#but at some point it shifted and it was no longer a form of expression | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fizzydrink698 · 4 months

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consort vi | minho

pairing: lee minho x reader

word count: 17.1k

genre: historical au, arranged marriage au, enemies-to-lovers

warnings: period-typical sexism, a boatload of family issues, a rapidly increasing amount of sexual tension, like reader is starting to go the tiniest bit feral about it

summary:

Minho paused, the lingering traces of cheer disappearing before your eyes. The shift in his mood was almost tangible, and it felt as if you had made some sort of misstep in a dance, thrown yourself and your partner out of rhythm.

His gaze flickered upwards, so very briefly, to look at you, before moving downwards. Down to your notes, down to where the space between your bodies was at its narrowest, barely a few fingers’ width between your skirts and his thigh. He took a breath.

An uneasy sleep must have reclaimed you in the night, because you awakened to soft morning light streaming through the windows – and chambers entirely devoid of Minho.

You sat up, unsteady, the beginnings of a headache already forming. Your thoughts were scattered, muffled as if wrapped in cotton, barely intelligible under the dull throbbing.

An empty bedchamber. Did that disappoint you? The sheets beside you seemed undisturbed, indicating that he hadn’t joined you at any point in the night, hadn’t risen from the couch he’d been sleeping on last night when –

Embarrassment – hot, ugly flashes of it – flared within you, so violent that you physically shuddered in an effort to suppress it. You wouldn’t be so careless again, risking something so mortifying and so vulnerable as being caught in a position like that.

A tiny voice in your mind uttered thanks for Minho’s order to keep servants out of his chambers without specific request. You didn’t want to imagine having to untangle these awful thoughts in front of an audience waiting to dress you for the morning.

The more you dwelled on the situation, the more you could feel something in your chest twist. Shame, perhaps. You couldn’t help but picture last night again and again, your awful thoughts painting over your memories, imagining Minho’s eyes open instead of closed, imagining the curl of his lip as he watched you in disdain, maybe even in disgust–

No.

You felt your expression harden, breath expelling from you in one sharp burst. You hadn’t realised how much anger you could summon at merely an imagined Minho. Already, even at just the thought of him, you found yourself itching to rebuke him, to challenge the contempt you had imagined yourself.

There was a danger that you could spend the whole day in this bed, imagining all the ways in which you could argue with Minho.

So, instead, you forced yourself out of bed, determined to focus on the rest of your day and leave last night firmly in the past.

It was strange to realise just how quiet these chambers were. They were so far removed from the bustling of the palace’s lower floors that even now, as scores of nobles and servants alike rose from their beds and began their days, you could almost mistake the palace for being empty.

The spring morning air was no longer a shock of cold, but pleasantly mild. Perhaps you should make use of the weather today, you thought. It would be good to get some fresh air.

And then, you came to a sudden halt – as a flash of orange caught your attention out of the corner of your eye.

You turned your head, startled, to find a tabby cat perched on the low table of Minho’s chambers, staring you down.

This was not the pampered sort of housecat you had seen in the houses of your mother’s friends during your youth. While this cat seemed well-fed, there were tell-tale signs of the fights it must have gotten into. There was a pea-sized chunk missing from its left ear, and a faint scar on its little orange snout.

Perhaps this was a kitchen mouser? But how had it wandered so far into the palace, all the way into Minho’s chambers? How had it gotten past those heavy wooden doors, not to mention the guards stationed nearby?

You dared to take a step towards it – to no response. The cat continued to stare. Its tail twitched from one side to the other, slowly, almost lazily.

It didn’t move as you approached, instead continuing to eye you with an expression so distinctly unimpressed for such a tiny face.

Of course, the second you lifted your hand towards it, it jumped away from you in the blink of an eye. There was no panic to its retreat, just a vague sense of disdain as it withdrew from your reach.

For one brief second, you were bizarrely reminded of Minho.

To your own surprise, laughter bubbled up in your chest, slipping out between your lips. It lifted a weight off of your chest, leaving you feeling just a little lighter as you observed the way the cat shot you what could only be described as the feline equivalent of a scowl before it padded over to the bed and disappeared beneath it.

Deciding against following the cat and disturbing its hiding place, you chose to head for the door and request breakfast be served outside.

It seemed only right that the lingering worries of the previous night’s events would disappear in the light of a warm spring day.

There was something so calming about the palace grounds in the morning. At your request, a table and chair had been set up at the base of a hill, just by the long winding steps back up to the palace itself, in perfect position for you to gaze out at the huge expanses of land in front of you.

Morning dew budded on the still blades of grass. Clouds slowly drifted across the sky above, the sun hiding behind them, only reappearing at just the moment the air grew too chilly. In the distance, a light layer of fog lingered amongst the trees of the royal forest, retreating further and further with each moment.

There was nothing but peace and quiet.

You breathed deeply, savouring the morning air, as you reached for the last slice of bread. Beside it, in a tiny porcelain dish, sat a little pat of creamy butter. You scraped the last of it up with your knife to carefully spread onto the bread.

Your plans for the day were the same as always. Studying, mostly. You were eager to crack open the most recent council records you could find, already making plans to note down the stances of each member, the factions that might have formed, anything that might be useful.

How soon would Minho talk to his father? How much time did you have to prepare? You should have pressed for more details.

You could ask him at dinner this evening, you realised. It was still such a strange idea, to think that you and Minho could talk to each other so…often, now.

Because you shared a bedchamber, a voice in your mind – one that sounded suspiciously like your mother – reminded you. You should be doing so much more than just talking.

A mouthful of bread lodged itself in your throat mid-swallow, making you cough and splutter as you reached for your tea.

Not that you were particularly eager for that, of course. Last night had been a brief moment of insanity, a sudden break from rational thought, brought on by returning to the bed that held so many strong memories. It had infected your dreams, and even seeped into your sleep-addled actions in the dead of night, but now you had recovered.

Now, once again, you were just as uninterested as he was. Moving to his chambers was good enough to mend your image as a successful, stable pairing. It didn’t matter what happened behind closed doors, because you had gotten what you wanted.

But before you could make an effort to divert your thoughts back towards the day ahead, the peace of the morning was broken.

You watched as a group of palace guards marched into sight, descending the palace steps – and you stilled when you saw the person they were accompanying.

Her Majesty, the Queen.

You sat up a little straighter, as your eyes met across the wide-open space of the palace lawns. She always seemed so perfectly put together, her long dark hair twisted and braided neatly into a bun, the soft and sweeping fabrics of her dress somehow spotless even when brushing against the ground.

In her fine features, there was so much of Felix. You almost wanted to look away.

Instead, you followed protocol to the letter, rising to your feet and bowing your head at her arrival. “Your Majesty.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she replied, and there was a genuine soft note of surprise to her voice that reinforced her words. “If you’re finished with your meal, would you like to accompany me across the grounds?”

You blinked, lifting your head in shock. You’d barely spoken to this woman in weeks. You’d half-expected her to ignore you. You’d half-given up on the affection the two of you had grown for each other during your childhood.

“Y-yes,” you replied, and cleared your throat. “Yes, I’d love to.”

She gave you a smile – one so deeply familiar that it made your heart ache for just a second – and inclined her head, silently offering you the place by her side.

You moved quickly, almost without thinking, barely retaining the grace expected for a lady of your position, as you tried to join her before she could change her mind.

Before the two of you could start walking, however, she first turned to glance at the guards behind her. With a firm, clear voice of a queen, she told them. “I trust I’m accompanied by guards possessing the respect of allowing two ladies some privacy while they talk. Am I not?”

The nearest guard’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, and he hurried to nod at her. “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course.”

“Delightful to hear. The usual twelve paces behind will suffice,” she said, her voice so casual that the comment could almost be described as offhand, before she finally set off. You had to quicken your steps slightly to catch up with her.

And, sure enough, the guards waited until you were twelve paces ahead before they followed – at the perfect distance to remain out of earshot.

This was the woman you remembered from your childhood. Always polite, always charming, and just a little cleverer than she seemed.

You fell into step beside her, searching for something to say to start the conversation. “I heard a delegation from the Lakelands are on their way.”

“Yes,” she said, nodding with a warm smile. “Most of the delegates only came to their position after I left, but I know a handful. Among them is a prince I last saw as a young boy. I look forward to seeing the man he’s now grown to be.”

“That will be nice,” you remarked, looking for something else to say. Something clever, or funny, or charming. It used to be so much easier to talk to her. “Do you miss the Lakelands?”

“Occasionally. Especially in the winter. I’ve never developed a taste for the cold that sets in here,” she said, but there was no trace of sadness in her voice. Nothing wistful. “But what about you? Are you keeping well?”

“Yes,” you replied – but it felt like a half-truth at best. “As well as can be.”

“I’m sure you’ve had so many pleasantries asked about your marriage,” she said. “That’s usually all people can think to talk about, with women like us.”

Her words struck something in you, hooking something strange and raw and tugging it out into the open.

“That’s usually the topic of conversation, yes.”

Her lips twitched, the briefest flicker of a smile. “Then we’ll speak about something else. Are you still keeping to your studies?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, unable to keep your excitement from rushing out. “Practically every day. Mostly, I’ve been focusing on my histories and geography, but I like to brush up on my languages every so often.”

“You did always love studying your histories,” the Queen nodded, and for the first time in your conversation, you picked up on the slightest hint of sadness in her tone.

It sparked a vaguely familiar feeling. An old desire to cheer her, the feeling so ingrained that it felt like slipping on an old favourite coat.

“My new tutor has helped quite splendidly,” you said, with a smile just a touch forced. “I hadn’t realised how much more I could learn with someone following me in my interests, instead of just telling me what I should be interested in.”

The Queen smiled back at you, and hers seemed entirely genuine. “There seems so much to catch up on. I’ve been meaning to talk to you sooner.”

Her words, as light and carefree as she had offered them, managed to hit something deep within you. Your expression faltered, as you felt the words dig into you, like claws gripping your flesh, piercing you.

You blurted out your only thought. “Why didn’t you?”

The question came out in a rush, an outpouring of emotion that you had tried so hard to keep dammed. You watched the way she paused, caught off-guard by your sudden harsh words.

You swallowed, trying frantically to recover some sense of manners. “I mean, I…it’s just I’ve been…I’ve been so alone since…”

“…I know.”

Her gaze grew so soft, as she watched you sadly. There were moments, occasionally, when her eyes were so expressive, just as Felix’s were.

For a moment, you pictured what it must have been like for her, all those years ago. Newly married to a stranger, not just alone but alone in an entirely different kingdom. A kingdom that her father and her father’s father and his father before that had been at war with. A kingdom with a people who mistrusted her, who still mourned for her husband’s first wife, the beloved wife, the wife she must constantly be compared to in public and in private.

You wondered how long it took her to learn to hide those expressive eyes. You wondered if it saddened her to look upon her son, and see those same bright eyes shining back.

“I missed you,” you confessed. “I miss how it used to be.”

“So do I, sweetling,” she murmured. There were only two people in this world the Queen called ‘sweetling’. One was standing in front of her. The other was half a kingdom away, quiet and aching by the coast. “But that’s precisely why I’ve stayed away.”

“What?” You asked, sharp in your confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“There are whispers at court,” she began, before pausing. You detected the faintest of eye-rolls as she continued. “There always are. Right now, they are centred on you.”

“Me?” You repeated. “I haven’t heard anything.”

“Oh, the subjects never do,” she said, her tone sharpening just a touch. You knew she’d had her fair share of experience with court rumours. “It’s no fun for them if the rumour gets dragged into daylight and exposed for the nonsense that it is. Better to whisper in secret, and give their empty brains something to spin from nothing.”

“What are they saying?” You asked. You’d half-expected something like this to happen, but you’d always thought your first reaction would be worry, or fear – and yet, right now, the news filled you with nothing but anger.

“They’re harmless, for now. Idle gossip. But if any fuel is added to them, they could prove dangerous–”

“What are they saying?” You repeated, cutting her off. You needed to hear it. You already had an inkling, but you needed it in words.

She sighed. “…You and Felix. I’m afraid my son will always be a subject for scandal in your future.”

Felix.

You turned away, eyes searching for the horizon, for something to fix on in the distance.

You hated that this didn’t surprise you. You hated that your paranoia, your constant insecurity about how you were perceived, about how your issues with Minho were perceived, that constant nagging feeling of your marriage being forced under a magnifying glass, was partially justified.

“Anything in particular?” You finally managed to ask when your voice returned to you.

“The stories change every week. Nothing has truly taken hold, which is a good thing,” the queen reassured you. “But until you and Minho…well, when your marriage seemed on shakier ground, I thought it was wise to keep my distance. I thought it would make things easier for you.”

Easier.

Right.

A lump was forming in your throat. You did your best to swallow it down.

“I thought you were angry at me,” you admitted. “For marrying Minho, instead of your son.”

“You did marry my son.”

There was such strong feeling in her voice that it forced your gaze back to her. The queen’s jaw was set, her mouth curved downwards slightly. Years and years of learned authority, of power however scant it might be, radiated through her as she stood firm.

“Minho is my son. In every way that counts.”

You stared, silent, as the faintest hint of guilt began to warm your cheeks.

The queen continued to walk, her gaze softening as she fell back into old memories. “He was so tiny when I entered the palace. I helped him take his first steps. I helped him learn his letters, I selected his tutors and I watched him grow.”

She slowed her steps, as you reached the edge of the forest that surrounded the palace. The two of you would have to turn back soon, but you took a moment to observe the quiet of the trees, the way that sunlight filtered through the newly-grown leaves.

“I might not be called his mother, but he is my son,” she finished, quietly. “And I’m very proud of him.”

She blinked rapidly a few times, clearing her throat, and turned to flash you the briefest of knowing smiles. “As mule-headed as he can be sometimes.”

You couldn’t help but laugh – albeit quietly, softly, as the emotion of the conversation still kept its grip on you.

There was a pull in you – that familiar one, the one that urged you to please others, the one that pushed you to say exactly the perfect thing – to praise Minho to the Queen. To call him a good man. You knew she would want to hear it, she would want to hear how happy you had turned out in spite of it all, that by pure serendipity, your marriage to Minho was just as splendid and happy as the marriage with Felix you had been awaiting your whole life.

But the words stuck in your throat. You practically choked on them. Not just because they were untrue.

Because for a second – for such a brief, unthinking second – you had wanted them to be true, just as badly as she did.

Something cold began to take hold of you. It started in your gut, unfurling his long icy fingers, grabbing and twisting and squeezing as it slowly dragged the rest of you into its grip.

Betrayal. In that moment, you felt – you knew – you had betrayed Felix.

Did it show on your face? The queen was watching you now, and you couldn’t imagine the expression you must have had.

You swallowed, trying with all you had to shove that awful pain away.

You needed to say something. Anything.

“Minho…he’s always…he never seems to care when people believe the worst in him,” you said, the words stumbling out of you, as if your mind was two steps behind your mouth. “It’s almost like he prefers it. I don’t understand it.”

The queen took in your words. After one long pause, in which her eyes studied you so intensely that it felt they were about to burn through you, she turned to look up at the palace on the hill. Even from this distance, it seemed to loom over you, waiting so impatiently for you to return.

“This place…” she trailed off. Her jaw tightened - and in that one instant, as her eyes flashed, you saw the teenage girl that had first stepped foot into this court, so far from home and facing such a nest of vipers. “It pulls something out of the people here. A way to protect themselves. My husband already had his ingrained when I came here. I felt it take hold within myself. I watched it form in Minho, that desire to push people away. And you…” she turned to you, briefly, and you blinked at the twist of amusement in her lips. “What opposites you and he are. How perfectly you mirror.”

You stared. Her words were vague, cryptic…and yet, you couldn’t help feel as if you had been insulted. You opened your mouth to protest, but the queen had already turned away back towards the palace.

“You can’t live in a place like this without growing a few thorns,” the queen sighed. “Like the roses in my gardens, I suppose. The ones without thorns are the first to be eaten.”

There was something layered in her words, something sad, something resigned.

You realised then that of all the members of the royal family she had just mentioned, there was one obvious name left unsaid.

“Let us return,” she said, finally. “Before those guards grow too curious and drift too close.”

Not only did Minho keep his promise of returning for dinner again that evening, he arrived even earlier than you.

You almost stopped at the door, thrown by the sight of him at the table, as perfectly poised as he always was, flicking through a sheaf of papers by the side of his plate. He looked up at your arrival, eyes meeting yours, and something caught in your chest.

You hadn’t realised how strange it would be to see him in person after last night, how…affecting.

Clearing your throat, you gave him a tight smile and made your way to your seat across from him – unfortunately for you, as it gave you a clear unobstructed view of Minho at a time when you very much wished for anything but that.

You reached for the decanter in front of you, eager to pour yourself a drink to deal with this building lump in your throat. To your surprise, you found it to be filled with water, not wine.

“How was your day?” you asked, finally speaking, hoping to sound calm and collected.

Minho eyed you carefully, as if you’d offered some sort of complex riddle, and not a feeble attempt at small-talk. “…Slow. Until the Lakelander delegation arrives, there’s nothing urgent to take care of. I’ve been looking over budget proposals for the harvest season.”

The harvest season was months away. In fact, you were almost certain that the fields had only just been sown at all. That truly did seem like a slow day. “I see.”

You knew you should try to continue the conversation, to ask him more about his work. Instead, you let your eyes drop to the plate of food in front of you, words dying on your tongue as you tried and failed to push down the memories of last night.

It felt so…deeply indecent, to sit across from Minho, and pretend you hadn’t touched yourself just a few feet away from him. And it was only made more indecent by the fact that he didn’t know.

It was all you could think about when you looked at him. You knew a secret, and he didn’t.

For dinner, the kitchens had prepared some sort of fish beautifully. Perfectly cooked, tender and soft and practically melting in your mouth.

You barely tasted it. You just kept eating, preoccupied, eyes trained on your plate. You were certain that if you looked up at Minho for too long, you would give yourself away.

In fact, the longer you sat there, the more uncertain you became.

Were you acting unnaturally? Were you too quiet, too reluctant to make conversation?

But, then again, what exactly did acting ‘naturally’ in Minho’s presence entail? You might have finally found yourselves on better terms, but…

“Something on your mind?”

Your eyes jerked up to meet his, caught off-guard.

How long had Minho been observing you? It looked like he hadn’t even touched his food yet, one hand resting on top of his papers, his other arm propped up on the table, hand curled under his chin as he looked at you.

You made an effort to swallow down the food in your mouth, despite how dry your throat had become, and reached for your water with all the nonchalance you could muster. “Not particularly. I was just…”

Think of something, think of anything.

“Wondering about those budget proposals. The harvest season must be months away. Was there really nothing else more pressing?”

Minho was quiet for a second, just long enough to spark the tiniest flicker of nerves in the pit of your gut, before he let out a sigh. “My father likes to drip-feed me responsibilities, one at a time. If there is anything else more urgent, I won’t know until my next meeting with him. And that won’t be for several days.”

There was an edge of frustration in his voice, something long-suffering, as if this were the topic of multiple arguments in the past, arguments that never seemed to resolve themselves in his favour.

He reached for his water, taking a sip, before his gaze returned to you. “That will also be when I talk to him about you joining the council.”

For a brief moment, all thoughts about the previous night and your embarrassing secret disappeared from your mind entirely. You leaned forward, intrigued. “What do you think his response will be?”

Minho tilted his head slightly in thought – and it filled you with surprise at the fact that you recognised this subtle shift in Minho’s body language, that at some point you had come to learn how to read him, even slightly – and replied. “…I won’t mince words–”

“Do you ever?” You retorted, almost without thinking.

Minho’s lips twitched, fighting a smile, but continued without acknowledging your mildest of jabs. “It will be a hard sell. My father is not a revolutionary. A large part of his popularity has come from his upholding of tradition. But he’s been dragging his feet on filling this council seat for months now, and for good reason. It’s a political minefield, and you are the best compromise. I hope he’ll see that.”

Minho was right. Your appointment to the council, however perfect a resolution to the infighting between your father and the blue-blooded nobility, would not be an easy sell at all. “I hope so too.”

The rest of your dinner passed in relative quiet, but the little calm you managed to gain in that time soon evaporated when you exited the dining room – and found yourself confronted yet again with the question of sleeping arrangements.

Minho’s bed was now the site of two of your most scandalous transgressions. Both of which involved Minho, both of which rendered you almost completely unable to look him in the eye whenever you thought of them.

In contrast to your internal strife, however, Minho seemed perfectly at ease.

He transported his sheaf of papers from the dining table to the couch, seating himself comfortably and setting them down on the low table in front of him.

Actually, perhaps ‘stack’ of papers might be more accurate a description than ‘sheaf’. Just how much work went into preparing these budget proposals? Had he done so little in his office all day to bring so much work to do in his chambers? Or was this a far more demanding responsibility than you had assumed?

All evidence seemed to point to the latter, as Minho worked silently throughout the evening, brow furrowed just a hint in concentration. He didn’t look up once, not when you rose to start preparing for bed, not when you returned in your nightclothes, not even when you wished him good night. He returned the words with a quiet murmur, clearly too enwrapped with whatever he was working on.

He was so engrossed, he didn’t see the way you hesitated by the bed.

Should you invite him over? He might have had work to do, but this would be yet another night that you went to bed without him. You were sharing a bedchamber now, surely the two of you should…

At least once, you should…

You tried to decide on the words of the invitation, of how to phrase it. A suggestion that he should bring his papers to bed, if he had so much work still to do? That was a reasonable question, wasn’t it? If he refused, you could press him on it, demand to know why it was beginning to seem as if he were still avoiding you…

“Yes?”

You blinked, emerging from your thoughts, to find Minho had glanced over to you. You likely made a strange sight, hovering by the bed, still yet to get under its covers.

The words were on the tip of your tongue, carefully crafted, ready to ask.

And then, traitorously, you thought of last night again.

Minho had been on the other side of the room, able to sleep through it, but if he’d been next to you…

You pictured it. You pictured jostling him awake in your sleep, the embarrassing sounds you might make. What you might do.

An awful, awful wave of embarrassment crashed through you because what if you tried to grab at him in your sleep?

You swallowed, turning away without even attempting to reply to Minho, and slipped under the bedcovers without another word.

In the morning, you woke to find that Minho had already risen long before you. The bedchamber was empty, and again the sheets by your side were untouched.

When the third night elapsed in just the same way, and the fourth, it became clear that this couldn’t be mere coincidence. Minho didn’t just happen to be so enthralled in his work that he fell asleep on the couch four nights in a row.

He was refusing to sleep beside you. You might have forced his hand in letting you share his chambers, but apparently he would not let that extend to his actual bed.

You were half-convinced he still held that early contempt for you, that he was still stubbornly maintaining that unconquerable distance between the two of you out of disdain.

And yet, he still sat with you at every dinner. He talked with you about his day, about your studies, telling stories about a particular odious noble that had done something to irk him, or listening to you talk passionately about a particular historical figure or event that had come up in your research. He’d even teased you once, when you confessed that you didn’t have the patience to read through the handful of art history books that Seungmin had added to your list.

The two of you were very slowly developing some odd sense of…well, perhaps friendship was still too strong a choice of word, but at least an understanding around each other that definitely hadn’t been present in the first few weeks of your marriage.

Nowhere else had this become so apparent than on your fifth evening in Minho’s bedchambers.

For a change of scenery, you had decided to spend the afternoon catching up on your research in these chambers, taking lunch there with your books, enjoying the little pocket of quiet in which Minho’s bedchambers were nestled within the palace.

To your surprise, and delight, the cat was back.

Initially, it was just as sullen as you remembered. It eyed you from across the room, perched on the low table yet again, sat as tall and imposing as it could make itself.

That was, until you called for a plate of kippers to be brought to you.

Despite its surly appearance, the cat barely needed convincing before it wandered over to you and the plate of fish, taking each offered kipper from your hand without hesitation. After three fish, it allowed you the softest of pets between its ears. After six, it drew closer, jumping from the table to the seat next to you, a little more relaxed as it took yet another fish from your hand.

To your delight, once the plate was empty, the cat did not abandon you immediately. In fact, it curled up near you – not quite close enough to be within easy reach, but enough that you could lean over and give it slow and gentle strokes as you continued to read. It even began to purr, just a little, whenever you scratched just beneath the base of its ears.

The more attention you gave the cat, the more you realised just how cared for it seemed to be. How comfortable it was with being touched, how well-fed it was, how soft its fur was. Even in a palace, this was not at all typical for a kitchen mouser.

“Someone spoils you, don’t they?” You murmured, giving the cat more strokes. “I can see why, you’re lovely. So cute.”

The cat, while not acknowledging your words, leaned its head up into your hand a little, chasing after those little scratches.

You were close to abandoning your studies entirely for the day, ready to devote your full attention to this adorable little creature, when the bedchamber doors swung open.

The cat jolted a little, jumping from its place on the couch – but to your relief, did not run out of the room. Instead, it lingered by the low table, ready to disappear under it, and stared down the sudden arrival.

Minho, mouth still parted slightly in whatever greeting he’d been about to give you, was silent as his gaze flickered between you and the orange cat eyeing him from the floor.

“We have a visitor,” you told Minho, solemnly, gesturing to the cat.

Minho nodded, briefly, still looking between you and the cat. “Yes. Yes, she seems to like it in here.”

“‘She’?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Minho’s expression immediately smoothed into the perfect neutral, refusing to give even the slightest bit of emotion away. “…I assume.”

“Mm. Well, she seems to be a sweetheart.”

“Does she?” Minho repeated, glancing at the cat again, who seemed to have now relaxed. She began to approach Minho’s feet, sniffing familiarly at his boots.

“I may have had to bribe her with a plate of kippers,” you admitted, increasingly amused by the way the cat began to weave her way between Minho’s legs, but managed not to let it show too obviously in your face. “She seems very well-fed, for a kitchen mouser.”

Minho made a non-committal sound in response, not meeting your eyes. “…Yes, well, I imagine people must toss her dinner scraps here and there.”

“I suppose so. But who would be so soft-hearted in this palace, to feed a kitchen cat from their own plate?” You wondered aloud.

Minho’s face was a mask at this point, unmoving, perfectly calculated. He made his way to one of his armchairs, attempting to ignore the way the cat followed him happily, jumping up and perching herself on the arm of his chair.

You continued. “In fact, I wonder what a mouser would be doing here, so far away from the kitchens. That’s quite a distance for a cat to wander unprompted.”

“I suppose so,” Minho stated, perfectly neutral, even as the cat moved from the arm of the chair to seat herself in his lap.

You continued to stare at him, wordless, eyebrow raised – and finally, he relented.

“I might have given her some scraps, once or twice,” he admitted, even as the cat nuzzled into his hand from where she rested nearby. “I suppose she can’t help it if she isn’t good at mousing, and goes hungry.”

“True,” you allowed, thoroughly unconvinced by his façade. “And do you know if this failed mouser has a name?”

“…I think I’ve heard someone call her Soonie,” Minho said, and finally let his hand drift over to Soonie and begin to give her gentle scratching behind her ears. She purred loudly enough that you could hear her from where you sat, utterly content to receive affection from someone she was clearly very familiar with. “Somewhere. At some point.”

“How odd. Not many kitchen mousers have names.”

“Mm,” Minho hummed, noncommittal, but when his eyes dropped down to glance at Soonie, he couldn’t hide the slightest of smiles.

You took in the sight, this cold and prickly prince melting as he pet the scruffy little tabby cat. Minho was still in his usual daily prince attire, all high-necked and formal. His legs were clad in those familiar riding leathers that you never let yourself look at for too long, so you moved your attention instead to his jacket. Instead of a royal scarlet, this one was a dark blue, the fabric glinting in the candlelight from the clusters of beading embroidered within it. It suited him, you forced yourself to admit, far more than red did.

In fact, you tried to remember the last time Minho had worn the colour red, but nothing recent sprang to mind. Perhaps…

“I’m meeting with my father tomorrow,” Minho told you, and immediately your attention was captured.

Tomorrow.

The word sparked something in your gut – not quite dread, or alarm, but something akin to that. Urgency.

You swallowed back your excitement, remaining as calm and neutral as you could. “And you’ll talk to him about the council?”

“That’s the plan,” Minho replied, enigmatic.

You paused, and a quiet fell over the room. It wasn’t as if Minho was expecting you to reply – in fact, as Soonie settled completely in his lap, chin dropping to rest on his knee, he was looking down and away from you.

But something still just…tugged at you. Just a little bit.

Your eyes darted down to the book in your hands, and as nonchalantly as you could, you spoke. “…Thank you.”

You saw Minho move out of the corner of your eye, head raising to look at you.

“…I’m just doing what I’m supposed to,” Minho said, his voice detached and light. “One of my duties is to recommend the most capable candidate I can find. Don’t think of it as a favour.”

His words rendered you speechless, heart beginning to pound in your ears.

Most capable.

You were the daughter of a rich, powerful man. You had been given many compliments throughout your lifetime.

None of them had ever caused the same kind of lump to form in your throat as you felt now. None had caused this kind of strange heat to bloom behind your eyes, this way your heart swelled.

Most capable.

And just like that, you were spurred into action. If you had only one night left to prepare yourself and construct the perfect defence to prove why you deserved to be on the council, you would take full advantage of it.

You began combing through the papers you had with you, reading voraciously, consuming every piece of information available to you. You did this throughout dinner, chewing absently as you turned pages and scrawled notes. You were so devoted to your studies, you made your way through two full cups of tea before realising, upon looking up, that it was Minho who poured it for you each time.

Your eyes met, just as he held the teapot over your cup to pour a third time, and your gaze held long enough to note the flicker of amusement in his before he looked away.

When dinner was over, you retreated back to the couch with more reading to finish. Minho did the same, taking up the same spot he did every evening, that familiar pile of paperwork set in front of him. There was a strangely companionable silence as the two of you worked into the night.

You almost forgot he was there, despite the sounds of his writing and the crisp sounds of paper-shuffling, slipping into a quiet rhythm of reading and re-reading until words began to blur together.

As the candles burned low, and the hours grew later and later, you felt your concentration start to slip. Your eyes would close, just for a few moments, and the will to open them again slowly began to elude you. Exhaustion crept up on you, an old friend, and you found yourself repeating paragraphs, reading over the same sentence again and again and unable to take in its meaning.

Your eyes closed again, and you vaguely remembered telling yourself it would be just for a moment.

Sleep found you instead.

Blissful, calm. Warmth from the fire. Papers slipping from your hand, but never landing on the floor. You felt safe, wrapped in the quiet.

Something brushed your arm. Soft. Fur. Soonie?

Your eyes opened, bleary, only to find grey instead of orange. The wrongness of it jolted you, your hand darting out to grab at something pale and moving.

Skin.

A hand. Soft.

Except for a callus on the edge of a knuckle on the middle finger. You recognised it, for you had your own on the very same finger. It was where the pen sat whenever you wrote.

Your gaze wandered, still sleep-fogged, and there was no surprise when you saw the hand attached to a Minho.

Your grip on him relaxed, fingers slipping from his, and you barely mumbled a half-formed thought. “Your hand matches mine.”

Your eyes closed again, just as Minho stilled, and you drifted back to sleep.

You woke up, neck aching, still upright on the couch. Your books and papers lay scattered around you, from where you’d been too tired to put them away properly. Morning light streamed in from the windows, and despite the ashes in the fireplace indicating that it had long since burned out, you found yourself unusually warm.

Ah. You had fallen asleep in the previous day’s clothes – and with very familiar furs draped over you.

There was a brief flash of a memory, of Minho’s hand pulling the furs over you. You dimly recalled saying something, perhaps, but the details escaped you. You pushed the furs off of you, your movements unusually gentle as you handled the blanket, as if it commandeered an unthinking respect from you. Sentiment, maybe.

As always, Minho had risen before you and left your chambers, but today this observation filled you with equal parts excitement and nerves.

Were they discussing it right at this moment? Did their meetings take place in the mornings? Or in the afternoons? Would other items be brought up first?

It was maddening, to have so many questions and no way to pursue the answers.

With a night’s worth of sweat sticking to your skin, you made up a bath for yourself, even heating the water entirely on your own. The only oils in Minho’s bathroom were lavender, suited for relaxation in the evenings rather than energising in the mornings, but you made do.

The water was a touch cooler than how you usually liked it, but you didn’t have the patience to heat more water. Instead, you stripped and climbed into the bath with as much grace as you could muster and set about cleaning yourself.

This wasn’t the first time you had bathed entirely without servants – in fact, since you had moved into Minho’s chambers, the only times a servant had been permitted to enter was to bring them dinner each evening.

You found yourself becoming…amenable to that arrangement. It gave Minho’s chambers a sense of quiet, a private solace, that could not be found anywhere else in the palace.

Perhaps that was why it was so jarring, almost invading, when you heard knocking from afar, the sound of a door swinging open, and a woman’s voice ringing out hesitantly. “Your Highness?”

You startled, upsetting the water, letting some of it slosh over the side of the bath and onto the floor. “Yes? Is something wrong?”

Footsteps approached – timid, rushed – and the voice drew closer. “You’ve been summoned, Your Highness. By the king.”

Your stomach dropped, your breath cut short.

“He…said it was urgent, Your Highness, but I can let them know you’re still bathing–”

“No,” you blurted out, quickly, sharply. You got out of the bath hastily, dripping water all over the floor. “Help me change into something quickly, and I’ll go now.”

There was only one reason you would be summoned by the king on this particular day, and from the sounds of it, it wasn’t to congratulate you on your new position on the council.

You needed to stand your ground, to explain your reasoning in the face of his refusal. And if there was any chance of persuading him to grant you the position, to ignore the concerns of your gender…

Well, telling the king that he needed to wait to discuss urgent business until the princess finished drying her hair was not the kind of image you wanted to present to him.

And so, you were laced into a dress with impressive dexterity by your maid, the luscious fabric increasingly dampened from your dripping hair. Was it an uncomfortable sensation? Absolutely, but it was difficult to dwell on it when all you could think of was why you were be summoned, what could have happened between the king and Minho to warrant such an urgent demand for your presence.

Discussions must not have gone as smoothly as Minho intended – but not so disastrously as to be dismissed out of hand.

As you slipped on a pair of shoes, your maid gave one last attempt to persuade you to wait. “Your Highness, are you sure…”

You turned, smiling politely at her. “Yes. I’m sure it will dry soon enough. Thank you for all your help.”

She returned your smile, somewhat nervously, eyes darting to the dishevelled aspects of your appearance, but seemed a little more assured. Marginally. Barely.

Before she could protest again, you marched straight for the door.

Of course, as was so often the case with grand gestures, there were certain factors you didn’t think through entirely.

The palace halls were unforgivingly cold, especially as your hair continued to slowly drip water down your neck, soaking into the back of your gown. It made every step uncomfortable, as every little drop of water that landed on the nape of your neck was another reprimanding shock of chill.

You made sure to stand tall, proud.

If your head was bowed, if your shoulders were slouched and your steps more resembling a scurry than a stride, you would have made a pitiable sight. It would look as if you were caught off-guard, as if you were panicked, incapable, scared.

But with your chin held high, with your shoulders back and a confidence steeling you, this was intentional. This was a statement. An image fit for songs, for stories, a princess devoted to her role and to the orders of her king.

As you drew closer to the king’s chambers, navigating through the ever-narrowing hallways, you felt your chest begin to tighten. You realised you might genuinely hate it here, this deep within the very depths of the palace, its cold little stone heart. A king might be well-defended here, the walls witness to nearly a thousand years of history, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were descending into a tomb.

And then, you heard the voices.

The last time you had been summoned by the king, you remembered catching a snippet of conversation at the very doorstep of his chambers. That was how close you had to get before Minho’s and the king’s voices could be heard through the thick wooden door.

But now? You heard them in the corridor - because they were loud.

Not quite a screaming match between father and son, but–

“–talk of duty, but what’s your solution, Father? Burying your head in the sand, that tried and tested trick?”

You almost stumbled, shock rendering you clumsy, because did Minho just say that to the king?

“Caution, boy, is not ignorance. How do you mistake the two? You’re well-versed in the latter.”

The two guards in front of you exchanged a glance. You noted that they did not share your horror. In fact, you could almost mistake it as…resigned.

“Was it age that turned your belly yellow? Is that my fate too? Cowardice?”

“I will not be lectured by a son still wet-around-the-ears on age.”

Not just resigned.

Long-suffering.

They’d heard this all before. Frequently, by the looks of things.

And then, as if that knowledge had unlocked something, had lifted the veil over your eyes, you could hear it. The hint of familiarity, the ease with which the two hurled insults at each other.

This was not the first time Minho and his father had quarrelled. In fact, you’d wager this wasn’t the first time this week.

The argument paused when the guards knocked at the door, announcing your arrival. As the doors swung open, you caught sight of Minho and his father – not a hair out of place, not even a flush of anger to their cheeks – glaring at each other with familial exasperation.

Minho looked away first, turning to look at you – and paused.

His Majesty followed his gaze, and you watched those regal eyes blink in surprise at your appearance.

You must have made a sight, your gown on its way to being ruined, your hair still slick and dishevelled, trying hard not to shiver in the cold of these chambers.

“Your Majesty,” you greeted, not even the slightest bit affected, and bowed low. You straightened up before offering Minho’s greeting. “Husband.”

“My dear,” the king spoke, just the slightest bit alarmed. “If my summons caught you at an inopportune time, I assure you it’s perfectly reasonable to delay answering until you’re presentable. Don’t concern yourself so thoroughly.”

You smiled brightly. The picture of obedience, of devotion. “I hated the thought of keeping you both waiting. I imagine I know what this conversation is about.”

The king’s gaze flickered between you and Minho at this, a frown soon beginning to form. Still, there was a subtle note of surprise in his voice when he spoke again. “I see. The two of you are conspirators in this…”

“Proposal?” you supplied, gently.

“Attack?” Minho offered, bitterly.

“…Folly,” the king said, finally, turning back to you.

You dipped your head, keeping your voice soft and sweet. “I’m sorry to hear that you see it that way. I believe it to be a fair compromise, to ease the tensions at court.”

“Yes, Minho said the same thing,” the king sighed, dismissive. “Both of you are blind to the same issue. Any conflicts that your position on the council might resolve are outnumbered by the discord it would certainly cause.”

Minho sighed, eyes darting up to the ceiling. You wondered how many times he had heard that argument this morning. “And yet, a good king prioritises the future of his kingdom above all else, is that not so?”

The king shot Minho a look. It didn’t take much to realise that those were likely the king’s own words that had come out of Minho’s mouth, not his own.

“Son–”

“Talk to her,” Minho interrupted, gesturing to you in pure exasperation. “Listen to her. Ask her anything. She’s more than qualified to be on the council.”

After a moment’s hesitation, in which it looked as if the king was debating whether to indulge his oldest son or nip this matter in the bud entirely, he turned to you.

“…Very well,” he said, giving in. You watched as he made his way to the splendid-looking chair behind a monstrosity of a writing desk, sinking into it. For a brief moment, you thought you caught something of a grimace in his expression.

Exhaustion? Perhaps. It must have been tiring work, running a kingdom. Let alone arguing with Minho too. You had first-hand knowledge of how that could drain your energy.

The king’s eyes became fixed on you, almost pinning you to the floor, as he spoke. “Suppose you were on the council, and a message was received, warning of a great army about to invade. What would you advise?”

Your brow furrowed as you considered the question. You needed to remain calm, measured, and use every scrap of information you had studied.

“Which border is the army advancing toward?” you asked, thoughtful.

The king’s face remained unchanged. “The one we share with the Lakelands.”

Interesting. No cardinal direction given – you assumed that must have been on purpose – but still plenty of information to form an answer. The Lakelands were in the north, and under treaty with your kingdom.

“I would advise you to send missives to Lords Kim and Geum in the north with instructions to muster their forces and man our security garrisons along the border. I would also–”

“Which garrisons?” the king interrupted, gently but firmly.

“Yalrock and Banna. Yalrock is the largest garrison on the northern border, Banna is strategically advantageous because of its position on the river plains. You’d be forcing the army to march along the mountain passes instead.”

The king’s expression remained cold, neutral – and you realised, in that moment, exactly where Minho might have learned the same habit. “Continue.”

“I would also advise you to send word to our allies in the hills and across the Sunrise Sea, informing them that the Lakelands have broken our treaty pact.”

“Broken the pact?” the king repeated. “I never said the Lakelanders were the ones invading.”

“The treaty pact also forbids the harbouring of any forces with aggressive intent towards treaty members. In this scenario, the Lakelanders would be doing just this – unless they themselves were invaded by this army too, which I doubt if we received no summons for aid or word from our ambassador there,” you said. Was this too much detail? Were you rambling? You did your best to keep your words steady, unrushed. “Therefore, the treaty would be broken.”

From out of the corner of your eye, you caught Minho watching you, a hint of a smile on his face.

The king, while perhaps a touch surprised at your answer, pressed on anyway with another question, changing the subject entirely.

“…Suppose Lord Sun’s lands are failing to produce the amount of grain demanded of them. How would you advise me?”

“I would be confused,” you admitted, “because Lord Sun’s lands produce fish, not grain.”

“And why is that?”

“Because his lands are in the east, along the coast. The land there isn’t arable.”

“Why?”

“The weather is too hot in the summer, too dry. There isn’t enough freshwater for crop-growing.”

The quickness of your answer was rewarded with the smallest – almost unthinking – of nods from the king. He paused once more, and spoke again. “Suppose I wanted to–”

“Another question?” Minho interjected, sighing, as he wandered across the room and took a seat by the window. He rested his head against his hand, elbow planted into the plush armrest of his chair.

The king shot him a look, either for the interruption, or for the flippant tone Minho had used, or perhaps even for the way he was lounging in the presence of his king, but he made no move to reprimand him. Instead, he turned back to you. “Suppose I wanted to offer a gift to the Lakelander delegation when they arrive next month to renew the treaty. A personal one, not a grand spectacle of an offering. What would you suggest?”

You paused. This wasn’t a question that could be answered with any of your recent studies of war or economics or geography. This was a question of hospitality, knowledge you needed as a queen, not as a councillor.

It took a moment, longer than it took with the first two questions, but soon there was an answer in your mind. “When the last Lakelander delegation came to this country to sign the treaty, one of the gifts they gave Your Majesty were wild rose seeds. Wild roses that were native to the Lakelands, difficult to grow in this climate, meant to symbolise a new peace and the care needed to maintain it. Her Majesty, the queen, still grows these roses in her private gardens, does she not?”

The answer to your question did not come from the king, but from Minho. “She does.”

“Then, I would suggest a bouquet of these roses. It would be symbolic of the care this kingdom has taken to nurture this new relationship with the Lakelands, a sign that we do not take their gifts for granted.”

The king eyed you carefully for a moment, silent. “…You weren’t present at the first signing of the treaty, were you? You’re too young for that.”

“You’re right, I wasn’t present, Your Majesty,” you replied. “But the queen graciously allowed me to play in her gardens when I was a child, and taught me the origins of those roses.”

Not quite. The queen allowed you and Felix to play in those gardens. She told you the origins of the roses when Felix tried to pick some for you, and accidentally cut open his palm on the sharp thorns of their stems. You remembered him, tears in his eyes, sniffling as Her Majesty held the both of you close and warned him gently that these roses were wild, were Lakelanders just like her and a little like him, and because of that, they were fiercely protective.

You remembered sitting and watching the two of them exchange smiles, and silently wishing that you were a Lakelander too. You wanted to be protective. You wanted to be like the roses, like them.

“Any more questions, Father?” Minho asked, jolting you from your memories. “Or has she proven our point? Impressively?”

And again, just as they had last night, Minho’s words stirred something within you. A kind of warmth, filling your chest.

The king regarded the both of you, silently, before sighing. “Your education is…indeed, as Minho says, impressive.”

Your heart soared, mind so entirely filled with elation that you almost missed his next words.

“But I’m afraid that still does not change the obvious. I did not secure decades of unprecedented peace under my reign by breaking with tradition. A woman sitting on the council is not tradition.”

You swallowed, heart sinking just as sharply as it had risen just moments ago.

“…There is precedent,” you pointed out, softly. “I found records of Princess Jiyoon on the royal council, less than two centuries ago.”

“That is true,” the king conceded, before tilting his head slightly. After a moment of consideration, he pushed himself out of his chair with the same half-grimace glimpsed earlier, and crossed the room towards a bookcase stuffed with leather-bound volumes. His hands hovered over them, fingertips brushing their spines, until he found the one he was searching for and pulled it from its stack with ease.

He made his way back to the two of you, opening the volume and thumbing through the pages as he walked, before offering the volume to you.

You took it, uncertainly, and looked down at what exactly he had handed to you.

Council records – but unlike the ones you had studied with Seungmin, you were shocked at just how much more detail this version contained. You supposed that made sense. The records in the library were likely censored, or edited for public consumption. These were private, a king’s own personal records, passed down from ruler to heir most likely.

Jiyoon’s name was there, listed amongst the other councillors, but these records included a strange symbol next to her name.

You frowned, and the king spoke again.

“I imagine you found no records of any contributions she made, correct? No votes cast, no motions brought to attention?”

“…No,” you admitted, reluctantly, looking up at him as dread began to curl in the pit of your stomach.

“There is a reason for that. Jiyoon filled a particular role. If you scour through the legal treatise of the time – dry reading, all of it, but it is there – you’ll find it. Jiyoon was not granted the role of an adviser, but of an observer. A silent one, there only to watch the council proceedings so that she could better educate her heirs in service of her husband. That is the precedent that Jiyoon set.”

Silent. Heirs. Husband.

Of course.

Of course. You should have known. That was what it always came down to. Centuries of royal women, millennia of royal women, and it was always the same.

Silent. Heirs. Husband.

You should have known. You should have known not to get your hopes up.

“What are you saying?” you heard Minho ask, dimly, as these thoughts repeated endlessly in your mind.

“The observer is required to be silent. She cannot vote, she cannot dissent, she cannot speak even when called upon to do so in session. She observes.”

Minho made a sound of disdain, maybe even disgust. “Then, what’s the point? Why have that great of a mind on your council if she can’t even use it? What a waste.”

“Perhaps, but that is the precedent you argue for. If you seek a compromise, that would be it.”

“A compromise? What–”

“I would accept it,” you interrupted, quietly. Your eyes were trained on the floor, voice barely above a murmur. Your brain still thundered with those three words, again and again. Silent. Heirs. Husband. “If Your Majesty were so gracious as to offer this role, I would accept it.”

You didn’t have to look at Minho to know the way his mouth was parted in surprise, astonished and outraged in equal measure. You could sense it in his tone when he spoke. “You can’t be serious.”

You raised your eyes to look at the king, purposefully avoiding Minho’s stare.

“I hope His Majesty knows that I don’t ask for this council seat out of personal ambition,” you said, softly, lying through your teeth to your king. “You said Jiyoon took the role as a duty to her husband and her children. If anyone objected to my position on the council, I would ask you say the same of me.”

“…You would take the council seat in service of Minho,” the king said, and even he sounded sceptical. You weren’t sure what that said about your marriage, but it wasn’t exactly promising.

“And our future children. We both take that duty very seriously.”

“Do you?” the king questioned, sharply, pointedly, but surprisingly it wasn’t you he was addressing – it was Minho.

You might have tensed at such an insinuation, but Minho practically bristled.

“Don’t,” Minho warned his father, straightening up in his seat. No, more than warned, he practically spat out the word. “I thought we agreed.”

Agreed? Agreed what?

You glanced between Minho and his father, sensing a tension that remained unspoken as the two eyed each other, jaws both set.

You were clearly missing something vital to this exchange, some secret piece of information – and, as always, the idea chafed at you.

And then, with a quiet and cold anger that you hadn’t heard in weeks, Minho told his father. “You owe me this.”

The king’s expression twisted. It was guilt, you realised. “Minho–”

“You owe me something.”

Another pause.

And then, finally, the king broke this staring contest with his son to look at you. “…The role requires complete silence. If I decided to grant you the seat on these conditions, and you flout them immediately, I will not look kindly on it. Do you understand?”

“I do,” you replied, solemnly.

“…Very well,” the king said, eventually. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

You did it.

It was a hollow victory, yes, but a victory nonetheless.

You couldn’t quite muster happiness about it, or even gratitude, but there was a sense of achievement.

You nodded, quietly, and curtsied low before the king. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

When you lifted your head again, you found the king glancing between your face and Minho’s before he spoke again.

“You do have quite the mind,” the king said, gaze still shifting between the two of you. “You might not be able to speak in the council room but…well, you share bedchambers now. Whatever you might discuss in there is your own private business. Is it not?”

Within days, news of your appointment to the council spread across the palace like wildfire.

You expected this, to some extent. Precedent or not, observer or not, this was still an undeniably shocking development. You knew there would be whispers about it, gossip passed around, growing and contorting with each telling and retelling.

All of this, and still you did not expect the conversation you happened upon one evening as you took a shortcut through one of the palace courtyards on your way back from a tutoring session with Seungmin.

The sun had just descended below the horizon, casting the square into shadow wherever the dim glow of torchlight did not quite reach. You caught snatches of voices as you walked, whenever you passed doors to parlours, to sitting rooms, to the dozens upon dozens of meeting places for the elite that resided within the court. Some of these doors were cracked open to enjoy the fresh air brought by the open-air courtyard on their doorstep, unaware of any passers-by.

And then, one particular comment caught your attention.

“Perhaps the poor girl is simply bored,” a haughty voice said, with a hint of laughter. “That council room might be a dreary place, but I’d wager it’s a damn sight better than her bedchambers.”

You froze, half within shadow, half without.

There was only one person that comment could possibly be referring to.

Immediately, you slipped behind one of the stone pillars lining the courtyard, heart pounding.

Finally, after all this talk of rumours, of whisperings at court behind your back, you finally had the chance to listen for yourself.

“Careful, Park,” another voice cautioned, although sounding more amused than concerned.

“A prince too scared to share a bed with his wife for weeks after the wedding,” the first voice – Park – scoffed. “What, did he hope no one would notice?”

A third voice chimed in, low and gleeful. “You want to hear something good? My wife heard a maid talking the other day. They change the sheets of that marriage bed every day. And they’re always pristine.”

Your face heated, something approaching bile threatening to burn the back of your throat. There was something about hearing your privacy be so…violated, and said so casually. Your bedsheets? They all talked about your bedsheets?

“You know my theory,” the third voice spoke again.

“Your wife’s theory,” Park corrected, sounding dismissive.

“It makes sense. She’s saving herself for the other brother. Traded one for the other before, maybe she’s waiting to trade back when he comes home.”

Felix.

Traded one for the other. Is that how they saw it? Is that how they all saw it?

“He’s not coming back,” Park scoffed. “Not for a long time. Not unless His Highness fancies looking down and wondering why all his children have the Lakelander look to them.”

Your heart stopped. You felt the blood in your veins freeze, matching the ice-cold anger settling into your bones.

“Gods be good, close the door before you say horseshit like that. Moron.”

This was more than fury.

This was wrath.

You stepped out of the shadows, just at the right moment to lock eyes with Lord Park as he stood by the doors, his too-late hand stilled on the handle.

“Good evening, Lord Park,” you said, voice so syrupy-sweet and cloying, and watched the blood drain from his face as he stared back at you in horror. You craned your neck to peek over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the two other men with him. “Oh, I see Lords Song and Ryu have joined you. How nice.”

“Y-Your Highness,” Park stammered, and there was genuine fear in his eyes.

He knew what you had heard. He knew the words that had come out of his mouth, and how close those words danced along the line of treason. It would take you only one conversation with Minho, or with the king, and his career would be done. His family. His fortunes. Possibly even his life.

You smiled brightly at him. “I look forward to seeing you next week at the council. I’ve heard you’re quite the contrarian. You’ve voted to reject the last, what is it, seven bills put forward by my husband?”

Park didn’t answer. Perhaps it was more accurate to say Park couldn’t answer. You wondered what could possibly be going through his head at that moment. You wondered if he had ever felt this afraid in his entire pampered little life.

You tilted your head slightly, eyeing him. “Perhaps from next week, you might find yourself second-guessing a decision like that. Don’t you think so?”

Park’s face, still pale, twisted into something approaching realisation. He seemed to grasp exactly what you were hinting at – the threat that remained unspoken.

“…Y-yes, Your Highness,” Park agreed, nodding erratically.

“And your companions? Perhaps they’ll have similar changes of heart?”

From behind Park, his friends stammered their assent, just as rattled.

You beamed.

“Perfect. Have a nice night.”

You attended your first council meeting the very next week, finally taking that last empty council seat that had remained vacant for so long.

Sixty-two members attended the session in total.

You felt sixty-one pairs of eyes on you throughout.

You recognised quite a few of the faces in this meeting. Lord Young, as delightful as ever, sat just a few seats removed from the royal family – a position of great honour, especially for a man with neither blood nor marriage ties to the crown.

Lord Park had also made an appearance, and blanched the moment your eyes met his.

Good.

You paid the stares little notice, attention completely and utterly captivated by the debates that took place. Every idea proposed, every motion considered and accepted and denied, every opinion volleyed back and forth, you noted down.

You might have been silent, but you wrote feverishly. Pages and pages of scrawls, near indecipherable as you worked to keep pace with the spoken word of the other council members.

Minho was seated next to you. Of course he was – he served as a visible explanation for your presence there at all. To be useful to him, to educate his heirs and better his legacy. In the eyes of everyone else, your seat on the council was essentially just an extension of Minho’s.

You weren’t sure what to expect of him during these council meetings. You knew just how seriously he took his position as heir, and his duty to the kingdom – but you also remembered that carriage journey home from Lord Young’s orchards, the disdain he had for politicking, his derision in his voice when he talked of strings attached.

It turned out that in council meetings, Minho kept up the same perfect princely mask he always did in public. Never once raising his voice, never slipping into anger or mockery. Exemplary behaviour from the first second of the meeting to the last.

Except for one moment, when an old lord from the Tan family had loudly proclaimed an argument so poorly constructed, with parts so moronic that you made sure to underline his exact wording for its stupidity, that you heard the quietest of noises from Minho. When you glanced up at him, he was watching the debate with apparent rapt attention. If you weren’t sat so close to him, you would have missed the slightest way his jaw clenched, as if to fight a look of disdain as he watched Lord Tan blather on.

Minho proposed only one new bill – investment in a new mill, to be built in one of the kingdom’s slowly-dwindling rural villages, in the hopes of creating employment opportunities. You paused your notetaking to watch each council member cast their votes for or against the bill.

Most supported it. Some rejected it. Your eyes sought out Lord Park again, and you watched as he reluctantly raised his hand in favour of the bill, gaze nervously flickering towards you as he did so.

What an astonishing change of heart from the man. Who could have predicted?

Still, despite it all, the council meeting ended without incident. The issues tabled for the next meeting were fairly standard: a new maritime trade deal with a kingdom across the Sunrise Sea, preparations for next year’s census, the ongoing reports from the Lakelander delegation slowly making its way to the palace. You made note of it all, jotting down your own thoughts on each matter when you were able to, and kept the notes closely guarded on your person.

You made sure to take them straight to your bedchambers as soon as the meeting finished, intending to lock them away in your desk until dinner that evening, when you could discuss them with Minho.

To your surprise, instead of making his way back to his office to spend the rest of the working day, Minho followed you back to your shared chambers. You tried and failed not to focus on his footsteps, how they matched your pace precisely, echoing along the empty corridors.

The slightest sense of frustration sparked within you. If you had to be watched by gossiping onlookers, why couldn’t they at least see this? Minho ignoring his usual duties to accompany you back to your bedchambers? Let them whisper about that, sordid or not, that could at least be useful.

You pushed away the thought with one last scoff at your own poor luck, reaching your chambers without so much as a single pair of prying eyes to witness you.

“So,” Minho said, as the doors swung shut behind the two of you. “How did you find it?”

Frustrating. Exhausting. Borderline insulting.

“Informative,” you replied, collapsing into a seat. Your hands ached from how feverishly you had written throughout the meeting, and you began to clench and unclench your fists in the hopes of relieving the pain. “I made a few notes.”

“I noticed,” Minho commented, eyebrow raising as he appraised the pile of papers at your side. “They look…detailed.”

“They are,” you confirmed, picking the papers up and beginning to flick through them. “If I can’t speak my mind in that room, writing will just have to do.”

For now, you added internally. You refused to accept that this silent role would last forever.

“Can I…read them?” Minho asked, and his question came out hesitantly, almost cautiously.

You looked up, surprised. You weren’t sure how much use these notes would be – you were both just at the very same meeting after all – but there was something about the request that was almost…endearing.

Minho. Endearing.

Hell had truly frozen over.

“Of course,” you replied, holding the notes up.

Minho paused for a moment before, slowly making his way towards you. When he sat next to you, he was close enough that his jacket sleeve brushed your bare arm.

You cleared your throat, focusing your attention on anything but how close he was. “These pages are about the logging site proposals, this one was on the Lakelanders’ progress, this…oh, this page is actually about Lord Tan.”

“Lord Tan?” Minho repeated, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes. He’s…” you trailed off, trying to think of a polite way to phrase it. “…He’s a blithering idiot, honestly.”

Minho, to your surprise, laughed. Openly, loudly, with a note of genuine delight. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have thought him capable of producing such a sound.

“Do you know how many hours of my life I have wasted listening to that old man ramble incoherently?” he asked. “There were moments I was driven half to madness. But he was my father’s first real supporter when he became crown prince, so he’s adamant on keeping the man around.”

You watched as Minho turned the page over, half-smiling to himself.

“He’s a sentimental old fool like that, sometimes,” Minho said, too lightly to really be considered critical – or treasonous.

“Who was your first supporter?” You asked, curiously.

“…Felix,” Minho said, softly, discreetly shifting away as he held your notes out to return them. “He was the only one to never doubt me. Not even for a second.”

Yes. Yes, that sounded like Felix.

You took back your notes, and tried not to notice how Minho avoided your touch as your notes exchanged hands.

A new silence fell between you.

Stifling.

Deafening.

You tried to take a deep breath, and stood up, making your way over to your desk to lock away your writings from prying eyes.

From behind you, Minho’s voice brought you to a halt.

“We haven’t talked about Felix,” he noted. “…And we probably should. At some point.”

He said it so plainly, so devoid of nuance or emotion. As if it were a mere observation, a comment about the weather and nothing more. As if his words didn’t strike something deep and vulnerable within you, like fingers clumsily probing a freshly-formed bruise.

You hated his apparent nonchalance. You despised it, and you envied it because you might never be able to do the same. To speak Felix’s name as if it meant nothing to you.

To speak his name as if…

To speak…

You…

Realisation – cold, violent realisation – hit you at once.

You had not. Not once. In months.

It had been months. And you had not spoken Felix’s name.

Not since your wedding day.

Others had. Countless others had. They murmured it gently and sweetly like Her Majesty, or they crowed it before you mockingly like those noblemen, or they threw it at you, cold and cryptic and horrifically empty like Minho.

They dragged him out of your memories where you kept him locked away.

Away, where he was safest to you. Safest from you. Safest for you.

“…No. We haven’t,” you said, and the words were quiet. Pained. Final.

The two of you did not speak again that day.

Soon enough, your father found you.

Your mother, all those weeks ago when she summoned you for that painfully awkward afternoon tea, had at least shown you the decorum your new status demanded and sent you a formal request.

Your father, a proud man, a pragmatic man, had no patience for such etiquette.

You were in the library, sat with Seungmin and poring over budgetary records with tired and bleary eyes, when he came marching in. He was flanked by two panicked guards, too fearful of your father’s status to lay their hands on him, too mindful of their duty to let him wander freely.

They fixed you with beseeching looks. “Your Highness, we – no one told us…y-your father…”

“Desires to speak with his daughter,” your father finished, in a tone you’d never heard from him before. “Urgently.”

Usually, your father was calm, collected, never one to show even a hint of vulnerability.

Now, here, he was impatient. Almost rattled.

You rose to your feet, so thrown off-kilter by the situation that you were a touch unsteady. After a moment, you nodded to your guards. “Very well. Please leave us.”

They did just that – and so did a third guard who had been sat just a few paces away from you and Seungmin.

Your father’s eyes darted to your tutor. “Him too.”

Seungmin, however, stayed seated. Slowly, he laced his fingers together and rested his hands on the table in front of him, returning your father’s glare with an unimpressed stare.

“It takes a bold man to order around a princess,” Seungmin remarked. Gently, as always, but firmly.

Your father’s expression hardened. He opened his mouth to speak back, but you cut him off at the pass.

“He’s right, Father,” you said. You couldn’t quite shake the nerves from your voice. You supposed that was only natural, after a lifetime of loyally following his orders and keeping your mouth shut in the process. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Mother?”

Your father stared at you for a moment, almost…bewildered. He recovered quickly enough. “Your mother is fine, which is more than I can say for the state of your…of…” he gritted his teeth, swallowing back whatever he desperately wished to say, and instead cut straight to the point. “You took a seat on the council?”

His question, and the venom behind it, almost took you aback.

Still, you lifted your head, trying to stand firm. “Yes, I did.”

“How could you be so…foolish?” your father demanded to know, anger giving way to frustration. “I could have protectedyou there.”

It took you mere moments to read between his words.

You didn’t take a seat on the council.

You took his seat.

“Could you?” you said, swallowing. “Or would you have protected your own interests?”

Your father’s eyes blazed at the accusation. You knew the look. Your own temper was a family trait – and it certainly didn’t come from your mother.

He thundered his response. “You are my daughter! My interests are your interests!”

“Are they?” You shot back, your voice rising to match his.

“We are family, we are blood–”

“And what have I done, except increase our family’s legacy?” you interrupted him. “I did that, I secured our first council seat.”

“And what seat is that?” he replied, incensed. “A mute councillor, never to vote, never to speak?”

Your face burned, as you tried to think of a rebuttal to his questions. Something began to twist in the pit of your stomach.

Your father sighed, fixing you with a stern look. “Let me be frank, girl, if you’re so eager to play politics. Your position is not secure.”

You swallowed. “I know–”

“No, you do not,” he snapped, briefly raising his voice, before dropping his voice to a more controlled volume. “You inspired the love of the people, but what else? I know half a dozen lords are plotting your annulment, and another dozen with their own girls waiting in the wings. What will you do with that council seat, when a proposal comes to terminate your marriage? Watch silently when they vote to cast you aside?”

You stared at him, as that twisting sensation in your gut finally earned a name: dread. You tried to respond. “Royal marriages are a king’s prerogative, they can’t–”

“Yes, they can,” your father said, simply. “Any silver-tongued politician could convince the king that your marriage is a matter of the state. Perhaps if you were married to the younger prince, you’d be safe, but you’re married to the heir–”

At those words, coming out of your father’s mouth of all people’s, your vision turned red. Your response, when it came, hung heavy in the air.

“And whose fault is that?”

Your father’s eyes widened, and he hissed. “Mind your tongue.”

“I did,” you said, your voice cracking. Before you could top yourself, words began tumbling out of your mouth, every secret silent thought that had festered in the darkest, most vulnerable corners of your mind, spilling to the surface. “I was happy and content and loved, and I still bit my tongue and let you scheme to take it away. I married the right brother for you, are you still not satisfied?”

In an instant, your father stormed his way towards you, eyes blazing as he loomed over you. “Be careful, girl.”

For a moment, you thought he was threatening you. Your own father.

And then you watched his body crumple slightly, panic and concern finally bleeding through all that pomp and anger. “Especially about…that. Him.”

You watched him take a deep breath, rendered speechless. You had never – not once, in all your life – seen your father like this.

He seemed almost…scared.

“If there are plots to annul your marriage, there are plots for something far darker. Annulment would be catastrophic, but bearable. But any whispers of adultery, of treason? To see you executed…”

Gently, he lifted his hand to cup your cheek. And for a moment, you were four years old again, showing your father your very first letters, beaming as he called you his little princess, long before the rest of the kingdom was obliged to.

“You are my child. My only child. Doubt my intentions, if you must, but do not doubt my love.”

You were stunned into silence. His words should have been touching, and you supposed on some level that they still were. But you felt almost numb as you absorbed them. Was it shock, hearing your father speak of his emotions so plainly? Perhaps.

There was a small part of you that whispered if this was all just too little, too late.

Your father dropped his hand and stepped away from you, silence filling the air between the two of you.

Then, he paused, and turned his attention to something behind you.

For a moment, you felt confusion, turning to follow his glare – before embarrassment consumed you.

Seungmin, of course, had been sitting there the whole time.

“And you,” your father interjected, his voice cold and bordering on menacing, pointing at your tutor. “If you breathe a word of this–”

Seungmin, despite showing the very clear signs of awkwardness one would expect from someone who had just witnessed such an intense and private family dispute, managed to keep calm as he replied with unfailing honesty.

“I am no fool. This position keeps my family fed, and will see my sisters marry well. I am only here at Her Highness’s request, and if the princess goes, this job goes with her,” Seungmin said, fiercely. “…And if nothing else, I know about your reputation, sir. I would rather like my tongue to remain inside my head.”

Your eyes widened.

That was a bold insinuation on Seungmin’s part. Tongue mutilation had been outlawed years ago, deemed too brutal a punishment when death was a surer way to guarantee silence.

You half-expected your father to deny this with bluster and offence. And yet, all he did was eye Seungmin silently, before nodding once and turning to the door.

As he approached it, your father spoke one final time to you.

“Keep your wits about you. You’ve made a dangerously bold move, and your enemies will use it against you,” he warned, before finally leaving, letting the heavy door slam shut behind him.

The echo of it reverberated across the library, as you stared after him with far more questions than answers.

It was Seungmin who first broke the silence, clearing his throat with just a touch of unease. “…Well, I imagine you’re no longer in quite the right mindset for last year’s harvest calculations. Would you like to finish our sessions early today, Your Highness?”

You didn’t speak. You barely looked at him, in fact, as you silently sank back into your chair.

Seungmin waited a moment or so longer, beginning to tap nervously on the smooth wooden surface of the table in front of him. “…Your Highness?”

“I…” you trailed off, as you realised the incriminating words that had fallen from your own lips just moments ago, and your head jerked towards Seungmin in panic. “Don’t… I don’t know how much you report to Minho about our lessons. But…please don’t tell him what I said about being…you know, about…”

“Biting your tongue?” Seungmin supplied for you, but his tone was heavy, knowing. He knew that wasn’t the offending part of your outburst.

“Yes,” you replied in the same tone, and when your eyes met, you knew you had an understanding. “He’s a smart man, I’m sure it’s nothing he doesn’t already know, but…it just seems cruel. I think. To hear it directly.”

Seungmin observed you for a moment, brow furrowing just a touch. He opened his mouth as if to say something, hesitated, before speaking anyway. “Actually, you should know that I don’t ‘report’ anything to Minho. Sometimes, he asks questions about what we study, and I answer them. Nothing more.”

You blinked, and before you could stop yourself, your curiosity won out. “What kind of questions?”

Seungmin eyed you again, and for a split-second, you could have sworn something akin to amusement quirked the corner of his mouth. Whatever it was, it disappeared in an instant, as he replied. “He asks about what interests you. Once, he asked about a book he’d seen you reading, and took a copy for his own use.”

“Oh.”

Whatever you were expected, it wasn’t that. A strange, unbidden feeling began to spread in your chest, warm for just a moment before common sense returned and drove it away.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense. Minho sometimes takes an interest in my education. Perhaps he wants to test me on it, make it a competition or something.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Seungmin said, perfectly politely. “Or something, indeed.”

Soon after that, the first move was made against you.

Details were leaked about the maritime trade deal discussed in the council meeting. Confidential details that were now freely gossiped about, within the palace and without. No one could say for sure who was the source of those leaks, but the evidence was damning.

Before you joined the council, there hadn’t been a single leak in years. And now, after you attended your first meeting, sensitive information was being bandied about within days.

There was only one simple conclusion to be drawn about the identity of the leaker.

You.

Your father was right. Whoever your enemies were, they’d been scheming, and they did use your position on the council against you.

Perhaps the library would have been a better place to take a breath, dwell on the knowledge a little longer, turn it over in your mind alone to work out the whos and whys and how to press forward.

But your feet drew you to your chambers, through the doors, and even once inside they refused to let you sit idle. You paced, backwards and forwards, going over the situation, the accusations about to be levelled at you, the defences you might need, the evidence you had and did not have to prove your innocence.

You paced and paced, and thought and thought, until your head spun and your feet threatened to leave its imprints in the stone beneath you, until it became clear to you exactly what you were doing.

You hadn’t chosen these chambers for silent contemplation.

You were waiting here.

Because when you imagined defending yourself, you didn’t picture a faceless mob before which to protest your innocence. You didn’t picture the king, and his councillors, and the lords scheming behind your back.

You pictured Minho. His expression flickering between accusing, betrayed, angry, cold, pitying, wounded. It was him you wanted to convince before any others, as illogical as it was.

It was hurt, perhaps, maybe, at the idea that Minho thought you would betray his trust. You knew how he’d pushed hard for your position on the council. You would never throw it back in his face like this, and you needed to make sure he knew that.

You questioned just when Minho’s good opinion of you had become so…important.

Eventually, the chamber doors opened, and your words came spilling out at the mere sight of Minho in the doorway.

“I didn’t do it,” you declared. You wished you could be calmer. You feared that the panic in your voice would mislabel you guilty.

Minho, blinking in surprise for a moment at your sudden outburst, regarded you calmly. “Ominous words to hear when entering a room.”

“I’m not the leak,” you clarified, with little patience for his cleverness. “And don’t pretend you haven’t heard about it. I know the information being spread, and I know fingers are pointing in my direction. With some reason, I suppose, but it was not me.”

“You seem agitated,” Minho remarked, maddeningly, all but ignoring your words as his hands moved to begin undoing the fastenings of his jacket. It was some sort of rigid construction, high-necked and broad-shouldered, and perhaps once the imposing princely sight of him in it might have intimidated you. Now, there was a familiarity to the sight – and a bizarre comfort that came along with it, perhaps. “Usually I’m the one to spark it. It’s actually quite bemusing when something else is the source.”

You stared at him for a second. Off-guard, waiting for any kind of actual response to what you were saying. When none came, irritation sparked in your chest. “Minho–”

“You’re innocent,” Minho said simply, halting you in your tracks. “I know. I told my father as much.”

It took you a moment to register exactly what he said, your head too full of practised arguments to leave much room for the recognition that Minho didn’t need to hear them.

He believed you without them.

It felt as if you had been barrelling towards something at high speed, a runaway horse, only to come to a sudden jarring stop. Air left your lungs in one unconscious breath, like a weight that had crushed your chest had been lifted.

“…Good,” you said, haltingly, and then relief struck you with such a violence that your eyes began to sting with tears.

At the sight of them, Minho’s expression shifted instantly from flippancy to something bordering on horror.

Frustrated, and more than a little mortified, you wiped them away impatiently. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

Minho opened his mouth, about to speak–

“No,” you interrupted, pointing at him, embarrassment warm in your cheeks. “This is just a serious allegation to be faced with, and I’m…relieved that I don’t have to waste my time defending myself.”

You managed to regain your composure, with no more tears threatening to make an appearance and humiliate you further. Taking a deep breath, you refused to look at Minho, refused to know if he believed your words or if that damned expression still lingered on his face.

“People are talking,” you said, finally.

“…People always talk. We’ve discussed this before.”

“It’s different now. I thought it was just idle gossip before, but…” you trailed off. “My father came to me a few days ago. He believes some of the nobles are scheming to dissolve our marriage. Free you up to marry a daughter of their own, and have me removed.”

Or worse.

You hadn’t fully comprehended what your father had hinted to you that day, not until now. You could see it all now. The image of your execution, a hundred smirking noblemen awaiting it, ready to thrust their own girls into your role. Perhaps to perish after you. Their scheming would not end with your death. They would simply turn on each other, try again and again, a dozen dead brides falsely accused and outmanoeuvred and doomed from the start.

And then, you snapped out of your dark thoughts when you realised that Minho had closed the distance between you, standing almost toe-to-toe.

His eyes sought your gaze, and held it.

“They can’t do that,” Minho said, firmly, gently. Certain. “We are married, and nothing can change that now.”

“It could. It would be easy, really,” you argued. “There’s no real proof of our consummation. You could say it never happened, and our marriage could be annulled by day’s end.”

“I would not,” Minho said, firmly. “Believe what you will about me, but I would never break off our marriage with a lie like that. Those are a craven’s actions, not mine. I swear it.”

Perhaps to your surprise, you found that you believed him. Minho could be called a great many things – indeed, you have called Minho a great many things – but ‘craven’ was not one of them.

Minho’s lips set into a grim, serious line. “Is that what concerns you? That I would set you aside?”

Would he?

Even after so many years around Minho, after weeks of being married, you still could not guess his true intentions.

“…I don’t know,” you confessed.

Something small flashed in Minho’s eyes. It looked like hurt.

“You have done a lot for me these past few weeks. More than I ever expected. More than I could ever ask for, truthfully. I think…I hope that we are friends, or at least something approaching it,” you told him, because it was true, and the lastthing you wanted was to destroy this budding trust you had developed between the two of you. Still, he deserved total honesty. “But I know you didn’t want this marriage, Minho.”

Minho was silent for a moment. You knew he couldn’t refute it, and he didn’t try to.

Instead, to your surprise, his hands lifted to rest gently on your shoulders. You could feel their weight on you, and how warm it was. Solid. Grounding.

He held you there and when he finally spoke, his tone was serious – grave, almost.

“…The night before Felix left for the coast, he came to me,” Minho admitted. “He made me swear – on my life, on his, on my mother, on my crown, on everything I have ever valued – that I would protect you from harm.”

Your lips parted in shock.

Felix.

“I love my brother, more than anything. He was once my only friend, in all the world. The very best of me,” Minho said, words beginning to pour out of him, as if finally freeing thoughts he had kept buried deep inside for months, perhaps even years. “I didn’t tell him how much he meant to me, not really. And now…”

Minho swallowed, eyes closing for a brief second, before meeting your stare again with a quiet intensity.

“He will never forgive me for marrying you. Never. The least I can do is honour the last thing – the only thing – he has ever asked of me.”

You didn’t know what to say.

A sudden realisation hit you. A small piece of an inscrutable puzzle, revealed.

“Is that what you meant, when you told your father he owed you something? For making you marry me?”

Minho swallowed, pausing for a second, and answered.

“Yes, in short. My father and I have had our squabbles but this marriage…it was the first true fight we had. The first time he’s ever had to order me to do something as a king, not asked me as a father. We haven’t seen many things eye-to-eye since. He doesn’t…understand,” he said, and then, almost to himself, “but he doesn’t need to. I know I’m doing what is right.”

There was a terrible sadness in his eyes, a shocking vulnerability. It was almost alien to see such an expression on Minho’s face, to glimpse beyond the walls he so skilfully kept up.

Unthinkingly, you surged forward and wrapped your arms around him.

He stilled in your hold, tense with surprise. You ignored it, squeezing him tightly, pressing your face into his chest. It was an awkward embrace, perhaps. The hard edges of the embroidery on his jacket dug into your cheek, stitching rough against your soft skin, and Minho’s movements were stiff and unpractised as he returned the hug.

But it didn’t need to be perfect. It only needed to prove the one thing you intended to show him.

Trust.

That night, when dinner was cleared, Minho retreated to his couch and paperwork. You left to change into your sleepclothes in private, as usual, and returned to slip quietly into bed.

There, however, you fidgeted and fumbled with exactly what to say before finally, bravely, breaking the silence. “…You can sleep in the bed. Next to me. If you were…unsure about it.”

Minho’s stare in response was indecipherable. But he nodded once, and when he finished whatever report he had picked up from the pile of papers, he disappeared to the bathroom and reappeared dressed for bed.

White linens. Thin, soft. You remembered them from your wedding night.

It was enough to make your breath hitch – and, embarrassed, you rolled to your side to avoid looking at Minho, lest you stared too openly at him.

You heard him pull back the covers on his side, and felt the weight of him sink into the mattress. He seemed to keep his distance, as not a single part of you touched, and yet you were painfully aware of his presence there.

Silence fell over the two of you, interrupted only by quiet breaths in tandem.

Something squeezed gently in the pit of your stomach. You recognised it as something like anticipation, which was bizarre, as you knew nothing was going to happen.

Nothing would happen.

…And yet, you supposed it would be easy for Minho to shift closer towards you. You could imagine him reaching over, and setting his warm hand on the curve of your hip.

Would he turn you, so you were facing him? Perhaps, but you could also see him keeping your back to him. Letting you hide your face, a small mercy, because he would probably know how embarrassed you would be.

Your eyes drifted shut.

It would be easy for him to press his face into the back of your neck, his mouth into the crook where your neck and shoulder met.

And perhaps he would whisper, soothingly, as his hand travelled lower, seeking the hem of your nightgown, sliding it up your thighs and…

No.

Your eyes snapped open as you scolded yourself, a mixture of excitement and shame heating your face. You banished every remotely inappropriate thought from your mind, turning to lie on your back and stare up at the ceiling.

You wondered, briefly, if Minho was looking up at the same thing too. You refused to glance over at him to check. The thought of seeing his face after all…that that had been swirling in your thoughts? Absolutely not.

It took far longer than usual to fall asleep in the deafening silence, but eventually you managed to.

The next morning, you awoke and realised, for the very first time, you had woken up before Minho. He was sleeping peacefully, unaware that the two of you must have turned to face each other in the night, bodies still a careful distance apart.

With one exception – Minho’s left arm lay outstretched, the knuckles of his hand just barely kissing the delicate skin of your wrist.

You stared at where your hands touched, skin-on-skin.

And you did not move your hand away.

625 notes · View notes

ectologia · 8 months

Text

EXPRESS

TOMURA SHIGARAKI + FEMALE READER

WARNING: DUBCON/NONCON, PROFANITY, DRUNK READER, PUSSY WEDGIE, EXHIBITIONISM, PUBLIC TRAIN MASTURBATION, FOOT HUMPING, HUMILIATION

Your feet drag along the raised concrete, you can barely take a step without tipping head first into the nearest wall or inconveniently placed bin. It’s unfortunate nobody took it upon themselves to actually walk you home, you’re fucked out of your mind — who let you drink this much anyway?

The clusters of people gathered in the station only glare at your clumsy stumbling, shuffling and shifting away into themselves once they see your staggering form sway towards them.

Your requests to borrow somebody’s phone are denied or out-right ignored instantly, left clinging to the rim of the greasy bin for some kind of stability.

“Escuse m’.. Uhm.. ‘s this m’ train..”

Trimmed brows furrow at your mumbling, their eyes drifting around uncomfortably before you can finally muster up a proper sentence. “Uhm.. Yeah. That’s your train.” You nod along dumbly, following their finger as they point to the still train currently boarding.

You’re sure you’ve stepped over eight peoples toes already, but you don’t really care when all you’re focused on is not puking your guts out. A fist curls around one of the grab-handles for support, giggling and squealing like a child as the train bumps to a start. Your limp body is practically thrown onto the floor of the train, left to hug and lean on the vacant seats.

Your clouded eyes blink down at the pair of tattered, red sneakers crossed by your feet. A hoarse growl grabs your attention, tilting your chin up to squint your swivelling eyes at the hooded figure. His face is overcast with a dim shadow, what’s not concealed by his hoodie is curtained by thin, static tresses of alice blue.

The grim line that makes up his lips quirks upwards at your dopey expression and disheveled appearance. On instinct, you smile back, mistaking his fiendish smirk for something akin to friendliness you can’t help but shuffle closer on your bum, reaching your arms out to hug his leg.

Your fellow passengers grimace at the display, pivoting their heads to look out the window, clutching their belongings closer.

If you were any other dumb, drunk bitch, you’d be a pile of dust by now. But he’s had a long day, so he decides to indulge you’re intoxicated idiocy. He opens his knees, man-spreading across the fortunately empty seats either side of him, he doesn’t blame the rest of the pathetic lot on the train for not wanting to sit next to the creepy man dressed in all-black.

His foot shimmies itself in between your spread thighs, opting to have you sit on it for him. You cock your head once you feel the ridges of his shoe circle the chubby mound hidden in your panties.

“Hump it.” Shigaraki hunches, bending down to whisper into your ear.

You suck on your bottom lip, wiping your face into the denim of his jeans before propping your chin on-top of his knee, purring. Your stupid little brain clearly isn’t comprehending what he’s saying at the moment, so he helps you out. You let out a breathy giggle as the metal rings and harsh material of his sneakers grind beneath you, bumping into your hooded clit with every jerk.

You don’t understand what’s happening, but you can’t find it in yourself to stop when your hips begin to move on their own, wanting to bounce your horny cunny on some random man, in public no less.

A sizeable portion of the passengers shuffle out of the cart with disgusted frowns, while other on-lookers distract themselves with their phones or reading books, glancing at your perverted antics every so often.

Shigaraki smiles down at you, slipping his tongue out to wet his lips as he watches you hump his leg like a dog. He’s no longer moving his foot along with you, letting you fuck yourself on his dirty sneakers at your own pace. You’ve latched onto his leg now, cuddling into him while your tongue lolls out of your mouth, leaving a dark, wet patch of drool to seep onto his thigh while you’re sloppy, dribbling pussy leaves it’s own trail of fluid along his shoe.

Your ears perk at the sound of a shutter, looking up to see a shiny phone being shoved into your face. Your movements halt as you squint at the white light.

“Hey.” Shigaraki lifts his foot up, giving your puffy cunt a little kick. “Keep humping girlie.”

You’re bounced a few times before you’re able to get the ball rolling again. You continue to grind your clothed pussy down onto his shoe, shaking your ass as you desperately try to get to your orgasm.

He rasps a laugh at your fucked out expression, zooming in on your sloppy face before bending down to lift your dress up, getting a nice shot of you masturbating your horny pussy on his foot. Two fingers dip down to tug at the cotton of your panties, pulling the crotch nice and tight against your hard clit while your fat pussy lips spill out the sides. Your contorted slit is given a few harsh smacks before he sits back up.

He’s hard as a fucking rock but he doesn’t really feel like getting his massive cock out right now. Might scare the on-lookers. He lets you have your fun, cumming your little heart out while you fuck yourself on the floor. He takes a few purposeful glances at you before turning his attention back to his phone, thumbing the screen.

5 IMAGES

2 VIDEOS

TOMURA: train slut lmao

DABI: holy shit

DABI: look how wet her fucking pussy is

DABI: why’s she humping ur shit on the fucking train lmao

TOMURA: dirty twat

You’re propelled backwards onto the ground once the train stops, blinking up at Shigaraki’s tall stature as he stands, swiping at the linoleum floor with the slicked up rubber of his shoe.

You half expect him to bid you some kind of goodbye or atleast acknowledge you as he steps over your panting, crumpled form. You stare at him almost longingly as he makes his way to the exit, only pivoting his head to look back at you with a lecherous grin before dispersing into the crowd of people gathered by the doors.

Your face burns red and warm once you realise how many people on the train are staring at your wet little pussy.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha smut #shigaraki #shigaraki smut #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura smut #tomura shigaraki smut

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rynwritesreid · 3 months

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Apologies| Spencer Reid

A/N: Before I watched CM the only American crime show I watched was Bones, and I wish that they had a crossover at some point(Bones and Spencer, Booth and Hotch, pls). I have also started re-watching English crime shows, Lewis specifically, and I forgot how good they are but I will always view scandis as the superior crime show writers, because can you get better than the killing and jordskott?!

Summary: After a breakup with Spencer, you notice how he only flirts with other people when you’re around. However, when you give Spencer a taste of his own medicine, he realises it will always just be you, and no other woman will ever come close to you.

Content: fem! Reader. Make up sex. Oral (f! Receiving). No mentions of contraception. PinV. Smut. Fluff. Mentions of a breakup and then getting back together. 18+

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

It wasn’t a rough, or hostile, breakup, you two still loved each other, but for whatever reason you just seemed to stop communicating with each other, and that seemed to lead to the breakdown of your relationship. You still worked well together, and as you promised Hotch when the two of you started dating, you never let your relationship affect your work.

However, Spencer seemed to enjoy openly flirting with other women when you were around, and it was an obvious attempt to make you jealous, but you were not going to let him win. You wanted to give Spencer a taste of his own medicine, show him how it felt.

One evening, as you sat at the bar of a local pub, nursing a drink and observing the patrons around you, an idea formed in your mind. A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you spotted a handsome stranger sitting alone at a nearby table. He seemed lost in thought, a certain air of mystery surrounding him.

You began a casual conversation with the stranger, making witty remarks and laughing at his jokes. The exchange was light-hearted, devoid of any deeper meaning. Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had been observing your interaction from afar. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of jealousy bubbling inside him. As much as he wanted to appear unaffected, he couldn't deny the pang of possessiveness that gripped his heart.

He watched as you leaned closer to the stranger, your laughter fading into a whisper. His jaw clenched, and he suddenly felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. The unfamiliar sensation was unsettling, a mix of anger and longing.

Unable to bear it any longer, Spencer excused himself from the table he had been observing you from and made his way across the pub. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if he were dragging an anchor behind him. The sound of his heart pounding filled his ears, drowning out the din of the pub around him.

As Spencer approached the table, his eyes never left yours. The stranger turned to face him, a curious yet guarded expression on his face.

"Mind if I join you?" Spencer asked, his voice steady despite the swirling emotions within him.

The stranger shrugged, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. "Be my guest."

Spencer pulled out a chair and took a seat, careful to keep his composure despite the tumultuous storm roaring within him. He glanced at the stranger, trying to decipher what you had found so intriguing about him. The man exuded an air of confidence and mystery that seemed to draw you in.

The conversation continued, but this time there was an underlying tension that filled the air. Both Spencer and the stranger engaged in a battle of wits, each trying to outdo the other with clever remarks and subtle jabs. It was a dance of words, laced with hidden meanings.

You watched the exchange unfold, your mischievous smile growing wider. You couldn't help but relish in the power shift that was taking place before your eyes. The atmosphere crackled with an electric energy, charged by the unspoken competition between Spencer and the stranger. It was as if they were fighting for your attention, vying for a part of you that had been neglected.

The conversation escalated into a sophisticated game of verbal chess. Words ricocheted across the table, each remark glinting with double entendre. The stranger's eyes sparkled with amusement, seemingly enjoying the challenge that Spencer presented. And yet, beneath his composed facade, Spencer's hands trembled slightly, betraying his inner turmoil.

“Well, I am enjoying this conversation, it’s getting pretty late, so I am going to head home now.” You said, standing up from the table with a sly grin. Both Spencer and the stranger looked at you, momentarily stunned by the abrupt end to their battle of wits.

"But the night is still young," the stranger replied, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment.

You chuckled, enjoying the power you held over both men. "Perhaps another time," you teased, shooting a playful wink at Spencer before turning to leave.

Spencer's eyes followed you as you walked away, a mixture of frustration and longing etched on his face. He had wanted to prove himself, to show you that he was worthy of your attention. But now, it seemed as though he had only pushed you further away.

The stranger cleared his throat, breaking Spencer out of his reverie. "Quite the woman you have there," he commented, a touch of admiration in his voice.

Spencer nodded absentmindedly, unable to tear his gaze away from your retreating figure. "Yes, she is certainly something," Spencer replied, his voice laced with a mix of resignation and determination. “As she said, it is getting late, so I also better be heading back home.”

The stranger watched as Spencer stood up from the table, his eyes filled with a newfound determination. "Good luck," the stranger called after him, a hint of sympathy colouring his voice.

Spencer nodded in acknowledgment, his mind already racing with thoughts of how to win you back. He had been foolish to let things deteriorate to this point, to let his own insecurities drive a wedge between you. But now, he was ready to fight for what he realized he couldn't bear to lose.

As Spencer made his way back home, his mind was consumed with thoughts of how to repair the damage he'd caused. He knew he couldn't let his insecurities continue to sabotage his relationship with you. The evening's encounter at the pub had been a wake-up call, a jolt to his system that reminded him of what truly mattered.

Upon entering his apartment, Spencer took a deep breath, determined to set things right. He grabbed his phone and dialled your number, hoping that you would answer and give him a chance to explain himself. The phone rang once, twice, before you finally picked up.

"Hey," you greeted cautiously, your voice tinged with curiosity.

"Hi," Spencer replied, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. "I... I wanted to talk."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line before you spoke again. "Alright. Come over."

Relief flooded through Spencer as he hung up the phone and quickly made his way over to your apartment.

As Spencer stood outside your apartment door, he took a deep breath to steady his racing heart. He knew that this conversation would be pivotal, a make-or-break moment for the two of you. With newfound determination, he raised his hand and knocked on the door.

The sound reverberated through the hallway, each rap echoing with anticipation. Seconds ticked by, and Spencer began to doubt if you would actually let him in. Just as he was about to turn away, the door creaked open, revealing your figure framed in the soft glow of the hallway light.

You looked at him, a mixture of curiosity and caution in your eyes. "Come in," you said softly, stepping aside to let him enter.

Spencer walked into your apartment, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over him. The familiar scent of your home enveloped him, bringing back memories of happier times.

“What did you want to talk about, Spencer?”

Spencer took a moment to gather his thoughts, his gaze lingering on you. “Us. I want to talk about us. Was your intention to make me jealous tonight?”

You raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by Spencer's directness. "Jealous? No, that wasn't my intention. I was merely enjoying a friendly conversation."

“Sure, but you enjoyed it. Didn’t you? Watching two men fight over you.”

You paused for a moment, considering Spencer's question. "Maybe I did," you admitted, your voice softening. "But it wasn't about wanting to make you jealous. It was about wanting to see if you still cared enough to fight for me."

Spencer's eyes widened, realization dawning on him. "I do care, more than you can imagine," he confessed, his voice filled with earnestness.

“Really? Why have you been flirting with other women, every chance you get?”

Spencer's eyes widened at your accusation, his heart sinking. He had hoped that you hadn't noticed his behaviour, that somehow, he could keep his insecurities hidden. But now, faced with your piercing gaze, he knew he couldn't hide any longer.

"I... I didn't mean for it to seem like flirting," Spencer stammered, his voice tinged with regret. "I was just... I don't know, trying to prove something to myself." He took a step closer to you, desperation etched on his face. "But it was never about not wanting you or needing someone else. It was about my own fears and insecurities getting the better of me."

You looked at him, a mix of frustration and understanding crossing your face. "But flirting with other women won't solve anything, Spencer. It only pushes me further away."

“I get that now, but it will always just be you. And seeing you flirt with that man, made me realise I can’t lose you; I can never lose you.” Spencer took a deep breath, his voice filled with sincerity.

“I don’t want to lose you either, I love you Spencer, and I don’t think I will ever stop loving you.”

Spencer's eyes widened at your confession, a mixture of surprise and relief washing over him. He had been so afraid that his actions had pushed you too far, that he had lost you for good. But in that moment, as your words hung in the air, he knew that there was still hope.

"I love you too," Spencer whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "And I promise, from this moment on, I will do everything in my power to make it right. To show you that you're the only one I want."

You believed him, he wasn’t the type of person to lie about this stuff. He moved closer to you, his hand reaching out and cupping your chin gently. His touch was warm, his eyes filled with sincerity as he leaned in to kiss you softly.

The kiss, filled with longing and forgiveness, spoke volumes more than words ever could. In that moment, the weight of their insecurities and misunderstandings lifted, leaving only the love they held for each other.

As the kiss deepened, Spencer's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. Every brush of his lips against yours was a reminder of the passion they shared, of the promises they made to each other.

When you finally pulled apart, your breaths mingling in the air, Spencer rested his forehead against yours. "I'm so sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I never want to hurt you like that again."

You reached up, running your fingers through his hair soothingly. "I believe you," you said softly. His lips once again found yours in a tender embrace, and the world outside ceased to exist. In that moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a love that had weathered storms and emerged stronger than ever.

Spencer wasn’t going to let this kiss end though, he couldn’t. He would never be able to find someone like you, you were his soulmate, and nothing would ever stop him loving you.

The kiss deepened, becoming a passionate dance of love and desire. Spencer's hands roamed over your body, tracing the familiar curves and contours he knew so well. The room filled with the sound of heavy breathing and soft moans as the intensity between you grew.

As the kiss broke, you both gasped for air, your chests heaving with a mixture of anticipation and longing. Spencer's eyes locked with yours, his gaze filled with an unspoken promise. He had made up his mind to fight for your love, to be a better partner than he had been before.

"I don't want to lose you," Spencer whispered, his voice laced with determination. "I can't imagine my life without you. Let me make it right."

You searched his eyes, seeing the sincerity and love shining back at you. The doubts that had plagued your mind began to crumble, replaced by a renewed hope for the future.

“How will you go about making it right?” you said with a hint of mischief in your eyes and a small smirk on your lips.

Spencer grinned back at you, a spark in his eyes. "Trust me, you're going to love what I have in store for us."

“Oh really?” you replied, raising an eyebrow playfully.

As Spencer led you into the living room, he gently pushed you onto the couch, the cushions sinking under your weight. He stood in front of you, his eyes locked on yours, a determined look in his eyes.

"I don't want to lose you," he whispered again, his voice low and filled with sincerity. "I promise to be better. I promise to be the man you deserve, the partner you need, and the lover you want."

You looked into his eyes, searching for the truth in his words. You could see the sincerity there, the resolution to make things right. You could see the love that had never truly waned, that had always been there, waiting for you to see it.

"Okay, Spencer," you said softly, a small smile playing on your lips. "I trust you. Show me how you're going to make it right."

Spencer's grin widened as he moved closer to you, his eyes filled with mischief and excitement. He reached out, gently trailing his fingers along your cheek, his touch leaving a trail of tingling sensation in its wake.

"I'm going to remind you of just how much you mean to me," Spencer whispered, his voice filled with desire. "Every touch, every kiss, will be a testament to my love for you."

His lips descended upon yours once more, this time with a renewed fervour. The kiss was hungry and passionate, as if both of you were trying to convey all the emotions that had been left unsaid during those tumultuous times. Spencer's hands roamed over your body, tracing the curves and dips that he had missed so much.

You responded eagerly, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him closer. A soft moan escaped your lips as his hands found their way under your shirt, his fingertips gently grazing your skin. The warmth between you intensified, a magnetic attraction pulling you closer together.

As the kiss broke, both of you were gasping for air, your hearts pounding in sync with the rhythm of your desires. You looked into each other's eyes, the love and trust shining brightly, a beacon of hope for the future.

"I'm ready," you whispered, your voice filled with earnestness. "Show me how you're going to make it right, Spencer. I'm ready to trust you and be with you, no matter what."

Spencer smiled, a look of pure joy and relief washing over his face. He gently lifted you into his arms, carrying you effortlessly towards the bedroom. The anticipation in the air was palpable, fuelled by the love that had brought you both to this moment.

Upon reaching the bedroom, he laid you down on the soft sheets, the cool fabric brushing against your skin. His eyes locked with yours, filled with the determination to make amends. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead, as he smothered your face with kisses.

Your body responded to his touch, each kiss igniting a fire within you that hadn't been felt in what felt like forever. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. You moaned softly, the desire taking over your senses.

"You're mine now," Spencer growled, his voice low and filled with possessiveness. "You're going to belong to me, completely and utterly."

His lips found yours once more, his hands exploring every curve of your body. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, wanting him to know just how much you wanted him. The passion between you was palpable, electric.

"I'll never let you go, I promise," he whispered against your lips. "You're mine, and I'll do everything in my power to make sure you know that."

His hands found the zip of your dress, and slowly pulled it down, revealing your trembling body beneath. Your heart was pounding, your breaths were shallow, as you looked into his eyes. He had a look of determination, a look that told you he was ready to make things right.

He continued to kiss you, his hands trailing down your arms, your waist, and finally to your hips. He lifted you slightly, and with one swift motion, your dress fell to the floor. You were standing there, naked, vulnerable, and exposed, but you knew that he wouldn't waste this moment.

He led you back to the bed, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with the promise to make it right. He lowered you onto the soft sheets, his eyes never leaving yours. His lips found yours in a fiery kiss, his hands roaming your body, caressing every inch of your skin.

You could feel your heart racing, your breath hitched in your throat, as you knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for. The moment where he would show you how much he loved you, how much he wanted to make things right.

His lips trailed down your neck, his hands gently caressing your skin, making you shiver in pleasure. You moaned softly, your body responding to his touch. He could feel the desire building between you, the electricity of your connection.

His hands worked their way down to your waist, his fingers trailing along your hips, down to your thighs. He gently spread your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. You could see the love and trust in his eyes, the desire to make it right.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, his breath warm and tantalizing. You arched your back slightly, inviting him closer, wanting him to explore every inch of you.

His tongue danced along your skin, his lips leaving a trail of kisses. You moaned softly, your breaths shallow, your heart pounding with anticipation. You could feel your body responding to his touch, the desire building within you.

He continued his exploration, his tongue delving deeper, his lips leaving kisses along your skin. You could feel your body trembling, your senses heightened, as his hands continued to explore your skin. He knew exactly what he was doing, how to make you feel alive and desired.

His tongue found its way to your clit, his lips softly sucking and caressing it. Your breath hitched in your throat, your moans growing louder. You could feel your body building towards the edge, the desire and lust coursing through your veins.

He continued his ministrations, his hands exploring your body, his tongue delving deeper. You could feel your orgasm building, the intensity of your pleasure growing with each passing moment.

You arched your back even more, your body trembling with pleasure, as you knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for. The moment where he would show you how much he loved you, how much he wanted to make things right.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a wave, your body shaking uncontrollably, your pleasure reaching new heights. You cried out his name, your moans echoing throughout the room. He continued to please you, his tongue never leaving your most sensitive spot, as you soared towards your peak.

Your scream filled the air as you came, your body convulsing with pleasure. Spencer continued to pleasure you, his hands exploring every inch of your body, his tongue never leaving your clit. He was determined to make it up to you, to show you just how much he cared.

As your orgasm subsided, you could still feel the aftershocks reverberating through your body. You took a deep breath, turning to look at Spencer, who was still between your legs, his fingers gently wiping away the remnants of your release.

He wasn’t done though, he wanted to ensure that you knew just how much he loved you, how much he wanted to make things right. He slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, filled with a mix of love, desire, and determination.

Swiftly, he stood up, his gaze never leaving yours. He began to undress himself, revealing his toned body and hardness that had been growing throughout your passion. You could feel the desire building within you again, your heart racing at the thought of what he was about to do.

He climbed back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He positioned himself between your legs, his hardness pressing against you. You could feel the anticipation building within you, the desire and love between you both intense.

With a single motion, he entered you, his body fitting perfectly against yours. You gasped, your body responding to his touch. He began to move, his rhythm perfect, his movements slow and measured.

Your eyes locked onto his, the love and trust shining brightly between you. You could feel his determination, his need to make things right. This was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment where he would show you just how much he loved you.

He increased his pace, his body moving faster and harder. You moaned softly, your breath hitched in your throat, as the passion between you both intensified. Your body responded to his touch, every movement sending waves of pleasure through you.

His eyes never left yours, his love for you shining brightly in his gaze. You felt his determination, his need to make things right. The feeling of his body against yours was intoxicating, sending a wave of pleasure through your entire being.

Your breaths grew shallower, your moans growing louder. You could feel your orgasm building, the intensity of your pleasure growing with each passing moment. You arched your back, your body trembling with desire, as you knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for.

His thrusts became more frenzied, his body trembling with the same desire that was pulsing through yours. You could feel the tension building within him, the need to reach the peak together. He knew that the only way to make it right was to share this moment with you, to feel the passion and love between you both.

With one final thrust, he collapsed onto you, his breath ragged, his body trembling with the aftershocks of the intense orgasm. You cried his name, your body still shaking from the pleasure that had just washed over you.

He pulled out of you, his gaze never leaving yours. He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss. You knew that this was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment where he had made things right. His love and desire for you were clear in every touch, every kiss, every movement.

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alavestineneas · 25 days

Text

i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, daddy and sister issues, bald men chapter 1 - chapter 2 word count: 6,5K

author's note: hi beautiful people! this chapter may be classified as a prologue (yes, I am aware of its size, sorry, lol), but it is still integral to the story. we love evil people, especially evil bald people, in this house, so have fun and don't forget to wash your hands before reading! also, if you see things that are not canon, just know that me and the books are two parallel lines and we do not cross. feel free to point out grammar mistakes, though - english is not my first. love you!

Kaitain, 10176 AG

The violent streaks of light fight with the heavy cloth of drapes to find their way into the small, stifling chambers. The time was slowly crawling towards noon in the heavy summer heat, and the woman lying on the heavily decorated sheets was battling to get a breath in. Whether because of the annoying star, or the poisoning waiting, the patterns of sweat stained her tired face with esculent ornaments. Her lips, formed into a thin line, gleamed with small spots of dried crimson.

''Where is the messenger?'' The woman's voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes glued to the dancing light filtering through the window. ''The girl is strong; I can't hold her for much longer.''

The black figure on the chair in the corner slightly shifted at words. She was veiled, despite the heat—like a black hole, she seemed to suck the little air left. ''Forbearance,'' her raspy voice cuts through the room. ''The child makes you impatient. Control yourself.''

''I've waited, and waited long enough,'' the woman snapped, her frustration evident in her trembling hands. ''A few more minutes and all that is left of her will be a corpse.''

''Be quiet, Echidna. The child will live. If not, she was never meant to be part of our world in the first place.''

The woman clenched her jaw in a wave of pain and nodded. The girl ought to see the light of this planet today. Deep in her thoughts, she almost missed the rushed steps behind the door.

One of the Emperor's guards burst into the room, his eyes almost frantic. ''Lady Anirul has graced the Imperium with a daughter.''

Echidna smiled in relief, but her expression quickly changed as a beast-like cry pierced the air. The child was coming, with little care for the damage it caused to her aching womb. She tore the tissue down to the individual cells, gnawing her way with fists and elbows, moving the bones aside with brute force. Soon, her own cries were answered by much louder ones, as the head of the girl showed itself, covered in a thick layer of almost black blood. Just for a moment, the woman wished it would not steal another breath from the room, but she sharply composed herself. With a final push, the child left her body forever, leaving it a raw wound.

The small creature shrieked when the black figure approached, and slender, wrinkled arms took it from the warmth of rufous-red liquid. Echidna watched as the figure carried the girl away, resting her hurting body against the soaked pillows. She fulfilled her duty; she granted Bene Gesserit the daughter they wanted. She is bleeding under a beautiful sun; she is holding the ghost of her child in her arms—the real one was never hers anyway. Echidna knows the Emperor will not come. From now on, it is just her and her never-passing pain. Thus, Kaitain, home to the Corrino dynasty, was warmed by the light of a new sun—Princess Irulan, an heiress to the Imperium—and chilled by the shadow of her sister, born a few minutes later.

The calmness of the gardens was disturbed only by the soft strokes of brushes against a thick canvas. YN sighed, her eyes still fixed on the tree nearby, its young branches swaying with the wind. Her body ached from stillness, the tension in her neck from holding her head slightly bowed spreading down to her small back. They posed for a portrait of what seemed like an eternity to a child, and was almost it to an adult who dared to inquire; the painter, while satisfied with the draft, looked at the group of young girls almost in fear—no normal child of that age would be unmoving for three hours. And yet, they were.

YN felt one of her sisters shift even through the thick fabric of her silver dress. Small Chalice turned, her cheeks red from the heat or tiredness, her lips forming a pout—the child was tired, sleepingly rubbing her eyes. YN thought for a moment, debating if the punishment would be worth it, or if her sisters could wait just a little bit more until the man with colours would end the session for today. She noticed how Irulan's face was starting to droop, her eyes fluttering closed and opening just a second later. Their youngest, Wensicia, was already asleep in Irulan's arms; her golden hair spread across her and YN's laps as a beautiful cover, shining under the faint sun.

''I am tired, Master Chen. We should end the painting for today,'' YN finally spoke; her voice was almost a whisper. She did not know whether it was not to awaken her sister or out of fear of the Emperor's anger; it did not matter. The man nodded and left, taking his canvases with him, leaving only a few drafts behind. Then, the sisters were left alone in the garden.

''Thank you,'' Irulan said softly, placing her head on YN's shoulder.

YN only nodded. Her eyes found the paper not so far away, her gaze studying the strokes of the pencil with interest. Wensicia, a beautiful girl of two, was smiling brightly, holding an olive branch in her chubby hands, her small feet peeking under the hem of her white dress. Small Chalice was at the opposite end of her, her curly hair surrounding her head like a halo as she leaned forward, holding a small dove inside her palms. Then, sitting at the bench, surrounded by lush greenery and bushes, they. Irulan and the Other.

YN was placed just a step away from her older sister, her head turned away from the gaze of the viewer. The delicate folds of her silver dress carefully cascaded down, creating an air of mist around them. Her hands were empty; she did not know if the artist hadn't decided with each object to grace her with, or left them hollow intently. She looked like a shadow—a ghost, maybe; her eyes were escaping the viewer as if hiding a secret.

Irulan was different. She was a sun-kissed creature, her head facing straight ahead. Her eyes, as if inviting for a challenge, were made from duty, steel. With a burning star on her regal forehead, crowning the streaks of golden hair, Irulan was water and air, dulcet and ever-bending; her figure held the place and her pose was distinct and commanding.

YN looked at the girl beside her, who was now quiet nearby. Irualn was wise, the wisest of the sisters; her eyes were all-seeing, her heart all-knowing. She was created in the shape of a mother since they could walk, and the small ones bathed in her light, drinking her till the last drop —like flowers following the warm embrace of the sun. The only one who could not enjoy the love was her, the Other. The other sister, the other half. For they have been too close in age, too similar to let each other pretend the burden was not a heavy one to bear.

When Irulan was natural in her all-caring shape, YN had to claw her way to the only role left—the father. An unbent tree, a silent soldier—she was not born to fit as one, but wishing for a different order of things was almost blasphemy. That's how it always was with them—out of two, one was the protector, the other - the protected. "Husband," Irulan humorously called her often. She smiled, and, for a moment, the wave of resentment in YN's soul calmed. She never called her wife in return: Irulan was too whole to be one, too proud to be moulded into. She stood alone, on a higher pedestal than all of them, closest to the Emperor, whom the Other was to call father, and closest to the Truth. No, Irulan was God.

God does not know how to love someone who is not his servant, because there is no one who would refuse to serve him; it is the only way. God guides, despite all one's protests. God gives, and God takes. God demands; Irulan demands—silent obedience without a need to explain or answer. That, she takes from their father. So, the Other takes a blade into her hand without compassion for her dead wishes and learns to wield it in God's name. She is the one little ones turn to when the world is too wicked for their fragile souls when the creatures under their beds lose all of their human form and turn violent. She takes their sins and bears the punishments, for they are not deserving of such cruelty. YN thinks not of her own guilt—what difference would one scourage make to one who counts in centuries? And when the sun shone, and God smiled, the Other almost forgot of the bruises she carried.

The first time he saw her, it was not supposed to happen at all. Feyd-Rautha just closed the door to Maester's chambers with such force that it shook against lean walls; the grumble echoed in the long corridors of Giedi Prime's fortness. The ache in his body was muted, but still present; the torn flesh inside his heart howled and clawed, slicing the ribcage in half. He would've screamed, or perhaps beat his hands bloody against the concrete until the dull pain turned into something as sharp as his knife's blade. Maybe he would've drowned himself in a small water bowl by his nightstand and done anything to escape the shame and humiliation that consumed him from within. But instead, Feyd-Rautha stood still, his jaw clenched tight and his breathing shallow. One day, it will pass. One day, he will see the world choke on its own spit.

That's when he noticed a small, shadow-like figure at the end of the hallway staring at him. A girl, not older than him, was in a dress so foreign to him that it hurt his eyes. The daughter of the Emperor, he guessed. One of many—only then would the golden stitching on her sleeve would make sense.

''What are you doing here?'' he barked, caring little for the common courtesy. Of course, she was a guest almost as prized as her father, but she was in his territory and dared to look at him for long enough without averting her eyes. Long enough to notice the bruising on his pale skin and a swelness surrounding his lips. Long enough to hear him cry.

''I was walking with my mother, but then I turned into the wrong hall,'' she shrugged. ''Will you be kind enough to show me the way out? Or should I find it myself?"

Feyd-Rautha ignored her question. What a weird creature she was—with cascades of hair and eyes that seemed to see too much. ''It is dangerous to walk these halls without guard, Princess.'' It is dangerous to be here, alone with him and the weapon strapped to his hip, but he did not add it.

''There is no use of guards if the one who wishes to kill you is their master.'' The girl took a step forward, pointing to the weapon at his side. "I am not afraid."

Feyd-Rautha laughed. It came out more as howling than human sounds, the abrupt nature of it ringing with high notes, tip-toeing down to hysterical; it sounded creaky, like his throat was not made for such sounds; yet here he was, laughing. ''Come,'' he gestured to her, his hand moving quickly, like ordering a slave around. ''I will show you why you should be.''

So, they walked. Inside the grandiose chambers and small rooms, filled with ancient artefacts or the newest technology Harkonnens came up with; inside the green lavish garden inside the dim castle and the training grounds, Feyd-Rautha showed every place that was built to display the greatness of his house and bestone fear inside both guests and people inhibiting it. He wanted to see the horror in the girl's eyes, to make her eyes water and her frame flee. Instead, he listened to her steady breathing just a step behind him, her curious questioning satisfying another need he did not know his heart possessed: reverence.

He was the youngest member of the ruling line, the smallest stone in the castle of power his uncle had built. His title meant nothing within these walls; he was too small in comparison to the Baron and his authority. Feyd-Rautha was feared, despite only being nine; he was the shadow in the corner that grew longer as the sun set, the whispered name that sent shivers down spines. But here, in the hallway he led the girl into, he turned out to be something else.

''Stunning,'' the girl whispered beside him.

Weapons. The walls, from the floor to the high ceilings, were covered in ritual and fighting blades. The pride of house Harkonnen, the tree of their dynasty, black, silver, golden, and steel knives, swords, and daggers gleamed in the dim light. Feyd-Rautha smiled, revealing a row of sharp teeth. "Welcome to our burial ground."

They stopped near every one, his voice briefly covering the story of each blade and his owner; barons that came before him; fighters and rules that defined their legacy. Some still have blood on them—the highest honour; some look almost virgin. The small signs underneath them tell the names of people who wielded these weapons, their stories forever immortalised in the cold metal. ''Each Harkonnen ruler is crafted a blade of his own, the one he is to honour in battle.''

The girl nodded, her fingers tracing the shape of the last blade carefully. Her palms danced around the sharp edge, taking in the ancient symbols she had no chance of knowing. ''Will you have to kill Baron Vladimir in order to have one, like he did with his father before?''

Feyd-Rautha paused. Of course, he has thought about it before. The idea he repeated like a mantra in his head for all of his short life, the belief that spread burning flames down his spine. The words left his mouth for the first time but felt almost natural against his cracked lips. ''I dream of the day I have the chance to.''

The pair of foreign eyes that stared back at him held a glint of intrigue that quickly changed with a flash of acknowledgement. Feyd-Rautha held the gaze; not a single thing about it was hard. Still, he was the first to turn away; the burning sensation of being seen made him want to tear his flesh apart. ''Let me escort you to your rooms, Princess. The walls grow colder as the evening approaches.''

The weather on the planet leaves too few guards out of their breath, Irulan notes. The striking sun burns through the rounded windows of man-built walls, the frankly depressing landscape of huge boxes constructed with little intent for anything else but utilitarianism. She must not fear, while those lands will also be under her power with time, but the dreadful atmosphere of the lonely planet makes her skin break out in hives.

She believes the people here are more terrifying. White, hairless creatures with eyes as dark as the sun above them speak with just nods and courseys, paying little to no attention to the world around them, save for the concrete floors. ''Tell them to set themselves on fire, and they will,'' Irulan recalls Baron Vladimir telling her father over the banquet. She believed it to be a simple boast at first, but now, after a few days in the strange world, the words make greater sense.

Perhaps, the harsh weather made people here hardened. Perhaps, such cruelty is necessary for survival. What terrorised her more was her sister—the one who now silently reads nearby, her long dress carelessly spread on the floor. Irulan would never allow her dress to wrinkle before the concluding dinner, but she is not Irulan. Despite them being demisisters, they shared fewer similarities than one could guess. Two lambs, as many in court would call them—the white and black ones. They knew one another better than anything else; where one went, the other followed. Where Irulan failed, her sister succeeded. What was allowed for her sister, was fobility towards Irulan. No one was embedded in their small circle; no one could get close enough to understand the bond they shared—together, they were whole.

Yet as they grew older, the bond seemed to thin. The path to the mind of her sister was more often closed to her now, her thoughts veiled by the silence rooted deep into her veins. Irulan knows they are just growing up, trying to find their path in the unknown. But she is scared; what would be of her without her sister? What use would the river have without fish to fill it?

''I shall go,'' her sister says, closing the book. ''The dinner starts soon, and I wanted to return the book before it.''

''Is it the one Na-Baron recommended?'' Irulan voices. Truth be told, she would never touch anything that Baron or his family possessed, even more recommended, but her sister seemed to enjoy the ancient text.

''It is. Rather interesting are the traditions of these people. Did you know their slaves have no tongues?''

Irulan feels sick to her stomach; the thought of having slaves brings the small bits of her recent meal to her very present tongue. ''Can I come with you?'' she asks, instead of answering. Irulan does not want to leave the faint safety of her rooms, but even more, she does not want to be left alone. She feels vulnerable—she is not of power here, despite being the embodiment of it in all of the other corners of the Imperium.

''You know I walk without guards.''

Irulan knows. While she is not able as much as bathe without the presence of someone with fighting knowledge, the rules do not seem to apply to her younger sister; she can move freely, as she wishes. Was it because she carried a thin blade with her and knew how to use it, or because of the lack of care from their father? Irulan was not sure. What she was sure of, was that no woman of twelve should leave her sister alone in the halls of Harkonnens' fort.

''It is just to the reading room and back, is it not?''

''Yes,'' her sister nods. ''I'll take you,'' it means.

So, they walk. Fortunately, the guards usually waiting outside are nowhere to be found, and they manage to slip away unnoticed. Irulan holds the hand of her sister tightly, with each noise from the outside digging her nails deeper into her soft palm. Her sister says nothing; she steps calmly into the labyrinth of corridors, navigating them without much evident trouble. Soon, they find themselves in front of a huge black door, incarnated with words Irulan hold no knowledge of.

Inside, the chamber is massive; it forms a beautiful, round circle with ceilings so high that the air in it is always chilly. Rows of books and manuscripts fill the shelves out of oxidant, contrasting starkly with the white wall. The black circle table of cold stone is filled with replicas and ancient artefacts, each emitting a soft glow.

Who knew the small, desert planet held such treasures inside? Irulan forgets about her sister entirely—the texts call to her, golden lettering shining under the light. Irulan follows the names on the covers: legends, myths, histories, and art overviews. Some even contained gardening and soil research; Baron likely held those for a good laugh.

Irulan travels deeper and deeper until the voice of her sister addressing the only library keeper almost disappears, consumed by tall bookcases. The section she finds herself in is solely dedicated to martial arts; where, if not here, would the hundreds of books on such a topic be stored? Some of them are used; the spines are slightly older; others look brand new.

Irulan is brought to her senses only when she notices a black figure moving in the corner of her vision. She puts the book back and Listens. Just like the Sisters taught her, her inner ear picks up the faint voice of her sister, and the moving of two sandaled feet—the slave handling the books. She feels something else, too. A presence familiar enough to recognise but not enough to name.

''We have to go,'' she says, grabbing her sister by the shoulder and pressing. ''We will be late,'' she explains to the slave. Not that it would question the whims of the princess.

''Why?'' her sister turns to her, confused. ''I was looking at some other books. Weren't you also?''

''Please,'' Irulan whispers. ''We spent enough time here as it is.''

Just as her sister was about to answer, the atmosphere shifted. The air, sitting in its calmness, heavied. The silent before slave turned on its feet, its eyes burning holes in Irulan's body. It lurches towards them, opening its obsidian mouth to show the blackened void inside—indeed, it possesses no tongue.

Irulan freezes. The void seems to suck her in, the sharp mouth growing wider as its owner approaches her body. The fear paralyses her, planting her otherwise quick feet deep into the ground. Now, her training as Bene Gesserit should awaken—she should oppose, or at the very least dodge, the attack. But the black mouth continues to draw her in, clouding her thoughts with terror.

The body beside her shifts; her sister is quick. With one strong thrust, she pushes Irulan aside. '' Hide ,'' the voice within her head commands, and Irulan has no force to object to the technique. She crawls under the heavy stone, frantically looking for something—anything—to protect herself with.

Despite the long skirts, her sister moves like Adam's wine; she bends and turns, and strikes the man far taller than her, but he seems determined on the idea of killing her. Her sister grunts under the heavy hits; one sits in her abdomen, and another lands on her knees. The slave's nails leave a trace on her skin, rough enough to pierce the young dermis.

Eventually, her sister grows tired; the slave pushes her to the ground, pressing his slender body on top and closing its white, almost translucent hands on her throat. Irulan clasps the found sharp cutting instrument to her chest, desperately trying to calm the wave of fear forming there. ''I must not fear. Fear is a mind killer,'' she whispers again and again.

She watches as her sister's hand slips under her clothes and emerges an illicit, slender blade—it shines under the light just as lettering did on the books a minute ago. To Irulan, it feels like a year's hundred. ''No!'' she wants to shout as her sister raises the steel and preys it into the eye of the slave, but the words are unable to leave her throat. Like a waterfall, crimson covers her sister's face, staining her light grey dress in hot circles.

The slave falls on his back, his hands leaving their place on her sister's neck.

''Enough, please! Sister, stop!'' Irulan cries, crawling out of her hiding spot but daring not to get closer.

Her sister doesn't hear; she lurches towards the man in a slick puddle and takes his life quickly, cutting his throat in one swift motion. The blood from his arteria leaves the body in pulsations; they spatter everywhere, some drops going as far as touching the shelves.

The silence settles in the chamber once again; only the sound of weakly flowing blood disturbs the stillness. Her sister does not shed a tear; she meticulously cleans the blade with the slave's white cloth and slips it back into the folds of her gown.

''What have you done?'' Irulan whispers. Her hands tremble; the sight before her crawls into the deepest corners of her mind and tears everything there down. How can one kill so easily? How can one be so cold and calculating, as if it were nothing more than a daily chore? How could that one be her sister, the one she shared a life with?

''I protected.'' Her sister's voice is hoarse, but firm. There is no remorse in her tone, only weariness. ''What have you done?'' She turns to face her. Her hair, carefully braided by servants for dinner, is undone; the wet strands of it grip her face like a vice, framing the unseeing eyes.

Like that, she looks like a woman mad. Irulan backs into the safety of the doors, feeling her fear turn into something much greater. ''Do not come near me,'' she commands. Just as the heavy doors close behind her, she sets off running.

YN waits until the footsteps of her sister are no longer heard, and only then does she come out of the reading room. She pays the body on the ground little attention; no one would bet an eye on the death of a useless creature like that. It did not intend to kill; rather, someone made it do it. Who, in their right mind, would try to harm the heir of the Emperor? How would they know that Irulan would follow her there?

Irulan. The one who watched as the Other almost gave her life for hers, the one who had the nerve to be repulsed by the blood on her hands—the blood she spilt protecting her. What do you do when you are not allowed to be angry at God? Why does God shame one for the will she herself inflicted on one to bestone? YN would ask the sun, but it hid behind the walls of the fort. She would ask, but no one would answer.

So, she does what she is meant to do—finds her way into the large dining hall, where everyone, of course, is starting to gather. The Emperor would be dissatisfied to find her not there on time; she has no time to fix her appearance. In light of the slight possibility of shaming their House with her muddled hairstyle or suffering yet another punishment for being even late, she chooses the first option.

The guards let her in without saying a word. YNr watches as the shield slides open, revealing a full hall. Rows and rows of tables, filled with foods one would imagine never would have made their way to the Giedi Prime, and laughter not so usual for a harsh realm.

''Princess...'' the servant starts, announcing her arrival, but she shushes him with a slight wave of her palm. She does not notice the crimson liquid staining it.

The Other makes her way to her seat calmly, careless of the way people around her stumble and twist their faces in shock. The only eyes that watch her without fear at the Emperor's table are those of Lady Echidna. Her face betrays no emotion at all—hidden by her veiled black cloth, it only slightly moves when the YN passes her seat.

She holds the angry gaze of the Emperor calmly. He will demand an answer, of course if Irulan has not whispered the truth into his aged ears already. Her sister probably would do no such thing; in that, she would admit to disobeying the orders bestowed upon her. YN is puzzled at the attention directed towards her humble figure—the first thing a Bene Gessarite in training learns is not to be repulsed by the anatomy of her body. Why be grossed out by the liquid coursing through her veins—the liquid she carries all her life? Why be scared of death, when it is always at your doorstep? In the sway of her thoughts, the Other also seems not to perceive the pair of icy blue eyes glued to her figure as she finds her seat and takes her place.

"The boy follows you around like a dog." The mother's tone stands not in judgment but rather simply states the truth.

Lady Echidna is not veiled now; her heavy hair is still tightly braided out of her face. Just a small black ribbon highlights her status as one of the Emperor's senior concubines, a position most would bear with honour. To her, it was yet another stain on her earthly body—the body she could not call her to possess. The black sun of Giedi Prime is finally long behind them; nothing but a few light orbs floating around illuminate the chamber, yet her intense gaze seems to pierce right through the girl that sits across her.

"I know, mother. His steps are heavy; his thoughts are even heavier; they follow me much more often."

The woman's fingers stop working on an intricate needlework for a moment, before continuing as it was. "You are to call me Sister, girl," she speaks, her voice low.

YN drags her teeth across her tongue, feeling the anger flow through the veins in her body. She wishes to be far away from this small chamber, to run and never face the woman's eyes again. "The girl has a name, Sister. Or do you fear to voice it?"

Lady Echidna places the cloth on the table beside her gracefully, as if paying no attention to the words spoken. But YN can sense can feel the resentment that burns inside her mother's stomach, spreading its molecules to her throat. "A name holds meaning; for a person to have a name, one must first be of character and substance. You are none."

YN bit the soft flesh inside her mouth; it tasted bitter. It was better if her mother shouted, if she hit her if she did anything to prove YN is still here in her eyes, that she was not just a void the woman spoke her riddles into. Maybe then the pain inside her would have a meaning, would have a reason better than just childish hurt. "Did I not have a beating heart when I left your womb, Sister? Did you not hear it loud and clear? What kind of proof is needed more of me?"

"My daughter died that day, screaming. You took her place. So do not bother me with your foolish talks anymore, for we both know they just waste the air we breathe. Am I heard?"

She was. The tears dried on YN's face before having the chance to spill, and she turned to her studies. Once more, a feeling of ever-lasting cold surrounded her shoulders. The never-leaving vision in her mind appeared once again—her mother's quick steps as she walked away in another corridor of Giedi Prime's fort, her head straight ahead as YN pleaded not to leave her alone, her legs glued to the command spoken. It was a blessing that the boy found her earlier than his uncle.

Time has passed since the first time YN's eyes saw the black sun of the foreign planet so far from hers. The Other trained, restlessly, in the tongues of ancient warriors and the most prominent whisperers, slowly earning the right to bear Knowledge in her crown-empty head. She had much yet to learn, but the prospect did not frighten her; with every passing day, she felt power building in her hands and soul. Patience, the greatest virtue of all. She was alone now, without her half of a sister; alone, in her solitude, the heavy bearings seemed not as heavy—she had no one to enlighten about her battles. Still, God was on her mind; YN felt her presence near, her watchful eyes guiding her. Like the tight, dampened cloth on her bruised knuckles, her sister was stuck to her open wound of a soul.

Irulan has grown. Her complexion changed; she no longer looked like a bright-faced girl who left her sister alone in Harkonnen's library; the plump cheeks were gone, and so was fear. At the Other stared a sole statue of power she bloomed into. Silver collars, light blue waves of fabric—the cut is, as always, straight. The Other eyed her up and down, taking in each detail of the painting-like sight. Irulan did the same—a slight disgust at the Other's simple tunic and pants, creased from the sparring. Irulan did not need to be broken in order to be a Sister in the Bene Gesserit; they wanted her Corrino first, and a servant second. The Other, however, held no such value—a child carried not by the lawful wife, a second, a spare. So, there would be no bone in her body left untouched by the lessons, no string in her soul unharmed by the knowledge. They crushed her cartilage in grey sand and forced her to swallow the bitter truths of their ways. Yet, God remains undisturbed—stoic. Eternal.

''Will you not eat again?'' Irulan musses, putting another piece of dish in her mouth.

The Other would take it as a cruel joke from anyone else, but not from God. She shakes her head instead. ''I am forbidden.''

Irulan hums. It was not the first time YN would be disciplined this way; the cycle of punishment and forgiveness was all too familiar to her. The room is silent; there is no one but the two of them. She could offer to eat, and no one would know she did, but Irulan won't offer. The Other does not expect her to; pity is not something a sister can possess.

''How are your lessons going? A fresh knowledge, perhaps?''

YN nods. If she opens her mouth now, her voice will betray her. She could cry all she wanted in the presence of a sister, but it is not appropriate for a thirteen-year-old to behave this way in front of God. The Other is reminded of that with an absence of bruises on Irulan's skin; her hands were never cut by the sharp blades, and her mouth was never starved. ''Why was I summoned from training?'' She asked, directing her eyes to the figure in front of her.

''I am here as a messenger from the Emperor.''

YN's eyes narrowed. ''And what does our dear Emperor desire to tell me now?'' She wishes not to hear anything he has to say; the Other is perfectly content here, amongst her Sisters. Here, she is of cost.

''Recently, Baron Vladimir turned to our House for guidance. He and na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen felt misled by the House Artreidis, and their promise of a bride that did not come. Our father has graciously offered to negotiate the conflict and pay the needed price for the Baron's cooperation.''

''Of course, he did. With all of our might, we are still afraid of the savages that made Arrakis their home. With what advice, may I ask, did the Emperor provide the Baron?''

Irulan's lips turn into a straight line, with the small wrinkle on her forehead appearing. Something that she carried with her through childhood. Something that still reminded of home. ''With the proposal of a woman of our House to na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.''

''A gift? Irulan, I am so sorry.''

Sure, the bridge between them was long forgotten, growing with tall grass and wildflowers, but the weight of their shared history still lingered in the air. Irulan was still her sister, no matter how many times the Other tried to tell herself otherwise. And no woman sane would consider giving her sister to the inhumane brutes that were Harkonnens—the people even Bene Gessarit wished to observe from afar; the people so ruthless mothers told stories about them to their small offspring in an attempt to instil fear and obedience.

Irulan does not answer. She hides her gaze, her eyes following the wooden panels of the quarters.

''What is it, sister? Speak .''

''The offer Emperor found the most fitting would be of your hand, not mine.''

The Other exhales. As if a heavy stone were put on her chest, she fights to bring much-needed oxygen to her bloodstream. She almost feels the erythrocytes scatter from her face into her neck, hidden by the cloth, and gather there in an attempt to regrow their might. Her throat twists and closes, its muscles compressing until not even an ounce of air can get in. All of her organs, from heart to stomach, made their presence known; one by one, they tensed and burned, forcing the otherwise relaxed hands to grip them.

It was supposed to be Irulan. The first one to marry is the oldest sister; the title high enough to satisfy the ambitious Harkonnes would be hers, no less. Yet, here she stands, not even looking at the one taking her place as she sentences her to an ultimate death. No matter how much power the Corrino name held, on Giedi Prime, she would consider herself fortunate enough if she were to meet her end quickly.

''Why, Irulan? Have I not been a loyal servant to you all those years? Have I not followed every order without question? ''

Irulan is unmoved in her position. ''We can not risk the Harkonnen blood getting on the throne, you know it.''

''You mean we can not risk you? We are not eight anymore, dear Irulan; you can speak truthfully now. Do you really think the Emperor will treasure you more if you say nothing now? We are no sons, Irulan; we are sisters, you and I. Please, spare me this fate.''

''Yes,'' the girl lifts her eyes, taking a step closer. ''We are no sons; you knew that one day we would marry for the peace of the Imperium. Why do you shout now?''

''Married, yes, but not murdered for the sake of the fucking old man who could not hold his promise. They are monsters, Irulan, spilling innocent blood for the fun of it. I beg of you, sister, show me the mercy I know you are capable of.''

''You are worried about blood? What could one more splash of blood mean to you? You have been no sister for a long time; I order you, as an heir of the Emperor and as the messenger of his will here, to comply. Do not make it harder than it has to be.''

The Other smiled—she would not grant the pleasure of tears. ''Very well, then. Someone needs to go first. I'll go; I'll be first, at least here. Tell the Emperor that I will comply with any of his wishes, whether it be to throw me to the sharks or to feed me to the sandworms. As a confirmation of my undying loyalty, you may show him this:''

She slaps her. She slaps her not like a warrior, not like the trained assassin she was raised to be; she slaps her like a sister, bitterly, harshly. For the first time in her short life, YN raises a hand on something she deems holy—the God's shocked face brings a sense of satisfaction to the Other's veins, even if the same blood courses through them. She turns on her heels and walks away, leaving the forsaken room behind. Leaving God behind.

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fatecantstopme · 3 months

Text

Truth Serum

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: When you're captured by a powerful witch, Sam and Dean race to save you. The three of you are confronted with painful truths that will change your relationships forever.

Warnings: Canon violence, swearing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dom/sub vibes. Dean surrenders control to reader.

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You woke up in an unfamiliar room, unable to move, and your memory was fuzzy--you had no idea how you'd gotten here. All you knew in that moment was your head was pounding and your arms were tied securely behind your back.

You looked around the room, seeking something familiar to ground yourself, but nothing spoke to you. You wracked your brain in an attempt to remember how the hell you got here...the last thing you could remember was going to get dinner for yourself and the boys.

Sam and Dean's faces appeared in your mind and you strained to hear anything else in the room or surrounding area--seeking either of their voices or anything that might indicate they were near. To your dismay, it was completely silent, not a single sound disturbed the night. All you could hear was the sound of your own panicked heart beating and the deep breaths that accompanied it.

You knew the boys would be searching for you, but you had no idea how long you'd been missing or if there were any signs of where you'd gone. You could only hope they would find you before it was too late. You had a feeling the witch the three of you had been hunting had found you first--and there was no telling what they would do to you.

You tried in vain to get yourself out of the binds that secured your hands together, swearing under your breath as the actions were fruitless. The only thing you'd succeeded in doing was giving yourself rope burn on both wrists.

At some point during your struggle, another person had entered the room, but you didn't notice their presence until they spoke. "Glad to see you're awake."

Your head spun in the direction of the voice and a woman stepped out from the shadows with a dark smirk on her face. She was objectively quite beautiful, with sunshine blond hair and brilliant green eyes. Her eyes reminded you of Dean's emerald orbs--though her's lacked the spark that lived in Dean's.

"Who are you?" you asked angrily.

"My name is Camille, little hunter. I believe you've been looking for me."

Her voice had an odd melodic tone to it that bothered you in a way you couldn't quite explain. It made your brain both fuzzy and painfully clear at the same time--a combination you didn't care to ever experience again.

"You're the witch I've been hunting," you stated.

"Very good, little hunter."

"I do have a name, you know," you muttered, slightly annoyed at the nickname.

"My apologies, hunter. What is your name?"

"(Y/N)."

"(Y/N)," Camille repeated. "And are you here alone?"

Every instinct you had told you to lie, but when you opened your mouth, you were surprised when the truth spilled from your lips. "No, I am here with two other hunters."

Camille smiled cruelly as she observed the shocked expression on your face. "You'd intended to lie, hadn't you?"

That melodic tone had intensified and you struggled to form the words you wanted. "What are you doing to me?" you growled lowly.

Camille smirked again. "Teaching you not to lie, little hunter."

"Well stop," you insisted.

She laughed. "Sorry, little hunter. It's part of my charm." She paused, attention turning towards the door. "It appears we're no longer alone." She put her finger to her lips and faded back into the shadow.

You shifted your gaze to the door and began listening for sounds. You heard the telltale sound of boots hitting the floor and you knew in your heart it was Sam and Dean. Everything in you wanted to call out to them--to warn them--scream--something, but not a single sound escaped when you opened your mouth. Anger settled in your bones, hating your inability to warn your friends.

The doorknob began to turn slowly and you let out a soft whine--the most you could manage in the moment.

"(Y/N)?" Dean's voice whispered from the other side of the door.

You were relieved to hear his voice, but terrified of what would happen next. You wanted to respond, but words continued to escape you.

The door slowly opened to reveal Sam and Dean's concerned faces. They quickly scanned the room, eyes falling on your form in the center of the room.

"(Y/N/N)," Dean said, clearly relieved to see you unharmed.

He started to come towards you, but you shook your head, eyes wide and alert. You wanted to say something, needed to tell him the witch was here--they were all in danger.

"Hey, sweetheart. It's okay. We'll get you out of here," Dean whispered.

You shook your head again, but it was too late. As soon as Dean took a step towards you, Camille stepped forward and sent both him and Sam flying against the wall. She waved her hand and two chairs appeared beside yours, and with another wave, both men were seated in said chairs. Their arms were tied behind their chairs in similar fashion to yours before they could even register what was happening.

"I'm so glad you could join us," Camille said as she came farther into the room, fully revealing herself to the new arrivals.

Dean glared at her in annoyance. "I'm guessing you're the witch bitch we've been looking for."

She smiled. "Indeed I am. My name is Camille, and who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

"Dean Winchester," Dean forced out, a look of surprise on his face. "And this is my brother, Sam."

Camille smiled. "Oh I've heard of you--the great Winchesters. I'm honored to have made your list, though I'm afraid you won't be successful this time around."

"Don't be too sure about that," Sam stated, speaking for the first time.

"It appears I have the upper hand, little hunters, so save the ego for someone else."

"'Little hunters'?" Dean asked in annoyance.

"Don't let it bother you, she's been calling me that since I woke up," you muttered. "I think it brings her joy."

"It does bring me joy," Camille commented. "But what really makes me happy is having the three of you here to play with. This is going to be such fun."

You felt the anger rise within you once again and you struggled against your bindings--useless or not, you couldn't give up. You noticed both Sam and Dean were doing the same.

"What do you want with us?" Sam asked.

"Obviously I'm going to kill you," she answered. "But not just yet."

You closed your eyes, sadness washing over you. You didn't want to die, but you couldn't bear the thought of Dean dying. Not that you didn't care about Sam, but you cared for Dean very deeply--seeing him die would destroy you.

"You shouldn't have come," you whispered.

"What was that, little hunter?"

You turned your gaze to Dean, who was sitting directly to your left, with Sam on the other side of him. "Neither of you should have come."

Surprise lit up both men's faces, but it was Dean who spoke. "Did you really think we would leave you?"

You shook your head and sighed.

"Tell us, little hunter, why didn't you want them to save you?"

You made eye contact with Camille and felt the anger flare up again. You resisted answering her question directly, instead saying, "I don't want anything to happen to them."

Camille took a step closer to you. "You're strong willed, little hunter. Most people can't resist my charms--I have them spilling their deepest, darkest secrets within seconds."

You simply glared at her, not willing to give in to her bait.

"Come now, tell me the truth," Camille said softly. "Why didn't you want them to save you?"

The melodic tone of her voice threatened to crush you. It felt like someone was squeezing your insides every time you attempted to resist her demands--whenever you wanted to lie or avoid the truth.

"What the hell are you doing to her?" Dean yelled.

"She needs to be honest. I don't like being lied to."

The pain intensified, forcing the words from your lips, "I didn't want Dean to get hurt."

"That's better," Camille said smugly. "Just Dean? What about Sam? You don't care about him?"

"Of course I do," you insisted.

"Then why did you only mention Dean?"

You tried to resist--you didn't want to admit the truth, especially in front of Dean. You'd spent years hiding your feelings and you sure as hell didn't want to admit to anything in the presence of witnesses. "None of your business," you forced out painfully.

Camille's face lit up in surprise. "Very strong willed," she muttered. "You can't resist forever, little hunter."

Her voice made the pain you were experiencing almost unbearable. You could barely breathe and a gasp of pain escaped your lips.

"(Y/N), please," Dean begged, clearly worried about you.

Your resolve broke and the words slipped from your mouth without thought, "I care about him!" As soon as the words left your lips, the pain lifted, allowing you to catch your breath.

"See? Was that so hard?" Camille asked cruelly. "Who's next?" She looked at both men before stepping towards Sam. "Tell me, Samuel, why did you come to save (Y/N)?"

"Because she's family," Sam answered honestly.

His words warmed your heart and you shot a weak smile his way. You considered Sam and Dean family too--it was nice to know they felt the same, or at least Sam did. You couldn't look at Dean, you were too afraid of what you'd see on his face. You hadn't really admitted your feelings, but you were worried he knew you too well to miss the truth in your words.

"Boring," Camille muttered before turning her attention to Dean instead. "Your turn, handsome. Why did you come to save (Y/N)?"

Dean glared at her, but his face twitched slightly, belying the pain he was feeling. It took all his strength to force out the words, "What he said," while nodding his head in his brother's direction.

Camille laughed coldly. "Don't lie to me, Dean." She leaned forward and asked him again, but he continued to resist.

You forced yourself to look at him and you could see the pain in his eyes. He was desperately trying to keep himself from answering, but it was obvious he was losing the battle.

Camille frowned and leaned farther forward, grabbing his chin in her hand and forcing him to make eye contact with her. "Answer me, Dean. Why did you come to save (Y/N)?"

Dean struggled for a moment, jaw clenched in anger and frustration. Camille squeezed his jaw harshly and Dean groaned in pain. Just when you thought Camille was going to give up, Dean yelled his answer, shocking everyone present. "BECAUSE I LOVE HER!"

He was breathless as the words left his lips and Camille let go of his face, a smile gracing her pretty face. "Finally, a little honesty."

You were shocked into silence, unable to fully process his words and their meaning. Dean Winchester couldn't have possibly just admitted his feelings for you--there was no way.

Camille returned her attention to you, a dark smile on her face. "How does that make you feel, (Y/N)?"

You closed your eyes and didn't answer her question.

"You admitted you care about him, but do you love him too?"

You stayed silent, fighting her truth-forcing voice. It wasn't that you didn't want to admit your feelings--you just didn't want her to know. You didn't want her to use your love for Dean against you or him. So you resisted her charms and kept your mouth shut despite the pain.

"If I can force the great Dean Winchester to be honest, don't think for a second that I can't do the same to you, little hunter," Camille seethed.

Your eyes shot open and you glared at her, burning a hole in her soul. "No," you growled.

"No, you don't love him?"

You didn't respond.

"Or you think you can keep your feelings a secret?"

You still didn't respond.

Camille put her hands on the arms of your chair and leaned in, her face frighteningly close to yours. "Tell me the truth, or I'll kill him."

You didn't need to ask to know she was referring to Dean and not Sam. For a moment you considered calling her bluff, but the anger in her eyes told you she wasn't playing a game. She would kill him without hesitation.

You turned your head to look at Dean and found his gaze already on you. Terror was etched into his handsome features--terror for you. Your decision was made in an instant and you stopped fighting.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," you said, addressing the green-eyed hunter directly. "I know I promised you we would always be friends, but I don't think I can do that anymore. You see…I fell in love with you. I don't even know when it happened, it just--did."

Dean's beautiful green eyes betrayed his emotions, even if his face remained impassive. He'd spent the better part of the past two years wishing and hoping to hear you say those words to him. You could see the love reflected in his gaze and you knew his utterance hadn't been a heat of the moment thing--he'd meant it.

Camille's face remained close to yours as she laughed mockingly. "It's a pity you didn't admit your feelings sooner--perhaps you could have been together."

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Sam's hands slipping from the grasp of the ropes. In a split second, you made a decision that could either save your life or end it. You turned your attention back to Camille and slammed your forehead into her face with all of your strength.

Luckily, you'd caught the witch by surprise and she want sprawling backwards, clutching her nose and cursing angrily. Her attention remained on you as she started to recite a spell.

The pain that struck your body was unlike anything you'd ever felt before and you knew you were dying--if she had the opportunity to finish the spell, you would be gone.

Dean yelled your name and struggled with everything he had to free himself. Sam, on the other hand, had sprung up from his chair and lunged at Camille, sending her sprawling onto the floor. The two of them were struggling as Sam pulled a knife from inside his jacket.

Dean managed to get his hands out of the ropes and he quickly jumped into the fray to help his brother. Sam managed to slip the blade into Camille's chest--a scream of pain leaving her throat.

Knowing his brother had the situation under control, Dean turned his attention to you. You were breathing heavily, but were mostly unharmed. The effects of Camille's spell were dying with her, for which you were thankful.

Dean pulled out his own knife and cut the ropes that bound you. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and fell against him. His arms wrapped around you and he held you close. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked softly.

You lifted your head to look at him and nodded, tears filling your eyes.

He offered you a soft smile and brushed your hair from your face. "Let's get you out of here."

"Please," you muttered.

Dean helped you up and turned to look for his brother. Sam had just stood up, Camille's body lying dead on the floor beneath him. "She's gone. I'll take care of the body and we can get the hell out of here."

Dean nodded. "I'm gonna take (Y/N) back to the motel. She needs to rest."

"I'm fine, Dean--really," you insisted.

Dean shot you a glance. "You had it worse than either of us. You need to rest."

His voice was so firm, leaving no room for argument, so you threw your hands up in surrender.

Sam offered you a soft smile. "He's right, (Y/N). I'll meet you guys back at the motel when I'm done here."

"Call if you need anything," Dean said before escorting you from the room.

**********

The car ride back to the motel was completely silent--and not in the comfortable way. Neither of you knew what to say or where to begin. There was an awkwardness between you that you'd never had before and it only added to the pre-existing tension.

When you got into the motel room, you sat down on your bed with a sigh. Dean grabbed two beers from the fridge, handing one to you before taking a seat at the little table by the door.

The two of you began to drink your beers in silence, but it quickly became unbearable. "Dean, I think we should talk."

He looked at you for the first time since you'd gotten back to the motel. You could see the fear in his eyes and you realized he was worried you were going to tell him you didn't mean what you'd said--that you didn't love him.

You sat the beer on the side table and stood up. "Don't you think for a single moment that I didn't mean what I said, Dean Winchester. I meant it--every word. No witch can make me say something that isn't true...I've been in love with you for years."

His lips parted in surprise, eyes swimming with emotions. "I meant it too," he whispered as he stood up and stepped towards you. "I love you, (Y/N)--I think I always have."

Your lips curled up in a small smile. "This isn't how I'd planned on telling you."

"Had you planned on telling me?"

"No," you answered honestly. "I was scared."

"Me too," he said softly. "Terrified, actually."

"Of what?"

"I always assumed you wouldn't want me...you know me too well, (Y/N). You've seen me at my absolute worst and you know how damaged and broken I am. Why in the world would you choose to love me?"

"Okay, first of all, cut that self-loathing shit out. You don't get to do that with me. You're right--I do know you too well. I have seen you at your worst, but I've also seen you at your best. I know who you truly are and you're a damn hero, Dean. You inspire me every day. We face the shittiest things life can possibly throw at us and you always keep fighting--you never give up. You keep me going even when I want to give up. You're the most incredible man I have ever met and I am truly blessed to be loved by you."

He took three steps forward, stopping mere inches from you. His eyes were filled with love, which you were certain was reflected in your own. "I don't deserve you, baby, but I swear I will never stop trying to be worthy of your love."

You touched his cheek gently. "You don't have to try, Dean. I love you just as you are."

He smiled slowly, his eyes lighting up as his gaze scanned your face. "Anyone ever tell you you look like a goddess?"

You laughed lightly. "You'd be the first."

He gave you an adorable lopsided grin, as his arm snaked around your waist and tugged you closer. He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours and you melted into him, a soft moan escaping against his lips.

His tongue brushed gently against your lips, which you parted to allow him entry. He tasted like mint and beer and something just distinctly Dean.

You slipped your hands into his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders, before doing the same with his flannel. His gentle, calloused hands slid under your shirt and pushed it upwards. You broke the kiss long enough to allow him to take off your shirt and his own before connecting your lips again.

You reveled in the feeling of his warm, strong chest against yours. His skin was soft and smooth as you ran your hands over the taunt muscles of his back.

His hands slipped lower, caressing your ass, fingers digging in as he tugged you closer to him. You could feel his bulge pressing into your lower belly and you were suddenly desperate to feel him--really feel him.

You tugged on his belt, undoing it quickly then shifting to the button on his jeans. He helped you remove his jeans and you took the opportunity to remove yours as well. As soon as you were both mostly naked, Dean grabbed you and dragged you to the bed, tossing you onto it and crawling on top of you.

His hungry lips attacked yours again, hands roaming any part of you he could reach. "God, your skin is so soft, baby," he whispered.

You didn't have the opportunity to respond as Dean's lips found the sweet spot on your neck--the one that always drove you wild. You had no idea how he knew where to kiss, but you didn't have it in you to ask. The soft moans that left your lips told him how much you were enjoying the feeling of his lips against your skin--and he had no intention of stopping.

His hand slipped behind your back and tugged at the clasp of your bra. You arched your back to give him better access and he made quick work of the undergarment, tugging it off and throwing it across the room. He groaned softly as he gazed at your exposed breasts. "I think it would be best if you never wore a bra again," he mumbled.

Your soft chuckle turned to moans of pleasure as his lips attached to your nipple and his hands began to gently kneed your supple flesh. Your fingers wound themselves into his short hair and you sighed happily, enjoying the feeling of his hands on you.

His mouth continued its trail downward, placing open mouthed kisses to your skin. He nipped at the softer parts of your body, eliciting gasps and moans of enjoyment.

He smirked against your skin, enjoying the sounds you made for him. He pressed his lips to your core, teasing you with his lips and tongue before finally slipping his tongue between your folds. He growled lowly, burying his face deeply between your thighs.

"Dean," you gasped, fingers twisting into his hair.

"You taste like fucking heaven," he murmured, lifting his head just enough to get the words out before diving back in.

You'd had sex plenty of times before, but never in your life had you been eaten out like this--Dean Winchester was a master--a genius--with his mouth.

"Fuck--Dean, please!" you cried.

He seemed to know what you needed, reading your body like a book. He slid two fingers inside of you and began to gently press them into your most sensitive spot, drag them along your walls, and do it again on repeat.

His mouth focused on your clit while his fingers continued to stroke your walls. He could feel you getting close--your pussy was squeezing his fingers and your thighs had begun to tighten around his head.

Your fingertips scratched against his scalp and you ground yourself down against his mouth, chasing your impending orgasm. Dean tightened his grip on your hips, holding you in place. Your moans increased in volume as you suddenly fell over the edge.

Your legs began to shake as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Dean continued his ministrations, not wanting to stop until you forcefully tugged his hair to get him off.

"Sensitive, baby," you whimpered.

Dean gave your pussy a few more kitten licks before relenting and allowing you to pull him up. He licked his lips happily, a smirk gracing his handsome face.

He crawled back up your body, kissing your skin as he moved. When his lips finally pressed against yours again, his cock brushed against your core, earning a sharp inhale from both of you.

"I wanted to take my time with you, sweetheart, but I need to be inside of you immediately."

You chuckled lightly. "I'm certainly not going to complain."

He grinned and flipped over onto his back, dragging you with him so you were now straddling his thighs.

"Dean!" you giggled as he manhandled you.

"I thought you'd want to ride me," he teased.

"Oh did you now?"

"Since you like to be in control and all."

"Just because I tell you what to do, doesn't mean I want to be in control in bed, Dean."

"So you don't wanna be on top?" he asked. "Cuz I can roll you back over, pretty girl."

You pressed both hands down on his chest to keep him in place. "Now, I didn't say that..."

He grinned. "That's what I thought."

"But if you're gonna give me control, I want complete control."

He looked a little worried for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Hey," you said softly. "If you don't want to, it's okay."

"No, no--I want to," he insisted. "I'm just...not used to it."

"If you want me to stop or you don't like something I'm doing, just tell me, okay?"

He nodded and squeezed your hips affectionately. "I trust you."

You smiled and leaned down to kiss him. "Put your arms above your head."

He did as you asked and waited for your next command.

"Hold on to the headboard, handsome," you ordered. "And do not move them, understand?"

He nodded.

You grabbed his jaw and held it tightly. "Words, Dean."

His eyes widened in surprise, but you noticed the dark lustful look in them. "Yes ma'am," he whispered.

"Good boy." You sat back up and slid back so you were straddling his thighs. You dragged your fingers down his chest, nails scratching gently against his skin.

He groaned softly, clearly enjoying the sensation.

You smiled, pleased to see he liked what you were doing. You lowered your head to lick a stripe up his painfully hard cock. You twirled your tongue slowly around the head, eliciting a moan of pleasure from Dean.

You smirked before dropping your head to take him into your mouth as deeply as you could.

"Oh--fuck--" he groaned.

Your head was bobbing up and down, sucking his cock like your life depended on it. You relaxed your throat, allowing him to slip farther in. You constricted your throat around him and continued to use your tongue to pleasure him.

"Holy--" Dean squirmed beneath you. "Feels so good, baby."

You moaned, the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure through his entire body.

"Jesus, baby." He was dying to tangle his fingers in your hair, but he didn't want to disobey your order. "I can't--baby, I need you to stop or I'm gonna cum."

You moaned in disappointment, but you lifted your head off of him and moved to straddle his hips. You gently rubbed your core against his cock, and his hips thrust upwards in an attempt to seek more friction.

"Uh-uh, no moving," you ordered.

"But, I--"

"No moving, Dean. Keep your hands where they are and keep those hips on the bed."

"Yes ma'am," he mumbled.

You smiled softly and stroked his cheek affectionately. "I'll let you know when you can move."

You grabbed his cock and lined it up with your core before sinking down on it in one fluid motion. You both groaned in pleasure at the feeling--your pussy stretched to the absolute max.

You took a deep breath before beginning to move your hips, grinding against him and twisting your hips in a circle.

As you moved, your hands traveled up your body to your neck. From there, you slowly moved both hands down your body, stopping to massage your breasts. You played with your nipples as you watched Dean, his eyes glued to your motions.

You moaned softly, tossing your head back in pleasure. You loved seeing him struggling to keep control of himself beneath you. You smirked at the way he was white knuckling the headboard, obviously desperate to touch you, but afraid to disobey you.

"You're doing so good for me, baby," you murmured.

He whimpered softly as he watched you.

You moved your hands down your stomach, allowing one to slip between your legs to gently massage your clit. The other hand traveled back to your breasts to toy with them.

"Fuck, baby," Dean whispered. "Let me touch you."

"Not yet."

He groaned and squeezed the headboard tighter.

You smiled as you began to move up and down, gathering speed as you did so.

"Please," Dean begged. "Please, baby--I wanna touch you."

"I know you do, handsome, but you can't yet."

He whimpered softly and shifted his hips. You could feel the desperation seeping from him, but you knew the longer you held him off, the better it would feel for the both of you when he finally did touch you.

You continued your movements, but you placed both of your hands on his chest, touching and teasing him with your soft fingers.

He groaned in frustration and desperation. "Baby," he begged again. "Please."

You leaned forward and brushed your lips against his, pulling back when he tried to return the kiss. He chased after your lips, whimpering when you sat back up.

"How badly do you wanna touch me?"

"I would do anything, (Y/N)."

You smirked. "Do you need to touch me?"

He looked almost pained as he stared into your eyes. "I need it so badly, baby. Please, (Y/N/N). Please just let me touch you."

Your expression softened and you decided to take pity on him, so you leaned forward, brushing your lips against his ear. "Touch me, Dean."

In an instant, his hands left the headboard and grabbed you tightly, pulling you to him as he began to thrust up into you.

You gasped in surprise and pleasure.

He pressed his feet into the mattress and began to thrust up into you with force. He was holding you tightly to keep you in place, his teeth nipping at your neck and shoulder as he moved.

You were at a loss for words--the pleasure so overwhelming you couldn't breathe, let alone think.

"Fuck, I need to see you," he groaned as he flipped you onto your back and hovered over you. He grabbed your legs and lifted them up, putting one on either side of his head as he continued to thrust into you.

This new angle made your legs shake and you cried out, screaming his name repeatedly as he pumped into you.

"That's it baby, tell everyone who's fucking you--let them know who makes you feel good."

Your orgasm hit you so suddenly it shocked you. You screamed again as you came with force.

Dean didn't stop, he wanted more from you and he would give anything to see you come undone again.

"It's too much!" you whimpered.

"Do you want me to stop, baby?"

You didn't respond, barely able to speak.

"Come on, sweetheart. Do you want me to stop?"

"Don't stop!" you gasped.

He grinned. "I won't, baby."

He slipped a hand between your legs and began to slowly circle your clit, applying just a little pressure in time with your moans.

The pleasure you were experiencing was so incredible--it was unlike anything you'd ever even imagined. The sounds coming from your mouth would have been embarrassing in any other context, but you couldn't be bothered to care.

As for Dean, he was loving the sounds you made and the way you looked beneath him. He was using every ounce of his self-control not to cum, but his control was waning.

Another orgasm hit you--once again shocking you both with its suddenness and intensity. You screamed his name as you came harshly.

Dean finally allowed your legs to drop and he leaned forward, caging you beneath him as he began to chase his own high. He was already close--and you could tell.

"Don't cum until I say," you whispered.

His eyes widened. "Baby--I don't think I can hold off--"

"Yes you can, Dean. Do it for me."

He groaned softly, but nodded his agreement. He kissed you passionately, which you returned in kind. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, pulling him as close to you as you could.

"I don't know how much longer I can wait," he murmured.

"You can do it, baby. You're doing so good for me."

He dug his fingers into the sheets on either side of your head and focused entirely on not cumming until you gave him permission.

You waited a few more moments before giving him the command he was desperate for, "Cum for me."

"Fuck, (Y/N)," he groaned loudly, spilling inside of you. His whole body was shaking as he continued to fill you up, gasps and moans slipping from his lips into your skin.

Finally, he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily as he came down. You ran your fingers down his back in a gentle, affectionate manner. You loved the feeling of his large body laying on top of you, hard and warm against your soft skin.

"Never thought I'd feel like this," Dean mumbled into your neck.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't know sex could be this good. You're fucking incredible, baby."

You chuckled lightly. "Right back at you, handsome."

He groaned as he slowly rolled off of you. "I don't think I can move more than that."

You laughed. "I can't feel my legs, so I can't help you."

"God, I love hearing you say that."

"I love you," you said warmly.

He turned his head to look at you. "I love you too, baby."

You smiled at him and he surprised you by grabbing your hand and lifting it to his lips. He placed a soft kiss against it and then laid your hand and his on his chest.

"Who knew Dean Winchester could be so submissive," you teased.

"Only for you, sweetheart. Anyone else asks and it'd be a hard no. You're the only one that gets to see my sweet, sensitive side."

"Wait--you have a sweet, sensitive side?"

He glared at you and you laughed warmly.

"You're the sweetest, most sensitive man I know." You managed to roll onto your side so you could kiss him affectionately.

"Don't tell anyone," he whispered. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Don't worry, Winchester. Your secret's safe with me."

He smiled warmly and tugged you close to him. "Would you judge me if I just passed out?"

You chuckled softly. "As long as you don't mind me passing out too."

"So what you're saying is, you wanna sleep with me?"

You laughed. "I would love to sleep with you, Dean."

He grinned and kissed the top of your head. "How'd I get to be so lucky?"

"Something about a witch with truth serum powers."

He chuckled. "Who knew I'd be thankful for witchy mojo?"

You smiled and curled up into his side, sighing contentedly. "Goodnight, Dean," you whispered.

"Goodnight, beautiful. I love you."

"Love you too," you mumbled, already drifting off to a peaceful sleep in the arm's of the only man you've ever truly loved.

#dean Winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean Winchester x reader smut #supernatural smut

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theemporium · 6 months

Note

witch!reader being drained from using too much of her powers and she just slumps over onto the back patio couch and passes out and wakes up to find two wolves nosing at her with worried whines and she’s like “hi Charles, Max” and then falls back asleep while the boys are sharing a look and going WHAT THE FUCK

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

You found it oddly endearing that the boys thought you were clueless to their secret.

You had known what they were the second you met them. You felt the shift in their auras, felt the rush of their true selves when you touched them for the first time. You knew. And you knew how protective wolves could get when it came to their kind, to their pack and the bonds they formed. You respected the fact they wouldn’t want to tell you instantly, but you knew.

The relationship grew stronger when you came clean about yourself (though you hadn’t done much to hide it), and both boys had accepted you instantly. There was no fear or hesitation or concern about the powers you harboured. If anything, it made them love you more but it wasn’t enough for them to come clean. And once again, you respected that.

But it was sweet how unbelievably unsubtle they were with their attempts to hide their secret. You don’t think they realised how bad they were, but it amused you nonetheless. It became pretty obvious to you who the two wolves at the bottom of your garden were, or the reason they were following you when you would head into the woods to collect some ingredients.

Yet, it still warmed your heart every time you saw the two large wolves—one dark brown and the other blond—always checking up on you.

And truthfully, you hadn’t meant to reveal your knowledge of their secret in such a way.

It had been a long week. With the moon in the perfect position, aligned with the planets and stronger than it ever could be on a full moon, you had been overworking yourself. Most other witches had covens, they had someone else to supply them and take off the stress of the magic. But that wasn’t the case for you, and it meant that every spell was quickly dwindling your reservoir to the point of exhaustion.

You tried to pace yourself, to give yourself enough time between spells to rest and rejuvenate. But the planets were shifting and you were losing time and you pushed yourself over the edge for one last spell.

You didn’t remember making it back to your house, not a second of the walk back from the woods in your memory. You didn’t remember crawling up the steps of the patio. And you certainly didn’t remember passing out on the couch outside, your body falling into some makeshift comatose state to try and reserve what little energy you had left.

Everything was bleary when you felt someone nudging your arm.

You waited for it to stop but it never did. The nudges became more insistent, and then you felt someone nudging your leg too. You made a noise of discontentment but your eyes remained shut, which didn’t seem to please whatever was nudging you.

You felt a little more awake when you heard a low whine. It sounded scared, like a plea for help rather than anything else. It sounded concerned. You tried your best to force your eyes open, to blink them open to see whatever was nudging you.

It took a few seconds for coloured splodges to become actual shapes but once your eyes focused on the two wolves in front of you, you couldn’t help but let a smile take over your face.

“My boys,” you murmured happily as you let out a deep sigh. “Just such caring puppies, hm?”

If it was possible for wolves to look comically confused, you would have thought you were seeing said expression right then.

You let out a small snort. “Of course I know it’s you.”

Both wolves stayed frozen in their spot as you reached out towards them, your fingers brushing against their fur before your hand fell limp at your side again. You blinked, a little slower and your eyes stayed closed for much longer intervals too. You could practically feel the concern radiating off them.

“M’fine,” you murmured as you nuzzled your face into the couch cushion with a sleepy smile. “Just a lil’ tired. Just…need a nap.”

Everything felt far too fuzzy and it didn’t take long before the exhaustion won over your body, pulling you back into a deep sleep before you could even realise the boys were shifting back into their human forms.

“Mon amour,” Charles whispered in a worried voice, kneeling beside the couch as he gently stroked his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “She’s out cold.”

“She needs to rest so she doesn’t burn herself out completely,” Max said with a frown on his face, shaking his head. “She was reckless. She could have hurt herself if she wasn’t careful.”

Charles hummed, nodding his head in agreement. “And she knows.”

“We were stupid for thinking we could hide it from her,” Max replied honestly before he grabbed a blanket, placing it over your body before you got too cold. “Let’s take her inside, help warm her up.”

Charles turned to the other boy, eyes wide and a little glossy. “Will she be okay?”

“We’ll take care of her,” Max reassured him, running a hand through the boy’s hair until he melted under the touch. “C’mon, I’ll make us some dinner for her to wake up to too.”

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zhonglism · 11 days

Text

MOON TIE

18+ MDNI; rigger!geto, bottom!reader, f!reader, smut, bondage (shibari/kinbaku), unprotected semi-public s*x (in a studio), suspension s*x (reader is tied up in a moon tie while doing it lol), all consensual, oral (f receiving), brief clit slapping, light dirty talking, multiple orgasms, pet names (sweetheart, baby, my pretty, my darling), the tie done in this fic is the ‘moon tie suspension’ for reference.

word count: 4k

notes: re-published work from my old (deactivated) account, not plagiarising :>

“do you trust me?” his voice, smooth and velvety, just above a whisper, ghosting over your ears inside the dimly lit room.

suguru always asked this question before starting the private lesson—to solidify the bond between the rigger and the bottom. shibari wasn’t just about the act of binding someone or being bound, it was more than that; the consent, the art of intricate rope patterns, the intimacy between two people.

before you was a wooden suspension rig which donned a ‘swing-set’ style frame; suguru stood behind your figure, you could feel his tall frame looming as his question floated along the thick air of the room, waiting to be answered. “yes.” a breathy tone slipped past your lips, one that you didn’t intend—you couldn’t help it, not when the growing tension went unnoticeable. the lesson hasn’t even started and yet ever since you stepped foot in the room 10 minutes ago, the atmosphere shifted.

it was like both of you were walking on egg shells in each other’s presence, as if a single wrong move would result in something dangerous. the glint in suguru’s eyes confirmed that but nonetheless, as your rigger, he remained nothing but absolutely professional. although you can’t help think about his lingering touches during the last session—the way his palm rested against the inside of your thigh a little longer; the way his chest pressed against your back; the way his fingers rubbed the crimson rope marks on your arm.

a satisfied hum came from behind, followed by his footsteps walking away from you—to grab the rope, you assumed. “i-i want to try something new. .” turning around, you watched suguru walked towards you with a scarlet jute rope in his hands. he tutted, “not with that hesitancy in your tone, no.”

a deflated sigh left your lips, “just hear me out.” your rigger stood before you, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted to the side. you took upon his silence as a sign to keep going but you found your cheeks heating at the thought of it—the words forming on your tongue. suguru watched as the gears turned in your head, your expression somewhat flustered and deep in thought. he shook his head, “no, we’re not trying it.” suguru sighed before walking towards the wooden suspension rig.

you let out a sigh of disappointment. “shibari is all about the art of experimenting but that comes with the great cost of consent and confidence. i won’t force anything you’re uncomfortable about nor introduce new themes if i sense your hesitancy. rope bondage is something to take seriously or you can end up seriously injured.” that’s what he told you during your first lesson. suguru sensed a sign of hesitancy in you twice, which means your idea was most likely off the plate.

fuck it.

“i want to do it naked.”

you watched as suguru stopped in his tracks, his ebony strands were tied in a bun, exposing the back muscles stiffening under the white tank top he donned; the singular spotlight pointed at the middle of the room—at the suspension rig—casted harsh shadows upon his physique, defining every dip and curve of his body. looking over his shoulder, suguru held your gaze but remained silent. “it’s nothing new for you, right? i want to experience it all.” that’s right. as a professional rigger, it wasn’t new to him to encounter naked models while in practice.

you’ve attended some of his performances where suguru worked his ropes on a naked model. seeing him up on the stage with someone else’s naked body on display had your stomach turning, even if suguru was completely professional about it. “i can already do suspension, so what’s the difference with having no clothes on?”

a lot. one big difference was that you were going to be suspended in the air naked. you knew that but it wasn’t like you were trying anything completely new. a velvety chuckle tore through the deafening silence of the room, “for once, you’re going to be completely naked and at my mercy.” suguru rolled his shoulders, muscles flexing at the movement before continuing towards the suspension rig. at his mercy. did he have to word it that way? the corner of his lip tugged up as he watched your thighs rub together, it was a subtle action but suguru was all about subtlety.

“i know that, and i’m okay with it.” oh god. you didn’t know why you were so pushy today. usually, all you did was follow suguru’s instructions as he guided you through the ropes. “my darling, do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” your knees almost buckled at the pet name but you stood your ground, holding his ebony gaze. suguru has your full consent, there was nothing else, really. he sighed but his face showed amusement, the light illuminating his handsome features.

“changing room is to the left, there are robes inside for you to slip into and a cabinet for your clothes. i’ll be here once you’re done.” a tinge of crimson painted his cheeks, paired with a slight waver in his velvet voice. you nodded wordlessly and didn’t waste any time to get undressed. suguru let out a loud sigh he’s been keeping as he heard the door closed shut; he dropped the scarlet rope on the ground, a thud bouncing from wall to wall as he face palmed, fully aware of his blush.

suguru cleared his throat as he watched your robed figure quietly pad over to where he stood, his mind spun at the thought of your naked body beneath the ivory cotton fabric—how it rubbed against your bare skin. his hands should be the one doing that, not some fabric. you noticed the way suguru’s chest heaved up and down, harsh breaths leaving his nose as you begun to untie the soft belt around your waist. your rigger found himself scampering to grab the rope off the ground, keeping his best to remain professional and to avoid gawking at your body.

in reality, his professionalism was hanging by a single thread. a thread bound to snap sooner or later.

suguru didn’t dare look up once he heard the soft fabric fall to the wooden floor, he could see from the corner of his eyes as it pooled around your bare feet. suddenly the jute rope in his palms were much more interesting, onyx eyes scanning the scarlet swirls of the rope. “i’m ready.” he almost jumped at your whispered tone, causing him to immediately look up from the rope. suguru sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes traced your naked body, light illuminating the parts he has never seen before.

fuck. he can already tell what your bare figure would look like all bound and suspended in the air. completely at his mercy.

surprisingly, you didn’t feel small under his piercing gaze but your heart hammered against your chest. you felt tranquil, like you weren’t inside your body, as if someone else was controlling every single action and emotion you had. is this what it felt like to be zen? to be at peace with your body and mind?

suguru cleared his throat once again, palm tightening around the rope. “right. last session, i introduced you to a new tie called the ‘moon tie’. this time, we’ll try the ‘moon tie suspension’ where you’ll be suspended in the air. the position is a bit different from last time, so do let me know if you’re beginning to feel uncomfortable.”

your rigger stood behind you, “i’ll start with the xana chest harness but this time with your arms bound behind your back. may i?” you could feel suguru’s breath ghost over your bare back, leaving goosebumps under its phantom touch. not trusting your voice, you nodded, placing your arms behind your back. a shaky breath slips past your lips as you feel the scarlet rope wrap bind your wrists together—a feeling you’re accustomed to but now with you bare body, you can feel the entirety of the rope, the roughness of it without any fabric barrier.

suguru looped the rope around your torso, making sure it’s snug enough to hold you suspended but also safe for you to breathe and stay comfortable while in the air. you bite your lip at the feeling of his fingers brushing against your breasts while looping the rope around your front and bringing it back. standing perfectly still with your arms behind your back, your body jerks along with every tug suguru does as he works the rope around your torso—your rigger stands before you, looping it over and under the previous ties he has done.

you study his concentrated face while he works on your chest. so professional. you think to yourself. in reality, suguru is almost losing his mind, his face so close to your naked breasts and yet all he can really do is brush his hands against them. oh, how he would like to massage them and listen to the moans that slip past your lips. maybe even pop a mound in his mouth, hot tongue swirling around your sensitive nipple over and over again—fuck what was he thinking?

a few more tugs here and there, your rigger admires the intricate rope work around your torso—he takes a couple of steps to circle you, making sure the lines are neat and snug. suguru noticed the way your breasts look with the scarlet rope woven around it, he slightly fiddles with the waist band of his ivory loose pants, a sinful feeling stirring between his legs. “i’ll move onto the moon tie.”

your body heats at the rough texture of the rope rubbing against your bare skin, it wasn’t painful nor uncomfortable but it did things to you. “do tell me if you feel anything out of sort, be as vocal as you want.” suguru voices out before starting the moon tie. he weaves the rope into the chest harness, kneeling down to loop it around each thigh—hands lingering on your inner thigh a little longer than needed. you bite back a moan as suguru tugs the rope, giving you a pleasurable friction near the apex of your legs. so close yet so far.

before you know it, the scarlet rope that suguru had was perfectly woven around your body, intricate loops and patterns accentuated your features. he helped you on a small step stool to prepare for the suspension, grabbing an extra rope to tie you on the suspension rig. “comfortable?” “as always.” you reassure him. suguru nods, walking to your right side, “i mentioned before that this one is a bit different than the previous moon tie we did. the suspension requires tying your ankle to the rig.”

a warm palm encased around your right ankle, securing the jute rope around it before lifting it up and tying it on the wooden rig. with one ankle lifted, it placed you in a compromising position—legs far apart and your cunt in full view, all for suguru to admire. once the ankle tie was secured around the suspension rig, he took a step back to admire the art before him—a slight tent in his pants forming at the sight of you at his mercy.

you looked absolutely breathtaking. the way the scarlet rope hugged your body just right, the fat of your skin bulging from it’s snug fit. oh, how he wished to take you right then and there.

suguru’s eyes glossed over your exposed cunt glistening under the warm lighting. he didn’t mean to say it out loud, he had no intentions of even speaking about it but it just came out. “you’re wet.” the rigger before you pointed out, gaze locked on the apex of your legs. your first instinct was to close them but the rough scarlet rope that bound you kept them in place, cheeks heating at the restriction. “. . why don’t you do something about it, then?”

“that won’t be professional of me.” his words betrayed his actions.

one. two steps and he was right in front of your wet cunt. bringing a slender finger to your right inner thigh and dragging it towards the spot where you yearned for him the most. a muttered curse slips past your lips as suguru’s digit teased you. up and down, up and down his finger trailed but never near your cunt. now you completely understood being at his mercy—hands bound behind your back, ankle tied to the suspension rig, body suspended mid-air; you couldn’t do anything other than take what he gives you, or not what he gives you.

“you’re so beautiful, you know that?” he hummed, dropping to his knees so he was at eye level with your wet folds. the first day you stepped foot in his studio, eyes wide with curiosity, suguru fantasised about you—how your body would look bound and suspended in the air, your most intimate parts exposed all for him to admire and touch.

the last thread of his professionalism snapped. all he wanted was you, now.

he moved closer, breath fanning over your cunt. “suguru, please. .” your body wiggled against the restraint, arms dying to grab his head and press his face between the apex of your legs. he hummed, tongue darting out to lick a long stripe towards your clit. you shuddered at the feeling of his hot tongue, a broken moan in the form of his name hangs in the thick air. “that’s it. i like it when you’re vocal for me, sweetheart.” suguru purred before diving into the heat of your cunt.

you tasted just as delicious as you looked. suguru ate you out with such fervour—tongue plunged deep inside you, exploring the parts he has never touched before. he groaned against your cunt, sending vibrations which had your body shuddering with pleasure. “fuck. . ! just like that—mhm!” the scarlet rope left marks on your arms as you tugged against it, needing some kind of object to hold on to, to keep you grounded as you awaited your impending orgasm.

lewd sounds filled the studio, with every slurp of suguru’s mouth, the sounds bounced around the walls, engulfing your ears. his large hand slapped your clit, causing you to jerk at the sudden pleasure jolting up your body. “a-ah! yes, i’m so near—ngh. . !” you let out a heated gasp as suguru harshly sucked on your cunt, hand still stimulating your swollen bud just above his nose. he grunted, signalling you to cum all over his tongue.

and you did. you threw your head back, body wriggling against the restraint as you cried out his name, a pleasurable pain rubbing on your bare skin which was sure to leave evident marks. suguru hungrily lapped your essence, tongue languidly licking up every bit of cum that trickled out of your cunt, groaning in satisfaction. he rode out your orgasm by rubbing slow, soft circles on your clit—muttering saccharine praises near your cunt.

suguru stood up and made his way in front of you, lacing his hand beneath your jaw to pull you in a passionate kiss. you groaned into the kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. so lewd, so dirty and yet you wanted more. your body jolted as his free hand wandered to your bare chest, palm ghosting over your pert nipples in a teasing manner. “i want you so bad.” suguru whispered as he broke the kiss, lips softly grazing over your own while he held your gaze.

a small smirk formed as he watched you chase his lips, attempting to lean forward to seal the distance, only to be held back. “you have me. . at your mercy.” suguru’s eyes were the colour of space, dark, vast, and mysterious but it held the universe inside it. “fuck . . you can’t tease me like this.” he groaned, the growing tent in his pants became uncomfortable with every passing second. “‘m not teasing you, suguru. i want you just as bad as you want me.” he held your gaze for a few seconds before his arms worked on the white tank top he wore.

you sucked in a sharp breath—eyes tracing his god-like physique. the light above contoured suguru’s muscles, casting sharp shadows that added depth to each curve and dip of his body. you wanted to run you hands all over his torso, to feel his muscles flexing beneath your palms while exploring his body but to your dismay, your arms remained secured behind your back.

suguru didn’t hesitate to discard his pants and underwear in one swift movement, the fabric pooled around his ankles. your eyes were glued to his hard cock, standing proudly against his abdomen, it’s red tip was already leaking with pre-cum. fuck, he was big. suguru groaned as his palm wrapped around the shaft, giving it languid strokes as he worked his pre-cum all over his cock.

“just the thought of you suspended mid-air like this. . fucking you while you’re restrained is driving me crazy. would you be a good girl and take it all? or would you squirm beneath my touch, beg to be untied? mmm, i can have my way with you. .”

your cunt clenched around nothing as you watched your rigger pleasure himself, fisting his cock again and again. he situated himself between your parted legs, one hand holding his hard cock to tease the angry tip up and down your folds, alternating between rubbing and slapping in against your wet cunt. “s-suguru. . !” you gasped, hands balling into fists at the bare contact. “please, no teasing.”

“eager, aren’t we?” suguru eased his cock in before you could come up with a retort. your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape, head thrown back as his cock parted you. strings of curses and broken moans left your lips as suguru inched his way inside your tight walls, he gripped your thighs for support, to at least keep him grounded while his head spun at your cunt wrapped around his hard cock.

he stood there for a moment, cock fully sheathed inside you as he let you adjust to his size because fuck was he big, it also gave suguru time to pace himself—making sure not to cum right then and there with the way you clenched around him. “please move, suguru . .” you pleaded, attempting to wiggle your hips to chase some kind of friction down there.

suguru’s breathless chuckle filled your ears. he planted a chaste kiss on your right ankle—the one bound to the suspension rig—before slowly pulling his hips back and slamming into your sopping cunt; you both fell into a unison of moans, desperate pornographic sounds intertwining with one another to create a perfect melody—suguru’s deep groans mixed with your dainty sounds. his nails dug into the flesh of your thighs, leaving crescent shaped marks on your soft skin.

you squirmed, eyes shut tightly as the blunt tip of his cock repeatedly kissed your cervix. the position you were suspended in allowed suguru’s cock to reach deeper into your cunt, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. wet squelches echoed throughout the studio, your essence dripping to the floor with every eager push of his hard cock. “if you keep squeezing me like that, i ain’t going to last much longer—haah. . !” suguru groaned, throwing his head back and exposing his neck; his adam’s apple bobbed with every moan of your name, a deep crimson blush plastered on his cheeks.

suguru noticed your closed eyes and reached a hand under your chin, angling your head towards him, “look at me while i fuck you.” he grunted, thumb caressing your bottom lip, dragging it downwards before prodding the digit between your lips. your mouth circled around his digit, eagerly welcoming it by swirling your tongue around and sucking on it—all while holding his lustful gaze.

your body jolted at the sudden force of suguru’s thrusts, his hips desperately ploughing into you, causing a pleasurable burn at the flesh of your inner thighs. his free hand wandered down your stomach, stopping just before where you to met and rubbed tight circles on your clit. you moaned around his digit, earning a breathless chuckle from suguru, “yeah? you like it when i fuck you like this? all tied up and open just for me?” you let out an unintelligible sound, your mind too hazy from lust to even nod in agreement.

shocks of pleasure prickled your skin, your muscles becoming taut as you neared your impending orgasm. suguru noticed the change in your behaviour, the way your chest heaved up and down, a series of broken high pitched moans coming from you, and your eyes rolling to the back of your head—he took his thumb from your mouth and held your jaw, “make pretty sounds for me while you cum.” you cried out his name, voice full of heat and desperation that had suguru’s eyes almost rolling back in pleasure.

he encouraged you to make more sounds, shaky whispers leaving his lips. suguru knew he was close too from the familiar bubbling at the pit of his stomach but he wanted you to cum first, he wanted to see how pretty you’d look as you creamed his cock. “that’s it, baby. . ! moan just for me, and only me. .” suguru let out a heated gasp, the sensation of your clenching walls becoming too much for him.

you tugged at the rope woven around your body, squirming in place as you came—stars engulfing your vision, and suguru’s name hung in the thick air of the studio. he caressed your cheek, onyx eyes glued to your lust-driven face as he whispered dirty praises; suguru knew you probably couldn’t hear his voice from the blissful expression on your face but that was fine, you did so well for him.

“think you can take one more for me?” he grunted, a pained expression donned his face as you clenched around him—although, what he was feeling was far from pain. you let out a broken cry, scrambling to get away from suguru’s hips since the pleasure was becoming too much. hot tears rolled down your heated cheeks as you chanted his name, throat scratchy from all the moaning you did earlier.

“c’mon, one more f’me, my pretty—aah, fuck . . !” you leaned into suguru’s touch, the contact of his palm on your cheek burned with bliss. “‘m cumming! ngh! suguru. . !” “s-shit. let go for me.” you let out a silent moan, eyes rolling back and lips locked in an ‘o’ shape as pleasure hit you immensely—your body shuddered, head spinning. suguru angled his body so his face was positioned near yours, sealing your lips together in a messy kiss.

he groaned in between kisses, chasing your lips while your body jolted with every desperate thrust of his hips. suguru gave you a few more messy thrusts before completely pulling out and shooting his load on you. he eagerly fisted his cock, hand swiftly working on it to ride out his orgasm, and paint your body with every last bit of his cum; you moaned at the warm feeling of his cum coating your lower abdomen, and inner thighs—biting your bottom lip at his lewdness.

“you have no idea how much i’ve been wanting to do that.” suguru panted, a sheen of sweat coating his body, causing his muscles to glisten under the warm light.

“looks like i’m looking forward to our session next week, then.” you croaked. “oh, trust me, my darling, you may want to take a break next week. the rope marks aren’t the only thing that’s going to be sore for you.” he playfully chided, placing a chaste kiss on your sweaty forehead before setting the stool beneath your suspended body, preparing to untie you.

“yeah? why don’t you come massage it for me then.” “mmm, let’s get you cleaned up, hm? i’ll give you a real good massage. after all, i’m good with my hands.” suguru replies, peppering butterfly kisses all over your arms—the scarlet rope made a rather evident mark on your skin.

“good is such an understatement.” you smile up at him, tucking strands of his onyx fringe behind his pierced ear.

#zhonglism ༄#geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #geto smut #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #smut #mdni

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torukmaktoskxawng · 2 months

Text

tsamsiyu ta'em - three stars in orion's belt

Masterlist - part sixteen

Summary: Kayla and Spider return to Awa'atlu, and some things shift into place, right where they need to be.

Pairing: Ronal/Tonowari/Original Female Character

Tag: #tsamsiyu ta'em fic

posted on ao3

Word Count: 15k+

Overall warnings: implied sexual themes, trauma/ptsd, canon-compliant, mature language, slow burn, polyamory, found family, cool aunt agenda, rushed, time skips, fluff, angst, mentioned mcd, child endangerment, proofread by me, etc.

Taglist (bold indicates "could not tag"): @motheroffae @undeniableadrenaline @mooniequeen @shit-i-say-shit-i-think @heart-an0n @amiets2 @slutforsmut4ever @yeosxxx @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @sucker4angstt @inolaphoenix @ilovechickenwings @tojisleftarm @andyfromku @ivysully @lightandshadow31 @jamie-poopoo @brittney69 @avatar-lover

A/N: Please ignore all the time skips 🙏 I didn't want to write another 20k+ chapter

A beautiful, quiet afternoon in Awa'atlu is evident all around Jake as he finds himself alone in the marui while the rest of his family is out enjoying the warm, sunny day on the reef. He was crouched and trying to remake his tomahawk that he had lost during the battle, but it was proven difficult since he didn't have the proper materials here on the island as he did back in the forest.

His time alone is interrupted by the sound of his youngest child calling out to him from outside, "Dad! Dad!"

"Tuk?" Jake's ears perked up, immediately alarmed as he got to his feet and stepped out of the pod, "Are you alright? What's wrong, sweetheart?"

His little girl was waving him down the pathway, barely stopping to wait for him as she was eager to run away, a bright, wide smile on her face as she pointed up at the sky, "Auntie's back! Look! Auntie and Spider are back!"

With that, she races off toward the beach, no longer patient enough to wait for her father. Jake's alarmed expression takes a moment, but slowly melts as he tilts his head back to look up at the sky, the unmistakable shadow of an ikran flying overhead.

The rest of the village appears to stir with curiosity as everyone becomes aware of the new entry, heads all occasionally looking up to see if they could spot the mountain banshee for themselves. As Tuk runs down to the beach, she's yelling for the rest of her family, announcing her aunt's arrival as she goes.

Kayla circled the village a few times to ensure the Metkayina was aware of her presence so that they would make some space on the beach for her to land, only feeling comfortable once the horn to announce her arrival was blown. She couldn't see him, but Spider's face was smiling widely as he peered down at the reef village below, anxious to get down there after three, long weeks.

The uproar of the horn and the talk around the village bring Ronal and Tonowari out of their kelku to see what all the fuss is about. They catch sight of Kayla's ikran and visibly appear relieved, shoulders sagging as they share a knowing look. They turn back to their home when both of their children step outside, and Tonowari's hand heavily weighs Ao'nung's shoulder as both father and son stare at one another.

"Remember what I told you," the olo'eyktan says with a skeptical look in his eye, "Respect the boy."

Tsireya smiles brightly and dutifully nods, while Ao'nung reluctantly follows suit. His sister tugs on his arm until he's following her down toward the beach, where handfuls of the village had begun to gather to form a large circle that would act as Kayla's landing zone.

Thena swings low, flying just above the water at Kayla's command. Tuk is jumping up and down in the sand, waving her arms at her aunt and laughing as she flags the ikran down. The ikran dips low, flying right past the Na'vi girl with the tip of its wing grazing the water surface, playfully spraying Tuk in the face. The girl squeals with delight and laughs, all the while Jake watches this cute display from a distance, his alarm melting in exchange for amusement, chuckling and fondly shaking his head at his sister's playful antics.

"Show off." He mutters to himself.

Tuk continues to giggle and anxiously waits until the banshee finally lands, both water and sand flying everywhere as the ikran comes in for a ferocious landing. Thena barely meets the sand with her talons before Tuk sprints up to her, arms out wide as Kayla is quick to jump off and break tsaheylu.

"Auntie!"

"Tuk!" Kayla exclaims as she quickly falls to her knees to catch her niece's embrace, laughing with the child as Tuk tackles her in a tight hug, wrapping her small arms around Kayla's neck, nearly sending her into the sand.

Kiri pushes her way through the growing crowd to get to the center, Lo'ak dutifully right behind her. She looked between her sister and Kayla, and then the human boy who had just stepped around the large ikran, making her smile widen with relief, "Monkey Boy!"

Lo'ak beams, quickly following his sister and they race to their friend, "Welcome back, Spider!"

Spider straightens and smiles gently at the sight of his friends running to him, "Hey, guys-- oh, shit!"

Only for his face to drop into shock when two large, teenage Na'vi tackles his smaller body into the water behind him. The three teens laugh as they grapple and embrace each other in the shallow water, and for added measure, Lo'ak ruffles a handful of wet sand into Spider's dreads.

"Bro!" The human boy squawks.

"That's what you get for staying away for so long," Lo'ak laughs, "What was up with that? Three weeks, cuz?"

"Hey! Did you save any of that enthusiasm for me?" Kayla calls over playfully as she stands back up, completely forgotten by Tuk who was anxious to join the Spider-hugging pile.

Kiri shoves Lo'ak down and quickly gets up before he can enact his revenge, the teenage girl bounding up and hugging her aunt's waist. Spider doesn't let Lo'ak greet Kayla and holds the Na'vi boy down so Tuk can shove wet sand into his own braided hair, leaving Lo'ak yelping and snarling at the devious pair.

Kayla laughs at the heartwarming sight, looking around and openly smiling at the growing crowd of Metkayina, most of their faces appear welcoming as they meet her gaze. She catches sight of Jake and Neytiri gently pushing through the crowd and meeting one another before walking over to join their family, which reminds Kayla to unpack a bit of her luggage from Thena's back before she can forget.

"Tuk," the girl in question looks up and skips over to her aunt when Kayla calls for her, the woman digging out a small parcel of leaves wrapped around something from one of Thena's saddle bags, "Some of your favorite sundried berries. You have my permission not to share with your dad. And... ah ha!" She fished out something that had gotten caught at the bottom of the bag. Another wrapped gift, which she carefully hands down to her youngest niece, "This is from Popiti. She said she made it just for you."

Tuk beams at the gifts, especially at the mention of her friend, before glancing up at Kayla, "Thank you, Auntie!"

Kayla smiles and moves on to the next child as the rest of the teens have now moved to stand around her, "Lo'ak, I got a new throat mic for you. Uh..." She digs around further before finding what she was looking for and handing it to her nephew, "There you are-- here's the earpiece."

"Thanks, Auntie." Lo'ak grins while taking the new communication device.

"I actually got enough for the whole family this time so we'll pass those around later," Kayla unrolls a cloth that she had tightly tied down to Thena's saddle before handing it to her older niece, "Kiri, this is your new jacket."

Kiri's eyebrows furrow before unwrapping the cloth, holding out a large, avatar-sized safari jacket, once tan but now a little worn from age and sun exposure. Kiri gently squints at the human-made item before her eyes widen with realization, glancing over at her aunt, "Was this my Ma's?"

Kayla nods with soft encouragement, "According to Norm, it was. He thought you should have it. Try it on."

Kiri did so, fitting her arms into the sleeves before wrapping the oversized jacket around her small frame like a safety blanket, taking a deep breath as she pressed her nose into the collar. Kayla smiles sweetly at the sight, "Yeah, it definitely suits you. It's warm and stylish, just like you."

Spider smiles a little and motions Kiri over, asking his friend to help him bring all of his belongings to Kayla's marui. Kiri happily accepts after she's given a moment to appreciate her gift, and with Lo'ak and Tuk's help, they get all of Kayla and Spider's supplies off of Thena's back, and the ikran huffs with appreciation.

Kayla takes a backpack from Tuk before the kids can take off to her kelku, rummaging it before she looks up at Neytiri. Both women paused as they stood in front of one another, their last known conversation playing in the back of their minds, making one another hesitant. Eventually, Kayla clears her throat and provides a gift to the Na'vi woman, holding out the shawl Mo'at made with a look of hesitance.

"Neytiri... from your sa'nok."

Neytiri's tail flicks with interest as she takes the folded-up shawl, holding it out and unraveling it. Her ears pinned back against her skull as she recognizes the fine craftsmanship as if it were her own, eyes faintly growing wet as she sucks in a sharp bit of air. She knows the meaning behind the gift, and a single tear falls down her face. Much like Kiri, Neytiri wraps the cloth around her body and takes in the item's familiar scent, feeling protected under her mother's handiwork.

Kayla averts her gaze, feeling as though she was watching Neytiri in a vulnerable moment before holding out a weapon to her brother, "Jake. I told Tarsem that you lost your tomahawk and so he made you this."

Jake's eyebrows rise in surprise, taking the new tomahawk in hand and testing the weight and craftsmanship as Kayla continues to explain, "As a sign of good faith. He wants you to know that he's leading the People by your example. You haven't been forgotten."

He tightens his jaw, internally touched by the gesture of the Omatikaya's new olo'eyktan. Lowering the tomahawk, he nods solemnly at his sister, ears sinking slightly as he hesitates, "Thanks, Kay. How... how are you?"

She fixes him a small look, apprehensive before she shrugs and looks away, "Never better."

"Everything alright back at base? What took you two so long to get back?"

Kayla's left ear flicked once before she easily answered, "We didn't want to risk the RDA following us again so we kept low until we thought it was safe enough to come back. I was going to radio you... but then I thought Spider and I could turn it into a surprise."

Jake appears satisfied with the answer, one corner of his mouth threatening to rise out of amusement. As he opens his mouth to make a no-doubt smartass remark, Kayla swiftly turns away, "I should help the kids unpack our stuff."

As she turns her back on her brother, she is suddenly tackled by another teenager, and the initial shock melts when she's met with none other than sweet Tsireya with her arms wrapped around the older woman's waist, beaming up at the avatar, "Oel ngati kameie, Makayla te Suli!"

Kayla exhaled a quiet laugh as she smiled down at the reef girl and gently squeezed her back, "Oel ngati kameie, Tsireya," briefly peering up, she noticed the boy standing behind his sister and she nodded once in greeting, "Ao'nung."

The reef boy nods back at the sound of his name, his expression impassive and reminding Kayla just how much he looks like his mother. Tsireya looks around, ignoring her brother's stare-off with Makayla as her little ears begin to fall, "Did Spider not come back with you?"

Kayla's expression melts before looking back down at the reef girl with a small smile, "He's already unpacking back at our kelku. Lo'ak and the others should be with him if you want to follow me with the rest of our things?"

"I would be happy to!" Tsireya explains while following Kayla to her ikran, the girl's sharp elbow nonchalantly meeting her brother's ribs as she passed by him.

Ao'nung coughs, "Yeah, alright."

Together, Kayla and the chief's children manage to bring the rest of hers and Spider's things to her marui, stepping inside and being met with Sully children everywhere, helping Spider unpack. Already, this pod was starting to look more like a home. Someone had actually managed to hang Kayla's "bookshelf" up, dangling it from the ceiling above and letting it hang against the wall, a few of Spider's things already nestled on it. Tsireya and Ao'nung move to help, greeting Spider and asking him questions about his travels and what he had been up to these past few weeks. If Spider was shocked by their sudden interest, he didn't show it, answering expressively, likely comfortable with their presence so long as Kayla and the Sullys were surrounding him.

Both he and Kayla were unpacked and settled back into their home in no time with the help of the children, and even though they all had to part ways to finish their chores, they promised to come back and visit before dinner to catch up and learn what has been happening in High Camp. Kayla and Spider are left in the home, tidying up before the communal dinner. Kayla takes a moment to look at the bookshelf, inspecting all the objects now placed on top to make it full and more... homey, as she had initially wanted it to look.

Spider had placed a spare mask there, with a small photo leaning against it. Kayla didn't need to ask to know who the picture was of, observing the woman with brown hair holding a blond baby in her arms. Next to the photo were two sets of dog tags, Kayla's and Jake's that she finally decided to leave off of her person and keep on the shelf as a form of memorium, along with the pictures she once had pinned up in the shack back at High Camp, specifically the one with herself and her brothers.

Satisfied with how her new home looks, she smiles and turns to address Spider, only for her words to fall short. The teen hadn't looked up from covering an ammunition container with a woven blanket, unaware of Kayla eyeing his blond locs as they had been pulled back and held up by a hair band, in a fashion very similar to Lo'ak's and other Metkayina warriors. The band itself was brown and decorated with scattered pieces of iridescent shell.

"That's new."

Spider looked up and met her eyes before he realized what she was talking about, smiling a little cautiously as he explained, "Tsireya made it for me."

A small twinkle forms in her eye, lips twitching with fondness, "Really?"

"Yeah, although I'm not sure Ao'nung helped her as she claims."

A small pause falls between them as Kayla's eyebrows furrow. Before Spider could even ask what was wrong, the expression melted into something more sincere, a smile replacing her once-shrouded emotion,

"Hm. He might've. Kinda looks like his armband. It looks good."

The mask nearly hides it, but she manages to catch a small beam of pride flash over Spider's face before it vanishes at the same time he bows his head, pretending to adjust his exo-pack. Kayla let him shy away as she was currently bombarded with her own thoughts, her smile falling once she knew Spider's back was turned. The thought of Ao'nung and Tsireya providing a gift for Spider could mean many things and Kayla didn't want to jump to any conclusions. However, the timing felt odd, especially after Norm practically had to force her to realize that Ronal and Tonowari very likely care for her more than just an ally or a member of their clan. She couldn't bring herself to say what they likely outright felt for her, but she, deep down, knew it to be true.

It couldn't have been a coincidence that the children of the Metkayina clan leaders seemed interested in Spider and his adventures, and while Kayla was delighted that the boy was making friends, she couldn't help but feel partially responsible for it. What would happen if she didn't reciprocate any of the clan leaders' advances? Would Spider's new friends suddenly pull back from him?

She didn't want to believe that the Na'vi could be so sinister, but that was the human in her... suspicious of everything.

~~~~~~~~~

Dinner rolls around and the Sullys are eager to hear about what Kayla and Spider have heard from the rest of their friends and family back in High Camp. While they try not to show it, Jake and Neytiri eye Kayla with a careful expression, as if wanting to ask her about the war but not wanting to break this moment of peace between family members, no matter how strained. Kayla uses this to her advantage, avoiding her brother and his wife for the moment so she can feel more at ease and at home after being away for longer than she intended. The children help her chest feel lighter as they eagerly share everything they had done while she was away, rambling to the point she didn't have to think about anything else other than trying to catch up with her nieces and nephew.

That is until she felt that familiar gaze practically bleeding into her skin, that gaze she could only feel when there were two sets of eyes closely watching her every move. Looking up from where she sat, Kayla easily spotted Ronal and Tonowari down near the end of the long line of Metkayina enjoying their meals. Both the tsahik and the olo'eyktan meet her eyes without shame, blue and green meeting her yellow gaze, always outnumbering her, always successful in stealing her breath away.

She knows that she was being rude by not getting up to greet them, or for never even seeking them out the moment she returned to the village. After all, they were her hosts and her clan leaders, but there was a small bit of nerves eating away at her courage to approach them. Kayla was feeling intimidated by them, now more than ever, but for an entirely different reason compared to when she first met them. It couldn't be helped after everything Norm pointed out about their past behavior towards her, his words still itching at the back of her mind, making her irritated with her best friend despite him being oceans away.

While she was taking Norm's words into consideration, she was also, unfortunately, still a Sully. Stubbornly shutting down any doubts or insecurities, she swiftly stood up and told her family that she would be right back before turning and walking through the crowd of Metkayina. Ronal and Tonowari's eyes never left hers as she walked toward them, but hers would occasionally dart away to avoid someone's tail, or to find a path around bodies as they knelt or crouched over their food. It was a good excuse for her to look away, unable to hold such an intense gaze.

When she finally drew close to the leaders in question, she touched her hand to her forehead in greeting, "Ma olo'eyktan. Ma tsahik."

Ronal pointedly looks Kayla up and down before nodding back and motioning for the dreamwalker to sit down. When Kayla crouched to her level, the tsahik opened her mouth, simply stating, "We have a gift for you."

The Metkayina woman twists to grab something settled between her and her mate, bringing it up to display in the air with both hands for Kayla, presenting a beaded top.

Kayla's eyes widened, a small, chill of dread making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up at the thought of wearing something so exposed. That is until she got a proper look at the top in question. It was... well, more conservative than Kayla had expected upon being given a Na'vi-styled top. The pieces meant to hang around the chest area are tightly woven together without a hole in sight, covering as much as possible. The beads were of a variety of blues and greens, and the pattern swirled fittingly like water. Kayla tilted her head as she eyed the pattern, a faint memory forming in the back of her head as it reminded her of that one Starry Night painting she once saw in a museum as a child. Woven grass was braided through the beads and up into a large hoop at the top of the piece, meant to wrap around her neck, with soft, feather-like straps dangling from the sides of the top, meant to hang off her shoulders.

Tonowari nods to the item in his wife's hands, "I had gathered the material and Ronal had woven them all together."

He then starts to form a closed-mouth smile, his expression soft and genuine, "Consider it a welcome home gift."

Kayla sits back on her heels, gaping at the clothing piece in awe and admiration. Slowly, her hands reach up to take the item, feeling the beads between her finger and thumb as she settles it in her lap. She swallows thickly as she raises her head up to the man and woman sitting in front of her, watching her expectedly. She blinks out of her daze, anxious as her stomach swirled uncomfortably, her conversation with Norm now practically trying to beat its way out of her skull with how loud the words pounded in her head, an awful reminder of what the gift was clearly meant to represent. She remembers the fears she expressed to Norm if she accepted Ronal and Tonowari, recalling her insecurities about her appearance, stature, and infertility. Despite wanting to spare the couple from that, she also didn't want to turn down their thoughtful gift.

She tries to express her gratitude in her small nod toward Ronal, "Thank you."

Ronal simply huffs, ears twitching once at Kayla's response as her large hand reaches forward and pinches the worn hem of the avatar's crop top, "Your clothes have seen better days. And as someone who wishes to be part of the People, You could use clothes made for the People."

~~~~~~~~~

Even though she now had a new top in her possession, Kayla didn't wear it, sticking to her old crop top. She knew wearing it would mean accepting it. It would mean something else, something she wasn't entirely ready to admit to herself or anyone.

If either Ronal or Tonowari was disappointed that she wasn't wearing their gift the next day, they didn't show it, and Kayla honestly wasn't sure if she was relieved by that or not. She tries to ignore it as Jake visits her marui to talk about certain events that unfolded with the Omatikaya while he had been away. She catches him up to speed as much as possible, her brain wracking with all the information she had been dumped with as the messenger between her brother and his old clan.

Their discussion is eventually interrupted by the sound of anxious feet kicking up sand outside, followed by shouting, "Makayla! Makayla! Look! Something's happening to Spider!"

It was like a ball of lead dropped down her stomach as panic ambushed all her senses. Before Kayla could even run out of the pod, however, three teenagers come hurtling inside, some more panicked than others. Kayla first spotted Tsireya, the reef girl's concern as clear as day on her young, sweet face. Her larger hands tugged Spider along with her, the human teenaged boy looking a bit flushed and closed-off, shoulders hunching as if he was trying to look small, or at least smaller than he already was compared to the Na'vi standing all around him.

Ao'nung was the third teenager, and he was standing directly behind his sister and Spider, towering over the pair. Despite the hard expression, his ears were flicking wildly around, almost as fast as his eyes as he looked between Spider and up at Kayla, just as concerned as Tsireya, who was now frantically turning Spider around in her grasp as he tried to yelp and swat at her. Spider clearly wasn't trying to harm her, however, as she then displayed his back to the two adults in the room, "See!"

All worry drains from Kayla as she fights to keep her expression neutral, despite the growing amusement in her chest when she notices Spider's pink and peeling skin. Not wanting to appear as though she was mocking Tsireya's panicked state with laughter, the older woman bites the inside of her cheek to keep back a smile that threatened to appear as she peers down at the child she was responsible for.

"Spider, I told you to put on sunscreen."

"I did!" He exclaimed defiantly, his face flushed with pink underneath his mask, likely out of shame and embarrassment then a small sunburn.

"And did you reapply any as needed? That stuff only lasts a few hours, you know."

He pointedly avoided Kayla's gaze, still indignant and refusing to reply, keeping his back to her as Kayla hummed, now letting a smirk grace her face, "That's what I thought. You might be fine now, but if you don't start properly treating your skin at a young age, you'll just run into problems when you're older, like skin cancer."

Jake was just as easily entertained by the concerned reef children and Spider's embarrassment, standing off to the side as his tail flicked behind him with interest. He glances between Kayla and Spider, one corner of his lips twitching as his eyes stare fondly and, dare I say, proudly at his sister.

Kayla didn't appear to notice Jake as she reached for the tube of sunscreen that now made its home on her kelku's shelf, "Come on. You promised Max."

Spider kept his head lowered, ashamed even as he grumbled a small form of agreement and took the sunscreen from her. This teenager was actually full-blown pouting at Kayla, and it made Jake chuckle in amusement, finally speaking up to reassure the boy, "Don't worry about it, Spider. As humans, Sullys tend to burn way worse than that, so we didn't get much sun as kids. We were pretty pale. One look at Kayla and people used to ask if she was a vampire."

Kayla's brows furrowed as she glanced back at her brother, "Shut up, Jake."

"What's a vampire?" Spider asked curiously, trying to mask his shock toward Jake as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that the older man had just categorized Spider under the Sully family.

"Don't listen to him," Kayla immediately replied as Jake was opening his mouth. One more lighthearted glare from her and the older brother immediately closed his mouth once more, still grinning even as Kayla nodded to Spider and his two shadows, "Now you kids get outta here."

"But," Ao'nung's ears lower, "What about Spider--"

"It's called a sunburn, Ao'nung," Kayla smiles reassuringly, "Humans get them when they're out in the sun too long. It's normal, don't worry."

"I wasn't."

"Mm hm," she smirks, unconvinced as she nods to the open doorway, "Go on. 'Git."

Jake snorts fondly at Kayla's choice of human words as the three teens leave the marui once more. Both older Sully siblings fall into silence as they watch the children leave, Jake's amusement falling into something more thoughtful as he struggles to find the right words, "The kid looks good. You did good."

"I didn't do anything." Kayla brushes his comment off, moving back to the mat she had been previously kneeling on.

"No, I mean... you did right by him. You fought for him when no one else did. He's a good kid," Jake tried expressing how proud he was of his sister without using those exact words, knowing she wouldn't accept them, least of all from him. They sit across from each other, a small lit fire between them as Jake's voice lowers, "He's lucky to have you as his mom."

Her eyes quickly glance up at him and immediately narrow, "I'm not--"

"Kayla, come on. He relies on you. He looks up to you. I know that look better than most. He's trying very hard to live up to you... and part of me thinks he got that from watching Neteyam and Lo'ak."

Slowly, her defensive stance melts as her words soften, "Jake. Hey, stop. Don't do that."

He wasn't sure what she was implying until he realized his vision was blurry, obstructing her face from what was only a few feet from him. Jake immediately blinked and cleared his throat, his voice still tight, "We talked. Me and Lo'ak."

"That's good."

"Yeah... I just wish I had done it sooner. If I did, maybe Neteyam--"

"Don't," She could do nothing else but shake her head at him, "We all carry some form of regret. Just focus on now."

~~~~~~~~~

That night, she found herself adding yet another bead to her songcord, only this time, she successfully weaves it into the growing waytelem all by herself. It was a bead she had seen Spider wear in his hair before but had recently replaced with yet another shell both Tsireya and Tuk had been finding for him. Kayla wouldn't think Spider would notice if he was missing a bead, but she still kept her newfound piece for her songcord a secret, immediately tucking it away once she was finished applying it just as Spider was returning home for the night. He looked exhausted, spending most of the day with Tsireya and Kiri as the two girls appeared adamant about teaching him the ways of the Metkayina. Rotxo had eventually joined them and then what was once a lesson had quickly grown into a game.

Kiri and Spider decided to try to teach the two reef children a human game they had learned from Jake when they were little, and so Spider quickly found himself on Rotxo's shoulders while Tsireya was on Kiri's. They must have played 'Chicken Fight' for hours, both Tsireya and Rotxo enticed by the simple game of trying to wrestle their competitor into the water, despite being confused about what exactly a chicken was. Neither Kiri nor Spider could answer. They didn't know either.

Since Spider was smaller, he couldn't imagine lifting either of the Metkayina teenagers, but he'd already had practice with Kiri, so he had managed to hold her up on his shoulders for a round or two, but it still had his back feeling sore by the time he walked home. His hand was crossing over his chest and rubbing the opposite shoulder as he walked into the kelku, met with Kayla working on something in her hands before she tucked it away in her pocket, her hands now focused on cooking some fish over the hearth's fire.

"Hey," she smiled when she looked up to greet him, "How was your day?"

"Good. Tired," he responds shortly, sitting down across from her as he looks into the smoldering fire. A sheepish expression flashes over his face for a moment as he lets his thoughts get the better of him, speaking quietly in case he shouldn't be asking, "So... what am I supposed to call you?"

Her brows furrow in confusion, shadows from the fire dancing over her face, "Huh?"

"It's just that..." he ducks his head, "You don't want me calling you Kayla forever, right?"

Realization dawns on her face when she finally deduces what he is trying to say, her surprise melting into contempt as she replies, "You're not supposed to call me anything other than what you're comfortable with."

He peers up at her with a soft frown, "Again, you're being too understanding. You're not helping my case in believing I could kill in front of you and you wouldn't bat an eye."

"Smartass," she laughed, eliciting a smile to form on Spider's face at the sound. Kayla's nose scrunched up as she smiled back, "You can just call me Kayla if you want. It'll be all up to you for once."

It might not have been the answer he was expecting, but it was one he greatly appreciated and thought long and hard on.

~~~~~~~~~

Spider thought about Kayla's response as he and the Sully children were listening in on Jake, Neytiri, and Kayla as they argued one afternoon in hushed voices in the security of the Sully marui. Apparently, Kayla had done Neytiri wrong by bringing Spider back to Awa'atlu, and while she had kept her mouth closed about her distaste, it all came to a head when Spider had taken Tuk for a small swim without her consent.

It was his fault, and while Spider had initially tried to take the blame, Kayla had shot him down and told the kids to go look for Tsireya for the evening and let the adults talk alone. Obviously, the children weren't about to do that and snuck around behind the marui to snoop on their parents' conversation, ducking their heads to peer underneath the wall so they could see the three adults.

"What if she got hurt? What could he possibly do to help her?" Neytiri had hissed to both her husband and his sister, Spider's guardian, "I do not want my baby to be by herself, let alone left with him."

"Spider's responsible," Kayla defended her charge with her arms crossed and glare pinpointed at her sister-in-law, "And yes, he should've asked, but that doesn't mean he's a bad kid, Neytiri. Kids forget things. It happens."

"And when children die, does it just 'happen?'" Neytiri snipes back, clear grief and anger mixing her pools of yellow eyes.

"It does when someone holds a knife to their throat," Kayla hisses, quick as lightning with her reply as her tail flicks sporadically behind her, "As you likely knew when you did so to Spider."

Kiri's hand snakes up and grips tightly onto Spider's shoulder, both of them doing their best to keep their breathing slow and quiet so the adults they were eavesdropping on wouldn't hear them. Lo'ak makes a point to keep a hand over Tuk's mouth from off to the side of them. Spider swallows thickly as Kayla's retort bounces around in his head, the memory of Neytiri putting him in harm's way still always lingering whenever he looks at her, his hand unconsciously rising to trace the scar on his chest. The way Kiri was gripping his shoulder, he knew she was thinking the same thing.

"Enough," Jake alleviates as gently as possible, a permanent dent in his forehead from his eyebrows wrinkling with concern and desperation about the well-being of his family members. He glances between his wife and his sister before settling on Neytiri, "Spider isn't a danger to anyone, baby. You know this. He grew up with our children."

"You have never, not once, disagreed with me about the boy until now," Neytiri sneered back, betrayal evident in her eyes as she glanced between Jake and Kayla, "Until she decided to keep him like some pet and bring him around our children."

"Spider is not a pet," Jake retorts softly, his eyes unable to meet hers as her words only made his guilt stronger in his gut, regretting all those years he should've fought for an innocent child.

"And he's not her son," Neytiri growled lowly, "She's not his mother."

Spider watches Kayla's expression fall along with her ears and tail, the sight alone causing an unexpecting wave of rage to wash through him. He barely even thinks, a split-second decision made as he pulls out of Kiri's grip and stomps out of hiding, reentering the marui and pointing an accusing finger right up at Neytiri, venom in his voice as he was quick to defend Kayla, "Then by your logic, Kiri isn't your daughter."

The room falls into intense silence as all three adults zone in on Spider, all of them surprised by his reappearance, their ears falling with shame as all of the children come out of hiding, revealing they had heard everything just by looks alone. Neytiri felt as though she was between a rock and a hard place as she stared into each of her children's disappointed eyes before landing back on Spider, who didn't appear to be done with her,

"If Kiri was born a human, would you have loved her?" The question stuns Neytiri into silence, though she subtly glances at her eldest daughter as Spider continues, "Because that was always your excuse to avoid me. Because I was human. The thing is, I don't think you wouldn't love Kiri any less if she was human. She was born of Dr. Augustine, someone you loved very much."

The name makes Jake wince and Kiri's ears lower, her eyes wet and internally pleading with Neytiri as she stares up at her adoptive mother. Kayla felt as though she couldn't breathe, staring down at the boy she took in with disbelief, unable to blink in case he suddenly disappeared. She was surprised by his quick words in defense of her, unable to stop this small wave of pride desperately wanting to display on her face.

Spider shakes his head as he continues, defeat in his voice after finally accepting the truth for the first time ever in his life, "But if she were human? It wouldn't have mattered. Because you don't actually hate all humans. You just hate me... because of the man who helped create me."

Neytiri's expression settles back into someone filled with anger and takes one step toward him, but only gets one step before Kayla suddenly stands in front of Spider, blocking her path. Both women stare one another dead in the eyes with a deep snarl escaping both of their lips, ready for blood if need be and visibly making Jake and the children uneasy. Spider felt his body move before his mind could catch up, and without a thought, he stepped forward and stood close to Kayla's side, half covered by her body as if hiding from Neytiri.

Kayla's eyes didn't even blink as she glared at her sister-in-law, her voice deep and grinding like gravel, "If you know what's best for you, you'll leave him alone. You will never hurt Spider again."

Jake would've been impressed by the deep, protective growl his sister lets out if it wasn't for the fact that it was directed at his mate. In other words, the sound intimidated him and he genuinely worried for Neytiri if she didn't back down. He noticed his own kids flinch as well, and a faint memory of them reacting poorly to Neytiri's ferociousness against Quaritch only made him want to defuse the situation even more. He understands that Kayla was just protecting Spider, much like how he knew Neytiri would protect her own children, but he didn't want this ending with the two women he valued most in life to continue being at each other's throats.

Spider looked up at Jake, and whatever expression he saw on the older man's face made him understand what he was thinking. Wordlessly, Spider reached his hand up and gently settled it on Kayla's arm. Jake felt the tension in his own shoulders melt as Kayla's posture began to relax, her tail still flicking irritably, but she had stopped baring her fangs and now only looked at Neytiri with disappointment instead of pure hatred.

"What you went through-- what the Sky People put you through, I understand," she starts out, "I understand why you're hostile to humans. But loss and pain don't excuse the neglect and pure hatred directed toward an innocent child. Spider didn't kill your sister or your father. He didn't destroy your home. Your hostility is directed at the wrong person and he doesn't deserve it."

Neytiri scoffed with sharp fangs, her words not as heated but also still hurting Spider like the knife that was once cut along his chest, "He spared the life of the man who destroyed my home, who killed my father and was behind the death of my son--"

"You were the one who told me Eywa only protects the balance of life," Kayla raised her chin, "You said it yourself. A son for a son. Quaritch already paid for Neteyam's death, even if he didn't die in return. Quaritch will get what's coming to him, in time, but it won't be by harming Spider."

Neytiri stares at Kayla for a good long while, her hatred slowly sinking back down beneath her skin as defeat and grief replace it once more. She takes one look back down at Spider and scoffs, but more quietly than before. Eventually, she turns and looks away, ending the conversation with her back toward them as her mind runs rampant with conflicting thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~

Tsireya noticed the obvious tension among the Sully family immediately. It wasn't hard, really, but one morning, they seemed happy and content, but then the next, they were clearly avoiding one another, or at least the adults were. The chief's daughter noticed the distaste that appeared to stick permanently on Neytiri's face as she followed Ronal out into the water astride a pair of ilu. Tsireya didn't dare try and calm whatever storm was brewing in Neytiri's mind that day, knowing that her mother would quickly straighten it out.

So, Tsireya decides to calm whatever storm was in Kayla's head, since the other Sully female appeared to be just as irritated with something that likely involved Neytiri since they were both being kept far away from each other, by Jake and the children. Tsireya finds Kayla and politely asks if she could accompany her to the crafting pods today. Kayla followed the young reef girl without question and together they walked toward the huts where Kayla had first officially met Tsireya.

Tsireya didn't waste any time once they arrived. Taking Kayla's hand, she lures the older woman around the large circle of Metkayina who were crafting various different items and stops her in front of one particular Na'vi she had been dying to introduce Kayla to, "Makayla, this is Rutxa. They are our very best weaver, in both crafting and story-telling."

Ruxta looked up at the mention of their name and sharp blue eyes immediately landed on Kayla. Standing to full height, they stood over Kayla by about an inch, clearly more built around the shoulders and legs. Their crafting which Tsireya swears by is obviously shown in their clothes, wearing a beautiful, sharp lapis blue top that wraps around their neck, chest, and back, woven through a cummerbund similar to any Metkayina warrior. The cummerbund was strapped over only one shoulder and decorated with both shells and akula teeth. Rutxa's loincloth was a lighter, aqua color, made of dried seaweed, and decorated with a very long and impressive songcord. Tattoos peek out of Ruxta's clothing and wrap around their shoulders and back, a smaller one inked around their left eye, accentuating their lagoon blue skin.

"Ah, so I finally get to meet the famous dreamwalker everyone is talking about." Ruxta's smile is wide and cat-like, which automatically sets off something in the back of Kayla's mind.

"Everyone?" Kayla asked, slightly suspicious.

"Don't listen to them, Makayla," Tsireya tugged Kayla's hand so the older woman would look down at her, the reef girl's smile was playful, "Rutxa tends to fabricate a lot of stories."

Ruxta flashes a knowing look down at Tsireya, a look only an adult could possess when talking to someone younger, "Child, if I recall, you used to eat up my stories when you had yet to learn how to speak."

Kayla had never seen Tsireya this giddy before, giggling to herself with a small, amused roll of her eyes in Rutxa's direction before the reef girl tugged Kayla's hand until she was kneeling down between herself and the Metkayina weaver. The three of them crouching together in a small circle, they get to work as Rutxa shows Kayla the best weaving techniques, a feat that the avatar woman had yet to master. Tsireya smiles and watches as Kayla is suddenly dragged into a discussion about the best ways to weave a story as her hands move to bead together a lovely top without having to think about it much, Ruxta easily gets the proper responses from the dreamwalker and even a few stories of her own from her homeworld that intrigued the weaver.

Tsireya took a look outside to determine the time of day before she had to regrettably part ways to find Lo'ak and Spider for their lessons. The reef girl stands and respectfully bows her hand to both Kayla and Ruxta with a sweet smile before exchanging pleasantries and leaving the pod, waving over her shoulder at the pair before disappearing.

Kayla smiled while watching her go before lowering her gaze to continue her work, only to realize a separate gaze was now carefully watching her. She glanced up and noticed Rutxa had not returned to their work and was comfortable just staring at Kayla with a knowing expression. Once they realized Kayla had noticed them, Rutxa flicks their eyes over to the entrance of the pod that Tsireya had just exited through,

"She adores you."

Kayla looks back down at her work, smiling to herself, "I adore her. She's a very sweet and kind person."

"She speaks very highly of you, as does her sa'sem."

The mention of Ronal and Tonowari forces Kayla's hands to pause around the top she had successfully made. It was too small for her, but Rutxa insisted on starting small, so perhaps it could be gifted to a child of the village... if they would want something made by Kayla. The brief distraction doesn't last long as the thought of the clan leaders drives Kayla's ears to flick with interest, even as her eyes downcast, "Their respect is misplaced."

"Is it?" Rutxa hummed while leaning back on the balls of their feet, watching Kayla's expression carefully, "They are grateful to you. We all are. After all, you did save our tsahik's life."

Both her ears and her tail perk up in attention, her eyes slowly following as her brows furrow in confusion, "What?"

"She claimed that you saved her against the Sky People at Three Brothers Rock. You took down another demon and their ikran without even thinking before you flew away."

Kayla's tail leisurely sways as she ponders this, thinking back to that battle, to all the times she had killed a Sky Person or a Recom. She remembered Thena had feasted on one's head when they crashed in the sky, and then there was one shooting into the water... was that the moment Rutxa spoke of? Did Kayla save Ronal's life? She couldn't recall if she saw the tsahik at that moment, everything going so fast and Kayla barely had time to react or else she might've found herself getting hurt or worse. It was difficult to remember any particular point she might have seen either Ronal or Tonowari during the battle, that is before they saved her from drowning and then brought her to Neteyam...

She stops that thought process before it could even begin, sucking in a quiet, sharp breath when another takes over. Was it possible that Ronal and Tonowari were only treating her differently like Rutxa claims? Because she saved Ronal's life? Because they were grateful? Most of the things the clan leaders said or did that made Kayla question their motives only happened after the battle. It couldn't have been a coincidence... could it? Maybe they didn't care for her like Norm and even Spider claimed... so then why didn't she feel relieved? Why did the bottom of her stomach feel like lead?

She swallowed thickly, her jaw visibly clenching as she stared down at the newly woven top, "The praise should go to my brother as Toruk Makto."

Ruxta snorts through their nose, the sound bouncing through Kayla's ears, "Believe me, the whole village is aware of the demanded respect between Toruk Makto and his sister."

"I doubt it," Kayla muttered, "When I hear the village whisper about us, they call us Vrrtep Mesmuk."

"Ah, yes," they hum thoughtfully, "I can understand how that would be seen as an insult. And perhaps it was at the start, but not for some time. After we fought the Sky People with you and your brother by our side, many Metkayina now use your title as a sign of respect. We are honored to have fought beside Vrrtep Mesmuk, and we hope to spread stories of you and your brother to other clans as well. Your brother is Toruk Makto after all, and the story of Toruk Makto is meant to bring all Na'vi together in times of war or sorrow."

Kayla wasn't entirely convinced by this change in behavior, but it was a comforting thought to think, if only for a moment, that the Metkayina were starting to grow and respect her family for who they were and not just what they represented. At the very least... Rutxa didn't seem like the type of person who cared whether or not she was some sort of demon possessing a deformed body,

"I'm almost afraid to ask what kind of stories you plan on sharing."

Ruxta puffs out their chest, voice playful, "I will have you know I am an excellent storyteller. I was already weaving the tale of a dreamwalker who flew back to our village after a large, victorious battle with a demon child in her arms."

The smile that once threatened to make an appearance falls as Kayla is quick to defend the demon child in question, "That child's name is Spider."

Rutxa catches the tone of her voice and eyes her carefully, "That is an odd name for a child."

She wasn't expecting that response, and it surprised a small laugh out of her, "It's not a conventional name among my kind either, but it's the one he chose and the only name I need to know."

A small wave of understanding flows between the pair, a recognition of respect shining in Rutxa's eyes as they smirk gently, "From what I hear about the Sky People, they are not very understanding of culture outside of their own. I am pleased to see that not all Sky People are like that."

"No," she agreed with a warm smile, "Not all."

~~~~~~~~~

Despite coming to many revelations, only to be riddled with just as many questions, Kayla still found time to be with Ronal and Tonowari, just the three of them. Even though every bone in her body told her to refuse and avoid their presence, she found that her feet were still walking in the direction that Tonowari had instructed her to meet them after their evening meal.

She tried to come up with excuses in her head as to why they wanted her to join them at night. Perhaps it was under the guise that all three of them had been extremely busy ever since Kayla and Spider returned, but that still didn't make her feel better, knowing that to want to spend time with her meant that they cared for her in some way shape, or form. And even though she logically didn't want that... she couldn't ignore certain other parts of her that were seemingly devoid of logic. Parts of her wanted to believe that they wanted her around for something besides gratitude, besides wanting to keep an eye on her or wanting her to do her part and not be useless to their village.

She finds them standing along the beach where they told her to meet them, their toes dipped into the bioluminescent sand, creating a rippling galaxy beneath their very feet. Kayla can't help but think of the Milky Way, a long line of clustered stars lining the island where the sand meets the ocean. Ronal and Tonowari stood at the center of the cluster of stars, immovable planets that demand others to revolve around them, and in a way, Kayla found herself doing just that, moving toward them like an unforeseen gravity pulling her in.

Tonowari was watching her approach while Ronal was looking up at the sky, watching that familiar, beautiful gas giant with the large crater glaring down at them. Kayla was now standing close enough where she could count the tattoos on both of their faces, so she stopped, deciding that this would have to be close enough, a few feet away, just out of arm's reach. It was for the better.

Tonowari watched as Kayla peered up into the sky, watching the same gas giant as Ronal before the chief spoke up, "It is Naranawm. 'Great Eye.'"

Kayla hummed in understanding, "My people call it Polyphemus, named after a cyclops."

Both pairs of Metkayina eyes are now trained on her, Kayla's ears tucking close to her head out of embarrassment while she shyly explains herself, "It's uh... it's a mythological creature from my homeworld. The Cyclops is a man-eating giant with only one eye at the center of its face."

"That is barbaric." Ronal simply states with a scrunched nose.

A breath of a laugh escapes Kayla, "And yet, you guys have man-eating creatures here that are considered the stuff of nightmares where I'm from. Polyphemus was one of the pretty popular in one or two stories. His father was the god of the sea-- or something like that."

"God of the sea?" Tonowari tilts his head with interest.

Kayla nods, deciding that it would be inappropriate to share how she imagined Poseidon to look like Tonowari if such a benevolent god existed, "Yeah. Um... depending on what part of Earth you lived on, your faith in certain deities varies. Polyphemus stems from Greek mythology and the Greeks believed in multiple gods, Poseidon being one of them. He was the god of the sea."

"What deity did your part of the world believe in?"

"One god, like Eywa..." Kayla shivered at distant memories of religious trauma, "Only the Great Mother tends to sound kinder."

~~~~~~~~~

Another night, another moment of silent contempt between them. Kayla walked away from that night feeling both lighter and full of anxiety. She almost wanted to demand exactly what Ronal and Tonowari wanted from her, but at the same, they appeared content with the way things are right now, and maybe that was enough for her, too. Then again, she was confusing and frustrating herself with trying to figure out the clan leaders' motives. Wanting to try and distract herself from her rampaging thoughts, she decides to keep herself busy.

By the end of the week, Kayla finds herself barely resting apart from at night. She found time with Ronal by helping her gather any healing or cooking ingredients from high up in the trees where the tsahik would have normally struggled to grab herself. Other times, she was helping Ao'nung and Tonowari hunt and fish. When she wasn't doing that, she was helping both the tsahik and the olo'eyktan with weaving fishing nets, descaling their catches, or carving out a new canoe. Tasks like this usually left a healthy sheen of sweat on her skin, and whether she realized it or not, Ronal and Tonowari's eyes lingered on her even longer during these moments. Kayla would've thought her body was heating up under their gaze if it wasn't for the fact her body was already warm from a hard day's work.

While it's not much of a chore, Kayla still finds herself busy in Tsireya's presence, the reef girl always constantly dragging her around for certain things, like deep diving with Lo'ak or hunting for the most perfect shells with Tuk and Kiri. Sometimes, it was to even help her teach Spider the way of water. While he couldn't learn very much without the use of a kuru, Tsireya still thought it would be important for him to learn how to hold his breath as long as a Metkayina, in case of emergencies where he might lose his mask and didn't have a spare. Kayla strongly agreed with this sentiment and was honestly touched by Tsireya's thoughtfulness.

Spider was a little amused and even bravely teased Tsireya, asking her if she was worried about him, to which she smiled and lightheartedly smacked him upside the head, driving Kayla into small, fond fits of laughter.

When she wasn't busy with all of those things, she found herself in the presence of at least half a dozen children, children who were eager to learn common English.

She wasn't sure how she got pulled into being a teacher, but once Jake caught wind of it, he was also supportive of the idea. Both he and Kayla silently agree that, after what the children had all been through as of late, it might be important for them to know certain Earth customs, writing, and language. While the Sully children are already bilingual -multilingual now that they have the Metkayina's sign language and tulkun speak under their belt- they do not know how to write the language of the Sky People and the reef children who befriended them even less so. The Sully children, Spider, Ao'nung, Tsireya, and Rotxo had all come to a silent agreement that they wanted Kayla to teach them, and while she wasn't sure why, she didn't want to disappoint them.

Spider found himself being her assistant since he already knew how to read and write, giving helpful advice and even translating some of the things Kayla said as some of the information was hard to initially grasp in fluent Na'vi. The Sully children were able to understand, but when it came to the reef children, let's just say they were grateful Spider was better at speaking Na'vi than Kayla.

While she suspected who taught Spider how to read and write, she didn't want to ask, knowing it was likely a touchy subject to him. She discovers fairly quickly that there's still one too many things the teenager refuses to talk about, and while she was fine with that and respected his boundaries, there were times when her curiosity nearly got the best of her. Nearly.

There are times when she remembers how much this kid has gone through in his short sixteen years of life, it makes her head spin. Other times, she remembers that he's still just a kid, like one particular afternoon as Kayla and Spider were outside of their marui and making their first fishnet together.

"Spider."

He looks up at his name, surprised when he realizes who it was that called to him. Ronal was staring expectedly at him, and behind her was Tonowari, a tall and strong pillar of strength, holding a familiar weapon in his hand that looked far too small for the olo'eyktan. However, it was the perfect size for Spider.

The teenager finds himself standing to his full height and hesitantly stepping toward the clan leaders, his eyes widening at the sight of a beautifully made bow, already strung and adorning lovely feathers and leather grip, "Is that...?"

Tonowari smiles solemnly, bending down to Spider's height and passing the bow along to him, "For you. We hope it is to your liking."

Kayla felt the soft hint of a smile beginning to form on her lips as she watched Spider take the long bow from Tonowari as if it were a precious child or an injured animal. Spider's hands immediately moved to test the strength of the weapon, fingers gliding across the fine craftsmanship before his eyes peered up at the Metkayina clan leaders, unable to stop the doubt and suspicion in his gaze,

"You made this for me?"

Ronal's expression remains neutral, calculating, ever the one to point out the obvious, "You needed one."

And Tonowari is always the one to soften her bold statements, "We wanted to make it right and to your size."

"So we had Neytiri help us," Ronal finished.

Both Kayla and Spider visibly stiffen at this bit of information, both adult and teenager frowning with even more suspicion than before, much to the clan leaders' internal distress since that was not their intent. Ronal, despite her audaciousness, wasn't trying to upset either of them and hoped that she didn't say anything wrong. The tsahik was constantly at war in her mind, reminding herself to stay open-minded about other sawtute if she wanted Kayla and Spider to be a part of her family's lives, but it was difficult to keep her mind open when the dead image of Ro'a and her baby was stitched permanently in her memory.

Despite her conflicted emotions, she didn't want Spider or even Kayla to believe she was disgusted by them. Quite the opposite. In fact, whenever she looked at them, she would sometimes forget they were both human. It was easier to forget when Kayla possessed the body of a Na'vi, but with Spider, he held himself like one, despite being cursed in the body he was born in. Ronal couldn't fault a child for that, least of all Spider. Nevertheless, Ronal was tsahik, and her expertise lies with Eywa. Even if Ronal had some doubt about Kayla and the child she was responsible for, which she no longer possessed, Eywa clearly saw something in them that she didn't yet.

Spider's next words were more of a statement than a question, "She helped you."

"Yes," Ronal nodded, trying to calm whatever doubt was clearly evident in the child's eyes, "She is an expert at archery. A skilled warrior. We thought she could help us make this for you."

"Yeah..." He stares down at his new bow, though his mind is far away, back over the ocean and somewhere in the forest. He was thinking about all the times he was a kid, practicing his archery skills, away from prying eyes, wanting to be the best... wanting to be like Neytiri. Back then, he really thought she would accept him if he strived to be like her. After some time, as he grew up, he started to realize that she would never accept him, but that didn't stop him from being very skilled with a bow. He was easily the most skilled with it out of every human currently living on Pandora, and while he no longer strived to impress Neytiri, he had taken the bow as his own, not wanting his true talent to go to waste.

He thought he had lost that talent when he lost his bow, and he even voiced how much he missed it when Kayla had brought him to speak to the clan leaders all those weeks ago. As he inspected the one now secured in his hands, he couldn't help but feel touched that Ronal and Tonowari remembered something he said once in passing.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, Spider looked up at Ronal and Tonowari, gratitude evident in his smile, "Irayo. This... this is amazing. I appreciate it."

Regardless of how she felt toward Neytiri, Kayla also felt herself smiling in gratitude, making sure to look directly at both Ronal and Tonowari so they knew it, too.

~~~~~~~~~

One must enjoy the little things in life.

Kayla remembers that phrase from somewhere back on Earth, and it sticks to the front of her mind as she's teaching her nieces, nephews, and their friends how to spell their names in the English alphabet. A task she once found tedious when she was a child was now a bright and shining moment she could witness in other children.

Although if she were to voice how much she regretted not enjoying how to spell her own name as a kid, Jake would've reminded her that her teacher was awful and the bastard forced her to use her right hand to spell her name even when she was more comfortable using her left. Her learning experiences were vastly different from what Lo'ak, Kiri, Tuk, and their friends were used to, and Kayla wanted to keep it that way.

She tries to enjoy the little things in life, like the way Ronal looks while watching her teach. The tsahik was standing just outside the entryway of Kayla's pod, silent to not interrupt, only to observe. Kayla didn't want to believe Ronal was chaperoning her but was just curious as to what all the fuss was about.

Kayla wasn't far off. Ronal has been subjected to Tsireya's ramblings every evening, gushing over how fun it is to learn a new language. Ao'nung isn't as expressive, and yet, he still keeps disappearing to Kayla's kelku with the rest of the children when it's time to learn. Even Tonowari has gone to see what's so interesting about Kayla's lessons, and when he came back the night before, he expressed how intriguing it was and urged Ronal to see for herself.

She had failed to see what her mate found intriguing about these lessons. All Kayla did was have the children repeat everything she said and then ask them to write her lessons down to prove that they had been paying attention. However, the mood shifts when Kayla goes to each child and helps them spell out each of their own, personal names, using a tawtute device she calls a datapad. Everyone appeared excited to use what they learned to see their own name on a screen, and while Ronal didn't understand why, she didn't verbally complain. Regardless of how she felt, it clearly made Makayla happy, her lips almost permanently smiling as she watched every child's reaction when they spelled their name right.

Once Kayla dismissed the kids for the day to do their afternoon chores, it left her and Ronal alone in her marui, and before Kayla could ask what the other woman was thinking, she already had a question in mind, "Why teach them?"

Kayla tilts her head, curious, "What do you mean?"

"Why do they need to write stories and history when we already express our stories and history through our songcords?"

"It's... it's a little different," she found herself sputtering for the best way to explain, ears darkening a shade as she tried to find her words, "I mean-- well, I guess for Sky People, writing our names is like having a songcord. Every person's handwriting is unique. It's personal. It's their identity."

While Ronal stands there, unconvinced, Kayla is still smiling and hellbent on showing the other woman what she means, "Here, just-- Let me show you."

She presents the datapad, and Ronal frowns at the sight of the alien device. Kayla writes something on the screen and beams when showing it to her, "This is what my name looks like written in English."

Not that Ronal could read exactly what was written on the screen, but the thought of Makayla's name scrawled in soft swirls and sharp edges intrigued her. Ronal stared at the screen, tilting her head with interest. The image was long, the shapes toward the end growing smaller as if Kayla realized she was running out of space.

Kayla smiled when she recognized the interest floating in Ronal's eyes, "Can I write your name?"

The tsahik nods once and Kayla turns the datapad back on herself as her finger presses down and erases her name, scrawling down another image -another name- and flipping it back over to show to Ronal. Again, the Na'vi woman couldn't read it, but since she knew it was meant to be her name, she understood why it felt so meaningful to Kayla that she wanted to teach the children how to do the same. Ronal could finally see the appeal, especially since it was Kayla's hand that wrote out Ronal's name. It gave the name a whole new meaning to the tsahik to have it be written by the other woman's finger.

"Just yesterday, Lo'ak asked me to show him how to spell and write Neteyam's name so he could carve it into a bracelet he intends to make," the mood shifts to something dire and sad, Kayla's smile less bright than before as she quietly explained, "That's why I wanted the other kids to learn. It's just nice to have your own identity written out like this. Where I'm from, people often get tattoos of their loved ones' names when they die."

That image wasn't as impossible to imagine as others. Perhaps it was because she had tattoos of her own, but Ronal could understand why the Sky People would ink their skin with the names of their lost loved ones. It was different compared to why the Metkayina bore tattoos, but it was just as important nevertheless.

She studied Kayla's face carefully, wondering what she would look like if she bore Metkayina tattoos-- or wore her hair the way Metkayina women would. The thought brings the tsahik to study Kayla's hair, her mouth, once again, saying the first thing that comes to mind without really even thinking about it,

"Your braids need to be redone."

"Yeah?" Kayla's sad spell is broken as she reaches up to feel the top of her head, feeling the roots that have grown out, unbraided compared to the rest of her locks. A sheepish smile falls across her lips, "I guess it's been a while."

A split-second decision was made as Ronal moved away to kneel down near the entrance of the marui, waving her hand at the space in front of her, "Come. Sit."

Kayla exhales a quiet huff, lips quirked out of amusement as she sets her datapad down and moves to join Ronal, sitting cross-legged in front of the Na'vi woman and dutifully staying still as she feels larger fingers begin unraveling all of her old, unkempt braids. Ronal's hands were rough and straightforward, making Kayla bite her tongue to refrain from yelping out of pain. Ronal only tsked at her when she noticed Kayla's hands gripping onto her own knees to restrain herself, berating the avatar woman for not keeping up with treating her hair properly. Had she done so, this wouldn't be an issue. Kayla had to scoff at the irony of that, and had she been able to see behind her head, she would've caught Ronal smiling.

Ronal undoes the braids and removes all the beads hidden within. Without a proper comb or a way to soften Kayla's hair, Ronal used her tsahik knife, whittled to a pointed tip and protected by the shell adornment she often kept around her neck. She uses the pointed tip as a comb pick, unknotting the roughest spots in Kayla's long hair, being careful around her ears and kuru.

The sight of the tswin braid entices Ronal, hands pausing around the base of Kayla's skull, fingers still threaded in the other woman's hair. Ronal eyes the large, singular braid for a long moment before continuing her work, but any time her fingers gently graze the sensitive appendage, she revels the sight of Kayla's skin rising in small, soft bumps.

Kayla did her best to stay still, keeping her back ramrod straight in an attempt to restrain the shiver she felt going up her spine each time Ronal's fingers passed over her kuru. Kayla wasn't an idiot. She knows how sensitive that spot is for all Na'vi and how important it is for their way of life. Still, she hadn't initially thought about it when Ronal instructed her to sit down as she did her hair. Had she thought it through, Kayla might not have agreed, knowing how... serene and intimate it would feel to have the other woman redo her hair, to trust her to be careful around a very sensitive spot.

It appears Eywa intends to torture Kayla to no end today as a shadow looms over the entry of her kelku. Tonowari peers inside, stopping by in search of his mate once he had noticed all the children have left their lessons, and evidently found something better. He found Kayla as she sat perfectly still, cross-legged, with his mate kneeling behind her, Ronal hovering over the back of her head as the tsahik focused on braiding groups of her hair, one small lock at a time.

As the olo'eyktan stepped into the pod, Kayla realized just how much space he took up in her small home. To Spider, this place was like a studio apartment. For Tonowari, it was more like a walk-in closet.

"Perhaps I can be of help?" Tonowari offered brazenly.

Ronal huffs out through her nose, amused, "It would certainly get the job done faster."

Kayla hummed a tiny laugh, caught in the middle of the pair's playful banter, quite literally as Tonowari took a knee in front of her, leaning down awfully close to her as his hands reached for one side of Kayla's head. She sucks in a sharp, silent breath as she stays still for the clan leaders, Tonowari's hands easily the same size as her whole skull. As if knowing the intimidating size difference, Tonowari was careful with his large hands as he gently pulled and weaved the locks of her hair into small and tight braids. Using the beads Ronal initially took out of Kayla's hair, they return the small adornments to their rightful place, settling more comfortably in the woven locks that put Kayla's human hair to shame.

When Kayla was alone with Ronal, it was easy to hide how flustered she felt since she was facing away from the other woman, able to hide her face. Now, she was forced to notice the heat of both Ronal's and Tonowari's bodies, radiating on her back and her front, essentially trapping her as they silently worked on her hair as a team. She envied their teamwork but was enraptured by it at the same time, something warm in her belly making itself known as the thought of them working together to help her came to mind.

"Thank you."

Her voice felt so small in such a quiet, peaceful moment, unsure of where that gentle tone came from. She cleared her throat out of embarrassment while Tonowari pinned her down with a sweet, gentle smile,

"It is our pleasure."

She doesn't miss the heaviness of those words, whilst simultaneously feeling both of their breaths and bodies so close to hers as they braid her hair. Kayla could feel Ronal's knees pressed against her lower back while one of Tonowari's knees was pressed up against the outside of her thigh. Kayla has to purposely keep her tail wrapped around her own arm in fear that the appendage will betray her and reach out to them. To try and break the silence that lingered far past comfort, she opens her mouth and says the first thing that comes to mind,

"The last time my hair was braided was by Kiri and Tuk. They were trying to teach me how to properly do it myself while also sharing... a very detailed story of how their parents first mated." She snorts sharply.

Ronal hummed quietly to acknowledge her small story, the tsahik's breath gently ghosting small wisps of Kayla's hair as she spoke, "You sound as though the topic made you uncomfortable."

Kayla's nose scrunches up, "I don't know anyone who would want to hear about their brother's nocturnal activities."

"But the topic itself?"

"Uh..."

'Ah, Hell,' was the first thought that came to mind when she realized the type of topic she roped herself into, a topic she would rather share with almost anyone except the two large Na'vi practically trapping her between their bodies, "Sky People don't really talk so casually about that sort of thing."

Tonowari's eyes briefly glance down at her before returning to her hair, "Really?"

"I mean, the ones I hang out with are not as private. Soldiers are often crude that way, but back home it's considered too... gaudy? It's mostly talked about behind closed doors or with people you can trust, but not flat-out strangers. Unless that excites them, I guess. I don't know, everyone's different. But society as a whole back on Earth doesn't like talking about it in public."

Ronal's eyes meet her husband's for a long while, both of their hands simultaneously pausing in Kayla's hair, making her ears straighten in alertness. She was starting to wonder if she had said something wrong before Ronal's hands began to move once more, in sync with her own response, "The Na'vi believe that it is our sworn duty to share and teach just like everything else. We do not shy away from such discussions because we want our children to learn how to be careful and well-informed early on. To give them such responsibility at a young age tends to make them blossom into more mature, respectful adults."

"Huh," Kayla exclaims, mostly to herself, "That explains why Tuk didn't seem shy at all when she talked about it. Any child her age back on Earth would've been mortified."

Tonowari chuckled, finishing one braid before moving on to another clump of her hair, "The more you speak, the more you make sense to us, Makayla te Suli."

"... That sounds like it had two different meanings."

The olo'eyktan makes a deep noise in the back of his throat, eyes meeting Ronal's over the top of Kayla's head, "When you speak about how children are brought up among the Sky People, the more I understand why you do not react the way normal Na'vi do when presented with songcord beads, clothes, and other gifts."

She tries to smile hopefully, but her eyebrows scrunch together with uncertainty, "Is that... a bad thing?"

"No," he shakes his head with a fond, reassuring smile, "It just means we need to be more blunt."

Her stomach flips as though she is freediving from her ikran, her tail briefly twitching in her lap to show off her anxiety before she manages to pull it back under control. She swallowed thickly when her throat suddenly felt dry, her eyes darting away from Tonowari's before they could express something they shouldn't.

Ronal's voice was closer than before, the hairs on the back of Kayla's neck standing up when she felt the other woman breathe directly into her ear, "Do you wish to muntxa si, Makayla?"

She wanted to shy away from Ronal, to raise her shoulder up and pull her head down when the tsahik's close proximity proved to be too much for her nerves to handle. Both clan leaders have completely stopped braiding and have pulled their hands out of her hair, but didn't return their touch to themselves. Instead, their fingers lingered on Kayla, either brushing lightly over her shoulders and knees, places that they deemed respectful enough not to scare her away. When Kayla tries to take a deep breath in, she is suddenly aware of their scents, mixed together as one, invading her nose. She decided that she needed to breathe less, or else she'd go dizzy.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember what that means." Yes, she does, but she thought it almost sounded like a dream. She needed to outright hear it.

Ronal's amusement was evident in her voice even though Kayla couldn't see her, "Do you wish to mate?"

Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth even as she managed to pull through a proper response without giving too much of her inner thoughts away, "I don't think that's on the table for me anytime soon. Or ever."

"Why?"

"Why would it?"

"It could be. If you feel the same for us as we do for you."

"... What?" Kayla now looks directly over her shoulder, regretting it when her nose gently brushed against Ronal's, not realizing just how close the other woman sat behind her. Ronal's hairless brow rises expectedly, eyes shining with mirth and a certain youth Kayla has never seen in her before. For a moment, it reminded her of a giddy Tsireya.

Tonowari was not so easily forgotten either, one of his hands absently brushing some of the new braids over Kayla's shoulder, lingering at the juncture of her neck, causing more goosebumps to rise in his wake as she did her best not to shiver.

It felt as though her mind was running through a hundred thoughts per minute, that fatal organ in her chest betraying any sort of logical thinking trying to make its way into her brain. While Kayla may have looked composed -and a little surprised- on the outside, the inside was riddled with inner turmoil, parts of her body trying to fight for dominance in a nauseating dance. Parts of her blew up like fireworks, overjoyed and celebratory, while the rest of her was filled with anxiety, doubt, and the most unimaginable fear. She wanted to dispute Ronal's words; wanting to refuse and say she did not feel the same, no matter how painful it would be to lie. In her head, Kayla knew it would be for the best. She couldn't be involved with them-- involved in their beautiful lives and slice of paradise, no matter how badly she wanted to.

She wished she could bolt, but realized that these clan leaders were smart, purposely keeping her hostage under their undivided attention to her hair braids and beads, trapping her here underneath their eyes and their words.

"You must have noticed our attempt to court you," Tonowari stated with a knowing expression.

She thinly smiled before it quickly faded, as well as her eagerness to refuse them, "I have, but... I didn't want to assume. You told me to not come off as useless when we first met, so I just... I've just been trying my best to help you both out any way I can so that I'm doing my part for the village. I guess I assumed that you've had me helping you so you could keep an eye on me. "

Tonowari winced, regretting the words he spoke when they first met, knowing that it likely played into why Kayla wasn't as open to his and Ronal's courting, "You are vital to our village now, Makayla. You help this clan flourish and thrive through your kindness and determination. These are traits we admire about you, and it's why we always seek out your company. Not because we think you are useless and need a helping hand."

"But... I am not Metkayina. I am not even Omatikaya. You can deny it all you want, but I'm still one of the Sky People, a dreamwalker," she scoffs with a small look of disdain as she stares off to the side, "No one in their right mind would want to start a family with a demon."

Tonowari tilts his head, "Are you saying Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite is not of sound mind?"

"That's different," Kayla waves him off, "Jake is different. Jake fully completed his Iknimaya. He passed through the Eye of Eywa and returned, born again in his Na'vi body. He... He can't even be considered a dreamwalker anymore. He buried his demon body a long time ago. I'm not like Jake. I'm still tied to my demon form and my old way of life, a life I don't plan on trying to forget as easily as my brother. My people hate your people."

She then looks back over her shoulder at Ronal, "Up until recently, you hated my people."

"I still do," Ronal corrects, immediately softening her words when she notices shame flash over Kayla's eyes, "But I don't look at you and see the Sky People. I look at you and see Makayla te Suli tsmuke te Toruk Makto. You fought beside us to protect our children. You saved my life. You learned our ways. Your nephew lies with our ancestors. In the Eye of Eywa, you are now Her daughter, even if you still walk Her breast in a demon body."

Kayla's denial was stubborn and eager as she vehemently shook her head with defiance, "My demon body is why you shouldn't choose me as your mate, among so many other things. Unless you're ready to understand my way of life, I don't want to burden you with it. Try to remember that I can't always be here. I'll have to leave sometimes, and it could be weeks on end. It would be difficult being with me."

Her head movement stops the moment a hand the size of her skull gently rises and slips into place, resting on the side of her head. Kayla's eyes widened as Tonowari softly moved her head so that her gaze landed on his, silencing all of her rambling thoughts as she got lost in the blue oceans of his eyes. While he wasn't smiling, he was being genuine, showing his sincerity by speaking as clearly as he possibly could, his booming voice rattling in her head, "The best things in life are usually difficult, but that's why they are so rewarding."

Both of Ronal's hands move to rest on both of Kayla's shoulders now that the avatar's breath is taken away, unable to respond, "If you do not wish for us to pursue you, just say the word, and we'll stop."

That was surprising to Kayla and it got her voice to return, ears moving in all directions out of shock, "Really?"

"Yes," Tonowari assured with a stiff nod, "We would never force you to mate with us, knowing that once you do, it would be for life. But do not try to stop us if you're worried that we would only See a part of you, not all of you. We want to know you better, to understand the world you come from and how you came to be the woman you are today. We have discussed this in detail, and we agree that you are worth many obstacles that will no doubt be in our way."

At the mention of obstacles, a thought crossed her mind, "And that includes Spider, right?"

"Of course it does." He says this confidently, without hesitation.

"Does it?" Her own doubt is replaced with a small barrier of protection, eager to shield the child in her care as she finds herself sternly looking between the two clan leaders, "Because I don't want you to pretend and treat him normally if all you're going to see is a demon child. If you only pretend to See him just to be with me, then I can't accept this. He's my responsibility, and I intend on always putting the kid first from now on."

"We know..." Kayla's spine stiffened, not because of Ronal's words, but because of the tsahik's hand slowly running a soft, barely-there line down her back with the very tips of her fingers, "And we admire you for that. We want Spider in our lives as well."

Tonowari nods in agreement, "The boy is loyal to those who choose to love him and not to those who are simply related to him. He earns his respect and his place here in our village. He is also a child who deserves a family to properly care for him. The Na'vi don't believe in letting children fend for themselves. Even when they have no one left to care for them, the village as a whole makes sure that the child grows up loved. Spider should have been properly adopted by members of the Omatikaya clan ages ago."

"No kidding," Kayla muttered under her breath, a pang of anger beating in her chest, directed at everyone who wronged such a spirited, kind child.

But just like that, those thoughts went away, expunged from her mind at the faint touch of Ronal's hand moving down Kayla's arm. Kayla's fingers twitched with anticipation, but she didn't dare move even as Ronal's fingers slowly entwined with hers. Ronal's fingers move with precision and determination, hooking her smallest finger with Kayla's pinky, the strange extra finger that once disgusted her. Kayla tried to stay perfectly still while the tsahik's voice was still rough in her ear, "If you feel the same for us as we do for you, then say you will perform tsaheylu with us instead of trying to spare us from something you think is not worth fighting for. If you want to say no, then do so for the right reasons."

Kayla sucks in a sharp breath of air before shakily exhaling it out, trying to calm her racing heart. While their reassurances were nice to hear, there was still a sliver of doubt wedged in the back of her mind, smaller than before but still loud, not wanting to be ignored. It reminded her of all her insecurities and hardships that she still needed to work through, and despite Ronal and Tonowari's words, her doubt tried to beat her down and say that they would never be with her every step of the way. Deep down, she will never be one of them, so even if they stayed by her side... it won't be for long because, in the end, everyone always leaves her.

At the same time, her heart was screaming at her to say yes; to agree to everything they were saying because it's obviously all that she wants and more. A family. She never thought she'd gain such a thing by agreeing to learn the ways of the Na'vi. Then again... she didn't think she'd gain anything when she started learning the ways of the Na'vi, and yet here she was, owing it all to her new way of life for what the Metkayina clan leaders were offering her.

In the end, the Na'vi are precisely why she gave her answer as she took a deep breath, "I feel the same. I do. I feel the same for both of you... but I'm not ready. I want to do this right. I want to take this slow. I know I'm asking a lot... with the war coming and your baby on the way. But I want to officially become true Na'vi before anything else. I still haven't completed my Iknimaya. Every person is born twice, right? I have yet to be born a second time; to earn my place among the People forever. Tradition states that only then will I be able to choose a mate, right? You want to learn my ways, but I also want to learn yours. I want to do this right. Let me do this right."

They sat and listened to her, and in the end, wide smiles graced both of their faces. Neither of them appeared disappointed by Kayla's answer. In fact, they almost looked proud of her decision, the expressions on both of their faces would've easily made her knees weak had she been standing.

Ronal's hand squeezes hers, "We accept your terms, Makayla."

"Nothing would make us happier," Tonowari's hand moves, Kayla's ear flicking in the direction of the hand in question but otherwise doesn't acknowledge it. His hand slides off the side of her face, and while her skin now feels cool from where he once was, his fingers trail down the side of her neck and down her shoulder before gently grasping her arm, where his palm immediately warms up her skin once more. Kayla watched his face carefully, noting the way his eyes seemed to scan over her figure, causing a pleasant shiver to run up her spine, her heart giving no indication of slowing down. Finally, Tonowari's deep ocean eyes find her honey-colored ones, and she felt as though she was being sucked into the void as those same eyes started to inch closer and closer.

"May I?"

The breath he lets out with his question brushes over Kayla's chin, her mouth parting slightly as she tries to gain more air to slow her heart rate down. She didn't mean for her eyelashes to flutter, but she definitely caught Tonowari shamelessly watching the act and decided she wasn't ashamed either. She nods once, unable to form a word as he leans closer until she knows that the air she's breathing is his as well. Instinctively, she closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Her left ear twitched when Tonowari leaned into the side of her face with his, gently rubbing them together as he loudly inhaled a slow, long strain of air through his nose. Kayla opened her eyes, frowning out of curiosity. At first, she thought he was leaning in to kiss her, but it wasn't until Ronal had moved her newly braided hair off her shoulder and started to do the same to the right side of her face that something in her brain finally clicked.

Her nose was bombarded with a mixture of smells now beginning to seep into her skin-- their scents, blended together and with hers, as the way it should be. Kayla felt dizzy, as though their scenting had some sort of drugging effect, but in a desirable way that made her feel high, proud to be branded by these two beautiful Na'vi.

She almost lost her resolve then and there, wanting to forget what she said about waiting, but she managed to push through. Always resilient, but no longer when it came to her future mated pair.

A/N:

Jake: Don't judge my parenting until you become a parent yourself.

Kayla, about to adopt Spider, Ao'nung, Tsireya, and their unborn sibling: 'Aight. Bet.

#tsamsiyu ta'em fic #atwow fics #atwow fic #atwow fanfic #atwow fanfiction #tonowari x oc x ronal #tonowari #tonowari x ronal x oc #tonowari x ronal #ronal x tonowari #ronal #ronal x tonowari x oc #ronal x oc x tonowari #tonowari x oc #ronal x oc #adopted spider #adopted spider socorro #spider socorro

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