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utterlyazriel · 4 months

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an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

#it got very long... i'm sorry!#we can't talk about bad miscommunication and then me not set up valid reasons for miscommunication tho #i can't DO IT #azriel a big softie in this one...#i mean he always is :)#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel hurt/comfort #miscommunication #idiots in luv <3 #i need a writing tag.....

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oh-theseus · 8 days

Text

bloody stones

pairing: astarion x gn!reader, astarion x gn!tav summary: you nearly die and astarion still can't bring himself to be honest with you. word count: 4,018 a/n: first time trying to write for astarion (or just bg3 in general) & i'm not sure it came out how i wanted it to, BUT i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless <333 i kind of wrote this to be like a background for a future thing i think... but no promises bc i am anything if not inconsistent 😭

warnings: descriptions of blood & injury, canon typical violence, mentions of past abuse. lmk if i should add more!

You were fairly certain you had never been as close to death as you currently were. Even while trapped inside of the nautiloid ship, you had felt like you would make it out. Granted, that might have been because you thought Lae’zel was going to kill you if you died, but still. Even then, on a ship that was actively crashing from hundreds of miles in the sky, you’d thought you’d make it out.

That hope is nowhere to be found as Z’rell drives her ax into your lower leg. You have been injured in battle dozens of times but this is the first time your injury has ever made you fall to your knees within three seconds of receiving it. There is next to no pain at first, but then she pulls her ax from your leg, and it feels like… well, like your leg was just split open.

Blood gushes down your leg, and you can’t stand up again, but by the grace of one of the gods, you manage to block her next attack. Her ax meets the blade of your sword with a loud clang that you can hear over the sounds of other blades clashing and spells being conjured. Anger blazes in Z’rell’s eyes and she surges her weapon further with as much strength as she can muster. You met her with the same effort, but you’re losing so much blood so fast. You’re not nearly as strong as she is.

A noise that is somewhere between a cry and a grunt falls from your lips. But you are certain this is it. You’ll die here. In Moonrise Towers with a parasite wiggling within your skull. You’ll die in a blighted land and your friends will go on without you. If they survive, that is. You can feel your arms wobbling, about to give out. Her ax will come down on your neck and you’ll sit here choking on your own blood until you die. Maybe she’ll dig the Illithid parasite out of your skull and consume it just as your Dream Guardian had urged you to do so many times before. You doubt Z’rell would have qualms about it though - if fact, she might just keep you alive while she digs around in your skull. She seems like the type.

But then there’s an arrow embedded in Z’rell’s neck. And now she’s the one choking on her blood, her weapon faltering. You don’t have time to be grateful, not when she’s determined to make a killing blow and take you out with her. It takes all of your effort to roll out of the way, her ax bouncing off of the bloody stone floor where your head had just been seconds previous. Your head is spinning from the movement, and your leg feels like dead weight, but you manage to draw your dagger and shove it deep into the disciples stomach.

Z’rell falls to her knees. Then forward, onto her face. Dead.

Hands are underneath your arms, dragging you away from the rest of the battle before you even have time to process that you aren’t dead. You have half a mind to kick and struggle, but when you try to push the hands off of your body you stop your fighting. You know these hands.

“Astarion,” you choke out, tilting your head upwards to see him above you, carefully dragging you behind a turned over table. You can feel a trail of blood being left by your leg; for a moment you wonder if Astarion had smelled your blood before he saw it.

“Don’t talk,” Astarion scolds, propping your back against the table. Blood is splattered on his face and armor, his bow slung across his body. Your eyes shift to his quiver where only three arrows remain. If you weren’t so busy trying not to pass out from blood loss, you might have told him you were right when you’d told him this morning he needed more arrows. But you can hardly convince yourself to breathe, let alone make a joke.

Astarion’s face is twisted into an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear before. There is determination there as he examines your wound, cursing beneath his breath. There’s concern too. But something else dances in his crimson eyes that makes you tilt your head to the side curiously.

Fear.

Astarion is scared.

“How bad?” you force out, leaning your head back against the overturned table. Your eyes lock on the ceiling of Moonrise. This had been a temple once. Briefly, as you fight to keep your eyes open, you decide that it might’ve even been beautiful.

“Not terrible,” Astarion lies. You know it’s a lie, and he knows you know that, too. You might’ve looked at him, tried to assure him you would be okay if you believed it. But you’re not quite sure that you do, so you keep your eyes on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of battle slowing down behind you.

Astarion stops talking after that. Your silence and sudden interest in the ceiling is enough to make Astarion certain his heart will start beating again just so it can race in fear. But his hands are quick in grabbing a healing potion from your belt and helping you get it down. They’re faster still as he shuffles through his discarded back for cloth to press to your wound.

Blood quickly soaks the white cloth and Astarion’s hands, but the vampire doesn’t mind. He can’t be bothered to think about how potent your blood smells, how easy it would be to just take some for himself. He is certain that if you’d been bleeding out in front of him like this when you first met that he would’ve taken every last drop of blood that he could get. But right now… Astarion wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to puke at the sight of blood more.

Astarion isn’t sure he’s ever felt a panic quite like this before. Perhaps when he’d woken up in a coffin six feet underground. Maybe when he’d realized he was a slave to an evil vampire lord. But other than that? No, Astarion had never felt fear like this. Fear that clutches him by the throat, makes his hands start to tremble. Fear that won’t let him focus on the battle coming to end. Not even to see if his companions - his friends - had survived. All he knows is you, your blood coating his hands, and terror coursing through his entire being.

He’s so consumed by his fear that he doesn’t notice you’ve finally passed out. Nor does he hear Shadowheart approach until she’s shoving Astarion away from you, her hands immediately coming to rest above the gash in your leg. She starts to mutter the words of a healing spell and even Astarion can tell that she’s completely spent, that she’s using her last bit of magic and strength to coax your skin back together.

“Wake them up,” Shadowheart hisses, her eyes still locked on your leg. “Wake them up now, Astarion!”

The near crack in Shadowheart’s voice stirs Astarion from his fear driven stupor. His hands are on your face immediately, your name falling from his lips once, twice. His fingers find the pulsepoint at your neck, and Astarion doesn’t dare to move until he feels it. It’s faint, but it is there.

But your eyes are still closed, and no matter how hard Astarion tries, you will not wake up. You’re still breathing, but it’s hard and labored, and Astarion is certain that if he looks away from you for even a moment you will be gone for good. He didn’t know much, but Astarion did know that a world without you was not one he was willing to return to.

By the grace of… something, Shadowheart manages to mend the skin of your leg. She’s exhausted and can hardly stand by the time she’s finished, but she does it. You’re still out cold, and Astarion is not sure whether to start crying or to find something else to kill to distract himself.

“It’s the blood loss,” Wyll assures him quickly, hauling Shadowheart up from the ground with her arm over his shoulders. “They’ll live. But we need to move them. Now.”

The Blade of Frontiers does not waste another moment, leading Shadowheart across the main floor of Moonrise Towers, down into the basement. Astarion doesn’t hesitate to do the same with you, his blood coated hands holding you so, so carefully.

When you wake up, you’re pretty sure you’re dead. You didn’t know what you expected the afterlife to hold, but it certainly was not a stone floor and the smell of mildew. For a second you think that maybe you could be somewhere else (somewhere where you are not dead) but you can’t think very clearly right now. All you can feel is a distant throbbing in your head and a bone deep cold. Your leg… You could feel your leg. That was good, considering the last thing you could recall before passing out was taking Z’rell’s ax to your shin.

And Astarion. You remembered his familiar grip, pulling you to safety. You remembered his crimson eyes, the fear you’d seen in them. But that was it. You didn’t remember passing out or how light you had felt while blood seeped from your leg. For a moment, it troubles you that you can’t remember. But if this was truly your eternal resting place… maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t remember. You’re not sure that it's really something you’d enjoy dwelling on for the rest of eternity.

You’re not sure how long you lay there. You don’t move your body, and your eyes keep falling closed every once in a while. You feel lightheaded, yet impossibly heavy at the same time. All you can bring yourself to do is stare at the ceiling. Maybe there is a god here, because you’re gifted the memory of doing the very same thing before passing out the first time. And this ceiling looks remarkably similar to the one in Moonrise Towers.

That voice, too. The one you can hear in the distance - almost as if they are shouting for you from the other room. The voice is so similar to…

“Astarion?” You breathe out, your eyes finally shifting away from the ceiling. They fall instead to the person beside you. At first, they’re just a jumble of white curls and red eyes. But then your vision clears and so does your hearing. Astarion’s repeating your name, asking if you can hear him. All you can do is nod. At least you know you’re alive, though. Or at least, you’re pretty sure. Your brain is still foggy. The lingering effects of blood loss? Or perhaps one too many healing potions?

You somehow manage to force yourself into a sitting position. Astarion’s right hand splays against your lower back carefully, his left one hovering in front of your body to catch you if you fold in on yourself. When you straighten your back, the room spins so fast you’re certain that Gale’s cast a spell to make it do that. Your hands grip Astarion’s left arm to keep from falling over.

“Easy, easy,” Astarion says softly. You’re not certain of many things right now, but you are certain that you have never heard Astarion use that tone before. One so gentle, so soft. Even when he’d told you of Cazador and the scar that tainted his back.

“I’m okay,” you reply after a moment. Your hands still grip his arm but neither of you seem to mind it. “I’m okay, promise.” The sentiment is just as much for yourself as it is for Astarion.

Astarion only hums in reply. His eyes are flickering over your face. Like he’s taking you in for the first time - or perhaps even the last. His hand on your back is a welcome weight and the feeling of his forearm under your fingertips keeps you grounded. This is real. You are here.

You are alive.

“Holy shit,” you curse. Your eyes widen and your breathing slowly begins to pick up. You’d been so close to dying, to bleeding out in a cursed land so far from home. You’d never thought you’d be one to care so much about something like this, but the fear that you could’ve died is gripping you by the throat, pinning you beneath its clutches.

Astarion notices this. Of course he notices. He notices everything about you. The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How you shift your weight from foot to foot when unsure about something. How your hands flex when you’re growing frustrated. So of course he notices your breathing picking up, your grip on his arms becoming just slightly tighter.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You need to breathe, love.” He says your name softly then, still in that foreign tone of his. The hand at your back comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “Breathe,” his voice is firmer now, one you’re used to from him. Maybe it’s that tone of his that compels you to listen. Maybe it’s his hand cradling your face like you might slip away as soon as he lets you go. Or maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are still swimming with that fear you’d seen before you lost consciousness.

It takes a few moments, but you manage to even out your breathing. Those invisible claws at your neck retract, fading into the shadows of the room. The basement of Moonrise Towers, you realize. That was why the ceiling looked similar to the one upstairs.

Everything returns to you then. The battle, Ketheric, the ax, the amount of blood you’d lost. Astarion’s arrow in Z’rell’s neck.

“You killed her,” you say, as if Astarion had not killed dozens of other enemies during your travels. “Nice aim.”

Astarion visibly deflates as soon as the joke leaves your lips. Your lips quirk into the smallest of smiles despite yourself. But then Astarion retracts his hand from your face, and that small smile falls away slowly. Astarion pretends not to notice it. You pretend like you don’t either; your attention shifts to your right leg, studying the skin exposed by the large tear in your pants. You make a mental note to find new pants.

Your hand trembles slightly as you remove it from Astarion’s arm and bring it down on your leg. Gingerly, you pull the ruined fabric back more and take in where the wound should have been. Instead, your skin looks near perfect. There is a thin scar from where Shadowheart’s healing had knitted the skin together but that is the only indication that your flesh had been torn apart that very same day.

“For a woman who worshiped the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart was rather good at keeping me - us from losing you.”

Your eyes shift to Astarion’s at his slip. You try to not let your face fall when he pulls his arm from beneath your other hand. He leans back in the chair that matches the table you’re laid out on top of, crossing his arms and screwing his face into that expression you’ve grown to recognize as a mask. A flash of hurt floods through you. Selfishly, you wonder how much more you will need to do to prove yourself before Astarion finally, finally trusts you.

“Shadowheart is a good healer,” you say instead of what you want to say. You want to comment on him being scared. You want to point out that he had literally saved your life. You want to tell him that that is not something you just do for someone you’re looking at with sheer indifference. “I think you’re the only one who doubts her.” Your own tone has changed. Despite the hurt in your heart, your tone is sharp.

“I do not doubt her, my dear. I don’t trust her. There is a difference,” Astarion replies with a wave of his hand. You don’t like this game. You hate this game. Why must he insist on playing it?

“Do you trust anyone, Astarion?”

If you were anyone else, Astarion would’ve had a quick retort. Or if you’d said it with anger in your voice. But you’re you and the question comes out with far less frustration than you had wanted it to. Instead, you sound sad. Hurt. And somehow, seeing you look like this is almost as bad as watching you bleed out. He predicts your next words before you say them, but he still winces at them all the same.

“Do you trust me?”

Your question hangs in the air between the two of you. Maybe it’s the lack of blood in your system that makes you say it. You never would have dared to ask something so vulnerable just a few feet from the rest of your companions normally. Maybe it’s the fact that you had almost died. Almost died with so many unsaid words swimming through your mind. Maybe that’s why you say it. Or maybe you’re just tired of not knowing what Astarion is truly thinking and feeling.

“You know I care for you,” Astarion replies after a moment. And you do know - how could you not when you’d seen his fear at the prospect of losing you with your own two eyes. How could you not know that he cared for you when he was so gentle every time he took your blood? How could you not know that he cared for you when he had sat beside you on sleepless nights?

But that was not what your question was.

“That’s not what I asked.” You intend to sound firm still. You fail, though, and you sound every bit as hurt and frustrated as you feel. “Why not?” Why didn’t he trust you? Or better, why did he not trust you enough? He trusted you enough to tell you about Cazador and what his former master had done to him. But he didn’t trust you enough to be honest about his emotions - especially his emotions towards you. Why? Why?

You watch as Astarion shifts in his seat. At first, you think he’s going to get up and walk away from you. Instead, he shifts forward, and his left hand finds yours. Your eyes fall to where your skin meets, they watch as Astarion holds your hand on top of his gently. His own attention is drawn to it, watching carefully as his other hand fidgets with your fingers.

“I thought you were going to die.”

His confession is soft, heartfelt. You might even be able to convince yourself he sounds like he might cry. But when he looks up to meet your eyes again, his crimson eyes are clear of tears. But there is pain there. Pain and torment and that fear.

“I thought you were going to die and I would… And I would have to live with -” He gestures to himself with his hand that had been fidgeting with your fingers. “This.”

Your eyebrows knit together at his words, but you say nothing. You had long since learned that when Astarion was on the verge of opening up, it was best to let him get the words out on his own. Pressuring him had never gotten you anywhere. Well, except for right now. Every other time it had been entirely fruitless.

“You have shown a kindness to me that I am unfamiliar with. With Cazador… His version of kindness was letting me eat instead of starving. But it always had a price. Always,” he can’t look at you anymore, instead looking intently at your hand in his. “Your kindness - I am learning - comes freely.”

“You are waiting for the other boot to drop,” You say, understanding what he is trying to tell you without directly saying it. When he nods, you swallow thickly. Words seem to fail you as you search desperately for the right thing to say. But there are no words that feel good enough.

Astarion also seems to be at a loss for words. Carefully, you place your hand not holding his under his chin and tilt his face upwards, so that your eyes meet once more. Your hand slides to cup his cheek, and your heart swells when you feel him press into your touch gently.

“I am not him.”

Astarion’s eyes close at your words. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except sit there for a long moment. So long that you think he isn’t going to reply. But then he turns his head, and he kisses the palm of your hand. Then where your hand meets your wrist. Then the inside of your wrist. As he places the third kiss to your skin, you let your hand fall away and watch as he picks it up with his free hand.

He doesn’t say it, but you know he understands. He knows you are not Cazador. And you don’t say it, but he knows you understand. You know he is trying. And neither of you say it, but both of you see those three words swimming in each other’s eyes. But you both know they’re there.

“Thank you,” you say after a long minute. “For not letting me die. Not that I expected you to, but…”

But you knew he wouldn’t have saved you a few weeks ago.

“I mean it. Thank you.”

The fear in Astarion’s eyes finally melts away and that smirk of his falls onto his lips. But this was not his mask - no, this was his real joy. His real happiness at your not being dead and at being able to let a joke slip past his lips knowing you didn’t expect anything because of it.

“I can think of a few ways you could show that gratitude,” he says suggestively. A smile of your own spreads across your face, despite the color that floods it, too. Weakly, you shove his hands off of yours and roll your eyes at him. “You are welcome. I’ll save you a thousand times over if it means I get to see your smile once more.”

“Oh, don’t get soft on me now,” You say through your grin. But you’d like nothing more. A soft Astarion meant a healed one, a safe one. If that meant you were subjected to a few sappy lines here and there, you wouldn’t mind it.

“Hard to be soft with you around.”

“Astarion,” You hiss, realizing the joke you’ve walked yourself right into. For a second you debate getting off of the table and smacking him over the head, but when you shift your leg just slightly, that dizziness returns and has you gripping the edge of the table.

Astarion is on his feet within a moment, noticing the change in you as soon as it happens. His hand has returned to your back, steadying you as the room starts to spin again. With your head a little clearer now, you recognize the feeling as similar to what you feel when Astarion drinks from you. With how strongly you’re feeling it… you don’t want to think about how much blood you must have lost.

“Rest. Please,” Astarion says in that soft voice again. And truly, who are you to deny him when he’s being so gentle? You let him coax you onto the table, onto the soft pile of fabrics you hadn’t realized had been under your head until just now. You want to stay conscious, to talk to Astarion more, but as soon as you’ve settled back down, you realize just how tired you are.

When you stir hours later, you’re tucked into your bedroll within your tent. And Astarion is sitting not far from you, reading. You don’t say anything as sleep overtakes you again, but you’re pretty certain you could get used to waking up to the sight of Astarion.

And Astarion’s pretty certain he wouldn’t mind it either.

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#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #x reader #gn!reader #shadowheart #wyll

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belovedjeju · 4 months

Text

The Deal (I Can’t Go Inside)

Show Me How (To Love) Chapter 2

Prev | Next

Synopsis: The time has come for you to head to the Lee residence and start your new life as Bada’s fiancée. Hope you can handle the pressure!

Note: Any pictures used are for aesthetic purposes only, and aren’t indicative of the reader’s body type/race. Any relations to real people and events are purely coincidental.

Tw: Physical abuse, cursing, unrealistic depictions of sleepwalking

Word Count: ~10.4k

When you come to yourself, you find yourself staring out the window, the morning rays of sunlight shining in your eyes. Looking down, you see your phone in your hand, unplugged and low on battery. 6:42 am is the time, long before your door is ever unlocked. Letting out a sigh, you plug your phone back up, your back, hand, and wrist stiff from the lack of movement.

You wonder how long you were sitting like that, out of it and ruminating. Your eyes feel heavy, and with every blink they sting from the lack of sleep. All you can do is groan as you lay back down, rubbing your eyes is frustration. You can already tell that you aren’t going to fall back asleep, but your body feels so heavy that you can’t move even an inch more.

So, you lay there.

You lay there as the sky outside gets brighter and brighter. You lay there as you hear the bustling of people outside. You lay there as your stomach growls, reminding you that you barely ate the night prior, and now you’re craving an orange.

Thinking about the night before only gives you a headache, realization kicking in about your entire situation.

You’re getting married. The revelation hits you like a truck. You’re getting married in the place of your sister, and you know nothing of what’s to come. You don’t want this marriage, by any means, but knowing that your parents’ lives are on the line makes you suck it up and go along with it –as if you have a choice–.

Soon enough, you hear the click of your doorknob as it unlocks, and you sit up in bed before your mother enters.

She immediately frowns as she looks at you. “What are you still doing in bed? Get up, now!” She says as she taps her foot on the ground, key to your room door in hand.

You listen to her, body sluggish. Your feet meet the hard floor instead of your house slippers, which confuse you, as you always put your house slippers in the same place by your bed before you sleep. You look around the room, seeing one of your shoes by the door, and the other by the closet.

You were walking around last night, you realize, internally sighing as you move to grab your shoes and your outfit for the day. You put your slippers on as you walk to your bathroom and shut the door. Your forehead meets the door, and you like the way it feels against your warm skin.

Fuck, you can’t handle this right now. You can’t handle any of this.

“Calm down, calm down, calm down,” you whisper to yourself, “You’re alright, you just need to get through this and then you’ll be alright.” You don’t have time to calm yourself down further, as your mother’s voice cuts through your ears.

“Choi (Y/n), hurry up! Do not keep us waiting.”

You push away from the door, moving to get ready. One look into the mirror shows your disheveled and tired state, and you wonder if Bada will turn you away as soon as you appear in front of her.

The long, dark maxi dress and long sleeve shirt you have on underneath hides your body well, but you hope your mother doesn’t think it’s too revealing.

You leave the bathroom and face your mother, waiting for her to give you an order.

“Come here,” she says, and you obey, stepping closer, but keeping a bit of distance between you two. Your mother grabs your wrist, pulling you closer, and you let out a gasp at how tight she’s gripping your arm. Her face is extremely close to yours, and her stern eyes bore into yours. You want to look away so bad, but she grabs your chin and makes you face her. “You will not embarrass your father and I today, do you understand me?” You nod rapidly, eyes squeezing shut at the pain. “You will not complain, you will serve Bada in any way she needs, and you will obey her.” You don’t want to protest, but you have too many worries to not say anything.

“But mother, what if she’s violent? What if she gets angry and hits–” your mother squeezes your cheeks, silencing you.

“If you upset her, fix yourself and do better. You will do whatever she wants,” she says through gritted teeth, shoving you away. “I swear, Soo Ri should’ve been the one to do this, not you.” She looks like she wants to spit on the ground you’re standing on, but she turns and walks away, leaving you to rub your cheeks with tears in your eyes.

You sniff and rub the tears out of your eyes, legs feeling weak. You look around your room, trying to gather your bearings.

Walking to your dresser, you grab your phone so you can look at your appearance in the camera. You unlock it, only for your phone to open the message app.

What you see only makes you want to break down and cry more.

On the screen are your texts to Soo Ri from last night, dozens of green messages taunting you. They start out written properly, showing clarity in your actions.

‘Hi, my lovely unnie.’

‘Where are you.’

‘Come home.’

‘I hope you’re sleeping well.’

But as you continue to read them, they become short, unintelligible, with terrible grammar and no structure. In between the key smashes and word vomit, you can read a few things.

‘Scared’

‘Please’

‘Send away’

One text catches your eye, however.

‘Don’t let the cat get you’

Memories rush to the forefront of your mind, clouding your vision. Glass breaking, screaming, the feeling of suffocating into your pillow, beady yellow eyes staring up at you.

You feel your breathing getting harsher and harsher, phone dropping out of your hand as you stumble down, eyes darting everywhere.

You feel your heart beating faster and faster, threatening to pop out of your chest.

You try to dig your nails into your palms, trying to ground yourself back to reality, but you are quickly slipping away.

You hear yourself sobbing, you feel the tears slide down your cheeks, you feel the pounding in your head as you try and grab onto anything to calm you down.

You are so, so stupid, you tell yourself. You don’t deserve anything.

When you come to, you’re curled into yourself, arms close to your chest and tears pooling below you.

You faintly hear your parents’ voices downstairs through your open door, and it snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Thank you so much for escorting our daughter. I was up all night worrying about her journey to the Lee residence,” you hear your mother speak, using the tone she reserved for speaking with guests. It’s time for you to go.

You quickly get up, grabbing your phone and charger shoving them in your purse. You rush into the bathroom, wiping your face with water and fixing your hair. You plant a smile on your face and grab your suitcase –you had shoved all of your shoes into one suitcase the night before, thinking two would be too much– and your box, walking out of your room without looking back.

You walk down the stairs slowly, hands shaking. Once you make it to the bottom of the stairs, your mother’s voice gets louder.

“She’s always been a little more reserved, and she doesn’t really eat much unless prompted, so please don’t let her stay to herself and neglect her needs. And oh! She really likes to eat beef as well, and she doesn’t really like sweets, and she gets cold really easily too.” With the way your mother is rambling, she comes across as a caring, concerned mother, and no one will guess that she had just admonished you earlier.

You’re not sure you want them to.

“Oh honey, (y/n) will be fine. She’s a big girl and you should trust that she’ll be ok,” your father says, voice kinder than you’ve ever heard before.

“I know, but she’ll always be my baby,” your mother sounds close to tears, and you wonder how long this performance will last.

Well it’s not like you aren’t performing as well, so you might as well match their energy.

“Mother, father, I’m ready,” you say as you arrive near the door, where your parents are standing with another woman, or girl, you should say. She has a very cute face, round cheeks and burgundy colored hair. But her clean suit, cold face and tall posture made her look older than she seemed to be. You place your box on the floor next to you and flex your fingers.

You bow to the girl in front of you, and she bows back.

“(Y/n), this is Sowoen, and she will be escorting you to Ms. Lee’s home,” your father says, adjusting the glasses on his face. You nod in acknowledgement.

Your mother starts to sniffle, holding your cheeks in her hands, much gentler than earlier.

“Oh, how you’ve grown. I remember when you first came to us like it was yesterday. And now you’re getting married,” she pulls you close to her in a hug, and you fight the urge for your body to freeze. “Don’t fuck this up,” she whispers in your ear, and squeezes you harder. You put your arms up to hug her back, though you feel awkward doing so.

When was the last time you hugged your mother?

“Ok honey, you have to let her go now,” your father says as he separates your mother from you. Your father doesn’t hug you, but he does hold your hands in his.

His touch makes your skin crawl.

“Please, stay safe my dear. Know that you will always have a home here,” he says, his voice soft. You just nod again, trying your hardest to keep the smile on your face. You pull away from him first, wrist still hurting from earlier.

You go to grab your stuff, but Soweon steps in before you could. She grabs your suitcase and box with ease, and you feel embarrassed at having her do the work for you. You also don’t want her to see how little you have.

“Is this all, Miss?” Soweon asks you, and you can only nod silently, hands itching to grab the load off her hands.

A maid holds the door for the both of you, and you don’t look back at your parents as you follow behind your escort, though you can feel their gazes burn into your back. You can’t help but shiver.

~~~

The ride to Bada’s home is uncomfortably silent. You want to speak to try and break the awkwardness, but nothing comes out. Plus, Soweon’s tight grip on the steering wheel and her eyes locked forward is probably a hint for you to keep quiet.

She must be mad at you, you think as you fidget with your hands, for not being the one her boss wanted to marry.

You lock eyes with her in the rear view mirror, and quickly look away, mind going far.

To get to the Lee mansion requires one to go through large gates flanked with security, who quickly lets the car pass once Soweon shows her ID and they do a quick check in the trunk of the car, which makes you nervous.

Soweon drives the car down the pathway, and into a cul de sac, where at the end sits the Lee mansion, your new place of residence.

Your heart beats loudly in your chest as you stare at the utterly huge mansion in front of you.

You’re living here? Even your parents’ vacation homes aren’t this big!

You’re scared to see what it’s like on the inside. Maybe you can just live in the car and you won’t have to see Bada ever!

No, that’s ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. You’d need to pee at some point.

Before you know it, your hand is reaching for the door only for it to miss as the door swings open, Sowoen looking at you expectedly as she stands on the other side.

“O-Oh…” you stutter as you stare at her in bewilderment. You must’ve been keeping her waiting for too long. “Sorry,” you apologize, stepping out of the car. You don’t notice Sowoen’s hand held out to help you out of the car, looking towards the trunk for your belongings.

“I’ve got it, Miss,” Sowoen speaks up, taking your things out of the trunk for you. You continue to stare at her in confusion.

“You… you don’t have to do that. I can do it…” you say as you reach for the suitcase, but Soweon only pulls it away from you.

“It’s alright, Miss. It’s my job,” is all she says before walking towards the mansion steps.

“But, but, they’re my things. I don’t want to have you do all of the work,” you try and say, trying to catch up with her quick steps. “Can I at least hold the box, please?” You ask, clasping your hands together. “There’s a lot of important things in there to me,” which isn’t exactly a lie, but it would still be better just to hold it.

Soweon sighs, which causes you to think that you’re probably being a bit annoying, so you take a step back from her and place your hands by your side.

“Here,” she says, holding the box out to you. You blink, but quickly move to grab the box from her hold before she changes her mind.

“Thank you…” you whisper, following her up the stairs without another word.

The inside of the mansion is just as grandiose as the outside. Bright lights and long halls leading to who knows where. You could see the giant glass chandelier hanging from the high ceiling if you tip your head back far enough. There isn’t a spec of dust as far as your eyes can see –which, frankly, isn’t far–. To the sides you can see stairs leading to the second floor. You wonder how many rooms there are in this whole place. There has to be at least thirty, right?

A maid greets you both with a respectful bow and you bow back, although Sowoen doesn’t.

“Shall I take this to your room, Miss?” She says, holding out her hands expectedly. You clutch the box closer to you, not wanting to give the maid all of your load like you did to Sowoen.

“Miss, we’re going to be seeing the boss first, so it’s best you put your stuff down,” Soweon says, nodding towards the maid. You look at her hesitantly. You could just take the stuff to your room directly, but you don’t want to keep Bada waiting, so you reluctantly give the box to the maid, flexing your hands awkwardly once she took it away.

You follow Sowoen down the hall, keeping an eye on the back of her burgundy head. Your heart beats hard in your chest as you stop by a large wooden door with a very antique gold door knob. Sowoen knocks on the door, and opens it when she’s given permission to enter. You hesitantly follow behind her, blurry gaze landing all over the room.

You enter into an office, one bigger than you’ve ever seen. Near the wall in front of you sits a desk, full of stacks of paper and pens, and two small chairs in front of it. Against the other two walls are dark green sofas, with a small, glass coffee table to the side of each. Everything in here looks expensive, even the rug you’re standing on, it only makes you even more nervous.

Standing in front of the desk is none other than your fiancée, tall and intimidating, just like the day you first met. On the couches sit multiple other women, though you don’t know who they are.

Bada’s face is neutral, nary an emotion can be gathered from her gaze, hands clasped in front of her. Hands that could hurt you at any moment…

‘You will not complain, you will serve, and you will obey her’, your mothers words repeat in your head as Bada stares down at you.

Remember, you tell yourself, this woman can kill you and your family at any moment, so maybe listening to your mother will be wise.

You bow to Bada, eyes kept to the floor, waiting for her to address you.

“How was your trip,” her voice is deep, resounding throughout the room and bouncing off of your ears.

“It was fine,” you manage to say without stuttering, hands gripping your dress. You still don’t look at her, but rise anyway. ��Thank you for having someone escort me here,” you say. You hope it scores you half a point for your respectfulness.

“This will be your home now,” Bada starts, voice still level. “So there are a few things you must know, especially since your parents did not inform you of a single thing prior to our meeting on Friday. I’m assuming that is still the case, correct?” You wince, feeling all of your hopes of them sparing your family’s lives being shredded to bits. You feel a lot of eyes burning into your back and elect to keep your head down.

Should you be honest and just say yes? Will lying spare your family even just a little.

“Choi (y/n), I asked you a question.” Despite the authoritative nature in her voice, it was still the same tone and pitch she spoke in moments earlier. It made you push lying out of your mind.

“That’s… that’s correct.” You’re going to pass out any second now. If you beg her to kill you, will they spare your parents' lives? Soo Ri’s?

“I see. While you are here, your safety is one of the top priorities for both my team, Bebe, and I,” that is, until you piss her off and she kills everyone you’ve ever loved. “You must follow the rules set in place to ensure your safety, understood?” You nod, staying silent. “One, you will never walk around without a bodyguard, ever. There’s too many risks out in the world for you to walk around without one. Sowoen here will be filling in that role for now.” You don’t know if you should feel relieved that it’s at least a somewhat familiar face or not. Bada continues, holding up two fingers.

“Two, you must not lie to me, ever. I despise liars, and you seem to come from a family of them.” You wince again, squeezing the wrist your mother grabbed earlier. The pain brings you back down to Earth. “I will not spare you if I find out you’re lying to me.” You can only nod, voice not coming out properly.

Bada holds up a third finger, “Finally, this is simply a business deal, so I expect you to act accordingly to fulfill the terms of the contract that you and your parents agreed upon, understood?”

You agreed to the contract? Since when? What did you agree to, you can only wonder. Maybe Bada took your begging for your family’s lives as an agreement. Yes, that must be what it is.

“Y-Yes, I understand, Ms. Lee,” you finally manage to say.

“These are all of the members of my team,” you turn around to face the women on the couches, and Soweon, who sits on the couch to your left. “To your left are the junior members. Soweon, whom you’ve met already, Minah,” Bada points to a girl with black hair, “and Cheche,” she points to a girl with orange hair. Their eyes bore into your figure, as if they’re studying you, waiting for you to slip up, which you will most likely do soon.

Bada gestures to your right, “These are the senior members. Their word takes precedence over the junior ones, so what they say goes first.” You nod again. The gazes of these women feel a bit more hostile, but you couldn’t tell from the lack of emotions on their faces. “This is Tatter,” she points to a woman with light blonde hair, “Kyma,” a woman also with blonde hair, but a shorter face, “and Lusher, my second in command. If I am not here, you listen to her. Are we clear?”

“Yes, we’re clear.” You repeat obediently.

“Good, Sowoen will give you a tour of the residence, and will help you get settled in. And here,” you turn to her, and she holds out a black credit card. You blink at it, then look up at her for the first time since you’ve entered. “Use this for anything you need. There’s a lot of money on here, so do not worry about it running out of funds anytime soon,” she says, card held loosely in her hands.

You aren’t receiving an allowance? That’s… confusing. You thought everyone received an allowance from the head of the household.

“Take it,” Bada says flatly.

Don’t complain, serve, and obey.

You blink again at the card, gently grabbing the edge from her as if it were a foreign object.

“Thank you, Ms. Lee.” You grip the card in your hands to make sure it’s real.

“You are dismissed,” Bada says, and Soweon holds the door for you as you leave. You bow to Bada and the girls before you go down the hallway, Soweon following behind you.

Bada sits down on her chair, sighing.

“Do you trust her?” Lusher asks, breaking the silence in the room.

“I don’t need to,” Bada says, picking up a piece of paper and a pen. “As long as she does what she was brought here to do, I don’t really care whether or not she’s trustworthy. That’s for you all to figure out.” She taps her pen on the counter. “Alright, here are your tasks for the week. Cheche, fill Soweon in later,” Bada states before starting their meeting.

~~~

The Lee mansion is too big for your liking. Dozens of bedrooms, a cozy living room, giant catering kitchens, a library, a theater room, a tennis court, a gym, a ballroom, and apparently, a giant garden somewhere else on the property. You’re getting overwhelmed at Soweon’s explanations as you pass the giant pool. There’s even a fucking jacuzzi in the corner of the pool.

As you stare down at the water moving with the slight breeze, you imagine yourself under the surface, holding your breath until it hurts, eyes staring at the sky above you.

You wish you hadn’t been told about the pool, you think. You feel like you’ll be coming here often in your sleep, whether you like it or not.

“Miss,” you hear Soweon call you. You tear your eyes away from the pool to look at her. “Shall we end the tour here?” She asks, with a tilt of her head. She must be tired of talking to you. It’s best to listen to her and end the tour.

You nod, and follow her to a bedroom.

“The boss has prepared this room for you, but you can change anything around as you please,” Soweon says, never passing the threshold of your room. You look around, taking in the large queen sized bed in the middle of the room, the white vanity to the left and the giant walk-in closet to the right, along with a desk by a giant window.

You wonder if you can ask them to bolt it shut for you. Would you sound insane? Is that a normal request for someone to have? You really aren’t sure.

“Please let me know if you need anything, Miss,” Sowoen says to you, and you nod.

Sowoen bows to you as she goes to shut the door, and you bow back. Once the door’s shut, you let out the deep breath you were holding, but you still feel no relief. Instead, you feel as if you’re suffocating. You’re now in the lion’s den, and one wrong move could mean you and your whole family being torn to shreds.

You look at the door, noticing the lock on the inside. You’d be able to lock and unlock your door with ease. That fact scares you.

To distract yourself from the thousands of worries in your head, you start to unpack your suitcase, finding your closet already filled with hangers for you, which you appreciate, though most of them are left unused because of your lack of clothes, but oh well.

You go to unpack your box, opening it up with a key on your wallet. Only for you to end up putting it down because you become face to face with that porcelain cat. The cat that you thought you left in the nightstand at home.

Its yellow eyes pierce into your teary ones, mocking you, reminding you of all of your mistakes, and when you pick it up, your skin crawls, the scar on your back burning once more.

You put it in the nightstand dresser and hope you forget about its location later.

You continue to unpack your items, tears in your eyes.

When you’re done, you place your house slippers on the floor by your bed, and crawl under the covers.

Exhaustion is catching up with you, you’re hungry, you’re craving an orange.

You decide to sleep.

~~~

Sowoen’s days have been very uninteresting lately. Instead of the hustle and bustle of her normal, everyday life, doing reports, following her seniors around as they worked, testing out different types of poisons on others (and herself in secret), she has spent the last few weeks watching her boss’ new fiancée.

Bada says it’s to teach her responsibility as the youngest, and she is grateful for the opportunity. However, she is just… just so, so bored.

Every morning at 5 am, she wakes up and goes to stand at your door at 6, and hears you wake up around 8:30. You don’t open the door for a while, sometimes for hours, until Sowoen wonders when you’re going to eat something, and knocks on the door.

You look bewildered every time she opens it, like the action is unusual or something, even when you tell her to come in with a confused voice. Sowoen doesn’t really care as to why you think it’s weird, only wanting you to not starve to death and have Bada be disappointed in her, so she asks if you’re going to eat something.

The first few days here you ate a proper meal, but after that, you just ate oranges. And then you would retreat back into your room, until it was time for dinner, where you would eat a proper meal at 9. Then at 10:00, you turn in for the night. She would stay outside your room for a few more hours, just in case you need her again, but at 1am she goes to her room to sleep –she’s already used to getting little to no sleep, so there’s no issue with that–.

It’s just weird. Of course she should mind her business. You being quiet and not stirring up trouble is a good thing. However, Sowoen doesn’t trust you. She may be slightly –curious isn’t the right word, maybe wary?– about your skittish behavior and notes the familiarity in your actions, but she doesn’t trust you, or your family. Your family lied to Bada, and that is something that cannot be forgiven. Who knows what else you’re lying about.

And on top of all that, Sowoen is just bored. She’s so, so bored.

Even when she listens through the door –not actively but just generally listening out for sounds– she doesn’t hear you moving at all. No music playing, no talking on the phone, not even singing to yourself. Are you in solitary confinement or something?

At times like this she wishes she had Kyma’s scary hearing ability, at least so she can see if you’re alive or not. She could always just go in your room herself and check on you, like a bodyguard should do, but Bada also warned of giving you your privacy, a sliver of respect while you’re here.

But she cannot, in good conscience, let you isolate yourself like this.

Sowoen, always the softy, she can hear everyone saying, causing her to sigh.

“Mind your business, Sowoen, mind your business,” she whispers to herself.

Sowoen thinks of dark spaces, no room to move, aching bones and everlasting silence.

She sighs once more, turning around to knock on your door, but is stopped by a voice.

“Sowoen,” it’s Cheche, voice leveled despite the small smile on her face. It’s been a while since she’s seen the other junior members, her best friends, because she’s been stuck to your side –or rather, your door–, so it’s a surprise to see her here.

“Hi, Cheche. What’s up?” Cheche stops a little always from the door, not exactly in front of Sowoen.

“The boss wants to see you,” she says, eyes flickering to the door behind Sowoen. “I’ll watch over the Miss in your place, ok?”

Sowoen is hesitant, not wanting abandon the job Bada assigned her to do.

“Here,” Cheche says, holding out her hand, a hand that holds Bada’s family ring. The request is legitimate, not just a trick to test Sowoen to see if she’s doing her job. It’s also unrefusable –not that she can or would ever refuse Bada anyways–.

Sowoen nods, taking that ring and holding it tightly in her hand, stepping aside so Cheche can take her place.

The walk to Bada’s office isn’t a long one, but she is curious about why Bada wants to see her. She’s been doing her job correctly as far as she knows. You’re still alive, maybe not healthy, but you’re alive!

She makes it to Bada’s office, knocking six times to let Bada know it’s her.

“Come in,” Bada says, and Sowoen enters, giving Bada a slight bow.

“Morning, boss,” Sowoen greets her, holding out her ring for her to take, which she does.

“Morning. Have a seat,” Bada gestures to one of the chairs in front of her desk, and she sits. Bada is sitting behind her desk, in her pressed suit and glasses low on her face. She taps her pen on the desk as she looks at Sowoen.

“What’s your assessment of her?” Bada asks, referring to you. The question comes as a bit of a surprise to Sowoen, as she didn’t expect Bada to ask her about you, nor care enough about you to ask. Though she figures that it’s a matter of just keeping tabs on you, which she did expect Bada wanted. “You can speak honestly. There will be no penalty for doing so.” Despite saying that phrase plenty of times before, Bada always makes sure to reassure her, and for that, Bada has Sowoen’s trust.

“If I’m being honest, there really isn’t much to say,” Sowoen starts, picking at her nails but still looking Bada in the eyes. “She doesn’t do much at all. She doesn’t leave her room much, only to eat, and she barely does that,” Bada’s expression doesn’t change at that information, so Sowoen can’t gather what she’s feeling. “When she’s in her room, I really don’t know what she’s doing, I really can’t hear anything when she’s in there,” Sowoen furrows her eyebrows. “Not that I’m intentionally listening on her or anything. I want her to have privacy, but just… y’know.” Sowoen realizes she’s rambling and closes her mouth.

“Thank you for sharing that, Sowoen.” She feels herself blush at the praise. Bada leans back in her chair. “So there’s no one she talks to? No places she likes to go?” Bada asks, clasping her hands together.

Sowoen shakes her head, “No, it’s like she isolated herself. No calls to her parents, nor do I ever see her texting anybody either. It reminds me a lot of…” Sowoen shuts herself up, quick, not wanting to be reminded of the past,

“I see,” Bada says, understanding what Sowoen is referring to.

“But I don’t want to intrude on her life, y’know? I think it’ll be rude if I said something,” Bada nods at that.

“It’s ok to give suggestions, as long as you’re respectful, right?” Sowoen nods, not saying anything more. “Bring her over,” Bada says, and Sowoen snaps to attention.

She didn’t expect her to say that. She thought that Bada wouldn’t want to see you at all after what your parents did. But who is she to question her superior, so she gets up and goes to retrieve you.

Before she leaves, Bada calls out to her.

Her face is serious as she looks at Sowoen.

“Do you trust her?” Is all she asks.

“No, boss, I don’t.”

~~~

Your days at the Lee mansion have been very uneventful. You wake up, covered in bruises from your body hitting things in your new bedroom when you walk around at night, not used to the new layout just yet. You then wait for your door to be unlocked, but you end up waiting for hours until Sowoen knocks on your door asking if you’d want to eat breakfast, leaving you to remember that doors aren’t just generally locked all the time from the outside. You then go to eat breakfast, but you’re too nervous to keep anything down so you just eat oranges. Then, you retreat to your room and just lie there until dinner, where you sit by yourself for thirty minutes and eat a little bit of food –just like at home, but you don’t want to think about that right now–.

What else is there to do anyways? Your only source of entertainment is painting, and all of your supplies are at home. You’re too scared to walk around the mansion and explore, fearing that you’ll just end up sleepwalking to places and burdening Sowoen and Bada later on, and you don’t want to ask Sowoen or a maid to get things for you, because then you’ll feel like you’re being bossy and pretentious.

So, you just sit in your room and think.

Sometimes you read the books you brought from home, sometimes you scroll through videos on your phone, switching from app to app, but mostly, you just end up thinking.

What is your role in all of this?

Are you just an accessory? A thing to parade around to make Bada look good? But why settle for you? Why not find someone else from another family who didn’t lie to her?

Is it just to get back the money your parents owe her? If so, does that just make you a hostage?

The thought makes your throat close up in fear.

What rights did you have in this mansion? Could you go where you pleased? Or were you just stuck in this large home, waiting to be used and discarded. You’re too scared to ask, fearing Bada’s emotionless stare, or the annoyed looks from the Bebe girls.

If you’re a hostage, that means Soo Ri was also supposed to be a hostage, right? But knowing Soo Ri’s personality, you can’t imagine her settling down and taking that.

You imagined she’d come here, with her endless confidence that you’ve always envied, demanding to be treated right, and probably getting whatever she wanted, too.

But what are you supposed to do, then? Just lie there and wait for Bada to make up her mind on what she wants?

Would she take her anger out on you if she had a rough day? Would she come into your room and…

You don’t allow yourself to go down that road, mind already dredging up things from the past.

Don’t complain, serve, and obey.

You blink, remembering your mother’s words and turning over in bed, hugging a pillow to your chest.

If Bada ever does anything to you, it’s not like you have the power to fight back. You’d probably have to just cry in silence when she’s done with you, hoping that the next day will be better. Maybe if you don’t complain she’d leave your family alone.

Yeah, just think of the benefits for your parents. They’ll be able to just pay Bada back, and then be done with her while she just keeps you to the side, at her mercy. You’ll gladly be at her mercy if it means they’ll be happy.

Before you can sit in your thoughts more, there’s a knock on your door. You wait for it to open, but then remember that your door isn’t locked.

“Come…come in,” you say, the words still feeling foreign on your tongue.

The door opens and Sowoen appears, face still serious. Her hair is down today.

“Miss, the boss wishes to see you,” she says, never passing the threshold to your door.

You blink in confusion, but get up anyway.

You haven’t seen Bada since your first day here, and she has not called for you since then. Are you in trouble? Is your family in trouble? Is Bada going to kill you? Has she finally gotten sick of you? All you’ve done is stay still! You haven’t been a burden to anyone, at least you think you haven’t! Maybe you’ve unintentionally upset someone, but you swear you’ll get on your hands and knees and beg for forgiveness!

You must’ve done something wrong, you think as you walk through the halls, gripping your wrist in your hand. Bada is going to kill you. She hates you.

Too soon do you end up in front of her office, large wooden door taunting you as you raise your hand to knock on the door.

“Come in,” Bada says, voice sounding much more secure than yours. You wonder if you’ll be able to get the words out to defend yourself.

You open the door, which creaks as it moves, the sad sound announcing your presence in Bada’s clean space. The door closes behind you, and when you turn around, Sowoen isn’t there.

Which means you’re alone with Bada, for the first time. You’re alone with a woman who hates you.

You bow to her, and wait for her to give you an order, or yell at you, or do something.

“Sit,” Bada says, gesturing to the chair in front of her. You do so, without question, avoiding her gaze. You feel it burning into you, probably waiting for you to confess your wrongdoings. Maybe if you apologize first, she’ll go easy on you.

“Um, Ms. Lee,” you start, voice wavering. “I sincerely apologize for my actions, truly.” You dig your thumb in your palm, rubbing it in circles.

Bada raises an eyebrow at your words, wondering what you could’ve done. She decides to see what you’ll apologize for, and stays silent.

“I, um, I promise to do better… as, as your fiancée. I know I should have learned better from my parents, and for that I apologize… for being clueless, I mean. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t mean to upset you, but if you tell me what,” you blink rapidly, looking down at your hands, “if you’re willing to tell me what I did wrong, then I’ll be sure not to make the same mistake again…” you finish, biting the inside of your cheek.

“And what exactly are you apologizing for?” Bada asks, staring down at you despite the lack of eye contact on your part.

You start to stammer even more, “You, you called for me, so I thought… I thought I did something wrong,” you blink again, bouncing your leg. “Is it not that?” Bada watches as the gears turn in your head, trying to find an explanation for why she called you here.

“If it’s about Soo Ri and the switch, I, I sincerely apologize for that. I know that what we did isn’t forgivable, but I promise to –”

Bada silences you with a rise of her hand.

“Enough,” she says, effectively stopping your apologies. She places her pen down, never looking away from you. “What are you doing here?” She asks you, and you look up at her for the first time since you arrived. Her expression is still void of any emotions as her brown eyes look you over.

Does she think you are overstaying your welcome? Is she going to send you back home? What does that mean for the safety of your family? What will your parents think of you coming back home so early?

Don’t complain, serve, and obey.

“I… I’m here to be your fiancée,” you answer, uncertain. Bada just blinks at you.

“There’s no need to stay inside. Go, visit your parents, get groceries, go shopping for clothes, do whatever you want,” Bada orders you, and your eyebrows furrow.

She didn’t want you here, it seems, even though you thought you were behaving.

But it’s best if you don’t argue.

“For how long?” You ask for clarification, trying your hardest not to cry. Were you failing the one thing you were asked to do?

“For as long as you wish,” is all she says, writing down something on a piece of paper. It’s not an adequate answer for you, but you won’t fight her. “Sowoen will keep by you as you go, so do not try and stray too far from where it is safe.” You nod, voice failing you at the moment. “You are dismissed,” Bada says after a beat. You nod, getting up and bowing before leaving her office.

Sowoen is waiting for you at the door, closing it behind you and following you to your room. Once you get there, you turn to Sowoen, not meeting her eyes.

“Um,” you start, clearing your throat, “Ms. Lee told me to, uh, not be inside? Do you have any place I could go?” Your tone conveys your shyness, not used to talking with the woman who follows you around just yet.

Sowoen pauses, nodding her head as she thinks.

The boss must’ve seen her underline concerns, despite her attempts to hide it, and reassured you that you could go wherever you wanted.

Bada knows Sowoen better than she knows herself sometimes.

“There’s a shopping district further into the city,” Sowoen starts, “There’s a bunch of different stores you can go to, you browse around if you like.” Sowoen suggests. The stores there are all ones Bada provides protection for, so you shouldn’t be in any danger there.

You nod, entering your room to get ready.

You dress in a long black maxi skirt, and a dark blue sweater that is a little bit itchy due to it being so old, and some of your old sneakers. You need to buy new ones, but you’re waiting for you to have enough money to buy your glasses first before getting anything else. It is a bit warm outside for the outfit, but you’ve learned to tough it out.

You wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea by you showing skin.

When you’re done getting ready, you grab your purse and your phone, opening the door and waiting for Sowoen to lead the way. She takes you to the front, and the sun hits your eyes as soon as you leave the manor, not used to the brightness after staying inside for so long.

You wait for Sowoen as she goes to get the car, warmer arm causing you to fan yourself with your hand, and walk down the steps to meet her. With each step you try not to think about what you’re going to do once you get back.

If Bada doesn’t want you to be in the manor anymore, you’re going to have to pack, right? But then where will you go? Can you even go back home? If the contract your parents signed says that you are supposed to be living with Bada, then you really can’t go back home.

Will you just be living on the streets?

You ball your hands into fists at the thought.

You couldn’t go through that. Not now, not ever.

You’d rather die.

Before you can dwell on it any further, Sowoen opens the car door for you before you can do it yourself. You blink at her in bewilderment, but she just gestures for you to get in the car. You still aren’t used to people doing things for you, but you get in the car so you don’t upset her.

The drive to the shopping district isn’t long, but it does feel longer because of the fact that your cheap headphones broke completely. The speakers blew out as soon as you turned your music on, so now that’s another expense to the list. You could only sigh as you try and wrack up how much everything you need will cost in your head.

You just didn’t have the money for any of this. You don’t even know why you’re going to shop when you still need to buy glasses and get a new eye exam. It’s all so, so stupid. But Sowoen suggested it, and you don’t want to make her or Bada mad by not listening to them.

Once you're at the shopping district, Sowoen is quick to open the door for you, and she even offers her hand to help you out of the car. You take it, hand shaking, but you can’t help the confusion that sits on your face.

“This way, Miss,” she says as you walk forward.

You follow her, looking around at the multitude of shops around you. Even in the early afternoon, there are a bunch of people walking around, and you feel Sowoen’s presence close behind you. You look around, squinting to see your surroundings. Through your blurry vision you see clothes shops, electronic stores, even a few food places here and there.

Smelling the food reminds you that you only had an orange this morning, but you decide not to dwell on the subject.

You and Sowoen walk around in silence, you peering at the shop windows once you got close but not ever going in.

That is, until you pass by an art store. Through the window you can see the warm toned lights, the tubes of paint, the fabrics and the sketch pads. You stop by the window, deciding to look upon the items for a bit longer than usual.

You haven’t painted or drawn anything since the day you met Bada, and it’s been making you antsy. You miss it, but all of your supplies are at home.

“Shall we go in, Miss?” Sowoen says, standing by the door. You blink at her –you seem to be doing that a lot today–, a bit embarrassed at being caught. But if Sowoen suggested it, you should probably listen.

You nod, walking in when Sowoen opens the door for you. You walk down the aisles, passing by yarn and crochet hooks, fabrics and needles, even canvases and desks to sit at.

When you get to the paint, you stop, staring at the Beginner’s paint tubes. There’s a lot more options than the five tubes you have at home, which excites you, even for a little bit. You have to bring them up to your eyes to see what colors they have, though, which reminds you of your much needed and lack of glasses.

Bummed that you can’t buy them, you pout and put them back.

“What about these, Miss?” Sowoen speaks up, and you look over at her. She’s over at the Professional grade paints, looking at the tubes quizzically. “The sign says that these ones last longer, and that the colors are better.”

You shake your head, a small, bitter smile on your face. “I don’t have the money for those. I was just browsing, anyways,” you say, and Sowoen blinks at you.

“Did you leave the boss’ card at home?” She asks, and you shake your head. It’s in your purse now, tucked away in your wallet.

“It’s not my money to spend,” you say as you look at a red tube of paint. “I’d feel bad about using Ms. Lee’s money to buy stuff without asking her for permission first.”

Sowoen is confused. It’s your money. Bada gave you that money to spend. She repeats this fact to you.

“The boss gave you that money to use for yourself, Miss,” Sowoen says, not understanding what you find so difficult to understand.

You bite your lip, bringing a tube of yellow paint close to your face to read the label. “I… still, I wouldn’t feel right using it. I don’t want to burden Ms. Lee more than I already have.” You put the tube back in its place, turning to face Sowoen.

Sowoen is really confused, and she feels like she’s doing a bad job at hiding that confusion on her face.

“Do you want me to… ask the boss if you can use your money?” Sowoen says it slowly, hoping that it will allow her to understand the issue you have.

You shake your head quickly. “No! I mean… no, you don’t have to do that. Ms. Lee is busy,” you nervously chuckle, as if you’re telling a joke, “Plus, I don’t think I’m allowed to have these things anyways. You know, it smells and stuff, because of the quality and stuff! And the paint can get everywhere and ruin everyone’s nice things if you aren’t careful and,” you continue to ramble, trying to pull out every excuse you had, all the while Sowoen stares at you like you have two heads.

Sowoen blinks, once, twice, as she tries to understand your reasoning. “You can just… get the higher quality paints…” Sowoen explains to you, tilting her head as she points to the paints she was looking at earlier.

“But then that’s expensive! I don’t want to waste Ms. Lee’s money on things that aren’t important!”

Sowoen is confused –no matter how many times she admits it, it doesn’t stop the confusion at every new sentence you utter–. Aren’t you rich? Why are you so frugal with money? And not in the rich and stingy way, either.

“If you enjoy it, then it’s not a waste of money…” Sowoen argues, trying her hardest to keep her voice level and clear of judgment. Keep it respectful, just like Bada said.

You tilt your head at that, as if Sowoen is talking in a foreign language. No one has ever said that to you before. Whenever you needed something, you had to earn it, and it had to be useful to you –well, your parents–. You funded your art through your own allowance, saving up for months to even buy a good easel, so that you wouldn’t burden your parents by asking for things.

But now that you don’t have an allowance, you struggle to see how you could do or buy anything. You were never allocated more than fifty-five thousand won per week, sometimes even less depending on how bad of a mood your parents were in, and so you had to scrounge by with what little you had. It meant that you had to really want what you bought. It wasn’t a lot of money, but it was your money.

To use Bada’s money just leaves a bad taste in your mouth, especially when it isn’t important to Bada that you’re entertained.

You shake your head, going to move out of the aisle when Sowoen speaks up.

“The boss said that it’s ok for you to use it, like an allowance.” You turn to Sowoen, eyes widening just a bit. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Sowoen. “That money belongs to you, no one else, and the boss will give you a certain amount of money each month for all of your needs.”

Well, Sowoen’s lying.

She doesn’t know why she’s so invested in you buying these paints. She should’ve left it alone when you said no the first time. However, your assumptions about the money Bada gave you are just wrong, and your relationship with money is so familiar to her. And this is the first time she saw you have interest in something. So the lie just slipped out, and then they kept slipping out more and more.

“You shouldn’t refuse the boss’ generosity, Miss,” Sowoen says, not meeting your eyes all the way. “The boss may find that rude…” Sowoen speaks from experience, and doesn’t want you to unnecessarily make the same mistakes she and her friends have made before, but to you it just looks like another threat, another choice you don’t have the right to.

You don’t want to make Bada angry, but you thought maybe being humble would show her that you’re not a threat.

“Oh, ok…” you say, looking away from Sowoen, your heart squeezing in your chest. “If it isn’t rude to Ms. Lee, then I guess I’ll do it…” You pick up a tube of the Beginner’s paint, but Sowoen stops you.

“You said the quality of those weren’t good, Miss. Shouldn’t you get the better ones?”

“I used these all the time at home, so it’s nothing I’m not used to. Plus they’re cheaper,” you try to reassure her.

Sowoen just looks at you, and you put the tubes back as you begin to falter under her blank stare. “But maybe I can get one or two of the good ones, right?”

“Right,” Sowoen nods, watching you as you go towards the Professional grade paints.

This is the first time you’re seeing these types of paints up close. Even in college you only allowed yourself to use the Intermediate level ones when your classes required it, but now you have the opportunity to see the real deal.

But which ones should you get? You need the primaries, plus white and black, but there are so many to choose from that it’s making your head spin. Plus the price, it’s damn near half of your weekly allowance for one small tube of paint.

You can’t help but wince at the price, looking over to Sowoen, who just watches you with the blank stare of hers.

“What colors, uh, what colors do you like? I can’t decide…” You ask tentatively, looking down a bit. Sowoen comes up beside you and immediately chooses a few colors. She must’ve been eyeing them earlier.

You look at her selection as she presents them to you, like a kid showing what she got for Christmas. She picked out two reds, a bright yellow, a green, a purple similar to her hair color, and three blues. You pick up the brighter red, the yellow, and a muted blue from her hand.

“Are you not going to get all of them?” Sowoen asks with a tilt of her head. You shake your head.

“No, this is enough. I don’t want to spend more than…” You feel like Sowoen thinks you’re stupid with the way she stares at you.

“Miss, you have the money for it, and you should have options for things, right?”

“I… I guess, but we still have to buy the canvas and an easel and those can be expensive and–” You cut yourself off as Sowoen puts the paints in your hands. “Ok…” You resign yourself to the fate of spending money that you don’t want to use.

Sowoen makes you follow her as she goes to get a basket, and then proceeds to pick more colors out for you. You have twenty different paints now, more than you’ve ever had in your life, and you’re nervous, but a tiny part of you is excited. You also grab a few canvases, a couple of brushes, paint thinner, and a retractable easel. You close your eyes when the cashier tells you your total, and shakily hand over Bada’s card to her. It is damn near a month and a half worth of your allowance back home, and you just (reluctantly), spent it like it is nothing.

You walk out of the store with Sowoen holding most of your bags–you begged to at least hold the bag of paints–, feeling a little bit giddy.

“Are you sure Ms. Lee won’t mind me having this?” You ask Sowoen for the nth time as you walk towards the car.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Sowoen says, holding the door open for you. She wanted to see if you would go to another store, but with how reluctant you were to buy the art supplies, she just figures that one step at a time is enough.

Not that Sowoen cares, though. She’s just glad that you aren’t isolating yourself in your room. Seeing you do that just brings up bad memories for her, so it’s better that you have something to do. Plus, it is good that she knows you’re not decomposing in your bed doing nothing, so she knows that she’s not failing at her job at watching you. You place your things in the back seat with you, and a small smile threatens to come across your faces.

“Shall we go back to the manor, Miss?” Sowoen asks as she starts the car. Your head snaps up, confusion on your face.

“I thought… Why are we going back to the manor?” You ask, blinking a few times.

“Is there anywhere else you’d like to go, Miss?” Sowoen asks, looking at you in the rearview mirror.

“No…” you say, “But, Ms. Lee said that… that I shouldn’t be in the house. I thought that she didn’t want me to be there…”

Sowoen feels her brows furrow and then straightens her face out. “Why… why would the boss say that?”

She can’t imagine Bada going through all of this effort to move you to the manor only for her to kick you out this early. Especially without getting her money from your parents. You blink at Sowoen, Sowoen blinks at you.

“I don’t know…” you answer, and you sit in silence for the rest of the car ride, thoughts swirling wildly in your head.

You arrive to the manor and follow Sowoen inside, and a maid takes your things to your room. You go to follow her until you stop, turning to Sowoen behind you.

“Um, can I… do you think that… I can go and visit Ms. Lee for a bit?” You ask, playing with the sleeves of your sweater, picking at the threads. Sowoen blinks at you, not expecting you to ever ask that question in your life.

“If she’s not busy, then sure,” Sowoen says, trying to keep her voice level.

You nod, turning on your heel and walking towards Bada’s office, hesitance in your steps. You stop in front of the door, raising your hand to go and knock, but you get too nervous and put your hand down. You repeat the motion two more times before wiping your slightly sweaty hands on your skirt, looking at Sowoen, who is staring at you.

“I’m nervous,” you whisper, stepping back from the door.

“Don’t be,” Sowoen whispers back. “The worst thing the boss could say is that she’s busy.” Well, that’s not entirely true. There are a lot of things Sowoen can imagine her saying that are worse than that, but she wouldn’t tell you that when you’ve gathered the courage to come here.

You lift your hand up once more, going to knock on the door until it opens, revealing Lusher and Tatter on the other side, about to leave the office. You quickly step to the side, bowing slightly, missing the incredulous look they give to Sowoen, and the confused shrug Sowoen gives back. They say nothing as they leave the office, giving you a slight bow back before they round the corner.

You’re embarrassed about being caught at the door, and you are about to scurry back into your room when you hear Bada’s voice from inside the office, sitting at her desk.

“What do you need?” She asks, and you faintly hear the scribble of her pen as she writes on the papers in front of her. You look back at Sowoen, who gestures for you to go inside.

“May… may I enter?” You ask, not moving across the threshold. Bada just nods, and you take a step forward, hands clasped in front of you. The door closes afterwards, and you start to miss Sowoen shadowing behind you. You speak after a beat, “Um, I just wanted to thank you, for, um, allowing me to come back to the manor.” Bada’s hand stops writing momentarily, but she soon continues before you can even notice it. “I know you wanted me to stay outside, but I had bought some things earlier, and Sowoen suggested coming back, so I assumed it was ok for me to be back here,” you ramble, not looking at Bada. “And about the buying-things-with-your-money thing, I really apologize for that, I should’ve asked for permission, I know I should have. So please, if there’s any way for me to pay you back or earn–” Bada looks up at you for a few seconds, silencing you.

“You can buy whatever you want,” Bada says and continues to write on her paper. You stay silent for a second, information turning in your brain.

“Um, yes, but with the card, it’s–”

“You can buy whatever you want. Must you make me repeat myself so often?” Ah, now she is annoyed, and you really should shut up.

Don’t complain, serve, and obey.

You close your mouth, stopping the protest you had on the tip of your tongue.

“No, I apologize,” you say, bowing slightly. You sit there, waiting for her to say you can go.

“You are dismissed,” Bada says after a second or two more. You turn to walk away, and Bada’s voice stops you, “Did you like what you got for yourself?” You turn back to her, thinking about how you have more paint than you’ve ever had before, how the canvases you got aren’t cheap and easily breakable, how the easel you have is brand new and not wobbly. You want to smile.

“Yes,” you answer with a nod.

Bada looks up at you once again before looking back down.

“Good. You may go.”

You exit the office then, chest still not filled with relief, but a little less hesitant about the things ahead of you.

#bada lee x reader #bada lee #lee bada x y/n #bada x reader #bada x fem reader #bada lee x y/n #lee bada x reader #team bebe #lee bada #swf2 #swf2 x reader

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vampyrsm · 3 months

Text

‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER NINETEEN | TOYOUKE

‣‣ Synopsis: Beneath the watchful eye of the moon, the executioner of the Shogun is bathed and washed of her transgressions, her sins nothing but faint memories as she loses herself in the sensation that is love.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 7.6k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, female reader, cannibalism, blood and gore, smut, no prep, creampie.

You awake to cold kisses from the snowflakes above. They flutter down from the sky as if to greet you, to welcome you home. They settle against the blood that had since dried and cracked on your battle-worn skin, melting into you as if they could solely wash away all that had transgressed in such a short amount of time.

Sukuna holds you in his arms, his own body now cloaked in a thick haori that shields him from the wind and snow. All four of his arms cradle you, tucking you beneath the fabric as well as into the warmth of his chest. You can feel each measured breath against the side of your face with each step he takes up the mountain.

That’s when you realise you recognise the mountaintops, and you recognise the leaf-stark trees that cut sharp lines through the slow-rising morning.

Home. You made it back home.

Cold fingers belonging to delicate snowflakes brush your eyelids closed once again, the gentle jostling of each step is enough to soothe you back into a dreamless sleep.

It isn’t until sometime later, or perhaps it’s only moments because you hear the loud creak of the wooden grand doors opening.

“Master Sukuna,” Uraume, another way of relief settles within you. “Welcome home.”

“Prepare our bedroom.” Sukuna talks as he continues to walk by, the deep octave of his voice rumbles against your cheek still pressed into the warm planes of his chest. It almost doesn’t feel real, to be held in his arms and carried through the temple that was now also your own—a home you could call your own, a place you felt safe in.

Another rush of cold air has you instinctively curling further into Sukuna, and he in return tightens his arms around you as if he were strong enough to ward off the natural occurrence of wind. He continues to follow a path until you feel the warmth curling up from the hotspring you had bathed in so many times before.

“I know you’re awake.” He comments, and you look up to see him glancing down at you for a moment. A rare smile on his face, as if he’s relieved too to find you back in his arms—in his home. “We both need a wash.”

Quite the understatement. You hadn’t bathed in for far too long, the ‘baths’ they gave whilst you were imprisoned were more just a cold bucket thrown over you to see who could get you to cry or plead for mercy first. You let Sukuna unfurl you from his arms, his hands still holding you delicately by your waist as you find your feet once again in the world.

You turn from Sukuna, and brace yourself for what was to come. His hands are genteel in the way they pull at the useless belt of the kimono and let it tumble to the floor. You don’t want to think about what he may see beneath all that dirt and grime, to see the true extent of your own mistakes. Because that is what it was, wasn’t it? Your own mistake. To run away like that, on a fool's errand.

The water bites viciously at your near-frozen toes, and that burn climbs higher and higher with each step you take into the spring. You can see the blood and dirt drift off away from you, to be pushed over the edge of the hot spring and forgotten in the surrounding foliage. You find yourself relishing in the pain, however, a reminder of all that had happened.

With the water now lapping at the base of your throat, you turn around to assess whether or not Sukuna is disgusted by what he must see. He remains standing where you left him, unphased by the snowflakes that settle against his skin only to be instantly melted by the warmth that he radiates. Even from the water, you can see he fights an internal battle, one that he knows is fruitless.

For everyone who hurt you is dead. All except for one, that is.

You can see the twitch of his finger, a subtle flinch in his cheek that gives away his need to chase down Sugawara and kill him. Kill him for standing idly and watching all that they did to you. It’s a war within his own mind that he’s evidently starting to lose if the way your hair stands on end at the sudden prickle of his cursed energy.

So you raise a hand from the water, still dirty from the obscenities that had occurred. Sukuna’s eyes hone in on it immediately, all four watching a single hand with the utmost attention. “Bathe with me.”

Not once does his eyes leave your hand, as if he could see the souls attached to the very hand that had been wiped away with a swipe of your blade. His hands move to remove the haori he had thrown over himself at some point, and then next go his trousers. He moves with the grace of a prowling predator, silent and deadly—even when entering the water, it’s near silent.

Your heart pounds in your chest when he approaches you. Sukuna stands close enough that you can feel his own warmth through the heat of the water, his chest moving with barely there breaths as he stares down at you along the ridge of his nose. You want to know what he’s thinking—his silence was unnerving.

The warmth of his hand is stark against the coldness of your cheek, your skin stings against the cold wind that blows through the valley between mountains. Sukuna lets his thumb roam over the blood and dirt on your face, clearing a path to see your otherwise unblemished skin beneath.

His eyes track the path he makes with his thumb, unearthing you from beneath all that grime and blood — to find the one he risked it all for. And as if he could finally see you again, truly, see you. His hand slides along your cheek and into the back of your matted hair, the claws of his fingers are careful not to scratch too harshly.

Sukuna then pulls you inwards, your face pressed to the centre of his chest where you can feel the rhythmic thump of his heart. An arm slips across your shoulders, securing you against him. And then his other two arms come across your back, one hand spanning the width of your bare side. He holds you hostage against his front, pressing you as closely as he can physically manage.

A puff of hot air ruffles the hair at the crown of your head, and then you feel the press of his nose there. He takes a deep inhale in, and you know the scent of death doesn’t bother him as he squeezes you tighter. His heart thunders faster against his chest with each deep inhale he takes, his lungs crushing against you in the viper-like grip he has on you.

Sukuna holds you like you’re his own heart, his lifeline. He holds you like you had the power to wipe away his entire world with just a flick of a wrist… and perhaps you could, you realise. Sukuna holds you with the love of a deeply devoted husband, a man who knows nothing more than to serve and protect his loved one.

His nose moves from the crown of your head, replaced with the point of his chin. You can only keep your arms wrapped around his own body, tucked beneath the second set of arms. His skin is hot beneath your fingertips, slick with the steam that continues to curl around your body. You trace over the faded silvery lines of scars you’ve come to know and recognise.

“You’re never to do that again.” He speaks in a low voice, a softened edge to it that almost goes unheard with the whistle of the wind. But you heard it, felt it in the rumble of his chest.

You don’t dare untuck yourself from his arms, so instead you nestle yourself further into his chest. His heart was just a mere few inches away. “Never.”

You’re unsure how long he holds you like that, close to his heart, close to where he shares a part of you with his very soul. But eventually, he untangles himself from you only to sit himself in the hot spring—and to bring you down with him. He settles you into his lap, the seat deep enough that the water laps just beneath your breasts.

It’s an overly intimate position to be in, yet there’s no sexual intention with it. He runs his hands over your skin to soak it, to brush away the loose dirt and whatever else may be marring your skin. His eyes never leave the trail he paints for himself with the water, always watching and observing to see if he finds a new scar or wound to grow angry over.

The cloth he procured from somewhere is gentle against your skin, he rubs harsher against the stubborn spots of dirt that had been there for some time before he soothes it over with the back of his knuckles along his fingers. It isn’t long until he’s cleaned you thoroughly enough that the air has grown lighter, the transgressions of all that had occurred to you slowly washed away.

He doesn’t fight you when you take the cloth from his own hand, instead, he relaxes against the rocky lip of the spring and allows you to take over. His skin isn’t nearly as filthy as your own, but there are still deep patches of crimson red that stain his skin and dirt that made its way into the ridges of his muscles.

“I thought you’d never come for me.” You speak for the first time since the bathing had begun, and immediately Sukuna’s eyes meet your own. “I thought you’d realise it was a trap, and that you’d leave me to die instead.”

His jaw works for a second, and you wonder if perhaps you had offended him. He remains silent as you run the cloth over his neck, wiping away the blood that had dripped there from his many meals on the battlefield. There’s not a single scratch on him, you realise, his skin is unmarked and yet he had torn through so many with his bare hands. He truly was something to behold.

“It did occur to me that it was a trap.” He admits, his words are rich with a soft tone. “But I realised that I didn’t care. I’d do anything if it meant you came back to me.”

“Anything?” You ask, wiping the cloth down one of his arms he lifts just enough for you to clean thoroughly.

“Anything.” He tucks a finger under your chin to meet your gaze. “If it meant I had to traverse a hundred—a thousand years for you. I’d do it.”

He lets your chin go at the sight of the smile on your lips, his own lips curled in a smile only reserved for you. You clean his hands, careful with the length of his claws and when you’re done — you lay a kiss on the centre of his palm. A gentle gesture that has Sukuna squeezing at your side with one of the hands he had beneath the water wrapped around you.

“And I would do the same for you.”

“I thought we just agreed that you’d never do something so reckless again.” He grumbles, all four eyes narrowed at you when you laugh in kind.

“Well, actually. We agreed that I’d never leave—” “That by default is something reckless. Don’t twist my words back on me, woman.” His fingers pinch unforgivingly at your thigh. “Leave the traversing to me.”

“And what am I to do? Be your pretty helpless wife?” You question with a raised eyebrow, the corner of your lips settled into an easy smirk. Sukuna grins at your words, his hands moving along your body carefully. One arm lines up along your spine, and another comes up to cup the curve of the back of your head.

“Pretty, yes. Helpless? Never. I’d never ask of you to be useless, I have no need for useless things.” His other hands are warm against your sides, long claws dragging possessively over what he deems as his. “No, you’re to be at my side, to rule with me.”

“I like the sound of that.” Your eyes bounce between his own, and Sukuna practically preens under your attention. His muscles flex on their own volition, and he seats you deeper into his lap—you can feel the twitch between your own thighs, and neither of you comment on it. Not yet.

“I’m sure you do. I see the difference in you, you’re no longer an honour-bound Samurai. You’re something more. Lethal without her rules and binds.” The hand at the back of your head made its way through your hair as best it could with the state it was in, his claws careful to not scrape or drag. “That’s what makes you worthy of being at my side, for eternity.”

“For eternity.” You breathe, the words brushing against his own lips. You hadn’t realised him to be so close, but then he pulled back when you sought his lips for a kiss.

“Relax for me.”

You hadn’t even realised your muscles were drawn so tightly, the ache in your back and thighs enough to tell you that you had indeed been tensed up for the entirety of your time in the water—memories that were working hard to be buried beneath the fog that lulled over your brain surface momentarily.

You see the flashing faces of your uncle and your tormentors, you can still taste the cotton rag against your lips and the burn that came with being forced to choke on the water without being submerged. It has your fingers curling tightly around his biceps, and Sukuna doesn’t flinch when his eyes drift momentarily to see that you had in fact embedded claws into his skin.

“Still your mind, you’re safe.” Sukuna coaxes you back to him, eyes of shimmering red a homing beacon for your own. His hands are gentle against your body, holding you firmly yet gently—preciously. “Breathe.”

It’s uncharacteristic the way Sukuna somehow manages to calm the raging tempest within you, how his words are gentler than most and his eyes hold a sense of worry that could only belong to that of a lover, no, more than that. Sukuna had always been more than that for you, you just hadn’t realised it until you were forced away from him.

So you breathe, you still your mind and relax carefully into his hold. It makes Sukuna relax along with you, his arms carefully relaxing their muscles when you retract your fingers from his arms. You find yourself watching him, how his expression morphs into something he must be unaware of. Because he’s looking at you like you were the one to hang the stars each night, the one who whispered in the ear of the sun to rise every morning. He’s looking at you like he’d die for you.

But you’re unable to further that thought when he leans you further backwards into the water, shifting you to sit deeper in his lap to ensure you don’t slip away. The hands on your body hold you steadfast, the water laps over your body but never submerges you. It laps just at your ears, and you try to stop the flinch of your thighs; the need to run bubbling up.

Your mind empties however when that hand at the back of your skull starts to card through your hair, as carefully as one can with long claws and fingers that were made to destroy. He works his way through the knots, through the matts that had formed from dirt and blood—he’s unperturbed when it builds against his fingers before he has to wash it away.

His fingers explore the expanse of your skull, feeling, checking—ensuring you weren’t injured in a way that was unseen. The gentle movements of his fingers against your scalp have your eyes fluttering to a half-lidded position, the stress of the last however many days, weeks, floating away with the grime that had clung to your skin.

Once Sukuna finds you to be unhurt, his hand slips from your hair to hold you at the base of your neck. A hand emerges from beneath the water, the cloth balled in his hand to wring out the excess water before he runs it delicately over your face. You feel the blood that had gathered on your lips, your chin, and your cheeks wash away with each swipe of the cloth, unmasking you from the person you had become in such a short amount of time.

A wipe of the cloth over each of your eyebrows, along the bridge of your nose. It’s such a wonder to behold; to watch Sukuna working meticulously. Something you doubt he’d do for anyone else. He brings the cloth back down along your cheek, lingering at your jaw. You watch through lidded eyes when his own naturally drift to observe your lips, wet from both the steam and the cloth he worked over your skin.

His jaw flexes beneath the tips of your fingers when you bring it up from beneath the water, you trace along the dark line of his tattoo slowly to watch him lean into your touch. He closes the gap between you before you can blink, his breath catching against your wet skin, and you drag your hand up through his hair—strands of pink that seem longer when dripping in water.

Sukuna slants his lips over your own, unwilling to waste any more time in staring. His kiss is unyielding and all-consuming, as is everything that comes hand-in-hand with Sukuna. He kisses you like he’s still angry, not at you, but at the world—as if he has no other way to convey just how he felt in the time spent apart.

His hands work to pull you up from the water, ensuring the kiss remains unbroken. Large palms press against your sides, flexing and squeezing to mould you further into his chest and subsequently deeper into his lap. He’s hard beneath the water, pressed snug up against your own unprotected centre.

When the kiss does break, you’re forced to tip your head back. His lips and teeth drag their way down along the expanse of your throat, pressing into the artery that throbs and thrums in anticipation. His sharpened teeth linger there for a second; contemplating, you think, whether he should just devour you to truly express his feelings for you.

But then he moves on, his lips move down along your skin—chasing droplets of water until he finds your collarbone. He laves his tongue over the flesh, drinking the mixture of diluted blood and water until his lips find that smattering of scar tissue where he had first bit you all those moons ago.

Sukuna hovers there for a moment, basking in your warmth. And then he bites.

It’s excruciating as the first time, and the times after that. The scar tissue gives way easier, re-moulding itself to fit those elongated canines that are so used to ripping and tearing flesh apart. He growls against your skin, a guttural sound that should fill your stomach with fear—instead you feel nothing but untamed arousal. His hands cling to your skin, claws pressing hard enough to draw blood beneath the heated water.

The sundering of flesh is loud in your ear, more of a squelch and then nothing but insufferable pain. It blossoms rapidly and burrows itself deep into your muscles and along your bones. It ricochets up into your spine until you’re forced to go rigid in Sukuna’s lap, your fingers digging harshly into his forearms where your hands had come to rest.

Your vision swims and Sukuna fills the space between black dots that dance in your vision. His chin and lips are painted in your blood, teeth grinding and working through the raw flesh he had torn from your body. You watch his lips, how his jaw works to chew through the tougher bits of fat and muscle alike—then he swallows.

His breath is warm against your lips, the stench of copper strong enough to stick to the back of your throat. His hands come up to cup your face once more, large thumbs pressing into your cheeks before he drags you forward. Sukuna presses his slippery crimson-dyed lips to your own, the tang of copper explodes against your tongue when you urge it forward to collide with his own.

You lick into his mouth, along those sharpened teeth and the roof of his mouth. You savour the taste of your own flesh, your own blood. It drives you to dig your own fingers into his skin, grasping at his neck until you’re dragging him impossibly closer. The secondary face scratches against your skin, so rough to the touch that it bites into your cheek.

When you pull back from the kiss to breathe, Sukuna looks at you with pupils blown wide. The red of his eyes practically glows with hunger, and that’s enough to drive your own insatiable darkness to surge forward and bare its teeth.

Sukuna doesn’t flinch nor reprimand you when you turn your head to the side, the thumb that was pressed into your cheek slips between your bruised and bloodied lips. He doesn’t fight when you widen your maw, canine teeth pointed and sharp. You think you can see Sukuna grin through the darkness that tints your vision—blinded by this need, this want, this desire. To devour.

Your teeth meet no resistance, his skin and bone break apart under the pressure of your jaw and teeth combined. It’s a loud crunch that you’d heard only a few hours prior with a man less worthy. Blood spills against your tongue, and spurts against the back of your throat when you sever the veins. It boils against your innards, a type of heat only capable of being harboured by someone like Sukuna.

Sukuna watches you through half-mast eyes, his gaze following the rush of blood that spills down along the column of your throat and mingles with the open wound on your neck. You hold eye contact with him when you pull back enough for him to watch your jaw work, and the bob of your throat when you force the length of his finger down your throat—

Time stills, for a long moment, or so it feels. You feel something grasp at you, tangle its dark claws with your soul and tug. Sukuna’s face blurs before you when he leans in closer, grasping at your face with an intensity you hadn’t had turned your way in a long time.

It feels like a storm has formed in the pit of your stomach, it bubbles and burns back up your chest until it scratches at your throat. You feel… power. Raw power. So different from what you had been allowed to use in tandem with the binding vow between souls; this was as if Sukuna had a physical place within you.

Then, it stops. The world resumes around you, the snowflakes from the skies above continue to melt against your heated bare shoulders and Sukuna is tilting his head in interest as he watches you come back to reality.

“Fascinating.” He mumbles, more to himself, his hand brushes over your face and you realise he’s already healed the finger back into its rightful place. Another hand presses against your neck, digging into the exposed nerve endings and severed muscles before a cool relief washes over the stinging flesh.

Hands beneath the water grasp at your waist, and the cold air bites against your bare skin. Nipples hardening against the gust of wind that battles with the billowing steam from the hot spring below, but it only lasts for a moment before you’re brought back down into the water.

You gasp, eyes rolling into the back of your skull at the sudden intrusion. The pain that should’ve accompanied being impaled on one of Sukuna’s cocks is nulled by the residual cursed energy that continues to pull together muscle and skin along your shoulder and neck. Yet the pressure remains, a snug fit no matter how many times he had fucked you previously.

You find yourself sliding your hands along his jaw, thumbs dragging on both smooth and rough skin. His lips against yours are surprisingly gentle, consuming you with a delicacy that shouldn’t come from a man like Sukuna. And yet, he delivers it to you flawlessly. Large hands expand over the expanse of your back, fingertips digging into flesh and bone until it aches under the pressure he provides.

The first rise of your hips has you both breaking apart, his lips parting in time to breathe in your breathy moan. Your arms loop themselves around his shoulders, your nails that had been torn and ripped in battle dig into his flesh when he begins to move you with a little more of a pace; a rhythm soon to be picked up effortlessly.

Sukuna presses his forehead to your own, all of his eyes focused on you. That amount of attention would’ve unnerved you so long ago, but now you preen in it. His focus is locked solely onto you, watching each and every minute twitch of your face, watching the way your pupils expand rapidly.

Watching to ensure you’re with him, mind and soul.

The length of his cock drags along the velveteen walls that continue to clench around him with each downward drag of your hips, his claws just shy of digging into your flesh when he directs you to ride him a little firmer. His chest rubs against your perked nipples, the sweat building between the two of you only worsens with the rising heat of the hot spring.

Your fingers grasp at the damp strands of hair at the base of his neck, and you pull gently. A movement that you know Sukuna could refuse, but he allows you to move his head back enough to expose the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows thickly. He stares up at you through the thickness of his eyelashes, a smouldering gaze that burns you alive.

Your blood boils and your muscles grow taut, the way he looks at you is nothing short of hungry. Sukuna must feel what’s cresting on the horizon for you, as his hands grasp at you much tighter than before and your world twists and turns.

The stone beneath you is freezing, your back arching away in an attempt to escape the snow-covered stone edge of the hot spring Sukuna had laid you out on. Two of his hands hold you steadfast at your waist, ensuring your lower half doesn’t sink back into the water whilst he fucks you at a pace that’s bruising.

His other two hands explore your skin, large fingers pressing into your ribcage and brushing over the tip of your nipples. Your hands shoot downwards, only able to grab ahold of his forearms when he lowers his stance just slightly to fuck up into that spot he knows to exist. It’s enough to push a loud moan from somewhere deep in your chest, your head sinking back into the snow.

The sky above you continues to sprinkle you with snowflakes, melting the second they reach your dewy skin. Sukuna’s hand comes to rest between your breasts, flat against your hummingbird of a heart. It thrums harder beneath his touch, and you don’t doubt that Sukuna’s own heart hammers against his ribcage in response.

His hips continue to press against your own with each thrust, the water lapping over the edge of the spring warms your skin and fights away the cold that bites at your exposed skin. You can feel his second cock pressed between your ass cheeks, twitching with each thrust into your pussy. A wandering hand moves to press against your stomach, digging into the flesh just enough to cause discomfort—until you feel him fuck harder into you.

It quickly morphs from discomfort to blinding pleasure, your thighs tense and your toes curl relentlessly in the night air. Your nails bite into the skin of his forearms, giving you enough leverage to lift up your head and upper body to look Sukuna in the eye when he starts to fuck you in earnest.

“Cum for me,” he grunts, huffing out his words and you can’t help but admire the sheen on his face. “Now.”

The hand at your stomach swoops down, and a large thumb presses against your clit to rub quick smooth circles against it. Your entire body seizes up with the command that rolls off of his tongue so easily, and you obey. Your vision flutters away with the overwhelming sensitivity, your mouth parting in a silent moan.

Sukuna continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his fingers tighten around your waist and his claws sink into the flesh protecting your heart. The growl rumbling through his chest is morphed into a deep groan, a desperate noise that has your eyes opening once again to watch the man before you find his bliss.

His eyes are closed, head tilted back just enough to expose his throat once again and you want nothing but to sink your teeth into it. His lips part with another groan, and his breath comes out in a plume of white to mix with the frigid night sky. The cock buried deep within you twitches, once and then twice before he throws his hips forward to press himself uncomfortably against your cervix.

The thumb at your clit doesn’t stop its movement, easing you through the pressure of him spilling his seed so deep inside of you. Sukuna drops his head back down, all four of his eyes are half-lidded but they watch you intently. Lovingly. The hand at your chest releases you, brushing over the blood that started to spot your skin.

You expect him to withdraw from inside you, to clean up the mess you had made but instead, Sukuna leans forward. In this position, it forces his cock somewhat impossibly deeper inside—his cum leaking out and dripping to mix with the steamy water that continues to flow over the edge into the surrounding land.

His forehead presses against your temple, his nose pressed into your cheek. He breathes you in, deeply, uncaring for the way the sweat dappling your skin mixes with his own. Sukuna continues his way down along your body, a single kiss to your jaw, and then against the marred skin of your throat that had reformed the scar tissue there.

Finally, he comes to a stop. Hovering just a mere inch away from your chest, the blood that he had drawn from you is already dried up and sticking to your skin. His upper set of eyes flick upwards to spare you a glance before his lips graze along the centre of your chest.

Your heart lurches, a rapid beat that causes your blood to sing and the ringing in your ears to grow louder. It’s bewitching to watch. How he holds your gaze whilst his lips press against your chest—against your heart. His lips part and his tongue is hot against your skin, laving over the cuts he had left on your body in the throes of passion.

Sukuna leaves you too soon, pushing himself up to stand at his full height once again. His imposing figure cuts through the night sky, the snow that falls against him fades into nothing and the stars twinkle a little more dimly when you stare up at him.

He pulls you up easily enough, holding you to his chest when his semi-hard cock slips free from your warmth. And then he’s sinking back into the water, keeping you close enough that you can feel his breath sticking to the tacky sweat that lines your body. His hands are gentle again when he cleans you, the cloth between your legs nothing but a quick yet precise few swipes before he tends to himself.

You had expected him to hand you the cloth to return the favour, but it would seem Sukuna is more content to hold you close to him.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” You speak for the first time in what feels like an age, your words are warm against Sukuna’s chest. He doesn’t reply, instead only grunts in askance of your explanation. “Do you think I made a mistake in not killing Sugawara?”

Sukuna again does not reply, not straight away. His body is solid beneath your own, unmoving rock and you wonder if perhaps he truly does believe you a fool for letting him live. Then he releases a breath.

“No.” He admits, his voice a rumble against your ear. “I would’ve killed him, but you did something much more deserving. You cursed his entire bloodline. I admire you for it.”

His praise warms you, and you can’t stop the upturning of your lips into a smile. He didn’t think of you as the fool, an idiot who was too lenient on a man who was given the power of the Gods and refused to use it as such. “I should’ve kept his eyes.”

Sukuna laughs, and your smile grows tenfold. “They would’ve made interesting decorations. Or maybe they would’ve been a delicacy to eat, such power would taste divine.”

His words draw you back to what had happened moments before he fucked you, the power you had momentarily felt when devouring one of his fingers. It was an odd sensation, something you had never felt before. It was unlike the bond you both had vowed to one another, this was like you had eaten power in a physical form.

There was no doubt that Sukuna’s cursed energy was strong, stronger than anyone who had ever existed before him. So it wouldn’t be entirely unheard of for cursed energy to be stored in fingers, into eyes as he had mentioned. Would you have felt the surge of power if you had devoured one of Sugawara’s eyes? Perhaps the power would’ve been too much for your body to handle—if it was that easy to obtain power, more people would be killing and devouring each other.

If there was a risk of death when consuming the flesh of another with potent cursed energy, did Sukuna deem your cursed energy beneath his own where there was no risk? Or did he not care for the risk? Both questions burn in your mind, and Sukuna must’ve noticed you drifted away from the conversation as he breathes out a long breath that blows against the top of your head.

“You have questions, and you still hesitate to ask.”

“When I consumed one of your fingers, I felt this surge of energy. It was entirely different to what I felt through the vow, it was raw power. Like I was capable of breathing through you, capable of becoming you. What was that?”

The look that overtakes Sukuna’s face is that of calculation, something he doesn’t wish to share with you. “It was a risk, a gamble of life and death. It’s not unheard of for humans to become cursed objects.”

You know there’s more to his explanation, but something about the way his face becomes colder and more shut-off tells you that you shouldn’t pry further. Not right now. So you don’t push for an answer, opting to instead detangle yourself from Sukuna’s embrace.

He watches you silently, unmoving when you step around him to get out of the hotspring. His movements soon match your own, and you take a glance over your shoulder to watch the water roll off of his body. The steam curls around corded muscles and wisps around the quickly drying tips of his hair.

The warmth of your wet feet melts away the snow that had gathered on the snow path, and the crunch of Sukuna’s footsteps behind your own is loud. You come to a stop just at the edge of the courtyard, to find a pile of clothing that is clean and fresh.

An encroaching warmth presses itself against your bare back, each of his breaths pushing against your very skin until you’re forced to look back at the man imposing himself on your space. Sukuna only looks at you with an amused lift of his eyebrow, holding out a hand in expectancy.

“Your silence is loud, brooding over nothing is unfitting for someone like yourself.” He speaks once you drop the black cloth into his hand, which he unfolds to reveal loose-fitting hakama trousers. He slips them on, not once breaking eye contact with you—he’s challenging you already.

“I’m not brooding.” You retort, perhaps a little childishly, as you turn around you pick up your own haori to sling over your shoulders. Sukuna at least takes a minuscule step back to allow you to dress yourself. “If you won’t tell me the whole truth, I’ll only find it out myself.”

“Of course you will. Your determination is what sets you above others.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” You don’t take the lead through the doors, instead opting to fall into step next to Sukuna. His eyes are set forward once again, and the shadows that overtake the corridor hide his growing smirk.

“You wish for me to feed you everything like that of a baby bird? You’re no fledgling, not anymore. I prefer for you to figure things out for yourself, it turns me on to see you’re more than a brainless woman.”

Your nose wrinkles for a brief moment, lips parting to retort with how he’s nothing but a pig—but instead your feet slow to a stop.

Faintly, there’s the feeling of something creeping up the length of your spine. A warning. You turn just in time to see a shadow move, slinking closer and closer. The smell it carries is one of a strong perfume; a floral scent that could only belong to someone trying to hide their true nature. It’s enough to even have Sukuna stopping in his tracks, half-turning to watch the shadow grow closer and closer.

“I did wonder if you’d return.” Kenjaku’s words carry through the darkness until they step forward, only illuminated by the moonlight that seeps through the cracks of barely opened windows. “I thought you might’ve succumbed to their torture.”

“Kenjaku,” Sukuna grumbles her name in the form of a greeting, and you watch Kenjaku flick her eyes towards Sukuna for a brief moment before they return back to you.

“It seems our little lamb is more of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” She grins, and nothing about it is kind. It’s conniving, her eyes filled with a glint that promises chaos. “Everyone is already talking about the carnage you rained down upon your own family—of course, they’ve already said it was someone else. Someone more… fitting, for their fable.”

“I don’t care for their hushed whispers of deceit.” You reply, even if it tastes like ash on your tongue. Replaced, in only a matter of days—assuming that’s how many days had passed since you were saved from the estate. The entire journey home you were unconscious, recovering mentally and physically from such a demanding battle.

“Don’t you?” Kenjaku takes a step closer, and Sukuna finally shifts on his feet until you can feel the warmth of his body close to your own. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re angry, beyond that, you’re the embodiment of unresolved rage and the chaos that you breathe…”

“That’s enough,” Sukuna growls the words, no doubt threatening to bare his very teeth at Kenjaku. Instead, she smiles, not paying much mind to the man who could rip her head off before she even blinked.

“Of course.” Kenjaku bows her head concedingly before her eyes flit back to meet your own. “Tomorrow, we should talk more. I’d love to know the details of how you handled that sorcerer—the one who possessed the Six Eyes.”

Sukuna doesn’t speak for you this time, instead, he waits to see if you’d give your time to the woman before you. You can’t help but feel apprehensive about it, every encounter with Kenjaku had ended poorly. She had no regard for those who were seen as the strongest, as she herself was just as strong. She was a terribly strategic woman, everything she did was for a reason.

But that was a brain you wanted to pick at. A woman such as her would know endless amounts of information, she had mentioned they were already spinning tales of what had happened — she must have her ways of learning such information across the entirety of Japan.

“Of course.” You try to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes and Kenjaku doesn’t miss it. “Tomorrow. I look forward to hearing the stories widowers and aged men have started to spin in my image.”

Kenjaku grins this time, a fox with teeth filled with venom. “Very good.” Her attention finally drifts to Sukuna, and the look on her face is something you can’t decipher. A message perhaps, spoken without words between two violent creatures. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

She bows deeply, before disappearing back the way she came with a feline-like grace.

You turn to find Sukuna watching where Kenjaku had slinked off to, two arms crossed over his chest whilst the other two are buried in the pockets of his hakama trousers. “Don’t let her capture you in her web.”

“How kind of you to warn me.” You muster the playful tone you need, and Sukuna only glares down at you. It’s enough to make you drop the act, he was serious about his warning. “I know she’s not who she seems to be.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Kenjaku is stronger than you realise. I may value her strength but I do not trust her, and neither should you.”

To be recognised by Sukuna for your strength was a feat in itself, he didn’t hand out the compliment freely. It had taken quite a beating for him to give you that—you wonder if Kenjaku and Sukuna had fought previously, a fight between two warring creatures that battled for the top spot on the food chain. It’s evident that Sukuna had prevailed, as Kenjaku is the one who bows her head in the presence of Sukuna.

Yet, something feels wrong with the compliment that comes from Sukuna. He knows more about her true nature, about who she is beneath the mask she slips on in his presence. He wouldn’t tell you more, it was up to you if you wished to dig further into the past of a woman who was more volatile than Sukuna himself.

Neither of you exchange a word until you’re outside a door, it slides open and you immediately realise it’s not the bedroom you had been staying in before you had ventured down to the village. Sukuna steps in first, immediately heading towards the hearth to ensure the flame doesn’t die out so soon.

You glance around, it’s not too different from the other bedroom but it is noticeable. Furniture was in different places, the clothing that had been stored in wooden storage boxes had been placed in neat piles nearing the wall. Something tingles at the base of your neck, a buzz of your spine and you turn to find your weapon. Waiting.

As if you were on a tether, you’re drawn towards it. Your hand lifts to hover just over the hilt before you pause. There are residuals along the hilt, residual energy that you know intimately. Sukuna’s.

“I had intended on bringing it to you. But whatever you had done to it, your cursed energy would revolt against my own.” Sukuna’s voice is just over your shoulder, no doubt inspecting the blade when your hand comes down to touch the hilt. “It was as if it knew I wasn’t its owner.”

“Because that’s the truth. I must’ve made a vow with it when I created it, only to be wielded by one until death. One soul, one sword.” You release the hilt before you pick it up from the display stand, taking a deep breath. The sword was of an entirely different calibre of power, it was something designed to cleave the world. “I doubt there’ll be another in existence like it.”

You step away, turning to glance around at the room bathed in a flickering orange warmth. “Did the old room suffer damage?”

“It was destroyed when I realised you were gone,” Sukuna admits easily, unashamed that in a moment of anguish, he had ruined an entire bedroom. He moves away from your side to venture towards the cushioned seats on the floor around the hearth, folding himself easily enough to lounge in it. “Uraume was not impressed by the mess.”

“How is Uraume?” You find yourself wandering towards the bed, “I can sense them, out there. But it’s muddied as if they’re trying to hide.”

“Uraume is fine. You’ll speak soon.” Sukuna offers you a glance, before directing his gaze back to the flame. “Rest, you need to recover.”

You don’t argue with him, instead stripping yourself of the haori you had been draped in. You can feel Sukuna’s gaze on you almost immediately, only sparing him a look over your shoulder before you kneel down to get into bed. The sheets are freshly washed, soft against your skin and you can’t help but melt into the material.

It felt almost unreal to be back where you were safe and comfortable, your muscles take time to relax completely. But when they do, you realise your eyelids are already closing and sleep comes for you like a swoop of darkness, unable to be stopped once it consumes you.

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#dead dove do not eat #cw gore #cw dark content #cw violence #tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader

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ender1821 · 5 months

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behold. me coping with session 9 SL!shinyduo

— — —

The crackle of a lightning strike hits at the exact same moment Pearl hears a resounding crack from her neck. After she had been shot by Scar, the impact of the arrow led her to stumble down the ravine beside Scar’s base, leaving her at the bottom of the pit.

Well, at least it was quick.

She finds herself lying on the stone ground, a view of a clear blue sky above her.

The only thing she could do was let herself breathe. (Do ghosts even need to breathe? Eh, who knows.)

Her eyes close as she builds a steady rhythm with the rise and fall of her chest, willing for the aching and exhaustion riddled all throughout her body to somehow dissipate.

Aside from the sound of her breaths, she can pick up Scar’s voice off in the distance. It doesn’t sound much like a cheer, or a cry, or anything— but then again, Pearl’s not in a fit state to focus on whatever he’s saying.

Instead, she tries to think back on everything that just unfolded, all the deaths, the hunts…the duel. The zombie that had been creeping towards Scar before Pearl warned him.

She sighs, “I swear, if he dies to a zombie, after all that…”

Now, she wasn’t really expecting a reply.

Especially not a reply from a voice that’s so familiar.

“I know, right? It’d be embarrassing for both of us.”

Pearl’s eyes snap open in an instant, as though the answer gave her a surge of energy, overpowering the waves of numbing pain.

“…Gem?”

She looks…just like she used to, when they were red…together.

Pearl blinks, trying to focus on the figure looming over her. It’s only then, that she notices Gem’s body is slightly translucent, allowing rays of sunlight to pass through.

“Hey, Pearl.” Gem extends a greeting they both know far too well. She crouches down, tilting her head. “Are you going to keep lying on the ground, or…?”

“I might.” Pearl chuckles. “It’s pretty comfy down here, actually.”

“I can imagine.” Gem shifts to sitting cross-legged next to Pearl, which prompts her to try and actually sit upright as well.

Pearl grunts when she finally manages to move, scooting over to Gem. Sitting underneath the shades of a bit of overhang of the earth above, they find themselves situated in a corner of the ravine, now further ruined with scorch marks and splatters of blood on the walls.

Despite the destruction, sunlight casts shadows of sunflowers into the chasm. It must be the ones Scar has around his base.

Silence follows. Pearl tries her best to stare only at the walls around, but she ends up glancing at Gem a few too many times. She hopes Gem is too preoccupied to notice. (Pretty slim chance of that happening, considering the fact that there’s nothing of interest nearby but them.)

Eventually, though, something in Pearl pushes her to speak.

“So,” Pearl starts, “what’s got you wanting to give me a visit? I thought you’d be with Scott and Impulse.”

Gem jerks up at the sudden question, then turns away from Pearl. “I— I dunno, I just… We died pretty close to each other, you’re the first one I saw.”

If Pearl’s head had been a bit more clearer, maybe she would’ve questioned why Gem was so insistent on not facing Pearl when she answered. Instead, she accepts the answer with a nonchalant “Ah, I see.”

“Well, I appreciate the company. And…” Pearl adds, pausing as the following words get caught in her throat for a brief second:

“I’m sorry.”

That seemingly got Gem’s attention, causing her to look at Pearl once again.

Just today, Pearl was met with those same pair of eyes on multiple occasions. For some, they sparkled with a sense of joy. For others, they held a flurry of panic behind them.

At this moment, they were glazed with a whirlwind of emotions Pearl couldn’t even begin to decipher.

Pearl can see Gem obviously struggling to find something to say, or to piece together the thoughts in her head. Either way, Pearl waits.

“When you— when Scar was coming for me, you asked me if I wanted to duel it out with you, with swords.”

Pearl nods.

“Why?”

It’s such a simple question, really. Pearl knows exactly why she did it. Just as she knows why she went into the End earlier in the game to fight the dragon, why she rode a camel with the same person who’s killed her twice, why she couldn’t get a successful ambush when she’d been in the siege against Gem and the Scotts.

What leaves her lips is not the answer. Not a clear one, at least.

(It’s never easy, is it? When Scar and Gem had begun fighting, all Pearl wanted was a moment to think. She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t know why she began shooting, she just didn’t know. She couldn’t decide.)

“You said you didn’t want a bow fight.”

“But a sword fight, Pearl?” Gem pushes on in an instant. “I know you, Pearl, I know you prefer using an axe.”

“I do, yeah.” Pearl doesn’t give away any more than that, choosing to give Gem a noncommittal response.

“So— If Scar hadn’t— If I agreed, you—”

“You probably would’ve kicked my butt.” Pearl admits with a smile.

Gem takes a deep breath. Then, in the quietest voice Pearl has heard all day, Gem asks, “And you would’ve been fine with that?”

(I would’ve been more than fine with it.)

“You would’ve beat me fair and square, I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“But you—” Gem cuts herself off with a groan, growing more and more frustrated with Pearl’s vague replies. It’s no use when they’re both dancing around the topic, even though all Gem wants is to ask: would you have let me kill you? Could we have stayed friends? What went wrong?

Gem recalls Pearl backing away after one swing of her sword, when she was fighting Scar, she caught a glimpse of Pearl leaving the fight to them. She remembers how Pearl could’ve pulled out her bow, could’ve ended her right there.

(Do I forgive you?)

A breeze blows past the Sunflower Valley, leading the flowers above, along with their shadows, into a gentle dance.

Nearly every question Gem has dies on the tip of her tongue, leaving only one:

“What now?”

Pearl gives it some quick pondering, before stretching her legs out and bracing herself to stand. “I wanna check on Mailbox and Matchbox.”

“Then,” She helps herself up by leaning on a wall. “I wanna see if I can find my Mounders anywhere.”

Lastly, she extends a hand out to Gem. “After that… I think I remember Scott saying something about a spare camel around Etho’s?”

Gem returns the smirk on Pearl’s face with one of her own. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“The Murder Camel rides once more!” Pearl cheers as she pulls Gem up with her.

#ender writes #i WILL give them a happy ending even if its the last thing i do or i will never be able to cope #oh SL!shinyduo…ill miss you #anyway enjoy the mess because i did not proofread this like my brainrot just got to me and i blacked out and here this was #(…i cannot guarantee that this will not happen again and i write a canon divergent shinyduo finale next…no promises)#pearlescentmoon #geminitay #life series spoilers #secret life spoilers #traffic smp spoilers #secret life smp #trafficblr #shiny duo #shinyduo #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction

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talesofesther · 1 year

Text

constellations

Samantha Carpenter x Reader

Summary: You give Sam a bit of calmness amidst the storm.

Requested by anon

A/N: Sam deserves the world and I'd happily give it to her.

Masterlist

Prime suspect Samantha Carpenter.

That was the headline displayed on the TV as the reporter blamed Sam for the recent Ghostface attacks.

Lies. They were all lies, and because of those bullshit rumors. It made your blood boil. You know it was the same feeling for the rest of your friends; the living room was quiet as the reporter's voice echoed through. There was an instant heaviness to the air.

Sam picked up the remote and pressed the 'mute' button, before hurrying off to her bedroom.

No one seemed to know quite what to do. The silence was deafening and you felt the eyes of everyone slowly settling on you.

As much as you two might try to keep it on the low, it was no secret anymore that you and Sam had become rather close these past months. Labels were a bit of a stretch, none of you quite ready for it yet. Still, whenever Sam walked back into the dorm she hoped to find you there; she always chose the chair next to yours on the table; and sometimes you'd catch her staring at you, but then again, she also always caught you staring back.

You felt your cheeks burning, maybe the secret was never a secret after all. "I got it," you mumbled under your breath before following the path Sam set.

The door to her room was left ajar, almost as if wanting you to come after her. You held onto your breath when you slowly pushed it open further.

Sam had her back to you, she was looking out her window at the night sky. The cold wind from outside caught onto the wet tracks down her cheeks.

You closed the door behind you and walked up to her. You knew she knew it was you; because she didn't turn around, she didn't talk, she didn't move a muscle. Not until one of your hands touched her waist, nimble fingers barely grazing the fabric of her shirt were enough to send a shiver up and down her body and get her shoulders tensing slightly.

Part of you lived only for these moments. You brought both hands around Sam's waist, hugging her closer and pressing her back to your chest; she was always so warm, each curve of her body fitting with yours as if you were part of the same constellation, bound to always be linked; you felt how Sam found your hand with hers, messily intertwining your fingers at the same time your lips met the skin on her shoulder. Just you and her.

No words were needed for a few moments. You were content to exist in each other's presence.

Eventually, Sam turned around in your embrace, her eyes were downcast; as if shame tugged at her heartstrings for things she didn't do.

You tried to find her eyes and brought a hand up to rest against her cheek. The pad of your thumb found a teardrop there, and one more soon followed the same path. You brushed them away with all the tenderness you knew she deserved.

"None of it is true," you breathed, "we all know it."

With the ghost of a movement, Sam leaned forward. The plea was barely there but you've been getting good at reading her. You met her halfway for a chaste kiss, your lips soft against her slightly chapped ones.

She pulled away with a gulp, her tongue running over her bottom lip to try and capture the feeling of you. "Still, it sucks being this hated."

You'd never heard her voice quite this broken, this vulnerable. Her dark eyes were shining with the cheap light of her bedroom, a little red-rimmed yet still the most gentle you've ever seen.

How anyone could ever see her as a bad person was beyond you.

Her hair was silky between your fingers when you pushed it behind her ear. "Lay down with me?"

There was an adorable furrow to Sam's eyebrows and you wanted to trap this moment like a spider in a glass.

"We'll figure out the details later." You promised.

It was all that was needed, maybe all she'd been wanting all along, because Sam melted in your hold; her body mostly laying on top of yours as you snuggled in her bed. Her arms came around your waist in a hold so strong that almost constricted your breathing. But you didn't comment on it.

Sam's cheek was resting just above your heart, and the steady beating was sure to lull her to sleep in no time.

Your fingers buried themselves between her hair as you'd occasionally press a kiss to her forehead.

It was the calmness amidst the storm and there were three words stuck in Sam's throat. Because there you were, tangled up in all her broken pieces, and all you wanted to do was stay.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Sam’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter imagine #sam carpenter #samantha carpenter #scream #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x female reader #samcarpenteredit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #sam carpenter fanfic #melissa barrera #melissa barrera x reader #my story

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

Note

For a little Eddie blurb, the word of choice is lake.

700 words of soft eddie comfort after a heartbreak coming right up. mention: you wear eddie’s shirt.

best friend (maybe more one day) eddie munson x fem!reader.

He found you at the lake. Hair only partially dried, one of his ratty old Hellfire tees draped over your ripped shorts, sandals tossed haphazardly beside your hip. Saw your feet where they dangled over the dock. Toes dipped into water up to the ankles.

Your shoulders were slouched, arms folded around yourself.

And his heart ached, the deep kind that burned in his gut, made him angry because he knew you were hurting. For weeks you’d talked about the guy you were seeing. Someone you met at a coffee shop, a nice guy, the kind you’d had these little hearts in your eyes for that would appear whenever you talked about them.

Until he wasn’t a nice guy. Until he stood you up. Left you by yourself at Enzo’s. A girl in a dress, with nothing but love to give to someone who never earned it to begin with. A girl who loved those around her and never expected anything back, but damn it, Eddie thought you deserved the world.

That guy hadn’t been worthy to know you, clearly. Because anyone who knew you would be able to see that a heart such as yours, with a love so deep it couldn’t be contained, should be celebrated. Appreciated. Tended to, coaxed out into the light, given the space to grow.

Eddie hated him without even knowing him. Wanted to kick his ass into another dimension, but pushed that longing aside to seek you out. To try and remind you that the things people often foolishly overlooked were the things that he loved most about you. Wanted to love you back into the light in the only way he knew how.

The only way he could.

“Knew I’d find you here,” he said, Reebok-covered feet kicking at a rock before he’d settled down beside you. “I always come here too when I need to get away.”

You said nothing, and that was fine. His fingers tapped along the wooden beams below. Tugged at the fraying hem of the shirt falling over your thigh. Still water-logged and see through from the drenched swimsuit beneath.

“Went for a swim?” He asked, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

Eyes squinted against those harsh summer rays. Warmth seeped into his black tee, but he’d endure the elements if it meant seeing even the barest hint of a smile across your lips.

“I needed to clear my head,” you murmured softly, voice thick and hoarse with unshed tears. He heard the sniffle that followed. The shaky exhale.

“Wanna talk about it?”

He turned his head to look at you. Watched in agony at the way your face crumpled. At the further hunch of your shoulders. His fingers curled around your kneecap. Shifted you just enough to draw your attention to his face. He tried the question again, and you shook your head. Brushed at your eyes as if he hadn’t seen the glimmer of tears on your sun-warmed cheeks.

“Do you want me to hold you?”

You nodded, and like he often did when you were sad, tired, or afraid, he hiked your thighs over his lap. Curled a hand around the bends of your knees and tugged you closer. Your body sagged against his chest, your side against his front, arms around his waist.

“He’s an asshole, you know?” He whispered against your hair. Felt your forehead dip further into the space beneath his jaw. “Anyone who knows you knows your heart. And anyone who would want to break that doesn’t deserve your time.”

You burrowed closer, arms winding tighter, knees curling into his abdomen.

“You know I love you, right? All of you. Even the parts you think people would hate. I see them all and I wouldn’t trade them for anything,” he explained, tucking your head closer to his chest. “You know why?”

You inhaled shakily. “Why?”

“Because they make you you,” he whispered, feeling you smile against his skin. “And I think you’re pretty fucking great.”

You remained silent for a while, and he’d allow it for however long you needed, for however long you wanted. He’d hold you forever if you asked him to. But you exhaled and fisted his shirt in your hand, tipped your head back a bit, and beamed.

And his heart splintered, because you were like literal sunshine to him.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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vandnana · 1 year

Text

In Love With The Enemy [II]

Chapter 2: The Son He Never Wanted

pairing: lo’ak x female turned na’vi reader

summary: during the time when jake became toruk makto, you were quaritch’s youngest and most valued soldier, the daughter he never had. but, pandora changed you and you died during the final battle, betraying quaritch and wishing that you had been able to do more. now, you have been reborn again, as a na’vi, tasked with quaritch’s new military avatar crew to kill Jake Sully. taking advantage of this second chance at life, you help the Sullys and fall in love along the way.

genre: fluff, angst ~ slow burn, pining on lo’ak’s part.

warnings: mentions of blood, war, violence

highlights: [more tearjerking jake and reader moments, neytiri and mo’at being like mothers to reader, lo’ak continuing to be an entire SIMP, and ofc tuk being adorably annoying like always]

word count: 9,242

note: how are you all doing?? as always, i’d like to thank you for waiting for this part! i don’t want to spoil anything before you read, but i will note that i just think all the moments with lo’ak are so cute cause he just flirts with her (or tries to) and she plays along, but on the inside she gets all fluttery and is kinda clueless about everything cause no one’s ever acted like that with her so AHHHHH — I really hope you all enjoy this chapter!!

[prologue] [chapter 1]

When you finally arrived back at camp, the night fog cleared all around you as Lo’ak’s ikran landed gracefully on the edge of the rock, that fog once shrouding you and Lo’ak in a bubble of joyous freedom dissipating as your return grounded you back into reality.

Jake was waiting for you with his arms crossed. You caught a glimpse of Lo’ak’s face, annoyed as he hopped off his ikran. Once his feet landed, he relinquished his annoyed expression, though only for a second, as he outstretched a hand for you to take.

“I got this.” You replied, hopping off on your own.

“Oh yeah, of course,” He replied, coolly drawing his hand back and placing it on the back of his neck as he feigned nonchalance.

“Do my orders mean nothing to you?” Jake yelled out, his anger clearly seething through his whole body as he stomped toward you both.

Lo’ak’s shoulders slumped, dreading his father’s lecture and dropping his hands from his neck, “No sir.”

You stepped between Jake and Lo’ak, putting your hands up, “Woah, woah, woah. Calm down old man. I asked him to take me around, okay? Your anger shouldn’t be focused on Lo’ak.”

Jake huffed in frustration, “He’s my son, y/n. He disobeyed direct orders.”

You lowered your eyes at Jake, “Oh, and you haven’t?”

Lo’ak scrunched his eyebrows at you, surprised by your boldness, but what really caught him off guard was his father’s quickness to concede to you, his expression softening.

“Fine, fine, but next time, I won’t be as forgiving.” He turned to Lo’ak, “Take her to your grandmother please.”

Lo’ak nodded, and Jake took him by the arm, glaring, “And no detours, got it?”

He fought back the urge to roll his eyes as he replied, “Yes sir.”

“Alright, dismissed.” He ordered.

“No, not dismissed. We need to talk about my father, Jake. He’s still out there.” You urged, planting your feet in front of him.

Jake put his hands on his head, “I know he’s out there, but right now, what I’m worried about is you.” He looked down at your wound, its ache suddenly making itself known to you, but you were too prideful to admit it.

His voice became scarily low as he spoke again, his expression grave, “You need to go get that patched up. Now.”

Jake pushed you forward, and you reluctantly moved your feet. Lo’ak took his place beside you as you both walked, Jake changing his mind about leaving Lo’ak to escort you to the tent as he trailed behind you both.

You observed everything around you as you walked further into the cave. It was vast, practically endless, and although the night sky was shielding its stars with its fog, you were still able to see their slight glimmer in the sky. It wasn’t too far into the night, groups of Na’vi, warriors, women, and children still in clusters, all of them staring at you as you passed, clearly weary of you in your odd clothing, but seeing Jake behind you, they seemed to relax. Amidst them though, you saw a few humans, their breathers on, wearing the khaki jumpsuits that all of the scientists had worn when you were alive.

“Wait.” Your tone displaying sternness as you stopped, turning toward Jake, “I need to know.”

You paused, heaviness filling your heart as fear began to consume it, “Is Trudy dead?”

You had assumed the worst, but you still clung to a tiny bit of hope that shattered instantly as you looked into Jake’s eyes, the glint of sadness in them affirming what you had feared. He didn’t need to say anything for you to know what that sadness meant. You felt a horrid clawing at your chest and you could only understand that feeling being the unbearable crushing of your heart. Jake hugged you as that pain settled in, and you felt so dreadfully numb, you couldn’t even wrap your arms around him.

“What about Norm and Max?” You asked pleadingly.

He let go of you, giving you a small smile, “They’re alive, and they know you’re here.”

Hearing that they were alive didn’t settle your grief, but you felt the mixture of emotions take over you as your relief and sadness melded together.

“I want to see them. Take me to them.” You stated resolutely, planting your heels into the ground as Jake shook his head at you, trying to push you forward agian.

“No, you’re not going anywhere until you see Mo’at.” He argued.

“Jake, I told you I was fine, okay?” Although, the throbbing was getting worse as you spoke, “Just let me see them please? Don’t you think it’s been long enough?” You responded, your forehead scrunched in frustration.

“They’ll still be here when you’re better, y/n. Now, will you please just listen?” He pleaded with you, his eyes stern again, “Don’t make me carry you over there, you big baby.” He warned, and you finally gave up.

“Fine,” You conceded, huffing in compliance as you crossed your arms, “I’d shoot you if I still had my gun.”

Jake shook his head at you, ruffling your hair, “Like you can aim with that injury.”

You slapped his hand away, smoothing your hair out as he pleaded, “Norm and Max aren’t going anywhere either, so just do as I say, please?”

“Well, stop being annoying and just let me go with Lo’ak, okay?” You huffed out.

“Alright, then go!” Jake encouraged as he shifted his point toward the tent.

“Alright alright, we’re going.” You spoke, putting your hands on Lo’ak’s back to get him to walk.

When there was finally some distance between you and Jake, you sighed, moving from where you were behind him to walk next to him instead. He stopped when you did, putting a gentle hand on your arm. You halted at the touch, blinking in confusion as your eyes traveled downward. You looked at him, anticipating what he had to say.

When you had mentioned Trudy, he had remembered he still had your pictures in his cloth pocket, and taking them out, he nudged them toward you, “Your pocket ripped and they fell out when we were in the tree. I figured they were important to you.”

Looking down, you finally noticed your pocket, widely ripped at its width. Taking the pictures out of his hand, you fought back tears that were easily brimming in your eyes. You let a weak chuckle out, embarrassed by your own emotions as Lo’ak looked at you sincerely.

Realizing that he was still holding onto you, he let go, clearing his throat, “The other girl in there.” He began, “That’s Trudy, isn’t it?”

You traced over her smiling face, “She was my best friend, you know. She was the best pilot in the whole unit. We would fly together.”

He listened, humming in response as you reminisced. Trudy was dead, but Lo’ak had returned a piece of her to you, and you couldn’t help but smile at him, your expression illuminating with gratefulness.

Lo’ak blushed instantly, shy under your gaze, his hand going to the back of his neck, “You have to stop looking at me like that.”

You shrugged, “Like what? I’m just grateful, that’s all.”

Lo’ak cleared his throat, finding his courage as he met your eyes again, “Well, you look pretty when you’re grateful.” The shyness you brought out of him retreating as his usual smugness took over.

You didn’t expect such boldness, scoffing as you dismissed him, “And how do I look when I’m not grateful?”

Still maintaining his cavalier, his heart pumping rapidly as he thought up his response, he smirked at you, “Still pretty.”

You were blushing, but you scoffed, lightly smacked his arm, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you were actually charmed by his attempt at flirting.

“Y/n! Y/n! You’re finally here!” An innocent tone rang out, making you tear your eyes away from Lo’ak.

Tuk was running toward you, overjoyed at seeing you again.

“Tuk, can’t you be annoying somewhere else?” Lo’ak groaned, crossing his arms as he glared at her.

Tuk stuck her tongue out at her brother, “Whatever Lo’ak. I bet you were the one annoying her.” She retorted, taking you by the hand and dragging you toward the tent.

You shrugged your shoulders at Lo’ak, motioning for him to follow, and he unwilling agreed, trudging after you.

Once you approached the tent, you saw Neytiri on the floor weaving amber, circular beads and golden twine together. You greeted her properly, “I see you Neytiri.”

Hearing your voice, she got up, putting down what she was weaving to greet you back, her voice welcoming as she spoke, “Come, you are hurt. I will help bathe you before mother heals you.”

She lowered her eyes at Lo’ak, her tone changing into a stern one as she ordered, “Out Lo’ak and take Tuk with you.”

He groaned as Tuk pouted, “Mama, why can’t I stay?”

“Just listen to mama, okay?” Neytiri said, and Tuk nodded reluctantly.

Lo’ak sighed, turning on his heel to exit the tent. Before he stepped out completely you called his name, his head spinning back so quickly at the sound of your voice.

You still had the pictures in your hand, and you held them out to him, “Keep them safe for me?”

He smiled at you as he took them from your hands, purposely brushing his fingers against yours, “Of course.”

You knew what he was trying to do as you felt his fingers touch yours and you stifled a light chuckle, “I’ll see you later.”

“Draw the curtain!” Neytiri yelled, and Lo’ak did as she asked, taking one last glance at you before he pulled the drapery down.

You made eye-contact with Neytiri again, who put a gentle hand at your back, guiding you to the large basin filled with water, steam coming from it, in the middle of the tent.

On the other side of it was Neytiri’s mother, her back turned as she prepared bowls of herbs for your healing treatment, their earthy aroma filling the air.

Once she turned around, you greeted her politely, gesturing your hand from your forehead to hers, “I see you, Mo’at.”

You were surprised as she seemed pleased with you, a hint of a smile gracing her lips as she acknowledged your presence, “Y/n Quaritch.”

She walked over to you, circling you as she studied your features, “There is never death, only change. You are proof of this. The Great Mother has blessed you with new life.”

You averted your gaze, hardly sharing the same feeling, your heart twisting as she spoke. You could feel the guilt within you rise in her presence, your father’s sins against her weighing down on your chest.

Mo’at could sense how troubled you felt inside, and even just seeing your tired expression, she could tell you were exhausted, that tiredness taking its toll underneath your eyes.

She placed her hands on the sides of your face, gently lifting your head to meet her eyes, “You have been through much, child. Be calm. You are with your people and you are home.”

You gulped, shaking your head at her, “I don’t understand,” Your eyes went to Neytiri, your gaze showing how burdened you felt, “My father destroyed your home and killed Eytukan, killed so many of your people. How can you welcome me so easily?”

Mo’at and Neytiri exchanged glances with one another, their thoughts becoming unified as each of them took one of your hands into theirs, the coldness you felt in your heart, suddenly warming through their motherly touch.

Mo’at spoke with conviction, her wisdom echoing through the tent, “Your father’s evils are not yours, y/n. You were born of the Sky People, selfish and cruel they are. Yet, you protected life and gave your own for someone you loved. You were always meant to be one of Us.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Neytiri looked as if she was going to cry, her voice sincere, “Jake, it was his life that you saved.” She put her other hand on your cheek, a single tear falling from her eyes, “I will never forget what you’ve done for me, for my family, my people. You have a strong heart, y/n like Jake. You are one of The People.”

You couldn’t find any words, the inner turmoil inside of you fighting to stay as their heartfelt reassurances melted it down, almost reducing it to nothing as you felt the warmth emanating from them both enter into your heart.

You had only ever felt this feeling once in your life, and it happened with Grace. It was the feeling of being recognized by a mother, and having craved it so much, having missed Grace so much, you let yourself be captured by that feeling, no longer battling against it and leaning into that comfort.

Neytiri and Mo’at noticed the change in you, and as you relaxed, they helped you out of your clothing. Mo’at unwrapped the cloth around your wound, and you winced in pain when she pulled the bullet out, leaving the widened gash open. That pain quickly subsided when they guided you into the basin, the touch of the heated water on your skin calming the tension in your whole body.

The two of them worked on either side of you, gently scrubbing your skin with soft, green cloths. Using a specialized herb mixture, its floral scent wafting in the air, Neytiri rubbed it in your hair, while Mo’at washed your body meticulously with another mixture, the floral scent of the hairwash mixing with the citrus-like scent of the one for your body. Eventually, all the dirt, caked blood, and yanna bark sap was gone, and with it came the layers of strain.

When they had finished washing you, they helped you out of the basin, drying you off quickly with another set of cloths.

Neytiri came up behind you, “Lift your arms.”

You did as she said, allowing her to drape something over you, and as you looked down you realized it was the piece she was weaving earlier, the twine coming together in an asymmetric halter shape, the beads cascading downward where your shoulder was.

“I made it like this so it is open where you were hurt.” She explained.

“This is beautiful.” You said in awe, and she gave you a satisfied smile.

Neytiri continued to hep you get dressed, teaching you how to fasten the loin cloth properly, and when you grasped the idea, you did it yourself. Once it was secured, Mo’at gestured for you to follow her, leading you toward the array of bowls that you had seen her prepare earlier.

Beside her array was a hammock, her eyes going to it as she spoke to you, “Lie down.”

You nodded, seating yourself in the hammock then lifting your legs up to fill the length of it. You watched as she took one of the bowls in her hand, warming a thickened paste she had made between her fingers, and you breathed deeply as she slabbed it into the open flesh and all around it, the cool sting of the herbs spreading throughout your wound. As she continued to rub the paste, you could feel your eyes get heavy, your vision blurring as you fought to stay awake.

Mo’at neatly blanketed your wound with a fresh new wrap, smothering the coolness from the paste and engulfing the area in comfortable warmth, and once that settled, you had lost the fight to your own exhaustion, your eyes shutting as sleep took over you.

By the time that Jake came to visit, there was no hope of waking you up. He was still having a hard time grasping that you were really alive, but he was just so happy to see you that he hardly cared, smiling as he knelt beside you.

“Ma Jake.” Neytiri called, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He turned his head, standing up, and with his full attention she continued, “She knows about how she died.”

Jake groaned, whispering, “How could you tell her? It wasn’t something she needed to know.”

“She deserves to know, just as she deserves to know about other things.” Her tone hinting as she gave him a serious expression.

Jake looked back at you, peaceful as you slept soundly, “She’s not ready.”

“Y/n is strong.” Neytiri defended, “You do not need to worry for her.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about.” He replied, meeting her gaze again, “It’s him.”

“And you have not told him either, that his father is that demon.” She hissed at Jake in frustration, “You cannot keep them apart and you cannot keep the truth from both of them. They are brother and sister.”

Mo’at cleared her throat behind them, “Do not disturb her in her sleep with such talk.” She drew the curtain back slightly, making an opening, “I will watch her.”

Although unwilling to leave you, Jake agreed, entrusting you with Mo’at as he left, Neytiri taking the lead as they both exited the tent. When they both walked out, Lo’ak was nearby, waiting to see you and Tuk, who had gotten bored, left not too long before her parents walked out.

He started to walk toward the tent, and noticing him, Jake stepped forward, “We’re having a family meeting. Go get your sisters.”

There was no chance to protest as his parents’ glares bore into him, forcing his obedient nod. Jake and Neytiri waited for all of their children just a couple meters away from where you were. Neteyam came first and a little after came Lo’ak, Kiri, Tuk, and another with him.

Neteyam took sight of his brother and his approaching siblings, greeting the other that had come with them, “Hey Spider.”

Neytiri gave Jake a worried glance, but he dismissed her, turning to his children, his expression serious as he explained your situation and who you were, carefully choosing his words as he spoke.

“So, she really— “ Spider paused, trying to understand, “She really died and came back…as a Na’vi?”

Jake and Neytiri nodded, and Spider put a hand at his chin, his eyes showing his amazement, “That is insane.”

“She has helped this family in more ways than you know.” Neytiri revealed, “I expect you to treat her like family.”

“Yes, mother. We will make sure she feels at home.” Neteyam reassured him.

“Yeah! I love her already!” Tuk exclaimed, turning to her sister, “And you’ll love her too Kiri!”

Kiri smiled at her sister, her eyes turning hopeful as she asked, “Did she really know my mother?” She was clutching onto the pendant of her necklace, once her mother’s but passed on to her.

“Yes, she knew her longer than any of us.” Jake affirmed, giving his daughter a reassuring smile.

He looked at Neytiri, who was already giving him a disapproving expression, “And I want you kids to promise me something.”

They leaned in, waiting for what he had to say and he continued, his tone serious, “I don’t want her anywhere near the lab or anywhere near the humans, okay?”

Lo’ak was quick to protest, “Why not? You know more than anyone that she wants to see Norm and Max.”

“She will see them, alright? Just not yet, okay? Can you just do as I—“

Then came your scream. To everyone else, it wasn’t all that loud, but to Jake it painfully rang in his ears like a siren and without hesitation, he ran, Neytiri and the children running after him.

He bolted into the tent, your figure shuddering in Mo’at’s arms as she held you, your stare blank as you looked at the floor, the remainder of a nightmare hanging in the thickness of the air. It would have been better if you had just slept horribly, then you would have expected this. But, beautiful dreams had come to you before a nightmare infested them— you saw your father, his sneer as he killed Jake and his family one by one, the blood splattering on your face as he made you watch, and no matter how much you screamed, no matter how hard you tried to stop him, there was nothing you could do.

Hearing Jake, Mo’at loosened her embrace and leaned backward as Jake knelt beside you, holding you by the shoulders before pulling you in.

“It’ll be alright, y/n. You’re okay.” Jake reassured you, his hands rubbing at your back.

Neytiri came up beside you too, her hand on your shoulder.

The children though stayed outside, climbing up onto the adjoining rock beside the tent and peeking through the upper openings in the tent to see.

“Is this how you felt when I died?” You weakly let out, leaning back to look at Jake, who blinked at you, his heart aching at the question, “I know it was just a dream, but I watched my father kill you Jake. You and your family.”

Jake could feel your grief from your shaken voice, the hurt that he felt from you seeping into his own soul, “That’s all it was y/n. A dream. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

You looked away, not wanting to believe in such hope, but Jake made you look at him again, “Hey, hey, do you remember what you told me before? Before the bulldozers came?”

It was impossible to forget, one of the last memories you had with Jake, “Of course I do.”

Jake took your hands into his, his voice resolute and determined, “A father protects. It’s what gives him meaning. You died protecting me when I should have protected you. I’m not gonna make that mistake again.”

You were crying as he said those words, smiling as you wiped them away, the sorrow inside of you dissipating as he smiled back at you.

“You’re safe here.” Jake said, patting the hammock, “You can rest, okay?”

You shook your head, “I’ve been dead for what, twenty years?” You got up, fidgeting with your fingers, “I’m done resting, Jake.”

Jake faced you, “You can still sleep. You love to sleep. You were always the last to wake up in the shack, remember?” He joked.

You scoffed, “That’s because I had a cripple underneath me who loved to snore.”

You hit him on the arm, and he gasped, pointing a finger at you warningly, laughing, “Hey, I’m not in a wheelchair anymore, so don’t start a fight you can’t finish.

“I kind of miss when you were in a wheelchair though. It was so much easier to make fun of you.” You retorted sarcastically.

Jake sucked a breath in through his teeth, and you surrendered, “I’m joking! I’m joking, okay? Don’t be mad. You know I’ve always respected my elders.”

Neytiri couldn’t help but laugh along with your joke, so entertained by the two of you as she watched you interact. Even Mo’at was smiling, her heart warmed at seeing Jake with you again, remembering his agonized desperation to revive you all those years ago.

The children were all watching from above, the oldest ones so baffled to see their father so carefree, but Tuk hardly noticed, her concern mainly being on you. Without another thought, Tuk ran off, making her way to the tent, all her siblings groaning as they followed her, calling her name.

Neteyam stopped Spider though, “Maybe you should stay behind bro. My father meant it when he said he did not want her near humans.”

“And that includes me?” Spider asked, hurt and offended.

“I’m sorry. It’s my dad’s orders.” He replied, patting Spider’s shoulders before running after his siblings.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” Tuk said as she ran into the tent, and as you heard her voice, you crouched down -: she wrapped her arms around you sloppiy.

“Tuk be careful!” Neytiri scolded, worried about your shoulder.

You stood up, Tuk taking hold of your hand as she apologized, “Sorry,” Then gently, she pulled your hand forward, “Come on! You have to meet my sister... and Spider too!” Her excitement too great to remember what her father had asked.

Jake attemted to stop her, “Tuk no-”

But she had already led you out of the tent, everyone gathered in front of the entrance. Jake let out a sigh of relief seeing that Spider wasn’t with them. Since Tuk had given no context to who Spider was, you thought she was talking about some sort of pet, and you looked around for something on the ground before your eyes landed to the girl in front of you. Your face dropped as you looked at Kiri, the spitting image of Grace, so eerily similar that you felt as if you were looking at her ghost, your vision flashing between your memory of her and the reality of who was in front of you.

Kiri stepped forward, her own curiosity about you encouraging her words, “Hi, I’m Kiri. I’m Grace’s daughter.” She began nervously and you were even more shocked, her voice even holding the same intonations as Grace, the sound sending goosebumps down your spine.

The tears that had left you before arose again as you took in Kiri’s appearance, noticing immediately the necklace she had on her neck.

You inched closer, pointing at the necklace, “Your necklace. It was your mom’s.”

She put her hand over it, touching the pendant, “How did you know?”

“I made it for her when I first came to Pandora.” You explained, “She was teaching me how to speak Na’vi, so I gave her this, as a gift.”

You stepped backward, taking note of her age in your mind. She wasn’t that much older than you, and you were reeling, filing through all the scientific possibilities in your head.

You looked at Jake, your eyes begging for answers, “How is this possible? You told me that the Great Mother couldn’t save her.”

“Actually,” Kiri began, “I was hoping that maybe you would know.” She paused, gulping down her expectations as she tried to maintain her calm, “Do you know who my father is?”

Everyone’s eyes went to you, but you kept yours on Kiri, her eyes so desperate for an answer as she looked at you, like your mere existence could fill in the missing pieces that laid like stones in her heart.

You reached into the depths of your mind, the memories of every instance with Grace appearing before you, the last making you wince, the pain of remembering her death agonizing how you felt in front of Kiri. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your apology rang deeper than your ignorance of her conception. You stood in front of her knowing that she had no mother and that it was your father who had done that to her. You averted your eyes, taking refuge in staring at your fingers.

Kiri tried to hide how embarrassed she suddenly felt, her eyes downcast as she scolded herself for being so hopeful, “Oh. You don’t have to be sorry. It’s okay, really.”

You wanted to give her some comfort. You owed it to her and casting that horrible feeling aside, you put a hand on her shoulder.

“Look, I was brought back by science, but you weren’t, you couldn’t have been,” She looked up at you, her expression pleading for you to continue, “Your mother loved Pandora with everything she had, and if that love somehow made you, then you’re a miracle, something Grace’s science, my science can’t explain.”

Kiri felt a warmth bubble inside her at your words and she looked at you with a cherished gratefulness as she clasped her hands around yours, “Thank you.”

You smiled at her, squeezing her hand before letting go. You looked down at Tuk, “So...where’s Spider? Is he a pet or something?”

“I’m not a pet.” A voice spoke from behind you, and you turned your head.

Jake glared at Neteyam and Lo’ak, mouthing his disappointment, Neteyam giving his father an apologetic expression while Lo’ak hardly cared, pressing his lips together in feigned regret.

He jumped down from where he was, approaching you, his appearance baffling. He was human, blue stripes painted on his body, his hair shaped like a lion’s mane, and the only clothing he had on was a loin cloth, similar to Lo’ak’s.

“I’m Spider,” He said, crossing his arms, “Socorro.”

Socorro.

The name was littered between the grief and sorrow that laid within you since you had woken up, the name so deeply buried in your mind that its sudden rise gave way to a singular memory, your body frozen as your mind’s eye displayed it in front of you.

You felt as if you were really there, the smell of the base filling your nose. Your father was beside you with his arms crossed, and you were standing in front of an operating room, the iodine smell wafting out as the door opened.

When the doctor came out, his surgical gear bloodied from the procedure, he pulled his mask down, meeting your father with a smile, although your father didn’t return it.

His frown projected how he felt as the doctor announced, “It’s a boy, Colonel. You have a son.”

Uncrossing his arms, he looked into the operating room, Paz Socorro, one of the pilots in the regiment, lying in the bed holding her son, their son. Paz motioned for him to come in, but he had his feet planted on the ground, tearing his eyes away from Paz and toward the doctor, his eyes moving swiftly to you.

“I ain’t got a son, doc.”

You couldn’t remember much after that, but you did remember Paz, and not fondly. She held nothing against your father for rejecting Spider, too in love with him to bear any hostility. Instead, she focused her hatred on you, blaming you for what had happened. She hadn’t always been so cruel to you, but how could you put her at fault? You were the reason why Quaritch didn’t love his son.

“Are you okay?” Lo’ak asked, your blank stare giving way to the concern that was filling his heart.

“Y-yeah.” You looked back at Spider, just the sight of him pinching at your heart, “I’m y/n.” You paused, attempting to joke, “You definitely don’t look like a pet.”

“Thanks,” Spider replied, laughing.

You managed a smile at him, but Jake could see the pain in your eyes. Lo’ak had seen it too, recognizing it as the same face you had when your father was calling out for you. You had become scarily silent, so lost in the pain of that memory that when Jake put a hand on your back, you didn’t move, your breathing staggering as you stood.

Worried, Neytiri took you by the shoulders and in your daze, your feet moved on their own as she escorted you back into the tent.

They all attempted to follow but Jake put his hand up, glaring at his two sons, his anger showing in the ferocity of his whisper, “I asked you to do one thing. One thing.”

Spider, feeling the guilt rise in him, spoke, “No, Jake it was me. I didn’t listen.”

Jake closed his eyes, frustrated as he let a breath in, “Go to bed. All of you.”

“But dad-” Lo’ak pressed on, moving forward, but Jake outstretched his arm, blocking the way.

“Get to bed.” He repeated himself, the firmness in his tone making Lo’ak back away.

Mo’at, who had kept her ear open as she sat on the floor of the tent, ascended from her position, “Do as your father says, my grandson. You’ll get to see her soon enough.” She seemed to be hinting at something, and Lo’ak only half-caught on, still annoyed by his father.

“Let’s go.” Neteyam said to his siblings, and they all reluctantly followed.

Spider trailing behind them at first, but he stopped, the call of his dangerous curiosity influencing his steps back toward the tent. Spider had watched your reaction when he said his name, your face turning pale and your eyes going blank. You were remembering something, and he had to know what it was.

When Spider darted off, Lo’ak followed. “Spider!” Lo’ak called after him, “Wait up!”

Neteyam grunted in annoyance, “Kiri, take Tuk home please?”

She agreed as her brother ran, but Tuk refused, “I want to go with them!”

“Tuk no! Come back!” But Tuk had already let go of her sister’s hand, passing the many tents to catch up to her brothers, and with no other choice, Kiri hastened her pace chasing after her.

Lo’ak and Spider took to the top of the rock they were at earlier, eagerly listening to your conversation with Jake.

As Jake approached, he looked apologetic, “Look, I know how you must be feeling and-”

“Do you really, Jake?” You exploded, pushing him away from you as you pounded at your own chest, “Do you know how it feels to look your own brother in the eye and know that it was your fault he was orphaned?”

Jake fell silent, battered by your agonized rage.

“My father didn’t want him because he already had me. He picked me off the street on earth, but Spider is his flesh and blood,” Your voice was breaking, so disgusted by the words you were saying that you thought you could feel bile fill your throat, almost drowning you.

“Does he know? Does he know who his parents are?” You questioned, giving him an accusatory look.

“No,” Neytiri piped in, shaking her head.

You squinted your eyes at Jake, “How could you not tell him?”

“You know your father, y/n. Would you have told him?” Jake pleaded, wanting for you to understand his decision, “I thought he would be better off not knowing.”

You were wrong to do that, Jake. No matter how much of a monster Quaritch is, Spider deserved to know.”

Lo’ak watched as Spider took everything in, his face twisting and scrunching as he tried to convince himself that everything you said wasn’t true. All he ever knew was that his parents had died in the battle with the Sky People, and he always wondered, allowed himself to explore those curious thoughts that longed to know who his parents really were. But as he listened to you, every word that you spoke like a knife in his chest, inching and inching further and further into his heart, he wished he had just left well enough alone.

Inside of him, like a disease that seemed to invade his mind, he was overcome with envy, his mouth in a snarl as he looked at you in your Na’vi form, Neytiri next to you as she took your hand into hers and even Mo’at regarded you, her concern shown as she stepped forward too.

Everything he ever wanted you had.

You were one of The People, accepted by Neytiri and Mo’at, and even before he was born, you were inducted in worthiness, your legacy so grand, so perfect, that the father you shared didn’t even bother to try to love him.

Neteyam came up from behind them, placing his hands on both of their shoulders, distressed as he whispered, “You cannot be here. Dad will skin us if he finds out.”

Spider pushed Neteyam’s hand away, storming off. He looked at Lo’ak, astonished by Spider’s reaction and Lo’ak got up from his crouched position, running off in the direction Spider ran off to.

Tuk climbed up onto the rock, Kiri behind her, as she crouched beside Neteyam, whispering innocently to him, “What’s going on?”

Kiri gave her brother an apologetic, sheepish look, but he let out a long frustrated sigh, pinching his temples together in frustration and mentally scolding himself for not anticipating them. He got up, picking Tuk up and carrying her, Kiri beside him as they both ran off to catch up with Lo’ak and Spider.

He had run off toward where he slept, the quarters for both humans and avatars clustered between the rectangular metal sites, identical to the shack in the other part of the mountains.

Before they reached the perimeter of it, Lo’ak stopped him from continuing. “Spider!” Lo’ak taking hold of his arm, “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m not okay!” He pushed Lo’ak away, his breathing heavy as he said his thoughts aloud, spilling haphazardly in anger, “Did you not hear what she said? Everything I know is a lie! I thought that my parents had died for something right, but t-they were the enemy. My father killed Kiri’s mom and tried to destroy everything here.”

Kiri went to his side, kneeling down as she tried to calm him down, “You’re not him, Spider.”

Neteyam pushed for reason, abating how dumbfounded he felt hearing the truth, “Kiri is right and you cannot change the past. He’s your father.”

“And he’s her father too. Y/n is my sister, if I can even call her that,” Spider buried his face in his hands, so angry that he couldn’t help from tears falling down his face, “I’m nothing to him, just the son he never wanted, while she got to be his daughter. He chose her.”

“She couldn’t have wanted that for you, Spider. Did you not see how hurt she was over everything? You can’t blame her for what he did.” Lo’ak explained.

Spider scowled at him, “So you’d rather defend her than your best friend?”

“It’s not like that, okay? You don’t know her, Spider. You don’t know the whole story.” Lo’ak argued.

“Oh, and you do?” Spider inquired with fury in his eyes, “Whether I know her or not, it’s just like Neteyam said, it won’t change anything.” Too angry and too hurt, Spider left without another word.

Kiri stood up, her heart aching as she watched Spider go, Neteyam put a hand on her back, “You know him. He will cool off eventually.”

Tuk, who was confused about what was happening, agreed with Neteyam out of concern for Kiri, “Yeah, Kiri. Don’t worry.”

Kiri glared at Lo’ak, her own disdain showing in her voice, “How could you let him just listen to all of that? How could you not be more sympathetic toward his situation?”

Lo’ak argued back, just as fiercely as his sister, “He wanted to go on his own, okay? And besides, what should I have done? Hold his hand? I was trying to be reasonable, Kiri.”

He stepped forward, his voice stern, “Ask yourself this question, do you think it’s her fault? After everything you learned about her, after what she told you about your mom...do you think that Spider’s right for making her the bad guy? The bad guy is her father, the guy that would have killed Tuk and I if she wasn’t there.”

Lo’ak had so much more to say, the tension between him and his sister as she maintained her glare, her pride too great to admit that he was right.

Neteyam subdued the tension, interjecting as he stepped between them, “That’s enough. Let’s go home before dad notices.”

In his anger, Lo’ak had forgotten about his dad, “Ugh, dad’s gonna kill us when he finds out.” He groaned, dreading the long-winded lecture he knew was inevitable.

“No, he’s gonna kill you.” Kiri spat, her voice laced with attitude as she walked away.

“How much did he hear?” Jake was rubbing his forehead, agitated as his children were in front of him.

Lo’ak paused before responding, “All of it.”

“And where were you? I told you to take them home.” Jake asked his oldest son, so obviously disappointed from the way his voice cut so callously through the air.

“Sorry, sir.” Neteyam let out, his hands behind his back.

“Ma Jake. It has been a long day and the children must sleep.” Neytiri let out, keeping her voice mellow.

“I’ll deal with Spider tomorrow, alright?” Everyone nodded and Jake, satisfied, told them to get ready for bed.

Rolling out their mats, everyone quickly laid down, wanting to leave behind the heaviness of the day. Eventually, sleep overtook them all, but Lo’ak, who had tried so hard to succumb to that heaviness, couldn’t keep his eyes closed, his thoughts naturally wandering to you.

He couldn’t help it as he wondered if you were okay, wondering if you were sleeping too or lying awake like he was. Lo’ak couldn’t leave his inner questions unanswered and without hesitation, he slowly lifted himself up, quietly ascending and carefully stepping toward the entrance of their tent and slipping away.

He quickly made his way to the tent you were in and once he made it to the entrance, he pulled the curtain back slightly, peeking his head in, the light of a small candle illuminating the tent in a dim amber hue. He didn’t expect to find Mo’at there, still awake and seated on the floor in a meditative state.

Somehow, she didn’t even need to open her eyes to know that it was Lo’ak, talking quietly as she acknowledged him, “Why are you here, my grandson?”

Lo’ak walked through, closing the curtain and stepping forward, his eyes going to you in the hammock, and although you were lying down, you were wide awake, only pretending to be asleep. You were afraid to, expecting the nightmares to come again, and after the day that you had, you knew that they would be worse this time around.

And with those nightmares also came your infiltrating thoughts, thoughts consumed with problems that were ahead of you—your father, your brother, and your struggle with your new life—sleep couldn’t cure those problems, leaving you to feel guilty to even just rest.

But hearing Lo’ak come in distracted you, and you listened to him intently, focusing on him and the unusually long pause that occurred after Mo’at’s question. Lo’ak was thinking up an excuse, and in her curiosity, Mo’at opened her eyes.

Lo’ak was teetering on his heels and remembering you had given him those pictures, he pulled them out of his pocket, “Her pictures, I wanted to give them back.”

“Really?” Mo’at asked, raising an eyebrow, “Why do I feel as if you are here for more than that? You are concerned for her, no?”

Lo’ak didn’t have a response to her question, any words he was thinking of saying getting caught in his throat.

She looked behind her, her head still pivoted toward you as her eyes landed on her grandson, who had focused his gaze back on you. As if that didn’t make things any more obvious to Mo’at, she could sense his quickened heartbeat and his underlying nerves by her own motherly instinct.

Mo’at got up, a hand on her heart as she grinned at Lo’ak, her next words trusting in the voice that she felt in her soul, “Why don’t you watch her until morning for me? Your grandmother must sleep.”

“Really?” Lo’ak replied, his excitement bouncing off his final syllable.

She lowered her eyes at him, “Yes, but I can stay here if you do not wish to-”

“No, I’ll watch her. You go and rest.” He interrupted.

She put her hands on his shoulders affectionately, “Good, good. I will be back in the morning.”

When you two were finally alone, he placed your pictures neatly on the table before slowly and quietly making his way to you. He leaned against the wall, admiring you. Even in your other clothing, your appearance rugged from the forest and blood dripping from your wound, Lo’ak thought you were pretty. But in the candle light, you were luminous, its rays cascading its amber colors onto your skin, most of your body now exposed to drink up the hues.

You still had your eyes closed, and you could feel his eyes on you. You cleared your throat, startling him as you spoke, “I know you didn’t come all the way here just to stare at me.”

“Have you been awake this whole time?” Lo’ak asked, stunned.

You finally fluttered your eyes open, “I couldn’t sleep. So what’s your excuse?”

Lo’ak stood up, “Didn’t you hear? I wanted to give your pictures back, that’s why I came.”

He kept his tone as nonchalant as possible, despite how much he could feel his heart pounding against his chest and his palms becoming sweaty with how nervous you were really making him.

You still looked at him with a suspicious expression, “In the middle of the night?”

“They’re important to you, aren’t they?” Lo’ak scoffed, trying to keep his composure.

Everything he was saying was defying any reasonable logic, but you were amused by him, smiling as you walked over to the table, questioning him further, “So you woke up just to give me these?”

Lo’ak crossed his arms, dedicated to maintaining a cool demeanor as he responded, “Well, yeah, but my grandma asked me to watch you too,” He paused, watching your reaction as he took the opportunity to tease, “She’s an old woman, you know. She needs her sleep.”

Although you knew he was making excuses, you played along, “Are you always this thoughtful or are you trying to impress me?”

He circled around you, his gaze fixated on you as he took a seat in the hammock, laying his back into it and resting his hands beneath his head, “Why? Are you into it?” He genuinely wanted to know, his eyes glinting with a ferocious curiosity.

You couldn’t take him seriously though, laughing as you approached, taking a seat beside him, “You’re in my spot.”

He put a hand on his chest, fake pouting, “And you don’t want to share? After I interrupted my perfectly good night to come here?”

You let a breath out, and to his surprise, you actually did lie down next to him, so unconcerned as you carelessly let your arms and legs touch his, the feeling igniting his cool skin.

“You’re lying.” You said, “Come on, why are you really up?”

Lo’ak gulped, adjusting himself slightly to give you more room, but you stayed still, only moving your head to look at him. Your foreheads weren’t even touching, but they might as well have, the effect of your proximity creating a tension that only Lo’ak seemed to notice.

Even though he was curious, he didn’t bring anything up about your old life, about Spider, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. Lo’ak found refuge in the ceiling as he responded, “I couldn’t sleep. I was too busy worrying about you.”

He glanced back at you, looking for a specific reaction in your eyes, hoping that you were feeling the same tension he was. You seemed immune to his continuous charms as your gaze gave him no indications, unreadable as you simply listened to him, your expression as calm as before. But you did feel it, unsure of what it was and unsure of how to react to it, having never felt anything like it before.

He suddenly felt awkward, clearing his throat, “So what about you? Why aren’t you sleeping? You can tell me…or don’t. Whatever you want.”

For a moment you hesitated, not wanting to share your troubles with him, to burden him with that unbearable weight. But Lo’ak had managed to make you feel lighter and you somehow found yourself talking to him easily.

“Nightmares.” You let out, “I always had nightmares when I lived on the base, but when I moved to the shack with your dad and everyone, they stopped.” You paused, “I guess I’ve still got my old habits wired in this new brain.”

“Well, not all your old habits,” Lo’ak began slowly, adjusting himself and giving you his full attention as he turned, “You know, I never thanked you for saving me, for protecting Tuk, so thank you.”

You did the same, shifting yourself as you looked at him, “You know, it’s weird. All of you have no problem seeing me as one of you, but I’m still having a hard time believing it.”

I’ve lived here my whole life, and I still have a hard time too.” Lo’ak held his hand up, wiggling his fingers, “Ketuwong, alien—it’s all they see, even though everyone denies it. “

You softened your expression, saddened by how he had said it, his voice desperately wanting to sound detached, indifferent to the problem, but despite how hard he tried to mask how he felt, you saw right through his attempt at apathy.

You held your hand up, aligning your fingers and touching your palm to his, “It’s okay. That means we match.”

Lo’ak’s mouth parted in surprise before he quickly pressed his lips together into a smile, not one of his usual smirks, but a real one, one he rarely ever showed, “Yeah, we do.”

You hardly realized the implications of what he said, your mind rationalizing it as your heart acted on its own, beating rapidly, so moved by the way your hands touched and the way he was smiling at you. Everything stirring inside of you felt like uncharted territory, the matters of the heart having never been traversed by your soul.

Yet, that territory did not resemble harsh landscapes or scary, rocky heights. It felt more like you were crossing through the bluest and calmest of waters, freely flowing and fluidly ferrying those feelings in you, easing and rocking them as they slowly settled within. And while you eased into those affections slowly, Lo’ak didn’t have to. He knew exactly how he felt about you, and he felt confident in his ability to make you realize the potential of your growing connection.

You retracted your hand slowly, resting it on your chest as you looked at the ceiling again, a blush settling on your cheeks. You both found yourselves in comfortable silence for a moment, peace finding the both of you just as it had when you were lying on the grass in the forest. Lo’ak was thinking of something to talk about, wanting to take your mind off of the nightmares and what had happened earlier that day.

His mind finally settled on a question and shifting his gaze from the ceiling to you he began, “So, what are you…” His voice quickly trailed off when he saw your eyes were closed.

You had fallen asleep.

He couldn’t believe it, and since you had fooled him once before, he uttered your name in a faint whisper, to which you held no response to, only breathing steadily as you laid still. Lo’ak felt the heaviness of his own eyes, but waited to fall asleep for as long as he could, ready to be there for you if the nightmares crept up in your mind again.

But they never did.

You awoke as light peeked through the tent, the rays from the sun infiltrating the space and signaling the morning’s arrival. You didn’t want to open your eyes, too comfortable in the position you were in. It wasn’t until you felt slight movement from next to you and the touch of a hand around your waist that you finally opened your eyes. You were lying on your side and looking over your shoulder, you found Lo’ak, still sleeping, his arm comfortably snaked around your waist and his other one positioned where your head had been.

You put your hand over your mouth, shocked and wondering how you let yourself fall asleep with him last night. Carefully, you tried to lift Lo’ak’s arm from your waist, but the movement only made him pull you in closer, the feel of his breath sending goosebumps down your spine as your back hit his chest. You tried again with a little more force and you were finally able to slip out from underneath him, lightly touching your feet onto the ground as you cautiously looked back at him, making sure he was still asleep.

To your relief, he was, and you wasted no time walking out of the tent, pulling the curtain back quickly and shutting it. You let a breath out, patting your cheeks and closing your eyes as you tried to process what had happened, trying to distract yourself from the scene in front of you. Life was already active in the camp as you saw everyone begin their daily routines, warriors already meeting, families preparing meals for their families, bundles of materials being carried around between women and men, and lastly you saw the very few children wandering, their eyes still tired as they yawned.

“I assume you slept well in my grandson’s arms?” Mo’at spoke from the right of you, the suddenness making you jump.

You felt your cheeks turn pink, your eyes darting to her. You greeted her properly, touching your hand to your forehead and extending it to her as she did the same.

Seeing the slight panic in your eyes, she put a hand up to reassure you, “Do not worry my child. I only tease.”

Her idea of a joke made you feel queasy with nervousness as you let out a weak laugh, “Ah, you’re funny Mo’at.”

She had her hands clasped together, an amused smile on her face, “But I am right, no? You were able to sleep.”

You scratched your head, looking away from her, “I was sleeping before Lo’ak got there.”

She raised an eyebrow at you, “You did a poor job fooling me.”

You gasped, “You knew the whole time? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Sometimes silence is better than talk.”

She looked back at the tent, placing a hand on the curtain as she pulled it back, revealing Lo’ak, still soundly asleep, “But, it was not my silence that calmed your heart, was it?”

You turned violently pink as you struggled to respond to her, “Well-I mean-I-”

“Do not worry. This will be our secret.” Mo’at whispered.

In her excitement, she was getting ahead of herself, spewing her words out with pride, “But, do not hold shame over this, y/n. My grandsons are the most handsome of all the men here. If you realize you are not too fond of Lo’ak, then I’m sure Neteyam would be very good for you.”

You still didn’t know what to say, your mouth parting to speak, but no words falling out. Your shock only allowed you to nod, as you barely even registered what she had said, your mind and heart racing to catch onto the words to understand their heft.

She gave you a pleased smile, putting an affectionate hand on your cheek before she drew the curtain fully, the pouring light from the entrance into the entire tent, the abruptness of sunshine instantly stirring Lo’ak awake.

Rubbing his eyes, Lo’ak sat up and Mo’at approached him, her hands clasped together, “I suggest that you run back home Lo’ak before you get into more trouble.”

Planting his feet on the ground he stood, grunting, “I’m always in trouble, grandma.”

He looked over to where you were, and when you made eye-contact, Lo’ak smirked, “At least this time, it’ll be worth it.”

Author’s Note

My lovers,

Okay so many things happened but round of applause for mo’at, your biggest shipper ~ SHE IS PLAYING HER GRANDMA DUTIES WELL

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!! PLEASE let me know what you thought of it in the comments! I really love reading your predictions and how you felt :)

~ ~ I hadn’t originally planned on putting Spider in my story, but I wanted to add more depth to the reader’s arc and intertwine their fates together— Spider who desperately feels like he belongs and tries so hard, and then there’s YOU who didn’t even try at all to be one of The People and has already been accepted even though you still feel like you don’t deserve to. I just couldn’t resist it :)

again thank you all SO MUCH for taking the time to read my story and for leaving such wonderful comments and just showing your love on here!

i never expected anyone to even read any of my work and as more of you become part of my lovers clan i just feel like crying cause i just love you all so much !!

love,

nana <3

taglist [tumblr wouldn’t let me tag some of the blogs, but i didn’t want to leave anyone out!] :

@fifty-shades-of-mischeif @pretty-npeach @tonni30 @itsemy01 @23victoria @soobinsrose @starjane312 @valentineoxox @justlillythinking @mae-is-crazy @scarletrosesposts@paniniii @bloodyziggy @mister-police @mrs-sullys-blog @niiight-dreamerrrr @promiseofeywa @wilmalovegood @sssspencerrr @mochi-yu @d4rno @lovekeeho @dreama-little-dreamof-me @strawberryclouds22@tsunchani @sully-stick-together @scarletrosesposts @local-mr-frog @pirana10 @usernumder67 @im-kai-scotty @mae-is-crazy @ghoulbli @devil-on-acid @neteyamoa @iamparou @nightfalldia @a-queen-blr @aeclark041-blog1@justpassinbxx @mochi-yu @persondoingstuff @melatonindaydreamz @ducks118 @macncheese69420666 @rotten-toenails @rikidaily @extreamlycutecuban @iizx7y @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @lovekeeho @spicycloudsalad @perfectprofessorloverapricot @kind45 @skyri-revia22@blueblushedflwr @neteyamslovr @coldlamaspersonspy @jayinthecloset @lunamochii @littlethingsinlife @ok-boke @donaldsmac @slut4sluttybooks @zatarias-pandora @bol0-de-morang0 @dakotali @bajadotcom @bitchyzombienacho @siriusblackwh0re @wadiyatalkinabeetmate @eggyongies @galaxyfruits @kiricomics @fireflystoughts @reallysparklychaos @bwormie @fireflystoughts @kiricomics @n1ght5h4d3-24 @tojigirl @jiminparkk @larkkyoris @detectivesparrow @simp-erformarvelwomen @fairygirl-222 @kolsmikaelson @skyri-revia22 @junnniiieee07 @ashrocker123 @sassy-persona @chantelle-mh @https-izuku @kaealowri @sunsents @galacticstxrdust @graykageyama @liyahsocorro @aysenademir @k----a27s

@glitter-in-my-heroin @kirikuki @katkat1918 @0-0h-0 @imthefunniestpersonalive @my-name-duh @mayabritjohn @annoyingstrawberryballoon @sometimesminsan @pearlrosegardener @aestheticcraze @animetrash12 @sbfandom @hrlzy @vhobuu @urforevermore @larkkyoris @usersjs-world @vampsclassiffied @razor-blayde @doromoni @lizzyloo22 @jimfiqs @hunylew @dreamergirljen @champagnelovers101 @di0nlurking @sleepyharuka @dani111@nisha-potter@kaealowri@goddesslilithmoriarty@zilena9 @neteyamforlife

#avatar way of water #avatar fanfiction #avatar x reader #avatar #avatar loak #loak angst #loak fic #loak x reader #loak fluff #loak x you #nanasavatarfics #nanasilwefic!

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starrydixon · 1 year

Text

Faint

*Requested from this ask :)*

Era: Farm Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: None-Specified Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: mild language, brief descriptions of fainting and dehydration, fluff!!

Summary: After pushing yourself a little too hard in the hot Georgia sun, you find yourself losing consciousness. Luckily, Daryl’s right there to help you out.

It was hot—probably one of the hottest days since the apocalypse started. The blaring sun was not holding back, as there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky to block the assaulting rays from your skin for even a few seconds. The Georgia humidity also wasn’t helping; it made the air you breathed feel denser and like there wasn’t much oxygen to inhale. Sweat collected across your hairline, around your neck, and dripped down your spine. The clothes you were wearing stuck to your body like another layer of skin, and you were sure there were patches of sweat staining your shirt. Before the outbreak happened, you would have been embarrassed by it, but there were more important things to be worried about nowadays instead of people seeing you sweat.

With most of the group out of commission or being assigned to do something else, it was only you and Daryl looking for Sophia today. Daryl was heading towards the creek, seeing what he could find at the only landmark the little girl had to go by, while you searched in the opposite direction; just in case she had wandered out further than anticipated.

The water in your canteen had run out hours ago. You knew you should have gone back to the farm to refill from one of the wells, but finding Sophia was more important than relieving your dry throat. You hadn’t realized just how draining the sun was on your body until you noticed that your once stealthy footsteps had turned heavy and noisy. That should have been your other sign to go back to the farm, but you still pushed on. When your vision began to go out of focus not even twenty minutes later, you knew you were treading dangerously on succumbing to heat stroke. As much as you wanted to keep looking for Sophia, up until the hot sun began to set over the horizon, you knew you wouldn’t be very useful if you were delirious and or unconscious.

As the blue sky began to tint with light shades of oranges and pinks, Daryl had assumed you had already made it back to the farm when he reentered the property. The hunter was perceptive; keeping to himself most days and observing the people around him. He instantly felt the lack of your presence around camp when he returned from his search. Maybe it was because you were the only person within the small group of survivors that he was immediately drawn to when he and his brother first showed up to the camp at the Quarry. You had always been genuinely nice to him, and didn’t treat him like the outsider he felt and knew that he was. So your absence was significant to him.

With Sophia still missing, and presumably lost in the vast forest that surrounded the immediate area, Daryl couldn’t help but fear that you were now lost too. Of course he hoped you were only taking so long to return because you had found Sophia, or at least found a warm trail of her, but his anxiety was getting the best of him. He couldn’t take that chance; having another person lost on his account. The archer didn’t hesitate to go back out there, find your tracks, and make sure that you were okay.

Just as he was beginning to cross the field of overgrown grass and weeds, Daryl was met with the welcomed sight of you emerging from the tree line of the woods. He didn’t know if he was projecting his fears with Sophia on you, or if it was something else, but he was relieved to see you back in one piece with his own eyes. Daryl hadn’t broken stride, planning to meet you halfway and converse about any evidence you may have found during your search. The closer he got, the clearer your weary body language and sweat sheened face became.

“Y/N?” Daryl called out to you, cupping a hand next to his mouth in an attempt to magnify the sound of his voice. When the only response he got from you was witnessing your body drop to the ground, his once relaxed strides quickly turned into a full on run.

Internal alarms that Daryl didn’t know he possessed began to go off, causing his heart to race and his breathing to become labored. Daryl kept calling out to you as he made his way over to you, hoping that your face would miraculously pop up from the overgrown foliage and reassure him that you were fine and had just tripped over an upturned pile of dirt. When that didn’t happen, curse words rooted from fear flew out his mouth.

Daryl had no idea what to do when he finally reached you. Kneeling down beside you, his hands hovered around the frame of your face and sides of your head. He was worried that his touch, no matter how gentle he tried to be, would somehow hurt you. .

“Hey-hey.” The archer’s voice was soft, but still held that distinctive gravely undertone as he watched your facial expressions begin to stir. Daryl’s breath quickened and his ears had a deafening ring in them due to the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

The second you opened your eyes, just a crack, you instantly squeezed them shut again. A distressed groan sounded from under your breath as the near blinding brightness and nauseating dizziness stung your sensitive eyes. If it weren’t for Daryl’s voice sounding so close, yet so distant, you probably would have panicked at how disoriented you felt.

“Easy now…” Daryl trailed off cautiously as you began to sit up. His hands hovered around your frame, spotting you in case you fell down again.

“Don’t…don’t take me to Hershel.” You informed the archer as you blinked your vision back into focus. Your muscles still felt heavy and weak, and you were sure you’d fall over again soon as it was becoming difficult to keep yourself upright.

“Just—help me to some shade.”

Daryl was hesitant about following your wishes, as he thought you should be seen by someone who had a medical background. You noticed his hesitation, and shot him a heated warning look with whatever energy you had left to spare. With a shake of his head and a light scoff escaping past his lips, Daryl helped you to your feet and led you over to the closest tree; which was one of the many peach trees residing around the Greene’s farm.

“Water…please.” Your voice was breathy and weak as you slumped back against the sturdy tree trunk. If your body wasn’t so exerted of energy, you would have found the rigged wood that dug into your back uncomfortable.

“Right—water.” Daryl patted his body, searching for the canteen he often carried on his person. When one of his hands bumped into the container, the archer clumsily removed the strap from off his shoulder and practically shoved the canteen in your face due to his hasted mindset.

A thank you barely made it out of your mouth before you eagerly drank the refreshing water. You knew you would need more than a half-full canteen worth of water to hydrate your body again, but just the mere feel of the cool liquid filing your dry mouth and going down your scratchy throat was replenishing enough.

“You seem awfully calm for someone who just passed out.” The archer’s distinctive southern drawl seemed even more prominent when he spoke. Carefully, Daryl sat down beside you under the tree that was providing your hot skin with cooling shade.

For a moment, you could only shrug your shoulders dismissively in response as you let your head fall back against the tree trunk. The golden hue of the sunset caused the overgrown grassland in front of you to seem like it was glowing. It was a peaceful view, and you couldn’t help but allow its peace to calm you for a few moments.

“If I wasn’t aware of why I fainted, I definitely wouldn’t be this level-headed.” Your voice was slow, but composed and lucid. It made Daryl’s looming anxiety settle and his protective guard to slightly drop. “I ran out of water hours ago…I just wanted to keep looking for Sophia.”

For a fleeting second, Daryl felt a surge of warmth spread over the expanse of his chest. You didn’t have to explain yourself further; he understood where you were coming from completely and was perplexedly endeared that you were just as committed to finding Sophia as he was. Carefully, Daryl glanced over at you, and felt an electric shock shoot up his spine when he saw your tired eyes and half smile aimed at him. The brightness radiating off of your face practically blinded him, and he had to avert his gaze so he wouldn’t risk having you see the dust of pink he was sure was beginning to cover his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, Daryl only hummed vaguely in response before standing up and brush his hands over his pants to remove some of the dirt that stuck to the worn denim. Squinting through the setting sunlight, the archer took a few steps back and examined the peaches that hung from the branches. Since the peaches hung a few feet too high for Daryl to reach, he knew he'd have to poke the branch until the stem of the fruit broke free from the branch.

“I’d watch your head if I were you.” Daryl warned while raising his crossbow and nudging the branch.

Placing both arms over your head, you subconsciously winced as you anticipated the feeling of raining fruit falling on you at any moment. The last thing you needed was a head injury on top of your mild heat stroke.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You expressed endearingly as a weak smile uplifted the corners of your mouth. The archer just shrugged indifferently.

“Ya gotta eat somethin’... these things got lots of vitamins and minerals or whatever and that’ll help ya feel better.” Daryl explained while gesturing to the few peaches that were now cradled in his arms.

As Daryl kneeled down beside you again and offered you the ripest peach in the bunch, he felt his heart skip a beat when his gaze caught your genuine smile. After making sure to thank the archer once again, you quickly brushed your fingers against the peach to remove any lingering dirt and bit into the sweet and juicy fruit. A comfortable silence fell over you and Daryl as you both enjoyed the delectable snack.

Daryl wasn’t the type of person who normally pried into other people’s business. His rule of thumb was that if something wanted to be said or talked about, it would be eventually at the person's own discretion. This time, however, your health was more important than his comfortability and he was curious as to why you didn’t want to be checked on and cared for with medicine.

“Is there uh—a reason why ya don wanna see Hershel? He could help ya feel better faster.” Daryl threw the near bare peach pit a few feet in front of him, and watched the pit become hidden within the overgrown foliage of the farmland.

“Oh…I just don’t want to be more of a burden, you know?”

You too had finished your peach, and threw the pit in the same direction Daryl had. Your’s didn’t land as far as Daryl’s did, and you were going to blame your dehydrated body for your lack of strength instead of your lack of muscles. Wiping your hands of the sticky peach juice on your jeans, you brought the canteen to your lips and drank the remaining liquid. Although your eyes remained on the field in front of you, you could see Daryl’s attention turn to you from the corner of your eye, and feel his curious gaze flit over the side of your face.

“Should take the medical care while we still got it.” Daryl reasserted while resting his arm on top of his bent knee.

“I want us all to stay here longer…and if asking for help diminishes that chance, then I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

Daryl couldn’t help but admire your selflessness. He wasn’t sure how many other people in the broken group of survivors would also make that kind of stance. To visually show that he was done pushing his own concern onto you, the archer raised his hands in faux surrender. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the small glimpse of charisma from the usually guarded man.

After a few beats of silence had passed, you found yourself chuckling quietly again and rubbing a distressed hand over your face. “Maybe eating those peaches without asking already ruined our chance.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Daryl compromised with a suggestively raised eyebrow. You couldn’t help but belly laugh with as much strength you could muster while lightly nudging the archer’s arm with your elbow. Daryl couldn’t help but find your laugh contagious and quietly chuckle along.

“Can I get ya some more water?” Daryl asked once the laughter had settled between you two. With his hand, he motioned towards the empty canteen sitting in between your legs.

“That would be great, actually. Thanks.”

“Might be more comfortable restin’ in your tent, too.” Daryl suggested lightly as he stood up from the ground. In an attempt to seem less pestering, he shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

“Probably…but I think if I even try to stand up right now, I’d go cross eyed and pass out again.” Despite how serious you were, there was a teasing lilt in your voice to delude the concern.

Your lightheartedness didn’t seem to have any affect on Daryl, as he stared down at you with a wary look in his eyes. “Right…” Daryl’s drawl was heavy when he spoke, and he shifted uneasily on his feet as those panic-induced alarms began to go off again.

“I’m fine, seriously. I just need to drink a shit ton of water...and maybe eat another peach” You reassured him encouragingly while handing the canteen to Daryl. The archer just hummed, unconvinced, and snatched the container from you.

“Don’t pass out while I’m gone…I’ll be pissed if ya do.” Daryl warned while pointing an accusing finger at you.

“Aren’t you always?” One of your eyebrows rose in speculation as a sly smile formed on your lips.

Daryl scoffed and took a few steps away from you. He could feel heat begin to flush the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he blurted out his rather flirtatious thoughts without thinking.

“Nah—not around you…you’re just different I guess.”

Instead of the blaring sun and borderline heatstroke heating up your face, it was Daryl’s alluring comment. All you could do was shake your head dismissively and try (but fail miserably) to conceal the flustered smile that contorted the shape of your lips. A lopsided smile formed on Daryl’s lips as he slowly retreated from you; all the while rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

As you watched Daryl jog across the field to the nearest watering well, a wave of invigorating energy coursed through you. You thought only shade and replenishing water could cure your drained and dehydrated body, but it turns out a rugged archer whose strong facade was slowly crumbling to reveal the man he truly was, was just as healing.

A/N: I just started my twd rewatch, and just had to write something with early season Daryl! Also, I’m so sorry this is out a little later than anticipated! Thank you to the anon who requested this, and I hope you all enjoyed reading! <3

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction

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somekindofpoet · 1 year

Note

I’d LOVE a smutty drabble based off that one anon’s tummy kisses with Lorraine cause I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I know you put it in the last fic but I’d love one dedicated to tummy kisses

For once it’s not blazing hot outside. Rain drizzles down your apartment windows, thunder rolling in the background, the usual blue sky a dark foreboding gray. It’s easy to not feel guilty about spending all day inside when the weather gets like this. The Day ranch will keep their animals indoors, hunkered down with enough feed to last them until it passes.

Lorraine insists on watching movies all day. She’s particularly interested in a new film called Alien. You’ve heard it’s great, a horror masterpiece with cutting edge filming techniques and a very talented up and coming actress as the lead.

The film is incredible, you admit that. But something about the way Lorraine looks sitting on your couch, her shirt riding up around her waist, makes it difficult to focus. She’s engrossed, her eyes wide and engaged, fully enjoying the movie. You try to pull her in closer, give her the hint that you no longer want to be watching movies. You have something much more fun in mind.

“Baby quit,” she says, side eying you, “I don’t want to miss this part.”

You huff, sitting back and trying to pay attention again. An idea overcomes you, and you know it’s going to piss her off, but maybe it’ll get you what you want.

“Man, that Ripley is somethin, huh?”

Lorraine’s brow furrows just slightly, her jaw flexing.

“I guess,” is all she replies, but you can see that it’s worked.

Her fingers pick at the hem of her shirt and her eyes are searching harder now, looking for the allure in Sigourney Weaver. It’s not hard to find. You push her further.

“How much you think she had to work out for this film? Or you think she’s just built like that.”

Lorraine waves you off with a glare, “Hush.”

You grin, watch her body language. Her frown hasn’t left her face and she leans back into the cushions, her shirt exposing her stomach just a little further. You grow impatient, and throw the games out the window.

Leaning over, you pull her shirt up a little higher, kiss her just above her hip. She sucks in air, her stomach jumping.

“What’re you doing?”

You smile into her skin, pull the shirt up higher, “Nothing. Watch your movie Raine.”

Her eyes flit between the screen and your lips on her skin. She can’t decide if she wants to stand her ground or not. You inch over, kiss just under her bellybutton.

“I know what you’re-“ she gasps, cutting herself off when your tongue runs over her skin above her pants.

You hum, playing innocent, not looking up at her. Lift her shirt a little higher, holding it against her ribs, press a less than innocent kiss there. Her fingers quickly find their way into your hair, her nails gently scratching at your scalp.

You slide off the couch, kneel between her legs, your lips still on her skin, your hand pushing her shirt up. When you feel her hand leave your hair and her shirt leave your hand, you know you’re victorious. She pulls it over her head and you look up at her, trying not to gloat. Her eyes are dark, low lidded, her lips parted. She’s lost all interest in the movie.

You return to her stomach, nip at her ribs, your lips soothing the slight redness when you let go. When you stray too far to her side, instead of a gasp of desire, she giggles. You stop, look up at her with a curious smile. Kiss her there again, she squeals and pushes your head away.

You go back to her waistline, chuckling into her skin at your discovery.

“What’s so funny?” She drawls, running her fingers into your hair again.

You lift your head, shrugging, “You’re ticklish.”

She rolls her eyes, but the pink in her cheeks and her hand in your hair tells you just how much she enjoys it.

You tuck your fingers into her waist band and pull her sweats down, she lifts her hips to help you get them down her legs and kicks them aside. Her ticklish spots on her stomach may be new territory for you, but between her legs certainly is not. In fact, it may just be your favorite place in the world.

When you kiss her there, you get to listen to your favorite sound in the world, Lorraine gasping and moaning above your head. Taste her on your tongue, second best to nothing you’ve ever had. And when she cums for you, her hips rolling into your mouth, her stomach twitching under your hand, you get to see your favorite view.

#lpm #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader #lorraine day x reader #lpm drabble

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hhnguyen · 1 year

Text

something beautiful

I managed to escape from my hundreds of assignments for a few moments to finish this one for you all, sorry its short :((

♢ Pairing: Kiri x Oldest sister!Reader

♢ Word count: 1.8k

♢ Genre: angst, sibling love, fluff - Warnings: cursing, talks of depression and insecurity

⌲ Description: Your younger sister is worrying you more for each passing day after the family’s move with the Metkayina.

M A S T E R L I S T

“The fish seem happy.”

With a startled flinch, Kiri found herself snapping out of whatever daze she had been in, sitting on the sandy beach with the water rushing up to meet her lower body and away again as the cycle repeated itself with the current.

She had been so preoccupied with her mind that your presence hadn’t registered until the very last moment.

Something that should be scolded in the current dangerous times, but not for Kiri. Never for Kiri, to be honest.

“There is no fish,” she gave a strange look as you chuckled before settling yourself down beside her with an exaggerated huff.

“Not here, but I assume they are; with them being fish in the ocean and all.”

“You really need to improve your jokes.”

You had heard that one several times already, and simply offered a light shrug in return. Mimicking her gaze, you followed it out to the crystal blue surface of the eastern ocean trying to remain in the obvious silence your younger sister had been busy with.

But patience had never been a virtue of yours.

“So, why are you sitting here all alone?”

Kiri shrugged. “Just felt like it. People got annoying.”

Well then. “Fair enough.”

The sigh mixed with a slightly exaggerated breath coming from you was enough to make Kiri roll her eyes knowingly as you stretched out on the sand beside her, eyes now stuck on the clear blue sky above your heads with the brightness of the sun warming your skin as you squinted up for a moment, one leg bent up to further support your comfortable position before closing your eyes.

And so you waited.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Fiv-

“Out with it.”

You win.

“Hm?”

There was no need on your part to open your eyes to know about her annoyance. It was already clear to you from the shift of her body alone.

“You’re being suspiciously silent. And you’re never silent unless you want something.”

Her words made you grin, but you still refused to look at her.

You could actually get used to this position on the warm sand. A nap would have been delightful in this weather.

“Y/N!”

Oops.

“Sorry, was in my own head there for a moment.”

She groaned a sound you had gotten far too used to since leaving the forest, and especially coming from her.

“Yes I know, so what do you want?”

You clicked your tongue in a slight reprimand, finally turning your head to look at her as Kiri glanced down at you with the familiar I-Don’t-Wanna-Talk-To-You downturned pout of her lips.

“No need to be so grumpy.”

“I said I wanted to be alone.”

“I’m not saying anything, you’re the one making a deal out of this.”

That was certainly not the thing to say, you realized.

“Ugh!” Kiri was about to stand up and stomp away, so you lost the playful facade as you pushed yourself back up into a sitting position.

“Stop, sit down.”

Pausing in a half crouch, you could see the indecisiveness in your little sister’s eyes as they flickered to you and the village in the distance, but as she met your raised eyebrows defeat was quick to follow as she plumped back down with a huff, stubbornly crossing her arms and looking away.

“Good choice,” you straightened up. “So what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Bullshit,” your reply was quick but simple.

“What do you want me to say then?”

“The truth would be nice.”

“Why do you always have to meddle?”

“Hm, I meddle when the situation calls for it, Kiri. You of all people should know that.”

You could see her contemplating, warring for her next actions silently of whether to continue her stubborn teenage act or actually come clean to the one person who could see straight through most of her acts.

“And what situation are you seeing right now?”

Bingo.

Your little sister might have thought herself to be quite clever - not that she wasn’t. Kiri was sometimes far too smart for her own good. She was not someone who was easily roped into Lo’ak’s stupid schemes, neither was she prone to self-destruction like Neteyam sometimes did with the burden of heir on his shoulders. She was the silent, but listening type who had a sharp tongue when it was needed.

There was a reason why your grandmother had found her to be a fitting healer instead of you. You hadn’t been the only one to notice her fascinating connection to everything living around her. The earth, the trees, and the creatures both in the skies and waters.

Eywa had clearly chosen her.

And not a single part of you doubted that it would be for something great.

You just wished Kiri could see that too.

“You are unhappy.”

Her reply was dry, biting almost.“What made you think that?”

You scruffed her head at the cheek on her as she let out a sound in protest of the action. “Don’t be smart with me.”

Another roll of her eyes.

She was really layering on this.

“Just like you, I’m not stupid. Is it because you don’t like the Metkayina?”

”Of course not, they’re nice…most of them.”

There was silent agreement on your part. “Do you miss the forest?”

“We’re Omitikaya, I will always miss the forest.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Then what is it?”

“Nothing you can fix.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, little sister,” after what seemed like a lifetime, Kiri finally glanced at you for more than five seconds. “I am trying to help.”

“You can’t help something that is not fixable.”

“Kiri,” you shifted up on your knees, facing her with a serious look as you grabbed her slightly smaller hands in yours, stroking your thumbs over her knuckles for a short moment in comfort. “You worry me. Us, our brothers too.”

“You are hardly eating with us these days. Always skulking away for yourself to the point that even Tsireya has noticed something strange. Mom and dad won’t say anything because they don’t want to push you, but at this point you are forcing me to.”

Her head was hanging down, her soft, choppy hair so different in texture from your own covering her eyes as you leaned forward to tuck some of it into the back of her ear.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

A scared little whisper that shattered your heart into a thousand pieces.

There were many words you wanted to say, to scream even. More than one emotion was circling in your mind; anger, against whoever had managed to make your younger sister so insecure in herself. Sadness, for her to even believe whoever’s words they were. And frustration, at yourself for not making her see the truth earlier.

You didn’t ask for permission as you pulled her into a hug, settling down behind her like your mother usually did for all the children, as Kiri’s form curled into a small ball between your legs, head finding support against your collarbone.

“You are something beautiful, Kiri, special and unique in this large world - do not ever let anyone tell you differently, do hear me?”

“But I’m not like you,” your shoulders dropped at those words, hurting you even further to know that of all people to compare herself to in this world it was you. Her protector and older sister. “You couldn’t see it back home. How all of the young men were always vying for your attention because you were busy with dad and all your tasks. But they were always looking at you, hoping and dreaming for a single moment of focus.”

“Stop,” a breath hitched in her. “You cannot, and will not compare yourself to me, little sister. I am not the standard for what is beautiful in this world. I admire strong people, strong hearts like our mother and grandmother, but at the end of the day, I also make sure to appreciate myself.”

“How can I appreciate myself when I’m a freak?”

Eywa, like you hated that word. It wasn’t horrible in itself, a simple word in the English dictionary used to describe a lot of things. But ever since you had been able to talk and understand words, that word had always followed your siblings and that one extra finger.

“Well, then we’re both freaks,” as Kiri met your eyes you wiggled your five fingers at her as her lips tugged. “We’re two sides of the same coin, so your argument is not valid. Because if you say I’m the standard of beauty with my five fingers, then you are too.”

She sighed heavily. “Sissy-”

“Nope! No takebacks. You are beautiful, done. You said it yourself.”

“You’re not being funny,” in despite of her words, you felt the tension ease from her form.

“If you think I’m ever joking about this, you will have to think again.”

Tucking her closer against you, as if that was possible, you rested your cheek against the crown of her head as both of you looked back out into the ocean. Letting the warm breeze act like a comforting blanket in the darkness of the topic.

“I know it isn’t easy,” you whispered. “Having your own thoughts betraying you, making you believe in…whatever negative angle it comes up with. It’s not something to fix within a day, or this conversation itself. This darkness roots itself into our very bones, convincing us that there is no other truth. But I will never let you get roped into it.”

There was a waver in her voice as Kiri spoke. “How do you know it is fixable? Because I can’t see it…”

“Because I will be here. Every step of the way.”

You thought that would be the end of it, taking her nonverbal response as her own acceptance.

But you were wrong, more often than not lately when it came to your siblings.

“Please don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Kiri nearly croaked, the whisper of her sentence so low you nearly had to strain to hear clearly.

It still managed to settle that uncomfortable feeling of unease deep in your chest as you swallowed at her meaning.

“Don’t say that, little sister,” was all you could say, because she was right, in a sense.

This stalemate that your family was in with the Metkayina was a false security. Your father might have been able to trick himself that everything was okay now - safe.

You thought differently.

“I will do my best, can you at least accept that?”

The way she snuggled further into you was a yes in her language, and you settled for it as of the moment.

If the future was set on separating your family then you would meet its gaze when the day arrived.

However, right now, your sister needed you, and that was all that mattered.

again, if you want to be added to my taglist please comment on my masterlist if you have specific stories you want to keep up with, or just all of them. I have the memory span of someone 50 years older, I will forget if you comment anywhere else but there, I’m really sorry its just who I am so please help me out 🫠

taglist @nao-cchi @eywas-heir @ssc7514 @spicycloudsalad @calums-betch @httpjiikook @ricecakeslove @fanboyluvr @iwaslikeblah @the-wandering-pan-ace @avatarloversblog @eternallyvenus @enchantinggoateefox @arianapntn @heydemonsitsme @slyvixen1029 @promiseofeywa @love13tter @directioner5life @bambisposts-blogs @melllinaa @sugarmummystuff6 @lovekeeho @marit332 @hai-kbai @missroro @lola2004sworld @kage-yaa @enchantinggoateefox> @meeeeep5 @wolfangnight @lemon-lav @singular-itae

#avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar imagine #avatar angst #kiri #sully family #sully family x reader #sully reader #sully fluff #sully family imagine #jake sully

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yawntutsyip · 1 year

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I’m trying to work on my angst writing… 😒

Why not me?

masterlist

You watched Neteyam behind a tree, smile immediately drops at what you see.

Neteyam was laughing with another girl, she had a hand on his arm while the other one was playing with the beads on his braid twirling it between her fingers.

Why wasn’t he pushing her away? Did he like her?…..

Looking down at your hands, you had a handmade necklace, made just for Neteyam that matched yours.

Tears began to gloss over your yellow orbs and fall onto the, now meaningless necklace. You laugh at yourself clutching the piece of jewelry tight in your fist.

Who was I thinking? Neteyam, liking me?…

Impossible.

You stare back at the two still giggling and chatting as their backs to you walking further into the forest. He looked happy. He was giving her the smile you thought was only reserved for your eyes.

Whimpers begin to slip from your lips as you muffle them with your hand, walking backwards into the tree with your back against it sliding down, not caring about the pain that you felt from the bark scratching your skin.

Pain struck your chest as you continued to let tears fall down. Why couldn’t that be you? Did he not find you pretty? Did he even like you in the first place?

You couldn’t take it anymore, all these feelings began to become unbearable. You throw yourself forward landing on your knees with your hands covering your face as you scream out your sorrows.

Your heart felt as if it had shattered into a million pieces, with your lungs having any air sucked out of them, it was so much pain that you held. You wanted the ground to swallow you in so you didn't have to face anyone, your fragile body could only take so much.

After a while tears no longer left your eyes, you stayed laying on the dirt and grass-covered ground as you watched the sky.

Everything felt numb, as if the world stopped spinning just for you so that you could take your time. You didn’t know what to feel. The one person you were ready to live the rest of your life with, gone with another girl.

How you wished it was you laughing with him, touching him, smiling with him, making memories.

The light from the sky began to disappear as night had begun. Finally, you sit up slowly, breaths still shaking as you take short inhales.

Staring at the necklace in your hands.

How pathetic. You stayed up all night gathering different beads and gems to make it.

All that time wasted. Time you could no longer take back.

Rubbing your eyes with your fist you stand up and look down at the necklace before throwing it off somewhere into the forest. It was useless now.

You walk away. Eyes no longer held that special shine, they now stayed dull, emotions showed no more.

But there was still one thing in the back of your mind you couldn't get out.

Why not me?…

#atwow #avatar the way of water #atwow x reader #atwow imagine #avatar x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar #neteyam sully #☆ — neteyam ˖˚⊹

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bellaxgiornata · 1 year

Text

Falling For the Devil [Part six: "The Wedding Night"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: You step outside of Marci and Foggy's wedding reception for a moment to clear your head and the night soon takes a turn you weren’t expecting.

You both finally stop being idiots and admit your feelings. And that locked adjoining hotel room door does not stay locked.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 5.8k

a/n: There is one more part to this wedding saga that follows called "The Post-Wedding Brunch" that I will try to get up next before I take a break for the day of sharing these on tumblr. As I've said in the other notes, there are 74 of these currently on AO3, but you can find the ones available on tumblr in this list here. Hope you're enjoying the series if you're new to it!!

You headed out of the ballroom, the music fading into the background now that you were no longer near the thumping speakers. Walking the few steps through the brightly lit lobby, your heels clacking along the floor, you pushed open the front doors and stepped out of the reception hall. Your arms absently crossed over your chest as you wandered outside a bit further, the door softly closing behind you. You were far enough out of the city that you could actually see some stars in the night sky for once and your gaze lingered up, taking in the rare sight.

Your mind grudgingly fell back to Allison and Matt, hoping that you wouldn’t have to tune them out in Matt’s room like Foggy’s cousin had teased. Maybe if you were lucky he’d go to her hotel room. The thought made you wince, fighting down the sharp sting of tears.

You’d be lying if you said that what you felt for Matt was strictly friendly, even if you’d always said you two were just friends. Because you were friends–had been good friends for just over a year now–but you’d wanted more ever since you met him that night at Josie’s if you were being completely honest with yourself. But he’d only ever playfully flirted with you on occasion while you’d witnessed him openly flirt with other women.

You'd always felt like you just weren't quite enough to be his type. Not like that at least. He always flirted with the most stunning of women, and not that you entirely lacked self-esteem, but you'd never been a head turner, not like the women he had been with. And sure, Matt was blind, but as Foggy had said often, he did seem to have a sixth sense for that in particular. And on top of that, you'd always been a bit shy and awkward. Struggling a little with anxiety. Matt knew that well about you, and even though he'd always been great at handling you in those states, the women he flirted with were always confident and strong.

No, no you were not Matthew Murdock's type at all.

But Allison seemed nice. You certainly didn't hate her; hell, you couldn’t blame her for wanting Matt. If anything you envied her ability to boldly go after what she wanted. You weren’t like that. You’d never been like that. Which was why she was in there with him and you were out here, hoping you wouldn’t be stuffing pillows over your ears later tonight.

You sighed, shifting on your feet and feeling how sore they’d become in the heels you were wearing. At least the balmy night air and the soft chirping crickets felt refreshing in comparison to the loud music and heat from all of the sweaty bodies dancing inside. Eventually your eyes drifted closed, feeling yourself relax and a bit of your anxiety fade.

"I thought you came out here."

You startled, throwing a hand over your chest as your heart nearly skipped in shock. Spinning a little unsteadily on your heel, you spotted Matt before you nearly lost your balance. His hands darted out, grabbing your shoulders and catching you. Your own hands instinctively caught onto his bare forearms, the sleeves of the dress shirt he had on rolled up to his elbows now.

"Easy there, Bambi," he teased, righting you.

You grinned sheepishly, removing your hands from his arms and stepping back. "Shit, Matt, you scared me!" you told him, heart slowly recovering as he just grinned back at you. You watched him for a moment, noticing the slightly ruffled attire of his clothes from the day. "You step out to get away from all the noise, too?" you asked him.

He shrugged a shoulder, one hand holding onto his cane while the other slipped into his pants pocket. "Sort of. But I thought you seemed upset. Just wanted to check on you."

You took another step back, waving a dismissive hand and feeling your nerves return. "No, I–I just had a bit too much to drink. Mixed with the loud music and tons of people, I just needed some air."

He studied you for a long moment, quietly tilting his head to the side. You'd noticed he'd taken his glasses off when he'd stepped out; he had been wearing them at the table a minute ago. The longer he silently stared, the more you began to squirm under his blank gaze.

"Are you having a good night?" he asked you after a moment.

You smiled, nodding. "Yeah, I am. Marci and Karen might be encouraging me a bit too much on the open bar," you admitted, to which Matt chuckled, "but yes. Are you?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "Though I was hoping I'd get to talk to you a bit more. You've been hiding all night."

You bit your lip, eyes darting away. "I haven't been hiding," you said softly. "I've been dancing with Karen half the night. You seemed busy, like you were having fun." You cleared your throat, trying to make a joke as you asked, "Do you need to put a sock on our adjoining door tonight? Need me to find somewhere to go for a bit?"

Matt's mouth tugged into a frown, his eyebrows creasing together. "What?"

"You and Allison," you told him awkwardly. When he continued to stare you shook your head, glancing away. "Nevermind. Bad joke."

"I'm not sleeping with Allison tonight," he told you.

"Good to know I don't need to find somewhere else to go for a bit, then," you muttered awkwardly.

Matt cleared his throat, shifting on his feet beside you. Your arms nervously crossed over your chest again, your eyes drawing back upwards to the night sky. For a moment, silence fell over the pair of you.

"So I've heard everyone inside talking about Marci’s dress all day, and I have a pretty good idea of what Fog is wearing because it's basically what I'm wearing," Matt began, breaking the silence, "but I've been curious about what you're wearing."

Your cheeks burned, your gaze dropping down to your gold heels peeking out just under the silk, floor length dress.

"Same thing as Allison," you answered. "All the bridesmaids are wearing the same dress."

He took a step towards you, a faint smile on his lips as he spoke. "Well I didn't ask Allison what she was wearing. I asked you."

Your face flushed warmer, one of your hands rising to press against the burning skin on your cheek. "That's just usually your go-to line. Figured you already used it on her," you answered softly.

"It wasn't a line," he said just as softly. "I genuinely would like to picture how you look tonight. Since I can't actually see you."

You bit your lip, eyes returning to your shoes. For some reason your heart was thundering in your ears and your breath was coming in short.

"What color is it?" he asked, taking another step towards you.

"It's uh, like a sage green," you whispered, your heart beating wildly. It didn't help that you knew he could hear it.

His hand reached out, his fingertips grazing the fabric along your hip. "Silk?"

"Yeah," you breathed out.

His hand moved to your elbow, gently sliding its way up. His calloused fingertips left a burning trail in their wake as his hand paused just at the edge of your shoulder.

"Strapless?" he asked.

You shook your head, finding it suddenly hard to breathe with him touching you. "No," you whispered. "There's uh, there's thin straps. The uh, the neckline is a bit of a plunging V-neck. The dress dips down in the back a bit, too." You swallowed thickly, your heart in your throat. "It's floor length," you added quietly.

"I'm sure you look stunning," he whispered, his hand falling back to his side.

You smiled awkwardly, a nervous laugh leaving you. "Definitely an upgrade from jeans or sweatpants I suppose," you said, unsure how to take his compliment.

"I'm sure you always look stunning," he murmured.

You snorted in amusement, the sound sharp and inelegant. "I don't know about that."

His eyes narrowed at you, a slight frown at the corner of his mouth. And then a slow, warm smile spread across his face and he held his hand out towards you. You eyed it curiously, one brow raised.

"Care to come back inside and dance with me?" he asked, his eyes landing along your chest. "Karen hogged you enough for the night, I think."

You rolled your eyes grinning. "You have your pick of probably every single woman in there, Matt. I don't think–"

"I'd really like to dance with you," he told you, cutting you off, his hand still outstretched.

Your eyes darted down to the waiting hand. Why was he complimenting you so much this evening? Following you outside? Touching you like that and wanting to know how you looked tonight? And now he wanted to dance with you ? He hadn't even danced with Allison.

But his offer and that awaiting hand were too tempting to ignore with the alcohol buzzing in your system.

"Okay," you agreed, hesitantly placing your hand into his.

The smile on his face grew and he pulled you carefully towards him, wrapping your arm through his as you'd done a few times earlier today. Nervously you led the pair of you both back inside, his cane tapping lightly along the floor as you both walked.

A slow song was playing when you returned to the reception and your stomach twisted in knots. All the people on the dance floor were couples holding each other close, swaying gently together. You even spotted Foggy and Marci in the middle of the group, holding each other as they moved.

Matt leaned in beside you, whispering just over the music as he asked, "You mind if I drop the cane at the head table first? Might get in the way."

"I don't mind at all," you answered back.

As you led Matt towards the head table for a moment, him folding up his cane and setting it down, more questions hit you. Had Matt known what music was playing when he'd asked you to dance? Surely he should have known with his heightened senses, right?

But why would Matt want to slow dance with you?

He turned back around, arm still linked with yours, and then you anxiously guided the both of you out to the dance floor. When you both finally reached it, he released his arm from yours and turned to face you as his hands gradually made their way to rest along your hips. Hesitantly your hands lightly rested along his broad shoulders.

"Is this okay?" he asked you, leaning forward towards your ear to be heard over the music.

You could smell the faint cologne he was wearing for the night; it smelled warm and sort of like pine. Your eyes briefly closed, inhaling the scent again.

"Yeah," you answered him.

For the rest of the song you tried to relax, swaying with Matt in the throng of couples around you. But you felt a little tense and stiff, overly aware of his hands resting high on your hips and the way your chest occasionally brushed against his as you both danced. And then there was that look again, the one that left a faint smile on his lips and a fondness in his eyes as he stared down towards your collarbone and it had you feeling dizzy.

When the song ended your feet stopped, your hands about to let go of Matt, but his hands remained at your hips as another slow song came on.

"Would you stay with me for another dance?" he asked, a hopeful look on his face as he gazed down at you.

Your mouth opened as you stared momentarily wide eyed back at him. Quickly you recovered, placing your hands a bit more onto his shoulders as you nodded. "Sure, Matty," you mumbled.

His warm hands glided towards the small of your back, splayed wide over the soft fabric of the dress as he carefully pulled you into him. You gasped lightly in shock, Matt's mouth dipping down beside your ear a second later.

He whispered your name, the hair on the back of your neck rising at the sound of it from his lips as he was holding you like this. "Loosen up," he whispered next, warm breath fanning down your neck.

You only stiffened further against him, yet again your cheeks flushing as your heart raged inside of your chest. "You make me nervous," you admitted.

"Don't be nervous," he said, still speaking beside your ear. "It's just me."

You ducked your head, and with being this close to Matt, your forehead rested along the top of his chest at the movement. "I'm nervous because it's you," you murmured, your intoxicated brain not bothering to stop this particular admission. "You've always made me nervous."

"Why?" he asked.

You gnawed on your lipstick-covered lip, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. You shouldn't be saying this, not to Matt. Your hands abruptly pushed against his shoulders, trying to get away from this situation, but he only held you tighter.

"Matt," you said his name like a plea, pushing against him again.

"Tell me, please?" he practically begged.

You shook your head, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. You couldn't tell Matt, couldn't ruin the friendship you both had. He had to know, with what you knew he could pick up on, he had to know. Why was he doing this?

"No, Matt, stop," you mumbled.

"Hey," he said gently, one hand leaving your back to gingerly tilt your face up towards his. His eyes were creased in concern. "Don't cry, please don't cry. I'm not trying to upset you. I just–" he bit his lip, gazing down at you, "–I have feelings for you. I've had them for a while. Since that night I overheard you and your friend at Josie’s talking about me. The night we met."

You stopped pushing to get away from Matt, your eyes slowly making their way up towards his face. "What?" you asked, disbelief in your tone.

"I like you," he whispered earnestly. "I always have. I just could never tell if you felt that way too or if it was just your normal nerves when your body reacted around me. I mean, I know you found me attractive, but I didn't know if you felt anything more. Especially knowing that other side of me. And I–I was afraid of ruining our friendship by saying something. But I can't help but think, after today, that you feel it, too…?"

"Matt–I…" you stammered, voice trailing off.

You were at a loss for words. Matt liked you? He liked you like that, too?

"I–I didn't read you wrong, did I?" he asked apprehensively, his face pinching with worry as you both stopped swaying to the song.

"No, Matt, I…I like you too," you confessed, your face feeling like it was on fire now. "I always have but you're…" You trailed off again, awkward embarrassment burning through you.

"I'm what?" he pressed.

"You are way out of my league, Matt," you muttered uncomfortably.

"What?" he asked, shocked.

You swallowed hard, nerves returning as you abruptly word vomited everything that came next. "You and Foggy are these successful, well-spoken, intelligent lawyers who help so many and do so much good for the people of Hell’s Kitchen. And you're so damn charming and outspoken and smart and impossibly attractive. And then there's the whole other thing you do, which yes, not ideal, but you're like a damn superhero and I'm just…just an awkward, socially inept journalist. I'm not–not anything special, Matt."

When you finally managed to catch a breath and look up at Matt, he was staring down at you with a sad smile on his face. Slowly he leaned in, resting his forehead to yours.

"You're special to me," he whispered. "And if you would stop being so hard on yourself, if you could see yourself like I do, you'd understand." His hand released your chin, instead resting along your face, cupping your cheek. “You’re absolutely charming and you're smart and resourceful as hell. You’re hilarious and vivacious and so goddamn adorable that it hurts sometimes. You're sweet and always so considerate of me. And I know without a doubt that every inch of you is beautiful, inside and out.” He smiled at you, his forehead still resting along yours as he said your name so softly. “ You are out of my league.”

A faint smile spread over your lips, cheeks still flushed and feeling lightheaded as a disbelieving scoff escaped you. “I find that hard to believe, Matt,” you murmured.

“It’s the truth,” he whispered back.

Slowly, you relaxed a bit in his arms as tears pricked your eyes for an entirely different reason now. Your hands gradually slid over his shoulders, making their way around the back of his neck as you carefully rested your head against his shoulder, the two of you moving with the music again.

"Much better," he murmured into your ear, his own hands pulling you tighter into him as they rested on the small of your back.

The two of you danced for a bit longer, your bodies close as you swayed to a few more songs. Eventually the pair of you parted when the music picked back up, Matt promising the two of you would continue the conversation at a later time.

Standing in front of the mirror above the dresser in your hotel room, you continued to search for every bobby pin in your hair. You'd already changed out of your dress, throwing on a pair of comfortable cotton shorts and a soft tank top to sleep in before washing off the thick layer of makeup the makeup artist had applied this morning.

So far you'd managed to pull out five bobby pins, but you could still feel more of them in your still partially pinned up hair. The hair spray made your hair feel a little less soft as you dug around searching for the pins, but you didn't feel like showering tonight. You'd shower in the morning before the brunch Marci had planned in the hotel restaurant downstairs for the family and bridal party.

Two soft knocks came from the door next to you and you jumped, startling at the unexpected sound. And then you heard Matt hesitantly call your name from the other side.

"Yeah?" you answered back curiously.

"Do you mind if I come in?" he asked, his tone nervous.

Your hands fell from your hair, heading over towards the locked door that adjoined your two rooms. You slid back the lock and then turned the handle, the door opening to reveal a disheveled Matt in a dark blue tee-shirt and dark gray sweatpants. Your eyes momentarily scanned his casual appearance, one you hadn’t really seen before. Usually Matt was in his dress pants and button up dress shirts, tie and suit jacket on. Or he'd be in nice jeans and a nice shirt when you'd see him on the weekends and he hadn't been at work. Obviously you'd seen him in Daredevil's suit, but somehow this side of him felt different. Softer and more vulnerable.

"Hey," you greeted him quietly.

He smiled back at you. "Hey," he answered just as quietly back. "You uh, you mind if I come over for a bit?" he asked.

“Oh, no, not at all,” you said, stepping aside and letting him pass through. You left the door open between your rooms, heading back over to the mirror above the dresser. “I’m just trying to finish pulling the last of these damned bobby pins out of my hair. What’s going on?”

“Would you like some help with that?” he asked, his reflection in the mirror gesturing a hand towards your hair.

“Uh, sure,” you answered nervously.

Matt crossed the few steps of space between you, coming to stand just behind you. You could feel the warmth of him at your back just before both of his hands carefully felt their way around your hair, his breath blowing just over the top of your head and back of your neck as he worked. He immediately found a pin and deftly slipped it out of your curled locks, reaching around you, his chest brushing against your back as one hand remained in your hair as he placed it on the dresser beside the others. And then he straightened back up, searching for more. The feel of his hands running through your hair, with the warmth of him at your back and the feel of his breath washing over you, while he still smelled faintly like the cologne he’d been wearing despite his wardrobe change, had goosebumps raising along your arms and your eyelids lowering. Your heart, on the other hand, had picked up its pace.

“So…what’s the reason for the late night visit?” you eventually asked again.

“I’m just nervous being here,” he admitted.

Your face fell, eyes opening. “Oh, I’m–”

“Not here with you,” he corrected quickly. “Just here in general. So far from Hell’s Kitchen. I’ve…never been this far from it before.”

You relaxed under the ministrations of his hands again. “I was wondering how you were handling that last night,” you told him. “Especially with heightened senses in a hotel room.”

“The answer is not great,” he replied. “But I pushed through it. I’m here for Foggy and Marci. It’s just one more night now. But it’s…still really hard to sleep here. The bed is so lumpy and the sheets are scratchy. I can hear so many different lights buzzing around this entire building nonstop. Not to mention everyone snoring or talking or doing–” I saw his reflection cringe in the mirror, “–other things that I had to actively find a way to tune out.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you breathed out. “How’d you manage to ignore it? Music? Turn on the television?”

You watched a bit of pink tinge his cheeks in the mirror and you wondered if you were imagining the flush to his cheeks or not. Since when did Matt Murdock blush?

“You, actually,” he whispered.

“Me?” you asked in shock.

“Your heartbeat,” he clarified. “And your breathing, actually. I uh, I focused on that instead last night. Eventually I managed to fall asleep for a bit.” He frowned then, his sightless gaze focused on your hair as he pulled out another pin. “Sorry if that was intrusive, by the way. I wasn’t trying to be. I was just desperate and you were asleep. They were just…calming.”

You licked your lips nervously, studying his reflection in the mirror. You somehow didn’t find yourself embarrassed by his admission, rather you felt…flattered.

“That’s okay, Matt,” you whispered. “I don’t mind.” You watched him for a moment, and before you could stop yourself you asked, “Do you want to stay here tonight? Would that help?”

His hands stopped what they were doing in your hair, his body going rigid behind you. Instantly you felt uncomfortable and winced.

“Nevermind, that was weird,” you backtracked quickly. “I just meant if it would help you to sleep tonight, but that was really forward of me. Forget I said anything.”

He cleared his throat, hands still tangled in your hair. “I…actually would have gladly taken you up on that, if you meant it.”

“Would it–would it help?” you stammered out.

“If you didn’t mind me focusing on you again like that,” he answered. “If you didn’t feel like it was intrusive. I am not interested in hearing what Marci and Foggy are about to get up to soon.”

Your face turned red, remembering Marci’s earlier comment about having great sex tonight. “Yeah, shit, I can’t imagine. You’re welcome to stay, if you want. I don’t mind. But I was planning to sleep once I got these out. I’m pretty tired from this weekend already,” you told him.

“Believe me,” he said, his reflection showing him grinning behind you, “I could definitely sleep.”

It was a few more minutes before Matt found the last three bobby pins in your hair, placing them on the dresser. You thanked him before hesitantly making your way over to one side of the bed. Matt slowly headed to the other side, his gaze landing around your chest.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked.

“Yeah, why?” you questioned back.

He raised a hand, gesturing towards you. “Your heart is racing.”

You laughed a little nervously, pulling the sheets back and sitting on the mattress. “Well, I didn’t exactly start the day thinking you’d be in my bed tonight.” Immediately your eyes went wide at the cheeky smile that spread across his mouth. “Not like that!” you added quickly, cheeks burning. “Shit, no, I didn’t–”

“Relax, I know what you meant,” he soothed, pulling the sheets back beside him.

“I’m beginning to think,” you said, reaching a hand out to turn off the lamp beside you, throwing the room into darkness, “that you enjoy when I say stupid shit around you when I’m nervous.”

“I think it’s cute, yes,” he admitted, the smile apparent in his tone.

You laid down on the pillow, scoffing lightly as you felt the bed shift beside you as Matt climbed onto it. It was only a matter of moments before you could feel his warmth radiating from his side of the bed towards you. And then your heart stuttered in your chest, the weight of the evening falling on you. Matt had confessed he had feelings for you , and now he was in your bed and falling asleep next to you .

For a moment you just laid there on your back, staring up at the ceiling nervously, your eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering in from the window just to the side of you. Matt was on your left also laying on his back. A quick scan out of the corner of your eye proved that he was awake, his eyes blankly staring up towards the ceiling as well.

“You’re uncomfortable,” Matt called out through the dark.

“Nervous,” you corrected quickly.

You saw his head shift on the pillow, turning towards you. “Would you be less nervous if we touched?”

Your heart nearly sky-rocketed out of your chest at his question. Matt’s warm chuckle filled the darkened room around you instantly.

“I meant if we cuddled,” he said, highly amused. “Instead of laying here like stiff boards trying to avoid it.”

“Oh, right,” you breathed out, heart still racing. “Maybe?”

Matt immediately rolled onto his side towards you, one hand snaking its way past your stomach, part of his warm palm brushing skin where your shirt had ridden up. His hand finally came to rest at your hip. He rested his head beside yours, just above your shoulder. Cautiously you slid a hand up, lightly placing it along the forearm that he had across your stomach. You tried to will your heart to calm down.

“Better?” he asked.

“Maybe uh,” you began, swallowing nervously, “maybe give my brain a minute to catch up to what is even happening tonight.”

He laughed lightly beside you, his mouth so close to your ear. “You really couldn’t tell that I liked you?”

You blew out a rough breath, shaking your head. “I still can’t believe you even talked to me that first night at Josie’s,” you admitted. “Liking me is still not in my realm of comprehension.”

Matt’s head rose from off the pillow and you turned to look at him. In the dim light you could see the tender way he was gazing back at you.

“And what would you say,” he began softly, his hand on your hip sliding its way back out from underneath your hand, drawing it up to brush the hair away from your face, “if I asked for one kiss? Can that be in the realm of comprehension for you tonight?”

Your lips parted in surprise. A startled, anxious noise left your mouth instead of words. Matt only grinned in response, his hand now affectionately stroking your cheek as he stared down at you.

“You’ll have to help me, sweetheart,” he teased. “Was that a yes or a no?”

“Yes,” you breathed out.

His fingers continued to gently brush along the skin of your cheek, his calloused fingertips pleasantly scratching along the smooth skin as he continued to gaze down at you. You felt anticipatory goosebumps rise along your entire body along with a nervous, tingling sensation that had the hairs rising on your arms. Very slowly he leaned in, his hand cupping your cheek just as his warm mouth finally met yours.

Your eyes snapped shut, your brain short-circuiting. Matt was kissing you. Those soft, full lips that you’d so often admired and occasionally imagined a few too many times were actually moving so deliberate and slow against yours. After over a year of yearning for this very moment, your brain was struggling to process what was happening; it felt like sensory overload.

Your mouth took a moment to respond, but when it did, you were kissing him back tentatively, still a little uncertain how the night had gotten to this point. One of your hands reached out as if to grab him–somewhere, anywhere –but it remained hovering nervously in the air.

You barely had a chance to recover when he pulled away, your eyes still closed as you laid there trying to catch your breath. You could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours, and as your tongue anxiously wetted your lips, you could still faintly taste his mouth, too.

When you finally recovered, opening your eyes and lowering your hovering hand, he was staring down at you with a smile. Your heart briefly skipped a beat at the sight.

“I have wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted quietly.

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about that this past year,” you blurted a little breathlessly.

Matt huffed out an amused laugh, his thumb returning to stroking your cheek. “What if I asked to kiss you again?” he questioned, the corners of his lips tugging faintly upwards.

“I’d say you don’t have to ask,” you answered quickly.

Feeling suddenly emboldened, your hand darted out, grabbing the side of Matt’s jaw; the rasp of his stubble was warm and pleasant in your palm as you eagerly pulled his mouth back down to yours. You felt him briefly smiling against your lips at your abrupt and uncharacteristic tenacity before his focus was back on your mouth. Your hand slid its way back, raking through his soft hair before your fingers gripped a bit of the silky strands. Your stomach somersaulted at the feel of his mouth finally on yours. You pulled him a little closer to yourself, Matt easily obliging as his chest carefully pressed into yours. Your heart was thundering in your ears at this point, your mind entirely blank except for one thought.

Matt was a good kisser–a very good kisser.

When he eventually pulled back just a fraction, a soft whine left your lips at the absence of his. You hadn't been ready to end that.

“We should probably really get some sleep,” he whispered, a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes darted towards your chest. “Your heart sounds like it needs a break.”

You bit your lip, moderately embarrassed. “Sorry, probably won’t be all that calming for you to focus on tonight,” you said.

He chuckled softly, head falling back to lay beside yours on the pillow. “It’ll calm down eventually,” he assured you. “Probably not until you fall asleep, though,” he added teasingly. “But I enjoy hearing it like this, too.”

You snorted out a laugh beside him. “Why? You like the idea of giving me a heart attack?” you joked back.

His arm snaked its way back over your stomach, his face burying into the side of your shoulder. You could feel the smile forming on his mouth against your skin.

“No, I like hearing the way you respond to me,” he answered. “Even if it was confusing for me to realize that’s indeed what it was doing all this time. Your body is just so–” he paused, lightly kissing the skin of your bare shoulder beside his mouth and you shuddered beneath the touch, feeling his lips smiling again, “–reactive to me. It’s…pleasurable.”

You felt the blood rush south instantly in your body, immediately becoming marginally aroused laying in bed with Matt cuddled up to your side, mentioning things about your body being pleasurable as his lips kept brushing your bare skin. And then he let out another amused, deep chuckle beside you and your eyes went wide in the dark.

“Oh my God, Matt!” you nearly shrieked.

He laughed harder, his body lightly shaking against yours with the movement. Your cheeks were aflame for the hundredth time tonight. Of course he could tell when your body reacted like that , because why wouldn’t he be able to make you even more anxious and self-conscious?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he said between a laugh. “I wasn’t trying to do…well, that.”

Your hands flew to your face and you groaned in embarrassment. “Can we just try to sleep before I embarrass myself further?” you asked, your voice muffled through your hands.

“Yes, sorry,” he answered. You felt his lips place another kiss to your shoulder and a shiver ran down your spine. “But for the record,” he whispered, “you’re not embarrassing yourself.”

“Sure feels like it,” you grumbled, your hands falling from your face.

“Here,” he said, shifting on the bed.

Both of his arms came to wrap around you, his hands tugging you onto your side facing him so both of your bodies were nearly flush together. He slid one hand over your hips and onto your back where it began to trace soothing patterns just over your shirt. Your eyelids slowly lowered, goosebumps yet again dotting your skin.

“Better?” he asked.

“Mmm,” you hummed back.

“Good, just relax. Stop overthinking,” he murmured, his face so close to yours.

“Easier said than done,” you muttered. “Especially with you this close.”

He laughed lightly, his hand still drawing soothing patterns on your lower back. Boldly, your hand carefully slid its way over his hips and wrapped around his back, lightly fisting the soft material of his shirt. His face shifted closer towards yours on the pillow in response, his nose just lightly brushing yours.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispered, uttering the term of endearment that seemed determined to stick.

“Goodnight, Matty,” you whispered back.

Your breathing eventually evened out as you lay wrapped in his arms, relaxing into the warmth of him along the front of you, the scent of him filling your nose with every inhale, and his hand’s pacifying movements along your lower back lulling you further to sleep.

You’d deal with the reality of whatever had just happened tonight in the morning.

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