#and finding out her voice is like that healed child me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astraystayyh · 8 months ago

Text

The snow falls, we fall apart.

summary: when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.

genre: producer student!hyunjin x reader. roommates!au. friends to lovers. acute descriptions of heartbreak and general sadness. slow burn. hurt/comfort. healing and hopeless romantic hyune. very inspired by long for you so lots of pining and yearning. (wc: 13k)

warnings: mentions of alcohol. it is implied that reader was in an a very toxic relationship but no details are shared.

a.n: happy birthday to my hyunjin, my muse, my light. thank you for being so full of love that it made me love love again in return. this is i think my most personal piece, and i hope it reminds those who need it that love should be soft and kind, that it shouldn’t hurt, that it should heal not break. i love you guys and i love you my xi, writing this collab with you has been a true honor <3 also!! please listen to long for you while reading :,)

winter falls masterlist.

You’ve only ever felt utter despair twice in your life.

First, when you were seven years old, playing hide and seek with your cousins at your grandma’s house. It was a warm summer afternoon, the air sweetened by pastries you devoured hours ago. You decided to hide in a wooden cabinet up in the attic, only to end up stuck there. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the oxygen seeping away from the cracks underneath the door, leaving you deprived of air, of life.

Second, at twelve, when you've come to discover sorrow's new facet, clad in grief's heavy cloak. Your parents adopted a hamster for your birthday, but they did not know he had a terminal disease. You were distraught, to say the least, when you awoke to its still form, death claiming a frail heart unaware of its imminent fate.

And now, third, many many moons later, you are knocking on Hyunjin’s door a few minutes after midnight. It is cold out, tears tracing rivulets on your cheeks, your fingers tinted pink from roaming outside in the harsh winds, your heart much heavier than when you were a child. More grief-stricken, at your own hands, this time.

A disheveled Hyunjin opens the door, his blonde ash hair tousled and sticking upwards, a clear indication of the many times he had run his hands through it in fits of frustration. His gray hoodie zipped up hastily, revealing the silver cross necklace he was wearing, nestling perfectly against his honeyed skin.

You've always had an aversion to seeking comfort, saw it as revealing your deepest vulnerabilities to a world that isn't always kind. It was easier, much simpler to do so when you were a clueless child— when you sank in your cousin Lia's hold as she attempted to steady your breathing, when your mother cradled you in her lap after Pinky died.

It is much harder now, much more embarrassing because Hyunjin has never seen you this sad, never glimpsed your shadows that now swarm his doorstep, unannounced.

“What's wrong?” he quickly asks, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds. He wouldn’t find any. All your injuries stem from within— blood doesn’t have to be spilled for your heart to weep.

You had rehearsed a lie as you walked up to his doorstep. You would say that your car broke down near his place and ask if you could stay over for the night. He would insist he could drive you to your place and you’d refuse, saying that it was too late and you did not wish to bother him. You’d sleep on the couch and slip away in the early hours of the morning.

Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that dismantles the fortress you've hidden in, melts the lie in your throat, morphing it into a steel lump coiling in your throat. He looks concerned when all you’ve had directed towards you recently was anger. And you missed someone looking at you in care, not reproach.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” You admit, your voice shattered, fragments of your vocal cords scattered out in the wind like a broken mosaic, the sound of it scraping against your ears.

Blow one hurt. It felt like your body turned against you as it deprived you of oxygen. The sobs that escaped you once you perceived the light pained you, perhaps more than being confined in the darkness.

Blow two was even worse, it was your first time experiencing grief. It was too hard of a concept for your innocent heart to grasp, too complicated for you to find solace in anything as adults do.

You promised yourself that you’d reserve blow three for monumental agonies— big pains and big sorrows only. That’s how you managed to keep all your tears at bay for most of your life. Would they be worth losing your third sob for? No, you've always found the answer to be.

And in all the twisted scenarios you’ve conjured up in your mind, deaths and illnesses and the haunting tale of failure, you did not imagine that it would happen on Hwang Hyunjin’s doorstep. That you’d burst into sobs at the compassionate look in his gaze, and the sad smile he sent your way. As if he knew, as everyone did around you. That you had handed a knife to a serial killer and it was only a matter of time before he stabbed you in the heart.

Two weeks ago.

“I’m trying to understand you but you aren’t helping me,” Seungmin is frustrated as he paces relentlessly before you from left to right like a swinging pendulum. You sit on the couch, beholding only his shoes, avoiding his gaze that would reflect the truth you dare not confront.

“He’s sucking the life out of you, can’t you see that?”

You can, out of everyone that surrounds you, you can see it the most. You feel as if you are carrying a skin that isn’t your own, weighed down by a relationship that has taken everything from you. But admitting it is admitting that you were wrong, in trusting him, in loving him. You couldn’t bear it.

“We are fine!” you shout back, the defiance in your voice surprises even you. This is a familiar script with Seungmin, a recurring conversation spurred by your puffy eyes and diminishing appetite. He tells you, begs you to leave, but where could you go? How could you leave a home where you've shed all your treasured belongings at the door— your skin, your bones, your very self.

What place would welcome you now that you're stripped bare of your soul?

“When was the last time he made you smile, huh? All he does is hurt you, and you...” he chuckles incredulously, running his hand through his hair. “You are letting him.”

Deny, deny, deny.

“This isn’t true. He loves me,” the words taste foreign in your mouth like rusty metal dragging across your lips. A small voice whispers that love shouldn't feel like this, but you quiet it down.

“Are you hearing yourself? Yn, I…” he kneels before you, his hands resting comfortingly on your knees. This is Seungmin, your best friend of five years. You know he has your best interests at heart, you are even more sure of it when his voice softens, shakes slightly when he utters your name. “Yn, please. I’m trying to help you. Please.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you push away his hands, standing up. “I don’t want your help, and I don’t need it.”

You quickly leave Seungmin’s dorm, your heart heavier than when you entered it, foolishly hoping that he'd ignore your distressed state after yet another fight with your boyfriend. But Seungmin doesn't understand, no one around you does— you’ve gambled your heart, and you cannot stop drawing the cards, even in the face of losing strikes.

❁ ❁ ❁

Hyunjin offers you a cup of tea with a gentle smile and you grab the steaming drink from his hands. The smell of chamomile wraps around your senses, and your brain fizzles out for a second before the soothing aroma. But it is a fleeting respite, the tempest of your thoughts crashes back onto you with an unsettling force, causing you to almost drop the drink as your hands shake. You place it down the table without taking a sip.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” you apologize, wincing at the intrusion, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“I always sleep late. Don’t worry about it,” he smiles, but you know it isn’t a genuine grin, because his eyes betray an unsubdued concern, refusing to morph into their usual moon crescents.

You’ve always thought that Hyunjin wears his emotions openly— when he laughed, he did so loudly, his boisterous giggles traveling around Seungmin’s dorm. When he hurt himself, everyone in the vicinity would know so from his loud yelps. And when something worried him, he would bite his lip, toying with the plush flesh to ease his nerves.

As he is doing now. Looking at you.

“We broke up,” you quickly say, and your words hang over you like a gloomy cloud. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you want me to fight him? I’ll bring changbin too,” he suggests a serious tone underlying his playful offer, and it manages to tear a reluctant giggle out of you.

“Changbin doesn’t know me well enough to fight for me,” you counteract and he shakes his head. “He’ll fight for me, I'm his princess.”

“Are you now?” The giggle escapes your mouth less forcefully, and the smile that graces Hyunjin’s face is a genuine one.

“I am. My proposal stands,” he extends his hand and you wrap your fingers around his palm. “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind,” you smile but he frowns, flipping your hand around in his hold.

“You are freezing,” he whispers, using his other palm to rub warmth into yours.

“It’s fine,” you lie, slipping your hand out of his grasp, not feeling deserving of his kindness.

Wordlessly, Hyunjin stands, walking into what you assume is his bedroom. You only know of his place because you dropped off Seungmin here some time ago. You are too exhausted to even drink in the interior.

“Here,” he returns, handing you a navy hoodie of his and black joggers. “This will keep you warm at night.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hesitating for a few seconds before speaking again. “Can you please not tell Seungmin, I... I can't face him right now.”

“Of course. I’ll be awake still if you do need something.”

Hyunjin’s clothing is warm, although peeling away your own garments felt like shedding layers of your skin, as if the fabric melted into your very flesh, just like memories from the day did. You have never felt this worthless before, discarded like a forgotten leaf on the roadside, one he stepped on for his own enjoyment, leaving you crushed in his wake, unable to fly away again.

Hyunjin’s rose perfume wraps around you, and you find relief in sleeping somewhere where your, his, scent was no longer around. You foolishly hope that if you close your eyes hard enough, you’ll manage to convince yourself that you’re someone else, tonight. Someone who isn’t tethered to the heartache, someone who can slip away from the clutches of a love that hurts more than hate could ever manage to do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Heartbreak isn’t beautiful, no matter how eloquently you try to dress it in the syllables of poetry, no words can soften the burn in your lungs, the searing ache that courses through your very core, reminding you that deep within, down to the fundamentals of your being and the most basic alchemy that ties your atoms together— you are unlovable. Whether you cut your hair or allow it to grow, change your heart, or leave it as it has always been, you will remain so.

You don’t remember much of the past week, blurry fragments here and there that float in your mind like a distorted water reflection. There is little room for memories when you are busy trying to remember how to breathe— one inhale in, one exhale out. The simple concept seems harder when there are unkind hands permanently lodged into your heart, squeezing it tight.

What you do remember is telling Seungmin through text the next day, because you couldn’t bear the way his eyes would soften if you spoke to him in person. No signs of surprise cast on his figure, because he knew that it was long coming, a train with one final inevitable destination— you in shambles, him okay.

You remember Seungmin cradling you in his arms when he came to see you, and you trying desperately to keep the tears at bay— too focused on pinching your arm to let Seungmin’s warmth radiate through your being, Hyunjin lingering uncomfortably by the entrance of his living room.

You remember begging Seungmin to grab your belongings from the apartment you shared with your ex because you were unable to face him, him, and everything that your old place spelled out for you. Stand in the ruins of what you once thought would be your permanent home.

And now, you watch as Seungmin and Hyunjin bring suitcases full of your stuff into the latter’s place. And you feel like an outsider in your own body, standing at the corner of the room gazing at utter destruction, unable to stop it, unable to mend it. Seungmin quickly reassures you that you could crash in his and Minho’s place until you find a new one to live in, already taking out his laptop to search for new apartments for you.

But you did not care for it, your eyes zeroed in on the satin shirt peeking out of your suitcase. The one he bought you on your first month anniversary. Back when love felt like a gentle feather running down your spine, and not a dull knife slicing away at your skin.

“This place's expensive too,” Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple warily. Your logical best friend could not fix your heartbreak but he took it to heart to alleviate your other troubles. You would thank him for it, later, when your tongue finds enough will to move.

“What if you move in with me?” Hyunjin suddenly says and his words filtrate through the fog in your mind easily, as if he rehearsed them enough times so they’d roll out smoothly out of his mouth. “I mean, Felix is away for the next year since he went back to Australia. And I was looking for a new roommate anyway.” He shrugs and Seungmin turns to look at you, his eyes convey the question his mouth doesn’t articulate— is it okay with you?

“I don’t…” your voice is croaked, so you clear your throat. “I don’t want you to do things out of pity.”

“I’m not. If I was, I would've told you to move in with me for free. I still need you to pay rent,” he raises his eyebrows, a playful tease and you smile in relief, nodding, “Okay, I will. thank you.”

Heartbreak is ugly and all-encompassing, weaving through the roots of your heart and infecting each organ with its insidious touch. It renders you immobile, incapable of performing the simplest tasks, burdened by a weight unseen by the world. But you try your best, your very best to contain it.

You smile at the cashier as she hands back your money only to wonder if her soft, well-manicured hands would too crush a soul without remorse. You go to all your classes without fail but your mind is elsewhere, contemplating why the sun filtering through the windows no longer warms your skin. Can nerve endings perish when subjected to too much pain? What's left of life when you can no longer feel the caress of the sun?

You watch a movie at Seungmin's dorm but your mind is elsewhere, fleeting to this morning and how you refused to stay in the shower for more than three minutes because your thoughts might become haunting ghosts tempting you to follow them. You brush your hair and spray your perfume, only because you have to, because you live with Hyunjin and you wouldn’t want your sadness to taint him too. You wonder how long you’ll have to bear it. You wonder if it’ll ever leave you or if the veins in your heart have molded themselves after the pain and they wouldn’t know how to accept happiness anymore.

You greet Hyunjin as he walks past you, shaking your head when he asks you if you want to eat dinner with him, quickly retracting back into your room. You have ten unread messages and a pile of growing laundry you need to do, but all you can muster is to gaze at the empty walls, mirroring the void within you. Your mom told you to call her again and you don’t know how you’ll speak to her without bursting into a sob, how you’ll tell her that all it took was one person to break you. Or maybe it was two people, your hands and his tearing apart your flesh and bones. Maybe that’s the worst part about it. So you don’t call her.

And you only ever emerge from your room when you need to, just like now because your water bottle is finished and you need to refill it. You go to open the kitchen door when you hear Hyunjin’s muted shatter, Felix’s distinctive deep voice coming out of the phone speaker.

“Next you add the melted butter and stir it,” Felix instructs, the sounds of pots and utensils clinking in the background. You fidget slightly, mustering the strength to paint a fake smile on your lips.

“What next?”

“Sift the dry ingredients then add them to your wet mixture,” Felix explains, met with a few seconds of silence. You can almost visualize Hyunjin's perplexed expression, blinking rapidly in confusion.

“Explain it to me like I’m five years old,” he requests, prompting a small smile to etch itself onto your face.

“How are you surviving without me?”

“I’m not please come home,” Hyunjin sounds horrified as Felix’s rich chuckles fill the air. “Why do you suddenly want to make brownies anyway?” he then asks.

You go to open the door when Hyunjin’s response catches you off guard.

“They’re for Yn.”

Hyunjin's words resonate in the air, causing a hitch in your throat and Felix’s teasing whistles simultaneously, but Hyunjin is quick to stop him. “No, no, no, it’s not like that. They’re just a bit down and I remember them loving your brownies. So…”

It takes you a fleeting moment to dig the memory out of your mind, a year ago, right before your ex came to pick you up from Seungmin’s dorm. You had a bite of Felix’s brownies, a surprised gasp escaping your lips at its delicious taste, back when food had taste and happiness came easily to you. It was an insignificant memory, you did not imagine Hyunjin, out of everyone, would remember it.

But he did, and he’s now pacing before your closed door, contemplating how he’ll convince you to finally eat something with him. He throws a thumbs-up in the air for no one but himself, inhaling deeply before knocking on your door.

“Hey,” he greets with a hopeful smile, his gaze meeting your tired form. He hesitates for a second, clearing his throat. “Brownies?” You remain unmoving and he falters, “Hm? Please?”

“Sure,” you nod and a wave of relief floods through Hyunjin as you step out of your room. His joy is short-lived when he takes the brownies out of the oven, only to find them thoroughly burnt.

His mouth hangs agape, and he walks back shamefully to the oven, lowering its door only to scream inside of it.

“This will be more therapeutic,” you say, pointing nonchalantly to the fridge and he agrees, opening its doors and yelling once again in the much larger space.

Your melodic laughter fills the kitchen, Hyunjin’s embarrassment is suddenly a forgotten memory.

“I’m craving kimbap. Should we get it instead?” you propose, a touch shyly and he quickly agrees, afraid you’d change your mind and walk back to your room where he can no longer ensure you are okay.

Hyunjin absentmindedly dances along to the music blasting through the convenience store when a girl sidles up to his side, a saccharine grin on her lips as she looks up at him, “hi,” she greets and his tentative smile mirrors hers. “Hey.”

“Are you single?” she asks, her gaze briefly fleeting to the window. “I think you are really cute.”

“I’m…” he glances at you but you're suddenly engrossed in the ingredients of the tuna kimbap you are holding, pretending not to listen. “I am but I’m not interested, thank you.”

“Oh, come on,” she places a hand on his arm and he physically recoils. “Give me your insta and we could talk.”

“No,” he repeats, grabbing her hand to remove it when a loud voice startles him. “Baby, what’s taking you so— What are you doing?” Hyunjin watches in horror as the girl’s eyes grow wide, before she scrambles to the man’s side, feigning fear.

“He kept hitting on me when I said I had a boyfriend, baby.”

“What?” both you and Hyunjin gasped in comical unison. He would find it amusing if not for the escalating anger radiating from the man, who looks like he spends all his days in the gym. Hyunjin suddenly regrets not working out with Changbin.

The man strides towards Hyunjin. “Do you want to die?”

“No? there’s a misunderstanding,” he replies, swiftly standing before you and shielding you with his arm. “Your… baby,” he wiggles his finger in front of the man's face, “she was the one hitting on me!”

The man scoffs loudly, his face growing redder from the anger seething in him. “So you hit on my girlfriend and then accuse her of cheating?” His fist rises threateningly, prompting Hyunjin to step back, accidentally bumping into your chest.

“Wait, wait, wait! Let’s go talk outside, man to man,” Hyunjin pauses, his voice taking on a taunting edge, “unless you're too scared?” he smirks as he feels you pull at his shirt, whispering an incredulous- “What are you doing?” He shakes his head, grabbing your hand and leading you outside, throwing a sly wink at the man behind you now.

“Are you seriously going to fight him?” you ask, your gaze shifting towards the deranged couple who are about to step out of the grocery store. “No, of course not. I'm a lover, not a fighter.”

“You said you'd fight my ex,” you point out and his eyes soften surprisingly.

“You are an exception.” He looks back at the man, who's now walking towards you both. “But anyways, do you know how to run?” he asks and you frown, “who doesn’t know how to—” you pause as realization dawns on you. “No," you whisper furiously.

“Yes.”

“No,” you shake your head, horrified and he nods, eyes apologetic.

“Yes.” His fingers entwine with yours, he squeezes your hand once before he takes off running.

“Hwang fucking Hyunjin!” you shout and he looks back at you, a mischievous smile on his face. “I’m sorry Yn my face is too pretty to be beaten up.”

“He’s following us!” you yell, looking back horrified as the, even angrier, man runs after you.

“Well, run faster!”

“I’m wearing fucking slippers!” you curse and he giggles, tipping his head back, the wind slamming into you both, his hand never letting go of your own.

“Oh my god why is he still running!” you groan and Hyunjin picks up speed, moving you even closer to his sprinting figure

“I know, is it ever that serious?” he yells above his shoulder and you dig your nails into his palm.

“Shut up, this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so gorgeous.”

“So, you think I’m pretty too?” Hyunjin grins proudly and an incredulous laugh escapes your lips.

“Really? Is this what you’re getting out of this situation?”

“Silver linings, Yn, silver linings,” he shouts as you round a small alley, finally stopping to catch your breath. You both fall to the ground, heavy breaths escaping your chests.

“Holy shit, I’m not athletic at all,” he heaves, his eyes meeting yours. He expects to find anger lingering in your gaze but all he can grasp is your amused smile before you collapse into a fit of laughter, clapping loudly and clutching your stomach with your hand.

“Oh my god, I’m crying,” you laugh harder, wiping away at the tears falling from your eyes. Hyunjin’s weariness disappears in the blink of an eye— he did not realize how much he missed your smile until he glimpsed it again. And it is beautiful. Happiness looks beautiful on you.

“Idiot,” you hit his shoulder playfully, and his response is delayed for a few seconds, the warmth from your smile rendering him immobile.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, pulling you up. “Here, I’ll carry you home,” he squats slightly before you. “How impolite of me. How dare I make your majesty run.”

You shake your head, amused, before climbing atop his back, his warm palms holding your thighs securely. “Only because the slippers hurt my feet.”

You walk in silence for a while, your arms wound up around Hyunjin’s neck, the ghost of a smile still lingering on both your faces.

“They said it will snow tomorrow,” Hyunjin speaks suddenly and you stay silent for so long he starts to wonder if you even heard him.

“Mm? That’s nice,” your tone is melancholic, and he pauses at the peculiar sadness in it— as though you were trying to act nonchalant about something that has once meant the world to you.

“Don’t you like the snow?” he asks and your hold on his neck falters.

“I loved it. Loved ice skating and building snowmen.” Your voice is light and airy, like Hyunjin’s favorite mint chocolate ice cream. “But now it reminds me of bad times, bad memories.”

“I understand.”

Hyunjin knows what it feels like to relinquish parts of yourself you never wished to part from. For someone to grab your happiest places and to cast a gloomy filter atop them. Sometimes it is the loss of a season that hurts more than the departure of a person.

And Hyunjin loves winter.

He’ll do everything so that you’ll come to love it again too.

❁ ❁ ❁

Is it a nightmare if the person in it is one you once loved, looked forward to beholding with your gaze, hoping they’d never slip out of your reach? You don’t know, but you are growing tired of having the same dreams every night. Of waking up with an exhaustion that goes beyond your restless sleep but pleads from your soul to rest after almost a year of torment.

You sigh wearily, rubbing a hand through your face before walking to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. You find Hyunjin there, eating a cupcake while standing shirtless, scrolling through his phone. You blink at the sight.

“Hey,” you clear your throat and he startles, dropping the cupcake on the ground. He goes to pick it up only to bang his head on the table, a loud yelp escaping his lips. You barely contain your giggles as you walk to his side, rubbing your palm soothingly on his head. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you.”

“At least pretend you are sorry,” he mumbles, pointing to your amused smile and you chuckle, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.

“What are you doing up now?” he asks as he grabs some napkins to clean up the pink frosting smeared across the floor.

You hesitate for a few seconds before whispering, “Just nightmares. And you?” you quickly add, not keen on pushing the subject any further.

“I'm working on a song,” he explains, as his gaze lingers on your sunken eyes, weighed down by dark circles from too many sleepless nights.

“And the cupcake?”

“Some people need caffeine to function. I need flour.”

“I literally see you drink three americanos per day.”

“Okay well maybe I need both,” he admits sheepishly and you grin, drumming your fingers along the countertop.

“Can I sit with you while you work?” you ask quickly, before the words linger enough in your mouth that you no longer wish to spit them out.

The smile that Hyunjin sends you is kind, pushing the shadows of your nightmares just slightly out of reach.

“Of course, yeah you can. Don’t even need to ask.”

Hyunjin walks first into his bedroom, quickly slipping on a hoodie while you take in the interior. It is a quite simple room— a large bed with gray covers, and a desk filled with what you assume to be his producing equipment sits adjacent. But what catches your attention is the dried rose hung delicately on the wall, and the array of paintings surrounding it. You edge closer to it, drawn to the well-crafted paintings— a sun-drenched beach, a couple lost in an embrace so intimate their forms can no longer be separated, and an elderly pair riding a motorcycle, their love radiating vibrantly as if enclosed in eternal youth.

“You paint?” you ask, turning around to find Hyunjin watching you. He steps closer, enveloping you once more in the fragrance of his rose perfume.

��In my free time.”

“You are amazing, Hyunjin,” you compliment sincerely, your gaze fixed on that imagery of the old couple, one that most likely grew together. It tugs at your heartstrings, stirs a painful longing within you, a memory of a time when you too believed you’d find such boundless love.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, before brushing his fingertips gently against your forearm, for a fleeting second. “Are you okay?” he asks, a tenderness you’ve been aching for latched into his question. Your eyes refuse to peel away from the paintings and the love spilling from each paint brush stroke, a love that refuses to rest on your being as if you were harboring an armor that repels it.

“No,” you reply sincerely, turning to face him. “It’s really hard,” you say with a smile, hoping that the mechanical display of happiness would keep your tears at bay, tricking your brain into believing you're not as sad as you feel.

It fails to do so, and the tears well in your eyes like a gathering storm. Frustration twists your features as you shut your eyes, tilting your head upward in a desperate attempt to contain the flood. It pauses as Hyunjin cradles the back of your head, drawing you close to the warmth of his neck. His palm glides soothingly along your spine, before patting your back ever so gently.

Your back stiffens, hands curling into tight fists, breath catching in your throat. You've grown accustomed to pushing away comfort, putting up tall barriers to shield yourself. But tonight, Hyunjin seems to break through your defenses.

Tonight, you soften, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, head nestling deeper against his tender skin.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers and another sob wracks through you, but he only holds you tighter. “It’ll get better soon.”

“I loved him,” you hiccup, your voice breaks, “a lot.”

“I know, that’s why it hurts.” His voice is gentle, and yet his hold on you feels secure as if you could stumble and fall, and he would be there to catch you

“I want it to stop hurting.”

“It will, with time.”

Your next words are tinged with a childlike vulnerability, reminiscent of blow one, then two. But you do not care for it, in that instant, you crave the reassurance, you need someone to plant a seed of hope in your soul because your hands are too frail to dig for it.

“Do you promise me?”

His response doesn’t come hastily, carelessly thrown into the air like idle chatters. He takes his time, considering it with the gravity of an oath.

“I promise you.” He finally says, each syllable infused with sincerity. A brief pause hangs in the air before he adds. “And if it doesn’t then you can hit me.”

“On your pretty face?” you ask, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“On my pretty face,” he confirms with a chuckle.

“What an honor,” you roll your eyes playfully as you lean back and he grins, tenderly wiping away your tears with the back of his fingers.

“I can't believe it took three minutes for you to cry in my room. This isn’t good for my reputation.”

“Good thing this will never leave this bedroom, right?” you point a finger at him threateningly, and he pretends to zip his lips, tossing away the imaginary key. “You got it.”

“So what are you working on?” you ask as you settle on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to your chest.

“It’s a pretty sad song, wanna hear?” he offers, sitting across from you on his chair.

“Yeah, I'd love to,” you smile, and Hyunjin deftly adjusts a few buttons, before his melancholic whistles weave through the air, coupled with the somber melody of a piano. Your breath catches in your throat, the music reaching into the very depths of your soul. It's as if the notes are calling out for a loved one, for a time that has long passed, for a past that will never come back no matter how much we long for it.

The instrumental continues, each piano note and each violin string echo like a bittersweet lament, springing tears to your eyes. But the melody remains beautiful, akin to the beauty always found in the sadness— in the tears that cascade down your cheeks like glistening crystals, in the tremble of your hands akin to branches swaying in the wind, in the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, mirroring the ebb and flow of the waves.

Hyunjin watches you intently as the music envelops you both, his gaze softening with each passing moment. You bring a hand to your chest, almost unconsciously, too engrossed in the melody to even blink. He feels a blush sprout on his cheeks as your teary eyes hold his with the last fading guitar strings.

“You keep on making me cry,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion, and he grins, tilting his head shyly against his shoulder.

“You like it?” he asks, a tad eager and you nod, not bothering to wipe the lone tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“I think this is what my loneliness sounds like,” you confess softly.

“As do mine.”

A silent beat runs between you both, it isn’t uncomfortable, but safe. Because you understand him, just as he understands you.

“Sometimes I long for things that have passed," he admits, “although I know I can't get them anymore.”

“The most terrible thing you can long for is yourself.”

“Because no one’s to blame for that loss but you?” he muses and you nod, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, exactly.”

You bite your lip, casting a glance back at the paintings adorning the wall. “I don't love him anymore,” you begin quietly. “I stopped a long time ago because there was no room for love anymore to grow amid weeds and thorns.”

He remains silent, sensing that this is a weight you need to unburden yourself from.

“But in the midst of it I think I stopped loving myself too,” you whisper, a confession too terrible to be uttered out loud. “That's what I long for. The things I used to love that I'm indifferent to now.”

“Like you’re a stranger before everything once familiar to you.”

“Yeah, you express it prettily,” you remark with a small smile.

“It's my job,” he grins lightly.

“I think when your heart is pure,” he begins after a while, pausing to carefully choose the words that will soothe your burn, help sleep come more easily to you. “You give love to others more readily than you do to yourself. And it takes time, patience, to redirect that love back to your own heart once again. But it's not a mistake to love, you shouldn’t hate yourself for it. Nor should you blame your past self for loving the wrong person because they did not know what you now do.”

“Think of it as a caterpillar in their cocoon,” he continues gently, “when they finally emerge from their chrysalis, they might long for who they were, where they once were because it is the only place they've ever known. But they do not realize that they've transformed into a beautiful butterfly, that they can now fly, and witness much more than their chrysalis. So maybe, your new self will love the same things as before, or maybe you’ll find new, better things to love that you would have not known before. But in either way, your heart is beautiful. That is what matters, no?”

A small pout draws on your lips, your eyebrows scrunched as you gaze at him.

“You have a very tender soul, Hyunjin.”

Your words linger in Hyunjin's mind long after the sunrise, as you lay peacefully asleep on his bed. The melody of the instrumental he produced continues to play faintly in the background, serving as a gentle lullaby that eases you into slumber, entwined in his sheets, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself, one hand cradling your shoulders and the other resting gently on your stomach. The image sears into his eyes as he sketches the outlines of a figure holding itself absentmindedly, long into the night.

Hyunjin has had his fair share of compliments, mostly pertaining to his face, and others to his craft. but it is you who seems to have sensed that a part of his soul resided in his art, that he left pieces of his heart hidden in the notes he composes and the lyrics he writes, hoping they’ll find soft hands that will take care of them, just like your own.

Five days later.

hyunjin [11:34 p.m.]: are you home?

yn [11:34 p.m.]: yeahh, do you need anything?

hyunjin [11:35 p.m.]: come downstairs, im waiting for youu

if you say no i’ll freeze to death..

hurry i can’t feel my fingers anymore (please please) ㅠㅠㅠ

“This better be a life and death situation Hwang Hyunjin,” you say threateningly as soon as you appear before Hyunjin, causing him to straighten up from the wall he was leaning against.

“It is a very dangerous life-altering situation that requires your immediate assistance, indeed,” he responds solemnly, ushering you gently to his car and opening the door for you.

“Which is?” you ask as soon as he settles inside the car and he simply grins at you, his left dimple coming forth like the very sun on a gloomy day.

“You’ll see.”

Hyunjin’s eyes fleet to your figure every now and then, but you do not seem to notice, your gaze lost into the blurring lights ahead. He can tell you're still not entirely yourself, so he was prepared to forcibly drag you along with him. He’s almost surprised you accepted to come down so easily.

“Is that… Seungmin?” you speak suddenly, pointing to a man waving in the distance, as Hyunjin parks his car near an empty field.

“And Changbin? And Minho?” you continue, squinting your eyes, “and a bonfire?” you giggle with a hint of excitement.

“You love s’mores during the winter, right?”

Hyunjin smiles, your soul softens.

“I do,” you say quietly, “I really do.”

You quickly exit the car, running into Seungmin's arms with a grin of disbelief plastered on your face. “This is insane,” you almost shout, squeezing him tight in a hug.

“It was so hard to find the perfect middle of nowhere for this,” Minho grumbles as you move to greet him, but the warmth of his embrace assures you he's only teasing.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile as you hug Changbin, who affectionately ruffles your hair. “It was Hyunjin’s idea,” he reveals, and you glance back at Hyunjin, who stands with his hands buried deep within his sweatpants behind you. You mouth a silent “thank you” to him, but he shakes his head modestly as if it is nothing to bring happiness to a bruised heart.

The night unfolds in endless laughter, with Minho and Hyunjin taking turns roasting marshmallows over the crackling bonfire, and Seungmin serving you hot coffee to keep your hands warm. Your stomach aches from the uncontrollable fits of giggles that overtook your being as Minho recounts the time he danced so vigorously on stage for his dance club that he ripped his pants, feeling a breeze where there shouldn't be one; and Changbin tells you the story of the time his voice cracked in the middle of a rap battle, and how none of the boys stopped teasing him about it for months to come.

And as the four of them take turns making you laugh, a quiet, tender realization dawns on you—you are loved. It is something he tried to convince you was impossible, that no one around truly cared for you but him. And even then, you weren’t deserving of his love whole, only scrapes of it, as if you were a beggar tugging at the outskirts of his heart.

But Hyunjin reminded you otherwise. And if your friends found something worthy of love within you then perhaps so will you again, one day.

“Did you have fun?” Hyunjin asks as he opens the door to his, your, apartment hours later. What he doesn't expect is for you to respond by wrapping your arms around his slender torso, squeezing tight in gratitude.

“Thank you,” you whisper and he nods, though you cannot see him, returning the embrace by wrapping his arms around your shoulder blades.

Hyunjin doesn't let go first, sensing that perhaps you need this hug more than he does. He smiles as your eyes meet his again, but his grin falters when he notices your gaze flickering towards your bedroom, a hint of unease clouding your expression. It's as if behind that door lie monsters only you can grasp, wearing the faces of people you once knew, once loved.

“Wanna stay with me while I work on the song?”

“Last time I ended up sleeping on your bed,” you say a bit shamefully, recalling the morning you woke up to find yourself covered with a thick blanket that wasn’t there before, alone in Hyunjin's room.

“It's okay,” he shrugs, “I missed sleeping on the couch.”

You stare pointedly at him and he chuckles, “Fine, I did not miss it. But you needed the sleep, so it’s okay with me.”

“Fine,” you concede, though you did not need much convincing for it. “But only if you promise you’ll wake me up if I end up falling asleep again.”

Hyunjin tilts his head, thinking to himself for a few seconds before shaking his head stubbornly, a small pout drawn on his face, his eyes semi-closed. “No.”

“Hyunjin!”

“Nu-uh,” he insists, shaking his head once more as he walks back towards his room. “I'm waiting for you!”

“I'm not coming!”

But you do eventually join him, after changing your clothes and washing your face. You find Hyunjin clad in beige and white checkered pajamas, his glasses pushing back his silky hair as he hunches over his journal, scribbling away before erasing what he wrote.

“Struggling with lyrics?” you ask, leaning against the wall and he startles. “Do you float on the ground? Why can I never hear you come in?”

“Or maybe you just love being dramatic,” you sing-song, laying atop his bed, much more at ease than the previous night.

Hyunjin sticks his tongue out childishly in response, and you playfully mimic the gesture before both of you dissolve into happy giggles.

“Kind of,” he explains once you both settle down, “I have this specific feeling in mind that I need to convey.”

“You'll do well,” you reassure softly, “your lyrics are always so beautiful. Remember Cover me?” you smile and he scratches the back of his ear, a shy grin spreading across his face.

“You still listen to it?” he asks and you nod eagerly, attempting to belt into Seungmin’s ending high note. You fail horribly and Hyunjin throws a crumpled piece of paper on your face to get you to stop singing.

“My poor ears,” he laughs loudly, and you retaliate by throwing back a pillow on his head.

“You just don’t get my artistic abilities.”

“I’d get them more if you stayed silent.”

You gasp, faking offense as you stand up to tickle Hyunjin on his chair, he starts squirming immediately, his loud giggles spilling all over the room, coating it in vibrant hues of happiness, and you’re suddenly captivated by the sight of him— his head thrown back, a golden lock framing his laughter-filled eyes, his top lowering slightly to reveal glimpses of his collarbones and the delicate veins that trace enticing paths on his neck.

You pause, your hand hovering over the side of his stomach, as a long-forgotten warmth spreads through your heart, like the first rays of dawn greeting the earth after a long winter night. It doesn’t diffuse quickly through your being, but rather drapes like sticky honey on your veins, making you well aware of your growing blush, of how beautiful Hyunjin is in his joy.

“Never singing to you again,” you clear your throat, laying atop his bed once again, and quickly reaching for your phone, anything to avoid his eyes which rival the crescent moon outside his window.

Hours pass before a warm hand gently settles on your shoulder, rousing you from your slumber. Blinking away the fog of sleep, you find Hyunjin leaning over you, his grin wide and infectious. “Wake up,” he whispers, but you only groan, burying your face deeper into his pillow.

He doesn’t yield, taking hold of your wrist and guiding your drowsy figure upright, before wrapping the blanket snugly around your shoulders. Without a word, he leads you out onto his balcony, carefully putting his neon green beanie on your head to shield you from the cold.

“It’s snowing!” he smiles, and his excited tone manages to dissipate the fog in your mind. You blink repeatedly and soon enough, you too behold the fallen snowflakes, each one resembling a tiny speck of light bidding farewell to the sky to greet the earth.

“You missed the first snow so I didn’t want you to miss this one too,” he explains, and his thoughtfulness blankets you with a warmth that seeps into every crevice in your body, drips down your fingertips and makes the cold of 4 a.m. seem less harsh, less biting to the touch.

You don’t know how to say thank you, because those two words don’t encapsulate the depths of gratitude that you feel for Hyunjin. Because he is speaking to the person within you who still loves snow, the part buried underneath layers of dust from a ground heartbreak. But you still manage to hear him, and you squeeze his hand tightly, and he doesn’t let go until you finally do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Remembering has become easier for you these past two months— both the good and the bad. And each day, the scale tips towards one side or the other. Sometimes you recall the suffocation you felt with him, the feeling that no matter what you did you could never please him, that your hands were crafted to break rather than mend. And on those days your wound grows, it throbs and bleeds different emotions.

Sometimes it's anger— at him for treating your heart so carelessly as if you were a being devoid of feeling. And then at you— for staying, for giving him excuses and desperately searching for goodness within him, for the one redeeming quality that would convince you he was worth the pain.

And other days bring an excruciating sadness along, a weight that presses down upon you until you're paralyzed. Because you feel bad for yourself and for everything you went through. Because you’re unsure how to rise when unseen hands push you deeper into the abyss.

And on these days, Seungmin becomes your anchor. He buys your favorite food, skips classes with you, and takes you to your favorite gardens. He talks and he talks and you try your best to laugh because you do not wish to worry him more. It is enough to be your own burden, you do not wish to burden him too.

But when he drops you home, your facade slips away, the smile fading from your face as if it were never truly yours to wear. You are too tired to pretend so you don’t, and Hyunjin doesn’t let you, either. He brews you tea and orders takeout because he knows you lack the energy for cooking. He goes with you on walks and drapes you in pieces of his clothing— scarves and beanies and gloves because he knows you couldn’t care less about a cold when there is a frost coating your bones. He lets you sit in his room while he works on his songs, and while he paints. Sometimes you talk and often you don't need to. But he’s there. He's there with you.

But you also remember the good. You remember your movie night with the boys, Hyunjin building an entire fort for you, adorned with twinkling lights and the softest blankets. How you watched movies until 5 a.m. your bodies so closely huddled together that there was no room left for sadness.

You recall Hyunjin begging you to build a snowman with him at the crack of dawn, the two of you collapsing in fits of laughter as you threw snowballs at one another, your footsteps marking the fresh fallen snow.

You remember being so exhausted after one of your showers that you simply laid atop the couch, gaze fixed on the void, too drained to even untangle the knots in your hair. Yet, it is not the tiredness that you exactly recall, nor the salty tears you shed underneath the scorching water jet. But it is Hyunjin's tender hands as he brushed through your hair, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck, his knuckles ghosting over the slate of your shoulder. You remember whispering that it was a particularly hard day and Hyunjin understanding. You remember him watching many YouTube tutorials to prepare your favorite seaweed soup, only for it to end up being too salty. But you still ate it all, because he made it for you, to lift your wounded spirits. And that alone was enough for it to taste good.

You remember your heart hardening then softening again, breaking then stitching itself back together, closing off then blooming like flowers on the first day of spring. You remember smiling only to cry then smile again. And you remember liking snow, a bit more than you thought you would. Because Hyunjin was there, holding your trembling hand, steadying it enough for you to rewrite your memories with winter.

So, you want to say thank you.

You do not wish to spell it out, because there are too many things to thank Hyunjin for and too few words to do so. Instead, you drag him to the farmer’s market near your home, and you tell him to help you pick flowers.

“I could be in bed watching my favorite show and yet here I am bestowing you with my enchanting presence,” he sighs, not too modestly, as you both eye the array of colorful blooms.

“Okay, Shakespeare, are you done?” you roll your eyes, attempting your best to hide your grin.

“Done annoying you? Never. These are very pretty,” he adds, pointing to the white roses in full bloom, their delicate petals emitting a sweet fragrance into the air.

“I agree, what else should we add?” you ponder, picking out four roses.

“Mm, Hibiscus? The red in the center is so vibrant,” he suggests, taking out his phone to capture the flower.

“Cute. Baby breath’s would look good too,” you say as you gather the flowers, heading to the cashier with Hyunjin trailing behind, still admiring the delicate blooms.

“Can I write a note?” you ask the middle-aged man as he wraps the bouquet in a powder blue paper.

“Sure,” he replies with a smile, and you return the gesture, quickly jotting down your words.

“Are you done?” Hyunjin grins when you return to his side and you nod, exiting the flower shop.

“What do you think?” you ask, angling the bouquet towards him.

“It's beautiful.”

“It’s yours,” you smile, growing shier at the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you, then the flowers, then on you again. “Take it,” you hand it to him, your cheeks flushing like the hibiscus’s crimson core.

“Actually?” he says softly, his fingers trembling slightly as he accepts the flowers and you nod in response. You bite your lip as you watch him take out the note, his eyes softening once he reads the words inscribed in it— thank you for making my winter less cold.

“Should we go?” you say a tad too cheerfully, turning away, but Hyunjin grabs your wrist, spinning you around once more. His fingers trail up your arm, coming to rest gently on your cheek as he leans down to plant a tender kiss there.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary. You think that if his soft lips grace your skin a few times more, your nerve endings might forget the harshness they were subjected to. If his gentle hands remain on your cheeks, then maybe, your heart would heal quicker, better. Maybe your past self that you long for would emerge again, maybe Hyunjin would be able to unearth it.

Your hopeful thoughts disappear as quickly as they arrive, overshadowed by a sense of helplessness that crashes over you, all of the sudden. You sense him before you hear him, the familiar anxiety that is only synonymous with your ex’s presence.

“Yn?” the sound of your name feels harsher in his mouth, the syllables spat out rather than spoken tenderly, as they are when Hyunjin pronounces it. Your veins run cold as his voice pierces the air, your heart skipping three beats at once before plummeting to your knees. You wrap your hand around Hyunjin’s forearm instinctively, and he looks down at you, his expression morphing into one of concern.

You’re unsure of what he sees in you— whether it is your pale face, the quiver of your lower lip, or the fear that has coated all your features— but his eyes harden, his brows furrowing as he gazes at the man behind you.

You refuse to turn around, bracing yourself for his next words. “Yn,” he repeats his tone laced with anger, his fingertips grazing your arm as if intending to force you to face him. But before he can touch you, Hyunjin intervenes, swiftly stepping in between you and your ex, shielding you with his own body protectively.

“Leave,” Hyunjin's voice is cold, dripping with a venomous edge you've never heard from him before, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.

“Is this your new shiny toy, Yn?” your ex taunts and his voice cuts through your being against your will, triggering a flood of memories you've tried so desperately to suppress. Memories of his cruelty, his manipulation, and the pain he inflicted upon you—using your love as a weapon to bolster his own ego.

“What's in it for you?” you find your voice again, though it trembles when you speak. He is the very embodiment of your pain and everything you loathe about yourself. You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, for a bolt of lightning to strike the earth, anything to spare you from facing him.

“It's only been three months, I didn't know you were a whore.”

Hyunjin's fist connects with his cheek before you can register his words. It all unfolds so rapidly that you barely have time to comprehend it. Your ex staggers back, blood trickling from the cut on his lip, while Hyunjin stands before you, his chest heaving with restrained anger, his right hand clenched into a fist, the bouquet still held tightly in the other.

“Fine, I deserved it,” your ex chuckles, his voice laced with mockery as he wipes the blood from his lip. His gaze meets yours briefly behind Hyunjin's back.

“You might not be a whore but you are unlovable, keep that in mind.” He spits out before walking away, crude words that tear at every scab covering your wounds, reopening them with a brutal force. Hyunjin moves to follow him, but you grab his shirt, pulling him back.

“He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Your words seem to snap Hyunjin out of his haze as he turns to look at you, worry cast across his figure. He moves to cradle your cheeks but you step back, refusing to meet his eyes. He swallows thickly, clutching the bouquet in his hands. “Are you okay?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head slightly. “Let's just go home,” you whisper, eyes fleeting to his for a split second. All the lights in your gaze are muted.

You’re crumbling before him once again and he cannot stop it, no matter how much he yearns to.

It's long past midnight when you find yourself seated on the floor of your living room, a bottle of red wine placed between you and Hyunjin. You exchange it wordlessly, taking turns sipping from it, the alcohol warming your insides but doing little to ease the ache in your heart. You don’t exactly recall when Hyunjin sat next to you, but you don’t mind. You were too lost in your own thoughts to even register his presence.

“Yn,” he calls out softly and you hum absentmindedly, memories of when your ex spoke your name haunting you, each time he yelled your name, uttered it in disdain as if it was the starting point of everything wrong with you.

“Talk to me, please?” he pleads, angling his body towards your own. But you refuse to meet his eyes and Hyunjin’s heart twists in his chest. He is afraid of all the ugly thoughts that must roam your mind. He wishes he could enter it, open the windows wide, and usher the light in.

“I'm sorry you were dragged into this,” you say, your gaze fixated on the bouquet placed atop the table. The crimson painted on the hibiscus’ petals reminds you of the blood that spilled from your ex’s mouth, and your gaze fleets to Hyunjin's hand, slightly bruised from the punch.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, “there is nothing to be sorry for.”

It’s as though you don’t hear him, your fingers trailing gently across his scraped knuckles, tears pooling in your eyes the more you stare at his hand.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, voice thick with emotion, and Hyunjin’s quick to shake his head. “No, don’t worry about it. He deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve to be hurt.”

“Neither did you.”

Your disbelieving scoff that follows scares him. What if you’re slipping away into a dark place yet again, one void and barricaded, in which the only sound that echoes is your ex’s hurtful words? What if he can’t reach you again?

“If the only person I’ve ever loved says I’m unlovable then maybe I am.”

You’re drunk, you wouldn’t have said such an ugly thing otherwise, wouldn’t have allowed this sentiment to materialize into the air, to take a tangible form apart from your abstract thoughts.

“No,” Hyunjin says in a panic as though he’s trying to quickly pull the brakes on your free-railing thoughts. He cups your face between his palms, your tears falling freely atop his hands but he does not move away.

“No,” he repeats, more calmly this time. “How he treated you is a reflection of who he is. And how you see him is a reflection of who you are. And you wanted him to be loving because you’re full of love. You wanted him to be good because you are a good person. And he can’t stomach that, can’t stomach that you are happy without him so he’s trying to ruin you again.”

“Hyunjin…” you shake your head but he only inches closer to you, his thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. “No, listen to me. Seungmin loves you so much he couldn’t eat properly for the first few days you stayed here, texted me all the time asking me how you were and if you were feeling better. He isn't good with words so instead he tries to make you laugh. He wishes he could give up parts of his happiness for you.”

A sob swells within you but Hyunjin presses on. “And Minho, he tried to memorize all your favorite recipes so he could cook them for you. It isn’t a coincidence that every time we go over to their dorm it is your favorite food that we eat. He takes more pictures of his cats these days so he could send them to you because he knows it cheers you up.”

“You told me Changbin doesn’t know you well enough to fight for you but when we saw your ex across the campus one day he wanted to get up and beat him. He always asks me if you are well and if there is something he can do for you, anything.”

He inhales deeply, tears welling up in his eyes as well. “And me…” a tender smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, “you make this house a home. I feel like my true self when you are around and loneliness doesn’t come to me as often as it did. Because you are here. You are like a beam of sunlight that lightens up every life you touch, mine first,” he’s baring his soul to you, vulnerable yet resolute. “So tell me, Yn, what’s not to love in you when you yourself are so full of love?”

“Hyune,” you speak the nickname for the first time, and Hyunjin’s heart thrashes achingly around his ribcage. “If you keep talking like this I might end up loving you,” you smile sadly at him as if it is a terrible thing to be loved by you.

“But I don’t want to love you, because I won’t know how to, not anymore. So I'll end up leaving. And I'll long for you, and I don't think I can stomach longing for you from afar.”

“So please,” you place one hand atop his own, wipe away the lone tear rolling down his cheek. “Don’t make me love you, hm? You deserve more than to be loved by someone like me.”

You leave Hyunjin in the living room, alone before the white flowers you gifted him. He doesn’t want to put them away in a vase, for as soon as he grabbed them from your hold, everything around you both crumbled. So he leaves them there for the night, the creamy white petals aglow underneath the moonlight. He spends the night painting the bouquet from memory, but the petals end up too tinged with red, perhaps mirroring the blood his heart refuses to stop spilling still.

He did not realize it before, maybe he blinded himself so he wouldn’t see what was before him all along. But it is all the clearer to him now— that in his attempts to make you love winter again, Hyunjin only ended up loving you.

A week later.

hyune [1:25 a.m.]: i miss you

You and Hyunjin spent the last seven days avoiding one another, well you more than him. He just understood your silent plea when you took a step back the one time he tried to talk to you in the kitchen, swallowing thickly before inching away, allowing you to move past him.

You did not know how to face him after what he said, partly because you were embarrassed by your own response, mostly because even in your drunken daze, his words etched themselves permanently into your memory.

It is his reassuring words that echoed in your brain for the past week, not those of your ex.

hyune [1: 26 a.m.]: and i miss sleeping on the couch

You giggle, shaking your head before replying.

yn [1:26 a.m.]: no you don’t

hyune [1:26 a.m.]: no i don’t ㅠㅠ

but i finished the song

wanna hear?

Walking to Hyunjin’s room feels as familiar as going into your own. And when your gaze finally meets his you can’t help but break into a relieved smile. It was foolish of you to punish yourself, enough people have done that for you already.

“Hey,” he greets tentatively, and you respond with an awkward wave, a moment pregnant with anticipation passes before both of you dissolve into laughter.

“What is this? Are we in middle school,” he teases and you giggle, settling comfortably on his bed once more.

“I know. We are so lame.”

“You are,” he corrects with a grin and you gasp, pretending to leave but he quickly catches your hand, stopping you. “No, please stay. I meant it when I said that I missed you,” he repeats quietly, as if afraid that his confession would make you run away once again.

Your heart aches, the knots in your stomach tightening and unraveling all at once. “I missed you too,” you admit softly, and he smiles, his thumb tracing a gentle path above your pulse before releasing your hand.

“So it's done then?” you ask and he nods, running a hand through his hair with a hint of anxiety. “How do you feel about it?”

“Good. I hope you’ll like it, mostly.”

“I'm sure I will,” you reassure him with a soft smile, and he nods once more, pressing a few buttons before his melodious whistles fill the air once again.

Nothing could have braced you for the sound of Hyunjin's voice that followed, its timbre soft as silk yet imbued with profound sorrow. It's as though he recorded the song on one of his loneliest nights, his honeyed vocals dipped in an excruciating nostalgia that seeps into every corner of the room, every corner of your heart.

In the faded photo, I come across a smile spread across a youthful face, overlapped with the seasons.

Your gaze flickers to Hyunjin as a shadow of recollection dawns on you. You remember telling him that you couldn’t stomach looking at pics of your past, ones in which you smiled so freely because you were blissfully unaware of what was to come.

The night’s so cold that it’s almost unreal.

Because you weren’t aware of the winter that will follow and the biting cold that it would bear, for everything that will go astray in your relationship, for your ex's facade to crack like a glacier succumbing to the pressure of lies and pretense.

I wake up in another silence, and I close my eyes.

You remember Hyunjin confessing that silence haunted him more than words ever could, and you had agreed, sharing how sometimes you shut your eyes, pretending that the reality you woke up to wasn't the one you were living.

The white flower we planted together has bloomed. I do not dare pick it. Now it withers away.

You gaze at the white flowers you brought him, now wilted in the vase placed on his desk, yet Hyunjin refuses to throw them still. You see the card you wrote for him hung on the wall, right next to the dried red rose. He kept it. Though it withered, he kept it all.

So I long for you. And I long for you. And I'll long for you.

You remember the longing you both spoke of, how he understood a feeling you felt so incredibly alone in. How he tried to reassure you when he too was caught in the webs of the past. How you longed for him in the past week. How you wished he longed for you just the same.

So I can keep loving you. So I could be loving you. And morе.

The violin swells and so does the emotion in your chest. You remember him asking you ‘What’s not to love in you’ and how you've spun those words in your thoughts ever since. You remember thinking that if he gave you a few more weeks, just a bit more time, you might have found it in you to believe them.

You see Hyunjin’s glimmering eyes holding yours, you see his heart atop a platter handed to you, and you see the resignation in his being. Don’t make me love you, you told him. You didn’t dare to tell him not to love you in return, deemed it too foolish of thought to entertain.

For he was Hwang Hyunjin, the quiet producer who paints in his free time and who wears his heart on his sleeve. Who remains hopeful, loving, and tender, despite the thorns pricking at his side. Who is beautiful, so much so that he allowed you to see beauty in the universe once again, through his eyes.

How could he love you?

How could you not love him?

“The song,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips as you stand, trembling, on your feet. Hyunjin rises too, meeting you in the center of his room.

“It is about you. For you,” he says simply as if his words don’t cause your world to burst at the seams only to mend itself once again, too eager to fix itself and exist in the same timeline as Hyunjin.

“I don't… I don’t know what to say,” you say earnestly, feeling your heart pound in your chest, its beats resounding loudly in your ears.

It is wrong of you to assume he wishes you to say something. He is Hyunjin, the one who finds words in your silences too, after all.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” he shakes his head, taking another step closer to you. “I don't want an answer, I don't wish to pressure you. I just wanted to tell you that my love is here, it is yours to take or to leave, to cherish or to discard. But it is yours, because this is who I am. I am someone who loves you.”

“So do not tell me to forget you because I don't know how to. And don’t tell me that you’ll leave because I will love you still, because you’d still be you, near or far, you are you. And you are someone I long for.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And I long for you, Yn, more than anything I've ever longed for. And I've spent all my life longing.”

His lips meet your forehead tenderly, and you feel your entire being grow limp at the chaste kiss, as if your limbs wish to liquefy and form a puddle on the floor. His touch is soft, and you miss it the moment he parts from you.

“There must be something in this room that keeps on making you cry,” he smiles and you bring your hands to your damp cheeks, surprised to find there tears you didn’t realize had fallen.

“It’s you,” you pinch his arm playfully and he squirms away from your hold, stabbing his toe on the desk in the process. A loud fuck echoes around the room, and your laughter dissipates the tension clinging into the air.

“Can you play it again?” you request softly and Hyunjin’s theatrics fade as a shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Is it good?”

“It's everything to me.”

“It's called ‘long for you’, by the way.”

“Long for you,” you repeat quietly. There has never been a prettier combination of words.

The title all but makes sense as you lay on the bed, your gaze fixed on the paintings hung on the wall, Hyunjin sketching quietly on his desk, the song resonating softly in the background. You've longed for many things in your life—the person you once were and the tender love you once craved—but amidst it all, nothing has weighed heavier on your heart than the longing for the man sitting just two meters away, almost in your loving grasp. Almost.

❁ ❁ ❁

It is an excruciating five days that Hyunjin spends apart from you, the both of you too caught up in your assignments to find a moment to properly speak. But you do not shy away from him when he greets you, and your grin is kind as it drapes across his being, and Hyunjin swears he has never seen a prettier sight than you smiling.

On the sixth night, Hyunjin completes the cover for the song— a figure wrapped around itself protectively, mirroring the way you hug yourself in your sleep. He hangs it on the wall, right next to your thank you card and the white bouquet he drew once again, wishing to properly immortalize its beautiful flowers, to purify that memory from the tumult that followed it.

On the sixth night, the house is quiet, the full moon high up in the sky, snowflakes falling softly to the ground. Hyunjin wonders if you too mimicked the snow’s descent— both of you falling apart with it.

But then, there’s a knock on his door.

His heart catches in his throat, his body freezing as if it forgot how to move. You are here.

“Come in,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. You push the door open, and Hyunjin's words wilt on his tongue as he sees what you're carrying—another bouquet, filled with white flowers, yet again.

“Hey,” you smile, standing by the door.

He remains silent, unsure of what to say, or how to speak. He longs for you when you are away, even more so when you’re before him.

“We shouldn't let these white flowers wither away too, right?” you smile slightly, placing the bouquet on the desk before walking to Hyunjin’s bedside. His voice falters, vocal cords refusing to move and overshadow your voice.

You sit beside him, gently pulling his hand so that you’d both lie on the pillows. Your hand doesn’t leave his own, instead, it moves to rest on his cheek, reminiscent of the many times he had cradled your face before. Inch by inch, you close the gap between you, nuzzle the tip of your nose against his own. “Hi, Hyune”, you say softly, and he swallows thickly, his voice coming out just as quietly.

“Hi, my Yn.”

“If we take care of the white flowers together do you think they’ll survive a bit longer?” you ask, your gaze never wavering from his, countless stars twinkling in the depths of your irises.

“I believe so,” he says tentatively, too aware of the warmth of your palm against his skin, of the sweet ache unfurling within his being.

“Mm, and even if they wilt we can always buy new ones. We can learn how to care for them better, with time,” you say, and he nods in agreement, laying his hand atop your own, tilting his head to bestow a chaste kiss on your palm.

“With time,” he echoes softly and you smile, vulnerable yet secure in his gray sheets, in his hold.

“Will you give me time too?” you ask, and Hyunjin reads in your eyes what you mean, understands in the shake of your voice the question you are too afraid to voice. Will he give you time to heal in order to love?

“As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, pressing his forehead gently atop yours, and you both close your eyes, as a running warmth encloses you both, blooms a blush on both your cheeks.

His arms wrap around your back, drawing you close until your chests are pressed together, your head resting naturally in the curve of his neck. And it is long forgotten in your mind, all the nights you slept in this very bed alone. You feel safe, safe enough to long for love knowing that it patiently awaits you behind the door, once you find enough courage to turn the doorknob. You feel serene, as Hyunjin’s warm palms glide soothingly up and down your spine, as every muscle, every nerve, every atom in your being relaxes in his hold.

You are healing, slowly, with each fleeting second that passes in which Hyunjin’s heartbeat resounds within your chest, as its melody runs through your veins, melds with your own as if it was destined to be there all along. As you rest in Hyunjin, as you find a safe home within his soul to discard your worries at the doorstep and breathe.

“It did get better,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Hm?” He leans back to look at you, and he’s so beautiful, so tender as he gazes at you, you can’t help but trace the contours of his face with your fingers, hoping to commemorate him with your eyes, with your touch.

“You promised me it’ll get better, and it did,” you smile, as your legs further intertwine with his, and his rose perfume becomes an indelible mark on your skin. “Too bad I can't hit your pretty face now,” you joke and he giggles, tipping his head back.

He's so beautiful, body and soul, and he longs for you, you alone.

“But I can still do this,” you murmur before finally pressing your lips against his like a boat finally reaching the shore after months of sailing. You both exhale, in yearning, in relief, as your mouths move together in a slow, languid dance, his hand finding the pulse on your neck, yours settling atop his jaw.

He would kiss you again, this intimately, in the coming months, when your heart expands enough to contain the love Hyunjin deserves. He would kiss you again, when your past comes to haunt you, and healing sounds like an elusive myth you’d never encounter in your life.

And he would kiss you again, over the kitchen table and under the fridge’s light, in between paintings and in supermarket aisles, while picking flowers and watching the first snow.

He would kiss you, this tenderly, in the next winter, and the ones after it, as if his longing for you never wanes. Till blow three disappears from your memory, till all you remember is the love, the true one, the kind one, the soft one Hyunjin alone could have brought you.

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a-simple-gaywitch · 28 days ago

Text

A Healing Light

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner's little sister comes running into the BAU, Spencer doesn't expect her to take up such a large part of his heart

Warnings: referenced/heavily implied domestic violence, referenced child abuse, PTSD, other canon-typical violence

Word Count: 9413

Author's Note: my life has been a total shitshow lately so here’s a fic I made to cope. Disclaimer, all of my knowledge of medical education comes from TV shows and brief Googling. Also I could easily write a part 2 to this I have so many ideas with this concept

“Nothing can dim the light that shines from within.” ~Maya Angelou

When Spencer heard the BAU’s glass doors open, he looked up to see a young woman rushing in. She was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and long pants, unusual for the warm weather the northeast was currently experiencing.

“Ma’am, can I help you?” one of the agents asked, reaching a hand out towards her. Spencer saw her flinch back a bit.

“I-I need to see Aaron Hotchner,” she said, her voice shaking.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but-”

“(Y/N)?” Hotch said, stepping out of his office.

“Aaron!” The woman ran over and wrapped her arms around Hotch in a tight hug. Aaron hugged her back.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but-” Aaron froze as he took in your face. Makeup was caked on and there were obvious tear tracks cutting through concealer on your cheeks. Your mascara was also severely smudged under your eyes. Aaron brushed his thumb across your cheekbone, revealing a large, dark bruise. “(Y/N), what happened?”

“He showed up at the restaurant, Aaron. He showed up while I was at work. I-I’m just lucky Lucy saw him in the parking lot from the hostess stand. I ran to the back and Joey gave me the keys to his truck, told me to go somewhere safe, so I came here.”

Hotch looked over at the team, who were not-so-sneakily eavesdropping. “Let’s go talk in my office.” He gently led you through the door and pulled his blinds shut.

Meanwhile, the team, minus Gideon, gathered in the bullpen.

“Who was that?”

“His sister,” explained Derek.

“I didn’t know Hotch had a sister,” Garcia said.

“Oh, yeah. Sean and (Y/N) are both younger. I only met (Y/N) one other time.”

“She definitely looks more like Sean than Hotch.”

“Wonder where they get their looks from, mom or dad?” Emily chimed in.

Spencer’s eyes drifted to the windows of Hotch’s office, where shadows were moving around. “Guys,” he said, nodding toward the opening office door. The team scattered back to their respective desks, Garcia perching herself on Emily’s.

“Garcia!” Hotch called.

“Sir!” She scrambled off the desk.

“I need you to find everything you can on Nathaniel Walker. Credit card purchases, social media posts, everything. And if he comes even 50 miles from the city, you tell me immediately. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” she said, grabbing one of Emily’s sticky notes and jotting down the name before slipping off to her office.

“Anderson!” He called. The blond man popped his head up from his desk. Hotch held up an envelope. “Take this to the DA. Tell her it’s a rush order from Agent Hotchner.”

“Yes, sir!” Anderson took the envelope and scurried off.

“Reid, take (Y/N) to the cafeteria. Make sure she gets something to eat.” Hotch rested his hand on your shoulder. “I have to go call Haley, let her know what’s going on.”

“Oh. Uh, o-okay,” you said.

“Go with Spencer, get something to eat,” he said, his voice soft in a way the team rarely heard. “I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go, okay?”

You nodded and walked over to the man indicated as Spencer. You followed him through the glass doors and onto the elevator.

“So,” Spencer said, trying to break the awkward silence that had settled around you, “I heard you work in a restaurant?”

“Oh, yeah. Just to work my way through med school. Sean pulled some strings and got me a waitressing gig in Boston.”

“Medical school? Which one? Emerson? Suffolk?”

“Northeastern, actually,” you said. Spencer saw a hint of a smile on your face. “I have one semester left.”

The elevator doors opened to the cafeteria. Spencer gestured for you to go first. “So, uh, what are you planning to specialize in?”

“I want to go into Pediatric Oncology,” you said.

“Wow, that’s-”

“Ambitious? Crazy? Unattainable? Believe me, I’ve heard it all,” you said with a dry laugh. “Mostly from Nate,” you muttered.

“Actually, I was going to say that’s amazing.” The two of you slipped into the cafeteria line. “So, last semester. You have a residency program picked out?”

You cleared your throat. “So, uh, what’s good to eat here? Aaron’s always complaining about the cafeteria’s food.”

Aaron sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. He’d just gotten off the phone with Haley. He sighed when there was a knock at his door. He looked up to see Gideon standing in the doorway.

“You okay?” he asked.

Aaron shook his head. “I’m about ready to drive up to Boston and give (Y/N)’s no-good piece of shit boyfriend a piece of my mind.”

“Hotch.”

He looked up. “She’s my baby sister, Jason. The bastard beat her to hell and back, and I wasn’t there to stop him.”

Jason sat in the chair across the desk. “Aaron, she’s an adult, she can make her own choices. And she chose to drive hours to come see you for help. The best thing you can do right now is help her through the aftermath. Did you call Sean?”

“Not yet. I just got off the phone with Haley. She agrees, (Y/N) should stay with us until this is all settled. I just sent an emergency protective order to DA Martinez. Garcia’s watching Nate’s movements, making sure he doesn’t track her down.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else to do. I mean, when it’s a case we’re working it all seems so simple, so obvious. But when it’s your own family…”

“I get it,” Jason said. “Look, why don’t you head home. Take a day or two, help (Y/N) get settled. If there’s anything major, I’ll call you.”

“Did you know that in the late 19th century, a surgeon named Robert Liston was responsible for a 300% mortality rate in a single surgery?” Spencer asked as the two of you picked at the food in front of you.

“Oh, that was only one of the crazy things Liston did,” you laughed. “The man was crazy egotistical. To be fair, he was considered the best surgeon in the world at the time.” You took one of the fries in front of you. “I mean, he cut off a man’s balls on accident, but he’s still legendary.”

Spencer couldn’t stop the laugh that erupted from him. When he saw Hotch walking over, he cleared his throat. “Sir.”

“Reid,” Hotch said with a nod. “(Y/N), you ready to go?”

“Sure. It was nice talking to you, Spencer,” you said.

“You, too.” As you walked away, Spencer felt the butterflies in his stomach finally start to settle.

The drive home was mostly silent. You knew Aaron was thinking, and you were coming down from the adrenaline rush. You felt your eyes drooping as you rested your head against the cool window. The radio played softly in the background. Aaron knew any real conversations about what happened would have to wait until you rested.

As the two of you pulled into the driveway, Haley came running out, baby Jack on her hip. You and Aaron climbed out of the car.

“Oh, (Y/N)!” She gave you the best one-armed hug she could. “Aaron told me everything. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

You were steered towards the house when the realization fully hit you like a freight train.

“I only have my purse. I don’t have any of my stuff.” Your breath started coming in heavy puffs.

“(Y/N). (Y/N), look at me,” Aaron said, his hands heavy on your shoulders. “Breathe. Follow me. Deep breath in, count to five, deep breath out.” He coached your breathing back to normal, continuing to model deep breathing. When you were breathing normally again, he said, “I called Sean. He’s driving to Boston to clear out your apartment. He’ll bring your car down with him. And for now, we have plenty. If there’s something you need, we’ll get it, okay?”

You nodded, tears falling again. “Okay.”

You walked into your brother’s house and were immediately met with the warm smell of Haley’s cooking. Even though you didn’t visit often, you always enjoyed Haley’s home cooked meals.

“I made a roast. I hope that’s okay,” Haley said as she set Jack down in his pack-n-play.

“That sounds lovely, Hales.”

After dinner, Haley ushered you upstairs and led you to the spare room.

“This is your room for as long as you need,” Haley said. “I put some fresh towels and some soap in the bathroom for you. Help yourself if you need anything, okay? Our house is your house.”

It didn’t take you long at all to fall asleep. You’d taken a nice, long shower and Haley had given you a pair of extremely comfortable pajamas to sleep in.

You ended up sleeping for nearly 20 hours. When you did wake up, it was to the sounds of Aaron and Haley arguing. You followed their voices toward the home office. As you got closer, you were able to make out their words.

“She’s your sister, Aaron!” Haley hissed. “She needs your help!”

“And the team needs my help, too!” Aaron shot back.

“So they’re more important than family?”

You cleared your throat and they spun around. “Sorry to eavesdrop,” you said, “but I don’t want to be a point of contention. If Aaron needs to leave for work, it’s okay. Really. I need to call the university and handle stuff with them anyway.”

“See? She doesn’t need me,” he said. “And we’re only going to Philadelphia.”

Haley sighed and rubbed her temples. “Fine. Go. We’ll be here. Like always.”

“You’re the best,” Aaron said, giving her a quick kiss and grabbing his bag. “Love you.” He kissed your forehead. “Love you too.” He practically ran out of the house. Haley glared out the window. If looks could kill…

You sighed, looking up at the ceiling in your new temporary bedroom. Your phone was on speaker, playing mildly annoying music from where it rested on your bed.

Haley popped her head in, a basket of laundry in her arms. “That music’s been playing for like half an hour.”

You groaned. “I know. I’ve been on hold with the dean’s office.”

Haley clucked her tongue. “Unacceptable.” She walked over to the house phone sitting on your side table and dialed. When whoever was on the other end picked up, she said, “Julia, hi, it’s Haley. Tell your husband to get off his ass and call me on his work phone. Why? Because my sister-in-law has been on hold with Dean Wilkins for almost an hour. Yes, I know, she’s horrible.” Haley laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you’re so right.” She laughed again. “Okay, thank you Jules. I’ll see you at the next fundraiser. Okay, bye.” She turned to you. “My sorority sister is married to the president of the university. He’ll be calling us soon.”

As if on cue, the phone began to ring.

“I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you need anything.”

The call went better than you were expecting. After explaining the situation, the president practically bent over backwards to find a solution for you.

“Let me put in some calls. You might be able to finish up down there.” Was what he had said.

When that call was finally over, you sat staring at your phone for a while. You knew you needed to call the restaurant, let everyone know you’re okay. But for some reason, that was the call you had been dreading.

With a couple deep breaths, you picked up the phone and dialed.

“Park View Bistro, this is Lucy. Dining in or carry-out?”

“Hey, Luce, it’s me.”

She gasped. “Guys, it’s (Y/N)!”

“Are you okay?”

“Where are you?”

“Are you safe?”

You heard your coworkers chime in. You couldn’t fight the smile crossing your face.

“I’m okay, I’m safe,” you said. “I’m at my brother’s.”

“Which brother?” Tad, one of the busboys, asked. “New York or FBI?”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “FBI.”

The response was a chorus of “that’s good” and “smart choice” and other positive comments.

“Well, we gave you a bit of a head start,” Lucy said. “I called the police. They, um. They found a gun on him.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, fine. Is Jerry there?”

“Right here,” you heard your manager’s voice.

“So, kind of obvious, but yesterday was kinda my last day. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he said. “Just stay safe, okay? Don’t be afraid to reach out if you need anything, though.”

You were laying on the living room couch, flipping through the flashcards you kept in your purse. Jack was happily playing in his playpen and Haley was grabbing a quick shower.

“Peripheral nervous system,” you muttered to yourself. “the sensory and motor neurons that connect the central nervous system to the rest of the body. Voluntary movement of skeletal-“

Before you could finish your thought, the doorbell rang.

“I got it!” You called up to Haley. “Sean!”

Your brother scooped you up in a hug. When he set you down, he gripped your shoulders and looked over your face. “How are you doing? And don’t bullshit me. I know you’re not fine.”

Your chin started to wobble and your eyes started to sting. You started crying yet again, for what felt like the millionth time in 24 hours. Sean pulled you into another tight hug.

When you finally calmed down, Sean asked, “Where’s Aaron?”

With a sniffle and wiping your eyes, you said, “On a case.”

Sean rolled his eyes. “Of course he is.” He walked over to his car and opened the trunk. “I grabbed some essentials. Your landlord was very understanding. He said he’ll send your stuff down, free of charge.”

“What? Why-why would he do that?”

“Because you’re a ray of goddamn sunshine,” he said. “You charm everyone you meet. You have a whole army of people ready to hunt down one man on your behalf. Everyone loves you, (Y/N).”

You were staring at the pile of envelopes on your bed. Sean had brought your mail in the boxes. He was helping you unpack them before heading back to New York.

“What’s up?” Sean asked, noticing your staring. “Did those letters personally offend you or something?”

“They’re internship offers,” you said.

“(Y/N), that’s great! There’s like seven letters here!”

“Mmh.”

Sean’s brows furrowed. “What’s going on?” He gestured for you to sit with him on the bed. “This is all you’ve wanted since you were, what, seven years old? Why aren’t you more excited about this?”

You sat silently for a few moments, chewing on your lip. “Did you know that only 30% of interns make it through their residency?”

“What? (Y/N), what are you talking about?”

“What if I’m part of the 70%?” you whispered. “What if I fail out? What if I can’t do it?”

“Nate really messed you up, didn’t he? (Y/N), when people ask me about my family, you know what I say? Well, firstly, I say that my brother’s a jackass but we love him anyway.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. “But then I say that my little sister is a genius. She’s going to be the one to cure cancer. She’s so smart and talented, and works so hard. I couldn’t be prouder of her.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m not your little sister, I’m your twin, dickhead,” you said with a smile.

“Why did you wait so long to open these?” Haley asked. “There are some really good offers in this pile.

You chewed the skin around your thumb. “Nate. He wanted me to stay in Boston. I didn’t get an offer from Boston. He didn’t understand how internships work so he got mad. That, um, that’s actually what set him off this last time.”

“Oh, honey,” Haley said, pulling you into a hug.

Hours later, Haley said, “So, we’ve narrowed your choices down to Johns Hopkins Medicine-Sibley Memorial Hospital and George Washington University.”

Your leg was bouncing and you were chewing the skin around your thumb. “I don’t know. I mean, the peds department at any Hopkins hospital is world-class. But the research department at George Washington produces some of the most cutting-edge advancements. You rubbed your face with both your hands.

“Hello?” came Aaron’s voice from the kitchen. “I’m home!”

“Living room!” Haley called. She turned to look at you. “Well, you want to help kids with cancer, right? Which place is going to allow you to do that the most?”

“What are we doing in here? Hey, Sean.”

Sean nodded toward Aaron as Haley explained, “Helping (Y/N/N) decide where she’s gonna intern in July. We’re down to two hospitals.”

Aaron looked at the letters on the table. “George Washington University and Johns Hopkins?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I can’t decide.”

He looked over the letters. “George Washington pays more. Go with them.”

Sean scoffed as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What? It’s practical.”

“It’s not that easy, Aaron,” you said. “I need to think about how they can propel my future. Which one’s gonna offer me the better education.”

“Okay, how about this,” Sean offered. “Close your eyes, no thinking, random questions.”

“Sean, that doesn’t work here,” you said. “Yeah, it’s a fun game for easy choices when we were kids, but-”

“What about a pro-con list?” Aaron suggested. “I’ll get paper, we’ll write it out.”

You scoffed. “You sound like Dad.”

“Hey!” He gently punched your arm with a huffed laugh. “Uncalled for.”

In the end, after hours of debating, you decided on Hopkins. It was a short train away from the house, and it was going to help you get where you wanted to go better than the university hospital. And simply making that decision lifted a huge weight you didn’t even realize was sitting on your chest.

Penelope rushed down the hallway from her office to the bullpen.

“Hey-“ Morgan’s greeting was promptly ignored as she raced up the steps to Hotch’s office, “-babygirl.”

She knocked hurriedly on the door.

“Come in!”

“Sir,” Penelope panted out, clutching her tablet to her chest.

“Garcia? What’s wrong?”

“You told me to tell you if any of Nathaniel Walker’s information changed. Well, his credit cards show he stopped at a gun shop in Maryland and he just got gas in Baltimore.” Hotch’s stomach dropped when she continued, “It looks like he’s heading for here.”

“Thank you, Garcia,” Hotch said, doing his best to hide is panic. “You can go.” He reached for his phone and dialed.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N), where are you? Please tell me you’re at the house.”

“Um, no,” you said. “Haley and I are at the mall. Why?”

“Don’t- don’t worry about it. Just, stay there, okay?”

“Aaron, what’s going on?” you demanded.

He sighed and said, “Might as well tell you. Nathaniel is looking for you.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. I have someone tracking his car. And, you have a protective order which means police have to intervene if he comes within 50 feet of you. Besides, it looks like he’s coming here first.”

“Is he really stupid enough to show up to a federal building?” Haley asked. The two of you had taken a bench in the mall, and you’d put Aaron on speakerphone.

“He’s stupid enough to follow (Y/N). I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“What-what do we do if he finds us here?” you asked.

“He won’t,” Haley assured you.

“He doesn’t know where the house is. Go home, it’s the safest place right now.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Haley said. “Besides, Jack is starting to get cranky.”

When you got back to the house, you sat by the phone, staring, waiting for it to ring. What if he attacked Aaron? What if Aaron attacked him? He may be horrible to you, and you were definitely broken up, but a part of you still loved him. After all, you were together for over three years. You’d even discussed marriage with him.

Finally, after what felt like years, the phone rang. You scrambled to pick it up.

“Aaron?”

“Hey.” He was panting on the other end of the line.

“What happened?

“Well, you won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“What? Is he-“

“He’s alive,” your brother said. “Probably wishing he was dead, though. He probably has some broken ribs and he definitely has a concussion. He’s also facing up to 20 years in federal prison.”

“What happened?”

“Do you really want to know?” You heard him mutter “thank you” to someone in the office.

You chewed your lip. “I guess not.”

July came much faster than you were expecting. Maybe that was because your spring was so busy - testifying in court about Nate, finishing your last few tests, and

“Okay, what do we think?” You asked Haley, slowly spinning with your arms held out. “Too casual? Or too formal?”

“No, it looks nice,” Haley assured you. “Professional without being too stuffy. And your makeup is lovely.”

“Why are you bothering?” Aaron asked. “Aren’t you just going to change into scrubs anyway?”

You sighed with an eye-roll as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What?”

“It’s about making a first impression,” you said. “I’m going to be working here for at least 5 years, I need to start on the right foot.” You straightened out the blouse you had chosen. “Besides, they’re making us sit in a bunch of meetings for most of the morning, I won’t get my scrubs until later.” You took a deep breath before slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Today’s the day.”

It didn’t take long for you to make friends at the hospital. You clicked well with a few of the other interns in your class: Austin, Syd, and Ella. By some miracle, you were all scheduled off at the same time, after a long and grueling day. Syd suggested going to the bar down the street, and you all thought it sounded like a good idea.

“What are you guys drinking?” Syd asked, shouldering her way to the bar. “I’m thinking we start with a round of shots.” She started pointing around your small group. “Shots? Shots? Shots?”

You laughed. “Sure. Set me up. Ella?”

“I’m down.”

“Well, if we’re all doing it…” Austin joked.

“Awesome! Four tequilas,” she said when she flagged down the bartender.

Before you knew it, you and your friends were loosened up and laughing around a table.

“No way, you were totally ready to jump over Ness to scrub in,” Austin laughed. “I have never met anyone more competitive.”

“Ah, well, when you grow up with two brothers and a father who uses love and affection as a reward for achievement, you learn to fight for everything.” You took a sip from your run and coke before noticing the table went silent. “What?”

Syd cleared her throat. “Nothing. Did, uh, did any of you sit in the gallery for that transplant?”

“Oh, yeah, so cool,” Ella said. “Kidney transplant on a 5-month-old.”

Austin finished the rest of his drink. “Anyone want to dance?”

“I’ll go,” Syd offered, standing up with him. “There’s some cute guys on the floor. Ella?”

“Sure. How ‘bout you, (Y/N/N)?”

“No thanks,” you said. “I am gonna get a water, though.” After you flagged down the bartender for your drink, you felt someone step up beside you.

“Looks like residency is treating you well.”

Your head whipped around. “Dr. Reid?”

“Spencer. Please, just Spencer.”

You smiled at him as the bartender placed your drink in front of you. “Is the whole team here?”

“Most of them.” He nodded over toward the dance floor where Morgan was clearly flirting with your girls. “Gideon and Hotch chose to go home. JJ and Garcia are over at our table with Emily.” He was about to say something else when his phone started ringing. “Damn.”

You chuckled. “Isn’t that how it always goes?”

He smiled and you felt your stomach flutter in a way it hadn’t in years. Your eyes followed him as he met back up with Derek and the girls.

“I’m telling you, he’s married!”

“Wouldn’t he have a ring if he were married, Syd?”

“No, he would take it off. Besides, what other reason can you think of for a guy suddenly needing to leave after getting a text?”

“You guys talking about Derek?” You asked.

“Wait, how’d you know his name? We didn’t tell you!” Ella said.

“He works with my brother. They just got called for a case.”

“Ha! He’s not married, Syd! Take that!” Ella said. She turned to you. “You think he’ll call?”

“Probably,” you shrugged.

“Wait,” Austin said. “You’ve known this guy for how long, and you’re not showing any interest in Mr. Muscles? What’s wrong with him?”

You scoffed. “Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just… not my type.”

Austin crossed his arms over his chest. “Really? Adonis isn’t your type?”

You shrugged in response.

“Okay, so what is your type?” Syd asked.

Your eyes were still tracking Spencer where the team was gathered. “Tall and lanky,” you said. “Kinda nerdy and dorky. Someone with a heart of gold.”

You were at the library, pouring over a stack of books. The intern exam was coming up quicker than you thought, and you were trying to be as prepared as possible. You marked down some notes before shifting back to the book.

“Little light reading?” someone asked.

You looked up, prepared to tell the person off, but the words died on your tongue when a familiar mop of brown hair and hazel eyes came into your line of sight. “Dr. Reid!” Your cheeks flushed and you mentally cursed yourself. “It’s uh, it’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So, is this your idea of a fun night off?”

You laughed and bookmarked the page you were on. “Kind of,” you said. “Intern exams are in 8 weeks so it’s cram time.”

Spencer hummed. “You want a study-buddy?” he offered.

“Dr. Reid-”

“Oh, Spencer, please. Just Spencer.”

You cleared your throat. “I don’t want to take up your night off.”

He scoffed as he slid into the seat across from you. “I didn’t have any plans. I was gonna check out some books and hide myself away in my apartment. This is definitely an upgrade.”

You smiled and ducked your head to hide your ever-flushed cheeks.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, gesturing toward your notebook.

“Oh! Um, sure.” You slid it across from him. “My resident wrote down some practice questions for me and I’ve been drilling the answers.”

After looking through your notes, he said, “So, just out of curiosity, why pediatric oncology?”

You took in a big breath. “I’ve known a lot of people who’ve suffered from cancer. My dad, my grandmother. But the one that affected me the most was my best friend’s baby sister.” Your eyes started to glaze over as you thought back.

“Sophia lived two streets away from us. We spent just about every day together. When we were four, her mom got pregnant. Lindsey was born severely underweight and had a bunch of health issues from the beginning. She was barely four pounds. Because her parents were practically living in the hospital, my mom let Sophia stay with us. It was actually pretty fun for a bit. It was like we were sisters. And, you know, having two brothers, all you really want is a sister. But then they took us to meet Lindsey. It was rough. She was so small and so pale, hooked up to so many machines. I remember there was this light shining on her. I didn’t know then but it was for her bilirubin level. They didn’t know what was wrong so they were trying everything in the book. But after months of testing and testing and testing, they finally diagnosed her. Leukemia.

You wiped at your eyes. “We didn’t really know what that meant, of course. But we knew our parents were really upset about it.” You took a shuddering breath. “They tried everything. Chemo, surgeries, different radiation treatments. But nothing helped. We lost Lindsey before her second birthday.”

“I’m sure that was really hard for your families. It sounds like you were really close.”

“Yeah. We were. That was really my first real experience with death. And I just remember thinking, this is a brand new person. Why would the universe let her get this horrible, horrible disease? And why does no one know how to stop it? Well, anyway, that was when I decided I wanted to be a doctor and find a cure. For Lindsey and the McDermott’s.”

“So you’ve known what you wanted to do since you were six?” Spencer asked, his admiration for you growing.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“The only other person I’ve known who’s known what they wanted to do since they were that age is well… me.”

“Seems like we have a lot in common then,” you said with a smile.

You had a great time studying with Spencer. He had some great memorizing techniques, and he knew when you needed a break from cramming before you did. He made the time fly by, to the point the librarians had to kick you out so they could close.

You and Spencer were laughing together as you walked to the metro station.

“Wait, so Sean thought zebras were fake until high school? How is that even possible?” Spencer laughed.

“Well, it’s not like our dad ever took us to the zoo,” you said. “His idea of a fun family outing was making us sit in the gallery of a courtroom watching him prance like a peacock.”

“At least yours didn’t leave you to take care of your chronically ill mother before you hit puberty,” Spencer said. He then bit his tongue. He barely knew you, why was he compelled to tell you something so personal?

“Hey, fellow member of the Shitty Dads Club, high five!” You held up your hand and laughed as Spencer tentatively clapped your hand. Spencer felt the knot that formed unfurl. “Tonight was fun,” you said as you got to your platform.

“It was. I, uh, I had a good time.”

“Well. This is my train. See you around?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely! Oh, uh, let me know how you do on the exam.”

“Sure. Yeah, I definitely will.”

Aaron was on the plane with the team when his phone started ringing. “Hello?”

“I passed!” you yelled down the line. “Actually, I didn’t just pass, I got it perfect!”

“Hey, that’s awesome!” He turned to the rest of the plane. “(Y/N) passed her intern exam!”

“Hey!”

“Alright!”

“Good for her!”

“Okay, that was it,” you said. “I have to get back to work.” You whooped, “I passed!”

Aaron laughed. “Okay, I’ll see you when we get back.”

“Oh, okay, bye!”

Spencer was distracted. Usually on the plane to a new case, he was pouring over the file. But this time, he was staring out the window, lost in thought.

“Alright, Pretty Boy,” Morgan said, plopping down next to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?” Spencer snapped away from the window. “Oh, hey, Morgan.”

“What’s going on with you?”

“What? Nothing.” He looked around the plane, briefly making eye contact with Hotch. “No-nothing’s going on.”

Morgan looked at him for a moment. “Fine. Don’t tell me now. But I’m not dropping this, kid. I’ll find out what’s got you all distracted. I’m bringing this up again.”

Unfortunately, Morgan didn’t get a chance to bring it up again until much later. The case went off the rails faster and harder than anyone could have expected, with both Spencer and JJ disappearing. As the case continued to unfold, the team knew Tobias Hankle wasn’t going to come in easy.

The team fought, and fought hard. They stayed awake for over 24 hours trying to rescue Reid. Finally, finally, the team succeeded. After what felt like hours of debating, Hotch convinced Reid to go to the hospital to be examined.

“This is ridiculous,” Spencer said from the ER gurney. “I’m fine.”

“Kid, you’re not fine,” Morgan said. “You were held captive for two days and tortured. Let the damn doctors examine you.”

He sighed and flopped himself back on the bed.

Derek leaned closer to the bed. “So, can we finally talk about this girl you got on your mind?”

Spencer’s head snapped over to him. “You-”

“You really thought I wouldn’t piece it together? C’mon, kid, we’re profilers. So, who is she?”

Spencer glanced around before finally admitting, “(Y/N).”

“Wait, wait, as in-”

“Hotch’s sister. Yeah. We, uh, I ran into her at the library a few nights ago, and we had a good time. Did you know she skipped two grades? Second and tenth. And she was valedictorian at her undergrad.” Spencer smiled up at the ceiling. “And she’s funny. She made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe.” He grew quiet. He whispered, “Thinking of her helped me get through it. Her smile, her laugh. When I thought about just giving up, I thought about how she lights up the room. She gave me hope.”

You were having a terrible day. You’d woken up late, meaning you nearly missed morning rounds. Then, you got stuck doing scut work for being late. Then, while you were working on some papers, you knocked your coffee all over the file and yourself.

“Hate this damn day,” you muttered, grabbing the box of tissues nearby to mop up the papers. “God fuckin-”

“Well,” Ella drawled, sidling up to the counter, “I have something that might cheer you up.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“There’s a very handsome professor guy asking for you,” she said. “Says he wants to talk to you.”

You looked up from the desk, prepared to yell at whoever was interrupting your already terrible day. Whatever vitriol you were about to spill died when you saw who Ella was talking about.

“Spencer!” You jumped up, completely forgetting about the coffee seeping into your scrubs. You ran around the desk. “Aaron told me what happened in Georgia, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I-I’m okay. I, uh, wanted to talk to you, though.”

“Sure. What’s-what’s going on?”

“Actually,” ‘he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “can we talk somewhere private?”

“Oh! Sure.” You led him to a nearby exam room that was empty. “So, what’s up?” He was looking everywhere but at your face. “Spencer?”

He took a deep breath. “Look, I had a really great time with you at the library. I loved getting to know you and-and I would love to get to know you better.”

You started smiling. “Spencer Reid, are you asking me out?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I am. Or, well, at least I’m trying. I’ve never really been good at this kind of stuff.”

You were smiling so hard your cheeks were starting to hurt. “Well, I’d love to go on a date with you,” you said. “And I promise, I won’t be wearing coffee-soaked scrubs.”

Spencer laughed and said, “Well, I still think you look great. You always do.” Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as Spencer gazed at you. “So, uh, I know you have a crazy schedule. Are you free Friday at 7?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I actually get done at 6. Meet here?”

“Absolutely,” Spencer said. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

Your day went a lot better after that.

It was almost 3 in the morning when you got to the door. Your heels were in one hand, and you tried to quietly unlock the back door with the keys in your other hand. You winced as the door squeaked open and you started tiptoeing across the kitchen floor. You were halfway to the stairs when the light flicked on.

“Shit!” you hissed.

Aaron was sat at the kitchen counter. “So, you want to tell me where you’ve been all night?” he asked.

You cleared your throat. “I plead the fifth.” Aaron looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Look, I’m an adult, I don’t need to tell you where I was or who I was with! I’m not in high school anymore, Aaron. And you’re not Dad.”

“So you were on a date.”

“Maybe.”

“With who?”

“Not telling.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Look, I get that you’re looking out for me, I do. But I’m not a teenager, and you’re not my legal guardian anymore. You have to let me live my life. Make my own mistakes”

“(Y/N), this is your first date since Nathaniel-”

“That you know of.”

“-are you really so surprised I’m worried about you?”

You sighed and sat down next to him. “No, I’m not surprised. But I really like this guy,” you said. “I don’t want you scaring him off by going all Scary Big Brother on him. If it helps, I know you’ll like him.” Aaron just hummed in response. You leaned your head on his shoulder and the two of you sat in silence for a bit. “For the record,” you said, “I’m glad you’re not Dad. You care more than he ever did.”

Spencer hummed happily as he added sugar to his morning coffee. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, smiling at the message on the screen.

“So, I take it the big date went well,” Morgan said, walking up next to Spencer and pulling his own cup out of the cabinet.

Spencer hid his smile with his mug as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Wait, wait, did I hear the word date in relation to Reid?” Emily asked.

“You sure did. Pretty Boy’s got game. So, is there a second date in your future?”

“Possibly.” Spencer felt his face flushing and he took another sip of coffee to hide it.

“So, what’s the name of this girl that’s got you all starry-eyed?” Emily asked as they walked back to their desks.

“I think I’m gonna keep that to myself for a little longer,” Spencer said, his eyes tracking Hotch as he walked from Gideon’s office to his own.

“Okay, well, if you won’t tell us her name, can you at least tell us where you took her?”

“Well, we started at an escape room, like Morgan suggested, but we beat it way too quickly. They said we set a new record.”

“Wow. How long?”

“Five minutes. Then, since we couldn’t make any reservations, we just walked around the city, seeing what looked interesting. We found a bar hosting a trivia night. And then we just spent the rest of the night… talking. We just sat there, getting to know each other. It was- it was actually really nice.”

“Sounds like all that worrying was for nothing,” Morgan said.

“Well, not for nothing,” he said. “There’s still that big elephant in the room.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Emily asked. “Morgan knows who it is?”

“Well, yeah. He’s the one that convinced me to ask her out.”

“And it’s more like the elephant in the big office,” Morgan quipped. “You’re gonna have to tell him eventually.”

“And we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But for now, she doesn’t want to tell him and I’m certainly not going to be the one to tell him.”

“Reid, please tell me you’re not seeing a married woman.”

“What? No! Emily, no!”

“Let’s just say she has a pretty protective family,” Morgan said. “Someone who’s known to flip his lid if his family is hurt.”

“Wait a second…” Emily took in how Spencer was avoiding eye contact and Morgan’s eyes flicked between him and Hotch’s office with a smirk. She gasped. “No way!”

“So, how’d date night go?” Syd asked the next day at work.

“It was great. Until Aaron caught me sneaking back into the house.”

She barked out a laugh. “What are you, 15?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, Abbot,” you joked as you lined up for your morning rounds.

“So, is he taking you out again?”

“Yeah, next Wednesday. We’re going to see a show at the Kennedy Center.”

“Ooh, which one?”

“Abbot, Hotchner!” your resident snapped. “Something you’d like to share with the group?”

You cleared your throat. “No, ma’am. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“It better not, or you’ll be buried to your eyes in scut. Now, who’d like to present?”

“You sure you’re ready to do this?” Spencer asked you. The two of you had been together for four months, and had decided to make things official by telling your family.

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, besides, I think he already knows and he’s just waiting to hear it from me.” You took a deep breath and unlocked the door. “Aaron? Haley?”

“Kitchen!”

You motioned for Spencer to wait as you walked in the room. “I, uh, I have someone I want you to meet,” you said. “Or, well, you’ll see. Uh, I want to introduce my boyfriend. Spencer.”

You motioned for him to come into the room and you gripped his hand. He gave yours a squeeze in reassurance.

Aaron smiled. “I was wondering when you’d finally admit it.”

Date nights with Spencer were probably your favorite nights. The two of you had decided to have a night in rather than go out. Dinner was simple: just pasta with some frozen garlic bread. Neither of you was a very talented cook.

You were helping clean up, putting dishes back in the cabinets, when a plate slipped from your hand and smashed on the floor.

Suddenly, you were back in Boston with Nate. He was yelling, cursing at you, and you were just standing there.

You jumped when an arm landed on your shoulder. You cried out and scrunched in on yourself, expecting Nate’s harsh slap.

Instead, you were met with Spencer’s concerned eyes and soft, “(Y/N)?”

You snapped yourself out of it. “You know, I-I just remembered, I have an early shift tomorrow. I-I should probably go,” you stuttered out before grabbing your purse off the counter and rushing from the apartment.

“(Y/N)-”

The next day in the office, Spencer went to Hotch’s office. He sat down in the chair across from his desk and said, “(Y/N) made it home last night, right?”

Hotch looked up. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Spencer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. She, uh, she dropped a plate and it broke. Then she just stood there, staring at it. I wasn’t thinking and touched and she freaked out. She got all defensive, her breath started racing and she rushed out of my apartment. She claimed she had to work but I know she has off today.”

Hotch frowned. “She had a flashback.”

“I think so. I want to fix it but I don’t know how,” he admitted. “I mean, what am I supposed to say? I promise I’m not like your psycho ex, I care more about you and your safety than a piece of porcelain?”

“Well, I would leave out the psycho ex part,” Hotch said, giving Spencer a small smile. “But sincerely, give her a little bit of time.”

“She seemed really distressed, Hotch.”

He sat for a moment before saying, “Okay.” He picked up his phone and dialed. “Hey. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I need a favor. It’s for (Y/N).”

You were sitting on the living room couch, bundled in a blanket. You were staring absently at the blank TV, your mind filled with what felt like static. When you heard keys in the door, you jumped. You let out a sigh when you saw Haley’s familiar blonde head peak in the door.

“(Y/N)? Hey.” She walked over and sat on the coffee table in front of you. “You okay?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Do I look okay?”

Haley gave you one of her sympathetic smiles before saying, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You found you did. So you told her everything. “It was like I was right back there,” you said. “I was back in that Boston apartment and Nate was breaking things and throwing things because I wasn’t doing what he wanted.” Tears were running down your face.

“Oh, sweetie,” Haley said, moving to the couch to pull you into a hug. “I’m so sorry. But you know, you weren’t back there. You were with Spencer, one of the most gentle, caring men I know.”

“I know, I know. Logically, I know that. Logically, I know Spencer wouldn’t hurt me. But in that moment, I couldn’t think logically. I was back in fight or flight.”

After a few days, you decided to sit with Spencer and talk it out. You explained where your head was, and Spencer assured you the episode didn’t scare him away; he was in it for the long haul with you.

“You ever notice how we’re always at my place?” Spencer asked, breaking away from where the two of you were making out on his couch.

“What?” You brushed some hair out of your face.

“Not that I mind,” Spencer rushed out. “I mean, I-I get it. You’re still living with Hotch, he’s my boss, it’s awkward.”

“Yeah? Spence, where are you going with this?”

“You spend most of your nights here anyway. I think my closet is more your clothes than mine-”

“Spencer.” You gripped his hand.

“Right, right. I’m rambling.” He cleared his throat. “Um, I was thinking. What if- what if you moved in here? With me?”

Rather than a verbal answer, you tackled him down on the couch, kissing him again.

When you finally broke away, Spencer laughed, “I take it that was a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes! I love you.” You froze. That was the first time either of you had said those words. A knot of panic was starting to form in your chest.

Spencer must have noticed because he gently took your hands. “Hey, hey, breathe. You’re okay.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you, too.”

You groaned as you unlocked the door. “You would not believe the day I had,” you said, kicking your shoes off by the door. Your boyfriend looked up from where he was reading a book on the couch.

“First, the coffee machine in the lounge was busted. Then, I was put in the ER which, you know, fine, whatever. But this group of drunk college girls come in because their friend passed out and we had to pump her stomach. Normal Friday night, right? Well, as we’re taking care of this girl, one of her friends vomits all over me. But, before I can go change my scrubs, an emergency trauma comes in. Apparently, this guy collects Civil War memorabilia and he and his buddy thought it would be fun to play with the musket. So this guy has a bayonet stuck in his abdomen and a bullet wound that’s stuffed with a sock that had clearly been worn recently so we have to worry about infection on top of him bleeding out. All over me, by the way. Then, finally, I get a chance to change my scrubs because they need me in L&D. So I’m helping with this geriatric pregnancy, which by the way is a term I hate, and the mom starts coding. So we’re rushing, trying to get a crash cart, prepared to resuscitate, and then we see the DNR order on the chart. At least the baby was healthy. And nearly 9 pounds.”

You huffed and plopped onto the couch. Spencer pulled your legs up into his lap. “I’m sorry, baby. Hey, you know what might cheer you up? Morgan got yelled at by the accountant for kicking down an unlocked door on our last case. And Penelope totally embarrassed herself answering the phone.”

You snorted a laugh. “Course she did.”

“Oh, and she invited us on a double-date with her and Kevin. Movie night. It might help you destress a bit. Take your mind off that chief resident decision I know you’re constantly thinking about. Which, by the way, you’re gonna get. You’re perfect for the job, they’d be crazy to pass you over for this.” He lifted your hand up and kissed the back of it.

Spencer was right, they’d chosen you as chief resident. And you loved it. It was stressful and difficult, but it was what you’d been waiting for. It came with unexpected challenges, like when an emergency trauma came through the ICU.

You were on your way to check on the unconscious man when you noticed a crowd gathered in front of the room.

“What is this?” You asked, pushing your way through the crowd of mostly interns and first-year residents. “Out of the way. Move.” When you finally made your way into the room, you saw a familiar group talking to the intern sent to check vitals. “Agents.”

Your brother was standing next to the bed, and you noticed handcuffs around both the patient’s hands. You pursed your lips before turning to the gathered crowd. “I know you all have somewhere to be. Go!” Finally, you turned back to the team. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“When will Mr. Holsten be awake?” Aaron asked. “Your intern here didn’t seem to have an answer for us.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “First of all, don’t talk about my intern in that way. Dr. Lester has only been here a few weeks, the new class just started. Secondly, we can’t say for certain. He had significant trauma, so he’s pretty heavily sedated at the moment and-“

“Can you wake him? We have some questions he needs to answer.”

“No, we cannot wake him, Agent Hotchner. Waking him could prove detrimental to his healing. Over the course of his treatment we will start to decrease the medications, but we will not forcibly wake him.”

“You don’t understand, Dr. Hotchner, this man killed-“

You held up your hand. “Right now, at this moment, I don’t care who he killed. He could have slaughtered a convent full of nuns and I would not provide less than adequate care. Within these walls, he is just a patient in need of medical attention. I refuse to violate my Hippocratic oath for your investigation. So, you have two options. One, let us care for him as our team seems fit and you can ask all your questions after he wakes up. Or two, you leave this hospital and wait for him to be discharged. The choice is yours.”

As you stared down with your brother, the team could clearly see the family resemblance. It was in your eyes, in the stubbornness you both exhibited.

Finally, Aaron took a step back. “Fine. Call us the second he wakes up. But the cuffs stay on unless absolutely necessary.”

“Deal.”

It was a rare night when you and Spencer were both home, at a normal time, and at the same time. You’d had a nice dinner together and were laying in bed. Spencer was reading a book while you were working on a report for the research grant team.

“(Y/N)?”

“Hmm?”

“We should go to Vegas,” he said. “To see my mom.”

You froze. “You want me to meet your mom?”

“Well, yeah.” He set his book on the side table and turned to face you. “I’ve already told Mom all about you. She loves you already and she hasn’t even met you. She’s been doing really really well on this medication and I really want the two most important people in my life to meet each other.” He took your hand and squeezed it.

You gave him a small smile. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, might as well get the hard part over with, right?” You took a deep breath. “I have to meet her sooner or later, why not make it sooner?”

The next day at work, you were telling your friends about the conversation.

“So it looks like I’ll be cashing in some of my PTO.”

“You’re really going to meet his mom?” Syd asked. “That’s, like, practically a step away from getting married. You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Definitely not,” you said. “From what Spence has told me, she’s, like, Superwoman. She was this awesome English professor for years and raised Spencer on her own after his dad left.”

“So you’re totally intimidated,” Ella said.

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Hey look on the bright side,” Austin chimed in. “At least he doesn’t have to meet your parents.”

You laughed. “Yeah, just one of the many reasons I’m glad my father’s under the ground. Think I would have wanted my mom to meet him, though.”

The end of your residency was quickly approaching. Offers for fellowship positions were starting to come in, meaning your class had to finalize their specialties with the head of the program.

“Dr. Hotchner,” the director of the program said, looking over your file, “you’ve shown much interest in pediatric oncology. Are you sure that’s the specialty you want?”

“Absolutely.”

He set the file down. “You do know that specialty’s not easy? Not from a technical perspective, but from the very nature of who your patients are and what they’re facing.”

“I know, sir.”

“You show great promise as a trauma surgeon. Are you sure-”

“Sir, with all due respect,” you said, scooting the chair closer to the desk and straightening up in the chair, “I’ve wanted this job since I was a child. I know what I’m getting into. This is not something I’ve decided on a whim.”

He sighed. “Alright. In that case, I should let you know, I received a call from the chief over at St. Jude’s. They wish to extend a fellowship offer to you, of course with the condition that you pass your board certification.”

That night, Spencer came home to find you pacing and muttering to yourself.

“(Y/N)?”

“Good, you’re home,” you said. “I, uh, I need to talk to you.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed in concern. “Okay?” He sat down on the couch with you. “(Y/N), what’s going on?” You were fidgety, looking everywhere but at Spencer. “(Y/N)?”

Finally, you took a deep breath and said, “I got some big news today. I, uh, I got a fellowship offer from St. Jude.”

“What? (Y/N), that’s fantastic! That’s, like, your dream to work there.” He took in how distressed you seem. “What’s wrong?”

“Spencer, fellowships are three years long. I’d be living in Memphis for three years. I don’t know if I want to live that far apart from you for that long.”

“So you’re torn between your professional dream and me.” He turned his body to face you. “(Y/N), I wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from your goals because of me.” After a few moments of silence, Spencer said, “I could go with you.”

“What?”

“Yeah! There’s an FBI office in Memphis, I could transfer there,” he said. “If you’re turning this down because of me-”

“Spence, it’s not just because of you,” you said. “I love working at this hospital. I love the team I work with, and I feel like I can learn just as much from Hopkins as I can from St. Jude. Plus, Aaron and Jack are here. I can’t leave them after they just lost Haley. And you can’t leave the team here. They’re your family.” You gripped his hand in yours. “I promise, I thought this through. It’s all I’ve done all day.”

After the end of your conversation, Spencer spent some time thinking. He impulsively offered to uproot his life so that you could follow your dream. Never did he think he would be the kind of person to do that. He thought back to six years ago, when you first walked through the doors of the BAU. If only he knew then how absolutely head over heels he was for you, While you were on the phone with your brother, telling him about your decision, he decided he needed to call Penelope.

He needed help picking out a ring.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #x reader

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makoodles · 1 year ago

Text

ミ the mightiest

part 1 | part 2

🍓 pairing: neteyam x human fem reader 🍓tags: nsfw, aged up neteyam (obviously), jealousy, alien cultural misunderstandings, oral sex (f receiving) vaginal sex, size kink, voyeurism, brief na'vi oc x reader, mentions of reader sleeping with other na'vi men

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

notes: okay i had to split this into two parts because it surpassed the tumblr word limit 🙃 here’s part 1, and I’ll post part 2 in a day or two!

adult neteyam art created by the incredibly talented @cinetrix, whose work motivated me to write for adult neteyam in the first place!!

The tsahìk’s hut is cool and dark, offering a much needed reprieve from the hot balmy air of the day outside. It’s been a quiet day for you, though you can’t complain about that; it’s a pleasant change of pace from the usual hectic rush of people that usually pass through.

It’s one of the rare days that Mo’at has left you to tend to the duties of the healing hut alone; it had taken years to reach this level of trust with her, and you find yourself almost deliriously proud to be able to help out. Na’vi medicinal practices are very different to human ones, but your training in first-aid has given you enough knowledge and experience to hold your own when it comes to helping out with the smaller day-to-day ailments that tend to pass through the healing hut.

Besides, you’re always happy to give Mo’at a break. She had claimed that she needed time to commune with Eywa, though secretly you suspect that she just likes to take some time to herself in her old age. But that’s fine – you’ve always found helping out in the healing hut soothing, and your heart swells at the fact that Mo’at trusts you enough to leave you in charge, even if it’s only for a few hours.

It also helps when your patient is a big, hunky alien warrior with more muscles than brains, who sits in front of you as you smear a herbal paste over the scratches he had gotten in training earlier that day.

Txeyto is not an easy patient; he flinches when you prod his wounds, whines when you clean them, and complains as you smear the paste on his scrapes. It’s a little irritating, but the sight of his big broad shoulders and chiselled abdomen is enough to soothe the worst of your aggravation.

“Are you nearly finished?” Txeyto complains, flinching away from your fingers once more.

You bite your tongue and force a smile. Patience has never been your strong suit, and Txeyto is certainly testing the short reserves you have left. But he’s very handsome, and very skilled at archery, and you feel that his physical attractiveness outweighs the minor personality flaws.

“Yes, just another few moments.” You murmur, keeping your voice low and soothing as though speaking to a child.

Txeyto settles a little when you use the baby voice on him, and you struggle to keep your face blank at the ridiculousness of it all. Men are such children, even the big strong Na’vi warriors that should be above such behaviour. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

“How did you get these injuries, hm?” You ask, using a light touch to dab some of Mo’at’s specially formulated healing paste onto his scrapes. You keep your fingers as gentle as possible, but Txetyo still winces dramatically.

He perks up at your question, his tails swaying low over the floor where you’re both sat cross-legged. “I have been training very hard. I am one of the best archers in the village now.”

“No doubt.” You murmur distractedly as you work.

“But it is important for a tsamsiyu to be competent in many forms of combat, so I must practice my hand-to-hand combat also,” Txetyo continues, apparently forgetting to wince now that he’s talking. “Neteyam has been helping me train.”

Ah. You can’t help the face you make at that, and you’re thankful that Txeyto’s back is facing you so that he can’t see your expression. You also can’t help the way you cast a quick glance towards the entrance to the hut, as though worried that simply speaking the name aloud will summon Toruk Makto’s eldest son.

“Is that right?” You say, keeping your tone carefully neutral. “So, he’s the one that got you all scraped up like this?”

Txetyo’s shoulders flex under your hands, and you realise without looking at his face that you’ve stung his pride.

“I scraped him up also.” He grumbles, shifting to try and peer over his shoulder. “They are wounds to be proud of, as I got them in combat.”

You don’t think that a couple of minor scratches from wrestling around in the mud with one of the village’s biggest dickheads count as combat wounds, but you don’t argue. You just hum non-committedly, paying more attention to his bruises than is entirely necessary.

“You should be careful,” You say instead, running your fingers carefully over one of the bruises discolouring the pretty blue skin of his defined bicep. “It’s a shame to see these lovely muscles all bruised up.”

There’s a long moment’s pause. It seems as though the cogs in Txetyo’s head are working slowly, because he seems to be struggling to understand your flirty tone of voice. But when it finally seems to click, he turns his head to peer at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Ah,” He says, his shoulders squaring as he seems to preen. “You like them?”

God, he really is a little dumb. But that’s okay. You don’t necessarily need a man with brains.

“Mhmm,” You hum, allowing your hand to rest on the bulge of his bicep. “I like strong men.”

That’s true, if a little bit of an oversimplification. You’ve lived as a human on Pandora your whole life, but it was only in recent years since you’ve reached adulthood that you’ve started really paying attention to the people around you. And good lord, you had some impressive specimens to look at.

You find yourself drawn to their athletic and toned bodies, their radiant blue skin, their cat-like grace and agility. Maybe it’s because you had grown up on Pandora with no humans your age other than Spider, but you find yourself especially drawn to your size. The sheer size of their hands alone are enough to fluster you, especially when your brain is flooded with images of those big hands in other contexts.

And luckily for you, there’s no shortage of Na’vi that are interested in experimenting with humans, too.

Txetyo visibly perks up, his ears twitching forward as he finally seems to notice the way your much smaller hands are lingering on his body as you patch him up.

“I am very strong.” He says, tail thumping against the ground.

You fight the urge to sigh. He’ll never make a great conversationalist, but that’s alright. He’s big and strong and handsome, and you just want to relieve some tension.

“I know.” You murmur, your lips quirking a little as you shuffle around so that you’re kneeling in front of him, your knees pressed close to his thighs. “But I could still kiss your scratches better, if you’d like.”

Kissing wounds better is definitely a human colloquialism that Txetyo doesn’t understand, judging by the furrow of his brow, but he doesn’t seem to care. He reaches out and wraps a big hand around your waist, and you feel a pulse of arousal low in your belly in response.

“You like my muscles so much that treating my wounds has aroused you?” He asks, the smugness in his voice impossible to miss.

His pompousness is a little irritating, but you can ignore that because his hands are big and warm and it’s exciting to feel his palm start to push its way under your cotton tank top. The few Na’vi men you’ve been with before had been absolutely fascinated with the soft squishiness of your human breasts, so your breath hitches in anticipation as his hand reaches up to grope at your tits over your bra.

Okay, you can probably admit that you’re a little pent up. It’s probably a terrible idea to allow Txetyo to feel you up like this in the middle of the healing hut, but you’re horny.

If you’re telling the truth, you’ve been hoping for a chance like this all week – but there’s one thing, one irritation, that has been preventing you by interrupting every damn chance you’ve gotten alone with any man.

In fact, you’ve been interrupted so often and so many times that you’re almost expecting it, even as Txetyo’s big hands squeeze at your tits. He’s a little rough with it, but he’s so much bigger than you that you suppose that’s unavoidable – besides, his strength only adds to the thrill.

Then, just like clockwork, as though there’s some kind of sensor that goes off whenever you’re about to get some, there’s a rustling sound by the entrance of the hut before the little woven drape covering the doorway is pulled back.

And then, who else would be standing there, but Neteyam. One of the few people on the whole planet that can actually ruin your whole day just by showing his stupid face.

His eyes find you, but his expression doesn’t change as he glances over your flustered expression and the hand that Txetyo still has shoved up your top. He tilts his head, and it feels as though he’s examining every damn detail all at once; the ointment smeared all over Txetyo’s bruises from training, the way you’ve shuffled so close to Txetyo that you’re practically straddling his thigh, your unsteady breathing behind your mask.

“Ah. Am I interrupting?” He asks with a hint of wry humour to his voice, as though he hasn’t interrupted every attempt at getting laid you’ve made this month.

It has to be on purpose. That, or he has some sort of nearly supernatural sense for when you’re horny, because he always seems to show up every goddamned time. Somehow it’s gotten worse in the last few weeks, too. You’ve barely been able to get a moment alone with whoever you’ve been chatting up before Neteyam has appeared, snapping at them to get back to training or duties or whatever lousy excuse he’s been able to come up with in the moment.

“What do you want?” You snap, impatient and too strung tight to waste your energy on pretending at politeness.

A very delayed reaction finally hits Txetyo, and he scrambles to remove his hand from the inside of your top. His hand alone is so large that the outline of it is painfully obvious even through your shirt, and you close your eyes with a sigh as he clumsily pushes himself away from you in a rather ungainly attempt at pretending nothing was going on.

“Neteyam!” He blurts, his ears flattening against his skull. He’s clearly mortified at being caught in such a position by Toruk Makto’s son, and he overcompensates by attempting to scoot away as though he hadn’t even been touching you.

You try not to roll your eyes – you’re used to this, after all. You’ve been with several Na’vi men, but they all seem to have the same sort of embarrassment about actually being open with the fact that they’ve hooked up with you. You can’t be all that annoyed about it, you suppose. You understand where it’s coming from. You’ve been around the Omaticaya your whole life, and while the taboo of having Sky People around has faded somewhat, that doesn’t mean that anyone is actually willing to admit that they’ve been with you.

You’re used to it. It’s fine. You’re just a little mortified that Neteyam is currently witnessing the scramble for Txetyo to get away from you.

He’s watching the other man with his head still tilted to the side, his big golden eyes dark in the cool shade of the hut. A muscle in his jaw is flexing, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I will- I will see you later?” Txetyo whispers to you as he stands. He probably intended for his voice to be low enough that it stayed between just you and him, but the hut is quiet enough that there’s no doubt Neteyam can hear him just fine.

“Mhm. Yeah.” You murmur back, watching Txetyo’s big broad back as he steps away from you, all hasty and flustered.

Txetyo gets as far as Neteyam, who’s still standing with his arms crossed in the doorway. Neteyam doesn’t so much as shift, his eyes dragging with lazy satisfaction over the myriad of scrapes and bruises that he had left on Txetyo during their sparring earlier.

Txetyo shifts on his feet, visibly nervous in the face of his future chief’s judgement. “Ah… Will we train again tomorrow, Neteyam?”

Neteyam hums non-committedly, before finally stepping away from the doorway. He brushes past Txetyo, and you wonder if he’s always so dismissive of his fellow warriors or if he’s just being an even bigger dickhead today for some reason.

“We will see.” Neteyam says shortly, though he’s not even looking Txetyo’s way.

Taking that as the dismissal it so clearly is, Txetyo nods awkwardly before disappearing out of the hut, leaving you and Neteyam alone.

For a long moment, you do your best to avoid looking up. You’re beyond irritated right now, made so much worse by the fact that your panties are kind of wet and you’re so fucking desperate for attention right now. The little wooden bowls knock together clumsily as you try to arrange them without looking up, but it becomes difficult when Neteyam lowers himself down to sit opposite you.

“The tsahìk’s hut is a bold place for such activities.” He says, and you don’t have to look up to know that there’s a stupid smug look on his face. “What would my grandmother think?”

As he sits down, he places a woven bag by your knee. You don’t need to look at it to know what it is; he’s always bringing stuff to the healing hut for his grandmother. Herbs or medicinal plants, fibres for weaving bandages, even animal bones that he had whittled down for needles for suturing.

Even you can grudgingly admit it’s thoughtful; but he only ever seems to bring it when you’re around. It’s like he just wants to rub it in your face that he excels at everything he does – it’s extremely annoying.

You finally look up, your face already scrunched in a scowl. “What do you want?”

He raises his hairless brows at you, an expression he no doubt learned from his father. “I would like my cuts from training treated. What else would I be here for?”

And now you know that he’s just messing with you, because while Txetyo was covered in bruises and abrasions from his tough training session earlier, Neteyam doesn’t have a single visible scratch.

“What exactly am I supposed to treat?” You ask, voice tight.

Neteyam shifts, proffering you his shoulder, and you see a single scrape along his otherwise flawless striped blue skin. You purse your lips, staring at it in mild disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.” You say, deadpan.

But it’s clear that Neteyam is serious, because he’s already stretching out on the comfy woven rugs of his grandmother’s hut as if he belongs there. It’s obvious that he has no intention of moving – he must have come here just to torture you.

You blow out a frustrated breath, the inside of your respirator mask fogging up briefly before rapidly clearing. Neteyam is infuriating. He gets under your skin in a way that no one else does, as though he knows every goddamn little button to press just to aggravate you.

Maybe it’s just a by-product of having been raised as next in line to lead the Omaticaya, or of being Toruk Makto’s oldest son, but you’ve always found Neteyam closed off and distant.

Truthfully, you can’t say for certain if he’s always been this way. When you were young teenagers, you hadn’t had much contact with him; he was always busy with his own training, and then the whole Sully family had left for Awa’atlu. When they had returned, several years later, Neteyam had been more reserved, and yet somehow even cockier and more confident than ever.

“I don’t understand you. There’s no need for you to get this scrape seen to, and you know it. You just like wasting my time.”

He just watches you as you complain, his eyes hooded and dark in a way that honestly leaves you a little heated. He doesn’t deny it, which only irritates you further. You knew he was just trying to annoy you!

“It’s your job to treat wounds when you’re here, isn’t it?” He asks, and you can see the way his tail is lazily undulating behind him, skimming across the woven carpet. He’s enjoying arguing with you.

You huff out a put-upon sigh, before grabbing two of the jars. The ointment is naturally antiseptic but it goes on with quite a sting; you try not to feel satisfied about that as you coat your fingers in it before dabbing it onto the scrape on Neteyam’s shoulder. You’re not as gentle as you’d usually be either, your patience is too thin for you to be considerate with him right now.

But this is not Txetyo. This is Neteyam, and he doesn’t so much as flinch as you rub the paste over his still sluggishly bleeding scratch, even though you know it must sting. You try not to feel irked by his stoicism.

As you work, Neteyam’s head rolls back. In a move that’s almost imperceptible, his nostrils flare and he scents the air. You assume it’s the fairly astringent scent of the herbal paste you’ve just pulled out that’s bothering him, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Problem?”

His lips quirk, though he manages to keep his expression neutral. “No. I am simply enjoying being under your tender care.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He’s mocking you now.

The fact that he had walked in on Txetyo’s hand up your top as he groped at your tits feels like a heavy unspoken weight in between you as you dab at his minor wound. You keep waiting for him to bring it up, to laugh at you for it, but he remains stubbornly quiet as you work, his golden eyes watching you in quiet contemplation.

In fact, he’s never brought up any of the times he’s interrupted you right before you got with someone. He’s caught you in varying levels of undress, with Na’vi men over you, under you, holding you, touching you, kissing you, but somehow just before anything good actually happened. Every time the men had scrambled away from you as though you were something diseased, mortified at being caught with a tawtute by Neteyam, a man that (for some reason you can’t comprehend) they seem to have an awful lot of respect for.

In the beginning, you were inclined to come up with excuses for him; he was Jake Sully’s oldest son, and was inevitably going to keep track of his peers and where they disappeared off to when they had duties that they should be attending to. But now, you think he’s doing it to spite you specifically. It might be a bit of a self-centred thing to believe, but you’re almost certain of it.

You shift on your knees beside him, raising yourself up a little to ensure that you’ve covered all parts of his scrape. You don’t want him returning tomorrow to complain that you didn’t do a good job.

You have to bite back another sigh as you do so, your thighs rubbing together in a way that sends a sharp jolt up your spine. You’re horny and needy and so, so resentful of the fact that you’re now treating the same man that’s the direct cause of your state right now.

Neteyam’s attitude wasn’t the only thing that changed in his time away, however. You have to keep your eyes fixed carefully on his bruising shoulder, because if you didn’t you know that your gaze would wander, and that’s a dangerous game to be playing in the presence of someone as perceptive as Neteyam.

But it’s difficult not to look. Time and ocean air has been kind to him; he’s grown as tall as his father, and whatever sort of training or work he had been doing with the Metkayina has resulted in broader shoulders and a more sturdy build than is typical of the Omaticaya. It’s galling to admit, and makes you feel as though you’ve eaten something sour and unpleasant, but Neteyam is hot as hell.

He might be aggravating and smug and too cocky, but no one in their right mind could deny that he’s attractive. Not even you. Especially you, if you’re being honest with yourself, considering your penchant for enormous blue alien men that could snap you in two with a pinkie if they felt so inclined.

God, you really have to think about something else. You’re so wet that your panties are starting to get uncomfortable, so you focus determinedly on the resentment that’s still simmering over the fact that Neteyam had interrupted what was promising to be a very productive encounter with Txetyo.

Neteyam shuffles a little where he’s sitting in front of you, and your eyes track the way his muscles bunch and shift under his vibrant blue skin. Damn, but seeing Na’vi musculature up close never gets old, even if it’s Neteyam.

You’re almost finished with dabbing paste on the tiny scrape (and you hate to admit that it had taken you longer than it should have due to your distraction), when Neteyam half-turns his head towards you.

“My back is sore, also.” He murmurs, though his eyes remain downcast.

You pause, staring at him. “Okay. And?”

There’s a moment where the two of you just look expectantly at each other. When nothing comes of that, Neteyam speaks again.

“You are playing healer today, are you not?” He asks, and his left ear twitches oddly. “Or is your attention all reserved for Txetyo, hm?”

Your cheeks heat in humiliation and your jaw clenches. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself from making some sort of stupid comment.

“Lay down.” You snap, prickly and embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am.” Neteyam purrs, probably all satisfied that he’s gotten under your skin. He reclines, all of those lithe muscles flexing and bunching as he rolls over onto his stomach.

You grab another pot of ointment, and then take a moment to steady yourself.

You know that he’s winding you up on purpose, just like always, but you can never figure out why. He doesn’t treat you like any of the other men in the village do – they might enjoy fucking you, but they’re rarely caught dead in public with you, worried about what it might mean for their own reputations.

Neteyam is bolder, more confident; though the burden of responsibility that he carries is unmistakable, he never seems to get caught up with the petty whispering and musings of the village people. It’s just unfortunate that he seems so set on bothering you.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes drop mindlessly over the expanse of his long, pretty back. His skin is stretched tight over lithe muscle, little luminescent white freckles glinting like little stars. He looks so smooth, though the flawlessness of his body is marred by thick pale scars that litter his skin, courtesy of the near legendary battle with the RDA that you hear happened off the coast of Awa’atlu.

You glance down, flustered. Fuck. It would be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t physically perfect.

“Problem?” Neteyam’s voice is a little lower in register than it was before, perhaps because he’s lying on his stomach with his head pillowed under his crossed arms.

You twitch. Shit. You had gotten distracted, and had lost yourself staring at him.

“No. Shut up.” You blurt reflexively, dipping your fingers into the oily ointment used for easing sore muscles.

Neteyam huffs quietly, a sound that could be a grunt or a laugh, but doesn’t bother responding. It makes you feel as though you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were playing.

Antsy and on edge, you lean forward and survey his strong back properly. When he's laying out in front of you like this you can see the way his back is knotted with tension and his shoulders are hiked up around his ears. It doesn't look too bad, but it can't be comfortable either.

You take one more moment to admire the musculature of his shoulders, before gathering yourself and dipping your fingers into the ointment. It's balmy against your fingers and smells a little bit like blueberries, and begins to tingle when your hand is entirely coated.

"Where does it hurt most?" You ask, your voice quiet.

In the silence, you can hear Neteyam’s throat click when he swallows.

"My neck and shoulders." When he speaks, his voice is a little deeper than expected.

The very first touch to Neteyam’s back pulls a quiet sigh out of him; it sounds like relief.

Considering his size, it takes surprisingly little to have him melting under your hands. Your fingers spread under his scapula, finding a knot in the muscle and pressing in hard. It takes a bit of finagling, but after some firm pressure you feel the muscle begin to soften beneath your touch.

Gaining confidence, you return your kneading fingers to his neck. He really is terribly tense, and shivering spasms flit up and down the muscles of his back in regular intervals as you drag the warm palms of your hands over him. As your fingers work into his tense muscles, he lets out quiet little grunts that are muffled by the cradle of his arms.

“Why were you so hard on Txetyo during training?” You ask as your fingers dig into the tense tissue of his back. Your voice is unintentionally loud in the quiet of the hut. “He looked as though he had been attacked by a thanator when he was here earlier.”

Neteyam just grunts. “Txetyo is an overconfident skxawng. He is not nearly as skilled as he thinks he is.”

You click your tongue, dissatisfied with that answer. “I could say the same about you.”

Just like all your attempts to insult him, your words seem to bounce right off him. Stupid thick-skinned bastard. His pretty mouth tilts up in a smile.

“I have the skills to back it up, paskalin.”

Your lips purse at the name, your cheeks hot. God, he’s such an asshole.

When you exert pressure as you run your fingers down his spine, Neteyam grunts softly into his arms. The sound is startling in the quiet, interrupting the steady rhythm of your quiet breathing.

"Does that hurt?" You ask. Your voice comes out a little shakier than you’d like.

"No." Neteyam’s voice comes out in a low, gravelly rumble. The sound of it almost startles you into snatching your hands away, but you manage to refrain yourself. "Keep going."

You just swallow thickly, and try to keep yourself on task. “He just wants to be better. He was excited to train with you–”

“Lower.” Neteyam groans, shifting under your hands.

You clench your teeth. Really, you should probably just walk away from him. There’s no real need for you to be doing any of this. He’s not even injured, and who knows whether he’s telling the truth about his back being tense.

But you’re stupid, and you’ve never been good at walking away, from either fighting or fucking. This strange encounter feels as though it lies somewhere in the middle of those two things. Your palms drag down to his lower back, and he flinches briefly before melting under your touch.

His body is so big that it’s difficult to get a good angle to knead properly at his tense muscles, and before you can think too hard about it you swing your leg over his hips. You settle back, perching your weight cautiously at the base of his spine.

It's a braver move than you would usually make, but you try not to second-guess yourself — like this, you have so much more leverage to rub at the rigid sinews of his back. You drag your knuckles down the length of his spine and he groans into the cradle of his arms.

You try to ignore the excited flutter in your belly. It’s just Neteyam. You’re not actually getting turned on from this; the only reason you’re so affected is because you had been horny with Txetyo. You shift where you’re sitting on his back, but you have to force yourself still almost immediately, because the friction nearly makes your lungs seize.

“Comfortable?” Neteyam murmurs, and you can hear amusement in his voice.

“Shut up.” You say reflexively, before scowling. “I can’t believe you interrupted me and Txetyo just for this. You have, like, one bruise–”

“It’s a very sore bruise.” He murmurs lazily, sounding unbothered. “Do you think squeezing your tits might help? That seemed to help Txetyo feel better.”

You pause, jaw dropping in indignation. “I– shut up!”

Neteyam makes a noise that sounds like a snicker, and you dig your fingers down the planes of his back vengefully. His waist narrows into an elegant taper, and when you reach the part of his back where his ass begins to swell, you exert firm pressure against the base of his tail.

If you had done it to a human, you know it would have hurt. But instead the tightness of the muscle unfurls under your fingers, and Neteyam gives a long, low groan. The sound is delightfully gravelly, and you take a breath as you feel molten heat ooze down into your belly and settle between your legs. It’s not a reaction you had been expecting.

You sit back onto his lower back, avoiding his tail. From here, you have a truly captivating view of how slick his back looks from the ointment, and how his skin glows in the dim light of the hut. His body really is perfect, and your eyes track over the taut shiny scars that litter his skin.

“Mmm. May I get up? Or do you want to sit on me a little while longer?” Neteyam’s low voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you’re horrified to find that you’ve just been sitting there with your wet panties pressed against his back beneath your thin shorts.

You scramble off him quickly, flustered and clumsy. It had been a bold move to straddle him in the first place, and now you feel very stupid about it.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You blurt, just to say something into the silence.

“Why are we still talking about Txetyo?” Neteyam has always been a relatively tolerant and even-keeled man, but you can hear irritation beginning to bubble up in his voice.

“Because–” You start to say, but then Neteyam rolls over so that he’s laying on his back.

Now that he's lying on his back, stretched out all long and lithe, your eyes rove over his face and then down his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. Your eyes catch on the protrusion between his legs and stick there, your mouth dropping open in surprise when you see that his loincloth is tented.

“Because- he… you were too–” You try valiantly to finish your sentence, but your thoughts have scattered to the wind.

He’s hard. Why the fuck is he hard? Is that just from you rubbing his back? Oh my god, what are you supposed to say? It feels like his hard-on is staring at you.

Neteyam pushes himself up into a sitting position, his hands planted on the woven rug behind him as he pushes himself up so that he’s sitting looming over you. Once he’s upright, Neteyam flexes his shoulders and groans slightly as he goes. It doesn't sound like a pained groan, thankfully.

The movement brings him closer to you than you had been expecting, and you end up freezing. Like this, you can see the way his expression has smoothed into one of relief. His shoulders are looser too, no longer held bunched up around his neck.

Neteyam doesn't seem to notice your close proximity, nor the way you have tensed at the lack of space between them. You’re not touching, but you’re so close that you swear you can physically feel the air between you.

“If Txetyo is so upset about being beaten by me in training, then he should focus on getting better instead of slinking away with his tail between his legs and trying to screw you in a corner of my grandmother’s hut.”

You gape at him like an absolute idiot, floored by the acerbity in his tone. You’ve always thought Neteyam was a bit of a dickhead, but that was mostly because of his nearly insufferable need to always be the best. Always the best warrior, the best son, the best brother, the best future Olo’eyktan. The best role model to his peers.

“So that’s what this is about.” You say, your voice coming out distinctly accusatory. “You don’t like that your friends are fucking a human, is that it?”

Neteyam doesn’t even bother answering. He just rolls his now loosened shoulders and watches you carefully. He doesn't tell you to back off, or wrinkle his nose at you, or act as though he's repulsed by you. He just stares at you across the miniscule space between you, and that only angers you further.

“Is that why you keep interrupting whenever I’m with any of the other tsamsiyu?” You demand, fists clenching. “What, you don’t like that your friends find a tawtute attractive? Is that why you keep cockblocking me?”

Neteyam huffs a quiet snort, as though he thinks you’re being stupid.

“I hear what some of the Na’vi in the village say, about how it’s shameful to be with a tawtute.” You hiss. “I just didn’t think you’d be one of them.”

And if you’re honest with yourself, it sort of hurts. Neteyam has always gotten on your nerves with his confusing mix of overconfidence and jagged insecurities, and he had really infuriated you when he had started to interrupt all of those illicit little meetups you had planned with some of the boys in the village, but you hadn’t actually thought that he had any disdain for you like some of the other Na’vi.

And then you do something so stupid that it shocks even you.

Your eyes drop back down to the tent in his tewng, eyeing it thoughtfully, before reaching out and running your fingers over the hardened outline of his cock through the fabric with purpose.

Neteyam hisses, and his hips actually lift off the floor in an attempt to follow your touch.

“God, you’re a hypocrite, aren’t you?” You breathe, fighting to keep your voice casual. “How can you judge your friends for fucking around with me when you’re this hard after just a backrub?”

“They’re not my friends.” Neteyam grunts, his jaw clenching as his head tilts back. His hips rock into your hand.

Your touch goes firmer, and then your hand slips under his loincloth. You’ve had plenty of sexual encounters with Na’vi men, but this is different.

This is Neteyam. This encounter feels like proving a point. A very sexually charged point.

His cock is silky smooth and hot to the touch, and you feel a little drunk as your fingers close around it. And damn, it feels big. All Na’vi cocks are big compared to your hands, but this… feels different. You were aroused anyway, you’ve been feeling pent up all damn week, but now that your hand is on his dick your nerves are fizzing up.

It’s a surprise when Neteyam’s big hand settles on your waist to tug you closer, and you feel your stomach swoop when he pulls you forward. You don’t release his cock even as he pulls you to settle over one of his thighs, your legs slotted in between his, and you can feel him harden even further beneath you.

You wonder absently if it's really you that's causing his very obvious arousal or if it's just a natural consequence of the massage; either way, when his hips flex up towards you, they press right in between your legs.

You shiver almost violently, the sensation of him pressing hot and hard against your core frying your nerves and wiping your thoughts clean. The part of your brain that had been screaming about what a bad idea this whole thing is has become muffled now, and your own hips jerk against his.

“You’re such an asshole,” You say, though your voice comes out reedy and breathless. “You of all people don’t have a right to talk shit about those guys just cause they’re into humans, especially when your cock is this hard, and especially considering where your dad came from–”

He lets out a soft, quiet noise as you move against him, and uses his grip on the back of your top to pull you tighter against him yet again. “Don’t talk about my father when you have my cock in your hand.”

It takes what feels like a monumental effort to wrench your hand away from him, and he lets out a wordless grunt of dissatisfaction as his hips twitch in an effort to follow your hand. It’s delightfully pathetic, and you feel your ego swell at the sheer sense of power that washes over you; it’s a rare feeling, especially when you’re faced with a big blue alien almost twice your size.

“You should apologise to Txetyo.” You sound like an out of breath idiot. “It’s not like you can judge him for being with a tawtute when you’re that hard from me just touching you.”

Neteyam just stares at you, his jaw clenching and his honey eyes dark as he takes several breaths through his nose. You’ve never seen him like this before; you’ve never seen any of the men you’ve been with like this before. It looks as though he’s holding onto a thin veneer of control, and you wonder if he’s angry with you, if you’ve perhaps pushed him too far.

“That was never the issue.” He says and fuck, his voice has gone so gravelly. “And don’t pretend that you’re not wet beneath those clothes of yours. I can smell it.”

Your thighs squeeze together as you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your aura of indifference and no doubt failing.

“That’s because of Txetyo.” You say, and it tastes like a lie on your tongue. “You interrupted us.”

Neteyam laughs quietly and humourlessly. His expression suggests that he doesn’t find anything about this conversation funny, and his hand is still splayed across your back. You’re so damn conscious of how big his palm is as it spreads across your spine. Why the hell hasn’t he let go of you yet?

“Ah, I see.” Neteyam murmurs. “You would have fucked him in my grandmother’s hut?”

Your mouth is so damn dry, and you swallow compulsively. “It’s not any of your business who I fuck.”

Neteyam’s smile is grim. “Txetyo would fuck his own shadow if he were nimble enough to catch it. You have terrible taste in men.”

You rear back. You’re surprised by how much that hurts. Living as a human on Pandora is lonely, and it’s not like you have people lining up outside the human outpost looking to spend time with you. If you want any sort of companionship or intimacy, you have to accept any attention that you can get. And sure, most of that attention comes from men that only want to get their dicks wet, or the experience of being with a tawtute, but it’s better than nothing at all.

“Well, we can’t all be the Olo’eyktan’s son.” You say, your voice stiff and cold. “We don’t all have countless suitors throwing themselves at our feet. Some of us have to accept attention from whoever’s interested.”

Neteyam’s expression shifts, an odd look appearing in his eyes, and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you could bear to see pity in his eyes, so you pull away from him, shaking his hands off.

“Your scratch is fine.” You say, your voice thin and a little thready. “You’re all treated.

“Hey–”

As you stumble to your feet, Neteyam reaches out as if to stop you. You dodge his hands, unable to look him in the eye.

Panic is starting to set in now; what had you been thinking, touching him like that just after he had chided you for flirting with Txetyo in the tsahìk’s hut? God, you feel like such an idiot. He must think you’re so pathetic.

Like a coward, you turn on your heel and flee out of the hut. You need air, you need to be out of the cool darkness of the hut, you need to be away from the overwhelming weight of Neteyam’s presence. Through the blood rushing in your ears you can distantly hear Neteyam call to you, but you’re too desperate to escape from the whole humiliating interaction to stop and listen.

You stagger out of the hut, squinting at the evening light; it seems blinding after spending all day in the dim musty air of Mo’at’s healing hut. You pat at your rumpled shirt and creased denim shorts, flustered and frenzied as you try to straighten yourself out.

“Tawtute?”

You jerk, gasping, and whirl to find that Txetyo is sitting on a log a few feet away from the hut, apparently waiting for you to finish up with Neteyam. You feel like you’re burning up from a mixture of mortification and confused arousal and you’re certain that Neteyam is about to follow you out.

“I– I have to go!” You blurt, already stepping back towards the forest.

Txetyo frowns, obviously bewildered, but he doesn’t stand. “Don’t you want to–”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You’re already fleeing, disappearing into the trees as you run the whole way home.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

It might be a little cowardly, but you avoid the village for days after that.

You stick to the outpost, watching Norm and Max and the other scientists work. You try not to die of boredom, and you try not to overthink and overthink and overthink.

But you have too much time on your hands as you slink around the outpost, and you can’t stop feeling guilty about abandoning your attempts to help Mo’at out in her healing hut.

You also can’t stop thinking about the shift of Neteyam’s muscles in the low dim light, or the silky hot feel of his cock in your hand, or the soft breathy grunts he had let out as his hips rocked. It feels like the experience has actually rewired your brain, as though you’ll never recover from it.

Growing up on Pandora as a human has been lonely. The only other human your age is Spider, who had become the closest thing you have to a brother – and you love him even when you feel like throttling him, but sometimes you just yearn for more.

You want companionship, you want understanding, you want romance, you want sexual intimacy. You don’t think it’s too much to ask for, and if you have to turn to big nine-feet-tall Na’vi warriors who just want to say they’ve had the experience of sleeping with a tawtute, then that’s… fine. Even if it’s only temporary.

Part of you is honestly relieved when Spider finally manages to force you out of the outpost and back to the village. It’s a relief to get back into the forest, to the village, to the life you’re used to. The outpost has nothing on the vibrancy of the village life, and you feel as though you can breathe for the first time in days upon stepping back into the village, even if it’s through your respirator mask.

There’s been a big hunt today, and the village is buzzing with excitement. You pass by several willowy Na’vi covered in celebratory paint, and follow the sound of the heavy thumping of drums.

The evening after a hunt is always a joyful affair, and you gradually start to relax throughout the night. You feast on collected fruit, hum along to some of the music, and sit comfortably with Spider all evening. At some point you’re joined by Lo’ak, which you don’t mind either; Lo’ak has always been the kind of outcast that fits comfortably between the edges of you and Spider. Those edges have smoothed out as he got older, but he’s always been a cool guy to hang out with.

When he’s not joining Spider in ganging up on you, that is.

“So– so wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Lo’ak is waving his hands as though trying to settle down a group of rowdy children, even though it’s just the three of you present. “Neteyam walked in on you fucking again, but this time it was in grandmother’s hut–”

You’re sat around the large campfire in the middle of the village, tucked away from the main celebrations. Part of you is flourishing being in this environment again, but another part is withering at this damn conversation. You glance around nervously, hoping that no casual observers can hear you guys talking.

“Txetyo only had his hand up my top!” You hiss hastily. “We weren’t actually– and we would have gone somewhere else when it came down to it!”

“Txetyo is a dickhead.” Spider complains, leaning heavily on your side. He’s so frequently dwarfed by the Na’vi that it’s easy to forget that he’s over six-feet-tall and corded with muscle, and his bulk is heavy.

Irritatingly, Lo’ak leans into you the same way on the other side, though he’s more careful about leaning his full weight, and you end up crushed in between the two idiots.

“He isn’t.” You protest, pushing back against their weight. “He’s–”

“Nah, he is.” Lo’ak interrupts before you can defend him. “Total skxawng. You know he keeps telling people he’s the best archer in the clan? And yet he didn’t manage to catch anything in today’s hunt–”

You try not to wince at that. It’s impossible to miss that while Txetyo may not have been successful in the hunt today, someone else is being lauded for their skill and success.

Neteyam has been given a place of honour by the fire next to his parents, and the careful swirls of paint all over his body can’t hide the proud glow on his face. Under the smooth veneer of Neteyam’s smiles and cheer was the jagged edge of his inferiority complex, his need to always be better and to be liked. Funnily enough, his insecurity has always been your favourite part of him. It felt real in a way his cockiness didn’t.

You can’t stop yourself from glancing over. Night has already fallen and there are many couples dancing, the flickering firelight sending wild shadows across the gathering. But even in the unsteady light, you catch the intense golden stare of Neteyam watching you from across the circle.

You hastily turn your face away, pressing your lips together tight as you try to pretend like you hadn’t been looking in the first place.

“–He’s better than Art’alak, at least.” Spider says, continuing on the conversation that you had checked out of for a few moments. “That guy was awful. I mean, what did you even see in him?”

You roll your eyes, sinking further back into the stupidly heavy weight of Spider and Lo’ak in a silly attempt to hide yourself from view. It almost definitely doesn’t work, and you can still feel the weight of Neteyam’s stare on you, even as you fixedly ignore him.

“Pretty sure we don’t want the answer to that one, man.” Lo’ak says, snickering.

His eyes glance around, before flashing across the gathering as though he can also feel Neteyam’s attention. You frown as Lo’ak hastily removes his arm from around your shoulders, even leaning away from you a little.

“I’m allowed to want company.” You say loftily, though you’re certain that your voice is a little shaky.

It feels like your skin is heating up under Neteyam’s eyes, and you feel yourself getting shifty. Why won’t he just look away?

Lo’ak obviously notices his brother’s attention, because he leans a little closer so he can speak quietly in your ear.

“My brother can be unbearable,” Lo’ak murmurs, “But he’s not a bad guy.”

“Gross.” You wrinkle your nose playfully at Lo’ak’s rare display of sincerity about his brother and he hisses at you, swiping at your head.

It’s all in jest, which is obvious given how gentle his hands are with you, and you laugh and lean away.

“I just– I don’t understand him.” You sigh once your laughter has tapered off. “I mean, I get that he doesn’t approve of the whole interspecies thing, but it’s like he goes out of his way to catch me in embarrassing situations. If he finds it gross, why seek it out?”

Lo’ak purses his lips and avoids your eyes. “Uh…”

“Anytime he shows up, the guys I’m with go running.” You continue, your brows knitting into a frown. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous. Why can’t he just mind his own business?”

Lo’ak’s eyes dart over your head, and you just know that he and Spider are sharing a look together.

“He doesn’t– I wouldn’t say he disapproves of interspecies relationships–” Lo’ak says, but he fumbles a little in his attempt to get his words out and darts another panicked glance across the fire towards where Neteyam is sitting with their father.

You just scoff, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. You feel a little vulnerable talking about this; usually, you’re content to suffer through the embarrassment of having your sex partners pretending they don’t know you in public alone, but since Neteyam had started walking in on you, now he knows that they’re doing it too.

“He scolds them like they’re children whenever he walks in on us, talking about how they’re neglecting their duties and all that,” You mutter, scowling. “But it’s obviously because he’s annoyed that his friends are messing around with a Sky Person.”

Spider shifts at your side, making an odd sound beneath his breath. You turn to look at him, but he’s staring rather fixedly at a tree branch overhead. Lo’ak clears his throat, similarly looking off to the side to avoid your eyes.

You frown. It feels as though they’re hiding something from you, and the thought is unsettling.

“What?” You demand, sitting forward and staring intently at them.

“Nothing,” Lo’ak protests, but his voice is a little too high-pitched to be believable. “Uh… It’s just… well, I really don’t think that Neteyam has a problem with interspecies relationships. Our dad came from the Sky, too!”

You think that Lo’ak probably intended for that to be reassuring, but instead you find your stomach sinking miserably.

“Oh.” You say, pursing your lips. “So it’s me that he has a problem with.”

“No!” Lo’ak protests, but then he pauses. His mouth opens and closes as he struggles to form a response under the weight of your narrowed eyes.

When no explanation comes, you end up just averting your gaze and looking towards the fire. It’s stupid, but you’re not sure what you were even expecting. Neteyam has always been perfect in his personal life, his duties, his relationships within the clan, his looks. It’s hardly a surprise that he’s developed a distaste for you – you know what Sky People represent to the Na’vi, after all.

Across the gathering, two Na’vi girls are shooting looks at Spider. You almost think they’re looking at him in disgust, but when Spider catches their eye and smiles back they both look away giggling.

You click your tongue and roll your eyes. You wonder when exactly it was that the Na’vi your age stopped seeing you as human nuisances that haunt the village, and started instead seeing you as people with possible sexual appeal.

“That is just unfair.” You intone dully. “You get Na’vi girls flirting with you from across the campfire, and I get Na’vi boys fucking me in corners and then pretending they don’t know me. And that’s only if I don’t get rudely interrupted by Lo’ak’s asshole brother.”

“Men.” Lo’ak says in a disparaging tone that sounds as though it’s meant to be sympathetic, but it falls short as he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing. “Maybe you just have bad taste.”

Spider laughs too, though he’s still looking in the Na’vi girls’ direction. There’s a pink flush in his cheeks, and his smile looks distinctly pleased.

“Yeah,” You grumble, sinking down where you’re sitting. “I’m hearing that a lot.”

The conversation moves on then, Lo’ak nudging at Spider over your head and grinning as he recounts the highlights from the hunt earlier that day, but you’re distracted. You hardly even hear a word they say, too busy staring broodingly into the fire.

Luckily, neither Lo’ak nor Spider mind your silence. They’re perfectly content to fill the quiet themselves, chatting and babbling and joking over your head.

You’re drifting, lost in your own thoughts until you hear Lo’ak and Spider go quiet. You glance over to them, only to realise why they’ve stopped talking – Neteyam is walking your way.

You stiffen, eyes narrowing behind your respirator mask as he comes to a stop before you all. He greets his brother and Spider briefly, distractedly, before his big amber eyes settle on you.

All you can do is wait, tensed. You have no idea what he’s going to do or say, but if he says something about that day in the healing hut you might actually scream.

But Neteyam doesn’t immediately say anything. He crouches in front of you, his gaze as measured and even as ever, and proffers a wrapped utumauti leaf to you. For a moment, you just stare at it as though it’s something venomous.

“A portion of yerik meat,” Neteyam clarifies, not even blinking as he watches your face. “From the hunt earlier.”

Oh. Now you see. He’s just showing off, like he always does. He’s always doing things like this, just to show off his skills, his prowess, how strong he is. It’s irritating; everyone already knows how great he is, and he’s already practically revered throughout the village. You don’t know why he keeps trying to flaunt his greatness in front of you, other than the fact that he must love to annoy you.

Spider nudges you in the side, and you reach out to take the wrapped meat from Neteyam’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You say, a little tersely.

Neteyam just nods, his tail coiling. He watches your face for another moment, and all the unspoken tension between you from the other day seems to swell to unbearable heights. His ears twitch, and then he glances over his shoulder to where his parents are sitting by the fire. They’re watching, which makes you feel itchy and embarrassed.

“I should return.” He says simply, before standing and nodding at you, then Spider and Lo’ak, before straightening up and walking back to his place by Jake, his tail swaying low.

There’s a long moment of silence, where you can feel Lo’ak and Spider staring at you.

“Don’t.” You say sharply when you see Lo’ak’s mouth open, and he closes it with a click.

This feels embarrassing, as though Neteyam is mocking you somehow. It’s not the first time he’s given you food, always making sure to let you know he caught it himself. It’s like he has a damn pathological need to show off his skills, to try and prove himself, to prove that he’s better than anyone else. It’s aggravating, even more so now that Lo’ak has made it clear that it’s you that Neteyam has a problem with.

Eventually, Spider and Lo’ak return to their conversation and you pull back, sitting silently between them. You pull your mask off for a brief moment to nibble at the meat. You’re a little irritated to admit that it’s delicious, and you sit back to lean into Spider’s side as you chew at it sullenly.

You’ve just begun to wonder if this night is a total bust altogether when you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. You raise your head, surprised to see the sight of Txetyo stepping towards you.

At your side, Spider and Lo’ak share a look before sitting up straighter.

“Tawtute,” Txetyo greets, nodding his head at you. He casts a single cautious look towards Lo’ak, before focusing on you properly.

He is keeping his voice purposely low so that no one else can hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. This is the most public setting that any man has ever actually approached you in, and you can feel your expression brightening already.

“Hello.” You murmur, smiling sweetly at him. The last time you had seen him had been right after you had fled the tsahik’s hut, right after you had touched Neteyam– and no, you are not thinking about that right now.

“I would like to speak with you.” Txetyo murmurs, his voice low as he darts one more quick look between Lo’ak and Spider before settling on you again.

You brighten. You’re under no illusions about what Txetyo wants to ‘speak’ about, and you can safely assume that there will be little to no talking involved at all.

Yes. A distraction. This is exactly what you need.

“Sure.” You say, your lips curving up in a coy smile as you unfold yourself from where you’ve been sitting between Spider and Lo’ak.

“Uh–” Lo’ak starts to say, but you’re already beginning to step away with Txetyo, who’s beginning to lead you away from the gathering.

Maybe it’s a little impulsive, but you’re feeling reckless tonight. You can still feel Neteyam’s eyes boring into your back as you follow Txetyo towards the treeline, but you determinedly refuse to look. The celebration should be enough of a distraction to keep him busy and away from you for a while so you can finally get laid.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You resist the urge to check the time on your battered old wristwatch as Txetyo slides down your body and repositions himself between your legs.

It feels like such a long time since you’ve hooked up successfully with anyone, with no interruptions, which is probably why you’ve been so affected by all-things-Neteyam recently. You were hoping that this encounter with Txetyo would restore you back to normal, to get rid of all the thoughts of Neteyam’s intense golden stare and pretty face and silken hot cock that are absolutely haunting you.

Yet, so far, the night’s been less than stellar. Txetyo had led you away from the celebrations, and you had to try hard to pretend like you don’t see him looking around compulsively to make sure that no one else has seen him leave with you. You had followed him into the trees, and had brightened up when he took your hand as soon as you were out of sight of the gathering.

Before you knew it, you were on your back on the forest floor with your panties around your ankles and your dress rucked up around your waist as Txetyo loomed over you on his hands and knees.

Txetyo is handsome, and he’s big and strong and he’s not opposed to hooking up with a Sky Person, but he’s not much for conversation and it seems like he’s only really got one thing on his mind. Apparently, your list of criteria might be a little lacking, because Txetyo’s also proving to be woefully bad at sex.

He spreads your legs and buries his face there. You blink at the canopy of glowing foliage overhead, grimacing. Honestly, you’d think that anything tongue-adjacent would feel good against a clit, but that’s just not true. Txetyo seems to have an affinity for moving his tongue rapidly and aimlessly against you, resulting in nothing better than the occasional teasing — definitely by accident.

You shift a little, try to angle your hips so that Txetyo’s mouth is over your clit, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on what you’re attempting to do at all. He just moves his mouth away, jabbing his tongue sort of aimlessly at your left labia.

“Could you– a bit higher–” You say, trying to shift again.

Txetyo’s mouth is rather sloppy against your pussy, but you’re not actually sure what he’s doing down there. He seems to be missing every possible nerve ending that might feel good, which is actually a little bit impressive.

You sigh, and just resign yourself to getting bad head. You let your head thunk back against the mossy forest floor, your legs hanging off of Txetyo’s big shoulders as he hunches between your thighs.

It’s almost imperceptible, but the quiet ‘crack’ of a twig breaking underfoot has your head snapping around in a panic.

Though night has fallen, it’s never truly dark on Pandora. The moss beneath you glows faintly, illuminating the outline of your body as you lay there with Txetyo getting busy between your legs. The trees and foliage around you are similarly phosphorescent, your surroundings all lit up in luminous vibrance.

Pandora’s bioluminescence is beautiful; it also means that you can see Neteyam’s figure all dimly lit up as he leans against the trunk of a tree about fifteen feet away.

Neteyam’s head is cocked to the side as he very obviously takes in the scene before him, his head turning to scan up and down your body. His little luminous freckles are lit up and glowing, and it’s impossible to miss the fact that his golden eyes are fixed on you, so intense that it’s almost breathtaking.

You almost scream. You mean to, but instead you moan, completely by accident, and Txetyo groans between your legs.

You don’t know what to do. You’re gaping at Neteyam, who seems all too content to just watch you, meanwhile Txetyo is totally oblivious. He’s still doing nothing right, but something deep inside you pulses.

Moments later, much to your horror, Neteyam takes a small, tentative step forward. He stands only a few feet away, behind Txetyo and in plain view of you.

Go away! You mouth, staring at him in disbelief.

Neteyam scratches his head, feigning confusion, and then he takes another step forward.

He doesn’t say anything. Why isn’t he saying anything? It’s not the first time he’s walked in on you in a situation like this, but usually by this point he’s started making snarky comments, which in turn makes the men you’re with scramble away from you like you’re diseased.

Your dress is pushed up clumsily around your stomach, exposing your pussy. There’s a man between your legs. You’re in the process of getting fucked and Neteyam is watching, goddammit.

It definitely, absolutely is not hot. And yet… your hips twitch, and your breath hitches.

“That feel good?” Txetyo asks, peering up to grin at you. Your attention is dragged back to him and you blink, dazed.

“Yeah,” You lie. “So good.”

“Mm,” Txetyo hums in satisfaction, slipping two fingers into you. “Good.”

You grunt at the stretch of his thick fingers, breathing deep. His mouth returns, his fingers jabbing kind of aimlessly, but it hardly matters. Your attention is locked on Neteyam, and it’s somehow making Txetyo’s useless attempts feel somewhat invigorating.

“Oh god,” You gasp. You’re so confused. Part of you is still waiting for Neteyam to speak up, to make a sound or to clear his throat. Something. But he just watches on, his pretty eyes dark.

“Mm, so pretty,” Txetyo murmurs from between your legs, still blissfully unaware of your onlooker. “Can I fuck you now, tawtute?”

Despite yourself, you find your eyes darting over to Neteyam. The stupid fucker is still looking, and when he sees that you’ve looked at him his lips quirk. Your whole body flushes deep with heat, and you try to pretend like you aren’t taking direction from him; usually, his appearance would have stopped this entire encounter dead in its tracks. But you’re continuing, and the fact is, you feel as though you need his permission or something.

“Y-yes.” You say.

Neteyam purses his lips, and raises his non-existent brows. Fuck, what does that mean?

“How would you like me to–”

“Just like this.” You blurt. It feels, for some reason, as though you can’t risk Txetyo noticing Neteyam. This is the only way you can see Neteyam without Txetyo noticing him, anyway.

Txetyo shuffles up your body, his bulk dwarfing you. There’s a moment’s struggle as he’s lining himself up against your pussy, groaning low as he pushes into you. The stretch is intense, and a little painful, as always; you never quite get used to the bone-deep satisfaction of that achey biting stretch in your cunt.

The stretch is satisfying, like it always is, but it’s not necessarily special. Txetyo is not as evenly proportioned as he looks, and his cock is smaller than other Na’vi you’ve been with. That is, mostly, a good thing; it means he can fuck you without lube, which you usually have to use to accommodate the shocking stretch of taking a Na’vi cock. It also means that you adjust to having him inside you a little quicker, your muscles easing gradually around the intrusion of his dick.

What is special (or at least unusual) is the fact that Neteyam is still watching. You stare back, maintaining a bewilderingly intense sort of eye contact. Txetyo groans as your cunt clenches down on him, and he lowers his face to bury it in your shoulder; like this, your view of Neteyam is completely unimpeded.

“Ah! You’re so tight,” Txetyo hisses. “This is okay?”

“Yes,” You gasp. “You can move.”

And by God, does Txetyo move. He jerks in and out of you with a complete lack of coordination. You bounce and flop against the luminescent bed of moss beneath you, occasionally throwing a hand over your head to try and anchor yourself to a tree root behind you, just to stay put for a second or two.

Neteyam is undoubtedly amused. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, and the skin around his eyes is scrunched up with mirth. At one point, when Txetyo starts humping into you so desperately that you grunt, wincing, Neteyam doubles over himself completely, laughing silently.

“Oh, oh,” Txetyo groans. “Tawtute, I am going to– you are so tight, so hot inside–"

You smack one of Txetyo’s hands away from where he’d been rubbing determinedly at the side of your vulva. You rub at your clit instead in fast, harsh circles, staring at Neteyam desperately. You don’t actually know what you’re looking for, or what you want him to do… but you want him to do something.

Neteyam reaches down to palm the bulge at the front of his tewng that you hadn’t even noticed until now, and you moan. You rub yourself even faster, attempting to angle your hips in any way that could increase your pleasure from Txetyo. It seems impossible, but you manage to catch one or two good strokes.

“Please, please—!” You gasp, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with Neteyam over the wide bulk of Txetyo’s shoulders.

Neyeyam moans. It’s low, barely noticeable under Txetyo’s own strangled sounds, but you hear it clearly. Your body seizes up and then you’re coming, gasping high and quick as you drink Neteyam in with your eyes, frozen under Neteyam’s gaze in turn.

“Unnng,” Txetyo grunts as he comes too, thrusting into you through the last shocks of his orgasm.

You barely even blink, your eyes fixed wide open as you tremble, your breaths shaky. Neteyam doesn’t break eye contact either, watching you so damn closely that it feels bizarrely as though he’s watching a show you’re putting on, as though all of this is for him. The worst part is you feel as though you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

Neteyam silently turns and slips away through the foliage, and Txetyo flops onto the mossy ground beside you moments later, breathing heavily.

“That was good.” Txetyo sighs, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You don’t reply, still staring at the place Neteyam had disappeared into the trees. You’re partly unable to believe what just happened and partly turned on beyond belief, just knowing it did.

What the fuck?

#on holidays atm and I’ve been stressing about how to post this 😭 I’ll have part 2 posted in a day or two!#neteyam #neteyam x human #neteyam x reader #avatar x reader #na'vi x human #na’vi x reader #awow #avatar way of water #neteyam fic #fics

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missmeinyourbones · 1 year ago

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we NEED "i'm just too soft for all of it." IWHT MEGUMI PLS IM BEGGING

I'M JUST TOO SOFT FOR ALL OF IT (m. fushiguro)

a/n: me making up medical shit LMFAO, repressed and emotionally constipated megumi, deadbeat dad t*ji, slight mentions and undertones of toxic masculinity

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

Since he was four years old and still growing into his long-sleeved sweaters, Megumi has learned to heal his own wounds or almost die trying.

A routine that he now knows like the back of his hand, he'd returned from his latest mission with weeping cuts and exhaustion clear beneath his eyes, making a point to stop at the medical closet before returning to his dorm. With Shoko's workday over, he makes a mental note to visit her first thing in the morning when he wakes.

He can make it through the night, he always does. Because Megumi is a thinker. He plans until he can't and covers all bases for when they're stolen. He gets by.

What he didn't take into account was potentially running into you, of all people. Dormitory halls barren and almost eerie, he nearly curses himself for brushing shoulders as you turn the corner on the way back to your own room.

Your timing has always been wrong, or maybe it's right and Megumi can't differentiate between the two.

And now he's here, on the creaky wooden floor of the medicinal closet, with you kneeling beside him and prodding at his injuries with tender wrists.

Never one to be good with idle hands, Megumi fidgets and tries to brush at the dried blood on his shoulder. The action has both of you hissing��him in a jolt of pain and you in reaction to his hurt.

"Don't touch it," your voice falters to be stern, still coming out so gently. Megumi thinks about the irony of that—of how you can't even be sharp if you tried. You're too gentle, too soft to even sound hard momentarily.

Humiliated at the mere idea of doing nothing, at needing help, he shakily exhales and returns his attention to the floor.

When the damp cotton pad in your hand touches a bit too deep in one of his cuts, Megumi does his best to save face but can't help the grunt of breath that gets sucked into his lungs.

Immediately, he feels you retract from his skin and coo your apologies. Carefully returning your attention to the burning wound, you do your best to soothe him.

"Sorry, it's deeper than it looks. Almost over."

Megumi's response is quick and curt, like a cut of its own, "It's fine."

You nod hesitantly before grabbing the bottle of antiseptic and another clean cotton round. The cleaning of his wounds continues in silence, though your thoughts are louder than anything.

His injuries vary in size. Some deeper, fresher, than others. Some looking like one-hit victims and others a repeated attack. You do your best to take note of where he's sensitive, where he's hurting the most.

When you reach a certain scratch on his bicep, you're able to catch a glimpse of his face. Sweat beading on his forehead and damp hair sticking to his skin, Megumi bites the collar of his uniform to suppress any kind of noise (weakness) from you.

When he slips up and lets out a guttural muffled groan, you think you might audibly whimper yourself.

"You can yell if you want to," you try to help him in any way you can, "or squeeze my hand or—"

"I'm fine," Megumi attempts to bark again, but this time is different. It's not cold or sharp like it was last time. You can hear how it shakes against the echos of the closet, how it sounds like the burn of tears building in a sore throat.

And between the pain everywhere he still has feeling and the intimacy of you carefully caressing him, Megumi finds himself tearing up.

"Hey," he feels you whisper, attempting to caress his jaw and prompt him to look at you, "hey, you okay?"

He can't find it in himself to answer nor lift his head, so he sniffles like a kicked child and crinkles his nose in disgust at his own pathetic actions.

Megumi is tough, one of the toughest people you know. You've seen him more beat up than this and barely break a sweat. Your head feels light at the realization that something's wrong. He shouldn't be in this much pain from the familiar burning of antiseptic he's felt a dozen times over. Maybe it's from a cursed weapon, or a technique where—

A stifled sob cuts you off.

Like a glass cracking beneath pressure, you feel something inside you break. No longer caring about cleaning his cuts or avoiding sensitive areas, you can't stop yourself from wrapping around his hunched frame.

Megumi's breath hitches as you hold him, feels your hair tickling his neck when you rub his back and whisper.

"I'm sorry, I know, but you're doing so good, okay? And I'm almost done—"

"Don't do that," he bites.

Assuming he's referring to prodding at a specific wound, you flinch and loosen your grip, "Do what?"

"Talk to me like that," he snarls with a crack, "in that—voice."

He feels your head remove its weight from his shoulder slowly, "Why?"

"Because I can't—" Megumi's voice almost breaks before he whines, gritting his teeth when he whimpers, "I can't handle it."

And just like that, Megumi is four years old again. He's scraping his knee on the concrete of his front lawn, and a blurry father-shaped figure with dark hair and legs far too tall tells him to be a man. Not being old enough to use the stove without supervision, but still knowing enough to save his cries for his pillow when Tsumiki is snoring and can't overthink his tears. He thinks of Gojo—of the first time he broke down in front of him and was met with whispers of good intent and love that registered in his brain as pity. Humiliation.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels your fingertips on his wet cheeks, replacing the stinging of antiseptic with a fluttering and velvety touch.

Between sniffled strings of apologies and a few hiccups of words that don't quite make sense, you piece together that Megumi isn't crying because he's in pain. He's crying because he can, because you're helping him in a way he never asked for, let alone known.

"I've never...been allowed to, like, feel—"

"Hey," you're soft again, as if you ever weren't. "I know," fingers delicately brush his sticky eyelashes when you remind him, "but you are now."

"Are what?"

"Allowed," you whisper against his cheek, "to feel however you want when you're around me."

And Megumi doesn't know how you do it. How you remain a light in a world that's constantly doing all it can to kick you while you're down. Maybe you're just naive, so stupidly optimistic that it'll eventually be your own demise. Maybe.

But, Megumi can't find himself to care, because he knows that for as long as he's on this earth, he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to that light of yours.

Back to reality and rubbing at his stinging eyes, Megumi softly scoffs. "Y'know, sometimes you look at me with those stupid eyes and I don't know what happens, but I almost feel sick."

Your laughter tastes like water, "I know what you mean. But in a good way though, right?"

"Yeah," he nods, "in a good way."

When Megumi's back finally hits his mattress at an ungodly hour of the morning—something he's been dreaming of since he'd left it hours ago—he's sickeningly sore and his eyes burn with hypersensitivity. He lets himself close his eyes thinking of your hands, the ones that soaked his now scabbing wounds and wiped his watery eyes.

Megumi plans, sure, but he never could have prepared for you.

#L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro x you #megumi angst #megumi fushiguro angst #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro fluff #megumi fic #megumi fushiguro fic

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o-sachi · 5 months ago

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You're Just My Type pt. 1 ₊⊹ Blue Lock Chars.

ଳ What kind of person is the blue lock boys' ideal girl in terms of looks and personality?

ଳ characters; michael kaiser, sae itoshi, isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, nagi seishirou, reo mikage, kunigami rensuke, alexis ness

ଳ requested by; @itenesycc

[🐟]: I tried to include as many as possible. Hopefully this fulfills your request! I might make a part two with everyone else I missed.

‎

ᯓ Michael Kaiser - the domestic & doting type

Kaiser turns into the biggest baby around his s/o. How could he not? She spoils him rotten after all. And she hardly minds because she knows that he's just seeking out the care and affection he missed out in his childhood. In a way, he's healing his inner child. Don't get me wrong; he's not using her as some sort of replacement for a parent figure. But he's trying to feel what it's like to be truly loved.

He absolutely loves it when she cooks for him. His heart throbs like crazy whenever their s/o shows even the slightest bit of concern for him. And don't even get him started about the way she would take care of him before and after his practice. At the end of the day, he makes sure to reciprocate her efforts in his own little ways. Suddenly, he's the kindest, most gentle, and most loving man on Earth. And whenever his salary comes in, she's sure to be at a fancy restaurant that night and receiving the queen treatment she deserves.

I have a feeling that he's into nice looking hair. It doesn't matter if it's long or short as long as it's healthy and has volume to it. He's probably into dyed hair as well. He also finds that beautiful hair pairs up well with a pretty set of eyes. The more expressive they are, the better.

ᯓ Sae Itoshi - the shy & soft-spoken type

Sae might seem like a big b*tch to everyone else, but he's surprisingly nice to women (as long as they're not a crazy fanatic). Well... "nice" is a bold term, so let's just say he's aloof. He's not harsh towards them, but he's not going to smile at them either. But! Deep down he has a soft spot for the cute and shy kind of girl. He just can't find it in him to be cold to that kind of person; It almost feels wrong.

But, yes, he'll never admit that in a million years. However, the changeup is noticeable. It's subtle, but you can tell through how his voice softens ever so slightly when talking to his s/o. She might be cursing herself for failing to maintain eye contact with him or tripping over her sentences. But Sae finds all of this quite endearing. And trust me when I say that he becomes the biggest menace around her—making her flustered at every opportunity he comes across. He can't get enough of it.

In terms of looks, he likes it when a girl has soft features with short hair that frames her rounded face. Her plump cheeks make it more enjoyable for him to poke whenever he teases her. It's also canon that he's into ass... so, yeah. He says it's all about the shape and less about the size.

ᯓ Isagi Yoichi - the funny & carefree type

Isagi had the luxury of growing up in a healthy environment, so I think it's only natural for him to gravitate towards someone the same. If she has a great sense of humor with a relaxed demeanor, then he's pretty much sold. Frankly, he doesn't need anything more. Isagi finds beauty in simplicity. His s/o is someone akin to a hidden gem. She isn't flashy by any means, but she's incredibly sweet so she stands out that way.

He wonders why no one has gone after her before. But, oh well, more of her for him! She never fails to make him laugh even if the jokes are corny. They're the type of couple everyone's annoyed at because they're too sweet and now they feel jealous. Oh, but Isagi fell even harder once she witnessed his different side while playing football. He fully expected her to be repulsed, but she was amused. Apparently it was cool to see him so pumped up like that.

He's not that particular when it comes to looks. As long as she has a gentle expression and she takes care of herself, he'll be happy. When it comes to clothes... well, he has no clue about that so even a simple style impresses him. He's really a low maintenance guy and we love him for that. Canonically into thighs, so he doesn't care if it's plump or muscular—he's content as long as he can squeeze 'em.

ᯓ Rin Itoshi - the perfectionist & intelligent type

When you think of the title "Ice Queen"—whatever comes to mind, that's exactly his type. In other words, I have a STRONG feeling that Rin is essentially going for the female version of himself. He doesn't give a shit if she's worse than him. In fact, that makes it better in his opinion. Someone's gotta put him in place, right? He'll happily let her do that as long as he deems her on par with him. And I don't mean that she has to be a football freak; she just needs to be more or less well-rounded.

Apart from his standards being sky high, he just wants to make sure that his girl is better than his brother's girl. Toxic, I know. But what were you expecting? Regardless, he'll always make sure to let her know that she's the best in his eyes. Totally out of character, but he'll be praising her like crazy if he's truly in love with her. I can definitely see an enemies-to-lovers story happening to this guy.

He's probably into the clean girl aesthetic. He finds the look elegant and sleek. It makes her look like she has her shit together and he digs that. Perhaps he prefers dark medium length hair—so, brown and black hues.

ᯓ Bachira Meguru - the calm & laid-back type

When I say calm and laid-back, I don't necessarily mean someone who's the polar opposite of him. She's still going to be as hyper and energetic as him... just a bit more lowkey. Like if they were to go on an amusement park date and ride a rollercoaster—he'd be screaming his lungs out while she'd enjoy the ride quietly with a big smile plastered on her face. She'd gladly let him drag her to whatever crazy scheme he has planned. Spontaneous, but blends into the background kind of thing.

In a way, she's also responsible for mellowing him a little bit. Even though she's fully supportive of his antics, he'll unconsciously calm down at times to match her energy. He especially loves her because she accepts all of the overwhelming affection that he has to offer. Hugs that squeeze the air out of you? Sure, she'll take it. Kisses peppered relentlessly over her face? Great! Just another day for her.

I have this teensy feeling that Bachira might be into ponytails or pigtails. He thinks it makes any girl look cute regardless of the length of her hair. When it comes to height, he's the dude that does not care if she's taller than him. To be fair, he's pretty damn tall, so that should say something about him. Similar to Isagi, he cares more about personality.

ᯓ Chigiri Hyoma - the sassy & independent type

I'll just say it... but Chigiri likes his girls a bit b*tchy. Not rude, not mean—but just the right amount of sass. She's not a bitch. She's THE bitch. You get me? He just loves how witty and snarky she can be. It makes the relationship more fun knowing that she can keep up with the banter without taking any offense. They definitely have an inside joke—something something about who has better hair...

She thinks she's his biggest supporter, but it's actually the other way around. The way this man will support his girl is like no other. He can't help it when he's dating a girlboss. Chigiri admires that she's headstrong and knows what she wants. Like ask her where she wants to eat and she'll give you a place... and an order.

Long pretty hair. No ifs, no buts. He wants someone that can rival his hair routine. Chigiri would even be the one to tie a pretty pink ribbon in her locks. I see him digging the whole clean girl aesthetic as well. He's into the preppy style—old money or academia fits best.

ᯓ Nagi Seishirou - the patient & reliable type

I'll be real and say that Nagi probably wasn't the best person to be in a relationship with in the early stages. Of course, he needs some time to get used to having a whole other person constantly be around his space, requiring his attention. It's going to be a difficult ordeal, so it's totally valid to get exhausted. But once he realizes how patient and understanding she is, he'll try harder for her.

One day he'll just wake up on a random morning missing her warmth, then his mind will wander to what his life would be like without her. He'd be terrified to the point that he'll do a full 360 and become the most doting he's ever been. Well, he'll nowhere be near overbearing, but he'll at least show that he cares.

He prefers it when she has short hair or if she has longer hair—she would normally have it in an updo. He says long hair makes it itchy when he nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck when cuddling. And speaking of cuddling, Nagi would love it if she was built for warm cuddling. He falls asleep in seconds like a Minecraft character.

ᯓ Reo Mikage - the down-to-earth & responsible type

One of Reo's biggest considerations when it comes to finding love is his partner's perception of money. He's insanely rich, so it's understandable that he wants to find someone who isn't going to date him solely for his bank. He's going to be wary of everyone at first, but he'll fold once he finds someone who's genuinely practical and down-to-earth. Reo will be smitten knowing that she's staying with him because of... him.

With that being said, she needs to be responsible as well. I mean, responsible in the sense that she has her life together. She works hard towards her dreams which matches his goal-oriented persona. If she's financially responsible then, even better. Make those budget spreadsheets in front of him and he'll be impressed. In the end, he spoils her anyway.

Reo's probably into the unique kind of look. She dyed her hair a fun color and wears bold fashion pieces. Minimalist tattoos and piercings are her thing. He'll definitely take pictures of her and post her on his social media—practically bragging about her. He may or may not have paid for most of her tats and piercings because he thinks they're hot.

ᯓ Kunigami Rensuke - the tough & street smart type

Kunigami is a strong-willed person before and after the wildcard. So, of course, he'd be drawn to someone of the same air. His ideal girl is someone who can handle herself in tough situations—someone with a gritty, no-nonsense attitude and a street-smart edge. She knows how to navigate the challenges of life with a cool head and a confident stride. In other words, she can fight her own battles, but appreciates that Kunigami would always be there by her side regardless.

He's attracted to her because she isn't afraid to speak up for herself or for whatever she stands for, even if it means challenging him. They both believe that actions speak louder than words and they constantly express that belief towards each other in their relationship. Together, they're the power couple that everyone aspires to be.

In terms of appearance, he's not too fussy about it. He's more attracted to the fact that she's confident in her body. But he would definitely bark for her if she was a muscle mommy. Her fashion sense is practical yet stylish, reflecting her no-fuss attitude. Kunigami loves that she can effortlessly switch between tough and tender, and he's always in awe of her versatility.

ᯓ Alexis Ness - the creative & clingy type

Ness is into the artsy girls. Doesn't really matter if it's drawing, painting, theater, or writing—as long as she possesses the creative spirit. He believes that the creation of art is magical in and of itself. It's not supernatural by any means, but the fact that she can create something with her own hands that no one else can exactly replicate baffles him. He's the biggest fan of her works—that's for sure. It's practically praise galore when he's around.

He feels the most loved when his girl expresses the desire to be around him whenever she can. Quality time and physical affection are his non-negotiables in a relationship. And unlike most people, he'd find her clinginess endearing rather than annoying. He's going to be so generous with his affection—she better be prepared to take in ALL of it.

He's also very much into girls with tattoos. The regular black ink ones are nice, but the colorful tats are amazing. Bonus points if the tattoo has sentimental value to her. I think he's also similar to Bachira in that he doesn't mind if she's taller than him. She wants to wear heels on date night? By all means, go ahead. He'll compliment her anyway.

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock headcanons #kaiser x reader #sae x reader

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ghostlyferrettarot · 6 months ago

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🎲🖤Chiron in the signs🖤🎲

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings)Open!

🎲If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🎲

🗝Masterlist🗝

🗝Chiron reveals where we possibly have wounds, what hurts the most in each of us. With that, this influence guides us through a journey of suffering and liberation throughout life.🗝

🎲Chiron in Aries: is a more individualistic, impetuous and impulsive energy and such influence can "hurt." is affected by a possible feeling of worthlessness. These are people who may not value themselves (or may not know the exact measure of their value). Therefore, he should not fear his initiatives nor his own strength. At some point in life, the native must embark on a journey of self-discovery to overcome any feelings of helplessness that arise during life.

🎲Chiron in Taurus: can give rise to some problems related to insecurity or self-esteem. They may resent not considering themselves attractive or for some physical attribute that they dislike. Insecurity can also be due to the scarcity of some material good that he considers essential. It can be money, property, in short, anything he needs to feel safe and stable. Once he achieves such achievements and goals, insecurity will tend to decrease. People with this positioning have to learn to value themselves more in order to heal.

🎲Chiron in Gemini: May indicate a need to find your own voice. They can be very imaginative and creative but can have some problems expressing themselves. They relate more to their outgoing and spiritual side, some seek time for seclusion, introspection, and reflection. Individuals have difficulty learning rigorously, mechanically, but they still acquire knowledge by paying attention, capturing the deeper messages.

🎲Chiron in Cancer: Those with this positioning are more likely to feel out of place, sometimes thinking that they are not loved or that they do not receive enough love and attention. These are people who are more inclined to care for others, but they also need to be cared for. Learning to take care of their own needs is the key to balance, so they can feel complete. Opening your heart and accepting the love of others is also essential to healing any inner pain that may arise.

🎲Chiron in Leo: It can influence some feelings of dismissal, which eventually causes these people to feel unrecognized or not feel creative enough. These natives may think that their talents are or have been neglected, they may feel that they never had the opportunity to shine. The difficulty they demonstrate in expressing their own talents may be due to a repressed childhood or other various situations. To help overcome it, the individual needs to find a way to get closer to her inner child and awaken her creativity.

🎲Chiron in Virgo: may indicate possible changes in health or the feeling that personal problems are never definitively resolved. This influence can give the person a different way of dealing with the body, healing and health, in addition to work and routine. It can make the individual overly critical. It is recommended to learn to face imperfection, something that can be very difficult for them. . The fact is, since they tend to naturally be a perfectionist, they could use this trait where it is most welcome: in the spheres of healing and work.

🎲Chiron in Libra: May suggest possible problems in relationships with people. Relationships with some individuals may be more difficult and you may constantly have to deal with someone who is rude or rude. Or someone selfish or unfair. It may also indicate that this person is more likely to feel hurt or rejected in a relationship. You need to contain your impulses to achieve everything that the Libran scale means. The solution may involve better communication, more harmonious relationships, and the use of logic and common sense.

🎲Chiron in Scorpio: may suggest resentments or losses, material or symbolic throughout life. may, in some ways, suffer losses at an early age. Or feeling like a part of yourself has died due to irreparable losses. He may be afraid of his power to "dive" into the hearts of others, just as he may feel helpless. You are advised to enjoy life more lightly, because even when we lose something or someone, our life goes on and we can still become richer and more experienced with what we have or achieve.

🎲Chiron in Sagittarius: may suggest a certain lack of incentive in life or possible ruptures in your beliefs and values. In the sign of Sagittarius it may suggest wounds in the person's structure of faith or natural enthusiasm, which may have been discredited or missing. had no incentive. This positioning may suggest a break with spiritual traditions or teachings that may cause pain. People with this positioning may feel confined to a mundane existence. When you realize that there is wisdom in your own heart, your healing process begins.

🎲Chiron in Capricorn: May suggest some difficulty achieving goals in life and dealing with authority. It can suggest the difficulties that an individual may have in satisfying his or her greatest desires. From an early age, his ambition may have been restricted or he may have encountered many obstacles that were difficult to overcome. Perhaps you have lacked incentive from family or friends, or you have encountered inflexible bosses, etc. To overcome this, these natives must believe in themselves again, because then they will have more energy to pursue their ambitions.

🎲Chiron in Aquarius: can suggest wounds in collective concepts, freedom or personal originality. It may suggest feelings of inadequacy and social rejection. Aquarius brings a desire for freedom, originality, and the collective good, and such positioning can undermine such things, making the individual eventually feel uncomfortable dealing with people, groups, and tribes, and more likely to feel disconnected or isolated. To find the path to healing, they must learn to be themselves and appreciate their differences. This can be a difficult lesson, as some are not as comfortable in their own skin.

🎲Chiron in Pisces: may suggest wounds in beliefs, intuition, and the willingness to help those in need. People with this positioning in their birth chart may have been wounded by being wrong about others, suffering disappointments or betrayals. It suggests possible existential crises. This individual may eventually suffer a religious or spiritual crisis or lose faith in the world and others. They must balance their feelings and understand that there are disappointments along the way, but they can be overcome. That way, they will be able to find a cure for their problems.

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myladysapphire · 4 months ago

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The Dragon and the Wolf (III)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,291

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, p in v, depression, mentions of miscarriages, stillbriths, love confessions, family reunion, marital difficulties, angst, not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

authors note: the timeline does not follow the book so don't come for me for changing things. sorry if this seemed rush honesltyi dont like it but i think it works well and makes a good chapter to lead into the epilouge.

In the year of 134AC, 3 years after the end of the dance of dragons, and three moons into your marriage with Cregan stark you finally made your way to kings landing after years apart from your beloved brothers.

Viserys and Aegon were no men almost grown, with Viserys a wife and child on the way and Aegon, now married to Daenaera Velaryon, though their marriage remained unconsummated.

The reunion had been a sad one, with many tears shed as you finally saw your brothers after years apart.

“Aegon! Viserys” you cried out as you ran out of the carriage to greet your brothers, your arms wrapping tightly around them, scared to let them go. Tears filled your eyes as you kissed their cheeks.

“I have missed you so dearly” you said to Aegon before looking over at Viserys, your mouth stuttering as you tried to find the right words “Vizzy, I have…oh gods-“ you cried out pulling him in for a hug once more “your all grown up!” you said, “a man grown” shaking your head as you hugged him closer.

He cried on your shoulder as you did, his arms never leaving you even as you introduced him to Cregan.

“This is Cregan…my husband, and the new lord hand.”

“An honour to see you again” Aegon greeted, moving away from slightly from you to shake Cregan’s hand.

“As it is for me, my king” Cregan replied to Aegon head bowed.

And though Kings Landing had changed much, filled with new faces and on the rare occasions a familiar one, you still hated it.

You had thought seeing your brothers here, your sisters, it would feel like a home again,

But no.

You despised the viper pit.

There was more scheming and ploys than before and you were now at the centre of it.

with Cregan as hand and the death of your grandsire as regent, new faces took the role of councillors you had only just grown to trust.

Many of your mothers’ own advisers, advisers you had made Aegon promise to keep on his council had died in the winter fever the year before.

And perhaps that was why you hated Kingslanding, though a fifth of their population was taken, and 90% of that being the smallfolk, so many you had known, trusted and cared for had died and you never even knew.

The halls seemed more haunted now.

Not just haunted of by the faces of your family, of your uncles and brothers.

Of your mother.

But of them also.

You regretted coming with Cregan, and you hated yourself for it.

You had though and thought to stay here, arguing with him before the wedding for just this, to stay.

You know whished to take Silverwing and ride her to Winterfell and never return.

It was only the love you had for your brothers and Cregan that made you stay.

The memory of when first admitted your love for each other playing over and over again, as if it would somehow make you love this place once more.

“Cregan” you had sighed, now alone in your shred tent after a hard long day of ridding, the bath water doing little too sooth your joints.

He sighed your name in return, turning to face you as he undressed for bed.

“Do you love me?” you asked, trying to keep a casual tone to your voice, though you couldn’t hide the hope in your voice.

He smiled softly, moving towards you, taking your hand in his, “I have loved you since I first met you, and I do not think I ever will”.

You smiled, kissing his lips softly, “I love you, I have for so long, even when I hid behind my grief.”

“Really? I did not think you liked me much, after the war.”

“I did! And I hated it, I wanted to through myself into my grief and yet a part of me felt pained that I loved you and you did not know. I hated ignoring you, there always seemed to be a tether tying me to you.” You said shyly. “I hated that you were the reason I was pulled from my grief, I didn’t want my happiness to depend on you, but now…I am glad it is”.

She was glad to have him, he filled the whole left by her family’s deaths, though it was a different kind of love and wholeness she was glad for it.

But it did nought, not as you became and aunt, you fell back into the slow misery you felt before.

Feeling lost and haunted. Surrounded by ghosts talking to you day after day, ghosts you could not hear but faces haunted your dreams.

You didn’t tell anyone though.

Your family was happy, despite the death of Corlys or Baleas husband.

They all seemed happy here, laughing and enjoying the feasts.

The only person who could see your misery was Aegon, but even then, he didn’t understand.

It was clear he was haunted by your mother, of her death. But his was misery was he could push aside, and when with his family all he had was joy.

And yet you still felt that death followed you even more.

More as you felt the death of your child, spending hours, days on the birthing bed only to be greeted with a still born child.

More so as you felt the blood trickle down your legs time after time as you tried and tried to carry another pregnancy to term.

Your heart continued to break and Cregan could see your misery and so he insisted on you retuning to Winterfell, and you agreed.

Being back in Winterfell made you lose the feelings you had in Kingslanding, made you feel safer.

Made you feel at home.

And you felt lighter here.

Then Cregan was called back to Kings Landing and the emptiness found you again.

But you forced it to the side, hoping if you ignored it long enough it would go away.

And gods were you wrong.

You had plunged yourself into work, trying to help the north recover, from its weakened state following the famine caused during the winter fever.

A year passed, now 136AC, a year away from your husband, from your brothers.

You became a ghost once more; all healing had vanished and the person you said you would become if Cregan sent you here alone had come.

“Without you I will…I will only find that hollowness I felt for moons, the sadness will return without you to…to comfort me, to hold me and cherish me. I cannot be alone, I may rely on you a little too much, but I cannot bear to…”

And it had, you were hollow, and you were sad. But instead of letting it spill out of you as it had before, you kept it hidden.

Putting on a strong front, you wanted to be the fierce lady of Winterfell no matter how much you were breaking inside, no matter how much you wished for Cregan to see through your flowered words on paper and to come back to you.

And though he did come back to you, it was not because of you, but of Sylas the Grim.

A wilding chieftain who led a large force of 3,000 south of the wall and was plundering the lands of the gift.

Cregan arrived soon after you sent news of Sylas attacks. You yourself had tried to scare them off, using Silverwing to burn their trail. But they continued their plundering.

And so Cregan led the rallied forces of the north and attacked the wildings, leading yet another victory.

You had watched from the sidelines, sat atop Silverwing awaiting Cregan’s signal. But he never gave it, never looked over to where you waited. Only greeting you as you made your way into the festivity’s hours later. Having taken Silverwing over the wall and burning down all trees beyond the wall, within a 100-mile radius.

He had been surprised but grateful for your actions. But his gratefulness was soon overlooked as the drunken men of the north started to sing.

And you once again sat in your seat and let the hollowness within you start to show.

Later that night, after going to bed hours before Cregan, you and him finally spoke.

“Cregan?” you muttered, lifting your head from the pillow as he tumbled into the room.

“Wife!” he replied, his tone joyful, “I have missed you” he sang, “you’re going to come back with me to kings landing!” he spoke, looking at you expectantly, as if expecting you to dance in joy.

“no” you said, sitting up.

“No?” he said, suddenly sobering up. “Why not? Do you not miss your brother? Or me?”

“Every second of everyday”

“Then come to kings landing”.

“no”

“Why not?” he said, his tone almost aggravated.

“It is haunted” you spoke, your voice in hushed whispers as if the ghosts would somehow appear in your chambers.

“Everywhere haunted, even Winterfell” he said, looking at you, truly looking at you.

He took note of your sunken eyes, your dead eyes.

You looked just as you had those first few years here, and he hated how what you had said would happen had come true.

“no” he muttered, moving towards you “no…my love my sweet wife…what has happened?”

You broke down in tears, telling him what you felt, a years’ worth of emotions spilling out of you and the tears never stopped.

You must have spent the night crying in his arms, begging him to stay and never leave you again.

“please” you begged, “I can’t…I can’t go back there, and I can’t be without you”.

“okay” he said, thinking hard, “I will give up my place as hand”.

“I can’t ask that of you- “

“You can, and I must” he shook his head, cradling you in his arms “I have neglected you for too long and I am so sorry, I love you, I hope you know that” he said, hand caressing your cheek.

“you’ll stay”.

“Yes…always”

Giving up the position of hand of the king had been like a wight had lifted of his shoulders.

But seeing the state of his with had placed a heavier weight on him.

Feeling his heart break and his own betrayal fill him as you cried in his arms he felt he was a disappointment.

He had seen your loss, her grief and in his own he had pushed you away.

And though he had recovered, he should have known that you couldn’t, not by yourself, not when you still had so much grief left from the war still.

you had always been soft and gentle, always so Intune with your emotions that they overwhelmed you, and he had somehow overlooked that fact and sent you away.

And unlike last time he didn’t have the wedding or retuning to kings landing to look forward to. There was nothing really to look forward too, other than the one thing the gods had deprived you off.

A babe.

You had tried and tried, but three miscarriages and one still birth had wrecked you.

In truth had he not had the lords breathing down his neck once more for an heir then he would never have made you try in the first place and yet it was what you craved, despite the duty you wanted a babe.

And now as his cock filled you and hit all the right spots, this moment were their was no grief, no death no duty to fulfil, just you and Cregan.

“Cregan” you moaned, your face falling into the pillows as he pounded into you “please” you begged into the pillow, you felt your peak approaching as he entered you out, hitting your sweet spot again and again.

He held onto your hips, his cock focusing on that spot as his finger moved down to your clit, bringing you to your second peak of the night, as he filled you with his seed.

You collapsed on the bed, as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tight.

You relaxed into a comfortable silence, a silence you both often found yourself in.

‘I love you” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

And for the first time in a year you said it back, “I love you, too”

You fell into your roles as lord and lady of Winterfell easily. Finding you rather enjoyed your duties even more when they were not used as a distraction.

And even though there was some tension between you and Cregan still, you found the love you felt for one another made everything easier, especially when you had spent nights crying in grief and regret at refusing your brothers request to return to Kingslanding even if only for a few days.

You hated saying no, but they seemed to understand. Your duty was to Winterfell now, and they understood.

Egg had understood your need to leave before, himself feeling the same as he told you he considered moving to Dragonstone but fearing hell find more hurt in those halls than that of the red keep.

And now with news of Aegon’s tour around Westeros you were excited to see him once more, too show him your home.

A home you did not regret him having no place in, and as the years passed with a few visits here and there form your brothers you found you rather liked the distance.

Finding that perhaps your grief weas in the guilt of only them and you surviving and not Jace, Luke or Joffrey. The boys who were truly your brothers before they were ever kings or princes.

authors note: next part is the epilouge!

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cressidagrey · 26 days ago

Text

Stars all aligned - Chapter 16 (The End)

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Penultimate chapter! Bashing of like...every IC member, though we have now reached the point where Rhys and Cassian are the good guys, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Accidental Baby Procurement

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

Which one of you blabbed? he seethed mentally to Rhys. Guess who came to a visit.

Azriel was seething with rage. He could sense Zahra's hurt, her anger, the emotional turmoil simmering beneath her calm exterior. She was protecting him, defending him, shielding him from her sisters...and it only fueled his anger further.

He wanted to step in, to shield her from everything, to protect her from the harm her sisters were capable of causing. But Zahra was standing tall, her gaze steady, as she faced her sisters. Let her have this moment, Rhys' voice whispered in his mind. Cassian and I are on our way.

"We don't want to take anything from you," Feyre broke the silence, her voice wavering. "That's not..."

But Zahra shook her head sharply. "No. It doesn't matter what you want," she said coldly. "What matters is what you have been doing. You have spent the last few years ignoring me. You have all but disowned me. You have constantly reminded me that Ia m nothing to you. The constant reminders that I am nothing to you. You have all but disowned me. And now, you come here and expect me to give everything up? For what? For you? For the family that never once treated me as one of them?"

The words hung heavy in the air. Zahra's voice was unwavering, her gaze unwavering. Azriel's chest ached with the need to protect her. His hands itched to shield her, to hold her, to comfort her. But he stayed back, his body rigid with restraint.

This…This she had to do on her own. He knew that she was strong enough for it. Zahra was so strong. So utterly strong. So resilient. She could do this on her own, she needed to proof to herself, that she could do this on her own.

Elain's eyes were watering, her hands clutching at the fabric of her dress. "I...I didn't know," she whispered.

Azriel really wondered what Elain was thinking to keep insisting on this. He didn’t believe for one moment that there hadn’t been signs. That Zahra had succeeded in hiding away every single bruise, every single injury so well that her sisters couldn't have noticed if they actually cared about.

Zahra snorted at that moment, the sound harsh. There was no true amusement in her voice as she answered: "Of course, you didn't," she said dryly. “I did everything so that you wouldn’t find out. I was willing to take that secret to the grave with me.“

“Why?” Nesta demanded

“Because I shouldn’t have to sacrifice myself to make you act like you care,” Zahra snapped.

It was so obvious from her tone…the pain, the anger…a wound that had cut deep, that had never healed.

Zahra stepped towards her sisters, her eyes burning with a fire that Azriel had never seen before. "You never once asked," she said, her voice rising. "You never once tried to even act like you cared about me. You buried your heads in the sand while I went through hell alon.."

Her words echoed in the silence that followed, the weight of her pain and her anger palpable in the air. Elain was openly crying now, soft sobs escaping her. Feyre was pale, her hands trembling. But Zahra's gaze was fixed on Nesta, a glare laced with bitterness and anger.

"You have absolutely no idea what I went through," Zahra continued, turning her gaze upon Nesta. "The pain, the shame, the humiliation. You never once even wondered why I should have an affair with him. Instead you made fun of me. Instead you treated me even worse. You never once wondered where I got the money from. You should have known that Feyre’s hunting wasn’t enough to sustain us! If I didn’t do what I had to, we would have all starved!“

Azriel's heart ached with each word that came out of Zahra's mouth. The pain, the anger, the years of pent up emotion was finally coming out, the dam broken.

She was not holding back, her words sharp and scathing, aimed directly at her sisters. The air was thick with tension, the silence broken only by Elain's soft sobs.

Nesta's mouth had dropped open, her eyes wide with shock. "You...you did that for us?"

Zahra laughed bitterly. "Who else, Nesta? Who else would it have been for? I did what I had to do to keep the rest of you alive."

Elain's sobs had escalated to loud, hitching gasps. Feyre's face was ghost-white, her hands twisted together in a white-knuckled grip. But Nesta looked as if Zahra had slapped her, the words a blow to her very core.

“Even when you never treated me like your sister, you are mine.”

Everything wrapped up neatly in one single sentence. It was a death knell.

A killing blow.

And he loved her all the more for it. He couldn’t help but marvel at the strength she possessed. She was the strongest, bravest person he had ever met, and the knowledge that he was hers filled him with a sense of possessive pride.

Elain was openly weeping now, tears streaming down her face. Feyre was silent, her eyes wide, her hands clutched to her chest. But Nesta's face was a mask of shock, pain, and shame.

"I did it all for you," Zahra continued, her voice cracking slightly, "and yet, not once did you show me a shred of care. You never once even asked if I was alright."

Her words echoed in the silence, the truth of them hanging in the air like a thick, suffocating fog. The pain, the loneliness, the rejection. It was all there, laid bare for her sisters to see. And it was clear from their stunned, guilty faces that they were seeing it all for the first time.

No one spoke. No one moved. The only sounds were Elain's sobs and Zahra’s ragged breaths. Azriel wanted so badly to cross the room, to hold her in his arms, to take away the pain he knew was coursing through her.

So he did.

Just in time to feel more than hear the arrival of Cassian and Rhys.

Azriel's eyes met Cassian's, and he saw the surprise and concern written on his brother's face. Rhys' expression mirrored the same emotions, his eyes darting between his mate and Zahra.

Azriel pulled Zahra against him, wrapping her in a tight embrace, shielding her from her sisters' gazes. He could feel the tremors running through her body, the aftershocks of the emotional storm she had just weathered.

“I thought I told you to leave her be,” Rhys said, his voice even.

Azriel didn't loosen his hold on Zahra, his arms still tight around her. He felt her sag against him, weary and emotionally drained.

“We just wanted…” Feyre protested weakly. “We were worried."

“Zahra was with Azriel. What was there to be worried about?” Cassian said drily.

“She’s our sister,” Elain burst out, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “We were just worried for her.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. Worried for her, now? After all these years? It was too little, too late.

"Now you're worried," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "And where was this worry all those years when she was suffering?"

“Az…” Zahra murmured, her voice soft and broken and he pressed a kiss against his wife’s head

Azriel's anger faded slightly at the sound of her voice. The vulnerability, the sheer rawness of emotion in her words made his heart ache. He held her tighter, his eyes still fixed on her sisters.

“I said it before and I’ll say it again,” Rhys said sharply. “She doesn’t owe you anything and respecting her choices is the least you can give her, if you ever want her to actually talk to you again. If you truly, actually want to try and make amends.”

Elain and Feyre looked stricken, their eyes filled with guilt and remorse. Even Nesta was looking at Zahra, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“But we…we never meant...” Feyre started, only to falter under Rhys’ glare.

“You never meant?” Rhys repeated, his voice hard. “You never meant to hurt her? You never meant to ignore her existence, to never once show any care for her? You didn’t meant to disrespect her choices? Again? For cauldron’s sake, Feyre!”

Zahra flinched at Rhys’ raise voice.

She’s waking, the shadows whispered at that moment.

Given her an out that she needed desperately.

“Go take care of Azalea,” he whispered in Zahra’s ear. He could nearly feel some imperceptive tension in her frame ease at the sound of their daughter’s name.

She nodded, giving him a quick squeeze before gently slipping from his embrace.

The tension in the room felt like a physical weight, the air thick with it.

Azriel couldn't help but watch as his wife walked out of the living room, the door of their bedroom closing behind her.

Silence descended again after she left, the room seeming suddenly empty without her. Azriel turned his attention back to her sisters, meeting their gazes with a cold glare. His gaze lingered on Nesta. The oldest sister, the one who should have protected Zahra, the one who should have seen and understood her struggles. Instead, she had been the most hurtful, the most dismissive.

“How could you?” he said finally, his voice a low rumble, “How could you just ignore her? Your sister? For two decades you just…you just acted like she didn’t exist. And she believed it. She believed she was nothing to you.”

Silence met his words, all three sisters looking guilty and distraught. Even Cassian was quiet, his face grave as he looked at the aftermath of Zahra's emotional upheaval.

Azriel wanted to shake them, to make them understand the depth of the pain they had caused, the damage they had done. He had seen it for himself, the way Zahra had believed she was nothing, the way she had resigned herself to a life of being invisible, of being nothing to her own family.

"How can you say you care for her now," he snarled, his voice sharp, "after you let her suffer alone for so long? How can you pretend that your worry means anything to her after all these years?"

Elain was still crying openly, her hands clutched to her chest. Feyre looked like she was struggling to hold back her tears. But it was Nesta who finally spoke, her voice quiet but intense with emotion.

"We…we never knew…" she whispered. "We should have seen it…should have asked her, should have realized what she was going through…"

Azriel's anger flared again. "You should have," he agreed. "You should have cared enough to ask, to notice, to remember that she was your sister. But you didn’t. You just ignored her, left her alone, abandoned her."

He sighed, the anger embering in his gut.

“And you know what’s the worst part?” he asked Nesta sharply. “She’ll forgive you. One day, she will forgive you, because you are her sisters. Because she loves you more than you ever deserved her to. Because she’s good right to the bone. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure that people don’t take advantage of that part of her,” Azriel said sharply.

The sisters flinched at his words, the truth of them a blow. Feyre looked at him, her eyes pleading, her face wet with tears. Azriel held her gaze, his expression stern.

He knew that Zahra would forgive them one day. He knew that because he knew her heart. And that was what angered him the most. They didn’t deserve her forgiveness, they didn’t deserve her love.

But he also knew that Zahra's forgiveness would not come easily. It would not come without effort, without remorse, without proof that they truly regretted their actions. And even then, he knew it might never truly heal the wounds they had inflicted.

"Zahra will forgive you," he said coolly, "because she is good and kind. But do not take her forgiveness for granted. Do not presume that she will give it without you earning it."

Nesta nodded, her face white, her gaze fixed on the floor. Azriel could see the guilt, the pain etched into her features. But he knew that it was not enough. Not yet.

"It will take time," he said quietly, "and effort. And you will have to prove, again and again, that you understand the depth of your actions, the harm you caused. And even then, it might not be enough. Because she is my wife now, and she and our daughter are my first priority."

“”From where exactly do you have a daughter?” Feyre blurted out. “She wasn’t…Zahra wasn’t pregnant, was she?”

“The shadows kidnapped her,” he said drily. “They have moral issues with keeping babies in dungeons.”

Feyre's eyes widened, her mouth dropping in shock. Elain gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Even Nesta looked taken aback.

He couldn't help but feel a small pang of satisfaction at their dumbfounded expressions.

***

Zahra had retreated to the safety of the small bedroom, the door tightly shut behind her. The pain, the anger, the years of pent up emotions had all come bursting out in a wave that had left her trembling.

She laid down on the bed, burying her face into the pillow. The sobs came again, a shuddering, bone-deep release of emotion.

Her mind replayed the words she had said, the emotions that had spilled out, the hurt and the pain laced through her voice. It had needed to be said, the truth needed to be laid out. But the aftermath was…messy. The look on her sisters' faces, the shocked expressions…

She couldn't bear to think about it, not right now. All she could do was sob, sobbing into the pillow, her body shaking with the force of her emotions.

A soft coo next to her, and she looked up to find Azalea sleepily reaching out for her.

The sight of her baby girl made her throat constrict. Azalea was blinking up at her, her little hand reaching out for her. The sound of her soft coo only fueled the emotions churning in Zahra's chest.

She reached out, picking up their daughter and cradling her close against her chest. Azalea snuggled against her, her tiny body warm and familiar.

Azalea never screamed. Or cried. Or demanded attention unless she could see them… then she sometimes gave a questioning soft coo, wanting them to interact with her.

Zahra found comfort in the familiarity of her daughter's presence. Azalea was quiet, always quiet, yet always observing, always needing to be part of the action.

She held her tight, her cheek pressed against the soft, downy hair. Azalea cooed again, her hand coming up to pat Zahra's face, almost as if she knew her mother needed comfort.

The tears continued to fall, sliding down Zahra's cheeks and disappearing into Azalea's hair. The pain and the hurt still burned deep, but holding her daughter helped blunt the raw edges.

She sat there, rocking back and forth gently, her eyes closed, focusing on the weight and warmth of her daughter in her arms, the steady rhythm of Azalea's breathing. Slowly, slowly, her sobs quieted, her racing heart slowing down its panicked pace.

“Come on, let’s go see Daddy.” She said softly.

Azalea cooed in response, her big, innocent eyes looking up at her. Zahra couldn’t help but smile, as she lifted her in her arms, settling her against her hip.

She stood up, holding Azalea close against her, and made her way towards the door. The silence in the rest of the house was stifling, as if the whole building was holding its breath. Zahra paused outside the door, her heart pounding.

What was happening out there? What were her sisters thinking? What was Azriel thinking?

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and pushed open the door.

The battle lines had clearly been drawn.

Azriel was standing by the kitchen, his back to the door. His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched into fists. Her sisters were on the other side…Cassian and Rhys right there in the middle, clearly ready to throw themselves in the fray if something did happen.

The silence seemed thick enough to cut with a knife.

Zahra stepped into the room, her heart in her throat. All eyes turned to her, Azriel the first to turn around. His face softened as he took in her appearance - Azalea in her arms, her eyes red and puffy, her face streaked with dried tear tracks.

He held out his hand for her and she fitted herself against his side. His eyes were soft, full of concern and love, but there was a hardness to his features, a flicker in his gaze. He reached out to brush his knuckles over her cheek.

“Are you alright?” he murmured, his voice low. His hand moved to the baby in her arms, gently touching Azalea’s soft hair.

“I will be,” she whispered, looking up at him. The warmth of his touch, the understanding in his eyes eased some of the remaining pain, some of the hurt. “I just...I needed to hold her for a bit.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment longer before turning to her sisters and the High Lord and Cassian. His expression hardened, his protective instincts clearly flaring at the thought of what they had done to her.

They remained silent, their gazes shifting between her and Azriel. It was Feyre who finally spoke, her voice hesitant.

“Zahra...we -”

“Don’t,” Zahra interrupted, her voice weary but firm. She didn’t want to hear their apologies, not yet. She couldn’t stomach that. Not right now.

Azriel’s arm slipped around her waist, supporting her.

“I’ll need time,” Zahra said weakly.

“And you’ll have it,” Azriel said firmly, his arm tightening around her. He met the gazes of her sisters, his eyes hard as steel. “As much time as you need.”

”I am so sorry,” Feyre breathed, her eyes fixed on Azalea.

Zahra couldn’t help herself as she pulled her daughter nearer to herself.

Azriel tensed beside her, his arm around her waist like a vise. The sight of her sister’s apology, the look on her face...it was too much, too soon. Zahra took a ragged breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions in her chest.

“I need time,” she repeated, somehow managing to keep her voice from shaking too badly. “I - I just...I need time.”

Feyre nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks. “I understand,” she choked out. “I just...I never wanted to hurt you, but I did and I…”

Zahra felt Azriel's grip on her tighten, his body rigid with barely controlled anger.

She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under her palm. “It’s alright,” she repeated, more for his benefit than her sisters’.

She couldn’t look at Feyre anymore, the sight of her tears making her own heart ache. She turned her gaze to the other two, her eyes locking with Nesta and Elain.

They were watching her silently, a mix of guilty sorrow and regret on their faces. Elain’s usually soft features were pinched with shame, Nesta’s cold expression betraying a hint of remorse.

And they were staring at her baby. “What’s…what’s her name?” Nesta asked, her voice shaky.

“Azalea,” Azriel answered, his voice hard. Zahra felt a flicker of satisfaction at his cold tone. He wasn’t going to forgive them easily, not after witnessing the pain they had caused her.

Elain looked stricken, her eyes wide. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered. Nesta simply nodded, her eyes glued to the baby.

Zahra felt a small pang in her heart at Elain’s words. She knew the compliment was sincere, but there was also a pang of hurt, a reminder of the years of silence, the years of being ignored.

She pulled Azalea closer, her grip instinctive and protective.

Azriel’s hand was rubbing circles on her hip, grounding her, reassuring her.

“Thank you,” Zahra brought out.

“She looks like Azriel,” Nesta said suddenly.

“She is biologically his niece,“ Cassian said flatly. “But she is Azriel’s and Zahra’s daughter.”

There was a moment of silence, the statement echoing through the room. Azriel’s breath hitched beside her, his grip on her hip tightening for a moment. The implications of the words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the unconventional ways in which Azalea had come to be.

Zahra, however, felt a strange sense of calm. The words were merely stating a fact, a truth that could not be denied. “She’s ours,” she agreed with Cassian, sticking out her chin, daring her sisters to say something. But they didn’t.

Nesta swallowed. “Congratulations,” she said softly, much to Zahra’s shock. “She’s adorable.”

Zahra blinked, surprised at the unexpected well wish. The words seemed almost genuine.

“Thank you,” Zahra murmured, her voice soft. Azriel’s hand tensed on her hip again, his protectiveness on full display. Zahra could see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his eyes flicking between her sisters and their daughter.

The room was filled with a strange sort of tension. She should have known that it was gonna be Cassian that had absolutely no problem with breaking it with a bright grin, waggling his fingers in Azalea's direction who immediately reached out for him.

“She likes me,” the general chuckled, his usual easy smile plastered on his face. "I am clearly the favourite uncle."

Rhys rolled his eyes, the tension breaking somewhat. “She just want to grab your fingers, you oaf.”

“Nah, she’s smart, she knows who the cool uncle is,” Cassian retorted, reaching out to hold Azalea’s little hands in his bigger ones. Azalea cooed, grabbing hold of his fingers with a serious expression, her tiny hands looking laughably small in his grasp.

Azriel rolled his eyes but the tension in his shoulders relaxed a little, his gaze fixed on their daughter. It was hard, even for him, to stay completely serious and protective when the Lord of Bloodshed was making funny faces at Azalea and she was giggling like a little maniac.

Zahra couldn’t help but smile at the scene, the tension in the room slowly easing.

Azalea’s giggle was like a ray of sunshine, bright and pure. She was usually quite reserved, her emotions more often than not kept hidden, but she was clearly enjoying the attention.

Cassian, meanwhile, couldn’t resist the temptation to start pretending he was eating her fingers, making exaggerated ‘nom nom’ sounds and grinning widely when Azalea shrieked with delight.

Even Azriel couldn’t help but smile at the sight, the corner of his lips curving up. It was impossible not to be charmed by Azalea’s infectious happiness.

Feyre chuckled, her earlier tears wiped away now. Even Rhys and Nesta looked less tense, their gazes on Azalea as she continued to pull on Cassian’s fingers.

There was a part of Zahra that wanted to hold on to the good moment, to bask in the relief provided by Azalea’s laughter and Cassian’s antics. But the elephant in the room was still there…

She knew there was more that needed to be said, more that needed to be discussed. The pain, the hurt, the years of silent isolation… She couldn’t simply ignore it all now just because Azalea was being cute.

Despite this, she didn’t know how to start, how to voice her hurt without the pain and the anger taking over again.

Azriel seemed to sense her turmoil, his hand on her hip moving to the small of her back, gently rubbing soothing circles.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice steeling. "We will talk. Soon. But not now. When I am ready. And not when you decided that you need to apologise because you feel bad."

Her sisters nodded, their expressions solemn. It was Feyre who spoke up, her eyes wide and sincere.

“Of course,” she said, her voice low. “We will wait until you’re ready, just… just know that we do want to change, to fix things…”

Nesta and Elain nodded silently, their gazes fixed on Azalea who was still grabbing at Cassian's fingers.

Azriel’s hand on her back began to rub soothing circles again, his silent support grounding her. She took comfort in his presence, in the knowledge that he was right behind her, ready to back her up.

“We understand,” Nesta spoke up suddenly, her voice more firm than it had been before. “We will be patient. We will wait.”

Even Elain, who was usually the more soft-spoken sister, nodded emphatically.

Azriel's hand on her back tensed, but he remained silent. His whole body was taut with suppressed anger and the need to protect, but he held himself in check, letting her handle the conversation.

“Thank you,” Zahra said quietly, her voice a little stronger now.

Feyre smiled softly, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “We won’t try to make excuses or to justify our actions,” she said, her words firm like a promise. “We messed up, we own that. We’ll wait until you’re ready and then we’ll listen. No interruptions, no excuses, no defenses.”

Zahra would believe that when she experienced it.

Azriel's hand on her back continued rubbing soothing circles, as if sensing the scepticism in her mind. He was still wary of her sisters, unwilling to trust their word so easily.

But he was also willing to take her lead on this.

Azriel was many things, but he respected boundaries and choices. He would always give her the space and the time she needed to deal with things her own way, while still being a steadying presence, a quiet strength by her side.

Despite his reservations, he was trying hard to keep his own anger and opinions to himself. But she knew him well enough to sense the tension in his body, the way his muscles kept clenching and unclenching, evidence of the restraint it was taking him to keep quiet.

The others in the room likely noticed it as well. Nesta and Elain were both discreetly watching him, their expressions wary. Even Cassian, who was usually oblivious to these things, was stealing quick glances in his direction.

“Just… just give me some time,” she said quietly, her eyes flickering to each of her sisters in turn. They all nodded, their faces solemn.

Cassian was the next to speak, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Take as much time as you need, Zahra.”

It was strange, hearing a tone from the usually brash and boisterous general she hadn’t thought him capable of. But his words were genuine, his expression sincere. And coming from Cassian, saying that was just one more reminder of how much her relationship with her sisters had been damaged.

Azriel's hand on her back squeezed briefly, a silent signal of his agreement.

The others remained quiet, their gazes flickering between her and Azriel. It was a strange dance they were all doing, a careful balancing act of emotions and words left unsaid.

But it was something. Something closer to peace than she ever thought she would have.

"Whatever you need," Rhysand promised, fiercely. The High Lord’s voice was firm and unwavering, the power evident in his words.

Zahra could sense the sincerity in them, the genuine regret and determination. It wasn’t enough yet, not nearly enough after all that had happened, but it was a start.

It was something.

The support from her sisters, the promises from Rhysand and Cassian…

They were something. A foundation to start rebuilding on.

The road to forgiveness would be long and rocky, she was sure of that.

Azriel's hand on her back squeezed again, silently reassuring her.

Her eyes met his for a brief moment, the look in them speaking more than any words could.

In the warm, deep hazel of his eyes she saw worry, determination, a hint of anger and a lot of love. She saw acceptance and support, understanding and patience.

And she knew that no matter what she decided, no matter how long it took her, he would be there with her. Always.

***

Notes:

I could probably write another 16 chapters in this story, but I do feel like right now it's an alright space to stop. A bit of an open ending, with a kinda hopeful look in the future.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #Azriel x Archeron!Reader #Stars all aligned

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