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pluvialpoet · 6 months

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how to disappear

Summary: a reunion ten years in the making serves as a reminder that absence doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder- especially when history has a tendency to repeat itself

Pairing: dick grayson x fem!vigilante!reader

Requested: no

Warning: nsfw!!! (18+ MDNI), porn with plot, lovers to enemies, unprotected sex, implied breeding kink, choking, angst, minor barbara gordon slander (for the plot, I swear)- do not read if you are not comfortable with the warnings listed above!!!

Word Count: 12,874

masterlist

Light reflects off the crystals that hang from the chandeliers above, and like a moth drawn to a shiny flame, you bask in the warmth of their glow. For as beautiful as the crystalline teardrops twenty-two feet overhead are, they dull in comparison to the- equal parts blinding and mesmerizing, simultaneously gorgeous, yet gaudy- diamonds that dangle from earlobes, rubies that rest against décolletages, and the pearls placed upon dainty fingers in an over the top display of money, power, and status. It’s the epitome of wealth, and though meant to allure, you find yourself disgusted by the flashy exhibitions of greed and corruption.

Every smile is artificial. Every laugh is humorless and diluted. Any feeling beyond complete and utter misery is a hoax. Yet, they play their parts. Each and every one of them continues to mingle, boast, and feign genuineness, but it’s obvious what they are, even beneath their disguises, you recognize the vultures circling the fresh carnage of the innocent- with blood on their talons and a hunger that’s never truly satiated. Do they even know what they’ve done? Do they even care? Given a chance to make amends, would any of them take it?

Revulsion counters amusement as you watch the elite interact with one another. It’s pathetic. In a room full of affluence, not a single person knows pleasure beyond material possessions, and that’s an injustice in itself. Amongst thieves, you’re the honesty that rivals them all- and that’s a scary revelation, all things considered.

Taking advantage of the large crowd, you continue to bump elbows with the rich- literally- as you weave your way through the opulent mass. A tight-lipped smile is granted when you pass an older woman, and an even wider flash of teeth catches your attention from a man around your age. Mimicking the gestures seal your fate, damning you- even if only temporarily- to this game of confusion, a game in which approval and disgust are indiscernible. Having had years to grow accustomed to the tricks of this elitist trade, it’s almost impossible to recall a simpler time. Back when you still thought there might be a modicum of authenticity behind the action, back before you were close enough to spot the invisible strings controlling the marionettes, you believed- and even hoped- that you had it all wrong. There was a time, long, long ago, when you were desperate to believe that there was still some good left in these people, but you grew out of your naivety. Now older, and wiser, you won’t make the same mistakes you once made. Under the influence of optimism, your purpose became convoluted. Not anymore.

Without anyone to dissuade you from reaching out- to challenge you from swiping a few bejeweled tennis bracelets, engagement rings, or even one or two watches and calling it a day- a thrum of urgency spreads through your fingertips. It’s an impulsive electricity you can’t deny. Besides, it’s not like social dynasties would crumble if a few diamonds went missing. If only it were that easy…

Wealth doesn’t doom these poor, unfortunate souls, but their greed- coupled with the blood on their hands- paints a distinguishable target on their backs. If you look closely, it’s impossible to miss that they’re all cut from the same cloth. A hundred different reflections of the same privileged archetype imitate the same gestures, mannerisms, and movements to a tee. An amateur would operate under the guise of distraction- causing a small scene and offering their apologies before making off with their prize- but you’re not an amateur. Not anymore. Not by a long shot.

A few women- four or five, at most- nurse flutes of bubbling booze a few feet away. The sound of their laughter is a little too joyous to be feigned and when one of them waves a manicured hand towards a waiter, signaling another round of drinks, you start to put the pieces together. Perhaps, the ladies in your sights are the most genuine in attendance- even if they’ve lost themselves to their cups. Matching their demeanor is child’s play. Once equipped with a half-empty glass from a server on their way back to the kitchens, you stumble towards the group, plastering on the same elated- intoxicated- grin, and hope that they’re inebriated enough to be welcoming towards a newcomer. Masking the bitter taste of insincerity with a sip of prosecco, a greeting rises from the mix, but it never has the chance to come to fruition because a large hand wraps around your wrist- effectively halting your heist before it even really had a chance to begin.

You should’ve known better.

As you turn to glare at the idiot who dared to put their hands on you, your breath catches.

Two birds die from the blow of one stone, and he takes advantage of your stupor- finding that you’re more pliant in your daze- leading you away from the women you intended to rob, and into the crowd. More witnesses make it less likely for you to cause a scene. At least, that’s his logic, anyway. While it’s not exactly flawed, it’s not all that accurate, either, but for old time's sake, you’ll play along. His hold on you remains firm, and he reaches for the flute in your hand with his other, placing it on a tray and discarding the prop. Your surprise begins to morph into anger- especially when he pulls you closer towards him as the orchestra starts to play a tune. Remembering the steps forced upon you as a child is muscle memory, and you glare daggers up at him- though, they don’t pierce nearly as deeply as the blue of his irises.

“Nice hair,” Dick revels in your obvious frustration of being thwarted, his lips curling into a smirk when your frown deepens, and he asks, “I thought you were blonde, last I saw you?”

“I was,” For the sake of maintaining appearances, you don a phony expression of your own and respond with as much benevolence as you can muster- even though you’re filled with animosity- as he leads you through the steps of the dance. “And you didn’t have a five o’clock shadow,” You note, allowing yourself a split second to take in everything that’s changed since the last time you saw him, before pressing your lips together tightly with a huff.

“Things change.”

As if he needed the reminder…

Chance has never meddled in your relationship. Coincidence doesn’t exist within the realm of precision both you and Dick operate from. Everything has always been on purpose, calculated and planned, never left blindly to fate or possibility- which is why this meeting isn’t an accident. As if he can feel you about to pull away, he flexes his fingers against you, tightening his grip and holding you in place. Ten years later- ten years too late- he’s found you. Not destiny, not a fluke, but with his own intention, and you wish that he would’ve just stayed away.

“What are you doing here, Dick?” As you abandon your costume, your smile falls away to reveal genuine loathing as you force the question from behind gritted teeth. Still, despite your obvious disdain, he doesn’t let you go. “Last I checked, you were in San Francisco- and more recently, Blüdhaven. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You keeping tabs on me?” His amusement contradicts your revulsion, and a shallow breath purges the threat of an outburst. Dick has always had a way of getting under your skin, of pushing your buttons and doing everything he possibly could to make you tick, but the sudden onslaught of such juvenile taunting fills you with a fire not even he can extinguish- not anymore. Despite his charming exterior, the steady flow of his breath, and the easy grin of confidence that was once impossible not to mirror, dampness swells where your palms meet, and you feel the rough, raised reminders that he’s kept busy during your time apart- that he’s evolved into a stranger despite how familiar he still seems- and you wonder if he can feel it too, if he can tell just by touch, that you’re not the same girl he once knew.

“I keep tabs on everyone who might get in my way,” Your eyes narrow accusatorially, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re not special.”

“That’s not what you said the last time we-“

“Yeah, well, the last time was when we were teenagers, and a lot has changed since then.” Any attempt to remain cordial flies out the window when he dares to mention the last time- like it hasn’t plagued you for a decade. Not even he possesses the antidote to the venom your words carry, and he winces slightly as your rebuttal shakes. He clears his throat softly, the sound filling the lull where an apology should sound, and he takes a look over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again.

“Any chance I can convince you not to go through with whatever it is you’re planning?” It brings little joy to watch his smile dissolve into something more serious. His face hardens, and you notice lines and creases that you aren’t well acquainted with- unable to distinguish battle scars from the divots of age- and you quickly shake the thought away. Instead, you stare at him blankly, not revealing an answer. Though, he takes your lack of conversation as a reply, and with a heavy sigh, he shakes his head, “Yeah, I figured.”

He dares to express melancholy. Stunned by his nerve, after everything, not even shame or regret could rattle his courage enough for him to reconsider such a crestfallen expression, and the discouraged twist of his lips and the downcast slant of his eyes are so pronounced and dramatic that you’re unable to discern whether or not this is part of a ruse, or his genuine reaction.

“Did you think that would work?” Your skepticism is muddled with ridicule, a mocking scoff filling the line meant for his counter. It’s almost laughable- the nerve he has to look dejected by your questioning. To be fair, it’s been a while since he’s danced this dance- a routine once familiar, consisting of bite and bark, push and shove, before simultaneous defeat and victory- but he’s smart enough to know that that’s not how this works. “I mean what did you think would happen, birdy? I’d take one look at you, all grown and handsome, and reconsider my plans?”

Even in heels, he’s taller than you remember. He’s always been pretty- all mesmerizing eyes, slightly crooked smile, and sunkissed skin- but not even he was immune to the awkwardness brought forth by puberty. There was a time when he thought his shoulders were too broad, his ears too big, and the angular structure of his face too sharp and strong for a boy. It didn’t look right. Features that were admirable on their own, looked out of place on his face- or so he feared. You always thought he was beautiful- especially when he didn’t know it.

Now, Boy Wonder is all grown up, exuding confidence and oozing charm. He knows he’s attractive, but he doesn’t parade his arrogance- not anymore. His early twenties were a never-ending roller coaster of trying to find himself, his purpose, and where he fit into the grand scheme of things. Conflicted by right and wrong, tempted by lust and surrender, divided by good and evil, he’s had a lot of time to awaken from the grogginess inflicted by nightmares of freedom and liberation. Still, his eyes are just as mesmerizing, his teeth are straight- but his smile is still crooked- and he’s truly grown into himself. The man before you is a boy evolved- still a bird, but with a different set of wings. Robin is an old friend, a fond recollection of a different time, and though the stranger before you mimics the familiarity you’ve longed for, he’s not Robin, anymore- he’s Nightwing.

“Look, they’re anticipating for you to strike,” His warning is low and hushed, but even in whispers you’re able to detect his plea. Call it concern, or at the very least interest in serving justice as quietly as possible, but his timbre urges you to reconsider- if not for his sake, then for the sake of those around you. He really doesn’t want to cause a scene. “Security has been tripled, and you’ve grown sloppy-“

“Did you ever consider that the trail I was leaving behind wasn’t for anyone else but the one person I wanted to find me?” There’s no affection behind the way your fingers thread through the dark tresses at the nape of his neck. Without any fondness, without passion, or care, the action is mindless, meaningless, and merely muscle memory. There’s no repressed feelings you wish to convey, no animosity you’re trying to diffuse. With no hidden agenda, the gesture serves no purpose- except to unintentionally torture you both. Old habits die hard, and something undefined urges you to reach for him. He flushes, and the sight is so droll that you can’t bring yourself to stop. His lips part once, twice, three times, trying to produce an answer, but he’s at a loss. When you cock your head to the side, he tenses. “Of course, you didn’t,” You purr, and he clears his throat softly.

Dick’s no stranger to berating. He knows what it feels like to be chastised, scolded, and reprimanded. This exchange feels similar. The only difference is that you don’t raise your voice, your eyes don’t darken and you don’t threaten him- not with words, at least. If anything, the remark feels like a gentle rebuke, but the sting left from the impact of your insult brands him with shame. You’ve always seen right through him. Easily able to discern real from fake- truth from falsity- under both his domino mask and the hardened mask of his stoic expressions, you’ve always had a knack for exposing his most vulnerable self- welcoming his flaws, humility, and weaknesses to light. Even though he’s not the same kid he was when you first crossed paths, he feels just as naive and guileless as the boy he once once.

“You and the bat were never really known for considering every angle,” Spoken so thoughtfully, he’s almost able to forgive the verbal assault. As intended, the blow lands- precise, heavy, and unforgiving in the center of his chest- and the muscles in his jaw tighten with thinly veiled frustration. It seems, that in the moment he needs his voice the most, it evades him. He swallows consonants and vowels, a jumbled mix of letters that sit heavy atop his palate, and focuses on maintaining his composure- though, his steps are a beat behind and his footing seems, suddenly, unsure. You’ve struck a nerve. Whether or not you intend to wound, the damage is already done. Picking at scabs that should’ve scarred a long time ago cause his insecurities to bleed- a punch more lethal than brute strength and weaponry combined.

Blindsided by the truth, he feels utterly defenseless.

“Can I ask you something, Dick?” Your brows barely pinch together, your voice calm and steady as something softens in your gaze. Dick should know better than to let his guard down- especially when you lean in, and your lips brush against his ear, “If you’re the hero, here to save the day, does that make me the villain?”

“No, you’re not-“

“How about this, which is the lesser of two evils- knowing that you’re protecting a corrupted establishment because it’s what you believe to be morally correct, or taking back what was wrongfully stolen and returning it to its rightful owners?” As you tilt your head to the side, he hates the way that you look up at him through your lashes. It’s not a demure move. You’re demanding an answer, and a look like that- a look meant to allure, tempt, and bait- would have a weaker man spilling his deepest darkest secrets. With a sharp inhale, he reminds himself that the tricks up your sleeve aren’t new. He knows all of the cards you’re going to play- albeit, he’s unaware of the order in which you’re going to play them- and he won’t allow history to repeat itself. Purposely, your thumb caresses the back of his hand- the touch feather-light, but far from hesitant or accidental- and his breath hitches. Dick doesn’t undermine the small, sinister smile that threatens to spread into a victorious grin when he fails to answer your question. Perhaps, he doesn’t know the answer. Or, perhaps, he’s just distracted. Either way, your voice fills the absence of his own. “We’re not on different sides of a playing field, Grayson. You and I aren’t on opposite ends of a spectrum, we’ve always been right in the middle- dancing on a thin line.”

Prompted by the soothing symphony of strings, Dick twirls you- delicately extending his arm and leading you into a spin before pulling you back in- and it’s fitting, the push and pull between you so familiar it almost feels as choreographed as the steps of the waltz you’re dancing.

History repeating itself, just one more time.

“We both know you’re not here to turn me in, because if you were going to, you would’ve done it by now.” Your arrogance causes something to snap within him. Clarity comes rushing back as he breaks free from your spell. Without meaning to, his grip on your hand tightens.

“Look, I understand why you’re doing this, but-“

“No, you don’t.” Like a switch being flipped, your façade shatters- revealing a face so unbridled with emotions that not even a mask could obscure. He’s defensive. Tired of grappling for control over the situation, he tastes power as he parts his lips with a clever retort, but you don’t allow him the space to get a word in. “Did you know that last year, the city council held a vote to refurbish a few run-down parks on the south side of Gotham with the hopes of restoring the communities destroyed by violence, or increasing the GCPD budget?” The heat behind your accusation pokes and prods at his curiosity, coloring him intrigued. Admittedly, he’s not the most up-to-date on Gotham’s politics, but something this large shouldn’t have slipped under his radar- or the watchful eyes of those who swore themselves to protect the beloved city.

It’s deeper than that, though.

Your frustrations, however warranted, seem to extend beyond such an injustice. Between the lines, amongst all the words you haven’t said, there’s a decipher hidden in every twitch, gesture, and glare. From the way your eyes narrow, to the sharp exhale and tightening grip of your fingertips. To sweaty palms and clenched teeth, all the way to flared nostrils- there’s something just beneath the surface that he can’t crack. Too much time has passed for him to unscramble tacitness when he no longer understands the codes in which you speak, and, unfortunately, he needs you to paint a clearer picture than the vague abstract before him.

“When it came down to it, do you think that the citizens of the south side had a say in the matter?” Dick’s smart. He’s not just a pretty face or a nice body- he’s actually got brains to match. You know- deep down- that sooner or later, shapeless pieces will fall into place to reveal the completed puzzle, but you need him to come to the conclusion all on his own. It would be easy to simply reveal your motive, and while a straightforward approach may have been less complicated than the mental gymnastics you’re forcing him to perform, it wouldn’t have been as impactful. Dick needs to understand, and to understand, he needs to feel- the same anger, outrage, and upset you felt. “Do you think the people on the other side of the tracks were given a chance to speak in front of the council?”

“They can’t segregate who speaks publicly-“ The gears are turning- some slower, some faster, and others completely out of control as he struggles to make sense of your elusiveness. When the current song fades out, a scattered round of applause takes its place before a new song begins. Hardly anyone else is dancing, save for a handful of couples who look just about as miserable as you and Dick- without the coordination or grace, the two of you share. It takes him too long to jump to the conclusion, and you tire of waiting for him to put the pieces together on his own. He always did work better with a helping hand- though, the quality of his work declined greatly whenever your hands were involved.

“You’re right,” Your agreement further confuses him, until an additional explanation provides the last bit of clarity he’d been seeking. “But they can change the date, time, and venue of the meeting without alerting the other parties involved, parties that spent weeks building the foundations of a strong claim, and vote on the matter without them being present- subsequently, granting them access to funnel more funds back into their pensions.”

“That’s not possible,” His argument is backed by disbelief instead of reason, denial influencing his refusal to accept such an absurdity, even in spite of proof, and every ugly, undesirable, nasty feeling you’re not supposed to have swirls together in the pit of your stomach at his incredulity.

How can he still be so blind? How, after all of the evil that he’s witnessed, how can he deny the truth in favor of possibility? He may be a man grown, but he still lives in a delusional state of boyhood- where he still clings to hope and the prospect of good intentions even when the jury has already delivered a conviction.

“Why not?” You seethe, simultaneously demanding an answer without allowing him the chance to speak. Unfortunately, whatever’s been brewing amongst your insides finally bubbles over and your own reluctance to accept an outcome where he doesn’t justify your point of view sharpens the words at the tip of your tongue until they’re as lethal as any weapon. “Because good old Commissioner Gordon wouldn’t let that happen?”

It’s resentment- the concoction without a name- but it’s also envy, pain, and perhaps a bit of fear. At the very least, it’s petty, to bring her into this and force him to pick a side, but it’s been corroding your logic- eroding a place in your chest that’s been dormant ever since he last filled it with life and meaning- and you watch his demeanor shift when his lips part to defend her. You can’t bear whatever praise he’s sure to dole out in her defense, especially when she’s just as guilty as the rest of them, as far as you’re concerned. Before he has a chance to tear you to shreds with his ire, you interrupt.

“Look, just because the commissioner has a heart, doesn’t mean that the animals working for the force do.” Without any conviction, you start to claw at the mire on either side of you, closing you in. “It’s always been bad, but it’s gotten a lot worse.” He can’t argue with that. Worse doesn’t even come close to how downright doomed Gotham is now that someone’s poisoned most of the police force. The one group of people who are supposed to remain impartial to power and abide by the laws they’re sworn to uphold, have turned their backs on the people who needed them most, and the people hurting- the ones without flashy jewels or the stomachs for caviar and champagne- don’t have anyone looking out for them.

Not the way they used to, anyway.

“You don’t get to come here and lecture me about what’s right and what’s wrong, just because she asked you to.” Bittersweet tips towards bitter and a sour taste settles in your mouth at the suggestion that she had even the slightest part to play in your reunion. “You’re a few years too late for that, birdy.” This time when the song ends, you take a step back- though, his thumb brushes against the back of your hand before you pull away, the phantom of a silent prospect lingering even when the warmth of him is gone. Once, it was what you sought. He was what you sought. Years of desolation turned your desire for that same heat- tender touches and gentle caresses against skin- into favor of bleakness. You don’t regret pulling away from him, not as much as you did back them. This time, it’s warranted- a choice you make unobstructed by what you’re feeling, now that you know the outcome of what was fated to happen between the two of you.

“I appreciate the dance,” You swallow, your throat tightening with words you won’t allow yourself to say. Instead, a retort finds you, though it feels foreign as you speak it into existence. “Maybe we’ll do it again in a couple of years,”

Without waiting for a reaction, you head off down the same way you came, and this time, without any intervention, he lets you go.

The bathroom door shuts behind you, and the sounds of lively chatter and the hum of instrumentals fade away until you’re consumed by a silence so stark that it buries you. It doesn’t feel real. The soft tapping of your heels against the glossy marble floors cuts through the nothingness- even the slightest echo in the void registering as an alarm, coaxing panic and fear from the rusted, forgotten cells you banished them to long ago- and when you finally take a look in the mirror, you don’t recognize the face that stares back at you.

Your reflection is plagued by guilt, and haunted by ghosts of the past. Well, one ghost, in particular.

Running into Dick Grayson was something you’d prepared for. Since the day you last parted, you always knew that there was a possibility your paths could, and inevitably would, cross again. It was destined to happen, and you were doomed from the start. He makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak. Back then, before everything that drove a wedge between the two of you, you had a bit of a soft spot for him. He was the only other person in the world who truly understood the life you lived because he was living a different version of the same life. Both protégés, both headstrong and zealous- attributes recognized as both strengths and faults- and both dancing a choreographed routine in the shadows cast by the bat and the cat. The two of you were fated. It was only a matter of time before you started pulling your punches, and he started letting you get away.

The chase was always the best part- second only to the capture.

Still, it’s been years since he left. You’re not the same girl he once knew, and he might as well have been a stranger. More than a decade apart will do that to two people. For everything that’s changed, one thing remains the same- the chase and the capture are unavoidable.

With a shaky exhale, your chest tightens. Resting your palms on either side of the expensive stone washbasin, you attempt to focus on regaining your composure- but another heavy intake of breath punches your lungs. You haven’t come this far just to let him swoop in and gain the upper hand. You’re done pulling your punches. Flipping the golden faucet on, you allow trickling water to interrupt the unbearable silence that surrounds you- a lull so loud it sounds like buzzing static without the interruption of something mundane. With a few more deep breaths, in and out, you begin to fumble with the clasp on your clutch, opening the small bag to retrieve a tube of lipstick. The color has started to fade from your lips, and you use the moment of stillness to touch up your makeup. If nothing else, maybe your reflection will look less distraught with a signature swipe of dark red. You long for a sense of familiarity that you can control.

Above the trickling from the luxurious spout, the door squeaks- or perhaps, it cries- as it’s pushed open, revealing a mirage basked in artificial light and a custom-tailored suit. As your fingertips graze the fixture responsible for the steady stream of distraction, a thud sounds, and seconds later, the unmistakable click of a lock latching into place seals your fate. A wave of emotion- a tsunami of feelings- brings forth a myriad of everything, all at once. Just as you suspected you always would, you’re drowning- caught in a riptide of your past and present, finally merging in a deadly current that threatens to pull you below the depths of your worst fears and direful imagination. You swallow thickly as you close your eyes. It fills your mouth with delusions of saltwater.

This isn’t supposed to happen- at least, not like this, it’s not- but the one thing you’ve been running from has finally caught back up to you. Now’s the time to set the record straight. No more ties. No more draws. Tonight, the victory is yours- regardless of his intervention. He’s taken too much from you to take this too, and you’re done letting him.

“I already told you that this is pointless,” You don’t even look at him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his overbearing stare. A swirling sea of darkening blue attempts to sail back to shore- pleading to find refuge within familiar comforts and intimacy- but you cast your gaze back to your reflection, focusing on fixing the corners of your lipstick and leaving him afloat. “You’re not going to stop me.” The promise is backed by conviction- though, you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him, or yourself.

The muscle in Dick’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth- forcing ivories to clench and grind against each other, creating a perfect, white prison to cage the words he wishes to speak. Stifling his emotions is conventional. It’s a routine he’s perfected through years of reluctant practice. Though uncomfortable and daunting, the void in which he sentences all that’s repressed is secure. It’s safe- if only in the sense that it’s familiar.

You’re familiar- rather, you were once familiar- but he can’t cross a bridge that’s been burned, molten ash still ablaze amongst the rubble, and expect to be welcomed back with open arms. Not after everything that’s changed. Not after everything that’s happened.

Not after what he did.

“I need a list of names,” The determination in Dick’s voice contradicts everything he feels inside. His face hardens- a mask, a shield, protection- and he stands a little taller, fixated on resolving the one problem he could actually solve. “Names of the officers involved in whatever this is,” He clarifies with an uneasy edge to his voice- like he already knows he’s bit off more than he can chew, but he can’t stop himself from going back for seconds, thirds, and fourths.

For all that’s changed, Dick remains the same. A phantom- a spirit, a memory, a ghost- of the boy you once knew disappears just as quickly as your imagination teases familiar red, yellow, and green. He’s not the same. You know it to be true, and yet, you find yourself distracted by glimpses and figments from a different life entirely.

“Grab a pen,” A scoff, an eye roll, and the gentle shake of your head, disbelief and credence existing in tandem- contradicting each other when your eyes finally meet his. “It would be a shorter list if you started with the people who aren’t guilty of committing some type of fraudulent activity.”

You’re not a bad person. Despite varying beliefs, you’re not evil. Mayhem doesn’t bring you joy. Confrontation doesn’t get you off. There’s little pleasure to be found in being the itch that people can’t scratch. You’ve never sought out violence or peril, and you seldom plan on causing either. Just like Dick- just like Bruce- you operate under a different moral code, but a moral code, nevertheless. Even if the only thing it provides is an excuse to justify why you do what you do, you still hold yourself to a standard. Unlike the vile, chaos-thirsty cravens that would happily light the match and watch the world burn, you’re selfless- bound to your morals, if nothing else.

What you do, the sacrifices you make- everything that you’ve lost and everything you’ve fought for- is fueled by benevolence. You’re in a position to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, to speak up for those who can’t speak for themselves. The power to defend those who have had their rights stripped from them- those who have had their power stolen by greed corruption and profit- is in your hands. You’ll be damned if you let anyone stand in your way and prevent you from doing what you know is right.

Through the reflection in the mirror, you recognize the face that stares back at you. Gone is the fear and doubt that mangled your features unrecognizable. With a heavy sigh, you unclip the earrings that dangle from your earlobes- and the buzzing sound of static fades away completely.

You know what you have to do.

The sound of your heels against the tile might as well have been deafening in contrast to the silence that follows your remark. As you cross the room, your resolve sharpens. Dick Grayson has taken so much from you, you won’t let him take this, too.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me-“ You feign saccharine, your tone phony and filled with counterfeit regret, as you reach for the locked door handle, but Dick blocks the latch, stepping in front of you before you have a chance to wrap your hand around the lever. He knows exactly what buttons to press and genuine annoyance, anger, and frustration fill the space where your poor imitation of remorse once occupied. Through gritted teeth, you command him, lowly, “Move, Dick.”

“You know I can’t do that, sweetheart,” He says it so easily, with a sorrowful sigh and undisputed repentance, that you almost buy the sincerity he’s trying to sell. Unfortunately, for him, you’re not in the market for his misery. He’s a few years too late. Dick can turn his charm up to ten thousand- he can say all the right things and plead with his perfect crystalline eyes- but you won’t risk everything you’ve fought for for a few crocodile tears. You know, now, that you’re better than that. One way or another, you’re getting out of this bathroom- and if you have to go through him to do so, then so be it.

“And you know I’m not above fighting you, right?” He’s entirely unprepared for your snark, the bite that fuels your reply nearly nipping his sense of control straight from the palm of his hand. It’s obvious that this isn’t the same game that it once was, but something much more dangerous. “The dance wasn’t enough?” With your arms across your chest, you challenge, and he hates the way you’re looking at him- like your eyes are piercing straight through him instead of actually looking at him. If you bothered to look closely enough, you’d be able to decipher all of the blatant emotions he’s never been the greatest at hiding. One look and you’d see him- and his heart beating proudly on his sleeve. It’s why you don’t spare him a glance. “You still feeling nostalgic for old times? Because this feels awfully familiar, doesn’t it?”

“What are you going to do with the money?” He asks, fighting to keep his voice stern. His poker face was never the best- or, maybe you could just read him better than most people could. Still, as he stands before you, he grapples with his devotion to whatever this competition is. This clash will never see a winner- only two losers- and he knows it. You do, too- but unlike him, you’re not willing to back down without a fight.

“Give it back to those who rightfully deserve it.” He doesn’t deserve your honesty. He has no right to the truth, but you don’t have it in you to scheme an elaborate lie. However gratifying it might’ve been to feed him false information and watch him fly in circles, you’re too exhausted for mental gymnastics. Like clockwork, you give, and he takes- his stare narrowing, almost accusatorially.

“And who are you to decide who rightfully deserves it?” There’s an edge to his question- like he can’t fathom justice without his divine intervention- and it’s grating, the way he can make you feel so small, and worthless with a single sentence. His arrogance is astounding. Who was he to seek vengeance against Slade Wilson? Who was he to target Heartless? Who was he to sentence Tony Zucco to his death- by placing him behind bars, and granting other enemies easy access to the crime lord, which ultimately led to his demise? The self-righteous guilt trip nearly gives you whiplash from how fast it makes your head spin. He’s no different than you are- no better or worse, since you operate on the same playing field. He doesn’t get to act like he is. Someone needs to knock him down a few pegs, and you’re happily up for the challenge.

“Who are you to try to stop me?”

“Someone who knows you,” He replies, instinctively. “Someone who’s a friend, not a foe.”

“Hmm,” With a bitter laugh, your stomach churns- twisting, clenching, and swirling with swells of irritation, regret, and sorrow- and although it’s a familiar discomfort, it’s been years since you’ve felt the threat of splintering cracks, chipping away at the stone-cold facade of your exterior. Come to think of it, the last time you felt this way was when Selina had told you that Dick left for San Francisco. The reminder fills you with a bitterness you’ve long tried to suppress, and as it bubbles to the surface, so do all of the repressed thoughts and emotions that’ve haunted you for years.

For a moment, you ache- chasing forgotten remembrance plagued by wistfulness. Then, you burn.

“Friends call every once in a while, and if they can’t make it to a phone, they send a postcard to let you know that they’re still alive and well.” Vexation forces your eyes to narrow, the color of your eyes morphing into something much more bleak. With a heavy exhale- filled with frustration and a semblance of humility- you remind him, “Friends don’t disappear into thin fucking air without letting you know why- especially, after those friends, were always a little more than just friends.” There’s a darkness behind your eyes that Dick’s not familiar with, and a weight settles in the hollow emptiness of his chest before sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of his stomach. His jaw clenches and he swallows thickly- the tastes of bile, rue, and shame all indiscernible from one another as he forces them back down.

He knows you’re right.

While his absence was abrupt, it had nothing to do with any ill will towards you. There was never a falling out- no crossing a line of no return or being pushed past a point that shattered a shared fantasy. Though the bullet posed no real threat of death by passing through his arm- beyond the phantom agony of lead tearing through flesh, and the hot, wet feeling of crimson pouring from the wound- a part of Dick Grayson did, in fact, die that night, at the hands of the Joker. The Clown Prince of Crime set off a domino effect when he fired at the young Boy Wonder, inevitably altering the course of his life forever. Acts of violent intent seldom harm a single soul, and as if it were fated, you became another casualty from an attack that was never meant for you.

When Bruce fired Dick, he was angry. Back then, thoughts of hanging up the cape never, ever, crossed his mind. Back then, he was content with fighting crime alongside his mentor, and never really considered what would happen next- or if there’d even be a next, or an after. He felt betrayed, abandoned, and filled with cynicism. As selfish as it was, you weren’t even really an afterthought in the downfall of his life caving in and swallowing him whole. He needed time to heal- time to rebuild- and prioritize who he was when he wasn’t hiding in the shadows left behind by a cape and cowl. Years passed, and with time to reflect, Dick’s bitter resentment morphed into a new kind of devotion to himself, and the few that started to look to him for guidance.

Before the Titans, he never really considered himself to be a leader. He spent most of his life abiding by rules and plans- roles and paths- that were set for him by another. Had he been hungry for control before, his first real taste solidified an insatiable appetite for the very thing he felt himself deprived of for too many years. Though, he’d come to learn that there was an ugly side to the power he wielded. Some days, the responsibility felt like a burden, and others, he felt like his guilt and uncertainty would swallow him whole. He bottled up all of his doubts, packed them somewhere deep inside the closed-off caverns in his heart where darker demons haunted, and forced them elsewhere- out of sight, and out of mind, but never truly gone.

It’s not fair that, somehow, you’ve come to possess the key that matches the lock on his Pandora’s box. Every emotion, every feeling, and every thought meant to be suppressed and banished to a place where they couldn’t torment or harm him, refuses to go gently when one simple, magnetic look threatens to release them from their cages of skin and bone. The most daunting realization of all, however, is that he’s the one to blame- for everything.

For all of it.

Selfishly, he’s hoped for an ember amongst the carnage he’s created. He’s held onto some convoluted idea of hope that whatever was once alight could be reignited again if he fully committed himself to an apology, but he failed to acknowledge the amount of ashes he’d have to sift through for a hint of a spark. There’s too much disappointment, too much duplicity, regret, and time passed between the two of you for things to ever revert back to even a semblance of what they once were.

He looks to you now, and he sees it- your anger is a mask for your pain. It’s so faint he almost misses it, but your lip threatens to wobble. Beyond the wrath you try to convey with the narrowed glare of your eyes, he watches as thinly veiled yearning mingles with what’s left of the color of your irises- simultaneously faint, yet prominent to the only other person who knows what it’s like to push away the person you love. What Dick and you shared wasn’t love, but it could’ve been and that’s what you’re both mourning- what could’ve been.

“You and I aren’t friends, Dick.” He hates the finality behind your conviction. It’s so cold, and void of the warmth he associated with you once upon a time. A split second threatens to expose the façade, and you blink back tears instead of allowing them to fall- swallowing emotion and banishing it elsewhere. Feelings have no place here. Instead, you grit your teeth, clenching them together so tightly that your jaw begins to ache. He watches you struggle to commit to the act- because that’s what your rage is, an outlet for your passions- and as you take a step closer toward him, his breath hitches. “Now, get out of my way,”

Toe to toe, you meet his gaze, and no matter how hard you try to fight it, despite your best efforts to disguise what you truly feel, Dick sees right through you- recognizing the parts of you that you try to mold and shape into something else. After all, he’s your greatest weakness- and you’re his. You always have been, and he always will be.

He dares to move. This close, he resists the urge to reach out for you and never let you go again, but this isn’t about him. It’s about you. Hesitantly, he raises his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as the shaky tips of his fingers graze your chin with a tenderness you’ve sought since the last time you felt it. The air is tense, passed back and forth by sharp breaths and thundering pulses- intimate with warmth and affection that mimics that of a simpler time- and when his palm rests against your cheek, cradling it with such gentle endearment in the face of betrayal, you let him. Dick’s throat bobs, and he pours everything he can’t bring himself to say into such a delicate touch. Every apology he wishes he had the courage to speak aloud, every declaration of devotion he was too afraid to voice, and every inevitable truth he attempted to ignore lingers, and you can feel it- in every shy stroke of his thumb across your cheek.

“You’re not going to distract me,” A single tear merges with the pad of his thumb- a testament to your resilience, but no match for the broken, battered, beaten bond you share with the man before you- and your certainty begins to dwindle. There’s a string that ties you to him- an invisible thread strong enough to stitch the two of you back together when you should remain apart- but you’re destined for him, the same way he’s always been destined for you.

It was foolish to believe any differently.

“I’m not trying to distract you,” Barely above a whisper, he pleads, desperate to make you understand, “I’m trying to apologize.”

He hangs his head with defeat, his shoulder slumping forward as he peers down at you. He’s never known such cruel torture. Such sick and twisted suffering is self-inflicted. The past erodes his future, but he can’t stop himself from resurrecting his demons. Foolishly, he invites them to haunt him further- and you’re no exception. His tightrope is stretched taut, and it’s a long way down. How much longer can he balance between anemoia and actuality before tipping one way or the other? It’s insanity- repeating the same act and hoping for a different outcome- but Dick can’t bring himself to accept that this time won’t be different. If nothing else, the possibility that this never-ending game could crown two winners is enough for him to play the martyr, and suffer whatever repercussions might follow after barring himself whole. What more does he have to lose, if not everything he’s already lost, again?

It would be so easy to reach past him and turn the lock in your favor, granting your escape. Hell, with the way he’s looking at you now, you know that he wouldn’t even put up a fight. He’d let you waltz right past him, slipping through his fingers for the umpteenth time because he knows that this time won’t be the last. It never is. Visions blurred by uncertainty flash before your eyes- infinite possibilities, each with consequences and punishments, rewards and sacrifices- but the unknown doesn’t elicit the same adrenaline-filled excitement that it once did. Maybe because this time, Dick isn’t fighting back. Surrendering his shield, he abandons resistance- instead, entrusting you with the vulnerability that spills from his heart, blood crimson against his fingers as he squeezes it with each thump and thud- crumbling before you, and submitting everything he has to give to you. Even if he can’t bring himself to support your cause.

You lean in closer, drawn to him- the same way you always have been, and likely, always will be- and your palm hovers over his chest. For a second, it’s unclear whether or not you’re going to reach out for him or push him away, but when your hand meets the fabric that covers hard muscle, you know you’re done for- because in the same ways he’s willing to fall before you, you’re willing to fall before him, too. Over and over again. Repeatedly and infinitely.

“Well, you have impeccable timing,” Your reproach is close enough for him to taste. It wavers against his lips and slips past his tongue, allowing him to savor parts of you he hasn’t been allowed to indulge in for so long. There’s no mistaking the invitation of your reprover, and Dick’s palm rests against your lower back, coaxing you closer towards him as his nose brushes against yours. It’s dizzying, and your arms find their way around his neck to steady yourself when he rests his forehead against yours with a soft sigh. The irony of the situation isn’t lost upon you- even when the two of you have ceded to one another, you’re still fighting to see who will give in first. As if he’s come to the realization at the same time, a large hand- rough and callused, but soft and tender in the way that it trembles against your cheek with anticipation- encourages you to tilt your head back, and you follow his lead. You hold your breath as your lips part, and Dick surges forward, slotting his mouth against yours in a kiss that’s fueled by the release of years of pent-up longing, need, and want. The gesture is foreign, yet familiar. Reminiscent of the past, yet entirely new. Everything you remember and everything you’ve ever dreamed of merge together in this moment and bring life to what had only ever been fantasy before his lips found yours once more.

It’s exhilarating.

“I missed you,” The affirmation rumbles against your skin, warm with fervor and urgency, and it’s completely unnecessary- considering that each movement acts as a balm to soothe wounds of time, fear, and doubt- but he vows with each breath, relying on words to convey what his actions can not, and vice versa. Masks are off. Shields have been abandoned. Capes remain long forgotten at the door. This is no longer about duty or morality. No, this moment is about two people seeking confirmation for what they’ve always known to be true- that a love unspoken, but never absent has always existed between them. Two people- not vigilantes or heroes- two hearts, beating to guide the other back, are bare, open, honest, and raw without the theatrics of a chase or the pretense of a game. Surrender invites you to balance on the edge of a precipice, and you’re the first to lose your footing.

Desperation is an influence, and his lapels wrinkle with the severity of your hold. Through the haze of everything unknown, he’s the only thing that’s clear, and you reach for him- blindly, but intentionally- clawing at the fabric that keeps him from you. Clashing teeth and bruising grips don’t elicit pain, not when real suffering exists in the absence of the other, and you allow him to paint you violet, blue, green, and red with desire, becoming the embodiment of his want. Your only regret is that the evidence of this divine crime will eventually fade away to nothing more than a memory- another ache that will never dull, a moment so unique that it can never be replicated. As you rejoice, you mourn.

“Sure you did.” His blazer drops to the floor as you follow your script, hardly taking a moment to realize that the page you’re reading from is blank- without word or direction- as you venture into unknown territory. Even when you don’t mean to be, you’re combative. Even when you don’t want to be, you’re still on edge. This is different. This already feels different than before, and maybe it’s because there’s a lot more at stake now that both of you have already lost one another, but for as overdue as this homecoming is, something subconsciously prolongs it further.

“No, really, I-“ He begins, ready to mold rhetoric and force it to take on a form that would allow you to see just how much you mean to him, but that would make this real, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for this to be real yet- because if this is real, if this isn’t just a cruel imitation of memory like so many variations before or a concocted fantasy so vivid you can feel yourself shaking, then that means you can lose it all, again. Just like last time. Within your grip, one minute, slipping through your fingers the next.

“Don’t.” Fear sounds different when there’s a bite to it. It could almost pass as annoyance, if you’re able to keep your voice just steady enough, and he mistakes the command for irritation, rather than the timidity it actually is. Whatever you’ve intended and he’s interpreted gets lost along the way, and he takes a hesitant step back. It’s impossible not to lunge for him as he retreats, but you remain still- your breath hitching when he holds both hands out to you, surrendering his palms while he shows he meant no harm.

“Can I…”

“You don’t have to ask,” You silence his fears quickly, closing the space between you before you even realize that you’ve taken a step. This self-sacrificial eagerness to light yourself on fire just to keep him warm has always been one of your greatest downfalls, but a most ardent gesture, and with ash on your tongue and soot in your lungs, you strike a match the minute he begins to second guess himself. “Just pretend it’s like before.” The suggestion sounds just as unsure as you are, but with a heavy breath, you encourage, “Pretend that nothing’s changed…pretend that we’re still…” You can’t even bring yourself to say it, because the kids you were back then are gone. They’re never coming back. You can’t avenge them or try to seek vengeance for what they’ve lost. It’s over for them, but this is just the start of this new beginning for the two of you. “Just for tonight.”

He moves promptly, gathering the skirts of your dress in one hand, fisting the fabric- a blue so dark he mistook it for black, or perhaps it was, until his fingertips were close enough to paint the illusion with light, making it appear different than it was- without any regard for creases or lingering proof of your affair. Support rests at your back, his chest firm and protective as you lean into the rippling muscle, and Dick continues to illuminate shadows of the past with each touch- eager to help you forget all of the agonies suffered at his hands in favor of remembering glimpses of peace. He’s ready to give you more than just a taste. Now, he wants to gorge you with the pleasure he’s reserved.

His hands shake- not with hesitancy, but anticipation, and when you catch his eye in the mirror, you shiver. You’ve never seen a blue so dark it looks black- until now. Without warning, he mouths at your neck- kissing, sucking, biting, any part of you he can get his lips on- reacquainting himself with parts of you that were once so familiar, and you allow him to explore. Blindly, you reach for one of his hands, taking it in your own, and he begins to intertwine his fingers with yours, but you gently guide his hand where you want it most- and he lets you, following your lead just as impulsively. You jolt at the first brush of his fingertips between your legs, even though you were expecting it, and he lets out a few ragged breaths against the back of your neck. It’s paradoxical, the chills that contradict the flush of your skin, but this relationship has never really made sense before. Why should that change now?

Almost as if he’s in a trance, Dick is overwhelmed by the twists and turns of the evening, but the whiplash is starting to subside in favor of something much more exhilarating. He never thought he’d have this again. He believed moments like these to be lost to time, and he wasted years grieving memories he could never replicate, only to feel the weight of your body against his once more. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything he never knew he wanted or needed until it was stolen from him, swiped right out from under his nose by his own negligence. He won’t make the same mistakes this time. No, this time, he’s going to do it right. He’s going to-

“Fuck,” When you grow tired of his stalling, you force his hand, again. This time, when your fingers meet his wrist, you press your palm on top of his- coercing him to mimic the shape- and maybe you’re the one in control, or maybe he finally rises to the occasion, but with a newfound determination, he cups your cunt- a choked sound catching in his throat when he feels how wet you are. You briefly wonder how something so vulgar can sound so pretty, but you already know the answer- it’s him. It’s always been him. Had it been anyone else, the effect would cease to exist, but it’s Dick, and that desire- that pull that you can’t ever deny- will always bind you to him.

You can’t help yourself from rutting against his palm, and he presses himself further into your back, allowing you to feel the hard outline of his cock against your ass. The hand that isn’t between your legs rests on your arm, and when he tries to hold your hand, you don’t deny him. There’s just too much fabric for you to hold in just one hand and some of it drapes over his forearm, but you manage to keep most of it from obscuring his movements. It’s a strange angle, and both of you are fumbling to make it work, but you crane your neck in search of him, and he answers your call with an eager kiss. Your tongue caresses his, savoring the feeling and committing it to memory, just in case-

He swallows your surprised gasp when he nudges your panties aside and begins to circle your clit. With just a bit of pressure, a crease forms where your eyebrows pull together, and you untangle your hand from his hold to brace yourself against the counter. It’s been a while since someone else has touched you, and it’s been even longer since the last time Dick had, but it’s so much better than evocations of pleasure. You swear figments are tangible. Spurred on by the reaction his touch has coaxed from you, he’s torn between making the moment last as long as possible or picking up the pace. He settles on the latter, considering that if this is heading the way he hopes it’s heading, he’ll have all the time in the world to make it up to you, but right now, he’s on borrowed time. You both are. With the reminder looming overhead, he adjusts his hand so that he can continue to work your clit while lining up a finger with your pussy. You’re so wet, and warm when he curls his middle finger inside, and he can’t remember why he ever left in the first place. What persuaded him away from Gotham when you were always right here? Would you have waited for him? Would you have followed him if he asked you to? He supposes none of that matters now, but he can’t help but wonder…

He adds a second finger, and even though your body gives little resistance to the intrusion, you groan at the feeling. His fingers are so long, reaching that spot inside of you that your fingers are just too short to reach, and they’re thick enough for you to feel yourself stretching around him with each thrust- not enough to cause pain, but an ache that serves as a reminder that it’s been too long since the last time you’ve had him like this. You vow not to let another ten years pass before you let him have you, again.

He continues a steady pace, curling his fingers in such a way that sweat begins to glisten across your chest, and when a third finger threatens to join his others, you wrap your hand around his wrist- abruptly halting his movements.

“N-not enough time,” He doesn’t even get the chance to ask before you supply him with an answer, but he nods in understanding once you offer an explanation. He’s already reaching for his belt, unbuckling the clasp and roughly shoving his slacks down before you have a chance to catch your breath, and you’re grateful- if the speed in which he undresses is any indication of his own eagerness- that he’s just as desperate for you, as you are for him. Taking a moment to adjust your skirts so that you don’t have to hold them, you bunch them above your hips and lean forward, resting your forearms against the counter while Dick frees himself from his boxers, and when you look back in the mirror and catch sight of his cock behind you, you can’t help but swallow thickly.

He strokes himself a few times, smearing the pre-cum beading from his slit down his shaft as he prepares to take you. This doesn’t feel like last time. As he reaches for your waist and lines himself up with your cunt, this doesn’t feel like last time at all. This is new, and different and everything he’s wanted ever since the last time he had you in his grasp. This time, he won’t let you get away. With as much self-restraint as he can manage, you feel the tip of his cock against your opening, slowly splitting you open, and your back arches. Your own strangled cry prompts a groan from him he sinks into you, inch by inch until his hips are flush against you. You’re so full that you’re not sure if it’s too much or not enough.

“I’ve got you,” Dick assures, his grip on your hip tightening when he feels you struggling to accommodate him. He tries to be a gentleman. He tries to give you a few minutes to adjust- even though he wants nothing more than to take what’s right under his nose, what’s always been his- but his restraint snaps when he feels you begin to rock back against him.

“Move,” You command, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. With your permission, he’s happy to follow orders and obliges with a sharp thrust upwards. The sound you make is a mix between a sob and a moan, and his fingers flex against your hip as he repeats the action.

“I forgot…” Through clenched teeth, he confesses, and you don’t think anything of the admission, too lost within your own feelings to attempt to decipher his. Instead, he wraps an arm around your waist, offering thick muscle to serve as a buffer between your body and the stone he has you pressed up against- relying on intimate gestures to make up for words lost in translation. Even now, when you’re not on the same page, you still know. Somehow, you know, and he does, too. Every time. Without fail. Always. Your head rolls back to meet his shoulder, and your fingertips claw at the back of his neck awkwardly, with transparent desperation to pull him closer. Within reach isn’t close enough. Near is too far. With a muted gasp, you push back to meet his next thrust, and he hisses softly before elaborating, “I’m so sorry if I made you forget.”

“Dick-“ Realization begins to splinter the mirage of bliss, and you manage to say his name with enough caution to serve as a warning. You don’t want to think about the past. Not right now. Not when you can see your future so clearly in the foggy reflection of the vanity. He wraps his hand around your neck, encouraging you to bare your throat to him and he licks at the vein that calls out to him.

“I won’t let you forget, not this time.” He vows, bucking his hips faster and faster as you whine in his hold. In some sick twisted way, he loves that he’s the only one who has this power over you- that he’s the only one who could ever elicit such a reaction- and it’s a testament to how much the two of you care for one another; the influence both of you have over one another. “This time, I want to remember.”

It’s going to be impossible not to.

“I-“ He can barely get a word out with how good you feel around him, and he takes a breath before trying again. “I know you want to pretend, but fuck…I can’t.” Dick wraps his arm around you, guiding your back to rest against his chest, and one of his large hands splays across your stomach, where he can feel himself inside of you. “I really did miss you,” Somehow he manages to find his voice. “Not just like this, either,”

“I-I missed you, too.” You don’t seem certain, not with the way you stutter, but your reply is genuine. It only appears dubious because Dick’s palm begins to press against you, and you all but choke on your confession. He can’t help himself, but neither can you.

“I’m close,” He rasps, brokenly. “Shit,” His thrusts begin to falter, and his eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Are you-“

“Yes!” You yelp when his fingers start circling your clit, and he doesn’t relent, even when he feels you start to tremble beneath him. You’re overwhelmed by him, in the best way possible, and as eager as you are to chance your release, a part of you never wants this moment to end. “Dick, please d-don’t stop,” Your muscles grow taut, and when his thrusts lose their precision, you know that he’s almost there. “Just like before,” You encourage him, clenching hard when he bites your shoulder and your orgasm washes over you. “J-just like before.”

He knows what you’re asking for. He understands what you’re practically begging for, and in a fleeting moment of clarity, he catches a glimpse of the faded scar on your arm- his only regret being the fact that an implant still stands in the way of what he truly wants with you- but the thought disappears as quickly as it materializes.

A few seconds more and he grunts against your neck, pulling your hips to meet his and spilling himself inside of you. It’s even better than you remember and your body shakes with aftershocks of pleasure. Luckily, he’s there to keep you upright. Your vision starts to blur and the only sound you’re able to make out is both of you struggling to catch your breaths. With a heavy sigh, he pulls out, and you can feel his cum start to leak from you, but you’re too disoriented to clean it up. Instead, you lean forward, relying on the countertop for support as you hang your head and try to come back to your senses.

Dick leaves a trail of soft kisses down the back of your neck and his forehead is both warm and damp when it meets your shoulder, resting comfortably against your skin while he takes a minute to catch his breath, and these sensations- these tiny little reminders that he’s here, this moment is present and real- ground you. Where your mind is a mess, reeling with indecision, emotions, and thoughts you can’t yet process, your body is at ease.

As your eyes flutter shut, greedy gulps of air fail to satisfy your lungs, and you swallow thickly, allowing pressure to build up in your chest until you simply can’t take it anymore. Darkness saturates all that you can see, and you’re caught in a void- trapped, without any light to guide you back home. The gentle caress of his touch along your arm brands you, flush enough to make you burn with reminders of this fleeting moment- when embers of devotion inevitably fade into ashes- and you stiffen in his hold, not that he’s coherent enough to notice.

He seems to be in his little world as he tucks himself back into his pants and presses another gentle kiss to your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you. Violent delights really do have violent ends and it’s not fair that you let it get this far without thinking about the consequences of your actions. None of this would’ve happened if you just let yourself love him- without fear, without judgment, without regret- and if you had just been honest with yourself all those years ago, this mess would’ve never spiraled so far out of your control.

Whatever repercussion await you, you’ll brave. Regardless of what happens next, you know that you have to tell him the truth- even if it kills you. The thought is often more daunting than the action itself, but as you turn yourself around in his arms so that you’re facing him, you’re petrified.

“I’m sorry,” The magnitude of your apology isn’t supported by the handful of letters that arrange themselves as they slip past your tongue. There has to be a better way to express your remorse, but if one exists it evades you. Over and over again, the same words come to mind and it’s not fair that you know exactly what you want to say, but you just can’t find the right words to absolve your shame. At your inability to voice your regret, frustration overwhelms you. Your lips part, ready to divulge your sins, but only a pathetic, meek sigh comes out. Why is this so difficult? You know the answer, and yet, you play the part of the fool- leaning on ignorance as a crutch for what you can’t bring yourself to brave. He deserves it, doesn’t he? The truth- not something partial, but whole. Transparency is the only piece left of a nearly complete puzzle, the only thing keeping this tragic tale of two lovers who break each other’s hearts only to stitch them back together again from reaching its inevitably doomed end. When your lip begins to tremble, Dick reaches for you, pulling you into his chest and embracing you in a hold that’s absolutely suffocating. You don’t deserve his kindness. You don’t deserve his love or affection- his tenderness or his forgiveness.

You don’t deserve him.

“Me too,” He sighs into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head before resting his head on top of yours. You can hear his heart- how steady it beats- and the sound rivals the racing of your own where it threatens to burst straight from your chest, and your eyes flutter shut, savoring the gentle lull of his own serenity before you poison his relief with your own disruption. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how difficult it may be, you know that you have to tell him. With a breath, you prepare for carnage.

“No, Dick, I-“

“Dick? Are you in here?” Barbara’s voice seeps through the wooden barrier that separates the two of you from the rest of the world- from reality- and as soon as she calls out to him, the illusion of tranquility is broken. Of course, it’s her. Of course, she’d be the one to interrupt you before you had the chance to speak, and of course, it would be her that drives a wedge further between the two of you with one simple revelation, “They’re getting away!”

It’s almost impossible to miss the sounds of commotion that follow her declaration. Faint screams and chaos replace the background of symphony strings and he turns to you then, a divot dividing the smooth skin of his forehead while his eyes narrow. Blue is black. Dark, and unmistakable. The muscle in his jaw looks like it’s about to burst with the severity of his clenching and his nostrils flare with a shallow exhale. It’s excruciating to watch him slip back into consciousness after being caught up in a dream, but a nightmare unfolds before you, twisting your stomach into knots so intricate they threaten to snap. You can’t breathe, and when you gather enough courage to finally take a step forward, he takes a step back. He’s never looked at you with so much hostility before, and you open your mouth to explain, to shower him with honesty and desperate pleas to make him understand that this wasn’t meant to happen like this, but no sound comes out. Not even a sigh. Not even a huff. Not even a pathetic, broken whimper. Nothing.

Unfortunately, Dick’s left to draw his own conclusions- to fill in the gaps in which your silence fails to atone for your crimes- and he paints a picture so drastically different from the truth, relying on his interpretation to establish a story so vivid he believes it to be real- even if it’s a figment of his own imagination, a product of his own devastation. Dispelled doubts come rushing back, and he allows them to influence the narrative- since you still can’t seem to find your voice- and everything left unsaid becomes louder in the silence. He mistakes your tears for guilt, instead of recognizing the regret and shame that mingle with saltwater. As gutted as he is, he looks to you for an explanation, but you can’t bring yourself to justify what you’ve done- even if it wasn’t your intention. Distracting him was part of the plan. Keeping him occupied was your mission, but confessing your true feelings and allowing yourself to fall back in love with him- not just the idea of what it would be like to love him- wasn’t part of your job description.

The second your paths crossed again, you were done for. It was never about seeking vengeance or getting even for the hurt that he caused you, because the minute that Dick waltzed back into your life, you knew you were doomed- because he makes you reckless. He makes you sloppy and distracted and forgiving. He makes you weak- and you let him. Every single time. Always and forever. Infinitely.

When he looks at you, he looks past you and towards your belongings on the counter. No. You shake your head, vehemently encouraging him to look away. If his eyes would just meet yours, if only for a second, you know you could save this. If not for the sake of putting broken pieces back together you could at least salvage fragments amongst the wreckage, but he doesn’t spare you a glance. No, no, no. His attention is solely on the expensive stone behind you, and when you reach out for him, your fingertips shaking as you grasp his bicep with all of the strength you can muster, he shakes you off of him.

Everything splinters.

When he reaches for your earring, you know that this is the end. It’s all over. A new moment will erase everything you thought you knew about pain, heartbreak, suffering, and betrayal. This moment, as it unfolds before you, will plague you until you meet your demise, because the second that he dares to bring the jewel up to his own ear, the exact moment that he hears Selina’s command through the gravely static of the earpiece you discarded earlier in the evening, you know that any hope for a future together vanishes- ripped straight from your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it and guard it with your life.

Even with his back towards you, you can see his face harden in the reflection of the mirror. Through the thin material of his crumbled dress shirt his shoulders tense and when he finally looks up to meet your stare through the glass, all traces of red, green, and yellow are gone. A piece of him- the piece of him that you’re most familiar with- dies, sprawled out and oozing across the marble. It’s too late to try to revive him. All that’s left in the wake of his slaughter is blue and black.

Blue and black, forevermore.

There’s nothing left for either of you here. Not anymore. Hope begins to decay, and the hollow hole in your chest that only he could ever fill begins to die from rot. Nothing will ever be the same. Not after this. Perhaps the final thought passed back and forth between a glare is the last thing you’ll ever share- beyond moments of destruction and beautiful chaos- but it’s clear to you both, that not all ghosts are meant to be resurrected.

Some ghosts should just stay ghosts.

a/n: hey, I’m raen and I’m down bad for this man lol…anyway, I’ve been working on this story for months. I literally poured bits and pieces of my soul into this (so if you wouldn’t mind interacting or providing feedback I’d be forever grateful) but I just wanted to write a tale of doomed lovers who care about each other in such a way that it leads to their downfall. I wanted this to hurt, and I hope it did- in the best way possible! I’m not above begging, so please, please, please feel free to send some feedback- as this is my first time writing for Dick and I would love to hear what people think! that being said, requests are also open! check out my request guidelines before submitting! and if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

everyone who requested to be tagged: @js-favnanadoongi @kalulakunundrum @1lellykins @octodog17 @novelizt @nesta-houseofwindfantasy @corgiqween576 @whiteglovemanor @godcreatoreli @lassmich1 @consternat1on @deffnotnia @haloney @iananiko @noodlesketchbook @thescarletcryptid @obsessedwthdilfs @vanice-e @taintedmaroon @holybatflapexpert @whatismypurpos @heylookwhoitis @corpseflower6 @heavenlym0chi @lokiwannacry @boywondergrayson @tetzoro @oiztsy @naf3211

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azrielbrainrot · 2 months

Text

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 4

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Angst (not that bad)

Word Count: 6680

Notes: This chapter was actually trying to fight me. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. Hope you enjoy!

Part 3 ○ Part 5

The days were blurring together the longer you stayed in this room. You've long since memorized the golden stripes and swirls beautifully decorating the navy walls, counted the teardrop-like glittering stones hanging from the small chandelier. You've gone through every closet and box in this room as well. Unsurprisingly, the room was almost empty, but you weren't looking through it to find any information anyway, you'd really done it out of boredom, and admittedly some curiosity.

You knew you couldn't complain about your treatment in this house, you'd never heard of a prisoner being treated to home cooked meals and expensive clothes. The House had even brought you books and journals in case you wanted to read or write, and Azriel brought you little treats from the bakeries in town - things you suspect he already knew you liked. He also kept you company every chance he got, even if it meant simply sitting together in silence. You didn't go a day without seeing him. But it was hard to focus on romance novels, chocolate cupcakes or even the captivating hazel eyed male when your entire reality was shattering around you.

The day after you met the High Lord and Lady, Azriel had found you snooping through the few clothes left behind by Feyre, and that same night he dropped off what he called some of your old belongings - some clothes and jewelry so you didn't have to borrow anything else from the High Lady. Everything was neatly folded and carefully arranged, it seems Azriel was extremely meticulous about how to store his late wife's belongings. He told you he's barely allowed himself to touch them in fear of ruining anything.

The clothes had since lost your scent, even if put away in a closed box it would be impossible for it to linger after a century. Still, you knew these were your things, somehow you could feel it deep inside you. You hadn't told Azriel about this, scared of getting his hopes up.

There was nothing personal in the box, Azriel was probably reluctant in letting you see them in case it overwhelmed you and triggered any more painful reactions, but there was enough for you to get a sense of who you were before.

It was clear she lived a happier and much more fulfilled life than yours. The clothes were all beautiful, if a little outdated. They came in all sorts of colors and fabrics, but even if you still liked them now, you know you'd never buy something like this for yourself.

Working at the guild, you had to prioritize functionality. You didn't have many personal belongings, you traveled a lot for missions and had to keep hidden, never staying in the same place for longer than a couple of months at a time. Your clothes reflected this, you prefered to wear pants or even your armor since you never knew when you'd be called for a mission or attacked.

You always had to be ready to drop everything at any moment so there was no use getting attached to anything or anyone. Even your favorite dagger was simply the model you've found works best for you, and you can get it anytime from different blacksmiths. The small hoops currently in your ears are the only jewelry you actually own and it's more of a way to keep the holes open for when you have to do undercover missions in which you might need to dress up.

There was no time or place for getting pretty clothes that made you feel good or buying a nice pair of earrings for the sake of it. Even less for making friends. You were living an empty life, something you always had a hard time coming to terms with, but that seems impossible to accept now that you know what you could have had, what you used to have and was taken from you.

Not being able to even trust your own memories affected you more than you'd ever admit, knowing things you considered unquestionable facts before that night were all made up. You've had to rely on what Azriel tells you and your own intuition to try and fill in the gaps. Your body seemed to be giving you clues, nudging you in the right directions but it only left you beyond frustrated that you could feel like all the answers were on the tip of your tongue but not being able to put your finger on it.

From what you've gathered, the night you disappeared from the Night Court corresponds with the mission in which you almost died, meaning someone in the guild - your handler, if your suspicions are correct - must have found you and brought you in. It's safe to say that, aside from a few lies and omissions here and there, your memories since that night can be trusted. But everything before that was all a lie, over a century of your life was nothing more than a made up story.

A burning feeling behind your eyelids has you forcefully shaking out your thoughts. You can't let yourself get consumed before you even find out what exactly happened, before you can get your revenge. And you refuse to cry in this room where anyone, especially Azriel, could walk in at any moment and see you in such a state. If you had to pick one helpful thing the guild taught you, it was how to handle your emotions.

You knew the High Lord was making good on his promise, knew that Azriel was working to help you as well. He'd only ever left your side to look into any information you could give him about the guild, though your knowledge was limited. You weren't a high ranking member and they were more than careful. You didn't know anything about the other members, as much as they didn't know anything about you.

Still, you weren't used to waiting around while everyone else did all the work and it took them over a week to schedule a new meeting with you, where you hopefully will learn more about this whole situation and what they intend to do with you. It feels like they're keeping you in the dark, something you knew you'd also do in their place, but that has left you feeling nothing but frustrated and worthless.

That meeting was happening in less than an hour and anticipation was eating away at you. Azriel promised he was going to take you to the office, letting you use him as a safety line as you've done so often these days.

Aside from the welcome information and decisions you hope would be talked through, you were also just excited to leave this room for a few hours at least. Only being able to feel the wind through an open window was getting old, and the city below this house felt like it was almost calling to you at this point, but you were too scared of seeming too interested since you didn't know if they'd find it suspicious. Just because the High Lord left the room on a friendlier note doesn't mean he'll trust you completely after what you've done.

You were technically allowed out of the room, free to walk around the House, with Azriel's supervision of course, but after your first attempt you decided it wasn't worth the trouble.

It had been mostly a miscalculation on your part. You were so consumed with your problems and with finding some sort of distraction that you almost forgot Azriel wasn't the only one you knew before, didn't stop to think what reaction they all would have to you.

Azriel asked you to join him for breakfast downstairs as he usually did, trying to get you to move around and talk with the other residents of the House. You accepted, tired of being in the stuffy room and curious to meet the General and his mate, who you've sometimes felt around the House and heard so much about from Azriel.

The atmosphere turned painfully awkward as soon as you entered the dining room with the shadowsinger at your side, making the other residents of the house look up to meet your eyes, surprised you had left the room. It wasn't long before Cassian stormed out, barely making an excuse on his way out after getting a good look at you, his mate following right behind him.

You ended up eating breakfast alone with Azriel, the same way you would have if you'd stayed in your room like you always did instead. Except now you couldn't take the general's haunted expression out of your mind. It truly had looked like he'd seen a ghost. Maybe he did.

Azriel apologized to you on his behalf, even though it wasn't his or Cassian's fault, and you're almost positive there was some sort of fight between them, though you hope not too severe. You'd hate for Azriel to get into arguments with his family over you. He didn't invite you downstairs again after that, simply joining you in your room whenever he could. The reminder of how caring the shadowsinger has been with you almost brings a smile to your lips.

“I'll make you fall for me again.”

Those words haven't left your mind since that night. You've never had anyone look at you with so much love in their eyes, and tell you something so bold with such conviction.

You're not sure you deserve it, and you're terrified you'll never remember him because you know this version of you can't ever be compared to the one in his memories. Even if you end up regaining your memories, it's impossible for things to truly go back to how they were. It's been too long and you've changed too much. The both of you know this.

You haven't actually talked about his or your feelings since that night, but it's clear that he still loves you, well he loves the female he once knew anyway, you're not so sure you're even that similar to her aside from your appearance. It doesn't feel fair to let him dote on you, knowing he's in love with a version of you that will never come back, knowing that, even with the fluttering of your heart, your feelings for him don't come close to his.

It makes you feel like you're taking advantage of him, how he's so dedicated to taking care of you and to restoring your memories, even trying to find the people who hurt you, while to you he's a stranger. Even if an extremely handsome stranger whose company you enjoy a lot, who makes you smile and even laugh despite the precarious circumstances you've found yourself in, who makes you believe you can get through this.

You can't deny you have a reaction to him either, every soft touch feels like lightning running through your veins, and every whisper of your name has goosebumps spreading all over your skin. Your body obviously still remembers how it feels to love him and to be loved by him in return, but the butterflies in your stomach don't even come close to the depth of his feelings for you. It's glaringly obvious that Azriel would do anything for you, even going as far as letting you stab him the very first night you met and brushing it off when you tried to apologize during this week.

Truthfully, falling for Azriel sounds like the easiest thing in the world, but you don't think you'd ever feel like you deserve him.

The shadows in the room start shifting ever so slightly as if reading your thoughts - something Azriel has assured you they can't do - a sign that their singer is approaching.

You put down the book you never even started and hop down from the window sill you had been sitting on for most of the afternoon, waiting for him to knock softly at the door like he always did, letting you prepare for his arrival or deny his company if you so wished. Anticipation was buzzing at your skin the longer you waited so you opened the door for him as soon as his knuckles met the dark wood, catching him off guard with his hand raised.

You can't help but smile at his wide eyes. Surprising the feared Spymaster of the Night Court has to be a hard feat to accomplish and the fact that you just did it so effortlessly makes you revel in his expression for a moment. He offers you a small smile of his own but you can immediately tell something is holding him back.

He hasn't really given you any information about their research or the guild, simply letting you know that they were working as hard as they could on it. You knew the High Lord still had his reservations about your presence in his court so it only made sense for them to keep their cards close to their chest until they knew more about the situation. You suppose he also wanted to see if any of the leads you gave Azriel on the guild actually turned out to be helpful, a last test to see if you were being truthful.

So you wouldn't be surprised that the Inner Circle had a meeting among themselves before bringing you in, one it seems like Azriel just came from, but his expression is making your anticipation steadily turn into nerves.

“Are you ready?”

Even with the lump that has lodged itself in your throat, you nod and try to give him a pleasant smile. You've been waiting for answers and you're finally going to get them, even if it feels like your heart is threatening to give out.

You quickly turn back into the room to slip on your shoes, before looping your arm around the one he offers, ever the gentlemale. He guides you through the painting covered hallways, most of which you haven't walked through before.

As you approach the room your nerves get the best of you. There are a lot more people in the office than you thought there'd be, you can hear their mismatched heartbeats from here, feel their suffocating presences. One you can distinctively recognize is the General's, it reminds you of his reaction in the dining room, how it seemed to hurt him just looking at you.

You didn't think the entire Inner Circle would be in attendance, figured that it would only be the ancient one, the High Lord and Lady aside from you and Azriel. You'll likely have to reveal more about yourself than you'd be comfortable with in any other situation, including things you're not proud of, things you know they'll judge you for, they'll judge the female they once knew for.

Azriel noticed your body tensing, your steps getting slower and the apprehension rolling off you in waves as your thoughts soured. He stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder, meeting your unfocused eyes.

Seeing the worried look on his face makes you take a deeper breath, willing your mind to focus on what's important right now and let your fears stay locked inside you. Thinking of it as another mission the guild sent you on, you've put your life on the line numerous times, you can get through a simple meeting.

You feel a familiar mask of indifference fall onto your face, the mask of a killer the guild made sure you wore almost every day of your life, but before you can rid your mind of emotion, Azriel grabs onto your hand, intertwining your fingers together, and bringing it up to his lips. He leaves a soft kiss on your skin, one that sends chills down your spine, though it's the look in his eyes that makes you stop.

You're not alone. For the first time in your life, at least in the life you remember, you're not alone. He's going to be next to you for every step of the way. You don't need to resort to assassin tactics. The blank mask was something you didn't have a choice but to use, to protect yourself from the things you'd seen, from the things you feel. But here you're allowed to delve into your emotions, to stay true to them.

Azriel gives you a small smile and lowers your hand away from his lips, proud of whatever determination showed on your face. He lets go of you, making you feel the absence of his warmth immediately, fingers twitching as if trying to reach out to his comfort on their own.

As soon as you walk into the room all eyes turn to you. You had been right to assume everyone was here. You let your eyes wander around the room briefly, noting the familiar and new faces, before settling back on Rhysand's, the reminder of the excruciating pain you've felt the last time you saw him an obvious weight on your mind.

You'd seen them all before except for the blonde sitting on the sofa by the window, her brown eyes were wide, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. You know that was Morrigan, the High Lord's cousin, and from what Azriel has told you, one of your once closest friends. Apparently she'd tried to come talk to you but it so happened to be on the day after you went down for breakfast and you denied it without a second thought when Azriel brough the option up. You wonder if that had been too harsh but you weren't sure you could handle a repeat of the Cassian situation.

Feyre and Morrigan are the only ones who attempt to throw a greeting smile your way but you can't bring yourself to respond, acutely aware of the tension in the air, eyes never straying from the High Lord's. Choosing to focus on the elephant in the room.

“I trust your stay has been enjoyable,” Rhysand muses as he points to the chair across from his desk, urging you to sit as if this were a simple business meeting. As ridiculous as the idea sounds, it does something to loosen your muscles and the snort that escapes Cassian lifts some of the tension.

“Yes, the House has been making sure of it,” you sit on the chair across from his desk, not daring to look away from him and the High Lady. He releases a simple hum at the answer, but you're too anxious for small talk. “Have you found a way to get my memories back?”

“In a way,” he offers, leaving you with more questions.

Thankfully, Amren fills up the silence in his place. “The spell suppressing your memories is the work of witches. Daemati can enter anyone's mind and make them forget certain memories but if someone had simply rewritten your memories then Rhys would have been able to fix them.”

“Witches?” The thought was enough to send shivers down your spine.

“Witches use tools to strengthen their powers, to access magic they aren't privy to,” she continues, “It seems someone used a witch's tool to feign daemati powers and rewrite your memories, effectively warding them as well.”

“That's why you had such a strong reaction when I entered your mind.”

You were positive this had to be the work of a daemati. It had never crossed your mind that there could be something else at play.

“You can't undo the spell,” you conclude for them.

Witches have a completely different approach to magic than faeries. While your kind was gifted their magic by the Mother, witches have to resort to the kind of tools Amren mentioned. The resulting magic isn't organic and as such it comes with rules and drawbacks you don't experience as fae.

“We'll need to find the person responsible for it. They're the only one who can tell us exactly how to undo it,” Feyre says.

You bite your lip, your mind reeling with the information. You only have one suspect and the thought of not only finding him but also making him talk sounds beyond ridiculous. He also hasn't shown any hint that he could use witch magic. As far as you know he's as much high fae as you are, but you can never be too certain when it comes to one the best assassins in the world.

“Azriel says you can only identify one member of the guild,” the High Lord continues, barely giving you any time to process.

You nod. “I had direct contact with a few other assassins when I was called for backup but never knew their names or even what some of them look like without disguises.”

“Our only option is finding your handler, but Azriel hasn't been able to find any tracks even with the information you've given him,” Feyre stands closer to the desk now, her hand leaning on the dark wood.

“I'm not surprised. Norris is one of the most prominent members of the guild, I'm not sure how old he is exactly but I suspect he's been working there for close to a millenia.”

“Azriel is extremely good at his job,” Rhysand tilts his head slightly, as if offended for his Spymaster.

“I know.” From the briefings he's given you, he has spies all over the world aside from his shadows, who can listen and see things fae could never begin to imagine. Even with your hints, he's come closer to the guild in a week than entire countries have in decades, perhaps even centuries. “But we've been trained to kill and hide from people like him, like you. And Norris has been doing that successfully for a very long time.”

“We…” He taps his nails on the table, the sound echoing across the room. “So you're an assassin then,” the distaste clear on the High Lord's face.

You hadn't said the words out loud but everyone had probably guessed it the moment you walked back into their lives. The guild has made a name for themselves, and as much as some of your work consisted of spying or retrieving objects, most people came to the guild for mercenary jobs.

“Yes,” you confirm, forcing yourself to keep up the eye contact.

“An interesting career choice,” he muses, as if you had the pleasure of just choosing to become this monster.

The several pairs of eyes watching you intently were making you feel defensive, your temper rising up with it. It's easy to judge someone looking in from the outside. You'd been an assassin or training to become one ever since you could remember, which in reality wasn't your whole life like you thought before. Still, whether it was because you'd been taken in by the guild as a child or had your memories rewritten, you were thrown into it against your will and had since been stuck with no chance of an escape. Everyone has done things they're not proud of and you know fae in such important positions as these and as old as they are can definitely relate to this sentiment.

You weren't proud of it, far from it, but you didn't have a choice. And it's not your fault the female they knew before wouldn't do these things. It's not your fault that innocence and chance at being better she had were ripped away from you.

“Not everyone has the luxury of getting a court handed to them,” the venom drips out of your tongue, every word meant as a weapon.

You know this is a low blow, being aware of the circumstances in which Rhysand became High Lord, how he lost his whole family in one night. But if he wants cruelty, the assassin he keeps judging, you can certainly give it to them. Your bravado lessens when you feel the sharp intake of breaths around the room, most notably from the Illyrian by your side, where he still stands despite how tense his posture has become.

Rhysand's wings tighten against his body and his eyes narrow, finally letting go of the faux relaxed look he's presented you with. He takes a moment to answer you, likely leveling his temper or receiving soothing words from his mate.

“There was a time you wouldn't even dare to hurt an innocent.” This statement lacks the same bite as before, it gives way to disappointment, and it feels like a bucket of ice poured over molting lava. It cuts deeper than any amount of judgment he could have presented you with.

You straighten yourself in the chair, trying to not let it show how much this whole conversation is affecting you. “Well,” you lick your lip, now realizing how dry your mouth felt, “The only thing left from before is my body.”

His violet gaze finally becomes too much for you to bear, allowing yourself the respite of looking down at your hands. There are too many emotions swirling in his alluring eyes, even more felt around the room, the tension has become so thick you could barely breathe, couldn't even risk a look at Azriel in fear of what you'd find written on his face, terrified that the same disappointment lingered there as well.

“It's not,” the change in tone has you looking back up at him, meeting his gaze once more to find understanding reflected on it. And I can only imagine how you've been surviving through it all.

His echoing words make you pause, not being able to look away from him. It's only when wetness gathers in your eyes that you look back down, praying the room of perceptive fae don't notice how close you are to tears. You don't even remember the last time you cried, the last time someone extended you the kindness Rhysand just did, even after all the judgment.

Shadows start crawling up your legs, tentatively moving towards you as if asking permission to comfort you. You bite back a smile, keeping your tears at bay as you wonder if they moved of their own accord or if Azriel sent them to you. You relax your body, allowing them to twist and turn over your legs, mildly surprised that you can actually feel a ghost of a touch. You didn't think you could feel shadows.

You risk a glance at the shadowsinger in question, almost regretting it as you see the fondness reflected in his beautiful eyes as he watches his own shadows move across your skin. This must have been a regular occurrence before. You look away as soon as your gazes meet, not being able to bear the intensity in them in this room full of onlookers.

Unfortunately, your escape brings you back to facing the High Lord and Lady, who seem more than amused at your interaction with Azriel. The change in atmosphere from just a few moments ago almost gives you whiplash.

“You haven't told me what you plan on doing about the guild,” you try to keep your tone leveled, but looking at their reactions you're failing miserably.

“Finding your handler seems to be our best bet,” the smile on Feyre's face only falters a bit, the tension from before has almost dissipated. “Since he's the one who sent you here he might know who hired the guild and their motives for wanting the book.”

“You said he was the one who introduced you into the guild.” You nod at Rhysand. “It's possible he's the one responsible for your… accident.”

“I think so too,” you agreed, your hand moving up to touch the scar on your neck, “I've always been told this scar was the result of a failed mission, and that Norris had been the one to find me and take me to a healer.”

“We found the attackers not long after your death,” the general finally speaks up, cringing softly at the choice of word. His mate was quick to narrow her eyes at him, as if reprimanding him for mentioning it.

“He might not have actually cut my throat,” you shrug, trying not to linger in unpleasant thoughts. “He likely saw me after the attack and decided I'd make a good addition to the guild if I survived. I'm basically a ghost, that's perfect for an agent. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd done similar things before.”

“Either way, we need to find him.”

“Even if we do, I'm not sure he'll actually tell you anything.” Norris was one of the most respected members of the guild. His abilities far surpassed yours, he'd been the one to teach you most things after all. You've never been able to even sneak up on him so finding and capturing him alive already seemed hard enough, but making him cooperate and answer any of your questions was next to impossible. The Mother only knows how many fae have tried it and failed.

“He will,” Azriel stated. When you look into his eyes you can only see pure fury and determination written in them, leaving no space for any doubts. He stares into your eyes before adding, promising, “l'll make sure of it.”

Some of that confidence rubs off on you it seems, because your hesitation starts evaporating the longer you stare into his eyes. You've always been on your own, and as such you've only ever considered how you'd fare against your handler without backup. Between the famed Shadowsinger, the strongest High Lord in history, the Made Sisters, and everyone else in this room, your chances were exponentially higher. Escaping the guild doesn't feel like a pipe dream anymore.

“How do you want to find him?”

The High Lord rewards your determination with a smirk. “The only way to find someone like him is by making him search for us instead.”

“You want to use me as bait,”

“You can refuse,” Azriel assured. This explains his sour mood. You didn't think he'd agreed with this solution with the way he's been treating you so carefully, almost as if you're made of glass. You can't exactly fault him for it either, but the truth is you can't refuse. You don't know if you could ever find Norris with traditional tactics, or if the guild wouldn't send more assassins to the city, if they hadn't already.

“And keep living like this? Hiding without even knowing who I am?”

He searches your eyes, fear and vulnerability swimming in the hazel, but nods all the same. He told you he's dreamed of getting you back for a century, and thought it was something that would never come true, so it makes sense that he'd be hesitant on letting you put yourself in such a risky position. You know he understands why you need this though.

The meeting runs for a while longer, and by the time Rhysand was calling it a day the sun was already setting on the horizon, making way for the night to take over in all its glory, one that could only be fully appreciated in the Night Court.

As much as everyone seems to be warming up to you, letting go of the conflicted feelings towards having you back in these circumstances, you were extremely overwhelmed by the end. Talking to someone who knows you so intimately even though you don't have any recollection of it is a confusing experience. You could almost hear your mind screaming at you, begging for some peace and quiet.

The contrast between the Inner Circle and Azriel becomes clear in your mind. Your relationships were very different before but it's interesting to see that even when you don't have your memories, you feel so much calmer with him. That nagging feeling of being faced with something you've lost keeps rising up when they speak to you, but it doesn't come anywhere close to the myriad of emotions Azriel evokes simply by looking at you. And even if those emotions are more intense, you have a much bigger tolerance for them, as if your body would gladly accept any turmoil as long as you stayed in his company.

Just as you were about to leave the room, Rhysand invites you to join them for dinner. Everyone turns to you with expectant eyes before the words fully leave his mouth. They clearly planned it out together. This habit they have of speaking through each other's minds is one it might take a while getting used to.

You bite your lip, as you think of what to say. Cassian and Morrigan look particularly keen on the idea, it makes you feel a little relieved that the general isn't looking at you like a nightmare came true anymore, but you really don't think you can handle any more questions today, or to have them reminisce about your former relationships. You're not used to spending time with a lot of people in general, you'd go months without any sort of fae contact sometimes. You just want to go somewhere quiet, and you can only think of one person whose company would allow you to relax.

Making up your mind, you decline the invitation politely, trying to ignore the disappointment in their eyes as they bid you goodnight. This still feels like a huge improvement from where you stood with them just at the beginning of the meeting, that they'd want to keep you company when it felt like they were avoiding you this whole week. You might have gained some of their trust, and, to your immense shock, you trust them as well. It feels like a breath of fresh air after a century of not even trusting your shadow.

Maybe it's that feeling, or the immediate quiet that settles over you as soon as you walk into the empty hallway, maybe even the fact that you finally got some answers and even a plan, a chance at leaving the guild, something you never even dared to dream about, but it has you feeling a little indulgent. Your steps are noticeably lighter, and all the tension from before is now only a faint ache in your muscles.

“Azriel?” You look up at him with a smile, feeling it widen when he looks at you in answer. “Since I'm out of the room, can we go somewhere to watch the stars?”

The smile that takes over his face is blinding, it feels like it could rival the moon. It's fascinating how his beauty can still catch you off guard like this, even if you've been spending most of your time with him for an entire week.

“Of course,” he moves closer to you and takes your hand, pulling you into him, his eyes never straying from yours. It takes you longer than it should have to realize he was covering you both in shadows, too lost in his eyes to pay attention to your surroundings, how they've turned to black. He told you before that's how he winnows, though it can't be called that since he moves through shadows instead.

The light almost blinds you as his shadows disperse, giving way to a view you can't believe is real. The sky wasn't completely dark yet, stuck in the brief moments of twilight where you could still see the last rays of the sun illuminating the dark blue sky. And yet the stars were already twinkling in the sky, surrounding the full moon.

You can't help but gasp, forgetting about Azriel and moving to the edge of the roof, admiring the unforgettable view. Your eyes don't stray from it as you lean against the railing, long enough that the sun completely sets, and the streets become illuminated by faelights.

You had thought there was some sort of celebration when you first came here, but have since learned that every night is enjoyed to its fullest in the city of dreamers.

As some of your awe settles, you turn to look at Azriel as he too admires the city. His shadows had left him uncovered, choosing to scatter around what you now recognize as a training ground. You almost regret staring up at the sky for so long when you could have been reveling in his beauty this whole time.

His tan skin was glowing with the pale moonlight, eyes as bright as the stars when he looks down at you. You move closer to him almost unconsciously, as if you've been bewitched.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you sound breathless even to your ears. “The view is a lot more beautiful from up here.” Your bedroom window could never do this justice. If you looked up, it almost felt like you were walking on air, among the stars.

He turns to you fully, ignoring the captivating sight in favor of watching you. His face relaxes further as he takes you in, the smile on his lips growing and the air around you changing. He raises his scarred palm up to cup your face, whispering softly, “It can't ever compare to you.”

“That's cheesy,” you stutter, clearly taken aback by the sudden flirtatious tone.

He grins down at you, a mischievous look in his eyes, rubbing his thumb over the increasingly warmer skin of your cheek. “You're blushing.”

Azriel has been open with his feelings for you all week, making it clear that they haven't changed over the years, even with your absence from his life, but he has never been this brazen. None of the interactions you've had can be considered anything else than platonic, and even with sweet compliments and bashful admissions, he has never looked at you like this, like he truly believed just one second of looking at you was worth more than this unbelievable view.

“You know,” you start hesitantly, “We haven't actually tried everything.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to catch up to your train of thought. You can feel when he does because he tenses against you, and would have let go of your face if you hadn't placed your hand around his wrist, keeping him there.

“I think I've read it in a story before,” you lick your lips, feeling like lava is pumping through your veins when his eyes follow the movement, “Sometimes a kiss can be stronger than any magic spell.”

He leans closer to you slowly, looking into your eyes to search for any sign of discomfort. You can't be entirely sure what he finds in them, you can't feel much else but desire in this moment, but it has him clearing the rest of the way, both of your eyes closing as his lips finally touch yours softly.

A sigh escapes him when you press into him harder, needing to find out what he tastes like, what he feels like. His other hand comes up to cup your other cheek, holding you against him. You can feel him losing his restraint bit by bit, hands moving from your face to hold your neck, your waist, grip getting tighter with every stroke of his tongue against yours, a century of longing and raw passion melting into the kiss. Your own arms find their way around his neck, pulling him down, finally feeling the softness of his hair around your fingers. His chest is pressed against yours, close enough that you can feel his heart beating.

When you finally pull away from each other, you're both breathless. He leans his forehead against yours, eyes closed. You wonder how many times he's dreamed of this moment, of being able to taste you again after so long.

“Any memories resurfacing?” His voice is rough, deeper than you've ever heard it. It almost makes you hold back a moan.

“No,” you lick your lips, reveling in his taste, “but we can give it another try.”

His lips find yours as soon as the last words leave your mouth, more than happy to deliver. You might chastise yourself for giving in to temptation tomorrow, but in this moment nothing else matters. Not the guild, not your lost memories, not your mistakes. Right now there's only him, you and the stars as your witnesses.

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#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #divider by saradika

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'The Love Shack' Part V - The Fault Is Ours

Relationship: Neteyam(23) x fem!Omatikaya reader(21) x Lo'ak(22) Warnings: Adult content 18+ MDNI

Part V Summary: You'd prepared for Neteyam's upset, prepared for his anger, but what you hadn't prepared for or even anticipated was his complete and total disregard for you... Word count: 13.7k

Series content: Mentions of group sex, MMF threesome, smut, sex toy play, squirting, anal sex, kuru play

Read Part I, II, III and IV in my Masterlist HERE

Author's Note: My darling lovelies, I present to you the finale Chapter 5 of this series. 🥰 I never thought I'd write anything else after 'Violet Eyes', but lo and behold, here I am at the end of my fifth series. And it's honestly all thanks to you wonderful folk in this community who have supported me & brought me so much enjoyment. Without further do, enjoy this finale!

***~~~***

“I could ask you the same thing! What the fuck are you playing at?”

Lo’ak’s words rang in your ears and looped over and over in your stunned mind. Shaken and upset by Neteyam’s abrupt exit, your words had forsaken you and you’d been unable to offer immediate any answer to Lo’ak’s question apart from meekly muttered apologies.

It had very quickly dawned on you that whilst Lo’ak appeared as confused as you were, he and you were not at all confused about the same thing. You were reeling at his brother’s upset, whereas he appeared to be upset with you and confused by your actions.

You were alone in the play area currently. Lo’ak had gone into the shack’s main area to find some space and presumably warm some water for clean-up. You’d always had one of the brothers, usually Neteyam, to burrow against and snuggle up to while the other prepped the necessary things for clean-up and aftercare. The solitude tonight was new and it was unpleasant.

With Neteyam’s heated departure and Lo’ak’s apparent irritation, you felt cold, confused and abandoned.

Fat teardrops squeezed from between your lashes where you sat on folded legs on the bed, hunched over and hugging yourself. Your kept your snuffles as quiet as possible. You always felt vulnerable and frazzled after a session with the brothers. Once the extreme highs of sex and pleasure play had diminished, you were often thrown into a hormonal slump that left you feeling exposed and in need of comfort. There was no comfort today.

Neteyam had stormed off and now Lo’ak was angry with you too… You’d just wanted a parting kiss from each of them…

Your arms were crossed over your front and your fingernails dug into the flesh of your upper arms as you cried. The entire space still smelled of the activities you had engaged in with the brothers, and the scent was suddenly suffocating.

Eywa, tonight’s session had ended in disorientation and disaster… You should’ve listened to your mind’s cautioning earlier… You should’ve just said your piece and left…

Deciding it was probably best for you to leave, you crawled to the edge of the bed and stood on wobbly legs. Finding your chest covering on the floor, you secured it again over your breasts, fingers fumbling clumsily with the ties. Eyes still blurry from your tears, you swiped a hand over your face and continued to look for your loincloth.

Lo’ak re-entered the space with some cloths and a bowl of warm water. He took in your trembling and tearful state as you attempted to dress yourself again, and he sighed, “Hey, where are you going? Stop.”

“I think I should go. “You mumbled. You refused to meet his eyes, keeping your head downturned with your chin tucked against your chest, “I didn’t mean to upset you both.”

Setting down the things he was carrying, Lo’ak stopped you trying to pull your loincloth up your legs, “No, lie back down. We still need to get you cleaned up. I’m not letting you leave like this. Eywa, look at you.”

The sticky mess between your legs was trickling down your thighs. Your skin was damp with sweat and your nose was running from your tears. When you ignored his words and twisted out of his gentle hold, the remainder of Lo’ak’s patience snapped. With a growl, he took hold of you by your waist and hauled you back onto the soft bedding despite your rueful cries to leave you be.

Lo’ak watched as you curled onto your side, sobbing into your hands. He was still annoyed at what you’d done earlier, but he also recognised the emotional mess you were in after their play session. It was also obvious to him that you didn’t understand what had caused Neteyam’s upset. With another bone-weary sigh, he wet several small cloths in the bowl he’d brought in and wrung them dry.

“Shh, sweet thing. Come on, let me clean you up.” Lo’ak coaxed, gentling his voice.

He crawled onto the bedding next to you and tenderly parted your knees to sweep the cloth up your thighs and between them. Taking the other warm cloth, he folded it and placed it over your core, knowing the warmth of it would soothe the temporary swelling from their session. He wiped you down with a third cloth, the moist warmth of it smoothing over your belly, back and upper arms. He gently pried your hands from your face and he cleaned them too before dabbing at your face last.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was an unhappy squeak.

Putting the cleaning cloths aside, Lo’ak tucked himself behind your curled form, spooning you. He tucked an arm around your waist and pulled you to him, “Do you even know what you’re apologising for?”

“For upsetting you both.”

“Do you know why Neteyam took off and why I’m upset too?”

You considered his question. Great Mother, Neteyam had been furious… Things were strained enough already between the two of you and now it felt like things had broken down even further. And you’d simply kissed Lo’ak… You didn’t understand his recoil either…

You shook your head, fighting back another swelling bout of emotion, “No.”

Lo’ak cursed softly. He kept his arm around you though, wanting to soothe you still despite his frustration with you, with his brother, with the whole situation. He began measuredly, “I’m going to say my piece and I’m only going to say it once, because this whole thing, this we-don’t-talk-about-feelings shit, that you and Neteyam have going on is getting ridiculous.”

You sniffed softly, pawing at your eyes again when more unwanted tears poured forth, “Feelings can’t come into this. This arrangement was physical only.”

“Does that change the fact that they exist?” Lo’ak asked. Knowing you wouldn’t see as you were facing away from him, he gave an emphatic roll of his eyes, “Look, I know you have feelings for my brother, and I don’t think I’m speaking out of turn here because I feel like you know this already, but Neteyam returns those feelings.”

You shifted, rolling onto your back so you could scowl at him, “Where are you going with this? What does it matter?”

Lo’ak propped his head up on his elbow, responding with a glower of his own, “It matters because the bond that you share is sincere! There’s meaning there. What you and I share? That’s purely physical; just sex and body play. If you kiss me it’s because you enjoy the sensation, but there’s no meaning there.”

“So that’s why you’re angry? Because I kissed you and it doesn’t mean anything?”

An exasperated hiss left Lo’ak, his irritation rising again, “No! I’m upset because Neteyam is upset! You upset my brother, you upset me. That’s how this works.”

You could match his rising temper, however. Sick of the confusion you felt and just wanting Lo’ak to speak plainly, you spat, “So why is Neteyam upset? Things were going fine and then he decided to throw a tantrum!”

“Because you kissed me!” Lo’ak howled, frustrated by how something so simple in his eyes was so oblivious to you. Fine, he’d spell it out for you, “You said no kissing. That was the boundary that you set. You’ve denied my brother’s attempts to cross that line for weeks now. You denied him again tonight even when he asked to kiss you, and then you suddenly decide after it all to kiss me?!”

Realisation flooded you at how your actions had appeared and you were quick to refute the misunderstanding, “No! It’s not what it looks like! I wanted to kiss both of you one last time. You just happened to be closest. I was facing you so I kissed you first! But I would’ve kissed Neteyam next!”

Lo’ak emitted a miserable groan and flopped onto his back, pressing the fingers of one hand into his eyes, “Fuck, you should’ve kissed my brother first.”

You groaned and your hands flew to your face again in distress, “Great Mother, what a mess. Tell him for me when you see him? Tell him I wasn’t doing it intentionally to spite him?”

Peering through your fingers, you saw Lo’ak fix you with an incredulous expression, “I won’t be telling him anything. You’re going to explain yourself to him and the both of you are going to talk. Properly. Honestly.”

“I’ll apologise and explain what happened, but there’s nothing else to talk about.”

With a scathing laugh, Lo’ak rounded on you again, “You know that’s such bullshit, Neyomi. I know you’re in love with him.”

It was the truth. You knew it within yourself, had known it for so long now, but to hear it called out so openly by Lo’ak was a shock to your psyche. It felt like his utterance of the words had willed it into a truth so solid that no matter how much you wanted to deny it to salvage what was left of your heart, you couldn’t.

“He told me what happened that night at the hot spring, about how you denied his affection and pushed him away after. That really cut him deep.” Lo’ak added, and his tone was woeful.

Bitterly, you moved to sit upright so you could look at Lo’ak square in the eyes. You glared at him, cursing the tears that pooled in your eyes and threatened the spill, “So, what? You want me to tell Neteyam how I feel. Apologise for pushing him away, pour out my soul, and break my heart over a man I can never have?”

Understanding washed over Lo’ak at your words. There it was. The reason that had prompted your sudden change in behaviour over the last couple of moons. He’d known it wasn’t because you’d had a change of heart. You were only trying to protect yourself. Lo’ak thought of his brother’s stubbornness then, of Kiri, and their grandmother’s approval of the proposed arrangement. He chuckled.

You frowned at Lo’ak’s quiet laughter, feeling indignant and wondering if he really was cruel enough to be laughing at you right now. You hissed harshly, “It’s not funny.”

“No, no! I’m not laughing at you. It’s just this whole situation could be so easily solved if you and Neteyam actually put your egos aside to talk.” Lo’ak quickly reassured and he shook his head at you mildly with a final huff of laughter, “If there was a chance you could be with my brother, would you take it?”

Your face was still pulled deep in a frown, but the points of your ears twitched in sceptical interest, “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

Lo’ak licked his lips and ground his teeth together. It wasn’t his place to say. The arrangement was a formal one and until it was officially announced by the tsahìk, it was not to be spoken of. Clan formalities had to be observed by all and Neteyam had technically broken the rules by telling him about it.

“My grandmother is going to make a formal announcement to the clan tomorrow night at communal last meal.” Lo’ak said, and there was a particular note in his inflection that urged you to listen, that told you what he was telling you was significant, “If you truly care for my brother, you’ll speak to him afterward and you’ll tell him the truth of how you feel. Because he’s a stubborn skxawng who’s been stung one too many times now and the he won’t be honest with you unless you make the first move.”

***~~~***

You sat with Tula and some of the other female warriors, all gathered for last meal in the central gathering space of the village. You’d barely eaten anything all day and yet, as you stared at the assortment of stewed, roasted and fresh foods on your food mat, you didn’t feel even an ounce of hunger. Your anxiety had made sure of that.

It’d been a typical day of rest for the clan; families enjoyed each other’s company; friends spent time catching up over fun hobbies; children squealed and ran amok the village grounds, glad for a day off from lessons and chores. However, you’d been a tense knot of nerves all day awaiting the tsahìk’s impending proclamation.Ordinarily, you wouldn’t have been bothered. The tsahìk made all sorts of announcements all the time, but tonight’s announcement would supposedly be bringing you an opportunity, or so Lo’ak had assured.

You’d sought Tula out first thing in the morning, brimming with emotion and nerves after the mishap at the shack last night. The olo’eyktan’s family had passed you at communal breakfast and while Lo’ak had graced you with a genial grin, Neteyam had avoided acknowledging you entirely. Everything came to a head at that point.

You’d told Tula everything then about how Kai had ended things, how you’d confronted Neteyam at the shack and what came after. You’d cried in her arms over how you’d inadvertently slighted Neteyam and told her of what Lo’ak was urging you to do. To your surprise, Tula had sided with Lo’ak’s view on things.

What followed was a day of forced, but blessed pampering from your best friend. Tula had taken you down to the bathing springs, where she’d treated you to one of her wonderful back rubs with sweet oils, before she helped you to undo your tightly braided hair for washing. She had cooed and clucked over you, slathering you in all sorts of balms and creams that would help reduce the puffiness of your eyes, relax you and smoothen your skin.

Your hair fell loosely around your ears and shoulders now, luscious and silky from Tula’s various herbal conditioning treatments. Your skin felt smooth like baby’s bottom and she’d dowsed you in a scented oil to help promote calmness. She’d plucked several sun lily blooms from their stems on the walk back to the village and threaded them through your locks, remarking with a flourish that the vivid indigo hue of the flowers set off the rest of your more casual look perfectly.

“You’re quiet this evening, Neyomi. You look beautiful by the way.” Silwey observed, smiling at you from across the gathered circle of women.

The other female warrior’s smile was polite and you forced as genuine a smile back at her in return. Silwey was beautiful too, very beautiful. She had the kind of classic beauty that all the old women harped on about. The kind of loveliness that would make most men drool and gawk.

“Thanks, Tula did a fantastic job on me, as always.” You replied, picking at a small morsel of meat and popping it into your mouth.

“Not that you don’t always look beautiful though, but there’s just something about today’s look that really flatters.” Another female, Kanoa, added brightly.

“Kai is a lucky man.” Silwey chortled. You nearly choked on your food.

Clearing your throat gently, you shrugged self-consciously at Silwey, “Ah, Kai and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise.”

“It’s alright. The split is fairly fresh, but it was mutual.”

Clearly feeling bad for catching you out on an awkward subject, Silwey attempted to cheer you up, “Well, whoever catches your eye next will be a very lucky man.”

The women all murmured in cheerful agreement. Even Tula, who was doing a great job of pretending that she was unaware of the real reason for your disquiet. You mustered up a kind smile at Silwey to reassure her you’d taken no offense. You wondered if she would’ve been as kind if she knew that the man who’d caught your eye was Neteyam…

Absently, you wondered if Neteyam had sought Silwey out on her own again in the weeks you’d stopped going to the shack. You were well aware of Silwey’s romantic interest in Neteyam, especially after her last bold proposition to him all those weeks ago on the very day that had led to your evening spent with Neteyam at the hot spring. The thought of him with Silwey pained you, and you forced the thought from your mind.

A chorus of soft hushing and murmurs rippled through the gathered Omatikaya then and you saw the tsahìk step up onto the raised platform by the bonfire. She raised her arms and the clan fell obediently into silence.

“Brothers and sisters! I thank you all for gathering this night, may Eywa bless us in our communion.” Mo’at called out, her voice carrying strongly over the crowd, “A proposal was brought to me for consideration not long ago, by our olo’eyktan, regarding the traditions our people have long held about how our clans are led. Tradition has always decreed that our peoples be led by a mated pair, olo’eyktan and tsahìk, unified and blessed in the eye of Eywa.”

Your heart was beginning to pound in your chest, impatient for the tsahìk to get to the crux of her proclamation.

Mo’at continued, “But in recent generations, this has not always been so. Indeed there are other clans where the leading pair are not mated to each other, instead leading their people through an agreed partnership. Even for us Omatikaya, things have changed with the coming and subsequent defeat of the Sky People.” She turned astute eyes at her family, at Jake and Neytiri in particular, “I have retained my position as tsahìk because my daughter chose a warrior’s path, while my son-in-law Jake leads us as chief. But I am getting old now.”

Muted murmurs of curiosity were rising within the crowd, all keen to hear what their tsahìk was about to say.

Mo’at raised her arms again and she gestured this time for two others to join her on the platform. Neteyam ascended at her beckoning closely followed by his sister, Kiri.

Mo’at smiled warmly at her two grandchildren, placing a hand on each of their heads in blessing before addressing the crowd again, “Our line of succession has not changed. Neteyam will still succeed his father as olo’eyktan in time to come. However, I have prayed to our Great Mother recently and she has shown me who is to walk the path of tsahìk after me. As many of you have experienced for yourselves, our Kiri is gifted and Eywa’s voice has whispered to her since she was barely more than a babe. Our Great Mother has chosen and Kiri will fulfil the role of tsahìk when my time comes to pass!”

A current of emotion washed through the clan, all susurrating and murmuring, some excitedly and others confusedly.

“Wait, what?” Kanoa breathed, “Kiri will lead with Neteyam?”

“Yes.” Silwey affirmed, “She will be tsahìk and Neteyam will be olo’eyktan alongside her.”

Mo’at’s voice rang out again and she continued, “I hereby declare Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan and Kiri te Suli Kireysi’ite our Omatikaya successors! They will choose their own respective mates, but they will lead this clan in time, brother and sister in partnership!”

Neteyam and Kiri clasped hold of each other hands then and they raised their arms in affirmation of their partnership before the people. The Omatikaya roared their approval, clapping, howling and ululating their joy.

They will choose their own respective mates… Mo’at’s words rang in your ears amidst the din the clan was making around you. Tula clutched at one of your knees, beaming at you happily at what the proclamation meant for you: A chance to love, truly and freely.

Your gaze drifted to the rest of the Sully family standing by the foot of the platform. You caught Lo’ak’s eye and he smirked at you, his eyes twinkling with meaning. This was what he’d meant last night. You recalled his question to you: If there was a chance you could be with my brother, would you take it?

You knew your answer: Absolutely.

The thrilled yammering of the warrior women around you brought you back to the present.

“So he can choose any woman he wants now. Not necessarily one of the healer women.” Kanoa’s voice was an energised whisper and she giggled girlishly at her words.

“Yup, sounds like it.” Another warrior, Neneka said, “Great Mother, have mercy on my soul for saying this, but I’d love to get under Neteyam, you know what I mean? He watches and plays around a bit at the old outpost, but he’s not as unreserved as Lo’ak is.”

You froze when you realised what the topic of the conversation had turned to among the women. Eywa, you didn’t want to hear about other women’s experiences with him…

“Yeah, he’s picky.” Kanoa sighed dreamily, “I bet he’s a generous lover though. Someone here is lucky enough to know.” She elbowed Silwey and burst into another fit of kittenish giggles.

“Hey, stop it. I’m not going to kiss and tell.” Silwey replied, laughing and swatting lightly at Kanoa. She pursed her lips sassily then and she gave a sly narrowing of her eyes, “But he’s an incredible time. That’s all I’ll say.”

The warrior women crowed with laughter at their gossipmongering and your food looked very interesting all of a sudden. You picked at the offerings on your food mat, eating a few mouthfuls and concentrating hard on the burst of savoury flavours on your tongue in a bid to drown out the awful conversation around you. You could feel Tula’s concerned eyes peering at you, but you kept to yourself.

“Well, I’m going to go and congratulate Kiri.” Tula pronounced, trying to change the subject. She pushed off her heels to stand, “Kiri is the one who’s been formally confirmed into her role tonight. It’s not all about Neteyam.”

“That’s true. Good idea.” Silwey agreed, rising to her feet along with the other women. She tittered boldly and then added, her tone brazen, “I’ll congratulate Kiri and then perhaps see if Neteyam would like some private company tonight too.”

The women snickered and began making their way towards the platform to offer Kiri their felicitations. You shook your head at the mob of them as they left. Eywa, the women were as bad as the men were with their egging and bragging of sexual conquests…

Tula lingered behind, staying with you. She crouched down next to you and reached out to squeeze your shoulder, “Don’t pay any attention to them. Eyes on the prize. You have a meaningful conversation that you need to have with Neteyam tonight. And it could change everything.”

“I know.” You sighed, looking over your shoulder where Kiri and Neteyam stood by the front of the platform, surrounded by a throng of well-wishers, “It’s just- I think I really hurt him last night.”

“There are two sides to every story. He’s not exactly been forthcoming with you either. You both need to just clear the air and get everything out in the open.”

“Thanks for everything today. Thanks for listening.” You shot Tula an appreciative smile, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Tula’s answer was a smile and a wink, but her face twisted into an unimpressed grimace when she looked to the front of the platform again, “Better work fast, babe. Silwey’s got dessert on her mind tonight.”

Sure enough, you saw Silwey whispering into Neteyam’s ear when you cast another glance over your shoulder. It was now or never. You needed to get Neteyam alone and you were going to swallow your pride and tell him everything. Dusting your hands off, you rose to your feet, intent for the throng of people gathered at the front.

Politely excusing yourself as you stepped past families and groups of friends, you weaved through the crowd and passed the crackling bonfire on your way. You made for Kiri first, wanting to congratulate the other woman. You had never spoken much to Kiri, but you were acquaintances through her brothers. Being a warrior by profession meant that you had more to do work-wise with Neteyam and Lo’ak than with Kiri, who was of course a healer and spiritual leader by trade.

Finally making it to the newly appointed tsakarem (tsahìk in waiting), you greeted Kiri politely, making the appropriate gesture with your fingers splaying out from your forehead, “Oel ngati kameie, Kiri. Congratulations on your appointment. The clan rejoices and thanks you for your service.”

Kiri’s answering smile at your greeting was enigmatic, her large golden eyes bright and perceptive, “Ngati kameie nìteng (I see you also), Neyomi. Thank you for your kind words.”

You mused quietly to yourself that Kiri already seemed to have the piercing look of a tsahìk down perfectly. The other woman was unfazed as she openly eyed you from your face, down your torso and legs, and then back up to your face again. She cocked her head at you then, eyes in a slight squint, “The tsawksyul blooms are a nice touch in your hair. Beautiful.”

“Irayo (thank you).” You thanked her, realising awkwardly that you really didn’t know what else to say to Kiri. You were also wilting a little under her penetrating gaze, so you spluttered a parting blessing, “May Eywa bless you and keep you always.”

Kiri nodded, the short and wispy ends of her short hair swaying where they framed her lovely face. Her eyes flitted to Neteyam who stood several paces to her right, surrounded by what could only be described as a gaggle of fawning women. Your own eyes followed Kiri’s, taking immediate note of the fact that Silwey was closest to him and that she’d curled a covetous hand around one of his biceps, her side pressed against his.

“I expect you’ll want to get my brother’s attention now that his pool of choice has widened.” Kiri began, moving closer to you so she could speak into your ear, “Like the rest of these eager vultures.”

Her disdain was clear in her tone and you shifted uneasily on your feet. You shook your head to refute her statement, not wanting to be reduced or likened in any way to the notion of a shallow, insipid woman, lusting after a man of high standing.

“I do need to speak to Neteyam, but it’s important. An apology actually.” You replied, hoping your candour would prove your sincerity to his intimidating sister.

With one last cock of her head and a piercing stare that made you feel like she could see you inside and out, the warm smile that Kiri graced you with next was unexpected, “My brothers speak highly of you, as do the warriors in your platoon. Eywa ngahu (May Eywa be with you), Neyomi.”

You dipped your head in acknowledgement and Kiri’s attention was quickly pulled away by another clan member wishing to congratulate her. With a deep breath, you refocused on your objective.

Neteyam was speaking to four women, all smiles and laughter as they conversed. You managed to place yourself in a gap between two of them, just big enough for you to slip into without needing to push anyone. It placed you directly in his line of sight, but if you thought he was going to acknowledge you, even out of courtesy given there were others surrounding him, watching him, you were wrong.

Mild irritation flared in your gut and you continued to look at him, trying to catch his eye. However, Neteyam’s gaze studiously avoided yours while he spoke in turn to the others, even quirking a small smile at Silwey when she leant her cheek against his shoulder. Your distress was sharp behind your sternum at the sight, but you were determined.

You cleared your throat audibly, causing a lull in the conversation as the women turned to look at you. You seized the opportunity, “Excuse me. Neteyam, can I have a moment? I need to speak to you.”

Finally, for the first time that day, his amber orbs clashed with your own. There was no warmth in them though, no emotion. Just pure impassiveness that sent a dreadful shudder through you.

“If it’s about work, it can wait until tomorrow morning.” Neteyam’s response was clipped.

His icy demeanour was cutting. You’d expected him to be upset, but not like this, not cold and unfeeling. “It’s not work-related, but it’s important.”

“Sorry. I’ve got plans tonight.” More callous brusqueness.

This was an unexpected hurdle. You hadn’t anticipated his refusal to speak to you. You’d prepared for his upset and for his anger, but not for his complete and utter disregard. A painful lump was forming in your throat and you swallowed it down tightly.

Keeping a tight rein on the brewing storm of your emotions beneath the surface, you maintained your careful mask of composure and tried again, “Neteyam, please. I only need a few moments.”

“No, I’ll catch you another time.” It was a clear dismissal.

You weren’t going to beg, not in front of everyone. You would swallow your pride, but not to the extent of abandoning all of your dignity.

Silwey was frowning at you, puzzled displeasure colouring her features, and the other women appeared equally uncomfortable at the awkward exchange. The telltale hot flush of humiliation was beginning to tingle and burn on the skin of your face. You regarded Neteyam’s hard gaze one final time before you turned and excused yourself from the group.

The world around you became surreal, the noise of the gathered clan becoming a dull hum as you ambled on numb feet back the way you came. You could feel your composure beginning to fracture, the turbulent storm within you threatening to spill, and with the first breath that hitched painfully in your chest, you broke into a sprint in the direction of your home shelter.

You needed somewhere safe and away from prying eyes for the dam to burst… For the upheaval of your emotions to come pouring out…

Your eyes stung and your vision blurred with the uncontrollable arrival of your tears. An onslaught of sobs besieged you next and you tore the sun lily blooms from your hair as you ran, pawing at the wetness streaming from your eyes. Evidently what had happened last night at the shack had been the last straw for Neteyam. You cried at the unfairness of it all.

You finally had a chance, but now it seemed that Neteyam was unwilling to grant it to you…

Someone was calling your name, the thud of heavy footfalls catching up to you. You ignored their calls, pumping your legs harder to increase your speed.

A strong hand hooked around your elbow, slowing you with a jolt and you attempted to spiral away, “No! Leave me alone!”

Another hand clasped hold of your other arm and your pursuer spun you in their arms to face them. Your forearms collided with a muscled chest and for a split second your mind tricked you into believing that Neteyam had come after you, but as your blurry gaze lifted to the man’s face you recognised who it really was.

Wrong brother. Lo’ak.

Lo’ak’s expression was cross, but you knew his irritation was not directed at you as he shushed you softly, “Hey, it’s alright, sweet thing.” He gave you a brief but tight hug before pulling away and fixing you with determined eyes, “Listen to me, OK? You have to keep it together. Go to my family’s shelter and wait there. Let yourself in, no one is home. They’re all still eating.”

Only half paying attention, you stammered, “W-What? Why?”

“Because I’m sick of this back-and-forth! You and Neteyam are going to talk. Tonight.” Lo’ak pressed insistently. He squeezed your arms gently in reassurance, “Go wait in my family’s shelter. I’ll get my brother.”

“He’s got plans.” You had meant to sound unpleasant, had meant for your voice to be a grating rasp, but what came out was an unsteady warble of words.

A harsh scoff left Lo’ak and he was already turning to jog back towards the crowded throng, “Nope, trust me. He doesn’t. Not if I have anything to say about it. Go! And stay there!”

***~~~***

A cacophony of grunts, thuds and slaps filled the woodland air as the brothers brawled off the main village pathway behind some shrubbery.

Neteyam hadn’t appreciated Lo’ak’s brisk interruption just as he and Silwey had been making their way to a quieter spot for the evening. He’d refused his brother’s ‘urgent’ request to return home at first, until Silwey had sensed the quickly rising strain between the pair and had grudgingly excused herself with a plea for him to seek her out later once the ‘emergency’ had been resolved. Neteyam had known exactly what his brother was doing, had known that there wasn’t a ‘family emergency’ at all, since their entire family could still be seen enjoying their dessert of fruit by the bonfire.

Spiteful comments were exchanged, hissing taunts were made and in the end, it was Lo’ak who’d thrown the first punch out of frustration.

The pair of them tussled, no longer upright on their feet, but wrestling on the moss-covered ground instead. It was a violent tangle of arms and legs. Neteyam had almost succeeded in his attempt to pin Lo’ak, when his younger brother threw a stinging punch, his fist colliding painfully with his jaw. A wounded groan left him and Lo’ak seized the opportunity, rolling to flip his brother onto his back in a pin.

Neteyam’s eyes were scrunched closed and his face was contorted into a pained grimace. Their bodies were robust with strong bones and tough skin, but the pain was always sharp and the bruising would show.

“You done, bro?” Lo’ak snarled, spitting a build-up of saliva and blood on the ground to his side.

Breathing hard, Neteyam fought a throbbing jaw to crack open his eyelids.

Lo’ak could see his brother was still angry, but the vehemence of Neteyam’s ire had dissipated after their brawl. He felt his brother pat his thigh in a gesture of submission and he shifted his weight so Neteyam could sit upright. Lo’ak rose gingerly to his feet, his hip aching a little from a rapid roll that Neteyam had executed earlier. He extended a hand out to his older brother who took it, pulling himself to his feet.

Fisticuffs had never been a regular occurrence between them. Not even when they’d been young boys. Lo’ak had always excelled at being the problematic, troublesome younger brother, but Neteyam had kept hold of his maturity and patience most of the time. They’d only ever had a handful of fistfights in their lives and they’d all been over significant issues. And it was fair to say that tonight’s issue was significant.

“I won’t let you run from this.” Lo’ak declared, wiping the stray dribble of blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of a hand, “I’ve always been the stupid, reckless one, and you’ve always looked out for me. Well, I’m returning the favour. She’s worth it, bro.”

Reminded of the reason for their brawl in the first place, Neteyam gritted his teeth and closed his eyes with a deep exhale through his nose. He didn’t want to talk to you… He figured that you felt bad, that you wanted to apologise… but he was past simple apologies now… He didn’t want to face you if you were just going to seek forgiveness and then go back to your life without him…

“There’s nothing to be said. She’s made herself clear that she isn’t interested.” Neteyam muttered severely, massaging at his own tender jaw with cautious fingers.

“I’m fucking done hearing that from both of you!”

“And I’m fucking sick of saying it! She won’t kiss me but she’ll happily kiss you! Things are pretty damn clear to me!”

“That was a misunderstanding, and she’ll explain it herself if you let her! For once in your life, can you just trust me on this?!” Lo’ak exclaimed, exasperated, “I’m not the one being the skxawng ass right now! You and Neyomi have tiptoed around each other for weeks! So I’m staging an intervention. Forced discussion!” The blood continued to build-up in his mouth and he cursed again with another spit to his side. He’d taken an elbow in the teeth from his brother at some point and he was quite sure that one of his teeth had loosened.

“Sorry.” Neteyam mumbled somewhat contritely.

“It was a good move with your elbow, very fast.” Lo’ak conceded, huffing out a laugh. However, his face returned to its sombre expression then, “Maybe you and Neyomi will both find it in yourselves to apologise to one another tonight too.”

Neteyam’s only response was a bitter snort. He was aware Lo’ak had spoken to you last night after he’d fled the shack. His brother had been scant on the details this morning, but he’d insisted that what had happened was a misunderstanding and that he needed to speak to you. Still smarting from your denial the previous night, Neteyam had promptly let Lo’ak’s words in through one of his ears and out the other, not intending at all to follow through.

When Neteyam didn’t say anything more, Lo’ak inveigled him, “Look, she wants to talk and clear the air. You both have some serious shit you need to say to each other and I’m not going to keep playing messenger between you.”

An image of you from earlier in the evening flitted to the forefront of Neteyam’s mind. He saw you with your hair loose and un-braided, the long strands falling to frame your face and trailing to tickle your shoulders and upper back. You had three tsawksyul blooms threaded into your locks behind your ears. You’d looked so beautiful... The next image was of the wounded look on your face when he’d denied your request to speak him in a callous dismissal in front of the others. The hurt that flashed in your eyes had been plain to see, and it had felt good to know that he’d hurt you, that he’d given you a taste of your own medicine.

“Where is she?” Neteyam queried quietly.

“Back at our family’s shelter. I asked her to wait there.”

Moistening his lips, Neteyam took a deep breath and set off back towards the main village path. He felt rotten now for upsetting you. Yes, you’d hurt him, but it didn’t make things any better for him to have hurt you in retaliation.

“Bro,” Lo’ak called out, making Neteyam stop in his tracks, “Don’t make things so hard, OK? Be honest. Open up to her. You might be surprised at what you find.”

With a sideways glace at his brother, Neteyam nodded, “Yeah.”

***~~~***

You sat on your folded legs on the floor of a smaller alcove in the Sullys’ home, waiting anxiously to see if Lo’ak would succeed in his endeavour to persuade Neteyam to speak to you. It hadn’t been a very long while, but it had certainly been long enough that you were starting to worry that perhaps Neteyam had remained unyielding.

You’d let yourself into the Sullys’ home shelter like Lo’ak had instructed and you’d proceeded to drift about awkwardly as you took the space in. Their shelter was much bigger than the standard ones most families lived in. Perks of being the chief’s family, you supposed. It had a much more spacious living area and the alcoves branching off the main space, that served as each individual’s private area, were also bigger than usual.

Trinkets and decorations both of Na’vi and human origin adorned the shelter, speaking to the mixed heritage of the family. Tinkling wooden chimes hung from the joists that held the shelter up. Homely furniture and utensils were set about the space on thick woven rugs, and little paper images of the family (which you’d come to learn were called photographs) were displayed here and there.

You’d ambled about, quietly admiring the place but too nervous to touch anything out of respect. Your nose had led you to one of the alcoves in particular, Neteyam’s familiar scent wafting from it like an appealing perfume that called to every nerve and cell in your body. A sense of comfort had washed over you and you’d settled yourself on the floor rug in his alcove to continue your wait.

Everything about the alcove screamed Neteyam, from the neatly made bedding to the well-ordered layout. His elegant bow and weaponry were systematically arranged against one side, long knives, spears and daggers hanging from a sturdy looking frame. Tidy piles of fabric and clothing sat nestled in a wooden chest, and a small but ornate dresser sat on the far side with his personal jewellery and knick-knacks. Your own alcove looked like a haphazard hovel in comparison, but whenever your mother complained of the mess, you always maintained that you found comfort in your chaos.

As another wave of apprehension consumed you, you inhaled deeply through your nose and let your breath whistle out from between your lips. Your gaze fell to your clasped hands in your lap. You knew what you wanted to say. You’d rehearsed the words over and over in your mind the whole day. You just needed a chance to say them. A pang of hurt lanced through your chest at your recollection of Neteyam’s callous dismissal. You hoped that you’d get that chance tonight.

The draping flaps at the entrance of the shelter swished apart then and your head snapped upright with a gasp to see Neteyam enter the space. Another gasp left you when you took in the few purpling bruises on his ribs and jawline, visible even in the lambent glow of the firelight in the central hearth.

You were on your feet and marching up to him in an instant, concern in your voice, “What happened?” You raised a gentle hand to his face, wanting to examine his jaw, but he flinched away from your touch.

“Lo’ak said you were waiting here to talk. He was very persuasive with his fists.” Neteyam replied and his tone was harsh and tight.

Your lips settled into an unhappy line. Your gaze dropped to Neteyam’s clenched fists by his sides and you spotted the telltale cuts on his knuckles that indicated the fight certainly wasn’t one-sided. You felt another sharp pinprick of hurt that the brothers had gotten into a physical disagreement over your request to speak to Neteyam. Did he really loathe you that much now that he’d fought with Lo’ak over this?...

Neteyam stood motionless while he watched your various emotions flit across your face. He noted the absence of the sun lily blooms from your hair, noted the downturn of your ears, the stickiness of your cheeks and the shine around your eyes. You’d been crying... Guilty regret bloomed in his gut, but his pride was quick to quash it. He was hurt too, hurt by your previous denials. Tears may not have left his eyes but that didn’t mitigate the fact that you’d hurt him too with your rejections.

Your heart thumped in your chest, blood pounding in your ears as you watched Neteyam wait for you to say something. His gaze was cold and the impatient swish of his tail was telling.

Now, in the moment, with the chance you wanted presented to you, the words you’d repetitively rehearsed earlier seemed to have abandoned you entirely. Desperately trying to tamp down the panic that was rising, you heartened yourself. Now or never, Neyomi!

“I’m sorry.” The words were a sticky croak in your throat and you cleared it softly before continuing, “I didn’t mean for last night to end like it did. The truth is, I wanted to kiss you both one last time. Lo’ak just happened to be closest to me. I would’ve turned to you after.”

“Uh huh.” Neteyam’s response was sceptical and he felt his irritation beginning to rise. It was certainly a very convenient explanation on your part… You’d wanted to kiss him too? After all your rebuffs and refusals, he found it incredibly hard to believe.

You sensed his disbelief and you pressed your point further, “I’m not just saying that, I mean it. I didn’t do it to mock you or hurt you. I was so spaced out and I wasn’t really thinking things through. I’m sorry, really I am.”

“Yeah, OK. You’re forgiven.” Neteyam said with a shrug, feigning insouciance in a bid to disguise his hurt. He didn’t really forgive you. He felt far too wounded to excuse your actions so easily, but he was growing more and more uncomfortable in the thick tension that surrounded you both and he wanted out of there. If what you wanted was to apologise and seek his forgiveness then you’d done that. Conversation over. “If that’s all you needed to say then you’ll need to excuse me. Someone’s waiting for me.”

The nonchalance Neteyam was displaying made you feel equal parts sad and angry. Here you were being sincere, wanting to start an honest discussion and he wasn’t even trying. It felt as if he was here just so he could tell Lo’ak he’d spoken to you, when nothing about his manner or his words was genuine. Neteyam’s frame was already turned halfway away from you, his intention to leave clear.

Your annoyance spiked, emboldening you and you hissed, “No, I’m not done. Don’t walk away from me.” Especially not to run back into Silwey’s arms…

Pausing in his steps, Neteyam gritted his teeth and his injured jaw throbbed painfully. He turned to face you again with pinned ears and unimpressed eyes, “What else?”

He watched your as your breaths began to deepen and a frown marred your lovely face. You were so impossibly beautiful even when you were angry, and the thought only further infuriated him in that moment. Lo’ak’s words echoed in the recesses of his mind; be open, be honest. But what did his brother expect him to do? Pour his heart out to you? He’d done that once before the night of the hot spring, and you’d thrown his affection back in his face.

Your next words were uncanny, as if you had somehow read his thoughts.

“I’m sorry also for how I reacted that night at the hot spring.” You stated, making a conscious attempt to stop your irritation from colouring your expression. You wanted to appear sincere and you didn’t think an apology delivered with a scowl would achieve that. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt your feelings then either, and I’m sorry if I did.”

Neteyam wasn’t making the same effort though and his words were muttered through clenched teeth, “Again, you’re forgiven.”

Your tail hung low between your legs and you frowned at him, upset, “You’re just saying that. I’m trying to tell you that I’m genuinely sorry and you’re just going through the motions!”

The monster of his pain that Neteyam had spent the last couple of moons trying to restrain reared its ugly head in full force. He didn’t want your apologies. He wanted you. But just as he couldn’t force you to feel for him what he felt for you, your apologies couldn’t force his earnest forgiveness from him either.

“Well, a genuine apology doesn’t always earn genuine forgiveness, especially when forgiveness isn’t ready to be granted on the forgiver’s part!” Neteyam cried in a bitter shout. He saw you gulp and recoil slightly at his raised voice, but he’d uncorked the bottle of his tumultuous emotions now and after being pent up for so long, his words poured from him in an inexorable stream, “Do you know what it’s like to want someone, to be around them every day, to be so close to them and know what their body feels like, tastes like, and yet have to live with the fact that they don’t want you the same way?! You know, if all you wanted from me was the pleasure of my body, then so be it! I’ll accept that and I’ll get over my feelings in time. But don’t expect me to forgive you now when I’m not ready to do that!”

His shouting startled you at first, but you were quick to recover. He wasn’t the only one who could be loud.

“It’s not just your body I want!” You shrieked in return, and it was Neteyam’s turn to wince. You advanced on him and he took a few steps back as you gained on him until he was backed against one of the shelter’s support beams. “And yes, I know exactly what it’s like to want someone and feel like you can’t have them because that’s how I’ve been feeling too, you skxawng!”

You were so close to Neteyam now that your chin was tilted up defiantly while you held his gaze. He was glaring down at you in return, his broad chest heaving with his own resentment. You were both reeling from each other’s words, both your brains working frantically to process the situation. However, rationality was hard to find when emotions were running high, especially when what felt good in the moment was to spew blame and point fingers.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the tsahìk’s arrangement with Kiri?” You demanded hotly.

“What difference would it have made?” Neteyam snarled, “Besides, you avoided me for weeks! You were impossible to get hold of and then you went and started fucking Kai!”

“It would’ve made all the difference!” You screeched, “And don’t bring Kai into this! I never put any restrictions on you or Lo’ak while our agreement was in place. I never stopped either of you from carrying on with your other play nights with the other women!”

“I haven’t been with anyone else since you! Despite everything, all I want is you!”

“Me too!”

Both his words and yours were shouted and the sound reverberated in the hollow confines of the shelter. You sagged as if suddenly tired from the emotional tirade of the last while, and you saw the remnants of Neteyam’s ire gradually seep from his own furious expression. The truth of the situation struck you both with such stark clarity that it stunned you both into deafening silence.

Neteyam was the first to break the silence. He gave a slow shake of his head and he closed his eyes, trying to make sense of it all, “Wait, what? So why did you pull away that night at the spring? And then you avoided me and stopped coming to the shack when you start seeing Kai.”

“Because I was scared.” You murmured, and the memory of your sleepless nights filled with heartsick despair brought unbidden tears to your eyes. You blinked wet eyes up at him and your tears escaped at the action.

Neteyam hated the sight of your tears, especially now that he was the cause of them. He sighed wearily. Tenderness swelled in his chest and he cupped one of your cheeks with a gentle hand, smoothing away the rolling bead of moisture with his thumb. His deep voice was soft and gentle when he spoke, a direct contrast to his harsh bellows from before, “Scared of what?”

“Of falling for you.” You gave a wet laugh and continued your explanation, “You will be olo’eyktan of this clan one day. By tradition your mate must be worthy of being tsahìk. That was never going to be me. I ran because I was in too deep already. I wanted to keep what I had left of my heart, but I realised after that it was too late anyway.”

Neteyam stifled a curse under his breath. The arrangement of Kiri becoming tsakarem hadn’t been confirmed yet at the time. His grandmother had still been deliberating and praying about it when the night at the hot spring had occurred, but the decision had been made not long after. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so wounded by your actions, if he’d listened to his brother and been more persistent in getting hold of you, this current situation may not have spiralled so out of hand.

“Fuck, I should’ve said something.” Neteyam lamented with a groan, tilting his chin down to rest his forehead against yours, “I was just so convinced that you didn’t feel the same way and that telling you would just result in another rebuff. Especially since you still came to the shack to play for but refused to kiss me.”

“I wanted to, so much.” You whispered with a sniffle, your nose brushing his lightly, “I tried with Kai, but there was no spark there. All I could think about was you. How could I not want all of you? You’re everything I want. I wanted to protect my heart but it broke anyway trying to stay away from you.”

Your words ended in a mewling sob and Neteyam enveloped you in his arms, crushing you to him. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, the comforting warmth of his body only seeming to make you cry harder.

“Shhh, I’m sorry too.” Neteyam soothed, running a large hand up and down your back while the other cupped your head against him, “I’ve been a fool and I’m so sorry.”

Remorse and shame flooded him as he reflected now on the past while. Hindsight was always 20/20. Great Mother, you’d both been so stupid... You’d both been on the same trajectory all along, except you hadn’t seen a conceivable way forward and while he had, knowing of the arrangement with Kiri, your fear and your avoidant behaviour had caused him to misunderstand and unwittingly hide the solution from you.

He pressed a kiss to your temple, loosening his hold when he felt you shift to peer up at him.

Dabbing at your nose and eyes with the back of your hand, you apologised for your appearance, “Sorry, I probably look a mess.”

Neteyam emitted a scoff and graced you with a warm smile. His hands framed your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks, “No, you’re beautiful even when you cry, paskalin. I’ll claim that kiss that you owe me now, if that’s alright?”

With a giggle, you agreed.

Sliding your palms up his chest to wind your arms around his neck, you pushed up onto the balls of your feet to meet his lips in a smooth and plush meld. It was different to how you’d imagined it would be last night, in your dazed state of overstimulation and arousal. When you’d decided on sharing one last kiss with Neteyam and Lo’ak, you’d been dejected and you’d expected the kiss to be filled with an air of sad finality. But your kiss with Neteyam now burned bright with hope and promise.

Pulling away gently, Neteyam’s smile was wide and you could see your own happiness mirrored in his golden orbs. He nuzzled your cheek affectionately, rubbing his cheek along yours while you did the same. You felt lighter than you had in a long time, the blooming warmth of your joy radiating from your heart out towards your limbs and extremities. After so many miserable nights and awkward days, the relief and thrill of knowing that feelings were requited on both sides was wonderful.

Neteyam pressed a chaste kiss to your lips and he declared, “I want to court you, openly. I want every man and woman in this clan to know that you and I are seeing each other. No one else, no more shack visits with Lo’ak.”

You couldn’t help the beaming grin that danced across your cheeks, and you chased his lips with your own as you spoke, “Yes, I accept, and it wasn’t Lo’ak that I came to the shack for.”

You felt Neteyam’s strong arms embrace you again while his lips and tongue danced passionately with yours. When you felt his large hands move to your upper thighs to hoist you against him, you instinctively twined your legs around his slender waist, locking your ankles behind him. He manoeuvred both of you into his alcove, messily pulling the cloth drapes at its entrance closed to cocoon you both in the privacy of the space.

Lowering you gently onto the softness of his bed, you moaned quietly with delight at how everything smelled of him. The heavy weight of him settled beside you and he stretched out alongside the length of your body. You both turned to lie on your sides, facing each other. It was darker in the alcove with no lamps lit in the space, the only source of light being the glow of the main fire behind the draping cloths at the alcove entrance. But Na’vi eyes acclimatised quickly and soon you could clearly make out the contours of Neteyam’s handsome face.

Your eyes trailed his form slowly from head to toe, following the vividly glimmering constellations of his tanhì (bioluminescent freckles) on his face, down his chest, abdomen and his legs. You were unhurried as you drunk in the sight of him and he appeared to be doing the same, his eyes performing a similar trek over your own body. Eywa, he was so gorgeous… His body was just perfect, every defined muscle encased in warm, smooth skin that smelled of masculine virility.

You reached out to trail your fingers over his ribs and his toned abdominals, relishing the shudder you earned from him as your fingertips traced the sensitive skin of his hip.

One of his hands stroked across your cheek and he leaned in to kiss you gently, whispering a beloved declaration against your lips, “I love you.”

Your lips stretched wide and he felt your smile against him, “I love you too.”

“Shall I show you just how much?” Neteyam’s voice was a mischievous rasp.

You tittered and sighed desirously, “Yes, make love to me, you stubborn man.”

A dark chuckle from him, “You’re going to have to be quiet here though. Think you can do that?”

You nodded soundlessly, eagerly reaching to undo the ties of your chest covering and flinging it aside to bare your breasts to him. Neteyam’s groan was almost inaudible, but you felt the rumbling growl of it with how close you were to him. His hands were immediately on your breasts, the heat of his palms searing against your soft mounds. He kneaded your breasts, thumbs stroking sensually over your incredibly sensitive nipples that hardened under his attentions. The sensation made liquid heat pool between your thighs.

Your hands made quick work of your loincloth and the fabric was flung to join your top. You felt one of his hands snake around your hip to pull you closer to him, front to front, and when his legs tangled with yours you noticed he was bare against you too, devoid of his own loincloth. You smoothed a hand over his strapping chest, fingertips testing the hard muscle there before your hand meandered towards his neck and you clutched his head towards yours.

You kissed him languidly, tasting him and smelling him, marvelling that you could love him now, truly. No more pretending. No more holding back. After so long without his lips against yours, you could quite honestly say that if the pair of you did nothing but kiss all night, you’d still wake up satisfied.

Neteyam pulled back from the kiss then and you whimpered in complaint, but he hushed you with a thumb against your lips. He murmured to you, “Shh, I love you here,” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Here,” A kiss to each of your eyes, “Here,” A kiss on your nose… And on he continued downward, your shoulders, a suckling kiss to each nipple, over your heart, your navel…

You lost count after that, just getting lost in the amorous bliss of his lips paying worship to every inch of your bare skin down to your toes. He didn’t disappoint though and when he parted your thighs to settle himself between your legs, and licked a full stripe from your pussy up to your clit, you jerked with a stifled cry.

“I love you especially here.” Neteyam growled. His mouth got to work, licking and suckling at your soon throbbing core while you watched him through hooded eyes.

His golden eyes locked with yours and the intensity of his gaze made your pussy clench, pouring with slick. Your fingers played absently with his beaded braids while your hips rocked against the moist paradise of his mouth. Your eyes could barely stay open as you enjoyed the building pleasure.

Something slid down one of your thighs then and you cracked open an eyelid just in time to see Neteyam trail the thick braid of his kuru (neural queue) over your hip towards you. It was a very intimate thing, to touch another’s kuru. The intimacy of the action was surpassed only by the making of tsaheylu between two people, but Neteyam’s invitation to you to touch his was clear.

Slowly, you reached for the meticulously braided length with one hand, gently running your fingers over the smooth hair around it. Neteyam let out a small sigh that puffed against your core and he closed his eyes, enjoying your caress. You trailed your hand closer towards the end of his queue where you knew the delicate pink tendrils of it were housed. Tenderly, your fingers delved past the ends of the hair around the sheath and a sharp jolt of pleasure raced through you as the tendrils enveloped your fingers.

Neteyam whimpered, his lips and tongue ceasing their work momentarily as pleasure shot down his queue and straight to his stiff cock which gave an excited spurt of pre-cum. It was new sensation to him and a thoroughly erotic one. He couldn’t describe it, but as your fingers played with the tendrils, it was almost as if he could feel your fingers touching him at every single erogenous zone simultaneously. He resumed his feasting of your core, tongue lapping at your slick folds that only seemed to moisten further with each lap of his tongue.

His name was a whispered sigh on your lips as your clit pulsated and your inner walls squeezed. The addition of a couple of his fingers came next and he sealed his lips over your nub to suck intently at it. The tendrils of his kuru fizzled pleasantly in and around your fingers. You didn’t know what made you do it, instinct perhaps, but you brought it up towards one of your breasts then, letting the squirming tendrils attach and wrap themselves around your areola and nipple.

The pleasure was instantaneous and Neteyam’s groan against your flesh told you he felt it too. A wave of ecstasy flushed through you from your nipples to your core, throwing you into the inescapable clutches of an orgasm. Mindful of your surroundings, your mouth formed a silent ‘o’ and your fingers twisted in his hair while you writhed in bliss. Neteyam’s hand gripped onto the flesh of your hips, keeping you still enough so he could continue to drink from your core.

Your desire burned feverishly within you despite the shattering climax you’d just experienced and you were impatient to have more of him against you. Tugging at his braids to get his attention, Neteyam lifted his face, licking his lips while his cheeks glistened with the evidence of your arousal. His expression was almost feral as he crawled up your body on all fours, and you spied his straining erection, watching it bob as he made his way up to you.

You shot him a slow smile as he settled himself alongside you again and the mess on his face didn’t deter you from kissing him. You murmured, “Thank you.”

“I’m enchanted by you, paskalin. I’ll do anything you ask for as long as I live.”

A hot blush stained your cheeks at his romantic words and you didn’t know whether to kiss him again or hide your face. You saw him look at the end of his kuru where it remained attached to your breast and you urged him, “Leave it. This might sound strange, but it’s as though I can feel you better. And it feels good.”

Neteyam smirked at you and nodded in agreement, “What would you like now? I’m impatient to have you though.”

His shifted his hips, his drooling erection slipping against your lower belly. You chortled softly at him and you took pity on his aching flesh, reaching down with a hand to greet his cock with a familiar stroke. A loud grunt left Neteyam and you hushed him, ears twitching and listening to the surroundings of the shelter. No one had returned yet, you were quite sure, the both of you would’ve heard them. Though it paid to be cautious.

Getting caught in a compromising position with the olo’eyktan’s son in the olo’eyktan’s home was not a misdemeanour you wanted against your record.

You continued your teasing stroke and squeeze of his cock, revelling in the sound of Neteyam’s strained panting by your ear. You paused by the swollen tip, running your thumb back and forth over his frenulum, which drew a very vulgar curse from him. His free hand was stimulating your other nipple while the tendrils of his kuru undulated over your other. The stimulation made your pussy ache and your clit throb longingly and you rubbed your thighs together to try and ease the pressure.

“Let me help you with that. You know I can fill you up so good.” Neteyam purred, thrusting his hips so his cock slipped faster in the grasp of your hand as if to press his point.

You smirked at him and licked sensuously over his parted lips with your tongue, “No, I think I’ll tease you a bit more for being so mean to me earlier. Besides, I want to try something.”

Your introduction to Neteyam’s neural queue made you eager to return the favour. Reaching behind you with your other hand, you brought your kuru over your shoulder and carefully held its end out between you, the twisting pink tendrils greeting Neteyam with their rippling dance. Already breathing heavily from the pleasure you were giving his cock, he lifted his hand to meet your tendrils, and both of you gasped as they twined around his fingers.

The sensation was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Heat flushed over your skin and you prickled everywhere that you were sensitive; your nipples hardened and your pussy gushed with more slick. An unbidden erotic image came to you of your kuru’s tendrils wrapped around Neteyam’s cock and you shivered with delight at the thought.

Gently pulling your kuru from Neteyam’s fingers, you gradually inched it down towards his midsection, wanting to make the image your brain had supplied a reality. You watched him for any sign of discomfort or uncertainty, but his pupils were blown so wide with arousal you could hardly see the gold of his irises, and he looked on with as much eager anticipation as you did. Releasing his cock where you held it in your right hand, you brought left hand with your kuru towards it. The tendrils eagerly wrapped around their new target, coiling around the head and upper shaft.

You felt Neteyam’s body lurch at the same time that a wave of immense gratification shot through your neural queue to your own core.

“Fuck, Neyomi.” Neteyam keened and you saw his cock pulse, emitting a viscous string of pre-cum. It continued to throb and you swore your clit was throbbing in time with it.

Neteyam groaned aloud again, evidently struggling to keep to his own rule of being quiet. You rolled onto you back, pulling him atop you and silencing him with a deep kiss. You drowned in the moist heat of his mouth, lips and tongues waltzing in-between the twist and turn of your heads. He was rocking his hips against yours, his cock trapped between your bodies while your kuru still remained coiled around his sensitive flesh.

He broke away from the kiss with a sharp hiss of pleasure, “Wiya (damn), I’m going to cum like this if I can’t have you soon.”

“Yeah? Does that feel good?”

“Too good. Please, I need you.” Neteyam pleaded with a whimper, and he continued to ramble, “I know you must be aching for me. Let me make you squirt on my cock. You must have missed that right? All those weeks you didn’t come to the shack.”

You paused. It was true, you had missed him and missed his body, but you’d technically managed to squirt too with the dildo you’d poached from the shack…

When you didn’t answer, Neteyam stilled in his movements and he turned questioning eyes at you, “What is it?”

You bit your lip sheepishly, wondering if you should fib your way out of the situation or tell him the truth and make him feel a little less special. You didn’t want to start your new relationship off with a lie, so you resolved to be truthful, “I did manage to squirt whilst I wasn’t with you.”

His eyes widened and he looked rather taken aback.

“N-Not with someone else!” You quickly amended, “I pinched one of the toys from the shack a while ago when you and Lo’ak weren’t looking. It ah- It does the trick.”

Neteyam’s face suddenly morphed into a very smug smile and he leaned down to nibble at the point of your ear while he drawled, “Oh the dildo. We wondered where it had gone. Did you enjoy it, you little snitch?”

You shivered against him and rubbed your cheek against his, “Yeah, so your cock’s not the only one that can make me squirt. Sorry.”

Neteyam’s answering chuckle was deep and self-assured, “Don’t be. I’m not sorry about that.”

Confusion coloured your face and you pulled your head back to look at him, “You’re not?”

Neteyam’s expression was still incredibly conceited when he shook his head. He reached down and gently removed your kuru from his cock, keeping hold of it still though and letting its tendrils find purchase amongst his fingers instead. Sliding his knee between your thighs, he urged your to part your legs for him, which you did without hesitation. Balancing over you on his forearms, he settled his hips against yours and began a tantalising rub of his cock against your folds. You moaned with want and hooked your ankles behind his lower back.

“Why would I be upset about you squirting on that dildo,” He taunted huskily, “When that dildo was made from a mould of my cock?” His last words were punctuated with a sharp thrust of his hips, his long length penetrating you suddenly and fully to the hilt.

You threw your head back against the bedding with a guttural cry, uncaring at that moment if anyone heard you. Well that explained a lot about why that dildo had felt so good inside you… You didn’t have time to ponder on that thought. You clutched at Neteyam’s body, arms wrapped tight around his torso, your legs locked around his hips as he settled into a rhythm of rocking thrusts.

“You’re mine, paskalin.” Neteyam vowed and his lips found yours again in an all-consuming meld that set your heart and soul alight with elation.

You couldn’t get enough of him. He was all around you, over you, in you, and yet you still felt like you needed him to be closer. Your fronts were pressed to each other’s and your tails were twined; if you died like this you knew you would die the happiest you’d ever been. Your mouths remained fused, pausing only for short intakes of breath before finding each other again.

Neteyam’s thrusts were slow, but they were deep and you could feel every last ridge and outline of his cock inside you. The depth of his movements was delicious and the intense and pulsing throbs of your pelvic muscles signalled an impressive climax on the horizon for you.

Neteyam broke away from your kiss, tucking his face into the side of your neck to stifle his own reflexive moans of enjoyment. You knew he was close too from the shudder of his torso with each of his thrusts, and you could somehow feel his pleasure too, from his kuru at your breast and your kuru within his grasp.

Great Mother, you could only imagine how breathtaking it would feel when two people mated and made tsaheylu…

The winding spiral of pleasure twisted tighter and tighter in your lower belly, and your fingernails scored Neteyam’s back whilst you teetered on the brink of oblivion. You felt suspended in time, the only sounds you could hear were the pounding of your hearts and Neteyam’s harsh groans as he too hovered on the edge. He lifted his head and his gaze locked with your own, each of your pleasure-filled reflections mirrored in the dark pupils of each other’s eyes.

It was the only reflection you ever wanted to see in his eyes, your own face staring back at you. You never wanted to be without Neteyam again and as your heart shattered with the depth of your love for him, so did your core. Your climax swept through you like a tidal wave, your pussy clenching down and pulsing rhythmically as the wetness of your squirt gushed between your bodies. Your face twisted into what you hoped was a silent scream while the pleasure consumed you.

The squeeze and clench of your walls around his cock, as always, was nirvana for Neteyam. His entire frame tensed and went rigid, and he gritted his teeth hard to keep himself from shouting out his pleasure as he ejaculated. Your body milked him for every drop he had and your pussy continued to flutter around his swollen length pleasurably.

“Neteyam… Neteyam…” You whispered his name in a blissful chant and though your arms and legs shook from exertion, you kept them wrapped about him, not wanting to let him go. You mewled in complaint when he tried to roll his weight off you, so he deftly rolled you both so you could lie on top of him, still intimately joined.

Neteyam clasped you to him, on arm draped over your back while his other hand made soothing strokes over your hair. He could feel your breaths puffing gently into the crook of his neck where your cheek rested against his collarbone. His kuru and yourshad detached at some point and they trailed alongside your bodies, but it took nothing away from the intimacy you were both still wrapped up in.

“By Eywa, you’re it for me, you know that?” Neteyam affirmed with a hoarse chuckle, “Without a doubt. I’ll never look at another woman again.”

Your heart soared at his words and you knew, if you could see yourself, that your tanhì would be glowing bright with your immeasurable joy and contentment, “I guess we’re both ruined for each other then.”

“Will you be mine, formally? Will you accept this offer of betrothal?”

You gasped softly at his request. Your heart screamed your answer, affirmative without any hesitation, but the cogs in your mind began to turn. His betrothal request was unexpected. You’d agreed earlier to be courted openly by him, but a betrothal was serious. It was an engagement to be mated for life and while your heart danced for joy, your conscience questioned, not his fit for you as a mate, but your fit for him as mate to the olo’eyktan.

“Neyomi?” Neteyam queried quietly at your silence. His apprehension was clear in his tone.

You raised your head to regard him, blinking wide eyes at him, “I want to accept, but what if I turn out to be wrong for you? What if I’m not fit to stand by your side as wife to the olo’eyktan?”

He laughed at you then, relief sweeping over his face when he realised why you were hesitating, “You stand by my side every day already, paskalin. You’re my second-in-command and you’ve partnered with me, challenged me where I needed to be, and supported me for years. You already hold the position without the formal title.”

Tears sprang to your eyes as your emotions began to gain the upper hand. You murmured wetly, “You really want me like that? Forever?”

Neteyam craned his head upward to brush his lips against yours, “I want you every way that I can have you. As my second-in-command, my wife, mother of my children…”

His words trailed off, interrupted by you as you pulled him against you to claim his lips in another searing kiss, “Yes! I accept.”

There was commotion then in the main space of the family’s shelter. Hushed whispers and soft chatter sounded, indicating the return home of the other Sullys.

A very loud and contrived coughing fit sounded from Lo’ak, who cleared his throat dramatically several times, apologising repeatedly for his noisy fuss. You and Neteyam grinned at each other in the darkness, chortling to yourselves, knowing full well that Lo’ak was wanting to ensure the both of you knew that you were no longer alone.

You settled your head against Neteyam’s chest again, closing drowsy eyes and basking in the afterglow.

Neteyam murmured a bedtime prayer and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, “Sleep, my love and I’ll rise to kiss you again in the morning.”

***~~~***

You were awoken by the sound of soft knocking against wood and a feminine voice calling out gently.

Neteyam stirred beneath you, his shoulder shifting beneath your cheek. You’d slept pressed against each other the entire night and were it not for the corporeality of the situation currently, you would’ve sworn it was all just a wonderful dream.

More knocking sounded and you were grateful to see the cloth drapes at the alcove entrance remained shut. Neither of you was decent yet.

The feminine voice called again and you recognised it to be Kiri’s, “Good morning, you two. The day has long begun.”

Part of you sighed in relief. Better Kiri than Neytiri. Great Mother, you didn’t want to face Neteyam’s mother right now after a sensual night with him, under their roof…

Neteyam’s smile was debonair and he blinked sleepy eyes at you. You squinted back at him, the harsh daylight outside obvious even in the confines of the shelter. You startled with a gasp. Daylight! By Eywa, what was the time?!

Scrambling for your clothing, you smacked Neteyam’s thigh, “Neteyam! The hunters! We’ve got patrol this morning!”

Kiri’s laughter sounded like a charming peal of shell chimes from behind the drapes, “Mm yes, I daresay it caused quite the stir when both the commander of the warriors and his second-in-command didn’t turn up for work today.”

A long and grumbled curse hissed out from Neteyam as he pressed the fingers of one hand into his eyes.

Kiri was quick to chastise, clucking her tongue in reprimand, “Language, brother. Besides, there’s no need to fret. Dad and Lo’ak stepped in to lead today’s patrol. There isn’t any urgency for you.”

Dressing quickly nonetheless, you shared a chaste kiss with Neteyam before he drew back the alcove drapes. Kiri stood with her arms folded, looking mighty amused as her eyes flitted sagaciously between the pair of you.

Kiri’s shrewd eyes took in your form, trailing you from head to toe again, but there was a teasing glint in them when she spoke, “That was some apology you had for my brother.”

Flushing a deep shade of violet, you greeted the young woman meekly, “Good morning, Kiri.”

“Where’s Mum?” Neteyam asked, glancing around the empty shelter with nervous eyes. He threaded his fingers through yours to hold your hand. His mother wouldn’t have been pleased by what the both of you had done. Yes, you were both grown adults and intimacy was not frowned upon amongst the people, but there was a certain respect that one had to have for their parents’ home.

Kiri giggled again with a polite hand over her mouth, “She’s out. She left early this morning to help Grandmother gather some herbs.” She snorted when she saw Neteyam visibly relax, and she couldn’t help but take another jab at him, amused by his discomfiture, “Oh don’t worry, Mum definitely wanted to throw you both out earlier this morning, but I think the Great Mother had something to say about that.”

You frowned, not understanding Kiri’s meaning. Neteyam’s ears too pricked in curious interest and he cocked a questioning head at his sister, “What do you mean?”

Kiri padded to the main archway of the family shelter and she pulled one half of the entry cloths aside, motioning with her head for both of you to step outside, “Come see for yourself.”

Following along a little behind Neteyam, the warmth of daylight greeted your skin as you both stepped out into the open. You heard Neteyam suck in a breath and halt in his steps. Blinking against the intense daylight, your eyes took a few moments to acclimatise. However, when they finally did and you took in the spectacle before you, you gave a loud gasp of surprise.

All around the Sullys’ family shelter, littering the ground and hovering about the structure, were dozens of atokirina (seeds of the sacred tree). The feathery seeds undulated about the place, sprinkling the shelter in a dusting of blessed white.

Kiri stepped out after the both of you, grinning, “Evidently Eywa thought all was right with the world.”

You felt Neteyam pull you to his side and he nuzzled your cheek tenderly. Your answering smile was bright and you placed a shy kiss on his shoulder.

“Do I need to tell Grandmother to make another formal announcement?” Kiri asked, smirking at the tender display of affection between you.

Neteyam’s beamed at his sister and his response was full of affectionate confidence, “Yes. Neyomi and I are both spoken for. We’re betrothed.”

And all was right with the world indeed…

Epilogue - Silwey's Reaction HERE

***~~~***

Author's Note: The end! THANK YOU again to all of you wonderful folks for your awesome support. I absolutely love interacting with everyone and it's because of you that this series became a reality. It was only ever meant to be a oneshot! I hope that you've relished Neteyam & Neyomi's (reader) journey to love. Let me know your thoughts, scream to me in the comments! Reblogs, likes & comments are always very appreciated. 😘

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moralesmilesanhour · 11 months

Note

My second time writing a request foe someone rlly nervous lol

Can you do a

reader x earth 42 miles

Where reader wants to buy things for themselves but miles keeps buying stuff for them like anything we look at or love next thing Yk he’s buying it?

I rlly hope you can understand this bc im not sure if it made sense 💀

-sincerely sorry miller

Oh don't be nervous I understand perfectly fine!! (Under the cut as usual)

"See you, Carol!" You wiped the sweat forming around your hairline as you untied your apron with haste. You had taken extra shifts at the diner this week for extra spending money, and it had you counting down the days until Friday.

Slinging your bag over your shoulder, the bell jingled as you pushed open the glass door with a grunt.

Right next door to the run-down diner was a small clothing shop, one of the few that managed to stay open. You had made it a habit to check the window for the mannequin that had your jeans on: A flaired, denim number that was optimal for weekend block parties.

"Come Friday, you're mine, baby." You say to yourself with a hand on the plexiglass display.

"I thought I was already yours," a familiar voice nearly made you jump out of your skin.

Miles' footsteps could almost never be heard, you swore he was a ninja in his spare time.

"Don't fuckin scare me like that!" You whined, smacking his shoulder as an amused grin spread across his lips.

He ignored your outburst and pointed towards the mannequin. "You want that?"

You gave him a warning look. "I'm gonna go shopping this weekend. When I get paid."

"You didn't answer the question."

"No comment," you said, spinning on your heel to walk away with Miles' gentle laughter following behind you.

When you don't stop, he jogs after you and traps you in a bear hug.

"Fuck off, Miles!" You laughed, fake struggling to escape.

"Alright, tell me what I did."

"Nothing!"

He let you go and opted to walk next to you, his long legs making it easy to keep up with you.

"Okay look, whatever you're mad at me for, I got a surprise waiting for you," Miles poked his head in front of you as you both walked, twin braids dangling over his shoulder. "Come over?"

You sighed, "Fine."

He gently took your hand and started tugging you along, presumably in the direction of his mom's apartment. "Thank you."

Miles' brow furrowed as he fumbled with his keys a bit before quietly unlocking the door. He turned to you and placed his index finger over his lips, and you nodded in understanding.

The familiar smell of yellow rice and scented candles engulfed the both of you when you entered the empty apartment. Rio was at work, and Uncle Aaron was likely napping in the living room, as it was only the late afternoon.

"So, where's the surprise?" You whispered.

"My room. Been up there for about a week."

You rushed up the stairs as quietly as your feet could carry you to catch up to your boyfriend, who was already halfway there and glancing down at you with an impish grin. You roll your eyes playfully. Typical.

"Lemme take that," Miles stuck his hand out for your work bag as he removed his sneakers.

Deeply inhaling the cool air of his room, you let him take it off your shoulders. You were sure that thing was starting to leave a mark from carrying it on the same side every day.

Miles sat on his bed for a moment to rummage through his black knapsack, and produced a small, pink plastic bag no bigger than the hand that held it. This confirmed one of your suspicions, and you gave him a tired smile as he stood to place it gently in your palm. He was a funny sight, hands clasped together in anticipation like a parent at Christmas.

Inside the bag was a little white box, which held a small necklace cushioned in the middle. You recognized the teardrop pendant from the mall. You had practically dragged Miles along, looking bored and scrolling through his phone the entire time. Or so you thought.

Now, he looked about ready to run a marathon from here to Manhattan as you removed the delicate necklace, the silver chain catching the little light that Miles allowed into his room in shiny strips.

"Thank you baby, I love it," you bit your bottom lip, "It's just that-"

"I could put it on you?"

You sighed, and held out the necklace. "Of course."

He damn near snatched the piece of jewelry from you to unclasp it, rushing to get behind you.

"Miles, if you break it-"

"I won't, relax!"

The cool metal settled on your skin as he gently draped it around your neck, and fastened the clasp.

"How does it look?"

Miles moved your braids back and planted a kiss on your cheek. "Pretty."

"I know you know more words than that, sir," you teased, "try again."

"Alright, breathtaking. Stunning. Effervescent."

"Now you're trying too hard."

"I'm about to take this necklace back," he muttered, earning a short outburst of laughter from you.

When the laughter subsided, you turned to face him. He let your braids slide across his hands before they fell back at your shoulders.

"Miles, I need you to do something for me."

Worry settled over the boy's soft features. "Such as...?"

"Don't buy me them jeans," you said, arms crossed but still smiling.

His brows shot up. "Why, you don't like 'em anymore?"

"I do," you draped your arms around his neck, "which is why I've been saving up to get them myself."

You watched Miles' eyes dart back and forth in thought before settling back on you. He was silent, imploring you to explain further.

"If I wanted everything gifted to me, I wouldn't have gotten a job."

Miles nods, and something seems to slot into place for him.

"So no more surprise gifts?" He says, pouting exaggeratedly.

"For at least another two weeks."

Miles winced, taking a nervous glance at his knapsack, "Damn."

Following his line of sight, you noticed the white plastic bag poking out from it.

Your jaw drops, and you give him another good smack on the shoulder.

"You bought it, didn't you?"

He smiles tightly. "Hypo...thetically?"

"Miles!"

A/N: idk why the hell that took me so long to write but it was fun! Happy reading!

#miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #moralesanhour #miles g morales

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munsons-hellfire · 3 months

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The Power of Emotions | Eris Vanserra

SUMMARY: You are Feyre’s twin sister. But like your older sisters Elain and Nesta you were thrown into the Cauldron. Now dealing with the repercussions of your powers, your finally allowed to go to an event, where you discover your mate is Eris. Things take a turn for the worse after that.

PAIRINGS: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, smut, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, family drama, mentions of trauma. If I missed anything else let me know but I think that covers it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So this will be split into at least 2 parts maybe more I'm not sure yet. I also changed how the powers could be used. That being said, i'm very excited for this. I hope you all enjoy it!

WORD COUNT: 5.8K

PART 2

Cold. Cold. So cold.

You were drowning, not able to breathe.

Suffocating in the Cauldron.

Your body was changing, you were no longer a human.

Cries left your mouth as you fell out of your bed onto the floor. Shivering, teeth clattering, emotions on high alert. Others crashing into you. It was the same thing every night. Every night never changes since you were thrown into the Cauldron.

You squeezed your eyes shut and pulled your knees up to your chest and moved into the corner of the room like you did every night after your nightmare woke you up. You were silently hoping that someone could help you. But Rhys, and Cassian, and Azriel, and Mor, and Amren, they didn’t know what was happening to you.

Nesta was more concerned about Elain, then she was about you. Though you didn’t blame her, Elain was a ghost in a shell. The days had passed and the only one that had started to show any trace of concern for you had been the three brothers. Every morning one of them would come into your room to give you food and make sure you were up.

Every morning they’d see you in the corner of the room. Your eyes vacant, your knees pulled up to your chest, your arms wrapped around your knees holding them in place, and your empty eyes staring into nothing. They had all tried to talk to you, to get you to move but you didn’t. By nightfall you were too exhausted to hold yourself there anymore that you’d finally eat.

Then afterwards, you’d drink the mint tea that you’d come to love. One of the brothers always made sure there was a sedative in there to make sure you got some sleep. You knew they gave you a sedative but you didn’t mind so much, it allowed you some sleep for a few hours until the same nightmare woke you up again.

But this was different, today was different. Emotions were high, the highest they’d ever been. You could feel everyones, from Rhys, to Cass, to Az, to Mor, to Amren (or what she’d let slip), to Nesta, and to Elain. Dear sweet Elain, hers were the strongest, and they were hurting you. Tears were slipping down your face.

You were in the middle of the room crying, silently. Your teardrops fell to the lush black carpet in your room. Finally you couldn’t take it anymore and stood, then you started pacing around the room. Your words were chipped, but they were the same phrases.

“Stop.”, “Please.”, “No, no, no.” All these were the same phrases that left your mouth. Your eyes were almost empty. There was pain in them, not from the nightmare you’d had but it was there. This alone was just from feeling Elain’s emotions. You didn’t understand why hers were so strong today. You still hadn’t processed the fact that you could feel emotions.

As a human you’d always been good with picking up on people’s emotions, but now it was heightened. Now it was miserable. Feyre had been back for a few days now, no one had told her just how bad it had been for you, until he had finally broken and told her before they’d gone to sleep. Rhys stood next to his mate, pain in his eyes.

Feyre was messing with her fingers, staring at her twin. They were watching you pace around your bedroom repeating the same phrases over and over. Mumbling to yourself as you pull on your hair. Emotions were everywhere, you could even feel yours. It was overwhelming and you were drowning in the sea of emotions.

You still hadn’t told them that you could feel, sense, and manipulate emotions. You didn’t understand it though so maybe that’s why you hadn’t mentioned anything to them. Maybe that’s why you had dealt with it for so long. While it was too much at the end of the day it was better than being stuck in that Cauldron all over again.

Feyre briefly pulled her blue-gray eyes away from you and connected with violet eyes that had become oh so familiar to her. “She’s been like this since you came back from Hybern?” Feyre questioned her mate.

Rhys gave a nod of his head. “Yes. If not pacing then she’d been in the corner of her room, knees to her chest, vacant stare. She’d stay in that position until she grew exhausted and we could get her to eat and drink.” Rhys explained. He then paused, running his hand through his black locks. “Then it repeats, then some days she’ll be pacing. Today, Az… he said that it’s been a rough morning.”

Feyre looks back at her twin. “What does that mean?” Her voice is broken as she asks the question and it pains Rhys to see her in pain over her twin.

“I don’t know. I might have a theory but I’m not sure yet.”

A broken sob escaped your lips. You fell to the floor, covering your pointed ears. Elain’s sadness was swimming around you, hitting you right in the face and you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t block her and everyone else.

“Stop.” You whispered. “Stop. Stop. Stop. Make it stop.”

You cried harder, more tears falling down your face and onto the carpet. Feyre stepped into the room leaving her mates side as the General and Shadowsinger appeared behind Rhys. This was the first time since she had returned from the Spring Court that she was seeing you. The first night Feyre got back you’d been asleep, knocked out. You weren’t mad at all, though you had assumed that she hadn’t stopped by when she had.

“Make it stop, please.”

“What’s wrong, sister?” Feyre asked, kneeling down next to you.

When she placed a hand on your back her emotions filled you, tangled with Elain’s emotions as well as everyone else's. A scream of agony broke free from your mouth. You scrambled on your legs backing away from Feyre, moving to the corner of the room and pulling your legs to your chest as you hid your head behind your arms. The three brothers saw the hurt look that had washed onto Feyre’s face. But it quickly disappeared.

“Tell me what’s wrong sister.” Feyre demanded, moving closer to you.

Feyre needed to know why you had recoiled at her touch, why you’d moved to the corner of the room, why you’d been acting so so different from Nesta and Elain since coming out of the Cauldron Made. Feyre briefly looked back at her husband.

“E-Elain, she’s so sad. So sad. It hurts.” You cried out. “You, you’re happy, and sad, and confused. Everyone else… it’s a mix, it’s all over the place. Please make it go away.”

Azriel knew exactly what you were. Rhysand knew exactly what you were, what you were capable of. Cassian tightened his jaw, this was going to be a headache. Not so much because he didn’t like you. No he already loved you like a sister, but if this was the confirmation of your powers they’d have to keep you hidden. They’d have to keep you hidden from Beron. He’d want you for his own personal gain. This was not good.

“What do we do now?” Azriel asked his brother.

“We keep her hidden until she’s controlled her powers.” Rhys spoke, both in Cassian’s and Azriel’s mind.

“First we need to get Feyre out.” Cassian added.

“Feyre, darling,” Rhys spoke out loud. Rhys stepped into the room and held his hand out towards Feyre as she looked back at him. “I need you to come with me back past the door.” He said softly, his violet eyes steady on his mate.

“What? Why? I’m not leaving my sister. I’m not leaving her alone to deal with this. I refuse to do that.” Feyre said, still looking at Rhys.

“Trust me.” Those were the only words that left his mouth.

The battle raged in her eyes between wanting to help her sister and wanting to listen to Rhys. She looked back at her twin. She hated seeing you in this kind of pain. So Feyre stood from the floor and walked towards Rhys placing her hand in his. He pulled her out of the room, seconds later a shield had been placed on the entire room.

You could breathe, somewhat. You opened your eyes feeling only your emotions and no one else's, Amren included. It was just as it was before you’d come out of the Cauldron, before you could feel every single emotion in that dreaded room including that King. You could still feel your power, still access it, but it was more contained by the shield Rhys had put up to protect you.

Finally you pulled your hands away from your face. Your eyes immediately found your sisters, for the first time since exiting the Cauldron a small smile graced your lips.

“How’d you do that?” You asked, eyes on Rhys as you picked yourself up from the ground and walked away from the corner. You moved closer to the door and stared at each of them.

“You’re an Empath, Y/N.” Azriel stated, Feyre looked at him with the same shock that you had on your face.

“You can feel everyone’s emotions, can manipulate them and use them to your advantage. You can even manipulate your own. You’re a very powerful Empath, considering they’re a legend. You just don’t know how to control your power yet.” Cassian added, reciting from what he knew of Empath’s.

“This shield will protect you from our emotions while you learn to control your powers. If any of us step inside your room we will have a shield around us so you can’t feel them until you're ready to try and manipulate them.” Rhys paused, his violet eyes falling onto Feyre. “We’ll need to learn all the history we have on Empath’s, it’s not much but it’ll help. We will help you learn to control it, Y/N.”

You gave a nod of your head. “Thank you.” You breathed out. For the first time since you’d arrived at the Night Court you finally felt a sense of peace. To know the true name of your ability, it no longer seemed like a curse.

It had taken you six years to fully train your powers. During that time you’d healed, you’d trained with Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie. You’d done the Blood Rite with them and completed it. You became a Valkyrie. You’d never again be the same as you were when they broke into your home, took you away. You’d never be weak again.

Your powers had become your friend, you’d learned to block emotions out that weren’t your own. You’d learned to manipulate them, to get others to do whatever you needed with just the single ability of manipulating your emotions. It would’ve helped in the Blood Rite but you made it far.

Training with your older sister had allowed the two of you to heal the broken relationship you’d had with each other. Now you couldn’t imagine not having a close relationship with Nesta. You were finally ready to step outside the Night Court for the first time since being Made. Rhysand wanted to test the limits of your powers.

Tamlin was hosting a party in his Court. Most were hesitant to travel to the Spring Court. He sent word that his court was finally rebuilt. He was hosting a ball. All Courts were invited, though you doubted that anyone from at least the Autumn Court would show. In the six years it had taken you to hone your powers you had discovered what they made you capable of.

Cassian was right, you truly were powerful and if Beron found out he’d want to have you. He knew that Beron would like that you could manipulate the emotions of others. That would likely be the moment they’d strike their bargain with Eris and kill the male so Eris could take over as the High Lord. You stood near a wall, a glass of wine in hand. You were near Cassian and Nesta, who were on the dance floor with a few others.

Some of the High Lords had stopped by and asked for a dance. You’d turn them down except for Helion. He’d piqued your interest. He was a beautiful male, it was glorious that he had created Lucien. Elain and Lucien were perfect for each other. In fact all your family was perfect with their mates. Even Mor and Emerie had started seeing each other and it made you so excited.

But now more than ever you felt so alone. You were thankful to be Feyre’s twin sister and thankful that they’d hidden you to keep you safe but now you felt as though you were missing something. You swirled your red wine around before taking a sip of it. Your eyes landed on your twin. She was so happy, dancing with Rhys with his hand on her belly. They were expecting their second child.

Nyx was also on the dance floor, the happiest smile on his little face as he danced with his parents. Everyone was happy, so so happy. And you, well, you were sad, so so sad. It was moments like these where you missed having your father around. A tear slipped down your cheek and you were quick to wipe it away. But that didn’t stop more from falling down.

There was a presence beside you, and now more than ever you wished the wall would swallow you whole so this stranger didn’t have to see you cry. You shouldn’t be crying; this was a happiest event. Tamlin had announced his mate's pregnancy at the start of the ball and here you were crying because you missed your father and you felt so alone.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” His voice was oh so soothing as it echoed through your pointed ears. It was a voice you wouldn’t mind hearing on a regular basis. You were drawn to it and you didn’t even know why.

“My apologies.” You remarked, still not looking at the male. You’d tried to keep your voice steady as the words came out but it was broken. He kept his gaze on you, like he was refusing to remove his eyes from you.

“Oh, come on, Little Fox. Don’t be so mean.” He paused when you finally turned to get a better look at him. You took in his toned body or rather what you could see through the warm Autumn suit he’d been wearing. His red hair was short but styled neatly. Finally your eyes landed on his beautiful amber eyes. “Like what you see, Little Fox?” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes. “As if.” You mumbled, looking back down at your wine.

“I’ll repeat what I’ve already said, I don’t believe we’ve met.” He said holding his hand out to you hoping you’d take it. While he didn’t know exactly who you were aside from belonging to the Night Court just from the scandalous dress you were wearing. That was one thing he was certain of, the other being that you were his mate. He felt the golden thread in his chest the moment his amber eyes landed on you.

“I’m Y/N. I’m Feyre’s twin sister.” You said, taking a hold of his hand and shaking it. There was a spark she felt when he touched his hand, though she wasn’t sure if it was due to his powers or because she felt something between them. And for some reason, you couldn’t get a read on his emotions which was odd considering you could feel everyone else's.

“Eris Vanserra.” He paused looking out at your sister and her mate who were now looking over at you two. “I didn’t know Feyre had another sister let alone a twin. You two look nothing alike.”

You smiled at the mere mention of his name. Oddly enough you wanted to say it more and it was included in the bedroom. Shock found your face, why were these thoughts all of a sudden coming to mind.

“We get that a lot.” You smiled softly at him. The male felt that his knees would give out any moment if you continued to smile at him.

“Would you care for a dance?” He asked, hoping you’d say yes.

“I’d like that very much.” You placed your drink down on the table and placed a hand in Eris’.

He pulled you out to the dance floor. Some of the other’s had stopped dancing to watch you and Eris. He placed one hand on your hip while the other was in your hand. You rested your other hand on his shoulder, that sweet smile he was starting to like was still on your lips. Music began playing and the two of you began to dance, ignoring everyone in the room.

“So, dear Y/N, why has your High Lord and Lady kept you a secret?” Eris asked, as you and him spun around the room. More eyes were on you now but still you didn’t care. It was only you and Eris in the room and no one else.

“After I came out of the Cauldron I had a really hard time with a lot of things including controlling my power. They kept me locked up and protected until I got control. I trained with my older sister, made some new friends. Completed the Blood Rite and became a Valkyrie. Now I work alongside Cassian and Azriel going on missions. But Feyre and Rhys thought it was a good idea to finally bring me into the world of the Fae officially.” You explained.

Angry flared inside his chest at the mention of what had happened to you. “They kept you locked up?” He asked, bypassing everything else.

“It was a universal agreement, I couldn’t step outside the shield.” You shouldn’t be telling him this. But you felt comfortable around him, you trusted him completely.

“They locked you up.”

“Why does it bother you? We barely know each other.” You paused taking a breather. You didn’t want to talk about your powers not here. But he wasn’t giving you a choice, and you were trying to manipulate his emotions to move him away from the topic but it wasn’t working. It was like he was immune to your powers.

“It doesn’t matter. They kept you locked up these last 6 years.” His voice was the same.

“No. No. No.” You paused, then the two of you stopped dancing and the room erupted into an applaud.

But you didn’t hear it, your ears were ringing. The gold thread was tying around your heart. You were lifting your hand to your chest, a gasp coming from your lips. Eris was your mate, and suddenly everything made sense. You grabbed his hand tightly and pulled him off the dance floor leading him out of the room. Rhys and Feyre had watched the exchange between you two.

“She’s his mate.” Feyre said, a devastated look on her face.

“I think so, Feyre, darling.” Rhys’ voice was smooth as he agreed with her.

You and Eris walked into the hallway where no one else was. You walked into another room and closed the door behind you. Eris stood still watching as you turned from the door and looked at the male that was your mate. You knew the stories surrounding him, you had heard what he had done to Mor and now you were even more confused that the Mother thought this male was supposed to be your mate.

As you looked at the princling before you, you saw the sudden change in his posture. It was just the two of you and there was no audience. This male standing in front of you was so different from the mask he wore outside surrounded by everyone else.

“Why did they lock you up? Why did they keep you away from me? Six years they kept you hidden from me. Six years we could’ve had to get to know each other, exploring each other.” Eris’s anger was evident in his voice and you were trying so hard to change the way he was feeling but it still wasn’t working.

Tears started to break through again. “Because I was thrown in that Gods damned Cauldron. I was turned into a High Fae against my will. I struggled to not only control my emotions but I struggled to control blocking out everyone else's emotions. They were attacking me and I couldn’t breathe, I was drowning from the nightmares, from the emotions, from the pain of everything. I’m an Empath for crying out loud and for the life of me I can’t figure out why I can’t manipulate your emotions.”

The words left your lips before you even had a chance to stop them. Suddenly Eris was in front of you, his hands cupped your cheeks. He was wiping the tears from your face, a soft look on his face.

“Shh.” He whispered softly. “I don’t know how much you know about an Empath, but typically they aren’t able to manipulate their mates emotions because their mate doesn’t need to hide anything from them.”

You looked up with tears at the edge of your eyes. “Ooh.” You nodded your head. You closed your eyes, inhaled, exhaled, then opened them again. “Rhys and Feyre wanted to keep me hidden out of fear that your father would take me and use my powers for his own advantage.” You felt Eris’s breathing stop, his body went still and he clenched his jaw as he looked down at you.

“I will not ever let my father get near you. You are my mate, I will protect you until my last dying breath.”

You couldn’t stop yourself, the gold thread in your chest was humming. You closed the space between you and Eris, then you placed your lips on his kissing him softly. He pushed you back against the door kissing you harder. His hand moved to the door knob and locked it to make sure no one would come in and interrupt you two.

Your hands find purchase in Eris’ red locks and you pull on them. You pull back from the kiss staring at him with glazed eyes. This is the last thing you expected to happen, but you need him, you need to feel him. Eris pulls your hands and walks you over to the bed. He pushes you down and crawls on top of you. His mouth finds your neck and he sucks some of your soft skin into his mouth. Eris moves his way down his mouth moving between your breasts.

His hands slid up your waist until they made contact with your breasts. A gasp left your mouth when he squeezed one of your nipples. Your scent was starting to mix with his and it caused a groan to leave his lips. Eris pulled his hands away from your nipple and moved down your body. Pulling your dress up off your body until it eventually comes off.

The only thing you were left in was your underwear and heels. An annoyed groan left your lips as you stared at Eris noticing he still had all of his clothes on. You leaned up just after he pulled your heels off and threw them onto the floor. You moved your hands up the length of his arm, pulling around his shoulder and down.

You grabbed a hold of his shirt at the bottom and pulled it upwards towards his head until it was off and discarded somewhere in the room. You placed a devious smirk on your lips as you moved your hands down towards his cock. It was hard and you couldn’t help but widen the smirk. You stood to your knees and shoved your hands down his pants dripping his cock tightly.

A moan left his mouth, his eyes fluttering close. “Gods.” A whisper breath left his mouth. You moved your other hand up and started to untie the strings until his pants were loose enough. Then you removed your hand helping him out of the rest of his clothes. You sat him down on the edge of the bed and moved in between his knees.

Your hand wraps around his cock and you start stroking it. Leaning forward you take his cock into your mouth swirling your tongue around the head. Eris lifts his hand grabbing onto your hair and moves it out of the way so he can watch you take his cock further into your mouth. You couldn’t fit the rest of his cock in your mouth so you used your hand to pump the rest.

This hadn’t been the first time you’d slept with someone you didn’t know. But Eirs was your mate, and you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life only hearing his moans as you sucked his cock. You pulled back, moving your hand up and down his length. You slipped your tongue out and moved to the bottom of the base and licked all the way to the top.

You sucked the head of his cock back into your mouth moving further on his length until you started to gag. Eris exhaled, pulling you off before you could have a chance to make him cum. You looked up at him, a sly smile on your lips.

“As much as I’d like to cum in that pretty little mouth of yours I need to be inside of you now.” Eris stood and picked you up, throwing you on the bed. Your legs were bent at the knees. He grabbed a hold of your underwear and pulled them off, throwing them on the floor. He moved closer to your cunt and licked a stripe from bottom to top tasting your juices.

He groaned at your taste. A moan left your lips and Eris moved up your body. He grabbed onto his cock and slid it through your folds getting his cock wet. Eris finally thrust his cock inside you, both you and him moaning in unison. Eris bottomed out inside you. His arms rested on either side of your head and you had wrapped your legs around his waist.

“Gods, you’re so tight, Little Fox.” He moaned out, closing the space between you and kissing your lips again.

“Please.” You whispered when he pulled back from your mouth.

“Please what?” He asked with a stern voice.

“Please move.”

He smirked at you. “Such a pretty Little Fox.” He whispers in your ear.

Eris pulls out, then shoves his cock back in. He starts to pick up his pace, his hips slamming into you. Another moan escapes your lips, your eyes close tightly feeling him inside you. Feeling so close to him like you’ve never felt before.

“So good.” You moan out. Eris pulls one of his hands away from your head and wraps it around your neck. A groan escapes your lips as he tightens his hand around your neck. You can feel your orgasm getting closer just as you feel Eris hit that sweet spot inside you. “Close.”

“What a needy little thing you are, mate.” He breaths, continuing to snap his hips into you. His cock pulled out only to be pushed back in. He can feel himself getting closer to his release but he wants you to get your release first.

“Yes. Gods yes.” You reply. The thrum of the gold bond sitting in both your chest grows brighter and brighter as you both get closer to your release. Eris pulls his hand from your throat and moves his thumb down to your clit circling it. That’s all it takes, your release hits you and you tighten around his cock.

“That’s it. Cum for me, Little Fox. I’m the only one who will ever make you feel this good. You’re mine.” He tells you.

“Yours, all yours.” You moan out. Finally Eris feels his release hitting him. He spilled deep inside you. Dropped his head into your chest and exhaled. Eris slowly pulled out and laid down on the bed next to you and pulled you into his chest. You felt the blanket being over you, your head rested on Eris’s chest. “So what now?” Your voice was soft and afraid as you asked the question.

Your earlier words of what his father might do to you replayed in his mind, Eris turned his head and looked at you finding you already looking up at him. “I think it’s time I kill my father.” He whispered.

You picked yourself up, pulling the sheet with you to cover your chest. Eris was standing pulling his pants up. There was a serious look on your face. “What? You can’t be serious? I mean that’s… Why do you want to do that?”

Eris turned around, his amber eyes resting on you. “I’m protecting my mate-” Before anymore words could leave his mouth the door was slammed open. Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, Nesta and Azriel walked into the room.

“What are you doing?” You asked, looking at your family.

“We could ask you the same. Sleeping with the enemy?” Azriel questioned a voice void of any emotion.

“Please, get out.” You whispered softly, looking away from them. Yes they were your family and you loved them all but they still made you feel like you weren’t a part of the family. Eris noticed the sudden change in your body, like you were trying to pull away. Feyre looked at the boys, and they turned around. Then Nesta walked over to you grabbing your clothes.

“Get up, get dressed, we’re leaving.” Nesta ordered. She gripped your arm and pulled you from the bed. A whimper escaped your lips.

“Let go of her.” Eris ordered, his angry eyes resting on Nesta’s grip on your arm. You and Nesta looked back at the male.

“She’s my sister.”

“And she’s my mate, and you’re hurting her. Let go of her.” The glare was evident on his face as he continued to stare.

“Go get changed now, Y/N.” Nesta was glaring back at the male. You nodded your head and walked into the bathroom. You could hear them arguing as you changed back into your dress. You didn’t want this. You opened the door and the scene before you horrified you.

“Stop. What are you doing?” You asked Azriel who had a knife to your mates throat. He looked back at you.

“He’s manipulating you, Y/N.” You could feel everyone’s emotions. They were all on high alert, Eris had his eyes on you. He was calm, it was like he was trying to make sure you stayed calm too.

“How? How is my mate manipulating me?” Your eyes were glowing, something none of them had seen when they started training you to control your powers.

“He lured you to bed, slept with you. Now you're defending him, he’ll use it against you.” Nesta’s voice filled your ears and you looked at your older sister.

“Get out. None of you get to decide who I sleep around with. None of you decide anything for me. You’ve all kept me hidden for 6 years because you thought Beron would capture me and use me against my own will. And you might be right, that might still happen. But Eris, my mate, he will not do that to me.” You didn’t realize what you were doing until Eris was in front of you.

“Let them go.” His voice was soft, his hands cupping your face as you contorted your face in confusion.

“What?” Finally you looked around the room, your eyes landed on Azriel who was grunting over in pain, then your eyes found your older sister. She too was in the same position. “I-I did this?” You asked, staring at Eris. Feyre was near Nesta while Cassian and Rhys were helping Azriel from the ground.

“It’s ok, breathe Little Fox.” Eris gripped your hand, you'd never done something like this that much was clear. Nesta’s eyes landed on you a glare you’d never seen her give you.

“I-I-I’m sorry.”

Suddenly you could feel everyone’s emotions again, you couldn’t control it. You’d hurt two people you cared about so much. A cry left your mouth as you started to back away from Eris.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean it.” You were shaking your head moving back towards the window.

Rhys, Feyre, and Eris were walking towards you trying to keep you away from the window. The windows were opened but you didn’t know how far of a jump it would be. All you knew is you needed to get out of here. You needed to breathe.

“It’s ok, Y/N. We know you didn’t mean it.” Feyre’s voice said calmly. Everything happened so fast, you felt Rhysand’s power rumbling through the room. You didn’t mean to do anything, but Feyre was on the ground. The same pain that ran through Azriel and Nesta was running through her. The tears were back again.

“I didn’t mean to. Rhys, I’m sorry. I don’t. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Let her go, Y/N.” Rhys’ voice rumbled, suddenly the rest of the High Lords, your sister and her mate, Mor, Emerie, and Gwyn were at the door. Eris looked back and saw his father, he had his eyes on you.

You nodded your head. Eris tried to walk closer to you, but you shook your head. Feyre could breathe again and that was all that mattered. You backed up too closely to the window and before Eris could catch you, you fell out. Eris was the first to turn around and run out of the room heading to the side of the mansion. You groaned, lifting your hand up to your head feeling a wet substance.

You pulled your hand away to see blood dripping down your fingers. Panic still running through your body you stood up and grabbed a hold of your dress taking off running. You felt dizzy. So dizzy. You didn’t know where to go, only that you had to get away. You didn’t make it far though, you ran right into the chest of someone else.

You looked up seeing the one person that Rhys and Feyre had been trying to protect you from the last 6 years. It wasn’t your mate, it wasn’t your sister’s, and it wasn’t any of your friends. Beron placed his hand on your arm and gripped it tightly causing you to whine out at the pain. You were sure that a bruise would be there tomorrow.

“You’re coming with me, Empath.” With those words the two of you winnowed away, disappearing from the party.

#reader insert #x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x archeron reader #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #helion #lucien #tamlin #rhysand #cassian #azriel #gwyneth berdara #emerie #morrigan #beron vanserra #a court of thorns and roses

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todomochi-uwu · 6 months

Text

Who. (3/?) J. Y & S. M

Pairing: Poly! Jeong Yunho x reader x Song Mingi

Genre: Angst, Smut

Warnings: This content is for a mature audience

Synopsis: You can't remember when was the last time you spent time with them, the last "I love you", the last time any of them kissed you.

Other chapters: Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee ☕

“You remember the day we met?”

“How can I not? You were always running after me every chance you had.”

“Hey! I wanted to be your friend; I was a lonely child.”

Yunho and Mingi met when they were just children, on the playground, next to the swings. The younger one had been sitting on one of them, swinging his feet and looking at the ground, occasionally looking at the other children, wanting to play with them, but being too shy to ask. He had been there for a long time, until one of them pushed him off the swing, making him scratch the palm of his hands and the top of his knees on the ground, small teardrops started falling down his eyes, between the pain and the humiliation. He wanted to run back home and hide in his room until a small hand appeared in front of him.

“Are you okay?”

Mingi took the other boy’s hand, picking himself up and dusting his clothes off. “Yeah, thank you.”

The kid frowned, looking down at his scratched skin, “You are bleeding, come, my mom will clean you up.” He interlaced their fingers and made Mingi follow him.

And that’s how everything started. Mingi felt as if he owed Yunho for his kindness, so when he found out they went to the same school he made it his mission to follow him around everywhere he went, and while at first the older boy had thought it was a bit weird to have someone always on his tail, he quickly grew accustomed to it. They became a unit, there wasn’t one without the other, same group of friends, same schools, same everything; from children to hormonal teenagers, to young adults, and finally adults.

Yunho can’t remember when he started feeling the way he felt about Mingi, he just suddenly realised that the boy who had been next to him every day for the last twelve years made his cheeks turn red; that he would often find himself staring at him for long periods of times, admiring how much his features had changed from when they were children. He had lost all the baby fat in his face, a slimmer and sharper jawline, his piercing eyes had lost that innocent shimmer and now made his knees grow weak, and how pink and plump his lips were. Yunho wanted to die every day, knowing it wasn’t normal to think that way about his best friend, or any boy at all; crying himself to sleep wishing to wake up “normal”, luckily for him, his mom was a saint, and when she noticed her son’s feelings, she let him know that what he was feeling was completely okay and she would support him no matter what.

What he didn’t know was that Mingi was right in the same sport as he was. He had noticed the way his heart skipped a bit every time Yunho looked his way, how puffy his cheeks were and how the way he laughed made him look like a puppy, how nice his fingers looked when he was typing across the keyboard. He was in trouble, he feared rejection, he feared getting heartbroken, but amongst everything, he feared losing Yunho.

Funnily enough, all it took for their love to blossom was a shot of vodka and a game of spin the bottle, Yunho now cringes at the thought that their first kiss was drunk in front of their friends; Mingi finds it sweet—first kiss, first love, first everything. Mingi remembers Yunho’s face the first time they made love, his puffy cheeks reddening up, lips parted and small gasps left his throat, his lips swollen from making out; he looked ethereal. He remembers the way his boyfriend had been so gentle, so patient with him. Yunho remembers the way Mingi whispered sweet words of affirmation in his ear, telling him how much he loved him, and how good everything felt. And while the first may have been somewhat awkward, both truly inexperienced and nervous, it was a memory they were both fond of.

“You remember how you told me you loved me the first time?” Mingi giggled, laying his head on Yunho’s shoulder, leaning further down on the couch outside their apartment’s balcony. They were looking at the stars trying to distract themselves, feeling too anxious to do anything else.

“Oh god, please don’t remind me. I was such a fucking idiot.” He facepalmed himself, feeling the cringe cover his body.

“You came up to my house with a bouquet of lilies you stole from your neighbour’s garden, banged on my door, and when I opened the door, you just screamed, “Do you like me back?” No, I like you. No, do you want to be my boyfriend? No. Just, do you like me back?”

“I’m sorry, I was a little bisexual closeted teenager trying to confess to his best friend, I didn’t know there was formal etiquette to asking you out.”

Mingi let out another small laugh, taking Yunho’s face between his hands and leaned up for a kiss. Slow, gentle, full of love, just like how all of their relationship had been, until recently. They stayed silent for a little while, lost in their thoughts.

“Do you remember the day we met her?”

College days were blurred memories for both boys; too busy with law and med school, always stressed, always horny and always sleepy. That week Wooyoung had invited the couple to a party at his house, it had been the first time in months they had the time to have fun, so they eagerly accepted. The first task that night was getting drunk off their minds, the next one was to dance and chat all they could and the last one was to go back to the apartment and fuck each other's brains out, it sounded like a good plan. Only one thing got in their way, you.

Mingi had been sitting down on the armrest of an old and crusty couch, sipping on something someone had told him was “jungle juice”, a beverage that tasted like ass, but was getting him tipsy, so that was fine by him. He was looking around, trying to find his boyfriend in the crowd, when his eyes came across a view that had him questioning if what was before his eyes was real, or if he was just starting to hallucinate from the drink.

“Hey, Mingi! Haven't seen you in a while, where have you been, man?” Han side hugged me, and Mingi tried to focus on what he was saying, but he just couldn’t, not when you were right there. He prayed on the back of his head that you weren’t dating Jisung, “Oh, right, I'm sorry, babe. Y/n, this my friend Mingi. Mingi, this is Y/n.” He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, blood drowning the inside of his cheeks and air escaping his lungs, how does one talk again?

“Hi.” You smiled at him. He was done.

It would be a lie to say you were not feeling the same. The pain Chan had been leaving in your heart for the past months went away in a second, the weight being lifted off your shoulders. Jisung had pitied you the second he noticed the way you were looking at his friend, he didn’t know how to bring up the fact that Mingi wasn’t single, of course, that was until he saw he was looking at you the same way. Surprised and confused, he decided to excuse himself, not wanting to get involved in the potential mess.

You guys went outside, claiming the noise was overwhelming you, it was there where a tall figure crossed your way, going directly to your new friend. “Hey, baby.” The new stranger said, while leaning down and doing the same thing you’ve been wanting to do all night, Mingi kissed him back.

“Hi, love. I tried looking for you, but couldn’t find you.”

“I had to come outside, Seonghwa and San were becoming too much, and I'm tired. Do you want to leave?”

You stared at the ground, feeling your heart fall to your stomach, Of course, you had gone out to forget about one guy and another one had crushed you.

“Yunho, this is Y/n. Y/n this is my boyfriend, Yunho.”

Boyfriend, great. You never even had a chance.

You looked up, ready to say hello and get the hell out of there, but you made eye contact with him, and all of a sudden everything turned even more confusing in your head. Yunho’s eyes widened the second they saw yours, his heart stopped, and the spit in his throat made him choke. Easy to say, Mingi and Yunho didn’t leave that party as they planned, they spent hours and hours with you, getting to know you, making you laugh, flirt with you… Jisung had come back, ready to leave when the scene in front of him had completely startled him. There you were, in between the two men, one of them devouring your mouth like there was no tomorrow while the other one groped your hips and sucked on your neck. Han is a good friend because even though he wanted to leave after fighting with Minho, he decided to wait for you, wanting you to have a good time and forget about Chan, so he spent the next hours going and coming back to see if you were done. Finally, you were done and gone with two new numbers on your phone and the promise of a date the next day.

“I was so scared that night,” Yunho confessed for the first time.

Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed, “why?”

“Well, yeah we both made out with her that night, but I knew I liked her the second I saw her, I wanted something more, but I didn’t want to lose you, and I didn’t even know how that would work.”

“We acted as if we knew what the hell we were doing, like some experts in polyamorous relationships.” The lawyer grinned, “I was also worried she would wake up the next morning and completely forget about us, or just see us as a one-time thing.”

Both smiled at the idea that that didn’t happen, but it turned sour the second they remembered that while they had managed to get you, they had also managed to lose you.

“I miss her, Min.”

“Don’t worry, Yuyu. We’ll bring her back home, I promise.” He wanted to reassure his partner, but the same he was nervous, could they?

____________________________________________

“Oh my god, Chan! I’m so happy for you.” You threw your hands around him, shaking him around excitedly.

“It's not that big of a deal, Y/n.” His cheeks turned red.

“It’s not a big deal? Chan, you finally got that promotion you’ve been waiting for years, this is huge!” You jumped around, making Chan laugh, “We have to celebrate, let's go out tonight, I’ll call Jisung.” She skipped to her room, not waiting for Chan’s answer.

You always made him special, like everything he did was amazing, and his heart couldn’t help but feel warm and heavy in his chest. It had been a little bit more than two and a half months since you had appeared on his doorstep, and his head had been going to the same place again and again the last few days, would it be okay if he tried anything? He didn’t expect you to answer right away or to even like him back, but he could still hope. He had noticed that in the last weeks, you had stopped crying, you stopped looking at your phone every five minutes or at every notification that popped up, and you stopped mentioning them all together, could you be moving on? This and more questions circled his head as he finished getting ready, he had taken a shower and chosen an outfit that didn’t consist of an oversized hoodie and baggy shorts; he needed all the luck and advantage he could get. He was wearing his favourite black combat boots, some black ripped skinny jeans, the ones that hugged his legs and ass just right (according to Changbin), a black crop top that Han had gifted him, claiming “it was a crime the world had never seen his abs in one of those”, but he had never worn it due to being too shy, a jean jacket and a bunch of black and silver jewellery adorning his hands, wrists, ears and neck, his hair straighten and slicked back, opposed to his usual messy curls.

He had just come out of his room, when you ran into him, “Jesus Christ, Chan, you look so good.” Your eyes were everywhere on his body, but his eyes. Chris couldn't help but feel a bust of confidence.

“You don’t look half bad.” You were wearing a tight black leather skirt with a blue spaghetti strap lace top (it was Mingi’s favourite outfit on you, it gave you confidence, and made you feel good about yourself, but Chan didn’t have to know that), on your neck was his favourite necklace, the one he had been wearing and had left on the bathroom counter, right before taking a shower and you had found. “You are wearing my necklace.” He gulped, and he scolded himself in his head, why was he acting like a hormonal teenager all of a sudden? You did weird things to his head.

“Oh yeah, I was going to give it to you, but it looked good with my outfit, I hope you don’t mind.” You batted your eyes at him, trying to look cute so he didn’t make you take the jewellery off.

His mouth dried up. Fuck, Chris, get it together, he thought. “I don’t, it’s okay.”

You smiled brightly at him, “I’m ready, I’ll just go and put my shoes on. Can you go get Jisung meanwhile?”

He nodded and turned around, hyping himself up the entire way to your friend’s apartment.

____________________________________________

“You said she would be here, Minho,” Yunho said, they were standing in front of Chan’s door.

“I didn’t know they were going out tonight, calm down Jeong.”

“Jisung didn’t tell you he was going out with them?”

Minho sighed, exasperated with the couple, “I forgot, okay? Besides now you know where she is, you can come back another time and…” Mingi was quick to cut him off.

“No, I'm not leaving until I see her. I've been going crazy for months and I’m not going without talking to her.” He sat down on the floor, next to the door, “I'm waiting here until they come back.”

Minho looked at him in disbelief, “You can not stay there, they’ll be gone for hours, and you might freak out some of the neighbours.

Mingi simply shrugged, looking down at the floor.

Minho turned to look at Yunho, wanting him to do something about his partner, but he was already sitting down next to him. “You cannot be serious.”

“We are not leaving until we see her. End of story.”

Minho threw back his head, exhausted and annoyed with their stubbornness, “Suit yourselves.” He disappeared down the hall.

____________________________________________

Han looked at Chan while he looked at her, the memory of their college relationship popped into his head. He remembers consoling you, trying to mend your broken heart as best as he could; he remembered why you ended things, why you moved on, how you did it. He also remembers finding out about Chan’s feelings, that same night Minho went to pick him up after he passed out drunk. He remembered feeling guilty for introducing you to them, for not having a clue Chan reciprocated your feelings. And tonight, he couldn't help, once again, but feel bad for the producer, if only he had said something, would things be different now?

“I didn't know you still felt that way about her…” Jisung said as he took a sip of his drink.

Chan looked at the floor, and shook his head, “Did Minho tell you?”

“He didn’t have to.”

____________________________________________

Minho couldn’t sleep. He kept turning and tossing in his bed, and no, it wasn’t the lack of his husband next to him, it was the pair of idiots down the hall that crowded his head. He couldn’t help, but feel bad for them, having been in the same situation as them, lost, heartbroken, fearing the uncertainty his relationship had been a few years ago. He wanted to ignore so badly that feeling in his gut, telling him to help them, but he just couldn’t, so he got up from the bed and made his way, once again, down to Chan’s apartment.

There they were, asleep. Mingi was lying on Yunho’s shoulder covering it in drool, while the other one had a look of discomfort on his face, even asleep he could feel how uncomfortable was the wall he was leaning against.

Minho crouched down, shaking his fellow rival doctor by the shoulder, “Jeong, wake up.” He whispered, “Come on, idiot. I don’t have all day.”

Yunho opened his eyes, at first alarmed, but then confused. Y/n wasn’t there, why was he being awoken?

“Be quiet, I'm taking you there, get up.” He got up, ready to walk away, “Hurry up and don’t wake up Mingi. I certainly don’t need two idiots in my car, and I doubt she wants to see you both,”

____________________________________________

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