begins.

The celebration of the return of Tulkuns is similar to the one you used to have back home. The clan gathers at the beach in big and small circles, around fire. They cook and share food and drinks together, while singing and dancing to the songs of Eywa. Many wear festive patterns on their faces and bodies. It didn’t take Tsireya long to convince both Kiri and you to get your faces and arms painted with beautiful shapes and colors.

As the evening goes on, Kiri tells you that back home their celebrations were almost the same. You sense that she’s truly enjoying it, feeling the familiarity. When she is pulled into a dance, you watch her with a big smile, clapping your hands. The rest of her family looks just as happy, especially Neytiri. Almost relaxed. You feel a little jealous that you had no one to share this moment with.

With everyone distracted, you slip away to the far end of the beach to be by yourself. Feeling the warmth of the sand, you enjoy the waves washing over your feet in a calming rhythm. You watch the horizon, and spot some movement from the Tulkuns performing their own celebratory dance, as they swim around each other. Occasionally, their tails resurface and disappear under the water with big splashes.

“Why aren’t you dancing with the rest?” you hear Neteyam’s voice, as he sits down next to you.

“Why aren’t you?”

“Let’s just say that dancing is not my strongest suit,” Neteyam smiles.

“Is the mighty warrior finally admitting to being bad at something?” you tease him, “Lo’ak would be delighted when I tell him.”

“Lo’ak is a worse dancer than I am,” Neteyam laughs, pointing at his younger brother in the distance.

You look over to find Lo’ak awkwardly circling around Tsireya. It seems like he is going to fall into the fire any second now. They’re holding hands, as she tries to guide him to move his feet like her but Lo’ak seems so out of place, it makes you laugh too. It’s kind of cute, you think. He tries for Tsireya because there is no way he would ever do this in front of so many Na’vi.

“He’s a lost cause,” you shake your head at the sight.

“Anything for love,” Neteyam turns his gaze back to you with a small smile.

You almost get a deja vu of how similar this moment is to the one you shared among the trees. There is something unspoken between Neteyam and you. He holds your gaze, slowly moving closer. You gulp down nervously, when he raises his hand to your cheek. Neteyam pauses for your approval before making contact. His fingers trace a pattern of paint on your face, before he cups your cheek.

“Neteyam,” you whisper, “If anyone sees…”

If anyone sees, you will definitely gain at least several suspicious questions tomorrow morning. You can only imagine how this looks from afar, and you wonder if he wants it to look that way. Is it bad that you hope he does?

“I don’t care,” Neteyam whispers back, his face now closer to yours, “Can I ask you something, Y/N?”

You feel too nervous to talk. Instinctively you raise your fingers, wrapping them around his wrist, then nod your head. Neteyam takes a deep breath.

“Are you promised to someone?” his eyes jump all over your face, trying to read your thoughts.

“No,” your voice hitches, as you hold his gaze, “Are you?”

Neteyam softly shakes his head, one of his braids falling on his face. You find that makes him look more handsome.

“Y/N,” his voice is hypnotic, pulling you closer to him, “I know we didn’t see eye to eye when we met but now I think it’s because both of us felt something. Y/N, I -”

“Neteyam,” you interrupt him with a firm tone, “Don’t say anything.”

You avoid his gaze, lowering his hand from your face. You still keep your fingers around his wrist but you don’t dare to look at him.

“Why?” Neteyam sounds so confused, you feel an ache in your stomach, “Am I wrong? Don’t you feel it too?”

“Neteyam, this is not the time,” you sigh, avoiding his question, “I can’t. Please.”

He pulls his hand from yours, instantly putting a small distance between you. You feel like you’re going to scream. He doesn’t deserve this.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers, shaking his head.

“I can’t promise you anything, Neteyam. I don’t even know if my sister is alive. What if I go back home? What if the demons attack us tomorrow, and I die?” you start rushing through the hundreds of reasons, “I can’t risk this. Having a friend like you is more than I deserve already, ‘Teyam. I don’t want you to get stuck with me. I am not reliable like you. I will mess it up.”

“Y/N -” he looks so confused, trying to follow the line of your words, “I disagree -”

Your intimate moment is disrupted with loud noises of Roxto and Ao’nung running past you into the water. The rest of the group, with Lo’ak and Tsireya, are close on their heels with accompanying shouts. You guess they’re headed to swim with the Tulkuns before Tonowari declares an end to the celebration.

“Neteyam, come join us!” Lo’ak shouts, interrupting his brother.

“Please, let’s just pretend that everything’s back to normal. Whatever ‘normal’ means anyway,” you sigh, standing up. Neteyam’s pained eyes follow your movement, as you leave him there, sitting alone.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

part 2

tumblr won't let me post the rest of the fic in the same post, so go to part 2. if you have any thoughts or comments and you haven't finished reading yet, i would still appreciate you sharing them with me. i'm so impatient for feedback, although i know it will take a lot of time to read this whole thing, anyways

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

taglist (also tagging some blogs that i think might enjoy it, and some of the authors, whose works i’ve been reading non-stop to keep myself motivated): @fucksnow ; @heaven1oo4 ; @fanboyluvr ; @ngayawneluoer ; @aquila-de-l-ocean ; @aoteyam ; @moonpetrichors-blog ; @vinnieswife ; @eywascall ; @lxvvvllyy ; @iloveavatar ; @neteyamdarling ; @gloryy-vs ; @girasollake ; @mayhemories ; @suuuupernovaaa ; @love-chx ; @the-demon-soul ; @cosmictheo ; @victoirey ; @your-averagewriter ; @starkeysmoon ; @openpandorabox ; @urlocalfeiner ; @neteyams-tsahik ; @angelltheninth ; @sweetsbfreex ; @forever--darling ; @arachine ; @nyctophicbtch ; @jeojake ; @isabellapaul37 ; @melbee ; @loaksky ; @luvsellie ; @loakism ; @lizziesfirstwife ; @jakesullysbabygirl ; @theseuscmander ; @love13tter

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dexlexia · 10 months

Text

doting wife - enji x reader

pairing: Enji “Endeavor” Todoroki x Reader rating: 18+ summary: ”Enji,“ You said as you walked through the manor. It was summer and Enji wanted to put you something more traditional during these summer months. So you went through the halls of the manor in nothing bout a yukata decorated with flower and flames to signify who you belonged to. As if your round and active middle didn't give it away. tags: wife!reader, pregnant!reader, smut, rough sex, doggy style, pregnancy kink, breeding kink

”Enji,“ You said as you walked through the manor. It was summer and Enji wanted to put you in something more traditional during these summer months. So you went through the halls of the manor in nothing but a yukata decorated with flowers and flames to signify who you belonged to. As if your round and active middle didn't give it away.

You rubbed your lower back in annoyance, now in month six you were starting to feel the aches and pains of carrying a Todoroki child. You shuffled through the manor and peeked into rooms until you found your husband in the training room.

You were Enji Todoroki's first wife. Quirkless since birth but he didn't care. You would give him the children he desired. He once described your womb as a bare canvas so all the children you had would be more likely to develop a quirk like his than anything else. You took what he said as a compliment, you were giving Enji the family he always wanted. It was your job to be a doting wife and mother in the Todoroki home.

You peeked through the gap on the door and smiled when you saw him. At almost fifty, nothing really stopped him. He was still going strong, you knew for sure his swimmers were growing strong because it only took four months of marriage before you got a pink plus sign. You rubbed your swollen mound and felt a slight movement of your child. You gave a firm yet sweet pat before you opened the sliding doors of the room and went inside.

Enji was lifting weights in the center of the room, the weights, just from the size of them, were heavy. Something a woman like you wouldn't be able to lift, especially not in this state. Yes, there were women heroes, but some women were simply meant to be loving wives.

He looked up at you and put down the weights with a 'thud'. He was sweaty all over and even from a distance you could tell that his skin was hot. He looked at you like a prize, something he won. It didn't take much convincing from your family to let the much older, number one hero wed you. Even if you were wife number two, the amount of money that was left in the wake of him taking you away was more than enough to compensate.

He placed a large hand on your swollen middle, “How is he doing?” His voice was gruff, you remembered the first time you heard it in person, it aroused you in a way. He rubbed your bump and leaned down to kiss you. His wedding ring gleamed in the sunlight that came through the windows.

“He's doing well, a little achy on my hips but I'll survive. Everyone told me it wouldn't be easy, so I have to expect it.” You placed a hand on top of his and beamed up at him.

“Would you like for me to rub your back?” He asked, then reached behind you and put a hand on your lower back, he gently rubbed the skin as he guided you to a yoga mat near the corner of the room.

He loved when you wore outfits like the one he put you in today. He found modern maternity clothes too restrictive, this gave you freedom and movement as you moved through the manor. He helped you down onto the mat where you attempted to sit cross-legged but your belly got in the way.

Maybe he should've taken a wife so small, but to be fair most women were small compared to him. But he believed that you were strong enough to carry his protege. The child that would beat All Might, unlike his other children who failed him. He reached around to your front and undid your yukata. He pulled it down your shoulders until your entire back was exposed. Then he took off your bra, you had complained about how weighty they had become, and he assured you that it came with pregnancy, after all you had to feel a Todoroki. No small feat for anyone.

You sat there and felt the warmth of your husband's skin as he began to massage your sore back. You place your hands on your swollen mound and rub the area. You basked in the feeling of your husband. He was a man who knew what he wanted, and he wanted you to carry his children. He needed a strong, dedicated mother and wife. And in turn he'd make sure you never went without. Your role was to fill the manor and keep those mouths fed and happy.

And after all that's what you wanted in life. A dedicated wife to Endeavor, make sure his legacy lives on after he retires. Create and birth the next number one hero. The thought made you smile as you felt movement in your belly. You felt content, his strong hands worked your tired muscles. Eventually his hands traveled to where your hands were and he began to rub gently at your stretched skin. He felt the movement of his son inside of you and started to kiss your neck.

“We shouldn't.” You whimpered as your fingers locked with his. You made a small noise as his top teeth grazed the soft skin of your neck.

“There's no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” His voice was low. He gripped you hands tightly, “And a wife is always ready for her husband.” He added before he pulled his hands away from yours and began to take the rest of the yukata off your body. Soon you were just left in black maternity underwear that ended below the belly.

He tossed it to the side and began to massage your achy breasts. His calloused thumbs played with your hard nipples as you felt wetness grow between your legs, soaking your panties.

“You look amazing, my love.” He said. His lips grazed your ear, “As a proper woman should look.” His problem with his previous marriage was that he was too focused on quirks. What he wanted was a woman who idolized him like the sun. Someone younger, more traditional leaning. From there she'd raise great children, where one if not all will become great heroes.

The grip on your breasts made you roll your hips a little bit, your heart rate was quickening as you felt the wetness dampen your panties. You probably looked like a big beached whale with that belly, but Enji adored you. And you in turn gave over everything to him. He'd always take care of you, you had nothing to worry your little head about.

“What do you say, my love. Let me take care of you even more.” He leaned you forward and you got on your hands and knees with your ass facing him. He stroked your under belly from between your legs, feeling the movement of the strong son you'll be giving in a few months time.

You moaned when he wrist grazed your sex over your underwear as he pulled his hand away. You felt him take off the black underwear and with your help got it off your thighs. Enji pulled away for a moment before he returned with a yoga ball to give you something to rest against while he pounded into you.

You relaxed yourself but kept steady so as to not roll away. Soon his large fingers were spreading your pussy lips. You clenched in anticipation but relaxed when he inserted the tip. You made a sharp noise and he rubbed your hip as he guided his length into you.

“How's that, my love?” He asked.

“So good, Enji.” You whimpered as you felt the stretch of his cock inside of you. Soon his heavy length was seated inside of your sweet cunt. You were still tight like you were the first time you made love to him. Which was your first time ever with sex.

He started to move his hips quickly, your belly and breasts moved with every rough thrust. He loved his sex hard and fast, he loved watching his partners try to accommodate his size as quickly as possible. He liked when it hurt a little and their poor moans left their mouths as they tried to get him to slow down. When it came to sex, the first goal was procreation and after that it was a place to empty his balls after a tough day.

And he believed his wife should always be ready, and you usually were. Wanting nothing more than to make love to him while he drilled his cock inside of you. You moved your body in time with him, the hard thrusts against a thin yoga mat while your sweaty body clung to the rubber of the yoga ball.

Enji felt under you at your belly and rubbed the mound while using it as leverage to ram his cock inside of you. You voice pierced the air as he continued to fuck you. Your face laid pressed against the ball as he worked your body. You felt like such a sweet hole, a soft cunt for him to release his needs into. He grabbed your belly and groped it to feel what he put inside of you.

No other man will ever have a taste of your sweet sex. He was yours until you both died, you'll never want or need another man in your life. You would only belong to him for the rest of your days. You'd be the proud Todoroki mother he always craved. He could see you now with five, six, maybe seven kids. Enough to fill the empty home you both inhabit.

Your noises were so sweet, he could tell your mouth was hung open as you tried to get as much air as possible. You held on tightly to steady yourself against the wave of thrusts that Enji brought down on you. You swore he was hitting all the sweet spots, you'd like for him to slow down for the sake of the baby but once Enji got something in his head, you couldn't stop him.

"You're beautiful. My beautiful bred wife. With a cunt still as sweet as our wedding night." He groaned as he moved faster. The sounds of sex were louder in the room as he practically dominated you. The idea of you dominating was almost cute, you couldn't even tie your shoes now let alone be on top. You were better on your back or belly anyway. It gave Enji easy access to your sex.

“Thank you, Enji. I love you. I'm happy I married you every day. You make me a better woman every day.“ You lived in your idea of heaven as Enji thrusted away inside of you. You were happy with this life, when you saw your age going out in skimpy clothes you were happy for them, but you were more content with the round middle you sported and the cute traditional maternity clothes Enji picked out for you.

Your belly continued to sway with the movements, soon you placed a hand on your rounded middle and moaned into the rubber. You felt your cunt clench around his cock. The feeling of pleasure coursed through your boy as you felt on the edge of orgasm. You moaned loudly and arched your back and your belly brushed further up against the yoga ball.

“Beautiful. And all mine.“ He responded as he grabbed your ass. He gave a quick swat and groaned over how you tightened once more. The sex was loud and rough, the sensation left you on the edge of your seat.

”Please, Enji! AH!“ And with that you came around his cock, soaking it in your wetness.

”That's it. That's my love. So good.“ He groaned as he continued to thrust his hips. His cock painfully hard inside of you. He too was about to cum . His pace became disorganized as he thrusted hard into you. He grit his teeth and felt his skin run hot as he thrusted into you one last time and finished inside of you.

You moaned into the ball and the thrusting stopped. The obscene sound was made when he pulled his cock out of your abused cock. With a string of cum connecting the two of you. With careful hands Enji got you onto your ass once more onto the mat.

He rubbed your belly and gazed at you, his cock hung soft between his legs. You panted widely as you came down from your high. The feeling was addictive. You looked at the time on the wall clock and quickly got up.

”Where are you going?“ He asked.

”It's time to make dinner. I need to feed you after all!” And stark naked, you waddled out of the room to go back to the kitchen. The sight made him smile as he followed you with your clothes. It was a sight to behold, his happy pregnant wife on her way to make him dinner. What a life.

#enji todoroki #endeavor fanfic #endeavor x reader #enji x reader #enji smut #endeavor smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia #mha fanfiction #mha endeavor #mha smut #mha x you #mha #endeavor

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klausinamarink · 4 months

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Easy Promises

rating: T | cw: cancer, mentioned child abuse | tags: pre-relationship, Steve has good parents, childhood friends, reunion, Theodore is Eddie’s full name agenda | wc: 956

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | Dec 14: Angst with happy ending

When Steve was eleven, he was told that he was going to die. Naturally, he burst into tears. His mother immediately pulled him to her chest, shushing him gently while his father yelled at their doctor.

“He’s just a child!”

“It’s important for your son to know that leukemia isn’t possible to survive-”

“Bullshit!”

Steve cried harder in his mother’s arms, even after they left the office.

Back home, his mother knelt down, looked Steve in the eye, and said, “You are going to live, baby. You are still going to grow up to be a smart, healthy man. You will fight that cancer and live.”

It was easy to make a promise. It was harder to follow through it.

After the urgent move to Indianapolis, Steve’s days fell into a blur of check-ups, medicine, throwing up, and exhaustion. He spent more days at the hospital than at his new school. He wasn’t sure which place was worse. The clinical words and smells with thin blankets and more sick children like him or the classrooms where apologetic teachers gave him too many lavish gifts while the other kids avoided him.

But there was one boy who declared himself as Steve’s buddy. Steve thought he would hate Theodore Munson, but he didn’t. Theodore (“Just Teddy! My full name makes me feel like I’m Roosevelt.”) never stared at Steve or asked about his leukemia or poked at his thin arms. Instead, Teddy always asked how his day went and listened to every word, even if it was a foggy repetition of hospital visits. If Steve said he was tired, Teddy never announced it to their teachers and just silently offered some cookies or juice under their desks. During recess and lunch, Teddy sat next to him and spoke excitedly about the new comics or movies Steve never had the chance to check himself.

It was always nice listening to Teddy talk. Way better than a doctor reading his statistics aloud like it was an eulogy.

When the chemotherapy inevitably snuck into his schedule, Steve cried and begged everyone to keep his hair. He was already The Kid With Cancer. He didn’t want his hair shaved off.

Nobody listened to him.

A couple days later, Steve wore a Reds cap. He refused to wear the knitted wool hat his Nana had made for him like he was five again. That would just push his classmates into bullying him for real.

He came to school late, not wanting to join the student crowd. He stopped when he saw Teddy sitting on the steps, his shaven head in his arms.

For a second, Steve thought that Teddy somehow knew and wanted to shave his hair in solidarity. And then Teddy looked up and he saw a nasty black eye. They stared at each other for a long time until both of their eyes welled up in tears.

“Your hair’s gone.” Teddy said wetly after they ran into each other for a hug.

“So ‘s yours.” Steve sniffs, daring himself to pat the buzzed scalp.

“My dad got mad last night.”

Teddy told him about his dad enough that his muffled words made Steve tighten his grip. “At least you’re not dying.”

Teddy barked out a wet laugh, “Just don’t leave me first.”

It was an easy promise to accept. Except it was already broken when Teddy never showed at school the next day. And then Steve was alone again.

—

I’m in remission. I still have a future. I’m going to live. Steve repeated that mantra to himself in his car, staring from afar at the ominous entrance of Hawkins High.

It had been a good year and a half since the doctors finally gave the good news. Steve was always a crier, but he’d only stared up at the ceiling in silent disbelief while his parents wept joyfully. The news never really hit him until two months later, when he touched an inch of new hair in the bathroom, and then sobbed and thanked God for letting him live.

Even if that little what if it comes back lingered in the back of his mind.

Now, he was thrown back to Hawkins, which included starting his sophomore year in person.

But old habits still stayed. Steve kept seated in his car and watched the other students walk inside while they laughed with healthy smiles. Even after the bell rang, he stayed. After a good five minutes, Steve’s courage returned and he stepped out.

He only took three steps when a van suddenly appeared, scaring the shit out of him with a blaring honk. Steve jumped back and flipped the driver off. “Watch it, asshole!” He stomped away, his mood broken further by the van’s door opening. Great, now he’s gonna be in a shouting match in front of the school-

“Steve?”

He froze. Turned around slowly.

Teddy, all dressed in some dark clothes with long hair. Teddy, who stared back at him with wide eyes. Teddy, Teddy, Teddy-

Steve wasn’t sure who ran towards the other first, but it was Steve who hugged the tightest and cried first.

“Holy shit,” Teddy laughed wetly in his ear, “Your hair-” He leaned away so his hands were placed on both sides of Steve’s head. They felt warm and oddly right. “You look so much healthier…”

Steve just smiled, a little blush in his cheeks as he said, “I got better.” He watched as the realization dropped on Teddy in real time. Then he was pulled into a more tighter and fiercer hug, already feeling a wet patch on his shoulder.

There were definitely lots of things they needed to catch up on. But Steve’s more contempt in sharing his warmth with his friend.

#klaus writes #steddieholidaydrabbles #steddie #tw cancer

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historianthesecond · 1 year

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Familiar Melody

Hi! It’s my first time writing about Nikolai, so I apologize if it isn’t that good. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it ^^

Nikolai Lantsov x Fem!Reader-----1.3K-----SFW

Summary: As the daughter of the music teacher, you’ve known the Second Prince since a long time ago. You both thought you’d never see each other again, and yet, here you are, face-to-face. Have the feelings between you two changed?

Tags: Fluff| Childhood Friends/Childhood Sweethearts| Lil bit of Longing| I think that’s all

A piano melody echoed from under the doors of the music room when Nikolai passed by on his way toward the bedroom. He frowned, the leather of his boots creaking over the muffled sound of the growing storm raging outside. The metal handles felt cold against his warm hands, leaving the gold slightly stained with oil from his repairing the Hummingbird that had kept them up much later than he imagined.

Just like however was practicing piano at this hour, too.

The music room seemed frozen in time, with the same paintings decorating the walls, and string instruments tucked in the glass doors of the closets aligned to the far end of the space. A piano settled in the middle of it, a lonely stool in front of the massive instrument where a figure sat in front.

Dressed in a simple dress that pooled in light violet waves across the wooden floor, hair swinging in gentle movements as the fingers flew across the keys. A familiar, yet foreign picture of the music teacher’s daughter Nikolai met more than ten years ago.

He knew it was you, but it was the way only a hunch could determine. It was impressive that he remembered the color of your hair, the posture you glazed over the piano that looked so comfortable and easy to mimic, only to discover that his legs started to irk too much when he tried to stay still for a whole two hours.

Nikolai called your name as if it were a bet, half-expecting it would have been a mistake. That you were gone with your family and that the person in front of him was just too eerily similar to your physique—or how he imagined you would look now, better put.

Your left hand hovered over the keys, frozen in a mid-finished tune.

The lamps flanked the piano alone and leaving the rest of the room in semi-darkness made your eyes twinkle when you looked back at him, a smile slowly appearing as you recognized him.

Turning, you incorporated to bow. “Moi Tsarevich,” you said. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Nikolai,” he corrected. “I would like to believe we’re still friends so perhaps you can teach me piano again?”

When he was a child, his Mother tried to morph him into a noble, just like Vasily. He had a dozen of teachers for each subject imaginable; economics, language, law, fencing… of course, he must also have a former music teacher, your father. And as with any other teacher—except with those lucky ones of fencing and dancing—Nikolai was a troublesome kid. Incapable of sitting during the lessons in front of a desk, distracted while doodling his inventions in the margins of his books.

You leaned against the instrument. “Oh? Why is that? Have your attention span gotten better?”

He winced. So that’s how you remembered him. Not a very fond memory, but it could still work.

Nikolai didn’t pay attention to the piano lessons either, so your father thought it would be a good idea to bring you along, so Nikolai could at least try to imitate you, or that somehow his competitive nature would get prickled by your almost natural skill in front of the piano.

Instead, the prince found you boring. Sitting on the uncomfortable stool repeating the same part of the song again and again until you memorized it, only to go after the next part and the next. It was oh so dull. And why would you not pay attention to him?

You didn’t care he was a prince, that he could get you in trouble if he wanted to. Nikolai had tried to poke you, to call you, first, with simple ‘psst’ noises, until a couple of days later he caught your father calling your name.

It was the first time you stopped, half-turning to him careful not to touch him as you both shared the same piano. A realization hit Nikolai, considering that perhaps he had to play your ways if he wanted to prove his inner theory, the one that said that perhaps it would be easier for him to have friends outside the snob kids of the courtesans that would do anything to be in Vasily’s good book, including ignoring him and other crueler things that he preferred to shrug off from his memory.

“Perhaps it would get better if I can get a dedicated teacher,” he commented, eyeing the clock hung nearby. “One that plays well into midnight would do.”

You sat at the stool, facing him, with your fingers interlaced at your lap. “I’m afraid I don’t teach, Moi Tsarevich, my duties as a court musician absorb too much of my time.”

He walked closer, looking at the sheet music. “I assume you’re practicing for my birthday celebration?”

“A somewhat conceited assumption, but yes. I am.”

Nikolai couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “Would it count as conceited if I ask you to dance with me at the party?”

You slid back down the piano’s cover, turning your head at him with a smile. “I don’t think I can play the piano and dance at the same time.”

“A shame, truly. And here I thought you were a prodigy.”

The dimmed room wouldn’t hide Nikolai’s clothes stained with ash and oil, and it was easy to connect the dots while remembering all the drawings of his inventions back in the day when he showed them to you after class.

“Not as much as you, that is clear.” Even if you used to talk to him ironically to counterbalance his never-ending witty jokes, you were saying the truth. He had always been very bright for things a noble wouldn’t expect to master unless strictly necessary.

Thunder disrupting into silver flashes over the gigantic window overlooking the Queen’s Garden, the place Nikolai plucked flowers to sneak them into your backpack when you weren’t looking, even when he knew it was a better idea to give them to you face-to-face.

"I missed you," he said then because it was true and it didn’t make sense to pretend otherwise. Nikolai had tried to keep track of your family when he enlisted in his military service, but when the notice arrived of your father resigning his place as a court musician and renowned teacher to move out of Os Alta, he thought you’d left with him.

Being Sturmhoud had put his mind at bay from the overflowing memories of the people that cared for him when he was still Nikolai, the Second Prince nobody minded. He thought of you gone, just like he did with Dominik. And now that he had you in front of him, a striking wish swept over him, wanting to hug you. When was the last time he did so?

Years ago, the last afternoon he spent in this room, sitting next to you on the stool even though it had become too small for both of you. It was just as improper as the way the hugged you, rubbing your back with his hand as you had your fists filled with the soft fabric of his dress shirt. When he kissed you, for the first and last time.

He’d wished the moment could have lasted longer—for an eternity, even.

“I missed you too, Nikolai,” you said softly, hoping that your hair could hide your flushed state, the way your eyes avoided his.

The prince stood there, unsure of what to do. The clock chimed past midnight.

“I shall go,” he said. “I need to have my beauty sleep.” Before turning, he added: “You don’t need it, but you should rest, too.”

“Is that a compliment I hear?” You pretended to be shocked, ignoring that your heart was hammering against your ribcage.

Nikolai winked, strolling toward the door. "I'll see you at my birthday celebration, then. With my gift, of course.”

“Goodnight, Moi Tsarevich,” you waved. “Sweet dreams.”

“I’ll dream of you,” he replied, his tone nonchalant as he opened the double doors, stepping out.

Before he could close the door, he heard your laugh. “That’ll be more a nightmare, but suit yourself.”

As Nikolai walked away, he heard the soft melody of the piano flowing out from under the door, a smile slowly making its way into the corners of his lips. He did miss you. So much more than he thought.

Perhaps he could resume where you two left off last time?

#nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lanstov x you #nikolai x you #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lanstov #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone x you

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sixosix · 9 months

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IT WAS ALL BY DESIGN | KAVEH (2)

tags second chance, angst and fluff, time-skips, lovers to exes to lovers again, profanity, happy ending

a/n wc 6K (omfg) kaveh lore spoilers and not rlly canon compliant

previous part

when kaveh is jostled awake, he dreads the pitiful expression of the forest ranger who called for him.

kaveh now stands over people hunched and bent to their knees, picking up what they can clean and batting away the aggravated fungi.

the withering, they said.

there’s nothing left. or, well, what should be his masterpiece is just dust and debris. it was so close to being like what he imagined when he could still dream. it was so close to finishing, why—why did it have to…?

he’s the only one standing over kneeling people, yet he’s never felt so small at the moment. as if he’s back to being a little kid, unsure of what to do with himself as everyone scrambled about in front of him. he hasn’t felt this need to cry since the building blocks he had spent hours stacking meticulously on top of each other all came tumbling down with one wrong swipe.

the withering struck at the same moment kaveh thought that things were going perfectly. he should’ve known—it could never be that easy.

he only snaps out of it when you come to his side, reaching for him. he doesn’t even realize he is quivering until you run your hands through his hair, and he feels like breaking inside because he doesn’t deserve it.

he should’ve known. he should’ve known.

he should’ve listened to dori.

dori is furious with him, which is somehow even worse than seeing his own creation in ruin when it was perfectly fine the day before. dori’s face is twisted in rage, screaming at him to leave this goddamn project. large, extravagant, do whatever you want, dori had said, repeating her words, and this is what happens?

“fuck,” he groans, burying his face in his trembling palms. it’s no different from a child throwing a tantrum.

“kaveh,” you murmur, and he tenses for all the wrong reasons.

you shouldn’t see him like this, so weak and pathetic. he’s humiliated, distraught, and you’re seeing all of it. his face burns in shame, his eyes growing hotter along with it.

“kaveh,” you repeat. kaveh, stubbornly, childishly, doesn’t look up. “i’m feeling tired, can we stay here?”

“...okay.”

neither of you comment on his quaver, and kaveh knows he’s the one trembling in the knees, not you. small mercies like these give kaveh the courage to blindly reach in front of him to feel your hand. you take him, and kaveh’s never felt safer despite everything.

“remember, kaveh, when i told you that mourning flowers reminded me of your eyes?”

confused, kaveh replies slowly, “yes. you gave one to me. i still have it.”

you beam at his response, encouraged to continue. “i learned about another flower, a specialty in mondstadt. windwheel asters. i want to pick one straight from the grass, tuck it behind your ear, and watch it spin around before i get distracted by your eyes again because they have the same shade.”

“we can have someone deliver it,” kaveh mumbles, his shoulders slumping. “so you don’t have to travel all the way there.”

“yeah.” you breathe in deeply, resting your forehead against his. “yeah, i should’ve.”

kaveh hasn’t realized that the rangers and construction crew started filtering out until it was dead silent, enough for kaveh to feel like he could hear the stars speaking to him. enough where your heartbeat is the loudest sound at the moment.

“it’s okay. we can stay here for as long as you need,” you assure him with the kindest smile that he knows shouldn’t be directed at him. “i’m too tired to walk back anyway.”

“i love you,” he whispers, the first time either of you called it what it was. he feels that this is the truest phrase he had ever said, even though he’s not sure you even heard it.

kaveh held you closer to him that night, afraid that the withering would creep in and take you away from him, too.

do the right thing, no matter what it costs you.

kaveh has heard this saying before, over and over again. he first heard it from his father, and kaveh fully believed that he’d do so without hesitation if ever the time came. then from old, wise scholars who told tales of how much they sacrificed to have this much success today. but dreaming about his father brings him back to himself, curled up on a dusty couch, having returned from fontaine to attend his mother’s wedding.

if the cost is his own happiness, is it still worth it? is it still the right thing to do?

he hadn’t seen his mother smile so wide since she wrapped her arms around her new husband. kaveh wonders how she was able to let go so fast, but he finds that he doesn’t blame her because this is what she deems is the right thing to do.

no matter what it costs you.

kaveh awakes with a start in the middle of the night, when crickets are still loud in his ears, and the streets are dead silent as most of everyone has gone to bed. his head is spinning, heart racing, but there’s a fire in his eyes that he thought had been snuffed out since the incident.

“kaveh…?” you rub your eyes tiredly from where you’re resting on his chest.

kaveh smiles at the tender sight of nuzzling up to him like this, soft with sleep and smelling like him. “you should go home and clean up.”

you’re slurring your words together, heavily lethargic. “but what ‘bout you?”

“i’ll be fine,” kaveh murmurs fondly, unable to resist kissing your forehead. “i’ll be fine.” because he knows now that even if he were to do the right or wrong thing, he still has you to come back to, and that’s more than enough for him to do it no matter the cost.

kaveh sells his house.

it was almost underwhelming. he was expecting a heart-wrenching realization stopping him halfway through even making that decision, yet all he felt as he talked to the buyers was this empty feeling—the same one he feels every time he comes back to it as if it’s still his home.

all that runs through his mind is that he has a new one now. and this one, he will not even think about selling off. more than a building, more than just a house.

this revelation keeps him chin-up and strong as he faces dori and tells her about his decision. he’s sure that dori’s cunning smile will haunt him for a few days.

“you’ve been so busy, kaveh.” you narrow your eyes, studying his face from all angles with your hand on his chin. “what’s up? have you been feeling unwell? someone pushing you to your limits?”

kaveh is trying so, so hard not to smile and spoil the surprise, but you’re poking his cheek and pouting again like before, and he’s weak to anything you give him. “no,” he laughs, letting you move his face around so long as you keep your hands on him.

“you’re happy,” you conclude. “something good happened. another commission?” you frown when kaveh shakes his head. kaveh kisses the point where your brows furrow, unable to help himself. “don’t give me that. even cyno isn’t telling me.”

“cyno knows that you’ll like this surprise this time.”

“the last time you hid something from me, it ended terribly,” you warn.

kaveh huffs. “not anymore, i swear on it. because it’s finished, and i’m going to show the surprise right now.”

“what?”

it’s not quite finished, the palace of alcazarzaray. there are people on the sidelines painting the walls, some digging their hands in the dirt and watering the carefully selected flowers. he watches as your eyes draw to it first, gaze softening impossibly—and this is where kaveh knew that he did something right.

“oh,” you murmur.

kaveh doesn’t take your silence as an insult—quite the opposite. he lets you soak it all in, just like he did when the building looks more like what he envisioned, even when he’s drawn this over and over in his head and on paper.

it’s not his place. he doesn’t own it, but deep down, he proudly calls it his.

“this looks like the draft you made that day,” you say after a long moment of silence. “the one you said you did on ‘autopilot.’”

“that’s because it is.” kaveh lays his eyes on it. “i sacrificed so much for this.”

you grin, turning to him. “you know what i’ll say already, don’t you?”

“that i’ve wonderfully lost my mind?”

“that there’s nothing i wish more than to see what the world looks like in your eyes.”

kaveh blushes madly. “you shouldn’t. you’d just see yourself.”

he wanted to give you a tour, but there’s not much to be done when your lips slot against his under the stars, and you’re right in front of his magnum opus as if you’re part of it.

whispers come quickly and float long enough for kaveh to pick up on it the moment he stepped foot on the hallways.

there he is, they say. kaveh built the palace of alcazarzaray, didn’t you hear? yes, yes that one. light of kshahrewar.

he wants to smile politely when they all look at him as if he’s hung the stars, but he knows it’d only come off as bitter. they aren’t wrong: he did something right and good with that project, and everything turned out safe and finished in the end—

but it doesn’t just end there. he sits in a pile not of mora but dust and a heavy heart upon the reminder that he sold off what used to be his home for this. it cost him; does that mean this is the right thing?

kaveh takes a deep breath in and knocks on tighnari’s door.

immediately, he’s greeted by the sight of his friends: al-haitham and cyno tucked in some corner playing TCG (cyno winning), tighnari pointing in his direction, and you brightening as the door closes behind kaveh.

“kaaaveehh!” you garble happily, crashing into his chest and snuggling. “kaveh, you’re here.”

kaveh doesn’t need to sniff the air to piece two and two together. “you’re drunk already?” kaveh smiles, helping you regain balance.

tighnari sighs as he trots over, ears drooping in shame. “that’s my fault. i didn’t realize y/n took my glass until i took a sip and tasted water.”

“kaveeeh,” you wail, holding onto his sleeves desperately like someone is going to take him away. “kaveh, look at you! you’re so—so nice. so pretty. i love youuu…”

“i love you, too,” he says warmly, turning his head away so you wouldn’t see the stupid grin on his face.

in this angle, he can see the judgemental stares of cyno and al-haitham, which prompts a “shut up!” from him despite them having not said anything.

you hiccup. “kaveh, i need to sit down. kaveh, can we sit down?”

he leads you to the nearest loveseat, never once separating from you—not that he can when you aren’t giving him a chance to, anyway. “can i get a glass, too?” he asks tighnari, who was holding back laughter while watching the entire scene.

when tighnari comes back with enough glasses to have kaveh know right away that he won’t be leaving this house with steady steps, they all their glasses for a toast. to kaveh, to the palace of alcazarzaray, to everyone.

“hey.” kaveh rests a hand on the small of your back, which you bat away clumsily.

“i have a boyfriend,” you grumble, “don’t… don’t…”

“what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” kaveh teases.

“ugh, don’t talk to me. go away. i feel like i’m about to hurl yesterday’s lunch. i’ll do it on you,” you threaten, head lolling as you try to sit up. kaveh helps you through it, chuckling quietly when you push him off and repeating that you have a boyfriend.

and then you start crying.

said boyfriend, of course, panics, hands flying uselessly as tears fall and keep falling from your eyes. “why are—are you crying? what happened? do we need to take you outside?”

“my boyfriend… i want to be with him forever…” you sob through sniffles, awkwardly wiping tears away with a wobbly arm.

kaveh frowns. “well, why can’t you?”

“because i can’t stay here forever. but he stays here forever. i want to stay with him forever, but i can’t. i need to go everywhere, not—not stay here. my head hurts. please, i need water.”

overwhelmed, kaveh goes to fetch a glass of water, numb. “here, water. drink it slowly,” he says.

“thank you,” you say. “don’t tell him i said any of those.”

“i won’t, i promise,” kaveh says, his voice small.

without warning, you climb over and settle on his lap, resting your cheek against his chest. kaveh doesn’t know if it’s the first sip of alcohol or if it’s just you making his heart race and placate all at once—but he already knows the answer.

“i thought you have a boyfriend?” kaveh asks, carding his fingers through your hair.

“i do, but…” you exhale slowly, your weight getting a little heavier as you relax, and kaveh smiles because how could he not? “you smell like home.”

he’ll bring it up some other time.

unfortunately, he doesn’t get the courage to bring it up. he faces his consequence when it’s too late, and you’re the one to speak to him about it.

you’re braiding his hair, slow and steady, the way he likes it. you’ve bought him various hairpins that you said match his eyes. he doesn’t think he’s met someone who’s loved his eyes as much as you before. to show his appreciation, he insists on wearing all of them, even if he doesn’t need them.

“do you remember the exchange program i mentioned briefly a while back?”

kaveh ransacks through his head for the memory. he only remembers you warning him that you won’t be staying in sumeru forever when you first got together, and some drunken conversations. “i think so, yes. you said you’ll finish there. why? what brought this up?”

“i got accepted.” the last hairpin clicks into place. there are about six on his head. “i’ll be leaving soon.”

kaveh’s eyes brighten as he turns to you, expecting you to be thrilled, but you look nervous. you aren’t meeting his eyes.

“y/n,” kaveh says softly, holding your cheeks in his palms, “what’s wrong?”

“it’s in inazuma,” you say carefully. “and if i finish there and continue with my dream, i won’t really have… all the time to go back here.”

that’s too far, is what kaveh wants to say. he doesn’t, because he vividly remembers you saying you want to go everywhere someday, and who is he to bind you to him because he is selfish and needy? in the grand scheme of things, he is no one in your life.

“will you be alone?”

“no. i’ll be with anis, and i’ll have soraya come with me to liyue when the time comes. i won’t be alone.”

kaveh nods, easing a bit. “that’s good.”

kaveh must be wearing a pitiful expression if you scramble to speak again. “we can write each other letters,” you say weakly. “or i can send gifts…”

he thinks of his mother, leaving to fontaine, writing to him on occasion. he thinks of seeing his mother again after so long, seeing how happy she is, and he thinks about how he hadn’t seen her like that when kaveh was still living with her after his father’s death.

“and tie you down to me?” kaveh shakes his head. “don’t worry about me while you’re taking on the world. too many sights to see to think about me.”

your expression looks pained. “you’re not tying me down. i love you more than that.”

kaveh’s reply is instant. “enough to not leave?”

you wince, and kaveh curses himself, flinching away from holding your face to ball his fingers into fists beside him. “no, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean that, please ignore i said that. i’m sorry.”

“kaveh,” you say, and kaveh understands, more than anyone, what you’re thinking right now.

“i know.”

“kaveh, i—i’m sorry, i can’t… i don’t…”

“that’s okay,” kaveh says, “i’m glad you told me, really. no, look at me. i’m happy for you; you can be happy for yourself, too.” it feels like we had only gotten together yesterday, and it’s already falling apart.

this was divine intervention, telling him—no, reprimanding him, don’t think about it. don’t say anything else, you might as well ruin it more; toss it in quicksand, will you? this was them telling him that if things were to work out in his favor two times in a row, he’d regret it later.

kaveh takes a deep, shuddering breath. “i was planning on leaving, too. we’ve just graduated, we deserve a vacation.” he was hoping to take you with him, but only here he realizes how selfish it was. you warned him, too, so he can’t say you didn’t.

you seem relieved that he’s keeping a conversation. “really?”

“yes. just here in sumeru, though,” he says, sheepish. “you’ve set on something bigger, and i was already nervous about my choice.”

“you’ll be fine, kaveh.” you sound so sure. kaveh doesn’t know how you make it sound like you know him better than himself. “the world is so beautiful, and it can’t wait to see what part of it inspires you.”

at least, this time, he gets to say goodbye, and he gets to see you while he says it.

“so, that’s it?”

“don’t hold back because of me, kaveh,” you tell him. “if love finds its way back to you again, catch it and don’t feel sorry for me.”

kaveh wants to say it in return, but the best he can do is be selfish in silence. he doesn’t want you with anyone else that isn’t him—just thinking about it hurts him.

“i’ll come home someday,” you say. kaveh nods because he wants this promise to be real this time. “and maybe we can still be friends, if you’ll have me.”

this, kaveh realizes, is really what his father meant when he said to do the right thing, no matter what it costs you.

later, he invites tighnari, cyno, and al-haitham out for dinner.

and when they arrive at the table, the first thing kaveh says is, “i’ll be leaving next week.” his friends weren’t able to pry much from him, but they could figure it out on their own if they saw the list of the students going abroad.

things go on: too slow for kaveh’s liking, and a little unsteady from time to time, but when he pictures you living your life somewhere, he thinks he can’t let you beat him to it, so he tries his best.

it’s been a while since you last visited sumeru.

everything looks the same since you’ve last been here, but something feels different. it takes you a while to realize it’s the people walking about happily, and to you, it seems like something is missing from their ears.

you had already removed the akasha the moment you moved out, but it was still a little jarring to step into your homeland without it, and seeing people do the same. the two guards who were usually in charge of handing them out to tourists are gone from their place, too.

anis breathes in deeply, then exhales shakily. she had stayed in liyue for far longer than you had, habituated herself to it, but still, sumeru is where she looks right at home, with trees and shades of green surrounding her. “oh, how i missed this! no other region can beat the fresh and dewy air of sumeru, no matter how beautiful their architecture is.”

you nudge her. “you were the one complaining about having to leave mondstadt yesterday.”

anis scowls, huffing petulantly. “i was tired. and the goth grand hotel had funny guests. you spent all day picking windwheel asters—make a whole flower shop with them already, will you?”

“shh, don’t be so loud.” anis flails around until you free her mouth from your palm. she stares at you, scandalized. “no one is supposed to know i’m back yet.”

“you shouldn’t have come with me if that was the case, then,” anis says, and you two continue walking up the bridge of the palace of alcazarzaray.

“you were the one who begged me to.”

it’s been forever since you’ve last seen it—the pictures you took don’t compare to the real thing—and yet it feels like the first time all over again, with warmth pressed on your side and the back of your palm tingling from the feeling of someone’s lips kissing it a few seconds before.

your heart aches faintly.

anis takes note of your face with a contemplative hum. “then again, you probably missed the man behind this the most. you should be grateful that i even managed to commission him! everyone flocks to kaveh the moment they get the chance.”

“it’s because you’re also from his darshan,” you argue, embarrassed. just hearing his name makes your face heat up.

“and i’m the best friend of his ex—right, right.” anis yelps when you pinch her elbow, but it fades off into laughter soon enough. you smile, but only because her glee is as contagious as wild fungi.

passing by the palace of alcazarzaray and into a secluded hut right across it, you and anis continue catching up, recalling akademiya memories that both of you agreed never to bring up again. it was mostly groupmates you hope are still failing their darshan with their incompetence. you hear some people chiming in, telling you about how a traveler and your friends saved the entirety of sumeru. weird, but not entirely outlandish.

“al-haitham as the acting grand scribe?” anis gawks. you are probably wearing a similar expression. “what happened while we were gone?”

you sigh. “i wish i knew, too. i wish i knew.”

“oh, look!” anis gestures ahead, under a large tree that curves forward and casts enough shade for a whole garden. “that’s the place kaveh asked to meet me in. and if i’m not mistaken, that blond guy over there with the red cape…”

“oh,” you breathe.

you didn’t think kaveh could be prettier than he already was, and he was already turning heads back then. stripped off the akademiya’s uniform and into something he looks more like himself in: drop-dead elegant. you appreciate the slit on the back of his blouse. (he’s still wearing six red clips.)

anis elbows you. “you can back out. i’d rather you don’t because i know how much you missed him, but—”

“i won’t,” you say. not that you can bring yourself to turn back when kaveh is right there anyway.

“kaveh!” anis calls out; you purposefully slow your steps so you’re in her shadow, yet kaveh’s eyes still snap to yours right away.

“anis.” kaveh stands from the table clumsily, his eyes round in surprise. “...y/n. both of you are back?”

“hi, kaveh,” you greet with a wave. “you look good.” he does. too good for someone who’s currently standing a few feet away from his ex. it almost feels like revenge.

“you, too,” kaveh smiles, reluctant, “it’s been so long.”

“i like your new style, kaveh!” anis whistles appreciatively, and you want nothing more than to nod and pray kaveh doesn’t see the way you’re eyeing him. “suits you. a natural artist, even outside construction.”

“speaking of,” kaveh starts. you can’t help but notice that even when his client is right there, his eyes stray to you too often, and you’re starting to feel like some flustered teenager over it, “you’re a talented artist yourself, anis. it was a surprise to hear from you about this project.”

“i know i am, but who am i to waste the opportunity of taking advantage of my connections? i’m fortunate enough that you accepted right away.”

“of course. congratulations on the engagement, anis,” kaveh says sincerely, from one old friend to another.

“thank you.” anis smiles in return. “people in liyue were too charming. now here i am, with a ring on my finger.” she wiggles the fingers of her left hand for emphasis.

kaveh quirks a brow. “were they?”

anis grins slyly. “don’t worry, y/n wasn’t looking at all.”

you gape, incensed. “anis!”

kaveh hides a laugh behind his hand, and he’s only looking at you. “thanks for telling me.”

embarrassed, you duck your head and remind yourself that anis owes you a trip back to liyue for that. you can still feel kaveh’s stare on you, burning on your head.

mercifully, he does drop it, straightening his posture and looking more like sumeru’s most famous architect anis commissioned. you’re seeing what years and years have done to kaveh—it’s done him good. “before we get straight into it, would you tell me more about what you had in mind? along with your partner’s opinions, of course.”

and because anis is cruel and evil, she drags you along with it the entire time.

anis excuses herself to order water, saying her mouth is dry from all that talking and debating with kaveh over designs. you wonder how they even got along as group mates.

“the padisarah is clever,” you say, gaining more confidence when kaveh beams as you start the conversation. “i’m glad you learned to appreciate flora in your works. it’s perfect.”

“i’m grateful to the one who taught me all about its beauty,” he replies, eyes twinkling.

you laugh, trailing off stiffly, unsure what to say. so you don’t reply.

you want to ask him so many questions. how are you? i missed you. did you tailor this outfit yourself? you look good. do you hate me for leaving? because i do. yet looking at him, you find yourself speechless.

“where are you headed next after this?” kaveh asks, shifting his weight from one foot to another. it reminds you too much of what he used to do back in the akademiya.

“i’m not sure. i heard cyno’s in the desert right now, so i might head to gandharva ville first. say hi to al-haitham for me?”

kaveh’s expression falls. “yeah… yeah, of course. i’ll see you around.”

tighnari opens the door, his face melting in surprise. “y/n?”

“tighnari!” you greet with a bright smile, opening your arms for him. “surprise…?”

because tighnari was never really the most affectionate, he shuffles forward and lets you hug him with great difficulty. he mumbles, “since when have you returned to sumeru? you didn’t even tell me.”

“you need to be reminded of the definition of surprise, tighnari,” you laugh, stepping inside his house when he moves aside. a lot has changed in this one, brimming with more books and looking worn down than you last remember. there’s a bed on the corner, the blanket kept clean and tidy.

“have you met up with kaveh yet?”

“...of course i have.”

tighnari’s ear flicks, and he smiles knowingly. “he still loves you as much, you know.”

you grimace. is that really the first thing he’s going to talk about? tighnari was also never one to mince his words and spoonfeed it gently. “it’s been so long. you can’t assume something so absurd.”

“y/n,” tighnari says, returning to his table where he seems to be working on a concoction, “you weren’t there for when kaveh decided to leave for the desert. i’ve never seen him want to get so drunk that badly. he was just talking about you.”

you grimace. “oh.” you remember every word you’ve said clearly and his expressions that keep you up on lonely nights. “that just proves my point.”

“no. he was moping, sure. but the alcohol in his system made him all the more honest. he was just talking about you.” tighnari crushes leaves in his bowl, eyes flicking up to meet your nervous ones. “reverently, almost. like you never broke up.”

“years ago, tighnari,” you remind, face hot.

“he’s always been the most romantic one out of the four of us.”

you let the silence settle for a few moments as your thoughts wander, back to kaveh and back to the windwheel asters you kept on a pot and carried as is to sumeru. it’s never been that easy.

“well, i didn’t come here for a pep talk,” you say, clearing your throat. “is that the waterproofing oil you’ve been working on since back then? it looks much smoother than before.”

tighnari grins. “i’ve learned a lot, and i know so have you. from one amurta graduate to another, surely you know what i mean?”

he talks you through what he’s been doing for the past years. it feels like you’ve gone through a lifetime without them, but that’s coming from you, who was convinced that you wouldn’t be returning at all. if tighnari notices that your mind is far off elsewhere, he generously doesn’t comment on it.

you aren’t needed at all, yet anis still takes you to the next meeting, where kaveh will reveal his first proposal. you remind anis of this, but she only replies with:

“don’t give me that. kaveh was the one who asked to bring you along.”

you rolled your eyes at that because not even you would believe her.

but still, you come along because these quick meetings give you a chance to see kaveh without having to come up with a half-baked excuse. you’ll treasure these few days before you eventually have to see him again when tighnari—or cyno, or maybe even al-haitham—gets tired of this unbearable push and pull and forces a date. and things go south because kaveh will say he’s been happier without you, and you travel back to another region, heartbroken.

…at least that’s what you were expecting. kaveh usually hasn’t gone on for this long when dealing with clients, and both he and anis know what they’re doing. what’s more surprising than that is anis takes it all in stride, which doesn’t appease your confusion.

it’s the fifth day. usually, kaveh would be working on the building itself by now. (times change, you remind yourself, you don’t know him anymore.)

anis looks over kaveh’s nth proposal, huffing in what could almost be discerned as amusement. “oh, dear.”

you don’t see anything wrong with it. “it looks good to me…”

anis pinches your cheek, making you frown. “please, y/n. do me a favor and just ask him out already. all this hopeless pining is wearing down on his creativity.”

your face burns. “he’s my ex, anis! isn’t there an unspoken rule not to get back together with your ex?”

anis scoffs. “that rule doesn’t apply when both of you don’t act like exes in the first place.”

“i told him that if i got back, we can still be friends, that’s why…” you argue weakly.

“friends? you’re not fooling anyone, especially yourself.”

you sit under the stars and wonder if you ever went wrong, or if you’re slowly going back to the right path. you don’t regret leaving sumeru and exploring the world, but you regret ending things with kaveh like that. taking on the world had been so lonely thinking about him being happy with someone else. others from the regions you’ve visited tried their hand at pursuing you, but you’re too desperate to see blond hair and red eyes in them to let them in.

is this the right thing? being friends is better than being nothing, right?

kaveh appears from the entrance, looking around briefly before eventually—like it always does—his eyes land on you. “y/n? anis said you called for me.”

you smile at him. “yeah, i did.”

he steps forward and stops there, looking like a wary shroomboar against an armed ranger. you sigh, setting the pot aside and patting the empty space next to you. kaveh follows, sitting on the edge.

“are you scared of me, kaveh?”

“i don’t know what i can do,” he admits, and your expression eases.

you pick the pot up and place it carefully on his lap. kaveh’s hands fly out to catch it when it loses balance, brushing his hands against yours. maybe you shouldn’t be doing this sober

“a windwheel aster, for you.” you hold a finger in front of his face, feeling around in your bag to reveal another one, more crumpled and less alive than the one on kaveh’s lap, but it still spins when you blow on it. “and, uh—here, let me.”

kaveh closes his eyes when you lean in. (you’re not sure if it’s instinct.) you tuck it behind his ear, unable to help your grin when you pull away, and the breeze that catches on it makes the petals turn.

“i was right,” you say. “they look good with your eyes.”

“that’s cruel, y/n.”

your stomach drops, flinching away. you wring your hands on your lap, too ashamed to gaze at him directly. “i’m sorry, you probably didn’t—i shouldn’t have—”

kaveh reaches for your wrist, looking heartbroken. he kisses your palm, your wrist, and it’s then you realize that he’s not upset at you, but at himself. “y/n. i thought you wanted me to go easy on me and leave forever.”

“would it have been easier for you?”

“not unless you still want me to confess to you like we’re back in the akademiya, and i’m distressingly in debt.”

“aren’t you still distressingly in debt?”

kaveh breathes in the air shared between the two of you, face twisted in a way that looks like he’s barely holding back from smothering your face with kisses. “y/n, please.”

he still loves you as much, you know.

breathing hitching, you ask, “do you know what you’re saying…?”

“fate brought us together again. surely you don’t think i’ll be blind to another chance gifted to me?”

ah. tighnari is never wrong.

well, you should’ve known. you never could’ve been just friends with kaveh, not when he’s looking at you like you were never gone, and you still thought about him every night when you were.

“we can try, again,” you say. “you and i.”

“again,” kaveh agrees. “i won’t let you go this time.”

( you see kaveh there with dark bags under his eyes and his grip trembling slightly as it cuts across the page in something beyond a confident stroke—more so angry, barely held in, brimming and ready to spill.

students who pass by whisper to themselves and stare at him longer than they should’ve, but he doesn’t seem to care—or rather, doesn’t even notice that he’s in a public space. his eyes are trained on the stack of papers in front of him, eyes aflame.

anis notices your fond gaze and smirks.

she says aloud, “having this kshahrewar genius seek you out so constantly… i can’t even imagine—i’ve heard enough from my peers talking about how they regret not getting a chance to speak with him.”

“i don’t see how it’s my fault that kaveh didn’t want to entertain them.”

anis chortles. “oh, no wonder why he likes you so much.”

the collar of your uniform feels stiflingly hot all of a sudden. you hide what must be a pinched expression with a glare. “it’s not like that. it’s not.”

“you won’t be able to fight against it if it’s your fate.” anis throws an arm over your shoulder. “you should be thankful i followed your plan and made him notice you. now you’re inseparable! ah, love.” )

a/n i have never written this much before so art i hope u like it (and u owe me a xiao fic for this) <33333 but also this was actually rlly fun to write (if not for the fact that i hated writing it halfway the same reason i avoid writing long fics) rbs and comments fuel me!! ty for reading!!

#606:GENSHIN #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x you

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