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kasagia · 1 year

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I'll be back for you

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/General Kirigan/The Darkling x reader, Kaz Brekker x reader Summary: The Moon Summoner ran away with Alina from the Little Palace with the help of Kaz Brekker's crows. The group successfully escaped from Darkling's hands, but that doesn't mean he will forget about his Y/N. He's going to chase her until she is in his arms again. However, Mr. Brekker did not let his childhood friend disappear without a trace from his life again. He will protect her. For all costs. After all, she was his newest investment. Warning(s): Darkling, Kaz fights haphephobia (but not as severe for him ), reader argues with Baghra, reader has internal moral conflict, curses, fights, and their red aftermath, I used a quote from TVD and The Invisible Life of Addie Laurie because… they fit and I love them veeery much It's my first one-shot for both Darkling and Kaz, so please be gentle (I'm very nervous and excited at the same time to publish it) <3 Word count: 14k (too long, someone should take me away from the keyboard in the middle of this)

~•♤♤♤•~ Part 2 (end) ~•♤♤♤•~

Every night since you escaped with Alina and Genya with the help of your childhood friend Kaz and his crows from Ravka, you've been haunted by nightmares. No. Not the usual horrible flashbacks of your past in Ketterdam or the Little Palace.

HE visited you.

The Darkling. The Black Heretic. The man who promised to keep your heart safe and broke it in two along with your trust.

Genya has a right to warn you about powerful men. But you, the lost girl kidnapped by slave hunters from Ketterdam, the girl who has nothing to lose and was happy enough to somehow end up in the general's tent and find out about being one of the most powerful Grisha, didn't want to listen to her.

You foolishly believed that you, of all people, were able to charm the most dangerous man in all Ravka with your beauty, character and mind.

You believed that sweet words, longing glances and tender moments between you were real, that they meant something.

But it was all just a game. A game that brought him your affection and blind trust. And Kirigan, Darkling, or Alexander played in it like mastermind.

You should have listened to Genya. At least those damn dark eyes wouldn't haunt you every time you closed yours.

With the taste in men you have, you should have predicted that the first guy you hooked up with would be a psychopath. Fate could only be a little bit more favorable to you and not connect you to the hundreds-year-old black heretic who created the fold.

You've always had a weakness for villains and gray characters.

Your first teenage crush only proved it.

Because who else but you would fall in love with a bastard boy from the barrel who started his criminal career with the Dregs, who couldn't stand the touch of other people, and who wanted nothing more in his life than revenge on Pekka Rollins?

If I survive this shit, I really should find someone normal to be with.

You thought before you somehow managed to fall asleep for the first time in a month, hoping that your bond with the Darkling would weaken for those few hours when you tried to find peace.

~•♤♤♤•~

It was pure darkness around you. Not that one when all the lights went out and it's only you and your bed. No. They felt too familiar for you to confuse them with anything else. Those were his shadows.

He must have been near, playing with you as he always had.

You carefully took one step forward. The shadows parted in front of you, so you could see the ground. You bent down to your boot and pulled out a dagger, hiding it behind the sleeve of your blouse. You had to be ready for anything. Even if it meant fighting the shadow lord himself in your own subconscious. You sighed, stepping uncertainly into the darkness.

Your eyes quickly adjusted to the place around you, allowing you to move faster along the path. You recognized this bloody spot. The path in the woods you raced down when he took you for your first ride. Then he dragged you to HIS fountain, telling you nonsense about how it's only here among other Grishas that you discover your true self. He was already weaving his manipulative web around you, and you fell into it like an oblivious fly.

The snap of a twig stopped you. You looked around, not seeing anything at all except for the fountain in the distance. You flinched as his shadows gently pushed you forward.

"I'm not going to play another of your games, General!" you screamed as you spun around, walking forward. If he was already disturbing you, at least he might have had the honor to step out of the shadows.

"Call me Aleksander…"

You shivered as you felt his soft whisper against your neck. You spun, summoning your light and shooting into the space behind you. Unfortunately, it didn't encounter any Black Heretics on its way.

You huffed angrily, continuing your walk until you reached the fountain.

It was different than when he brought you here last time. The engravings have changed. They no longer told the story of the Black Heretic who created the fold. They were of you and Aleksander. Slowly falling in love.

"The union of darkness and his light." you felt your body tremble as the fabric of his kefta brushed your hand.

"I would never have taken you for such a sentimental fool." you turned to face him, taking a step back to increase the distance between you. With a very smug smirk, you noticed that he had dark circles under his eyes. Good. At least the son of a bitch suffers as much as you do. "Especially not after what Baghra had told me."

"My mother has the amazingly irritating gift of ruining my plans. She also doesn't like the people I care about much."

"Hmm… what a pity. Maybe if you weren't planning to use us as weapons in your plans, I'd care more. Also, don't try to tell me that there are people in this world who are more important to you than yourself. We both know I'm not going to fall for it again."

"I understand your resentment." you laughed, shaking your head in disbelief as you turned your gaze back to the fountain. "What's so funny?" you relished every irritated word directed at you. Maybe you couldn't seriously hurt him physically, but at least you could be a pain in his ass.

"I just forgot how easy it is for you to choose words that both tell the truth and work in your favor. Please, continue. I didn't truly laugh for a very long time."

"You're making a mistake." he stood next to you, grabbing your arm to turn you toward him.

You yanked your arm out of his grip as soon as your powers met in that familiar dance of dark and light. You both sighed, stunned by the sudden combination of your powers coursing through your veins. You opened your eyes, which you closed in the flow of the moment, meeting his tender, longing gaze. The man reached out to cup your cheek, but you pulled away from him before your skin had a chance to touch again.

"Funny. That's what I heard from your mother before she made me realize what shit I got into."

"One conversation with my mother, and you're ready to give it all up? Just because she was faster than me? Because she revealed a truth about me that she had no right to? What if I wanted to tell you right after I dealt with the group that wanted to attack you and Miss Starkov?" the grudge in his eyes only fueled your anger. He had no right to resent you for running away from him at the earliest opportunity when he had been hiding this important piece of his past for so long.

"What does it matter, general? None of it was real anyway." you growled, turning your back on him again so as not to reveal your hidden emotions to him. You didn't want him to know that you still cared. Indifference was a worse punishment for him than your wrath.

"So c'mon. Prove your point. Turn around, look me in the eyes, and tell me that you didn't feel anything towards me for even the slightest moment."

You wanted. You really did. To look directly into his soul-black eyes and say that he meant as much to you as the dust under your shoes. However, you both knew very well that it would be just a poor lie. And you both knew each other well enough to know when the other was lying.

"Just because my foolish heart longs for something, it doesn't mean I'll give in to its stupid desires. Wasn't you the one who told me that wanting makes us weak?"

"You should know I've changed my mind by now." the sound of leaves crunching under his boots was the only warning you got before you felt his presence behind you. "You. You are changing my mind."

"Don't tell me I have any influence over you. It's a poor play. You can do better, Kirigan."

"You and I may change the world, Y/N…" you flinched as you heard the exact same words he said here so many months ago. You turned to face him when you felt the coldness of one of his shadows wrapping around your leg. You pointed your dagger at the man standing only one, little step away from you. He didn't seem affected at all as you pointed the dagger at him. He didn't even look at it. His eyes were only on yours. "You may not see it now, too blinded by your righteous, but not entirely fair, anger at me, but deep down, you know that we are destined for greater things than others. You, me, and Alina together can be the strongest creatures in the world."

"You know very well that we never wanted to live like this. Neither of us."

"Do you? Alina maybe doesn't want to be the Saint, but you, Y/N?" you took a step back and another as the black heretic approached you with his every word. He stood in front of you, letting the dagger you were holding in your trembling hands touch his chest. He smiled almost mockingly, seeing that your weapon against him was exactly the same one he gave you on your birthday, provoking your anger again. To spite him, you summoned wispy beams of white light that began to radiate from your hand to chase away his shadows.

"You don't know what I want." you growled, pressing the dagger harder against his heart to remind him that you were in control here. He could sneak into your dreams, but at night you were the most powerful Grisha in this bloody world. And even he had to reckon with your power.

"Yet I still see a desire in your eyes." you shifted your gaze to him, watching him silently and with hostility as his face was illuminated only by your powers. You were disgusted to find that, despite his betrayal, he was still equally handsome to you. "Not only for me but also for my power. You, my little moonlight, you want to be just like me. Strong, powerful, and ageless." he raised his hand deftly, dodging your dagger, and, under your watchful gaze, brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, stroking your cheek as he did so. He took a step towards you, causing you to press the blade against his neck as he got close enough to whisper in your ear. "You can run as far as you want, but you don't run from the truth that's inside you. And when you finally understand what you really want, I'll be there for you, waiting with open arms for my saint moon."

"Have fun waiting for this day, Morozova." you whispered, not giving in to his piercing gaze.

"I am a very patient man, after a thousand years on this earth, you will be too, Y/L/N."

"I'm not you, Aleksander. I don't wanna live forever, and I'm not gonna. I won't see the only people I truly love and care about die before me. Even eternity and unimaginable power are not worth it."

"They're still people you love and who can share this fate with you. Who will live long enough to be with you forever." one of his shadows began to wrap around your hand, forcing you to remove the dagger from his neck.

He leaned closer to you and rested his forehead against yours. You sighed, shivering as the scent of his familiar perfume enveloped you after so many weeks apart. You were tempted to give in to him again. And that dark desire in your heart terrified you more than the capabilities of the Black Heretic caressing your cheek.

"This isn't love. It was just a game. We were just playing a game. The same one you created a long time ago to earn my trust. But I'm no longer that naive girl who is desperate for somebody's attention and love. You made me stronger, crueler, ruthless. And believe me, general, I'll repay you for all you have done."

"You don't believe that. You can't have believed my mother that I am your villain so easily." in other circumstances, where your heart wasn't beating for his, you'd probably laugh at the desperation in his voice. But now that every fiber of you longed for the man before you, there was only one thing you could do.

"Then tell me, Aleksander..." you leaned in to him, rubbing his nose with yours as he closed his eyes and waited for your lips to finally touch after weeks of craving your slightest touch. "Why was I so tempted to do this?" you dug into his tempting mouth, giving you both what you needed.

In your head, you explained this crime against your friends as wanting to do what was originally intended to be your primary goal. The gentle prolongation of your longing, amazing, desperate kiss before you plunged the dagger into his side without the slightest hesitation wasn't your fault at all. Aleksander moaned into your lips, pulling away from you as he felt blood trickle down his side.

"Leave me alone, or I will make myself your villain." you whispered into his mouth before you somehow managed to get yourself out of your "dream".

~•♤♤♤•~

"Y/N?" Alina's soft whisper wakes you up. You opened your eyes, feeling how your chest was burning for fresh air and your heart beating faster than it should. The woman was sitting next to you, holding your hand.

In the corner of your eye, you can see Nina standing in the doorway of the room Kaz graciously assigned to you after you arrived in Ketterdam. You can swear on saints that Inej was looking through your window before she went - probably going to tell Kaz about your fourth nightmare this week.

And it was only Tuesday.

You felt attacked from all sides. If not Inej through the window, then the madmen through the door or in your dreams.

"What are you doing here? It's well after midnight." you asked her, gratefully accepting a towel from Nina to wipe the sweat from your face. Alina and Genya lived far from the club, in motels on opposite sides of the city.

"Just in case someone betrays us. At least one of you will save yourself if the Darkling comes to these parts."

Brekker's brilliant and preventive mind had already terrified you before you stepped off the boat onto the familiar land of Ketterdam. The fact that he thought through and arranged your accommodation before anyone could ask him was either another display of his otherworldly mind or a blatant act of arrogance and overconfidence in his strength against the Darkling. But you knew Kaz too well to assume that he underestimated the power of the Black Heretic even for a moment.

"Nice to see you too. Kaz sent for me."

"Since when does the sun summoner do all the Dreg king's orders?" you asked, making Nina laugh.

"Since the moon summoner is constantly skipping her bedtime. You have to sleep. You can't always be on Jesper's special energetic drinks." she scolded you like a little child, to which you snorted indignantly.

"I will take a gorgeous, lovely, very long nap right after we kill Kirigan. Before then, nobody can make me do that. And tell Kaz I remembered him as braver the last time we saw each other on your way back to the motel."

"We are just worried about you, Y/N. You slept the whole night only once since we left."

"Don't tell me you're surprised. If you were me, you would do the same."

"Maybe. But we both know you're stronger than me. I know you can beat him, and even if you can't do this alone, which I doubt…" she wrapped her hand around yours, making you look into her eyes again. "You must know I will always be by your side, like you by mine. It's you and me against the darkness, Y/N."

"You know, you've spent way too much time on that boat with your toughts. You sound like an old uncle giving good advice or something."

"Speaking of advice, if I were you, I wouldn't insult the only person who can wake you up from… this." Nina waved her hand in a circle, pointing to the miserable state you were in.

"You should see Kirigan. I stabbed him." you replied with a self-satisfied smirk, watching the heartrender gasp in shock and Alina shake her head in disapproval.

"What have I told you about starting unnecessary arguments with him and maiming him?"

"That this is a good way to vent my anger and frustration?" you asked innocently with a huge smile.

Alina drew breath to argue with you, but a knock on the door distracted her. You glanced at Jesper, peering into your room, and wrinkled your nose at the light-burnt sheets you and Alina had left.

"The boss wants you, moon girl."

"Not only him." you murmured, pulling the remnants of the quilt from yourself. You took your clothes out of the closet and turned to the people in the room with your hands on your hips. "Are you leaving or staying for the show?" Alina mumbled a silent apology, blushing in embarrassment as she left, along with a laughing Jesper and an amused Nina.

You sighed as you stood in front of the mirror and brushed away the sweaty hair that was stuck to your face. Thanks to Inej and Kirigan, it looks like you'll have a long conversation with Kaz about your safety again. Your friend was sometimes a bigger pain in the ass than you—an achievement that wasn't granted by you to just anyone.

"I just fucking hope you're writhing in pain right now." you muttered to yourself, not believing for a moment in the sincerity of what you just said.

~•♤♤♤•~

"You wanted me." you entered the Dirtyhands' office without knocking, taking a place of honor on one of the two comfortable armchairs in the room. Kaz didn't look up from his papers, but the slight crease of irritation on his forehead told you he had noticed your presence. You were surprised that, after years of separation, you could still read him easily. "It's rude to ignore your guest."

"It's rude to come in without knocking." he replied to your provocation, tracing something he had just written. You snorted in amusement, seeing that you managed to distract him.

"Well, I didn't come here for no reason. You sent Jes for me."

"Jes?" a diminutive you used for his sharpshooter, has earned the man's attention. He gave you a questioning look, throwing the papers on his desk.

"What? Can't I make a friend other than you?"

"I'm your boss." he hummed, getting his cane up from his desk and walking to his dresser. You rolled your eyes as you watched the man's back. The son of a bitch knew perfectly well that you hated it when he didn't look at you during a conversation.

"Sure, if it helps you sleep, tell yourself what you want, Brekker."

"You live at my club, sleep here, eat with my crows, and waste my time taking some useless gossip from downstairs." he enumerated, turning over his things and searching persistently for something.

"And I'd been doing this for four years before you became Mr. Scary Dirtyhands from the Barrel. You just proved my point, Kazzle. We are friends."

You got up from your chair and stood next to him. You glanced at the contents of his drawer and frowned, noticing something familiar. You reached for a small silver box with his REAL initials on it, but the man slammed the drawer shut before you could get your hands on the find. You snorted indignantly as you noticed the smug smirk on his face as he nearly clipped your fingers for your meddling.

Kaz Brekker was sentimental enough to keep the ashtray you gave him.

You involuntarily remembered what you told him when you handed it to him.

"I know you don't smoke and don't celebrate your birthday, but I think that's a pretty nice metaphor and the closure you need."

"What? An old ashtray from the market? Which you probably swept from under the noses of some heavy smokers."

"No, genius, in case you haven't noticed, it has a special engraving. Read it."

"For K.R., let him rest in peace. What's that supposed to mean?"

"You can consider it what you want. A keepsake of your former self, a lost life you might have had, an urn for the ashes of your former self... we both know you're not the same man you used to be. And you have every right to be, Kaz. It's just... I think you deserve something commemorating your old self. The boy who stole half-rotten apples with me to survive. Now you are someone else—someone stronger, wiser, cunninger... but know that I will never forget Kaz, who was my only light when I was at my worst."

"That's pretty sentimental for you. Also, calling me light is not quite an appropriate metaphor." he replied coolly, returning to his book.

You nodded to him, saying goodbye. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stroke a silver object for a moment and put it in his pants pocket. You smiled. Apparently, you weren't the only sentimental fool in Ketterdam.

"Then, as my friend, you won't mind telling me about that strange connection between you and the Darkling that keeps you from sleeping without threatening to set my club on fire with your dazzling moonlight?" he asked, snapping you out of your flashback.

"No, because, as my friend, you won't be nosy, and out of politeness, you won't ask."

"I anticipated this reaction. That's why I got this." a velvet ring box magically appeared in his hands.

"Are you going to propose to me? Oh, Kazzie, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for this! You don't have to kneel, sweetheart. We can call Jes, and he'll do it for you. It's a perfect opportunity for him to practice before asking Wylan."

"Can you be serious for just one moment, please?" he asked, blushing slightly and trying to give you one of his famous menacing looks.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. Besides, you could have foreseen in that plan of yours that I would never waste such an opportunity."

"Just open it." he sighed, tossing you the box. Too curious to find out what was inside, you decided to leave the poor boy alone and refrained from commenting further. You widened your eyes as you saw the real ring. "What? No enthusiastic and loud: "Yes, Kazzie, I'll marry you!", so my crows can tease me about it too? To be honest, I'm disappointed, Y/N."

"Well, I could have been joking about it when I didn't have a ridiculously beautiful ring in front of me. Sorry that I'm a little confused, Kaz."

"It's good you like it, but I'd rather know if it works as it should. Put it on your finger."

"As romantic as always." you murmured, trying on a silver ring with an opal and small diamonds around the stone. You raised your hand and, by using your power, increased the light reflected by the moon that was still in the sky so it could illuminate your new jewelry. "It's beautiful, but I have absolutely no idea what it is supposed to do."

"Protect you." you glanced back at Kaz, only to discover that he had been staring at you the entire time. The white sparkles in his eyes caused by your light captivated you more than the shining diamonds. You shook your head, remembering what happened the last time you gave in to your stupid crush.

"Protect me?"

"I've been doing some research with Alina and Nina about the bond between you and him, the amplifiers… we believe this will weaken the bond between you enough for you to sleep peacefully. He will not enter your mind uninvited." he said, spitting out the words about the Darkling like he was a plague. But you were more interested in something quite different from his open dislike of the Black Heretic.

"Why? Why are you getting through all of it for me? It's not your war to fight. You have no interest in it."

"I have. Since I got you out of the Little Palace, you've been my investment. And I protect everything I invest in and what's worth my time. No matter what."

"You do realize I won't bring you any profit? Alina would be a better choice than me." you questioned his choice. Kaz turned to the window, as if looking for Inej, whose arrival would interrupt this uncomfortable conversation.

Unfortunately for him, the saints had no watch over him. And one of them was waiting for him to gather his thoughts and answer her question. He had to do this without betraying the emotions that had been bubbling up inside him since he had first seen her at one of the Dreg's raids. He was lost the second he saw her and completely fated to love her after their first conversation.

But she couldn't know it.

She couldn't know that his heart was gone with her and that it took him ages to find himself after she disappeared. He promised himself to keep her away from him. To make sure he wouldn't fall for her beauty, mind, eyes, smile, and laugh like he had done as a child. But the second he saw her again, he knew that his heart was hers. Hers to keep, hold, break, play.

But she couldn't know it.... At least not now. Not when he had just snatched her from the Darkling's grasp.

Not when he wasn't ready to love her the way she should be loved.

"That's for me to evaluate and for you to make sure I won't regret this. Besides, I only invest in one-of-a-kind. I don't need more narcissistic saints to go into my office like it was their own." he said after a long silence, without taking his eyes off the window.

He was afraid that his eyes would betray the truth hidden in his stupid heart. He was grateful to all above that she wasn't a heartrender and couldn't feel his treacherous heart beating madly every time he looked at her. He just had to make sure Nina didn't reveal his little secret. He didn't know that the woman had been blackmailed into a similar case by the moon summoner.

"So I'm pretty lucky. I would die if I had to sleep on those inconvenient motel beds."

"Considering how much sleep you actually get, you're unlikely to notice a difference." you gasped, feigning indignation at the mischievous, amused tone of his voice.

"You're a cruel bastard, Kaz Brekker." he finally turned to you with a small smirk on his face. You giggled, only widening his smile.

"Go and check your ring. I hope you won't be threatened by any ugly faces."

"Yes, boss." you saluted, walking towards the door. You opened it and were about to leave when an idea popped into your head. You leaned against the door frame, looking at the man taking his place at the desk. "Kazzie?" you asked sweetly, biting your lip to keep from laughing too soon. The Bastard of the Barrel gave you a questioning look, fearing the familiar tone of your voice and the question coming. "As your fiancée, am I going to get half of your club?"

"Over my dead, cold body." he replied without a second of hesitation, perfectly prepared for such a provocation from your side.

"You know, you need to work on sharing if you plan to be husband material in the future. I feel sorry for your future spouse, unless it'll be your job."

"Go to sleep before I put you in bed myself."

"You should know better than to scare me with a good time, sweetheart!" you shouted back, leaving and pushing your way through the crowd of a few shocked Dregs who had probably heard the part about the fiancée and whom Kaz called to his office as soon as he saw them.

And as soon as he is done with them, Kaz will rip your legs out of your pretty ass. Even Alina and Nina will not be able to help you.

~•♤♤♤•~

The ring worked great. From that night on, you slept like a baby every day. The Darkling's face appeared only occasionally in your nightmares (both bloody ones and… more pleasant ones). But it wasn't REALLY him. Just a messed-up version of your sick imagination.

In the meantime, you trained with Alina and Nina (the woman needed the presence of other Grishas in Brekker's gang; besides, she was an amazing friend, and she also made wonderful waffles); you developed your powers; and you two gossiped with Genya, as she changed your looks every week so that no one would accidentally recognize you (by the way, you learned that David was heading this way to reunite with the love of his life).

You became close to Jes (you had the honor of being trained with HIS PISTOLS) and Inej, whose comforting company was invaluable (as well as the rooftop stealth lessons. Kaz cursed her after the first time you scared him by climbing through his office window and giving you a barrier. Of course you had your mind, and you didn't listen to him. Your unexpected visits to his office only became more frequent.)

So you could say that everything was on its way back to normality.

But it wasn't. Because one fine day, when the crows, Kaz, you, Alina, and Genya were eating breakfast at his club, someone showed up at your door.

Someone you didn't want to see more than the Darkling himself.

"What the fuck is she doing here, if I may culturally ask?" Alina gave you an apologetic look as Baghra walked casually into the crows' kitchen like she belonged here. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Kaz taking any sharp metal objects from the table that you might have used to attack the woman.

You and Baghra had a rough relationship. Due to the fact that you and Aleksander were something, the woman did not look at you very favorably. You had no intention of fawning over a woman who wanted to kill her own son, either. Maybe your feelings for the Darkling were... unclear, but you wouldn't wish anyone, not even your worst enemy, a mother who was willing to stand against her own child, to spurn him instead of doing... anything to help him out of his darkness. It was not in line with your moral views. But no one here seemed to care since they invited the mother of Satan to your table.

"It's nice to see you too, Y/N."

"I don't even have enough respect for you to lie to you and admit that seeing you didn't ruin my day. I will ask one last time..." you got up from the table, shielding Kaz and the crows as you summoned your power. "What are you doing here?"

"My son is looking for you all over the world, do you think I won't try to get to you first before he does?"

"Oh, you've already shown how much you care about outdoing Kirigan in reaching us. I'm asking you, what do you want from us?"

"I came here for you. Because of you, child." you stiffened slightly, wondering what else the old woman had to say. But you would die before admitting that Baghra's help would be invaluable to your little band of rebels. Your pride was both your greatest strength and weakness.

"Well, excuse me, but I have more important things to do than listen to some old lady's ravings. I haven't finished my breakfast yet, and I'm far too sober for another conversation about how everyone wants to use me as a weapon."

"Every day I'm less surprised by how you ended up with my son. You two are a perfect match for each other." she snapped, annoyed at your indifferent attitude.

"I'd suggest you get to the point. You were the one who wanted to meet with us. As our moon summoner mentioned, we don't have to listen to you. And trust me, I have absolutely no intention of stopping her when she wants to kick you out of my club." Kaz stood next to you, measuring the woman with a watchful gaze.

You were proud that he believed in your and Alina's powers and wasn't afraid to provoke the shadow summoner in your presence. You cast a fleeting glance at him, watching as Baghra gave him an appraising look.

"Mr. Breaker. It would be better for you and your club if work with the summoners of the sun and moon ended in Ravka. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

"I never make ill-considered decisions, and certainly not out of fear." he replied with his poker, business face.

"This is only a trait of the greatest winners or greatest losers."

"You don't have to worry about him. Mr. Brekker is always on the winning team." you answered for him, having had enough of this woman. Unfortunately, it looked like she wouldn't be leaving you so soon.

"Turn that light out, girl, before the Grishas swarm here. I won't hurt your boyfriend and his friends." you frowned as you heard Jes coughing in the background, trying not to laugh. With a wave of your hand, the white light around you vanished. You watched in displeasure as a smirk began to form on Baghra's lips.

"He is/I am not my/her boyfriend." together with Kaz, you both uttered these words as Baghra pushed past you. This caused you to turn to one another and exchange equally awkward, perplexed looks.

"Whatever, just get your lovebird butts over here." she murmured as she unfolded the map on the table and took a few items out of her bag. You snorted at seeing a small wooden statue of Aleksander.

It was going to be a long and tiring morning.

~•♤♤♤•~

"We have to hurry before your boy gets here. Good thing he is walking with the cane, at least it keeps him from sneaking up on us." Baghra growled at you. She'd only been here a week, and she'd already ruled everyone. You were no longer surprised at where Aleksander inherited his incredible self-confidence and arrogance.

"For the love of God, I'm telling you for the last time, KAZ IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND. Besides, if I were you, I wouldn't underestimate him. You could actually learn from him. You'll need a cane soon, too."

"Can you two just stop arguing for once and focus on the task at hand?" the sun summoner lingered, following you to the basement of the Crow Club.

"I'm sorry, Alina, that I'd rather banter with that witch than figure out how to seduce her son, lull his guard down, pluck the antlers of a wonderful steg out of his hand, and break the link between us once and for all."

"Start by undoing a few buttons on your blouse and letting your hair down; that should be enough for him to lose his mind." she advised you, making you and Alina shudder, both equally abashed.

"Seriously?" you asked mockingly, giving her a disgusted look. Nevertheless, you followed the woman's suggestion. "What is the next step? Shall I wear some nice underwear?"

"Not necessarily, but it would be nice to take off that ring. I doubt Aleksander would appreciate that someone other than himself gave you such gaudy jewelry." you snorted, taking off the only thing keeping the Darkling from crossing the walls of your mind.

You bypassed Baghra's outstretched hand and handed the ring to Alina. The older woman snorted indignantly at what you stuck your tongue out at. She didn't expect you to trust her with anything, even something as small as Kaz's ring, right?

"Done. What's next?"

"You need to make a connection. Every time he thinks of you or you think of him, you seek each other out and make a link. Imagine his face, voice, and silhouette; recall some memory associated with him; do anything to have him in front of your eyes. It should work and take you to where he is now. Just like when you two were getting into each other's dreams before Mr. Brekker gave you this ring."

"I did not seek him of my own free will. It just happened." you defended yourself, not wanting anyone to think you were looking for the Darkling like a lost puppy.

"You know him. He will continue to invade your thoughts and your life to convince you of the error of your ways and choices. This ring can work now, but what happens when you two get stronger in the future? It will stop working. You will be condemned to endure his pervasive presence. In the morning, afternoon, nights, and midnights. He won't let you go. Never. You cannot extract the stag from your own body. So you must find a way to block him permanently. Not by some magic ring."

You sighed, realizing she was right. You will be free of him only when any bond between you is gone. The only thing you were afraid of was that it existed between you and the Darkling long before you killed the stag...

Darkness and its light. Moon and shadow. Destined to be together. United at the end of the day.

"And what if I fail and he chokes me, stabs me, or just uses the cut on me?"

"We will observe the energy around you. If we see too many shadows or your light, we'll pull you out."

"All right. Let's get this over with." you sat down, leaning against the wall of the Crow Club basement, praying to all of Inej's mighty saints that your plan would work.

You closed your eyes, remembering the moment before your big performance at the winter fete.

You had to pretend that you didn't know Kaz, and then you had no idea what he was doing here wearing one of the soldiers uniforms. He promised to explain everything to you, but then Aleksander came.

"I'll take her from here." he said to Kaz, letting him know that he was no longer needed.

But he has not left you. Aleksander ignored him, examining your kefta carefully. It was beautiful. Genya decorated it with silver threads and embroidered stars and moons in different phases. However, the fact that probably delighted him the most was its black (but actually dark navy blue) color. But he didn't care about the true color of your kefta as long as it looked black to any other observer.

A clear signal that you were his moon.

"I have something for you." he whispered as he leaned closer to you so that your noses were practically touching. He pulled something shiny out of his sleeve. He held the silver chain up to your eye level so you could see the pendant. Moon with a star. You shifted your gaze from the shiny object to those mesmerizing black eyes staring at you in pure adoration. "I know you're practically festooned with these symbols, but I wanted you to know..." he interrupted, brushing your hair over one shoulder so he could place the necklace over your neck. He planted a quick, tender kiss on your nape as he clicked the silver jewelry. "That you're not just a Saint Y/N, summoner of the moon. You're mine moonlight in the worst darkness of mine. My hope and peace. The only light I let through my shadows."

You grabbed the pendant, noticing your initials carved into the back of the moon.

"It's beautiful." you turned in his arms to whisper in his ear, making him shiver as you kissed his earlobe. "Aleksander..."

~•♤♤♤•~

You opened your eyes.

A dim light illuminated Kirigan's war room.

You did it. Now all you had to do was seduce him. Piece of cake.

You let yourself watch him flick through some papers, wrinkling his nose and occasionally running a hand through his hair. The exact same one with the stag antler still stuck in it. You shook your head, remembering your task. You had to outsmart him. And in such a wise way that it didn't cross his mind that you might have bad intentions towards him.

"Aleksander." you whispered as you stepped out of the shadows. The man either really didn't notice you or he was a brilliant actor, judging by the pure shock that painted his face the moment he turned to meet your gaze. "You seem surprised to see me."

"I am." his mask of indifference and self-confidence quickly fell back into place. "But perhaps I shouldn't be. I should have known you'd prove to be an apt pupil. Not many can learn that trick." he placed the papers on the desk and leaned against it. "But after our last meeting, I had the impression that you didn't want to see me again. What changed your mind to seek me out?"

"I hate to say this, but I realized you were right."

"How so?" he began to watch you with interest, too curious to know what you were going to say to repay you for stabbing him last time. The fact that he didn't pounce on you with his shadows the moment he saw you gave you an odd sense of confidence. Maybe you could have made it.

"I was meant for more. And you were the first person to see me as I truly am. First to help me realize what I'm meant for. First to tech me how to use my power and how to see it as something more incredible than terrifying. First to see, I was more than a scared little girl. That I was powerful Grisha and I can do anything I want." with every word you said and every step you took towards him, you could see his mask crack open, revealing his true emotions. However, there was still a shadow of uncertainty and suspicion in his eyes. You had to remove it if you wanted to win this battle.

"Was I? And what about Alina? Or your helpful friends that take you away from Little Palace?" you hoped you didn't show that his words affected you. You were afraid that somehow he might have discovered a little help from Kaz and his crows.

"They… they don't understand the power growing within me. I thought that Alina might share my feelings, but … it seems to me that we understand our possibilities completely differently when it comes to our powers. And my friends… I think they're more afraid of what I can do than admire it as… as you did."

"That's not their fault. I did try to warn you. Tried to explain that with so much power that flows in our veins, usually comes fear from the side of our loved ones."

"I know. I think I'm starting to finally understand that now." you took one slow step towards him, feeling his watchful gaze on you. "There are no others like us, and they never will be. We are connected by our powers. Alina can live without us, but you and me… you and me are destined to work together and to stand by our sides. There is no darkness without light, but it's the moon that brings it into the night and that lives among the shadows, working with them… Like calls to like, right, Aleksander?"

In his eyes, you could see how much he wanted to believe you, how much he wanted the words you said to be true... but you knew that Aleksander lived too long to believe only empty words. He needed conclusive proof that you were on his side and that you were only his moon. And you had to convince him somehow.

"As I delighted as I am that you found your way to me, what do you want?"

"That thing that binds us. I think you fear it more than you actually care to admit."

"I fear everything there is to fear; it makes me strong. I understand things about power that you've had years yet to learn, moonlight."

"Well, as you said, with a good teacher, I'm a very apt pupil. But I think we both know… that it's not all about power, though, is it?" you walked the distance between you two and stood chest-to-chest with him. "What about the other bond we share? That one I was avoiding for too long." you slowly cup his cheek, making him close his eyes at the touch of your soft skin. You tenderly stroked one of his black scars on his cheek, which made the Black Heretic sighe in relief. "I want you, Aleksander." he opened his eyes, looking at you in disbelief when he tried to seek any sight of lies on your face. "And being in your presence terrifies me as much as making me feel… like I finally belonged somewhere. Like I was made by saints to be next to you. It felt... right in some crazy way."

"Love is for madmen, Y/N. And I've already told you…" you shivered as his cold fingertips touched the hot skin of your neck. His fingers went to the silver necklace—your only sin against your friends. He took the pendant in his hands and kissed it, not taking his eyes off yours. "You're my moonlight. Nothing has changed, and I doubt it ever will... for both of us."

You pulled him by the hair to connect your lips in a long-awaited kiss, too annoyed with how long you had to work him out. (Or too scared that his words are true.) You moaned as he bit your lips, and in one sweeping motion, he scooped you up off the floor and sat you on his desk.

He pulled away from you, dropping his kefta on the floor, and went back to kissing you as if you were the only one that mattered in this world. But the next amplifier's whereabouts map you laid on as he kissed your soul out of you was a glaring reminder that you could never have truly had him.

You would never be his first choice.

"Forgive me for stabbing you, then." you whispered into his mouth as you broke apart for a moment to catch your breath. He pressed into you more fervently than before, caressing your waist tenderly.

"I will have kissed these tempting, sweet lips, even if it means I'll get stabbed by you, every time I do it."

That was good to know, you thought, throwing your arms around his shoulders and slowly pulling out the dagger from your sleeve as he continued to kiss you greedily, like he wanted to sate himself with you while he still had you in his arms.

"Your words, not mine." you murmured, catching his mouth with yours while driving the dagger into his hand. He snarled, breaking away from you and trying in vain to yank the metal out of your hand. You tried to pry the last stag's bone out of him.

But suddenly, just as you were about to do it, you find yourself back in the basement of the Crows Club.

You were breathing fast, frantically looking around the room. Kaz was kneeling a step away from you and watching you worriedly as you tried to calm down.

From the cane that was on your leg and his firm grip on your arm, you figured out pretty quickly why you suddenly came back. You yanked your arm from his hand in your anger, forgetting his phobia of touch and how much of an achievement it was for him to hold your arm.

"What the hell, Brekker?! I had him! I could end this right there! UGH! Why did you let him break our connection?!" you screamed in frustration, looking resentfully at Alina and Baghra.

"You nearly blew yourself out with your power, and they couldn't bring you back."

"I had it under control, Kaz!"

"Oh, really?" he asked mockingly, struggling to his feet with the help of his cane and walking over to you with equal anger painted in his eyes. "Because it didn't look good from my point of view. You could have blown up the whole club..."

"Of course you would only care about your stupid, fucking club! Forgive me, Dirtyhands. Next time I'm going to save the damn world from the Darkling, I'll pick up a place other than one of your fucking bases!" you yelled at him, pushing past a shocked Alina and Baghra.

"Y/N, come back here!" he shouted after you. The distinctive sound of his cane told you he was following you.

"I'm not your fucking property, Brekker! I can go anywhere I want!" you screamed, running as fast and far for him as you could, thanking everyone above that Brekker wasn't able to catch up with you. You needed a moment to yourself. And you only knew one place in all of Ketterdam where you could be truly alone.

~•♤♤♤•~

For a long time, you hated harbour. It was a reminder of your weakness—a reminder of a girl who got kidnapped by slave hunters. Then you met Aleksander and became one of the strongest Grisha. From then harbour was for you to remind you of the birth of Saint Y/N. Moon summoner. It was funny for you to see how easy it is to get on the ship and go anywhere you want. Be anyone you want. But you don't have this choice anymore. Not until your past stops chasing you whenever you close your eyes.

"I knew you'd be here." Kaz's voice below you made you shiver, but you didn't grace him with your gaze. "You'd be too merciful to me by choosing an easily accessible spot, wouldn't you?" he grumbled as he clambered next to you on the crates of goods. He sighed as he managed to climb up. He tossed his cane, catching it spectacularly and resting it against the crate beneath you. He leaned forward, staring out at the harbour with you, when the wind blew his hair, messing up his always perfectly styled hairdo.

"Nobody made you follow me around, Kazzle." you murmured, casting a fleeting glance at him, grinning mischievously at how tired he was of climbing crates. Someone here was in bad shape. Brekker must sit with these plans and papers for too long.

"I did." you turned your head to meet his piercing gaze. "I already told you. I take care of my investments."

"Maybe you're making a mistake."

"I'm never mistaken. I know when and how much to invest in something valuable."

"But what if I'm a lost cause? What if you're wrong this time? Why do you think I'm done with the Darkling? Me and him have so much in common... what if I become like him? Are you not afraid? That one day, in my naiveté, I'd decide Kirigan was worth a second chance and betray you? That one day I'll stop controlling my power and that I'll hurt you? How can you sit here so calmly and..."

"Because I know you better than myself. I may not believe in saints, but I believe in you, Y/N. I will always believe in you."

You swallowed, looking down in embarrassment. You didn't deserve this.

"I get caught up in it sometimes. That I return with memories to the Little Palace. I wonder what I could have done differently to prevent all this. How could I reason with him, what could I do to dissuade him from his plans. How to behave, what to say out loud, and what to keep to yourself. And I'm furious with Baghra that, being his mother, she didn't fight for him to the end; she gave up before we could do ANYTHING for him together. And I curse myself every time I feel guilty, knowing that I left him utterly alone. So tell me, Kaz, knowing now all these doubts growing within me, do you still believe in me?"

The killing silence told you everything you wanted to know.

"Come on. Go right ahead, Kazzie. Call me a fool, an idiot who wants to believe that everyone deserves someone close, someone they can trust. Who stupidly believes in giving people a second chance." you said, afraid to look up to see the revulsion in the eyes of the only person you could always count on.

Kaz said your name, but you ignored him completely, feeling tears slowly welling up in your eyes. Suddenly you felt the cold steel crow's head of his cane under your chin. Brekker forced you to look into his eyes. And you thanked all the saints for the tenderness that was still present in them.

"You know, I don't think that about you. You are a Grisha. The moon summoner. The only beacon of hope in the darkness. I think that in your job description lies faith even in the most deprived, lost, and broken souls."

"I didn't know that poetic side of you, Brekker."

"I've changed since the last time you saw me."

"Really?" you asked, nodding at his gloves and cane. He caught your eye, gripping the crow's head tighter. "Hey. You have every right to do that, Kaz, okay? I was kidding, and I didn't know it was still a sensitive subject. I'm sorry. Apart from that, I can name more. For example, you still have a stick in your ass when it comes to pranks. It was too easy to get on your nerves with Jes." you said, trying to make a joke to lighten the atmosphere.

"Looking now at you, it's better for humanity that you haven't become a saint. Saints, protect some wretch who would have asked you for help." you smiled at him, glad he understood your intentions.

"Now, I feel hurt, Kazzie. Wouldn't you pray to me if they hung my holy image up here somewhere?" you asked, offended, putting your hand over your heart.

He knew he would spend hours, days, and weeks praying to her, only to see her face again and hear the voice of the Saint of his heart...

"No. No saint has ever watched over me. It wouldn't make sense to pray to you either. Especially since I knew you personally before you became a mighty Grisha."

"Well, I'm no saint yet, but since I'm your newest investment, I guess that means I'm supposed to serve you in some way. And since I'm not going to be your errand dog or spy crow, I guess a good compromise would be if I became your bodyguard. Then you can't say that there's no saint watching over you."

"I don't need a guardian angel."

"It's good then that I'm far from being an angel." you stared at each other, the wind blowing your hair, as you enjoyed the understanding between you and the unspoken acknowledgment of your closeness.

Kaz Brekker could not have a weakness. This city would use it against him very quickly. But he felt that perhaps his weakness could be powerful enough to be his greatest asset instead of his darkest burden. Maybe he didn't have to worry about her that much.

"Ketterdam was boring without you. It was also harder to work without your… skills." he said uncertainly, averting his gaze from your piercing, mesmerizing eyes.

"Is that your way to tell me you missed me?" you were teasing him and pushing his cane. He almost fell over when you broke his only support. You almost couldn't prevent yourself from laughing.

"We could have gained much more kruge if you had been here."

"I didn't want to leave." you whispered, involuntarily remembering the day they kidnapped you.

"I know." he leaned towards you, forcing you to look into his eyes. "You don't have to worry about them. I made sure they were six feet deep underground before you even set foot in Ketterdam." your heart warmed at the thought that he was chasing them for you.

He made sure you were 100% safe and comfortable before he brought you back home. Home. You didn't think you'd find him among the crows, thieves, and the Dreg Club. You didn't think you'd feel this way about him—one of the men whose lifestyle was far from normal and safe.

"You're getting soft in your old age, Brekker." you replied with a half smile, holding back unwanted tears. You weren't that weak girl anymore. You were Grisha. And thanks to the man sitting next to you, you were (almost) free. You grabbed his cane, right next to the crow's head, where Kaz's hands were. His gaze flicked to where your hands were so close together. He turned his head to meet your watery eyes. "Thank you, Kaz. For everything. It means a lot to me. Even if it was foolish to break into the Darkling's palace and kidnap us like sacks of potatoes."

"It was the perfect plan! Nobody noticed us." he was indignant, immediately defending his action.

"Yeah, but what I and Alina get hit with every time Jesper and you steer that wooden cart over rocks is ours. You could really choose a path that wasn't made of stones."

"Next time, it's up to you to make a plan to escape the 500-year-old shadow summoner. We'll see how you do." he snorted, offended, but didn't move an inch. Contrary. His hand moved closer to yours, wrapping precariously around yours on his cane.

"Less than a week back in Ketterdam, and you're already letting me into your plans? Aww, I love you too, Kazzie."

He would give all the kruge of this world to hear those words from you for the rest of his life... and it surprised him that he wasn't afraid to admit it to himself at all.

"And I almost forgot how annoying you can be."

"Don't worry. I have all the time in the world to shrink your inflated ego and remind you of that, boss." Kaz held his breath. He stared at you searchingly, trying to find in your face the answer to whatever question he was asking in his head. You unknowingly scooted closer to each other so that your shoulders rested against each other.

You were much closer to each other before. Kaz (on his good days) even felt comfortable hugging you for a while. After years apart, you thought it would take ages for him to get used to your presence again and the brief touch without going underwater with Jordi.

But you were here. Holding hands, leaning against each other, and staring into each other's eyes.

You shivered as you felt his breath against your cheek when he leaned a little closer to you, testing his border.

"You're shining." he whispered softly, hypnotized, afraid to break the silence between you.

"What?"

"Your eyes are shining." his trembling hand took your cheek as you were watching him speechless. Even in your wildest dreams, you wouldn't suppose he would hold you like that. He truly changed. He beat Pekka, and now the King of Ketterdam was fighting with his demons. You were so proud of him and also sad that you weren't with him at the beginning of his road to healing. "And the light is coming out of your skin. You're shining like a star for lost souls."

"You're not lost... not anymore." you whispered, your voice trembling, fully understanding what he had left unsaid.

"I was. But now the moonlight is lighting up Ketterdam's darkness again."

"Kaz... I..." you held your breath, staring at him in anticipation. You didn't know what for. All you knew was that taking your eyes off him for even a second was an unforgivable crime.

Your noses were almost touching, your lips were the closest you've known each other. And Kaz was as calm as if he'd never had a haphephobia. As if the situation with Jordi never happened. You were afraid his waters would finally rise, interrupting your moment, but as soon as your foreheads touched, all the logical thoughts in your head went to hell. It was just you and him.

And you would still enjoy that closeness if the sound of breaking glass and Jesper's curses hadn't driven you apart.

"Here you are! How the hell did you get in there?! Get down! We're leaving in half an hour!" Jesper shouted to you from below and disappeared as quickly as he appeared. You cleared your throat, realized what Jes said after a long moment.

"We are leaving?" you asked, surprised. Bastard didn't say a word about going anywhere.

"Yes. I'll explain everything to you on the ship." he gave you a brush-off as he began his downward journey.

"On the ship? Kaz, what have you planned?!" you shouted angry as you followed him.

~•♤♤♤•~

"This is the dumbest plan ever made, and believe me, I've been to more than one of his idiotic ideas." you said, pointing at the offended Kaz.

Your great friends (and Baghra) have decided to sneak into the Darkling's palace, steal his maps and war plans, and set the Little Palace on fire.

You started to doubt their good sanity... or sobriety.

"Sooner or later, we have to sneak in there. Aleksander has stolen from me all the books and records of our ancestors; he is in possession of immense power, and we can not allow him to make use of it." you clenched your fists, almost ready to pounce on the woman for revealing the Darkling's true name.

"Who is Aleksander?" you ignored Kaz's question, nervously twirling the ring he gave you on your finger.

"Was he able to steal something from YOU? And you let him do it? How surprised I am."

"What are you implying?"

"I implying that we are in some huge coach driven by your men, leaving Ketterdam on your initiative and entering the lion's mouth because you said so. In my place, you'd be suspicious too."

"The odds of me betraying you are as high as the odds that you will."

"And why is that?" you hissed, furious at how easily she got on your nerves.

"Aleksander has a knack for manipulating people. A few sweet words, and even your boyfriend won't be able to count on your devotion anymore."

"Watch your mouth. I'm not her boyfriend." Kaz growled, tensing up next to you, thereby stopping your quarrel. Baghra shrugged, continuing her quiet conversation with Alina. In your mind, you were planning the old lady's slow death until someone's hand grabbed yours in a strong grip.

You turned your head towards Kaz. He stared blankly out the window, completely ignoring your gaze. Instead, he started drawing circles on your palm, trying to calm you down somehow. You turned your head in the opposite direction, smiling to yourself at the tender gesture. Unbeknownst to you, Kaz had the same smirk as yours on his face.

The rest of the trip to the city was uneventful. As planned, Alina and you stayed in Baghra's secret stash while the rest went off to play heroes. Your job was to distract the Darkling, and Alina was supposed to watch over you.

You'd agree to their plan if your role wasn't just to stand by while others risked their lives trying to get the information you all needed.

But you decided not to argue with the others about it this time. After all, they couldn't control you once you got into the palace. You might as well have snooped around, looked for what you needed, and done most of the work for them. Closing your eyes and getting ready to connect with the Darkling, you only hoped that your little disobedience would go unnoticed.

~•♤♤♤•~

You just finished searching Kirigan's study, war room, and bedroom. You were on your way to the last room - the library, when you bumped into the one person you wanted to avoid.

You were paralysed as soon as you saw him walking down the hall. You hoped he wouldn't look in your direction, but the general (alert as always) glanced at you briefly before disappearing from your view. You had the faintest hope that he would think you were a vision, but all of it vanished when you felt a hand gently wrap around your neck and pin you against the wall.

"You either have too much free time or you enjoy haunting me at random times, little moon." you didn't answer, too scared that the moment he touched you, all your power took on a life of its own, merging with his shadows, as it usually does when your skins meet for the first time after a long separation. You were defenceless. Kirigan frowned, watching you with growing interest. "Speechless? Not any irritating responses? Do you fear me, Y/N?" his taunts brought you to your senses, forcing you to calm down immediately. You couldn't wait for Alina to be rescued. You had to fight him yourself.

"That's what you want, isn't it? To have everyone and everything under control, too scared to say or do anything against you."

"Fear is a powerful ally and also loyal."

"Not as loyal and lasting as love, trust, respect." you tried to break free from his grip, but all attempts to remove his hand from your neck proved futile. You were lucky that instead of tightening the grip and cutting off your air, he just wrapped his other arm around your waist, pulling you closer so that your faces were mere millimetres apart. "We could have had it, Aleksander. All of it. All you had to do was set me free and make me your equal."

"You'll come to feel it towards me someday. For now… even though I truly want to, I have no time for you, moonlight. Your friends are waiting for me. But don't get the wrong impression…" he leaned towards you, stroking your cheek tenderly as he whispered in your ear. "I will be back for you, my Y/N. Wherever you are hiding from me."

You shivered as he kissed your temple, making this terrifying promise to you. At some point, his shadows enveloped you completely and sent you back to the room where you and Alina were hiding.

And after one look at the sun summoner, you both knew what you had to do.

~•♤♤♤•~

You couldn't remember the last time you ran so fast in your entire life. It must have been back in your Ketterdam days, doing some little errands for the Dregs.

But this time, you weren't running to save your life. You ran to save Kaz Brekker's ass, who was the only one (not counting Inej, who was already hidden somewhere with Alina, waiting for you in harbour) who didn't return from his mission. As you expected, everything went to hell without you, and if you and Alina hadn't arrived, half of the crows (including Baghra) would have been captured by Aleksander's grishas. You wouldn't feel sorry for the old woman, but Alina insisted on saving her.

Jes, Wylan, Nina and Baghra searched other parts of the Little Palace, trying to burn everything in their path. You could still make it. If only Brekker hadn't gotten lost in the meantime. You knew you should go with him. You've always been a team player, and pairing you with Alina for this mission and leaving you behind was their worst idea.

You promised yourself that the next time you'd strap that risky idiot to your hip.

That's why you breathed a sigh of relief when you saw him at the end of the corridor. But instead of running up to him and yelling at him for his thoughtlessness, you hid in the shadows as he backed away slowly. Someone had to catch him. You caught his eye for a moment, glad he noticed you and started to head your way. Thanks to this, you could assassinate his attacker and try to escape from the palace.

Piece of cake. If he wasn't talking to a fucking Darkling.

"I know you kidnapped my moon summoner. Now you're going to tell me where you stashed her." you cursed internally, feeling yourself start to panic. You guys were officially screwed.

"We didn't take her. She fled on her own." you marvelled at how Kaz could still keep his composure with an angry Darkling a few feet in front of him. Sometimes you forget how mentally strong he was.

"I don't doubt in it… where is she? I won't ask you again."

"I don't know. I don't own her… but it's pretty clear she wasn't interested in being a captive anymore."

Aleksander got even angrier at the little insinuation that Kaz took better care of you, that he didn't treat you like an asset, unlike the general. You cursed Dirtyhands for wanting to mock and taunt the Darkling, even though you could see that he wasn't so confident around him.

"I heard about you. And your crows. It would be a shame if something happened to such a talented group." the Darkling summoned some of his shadows, causing Kaz to back away and reach for the light grenade that you and Wylan had prepared. "It's good for you that you have the decency to show signs of fear."

"I'm afraid of what I must."

"And yet you are not so defenceless." Kaz raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Don't make a fool of yourself, Mr. Brekker. I can feel my moon's power everywhere. Especially when it's imbedded so much into one small object."

You tensed, remembering that you had given Kaz the necklace before he left for the Little Palace. A necklace whose pendant you poured so much moonlight into that no shadows could surround him while wearing it or only holding it.

Defence against the Darkling. Specially prepared for situations like this. However, handing it to him, you hoped the two would never meet, growling at each other like two rabid dogs.

"Y/N must have strong feelings for you to give you some of her power. And you for her. Putting your people and yourself at risk, your profit, your club. In the name of what, Mr. Brekker?"

"If you did thorough research on me, you'd know that all of Ketterdam knows I don't need a reason to do things."

"You'll never fully appreciate what she really is. But that's alright. Because I do." Aleksander let Dirtyhands' insult pass over his ears, trying to annoy him that much, so he let his guard down. You knew very well that method, just like you knew that Kaz wasn't foolish to fall for it.

"You've right. I'll never use her as a weapon or treat her like a saint. That's not what she wants. You may understand her powers, but you have no idea who she really is. What's in her mind. What are her dreams and desires. All you care about is her power, which I don't give a damn if she has or not. You see her only as a moon summoner. Not Y/N. You don't know the woman she was before Grisha's thing. You will never know how amazing and indescribable she was before Ravka. This is part of her that only I was allowed to see. You can't change the fact that I know her better than you."

"You're forgetting one important fact. You are a child, and she is Grisha. Y/N may take years to forgive me… but I can wait. Take away my shadows, and I still have something you don't. Time. Meanwhile, you will grow old. Your hair will grey, but she will remain ageless. Like me. Not mention your little inconvenience. Do you think you'll be able to touch her for more than a few minutes before your body grows old? That you'll be able to give her the life she deserves? We both know that one day, maybe a year from now, maybe fifty, she will realise that she has only one equal. There are no others like us, and there never will be. Even you can't change that, Mr. Brekker." he gave him a hostile look, laughing mockingly as he noticed that Kaz continued to back up with each step the Darkling took towards him until he did not stand in front of your hiding place. "Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. Time will do it for me." he summoned more of his shadows, wanting to scare him with his power. You three knew very well that with your necklace around his neck, no cut would kill him."You should have stayed in Ketterdam, Mr. Brekker."

At this point, you both decided to step in. Kaz threw his grenade, and you summoned your power, blinding the two of them. You grabbed Kaz's arm, and you both ran (as fast as his leg would allow). You stopped only a few corridors and stairs further, at the crossroads where you were all supposed to meet. Along the way, you avoided several fires that the tidemakers were busy with.

"What are you doing here?!" he growled furiously at you as you finally stopped, only making you more angry at his recklessness and attitude. He attacked and insulted the most powerful grisha. An 18-year-old with a cane and no powers.

"What am I doing here?! You tell me, what are you doing! You made him mad for no reason! You think now that he knows your identities, he'll let you go so easily? He will hunt you as long as he lives, just like me and Alina! Congratulations, Brekker!"

"I knew the risk." he replied angrily, looking around all four corridors.

"No, you didn't. You'd know a flimsy toy like that one, fucking grenade wouldn't be enough for him with all the amplifiers he's got."

"Well, I guess your little gift was strong enough to protect me. Which brings me to the question… why am I the only one blessed with this power from you?" he asked as he walked over to you, standing a few inches in front of you. You were both panting with quick anger, rage, and adrenaline, which was slowly draining from your systems.

"It's not your business, Brekker." you growled into his face and took a step, trying to avoid him, but his firm grip on your elbow stopped you.

You turned to face him, ready to yank your arm out of his grip and scream at him to fuck off, but all thoughts flew out of your head as soon as you looked into his mesmerising eyes, which were looking at you with concern and… love.

"It is my business." he leaned closer to you, just enough for you to feel his warmth and his scent, and far enough away not to touch you any more than he already did. "You... you're my most important business. And if something happens to you, if he catches you again..." he sighed, shaking his head, trying to find the right words as he licked his annoyed lips, unconsciously drawing your gaze to them and making you hold your breath for a moment, wanting something as forbidden and holy as kissing them. "I don't know how to... express my feelings. I don't know if I even understand them well enough. All I know is that I would rather die than see you enslaved and sorrowful... and it pains me to know that I'm too weak to protect you. That I'll always be too weak FOR YOU."

"You are literally everything but weak. In my eyes, you're the strongest person I know, Kaz. One of the very few to whom I would entrust my life in the blink of an eye."

"And yet I'm not enough for Grisha's love."

"How could you not be enough for something you already have?" Kaz's head snapped up as he watched you, befuddled in complete silence. You hesitantly reached for his hand, giving him enough time to pull away. He did not do. "And because I love you, I cannot be selfish with you. I cannot risk your life just because I have loved you since we were stupid teenagers." he squeezed your hand, too overwhelmed by his emotions to say anything. Fortunately, you understood him without any words.

Slowly, as if time had slowed down just for you two, he leaned towards you, resting his forehead against yours. You stood like that for a moment, enjoying the other's presence, forgetting that the palace was burning around you and probably 100 Grishas were chasing you.

"I will have you, Kaz Brekker. But only when it's safe for both of us." you promised him, whispering with your eyes still closed. "And for that to happen, I have to stay here. I have to make sure he doesn't go after you, that he will be distracted by me instead of planning your death.." you were about to extricate yourself from his grip, but the man only pulled you closer to him, not wanting to let you go.

"Please, don't. Stay with me. You're not a saint or a hero. You said it yourself. More than I could count."

"Kaz…" you took the ring off and put it on his little finger. "Keep it for me until I'm back. As a promise that whatever is going to happen next… I will be back for you." testing your luck, you placed a quick, tender kiss on his finger, feeling him tremble under your lips.

Before you got a chance to change your mind, you ran in the opposite direction, following the voice of the fighting Grishas.

You didn't turn around. You didn't steal a second glance at him, even though you knew he was watching you until you were out of sight. You knew the moment you looked into his eyes again, you'd change your mind.

You had to be strong.

For both of you. For your common future.

~•♤♤♤•~

When you regained consciousness, you weren't surprised that your hands had been handcuffed, so you couldn't use your powers. You were surprised to be greeted by the familiar sheets of Aleksander's comfortable bed.

And the Darkling himself was lying right next to you with his face towards you.

His eyes were closed, giving you a good look at the darker shadows under his eyes than before. Without knowing why, they disturbed you more than those lazily hovering around the bed. For a moment, you listened to his measured, calm breathing, which would probably confuse anyone else and give the illusory belief that the man next to you is sleeping. But you knew him much better than to fall for such a simple trick.

"I know how you breathe when you're sleeping, Aleksander."

"Maybe I was trying to fall asleep."

"Wearing a kefta? Doubtful." he opened one eye, staring at you silently. You felt your heart start beating faster from the nerves. You had no idea why you were here. Or at least you didn't want to admit it to yourself, so you decided to play the fool. "Are the dungeons undergoing some kind of refurbishment, or are they so full that you haven't found another place for me?"

He stared at you silently, deep in thought. He took his time to answer, playing with the strands of your hair that had escaped your bun from an earlier fight.

"It didn't seem like the right place for you" he finally whispered, making you even more suspicious.

"And where is my right place? After I stabbed you in the back so many times? In your bed? In your arms? As a weapon for your use? Where do you see me, Aleksander?"

"By my side. I've always seen you by my side." he answered at once, without a trace of hesitation in his voice. His shadow circled the room, caressing you from time to time. You didn't know if he was planning to let your guard down or if he had completely lost his mind.

"I don't understand. You should be mad at me. Why don't you hate me? Why are you still looking at me like... like you really have feelings for me? This is another one of your games, right? You want me to go completely crazy this time, don't you?"

"No, my little saint moon." he whispered, undaunted by your anger, gently cupping your chin so you had to look him in the eye. "All I ever wanted was someone equal to me. Why should I get mad at you when all you're doing is trying to find your way to me?"

"I don't…"

"Then why did you let them catch you? Don't try to lie to me, Y/N. I was there. I saw with my own eyes how you backed away from running away at the last moment. Why?"

"You know why." you whispered in a shaky voice. You closed your eyes, trying to protect yourself from the Black Heretic's penetrating gaze and show him the tears beginning to form in your eyes. "I have a million reasons why I should give you up, why I should hate you more than anyone else, but the truth is… my heart wants what it wants. And I don't think I can resist this anymore." you couldn't control your tears, but from the tender touch of his hand as he wiped them from your cheek and the clank of the handcuffs opening, you figured they were necessary for him to believe you.

"You have no idea how long…"

"No." you cut him off before he could say anything more." I have one question for you. Answer it right, and I'll forget about the last few months. Answer it right, and I promise you that you will never have to be alone again, that I'll always be by your side, along with your shadows and everything else that you truly are. That I will accept my destiny as being your moon. I won't let anyone scare me away from you ever again. I just… I need you to be completely honest with me. This one time." you cursed yourself at how weak your voice sounded when he grabbed your hand, kissing tenderly the places where the handcuffs were marked. "You don't have to tell me your whole plan; I just want to know… are all of these lies, battles, wars, deaths… just to keep the Grishas safe? You have no other intention behind this than to give our people home, where they don't have to be afraid of people who hate us and our powers?"

"I swear to you, my little moonstone, there is no other reason. I'm not a maniac drunk on power, as everybody tells you. I just want our people to be safe; I want to give them a world where we can explore the abilities of our power without fear of getting killed for being extraordinary. I can only do this with you by my side. As my equal. As a person who thinks like me and can keep up with my plans. As my partner. As the only one I can trust."

"Good." you nodded, cupping his cheek as you pulled him closer to you, so your lips caught each other again.

And maybe it was naive to think he bought your story about being completely devoted to him; maybe it was just another one of his games; maybe this time he really believed your words. Or maybe he was tired of pretending you didn't feel that strange attraction every time you were together.

You did not know. And you didn't want to know.

You gave into that burning desire every time you were near him, explaining to yourself that you had to earn his trust.

But there was much more to this one kiss than just lust.

It was a promise to you.

You will break his heart and make him hate you. You will drive him mad, drive him away, and then he will cast you out. Aleksander will come to think of you not as his lover but as his greatest enemy. Alina, Baghra and you gonna end the circle of unnecessary deaths.

And then you will finally be free...

Or at least... you will kill you both while trying to hate him as you should from the beginning.

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k-atsukibakugou · 9 days

Note

congratulations on your two year anniversary!! Your writing is so amazing and I look forward to more great posts in the future :) if I may, I’d like to request a cosmo w/bakugou! Thank you!!

hihihi thank u!!! i hope u enjoy this, i got a little carried away with it birthday bash intro + rules + menu | event masterlist

“can i get a… um, cosmo?” your eyes are bleary, half-lidded, the menu nearly rubbing the tip of your nose with how close you held it, squinting to read the drink descriptions for five minutes (4 minutes and 47 seconds, he timed you) before giving up on figuring out what was in the cocktail. besides, the vodka was all that mattered.

closing the menu, you attempted twice to return it neatly to the box at the middle of the counter, quickly giving up and sitting it beside the container. bakugou hasn’t moved a muscle since you sat across the bar from him, instead, watching you closely; the way you’d nearly tripped over the chair before sitting in it, and now struggling with the menu. when your eyes finally meet his, yours are damn near crossed, a moment of you staring at him before you focus on his steely red eyes, a single blond eyebrow raised as he studies you.

“you want a cosmo?”

your head looks like it weighs a tonne when you nod, falling back and forth like your neck can’t handle the weight of it, your eyes struggling to refocus on his still frame. he moves too fast for you to watch him, pulling a clean glass from beneath the bar, scooping ice into the bottom,holding the gun over it to fill to the brim with water and adding a lime to the rim.

“how many have you had?” he’s gruff when he slides the drink across the counter to you, watching you hold the glass with both hands and struggle to catch the straw between your lips.

“how many altogether or at this bar?” you take a sip of the ice cold water, making no comment on the lack of alcohol as he leaned on his forearms on the counter, still watching the way you gulped down the water, holding in a smile at the way you giggle avoiding his question.

“where are your friends?” the bar is quiet for a friday night, with only one other person at the bar, busy flirting for free drinks with kirishima. every other patron was either seated in a booth or dancing to usher on the dance floor; he doesn’t remember seeing you walk in, although with the dim lighting, he hadn’t noticed you at all until you were sitting right in front of him.

you gesture generally toward the group crowding at the front of the dj booth, everyone requesting a different song before the first song had even started, too busy to do more than a lazy wave of your hand in their direction. slurping the last few dregs of the cold water at the bottom of your glass, you place the glass back on the counter, smiling widely at him when he refills your cup again (and with a new lime), still oblivious to the lack of alcohol in the drinks.

shuffling closer on the stool, you take a sip of the “new” drink, “you like me or something?”

you’re blunter than you’d normally be with a bartender as gorgeous as he is, somehow seeing two of him makes you more confident. with a soft chuckle, he mirrors you, leaning closer over the bar to you, “what makes you say that?”

his eyes are twinkling when he looks at you, the red flashing blue and green under the strobe lights, suddenly glad for the quiet night if it meant sitting here listening to your drunken rambling. picking up your glass, you speak again, your words still slightly slurred, “two free drinks, and you’re talking to me… a lot.”

bakugou grins and laughs again, standing straight when he reaches behind the counter for his black coat, throwing it over the bend of his elbow, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

coyly, you answer him, your eyes a touch delayed tracking him walking from behind the bar, toying with the straw between your teeth, squinting again to read the nametag on his chest, “you wanna get out of here, bakugou?”

his eyes go wide before he laughs again, holding his hand out for you to stumble off the chair into his hold, keeping a steady grip on your wrist when he walks towards the exit, “what ever happened to ‘come here often’?”

his smile makes you giggle behind your hand, the giggle morphing into a hiccup by the time you were into the cool air of the night, the lack of humidity making goosebumps erupt under your skin, his thick jacket around your shoulders before you register the temperature difference.

“you work there.” you seem a little more sober now, your eyes staring straight into his, the water and cold air enough to get you aware of how warm his hand is around your wrist, how his hand feels at the small of your back guiding you outside toward the line of taxis in front of the bar.

“fine, what about you?”

“what about me?”

“do you come here often?”

“first time, actually.”

“you should.” he waves down one of the empty taxis, his skin still against yours as it pulls into the gutter in front of you.

“i should..?”

“come here more often, i’ll need that jacket back,” he opens the door for you, helping you down into the low seat despite your now slightly more sober state, “you gonna be alright? i'll let your friends know you got a taxi.”

almost forgetting you’d just invited him home with you, you’re giddy when you smile up at him again, your cheeks warming when he makes one last promise to get your number when you’re sober, next time.

the promise of seeing him again has you smiling the whole way home, even more so when your friends text you all about how the hot bartender said he’d gotten you a lift home, how the tips of his ears were red when the other bartender asked where he’d been, how he answered the bar phone with a smile when you rang it far too late in the night, next time too long to wait to hear from him again.

#no one pay attention if its bad thank u #mercurys birthday bash #「katslutki-bakugou」#「mercury answers」#「kat <3」#「mercury writes」#bakugou drabble #bakugo drabble #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #tw: alcohol

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hwashotcheeto · 3 months

Text

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒕

Vampire!Park Seonghwa X Pet!afab!gn!reader

Summary: Your sensual, mysterious vampire master calls you, his lovely pet, into his study to introduce you to a new, pleasure filled world you were originally unfamiliar with.

WC: 3.6k

CW: Smut, fluffy aftercare at the end, Seonghwa and reader have an owner x pet relationship, reader calls Seonghwa "Master," blood consumption (obviously, he's a vampire)

Names used for reader: Jagiya, darling, doll, (pretty) pet, slut

Smut warnings: Reader is a virgin (no bleeding, not really corruption either), kisses, teasing, dirty talk, handjob (idol receiving), unprotected PIV sex, rough sex, choking (reader receiving), biting (reader receiving), orgasms for both

AN: I dragged this up from the dregs of my drafts due to a conversation with @mxnsxngie, so here it is, lovely. 💜

I felt much better after some sleep and some time to myself, so that's why I'm posting today. Originally, I wrote this purely for myself a year or so ago, so it wasn't too difficult for me in terms of writing. 🥰

This is also inspired by this fic, which is what made me finally fall in love with vampires. Please go read it, it's wonderful. 💜💜💜

Tag List: @cherrycel @mxnsxngie @malldreamprincess

"Jagiya~"

You shivered as Seonghwa's voice hit your ears.

"Come here, please."

He didn't need to give a reason, you were already up and on your way. You assumed he meant his bedroom, but as you turned down the small hallway, light spilled onto the floor from the left door, not the right. You'd never been inside the study, the door had always been closed. Not locked, closed.

Even though this house was your home as much as it was his, there were rules that you didn't question. One of them being, "If the door is closed, don't open it." He needed no reason, there were no exceptions. If the door was closed, you didn't open it.

You’d only paused for a second before you walked through the open door.

It was roughly the same size as his bedroom, but it was so vastly different. High walls, lined with dark bookshelves, filled with so many books of different sizes. You’d wondered if there was an end to how many books he had. It seemed like there wasn't, but he still had secrets that you had yet to uncover.

At the end of the room in front of a large circular window, Seonghwa leaned against a large desk, his hands braced on the edge, watching you as you looked around. Your eyes met and you felt chills race down your body. You stumbled over nothing, trying to pretend you hadn’t, and continued your walk. A small smirk appeared on his plump, red lips. Lips your eyes couldn't help but linger on for a moment.

He kept his eyes locked with yours as he raised his hand and flicked his wrist. Behind you, the door swung shut, blowing a gust of air against your back. Almost like Seonghwa was saying "Come on, we haven't got all day, doll."

You quickened your pace and stopped a few feet away from him. He pushed off the desk and shortened the distance in only a few steps, towering over you. You held your hands behind your back and swallowed hard as you tilted your head back to look at him. His smirk only grew bigger, and you felt your thighs quiver in answer.

He reached forward and tucked your hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. "What do you think?" He asked, glancing around the room. "You've never been here before."

"I haven't," you breathed, cursing your body for how it reacted to him. You could barely focus on his question, but you fished an answer out of your brain that'd been turned to mush. "It's intimidating." Seonghwa's eyes flashed and his eyebrows went up.

"Why do you say that?"

"It's big." That's the only reason you had. You opened your mouth to say more, but closed it the next second when you realized you had nothing to add. Seonghwa waited another second before softly laughing.

"You get used to it." He pulled his hand away from your face and turned back to his desk. He walked around the great wooden piece and sat in the chair behind it. "This is my one place of solitude. Unfortunately, my bedroom isn't as private as I'd like it to be."

That comment almost felt like it was directed at you. You looked down at the floor as guilt washed over your body. You were about to mutter an apology when he suddenly clicked his tongue.

Your head shot back up and met his eyes again. He didn't say anything at first, and in that silence, his eyes flashed again. A soft pink glow ringed the brown, and chills raced over you again. You tried to hide it, but you know he saw your throat bob slightly when you swallowed.

"I don't mean you, doll," he began softly. "It started long before you. Don't worry your pretty head over it." It wasn't a compliment, but it still made your cheeks flush red. Seonghwa smirked again, and raised his hand.

Your eyes shot to his fingers as he beckoned you to come forward. You stepped up to the edge of the desk, but he clicked his tongue again.

"No, doll." He snapped his fingers and pointed beside him. You let out a shaky breath and walked around the desk, now standing beside him. He moved his chair backwards, and you stayed in place, thinking he was going to stand up. Seonghwa snapped his fingers again and pointed at the desk this time.

You stared confused for only a few seconds before it clicked. When it did, Seonghwa could hear the pounding of your heart grow faster. You walked over to the edge and faced him before pushing yourself up and onto it. Seonghwa smiled deviously and nodded slowly.

"That's it," he said lowly, barely above a whisper. He finally stood up from the chair and walked forward, just barely a breath away. You gripped the edge of the desk as you kept my eyes on his. There was another steady glow of pink that ringed the brown. He smirked as he heard your breath catch.

You hadn't realized that your short dress had ridden up your thighs until Seonghwa laid his hands on them. You gasped and looked down when you felt his fingers slide up under the hem.

You watched his hands slip under the thin material, eventually wrapping his fingers around your hips and gripping onto them. You were powerless to stop the whimper that bubbled up inside you.

"I've thought about this quite a lot." Seonghwa's voice rumbled in his chest, very quietly, just enough so you could hear him, but not any louder than that. "My pretty pet sitting on my desk just like this." His words made you shiver just slightly, but he felt it.

He released his grip on your hips and used his thumbs to rub the inside. Chills ran up your spin and you tightly snapped your legs together. Seonghwa chuckled softly and gripped onto your thighs, forcing your legs open again and putting himself between them so you couldn't close them anymore.

Another whimper left your lips when you felt his clothed cock brush up against the growing heat between your legs. "Don't do that, darling."

"I'm sorry, Master," you blurted, barely getting the words out. They were barely even words, the sounds just tumbled out of your mouth, sounding vaguely like what you wanted to say. Seonghwa's hands gripping onto your thighs and feeling him pressed up against you made your head feel light, critical thinking was no more.

That's how he wanted you.

His hands slid back up to your hips and his thumbs gently rubbed the inside again. You gripped onto the desk tighter and your thighs pressed against Seonghwa's hips. His eyes glowed in sadistic delight hearing your blood races through your veins.

Seonghwa gently grabbed your chin and tilted your head forward so you could look into his eyes again. He made you feel so utterly small, even when you were only a few inches apart, sitting on his desk.

"I want you like this, pet," he breathed, pulling you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist. You put your hands on his chest, and when you did, he moved his hips against you and let out a soft groan. You whimpered at the contact and gripped onto his shirt. "I want you, pet." He rocked his hips up again, slowly moving himself against your soaked underwear, the liquid no doubt already leaking onto his desk.

Seonghwa took his hand off your hip and slid his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, hooking onto them and pulling them down your thighs, off your legs and tossing them somewhere. The cold air hit your now bare entrance, making you shiver.

Seonghwa laughed as his fingers slid back and up against your sensitive cunt. "Oh, you're soaked already, pet," he cooed softly. His fingers reached back and teased your entrance, making your tighten around nothing and forcing another whimper out. He smirked and pushed his fingertips against it, gently rubbing. "How cute is that?"

His fingers slid back down your thigh, leaving a trail of slick in his wake, and started undoing his pants. You were still holding onto his shirt with a death grip, leaning your head on his chest, panting heavily.

The desire you felt inside you, the desperate, sex crazed animal that was clawing at you, was something you’d never encountered before. You craved the unknown feeling of Seonghwa inside you more than you craved air.

You were pulled from your daze when you felt his cock gently push up against you, and you yelped in surprise. Seonghwa laughed and gently pet your head. "It's okay, darling, it's alright."

He surprised you again when he asked, "Don't you want to take a look?" You snapped your head back up and stared at him in confusion. He smirked and put his hand on the back of your head. "Wrong way, pet." He pushed down and leaned back to give you the view.

Your heart stopped when you took in the sight of his cock pressed up against you. The head was aligned with your navel, and from it, a white liquid leaked out and down the shaft. His fluids mixing with yours made this whole situation so much more erotic than it already was.

You don't know what possessed you to do it, but you reached out with a trembling hand and touched the head. Seonghwa sucked in a sharp breath and flinched, and you reeled back, thinking you’d hurt him.

But he shot out and grabbed your hand, his grip firm but gentle. "That's sensitive, doll," he ground out through gritted teeth. "Be careful with that." He guided your hand back to his dick, and with his permission, your nervousness disappeared.

You gently laid your fingertips on the head, slowly rubbing and smearing the creamy liquid. It made your movements smoother, and you let your hand slide down his cock. Seonghwa groaned softly and gripped onto your waist tighter, and used his other hand to brace himself on the desk. It made you want to keep going.

You wrapped your hand around his cock and slowly stroked him properly. More cream came out, leaking all over himself and your fingers. Seonghwa groaned in satisfaction, his eyes fluttering. He laughed and looked down at your hand on his cock.

"Oh doll, you make me melt so bad," he breathed, letting out another groan as your hand came back to the tip. He rocked his hips forward, rubbing against your clit, pulling a soft whine from your lips. His cock twitched at the noise.

Seonghwa laughed again and moved his hips forward once more. Again. And again. And slipped into a steady rhythm of rubbing up against your clit. It was small, but it felt so good, so you kept your hand on his cock to make sure it didn't go anywhere.

His fluids mixing with yours making him glide against you, giving him the ability to rock his hips faster, it made your hands begin to shake. It didn’t take long for a knot to twist in your stomach. It hurt, and you couldn’t help but whimper in pain.

"Master," you gasped as you gripped onto his shirt. "My stomach hurts." You looked up at him with pleading eyes and met his devious ones. He cooed and held your face as he slowed his hips.

"It hurts, pet?" You nodded with a pained whimper, and his smile only grew. "I'll take the pain away, don't worry."

He grabbed the hand you had on his chest and laced his fingers with yours. You gratefully held on tightly.

"If the pain gets worse, tell me, alright?" You nodded again. "If you don't want this, tell me no."

"I want this, Master,” you said confidently.

Seonghwa smiled and pressed his lips against yours in a very gentle kiss. The kiss was a sweet distraction, and you were too busy drowning in his soft, plush, pretty lips to notice until the head of his cock was pressed against your entrance.

Just as you pulled away from his lips, the tip slid inside like it was meant to be there. And it was a feeling you could never have imagined.

He slowly pushed himself deeper, deeper than you thought he could, all the way until his hips were flush against yours. It was such a bizarre and new feeling, you didn't know what to do with yourself.

After he'd got himself completely inside, his eyes met yours again. And they were gentle. The gentle pink glow was soothing

"You're so tense, darling." His words were tight and clipped as he said them. He swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath. "Try to relax, alright? Take a deep breath."

You nodded and did as he asked, taking a deep, shaky breath, trying to relax your body. You needed more than one, but you eventually managed to relax.

"That's it, good pet." You shivered at the praise. "I'm gonna move my hips now." Seonghwa made sure he was looking into your eyes as he said it, making sure he could see how you felt about it. You gave him a little nod, and he nodded back before he slowly started moving his hips.

It took a little bit of adjusting, and it did hurt, for only a little bit, but after that, he moved in and out of you with such ease, you couldn't help but stare down in amazement. Watching all of him somehow fit inside you, filling you up every time. You head grew light and your body began to tremble.

Seonghwa laughed and tilted your head up to look at him. "You like to watch, pet?" He breathed. "You like watching my cock disappear inside you?" You could only whimper and nod in answer. He laughed softly and ran his tongue over his lips. "That's my doll."

You rolled your head back and let the pleasure wash over you completely, moans coming from deep in your chest as he moved inside you, sounds you never thought you could make, filled the room. All because of him.

"Does my pet feel good?" Seonghwa asked, gripping onto your waist again. You lifted your head and looked back at him to nod. He smirked again and removed his arm from around your waist and let go of your hand.

The sudden loss of his support made you fall back on the desk. You were going to push yourself back up on your arms, but your efforts were useless.

Seonghwa gripped onto your hips and snapped his own into them, making you fall down onto your back. A cry left your lips as he hit a spot inside you that you didn't know existed until then.

"Again," you gasped out. He pulled back and slammed into you again. And again. And again, until that was the new rhythm. His hands gripped your hips so tight that they ached, but you didn't care. You’d never felt this good, and never wanted it to stop.

Seonghwa grabbed your trembling thighs and wrapped them around his waist, releasing your hips to lean over you and grip onto the desk beside your head, fucking you harder and faster than before.

You couldn't see his face, as your head was hanging off the desk and your eyes were tightly shut, but you heard him. You heard the animalistic groans and grunts that left his pretty lips, the growl that rumbled in his throat when you cried out particularly loudly. It made you want to keep making those noises so he'd continue.

In doing so, you’d unlocked some primal part of him that you weren't prepared for.

"Such a good, pretty pet." Seonghwa wrapped his hand around your neck, tightly gripping on and pulling you up to look at him. The ring of pink around his eyes turned to a vivid red that shocked you. Literally, you felt a bolt of electricity run through you.

"Never had this before, but such a fucking slut. You love this, don't you?" He ground out. He squeezed your throat tighter, making your head go light and your eyes roll back. "Say it."

"YES!" You cried out weakly, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Seonghwa’s tongue peeked out from between his teeth when he smirked, savoring the way you melted on his cock.

Seonghwa pinned you back down on the desk and slammed his hips into yours like his life depended on it. You were at his mercy and it felt amazing.

Looking up at him through tears as he gripped onto the desk and stared down at where his cock pounded into you, transfixed like he was stuck there, it made your head go light again.

The blood was rushing through your body, your heart pounding so hard, so loud. Seonghwa could hear it all, and it was making him delirious. Your blood smelled divine, he wanted nothing more but to sink his fangs into you and taste you.

As if you could hear his thoughts, you gave him permission in a soft, weak sob, because you too desired the feeling he craved.

"Bite me, Master."

You’d hardly gotten the words out before Seonghwa's fangs dove into your neck, and your blood was his.

He groaned into your neck and rolled his eyes back, the warm, sweet blood pouring into his mouth. He pulled his fangs back out and desperately licked and sucked at the bite marks.

His hips fell out of rhythm as he let out a soft whimper, and his next words made you snap.

"You taste so fucking good, darling.”

A completely new feeling you never knew was possible exploded through your entire body and made you scream out so loud, the whole town could’ve heard it. Your arms shot out and locked them around Seonghwa, gripping onto his shirt that was now cold, soaked through with sweat.

He continued for a few more seconds before he too let out a loud scream and buried his face in your neck, weakly lapping at the bite marks while his hips slowed until they stopped, panting out soft whimpers of your name between licks.

And as it came to an end and you reached the end of this euphoria, the tears in your eyes turned from ones of pleasure to that of pain. Your hips ached, blood still leaked from your neck, and the place that once radiated with pleasure now radiated heat and pain.

A tiny sob erupted from your lips as your head fell back away from Seonghwa. You were weakly laid out before him, ruined and spent.

You couldn't describe it, but you wanted him to lift you up and hold you. You wanted him to stay close. When he pulled away and removed his cock from you, another sob bubbled up out of you.

"Why are you crying, pet?" Seonghwa asked softly as he redressed himself.

"I don't know," you whispered, suddenly overcome with shame, trying to stop sobbing. You rubbed your eyes and swallowed back the sobs. You didn't understand anything. You didn't know why you wanted him to hold you, you didn't know why you were upset, you didn't know why you were in pain.

The confusion upset you more than anything, and it just made it harder to stop crying.

Seonghwa gently wrapped his arms around you and pulled you up to a sitting position before he lifted you up and held you like a child.

You latched onto him and gripped him tightly, tears still pouring from your eyes.

"It's alright, pet." He whispered as he pressed a gentle kiss to your head. "I've got you. You're okay."

Seonghwa then carried you to the bathroom, where he set you in the tub and removed the short dress before he turned on the water. Being as weak as you were, you gladly let him run his gentle, soft hands over your body, which was still slightly trembling. You leaned into all the sweet touches, even when his skin was ice cold.

He also cleaned the wound on your neck and wrapped a bandage around it. The blood loss was beginning to set in, and your head dropped back against the tub as Seonghwa pulled his hands away.

He pulled the plug to drain the tub, and as the water left, he got up and left the bathroom. The sound that came out of you was a desperate, unintelligible cry as you weakly tried to grab him as he left, but he was already gone.

You felt stranded. Helpless. You could hardly lift your head. Even though he was hardly gone more than a minute, being alone and defenseless like that was enough to make you sob in fear.

Seonghwa heard your cries, and it broke his heart. He came back quickly with towels and a new dress for you, setting them beside the tub before he sat on the edge.

“Shh, darling,” he said softly, reaching out and wiping your tears, cradling your face in his hands. “I’m here, I wouldn’t ever leave you like this.”

He pulled back to drape a towel over his lap before he pulled you up to sit sideways on it. He shushed all your soft, pained whines as he used another towel to pat your trembling, weak body dry.

"Shh, shh, you're okay," he said softly against your hair. "I've got you, darling. I'm right here." His voice soothed the writhing demon inside you. The one that told you there was pain and anguish. There wasn't.

There was only him. Your master as he dressed you and carried you to his bedroom, where he laid with you and held you tight against his chest until you fell asleep.

Seonghwa wiped the rest of the tears from your cheeks until there were none left. He pet your head until your eyes fell closed. Like a kitten.

Before you slipped under, he pressed a kiss to your head and whispered,

"Sleep well, my darling."

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed! 💜

This is a work of fiction written by me. This does not represent the idol(s) in any way. Any re-upload is not allowed and will be reported.

#ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez ff #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez vampire au #ateez #ateez seonghwa #park seonghwa #seonghwa #seonghwa fanfiction #seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa fic #seonghwa ff #seonghwa smut #vampire seonghwa #ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader

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soapskneebrace · 1 year

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gravity

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Rating: General audiences Word Count: 3.9k Warnings: none Author's Notes: LIKE CHILEAN MINERS (iykyk). I want to express a tidal wave of thanks to everyone for waiting so, so patiently for this chapter. Life got hard and is remaining so, but the kindness I have received has been so incredibly comforting. Please enjoy the longest chapter of Neighbors I have written to date. Also a HUGE shoutout to Lev @yeyinde as ALWAYS for her advice, the pub is a direct result of her guidance. MASTERLIST Now on Ao3!

It’s a cold and windy morning that, as you hover just a little closer to his warmth, you ask him about decent places to eat nearby.

“Fancy pub food?” he asks in response, and it takes you a moment to process what he’s said. Today he’s in a thick, soft-looking knit sweater, which makes it infinitely difficult not to imagine huddling up against him.

You think he’d let you. You’re not sure how you know this. Maybe it’s the way he positions himself next to you, standing at an angle toward you just slight enough to be casual, but open enough to be purposeful. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to warm you up with his eyes alone—he asked you once why you always bundled up to be outside, and you told him you were just sensitive to the cold.

Since then, you’ve often caught him checking on you, surreptitiously. Simple once-overs that you think are searching for evidence of discomfort.

What would he do, you wonder, if he found any? Would he send you inside, as he had the first morning?

Part of you thinks that would be better. It would give you an out, open up a path diverting away from whatever this thing is that hangs in the air between you and John Price, this thing that you pass back and forth between the pages of borrowed books.

It’s a thing that breathes with the both of you into the early morning, and you don’t know how to look at it. You don’t understand its shape. It’s a thing you wish you wanted to walk away from.

“Who doesn’t?” you reply, sipping at the cold dregs in your cup.

“How ‘bout tonight, then?” John says, and you swallow a little too quickly.

“W-what about tonight?”

He smiles at you, as if he’s thrown you off on purpose. “Dinner, on me.”

You blink several times. “You—I—I mean—really?”

He shrugs, easy and casual as you wish you could be. “Could show you what’s best on the menu. And I wouldn’t mind having dinner with someone besides m’self.”

You hesitate, because your gut reaction is to say yes, John, I’d like nothing more, and that is not a reaction you want to satisfy. These past several mornings have been nice—nicer than you could have expected. You’ve stopped interrogating yourself as to why you keep bothering, because each time his smile greets you as you step outside is answer enough. The routine has been easy to settle into, even comforting.

You need to protect that comfort, you know, even from the allure of something more.

John does not press for an answer, seeming content to savor the last few inhales of his cigar. You wonder if he’s guessed at your inner conflict, wonder if the quiet he’s giving you is an intentional moment to sort yourself out.

He never presses for anything, ever.

“I suppose I could meet you after work,” you finally say.

The smile that breaks across his face nearly knocks you off your feet. You’re relieved when he says, “Sounds good to me,” because if he’d said it’s a date you think you might have dissolved on the spot.

John texts you the pub’s address, and it’s close enough to walk to. You arrive that evening, in your usual two coats plus a knitted hat, to find that the place exceeds a set of expectations you didn’t know you had. The patio seating is closed in with a white picket fence and hung with strings of fairy lights, and it flanks a red brick building with a large, friendly lantern hanging over the door.

You might have expected something a little grubbier, if you’d given the place any more thought beyond this is John’s pub and he’s having me for dinner here.

Warm air envelops you as you step inside, and your gaze is drawn as if by a magnet to a table further in—John has already seen you, and beckons you over with a wave.

He’s still in the knit sweater, and his fleece jacket is hanging on the back of the seat across from him. He stands as you approach, rounds the table, and pulls that chair out for you when you join him.

You don’t know why the chivalry makes you falter, makes you want to turn and sprint all the way back home. All you know, as you sit down, is that you can practically feel the aura of his presence behind you as he helps push your chair in, can feel it move as he leaves your side to return to his seat. You feel yourself gravitate into it, leaning a little over the table as if trying to keep it close.

“This place is tidy,” you say earnestly, trying for that morning normalcy, as you begin to shuck your layers.

“It’s alright,” he agrees. He’s smiling gently, the cool blue of his eyes vivid in the contrast of warm lamplight.

“Do you—” and then you can’t help but giggle, because it’s such a cliche question “—do you come here often?”

He grins, huffs that little laugh. “Too often,” he says as he sits back in his chair, putting a hand on his stomach. “It’ll start showing soon, probably.”

You look at the flat of his stomach, the broad paw of his hand. Remember the trim waist of that very first morning. “You know, somehow I doubt that.”

He meets you eyes, laughs again, and it warms you to the bone.

Seeing him like this, at night, is an unknown quantity. The John you know how to interact with exists on his front doorstep, painted in the cool palette of sunrise, cold air, cigar smoke. This tableau, composed upon the table between you, might as well turn him into another man entirely. Who is this John, awash in warm light, nearly twelve hours older than the man you spoke to this morning? Who are you, now, seeing him after work and before the end of the night?

You feel a little untethered. Your feet still itch for the door, for the measured, predictable floorboards of your own home.

Maybe John notices, because he takes a menu from the stack of two at the end of the table and offers it to you with a reassuring lift of his brows. “Hungry?”

That question, at least, has an easy answer. You smile a little. “Starving.”

His advice turns out to be necessary—everything looks good, and you both end up ordering too much food. Over a spread of fresh, hot chips, halloumi kebabs, and katsu chicken served liberally with curry sauce, John also has a bottle of scotch brought to the table.

“No, that’s too much!” you protest as the waitress sets the decanter down with two clean glasses. “John, really.”

He sets to pouring, his expression pleased, though you’re not sure what about. “Humor me, love. I don’t get to share very often.”

He hands you a glass, and lifts his own above the food. You acquiesce, and clink the rims.

“Do I take a shot or a sip?” you ask, bringing the glass up to your mouth.

“A sip,” says John, and his expression is genuinely distressed. “Please, don’t ever suggest shooting scotch again. That hurt to hear.”

You smirk, and take a slow drink. It hits your tongue with the prologue to a burn, rolling across your taste buds as the twinge fades and you close your eyes. The flavor opens like smoke exhaled into still air; you purse your lips a little and swirl it in your mouth; nutmeg, vanilla, and even a little apple expand across your palate. When it hits the back of your tongue, a short floral burst surprises you, and you swallow it down eagerly.

You find John watching you when you open your eyes.

“Where did you learn to drink like that?” he asks, and there is a new tone in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

It’s low. Resonant. Almost—purring. The look in his eyes, too, is different, the pale blue sharper somehow. Focused keenly, and with some unknown, honed intent, on you.

It pins you where you sit. John is looking at you. John is seeing you.

“Doesn’t everyone learn to drink at uni?” you reply, trying for airy and light. It doesn’t work. Your voice trembles, just a bit.

He’s still watching you, and you think he sees that. Recognizes, perhaps, a change in your expression, some telltale sign that he has shaken you. He looks away from you, takes a drink of his own scotch, and when his gaze returns the keen edge of it has softened. You breathe, and realize you hadn’t been.

You seek something comfortable, something you can measure and control. “How is Actium treating you, then?”

He smiles, and it’s a little rueful. “Octavian’s being a cunt.”

As talk of the most recent book he’s borrowed carries you into more comfortable territory, the two of you make your way through dinner, which is every bit as delicious as John had promised. The food is hearty, greasy in a way that isn’t too heavy, and pairs perfectly with John’s scotch, which you indulge in liberally.

When the alcohol has outpaced the food that is meant to offset it, you think back to what he’d said earlier, about not often getting to share.

“So am I the first person you’ve brought here?” you ask. “Or do you take every neighbor out to dinner?”

John lifts one dark brow, leans in with a tilt of his head. “Only the pretty ones.”

You give an unladylike snort and swirl a cut of chicken around in curry sauce. “You’re incorrigible, John, really.”

The smile he gives crinkles the laugh lines around his eyes, and you feel yourself want to melt at the sight. It is unfair how handsome he is, in that warm sweater, in that golden light, haloed softly in the haze of your verging intoxication.

“When will you believe me when I compliment you, hmm?” he asks, low and resonant in the depths of his chest.

You shoot the rest of your scotch in answer, stuff the chicken into your mouth, and proffer the empty glass.

John squints at your heresy, but obediently pours.

“I suppose your line of work isn’t really great for your social life, then,” you comment. “Always coming and going.”

“My calendar’s certainly empty,” John agrees. “Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve sat down with someone like this. I suppose I’m out of practice.”

“You’re eating with a fork and knife and not your hands.” You grin. “I’d say that’s pretty good already.”

He smiles back. “Would that chase you off?”

You sip your scotch. “Not if you keep pouring.”

“And she complained when the bottle came out. What about you, then?”

“What ‘bout me?”

“How many blokes have you been to dinner with, lately?”

You scoff at that and wash your food down with a sip. “None. As if they’re throwin’ ‘emselves at me.”

John’s expression changes, and it’s slow grin that spreads across his face, a smile you have never seen on him before. It isn’t the sad smile he’s given you at times, melancholy and resigned; nor is it the one he gives when he sees you in the morning, warm and soft and friendly.

No, this one is—energized. Invigorated. As if someone has given him good news he hadn’t been expecting.

“They’ve got to be,” he says, and his tone is humorous. “You must have your pick of the lot. And none of them have struck your fancy?”

You press your hands to your too-warm face. “John, don’t tease me.”

“Seems I’ve got to count myself lucky tonight, then,” he continues, leaning his elbows on the table. “If you’re as choosy as all that.”

You give him a droll look, and swirl your drink around in your glass. “If you must know, I got out of a relationship not long ago.”

John’s brows lift, and you want to smack yourself for letting that little detail escape you. “Is that so?”

You drink. “That is so.”

“What kind of idiot would let you get away?”

“My head is already spinning, and you’re abusing that,” you protest.

“Sorry, love,” he says, clearly not sorry. “But now you’ve got me curious.”

You sit back in your chair, staring at your plate to avoid his gaze. “I’m afraid it’s not all that dramatic. It just…didn’t feel right. I guess he liked me more than I liked him. We would go out, and I would think, ‘I want to leave him and go home.’”

And you still felt guilty about it. You hadn’t liked him that much in the first place, when he’d asked you out—you’d just said yes, because it seemed like the right moment in your life for something like that to happen. When you’d ended it, your extended social network had scratched its collective head, because there truly hadn’t been any good reason.

You just weren’t happy.

“Suppose I didn’t give it enough of a chance,” you say, downing the last of your glass.

“Hey,” John says, soft and gentle. You look up to meet his eyes—the expression on his face is a mixture of sympathy and resolution. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sure, John.”

“Love.” His brow creases, insistent. “You deserve something you want.”

You press your lips together tightly, and suddenly you’re struck again with that sensation from earlier, that feeling that John’s presence is a tangible aura, something that rolls and settles across your awareness like a physical touch. You realize you’ve been leaning into it again, drawn toward him like a comet into the snag of a planet’s gravity.

“I’m definitely drunk now,” you say, because the only other words that want to come out are an emphatic I want you.

John smiles. He doesn’t press the issue. “Will I be carrying you home, then?”

“Oh, John, really!” You give a scoff, surprised at the sudden humor. “You couldn’t carry me all that way.”

One dark brow lifts.

“No,” you say. “You’ll have to put me down. I’m not light.”

The smile remains.

You hold his gaze, suspicious, and finish the last of your glass. It does not take long to polish off the last of dinner, and when the two of you agree that the last chips have finally gotten too cold to eat, John pushes his seat back and stands.

“Done, then? I’ll settle the tab. Love, put that away.”

You sheepishly lower your half-lifted wallet back into your purse.

Accounts settled, you make it outside the pub, and then you have to lean against a wall as John watches you, amused. The world is swaying, its pendulum arcing near-horizontal at the amplitude of each swing.

“I just need a minute,” you whisper.

John does the worst thing he could possibly do—he gives you his back and kneels down, arms a little open. “Come on.”

“Come on? Come off it, John, really, you’ll drop me!” you exclaim.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “I won’t.”

You don’t know what convinces you to do it. Tomorrow, you’ll blame the many glasses of expensive scotch, but in the moment you know it’s the way the hanging lights limn his silhouette in gold. You know it’s the soft expression on his face that you are already too fond of. You know it’s the quiet confidence in his reassurance, and above all those things it’s the familiar comfort of his kind blue eyes.

“All right, John,” you say.

As you wrap your arms around his shoulders, John scoops your knees up into the bend of his arms, and you can add now the feeling of his strength to your mental registry of his body. He is broad against you, the width of him obliging your thighs to part farther than they have in a long, long time.

It brings a heat to your face that dwarfs the low simmer of your inebriation. When he lifts you, straightens up and hoists you a little on his back, like you weigh almost nothing, you are unable now to shove back and contain what he has inspired since that first morning.

“This feels nice,” you murmur, tucking your chin on his shoulder. The scotch has the reins of your tongue now. There is no stopping the words that come out. “I wondered if it would. This morning.”

John’s reply is low, humming in his throat as he begins the trek home. “This morning?”

You breathe. “You always look warm and soft. You’re so handsome every morning. Even the first. I wanted to touch you back then. I wanted you to hold me.”

He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he’s trying to focus on the walk back and not dropping you in the middle of it. He hoists you a little, cupping his hands beneath your knees, squeezing.

His silence prompts more of your honesty. “I don’t want to go to dinner with anyone else, John. Even if someone did ask. You’re the only one.”

“You’re drunk, love,” John says. You don’t recognize the tone of his voice, why it sounds…pleading.

Your face is very close to his, your chin pillowed in the fleece lining of his collar. You resolve fully to blame what you do next on the scotch, and touch the tips of your fingers to the coarse umber on his cheek.

His thumbs press into the divots beneath your kneecaps. John says your name, low and breathy. It must be the strain of carrying you that shows in his voice.

You lean in. You press your cheek against the bristles of his beard, inhale, take in the ever-present Maduro that saturates his skin. The friction is a million little pinpricks of sensation, and you think in that moment that if his beard doesn’t leave hot, welted scratches on your face, you might fall asleep crying.

“Oh,” you murmur, not recognizing the languorous, almost wanton sound of your own voice. “Feels good, John.”

“That’s,” he huffs, and audibly swallows. “That’s good. We’re—ah—we’re almost there.”

“Okay,” you say, sighing against him, settling fully into the expanse of his back.

You doze, unburdened now by what you’ve admitted. He does not waver once on the walk, makes no complaint of your weight as street lights pass and the night moves slowly by. He is as steady, when he makes it to your front door, as he was when he first picked you up.

“Where’s your key, love?” he asks.

“Oh,” you murmur blearily, “um. Let me down.”

Even after your feet are back on the ground, his steadying hand does not leave you, ballasting your elbow as you dig around in your purse. It seems like an embarrassingly long time before you find your keychain, and when you try to unlock your door you miss the slot twice.

John’s big hand wraps around yours then, engulfing it with long fingers and broad palm, and guides the key steadily into the lock. The slide of the deadbolt is loud in the quiet night. You have to lean against the door, suddenly devoid of the strength to turn the knob as you look up at John’s concerned face.

“Let me help you in, love,” he says, brow creased. “Please. I’m worried you’ll fall and hit your head.”

Your entire body feels like it’s sinking into a glass of champagne, his words caressing you like rising bubbles, little pearls of air tickling your face as they touch you. You openly stare at him, watch his throat work as he swallows again, rest your eyes along the broad tendon that flexes as he tilts his head.

“Sure,” you whisper, too out of breath to speak aloud. “If that’s what you want.”

So John turns the knob, loops your arm around his shoulders, and walks you inside.

It is very hard to focus now, as John sits you down on your couch. There isn’t much you can hold in your mind besides the moment his hands leave you, and you inexplicably want to cry at their loss. You don’t see where he goes, vision going dark and blurry around the edges—you think he might have left until he comes back with one of your glasses, filled with clear, cool water.

He kneels in front of you and proffers it, doesn’t let go of the glass until both your hands are wrapped around it. He watches you as you take a sip.

“Drink all of that, alright?” he says. “You had a lot.”

You hold the glass back out to him. “You did too.”

His brows lift, lips parting. Have you surprised him? He pulls the glass closer with a little tug, puts his lips to the rim and tilts it from the bottom as you hold it. His eyes do not leave yours as he drinks, as he takes only a little, and then he pulls away and gently pushes the glass back toward you. Your gaze falls from his eyes, down to the little droplets of water clinging to his mustache, down again to the steady line of his mouth.

You bring the glass back up and take a deep gulp.

“Good girl,” he says, low and rumbling, and heat floods your body.

You realize then that his other hand is on your knee, the weight of his palm heavy and broad, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle into the edge of the cap. You are washed in the blend of his warm comfort and the sudden, almost violent sear of your own desire.

When the glass is empty, he eases it from your hands and sets it aside on your coffee table. When he turns back to you, your hand comes up, unbidden, to curve itself along the angle of his jaw. Umber bristles are coarse beneath the sweep of your thumb.

“Not soft, is it?” John murmurs, and there is something stormy and intense in his gaze.

You take a deep breath. “Maybe I’m okay with that.”

His hand grips your knee suddenly, vicelike, and you know this is pushing too far. He does not lean in to you, makes no move toward you, but his entire body is a bank of energy that he is holding, holding, holding back. His chest rises and falls rapidly. His eyes pin you to the couch as he works the muscles in his jaw.

“You’re drunk, love,” he says. It is not the pleading assertion he’d given earlier. It is a conclusion—fond, but resigned.

The room has begun to gently spin, with John at its axis. “I’m drunk,” you agree, whispering and fragile.

It breaks whatever has been building since you’d left the pub. John draws back. Nods. Gives you a smile—that smile. The one that had taken hold of you the first time you saw it. Trying, with every scrap of willpower it had, to be happy, to be alright with what little it had. Failing to do so.

Unable to hide how much it wanted.

“You got a spare key?” he asks. “I can lock you in.”

“Key hook,” you say.

His hand drags down from your knee to stroke along your shin, and then he’s rocking back on his heels, standing to his full height. He looks at you for a moment longer.

“Get some sleep,” he says.

When you blink, he’s gone, and the deadbolt is sliding home.

Bonus A/N: Some housekeeping. First, if you see your username on this list and it's struck through, it means you did not come up when I tried to @ you. I will try one more time, but if it doesn't work I'm taking your name off the list. Get right with the tumblr gods if you can. Second, a few people have told me that they did not get the tag notification on the last update, so let me know if that's the case for you and I will see about trying a different format. And third, I've been editing the format for neighbors across all chapters, so sorry in advance if you get notified twice. Tumblr knows even less about coding a website than I do.

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inoreuct · 5 months

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oh oh oh oh sanji with red lipstick and her long ponytail curling over her collarbones, slightly messy after a long shift as she drops her purse on the floor. her keys clink into the dish on top of the foyer table and she kicks her heels off to collapse on the couch and light a cig because the world is so cruel to pretty girls. her bangs catch on her mascara she exhales and she rolls her head, pulling at her neck, tsking half-heartedly at a run in her stockings and yanking at her tie with one hand. cue zoro; sleepy, bleary, shuffling out of their bedroom in boxers and a crumpled, unbuttoned dress shirt that's too tight around the shoulders.

sanji sighs the smoke away as her girlfriend folds down next to her in an ungainly pile of muscle and limbs. "evening, chou."

"think you mean morning," zoro grumbles, putting whatever she’d been holding down on the table. "s'fuckin' three a.m., blondie."

"i know." she feels callused hands gently pulling the tie out of her hair, and she sinks back into the cushions as relief prickles across her scalp. "thought you'd be asleep."

her girlfriend scoffs. "oh, i was."

sanji doesn't even have time to ask then why're you awake? before something wet is being pressed to her eye, and she sputters. "mari—

"it's your micellar shit." zoro shifts closer as she wraps the soaked cotton pad around the edge of her thumb and works it into sanji's lashline. "you're dead on your damn feet. don't wanna hear you bitching about not taking your makeup off tomorrow."

sanji opens her mouth and closes it again because yeah, zoro's right; she wouldn't have bothered. she's too fucking tired. but the clogged pores and missing lashes and crusty lips the next morning would have put her in a horrid mood for the rest of the day— so she shuts up and blows out a mouthful of smoke as zoro wipes at her face.

"tough day?"

she sighs again, shoulders drooping with it. "nowhere near the toughest. but we had a guy who was an absolute bitch in charge of that event. what's the point of outsourcing a caterer if you're gonna tell their chefs how to cook?"

zoro huffs a laugh. "did you kick his ass?"

"duh. asshole made himself scarce after i nearly took his eye out with my heel."

"that's my girl."

the shudder that ripples down her spine when zoro's free hand comes up to steady her head feels like warm water, and she smiles a little at the look of concentration she knows is on her girlfriend's face. she also knows what her makeup looks like after long days, and it's hard work to get off; her eyeliner's probably gone or nearly there, lipstick smudged around the edges until it looks more like a rash (ew), eyebags showing through her concealer and mascara smeared. she doesn't bother opening her eyes when zoro grabs a fresh cotton pad to work on her other eye, strong fingertips digging into the side of her skull, and the pressure makes something tense along her nape release.

zoro's hands are rough, as always, nails filed down rudimentarily and calluses built up thick at the bases of her fingers. but when she presses the heel of her palm into sanji's jaw, it's careful— the cotton pad that drags over the corner of her mouth is precise, rubbing across her lower lip to scrub away the patchy remnants of colour. zoro's breath ghosts warm across her cheek, turning cool in the wake of gentle swathes of makeup remover, and sanji knows she's done when zoro massages the last dregs of tension from her scalp.

she brings her knees to her chest and listens to zoro's slippers shuffling away as her girlfriend throws the trash, and back again. her's cig's burned down to a stub; she smokes it until embers glow against her polished nails and then pulls herself up to grind it out in the coffee table ashtray. the couch's headrest is scratchy against her cheek as she blows the last lungful of smoke away and curls up on her side, watching zoro turn off the lights and shut the window in their kitchen before going over to pick her heels up and set them neatly by the door, hanging her purse up with their jackets on the rack.

sanji's ragdoll-limp as she's lifted, arms beneath her back and knees, head lolling onto zoro's shoulder— it's that liminal space between sleep and wakefulness, and she's slipping quickly over to one side. she doesn't fight it. why would she? even as she's set down over the cool covers, even as her slacks are peeled off and chucked over the vanity chair, she's far too comfortable. zoro undoes a few buttons, pops the clasps on her bra and pulls it off without much difficulty; sanji giggles weakly as a fleeting joke about experience flashes across her mind before it flits away.

it's dark. the blanket's pulled up over her shoulders, and she inches closer when zoro wraps an arm over her back. "i'm running out of shirts, y'know," she mumbles, thumbing at the sharp point of the pinstriped collar against her girlfriend's warm skin.

zoro fights a yawn. "sunday tomorrow. s'laundry day."

she takes a breath to reply and forgets what she had been about to say. a kiss is pressed to her forehead, and she falls asleep between one blink and the next.

(sanji wakes just past two in the afternoon, sleep crusted in her eyes and throat, hair all over the place, and hearing the dryer going. her shirt is falling off one shoulder when zoro comes in and tackles her back onto the mattress, and she settles under the covers as strong legs tangle with hers and zoro squeezes her waist with a yawn.

maybe she'll just sleep till dinner, she decides, burying her nose into soft green hair that smells of her own shampoo. instant ramen every once in a while can't hurt, anyway.)

#fem zosan #ohhhh they've taken over my brain #this was supposed to be a tired scraggly fem sanji appreciation but i got sappy as usual it's a DISEASE #zosan #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #one piece sanji #one piece zoro #sanji #zoro #black leg sanji #roronoa zoro #one piece

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tadpolesonalgae · 3 months

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The Dregs of Tragedy - Part 5

Mer!Azriel x reader

a/n: took a minute, thanks to the ungodly amount of italicising I had to do, but enjoy mer!az 🧡💛

Word count: 5,969

-Part 4-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Seaweed flutters gently against your skin, feather-light as it pulls you back to consciousness.

Small, shimmering creatures dart about in between the barnacle-covered rocks and pleasantly-coloured coral, sparkling light reflecting off their tiny scales with easy, hastened movement. Out from a crevice unfurls a purple tentacle, spotted with blue and red dots that glow faintly as it emerges from its cozy home, and you watch as it politely ambles along the cave floor.

The drift of a current eases your hair out from under you, and you push up from the sandy patch you’d chosen for sleeping, set in the top of a particularly large rock, hollowed out to create a dip you can comfortably settle in. Seaweed brushes your upper arms as you peer about the luminescent cave, cast in mellow blue-green light as unknown flora sprouts from the cavern’s walls, lighting it up. Up on the other side of the cave, you spot his long, powerful tail lolling over the ledge, the rest seemingly tucked away into an alcove that he’s chosen to be his sleeping quarters.

With some effort, you manage to leverage yourself into open water, pulling yourself along until you reach the wall, where you attempt to shift your tail to propel forward. It’s a little tricky, but not an unpleasant journey—getting to haul yourself clumsily up the sides, passing other nooks in the stone that house all sorts of fauna.

You reach his ledge, folding your arms over the smooth rock, tail swishing idly beneath you.

Dark, charcoal eyes flit over, and he pauses, before lethargically rolling onto his front, copying your position in folding his arms, cheek propped upon his forearm as he gazes at you intently.

You’re awake, he thinks, and your stomach flutters with surprise, still not entirely accustomed to the way his voice resonates so deeply within your mind. Do you usually sleep up here, or was this a ploy to have me swim some more? You ask quietly, watching as amusement glows in his eyes. Swimming more certainly won’t hurt you, he replies, tail shifting slightly. But no. This is where I like to sleep.

The stone is so smooth, you wonder, glancing down to where the rock looks to have been lathed flat. Centuries of being worn down, he replies, shifting again, and you can see this time how well the slight hollows and curves fit to the shape of his body. Almost making the rock appear soft.

I forget you’re old, you think, a hint of amusement in your tone, the edges of your mouth curving, gaze twinkling. He rolls his eyes, before his features settle into something more serious, watching you quietly. You peer back at him, wondering what’s passing through his mind.

You mentioned a connection to the moon… You hedge slowly, tail swishing a little. That a new moon is when you’re closer to humans, and a full moon is when you…get stronger?

He doesn’t reply, just continues regarding you neutrally, unable to tell what he’s thinking. Your brows twitch. Is that not right? You push, peering at him. I remember you saying we were nearing a new moon. What does that mean?

Azriel’s quiet for a bit, before readjusting himself, pulling his long tail up into the alcove. You understand we are creatures of magic, don’t you? He asks, and you nod in clarification. Quite simply, upon a new moon is when we can become more humanlike. Becoming more distanced from how we are now.

How so? You push, something about the way he’s speaking sounding…slower than usual. Slightly reluctant. Wary.

Again he pauses, and you wait, tension coiling in your arms with apprehension. But then he pushes up from the rock, easily swimming past with effortless grace, so close you feel the sea move with his motion. We can rise from the water, he answers, swimming down toward the seafloor, glancing over his shoulder as he pauses, waiting for you to follow. We can walk among humans.

What do you mean? You ask sharply, scrambling away from the rock as you try to swim downward, using your hands to almost pull the water apart. I can become human again? You push, a spark of something in your chest. You don’t have to remain a mer forever. You aren’t shackled to eternity below the sea.

His brow narrows slightly, and then he’s cutting through the water, smoothly swimming upward. You blink when he moves around you, too unfamiliar with their motion to keep up as he settles in the water above you, hands gently but firmly pulling your arms back, keeping them from pulling you forward. You aren’t going to learn if you keep relying on your hands like that, he reminds, and you reluctantly ease beneath his touch, a look of disgruntlement on your mouth. Just try using your tail more, or you’ll ingrain bad habits into your body during your developing.

There’s more? You ask, aghast, trying to turn to look at him over your shoulder. Aren’t I fully mer already?

You are. But your muscles are still growing, and becoming familiar with your new form. Not to mention your mind will also need time to catch up. He answers succinctly, with surprising coherency. Just try swimming to the floor, he suggests, easing his grip on your forearms, putting a little distance between your bodies, though you can still feel his hands poised to guide your palms away from motion.

But, tell me more about it, you push, trying to figure how to turn yourself over, to see him better. You’re able to catch the way his chest expands in what you think is probably a sigh. Frustration simmers in your chest, brows narrowing as you swiftly pull your arms away, using them to turn, much to his obvious disapproval. I still have people—…I still have someone up there, you think, gazing into his glittering, coal black eyes. Azriel blinks, features flattening to careful neutrality. Who?

I don’t— …I’m not telling you. You answer, head dipped but managing to hold his intense gaze. Tension simmers in your chest, so close to this new information.

You barely know how to swim from one place to another. You aren’t undergoing a shift.

So you’re just going to keep me here? You think sharply, brows narrowing. No, he replies, voice a little softer, you’re free to go where you like. But I’ll keep an eye on you.

I want to go back to being human, you snap, anger forming as your hands tighten into fists. I didn’t even get a choice in becoming like you in the first place, and now I don’t get a choice in returning?

A new moon will come again. We have one each month. Missing this one won’t mean you’ll never have the chance again.

I’m not wasting my time, Azriel, you think, a hint of panic rising to your tone. You may be accustomed to immortality—having enough time for everything—but we…humans don’t live forever! I have no guarantee that he…that my person will be there at the next new moon.

Azriel pauses, something passing behind his eyes.

Tell me who it is, he says, slightly tighter than usual. Maybe you’re waring at his temper.

Someone important, you yield, lips pressing together, someone dear to me.

Who?

Why does it matter? You grit out. He might not be alive by next month. Isn’t that a good enough reason to let me go? Or is the life of a human simply not worth it to you?

You’re putting words in my mouth, he thinks back, tail swishing as he calmly floats down toward the floor, and you’re forced to follow after him. Besides, becoming human and returning to that village… Someone will recognise you.

The transformation would happen overnight, wouldn’t it? Surely I could get back by morning? You push, slowly managing to shift to where he’s come to a halt, coincidentally by the rock you chose to sleep in.

You’re not going. He thinks quietly, though his attention is on the hollow of the stone, able to mark the indentation of the sand—how it dips down and curls in line with how you’d slept.

You stare at him silently, something a little too similar to hurt twinging across your chest. You’d apparently been hoping he was different. But it’s the same story.

Maybe it’ll take the same solutions.

Carefully steering a conversation, gently turning it to the right direction, without a soul knowing.

So you swim forward a little, coming to the lip of the hollow that he’s hovering above. Moving to be at his side, keeping your attention ahead. Would you not be able to change him into a mer, too? You think, careful to keep on topic without a sharp turn. Smoothly bending the flow.

Azriel shakes his head. There are…requirements, that need to be met in order for a transition to occur. We can’t just take humans here and there.

And you need humans because…?

We’re a dwindling species, he thinks quietly. Almost sadly. When an opportunity presents itself, we take it.

I was an opportunity?

Dark, glittering eyes flit to yours, taking in the tension of your jaw, the resentment tucked between your brows. I didn’t mean it like that, he tries, a glimmer of guilt working its way to his surface. It’s fine, you think back with obvious bitterness, we’re treated as objects above water, too. You move to pull yourself away, hands pressing down on barnacle-covered rock, when his palm settles around your wrist. Firm enough to be noticeable, but light enough for you to pull away.

You’re precious, he thinks quietly, features mostly neutral save for the softness at the edge of his irises. Because of what I stand for, right? Not because of who I am? You return, though you don’t pull away—allowing him to feel that control. It’s always about control.

His lips press into a thin line, and you nod slightly. That’s fine, you think quietly, holding his gaze, I’ll try not to let it go to my head.

I’m treating you as I would another mer who had never undergone a shift, he returns, his grip loosening further as you drift a little closer, enough to appear subconscious or accidental. It’s all about having power over people. Let him think he can draw you in.

As I said before, you can hardly swim in a straight line, and you will be recognised if you’re spotted above sea. You can imagine what might happen, he reasons gently.

And it would be a waste if I died, too, you return, resentment becoming more apparent. After all the work you put in to finding someone suitable. Wouldn’t that be a shame.

It’s for your safety. Don’t pretend like you can’t understand that.

No, I don’t understand it, you hiss, moving forward, brows narrowing, because above there is the only person left in this world that I care about, and you are coming between us. All because your fucked up species is too selfish to care for anything else. You drift closer, pulling your hand away to grip his wrist instead, tightly. And just maybe, if your kind weren’t snatching, stealing, and murdering sailors, there’d be more of you left.

His pupils contract, tension shifting beneath his pale blue skin, before he’s firmly withdrawing his wrist, putting a clear distance between you.

I understand you’re upset, he begins.

No, you don’t, you hiss, moving after him, you say you do, but—

I understand you’re distraught, and confused, he states again, sterner than before, though this time he doesn’t retreat at your approach. But that does not mean you can speak so disgracefully. To me, or about our kind. Something inside you flinches at the tone, tension coiling as you wait for the impact, bracing for pain.

You have only seen the end result of their process. You do not understand the pain they will subject us to, nor the degradation of being strung up along the shore for the rest of us to watch as our folk slowly bleed out, so close to their home.

You could swear you hear his voice lilt with emotion before it’s swiftly shut down, as if blocking out the building pressure of what having to witness that slow death does to a creature.

You are not undergoing a shift, he repeats firmly; finally. Not this time around.

He makes to turn, likely to leave, to give time for both of you to cool off, but your hand darts forward, gripping him until your nails are squeezing his skin, and he whirls back to you.

You’re just like him, you think lowly, close enough that—had you been human—you would be sharing breath. Close enough to count his eyelashes, to see the flecks of glittering black and storm cloud grey in his eyes. To number every tiny, shredding tooth that’s concealed by a deceptively soft-looking mouth.

At least Alaric wasn’t aware of how awful he was, you hiss lowly, moving closer still, free palm settling over his other hand, like you’re able to hold him to the ground. But you think you’re so much better. You condemn him, and pretend like you’re anything better and it’s despicable. I’ve just been taken from one cage to another, except in this one, the only beast I have to fear is you.

His eyes shutter, then he’s forcefully ripping his hands away from your hold, and there isn’t a single muscle in your body that amplifies the shockwave of fear that strikes through your body. As you recoil into yourself, eyes squeezing shut as you duck your head, bracing for the staging slap of his palm or the piercing bite of teeth.

Instead, all you feel is the slightly cooler swish of water against your front, the gentle brush of a shift in current.

You open your eyes in time to see his tail disappearing into one of the tunnels.

A shimmer of iridescent blue, and pearly white, vanished in a blink.

———

You find yourself slowly trailing after an octopus, pulling yourself along the sea bed at a similar speed to its friendly amble, tentacles stretching ahead as it swims idly through the coral.

Maybe it’s because you have no one else, but you feel a connection with the creature. One that arises from being granted the wonder to freely follow something through its life, to observe as it goes about satisfying its more common interests: how it peers beneath a rock (maybe looking to move house?), bringing a fragment from the floor (as if to appreciate it!), shifting its movements so it looks as though it’s skipping between the stones after having eaten something.

It’s been still for a while now, though, as if resting, and you’ve found a comfortable section of flattened rock to settle on, shimmering fishes occasionally swimming closer, as if to admire your own scales.

As much as you’d like to return to being human, you can appreciate the difference. Animals and other sea creatures almost seem to like you, no longer flitting away as soon as the water’s disturbed, but rather swishing to float along the currents. They seem to recognise you as one of them, rather than something that will hunt them. Playing nearer, until you’re worried some might get tangled in your hair. But they seem to have fun, darting between and through the floating strands.

You’ve no idea how long he’s gone for, and frankly, you’ve been trying not to think about it. When you think about it, you find a temper beginning to bubble, simmering in your cold blood. You don’t know enough about him to guess at why he refused so adamantly. Can’t understand the deep-rooted desire to keep his species alive, when humanity seems to be existing in every corner, like an infestation of some kind.

Still, it hurts a little to remind yourself his only interest was in changing you to become like him. It’s hard to admit, but you’d felt appreciated. Comforted. But you suppose, by nature, nothing will be that simple. You’ll never be able to truly become something animate in their minds. They seem to have more compassion for fish that for women.

At least a fish’s effort to escape is acknowledged. A woman’s is just beaten out of her until she’s fixed.

Are you enjoying following him?

You startle from your rock, peering about to try and locate him. It’s one drawback to being able to speak mind-to-mind: you have no way of telling direction.

He’s swimming down from another tunnel opening—separate from the one he disappeared into—coming to a pause a more than healthy distance away from you. Really more than heathy.

There’s not much else to do down here, save for looking at things, you reply, not quite able to bring yourself to remove your attention from him. Too wary to do so after your last conversation.

He’ll sleep for another hour or so, Azriel thinks to you, nodding back to the quiet octopus who’s tucked himself up. You might want to find something else to look at.

I think I already have, you reply warily, keeping your gaze on him as you shift atop the smooth rock, not taking your eyes away from where he’s floating.

Why are you here? You ask, tail stretching out to hang off the ledge. Am I not allowed to be here? He replies, glancing throughout the cave. You don’t feel his attention leave you, though.

You left rather abruptly. I’m assuming you had a reason to come back. You counter, regarding him neutrally. Cautiously.

He waits for a few moments, before tentatively swimming forward, delicate swishes of his tail having him drift through the sea, and you shift yourself up and away a bit when he makes to settle on your rock.

Do you still want to go above? He asks quietly. Eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, narrowing as you pin him with a resentful look. I suppose you weren’t listening, earlier? You remark, subtly moving closer to the edge of the rock.

I suppose you have no manners, either? He replies, though it’s without any bite. I have nothing to say to you.

Do you still want to go above?

You remain pointedly quiet. He’s already said he won’t allow you to go, so there’s no point in answering. It’ll likely only boost his ego, knowing you want to leave, but that he’s keeping you here.

Do you still want to leave? He repeats, I won’t know unless you tell me.

Your brow narrows, hands curling as nails press into your palms, trying to find something else to observe. To direct your attention to.

Something brushes against your tail, firm but smooth as it drags lightly over the scales. Deliberately, and you swiftly glance over your shoulder, to see what it is.

The large fins at the base of his tail are gliding over your own, stroking up the spine of the long limb, brushing against it in gentle motions. Your throat rolls, but you don’t make the effort to move away. Instead you meet his gaze, remembering how his eyes had gleamed with an array of hidden colours, suitable for under sea.

I do, you reply tersely. Quietly.

He nods, holding your gaze. Then we’ll go.

We? You ask, slightly skeptical.

We. He repeats, his tail coming to a rest from its soothing motions, settling over your own.

Your lips press together, briefly glancing away, thinking, before you turn back to him, nodding. Okay.

————

So…how does it actually work? You think, awkwardly holding him as you attempt to move in time with his instructions.

We don’t know exactly why these points exist, or what caused them to, but there are certain places that seem to exist with more magic than others, he explains quietly, holding you steady. Some folk think it’s best not to wonder, while others theorise it’s to do with ley lines overlapping, creating an energy strong enough to fuel a transformation.

Azriel had told you he would take you to one of their moon pools, supposedly the only pool near Blackwater you’d be able to reach in time—and also the only pool that would allow you to return to something resembling human. With no other method of transportation, and Azriel deeming your strange half-crawl, half-swim method of movement to be too slow, you’d ended up in this position: your palms settled at the tops of his forearms, while he holds your elbows, theoretically helping to keep you streamlined while making sure you won’t resort to using your arms for swimming. He’s able to hasten your speed, while also helping you become more familiar with the muscles and tendons in your tail.

Though the pace is still slow, both by human and mer standards.

Ley lines? You ask, peering up at him, but his eyes flick down to where you’ve stopped moving, and you restart into motion. It would be easier to show you, but essentially lines drawn to connect significant structures from our history. Throughout the centuries—even millennia—different civilisations have risen and faded, each leaving their marks on the sea bed. There are still mysteries surrounding their collapse, but from some fragments that remain, questions have cropped up relating to certain consistencies. Architecture that should be impossible, long-lost tunnel systems that seem designed to confuse and trap, cave engravings that line up suspiciously with our own history—history that would have been their future.

Moon pools seem to exist where these lines overlap, which some consider to be signs. Others think the world is founded in patterns, and detail—were it not, none of us would exist. We are all fleetingly complex systems of chance and evolution.

That sounds…fascinating, you concede, watching him with interest. To think the mer had the awareness to document their existence, as if understanding it’s not a guarantee they will live on… Acknowledging their gradual disintegration, while remaining free of its fear. It’s admirable.

Moon pools bring out an ancient magic from the surrounding earth, though they can be dangerous. As creatures of the sea, the moon is at the centre of our world, the foundation of many prayers and fables passed down through mind. A new moon is the absence of that stability, hence it turns us into something not. Bringing us up from the waters and onto land, splitting our tails into legs. That sort of change can damage our anatomy, and has in the past, when used incorrectly.

You know how to use it right, right? You ask, peering up at him as you try to remember your motion, attempting to keep up with him as he holds you steady. He nods in answer, nothing bad will happen to you.

So what happens after I…after we go back…I mean, when we change into humans?

Clothes are left for use by the pool, so you have no need for worry. But once we’re above ground, the task will be returning to your village. You will have to guide the way to your… He trails off, watching you silently, waiting for an answer.

You miss the signal, and nod. Okay, you think, gills fluttering with a deeper breath, I can do that. Will you wait on the outskirts?

His hold temporarily tightens on you, the roughened pads of his fingers pressing against your skin before loosening again. I will be coming with you.

But you’re so noticeable, you think back. You’ll draw attention. It’ll be better and quicker if I go by myself.

I will either be there with you, or we will not go at all. It would be irresponsible to let you return on your own, he reasons firmly.

I can manage myself, you return, I understand your point, but I know my village. Having you there might scare someone away.

I can keep to the shadows, he replies.

You peer at him doubtfully. He seems quite big compared to you…Will that be reflected in a human form? You have no idea what the scale would be like.

Okay. But I want privacy, when we get there, you push, following his motions as he guides you through another tunnel, the pale blue lights beginning to fade, replaced by an iridescent shimmer along the walls, like powdered stars. I don’t want to have you looming in a corner the entire time. Please allow me to speak with him alone.

Azriel is about to reply, to think that he won’t be leaving you for a single moment while in such dangerous territory, but you continue, pupils shuttering a little.

…Especially if I might have to be saying goodbye.

His jaw tightens at the obvious sadness in your thoughts. The deep-soaked pain, and loss. He doesn’t want to be listening to this.

You can go into a separate room, he relents, but you will have to be able to leave quickly if something happens. In other words, he doesn’t want you to use this last chance to physically take this man into your body. His teeth grind at the thought alone. Don’t do anything stupid.

I won’t, you reply, unaware of those un-communicated thoughts, just trying to figure out what you’ll tell him. How to ever explain your situation. You hope he won’t be scared.

Your eyes seem to wander of their own accord, moving from the iridescent walls, powdered with shimmer light, to plants perking from the rock, their ends glowing faintly as if to guide the way. The thought starts with a question, curious if he curated these tunnels too, perfectly placing these lovely fascinations at well-timed intervals to keep the caves light and in-oppressive, to transforming itself into a visual wonder of, perhaps, slightly morbid appreciation.

The tales you’d been raised on still have a place in your mind—they’d been true about the shredding teeth, their affinity for dexterity and agility beneath the deceptively calm surface of water. And yet they’d spoken nothing about the unearthly beauty.

Perhaps it’s just him though.

After all, he’s the only one you’ve encountered. Are there many others? He’d mentioned they were a dwindling species, but…

Something on your mind? He thinks, eyes glittering, and you realise you’ve been staring. How long had you been zoned out for?

Why have you been looking after me? You ask, holding his steady gaze, taking in the softness to the edge of his mouth. How his ears flutter slightly as something brushes by, but his attention remains on you.

As opposed to…? He returns, shifting your course once again, directing you toward a tunnel that has a slight upward tilt to it. There are more of you aren’t there? You push cautiously. You said that cave was fashioned after a Rainbow, so there must be more of you somewhere. And earlier you spoke like groups of mer existed to examine past events, and remnants of their buildings. Why not bring me to wherever the rest of your kind are?

Azriel is quiet for a pause, and you wait curiously, watching him steadily. It almost feels like hesitance.

You need time to become accustomed to your surroundings, he replies at last. Your mind needs to adjust to this new life, so it would be unwise to bring you to the centre of our civilisation, where you would likely be overwhelmed.

Your brows narrow as you watch him. It feels like the truth but…not all of it. Like he’s leaving something out. But maybe that’s just you reading into the infection of his thoughts too much. You don’t even know if they have a different method of intonation beneath the sea, or if thought suffices for intention.

No other reason? You push, regarding him cautiously.

He raises a brow, what other reason would I have?

Well that’s why I’m asking, you think, because I don’t know.

A noise enters your mind that sounds similar to a hum, and your spine prickles, making you shudder, ears fluttering. His pupils mark the reaction with a strange intensity, before increasing the pace a little, tail brushing lightly against your own, as if encouraging you to put in more effort. I suppose I might have wanted to see what sort of person you were, he thinks, and you wonder if you’ve subconsciously drifted closer to him.

What’s that supposed to mean? You ask skeptically, peering at him. Is there something I could have done to make you leave me?

Perhaps.

Like what?

Now why would you need to know that? He asks, amusement clear, eyes twinkling as his mouth curves at the edges, thumbs lightly grazing the bone of your elbow as his tail again flicks against you own.

Your expression shifts into one of displeasure, brows pulling together in distaste. Please just answer.

He seems to be thinking in his own mind for a bit, and you watch carefully, wondering if you’ll catch any hints to what’s passing through his head.

Perhaps if you hated us so viscerally… he answers slowly, quietly. That would have complicated things…would have muddied the choices, a little.

Choices?

With what to do with you. How to progress.

You couldn’t have just turned me back into a human using the moon pool?

We only look like humans, he thinks quietly, watching you. You can never return to one.

You blink, lips parting a little before remembering to keep them closed, keeping your mouth filled with air to prevent water rushing in. You said… but you trail off, letting it dawn on you all over again. Then why are there clothes ready? You ask. What happens if you don’t return to the moon pool in time?

The you’re simply stranded until the next new moon. The clothes are there for when folk might wish to be above ground for…longer.

But not as something entirely human.

That’s right, he replies softly, thumbs brushing your skin.

A quiet settles between you, but you try not to let it lower your spirits. You’ll be on two legs again regardless, and you’ll get to say goodbye to him. Though you hate that he’ll be the one to see you go first.

It should never have to be that way.

So what were the choices you mentioned? You ask a touch quietly, easing in a calming breath.

Those don’t matter anymore, he thinks gently, you’re adjusting well.

I want to know. You push, wanting something to focus on. There’s still so much you don’t know about his kind. About mer folk.

Azriel goes silent, his eyes taking on that strange intensity again that at one point had made your insides squirm with discomfort. Now you just hold it, levelling him with your own gaze. Eventually though, he blinks, glancing elsewhere, chest deflating in what you can guess is a sigh.

A strange tension seems to shift beneath his features, carving his expression into one of seriousness.

When you made the choice to cut me free… he begins slowly. Softly.

Do you remember what you had been thinking, when you did it?

Your throat rolls, casting your mind back to that day. Those hours where everything changed. Those few minutes, where a choice had been made. One that had arguably altered the course of your life.

I was thinking what they’d do to you, if your were found, you manage quietly. About how I’d thought it was an unnecessary act of violence, one routed in hatred and revenge, and that a conflict that continuously took lives would never be resolved.

Something flits past behind his gaze, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even catch its trail.

I thought it would be hypercritical of me to leave you. That not helping would be as good as condemning you myself. You manage, grip loosening as you’re called back to the thundering shudder of wooden boards, groaning and creaking as Alaric had approached.

I thought it would be better to save you.

Despite all the stories you’d been fed, Azriel thinks quietly, pace slowing a little, drifting unnoticeably closer. You decided to save a monster.

I don’t think you’re a monster.

But that’s what I was in that moment. Wasn’t I? You didn’t know any different.

You didn’t feel like a monster, you return.

The lowest part of your tail makes a small movement, brushing against him.

Exteriors can be deceiving, he warns softly.

Sometimes they can, you reply, quieter. Not always. But what does that have to do with it all?

Your intention, he almost whispers, so close now. Close enough to again catch a glimpse of the spectrum contained within his irises, glowing with a smattering of stars from the powdery cave light. Close enough to fully see the soft sections of his features, hidden beneath the unforgiving exteriors that you’d almost been fooled by. Close enough to pick out the hint of emotion he’s unable to conceal, raw, and blinding, and—

You recoil in a blink, jerking away as your hands frantically cross over your chest, your breasts having grazed the bare skin of his torso.

You blink with shock, having become so accustomed to your own nakedness, but now overwhelmingly aware of how bare you are. Your skin hasn’t become any less sensitive from shifting to a mer—everything is just as responsive—and your heart pounds with a drive so intense you can feel it in your stomach.

The breath puffs from your gills heavily, caught off guard by the force of your own reaction, arms still covering your breasts as you shift backward. Something brushes just shy of the nape of your neck, a mere finger’s-width from the height of your spine, and something tingling and exhilarating bursts through your blood, flinching away from the wall, hand now slapping over the spot.

Gods above, you think, heart still pounding wildly in your chest, using your hands and tail to shift to see what it was that had brushed so tantalisingly against your skin.

A small plant stares back at you, and you sigh again, returning your attention to him.

Sorry about that, you think, I was startled. You force your arms to remain at your sides as you make to shift closer, hands gliding up to settle at the tops of his powerful forearms.

It’s fine, he replies, though his movements seem a little stiff, his tail less flexible than before. You might find your spine and sternum to be more acute to touch, than before.

My sternum? You ask, peering up at him. Where’s that?

Muscle flexes beneath your fingertips, before calming, and he gestures to the bone down his chest, joining his ribs. Careful not to touch.

You blink, before nodding, looking down at yourself, raising your hand to your chest.

Azriel visibly stiffens, but remains silent as your fingers brush against the bone—between your breasts. Sure enough, that tingling feeling returns, pulse spiking, tiny muscles fluttering beneath your touch, and you hum, the edges of your mouth curving faintly.

I didn’t know you had such obvious weak spots, you think, at last returning your palms to his forearms. Good to know.

He doesn’t reply. Just holds you lightly as he begins moving again, tail shifting with less fluidity than before.

Your brows furrow, wondering at his silence. Did you say something wrong?

Anyway… you think, attention flitting about before settling on him. What were you going to say?

But he shakes his head, eyes flicking to a light at the end of the tunnel. Moonlight spilling into the water.

We’re here.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

tdot taglist: @mika-no-sekai-blog @blueeclipsepaperstudent @lalalucha @v3lv3tf0x @acourtofbatboydreams @coureurs-de-bois9 @sidthedollface2 @lees-chaotic-brain @vickykazuya

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fic #mermaid au #mer!azriel #tdot #the dregs of tragedy

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okolnir · 1 year

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finally did a full painting of my boy from ffxiv after playing him for years! I started this sketch back in 5.1 after the big azem reveal but never finished it, so the pattern from the top was supposed to be the main thing for the piece.

veloce is a calm, quiet, simple cat, but in battle he is savage, ruthless, and forceful. he was a paladin and he prefers physical and close ranged combat, and after he learned both white and black magic, he became a red mage instead.

his rapier is his old paladin sword fused with some essence of nidhogg that he ripped out of nidhogg out of rage during heavensward, when he lost his first true friend who he felt connected to and was overtaken by anger for the dragonsong war. his focus is his crystal of light; after his meeting with fray taught him that the dark dregs of his mind exist because they are there to protect something/someone, the colour of darkness now embraces his crystal of light and aids him in battle.

despite nidhogg’s rage and influence, veloce’s savagery was always his own, and he had always been heavy handed in battle no matter who/what he fought, unexpected by those who knew him in normal everyday life as a reserved individual. he uses his sword a lot more than he casts, his melee attacks are less precise/elegant than standard red mage attacks and more forceful like a paladin’s, and his aggressive fighting habits sometimes gets him in trouble as a red mage when he forgets that he’s not as durable as he was before with a shield and heavier armour.

thanks for reading and come fight me in game in crystalline conflict or in the duel arena!!

_________________

Amongst Us | Carciphona | Instagram | Twitter

#art #ffxiv #red mage #rdm #azem #velocexiv #veloce #shilin #okolnir #2023 #illustration #miqote #fr though i love dueling pls fight me #i miss the read more option so i can spam without taking up someone else's timeline space

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multisfabulis · 2 years

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Overindulgence

Word Count: 3165

Wow, an RLD fic early in the year and so soon after the last one? It's almost like I plan out an itinerary of what I write when I put my mind to it, especially since I made it a goal to post two RLD fics this year instead of one!

So this is something? of a sequel to "Something Found and Welcomed" but you don't need to read that one to understand this. I wouldn't necessarily call this a "Love Epiphany" fic because while Ravi has realized how deep his feelings for Luce go, he hasn't yet figured out or refuses to believe he's in love with him. It's pretty much a combination of his insecurities, his fear, and the timing of it all that has Ravi not want to challenge the status quo, so to speak. Obviously, things get better as evident by the other RLD fics set after this but it's still a matter of getting to that point, you know?

Also, here's a fun fact. As of this day, May 20th, yesterday was my birthday! I didn't plan on posting a fic around this time but I managed to write this a couple weeks ago and, disregarding the week long break I took last week, it just happened to line up! It's a nice coincidence too, since I love writing RLD but I just never have the time for it in-between my other projects so this doubles as a good birthday present!

Read on AO3 | Read on DeviantArt | Support me on Ko-fi!

It was half past 11 in the morning. Rock music blared in Ravi’s ears as he went about folding laundry, plucking hangers out of his closet and hooking them around the bedpost to grab for later. Before he could think to stifle it, a yawn broke free from his mouth and he felt fatigue seeping into his bones once more. God, he was fucking exhausted. After spending over two hours in the basement washing a week’s worth of clothes, he wished he could just sleep the rest of the day away. However, his days off were the only time he could do this so that took priority. At least with Amelia off at school, his attention wouldn’t be split between her and this.

He added a pair of denim shorts to the pile sitting to his left. His bed had been divided up into three sections, each one corresponding to whose clothes went into which area. Any bright and colorful shirts and skirts went to Amelia’s. The mix of men and women’s clothing were his. Anything that wasn’t either of theirs, like towels, washcloths, and linen, went into the miscellaneous area. Then there were the multiple versions of the same outfit belonging to Luce.

Ravi didn’t consider it strange for his clothes to be in the basket. If anything, it’d be weirder if they weren’t in there. With how often Luce had been staying over lately, it was only a matter of time before his clothes found their way into the laundry. At least he threw them into the basket instead of leaving them lying around the apartment. Luce may be a lot of things but he wasn’t rude.

He pulled out a large black shirt. It was Luce’s, seeing as how it would completely engulf him if he were to put it on. He folded it, placed it atop the stack of his other shirts, and reached into the basket to grab another article of clothing. It was a pair of brown cargo pants that were beginning to fray at the bottom. Those also belonged to Luce and he folded them to put with the rest. This process repeated several times before he emptied the basket.

He counted how many shirts and pants there were for Luce. Two, four, six, seven, a whole week’s worth of the same outfit. If if weren’t for the evidence right in front of him, Ravi would swear Luce only had the clothes on his back and nothing else. Why the fuck was most of his wardrobe here?

Taking out his phone, he paused his music and shouted, “Hey, Luce, you wanna come in here a sec?!”

There was no answer but he knew Luce was on his way. He unplugged his headphones, setting them down on his bedside table while shoving his phone back into his pocket. As he waited, he dropped the basket onto the floor and began organizing all the clothes left on the bed. Shirts were to be hung in their respective closets and everything else was to be put away in dressers. The only exception to this was Luce’s pile, which was sitting off to the side.

The door opened and he turned around to face Luce. Any questions he had for him died in his throat when he saw him. Luce was wearing his typical black shirt and brown cargo pants but he also had on Ravi’s apron and his dark hair was tied back in a messy ponytail. It was a look Ravi hadn’t seen on him before and it stirred something within him he couldn’t quite identify.

“What happened? Is something wrong?” Luce asked, scanning the room for any possible signs of danger.

“Uh, no, nothing’s wrong,” Ravi replied, pushing whatever he was feeling deep down as he continued on, “but why the hell are you wearing my apron?”

Deciding that it must be safe, he answered with, “I was going to try cooking lunch, keyword try.”

“You’re normally not one to cook so--” he stopped himself, realizing he was forgetting why he called Luce in here in the first place-- “wait, before I say anything else, what the fuck is half your wardrobe doing in my laundry basket?”

“Isn’t that where dirty clothes are supposed to go?” He didn’t quite understand the question, which is something Ravi didn’t need from him right now.

“But why are they there, is what I’m asking.” He breathed out a sigh. Maybe he should try to approach this from a different angle. “When’s the last time you’ve gone home?”

“Hmm…” Luce crossed his arms and tilted his head in thought. “I think, maybe…a couple weeks ago?”

That didn’t sound right. “No, you’ve been here longer than a couple weeks, you left around…”

Then it dawned on him. He couldn’t remember the last time Luce went home or even when he’d left the apartment. He hadn’t paid much attention to it since he’d been juggling between work and taking care of a kid but he genuinely couldn’t remember a day in which Luce wasn’t here. The fact that Luce was wracking his head over this as well only strengthened Ravi’s suspicion. That, of course, brought with it ramifications he was beginning to realize.

If Luce had left, Ravi would’ve been wondering where he went. He would’ve found it odd Luce was gone when, in actuality, he didn’t live here. He wasn’t obligated to stay, he was allowed to come and go whenever the hell he pleased. Yet Ravi got so used to seeing him around in the apartment everyday, it would’ve been weird to not have him there. When did Luce become such a fixture in his life, to the point Ravi was starting to consider him a part of his home?

“Snowbird, are you okay?” Luce asked, stepping over to him. “You’re kinda staring off into space.”

Backing away almost instinctively, Ravi replied with, “I’m fine, look, just go back to the kitchen, all right? I gotta put laundry away.”

A moment passed before Luce breathed out, “…Okay.” He was worried but he also knew not to pry any further. “I’ll come get you when it’s time to eat, that sound good?”

“Sure, just don’t burn down my fucking kitchen.” He really didn’t need a fire to add on top of the other shit on his plate. “I’ll throw your ass out if you do.”

With a smile and a laugh, he retorted, “I’ll try my best not to.”

Then he gave Ravi a kiss on the cheek. His heart skipped a beat as he felt heat rush to his face in shock. It was a good thing Luce walked back to the kitchen after doing that because Ravi wasn’t sure if he could handle him being here any longer. Everything was making him think too much on their relationship. What he needed was a distraction, something to help get his mind off it. Putting away his and Amelia’s clothes would be suitable enough, he figured.

So he did his pile first. Shirts were hung up in the closet, forced to share room with his parents’ because he couldn’t bear to throw them away. Pants, skirts, and shorts were stuffed in the bottom two drawers while underwear, socks, and binders were put in the top one. Next up was Amelia’s. Before he moved on to her pile, however, he glanced over to where Luce’s clothes were sitting.

What was he going to do with them? He couldn’t shove them into the dresser, it’d only cement the fear that had already taken root within him. Yet it would feel wrong to leave them laying out there in the open like that. They weren’t supposed to be here, just like how he and Luce weren’t.

It wasn’t meant to be a serious thing. It was supposed to be a “no strings attached” arrangement they agreed upon for the express purpose of indulging in the attraction they had between each other. Emotions shouldn’t have gotten involved, developing genuine feelings for him wasn’t part of the plan. He thought it’d only be a couple weeks before they broke it off but they were still here several months later. How did he fuck up this badly?

Maybe he was always meant to fail. Sure, Luce was an asshole who loved annoying the shit out of him, whether it be by teasing him or flirting with him in the hopes it’d leave him flustered. However, Luce was also someone who made him laugh, who didn’t beat around the bush when it came to his feelings for him, and saw him as an actual person instead of a sex object he could gratify himself to. Was it any wonder then why Ravi got so attached?

Running away from his issues wasn’t healthy but it’d work in this moment. He didn’t want to think any more on this. He picked up Amelia’s clothes, dropped them into the basket, and headed towards her room.

It was the epitome of what a little girl’s room should look like. Pastel pink and white walls were decorated with foam stickers that were easy to peel off, toys were scattered around on the carpeted floor, and her bed had all sorts of plushies sitting around her pillows so she wouldn’t be alone while she slept. Her dresser was an old, faded white chest that had dark patches where the paint flaked off over time with a small oval mirror on top. He made sure she was able to live somewhat like a princess, even if it meant buying most everything in here from secondhand shops.

As he was putting her clothes away, he came across a piece of paper. Amelia was the kind of kid who loved to draw so it wasn’t strange for one of her drawings to be left lying around. It was what had been on the paper that caught him by surprise. There were three stick figures standing together in what he assumed to be the living room, smiling and holding hands. They each had names floating above their heads and he could tell the one with the dollop of black hair was Luce.

Fuck. How was he going to explain their relationship to her and its subsequent dissolution? She already viewed Luce as another older brother and he knew damn well the feeling was mutual. Why didn’t he think about the possibility they would last beyond his time frame so this wouldn’t have happened? One thing’s for sure, she was going to be heartbroken when Luce inevitably left them.

The urge to smash his head against the wall was getting stronger. He walked back to his room, his mind racing a thousand miles a minute. There was no use in denying it any more. Somehow, some fucking way, Luce managed to worm past his defenses and into his heart like the cockroach he was.

Luce truly saw him. He understood him, his circumstances, why he had trust issues, and why he was so adamant in not letting anyone in. No matter how many times Ravi tried to push him away, no matter how abrasive he acted towards him, Luce’s persistence broke through his barriers. Ravi caught a glimpse of it the first time Luce stayed over but now he was starting to believe Luce might really care for him. He wanted no part of it nor did he ask for it.

He couldn’t allow himself to imagine a future with him. He should never have gotten so close to him, knowing they’d part ways one day. Luce should’ve stayed out of his life because now his very presence was complicating everything. They weren’t supposed to be anything, why did it all change? Did this mean he had finally, in this cesspool of a city, found someone he could---

“Fuck…” Warm tears rolled down his cheeks before he even realized it.

He hadn’t done anything. He absolutely refused to finish the thought, much less voice it. If he did, it would mean it existed, make it real in a way he couldn’t refute and that he didn’t want to have happen at any cost. So long as it never lingered in his mind, it would remain abstract. He planned on keeping the truth locked away for as long as humanly possible. Whether an event so great he was forced to tell Luce were to occur or his early death, he’d leave that up to the cruel game master.

He wiped away the tears. He was only hurting himself at this point by thinking about it and he couldn’t risk Luce or Amelia seeing that he was in pain. Crying was a sign of weakness, he needed to be strong for them. So he exited his room in search for the one thing he knew would bring him comfort to ease the ache. If the last several months had taught him anything, it was that he was prone to making bad decisions.

In the kitchen, Luce was standing over a steaming pot on the stove. He was boiling something, most likely pasta. He’d been learning how to cook lately and that was a meal he’d have no trouble with, due to how easy it was. He dipped a plastic spoon into the pot, stirring its contents around before leaving it alone again. If Ravi didn’t know any better, he’d believe Luce belonged right at home.

There were two things he noticed about him. One being that Luce wasn’t wearing his heavy parka jacket, which meant his bare arms were out on full display. They were severely scarred, some of them coming from his own hand while others had no such explanation. What little Luce had said about his childhood, Ravi was inclined to believe they came from his parents. Maybe it was the thought of someone purposely hurting a child that made him walk over and hug Luce from behind.

He tensed up upon contact, prompting Ravi to quickly say, “It’s just me.” Luce then relaxed and continued on with what he was doing.

The other thing was that he gained weight. When they first met, Luce looked like he was practically on death’s door, his skin stretched thin over his skeleton and his color a sickly pallor. It was after he sobered up he began eating healthier so now he had some meat on his bones and he wasn’t as pale as before. He still had a ways to go but he’s improved considerably since then. Was that because of his influence? The implications of that had Ravi tighten his arms around Luce’s waist.

“What’s wrong?” asked Luce, reaching over to grab something. “You’re normally not this…affectionate, I think the word is.”

“Oh, shut it,” Ravi replied with none of the usual growl in his voice, “I just wanted to do this, is that so wrong?”

“No, it’s just…” Luce put a hand atop Ravi’s, pressing into it with his palm. “It feels nice.”

The touch sent jagged shards of pain into Ravi’s heart as he buried his face into Luce’s back. God, this was going to make their eventual separation all the more harder if they kept this up. Why was he still entertaining this? He needed to end this right now, especially since it was becoming clear how unwilling he was to let go. Feelings didn’t matter, this was necessary.

“Luce?” He couldn’t waver, not when it was here.

“Yes?” He wondered if Luce was aware of what was going on as well and decided not to bring it up or if he was genuinely oblivious to it. Knowing the kind of person he was, it was likely the latter. “What is it?”

Would it be better to wait for Luce to talk about it? They both agreed to this, it wasn’t like Ravi coerced him. Still, Luce had as much of a right to break off their arrangement as he did so… “Never mind.”

He couldn’t do it. If he did this now, Luce would be gone, out of his life like he’d never made an impact in it. No longer would he see him when he came home from work, no more gestures of affection that vaguely hinted at reciprocation, there would be nothing left. Home wouldn’t be home without him. So he decided that, no matter how much it would hurt when the day came, Luce would stay.

Ravi had tasted the forbidden fruit known as happiness. He knew now what it was like to have someone there for him, to support him and give him comfort whenever he needed it. He was too much of a greedy, selfish man to want to let that go. He never wanted Luce to leave because it’d mean he’d be losing the first person he’d been happy with in so long. He had gorged on the apple so this was a fitting punishment for committing such an act.

He wouldn’t dare challenge the status quo. All he desired now was for this moment, him holding Luce in his embrace, to last. He could pretend the domestic bliss he stumbled upon was real for a spell longer before its inevitable end. He would be okay with that.

#airi's writing #oc; Ravi #oc; Luce #Red Light Dregs

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eywa-eveng · 5 months

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ɪ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ’s ʟᴇғᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ – ɴᴇʏᴛɪʀɪ & ᴊᴀᴋᴇ X ᶠᴱᴹ ᴼᴹᴬᵀᴵᴷᴬᵞᴬ ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ – 12.2k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ – angst

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs – mentions of character death, mentions of war, ptsd, unrequited love

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇ – A bit of a non-linear storyline here, but nothing too confusing.

ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪsᴛ – @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @amiets2 @neteyamforlife @sunrays404 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @eternallyvenus @bobojojoba69 @behindthearcane @elegantkidfansoul @ladylovegood-69 @pinkiemme @arminsgfloll @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @onlyreadz @ghost-lantern @calums-betch @crazy4books1 @meladollsims @yeosxxx @sillyfreakfanparty

Light blooms underfoot, swelling and fading like ripples over water as faint syuratan rises to meet the shadows gathering beneath the night sky. The last dregs of amber sunlight pierce through the treetops like arrows, the warm light glowing like a flame behind the silhouetted canopy. The shades of firelight fade to blue darkness as the forest swallows the last whispers of daylight into the darkened horizon. A path towards the clan’s new settlement is carved in pale green light, each step echoed by the glowing moss blanketing the tree limbs. The newly lit plants burn brighter at the slightest touch, flaring as a breeze brushes through the trees, shuffling one leaf against another until entire branches are bright as torchlight. And when the wind settles the air is filled with the sweet taste of nectar, the hanging plants swarmed with insects that fill the night with their buzzing song. There’s always music in the forest, the sounds of life thrumming through the air like the distant voices of a forgotten lullaby. The chittering of nantang and the shrieking of riti, the thundering footfalls of ’angtsìk.

The noises of the night build as the stars begin to dot the sky, swallowing your nearly soundless footfalls as you weave through the foliage, running along the twisted roots bridging the distance between the trees. The ground rushes up to meet you as you jump from the high perch, ears twitching towards a disturbance somewhere nearby that makes your landing sound like stones rolling down a hill, fumbling and clumsy. Loud enough to be worth a closer look as voices begin to break through the foliage, terse with agitation. Your feet are quick enough to catch the tail end of the confrontation.

Hunters. Some mounted and others on foot. A mix of Na’vi and uniltìrantokx, separated by dignity and appearance. The sawtute are easy to parse from trueborn Na’vi, even at a distance. They’re like fiery red blossoms in a sea of yellow flowers, so plainly out of place. Speaking their human language and wearing their human clothes even when most of their kind have long since been banished from Pandora. The night had been clear when they left and a new star bloomed in the darkness, bright as a white flame in the deep blue sky. Most claim not to mourn the loss but others seem less inclined to surrender themselves to the Na’vi way of life. It is clear that the topic of disturbance involves such cultural differences as you creep closer.

Someone cuts a biting remark, gruff and steeped in a thickening accent the more terse their words become. An uniltìrantokx returns the venom-stricken tone with their own heavy accent, Na’vi words sounding as intimidating as a child when spoken on such a foreign tongue. One of the mounted hunters cracks a smile, a sardonic laugh slipping past his lips. These avatars are like humans. Babies that need teaching especially after being so suddenly stripped away from their system of support. There aren’t many of them left in their place of human dwelling. That strange metal cave system that spirals out like the bloated roots of some shimmery plant. These are supposed to be the truly loyal humans. The kind humans left after the rot and ruin of the rest was scraped away. There are kind souls that remain but some are far too stubborn, like clay dug up from a riverbed and left to dry before it was fully molded into shape. They’re stiff and unchanging despite the offers to be taught your ways of life.

It is a fair argument they are having from what you can hear at the fringes of the clearing. The avatars are being far too liberal with their bows. Eager arrows lead to messy kills and there is no reason to cause unneeded suffering for a lack of discipline. An injured animal will run if it is able and sawtute are far less adept at traversing these forests. It would be easy for them to lose their intended kill and leave the animal to suffer with an arrow in its hide. A mounted hunter says as much, pa’li unsteady beneath her, the direhorse churning up dirt beneath her hooves as her rider’s anger is surely reflected through tsaheylu. When the humans have nothing to say back the silence stretches like a rope pulled taut, slowly fraying under the strain until it snaps and the leader of the hunting party gives the gruff order to return home.

The word still sets an ache in your chest like pressing against a bruise, dull and throbbing as “home” has changed shape. You follow in the trail of light left by the hunting party. Not towards Hometree that always stood above the forest like a fist punching towards the sky, but to grounded dwellings flanking the humans’ nearly abandoned home. The hunting party continues on after passing through the newly made village, escorting the avatars back to their massive metal kelku. Their refusal to learn has stunted their ability to be trusted in the forest alone. Truly like children that need to be guided lest they be met with an accident that could’ve been prevented with proper teachings.

The sounds of the forest give way to a din of voices as green syuratan fades to bright orange firelight. It sounds much the same as Kelutral had, conversations mingled with laughter as everyone gathers around cookfires for their nightly meals. It’s far less communial with the separate homes of woven fabrics over wooden frames. Different sizes denoting the size of the family living within. Your own is modestly small, just large enough for one. Truly it was meant for an avatar if they felt more inclined to immerse themselves in village life but it went unused for so long that you took the honor of christening it as your own, sleeping here most days despite having mates of your own and a more homely kelku to return to. It’s been days of careful avoidance despite the olo’eyktan and tsakarem’s greatest efforts to draw you back to their side.

Unexpectedly, it is Jake that has been more insistent rather than Neytiri. That was something you hadn’t thought to consider a possibility. His longing was enough to make you avoid any member of the clan altogether. You’ve shared no more than a few words with anyone in the days since Jake began sending his warriors chasing after your tail in an attempt to coax you back home. They’d come to you bearing gifts of delicate bracelets made with the rarest beads and feathered hair ornaments of the brightest colors, lingering for a moment to ponder over your rejection before trailing back to their leader with a defeated hunch to their shoulders.

The fire you tend to is only just large enough for your purposes. This kelku is set every so slightly apart from the rest and a light flickering at the fringes of the village is sure to draw unneeded attention whether it’s a kind elder sending children to be sure you have enough to eat or another of Jake’s men coming to present you with another of his finely made gifts. His effort is wasted. Pretty adornments aren’t enough to stitch the wound that’s been scored across your very soul. So much has happened in so little time. So quickly that you were hardly given a moment to mourn. Even as the days fall away to the past with the rise and fall of the sun it still feels like a wound is festering in your heart, refusing to heal as old memories poke and prod, stinging in the back of your mind. No, a new necklace or freshly made arrows won’t be enough to soothe the pain you’re suffering. Everyone might have begun to move on, picking up the fragments of what was left behind to rebuild something new, something better, but you stayed there. Every night, in your dreams, the sky is raining ash and the People are screaming.

The hunger leaves you as the taste of salt invades your mouth, memories of uncounted tears souring your appetite. The small fire is snuffed and the food is set aside with the intention to eat it should you wake with hunger pangs in the dead of night. Sleep has been an elusive thing in the time since the fall of Hometree. Something terrifying as your mind reminds you of the pain and betrayal. Over and over. And there is no place of solace to return to. No Utral Aymokriyä where you might hear some shred of happiness from those that have gone before you. Everything has been torn apart and reknit in a new shape and the only one that seems to truly notice the strangeness of it all is you. But life must go on. A tree does not stop growing when clouds cover the sun.

Sleep is expectedly fitful, full of stuttered moments of jolted wakefulness that find your cheeks wet with tears. And when the hour is bright enough that you can banish any attempts at resting you rise and pad off into the pinkish light of dawn, nibbling on your cold dinner as you trail off into the forest before the rest of the village has time to wake. As usual there is no direction to your walking, no destination in mind. The only thought is to be away from the village and all the people that seem so foreign to you now. Not only are there more humans and avatars mingling with the People but even those that you were once close to seem to have a different face. And that is only those that remain. The rest were lost, gone to a place you can only reach in short grasping moments.

Home is far away, in distance and in feeling. The new settlement feels nothing like home even as the clan has begun to rebuild. So many ancestral pieces were lost in the fall of Hometree. Totems and precious items passed down and preserved between the generations of the Omatikaya. Once you could touch something and know that hundreds of hands, long before your time, had touched the same place. Your favorite had been the wooden looms worn soft and smooth by the gentle hands of weavers that passed their craft down to their children and to their children until the knowledge found its way into your hands. All the memories since the time of the First Songs that had survived in the safety of Hometree, gone in an instant. Everything that the Omatikaya clan was, washed away like footprints in sand.

Now these trees seem so foreign as you traverse through the morning light. In moving to settle closer to the humans’ dwelling the clan has been distanced from the lands you’ve known since birth. Hometree may have fallen but the estrangement seems unnecessary. Maybe to fledgling eyes the forest looks the same but here there are plants that didn’t grow close to Hometree. You’d grown up learning every patch of ferns and every bed of flowers and now you’d need to learn it all again. New berries that prefer the unfiltered sunlight where the humans cleared the trees away and new landmarks to lead you from one place to another in the sprawling forest. Moving was necessary but Jake chose not to claim a new Hometree for the clan and as olo’eyktan his word has become law. With Eytukan and Tsu’tey gone the burden of leading the clan has fallen to Toruk Makto. So strange that only a year ago he hadn’t even existed and now he is leading the People as if he was born to bear the honor when he only just passed his iknimaya.

The ground is cold underfoot, drops of dew seeping into your skin and sending shivers up your back. The feeling is enough to keep your mind steady, to keep the memories at bay. On any given day you’re likely to slip into the past and be lost in your own mind, like a vision from a Spirit Tree. It seems memories are all you have as comfort as of late. With so much change, the past is the only thing that has remained steady. In your mind you can pretend that Hometree still stands, that Jake never arrived to complicate everything. But he has and here you stand, lonely in a foreign corner of the forest, wishing desperately that you were able to unravel the knot that’s been made of your life. What is so wrong with you that you can’t find happiness in the peace that’s been made now that the humans have been defeated. One war has ended and yet another wages inside you with no end in sight.

The loneliness eats away at you but the alternative of acceptance seems so wholly unappealing, like eating a spoiled fruit. Resigning yourself to the same budding happiness the clan has been enjoying in the time since the final battle against the humans seems so strange after nearly a lifetime of fighting and uncertainty. Humans were on Pandora long before you were born and your childhood was spent in Grace’s schoolhouse with the looming threat of the tenuous bonds slowly fraying as the humans took more liberties with the lands that were not theirs to pillage and destroy.

A sound rustles in the trees behind you, a soft brushing of leaves that could be nothing more than a breeze through the underbrush, but your bow is drawn towards the sound in an instant. The tension balled like a fist around your heart eases as a familiar face emerges through the foliage, but doesn’t abate completely as Jake steps into the light. His steps are slow and deliberate as if he were approaching a wounded animal but you hiss at her even still, embarrassed that you’d been so distracted in your thoughts that you lost track of your surroundings. Had you been paying attention you would’ve caught his scent before he made a sound. The same scent that’s always clung to Neytiri’s skin because she favors cooking with firewood that is more fragrant than most, making her food a hint sweeter when she eats it. It’s a smell that used to offer comfort but now it’s only the wisp of another memory that was burned to ash the moment Jake arrived to the clan.

What would’ve changed if it hadn’t been you and Neytiri tasked with teaching him? Perhaps you wouldn’t have found yourself tangled in a mating bond shared between three people. A crowd compared to the traditional two.

“What do you want?” You ask, lowering your bow even as your voice still bristles with hostility.

Jake stalls in his approach. “What did I do, baby? What’s wrong?” In the time since he took up the mantle as olo’eyktan, Jake has begun to fully immerse himself in the ways of the People with more vigor than he had even before the fall of Hometree. He speaks in Na’vi when he can manage it but slips back into English when his tongue trips over an unknown word. But one word he’s never let go of is “baby.” A human term of endearment–not just a word for a newborn child–he’d explained once. Like yawne or paskalin it’s meant to show affection between mates. And despite that being what you are to each other you feel unsettled by the innocent word.

He takes a step closer that you reward with your own backwards retreat. His brows pinch, ears drooping as his hands reach out as if he can bridge the gap between you with a simple touch. You’re worlds away from each other even as he stands so close.

An uniltìrantokx, an alien. A human wearing the false face of one of the People. Yet he is also Na’vi, a son of the Omatikaya. He bears the title of olo’eyktan and Toruk Makto. He’s so close and yet so far. Once you would’ve met him in the middle, your hand reaching toward him. But now, knowing what he’s done…. Forgiveness is the farthest thing from your mind. Whatever friendship, whatever affection you’d once had for him has burned away to an aching emptiness. And even before it had begun to slowly unravel, thread by thread, breaking apart until you were left with a tenuous bond at best. Before Jake, before Sylwanin’s death, Neytiri had been yours. You understood her duty to the clan following her sister’s death. It was not her desire to become tsakarem, no nobility in the decision being made for her at the hands of the sawtute. Killing and taking with no remorse. She was betrothed to Tsu’tey and you accepted it as the way of things.

Jake’s introduction to the clan had been tumultuous at best, but as Neytiri’s closest companion you found yourself joining in on their lessons. And watching her fall in love with someone that wasn’t you. At least, with Tsu’tey there had only been friendship. A mutual agreement to not disappoint the clan’s expectations despite their hearts belonging to another. With Jake, she had no such reservations. Neytiri loved him. Loves him. Yet she can’t let you go. Neither of them can. So now it is your time to do as duty suggests, even if your heart aches with the effort to pretend to accept Jake into your heart for all he is, for all he’s done. Banishing the humans from Pandora after so many years of suffering might’ve been enough for others, but when you look at him you see flames.

“Everything you touch is destroyed.” The words slip out unbidden, before you can stop the bitterness from leaking off your lips and Jake stills as if you’ve struck him. The shock only lasts for a moment before he’s rushing towards you, arm winding around your waist as his four-fingered hand cups your cheek. The tears are unexpected as he wipes the wetness from your eyes. When did you start to cry? So long ago, truly. It seems the tears never stop, only taking brief moments of reprieve before stinging at your eyes once more. It feels like you’re being shattered, a river crystal smashed against a rock as glittering shards fly in every direction. Impossible to collect and rebuild. But Jake tries, so desperate does he seem to want to hold you together in his arms even as you come apart at the seams. You fight against him. Hissing and clawing like a hunted animal trying to preserve its life. Some innate piece of your mind knowing that a man like him is dangerous.

Sawtute. Uniltìrantokx. The words are synonymous with death and the unknown. And Jake has proved that no matter how close you become, friends can turn to enemies in the blink of an eye. Lovers can turn to strangers. Happiness can wither into a type of sadness that never dissipates. Still, Jake tries to keep you together in his arms. Whispering and pleading, trying to soothe your sobbing. So long have you spent simply walking forward, one step at a time with only brief moments to think about how far you’ve come. But with those few words you’ve turned back to see all that was left behind and it’s tearing away at you.

The ground is cold beneath your knees, the chill shivering through you as you fall. Jake hasn’t let you go, still keeping his arms around you as if you’ll turn to ash if he looks away for even a moment. Perhaps you will and wouldn’t it be better if you did? What is left for you now after so much has been taken? Everything has been stripped away. Friends, family. The few things that you thought would always be yours. Gone in an instant.

You try to speak through the thickness in your throat, voice rough as stone when the words finally come out. “Get away.” Jake doesn’t seem to hear you but you say it again and again as you struggle to your feet. “Get away! Get away from me!”

All you want is for things to be as they were. But you’re longing for a life you’ve never gotten to live. The humans were here long before you were. You’ve never known a life where they weren’t lingering just out of sight, corrupting your home to fit their alien desires. It burns in your chest, this desire to return to some semblance of normalcy and the knowing that everything in your life has always been precarious, balanced on the edge of a cliff. It seems that now you’ve finally fallen and there’s no knowing what will meet you at the bottom. Jake wants to catch you. You can see the desperation in his eyes as he tries to hold you, hear it in his voice as he begs you to stay with him.

You’re here in mind and body, but your soul feels like it’s been gone for so long. Left behind in the smoldering remains of Hometree, left behind on the battlefield. Now you’ve only been living because you hadn’t truly died. And everyone has been pretending you’re still the same as you were. Jake is pretending you’re still the same woman he met all those months ago. Had it truly been a year since an ignorant dreamwalker had come stumbling into Hometree? He’d been nothing then. A new kind of uniltìrantokx that needed to be studied. A warrior in a new, untrained body. A chore for Neytiri as Mo’at dictated that it would be her that had to teach him the ways of the clan. Of course, she had made it your responsibility to assist her in the endeavor, ever grateful for every moment spent together even if it involved teaching a man the things a child would know.

Truly, you’ve all changed since that moment. Jake has learned. Body and mind, he’s learned to walk as a true Na’vi does. It is clear that in his heart he is one of the People yet there’s still doubt in your mind. How, if he was so committed to the clan, had he let those monsters burn down your home with barely a word of warning? Yes, he led the battle to seek revenge and cull the plague of humans from Pandora, but if he had such determination why had he not done it sooner? Humans are secretive, duplicitous. Things that Na’vi had no concept of before their arrival. Your hearts are true and open. Yet Jake still had things to hide even after he became a son of the Omatikaya. Trusting him now feels like a mistake. Neytiri might’ve moved past it but you can’t find it in yourself to open your heart to such pain once more.

The woman you loved has turned into someone you can’t recognize. Relaxing so easily into the days of peace even in the shadow of all that you’ve both lost. While your heart turned cold hers seems to have blossomed, open with a soft sort of hope. The humans are gone, the People are safe. So why can’t you move on with everyone else?

Jake touches your arm again, fingers tracing from the shape of your wrist up to your shoulder. The touch feels foreign after avoiding him for so long. It isn’t the distressed grasping as he tries to soothe your tears. It’s softer, less confining.

“Let me help, baby. How can I help?”

“Leave me alone.” He’s already shaking his head before you finish the words.

“No. Don’t push me away, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes, I just want my girl back.” Back? Had you ever truly been his?

It had been a mistake to not close your heart to Neytiri when she was promised to Tsu’tey. Had you been strong enough then to smother the seed of childhood affection, to rob it of rain and sun until it withered and died, perhaps you wouldn’t be standing here with tears burning in your eyes. It would’ve taken less strength then to do what feels impossible now. A stone has turned to a mountain far beyond your strength to move. Jake seems to notice your hesitance, his eyes flitting over your face for any crack he might be able to use as a way past your protective shell. He seems to find it, reaching over your shoulder to brush his fingers over the length of your tswin. He draws it forward with careful reverence, pressing a kiss over the braided hair before looking at you once more. It’s doubtless that he’s thinking of that night beneath the light of the Tree of Voices.

A mistake if ever you’ve made one.

Eclipse is close at hand when Neytiri broaches the thought of taking Jake to see the Utraya Mokri.

“He is a son of the Omatikaya now,” she says gently, as if too much eagerness would startle you away from the idea. “Tonight would be the perfect night for his first commune with Eywa.” It is traditional for the first commune to happen soon after birth when memories are likely no more than colors and sounds and feelings. Jake is far past the age of first commune but as an outsider he hasn’t been allowed anywhere near such sacred places. When she sees your hesitation, Neytiri’s excitement softens.

“Yawne, he is ready. He has learned and proven himself. Do you still doubt his heart?” You do, still so weary of humans. No matter how kind, the thought of ever fully trusting a human picks at the old wound left by Sylwanin’s death, but you hold your tongue against the words. Mentioning her sister would only spoil Neytiri’s mood. She’s happy. Truly and utterly, and it makes your heart hurt to see her so content when her heart is chanting another’s name.

Jake. Jake. Jake. It’s all you’ve heard in recent times. No sunrise or sunset has gone without seeing the dreamwalker, hearing his name and seeing him walk beside the girl you once thought would be your mate. But she’s beautiful in her happiness. A shy smile playing on her lip as her tail curls playfully behind her. How could you ever disappoint her? And she is right. Jakesully has been accepted as a son of the Omatikaya. He is now no different in spirit than the boys you grew up with. You’ve watched him grow like a seedling sprouting into a tree, learning and changing as his human heart began to take the shape of something different. Yet you cannot completely forget his origins.

“There will be a celebration at nightfall,” Neytiri’s ears droop in defeat, “if we can leave without notice, then we can go to the Tree of Voices.” Upset is immediately replaced with elation as Neytiri beams.

“Will you help me prepare for tonight?” She asks coyly. The rest of the afternoon is spent in close proximity, skin against skin as you go about enjoying the simple intimacy of grooming Neytiri. She hums happily as you undo her braids. Washing and combing until her hair hangs down her back like a black river, tied back with a few sprigs of yellow leaves. She preens you in turn, caring for your hair with a practiced gentility before allowing you to leave to change into something more appropriate for the occasion. The most recent of your crafting was made with tonight in mind. Strings of tiny orange and yellow beads hanging over your chest in an undulating pattern, like sunlight sparkling off water. Your tewng is a bright shade of orange to match the band around your arm, hung in a cascade of feathers the colors of firelight. When night falls, music begins to drift up from the communal heart of Hometree. Drums thundering and voices singing as the celebration begins. Neytiri is easy to find beside her parents as they share words of congratulation for the newest members of the clan, and the sight of her snatches the breath from your lungs.

She’s dressed more beautifully than you’ve ever seen her. A collection of deep purple beads trail like tree roots over her chest with matching bands swaying about her arms, and a violet-dyed loincloth slung around her hips. It dampens your mood to see Tsu’tey close beside her, jealousy burning in your chest. He has forgone more elaborate adornments for the occasion yet he looks no less out of place. His presence commands respect. He will be a wonderful olo’eyktan to Neytiri’s tsahìk. A beautiful couple waiting to be bonded. Your mood is only worsened as her eyes linger some distance away. On the group of newly made adults. On Jake.

It tears at your heart like the twisting of a blade. Already you’ve had to accept a life without her truly by your side with Tsu’tey, though the union would be without true affection, but now she’s given her heart away to someone new. So strange how what once was alien looks nearly indistinguishable from the true Na’vi also being honored by tonight’s festivities. Some younger, some older, all joining the clan in adulthood. When the music begins in earnest, lines form to dance. Weaving between each other as bodies move to the beat of the drums. Jake has been staunch in his refusal to dance thus far, though his dreamwalker friend Norm seems open to learning. He’s a bit clumsy like a child learning to use his limbs as he follows along with the people trying to teach him, Na’vi words flowing with staunch formality from his lips despite the relaxed air of celebration. He waves as you walk past, somehow recognizing your face as a friendly one in the sea of people. Perhaps he’s seen Grace’s photographs from when you attended school and knows the shape of your pil to match your younger face. With some confusion, you wave back, cracking a small smile as he stumbles over his gangly feet again.

With fermented drinks flowing freely, the wariness has been tempered enough for the clan to act freely even in the presence of guests. Grace is known within the village, a trusted teacher and ally despite what happened at the school. She wasn’t at fault, though you surely blamed her for a time after it happened. Because there was no one else to blame but the humans. The girl you had grown up with, your childhood friends, all slaughtered in the blink of an eye simply for protecting their home. Had you known of their plan it might’ve been your body that was torn apart by bullets. The thought sends shivers skittering down your spine, the dark shadow returning after the joyous occasion chased it away.

In quieter moments you still mourn your losses caused by the Sky People. But Grace was also wounded, in body and spirit. You remember the blood dripping from the wound in her shoulder as she desperately pulled you away from Sylwanin, urging you outside as the soldiers closed in on the school. The last you’d seen of your teacher, she’d been putting herself between the soldiers and her students. She seems far more relaxed now as she laughs at something a man said to her, taking sparing sips of her drink as she watches the crowd. Ever the scientist wanting to study even under the most eased circumstances. The familiarity of it all soothes the hurt brought on by the memories.

Jake is occupied with Tsu’tey, the two of them sharing a drink. The group around them is chanting Jake’s name as he hisses around a mouthful of fermented juice. It seems so strange to see the two of them settled beside each other without any real reason. There’s no teaching, no exchanging of insults. They seem to almost be enjoying each other’s company. Tsu’tey had been keen on seeking the outsider’s death upon first meeting, as the whole of the clan’s warriors had been, but he seems not to have grown out of the animosity little by little. If anything, his distaste must’ve grown stronger in the convening months as Jake grew closer to the woman that was meant to be his. But the celebration seems to be reason enough to set aside conflicting feelings as Tsu’tey passes Jake another cup, urging him to take another drink. You think to join them but are stopped by the brush of something against your tail.

Hands find your waist, slim fingers tracing over the shape of stripes streaked there. Neytiri’s scent is easily recognized. Something sweet and smoldering as she pulls you close. There are more couples around you, all dancing just as intimately. Twirling and bouncing, hardly parting as the music guides your steps. She’s so beautiful in the firelight. Bright eyes and long lashes that flutter towards the ground as a bashful smile finds her lips. Her tail brushes your leg, curling over the shape of your thigh in a flirtatious display that you reward with a playful hiss. Neytiri giggles at the feigned aggression, pulling you closer by your hips until you’re no longer dancing, only swaying to the music as your bodies press so close they’re nearly one. You want to kiss her, going as far as to lift her chin and press your forehead against hers before remembering that this moment is only fleeting.

She isn’t yours. Not anymore. So instead you revel in the feeling of her bated breaths puffing over your lips before stepping away from the temptation. The short distance of separation has her smile waning but someone stumbles into you before you can find the words of an explanation, arm hooked over yours as the new partner urges you to join her. So you let her, leaving Neytiri to work through the confusion as a frown weighs on her lips. She lingers where you’d been for only a moment before stalking off to join Tsu’tey and Jake’s group, kneeling beside them to urge Jake to dance once more.

This time he sets his cup aside, laughing as he stands to join her. You try to put them from your mind, to focus on the people around you. A few you recognize as Tsu’tey’s students that are also being honored by tonight’s festivities. It is easy to lose yourself in the familiarity of the dance. Far less intimate than the one you shared with Neytiri as all of you move in a circle, feet stomping and hands clapping as the music swells. With the shift of a new melody, though the song is far from over, the steps change and you drift away from the group to join Tsu’tey where he now sits alone.

Despite the festivities, he no longer seems to be in the mood for merriment as a scowl mars his face, mouth drawn low as he watches Neytiri teach Jake to dance. Once again, it is not Tsu’tey with which your upset lies as the both of you sit scorned by the tsakarem dancing with the uniltìrantokx.

“I thought this rift had been mended.” Tsu’tey says after a few moments of discontented silence shared between you. At least the two of you knew where you stood with Neytiri. Tsu’tey was a friend, an ally, a man she would honor as her mate, where you were her true love that she had to give up to fulfill the expectations of her parents. It is tradition for the tsahìk to be mated to the olo’eyktan though there are some clans where it is not always so. But the Omatikaya have always been more spiritual, traditional in the ways that have been practiced since the time of the First Songs. To make exceptions for Neytiri’s feelings would be to go against tradition and it was decided that mating her to Tsu’tey would be best. Now here the two of you are, scorned and alone together.

“I know I am not the one in her heart,” he speaks gruffly, “but now it seems she has no taste for you either. Only this skxawng.” His words sting but there is truth to them. Even after spending an afternoon basking in her presence as you had before his arrival, Jake has come to steal her away from you once more. Simply by being. It isn’t fair to the years you’ve spent loving her, and her loving you, but you don’t say it out loud. The words are far too petulant and like grinding dirt into the wound Tsu’tey must tend to for the rest of his days knowing his mate does not love him wholly and truly.

“His eyes are small.” Tsu’tey says after a beat of silence. It’s enough to make you laugh at the annoyance in his tone. His drinking must’ve loosened his tongue or else you’d never hear him say such things as if he were sulking rather than angry.

“This isn’t funny. He will want to choose a mate sooner or later and what will we do when he chooses her when she is not free to be with him?” That quiets your giggling. Not once had you thought of what might happen if Jake wanted to pursue their budding relationship further. Already the separation between friend and lover has begun to blur like looking through a cloud of smoke. It is not in your heart to doubt Neytiri but people have been known to act out of character in the pursuit of love. What can be done if she is willing to betray her promise to Tsu’tey to be with Jake? And why hadn’t she been willing to do such things for you? It’s a selfish thought, especially with Tsu’tey close beside you. You banish it before your heart can be darkened any further by it.

“I will talk to her.” She wanted to be away from the clan with just the three of you tonight. No better time would come for you to raise such concerns with the way they’re looking at each other. It’s the same way you look at her, without the lingering regret of knowing you will never truly have her. Jake must know she isn’t his to keep yet he wants her even still. People continue to move around them while they stay still as stone, staring into each other’s eyes. It turns your stomach as if you’ve eaten something rotten.

“For the sake of the future.” Tsu’tey agrees. She will one day be tsahìk after her mother, that much is decided simply by birth. With Sylwanin gone the honor has fallen to her. An olo’eyktan is chosen, not born. If Jake can prove his worth as a warrior there might be no reason to object to his mating with Neytiri. Tsu’tey will simply be passed over as the future clan leader in favor of naming Jake as the next olo’eyktan. The thought seems inconceivable. Tsu’tey is the strongest the clan has to offer. Jake has only just been made one of the People, what can he offer that Tsu’tey does not already have in abundance?

The night is deep and the crowds thinned as people begin to trail off to sleep or to enjoy the night somewhere more secluded. The only music left is the din of voices murmuring over the crackling of the fire pits as Neytiri comes to coax you from your seat. Tsu’tey already left, too upset to be faced with the sight of his promised mate dancing so closely to another. With you, there was a tenuous agreement, an acknowledgment of your role as a placeholder. Jake has no such allegiances. You’re not sure why you stayed, punishing yourself with the sight of them together.

“Come, it is time!” Neytiri is smiling as if nothing is wrong. Jake seems not to know where she’s leading the two of you but he follows her tail as if it’s dipped in nectar. He smiles and you wish you didn’t see how Neytiri could fall for him. He’s handsome in a strange sort of way, so alike and yet so different to the faces you see everyday. Aside from his eyebrows, his eyes are small like Tsu’tey said, more human. And the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, is decidedly human as well. He’s as playful as a child despite his age and it serves as both an endearing and infuriating trait. And it was only made worse when he was still learning. Truly like a baby stumbling through the forest, curious about everything around him.

He still seems intrigued as you walk beside a river glowing like a sinuous blue thread into the distance ahead. You’ve waded your way past the banks into the warm rush of water. The current is slow, knocking lightly at your knees with hardly enough strength to lead even the fish upstream. Your eyes are low, focused on the finned animals swimming past your ankles. So focused that you don’t notice Jake drawing closer until his hands are on your shoulder with a sudden wave of strength. You lose your footing, toppling into the water and surfacing with a disgruntled hiss, ears drawn back as you bare your teeth in annoyance. The night air is warm, a balmy breeze brushing over your damp skin as water drips from your soaked form. Jake only laughs at your sour face before coming into the water after you.

Instinctually, your arms shoot out in front of you to keep him at bay but he just uses the opportunity to wrap his hands around yours, pulling you in close until you’re chest to chest. Your brows raise at the sudden closeness. In the time since your first meeting you’ve come to consider Jake a friend, perhaps closer even than the friends you’ve made in childhood. He’s been with you every day for so long that you almost can’t imagine a day passing without seeing him, but this is something beyond what you expected of your relationship. Of course, he’d act this way with Neytiri as she curls her tail at him, sharing coquettish smiles and lingering glances, but you’ve never shared in such flirtations. But it is plain to see how you react when it is Neytiri clinging close to you. And with every day spent so closely together, just the three of you, it isn’t hard to imagine how such boundaries might be lost with time.

Still, it’s dizzying how at ease he seems pulling you closer to him. Your eyes search for Neytiri with a frantic sort of helplessness only to find she’s smiling sweetly at the two of you, seemingly happy with how close you are.

“You didn’t offer me a dance tonight, ma’am.” He says, using the human word of respect for a woman. He said it was a remnant of his training when he was a warrior on his home planet. A Marine. Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. Something he says now to tease women when they take a tone of authority with him. Childish as he always is. You’ve heard him say it to Grace a few times and it’s always accompanied with a subtle roll of his eyes. Tonight, he seems less flippant about the word. More teasing than sarcastic as he raises your joined hands over your head, twirling you in a splashing circle.

“She doesn’t like sharing such dances with others. She will only dance so closely with me.” Neytiri is rather forthright about how close the two of you are. It isn’t something you’ve kept particularly hidden, yet it still seems strange that she’d say such things out loud after so long spent burying your heart in the hopes that her match to Tsu’tey will go smoothly.

“She’ll dance with me.” Jake laughs, “Won’t you?” One of his hands falls to your hip while the other keeps yours in his grasp, held up and away from your bodies like he’s guiding you to shoot an arrow. He hums an unfamiliar tune as he leads you in clumsy circles through the water. It’s clear he’s never been much of a dancer and he’s probably missing steps to the human dance but you let him bob and sway you because asking to be let go would likely spoil the mood, and you want both of them in high spirits if you’re going to broach the topic of a bit of distance between the three of you. It’s only fair that you try to estrange yourself if you’re going to ask that Neytiri and Jake be a bit more conscious of their time together. To tell Jake to take a step back while still clinging close to Neytiri would be too cruel. Especially when you are in no place to be with her either. Even if it breaks your heart anew to truly let her go.

Neytiri laughs as Jake folds you backwards, balancing your weight on the hand he’s placed against your back. You hiss and cling to him, worried that this is another one of his games and you’ll be dropped back into the water. Instead he pulls you back towards his chest, both of them laughing at the scorned look you can feel pinching your face.

“You’re not funny, tawtute.” You scowl.

“I think I am.” He smiles wide, fangs flashing in the blue light. It’s all too familiar, too close. Neytiri joins the two of you in the water, hand brushing against your arm as she suggests a swim.

It’s easy to agree because it sets a bit of distance between the three of you. The sounds of the forest, the chittering and buzzing, quiets beneath the water enough for you to think. Jake must know how you feel about Neytiri. It would only take a glance to see how your heart yearns for her. So why had he touched you the way he had? Held you like you were the most delicate thing his hands have ever touched? It feels like you’ve tangled yourself into a knot. Too many threads have converged around you and it isn’t worth the effort to meticulously unwind them. Instead you want to sever each one in turn before they tighten beyond the point of escape. Neytiri is one thread and Jake another, then a dozen more all tied up tight.

The urge to turn away from it all becomes strong as you emerge from the river and Jake’s hand finds yours once more. It seems almost instinctual. He’s swinging your joined hands and laughing when Neytiri giggles at him for grabbing at her tail. He’s always been playful but you can’t help but wonder if the ceremony confirming him as a member of the clan has lowered some barrier he’d previously set between the three of you. He’s far more open with his touching tonight, more affectionate than you’ve ever seen him as the green syuratan is swallowed by the pale purple glow of the Tree of Voices.

A swarm of kenten bursts to life as you pass and Jake stops to watch them twirl away, still so enamored with life on Pandora. Neytiri stares for a moment, an enamored look glowing on her face before she reaches to take his free hand.

The long branches of the trees sway in the warm breeze, light burning brighter at the gentlest touch. Jake releases your hand to brush his arms through the hanging fronds. Without his hand in yours, you’re free to walk further ahead. It had been Neytiri’s plan to bring him here and you aren’t sure you want to bear witness to whatever it is she’s planning. Though you did promise Tsu’tey to at least try to dissuade them from doing something they might regret. Your feet only carry you a few steps away before your resolve strengthens once more. Instead of walking away with your tail between your legs, you turn to face the issue at hand.

Neytiri is explaining the significance of the trees. A place for prayers to be heard, a place to convene with those that have come before you. It is what you need in this time of confusion and you gather a few branches to connect your tswin. In an instant your mind is filled with a cacophony of voices. Singing and shouting, laughing and shrieking with happiness. Every life that led to yours is held within these trees and their voices offer a comfort like no other. The weight on your soul is lightened as you listen to the happiness babbling through tsaheylu. Old and young, man and woman. Your ancestors sing to you, laugh with you. Their lives are enduring within Eywa. Like salve over a burn, you feel your unsteady heart soothing. The anguish of knowing tonight will change the rest of your life is quieted. When you pull your tswin away from the tree, Neytiri is reaffirming Jake’s place within the clan.

“You may make your bow from the wood of Hometree,” she turns away as if she is nervous to continue, “and you may choose a woman. We have many fine women.” Her eyes cut towards yours before focusing on the atokirina’ crossing her path. The gentle spirit lands in the palm of her hand. Her ears bend and twist, nervously shifting as she seems to choose her next words with great care.

“Ninat is the best singer.” Jake immediately voices his disinterest and a quiet smile lifts Neytiri’s cheeks. She turns towards you and softly blows the woodsprite in your direction. The little seed twirls through the air, brushing against your cheek like a kiss before drifting away on the breeze.

“Beyral is a good hunter.” Jake seems to realize what Neytiri is doing, offering her advice on the unmated women of the clan. Pretending to put forth a possible match while still hoping he will decline every option he is given. So instead of denying interest, Jake nods.

“Yeah, she is a good hunter.” His tone is hollow, but Neytiri turns swiftly, disappointment clear on her face. The small smile she’s been hiding falls to a look of sadness. Seeing her crestfallen face feels as though you’ve stepped into an open flame. It eats away at you. Searing and burning as you watch the woman you love bare her heart to someone else. If Neytiri is upset, you’re livid. Angry and jealous and bitter because Jake has her eyes on him in such a special place, on such a special night. Yet a small, conflicted part of you is glad for the rejection because that is the reason you accompanied them to such a place to begin with.

This grove of trees is known to be a place of comfort. Many a mating bond has been solidified here, for generations. And you’ve been dragged along to bear witness to the making of another, though it is your hope to dissuade them from their desire to be connected in such a way. A part of you wants to rage and shout, demanding that Neytiri be with no one if you cannot have her. But seeing the sadness that Jake’s rejection has stirred in her makes your heart cry. She deserves this bit of happiness even if it is not with you. Even if it is not with who she is meant to be with. Jake is quick to correct himself when he sees Neytiri’s suddenly sullen face.

“I’ve already chosen,” he whispers. It feels like knives in your chest. Something acidic wells in your stomach as your tongue struggles to shape out the words to stop him as Jake’s eyes drift past Neytiri, towards you.

“But these women must also choose me.” There’s a breathy laugh from Neytiri as she turns towards you, smiling so wide that her eyes are eclipsed. She takes your hands in hers to pull you in close to her side. You try to pull away but she only shifts her grip, keeping you close.

“We already have.” Her words startle you. We?

Perhaps she has accepted Jake into her heart as more than a friend but you’ve yet to reach such a point in your affections. And even if you had, it is something forbidden for the three of you to be joined as mates. Neytiri is not free to offer herself to any other. But she looks so happy that you don’t have a moment to speak before Jake is kissing her. Your voice is stuck somewhere in your throat, like you’ve swallowed a rock. It’s hard to make any sound other than short gasps of panic as Jake’s fingertips brush against your cheek, tracing over the pattern of your pil. Feigning at shyness you turn your head away before he can kiss you, too. His lips find your temple, quick breaths rushing over your hairline.

Neytiri leads despite the nerves still clear on her face, guiding the three of you to kneel together as she takes hold of her tswin. It feels as though your eyes are going to leap out of your head with how wide they’ve gone. Everything is moving too quickly like a rushing river sweeping you up in its current.

This is the exact opposite of how this night was supposed to end. You were meant to reaffirm some type of separation between the pair not become tangled up between them. You think of the clan. Of expectation and tradition, of responsibility. Neytiri knows of duty and honor. It is what you’ve been taught since birth. Jake may not understand how precious the mating arrangements of a tsahìk and olo’eyktan are. And if he does, it’s clear he does not care. We can’t, you want to say, this is wrong. But it’s hard to see what is so terrible about it when the love of your life is smiling so sweetly and offering to tie her soul to yours.

Suddenly, Neytiri is in your lap again, forehead pressed to yours as she holds her tswin between your bodies, her other hand petting over where your braid hangs over your shoulder. She cannot force tsaheylu. You must offer your tswin to her with your own hand and it’s clear she is eager to be joined with such closeness. Her lips find yours. Soft, fluttering kisses that slowly sink into something more desperate. Her hands are on your body, tswin forgotten as she clings to you. There’s a shiver skittering down your back as her fingers raise goosebumps over your skin.

Between her frantic kisses you find the courage to say, “We can’t.” Neytiri pauses. Her smile wanes for a moment, face flickering like a flame being snuffed. But then she’s flaring to life again, eyes bright with determination.

“This is what I choose, Great Mother forgive me. Nothing else matters but us here and now.” Her hands hold your face like the most delicate piece of crystal. “It was always going to be you, yawntu. Always.” Those are precious words. Because in your heart, no matter what comes to pass, you know you will always love her. The flame you hold for her has never wavered and it must be just the same for her. Even if there is another sharing the space with you. It’s enough to disarm you, lowering your inhibitions as you pull her into another desperate kiss. There’s a renewed steadiness to your hand as you take hold of your tswin, offering it to Neytiri as you always wish you could’ve. Time was lost adhering to expectation but it’s yours to reclaim as the soft tendrils of your braids twine into one. It’s more blinding than the gentle comfort of the Tree of Voices. Something sharp and overwhelming, nearly beyond comprehension.

It feels like Neytiri is touching you, holding you. Caressing every part of your skin at once. There’s still space between the two of you, a small distance between your chests and yet you feel her heartbeat as if it’s your own, feel each heaving breath as if it’s being drawn into your lungs. All that she is is suddenly inside you, like a pattern being woven into the very fabric of your soul. Another kiss is pressed against your parted lips. Wet and clumsy as she clings as close as your bodies will allow, until it feels like every piece of skin is brushing against yours. And then there’s a second pair of hands against your waist. Larger than Neytiri’s, different than anyone you’ve ever met. It takes a moment for the haze of euphoria to dissipate just long enough to remember Jake’s presence. He’s pressed in close against Neytiri’s back, chin resting on her shoulder as his arms reach to wrap around both of you.

It seems like he isn’t sure what is happening, eyes lingering on the place your braids are joined in tsaheylu. When his gaze flickers back to yours there’s something beyond curiosity sparking there. A look you recognize as longing, determination. It’s something you’ve felt, something you’ve seen reflected in Neytiri’s face. So strange that something so familiar suddenly looks so foreign. Just a few hours ago Jake had been nothing more than a friend. He is still little more than that but you can’t find the words to say it–tongue tied with the feeling of your soul melting with Neytiri’s–before he is slipping his hand under Neytiri’s arm to add his own tswin to the knotting of your spirits.

If the feeling had been sweet as ripe fruit before, it’s turned to something bitter and rotten as the unknown joins the blinding familiarity. If she notices, Neytiri doesn’t react to your sudden anguish. A beautiful moment and Jake has ruined it with his overeagerness. Human as he is, he does not understand what he’s done. You try to find the words, to make your tongue shape out the sounds to tell him that what he’s done cannot be undone, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a toneless gasp. Something choked and rasping. Perhaps you could’ve lived knowing Neytiri had shared this part of herself with the both of you, but there was never any desire in your heart to be with Jake in such an intimate way. And now it is too late to warn him of the consequences. Ruefully, you wonder if this is how tsaheylu feels between arranged mates. If this is what Neytiri and Tsu’tey would’ve suffered had the three of you not snuck away on this night.

It’s a strange, empty sort of feeling. Like water tainted with sand. Cloudy and coarse. Something you would not wish on anyone. Least of all Neytiri. It feels like floating, but just barely. Hardly drifting on the unsteady waves even as Jake and Neytiri’s happiness bubbles through the bond with startling clarity. At least they are happy.

It’s always been in your nature to stifle yourself in favor of others. To do as is expected rather than what you truly desire. Though this strange new bond that is slipping into place between the three of you was desperately desired. At least for Jake and Neytiri. It nearly hurts how hard Jake is holding onto you, fingers digging into the small of your back as he crowds the two of you in his arms. There isn’t anywhere you can go but here with the way the three of you are tied together. You’ll remain this way until morning, though you wish you wouldn’t as the euphoria begins to manifest in less innocent ways. Jake bites at Neytiri’s shoulder as she sits herself higher in your lap, hands rising from your waist to slip beneath the beading of your top. The strange clouded feeling lingers, but you find yourself falling back into the elation you felt moments ago, basking in the way your new mate is touching you.

And perhaps being tied to Jake will not be so terrible. He has proven himself different from the others. A true Na’vi among pretenders. With time, you could learn to care for him in the way he seems to cherish you. The thought feels like taking on the burden of another. This is the life Neytiri was meant to lead. Mate with Tsu’tey and lead as tsahìk when the time came. In saving her from such a bleak future you have banished yourself to something just the same. But some things change with time. Perhaps there will be a day when there is unfettered love shared between the three of you. Because in this moment, a dark hidden corner of your soul lingers on the thought of how Jake has ruined what was meant to be something perfectly beautiful.

Morning dawns in streaks of white light, chasing away the pale purple glow of the Trees of Voices. The slinking branches hang in swaying strands, stirring the sunlight and shadows in sinuous shapes. Everything is warm and soft. The feeling of limbs tangled over your own as ferns and blades of grass cushion your cheek, cutting into your vision as your eyes squint open in the bright light. With some struggle, you untwine yourself from Neytiri and Jake, slipping from the space between their bodies. Jake remains still, but Neytiri stirs to wakefulness with a flutter of her eyelids. Thick lashes fan shadows over her bright yellow eyes as she gathers her bearings. Slow at first as she smiles up at you, then with a sudden urgency as both of your eyes flicker towards a strange sound, ears bending and twitching as your mind tries to make sense of the disturbance.

It’s loud and heavy, but lacks the heavy footfalls of a herd of angtsìk moving through the forest. There’s something distinctly destructive about the sound, like the crackling of hundreds of pyres burning at once. The sound of wood popping and snapping like it’s being torn off in bits and pieces. It grows closer until the trees begin to shudder and fall a few paces away. Then you hear it, the tinny whirr you’ve come to associate with calamity, something made by the Sky People. Flashes of sunlight glint off the edge of something big and metal rumbling just beyond the tree line. Another tree falls, filling the air with a cloud of dirt and pollen, and Neytiri rushes to rouse Jake. He still hasn’t moved despite the commotion, body sprawled across the ground as if there isn’t some metal creature chewing through the trees with its mouth full of blades. Neytiri is perched over his chest, shouting and shaking as the world comes down around you. Leaves fall like rain as the shadow of the whirring beast eclipses the sun, far too close for comfort.

“Grab him!” You shout, already pulling at his arm. He’s heavy as stone as both of you struggle to pull him away from the collapsing trees. Another falls, larger than the rest, landing hard enough to send a buckling shudder through the ground. You fall for a moment, then again when a branch lands on your back. The splintered wood scratches across your skin like raking claws, likely drawing blood as you scamper forward on hands and feet to grab Jake once more. His stillness is like death as the two of you clamor to drag him away from the collapsing trees. But even between the two of you he is heavy, far too heavy to move with any haste. Neytiri gets his head over a fallen tree and you follow with his legs but it isn’t nearly quick enough. The machine is getting closer and Neytiri is growing desperate. Her voice shudders and cracks as she screams over Jake’s unflinching body, wailing for him to wake up. Back still burning from the fallen branch, you cover Neytiri’s body with your own as she shakes Jake’s shoulders. He comes to with an air of confusion, eyes expanding and contracting before he focuses enough to get to his feet.

Of all the things you expect when he pushes the two of you behind him, talking–shouting–at the metal beast is the farthest from your mind. The yellow behemoth has no rider, no obvious reins controlling its movement. It only seems to know forward, but Jake’s yelling seems to slow it to a halt. Though the stillness only lasts a moment before it’s moving again, grinding forward as if it never stopped to begin with.

“Go!” Jake shouts, shoving Neytiri forward. His hand lands against the scratches torn in your back, stinging as he pushes you after her. He doesn’t follow. Instead he runs towards the thing, yet you can’t bring yourself to look back as you run. There’s the sound of crunching metal then the firing of bullets.

It’s your turn to fall still, stumbling to a halt as fear roots you to where you stand. Your hands feel warm. They feel wet. When you look down at your shaky palms they’re suddenly bright as if they’ve been steeped in warpaint. Bright red and acidic as the scent invades your nose. The forest seems different now. More shadows overhead and wood beneath your feet. The smell of blood grows heavier as your eyes focus past your hands to the body at your feet.

Sylwanin is coughing, chest twitching and heaving as she tries to keep the breath in her torn lungs. Your cheek is wet, a spray of her blood speckled over your skin. She tried to say your name before she fell. Hands reaching towards yours, smearing blood over your fingers. Her eyes are dotted with spots of red, and there’s blood leaking from between her lips. She’s trying to talk, trying to say something between the stuttering heaves, but someone is pulling you away from her.

It takes a few stumbling steps before you realize you’re not in the schoolhouse, not watching your friend die. Instead you’re watching the Trees of Voices be decimated by the rumbling metal beasts still tearing through the carnage they’ve cleared behind them. The trees are gone, leaving only splinters and churned dirt behind as the machines beep and whirr their way through whatever lies before them.

Distantly, you hear Neytiri crying, though you feel numb even as you see smoke beginning to billow up from the fires the human warriors have set. Trees that have stood for a small eternity, gone in a moment. It doesn’t sadden you so much as it makes you angry. A seething type of anger that carves you out inside, leaves you hollow and numb. There should be tears. You should be in anguish. Yet it feels as though your heart hasn’t quite caught up to what your eyes have witnessed. It’s the same sort of angry nothingness you felt as Sylwanin laid dying at your feet.

The sound of bullets brought you back to that moment. No longer are you a woman grown, but a child with no knowledge of what to do with the destruction set before you. And now there are no ancestors to ask now, no voices to share your thoughts with. The Trees of Voices are gone. Silently, you stand and begin walking home. There’s nothing left for you here. You shouldn’t have come in the first place. One mistake strung after another in a necklace laced too tightly around your throat. It’s hard to breathe, hard to see as the tears well up at last, but you keep walking.

Hometree is filled with a cacophony of voices, but you ignore them all. You’re tired despite the sun having just risen. Curious hands brush against you as you float past, numb to the soles of your feet as touches graze the scratches on your back. It’s all dull pressure. No pain. No real feeling. Even the shrieking war cries sound distant as you trail between the warriors with their weapons raised and fangs bared. Despite your best efforts, you’re swept up into the maelstrom, jostled and pushed until you’re stumbling blindly to the front of the crowd.

Tsu’tey stands at the heart of the press of people, bow raised above his head. His eyes find yours, recognition sparking as he takes in your discheviled state. He says something, extends a hand, but you hardly realize he’s speaking to you until he’s pulling you out of the throng of incited Na’vi. At last, words begin to make sense again as he whispers privately, “Are you alright?” Vaguely, you gesture towards your back and he passes you over to Mo’at. The tsahìk’s face is lined with tension as she brushes the mess of leaves and splinters from your hair and turns you around to look over the wounds on your back. It faces you towards the crowd as Jake and Neytiri emerge. When had they fallen so far behind you?

With heavy strides, Tsu’tey brushes past you, handing you his bow. A clear sign that you’re meant to stay out of whatever he’s about to do. You hide your face in the adornments of his weapon, ears flattened in shame. He is treating you with kindness you do not deserve. You’ve betrayed him. His trust, his friendship. For your own selfish desires. Perhaps this is what is owed for thinking yourself higher than tradition. For going against the word of your tsahìk, of the Great Mother herself who chose Neytiri’s family as her voice among the People. Mo’at’s matronly hands dab against the burning lines cut through your skin with something cold and soothing. It’s more care than you deserve.

Neytiri is shouting, doing little to quell any notion that your plan to squash this issue has failed. If anything, the problem has only worsened since your promise to urge the two to part. Tsu’tey seems to glean it all from only a moment of looking between Jake and his promised mate, held back by Neytiri pressing against his chest.

“You mated with this woman?” Tsu’tey’s tone is accusatory, hardly a question at all. Against your back, Mo’at’s hand’s still. She soothes a hand over your hunched shoulder as she steps around you to approach her daughter. Each step she takes is slow, menacing as a hunting nantang. When the tsahìk speaks, her voice is filled with thunder.

“Is this true?” Between the words there’s a baring of teeth that makes Neytiri wither before her mother. She glances at you before gathering the courage to square her shoulders and declare herself mated before Eywa. It is like a spark bursting over dried leaves. A fight flaring in the blink of an eye. It’s expected. Months of simmering animosity finally bubbles over as Tsu’tey draws his blade at Jake. In the end he’s bested with a swiftness, blood leaking from his nose as Jake reminds him that he is Omatikaya now. It grants him the right to speak even if Tsu’tey will not hear him.

“These words are like stones in my heart,” he says, and you wish your ears would close to the world once more as Tsu’tey saunters in beside you. There’s a heat radiating from him, like his very soul is burning with his rage. So much he’s lost in a single morning. His mate, his ancestors. Hesitantly, you reach to touch his wrist, as if to hold him at bay. He stiffens under your hand but does not move as Jake stumbles through what he is trying to say.

Then Grace falls. Her body goes still, eyes rolling back as all of her muscles seem to come loose. Jake startles as he tries to rush to make his point.

“I was sent here to–” He collapses. That death-like stillness from this morning taking over once more. Your grip on Tsu’tey’s arm is broken as he rushes forward to put his blade to Jake’s throat. It should worry you, should enrage you. Because that is how mates are meant to act when one is put in danger. Defend, protect. You remain still. In your stead, Neytiri rushes forward to toss Tsu’tey away. She draws her knife in turn, hissing over Jake as if daring Tsu’tey to come any closer. Her lithe body is poised with menacing intent, ears drawn back and fangs on full display. It’s enough to send Tsu’tey away and you follow after him.

“You were meant to fix this.” He hisses, snatching his bow away from you.

“I did what I could but the stone was already cast. A dead tree will no longer bear fruit.” Which is to say a stubborn heart will never be swayed from its desire. It’s doubtless that Jake knew of Neytiri’s arrangement with Tsu’tey. There were days spent training when it was only the two of you. Neytiri and Tsu’tey sequestered away with Eytukan and Mo’at to learn the ways of leading the clan. It’s been mentioned in passing as Jake learned to speak your language, learning what the words tsahìk and tsakarem truly mean. He knew and yet he did not care. Nor did Neytiri. The Na’vi-born woman whose future is ruled by tradition. And perhaps even you did not care enough. Your protests had been meager, not even enough to sway your own mind. Still, you love Neytiri and that is the truth of it. To betray her love would be to betray yourself. Even if it’s what was expected of you. And if Tsu’tey suspects your involvement in this newly made bond, neither of you mention it.

There will be time for these petty squabbles later. For now, all minds are focused on retaliation, on war and revenge for what the Sky People have taken. Sacred lands desecrated in pursuit of their greed. Presently, it is the only thing that matters.

#jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader #jake x reader x neytiri #avatar x reader #avatar

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auroravictorium · 1 year

Text

still in love and half alive (k.b.)

can't say we didn't try. baby, we're a bad idea. - bad idea by dove cameron

Summary: kaz and reader have a job: take out the leader of one of the newest up-and-coming gangs in the barrel that hope to fill the vacuum left by pekka rollins's departure. said job requires reader to utilize her skills from her days as a showgirl; despite the unpleasant reminders of her past, she completes the job and helps other showgirls and the low grunts of the new gang in the process.

Pairing(s): kaz x former showgirl!reader (established relationship) Word Count: 4.6k Warnings: alcohol consumption, men being creepy, poor treatment of women (nothing explicit, just allusions to men treating them like crap), allusions to past exploitation, kaz having non-explicit thoughts about reader, reader playing up the seduction factor, violence [cutting someone with a dagger, kaz choking someone, kaz hitting someone with his cane], mentions of past trauma, very quick mention of kaz's haphephobia Genre: action-ish, a little angst, fluff near the end Request? Yes! (@futurecorps3)

Author's Note: hello hello! so this is an absolute BEAST of a one-shot, but i couldn't figure out where to split it. i hope you all enjoy <3

Kaz sat in the far corner of the entertainment hall, nursing his drink and trying to keep his jealousy at bay. Patrons and dancers milled about, amusing themselves with conversation, cards, or propositions. A few disappeared up the rickety stairs to amuse themselves, laughing and stumbling with drinks in one hand and cigarettes in the other. The room reeked of smoke, liquor, and sweat.

He was only here for your sake. If he were smart, he would be anywhere else, certainly not in some up-and-coming gang's crumbling entertainment hall. If he could, he would leave you to play your part. You could hold your own just fine, no protection from Kaz needed; but jealousy had him rooted to his teetering stool in the corner, with his watered-down liquor in a gloved hand and a scowl on his face. He couldn't bring himself to leave. Not when three dozen men were staring at you in a tiny dress that hugged your waist.

You'd paid a hefty sum for the chance to dance on the stage; from your position, you could survey the bar for the man calling himself the leader of such an establishment. Armed with a description of the wannabe gang leader and three knives hidden under your sparkling red dress, you circled the shimmering pole in the center of the stage and traced your gaze over the people watching you.

There was no sign of the target, Pieter Gabel. It took every ounce of your self-control to resist a sigh, and you decided to do a lazy spin around the pole to amuse your audience. A few men whistled as you hooked your arm around the pole and spun, letting the light catch in the faux diamonds threaded in your hair. You settled on the ground again and tossed your hair over your shoulder, scanning the crowd for the only set of eyes that mattered.

You didn't find Kaz in the crowd. Not that you expected to. Instead, you caught his gaze from across the room, his icy blue eyes illuminated by a near-snuffed candle on his table. To anyone else, he looked as indifferent as ever, maybe vaguely interested in the spectacle on stage. But you saw the slant of his mouth, the clench of his jaw, how something dark glimmered in his eyes, perhaps a promise of violence. He didn't like all the attention on you.

So you offered a small smile, a look reserved for him and him alone. You'd apologize later, but he'd understand. You were doing what needed to be done. The stage gave you the best vantage point in the building, and Gabel had to be found and driven out of the city. The Barrel was tense enough while the remnants of the Dime Lions attempted to regroup; the Dregs needed to eliminate any rising threats as soon as possible.

You and Kaz both knew that. He'd forgive you once you were off that damn stage and by his side, helping him rule the Barrel.

For years, crowds of tourists and too-rich men waited at your feet, leering at you like you were nothing more than a pretty face and a body to buy, bed, or watch with predatory glints in their eyes. They didn't bother to see past the costume and see how sharp and dangerous you could be. To them, you were nothing more than a piece of entertainment.

But Kaz saw right through the ruse and saw every jagged scar your past had left. He saw how Ketterdam had sharpened you into a dangerous weapon, ready to wreak revenge on a city that had hurt you deeply.

Like called to like. Your similar tastes for vengeance pulled Kaz toward you, despite all attempts on his end to ignore the summons. For years after you joined the Dregs, he settled for admiring you from afar until you got sick of his shit and told him to either do something about his feelings or quit scaring off everyone who looked your way.

You didn't say it so kindly, of course, and Kaz reluctantly admitted you had a point, though he knew it was a bad idea to indulge his feelings and yours. But he had, and he couldn't bring himself to regret it. The year since had passed in stolen moments after jobs, in the shadowed corners of the Crow Club during the slow hours, and peaceful mornings and evenings in either of your rooms.

Your set was coming to an end, and there was still no sign of the target. After one final circle around the stage, one last attempt to entice more kruge to fall at your feet, you slipped through the moth-eaten curtains behind the poles and left the cheering audience behind you.

As soon as their eyes left your body, you shuddered, clasping your hands over your forearms and making a beeline for the back hallway leading to the dark, rotting dressing rooms. As soon as you could, you pulled on the coat Kaz had given you, an exact match to the one he usually wore but tailored to your size. It was fur-lined, and it covered you up. Exactly what you needed to battle the cold shame beginning to cling to your skin after your performance.

No matter how often you put on the ruse and brought your old life back from the dead for a night, it was a feeling you could never shake. Being with Kaz, knowing he was out there and he would never judge you for your past, helped. More often than not, he was the one telling you that you didn't have to do this; there were other ways to spot your targets, to bring them down. He made sure you knew you didn't need to be exploited anymore. All you needed to do was have your weapons and wit ready.

But using the sins and vices of Ketterdam against itself was the easiest way to do this. It gave you power, something you didn't have during your days as a showgirl. Before, you were a puppet. Now, you were the puppetmaster, fueled and encouraged by someone equally as dangerous as you. He would never allow Ketterdam to suck you back into that life again. You would never let yourself.

As you slipped back into the crowd, you were pleased by the anonymity of wearing a coat and removing your elaborate makeup. You crossed the entertainment hall to Kaz's shadowy table and settled on the stool across from Kaz.

His eyes turned toward you, landing on your freshly-bound hair and the grim expression on your face. "Are you alright?" he said quietly. Though his face didn't change, you knew he was concerned. He always was after you came off the stage.

Kaz passed you his drink, and you lifted it to your lips and took a sip. The liquid stung on its way down, and you wrinkled your nose. "I'm fine. But I understand why you look so miserable." You pushed the glass back toward him. "That's disgusting."

"But an excellent business tactic," Kaz muttered. "People buy more drinks." He knocked back the rest without flinching and set the glass down with a thump.

"Any sign of him?" you murmured, lowering your voice and leaning across the table so Kaz could hear. The hair on the back of your neck was prickling uncomfortably, and you felt the weight of unfamiliar eyes on you. "Someone's watching us." You tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear and made a show of placing your chin in your palm and peeking through your eyelashes up at Kaz. You needed to look as unbothered as possible by your audience's attention, which meant putting on your facade again.

For a moment, Kaz didn't realize that you had hinted for him to look around for Gabel. He was distracted by the dancing of the fading candlelight in your eyes, how it cast the shadow of your eyelashes upward, how it illuminated the curve of your lips. They looked soft and tinted red from the lipstick you wore on stage, and he imagined how warm they felt against his when he dared to kiss you.

There was nothing else in the hall but you and your lips and his thoughts spinning in a million directions.

He blinked, breaking from his trance. He blamed the sweltering heat of the building for the heat rising in his cheeks as he looked around for the eyes he could now feel on him. Nobody caught his attention at first, and then he saw a figure across the hall. The man was leaning against a dented, grimy wall and watching you too closely for your comfort.

You followed Kaz's icy, suddenly furious gaze to the man in a poorly-tailored suit that didn't match and was most likely stolen. His watch was clearly fake, and his jewelry had an artificial glimmer. His gang, if you could call it that, was barely above water; you could tell from his poor attempt at looking flashy and put together, as Per Haskell or Pekka Rollins had before being ousted.

"I'll get him alone," you whispered. You moved to slide from your seat, but Kaz's cane pressed against the top of your shoe to keep you still. Your eyes flicked to him, and you raised a brow. "Kaz?"

"No," Kaz said firmly. "You've done enough."

The mere thought of you being alone with him, even long enough for Kaz to trail the two of you and land a strike on Gabel, infuriated him. He knew why the man was looking at you and could guess what was running through his mind. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the man hoped he had a chance with you. Kaz didn't want to put you at risk.

"If you approach him, he'll bolt," you argued. You nudged Kaz's cane off your foot and turned to face him again. You plastered on a sweet smile like you weren't disagreeing with him about how best to neutralize the man practically salivating across the room. With luck, it would only appear that you were trying to convince him to pass over enough kruge for you to pay for another set of dances on stage. You hoped it was convincing.

"If you approach, he'll think it's his lucky night," Kaz ground out between his teeth. His fingers twitched around the top of his cane. What he would give to hit him hard enough to see stars. Or the Saints above. "You've done enough," he repeated, softer this time. He could see you itching to shed your act of seductive showgirl as soon as possible. He refused to ask for any more of it from you.

You sighed deeply. There was no arguing with Kaz. "What's your plan to approach him without scaring him off? Would you like to borrow my dress?"

Kaz glared at you. "Funny."

"Red's not your color anyway." Your lips twitched with a smile, and you turned your gaze to the stage. You thought back to your view of the entire building, a cramped, dilapidated theatre. The first floor was where the musicians used to sit and play; the second contained a semicircle of private boxes where the rich would sit, smoke, and indulge in their vices during the plays happening below.

It was the perfect place to go unnoticed or gather attention.

You leaned forward again, and Kaz raised a brow at your invasion of his space. "I have an idea," you murmured. You slipped your fingers into your hair and retrieved a sparkling pin. Leaning forward until your face was mere inches from Kaz's, you dropped it into his gloved palm. Shimmering, obvious bait you hoped the target would take. "There's an empty box upstairs," you whispered. Keenly aware of the unwelcome eyes on you, you looked up through your eyelashes again at Kaz. "Fourth door."

Kaz had to remind himself to keep breathing as you stood up and walked toward the stairs to the second floor. He could still smell your perfume and the product Nina had helped put in your hair before you left for the job; beneath that, something intoxicatingly you. His head spun, and he forced himself to stand and follow, closing his fingers around the hairpin you'd deposited in his palm.

Saints, this was a bad idea. He was too distracted to figure out what plan you were concocting. All he could think about was you. Your lips, your eyes, how you were thinking so quickly on your feet about how to eliminate Gabel. You were his match sculpted by some divine presence: his intellectual equal, a beautiful drug that appealed to every instinct he thought had drowned with Kaz Rietveld in the harbor.

Ketterdam had underestimated you, but it brought you to him. For once, he couldn't curse the city for something.

He followed you up the stairs and into the private box, his heart pounding in his chest and his mind muddled by the burning hairpin in his hand. Distantly, he sensed that the two of you were being followed. Your plan, no doubt.

Right, yes. The plan you had.

The private box was small, with a row of two seats in the front and a row of three on a step just above that. The upholstery was covered in grime and dirt from lack of maintenance since the theatre's abandonment, and the wooden arms of the chairs were rotten and crumbling.

You were perched on the step between the two rows of seats, tugging on a pair of boots you'd stashed earlier. You'd also pulled on trousers and tucked the short dress into them, making your outfit more comfortable and functional.

"Are we killing him or just scaring him?" you asked, pulling a knife from the hidden inner pocket of your coat as you tugged it back on over your new outfit. "I think roughing him up would get the point across nicely. I'd hate to get too much blood on this coat."

"That would be a shame," Kaz managed to answer. He handed you your pin and watched you slip it back into your hair. He took a position by the door, hoping the distance would help him focus. "Scare him first."

You nodded and settled in the least grimy seat. Slow footsteps creaked up the stairs, followed by long pauses between each step. The man hoped to go unnoticed and unheard, likely to ambush the two of you as you supposedly indulged in each other.

You twirled your knife across your knuckles, listening to the footsteps approach down the carpeted hall. Kaz gripped his cane tighter and pressed himself flat against the wall, using the shadows to his advantage. He adjusted his grip and raised it, ready to bring it down.

The footsteps stopped outside the door, and you plastered on your sweetest smile. But your fingers were curled around the hilt of your blade, and it glittered with the promise of violence. Such a contrast from the sparkling, luxurious diamonds in your hair earlier, which promised only pleasure.

The door creaked open, and Pieter Gabel stepped into the trap. His lips curled into a smug smirk as he saw you all alone, and an oily strand of hair dropped onto his forehead. He reeked of alcohol and pride, but you maintained your facade as he leaned against the doorway. "Didn't take you up on your offer for a dance, did he?"

Kaz stiffened behind the door, his muscles coiled to strike.

You looked Gabel up and down as if seriously considering his presence as an alternative. Really, you were searching his form for weapons. But he was arrogant and unchallenged thus far; he didn't think the Dregs would come for him so soon.

He was making this too easy.

"He got a better offer from someone else," you said, lifting your shoulders in a delicate shrug. Behind the door, Kaz wrinkled his nose. There wasn't an offer in the world that could tempt him away from you.

You pretended not to notice Kaz's disgust and inspected your nails instead. "Hoping to take his place?" You felt as though you were about to vomit. On stage, it was easy enough to focus only on Kaz and pretend he was the only one watching. But with only this man's gaze crawling over your face, you felt like you were back to your showgirl days: exploited and barely scraping by.

Breathe.

"Perhaps." Pieter shrugged off his ill-fitting topcoat and tossed it to the floor. You nearly gagged on the smell of alcohol wafting off of it, and it took most of your self-control to stay unaffected as he prowled closer. "I'll pay for your next set." He nudged the door shut behind him.

In his inebriated state, he was unaware of the dangerous presence behind him, whose eyes lit up with fury as the target moved toward you. He was only a foot away.

I am not a puppet, you thought. I am in control. With one flick of your wrist, your dagger could be buried beneath his ribs. His blood would seep out, and he'd be nothing more than a man who failed to make Ketterdam know his name. In hours, the city would move on; the dancers would leave, and his followers would scatter and be absorbed into other gangs.

You held this man's fate in your palms, and he didn't even know it. The thought morbidly reassured you.

Kaz saw the decision flicker through your eyes and took a silent step forward. But he didn't strike, watching as you slipped out of your seat and rounded it, revealing the dangerous glimmer of your dagger.

"I have a better offer," you said, twirling the blade in your hand.

Gabel paled, and some semblance of understanding and fear passed through his bloodshot eyes. He stumbled back to put some distance between you, and Kaz was ready. He brought his cane down on the back of one of his knees, making the man grunt and fall forward.

You brought your foot down on his hand as he caught himself, and a wicked rush of satisfaction ran through you as the bones snapped beneath your weight. He cried out and went to grab your ankle with his unbroken hand, but you kicked it aside as Kaz swung the crow's head of his cane downward.

Gabel roared in pain and hunched forward, covering the gash in his temple with his crooked, bruising fingers. Blood seeped between them and down the side of his pale face, and it started to drip onto the carpeted floor.

A heartbeat later, Kaz shoved Gabel's hands away from his face and hooked his cane horizontally across the man's throat. Kaz hauled the man back so he was forced to look up at you. He choked on the wood pressing against his windpipe and fought against the gloved hands holding him in place, and Kaz pulled his cane back to cut off the rest of his air. Gabel's eyes bulged, and he tried to pull the weapon away from his throat; it was no use, and Kaz nodded for you to speak.

"It's my understanding that you think you have a chance at filling the power vacuum left by Pekka Rollins," you said. Gabel's eyes darted away from you as you advanced, and you positioned the tip of your blade against the corner of his eye. It nicked the skin, and blood dripped down his cheek like a gruesome red tear. His gaze turned back to you. "Unfortunately, you treaded too closely into the Dregs' territory and threatened our business. Kaz Brekker is willing to forgive it on three conditions. Wheeze if you're listening."

Gabel let out a barely audible noise of confirmation.

"Good," you said. You held up a finger. "One, you leave the Barrel. Two, you liquidate your possessions here before you leave. And three, you give that money to your dancers and your grunts." The last point was solely your idea; you hadn't discussed it with Kaz, but it was important enough that you would risk his anger at not being informed first.

You wanted to give the dancers and grunts the choice to get out. It would give them power over their fate you didn't have when you were on that stage.

You pressed the edge of your dagger against the underside of Gabel's chin, watching his lips turn blue. "Do we have a deal?

Kaz loosened his grip on his cane, and Gabel gasped for air. "Speak," he said quietly. There was no shortage of danger in his voice, and Kaz kept his cane braced just tight enough against the man's throat that he couldn't get out of this. There was only one answer available to Gabel if he wanted to live.

"Fuck you," Gabel wheezed.

It was a poor choice.

"I'm going to let you try that again," you hissed. Kaz tightened his grip on the cane again as your blade parted skin. Blood oozed down the metal, and you stopped when the cut was just deep enough for him to understand you were serious. Gabel writhed, trying to fight free. But you hadn't pulled your dagger away, and he only succeeded in cutting himself deeper. "Do. We. Have. A. Deal?"

Gabel finally nodded as best he could with the wooden cane in his way.

You pulled back. "Wonderful." You sheathed your knife inside your coat and met Kaz's gaze. "He's all yours."

Kaz released Gabel, who slumped to the side and clutched his throat. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, but it contracted sharply when Kaz brought the blunt end down on his ribcage. Gabel howled in pain and curled his legs to his chest. "You close today, and the dancers get their money by the end of the week," Kaz growled. "If my Dregs see your face on this side of the East Stave, she," he jerked his chin toward you, "will not be so kind again. And when she's finished with you, I'll ensure nobody finds your body."

He lifted his cane from Gabel's chest and held his hand out to you. You took it, and Kaz led you out of the trap you'd set, down the stairs, and out of the theatre, leaving the sultry music and spluttering excuse of a gang leader behind you.

The two of you moved quickly back into Dregs territory, and Kaz kept his hand around yours the whole time. You waited to speak until you were sure nobody was following, and your shoulders remained tense until your surroundings looked familiar again.

Once the Slat was in view, you glanced up at Kaz. "Do you think he'll actually do it?" you asked. You squinted in the early dawn light. Between the buildings, the sun was beginning to rise; you'd been gone longer than you thought.

"If he has any sense of self-preservation, he will," Kaz answered. He looked down at you, and he evaluated your face. He recognized the worried set of your lips, how you seemed to be waiting for something. "You didn't think I'd follow through on the conditions you set."

"I knew you'd follow through, but I thought you'd be upset I didn't discuss it first." You knew Kaz would never deny anyone their freedom. You just knew he didn't like being left in the dark.

You followed Kaz into the sleepy, abandoned Slat and up the long flights of stairs to his room. Along the way, you shed your coat and threw it over your arm, itching to get out of your dress as soon as possible. Now that you were out of the theatre and back in your domain, you were reminded that you were free. You had control. There was no reason you had to stay in the costume or wear one ever again.

Once in his attic room, you tossed your coat over the rickety chair in the corner and helped yourself to one of his spare undershirts while he sat on the edge of his bed and removed his gloves. You could feel his eyes on you as you untucked the short dress from your pants and pulled it over your head, revealing the skin of your back. Kaz saw the physical scars of years past, visible now in the yellow-orange of the sunrise. He wanted to trace them and kiss the ones along your spine.

He wanted to remind you that you were free and apologize for you playing this role, even though those days should be behind you.

Unaware of his thoughts, you pulled the shirt over your head to conceal most of your scars and turned to face Kaz. He dropped his gaze to his shoes, starting to loosen the laces.

You crossed the room and sat beside Kaz. For a moment, you were silent, figuring out what to say. How to tell him how much his support meant. "Thank you," you finally whispered. It felt as if your scars were floating to the surface of your skin for only him to see. Some bubbled up your throat and past your lips, making you flush as you spoke. "For a long time, I wished I had a choice. I hope that the money gives them a choice. I hope that the ones who want to get out can, and I hope the ones who stay use the money however they want. I don't want them to end up like how I was until I joined the Dregs."

A puppet controlled at the whims of others.

"Don't thank me," Kaz said quietly. "You helped them. You gave them what you didn't have in their position and finished the job. As long as the job is over and you're unharmed." He took your hand in his again and laced your fingers together. His gaze met yours, and you saw an unexpected seriousness in his eyes. "You're alright?"

"I'm alright," you said softly. There was residual coldness from being on stage, from having to step into those shoes for even one set of songs, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been. You had given the dancers and grunts of the former gang the means to escape the Barrel if they chose, and you secured the Dregs for now.

Protecting the Dregs was a violent cycle of blood, ambushes, fighting, and temporary security. But if some good came out of it and the past you couldn't erase, maybe it wasn't the worst thing in the world. You had some security. You had control over your future.

And you had Kaz, who would be damned if he let Ketterdam take either of those things from you. He'd reduce the city to rubble if it meant keeping the fire in your eyes that he had seen when you first joined the Dregs; then, it was a spark, a hint of what could be. Now, it was an inferno that Kaz would gladly let consume him.

Kaz leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Nausea twisted in his stomach, and Kaz had to pull his hand out of yours to bear the feeling of his lips on your skin. Still, you smiled and let your eyes slip shut as he somehow said exactly what you needed to hear, what soothed the aching in your chest as the painful memories of a few years ago threatened to make themselves at home.

"Get some rest," he murmured. "I'll get rid of the costume."

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yoda, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3, @statsvitenskap, @sapphiccloud, @casualladyinternet, @d34drapunzel, @noctemys, @whitejxsmine, @so6, @franzelt

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kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay · 9 months

Text

I'm here

Summary: Natasha holds you as you fall apart.

Pairing: Natasha Romanov x Reader

(No use of descriptive words for Reader's appearance. If you do stumble across one, please let me know and I'll immediately find a more inclusive alternative)

Warnings: 18+, mental breakdown, work stress, feeling overwhelmed by everything, tears, lots of tears, hurt/comfort, fluff, hugs and kisses, Natasha being a perfect human being and pure soul

Word count: 1.1k

Author's note: Comforting fluff and angst for everyone who just needs a damn break from life. I wrote this for @romanoffsbish because I wanted to give you something nice 🖤 I hope you like it ☺️😳

...

Your hands blindly reach out for your caffeinated drink of choice, downing the last dregs before pushing the empty container to the side with a grumble.

You blow out an agitated sigh, eyes narrowing at the papers scattered across your desk. The black letters are barely readable in the dim light ofyour laptop screen.

Your eyes are burning, lids heavy as you fight to keep them open. You can't stop now. There's still too much to do, too many things to take care of. They just keep piling up, as soon as one thing is crossed off the list three new ones are added and you are drowning in the attempt to stay on top of the ever growing work load.

The sky outside your window is dim, the last rays of light vanishing on the horizon as the bright artificial lights of civilization take over the evening sky.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. Your teeth dig into your lower lip as you look at the mess of unfinished work spread out in front of you. Tears rise in your eyes and you tear your gaze away from the papers to stare at the ceiling.

Heavy breaths rattle in your chest as your throat starts closing up, the overwhelming pressure of life swamping you.

Your fingers desperately twist the fabric of your shirt and you can't keep the tears from falling. They roll hotly down your face, collecting at your trembling chin before sliding down your throat and wetting the collor of your shirt.

“Fuck,” you curse breathlessly, your voice shaky and unsteady. “I can't do this anymore. I just can't.”

Giving in to the tears you slump forward, elbows resting on the desk as you bury your face in your clammy hands. There's no holding back the mental breakdown bearing down on you with crushing might.

“God, I can't,” you sob, shoulders shaking with grief and overwhelm.

Broken sobs shake your body, tears dripping down your face, snot clogging up your nose and mixing with the tears.

You are so caught up in losing your mind, you don't hear the scraping sound of the front door or the whisper of quiet footsteps drawing closer.

“Sweetheart?”

You jerk up, startled by the sudden sound of a voice. Your heart starts pounding in your chest and you do your best to wipe your teary, snotty face with your shirt before glancing over your shoulder.

Natasha stands in the doorframe, her soft, red hair pulled up into a messy bun. She eyes you with concern, a sad slant to her full lips as she studies the part of your face that she can see from her position.

“Hi,” you choke out nasally, still trying to compose yourself. Natasha isn't supposed to see you like this. Weak, messy, desperate.

“What's going on, sweetheart?” she calls out softly and approaches until she stands next to you. One of her warm hands comes to rest on your shoulder, but you turn your head away, not wanting to reveal your puffy, tear-stained face.

Natasha is having none of it. She pulls your chair away from the desk and reaches out to grasp you chin between her fingers, forcing you to face her.

“What has you so upset, hm? What can I do to make it better?”

“It's nothing,” you try to deflect, squirming in her grip. But she doesn't allow you to turn away.

“It's not nothing if it makes you cry. Tell me.”

“It's stupid. Just... too much work. I have so many things to do and I don't know where to start. No matter what I do, I can't stay on top of all of it and it just keeps getting more,” you start, reluctant at first, but as soon as the first few words are out, it's as if the floodgates have been opened.

“I barely have time to relax, all I can think about the tasks still waiting for me, the neverending list of things that need to be done and I just can't- I'm tired, I'm so tired. I can barely get out of bed in the morning but I still can't sleep when I go to bed at night. There's just too much, too much to do, too many thoughts in my head, too much- I can't I don' wanna-”

The breakdown is in full swing now and the tears resurface as you crumple under Natasha's gaze.

The red-head moves quickly, pushing her hands under your arms to keep you from folding in on yourself completely. She hoists you to your feet before taking your place on the chair and pulling you into her lap.

“Shhh, it's okay. I got you,” she whispers, one hand stroking up and down your shaking back while the other holds the back of your head, tucking you comfortably into the crook of her neck.

You mindlessly burrow into her embrace, arms winding around her body to have something to hold onto while you fall apart.

Natasha holds you through all of it, the tears, the choked sobs and violent trembling shaking your exhausted body. She coos calming words at you, kissing the top of your head and humming to you to bring you down to earth.

Eventually, your sobs quieten down, tears slowing and allowing you to see more clearly.

“You're okay, I'm here,” Natasha mumbles, giving your body a little squeeze.

You stay silent, head tucked away in the crook of her neck as your breathing slowly calms down and grows more even, matching Natasha's steady breaths.

“I- I just want a nice, easy life. Is that too much to ask,” you croak out tearily, voice muffled against Natasha's skin.

The red-head hums, her hands slowly caressing your back.

“Not at all,” she says after a moment of silence.

You scoff, though there's no bite behind it. You're too wrung out to feel upset.

“Then why is everything so difficult? Why is everything more than I can handle,” you ask, not expecting an answer. Natasha gives one anyway, but not one you expect.

“We'll figure it out, love. Make plans for you, charts and lists to keep track of things. Keep everything managable,” she says and kisses the side of your head. “I'm here for you.”

The sincerity in the red-head's voice makes you tear up again. You cling to her and rub your face on your shoulder, brushing away the tears that threaten to fall.

“Thank you,” you mumble and turn your head enough to kiss her neck.

“You're welcome, sweetheart,” Natasha replies softly, slowly rocking the two of you in your desk chair. “Now rest. I have you.”

Closing your tired eyes, you do as Natasha tells you, drifting off into a deep slumber in the loving embrace of your girlfriend.

...

:'D

I need Natasha so bad, pleeaaase *whines*

#natasha romanov #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanov fic #comfort fic #angst #hurt/comfort #all the comfort #and love #drabble #i think #kinda long for a drabble #one-shot it is

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suitkive · 1 year

Text

✩ just swinging by — k.yh

pairing. yoohyeon (dreamcatcher) x fem reader

summary. ever since the mysterious web-swinging spider-woman first collapsed on your balcony by accident after a long night out fighting crime, she keeps coming back around with thank-you gifts and excuses to see you—and you slowly start to find yourself falling for the clumsy, kindhearted girl behind the mask.

info. college au, yoohyeon as spider-woman

warnings. swearing, blood/injury

word count. 4.6k (oops)

(a/n) insp. this moodboard i made a while ago :D

of all the things you were expecting to happen to you on a typical sunday night, the sudden appearance of a masked vigilante at your balcony was most certainly not one of them.

alright, rewind a bit. a CRASH jolts you awake in the middle of the night—though really it's morning, according to the glowing red digits on your alarm clock that read 3:49 AM—and you nearly fall out of your bed because that was loud, what the hell?

nerves running high and any remnants of sleep completely shaken out of your body, you get out of bed and slowly open your bedroom door only to be met with a blast of frigid night air. you blink a few times, just to make sure you're not seeing things.

"what the fuck," you say out loud.

your balcony door is gone.

no, wait—it's broken. shards of glass are everywhere, and there's a giant gaping hole where the sliding door used to be. and lying crumpled in a heap on the floor in front of it…

you fumble for the light switch, something you probably should've done as soon as you opened the door. the sight that greets you when the light turns on makes you wonder if you're still dreaming, because this can't actually be happening.

there is a superhero on your balcony.

and she's bleeding all over your carpet.

"oh my god—" you hurriedly rush over to get a better look. red-and-blue spandex that's torn in several places, a trail of spiderwebs clinging to her wrists, a large spider symbol printed on the front and back of her suit… it's spider-woman. spider-woman just crashed through your balcony door.

and she's bleeding. on your carpet.

"okay," you mumble, trying to think. at least the fresh night air coming from the massive hole in your balcony door does well to invigorate you. "okay, okay, i need to do something… oh god, my landlord is gonna be so pissed at me—"

the body on the floor lets out a weak groan, and you quickly kneel down next to her. "hello? are—are you okay?"

with great difficulty, the girl struggles to lift up her head. her mask obscures the entirety of her face, so you have a hard time telling whether or not she's fully conscious.

"…ow," she croaks out at last, and then her head falls back to the floor with a thunk. seconds later, her chest begins to slowly rise and fall. a soft snoring sound emits from her mask.

you take a deep breath. okay. you can deal with this.

so here you are almost three hours later, nursing a cup of much-needed coffee as you stare contemplatively at the now-bandaged but still-snoring superhero laid out on the couch in front of you. you had done your best to clean and treat her wounds with your limited medical knowledge (and the suspiciously well-stocked first aid kit that your weird roommate handong keeps in the cupboard), so now you're just waiting for her to wake up. which is taking way too long.

the clock on the coffee table reads 6:15 AM, and you glumly swish around the cold dregs of your morning coffee. it's almost time for you to leave for your 6:30 chemistry class, but it looks like spider-woman is still completely out of it.

after pacing around the kitchen of your tiny apartment for five more minutes, you impulsively grab a post-it note and scribble down a message for spider-woman to see when she wakes up. thankfully your roommate is literally never home, so there's no chance of anyone coming in here and discovering the superhero conked out on your couch.

you sign your name at the bottom of the note and stick it to spider-woman's forehead, hoping she'll be alright. as for your balcony door… thinking about how much it's going to cost to install a new one gives you a headache, so you just stick a large sheet of cardboard over the opening and resolve to take care of it as soon as you get home.

"this has been a very, very weird morning," you say out loud, because nothing about this feels real.

(then again, the tedious hours you spent cleaning up bits of glass from the floor and picking the webs off of spider-woman's suit definitely felt pretty real.)

you throw one last glance at the sleeping heap on your couch before you leave, only hoping that your life will get back to normal after today.

yoohyeon wakes up disoriented, aching all over, and with the horrifying realization that she has most definitely slept past all five of her monday morning alarms.

she blinks sleepily, slowly processing her surroundings. she's lying on a couch, someone has bandaged her wounds and swaddled her in blankets, yubin probably, she's an angel and the best guy in the chair yoohyeon could ever ask for and… whoa, wait a minute.

this isn't her apartment.

with that horrifying realization, yoohyeon sits straight up and whips her head around in a panic. her surroundings are entirely unfamiliar, and she's about to call yubin before remembering that yubin is unreachable right now—away on some sort of top-secret mission that's supposed to last, like, three months. yoohyeon groans. why am i actually the worst superhero ever?

then she realizes that there's something stuck to her forehead and reaches up to find a neon green sticky note with some writing on it, which she slowly reads through with a good deal of trepidation.

hey, you crashed into my apartment last night—you were unconscious but i didn't see your face, don't worry! i fixed up your injuries as best i could but now i need to leave for class, so i hope you'll be okay when you wake up. just remember to put the cardboard back over the balcony door so birds won't fly in or anything :)

phew. so yoohyeon's secret identity hasn't been leaked, that's a relief… but she essentially broke into an innocent civilian's apartment, which she doesn't exactly feel great about. i need to make this right.

"oh, wait—" yoohyeon realizes something and jumps to her feet, the blankets falling around her. "shit, i'm late for class!"

you're dutifully taking notes as the professor drones on about chemical equations, though you're struggling to stay focused—seriously, who decided that 6:30am classes on a monday was a good idea?—when suddenly the doors to the lecture hall burst open and a girl runs in, flushed and panting heavily.

"i am so sorry," she wheezes, bracing her hands on her knees to catch her breath. "i overslept…"

the professor sighs and waves off her apology. "don't let it happen again," he says sternly, then continues his lecture.

you cast the girl a curious glance as she shuffles shamefully to an empty seat and starts unpacking her things. she's tall and lanky, with long two-toned hair tied in a haphazard ponytail and glasses that she has to push back up when they start to slip down her face. you make eye contact for a brief moment, then you resume paying attention to the professor without giving the encounter too much thought.

after classes end, you go back to your apartment to find the place superhero-less. the blankets are folded messily on the couch and there's a small tear in the cardboard that's covering the opening in your balcony, as if someone was in a hurry to leave.

you shrug off your bags with a sigh and go to dial up your landlord.

almost a week passes without further incident. you get your balcony door replaced so it's like nothing ever happened, and your life is just starting to get back into the usual swing of things when spider-woman shows up at your balcony again.

a thump is what wakes you up prematurely this time—it's literally 5am which is way too early for a saturday morning of all days—and you groggily stumble out of your bedroom, fearing the worst. you know it can't be a burglar since you live on the seventh floor, so there's only one person it could be…

luckily, the glass door is fully intact when you pull back the curtains to check. however, there is currently a superhero lying curled in a ball on your balcony. a very familiar superhero wearing a red-and-blue suit with a spider symbol on it.

"oh… oh, no," groans spider-woman when she hears you slide open the door. she weakly tries to drag herself to her feet, but she slumps back to the ground and you notice, with concern, the bleeding scratches all over her body. "oh man, i did it again… i'm so sorry, i'm gonna leave, just… wow you're so pretty… sorry, i should really leave—"

"no, it's okay!" you rush to reassure her, kneeling down next to her and offering your hand. "you can't go back out there like that, let me help you."

she winces, though whether it's from pain or embarrassment you can't tell. "i am so sorry," she repeats, and something about her voice seems oddly familiar, but you're too preoccupied with getting her inside to dwell on that.

the superhero keeps rambling as you half-drag, half-carry her to the couch. "i didn't mean to come here again, it's just i usually go to my friend's place when i'm injured but she's away and i got lost and mistook your apartment for mine the last time and i'm really sorry about breaking your door, it was just so dark and i had a really long day and i wasn't thinking straight and i probably gave you so much trouble—ow!"

"sorry!" you flinch and let go of her. "is your arm okay? what happened?"

"i… um." spider-woman chuckles nervously. "i kind of swung into a building? i didn't break any windows or anything! i might've broken my arm though."

you can't help but laugh, finding her awkward manner strangely endearing. "let me take a look, it might be dislocated or something."

it turns out it's just bruised, so you get her some ice and busy yourself fixing up her injuries. she repeatedly tries to convince you that she can do it herself in between a steady stream of more apologies, but she looks like she's one step away from passing out, so you insist on helping her.

"how'd you get all these cuts and scratches, anyway?" you ask, opening the bottle of antiseptic and setting out some gauze. "if you don't mind me asking, that is."

"no, it's fine! um…" spider-woman tilts her head, as if trying to remember. "the ones on my ribs are from some muggers with knives, kids really but there were four of them and only one of me so yeah… and the ones on my arms are from the black cat, you know, my nemesis? she was robbing a jewelry store and i managed to stop her but she still escaped and also got me a few times with her claws… oh, and there's this cut on my forehead that i got when i accidentally tripped and hit my head on a wall corner a few hours ago… but i can fix that on my own! you know, cause i'd have to take the mask off for that, and like, i can't reveal my secret identity 'cause dami—that's my guy in the chair—dami would kill me, haha…"

by the time she's done talking, you've finished cleaning and wrapping all of her wounds. there's just the cut on her forehead that's left, which is still bleeding despite her flippant assurances that it doesn't even hurt.

"that looks pretty bad," you note, kneeling down beside the couch and leaning in closer to inspect it. you gently press a paper towel to the bleeding area, using your other hand to brush a stray drop of blood from her cheek. "are you able to swing like that?"

there's a beat of silence. you realize that spider-woman has gone perfectly still, and also that your faces are extremely close together.

"sorry—" you shift away apologetically, worried that you made her uncomfortable. "you probably don't like it when people touch your suit."

"it's okay!" spider-woman's voice comes out as a strangled squawk, and she quickly coughs to clear her throat. "um. i was just. surprised."

"oh… well then." you stand up and glance awkwardly around your apartment, at a loss for what to do next. "so uh… how are you feeling?"

she springs up from the couch, startling you. "a lot better, thank you so much! i've caused you way too much trouble so… i should probably get going now, huh."

"are you okay to swing with your injuries and all?" you ask as she half-walks, half-slides to the balcony in this self-consciously exaggerated way. "they looked really painful when you arrived here."

"this is nothing," she responds with a casual wave of her hand, hoisting herself up onto the balcony railing in a quick graceful movement. "i heal pretty fast, so they barely even hurt anymore."

"that's good, then." you lean against the doorframe, somewhat saddened to see her go. strangely enough, you've actually been enjoying her company despite the fact that she quite literally crashed into your apartment and woke you up in the middle of the night.

spider-woman clears her throat. "uhh—maybe i'll see you around sometime," she says, a hopeful lilt to her voice.

the sun is starting to rise, peeking over the tops of the city skyline and bathing your apartment in soft golden light. spider-woman tilts her head at you, and you're almost completely certain that she's smiling under her mask.

"yeah," you respond, smiling back and raising a hand to shade your face from the sun. "i'll see you around sometime, superhero."

spider-woman gives you a jaunty little two-fingered salute, and then she's launching herself backwards off the railing with a carefree whoop. she disappears from your view for a few heart-stopping moments, but then a web shoots up and she's swinging away in between the skyscrapers until she's out of sight.

the next day, you open the curtains to find a small bouquet of red and blue flowers sitting on your balcony. they look wind-blown and slightly frayed, and the thought of a certain superhero swinging through the city with the little pot tucked carefully under her arm makes you grin despite yourself.

you get the feeling you won't be seeing the last of her any time soon.

"um, is it okay if i sit here?"

you glance up from the chemical equations on your laptop screen, meeting the eyes of a tall girl who's fidgeting nervously with the ends of her long hair. vaguely, you recognize her as that clumsy student who ran into class late last week.

"oh, sure," you say after a confused beat, shifting over slightly to make more room for her. something about her voice rings a bell, but you're not sure why it sounds so familiar. i've probably just heard her talking to her friends before, you rationalize.

"thanks!" she sits down and starts taking out her stuff, smiling hesitantly at you. "i'm kim yoohyeon, it's nice to meet you."

she has a pretty smile, you note while you introduce yourself. "it's nice to meet you too."

yoohyeon seems shy around you and doesn't talk much, but there's something captivating about her that you can't quite figure out exactly. she pays close attention to the professor during the lecture, though occasionally you'll look over to catch her stealing glances at you—she always blushes and quickly looks away, piquing your curiosity. hmmm.

after an extremely long and boring hour, the class is over and everyone starts packing up and filtering out of the lecture hall. you're packing up as well when your arm brushes against yoohyeon's by accident, and her cheeks flush bright red as she stares at you wide-eyed.

"i—" yoohyeon clears her throat. "bye!" she squeaks, and then she's shooting out the doors before you can even open your mouth to reply.

huh, how strange.

you're studying at your kitchen table one afternoon, curtains open to let some sun into your apartment, when you hear a tap-tap-tap on your balcony door and look up to see spider-woman crouched outside.

"i hope this isn't creepy," she rushes to say as soon as you slide open the door. "i was just, er, in the area and i thought i'd swing by and say hello… um, i brought you a croissant! as thanks for, y'know, everything."

"wow, thank you," you say in surprise, taking the paper bakery bag that she's hopefully holding out to you. the chocolate croissant inside is a little flattened, but you're warmed by the gesture regardless.

"no problem!" spider-woman jumps back up onto the balcony railing, sitting and swinging her legs like a little kid. "so, uh, yeah. just wanted to do that. i hope it wasn't weird. was it weird?"

you can't help but laugh. "you're cute," you say sincerely, the words slipping out against your will—flustered, you quickly change the subject before she can notice. "um, i'm not really busy right now so… you can come in and hang out for a bit, if you want."

"really?" she tentatively slides off the railing and trots inside after you like a lost puppy. "i feel bad for intruding—ooh, were you doing homework?"

"yeah, just studying for a test," you respond, sitting down and gesturing for her to pull out a chair as well. "do you know anything about chemistry?"

"i love it!" she exclaims, perking up and scooting closer to get a better look at your notes. "i first made my web fluid in my high school chemistry lab actually, it was… well, it was a learning experience. what are you studying?"

"acid-base reactions, most of it went over my head when my professor was lecturing about it…"

before you know it, two hours have gone by in a flash. spider-woman just has this bright and likable aura around her, and as she chatters about chemistry with infectious enthusiasm and tells you funny stories about her experiences as the city's resident superhero, you find that you already feel even more at ease with her than you are with your own roommate.

"we should do this again soon," you tell her when she has to leave, standing on your balcony surrounded by the bustling sounds of the city. "and be careful, alright? don't go swinging into any more buildings."

"i promise!" she assures you with a laugh, giving you a cheerful wave before she jumps from your balcony and swings off.

after that, spider-woman starts swinging by to see you a lot more often. you can tell she still feels guilty about accidentally breaking into your apartment, because she always comes with gifts of flowers or random pastries from the bakery down the street.

"you really don't need to go to all this trouble for me," you tell her, amused, when she presents you with an entire cake.

"it's no trouble at all!" she insists cheerfully, then gasps. "unless you don't like it. do you not like it?"

"no! i really appreciate it, i promise. it's just, you don't have to get me stuff if you don't want to."

"i want to!"

it's after a few weeks of the dorky superhero swinging by your apartment that you begin to realize you might be developing a bit of a crush on her. which is ridiculous, really, considering you have no idea what she looks like under the mask and you don't know her real name either. you don't know anything about her.

but you do know her, in a way. you know that she likes to pretend she's this cool badass superhero when in reality she's just a science nerd who gets excited about mixing chemicals. you know that she loves rescuing kittens from trees even though she's scared of cats, just because it's worth it to see the relief on its owner's face. you know that she sometimes swings by elementary schools during recess because a wave or a thumbs-up from spider-woman always makes the kids' entire day. you know that she's smart, she's kind, she's clumsy, she loves helping people more than anything.

you know her well enough for your heart to flutter every time you hear her tap on your balcony door, no matter the time or reason. she usually comes by during the day now, just to bring you gifts and hang out, but every once in a while she'll still crash on your balcony in the middle of the night with injuries from fighting crime.

this is one of those nights, apparently. a forceful knock on your front door is what wakes you up at 11pm one sunday night, and you groan as you're violently dragged out of your peaceful sleep.

"coming," you mumble half to yourself, throwing a random hoodie over your pajamas and hauling yourself to the door. "i have class tomorrow, who even—"

it's spider-woman, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "hi," she croaks. the knocking must have tired her out, because she topples into your arms as soon as you open the door.

"what…" you blink groggily for a few seconds, slowly processing the girl draped all over you. your half-asleep brain notes that she's very warm. it's like a nice blanket.

then you realize that your apartment door is still wide open, and the city's most famous superhero is just standing right there in the hall where anyone could see. "what are you doing here?" you yelp, pulling her inside and hurrying to close the door. "you're in your suit and everything! did anyone see you come up?"

"dunno," she mumbles, tucking her face into the crook of your neck. "i hit my head really hard. didn't think swinging was a good idea…"

you maneuver the superhero onto your couch, and she whines when you pull away to go get the medical kit. "hurts."

"looks like there isn't any bleeding," you say, kneeling down next to the couch and examining her head. "do you think it might be a concussion?"

"probably," she rasps, squishing herself further into the couch and looking like a burrito with the blanket you put over her. "should heal in a few hours."

you furrow your brow, still not used to what she calls her spidey-healing. "okay, get some sleep. you can stay here as long as you want, alright?"

"gotta wake up early," she says drowsily. "chemistry lab tomorrow…"

you blink. you… also have a chemistry lab tomorrow. "is that so?"

"yeah." you think her eyes are closed behind her mask, but then she shifts her head slightly and giggles softly to herself. "you're sooo pretty… i was so scared to talk to you in class."

wait, what?

spider-woman keeps rambling as she drifts off to sleep. "wanted to ask you out… but i was too shy without the mask. ran away, so embarrassing…"

wait, what?

"you're really cool," she mumbles. "and nice… and pretty… i like you a lot… want to take care of you like… like you take care of me…"

a pause. "you should go out with me," she says, then falls silent. tiny snores start coming out of her mask.

you slowly stand up, head spinning with all these new revelations.

huh.

you decide to go back to sleep.

it's around three in the morning when you wake up again to the sounds of someone shuffling around in the living room. you reluctantly slide out of your nice warm bed, slipping a hoodie on and heading out of your bedroom to find the source of the commotion.

"sorry, did i wake you?" spider-woman hovers uncertainly by the open door, dressed in civilian clothes—a hoodie and sweatpants—though she still has her spider-woman mask on, which looks so ridiculous that you have to smile at the sight.

"yeah… you're leaving already?" you ask, rubbing your eyes and yawning.

"yep," she says, awkwardly shifting her bundled-up superhero suit from hand to hand. "um. you should go back to bed, i know you have an early class tomorrow…" and so do i, she thinks to herself ruefully.

"let me see you off first," you insist through another yawn, covering your mouth with one oversized hoodie sleeve. "be careful on your way down, okay?"

"i will," she mumbles shyly. you can't see it, but she's blushing so hard at the gentleness in your voice and the soft way you're looking at her that she's scared her mask might burn right off her face. i've got to leave before i do anything stupid, she thinks, embarrassed. why is she so nice… and pretty…

the superhero is halfway down the hall when you remember all of last night's events and suddenly get an idea.

"yoohyeon," you call out, leaning against your doorframe.

she stops and turns around. "yeah?"

a pause.

you see the exact moment she realizes. "i—oh fuck—i mean, um—" she flounders, wildly looking around and laughing nervously. "wh-who's yoohyeon? i'm just your friendly neighbourhood spider-kim—i mean—"

you smile teasingly. "next time you ask me on a date, do it when you're not suffering from a concussion."

you don't know what her facial expression is like under her mask, but spider-woman—yoohyeon—looks like she's about to pass out, if the way she's clutching her suit in a death grip is any indication.

your smile softens. "i like you too, just so you know. a lot." you step back inside your apartment, but then you poke your head out again (yoohyeon is still standing there, frozen in shock) and add, "come back and ask me again tomorrow, okay? properly."

you close the door and take a deep breath. you feel as if your heart had stopped beating momentarily, but now it resumes racing excitedly in your chest.

hopefully i didn't just make a huge mistake.

meanwhile, yoohyeon is practically having heart palpitations outside. she spends a while just gaping like a fish at your closed door, but then she comes to her senses and practically breaks her neck sprinting to the elevator.

oh god, i need to look nice tomorrow!

the next morning, you're sitting at the kitchen table doing some studying before class when you hear the distinct noise of feet landing lightly on your balcony outside. there's the sounds of someone pacing for a while. then a light knock sounds on the glass door, making you turn around.

it's yoohyeon. not spider-woman, but kim yoohyeon from your 6:30am chemistry class. she's wearing jeans and a turtleneck sweater, her long hair falling in soft waves past her shoulders and her dark brown eyes bravely staring into yours. in her hands is a small bouquet of red-and-blue flowers.

"did you swing up here?" you ask incredulously, tearing your eyes away from her and looking around. the sun is starting to rise, painting the sky in a soft rosy hue that matches the blush on yoohyeon's face. "did—"

"wait—please don't say anything," she interrupts, eyes squeezed shut. "before i chicken out."

she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes, meeting your gaze. "hi, i'm kim yoohyeon. um, i'm also spider-woman, and i… i'd really like to take you out on a date sometime."

she smiles hopefully at you. you step closer to her, taking the bouquet from her hands and leaning up to press a kiss to her cheek. yoohyeon's blush intensifies, and your heart soars.

"it's nice to meet you, kim yoohyeon," you tell her, matching her smile. "and i'd love to go out with you."

#dreamcatcher #yoohyeon #kim yoohyeon #dreamcatcher x reader #yoohyeon x reader #dreamcatcher imagines #dreamcatcher scenarios #kpop x reader #kim yoohyeon x reader #yoohyeon scenarios #dreamcatcher x fem reader #kpop x fem reader #THE ENDING FEELS SO RUSHED HELP but it’s done what can i do #btw: not shown are yoohyeon’s 827928918716653682 texts to dami yelling about her crush and begging her to come back 🤡

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