#i’m sure if i talked to my mother she’d be able to find one of her friends who wants help

[autistic-katara]

i hate that i’m too mentally ill nd (more importantly) too young to be a dad bcz i can feel that strange hyperfixation i had on babies and parenting as an 8-idk yr old slowly creeping back

[ch-4-eri]

LOVE POTIONS — Jill Valentine.

best friend’s mom! jill X female reader.

warnings: 18+ mdni!! age gap (don’t say i didn’t warn you) oral, dirty talk, hints at the reader being a virgin if you squint. i don’t know if i’m missing anything let me know.

word count: 1.4k

i’m so sick for this, i’ll go to hell on my own, don’t fuck your friend’s mothers guys. but do enjoy this.

you couldn’t explain it, even if you wanted, the whole thing was messy from the beginning.

it was supposed to be something innocent, completely harmless and has no threat to anyone in your life or yourself.

or your best friend.

if only you never met his mother, Jill Valentine, government agent, and a former RPD S.T.A.R.S member.

but god, you didn’t think it through.

didn’t think your attitude and the way you looked at the woman were entirely calculated, jill knew.

this woman has a love for details and reading you, every time you came over; what you’d say and what’d you do, what you’re wearing.

she’d show you she’s busy, working documents and important things for the BSAA, jill to you was just a best friend’s mother.

but you both had one hell of an unspoken sexual tension.

which you tried to hide, tried to shove in the back of your mind as your age gap is fucking nuts and you always worry someone would read your mind which isn’t even a realistic idea, but still, you were too anxious to act on it, even alone, self awareness preventing you from being able to stay in your head for long.

but jill on the other hand… when every time she analysed you, how you talk, how you act, your ass in your tiny skirts drives her fucking crazy enough she finds herself unable to sleep, her hand inside her shorts as she’s pumping herself up at the thought of you with her hand covering her mouth.

surely she felt ashamed, a woman her age acting and thinking like this, she felt so much guilt and shame for operating like a damn teenage boy riling with hormones over a girls ass in a skirt.

a girl her son’s age.

she knew if he ever found her out, he’d hate her forever and she can’t afford losing him, not after fighting for his custody for many years with her ex husband.

but that’s not what she had in mind that day, when she had you splayed down her bed so late at night, her fingers in your mouth as she ate you out like no tomorrow, your legs on her shoulders, your moans muffled by her thick fingers pressing down your tongue, drooling all over them.

“taste’s so good..” jill groaned against your clit, her mouth engulfing you, sending your back arching, she pulls away and sits up, making you ache at the loss of contact and the warmth you felt between your legs.

jill removed her fingers from your mouth, wiping your saliva off them down her bedsheets, going on her knees to meet your eyes as you were so lost in the feeling of pleasure you never got from anyone else other than this woman, a woman you shouldn’t even be doing this with.

but neither of you were even thinking of that right now.

jill had your chin in her palm as you opened your eyes, your breathing shaky and heavy, drool covering your chin as you smelled like sex and vanilla to the older woman’s nostrils.

“i want you to sit on my face, yeah? can you do that for me?” jill smirked, licking her lips with the tongue you want to be inside you again so badly.

you nodded eagerly, the thought of having her mouth against your pussy again was driving you mad with chills coursing through your body. “mhm.. yes please.” you begged, your eyes staring into hers pleadingly, like a lost puppy. fucked up enough.

jill patted your legs, lying down on the mattress of her huge bed, she wasn’t wearing anything other than her lacey bra and underwear, she was a fucking sight, you’d drool on her looks alone. even for a woman her age, she was damn delicious and you couldn’t get your eyes off her as you went on your knees and crawled to her.

she prepared the seat that was her face you were going to be sitting on for the next many minutes, hopefully hours if it were up to the older woman. moving her short brown hair away from her blue eyes you’d drown in.

as you made it closer to her, you were a bit nervous, a question rolling around your head you had to make sure of, you had to ask, as silly as it made you sound to a woman with so much experience.

“do i sit or hover?” you asked, your voice betraying you, your cheeks rosy and lips red and swollen.

jill chuckled, like she was making fun of you. “sit.” she demands. “i want you to suffocate me.” jill added, taking a hold of your thigh as she brought you closer with her strong grip.

“i want you to cum in my mouth.. am i clear, sweet girl?” she demanded as soon as you gasped, raising an eyebrow at your hesitation.

“y-yes..” you nodded like the puppy you are, you weren’t going to upset her, you hated to refuse jill.

and jill hated it when you refused her.

you finally scooted up to jill’s head, placing a knee next to her head, the other doing the same as you lowered your body so your wet pussy made contact with her nose, both of you let out a sigh while jill’s hands positioned you properly on her face, and as soon as you felt her tongue lick a long stripe up your sopping wet hole you let out a sickeningly pornographic moan, your hands grabbing at the headboard of her bed.

“ah.. jill..” you breathed, your thighs squeezing the older woman’s head, her tongue sucking and licking at your hole as she made it her sole purpose for you to cum in her mouth and if she keeps this up you’re gonna do it more than once, not that jill would complain.

her strong hands gripped your ass so tight, her tongue brutally slamming inside of you, as was her nose, sliding it up and down which drew pathetic moans out of you.

jill was humming, groaning into you, making your legs shake and your thighs closing in on her, and you were worried you were hurting her even though jill was having a fucking blast, she adored those damn thighs, if she suffocateds and dies like this it’ll all be worth it.

“please.. can’t take this anymore.” you cried out, making jill just suck at your clit like a starved woman, her body humming and shivering as she was desperate to get touched as well, rubbing her thighs together while her hands reached your hips in a bruising grip.

you were shuddering and whimpering, your legs so weak as you didn’t want to put your full weight on the woman’s face. “jill..” you moaned as she flicked her tongue against your sopping walls, your thighs filled with goosebumps.

“i’m..” you start, your lower belly so tight with a burning sensation that you were so close to your release, jill positioned you right into her mouth as she knew you were close, drinking you up as you finally gushed your orgasm down her mouth like she wanted.

“mmm..” jill mumbled, swallowing every last bit of what you can give her, you tasted like heaven, fucking delicious.

you were trying to catch your breath, your heart hammering against your rib cage as jill patted your thigh.

you weakly pulled your knee away from her head, your legs were shaking like crazy, your center so sensitive and puffy.

“i bet you can’t walk now, huh?” jill joked, sitting up on her elbows, her cheeks red from the heat of being between your thighs for as long as she just was, her nose and her lips shiny and sticky from your release and you were so sick for thinking she looked so darn good with your cum on her face.

you gulped, heat rushing into your cheeks at her words. “just a little sore.” you mumbled shyly, like you weren’t just seated on her face.

“a little sore hm? come here for me..” jill gestured for you to come closer to her. “you think you can just rest without returning the favour?”

jill smirked and brushed your hair away from your face, brushing two fingers against your hardened nipples.

“i know you can’t handle me sitting on your face… i’m afraid i’d break you entirely… but you have fingers don’t you?”

she says in a suggestive tone, grabbing your nipple into her mouth, your eyes closing at the sensation, your hands going into her hair as a moan escaped you.

jill took your hand and brought it near her panties.

then she pulled away with a pop, her blue eyes staring into yours so intensely. “now be a good girl and touch me.”

oh boy you’re screwed.

[sadesluvr]

hi! I was wondering if I could request something angst/fluff where the reader defends Mike to his aunt Jane and the custody case worker about how he gives his all to take care of Abby by himself? I wish someone could have advocated for him during the scene where they discuss the case and his aunt talks down on him a lot :’( thanks so much for sharing your writing!

A/N: Hi Anon, thank you for the ask and being patient! My inbox was a little crazy…It wasn’t specified what relationship they have, so it’s neutral, and can be read platonically or romantically. I hope you like it :) 

When Mike had asked you to accompany him to a meeting with Abby’s safeguarding officer and their she-devil of a relative - Aunt Jane - you’d said dropped your things without hesitation. You knew it was going to be rough, as the woman had been on him practically since the day their mother had been buried, but you never expected to be blindsided. Still, from the moment you’d walked into the room and seen the catatonic man with a briefcase clutched to his chest, you knew it wasn’t going to be good.

“Just look at my nephew — It's not even 10:00 and he can barely keep his eyes open!” 

That’s because he can’t sleep properly. He’s literally on prescription pills, but you wouldn’t know that, would you?

“And this degenerate is who they trust with the wellbeing of a mentally ill child?”

Degenerate was such a strong, vile word. You’d visibly flinched at it, both in disgust and agitation. Mike hadn’t seemed to react, but you knew that deep down he was internalising each and every word that was leaving the woman’s mouth. 

Abby is not mentally ill, she’s just introverted. All kids are different. 

“You’re the doctor, and you're making me feel like I'm the crazy one - and after what he did to that poor man…”

Oh, of course it was time to break out the tears. Luckily no one - bar herself - was buying it, instead producing a deep collective sigh shared between yourself, Mike and Valerie. Even though the display was all fabricated, you knew that there was a darker side to her behaviour. She’d probably grown up entitled; being able to cry her way out of things so she could mould her victim and bend those in her path to her will. You were livid, and you were sure Mike was too.

“I have tried to play nice - but I have to think about Abby now…Enough is enough - Doug —” 

The click of the briefcase and a rustling of papers brought the final blow. She wanted custody, and there was a high chance that - should the case go to court - she would get it. From the corner of your eye, you cast a glance over at Mike, watching as he let out a sigh and straightened his back as he came to terms with what was in front of him. His hands trembled slightly, and he bit his lip, mind likely racing to find the appropriate words. With a cocked brow he looked up at you, and you ran your tongue over your lips before pursing them. 

You didn’t want to hold back anymore.

“Pardon my language, but this is bullshit,” you spoke, and Jane seemed amused by your sudden aggression. Valerie looked at you with wide eyes, but subtly nodded her head for you to go on. “Mike is a good carer, and he has been for the past few years,”

“Have you not listened to anything at all?” the blonde woman scoffed. “Abby is sick. She’s not progressing like her peers,”

“Obviously, sickness runs in the family,” you said pointedly. “We’ll all be damned if Abby has a fraction of whatever you’ve got going on up there,”

“Are you implying that I’m some sort of sociopath? It’ll say a lot when a judge grants her to me instead of him,”

“Can you stop using Abby as some kind of bargaining chip?” you said, rolling your eyes. “She’s a human. A growing girl who’s lost her family at such a young age, and Mike is the only real person she has left! Yes, he’s made mistakes, but what parent hasn’t?”

Mike’s heart swelled slightly at the flippant use of such a strong word. He was always the ‘older brother’, forgetting that he was basically two things.

“Mike was barely an adult when your sister died, but he’s done a hell of a job becoming one. He’s never missed a doctor's appointment, spends half of whatever shit salary he earns on keeping clothes on her back, and he’s even sitting here silently, not acting out because Abby means just that much to him– ” you spat, feeling your heart race as it pumped blood furiously around your body. Pausing, you loosened your jaw and dropped your shoulders. Your voice had certainly escalated, and the last thing you needed was to be detained.

Mike’s brown eyes were wide, and there was a small smile that lay hidden under his flushed face. He didn’t need to say anything for you to know that he’d really fucking needed that.

“--- Take it from someone with experience…You don’t separate those two. They’re a package deal.” you said softly, glancing over at him again, reminiscing on the moment you’d met them. Being close to the pair, you’d seen it all; the good, the bad and the frequently ugly, but you’d never once doubted Abby’s love for her brother. It was evident that your speech, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t mean much, but you knew you were going to fight like hell beside Mike to make it a small part of a larger story.

They were going to get their happy ending.

[utahimesgf]

𝐨𝐞 𝐭𝐱𝐞’𝐥𝐚𝐧 ‘𝐚𝐧𝐥𝐚 𝐧𝐠𝐚 , 𝐜𝐡. 𝟎𝟏

summary: You catch Tsireya’s eye- and from that moment on you are her focus- as the same happens when you see her. Of course love blossoms quickly with the friendly Metkayina, even if you both don’t understand the deeper meaning.

warnings: .. i’m not sure

a/n: okay! I’ve re-written so many fics for Tsireya in hopes to make a good series and i hope that this one will settle my need! (reader is lo’ak’s twin sister!<3)

On pandora, love was an important concept. True love; real or not, meant the world to both the na’vi who harbored the feelings and those who bore witness to such. With clan leaders such as the olo'eyktan and tsahìk, their children are more likely to be put into arranged marriage’s.

To you, love wasn’t exactly something you were looking forward to. from a young age, you weren’t being trained to be the future tsahìk by your grandmother, Mo’at, as your sister Kiri has filled that role. You weren’t taking after your father as olo'eyktan, hence you did not spend time becoming a warrior like your brother, Neteyam. You felt as though you and your twin brother, Lo’ak, were being shoved in the middle between the eldest children and the younger child with no responsibilities to fulfill other than watch dog and babysitter. Your life in the forest was not filled with responsibilities to uphold or successes to achieve- and even when the sky people returned and your clan had to retreat to the hidden rocks of the hallelujah mountains- labeled High camp, your job was to watch over Tuk and listen to your grandmother and sister- although Tuk took an interest in Tsahìk medicine and had spent her time away, learning with mo’at and kiri. Lo’ak was still a watch dog, yet this time he was able to leave High Camp to join the war party with your older brother, the two spending much time together. You felt out of place, there was no duty for you to fulfill, and you weren’t raised to talk about who you were to marry like Neteyam and Kiri were.

Love was not a factor you’d thought much about, it was not in your mind- ever. You were too busy staying alive.

but, to young Tsireya, who is to succeed in her mother’s footsteps of becoming tsahìk, being forced to marry someone she did not know nor care for was something she’d hoped to never experience.

to the young tsakarem, love was a beautiful thing. Something special between two people that blossoms in the first few interactions of one another, it was a thing that lasts forever. being an important na’vi mostly gave Tsireya freedom to choose only men from her clan when she came of age if she did not find someone on her own sooner in her life. As the metkayina got older, she slowly discovered that it was not the male’s of the clan that her eyes were drawn to- it was the females. Their beautifully weaved chest pieces, their wonderful long hair, the softness of their eyes and smoothness of their tone- the feeling of a woman’s hand on Tsireya had her heart beating in a nervous, unfamiliar rhythm.

It was not that Tsireya did not find male’s in her clan to be unattractive, it is that the women had pulled her in closer. They’d caught her eyes away from the males and she didn’t know why. Her whole life, her mother and father had told her to find a mate, someone who could provide safety and children for her to bare, to create the next generation of leaders in Awa’atlu after her.

Tsireya could not mate with a woman. Hence, her internal conflict with herself lead to great confusion and irritation in the subject of future affairs. The tsakarem’s parents were due to notice their daughters reluctant attitude towards the subject of marriage, which was labeled as growth of the age and mood swings unlike any other. her parents had little idea of her troubles, and Tsireya couldn’t rely on anyone- not even her older brother, Ao’nung. This left her to swim in her feelings alone, wondering how she was to succeed as Tsahìk and lead a clan without a male by her side as she was raised to the accustomed idea.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Tsireya’s day in her home, awa’atlu, had started off relatively normal- the bright planet that lit up pandora showing itself after hours of hiding- village life starting early at the sight of light.

She’d gone for a deep water dive, small pocket on her skirt in hopes to find shells to make jewelry with. But, her plans were ultimately abandoned when the sight of five, unfamiliar flying creatures flew overhead. Tsireya was confused at first by the sudden darkness from below the sea floor, but curiosity came moments after. The young reef girl called an ilu to her stead, sliding on the sea creature and making her way to the shore of her island. As she came from the water, The sight of her people crowding dark blue figures caught her eye.

Awa’atlu’s tsakarem was a curious girl, so Tsireya wasted no time in slipping off her Ilu and making her way over to the scene. The reef girl moved chunks of her curly black hair from a front her face, gently tossing it behind her head while scanning the area- when Her ocean blue’s caught sight of bright green ones already looking her way. She was fascinated by the color- she’d never seen green eyes on someone before. Continuing forward slowly, she adjusted her gaze to fixate on whose eyes they were.

Ocean eyes looked to the face of the alluring, bright greens. They belonged to a forest na’vi girl- and a beautiful one at that. the girls hair was long, half-braided with flower adoring the twirls of hair and hidden places behind her ears and braids as they cascade down her back while two shorter strands encased her face- she wore a short, woven shawl decorated with flowers and vines from the trees of pandora, her hips bore a brightly colored, slanted skirt alongside a brown, leather pouch and plants- and her tail had a flower vine woven around the top.

Tsireya had been so caught up in staring at the Ometikaya, she hadn’t realized her brother and his friend speaking rude words. She quickly divided her attention to the disrespectful boys, slapping the arm of a pointing Metkayina. “Rotxo, Ao’nung.” she needent finish her sentence, her tone being enough to shut down their insults towards the forest people.

Her gaze flickered back to the dark blue skinned girl, finding her already looking in her direction. Something about her eyes was strange, almost as though she could get lost in them just by looking. There was an unfamiliar feeling in her chest as they continued to connect their eyes, a different kind of sensation inside her. Almost alike to a flickering flame, tickling the wall of her heart as her Ocean like eyes stared into forest green ones.

Tsireya’s attention was torn from you when her father flew overhead on a Skimwing, causing you and the others of your family to duck in sight of a rather large animal above you.

the interaction between her father and yours was rather short, until her mother came along. Tsireya knew that her mother was very hard headed, a fierce woman who had no trouble speaking her mind and opinions to whom she found worthy of her voice- so she knew that as Tsahìk, she would be against allowing forest na’vi to stay with them, especially in this time of war.

although there were nasty words and disagreements spewing between the two groups, Tsireya was paying little attention to it all. Her gaze was fixated on you the whole time. Watching you, curiously eyeing you with an unreadable expression. Surely you were to have noticed, right? Tsireya had thought that perhaps she was being too obvious- but, while her blue eyes stare holes into you, you seemed unbothered- focused on what was ahead of you.

The tsakarem’s focused attention was torn when her older brother tagged her arm in motion for her to follow him as the olo'eyktan motioned them over after minutes of conflict between him and ronal.

“My son ao’nung, my daughter tsireya will show your children what to do.” Tsireya was ecstatic about the prospect of teaching you her ways and sharing with you her life- happy to have the opportunity to be an ocean teacher to those who are as unfamiliar with the sea as you, and she had the opposite reaction to the news as her defiant brother, Ao’nung- as he put up protest. “but father, do i have to?-“

“it is decided.” At that queue, Tsireya stepped forward with a wide smile on her face and looked to you, who seemed to be bashful about the situation as she took your hand in hers in welcome, speaking to you and your family. “Come, i will show you our village.”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You and your siblings followed the reef girl around the village after she assisted your family in delivering their belongings to the new marui you were granted space with, your mother not very happy about the change.

Tsireya was pointing out many things to you all as you walked in the clear sand, shells poking from the small pellets every now and than. You were quite oblivious to the stares and glances you got from the chiefs daughter, her eyes constantly moving to look at you. She just seemed so friendly youd not noticed her constantly, unmoving gaze.

Your sister had noticed, though. As Kiri noticed many things about the way she looked to you and no one else.

“Come, we shall swim!” her tone was cheerful as she, her brother and the other village boy, Rotxo, dived into the clear water below a marui net. Your brothers followed suit as well- you and your sisters right after.

The water was cold on your skin at first- a chill running through your body for a split moment at the sudden change in temperature before it was normal- your eyes taking a moment to adjust to the underwater view as you followed alongside Lo’ak, who was latching onto you for stability. Even as a twin, he still latched onto you as you did him. You, lo’ak, neteyam and tuk followed after the Metkayina children underneath the water, the view from below the sea line was beautiful.

You watched with amazement as all kinds of small fish and sea animals swam around you all, hundreds of animal variety unlike any you’ve ever seen. The coral of the ocean was rough against your skin as you pushed on it for a boost through the heavy water. You looked down to see tsireya twist to view you, a big smile on her dimpled face as she watched you swim. Lo’ak pointed to them as words to follow them, of to which you did. watching the metkayina swim was like seeing a bird fly, they were such beautiful swimmers, you coming help but admire them. Lo’ak nudged your shoulder and you looked to him momentarily before you both began to swim towards the surface, heads releasing from the seas grasp as you gasp for air.

You stuck your face in the water, eyes looking down and meeting the ones who seem to find solace on you.

Tsireya made unfamiliar motions with her hands, fingers touching and holding up signs you did not understand the meaning to. You gave her a confused look, and she only smiled; using her arm to motion for you to come back and swim with them. sticking your head back up out of the water, you looked to tuk. “ready?” you asked with a small smile, looking to her nodding face as all four of you breathed in heavily once more, diving below the water towards the sea kids.

You swam down alongside tuk, who’d find solace on your arm. The reef kids swam much faster than you and your siblings, who were gliding though the water like feathers in the air. you reached your hand out on yet another set of coral, boosting yourself and tuk off of it- perusing suite after the metkayina. The fish swam around tuk, into her hair and making her giggle underneath the water- small air bubbles leaving her nose and mouth. You smiled at the sight, missing how Tsireya smiled at the sight of you.

Neteyam tapped your shoulder, pointing up to the surface in motion. You nodded, looking to the reef children as Lo’ak gestured for you all to get air as you began to swim towards the surface. the rim of the sea and the air came to view as all four of you swam up, gasping for air. Tuk had let go of your arm, moving to latch onto Neteyam.

Rotxo, Ao’nung and Tsireya had come to surface soon after you all. “are you alright?” Tsireya’s soft voice questioned, looking to you first before scanning your siblings. “you’re too fast, wait for us!” tuk placed a hand on her forehead and you brushed some hair from her eyes.

“just breathe, breathe.” Tsireya replied, and you noticed how she blinked, her nictitating membranes showing before her brother came to surf- “you are not good divers, maybe good at swinging through trees but-”

Tsireya placed a hit to his head, shutting him up. “come on bro,” lo’ak sigh out. “we don’t speak this finger talk,” Neteyam stated, motioned with his own hand. “yeah. we don’t know what you are saying.” You added, Tsireya looking at you in the eye as she replied. “I will teach you.”

“where is kiri?” Rotxo spoke up, looking around. “who?” ao’nung asked, obvious.

“kiri. where is kiri?”

“She is fine.” you replied to his question, “she adapts fast.” You smiled at Tuk when she nodded at your statement.

“We should probably find her.” Neteyam said, looking between all of you. You all dove back into the sea, now looking for your sister.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

“You must breathe,” Tsireya’s instructions were clear- her left hand on her chest and her right hand on her stomach, breathing in.

“Constrict your throat, so your breath sounds like the surf.”

“Breathe in slowly -- let your mind go clear -- breathe out slowly. imagine flicking a flame.”

you looked to Tsireya’s face, sneaking a peak through your blue eyelids. You were taken aback by her beauty. You’d been unexpressive about how you felt— it was a foreign feeling, after all.

“clearer with each breath. You must slow down your heartbeat. Breathe from down here.” Tsireya almost caught your eye, as you flickered it away quickly from her gaze as she opened her eyes to view you all- your pulse increasing.

Tsireya leant forward- putting a hand on your belly and one to your chest piece. You could’ve sworn you were blushing purple at her touch- looking elsewhere from her eyes.

“Breathe in —” you struggled to follow her instructions as she was so close in proximity, ears flickered up in concentration. “breath from down here,” her fingers pressed softly at your belly, hinting you breath from your stomach. Tsireya’s eyes were focused on your stomach, “breathe out slowly.” you did as instructed, looking down to her face as you exhaled under her command, eyes flickering between the pretty features that rest on her.

“y/n.. your heartbeat is fast.” she softly said, smiling at you. “sorry.” you breathed out a reply quickly, ears flickering downward as you bashfully looked away.

“try to focus.” you nodded your head at her words, looking forward. “breathe in - - and breathe out.” You missed Neteyam and Rotxo’s teasing looks at your interaction with the reef girl, while kiri knew her suspicions were correct and rolled her eyes at the two boys’ silliness.

“let your mind go clear.” You did as told, trying to focus on anything but how close her face was to yours. “Better.” she added, her hands removing themselves from your body slowly, trailing along your skin before she sat upright.

You didn’t know what shade you were, but by the look on Kiri’s face it was not blue. Coughing softly, you awkwardly tried to regain your composure and began to truly focus on your breathing, your seat beside Tsireya becoming one of true learning.

you continuously struggled with learning the Metkayina’s breathing techniques, you aren’t understanding the motions. Tsireya finds it difficult to teach when she has such strange feelings in her chest just as much as you find it difficult to learn from her with your own feelings.

It lead to to be behind the others, all your siblings learning how to hold their breath for minutes and minutes at a time while you were left alone to struggle with your failed technique, no matter how much Tsireya tried her hardest to assist you.

a heavy sigh left your dark blue lips, feet in the warm sand of one of Awa’atlu’s many beach shores. Kiri and tuk had gone off on an Ilu, Neteyam and lo’ak adventured out into the sea as well, and you chose not to go. Moments in silence were rare for members of your family- five kids, two protective adults. Especially as a Twin, lo’ak and yourself were bound by the womb. It isn’t everyday he leaves you, especially not in a new environment such as one surrounded by the ocean.

You’d suspected that the village children had gone with your siblings- but your accusation was shot down when you felt a soft tap of a finger pad on your shoulder. Snapping from your thoughts, you turned on your heal to face who was asking your attention- and was met only inches from the face of the village chiefs daughter. She smiled at you, her dimples were fully on display as you two made eye contact on the sandy shore, and you blinked a few times before smiling back, bashful at her grin.

“why are you not with the others?” she questioned you, her hands resting by her side. You shrugged, “I don’t know. I didn’t wanna go, i guess.” You mumbled, feet slightly digging into the sand. Tsireya’s gaze was one of deep meaning, it was almost as though you were on a strange before a thousand sets of eyes- but in reality, it was one pair that felt like thousands. “I see.” Your hand was torn from behind your back as a turquoise skinned one gripped it, “Come. I will show you something,” You followed after Tsireya as she dragged you along the beach line and into the sea shore forests, look back to you occasionally to be sure you followed after her.

The trees on Awa’atlu were pushed so close together you could almost name them as a small forest- but it didn’t make the category due to the many lines of water flowing through the ground at every turn and corner. You and Tsireya stepped in many shallow water lines on your way to a place you did not know of, but ultimately going with wherever it was she was so determined to take you.

“through here,” Tsireya’s voice was soft, her words so smooth it send a chill down your back. There was a wall of bright purple leaves littered with different shades and flowers, shells by the floor as a small stream of water passed through the wall. Tsireya released your hand, the feeling of her skin being torn off yours left your wrist to feel cold, almost hollow.

You looked back to her for reassurance, making sure you weren’t to make a fool of yourself if you walk through the leaves and into a rock hard wall. Tsireya understood your confusion, smiling while she stepped ahead of you, pushing the leaves out of her way and walking through the unfamiliar entrance to an unknown place. You watched as she disappeared behind the growth, and you nervously followed after, following in her footsteps to push the plants away from your path and stepping into the darkness.

when your hands dropped the leaves that were to entrance, the light of the outside was gone and the tunnel lit up- bioluminescent plants coating the walls, the floor of the natural rock tunnel was filled with half a foot of water, algae and other minerals littered on the ground of to which lit up the pathway. Tsireya smiled at your expression, wonder. “here,” she took your hand in hers, gently pulling you beside her. “I will show you more.” this time, you decided to hesitantly hold her hand as well- nervous she might flick you away- but she didn’t, acting as though she hadn’t noticed your actions as she continued to lead you forward.

Tsireya did notice your actions, and her heart was beating like a caged ilu inside her chest. The Metkayina had decided to take you to the only place on her island that could at least somewhat relate to the forests of pandora, in thought of your home.

another leaf wall came to sight, Tsireya taking you both through the plants as a beautiful sight was revealed- your eyes went wide, mouth agape at the beautiful sight. It was a small forest with close trees, the leaves and ground glowing with bioluminescent plants- water flooding into the floor from the tunnel you both retreated from. The trees were filled with many different kinds of leaves, glowing green sea grass twirling around the bases of the large plants and lighting the blue water a different shade of mixed combinations. The tsakarem watched your reaction like a predator to pray, inching off every twitch and twinkle on your face, every single moment of your skin.

“wow,” you breathed out, unknowingly still holding onto the reef girls hand as you admired the scenery around you. “this is sänrr nà’rìng, the glow forest. it is the closest thing on this island to your home.” Tsireya’s spoke aloud, grinning sweetly at you when you looked her direction. “come, i will show you one more thing.” as she led you down the water filled path of the makeshift forest, the algae highlighting each of your footsteps on your path. The forest was rather small, and you both came upon a small hut. confusion laced your features- a hut in the middle of a hidden forest?

Tsireya noticed your expression, giggling at the silly movements on your face. She released your hand and went into the lonesome marui, you following suit after. You revealed the inside of the hutch by pulling the leather weaved curtains from your view- and your eyes landed on a homey looking loft. Tsireya sat down in a seating pad, motioning for you to do the same beside her as she ruffled through some items that lay in a basket beside her form. You sat down, crossing your legs and brushing some hair from your face, watching her curiously.

over the span of a few minutes, tsireya had pulled out multiple pieces of twine, small beads and charms, some shells and even dried sea grass. You looked perplexed for a few moments before realization clicked, Tsireya handing you a few ornaments. “I will show you how to make jewelry.” Her smile was very big, as though she absolutely adored doing so. You grinned, scooting closer. “I love beading.” You said to her, watching her ears flicker and her eyes snap to you. “Me too. I adore it. I will show you how I do it, is that okay?” She asked you after sharing her love for jewelry as well, and you nodded strongly. “Of course.”

her smile only grew, her nimble fingers beginning to move around the twine as she spoke to you, the calling of the small animals, the light russel of the breeze and twinkle of the water the only sound other than you both listening to one another.

[bowiebond]

AU where right after Billy crashes, he’s about to have a good old angry cry over his baby, he’s about to touch the goop on his cracked window and be lured away by his own curiosity, when he’s blinded by headlights.

“Oh my god, sir, are you alright? I thought I heard a crash…” Joyce “Psycho” Byers is rushing out of the car to check on him, some kid she doesn’t really know, because she’s on her way back from work and heard the whole thing and has never been able to ignore a situation where someone might need help.

“Oh god, you poor thing, you’re bleeding, um, I think I have some bandaids in the car - wait no, we should probably get you checked out all together, what if you have a concussion, do you have a concussion? Tell me if this hurts.” She’s talking too fast in her panic, and he’s kind of bewildered as she reached out to feel under his curls for more wounds, but he snaps out of it quickly when she does poke at the growing lump from where he hit his head on the door more than once. The spilt on his forehead hurts enough.

“Watch it, lady.” He doesn’t have enough will power to yell at an older woman, a mother, but he’s running pretty high on emotions right now.

“Let me check your eyes - Jesus, it’s dark out here.” Joyce mutters, Billy dodging her attempts as pulling his pinched brows apart and up.

“Hands off, will you? I just fucking crashed.”

“Don’t use that tone with me.” It’s an instinctive response and it leaves Billy flushing with shame, which only makes him want to throw something, kick something, and it ends up being his car because he’s not gonna kick a woman.

“Sorry, I have two boys, the oldest used to have a bit of a smart mouth.” Joyce flusters. “Is this your car? It was just you?”

“Yeah. Something hit my fu- my windshield. I swerved. Hit the pole.” He felt ridiculous. It was a silent road, he could have just stepped on the break and he would still have a car, his only fucking freedom and possession.

“It happens to the best of us. I’m just glad you’re not dead. Do you need a ride home?”

“I had a date.” He muttered, but his sour mood would not be fixed by seeing Karen Wheeler. Even he knew that.

“Oh, well, I’m sure they’ll understand if you give them a call. The hospital can be a pretty penny, but I can take you home and your parents can keep an eye on you, I’m sure you have a first aid kit, right?”

Yeah, his parents would not give a solitary shit about his condition. Neil would add to it if he was feeling particularly mean.

“My dads gonna kill me.”

“A car is just a thing, honey, it can be replaced. You can’t be. He’ll understand.” Joyce placed a hand on his shoulder and Billy shook her off with a glare at the hunk of junk. All his best memories, down the drain with one crash. His baby was gone so quickly. Like all good things.

“He really won’t.” He muttered, huffing to him. He’d have to find a pay phone. Get someone to tow her back to his place. She’d take a while to fix up, but he prayed he could do it.

Joyce was quiet a while.

“Why don’t you come home with me? Our couch is a pull out, I have a fully stocked first aid kit, I even did a little nursing in the past, volunteer work, so you can relax for a bit until I’m certain you’re good to go.”

Billy sighed. He had two options. Stay here, sort this shit out himself and walk home, or go with the lady everyone calls crazy but seems relatively nice, who has a pull out that’s somewhere other than his own house.

Billy wasn’t stupid, even if he was stubborn.

“Okay. Thank you. Ma’am.”

“Oh please, Ms Byers or Joyce, whichever is most comfortable for you.” She waved off his attempt at manners and put a hand on his back. “Come on, it’s muggy out here, even this late, and I’d like to go home too.” She joked.

“My car…”

“I have a friend at the station.” She patted his chest. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to tow your car home, or to the nearest shop, whichever is best for you.”

She really was doing too much. Billy was gonna start feeling guilt above the slight humiliation he already felt. He rounded her car, a sense of ease filling him as he opened the door. He felt like he had just escaped something really bad, for some reason. Maybe his fathers wrath for the evening.

“Oh, what’s your name again, honey? I forgot to ask.” Joyce asked from over the roof of the car, a little pinch between her brows.

“…William. Most people just call me Billy though.”

“William, that’s my son name.” She broke into a bright smile. “Well, now I’ll have two Williams in my house. I do hope I don’t mix you two up.” She joked as she slipped into the car. He cracked a small smile as he followed.

“Don’t worry. I won’t be calling you Mom like he does.”

“Oh, Jim says I’m everyone’s mother.” She chuckled as she started the engine. “I won’t hold it against you if you slip up.”

“I won’t.” As nice as she was, she wasn’t his mother.

As she drove them away from the scene, Billy felt the anxiety ease in his chest. She was playing pop hits from the previous decade, but they’re nice, nostalgic, and he finds himself almost drifting off.

“Don’t go falling asleep, Will, you might be concussed, sweetie.” Her hand reaches out and brushes his curls back from his face.

“It’s Billy.” He mumbled, and everything kind of goes hazy as his eyes unfocused. Her car is equally muggy as outside, with the smell of artificial lavender, and the music has trilled to something softer. It’s just perfect for a nap.

“Right. Sorry, honey.” He likes that she’s still patting him as she drives, just his hair where it doesn’t ache or sting. “Just stay awake, okay?”

“Okay…” He would. Or at least, he really did try. He’s pretty sure he’s not concussed, just…sleepy.

It feels nice to fall asleep with a hand on his head like the old days.

[newtonsheffield]

A little gift for my friend @grayhello22

Consider this an ode to our mutual adoration of the magic of Rugby boys’ thighs

She probably shouldn’t have done that this morning. She knew that. She should have respected his No sex before matches rule. And yet. She hadn’t.

She’d seen him standing in the bathroom, lathering soap on his body and she hadn’t been able to control herself. He was singing a little tunelessly, what she wasn’t quite sure honestly, not one of her songs, and she’d been a little caught off guard by him. She’d been caught off guard by the way his body glistened in the light and the way the soap ran down his muscles, collecting in the dips and curves she was so familiar with. Curves that she’d traced with her tongue hundreds of times. Her stomach had dropped as her eyes trailed down his body, down his arms and back, to his legs.

She’d never thought she cared about athletes anymore than she cared about any other occupation but there was Anthony. The contradiction to so many things she’d thought about herself. He was so powerful. She loved how his muscles moved and twitched under her touch and his body shivered against her. She loved the security and comfort in his thighs straddling hers. Just thinking about it made her chest ache.

She stood from the bed and slipped into the steam from the shower, her arms reaching for him already. Anthony relaxed against her touch, his hands catching hers as they trailed down his arms, and tugged her round until her chest was flush against his, the warm water beating down on them.

“Hey you. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

She smiled at the sound of his voice, burying it in his neck, “I’m glad you did. Means I didn’t miss my little peep show.”

Anthony grinned, a huge, smug thing as he made his pecs bounce up and down. “Oh, do you like this?”

Kate stepped back, as though she were appraising him, humming thoughtfully. “It’s nice. It’s not my favourite part though.”

“I’m desperate to hear what your favourite part is, Babe.”

Kate leaned forward, humming in his ear just the way she knew would make him shiver against her. “I would have thought it was obvious, Anthony.”

He let out a tiny moan at the sound of his name and she reached out and slapped his arse lightly.

“Lovely.”

Anthony let out a breathy chuckle and tilted her chin up until their lips met, his tongue tangling filthily with hers. “I knew I’d have to find a way to get you to hang around long enough to marry me.”

she kissed him quickly again, running her hands down his chest. His muscles jumped under her hands and she dropped to her knees, heat burning in her stomach. “Be a good boy, Anthony.”

He moaned as her lips pressed against the skin of his thighs and his fingers wound their way into his hair. “Kate.”

She let her teeth sink into his thigh and he shuddered above her, “Surely you can break your rules just this once.”

Anthony let out a strangled curse, nodding his head desperately, “Yeah. Yeah, yeah yeah. Just once.”

And she was fairly sure, by the time she ducked her head, he would have agreed to anything.

It truly wasn’t that she regretted this. On the contrary, she loved watching Anthony fall apart for her, and the taste of him on her tongue, the feel of those thighs pressing closer and closer. She only regretted what became apparent the second Anthony ran out onto the pitch and the crowd roared as he waved, in life and on the screen. She could see them from here. The white of Anthony’s kit shorts had ridden up his thigh as he jogged, the firm muscle flexing powerfully, and his compression shorts weren’t long enough to hide it. The outline of her teeth marked on his thigh.

She bit off a curse, knowing people would be watching her, and praying that her future mother in law was too preoccupied talking with Mary to notice.

“Do I want to know if that’s what I think it is on Anthony’s thigh?”

Kate rolled her eyes at her sister’s question, clapping loudly, the weight of her engagement ring heavy on her hand. “How am I supposed to know what you’re thinking? It’s just a bruise. He probably ran into something.”

“He ran into your bloody teeth. You’re foul.”

“He’s my future husband,” Kate scoffed. “Our sex is basically a legal right.”

“Don’t want to hear it. I’m supporting Scotland now.”

“You’re literally probably the only person who noticed.”

She wasn’t. That became apparent as Kate’s security shouldered through the media storm and she made her way into the corridor to wait for Anthony outside the changing rooms just like she always did.

“Interesting bruise Kate?”

“Yeah, was it you or someone else?”

Kate rolled her eyes, tugging Anthony in for a kiss as he appeared, victory shining on his face, his cheeks still flushed despite his quick shower.

“Any comment Kate?”

She rolled her eyes and cleared her throat, “I don’t comment on my personal life. You guys know better than that.”

“Anthony, any comment?”

Anthony shrugged, “A gentleman never tells.”

“Well surely that’s telling.” A reporter called out and she’d never really know why she said it, but Kate leaned in to the closest microphone and said,

“ My fiancé’s a snack and A girl has to eat.” And with a wink she walked away.

“Kate Sharma I am mortified.” Anthony chortled as they walked down the tunnel and Kate groaned,

“Don’t Edwina’s pearls will be clutched.”

And that’s how Kate woke up to a 45 message stream that accompanied a link to an article Headlined

The mystery is solved! Kate Sharma’s favourite cut of meat is thighs, apparently

[kirislovelygf]

haunted, part 2 (ronal x fem! metkayina reader)

contents: you and ronal have been married for about 14 years and have lived with the metkayina happily ever since you left the forest. now imagine your surprise when your ex appears out of nowhere with the man she cheated on you with and the family they built together.

content also: flash backs to when you + neytiri were girlfriends, angst, neytiri being kinda toxic, jealous ronal, and y/n high key hating jake

wrd count: 3k

꒰ 🥥 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

neytiri and i used to spend our days swinging through the forest like kids, racing through the trees.

“i bet i can find our lunch before you can.” i teased as i jumped on a branch. she lands on another above me and teased me.

“sure,” she answered sarcastically. “i have the bigger bow.” she chuckled.

“and i have the better aim.” i said with a hand on my hip.

“aw, is that what your mother told you?” she laughed. she swings into another branch before i can respond.

we kept going until we heard something yelling.

“what kind of animal screams like that?” i asked her as we landed on the forest floor.

she shrugged. “let’s go find out.”

“fine.. but if we die, it’s your fault.” i muttered to her as i walked past. she stared as i climbed up the tree.

she followed behind and we climbed high enough to see the floor.

when jake, who i didn’t know was jake at the time, came into view, i was scared and excited at the same time.

last time i saw a dreamwalker was when dr. grace was teaching me english when i was just a girl. and we hadn’t seen one since neytiri’s sister was killed.

i signaled for neytiri to come over. i jumped on a higher branch while she lay low, hiding behind leaves.

i kept watching him, a man. a man in clothes and holding a gun. a weapon that scared me more than the man himself.

watching him move, talk to himself, was entertaining. he wobbled around like an infant. i smiled and looked down to see neytiri’s reaction.

but she was fearful of the man. and cautious.

she began to sit up and pulled her bow and arrow ready to shoot.

“neytiri.” i muttered as quietly as i could. she looks up as i shook my head and mouthed “don’t.”

neytiri still had her arrow up and ready to shoot.

she glanced back down at the human and stared at his movements. i watched her curiously.

she was intrigued by him. in a way that made me uncomfortable

she sighed in reluctance and put her weapon away. she climbed up to where i was hidden.

“let my mother know there’s a human among us. i need to see what he is doing here.” she said in a hushed tone as she stood in front of me.

“okay.. what about you? will you be okay?” i asked.

she sighed and cupped my face with both of her hands.

“you always worry about me. i’ll be okay.” she smiled.

“i’m sorry, weren’t you the one who tripped over her own tail on the way here?” i whispered.

“i… ugh, you're wasting time. just go home and tell my mother.” she whispered quickly.

i chuckled softly and let her kiss me. her kisses always made me feel safe.

neytiri was always protective of me. one of her qualities i always appreciated.

she was also brave and loving and so intelligent. she learned english faster than i did and was able to learn more about the sky people.

i couldn’t stay focused. but she’d always be there to help me. well, until she wasn’t.

i replayed the moment she laid eyes on him. i must have missed something. she must have fallen in love with him the moment he appeared in the forest.

their love has always been a mystery to me. i let it go as long as i’ve been gone.

and when she came back, it felt like i was transported to the moment i found out she cheated.

i wondered and pondered about neytiri while cooking with my wife. i shouldn’t be this obsessed with her but i am.

ugh, i blame her.

i started to think about my day instead when ao’nung came home and told me he got into a fight.

with neytiri’s sons no less.

he told me ao’nung and his friends have been picking on her son and daughter. since she married a human, two of her kids ended up having four fingers.

and that led to ao’nung getting into a fight with neteyam and lo’ak.

he said they started it as lo’ak punched him, but i know ao’nung better than that. lo’ak didn’t start the fight by hitting him.

ao’nung started it when he decided to be a bully.

other than that, everything was.. manageable. ronal was here telling me about her training with neytiri and how they both hated every second of it.

“i expected her to be stubborn.” i chuckled as i stirred a pot over a fire in the middle of our home.

“i’m surprised she didn’t give up sooner. she waited until the ilu got tired of her falling off.” ronal chuckled as she chopped up fruits.

she puts them into a bowl and picks up a couple pieces.

“do you know how hard it is to fire out an ilu?” she laughed, putting a piece in my hand.

“leave it up to her to find a way.” i snickered.

she laughed beside me when tsireya and tonowari came in.

“hi, mama.” tsireya smiled.

“hi, my little flower. how was the day for you both? you’ve been gone since morning.” i said to her.

i stood up to look for bowls for us.

“it was nice. i spent time with my friends in the jungle. we must have lost track of time because we didn’t realize it was already eclipse.” she smiled as she sat down next to ronal.

“that’s okay. as long as your safe, i’m glad you had fun.” i chuckled.

“i heard something about a fight between ao’nung and lo’ak. what happened?” she asked.

“oh..” i chuckled.

“your brother was picking on the sully children. and earned a punch to the face.” ronal told her.

“ugh, i can’t believe him. he’s been messing with them since they got here.” she grumbled.

“your brother could learn from your kindness.” tonowari muttered.

i smiled and turned back, handing out bowls to everyone.

“or could learn how to fight.” i muttered back.

tonowari and ronal both glared at me as tsireya giggled.

“i’m sorry, but if he’s going to say stupid things all the time, he will need to know how to defend himself.” i said.

they glance at each other before rolling their eyes.

we ate together, not worrying much about where ao’nung was. once he was finished sulking, he’d come back home.

but when the night turned darker, and more na’vi started turning in, i started to grow concerned.

“maybe we should look for him.” tonowari whispered.

“he’s been out this late before. i’m sure he’s on his way back now.” i told him. he took another look outside, pulling the tarp aside.

he then pulled it aside completely when someone approached our home.

“jake sully.” my back was facing the entrance and my heart froze when i heard wari say that name.

i was able to avoid him these past weeks and he hadn’t come to our doorstep at all.

i glanced back and saw him and neytiri standing there. the moonlight poured into our hut as she stared inside.

i stood up and helped ronal up too before we walked over, reluctantly.

“my kids’ been missing all day. ao’nung said he took him to some place called three brothers rock.“ he said.

“oh no… he’s not safe there.” i said softly.

“what?” jake muttered.

“it’s home to akula. dangerous predators.” tonowari said warningly.

neytiri sighed in fear. “don’t worry. we will help you look for your son.” he said to her.

jake spared one more glance before tonowari walked between us to find his spear.

ronal and i went to do the same as jake and neytiri left.

soon, the entire village was searching the reefs for lo’ak. jake and neytiri were on their ikran and circling the island.

i and a couple other villagers were spread out looking for the boy.

“lo’ak?..” i called out.

my ilu began squealing nervously and thrashing. she was suddenly so nervous and started splashing the water.

“no, no, it’s okay.. relax..” i whispered to her. she wasn’t calming down.

something dimmed the light on the ocean floor. something enormous that also caused my ilu to swim away from it.

it’s a tulkun. it’s fin looked familiar though. i’ve seen them before i just couldn’t remember when. it dived into the water and swam away, causing heavy ripples before i could identify it.

suddenly, lo’ak appeared in the water. he looked like i had caught him doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

“mom?” he asked.

“what? no! no, i’m not your mother. it’s y/n.” i said nervously.

“are you okay? your parents are worried.” i held my hand out to him and helped him climb up to sit on the ilu.

“oh.. yeah, i’m okay. i got lost.” he said.

“okay.” i nodded.

we swam back to the village and i started to calling out for people to let them know lo’ak was safe.

we reached the edge of the pathways and i helped him step up.

“thank you.” he muttered.

“you’re welcome. stay safe, lo’ak.” his gaze fell behind me and he began glaring.

i looked and saw ao’nung with his black eye and pouting lip. he looked down as he stood beside his father.

jake stepped off the saddle of his skimwing, out of the water, and stopped his son before he could go over to ao’nung.

if he was my son, i would have let lo’ak at him.

jake looked at his arms and his back, searching his body for any injuries.

neytiri yelled out for her son and ran down to see him for herself.

she made sure he wasn’t hurt before hissing. “i pray for the strength that i will not pluck the eyeballs out of my youngest son.”

she swipes at his face, to which lo’ak just rolls his eyes like this happened every week.

“no, this isn’t lo’ak’s fault. ao’nung told him to go to three brothers rock. he knows better than to go there.” tonowari grabbed his son by the nape and made him kneel.

“the blame is his.” he said.

i looked to lo’ak and his parents. “thank you, tonowari, but-“

“no, it wasn’t ao’nung’s fault.” lo’ak spoke.

i grew confused.

“it was my idea. he tried to talk me out of it.” he continued.

i tilted my head slightly. i couldn’t understand why he was lying. but then i looked up to jake and neytiri, who were glaring daggers at his head.

that poor boy. i can feel the pressure from here.

“let’s go.” jake takes his son by the nap and walks away, neytiri following behind.

she slowed down as she was about to walk past me.

“thank you for helping him.” she said softly.

“it was nothing.” i shrugged. she nodded and walked away when ronal came up behind me and started glaring.

“you’re being friendly.” she muttered.

i sighed out and turned to face her. “ronal. please. be jealous tomorrow. i’m tired.”

she rolled her eyes but held my hand regardless as we walked back home together.

everyone was shaken up after lo’ak went missing for a whole day. parents were talking, saying the forest children were bad influences on their own children.

as i fell asleep, i reminded myself of the day everything went south.

the night jake became part of the clan, we celebrated. danced, drank, laughed, and had fun.

i wasn’t enjoying myself though. i noticed for the months that jake has been here that neytiri’s been paying much more attention to him than me.

especially tonight. trying to get him to dance and such.

but she’s been spending every single day with him under the excuse that she’s simply training him.

the day when he picked his ikran, she was touching his chest. for a reason i can’t understand.

what does ikran training have to do with touching his chest like that? and then she left to fly with him and i didn’t see her for the rest of the day.

and when i asked about what they did, she yelled at me.

“i don’t need to report to you! let me breathe!” she also slapped my hand off of her shoulder when i tried to be calm.

she tried to apologize that night, but i couldn’t get over how she slapped me like that.

i still had my doubts. maybe she was being friendly. maybe the problem was me and not with jake.

i disproved it all when i woke up and she wasn’t beside me like she was when she fell asleep.

i went to look for her but everyone was gathered at the trunk of hometree. everyone was confused. i tried to look for mo’at to ask her what was happening.

when i asked around me, no one could give me a straight answer. and up front were men and women ready to fight, holding their bows up in the air.

i finally reached the center of the circle everyone has formed.

i walked up behind mo’at and eytukan. tsu’tey was talking to them angrily. something about jake, i couldn’t understand, he was just rambling.

as if we spoke him into existence, him and neytiri walked into hometree. and holding hands.

jake called for tsu’tey, telling him not to do this. i wasn’t sure what “this” was.

i still had no idea what happened to get everyone so angry.

the next thing i know, tsu’tey pushed jake to the ground.

“tsu’tey! stop!” neytiri screamed at him, pushing him back. i watched in shock.

as he huffed resisting neytiri’s pushes, he asked him.

“you mated with this woman?”

and with that, it was like time stopped.

neytiri’s mouth was agape and she pushed tsu’tey back, this time he actually stepped away.

she looked at me as mo’at questioned if it were true or not. i kept glancing between her and jake.

“we..” she sighed out. “we are mated before eywa.”

“it is done.” even then she couldn’t look me in the eye when she actually needed to.

i could feel everyone’s stares on me.

i stomped toward the woman i thought loved me as much as i loved her and grabbed her wrist, dragging her away from everyone.

“y/n stop! listen for a moment.” she argued.

“all this time, you’ve been going behind my back. i knew you were in love with him. but i denied it so many times..”

“y/n, let me explain.”

“no! neytiri, listen to me. this entire time i have listened to your dumb excuses.” i yelled out.

she glared at me like i did something wrong.

“you are the worst woman in this entire planet. just last night, you told me you loved me. that nothing is between you and jake-“

“i know,-“

“and then I found out you.. you mated with him! the fucking human, you cannot be serious! right now, i believe i am crazy because what the fuck.” i screamed and screamed at the top of my lungs.

“what the fuck! neytiri!”

“you’re not crazy! y/n, i never meant for this to happen. i’m sorry. please.” she cried. “he isn’t as bad as you believe..”

“you’re incredible. his kind has done nothing but bring pain and suffering and you want me to believe he isn’t as bad as i think just because you slept together?” i reminded her.

she flinched at my yells.

“they killed sylwanin. they killed my father, they are destroying our home right now. you’re leaving me, and your home, and tsu’tey.. for him?” i asked her.

“i know how it sounds! i know what they did! but i didn’t want tsu’tey and i never wanted to be tsahik! the only thing i was ever sure about was you. until..” she cried.

“i was wrong.. i was wrong and i’m so sorry. i didn’t want it to happen like this..”

we paused. my chest was rising up and down. slowly now that i caught my breath.

“he will only hurt you.” i said, my voice raspy from the screams.

“he will only ever be a burden to you. you’ll never be able to forget who he is. what he is. what his kind has done to us.” i told her.

she glared at me, tears streaming down her face.

neither of us said a thing as we stared at each other painfully.

“you’ll always be reminded of me when you can’t escape his past.”

i heard footsteps behind me.

“y/n… y/n, it’s all my fault. i’m sorry.” his stupid voice rang.

“i’m sorry, but we have to go-“ he rambled but right as he appeared behind me, i struck him in the face, knocking him down.

“fuck you, jake!”

“stop! y/n!” she pulled my shoulder back and dropped to her knees to see how he was.

right then i knew who she really loved. it was me for a while. but it stopped, probably before she even met him.

it was worse because i thought jake and i were friends. i didn’t like him at first, no one did. but neytiri told me to give him a chance.

now i know why she said that.

that was the last time i saw neytiri. i didn’t hear about the war until years later when i joined the metkayina clan.

i lost any anger i felt for jake when i found out he was the new toruk makto. i decided i shouldn’t be angry at him because he fell in love with her. my love.

my problem wasnt even with neytiri for loving him.

but she still lied to me and manipulated me and mated with jake while we were still together.

i realize now i’ve been keeping anger for her ever since i left. i think her returning is a sign from eywa that i need to forgive her.

no, it definitely is.

꒰ 🥥 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Could I request a little ‘A got roped into a blind date by their friends. They don't want a new relationship and plan to make themselves as unlikeable as possible to dissuade any further possible setups. All of that goes through the window when they see how gorgeous B is.’ with Santi as person A

(if you get this twice I’m sorry I can’t remember if I sent this irl or not because I saw the post when I was hazy and delusional at 2 AM)

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Reader

Word Count: 912

A/N: Just opened up my askbox for some requests! First time writing for Santi, very very excited about this one! (And don't worry ab requesting twice, hun! It was a very inspiring prompt)

Warnings: fluff, santi thinks he's unlovable, a bit angsty ig?, frankie morales is a good bro, poorly edited (author has BDE)

Santiago really didn’t do the whole dating thing. 

The flowers and the small-talk and the footsies over cheese-stuffed appetisers. 

He had a long-term relationship with running away, that strange, filtered aeroplane air making him feel closer to home than any of his mother’s cooking could ever hope to do. 

Better put, he wasn’t relationship material. 

It wasn’t a deliberate choice from his end. 

It sort of just…happened. 

Life had morphed Santiago into the jagged, crooked, ugly thing that he was now. 

In all of his attempts (three) at the real thing, all his tries at the dart board called love, it usually always ended in the same fashion. He’d take her to meet his friends, she’d realise sooner than later that she’d drawn the losing hand out of the four of them, and it was downhill from there. 

One of them had been kind enough even to enlighten him to exactly what he lacked. 

You just need to be more…Frankie, Santi. 

Though it hurt, it was good to get out in the open like that. The plain, mumpy truth, in all its glory: 

Santiago wasn’t relationship material because of the amount of ‘Frankie-ness’ that was lacking in his blood and DNA, because he was the losing hand, the cracked skipping stone in the middle of a torrential river on the way to the safety of land and love, true love. 

And so, in what would be considered a sociologist’s dream case study, Santiago did what he did best, self-fulfilled then self-destructed. 

He was the intermediary for girls before they managed to find their Frankie, Benny, Will. 

It was a tough truth to chew, left a bitter taste in his mouth, that he’d only been created for people to recognize their self-worth and move on. There was a disagreeable insinuation behind it, if he thought about it too long. 

Which was precisely why he didn’t. 

And he ran away instead when things got too hard, too painful. Like a thumbtack in the heel of his foot. 

But Frankie on the other hand, Frankie thought about it long and hard. Too hard and too long, no matter how often Santiago told him to quit it. 

From his seat behind the driver’s wheel, Frankie was able to watch everything with a keen, honed eye, his two ears moving back and forth like a great-horned owl’s. 

And nothing was able to go past Frankie’s eyes without him picking it up and giving it a thorough inspection.

Which is why Frankie's been adamant about it. A real pain in the ass. 

Santiago was the bachelor of the group now. The only single one left. 

And Frankie was set on changing that. 

No matter how much Santiago protested. 

Will and Benny gave in to Santiago’s reality with a simple nod, the former’s eyes sad and sombre, the latter’s teasing a little light-hearted and half-hearted. 

But Frankie and him had the strongest bond he’s ever experienced. Saving a guy’s life a couple times does that to you. 

Santiago knows, if anything, that whatever happens in this god-forsaken world, that Frankie will always be his rock, the one constant in a world of possibilities and probabilities.

But it also meant that Frankie had some sort of gall that the others didn’t. 

And tonight, he meant to put an end to it, swiftly and surely. 

The sibling of a friend of a cousin. 

That still doesn’t mean Santiago wants to be here. 

Detached enough from them that if it all went to shit, the ripples would be minimal. Attached enough to them to make the small talk a little less small-talkey.

“You’re frowning.” 

“That’s because I’m mad, pendejo,” he grumbles back at the baseball cap. 

Frankie huffs and though he can’t see it, he hears the eye-roll. 

He feels like a petulant child, like he’s being babysat to make sure he won’t act out. 

Which is what he is precisely planning to do. 

He’ll take care of it quickly. Despite his cynical, eighty-year-old with three cats schmick he’s settling into nicely, he still has a bit of heart. And whoever the poor person was that had been roped into this will be roped out just as quickly. No harm done and Santiago’s Frankie problem fixed once and for all. 

With another huff, Frankie leans back in his seat and fixes him with beady eyes, “At least, try to be a little agreeable.” 

He only grumbles in response. 

It’s a white-and-red chequered tablecloth kind of place. Corny, romantic, candle-lit. 

Santiago was hoping he’d never have to set foot in such a place again. 

The door jingles open. 

Show-time. 

Frankie sends him another one of his glares, and Santiago sends it straight back, letting it settle on his face, deep into the grooves of it. 

There’s rolls and rolls of nervousness fading off of you. 

But you look nice-

Beautiful. 

Gorgeous. 

The air’s been swamped out of his lungs. 

This wasn’t supposed to be part of the plan. This weird, fluttering thing that’s been going on his body since he laid eyes on you. 

Santiago’s vaguely aware that you’re talking with Frankie, thanking him for arranging it all. 

And there’s a lull in the murmurs. 

He hastily gathers himself up, the angry little press of lines on his forehead all but gone. 

He scrambles for the flowers Frankie made him buy you and holds them out, swallowing thickly, “Hi, I’m Santi.” 

He hopes that this’ll make for a hell of a first-date story.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here, requests here.

[klbwriting]

Surface Tension

Chapter 6: Silence

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: Just...sadness

Summary: Everything falls apart

Notes: no song this time, comments/critiques appreciated

Taglist: @hyperagitatedcydonian13 @gabrieleskywalker @philiasoul @duchcess

Y/N thought when everything ended there would be music. Some strings to make it seem sad, but with a soft crooning trumpet, to sound hopeful, like everything would be ok in the end. Instead, her world was ending in silence, a quiet so loud she didn’t hear the beginning of Aria’s tirade. She finally came out of her stupor to see Aria staring between her and Orm, taking in the food, his disheveled clothes, putting everything together in her head.

“How dare you?” Aria demanded, staring at Y/N like she didn’t recognize her. Y/N just shook her head. “When Dean came home and told me who Oren actually was, I thought maybe I was mistaken, maybe he was mistaken, but he’s not. That’s not some surface dweller with a resemblance, that is Orm, the tyrant king we all hated.” Y/N looked at Orm then, seeing him doing the equation, figuring out things now.

It made sense now, why she was so understanding of him, why she didn’t react to his quirks the way other surface dwellers did. She was Atlantian, and apparently so was her friend Aria. Orm looked at Y/N and saw the stricken look on her face, but he just felt, numb.

“He’s not a tyrant…” Y/N was able to get out, looking back to Aria. “He’s different now…” It sounded so lame, so childish, but she didn’t know what else to say. Aria’s eyes flamed.

“He almost killed Dean! If you weren’t there 5 years ago when he sent that flood Dean would be dead!” she yelled. “You should go back to where you came from! Get back in a cell and die there like you should have when you were first crowned!”

“Aria GET OUT!” Y/N yelled, unable to stand her talking to him like that. Aria stopped, staring at Y/N for a moment before nodding.

“I hope that dick is worth your integrity,” she said before storming out the door.

Y/N didn’t want to turn around. Afraid of what she’d find. Orm however, was having an even bigger realization. The voice. Her voice that sang him to sleep in his dreams, that voice was the one from coronation day, from the protestors who had tried to assassinate him.

“It was you,” he said finally, voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. “You were there, you tried to kill me.” Y/N shook her head violently, looking at him, reaching out and trying to grab his hands. He stepped back, holding them away from her. “Don’t touch me.” She closed her eyes to keep them from leaking.

“No, Orm, no, it wasn’t supposed to be like that. No one was supposed to shoot you. We just wanted your attention, someone to see us and start talking with us about how to help the people in the lower city. Someone to investigate the sickness that killed my father,” she said, trying to explain so he wouldn’t walk away. “Let me explain please.” Despite wanting to leave right then Orm stopped.

“You can try but I’m not sure I’d believe anything you’d say,” he said. She would take it.

“When Hendrix joined us…”

“Hendrix? The councilman?” Orm asked. He remembered something about another noble saying he had infiltrated a terrorist group, finding out their plans to kill the upcoming king but not being able to stop it in time.

“Yes, Hendrix, he wanted to do the protest, said the parade would be the best place to get your attention. I just had to tell them the route…”

“Why would you have the route?” he asked. She said the sickness in the lower city killed her father, but she had survived, which meant noble blood. “Your mother…"

“My mother is Roux Velix and she was the organizer of the parade. I gave them the route, but we only supposed to be singing and then shooting off a cracker loud enough to get you to look and listen,” she said. “Hendrix brought the cracker, I didn’t realize it was an energy pulsar until he was about to fire, then I pushed it, trying to stop him,” she said. Orm shook his head.

“That’s not what it looks like on the footage Hendrix showed us,” he said. She shook her head.

“No, Orm, please I would never hurt you,” she begged, reaching out again. He backed away more, turning towards the door.

“Well too late for that,” he said, opening the door.

“Please stay, talk to me…”

“I don’t even want to look at you right now, leave me alone,” he said before slamming out the door and slamming the door to his place.

Y/N felt her legs go out on her and she was sitting on the floor, where she finally let go, tears running down her face as the quiet sank in again.

Orm needed to get away. He couldn’t be there knowing she was next door. He needed time to think. He needed to talk to someone. Arthur. His brother could help him, give him perspective, maybe even help him see what happened that day. He had always been told that she had tried to shoot him with the help of some other terrorist, but the footage was grainy, and you couldn’t see it clearly then. Maybe the advanced technology would help clear it up now. He grabbed the communicator that he had been given and called his brother, asking him to meet him at Tom’s lighthouse. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough to get him out of town, away from Y/N.

Y/N found herself on the edge of the rocks, looking at the water. She had been terrified the last time she was there, so scared of someone finding her. But now she hoped to find her father in the surf. He would know how to help her, what to say, just like he knew when she was a little girl. She wished that her story about spirits coming back to their family was true and she would feel his arms around her, holding her and telling her Orm would come back. That he would realize so many things were different now. Neither of them was who they once were and together they were better than apart.

She walked to the water, sitting in the surf, and feeling it for the first time in a decade. The salty air immersed into her lungs, and she felt the old pang of home come back to her. She fell into her thoughts, wondering what she could do next, how she could tell Orm she loved him. O God, she loved him, didn’t she? And he wanted nothing to do with her anymore. It was over.

“Well, this is unexpected, I didn’t realize you would make it this easy,” a voice said from behind her, then arms were tangling with her, and she was hauled into the sea.

[winchesterandpie]

Versions of You

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x wife!reader

Word Count: 2133

Warnings: sooo self indulgent, soft Bradley, some reminiscing of Carole and Goose, brief mention of periods, brief implication of sex, but nothing explicit

A/N: Y'all, I have had this idea floating in my head since I first started writing for Bradley Bradshaw. I've tried writing it, went through several iterations of a beginning and it just wasn't right and my skill wasn't up to it. Over the past week, though, I finally think I got the feeling right. I think this may be some of my best writing, so I really hope you all enjoy!

Before he met you, Bradley thought he knew what love looked like. 

He had watched his mother love his father, even when Goose was gone. He had been too young to remember much about his father, but he could get a pretty good idea who Nick Bradshaw had been by the hole left in Carole’s life.

He knew that his dad would bring home flowers from how his mom always kept a vase of flowers on the table. His dad must have danced with her while dinner cooked because she danced Bradley around the kitchen his whole life. Goose had been a lighthearted goofball, judging by the look in Carole’s eye when Bradley would goof off to make her laugh.

He also saw it in the way she cried the first time he played the piano. He had stopped immediately, but she had quickly come over to the piano bench and crouched beside him.

“Honey, no” she’d said, combing his hair back gently with her fingers. “I’m not sad, baby, you just look so much like your dad right now. He used to play the piano all the time.” She had smiled at him before she continued, “He wanted to teach you to play when you got big enough. Oh, Bradley, he’d be so proud of you.”

Bradley hadn’t been able to give up the piano since that day. It made his mom happy to hear, so he would keep playing, for her. 

Bradley had tried as much as he could to fill the space left behind by his father, though he knew there was no replacing Nick Bradshaw. When Carole was taken, he found himself unsure whether to feel more strongly the grief of losing her or the relief that she was reunited at last with her beloved Goose. He knew that as fiercely as she loved him, she also loved her husband and had missed him for many years, and a part of Bradley was glad they were together again.

He vowed quietly to himself that he would find what they had for himself, however impossible it seemed to find someone who would fit with him as perfectly as they had fit together.

That promise faded to the back of his mind for a long time. Bradley became a naval aviator like his father, as a pilot like Maverick. He fought his way to the sky, and fought some more to become one of the very best. His life got busy, and the few relationships he had didn’t last long. In time, he all but stopped dating, and the thought of fitting together with someone was nothing more than a daydream.

Then he met you.

He wasn’t entirely sure what changed, but he was drawn to you in a way he had been drawn to no one else. The long-distant promise surfaced in his memory, along with whispers of a love he barely remembered seeing. Bradley was no longer the hopeful, starry-eyed boy he had once been, so he cautiously tucked away the way his heart skipped a beat when he saw you.

He learned quickly that ignoring the feeling didn’t make it go away. It didn’t matter where or when he saw you or what you were doing. If he saw you when you just woke up, your hair a mess as you came to answer the door in a baggy shirt, his heart thumped a little harder in his chest. If he saw you all dressed up for something special, he couldn’t stop the way the breath was knocked from his lungs.

Eventually, he couldn’t keep everything he felt bottled up any longer. Much to the relief of his colleagues, he confessed it all to you, though, that relief soon returned to fond exasperation as he kept talking about how wonderful you were to anyone who would listen.

The development of your relationship slowly led him to realize that he had been wrong about his parents. They had not, in fact, found each other and just perfectly fit together. Their lives didn’t just twine together and continue as they always had.

Carole and Goose were the epitome of soulmates, but they were also the demonstration that soulmates were not born, they were made. They chose, daily, to love each other with their whole hearts. Every day, every choice, every word, every action, they chose to grow together and create an entirely new way of being that bettered them both. 

Bradley saw how you and he changed as you grew together. He saw how you took to evening showers once the two of you moved in together, just so you could spend the time with him when he came home from the airfield covered in sweat. Even before the two of you moved in together, you had given him one of your drawers during a particularly rough training patch that had Bradley falling asleep every time he came over. You hadn’t had the heart to wake him, so you made a way for him to stay. 

He started trading sleep to write you letters when he had to be away from you. You also noticed that he started stocking your skincare products and even period products in his bathroom. You could’ve sworn he somehow knew the warning signs better than you.

The two of you stashed a bluetooth speaker in the kitchen so you could play music and sing and dance while the two of you cooked dinner. He had told you once that Carole used to dance with him and you had smiled softly at him as you pulled him closer. When he was missing his parents, that became your go-to offer of support, especially when he couldn’t manage words. 

That’s not to say there were no unpleasant moments. You had your fair share of disagreements and comments said in anger that neither of you meant. So you also learned how Bradley shut down when he was upset. He didn’t raise his voice at you-- he rarely raised his voice to begin with, and it was never directed at you--but he would turn off. You could see the mask of apathy fall over his features. He learned how you became afraid that he would hate you after your more tense fights, but hated asking him to reassure you in case you drove him further away. 

So, you grew together. Bradley still needed space when he was frustrated, but he got better at recognizing and communicating when he was nearing his breaking point. For your part, you slowly processed that it wasn’t personal as you grew to trust him more. You also got better at asking him to reassure you, and he never turned that down, even when he was upset. He also could see the signs that you needed him and would offer reassurance before you needed to ask.

He also learned the little things about you. You loved to watch sunsets on the beach, so he tried to ensure at least one day a week that the two of you could go for a walk together in the evenings. You loved to watch snow fall, so he took you on a trip to a mountain cabin where you had snowball fights and sat wrapped up in each other by the fire. If you loved it, he had likely tried to do it with you.

Bradley saw you do the same for him. He loved flying, so once they were repairing their relationship, you had bribed Maverick to let Bradley borrow his P-51 Mustang for a day so you could fly together. Of all the flights he had taken, that was his favorite. You had found sheet music for a song he couldn’t get out of his head that you’d heard him humming. Now it was one he played often, just for you.

Even in your opposites, the two of you adjusted to a balance that worked for both of you. While you tended to be more shy, preferring nights in with a video game or a mug of tea and a book, Bradley loved going out with his people and the chaotic energy he could whip up when he played piano at the bar. 

So you did some of both. You braced yourself for going out with the noisy bunch of naval aviators and even found yourself enjoying the boisterous energy. You came to love it, though it still drained you quickly. He didn’t at all mind holding you after, helping you through your evening routine as he lent you some of his own strength. Other nights, Bradley would hold you while you read aloud, or play the piano you had at home in a quiet concert just for you. He adored how warm you were and appreciated the quiet peace he found in these moments with you. You loved when he was settled enough to lay his head in your lap so you could play with his hair.

Today, he had had a rare day off and found he couldn’t bring himself to do much more than stay in bed with you. So that was what you did. Mind you, that didn’t mean you did nothing. 

Bradley looked down at where you lay on his chest, your hand tucked in his as his other hand stroked lazily along your bare back. You had dozed off quickly in a blissful haze after he’d cleaned you up gently. How he had gotten so lucky to find you, he wasn’t sure. You, with your skin practically glowing in the golden light of the early afternoon. To him, you looked like an angel lying there in his arms. He couldn’t resist the urge to press a kiss to your forehead.

You stirred then, turning your nose to nuzzle into his chest. Bradley could have sworn his heart stopped.

“Bradley?”

“Yeah, honey?”

His arm shifted with you as you adjusted to curl even closer to him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head again.

“You’re really warm, but can we pull the blanket up? My back’s cold.”

That made him laugh, even as he obliged. With the soft comforter tucked up to your shoulders, you snuggled in against him. Bradley’s hand returned to its path up and down your spine. “Better?”

“Much,” you hummed.

After a moment, he said your name tenderly, a question. 

You squeezed his hand in response, wordlessly encouraging him to continue.

“Do you ever think about how much we’ve changed since we met?”

“Sometimes,” you answered honestly. “Why?”

“Just thinking a lot lately. We’ve changed a lot since then.”

He felt you nod against his chest as you started to fiddle with his wedding ring. It was a sure sign you weren’t sure what he was getting at, but you trusted him enough to only say, “we have.”

“When I met you, I didn’t know how much truly loving someone would change me. I really like who I’ve become with you. I like who we’ve become together.” He felt you smile as you kissed his chest. The warmth that bloomed there confirmed for him what he was about to say, though he already felt the truth of it in his bones. “I have loved every version of you. I can’t wait to meet and love all the other versions of you that come along for the rest of our lives.”

As he had predicted, that had you turning your face into him shyly. He would’ve sworn he could feel your face heating up where your skin met his.

Eventually, you propped yourself up to look at him. Your hand that wasn’t in his found its way into his hair. “Bradley Bradshaw, are you sure you’re an aviator and not a poet?”

He chuckled, hand flattening on your back. “For you? I might just be both.”

If he could freeze the next moment and live in it forever, he would. You were propped up over him, the reassuring weight of you against him. The golden light from the window seemed to be everywhere, shining off you hair and glittering in your eyes. The way your face glowed was entirely you as you smiled at him. 

Bradley couldn’t think of anything other than how much he loved you and how he was certain now, more than he had ever been, that his parents were proud of him. He had kept his promise and built a love as strong as theirs with you. 

When you leaned down and kissed him, he silently made a new promise, one he knew he would keep.

He swore with every slow press of his lips to yours that every day, every version of you, he would love you.

And man, oh man, he looked forward to it.

Top Gun Tags:

@malindacath @army24--7 @mads-weasley

[ugh-yoongi]

you suck! | ksj

(or, the one where everything goes very wrong but a lot more goes very right.)

→ pairing: vampire!seokjin x f. reader → genre: supernatural; strangers to lovers; roommates; crack, fluff → rating: explicit. minors dni. → warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex work, taekook are also chaotic vampires, a lot of twilight references for someone who has never seen or read it, completely made up and non-canonical vampire lore, a teeny-tiny bit of angst, jin’s forehead has powers or something, jin takes dick pics on a polaroid (canon), one very purposely awkward smut scene that includes: slight praise kink, unprotected sex, oral, kissing. overall this is very soft and they are just two idiots very in love, your honor. → wordcount: 18.3k → a/n: i started this almost exactly a year ago after buying this print from @yelhsaart​ and becoming completely obsessed with it. i just wanted to write jin as a goofy, idiot (affectionate) vampire. as i said in the warnings, the vampire lore is completely made up here. some of it is canon, some of it is inspired by the wayhaven chronicles, some of it is just plot device. don’t take it too seriously. → thank yous: lauren, for once again being my beta and telling me when my brain writes sentences that don’t make sense. jess, for being born today — happy birthday, this is my lame and completely self-serving gift to you. bee, for always encouraging my chaos.

You were fifteen the first time you were mistaken for someone else.

It’d been a guy in the grocery store, a bag of lemons in his hand and a confused expression on his face. He’d tapped you on the shoulder, started talking at you like the two of you were well-acquainted before you’d even turned around, and he’d seemed startled when he realized you weren’t who he was expecting you to be.

Sorry, he’d said. You looked just like my daughter from behind.

The second time had been during college: a girl had caught up to you in the quad. Had been calling out a name that certainly wasn’t yours and had grabbed your elbow when you hadn’t responded to it. She’d looked horrified when you weren’t who she’d been looking for, either, and stuttered out an apology as she let you go.

Oh my god, I’m so sorry, you just—you looked just like my friend.

You’d looked like the granddaughter of the elderly man who lived in your mom’s neighborhood. You’d looked like the mother of a kid who’d gotten lost at the mall. Even your friends got mixed up sometimes during nights out—approached strangers they thought were you at the bar, danced with them in nightclubs, drunkenly clung to them at parties.

Your mother had told you once that you just had one of those faces—a top ten anime betrayal coming from her, considering she’d been responsible for half your genetic makeup. Sure, you’re pretty, but it’s always been a common beauty; soft, delicate features where others might have more striking ones. And it’s… fine. Maybe you’d gone through bouts of insecurity every time the world deemed some new feature desirable and you didn’t have it, but you’d always been able to move on.

Except now.

Because now—now you’re wondering if having one of those faces is how you find yourself in this situation.

In a dark alley in between the club and a 24-hour convenience store as a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, very sharp teeth tries—and fails—to sink them into your neck.

He coughs awkwardly, pulls back as he tightens his grip on your waist. Your back is pressed to his chest, so it’s not like you can see his face, but you think if you could there’d be a very perplexed look on it. “Well, this is awkward, huh?”

You blink. “Yeah.”

“Hm. Do… do you think they were pranking me?” he asks, and despite the situation in which you’ve found yourself, you find a sliver of comfort in the overfamiliarity in his tone. As if the two of you are old friends who talk all the time and there’s absolutely nothing weird about this. “Because I’ve gotta say, I’ve done this a lot and this is a first for me.”

There’s no reason whatsoever for the way your belly flips at his statement. He’s a vampire, for fuck’s sake. Of course he’s bitten a lot of people. But it still wounds your ego that you’re just another proverbial notch in this guy’s neckpost. “P-Pranking you? Who would do that?”

The man scoffs and you can feel the vibrations against your skin. “You clearly haven’t met my clan. We got these two new guys, right? And they’re nice, you know? I like them a lot. As much as I can like someone, I guess. But fuck they’re annoying. Really young. Like to fuck around, especially with me since I’m so much older, and I should’ve known this is something they’d do—”

This has to be a dream, you think. There’s no way this is real. You’d stumbled into the alley to find your friend who’d gone for a smoke and never returned, and now you’re here. There’s a vampire at your back, talking your ear off about fuck knows what after having unsuccessfully tried to bite you, and he’s still pawing at your waist with his superhuman strength. And it hurts but you’re too nervous to bring it up, because what if you do and he remembers he’s supposed to be killing you, and that’s it? You’ll be a goner all because you had a brief, fleeting moment of stupidity, like the kid back in high school that always asked the teacher if they were going to collect the homework after they’d forgotten. Everyone hated that kid, and you’ve learned nothing.

You swallow. “I-I don’t think they pr-pranked you,” you stutter out. “I, uh… I just have one of those faces? Maybe you just thought I was someone else?”

“Someone else?” he repeats, and his grip finally loosens. He doesn’t let you go, because this is how you’re destined to die, but his hands move to your shoulders to turn you around.

Because your brain is the ultimate betrayer, your first thought is holy fucking shit. Your second thought questions the word selection in your first thought, because this very beautiful man in front of you is a vampire and would probably hiss and go up in smoke if you said the word ‘holy’ in front of him. And your third thought is, well—it’s not an appropriate thought to be thinking about a man who’d just tried to bite you and drink you dry, to say the least.

“You seem weirdly okay with me being a vampire.”

See, here’s the thing: you’re not going to pretend you know the ins and outs of vampire culture or whatever, but you’ve always known they exist. Not even an open secret or anything. Not a secret at all. That’s just the world you were born into. So, really, there’s no excuse for your reply to be, “It’s fine, I’ve seen Twilight.”

Because here’s the second thing: yes, you’ve always known vampires exist, but they’re still something to be feared. Still an apex predator stalking the shadowed parts of the city once the sun goes down. Long ago, the human world made accommodations for them so the two of you could coexist, but they were put in place for the same reason they started putting seatbelts in cars: no guarantee they’ll save your life, but it’s the best chance you’ve got at staying alive.

“Wow,” the vampire deadpans. “Okay. Let me tell you all the problems I have with that movie—”

You’re shaking like a leaf as you blurt out, “I guess I’m just in shock that I’m still alive so I’m saying stupid stuff,” and it comes out all breathy.

He stops rambling then. Snaps his jaw closed and looks down at you with what you’d call concern if he was human and hadn’t just tried to kill you. “Oh shit,” he says. Then he’s shucking off his thick coat and wrapping it around your shoulders, and if you hadn’t been in a daze before, you sure are now. “Here, take this. Wow, I have no manners. My mother would be so pissed if she heard about this. Please don’t tell her, she’ll stake me.” All you can do is nod; it’s not like you know his mother. Maybe she’s nice.

The coat just… feels like a coat. There’s no residual body heat lingering in the wool, which makes sense, but you’re thankful for the extra layer all the same. You’d told your friends going to a club in early January was stupid, but you’d only been thinking in terms of hypothermia or the common cold or looking like an idiot for being the person who orders a cup of hot tea at the bar. Small picture stuff. Encountering a vampire hadn’t even made your list of concerns, which is probably why the universe chose you to star in this moment out of everyone else on the planet.

(The universe does love a good bit of irony.)

Then, as if you hadn’t already made yourself look like a fool, the vampire’s eyebrows knit together as he says, “Also, whoa, hey, I wasn’t—I wasn’t gonna kill you.” He’s looking at you with such concern that it just makes you feel stupid. A vampire pities you.

Maybe it’s adrenaline or maybe you’ve just had a very, very fucked up night, but your cheeks are burning before you know it and fat, hot tears are rolling down your face. The vampire really looks concerned now, which just makes everything worse. “I’m s-sorry,” you manage to blubber out. “You—you probably d-don’t have to deal with ma-many crying girls, huh.”

“Um,” comes his brilliant response. “Well, no.” He scratches the back of his neck, and it’s the first time since he’d grabbed you earlier that you’re without both of his hands on you. They hadn’t been warm, but you find yourself missing the weight regardless. “I mean, like—sometimes people look like they… want to? I can sense they’re scared of me, but usually I… you know… before they start doing… um, this.”

Great. Not only had you been unkillable, you’re also the first victim to have a mental break in front of him. As if this night couldn’t get any worse. Now you’re upset and embarrassed. “I can’t believe you eat people for a living and I wasn’t even good enough to get murdered,” you wail.

Had you been looking, you would’ve seen the look of absolute panic that flickers across the vampire’s face. He looks absolutely frazzled in a way that would’ve made you laugh. Maybe it would've made you feel just the tiniest bit better, because this is uncharted territory for both of you. If you feel lost at encountering your first vampire—whose coat you’re still wrapped in, nonetheless—that anxiety is amplified tenfold for the man in front of you. Imagine his shock when he’d tried to bite you and quickly discovered you had the Fort Knox of necks.

“Hey now,” he says, doing his best to shush you. He already knows he’s in for a reaming for outing himself to a human; the last thing he needs is to be caught by anyone else. “Anyone would be lucky to murder you. You’re totally good enough! Don’t say things like that about yourself.”

It takes a few seconds, but he seems to register his words at the same time you wail harder. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. Oh wow, I’m so bad at this. I just—I meant you’re… you know.” A grimace mars his otherwise beautiful face, a silent prayer for you to somehow just know what he’d meant because there’s no way he’s going to be able to explain it. “Also, hey, what the fuck! Let’s rewind to what you said for a second. I don’t eat people, first of all, and I certainly don’t eat them for a living.”

All you can do is blink up at him. “Oh.”

The vampire scoffs, and you think there’d be a blush creeping up his neck if he was able to do such a thing. “Eat people for a living,” he repeats. “Like I’m some competitive eater. Of people.”

“Okay,” you murmur, and it’s a struggle to even get out such a simple word. “Can, um—if you’re not going to kill me, can I—can I… go?”

“Oh,” the vampire deadpans, looking down at you before his eyes move to his large hands, still gripping your shoulders. “Whoops. Technically I’m not supposed to let you go—job and life insurance, I’m sure you understand—but since you’re not biteable, I don’t see why not.”

A small glimmer of hope parts the proverbial clouds above your head. Sends your adrenaline spiking, and you’re still trembling but the thought of being able to see your cat again dampens it just enough. Truth be told, you’ve always known Xander was a bit of a problem child. Definitely not a cat anyone would willingly take ownership of in the unfortunate event of your premature death. So, yeah—the thought of Xander nibbling on your toes as you sleep in your own bed in your own apartment is a really comforting thought after thinking you were going to be murdered by a vampire in a sketchy alley in the not-great part of the city.

Once the vampire’s grip on you loosens, you shrug out of his coat and hand it over. “Thanks. Let’s do this again sometime, hm?”

You feel yourself blanch. “Um—”

“Geez, I’m joking!” he assures you. Is it weird to find a vampire’s laugh endearing? Because you do, and you question all of your life choices in the span of six seconds. “Wow, you’re really uptight, huh?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t tried to bite me,” you quip, face beginning to flush with anger. He just laughs harder.

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“Not to mention,” you continue, a manicured finger jabbing into his chest, “you totally ruined my night. My friends dragged me out to celebrate me, you know? I finally got that promotion at work that should’ve been mine years ago, but my shitty boss gave it to Steve! Fucking Steve. But I finally got it, so my friends were like, ‘Oh my god, let’s go out to celebrate! We’ll buy all your drinks!’ Which—do you know how fucking cheap my friends are? They never pay for drinks! I was drinking on an unlimited tab, and you ruined it, you fucking dickhead! And I’m gonna have to go back to therapy!”

The vampire just looks amused, now. Cocks his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side with a bemused little smirk that drives you crazy in the bad way. “Ah, I should’ve known. You did taste an awful lot like a soulless office worker.”

You scoff. “And how would you know? You couldn’t even bite me.”

His eyes narrow, a sliver of a glare that might be intimidating had you not heard his squeaky laugh. “I did enough to get the idea.” You roll your eyes. “The gist. A waft. A—”

“Aren’t you leaving? Don’t you have some other innocent person to chew on?”

“Chew—wow. And to think I was going to offer to walk you home!”

Involuntarily, your jaw drops. “And what makes you think I would’ve accepted? That’s easily the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”

“You think I’m the only vampire hanging arou—”

“Lurking,” you interject. “Skulking. Creepily hiding in a bush. Not hanging around.”

The vampire blinks once, twice. Takes a steadying breath and says, “I should’ve eaten you.”

You shrug. “But you can’t, so.” Then your two brain cells connect. “Wait, does that mean all vampires can’t bite me? Am I immune? Is this my superhero origin story?”

“It’s giving me a fucking migraine, is what it is.”

You huff. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Because I don’t know the answer.”

“Oh, you weren’t granted infinite wisdom in your old age?”

“Who are you calling old?” he snaps. “I’m the third-youngest in my clan, I’m not old.”

“Are you older than one hundred?” He nods. “Two hundred?” He nods again. “Then you’re fucking old. That’s, like, more than double my lifespan.”

He rolls his eyes. “How old are you, then?”

“Twenty-seven.” His eyes widen a bit, like he’s prompting you to continue. “What? I’m twenty-seven.”

It’s a weird thing, watching the color drain from a vampire’s face. Not that you’ve ever been an expert, but you had seen both Twilight and Interview with the Vampire so you’d assumed they’d all be pale. Devoid of warmth all over. Cold hands, pallid skin, no heartbeat. So it freaks you out to watch the vampire in front of you go white as a ghost.

“Oh my god,” he moans, panic overtaking his features. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god—”

“You can say that?”

“Holy fucking shit,” he chants instead, eyes darting around the alley like he’s hoping a bush will materialize so he can dry-heave into it. “Oh my god, I cannot believe—oh shit, oh fuck, oh no—”

You click your tongue, heeled boots stomping on the asphalt. “What is your problem? You look like you’re about to croak over and die.”

He turns to you, then, eyes as big as the moon. There’s a grimace on his face you’d only seen that one time you’d tricked your cousin’s kid into sucking on a lemon. “You’re my problem! I almost ate a literal infant!”

“Excuse me—”

“Twenty-seven? Are you joking? Do you want me to go to prison?”

“For trying to murder me? Yeah, it’d be a good fucking start!”

The vampire pulls at his hair, clearly exasperated. “For the last time—I was not going to kill you!”

“Oh, right, you were just going to nibble on me a bit! The human can have a little exsanguination, as a treat.”

“Is that what the kids call a may-may? Because I don’t understand that reference.”

You make a gagging sound. “What the fuck? You mean a meme?”

“Sure, whatever. Anyway—”

“Right. Doesn’t matter. I’m taking an Uber home, anyway. I live too far to walk.”

Awkwardly, the vampire clears his throat. “I should walk you.” As you move to protest, he sends you an apologetic smile. “I’m not the, uh—the only one who’d want to eat you.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you really trying to tell me my Uber driver’s gonna be a vampire?”

“It’s not an uncommon side hustle,” he retorts, offense painted across his features.

You pause, head tilted to the side as you try to determine if he’s messing with you. “Are you messing with me?”

“No…?”

“Really?” you deadpan. “You really expect me to believe there are vampires out there moonlighting as Uber drivers?”

He scoffs. “Well, we certainly can’t daylight as them, now can we?”

And that’s the story of how a vampire walks you back to your apartment.

It’s cold and it’s a long walk, takes the better part of an hour and that’s with a few shortcuts sprinkled in. Your companion talks the entire way, never shuts up even for a second, and you wonder if all vampires are as talkative as him or if you’d just run into one who’s kind of annoying but chivalrous and charming, somehow. He lends you his coat again and pops into the convenience store to buy you gloves and a cup of coffee. You jokingly ask if he bought them with money from his part-time rideshare gig and you learn he has a contagious laugh.

You also learn his name is Seokjin.

By the time you reach your door, you also-also learn you’re far more endeared to him than you should be.

“I’m not sure what the protocol is for this,” Seokjin says, scratching at the back of his neck. There’s a mischievous glint in his eye as he peers down at you, the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. “I’ve never done the walk of shame back to my own clan.”

You snort. “I can do your makeup and let you borrow a dress and some heels if you want the full experience.”

There’s a riposte on the tip of his tongue that rapidly melts away, his eyes softening as his mouth opens and snaps shut a few times. “Most people wouldn’t say it like that,” he says, voice quiet like he’s telling you a secret.

“Like what?”

“Full experience,” he quotes back to you. “Most of them would probably say human experience.”

“Ah.” You smile, moving to wipe nonexistent dirt from the lapel of his coat. It’s obscene, the way it stretches across his broad shoulders. “Trust me, you don’t want the human experience. It’s all student loan debt and unrealistic beauty standards and oh my god I have to figure out what to cook and eat for dinner literally every single night until I die and doing math to figure out if the nineteen streaming services you’ve signed up for are actually cheaper than just getting cable.”

“Sounds terrible,” he jokes. But you can see it, the sadness that lies dormant in him. Not that it’s much of a shock. Whatever kind of life he lived before this is most likely centuries in the past, long gone but not entirely forgotten.

So it’s purely out of empathy and the depressing look on Seokjin’s face that you say, “Hey, wanna come in and meet Xander?”

He startles, back suddenly ramrod straight. “Xander?”

“My cat. He’s a bit of a hellspawn but you two seem like you’d get along, for obvious reasons.”

“Are you calling me a hellspawn?” he teases, eyebrow quirked.

You shrug. “I’m not-not calling you one.”

There’s his squeaky laugh again. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I’m not sure you know exactly what you’re offering, so I’m going to do the responsible thing and decline.”

“Why, are you on some kind of housecat-only diet or something?”

He laughs again, harder this time, and you find yourself wishing you were funnier just so you can hear it all the time. Laughter looks good on him. “No. A lot of vampire lore is bullshit, but the one about needing to be invited into someone’s home is true.”

“Oh.” You think on it for approximately four seconds. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like you can eat me, right?” Still, Seokjin shrugs, almost looking sheepish. “Okay,” you say, hands raised in defense. “I won’t force you. I’m a big believer in consent and respecting boundaries. But you’re always welcome to come by if you’re feeling lonely. You know where I live now.”

It takes a minute for your words to sink in. Seokjin’s face, which had been flushed from both the cold wind and his incessant laughter, seems to soften at your offer. Then, it’s in a hoarse, croaking voice that he asks, “Why?”

And all you can think to say is, “I don’t know, you just look like you need a friend.”

That should’ve been the end of it.

You never should’ve seen Seokjin again.

The memory of him should’ve been lodged into an unused crevice of your mind—some dusty, cobweb-covered wrinkle that also housed lyrics to one-hit wonders from the ‘90s and the formulas for trigonometric ratios. Sine, cosine, and tangents may have been lost to the recesses of your mind forever, but Seokjin hadn’t.

Which is why you’re shocked when he shows up at your doorstep a mere two weeks after the night he’d tried to bite you.

“Seokjin?” you stupidly ask. Of course it’s him. You’ve made a lot of questionable choices in your life, but meeting and somehow befriending multiple vampires isn’t one.

He looks different, though. His once-dark hair is now a pale shade of pink, longer than it had been the last time you’d seen him, secured loosely to the crown of his head. Stray strands frame his face—a face that you wouldn’t admit to being handsome, even under duress and especially now—and it’s scattered with tiny cuts and dried blood, a purple bruise beneath his right eye, streaks of dirt down his cheeks.

To put it mildly, he looks like shit.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

Seokjin’s frazzled. Can’t seem to concentrate on anything. “Can I come in?” he asks, and even his voice sounds rough.

Judging from the last time you’d invited him into your apartment, you know he wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. You know the weight those words carry. “Yeah,” you answer instantly, opening your door wider. “Yeah, of course. Come in.”

You steer him toward the couch, depositing him there as you fetch a blanket and wrap it around those god-forsaken shoulders of his. This is normally the part where you’d offer to make him something—coffee, a cup of tea, something bitter and alcoholic—but you’re not sure what he drinks other than blood. Which is not a thing you have outside of your body.

It all makes you feel really helpless. You barely know Seokjin. Probably shouldn’t have entrusted him with irrevocable access to your apartment. Definitely shouldn’t have done that, in retrospect, but he’d just looked so dejected. What were you supposed to have done? Those sad eyes of his had thrown a lasso over your head and roped you in before you could even think about it.

And now here you are.

Nine-o’clock on a Saturday night. Previously alone in your apartment, because one near-death experience was enough to put you off clubbing for a while. A knock on your door. A mysterious man on the other side. He has sharp teeth. Once tried to use you as a chew toy. Grass is green, water is wet.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask, unsure of what to do with your hands. You’re tactile. Always have been. The hugger of your friend group, so you want to reach out for him, comfort him somehow, but you’re not sure if you should. If he’d want that.

Seokjin heaves a deep sigh, finally looking up at you. Exhaustion is all you can see. “Maybe just some water.”

You nod. You can do water, had even gotten one of those fancy pitchers with a filter as a housewarming gift to yourself. You even manage to change it regularly and on time, a water-based ‘fuck you’ in the face of adulting and everyone who says it’s difficult.

(It is very difficult.)

But hey, you’re managing to save both the environment and downtrodden vampires alike, so you deserve to feel that tiny sliver of pride.

Water acquired, you offer it to Seokjin who accepts it with trembling hands. “Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask, because you can’t really say you’re saving a downtrodden vampire if you don’t even know why he’s slumped against your couch.

“Not really,” he grumbles.

With a sigh, you plop onto the couch next to him, hands once again itching to reach out and comfort him in some way. “Can I touch you?” you ask, and once he nods, you maneuver him so he’s laying on his side with his head in your lap, fingers immediately busying themselves in his blush-colored locks. “Is this okay?” Seokjin nods again.

That’s how the two of you remain until you can feel the tension slowly melt away. Could be minutes, could be hours. You’re not sure. All you know is someone had shown up at your doorstep asking for help and that sometimes it’s nice to run your fingers through someone else’s hair. Gently untangle someone else’s knots. Scratch lightly at someone else’s scalp.

You try not to think much of it beyond that. You don’t think about Seokjin being a vampire. Don’t think about the fact you barely know him. Definitely don’t think about the fact he’d tried to bite you. It all seems a bit inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, species be damned.

Finally, long after you think Seokjin’s fallen asleep, he asks, in a faint voice you’ve only heard from him once, “What do you usually do?”

You hum. Wonder if Seokjin can feel it. “What do you mean? Like, when I’m sad?” He nods, a quiet yeah. “Mm. Depends on why I’m sad, I guess. Usually a long shower and a glass of wine if it’s just a bad day. Trashy reality TV and ice cream if it’s more serious.”

This seems to pique his interest. “What are those?” he asks, sitting up so he can stare at you with wide, curious eyes. The water sloshes in the glass.

“Huh?”

“Those things you said.”

“Trashy reality television and ice cream?” Seokjin nods, more strands of hair falling from the topknot. “You’ve never watched reality TV?”

“Don’t watch TV at all.”

“What.”

He scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “I’m busy, okay? I don’t have time for things like that.”

“Aren’t you immortal?” you quip. “You have, like, unlimited time.”

Seokjin levels you with a look—one that clearly says what the hell do you know about being immortal and also time management? You ignore it. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a very addictive personality. I can’t get sucked into television. I’ll never stop watching it.”

“That’s fair,” you acknowledge. “You’re so far behind it’d be, like, impossible to catch up, anyway.”

His gaze narrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the first television broadcast aired in 1928. That’s almost a century’s worth of stuff to catch up on.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, but surely not all of it is worth watching,” Seokjin replies, eyebrows disappearing beneath his hair. You confirm his words with a noncommittal hum. “What’s your favorite?”

“Season five of Love Island UK.”

“That’s it? Only one show?”

You scoff. “There’s no only about it. It’s got everything you could ever want in trashy reality television, okay? Especially after Casa Amor—”

“I don’t know what that means.”

You pause. As much as you’d love to go on a tirade about Anna and Jordan—and, really, you’ve been waiting for this, having been limited to barely legible tweets that went ignored since your friends refuse to watch it—Seokjin’s right. He has no idea what any of this means. “Oh. Well, you can start with something easier. You don’t want to peak too early, you know? All TV post-Love Island will just be a letdown.”

“Of course,” Seokjin agrees easily, “we wouldn’t want that.”

“It’d be very tragic,” you tack on. Seokjin just nods.

Although he seems a bit more comfortable, he’s still obviously restless. Crooked fingers have been picking at the pilling of his sweater since he sat down. There’s a small pile of it on the floor, right at his feet, that he’s oblivious to. Not that you’re going to mention it, either, but the last thing you need is for Xander to eat it and hack up some disgusting combination of hairball and sweater fuzz, so when Seokjin isn’t looking you subtly push it under the couch with your foot.

Knowing this is a situation that requires precise delicacy, you clear your throat and angle your body in a way that conveys optimal comfort for the recipient, and say, “Not that I mind sharing my streaming passwords with you, but do you mind if I ask why you’re here?”

Seokjin sucks in a breath that he aborts halfway. Holds it for a few seconds before he exhales heavily, the weight of the world almost visible on his shoulders. As a soulless office worker, as Seokjin had once kindly called you, you’ve seen your fair share of exhaustion—coworkers slumped over at their desks during overtime, those still fighting hangovers on Monday mornings at the coffee machine, the last day in the office before a holiday break—but Seokjin looks… different. It’s a different kind of exhaustion, you think; one bone-deep instead of artificial. Not the kind of exhaustion that can be fixed with a nap or a weekend spent recuperating in bed.

“I… I’m not really sure why I came here,” he begins, tone soft and careful. “Everything happened pretty fast and all I could think of was the last time I was here and you told me I was welcome to come by anytime.” He looks up at you, then, like he’s waiting on confirmation. You nod. “Word travels pretty fast in circles like mine. Mostly for survival. Like, if there’s some kind of threat and we need to leave quickly, we set up ways to inform everyone as quickly as possible a long time ago. But—but things are different now. Faster. Smartphones and the internet and all that.”

“Did… did someone, y’know… see us?”

Seokjin sighs. A fractured, broken thing. “Yeah,” he croaks. “It’s not uncommon. It happens sometimes. I’m not the first one to ever do it—”

“Bite someone with an impenetrable neck?”

You smile when the corners of his lips tug upwards despite himself. “Sure, if you want to put it that way. Like I said, it’s not uncommon, but it’s… a big deal, I guess. Clans are really sensitive to the treaties put in place. Biting a human is a no-no since they established the blood banks, but biting someone, failing, and letting them go?” His words trail off, gaze locked blankly on something in the distance. “That’s unacceptable.”

You swallow, trying not to let the guilt seep in. “So, what’s that mean, then? Unacceptable?”

“It means you’re a liability.” He starts picking at his sweater again. Starts humming a song to himself that you don’t recognize but know will stick in those scarcely-used corners of your mind. A haunting kind of melody; something that pines, something that hurts. “Clans can’t risk a liability.”

“They… kicked you out?” Seokjin nods. “What does that mean?” you ask again.

Not that you know Seokjin very well, or at all, but you’re smart enough to notice patterns. You’ve noticed the way he fidgets when he’s anxious. That he’s more amenable to skinship then, too; doesn’t mind you touching him. You notice the way he blinks differently when he seems unsure of what to say or how to say it, which seems out of character for him in the first place. You’ve noticed the anguish on his face since you opened the door, so you expect more of that when he answers your question.

What you don’t expect is his clenched jaw. The crease between his eyebrows. How he seems to chew on the inside of his cheek before he steels himself and says, “It’s a death sentence.”

Because, as he informs you, a vampire is very unlikely to survive on their own. They need a clan. Need its resources and its protection. Out in the world, alone, there’s no guarantee of survival; of food and safety and camaraderie. A rogue vampire, Seokjin tells you, is a living, breathing target, and everyone knows it.

“When did they kick you out?”

Seokjin shrugs. Picks at the skin around his fingernails. “Not long after I left your place. A few hours at most. Told me as soon as I returned that they’d have to vote on it but not to get my hopes up.”

“Wow. That’s fucked.”

“That’s just how it is. Always been that way.”

You scoff. Scrunch your face up in a way that’s surely ugly but gets your point across. “So? Doesn’t mean it’s not fucked.”

He snorts a laugh and raises his eyebrows, studying you. “Are you gonna be the one to go up against centuries of vampire politics?”

“Who knows what I might do to defend your honor,” you joke. That squeaky laugh of his makes a welcomed reappearance when you throw an exaggerated wink at him.

Much to Seokjin’s relief, step one of Cohabitating With a Vampire is not going up against centuries of vampiric politics. Instead, you follow through on your promise and give him the passwords to all your streaming services.

(“There’s, like, twenty of them. I’ll never remember all this.”

“Then write it down. Didn’t I tell you part of the human experience is doing math to figure out if all this bullshit is cheaper than cable?”

“I don’t have to be human to tell you it’s definitely not.”)

Step two is getting him one of those cheap prepaid cell phone plans from the convenience store. Nothing fancy, because Seokjin has enough problems with technology, just something that allows him to make calls and text you throughout the day when he needs an outlet for all his feelings about Avatar: The Last Airbender. He finishes all three seasons in just over a day, so there are a lot of texts to send.

Things continue like that for a while. Seokjin is surprisingly easy to live with, which might not be saying much. You’d lived with a few people in university that probably skewed your views on what does and does not make a good roommate, but Seokjin is polite and respectful of your space, which is really all you can ask for. Not that he makes much of a mess, but he always cleans up after himself when he does, and he always tells you if he’s going to be out late. He has a key, so it’s just to ease your worries.

Because he doesn’t… talk. About the whole excommunication thing. Hasn’t said another word about it since he broached the topic a few weeks ago. You’re not an idiot, though. You can tell it weighs on him heavily, can tell he seems to second guess leaving your apartment each time he lingers by the door. But then he sighs, pulls his lips into a tight smile, says gotta eat sometime, and off he goes.

Hence why you’d recommended he start with bingeing cartoons.

Which, so far, has worked out well. You respond to Seokjin’s mistyped texts with the appropriate amount of interest and the occasional meme and you don’t push when his thoughts become less joke-y and more introspective. He asks your thoughts about the concept of found family, if you think people (and by people he means Prince Zuko) are capable of redemption or if sometimes someone can truly be too far gone.

Asking for a friend? you ask.

Something like that, Seokjin writes back.

Things are fine. Good, even, despite the fact that Seokjin is still very much a stranger and how abruptly you’d had to adjust to someone else being in your space. Which brings you to—

“How long would you like to stay?”

Seokjin’s head snaps up, eyes wide like you’ve just caught him doing something he shouldn’t. “Oh. I, uh—I haven’t really thought about it.”

You hum in acknowledgment and turn your attention back to the stove. Human food makes Seokjin sick, so you only cook for yourself, but he’s taken to keeping you company in the kitchen each time you make dinner. Asks you about work, about what you’re making and how you make it; asks you where things go as he tidies up behind you.

Now, he stays firmly planted on the other side of the kitchen island, using it as a barrier. “I—I can… go? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“That’s not what I said.” You turn off the burner and reach for a plate. “I would’ve asked when you’re leaving if I was trying to get rid of you.”

“Oh.”

Xander wanders in and wraps himself around your legs. “You have to give me more credit, Seokjin. I’m very assertive. My sister says it’s because I’m an Aries.” You scold Xander when he tries to jump on the counter, claws scraping on the cabinets as he scurries off. “So please believe me when I say if I wanted you out of my space I would just say that. I have no qualms about it. Fuck, he actually fucked up the cabinets, the little shit.”

“Okay. Okay, uh—I guess I’ll—”

You turn to Seokjin, face exasperated. “You literally tried to bite me and low-key murder me. What happened to that guy? You were so cocky.”

“Ugh—”

“Kind of an asshole, too, if I’m being honest. You don’t have to be all timid around me.”

Seokjin barely makes it to the stool at the counter before he’s slumping into it. “Sorry, it’s just—this is weird for me. I’ve never been… alone.”

After you finish plating your dinner, confirming for the billionth time since he moved in that Seokjin does not, in fact, want to risk the stomachache that accompanies human food, you take a seat beside him. A questioning stare asks if it’s okay if you touch him, and he nods minutely, finding the comforting weight of your hand on his bicep seconds later. “I’m not gonna pry, but just—just remember that you’re not alone, okay? I know I can’t relate, but you can talk to me about whatever you want, whenever you want. Xander, too. Sometimes he’s better because he can’t respond, he just has to sit there and take it.”

Sensing he’s being talked about, Xander meows from his spot on the floor. He still seems skeptical of Seokjin sometimes but has otherwise moved onto resigned nonchalance. “Xander’s a pretty weird name, huh?” Seokjin says, leaning down to scratch at his head. “Where’d you come up with that?”

Whatever bubble of friendship you’ve created between you and Seokjin is erased instantly as you awkwardly explain the plot of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

“How much do you know about human holidays?”

Seokjin barely spares you a glance. Ever since you’d mentioned Buffy, he’s made it a point to binge all seven seasons and tell you, in extreme detail, how inaccurate it is. “Hm?”

You roll your eyes, spitefully deleting the nice sheet set you’d put in your cart for him. “Human holidays. How much do you know?”

“Just the big ones, I guess. The ones bastardized from the Pagans.” You hum thoughtfully. The kind of hum that Seokjin knows means you want something, because it’s one he’s heard a million times already. But the lure of Buffy is strong, especially the musical episode, and he’s still unable to tear his eyes away from the screen when he follows up with, “Why do you ask?”

“Tomorrow’s a holiday. Just wondering if you’d want to celebrate.”

“Depends what it is.”

Suddenly shy, you balk at answering. “Forget it,” you say, re-adding the sheets to your cart along with an overpriced memory foam pillow. Just because Seokjin doesn’t sleep much doesn’t mean he shouldn’t do it in luxury when he does. “It’s silly.”

Catching the hesitation in your tone, Seokjin turns to you with an eyebrow quirked. “Tell me.”

You nearly groan at the way your cheeks warm. “No.”

“Since when are you shy?” he teases, one corner of his mouth catching on a smile. “Are you embarrassed?”

“I’m not shy,” you argue, despite all momentary evidence to the contrary. “I’ve just decided I don’t want to celebrate a holiday with someone who can’t stop watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer for two seconds to pay attention to me.”

“Ah,” Jin says with a snort of laughter. “You’re not shy and embarrassed, you’re jealous and needy.”

You delete the sheets and pillow again.

When you get into work the next day, there’s a bouquet of flowers waiting for you on your desk and a small box of chocolates.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Guess I know a thing or two.

-SJ

You buy the goddamn sheets, paying extra for same-day delivery.

Having a roommate is strange.

You’ve grown used to having Seokjin in your space. You’ve made room for him, made a room for him, and have finally ironed out all those awkward kinks that come with living with a stranger.

So it feels weird when he’s not around. Wrong, almost.

Which is stupid, you tell yourself. He’s allowed to go out. Now that he’s mostly shaken the nerves from his exile, he’s been doing that more frequently. He’d told you a few weeks ago that he can finally go out and not spend the entire time looking over his shoulder, which is great for him, but you spend every second he’s gone worrying about him.

And now it’s spring, so all you can do is lay in your bed with the windows cracked and wonder if every police siren you hear is because something awful has happened to him. Which is also stupid, because the man has superpowers, for fuck’s sake. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself, can do far better of a job than you could ever hope to, so there’s no sense in worrying.

Still.

Your mind is working overtime to convince you of all these horrible things, like Seokjin’s gone to a club and was spotted by someone in his old clan and now there’s no more Seokjin. Just—poof!

At times (like now) you feel like an overbearing helicopter parent, always two seconds away from sending a text demanding to know where he is and who he’s with. Let me know you’re safe in the next thirty seconds OR ELSE. You think that has a nice ring to it. Doesn’t matter that Seokjin’s at least ten times your age, OR ELSE has never been an empty threat from you.

Your thumb hovers above the send button as you hear the lock turn in the front door. You’re up and halfway down the hall in an embarrassingly short amount of time—just enough to watch Seokjin stumble inside and nearly brain himself on the console table.

This is weird and not correct. Seokjin doesn’t stumble. He’s infuriatingly composed at all times, especially when he’s dressed to go out and leaves a bit of forehead showing. Then he’s really composed. Carries himself with an unshakeable arrogance that has you wondering how one’s forehead can wield so much power.

“Jin?” you call out, both to make sure the man in front of you is actually him and, if it is, to give him a heads up and not scare him to death. (Because, as you’ve also learned, Seokjin startles very easily. It’s both endearing and a source of great distress for him.)

Seokjin looks up, catches your eye at the same time he catches himself on the wall. You think he’s trying to take off his shoes. “Oh hey!” he sing-songs, and your stomach drops straight to the floor.

He’s drunk.

Wasted, even.

Which shouldn’t be possible, according to him. Something about his inhuman metabolism that prevents it. “Are you—Kim Seokjin, are you drunk?”

“No,” Seokjin insists, “that’s impossible. I—I can’t be that.”

You eye him warily. “I think you’re drunk, Jin.” Grabbing him gently, you maneuver him to the couch. “Sit. I’m gonna get you some water.”

Five minutes later, he’s properly hydrated and slumped against the arm of the sofa, moaning about how he can’t see and his stomach feels weird. “That’s because you’re drunk,” you reiterate, to which Seokjin replies, eyes narrowed even though he can’t lift his head to properly glare at you, “No, I’m not.”

You click your tongue. “Where’d you go tonight, then?”

“The blood bank.”

“Which one?” you ask, because you may not know all the ins and outs of vampire bylaws and treatises, but you know all blood banks aren’t created equal. Seokjin had explained the hierarchy once. There are the bougie, all organic, free range blood banks not unlike the bougie, all organic, overpriced head of cabbage supermarkets in your world; then there are the dirt cheap blood banks, the ones that capitalize on desperation and skirt the law a bit too much to be harmless.

Judging from the look on Seokjin’s face, he hadn’t gone to the bougie one.

“Jin,” you say, trying to curb the reprimand in your tone. “You know that place isn’t safe.”

He slumps backwards again, dazedly staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes. “I know that.” He fists his hands in the fabric of his coat. “It’s not like I had much of a choice.”

“Okay,” you say, because it’s not like you can say I know or I understand, because you don’t. Seokjin’s world is so far removed from your own, enmeshed only by force and a lack of other options. “I just… I worry about you, you know? I just want you to be safe, and that place isn’t safe.”

Seokjin scoffs. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

You level him with a stare even though his eyes aren’t open to see it. “I’m not talking about physically, you idiot. I mean, I do worry about you physically, but I worry more about you mentally and emotionally. You went through an incredibly traumatizing thing and you don’t talk about it.”

“Did you learn that in therapy?” he deadpans.

Now it’s your turn to scoff. “I did, as a matter of fact, and you can tell it’s working by the way I’m not the emotionally constipated one between us.”

“I’m not constipated.”

You sigh. “Okay, Jinnie. Just… promise me one thing, okay?” He grunts. “Don’t go back to that blood bank. They clearly took a donation from someone they shouldn’t have and now you’re all fucked up.”

“I’m fine,” he argues, just for the sake of arguing.

“You’re really not.”

“Yes I am, and I don’t have any money for the nicer blood banks. I’m all out.”

Reaching for his hand, you intertwine your fingers and squeeze. “Okay. Just tell me next time you need to go and we can figure it out.”

That seems to grab his attention. He snaps his eyes open and looks over at you, taking far too long to look focused. “I’m not taking your money.”

“Jin—”

“No, don’t Jin me. You’re already letting me stay here for free. Did you know that not having a safe place to live is the number one cause of death for rogue vampires? Because it is, and you’ve already spared me from certain death, so I’m not going to ask you for money on top of it just so I can go back to drinking my fancy aged blood.”

“Is there really nothing in between aged, organic B-positive and took a sketchy donation from someone rolling on E?”

“That’s a common misconception. The different blood types don’t really taste all that different.”

You groan. “Not the point. The point—”

“Don’t go to the bad place anymore,” Seokjin mumbles, sounding all too much like a scolded child.

“Correct.”

“Still doesn’t solve my money issue.”

A slow, smug grin overtakes your face. “Give me two days and I’ll have it solved.”

You truly are a genius, even if Seokjin won’t admit it.

See, you had the advantage of not being over two-hundred years old. You’re young and aware of trends, and that came in handy when you had a centuries-old vampire looking for employment in the modern age. Ridesharing had been out of the question, not because Seokjin had cracked that horrible joke eons ago and didn’t want to go back on it, but because he'd forgotten to renew his license. Getting an overnight job—either stocking shelves at the supermarket or working at the convenience store or whatever—had been out of the question, too, due to Seokjin not wanting his beautiful face to go to waste.

“Become a Twitch streamer, then,” you’d said.

Which had been a mistake, because instead of outright refusing and moving on, Seokjin had suckered you into explaining what Twitch was for thirty minutes. Add another thirty minutes of explaining what a streamer was and it’d nearly taken up your entire evening.

“I’ve never played a video game in my entire life,” Seokjin had said, but he hadn’t looked dissuaded.

You’d shrugged. “Some people are into that. It makes for a good shtick.”

Seokjin had paused, then; stared into the distance as if it could tell him all the secrets of the universe. “Do you really think people would watch me be bad at playing video games?”

“Trust me,” you’d replied, taking his face between your hands and squishing his cheeks a little, “humans not only watch way worse things, they pay for them, too.”

And now you’re here, a month and a half later.

You’d stolen (more like permanently borrowed without prior consent, because stolen is such a loaded word) some spare equipment from work. Got Seokjin set up in a corner of his now-bedroom. Ordered those LED light strips all the other streamers have and told him to milk his horrible sense of humor for all it was worth, and boom, his channel had blown up far quicker than you or he had anticipated.

Now he has a steady viewership and a reliable income and his own Discord server. Sure, the start had been a bit rough. Seokjin really had never played video games before, so trying to find something good for streaming was difficult. He didn’t have the coordination for MapleStory, Stardew Valley was too boring, he lost ten subscribers when he tried streaming Pokémon. You’d casually suggested he start streaming horror games. He was endearingly inept and easily startled—seemed like a no-brainer.

Once again, you were right.

So here he is, hogging the small bathroom as he applies his moisturizer, shooing you away each time you ask to take a shower because he has to look good on camera. Which is ridiculous, you think, because he’s actually incapable of looking bad.

“That’s ridiculous,” you huff. “You’re literally incapable of looking bad.”

Seokjin smiles all smug and pleased. “I know. But I’ll be done in a minute. My stream starts soon, anyway.”

With another huff, you stomp down the hall to melt into the couch until he’s done. There’s an episode of Bake-Off paused on the television that you resume, snorting at Seokjin’s squawking protests.

You hear the bathroom lights flick off, Seokjin’s footsteps on the wood floors, Xander tangling himself in his legs and sending him staggering into the wall. “Yah! Watch it, you horrible cretin!”

“Xander did nothing wrong,” you retort. “He’s innocent.”

Seokjin just rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated. “You’d let that cat get away with murder.”

“If it was yours? Absolutely.”

Later on, after you’ve showered and are tucked into bed, a warmth spreads through your chest as you hear Seokjin say to his stream, nothing but affection in his voice, “Can you believe my best friend’s cat tried to murder me today?”

Then there’s a strangled yell as he promptly gets killed in-game.

Hearing Seokjin call you his best friend has damn near catapulted you into a full-blown crisis.

His words have been playing on a loop all week. The warmth never dulls, never lets up; the words best friend always lodge themselves in some hard to reach space in your heart. Because they mean something. Because Seokjin’s not the type to say something just to say it. Because you always try to do right by him and for a long time you’ve wondered if you’re doing enough, if sometimes you try to do the right thing but make things worse and Seokjin’s too nice to say so.

Worse—you’ve been a little terrified that he only sticks around because he feels obligated. Like he has to pay back some invisible, unspoken debt.

It’s not like that. Maybe it’s cliche to say he’s more important than whatever it costs to house him here, but it’s true. Simply being able to lay in bed, cool breeze streaming in from a cracked window, and hear Seokjin’s squeaky laughter and muffled voice as he talks to his stream—it’s priceless. You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

So, yeah—Seokjin calling you his best friend strikes you someplace deep.

You’re not sure what time it is when you hear a knock on your bedroom door. Seokjin takes up almost all of the frame. Sometimes he has to duck when his hair is done and coiffed, and maybe it’s silly but it makes you feel safe.

“Hi,” you say, leaning over to flick on the lamp. At once the room is bathed in amber, shadows long and prominent in all the darkest parts, and it’s not until Seokjin’s silence registers that you look over at him.

He’s crying.

Two things happen before you even have a chance to breathe: you get tangled in the duvet and eat shit trying to scramble out of bed, and your hands are pressed to Seokjin’s cheeks, thumbing away the tears beneath his eyes. He heaves a sob and pulls you closer. Wraps those gangly arms around your shoulders and cries quietly into your neck.

It all makes you feel a bit hopeless, but you know Seokjin feels safe. You know you’re a safe place for him.

So you let him cry. Don’t ask what’s wrong, because you already know, have been waiting for it to hit out of the blue and all at once. There are only so many distractions. Even fewer that can bear the weight of a trauma like Seokjin’s.

Eventually the sobs turn to hiccups and quiet sniffles. His tone is watery as he apologizes for ruining your sleep shirt. You tell him it’s okay, and this time you don’t ask if you can press a kiss to his forehead, you just guide his head down so you can reach. His body sags in response.

“Do you wanna sleep in here?” you ask. There’s a large part of you that wants him to say yes, and a small one that refuses to consider what that means.

Seokjin says yes, regardless.

You tuck him into the empty side of the bed. Grab a glass of water from the kitchen and some aspirin, even if it won’t do anything, because Seokjin did a lot of crying and you know how that feels. He’s still awake when you return, just staring at the ceiling, so you sit on the edge of the bed next to him and just run your fingers through his hair. It’s blond now, and it suits him.

“Do you,” he starts to say, but his throat is dry and wrecked, voice hoarse.

“Sit up,” you instruct. Bring the glass to his lips. “Drink this.”

He clicks his tongue. “Bossy,” he jokes, but does as you say anyway. “Do you remember the night we met? I told you I was the third-youngest in my clan. We’d taken in two new guys.” You nod. Seokjin swallows hard. “They… they found my stream. Reached out.”

Your hand pauses in his hair. “Oh. What did they say?”

“They apologized.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “They—they said they’re the reason I got kicked out. That they’d fucked up the person at the club—“

“Me,” you conclude.

Seokjin nods. “Yeah, you. It was supposed to be someone else. We—it’s not, uh. Uncommon.”

It takes a second for the dots to connect. Then they do, and you choke on a laugh. “Like. As a kink?”

“Yeah. People pay a lot of money for it, and it’s not, like, illegal to bite someone consensually, so long as there’s proper documentation. And I’m really, really handsome, right, so people would pay a lot more money to get bitten by me, specifically.”

You snort. “So someone at the club that night had paid a lot of money to be bitten by you, the world’s most handsome vampire, and the two new guys in your clan… what, mistook me for someone else?”

“Apparently.”

“Then you tried to bite me, I was not biteable, and then you got kicked out of your clan?”

“That’s the long and short of it, yeah.”

You hum. “What happened to the woman who paid?”

“Taehyung bit her instead. He’s nowhere near as handsome as me, but he’s fine in a pinch.”

“Is he—“

“One of the new guys? Yeah. Jungkook is the other one. He’s the one who found me on Twitch.”

“I see.” You find his hand and press another kiss to the back of it. Interlock your fingers. “Are you okay?”

He sighs. Goes very quiet and very still before saying, in a voice so meek and unlike him, “They asked me to come back. Said they could probably pull some strings and get the clan to take me back.”

The thought of Seokjin leaving nearly steals the breath from your lungs. Has your stomach twisting in knots, limbs jittery with anxiety, and it’s all you can do to choke out a tiny little oh.

You’ve grown so used to having him in your space, in your life. The thought of no longer hearing his ridiculous laugh from across the hall, still audible even with your noise-canceling headphones on? The thought of cooking dinner alone again. The thought of no longer coming home from work to find Seokjin napping on the couch, Xander curled up on his chest. It’s all unfathomable. Has your heart pounding wildly in your chest, and you know Seokjin can hear it, know you’ll probably have to examine all these feelings soon, but—

“I said no.”

“What?”

“I said no,” he repeats. “I… I told them I’m happy here. That I’ve learned how to adjust and that I’m doing well.”

“Seokjin,” you say, voice hardened around the edges because it’s easier to pretend to be mad at him than it is to cry in relief. “Seokjin, why would you do that? They can give you so much more—“

“No,” he says, tone so firm and sure there’s no room to dispute it, “they can’t.”

Why can’t they? you want to ask. What can I possibly give you? But that’s… dumb. They’re questions you already know the answer to, especially when Seokjin’s looking at you like this: like you’re the only thing in his entire universe that matters. Like he’d trust you to lead him into war; trust you to keep him safe.

That’s what all of this is truly about, isn’t it? Trust.

Seokjin trusts you. Seokjin has allowed something solid and impenetrable to be formed between you, has helped create it. Now it’s time to trust him in turn—trust that he’s happy, safe, wants to stay here.

(Stay with you.)

So you don’t push it again. Don’t give voice to all your insecurities. You’d told Seokjin once that if you wanted him gone you’d ask him to leave. It’s the same for him.

“Do you want to see them?”

Seokjin hums. “I—maybe? It would be nice to see a familiar face, I guess.”

You can’t believe you’re about to ask this, but: “Would you… want to invite them over for dinner?” Seokjin gags. “Oh, shit, right—no dinner. Um. Would you like to invite them over to meet Xander and play video games and not eat human food?” you try again.

“Jungkookie eats human food. He’s a vile little creature.”

“Okay. What about Taehyung?”

“He’s like me.”

“Okay. Invite them.”

Seokjin sits up a little. Scrunches his eyebrows together as he stares up at you. “Are you sure?”

“Are they gonna try to eat me?”

“Doesn’t matter if they do,” Seokjin dismisses, “your neck is infamous now.”

Your jaw drops. “What does that mean.”

“It means you’re a bona fide local celebrity, darling. The only person in this city immune to a friendly chomp. After my unfortunate excommunication, you were the talk of the vampire world for weeks. The two chaos demons will probably ask for your autograph.”

Eyes narrow, you study Seokjin’s face. “I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me.”

“I would never.”

“That’s a lie.”

Seokjin just grins.

By the time you finally meet Taehyung and Jungkook, Seokjin’s bedroom isn’t used for much more than streaming.

It happened gradually. A knock on your door frame once he was done with his stream, just to ask if you were awake. Sometimes you weren’t. Sometimes you were, and he’d make you a cup of tea and sit in the empty space on your bed and tell you all about the game he’d played and his viewers and all their funny comments and how many new subscribers he got. That turned into him crashing there, because Seokjin loved to talk and talked endlessly, and sometimes you’d look at the clock and it’d be nearing two a.m. and you’d have to hush him and tell him to go to sleep.

The mornings following would always be hell, but you’d always plop down at your work desk with a goofy smile on your face.

Sleeping alone had started feeling weird after that. It’d been one hell of an adjustment period, getting used to someone else in your bed, but Seokjin’s presence was calming—his weight at your back, far more hesitant to reach out and touch than you are, but sometimes you’d wake up to his fingers in your hair, gently detangling.

Then it was making room for socks and underwear next to yours. His products next to yours in your shower instead of the guest bathroom. His nice shirts hung up next to yours in the closet. His phone charger on the nightstand, plugged into the outlet behind the bed. Now it’s making both sides of the bed in the morning instead of just yours. It’s making sure your alarm is quiet so Seokjin’s able to sleep through it, even with his ridiculous hearing. It’s—

“Oh, what the fuck,” Taehyung says, jaw comically slack. “No wonder hyung doesn’t wanna leave—Jungkook-ah, come look at this! They’re practically fucking married.”

Jungkook seems to materialize beside him, his wide eyes growing even wider as he stifles a laugh. “This is peak marital bedroom.”

Seokjin’s next to you in the hallway, unable to sputter a response. If he could blush, you’re sure it’d go all the way to his toes. “Yah! We’re not—what do you two even know—c’mon, that’s-that’s not even—absurd.”

“It’s not even absurd?” Taehyung and Jungkook think this is riotously funny. “Well,” Taehyung concludes, turning to you, “at least hyung chose well. Imagine if he tried to bite someone who lived in a shithole. Totally wouldn’t have been worth the excommunication.”

Exasperated, Seokjin looks to you for guidance. You just shrug. “He has a point.”

Seokjin’s sputtering again, deflating in the face of betrayal. He throws his hands in the air and dramatically announces, “Aish! Tour’s over, you insolent brats!”

“Don’t worry, hyung,” Jungkook says, making his way down the hall, “we’ll do the self-guided one.”

“Good thing we didn’t pay for this,” Taehyung tacks on. “Two out of ten stars,” he continues, voice growing distant the further they go into Seokjin’s bedroom. “Great location, but the tour guide was a giant pissbaby. Totally unreceptive to comments about his marriage.” You think the last bit comes from the closet.

With a heavy sigh, Seokjin trails after them. Probably to make sure they don’t touch his streaming stuff, considering you’d permanently borrowed it without prior consent. Your boss still hasn’t noticed, so that’s a win, but it’s pretty nice. Not the kind of low-quality garbage you’d be able to afford replacing out of pocket if it all took an unfortunate tumble to the floor.

There’s some muffled yelling—probably also from the closet—before Jungkook pops into the hallway, scratching the back of his neck and looking sheepish. “Hyung sent me out here to help you cook.” He gnaws at his bottom lip. “I-I don’t, uh—cook often? I don’t cook often. So I don’t think I’ll be very good at it.” He looks down. “If that’s okay?”

God help you, you’re now endeared by two vampires. What an embarrassing lack of survival instinct. “Of course it’s okay.” You gesture for him to follow. “Does anyone in your clan cook?”

You hand over an apron. By the way Jungkook stares at it, you conclude the answer to your question is very obviously no. “Never mind,” you say. “Jin says you eat human food? Do you enjoy it?”

Jungkook nods, hair flopping wildly. “Yeah! I eat everything.” Instant horror. “I mean—! Not everything-everything—I don’t eat people! Or a-animals! Wait, I do eat animals, but not live ones! Not, like, housepets. Just the meat and stuff from the store—I’m not gonna eat your cat!”

Xander just blinks up at him. There’s that embarrassing lack of survival instinct again.

You laugh. Squeeze his shoulder. “Jungkook, relax, it’s okay. I didn’t think that at all.”

“Okay,” he says, but he doesn’t look convinced. He just looks sad, like he’s on the verge of tears. “I just—I feel bad for hyung. I’m trying to make a good impression so you’ll like us and invite us over again and we’ll get to see him all the time.” Then, in a small voice, he adds, “Like before.”

You wonder if he can hear the way your heart plummets to the ground. “Oh, you sweet thing.” Unlike Seokjin, you don’t ask Jungkook if you can hug him. You just do it, because he starts sniffling before you can even finish your sentence. “You and Taehyung are always welcome here, okay?” Jungkook nods into the crook of your neck. “As long as you don’t, like, break anything. Seokjin isn’t bringing in that much money yet.”

This gets a laugh out of him. A sweet sound; airy and carefree, even though he’s carrying so much guilt. “Hyung seems really happy here.”

An unbidden smile. “I hope he is.”

“Are you happy he’s here, too?”

Jungkook’s clearly looking for something in your expression when he pulls back. He’s already heard the way your heart rate spiked at his question, so you’re not sure what it is, but it’s easy to say, “Yes, I am,” because it’s the truth.

“Okay. That helps, I think.”

“Good. Now, what are your thoughts on carbonara?”

  Jungkook is a good sous chef.

He’s a quick learner, efficient at chopping things, and doesn’t mind doing the dishes because he “wants the experience.” After cooking alongside Seokjin for so long, it was second nature to hand out little jobs to do. Easy to make light conversation. Even though he’s a century older than you, Jungkook seems so young. Hasn’t lost that sense of childlike wonder. Still has all those stars in his eyes.

So you hand over a pair of gloves and let him do the dishes. You’re halfway down the hall when the sound of the faucet fades and gives way to hushed conversation.

“—it’s alright, Taehyung-ah, I’m not scolding you, it’s just—it’s touchy, okay? Even if that’s something she’d want, you know it’s different for us. You know the laws.”

“I know, hyung. I’m sorry. It was a stupid joke and I just got carried away.”

You should say something, you think. They probably know you’re here, just skulking in the dark, eavesdropping, their superhuman senses be damned.

Christ, you probably smell like pancetta.

“…Do you, though?”

Seokjin sighs. You’d know that sigh anywhere, considering how many times you’d heard it during his Buffy binge. “Yeah. I think I do, Taehyung-ah.”

“Are you gonna tell her?”

“How do you imagine that playing out? We haven’t even had The Talk yet.”

Someone gasps. “Oh, shit. You haven’t? Really? That’s a pretty important conversation to just skip over.”

“Yah, don’t give me that look! It’s complicated!”

“Okay, hyung, I’m sure it is. I just want you to be happy, you know? And, like, you’re clearly happy here, but maybe you could be even happier. I know there’s laws and rites and customs, but who gives a shit?”

Seokjin lets out a strangled yelp. “Yah! Are you actually trying to get me killed? First you get me excommunicated, now you want me to say ‘fuck ten millennia of vampiric customs’ for—“

“Don’t say ‘bullshit,’ hyung, because it’s not. Not if that’s what you want. Not if it’d make you happy.”

Another sigh. “When did you get so smart, huh?”

That night is the first time it’s awkward sleeping next to Seokjin.

Suddenly the drawer with the socks and underwear seems too big. The clothes aren’t hanging right in the closet. Seokjin’s phone keeps vibrating and skittering along the nightstand and the sound is grating. The breeze from the open window doesn’t feel nice, just makes your skin tacky from the humidity.

Or maybe it’s Seokjin that’s throwing everything off. Has barely said a full sentence since saying goodbye to the kids. Excused himself immediately to take a shower and stayed in there forever; that’s what it’d felt like, at least.

The long and short of it is this: you’d overheard a conversation you shouldn’t have. You know things Seokjin probably isn’t ready to say. Not to you, not right now. If you combine your two brain cells, the logical conclusion is that Seokjin quite possibly has very real feelings for you and might be in the midst of a crisis, and that’s a problem because—

The Talk.

Something you’ve managed to push to the back of your mind, even though your twenty-eighth birthday is coming up. You’ll age, grow older. Seokjin grows older, too, but not like you. No guarantees, but no expiration date, either. And that’s—tough. Really fucking scary to think about: you, with the lines in your skin showing your age, so many decades in the future; Seokjin, still looking the same.

How is that supposed to work?

Seokjin will stay by your side and watch you grow old until eventually there’s no more growing to do. He will stay by your side and maybe hold your hand as you depart this life and maybe set off for another. One where you won’t know him and his squeaky laugh and his warm comfort; one where he’s left behind.

It can’t be worth it. Despite what Taehyung had said, nothing can be worth that kind of grief. Because Seokjin is so good—he’s kind and fierce; wildly chaotic and unwaveringly stable. He deserves to be loved endlessly and eternally, and how will you ever be able to do that if you’ll always have time breathing down your neck?

“I can hear you thinking.”

You sigh. Squeeze your eyes shut because you can feel them start to water. There’s guilt and there’s injustice and there’s anger, because you want to be the person he chooses to be loved by. “I…” You take a deep breath. Hold it a few seconds. Compose yourself. “I overheard you talking to Taehyung.”

Seokjin swallows. “I figured.”

“I—I don’t know what any of it means,” you say, “but I think… I think maybe there are some things we should talk about.”

“Right, okay. The Talk.” He sounds resigned. “I’ve never had to have The Talk before. I probably won’t be very good at it.”

You don’t even sound convincing to yourself when you say, “How hard could it possibly be?”

Very, it turns out.

The two of you talk in circles until you’re nearly crying in frustration, because Seokjin just doesn’t hear you. Refuses to accept that loving you and eventually having to say goodbye is worse than the alternative. Refuses to accept that you’ll grow old and get wrinkles and look your age and he’ll always look beautiful, look like this, and how that might be okay now, when you’re still young, but what will it look like when you’re seventy and he still looks twenty-five? How will he still be able to look at you and see you as someone beautiful, desirable? What will the rest of the world see when they look at the two of you like that?

“You’re not listening to me,” you sob. Everything feels so overwhelming. So out of reach. “Seokjin, how could you—why would you ever want me? Why would you want something so impossible?”

Seokjin scoffs, wounded. “Impossible to who? To you? Because it’s not impossible to me.” Anger sounds so wrong on him. Makes your stomach twist. “In all that thinking you’ve done, did you stop to consider the alternative? That I keep going through this world alone, scared to get too close to anyone because I’ll always have to watch them die?”

“What does that mean?” You’re nearly shouting. Anger doesn’t sound good on you, either. Not when it’s directed at him. “Why would you be alone? You could be with someone like you.”

“Someone like me, huh? Who’s that? A freak? Some other cursed bastard who doesn’t want to be like this but can barely survive on their own?” He’s sobbing now, too, voice hoarse as he fists the duvet just to have something to hold onto. An anchor. “Who am I besides a fucking monster?”

You’re on him immediately, moving frantically to gather him in your arms. Seokjin only stops sobbing to dry-heave; only moves to give you enough space to thumb away the tears on his cheeks. He cries until he’s got nothing left besides tremors. He cries until you’re rocking him in your lap, your heart broken for this beautiful, kind man. He cries until his lips give way to apologies instead.

“Shh, you have nothing to apologize for.” You kiss his hair. It smells like blackberries. “You are so many things, Kim Seokjin, and not one of them is bad.”

He hiccups. “I just want to be normal.”

“You are. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“How can you say that?” he whispers. “I’m broken.”

You hum. Run your fingers softly up and down his arms, leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Do you wanna know what I see when I look at you?”

“If it’s not ‘someone incredibly handsome’ I don’t want to hear it. My heart won’t be able to take that kind of pain right now, I’m too vulnerable.”

“Someone incredibly handsome was actually first on my list, so you’re in luck.” Seokjin snorts. “But I also see the strongest person I’ve ever met. Someone determined and stubborn. Someone who could’ve killed me to stay out of trouble but let me go, because it was the right thing to do. Someone who has experienced hardships I could never imagine but still remains soft and compassionate. Someone who has reached into my chest and grown roots there, because now that I’ve had you here, I don’t think I could ever possibly think about letting you go.”

You sigh. Feel your throat grow tight all over again. “And that’s—that’s what scares me, because how can I ask you to stay when we both know how it ends? It’ll be the rest of my life, but what will it be for you? Will it feel like a minute, an hour, a year? That’s what I meant, when I said someone like you—someone who doesn’t have to say goodbye.”

When he looks at you, Seokjin’s gaze is impossibly soft. He looks at you like you’re a little stupid, too, which he does a lot. “I already am someone who doesn’t have to say goodbye.”

He finds your hand, rubs his thumb over individual knuckles. “There are… ways. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, because we can always try and find it doesn’t work, just like anyone else would, so I don’t think I’m ready to have that specific conversation yet, but I just want you to know that. That there are options.”

Something dangerously close to hope blooms in your chest.

It’s easy, once you’re over that hurdle.

Once that particular elephant in the room has been addressed and shelved.

You’re not naive enough to think there aren’t many difficult discussions in your future, but you find it hard to care when Seokjin doesn’t shy away from you, can barely tear himself away from your side even for a second. He’s there to kiss you awake in the morning when you’re on the verge of running late for work. He’s there when you walk through the door after a hard day, another kiss pressed to your forehead. He’s there next to you in bed as soon as he finishes a stream, skin soft from the shower, and that feeling of security he brings with him warms you even when he can’t.

Seokjin insists on doing things properly. Like a real couple, he just barely stops himself from saying, and you don’t mention it and he doesn’t, either, but you’re proud of him for catching it, for stomping down that line of thinking. Because the two of you are a real couple. You do the cliche dinner-and-a-movie dates, even though Seokjin spends the entire time making fun of the characters. You go for walks along the river. Sometimes all he wants to do is spend hours walking around the city. Even though the sunlight gives him a headache, you still hold his hand and walk for as long as he wants to.

It’s easy.

Also easy is how he touches you, the feel of his lips on your skin. Fluid, like all the time he spent before knowing you was just practice. Fragile, the way he holds you like a delicate thing; like the entire world is in his hands, and he doesn’t have to be careful but it’s worth it to be so.

So much changes between the two of you, but there’s even more that doesn’t. Seokjin is still Seokjin. Still laughs too loud and carries around the weight of the world, but at night you can still hear him talk to his stream, tell them all about you. You can hear the way he shrieks with glee when he finally tells them you’re his girlfriend, that it’s official even though that word feels juvenile, and you smile to yourself in the dark.

It’s so, so easy to fall in love with him when you were already halfway there.

Much like he always is, Seokjin is honest first. Just presses himself to your back one night as you’re cooking dinner and whispers in your ear that he loves you. In your shock, the pan nearly goes clattering to the floor. Xander hisses, does the Scooby-Doo run out of the kitchen to escape the chaos, and Seokjin just laughs.

You’re scowling when you tell him you love him, too. He kisses it away.

“What’s this thing?”

You sigh, drop the bundle of hangers in your hand. Cleaning out your closet had sounded like a great and logical idea in theory. Seokjin was quickly outgrowing his allotted side, you hadn’t touched the back of it since you’d moved in so god only knew what was growing back there, and there wasn’t much else to do on a stormy Sunday afternoon.

The closet, however, had very quickly gotten the best of you.

Now you’re knee-deep in clothes you haven’t worn in years, hairline and and armpits sweaty, and so close to snapping that the line between you and a murder charge is paper thin. And poor Seokjin—he’s just trying to help, but he’s more curious than he is genuinely helpful. Keeps stopping every two minutes to inspect something and ask what it is, figure out how it works. First was the fart machine you’d gotten as a gag gift six Christmases ago. (Seokjin loved this, said he’d send it to Taehyung and Jungkook.) Then it was the box of butterfly hair clips your mother had saved and dumped on you as soon as you’d gotten your own place. (He loved them, too; claimed ownership of them and said he’d wear them during one of his streams.)

You look over to see what he’s holding this time and barely have enough time to grit out the words DO NOT PRESS THAT BUTTON before Seokjin presses the button and you’re temporarily blinded by a flash.

“Oh shit,” comes his brilliant response. Then, “What the fuck. Did it just spit something out at me?”

You try to blink the stars away. “It’s a Polaroid camera.”

“What’s that?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” you answer tartly. Then you sigh, because it isn’t Seokjin’s fault that he is who he is and you feel guilty. “It’s basically an instant camera. The film is self-developing so you can take and print a picture just about immediately.”

Seokjin makes a little humming noise. “Where’d you get it?”

“My sister gave it to me.”

“An invention like this and she just gave it away?”

You snort. Walk over and gently take the camera from his hands. “Yeah, older siblings tend to do that,” you answer. Point the view finder at him until he’s centered in the frame. “They love to offload all their worthless junk onto you in the name of being charitable. Smile.”

Unfair, really, how effortlessly beautiful he is. It’s all you can do to look away from the picture once it’s developed, and Seokjin’s smiling in it, sure, but it pales in comparison to the smile that sits on his face once the photo of you becomes clear.

  Seokjin becomes obsessed with the camera.

Manages to use up all the old film without even leaving the apartment. He takes photos of you, of himself, of you and him together, of Xander, the plant in the kitchen that probably doesn’t get watered enough, his computer screen once he hits a subscriber milestone, the view of the city from the living room windows during another storm. He leaves them around the apartment for you to find—a little game of hide and seek that only the two of you are in on.

And they don’t sell that old film anymore, so he uses his own money to buy a new Instax. Then he finds an old camera shop way off the beaten path and spends even more money there, but while he’s out he loads up on film and spends hours taking pictures in the city. Comes home and dumps them out of his pockets like he’d looted a bank, and you try to keep a straight face, you really do, but he’s so goddamn endearing that you can’t help the fond smile. They’re all dated and labeled, little messages drawn in limited space.

This tiny dog took a massive shit at the park and the owner didn’t even clean it up!

Doesn’t this cloud look like that ugly green guy from that movie you made me watch? Shark

Pretty flower! Reminded me of you ♡

This cat hissed at me! Reminded me of Xander ♡

Maybe we can go to this cafe this weekend if the weather’s nice?

Then, one from a trip he must’ve taken to the beach, because there isn’t enough contrast to see the waves, but written clearly in the sand—

I LOVE YOU!!! Sand is itchy!

That one’s your favorite.

  Thing about Seokjin is—nothing stays innocent for very long.

He’s simultaneously adorably naive and the smartest person in any room he walks into. There’s this little act he does: says something blissfully ignorant, almost too ignorant to be true, and waits to see how long it takes you to realize he’s fucking with you. He loves it; it’s his favorite game. Always ends up with him laughing so hard he cries, that squawking laugh of his booming loud, and you know better but fall for it every time like a sucker.

So, really, it shouldn’t come as a surprise when he hands over a stack of Instax photos, does that mischievous little smile he does where he rolls his lips to keep from laughing. Just for a moment, all you look at is a set of wide shoulders disappearing through the door of his streaming room, then the shut door. Then, when you look down—

“Kim Seokjin!”

His maniacal laughter rings throughout the apartment.

Because Seokjin has just handed you a stack of dick pictures, and this is not an idea Seokjin would’ve had on his own. Taehyung or Jungkook or both are probably behind this, you think. Taehyung had stopped by not long ago, took one look at the Instax, and wiggled his eyebrows at you, so you should’ve known. Should’ve known that a trio of vampires that took money from people to bite them would be the types to take unsolicited pictures of their dicks.

(“I don’t do that!” Jungkook insists later on, cheeks flaming red.

Taehyung snorts. “You did that one time.”

“I did not—”

“You did,” Taehyung insists. “Remember? It was that one college girl who lied and totally suckered you by saying she was an anthropology major and was comparing dick sizes between humans and vampires and needed a picture of your dick for science.”

“That’s different,” Jungkook argues. “It’s not weird if it’s for science.”

Taehyung hums, seemingly buying into this argument. Then he takes another bite of the pop-tart he’d insisted on trying before he makes a face and spits it onto the table.)

As it turns out, handing your roommate-turned-immortal life partner a stack of dick Polaroids prompts a lot of discussions about sex.

You’re not an idiot. Of course you’d searched how vampires get erections without a blood supply, but the results had been less than helpful. They just do, is as much as you got. Imagine your surprise, then, when the dick in Seokjin’s pictures was very erect and very ready to go.

“How does this work?” you ask him.

Seokjin looks startled. “Uh… what do you mean?”

“This,” you say, pointing to the picture. God, you hate that it’s a good one. You’re not supposed to appreciate unsolicited dick pictures. “The dick.”

“Um. I—you see, when two people love each other very much—”

You squawk. “Not sex! I know how sex works!”

“Well how am I supposed to know that?” he squawks back, matching your volume with very little effort. “You just pointed at my dick and asked how it worked!”

Eyes narrowing, you retort, “I know how dicks work too, thank you very much, I mean how does yours work?”

“...The same as everyone else’s? Babe, I really don’t get what you’re asking me here.”

You huff. Shake your head a little to try and clear the brain fog. “What I mean is: most people with dicks are able to get erections because the blood goes down there. You don’t have blood, so where does the boner come from?”

“I don’t know,” Seokjin says, shrugs his shoulders and looks at you like you’re kind of crazy. “It just happens. Appears like a mirage in the desert. Usually after I think about sex or boobs—”

You roll your eyes, falling back onto your bed with a huff. Seokjin’s on you in a second. Stares down at you with some dopey, loved-up look on his face, all traces of exasperation gone. The weight is a familiar comfort by now, an anchor, and no matter what, every single time: “Hey,” Seokjin whispers, mouth so close to your skin you can feel the words, “guess what?” You hum an acknowledgement, dip your hands beneath another oversized t-shirt to trace along his own skin, warmed only by your own.

You know what he’s going to say, but—“What?”—you play along anyway.

“I love you.”

“I know,” you tease. Seokjin huffs, something else you feel in the hollow of your neck, before he presses another kiss to your skin.

“Are you gonna say it back?”

You will, because you always do. Just one of those things that had been instinctual the first time: a brief realization, oh, I love him too, and then the words had come spilling out. No hesitation and no second-guessing, just a whispered truth and twin smiles once you got past the anger of your dinner almost tumbling to the floor. “I might.”

A groan, then all of Seokjin’s body weight collapses on top of you. “You’re insufferable,” he laments, a playful whine high in his throat, “it’s kind of killing my boner.”

“Wow. And they say romance is dead.”

“Well, technically I’m dead, too, so that makes sense.”

Seokjin can’t see you roll your eyes, but you do. Are you stalling? Undoubtedly. Are you stalling because your chest gets tight and you kind of forget how to breathe every time Seokjin tells you he loves you, or are you stalling because his boner is still very prominent and the two of you had decided to take it slow? Definitely both.

And it isn’t like you mind. One of the many upsides to being with Seokjin is that time is the one thing you’ll never want for. There will always be time, so you don’t mind sparing a bit of it until you’re both on the same page. Bless him, Seokjin had nearly looked green the first time he’d broached the topic: stuttered his way through an explanation on how it’d been decades since his last partner, his last real one because the ‘biting people for extra money’ stuff didn’t really count—that the last time he’d been with a human was back when he still was one, too, so he’s a little nervous, would you mind waiting, he just needs to do some… research, is all. Just so he doesn’t embarrass himself, he’d said, and you’d just nodded along and pressed your lips to his forehead and said of course, whatever you want, it’s all okay with me.

So you’re trying to be respectful.

You are being respectful, but it’s a little hard to think straight when his boner is pressed against your pelvis.

Still, you groan. “Can you not remind me that you’re an undead immortal being while your erect penis is touching me?”

Because he loves nothing more than antagonizing, Seokjin just presses harder against you. “Why?” he teases, shit-eating grin on his face. “Is it weird?”

You roll your eyes. “A little, yeah.”

“We could make it even more weird.” He waggles his eyebrows at this.

Usually you’d brush off a quip like that: just Seokjin being Seokjin, another way for him to tease you. But this, too, isn’t so easy to ignore when he’s hard and on top of you, gazing down at you the way he is, all heat and bad ideas. Like he’d happily devour you whole if you said the word, and the word is biting at the back of your teeth, right on the tip of your tongue. You want to. You want, have wanted for a long time, but—

“Seokjin,” you manage to choke out. A real feat, considering he’s rocking slow against you. So slow you probably wouldn’t notice if you weren’t hyper-aware of every single thing, every shift in movement. “You wanted to wait, remember?”

He just hums. Presses his lips back to your neck, easily finds that spot that drives you wild. “I’ve been studying,” he says. Has his voice always been that deep? No, you think, this is just horny delirium. A hormone-induced mirage, tempting you to the edge.

“Okay.” You try really hard to sound put-together. “I’m not really sure what that means.”

Seokjin huffs a laugh and you feel that, too. “It means I’ve been watching a lot of porn and jerking off for weeks while you’re at work, and most of the time I’m so fucking horny I can barely keep my dick in my pants.”

All of that sounds… really nice, although the thought of Seokjin touching himself, head thrown back in pleasure, that neck on full display, toes curled, does very little to help your self-control. Still, you manage to curb it, pulling back just enough to catch his gaze. “Are you ready, though? I don’t mind waiting. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

He pecks your nose. “I don’t. I’m ready, I trust you, we’ve already talked about all the important stuff, and if I jerk off one more time I think my dick is going to protest and fall off.”

When you look at him, there’s not a trace of hesitation to be found. It’s a little maddening how he can go from looking at you with such fervor right back to something like spun sugar. That’s how he’s looking at you now: with trust, with love, with excitement. And it’s ironic, you think, that he’s the hiemal one between you, because he always manages to fill you with warmth.

Just like the sun. You reflect everything he feels for you, all the devotion, and return it tenfold.

So there’s no hesitation in you, either, when you smile and say okay.

Much like he is any other time, Seokjin is an absolute hellion in bed.

You’ve been teased within an inch of your life, hands and tongue everywhere except where you need them most, and he’s completely impervious to your suffering. The corners of his mouth quirk upward before he resets them, relishing in your begging but not letting you catch on, and then he’s dragging you to the edge once more, pushing your hips back down to the bed with a hushed I know, baby, I know.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, almost mocking. “You’ve been so good for me,” he murmurs, and you try to pretend the praise doesn’t set you alight. It had taken a while to find his rhythm, but it must be like riding a bike, you think. Seokjin probably could’ve gone an entire millennia without doing this and it’d still be just as good. It pisses you off a little. “Are you ready?” You nod as best you can. “You have to use your words,” he goads, “I can’t read your mind.”

Maybe he can’t, but your answer is obvious enough: the way you’re writhing, the rapid beating of your heart, the heat between your thighs. If it feels this overwhelming to you, there’s no way Seokjin’s unaware. And you know he isn’t—know he’s only doing it to get a reaction, to drag it out further, so you just huff. Disengage. Seokjin can’t win if you don’t play, and maybe you reflect his sunlight, but you can reflect his chaos, too.

“Babe.” He laughs. Works a hand over his cock once, twice when he realizes you’re looking. “Don’t start getting petty now, of all times.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, then,” you fire back. “You know I’m ready. Been ready for hours.”

He huffs. “It’s only been twenty minutes.”

You narrow your eyes. “Hours,” you repeat.

“Sheesh, okay, okay.” Just as he’s about to press inside, he pauses. Looks at you with that loved-up look again. Normally it’d be endearing, butter soft, but you’ve been at his mercy for far too long and it’d started taking its toll somewhere around minute two, so. “Hey, you know I—”

“Seokjin, I swear to fucking god—”

He huffs again, nothing but exasperation, and finally gives you what you want. The initial stretch takes your breath away, giving way to full full full, the only thing you can focus on is how full you feel, but then it’s—

“Jesus Christ!”

There’s just screeching. From you and Seokjin, because while you’re trying to scamper up the bed, he’s pulling out and wearing a full-on grimace. You can’t even lie, that hurts. You’ve had a lot of awkward one night stands, but no one has ever grimaced before.

“Hot!” Seokjin wails, grabbing at his crotch. “Holy fuck, hot! Hot! My fucking dick is on fire—”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull. “Hot?! Are you fucking joking? It feels like you just impaled me with an icicle!”

It does. There’s still a phantom pain in your cunt that feels a lot like frostbite. Like when someone sticks their cold hands up the back of your shirt.

Seokjin ignores you, though. Just puffs out his cheeks and blows room-temperature air towards his cock, and you’d maybe laugh if this was any other time in any other situation. Having this happen the first time the two of you have had sex is… mortifying. A little worrying for the future, too, because you’ve tried those warming lubes and they’re terrible. It’s also just—disappointing. You’d been looking forward to this for a long time, being close to Seokjin in this way, and of all the times you’d envisioned it, you didn’t imagine your body heat would be too scorching for his penis, of all things.

Shit.

You’re not going to cry.

Not over this.

Not while Seokjin is still hopping around the bedroom on one leg, still desperately puffing out air. Not while he’s chastising his cock in the process. Something that sounds suspiciously like c’mon buddy, it’s just a little body heat, don’t do this, you don’t have to do this, fuck, c’mon. Another thing you might laugh at another time, but you can’t. Not now. Not while Seokjin finally sighs in defeat and meets your eye and looks equally devastated.

Devastation looks worse on him than it feels on you, so you joke, “Maybe we should’ve started with oral?”

A beat of silence. Then the disappointment cracks and he’s sending you a blinding smile. “Something something Icarus, too close to the sun, et cetera.” He flops unceremoniously on the bed and drapes half his body over you. “Seems pretty obvious in retrospect, huh?”

Your fingers are immediately in his hair. “Yeah.” Lips find the top of his head. “We’ll figure it out.”

(And you do. Condoms are the first experiment, even though they were essentially useless before, considering Seokjin’s dead and all, unable to reproduce or harbor any kind of infection. Problem with that is—

“Why are they all so fucking thin?” Seokjin whines, staring down at another box with CLOSEST THING TO WEARING NOTHING! across the front.

You snort, tossing back another box of the same. “Because most men don’t want to wear a condom and will gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss their way into going raw.”

So you try a different approach and order the super thick ones meant to help with premature ejaculation. Those are okay, but almost too effective. Sex with Seokjin is great, it turns out, but not when it seems to go on endlessly and everything starts to hurt and chafe and Seokjin’s trying, babe, you think I wouldn’t have come by now if I could, but, well. The condoms work as advertised, is the thing.

Back to Old Reliable, then: oral sex. Even having your mouth around his dick nearly sends him launching off the bed, but the two of you figure it out. Small kitten licks until he starts to acclimate, an inch or two at a time once the whole dick is in your mouth, and slow, slow, slow. Truthfully, it’s a long and tedious process, and it all but kills the idea of wild, spontaneous fucking, but the actual sex part, when you finally figure it out, is so goddamn good you figure you can go without.)

“Does your family know about me?”

Honestly, you’re surprised he hasn’t asked sooner considering your birthday is just around the corner. You aren’t doing much to celebrate, considering it’s in the middle of the week, but it hadn’t stopped your mother and sister from offering to take you to lunch on the weekend. Seokjin hadn’t said much when you told him about it, complaining for the nth time about the seafood restaurant your mom’s insisting on just because it’s her favorite, but you can see now why this might’ve been on his mind.

“Yeah, of course they do.”

Also unsurprisingly, he seems shocked to hear this. “What?”

“Why wouldn’t they know about you?”

“Um. Because I’m… y’know. A vampire.”

You roll your lips, suppressing a laugh. “Are you calling my family racist?”

“No! I am definitely not saying that!” he sputters, suddenly finding the new rug very interesting. Xander had barfed all over the last one in a way that was completely unsalvageable. “I just—I was just wondering? Since it’s your birthday soon, and you’re going to lunch with them, and I didn’t know, like, if they knew about me? Like, I’m sure they know you have a roommate, but do I have to pretend to not be your boyfriend if they come over? Like, if we’re just roommates, should I come out screaming about losing all my socks in the dryer or leaving dishes in the sink or something—”

“Is that what you think roommates fight about?”

This puts an abrupt end to his spiral. “Er, yeah? That’s what they fight about on TV.”

“Okay, remind me to change the Netflix password. Now, will you come here?” You stand from your spot on the couch and engulf him in a hug. “They know about you. All of it, so you don’t need to worry about it, all right?” You pull back. “Unless you’re worried about something else?”

“No,” he answers, voice small.

“Okay. My sister dated an absolute demon in college, so you being a vampire is nothing in comparison, trust me.”

“Demons aren’t real.”

“They are, and my sister has somehow dated all of them. My mom actually contacted the church about an exorcism.” This gets a laugh out of him. “Now, do you want to come to lunch with someone who consorts with demons and someone who puts any modicum of trust in the Catholic church, or is that a hard pass for you?”

He nuzzles further into your neck. “Are they nice?”

“They’re okay.”

“Are they like you?”

“I’m definitely the hotter sister, despite whatever my sister may think, and I have to text my mother every month to remind her to pay her car insurance because she forgot and let it expire twice and got tickets both times, so I’m not sure what that says about her, but they did raise me, so. I don’t know, I guess so?”

“Then they’re probably nice and I think I’d probably like to meet them.”

Your heart feels warm again.

On the morning of your birthday lunch, you wake up alone.

This is uncommon but not outright strange, so you think nothing of it. If you had Seokjin’s ultrasonic hearing, you would’ve heard the three vampires giggling in the kitchen, trying desperately to hush one another every ten seconds because they’re incapable of shutting up, but you don’t, so you trudge into the en suite to pee and brush your teeth, ignore the mess of hair on your head, and then trudge into the kitchen.

“Surprise!” Jungkook screams, popping out from behind the island. Taehyung’s at the sink, clearly trying to hide the remains of some science project gone wrong, and Seokjin’s slumped against the counter with his head in his hands.

Still, there’s a half-assed birthday cake being presented to you, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! written in Seokjin’s recognizable scrawl, and a smile rapidly forming. “You made this yourselves?” you ask, more to make conversation than genuine curiosity. No bakery on earth would sell something that looks like the cake in front of you.

“Of course we did,” Taehyung says, snark loaded and ready, “what do you take us for, amateurs?”

Jungkook ignores him. “Seokjin-hyung says you turned twenty-eight and that’s a big deal so we wanted to do something nice!”

“Well, that’s a straight up lie,” Taehyung says, rolling his eyes. “We wanted to get you a cake but we have no idea how to order things at human bakeries and the lady behind the counter was mean as fuck so hyung looked up how to make one from scratch.”

“It was awful,” Seokjin moans, agony muted by the countertop. “Don’t ever ask me to bake something again.”

“No one asked you to do anything,” Jungkook snaps. “This was your idea! You were the one who texted us and said, and I quote, ‘My idiotic little dongsaengs, I want to do something special for her because I’m in love, so I’m going to look up how to bake a cake from scratch and the two of you are going to help me, and if you say no I will hack into the blood bank database and change your blood preference to O-negative,’ to which Taehyung replied, and I quote, ‘Don’t you dare sign me up for that basic bitch blood, hyung, that’s just cruel,’ to which I replied, and I quote, ‘Hyung only just learned how to use a smartphone, there’s no way,’ to which you replied, and I quote, ‘Here is the recipe, be at my apartment by six a.m. or else.’”

“Wow, his memory is freakishly good and kind of weird,” Taehyung marvels. Jungkook preens.

“Well,” you begin, going around the kitchen to give each of them a tight hug, “I’ve never gotten a homemade cake before, so I am very appreciative and a little overwhelmed.”

When you reach Seokjin, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you. You’re the best and I love you.”

“Gross,” Taehyung and Jungkook say in unison.

Hours later, long after you’ve tried to figure out how to tackle the cake and how long it could conceivably stay fresh for compared to how much of it you could conceivably eat, and long after Jungkook offers to ‘demolish it right now’ and you make a Matilda reference and have to explain the entire plot to him just to explain who Bruce is, there’s a knock at your door that can only be your mom and sister.

You’re not dressed. You’re not even showered.

There are three chaotic vampires in your kitchen arguing over what to do with the cake.

This is not how you wanted Seokjin’s first time meeting your family to go.

But it works out all the same, just as it always does. The introductions are awkward only because of the state of the kitchen, but between Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook, your mom and sister are charmed long before you pass your phone around to order food, because there’s no way any of you are going out now.

Another thing that’s easy. Another moment in which you find yourself thankful that Seokjin has nothing but time, because you think you’d be very happy to spend most of yours like this: surrounded by the people you love, ears ringing from laughter. Another memory in a span of months that’s jam-packed with new ones. Another slice of cake gone when your sister bravely volunteers to try one. Another sly look at her from Taehyung, because he’s been doing it all afternoon and doesn’t realize he’s not subtle.

Another round of hugs. Another birthday gone. Another mess to clean up once it’s just you and Seokjin left in the apartment, Jungkook halfway out the door when he calls out over his shoulder, “Taehyungie-hyung says he’s gonna bite the wrong person too and get kicked out of the clan so he can hook up with your sister,” just because he’s a shithead. Another punch to his shoulder.

Another time you look at Seokjin and think, I’m so fucking in love with him, I’d follow him anywhere.

Another author’s note: I wanted to leave the ending a little open-ended. I’m sure people have thoughts on turning, and it wasn’t something that I wanted to write into this fic but wanted to broach the topic of because that’s, like, The Thing about vampire/human relationships. My headcanon is that this reader does, just because I want them to live happily ever after forever, but I didn’t want to force that on everyone and dampen the reading experience.

As always, thank you for reading! My inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

[quietblueriver]

Prompts!

Will you hold my hand?

They can't look at you like that!

Will you hold my hand?

Quick thing #2. Avatrice + Diego fluff. Thanks for the prompt!

-

She’s been waiting on this for a long time. There wasn’t time or capacity or, really, much to offer in the face of a possible apocalypse, but now that things have settled, that she’s able to live her life, Ava’s also able to help a few other people live theirs.

Nobody gets to enjoy the perks of martyrdom, which Ava guesses is kind of the point, but now that she’s back? Well, she’s cashing in on some of that goodwill and the Church doesn’t seem super eager to fight her. Cam finds Diego easily because he is, somehow, exactly where she’d left him. As soon as they have confirmation and a list of names, Mother Superion makes a call.

Two days later, there’s an address and an assurance of “state-of-the-art facilities” and “hospital affiliation” and “coverage of tuition and all related costs.” It’s what every kid should get, of course, and she thinks she’ll spend a lot of time trying to make that happen, but she feels happy to start here.

Diego is the oldest of the ten kids left at a smaller but still running St. Michael’s. Two nuns are there with them, ancient but, clearing the world’s lowest caretaking bar, not sadistic, and they don’t ask questions or fight when Mother Superion shows up with Camila and Dora and some strange but impressive paperwork, herding the kids into a van.

They call after dropping them off at the new facility, confirming that it is, as promised, excellent in all of the ways that St. Michael’s wasn’t. When Ava hangs up, she curls into Beatrice in their bed and cries for a little while, a steady heartbeat in her ear and a steady hand running through her hair.

“Do you think it would be okay for me to see him?”

Ava feels her response as she says it, voice low and close, “I think he would love to see you, and I think it would be wonderful for you both, if it’s something that you want.”

“I want it so bad, Bea. I just…I don’t want to mess him up. Or, mess him up more, I guess. Y’know, he has a fresh start now. He deserves that.”

The hand in her hair stills as Beatrice shifts slightly so that she can look Ava in the eye. She’s gentle, always so gentle with Ava, as she strokes a calloused finger across her cheek.

“Ava. Darling. He loves you. And you love him. You were there for each other in that awful place.”

“He saw me kill a nun, Bea.”

Her eyes harden. “He saw you protect yourself, and him, from an abuser. He thought you were an angel for a reason.”

She softens again, adds, “It might be a little difficult for him to understand your…change in circumstances.” Ava snorts and Beatrice tilts her head and shrugs the shoulder Ava’s not laying on in acknowledgement of that fucking understatement. “He might have a hard time understanding what happened and why, but more than anything, he’ll be happy that you’re back in his life.”

Ava settles back into her chest and Bea scratches at her back in the way that she loves, pulling up the hem of her shirt just slightly so that she can reach skin. She hums happily and wiggles in appreciation.

“And,” she continues, nails running gradually higher, “he’s old enough to have seen some of what happened over the last year, no matter how hard the sisters might have tried to shelter him. Not that they seemed to be trying particularly hard. In any case, I’m sure Diego understands now more than ever that strange things are possible.”

Bea’s right, of course. She decides, then, that she’ll talk to Mother Superion tomorrow to see what the best way to organize a meeting might be. In the meantime, she has a few other things she’d like to accomplish.

She rolls away just slightly so that she can push herself up and over, straddling Bea’s thighs and leaning forward to undo her bun, balancing with one arm on her shoulder. Beatrice makes a somewhat strangled noise, hands moving to Ava’s hips, and Ava smirks, because yeah she wants Bea’s hair down but it’s not exactly an accident that she’s chosen to do it this way. She presses her chest forward just slightly, feels Beatrice’s breath hot on her clavicle, the almost-whine that escapes her as Ava finishes with her hair tie.

“Has anyone ever told you,” she combs her hands through the loose hair and settles back, “that you’re very, very smart?” Beatrice is not looking at her face. Ava grins, thrills at the blush on Bea’s face when Ava slips a finger under her chin to tilt her head back and redirect her eyes. She doesn’t give her a real chance to answer, kissing her briefly and then dragging her lips down her throat. “And also.” she slips her hands under Bea’s shirt and tugs it up, Beatrice lifting her arms to assist so eagerly that Ava can’t help but breathe out a laugh against her newly available and perfect collarbones. “Very, very hot.”

“Oh?” Beatrice offers, eyes darkening.

“Yeah.” She trails her lips lower, moving her body down the bed until her palms are pressed to the mattress just beside Bea’s hips. She meets Bea’s eyes again, grins. “But show is always better than tell.”

-

Ava’s waiting anxiously, bouncing on her toes, and when the van pulls in, the doors are hardly open before a tiny blur is coming at her, hurling himself into her arms. She can lift him now, easy, and she spins him around and laughs, ruffles his slightly longer hair. “Diego, my guy. I’m so happy to see you.”

Beatrice is standing off to the side, there at Ava’s insistence, and Ava turns to her now, arm still around Diego’s shoulders, and says, “D, this is Beatrice, my girlfriend.” Beatrice, perfect Beatrice, offers a hand and turns her full attention to him. “Hello, Diego. It’s so nice to meet you. Ava has told me so many wonderful things about you.” She says it with the kind of Beatrice sincerity that makes Ava want to cry a little, and her voice is softer than it would be with a grown-up, but only just slightly, something comforting instead of something patronizing.

Diego’s blushing a little, which Ava understands completely and also finds to be really fucking cute, as he shakes her hand and says, “Hello. It’s very nice to meet you, too.”

Ava jumps a little as she says, “Okay. So. What do you think about a beach day?”

Diego lights up, and Ava keeps it together, barely.

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

He laughs and hugs her again and says, a little loudly but Ava couldn’t care less, “Yeah!”

-

They take Diego to pick a swimsuit, purple with green octopi winning in a close race against blue with orange turtles. He chooses a green rash guard to match, Beatrice extolling the virtues of UV-protection, and then they select an excessive number of sandcastle construction tools, packing them all into a beach bag that Beatrice carries easily while she and Diego debate the perfect spot for their towels.

Ava takes a minute to grab her water from the bag as Beatrice and Diego begin discussing the logistics of castle-building, and it’s really almost too much for her, watching these people that she has loved so powerfully in such different parts of her life sit together and seriously map out a floor plan in the sand. Bea, taking her own advice, has on a black rash guard and green board shorts, hair in a ponytail threaded through a black cap. Her eyes are focused, moving between their layout and Diego, who is busy looking up at Bea in something close to awe. Again, she gets it, and she takes the chance to watch for a little while, until Diego looks over at her and says, very seriously, “Ava, how do you feel about a double moat?”

It’s easy, so easy, to spend the day with them. The castle is more impressive than anything Ava would have been able to build with Diego on her own, Beatrice critically examining sand-to-water ratios and consulting Diego on every decision. A few other kids, Diego’s age and a little younger, look on, clapping at the successful installation of a new turret, until their adults call them away.

Beatrice unpacks the fruit and chips Diego had picked and, after a short time splashing in the shallow water, they get ice cream, sitting under an umbrella stand and watching the water.

When they get back to the towels, it’s obvious that Diego is a little tired, and Beatrice says, almost shyly, “Diego, I brought something I thought you might like.” She pulls a copy of Percy Jackson from their bag. “It was one of my favorites, when I was your age.”

Ava knows this is mostly true. Beatrice had loved it, although by the time she was Diego’s age, she was reading books many people didn’t read until college. She’d asked Ava before buying it, “He won’t think it’s silly?” And Ava had assured her that he would love it and then kissed her, like, a lot.

Diego’s holding the book a little reverently, still not used to anyone giving him anything, much less anything new with this kind of thought and care. “Cool,” he breathes out, the highest compliment he can give, really, and he looks at them both as he says, “Can I read it now?”

Ava lays a hand on Beatrice’s knee. “Yeah, D. Absolutely. We brought books too.”

Beatrice pulls their books out, and they settle happily on the towels. By the time the sun is setting, he’s made it through a surprising amount, and Beatrice offers, easily, as she packs their bag, “I’ll send you the next one, if you like it.”

“Thanks, Bea.” He says it like it’s something he’s said a thousand times, closing the book and looking at her earnestly, and Ava knows it means something, for Beatrice to have someone else, a child, be this comfortable with her.

“You’re welcome.”

Diego is staying the night with them, so they’re not in a particular hurry, and when Ava watches him staring at the Ferris wheel as they walk the boardwalk, she nudges Bea a little and nods in its direction. Beatrice nods and squeezes her fingers.

“Hey, Diego.” He looks back at her. “Wanna go on the Ferris wheel?”

By the time they reach the wheel, Diego’s a little more hesitant. It’s understandable—the thing is huge, and the carriages are all glass, and Ava knows he has never done anything like this before. He doesn’t stop, though, leading them into the line for tickets and then into the line to wait. The carriages are big, but there aren’t enough people that they fill, each group getting one to themselves. When it’s their turn, the attendant opens the door and Diego hesitates a little before stepping up, Ava and Beatrice following closely.

Before Ava can say anything, Beatrice has let her hand go to stand close to him. She says, gentle in all the same ways she is with Ava, “Diego, I’m a little scared of heights. Would you mind holding my hand?”

He knows, she thinks, what Beatrice is doing, but the smile he gives her is grateful and he grabs her hand without hesitation. “That’s okay, Bea. Me too. We can do it together.”

Ava stands beside them, leaning into Beatrice, and they watch the sun set over the ocean.

[separatist-apologist]

Still A Sunbeam

Summary: As a child, Elain Archeron is pushed into a pond by the heir to the Day Courts throne, Lucien Spell-Cleaver, and vows she'll never forgive him for it. But as an adult, Elain finds that if she wants out of an arranged marriage to a Spring Court prince, she will need Day Court's help. More is at stake than a decades-old rivalry, and when their home is threatened, Elain and Lucien will have to set aside old differences and work together

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Read on AO3

Cadmus returned a few hours after he’d left her, appearing in the door she hadn’t bothered to close. Ever immaculate, the second born son smiled that wolfish grin as he stepped into the room.

“Sister,” he crooned, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“Don’t say that so loudly,” she warned, all but bouncing off the bed. Elain was bored. It had taken her ten minutes to unpack her things and Arina had never returned from wherever she’d gone with Eris. Elain knew she shouldn’t be frustrated but she was. Stupidly, she’d believed she and Arina were in this together.

But Elain was on her own, at least when it came to navigating Autumn. And clearly Cadmus was going to be her unofficial guide through it all, smirking like his older brother—like his younger brother, too. It must be a genetic thing, she decided, because she knew she’d seen that arrogant look on Lucien’s face more than once. 

Elain sighed. She missed Lucien which made her feel a little pathetic. She was certain he’d found ways to entertain himself and by the time she returned would have a whole host of stories for her. Elain didn’t believe for a second he was pining the way she was.

“Ashamed?” Cadmus asked, leaning casually against the frame of the door. She bet the ladies of Autumn went wild when they saw that. He was handsome in an aristocratic sort of way, with elegant, sharp features that could slice as easily as any knife. He was the only one of the Vanserra’s to have hair that was more brown than red, still coppery but in a darker, warmer sort of way. His features skewed toward his fathers and she wondered how that made him feel when he looked in the mirror.

She liked him, though. Liked him much more than she was sure to like the High Lord, at any rate. 

“No, I’m not ashamed,” Elain replied loftily, poking him in his broad chest when she reached him. “I don’t need you broadcasting what I told you all over the palace.”

Cadmus arched one elegantly groomed brow. “And when you return?”

“Would you like to be penpals?” Elain asked him with syrupy sweetness.

Cadmus’s expression shifted for a moment. “I’d like to see my mother more often.”

Ah. Elain mouthed a wordless oh, because she understood what he was asking—would she use her influence on Lucien so his half-brothers could visit without so much animosity. Elain’s heart ached at the thought of how little they must have gotten to see her and what it was like knowing she was happy without being able to see it for themselves. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Elain murmured softly. Anyone who stumbled on the scene at hand would think something intimate was happening between them which was better and safer than the truth. Killain would be irate but he was always angry when another male was in her vicinity. 

Cadmus exhaled a breath Elain hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His shoulders slumped for only a moment before he straightened himself back out and offered her that same arrogant smile.

“Hungry?”

“Yes,” she lied. Elain wanted to meet everyone who’d come and get a sense of what she’d be doing. Lucien had given her a rundown on the rather boring piece of policy Beron wanted to debate.

Which was shattered the moment Cadmus casually said, “Atticus is trying to rally the seasonal courts into strong arming the Night Court into war. They’ll see you as an ally.”

“Is she a prisoner?” Elain asked, certain there was no one and nothing that could keep Feyre if she didn’t truly want to be there. Not even the fearsome North and their Daemati powers were enough. 

Cadmus shrugged casually, falling into step with Elain. His smoke gray pants and navy blue jacket were a rather lovely combination against his complexion, and made him seem more naughty prince than anything. “No one knows. There is a rumor Feyre sent a letter, but no one has seen it so whether that's true or lies from Night Court, well…you’ll have to take Atticus at his word.”

“Atticus is…” A liar, though she didn’t dare say that. Not when Cadmus likely was, too. And she knew too well that these males often pulled rank and protected each other, regardless of the circumstances or female wishes. If Feyre was saying no, but Atticus was saying yes, Cadmus and Tarquin and maybe Lucien, too, was likely to fall in line. After all, if one female said no and they were forced to honor it, what stopped the rest of them from saying no, too?

Cadmus raised both brows. “I’m interested in your reaction specifically, princess.”

Elain narrowed her eyes, though she supposed princess was better than sister. “Is Tarquin here?”

“Yes,” Cadmus murmured, fingers brushing her back as he led her down a flight of stairs. “Viviane, too.”

Viviane felt like a dream to Elain. Had she once been jealous of Lucien dancing with the Winter princess…or…whatever she was? General to the High Lord who’d been unable to drag his eyes off her, at any rate. Elain wondered if Viviane would be an ally or if she’d side with the males. 

Reaching between them, Elain grabbed Cadmus’s hand. “Don’t let Atticus take me out of here.”

Cadmus paused. “Are you asking for sanctuary?”

“No, I—”

No. She couldn’t get stuck in Autumn and didn’t think the High Lord would ever let her leave. She’d become leverage in his silent war against Helion, made worse when he realized he had the prince's mate. 

“I’m asking you not to let Atticus take me out of Autumn.”

“I can’t stop him if he’s your prince,” Cadmus reminded her. Elain loathed all these rules that bound females unfairly to males and their territory. She hadn’t claimed Lucien and he hadn’t claimed her, hadn’t renounced her home in Spring. Cadmus’s steps slowed, his eyes burning the skin of her cheek. “Is he?”

“So I say you are—”

“You say my brother is,” Cadmus murmured, his voice so soft she felt like he was speaking directly in her mind. “And force me to honor our blood.”

Lucien would kill her for this. She knew he wanted his brothers to learn about his bond at the same time everyone else did. Was she foolish to trust the Vanserra’s when conventional wisdom told her not to? No one in their right mind would entrust the second born Vanserra to a secret of this magnitude.

“Lucien is my mate,” she breathed. Cadmus’s eyes widened for only a moment, bright with wonder. 

“I ought to spend more time in Day,” he finally said, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. “No one knows?”

“Eris does,” she said, grateful he’d kept that secret when it might have served him better to tell his family. Cadmus didn’t seem surprised to hear that. “And Lucien, of course.”

“He hasn’t claimed you—”

“He can’t,” she hissed, forgetting that in Autumn, males owned their mates. If Lucien had been born in Autumn, he could have declared it before court and culturally, the expectation would be that Elain would accept. Spring was the exact same way, but Day, like the other solar courts, allowed females to decide whether they accepted the bond. She could see Cadmus chewing on this knowledge. He knew it in theory—but he was watching it play out in practice and it clearly confused him.

“Are you?” he finally asked, his face a strange mix of wonder and vulnerablity. 

“Maybe,” she replied, poking him in the ribs. “Feeling sorry for Lucien, are you?”

Cadmus scowled. “No.”

“That’s good to hear,” Elain said with a smile, gripping Cadmus’s arm once again. “I promise he is not suffering.”

A cruel smile spread over Cadmus’s face—the sort that told her he was about to ask her something wildly inappropriate. She was spared by Atticus, who rounded the same corner they were coming down only to nearly crash into Cadmus. She’d forgotten how tall and imposing the future High Lord was. He halted, his severe, tan face eyeing them both with distaste. He knew, now. And there was no doubt in Elain’s mind that Killian would be informed at some point. 

Those pine green eyes landed on her, lip curling with distaste. “What are you doing here?” he asked roughly, the demand clanging through her.

“She’s Day Court’s emissary,” Cadmus snapped, speaking when Elain’s mouth opened silently. Heart thudding, she didn’t think she could speak to Atticus. Not without making herself look small and foolish.

Atticus smiled, then, his whole face lighting up as though Cadmus had told a particularly funny joke. “Of course she is. Just as you and I are newly crowned High Lords. My brother is looking for you.”

“He knows how to find me,” Elain said, but the waver in her voice betrayed her. Atticus’s smile was undimmed.

“Mm.”

And then he was gone, swanning past the pair of them like they were little more than an annoyance to him. Cadmus watched, fingers clenched to fists at his sides. “Don’t know where he thinks he’s fucking going,” Cadmus grumbled, placing one callused hand against her back. “Dining room is this fucking way.”

“He’s going to call Killian—” 

“So?” Cadmus interrupted impatiently. “You knew that.”

But knowing it and being confronted with seeing Killian, who was going to try and drag her home, were two entirely different things. And Elain didn’t know how to navigate this situation. Grabbing Cadmus roughly, she pulled her toward a shadowy corner just outside the twin doors carved with the image of a long-dead dragon. 

“I kissed him, once,” she said. Had she told anyone that? Maybe Arina—definitely not Lucien. Cadmus’s brows furrowed, struggling to understand why it mattered. “Killian has been kissing females his whole life. Surely—”

“But he wants to be married, and he’s…you know….how they think about these things.”

“Are you suggesting I think every female I kiss belongs to me?” he asked archly.

“No,” she snapped in response. “You only think they belong to you if you want them for longer than a night or two!”

Cadmus smiled. “You’ve got me there. This is a serious gathering Elain and not an engagement party. Killian still needs the permission of the High Lord to attend and father famously hates everyone. He’s not letting the second Spring son into his home when he didn’t want the first one.”

“Are you sure?”

Cadmus shrugged. “No. Father does things for his own reasons more often than I can count. But I would bet he’s not half as interested in your personal life as Killian is, and he’ll want everyone out just as soon as he can manage.”

And for some reason, that made Elain feel a little better. Everything felt as though it revolved around her and hearing Cadmus say no one was half as interested in her as she was felt reassuring, if nothing else.

With that in mind, Cadmus tugged her toward the doors that would take the pair of them to dinner. With every new step, Cadmus seemed to fade into a male she didn’t recognize. Straight spine, bored expression, and an almost lazy gait. He was every inch one of the Autumn bastards then, leading her into the high ceilinged dining room as though she were of no consequence to him. 

Eris was already there, sitting at a high table at the far end of the room just beside his father. Arina sat beside Viviane, her back to the Autumn prince a few feet away. The two blondes were smiling brightly, ignoring a table of nearby Autumn court males watching them with wolfish expressions. 

From behind them, Tarquin shoulder checked Cadmus. “Excuse me,” the handsome Summer prince murmured, winking once at Elain before making his way toward Viviane. Slipping away her arm, Elain did the same, taking the last chair at the little table already laden with food. Cadmus sauntered off, seemingly unbothered. He didn’t so much as look at her, even when Elain stared him down. He merely joined his brothers away from the high table where his brother and father sat, eating and making rude gestures at a table of nearby giggling females.

“What are you two talking about?” Elain asked, turning back to Viviane and Arina. 

“The Hybern General,” Viviane said, blue eyes crinkled at the edges. She was, if Elain recalled correctly, one of the Winter High Lords most trusted soldiers. A General in her own right, not that she appeared so in her soft, wintergreen dress. “She’s in Spring right now.”

“Atticus is here, though,” Elain said with surprise. She’d seen him in the hall—surely he’d want to stay with his father if a foreign dignitary was joining.

“He was forced here to deal with the Feyre Archeron situation,” Viviane said blithely, forgetting that Feyre was related to Elain by blood. “And I suspect the High Lord doesn’t want an audience to his meeting with her.”

“Or he’s showing her the wall,” Tarquin said casually, picking at a strawberry from a bowl. “Rumors swirl, princess, that Hybern is after more territory.”

“He’d have to be short sighted and stupid,” Arina chimed in, watching Tarquin with an unreadable expression. “Where does he think Hybern will turn once he’s slaughtered the humans?”

“Maybe he hopes to work out some deal. Make himself regent–”

“The High Lord of Spring would never rule under someone else,” Elain interrupted, thinking of that proud, haughty male. “He’d be aiming for High King.”

“He’ll die, just last,” Viviane whispered as Atticus stomped back in, his face twisted with anger. “But not before damning us all to a war on two fronts.”

“Three,” Tarquin replied, popping a grape into his mouth. “He’s been looking for a fight with the High Lord of Night for centuries. He’s finally found it. Just something to think about as we decide Feyre Archeron’s fate.”

“Lucien Spell-Cleaver is doing that already, is he not?” Viviane asked, eyes turning to Elain. Elain had no idea what Lucien was doing while she was away, and thought it was a trap to admit she had any interest in his coming and goings. She shrugged, taking a page from Tarquin’s playbook. Arina, of course, knew better—she knew better than any of them what Lucien might be doing.

She said nothing, drumming her fingers against the table.

“So the seasonal courts agree Night has stolen a Spring Court princess and…what? We force her back—”

“And put the prince on trial,” Tarquin murmured, leaning forward on his elbows. “Draw out his father from his mountain court where he’s much easier to assassinate. Kill the son, see the power transfer to someone more…aggreeable. Like the High Lord’s brother, for instance.”

“A stupid plan,” Arina hissed softly. “Stupider if he thinks someone like Beron would ever bend the knee for him.”

“One thing at a time,” Viviane said cooly, reaching for her fork. “Feyre Archeron today, Prythian’s politics tomorrow. How are you planning to vote?”

“I’ll be waiting to hear what Lucien Spell-Cleaver has to say,” Tarquin replied, glancing at Elain. “He’s honorable—and if she’s been forced, he won’t pretend otherwise, Solar Court alliance or not.”

Tarquin’s gaze slid to her, and Elain knew he was thinking about the night on that pleasure barge when Lucien by rights could have taken her. She’d been throwing herself at him. Begging him, even. And Lucien had locked her up, had put her to bed, and hadn’t touched her any more than was required to keep her safe. She wondered if that was what kept Tarquin from saying anything else. Lucien had mentioned Tarquin suspected what was happening between them when he’d warned her who might be in Autumn. 

Elain was grateful for his silence. 

“I heard she wrote a letter renouncing her home in Spring,” Viviane said, looking once again at Elain. “And if that’s true, I won’t be calling to bring her back, and neither will Kallias.”

“Very progressive of you,” Tarquin said with a slick smile. Viviane’s answering smile was just as vicious, lethal in its beauty. Like she knew some secret about the prince none of the rest of them did—a secret she, too, was choosing not to divulge, at least for now. Elain didn’t care. Sitting at that table, Elain could only think of Feyre.

What trouble have you gotten yourself in this time?

LUCIEN:

“What are you painting?” he began, well aware she’d been working on a portrait of Rhysand. That didn’t seem to bode well for the Spring Court princess—was her mind consumed with him? And if it was, had Rhysand been the cause of that. He could scent nothing unusual about her. Not even sex, which he would have assumed would be present had Rhysand so much as touched her. That’s what Tamlin was alleging, at least partly. Feyre’s compliance was all forced. 

Scanning her form, Lucien couldn’t detect a spell bound around her. A bargain shimmered against her forearm, but that was hardly a secret given the swirling, black-inked tattoo was visible to anyone with a working pair of eyes. 

“Nothing,” she said, cheeks dark with embarrassment. Lucien was tempted to look behind him and see if Rhysand was still watching and didn’t think he’d like what he’d see. Feyre Archeron rose from her chair, fair skin splattered with multi-colored dots of paint. Planting her hands on her hips, she demanded, “Are you taking me back to Spring?”

“I could take you to Day Court, if you’re looking for sanctuary,” Lucien replied evenly. Feyre considered this for a moment, clearly not expecting him to offer an alternative. 

“With Elain?”

“Yes,” he agreed, picking up a dry paintbrush on a little stand by her easel. “I’m sure she’d be very happy to see you.”

Feyre snorted. “Annoyed, more like it. Nesta is here—no one is trying to drag her back.”

“I suppose they assume she plans to return at some point.”

“Well, that’s stupid considering she’s training with—”

“Feyre!” Rhysand interrupted, his smooth voice sharper than usual. “Manners, darling.”

Lucien did turn, then, sighing with exasperation. “You don’t have to watch, you know.”

Rhysands expression shifted, eyes wholly focused on Feyre. He said nothing for a period so long Lucien had began to wonder if he wasn’t going insane. Turning, he saw Feyre’s grinning back at him and— 

“Oh, Cauldron boil me! You’re doing very little to convince me she isn’t under your control, you know.”

“I’m not,” Feyre said with a sullen expression. “You don’t need to know everything.”

Great. 

Lucien caught how Rhysand flinched at Feyre’s declaration Lucien didn’t need to know everything. Lucien raised his brows and decided to play a little harder. “Alright. Take me back, then—”

“She means about my territory,” Rhysand said smoothly, pushing off the door frame he was leaned again. “Not about her stay here. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Oh, but of course,” she bit back sarcastically. “As I’m just a silly female, it makes total sense that the only way I’d be able to make my own decision was if another male was controlling my mind.”

Rhysand smothered his grin. “Play nice.”

Feyre rounded on him, arms crossed over her chest. “How is my sister? Do you boss her around, too?”

Lucien sighed. “Hardly.”

Feyre didn’t bother to hide her smile. “Good. I hope she’s giving you hell. She hates you, you know.”

“Yes, I am well aware of Elain’s feelings toward me,” Lucien replied dryly. He didn’t mention that those feelings had shifted because this wasn’t about him or Elain, but preventing an absurd civil war over one female Lucien was relatively certain had come of her own accord. “Why Night Court, Feyre?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, turning toward the window looking over the mountains. “Nesta was here and I thought…Elain is practically engaged, and I think she’s content with that. I worried if I came to her, she’d urge me to go back. I snuck in–”

“How did you manage that?” Lucien asked, genuinely curious. Feyre glanced at Rhysand, something silent spoken between them. Lucien caught Rhysand subtly shake his head no.

“Their mind control doesn’t work on me,” Feyre told him, defiance flashing in those silvery blue eyes. “I’m daemati, too.”

Lucien blinked. A seer and a daemati in the same family. “Does Spring know—”

“No,” she said quickly, defiance replaced with panic. “And they can’t. This is between us, Spell-Cleaver.”

He inclined his head. “So, you can’t be manipulated. You sneak into Night. What then?”

“Rhysand picked me up at the border and brought me here.”

Lucien very much doubted that was the entirety of the story. He’d seen the city below, though, and guessed the prince was keeping far more secrets than one beautiful city. That was fine—Lucien was, too. All the courts jealously guarded their territories, hiding it from others who might try and take it if they knew it better. Night was hardly any different. 

“I’m not going back and I’m not marrying him. I wrote him a letter saying as much,” Feyre finished, her voice icy steel. “I know Atticus is convening in Autumn to try and whip the seasonal courts into a frenzy.”

Lucien sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, your sister is there on behalf of Day, so I suspect she’ll side with you.”

“You suspect, or you know?”

“I can’t predict Elain’s actions with accuracy,” Lucien replied in his most level tone. Rhysand rolled his eyes. “I don’t think she wants you to go back to Spring.”

“Why don’t you stay for the night?” Rhysand finally said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Give it the illusion of fairness.”

That was the last thing Lucien wanted. He had to remind himself that going home wouldn’t bring Elain back to him any quicker and would only make him more restless. At least here he could pester Rhysand about Night and get to know Feyre a little better. He knew so little about her life before she’d come to him, though he knew the stories. Of course he knew of Feyre, but he didn’t know her well.

It was cynical, but maybe if he got in good with Feyre, Elain wouldn’t be so afraid to accept the mating bond—

“Mating bond?!” Feyre’s surprised gasp pulled Lucien from his thoughts. Even Rhysand’s eyes went wide, surprised by the news. “You and Elain are mates?”

Rhysand began laughing, pulling his hands from his pockets to cross them over his chest. “Oh, how funny, Spell-Cleaver.”

Lucien was tempted to divulge Rhysand’s secret right then and there. Careful with his thoughts, Lucien snarled, “My head isn’t an open play ground for you.”

“Forgive me for not trusting you,” she replied dismissively. “You were practically screaming them at me, besides.”

“We talked about this,” Rhysand murmured reproachfully. 

“Is he your teacher?”

“She has to earn her keep somehow,” Rhysand said smoothly. “Just like Elain does.”

“I asked him to,” Feyre said, defensive all over again. “You don’t know what it’s like to know everyones thoughts all the time.”

Lucien couldn’t imagine—didn’t want to imagine. That seemed like a particular kind of hell, hearing what everyone thought of you as they were thinking it, even as they smiled to your face and lied. He wondered if that didn’t play a part in why Feyre was so desperate to get away from Tamlin. She knew exactly what he thought of her—what he wanted, what he expected, even if his lips said something different. 

“It’s quiet here,” she told him with a slump of her shoulders. “I feel like I can breathe.”

Lucien tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “How about lunch?”

Feyre’s eyes perked up. “Can I take him to—”

“Yes,” Rhysand interrupted smoothly, eyes twinkling like a thousand stars. “Don’t give it away. Lucien likes surprises. You two enjoy yourselves. I have to meet my mother at the border—mind what you tell the fox, hm, darling?”

Feyre’s smile was razon sharp. “As you say, princeling.”

Oh, Lucien liked her, even of Rhysand was wrong. Lucien liked nothing of the sort—at least, not the kind Rhysand found amusing. Still, he found himself charmed by Feyre Archeron and her easy, unguarded emotions. He sympathized with her.

And if she wanted to take him to lunch, well. Lucien was happy to tag along.

[thirsty-boba-fett-posts]

I made y’all an ice cream cone. It’s one scoop Boba x reader and one scoop Fennec x reader. If you enjoy it, I’ll make you a whole sundae.

THOTS UNDER THE CUT.

Boba Fett - or at least the person she supposed must be Boba Fett - along with his menacing entourage and a masked man in chains entered the antechamber unannounced.

“I’m here to see the mayor.”

Her eyes widened and a furrows appeared between her brows. She tried to scroll through her data pad, but she was reluctant to take her eyes off of imposing figure of Boba Fett.

“Do you have… an appointment?” she asked in a small, hesitant voice. She’d always been able to hold her own, but this broad man had a powerful quality that made her feel like shrinking against the wall.

“I found one of his stray pets. I’m here to return it to its master,” he growled. She swallowed.

The Majordomo, that gladhanding little worm, appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“Apologies, Lord Fett. I did not see your litter arrive,” he offered as he dipped his head apologetically. “The mayor is indisposed but I’m sure we have an appointment available some time late next week…”

He moved behind her and, as he reached around to take the data pad from her hands, placed one of his palms on her ribcage. This one was step too far. She could tolerate his leering for the sake of keeping herself fed and housed, but she would not be subjected to groping.

“Get your hands off of me before I slap you back into your mother!”

The majordomo jerked back with a stunned expression on his face.

“You want to see the mayor?” she said, looking directly at the Daimyo. She grabbed a key card from a rack on the reception podium, walked defiantly over to the locked door to the mayor’s office, and swiped the card over the locking panel. The red light turned green and the door opened.

“His schedule just opened up,” she said, throwing the key card back onto the podium before turning to walk past them all and out the door.

“I quit!” she shouted over her shoulder.

…

He sent Fennec to find her. He needed an administrative assistant and she had moxie. Fennec tracked her to a hole in the wall cantina drinking cheap, adulterated spotchka. The Daimyo’s job offer included a generous salary and a private living quarters, but she knew to be suspicious.

“Does the Daimyo know how to keep his hands to himself?” she asked warily.

“If he doesn’t, I’ll cut them off myself.”

Fennec’s assurance was enough for the moment. She accepted the position and found herself packing her belongings the following morning to make the short hike up to the palace. As she was leaving and turning in her key for the cramped little room for which she paid exorbitant rent, Fennec arrived on a bantha to collect her.

“I though you’d have more possessions.”

“I’m flattered, but I’m also poor.”

Fennec chuckled and gave her a leg up onto the bantha. She rode astride behind Fennec, holding her around the waist as the bantha plodded along.

“You’ll like working for the Daimyo,” she said over her shoulder. “He’ll keep you out of trouble.”

“Does he keep you out of trouble?” she asked coyly.

“He couldn’t even if he tried.”

They were both silent for a while. As the bantha climbed the hill towards the palace, Fennec spoke to her over her shoulder again.

“You made him laugh, you know. With what you said to the majordomo. He couldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised.

“He think you’re gutsy. The Daimyo endeavors to surround himself with gutsy women, apparently.”

…

“You’ll be free of unwanted advances,” offered the Daimyo, sensitive to her unease with the possibility of being taken advantage of by men holding power over her. “I ask for loyalty, but loyalty is meant to be reciprocated. You are now under my protection.”

“Thank you, Daimyo,” she said, still wary of him.

“You have nothing to fear under Boba Fett,” said Fennec in an unexpectedly soft voice that momentarily caught Boba off guard. Fennec warmed to few of the palace staff, Boba thought. She must like this one.

Boba liked her too. He had now doubt that she would at least try to make good on her threat of violence against Mok Shaiz’ majordomo. Now that Boba knew what a lecherous pest he was, he might just find an excuse to feed him to the rancor. Boba was certain that his new assistant would fit in just fine with his motley crew. Fennec was certainly fond of her, and although he found her striking as well, he had the good sense to leave her be. If she decided to climb into his bed, or Fennec’s, all the more reason to keep her safe.

…

This was originally going to be a one shot but now it’s a whole thing.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Pomegranate Ink: XIX

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: You meet the final first year before reuniting with Todo, albeit not under the best circumstances.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.3k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: okay so i do think this story is going to end up being much longer than i ever anticipated it being lol whoops

“Why is she staring at me like that?” you muttered to Maki, who shrugged, clearly as lost as you were. After taking care of the entire Itadori situation, you had rejoined the rest of your classmates under the excuse that Yuta had suddenly become incredibly busy and you had had to cut your trip short. You had arrived upon an interesting scene: Maki fuming at Toge, Tullia, and Panda, while a redheaded girl sat beside Megumi on the stairs with her chin in her hands.

This was normal enough, but that was not what made it interesting; the odd part was that, for some reason, upon seeing you, the girl’s eyes had turned to stars, and she had not stopped gazing at you strangely since. You inched behind Maki, who stood in front of you with hands on her hips, like a bodyguard or something.

“You’re Y/N L/N, right?” the girl finally said, voice high-pitched with admiration.

“Yes. Do you know me?” you said. “Wait, of course you do, I’m a Grade 1 —”

“You’re the daughter of a famous model, so there’s no way I wouldn’t know you! Wow, you look just like her!” she squealed, tackling you in a hug and squeezing her arms around your waist. You yelped as she knocked you backwards and you crashed into the grass, though she paid no mind. “I’m Nobara Kugisaki! Please, call me Nobara, though! It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am!”

Nobara yanked you to your feet and shook your hand fervently. You blinked at her, unsure of what, exactly, was going on. Daughter of a famous model? Well, that was true, your mother had been a model before marrying your father, though that wasn’t usually what you were recognized for…

“She’s also a Grade 1 sorcerer, and the heir to the L/N name,” Megumi said. “As well as being one of only two upperclassmen of ours that can actually be considered respectable.”

“Who cares about all of that?” Nobara said. She still had that same, sparkling look about her, and you were genuinely worried she might drop to the ground and start kissing your feet at any given moment. “She’s literally the daughter of that one model! Don’t you know who I’m talking about?”

“No,” Megumi said. Nobara scoffed.

“Of course you wouldn’t. Boys,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Ignore him, Miss Y/N! By the way, do you have any contacts in the industry? Woah, I did not think when I came here that I’d actually be able to find someone who might be able to help me out in such a big way, but I’m definitely glad I chose to come here now!”

“I don’t have any contacts in the industry, no,” you said slowly. “I guess my mother might, but she’s been retired from modeling since she married my father, so I doubt anyone she’d know would be relevant in the current times.”

“Do you think you could introduce me to your mother at some point? She’s a real role model of mine,” Nobara said.

“Um, sure?” you said. “She’d probably be happy to hear that you think so highly of her.”

“Of course,” Nobara said, bowing at you. “Thank you, my most respected upperclassman. You are definitely my hero for helping me in this way.”

“Anytime,” you said, casting about for someone to help you. Maki was your best chance, but she was currently stifling a laugh, which meant she was basically out for the count. You stuck your tongue out at her discreetly; she returned the favor promptly. You had to smile, then, despite the absurdity of your introduction to the final first year.

“She’s definitely a little odd, but I don’t think we can judge her for it,” Tullia said later, as you, her, and Maki walked to the nearby convenience store. It had been a while since the three of you girls had done something together, and you had all unanimously agreed to at least take this small trip to discuss what was going on in your lives.

“That’s true. We were all admittedly not the most normal ourselves back when we were her age,” you said.

“First of all, she’s basically the same age as us, so I don’t know why you’re acting like all of this happened a long time ago,” Maki said, snatching the candy you were eyeing and adding it to her bag. “Secondly, speak for yourself. I’ve always been really normal.”

You and Tullia stared at Maki, trying to discern if she was joking or not. When you realized she was actually serious, you both burst into laughter, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes at the absurd statement.

“That’s rich, coming from you!” Tullia said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Maki said.

“You’ve said some really questionable things back in the day,” you said. “Remember when you called Gojo ‘Frosty the Snowman’ that one time?”

“That was warranted,” she muttered.

“It was, but that doesn’t make it any less absurd,” Tullia said. “Face it, the three of us were definitely headaches as first years. The proof is in this: Maki, Gojo is like half-terrified of you, and Y/N, Gojo loves you more than anyone. And when it comes to Gojo, anything extreme is basically a warning signal that you’re doing something wrong.”

“What about you?” you said.

“I’ve been compared to Gojo in intelligence,” she said. “I don’t think that that’s a compliment, though.”

“Nope,” Maki said.

“Definitely not,” you said.

“See? Using the Gojo metric, we’ve all been really strange from the start. So we can’t judge Kugisaki for being like that as well. I think that it’s kind of part and parcel of being a sorcerer. Can you even name one normal one?” Tullia said.

“Nanami seems pretty normal,” you offered. Tullia snorted.

“That man does not know what a bed feels like. He probably sleeps standing up, like a horse. Not normal,” she said. You mulled this over, ultimately deciding she was right on that count.

“What about Utahime Iori, the head teacher from Kyoto?” Maki said. “She’s seemed calm the few times I’ve seen her.

“No, she’s definitely nontraditional as well. She didn’t let me share Noritoshi’s room because she was afraid I’d sabotage him in his sleep, remember? She’s crazy competitive, like to an unhealthy extent,” you said. “It’s not like I necessarily wanted to share his room, because, uh, we all know what happened during that event, but the principle of the matter remains.”

“Exactly,” Tullia said victoriously.

“Tullia, isn’t your cousin a sorcerer? What’s he like?” Maki said.

“Fucking crazy,” you said.

“He’s not the person I’d use as an example of a normal person working in sorcery, that’s for sure,” Tullia agreed. “Kaito’s always been a little intense, to put it mildly.”

“I guess there really is no one,” Maki said. “So we can’t judge Kugisaki at all!”

“That’s the case,” you said, sighing. “I can’t believe that she only signed up to be a sorcerer so that she could come to Tokyo, though.”

“It’s not that dissimilar to you becoming a sorcerer so that you could escape your marriage to Noritoshi,” Maki said, offering you the candy she had bought for you as you walked out of the convenience store. You accepted it gratefully, allowing your hand to linger on hers in thanks before popping a few pieces in your mouth as you strolled back towards the school.

“How has he been, by the way?” Tullia said. “I miss him.”

“You do?” you said, taken aback at the matter-of-fact statement. She hummed in thought.

“Not him as a person. It’s his wallet that I’m talking about; since he’s his clan’s proxy, he has to pay for whatever I tell him to, since the Kamos are still so grateful to me for saving your life,” she said. You did vaguely remember that kind of conversation happening during Noritoshi’s last visit, though at that time it had been in the context of bribing Harvard into letting her in.

“He’s been good. Busy making Elakshi feel welcome at Kyoto, if you know what I mean,” you said, winking in an overexaggerated way at Tullia. She laughed in delight, winking back at you, causing Maki to snicker at you both.

“I guess he deserves a revenge affair or two,” Tullia said.

“They’re good together, according to Todo, who watches them for me. Noritoshi is surprisingly really very romantic when he’s inspired; her dorm room looks more like a greenhouse from all the flowers he’s bought for her,” you said.

“How does Todo know what her dorm looks like?” Maki said.

“I don’t really find any merit in questioning his methods anymore,” you said. “What matters is that he gets the information.”

“What dirt do you have on him, that’s he so willing to do what you ask?” Tullia said.

“Surprisingly, not much. I offered to get him tickets to meet that idol that Noritoshi said he was so obsessed with, but he started sobbing and told me to save the money. Apparently, he’s been ‘clean’ ever since the exchange event,” you said, remembering the conversation with startling clarity due to how absurd it had been, even for Todo.

“Hey, Todo, if you spy on Elakshi and Noritoshi for me, I’ll buy you, uh, Takada-Chan tickets,” you said, elbowing him in the side. He choked on the McDonald’s milkshake he was sipping on and then gave you the most betrayed look you had ever seen him wear.

“Y/N,” he said, handing you the milkshake and getting on his knees. You arched an eyebrow and decided you might as well drink it while it was in your hands and he was doing…whatever he was doing. “How could you suggest something like that?”

“Aren’t you in love with her or something?” you said. You thought you were beyond getting surprised by him, but he continued to defy expectations, bowing his head and beginning to genuinely wail.

“No! I’m clean now, and I have been ever since you defeated me at the last exchange event!” he said.

“What does that mean?” you said as he cried, hugging your legs. You patted him on the head in an awkward attempt to comfort him, though you doubted it was successful.

“I don’t think about her anymore. You’ve replaced her in my mind, don’t you see? The ideal woman of a man like Okkotsu, and my rival to boot — how could I not be inspired? I don’t need Takada-Chan there to help me win anymore, not when I have you there to always guide me to victory,” he said.

“Okay,” you said. “If you spy on Elakshi and Noritoshi for me, I promise I’ll make sure we fight at some point during the next exchange event. I’ll tell Gojo to rig our individual match up to be against one another again or something like that”

“Alright!” he said, springing to his feet and snatching back his milkshake, finishing what was left in one massive gulp. “That sounds like a deal.”

“What even?” Tullia said once you had told them the entire story. “I will never understand him.”

“What does he mean by you being there to guide him to victory? Since when have you been his mentor or whatever?” Maki said.

“I wish I could tell you, but I haven’t the faintest idea. He’s mentioned it before, the whole notion of me giving him advice and whatnot, but I don’t ever do anything like that, so I don’t know what he means by it,” you said.

“I don’t think there’s a point in trying to assign meaning to it. Todo just says things, and it’s up to the rest of us to ignore them,” Tullia said. Maki considered this before nodding in agreement.

“Speaking of which, it looks like he’s in town,” you said, showing them the little red dot on your phone that was Todo’s location. “I wonder what he’s doing around here without even telling me. You’d think he’d offer to stop by!”

“To be fair, you did tell him he has to pay for you whenever you two hang out, so that could be a contributing factor,” Maki said.

“That’s true, but if he isn’t coming to hang out with me, then what business does he even have being here in the first place?” you said.

“Say,” Tullia said, in one of her rare bouts of wisdom. “Isn’t that where the vending machines are? Didn’t Toge send Fushiguro and Kugisaki there to pick up some lemonade for him and Panda?”

“Oh, shoot,” you said. Maki said something far more explicit, and an instant later, Tullia facepalmed as she came to the same conclusion as the rest of you — that Todo and his classmates had come to mess with you all, and specifically your underclassmen, in preparation for the upcoming exchange event. The fact that you were absent was only a bonus, as you were at present the only person who could deal with him for any extended period of time.

“Let’s go,” Maki said. “I have a hunch that my sister is involved in this, too, and I don’t want her doing something we’ll all regret. Tullia, come with me; Y/N, take care of your rival, please.”

“Of course,” you said, taking off at a run, using cursed energy to boost your speed so that you could keep up with Maki. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tullia unscrew the cap of a bottle of bleach, downing it and then joining you at a sprint.

There was a path of destruction leading from the vending machines to one of the nearby buildings. Groaning, because there was only one person as flamboyant as to do that much damage for no reason, you veered away from Maki and Tullia, leaving them to take care of Mai and Kugisaki, who you had briefly spotted before leaving them all behind.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you quickly reached the roof and were met with an expected but unwelcome sight: Todo, grinning and with his fist drawn back to hit an already-bloodied Megumi, who was swaying where he stood. For his part, though, Megumi had raised his hands, clearly about to summon some shikigami or another, but you weren’t sure if he’d be successful, so you took the chance to send a needle flying over his head, striking Todo in the forehead. It stuck firmly into his skin, freezing him in place before knocking him backwards as the cursed energy slammed into his weak spot. He crashed to the ground with a thud, and you crossed your arms as he lay there in defeat.

“Todo,” you said in disapproval. “Why are you bothering my junior? He’s already destroyed enough of Japan’s infrastructure as it is, so please don’t aid him in continuing to do so.”

“Y/N!” Todo said from where he was still prone on the floor, sprawled out like he was tanning. “I wasn’t expecting to see you!”

“Really? You came to my school and are surprised I’m here?” you said, patting Megumi on the back. “Go on and ask Ieri to heal you before you start feeling the concussion I’m sure this idiot gave you. I’ll deal with him.”

“Will you be alright?” Megumi said, giving Todo a disapproving look. You nodded with a sly smile.

“Of course. Who do you think beat him last time? I’m sure he’s upset about that and came to try and sabotage my team, isn’t that right, Todo?” you said, the final part of your sentence pointed at your self-proclaimed rival, who just chuckled.

“I’d never stoop that low,” he said. “I just came to tell you that I refuse to take part in this event if you all don’t drag Okkotsu and the third years back to participate as well.”

“You know Yuta’s studying abroad, so he can’t come. As for Hakari and Kirara, they were suspended, so they definitely won’t be involved,” you said. “My apologies. At least I’ll be there, though, isn’t that a consolation? Megumi, do you need help getting back to the campus?”

“Don’t worry,” Panda said from behind you. “We’ve got him. Sorry for being late.”

“Salmon!” Toge said brightly. You turned around, and true to form, your classmates were standing there, obviously ready to take on Todo in case the situation called for it. You were impressed that they had that kind of nerve, although then again, with Toge possessing Cursed Speech, it wasn’t an impossibility for them to hold him off until help could arrive.

“Great, thanks. Todo, let’s go get you a shirt so that we can have lunch,” you said, leaning over to pluck the needle from his forehead and offering your hand so that he could get up. Megumi cringed as Todo got to his feet, but the fight had left him by now. He only pointed at Megumi accusingly.

“I’m disappointed in you, boy. Your taste in women directly reflects your fighting style: boring and ineffective. Be glad she arrived to save you in time,” he said. Megumi scowled.

“What is his type in women? Is that why you were beating him up?” you said.

“Yes, I’ve never heard such an awful answer. He said he only cares about whether they have a strong moral character!” he said. “I was horrified.”

“I’m actually taken aback as well,” you said. “It’s definitely a surprise for someone who spent any amount of time in their youth around Gojo to give such a mature answer. Congratulations, Megumi, you’ve really impressed me.”

“Can we stop talking about this?” Megumi said over his shoulder as Toge and Panda began to help him walk down the stairs. “It’s not something I want to discuss with either of you!”

“Man, you help a kid a few times and suddenly they’re acting like they can back-talk you,” you said, sighing and digging in your bag for the emergency t-shirt you kept around for Todo. He was prone to tearing off his clothes when impassioned, so you usually had a spare set with you at all times.

“I’m telling you,” Todo said, face severe as he pulled on the red sports jersey you offered him. “I don’t like him one bit.”

“There’s no reason for that. He’s a good person, so you shouldn’t have gone so crazy on him,” you said. He pouted childishly.

“A drab type in women is a drab type in women!” Todo said. “I can’t let someone get away with that kind of answer.”

“I don’t understand why you think like that,” you said. “There’s no kind of woman that’s drab. It’s rude of you to imply that there is. By the way, I think I’m your only friend, and I’m a woman, so you should stop offending my gender like that.”

“It’s not that any category is wrong, necessarily. I agree with you — for someone to call anyone drab is just plain impolite! That’s not what I base my judgments on. Rather, I believe a person should know what they want. If you’re too uncertain or vague with something as inconsequential as your taste in women, then you won’t be able to make decisions when they count. Giving such a bland answer as a ‘strong moral character’ is a sure sign of hesitancy that can be fatal in battle,” Todo explained.

“I see,” you said. “I don’t know if I would ever adopt such a method myself, but I guess I can understand the reasoning behind it, even if I do find your logic a little strange in places.”

“That’s the beauty of sorcery. We’re nothing alike, but we’re both equally as strong. We can even put aside our differences and be considered rivals,” Todo said.

“Don’t think that you being nice like this is going to get you out of paying for my lunch,” you warned him. “I’m still annoyed at you for bothering Megumi, so I’m going to order something expensive.”

“It was worth a try,” Todo said.

“No, it wasn’t. Now, tell me something: why were you really here?” you said.

“I said so already,” he said, ushering you into the passenger seat of the new car he had bought for his own eighteenth birthday. You did so willingly, buckling your seatbelt and turning on the seat cooling.

“That was a lie. You already knew that Yuta, Kirara, and Hakari couldn��t come to the event, and you were already satisfied with just fighting me, so that means you had other motives. I’m not accusing you of anything; well, I guess that I am, but I mean that I’m not angry. I’m just trying to figure out what’s happening so that I can best prepare for it,” you said.

He fiddled with the buttons on the car, turning up the air conditioning and making sure that the seat was at exactly the right height for you. You watched him throughout, waiting for him to speak, knowing that the silent treatment got to him every time. He was so extroverted and loud that the quiet always bothered him, and if you did not say anything for a while, he would definitely fill the minutes with words of his own.

“Principal Gakuganji needed me to drive him down so that he could meet with Principal Yaga before the exchange event!” he finally said, all in a rush. You leaned back, satisfied with yourself. He was like a dam: now that he had begun to talk, he wouldn’t stop until he was finished and it was all out.

“Interesting,” you said. “So you were just supposed to give him a ride? How’d Mai end up here, then?”

“He did mention that we should meet our Tokyo counterparts,” he said.

“Uh-huh. But you didn’t first seek out your very own rival?” you said, raising your eyebrows. “It seems a little counterintuitive, doesn’t it? And on the subject, why didn’t Noritoshi come? You’d think he’d jump at the chance to see his beloved wife-to-be.”

“He was busy on a date — I mean, hanging out with Elakshi,” Todo said, clearing his throat.

“What an interesting update. I’m sure you were planning on telling me all about that later,” you said. “It’s not like I’ll get mad. I’m just a little nosy; anyways, he knows all about me and Yuta, so it’s only fair.”

“Yes, Y/N. Of course, Y/N,” Todo said, his words monotonous and strict like he was following the orders of a superior.

“Back on the original topic, though, why did Mai come instead of one of the others?” you said.

“Principal Gakuganji thought she might like the chance to say some words to her sister,” he said.

“Those two haven’t gotten along for years. Why would she want to say anything to Maki, unless it was something hostile? That’s it, isn’t it? You guys were supposed to come here and threaten my classmates. It wouldn’t have mattered what Megumi said his type in women was; you’d have beaten him up regardless,” you said.

“I’d have been gentler if he was less boring,” Todo muttered. You scoffed.

“Do you guys really have such little faith in yourselves? Do you think you can’t win the event without upsetting the opposite team? I mean, I know it must’ve been really embarrassing for your entire school to lose to two first years during the last event, but that doesn’t mean you take it out on poor Megumi and Kugisaki,” you said.

“That’s not what we were doing!” Todo said.

“Really?” you said as he parked the car and got out, opening your door for you and waiting until you had gotten out to shut it and lock the vehicle. “That’s convincing.”

“Forget about it. There’s something else we should discuss. Just us two,” he said.

“Whatever it is, it’d be better for you if we wait until we have food. I’m already irritated enough, so you don’t want me being hungry on top of it,” you said.

“I’ll call over a waiter,” he promised. “This place is known for having quick service, so it shouldn’t be too long. Then we can talk.”

Todo was right; it didn’t take much time for your food to be delivered. He waited for you to get halfway through your meal before he rolled his shoulders, obviously trying to figure out what to say. It was rare to see Todo lost for words, so you actually did pause your eating, just so that you could peer up at him in curiosity.

“What’s the matter?” you said. “I’m not that mad anymore. Toge said in the group chat that the first years are fine, so it’s not a big deal. What’s done is done, so there’s no point in dwelling on it. Is that what was bothering you?”

“No. That boy who died,” he said. “Sukuna’s vessel. You knew him, right? I remember that meeting. Gojo said you agreed that he should be saved.”

“Itadori. Yes, I did say that. It came to nothing in the end, but in the moment, I was one of the ones saying he should not be executed,” you said. Todo could not know the truth about Itadori’s existence. Although you trusted him well enough, he was simply too close to the higher ups, being in Kyoto under Principal Gakuganji’s watchful eye. Besides, you hadn’t even told Yuta, Maki, or Tullia. If you could not tell the boy you loved, your best friend, or the girl whose energy you shared, then you could not compromise your resolve by telling Todo, no matter what.

“Why did you think that?” he said. “I didn’t take you for the type to be so fond of that kind of creature. He shared his body with the King of Curses, you know.”

“That’s right,” you said. “To tell you the full truth, it wasn’t like I was passionate about saving him. I definitely believed he deserved the chance to live, but I knew that he was a real threat to the world, so if execution was his fate, I would’ve understood. However, I saw with my own eyes that he had the will and ability to suppress Sukuna when necessary, stopping him from taking over and killing Megumi and I. That definitely boosted my opinion of him. Also…his situation reminded me of Yuta’s.”

“Okkotsu’s situation, huh? I almost forgot that he was set to be executed at one point,” Todo said.

“Exactly. But Gojo managed to save him, and I’m so grateful for it, because what would I have done without him? I didn’t want someone else to feel like that. I didn’t want all of those lives that Itadori might’ve touched to go unchanged just because the higher ups couldn’t conceive a future where he was useful and allowed to live a little longer,” you said.

“So that’s your defense,” Todo said. “I think I can see where your reasoning comes from. He’s gone now, though. What is your opinion on that?”

“It was a preventable tragedy,” you said. “Was that your other purpose in coming to the school? Finding out what our feelings for Itadori were? The other second years weren’t close to him. The first years are understandably upset at the loss of a trusted partner. As for me, I am disappointed. There was no reason that they should’ve been on that mission at all. There were more qualified sorcerers available to take the job: namely, you.”

“I wasn’t offered the role or informed about the mission details!” Todo said immediately. “I didn’t — you should know I’m not that kind of person.”

“I do. I’m not blaming you for it, but isn’t it suspicious? The higher ups said that there were no other sorcerers that could’ve taken the job, but they didn’t even try contacting you about it,” you said.

“You think that there was foul play involved in his death?” Todo said. You swallowed, studying his features, weighing in your mind how much would be prudent to tell him and how much you should withhold. You didn’t want him to let something slip to the wrong person by accident, but you also didn’t want him to have to carry that kind of burden, as well.

“I don’t know if there was or wasn’t,” you said. “That’s the kind of thing that I can never confirm, and I probably don’t want to, either. Opening an investigation wouldn’t end well for anyone involved. However, I am not pleased with the circumstances surrounding it, and it was definitely an avoidable death. Whether it was done with malicious intent or was a mere oversight, it speaks to a need for reevaluation on the higher ups’ part. Though I doubt that’ll ever happen.”

“It won’t,” Todo said. “You’re right, I think. Don’t investigate this matter further. Principal Gakuganji seemed to find it important that I tell you that. He said — I’m quoting him, okay? Don’t be mad at me — nothing good happens whenever Y/N L/N and Satoru Gojo get involved in matters beyond their understanding. I didn’t really like it, but I knew he’d get someone else to tell you if I refused, and I thought they might do it in a worse way. I agreed just so that I could tell you it’s bullshit.”

“He’s always been like that,” you said. “Even when Naoya was suspended from sorcery. He blamed me for it instead of Naoya himself. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the higher ups don’t like people that don’t follow their exact rules, which means people like me, Gojo, and Yuta are generally hated by them.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Todo said. “Anyways, that was what we had to discuss. Let’s talk about something more fun now.”

“That’s it?” you said, and then you smiled. “Yes, let’s talk about better things. Did you hear that the band I made you listen to is finally back on tour?”

You returned to the school in the long hours of the late afternoon. It was still hot out, the summer sun showing no signs of setting anytime soon, and you exhaled happily, stretching as you neared the dorm buildings. Todo had dropped you off on campus, picking up Principal Gakuganji and Mai in exchange. Principal Gakuganji had glared at you as he got in, which almost certainly meant that Gojo had done something or another to piss him off, but other than that, you were actually pleased with yourself and with the day as a whole.

On cue, your phone buzzed. You didn’t really want to see who was messaging you, as there was a high chance it was someone wanting you to do extra work for them, but when you unlocked the screen, you were glad that you had. The text was from Yuta, who you always kept updated about your day-to-day going-ons.

‘Want me to beat him up?’ The message was followed by a badly photoshopped image of Yuta’s face on a WWE wrestler, slamming his opponent into the ground. Said opponent naturally had Todo’s face pasted onto it in the same fashion, and you laughed, saving the image and sending it to Toge, who’d definitely find it as amusing as you had.

Unfortunately, before you could respond to Yuta, you got another text, this one a lot more ominous, especially considering the fact that the sender was Gojo, who usually texted with a multitude of emojis and the caps lock off. Reading over the message, you found your cheerful mood to be somewhat soured by concern at the uncharacteristic behavior.

‘Y/N. I’m saying this, not as a teacher to his student nor as a brother to his sister, but as a sorcerer to his peer: I need you to do me a favor.’

[meluisart]

Kiri / Grace thoughts because I saw the film and lost my mind: spoilers for Avatar: The way of Water below the read more! (Maybe reads a bit messy, I saw it an hour ago and I am reeling. Seeing it again tomorrow so maybe I’ll be more coherrent then).

At this point I am relatively certain of the fact that Kiri does not actually have a dad, not in the bloodline kind of way, not in the physical sense. Sure, the Sullys adopted her but I’m talking about a dad in the direct off-spring sort of way here.

One of the first things said in the film is that Kiri was born of Grace’s Avatar, with it being a mystery who her dad is.

It’s clearly not Norm, even though teased by others, Kiri basically stated she’d rather die and dismissed it completely.

Kiri’s connection to Eywa is so strong she doesn’t always realise she’s getting sucked into it, connected through Tsaheylu.

Kiri’s first Tsaheylu to the Metkayina’s Spirit Tree goes well, she sees Grace both as a human and as her Avatar. All is alright until she starts asking about Eywa, and who her dad is. At which point she has a ‘seizure’ and has to be disconnected by someone else. 

The first point I am pretty sure they could have tested for it, since Avatars share DNA with their drivers and the RDA definitely has the tech for it. Even if Grace got it on with a Na’vi, they would have been able to find that out but the implications are very much that they really do not know.

The Kiri/Grace scene had me feeling all sorts of feelings but that aside it sort of reaffirmed my theory? All goes well until she starts rambling off the specific questions, and it reminded me very much of Mo’at’s prayer in the first film.

"Take this spirit into you, and breathe her back to us. Let her walk among us, as one of the People.”

Though Grace did die, and was taken into Eywa, the lack of consciousness did not mean her Avatar had died. If anything it was still alive. What if Eywa saw an opportunity, adhered by the prayer, and while not giving Grace back, gave someone else back through her, someone new: Kiri!

And Kiri... born of Grace... walks among the Na’vi, as one of the People. Prayer fullfilled.

So, TLDR; I’m pretty sure Kiri has two moms and a Great Mother?