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kpopfanfictrash · 1 year ago

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Until Death (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor:@baebae-goodnight for this unbelievable moodboard truly, like, WHAT

Genre: Green Bone Saga!AU || Organized Crime / Forbidden Romance / Suspense + Action

Author’s Note: This one shot is set in the Green Bone Saga universe, written by Fonda Lee. You do not need to have read this series in order to read this one shot (I explain concepts/terms), but I do HIGHLY encourage you to read this series at some point because it’s absolutely amazing!! Anyways, Yoongi dropped the Haegeum MV and I was like.... did he read Jade City lol. Further disclaimer this is not a retelling of the books, nor does the Kaul family exist in this version of Kekon (although the No Peak clan does)

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader

Synopsis: Jade has always shaped the island of Kekon. Mined from the mountains, it enhances the abilities of Green Bone warriors who wear it and allows them protection from outside harm. No one understands these threats better than you do, second-in-command of the mighty No Peak clan.

When a new danger appears, seeming to come from within, everything you once took for granted is called into question. Including the bonds you’ve made, some more dangerous than the others. None more so than Min Yoongi, head of No Peak and the only one capable of destroying your heart.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: graphic violence, fight scenes and mature content (character dies in the story; not main character)

NSFW Warnings: dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, spanking, oral (female), multiple orgasms, possessiveness, unprotected sex (couple is monogamous), spit, hand job

Word Count: 17,650

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

“There’s a rat in our midst,” Jungkook growls, slamming his fist to the table.

No one in the room flinches, although several glance fleetingly in the direction of the Pillar. The typically mild-mannered head of No Peak frowns, clearly disturbed by the recent attacks. Only a madman wouldn’t be.

Still, his voice remains calm while answering your second Fist. “That remains to be seen,” Yoongi says. As though the current situation could be perceived as anything but a threat.

Subtle, you flick a glance towards him, then away. In the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi’s lips curve before smoothing to nothing. Lowering his palms to rest on the table, the ends of his sleeves rise to reveal solid jade.

Leaning back, you survey the table before you. As the Horn of No Peak, it’s your job to defend the clan’s territory – by force, if necessary. Several levels of Green Bone warriors report into you, including your Fingers (the lowest of soldiers) and Fists, your direct reports.

Jungkook became Second Fist only a month prior but already, he’s created a name for himself. An impulsive, somewhat violent name for himself.

In this case though, you happen to agree with him. Not one, but two Lantern Men – commercial patrons of No Peak – have turned up dead in the past week, tortured beyond recognition. Over a week has passed since the first murder and still, there’s no suspect. Neither man was wealthy nor wore jade beyond a single piercing. Each was killed in a different part of town with no family in common. For a week, you’ve been racking your brain for motive and coming up empty.

Peeved by the thought, your fingertips dig into your leather jacket. Perceiving the shift to your aura, Yoongi starts to turn – catching himself just in time and facing forward.

An assortment of Lantern Men, Fists and Luckbringers (the money-making side of the clan) sit around a worn table. All watch the Pillar warily, as though uncertain how this meeting will end.

Tilting his head, strands of dark hair fall across Yoongi’s forehead. Studs of green line his ears, a single bolt of jade threaded through his right brow. Since the Academy, Yoongi has preferred to wear his jade as piercings – except for the clusters on fingers and wrists. He flexes these now, a visual display of power.

Jade from the island of Kekon is powerful; toxic to all but the Green Bones trained to wear it. To them, it grants unique power in each of the six disciplines: Strength, Steel, Perception, Lightness, Deflection and Channeling. Being from Kekon is no guarantee a person can wear and use jade, though. Individual tolerance varies, with most not able to withstand more than a few pieces.

No one in No Peak wears more jade than the Pillar – no one but you, that is.

This thought brings little comfort in a room such as this. Most of the sycophants seated around the table would turn on Yoongi – and No Peak – in a heartbeat. If it’d enrich their coffers, they would switch sides, honor be damned. You trust your Fists and Fingers but find it hard to extend the same grace to Namjoon’s side of the clan.

Kim Namjoon, known as the Weather Man, heads No Peak’s monetary ventures. Ranking as highly as you, he reports directly to Yoongi. Turning to face Namjoon, you make no attempt to hide your suspicion.

Although he doesn’t meet your gaze, his annoyance flares. Namjoon’s jade aura is weaker, fueled by one or two jade rings on his fingers. More would be unnecessary in his line of work. Namjoon’s lips tighten, able to Perceive your attention.

Perception is one of the more interesting skills of a Green Bone. Wearing jade creates an aura and through it, other Green Bones can sense emotion and intention. For example, you sense that Namjoon is annoyed, but you don’t know why. You can hazard a guess, based on the context.

Although you both graduated from the Academy at the same time, you barely knew Namjoon in your youth. The Kim family is legendary, having fought alongside Yoongi’s grandfather to dispel the Shotarian occupation of Kekon. You, on the other hand, moved to the city of Janloon when you were ten and joined the Academy as an outsider.

Not only were your social circles different, so were your interests. Even as children, Namjoon preferred brains over brawn, while you – well, you don’t enjoy violence, but you understood its necessity in protecting those you love. Ever since your father’s death, what you love has been No Peak.

You suppose Yoongi could’ve picked a worse person for Weather Man. Namjoon is shrewd, if occasionally withholding. He has the best interests of the clan at heart, even if you often disagree about what those interests are.

“Min-jen,” Namjoon says, the respectful title flowing from him like water. “I share your frustration with the current situation. My men are, of course, at your disposal.”

Your gaze narrows on his profile. Namjoon loves to offer help but when push comes to shove, it’s your side of the clan on the front lines.

“And what will your men do?” you inquire, drawing heads your way. “The entirety of their green couldn’t be seen in a desert.”

Someone down the table coughs, although they swiftly fall silent when Yoongi clears his throat. Disappointment radiates from him, turning his head.

“One’s worth to the clan isn’t measured in jade,” he says levelly. “You’d do well to remember that, in the future.”

Sitting back, you school your expression to nothing. Shame swirls in your stomach though because Yoongi is right. His sister is a stone-eye; someone unable to use or wear jade. Yejun feels nothing of jade’s effects – either positive or negative – but serves the clan in her own way. Kekon is superstitious about such things though and, when Yejun was born, rumors ran rampant it boded ill for Yoongi’s leadership. Rumors the Pillar has done his best to stamp out.

“Yes, Min-jen,” you acquiesce, inclining your head.

“My Luckbringers are reviewing financial statements of the victims,” Namjoon says, as though you haven’t spoken. “If there’s any monetary connection between them, we’ll find it.”

“My Fists are also investigating,” you add. “We’ll keep the clan updated.”

A scoff from the lower end of the table. Turning your head, you find Mr. Hu, a wealthy Lantern Man, watching you with a scowl. Middle-aged, with a portly belly from hoji, the man has never accepted you as his Horn. As the first woman bestowed the honor, you expected there to be some resistance.

Not that it endears him to you. Sweetly, you smile and lean forward. “Did you have something to add, Mr. Hu?”

Briefly, his gaze drops to the jade around your throat. Forcing a swallow, he forces his gaze to lift. You must give him credit; the man continues, despite the visual reminder you could kill him in seconds.

“Investigating what?” he asks, puffing out his chest. “I saw the second victim being brought in. There was… well. There was little to see. Tortured,” he adds, addressing the muttering around the table. “The man was mercilessly tortured before he was killed.”

Perceiving the shift in Yoongi’s emotions – edging towards fury – you hasten your response.

“Mr. Hu,” you say, lightly resting your hand on a Talon knife. “I thank you, for having the foresight to raise such an important issue.”

Frowning, he glances left and right, but his fellow Lantern Men avoid him. Likely, they understand this won’t end well. Indeed, Jungkook is already eyeing the man with barely concealed malice, thumb stroking slowly over the hilt of his sword.

“The fact that both victims were tortured,” you continue, conversational. “Almost as though the killer were looking for something.”

“Or someone,” Namjoon adds.

“Or someone,” you agree, focusing on Mr. Hu. “My men are searching the murder sites for more information now. While they do that though, are there any other details of an active murder investigation you’d like to know? Perhaps whether the victims pissed themselves before death, or left money behind?”

Paling, Mr. Hu seems to realize how this sounds. “N-no,” he says. “Thank you for sharing what you have, Horn-jen.”

Ignoring him, you glance in the direction of Yoongi. “We’ll find the traitor. I swear it.”

His aura flares, full of emotion unrelated to the conversation at hand. “Of that, I have no doubt,” Yoongi says lowly.

Heat floods your face, sensing his intent and swiftly, you look away before others can notice.

“While the Horn and Weather Man conduct their investigations, I ask for everyone to remain on high alert,” Yoongi says, surveying the table. “No Peak will increase Green Bone presence in the border districts. If you see anything of interest, contact the clan.”

Several Lantern Men relax at the mention of Green Bones. You know business has been hard as of late, with so many customers shaken by the violence. Hopefully, this will convince the people No Peak has the situation in hand. Otherwise, why would the Lantern Men continue to pay for your protection?

Glancing at the bloody photographs laid out on the table, you can hardly blame them for their skittishness. Whoever killed these two victims was skilled. Their torture tactics are pristine, better than most graduates from the Academy. A skill you also possess, although you choose not to use it outside of last resorts. Even then –

Your fingers cease tapping against your leather jacket. Straightening, you realize the skill displayed is exactly that of the Academy. The cuts, the angle of the blade and depth of the wounds – all of it, textbook. A Green Bone did this, you’re certain.

Sharply, you glance up and allow your distress to show. Voicing your suspicion aloud would only end badly. Above all, the Pillar must appear in control. If a Green Bone – even a disgraced one – is murdering citizens of No Peak, it would be a disaster. Better to discuss your suspicions in private before airing them to the entire group.

Perceiving the shift in your emotions, Yoongi stiffens. “We’ll update you with any new information,” he says, dismissal clear in his tone. “Thank you for coming.”

Chair legs scrape floorboards, patrons filing out as they murmur to one another. Asha, your First Fist, hovers by the door until you give a discreet shake of your head. Nodding, she slips out and you see Jungkook follow.

To one side, Yoongi converses tersely with his Pillarman, Hoseok, until Hoseok exhales and swiftly exits the room. Kim Namjoon stays, drinking a glass of water at the opposite end of the table. Once you three are alone, Yoongi holds up his hand. He waits, utterly still until the last jade aura fades.

Only then does he turn. “Well, Y/N?” he drawls. “What did you realize?”

Not wasting time, you pluck a photograph from the pile and toss it before him. “These cuts,” you explain. “They were made by a moon blade. So precise – so even. Exactly the length taught at the Academy. Which means��”

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters. He sets down his glass. “We’re fucked.”

You give him a look. “Precisely.”

Yoongi frowns, his distaste palpable. “This is the work of a Green Bone.”

“I think so.”

Pushing his chair back to stand, Namjoon grabs a photo and turns it sideways. “Why would a Green Bone go after a Lantern Man, though?” he wonders out loud. “He wasn’t even wearing jade when he died – it’s against aisho.”

Yoongi’s lips press tightly together.

Aisho refers to the strict code of honor governing all who wear jade. There are many tenets, but first and foremost is that those who wear jade don’t harm the jadeless. Aisho also limits retaliation following honorable duels, ensuring the clan lines remain intact.

A Green Bone who follows aisho would never attack a citizen.

Which forces you to draw an unsavory conclusion. “Unless they didn’t care,” you say, voicing the worst possibility. “The killer could have been trained as a Green Bone and left.” Stiffening slightly, you glance at Yoongi. “You don’t think…”

“I do,” Yoongi mutters. His jaw clenches, then unclenches. “Maro.”

Namjoon swears softly.

Maro – known to most as Toh Marosun – is a traitor to No Peak. He grew up in the same circle as Namjoon, Yoongi, and other high-ranking Green Bones. Maro attended the Academy in the same class as Yoongi, and everyone expected him to become the Horn. Brilliant, swift, and vicious in battle – not to mention one of Yoongi’s closest friends.

Despite this fact, you never liked him. Having grown up the only daughter of an unremarkable Lantern Man, you experienced Maro the way most people did. Toh Marosun was cruel. Saccharine, willing to say whatever people in power wanted to hear. Maro knew exactly what to do, what to say to manipulate followers. From the beginning, you saw Maro for who he was – a bully.

He joined No Peak’s ranks as a Finger, but swiftly rose to prominence. By the time you graduated, Maro was the youngest Fist in No Peak’s history. What he lacked in jade tolerance he made up for in cunning. Maro was always more sensitive to jade, but he was also smart. Talented, with the skills he did have.

In Green Bone society, there are two ways to gain jade – gifted or earned. Green Bones win jade through physical duels, taking the green from those they defeat. Recklessly, Maro began to challenge rival clans and often, he won despite not being able to wear his spoils. He displayed his jade often, which you suppose should’ve been the first warning sign.

Maro cared too much for personal glory. In Kekon, glory is achieved through the clan. Even the Horn and the Weather Man only exist to further No Peak’s prowess. The Pillar themselves is the embodiment of the clan, not their own person.

Even now, you recall the day Maro’s crimes were exposed.

Seven years prior, you were a Finger on routine patrol when Sain, your Fist, was commanded to return to the Min property. He brought you along, stationed by the front gate to ensure no one left.

You guarded with another Finger, one whose name you don’t recall. What you do remember is the utter stillness of the day, the unnatural calm which comes before a storm. The sun was bright overhead, a thick bead of sweat sliding down your neck when the door behind you at the main house banged open.

A man tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap in the billowing dirt. Coughing, he struggled to right himself, but both his hands were bound. From your spot at the gate, you couldn’t see clearly but you scented his blood. Heard the bruised rasp of his breath.

Yoongi prowled down the front steps, his famed Da Tanori steel glinting in his right hand. His gaze never wavered from the man bound before him – Toh Marosun, his former friend.

“Do you deny it?” Yoongi asked, his voice soft but deadly. Despite this, you Perceived conflicting emotions within.

Toh Maro stayed silent. Eventually, he exhaled.

“No,” he said sullenly.

Unable to stop it, you turned and saw Maro staring unflinchingly up at the Pillar. Yoongi stood over him, his lips a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t know what had happened but feared the worst from Yoongi’s expression.

In that moment, you didn’t envy the Pillar. Yoongi had become head of No Peak only a year prior; in many ways, he was as untried as you were. He was a silent, intelligent man and many people thought they could take advantage of him.

They were wrong, of course, but it would take time to prove that.

On that day though, you felt the dull grief to his aura. “Then I am sorry,” Yoongi said quietly. “For you leave me with no choice. Toh Marosun, you stand accused of smuggling jade from No Peak – one of the worst crimes a Green Bone can commit.”

The entirety of your blood drained as you turned around.

Spine steeling, you gripped your knives tighter. There were few crimes so awful they couldn’t be forgiven, but stealing from the clan was one of them. Cutting off Maro’s ear would be too light a punishment, especially with Yoongi so untried a Pillar. Death would be acceptable. Expected, even.

It would be the Pillar’s call – the clans weren’t run as a democracy. Straining Perception, you listened closely behind you. Although you’d interacted little with the Pillar, the man behind the mask couldn’t help but intrigue you.

Broken sobs filled the clearing, and you heard the sudden thud of knees hitting the grass. No jade aura accompanied the sound.

“Yoongi, please,” gasped a voice – feminine, young. “Brother, please spare him. Don’t kill him, he –”

“Silence.” Yoongi’s voice echoed over the courtyard. The newcomer obeyed with a lone, stifled sob. “You’ve been found innocent, sister,” he said, sounding weary. “But that does not make you innocent.”

The threat of his words hung overhead and although Yejun continued to sniffle, the sound of it muffled. When you glanced sideways again, you saw her face in her palms.

Yoongi watched dispassionately, although you sensed his inner turmoil. Rumors had reached your ears by then that Maro was dating Yejun. It seemed to be true, based on the way she pleaded.

Returning to face the gate, the yard remained silent until Yoongi exhaled. “Toh Marosun,” he declared, his sword sheathing. “From this day on, you are banished from Kekon. Return your jade to the clan and go. If you return to Janloon, your life is forfeit. Take him,” he said, speaking to someone you couldn’t see.

You didn’t dare turn, but tugged your knives a half-inch from their sheathes. If Maro decided to fight, you’d be expected to protect the Pillar. For whatever reason – disbelief, or respect – Maro didn’t attack, and no violence took place. He left in the waiting car, but you’ll never forget the look on his face when he passed.

Despite your young age, you recognized the glint in his eye. Fury, tempered by disbelief. He’ll be back, you thought grimly. It was only a matter of time before someone like Maro declared vengeance.

Your gaze slid to Yoongi, wondering if he felt the same. He watched Maro leave, his expression carefully neutral before he turned around and entered the house. Yejun had already disappeared, likely leaving upon Maro’s banishment.

The expression on Yoongi’s face now is similar, staring down at the photograph. Another moment passes before you realize something else.

“They knew each other,” you say, glancing between the victims. Reaching out, your hand lightly touches a photo. “Icho Retubin. He worked for the Weather Man after the Academy. And this man here” – you touch the other – “Niru Roluan. A low-ranking Finger who quit after a year.”

“He was friendly with Marosun,” Namjoon recalls.

“Yes.” Eyes wide, you look up. “After Maro’s scheme was uncovered, both of them quit and began working as Lantern Men.”

“Interesting,” Yoongi muses. “So. Toh Marosun returns. He tortures and kills his former friends – why?” he murmurs, speaking more to himself than either of you.

Brow lowering, you search for the easy answer. “He’s torturing them for something,” you say, glancing at the wounds. “Information, maybe.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “Which begs the question – has Maro found what he wants, or is he still looking?”

“Does it matter?”

Namjoon shrugs at your question. “If Maro hasn’t found what he wants, he’ll strike again. If he did find it – well. We might be out of time.”

Yoongi considers. “He didn’t find it,” he says, turning around to stride for the door. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Your gaze narrows on his backside. “Let’s call it more than that.”

Yoongi turns around, lips twitching in a smile only you see. “I can think of two reasons Maro might return. One – jade.” The Pillar lifts a finger. “Or, two – revenge.” His second lifts.

You and Namjoon exchange a look. “Maro could find jade on the Shotarian black market if he wanted,” you say.

“Exactly.” Yoongi drops his hand. “Which is why I’m inclined to call this revenge.”

“Maro could want revenge on anyone, though,” Namjoon points out. “Most likely whoever sold him out in the first place.”

“Well, that makes this easier.” Casual, Yoongi tucks both hands in his pockets. “I sold him out. I discovered details of his jade smuggling in Yejun’s apartment.”

“Yejun?” Sharply, you look at him. “Your sister knew?”

Yoongi’s gaze hardens. “Yes, she knew,” he says. “I’m sure you understand why I kept that piece of information to myself until now. Yejun wasn’t involved with the smuggling, but she knew it was happening… and didn’t tell me,” he adds, his voice grim.

Mind reeling, you attempt to digest this piece of information. Betrayal lodges deep in your gut, although you do your best to dispel it. It’s pointless to expect Yoongi to tell you everything – especially events which occurred before you became the Horn.

Namjoon also looks troubled. “That’s… but that means–”

“Careful what you say, Namjoon.” Although his tone remains soft, Yoongi’s body tenses. “The matter is done. I punished Yejun as I saw fit, within my right as Pillar. Trust me,” he adds, his façade cracking a little. “Her deception was dealt with.”

Silently, you wonder if this is why Yejun studied in Espenia. As a stone-eye, she can’t serve the clan as a Green Bone, but could have taken other paths. She could have become a Luckbringer on Namjoon’s side or begun a career in government. Instead, Yejun left Janloon for a foreign University. It was only recently she returned to start her residency at Jan Royal University.

Curious, your gaze flicks to Yoongi. If what he says is true, then surely, he knows Maro is coming for him. Yejun might not have betrayed him, but Min Yoongi did. It’s only a matter of time before Maro discovers what happened.

Blood simmering, you do your best to hide your frustration. Your role as Horn would be much easier if the Pillar would be honest about all his enemies. Suppressing your scowl, you ignore the heat of Yoongi’s gaze on the side of your face.

“Namjoon,” he says, turning away. “I want a list of potential targets. People Maro has worked with in the past or knew at the Academy. Assuming he doesn’t have the information he wants, Maro will strike again.”

“On it,” Namjoon says, already heading for the door.

Although faint, you can feel the cool brush of his aura passing. You envy the Weather Man’s ability to ingest information and remove partiality. Even after something like Yejun’s betrayal, he remains unflappable. Namjoon simply absorbs and executes, doing what needs to be done.

Left alone with your thinking, you can’t claim the same. Namjoon’s jade aura fades when he exits, footsteps receding to leave you alone with the Pillar.

You refuse to look at him, casting your Perception outward. A Green Bone with as much jade as you have can Perceive a beetle crawling through the tall grass outside. Feel the rumble of cars on the distant streets. Hear Yoongi’s heart beat from across the room.

Wearing jade results in a dizzying expansion of knowledge. You’re used to it by now – years of training and genetics lessen the risk of being overwhelmed. Without either, it’s all too easy to lose control.

It’s one of the reasons jade-smuggling is a serious crime. The other being that jade is the main source of income funding the clans. Selling jade through non-regulated channels increases the risk of it falling into the wrong hands. Hands which could bring negative consequences to other people or themselves.

Aisho outlines a strict Green Bone code of honor. It states Kekon first, clan first, family first. Occasionally, all three are tied and occasionally, one outstrips the other. Maro disobeyed every rule by selling jade to the Shotarians.

Maro knew all this and chose to continue, blinded by greed. He placed his personal glory above that of the clan, something which must be dealt with. To a lesser degree, Yejun chose Maro over No Peak, as well – which is why you’re surprised Yoongi said nothing.

“Y/N.”

Yoongi speaks your name softly, forgoing your title.

Stiffening, you force yourself not to turn. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?” he asks, his voice moving closer. “Your name?”

Hand brushing your elbow, Yoongi turns you to face him. Against all better judgement, you obey – and find your first mistake. Meeting his gaze, a ripple of familiarity – of home, a voice whispers – goes through you.

Shutting all this down, you lift your chin. “You lied to me.”

Yoongi’s expression flattens. “I couldn’t explain.”

“You could have. You chose not to.”

“I couldn’t,” he insists. “I’m still not sure I didn’t make a mistake. I showed mercy, Y/N.” Yoongi pauses, then swallows. “I exiled my friend and sent my sister away – and now, look what’s happened. Two men have been killed, and it’s my fault. How could I have told you,” he adds, the words desperate, “when I knew it’d result in that look on your face?”

“I’m looking at you like this because you lied. Not because of a decision you made in the past. Mercy isn’t a weakness, Min Yoongi.”

“Some would say that it is,” he murmurs. Fleeting, his gaze drops to your lips.

Yoongi drops all restraint so his emotion, so often concealed, smears through his aura. Longing, anger and fear, mixed with worry.

White-hot electricity jumps over your skin. Seeing the normally reserved Pillar undone in your presence is a heady knowledge. Knowledge that terrifies you, even as everything in you aches to move closer.

“It’s not,” you exhale, meeting his gaze.

Something falters in his expression and Yoongi stares at you, heated. You Perceive his intent – a rough flare to his aura – a moment before Yoongi bends and crushes your mouth to his. His kiss is thorough, intent, his body curving with yours while walking you towards the wall.

You instantly cave, unable to withstand the desperate sweep of his tongue. “Yoongi,” you groan, fingers gripping him tighter. “People will hear.”

“Let them,” he says, his voice undeterred.

Before you can respond, his lips fall upon yours with increasing urgency. Hand slipping beneath your jacket, Yoongi cups your waist to pull you taut against him. Eyes falling shut, you swiftly scan the building for lingering Green Bones. Finding no one, you return your attention to Yoongi and bite down on his lip.

He growls, grip tightening when you tug him towards you. Breaking away, Yoongi lowers his head to suck the curve of your throat. He lingers at your jade, tongue darting out to lick the skin underneath. Your entire body shudders, aroused by the sensation.

Touching another person’s jade is intimate. Most wouldn’t allow their own family the honor, let alone someone they sleep with. Skin contact with jade imbues power, and the swift rise and fall of it can be dangerous. Only Yoongi is brave – or foolish – enough to risk the effects.

Spine on the wall, you inhale at the rush. Yoongi’s length presses against your core, already hard through the confines of his pants. It seems unfathomable that this man, a stranger to you for so long, can inspire such potent emotion.

When you first met him, you were ten, and he was fourteen. You didn’t know who Yoongi was at the time – a fact which now seems unthinkable. Raised in southern Kekon, you came to Janloon after your mother’s death with little understanding of clan politics. Likely, you would have remained so if your high jade tolerance hadn’t pushed your father to enroll you at the Academy.

Walking through the gates that first day, you found nothing but apathy. The best-case scenario was your classmates left you alone. Worst-case, the other children were brutal. You attended school with the sons and daughters of high-ranking clan members. Although your father joined No Peak as a Lantern Man eventually, he could hardly be called successful. The Academy had no patience for a rural girl whose jade tolerance far outstripped their own.

It wore on your classmates’ pride when the teachers praised you. You began to get noticed, and not in a good way. Fed up with your presence, one of the students attacked you at the end of your first year. Even then, you knew how to defend yourself and flipped him on his back. Stunned, he stared up at you before yelling to anyone within earshot that you’d regret this. His father was a powerful Lantern Man of No Peak and he said you’d be banished before graduation.

Fear gripped you, sensing the truth to his words. Based on your own experience, you knew No Peak wouldn’t believe you over one of their own.

Despair filled your thoughts as someone entered the corridor. Your attacker instantly froze, which should have clued you in this was someone important. Still, you refused to look, reticent to turn your back on an opponent.

The newcomer cleared their throat, further stoking your ire. After a moment, you dragged your attention to them.

Min Yoongi stared back, his expression mild. “So,” he said. “Who can tell me what happened?”

Looking him up and down, you chose not to respond. You didn’t trust a stranger – a fourth year at that – to intervene on your behalf. Most likely, Yoongi was a member of No Peak and had only arrived to harass you further.

Seeing your hesitance, your attacker jumped in. He accused you of treachery, saying you jumped him in the corridor and threw him on the ground. Silent, your fingers curled into fists, but you remained quiet, even when Yoongi turned.

“Well?” he asked you. “Is that right?”

Your lips dropped into a scowl. “He deserved what he got.”

Subtle, his brow flicked upward.

To your dismay, you saw people had gathered as whispers broke out. A sinking suspicion occurred to you that something was wrong. Not with your attacker, but whoever this was.

Yoongi stared at you for a long moment before, to your surprise, he chuckled. “I agree.” Turning to face the boy, a dangerous light entered his eye. “I’d suggest not telling your father what happened, Heike. Because then, I might feel honor-bound to confess what I saw. Which was his son ruthlessly attack a first year, lose and then lie about it to his future Pillar.”

Color bled swiftly from Heike’s skin. “Yes, Min-jen,” he whispered, head bowed in shame.

Panic-stricken, you stared as realization sunk in you’d been flippant to the future Pillar. Steeling yourself, you waited for Min Yoongi’s response – likely anger or worse. Based on your experience, most men in power liked this fact to be known.

Instead, Yoongi merely turned and looked you up and down. His gaze traveled you slowly, unreadable in his scrutiny. At last, he glanced up.

“Your father owns the tea shop by the docks, yes?” he said, waiting for you to nod before he continued. “He joined No Peak as a Lantern Man last year.”

“Yes, he did.”

His lips twitched. “Well, then,” Yoongi said as he turned away. “I can’t help but be grateful he chose No Peak to patron. It would’ve been shame to lose you to another clan.”

Stricken, you watched as he strode from the courtyard. Minutes passed, and eventually you realized the crowd had dispersed. Heike skulked off to nurse his wounds and the future Pillar had gone, giving them no reason to stay.

If you weren’t loyal to No Peak before, you certainly were after. Yoongi had that type of effect on people.

After that day though, you rarely interacted. Yoongi was four years your senior and the future Pillar, while you were nobody. Albeit a talented nobody who graduated at the top of their class from the Academy. At your graduation, people whispered you’d make a strong Fist. No one ever imagined you’d rise higher than that.

You joined No Peak as a Finger, starting from the bottom. Yoongi continued to remain out of reach, the newly named Pillar struggling to earn his own title. It didn’t take long though, before you rose in the ranks. You spent two years as a Finger, then two as a Fist – you were twenty-two years old when promoted to Horn. The youngest in history, and a woman to boot.

Yoongi was adamant in the choice, defending you calmly to the entire clan. He said he’d rather have the right person at a young age than the wrong person at the right age. His support was the only reason you didn’t strangle him that first year. It was the beginning of working together and as it turned out, Yoongi drove you mad.

He micromanaged, overseeing all decisions to ensure No Peak ran smoothly. You two bickered often, the fire eventually dissipating to begrudging acceptance. Ultimately, you realized you saw the world the same – No Peak first, followed by everything else.

Back then, Yoongi dated but none of them stuck. No one understood the sacrifice necessary to remain head of No Peak. Couldn’t comprehend the ruthlessness, the dedication it took to lead the clan. Yoongi could never let his guard down, could never relax with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You understood, though, because you shared this burden. Yoongi could be honest with you in a way he couldn’t be elsewhere. To the rest of the clan, he was the infallible Pillar, but to you, he was only a man.

Proof of said manhood hardens against your thigh, and Yoongi’s lips curve gamely at the base of your throat. Head lifting, his smile is sharp enough to carve the remaining bit of your heart.

“You left early this morning,” he observes, his gaze dimming. “Why?”

Your eyes trace his lips before lifting to his face. “Hian called in sick, so I replaced his watch. My Fists are spread thin, Yoongi.”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. “You should’ve woken me.”

“Why?” you tease, your hand sliding lower to rest above his hip. “To watch me go? You needed your sleep.”

“I needed you more.”

Yoongi’s words still your fingertips, struck by his honesty. Min Yoongi is nothing if not blunt, leaving you often speechless. What began as just sex, mounting frustration between friends, has become something almost too tenuous to name. The idea of having him scares you nearly as much as the prospect of losing him.

“You had me last night,” you murmur.

Yoongi’s fingers drift across your cheek. “And yet,” he says, unwilling to let you off the hook. “I woke up ravenous.”

Multiple meanings layer his words, some of which you purposefully choose not to hear. Instead, you glance past him to search the grounds. Several Green Bones cross the lawn, none of them close enough to overhear. Still, it reminds you of what’s at stake.

Exhaling gently, you pull from his touch. “I should go,” you tell him.

Head tilted, Yoongi’s dark hair conceals the jade in his brow. His brow wrinkles when he Perceives your tumultuous emotions.

“You’re worried,” he says.

“Of course, I am,” you say with a frustrated laugh. “I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my job to protect the clan – to protect you – and right now, it feels like I’m failing.”

His gaze on you sharpens. “First off, I can protect myself. Second – it’s my job as Pillar to protect the clan. How can you protect us from something I can’t see?”

“How many times do I have to say you don’t shoulder that burden alone?”

The lines around his mouth deepen. “In good times, I’m lauded. It only follows that in bad times, I’m the one at fault.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” you say drily. “I, for one, have never lauded you.”

“Oh, really?” Stepping closer, his expression shifts from frustration to carnal. “I seem to recall differently last night.”

Electricity catches each place his gaze lingers, shivering its way down your spine. Refusing to let him notice, you lift your chin higher. “You’d have to remind me. It all blurs together.”

Yoongi bares his teeth, and you can’t help but smile. If there’s one thing the Pillar of No Peak can’t resist, it’s a challenge. The start of your relationship is proof enough of that.

After your promotion to Horn, you spent most waking hours by Yoongi’s side. Working with him was exhausting. Every decision turned into an argument. How many Fists you should have. How many students to admit to the Academy. Whether you should train with the Kekonese military or not.

Yoongi constantly occupied space in your thoughts, and not in a good way. He frustrated you, forcing you to second-guess and slow down your thought process. Maddeningly, he was often correct, which only served to further your irritation.

Eventually, things began to shift. Bickering turned to acceptance and finally, understanding. Yoongi trusted you more often to make the right calls and in turn, you snapped at him less for his input. Your arguments dwindled, then disappeared altogether.

Three years passed as Horn, and soon your frustration gave way to a different kind. You started to notice when Min Yoongi entered the room. At first, you brushed it off as nothing. Yoongi had an undeniable presence, this was true. Soon though, you realized your thoughts breached the border of friendship.

His absence could be felt like a phantom limb. Yoongi’s jade aura comforted you despite its fierceness – so at odds with the calm way he carried himself.

Idly, you wondered what it would take for him to snap. To release his infamous self-control and fully give in. Thoughts of what Yoongi would feel like left your body scorched. On more than one occasion, you awoke with an ache between your legs and a dream of his face slipping away.

Such thoughts though, were dangerous. Yoongi was the Pillar, and you were his Horn – a relationship couldn’t happen and what’s more, he’d shown no interest. You began to withdraw out of self-preservation. Prior, you sparred with Yoongi every morning but soon found yourself making excuses to skip.

What was once daily practice turned into every week and then, once a month. Yoongi was a distraction you could ill-afford, disarming you with his laughter as easily as his sword.

Instead, you forced your attention on training your Fists. Firstday through Fifthday, you met Asha and Jungkook at the gym before dawn. This went on for months, training in secret until one day you exited and saw Yoongi’s car at the curb. Stomach sinking, you watched as he reversed and sped down the street.

Perceiving tumultuous emotion, you knew confrontation was inevitable but hoped Yoongi would give you time to process.

He did not.

Instead, Yoongi pounded on your door the very next morning. When you finally answered, he tossed a practice sword your way and demanded you dress.

Shaking free of your stupor, you glared at Yoongi a moment before slamming the door. Stalking inside, you threw gear in a bag and returned to the hall. Stomping past him, you refused to acknowledge Yoongi, throwing open the door to his Duchesse Priza.

Yoongi sped to his place in silence, tension churning between you like water beneath a ferry. At his gym, you stormed out and ripped the sword from its sheath. Yoongi followed closely behind, barely leashed emotion rolling off him in waves.

You flew at him first, your body Light, and then Strong while swinging towards his head. Moving through the various jade disciplines, you relied on training hammered into your bones. Yoongi caught a blow on his forearm, Steeling his skin to avoid any damage. The two of you entered a familiar rhythm, understanding the other in ways no one else could.

It must’ve been hours before you threw down your sword and declared the match ended. Yoongi simply stared, his chest heaving with a wild spark in his eyes.

You were turning to leave when he dropped his blade, strode across the clearing and crushed your mouth to his.

Five months have passed since. Your relationship has been kept a secret, with you unwilling to place any labels. People would talk if the Horn and Pillar were dating. You don’t want that for yourself. Not when you’ve worked so hard for credibility.

Pressing his thumb to your lower lip, Yoongi drags it lower before he releases. “I’ll have to remind you, then,” he says before stepping away. The heat dissipates from his gaze, leaving you cold. “But you’re right. I should go.”

Somewhat dazed, you feel yourself nod. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. This is exactly what you asked for, so you have no right to feel abandoned.

“Send me the list Namjoon makes,” you say, forcing lightness to your tone. “I’ll send Green Bones to watch their houses.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it and merely nods. He stays silent when you leave, brushing past him to the hall. Outside, you pause on the landing before you continue.

His jade aura fades as you exit, letting you know he remains. You do your best to ignore him, flipping your keys as you stride towards your car – not as nice as Yoongi’s, but serviceable nonetheless. Yanking open the door, you slide onto the sticky-warm gray leather seat.

Exhaling, you stare at the wheel before shifting to drive. Lowering the windows, you allow a slight breeze to drift over your face. As much as you pretend to be happy with the current situation, you’re not. You aren’t stupid – you know your feelings for Yoongi extend beyond those of a Horn to their Pillar.

When you first became Horn, you respected Yoongi. He was a good leader – still is – and you were proud to be the person strengthening No Peak by his side. Now, he’s the closest thing you have to family. Deep down, you understand his pardon of Yejun. If you were in a similar situation, there’s nothing Yoongi could do that you wouldn’t forgive.

Especially now, with your father dead. It happened soon after graduation, a sudden collapse of his heart no one saw coming. Yoongi attended his funeral. It was held on a rain soaked Seventhday after the Autumn Festival. Late in the season for a deluge but fitting for the occasion. It felt like the world was wiped clean, along with your prior life.

For the Pillar to attend was unusual, but not unprecedented. You recall him standing near the back, his Pillarman, Hoseok, at his side. The funeral was short – your father wasn’t garrulous by any means – but rain soaked your dress by the time it had ended. It surprised you when Yoongi came to express his sorrow, even more so when he seemed to mean it. Most people didn’t. Most people came for the spectacle, or to say they were there.

Yoongi though, gripped your hand tightly while meeting your gaze. His calluses were as rough as your own when he said the clan would support you. Oddly enough, you believed him.

With both parents dead, and no siblings, No Peak is the only family you have. Yoongi’s life is similar to yours, apart from Yejun. His father died of cancer when he was twenty-one and his mother soon followed, unable to cope. Yoongi knows what loss means, what it feels like to be alone.

Lips tightening, you imagine what it’d feel like to lose him. Worse than a Horn should feel when they lose a Pillar. Silent, you curse yourself for having poor foresight. There’s a reason the Horn and Pillar don’t date. A reason why such a relationship would be forbidden. It’s your job to protect the clan – not just Yoongi – but if it came down to it, you’d choose him every time.

Weaving through the bustling streets of Janloon, your speed is forced to slow. Janloon, the capital city of Kekon, is full of contractions. The latest car models pass beneath flashing billboards, coupled with street stalls and sprawling temples. Scents of the city mingle with stale AC from your car.

No matter how much time passes, Kekon stubbornly clings to its roots. Portions of the outside world may infiltrate, but they’ll never replace. This is something Green Bones and the clans understand.

Traffic forces you to park a block away from your destination. Striding towards the Twice Lucky, you nod at a few Lantern Men idling outside. Asha and Jungkook wait for you in a private room, lounging in seats around the square table. The second floor of the Twice Lucky has been reserved for Green Bones; a privilege No Peak ensures is well-compensated.

Jungkook sits in his usual spot, arms crossed and feet up. Asha is restless, fingertips drumming against the hilt of her blade. Food and water are laid out, half-eaten as though there were others here before.

Sensing your presence, your first Fist looks up. “Y/N-jen.” Asha straightens. “Any news?”

Crossing the room, you scan the building but Perceive no other Green Bones. Sinking into a chair, you pull a plate closer and pick up red chopsticks.

Jungkook turns towards you. “What’d you discuss with the Pillar? Seemed important.”

Asha gives him a warning look, to which he only shrugs.

Ignoring them both, you stab a dumpling. “We suspect the killings were done by a Green Bone. Do you remember Toh Marosun?”

Asha’s head whips in your direction. Jungkook was at the Academy during Maro’s betrayal, but Asha was there and remembers how it went down. If Maro has returned, it’s only a matter of time before things get worse.

“Of course, we remember.” Her eyes narrow. “So, it’s really him? Maro came back?”

“Maybe.” You hesitate another moment, then finish the dumpling. “It’s only a guess.”

“A pretty good guess, if you’re telling us,” Jungkook muses. “Why come back now, though? Returning to Kekon is a death sentence.”

“Is it?” Asha fights a smirk. “Everyone knew Yejun had a thing for Maro.”

Casual, you retrieve a talon knife from its sheath. You begin cleaning the blade, the weapon a natural extension of your wrist, and feel Asha and Jungkook’s gazes follow.

“I don’t think that’s relevant, do you?” you say calmly. “Not unless you’re questioning the Pillar’s judgement.”

Asha looks away, miffed. “No, jen,” she mutters. “Of course, not.”

“Good.” You pause, allowing your fury to seep into your aura. “The Pillar deserves nothing less than your respect. Which means Jungkook is right – coming back here is a death sentence, begging the question of why.”

Jungkook considers. “Maybe he left something.”

Asha turns back, the moment of tension forgotten. “He could be after his jade,” she offers. “Maro was always thin-blooded, so if it’s jade he wants, this could get bad. He could come down with the Itches.”

Sheathing your knife, you look up. “I agree. Maro might not be in his right mind.”

“What should we do?”

“Nothing for now,” you tell her. “Namjoon is compiling a list of people Maro knew. If he hasn’t found what he’s after by now, he could strike again.”

Asha nods and accepts this. Pushing aside a twinge of regret, you wish you could explain the rest. If Yoongi is a target though, it’s best to keep that fact quiet. And as much as you’d like to blame the Luckbringers, you have no way of knowing who’s helping Maro – either by will or by force.

A phone rings on the lower level, barely audible over the din. The Twice Lucky restaurant doesn’t have the best food in Janloon, but the quality is good, and its owner is loyal. The same can’t be said for other places.

Footsteps pound on the staircase, and Jungkook springs to his feet. Before you can warn him, the door opens and Mr. Une, the proprietor, freezes in place.

“Put that away,” you demand, waving for Jungkook to lower his knife.

Eyes wide, Mr. Une stares while your Second Fist sheaths his weapon. Seating himself at the table, Jungkook kicks both feet up like nothing has happened. The third-highest amount of jade in the clan lies coiled about his neck, polished stones resting against his tan skin.

Mr. Une continues to stare, wary until you pointedly clear your throat. “Uncle,” you say, adopting the deferential. “What can we do for you?”

Somewhat placated, Mr. Une turns his head. “Phone call for you, Horn-jen. The Weather Man said it’s urgent. You can use the phone in my office if you’d like.”

Smile disappearing, you stand. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Une blinks, and you realize you’ve crossed the room in less time than it took Jungkook to draw his knife. Inwardly, you sigh and attempt to appear harmless. The citizens of Janloon are used to living with Green Bones but sometimes, your power is a reminder of what they are not. Of the inherent danger of living amongst latent gods.

Following Mr. Une, you head towards his office. Asha and Jungkook walk close behind, with Jungkook at the rear and Asha by your side. Mr. Une hovers awkwardly at the door before turning around and pushing into the kitchen.

Once he’s gone, you lift the phone. “Hello?” you say.

Namjoon’s voice barks in your ear. “Get back to the Min property. Now.”

Your stomach drops. “What happened?”

“Maro struck again,” he says tightly. “It’s definitely Maro – and the victim is still alive.”

“Who is it?” you ask, expecting the worst.

“Jio Reubin. He managed to escape and made it here, but he’s injured. This is our best chance to get information.”

“On my way,” you say, and hang up.

Taking a deep breath, you allow the reality of Namjoon’s words to wash over you. Jio is hurt, meaning you need to interrogate soon in case he dies. Nausea curdles your stomach, and you try to dispel it.

Guilt wars with relief from knowing Yoongi is safe. You’ve met Jio several times, having attended the Academy with his now-wife, Lula. She never took to the bloodier side of the clan, deciding to enter the medical profession instead. If you remember correctly, she’s in the same resident program as Yejun.

Leaving the office, you nod for Jungkook to follow. He falls into step beside you. “I need you to do something for me,” you say to Asha. “Head to Jio Reubin’s and search the area for Maro. Call me if you find anything.”

She nods and turns, disappearing out the side door.

You and Jungkook exit the front, squinting when you emerge in the golden hour. “Follow me to the Min property,” you say grimly.

Jungkook nods as he turns, aura pulsing with adrenaline while growing fainter. You should warn him to be cautious but know it’d be hypocritical. Your own car’s speed is nearly twice the limit as you rush through the streets of Janloon, returning to the gates of the Min property.

Screeching to a halt, you yank keys from the ignition and sprint across the courtyard. Namjoon’s aura pulses from the main house, so you follow the trail and shove open the door.

Namjoon doesn’t look up when you enter, and you immediately see why. Jio lies splayed on the sofa, right arm dangling listlessly from a red cushion. At first, you think that’s the color before you notice the blood darkening Jio’s chest.

Kneeling at his side, Namjoon’s jaw clenches while attempting to Channel. Usually, Channeling is used to rend the body apart but in certain circumstances, it can be used to hold it together. Namjoon doesn’t wear much jade though and wasn’t trained as a healer.

“Allow me,” Jungkook says from behind you.

Dropping to his knees, he replaces Namjoon to clasp Jio’s hand in his. Closing his eyes, a thick vein pulses in the side of his neck. Despite Jungkook’s wish to enter the bloodier side of the clan, he would’ve made an excellent healer. His ability to Channel is better than anyone else in No Peak.

Jio’s aura, previously guttering, gradually smooths. Namjoon sits back on his heels, clearly spent from the effort. Wiping sweat from his brow, he turns to see you.

“Close the door,” he says faintly.

Reaching out, you obey and cross to stand by his side. Staring at Jio, you take in his bloodied state. Whoever tortured him was thorough, cutting just deep enough to let him slowly bleed out.

It’s a miracle Jio escaped, no matter how slowly his chest rises and falls. When you cross your arms, he coughs and cracks open one eye. Dazedly, Jio registers your presence.

“Horn-jen,” he rasps.

Briskly, you nod. “You’re going to be fine, Jio.”

Straining Perception, you sweep the ground for Yoongi but find him far away. Good. The further he is from this carnage, the better.

Glancing back, you seek Namjoon. “What happened?”

“Maro was waiting when Jio got home from his night shift. His wife had already left for the hospital. Maro knocked out Jio, tied him up and when he came to, started torturing him for intel. Jio managed to escape but hasn’t said how. Couple of Fingers found him in the Temple District.”

Your gaze moves to Jio. “Maro escaped?”

“Yeah,” he responds.

Stomach tight, you consider the options. Either Maro is still searching for whatever he’s after, or he found out from Jio and –

From across the property comes a surge of fury. No one else seems to notice, but that doesn’t surprise you. You’re more attuned to Yoongi’s aura than anyone present. Keeping your expression neutral, you know you don’t have much time until Yoongi arrives.

“What did he want to know?” you demand. “Did he –”

The door to the room flies open and hits the wall. The Pillar strides in, adjusting his cuffs as he goes. Yoongi’s dark hair is slicked, clothing immaculate as always. Heat curls in your lower belly, and you do your best to stamp it out.

His gaze flicks towards you, sensing your need before his expression shutters. Facing forward, Yoongi surveys the scene.

“What happened?” he asks, low and deadly.

His Pillarman steps inside and shuts the door. Hoseok leans to the wall, jacket falling open to reveal the handle of his Sig Sauer. It’s odd for a Green Bone to carry a gun but Hoseok’s job is to protect Yoongi from all threats. Although Green Bone warriors render bullets obsolete through Steeling, there are other threats best deterred by firepower.

On the couch, Jio coughs and attempts to sit up. Grunting, Jungkook grabs his shoulder and forces him down.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you say to Jio. “The doctor is coming, but if you die before they get here, you’ll be no help to anyone.”

“Are you sure it was Maro?” Yoongi asks, tension radiating from every line in his body. Even if you couldn’t Perceive him, you’d know.

Weakly, Jio nods. “It was Maro. Looks different now – leaner and wearing new jade. Scabs up and down his arms. But yeah, it was him.”

You and Namjoon exchange a look. Arm scabs could be a sign of the Itches, an illness caused by jade overexposure. Jade overexposure can happen gradually, or it could be caused by a single instance. For example, if someone were to go without jade for years and then put a lot on.

Green Bones are taught the symptoms from a young age. Severe mood swings, sensory distortion – shaking, sweating, anxiety, paranoia, and heart palpitations. When left untreated, the Itches can lead to madness and eventually, death. Better soldiers than Maro have succumbed to it, the lure of more jade greater than self-control.

The possibility flashes before you – Maro, unable to stomach being cut off from Kekon. He seeks out new jade, expecting to stomach as much as he used to. Instead, Maro breaks, paranoia and fear dragging him under. He starts to blame others, including the clan who took everything from him. A man in such a state might consider revenge his only option.

The hypothesis fits, though it means nothing good for No Peak.

“What did he say?” Yoongi asks. “Tell us, word for word.”

“He…” Jio breaks into a coughing fit. “Knocked me out. When I woke up, I was tied to my kitchen chair. I asked Maro what the fuck he was doing.”

“And?” Namjoon prods. “What did he say?”

“Said he’d been gone for too long. That it was all a mistake – leaving, taking off his jade.”

“Is that why he came back?” you press.

Jio’s head lolls. “He asked who betrayed him. Said he only told a few people about the smuggling, so one of them must’ve done it. I didn’t know,” he rasps, shaking his head. “I wasn’t one of the people Maro told. He didn’t seem to remember – or care.”

Paranoia. Another unmistakable sign of the Itches.

“What else?” Namjoon asks. “How did you escape?”

“I don’t know.” Jio frowns, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. “Maro seemed confused. He kept asking who betrayed him, and then mentioning treasure? He wanted to know where his treasure was. I don’t even know what he meant,” he admits, glancing between you and Namjoon. “His jade? I dunno.”

“It could be,” you say slowly.

“He’d ask about his treasure one minute, then accuse it of betraying him,” Jio says. “He said he went where his treasure was, but it wasn’t there. Or they weren’t there? He kept mixing up tenses. Wasn’t sure he knew where he was, half the time.”

Off to the side, you feel a sudden surge of emotion – there and gone before you can dissect. Startled, you glance in the direction of Yoongi but find him unharmed. Eyes narrowed, you watch a moment longer before you turn back.

“If Maro wants his old jade, maybe he meant his apartment. He could have gone there to search first,” Namjoon offers.

“A waste,” you say with a frown. “Maro forfeited his jade to the clan before leaving.”

Forfeited to the Pillar, more accurately. You glance once more at Yoongi, who doesn’t react. He continues to examine Jio, a slight wrinkle between his brows.

“All roads lead to me, it would seem. How did you escape, Jio?” Yoongi adds, casually changing the subject.

“Didn’t, really.” Jio coughs, the sound wet. “Managed to get an arm free, lunged for Maro and fell on the floor. Maro… didn’t really notice. He swore something fierce, stabbed my fridge with his knife and ran off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “He stabbed your… fridge?”

“Yeah.”

“That makes no sense.”

“If he has the Itches, it doesn’t have to,” Namjoon murmurs.

“True,” you say.

This feels important though, in a way you can’t pinpoint. Maro didn’t have any trouble killing before – the only reason he’d leave was if he found what he wanted. Frustration gnaws at your thoughts, certain you’re missing something.

Outside, you hear someone enter the driveway. Gravel skitters beneath tires, the car coming to a stop as someone exits.

“That must be the doctor.” Yoongi turns around, seemingly lost in thought. “I’ll go let them in.”

Pulling open the door, he exits with Hoseok. You watch them leave, returning your attention to Jio.

Looking weary, Jungkook sits back on his heels. “I’ve done what I can,” he says. “Stopped most of the internal bleeding. He should live.”

The door behind you opens. “I’ll be the judge of that,” says an unfamiliar woman, striding in. Setting down a black bag, she looks around. “Anyone without medical training should leave. Now.”

Brows raised, you obey and take your leave. In the hallway, Jungkook mutters something about readying the car and disappears. You remain in the house, pacing and waiting for Yoongi’s return.

Namjoon’s eyes follow your tread. “What are you thinking?”

Shaking your head, you stop to examine a portrait of Yoongi’s father. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Something about this feels off. Why would Maro leave so abruptly?”

“He wouldn’t,” Namjoon muses. “Not unless he found what he was looking for.”

“Maybe Jio is lying. Maybe he told Maro it was Yoongi who betrayed him. If that’s so though, why wouldn’t Maro come directly here?”

“Here?” Namjoon scoffs. “It’d be suicide to attack the Pillar in his own compound. No way – Maro is smarter. If I were him, I’d set a trap. Draw the Pillar out.”

A terrible suspicion dawns as you freeze, mid-stride. This is the moment the landline rings and, crossing the hallway, you yank down the phone.

“Hello?” you answer.

Asha’s voice fills your ears. “Y/N? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, turning around. “What’s wrong?”

“I have… well, I don’t know what I have.”

“What do you mean?” you press. “What’s wrong?”

Noticing your expression, Namjoon frowns and pushes himself from the wall.

“I went to Jio’s like you asked. There was no sign of Maro, so I went back to the house and… it’s strange. Maro tied Jio up in his kitchen, and there are signs of a struggle, but…”

“But what, Asha?”

She pauses. “Did Jio tell you what happened?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze flicks to Namjoon, who listens to every word. “He said Maro swore, stabbed a fridge and ran off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Asha exhales. “I was worried you’d think I’m crazy. The thing is, Maro didn’t just stab a fridge – he stabbed a photo. A person, to be exact.”

“… Who was the person he stabbed?”

Namjoon goes still, and your grip on the phone tightens. Pieces of the puzzle slide into place, leaving a picture which turns your stomach. Dread fills you, knowing what Asha will say before she says it.

“Yejun,” she says, and a loud ringing fills your ears. “She works at the same hospital as Jio’s wife, and there’s a photo of them at some ceremony. The knife… it’s straight through Yejun’s head.”

Heart pounding, you close your eyes and frantically sweep the grounds. Deep down though, you already know what you’ll find.

Yoongi is gone.

Fury boiling over, you realize this was the epiphany Yoongi had earlier. It must have something to do with the word treasure – likely a nickname between Yejun and Maro. Maro was looking for Yejun, not his jade or revenge. Or maybe it is revenge – stomach sinking, you realize what this must seem like. Maro told Yejun about his operation and soon after, Yoongi found out.

Maro wants Yejun, which is something you should’ve seen from the beginning. Yoongi realized before you and now, he’s run off to play hero.

“Stay here,” you say, turning to Namjoon. Feverish anger burns your blood. “Get Jio to the hospital once he’s stable. Thanks, Asha,” you say before hanging up.

Namjoon’s eyes narrow. “Yoongi went after Yejun, didn’t he?”

“Maybe,” you say, pushing past. “If he did, I’ll find him.”

You don’t remember reaching your car, only that once you do, you drive faster than you ever have through Janloon. The hospital is a logical starting point since that’s what Maro saw from the photo.

Shutting down your thoughts, you continue to weave through traffic. Thinking begets worry, which can lead to mistakes. Tightening your grip, you push the car faster. Roaring down the next street, you recall Yejun is working early shifts this week. She mentioned it the other day, saying how glad she was to be home in time for dinner.

Glancing at the clock, your jaw tightens. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a sharp turn, car skidding a little on the next street. If Yejun is already home, better to first check that she’s safe.

Yoongi’s sister lives near the hospital, an allowance granted with the understanding that your men keep tabs. While it’s unlikely Maro knows her home address, he could have followed her there from the hospital.

Parking swiftly, you leap from the car and sprint inside. Someone on the street protests, all bravado disappearing when they notice your jade. You skid to a stop in the lobby, zeroing in on the doorman.

“Floor ten,” you say flatly.

Open-mouthed, the man stares. When you start to move forward, he snaps to attention. “Elevator is out,” he blurts. “You’ll have to take the stairs, like the rest.”

The rest.

Teeth gritted, you pivot and take the steps three at a time. The climb upward is steep, and you use a burst of Strength to reach the top. Shoving open the door to floor ten, you come to a sudden halt.

Chaos greets you.

The hall before you is narrow, barely two meters in width. Yoongi and Maro face each other midway, moon blades drawn and locked in combat. Lunging, Maro’s blade slices Yoongi’s shoulder and blood splatters the floor. Hissing, Yoongi doubles his Strength to kick Maro in the chest, sending him flying.

Maro slams into a window, glass raining around him. Rolling Light, Maro jumps to face Yoongi, unscathed. Stomach sinking, you notice the amount of jade Maro carries. More than he ever had while part of the clan. Clearly, Maro is past the point of caring about things like the Itches.

His aura feels wrong where it touches yours, jagged and pulsing. Leaping and whirling with unknown motive, withdrawing to expand in nonsensical patterns.

Face contorted, Maro unleashes a series of blows which nearly has Yoongi buckling. Clearly, Maro has continued training in exile. He looks similar and yet different – his hair longer, beard unkempt to hide the scar on his cheek. His body is lean, that of a wild wolf after winter who fights more desperately because of it.

Steeling himself, you feel Yoongi pull his aura inward, readying for the next blow. Maro slips beneath Yoongi’s blade and slashes – and Yoongi releases, Channeling his energy outward in a deadly wave. The invisible strike hits Maro dead-on, making him stumble.

Gaze bright, Maro’s head whips upward. Sensing murderous intent, a growl slips from your throat as you rush in. Swifter than breath, you wrench knives from your belt, thrusting them upward to catch Maro’s blade.

He shudders to a halt, teeth bared in your face.

Yoongi skids to a stop beside you, disbelief warring with his panic.

“GO!” you yell, glancing at Yejun’s door. “Now!”

Yoongi hesitates before nodding, lowering his sword to dart inside. Maro seethes when he escapes, shoving with all his weight to send you backwards. Dropping into a crouch, you brace yourself with one hand and kick outward. Maro leaps to avoid the blow, landing Light with a fierce glint in his eye.

Bright studs of jade – some red and oozing – dot his chest, clearly done in haste. Maro doesn’t seem to feel pain as he walks towards you.

“You?” he taunts, half-laughing. “You’d barely graduated when I was chosen for Horn. Must be nice,” he muses. “A reward for fucking the boss.”

Biting your lower lip, you hold back your retort. When you do this, Maro smiles, lips pulled from his teeth.

Before he can speak, you lunge forward and Channel. Energy jabs Maro’s chest – enough to stun, but not kill. Grunting, Maro’s smile disappears as he Deflects. Bringing his sword down overhead, he leaves no room to dodge. Swiftly, you Steel and hope for the best.

Maro’s blade slams against skin, though he fails to draw blood. Springing forward, you strike hard enough to rend his shirt’s fabric. Pulling back, Maro seethes.

Your next series of blows are fueled by Strength, fast enough to elude normal vision. You rely on muscle memory and Perception, countering each of Maro’s strokes with your own. He’s not as fast as you are, but his additional jade gives him an edge.

His next Channel is clumsy but strong, enough to leave you winded and miss his next blow. You don’t Steel in time, his blade catching your jacket to cut your torso. Hissing, you stumble and press a hand to the wound.

The cut feels shallow but stings, nonetheless. Fury building, you hone your Perception to a narrow cone. Maro’s aura ebbs and flows, erratically bursting as he walks towards you.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to fight,” he says, adjusting his grip on his sword. “If anything, you should join me, Y/N – I’m your future.”

Refusing to let him continue, you rush forward and exchange a flurry of blows that end in a stalemate.

Panting, Maro withdraws. “You have to understand I loved her,” he hisses. “I loved her, and she betrayed me. She deserves to die.”

“Who did?” you ask, although you already know.

Behind Maro, you see Yoongi rush from Yejun’s apartment. He holds her, unconscious, Yejun’s aura silent without jade ability. Fervent, you wish you could gauge her vitality. As it is, all you can do is buy them time to get help.

Sinking into a crouch, you draw Maro’s gaze.

“Yejun?” you prod.

“Yes,” Maro breathes, his gaze bright. “I trusted her, and she turned me in. Do you know what I thought about every day while in Shotar? Her. Do you know what she thought about? The clan,” he spits. “He’ll betray you, too, in the end – you’ll see. Killing them both now would be a mercy.”

“Yejun didn’t betray you,” you say to buy time. “She wasn’t the one who told Yoongi – he found out on his own.”

Maro blinks, his surprise evident for a moment before vanishing under fury. “That’s just as bad,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Yoongi and I were like brothers. Under aisho, doesn’t family come first?”

“Even family is bound by honor,” you say grimly. “Should I ever be disloyal to my brother, may I die by the blade,” you add, reciting the Green Bone oaths. “I won’t join you, Toh Marosun. Take me by force if you must.”

His nostrils flare but before he can act, you rush in. Dimly, you register Yoongi’s retreating aura and hope he’s managed to escape the building. Lightness and Strength blur as you move, Maro’s Deflection flung hastily forward.

You keep your blows unpredictable, swift enough that Maro struggles. Rage cloaks your intention as you whirl and slice in erratic patterns. Sweat beads on Maro’s forehead, Steeling wrongly for your knives to draw blood.

Sensing victory, you push harder. Gathering his energy inward, Maro lashes out suddenly in a Channel you barely Deflect. Energy rips through you, searing your bones in a silent attack. Wincing, you leap back and Channel a blow. Maro stumbles, barely shielding and you recognize a flaw.

There are few Green Bones in Shotar, which must make it difficult for him to practice Deflection. Pressing the advantage, you move forward in a quick flurry of blows. Although Maro’s sword is larger, your knives gain the advantage in the small space. He can’t move when you duck underneath, stabbing upward to pierce his soft underarm.

Howling, Maro whirls and swings at you rashly. Leaning backwards, you Steel and catch the blow on your forearm. Vibrations clang through you, rattling the teeth in your skull. The two of you lock together, Maro’s energy clashing with yours. When he doubles his Strength, you feel your Steel buckle.

Lips split in a grin, Maro keeps his sword steady. Further increasing his Strength, he’s focused on winning he doesn’t notice the shift in your aura.

Dropping your Steel, you draw everything inward and let his sword slice your arm. Maro’s laugh is manic – until you Channel outward. The last of your energy shatters his Deflection, piercing inner organs with deadly precision. You feel the moment Maro’s heart stops, his arteries rupturing from the inside out.

Forgoing any mercy, your knife slashes his throat in a clean line.

Blood mists from the wound, coating the wall behind you in red. With a gurgled gasp, Maro lifts a hand – only to go limp and fall, face-first on the floor.

Silence descends, broken only by your ragged breathing. Not far off, sirens wail, and you sense Green Bone auras closing in on the building. Eyes closed, you force yourself to breathe in and out.

No matter how often you do it, killing another person never gets easier. Even when necessary. Even when said person threatens your life and others. You fortify yourself with the knowledge that Yoongi is safe, and Yejun will live – she has to.

The cost to your soul is too high for anything else.

“Is he dead?” asks someone behind you.

Swiftly, you turn as you open your eyes. You were so focused inward, you failed to notice Yoongi’s aura approach. The Pillar’s gaze snags, stopping on the man before you.

“Yes,” you say, bending to clean your knives. Heart hammering, you wonder what Yoongi feels at seeing his former friend dead. Wonder if he’ll blame you, as Maro said.

Setting your jaw, you sheath both your knives before standing. Immediately, you see you needn’t have worried. Yoongi isn’t looking at Maro, but at you. A lone muscle tics in his jaw, observing the crimson blood staining your clothes.

“The police are on their way. They’ll clean up the scene. You’re hurt,” Yoongi adds, his voice thick.

You glance down at your arm. “It’s nothing.”

Bending again, you begin to gather Maro’s jade. You’ll be expected to wear it the next time you’re in public, but right now, the touch of it is nearly overwhelming. Minor wounds and injuries pulse with each movement, already healing from your current jade.

“I’ll take it.” Yoongi suddenly is beside you, right hand extended. “Let me help.”

Relinquishing some of the jade piercings, you slide the rest in your pockets and push yourself to stand. Turning to face him, you stride down the hall. A roiling ball of emotion settles deep in your gut.

Worry about Yejun. Fury at Yoongi’s lies. Relief, that he’s here and unharmed.

Entering the stairwell, the door hits the wall with a satisfying thud. Yoongi follows closely, wisely choosing to remain silent. Two stories lower, you find the words to speak.

“Is Yejun okay?” you ask.

You feel Yoongi’s gaze on the back of your neck. “She’ll live,” he says, sounding weary. “I left her at the hospital with Namjoon and Jiro. She has a concussion. Maro got here a few minutes before I did and had already roughed her up.”

Something about this snaps the hold on your fragile self-control. Picturing what might have happened had you arrived a few seconds later, you whirl around and grasp Yoongi by his suit jacket.

“Never,” you blurt, yanking him closer. “Never do that to me again.”

Gaze burning, you stare him down and Yoongi watches warily. He doesn’t move an inch, allowing you to manhandle him. “I know that you’re angry,” he says carefully.

With a harsh laugh, you release him. “Of course, I am! You shouldn’t have come here alone.”

“I know that.”

“Well?” you demand after a long moment passes. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

Yoongi lifts a brow. “I’d do it again.”

You stare at him, aghast. “Well, then.” You pause. Shake your head. “If that’s all you have to say, I think this night is over.”

Wiping your palms on your pants, you turn away. You only make it one flight before Yoongi’s hand finds your elbow.

Spinning you towards him, Yoongi pulls you closer. You manage to avoid eye contact until his fingers slip beneath your chin, making you face him.

“I know you want me to apologize, but I won’t,” he says lowly. “I refuse to apologize for trying to keep you from danger.”

Most people would swoon, hearing this from their lover but you aren’t most people. You’re the Horn of No Peak, sworn to protect the clan – and Yoongi – from any threats.

Your gaze narrows on his. “That’s a problem, then. I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my duty to protect No Peak – to protect you. The Pillar is the spine of this clan and, once severed, No Peak can’t survive. It can survive without me, though.”

Yoongi’s nostrils flare. “And what about me?” he asks. “If you don’t survive, how do you expect me to continue?”

You go still. “Yoongi… I…”

“And for that matter,” he adds, his hand on your chin sliding to the back of your neck. “If you’re so intent on following the rules, who are you to give me orders? I’ll fight to protect the clan if I want to, Y/N.”

Fury expands from the spark in your chest. “You didn’t make me your Horn to follow you blindly,” you seethe.

“No.” His gaze softens. “I did not.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, each passing second draining some of your fire. You’re left with smoke on your tongue, a heaviness in your heart and the ever-growing certainty the time for rule-following has passed.

“You… can’t think like that,” you say eventually.

Yoongi’s brow sketches upward. “Like what?”

“Like I’m worth more than the clan. More than you, as it’s Pillar. That’s dangerous precedent.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” you say, frustrated by his nonchalance. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master,” you add, reciting your oaths again. “You are the Pillar. Your life is that of the clan.”

Yoongi’s lips twist with displeasure. “It seems we’re at an impasse, since I refuse to place my life before yours.”

“Yoongi,” you snap, exasperated. “You can’t just… just –”

“Just what?” His eyes blaze. “Love you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Something in his face gentles. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Perceiving this truth, the last bit of fight drains from your body. Sensing it, Yoongi draws you closer and pulls you against him. Eyes shutting, you lean into his chest. Yoongi’s aura swallows you whole, an oasis of calm against the onslaught of night.

His breath warms your ear. “It was my problem to fix,” Yoongi murmurs, sounding reticent. “She… Yejun didn’t betray Maro, but she was going to – that’s how I found out. She was writing a letter to me on her kitchen table. I walked in and saw it.”

Lifting your head, you regard him. “You don’t have to explain to me why you spared your sister. I understand.”

“Thank you. You should know, though,” he adds, his voice fierce, “I will do anything to keep those I love from harm.”

You can’t help but smile, though it quickly fades. “I know you would, Yoongi. That’s a burden you can’t carry alone, though. It makes you weaker, not stronger.”

“This was my fault, though,” he says. “Not yours – nor anyone else from the clan. It was my decision to let Maro go free.”

“You aren’t responsible for Maro’s actions. And it’s not weakness to show mercy.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s not,” you press on. “Who’s to say what the right choice was? If you’d killed Maro back then, maybe something worse would’ve happened. Yejun might not have forgiven you. It’s impossible to rewrite the past, and you’ll go mad if you try.”

Yoongi looks away, unconvinced. “What type of Pillar does that make me, though?”

“One who hesitates before killing their friends.”

“One who balks at making tough decisions.”

“Min Yoongi.” Steel layers your voice and you reach up, turning his face to yours. “I would never swear oaths to someone who killed without question. Who made decisions in anger, then regretted them later. You question me when you question yourself.”

His gaze roams your face. “And what if others betray me?” Yoongi murmurs, voice lower. “Would you continue to support me if I was forced to kill Asha? Or Jungkook?”

“I’d trust you did what had to be done.”

“And what if I become corrupt?” he murmurs, his gaze flicking lower. “What if I’m the one being selfish, betraying the clan?”

“Well, that’s easy.” Reaching lower, you wrap a hand around the hilt of his blade. “I’ll kill you myself.”

Not looking away, Yoongi’s hand covers yours. “You could try,” he murmurs, some of his tension dissipated.

“Oh, I think I’d succeed.”

Releasing your hand, Yoongi finds your knee and hitches your leg against him. “If it came to that,” he murmurs, nose skimming your throat, “I’d let you.”

Inhaling softly, you close your eyes. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

Perceiving the truth to his words, you open your eyes. Yoongi stares back, letting you see the starkness in his gaze. It’s no small thing for the most powerful man in Kekon to promise you anything.

Similarly, it’s no small thing to admit he holds your heart in both hands. Which is why you need to say what you do next. Without Yoongi’s next promise, this can’t go any further.

“Don’t make these decisions without me,” you whisper. “Let me decide for myself when a job is too dangerous.”

Yoongi’s lips flatten. “You give me an impossible choice, since nothing is too dangerous for my lovely Horn.”

“Trust that I love you, then,” you say, your hand trembling as you rise to cup his face. “And that I’ll do what it takes to come back.”

Yoongi goes still at your declaration. His pupils dilate so far, they seem to swallow the light. Four years, you’ve spent fighting together. Five months of knowing him this way, and never have you uttered those words to his face.

The transformation is quick, his expression shifting to desire in barely a breath. Bending, Yoongi drags your mouth to his. “Say it again,” he growls against your lips. “Tell me you love me.”

“You’ll become greedy,” you say, breathless.

“I’m the Pillar of No Peak.” He gives a half-laugh. “I will always want more.”

“Then, take it.”

Opening your mouth, Yoongi walks you backwards until your spine hits the wall. You lose yourself in his touch, his taste, the fatal heat of his body. Fingers tangling in hair, you’re rewarded by the basest of groans from his lips. Yoongi’s hands find your body, grasping and searching to pull you against him.

Far below, the faint pulse of jade auras brush yours. “Yoongi,” you moan, nipping his lower lip. “We should go.”

Pulling away, his thumbs indent your hips. “Go where?”

“Your place. My place. I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says with a grin. “Want to wake up with you in my bed.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re so needy.”

“I am.” His lips curve. “I need many things, Y/N. You in my bed. Eventually, in my house. Your vows exchanged for mine. But first” – his brow lifts – “I need to fuck you. Need to bury myself inside you.”

Lips parting, you attempt to digest this information. Everything Min Yoongi has laid on the line. The last sentence catches your attention though, heat curling in your belly and replacing all sentient thought. The rest can come later – first, you need him inside you.

“Let’s go,” you declare, pushing yourself from the wall.

He chuckles, low in his throat as he follows your lead. Halfway down, Yoongi’s arm finds your waist to pull you against him. His teeth scrape the skin beneath your ear, pausing to nip the highest jade hoop.

“Where will you put your new jade?” he muses, pressing his erection to you from behind. “You’re running out of places on your body.”

“I’ll think of something,” you murmur, Yoongi’s tongue on your neck proving extremely distracting. “Wrist cuffs might be nice.”

“If you wanted to be cuffed” – his voice dips – “all you had to do was ask.”

“That is not what I was referring to,” you say, although a shiver traces your spine.

“Pity.”

A second before exiting the stairwell, Yoongi releases you and takes a step back. You ignore the disappointment this brings, forcing your expression to neutral. Already, police cars are arriving to hold back the crowds.

From across the lobby, you spot Asha and Hoseok in deep conversation with uniformed officers. Moving towards them, you’re surprised when Yoongi takes you by the elbow.

“I ran into Hoseok in the lobby,” he says, steering you sideways. “He and Asha will clean up and meet us back home.”

Hoseok nods when you pass, his jaw tight in a way that implies displeasure. Swallowing laughter, you push open the door and immediately, your smile vanishes. Many people have gathered, huddled in groups around the yellow caution tape.

Catching sight of your reflection, you stifle a groan. You look terrible – sweat and blood mar your forehead, the rips in your jacket showing your wounds. Before anything between you and Yoongi can happen, you need a hot shower.

“The situation’s been handled,” Yoongi says to the crowd, pulling you towards the car. “Green Bones are searching the area for remaining danger – you should be able to enter the building soon. No Peak will compensate for damages.”

With that, he opens the car door and watches you enter. Expressions shift in the crowd, a wave of relief washing over the people. Yoongi joins you in the backseat, leaning forward to instruct the driver to go.

The car rumbles from the curb, its speed slow to avoid the pedestrians in your path. Grateful for the tinted windows, you lean sideways and rest your head against the cool glass.

In the reflection, you watch Yoongi retrieve his car phone. “Namjoon?” he says after a moment. “It’s done – Maro is dead. How’s Yejun?”

Namjoon’s reply is muffled, and your thoughts wander. Once you return, you should find Jungkook and instruct him to search Maro’s former haunts. There’s a chance he wasn’t working alone and if so, you’ll need to catch his supporters.

Tonight has taken a toll though, no matter how much you’d like to pretend otherwise. Exhaustion settles while you stare out the window, watching the lights of Janloon flick past.

Yoongi hangs up the phone. “Yejun is fine,” he says, and you turn your head. “Namjoon said she lost a lot of blood, but nothing that can’t be fixed. She should be awake in a few hours.”

Relief floods your body. “That’s good.”

His hand rests beside yours on the seat, close enough to feel the heat from his palm. Exhaling softly, Yoongi shifts until his hand covers yours.

Going still, you stare at your entwined hands on the leather. The car slows beneath you, coming to a stop before the Min gates. Another moment passes before the gates open, the car rumbling forward as Yoongi speaks up.

“You can take us to my place, Galo,” he says. “No need to stop at the main house.”

Startled, you glance sideways, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. Never mind the driver’s raised eyebrows, or the fact that Yoongi just told him you’re sleeping together. While it’s true, you’ve slept here before, you’ve never been obvious. It feels as though a bridge has been crossed without discussion of what that means.

The moment the car is in park, you exit the vehicle and slam the door. Striding inside the front door, you unzip your jacket to hang on a hook. If Yoongi thinks he can share your relationship with others, you have every right to act at home in his house.

Technically, the Horn has a house on Min property, but you’ve always preferred to keep a separate residence. Your apartment in the city has served you well – except for the nights you stay here and sneak out the next morning.

Removing your boots, you set these aside. “We just discussed this,” you fume as you turn. “Ask me next time before you decide–”

Your words are cut off by Yoongi’s mouth, pushing you back until your spine hits the wall. “Couldn’t wait,” he rasps, shutting the door with his foot. “Need you. Now.”

Exhaling, you melt and arch upward against him. Grasping your thigh, Yoongi yanks your leg higher to wrap around his waist. The thick length of his cock presses to your center and you nearly whimper. Fiery anger dissolves into need – the need to touch him, feel him and wash away tonight’s fear.

“Yoongi,” you moan, turning your head. “I need to shower.”

Grasping your wrists with one hand, he presses them above your head. “Do you?” he murmurs, kissing down your neck.

“I’m covered in blood,” you protest.

Glancing up, Yoongi smirks. “And?”

Stifling laughter, you push at his chest. Obedient, Yoongi releases your hands to take a step backward. “Not to mention,” you say as you move past, “I’d rather not have Toh Marosun’s blood in your bed.”

Yoongi’s next action is quick, happening in the same breath. Catching your wrist in one hand, he pulls you closer. “The next time you say a man’s name in this house,” he rasps. “It had better be mine.”

“We’ll see,” you say loftily. “Now, let me wash up.”

Releasing you, Yoongi lets you pass, and you don’t turn around. If you did, you know you might cave and fuck him right there on the floor.

Entering his bedroom, you flick on the lights. Soft, muted warmth fills a room of concrete. Bulletproof windows overlook dense vegetation, invoking the feel of a post-apocalyptic city. Pausing in the doorway, you inhale his scent.

Although you’d never tell Yoongi – it’d go to his head – this room has swiftly become one of your favorite places. Watching dawn break in his arms has brought you greater peace than any of the gods.

In his bathroom, you help yourself to his fancy products and step under the spray. Securing your hair, you do your best to avoid the strands getting wet. Cranking up the heat to high, steam fills the room as you scrub blood from your skin. The water beneath your feet turns red, and then pink before finally clear.

Once done, you turn off the spray and wrap yourself in a towel. Straining Perception, you find Yoongi showering across the house. You’re momentarily surprised he didn’t try and join, although grateful he didn’t. After five years of knowing one another, Yoongi understands when you need time alone.

You’re washing your face when the bedroom door creaks. Drying your skin, you cross to the closet and withdraw a robe. Securing the tie, you wipe steam from the mirror before opening the door.

Yoongi sits on the edge of his bed, damp hair curling at the base of his neck. He’s freshly washed and changed into a plain shirt and trousers. In one hand, he holds a crystal glass of hoji, swirling it once before taking a sip.

Leisurely, his gaze drags down your body. When Yoongi looks up, his face brims with unsaid desire. Silent, he sets down his glass and pushes himself to stand. Watching him eagerly, you Perceive his intent when Yoongi prowls closer.

Coming to a stop before you, Yoongi lifts his hand to cup the back of your neck. Tilting your face upward, he strokes your damp skin with his fingers.

Silent, he lowers his face until your lips nearly touch. “What was it you said?” he murmurs. “About the clan being your blood and the Pillar, its master?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “You know the oaths as well as I do.”

“Yes.” Bending, Yoongi uses Strength to lift you against him. Gripping you tightly, he carries you to his dresser and deposits you there. “Well,” he says, lowering himself. “Allow me to show you who I get on my knees for.”

You stare at him, mesmerized when he parts your legs. Pulling your hips to the edge, Yoongi grips your thigh with a veined hand. The sight of him like this is downright sinful. Desire courses through you, setting your skin ablaze.

Yoongi leans forward, gaze meeting yours at the first brush of his tongue. You groan with relief, thighs spreading further. Lifting his other hand, Yoongi tugs at the tie of your robe. You inhale when it opens, fully bared while Yoongi’s tongue curls against your dripping sex.

He pulls away, eyes dark and casually spreads your folds. Muttering something that sounds like a swear, he stares at your cunt before lowering his head and sucking your clit. A dark moan escapes, weight shifting to get him even closer. Forcing your thighs open, Yoongi begins to flick his tongue against your swollen mound.

He doesn’t rush this, taking his time while eating you out. Yoongi flicks, and then swirls before sucking your clit. His tongue drags to your cunt, already dripping with arousal. Humming in satisfaction, Yoongi shifts on the floor and slips his tongue inside. Gasping his name, your fingers curl in the dark strands of his hair.

His tongue slowly fucks you, barely a taste of what’s to come. “Yoongi,” you groan, moving against him. “I need more.”

“Anything,” he says, pulling back to spread you with his fingers. Yoongi’s thumb finds your clit, casually stroking until your body quivers. “Take off the robe,” he demands, looking up. “I want to see you.”

Wordless, you push the supple silk from your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at rounded breasts and hard nipples. Lowering his head, he sucks your clit again. Sliding a hand under your ass, he drags you close to the edge.

Gasping out loud, your hand fists his hair to anchor your body. In the mirror behind him, you watch your chest heave, hips undulating while he licks your pussy. Head tipping back, you lose yourself in sensation, each stroke of his tongue further coiling your tension. Yoongi is patient; he knows what you need and takes his time getting there.

Cupping his head, you move your hips while starting to ride his tongue. When Yoongi strokes your entrance and slips a finger inside, you nearly convulse.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, legs shaking.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lifting his head. Curling that finger, he strokes a dangerous place. “Come for me.”

When his tongue resumes motion, you feel your walls convulse. Tighter and tighter until – everything snaps, a wave of pleasure cresting through you. Thighs trembling, you hold Yoongi’s hair while you cry out his name.

The pleasure slowly subsides, leaving you slumped on the dresser. Yoongi pushes himself upward, cock straining eagerly against the seams of his pants. Cupping the back of your neck, he kisses you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself. Parting your lips with his tongue, he dives into you eagerly, one hand slipping to slide into your pussy.

Groaning his name, you fumble with the buttons holding his shirt together. “This,” you demand. “Off.”

Using Strength, you send the buttons flying. Yoongi smirks, withdrawing and pushing his shirt to the ground. Touching his chest, you stare at him, unabashed. The lean lines of his torso, the indent of his v, the jade lining his fingers where he grips you tightly.

His moon blade is absent, likely the first thing he cleaned upon entry. Still, the hum of Yoongi’s jade is a potent weapon – nearly as much as the need in his eyes.

Lowering your hand, you palm the bulge in his pants. Jaw flexing, Yoongi lifts your leg to wrap around him. The roughness of his pants against your sex makes you hiss.

“Yoongi,” you moan. “Want to touch you.”

“I want that, too,” he murmurs, hair falling into his gaze. “More than that, I want to be inside you.”

Breath catching, you remove your hand as he presses forward. You feel his cock through his pants, rock-hard and straining against your needy pussy. Swallowing thickly, you managed to undo the last button and shove his pants down. Stepping free of their confines, Yoongi palms his own cock.

Replacing his hand, you give him a squeeze. Yoongi lowers his head to close his lips around a waiting nipple. A whimper rises when he tugs, switching to the other breast and repeating the motion. Arching upward, you lazily drag your thumb over the tip of his cock.

Eventually, Yoongi looks up and hisses, “Enough.”

Reaching lower, he guides his cock to your entrance. Leaning back on your palms, you lift one knee to allow him better access. Yoongi pauses, gaze traveling your face to your chest, landing on your cunt. Exhaling softly, your head tips back as you widen your legs.

“You’re perfect,” Yoongi rasps, flicking his thumb over your hooded clit.

Inhaling, you tremble from oversensitivity. Bending, Yoongi slowly spits to land moisture on your cunt. It drips down your sex, mixing with arousal while Yoongi pushes the tip of his cock inside. He pauses, watching your face, then adds another inch.

You arch upward, trying and failing to take him in deeper. “Is that all you have?” you challenge, goading.

Yoongi merely smirks. “Do you think,” he murmurs, refusing to move, “you can make me give you what you want?”

When he starts to withdraw, you tilt your hips, and he slides in a bit deeper. Yoongi groans as he fills you, hand tightening on your waist.

“Yes,” you gloat, brushing your breasts to his chest. “I do.”

Yoongi’s gaze flares, and he pushes in a bit more. “I know you, Y/N,” he murmurs, moving one hand to your neck. Thumb brushing your collarbone, he hauls you upright and keeps your thighs spread. “I know you want this pussy filled nice and slow. I know you want me to tease you. I know you want to feel in control but have someone else do the work. And I want – no, need,” Yoongi corrects, aura flaring, “to be the one giving it to you.”

Before you can respond, he thrusts forward and fills you with his cock. A cry leaves you, unable to do anything but take it. With your legs spread, hips tilted, the thickness of his length presses to your g-spot. And when Yoongi withdraws and leaves your body empty, you think you might cry. Think you might beg to have more of his cock.

Luckily, Yoongi doesn’t want this. Thrusting into you fully, he starts to move. Filling you up with his thickness, he goes harder and harder until you can barely think straight. His hips pound yours, filling you to the brim, making you take it. Fingers brushing the jade on your throat, he spikes your arousal and drenches his cock.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at the place he disappears inside you. “You’re amazing.”

“Yoongi,” you groan. “I need… need…”

“Yeah?” His gaze lifts. “Tell me what you need.”

“Deeper,” you plead.

His aura flares briefly before he pulls out. Before you can speak, his hands find your waist, setting you on the floor to turn you around. Spreading your legs, he presses a hand to your back to push you lower.

Gripping his dresser, you look over your shoulder while he positions himself from behind. “What about now?” Yoongi asks, slipping inside with one thrust.

Lips parting, you bend further and stick out your ass. Yoongi starts to move when you spread your legs, fucking you harder. His thrusts become rougher, hips slapping your ass while your breasts bounce.

“That’s it,” he says, leaning forward to lace one hand with yours. His other slides between your thighs, flicking over your clit. “So wet and tight for me. Taking my cock like you own it.”

“Don’t I?” you groan.

“Mm,” he agrees, rubbing circles on your clit. “It’s yours – I’m yours.”

Before you can respond, he pulls out again. Draping you over one shoulder, Yoongi carries you, Light, to his bed. You scowl, hitting his thigh but Yoongi responds with a firm smack to your ass. His fingers slip briefly between your cheeks, wetting himself with your slick. Before you can moan, he deposits you on the bed.

Kneeling between your legs, Yoongi repositions himself at your entrance and pushes in.

“Oh,” you groan, heading tilting back.

You love sex with Yoongi in every position, but this is your favorite. Feeling his callouses slide over our skin, his weight heavy while filling you with his cock. Yoongi’s length slides inside, rocking into you slowly while his hair brushes your forehead.

Reaching up, you push this from his face when he starts to move. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from tonight, it’s that these moments are precious. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hold him tighter.

“Marry me,” Yoongi says.

You go still underneath him. “I… what?”

Sliding his hand under your hips, Yoongi tilts them to get deeper. “Marry me,” he repeats. “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of waking up without you. Living my life without you.”

“You have me,” you say, unsure whether he’s serious.

Slowly, he thrusts in and out of your body. “Not the way I want.” His eyes flash. “As not only my Horn, but my wife. I want to be your husband. I want the entire world to know I belong to you.”

Taking your other hand, Yoongi moves this to the bed while continuing to thrust. You arch against him, chasing his hips and words with your own.

“People will talk,” you say, breathless.

His gaze sparks. “Do you think I care?”

“Maybe I care,” you say. “They’ll call me a distraction. And don’t give me that bullshit about my life being worth more than yours.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Yoongi chuckles, teeth scraping your neck. “What I will say is that I’m better with you. And if I’m better, the clan is better. Not that you should marry me because of that,” he adds, almost an afterthought.

You lose your breath when he circles his hips, driving into you deeper. Thighs parting, you lose yourself in the feel of him in you. His body moves as his soul does, completing you fully. In truth, you’ve avoided this conversation because you know how it ends.

It ends with Yoongi. He’s it for you. From the first time you kissed, you knew it would end up here – it was only a matter of when. Your remaining barriers crumble as you meet his gaze.

“Yes,” you exhale, your hips chasing his.

Yoongi’s aura sharpens. “Yes?” he repeats. “Is that… agreement or acceptance?”

“Yes – as in yes, Yoongi, I’ll marry you.”

Yoongi goes completely still, ignoring your protest. A second later, he’s consumed by a wave of emotion. Need – fiery and stark – sweeps through him as he bends, crushing your lips to his. Yoongi’s kiss burns, searing and marking you for one another.

Slipping an arm beneath your knee, Yoongi pushes upward to get even deeper. You gasp with pleasure, his cock hitting a spot that makes you incoherent.

“Soon,” he adds, adding Strength to his thrusts.

Breathless, your fingertips dig into his skin. “Don’t be greedy,” you chide, losing some credibility when a moan leaves your lips.

His upper lip curls. “I am, though,” Yoongi grunts, pushing you close to the edge. “I’ll never have enough of you, Y/N.”

“Good,” you say, holding him tightly. “I’m yours, Yoongi.”

A groan escapes him, burying his face in your neck. The muscles in Yoongi’s shoulders strain, fucking you harder. “I could die hearing those words.”

“Don’t. That’s an order.”

Yoongi looks up to lock gazes. “Whatever you want. I need it, Y/N. Need this – want to feel you come on my cock.”

Already close to the edge, his words leave you trembling. Clutching him harder, you widen your thighs and feel your walls shatter when you come undone. Pleasure consumes you, vision going dark as you throw back your head. Yoongi’s lips brush your throat, continuing to thrust through your orgasm.

Swearing when you tighten, Yoongi goes harder to chase his release. On his last thrust, he breaks, your name on his tongue as hot cum fills your body. Slowly, he lowers himself to the bed beside you. Yoongi slips partway out, your bodies still intertwined.

Lifting a hand, you drag this down his side. Yoongi smiles at you before pulling out, reaching to grab a tissue from his nightstand. He cleans you with care, then rises from bed to throw it away. Slipping beneath the covers, you wait for his return.

Yoongi does so quietly, dimming the light before he joins you in bed. Slowly, your eyes adjust until Yoongi’s moon-limned face becomes visible.

“Did you mean it?” you say, barely more than a whisper.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he says roughly. “And you? Did you also mean what you said?”

Slowly, you nod.

Joy floods his aura, sharp and bright. “Anything you want,” Yoongi says, determined. “You have only to ask. Cities burnt. Villains vanquished. My own name, forsaken – ask, and it’s yours.”

You can’t help but laugh, your whole body shaking. “Villains vanquished?” you tease, pressing closer. “There are some who might call you the villain of this story.”

His lip twitches. “Then, I’ll defeat myself.”

“Seems like an easy fight.”

Mock growling, he rolls to pin you underneath him. You laugh louder, the sound muffled when Yoongi bends to kiss you. By the time his head lifts, the two of you are breathless.

“I apologize,” you murmur, cupping his face. “Most fearsome Pillar.”

Baring his teeth, he nips your thumb. “That’s better.”

“Truly, though,” you tell him. “There’s no need to get me anything. Whatever I want, I can get for myself.”

Somewhat amused, Yoongi settles beside you. “Oh, I’m aware. My heart, for instance,” he says, placing your hand on his chest.

“That, I’ll accept,” you say softly, staring at your hand on his skin. Your gaze lifts. “As long as mine belongs to you, in turn.”

“A heart for a heart,” Yoongi agrees, moving closer.

Skin pressed to skin, you feel your hearts settle. No Green Bone magic ties two souls together. Instead, that magic lies within the bounds of normal humans. And yet, as you breathe and listen to the blood in his veins, you can’t help but feel something greater is at work.

Something even death could not part – although you’d dare it to try.

Author’s Note: thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Go read Jade City by Fonda Lee. LOL

#bangtanarmynet #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts fic #yoongi organized crime #bts organized crime

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roomtemperaturesuperconductor · 1 year ago

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The world of scavengers reign is a world of pure mutualism. The show never asks “should we isolate ourselves from nature or connect with it” because that’s a false question; there is nothing BUT connection, there is no form of life outside of the ecosystem. Whether they can see it or not, every character becomes part of the planet the second they touch down.

The question then is what their connections will look like: if it will be mutually beneficial, parasitic towards one side or the other, or harmful to both.

I’ve seen people read Kaimen and hollow’s relationship as either kaimen “corrupting” hollow or hollow “manipulating” kaimen. But the truth is their relationship is just a noxious, unstable feedback loop. Neither party is really “in control”, they’re following the guidelines of an evolved relationship that was never meant for creatures as large and emotionally complex as humans to be part of. It’s the same process that occurs with the introduction of any invasive species: simple relationships shift in unstable ways, niches swap places and gain unexpected importance, and the health of the whole ecosystem is put in jeopardy through the lack of sustainability. The truth is that the strange, lovecraftian nightmare Kaimen and hollow create together is bad for BOTH parties. It’s the worst case scenario of the introduction of humanity onto the planet; not humanity “corrupting” some ideal, static image of perfect nature, but the relationship between the two making things worse for everyone.

It’s why one to stop Kaimen/hollow has to be Levi. Whose mutual relationship with the fungus in their circuitry has created something new and beautiful. Something we see has LONG TERM affects on the planet itself with the little baby planet Levis now growing from the flowers. This isn’t the case of nature “claiming” Levi. This is a collaboration, a partnership, something that utterly transforms both sides. It really seems like the death flowers form in some way the “mind” of the whole planet. And Levi has given that mind the artificial circuitry to think on a far higher and more active level than it was ever able to previously. It’s why hollow wasn’t able to control them. Trying to wrangle levis mind is like trying to hold a whole planet in your hands. Something wild and new and beautiful has been created here.

But these transformation can be scary! Sam’s fight with the parasite, paired with his prior skepticism at trying to “understand” the planet the way Ursula was, leaves him unable to adapt. Forced to either lose himself in the process of assimilation, or die separated from it. And again, the show doesn’t take for granted that these mutual connections are “good”. They’re necessary. Sam cannot live separate from nature. But for him, that death was still better than allowing it to change him so fundamentally. His strong willed nature makes him unable to let go the way Levi or Kaimen do, and the result is he doesn’t experience good OR bad results. He’s to brittle to allow for change. He simply ceases.

And so they you have Ursula and Azi. Who are both forced to learn and grow with the planet. Forced to follow the flow of nature even when it takes them places they don’t quite want to be. While at the same time finding little ways to exert their own agency, to not get swept away in the tide. And it’s a complicated balance. One that takes constant effort and isn’t guaranteed to end how they want. But they still have to do it. Because there’s nothing but connection.

#scavengers reign #scavengers reign spoilers

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garr9988 · 6 months ago

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I say this as a big SU fan: If I had to give Steven Universe one glaring L above all else, while fully recognizing that it may be at least in part due to the final season & Future being so rushed:

It’s having Rose and her death be so heavily suicidal-coded (the art books went in on how much she loathed herself and thought she was incapable of changing, so) and yet ending the series with Steven being so irreconcilably angry with her and the impact of her death that he locks a reminder/representation of her away in a place he doesn’t visit so that he doesn’t even have to acknowledge her existence.

Granted, the finale ended with Steven getting therapy and clearly improving his relationships with the Gems, Greg, and Connie that were similarly causing him grief, but Rose in particular is a very specific case in that we don’t see whether he improves his feelings on her, and because she’s dead she isn’t an active presence in his life that he’s compelled to reconcile with. Greg is his dad and Connie is his girlfriend, he has to like them to keep them around, but there’s no incentive with Rose.

There’s also Greg, Pearl, and Volleyball still loving Rose even with the full picture, but to me that feels barely there anyway, a half-hearted tack-on.

I still have a big gripe with the movie for tacking on Rose’s treatment of Spinel and making Rose seem even worse than before, purely because neither the movie nor Future remind the audience of the ways she eventually improved. It felt like the writers went too far when they had already given us Rose’s story in reverse and already had the characters react negatively to the news she was Pink Diamond in the original show.

There’s obviously room for audiences having to remember these things themselves and that a narrative doesn’t have to point these out all the time. But a narrative bears responsibility for the way it frames things and the way it wants or expects an audience to view something.

Rose’s redemption arc being shown in reverse IS cool, in concept! But when the audience insert protagonist and a lot of other characters get this reverse arc and act like the terrible things are the conclusion of her self, that these secrets aren’t her past that she left behind but the mask being ripped off and the true evil monster being revealed for who she is… it doesn’t leave a good taste in my mouth.

That’s certainly part of why a good chunk of the fandom hates Rose the way they do, bc to a non-negligible extent the show is fostering their view, playing it out on screen without actually correcting it.

It’s obviously realistic and possible and downright good & compelling for someone to have a very negative response to another character’s death (suicide) and the fallout they’re left with. But a character who dies in such a way, especially Rose. deserves to be given sympathy and respect within the narrative.

#steven universe #rose quartz #pink diamond #rose diamond #rose quarts su #pink diamond SU #SU #Steven Universe future #SU future #original

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writing-in-sin · 8 months ago

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KAISHIN OPINION: COUSINS REVEAL?

Since I haven't watch the movie yet, I can neither confirm nor deny the whole cousins spoiler thing. Whether or not its true, 20+ years is a long ass time and I've ignored canon before so this won't stop me.

If they truly are cousins in the movie and it ends up being canon in the manga too? Then fuck it. It won't be my canon. Especially when Aoyama is also the one planning to make Toichi alive after literally putting Kaito through horrific trauma of witnessing his father's murder and mourning him

No. Just NO

I respect that its his manga and his characters, and I as a fan, I am only borrowing his creations. But even so, as a fan, I have the right to chose what I wish to do with whatever happens in canon in my FANWORKS

Either I acknowledge that they're cousins and continue shipping them (I'm asian so the whole cousins being lovers thing isnt anything new in my culture nor is it a crime in my country...or a number of asian or southeast asian countries if I'm not mistaken. Granted, it doesn't usually happen simply because people tend to fall for friends or colleagues but cousins marrying dont raise any eyebrows here)

Or I ignore canon entirely and they stay unrelated in any way

However, if those who followed me for my kaishin content then dont worry, I'll still post anything of kaishin that comes to mind

Most likely, I'll ignore them being cousins if it ends up canon. Because honestly? There's a lot of things in canon I dont agree with so ignoring them as cousins won't be the first thing I've ignored or changed in canon. In that same vein, I'll ignore Toichi being alive too because while something like that is usually something to rejoice in any other situation or story, the whole thing is unnecessarily cruel and borderline an inhumane thing to do towards your own child. In my opinion, Toichi should not be written in such a way so for my fanworks, he will not be

To those who want him alive, thats okay. Go ahead but I will not acknowledge that canon

Also, for those who are uncomfortable at the possible canon cousins reveal then thats more than okay. You are free to unfollow or block me or any kaishin posts

So....yeah, I'll ship kaishin whatever the outcome is because in the end, the characters and manga are FICTIONAL so I can change, acknowledge or ignore canon as I wish

_____________

Anyways, thanks for reading this far. Also, here! This is my twitter side-account for all things DCMK & KaiShin moonlit_death because I'm a petty couch potato and will NEVER stop shipping KaiShin dammit!

#kaishin #dcmk #kuroba kaito #kaito kuroba #kaitou kid #kaitou 1412 #kudou shinichi #shinichi kudou #kudo shinichi #shinichi kudo #detective conan movie #detective conan movie spoilers #dcmk movie #dcmk movie 27 spoilers #meitantei conan #case closed #magic kaito

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alwayscorvus · 6 months ago

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"Morning hun" - Mortefi short

malereader x Mortefi, fluff; warning! 18+/21+ topics hinted;

Just a quick short about daily life with Mortefi. He can be completely out of character. Because premiere is on Wednesday. And I'm just so excited that I want to write something about wuwa. But at the same time I don't want any spoilers sooo…. this is a results of reading 3 sentences from official website and looking at his appearance.

There he was. Sitting on a bed leaning against the headboard. He was wearing a loose white shirt. Unbuttoned, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Your shirt.

The one you had worn during yesterday's official event, from which you and Mortefi had left earlier than you should.

Man must have been troubled by a morning chill.

Mortefi's red hairs, were slightly messy. On top of his nose, you could see a reading glasses. With thin frames, typical for any scientist. He furrowed his eyebrows gently. With focused gaze he stared urgently at the screen of a laptop on top of his lap. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of a thing that was occupying man's attention at such an early hour. You managed to spot a document of some sort and a few open windows with research that you couldn't really understand. However, bright screen hurt your still sleepy eyes enough for you to quickly return to looking at you partner.

If you could even call him that.

You shifted slightly on his bed. Careful not to let go of your lying position.

You approached Mortefi and kissed him gently on his exposed forearm. His skin was pleasantly warm.

-Morning hun -you greeted in a husky voice to which he only nodded.

That was exactly your problem. Or rather, yours only. Officially, your relationship was titled as "friends with benefits". Or at least that's how it all started.

Mortefi, born in an upper class, couldn't initiante "inappropriate" contacts with anyone other than his future spouse. And even after abandoning family obligations, as a great genius and scientific research, he had neither a time nor desire for such things.

Years later, however, he began to lose concentration and felt frustrated. His scores dropped. And that silly friend of his, gave him an idea of finding another type of "friend". And in fact, Mortefi just agreed to this.

Two of you were never particularly close. But Mortefi felt a sense of trust in you. You gave off a strange kind of aura that implied that you were a proper one for this “task.” And it's not that Mortefi even liked guys. He just wasn't looking for an emotional experience, but rather a quick and stress-relieving one. And the first person that came to his mind was you. You were sort of larger than the rest, bulkier, taller. It gave an illusion of responsibility and protectiveness. After all, Mortefi couldn't give himself into an arms of just anyone. And at the same time he didn't want to play a role where he had to do all the work. He had enough duties on his mind.

Despite this, you acted almost like a couple. Your meetings didn't end only after finalizing one activity, you spent more time with each other. You addressed each other with cliche nicknames. You took care of each other. You made favors for each other. And you attended almost all important meetings together. Even though you majored in two different fields.

Mortefi, however, was probably not ready to give you both a second label. Or he didn't even think about it at all. Anyway, why would he? You were his. He was yours. He took it for granted.

You planned to change that in the future, but you still had plenty of time to do so.

You reached out your free hand (the one not crushed under your head) and placed it gently on man's chest. Slowly making your way down to red crystalline peeking out from under a white, sloppily wrapped bandages. Petite, pretty, like little feathers. Or almost petals like. They always fascinated you and puzzled. But you never had a courage to ask. You weren't afraid of his reaction. You just didn't want to pry into his private matters.

You carefully touched a gorgeous crystalline. After a longer contact, they seemed sharp and began to burn. However, it wasn't unpleasant. You remembered that from previous occasions.

You liked it. Like everything about Mortefi.

However, you moved your hand away, because although man didn't say anything. His face began to dangerously match a color of his hair.

-Mortefi

Man hummed at your call, giving a sign that he is listening.

-Are you up for breakfast?

Mortefi nodded vigorously and began tapping with his fingers faster on a keyboard. As if he had found some new solution to his problem.

-Something specific?

-Coffee - he replied casually, to which you snorted.

-Coffee is not a breakfast

Right corner of his mouth gently lifted up.

-I'll eat whatever you eat

You pushed yourself off the mattress with both hands, moving to a sitting position. Out of a corner of his eye, Mortefi glanced at your flexing muscles. Exactly the same like when you do push-ups.

But he didn't let it show and kept on working.

-I better do something good

With a smile, you kissed him briefly on the lips and headed to the bathroom.

#fanfic #fanfiction #scenarios #tmr #x reader #x male reader #wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x male reader #x top male reader #wuthering waves imagines #mortefi #mortefi x male reader #mortefi x reader #mortefi wuthering waves #top male reader #male reader #mxm

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bobohu4eva · 1 month ago

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Golden

Part 2/2

Characters: Reader x Baekhyun

Genre: College AU, Baekhyun as an adorable art student and campus heartthrob, shy OC, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, angst, smut

WC: 8.8k

Warnings: smut

Masterlist

Sobs shook your body as you walked the darkened streets on your way back home.

You felt so stupid. He wasn’t even your boyfriend, just a cute boy who was nice to you, yet you’d grown so attached that just seeing him kiss someone else was enough to send you spiraling.

When you got home you told Heejin everything, and she did her best to comfort you, though it didn’t help much. You were so bitter, too, that of all people, it was Sumin. She was friends with him, and obviously had a thing for him, but ever since that first day it seemed he wasn’t into her like that. Maybe he’d been drunk, but even then, it stung more than you ever could’ve anticipated.

It was early morning by the time you cried yourself to sleep, granting you some peace, at least until you woke up.

Of course Baekhyun didn’t see any issue with what had happened, and kept texting you throughout the rest of the weekend, but you didn’t have the heart to respond to anything. It was mostly just memes, he would often send you things he thought were funny, and usually you loved it, but now, it made you feel even worse.

Sunday evening when you still didn’t feel any better you finally did text him back, though it was only to tell him that he didn’t need to walk with you the next day. You’d have to face him later during class, but hugging him and walking with him didn’t feel like something you could handle.

You expected him to sit with Sumin when the time came, but he didn’t, taking his usual seat next to you.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, “Why didn’t you want me to walk you today?”

You just shrugged, trying way too hard to steady your voice despite the lump rising in your throat. “I've kind of missed walking and listening to music, and there's some albums I've been wanting to catch up on.”

It was an obvious lie, but it was all you could come up with in the moment. He nodded, but by the look on his face, he could tell something wasn’t right with you. From your seat next to him you could sense the uneasiness, the tension, now that he knew you weren't being truthful. Concentrating on the lecture wasn’t possible, and Baekhyun, too, seemed disengaged, lost in thought. Thoughts about you, without a doubt.

For an hour you both faced the professor, knowing well that neither was paying any real attention.

When he asked if he could at least walk you home, you made up another lie, saying that you were meeting Heejin elsewhere on campus later.

He was quieter than usual for the rest of class. You knew he'd be at your dorm again in the morning, and you wanted to make something up to keep him away, but you just couldn't do it. He was still your friend, and already seemed plenty bummed with how things were.

You kept waiting for him to turn around and say something flirty to Sumin, but he didn't speak to her at all for the entire class. It didn't make much sense to you, but it was a bit of a relief. At least you wouldn't have to see them constantly doting on each other. Maybe it really had just been one drunk kiss, but even then, the mental image of it was burned into the back of your mind and brought with it an unbearable ache in your chest.

Every time he'd ‘flirt’ with you, it just reopened the wound, so you decided that you would avoid even giving him the chance.

That next morning was what did it for you. Maybe he’d already sensed the way you were starting to withdraw, because he was even sweeter than usual. The hug was tighter and lasted longer, and he told you how pretty your hair looked, that he loved your sweater, and even the perfume you wore. You didn’t say much, since you were too busy trying not to cry in front of him.

His hand would often brush against your own, as it always did, only that morning, he actually held on for a second. Until you pulled your hand away, crossing your arms over your chest. After that, he was quiet. He didn’t hug you when you got to class, and the absence of his arms surrounding you made the early morning air feel empty and dull.

You made up more excuses as to why he didn’t need to walk with you, and eventually, he stopped asking.

He still sat with you during class, though he wouldn’t say much, not unless you talked to him first, which rarely happened. It was weird to you that he didn’t talk to his friends, either, Sumin included.

A week passed like that, and finally you thought that maybe you were starting to get over him. That same day, however, he stopped you when you were about to leave the building on your way home.

He’d been walking just a few steps behind you when you felt his hand on your wrist. He stopped, and so did you, giving him a confused look. He tugged you down a hallway, where there was a bit more privacy.

He gazed down at you, swallowing, his concerned frown making your heart lurch into your esophagus.

He took a deep breath before asking, “Why are you pushing me away? Did I do something wrong?”

His voice shook slightly as he said it, which didn't help your condition at all. You continued to stare, wordlessly.

“I miss you.” He added.

I miss you too!!

You wanted to scream it, but nothing came out. You missed him so badly, you could hardly get yourself to class anymore, dragging what felt like a hollow shell from one campus building to the next, until finally collapsing back into your dorm, day after tiresome day. You were miserable, and it was written clearly on his face, he was too.

“Sorry, you didn’t do anything, I just.. Want to focus on studying. I’m sorry.”

Somehow, his face fell even more. If he was miserable before, you’d somehow managed to make him feel worse.

He knew you were lying, for whatever reason. He wanted to call you out, to demand you just be honest, but the desperate way you looked at him told him not to. The weight of so many unspoken words hung thickly in the air, until it became too much. You turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, alone and confused.

Part of you had wanted him to press on, to insist you tell him the truth. Maybe if he made you say it, it wouldn’t be so bad, but you also imagined the rejection. He would be extremely nice about it, of course. He’d probably apologize for making it seem like he was more interested than he actually was, that he just liked complimenting people and making them smile, but it was nothing more than that. Somehow, though, that would be even worse. If he was an asshole about it, at least you’d be able to get over him quicker.

The walk back home was bleak, silent, and lonely, with neither him nor your music lending you some company. Most of the songs on your playlist were likely to make you cry, and keeping the tears at bay was all that seemed to matter.

As soon as you were back in your room you let it all out, sobbing into your pillows at how broken he’d looked. Ruining your friendship with him, without being able to tell him why, was cruel, and you knew it. The guilt that came with that might’ve been the worst part of all.

The next day in class, he sat with his friends again.

But as the days went on, something about him felt different. He wasn't his usual bright, bubbly self that you'd fallen for so easily. He didn't joke around as much, or even really talk unless someone asked him something.

You did your best to just focus on class, but he always made his way back into your thoughts, given the proximity. You still missed him, and occasionally at the beginning or end of class you'd meet eyes. He always smiled, and so would you, but that was the extent of your interactions.

Days turned into weeks, and you expected him to lighten back up again eventually, but he never did.

On your way to and from classes you listened to music, usually songs that reminded you of him and how he made you feel, both during the good times, and more recently. Whatever it was, it entered your brain through the speakers of those amazing headphones he’d so generously gifted you.

You’d see him outside of class every now and then, and he would still smile and greet his friends, but he always looked a little down. The light in him that had always shone so brightly now dimmed to a mere flicker, as if a small rain cloud permanently hovered over him.

You wanted to ask him why, worried that he could be going through something terrible. He never said much about his family, but you assumed it had something to do with them. You wanted to be there for him, even if just as a friend, but the heartbreak you knew you’d feel kept you away.

Others noticed it, too. Heejin told you about her friends, and how they worried about him, wondering why he didn’t talk to and flirt with them the way he used to. They all insisted that he must’ve been hung up on another girl, which only made you feel worse. Heejin often insisted that it must be you, but you didn’t believe her. If he really had feelings for you, he wouldn’t have kissed another girl, knowing you were at the same party.

Whatever it was, you hoped he'd be able to get past it. You still only wanted the best for him. Even if only from afar, you kept an eye on him, wondering what was wrong and when he'd finally be able to return to his former self, the bright, shining artist you fell for so easily.

Though finals were still a few weeks away, you threw yourself into your studies, needing something to distract yourself. Getting over Baekhyun was proving to be much much harder than you thought possible. Your grades came first, and it did help, at least until you were done for the day and had nothing better to ruminate about. Falling asleep had become a chore, and when possible, you slept on the living room couch, passing out to some movie or show.

It was during one of your usual afternoon study sessions that a loud voice pulled you out of it.

“Y/n!” Heejin shouted.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Come here!”

You groaned, having just gotten settled in at your desk with a good snack.

You dragged yourself into the hallway where you stared at her unnervingly excited expression, before she ran to her room, leaving you standing there perplexed as you stared at her door.

You heard someone clear their throat, and stepped into the common area. The front door was open.

It was Baekhyun. He stood in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in hand, and a nervous look on his handsome face.

A sharp intake of breath. Disbelief crept its way through your body, making its way into every last piece of your psyche.

You couldn't move, let alone speak.

“Hi, Y/n.” He spoke in a voice so soft, it almost got lost with the warm breeze that flowed in from behind him.

“Wh- What are you doing?” You finally got out, barely above a whisper. Unlike his, your voice, however soft it may have been, was clear, too sharp to miss. With trembling hands, and legs you feared could give out at any moment, you stepped closer. You moved slowly, worrying that if you were too quick, you’d disrupt the mirage of him in your doorway, that he would disappear into thin air.

He didn’t disappear. The closer you inched, the more vivid he became.

His eyes were glued to the flowers he held, hands fidgeting with them tirelessly.

“I know you've been ignoring me, for whatever reason, and I probably just look like a huge idiot to you right now, but I like you. A lot. Even if you don't want to talk to me anymore, I want you to know that.”

It didn’t make sense, but you knew you’d heard him correctly.

“You… like me?”

Finally his eyes met yours and he nodded, extending one arm to hand you the flowers. “A lot. And I thought you liked me back, I’d been thinking about how to tell you how I feel, but then you stopped letting me walk with you and wouldn’t text me back, or talk to me, and I just really, really, miss you. I still don’t understand why or what happened, but I know how I feel and I had to tell you, on the off chance you might still feel the same way.”

His voice was shaky, as was his breathing. The threat of tears in his eyes brought about your own, heart shattered to pieces at the sight of his fragile state. The same features you’d grown to love for their kindness, their lack of rude judgements, now appeared so unsure. You took the flowers.

“But.. What about Sumin?”

“Huh?”

His expression changed completely, brows furrowed in confusion. He was caught off guard, without a doubt. Still, you wondered if he really didn’t know what you were talking about.

“I saw you kissing her, at your friend's birthday.”

His eyes went wide, face pale, and after taking some time to register and process your words he began to try to explain himself. “I don’t remember that, I mean- I don’t remember a lot of that night, I blacked out, not that that’s any excuse, but I don’t like Sumin like that at all. I don’t know how that happened, seriously.”

“Really?”

He quickly nodded, “You’re the one I’d been looking forward to seeing that night. I kept telling myself that I’d finally confess how I felt, and I ended up drinking way too much cause I was so nervous. When you stopped talking to me, I thought that I came onto you too strong while I was blacked out or something, and you didn’t feel the same way so you cut me off. At first I thought maybe I could eventually get over you, but I can’t, you’re all I think about. I just miss you so fucking bad.”

He was rambling, out of breath, eyes glassy. You were crying too, though they weren’t entirely tears of sadness. You hated to see him so hurt, that was half of it, without a doubt, but the euphoria of knowing he liked you back bubbled up with force, tears of joy mixing themselves into a mess of confused happiness and grief.

You couldn’t think straight anyway, so you let your heart take over. The flowers were tossed aside, and you tugged on his hand, arms wrapping tightly around him.

“I missed you too, I just like you so much, when I saw you kiss her back that night, it wrecked me. I didn’t want to push you away, I just couldn’t stand how sweet you’d be, thinking you could never see me that way.”

You felt him relax into your embrace, all of his fear and doubt melting into nothingness now that you finally told him what he’d been hoping to hear. He held you tighter, repeating your words to him over and over in his mind, savoring them best he could.

“Of course I like you, though. I thought I made it so obvious. I can’t possibly walk everyone to class, or buy them new headphones, or fall asleep on the phone with them, or-”

“Okay, okay, but you’re always so nice to everyone, I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

He pulled away to look at you, those soft brown eyes holding every bit of reassurance you could possibly need.

“I’ve had the hugest crush on you since the second week of class.”

When he blinked the tears spilled over, though now they signaled nothing but happiness. Still, you were quick to intercept them. His cheeks beneath your hands were soft, red and hot with the evidence of everything he was feeling.

“Baekhyun…”

He showed you a hint of a smile, and you laughed, knowing now that there was no more reason to hide, to lie about what you felt. As you both moved closer, the rapid pounding of your heart rang loudly through your skull. But that didn't matter, nothing mattered, because Baekhyun was inching closer and closer and finally, he was kissing you.

When your lips met, you both came alive. Months of unspoken affections were conveyed effortlessly, and the knowledge hit both you and him, that something more than friendship was beginning, something you’d both been holding out for so dearly.

He was soft and bright as he always was, even in the way he kissed you. He was an artist, and he painted every ounce of desire he’d hidden from you onto your lips without as much as a moment of hesitation. It was needy, the way you both clung to one another, feeling that no amount of physical touch was enough to convey what you truly felt.

The touch of his hands at the nape of your neck and small of your back were everything you'd been craving for so long, and you only sank deeper into him. Somehow you both made it to the couch, the warmth of his body pressed to yours as the kiss deepened.

Still, neither of you did anything to take it further. It was already so much, just being able to kiss and hold each other. The taste of him was sweet and somehow familiar, with every touch of his tongue and lips to your own blurring the world around you into irrelevance. You could've stayed like that forever, sandwiched between him and the couch without a care for anything else in the world.

That was, until Heejin left her room again.

She laughed a little and cleared her throat. Baekhyun quickly detached himself from you, both looking back at her, embarrassed.

“I'm happy for you two, don't get me wrong, but do you think you could take this into your room or something?”

You nodded sheepishly, grabbing Baekhyun’s hand to lead him towards your room but he interjected.

“Let's go to my place.” He whispered, only for you to hear.

You looked back at him for a moment, surprised, but nodded.

On the walk over he held your hand, squeezing a little too hard, but he couldn’t help himself. It still felt surreal, he feared if he didn’t hold on tight enough, you'd run away, or vanish like he never even knew you.

He’d mentioned that he had his own place, so there wouldn’t be any roommates to interrupt. It would be your first time being truly alone with him, and the possibilities urged your feet to move faster.

Luckily it wasn’t too far of a walk, and you soon stood at his front door. He put the key in the lock, and looked at you before moving any further. “I’ve wanted to bring you here for a while now, but never knew how to ask.”

Your lips pressed themselves to his cheek, and you smiled your most reassuring smile. You weren’t sure why Baekhyun seemed to be getting shy now, but you just wanted to reassure him, to be close to him.

He unlocked the door, pulled you inside, and you loved the place, right away.

Canvases bathed in colorful whirlwinds lined every wall, many of them familiar to you, but he didn’t give you the time to fully appreciate them. A gentle hand on your chin brought your attention back to him, guiding your lips back to his own.

He was smiling so big now, barely able to keep up with your kisses because of it. Of course you noticed, and soon he did too, pulling away just enough to meet your eyes.

“I’ve never invited anyone else here,” He told you, “so I’m sorry if it’s kind of chaotic, I didn’t think I would get this far.”

Your hand found comfort atop his warm chest, looking up at him quizzically. “Not even your friends? Why?”

He pulled you down onto a nearby couch with him, and somehow your head ended up in his lap. You smiled up at him when you felt him start to play with your hair.

“I… don’t actually like showing people most of what I paint. Of course plenty of people see the stuff I do for my classes, but that’s different. Usually I just try to paint what I see in my brain at any given time, like putting what I feel on the canvas. It's a bunch of abstract nonsense, but for some reason it still feels way too vulnerable to share with the world.”

As you looked around, most of the paintings were, in fact, completely abstract. Though you still found them beautiful. Most used similar color schemes as the works you’d seen prior, they just didn’t contain any clearly discernible figures, just lines and shapes. Sometimes they were more flowy, sometimes sharp, sometimes dark, sometimes bright.

“They don’t look like nonsense to me.”

Without saying a word he got up. You pouted at the loss of contact, but he returned soon enough, holding a stack of canvases he’d picked up from the corner of his living room.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, looking down at the swirls of red, pink, and gold that covered what he held on his lap.

“I painted these while thinking about you.”

You looked at him, not knowing what to say, as he laid them all out on his living room floor.

“This one is the first day I walked you home.”

The bright colors all flowed into each other beautifully, effortlessly. Peachy pinks were most prominent. Overlaying it all were slivers of shimmering gold, the same color that speckled much of his clothing. It looked joyful, bright and full of hope.

“This was one of the nights we were on the phone.”

Dark blue, golden stars, and red shapes that swirled about like wind. It reminded you of what a nonsensical, more lust-driven version of Starry Night might’ve looked like.

“And this was a few weeks ago.” He said, quieter than before.

No gold, dark blues and reds. Sharp edges. A shape like a tunnel, with no light at the end.

He went on to show you several more, but your mind kept falling back to that dark tunnel. Uncomfortable pangs of guilt crept their way in. You’d really hurt him, even worse than you originally thought.

“What about now? What do you see in your head right now?”

He closed his eyes, leaning back into you.

“You. Just you.”

You brought your lips back to his, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way you were starting to get choked up again. This time you ended up atop of him, straddling his waist on his paint stained couch as his hands gripped your waist.

You both took your time, wanting to learn every tiny nuance there could possibly be about the other's lips. He liked to trap your bottom lip between his teeth every now and then, mirroring the way you’d smile when he did. You liked the soft, non intrusive touch of his tongue, giving you just a little taste of him at a time. You loved how his hands wandered, from your waist, to your hips, ass, and eventually, chest. You loved the intimacy, and he loved the softness. Despite his wandering hands, he never made any other effort to take things further. He was keenly invested in just mapping you out, needing to know how every inch of you felt beneath his palms.

It was unclear how much time had passed by the time you realized you wanted more. When you asked him to take you to bed, he pulled away with a surprised look.

“Are you sure?”

You grinned at his sweetness, and nodded.

Your legs remained wrapped around Baekhyun’s waist as he carried you the short distance, strong hands steady on your thighs. His lips, still smiling, peppered kisses onto every inch of your face.

Baekhyun sat at the edge of his bed, keeping you perched atop his lap. His eyes held your own with a newfound seriousness.

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“What happens after this?”

You stared for a second, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, with us. What will we be?”

Since the moment he’d appeared in your doorway, that one simple question had somehow slipped your mind. Now that he’d said it aloud, the answer seemed obvious, yet you still remained silent.

“I’d like to be your boyfriend, if you’ll let me.”

Your cheeks rose into a wide smile, and you nodded, “I’d like that a lot.”

He let out a long, shaky exhale of relief, and his hands began to wander again. His lips soon traveled from your lips to your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. He claimed you, possessive in his need to leave his mark, to leave a physical sign of his time there. Meanwhile you let your eyes roam the expanse of his room, taking in all of the art. Both his own pieces and the famous prints he had on display, all fit him so well. Just looking around gave you a better understanding of the man who was taking ownership of your body, and made you want to give yourself to him even more.

“Have you ever done paintings like that?” You questioned, nodding your head towards one particular picture on his wall.

It was a rather famous piece, one you’d seen before while googling Gustav Klimt in that first week you met him. The woman was naked, a common theme for the artist. It was a little odd to you at first, seeing that on Baekhyun’s wall. For half a second, you thought of frat guys who put playboy posters on the walls of their dorm rooms. You knew better than to equate it to anything of the like, though it still caught your attention.

Baekhyun turned and looked at the picture in question, then back at you, confused, mostly wondering why you’d interrupted his kisses.

“You know, nudes.” You pressed on.

“Oh..” he was so quiet, you almost missed it. “Well, Klimt, he had real life models to use for reference. I’ve never- I mean, no ones ever been willing to do that for me, not that I’ve asked.”

“You could ask me.”

His eyes widened, holding your own, trying to find some semblance of trickery. “You’d really let me do that?” He muttered in disbelief.

You nodded, biting your lip at the mere thought of laying yourself out before him in that way, knowing you’d have his undivided attention.

When he realized that you were being completely serious, something inside of him sparked to life. His lips on yours were far more feverish now, holding your face to his own while he let you taste the intensity of his neediness.

The second he pulled away for some air, you abandoned your place on his lap. He turned to observe as you sat in the middle of his bed, and began to pull off your shirt.

“Wait, you mean right now?”

He was just so cute, you couldn't get over it, laughing as you confirmed, “yeah, why not?”

You took your time as you peeled off one item of clothing after another, and all the while Baekhyun stared, almost as if he was in some sort of trance. His mouth hung open slightly, skin turning a lovely shade of pink.

As excited as he was to paint you, he was starting to worry that he wouldn’t have the patience. Just watching you, on his bed, as you took off all your clothes for him, turned him on a little too much for comfort. But you asked, so he would deliver. He just hoped he would be able to focus enough to do a good job.

Your underwear were the last to go, and once they were off, you let your eyes meet again. He held them for a few seconds, but naturally, they began to wander. It did make you a bit shy, knowing that he could see every piece of you, even the parts you were insecure about.

Baekhyun couldn’t understand why, when you began to pull the blanket over yourself. He knew he’d been staring, but was that not to be expected? You’d been beautiful to him before, but now that he could see all of you, there was even more for him to become infatuated with. In his eyes every curve, every inch you slowly began to conceal again, was perfect.

“Don’t” He said, taking a handful of the blanket. “I swear to you, there is nothing you need to be shy about, you’re beyond gorgeous. Truly.”

You hid your face in your hands, but allowed him to remove the blanket, throwing it off the bed entirely. When you looked at him again, he wore a small reassuring smile.

He came closer, the sight before him too good not to try and touch. When you stopped him, he pouted, confused.

“Don’t you need a canvas? And, I don’t know, some paint?”

He blinked a few times, already having forgotten the reason you’d undressed in the first place. “Right!”

Tearing his hands and eyes away from you to get up and find his supplies felt like a special new form of torture. After what felt like a lot longer than a few minutes, he finally positioned himself a few feet away from the bed where he could comfortably sit in his desk chair with a full view of your body.

You moved up his bed a little, resting your head on his pillow and bringing one arm over your head, posing yourself for him. “Is this okay?”

Without saying a word he came to you, the light touch of his hand on your arm causing a sharp inhale. A chill ran down your spine when he gently took hold of one thigh, just above the knee, making you bend your leg. He so badly wanted to keep touching you, to trace his way further up the soft skin. His hand lingered, before finally tearing himself away.

Before sitting back down, he asked, “Are you comfortable?”

You nodded. It wasn’t a lie, but with the tsunami of overwhelming emotions brought on by your nakedness and his fleeting touch, it still felt like a silly response.

You kept your eyes on him, watching how he scanned every inch of your body as he started putting the brush to the canvas.

Being so exposed in front of him was even more of a rush than you'd anticipated. You’d experienced intimacy before, you’d had sex with other boys, but now, without Baekhyun even touching you, it reached a harrowing intensity you weren’t yet familiar with.

Baekhyun felt it course through him in waves, having to pause every now and again to calm himself down. He was certain that he’d never wanted to touch someone that badly in his entire life. Committing to memory every curve that you so generously showed him, and putting them onto the canvas, felt like a dream. The best kind, perfectly weightless and disorienting in its intensity.

You noticed the way he occasionally squeezed his eyes shut and took deep breaths, “Are you okay?” You asked teasingly.

His smile was bashful, cheeks somehow growing an even deeper shade of pink. “I am fantastic, I just really, really want to touch you. It’s making it kind of hard to focus.”

“Well hurry up so you can join me, then.”

Again, he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before letting it all back out. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

He seemed to pick up the pace after that, his hands moving impatiently as he did his best to finish the painting so he could finally get his hands on you. Still, he tried his best, deciding to simply go with a slightly messier, more abstract approach.

The minutes kept ticking by with him only losing his cool even more, and he told you, “There's no way I can take my time with this right now, do you think we could do this again sometime? Maybe when I feel a little less crazy?”

You beamed back at him, “Of course.”

He shifted around in his chair and you saw it, the obvious bulge in his pants. Seeing how he was watching you as closely as you watched him, he knew by your smirk that you'd gotten a good look.

He huffed a small laugh of embarrassment, moving once again, this time bringing one hand to his crotch to properly readjust.

You smiled even wider, and he looked bashful as ever.

“Stop looking.” He whined, soon bringing the brush to the canvas once again

“Hm?” Your eyes snapped up to his, and you had to laugh, “You want me to stop looking at your dick, when you still have pants on, and I’m literally naked on your bed?”

“Well… It sounds dumb when you say it like that.”

“If anything, I’d be a little offended if you weren’t hard right now.”

“Then you definitely shouldn’t feel offended in the slightest.”

His hand continued its fevered motions, and you devoured the sight of him, now sitting with his legs spread, the obvious bulge straining against his zipper. His skin was coated in a damp sheen, giving him a gorgeous glow. His neck and clavicle bone, his strong forearms, the way his hand held the paintbrush. Every little piece of him was so alluring, your own patience was disappearing with unnerving speed.

“How much longer do you think?” You blurt out, feeling hotter by the second, struggling to keep your eyes off the line in this pants.

“Almost done.” He says, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

You wonder if he’s noticed the labored rise and fall of your bare chest, and the way you now struggle to keep a consistent rhythm. His thighs looked so strong and firm, it would be easy to sit yourself onto him and rub yourself into an embarrassingly quick orgasm. You knew that the slightest touch would set you off.

At long last he put down the brush, sitting back and tilting his head, observing his work.

“Done?” You asked, and he nodded.

He picked up the canvas, keeping his eyes fixed on you as he moved closer. You sat up to meet him halfway, letting him curve a hand around your jaw and pull you in for a long awaited kiss. He whined when you pulled away sooner than he wanted, still too curious about the painting.

At last he took a seat on the bed next to you, and showed you the canvas.

He chewed on his bottom lip as you got your first look, a little embarrassed that he hadn’t been able to produce something more refined. “I know it’s kind of messy, but I swear I did my best given the circumstances, I’m not usually so distracted.”

You exhaled a small laugh. The picture in front of you was beautiful, you were beautiful, in a way no photograph could ever capture. He didn’t paint you from the point of view of a camera, or even just any other person. What he put on the canvas was how he saw you, through the lens of his own admiration, and it was impossible not to feel beautiful when he captured you in such a generous way.

It was a bit messy, but that didn’t matter. You loved the way it captured the hurried lust of the moment.

“This is amazing.” You told him, “You’re amazing.”

He watched as you stood, leaning the canvas against a bare stretch of his wall, where it would be easily visible from his bed. Your eyes were still on the painting, but his remained fixed to your nude body.

You slowly came closer, watching how his legs parted to make space for you between them. His hands were delicate on your waist with their first touches, soon taking hold to drag you in closer, letting his face meet the skin beneath your breasts.

“Fuck” He murmured, “You even smell perfect.”

His arms wrapped around you tightly, hugging you against him from where you stood between his legs. Your hands were in his hair, tugging just a bit, to bring his attention back up to your eyes.

He stood, and you moved in quickly for a kiss, letting your hands push beneath his shirt.

“Wait.” He said, lips turning up into a hint of a grin at the way you pouted. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. Whatever you’re ready for is okay, don’t worry about me.”

“I want you to fuck me.” You told him without hesitation, taking hold of his shirt to start dragging it over his head.

“Oh thank god.” He sighed, and allowed you to start undressing him.

When your hand moved to his pants he helped you get them undone, pushing them down and stepping out of them. After what felt like ages he finally pressed himself to you, bare chests relishing each other's labored breaths, and he began to lay you down.

Seeking more contact, you wrapped your legs around his waist, sighing at the relief of his weight above you as you settled into the cloud of pillows beneath. The first thrust of his hardness between your legs conjured up a small gasp, though you welcomed it, pulling him impossibly closer. His kisses became more desperate, all tongue and breathy moans while his hands wandered, exploring every inch that you’d laid out for him.

Finally getting to touch after only having his eyes on you for so long brought some relief, but it also heightened the increasingly inconvenient need for more. He wanted to take his time, to savor you, but the unbearable tension pushed him close to his breaking point.

The touch of your hand when it snaked its way between your bodies, stroking him over his briefs, nearly did him in. The moan he let out came from deep within, a sound of pure and uncontrolled bliss.

He leaned up slightly, catching your wrist to pull your hand away. “Fuck, I can’t- It’s too much, too quick.”

You watched in awe as he held himself back, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t care. If he was going to cum already, you wanted to watch him, to feel it, to revel in how badly he needed you.

One hand tangled its way into his hair, bringing him into a kiss, before parting just enough to whisper, “You can cum, we have all night.”

This time you tugged his underwear out of the way, and he didn’t stop you when you wrapped your hand around his length. You could feel the throbbing, the moisture already pooling at the tip, and when you slowly began to move your hand up and down, he did his best to muffle his sounds of delight in the crook of your neck.

His lips smashed themselves into yours, moving in a hungry, adrenaline fueled haze, until seconds later, he shuddered above you as he let go. Your belly and hand were coated in his release, still moving as you indulged in the sounds he made. When it came to be too much, he rolled off you, chest moving rapidly as beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his flushed face.

“Fuck..” He muttered, mainly to himself, finally prying his eyes back open when he felt your lips on the side of his neck.

Without another word he got up, finding a damp towel to clean you up with. As he did so, he wouldn’t look you in the eyes, his expression regrettable.

“What?” You asked, sitting up to close some of the distance.

“Embarrassing,” He mumbled, but you could make out a hint of a smile. “I swear I can last longer, I’m not used to sitting and staring for an hour before getting to touch. I also just really fucking like you.”

The second he was done cleaning you up, you pulled him closer, reassuring him with a long, needy kiss. You smiled into it, too taken with him and the moment to feel anything but joy.

“I really fucking like you too, Baek.”

With determined grace he laid you down, his lips exploring every bare patch of skin within reach. He kissed down your jaw, gentle at first, but as he moved, he grew bolder. When he reached your clavicle bone, he took the delicate skin between his teeth, biting, sucking, soft enough to keep you wanting more, but firm enough to make your heart race.

His hands, which had remained at your sides, joined his lips when he reached your breasts. The softness was too tempting, he couldn’t help himself.

As he showered you in his affections, your mind wandered, thinking back on the many times you’d imagined exactly this as you lay awake at night. Now that it was real, he was real, his weight between your legs pinning you to his mattress, you wondered how you ever ignored him, how you possibly could’ve been so cruel, both to him, and yourself. This was perfect, and the fact that you’d nearly ruined any chance there had been to get here, was a sad reality to face.

The sensation of his mouth as it tugged on one of your nipples, a hand diligently taking care of the other side, pulled you back into the moment, but only temporarily. You didn’t even know it was possible to feel this good, to need someone else’s touch so deeply. Again, you cursed yourself for nearly pushing him away forever, and this time, your pain and the pleasure built into a confusing and blinding cocktail that had tears blurring your vision.

Baekhyun didn’t notice at first, too caught up in the feeling of your chest in his hands and mouth. When the first sob shook you, he assumed you were reacting to his touch, which you were, but not in the way he expected.

The second time you let out a small cry, and now he detached himself, staring in wide-eyed shock and confusion at the tears streaming down your face.

“Y/n? What’s going on? Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?”

Did I do something wrong?

It was the same thing he asked you that day after class, after you’d started shutting him out, the day you lied to him about wanting to focus on school. You remembered how hurt he’d looked, how guilty you’d felt, and it had all been for nothing. The tears came faster, harder.

Baekhyun didn’t know what to do, and started to panic when he realized you were in fact crying, and whatever he’d said had made it worse.

His hands both quickly reached your face, frantically wiping away tears as he continued to ramble.

“What’s wrong? I’m so confused, please, say something, anything, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what I did, please-”

You pulled his face closer, making him kiss you hard, needing something to show him what you were feeling before gathering your thoughts.

“I’m so sorry.” You blurted out, “This is perfect, you’re perfect, and I almost ruined everything, I was so mean to you, I’m such an idiot.”

“Huh?” Baekhyun tried to get his thoughts straight, still too turned on to think clearly. You put a hand over his heart, and it was pounding.

The bewildered look in his eyes gradually softened as he realized what was happening, and he continued wiping away the tears.

“Why are you sorry?”

After a deep inhale, you explained, “I ignored you, I lied to you, I tried to cut you out of my life completely. That was just so stupid, I feel terrible. This feels so good, so right, I’m so mad at myself for being so dense.”

“None of that matters anymore though, we’re here now, everything turned out okay, it’s okay.”

The tears had slowed down, but the look on your face still worried him. Not knowing what else to say, he just kissed you, first on the forehead, then on both cheeks, before finally reaching your lips.

“I was an idiot too,” He whispered, “But right now, I just want to show you how much I’ve wanted you, how special you are, how I haven’t stopped thinking about you in weeks. You’re literally a dream come true.”

When his lips met that one spot on your neck, the spot that always makes your eyes flutter shut, that pulls a soft gasp from your lips, you sank back into it, back into him. He did all the right things to keep you there, dedicating himself to keeping your full attention

“Just focus on me, yeah?”

You nodded, and his wandering hands were the final pull, keeping you securely in his embrace, an embrace that didn’t allow any doubt, any grief in such a wonderful moment.

Originally he’d wanted to take his time. He wanted the first time with you to be special, unrushed. He wanted to indulge completely, and yet his patience was running out. His lips kissed down to your chest once again, lingering for a little while, until he moved further. Each kiss was feather light, barely making contact, but driving you insane nonetheless. When he reached the skin just below your belly button, he paused, this time kissing you a little firmer, but it was his face that did it for you. The way he smiled up at you, almost innocently, as he finished moving down your body, set every nerve ablaze.

The need was mounting quickly. Your hands laced themselves into his fluffy black hair, trying to tug him the rest of the way, but he resisted. Instead, he began to nip at the skin of your inner thighs. Each time you would tense up, squirm, and tighten your grip on him, and he fucking loved it. No part of him could care even the slightest bit about the sting of your hands tugging at his scalp. It told him that you wanted more, that you wanted him, and that was all he craved.

Laid out before him like this, him between your legs, he felt the first waves of possessiveness crash through. You were his. His girlfriend. He was the only one who got to see you like this, and he hoped it would stay that way, for as long as he was around.

Fueled by his blinding lust and need, he let you have it, diving in with greed. The way you arched at the first touch of his tongue on your clit had him smiling into you, pleased by the tremendous effect he had. He knew then, you were just as fucked for him as he was for you.

Just like him, you found yourself dancing on the edge far sooner than what felt normal or right. Still, you let him take you there, lost in every little motion of his perfect mouth. He ate you out like he’d known your body for years, like he'd always been meant to be right there, between your thighs.

His hair was soft between your fingers, now fully intertwined, tugging carelessly. He moaned into you, delighted by the sting on his scalp, and the taste on his tongue.

“Cum for me.” He mumbled, hardly taking his mouth off of you.

You nodded, frantic, and when one finger slowly slid inside you, it was closer than ever. Only a few pumps later you shuddered apart, releasing into his mouth with a gasp and a sigh.

He smiled, still keeping up the rhythm of his tongue and finger, pulling you through it until you couldn't take it anymore. Over sensitivity set in, and you pushed him away with the little strength you had left.

Still panting, you met his eyes, and his smile was instantly contagious. Both hands grabbed onto his shoulders, pulling him closer for a long, messy kiss.

As he pulled away he kept your face in his hands, just admiring you. His thumb was barely there, so gentle as it touched your cheek.

“You're so beautiful.”

Your smile grew even further, but as his eyes remained glued to your own, you became shy. Ever so slightly, you started to shake your head. He stopped you.

“I could paint every little part of you, from every possible angle, in every possible light, and still never get enough of you, that’s how beautiful you are to me. I didn't know it was possible to be this obsessed with just looking at another person.”

“I want you to do more than just look at me, Baek.”

His eyes sparkled, “I know.”

Again, he kissed you, but this time he didn’t stop. He guided you up the bed, until your head was comfortable among the pillows and he could lay between your thighs. An involuntary push against you let you know he was hard again, and he only pulled away to take off his last remaining clothing, holding your gaze with intent as he came close.

The first bit of pressure from his tip as it slipped through your folds set you ablaze, needing him more than ever. One more kiss was pressed to your lips before he pulled away to look down at you, keeping your eyes fixed to his own, and then, he was pushing inside.

Finally, you both achieved that last bit of closeness, relieved at the connection, the skin pressed to skin. He filled you up so well, like he’d somehow always been missing, and with every further push as he started to move, that feeling grew. Time blurred into a meaningless haze, just him and his hips on your mind as they pleased you so expertly. You clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, nails digging into the toned muscles of his back.

Baekhyun made love to you the way every girl dreams of. His hips were steady and precise, listening to you, learning how your body reacted, and making sure he brought you every possible bit of pleasure he could. Amidst his intoxicating thrusts his kisses brought you even further towards heaven, filled with uninhibited passion and hunger. Baekhyun, too, was feeling the intensity, the way the shared pleasure bonded you to him, and him to you.

“My beautiful girlfriend, so perfect, so good to me.” He whispered, his hot breath on your ear sending jolts of excitement down your spine. You just nodded, urging him to keep going, knowing that the edge was again inching closer. Every time he filled you, reaching the furthest possible depths, before pulling out almost completely, his length hit just the right spot. Each push got you closer to the feeling you now chased desperately, and Baekhyun wouldn’t rest until he got to see you cum for him, and around him.

Seconds later you half moaned, half sighed with delight as your orgasm took hold. He didn’t stop, and every additional thrust made your high that much more overwhelming. Baekhyun let out breathy moans of his own at the way you squeezed him, still rolling his hips to pull you all the way through your pleasure.

As he watched you, red faced, sweating, completely at his mercy, and so lost in ecstasy, it hit him, too. As your pussy throbbed in the aftermath of your high, he reached his own, filling you with his release.

Only then could you register the sticky, sweaty mess of limbs you’d become entangled with, and yet when he rolled off you, you still immediately kept clinging to him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Even the smell of him like this was massively comforting to you.

You only detached yourself when he softly called your name, his smile easily reaching his eyes as he beamed back at you, brighter than you’d ever seen before, like golden sunshine spilling out around him and illuminating the room in a gorgeous, warm glow.

“You’re finally mine.” Baekhyun spoke, and you nodded.

“All yours.”

#baekhyun smut #baekhyun #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun fic #exo #exo smut #exo fic #exo fluff #baekhyun fanfic #exo fanfic #kpop fluff #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #baekhyun x reader #exo x reader

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where-dreams-dwell · 1 year ago

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Loving the complexity of Madeline Ushers character: a woman who declares she doesn’t want to be limited by men, who’s life is defined at every turn by the decisions and actions of her brother.

……

Madeline Usher is doomed by her attachment to her brother, and it is the root of all her eventual pain.

When Verna offers them the deal, it’s Roderick who ‘charges forward, straight at it’ and accepts the terms despite the fact that the only ‘next generation’ they current have are his kids. Madeline agrees afterwards but only once Rodrick makes it know he is already in. I don’t think she’d have gone for it if he had objected, she’s always had a very ‘both of us or neither’ kind of attitude.

And then she is as much these kids parent (from what we have seen) as Roderick is. Granted we see next to nothing of the kids biological mothers so we have to assume they weren’t very involved (either by their choice or other circumstance) with their kids after Rodrick got his claws into them.

That first scene when we meet Perry Madeline and Roderick are equally dismissive of him, but she is the one asking questions and prompts: you’ve had a year to come up with an idea, is this it or is there more? How are you going to make this successful? Why will your pitch be different? She even asks Roderick to jump in ‘anytime now’ to help her handle this train wreck. And Rodrick has just received the news he’s dying but I think it’s telling that Perry is looking at both of them for validation, for support. They are equally intimidating but equally supporting him.

With Camille we don’t get 1-2-1 interactions between her and her father (despite her own obsession with winning his approval) but we do get a scene with Madeline. After Perry’s death Camille lobbies to be given the power to lead the family’s PR response, and Madeline takes her seriously and asks what she would do. When Camille lays out her plan it’s Madeline who gives a proud nod of approval and okays her actions.

Leo unfortunately gets no parental interactions from either senior Usher. Victorine only gets it right at the end just before her monstrous actions are revealed. Otherwise all she gets from Roderick is pressure and the interactions of an investor, not a father.

Tammy gets the most parental interaction from Madeline, which is tragic as she’s trying to show her father that she can be the heir to his empire. But her aunt is the one who shows up to her presentation, who gives her the pep talk, consoles Tammy (in her own way) about the failure of her marriage, who believes Tammy when she is terrified by someone in the crowd.

Frederik is always focused on his father so Madeline doesn’t get many moments with him, but again Roderick is more of a CEO or boss than a father: focused on how to protect the company, how to secure the future. Little to no concern or support to his son as he mourns his wife’s injuries, as he deals with his siblings deaths, as he takes on more pressure from the world and the family. Roderick only mourns his son (as opposed to his heir) after Fredrick is dead.

Added to this: the security on all the kids? Madeline arranges it. When more kids die? We see Madeline demand it be doubled. She’s the only one still fighting for them, fighting fate itself.

With Lenore we see more interactions with her and Roderick but her interactions with Madeline are just as sweet and show a close, loving relationship. Lenore even calls her Granny Madeline. And Madeline is the one planning to preserve Lenore via AI: this must have been the main reason she begged Roderick to kill himself. Not to save her to but to spare Lenore. What’s the bet that she started working on the AI project in earnest when Morelle announced she was pregnant?

Madeline tracks down the supernatural entity they made a deal with and tries to negotiate a new deal: again (now we know the original terms) this is likely for Lenore’s benefit, not hers. She faces down a power far beyond herself and tries to save or protect what’s left of her family. Not Roderick.

Madeline took steps to preserve and protect her nieces and nephews, and grand niece while her brother did next to nothing. Once you know the nature of their deal with Verna, Roderick’s attitude to his remaining children after they remember who Verna is is just baffling.

Madeline even makes reference to birth control that she took on the off chance the deal was real. She says to Tammy that she didn’t want children with her first husband and hasn’t since, but she has been a mother to Rodericks kids. This lack of biological motherhood hasn’t spared her for the heartbreak of loosing a child. Or a grandchild.

And it’s even the decision of a man (again her brother) which is going to end her family’s legacy in another way. His marriage to Juno, his treatment of her, his denial of her fight to get clean and his horrible reference to himself as Victor Frankenstein and Juno as his monster - this is what pushes her to sign away the company when she inherits it. Madeline speaks about the board choosing her and moving the company away from pharmaceuticals, into the fields of AI and tech. Sure Madeline then died but a lot of the groundwork was likely there, and it could have been a possible path for the company. If Juno didn’t inherit it all and break it apart. Because of Roderick, and the way he treated her. Once again Madeleine’s legacy is destroyed by her brothers actions.

The irony of 1970’s Madeline declaring she doesn’t want to be limited by men’s choices or by a man, taking steps to protect her self and her heart, focussing her work on things outside of medical drugs in the hope that one day that can be what they become known for… then being doomed to more heartbreak and failure by every one of her brothers careless actions is so sadly tragic.

#the fall of the house of usher #tfothou #madeline usher #mike flanagan #spoilers

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mithrilhearts · 1 year ago

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My takeaway from the past 24+ hours...

There are so many of us that rely on ao3, whether you're a reader or writer. It brings us joy, it gives us an escape from the real world, and it lets us come together as a community to share stories and scenarios about our favorite fandoms and characters. The amount of posts I have seen on multiple platforms lamenting over the DDoS attacks is overwhelming - but with most of them comes a delightful cheer to the volunteers working to resolve this issue.

I've seen so many statements of praise for those volunteers, which is exactly what they deserve, and more. Can you imagine working for over 24 hours straight, on a volunteer basis, against something like this? They're the real MVPs, and I think our appreciation for them gets lost until moments like this rise.

With that said, here is my first real takeaway...

Don't bitch when ao3 does a donation drive. They work hard to keep the archive up and running, and with that costs money. Every server, every new addition or feature you want to see added to help make the site better, it costs money. The legal team that is defending fanfic authors??? MONEY. SO! DON'T! COMPLAIN!

I'm not saying you have to go out and donate your paycheck to ao3 - but I will say that, especially with this situation, if you can donate even a little bit to show your support, it means more than you probably realize, and even if you can't donate (which is totally okay), be kind to those who work on the archive. Send them kind words of encouragement, rather than flaming the archive because it's under attack - because yeah, I've seen people bitching AT ao3 for not working fast enough, or for it still being down. STOP IT.

My second takeaway...

Don't believe everything you see on the internet. Ao3 themselves have advised that the group claiming to take credit for this attack is to be treated with skepticism. And not only that, let's NOT automatically make assumptions about who is responsible just because of an organization's name. It's just a NAME, it doesn't identify a person's origin, background, etc. But I'm not here to dive into that much further. Point: I better not see any Sudanese hatred on my dash, or I will bite you.

My third takeaway...

Treat your fanfic writers with respect. We all now see first hand how much we depend on these stories. As I said above, for some it's an escape, a creative release, and a way to communicate with other people through similar interests. It's a beautiful creation, neither above nor below any other kind of literature.

Consider commenting, reblogging, kudos, anything you can to let the authors know you enjoyed and appreciate their works. Everyone is free to communicate in the way that suits them best, but every little bit is appreciated - as a fanfic writer myself, I can tell you that even a little heart emoji has made my day. It's like receiving a second kudos, and tells me that someone appreciated my efforts enough to give me a double thumbs up.

Any form of communication with the authors is appreciated. It lets them know that people are genuinely interested. We live in a world where INSTANT GRATIFICATION is taking over, but creations such as this take time. Talk with the authors, ask them about their wips, tell them they're doing a great job. Do NOT pester about "when are you updating next?" or the dreaded AI option - again, I will BITE PEOPLE if I see you doing this. Just...have some respect, show your appreciation, it's more than JUST FANFIC.

At the end of the day I guess this post is about being kind. Not pointing fingers or slandering people due to a name. It's about appreciating the things we do have, and not taking them for granted. Whether it's the brave cyber warriors currently fighting these DDoS attacks on the frontline, or the authors writing for not only their enjoyment, but for others too. Let's all respect one another, and show our support when and where we can.

HUGE THANK YOU TO THE VOLUNTEERS AT AO3, YOU ARE THE REAL MVPS!!!

#ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #razzy's rambles

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comikadraws · 4 months ago

Note

sasuke was going to genuinely plan out a genocide and it wasn't something he said in a fit of rage, right?

Was Sasuke Uchiha genocidal?

(2k words of analysis, manga screenshots, and other resources)

To refresh everybody's memory, Sasuke's plan was to destroy Konoha and everybody in it. Not that he actually did but those were his own words.

Now we can interpret this in two ways

Sasuke is blinded by rage and would, in a hypothetical scenario, act on his words (Sasuke is genocidal)

Sasuke is being dramatic and/or would get cold feet when confronted with the scenario (Sasuke is not genocidal)

In my opinion, the first scenario is far more likely to occur and the second lacks sufficient evidence to reasonably rule out that Sasuke is genocidal.

>>Analysis under the cut<<

Let's establish a few things before we begin. But feel free to skip to the next headline.

First, I will judge attempted crime as harshly as committed crime. Since this is not real life, there is no need to reward incompetence or luck. Either way, the focus of this discussion is Sasuke's intent and resolve.

Second, fictional characters don't exist in flesh and blood but as part of a narrative. This means that a character's decisions and psychology heavily depend on the author's intent.

Third, I love Sasuke's character. Do not misunderstand this as hate. This is an analysis of Sasuke's psychology and actions. He has been wronged in horrific ways and deserved better, but that won't make me sanitize his character.

Fourth, the red links are context links, linking back to my own posts. I highly recommend reading them.

The Sincerity of Sasuke's Death Threats

As per the two options I provided in the beginning, Sasuke's declaration of "destroying Konoha" must have either been sincere or not - the latter implying that Sasuke is being dramatic and/or hasn't considered the weight of his words yet, making him want to take them back. But in my opinion, that does not align with Sasuke's character.

Sasuke rarely (if at all) jokes around or speaks from a place of uncertainty or dramatics. He says he'll kill Danzo? You bet he does. He says he'll kill Itachi? He does. He says he'll kill Naruto? He tries that as well. Granted, two of these deserved to die (from Sasuke's POV) but what matters here is that Sasuke's threats are meant to be interpreted as sincerity rather than hyperbole. At the moment that Sasuke speaks them, he also means them. He is neither a liar nor a performer.

But Sasuke does go back on his words, doesn't he? During the ending, for example (although it is arguably a character inconsistency). Or during numerous other instances. Why wouldn't it be the same this time as well?

Let's take a look at a few.

One of the few other times that Sasuke takes back a threat is when he threatens to kill everybody Kakashi ever loved (chapter 177). But it is not exactly a threat - it is a hypothetical or an implied threat at best with no actual motivation or desire to drive it. Back then, Sasuke ends up reconsidering his words - though does he really?

Chapter 416 seems to be paralleling this scene. 3-4 years have passed for Sasuke to take a deep look inside himself and judge whether or not he meant those words back then and whether he means them now. And yet, he returns to the exact same logic: I will rob you of your loved ones as punishment for disapproving of my bloodlust.

After he had so much time to reconsider and reflect, Sasuke's readiness to induce harm to innocents does not appear to be spontaneous or ill-considered.

Noticeably, while Sasuke very often actually ends up executing his threats, he generally also hesitates every now and then. Like when he ends up sparing Naruto after knocking him unconscious. Or sparing Dosu because Sakura begs Sasuke to stop. How can we explain this? Perhaps Sasuke is not as committed to his words after all.

The problem is that those moments occurred at an entirely different point in Sasuke's character arc at which he is still rapidly bouncing back and forth between cruelty and mercy. While yes, Sasuke is known for hesitating on his path, this hesitance slowly but surely disappears from his decision-making later on. The cause of this change is the decay of Sasuke's morals and ensures that pre-truth reveal Sasuke and post-truth reveal Sasuke are two different people.

The Decline of Sasuke's Morals

Sasuke acts entirely differently after the truth reveal. His morals have visibly changed for the worse. Perhaps it becomes the most apparent when comparing chapter 8 to chapter 481. Whereas Genin Sasuke would once help and support his teammates if they could not keep up on their own, a teenage Sasuke disposes of them.

This kind of development first occurs as early on as chapter 56 when Sasuke decides that growing stronger (ends) justifies carrying a curse mark (means). He is on a steady moral decline afterward, first willing to sacrifice his loyalties (Orochimaru), then uninvolved bystanders (Killer B, the other Kage, other shinobi, and samurai), and finally, a friend (Karin) all in pursuit of his goals. It is utilitarian in nature.

Also, please let's not discuss the validity of killing soldiers. We have already dealt with this question during Waves Arc and later when Itachi died. From Sasuke's and other characters' POV (and as evidenced by chapter 343), dehumanizing and discarding a person just for being a soldier on the wrong side is wrong. Understood? Good.

What happened to Sasuke over time is, of course, a character arc. A corruption arc, to be specific. Let's take a quick look at some writing mechanics.

A character arc is always initiated by some sort of trigger event. If said event lies between a version A and B of a character, chances are that their sympathy, competence, or proactivity have become incomparable to each other. This is why a 13-year-old version of Sasuke (pre-truth reveal, which is his trigger event for this specific arc) does not inform us about the workings of a 17-year-old version.

Before this triggering event, Sasuke is also in the midst of a turning point in his arc, hence the indecisiveness about killing Naruto. You can view this in parallel to the Hero's Journey's "Refusal of the Call" during which Sasuke is still hesitant about the road he is taking until the triggering event makes the decision for him.

Now, back to Sasuke's morals. Personally, I believe what stands at the helm of Sasuke's corruption arc is a decrease in self-awareness and a growing lack of empathy.

There's a certain hypocrisy to Sasuke's decision-making. Sasuke is grieving a brother but then attacks somebody else's brother. He is enraged about Konoha discarding Itachi as a tool but will then proceed to abandon his own comrades (Team Taka). He condemns the genocide committed against the Uchiha but then plans a genocide of his own. Injustice is only injustice if inflicted on Sasuke but not if caused by Sasuke.

This does not compare to a younger Sasuke, who uses his own trauma to understand and connect with others and to discern right from wrong. Sasuke is capable of empathizing with Naruto because he is lonely (like himself) and Sasuke finds Orochimaru "disgusting" for viewing humans as mere tools (like a genocidal Itachi). But, over the course of his arc, his trauma instead turns into a weapon to distance himself from others.

The in-universe reason for this change is likely that Sasuke's mind is fully occupied with his own grief and rage. He is blinded by it, so much so that he no longer has the mental space to accommodate other people's pain and suffering.

There is also a narrative device to this, usually applied in the "darkest hour", such as "Batman Grabs a Gun". The purpose is to draw attention to the severity of the situation while also providing more depth to a character by giving them an underlying layer (their emotions/struggles/etc.) beneath their facade (their morals/reputation/etc.).

In Sasuke's case, this is used to highlight his grief for Itachi which is greater than any moral principle Sasuke has. Whatever allows or aids Sasuke in expressing his grief is fair game.

Intensity and Duration

So, Sasuke is definitely blinded by his rage. But is it a "fit"? I suppose that this is a matter of definition.

Sasuke's hatred for Konoha appears to be a constant. It doesn't change. It doesn't lessen. Not after a couple of hours and not after a couple of days.

To me personally, due to its duration, this is no longer a fit of rage but a mindset - one that Sasuke seems to wholeheartedly believe in.

Regardless of this, we have no indication that Sasuke's rage would lessen anytime soon. On the contrary, actually. Sasuke claims that his hatred has only grown since then.

The question we now have to ask is whether or not Sasuke would be able to rein in his rage in time to spare innocent lives. Alternatively, and combined with Sasuke's willingness to kill his own teammates, it is entirely possible that Sasuke's rage would power through, as it did for approximately 300 chapters in canon already.

The Attempts

Now, the most damning argument I have to offer is that Sasuke was already intending to make his genocide plans a reality (or take steps to do so) on three occasions. Twice during the Summit Arc and once during the War Arc.

On all three occasions, the reason why his plans don't come to fruition is because Sasuke gets sidetracked or stopped outright.

In addition, there are three other problems slowing him down. Right in chapter 416, Kisame explains that Sasuke is not strong enough to fight the entire village - even with Taka's help but even more so without them. This conflicts with Sasuke's belief that Taka likely won't approve of his genocide plans or should not be involved for other reasons (which is why Sasuke pretends in front of them). He both needs Taka and has to get rid of them.

Later on, Naruto declares that he will always be there to defend Konoha against Sasuke. My interpretation of this is that Sasuke not only honors his bond with Naruto but also recognizes that fighting Konoha and Naruto simultaneously is not strategically wise - hence he needs to defeat Naruto beforehand.

First Attempt

Sasuke takes Team Taka with him, believing them to be necessary backup. Then Obito intervenes who both threatens Sasuke and gives him the wrong impression that Konoha is "no more" - either fully eradicated or too weak to defend itself.

This might erase the need for Taka as Konoha is weakened significantly and Danzo can be targeted separately from the village.

Second Attempt

In the meantime, Sasuke kills Danzo. As explained by Kisame, a greater conflict with the entirety of Konoha is inevitable if you aim at major political leaders.

On his second attempt, he has coincidentally already managed to abandon the entirety of Team Taka, just as planned in chapter 416. But this time, before he can go to Konoha, his eyes suffer extensive damage and he instead encounters Team 7. As explained previously, Sasuke soon realizes that he cannot destroy Konoha before killing Naruto. And before that, he needs to get his eyes fixed. This results in Sasuke's withdrawal from the fight.

Third Attempt

On his third try, the one in which he decides to target Naruto first, he instead gets sidetracked by the appearance of Itachi on the battlefield.

"Sidetracked" doesn't mean "giving up" or "displaying disinterest" in a different goal. Otherwise, Sasuke's training under Orochimaru for 3-4 years would be proof of his disinterest in killing Itachi. Sasuke is simply prioritizing urgent matters and acting strategically.

Now, all of this "getting sidetracked" might sound a little convenient. But the question is "convenient for who?"

It is of course possible that Sasuke is openly searching for excuses because he doesn't truly want to eradicate Konoha, making him a harmless villain. The other explanation is that Kishimoto was the one looking for excuses.

In a conversation, @theheirofthesharingan pointed out that Sasuke is being "saved by the narrative" ie. plot armor. Though not in the sense that he is being protected from harm but rather that he is being protected from inflicting harm, probably as an extension of Konoha's own plot armor. This also ensures that Sasuke remains "redeemable" and likable to the audience so that Naruto can fulfill his goal of bringing him back to Konoha.

Conclusion

As I said in the beginning, there is a huge mountain of evidence suggesting that Sasuke not only fantasized but would've acted on his revenge plans against Konoha. This is because

We know Sasuke to be a non-dramatic character who doesn't easily back away from his own words.

Sasuke is on a corruption arc, his morals declining far enough to kill a friend. It seems unlikely that he'd draw the line at a stranger.

From a writing point of view, continuing Sasuke's corruption arc makes more logical sense unless he experiences another trigger event. It also further highlights Sasuke's pain.

Sasuke has repeated his goal multiple times over, leading me to believe that his mood wouldn't change soon enough for Sasuke to second-guess himself.

Sasuke has taken steps towards the fulfillment of his goal. It is entirely possible that, if Konoha didn't have plot armor, Sasuke would've found the right time to destroy the village eventually.

Of course, Sasuke's morals are not entirely gone, as we can see when he refuses to join Kabuto (though potentially just because Kabuto antagonizes Itachi). It is still entirely possible that Sasuke would've gotten cold feet when physically confronted with the task of killing innocent civilians. But this possibility is hardly entertained by any of the characters and Sasuke himself doesn't seem conflicted about his plans. It seems like Kishimoto intended for Sasuke to be genocidal, most evidence pointing toward this reading of his character.

I certainly have my opinions on this matter but, like always, this is a matter of interpretation.

Debating me is fine. I like to discuss my favorite characters. But screenshotting, blocking me, and then attacking me behind my back (and without having ever interacted with me) in a new post is a no-go for obvious reasons.

#also reiterating that all hypotheticals in fiction are headcanons by default #didn't go as much into the contra side as i could have #the post was already like 2k words long and didn't want to stress people's attention span #sasuke #sasuke uchiha #anti sasuke #anti sasuke uchiha #naruto #meta #analysis #headcanon #theory #alternate universe #naruto au #naruto discussion #naruto ask #ask #anon

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evilbihan · 9 months ago

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Bi-Han is an honorable man

I can't believe that I'm making yet another post pointing out the obvious but every time I go into a Youtube comment section I'm starting to question whether me and the rest of the Mortal Kombat fandom have even played the same game.

1. He shows opponents mercy

Sub-Zero: You want peace? Let us be. Liu Kang: The Lin Kuei's sins aren't easily forgiven.

Sub-Zero: Surrender and Shao will show mercy. Mileena: If you believe that, you're a fool.

Sub-Zero: Walk away while you can. Raiden: I'll never give up, never surrender.

Sub-Zero: I won't hold back, Brother. Scorpion: Do your worst.

Sub-Zero: We have no cause for dispute. Kitana: You aided Shao's attempt to steal the throne!

These dialogues honestly speak for themselves already, they don't even need explaining. Compare that to actual villains like General Shao who sends Reiko after Bi-Han to kill him simply because he "doesn't like loose ends" even after Bi-Han saved him or Shang Tsung who killed Reptile's family out of nothing but sheer cruelty.

The fact that Bi-Han is willing to let people walk away from a fight, that he gives them a chance to walk away alive, speaks volumes about his personality. He warns his opponents in his intros and even during his end of round taunts ("Flee now and live."), he tries to solve things peacefully and without violence if possible. He's not bloodthirsty, malicious or eager to kill anyone, but will do so if given no other choice.

Despite Bi-Han's flaws, a man willing to show an opponent mercy is an honorable man. SPOILERS AHEAD: May I again remind you that Kuai Liang is not willing to show a defeated and dying Bi-Han mercy when he gets turned into Noob against his will? Not only that, but Kuai Liang wouldn't have hesitated to kill Frost who is probably around Hanzo's age at his own wedding if Harumi hadn't stepped in to save her. Harumi had to beg Kuai Liang to show someone mercy, while Bi-Han grants it without a second thought. Like it or not, at least in that one aspect, Bi-Han is the better man.

I don't know why some people think of him as this aggressive guy going around trying to pick fights with everyone when all he wants is to be left alone? It's wild to me how people think he's the problem here.

2. He respects/admires their fighting skills

Sub-Zero: You will surely test my might. Ashrah: I will overwhelm it, Sub-Zero.

Sub-Zero: This fight I will long remember. General Shao: Who says you will survive it?

Sub-Zero: I'm pleased to fight Outworld's foremost mage. Rain: Will it also please you to lose?

Sub-Zero: I hear your skills are formidable. Li Mei: As are those of all who have been Umgadi.

Can we also talk about how respectful Bi-Han is towards his opponents? He compliments them on their skills as opposed to Kuai Liang who even talks down to his own allies. Yes, Bi-Han is arrogant, but he can still acknowledge other people's strengths and respect them, even if they are his foes.

3. He admits when he's wrong

Sub-Zero: I was wrong to trust you. General Shao: Yes, Earthrealmer. You were.

Sub-Zero: I wasn't aware of Shang Tsung's experiments. Liu Kang: Had you known, would your choice have been different?

Sub-Zero: Your mother's death is regrettable. Kitana: I consider you complicit, Bi-Han.

You can say what you want about him, but he certainly takes responsibility for his actions and even shows regret over some of them. Bi-Han might not be the most compassionate character, but he does express some sympathy towards others. Compare that to Kuai Liang who tells Havik it's his own fault that his face was burned off as if he had nothing to do with it. Yes, Bi-Han doesn't show much sympathy towards Baraka for his condition, but neither does Kuai Liang. Why Kuai Liang is still considered the more honorable brother regardless of that and his very obvious ableism, is beyond me.

Bi-Han's good traits are all too often overlooked. I don't know if it's because people don't pay attention to intros, but it's so easy to see he's not a bad person deep down. It's just the media comprehension skills of most MK fans that are seriously lacking.

#bi han #bi-han #bi han sub zero #mk sub zero #mk bi han #kuai liang #mk scorpion #mk kitana #mk li mei #mk ashrah #mk liu kang #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 2023

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magicalbats · 2 months ago

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Kinktober 2024 Day 13: Sethos x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 6283

Warnings: Afab!reader, misogynistic practices/beliefs, sexual slavery, free use, forced betrothal, chastity device (female), public sex, sex outdoors, anal fingering, anal sex, anal creampie, exhibitionism, mentioned death of parents, noncon to dubcon

A/N: Sethos is honestly one of the most gorgeous characters I've ever seen tbh, his color palette is just stunning imo. Love this guy. 🤭 Just make sure to pay attention to the tags everyone!

⭐

If one were to ask the tribesmen of the desert what they liked about the inhospitable environment so much that they’d choose to stay, even when there was a perfectly comfortable rainforest just over the horizon, one was likely to receive a variety of different answers. Some might say that it was the only home they’d ever known and they were used to living there. Although true, it wasn’t an entirely honest response.

Others might nudge their toe at the real reason by saying they liked the freedom that was allotted to them by living outside of the Dendro Archon’s dominion and the stuffy Akademiya’s reach. That was closer but still not entirely accurate.

Yet other denizens of Sumeru’s expansive desert may even get down to the nitty gritty of it and proudly admit they thrived in the bloodthirsty conditions perpetuated by the lawless land. It was a dog eat dog world out there, and some people were simply far too unlikable to thrive in a polite society where their fists didn’t solve every problem they encountered. You liked this kind of person the least.

In truth, you strongly suspected the real answer lied in the simplicity of the largely nomadic existence of the warrior peoples and not only when it came to problem solving matters. It was easy to understand that in order to eat you needed to work. Not so much when schooling suddenly came into question and you had to try to explain that investing in education now would result in an excess of mora to feed yourself with later. The same also applied to relationships. Why go to the trouble of courting a potential lover over time when you could simply take them by force and have them immediately?

That’s what it boiled down to, you think. A natural aversion to rule following and a hard coded need for the freedom to live life at your own discretion. It wasn’t really any wonder then that the Eremite’s had managed to survive these past long decades with neither help or interference from the nation’s Archon. They were a stubborn lot.

But that only applied to the people who were strong enough to back up their big talk, not someone like you. Taken in by the Temple of Silence as little more than an orphan turned slave and then promised to be their next leader's wife, you had neither freedom nor strength, and you certainly didn’t have the luxury of returning to the city in the rainforest where you were originally from. After your scholar parents died on a joint expedition out into the rolling sand dunes in an accident that left you wandering all alone in the barren wasteland, you had nothing to go back to anyway. Sometimes it felt like your fate had already been signed, sealed and dotted long before you were ever actually born and this lackluster existence was a foregone conclusion.

Oh, how you wished you had a cock between your legs so you wouldn’t have to endure such unfair treatment just because you were a woman.

Sethos was incredibly lucky in that regard. As your betrothed and future husband, you and him spent a lot of time together and you were always surprised at how much freedom he was actually given to do whatever he pleased. Of course not all of it had to do with his gender. As the next leader of the Temple and the adopted grandson of Bamoun, he was granted many allowances that even the other men simply didn’t have.

But you still can’t help the pang of jealousy you feel while you watch him happily gallivant around with nary a care in the world beyond the simple matter of daily survival. His future was already laid out before him and he didn’t need to worry about securing his position since it had already been decided for him by the current leader. It was only a matter of time until Sethos took over for him, and then the two of you would be wed.

The worst part was that he was exceptionally smart and had a quick wit that would put even some Akademiya alumni to shame despite his lack of formal education. You didn’t doubt for one second that he could have easily landed himself a spot in the prestigious school if he’d wanted to, if he’d just try, but that was not the fate the stars had laid out for him.

Sighing under your breath, you drop your chin into the waiting palm of your hand as you watch the boys recklessly fool around with their hunting knives. Someone was going to get themselves hurt at this rate but you knew better than to nag at them by now. They never listened anyway, and your status as a slave meant they often took offense to being told anything they didn’t want to hear when it was coming from you.

As usual you would just quietly observe their play sparring until one of them inevitably failed to move quick enough to avoid the swing of a blade and end up with a new scar to show for it. There was no reasoning with someone who didn’t want to be reasoned with.

Sethos, at least, tended to be a little more agreeable in this regard. He wasn’t outright opposed to hearing you out even if he didn’t always like what you had to say, and he glances over at where you’re sitting at the sound of your quiet exhale. An easy going grin slides across his face and he turns to walk towards you, plopping down on the ground next to the little blanket you’ve got laid out in the sand.

“Getting bored?”

“I’ve been bored since we got here.” You tell him truthfully, but rather than taking it as disrespect like some others might have he just throws his head back to laugh.

“Yeah, I guess girls don’t usually get much out of watching a couple of guys mess around with knives. Would you have liked to stay back at the temple instead?”

“Why, so I could knit yet another shirt for you?” Internally cursing the vague sting of tears that comes into your eyes, you turn your head so you won’t have to look at him any longer. Picking up a small rock covered in sand grit from the ground, you focus all of your attention on it instead. “I know this is just how life is out here, but there’s not much to do. Your grandfather doesn’t even let me have any books to read. He says I need to focus on learning how to be a good wife for you, not filling my head with ideas.”

And you hated it. You hated it so much you felt like you could just scream and throw a fit sometimes. Both of your parents had been accomplished graduates of the Akademiya and they’d instilled a love for learning in you from a very young age. You were supposed to be studying for tests and working on a thesis, setting up internships in your chosen field, not this.

That was the only reason you’d even been out here with them when the accident happened. To learn and pick up on skills that would help you once you were admitted to Teyvat’s most acclaimed and celebrated academy. Who could have ever guessed you'd never again step foot outside of the dry, arid desert at the onset of that trip?

And you don’t make any qualms about your feelings on the matter, nor do you try to hide the fact you’re unhappy. You’ve had this conversation with Sethos many times over the last handful of years since you found yourself in the care of the Temple of Silence but it never seemed to do you any good talking to him about it.

Just as every other time, he falls silent for a brief moment as if he were thinking it over before at last drawing a carefully measured breath to speak.

“I’m sorry things turned out this way for you. I’d change it if I could. But I’ll find you some books when we get back later, how does that sound?”

“And Bamoun will just take them away again.”

“Then I’ll find some more books for you. And when I take over from grandfather I can call the shots. You’ll have as many books as you want, habibti.”

“Don’t call me that.” You hiss, shooting him a quick but not less viscous look of warning.

Sethos just smiles right back at you though, completely unperturbed by your aversion to his favored pet name for you. The bright green of his eyes dances before you even in the shade of the rocky outcrop your small group had stopped at, as if the irises were lit from within with some unnamed mischief he was concocting.

It’s a little cooler here than out in the glaring sunlight but not cold enough to warrant the icy chill that snakes down your spine. That particular look from him rarely meant anything good.

“But you are my habibti. It only makes sense for me to call you that, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t want - -“

He cuts off your rattling protest when he reaches over to take your hand in his, snagging your fingers before you can think to pull them away. You startle slightly at the sudden contact even as you stamp down the urge to wrench free of his hold, knowing it wouldn’t do you any good to try. Sethos could at times be the most stubborn person you’d ever known and his tenacity was limitless. If he decided he wanted to hold your hand then that was what he was going to do.

“I know, I know.” He croons at you, keeping his voice soft and hushed as if he were coaxing a skittish animal to warm up to him. “This isn’t the life you would have chosen for yourself if you’d had the chance, and that’s okay. But what’s done is already done. We’ll be husband and wife someday soon so that makes you my habibti. Getting upset about it won’t change that, will it?”

You draw a sharp breath, instinctively readying to fight him on that, but the words catch in your throat. Not only because you already knew it would be useless and no amount of talking on your part ever seemed to convince Sethos that this wasn’t right, but also because of the steady way he just keeps smiling at you. Like his confidence on the matter was so resolute and unfaltering that even if you did try to plead your case it wouldn’t have any affect on his belief in these simple facts. And that’s exactly what it was. Simple fact.

It really was a lost cause. He’d already made up his mind long ago that this was just the way things were and you were going to be his wife. No ifs, ands or buts about it.

The fight promptly drains from you at that realization, leaving you feeling hollow and decidedly bereft of even enough energy to keep drawing air into your lungs. There was no point in fighting it.

“No, it won’t.” You murmur at last, earning a brief squeeze to your fingers.

“See? Then there’s nothing to be mad about. I don’t blame you for not liking all the trouble the elders put you through. I wouldn’t enjoy their knitting or cooking lessons either. That’s why I wanted to bring you out here today so you could get a break from them.”

Feeling a little guilty for your behavior now, you drop your attention to look down at your lap. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“That’s alright,” He tells you softly. “But I have noticed you’ve been getting more and more irritable lately. You know I don’t like to see you like this, habibti. Do you need me to tend to you like last time?”

Your stomach wrenches so suddenly and so aggressively you almost feel nauseous with the abrupt rush of dread that settles over you. It’s a violent subconscious reaction that is at complete and total odds with how casually unassuming the question had been.

Stiffening up to sit ramrod straight, you tersely give your captured hand a yank but he holds fast. You’d known better, of course, but —

“No. Not here, Sethos! Don’t - -“

Softly shushing you again, he scoots closer to join you on the edge of the blanket as his opposite hand comes up to reach for your face. You quickly snap your head away from him but this does you no good either. He just curls his strong, roughly calloused fingers over your cheek so he can force your attention back around to look at him. Although gentle about it, he’s so demanding in the way he nudges you that you have no choice but to comply.

And the tears you’d worked so hard to force back immediately spring up full force to make your vision swim. Sucking in a wet, faltering breath, you pleadingly peer over at your future husband, begging him to spare you the embarrassment of what he was suggesting. The other men were still only a few yards away playing their silly game, they’d see everything!

“Please. I don’t want to do it. I - I don’t like it, I really don’t.”

“I’m not sure I believe that, beautiful. You were so good for me the last time and well behaved too. Even grandfather remarked on how obedient you were.” Tenderly stroking his thumb across your skin, Sethos peers into your face with that confident, knowing little grin. “It’s okay, don’t fret now. I understand that you can be irrational at times but we know just how to fix that, don’t we?”

Your lower lip sadly warbles as he guides you into a nodding motion, encouraging compliance even when you’d rather do anything else than agree to this. But there wasn’t much you could do to actually fight it. Between being a prisoner of the Temple of Silence, functionally nothing more than a slave, and as his promised future bride, you simply didn’t have the privilege of choice. No matter how much you wanted to tell him ‘no’ and kick, and spit until he finally gave up on the idea, you just couldn’t do that.

So you merely sit there when he leans into you, letting him slot his mouth over yours with only a tiny little whimper to show for it. The way he kisses you is just as sure and confident as everything else he does, leaving you with no choice but to reluctantly give in to the demanding push and pull of his lips. He wanted you to reciprocate and so you do.

And when he slides his hand down off your cheek to deliberately push at your shoulder, indicating he wanted you to lie back, you do that too. Stiff and halting, you gingerly ease yourself down to the ground while Sethos follows after you so he can keep claiming your mouth for himself.

Once he’s got you laid out next to him, he lets his topmost hand wander to firmly grope over your chest and give the tits underneath your clothes a savory squeeze. You can’t help squirming against him at the immediate rush of sensation you feel while his surprisingly big hands knead over the fleshy swells until you can’t quite stop yourself from bringing your thighs together in a listless press. He did indeed make you feel good when he touched like this and if he’d just leave it at that you probably wouldn’t have been so opposed to it.

But he eventually grabs hold of your hip to direct you to roll half of the way over, which you shudderingly do to leave your ass pressed into his hip. Still hungrily kissing you, Sethos rather unceremoniously starts to gather your long skirt so he can hike it up around your waist and expose your lower body to the air. It’s not overly comfortable lying like that, with your hips twisted around to grant him the access he sought and your neck craned back to give him your mouth, but you have no choice in this either.

All you can do is helplessly lie there while he hooks a hand under the bend of your topmost knee so he can pull it wide to hook over his leg. That leaves the spot between your thighs completely exposed and vulnerable, and you shudder fiercely when he reaches down to smooth his fingers over your cunt.

Except it is not flesh and blood he touches but rather the cool metal of the gilded chastity device you were forced to wear. It was lightweight and flexible enough to move with your body, yet also sturdy enough to discourage any attempt at removing the barrier by force. Not even Sethos had the key to the little lock keeping it snugly in place where it fed down from the band that was tightly secured around your middle. Only Bamoun had the power to free you from the physical manifestation of your servitude, and he would give that same power over to your betrothed on the night of your wedding. But until then you were made to wear it day in and day out, permitted only to take it off to bathe once in the morning and once at night.

Your one and only consolation in this matter was that at least Bamoun didn’t personally handle the tediously dehumanizing routine himself and instead handed off the key to one of the other female hand servants to take care of. It wasn’t much of a compromise when you really thought about it but at least that saved you the humiliation of having the old man’s hands all over you, touching you where you really did not want to be touched.

But in the here and now when Sethos is lightly brushing his fingers over the strip of gold plated metal, you find yourself sensitively trembling for him all the same. You couldn’t feel anything at all through the chastity belt but the visual alone is enough to make your pussy flood with overly eager, long neglected slick. Even if you weren’t particularly happy about it, you were still keen to be touched there and you did like Sethos enough not to curse him for it.

Groaning a breathy, threadbare sound, you fist your nearest hand in the front of his shirt and jut your pelvis up towards his fingers. It didn’t matter if it was an effort in futility or not when you were so desperate for any stimulation at all that you felt nearly delirious with it at just the slightest suggestion. No one had ever touched you there before, not even yourself. Not like this. You’d only been at the very onset of puberty when you ended up here and the realization that you were a virgin was in part what had made Bamoun decide to marry you off to his grandson.

He’d said he wanted to keep it like that, to make sure you stayed pure and intact until the time came for Sethos to bed you, but in taking away anyone else’s access to your body he’d also taken away yours. There was only a small hole cut out of the otherwise perfectly smooth plate that allowed you to urinate through it but nothing else. It wasn’t even adequately big for you to slip one of your fingers inside.

The only point of entry was further back where the plate ended and the securing metal chord started. The entire contraption was much too snug against you where it fed up between your ass cheeks to move it very much, but there was just enough give for him to shift the thin chain aside and gain entry.

And that’s exactly what he does now, stretching his fingers down over your cunt to brush against the pucker of your hole when he hooks them into the chain. A low, faltering mewl tumbles out of your mouth when he nudges it as far as it will go to leave your anus completely exposed, and you jolt when you catch a masculine snicker off in the near distance.

You knew the other men must have been glancing over and probably elbowing each other over it but you couldn’t bring yourself to look. Instead you just screw your eyes shut and suck in one ragged breath after another, jittery panic gripping you tight while Sethos lightly runs his finger back and forth over the puffy wrinkle.

“Shh, just relax. Don’t worry about them right now,” He whispers against your cheek, soft yet unrelenting at the same time. “Focus on me, habibti. There you go. Deep breaths.”

Struggling just to keep your head on straight, you blearily let your head loll back against the ground and attempt to follow his instructions. The shift makes the tears in your eyes dislodge themselves from your lash line, letting them dribble wet tracks down your face to fall off into the sand.

There was something inherently wrong about this too, of that you were certain. You’d never seen such flagrant public displays of human sexuality before coming here and the lack of shame so many of the men seemed to have about it had frightened you a great deal at first. It seemed any woman who was not strong enough to defend herself from their advances was free game but as Sethos’ betrothed you weren’t even really permitted to fight back. His right to your body was absolute and unquestionable, regardless of the time or the place. And since you were still technically an intact virgin in their eyes, doing it this way didn’t even earn the disapproval of his grandfather.

Sethos’ cleverness was unmatched though so it didn’t really come as a great surprise that he would find a suitable workaround for this. But that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept this sort of treatment or come to terms with it when every single alarm bell was going off in the back of your mind. If it was just him you might have been more amenable — would have been when you were so easily riled up due to years of neglect, but you didn’t want the others to see you like this!

“Oh no, no, albee. Don’t cry. I’m here, don’t worry. I’ll have you all sorted out in no time, I promise.”

He shifts against you then, hand falling away to reach back for something tucked away in his sash. You had a few guesses what it might be, of course, and you just lie there sniffling sadly to yourself while he fumbles behind you for a moment before settling in again.

Cautiously lifting your head, you take care not to look too far ahead and instead focus in on Sethos’ hand and the little glass vial he’s thumbing open. You’ve been through this enough times with him to know it’s sticky olive oil thickly sloshing around inside, though he’d at times also used other kinds of impromptu lubricants when the need arose. This kind of oil was his favorite though for its effectiveness and you find that you’re a little relieved to see he had some on hand. You weren’t sure you could properly relax your muscles when you were all but thrumming like an active livewire in this humiliating situation, but the oil should at least ensure you don’t tear.

Still murmuring soft nothings to you, Sethos reaches down again and carefully upends the small bottle to allow a healthy dollop to ooze out. It lands almost smack dab in the center of your asshole and you hiss a seething sound while he sets the vial aside where it wouldn’t get knocked over.

Then he’s bringing his hand back down to eagerly rub the pads of his fingers through the clinging oil, working it into your skin. Even just that much feels good, you’re mortified to realize, and you reluctantly start to give in to the attention grabbing ache in your gut that demands you seek pleasure in some form.

While you weren’t exactly pleased to be doing this out in the open, right in front of his friends, there was no use denying that his logic in this was reasonable. You had been soothed to complacency the last time he did this to you, and the time before that, and the one before that as well. It was the closest thing to a stress reliever you could get out here when you were neither permitted to touch your own cunt or pick up a curved scimitar for you to swing around.

Even Sethos didn’t trust you that much to let you get your hands on a weapon, and that was probably for the best.

So you just make do with softly groaning through the tears tracking down your face as he works over the puffed up rim of your entrance, encouraging you to relax into it with gentle words spoken against your cheek between the kisses he places there. Not for the first time you think that Sethos will make for a very fine lover someday and you were probably lucky in that regard, but you still wished you could have chosen to be with him instead of having it decided for you.

You probably would have chosen him too, in all honesty.

“Does that feel good, beautiful?” He murmurs, prompting you to nudge your chin in a faltering nod.

“Y - yes. Will you … stick it in?”

“If that’s what you want me to do.”

He starts to lean further over you as if to fully cage you in underneath him but the shuffle of boots in the sand immediately brings his head back up. Squeaking a horrified sound, you shyly bring your hands up to cover your flustered face but even with an audience watching Sethos just keeps rubbing his sticky fingers across your puckered hole as if this were a totally normal, everyday occurrence.

“Sorry to interrupt, boss. Rahid hurt himself trying to show off so we’re going to bandage him up real quick. You want us to start a fire and make a quick lunch or …”

The ‘are you too busy fingering your future bride’ goes unspoken but the other man doesn’t really need to say it at that point. You can hear it clearly in his voice, and you whimper a dire tinged sound when Sethos starts to press in on the center of the slackened wrinkle to tease you with the suggestion of penetration.

“Yeah, you guys just relax for a while. We’ll be done soon.”

“You got it.”

As his footsteps start to retreat, you slowly lower your fingers to peer up at Sethos with a teary eyed look. “This is why I said not here …”

“Aw, come on. No harm, no foul, right? They’ve all seen worse.” Carelessly shrugging off your concerns as usual, Sethos pins you with the sparkling green of his eyes and leans into you again. “Besides, once we’re married I can have you anywhere I want and it won’t just be your cute ass I have access to then. Might as well get used to it now, huh?”

“You’re awful.”

Laughing quietly under his breath, he starts to put a bit more pressure on your entrance and you gasp when that finger starts to slip inside. One measly inch at a time, it forces your inner sleeve to expand and open up for him until he can sheathe it in you straight down to the knuckle. Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a low, warbling sound of pleasure, but both of you already knew that it wasn’t enough. You’d been through this too many times for a single digit to stretch you out the way you wanted to be stretched.

Gradually sliding his hand back until just the tip of his finger remains wedged inside your puffy rim, Sethos slowly pushes back in with two this time. As he settles in to fuck you with them, you outright seethe at the sensation as much as at the sticky wet clicks he pulls from your asshole on each upward plunge. Your body greedily sucks at them and tries to take him in deeper but there’s nowhere else for him to go with his knuckles already flush to your skin.

So he soon adds a third to really stretch your hole open and it puts so much delicious pressure on your squeezing guts that you almost manage to forget where you are.

Hissing a vicious sound, you blindly reach down to curl your hand over the metal plate as if to rub yourself but of course you can’t. You just find your fingers impotently pawing over the spot where your cunt should have been while the sticky sensation of building slick seeps out of you to make a mess along the interior of it. It’s so frustrating that you could almost scream, and Sethos quickly hunches close to press his mouth against your temple when you become increasingly more agitated.

“Shhh. Just relax, habibti. We’ll have that off of you in no time and then I’ll play with your little pussy as much as you want, okay?”

“Please … stick it in, Sethos, I can’t take it anymore.”

Rumbling a low sound of pleasure, he carefully withdraws his fingers from your ass to leave it clenching around nothing while he works to get his pants unfastened. Panting heavily and clutching the front of his shirt in a death grip, you dazedly tip your head to watch him reach for the olive oil again. Another small drop directly to your asshole is quickly followed by a generous portion to his rigid cock which he pumps a few times to smear the copious liquid over it.

Then he’s finally nudging himself right up against you, using his hand to guide his length to your waiting entrance. The other wedges itself under your back to come up around on the other side, clutching you so tightly against him you can scarcely breathe. Angling his narrow hips up, he presses the fleshy head into you and begins to push inside, making your mouth drop open on a silent scream.

It felt good. So, so much better than his fingers had, and the immediate rush of ecstasy has you weakly shaking in his arms. The vibration of his masculine groan right next to your head all but has you seeing double and your head drunkenly lolls back while he works himself deeper, basking in the gradual stretch of your hole.

And he doesn’t wait for you to adjust, knowing you were already sufficiently loosened for him from all the other times you’d previously done this. He just starts thrusting, keeping his strokes evenly drawn out and steady to really make you feel the drag of him against your guts. You’re hyper aware of your sphincter weakly clinging to his length on the way out only to be forced back in on the next upward push and it drives you positively wild.

Especially when he latches onto your softly moving breast with the hand he’d wedged under your back, playing with the stiff nipple right through your shirt. Outright squealing in pleasure now, you fitfully buck your hips to push down on him and meet his plunging cock head on, earning another faltering groan from him.

“Good girl. Oooughn, that’s a good girl, beautiful. You like that? Huh? Like having my cock that deep in your ass?”

“Oh! God … h - harder, Sethos, please!”

A rattling breath puffs out of him in response but he obliges, working his flexing hips more vigorously to really drive himself into your softly squelching ass. The sharp sound of skin smacking against skin rises louder in the air as he drills into you with enough force to really make your tits bounce now. And his other hand quickly comes up to fumble with the hem of your top, shoving it out of the way to expose your chest.

Keening a delighted sound when he bends his head close to capture one of the bobbing nipples in his mouth, you carefully bring your head up to peer out over the sand dune. Sure enough, his friends are sitting around a small campfire some few yards away and they were definitely still within ear shot. But their attention largely remains locked ahead, focusing on whatever they were busying themselves with rather than the sordid display happening just behind them, and you’re reminded once again how different the rules of the desert actually are compared to that of the rainforest. Something like this would never fly in Sumeru City, surely.

But here it’s as if it’s so commonplace that even your shrill feminine cries don’t draw their glances. It was just as Sethos said. They’d seen much worse, had heard much worse and had likely done much worse themselves. Watching you get your ass stretched out on Sethos’ cock wasn’t even all that interesting to them, evidently.

Mewling a frazzled sound, you let your head fall back as you blindly reach down for your cunt again. Even knowing it’s an effort in futility isn’t quite enough to stop you from trying to follow through on the instinctive compulsion, and a pitiful whimper escapes you when your fingers just glance over cool, unfeeling metal. You could tell you were positively soaked through though, and you would be glad to return to the Temple to bathe.

But luckily you still feel the internal pressure within you steadily building even without being able to play with your pussy to help it along. Sethos does an excellent job of that between his pistoning cock and the concerted efforts of his mouth and hands on your tits. It’s almost as if in not being able to derive any pleasure from your cunt, every other erogenous zone on your body was all the more sensitive for it. Your nipples achingly throb in time with the rhythmic pulse in your ass, mirroring your wild heartbeat thrice over, and it doesn’t take long for you to reach the tipping point like this.

What finally sends you over the edge is Sethos, in all his cunning wisdom, taking pinching hold of both stiff teats and giving them a sharp twist. You plaintively squeal, back bowing dramatically to angle your pelvis just right to have him jabbing up at the perfect spot inside your guts. You cum with a violent shudder, wailing a stricken sound as your ass sporadically squeezes around him to milk everything it could get out of the orgasm.

That warm flutter of your walls squeezing around him seems to all but steal the oxygen right out of Sethos’ lungs and he wheezes, lurching against you with a wounded groan. His thrusts turn sloppy and uneven while he chases that pinprick high until he cums too, giving a sudden, fitful jerk to accompany the twitch of his cock where it’s buried deep inside you.

You haven’t even had enough time to recover from your own release yet and the sensation of him shooting off in your ass, painting your interior creamy and white, pulls an overwrought sound from your rattling chest. But then it’s over, just like that, and the two of you lay there for a long moment, panting against one another as the endorphin buzz settles over you.

Finally lifting his head to look you in the face again, Sethos reaches up to thoughtlessly push all that excess of thick hair back over his shoulder where it had started to slide forward. “Feeling any better now?”

It takes a good deal of effort not to roll your eyes but you abstain for the simple fact that … you did feel better, actually. “I hate to admit it and run the risk of further inflating your ego, but yes. I do. Are you happy?”

“Very.” He grins at you, leaning close to give the end of your nose a quick, playful kiss. “You’re always a much better listener when your body is happy.”

You can’t help but frown slightly at that. “What do you mean? I always listen to you. It’s not like I really have much of a choice.”

“Well, yes, but there’s a difference between listening and listening, if you know what I mean. Come on. You’re smart. You get what I’m trying to say, right?”

“I suppose so. What did you want to say then?”

Humming a soft little sound under his breath, Sethos pushes up on his elbow so he can look down at you, smiling that deceptively unassuming smile again. “I just wanted you to know that I understand where you’re coming from. Really, I do. I’d be pretty unhappy too if I were in your shoes, but we don’t need to make this any harder than it needs to be. Once I take over for grandfather, I’ll be happy to give you all the freedom you want. I wouldn’t even mind if you wanted to go back to the rainforest sometime.”

Your eyes go big and round, so caught off guard by what he’s saying that for a long moment you’re not quite sure what to say. Was he serious or … was this some sort of cruel trap?

“Really? You actually mean that?”

“Mhm! You’d just have to promise to come back, that’s all. You’ll still be my wife, you know.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #sethos #sethos x reader #self insert bullshit

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angelteyam · 2 years ago

Text

Water Girl (n.s.)

(gif not mine)

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Metkayina!Reader

Word Count: 10,612

Summary: You were...“different”. You had always been different. Yet something shifts when the Sully family arrives, literally crash landing into your village. No one had ever noticed you, and yet, for whatever reason, the eldest Sully boy suddenly can’t seem to get you out of his mind.

Warnings: major character deaded, floof, angst, moar floof, some kissy and touchy (nothin weird)

A/N: this is….a beast. also do not judge me for briefly mentioning neteyam’s unalivement, I literally do not have it in me to actually write it out.

- -

“Hush, payíva. Listen to the ocean.”

Payíva. Drop of water.

The first of many names your mother gave you. Granted, she had many names of her own that you’d bestowed upon her too when you learned to speak: mama, sa’nu, mom, mommy. It seemed only natural for her to give you a few of your own, but a couple stuck out as your favorites.

Payíva, for when you were young, and inconsolable from having skipped a sleep, and refusing to nurse due to the pain of your budding canines piercing through gum.

Stubborn. As always.

Kxali was overtired too, and having failed every attempt she knew to mother you, and Ronal’s treatments falling on deaf ears, your mother wrapped you tightly against her bosom using one of your father’s shawls, and walked with you along the shoreline.

Eywa, you were your father’s child.

Elpawe was with Tonowari on a warrior’s hunt past the reef. The trip was supposed to last a week, but by day three, you had dissolved from your father’s absence. And though neither you nor your mother knew this, Elpawe felt the distance between you was as wide as the chasm of Eywa’s great ocean.

You were too young to understand that your father, Tonowari’s right hand, would always come back. He had to come back - not just for his mate, but for you. From the day you were born you had him wrapped around your tiny fingers, and as much as your mother’s presence could comfort you, his aura was your salve.

So Kxali did what she could as a final plea, and used a leather belt to secure a warm, deep blue shawl around her hips, before tying it around her shoulders and tucking you into the fabric. Even she could scent your father in the fabric’s weave, and as she tucked you in against her chest, your knees and arms against her as if still in the womb, your howling cries that had lasted for days on end slowed to a dull whimper.

This whimper continued still, as Kxali scaled a small boulder at the water’s edge to rest with you, her toes dipping into the waves that swirled and tangled around the rock as they made their way to the sandy beach nearby. She settled back against the rock, one hand beneath you for support, and the other came to rest against your head in soothing, graceful strokes.

Another dull whimper from your small, plump lips.

“Hush, payíva. Listen to the ocean.”

Kxali let herself breathe as if she was beneath the water. Belly full of air, and heart beating in a rhythm that matched the waves lapping against the shore. A large wave crashed against the rock beneath you, and you whimpered again.

“Hush, my droplet. The waves are talking to you. The water is with you, just like mama.”

Another wave lapped against the rock, and as if it had heard your mother, it rolled against the shore in a smooth, slow motion, whisking away and leaving a smattering of beautiful shells behind.

Hush, small one.

The ocean seemed to speak, and as another wave came passing by, a few droplets of salty water landed against your forehead and trickled down to rest on the perfectly round tip of your nose.

And just like that, the wrinkles in your forehead disappeared, the tension melted from your eyelids, and your lips parted. A barely audible sigh escaped you, and your mother smiled above you as you began to softly snore.

Your father’s child, indeed.

As you grew older, the names your mother used for you did too. Most of the time you and your father shared the same one.

Skxawng.

Although reserved for you when you were behaving particularly like him - meaning, particularly stubborn - for your father, this meant he had missed something important.

Sometimes he had missed your orbits for hunting trips. This you could understand, for when Tonowari called, your father answered. He had to answer. Your mother wasn’t always so understanding, but these happenings could be forgiven for duty.

Most of the time however, and as most Na’vi males do, your father would blow right past something even though it was staring him right between the eyes. He couldn’t see a tulkun even if it smacked him across the face with a fin some days.

A forgotten chore, or a broken spear. Or, as was usually the case, returning from a tussle with another group of males, laughing and bantering as though it had never happened, and completely covered in scrapes and bruises.

Kxali would patch him up, of course, but if there was one thing your little mind knew, it was that you did not like to see your father hurt. Even the smallest scrape on his cheek would send you into a fit, and you’d worm your way into your mother’s grasp, dipping your hands into the healing sap so you could help your sempu feel better.

Through eyes full of tears, you’d rub your tiny fingers on the offending mark on your father’s skin - not fully grasping that rubbing the sap in harder would not in fact make the injury disappear. Elpawe would smile down at you, even through gritted teeth, and once done, you’d pull away to assess your work.

“Ma sempu all better?” You’d squeak, and he’d smile.

“All better, little one.” He’d sigh, and he’d pull you in tightly to his chest, grinning at your mother behind you.

And every time, Kxali would lightly smack him on the head.

“You skxawng. You know how she gets.”

And as you grew older still, your mother and father took to calling you the same thing.

Paysmung. Water carrier.

You may have been Metkayina, but something about your natural abilities in the water and with the ocean’s many creatures had even Ronal scratching her head. Your mother barely had to teach you a basic breath hold before you were swimming off like a fish, running your hands along an ilu’s belly as you swam beneath her.

You were the one who gave Tsireya her first breathing lessons. You were the one who discovered which shells looked the prettiest in bracelets, and which looked the best against the pitch black of hair. You were the one who started testing your breathing ability by fetching shells from the ocean floor.

Nothing entirely marvelous, true enough, but when you emerged from the ocean with piles of massive shells in your arms that no one had seen before, the waves clinging to your ankles as if they didn’t want to say goodbye, and no ilu in sight for that matter, you had the entire clan stumped.

Gradually, though, as you approached your rite with no desire to take after your father’s path of warrior or your mother’s path as healer, and as you continued to spend your days beneath the ocean’s blanket of safety with no interest in a mate, the clan and all her people started to forget about you.

Not Mama and Papa, of course. But neither of them particularly wanted you to follow in their footsteps. You were different. Softer, and quieter as you had grown with age. Sometimes you could fade into the water as if you were made of the ocean itself. And when you emerged, leaving behind small tokens for your parents that now covered every surface of your marui from floor to ceiling, hung across nets and dangling from ropes that made them twinkle like stars, well…neither of your parents was intent on discouraging you.

Elpawe held sway, too. Some sort of power in convincing Tonowari to let you be. You did not have the warrior’s spirit, or the spirit of a healer like your mother. And one thing your father was very certain of was that he did not want his little payíva to be forced into choosing a fate you would not readily choose on your own.

He even managed to convince Tonowari that you weren’t entirely useless. He did teach you how to fight, so you could defend yourself if you ever truly needed to. And your mother taught you to heal basic scrapes and mend small cuts, and to tend to the elderly and the sick. Where Ronal went, your mother followed, and you followed behind when you were needed. And when Tonowari watched you emerge from the water with a net full of fish you’d guided in as if you were their commander - well, that was a done deal.

And thus, you were left alone.

Left alone as your mother and father grew in their duties. Left alone with no siblings to keep you company, and with the village’s children skeptical of you from the beginning, you had no friends besides those who lived beneath the ocean. Left alone to bond with your own spirit sibling, your very own tulkun, who would take you swimming father and deeper into the blue water than you’d ever gone before.

Left alone with no mate, and no prospects who interested you, either.

Invisible.

That is, until the Sully family arrived.

You were on the outskirts of the village, hopping along a ring of rocks that stuck out from the ocean during low tide, when a group of five ikran flew overhead, circling a sandbar at the village’s edge. They landed in a flurry of sand, hands raised and unarmed.

And far too blue.

The clan emerged in droves from their marui, and rode in from the waves at every angle on ilu and skimwings in a rainbow of colors, gathering around the new arrivals like a school of fish. You watched Tonowari and your father approach from the water, dismounting their skimwings and moving towards the strangers. Your mother and Ronal came from the back of the village, winding their way through the crowd.

You sighed, having a feeling you’d probably be needed, and leapt into the ocean, allowing a swell to carry you towards the shore. You popped up next to Tsireya as she broke the water’s surface on her ilu, allowing yourself to catch your breath.

“What’s going on?” You wondered.

Tsireya shrugged and rolled into the water, strolling up through the shallows to meet Ao’nung and Roxto.

You watched as she and the smaller of the two sons met eyes, and as she tilted her head down to giggle.

Gross.

Of course Tsireya would immediately peak the newcomer’s interest. Why shouldn’t she? You may have been obtuse at the best of times, but you weren’t blind. Tsireya was one of the more beautiful girls in the village, and from the way the younger Sully looked at her, he wasn’t blind either.

You rolled your eyes and plopped down to your knees, wiggling them into the wet sand of the shallow water. The water reached your chest, allowing you to tilt your head and watch Jake Sully’s plea for uturu. As Tonowari looked to your father and mother standing behind him. As his eyes met Ronal’s, and they shared a knowing glance, communicating in a way only mates could without words, before granting Jake Sully’s request.

You could see your mother’s eyes scanning the crowd and the water below, before they found you with a knowing smile.

You smiled in return, and tilted your head in a silent gesture. You were going back out into the water. Your mother nodded, and signed to you.

Go. Be back before eclipse.

You nodded and pushed from the sand, legs extended as you floated onto your back, allowing your belly to fill with air before rolling over and diving below the surface, angling back to the spot from whence you came.

What you hadn’t noticed was the older Sully boy watching you the entire time.

After he’d shoved Lo’ak gently with his shoulder when the younger boy couldn’t peel his gaze from Tsireya’s, Neteyam’s eyes had scanned the crowd. Half to survey the surroundings and half out of an inherent protectiveness, while the rest of the clan had come to the shore, you had remained in the water, staring at his father with nothing more than blinking curiosity.

He could barely see you in between the throng of people. But something in the tilt of your head, in the doe-eyed innocence of your gaze, and the way the ocean clung to you like a second skin had him very, very curious.

When you pushed from the shore and floated on your back, rolling over and swimming away as if you were a fish instead of Na’vi, he had to chuckle.

You hadn’t even noticed him noticing you. After all, no one except your parents up to this point had out of anything other than animosity, or because you were “different”, and not in a good way. While some - Tonowari and Tsireya, like your father - were accepting of those different from them, much of the clan felt the opposite. And as a result, the clan preferred not to notice you.

But you noticed them.

You noticed everything. The glow of a new mother’s skin. A breaking fever. A warrior’s wound when it wouldn’t heal. Things you could appreciate in silence, small things more often than not. Secrets you could share with the water.

You preferred the ocean as your friend anyway.

But this - these new arrivals, this was a big thing. Several 9-foot tall things. And at first, Jake Sully, or rather Toruk Makto, commanded all of your attention. He mystified you. A walking legend. You knew his story, but seeing him in person was a whole different experience.

He may have been a legendary war hero, but he and his family knew nothing about the way of water. More than that, the oldest of his children looked to be about your age.

They were worth watching.

So when you watched their first diving lesson from afar, lounging on a large ocean rock, and when their first breathing lesson went less than spectacular, you too had to press the back of your hand to your lips to keep from laughing.

You may have been a skxawng, but these children reached a whole new level.

One of them - the girl, Kiri, seemed a lot like you.

She explored the same spots you did, ran her fingertips along the bellies of the rays just like you did, and plucked shells from the ocean floor as if she’d been doing it all her life.

So one afternoon, as you watched her scan the ocean floor, you unearthed an iridescent purple shell from the sand and swam over to her, pressing it to her palm with a smile. She smiled in return, and you nodded, swimming away.

From that moment on, Kiri was a kindred spirit.

You were never far apart, though you tended to drift away when a particularly colorful fish caught your eye. Call it a short attention span. But usually, you never swam too far, keeping her within your eye line.

You had enough shells as it was already. So if you found any more, you’d gather them for her, leaving her little piles on the beach as she sat in the shallows. Back and forth, almost like a game, if only so you could discover what her favorite color was. You were never gone more than a few minutes before you’d return to her side and lay in the sand together, letting the sun soak into your skin and warm the chill of the water.

You didn’t even really need to speak. Kiri understood your facial expressions more than words, particularly in the way you’d roll your eyes, so you’d just sit in comfortable silence together, building small structures out of sand and decorating them with the shells you found. Sometimes, little Tuk would join you, staying strictly to the shallower waters or the beach, allowing you to bring her tokens of appreciation as well. Tuk wasn’t picky - she didn’t have a favorite color. She liked everything you brought her, big and small.

It was a strange sort of comfort, having friends who didn’t even really need you to speak. You could just exist, even in silence, and it wasn’t uncomfortable. While the ocean may have been your friend thus far, it was nice to have friends of your own species.

And the more time you spent with Kiri and little Tuk, the more Neteyam noticed you.

The more he noticed the ease with which you hopped from boulder to boulder before diving into the water. The more he noticed the little treasures you’d find for Kiri and Tuk displayed in his family’s mauri. He started to wonder where they were coming from, and how they’d found so many. And then he started to notice that wherever Kiri was, you were usually within diving range. He started to notice the piles of treasures you’d leave her and Tuk, either on the shore or on the edge of their marui. Now, they grew to necklaces and bracelets, woven from their favorite treasures you’d found. A new braid that seemed to pop against their dark hair, a vibrant, colorful shell at its end.

You were never far away from his sisters, and as he was never very far away from them either, Neteyam became the very first to take notice of you.

To be fair, no female had peaked his interest yet either. He was far too busy staying attached at the hip to his baby brother until now. With Tsireya taking Lo’ak under her wing, Neteyam had the free time he’d never had before to take in the ocean around him.

And where there was ocean, you were usually swimming within its waters.

This time was valuable to Neteyam, and usually short lived. Stolen moments like the movement of the waves, there one minute and gone the next. Of course, as the eldest sibling, he still had to keep a reasonable eye on his younger brother and sisters. But with Jake learning the Metkayina’s ways with Tonowari and your father, Lo’ak under regular supervision by someone other than himself, and Kiri and Tuk always within the reef’s circle when they weren’t with Neytiri, Neteyam had the chance to take a breath.

In the same way Tsireya had caught Lo’ak’s eyes, you had captured Neteyam’s attention.

He started to learn your ways more than the Metkayina ways he was meant to be studying. He learned the boulders you favored when they appeared during low tide, and those you favored during eclipse. He learned your favorite paths to swim, and which you hadn’t explored yet.

And boy, it made him laugh when he’d trail you to one of said favorite spots, only for you to dive into the water without even blinking, not realizing he’d been following you.

Selective hearing, maybe, or pure tunnel vision, you usually only noticed the things you were interested in, or the things that were directly in your eyesight. Neteyam was worth noticing, of course, you just hadn’t laid eyes on him yet up close, and you hadn’t yet realized the irony of the one person you were destined for being the one thing you had failed to notice.

Like two moons passing. Two arrows firing towards the same target. Now, Neteyam was just holding his breath, waiting for the two of you to collide.

If you would ever open your skxawng eyes and notice him, for Eywa’s sake.

It took you a solid week to finally realize he existed. And the only way he managed to accomplish this was waiting for you to take your spot on a boulder during a particularly sunny afternoon. He dove in from the shoreline, scanning the ocean floor for something he knew would peak your interest, and found a smooth, polished sea stone that glistened like crystal. If it wasn’t for you, he would’ve kept it.

He’d grabbed it from the sand, and rubbed it clean with a few swipes of his fingers. It was the size of his palm and oval shaped, with no imperfections. When he turned it in his hand, it seemed to sparkle, reflecting the colors of the ocean and the whiteness of the sand. When he passed it by his face, he could see the yellow of his eyes reflected on its surface. Special, and perfect, and new, it was strange the way the stone reminded him of you.

He was positive you hadn’t found something like this yet.

He pushed from the floor with his feet, aiming straight for the boulder he could see you sitting on, your feet dipped in the water beneath you. Slowly, he eased to the surface and emerged from the water.

Your eyes flicked to him, narrowing when you noticed who it was. A low hiss left your lips, but Neteyam just…smiled.

You cocked your head, eyes still narrowed, skeptical of the stranger as he swam towards you. As he approached, he raised his hands, one still closed around something.

“What is that?” You gestured. “In your hand.”

Neteyam eased up towards the boulder and grabbed your wrist, extending your palm towards him, and placed the smooth stone within your grasp.

“For you,” he breathed. Still smiling.

You stared at the stone in your hands, flipping it between your palms and holding it up towards the afternoon light, allowing it to glint in your eyes. Neteyam just grinned, watching your increasing awe in what he’d found.

When you finally met his gaze, and he was still beaming up at you with a toothy grin like you’d never seen before, you couldn’t help but blush and gaze back at the stone in your hands.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Neteyam nodded, pushing off from the rock. He still wore that same bright smile.

As he floated back towards the shore where Kiri and Tuk were playing in the sand, he touched his forehead and released his palm towards you in a silent gesture.

I see you.

You could feel the heat spread across your cheeks. Turning your attention back towards the stone in your hands, you tried your hardest to keep your gaze from flicking back and forth towards Neteyam as he swam for his sisters on the shore.

Tried, and failed.

The way his deep blue skin seemed to ripple through the ocean water, instead of blending in like yours. The swing of his arms, and the dance of his braids as they floated behind him.

You could still feel the cool, smooth surface of the beautiful new treasure he’d brought you as it lay in your palms. And yet, your eyes stayed glued to him as he emerged from the water, stumbling a bit in the sand when he tried to shake the water from his braids. You chuckled, rolling your eyes.

Definitely a skxawng.

Later that evening, you placed Neteyam’s rock on a shelf in your marui, right in the middle of all of your favorite treasures. Tilting your head, you studied its presence among the rest of your collection, noting the way it reflected the colors of all the shells nearby, brightening their shades and making its own rainbow on the floor of the marui below you, taking the best pieces of each and turning it into something new and brighter. In all the time you’d picked pieces from the sandy ocean floor, you hadn’t found anything quite like this.

Neteyam had definitely gotten your attention.

The next day, you returned to the same boulder, sitting in silence as Kiri wandered the shore behind you. The rock was warm beneath you, and as you lay flat against its surface to bask in the sun, you heard a light splashing that was distinctly un-wave-like coming from your right.

“I know you’re there,” you sighed.

A chuckle came from the same direction as the splashing, and you felt a presence ease up from the water and climb across the boulder to lay next to you.

“How’s it going, water girl?”

Water girl.

And thus, your most recent nickname. You had to chuckle a little; only a skxawng like Neteyam would come up with a name like “water girl”. But alas, it did have a certain ring to it, and of the many names you’d had over the years, something in the way he said it made your insides flutter in a strange way you’d never known before.

It wasn’t paysmung, that was for sure. But it would do.

“Never better, tree boy.”

Another chuckle.

“Tree boy?”

You finally turned your head and opened your eyes to find him as close as he could possibly get without actually touching. His wide, yellow eyes were mere inches from your own, beads of ocean water still clinging to the tips of his eyelashes, and glistening from his forehead.

You couldn’t find it in your heart to try and lie to yourself - he was kind of pretty.

You smiled. “Water girl, tree boy. It fits.”

Neteyam smiled, and up close his smile was even brighter. It was effervescent, glowing like the rock he’d brought you the day before, and you couldn’t help but grin in response.

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, closing his eyes and turning his face towards the sun overhead, letting the warmth of the midday dry his skin.

And just like that, a peaceful silence settled in the air.

It wasn’t uncomfortable by any means, but as you watched the rise and fall of his chest, and the glisten of his cheeks as the light hit their peak, you swore a school of fish was swimming through your stomach. One of his hands rested gently against his stomach, lifting and sinking as he took slow, deep breaths. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn he was asleep.

His eyes fluttered open, and you snapped your eyes shut, feigning that they’d been that way the entire time, and that you hadn’t been staring at him as if committing his features to memory. You heard him chuckle softly, and when your eyes opened, he too was scanning your features.

As you watched his eyes flick from the top of your head to the pinnacle of your chest, where your neck dipped and curved into a hollow at its base, you felt your pulse quicken and a small ball of tension seemed to roll through the air around you. The school of fish in your stomach turned into a full swarm, dancing and spinning and tickling your insides.

No one - quite literally no one - had ever made you feel this strange sort of tension just from existing.

But in the same way you found him kind of pretty, he too was entirely raptured by your beauty. In the way the darker skin around your shoulders and hairline turned soft and creamy towards the center of your face. In the fullness of your lips, and the way they parted softly as he gazed at you. In the way the color of your eyes matched the blue of the ocean like no one else he’d seen, as if you were part of the water itself.

He turned toward you, resting himself on an elbow, eyes still scanning for any hesitation from you. But you were frozen, still as the rock beneath you, as he brought a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

He started to smile, and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, there was a commotion from the shore. You both sat up, tilting your heads to watch as Ao’nung approached Kiri as she lay in the shallows, three other boys following him.

Neteyam’s stare instantly hardened.

“I’ll be back,” he growled. “Stay here.”

You tried to reach for him, but he dove into the water before you could grab his wrist, swimming for the shore just as Lo’ak approached the group from the other end of the beach.

You watched as he emerged from the water, as he shoved Ao’nung away from Lo’ak, and prodded him with a finger to the chest. Ao’nung raised his hands, and as Neteyam pulled Lo’ak and Kiri away, you allowed a brief release of breath.

And then Lo’ak punched Ao’nung in the face.

Three times.

You were already on your feet when Ao’nung hit the sand, but when Neteyam scratched his head and leapt into the fray, you dove into the water in an instant.

You had just reached the shore when Lo’ak was being pulled by his tail, grasping the nearest Na’vi by the ear. After all, when Lo’ak was grabbed, he tended to grab right back, and with tenfold force. Even you knew this.

Kiri was safe, and fine, on the edge of the fight and trying not to laugh. Neteyam had a clear edge over another boy, and had him pinned by the full force of his body weight. And while no one at noticed your arrival yet, when you walked right up to Ao’nung and grabbed him by the queue, jerking him away, everyone stopped moving as Ao’nung let out a particularly girlish squeal.

Ao’nung’s eyes widened when he realized who had grabbed him.

“That’s…enough,” you growled. “Honestly, behaving like a child.”

You released Ao’nung’s braid, tossing it from your hands. You could feel Neteyam’s eyes boring holes in the back of your skull, Lo’ak’s too. But the way Ao’nung was completely baffled by your intervention, when you had done nothing of the sort for years, had a strange sort of pride swelling in your chest.

You were not one for fighting. Eywa, you weren’t even one for words. Ao’nung only knew of you as the silent freak, who was not even fun to pick on because you simply didn’t respond.

Suddenly, you’d barged right in, and while Neteyam had managed to get them to back off, you had Ao’nung gaping like a fish.

“Three of you,” you continued. “Against one. Really upstanding behavior, Ao’nung.”

Ao’nung’s eyes narrowed, and the surprise wore off.

But still, you kept speaking, tilting your head and matching his squint.

“Shall I fetch your father?”

Ao’nung instantly closed the distance between you, puffing his chest and squaring his jaw with yours.

“That’s rich,” he leered, “coming from the biggest freak of them all. You’re even worse than Kiri.”

Before you even had a chance to respond, and before the telltale tears could well in your eyes, your gaze was interrupted as Neteyam quite literally forced his way between you. He shoved Ao’nung aside for the second time, with such force that Ao’nung stumbled into the water.

This time, however, Neteyam kept one arm wrapped securely around your waist, and his tail around your upper thigh.

You were pressed flush to him, as if you were a second skin, giving you a front row seat to the clench of Neteyam’s jaw.

“Stop. Leave her alone.”

Ao’nung studied his surroundings. The three others still hadn’t stood from the sand, where they lay with hands clutching their various injuries. Lo’ak stood between them and Kiri, and despite the slight sway of his stance, his fists were clenched and his brow was hardened in a gaze eerily similar to Neteyam’s own stare.

And what was worse - from over Neteyam’s broad shoulder, you could faintly make out the silhouettes of Jake, Ronal, and Tonowari approaching from the edge of the village.

They didn’t look happy.

Ao’nung turned to his friends, and gave a slight gesture.

“Let’s go.”

They left, leaving you still pressed to Neteyam, your hand now resting against his bicep. It was warm beneath your fingertips, and you could feel the ripple of his muscle beneath your touch as he let go of you, replacing the smooth skin of his back with a firm grip on your waist as his eyes turned to meet your own.

“Go,” he murmured, voice lowered as if no one could hear. “Go back to the rock. I’ll meet you soon. I have to talk to my dad.”

You nodded, looking past him as Jake stopped halfway to you, just as Ao’nung passed him with the three others. You had only seconds before he would reach you.

Your eyes returned to his, dipping below to where a cut had opened in his lower lip.

“Will you be alright?”

He nodded. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

Reluctantly, you slid from under his grasp, and turned back towards the water. You turned briefly to Kiri and Lo’ak, making sure they too were alright, before you jogged away and leapt into the water, swimming for the same boulder you’d just come from.

You stopped halfway to catch your breath, and turned your head to where Neteyam was following Jake back towards the village. Jake had a firm grip on Lo’ak’s upper arm, and was tugging him along the sand, wearing the same scowl he’d had moments prior.

Neteyam’s head was hung low, his fist pressed to his cut lip, braids only barely swinging as he trudged behind his father.

You sighed. As you turned back to finish the brief swim to your boulder, you sent a silent prayer. Hoping Jake would go easy on them - particularly on Neteyam, who had only stepped in to protect Lo’ak, and who would have succeeded had the odds been more evenly matched.

When you reached the boulder and climbed out of the water towards the surface, you stood for a moment, watching the now miniature figures of Jake, Lo’ak, and Neteyam disappear into the shadows of village. You sighed again, and having hoped you’d be able to see them from your small vantage point, you sank down onto the rock.

Feeling perfectly hopeless.

If anything, you wished you had done more. You wished you had followed Neteyam immediately, or even more that you had managed to grab him. That you had dove into the water together, and approached the group at the right moment.

You wished, more than anything, that you hadn’t waited.

It was starting to gnaw at you - that your life seemed like a bottomless pit of waiting. That you had no power other than to stand still at life’s rocky edge, helpess to do anything other than watch as moments passed you by. You were the silent one; the powerless one. The freak, as Ao’nung had put it. And even if you tried, you could quite literally do nothing to help as those around you seemed to suffer.

Now more than ever, this gnawing deep within started to feel more and more like a heavy weight. It hadn’t bothered you until Neteyam had entered the picture, but the vision of his split lip, and the bruises beneath his right eye, and the scrapes on his chest now made the tears you’d held back come bursting to the surface.

You had only known him in actuality for no more than a day, and yet the way he’d come bursting to your rescue had you not only confused, and perfectly and completely smitten, but utterly heartbroken that he’d even needed to do so.

And moreover, entirely positive that you weren’t worth saving.

Kiri was - there was no question about that. Lo’ak definitely was, especially when he was that outnumbered and still managed to do considerable damage to his assailants.

And then…there was Neteyam.

Neteyam, who had successfully stopped the fight with nothing more than his presence.

Neteyam, who when you arrived had Roxto pinned beneath him, who had Roxto powerless to fight back as he swung punch after punch. Who would have won for the second time if there had been one less to account for.

Neteyam who, in truth, did not need your help winning.

You had yourself fully convinced of this by the time you heard a light splashing coming from your left, and growing closer. You felt the lump in your throat swell as Neteyam eased his way onto the boulder, and that same lump grew larger when he grunted at the effort of bringing himself to your side.

That groan, that all-encapsulating sound of pain, had you nearly shattering as your eyes opened, and you sat up to meet him face to face.

When his eyes met yours, and you came in full view of the now purple bruise beneath his eye, and the cut in his lip that was seeping blood, and the scratches on his chest that extended the full length of his right pectoral muscle, you made a strange squelching sound, and plopped your head to his left shoulder.

If you could have only seen the way Neteyam’s eyes widened at your touch, and softened at the feeling of wetness on his skin when he realized you were crying, you would have only broken more completely.

Neteyam was not used to girls he liked crying on him, that much was certain. In fact, Neteyam didn’t have much time for girls period. So the fact that you seemed to be upset - over him - was entirely perplexing, confusing, and perfectly heartbreaking, all at the same time.

Sure, he’d wanted you to notice him. Sure, he’d wanted you to return his pathetic attempts at affection, that he hadn’t yet realized you didn’t find pathetic in the least. Sure, he’d wanted to bring the two of you closer, and he’d wanted nothing more than your worlds to finally collide.

But not like this.

Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t particularly enjoy standing up for Lo’ak day in and day out - but that was his job. Literally, as the oldest brother, it was in his internal code to defend his younger siblings. It was his job to get Lo’ak out of the trouble he somehow managed to always be getting into.

But this - this was new. This was different, and ugly, and soul-wrenching. He loathed the feeling that ate him up inside now, as he brought up a hand to rest against the back of your head.

He’d seen Jake do this for Neytiri many times. He’d seen Jake comfort Kiri this way, and he’d seen it work.

What he hadn’t picked up on was the mirroring of pain that Jake felt when he had to comfort those closest to him. Realistically, Jake just hadn’t shown this, especially when his kids were around. It would have been helpful to know how much the sound of you crying - over him - would absolutely obliterate him, but then again, Jake probably would have never discussed it, even if Neteyam asked. It would have been helpful to know that by comforting you, that by taking away your pain, he would only be absorbing it into his own skin.

So, Neteyam did what he knew how to.

With the one hand still resting on your head, he brought the other to the small of your back, pulling you in as closely as he could, stroking your skin in soothing, circular motions. Hushing you, whispering in your ear, and trying with all his might to get you to stop crying. To make you stop being sad if he could.

Because as he thought about it, he realized he hadn’t yet seen you smile.

Actually smile.

You’d grinned, of course, and bared your teeth at him in a hiss. You’d smiled with your lips closed, and he’d seen you let out small smiles, only when you were around Kiri or Tuk. And he definitely hadn’t seen you laugh yet.

The moment he realized this, he decided right then and there that if he had any say in the matter, you wouldn’t ever be sad like this again. That he would never, ever give you a reason to cry over him again.

And just like it was his duty to protect his siblings, Neteyam made a solemn vow to himself, the ocean, and Eywa - and frankly, anyone who was listening - to add you to that list.

He would never again stand for a skxawng like Ao’nung, or anyone else, making you feel like you were less than the perfect being you were. And he certainly wouldn’t allow anyone else to ever again make you feel like you were a freak. To Neteyam, you were as perfect as the stone he’d brought you the first time you met, and the moment you were done crying, he was going to make sure you knew it.

And if Ao’nung wasn’t already bruised into the ground from Lo’ak’s powerful right hook, then Neteyam was going to put him there, chief’s son or not.

Neteyam let loose the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. For the first time since he’d climbed up to meet you on the rock, his focus shifted from where you sat silently, head still resting on his shoulder, tears slowed and breathing returning to an even keel, to the salty water stinging the cut on his lower lip.

You felt him shift, as he brought the hand that had been resting on your lower back up to his lip, and you felt him tense beneath you at the self-inflicted pressure. A low groan left him, and you finally had to tilt back from your spot against his shoulder to study his face. He was blinking from the pain, his tongue rubbing at the offending cut, smearing a trail of blood across his chin.

You brought your hand to his, pulling it away from his face to give you full view of where his once perfect lower lip bore a gash the size of your thumb. You winced, and brought your free hand to his cheek, stroking with your thumb the area that had bruised beneath his eye. And without thinking, you leaned in, gently pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth where there was no cut.

Perhaps you thought it would make him feel better. Perhaps you thought you could take away some of his pain. Perhaps you were hoping for some sort of redemption, after you had behaved quite unlike yourself for the past few hours. After you hand dissolved at the mere sight of him, and had sat there like a skxawng with your head in his shoulder, your salty tears soaking into his skin.

Still, you had no idea what came over you.

Now though, as you studied his face, and his still widened eyes from your half-kiss, and ran a gentle finger over the scratches on his chest, you felt your normal steely resolve return somewhere deep within you.

“You’re hurt,” you murmured.

Neteyam shrugged. “It’s fine.”

As he spoke, the blood was beginning to pool, even from such minimal effort. You shook your head and stood from the rock, pulling him up with you by the hand.

“Come. Let’s get you patched up.”

You dragged him down the line of boulders, chuckling softly when he nearly missed a jump, stumbling slightly from the rocky surface. As you reached the outskirts of the village, you both slowed from a jog to an easy walk, Neteyam only needing to extend his gait to come level with you, his arm brushing against yours as you made your way to your marui.

You had to swallow down the slight spark of excitement building in your throat at his touch, and forced your focus to narrow on the injured boy following you.

This was no easy feat, to be sure. But as you entered your marui, and gestured for Neteyam to sit on your mat, you felt that same steely resolve take over as you gathered your supplies.

When you turned back towards him, a pile of bowls and dressings in your hand, Neteyam yet again had his hand against the cut, and his tongue running against it’s edge.

“Stop that,” you barked, “You’re making it worse.”

Neteyam’s hand dropped to rest in his lap, and as you knelt before him, organizing your supplies at your side, you could feel him watching you. Studying you.

You chose for the moment to ignore his piercing gaze. Instead, you brought a hand to his ankle, gently pushing it aside where he had been sitting cross-legged, allowing you to scoot your way in between his legs. He allowed his arms to stretch out behind him, resting the majority of his weight on the heels of his hands.

When he had made himself mostly comfortable, you started with the scratch on his lip. If only just to get him to stop messing with it.

You cleaned it first, wiping away the smears of blood, and after you’d cleaned and sanitized it, you gently applied pressure with a clean cloth.

“Hold here,” you whispered, and Neteyam obeyed, bringing one hand to rest upon the cloth.

This gave you the chance to apply a smooth, buttery healing salve to the bruises beneath his eyes, and those smattering the skin around his neck and chest. Next, you applied the same salve gently to the scrapes on the skin of his chest, and wrapped a bandage from around his shoulder to cover them, and to allow the salve to seep into the cuts so they would heal. The muscles in his chest rippled beneath your touch, and a low hiss left his lips from the slight, momentary sting as you finished your work.

Finally, you gently pulled his hand away from his lip, removing the cloth with it.

The bleeding had stopped from the pressure, and the wound was now clotted. You took the same salve on the pad of your forefinger, and eased closer to Neteyam, your face mere inches from his own. Studying the wound, you brought a hand beneath his chin to steady him, and bending forward, you flicked your eyes up to meet his.

“This will sting again,” you muttered, waiting for him to gently nod.

When he closed his eyes, you went to work, applying the salve as quickly and gently as you could so the sting wouldn’t last.

You didn’t even notice that as you finished your work, removing the bandage from around his chest where the salve had soaked into his skin, Neteyam could not stop staring at you. You didn’t notice, that is, until you bent back, resting on your heels, and came face to face with him.

This time, Neteyam had closed the distance between you, his knees resting against yours, and has he brought one hand to tangle in your hair, his other hand swept a stray strand behind your ear for the second time that day.

And just like that, your breath was stolen from you in a small sigh that left your lips.

For a moment, everything seemed to pause.

For a moment, it was just you and him, eyes connected. His piercing gaze seemed to search yours, eyes flicking back and forth, scanning for any sign of hesitation from you. One of his hands rested on your cheek, and the other rested against the back of your neck, still tangled in your thick hair. He blinked once, twice, still studying you for any sign of pause, or resistance.

And other than the fact that you had stopped breathing almost entirely, there was none.

Your heart didn’t even have time to skip a full beat before Neteyam brought his lips to yours.

For a moment, all you could taste was the tangy bitterness of the salve against your lips. For a moment, it seemed as if your lips hadn’t actually met yet, the salve creating a slippery barrier between you where your lips couldn’t find traction.

And then Neteyam was pulling away, just for a moment, laughing breathlessly, grabbing the cloth from beside him and wiping away the salve from his lips and yours.

You laughed, really honestly laughed as he palmed the cloth against your lips, muffling the sound only slightly, and you squeezed your eyes shut as he brushed the cloth against your lips.

He was laughing too, and once the salve was gone, the both of you had to pause, catching your breath.

Of course your first real kiss would be tainted by a skxawng with a cut on his lip, that you had just spent time trying to heal.

When both of you had caught your breath, Neteyam’s eyes met yours, and he smiled at you. You already thought his smile was blinding, but now, you swore you could see the stars reflected in his wide grin. You couldn’t help but smile in return, a breathy chuckle leaving your lips.

“You skxawng,” you breathed. “I just fixed that cut.”

Again, Neteyam closed the distance between you, hands gripping beneath your thighs to draw you into his lap, where you wrapped your legs around his waist and draped your arms over his shoulders. As you rested there, safe and warm within his grasp, your gaze meeting his, Neteyam let loose a deep, weighted sigh. And again, his hand came up to rest against your cheek, his thumb gently stroking against your lower lip.

He shrugged, grinning still.

“I don’t care.”

And for the second time that evening, with bated breath, Neteyam closed the short distance between you and brought his lips to yours.

This time, you had the upper hand. This time, he angled his head to parallel with your own, allowing the kiss to instantly deepen. This time, his hands gripped and massaged at the skin of your thighs, coaxing a sigh from your lips that met with his own heavy breathing in a tangle of knotted air.

This time, instead of the bitter salve, all you could taste, all you could feel was him.

He tasted sweet, and minty, with a salty edge that reminded you of the ocean. And while his lower lip had been marred by a deep cut - which you would be thanking Ao’nung for later - the rest of his lips were plump and soft and perfect against your own. Like molten lead, or a pair of pearls fused together with time, his lips against yours matched like two pieces of the same cloth.

And slowly, a knot began to grow within you, deep within your core, that had you positively certain you couldn’t get enough of him.

Neteyam couldn’t get enough of you either. When your small, soft hands scratched against his chest, he let out a low moan that he was positive he’d never made before, and he grabbed at you with a force like he was going to sink you into his skin and never let you go, like he couldn’t exist without you.

And maybe, in truth, he could, but as you pushed from his lap and grabbed him by the neck, pushing him against the mat beneath you in a furious tangle of teeth, lips, and limbs, Neteyam was absolutely certain that while he could live without you, he definitely didn’t want to.

It was there, on the floor of your marui, that you stayed with him until eclipse had long passed. Until your lips had become bone dry, and his cut had come open again. Until all the breath had sucked from your lungs, in a way you’d never felt before in all your years mastering breathing where there was no air.

It was there that Jake and your father found you both, dead asleep, tangled up together and splayed out on your mat. A blanket covered you, and one arm was wound around Neteyam’s chest, your legs wound between his.

Jake hadn’t seen Neteyam sleep this peacefully in years - not since Lo’ak had started walking.

His eyes met your father’s, and they shared a knowing grin, before backing out of the marui to meet with Neytiri and Kxali on the edge of the village. Neither of them had the heart to interrupt the two sleeping teenagers, and both of them seemed to have a deep understanding that while the two of you had grown up apart, now, you had found each other. Now, you had found a small slice of peace, and though they didn’t particularly enjoy the thought of the mischief you two would get up to together, it paled in comparison to the thought of forcing you two apart.

Neither Jake nor Elpawe were going to let that happen.

Of course, Lo’ak took the mickey out of Neteyam when he returned to his family’s marui the next morning. The Mighty Warrior had spent all night, tangled up with a girl? In Lo’ak’s eyes, Neteyam deserved some teasing.

Neteyam took it well as always, shoving Lo’ak gently by the chest, playfully grinning as Lo’ak shoved him right back, sending Neteyam stumbling over the marui’s edge and right into you.

You caught him by his arms, steadying him.

Seeing Lo’ak behind him grinning like the devil, and surrounded by his family, you tilted your head and gestured towards Neytiri and Jake.

“I see you,” you spoke, bringing your finger from your forehead towards Neteyam’s parents.

They nodded, returning the favor, and you did not particularly like the knowing grin on Jake’s face, or the steam that seemed to be coming from Neytiri’s ears at the sight of her oldest son with a stranger from another clan. But when Jake placed a hand on Neytiri’s knee, she softened, and smiled up at Neteyam.

“Go,” she said, “And be back before eclipse this time, please.”

Neteyam nodded, not speaking, his face turning a brilliant shade of red. Chuckles arose from his siblings, and you could hear the entire family dissolve into laughter as Neteyam tugged you by the hand towards the beach.

When you reached the shoreline, plopping down into the sand, Neteyam sitting next to you, you finally let loose the laughter you’d been holding in.

Your head tilted back, you let out a loud, barking laugh, shaking your head, and looked to Neteyam.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, in between a fit of giggles. “I’m so sorry.”

The way he was looking at you, brows quirked, studying you again, made you remember that first day on the rock, when you had studied him the same way as if you were committing his features to memory. You didn’t realize of course, that Neteyam actually was committing your bright smile and the sound of your laugh to memory, somewhere deep in his mind where he would never forget it.

And then he smiled, and laughed with you, and tackled you into the sand, sending you both into another fit of howling laughter.

When he pulled back, only for a moment, he smiled down at you, and waited for you to smile in return, before connecting his lips with yours. This kiss was new, and different - passionate, tender, and slow, his lips seemed to dance with yours. Not only that, but he brought one leg between your own, the other pressed firmly into the sand beneath you, and his entire upper body seemed fused with yours in a perfect molding of skin against skin, like roots digging beneath the earth.

Again, you found peace within each other’s touch. The world around you disappeared until it was just you and Neteyam. Even the sand beneath you faded away, and all you could feel was his chest pressed to yours, and his hands gripping at your waist and your thighs and anywhere he could easily reach. You were certain he was going to leave bruises behind where his fingers dug into your skin, but if you were positive of one thing, it was that you didn’t mind.

If you could have one wish, if Eywa could grant you one thing, it was that you could stay here forever with him on the warm sand, tangled up in his arms, his braids tickling against your cheeks, his smile mirroring yours when he pulled away, breathless and sighing.

When he did pull away to breathe, you didn’t let him stay apart from you for very long.

In the same way he’d grasped at you like you were a lifeline, you wound your arms around his shoulders and pulled him back into you, reconnecting your lips in a flurry of motion, and wound your legs around his hips, giving him access to the soft skin of your thighs.

And if you were feeling particularly bold, you’d grasp him with your legs and tackle him into the sand, pinning him beneath you in a wild spray of hair and limbs and breathless laughter.

There you’d stay for as long as you could, hands against his chest and lips fused together like iron, his own palms exploring places they hadn’t before, running up and down your back, and your thighs, and the roundness of your bum, squeezing and grasping at any soft parts of your skin that he could reach.

You’d let him, sighing breathlessly against his lips. And sometimes, you’d pull him into a sitting position, grabbing at the nape of his neck. The more you started to explore each other, the more you discovered things you liked about his supple skin, and the more marks he left on your own, in the soft spots where your neck met your shoulder. You too left a few marks of your own, in little scratches on his back, or in the equally buttery soft skin of his neck and shoulders. The more marks you left behind, the more beautiful noises you coaxed from his lips, and the more you enjoyed peppering his skin with brands claiming him as yours.

Days, and weeks, and months passed like this, in a beautiful blur of young love.

Neither of you planned for Neteyam to leave you behind.

And what was worse, you hadn’t even been there when it happened. You were there for his funeral, off somewhere in the water as Jake and Neytiri laid him to rest with your ancestors. As Lo’ak and Payakan swam by, brother with brother. When Jake and Neytiri went to the Spirit Tree, you followed them, tucking yourself deep into the branches where they couldn’t see you, and connecting your queue to one of the glowing palms.

When Jake found you on the beach a few days later, crying into your hands, he had plopped down in the sand next to you in a manner eerily similar to Neteyam.

When he’d wrapped an arm around you, bringing you into his chest, he told you - and only you - what he’d seen in the visions the Spirit Tree gave him the night of Neteyam’s funeral.

Somewhere in the middle of his story, your tears had slowed. Somewhere during his tale, you’d looked up from your hands, wiping away your tears, and leaned into his strong embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Jake uttered in reply, squeezing you a bit tighter. “I’m sorry too. He loved you, you know.”

You nodded, sniffling.

“I know. I loved him, too.”

Later that evening, as your mother came and kissed you goodnight, wiping away a few stray tears from your eyes, she lay next to you and sang you to sleep with the same song she’d sung during your early years.

You’d cried in her arms for several minutes, and she’d whispered in your ear just as Neteyam had. It had only made you cry more, how little things were reminding you of him, chipping away at the gaping hole he’d left behind.

As you finally drifted off, your mother still stroking your hair, she’d whispered to you in the silence, just as she’d done when you were a baby.

“Hush, paysmung. Listen to the ocean,” she murmured softly. “He is in the water now. He is with you.”

- -

You padded along the beach, one hand held above your brow to shield you from the sun, toes digging into the sand as you hopped along, jumping over shells the waves were leaving behind. The trees blew in the wind, and the waves were on your left, crashing against the sand and pulling back into the ocean.

Your hair blew in the breeze behind you, cooling you from the warmth of the sun, and you turned, smiling, to watch as Neteyam came jogging up to meet you.

Oh, Neteyam.

He was even more stunning in your dreams, if it were even possible, and his effervescent smile still had the power to make you smile in return.

He came running up to you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his chest, lifting you off your feet and spinning you in circles. Making you smile, and laugh, your head ducking into his shoulder as your long hair tangled with his braids.

When he set you back on your feet, the both of you slightly dizzy, you smiled up at him, your arms still wound around his neck. His arms were still tightly around your waist, strong and muscular, pressing you flush against him.

One of his hands released a braid from where it had stayed tangled in your long, wavy hair, but while one of his arms stayed wrapped around you, his free hand came to rest softly against your cheek.

“How’s it going, water girl?” He breathed, smiling.

Suddenly, a great sadness overcame you, and even in your dreams you felt a lump rise up in your throat, constricting you.

“My Neteyam,” you croaked. “Why did you have to leave?”

“Ah, water girl,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes, and brought his forehead to yours, your breathing tangling together as a few stray tears escaped down your cheeks. When your eyes finally opened, tears were spilling down his cheeks too, and you brought your thumbs to swipe them away.

You were allowed to cry - Neteyam was not.

“It’s okay,” you gasped. “I’ll be okay.”

Neteyam smiled sadly at you, brushing your hair from your face. The both of you could tell you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“I know. I know you’ll be okay, water girl.”

He brought his lips to yours, pressing them together in slow, tender circles. A breeze blew through, sending your hair blowing wildly behind you, the beads of Neteyam’s braids clicking against each other in the wind. And still, you did not break apart for as long as you could bear, only separating from him when the both of you could no longer breathe.

Once again, he brought his forehead to yours.

“I can’t stay,” he murmured. “You have to wake up soon.”

Your chest started feeling as if it was going to cave in, and a panic rose up within you like a great wave.

“No,” you choked out. “I don’t want to, I don’t want you to go.”

“I know.”

Neteyam ran his thumb across your cheeks, swiping away another wave of tears from your skin.

“I know, my love.”

A great wave crashed from behind him, splashing up against your calves, tangling you in the water.

“It’s time,” Neteyam sighed.

“No,” you protested. “No.”

You grabbed onto him as tightly as you could, digging your face into his shoulder and pulling him into you.

“Please don’t leave me,” you cried between sobs, “Please. I don’t want you to leave.”

“I know. But it’s time. The ocean is calling,” Neteyam said as he separated from you, holding both of your hands in his.

Another great wave crashed onto the shore, rising up around you and pulling Neteyam from your grasp.

“Neteyam, no!”

Neteyam looked out at the ocean, and turned back to you, a bright smile once again adorning his beautiful features. He reached for you, your fingers barely touching his, the ocean rising and pulling the two of you apart.

“Don’t worry, my love. I’m with you.”

As he swam off into the water, you watched him until he was a small speck on the horizon. It was only then that he turned, and waved at you in a silent goodbye.

As you waved back, the ocean swelled around you, wrapping you in a tight embrace that smelled distinctly like him.

Don’t worry, water girl. I’m never very far.

- -

ow this horted

thank you for reading

xoxo, carrie

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