#so it stands to reason it works the other way around

[ysaefinn]

Pairing: Dilf!Satoru Gojo x gn!reader x Dilf!Suguru Geto

Synopsis: you try being sneaky behind your boyfriends' backs. But they're dead set on pampering you.

Good riddance.

You feel like ripping your hair out. The Zoom meeting has been going on for what feels like forever now. You've already told the interviewer everything he needed to know, your educational detaile, your degree, your previous experiences in the work force, and even your living arrangement for whatever fucking reason. So why on earth is he still running his mouth?? The ache in your cheeks from holding that tight smile makes you begin to regret applying for the job in the first place.

"You know you don't have to do this." And you do know,"we take care of you just fine, don't we?" And they do,"please, you stress yourself enough with school. You have enough on your plate already." And you do "Awe baby, just let us take care of you." and you should, but you just wouldn't fucking listen huh?

Your married boyfriends hate to see you like this. Don't get it twisted, they find it endearing the way you just don't seem to be able to sit still, how you just have to be doing something to contribute. But you just love taking it too far, working yourself to the bone, burning yourself out. Something the two middle aged men just can't have. And so, Suguru and Satoru have taken it as their mission to turn you into their spoiled little baby, a tiny little kitty in their palm, ever since they lured you into their marital home with charming smiles and hot meals.

The interviewer's words fade into the background as more and more doubt begins to cloud your mind. Realistically speaking, you really aren't in nee-

"Oh? what do we have here?"

You freeze.

But a pair of strong muscular arms wrap around your own, warming you right back up, you recognize that teasing tilt of tone anywhere. Lost in your own thoughts, you haven't been able to catch Satoru make his way into the room you swear you locked, and pull you into his embrace, your back pushed against hid soft plush chest.

"We talked about this didn't we? I can't believe you would go behind our backs like this? Im so disappointed~"

And usually, you'd laugh, kiss his cheek, tell him to stop being so dramatic, or even play along if he's lucky. But not when you've been caught red-handed, not when you've promised them time and time again that you'd take better care of yourself, and not when you've been pushing this interview around for when they both would be at work, and definitely not with your camera still on.

"U-uh satoru..." Said man responds with a hum against the back of your head in between gentle feather-light kisses.

"I'm uhm...in the middle of something....as you can see"

A second then two pass before he takes his face off of your hair. You can feel his piercing blue gaze burn the back of your head before he bursts into laughter. You shrink and curl back into him further.

"Awh sweets, the audaci-"

"Easy, Satoru. No use in being mean, you know our little angel just can't help it"

Your stomach drops to you ass once you register your other boyfriend (who's also your other boyfriend's husband)'s voice. Satoru rests his chin on your shoulder before pouting childishly.

Once again, your camera is very much still recording.

Suguru is leaning against the frame of the wide open door, a fond little smile on his face. And all hope is thrown to the wind. You may have had a chance at escape with Satoru, but definitely not with his husband. The feeling of hopelessness intensifies when the long haired man stands up straight and makes his way to you with purpose.

Suguru carries himself with the same elegance that caught your eye the first day you've met, a select few gray strands catch the sunlight making his black locks almost seem bejeweled. His hand comes down to ruffle his husband's hair and then to pinch your cheek affectionately before taking your unoccupied side. Effectively adding more fuel to the fire. Your hands fly to hide your flaming hot face, and your men share a look of amusement.

"Aww sweetie, come here." And of course. he wouldn't be Suguru if he didn't jump at the chance to coddle you in his own arms. "i know, i know... all of this work business must be stressing you out to no end," he noses at your temple, then moves to smear a long chast kiss on your cheek.

Maybe it's out of consideration for your rapidly beating heart. Maybe he thinks it's something only you should have the privilege to hear, either why you're thankful the next words came in the form of a whisper againt your cheek.

"But that's why you have us, right? We'll handle everything. You can just be our little one, wouldn't that be nice?"

And you nod, you actually nod. Can you believe that? That's all it took. Being sandwiched between the couple, a few kisses here and there a gentle whisper and you're once again swept off your feet.

"Why do you have to be this waaaayyy..." your muffled whining only serves to endear them, a big hand travels under your shirt to rub soothing circles on your back.

"It's for your own good" Suguru is yet to drop the soft cooing.

"And you do it to yourself!" Satoru is yet to drop the teasing.

You're reminded of two big happy cats when they start rubbing their cheeks on either side of your face, it's pretty impressive how synchronized they can be sometimes, yet again, you suppose it just comes naturally after a decade of marriage.

"..excuse m-" "You're excused!" Satoru quickly shuts your laptop. Effectively interrupting the interviewer, almost out of fear of an impromptu change of mind from your end, you can be quite stubborn, something they're working on correcting as well.

The embarrassment doesn't get a chance to sink in before Suguru scoops you up in his arms, eager to mother you as per usual.

"You've barely eaten anything for breakfast, you must be starving.. our poor baby..."

And your brain is melting again.

Maybe another day of unemployment wouldn't kill you.

[nightshade86]

At some point in my life, almost 2 decades ago, while contracted with the US Army as an Infantry soldier, I was deployed twice to Iraq. In that time, I was shot at several times with bullets whizzing past my ear. Had IEDs explode twice near my truck. At one point, there were mortar rounds landing in an adjacent field because the ones firing them got their coordinates wrong. At another point, they were landing nearly on top of us with at least one landing within the kill zone of me while I was laying in the prone position. Had I been standing or kneeling, I would be dead. Despite all of that, I never received a single scratch. It is fair to say that at that point, I have lost my fear of death.

There were several other instances like this, but in case you are unsure about my lack of fear, let me tell you this story. Shortly after my last deployment while walking around base one weekend night, I encounterd a man who wished to rob me at "gunpoint." I say it in quotes because the gun never left the mans waistband. The man was being quite vague with his intentions until he showed me his gun. I didn't really care for it. I was more annoyed than anything, and after some back and forth with me telling him his threats were not working, I walked away. He tried to get handsy, so I pushed him off and kept going. After a few steps, he finally threatens to shoot me, I look over my shoulder and tell him to do it. He wants me to turn around, so I oblige, and reiterate to fucking do it. He runs away, and I call the police to report the incident.

I must ask that nobody emulate this. The reason I acted the way I did was because I was on a military base on a street with base housing. I knew that if he actually drew the weapon and fired then the base would be in complete lockdown, and he would be caught.

also if you've had a near death experience, feel free to add to this post about how that changed or reaffirmed your relationship with death!

[lemonlover1110]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲

Zayne

[Chapter 1] Resentment

Story Masterlist

Pairing: Zayne x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Minors do not interact! Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex (f. Receiving), Nipple Play, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Angst

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

The air feels too heavy to breathe. Your room doesn’t feel like your own tonight. You want the night to be over, but you also want it to last forever. This is it.

It’s your last night together before Zayne is off. You don’t know the next time you’ll see him. You’ve had months to prepare for this, but you’re still not ready. 

He’s going overseas for research, further helping people’s health while sacrificing certain aspects of his life. He’s such a selfless human being that you almost feel bad for being upset. He doesn’t seem to be feeling any particular way about it, so you don’t understand why you’re so upset.

You just know this is the end, and you can’t help but feel melancholic. This is the last time you’ll see him. This is what you agreed on. An unspoken agreement. You know you’re holding him back, and you don’t want to keep doing that. You don’t want for the resentment to build up until he can no longer stand it. 

You want to end things while you can still control them. You want them to end on good terms. 

“Are you enjoying the movie?” Zayne asks when he notices that your eyes look glossy. His arm is wrapped around you, holding you as close as he can tonight. It’s hot tonight, his warmth is definitely not needed, but you can’t move out of his embrace. Cuddling with him in bed is the only thing that’s keeping you from crying.

“Yeah, it’s funny.” You comment, and you feel his finger poke your cheek. His eyes observe you, trying to figure out your train of thought.

“It’s so funny that you’re not laughing?” He points out, and you sigh. It’s clear that your feelings are getting the best of you tonight, and you can’t help it. 

“I’m going to miss you.” You tell him, turning around to face him. You look into his eyes, feeling your heart break a little. Eyes that bring you so much comfort couldn’t cause you any more pain right now. 

You know it’s all going to work out in the end, and you’ll look back at this and laugh about it. Maybe you can reunite in the future, but right now things won’t work out like you want them to.

“If you miss me, you can always call.” He answers as your hands cup his face. You kiss the tip of his nose, thumbs caressing his cheeks.

“You’ll be busy, I better not.” A sheepish smile comes to your lips, and he gently kisses you. His hand rests on top of yours.

“I will always have time for you, even if this is…” He begins but he stops talking before tears can spill from your eyes. “I can always talk to you. We’ve always been friends.”

“You know, I’m happy for you.” You end up pecking his lips. He knows that you’re trying your best to be his rock, but the sadness aura is too heavy to ignore. 

“I can come back earlier and we can–” He begins but you shake your head. You refuse. You don’t want to be the reason Zayne stays behind. 

“We can always reunite.” You tell him. You don’t know much about what he’ll do, but from what he’s told you, it can last anywhere between months to years. It’s something he’s been raving about, in a field that he’s passionate in; you don’t want to be the reason he stays behind. “I don’t mind waiting a couple of years for you.”

“It’ll be over before you know it.” He tries to reassure you, but it doesn’t work. The more attention you pay to time, the longer it takes to pass.

“Let’s not talk about it.” You end up saying, knowing that you can spend the entire night talking about this with each other. You’ll end up crying all night and all day tomorrow if you don’t attempt to talk about something else.

“What do you want to talk about then?” He responds, and you shake your head. You don’t really know what to talk about. Silence takes over the room for a minute, the corny lines that come from the television now louder than ever. Any sadness fades away, a loud laugh leaving your lips.

“Why did I pick this?” You sit up, looking for the remote to pause the movie. He sits up as well, attempting to mimic your every move. You aren’t the only one that’s lost right now.

“It’s funny.” He answers as his chin rests on your shoulder. You chuckle, playfully rolling your eyes. 

“You don’t even know what’s going on.” You argue, and he hums. There’s no point in acting like he was paying attention, his eyes were too focused on you to even bother looking at the television.

“You said it was funny so it must be.” He responds, making you chuckle. You kiss his cheek before turning off the screen. “What do you want to do now? I know you aren’t tired.”

“You can pick a different movie.” You tell him, but he isn’t in the mood to watch anything. He wants to do something with you, something that involves talking… Or more. “Or do you want to do something else?”

He just wants to forget about tomorrow. He wants to enjoy every inch of you. He wants to reach into your soul and comfort you. He also wants to make every last minute enjoyable. He wants to get lost in you, as if you have the rest of eternity to spend with each other.

“Yeah.” Zayne replies, leaning in for a kiss. You don’t hesitate before giving in. A kiss that’s supposed to be innocent on his end, the meaning quickly changing as you deepen the kiss. Your tongue enters his mouth and presses against his own.

Dark eyes look into yours when he pulls away. His forehead rests against your own, trying to have some restraint. Your hands go to the back of his head, pulling him back into a kiss, fingers sneakily moving down his body.

Your hot fingertips touch under his shirt, trailing up his torso while his lips pull away and begin to kiss down your neck. He’s leaving a messy trail of kisses until he’s stopped by your shirt. His hands go to the hem of your shirt, eyes looking up at you for reassurance. You give him a subtle nod before he lifts up your shirt.

“You’re so beautiful.” He mutters as his hands unhook your bra. His mouth moves down to your breast, continuing his sloppy trail of kisses until his tongue begins to circle around your nipple. 

“Oh– Right there.” You softly moan as you feel his hand rub against your clothed pussy. Zayne wastes no time in satisfying you, hand going into your pants. His fingers run through your folds before they focus on playing with your clit. 

“I need you.” He says, unlatching before getting on top of you. Your back hits the mattress again, and Zayne is pulling down your pants. He nearly tosses them across the room before dipping his head between your legs. Zayne doesn’t even bother taking off your panties, he pulls them to the side.

His breath gets caught up in his chest before he kisses your pussy. Zayne, who always knows what to do in the toughest situations, is always unsure how to start in this situation. No matter how many times he does this, he’s always unsure of what the first step should be.

His tongue runs through your folds, while your thighs begin to squeeze around him. His tongue finds your clit, flicking it. He could die right here, and he’d die a happy man. He’s sure he enjoys this more than you do. Even when you’re pulling on his hair and softly moaning his name even when he’s barely doing anything.

“Zayne… Right there.” You shut your eyes while he runs his fingers through your folds. He pushes two fingers inside you, a loud moan escaping your lips as he begins to move them in and out of you. 

He sucks on your clit, eyes looking up at you for reassurance. A reassurance that isn’t needed with how you sound. He curves his fingers just right, hitting the sweet spot that fills you with pleasure.

You bite down your lip as his tongue moves down. He takes his fingers out, tongue moving down to tease your entrance. His fingers continue to play with your clit, and you feel as if you were on cloud nine.

“Fuck… Fuck.” You moan while your climax slowly takes over you. You’re so close. You’re so close to finishing and he knows it. Which is why there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes when he raises his head. A whine leaves your lips, only to be cut off by his lips. 

He’s hungrily kissing you while your hands are attempting to unbutton his pants. A kiss won’t cut it anymore, he’s gotten you started and you need him. You bite down his lip before you pull away, breathlessly saying, “I need you. Please.”

“Anything you want.” He affirms as he pulls down his pants. He’s spreading your legs while he pulls down his briefs. He spits down on your cunt before he runs the tip of his cock through your pussy.

“Do you want me to get a condom?” He asks as he’s teasing your entrance. You shake your head before he pushes himself inside of you. He gives you a second when he bottoms out before he slowly begins to move.

This is a great way to forget about everything. His lips go down to meet yours again in a sloppy kiss. 

“God, you’re so perfect.” He murmurs as his thrusts pick up some speed. His dick hits all the right spots, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. His hand to cup and squeeze your tits, too hard for him to ignore. 

His hips slow down as his head dips down, mouth wrapping around your nipple again. Your hips meet his halfway, thrusts too slow for your liking. He barely even notices, too engrossed with your tits in your mouth.

“Zayne–” You moan, back arching as his dick hits every right spot. His tongue licks your breasts, going to your other tit to worship it. He’s sucking, teeth grazing your skin. The temptation to bite is strong, but he’s able to consume himself.

“You feel so good.” Zayne tells you as he unlatches from your tit. His hands hold on to your hips as his thrusts pick up speed once again. Your back arches as your hand goes down to play with your clit, pleasure consuming you once again. 

His hand replaces your own, playing with your clit. He does a better job than you do. Your orgasm approaches once again, and this time, he won’t snatch it from you. He praises you for it, telling you how great you’re doing for handling him, until you come all over him. 

You see white, your climax coming at full force. You moan his name over and over again as he continues thrusting in and out of you. His eyes can’t come off your face, watching every tiny expression that you make while he fucks you. A sight that will be engrained in his mind for as long as he lives.

“You’re so beautiful.” He nearly whispers as his moves become more unregulated. He kisses you again, but not the same as before. He’s more gentle, yet more passionate. He’s moaning in your mouth as he gets closer to his release.

Your brain almost tricks you into thinking about how much you’ll miss this, but the thoughts are stopped when you feel his warmth fill you up. His lips remain on you while he’s deep inside of you, even if he’s stopped moving.

“Zayne.” You’re breathless when he pulls away. You’re about to ruin the mood again, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you wrap your arms around him, hugging him as tight as you can. 

“Are you okay?” He asks as if he was close to being rough. You kiss him before humming in response.

“Will you cuddle with me?” You do the eyes that make him weak for you, though there’s no need for them. You act as if you weren’t cuddling before this.

“After I run you a bath.” He responds, and you sheepishly smile. 

“You have to take a bath too or else you’ll go to bed all stinky.” You point out, and instead of giving you a clever remark, he agrees. 

“Let’s take a bath together then.”

You can’t fall asleep. Even when it’s damn near four in the morning, you can’t close your eyes. You keep looking at him as he so peacefully sleeps. You tired him out.

You look at the clock, anxiety looming in when you realize that you have to wake up in a couple of hours to drive him to the airport. But maybe that’s not the issue that causes your anxiety. You can’t sleep for other reasons.

You should tell him. 

There’s a heavy truth that you sit on, and you have to tell him. It’s his right to know. You don’t want to hold him back though. Resentment will build up if you hold him back, and you refuse.

Your thoughts get the best of you, even if the outcomes that play in your head are nearly impossible, you’re so damn sure that it’ll be your reality. He’ll resent you more for what you’re about to do, but the thought doesn’t linger in your mind.

“Is everything okay?” You’re startled by his voice. Too caught up in your own thoughts, you failed to notice he woke up. You feel his warm hand on your cheek, thumb caressing you.

“I can’t sleep.” You confess, the tip of your finger tracing the bridge of his nose. 

“Why? Are you hot?” He asks, ready to use his evol to cool you down. You shake your head, though he can’t see it. You should tell him now, but it’s too late. You’ve known for a week, you can’t tell him last minute. “Is it because…?”

“I don’t know what to make you for breakfast tomorrow.” You end up answering, making him click his tongue. He brings you closer to him before kissing your forehead.

“I don’t need anything. I just need you to sleep, okay?” He replies.

“Are you the same Dr. Zayne who scolds me for not eating breakfast?” You ask, and he chooses to remain silent.

Doctor’s orders don’t apply to him.

This is it. You’re walking Zayne to his terminal, and you’re wondering what you should do. Your hands are intertwined while you quietly walk. Even though your relationship ended last night, girlfriend privileges still apply for another twenty-four hours.

“How long is the flight?” You ask him, breaking the silence. Your thoughts eat you alive, and you don’t want to begin crying in front of him.

“Twelve hours but I have a long layover.” He answers. You’ll be uneasy all that time, wondering if he’s okay and if he needs anything. You’ve started to worry more about him the last week, and it’s a feeling that won’t fade with time. Every night you’ll be wondering if he’s okay.

“Can you call me when you get there?” You request, and he gives you his subtle smile. A smile that’s supposed to reassure you, but your stomach churns. 

“It’ll be late here, I’ll text you.” He responds, and you nod. You want to tell him to call since you want to hear his voice, but you’ll take whatever he gives you.

“Is it cold over there?” You come to a stop, not wanting to walk in comfortable silence. You want to make awkward small talk until he leaves. You want to hear his voice until you no longer can.

“Very. Luckily, I have my special sweater to warm me up.” He answers, and you try to smile.

“The same sweater you said was a weird color.” You tease, and he clicks his tongue. He ends up letting out a low chuckle before agreeing.

“I’ll still put it on because you got it for me. Even if it doesn’t suit me.” He replies.

People walk around you, the area becoming crowded. Boarding is about to begin. 

Zayne isn’t one for public display of affection, but he doesn’t fight back the hug that you give him. He won’t take your love for granted this time. He holds you tight, allowing himself to enjoy the comfortable embrace. A comfort that won’t be just around the corner anymore. 

“I’m going to miss you so so much.” You’re holding back tears as he kisses the top of your head. This is your last chance. Your last chance to turn his life upside down. 

“I’ll miss you too.” He responds. You look into his eyes, but you quickly look away, scared that he’ll notice the guilt in your gaze. “Will you wait for me?”

“Always.” You force a chuckle before kissing his lips. He cups your face, taking a good look at your face. He wants to remember every aspect of you as accurately as he can. He wants to shut his eyes and remember every feature of your face as light as day. “I love you, Zayne.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead, and you can nearly throw up. You’re despicable.

Boarding begins, and you have to let go. Zayne looks back at you one last time, giving you one more chance to stop him and confess.

You don’t.

You fight back tears and wave at him as he walks away, choosing to remain silent. Regardless of your choice, resentment will brew.

[shaiyasstuff]

I want to request a proposal scenario with either Sylus, Zayne, or both, whichever you prefer. One where he proposed to by his s/o logically pointing out the benefits of marriage… and then adding the emotional reason of "and because I love you and I could love you for the rest of my life" at the end.

Thank you for the request!!

I think it’s cause of the typos so I didn’t quite understand but I tried to deliver hehe. I wrote two short scenarios (let me know if you wanted something different) for sylus and zayne, reacting to S/O saying “because I love you and I could love you for the rest of my life.”

Zayne

He’s at the kitchen table, sleeves pushed to his elbows, one hand resting around a mug he hasn’t touched in a while.

The tea’s gone cold. Light spills through the window in soft gold, casting long shadows across the floor.

He doesn’t look up when you enter. Not right away.

You step closer, steady. Calm.

“Zayne.”

His gaze lifts at the sound of your voice. Quiet. Focused.

“We already live together,” you say, voice even. “We split expenses. You do the grocery runs because I always forget something. I keep the plants alive because you’d drown them otherwise.”

That earns you a faint flicker of a smile—barely there, but you catch it.

“It works. We work.”

He doesn’t interrupt. Just listens. Like he always does.

“I’ve been thinking,” you go on, fingers lacing together.

“Marriage wouldn’t change the way we live. Not really. We already support each other. Emotionally, practically. It makes sense.”

You draw a breath.

“And… because I love you. And I could love you for the rest of my life.”

The silence that follows is a quiet kind of full. Zayne stands—unhurried, composed.

He crosses to you, his presence grounding.

His hands come up to your face, slow and deliberate, thumbs brushing your cheek with that gentleness only he has.

His eyes don’t waver.

“…Then let me spend the rest of my life with you.”

No theatrics. No hesitation. Just truth, in the way he always gives it.

—•

Sylus

He’s hunched over his desk, sleeves rolled up, hands stained with oil and something darker.

Whatever he’s fixing is a tangle of wires and glinting metal, chaos disguised as control. Mephisto sits nearby, head tilted, unnervingly still.

You clear your throat but he doesn’t so much as glance at you.

“I’ve been thinking,” you say lightly. “Marriage could be…strategic.”

He hums without turning, a sound that’s almost a threat. “Mm. And here I thought you weren’t into theatrics.”

“You’re still the most wanted man in Philosian history. A legal bond with me could grant you conditional immunity. In certain jurisdictions.”

That gets a reaction. He chuckles—dry, amused, dangerous. “Are you bribing me with bureaucracy, darling?”

You step closer. “That… and the fact that I already know your blood type, your caffeine threshold, and the exact tone of voice to use when you’re seconds from blowing up a Council member.”

Another pause.

The sound of a wire sparking, a tool clattering against the desk.

“We’ve survived black holes,” you go on. “Ambushes. Your temper. Our odds are ridiculous, but we keep making it out.”

Slowly, deliberately, he turns. One brow raised. Half a smile, sharp enough to cut.

“Now that,” he says, “is the closest thing to a love letter I’ve ever received.”

You don’t smile. Not yet.

“Also,” you say, voice lower now, “I love you. And I could love you for the rest of my life.”

The grin fades like smoke.

For a second, he just stares. As if he’s scanning for traps.

Then he’s moving—faster than he should be able to.

One moment you’re talking, the next his hands are on your waist and his eyes are locked on yours like you’re a promise he never thought he’d get to keep.

“Careful,” he murmurs, voice rough. “You keep talking like that and I might actually believe you.”

You don’t flinch. “Believe it.”

His gaze drops to your lips, then back up. Dangerous. Reverent.

“You want to marry me,” he repeats, more like a statement than a question.

You nod.

A beat. A breath.

Then, quietly—

“Then I dare you.”

He kisses you like it’s a deal sealed in blood and fire.

Like you just offered him the one thing he’s never been able to take: a future.

“Let’s burn the stars down, darling,” he whispers.

“Together.”

[woso-story]

Better Boyfriend Than Him - Part Eleven

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Other Parts

The days after moving in with Alexia passed in a blur.

You didn’t leave your bed. You didn’t eat. You barely drank. You just existed.

Your heart ached in ways you didn’t know were possible. Not just because Luis cheated, but because he made it so clear that you weren’t worth staying loyal to. That you weren’t enough.

And your life in Barcelona? The life you had dreamed of? It had turned into something unrecognizable. You had imagined love, stability, happiness. Now, you had none of those things. You had no partner. No home. No sense of belonging.

You called in sick at work. You ignored your phone. You cried until there were no more tears left.

Alexia had knocked on your door multiple times, trying to get you to eat, but you refused every time. She was patient—never forceful—but you could hear the worry in her voice.

Eventually, she called Mapi.

When Mapi knocked on your door, you groaned. “Go away.”

“Yeah, no.” The door opened, and there she was.

You sighed, pulling your blanket over your head. You were grateful that Alexia respected your space, but Mapi? No chance.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket away from your face. “You need to eat. You need to drink. And at some point, you need to get up.”

You turned your head to the side, eyes red and puffy. “I know that, Mapi.” Your voice cracked. “But right now? I just need to rot in my misery. It’s part of my healing process.”

Mapi studied you for a long moment before nodding. “Okay.”

Then, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Call me when you need me,” she murmured before getting up.

Before she left, she turned to Alexia, who had been standing in the hallway. “She’ll come around when she’s ready.”

Alexia just nodded.

And for the next two days, she gave you even more space.

---

The first time you left your room, it was barely a decision.

You had woken up feeling empty, but your stomach was growling, and for once, it overpowered the numbness.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you stepped into the hallway and made your way to the kitchen.

Alexia was on the couch, watching TV. When she heard the door open, she looked up, her eyes widening slightly in surprise.

She watched as you shuffled to the fridge.

“Hey,” you greeted, your voice hoarse from disuse. You forced a small smile.

“Hey,” she said back, carefully. “How are you feeling?”

You sighed. “Hungry.”

“There’s food from dinner in the fridge,” she offered. “You can have it.”

“Thanks.” You pulled the container out of the fridge and put in the microwave, waiting in silence. Your fingers fidgeted on the counter.

Alexia got up and walked over to you. “I’m leaving for an away game tomorrow. I’ll be gone for two days.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes on the microwave. “Okay.”

She hesitated before reaching out, her hand brushing against your arm. “If you need anything, just—”

You flinched.

It wasn’t on purpose. You weren’t scared of Alexia. But your body still reacted before your mind could stop it.

She immediately pulled her hand back.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

She shook her head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

The microwave beeped. You grabbed your food, ready to disappear into your room again. But just as you turned to leave, Alexia spoke.

“Would you like to sit with me?”

You hesitated.

“I mean,” she continued, softer, “just for company. We don’t have to talk.”

You glanced at her. Her eyes were hopeful.

And for some reason, you couldn’t say no.

So, you nodded and sat down next to her on the couch.

---

You felt her watching you as you ate. It made you shift uncomfortably.

Trying to lighten the mood, you joked, “This is weird for you, huh? Normally, the women in your apartment don’t look like raccoons.”

Alexia blinked, caught off guard. Then, she scoffed. “That’s nonsense.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I like having you here,” she admitted. “And you can stay as long as you want.”

You exhaled in relief. You weren’t ready to search for a new place yet, and hearing that took off some of the pressure. “Thank you.”

Alexia took your empty plate and walked to the kitchen. When she returned, she was holding a tub of ice cream and two spoons.

She held it up silently, offering.

“What flavor?” you asked.

“Vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry.”

She sat down next to you, opening the container. “I don’t like vanilla.”

You barely held back a laugh. “That’s quite the statement, Putellas.”

She frowned. “What?”

You gave her a look, waiting.

Then, realization dawned. “That’s not what I meant.”

You did laugh this time, your first real one in days. “I know, Alexia. But I’m glad you don’t, because I'm totally into vanilla.” You shot her a playful wink.

Her face turned slightly red, but she shook her head, amused.

In the end, you took the vanilla, she took the chocolate (which you hated), and you shared the strawberry.

It was nice.

Comfortable.

And for the first time in a while, you felt something other than heartbreak.

Sitting there, watching Alexia laugh, hearing the way her voice filled the quiet apartment—you felt peaceful.

And you found yourself looking forward to the next few weeks with her.

And Alexia?

She was looking forward to them too.

[reidmoony-toast]

Never let me go. ౨ৎ

"But the arms of the ocean delivered me"

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Spencer and r are investigating a case that involves a lake and a rickety old boat—the problem? They can't stand each other.

Content: based off this vid of George Russell and Carmen (it's so random I know but I was inspired), fluff, banter, Spencer does the Darcy hand flex (!) cw: lil bit of violence (they briefly mention a case) wc: 2.1k an: I started this AGES ago oh my lord but anyways I hope you enjoy this very weirdly specific prompt, ilyy <3

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About halfway down to the dock, you are seriously reconsidering this whole ordeal. Maybe it was Spencer’s confidence when he expressed his knowledge of boats when the officer offhandedly mentioned his massive workload, or maybe it’s your dedication to the job, or your unfortunate tendency for some light masochism. Whatever reason your brain had conjured previously has vanished into smoke between the police precinct and the gravel path you now traverse. 

The officer leads the way, Spencer walking beside him, discussing the impending trip that the two of you are about to take. Together. Alone. In the middle of the lake with a man who might have the theoretical—but certainly not the practical—knowledge to drive this boat without killing the both of you in a freak boating accident. 

You finally reach the dock, and you examine the death machine moored in front of you. It was an old police dinghy, with a small frame around the driver’s seat, and inflatable sides to increase its safety level. The officer begins to explain the workings of the boat, and you squint out at the expanse of lake before you, as you try to pay attention—if only so you can call Spencer up on anything he does minutely wrong. 

The officer eventually deems the two of you water-safe and gives his final farewells, echoed kindly by Spencer. After a few seconds, while Spencer is checking the mooring line, you clear your throat pointedly. 

Spencer glances up, eyebrow raised in question. You fold your arms across your chest. “I’m not getting into that boat with you as its captain.”

He stopped with the rope all together. “Technically, I'm the Skipper. Captain is saved for bigger vessels with more authority.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah whatever, smart-ass. Still not letting you be my Skipper.” You huff. “I don't have a death wish.”

He lets out a long sigh, like you’re a petulant child. “You volunteered to come and look at the dump site with me. No backing out now.” He returns to his work, like your indignation is simply fleeting because he knows he will win in the end. “Plus, I need a second pair of eyes.”

You let out a loud groan. As much as you can’t stand to spend over an hour in a rusty old boat, with nobody for company but Spencer Reid, you have a job to do, and you can’t very well flake out now. What would Hotch say if you came back now, with the only excuse being ‘I can’t deal with Spencer’? Most likely something about being disappointed at your immaturity, that you can’t even manage to work with one of your fellow team members. 

“Fine.” You snap, unendingly irritated that you have to concede to Spencer. The corner of his mouth tips up in triumph, and you have the violent urge to kick him in the face. He’s in the perfect position for it, too. But, of course, being a mature adult, you gallantly resist.

“I’ll grab our stuff, you can get in.” Spencer passes you, heading to your equipment bag, as you step to the edge of the pier. It’s a much further way down than it had looked from where you were previously standing, and you pause for a moment, assessing the best way to get into the boat without falling into the chilled lake water. 

You sit on the edge, attempting to lower yourself down into the dinghy below, but your legs are too short, and you scrabble for purchase, trying to reach the boat floor, and succeeding, but only with the tips of your shoes. 

“Do you need help with that?” Spencer speaks up from behind you, a lilt of amusement clouding his voice. You continue your pitiful attempts to climb into the small boat from the too-high dock. 

“I'm fine.” You say, petulantly, not bothering to turn to address Spencer, as you knew he would be smiling at your misfortune. Finally, you shakily lower yourself down until you fall heavily onto the floor of the boat, staggering when it rocks in the water. 

“Whatever you say.” 

You turn just in time to see him swiftly, and with a surprising amount of grace for a man you have seen trip over nothing but his own feet, enter the boat. He lets out a low chuckle as he passes you towards the controls. 

“Show off.” You scoff loudly, and roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised they return back to the realm of the living at all—although it's not like he could see it anyways as he fiddles with the buttons at the helm. 

You and Spencer spend the whole boat ride, and examination of the watery dump site, bickering about god knows what. From Spencer’s questionable driving skills, to your glove application, to your differing opinions on the case. While the whole situation was bothersome, you find yourself surprisingly unvexed, even to go so far as to somewhat enjoy yourself. You shake off those thoughts—Spencer is a pain in your ass, and that will never change.

“You’re seriously doing it wrong.” You say for the hundredth time, as Spencer jerkily guides the two of you back to shore. 

“I’m doing fine, okay?” The boat jolts, and you wobble, letting out a yelp, before finding your feet again. “Stop doubting my abilities and trust me.”

“I am most definitely doubting your judgement, and I do not trust you!” You tightly grip one of the rusty beams of the cockpit. “I was almost flung out of the boat just then, you maniac!”

“Calm down.” Spencer counters, sounding exasperated.

“I think I have a say in how I go out, and dying in a dusty old police boat with you of all people is not what I choose!” You make a noise of frustration when Spencer simply laughs at your agonising. 

“Is that really a bad way to go?” He keeps his eyes on the approaching dock, but there is a lilt of amusement in his tone.

“The worst.” You groan out, and Spencer chuckles jovially.

By some miracle, Spencer manages to dock the boat, and he motions for you to disembark first. 

You stare at the dock, and your stomach dips. You might have had trouble getting into the boat in the first place, but getting out? That was a whole other story. This was certainly going to be a lot trickier than it was before. 

“Need some help?” Spencer pipes up, just like before—the deja vu was very definitely unappreciated. He must have seen your assessment in your hesitation, and taken it as yet another opportunity to terrorise you.

“No.” You move to the edge, judging the large distance before you—the gap was considerably larger now, and it was much harder to traverse up than down. You blamed Spencer’s questionable boat-driving skills. The length wasn't a problem by itself, but paired with the height, it was an impossible feat for someone with your frame. You bend your knees, ready to jump across—your hopeless plan to somehow get yourself from the boat to the dock. You lean forward, but almost lose your balance, stepping back abruptly to prevent a very unpleasant outcome.

You finally bail on your fruitless attempts when you realize it would most likely end with you either in the water, very injured, or with a severely bruised ego. Less than if you let Spencer help, that is, but the other two options weren't something you wanted to experience. 

You exhale slowly, knowing you had to admit defeat. You turn slowly, facing Spencer. He grins, knowing what your look meant. 

You hated needing the help of others, preferring to do everything yourself; assistance from others always felt like a personal failure. You also knew you could be… stubborn, and you had rejected Spencer's help already, so this was certainly a blow to your ego.

You stare at him impatiently, waiting for him to get the memo that you need his help. A shit-eating grin spreads across his face and his eyebrow flicks up in a silent mocking question. 

“Spencer.” You deadpan, fixing him with a glare. 

He shoots your name back to you in the same flat tone, eyes dancing in amusement. You glare back, unblinking. A battle of wills arises in the form of prolonged intense eye contact, but you unfortunately don't possess the demanding expression you were hoping for, and you begrudgingly admit defeat.

“Can you…” You groan at the words you have to utter. “help me.” 

“What’s the magic word?” 

Scratch that. The scathing look you were searching for? There it was. Spencer snorted, wholly entertained by the whole situation. You debate shoving him straight into the grimy lake. 

“Please.” You grit out. 

“Thank you.” He says cordially, like he was a perfect gentleman. Yeah, the lake could definitely help him see the hard truths. 

He walks forward carefully, trying his best not to rock the boat too much. As he enters your space, your chest tightens slightly, but you don't read into it. That was something to unpack later. Much later. 

“Can I?” Spencer asks, and you realise he's asking permission to touch you. You nod quickly, watching in morbid anticipation as his hands snake towards you, settling carefully but firmly on your hips. You snap your attention away, desperate to break the strained silence with the first thing that comes to mind.

“Are you even strong enough for this?” The execution of nonchalance you were aiming for is partially botched when your voice comes out breathier than normal. 

“Ouch.” Spencer hisses, tutting amusedly. “You’re relentless today, aren't you?” His hands break from their hold on your hips and fold across his chest, and you feel an utterly irrational sense of disappointment. 

“I might not be Morgan, but I’m still an agent.” He glances down at your form, sizing you up like you’re a bothersome math equation. “Also, I’m guessing you weigh about as much as a small sack of potatoes, so you’ll be fine.” 

You scoff at that, but don’t argue back, and Spencer takes it as his green light. 

“Brace on my shoulders or you’ll make this very difficult for the both of us.” He replies, and you hesitantly place your hands on his shoulders, not wanting to get any closer to Spencer than you already are. 

He rolls his eyes. “Are you even trying?” 

“Geez, I’m so sorry I respect the personal space of others, I won't be so considerate next time.” You jab back, narrowing your eyes at him. He responds with an amused huff, but doesn't speak as he gently moves your hands to where he wants them. You shiver.

One ends up on his bicep, while the other wraps around the back of his neck. His hands fall back to your middle, but instead of settling back on your hips, his large hands mould to your waist, flexing as he finds his grip. They tighten and he pulls you closer than ever. You find yourself with nothing to say—witty retorts form in your throat, yet none seem willing to come out.

“Ready?” He says in your ear, voice low. 

“No,” you answer, still very apprehensive at his physical ability to get you all the way to the dock. 

“Too bad.”

Before you can retort, he lifts you with surprising strength and ease in one smooth movement, and you let out a small squeak at the suddenness of it all. He swings your body around, using the momentum to haul you onto the high dock, long fingers digging into the flesh of your hips to keep hold during the precarious lift. It was more of a controlled throw, if you’re being picky—which you always are.

You wobble slightly, but manage to gain your balance on the waterlogged wooden planks. You glance back to Spencer, who is standing stock-still on the little boat, eyes a little unfocussed. You watch as the warm hands that were just clenched on your waist flex once, twice, before he blinks a moment later and looks towards the dock. Towards you. 

“All good?” He asks, voice strained.

“I’ll live.” You stare at Spencer for a moment, before shaking yourself from your slight stupor and turning to head back up the hill. 

“Now hurry up,” you call over your shoulder. Spencer simply sighs, lifting himself easily from the boat and jogging to catch up, hauling your shared belongings onto his back. 

As you finally re-enter the precinct a little while later, Spencer peeling off to debrief the team, you swear your hips still tingle from where his hands were wrapped tightly around them mere minutes ago. 

But, like you said. You would think about that later.

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Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @thegloryofliterature <3 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[huntercoreene]

Measuring — Part 2

Pairing: Caleb x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You sneak away to find his notebook and he catches you in the act.

Word Count: 2.7k

Tags/Warnings: fluff, teasing, slice of life, caleb being a bit of a dork, voyeurism, masturbation, fingering

Read on Ao3 or under the cut 👇 Part 1 here

You and Caleb were building a model together after you had dinner. He was very focused on his work when you slipped away with the excuse of needing the bathroom. This was the perfect time to find that notebook and read what was inside. You had never seen him so flushed because of a notebook before, not to mention how hard he was the moment you walked into his office. You had to know what was in that notebook that got him in such a way. You snuck into his office as quickly as you could and climbed onto the armrest to look at the top of the library.

"Nothing, damn..." you scratched your head as you saw that it was empty. "When did he even find the time to hide it?"

You turned and looked around the room. It was no use standing there, you needed to get to work and find that thing. You went through every closet and drawer and it was nowhere to be found. You sighed as you closed the last drawer you had opened, feeling defeated.

You looked at the open door as you heard some noise, fearing it was Caleb, but there was no one there. You rose up and tapped your chin with your finger, thinking. He probably got the notebook from here and hid somewhere else, most likely in his bedroom.

You quietly made your way through the hall and stepped into his bedroom. You looked around the room, wondering where he could have placed the notebook. You went through the drawers of his dresser and found nothing. You turned your attention to the end tables next to his bed… empty. You closed the drawer you just opened and just as you were about to get up, you noticed that one of his pillows were standing higher than the other. You slid your hand under his pillow and there it was! The notebook you had been looking for all this time.

You almost jumped where you stood when you heard someone clear their throat by the door.

“Looking for something?” Caleb said with amusement as he leaned on the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Yes, I was looking for some more titanium white… you know, for the model,” you said, frozen for a moment, then you turned around slowly and hid the notebook behind you.

“Oh, really?” Caleb said and stepped closer to you. “You were looking for paint… in my bedroom, pip-squeak?”

You nodded with your best innocent face.

“And you were not looking for this?” Caleb snatched the notebook from your back.

“Caleb!” You whined and reached for it. “Please, can I just look at one page? I’m just so curious.” You pleaded with him.

He knew better than to fall for your big innocent eyes but there was always something that made his heart ache whenever you looked at him like that. In that moment of weakness, you grabbed the notebook from his hand and managed to open the last page.

You felt your face flush and looked away. You didn’t even fight it when Caleb snatched the notebook back from your hands. He threw it off to the side before holding your chin and tilted your face up. “Did you satiate your curiosity?”

You nodded as he leaned in closer. “Caleb…” you tried to speak but it almost came out as a moan. You knew why he had that notebook now. He was preparing to make sure you had the best experience and just the thought of him doing all of that for you, being so thoughtful had set that fire in you. You wanted him, now.

“You feel hot… do you have a fever?” Caleb whispered as he softly caressed your cheek, “…or is there another reason for it?”

“I… want you,” you finally said and closed the distance between your lips.

Caleb groaned and wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you flush with his body. His lips were soft and his touch was hungry. It was like he couldn’t get enough of you. You stepped back, pulling him with you as you laid down on the bed. He settled between your legs as you continued kissing passionately. You were rolling your hips as best you could to feel some friction, feel more of the hardness between his legs that was teasing you.

“You… ah,” he moaned, “pips, we can't, not now…”

“Why not?” You whined pulled him closer to you.

“I don’t have the condoms yet,” he pushed his head up and looked at you, his hand caressing your face.

“There might be things we can do, without doing that…”

“Oh, and what might that be?”

“I want to touch you,” you said, sliding your hand down his chest and stroked your palm over his pants, feeling his hard cock right under it. He was so hot to the touch.

Caleb groaned before he let out a chuckled. “Where did you learn to say and do such lewd things?”

“Naughty books, I’ve done my research too, you know.”

“If I let you touch me, will you do what I want next?”

You started to squeeze and stroke him harder, feeling boldened by his words. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want to watch you,” he brought his lips next to your ear and whispered, “pleasure yourself.”

He kissed you without waiting for your answer and you let him. You felt his warm hands move under your shirt as you moaned. He found and squeezed your breasts as his lips moved down to kissing your neck.

“Still waiting for your answer…” he said with a chuckle as he continued kissing your skin.

“Yes, yes, yes… I’ll do it,” you answered in between your moans. You were turned on so much, you would do anything he wanted. You trusted him with all your heart and you knew he would never ask anything from you that would make you uncomfortable.

“Come here,” Caleb said upon hearing your answer and pulled you up.

You both sat up on the bed. He continued to kiss you, stopping only briefly to pull your shirt over your head. You used the opportunity to do the same for him. While you enjoyed the feeling of his bare chest under your palms, his hands got to work on unhooking your bra.

You unbuckled his belt as he pushed your shorts down your hips. You raised yourself enough to let him take it off you. He stepped off the bed briefly to remove his trousers before joining you and pulling you into another kiss.

“How will we, do this?” you asked in between your kisses.

He left one last kiss on your lips before he pulled back and gave you a smirk. “Turn around,” he said as he placed his hands on your shoulders, “and sit between my legs.”

“Okay,” you said and let him position you as he wanted.

“Now, lean back.”

“But how are you going to see anything from there?” You asked as you leaned your back on him. You could feel how hot he was and something else that was poking you from behind. Realizing that it was his cock almost made you moan out loud.

“Look over there,” he lifted your head and you saw yourself. There was a mirror across you. “Now, show me how you pleasure yourself,” Caleb whispered in your ear as he kept his eye contact with you on the mirror.

You didn’t know what to do for a moment, mesmerised by the view in front of you, but once Caleb started to kiss your neck, you melted into his touch. You felt his warm hands stroke up and down on your arm ever so lightly as his lips sucked in your skin.

Your hand moved between your legs on its own as you started to circle your clit over the fabric. You could feel how wet you were already. Your panties were a mess. You rubbed yourself a little and closed your eyes, enjoying Caleb’s touch. It proved not enough as you wanted to touch your bare skin, so your hands moved to the waistband of your underwear. Seeing that, Caleb’s fingers stroked their way down, meeting yours and helping you take it off.

You turned your head and looked for Caleb’s lips once you were completely naked. Your fingers found your clit once again. You moved your fingers down to your entrance and gathered your arousal. You returned to circling your clit which was now lubricated with your juices.

“I want to feel you,” you moaned.

“Mhmm?” Caleb made a questioning sound that felt more like a moan which in turn made you dizzy.

“Take your cock out,” you whispered with desperation. You wanted him so much.

Caleb groaned and then chuckled before you felt his hand rustle behind you and then you felt his burning cock press on your back. “Is that what you had in mind?”

“Yes,” you whimpered.

Caleb started to roll his hips against you as you felt the precum on your back. You moaned louder and started to rub yourself faster.

“Spread your legs,” Caleb said in a low voice as his hands travelled to your thighs.

He pushed them open then let his hands wander to your inner thighs. Your hips were moving into his touch now. Your hand ventured down to your entrance every now and then, pushing an experimental finger in, and then rubbed your slick to your clit before returning to circling it.

You found Caleb’s left hand and brought it to your breast. “Touch me.”

He cupped your breast first before flicking your nipple with his fingers. You found his right hand on your leg and brought it to your clit. You felt his muscles tighten as you dragged his hand over to your sex. You could feel your heartbeat in your chest, this was going to be the first time he was going to touch you bare.

Your hand hovered over your skin for a moment before you pressed his finger down. Caleb groaned next to your ear as you felt him press harder on your back. You could feel his cock sliding with every roll of his hips.

“What are you doing?” He asked, voice deep with lust.

“You wanted to learn, theoretical class is over. It’s time for practice.”

You moved his finger on your clit a few times before you let go. He picked up where you left off and repeated the motions you had just been doing expertly. The hand on your breast moved to your stomach briefly and pulled you tighter to his body. He rolled his hips faster and faster, matching the rhythm with the rubbing of your clit.

His hand moved from your stomach to your breast, pinching and flicking your nipples as he rubbed your clit harder and harder. He occasionally dipped his hand down, pushing only the tip of his finger inside to gather your slick before returning to rubbing your clit.

“Caleb, don’t stop,” you whimpered inside his arms.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He kissed your neck as he continued his movements.

“I’m gonna cum—”

“Come for me now, come on, you can do it,” he whispered between groans and heavy breaths as he pressed harder and pinched your nipple.

All of your muscles tightened in your body as you threw your hands around to grab onto anything you could find. You felt your toes curl and your limbs go numb as you came on Caleb’s fingers. He continued to rub your clit until the end of your orgasm, making you tighten your muscles again and again.

“Stoop… hmph,” you threw your arm around his neck and pulled his head down just as he caught your lips in a wet kiss.

He continued to rub you until you heard him groan into your kiss. His arm around your waist tightened as he pulled you closer and you felt something wet on your back. he finally stopped and let his arms relax just as you both fell backwards onto the bed.

You could still feel your muscles twitch with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You were both breathing heavily and the position was a bit uncomfortable. You tried to slid off of him before he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back.

“Where are you going?” he said in between heavy breaths.

“I don’t want to crush your penis,” you said as you tried to lift your hips.

He chuckled. “Just lay on my body,” he gripped you tighter, “don’t go anywhere.”

“At least let me turn around,” you said with amusement.

He relaxed his hold, allowing you to lay on his chest. You placed your head above his heart and listened to its loud beating. He wrapped his arms around you as he left kisses to the top of your head. You caressed his skin and circled his nipple, feeling it harden under your touch.

"What are you doing?" Caleb asked with amusement in his voice.

"I wondered if your nipples would react the same as mine." You placed your chin on your hand and looked up at him. "Does it feel good when I touch it?"

Caleb let out a low groan. "Yes, but only because it's you touching it."

You tilted your head as you thought of what he meant. "Does it not work when you touch it?"

"Pretty much," he said as he brushed the fallen strands of your hair back.

“Does that mean you’ve tried it before?” you asked barely masking your chuckle.

“I might have,” he said as his fingers gently stroked your hair.

You lifted your head and looked around the room. “Do you have any water around here?”

“I’ll go get some,” he said with a smile and left a kiss to your forehead before he pushed himself up.

You watched from the bed as he left the room. Did he always have such a great ass? you wondered to yourself. Oh, how you wanted to squeeze it now. Those condoms he ordered better came soon. You sighed and rolled off the bed to go to the bathroom and clean yourself with these thoughts in your head.

Caleb was back with a pitcher and a glass. He filled the glass with water and handed it to you before walking after you to the bathroom. You watched from the open door as he picked a wet cloth and cleaned himself. You were mesmerised by his beauty. The way his hands were moving, the tensing of his muscles and how pretty his cock was even when it was flaccid.

You turned your gaze away the moment Caleb looked towards you and chugged the glass in your hand. You heard Caleb’s silent chuckle as you went and filled the glass again, offering it to him as he strutted out of the bathroom. You watched as he swallowed the water, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. You averted your eyes again just as he looked at you.

“We’re gonna have a bigger problem if you continue to stare at me like that pip-squeak.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Just put some clothes on,” you said as you picked up his shirt and shoved it to his hands. “Let’s go back to building that model.”

“Uhm, pips…” he said as you were about to leave the room. “Do you plan on putting your clothes back on?”

You stopped on your tracks, frozen right at the door.

You heard his soft footsteps get closer, just before you felt his arms wrapped around you. “You are a great distraction for me, too, you know,” he whispered in a deep voice next to your ear. A tone of voice your body had already gotten used to responding with arousal.

You melted into his touch for a moment as his warm hands lightly stroked your stomach. He pulled back a second later as he placed your clothes in your hands. You quickly put them on and made your way to back to the living room. There were a lot more giggles, lingering gazes and flushed faces this time when the two of you went back to working on the model.

Let me know if you like it!

[theseinfernalangels]

Headcanon: Aye, General Grievance

TLDR; Things they do that are annoying, until they aren’t.

• Ridoc (at least, when you meet him) needs to learn how to shut the fuck up. Not because he talks too much (his voice is actually very rich and soothing), but because he’s the type of guy to jump in a conversation when you take a half-second to breathe. He also loves to finish peoples’ sentences — which eventually becomes endearing, but you can’t stand it when he thinks he knows what’s going to come out of your mouth…Until he does, anyway. After that, it makes him feel very sly and you, very shy.

• Sawyer has a habit of drumming his fingers on any surface when he gets nervous or is trying to think. At first, you can’t help but ache with sympathy for the poor guy, but it gets old very fast. You’re trying to work on your homework when you hear a dull tapping noise resound from the other side of the room, which means that Sawyer is here and probably working on the same thing as you. You decide to ask why he does that so much, and he just sheepishly holds up his hand, his fingernails bitten short and bloody.

“It’s either that or this.”

• Aaric corrects people’s grammar all the time. It’s helpful for when you write essays and stuff — he had such high quality education compared to everyone else, so of course he knows the difference between there, their, and they’re. However, he also tends to do it out loud, too. If you’re from somewhere with a variety of local slang, he’ll just stare at you for a moment before going, “You mean [insert technically correct term here]?” You have to teach him your dialect and its quirks so that he doesn’t keep trying to one up you. Eventually you catch him slipping up, and he just shoots an unimpressed look your way. You take it as a win.

• Dain, bless his heart, was at one point (and kind of still is) that kid who was like, “Ma’am? You forgot to collect the homework.” He can’t help it; he likes to be helpful, and if he helps the teacher remember, then he knows that they’ll approve of him more. He also says that if he were the teacher, he’d be really grateful for the reminder because, fun fact, he can be kind of forgetful sometimes. It’s like his own little personal training so that he can train his memory and get good attention from adults, because Amari knows he’s not getting it from either of his parents.

• Bodhi has a tendency to be a little clingy. He can’t really help it; the boy just loves to be with and around people. He can’t stand to be alone. He doesn’t have separation anxiety, per se, but being completely alone for more than thirty minutes at a time can put him on edge. He loves to touch, loves to hang around, loves to follow. Why do you think he’s always trailing behind his older cousin? It’s what he’s been doing since they were kids. Now that Bodhi’s entire family, sans Xaden, is gone, he has to be with people or else he’ll feel lonely and get in his own head about it. You find it to be really odd at first, but once you figure out the deeper meaning, you let him drape himself over you for as long as he needs.

• Garrick never lets himself be looked at in the infirmary. He’s so damn stubborn, it drives everyone insane. The only reason he’ll give anyone is that it’s more important that the other, more severe injuries be looked at first…even if he has a broken arm or a deep laceration in his side. You can’t drag him there (the man is just too solid), and he doesn’t give in to pleading, either. The only way you could ever convince him to come get his injuries looked at is if every single other person in the room has gotten looked at first, and even then, he’s very reluctant. Finally, after what feels like hours of questioning, he quietly admits that he hates having to be touched by healers, because it makes the rebellion relic burn like a stretched wound.

• Liam, despite being the resident Golden Boy, is just a man at the end of the day. He leaves a trail of wood shavings wherever he goes. You would think he’d clean up after himself, but you just find them everywhere — in the hallways, in the grand hall, all around his room, all around your room…It drives you insane. Like, yeah; the quality of his wood carvings is amazing, but does it really make up for the fact that there’s always a faint trace of sawdust and shavings everywhere around Basgiath? You finally realize he’s doing it on purpose when you complain about it and he just shoots you a small smile.

“Sorry. I’m just making sure you can find me.”

• Brennan, whenever he’s writing with a normal fountain pen and needs to stop to think, always traces the nib on the edge of the ink pot he’s using. It makes this little scraping noise that gives you chills, like when people run their nails down a piece of paper. You feel bad for getting pissed off about it, but does he really need to be doing all that? It’s constant, too — there are times where he’ll take ten minutes just to make little rings around the edge of the pot while he just stares into space. Eventually you confess that it makes you really uncomfortable, and he just smiles wistfully.

“It’s a Scribe thing. I get it from my dad.”

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound Hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining, NSFW, human x Na'vi, size difference

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer@eliankm, @quintessences0posts, @minjianhyung, @bkell2929, @erenjaegerwifee, @angelita-uchiha, @wherethefuckiskathmandu, @cutmyeyepurple

Part 20: To suffer

Part 21: To expect

Neteyam barely heard them anymore.

The elders sat in a semi-circle before him, their voices rising and falling in measured, persuasive tones, each argument laced with expectation. Words like duty, legacy, and strength of the People filled the air, weaving a net meant to ensnare him, to box him into the future they had so carefully constructed.

And yet, all he could think about was you.

Last night, you had fallen asleep against him, your smaller frame curled so perfectly against his, your fingers tangled loosely around some of his braids. You had traced over each before exhaustion claimed you.

“Neteyam.”

His name was spoken with quiet authority, cutting through his thoughts like the edge of a blade. Mo’at’s gaze settled on him, unreadable yet heavy with knowing.

“You have not spoken.”

Neteyam inhaled slowly through his nose, fingers curling into his thighs where he sat. His posture remained relaxed, his expression carefully neutral, but the tension coiled beneath his skin was suffocating.

“I have heard you,” he said finally, voice even.

One of the older warriors, a man who had fought beside his father in the Great War, leaned forward. “Then you must see reason. It is time to choose, Neteyam. Your kelku is built. The People look to you as the next Olo’eyktan. You cannot delay this any longer.”

Neteyam forced himself not to react. This had become a routine—a ceaseless, unrelenting campaign to bend him to their will. Every day, they came with new arguments, new pressures, reminding him that his time to choose had come.

And today, they had escalated their efforts.

Three women stood to the side, poised and expectant. The finest choices, they had said. The strongest, the most skilled, the worthiest of standing at his side.

He had barely looked at them.

It wasn’t that they weren’t beautiful—they were. Any other warrior in the clan would have been honored, humbled, to have even one of them presented as a potential mate. But Neteyam felt nothing. Not even curiosity.

He could feel them watching him, waiting. He knew their names. K’shi, a fierce huntress with a sharp mind and sharper aim. Tey’ra, graceful and cunning, with a voice that could command a room. Sa’nari, a skilled healer, gentle yet strong.

All three of them were worthy. But they were not you.

He clenched his jaw as Mo’at spoke again, her voice softer now, but no less firm. “You must consider, ma‘itan.”

There was something different in her tone—something only he recognized. He had told her, or rather, she had seen the truth in him, and yet here she was, pushing like the rest of them.

And yet—

Neteyam felt nothing. The elders spoke in turns, their voices a steady hum of tradition and expectation. They listed the virtues of the women before him, the strengths they carried, the ways they could serve as his equal.

“…would provide you with strong heirs, as the bloodline demands.” “…a union of two powerful lines would strengthen the People.” “…each of them would stand proudly at your side.”

The words twisted in his gut like a blade. He could feel their eyes on him—the women, the elders. Even his father, who stood near the back of the gathering, arms crossed, his silence more damning than any words.

It had been this way for weeks now.

Since their argument, the rift between them had only deepened. It was in the way Jake’s jaw tightened whenever their gazes met. In the way his voice was sharp when he addressed him. In the way he never truly looked at him anymore—only past him, through him, as if he were a problem to be solved, a puzzle piece forced into the wrong shape.

Neteyam felt the weight of it with every step he took in the village.

And yet, he endured. He endured because at night, when the sky stretched endless above him, when the stars blinked down like silent witnesses, he could return to you.

To the stolen moments in his kelku or in the outpost, where you curled against him, where your fingers traced absentminded patterns over his chest, where your voice—soft, teasing, grounding—brought him back to himself.

He endured because when you looked at him, you did not see what the elders did. You did not see duty or legacy or a symbol of what he should be. You only saw him.

And that was the only place where he could breathe. But here, in the suffocating air of the council space, surrounded by the weight of expectation, there was no air left for him. He clenched his jaw.

The women before him stood tall, waiting, their gazes steady. He felt no anger toward them. They were not at fault. They had not asked for this any more than he had. But they were waiting for him to choose. And he already had. Neteyam took a slow breath, steadying himself. He straightened his shoulders, lifting his chin, and met the eyes of the eldest council member.

“I will not choose.”

Silence.

The air shifted.

One of the younger elders flinched, as if he had just spat in their faces. Others narrowed their eyes, their expressions darkening like a storm rolling in over the plains.

Jake let out a slow, sharp exhale.

Neteyam did not look at him. Instead, he held his ground, his golden eyes unwavering.

The oldest among them, a man who had served under his grandfather’s rule, let out a heavy sigh. His expression was unreadable, but Neteyam could see it—the quiet resignation beneath his weathered gaze. “The blood of Toruk Makto runs through your veins,” the elder murmured. “You cannot run from what is expected of you.”

Neteyam inhaled slowly, feeling the weight of every word.

“I am not running,” he said.

He just refused to be caged. The air crackled with tension. Jake’s voice cut through it like a blade. “This isn’t just about you, Neteyam.”

And there it was.

Neteyam finally turned to face him.

His father’s expression was unreadable, but his stance—the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides—said enough.

“This is about the clan,” Jake continued, his voice controlled, measured, but laced with something simmering beneath the surface. “About what’s best for the People.”

Neteyam’s throat tightened. “Do you truly believe that I am what’s best for the People?”

Something flickered in Jake’s gaze—too fast to catch. But Neteyam saw it. The hesitation. The doubt. He had felt it his entire life.

He clenched his fists. “You have always wanted me to be more, to be better,” he said, his voice quieter now, but firm. “To be the leader they need.”

His golden eyes darkened. “Then why do you not trust me to decide what that means?”

Silence.

Jake’s jaw tightened.

Neteyam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He had nothing left to say. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away. Away from the elders. Away from their expectations. Away from his father’s cold, lingering glare.

The path beneath his feet was damp from the early morning rain, the thick jungle around him still whispering with the fading breath of a storm. The village behind him buzzed faintly—low voices, the rustle of woven fibers, the steady hum of disappointment pressing against his back like weight.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp. He had enough.

He had stood there and listened to their names, watched them stand in a line like he was expected to pick one and say, this one, this will be my life. Like they knew him better than he did. Like they had already carved out his future and all he had to do was nod.

Neteyam walked fast, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead, his tail flicked harshly from side to side. He just wanted to go home. Not the kelku he was raised in. Not the space he shared with his siblings. That place no longer felt like his.

His home was the one he built with his own hands—up in the high trees, away from the clan’s watchful eyes. The one that smelled of you. He was almost to the base of the tree when he heard it—his father’s voice.

“Neteyam.”

He didn’t answer.

“Neteyam, stop.”

Still, he kept walking.

Jake’s footsteps quickened behind him. “We need to talk.”

“No,” Neteyam muttered, eyes narrowing. “We don’t.”

Jake finally caught up, stepping in front of him to block the path. Neteyam stopped sharply, chest rising and falling as he stared at his father—unflinching. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Jake’s eyes searched his face, but whatever he was looking for, Neteyam didn’t give it to him. “You’ve been different,” Jake said, voice lower now, controlled. “For weeks.”

Neteyam’s response was quiet, clipped. “I’ve been doing what’s expected of me.”

Jake frowned. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then say what you mean.” The air between them was tense, sharp as a blade. Insects buzzed in the trees above, the only sound in the silence that stretched between father and son.

Jake exhaled through his nose. “You barely speak to me unless it’s about duties. Orders. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “I speak when necessary.”

“Necessary?” Jake echoed, disbelief in his voice. “Since when do we only talk when it’s necessary?”

Neteyam laughed under his breath, bitter and tired. “Since you made it clear that’s all I am to you—a necessity.”

Jake flinched, barely perceptible, but Neteyam saw it. His father tried to speak, but Neteyam cut in. “You want me to be Olo’eyktan,” he said, voice low, controlled. “You want me to follow your path. Your rules. You want me to make the choices you would make.” His gaze hardened. “Even when it’s about my life.”

Jake straightened, crossing his arms. “Is this about today? About the women?”

Neteyam stepped to the side, trying to move past. “I’m going home.”

Jake moved again, blocking him. “Not until you tell me why you built your own kelku.”

Neteyam’s breath caught.

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You never did it after your dream hunt. You stayed. Even when you had the right. But a month ago—suddenly, you move out. No explanation. Just gone. You built your own space like—like you were starting a new life.”

“I am,” Neteyam snapped, sharper than he meant to. “And I didn’t owe you an explanation.”

Jake’s voice turned colder. “That’s not how this works. You’re still part of this family.”

Neteyam’s eyes flashed. “Then why don’t you treat me like it?”

Jake’s mouth opened, but no words came. Neteyam stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me now? Since that argument? You glare. You judge. Every decision I make, you question. I used to come to you with everything, and all I got back was silence—or orders.”

Jake’s expression tightened, guilt flickering behind his eyes. “I never meant to push you away.”

“But you did,” Neteyam said, quieter now. “And now you want to know why I left?”

His golden eyes locked with Jake’s, hard and unflinching.

Neteyam crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you. I needed space.”

“Bullshit,” Jake snapped, the word sharp in the quiet jungle air.

The tension crackled like dry leaves underfoot. Neteyam’s voice dropped. Cold. Controlled. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a soldier.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Then stop acting like one.”

The silence that followed was thick—heavy enough to choke on. Jake stepped closer. “What’s really going on with you, Neteyam?”

Neteyam let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Now you care?”

Jake’s brows furrowed. “You think I don’t care?”

Neteyam's eyes flashed, his voice sharp. “You care when I disobey. When I don’t act how you expect. That’s when you speak. That’s when you look at me.”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Neteyam hissed, stepping forward now. “When was the last time we spoke about anything that wasn’t duty? Orders? What the clan needs? You’ve barely looked at me since I said no to the elders’ match moons ago.”

Jake didn’t respond.

Neteyam shook his head. “You want me to pick someone.” Neteyam’s throat tightened. He looked away, jaw clenching.

Jake’s voice was firmer now. “You’re acting like I did something wrong.”

Neteyam let out a breath through his nose, low and sharp. “You mean besides putting three women in front of me like I’m choosing a hunting bow?”

Jake’s eyes darkened. “You know that’s not what this is—”

“No?” Neteyam cut in, voice low, sharp. “Then tell me, why do I have to choose someone you think is good for me? Someone the elders think is good for me? Someone Mother thinks is good for me?”

Jake was silent. His voice rose, heated now. “But you—you got to choose. You got to choose her,” Neteyam said, quieter now but still burning, his voice raw. “You weren’t born here. You weren’t even one of us. But you still got to choose mother.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “That was different.”

“Why?” Neteyam demanded, his chest heaving. “Tell me. Why was it different for you?”

Jake didn’t answer.

Neteyam’s voice wavered just once—but he forced it steady again. “So why is it that I don’t get to choose for myself?”

Silence.

Jake took a slow breath, as if to respond—but Neteyam cut him off before he could.

“I already—” Neteyam bit the words down, his mouth snapping shut mid-sentence. His jaw tensed, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly, something shifting in his expression. “You already what?”

Neteyam didn’t answer.

Jake’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to see through the cracks. “Are you hiding something?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. Wouldn’t answer. Not now. Not like this. Instead, he turned his back and started climbing, toward the only place that felt like home anymore.

Jake’s voice followed him—low, heavy with warning. “If there’s something I need to know—”

“You’ll be the last to hear it,” Neteyam shot over his shoulder. And then he was gone, vanishing into his kelku, leaving his father behind in the quiet.

The inside of Neteyam’s kelku was quiet—too quiet. The hum of the forest beyond its walls barely touched him, muffled by the storm brewing behind his temples. He sat cross-legged near the far edge of the woven platform, a small collection of arrow shafts and stone fragments laid out before him in neat, precise rows. His hands moved over them with muscle memory alone—select, carve, shape—but the focus wasn’t there.

His thoughts kept slipping. His jaw clenched every time he remembered the look on his father’s face. The suspicion. The calculation.

He had almost said it. Almost.

His fingers stilled over the half-shaped arrowhead. His breath caught in his throat.

He’d almost told his father about you.

Neteyam swore under his breath, sharp and low, tossing the unfinished tip aside. It clattered against the floor of the kelku, the sound far too loud in the silence. He sat back, running a hand down his face.

Skxawng.

He shouldn’t have let it get to that point. He knew how his father operated—slow, probing, never missing an opening. And Neteyam had just… given him one. He exhaled, long and shaky, his fingers curling into his palms. He had chosen distance.

Not just for himself. For you.

Because this kelku—this place in the trees, quiet and separate from the rest of the village—was the only place he could be with you without fear. Without someone seeing. Without the elders whispering, or his father ordering.

Neteyam lowered his hands, staring up at the ceiling of his kelku. He had made it strong. Private. Secluded. But not strong enough to keep his guilt out. He knew what you risked every time you came here. You weren’t just his. You were a scientist. A human. One of the few allowed to stay in the forest at all.

Only because his father had allowed it.

After the war. After the bloodshed. After the Na’vi won. The peace between the Omatikaya and the humans at the outpost was fragile. It was a line drawn in the dirt—thin, easily swept away.

If that line was crossed… If the clan ever saw humans as a threat—if you became the reason the Omatikaya turned on the outpost…

They’d be sent away by the RDA.

Bridgehead.

He wouldn’t see you again. Not ever. Neteyam’s fists clenched. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t.

If they knew—if the wrong person found out what you meant to him—Neteyam didn’t know what might happen.

And the forest. Eywa, the forest. It was everything to you.

You were never happier than when you were out there—among the plants, the wildlife, your datapad in one hand and a stupid grin on your face as you tried to explain something far too complicated for him to follow. You were a scientist, but more than that— you belonged to the forest, just as much as he did. It gave you joy, purpose. It was where you thrived.

He wouldn’t risk that. Not for anything. Not even for the truth.

The door flap rustled. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Kiri slipped inside silently, her feet light on the woven floor. She paused, taking in the scattered pieces of arrow-making, the tension radiating off her brother like heat from a fire.

“You know, you’re not exactly subtle when you’re brooding,” she said, dropping down beside him.

He didn’t answer. Just picked up a shaft, turned it over, then set it back down.

Kiri tilted her head. “So… that bad?”

Neteyam scoffed softly through his nose. “What do you think?”

“I think Dad came back looking like someone kicked him,” she muttered. “And you’re in here throwing your work around like it insulted you.”

“I almost said it,” he said quietly, his voice flat. “I almost told him.”

Kiri went still.

Neteyam didn’t have to clarify. She knew exactly what it was. “I didn’t,” he added. “But I wanted to.”

Kiri’s gaze softened, her hand reaching over to rest lightly on his shoulder. “You were angry.”

“I’m always angry now.”

Kiri’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know.”

She let the silence stretch for a bit before speaking again. “You know they talk about you, right? Mom and Dad.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want to hear it,” he muttered.

“Well, I didn’t either,” Kiri said. “But sometimes I don’t have a choice. I still live there, remember?”

Neteyam closed his eyes.

“They’re… confused,” Kiri went on. “Hurt, I think. But mostly just afraid. You’re their first son. Their perfect son. You always did everything they asked, everything they wanted. Now they don’t understand why you’re—”

“Choosing for myself?” he cut in, sharp.

Kiri hesitated. “Yes.”

Neteyam exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They want me to pick someone from the clan. Settle. Lead. Be a good little Olo’eyktan-in-training.”

Kiri watched him. Her voice lowered. “They think you’re hiding something.”

Neteyam looked back down at the arrowhead. “Are they wrong?”

She smiled faintly. “No.”

Silence stretched between them for a beat, the fire crackling quietly. Then, Kiri’s voice turned soft. Knowing. “You’re being too obvious.”

He froze.

“You used to be more careful,” she went on. “Slipping out at night, keeping the visits short. Covering your tracks. Staying with her at the outpost.”

Neteyam stayed still. Said nothing.

“But now?” she sighed. “You bring her here. You keep her here. You look at her like… like you don’t care who sees it.”

His grip tightened on the stone.

Kiri leaned forward, voice quiet and serious. “I love her too. You know that. But you both are idiots.”

“I know,” he muttered.

Kiri’s brow furrowed. “Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I love her,” he said, before he could stop it.

Kiri didn’t flinch. She just nodded. “I know.”

Neteyam finally looked up at her. “You don’t understand, Kiri. She’s happiest here. In the forest. When she’s working with the plants, or cataloging things I don’t even have a name for. She lights up. The forest feeds her.” His throat tightened. “If something happened… if the clan forced the humans out, she’d have to go. Bridgehead’s not the forest. She wouldn’t last there.”

Kiri’s expression softened. “You’re trying to protect her.”

“I have to protect her.” His voice cracked on it, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “Even if that means never telling anyone. Even if that means letting the whole clan think I’m stalling or disrespecting tradition.”

Kiri was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You’re not going to be able to keep her a secret forever.”

Neteyam knew that. The way you smiled at him. The way he looked at you. The way he reached for you without thinking, how he softened at your voice, how your scent lingered on his skin when you stayed the night.

Someone would notice. It wouldn’t stay in the dark forever. He exhaled slowly. “I know.”

Kiri leaned forward, placing her hand on his. “I don’t think you’re wrong for choosing her,” she said gently. “But if you’re going to keep doing this… you need to be ready.”

Neteyam looked at her, golden eyes heavy with a thousand things he wasn’t allowed to say. “I already chose,” he said softly. “I just haven’t told anyone.”

Kiri squeezed his hand, her voice low. “Maybe it’s time you did.” Kiri didn’t press. She didn’t have to. “I get it,” she murmured. “You want to tell the truth. You want to stop hiding her.”

His breath caught at the word.

You.

Kiri knew exactly what he felt.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t have to.

Kiri smiled faintly. “She’s one of my best friends, skxawng. I see the way she looks at you. Like you hung the stars. Like there’s no one else in the world but you.”

Neteyam let out a slow, aching breath. “And I keep her hidden like a secret.”

“She understands,” Kiri said gently. “She always has.”

He swallowed hard, guilt thick in his throat.

“She would never ask me to choose,” he whispered. “Not once has she ever asked me to risk this. But I would.”

Kiri’s smile faded. She shifted closer, her hand brushing his. “You don’t have to risk it alone.”

Neteyam looked at her, surprised. “Kiri—”

“I want to help you,” she said firmly. “We want to help you.”

He blinked. “We?”

Kiri’s gaze softened, a quiet gleam of pride behind her eyes. “Grandmother knows.”

Neteyam exhaled, nodding. “Of course she did.”

“She knows… and she wants to help you.”

That made him freeze. He turned sharply to look at Kiri, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Kiri smiled. “She says you have your mother’s heart. That she’s seen this before. She said… if the girl is going to be your mate one day, then she should start learning how to live among us. Not as an outsider. But as one of us.”

Neteyam stared at her, stunned into silence.

“She spoke to me about it days ago,” Kiri continued. “She said your human is curious, respectful. That she’s always wanted to learn the healing ways. So… she’s giving her the chance. She’ll teach her, alongside me.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Mo’at. The Tsahik. His grandmother. He wasn’t surprised that their grandmother knew. She was Tsahik. She saw what others missed, heard what was left unsaid. And he had already told her—maybe not in so many words, but in ways she would understand.

She didn’t just know—she was protecting them.

Kiri reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This means she can come to the village more. During the day too. No more waiting for the other scientist to come here. No more sneaking around at night, not if there’s a reason for her to be here. No more slipping out like a thief to see her.”

Neteyam’s voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “She would do that? Grandmother?”

Kiri nodded. “She already has.”

His throat tightened. It was the first time since their relationship had started that the weight on his chest felt just a little lighter.

Kiri’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You need to tell her.”

Neteyam exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “She still has her work at the outpost. The RDA expects her to do her job…”

“I know,” Kiri said. “But if she learns under Mo’at, she won’t have to make excuses every time she’s here. At least not for Dad and Mom. No one will question why she spends so much time in the village.”

Neteyam pressed his lips together. She was right. As usual. He leaned back against the wooden frame of his kelku, running a hand over his face before looking at Kiri again. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Kiri smiled. “Of course.”

She stood, stretching. “Just don’t be stupid about it, alright?”

Neteyam smirked, shaking his head. “No promises.”

Kiri groaned, rolling her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

But there was affection in her voice. She turned to leave but paused at the entrance, glancing back at him. “Tell her soon, ma’tsmukan.”

Neteyam nodded. And as Kiri disappeared into the night, he let out a slow breath. He would tell her. Because now, for the first time, there was hope.

The woven walls of the Tsahik’s tent glowed faintly with the warm orange light of the setting sun, the last fingers of daylight slipping through cracks in the canopy. Herbs hung in bundles above the fire pit, their soft, earthy scent curling in the air. Kiri sat cross-legged near one of the low tables, quietly grinding dried roots into powder with a practiced hand. Neteyam stood near the entrance, posture tense but respectful, as Mo’at finished arranging several clay bowls in a careful line before her.

She didn’t look up as she spoke.

“I wondered how long it would take you to come.”

Neteyam exhaled slowly, stepping fully inside. “I needed time. To think.”

Mo’at hummed, a soft, noncommittal sound. “You have always taken too much time when it comes to the things you feel most deeply.”

Neteyam didn’t argue. He stepped forward, lowering himself onto the woven mat beside Kiri. Mo’at turned her gaze on him then—sharp, steady, ancient.

“You wish to speak about the girl.”

He nodded once. “You said… you would teach her.”

“I will,” Mo’at replied simply. “If that is what she wants.”

“I know she does.” Neteyam’s voice was soft, but certain. “More than anything.”

Mo’at inclined her head. “Good.” Silence settled over them for a beat, broken only by the soft scrape of Kiri’s pestle against stone. Mo’at’s eyes didn’t waver from Neteyam’s. “I know you will not choose anyone else.”

The words landed with quiet weight. Final. True. Neteyam’s throat tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I already have.”

“I know,” Mo’at said, voice lower now, tinged with something almost gentle. “And so your mate should be taught as one of us. She must understand our ways. Our stories. Our healing. Our balance with Eywa. If she is to stand beside you—truly stand there—then she must know everything.”

Neteyam’s voice was firm. “You’ll see. She’ll learn it all. She’s… she’s smart. She understands the forest better than most of the People I know.”

Mo’at nodded once, as if that had already been obvious. “I believe that. And I believe she will listen. She does not treat our ways like science in a book—she treats them like something sacred.” Her lips curled, just slightly. “That is rare.”

Kiri glanced up from her work then, offering her brother a faint, knowing smile. “She already pays attention better than half the young healers in training.”

Mo’at made a soft sound of agreement.

“I can help you,” she said, reaching for a bowl of herbs. Her fingers moved with practiced grace, slow and precise. “For now. She will begin learning under me. That gives her a reason to be in the village. Eyes will not question what has an answer.”

Neteyam felt some of the tension bleed from his shoulders, his chest rising and falling with something like relief. “Thank you.”

“But,” Mo’at said sharply, her gaze pinning him in place, “do not mistake help for protection.”

He stilled.

“I am old,” she said, voice even. “And wise. But I am not all-seeing. And your mother and father—” she let the pause hang “—are not stupid.”

Kiri winced softly, but said nothing. Mo’at leaned forward, her tone gentler now. “This will not be a secret forever, ma Neteyam. And it should not be. If she is to be your mate, then in time, the truth must be shown.”

“I know,” Neteyam murmured. “I just… I don’t want her hurt.”

“She will be,” Mo’at said plainly. “Love always brings pain. But hiding her does not protect her. It only delays what must come.”

Neteyam nodded slowly, gaze dropping to the woven floor. Mo’at’s voice softened again, her words careful. “For now, this path gives you both time. Use it well. Teach her. Help her understand what it means to live as one of us. And prepare yourself—because this path is not easy. But it is yours.”

She reached for a bundle of dried leaves, tying them with a thin cord. “Tell her to come soon. She will begin with small tasks. Preparation. Observation. Watching the balance of life and decay. If she can learn the rhythm of Eywa, she can learn anything.”

Neteyam’s chest swelled, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “She can.”

Mo’at smiled then—soft and brief, the way moonlight breaks through trees. “Then we begin.”

The outpost was quiet at this hour. Neteyam knew it would be. Most of the humans had gone to bed hours ago, but he knew you wouldn’t be asleep. You never were.

It was nearly midnight when he reached the airlock, moving swiftly through the shadows, his steps soundless as he crouched by the console. His fingers moved with practiced ease, pressing the override sequence you had shown him long ago. The hiss of the decompression chamber barely registered as he stepped inside.

This place had become so familiar. He had been here more times than he could count, slipping into the outpost long after dark, drawn to you like a moth to flame.

Usually, he would find you hunched over a workbench, hovering over some plant samples, your face illuminated by the glow of your holo-screens as you scribbled notes for your research.

But tonight, the lab was empty. Neteyam frowned, his ears flicking as he listened for any sign of you. Then he turned down the hallway, his long strides carrying him toward your quarters.

The door wasn’t locked. It never was when you expected him.

He pushed the button to open it without a sound, stepping inside—and the sight before him made his lips twitch in amusement.

You were sitting cross-legged on the edge of your bed, a towel draped over your shoulders, damp hair spilling down as you slowly brushed through it. Your gaze was fixed on the holoscreen mounted on the wall, some human movie playing in muted colors.

You didn’t even glance at the door when you spoke.

“No, Kate, I won’t give you my shampoo.”

Neteyam snorted.

Your hand froze mid-brush. He watched the way your shoulders tensed, how you whipped around so fast you nearly toppled over—only to find him standing there, his three-meter-tall frame barely fitting through the doorway, his golden eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.

A slow smile curled his lips. “Not Kate,” he murmured, amusement dancing in his golden eyes.

You exhaled a sharp breath, pressing a hand against your chest. “Eywa, you scared me!”

Neteyam chuckled, stepping further inside. “You should be more aware of your surroundings, yawne.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but the wide grin on your face betrayed your amusement. You reached for him, motioning him closer with both hands. “Come here.”

Neteyam didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in two strides, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring the way your expression softened as he lowered himself into a crouch before your bed. Even like this, he was still so much bigger than you.

Your small hand reached out, brushing over his cheek, tracing the strong lines of his jaw. “Give me kisses,” you murmured, grinning.

Neteyam huffed a soft laugh, tilting his head. “So demanding.”

You beamed. “And you love it.”

Eywa help him, he did. His large hand reached up, thumb grazing over the smooth curve of your cheek. You leaned into his touch without hesitation, eyes fluttering closed for a brief second before you met his gaze again.

Your warmth. Your scent. The way your small fingers curled over his wrist, holding him there.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his nose grazing against yours, teasing. “Neteyam,” you murmured, impatient.

He smirked. “What is it, sweet girl?”

You groaned, your fingers tightening behind his neck. “Stop teasing and kiss me.”

He let out a low chuckle, but obeyed. He leaned in, closing the distance, his nose brushing against yours as his breath ghosted over your lips.

You sighed, tilting your head up, your fingers sliding into his braids, tugging him closer. Neteyam’s restraint snapped. He kissed you—slow and deep—his lips pressing against yours with the kind of longing that had built over days apart.

You melted into him immediately, your body shifting forward, hands gripping his shoulders, pulling yourself closer. Neteyam groaned, his other hand finding your waist, his fingers splaying over the soft curve of your hip.

The kiss was warm and unhurried, but it was filled with all the words you hadn’t spoken. He poured everything into it—how much he wanted you, how much he needed you.

And you gave it all back. Your breath hitched as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head to taste you more fully, to savor the way you clung to him like he was something you couldn’t bear to let go of.

His chest rumbled with a low, satisfied sound as he pulled back just enough to press another lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another along your jaw.

You were breathless, your forehead resting against his as you smiled. “Damn,” you whispered. “You always kiss me like you’re never going to see me again.”

Neteyam’s throat tightened, his grip on your waist subconsciously tightening. Because the truth was… that fear was always there. He let out a quiet breath, pressing one last kiss to your lips before murmuring— “That’s because I never know how much time we have.”

Your eyes flickered with something unreadable. But you didn’t argue.

You just kissed him again.

You moved around the small room with practiced ease, pulling extra blankets and pillows from a storage crate, arranging them on the floor without hesitation. Neteyam watched you, his golden eyes tracing the way you worked—quick, efficient, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t even ask if he wanted to sleep here. You just knew. Like always.

The floor was littered with spare blankets, pillows, and a couple of folded sheets you had tugged from your storage bins without a second thought—just like last time.

The moment you had seen him duck into your room, towering over you in the soft glow of your holoscreen, you’d lit up. And without needing to say anything, you had dropped to the floor and started making the bed. It was a quiet, practiced routine now—one born out of familiarity and stolen nights together.

Neteyam didn’t say a word. He just watched you with that half-smile, that softened look he reserved only for you.

Later, the only sounds were your mingled breaths, the gentle hum of the outpost’s low-power systems, and the distant jungle outside. The two of you lay side by side, bare skin tangled together in the soft nest you’d built. Your head rested against his chest, arm draped over his ribs, your legs tangled beneath the blankets.

His fingers traced lazy circles across your back—absent, distracted.

You shifted, propping your chin on his chest, your still-damp hair spilling over his collarbone as you looked at him with that playful, knowing expression.

Your voice came soft, teasing. “What is it?”

He blinked. “Hm?”

“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmured, your finger lightly trailing along the stripes painted across his chest. “Where you stare at the ceiling like it’s gonna give you answers to the universe.”

His lips quirked.

You tilted your head, studying him more closely. “You look all lost in your thoughts.” Then, quieter—hesitant, your voice turning sheepish as your eyes flicked away. “You’re quiet.”

He blinked, glancing down at you. Your face was flushed, lips still kiss-bitten, your bare shoulders dotted with the fading evidence of his mouth. He could see the way you bit your bottom lip like you weren’t sure if you wanted to say what came next, but then—

“…Was I not good?”

His ears twitched. His brows furrowed. And then he looked at you like you had just grown a second head.  “What?”

You immediately looked away, trying—and failing—not to flush deeper. “You’ve just been lying here staring at the ceiling like you’re about to enter your ‘suffering warrior’ era, and I thought maybe—”

“Kehe,” he said sharply, cutting you off. “No. Don’t say that.”

His voice was low, a soft reprimand—but the kind that curled around your ribs and made you feel warm.

You blinked. “I was just kidding—”

Neteyam exhaled, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “No, you weren’t.”

He rolled onto his side, turning to face you fully. “You think I would be quiet because you weren’t good?” His eyes scanned you slowly, purposefully. “You think I would be silent because you, the only person who makes me feel like I can actually breathe, weren’t enough?”

You bit your lip. Your blush was impossible to miss now.

Neteyam’s hand cupped your jaw, firm and steady. “You are everything.”

Your breath caught.

“You feel like home,” he murmured, brushing his forehead against yours. “And tonight, like every other time, you were perfect. So perfect it makes me ache.”

Your cheeks bloomed crimson, and you buried your face into his chest to escape the look in his eyes. He chuckled softly, running his fingers through your damp hair. “There you are.”

You stared at him, eyes wide, lips parting slightly—and Eywa, how he loved watching you bloom like that, all soft surprise and bashful joy, like you didn’t know the effect you had on him. Your voice was quiet. “That was really sweet.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he replied. “It’s just the truth.”

You smiled at him, and Neteyam leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead. Your fingers curled against his chest again, but the tension was gone now—melted under the weight of his honesty.

For a while, you just lay there. Breathing together. But the peace didn’t last forever. Not tonight. You lifted your head again, brows furrowed.  “…But something is bothering you.”

He was quiet for a long moment. He didn’t answer right away. But then, he let out a breath and murmured, “The elders cornered me again today.”

Your body went very still.

“They… they called three of them this time,” he continued, voice neutral but bitter around the edges. “Three women. All lined up like they were part of some… ceremony. Like they thought I was just going to look at them and suddenly forget everything I want.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Your entire body tensed against him.

“I was supposed to pick one.”

Silence stretched between you. You didn’t say anything at first. Just lay there, still and stiff in his arms, your breath coming a little quicker than before.

Neteyam looked down, watching the way your eyes had dulled slightly, the corners of your mouth pulling tight. “…Hey.” He ran a thumb gently over your lower back. “Look at me.”

You didn’t. But your voice came small and broken. His arm tightened around you, but your muscles stayed taut. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “That you have to keep doing this. Sneaking around. Because of me.”

“Don’t—”

You shook your head, eyes shining as you kept talking, even if your voice wavered. “If I weren’t human, if things were different—if I was Na’vi—they wouldn’t ask you to do this. And you wouldn’t have to choose between what they want and what you want. I wouldn’t be…” Your words caught in your throat. You looked down. “If you ever get tired of it,” you said softly. “Of the hiding. The lying. Of me… I’ll understand.”

Neteyam sat up in a fluid motion, pulling you with him, his large hands cradling your waist as he looked down at you with something fierce in his gaze. “I will never be tired of you,” he said, voice low but unyielding. “Never.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Neteyam’s hands slid to your cheeks, holding you still, making you look at him. “I would rather lie every day for the rest of my life,” he whispered, “than ever lie to myself about you.”

You stared at him. Wide-eyed. Stunned.

“And you—” he leaned in, brushing his nose gently against yours, “you are not something I carry in secret out of shame.” He kissed you once. Tender. Steady. He didn’t pull back far. Just far enough to whisper, voice full of quiet truth— “You are my mate.”

You froze. Your breath caught. And finally, your gaze snapped up to meet his, wide and disbelieving. Neteyam held you there, steady and certain, golden eyes locked onto yours.

“I chose you,” he said, softer now. “Long ago.”

You swallowed, lips parting. “Neteyam…”

“I don’t care what they think. I don’t care what the clan wants. Or what my father expects. I don’t care that you’re human.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “You are mine,” he whispered. “And I am yours.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but your smile—gods, your smile—was like starlight. Warm. Soft. Terrifyingly beautiful. “Okay,” you whispered back, voice trembling.

Neteyam closed his eyes, pulling you against his chest once more as the tension in his body finally started to unravel.

You were warm and tangled together, limbs loose under the patchwork of blankets. The quiet hum of the outpost filtered softly through the room—the low thrum of machinery, distant footsteps of late-night technicians, the soft chirp of life outside the walls.

Neteyam’s breathing had slowed, deep and steady beneath your cheek. His arm was draped protectively over your back, his hand idly resting against the dip of your spine. Your fingers traced slow circles against his chest, and your eyes were just starting to drift shut, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Until you spoke—softly, barely louder than a breath.

“Honestly… Jake could be scary,” you whispered with a small, mischievous giggle. “But he’s not the one I’m afraid of.”

Neteyam cracked one eye open, peeking down at you. “No?”

You tilted your head, grinning sleepily. “Nope. I’d bet anything your Mother would want to skin me alive if she ever found out.” Your voice was teasing, but there was a flicker of nervous truth in your eyes. “I mean, can you imagine? Me?” You snorted. “Some disgusting little pest under Eywa’s eye, trying to corrupt her perfect, golden firstborn son.”

Neteyam huffed a laugh, his fingers gently sliding up your back to comb through your hair. “You’re not a pest.”

You raised a brow. “You sure about that? I’ve seen the way she looks at me when I’m in the village.” You put on a mock-impression of Neytiri’s stern expression, voice deep and unimpressed. “‘Why is the tawtute always near my son?’”

Neteyam chuckled again, nose brushing the crown of your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m realistic,” you shot back, but your smile was fond, if a little nervous. “She’d never forgive me.”

He didn’t argue. He knew his mother’s views were harsh, especially when it came to the Sky People. She had softened toward a few of them—Norm, Max, a few other scientists… But this?

This would push the limits of that tolerance. Still, he didn’t let it show. He hummed in thought. “She’s… protective.”

“That’s one word for it,” you muttered.

Neteyam was quiet for a moment, his hand trailing up your back and then resting just between your shoulder blades. “But… not everyone wants to chase you away,” he murmured.

You blinked and looked up at him, your cheek still resting against his chest. “What do you mean?”

He shifted slightly, leaning up just enough to meet your eyes. “Grandmother.” His voice was soft. “She wants to teach you.”

Your brow furrowed. “Mo’at?”

Neteyam nodded. “She knows about us.”

That made you sit up slightly, startled. “Wait—what?”

“She figured it out weeks ago,” he said simply, brushing a stray lock of hair off your face. “I didn’t have to say much. She knew. And… she wants to help.”

You stared at him like he’d just told you the sky had turned purple. “Mo’at… wants to help us?”

He smiled faintly. “Surprised me, too.”

You were still processing, eyes wide. “And how exactly does she plan to help us? Offer me a head start before Neytiri hunts me down?”

Neteyam snorted. “No. She said… you’ve always wanted to learn from the Omatikaya. From her.”

“I—” you paused, then nodded slowly. “I mean… yeah. I’ve been obsessed with Na’vi healing since forever.”

“She thinks that’s the answer,” he said. “If you’re her apprentice—or… in training, or whatever you call it—it gives you a reason to be in the village. Regularly. No more sneaking.”

You blinked. And then, your expression cracked into a slow, delighted smile. “Wait… really?”

“If that’s something you want,” he added carefully. “Only if you want it.”

There was no hesitation. You nodded eagerly, your eyes shining. “Yes. Eywa, yes. If it means I can stay with you more—be closer to you—yes.”

Neteyam exhaled softly, a rush of warmth tightening in his chest.

“But,” you added after a beat, your tone a little sheepish now, “I can’t be there all the time. As much as I want to, I’ve still got a job here. If I suddenly go full Na’vi and start skipping my xenobotany shifts, Norm will kick my ass.”

Neteyam was quiet, his breath slow and even beneath your ear, just as you started lazily tracing the soft, glowing stripe that ran down the center of his chest. Your fingers followed it like it was a path made for you and you alone—like his body had been carved by Eywa.

The room was dim, bathed in a soft glow from your holoscreen still humming faintly on the wall, casting flickering light over tangled blankets and bare skin. He felt your lips curve against his skin even before you spoke. “At least if I’m in the village,” you murmured slyly, voice light, “I’ll get to watch the other women try so hard to get my man’s attention.”

Neteyam blinked, caught off guard by how casually you said it—like it was just a simple truth of life. His golden eyes cut down to look at you, still perched on his chest, now drawing invisible shapes across his skin with all the smug confidence of someone who had just won a game no one else knew they were playing.

You didn’t even pause, trailing your fingers lower, brushing along the dip beneath his collarbone. “I bet they’re going to try so hard,” you continued, voice full of fake pity, “like, really put in the effort to win the affection of the next Olo’eyktan.” You glanced up at him, eyebrows raised, “And the whole time, they won’t even realize they’ve already lost.”

Neteyam just stared at you. Completely silent. Expression unreadable.

Your smug grin only grew wider. “What? Don’t give me that look. You know I’m right.”

He blinked again, and then the corner of his mouth twitched. Slowly, his face broke into a grin—eyes shining with pure amusement. “Eywa,” he muttered, reaching up to brush his thumb across your cheek. “You are so—”

“Correct?” you supplied helpfully.

“I was going to say ridiculous,” he said, voice warm and fond.

You gasped, feigning offense. “Excuse you. I’m confident. There's a difference.”

Neteyam let out a quiet chuckle, the sound deep in his chest, and you smirked as if you’d just scored another point. He watched you settle in again like you belonged there—which you did—your chin perched on his chest, arms curled up around his sides like he was your favorite pillow.

And maybe you didn’t know. Maybe you didn’t realize that when you said my man, something in his chest tightened. That when you smiled at him like that, so smug, so proud—he didn’t see arrogance.

He saw devotion. A wild, quiet kind of love that you barely even had to say out loud, because he felt it in every word, every little brush of your fingers.

Neteyam’s gaze softened, his large hand coming up to cradle the back of your head gently, like you were something delicate—even though he knew you were stronger than you thought. His fingers sifted through your still-damp hair, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, and he exhaled slowly, content.

Eywa had given him many things.

But you?

You were his greatest gift. His anchor. His calm. His maddening, brilliant, beautiful little human who didn’t seem to realize you had become his entire world.

And the most dangerous part?

You still looked at him like he was the one worth chasing.

Neteyam leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lips lingering there for a long, silent beat. Your fingers stilled on his chest, and you let out a soft hum, eyes closing briefly.

“I see you,” he murmured, so low it was almost a breath, like the words were sacred.

You opened your eyes slowly, blinking up at him. You were chaos and comfort, firelight and soft moss beneath his hands. And Eywa, how he loved you.

“You know,” he said quietly, brushing a hand along the curve of your spine, “I don’t even look at them.”

You glanced up, eyes warm. “Not even a peek?”

Neteyam leaned in, brushing his nose along your jaw. “No one’s ever made me look away from you.”

Your breath caught for half a second, but you masked it with another smirk. “Good,” you whispered. Then you flicked your eyes up at him, all faux innocence, your chin propped on his chest. “What?”

“You…” Neteyam’s voice came out in a quiet breath, half laughter, half disbelief. “You are evil.”

You beamed. “Thank you.”

He reached up, cupped your face with one large hand, and just stared at you—like you had personally knocked the air from his lungs. Here you were. His tiny, fearless human, lying in his arms completely naked, grinning like you were the goddess of smug victory, talking about him like he wasn’t right there beneath you.

Talking about him like he belonged to you. And he did.

You had no idea just how completely, utterly his heart had folded itself around you. How, without even trying, you had wrapped him around your tiny, delicate fingers and then held him there like it was nothing.

And Eywa, did he love it.

The way you puffed up like a little viperwolf, all possessive and proud—like you could take on the entire clan for the right to stay at his side. You didn’t even realize that to him, you already were everything.

His whole world. His only peace. The gift that Eywa had carved from the stars and placed directly in his path when he didn’t even know he was looking. Neteyam laughed under his breath, shaking his head in awe. “You know,” he murmured, voice low and warm, “it’s a little terrifying how smug you are.”

You grinned wider, not the least bit apologetic. “I’m just saying, I am the dark horse in this weird little mating game, and I already won.”

His hand slid behind your neck, pulling you down so he could press a kiss to your lips, slow and deep. When he pulled back, his golden eyes were soft, full of something deeper, something raw and worshipful.

“You didn’t win, syulang.” His voice dropped, almost reverent. “You never had to race.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity.

Neteyam smiled, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “You were always the answer.”

You blinked faster, lashes fluttering, your smugness suddenly cracking at the edges. “…Okay,” you whispered, dazed. “That was… unfairly romantic.”

He chuckled, pulling you tighter against his chest as you buried your face into the curve of his shoulder, suddenly overwhelmed. He let you hide there, let you melt against him like you always did.

And as his arms wrapped fully around you, Neteyam thought—not for the first time—that no title, no duty, no burden could ever come close to the way he loved you. No matter what the clan expected of him. You were his.

And he would be yours, in every life Eywa allowed him.

The hunting party had returned just before eclipse. Their kills were modest, but clean—four yeriks, three syils, a teylu nest, and a cluster of ripe seedfruit found along the river path. It should have been an easy run.

Should have.

Neteyam’s left bicep burned, the gash already crusted with dried blood and mud from the shallow stream he’d fallen into. It wasn’t deep—no torn muscle, no puncture—but it was messy. Ugly. The sort of thing that could fester fast if left unchecked.

The jungle air was thick with humidity, the scent of rain still lingering after the morning storm. Neteyam ducked into the Tsahik’s tent with a low grunt, blood trailing lazily from a long gash across his bicep. The wound wasn’t deep, but it stung like fire every time he moved.

He winced as the flap closed behind him, brushing damp hair from his brow with his uninjured hand. “Grandmother—”

His voice faltered.

You were there.

Kneeling beside Mo’at, your exo-mask fogged slightly from the humidity, a small woven pouch of dried herbs in your lap. Your hands froze mid-motion, and your eyes widened the moment they landed on him.

Neteyam blinked, caught somewhere between surprise and awe. “You’re here.”

You swallowed. “You’re hurt.”

Mo’at didn’t even glance up from the bundle of leaves she was preparing. “He’ll live. It is not deep.”

Neteyam huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer, his golden eyes never leaving yours. “Could have fooled me. Feels like a viperwolf tried to take my arm.”

Mo’at raised an unimpressed brow. “Because you threw yourself into its path like a fool.”

“I had to pull Ateyo out,” he muttered. “He froze. He would’ve been mauled.”

“You could have done that without getting yourself sliced.”

“Maybe.”

Mo’at clicked her tongue and gestured toward the center of the tent, where a woven mat was laid out. “Sit. And take that nonsense bravado with you.”

Neteyam chuckled under his breath, easing down onto the mat, gritting his teeth when his arm brushed his side. You were still frozen, eyes flicking between him and the salve Mo’at had been preparing. You hadn’t expected him—no warning, no time to prepare, and Eywa, why did it have to be him of all people when you were finally allowed to start learning how to help?

You turned toward Mo’at, who remained calm, composed, as always. Her voice didn’t waver as she handed you the bowl of thick yellow paste. “Use what I taught you today. Clean it. Apply the salve.”

You blinked at her, stunned. “I—I can’t. I haven’t—I'm not—he's—”

“Wounded,” Mo’at cut in, gaze steady. “And in need of healing. You know what to do.”

Your breath hitched. “But I haven’t done it myself. What if I get it wrong? I’ve only watched you do it once. I—I’m not ready. I can’t—” Your eyes shot to Neteyam, who was sitting so casually, so confidently, watching you with quiet amusement despite the blood still dripping down his arm.

Mo’at turned to him, her tone dry. “Does this one complain this much in your bed as well?”

Your eyes exploded wide. “Mo’at!”

Neteyam choked on a laugh, ears twitching as he bit back a grin. “Only sometimes.”

Mo’at didn’t smirk, but the corner of her mouth definitely twitched. “Then she is capable of handling discomfort. Good. She will need that.”

You were too flustered to speak, your fingers tightening around the bowl in your hands as your mask hissed softly with your shallow breaths.

Neteyam tilted his head toward you, eyes warm, voice low. “Hey. Come here.”

You hesitated.

“I trust you,” he said softly.

You blinked.

“I trust you more than anyone.” His voice held no hesitation. “You’ve got this.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you stood, crossing the tent with careful steps, kneeling beside him. Your eyes flicked down to the cut—it was ugly. Angry red, a jagged slash across his bicep, already swelling at the edges. You reached for a clean cloth, dipping it into the water basin beside you.

Neteyam watched as you started to clean the wound, your hands shaking ever so slightly as the cloth pressed against his skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I might hurt you.”

“You won’t,” he said gently. “You never could.”

You bit your lip and kept going, your brows furrowed in intense concentration. Neteyam stayed perfectly still, golden eyes watching you like you were the only thing in the room.

“You’re doing well,” Mo’at said from behind you, tone calm. “You listened. You remembered.”

You exhaled slowly, your shoulders finally relaxing a little. You reached for the salve, scooping a bit of the cool paste with your fingers. You hesitated—then, carefully, you smoothed it across the wound.

Neteyam hissed once through his teeth—but said nothing else. His jaw stayed tight, but his gaze never wavered from you.

You finished the application with slow precision, spreading the salve evenly, wiping your fingers with the cloth before glancing up. “Done,” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

Mo’at nodded. “It will sting for a while. That means it is working. The poultice is strong.”

You looked at Neteyam, still uncertain. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” he said, smiling. “But it’s better now.”

You blinked at him. “You're just saying that.”

“No,” he murmured. “You helped. And you did it right. I told you.”

You looked down at your hands, still faintly green-stained from the salve, and something in your chest fluttered—uncertain and proud, nervous and warmed. “You’ll be a good healer,” Mo’at said, her voice quiet but firm. “You learn with your heart. That is the first lesson. The rest will follow.”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat, and Neteyam reached out—his large hand closing over yours, grounding you. You didn’t look at Mo’at, but you nodded once. A quiet promise.

Neteyam gave your fingers a soft squeeze. And for the first time, you believed it, too.

The soft glow of bioluminescent fungus lit the edges of the woven tent, casting gentle shadows over the space as night settled fully over the forest. The buzz of the village had died down after the evening meal—voices had quieted, laughter dimmed, fires low. It was a time of rest, of quiet.

Neteyam stepped through the flap with practiced ease, his long silhouette framed briefly by the night beyond. And there you were—exactly where he knew you’d be.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor and your datapad balanced on your lap, fingers tapping away with quiet focus. Your hair was tied back messily, a smear of dried salve still faintly visible on your wrist from earlier that day. You were muttering softly to yourself as you typed—something about alkaloids, solvent extraction, ratios of paste-to-pulp consistency.

Neteyam’s lips curved into a slow smile.

“You’re late,” you murmured, smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

Neteyam let out a soft, amused breath. “I brought you the last of the sweetroot from dinner. You’re welcome.”

That made you glance up, grin widening behind your mask. “You know your way to a girl’s heart.”

Neteyam crouched beside you, setting the little leaf-wrapped bundle at your side before lowering himself fully onto the floor. His eyes flicked to your datapad, where a sketched drawing of a jungle root was labeled in three languages.

“You always do that,” he murmured, stepping closer.

You looked up, blinking in surprise. Then you smiled, warmth blooming behind your mask. “Do what?”

His golden eyes glinting in the low light. “Write everything down the second you learn it. Even before it’s over.”

You lifted your datapad a little, gesturing at it like it explained everything. “If I don’t, I’ll forget the phrasing. And sometimes Mo’at says things and I don’t know what they mean until later—but if I don’t write it down right then, I can’t ask the right questions next time. Mo’at showed me the base tonight—how it reacts to heat. I think it might be a form of thermogenic compound? It’s… it’s fascinating.”

Neteyam rested his elbow on his knee, propping his chin in his hand as he watched you. “You get that look in your eyes when you talk about this.”

You blinked. “What look?”

“Like you’ve fallen in love with the plants instead of me.”

You snorted. “Well, the plants don’t make me risk suffocating every time I kiss them.”

Neteyam’s grin widened. “Mmm. But do they make you tremble like I do?”

“Neteyam,” you warned with a blush.

He just laughed, soft and warm. Neteyam tilted his head slightly, watching you. “You always talk like you have to prove something.”

Your fingers paused mid-tap. You swallowed once, then shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

He didn’t argue. Just quietly reached forward and gently plucked the datapad from your lap, setting it carefully aside.

You blinked. “Hey—”

“You can study tomorrow, syulang,” he murmured. “It’s time to rest.”

You gave a soft huff, but your body already leaned into him without thinking. “You sound like Mo’at now.”

He chuckled. “She’s not wrong.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his—and the warmth faded just slightly. Like a quiet thought had passed behind them. He saw it.

“What is it?” he asked, voice low.

You hesitated. “Just to know I have to leave in the morning.”

Neteyam blinked. “Leave?”

You nodded, your fingers brushing his where they rested beside you on the floor. “The outpost got a transmission. From Bridgehead.”

His entire posture changed—subtle, but clear. More alert. More guarded. “What kind of transmission?” he asked carefully.

“Nothing bad,” you said quickly, soothing. “Just orders. A directive. We’re being sent to check on the last abandoned mining site. The one near Hell’s Gate.”

Neteyam’s brow furrowed. “That far?”

You nodded. “It’s mostly to monitor fauna recovery. Study how the forest is reclaiming the damage. Norm’s team has been petitioning for months to get clearance. Bridgehead finally approved it.”

His jaw ticked slightly. “You’ll be near the old RDA operations. The dead zones.”

“I know.”

His golden eyes searched your face, and you felt the air shift—he didn’t like it. Didn’t like that you were going somewhere that even the Na’vi still spoke of with quiet disgust. You tried to soften your voice. “It’s just for a few days. I’ll be with Norm and Max, and a few assistants. We’ll be cautious.”

He didn’t speak right away.

You reached for his hand. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will,” he said finally, voice quieter than before. “But I still don’t like it.”

You smiled gently. “You don’t like anything that keeps me away from you.”

He muttered. “You’re learning.”

You laughed, low and soft. Then you leaned in, brushing your mask against his cheek in that way you always did when you wanted to kiss him but couldn’t. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” you whispered. “And I’ll be annoying again. I’ll make you let me practice wrapping splints and mixing salve.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re not annoying.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

“No.” His voice was steady. “You are the only part of my day that feels like mine.”

Your breath caught.

Before you could respond, Neteyam stood, offering you his hand. “Come,” he said, a glint in his eye. “You’re not sleeping at the outpost tonight.”

You blinked. “I’m not?”

He leaned down, voice lower now, a soft rumble that curled against your ribs. “No. You’re mine tonight. You leave tomorrow—so you sleep where you belong.”

In his kelku. In his arms. In the quiet place only the two of you had carved out together. You swallowed thickly, your fingers sliding into his palm, letting him pull you up to your feet.

“I always belong with you,” you whispered.

And Neteyam didn’t say it back. He didn’t need to. He just held your hand a little tighter and led you into the forest, back to the only place he called home.

The heat between you was thick, heady, the kind that curled around your spine and sank into your skin like honey. Your thighs trembled where they framed his hips, your body aching, burning with the effort of taking all of him — and still, you wanted more.

You were above him, and Eywa, how he loved the sight of you like this — flushed, breathless, your lips parted as you panted softly through your mask. You were already stretched to your limit, your tight walls wrapping around him with every slow, needy roll of your hips.

You whimpered as you sank down again, your fingers digging into his chest, trembling from the effort, nails leaving faint little crescents in his skin, from the ache, from the desperation curling deep in your belly. You gasped as you bottomed out once more, your body clenching around him, chasing something more — even when you were already full to bursting.

“Kì'ong nekll, ma’yawne,” [Slow down.] Neteyam breathed, voice low, thick with awe. His hands gripped your waist, steadying you as you tried to push harder. “You’re going to break yourself.”

You let out a soft, broken sound — more whimper than word — and he felt it, the way you fluttered around him, how your body responded just from the sound of his voice.

Eywa.

You were soaked, stretched, taking every inch of him despite the way you trembled. Your brows were furrowed, lips slick from where you’d bitten them raw, your voice broken and needy—

“Neteyam, please—”

It was the sound of it—like a prayer, like a plea—that undid him.

He groaned, eyes slowly shut for a beat before they snapped open again, locking on you.

And Eywa.

You looked so pretty like this.

Hair damp and sticking to your temple. Eyes glassy behind your mask. Your lips parted around a mewl as you bounced, your body pushing past its own limits to take him deeper, harder, faster—even when he filled you to your very edge. Neteyam growled softly beneath you, one big hand tightening at your hip, the other sliding up to press flat over your lower belly—feeling how deep he was inside you.

“Easy,” he hushed, voice low and thick. He growled low in his throat, hands slide to gripping your waist to still you—just for a second—as he sat up beneath you.

You gasped, your hands flying up to steady yourself, wrapping around his neck instinctively as he pulled you flush to his chest, caging you in his lap. His lips found your throat, hot and open-mouthed, kissing just under your jaw before trailing lower, teeth grazing over your pulse.

You were being so loud—soft cries, broken whines, panting breaths against the humid air. His ears twitched, eyes flicking toward the flap of the kelku, ever-aware of the village just beyond the trees.

“Shh,” he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other curling behind your neck. “The whole clan doesn’t need to hear how sweet you sound.”

His mouth found your neck—hot kisses pressed to the racing pulse there, tongue tasting the salt of your skin as he breathed you in. Scented you like you were already his mate, his mouth moving over your throat, jaw, shoulder—leaving invisible marks of ownership in every pass of his lips.

You gasped, hips stuttering as he kissed the spot just below your ear—the one that always made you melt.

“Nga kalin, txanew hì'i 'u…” [You sweet, greedy little thing.] he whispered, and you gasped.

Your whole body shuddered at his words, your movements turning frantic now, desperate for more. For everything. And he let you have it. Let you ride that wave as he tilted his head to bite lightly at your neck—just enough to make your breath catch.

His voice was ragged, full of heat and love and awe. “You’re doing so well,” he groaned.

You cried out, your walls clenching down so hard he hissed through his teeth.

“Eywa, you’re close,” he breathed. “You’ve been so good — let me feel it.”

You shattered.

Your body clenched, trembling violently as the climax ripped through you—waves of heat and pleasure crashing over your skin, your voice muffled in his neck as your nails scraped down his back. You rode it out in his lap, your body moving on instinct, chasing every last flicker of sensation.

And Neteyam couldn’t hold back anymore.

With a deep, guttural groan, he buried himself deep and spilled inside you, his arms locking around your waist, his mouth on your shoulder, fangs grazing but never biting. His whole body tensed beneath you, holding you tight as his hips jerked once, twice—and then stilled.

The only sound was your shared breathing.

Ragged. Slow.

You slumped against him with a breathless giggle, your arms wrapping lazily around his neck as you tried to catch your breath. Your body was still twitching slightly, nerves alight, but the smile on your face was soft and glowing.

You looked… blissed out. Completely wrecked. Sweetly high on pleasure, cheeks flushed and hair damp where it stuck to your temples. You met his gaze, wide-eyed and breathless, and grinned. “I think…” you whispered, voice still shaky and slurred with heat, “I think I saw Eywa.”

He huffed a laugh, chest shaking beneath you. “Did she say anything?”

You grinned, nuzzling closer, soft and breathless.

“She said I should do that again.”

Neteyam groaned, resting his forehead against your mask, his hands still gripping your hips like he never planned to let go. “Evil little thing,” he whispered.

“I feel like honey,” you murmured, humming softly. “Everything’s warm.”

He chuckled—quiet and full of awe—and kissed your temple. And even though your body was still trembling from aftershocks, you grinned up at him like the stars themselves had kissed your skin.

And as you curled into his chest, still smiling, still giggling softly in the afterglow, Neteyam held you like you were his whole world.

Because you were.

The quiet between you had settled like mist—warm, still, sacred.

Your bare legs were tangled across his lap, your chest pressed to his as you both came down slowly from the high. His breathing had begun to steady, a low hum in his chest beneath your ear. You hadn’t moved—not really. You didn’t want to. Not when your skin still buzzed with aftershocks, not when you could still feel his heartbeat echoing against your own.

Neteyam’s head rested back against the woven wall of the kelku, eyes half-lidded, his expression soft in a way he only ever gave to you. His tails slowly swaying side to side on the kelku’s floor. He looked calm. Unguarded.

And so heartbreakingly beautiful.

You didn’t realize you were staring at first. Your fingers moved on instinct—delicate and reverent—as you lifted one hand to gently brush his hairline, fingertips barely ghosting over his skin. Your thumb found the first stripe above his brow, that soft curve of dark blue that branched like a river over his forehead.

He blinked, eyes flicking open just enough to meet yours. But he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You traced the stripe slowly, following its arc across his temple, then down to the bridge of his nose. Your touch was feather-light, like you were afraid to disturb something sacred.

“You always look at me like I’m something more,” you whispered.

His brows pulled together slightly, confused.

But you smiled, and your touch never faltered as you caressed the other line that curved down the edge of his jaw, then brushed over his cheekbone. You were studying him—memorizing him. Like he was a story you never wanted to forget. “Like I’m something rare. Something important.”

Neteyam’s throat worked, but he still said nothing.

Your smile turned softer. Sadder. More full. “But have you ever seen yourself?”

His lips parted. You shifted, curling in closer, your fingers sliding down to rest just above his chest where his heart still beat, steady and strong. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you whispered. “In every way.”

His hand moved to cover yours, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles. But you kept speaking—quietly, with something like awe.

“Not just your face. Not just your body.” Your voice was barely breath now. “But your heart. Your soul. The way you fight for everyone, even when it tears you apart. The way you carry the weight of the world and still make room for me.”

His eyes shimmered faintly in the dim light.

And then you said it.

Soft. Sacred.

“I see you.”

The words came like a breath between heartbeats. But they struck something deep—something rooted in spirit, not flesh.

Neteyam froze.

His fingers stilled over yours. His eyes widened just slightly, and for the first time since he was a boy, the world seemed to stop moving around him.

Because you’d said it before—kaltxì, oel ngati kameie, the way the Na’vi did to greet strangers. To show respect.

But never like this. Not in the way that meant I see all of you. Who you are. Who you choose to be. And I love it.

Your thumb brushed beneath his eye. “I see you,” you whispered again. “All of you. And I’ve never loved anything more.”

Neteyam leaned forward slowly, forehead pressing to the glass of your mask, his breath trembling. His hands cupped your face with a gentleness that stole your breath, his eyes locked to yours like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear those words from your lips.

And maybe he had.

You felt him exhale shakily against your skin. His hands trembled just slightly—so strong, but so vulnerable in that moment. “I see you,” he whispered back, his voice cracked and raw.

The fire crackled low in the center of the kelku, its soft amber glow casting shadows across the curved walls of woven reeds and bark. The night outside whispered in hushed tones—leaves rustling in the canopy, distant birds calling out to no one.

You were asleep.

Curled under the furs where he had left you, your breath even and slow, your hand still resting where it had fallen from his chest, fingers curled loosely as if still reaching for him. Your face was peaceful, the lines of tension smoothed away, your mask humming gently with its quiet pulse of oxygen.

Neteyam stood for a long moment, just watching you.

Then he turned, padded silently across the floor, and knelt at the fire pit. He picked up one of the thick logs from the stack near the wall and placed it gently onto the glowing embers. Sparks danced up, licking at the wood, catching quickly. The fire grew brighter, casting warm light over his face, over the hard line of his jaw and the quiet shadow in his eyes.

He sat back on his heels, hands resting loosely over his thighs, and stared into the flames. His mind wandered, unbidden.

Always the first. The first child. The first to walk. The first to hunt. The first to bleed.

Born with duty written into his bones before he could speak. Before he could even understand what it meant.

He had been the oldest, and that had never been a title—it had been an expectation.

He remembered being a boy, barely taller than his father’s thigh, holding Kiri’s hand in the dark when she cried at night, whispering stories to her to make her feel safe. He remembered covering for Lo’ak when he broke something—or said something—when he acted out in frustration, and their parents’ patience ran thin.

Neteyam had always stepped in.

Because someone had to. Because Jake would look at him with that look, the one that said, handle it. Fix it. Keep things from falling apart.

He remembered the first time he’d taken a blame that wasn’t his. He had only been nine. He had stood there with his jaw tight and his head held high while Jake yelled—not at Lo’ak, but at him. Because it was his job to keep his brother in line.

Not because it was right. Not because it helped. Because it was expected.

The firstborn of the Olo’eyktan. Lead by example.  Be strong.  Do what is needed, not what is easy. He had tried. He still tried.

But the older he grew, the heavier it became. The weight of it didn’t rest—it shifted. Grew. Like vines wrapping tighter around his chest with each passing season.

At first it was his siblings. Then it was the training. The war games. The expectations.

And now…

Now it was the clan. The future. The legacy. Mating, ruling, choosing.

But no one had asked what he wanted. Not really. They saw his shoulders and thought, strong enough to carry it all. They saw his silence and thought, he must agree. They saw his father in his face and thought, he will follow in his footsteps.

But sometimes—sitting like this, in the silence of his own home—Neteyam wondered if they truly saw him at all. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, golden eyes reflecting the firelight. “I’m tired,” he whispered to no one. And in the stillness, only the fire answered.

The fire popped softly, casting ribbons of orange and gold that danced across the woven walls. The warmth seeped into his skin, but it didn’t reach the weight in his chest. Neteyam’s eyes stayed on the flame, but his thoughts were far away—drifting, quiet, old.

He had never seen himself as rebellious. That was Lo’ak’s title. The loud one. The reckless one. The one always on the edge of another scolding, another lecture, another disappointment. The one who never walked the path the way he was told to.

But Lo’ak… Neteyam understood him.

His little brother’s defiance wasn’t born of disrespect—it was desperation. It was a boy trying to prove that, despite the demon blood in his veins, he was still Na’vi. Still worthy. Still seen. He wanted to be a warrior. A protector. A son his father could be proud of.

Neteyam had seen it in the way Lo’ak squared his shoulders after every mistake. In the way he held his chin high even after he’d been punished, even when his voice shook. Always looking for his place, and never quite finding it.

He understood that it was hard. Because Neteyam had done the opposite.

He had obeyed. He had done everything right. Every time. Never argued. Never questioned. Never wondered.

If his father said jump, he did. If his mother said protect, he would bleed for it. If the clan needed him, he would carry it, even if it broke him in the process.

He had never considered a different path.

Not until you.

You, who had once been just a sky demon to him. Just another outsider, wide-eyed and dangerous, stepping into a world you didn’t understand. You, who should have been part of the threat—should have been cold and calculating and indifferent like so many others.

But you weren’t. You asked questions—not to challenge, not to pry—but to understand. You didn’t just see the forest. You listened to it. You watched him, but not with fear or awe or expectations. You watched like you were trying to piece him together—slowly, gently, with care.

And the first time you asked him—

“Do you ever get tired of being responsible for everyone?”

—he hadn’t known what to say.

No one had ever asked that. No one had ever thought to. Not his father. Not his mother. Not even Kiri, who knew him better than anyone.

But you… You asked soft questions. Like—

“Do you ever wonder what your life could’ve been, if you got to choose?”

And you hadn’t asked it with judgment. You weren’t trying to plant rebellion. You weren’t trying to pull him away from his people, or his duty, or the threads of legacy that bound him so tightly.

You were just trying to see him. Really see him. You had looked at him like he was more than a role to fill. More than a name. More than the sum of someone else’s expectations.

And that had changed something in him. You had asked him things no one else ever did. “What do you want, Neteyam? Not your father. Not the clan. You.”

The first time he heard it, it hurt. Like being cracked open. Because he had never thought he was allowed to want anything.

He had been born into duty. Into obedience. And yet… you made him wonder.

You followed him, three years ago, with your datapad in hand and a thousand questions in your eyes, trailing him through the jungle when he didn’t want you there. You were persistent. Relentless. Never malicious. Just curious.

You had never asked anything of him except that he be honest. You had respected his silence. But you were never afraid to speak.

And he had hated it. The way you didn’t back down. The way you were never afraid to meet his gaze, even when his words were sharp and his patience thin. You didn’t cower. You didn’t stop.

You just… kept looking at him like he was more than a warrior.

And now?

Now, Neteyam was grateful for that.

For you.

The first time he realized it, it terrified him. Because love wasn’t supposed to feel like freedom. Not for him. It was supposed to be chosen for him. Arranged, appointed, assigned—just another duty.

Because you were the first one to see the cracks beneath the surface—and not try to fix them. Not patch them over or tell him to be strong. You just saw. And you stayed. With you, it had been something he wanted.

Something he claimed.

And no one—not the clan, not the elders, not even his father—could take that from him now. You had never begged for his love. Never demanded it. You just looked at him like he was already enough. And for the first time in his life, Neteyam thought— Maybe he was.

Maybe… he could be.

And over the years, somehow, without ever asking for anything in return, you became the only thing in his life that felt light.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, staring deeper into the fire as it popped and shifted.

Others looked at his life and called him lucky. The firstborn of Toruk Makto. The golden heir.

But you—you saw the weight of it. The ache in his shoulders. The silence behind his smile. The way he moved like someone who never had the luxury of stumbling. You saw that he was struggling.

And somehow… despite everything—despite being so different—you understood. You made it worth it. And he knew it was selfish.

Knew it deep in his bones, the way a warrior knows the limits of his bow. He knew he was choosing you even when the world told him he couldn’t.  He chose you anyway. Because over the years, you became his reason. The reason he kept carrying the weight. The reason he endured.

And he couldn’t give that up.

Not even if it cost him everything.

Not even if it made him the rebel he had never allowed himself to be.

He wasn’t a fool.

Neteyam knew that choosing you would never be easy.

Loving you… that was the easy part. That had come quickly, without question—like breathing. Like waking up and finding the forest already alive with sound and light and the thrum of Eywa’s presence. But being with you—keeping you—that was different.

That was war in a thousand small moments. He knew what the world would say. What his clan expected. What the blood in his veins whispered when the elders spoke of legacy and duty and the line he was meant to continue.

And yet…

Here he was.

Alone in the soft glow of his fire, watching it flicker and spit embers into the dark, and thinking of you.

He rubbed a hand over his chest—right over his heart—and closed his eyes. You were human. And he was Na’vi. That truth never left him.

It lived in the quiet way your breath rasped through your mask when you were sleeping. It lived in the shape of your hands, so small compared to his. It lived in the subtle hesitation behind your jokes, the way you sometimes paused—like you were waiting to be told you didn’t belong.

And that truth followed him. Even now.

He had spent the last week preparing for the next hunt, memorizing strategy, planning routes—training with warriors who spoke of strength and bloodlines and the need for a future mate who could bear children, who could lead beside him.

They didn’t say it, but they all looked at him the same way now.

They didn’t know that he was clinging to the only thing that ever felt like his.

Because what he had with you wasn’t easy. And it would never be.

Neteyam opened his eyes again, gaze distant, the fire dancing in his golden irises. He thought of that night. The night he almost lost you.

-

You had fallen asleep beside him like you always did—soft and warm, curled under his arm, your body so small against his side. You had returned late, after another long day shadowing Mo’at, your satchel tossed carelessly to the corner the moment you stepped inside.

And then, hours later—just as the forest had fallen into its deepest silence—

You jolted upright. At first, he thought it was a dream. But the look on your face—

Your mask was fogging fast, your breath shallow and rasping, and your hands were already fumbling at the seal.

“Hey,” he’d said, sitting up, still groggy. “What’s—”

You didn’t answer. You were already moving—crawling across the woven floor, dragging your satchel toward you in a panic. He followed, heart hammering, helpless as you tore through it—your fingers shaking too hard to grip.

Your breathing was worsening. Your shoulders trembled, and your lips were parting in these desperate, silent gasps, as if your lungs couldn’t catch anything at all.

Neteyam couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

The old mask hissed as you yanked it free—just as your vision blurred, your knees buckling. You slammed the new one onto your face, hands trembling as you sealed it and sucked in one long, ragged breath.

It filled the air like thunder. And he still hadn’t moved.

Only watched.

Helpless.

Afraid.

-

Now, sitting in front of the fire, Neteyam clenched his jaw and curled his hands into fists. He had watched you nearly die in front of him—and there had been nothing he could do.

No fighting. No strength. No amount of warrior’s instinct could save you from a malfunctioning piece of tech. A stupid, fragile mask that stood between life and death every day.

You had recovered quickly—brushed it off with your usual bravado, even made a joke about needing a “cooler-looking death” if you were going to go out in the kelku of the Olo’eyktan’s son.

But Neteyam hadn’t slept that night. Not really.

He had lain awake with you cradled to his chest, listening to every breath. Terrified that if he blinked, you’d go still. That if he closed his eyes, he’d wake to a body instead of a heartbeat. And it wasn’t the first time. He knew how fragile you were.

He’d seen you scrape your knees in the jungle and wince harder than he ever would. Seen you pull back from a branch with a thin cut and apologize for the blood, even as you tried to laugh.

You were strong—stronger than most of the warriors he trained beside. But your body… Your body wasn’t made for his world. And Eywa help him, that truth was carved into him now. Deeper than any scar.

He could make you his in every way that mattered—choose you, claim you, protect you—but he could never have everything. Never all of it. He couldn’t make tsaheylu with you.

He couldn’t feel your soul pressed against his, braided and bound and blessed by the Great Mother. And fuck, did he want to.

Sometimes, when you lay in his arms and whispered soft things against his skin, he’d look at your scalp, at the base of your neck, and ache. Not because he needed to prove anything. Not because he thought you weren’t enough. But because he wanted it.

Wanted you so completely that it felt like a blade to the ribs knowing there would always be a barrier between what he longed for and what he was allowed to have.

He couldn’t mate you before Eywa—not in the sacred way. Not the way his people understood. Not in a way that made the elders nod and his mother finally look at you without suspicion.

He couldn’t have children with you. No heir. No legacy. No bloodline to pass down.

Only this. Only stolen nights, secret lessons, whispered promises behind closed flaps and moonlit touches. Only you.

And still— He wanted it all. Still, he would take this. Even if it broke every rule. Even if it meant giving up the path that had been laid out for him before he ever took his first breath.

Because you were worth it. He could spend his life learning how to be smarter, how to fight harder, how to plan for every threat that might touch you—but the truth would never change: His world was not built for you.

But he would carve you a place in it anyway. Even if it took everything he had. Even if the forest never stopped reminding him how delicate you were. Even if it meant watching you pull oxygen into your lungs like a warrior drawing breath on a battlefield.

He would choose you. And he would keep choosing you.

Again. And again. And again.

Until the day Eywa took him home.

And even then—

He’d still find a way back to you.

Even after that night—especially after that night— you hadn’t wanted to go.

You had insisted you were fine. That the malfunction was rare. That it was just a faulty pressure seal. You’d fixed the issue before he even fully understood what had happened, your hands still shaking as you clipped the emergency mask into place. You’d made light of it the next day.

You hadn’t even hesitated. Not once. You never hesitated when it came to him.

But he had. He was the one who told you to go back to the outpost at the morning.

Not because he wanted you gone—Eywa, never that. The moment he realized just how close he came to losing you. Because it hadn’t been a near-miss. It hadn’t been a scratch, or a scare, or a mistake you could laugh about later.

It was ice-cold fear. The kind that settled into his bones. That clawed at his ribs. That gripped the back of his neck like death breathing down his spine.

You had suffocated in his arms. And the worst part? He hadn’t even noticed at first. You hadn’t made a sound.

One moment you were sleeping—peaceful, warm, curled against his chest like you always did—and the next, you were gone. Sitting up. Pale. Gasping. Fingers clawing at your own mask like it had turned against you.

And he’d just watched you.

Frozen.

That… that’s what scared him most. Because if you hadn’t woken up— If you’d kept sleeping— If your body had just slowly stopped pulling in air while he held you, arms around you, heart so full of love and trust— He wouldn’t have noticed.

Not until morning. Not until your chest was still and cold and the mask stayed silent with nothing behind it.

Neteyam closed his eyes. He could see it. The shape of you still tangled in the furs, face slack, lips parted in sleep. His arms still wrapped around your body, thinking you were resting—when you were already gone.

He could have lost you without ever knowing it. And that... That was a fear he had never known before. Not even in battle. Not when arrows flew and blood spilled. This was different. This was worse. Because you were safe in his arms. You were home. And still, death had almost taken you from him in the dark.

So he’d told you to go.

He made it sound gentle. Soft. Logical. That it would be easier to rest at the outpost, safer while he was away with the hunting party. He’d promised it was temporary. That he just wanted you to be comfortable. That he needed time to prepare the kelku more, now that you were staying longer, staying more often.

But it was a lie. He just couldn’t risk it again. Couldn’t wake to silence and realize the worst thing imaginable had happened right under his hands.

He hated it. He hated that your world needed tech to keep you breathing.

That no matter how strong you were, how clever, how brave—you were still breakable. Still reliant on a machine strapped to your face to keep the most basic part of you alive.

And the truth?

He couldn’t protect you from that. Not with a bow. Not with his strength. Not even with love. And maybe that was the part that gutted him the most. That even after everything he had become—warrior, protector, heir—he still couldn’t guard the person he loved most from the simple cruelty of a failing seal.

So he’d let you go. Not because he wanted to. But because he was terrified that next time, he wouldn’t wake up in time.

And maybe… maybe a little distance, just for a while, would keep you alive. Even if it meant his nights were colder. Even if it meant the fire didn’t burn as bright. Even if it meant missing the sound of your breathing more than he could admit.

Because if something happened to you in his arms again, and he wasn’t fast enough…

Neteyam wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

He still saw it when he closed his eyes. The way your fingers had trembled. The way your face had gone pale, like the color had drained from your very soul. The way you’d gasped—not for breath, but for life.

And still, despite it all—despite the fear that coiled in his chest like smoke—he wanted you back.

Eywa help him, he needed you back.

It had only been three days since you’d returned to the outpost, and already the silence pressed in like a weight. His kelku was colder without you. Emptier. It didn’t matter that he still had the scent of your skin clinging to the furs, or that your little datapad was still tucked into a corner where you’d forgotten it. The walls felt hollow. The sky less bright.

He felt… incomplete. And he hated himself for that. Hated that even knowing the danger—even knowing how easily he could lose you—he still wanted you back in his arms. Back in his home. Back where you were never truly safe.

It was selfish. He knew it. But he couldn’t stop. Because you were his sun.

His light. His warmth. The thing that pulled him forward when the path ahead blurred, when the pressure became too much, when his duty threatened to choke him.

You were joy in a world that asked so much of him. So he did what he could.

He went to Norm. Quietly. No questions, no explanations. Just asked for a few spare exomasks. Said it was for emergencies, just in case.

Norm didn’t press. Just handed over the pack with a knowing look, and Neteyam took it like it was sacred. He stored them in his kelku. Carefully. Hidden, but within reach. One beside the furs. One near the door. One tucked behind the basket where you kept your salve notes. Just in case.

It helped, a little. Made the nights less sharp around the edges.

But he still missed you. And when he saw you again, a few days later—gathering samples with your team just north of the village, crouched over a cluster of yellow-rooted moss with your datapad balanced on your knee—it felt like he could breathe again for the first time since you’d left.

You didn’t see him at first. You were laughing—light and sweet, head tilted back as you teased Max about something. The sound of it cut through the canopy like birdsong. You were sunlit. Alive. Whole.

And he just stood there, watching. Letting the ache ease. Letting the tightness in his chest loosen, even if just for a moment. Then your eyes found him.

And everything shifted. Your smile didn’t falter—not even a little. It bloomed wider. Warmer. Like seeing him was the best thing that had happened all day.

And Eywa, how that undid him. You practically launched yourself at him, arms wrapping around his waist your face pressing against his stomach with a soft thud of your mask against his skin. “Neteyam!” you gasped, laughter in your voice. “I didn’t think I’d see you until we were done with the whole ridge!”

He wrapped his arms around you without hesitation, leaning over and burying his face in your hair, his breath catching in his throat. “I had to check,” he murmured, quietly. “Make sure you were okay.”

You tilted your head up, beaming behind the glass of your mask. “I’m great. You won’t believe what I found—look!” You turned without waiting, grabbing the satchel from your hip and pulling out a carefully wrapped sample. “It’s the climbing root I told you about—the one that only blooms once every few cycles. Look—see the way the pollen stains like this?”

You talked fast, gesturing animatedly, your eyes shining. And Neteyam just… listened.

Watched.

Breathed.

He didn’t hear the rest. Not really.

Because you were talking like always—fast, excited, half to yourself—but your hands were on him, and your eyes were bright, and the tremble in his chest that had haunted him for days finally started to fade.

Neteyam knew he was selfish.

He’d known it from the moment you first touched his hand and didn’t pull away. From the moment he first let your fingers linger too long, from the first time he kissed you, knowing what it meant—what it could cost.

You didn’t belong in the forest. Not truly. Not in the way he did. Out here, everything breathed danger. Everything had sharp teeth, thorns, shadows. And you—gods, you—were soft. Fragile in the ways that made him ache. Breakable.

But still, you came. Not because it was safe. Not because it was easy. You came because you wanted to. And he couldn’t stop you.

You liked to say it in that soft, teasing way of yours—that you were addicted to the forest, to the way the sun dappled through the leaves, to the soft soil under your boots and the sound of insects that only sang at twilight. That you loved being in his kelku, nestled against him after long days, listening to his voice as he murmured stories about the stars or the spirits of the trees.

You lived for those fragments of time.

To brush your fingers against his hand in secret. To kiss him when no one was watching. To sit beside him at the edge of the fire and pretend, even for a heartbeat, that your world and his were the same.

You never asked him for more than that. Never demanded anything he couldn’t give.

You already had your place at the outpost. You were a respected scientist, one of the few humans trusted to work inside Omatikaya territory. You had your own future—clear, structured, safe.

And yet… you still balanced between those two worlds. Somehow, impossibly, you walked both.

By day, you stood beside Norm, recording data, documenting regrowth in places scarred by war. By night, you crawled into his arms and breathed your love into his skin.

Like both lives were yours. Like both homes were real.

And Neteyam… Eywa, he didn’t know what he had done to deserve that.

You were light, and laughter, and stubborn devotion. You were mud on your knees and ink on your hands, bruises on your shins from clumsy climbing and joy in your voice as you pointed out new plants like they were treasures.

You thrived in the forest, more alive out here than anywhere else. You looked at the wild and saw wonder, not fear. And he couldn’t stop wanting you near. Even knowing the danger. Even knowing that the village still wasn’t safe, that his people still didn’t understand.

He should have pushed you away. Should have told you to stay where it was safe. But when he saw you sitting beside Mo’at, eyes wide as you learned the old healing ways… when you looked up at him with your mask fogged and your smile shy and glowing, like he was the reason you wanted to understand Na’vi things at all—

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let go. Because somehow, you had chosen him.

Despite everything. Despite the risks, the divide, the impossibility of it all—you had chosen him. And every single day that you kept choosing him, even for a moment, even in secret…

He would protect you. He would carve out space in this world for you with his bare hands if he had to. He would fight back every whisper, every order, every ancient law that told him you were not his.

Until you told him to stop. Until you stopped choosing him. And Eywa help him… he prayed that day would never come.

Because when you were near—when your laughter echoed through his kelku, when your hands found his in the dark—he didn’t feel like the son of Toruk Makto. Or the future Olo’eyktan. Or the warrior who could never stumble.

He just felt like a man in love.

And for the first time in his life, that felt like enough.

The fire cracked softly as Neteyam exhaled, the sound low and tired through his nose. His shoulders slowly eased as he let the weight of his thoughts fall with the sparks, drifting upward to the woven roof of the kelku like prayers he couldn't quite voice.

His gaze shifted to the edge of the firelight—to the furs. And there you were.

His breath caught. You were curled tightly beneath the pelts, a small shape barely visible in the gentle dark. Your mask hummed faintly in the low light. One of your hands had slipped free of the blankets, twitching every so slightly in your sleep—restless, like you were dreaming.

Neteyam's lips curved into the softest smile.

So small. Sometimes he forgot just how tiny you were next to him. Until he looked at you like this, swallowed up in his bedding, only a tuft of messy hair and the soft hum of your breathing visible above the furs.

His girl.

His weakness.

His fierce, stubborn, brilliant little sky girl who didn't seem to understand the kind of power she had over him. Or maybe you did. Maybe you knew exactly what you were doing every time you leaned into his side and whispered his name like a secret only you were allowed to keep.

He huffed softly, fondness bleeding through his weariness. You were dangerous. Not because you posed any threat to him—no. But because you could get whatever you wanted from him, and you knew it. With one look. One word. One little pout. And he would crumble. Every time.

He could walk into battle with death on his heels and never flinch—but one crook of your finger, one sleepy smile, and he was at your feet. Entirely undone.

And you knew it.

You used that knowledge with terrifying precision—but never cruelly. Never to hurt.

You used it to kiss him when he was trying to be serious. To pull him down into the blankets when he was about to leave for patrol.

To pout and tilt your head and whisper his name in that soft, pleading voice when you wanted him to lift you effortlessly from the ground, wrap his arms around you, press his lips to the crown of your head.

To tug on his arm and ask, quietly, "Will you bring me the red fruit if your patrol takes you near the northern ridge? The one you said tastes like sugarwater?"

He’d roll his eyes—every time—and grumble about long patrols and hard terrain. But if he was near that place again, of course he’d bring it back. And you’d light up like it was a gift from Eywa herself.

Or to climb into his lap like you belonged there. Or to tuck your face into his neck and whisper, “You smell nice,” knowing he’d melt like wax in your hands.

As if he’d ever say no to that. You didn’t ask for much. Just the small things. But to you, they weren’t small.

You cherished every touch. Every moment he was close. Every time he leaned down to brush your hair behind your ear, or picked you up without a word just to hear your delighted little gasp.

He didn’t understand how someone so clever, so capable, could still look at him like he was the miracle. But you did.

A soft sound pulled him from his thoughts.

You stirred.

The shift was small at first. A faint twitch of your hand, a subtle ripple in the furs. Then you sighed softly and blinked your eyes open, the dim glow of the fire dancing across your faceplate as you blinked sleepily into the dark.

Your head turned—and when you found the space beside you empty, your eyes immediately scanned the kelku. It didn’t take long for you to find him.

Crouched near the fire, golden eyes aglow, a soft, tired smile already tugging at the edge of his mouth as he watched you rise on wobbly limbs, still wrapped in a blanket like a sleepy spirit of the woods.

You padded across the floor, quiet as the night breeze, and without a word, you circled behind him and slipped your arms around his shoulders—wrapping yourself around his back and pressing your masked cheek to the warm skin of his neck.

“Why don’t you sleep?” you murmured against his skin, voice still thick with dreams.

Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment, his hands finding yours where they lay over his collarbones. His heart stuttered in his chest. “Couldn’t,” he said softly. “Not while the fire was low.”

You hummed, clearly not buying it.

But you didn’t press. You just held him, body soft against his back, the scent of the forest still clinging to your skin. After a long moment, you leaned in close against the shell of his ear. “Come on,” you whispered. “Come back to bed, mighty warrior. You need your rest.”

His lips curved. “Do I?”

“Mhm.” You leaned in further, voice lower now, full of teasing. “How else will you endure all those women at your feet when I’m not here?”

Neteyam stiffened, but you only giggled, pressing your face to his neck through the mask.

“You know… the elder’s favorites,” you added, feigning innocence. “The ones who suddenly take long walks past your kelku? Or ask to train with you even though they’re already expert warriors?” You squeezed your arms tighter around him.

Neteyam huffed a laugh, finally standing, and you squeaked slightly as he rose—your arms still around his neck, feet leaving the floor as he pulled you up effortlessly clinging on his back. You wrapped your legs around his waist, giggling as he carried you back toward the furs.

“They’ve been relentless,” you teased again. “Kiri said Sa’nari asked if your kelku needed ‘a woman’s touch.’ I don’t know what that means but I don’t like it.”

“She meant cleaning,” he said dryly.

“She meant her,” you muttered.

Neteyam chuckled, low and warm in his chest. “Are you jealous, syulang?”

You grinned against his skin. “I don’t have time to be jealous. I’m too busy being in love with you.”

That made him stop—just for a beat. His palms tightened around your arm, just a little.

“Now come back to bed. Let me have you while I can.”

And that—that—was what undid him. Because you didn’t say before I leave or before I go home.

You said while I can. As if you knew this time—these nights—might not last forever. But still, you wanted them. Still, you wanted him. “You know,” you whispered, as he set you gently back down onto the pelts, “for someone raised to be a leader, you’re very easy to boss around.”

“Only for you,” he murmured.

And then he curled around you beneath the furs, his forehead pressed to your mask, your heartbeat whispering against his chest.

He was your warrior.

And no matter how many women the clan placed at his feet— You were the only one he would ever kneel for.

Soon Neytiri will find out what's happening, and the RDA will fuck everything up. :')

*

I'm going to die in the next two months because I'm taking exams. I'm trying to move on with the next chapter. Wish me luck... :')

Part 22: (Soon)

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ r/am I the asshole !? ” : 

﹙ multi monsters x gn reader. ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . multi characters x gn reader ( fem on xiyang ) !! 🍓 : ﹙ pasquale: adrenaline addict ˖ racer ˖ inhuman character ˖ seong-jin: grim reaper ˖ detective character ˖ rishen: director ˖ spy ˖ assassin character ˖ xiyang: grim reaper ˖ mercenary leader character ﹚

your lover takes to reddit to ask if they've been an asshole in relation to you recently . . .

﹙ cws ﹚: sexual content on xiyang | wc : 1.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: just had to do more of this format 

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙pasquale 781. ﹚. . . pretending I don't see the ghost !? 🍒 : "Let's start this off by saying I can see ghosts. Yeah. OoOoOoOoo. Always been able to. Anyway. So just my luck! I landed with a pookie who can do the same. Great right?

Yeah. If I wasn't shit scared of half the fuckers I see. Ghosts aren't little kids standing in nightgowns. FUCK NO. They're demons. Weird lil shits. And that's saying a lot, my brother's satan.

Not so bad you say?? Until pookie decides they wanna mention every time one's in the room! I don't mind them clinging. Course not. But the problem comes in when I pretend I can't see a damn thing. Lowkey gaslighting them that there's nothing there. Is that bad?

Well they got angry at me over it yesterday and for fucks sakes what am I supposed to do man? 'AH! A GHOST!' Do I look like fucking ghostbusters??? I'm italian. This ain't Luigi's Mansion! If I see it ( AND I REGRETABLY FUCKING DO ) - no i don't!

This came off a lot more frantic but how the hell do I tell pookie that their big, strong, kinetic user-punk-racer-boyfriend is afraid of ghosties?

Edit: to everyone calling me a pussy that's so funny cause your mom called me that too when I was ball's deep -"

 

﹙seong-jin 9948e. ﹚. . . being too honest !? 🍓 : "I'm a bit too honest with my partner. Before anyone writes about me being insensitive or being an asshole ( I know ). I would like to preface that my honesty is the reason we are even together. I flat out asked them if they wish to date. They agreed. Now we're two years into a relationship.

I've never hidden this part of me. If it comes to mind, it is out my mouth. That's how it's always been. If I don't like the way they're acting, I say it. If they ask me a question, I answer honestly. It's been this way for years. With everyone. Not only can I not stand bullshit, I simply do not have the energy to sugarcoat anything. They have been fine with this. While we do clash every now and then, I always make it known that I do not come from a place of malice. That is how we have made it work for two years.

How was I supposed to know answering, truthfully, that I did not like their outfit — was not appropriate?

I understand that there can be some sensitivity. I try to compensate for them like they do me. But they asked me a question, what was I supposed to do - lie?

Now I am at work. Feeling as though I really did it this time. I apologised before I left. Sent a text too. What the hell am I supposed to do? I even told them just because I don't like it does not mean they do not have to wear it.

How do I get around this?"

 

﹙rishen 1311. ﹚. . . not inviting them over !? 🍒 : "Get the gist of how this works. I'll be brief. I have been dating this person for about a year or so. 'One whole year' as they prefaced this morning in their frustrated slew.

I simply do not think it has been long enough. I feel as though we are moving too fast. Before anyone goes calling 'commitment issues' or 'what are you hiding?' : a gun. Under my pillow. Every night.

Yes, I denied them access when they showed up by surprise. I led them back to their home and spent the night with them. Yes, I didn't let them walk me home from the bar. Yes, I bled all over my floor from a stab wound and still told them to not show up while they panicked over the phone. Is it so wrong?

I assumed they would understand that it has nothing to do with them. I have my reasons. None of it involves them. But I suppose we simply can't have nice things. Fucking fantastic.

Is it to hard to understand that I'm just shit scared to wake up to someone every morning? Or have them in my kitchen cooking me food?

I'm fine. I don't need their help. I am fine. I just need to know that I'm not losing my mind over this. What do I do?"

 

﹙xiyang 9819. ﹚. . . not telling her I'm infertile !? 🍓 : "This feels a bit more bizarre than the other entries. But guess we're all dealt a different hand. My girlfriend and I have been in a happy relationship for five years now.

I love her to bits. Everything about her. Express that in whatever way I can. Just be honest with her, I'm sure you're typing. Yeah. Cept for one damn thing:

She's got a huge fucking breeding kink.

Don't laugh. I'm constantly fighting for my life. I'm off the hook for now. Told her I just can't commit to a baby with my job and hers. So she's on the contraceptives thinking they'll fucking matter. Bouncing on me like a pogo-stick telling me to breed her!

Hunny! If I could I would! I wouldn't hesitate to just give you every baby you want and more but unfortunately my lil swimmers are fucking defected.

Maybe I should mention that I indulge her. Can I be blamed? She gets so into it. I don't mind the fantasy one bit. I'm just a guy who loves his girl and wants to give her whatever her pretty little heart desires.

And if that means making her believe I can pop one in her whenever? So be it. We'll just get a puppy or something I don't fucking know. I'm typing this in panic."

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[umathurwin]

i feel like they ruined jjs character with jjiara idk

during john bs introduction for everyone in episode one, jj is made out to be lowkey a fuckboy (literally on top of a girl the first (?) time we see him) and i think that would’ve been the better path to take for him. i think involving kiara with even one of the pogues was pushing it but all three?!? it not only looks bad for kiara but also just makes it plain boring😭 if they had kept jj as her friend or even if he was fucking many many girls and slowly realised he (and only him not also every single other character) was inlove with kiara, but they ruined it almost instantly after the start having all of them pining for her and it all revolving around her for all of them, it completely ruined what the original vibes were going for (not in a bad way love my girl) back to jj himself! but not really cos the main issue is just that they were all for her from the start… can’t em but come the fuck on its actually a terrible dynamic. but for jj specifically he was just reserved for her by his own choice like 3 episodes in, it’s not that he didn’t have individuality but it was just boring asf and very plain for him.pope and john b all ended up with different people in different journeys (not really most of the obx canon ships were shit!!) but it made their characters more interesting, i feel like this is also part of the reason i could not stand jj😭😭 i know everyone loves him and i get it but i watched the show and could not get behind him after i realised what they were setting him up for and what he could’ve been💔

basically please give us fuckboy jj (maybe im being dramatic i just really wanted that so bad)

also this is so off topic but people calling cleope or john barah ‘enemies to lovers’ is frying me… WHERE. john b and sarah had flirty banter for like 10 minutes and cleo was just trying to stay alive she had no actual opinions on that man. people just say u like strangers to lovers no shame i promise (kinda shame)

anyways that was unrelated anyways everyday i mourn what obx could’ve been

just john b and sarah without the kiara bit and the start but also simultaneously not ruining sarah’s life yes ik it was actually ward but blah blah blah

jj fuckboy giving kiara love advice (with a strong friendship dynamic) between them cos she’s secretly in love with rafe💔💔

jj realising that he’s going thru girls with speed cos he’s secretly pining for his nerdy brunette friend named pope 

actually scratch that sarah lesbian arc for kiara and kiara sarah rafe love triangle no incest tho please

even tho the love triangle things getting a bit tiring but honestly i’m ok with it this once pate brother❤️ delete it all and restart

now❤️

get me in the writers room

LMAOOOO delete ❤️ jj giving advice to kiara about rafe… actual michelin star chef in front of me huh…

kiarah lesbian arc, weird jealousy from rafe [no incest], sarah and kiara work it out, kiarafe, john b/sarah without the cheating problem (which is so funny like it literally never got fixed. she just hasn’t been tempted since late s3), jjpope slow burn romance, cleo does whatever she wants whenever she wants. A1 character development!

[insert-cat-meme]

Followed

First fic here. Hope this isn’t one of those things I will scold myself later for being “cringy” or something like that.

Warnings: stalking, paranoia, break ins, manipulation, overall unhealthy behaviour

Yandere! Chrollo x Reader

Word count: 2215

Reading below this point means you agree to the above mentioned warnings.

At this point, you wondered if your stalker wanted you to notice them.

Things had been like this for about a month now. It started with a shadow peeking into your room through your window. Thankfully, you had not been in a state of undress, but the fact alone made you clutch your blanket a bit tighter for many nights to come.

There had been flowers delivered to your door without any indication about who could have sent them. When you asked the nice lady living in the apartment across the hall, she could only tell you that some postal service had delivered them.

She gave you cake that evening, a gesture at least somewhat comforting for you.

Other incidents started to pile up as well. Your mailbox slightly ajar even though you were sure you had closed it properly the day before.

What finally broke the last straw was the note on your fridge. Walking one day into your kitchen, you learned how much terror could be conveyed through a small piece of paper.

The dreadful sinking of a stone in your stomach at the supposedly nice message, “Make sure you eat something healthy. You have been ordering a lot of take out the last few days.” had almost been a completely new feeling at its intensity.

Immediately you had filed the number of the police but after the two officers could not find anything other than the note, they informed you that they could not do anything. There were no broken locks, all windows closed neatly and not a single thing of your possessions had been stolen.

On that day you ordered a locksmith to instal a new lock in your door and additional ones to your windows.

It was understandable, really. The police could only help you in the boundaries of the law but it almost felt like you had been cheated out of your security.

For a moment you contemplated moving out of Yorknew again, back to the place you had grown up but you had no financial means for that. This city was expensive and where were you supposed to find work?

So you just had to bite your tongue and hope to stumble upon a solution somewhere along the way.

Clutching your bag a bit closer to your chest, you stepped out of the train into the dirty station of your neighbourhood. One of the three walls of the small house meant to offer protection from the elements was covered in plastic. Apparently someone had broken the glass, leaving a gaping space behind.

Keeping one hand in the pocket of your jacket, you made your way down the street. You envied the people who could afford to live in the central area. By no means was your flat a bad one. At worst it’s environment was caked in dirt, the city not caring to clean the areas most tourists wouldn’t stumble upon but the way to work and back home was a long one.

Feeling around, you felt th pepper spray bump against your hand. You were aware that it was more for reassurance than actual protection. If you were to ever confront whoever was watching you, you were to most likely freeze up in fear.

Reaching into your bag with your other hand, you started to search for your keys. The door of the place you had. once considered safe was now almost in sight. Only a few weeks ago you would have been jumping from joy mentally at the thought of being able to finally relax but now you couldn’t even do that anymore.

Just as you were finally able to pull out the jingling bundle of metal, you saw someone standing in front of the door to your apartment complex.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to continue to walk. There was no reason to assume that this was your stalker, your nightmares personified, one of the faces staring down on you in your darkest dreams.

Growing taller and taller in the horizon you took not of their black shirt, it clinging to their slim frame and the bandanna covering their forehead. Letting out a sigh of relief, you felt a slight sting as the hand that had curled around your keys started to relax, visible imprints left behind by them. Raising the hand holding onto them, you called out to him.

Chrollo had been a friend of yours for a while now. What had been a run in with someone looking for directions had blossomed into a friendship. He was almost too good to be friends with you. You usually imagined those incredibly book-smart type of people to look down on ordinary workers like you but instead, the ravenette had been nothing else but kind to you.

The only less than optimal thing about your friendship was that he was only in Yorknew for work but hey, that was what phones were made for, right?

Coming to a halt in front of him, you took in the slight disheveled look of his hair, his clothing seemingly comfortable yet still indicating that he had just arrived, small stains of barely visible liquid clinging to the hem of his shirt.

You knew it had been raining just this noon so he couldn’t have been here for too long considering that he also needed to settle in somewhere (or at least you hoped so).

The dim light of the sunset threw a soft glow across his black strands and for a moment you wanted to run your fingers along them. They had to be soft.

Thankfully, the other one of the two brain cells in your head shot that thought down immediately and instead decided to greet him.

After fighting with the lick for a few seconds, you opened up the door, leading him up the stairs to your flat whilst hoping and desperately praying to whatever higher power willing to hear you out, that you had cleaned up so that your home would look at least somewhat close to tidy.

When the two of you finally reached your door, you had to suppress a sigh. Another bundle of flowers sat in front of your door. The tranquil beauty and the fear they created within you was almost ironic.

No, it was ironic. Why were a pile of plant cells kept alive by photosynthesis capable of striking you with such terror?

Although, the first time was definitely more frightening but the more it happened, the more you started to just simply accept them. Humans, adaptability and all of that.

Picking them up whilst trying to hide your trembling hands, you tried to ignore the inquisitive look Chrollo was throwing at you. He must have noticed that something was wrong considering the slight look of worry ghosting over his face.

Finally opening the door to your destination, you ushered the male inside. Whatever you had begged just minutes ago must have heard you; there was barely and mess.

After sitting your guest down on your couch, you excused yourself into the kitchen under the pretense of preparing something to drink for him. The pile of greens you had disposed of continued to grow this evening as well.

Not wanting to leave Chrollo all alone in your living room, you hurried up and filled two glasses of water. If you had more time you would have offered something more fancy but you didn’t want to test his patience any longer.

Returning back to him, you saw that he had lifted the cover of a book lying on the coffee table. You had grabbed it on one of your grocery trips, throwing it inside of your cart in hopes of getting some sort of entertainment from it.

If you had known that Corollo of all people would be visiting, you would have thrown the thing out immediately considering that it was some cheap romance cliché.

Clearing your throat, you hoped that he didn’t notice the heat travelling up your neck. Letting go of it, he turned his full attention on you. “Secret admirer?”

His tone was teasing, a small smile tugging at the sides of his mouth. Yet there was also something else. Instead of two teasing orbs laughing in unison with his facial expression, there were only two gaping holes filled with the endlessness of an abyss.

Laughing, you tried to ease the tension whilst sitting down on the other end of the couch. You were thankful for the warm light filtering through the window. Otherwise, you might have mistaken your friend for being angry.

Perhaps he was angry? God, why were you so bad at figuring stuff like this out?

Starting to play with the loose thread of one of the cushions leaning against the backrest, you started to carefully approach the subject like someone might approach a snake hissing aggressively at them. “… I think, no I know, I am being followed.”

Looking up to him once more, you expected something like outrage. No, that was wrong. You didn’t know Chrollo that long but you knew that it took a lot more to make him act in any hasty way. Such an emotion like outrage was reserved for cases like someone murdering someone close to him.

That didn’t mean there was no response to your words though. Slowly, he turned his head sideways, his eyes drifting slightly to the left. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you elaborate?”

Taking a deep breath in, you tried to force yourself to stay calm at the memories emerging whenever you had to deal with your stalker. “Those flowers…”

Hearing your voice break, the black haired male nodded in understanding. “A stalker then… I see.”

His gaze continued to focus slightly left to your head. “That must have been frightening.”

This time, it was your turn to nod. You felt guilty for telling him this whole mess you had found yourself. Someone as kind as him shouldn’t be burdened with your problems.

“But, oh well, what else to do…” Laughing once more, you tried to change the subject. “How has work been?”

Snapping his head back into your direction, his eyes stared back into your own but unlike the last time, they didn’t feel like two nails hammering you into your seat but instead like a warm drink during a cold day. The comfort of returning home after a long day.

“Nothing new really. Like always we did what we came there to do.” At least he was doing well.

You really did have a knack for getting yourself into trouble. First you had attracted his and then the attention of someone else. Well, he couldn’t blame you for that last one. Not really.

The Hunter had been so blatantly obvious with his tailing that the leader of the Phantom Troupe had to keep himself from looking out of the window the entire time.

Not like ignoring someone so obnoxious was a challenge but whenever he thought back to the moment he had discovered the young man following you around about three weeks ago, he contemplated on using one of his nen abilities on him.

Although, perhaps he should have been thankful considering Chrollo had been watching you almost a year before approaching you under the excuse of asking for directions. When he found out that there was another one observing you, he had finally been able to give you small gifts. One of them being the flowers you had just thrown out so ungraciously. The note, a product of him being more often around than you would ever be able to guess.

If they messed up with such a simple thing like closing a mail box properly and being discovered from time to time, who was he to blame?

Perhaps the two of them weren’t that different considering that only the end objective was the difference between him and your little shadow.

Digging deeper, he had discovered that the Hunter was a new one, desperate to prove himself and had somehow found out that you were in contact with Chrollo.

He needed to tie that loose end. Fast.

But for now he would enjoy this. You had grown to trust him so nicely. It was the right choice to study which behaviours you liked the most in people.

Should he tell you that he was having a vacation and planing to spend it close to you? It was not like he was lying. Most of his life outside of heists could be considered vacation. You did seem to like the innocent facade he put up for you. Growing closer to you in more intimate ways shouldn’t be too hard.

You were a bit naive. Not stupid. No, you were like most ordinary citizens. If you were that he would have dropped you the second he came to that conclusion but for some reason he just couldn’t let you be.

Just as you were about to tell him about something that happened last week, leaning over to pick up one of the glasses, he saw the man shadowing you peek into the room, his gaze meeting his own.

Yes, perhaps it was time to get rid of him. It had been fun to play around but this was starting to get annoying.

[maxinehufflepuffprincess]

All I Long For Is Your Touch

Chishiya Shuntaro x Reader x Niragi Suguru

(So I decided to finish this fic. I'm still working on the smut, but it will take time, because I'm not publishing it until it's finished and I'm happy with it. Which, right now, I'm not. But I like to publish my best. And you're all making me really believe in my work. So thank you for that. Next up might be either another part of the Love Line Collection, or it might be either my Karube fic or my Arisu x reader x Karube fic. We'll see.)

Love Line Collection.

Summary: Niragi just needs to be held, to hold you two close

Niragi was a lot of things. Mean, violent, a bully. He was crazy, brutal, insecure and trigger-happy. When people looked at Niragi, they didn't see someone they wanted to hug. They didn't see kindness. They didn't see a man. They saw a monster. A twisted, dark, evil monster. Some people thought they could change him. Some people thought they could make him worse. Some people just wanted a ride for the night.

Niragi felt like he was at the top of the world because he forced himself to feel like that. Plaster on a grin, grab his gun, and he was good to go. He held power at the beach in the palm of his hand. He took that power and held it close. It was a lifeline for him. But then something changed.

He met you. Sweet, kind, adorable. You held a light in your eyes that Niragi hadn't seen in a long time. Most would think that the light was something he wanted to snuff out. But no. Niragi had this sudden desire to keep that light. To keep you close to him. So he did. He flirted with you and started a friendship. He then seduced you.

Chishiya had been a strange change for Niragi. He was someone that Niragi hated. He hated how Chishiya looked down on him. Like the blonde was better than him or something. Like the blonde could see through the world he had built up and was throwing a bulldozer at his facade. The two argued like cats and dogs. But there was always something lingering. He had once hated Chishiya's eyes. But now, he felt differently. Now, when he looked at the blonde, he felt warmth flood through his veins. The idea of hurting the blonde hurt Niragi.

--

Niragi made his way over to where you and Chishiya were standing. Chishiya was leaning against a wall, his usual white jacket on, partly unzipped, one hand in his pocket. The other was placed carefully on your hip. No one even noticed the two of you standing there, in the shadows.

You were as pretty as ever. Wearing a pretty purple bikini with a built-in skirt. Both guys loved your collection of bikini skirt bottoms. You were talking, a smile bright on your face. Your free hand was moving as you talked happily.

Niragi felt himself relax a little when he saw both of you. He had just been in a meeting with Hatter and Aguni, after he had finished his duties. He was stressed. The meeting had been stupid, pointless. Just a reason for Hatter to flex and show off his power. Niragi shook his head before making his way over to the two of you.

You let out a soft giggle, feeling familiar arms wrap around your waist. You knew who it was. You leant against Niragi's chest. "Hi, beautiful." He spoke as he lifted a hand to your chin, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted your chin up to face him before he pressed a kiss to your lips.

This kiss felt different to how he normally kissed you. Niragi was always fighting for dominance; his kisses were usually rough and hungry. But right now it was soft. When you two finally parted, he looked over at Chishiya. "Pretty boy." He grabbed the blonde by the jacket and pulled him close, kissing him the same way he had kissed you. Which surprised Chishiya, but he melted into the kiss anyway.

When the two separated, Niragi let out a small sigh. "Let's go back to our room." He told the two of you before making his way over to the room the three of you shared. You bit your bottom lip as you turned to look at Chishiya in confusion. The blonde shrugged and followed after Niragi.

"You coming, baby?" Niragi's voice called out, causing you to start moving. You followed after the two, heading towards your room. Niragi opened the door, letting you and Chishiya in first. Once inside, you watched Niragi place his gun in its usual spot by his side of the bed. He leant against the wall and closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

"What's wrong, honey?" You asked him as you stepped closer to him. Chishiya held back, watching the two of you. You gently cupped Niragi's cheeks in your hands.

He opened his eyes and looked at you. "Just been a long day, Princess." He told you. Chishiya could see that. Niragi's eyes looked tired. He wasn't holding himself in his usual cocky way. He looked like he needed some sleep.

Niragi let out a small huff and shook his head. "Can I-" He paused. He looked between the two of you. "Can I get a hug?" His words came out almost like a plea. So of course, you didn't hesitate. You hugged him close, arms around his neck as one of his arms wrapped around your waist. Chishiya stepped forward, letting Niragi pull in close to his body by his sleeve.

The three of you stood there for a moment, hugging and enjoying the closeness. After a moment, Chishiya pulled away. "Why don't we get comfortable on the bed?" He suggested. Niragi nodded, clearly liking the idea. The three of you moved to the bed. You all took off your shoes, Chishiya took off his jacket, and Niragi took off his shirt and jeans. The three of you wanted to get comfortable.

For the first time since you had begun dating, Niragi got onto the middle of the bed, your usual spot. When you looked at him in confusion, he held his arms out to you. You crawled onto the bed, and Niragi pulled you onto his chest, keeping you close. You both watched Chishiya get onto the bed, Niragi's arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him to his side.

So there you stayed for the rest of the evening and night. Chishiya curled into Niragi's side, his hand holding yours as you lay snuggled into Niragi's body, head on his chest. Niragi's right hand played with your hair, his left hand drew mindless patterns on Chishiya's skin. The three of you are happy, content. Niragi felt much better. All he had needed with the touch of the most precious people in his life.

Taglist: Thank you for supporting me.

@thecheshireprincess @mocchii-writes @moonchild323232 @potato-vagina @monkey4lifer @kimsrie @so-dramatic1 @28361573

[yoongleboonglepie]

Pechsträhne Chapter 9

Series Masterlist

Chapter playlist - Youtube

Chapter Playlist - Spotify

word count: approx~20k

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A/N: Many hugs and kisses to you all who send me messages and leave comments!!! I read all of them, I promise. Here comes chapter 9 in all her large glory. My wife is waiting behind me all snuggled up to read over it, so you already know that she'll catch my typos where she can.

See you on the other side~

Love Delyn

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Previous recap

Y/n wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, or if it was just the residual weird energy from the empty exhibit: but she could’ve sworn she counted three sets of shoes instead of two reflecting off of the glass they whizzed by. Her ears must’ve been playing tricks on her too. Because while waiting for Jimin to set up the locks on the front door, there was certainly another indented set of large boot prints that crunched at a low decibel behind them up the dirt path back up to the estate. She gripped the flashlight tightly from her sweater pocket, but whoever it was decided to stay otherwise unseen. 

And this she decided fell in their favor. For if they crossed her now, she would find a way to end them on the spot with her light if she could.

Y/n was able to lay a band-aid over her festering anger that had closed in on her mind with a tooth-rotting level of sweet coffee and a breakfast pastry from the cafe. Jimin retained his kind and upbeat attitude throughout their meal as if nothing at the historical society had even occurred, and she was trying to not let it get under her skin and reignite the anger she tried so hard to smother. Although the universe works in mysterious ways, because it seemed he was now the one growing increasingly antsy as seconds ticked by. His phone kept buzzing ceaselessly from his pocket no matter how hard he tried to ignore it as soon as they had chosen their seats, creating quite the thorn in his side.

Once that didn’t seem to be enough for whoever was trying to reach him, a shaggy head of another much younger tour guide started peeking around the cafe entrance at Jimin. Jimin was kind to a fault, but Y/n could tell his strings were being plucked by the subtle irk of his brow even if he tried to stay present in the way she described the landscaping plans for her first week. Ultimately, the kid at the front wandered into the convenience store to stand on the other side of the glass next to them, and knocked on it to get his attention. 

“Eli–I’ll be out in a minute.” Jimin regarded him sternly through the glass, and it was unknown if the young kid could even hear him. He seemed to understand enough, and with a nervous tug of his collar Eli (as Jimin had referred to him) retreated back to the front. 

Jimin sighed and smacked his hands on the tops of his thighs, with his eyebrows raised into his hairline and a miniscule roll of his eyes. “It’s almost like I called out of the tour schedule for a reason.” He stood from his seat and started piling his trash onto his empty plate. “Are you done?” 

His hand gestured to Y/n’s empty cup and she nodded, watching as he swiped it from the table to carry over into one of the trash cans. He returned, running a hand through his hair and snatching his still half full drink from the table. 

“I can’t wait until I work almost exclusively at the Historical Society.” He groaned, his eye twitching when it caught Eli peering at him once more. 

“When will that be?” Y/n couldn’t hide how amusing she found his disgruntlement. It must be Karma making itself known, and it satisfied any remaining frustration with his lack of clarity for the time being. 

Jimin regarded her with an unamused scowl. “When I finish my masters program next month.” 

“Oh–you didn’t mention you were still in school?” Y/n returned with a tilt of her head. 

Jimin shrugged, suddenly a bit timid. “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable about it. School seemed a bit touchy for you.” 

“Nonsense,” Y/n waved at him with her hand. “I can be disappointed in myself and proud of you at the same time. We will have to celebrate!” She wiggled her eyebrows up at him. 

“That sounds nice.” Jimin licked his lips, his teeth finding purchase on the plush of his bottom one. “Just us?” His eyes were magnetic, pulling her without mercy. The possible implications of her words dawned on her with a nervous swallow.  

Y/n flushed, fumbling with her next words. “I-if that’s what you’d want. But I’m s-sure everyone else would like to do something for you as well.” 

“Hmm. If that’s what I want?” Jimin’s voice dropped an octave, and he leaned in much closer to her than he had been previously. 

“Yeah.” Y/n squeaked. “But don’t you want a graduation party or something?” 

“That does sound fun–I can’t resist a party.” He clicked his tongue, and retracted himself from her space. “Can I choose both?” 

Y/n didn’t trust her vocal cords to follow her brain’s commands, and nodded instead. 

“Then that sounds exactly like what I want. A party and another date.” He took a sip of his coffee, his cheeks fighting back a grin around his straw. 

“Jimin!”  Y/n felt her cheeks grow warm. 

The devious grin on his face only doubled in size. “And just so you’re aware, this-” he gestured with a finger at the two of them “-doesn’t count as the other date you owe me. I have something special planned for that one.” 

Jimin strutted his way to the front, leaving her alone with her cheeks aflame at their table. Y/n needed to up her teasing game, she couldn’t keep letting them all mess with her this way. Maybe the impact was multiplied at how stark the adjustment was from being such a hermit back in D.C, to now being surrounded by kind and affectionate people at all times. Her friends shouldn’t be eliciting such states of disarray from her, and she assured herself that she would grow out of it come summer time when she grew accustomed to their ways. 

Y/n flipped out her phone, opening their group chat and tapping out a quick message. 

[Morning Glory 🌼]: Don’t be mad pls :( 

[Morning Glory🌼]: I’m alone at the cafe and need to get back to the estate. Is anyone around? 

Y/n waited, but after ten minutes still no response came. Time was ticking closer to one o’clock, and she didn’t want to be late for her planned meet up with Hoseok. Plus she had a lot of subdued rage she needed to take out on some dirt and an overdue nap and would like to have time to do so with Namjoon. Y/n debated just making a run for it–or at least a speed walk for it–back to the estate. They would never have to know, she reasoned. I could just say Jimin came back or something. 

 As if on cue (or maybe he had cheated and used his extra senses to feel for her up-to-no-good thoughts), Yoongi wandered up to the counter and leant his elbows on the smooth surface. He scanned his eyes around the perimeter of the room, fleeting over hers once and bringing them to meet the preppy cashier. 

Yoongi ordered his drink and leaned up at the counter in a mirroring image of how he had the first day she had seen him. Same pose, same uniform–same mild yet inscrutable expression draped across his features. He nonchalantly tried to meet her gaze again, and used a subtle tug of his chin to gesture towards the lobby. Y/n understood, rising from her seat and sidling past him. 

Y/n didn’t let her eyes wander, or even let her body angle itself in any way towards Yoongi as she left so as to not garner suspicion from any prying sets of eyes in the lobby (namely one set of spying almond shaped eyes and another friendly yet sly ones that huddled with Eli near the steps). She skirted across the lobby, and down the red carpeted hall to the restrooms, and waited on one of the waiting area loveseats for Yoongi to make his way over. She passed the time in the only way she knew how to: by checking the few and far between notifications on her phone. 

[Jungkook]: Has someone gotten you yet? 

[Jungkook]: Don’t do anything reckless, I can be there in ten. 

The weight settling into the sofa next to her pulled her head up from her phone to tuck it hurriedly back in her pocket. Yoongi took a long dragging sip from his iced coffee, and pulled the cup away with an exaggerated sigh. 

“Your cloud looks all fucked up. I can’t tell what kind of storm is rumbling in your head–Your mom piss you off that bad?” He took another slurp from his cup, his eyebrows rising up at her from over the lid. 

“A whole lot has already happened today. I’ll have to do a huge debrief before we get started later.” Y/n gripped both of her knees in her palms, flexing her fingers in and out over them to release her tension. 

“Mmm. About that.” Yoongi cocked his head to the side and pulled out his own phone, probably attempting to make it look less like they were conspiring–even though that is exactly what they were doing. “We are going to have to pick a new meeting spot. The camera’s Mariah installed are in the foyer, and you can see the edge of the landing. If we are all scuttling across it like rats in a line every night, she will notice.” 

Y/n hummed in agreement, already thinking up a few suggestions of her own. 

“I feel like one of our rooms would be best. It’s much easier to get Jungkook and Namjoon over without seeming too out of place. But I’m wondering if your conniving mind can think up any other schemes.” Yoongi fought to keep his mouth flat, hiding the beginnings of a smirk with the rim of his cup. 

“Well…the greenhouse is pretty neutral territory. She can’t get angry with you or Jungkook showing up there–and if we plan it out right she won't even know that’s where we are all headed. The only problem is that my normal body guard is out of commission if there’s cameras, which leaves me vulnerable most of the day outside of work.” Y/n bit her lip, her head falling back against the pale golden wall with a groan. “And to top that off, we’d have to somehow get back into our rooms without raising suspicion or running into my dad.” 

Yoongi sucked on the back of his teeth, sighing through his nose. “That’s true. Timewise it might be best to stick to one of ours.” 

“Wait!” Shot forwards–a new idea brewing in her brain. 

“Uh oh.” Yoongi inspected her face, his tongue sticking out slightly from between his teeth. “That face spells trouble.” 

“The terrace! We can use the terrace to get back and forth! Jungkook and Namjoon can go to the rooftop and use the roof’s attic entrance. The indoor stairs are in our linen closet.” 

Yoongi thought the plan over in his mind. “Smart. I like it.” He jabbed his thumb in her direction, looking lightly peeved. “You have to ask the kid to do it though–he won’t do it if I suggest it.” 

“Will do. I’ll text the group chat when I have a free minute.” The boost of energy she got from her idea made her temper fizzle to a low hum.  

Yoongi didn’t comment on it any further, so Y/n tipped her head back again and her eyes closed. The position suddenly made her lack of sleep from the night before unavoidably apparent to her. “Not to be an annoying coworker, but couldn’t this conversation have been an email or a phone call?” She cracked one suspicious eye open to look at him. 

“It could’ve.” He chuckled, and bounced his knee. “But I got your text and happened to be around. Wanted to make sure you weren’t being bothered by anything.” 

“Ah. So you were worried about me.”  Y/n felt a smile weasel its way onto her features at his covert kindness. “That or you just missed me.” 

Yoongi choked on his coffee, and coughed a few times to regain his composure. “If that’s what you want to tell yourself, darling.” 

“I think I will tell myself that.” Y/n made herself more comfortable on the sofa, keeping her head back but angling it to face him head on. “What does my cloud look like now?” 

He typed something into his phone, then clicked it off and placed it face down between them. His small black eyes seemed to capture her within them entirely. If Y/n focused in hard enough, she could almost feel the cool rush of his welcoming waves seeping into the fissures of her being, and ebbing the parts of Y/n forward that they wanted to see. Y/n stilled, feeling a rush of nerves as it went deeper. How far could he decide to pull from if she let him? Did she even have to give him permission? Yoongi’s eyes quivered with something unspoken as they completed their check-up. 

“Looks like…” He leaned in a bit closer to her to keep his voice a whisper, their noses almost touching. “Looks like you’re being a little shithead.” 

“Rude!” Y/n shot up straight, flinching away from him and taking the edge of her sweater to smack his thigh with. Her outburst pulled out a few squeaking laughs from him, disturbing the hair tucked behind his ears to fall forward and into his face in delicate tresses with the shake of his shoulders. The picture perfect image had her cheeks rising in temperature.  

“Okay, okay. Honest answer.” Yoongi held up a finger signaling her to wait while he took another swig. He took in the flavor with a few smacks of his lips. “You look like you’re starting to turn yellow.” 

Y/n just blinked at him, unsure of how to answer. “Yellow?” 

He nodded. “Usually when you’re happy or energetic, you’re green. When you’re upset, it’s gray like a storm cloud–or red if you’re pretty riled up like you were a few seconds ago. I’ve only seen yellow a few times when you’re either hungry, it’s early in the morning, or after a particularly tiring session. So I’m assuming it means you’re depleted or tired in some way.” 

“Huh.” Like a plant. Y/n thought to herself with a small smile.

A few beats of silence passed between them, and Y/n enjoyed the time just being near him without all of their spiritual obligations. The large potted plants and quiet nature of the hall they were in aided in making a more secluded atmosphere for their little pocket of peace. Yoongi kept his knee close enough to brush against hers, and his hands busy with his phone while they waited for Jungkook to arrive. 

 “So…Do I owe you a quarter for that reading?” 

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Jungkook wasn’t able to linger after dropping her off at the front of the estate–even if it seemed like he had wanted to. Unfortunately he was still technically on the clock until his lunch break, and with her mom and brother still frantically packing inside they assumed she would be safe enough to walk from the entrance to the ballroom on her own. He made her confirm three separate times that she had her flashlight before he left, and each time she would pull the handle out of her pocket for him to see in an effort to appease his worriment. 

Y/n weaved through the movers and the last of Roland’s belongings piled at the edge of the hall, and down towards one of estate’s ballroom entrances. Y/n hesitated outside the thick brown double doors, her mind racing with thoughts of what kind of condition she would find him in on the other side. With a huff of forced confidence, Y/n pressed down on the golden handle.

“What are you doing?” 

Y/n’s mother’s voice cut her off, hauling all of Y/n’s attention to where she had snuck into Y/n’s peripheral. 

“I’m going to hang out with Hoseok–does that pass your rules, or am I not allowed to see him anymore either?” Y/n found it impossible to reign herself in. Nevertheless, despite the harsh contents of her words she was able to keep her tone impassive in some impressive feat. 

“No that’s–” Her mother stiffened, shifting the box in her hands to hold most of the weight on her hip “-that’s fine. I just wanted to let you know that Roland and I are going to be leaving in about an hour just in case you wanted to see him off.” 

Y/n’s grip tightened on the thin metal in her hands. “Thanks for letting me know. I will be sure to.” She didn’t stick around to hear her mother’s response. The urge to get away from her completely knocked out any anxiety she felt about seeing Hoseok again, and she darted through the ballroom doors at a speed that impressed even herself. 

The ballroom was just about how she remembered it: a vast golden and elegant enclosure. Grand crystal chandeliers fought with the natural light streaming through the angled glass ceiling for which could bathe the room in the most light. Similar wall sconces to the ones out in the hall lit up the edges of the space, leaving no corner of the glittering space untouched by light. The few tables left in the room were pushed against the wall and vacant of any decor or clutter. Just dotted with simple flourishing bouquets. At one of the tables, Hoseok sat curled over his phone with one ankle crossed over his knee. The elevated foot shook with enough speed to take off into the sky if it wasn’t attached to his leg, and it comforted Y/n to know that perhaps he was just as nervous as she felt after their last interaction. He hadn’t noticed her entrance yet, and Y/n let her eyes rake in his features: the smooth curve of his nose angled downwards, and his hair forming loose ringlets with the length he let it grow to around his ears and neck. 

The clang of the door shutting behind her grabbed his attention. Thus with the visage only comparable to the warm afternoon sun emerging from where it had temporarily hidden itself behind the passing of clouds, his expression brightened with her arrival. Likewise, his radiant smile dispersed the clouds crowding in her nervous system. 

“I was worried for a moment that you might’ve stood me up.” He only half-joked, and made no move to rise from his seat yet, letting her walk to the tableside first. 

“I wouldn’t do that–not without letting you know first at least.” Y/n stuffed her hands in her pockets, and switched her weight from foot to foot as she stood in front of him. 

He laughed. A real, lively laugh that he couldn’t seem to find within himself yesterday. 

“Such an oxymoron–cold-hearted and considerate at the same time.” Hoseok bounced to his feet, tossing his phone aside onto the white tablecloth and shaking his hands out. He took a few long strides towards the center of the reflective floor, and spun on his heels to raise his eyebrows at her. “I guess you can put together why I had us meet up here.” 

Y/n feigned innocence with a shrug of her shoulders, and plucked at the threads of the table cloth near her hip. “I’m not sure. You have something in mind?” She looked up at him, being sure to keep her eyes as innocuous as possible. 

“I promised you a dance, didn’t I?” He held his hands out in an exaggerated shrug. 

Y/n bit her lip to keep a grin from crawling up her cheeks. “Oh yes that’s right. Forgive me for my memory is hazy–I’m not good at remembering things.” 

“Uh huh, sure.” He rolled his eyes playfully, and held out a hand for her to take. “C’mon. I have my phone set up and connected, you just gotta hit play.” 

“I thought you were sick?” Even though she was teasing him, she still did as she was told: tapping his screen and hitting the play button on the center of his screen. The flourishes of guitar and piano of a song unknown to Y/n floated down from the speakers around the room, and she took little time in taking his hand. 

“I’m feeling better.” Hoseok gave a sharp tug, pulling her into his chest and splaying his hand on her waist with much more confidence than he had a couple weeks prior. He led them in a slow rhythmic step, taking her from side to side with the subtle expertise she had expected from him within their first dance. 

“Already?” Y/n kept in time with him, adding a slight bounce to their movements.

“Nightquil is one hell of a drug.” He giggled through his own answer, and Y/n’s followed shortly behind. Y/n let the topic drop for now, choosing to hone in on his music choice. 

“What’s the reasoning behind this song? I haven’t heard it before.” Y/n Let herself inch closer to him if that was even possible. 

Hoseok gave a disapproving click of his tongue. “You definitely have. My mom played his stuff all the time when we were kids.” 

This had Y/n eating any other response she could’ve come up with, letting her auditory system take the controls with the intention of combing through each motif and melody for anything recognizable. When the chorus hit, the lightbulb within her brain lit up in sync with Jo Duck Bai’s emotional vocals. 

“Ahh. Yes I do remember this one–not in great detail–but It’s striking a chord if you will.” 

Hoseok blew a hefty breath of air through the corner of his mouth. “Jeez–You’ve been spending too much time with Jin.” 

“Never! If anything I haven’t been spending enough time with him.”  Y/n scrunched her nose up at Hoseok with a grin. 

He brought their joined hands up to tap one of his long fingers on the tip of her nose. “There’s that smile I like to see.” 

Y/n suppressed a squawk of surprise from spouting out from her throat, and turned her head to the side to avoid his glinting eyes. “Whatever.” 

The song came to an end, being replaced by the plucking guitar and whirring strings of the next. Y/n thought he was going to pull away–his hand slipping from her waist and his other tugging slightly from her fingers the give away. He surprised her instead, and used his hand to guide her into a twirl into a new step.

“I thought you had said a dance.” Y/n let the hand on his shoulder fiddle with the shoulder seam of his shirt where it had come to rest again. 

He shrugged, and tilted his head into her line of sight as a way to force their eyes to meet again. “I figured I owed you more than just one.” Behind the glow of the yellow lights ricocheting off his amber irises, she could see the implicated apology behind his words. His hand tightened its hold on her side to keep her in place, but she didn’t intend on going anywhere if she didn’t have to. 

Hoseok paraded the two of them gracefully around the room, letting the song take over from the lull in their conversation. At some point in the song, Y/n could hear the unmistakable tenor of Hoseok’s own voice layering beneath Nat King Cole’s. An effortless resonance just barely loud enough for her ears to follow; but a welcomed surprise. His voice had always been a delicacy that he would only treat her too on rare occasions, and she wished more than anything that he would do it more often. Y/n brought her head down to rest on his shoulder, the vibrations of his voice soothing over her ears. Hoseok tipped his onto the crown of her head, each word he murmured now directly against her. Her eyes felt heavy, but she kept them open in fear she would fall asleep standing against him if she let them drop. 

The last few measures of the song ticked by, but they didn’t make any moves to stop. Hoseok stayed at the same pace, letting her head fall heavier onto his shoulder with each sway throughout the next song. He did however, stop singing much to her dismay. 

“I love when you sing. You underestimate how lovely it sounds.” Y/n’s words were slurred against his shoulder, and she swapped to her other cheek so she could face him while still keeping her head in place

“You’re tired.” Hoseok stated plainly, ignoring her compliment entirely. Y/n couldn’t tell if he sounded disappointed or not by his observation.

Y/n hummed, forced her head upright to prevent the impending embarrassment from if she were to drool onto his shoulder. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” 

“And yet you still came to dance with me.” He noted, more to himself than to her. 

“I missed you.” She confessed, her fatigue making her lips loose. “And I was worried that you would still be sick from yesterday. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay.” Hoseok breathed out a sigh, his eyes becoming haunted by something he obscured with a turn of his head. “And you won't have to worry about missing me. I’ll make sure we dance together at least once a week. Unless you get sick of me.” 

“I could never get sick of you.” Y/n gave her best shot at an ardent look, but the power behind it was muted with the tired sag of her eyelids. 

“Convincing.” He snickered, untangling themselves from each other and guiding the way back to his phone to turn off the music.

Y/n followed after him with dragging steps. “I’m sorry–For some reason I feel like I just can’t keep my eyes open. It just hit me like a ton of bricks.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead to try and wake herself up. 

“Don’t worry about apologizing. I’ll walk you upstairs if you want to rest?” he slid his phone into his back pocket and stretched his arms out above his head with a yawn.

“I would accept the offer–” Y/n stopped with a yawn of her own “-but I should say goodbye to Roland before I lay down and I don’t want to keep you waiting.” 

“Nah.” Hoseok waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t mind hanging around a few minutes while you do that.” 

He led them toward the set of double doors she had entered through, and down the hall on their left towards her brother’s room. There were no more movers for them to dodge, and Y/n concluded that they must’ve gotten the last of it out by now. Hoseok paused a few meters away from the door, letting her go into Roland’s room on her own similar to how Namjoon had that morning. 

Y/n crept around the corner, her mouth already formulating her goodbyes. However the room in front of her was now utterly void of any trace of her brother. It even looked as though it had been dusted and vacuumed. Y/n shivered, the involuntary comparison to the disappearance of her late sister intruding into her brain again. And just like before, she swallowed it down and looked for her brother. These were feelings she had already processed–but like the therapist her parents had forced her to see had told her: stressful events and strikingly similar circumstances could trigger them to resurface when she least expected it.  Therefore like she had been taught to do by the same therapist, she took three deep breaths, and brought a finger to tap at the crevice between her lower lip and her chin while she looked. 

Roland wasn’t in the room, and neither was her mother. She brought her phone out of her pocket to check the time– 1:26pm. She had only been in the ballroom for maybe twenty minutes–her mother had said they weren’t headed out for another hour–surely she would know better than to just vanish with her brother?

 Y/n turned out of the room and back down the hall, her finger still passively patting against the spot on her chin moving down to the area below her collar bone (another spot her therapist had taught her to tap). Her explanation being about the locations being connected to the nervous system or something along those lines–something Y/n couldn’t be bothered to remember at the moment. All she cared about was if it worked. 

Hoseok followed, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her quick exit. Y/n led the both of them towards the entrance way, but there were no boxes. There were no movers. There was no one–not even the men putting up her mother’s stupid cameras. Maybe they had gone into the kitchen to prepare lunch for themselves, Y/n reasoned. They were scheduled to leave right at the estate’s normal lunch time, so that would make sense. Yes. Perfect sense. Y/n’s three fingers increased their speed on her collarbone, and she wandered across the dining room and through the traffic door into the kitchen. 

“Come on! Let’s check in the kitchen. Maybe she went to get a snack or something and fell asleep at the counter!” Hoseok led the way forwards, with Jimin and Y/n hot on his heels.

“Guys–we should really get mom and dad up. What if something happened?” Amelia’s e/c eyes shook, and her voice was unsteady as she brought up the rear of their unruly search crew. She trudged after them, clutching her quilt around her shoulders. 

The three younger children didn’t listen, pushing open the swinging kitchen doors to find the kitchen insipid and vacant. 

“Are you sure you checked your bathroom?” Hoseok gave Y/n an accusing raise of his eyebrow. “And under her bed?” 

“Of course I did. I checked those first, I’m not stupid.” Y/n crossed her small arms over her chest with a huff.

Jimin took sleepy, trawling steps around the kitchen perimeter.  His hair was sticking up in every direction from sleep, and his puffy cheeks bent forwards to stop and look down into the kitchen sink. A few drops of water dripped from the spigot, and he stretched a short arm out to press down on the faucet and halt the trickle. Hoseok and Y/n bickered, while Amelia hovered at the door, looking over her shoulder repeatedly for any sign of their youngest sister–leaving his moment of deliberation unseen by the rest. Jimin stared at the small puddle on the bottom of the sink’s basin, his brows pulled together in thought. Jimin turned his messy dark hair to the arguing duo across the room.

“I think we should wake up your parents like Amelia said.” Jimin’s bare feet padded over back towards the kitchen door that led to the hallway. “Maybe she had a bad dream and went to sleep with them.” 

The kitchen was empty. 

Empty save for the first straggler cook organizing the ingredients for the lunch selection of the day. At Y/n and Hoseok’s intrusion he raised a brow, but Y/n could only muster a few apologies before retreating back into the dining room. 

“Let’s check out front…?” Hoseok offered, already starting towards the front door. He pushed open the door to find the mover trucks gone. The only sign that they had been there was the tire tracks in the gravel, and the many sets of shoe tracks that scuffed the pebbles out of place. 

They were gone. And her mother had deliberately made sure she hadn’t been able to say goodbye. 

_________________________________________

Y/n retreated into the safety of her room. Hoseok had walked her up with an apologetic frown and a promise to come get her once food was served. Y/n wanted to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault she had missed their departure–that it was all on her mother. And she would. But that would come later, after she had more time to regulate herself from looking like a drifting weeping willow. Y/n couldn’t help her thoughts from assuming the worst of her mother; for what reason did she have to prick at a wound all of them shared? She would’ve definitely known better.

She typed a short message to her group chat, saying she wasn’t feeling up for lunch and that she wouldn’t be joining any gardening excursions today. Encouraging them all not to panic or jump to any demonic conclusions as to why she won’t be showing up. Y/n tried to take a nap, but every position she tried just felt off and uncomfortable. Her eyes drew over to her closet, where Matilda's photos were hidden at the back of her shelf. 

Y/n knew–logically so–that Roland was not dead. That they had left to take him up to New York for his fancy new and expensive school that would shape him into whatever man her parents desired him to be. He would come back once and for all after he graduated–maybe even have a partner–and he would start his apprenticeship under her father’s careful eye. Then he would take over the hotel, have a few kids of his own, and most likely die of old age. 

But the human mind is funny at times, it has its own special way of warping our sense of reality into believing the worst with the utmost conviction. Of jumping to conclusions and making you forget the leaps that you had to take to get there, using rope made of excuses and hooks smelted from built up fantasy to make the delusional seem sound with each leap. To find any reason to justify the stressor it had been exposed to without even considering the option for the truth. 

And that’s the island Y/n was currently stranded on. Her eyes vacant as they looked at the ceiling, but her mind somewhere else entirely. She had given up on the tapping. It didn’t work at the moment, and therefore she didn’t care for it. Her phone had buzzed a couple times from its spot on her nightstand, but she didn’t feel like texting anyone any further. 

It was good for her then–in its own way–that instead of a few short buzzes, her phone shuddered with the extended pulse of a phone call. Y/n fumbled for the box, wanting to silence it out and throw it back out of her sight until she was able to rest. But the name lighting up her screen caught her off guard. 

Jin. 

Y/n swiped to answer the call, bringing it to lay flat over her ear so gravity could do most of the work for her. 

“Hey, is everything alright?” Y/n asked, keeping her tone even. 

“Yeah, everything is fine.” Jin chirped at her from the other line. “I just had a feeling you might need a pick me up. You want to go into town with me to run a few errands?” 

“I…” Y/n was still exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and wash away all of her racing thoughts in time for tonight’s debrief and spiritual ventures. But she didn’t want to say no either. Y/n didn’t realize how long she had hesitated, because Jin must have sensed her apprehension. 

“If you’re busy that's fine! We can always plan to go another time…” Even through the crackling of the receiver she could hear his dejection. 

“No! I’m not busy, and I want to spend time with you. I’m just exhausted and don’t know if I can handle going into town today.” Y/n picked at the skin of her lip absentmindedly, tugging at it until it started to bleed. 

“Ahh. I understand.” There was a muffled shuffling sound on Jin’s side of the line, and his voice returned a few beats later. “How about this: We do something more relaxing together, and I do one of my errands with you?” 

“Like what?” Y/n rolled onto her stomach, letting the weight of her head fall onto a pillow below her. “You aren’t planning any sort of payback for the horse excursion, are you?” 

Jin chuckled, and kept his voice friendly. “No–don’t worry. I have to run to the store to get some stuff for dinner tonight. The cooking staff is off duty so it’s on us to figure something out. And I’m going to assume from your tone that the Adelaide isn’t of any interest to you tonight.” 

Y/n sighed. “You guessed correctly.” She plucked at a loose thread on her pillowcase. “What’s the ‘something relaxing’?” 

“I’ll give you two choices.  One: we go to the guest house and spend some time enjoying the nice day in the sunroom.  Two: we can bake something for dessert tonight.” Jin listed, followed by another shuffle on the other end of the line from him swapping the phone from one shoulder to the next. 

Y/n debated both options, making a short list of the pros and cons for each. A sweet treat sounded good–but so did enjoying the great outdoors. The only thing about the guest house that pushed it into the realm of least favorable was its proximity to the lake; which did not sound great at the moment. 

“Let’s bake something. And then I’ll help you with dinner.” Y/n decided, rolling onto her side so she could sit up. 

“That’s what I was kind of hoping for myself.” She heard the distant sound of his fingers snapping on the other line. “We can head to the store after you come down and get some lunch?” Jin phrased his words as a question, but Y/n knew it wasn’t. 

Y/n scrunched her face up at the thought of food. “I’ll have a snack or something after a short nap, but I had brunch not too long ago at the cafe.” 

Jin found the promise of something better than nothing, and they traded goodbyes with the intention to leave in roughly a half an hour. This meant Y/n had enough time for a cat nap to try and regain some energy and reset her mind. She curled up onto her side, and hugged one of her pillows closer to herself in a chokehold to bury her face into. She focused on taking a few deep breaths to lower herself down into the first few realms of sleep. 

The four children had shoved Amelia to the front of the group. They knew that their parents would react better to her than if one of the three trouble makers stood in front. The girl in question raised her small fist up to knock on the door, her braids dragging over her makeshift blanket cape and brushing upon its edges with each knock. 

The first knock triggered no movement from within the room–it was ungodly early after all–for the sun had only just started to turn the sky shades of a gray blue. Amelia looked back to her cohorts with uncertainty, but they urged her to knock again. And she did. This time, they heard a few soft murmurs, and the sound of soft feet padding across a rug towards them. Her mother pulled open the door, wrapped in a silk robe and her hair up and away. 

“What’s wrong, my loves?”  Her mother’s voice was rough from sleep, but still held her usual air of warmth. “Is something wrong?” 

“Is Matilda in there?” Jimin piped up from the back.

Mariah looked disoriented, her chin jerking to the side and her face pulling inwards. “No–what is this about?” 

Amelia piped up from the front, her eyes beginning to water. “Y/n can’t find her anywhere. We already looked everywhere Mama.” 

“What do you mean you can’t find her?” Their mother’s eyes darted to Y/n’s, a brief flash of panic shown in with them gone and camouflaged as soon as it came.

“We looked everywhere. The ballroom, the kitchen, the study–even under her bed. I don’t know where she is.” 

Mariah pushed forward and out of her and their father’s shared room. She retied her robe tighter around herself, before leading the parade of children down the hall and back towards the kitchen. All four of the children ran into each other, one after the other, as her mother made an abrupt halt at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Oh my god…” Mariah brought one delicate hand up to her mouth, and four children’s heads leaned out from behind her to see what had caught her attention. 

“Mama, what is it?” Amelia spoke first, one of her small hands tugging at Mariah’s elbow.

Jungkook stood on the bottom step, probably having been woken from their commotion. His unruly curls turned to stare intently at the red wooden door that led out to the front steps. The front door was slightly ajar, barely open in a way that made it easy to miss when one walked by. But Y/n was sure it had been closed when they had passed it earlier, a funny feeling settled into the pit of her stomach at the sight. 

“Mom, that wasn’t open before….” Y/n’s young voice cracked, and she came forward to stand next to her. 

Mariah didn’t acknowledge Y/n’s comment. She walked up to the door and went to grab onto the handle, her eyes still glued to the spot where Jungkook stood. Jungkook blinked, breaking their locked gaze and her hand froze in mid air above the gold metal. Without warning, she yanked it backwards and held it up to her chest in her other hand as if it had been burned. 

“Nobody touch anything. Get everyone up.” She spun on her heel and all but ran down the hall back towards her room, shouting as she went. “Anselm! Ans wake up!” 

The image suddenly flickered, and a weight fell heavy onto Y/n’s feet and threatened to pull her underneath the floorboards. She looked downwards towards them, to find her normal grown up feet shuffling below her. She shot her gaze up once more, only to find her sister and friends gone. The echo of her mother’s calls reverberated throughout the empty halls as if she were still there, but a long ways away. It was at this moment that she realized it was no longer a memory–but a dream. 

The floor rumbled beneath her feet once. Y/n snapped her head towards the direction of the basement door, another rumble tumbling out from behind it. She inched towards it, her hands fiddling with her sweater in search of the flashlight, but obviously there was none. This wasn’t real. 

Footsteps bounded up the obscured basement steps, the wood creaking under a heavy weight. The rush they were in gave her no time to react to their approach before they were already upon her. Something heavy threw itself against the other side in a crazed flurry, the door rattling on its hinges and barely holding itself in place. The thing on the other side ceased its futile attempts when the door showed no sign of buckling to its weight, and Y/n could hear the ragged sound of its breathing wheezing in and out of its diaphragm.

Y/n watched, unable to tear her eyes away as spindly, weathered, and gray digits writhed out from beneath the door. Stretching on and on–much longer than any one human’s fingers should. They curled in on themselves to claw at the door with a gnarled fervor, and Y/n took quick steps backwards towards the front door with each desperate grab they made. 

“Wait-” Their voice, a sound comparable to tornado winds or a speeding train, scraped against her eardrums. Earsplitting and whistling. “Come find me.” It moaned out, and pushed it’s paper-thin hand further outwards. 

“Please.” Its hands retracted from beneath the door and out of sight. With it she heard the slump of something burly against the frame that shook the wood with such power the floor rattled with it. 

It’s breathing labored on, but it spoke no more. The handle clicked and clanked with the motions from the creature on the other side fiddling with its latch, but it did not open. Y/n knew it was a dream, yet she also knew this wasn’t just her mind conjuring up a monster on its own. So she did the only thing she could think of to do–even if her heart begged her not to. 

“Who are you?” 

The tinkering noises abated, a leaden stillness left in its wake. She heard the creature take in a deep, rattling breath. “It matters not.” 

“How am I supposed to find you then?” Y/n countered, keeping her knees bent and ready to run at a moment's notice. 

Her mother’s distant cries bounced about the empty house, and they made Y/n’s skin crawl with memories she wished to forget. Y/n hesitated as the next sorrowful howl came again, the tone different than how she had remembered. Was it her mother that she was hearing?

The metal door knob fell to the floor with a thud and rolled across the floor, stopping at the edge of Y/n’s shoe. 

“If you were to know who I was, you would come to hate me too. I am wretched.” Its sob keened from its throat like nails on a chalkboard. “I am…” 

The door groaned in protest and dawdled forward, sweeping in a half circle and ricocheting off of the wall behind it. All Y/n could see was black. No creature stood before her and naivety made her willing to believe it had left. 

“I am…” 

Y/n retracted her thought immediately, as a monstrous and hulking shadow moved within the dark. Its features were utterly imperceivable. Just smokey, vague and humanoid.  She fell backwards, tripping over the knob in her tush to stand back up. Her mother’s cries encircled her like the calling of crows in the early morning sky and she clamped her hands over her ears to stifle the sound. 

“They call me the Devil.” 

_________________________________________

Y/n’s alarm blended in with the sound of the phantom wails as it pierced her ears. Y/n lurched out of her comforter to grab it and pummel the sound off, dropping it back onto the nightstand to give herself a second to come to. The dream played through her mind, and she let it. She needed to remember each small detail they gave her, collect each crumb she could if she were to make any real moves against them. 

She vaulted out of bed in the direction of her desk, and scrambled for a notebook and a pen to document her dream while it was fresh in her mind. Y/n scrawled out each detail she could in a bullet point list as both a means to distract herself from the residual terror of the dream, and to record it for later reference. Once she finished, she couldn’t bear the thought of ruminating on it any longer–she wanted to leave any thoughts of her sister behind at the moment–she needed to in order to move forward with her day. 

She unhooked and a small crocheted bag to toss her flashlight and phone in for safer keeping while she was out of the house, not needing anything more than that for their plans. Y/n only gave herself a ten second once over in the bathroom mirror to make sure she was borderline presentable, not caring to give any other thought to her appearance. Y/n wobbled on her feet, her thirty minute nap merely a drop in the bucket towards her lack of sleep from the night before. Maybe the nap made her reaction time worse, but it did help her regain control of her mind–with or without the nightmare. 

Y/n made it to her door with full intent to practically run down the hall towards the dining room. Calling one of her friends up here just to walk her to the stairs would garner too much suspicion on the cameras or the others at lunch. At least running through the halls was nothing too new for her mother to flag as out of the ordinary. She swung the door open with gusto, her first step striking the floor with power that quickly dwindled to nothing with the oncoming sounds from her right.  

Y/n stumbled over her feet and fumbled for her flashlight in her bag, not ready to mess around with anymore creepy things around doorways so soon after her vision. Taehyung took in her floundering state with wide unsuspecting eyes. Clearly they had startled one another with little expectation for the other to be leaving their rooms at the same moment. 

“Oh–Hi.” Y/n choked out, her fist clenching around the flashlight in her bag before letting it drop from her fingers in relief. 

Taehyung smirked at her from across the hall, and slowly shut his door behind him. 

“Hi.” 

They stood at an impasse, Y/n unsure of what to say and he seemed to wait for her to speak first. 

“I’m heading out to the store with Jin, do you need anything?” 

He gave her a once over, his chocolate brown eyes glowing with mirth at her. “No, I think I’m alright. Though, I thought you had promised we’d go somewhere together the next time you skipped into town?” 

“Shit–you’re right.” She slapped a hand to her forehead. “Jin and I are leaving now, but we are going to be scrapping dinner and dessert together afterwards if you’d like to join us? Unless you’re busy.” 

He laughed and started forward down the hall at a languid pace, clearly waiting for her to follow. She did so without hesitation, glad to have company instead of having to race against invisible enemies down the stairs in her lonesome. 

“No need to say sorry, I’m just messing with you.” He flicked a loose wave out of his eyes, and their arms skimmed against one another as he lowered it back to his side. “I’d be delighted to join in–for the dessert part at least. Cooking is still something I’m working on.” 

“You can’t cook, but you can bake?” Y/n sent him a disbelieving sideways glance, not trusting her face not to heat up if she looked at his face for too long. 

“Yeah, I know it’s usually the other way around. I think baking is just more…” Taehyung brought a hand up to grasp at the air, his striking features taking on a more passionate shape. “More finite, and artistic for me. I feel like you can be more creative with colors and flavors, but still have the comfort of having exact measurements to follow.” 

Y/n nodded, and they rounded the corner onto the landing. “I can understand that.” They started down the stairs without any rush, their shoulders bumping periodically with their descent. Y/n landed at the bottom first, shuffling around to look up at where he trailed a few steps back. “What’s your favorite kind of dessert?” 

Taehyung stopped on the last stair to think and he puckered out his lips to think. Leaning onto the thick banister on his left as he did so. “To eat or to make?” 

“Both.” Y/n shrugged. 

“Hmm.” He tapped his fingers against the shiny wood beneath his arm and made rhythmic clicking sounds with his tongue against his cheek. “If I’m eating it, anything strawberry, or macarons. If I’m making it, I love working with fruits or experimenting with new flavors. Trifles, tarts, posset; anything I can decorate and make pretty.” He took his free hand, and wiggled the fingers gently towards Y/n to give feather light touches against her shoulder. 

She giggled at the tickling sensation, and leaned her cheek into her shoulder to cover it from his onslaught. Taehyung’s boxy grin made an appearance, and he mimicked her giggles.

 “Cute~” He cooed after her, and skipped down the last stair towards the dining room. 

Y/n trailed after him, but her smile was consequently wiped from her face when her eyes found Hoseok seated at the table. His face was gloomy and unreadable, and he made no effort to hide how he tracked Taehyung’s movements around the dining room table and to his awaiting meal. And it wasn’t just him: everyone in the dining room seemed peeved on some level. The air felt heavy with agitation.  She skirted her attention to Jin who was still working on finishing the last of his plate, and decided to sit next to the empty seat near Hoseok while she waited for him to finish eating. 

“You alright?” Y/n asked him, pulling out her chair sinking into its cushion. 

He nodded, clearing his throat as he did. “Yeah I’m fine.” Hoseok turned to regard her over his shoulder, his smile strained and his knee shaking where he promptly pressed it against her leg. “Are you feeling more rested?” 

Y/n curled her lip and held up her hand in a so-so motion. “Eh. I had some weird dreams but I was able to get some sleep, so I can’t complain.” 

Hoseok hummed and picked up his fork to fiddle with it between his fingers in a rapid seesaw motion, and kept his leg pressed firmly against her own even if he didn’t make any other comments. Y/n took note of everyone who was left at the table, the atmosphere feeling tense–like she had interrupted something she shouldn’t have. Taehyung was just beginning to tuck into his sandwich and was just as oblivious as her to whatever had gone down; Namjoon was trying not to give her obvious red-faced glances; Jimin was avoiding her eyes as if almost pretending she wasn’t there, his jaw flexing from how hard he was gritting his teeth; then there was Jungkook: His eyes dark as they bored into her, and his face dour. 

Jin set his silverware aside with an overexaggerated sigh of satisfaction. “I’m all set to go then Y/n. I just need to grab a jacket.” He hoisted himself out of his seat and lumbered around the table towards the foyer. 

“O-okay!” Y/n scooted herself out of her chair to follow, not interested in sticking around for whatever strange energy had been created in the dining room before her arrival. “See you guys later…” Y/n gave a timid wave to those left at the table, earning her a chorus of mumbled farewells and waves.

Y/n shivered the discomfort off, tearing her phone from her pocket to type a message into the ‘The Most Annoying and Toxic Coworkers’ chat while she waited near the shoe hutch for Jin to grab his jacket and sneakers. 

[Morning Glory 🌼]: What the fuck was going on in there? Was it related to Roland? 

[Zoltar]: What? What did I miss? I’m not allowed to be around for lunch anymore. 

[Morning Glory 🌼]: If I knew I wouldn’t be asking, now would I? 

[Zoltar]: 🤷

[Zoltar]: I don’t even know what you’re referencing to begin with. I got nothing over here at the hotel.

[Morning Glory 🌼]: You always answer so fast. Do you actually get any work done? 

[Zoltar]: 🤷🤷🤷🤷

[Zoltar]: Someone’s always gotta be ready to make sure you aren’t getting into trouble. Two seconds too late and you could be following a lead out of the country if we aren’t careful. 

“Ready?” Jin held the front door open for her in one hand, and held a baseball cap folded in the other, a stiff smile keeping his features in place. 

“Sorry-yeah.” Y/n tucked her phone into her bag next to the flashlight, and hurried through the open door. 

Jin slid on his hat once they were out into the air, fidgeting with it to sit over his head at the angle he wanted. They walked side by side at a leisurely pace down the gravel path around the base of the hotel, and straight down the driveway to head towards the front gate. Y/n nibbled on her lower lip, and kept her hands in her pockets while she walked besides him. Y/n took the risk to probe at Jin. 

“What happened in there? Everyone seemed pretty off.”

Jin glanced back over his shoulder to watch for any oncoming traffic when they made their way to the roadside, propelling himself forward once he realized the coast was clear for them to walk alongside it. 

“They just got into a bit of a spat. Nothing they can’t handle–you know how they can get with each other sometimes.” Jin explained. He pulled out his keys and spun them on the tip of his finger.

“Oh.” Y/n rushed to keep up with his long and quick strides. “Was it about anything serious?”  She recalled even Jimin’s standoffish nature and forced a frown from her face. 

“No.” He veered them to the left and into the residential parking area. “They’ll be fine, don’t worry too much about it.” 

Jin pressed a button on the key fob, and a flash of lights and a beep responded from a silver suv in the middle of the lot.  Y/n took it as her signal to drop the questioning, she had no interest in raising Jin’s suspicions towards her this afternoon. She rounded the back of the car to the passenger seat with Jin on her heels. His hand beat hers to the door handle and tugged it open on her behalf, letting her hop in and shutting it for her. 

Y/n sunk into the leather seats and notched her seatbelt into place by the time Jin slid into the driver’s side door and started the vehicle. Acoustic guitar trickled from the speakers at a low volume, filling any empty space and making some of the tension disperse from Jin’s wide shoulders with each pluck of the strings. They let the music do most of the talking for the first few minutes, neither of them knowing exactly how to start a casual conversation with each other without any specific purpose or Hoseok to buffer things between them.

“What are you thinkin’ of for dinner tonight?” Y/n tried first, unable to stand the awkwardness any longer. 

Jin jolted in his seat, having been lost in his own thoughts far too deep to remember he even had a passenger. “Oh-Right.” Jin leaned to check his mirrors to clear his next turn onto the main road. “We usually agree on something together on these nights–clearly that’s not happening.” Jin scoffed and righted the wheel to keep them going straight. “Anything you want in particular? You have behaved the best so I’ll let you have the most say.” 

Y/n snickered, thinking of a response. “Now I could really go for some roasted vegetables…” 

“Now that’s something I can work with.” He took one hand off the wheel to point at her with enthusiasm. “What else?” 

“You choose. Unless you think you can’t handle that.” Y/n teased, and leaned herself against the window to rest her head on its cool surface. 

“I can handle that.” A small plush smile grew on his face. 

The supermarket wasn’t too busy, which let them keep their pace at a casual stroll with no need to push anyone out of the way. Jin had settled for chicken stir fry, and sheparded her around the store to the different vegetable selections. He let her choose what went in it, only giving her a sneaky side eye one time when she suggested cauliflower knowing full well that he hated it. 

“I’m trying to keep the peace here Y/n–You and I both know it won't end well for you if we keep this childish competition going.” He snatched the white head of cauliflower from her hand and tossed it carelessly back onto the heaping pile of others. 

“For me? What about you? I’ve learned a thing or two while I’ve been away,” Y/n puffed out her chest, “You’d be surprised.” 

Jin rolled his eyes and dropped a bag of multicolored peppers into the cart. “I doubt that. Nothing surprises me with you hooligans anymore.” 

“That’s a lie–shall I reference our recent trip into town?” Y/n lifted a hulking container of strawberries into her hands to inspect its contents. “Can we make something with strawberries tonight? Taehyung mentioned them and now I have a hankering for a strawberry tart or strawberry cream cake.” 

Jin came to her side and grabbed the container from her hands to give it his own once over. “Sure. That sounds good.” He tossed a total of three containers into the cart, and swung back around to point a finger at her. “I knew something was going on between you and Hoseok the moment I first entered the car that morning and you two were huddled up like little flies rubbing your hands together in the front seat. If I would have known better I would have been able to see the little horns growing out from your foreheads the entire drive there.” Jin held up two fingers on the top of his hat to imitate devil horns, and gave her a pointed look. 

“We were not huddled like flies! We were just sharing confidential information!” Y/n refuted. Even if she knew it was a lie: Jin had made comments multiple times that day about them being up to no good.

“Sharing confidential information and conspiring–same old, same old.” He slid his fingers down from his hat to track fake tears down his cheeks. “You’re just embarrassed that I caught you in the act. Because like I said: Nothing surprises me.” 

Jin took hold of the cart and steered them forwards to the meat sections and Y/n glared at the back of his head while she followed, already thinking up ten different ways she could try and surprise him or get him back for real. 

“Ah ah ah–” He held up one finger and wagged it at where she dragged her feet behind him “–enough of that. I can virtually hear your thoughts.” 

Y/n stretched out a long, irritated groan. “How? How do you know that’s what I was thinking of?” 

“Because like I said,” Jin billowed open a meat grocery bag, and tucked a package of chicken thighs into it. “I’m the oldest. It comes with the job description.” He laid the bag into the cart and pat it gently with his hand, gracing her with a sarcastic smile. 

They grabbed the rest of the ingredients Jin deemed  necessary for dinner and their decided on dessert–strawberry shortcakes–and loaded them into the car.  She felt grateful for the distraction, and she was glad that she had decided to take him up on the offer. The bubbling cauldron of feelings from the day had a lid placed over them for the time being. 

The ride back to the estate was much less awkward with the ice having been broken. Y/n wrestled a container of blueberries from the bags in the back and into her lap, prying the lid off and tossing one into her mouth. Jin held his hand out immediately, his fingers flapping in a ‘gimme’ motion. 

“Who said I’d share?” Y/n stifled a grin and rose one accusatory eyebrow at him. 

“It’s mandatory. It’s the passenger tax.” He flailed his fingers more aggressively. “Pay up.” Y/n shook her head, and piled a small handful into his awaiting palm. Without missing a beat Jin tossed the entire handful into his mouth, his hand already waiting expectantly at her side again. 

“Hold on–let me eat some–goddamn.” Y/n plopped a couple into her mouth and gave him another handful to hopefully satiate him for a few seconds. Jin wrinkled his nose at her use of language, but didn’t comment on it. However his hand did immediately spring back up in a silent request for more, and she refilled his request. 

Y/n rolled her eyes in a teasing manner “Sorry grandpa, I forgot you don’t like improper language.” She fumbled a few more blueberries into her mouth. 

Jin shifted in his seat while he chewed, and gave her a few restless glances. He swallowed, and gave one small cough. “It’s fine. You can say what you want. I won’t stop you.” 

“Are you sure?” Y/n regarded his change in demeanor with curiosity. Y/n could count on one hand the times she had heard him curse, and growing up he had been a bit of a stickler about it with his parent’s religious upbringing–but as they got older he had started to adjust. 

“Yeah it’s fine. We are all adults now.” He shrugged, but his eyes were hard to catch.

Y/n chewed on the berries in her mouth slowly, rolling them between her tongue and teeth for a few breaths. “Do you curse now?” 

“No.”

Y/n held a fist full of berries in her hand in preparation for his next request, and thought up her follow up question. 

“Do you want to?” 

Jin didn’t answer as quickly this time, taking the fruit into his hand and weighing them in his palm. He tossed them in, chewing pensively and staring up at the traffic light they sat beneath. 

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’d be easier when I’m listening to music or playing stuff on the guitar, but it feels so foreign to me to even think about it.” 

“You still play?” Y/n inquired, popping a few more pieces of fruit in her mouth. 

Jin’s cheeks dusted pink, and a shy smile wiggled onto his face. “Yeah. I like to play on my days off.” 

“Cool.” Y/n snapped the lid closed. “You should play for me sometime! I tried teaching myself in college but I didn’t get much further than some basic chord structures. What kind of stuff do you like to play?” 

“Well–I grew up playing hymns so a few of them have a special place in my heart–but I like to just mess around with pop sometimes. Lately I’ve really taken a liking to learning picking patterns from folk artists.” Jin turned the wheel to start up the winding road towards the hotel and estate. 

“Any in particular?” Y/n nestled the fruit container back into the bag. 

Jin hummed, his fingers pattering against the steering wheel beneath them. “Jimin introduced me to Hozier and Noah Kahan. He’s been trying to get me into a few others that I can’t remember the names of if I'm being honest.” He chuckled. 

“Ooo! And those are the picking patterns you’re learning?” Y/n eagerly asked, turning her body to see his face a bit better. 

He tilted his head and scratched behind his ear. “Yeah.” 

“You have to play for me then. Hozier makes me swoon.” Y/n clapped her hands together and bounced in her seat with excitement. Jin just nodded, the tips of his ears glowing in the early evening sun.

Y/n’s phone buzzed at her side, and she pulled it out to check her notifications–having almost completely forgotten about the texts she had sent the group chat.

[Joon 🌱]: We will talk about it later. Long story short: Shit is confusing.

_________________________________________

The dining room had all of the chairs pushed back into place as if no one had disturbed it for lunch. Y/n and Jin waded through the room and into the kitchen to drop off all of the groceries with Taehyung tracking in after them from the study where he had been waiting for their return. Jin excused himself momentarily to park the car, leaving the two younger ones to paw through the bags with few instructions on what to do afterwards. 

Taehyung pulled out the hefty container of red strawberries and smirked up at her over the lid. 

“Is this you trying to flirt with me?” 

“What?” The color drained from Y/n’s face. “No! I mean–I thought about what you had said and wanted to keep your interests in mind–plus a strawberry dessert sounded good. With summer coming around the corner and-”

Taehyung cut her off with a ring of warm laughter. “I was just teasing.” 

Y/n mentally facepalmed at herself. So much for not letting them all get under her skin so easily. 

“I knew that.” Y/n evaded meeting his gaze, and settled her own intentions on pushing back into the dining room to snag their family recipe book from the hutch. Y/n crouched onto down to the bottom shelf opposite of their stash of boardgames, and grabbed at the small dangling handle that kept slipping through her fingers each time she went to grab for it. 

“C’mon…” Y/n muttered to herself under her breath. Y/n silently cheered when her fingers finally caught on the delicate metal hook and with a jerk she popped the door open. 

A blast of cold air billowed out from within the cabinet and knocked her backwards. Y/n caught a clipping image of a small child curled in on themselves within the dark crevice, their face shielded by their own small sickly arms. Their small body trembled from its hiding place, and brought shaky eyes up to meet Y/n’s. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, their gazes locked onto each other with near equal expressions of fear. The girl’s eyes were the most striking: One of them a normal, quivering brown; the other was void and sunken in on itself. Black like the malevolent ghosts she had seen on multiple occasions. The child raised shaking hands up towards Y/n in a puny grab for her shirt, except her hands never made contact with their target. They cowered back into the girl's chest that convulsed with each panicked inhale. They lurched forward, Y/n scarcely having time to dodge the child's advancement. But she didn’t seem to care that she had missed. She crawled past Y/n with bestial speed and out into the hall where Y/n could no longer see her. 

Y/n frantically pulled at the cookbook from the shelf, and dashed back into the kitchen where Taehyung was finishing up the last few things Jin had instructed of them. The door swung closed behind her, and Y/n glued her lips shut to keep her perturbation from being noticeable to her companion. He didn’t cast a glance her way yet for his head was buried in a cabinet at his feet. Y/n heard the clambering of mixing bowls and metal measuring cups as he sorted through them. 

“The door give you trouble?” His call was muffled by the sounds his hands were making. 

“Huh?” Y/n blinked a few times at his crouched figure, and back at the book in her hands. “Y-yeah. The door. The handle is way too small.” 

“I’ve been up Yoongi’s ass about replacing them but it’s not on his radar.” Taehyung stood with two large mixing bowls, and a stack of measuring cups in his arms. He kicked the door closed with his foot and spread the items onto the island’s surface. 

Y/n shook her head of her startling experience, and forced herself forward with normal paced steps. Act normal! She reprimanded herself when she approached the counter, slamming the overfilled book down onto it. 

“I see strawberries and cream.” Taehyung circled the counter, his hands stopping on each ingredient as he listed them. “Butter, flour, sugar….A cake of sorts?” 

“Strawberry shortcakes. But my Great grandmother’s style.” Y/n’s fingers felt stiff pulling open the cover and flipping through the pages. A bunch of loose leaf handwritten pages had been added in between the laminated ones, drawing Y/n’s attention to the numerous new additions. “Chai latte cupcakes?” 

“That one is mine.” Taehyung’s eyes followed the turn of each page. “I added a lot of new stuff to it–your mom said I could. Anything people liked I would put in here.” 

Y/n flipped through to the middle of the book, finding the recipe she was looking for. 

“Have you ever tried to make this one? It’s pretty simple but it’s one of my favorites.” Y/n clicked the binder rings open and extracted the page. “You make it in this tube pan, and cut it into circle slices. Almost like small personal cake layers. But what makes it my favorite is that the cake gets this crust on the edges that tastes like a sugar cookie.” Y/n poured her anxiety into rambling, but Taehyung didn’t seem to mind and listened to her description with captivated interest. 

“We can get a head start while we wait for Jin.” Taehyung took the laminated page out from between her fingers and laid it on the counter between them, taking a step closer to her. “Lead the way.” He gestured to the array of ingredients in front of them with a lick of his lips, and coy smirk. 

Y/n didn’t think he understood that she would take that literally, because she immediately took charge. Delegating him to whisk the dry ingredients while she took the fats and liquids, burying herself in the task at hand. Jin had only taken two steps into the kitchen before she was giving him a task without her needing to look up from the mixer she had been messing with. 

“Jin, can you preheat the oven to the temperature listed on the recipe?” 

“Yeah.” He agreed willingly, moving to one of the ovens to fiddle with the nobs. 

Y/n figured out how to get the new mixer going, and shuffled around the kitchen to look for the command panel for the lights and electronics within the kitchen and dining room. 

“Anyone have any suggestions for music?” Y/n glanced back at the two from over her shoulder, doing her best attempt at easing away any remnant shock. She could process the experience and her entire day later. Right now simply wasn’t the time. “The silence makes me antsy.” She finished when neither of them had moved. 

“Any classics are fine with me.” Taehyung piped up, shaking a dust cloud of flour that plumed out of a large tub and into his face.

“Jin?” 

Jin had taken her spot supervising the stand mixer, and gestured with his eyes to Taehyung. “He’s more picky than me. I’m fine with anything as long as he doesn’t whine about it.” 

“Hmm. Okay let me see what we have here.” Y/n pulled up her phone and swiped out of the group chat where she had left off to open one of her playlists. She tapped on one that was a good hodgepodge of old and new to appease everyone, and let it play in the background. 

Her eyes caught an nearly imperceivable wrinkle of Taehyung’s nose as a pop song played over the speakers, effectively droning out Y/n’s thoughts with a bouncing beat and with electronic overlay. Y/n slid back over next to Jin to take note of how the butter looked, her head bobbing in time with the song. Jin’s finger’s tapped in sync with her movements on the counter’s edge. She stretched across the counter for the eggs and vanilla, passing them to Jin to add in to the mixture. 

“What, do you not like Charli?” Y/n scoffed at Taehyung, sweeping behind him to find a teaspoon. 

Taehyung made a face, and shook his head. “I don’t like most pop music.” 

“He’s a purist when it comes to music.” Jin poked fun at the younger man, sharing a knowing look with Y/n. 

“Ahhh I get it.” Y/n tossed Jin the teaspoon. “Well there are some oldies in here for the geezer. Don’t worry~” She rounded back to Jin’s side with a giggle. 

Even though Taehyung had made his disdain for ninety-percent of the modern songs that appeared on the playlist, he never made any malicious comments about any of them. Sticking to making small faces or furrowing his eyebrows when a section or verse  he particularly didn’t care for came on. But he was a good sport about it, which Y/n appreciated. 

The cake was in the oven engulfing the three of them in its sweet and rich aroma. The three of them stood huddled around the counter with paring knives and copious amounts of strawberries for them to quarter. A basin of a pot in front of them to hold all of the cut fruit. Anytime a song came on he didn’t get, he would make sure to question it. 

“But what is a brat in this context?” Taehyung asked his probably tenth inquiry about Charli XCX. 

Y/n huffed out a sigh, and paused her slicing. “I’ve already explained this to you. It means messy–Like you don’t care.” 

“Alright–geez I’m just trying to understand.” He held his hands up in a surrender. 

“Well you sound like an old man.” Jin chided as he picked up his next strawberry. 

Taehyung looked taken aback. “Look who’s talking.” 

Jin fluttered his lashes back at the two of them. “Who–little old me?” His face dropped into a scowl and he raised the tip of his knife to point at the other man. “At least I know who Taylor Swift is.”  

“Enough you two.” Y/n rolled her eyes and tossed her cut fruit into the pot. “Keep one container aside to top them with. I’m going to start cooking these down.”

They split into three different jobs after that to divide and conquer the last of the cake. Taehyung designated himself to making the whipped cream, Jin stayed slicing the fresh strawberries for decoration, and Y/n honed in on making sure none of the strawberries stuck to the bottom of the pot. Once the cake was out of the oven they kept it in the tube to cool, and set aside the cooked down berries to call it quits since they couldn’t prepare the rounds until they were to be served. They decided to move onto preparing dinner (not after they individually had to taste test the whipped cream with stolen fresh strawberries ‘just to be sure’ it was good). 

This is where Taehyung took up dish duty from all the baking to make way for the next wave, leaving the cooking to Y/n and Jin. During their extended time spent in the kitchen, Y/n hadn’t heard a single other one of her friends wandering through the house–not that she necessarily would be able to over their music. It felt odd not having Jungkook around, or not having seen Namjoon since they had separated that morning. Perhaps the change in schedule was also discombobulating her more so than she already was. 

Dinner was a quiet affair, even if the table was full. Everyone was present–Even Yoongi. To say tensions were high was an understatement of the century. Taehyung, Jin and Y/n tried to carry the conversation for the most part. Jimin only chimed in occasionally, making a point to exclude the other side of the table entirely that Y/n wasn’t on by turning his entire body when he spoke. Particularly the side that had Hoseok, Jungkook and Yoongi in one row. She looked back on what Jin had said about it not being a very serious debacle, but she sincerely doubted it. The hostility–even though concealed–was apparent. 

Y/n felt even more disturbed when no one had dived in with what would be their normal levels of enthusiasm to dessert. It made Y/n feel suffocated in her seat. The stunning pile of strawberries and fresh cream that Taehyung had meticulously curated on her plate was not as appetizing as it had seemed a few hours prior. Y/n felt her eyes glaze over as she zoned out, her eyes drilling holes into one rather large strawberry on her plate. 

“This is delicious. Thank you guys.” Namjoon took his chances breaking the silence, probing at the others seated at the table with harsh eyes. His stern tone elicited an ensemble of murmured gratitude, yet still no one said much else. Namjoon stabbed at his next bite with more force than necessary, his teeth scraping on the fork as he pulled it from his lips. 

Namjoon gave them all another once over, and nodded in approval. The look he gave her afterwards was apologetic, then he dug into his next bite. Y/n risked a teensy glance at Yoongi, who looked just as lost as she felt. Their eyes met, and he made a face in her direction that made surprised laughter bubble up and into her drink, which she covered with a few coughs. No one had seen the interaction thankfully, but Y/n still managed to catch the ghost of a smirk on his face as he brought a chunk of cake to his mouth. 

_________________________________________

Y/n ran back up to her room to grab the notebook she had scribbled her dream down in, jotting down her ghostly experience from the dining room in there with haste. She snapped it shut, blocking out the clumsy handwriting by tossing it into the brown paper bag to take over to Yoongi’s room.  Y/n whirled back to her desk to grab her makeshift family tree but was stopped in her tracks by the sudden realization that she no longer had it. She had left it with Jimin. Y/n prayed he hadn’t thrown it away yet–but didn’t dwell on it. She should be able to remember who she had crossed out when the new one he was ordering for her comes in. A waste of an all nighter though, Y/n thought with a grimace. 

Y/n rounded the door of her room, checking if Yoongi’s door was unlocked and letting herself in. She plopped the bag onto his bed, not wanting to mess up whatever he had been working on before he joined them for dinner–pencils and large sheets of paper splayed across the wooden surface. The paper was etched with a loose outline of what looked like the bones of a building, the lines were neat and faint, signaling that he had only just started. She sank into his chair to wait for his arrival, still feeling twinges of awkwardness to sit on his bed without asking.  She shot a rushed text to the group chat about having to use the terrace on their side of the building to come across without being seen. Namjoon just reacted to the message with a frowny face, but Jungkook didn’t make it known whether or not he had seen the message.  

“Jesus christ–” Yoongi jumped a few inches into the air at the sight of her. “Didn’t expect you to already be here.” 

Y/n sent him a weak smile. “Impatient. There’s a lot to go over today.” 

Yoongi scrunched his face up in suspicion, but withheld any remarks he had ready to pull. He kicked his shoes off and wandered up to the desk behind her. 

“Can I put these away?” He gestured with a hand to the thrown about papers on his desk behind her.

“Why are you asking me? It’s your room.” Y/n scooted the chair out of the way for him to go through and file them nicely into a large folder. She watched as each drawing disappeared, all of them at differing levels of completion. Y/n would have to ask him about them later, when she wasn’t so focused on keeping her mind at ease. 

Namjoon stumbled in through the bedroom door, Jungkook close behind him. Both of them were slightly winded, Namjoon a bit pale in the face. 

“Whose idea was it to have us go through the attic of a haunted house.” Namjoon gave them both pointed looks, and Y/n just gave a sheepish shrug. 

“Better than climbing through windows to get to the greenhouse.” 

“Alright all of you spill. I’m fucking dying here from being kept out of the loop” Yoongi whirred on all of them, a hand on his hip. 

“You first.” Namjoon dipped his chin in her direction. “You have the most.” 

Y/n sighed, and pulled at the skin of her face. “Where do I begin?” 

Y/n just spewed out a recollection of her day on all three of them: her lack of sleep to stay up messing with the family tree, Roland’s confessional, her strange interaction with Jimin and the family tidbits she had been able to gather, her mom lying, the dream, and finally–the ghost of the little girl in the dining room. Y/n finished her long winded spiel (leaving out the bit about her afternoon depressive episode) out of breath and irate again. 

Her three audience members processed her onslaught of information in varying states of contemplation. Jungkook still seemed irked by something from lunch for his face was unmoving and stoney as he listened, even when she told of her ghost girl run in. Namjoon took each new piece of information with gravity, sending him further forward into a hunch over his knees. 

“‘They call me the devil…’” Yoongi repeated the quote to himself, turning the phrase over and over again. “And you don’t recognize the kid from the hutch at all?” 

Y/n shook her head in exasperation. “No. I’ve never seen a single photo of her before.”

Yoongi sighed. “You weren’t lying when you had said there was a lot to go over.” 

“I have a terrible feeling we are digging into something much older than just us.” Namjoon commented, his head spinning warily in all directions. 

Yoongi hummed. “Well it’s been covered for far too long if it’s causing all of this. Wounds that never heal and all that shit.” 

“Why were you alone?” Jungkook grunted from his spot on the floor, his lip ring sucked up into his mouth. 

Y/n sunk further into her chair. “It wasn’t on purpose. Taehyung was right there in the kitchen! They’ve never shown themselves like that when someone else was that close to me, or actively spending time with me.” 

“I’m not that surprised. We fucked into their territory last night–they will for sure bring out new plays.” Yoongi ran a hand through his hair and addressed the two near his bed next. “Now what happened with all of you guys? Dinner was awful.” 

Jungkook shifted in his spot, and brought a hand up to pick at his fingers but didn’t appear to have any intentions of commenting. Namjoon pressed his lips in a firm line at Jungkook’s silence, puffing out a breath with a shake of his head.

“I guess I’ll do the honors.” He threw a glare in Jungkook’s direction, but Y/n could tell he wasn’t truly angry with him. “It started with a comment from Hoseok. They had sat next to each other and he had said something to Jimin about ‘keeping his hands to himself’. I thought it was just one of his jokes since Jimin is left handed and whenever they sit close their elbows constantly bump. I’m not sure if Jimin was just already pissy or what–but it didn’t land well. Jimin threw it right back at him and then it just devolved from there. They threw accusations at each other that didn’t make any sense to me. Jungkook tried to get to Jimin but he snipped at him too. Everyone was too scared to step in after that–you know how scary Jimin can get when he’s truly angry. Thank god you woke up when you did, otherwise they might have blown up the table and dragged everyone else into it.” 

“You have to have more details than that…” Y/n drew out her disbelief, and analyzed both of their faces for anything further. 

“Like I said, their accusations made little sense to me! It happened so fast, give me a break…” 

“Jimin wasn’t alone.” Jungkook declared, dropping his hands onto his lap to finally look at everyone else. “Someone was with him at lunch. They stood over his shoulder the entire time–but I couldn’t see who it was. Just a figure.” 

“That little shit.” Yoongi scoffed. “I always thought I could see something floating in his orbit, that’s why I was so surprised he turned me down when I had asked him to help last year.” 

Y/n looked up at where Yoongi stood with furrowed brows. He had asked Jimin to help? If he had turned him down, why did he send Y/n to Yoongi for help? 

“Do you think he knows about it though? If he can’t see it then how would he know?” Y/n tried to offer up her thoughts, not willing to believe anything else. Jimin didn’t feel like a threat–cryptic and confusing, sure–but a threat…not the Jimin she remembered.

“I don’t know. He didn’t acknowledge it. But it was there again at dinner.” Jungkook turned his eyes down towards his lap once more. 

“What if it’s trying to hurt him?” Y/n gave them each a panicked look. “You did say that if we meddled it could start to affect the others.” 

Namjoon cut in. “I can try and talk to him. Maybe convince him to take some kind of plant with a made up excuse. I know for sure he’s not a skeptic, so he might be receptive to it depending on what angle I go at it from. His response should give us a good read on the situation.” The rest of the onlookers seemed to agree to Namjoon’s plan. They brewed up the suggestion of Namjoon offering some kind of protective charm with the explanation that he had made one for himself to help with the house spirits, and wanted to offer one to anyone he knew believed in the paranormal. This discussion opened the floor back up to what happened the day prior, and what they would do about it next. 

“I think before we send you in there again to meander around, a few things should happen first.” Yoongi addressed the three of them. “For starters, we need to get comfortable sending you in and bringing you back out. I personally don’t feel comfortable just sending you in there without the confidence in knowing we can pull you out quickly if things get hairy. Which means no wandering around and out of the room on your own just yet.” 

“Agreed.” Namjoon nodded, referring to Y/n with a stern look. 

Y/n shook her head rapidly at the silent accusation, to show she offered no means of resistance to the suggestion. “I know you expect me to fight back–but trust me–I agree. I bit off more than I could chew yesterday. It would make me feel more confident if I could know for sure how to escape.” Y/n’s shoulders slumped forward. “I just wish there was a way to make the transition easier and not like I’m getting the life sucked out of me every time.”

Namjoon bit his cheek meditatively, his eyes looking aimlessly about the room while musing her complaint over in his brain. “You said it almost felt like falling asleep?” 

Y/n huffed a humorless laugh. “For only a second. Then it’s like my brain is being ripped out of my skull.” 

“I’m just thinking…” Namjoon crossed one foot over his knee. “I know this is more your territory Yoongi but if I can take a crack at a different method?” He looked up at where Yoongi stood deep in thought, his eyes asking for permission to continue. 

“By all means.” Yoongi shoved his hands into his pockets and perched close to Y/n on the edge of his desk. “Carry on.”

“Well, Valerian is safe to ingest if it’s cooked. Specifically it’s used often in teas or boils for sleep or injury. I wonder if we can find a few others with similar properties and–as terrible as this may sound at face value–try to put you to sleep instead of sending you in while you’re awake?” Namjoon took in all of their faces, each in their own various states of skepticism. “Because you said it already made you tired–that’s probably the Valerian. If I make a specially brewed tea that could put you in a trancelike state, it is more of a controlled substance than just willing you in. And in turn, we could make a counter tincture or tea to “wake you up”.” He held up both hands to make air quotes. “Hell, we might even be able to send in more than one of you if you led the way first; or even try and find a way so you can all be in the same trance and see what’s going on.” 

Jungkook’s eyes sparked, whipping his head around to look at Namjoon with newfound vigor. “How many of us?” 

“I don’t know.” Namjoon twitched his nose and scratched at his chin. “Maybe all of you? I haven’t made it yet.” 

“How soon could you have this tea?” Yoongi urged. 

“Give me at least a day to try and come up with a recipe. Hopefully I have all the ingredients on hand that I’d need. Otherwise I’ll need to acquire them from somewhere.”

“Why don’t we work on both methods then? Keep pushing with what we were already doing while you conjure up the tea? It wouldn’t hurt to have two methods under our tool belts for emergencies. Especially since we can’t verbally communicate with each other while I’m gone.” Y/n reasoned, looking at Yoongi for his thoughts. 

“Sounds good to me.” He sprang into action, weaving through the people in his room to get to his wooden chest. “Let’s start now.”

It was becoming second nature; setting up the cloth, wards, and candles in the right order. Y/n had her hands at the ready with her herbs from her bag to drop into the bowl Yoongi held up for her, and her necklace was still clasped around her neck (not that she ever bothered taking it off). Namjoon took to pouring through the books Y/n had stacked in her room that he had let her borrow, a ripped out page balanced on the back of a fiction novel to write notes down on when he came across something that might work. Y/n and Jungkook waited patiently for Yoongi to close all of the pouches and bags, their hands lightly intertwined on the ground next to them. 

“When you looked through the family tree, did anything speak out to you? Besides the empty spaces.” Yoongi breathed out, his torso contorted to the side to clasp the lid shut. 

“Not really, no. It just looked like a family.” Y/n answered. 

“I’m just trying to think ahead–clearly there is something on the other side that is working with your mom, and has started getting worse within our lifetime. The ghost behaviors that we’ve noted express that openly. If we can try and pinpoint where to start looking perhaps we can send you in with the intention to find someone in particular.” His eyes turned heavy once they regarded Y/n, and she assumed he might have someone in mind to start with. And she might already know who that was. “Once your new copy gets in we can use that to document whether each person you find is…” Yoongi trailed off, his lips pursed. 

“Mean and goopy?” Y/n offered up, her voice raising an octave. Jungkook stifled a laugh and Yoongi let his choppily fall from his lips. “Or maybe mean and demonic…” 

“Yeah. Mean and demonic sounds better.” Yoongi turned forwards and inched his hands out to the two in front of him. Jungkook didn’t fight it, grabbing it without a fight. Y/n did the same. 

“We will have to come up with a better name that’s more concise.” Namjoon cast a brief glance up from the paper at the three. 

“No, I think it fits perfectly.” Y/n chuckled up at him. “We can use the acronym M.A.D.” 

“Huh. I actually like that one.” Namjoon jotted down another note on his paper. 

Yoongi made a short sound in the back of his throat. “Alright enough comments from the peanut gallery. I’m trying to work here.” 

“Yeah cause you shared earlier today that you do a lot of that…” Jungkook’s voice rose in a teasing jab.  Y/n had to suck in her lips to keep herself from laughing. 

“Enough you two.” Yoongi rolled his shoulders back and let his eyes close. “You’re going to give me a headache.” 

_________________________________________

They had successfully sent her across the veil, and gotten her out a total of three times. Each attempt had gotten more difficult than the last as their energy depleted at an accelerated rate. When they finished, it was communally agreed that Yoongi and Jungkook would try to work on their psychic abilities to fill in the noticeable gaps their natural abilities left. Yoongi wanted to work on his sight and sound while Jungkook entrusted himself to work on touch, in hopes to avoid wasting time if she were ever to be in danger again. To Jungkook’s disappointment, Yoongi offered to walk Y/n back to her room even though Namjoon and the younger one would walk right past her door on their way to the attic entrance. 

Y/n took up the corner of his bed while she waited for him to get everything squared away underneath it. He had never insisted on walking her back before, and Y/n had a simmering suspicion that he had something he wanted to talk about privately. Whatever it was made him nervous. His hands that were usually nimble from his days working with screws and wires fumbled often with the clasps and locks, and his breathing was controlled yet louder than it would normally be. A sign he was forcing itself to stay regulated. 

“What is it that you wanted to talk about away from the other two?” Y/n bit the bullet, tired of watching him drop the small key and struggle to pick it back up. 

He froze, his black eyes locking with hers and his face contorted into a forced deadpan. 

“Am I that obvious?” 

Y/n snorted, and brought her hands into her lap to fiddle with her fingers. “Yeah. Maybe your psychic stuff is wearing off on me, or maybe it's the fact that I’ve watched you drop that poor key four times now.” 

Yoongi sat back on his haunches, having given up on trying to lock the lid closed. He ran both hands through his hair twice and sucked in a large breath. His gaze scoured her face, and she felt a cool mist of his energy brush against her own. 

“I think you might know what I want to ask of you. And Jungkook would eat me alive if I made the request in front of him.” He let his tongue drag to the corner of his lips and sit there while he waited for her response. 

“I have a guess.” Y/n’s attention plummeted to her wringing hands. “Can I ask why?” 

“The energy really started changing after her, Y/n and we al know it. I think whatever all this is might have fed off of the energy her loss created, and maybe if we can try and reach her we can use her as a stepping stone. She might not fight you as hard as she fights me.” Yoongi hoisted himself up, and spun to lower himself down onto the bed next to her. “I won't make you do it. I know her death was hard on all of us–but you the most. If I can figure out how to do it, I will go do it myself instead. Don’t force yourself to do something you aren’t ready for.” 

Y/n didn’t know how to feel, or whether or not she was ready. She figured at some point she would have to see her again. Noting what she had learned from Jimin that morning, she was well aware that she would be seeing a lot more than just her sister. The bloom of grief welled up in her chest, yet this time it coupled with indignation; a swell of twined emotions both old and new. For whatever personal gain her mother was meddling into this for, she had tossed the rest of them in as collateral. Including her sister. She couldn’t leave her to rot–literally–by herself. Not anymore than she already had. 

“You can take some time to think about it. This is once we get comfortable. There’s someone else we can try first that was pretty involved with the incident if that would make you feel more comfortable.” Yoongi took one of his hands and ghosted them over where hers fidgeted in her lap.  

“Who?” Y/n looked at him from the corner of her eye, one of her fingers released from her own hold and brushed against his. 

He swallowed, retracting his hand from her touch. “My grandfather.” 

Y/n pushed back at the memories that threatened to resurface of the day her sister died. She hadn’t let herself replay them in over a decade, even when they tried to break through the walls she built around them she was adamant about pretending they were no longer there. But they were there. They were always there. 

“I’ll think about it.” Y/n whispered, lugging herself to her feet. “I should go, I’m getting pretty tired with everything.” 

Yoongi opened his mouth to say more, but snapped it closed. “Alright. I’ll watch you walk back.” He stood in his doorway with his flashlight in hand, observing the hall with a scrutinizing gaze as she shuffled back into her own room. It was obvious between the two of them that he could sense her shift in mood, but Y/n was grateful he was letting her have the space to process it on her own.

“Text me if you need anything. I’ll be up late as per usual.”  

“Will do.” She nodded solemnly, and slid through a small opening in her door. 

Y/n peeled off her clothes to take a quick rinse. What should’ve been a relaxing shower only worsened the weight in her chest. She didn’t want to feel wet–every droplet of warm water running off of her skin in rivets that pierced her to the bone. Jerking the spigot off, she tugged on a pair of sleep shorts and a t-shirt and sped off to the sanctuary that was waiting for her under the covers. 

They felt itchy and cold instead of soft and welcoming as it should have. Y/n knew she shouldn’t, but her eyes kept being pulled as if by the magnetic pull of her repressed emotions to her closed closet door. She could feel the box of photos calling to her–hear her sister’s shrill demonic cries from her dream. Her laughter. Her hugs. 

Y/n pressed the heels of her palms into her eyelids to keep the tears at bay. She needed to get a better control of her emotions, or else she’ll become a self fulfilling prophecy that her mother had condemned her to the day she had sent Y/n running with her tail between her legs. 

Her mother. 

The memories knocked harder on the front of her mind, barging their way to the surface where she wished more than anything that they wouldn’t. In spite of her wishes, she was helpless against the torrent of images and sounds that bubbled to the surface of her consciousness. She couldn’t hold them back any longer. It was better now than in front of anyone anyways. 

And so she remembered. 

 ______________________

July 5th 2008, 4:38am

Y/n shuddered at the feeling of the cold floor hitting the soles of her feet. It wasn’t a necessarily detested sensation, for her the heat had made her kick off the blankets hours before in a fit. She rubbed her eyes, slinking through the drab and shadowy lighting of the early morning past her sister’s bed and into their shared bathroom. The door was kept slightly ajar while she washed her hands, her eyes tracking the beam of light out into their room and where it draped over the edge of Matilda’s bed. The sheets discarded in a similar fashion to her own. Y/n poked her head around the door, to check on whether or not she was also awake–for maybe if she was, they could sneak down the hall to the playroom and distract each other with dolls and figurines while they waited for everyone else to wake up in their own time. 

Her bed was empty. 

Y/n huffed, thinking perhaps Matilda had heard Y/n going to the bathroom and hid away somewhere to jump out and scare her when she least expected it. Y/n decided to get the upper hand. She tiptoed around the bed, falling flat on the floor to peer beneath the metal frame. Her eyes only found storage bags of stuffed animals, and totes of polly pockets and dolls. Y/n scrunched her nose up, and scrambled to her feet and over to the closet. She swung the door open with a whispered “Gotcha!”. 

However there was still no Matilda. 

Her hand slid down the edge of the door, deflated at the discovery–or lack there of she supposed. Y/n took hesitant steps back to give her room a good once over, dragging her eyes across each surface, each little nook and cranny her sister might’ve possibly squeezed herself into. She came up with the same result her first two searches had, which meant for certain that she wasn’t in their room at all. 

Sneaking down the dark hall to the glass doors of the playroom, her heartbeat started to pick up speed. Y/n hated walking around the halls at night by herself but she had to find her sister. It was her job to keep track of her. The shadows felt heavy as they closed in around her, like each step was being tracked by someone just out of sight. Y/n spun her head in all directions and found no source of the feeling. 

Y/n swiftly crept back in the direction of her room, keeping her steps light as to not wake G-min across the hall. He wasn’t her target. Her quick knocks roused her neighbor: a grumpy faced Hoseok with his eyes nearly glued shut with sleep. 

“Do you know what time it is Ducky?” His voice was muted by the pout stuck on his mouth.

“I can’t find Matilda, and I’m too scared to look by myself.” Y/n leaned into his face. “The ghosts feel icky.” 

Hoseok shook his head with a disapproving stare. “You’re such a pain in my butt sometimes.” Regardless of his obvious discontent with her request, he stepped out into the hall to join her.  

Y/n was able to complete the trek to the playroom with Hoseok now by her side, for he made the shadows prickle less against her skin. They both pulled back the sheer curtains to press their small faces up to the glass panes separating the two of them from the pitch black playroom. The absence of lights in there made it apparent quickly that she wasn’t in there either. 

“Maybe she went to sleep with Schwan?” Y/n peeled her face from the now fogged up glass.

Hoseok pulled back straight as well, giving her an animated shrug. “Let’s check.” 

Y/n repeated the same brief explanation she had done with Hoseok on Amelia, just this time with an ounce more panic. After confirming Matilda was not in their eldest sister’s room, Amelia joined in the search–no matter how her teeth chattered with stress–she wanted to help. They darted across the hall to examine the ballroom from above through the glass windows across from Amelia’s room, and had no luck there. 

They huddled together to descend down the stairs with as good a controlled volume as a group of children can manage. Hushed words of complaint at the others noise levels floating up to the landing and down both of the halls. Thankfully, it was early enough for the house to be oblivious in their beds. Well–almost everyone. 

“What are you guys doing?” Jimin’s voice cracked from above them, his upper body hunched around the railing to give them a sour scowl. The three on the stair landing traded glances, a look of shame shared between them. 

“Did we wake you?” Amelia, furtive and apologetic, called up to him. 

Jimin rolled his eyes and skipped down the stairs to where they stood huddled. “You guys were being way too loud for me not to.” 

“We are looking for Matilda.” Y/n governed them forward, not waiting for him to reach their side before descending the rest of the stairs. 

“I heard.” Jimin gave them each a moody glare, and followed Y/n down to the foyer. “I’ll help.” 

In thirty minutes they had checked each room (outside of the parent’s bedrooms) of the first floor. Under every table and desk, behind every curtain or couch, and in every closet. Y/n’s heart dropped into her stomach and dread swirled like smoke in her chest at the impact of its fall. After the kitchen and the waking of her mother, Y/n stood frozen in time where Mariah had left them to hurry back into her room with her eyes locked on the small crack in the front door. 

Matilda wouldn’t have ever gone out by herself. 

Even though earlier that morning thirty minutes had felt like nothing during their search, it was made apparent that a lot can happen within that time frame. For example, what was once a moderately quiet and dark house on a peaceful Saturday morning had devolved into chaos. Each room glowed for every light had been turned on, and every person had joined in on the search of the house. And now after that grueling half hour, every family unit stood intermingled on the front lawn while they were split into smaller groups to fan out into the woods and down to the hotel. 

The sky was turning a pale grayish-blue when Y/n was settled next to G-min, her father, Jin and Mr. Jeon. Her mother and Hye-won–Mrs. Min–insisted that the children shouldn’t be a part of the search, but none of them were willing to stay behind. Jungkook, Amelia, and Mariah stayed back at the estate to explain the situation to the waves of law enforcement that trickled in. Her mother struggled through the story each time, unable to keep herself together through her hysteria. 

“I told her she couldn’t watch the fireworks last night. She had been misbehaving. I think she went out on her own–we were going to watch tonights!” 

The rest set off in all directions on foot. 

The sound of different calls of Matilda’s name haunted the air from all directions, barraging against Y/n’s eardrums as a sinking reminder that she had failed. She had failed to find her on her own like she was supposed to. Her refusal to quit kept pushing her forwards through the brush alone, something pulling her forwards with no direction in mind. She could hear her own name now being called in tandem with Matilda’s as her search team realized she had slipped away from them to follow her own path. 

“Y/n!” Jin’s lanky frame came up to tower beside her, grabbing at her arm. “Come on, we are supposed to be looking somewhere different. The cops are going to take the woods.” 

“I don't care.” Y/n pulled her arm from his grasp and trudged onwards. 

Jin stayed after her, on alert for any sign of the rest of their group. “I mean it Y/n. We shouldn’t be here.” He paused, raising an arm above his head. “Over here!” 

“Y/n! That’s enough.” Her father gripped underneath her arms and lifted her off of her feet and into the air. “We need to check the historical society. We can’t waste time looking for you too.” 

“No!” Y/n pried herself from his hold. “I think I know where she is.” Y/n set her stern gaze on her father, her breath coming out in pants and her stubbornness taking hold. 

“She wouldn’t.” Anselm’s stare matched her intensity.

Y/n ignored him, plowing onwards on the path towards the lake with Jin stumbling after her.  She could hear Sanghun murmuring words of comfort to her father, sharing that Jungkook had also had outbursts when dealing with the passing of his mother, and to let her do what she needed to in order to get through the day. Thus the three older men let her finish her path after making a quick call on a small flip phone to one of the other parents to take over the historical society. None of them actually believed that they would find anything at her desired destination. 

But Y/n knew she would find her there. She could feel it. She just hadn’t expected how she would’ve found her. 

As they crested the slope down to the dock, Y/n’s eyes caught the vibrant colors of her sister's pajama set gliding across the surface of the lake. Unmoving. Y/n’s world crumbled beneath her feet at the brief glimpse she caught of her sister’s lifeless body buoying a few yards out from the dock.

Her line of sight was abruptly shuttered by Sanghun’s shoulder where he scooped her up. Her own cries melded together with the screams of her father. As Mr.Jeon ran back up the slop with her head pressed into his arm, she snagged brief images of a green faced Jin turning to follow them, and her father splashing into the lake fully clothed with reckless abandon. 

What confused Y/n the most however, her sobs catching in her throat, was that she saw her sister: alive and moving behind G-min. Her small hands urgently tugging on his tracksuit jacket that whipped out from her hand from the speed that he pulled his phone from his pocket. His mouth moved at inhuman speed with how fast he spilled a description of the situation to a 911 operator. 

“We found her body.” 

Y/n struggled to free her arm from Sanghun’s hold, reaching out to where Matilda stood. No. No. She was right there! She wanted to yell at all of them to turn around and grab her. The words were stuck in her chest.  

“GÄNSE!” Y/n’s screech out for Matilda ripped from her throat, an unforgettable sound to even her own ears. Matilda’s round and terrified eyes locked onto Y/n at her call, her bare feet moving to run after them–but Y//n was already gone back over the hill and out of sight.

Y/n kicked and screamed the entire way back to the estate. Her bellowing cries echoing around the entire property, drawing attention from any search groups nearby. But nothing could’ve prepared Y/n for the sounds that came from her mother that day. 

They didn’t even have to tell her. She took one look at Sanghun’s eyes filled to the brim with remorse and unshed tears and fell onto the study floor in a boneless heap. Shrieking the entire way down in a howling misery. Y/n wasn’t in any better of a state, tumbling out of Mr. Jeon’s hold to stagger towards her mother. Mariah’s arms shot out to grapple desperately for her, pulling Y/n into her lap in a bone crushing squeeze. Amelia joined in shortly after with a similar ringing sob, their mother making room to squish them together with trembling arms. 

Misuk had barged through the door at some point and elbowed her way past the officers waiting in the foyer for Y/n’s comment. She dropped to her knees, her heart shaped mouth pulled into a grief ridden grimace and as she threw her arms up and over the three of them. Her thin frame kept the three mourning bodies from falling onto the floor, and sheltered them from the pressing uniformed men from encroaching further into their space. For if there was nothing else for her to do but hold them off a little bit longer, then that's what she would do.

The rest of the day blurred by in a gray haze after that. Everyone in the house had been pulled aside for individual questioning, but nothing raised any suspicions. After reviewing the hotel cameras that clipped near the estate entrance, they could follow the tiny figure waddling in the distance across the lawn and onto the dirt trail to the lake sometime between three-fifty and four in the morning. Almost only thirty minutes before Y/n had woken herself up to use the bathroom. Her death had been ruled accidental. The story being that she must’ve gone to the docks to watch the fireworks on her own in an act of defiance, and that she must’ve slipped on the deck and hit her head on the way down. Their only comfort being that she had to have been unconscious before she sank beneath the surface. 

Y/n couldn’t move on from the guilt of letting her down. Maybe if she had woken up a bit earlier she would’ve been able to go with her. Maybe she could’ve pulled her out, or stopped her from falling all together. She should’ve done better.

Flickers of her image lingered long after her funeral. Y/n would see flashes of her in the playroom, or her giggles beckoning her from the closet like she was still in there waiting for Y/n to walk by and scare her. This made letting go only harder. It made it easier to believe there would still be a chance she could return home and into their shared room, and everyone would celebrate and set off as many fireworks as she wanted–just grateful for her to be back. But of course, that wasn’t reality. 

She was gone. For good. 

Y/n blubbered on her pillow, her chest aching with how deep the wound carved itself into it. Her therapist told her that perhaps she was holding onto the grief and compartmentalizing it away as a means to keep her sister alive in any way possible–even through the pain. And perhaps she was right, Y/n had a terrible habit of holding onto things for far too long. This though, was something she wouldn’t ever let go of. She couldn’t stop the silent cries from shuddering out of her body, at both the thought of Matilda, and the thought of letting it all go. 

Y/n threw the covers off her legs, and without thinking tore open her bedroom door to tread on unsteady feet out into the hall. She didn’t want to feel anything anymore and tapping the pressure points has proven useless at this point–she just wanted to sleep. Y/n cowered in the hall in front of a wooden door and waited for the person on the other side to open it, her lip drawn between her teeth to keep any noises in her throat. 

Yoongi wrenched his door open, warily scanning his eyes up and down the hall. They stopped on her withering form, sizing up the current state she was in with wide-eyed uncertainty. 

“Can I come in for a while?” She croaked. Her hands wrung themselves in front of her in shaky knots. 

Yoongi gave a slow, somber nod, and opened the door for her to enter his room that she had just left thirty minutes prior. Except they both understood, wholly so and without question, that a lot could change in just thirty minutes. 

_________________________________________

_________________________________________

Schwan: Swan

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[imafoolishfragilespine]

i'm just like ugh i gotta figure out where to get this x ray and when i should do it this week and i'm just worried about walking in without an appointment even though it says you can and like them not having the machine or a person to do it or whatever since i went into one place on the list already and they did not have x-rays

and then i've got this birthday thing which idk where it's going to be so idk if i should take a lyft or not and then i'll have to either exercise in the morning or choose that as my skip day

and then i'll just be worrying about my test results and not knowing if the doctor is going to call before my follow up or WHAT is going to happen and i just. cannot relax.

i just want to be done with doctors i really fucking do like just tell me what's wrong and let me be DONE like this follow up is gonna be the eighth fucking time i've seen a doctor in some form since all this weird shit started and if i don't get any answers i'm gonna be mad. i mean i'd rather not get bad news of course but i figure things are already mildly crappy in my body so like it's not like i can't get used to that i just can't stand the idea of it getting worse

[professorjirt]

I’ve discovered my favorite genre of Bagginshield art is where Thorin is a lovesick idiot who is Losing It and Bilbo is unbothered or oblivious to Thorin’s suffering LMAO