--- A Dark Omen: Valarr Targaryen (witch! female reader, Baelor lives! AU)
Requested?: Nope.
Word Count: ~10.5K
Summary: Dunk watches Prince Baelor fade beyond the maesters' skill until a crow appears to answer their prayers - an old friend. They venture into the woods to find Dunk's long-ago witch friend, who bargains with fate to bring the prince back from the edge. It costs a piece of herself, but she is happy to pay it.
Notes: I did not read this through once I was done, so I have no clue how it flows. Do I know anything about the arcane? No. Do I love witch readers? Absolutely. This will have other parts as well, so if you wanna see a specific witchy ability lemme know.
The pavilion smelled of poultice and blood. Dunk stood with his hands jammed into his armpits as if doing so would help him stay together. He was much too big for the space and far too helpless in it, every shift seemed to make the ground give way.
Prince Baelor lay on a low bed with blankets folded under his shoulders to keep him from rolling, though in truth the Prince had yet to show a single sign of life other than breathing. His head was turned to the side as to not put pressure on the affliction, his hair had been shorn where the blow had struck and the clean linen protecting the area was already turning pink at the centre.
The maester had washed the blood away and tried to staunch it as much as he could by filling the space, but Dunk could still see the shape of it in his mind, an ugly cavity where a skull ought to be smooth.
"Will this help?" a voice asked, too young and trying not to sound it.
Egg stood by the bed, clutching a folded cloth as if it were a sword. His eyes were fixed on his Uncle's face with a stubborn kind of fury, as though staring hard enough might keep the man tethered to this world.
The maester's mouth tightened. "It may ease his pain, if he feels any. That is all."
Prince Valarr was on the other side of the bed. He had not sat, or leaned, he stood straight-backed in his doublet as if he were already in a sept, made of marble like the statues of dead kings. His hands betrayed him, knuckles white with his fingers curled around nothing.
"He feels," Valarr said, voice quiet and uncharacteristically weak for a prince. It wasn't a question, it was a demand that could not be met.
The maester glanced at the bandages and Dunk saw something like fear flicker across the old man's face before it disappeared behind training.
"We have done what can be done. If the gods are... merciful, he may yet return to us."
Dunk swallowed whatever he wanted to say. Can't you do anything else? The maester held Baelor's head steady while he tipped a few drops between the prince's lips, he rubbed his throat to coax a swallow that came sloe and half-wrong. A thin line of liquid dribbled down his chin which was swiped away with a piece of linen.
"You'll save him," Egg said suddenly, and it came out harsh and brave. Desperate all the same. "You have to."
The maester's gaze slid past him, past Dunk, to Valarr. For a heartbeat his face softened, as if he wanted to say something kinder for a son watching his father die. What came out was the truth, plain and simple.
"We will keep him comfortable, we will watch, we will pray. If he is to live, it would not be by my hand alone."
Valarr remained steadfast but he stared down at his father with an expression Dunk couldn't begin to name. Grief, yes. But there was something else threaded through it, something that made the air brittle. Guilt? Perhaps, it was Valarr's armour that guarded Baelor, his armour that failed and allowed the injury to occur. But Valarr had not swung the mace. That was Maekar.
Dunk had seen it happen in a flash of panic and steel, Maekar trying to reach for Aerion. Striking his brother with a blow that was meant to deter.
Egg made a thin, furious noise. "There has to be-"
"There is not," the maester resigned.
Dunk's hands suddently felt enormous and useless, his thoughts scrambled for something, anything, that could make a difference. But he only had a sword at his hip and the certainty that steel was of no use against a broken skull.
Dunk stumbled out into the cold air as if fleeing smoke. The sky was darker now. He sucked in a breath and it tasted of mud and fear. There was nothing to be done. Prince Baelor would die. And he would die for Duncan.
Just when all hope seemed lost, the horizon opened for him.
Perched on a line of Baelor's pavillion as if it belonged there was a crow, black feathers slick against the twilight. It should have been a dark omen, an animal of death appearing at Baelor's bed but this crow was special.
It did not hop away when Dunk stepped closer, it only watched with a bright knowing eye, head cocked.
This one had a pale scar along its beak like a scratch left by an old knife. He had seen that scar before, years ago. When he had been bleeding out and feverish.
The tent rustled, and he heard Egg's voice, small now, asking something - begging perhaps. Dunk could not make out the words. The crow clicked its beak once, sharp as flint.
His hands curled into fists. He saw Ser Arlan's face as it had been when he was alive, heard his voice clearer now too.
The crow's her signature. Don't bring steel into her hollow.
Dunk looked down at his sword, one he hadn't parted from in days. His fingers unclasped the belt, he set the blade down on a crate beside the pavilion like a man laying a child to bed.
Behind him, the tent flap snapped open. Egg burst out, face puffy and blotched. He stopped when he saw Duncan without his sword. "What are you doing?" His voice more a plea than a scold. "Ser Duncan, what are you-"
Dunk pointed at the crow. "You see that?" He needed to check that his mind wasn't conjuring up images to give him hope.
Egg followed his finger. "It's a crow."
"Good, it's hers." Dunk said, surprising himself with how certain he sounded.
"Hers?" And then, because he was Egg, because he was curious even at the edge of grief. "Who are you talking about?"
"A... friend." Dunk said, awkwardly because the word was too small to describe what she had done. "A woman who... who pulled me back once when I ought to have died. A witch, maybe." She was definitely a witch but he couldn't just admit that.
Egg's eyes went huge. "A witch."
The tent shifted again, and the Young Prince stepped out into the open air. He moved like a man who had decided not to fall apart until later. His gaze flicked across their faces. "What is this?" Valarr asked.
Dunk hesitated. He could lie, say nothing. Few took happiness in the mention of witchcraft.
But inside the pavilion, Baelor was dying - because of him.
"There is someone," Dunk started. "Not far, or maybe far. I don't know. I've always been able to find her, when I needed her. Or she's found me. She's in the woods."
Valarr's face tightened at the word woods and the unspoken truth behind it. Witch.
"We have maesters," It sounded like something he'd been taught to say, something that was always worked before. "We have-"
"We have nothing that's helping him," Dunk cut it before remembering his station. "I beg your pardon, my prince."
Egg stepped between them as if he could break the tension with his small body. "If she saved you, maybe she can save him. We have to try."
Valarr looked at Egg as if seeing him for the first time, a boy with too much heart and not enough sense. "I have been told all my life to steer clear of witchcraft," He said. "That it is a lie that wears a woman's face."
Dunk went to open his mouth but Valarr held up a single, shaking finger. "But I have also been told that my father will die." The crow hopped down onto a high crate like it had been waiting too long.
Valarr's eyes flicked to it. "If there is a chance," he said, and the words cost him something. "Then I will take it, take me to your friend."
Egg latched onto Dunk's sleeve at once. "I'm coming with you, Ser Duncan."
"No," Dunk began, but Egg's grip tightened and his stubbornness flared liked a flame.
"You said she is your friend," He said fiercely. "You said she saved you. I'm coming."
Dunk looked at the boy, and felt something soft and aching in his chest. "Fine," Dunk said. "But you stay close. Do as I say and you don't touch a thing. She gets cranky when people do that."
Egg nodded quickly. "Yes, ser."
Dunk turned back to the bird, as he took a step towards the dark line of trees beyond the camp the crow lifted, flapped once, and glided ahead, low over the grass like a shadow pulling them by the hand.
Dunk set his jaw and followed it into the trees, Egg hurried to keep up. Valarr's footsteps fell behind them, measured, as if a prince could walk into a witchwood without letting fear show on his face.
The woods took them the way deep water takes a stone, quietly, without hurry, like it had been waiting. Somewhere above, something skittered along bark, quick as lightning.
The crow had disappeared some time ago, every now and then Duncan could've sworn he saw it swoop through the trees in his peripherals but everytime he turned to look, it was gone.
Egg kept close at Dunk's elbow. The knight could tell he was trying to be brave in the way all boys did, too quietly, as if the silence could protect him. Even Valarr, who Dunk had never talked to outside of a few hours ago, was walking closer.
"You said she saved you," Egg whispered, like speaking too loudly would wake what slept between the trees. "Before. You said you ought... to have died."
"Aye," he said. "I was four and ten."
Egg glanced up at him, eyes wide. "How did you get hurt?"
Dunk's thoughts snagged on the old pain. He remembered the taste of blood in his mouth, the way the world had blurred and faded and the last thought he had. So this is what death feels like.
"We were on the road," he said slowly. "The memories of that time are fuzzy. I can't remember the place's name. Some men thought an old knight and a young squire would be easy pickings. They were wrong about Ser Arlan being easy." His voice tightened as he continued. "But they had more knives than we had luck."
Valarr's footsteps drew closer, maybe he wanted to hear to story. To be reassured that this woman could save his father.
"One of them caught me. I got two blades, something in me ruptured. Internal bleeding, she said. I remember falling, I couldn't breathe proper and blood was coming up from my lungs. Ser Arlan tried to keep me awake and stop the blood but it kept coming."
Egg swallowed audibly. "And he took you to her."
"That he did."
"Did he know her?"
"He did. I asked how, once. He told me that some debts are best paid quietly. I think she owed him."
Valarr spoke for the first time since they'd left camp. "What did she do?" As if the act could be measured and judged.
"She told Ser Arlan to put me down," Dunk said. "Said I needed to feel the ground under me. Made him take off his mail and set it aside. She doesn't like having steel near." Valarr's gaze moved down to where Duncan's sword ought to have been.
"Did it hurt?" Egg's voice was small.
Dunk let out a small laugh. "Yes," he said. "It hurt. But I don't think it was her doing, I think that was just my injuries. Then all of a sudden it didn't. It wasn't like she had given me milk of the poppy. It was like the pain became far off. It gave me time to think and recover my senses."
He could hear Ser Arlan's voice again, low and careful. Do as she says, lad. Don't argue. Don't touch the charms.
"She told me to keep breathing, not to try. She told me to do it, like she was pulling on the reins of a horse. And I did. Something about her made me do it, maybe that was the true witchcraft."
They walked on, the trees grew closer, and branches knit overhead. After a time, Egg asked, "And you've been able to find her ever since?"
Dunk's lips pressed together. "When I needed her," he said, and it sounded like superstition the moment the words left his mouth. He hated that it did, he wished for the world to be a thing you could hit with a hammer until it made sense.
"She doesn't live like other folk," he added. "Sometimes you'll happen across her like she's always been there. Sometimes you'll turn around, and she'll be right there behind you, quiet as a shadow. You don't hear her coming."
Egg looked around at the black trunks and glistening leaves, as if Dunk's words would prompt her to appear. "That's not possible."
Dunk snorted softly. "A lot of things are impossible. And yet."
Valarr's voice came again, controlled and strained. "Why does she help you if the debt's been paid?"
Dunk thought of the first time he'd met her, of Ser Arlan's face lined with worry, of him kneeling on damp earth and speaking to a girl in a low voice that carried respect. He thought of the way she'd looked at Dunk as if she were weighing him up in her mind. Not his size, but something else. Something more valuable.
"I don't know," Dunk admitted. "Maybe she liked Ser Arlan, maybe she saw something in me worth saving." He swallowed before continuing. "I know what people say of witches. That they kill without mercy, but she's not like that. Not at all. I think she just likes helping people, she hides away because she knows what people would do if they knew what she was capable of."
Bringing people back from the brink of death. Valarr and Egg thought to themselves. A powerful skill, what else was she capable of? She must be one powerful witch. If it is true, she would be caged by some high lord. Forced to do their bidding over and over again.
Egg's pace quickened by half a step, eager despite the fear. "What is she like?"
"She's... calm." He said. "Not meek or anxious. She doesn't take insults from anyone, she'll give some remark or just stare at you like she's counting your bones. She feels deeply for people, perhaps more deeply than anyone I've met. But she hides that part. Sometimes, she laughs at things that aren't funny. That always made me feel like she knows something I don't...though, I am fairly certain she can see the future."
Egg shivered, from the cold or excitement, Dunk couldn't tell. "And she has a crow," Egg said, like that made it all more real.
"Aye, that one." Dunk looked to the sky as if the bird would appear. "Keep your coins, brooches, and chains hidden. It will steal anything shiny it can get its mouth around to give to her as a gift, as long as it's not steel. She keeps them as a collection."
"You're certain she can save him," Valarr spoke, now fully alongside them. It wasn't really a question, more of a line he was trying to hold.
Dunk wanted to say yes. To swear on his sword that his father would be safe for both Baelor's sake and Valarr's. "I don't believe her crow would come if there was nothing to be done. Besides, I'm certain the maesters can do nothing. And I'm certain she's done what shouldn't be possible before."
Valarr's breath hissed through his teeth, a sound like steel being drawn. Suddenly, a crow's call was heard ahead of them, it reverberated through the forest. Its wings could be heard beating, once, twice, as it disappeared into a deeper pocket of the dark. Dunk's heart lurched.
Egg grabbed his sleeve. "Ser Duncan-".
"There," Dunk said, though he had no reason to know yet. Something in him remembered this feeling, stumbling through the trees with blood spewing from his mouth and Ser Arlan's voice in his ear.
He pushed on, faster now. Branches snagged at Valarr's cloak as he followed behind closely. The trees thinned as if the forest was making space. The clearing was not empty.
Trinkets hung from the branches, strips of cloth, bones bleached white, little bundles of herbs, and twigs that had been arranged into symbols. They swung with the breeze that ran through the area.
Then the wind stopped as if the life had been sucked out of the clearing, and all fell silent.
As if the forest had exhaled her, she was there. Not a crunch of leaves or a snap of branches. Just there, in the alcove of a tree, watching them as if she'd been waiting for hours.
The crow was settled on her thigh, and Dunk's heart thudded painfully in his chest.
"You three are late." Your voice was as soft as moss, it hadn't changed since Dunk had last seen you.
He found his tongue at last. "Prince Baelor," He managed, the sound came out like a prayer and an apology. "He's-"
"I know," She said as she lifted herself from the ground, swiping any dirt away from her clothes.
Her eyes were on Dunk, but he had this sudden, unsettling feeling that she was looking through him, past him, all the way to the pavilion and the dying man inside.
She moved as though she belonged. Certain of herself and her abilities. Dunk had always felt clumsy compared to her, all boots and breath and loud human warmth.
Egg's gaze flicked over her abode. "You..." he began, then faltered, as if he weren't sure what to say. "You knew we were coming."
The witch's mouth curved. "Of course, I knew."
Valarr stepped forward a half pace. "How?" His voice was polite but bordering on anxious. "No one in camp sent word. No rider-"
"No," You agreed softly. Your gaze slid to him, taking him in the way you'd taken Dunk in years ago. "No rider would have reached me in time."
Egg blurted, "Then how?"
You tipped her head, considering whether the question deserved a serious answer before shrugging and saying, very simply. "The wind told me."
"The wind... doesn't talk." Egg frowned.
"It does, to us witches at least." There was a quiet finality that made the argument seem childish.
Dunk felt Valarr's stare, sharp and disbelieving yet so desperate. The prince's lips pressed into a line, as if he were reciting all the lessons he'd been taught about women in woods. Dunk could see the battle inside him, between what he'd been told and what he wanted.
No, what he needed.
Dunk looked at the trinkets laid out around her. "You've been... preparing." He nodded at the items.
Your eyes softened for a second. "I set out what I would need," you said. "How far is the prince?"
"Not too far," Dunk answered, looking back the way they came.
"He's sinking. I can feel it. And you wouldn't have come to me if he weren't."
Egg's breath caught, "Can you save him?"
The witch looked at the young boy before her. Your gaze was fond, sad and wary as the same. "He is not yours," you said gently. "Yet you are afraid for him all the same."
Egg's cheeks went red. "He's good." He said fiercely. "He- he didn't deserve this."
"No one deserves this." You murmured. "Perhaps, besides your elder brother. His soul has been consumed by the Targaryen madness."
Valarr's voice came out tight. "If you can help him. Then name your price."
"I do not bargain like a merchant over a dying man." You said, though there was no cruelty to be found in your voice. You looked at each of them individually before continuing. "Bring me to him. Now."
Your hands were stained, not with blood but with old green smears. Crushed herbs, perhaps, or something else. There were cuts along your fingers that were half-healed as though you'd been working for hours.
"You really knew?" Dunk said quietly.
You walked past him, carrying your copious amount of supplies. "I told you...the wind."
Egg hurried to keep up. "What did it say?"
"It said a good man was being taken." You replied. "It said that two young princes would follow a knight true at heart. It said grief would come hidden behind duty."
The path back was not the same path in reverse. Dunk was sure of it. The trees had shifted. The ground rose where it had been flat. He would have been lost in minutes, but the crow flew overhead, and the woman followed it without a moment of hesitation.
Valarr watched her hands, he didn't want to look too closely at her eyes no matter how welcoming they seemed. He watched her hands instead because they seemed safer.
Her hands were full.
A bowl was held carefully against her hip, a small bundle of different herbs tied with twine in the other. A pouch at her belt bumped softly with each step, heavy with whatever she'd packed, chalk, charcoal, bones, stones and perhaps even teeth. Strips of cloth were folded and tucked under her elbow, even the crow seemed to add weight, hopping from branch to branch over her.
Valarr's throat worked. He had been told, like many other followers of the Seven, that women like this were snares. That you did not speak too freely to them. That you did not accept gifts, and you did not offer help, because that would be an invitation, and that could become a binding.
But then he glanced ahead, imaging his father's tent, the way the man's chest barely rose. And teachings, for all their weight and worth, did not keep a man alive.
She stepped over a root without looking, like she knew where it would be before it was there. Her balance was too sure for someone carrying so much.
Still.
Valarr could not stand behind her like a boy being led. He had to do something with his hands, if only to stop him from thinking of what fate awaits his beloved father.
He moved closer, careful not to brush her sleeve. His voice came out steadier than he felt it. "- My lady." The words tasted strange in his mouth. He had addressed ladies of court with silks and jewels and perfumed hair. This woman smelled of damp earth, which actually might've been more appealing than the perfume, to be honest.
You did not slow or turn your head. "I'm no lady."
Valarr's ears warmed, but he kept walking alongside you, matching your pace. "Then..." He swallowed and cursed himself for fumbling like a squire. "Then-"
Your eyes flicked to him briefly, quick and assessing. "Then speak... my prince."
"You are... carrying a great deal." He gestured, awkwardly, at the bowl, the bundles, at everything. "Might I carry something?"
For a heartbeat, he thought she might laugh. Instead, she looked ahead and said nothing at all.
He held his hands out slightly, palms open, in the universal posture of 'I mean no harm'. It felt ridiculous.
"I can carry the bowl," he added quickly, before pride could choke him. "Or the cloth. Whatever you wish."
She slowed then, and her gaze slid to his hands. He got that odd feeling that he was being tested. "You're afraid of me." You stated. It was not an accusation, it was an observation.
Valarr's jaw tightened. Lying would be pointless. "Yes."
"And still you offer."
"Yes," he said again, because there was no other answer. His voice dropped without his permission. "Because my father is dying."
You made a quiet sound, almost a sign, almost a snort, and adjusted your grip. "You've been taught to fear us." Then again, though you look more amused now. "And it is not just because your father is dying."
Valarr's brows drew together. He kept his hand out anyway, stubbornly open. "Then why?" He asked, and it came out more honest than princely. "Why would I-"
She didn't look at him when she answered. Her eyes stayed on the path. "Because you're a good person," she said simply.
The words landed wrong, like a cloak thrown over him that doesn't quite fit. Valarr almost stumbled on a root he didn't see. "I-" he began, then stopped. Praise from courtiers was easy, they always wanted something. This didn't sound like that.
The witch glanced back at him then. "Don't argue. It's clear as day." She looked at the space around him, over his shoulder, as if searching.
Valarr looked down. "You don't know me."
"I can see it. Do not tell me what I can and cannot see. It's right there." You gestured around him. "You cannot escape it."
He forced himself to stay calm. "What," he said, carefully, "is there?"
You exhaled through her nose, the smallest hint of impatience. "Your aura," she said, like naming it made it easier to understand. "The shape of you."
Valarr stared at her profile, trying to decide if this was some trick meant to unsettle him. "That's not a thing."
"It's a thing," she replied. "It's just not something people are taught to notice. But some people are more sensitive to them. Have you ever gotten a bad feeling about someone you've just met? It's similar, just deeper."
He frowned. "An aura."
"Yes." She shifted the items in her arms. "Everyone has one. Some people glow like hearth fires. Some people are like smoke, cunning, and not to be trusted. Others are... cold."
Valarr's fingers flexed, hands unsure of what to do with themselves. "And mine?" He asked before he could stop himself.
"Yours is clean... warm... and light." She said slowly, like she was trying to select the truest word. "Not spotless. No one is. But clean like river water over stone. Purifying. It tells me that others are cleansed in your presence. You inspire others to do better. I imagine your father's is much the same." It shouldn't have pleased him the way it did, it did soothe his nerves though. "Your aura leans forward. Towards people. Toward the needs of others. The cruel ones don't do that, they curl inwards. They take."
Valarr swallowed. “And you can tell that just by looking.”
“I can,” she said. “It’s why fear doesn’t impress me. Half the men who fear witches are good men who were taught wrong. The other half are bad men who don’t want others to see them for what they are. Vermin.”
His hands hovered again, still offered. “Then let me carry something,” he said, stubborn. “If you can see what I am, then you can see I mean it.”
"...Very well," she said at last. She leaned forward and held out the bowl, herbs, and other bits and pieces that were hidden in the folds of her clothes.
He took them with both hands, careful, reverent despite himself.
"Don't let it touch the ground," she told him.
"I won't."
"And don't let anyone else touch it. I've only allowed you to."
"No one will," Valarr promised, and meant it with a fierceness that surprised him.
You believed him, and not just because his father's life was on the line.
Egg lifted his head like a hound catching a scent. "We're close." He whispered.
Dunk didn't answer, but he could see torchlight now between the trunks, they shone like little wavering stars that made the dark seem less endless.
The elder prince kept a half step behind the witch, items steady in his hands. Her loyal crow swooped over the camp's edge and landed on a stake, watching the tents like a sentry. A few men nearby saw it and made signs against ill-luck without thinking. They knew that the crown prince's life hung in the balance, and under normal circumstances, a crow would be the last thing you wanted to see.
"Seven save us," someone muttered. The words made your skin prickle, made it burn. When Dunk turned to look at you, knowing the effect such words could have, you looked unimpressed if a little uncomfortable. Gods and curses were small talk you'd grown bored of years ago.
A guard stepped forward with a hand raised. "Halt. Who goes-" He got as far as the princes before stopping, startled. "Prince-"
"Enough, Prince Baelor is dying." Dunk had said, voice rough.
The guard's eyes darted to Valarr as if astonished that the hedge knight was making a demand, but the prince had nothing to say. He didn't think he could speak even if the Gods demanded it of him. Not with his father so close. The guard looked to the woman beside them, silent, and he hesitated, confusion and suspicion making him stupid.
It was Egg's voice that cut through, steady with command. "Out of our way."
Rank did what fear could not. The guard stepped aside at once, and the group of men around him shifted as if the ground was burning. They watched the witch pass with a morbid fascination.
"That's a woods-woman-"
"Gods above, she's got charms-"
Egg tucked closer to Dunk, as if the words were being sent his way. Dunk wanted to scoop him up and hide him in his cloak like a pup.
The witch moved through the camp as if walking through mist. Knights, squires, and servants alive found themselves stepping away as she grew closer.
They reached Baelor's pavilion, and Dunk shoved the flap aside. The maester looked up sharply, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. "Ser Duncan, you cannot simply-" He fell upon the woman, and his voice faltered before returning twice as sharp. "What is this? Who is that?"
Egg rushed towards the bed. "He's still breathing," he whispered, relief and terror mixing as he watched his Uncle's chest barely lift.
Valarr stepped in behind them, holding the supplies as if it were Baelor's skull in his hands. The maester's eyes widened at the sight of a prince holding items for a witch like a serving boy.
You stood still for a heartbeat, taking in the area. Then your gaze went to Baelor's face, and something in you shifted, recognition. "He's slipping," you said, the words sliding off your tongue without meaning to.
The maester bristled at her words. "And you, are a-"
"A nuisance," you supplied, calmly as ever. "Yes, have you anything useful to say, or shall I get to work?"
Dunk flinched, expecting outrage, but the maester's mouth opened, shut, and opened again like a fish. He couldn't quite believe the audacity.
Valarr's voice came controlled, but there was steel to be found there as well. "She has come to help."
"To help?" The maester reiterated like the idea was unfathomable. "This is a prince of the blood. This is- this is-"
"-a man," the witch said, and the simplicity cut through his indignation. You stepped closer to the bed and stopped just shy of touching. "A man with his skull caved in."
Her eyes flicked to the maester's chain around his neck. Then to the tools of his kit, the buckles, the metal clasps.
"No steel inside the circle," You said, moving items off the floor so that you might place down a cover that you can draw on.
You drew out a large circumference before gesturing Dunk and Valarr over to the cot that held Baelor. "Prince, give me your items. You two are going to lift him, carefully, into the middle of the circle. Turn him until I say so."
She gestured forward with her head as her hands were now full again, and both men wasted no time before lifting the prince up by the wooden slats on either side. They slowly moved into the circle, as to not disturb the crown prince.
Once in the centre, they moved in opposite directions to change Baelor's orientation. "Stop," The word came suddenly from the witch's lips. "Put him down gently."
Egg stepped around the circle, not quite sure what he was allowed to do. "Why does he need to face this way?"
"His head is to the east. So that the sun might shine its light on his soul first."
It made no sense to anyone else in the room, and Valarr honestly had no idea how she could tell the cardinal directions from inside a tent just off feeling alone, but realised that if she could see auras, then this truly wasn't all that weird, all things considered.
Valarr swallowed as he looked down at his father. "Tell us what you need," he said, because that was something he could do, something that sounded like a command rather than a plea.
The witch held out the bowl to him, "Place this at the foot of the bed," she said. "Carefully."
Valarr knelt, the movement looked wrong on him, and yet he did so without hesitation. He set the bowl down as if it were a sleeping babe.
"Good," she murmured.
The witch's fingers brushed the air over Baelor's bandages, not touching, hovering as if feeling for heat. Though Dunk knew she had lost that ability long ago. Her hand trembled once, subtly.
The maester's eyes narrowed. "Whatever you plan, I will not permit-"
"You will," she said without looking at him. She drew herbs, charcoal and other items they could not name from her satchel. "Because if you don't, he will die."
Silence swallowed the tent. The maester went still at that before falling back helpless.
She moved around the circle silently, drawing insignias into the circle at seemingly random spots. They were too old and too wrong to be letters. A few times, she flicked a few drops of mysterious substance onto the chalk line, and the air seemed to thicken.
"A boundary," she spoke unprompted. "To ward of spirits that might wish to take advantage of Prince Baelor's predicament."
She finished the last mark and sat back on her heels before looking up at all of them. "Now, move nothing unless I tell you. Speak to him only if I ask. And if anyone breaks my line-" her eyes slid to the maester, "-then you will watch as the spirits tear him apart."
Valarr's breath trembled in anticipation. "I won't let anyone touch it," he said. Just as fierce as back in the forest. The witch's gaze softened with approval. Then she nodded once and turned back to Baelor as if the rest of them had become nothing more than furniture.
The witch dipped two fingers into the bowl at the foot of the bed that she'd poured another unknown liquid into (it was grey-tinted but that was about all they could make out. She drew a wet line down Baelor's wrist, then another along the inside of his forearm.
She murmured under her breath, nothing in the common tongue. An ancient language only she seemed to know. Valarr couldn't make any sense of them, but his skin prickled at their sound nonetheless.
She pressed her palm, very lightly, against Baelor's breastbone. "Breathe," she told him. It was a command, but a light one, like she was coaxing him into it. Like she'd commanded Dunk, years ago, with blood in his mouth and death close enough to taste.
Baelor's breath hitched.
Egg's eyes went wide, and he looked to Dunk, who didn't seem all that surprised. Just hopeful. Valarr leaned forward on his feet and stopped himself from approaching his father with visible effort.
She closed her eyes. Her brow knit in concentration. Her hand moved to the side of his father's neck where the pulse lived. The flame of the lantern dipped.
"It's time to return." She whispered, meant only for Baelor. "It doesn't have to be all the way. Just enough." She paused again before continuing, quieter now. "Your son is waiting."
Her fingers of her right hand slid to the bandage at the back of his skull while her left hand picked herbs from her satchel. She slid the greens into the Prince's mouth with little fuss, and he swallowed them down on his own.
The maester wasn't looking at the witch but at his prince's face, desperate and helpless. "Father above," he whispered so that only those closest to him could hear. Dunk and Egg. "Mother, have mercy. Warrior, lend him strength..."
She could not hear the prayer, and it wasn't meant as a weapon, but Dunk watched as the witch's fingers tightened into a fist. A faint hiss escaped her teeth.
It wasn't in pain per se, but rather irritation, like how one might act when a mosquito flies too close and draws blood. The skin above the veins in her hands flushed red as if her blood began to boil.
Egg didn't notice, but Valarr certainly did. "What-?" His breath caught.
The witch looked over her shoulder, searching for the cause of her irritation. She looked past them, trying to keep her attention tethered to Baelor and not the sour sting crawling under her skin. "Pray in your mind... or better yet, go outside," she said, words clipped.
The maester faltered mid-prayer, startled more by her tone than anything else. "I am praying for the prince," he stammered, defensive and ashamed all at once. "Not against you."
Dunk swallowed, he had seen this before when he'd run into the witch sometime ago. Intent mattered. He'd watched her burn worse when men and women alike prayed at her, not for someone. When the faith was a blade, and she was the target.
Despite the fear being for Baelor and not of her, it still scraped because, despite what people liked to hope, their gods were not merciful. And they had no love for her.
The witch flexed her hand once, shaking off the nettle sting. "I'm aware. But your gods don't like me, and they'll take any chance to strike me even if you don't mean to. If you must pray, please specify that they do not harm me. That would be much appreciated."
The maester's lips pressed together at her words. He looked torn between indignation and desperation. "Why?" He demanded, and truthfully, Valarr wished to know as well. "If you do good, with your... abilities. If you truly mean to save him, why would the Seven-?"
"Because I'm not one of theirs, and if you wish for the truth?" She said, looking at them fully now. "Fate has decided that Baelor should die today. They don't like that I've made a habit of disagreeing, or actively fighting back." The red on her skin had faded now, and she seemed more comfortable.
They had nothing to say to that. Fate has decided...
The maester continued to pray quietly, but must have heeded her words because she didn't respond like before.
Her fingers hovered at the back of Baelor's head again. She did not touch, but she held her palm there. Baelor's chest rose.
Then rose again, smoother than the last.
You shifted your stance, bracing yourself, and then you began the real work. Murmuring those old words again, tracing invisible lines over Baelor's throat and brow, forcefully anchoring his breath.
"Now," you murmured, "Stay." The words landed heavily in the same space. Egg swallowed hard, and Valarr's nails dug into his palms.
Baelor's chest rose steadier yet, like he'd settled into sleep instead of death. Your hands slowed, and your lips moved one last time. Then you lifted your fingers up through the air as though you were closing an unseen door.
She sat back on her heels inside the chalk circle, and nothing happened. There was no sudden gasp, or opening of eyes, and certainly no sudden miracles.
Egg let out a thin breath that sounded like it might've been trapped in him for hours. "Is... is it done?" He whispered.
You didn't answer straight away. You were staring down at your hands as if they belonged to someone else. You flexed your hands, once, slow and then placed the palm against the earth, grounding yourself like you'd told Dunk to do long ago.
"It's done, "she said at last, voice flat with fatigue. "Now we wait."
The maester's hand hovered uselessly over his kit. "If the swelling-"
"Will settle," she cut in "If you stop jostling him like a sack of grain. Keep him dim. Keep him quiet. Let him sleep. You'll know within a few hours if the thread holds."
"Hours." Egg repeated, maybe he could bargain with time by saying the word.
You reached into your pouch and drew out a bundle wrapped in cloth. You loosened it and spilled its contents onto the ground. Bones, all kinds of bones, and a set of worn cards with edges softened by use, their faces marked with inked figures.
"I can look," you offered, as if you were speaking of checking the weather. "Bones and cards. But it won't change what's been decided. It will tell us which way the wind is blowing."
Valarr stepped forward as you gestured for him. As Baelor's son, he should be the one present. He stared at the bone as if they might bite. "You can... see the future."
"I can talk to the wind, I can see auras, I can read the cards and the bones to see what is possible. The paths. Visions of the future come more rarely, even if I do know the gist of what is to happen."
She lifted one of the cards, pinched it between two fingers, and for a moment Dunk saw her blink, once, twice, like a woman trying to fight sleep. Her face tightened with confusion.
She held the card closer to the lanternlight.
Egg leaned in, curiosity fighting fear. "What does it say?"
The witch stared at the card as if the ink had shifted without looking. "It says..." she paused before she brought the lantern closer, and realisation settled on her features. "Ah, it says what it has always said."
The men looked between each other, somewhat confused. She looked from the card before lifting the herbs next to her to the light, fingers brushing over the more colourful flowers attached to them. Then, she looked up towards, the tapestry hung on the wall. The intricate weaves. The colours. She hummed, nodding to herself as if taking stock of her surroundings like they were brand new.
"There's no need to worry yet. It's my own affliction that is confusing me, not the prince's."
Dunk's stomach tightened, because he'd recognised that look. He'd seen it once before, when you'd saved him and gingerly reached for the campfire like it was a stray dog that might bite. Back then he'd thought you were only tired, now he thinks he knows better.
"Come closer, Prince," you said, and Valarr obeyed at once, sitting in front of you as you gestured his down.
You turned to your bones first, forsaking the cards. They gathered in your palm, warming with your breath as you whispered into them. You cast them onto the cloth.
They clicked as they fell, the sound too loud in a tent too quiet.
You leaned in and studied the way they'd landed. Valarr watched your face with intent as you hummed, turning back to your cards once more.
You spread them out in a neat arch, you held your hand out over them in demonstration. "You are his closest blood, so it will be more accurate if you do this part." Valarr's spine straightened with your words. "Hold out your hand like so." He hovered his hand over the cards, and you placed yours over his. Your touch was ice cold despite the heat in the tent. "Now, you will move your hand over the cards. The relevant cards will move on their own."
Gingerly, he did as he was told. Palm flat over the cards, he moved it slowly and watched with awe as cards nudged towards you from the neat arch you had laid them.
You lifted your hand away at last and gestured towards the bones. "Three of them are strong. One is weak." Your gaze flicked up to Valarr's eyes. "That's good odds for living."
Then you turned the first card, the second and the third.
A figure inked in black stood upright, arms raised as if holding up a roof. The second card showed water, dark and contained. The third was a wheel. You stared for a long moment, then nodded, a short decisive motion that made Egg's shoulders sag with sudden, shaky relief.
"He wakes."
Valarr's whole body went taught, as if someone yanked a string through his limbs. "When?" He demanded, too quickly, too hungry.
You didn't snap at him for it like Dunk thought you would've. You looked back to Baelor and spoke with the same blunt certainty you'd used when you'd told him to breath. "Not tonight. Tomorrow perhaps. The bones say it will be sooner rather than later." You fiddled with a few of the pieces. "Long before the sun reaches its peak in the sky, soon after the it rises in the east."
"He'll be...him?" Egg asked, they knew what magic could do to one's soul if used incorrectly.
"He'll be him," you confirmed. You drew another card from the arch and observed its contents. "He'll have headaches. Bad ones, some days. And if he is too stressed or angry, his body may seize." Your gaze cut to the maester. "Turn him on his side. Clear his mouth. Don't put a spoon between his teeth like fools. Let it pass. They will not kill him."
The maester blinked, and despite his previous disdain he absorbed the knowledge readily. "Treatable," he said, like he was tasting the concept.
Valarr swallowed. "No graver affliction?" He asked, voice small like a young boy's.
You shook your head. "I have seen blindness after my work, Paralysis. But the cards preempted those issues then. If they do not speak of it now, it will not become a problem."
Dunk's knees threatened to give, relief hitting him like a blow. He braced a hand on the bedpost to stay upright. For a moment, no one spoke but then Valarr looked up at you, and duty returned to his face like armour sliding into place.
"What do you want?" he asked. "For payment. If he wakes up, we will give you anything. Truly."
The maester's head jerked up, and Egg went still. Dunk knew they had nothing to worry about, you had never asked for payment before. Ypu didn't even glance at them. You looked at Baelor, then your face twisted in something like weary amusement.
Men and their payments.
"I want you to keep him alive," you said. "This man will be king and he will be a great one. He will be respected but he will also be loved. He will do many great things."
Valarr blinked. "That's-" he faltered, searching for the proper words. "That's not payment."
"It is to me," you replied, simply.
"But-" He swallowed again. "Gold. Land. Protection. A vow. Anything. Name it."
You leaned back on your hands. "I will stay," you said simply. "To ensure his care...After that, you owe me nothing." You added a shrug on the end as if the deal had already been made.
Valarr's eyes narrowed, not in suspicion of you, but in suspicion of the world. Magic of this kind did not come without cost. Of all the things he'd been taught, that was a certainty like a statue.
"Nothing?" he repeated. "That's not-" Possible, he stopped. His gaze slid over you, the way you held yourself too still, the faint tremor you hid. His eyes dropped to your cards, then the fire which you'd kept glancing at when you thought no one was looking.
"You..." Valarr began, voice rough. Dunk felt it, the moment the thought finally found Valarr and settled behind his eyes. If the debt was paid, and no one else had paid it... then-
"You paid it."
You hummed quietly, and your fingers gathered the bones and the cards around you.
His throat bobbed. "What did it cost?"
You didn't answer immediately. Not because you couldn't, but because saying it out loud always made it real in a way you preferred to avoid. Your fingers paused over the bones and then resumed your careful gathering.
"Enough," you said, voice tired.
Valarr's jaw tightened. "That isn't an answer."
You looked up them, and the lanternlight caught your eyes. Dunk saw it clearly now, how your gaze didn't settle on the bright things in the pavilion the way others might. Earlier, you were taking in the shapes and edges. The card you'd held when you got confused held intricate colours, in the dim lighting even Dunk could see that from his distance. It was one of the few reasons he was able to discern what it depicted.
It was strange that you couldn't, you'd had to bring the lantern to it to figure out which card it was.
"What colour is the tapestry?" His voice came unbidden, you'd looked at earlier in your confusion. You'd analysed it carefully.
You blinked once, slow. "I can see it. I can't see what colour it is."
Dunk swallowed. "You could," he said. "You could see colours earlier."
"A few hours ago, yes." You agreed. Your mouth twitched with what might be humour.
Valarr's hands curled at his sides. "So that's what it cost. You paid with-"
"With a piece," you finished for him. "A sliver of my soul. Pieces can be given to hold the door open for those who have lost their way."
Egg hugged himself. "Why would you do that?"
You looked at them again. "Because fate takes," you said. "It takes the good in the world and leaves the rest as a lesson. I've never been fond of such lessons. Besides, what is the importance of colour? Compared to the magnificence of a future King?"
Valarr stared at you, as if seeing you for the first time. "And when there is nothing left?" He asked.
You shrugged casually. "Then I die," you said. "I will have given myself away one threat at a time."
The prince edged forward, hands fisting and unfisting at his side. "Tell me how to repay you," he said, voice strained. "Tell me what to give so you don't have to keep-"
You shook your head once. "There is nothing to replace what has been lost. It cannot be made right. But perhaps there is one small thing you can do." Valarr looked up at you as you extended the olive branch. "I will stay to tend to Prince Baelor. I would appreciate if you men refrained from calling me a monster and trying to make your gods strike me harder than they already have."
Valarr's jaw tightened. "No one will touch you," he promised with steel. He knew his father would agree, he would be grateful that you saved his life magic or not because you'd done it selflessly and Baelor had always appreciated acts of selflessness.
You nodded, as if considering the way you'd considered his aura. "Good."
"Now," you said briskly, as if you hadn’t just confessed your own slow death, "sit with him. Quietly. If he stirs, don’t crowd him. If he seizes, don’t panic. If the maester starts bleeding him because he doesn’t know what else to do, stop him."
The maester bristled faintly, but you only chuckled at his ire. Valarr's voice cracked despite him. "And you?" He asked. "Are you- are you alright?"
Other than giving away part of your soul, predicament.
You paused, before your expression softened into a grateful smile, something kind and gentle. "I will be."
Morning came slowly.
The pavilion was dim by design, the flap kept mostly shut so the sun could not stab its spears of light inside. Still, it crept in around the seams, pale in the early hour, turning everything into soft shapes. The camp was waking as well, muffled bootsteps, a horse snorting nearby, distant voices trying to speak quietly and failing.
Valarr had not slept. Not properly. He'd sat with his back to a tent pole until the ache in his back became familiar, his thoughts became sludge several times throughout the night before he forced them to sharpen. He counted his father's breaths like a prayer.
Now it was just the three of them in the Pavilion. You and Valarr. The maester had been sent away at dawn, 'to fetch fresh water,' Valarr had said, and the man had gone with a stiff nod. Dunk had been ordered to get something to eat, and Egg had been peeled away only after he fell asleep sitting upright, head lolling against a bedpost like a little doll with its strings cut.
Valarr remained, as did you.
You were turning something over in your fingers, a little charm made of twine and bone. You rolled it as if doing so helped keep you tethered.
"You can listen to the wind, you can see auras. What else can you do?" Valarr asked quietly.
You didn't look up. "Plenty."
"That's not an answer," he muttered, and even exhausted, he couldn't quite keep the princely edge from his voice.
Valarr shifted, wincing as pins and needles bit his legs. “You said you can see auras,” he said. “You can talk to the wind. You can read bones and cards.”
You watched Baelor's chest rise and fall before you answered. "Sometimes," you said, "things people have carried for a long time tend to carry them back."
Valarr frowned, "That's a riddle."
"It's true," you corrected, and your eyes slid over him in that quiet, measuring way. "Give me something of yours. Something you've had for a while."
His brows drew together. "Why?"
"You asked what else I could do?" She parried with a mischievous smile. "And because you'll understand the so-called riddle."
Valarr hesitated, then reached down toward his belt. He moved carefully, and his fingers found a small buckle hidden beneath his doublet, old and worn at the edges. Not steel.
He held it in his palm for a moment before offering it to you.
"It was on my first belt," he said. "When I was little. My mother had it made." His voice softened.
Your fingers closed around the buckle, and the change was small but unmistakable. Your thumb traced the carved vine, guiding you somewhere.
"Sunlight," You finally spoke. "Through light curtains." Your voice was quiet, as though you didn't want to disturb what you were seeing. "A chamber that smells of beeswax and... oranges. Someone is humming." You paused, brow creasing with faint surprise.
"You're laughing. You're-" Your eyes flicked under your lids like tracking a moving thing. "You've got the best on wrong. Twice around your waist. You speak of being ready to be a knight already. You're about two feet tall."
Valarr's lips parted, and let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh. "I did," he said, voice warm with recognition. He'd forgotten about that. "Gods, I did that."
You nodded, still half in the memory. "She kneels before you," he said, and for a heartbeat, your tone gentled. "Because you're small, proud, and won't ask for help." Your thumb stilled on the buckle. "Her hands are quick, though her nails are bitten. She smells like rosewater." A wide smile came to your face at the feeling of maternal care, it was bright. Like you were experiencing warmth for the first time. Your own mother had never cared for you in such away, especially not after discovering what you were capable of.
You continued, voice low. "She says-" You paused. "You'll be tall one day. But you'll always be my boy."
Valarr's breath left him slowly. He stared at the buckle in your fingers like it had just given him his mother back for a moment. Not just her life. Her voice, her smile. Alive and ordinary.
You blinked again, and your gaze returned fully to the tent, to Valarr's face. You held the buckle a moment longer, then extended it back to him
"Thank you," you said simply.
Valarr took it carefully, reverent without meaning to be. "For what?" he asked.
"For sharing her with me," you replied. "Even if you didn't mean to." Your mouth curved again, small and sincere. "Memories are sacred. People guard them. They lose them. You let me hold one."
Valarr swallowed, the buckle warm in his palm from your touch. "I had lost it. It felt like remembering properly."
"Yes," you murmured. Then, after a beat, you added, almost gently, "Your mother was beautiful."
Valarr's eyes stung. He didn't look away this time.
"She was," he said, voice rough with gratitude. "She really was."
You nodded, and it settled something inside you.
And then Baelor made a small wet sound in his throat. Valarr's head snapped toward the bed. Baelor's fingers twitched beneath the blanket, and you both sharpened to attention.
Every muscle in Valarr's body was braced. Baelor's lips parted and a breath dragged in deeper than either of you had heard from him all night.
Valarr swallowed loudly. "Father?" he whispered.
Baelor twitched stronger this time. The hand nearest the edge of the blanket flexed as if searching for something to hold. His brow pinched in the faintest grimace.
Pain, Valarr realised. But pain arrived with waking. You were already rummaging around your bag for some pain relief for the prince when his lashes fluttered.
He hovered in place, trembling like a man caught at the edge of a cliff. You lifted one hand, palm outward, a quiet signal for patience.
Baelor's eyes opened. They were half-lidded and unfocused, like he was surfacing from deep water, but his gaze was searching across the tent.
His mouth moved, and no sound came at first. He swallowed and tied again.
"W-" he rasped, voice rough. "Where..."
Valarr's chest tightened so hard it hurt. "You're safe," he said quickly, too quickly. "You're safe, Father. It's me. I'm here."
Baelor searched until his eyes snagged on his son's face. Recognition didn't bloom all at once. It struggled through the fog and then, like a door finally finding its latch, it caught.
"Valarr," Baelor breathed.
Valarr's eyes burned again. He nodded hard. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes. I'm here."
The crown prince tried to lift his head and immediately winced. Instinctively, his hand rose towards the back of his skull, searching for the damage.
You moved just enough to intercept. Catching his wrist with the gentlest pressure and guiding the hand back down to the blanket.
"No, my prince," you spoke, close and steady. "Leave it and breathe."
Baelor's gaze moved to the sound of your voice. He stared at you, trying to piece together the wreckage that was your mind. His brow furrowed.
"Who...?" He managed, and the word broke apart around the edges.
"A friend," Valarr said, voice thick. He swallowed and tried again, softer. "She saved you."
Baelor's eyes lingered on you, then his gaze drifted to the crow that was now perched above him. It clicked its beak and cawed loudly.
His lips twitched, a small smile. "A... crow." he rasped like it was the strangest thing in the world.
Valarr almost laughed and cried at one. "Yes. Yes, a crow."
"Sorry. He can get excited." You added looking up at the bird.
The elder prince suddenly looked exhausted. Waking must have taken everything he had. His voice came again, fainter now. "My head..."
"It must hurt. I can remedy that." You said matter-of-factly. "You were struck hard but you're going to be okay."
"Maekar. He must be worried." He whispered.
Of all things Baelor could have reached for in the fog, he reached for his brother. Even now."Of all things Baelor could have reached for in the fog, he reached for his brother. Even now.
"He is," Valarr said quietly. He glanced at you and then back to his father. "He's... he's beside himself."
Baelor's brow furrowed in confusion. "I remember him hitting me. He was trying to get to Aerion."
Valarr nodded once, and despite his anger at his Uncle, he spoke honestly. "He didn't intend-"
"I know," Baelor breathed, and the certainty in it was astounding. "He didn't mean for this."
Forgiveness offered before anyone had even asked for it. Baelor truly was unchanged.
You stepped forward with a small vial. "This will help," you said softly, holding it to Baelor's mouth. "For the pain. It won't steal your mind the way poppy does."
Baelor's eyes flicked to you, still dazed, but he drank when you pushed your hand forward.
Valarr watched the way his father's breathing remained even.
Alive. Alive.
Baelor exhaled, long and slow. "Thank you," and the gratitude in it wasn't courtly, but honest and true.
You inclined your head. "Rest," you replied, like it was the only thanks you would accept.
Baelor’s eyes closed, not in collapse this time, but in surrender to healing. His breathing stayed steady, no wet hitch, no faltering thread, just sleep taking him gently.
Silence settled in the pavilion.
Valarr sat very still, listening to his father’s breaths until he could trust them. Only then did he turn his head toward you.
You were gathering your things again, cards stacked, bones wrapped, the little twine charm rolled between your fingers as if it anchored you. The way you moved was careful, economical, like someone who had learned not to waste anything... not even motion.
Valarr stared at you for a long moment. Then he stood, slowly, as if he was afraid to disturb the air.
"I don’t know how to say it properly," he said, voice low. "I’ve been taught manners and gratitude and a hundred pretty phrases that mean nothing when you've-" He faltered, then forced the words through. "When you gave up part of yourself for him."
You didn’t look up. “Don’t make it into worship, prince.”
“I’m not,” Valarr said quickly. His voice roughened. “I’m-” He swallowed. “I’m thanking you.”
You paused, just a fraction. Your fingers stilled on the cloth bundle. Valarr exhaled shakily. “He spoke Maekar’s name first,” he said, almost to himself. Wonder and heartbreak tangled together. “Even after… even after what happened.”
“That’s who he is,” you murmured.
Valarr nodded. “That’s why it mattered.” He took another breath, steadier now. “Maekar thinks he’s killed him.”
You hummed, quiet. "Then you should go and end that misery before it festers."
Valarr’s jaw tightened. "I will." His gaze flicked to his father’s sleeping form, then back to you. "But-" He hesitated, and his cheeks warmed. "When he’s more awake... when he understands what happened... he’ll want to thank you himself."
You snorted softly, humourless. "Kings and princes always want to thank with gold and promises."
"He’ll want more than that," Valarr said, and there was certainty in it now, born of knowing his father. "He’ll want to keep you close." He looked away briefly, embarrassed by how it sounded. "Not as a... not as a prisoner. As protection. As honour. As-"
You seemed to understand. For a moment you almost look caught out, like someone who's spent a lifetime slipping through the cracks and had forgotten what it felt like to be offered a door.
"That's dangerous," you said.
Valarr met your gaze. "So is letting you vanish back into the woods after what you've done," he replied, voice firm. "Many saw you come enter the camp with us, they know why you've come. Once they discover that Baelor has survived such an injury, they might come hunting.
Valarr's fingers curled around the old buckle in his palm. "I won't force you, and I won't allow anyone else to either," he said. "But... if he asks, will you at least hear him?"
"I’ll stay until I’m sure he’s steady," you said at last. "That was my word."
Valarr’s throat bobbed. "And after?"
You looked back at him, eyes that saw the world in shape and shadow now, but still saw people with unnerving clarity. "After," you said, "we’ll see what the wind says."
Valarr nodded, accepting that as the closest thing to a promise you would give. He stepped carefully around the chalk line, stopping at its edge like a man respecting a border. Then he bowed sincerely.
"Thank you," he said again, and this time the words didn’t shake. "Truly."
Your mouth curved, faint and tired. "Go," you told him. "Before your uncle makes himself sick with guilt."
Valarr turned toward the pavilion flap, hand already reaching for it, then paused and glanced back once.
Baelor slept on. Alive.
And you sat beside him in the dim, a witch in a prince’s tent, having given him a piece of her soul to ensure his survival.
Valarr swallowed, steadying himself with that sight, and slipped out into the waking camp to go find Maekar, and end one brother’s torment with a simple, impossible truth.
He lives.
Boy oh boy, I am churning these out. The creative juices are flowing. My boy Valarr, I love him with all my heart, and obviously I had to write Baelor surviving cause we all know he would've been the best Targaryen king.
neglected to regressor batsis! reader x platonic batfam
what if after 20 years of neglect from your family full of vigilantes, you face an unfortunate death, only to find yourself regressed back to when you were 16?
⤷ lots of emotional neglect, reader was batgirl, reader was a tryhard and an overachiever, reader had no social life in her first life, mentions of drugs, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of death, regression themes, toxic and unhealthy relationships, dysfunctional family, toxic mentalities, reader and everyone else needs therapy…, canon divergence, major character death(s) | tba | based on this
⤷ info! (background) 1 | 2 | read this first to understand the plot and each batfam better :)
Tags/Warnings: romance, angst, action/adventure, hurt/comfort, themes of grief/death/mourning, strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, forbidden romance, eventual smut, named!reader, Obi-Wan x Reader is here but not forever
Summary: Your entire life, you’ve struggled to be the perfect Jedi your Master saw in you. When the rumored rise of the Sith threatens to throw the entire galaxy into turmoil, you’re left scrambling to hold onto the teachings that have begun to feel increasingly hollow.
It isn’t until a fateful encounter with a clone soldier called Rex, and the feelings that he stirs within you, that you begin to question everything you’ve ever known. (Post!TPM → Post!Order 66)
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Aquaman, Aqualad, Mera, and any other underwater hero’s and creatures don’t exist in this.
||-→ I tried to make each pov a different style of writing ||
There was something so captivatingly beautiful about observing the humans from below the surface, as they went about their daily lives, traversing the Metro-Narrows Bridge. The elders had always warned you to keep your distance from the world above, but you couldn't resist sneaking glances at the peculiar, moving metal boxes zooming across the streets, or the striking figures donning vibrant spandex who soared through the skies at night.
The bridge, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, cast an ethereal light across the water of the river. This sight, enhanced by the night, would always catch your attention, especially when they appeared. Moving in and out of the shadows, darting around or simply standing on the railing, lost in their own worlds.
You had grown fond of observing them as they soared through the night sky, reminiscent of the graceful movements of swans. Their elegance was effortless, seemingly defying gravity as they traversed the air. It was in those moments, watching the sky people glide past, that you were struck by the rawness of their beauty.
You never dared to come too close to the surface during the day, the haunting tales from your pod serving as a constant reminder of the horrors that existed above the water. But the night was a different story; it’s when you were more willing to take risks. The darkness provided the perfect cover, shrouding you in obscurity as the humans slept.
Though you supposed that the real reason you continued to venture up to the surface was because it was the time that they emerged, gliding through the air and gracefully traversing the buildings. Their shadows, illuminated by the silvery light of the moon, seemed to dance in perfect harmony with the night. Always seeming to captivate your attention in a way that no underwater creatures could.
However, on this particular night, you noticed something out of the ordinary. One of the usually lively land creatures was sluggish and listless, moving with none of the fluid grace that you had come to admire. A deep crimson liquid seeped through the fabric of his suit, spattering across the spandex and staining it a dark, ominous hue.
You cautiously approached the surface, swimming closer than you had ever dared to before. Slowly, you emerged, peering just above the water's edge.
You couldn’t see the human clearly, obscured as he was by the sizable drop between the bridge and the water below, but the scent he carried was undeniable. There was something utterly alluring about his aroma. It was a stark contrast to the familiar scents of salt and oil you were used to underwater. You haven't come across anything even remotely similar to it before.
The land dweller was undeniably beautiful.
A loud crash shattered the silence, jolting your attention back to reality. Your gills flared out in alarm, and in your surprise, the soft bioluminescent glow of your tail dimmed down, a natural response to the potential threat.
You backed away, submerging yourself down into the safety that the depths of the water provided. Your gaze fixating on the figure in the distance, decorated in his familiarly vibrant red and yellow attire. This one hastily making his way to the blue-clad human's side, concern decorated across his face, his actions imbued with urgency. Mask torn from his face.
With a heavy sigh, you turned your back from the scene unfolding above, releasing a flurry of bubbles that rose to the surface. Your pods stern warnings echoing in your mind, a constant reminder of the dangers that lay in the world above.
You make it no more than fifteen feet before a thunderous splash shatters the silence, the seawaters ripples rolling across your skin and triggering an involuntary shiver, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your tail instinctively sprung into action, propelling you back with a rapid, powerful flick.
With a sudden movement, your arms encircled the man's sinking frame, securing a firm grip on his sides. Your eyes widening in shock at the contact, your webbed fingers digging into his flesh, anchoring him in place.
For a moment, you paused, studying him. Your eyes absorbing every little detail. From the man's soft, almost spongy flesh under your touch, how soft and almost squishy his land dwelling arms were, how they seemed to just give way to the touch of your webbed fingers. Then to the way the baby blue suit of his that clung to him, was torn and tattered, ripping away underwater. Your gaze lingering on the deep red liquid seeping out of his torso, staining his skin and leaving a trail of ominous scarlet. And then, your gaze travelled to the two bizarre, elongated limbs extending from his waist. A stark contrast to the streamlined grace of your own tail.
His lips parted, releasing a stream of bubbles, each one ascending to the surface before vanishing from sight. You watched as his body suddenly went limp in your arms, reminding you of the dire situation you had inadvertently involved yourself in. With a powerful flick of your tail, you swiftly propelled yourself to the surface, bringing him up so that he could breathe. Your gills flared out, working overtime to filter oxygen from the water while you waited, your hearts hammering in your chest.
When the human made no attempt to improve, limp and unresponsive, you couldn't suppress the deep hiss that escaped from the back of your throat. Your grip tightening around his frame, your tail coiled tighter around his legs, an attempt to stabilise and bring some form of response from him. Your eyes grew large in desperation as you shook him back and forth, each movement growing more frantic with the passing seconds.
You directed your attention to the deep red liquid that was oozing out of his abdomen, its thick, almost oily consistency spreading out in little waves around you in the water. Coming out in shallow pulses. You tilted your head slightly, noting that the fluid's flow didn't seem natural. It felt wrong, a gut feeling of sorts. You hastily reached for the pouch tethered to your hip, pulling out a woven bundle of seaweed and a salve prepared by the elders of your pod.
You delicately began to layer the salve over the gaping wound, taking care to press the woven seaweed into the lesion. The salve, a rich green and purple, had a cooling effect as it made contact with the human's skin. A crucial aspect due to its high iodine content, which helps to close the large gash. As the ointment came into contact with the blood, it began to congeal and bind the tissue together, halting the bleeding.
However, you were acutely aware of the human, who remained unresponsive. His chest, which should've been rising and falling with each inhale, lay still. A sudden panic clutched at your hearts, threatening to overwhelm you. You weren't sure what the proper human anatomy was, but it was abundantly clear that he needed to breathe.
You placed a webbed hand on his chest, the flesh there surprisingly firm. You pushed down, then up again, attempting to mimic the breathing motions you had seen him and others do. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pleaded for him to respond, a silent mantra running through your head. With urgency, you placed a firm grip on the back of his neck, tilting his head back, the gills on your neck flaring out to pull in as much oxygen as they could. Your tail coiling tightly around his waist to keep him afloat.
Despite the pressure you exerted, there was no response from him. His chest remained still, no signs of life. Your breath hitched at the sight, a sense of desperate desperation washing over you. You were frantically trying to keep his head tilted back while the water was washing over his face, the cool liquid creating small ripples that mirrored the urgency of the moment. His body remained motionless, unresponsive to your frantic attempts. You could feel the pressure building in your own chest, your gills working overtime to extract oxygen.
In a final, desperate attempt, you lean in closer, positioning yourself to allow your webbed fingers to forcibly pry open his parted lips. You took in a deep breath and expelled it through the opening, pushing every ounce of air you could manage into his unresponsive lungs.
You repeated the action multiple times, exerting every ounce of effort to force air into his trachea. Each breath, heavy and laboured. You finally pulled back, allowing yourself a moment of respite. Your breaths came out ragged and sharp, a stark contrast to the steady, undisturbed water around you.
As he remains unresponsive, his body frighteningly limp, your body goes slack, a wave of disappointment washing over you. Reluctantly, you release your grip on him and let him go, his body now floating eerily close to yours. You close your eyes tight, trying to swallow the lump in your throat that was rapidly forming.
You flinch at the sudden and unexpected contact, your eyes fluttering open. An alarmed hiss escaped once again through your lips, more out of surprise than anything else. Just as you were about to submerge yourself underwater, a firm hand grasped your shoulder, its grip strong and unwavering.
"Y-you're...alive.", you stuttered out, a mixture of disbelief and awe laced in your raspy voice. The hand on your shoulder felt firm and real, a stark contrast to the nightmarish scenario you had just been a part of.
“Nightwing?” Red Robin's voice cuts through the quiet night, bouncing off the empty alleyways. Frustrated, he takes off his comms, readjusting them to try again for the sixth time in the last ten minutes.
"Dick, come in," he practically growls out, tapping on his device with a little more force than necessary.
“Where the hell are you?” he mutters, staring up at the tall buildings. Dick’s always late, but this was getting ridiculous. With a sigh, he leans back against the wall, crossing his arms as he waits.
A low, familiar voice crackles on the other end of the comms. “Stalker.”
Tim rolls his eyes, recognising the voice immediately. It was too late in the night to put up with him. “Jason.” he sighs, “What do you want. Have you heard from Dick?”
“Not a word.” The response is curt, and the annoyance in Jason’s voice is obvious. He rarely joined in their patrols, preferring to stick to his own methods of dealing with things.
Tim lets out a frustrated huff, tapping his fingers impatiently against his arm. Of course Dick would pick now to go radio silent.
He ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment to let out a frustrated groan. He was stressed enough as it is, none of this was helping.
“You’re patrolling the Narrows?” Jason’s voice breaks through Tim’s thoughts, pulling him back to reality. He looks around, taking in the surroundings with a frown. The Narrows was never a good place to be alone.
“Yeah.” he responds, not taking his eyes off of the shadows. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to know, Dick’s nowhere to be seen. In or out of uniform.”
There’s a pause on the other end, and Tim can practically hear the smirk in Jason’s voice.
“Need backup?” he offers, amusement clear in his tone. The elder boy mocking him.
Tim scowls, shaking his head even if he knew Jason couldn’t see him. “No.” he replies curtly. “I’m not a child, I can handle this myself.”
“Sure, kid.” Jason’s response is just as dismissive. “I’ll come check on you in a bit anyway. Make sure you haven’t gotten your ass kicked.”
Tim’s scowl deepens at Jason’s reply, not appreciating the offer of help — or the nickname. “I don’t need a babysitter.” he grumbles. “I’m going to find Dick, and I don’t need your help.”
There’s a pause, and Tim can practically hear the eye roll from Jason. “Whatever you say, Replacement. I’ll be there soon.”
“No—” Before Tim can protest, the comms go silent. Damn it, Jason.
He lets out a frustrated sigh, biting at the inside of his cheek. The last person he needed to see right now was Jason. The last time he’d come face to face with the man, things didn’t go so well.
Tim grits his teeth and pushes himself off of the wall. He had better things to do than get into a fight with his older brother. Like finding his other older brother.
With a huff, Tim starts walking, making his way through the narrow alleys of the Narrows. It’s quiet, eerily so, and his instincts are on high alert.
Everything feels off. The air is still, and he can’t shake the feeling of being watched. His breath stutters in his chest, but he pushes the feeling down. He had work to do.
“Dick?” he calls out, his headset’s blinking green light signalling the message going through. He glances around cautiously as he moves. “Nightwing, come in. Can you hear me?”
There’s no response, and Tim tries again. Nothing but static. His shoulders tense, the unease growing in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t like Dick. The man was always on top of communication.
Tim continues forward, his footsteps quick and light. He keeps his eyes scanning the shadows around him, but the silence is deafening. Where the hell is he?
A muffled crunch breaks the silence, and the boy freezes, his breath hitching. It was faint, coming from somewhere off the alley in front of him. His heart rate quickens, and he carefully shifts on his feet, trying to pinpoint the source.
There was something across the street. Someone.
Tim squints, his eyes trying to make out what it was. It was too dark to tell. Damn it, why can’t Dick be here to deal with this..
He’s too used to working in a team, having the security of someone else there to watch his back. The someone’s in question usually being Batman or Nightwing.
He steels himself, slipping into a fighting stance and taking slow steps forward. He can’t let his guard down, not now.
As he moves, the shape across the street shifts. It’s still far away, but from the size and height, he could tell it was definitely a figure.
His comms device beeps, startling the boy and nearly causing him to stumble. He quickly scrabbles to check it, hoping for some sort of answer or communication.
“Red.” Jason’s voice comes through, static breaking up some of the message. The device was clearly reaching a limit. “Can you hear me? Dick’s in trouble.” The voice, as crackling as it was over the broken comms, sounded dishevelled and panted. Jason rarely called for help.
With a final glance at the figure across the street, Tim’s eyes flicker back down to the comms in his hand. Jason found him.
“Where are you?” he asks, not wasting a second as he sets off at a sprint. He didn’t care what kind of trouble Nightwing had gotten into, he just needed to get there.
“Don’t worry about me. Get to Metro-Narrows Bridge.”
The urgency in Jason’s voice has Tim’s heartbeat racing. He doesn’t question it, just continues sprinting. He knew the bridge, and knew it was far.
“...” he grits his teeth. “I’m on my way.”
Tim hits the wall with a pained gasp, eyes squeezed shut as he doubles over coughing at the impact. His vision swims. Shit.
He lets out a sharp gasp, the breath knocked out of him as he’s smashed against the hard bricks. The pain doesn’t have time to register, as his mind is sent into a panicked frenzy.
He sucks in a low breath, trying to clear his head and figure out what the hell just happened. There’s a shuffle of feet, and the distinct sound of metal being unsheathed.
The attack was too precise, too sudden. He grunts, trying to push himself back away from the wall, but a large hand keeps him pinned.
His head finally stops swirling, and he can focus on the large figure in front of him. Not good.
He’s a towering wall of a man, arms bigger than Tim’s head. He’s muscular, clearly built like a brawler. The metal that had unsheathed was a knife, the sharp, gleaming blade being held firmly in the man’s large hand.
“No more running.” the man growls, his other hand still keeping Tim pinned against the wall.
Tim glared up at him.
He’s been in situations similar to this before. He’s fought and won against opponents bigger than him, more experienced than him. He needed to stay calm, and assess the situation.
With a pained grunt, he pushes against the man’s arm, struggling to break free. The man just leans closer, his breath hot in Tim’s face.
The smell of smoke and old alcohol fills Tim’s nose, making him want to retch as the man sneers at him. “Struggle all you want, kid.” he drawls. “You’re coming with me one way or another..” Tim clenches his jaw.
He analyses the situation quickly. His equipment was in his belt, but pinned tight against the wall left him with very little mobility. He had to find a way to get away swiftly, before the man could do him any serious harm.
Tim’s mind races, trying to work out a way to get himself out of this. He’s too close quarters to the man, and any attempt to get away would lead to him getting a knife in his gut.
The man’s grip tightens, making him gasp as the knife is held closer to his skin. His eyes darted around, searching for anything useful. He would have to time this right. “Stop squirmin.’” The man’s gruff voice rang out.
Tim ignores him, grunting as he struggles against the hand pinning him. There had to be something he could use to—
A gleam of something metal catches his eye, and he glances down, spotting a metal pipe sticking out of an open garbage bin. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough.
Tim takes in a shallow breath, his mind racing for a second. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, trying to keep the man talking and distracted.
“Don’t try any shit, sidekick.” He tightened his hold on the boy, using his other hand to get out a walkie-talkie from the pouch on his chest.
Sidekick? Tim’s teeth gritted, a spark of anger flaring up in the back of his mind. He wasn’t just a sidekick.
Tim’s eyes glance down again at the pipe, trying to calculate his next move. He watched as the man brought the walkie-talkie up to his mouth, his heart rate increasing as he prepared to act.
“I got a bird out here,” the man grunted into the device, keeping his eyes fixed on Tim. “Found him in the-“
He barely had time to react before Tim acted. With a sudden burst of strength, he jerks forward, wrenching himself free from the man’s grip. He immediately drops down, grabbing the metal pipe and brandishing it like a weapon. Flinging it into the man’s hand that held the radio. The impact caused him to drop it, as he let out a cry of pain, stumbling back.
Tim didn’t hesitate. He quickly used the momentary opening of shock and pain to his advantage, striking the man hard in the stomach with the pipe. The man grunted, his hand instinctively going to where he’d been hit.
He wasn’t about to give the thug any time to recover. He brought up a leg and kicked out fast, nailing him hard in the knee. The man yelled out again, staggering back.
He raged, stumbling forward and landing one hard punch against Tim’s face.
The younger boy’s head snapped to the side from the hit, the force of it knocking his mask askew, cracking and splitting as he reeled back. His vision swims from the impact, but he can taste the distinct taste of blood in his mouth.
He stumbled back, bringing a hand up to his face and cursing, blood seeping down his face.
His head hurt. A lot. That one hit had left him dizzy, and his cheek stung like hell.
The pain is enough to clear his mind though, and he refocuses on the man in front of him. His lip is split, and his cheek feels like it’s on fire. His mask hangs half off of his face.
Tim grits his teeth, glaring at the man with a new found fire in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let some random thug take him out.
The perpetrator lets out a huff, spitting out a glob of blood onto the floor next to him. An ugly sneer plastered his face, and he stepped forward, reaching down for the knife that had been discarded on the ground. “You little shit.” he spat. “I’ll make you pay for that.”
His eyes flickered down to the knife held flimsily in his hand. He needed to get out of this. The man was bigger and definitely stronger, but obviously nowhere near as experienced as Tim was. He’s surprised that the thug had even managed to get in a decent hit to his face.
His mind is too preoccupied, caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts, and he fails to notice the man’s approach until the moment he's already upon him. The thug's fury makes him careless and ill-prepared, the sound of his stumbling footsteps betraying his presence due to the injury on his knee.
Tim quickly raises his arm instinctively, attempting to shield himself as the man’s towering frame comes charging at him. He’s tackled to the ground in a single swift move, the impact crushing his ribs against the concrete floor.
His back hits the ground, the air getting knocked out of him for the second time that night. The man’s weight pinned him to the ground, the air leaving his lungs in a loud gasp as he struggled.
The man had the knife clutched in his hand, the gleam of the blade reflecting the lights of the city as it was raised up, aimed to strike.
Drake nearly sneered at the sight. He’s an amateur. Over confident in himself and relying solely on force.
Tim’s eyes darkened, his glare locked on the man above him. He was not going to be defeated by some two-bit mugger.
He kicked out at the man, aiming for his still injured knee. The man grunted as he took the kick, shifting off balance for just a second.
It was enough of an opening for Tim to react. He pushed up on the man, using the momentum to roll them both over, switching their positions and taking the top. He wasted no time in smashing the man’s head against the ground, knocking him out stone cold. Blood pooling down against the pavement.
He paused, breathing heavily as he stared down at the man. His lip stung as blood still trickled down his face, the adrenaline in his system beginning to wear off.
Tim sat there for a moment, letting out a hiss of pain as he lifted a hand and gently touched his split lip. He gingerly moved his fingers through his hair, grimacing as he felt the beginnings of a bruise on the side of his face.
Dick was still in trouble. That was the thought at the front of his mind, the reason he was out here and why he had to get to that bridge.
With a wince, Tim pushed himself up, staggering for a moment as a wave of nausea passed over him. He was pretty sure he’d developed a minor concussion from being thrown into the wall.
Everything ached, and his body was screaming at him to just stay down. He ignored it. Nightwing was his priority.
He swayed for a moment, his vision going white around the edges as his head spun, before he managed to stay standing and start moving again.
He didn’t think, he just ran.
He’s still panting as his feet hit the concrete, his body protesting the movement. The nausea from his concussion was becoming very real, and he had to stop to take a deep breath to steady himself.
Fuck, he was going to throw up, wasn’t he?
Tim bit his tongue and started running again, forcing himself to push on and ignore the pain. He had to keep moving.
The cold, night air hurt his lungs, but he didn’t stop. Not even as the pain from the beating began to make itself known with each hard footstep against the concrete. He had to get to the bridge.
He kept going at a brutal pace, ignoring how his vision swam and how every breath he took just made him feel like he needed to puke.
He’s not sure how long he had ran, his mind focused entirely on just moving. One foot in front of the other, he just kept going.
As he rounded the corner, he noticed the bridge in the distance. His eyes widening, watching Dick stagger back against the railings edge.
Tim stumbled for a moment, but pushed himself back up, keeping himself moving forward. He could barely see straight, but nothing else mattered. Nightwing’s tall and dark silhouette was leant against the night light of the bridge. Even from a distance, he could see the blood on Dicks skin, staining the side of his face, his suit’s front ripped open, a large gash in his abdomen pooling out onto the ground.
Tim’s speed quickens, every muscle in his body crying in protest but he continues on. All he could focus on was the sight of Nightwing. In the low light, he could see Dick’s shoulders moving with each heavy breath, looking seconds away from collapsing.
In a desperate attempt to save his mentor, Tim lunges forward and grabs onto Dick's arm. However, the fabric of the torn and damaged suit simply tears further under the force, causing Dick to slip free from Tim's grasp and fall into the dark, ominous water below.
"NO—!" The cry escapes Tim's mouth in a choked rush, the sound filled with anguish and fear. With a desperate burst of energy, he lunges forward, his hand reaching out in a desperate attempt to cling to Dick's suit, to anything that would keep him from falling.
But it was too late. He was too late.
His heart hammers frantically against his chest as he gazes down into the dark depths below, his eyes wide and searching desperately for even a glimpse of Dick in the river's deep murky water.
His breath hitches, a silent sob wracking his frame as he slumps over the edge of the bridge, his hands shaking as he brings them up to his face. His blood-slick fingers thread through his hair, his eyes wide as they stay fixed on the dark water where Dick had fallen.
The sound of a vehicle approaching in the distance catches his ears, but he doesn't acknowledge it. He doesn't turn to see who it is or check to see if it's a threat. He just keeps staring down into the water, the sound of the river below the only thing he can hear over his panicked breathing.
Jason came to a crashing halt at the side of the bridge, the panicked urgency in his voice clear. He stumbled off his bike, nearly falling as he yelled out.
"Where is he--” His hollow eyes darted around at their surroundings. "WHERE IS HE?!"
Dick.
Tim's eyes widened as Nightwing's head broke the surface of the water, his body floating limp against the current. He's alive.
His shoulders tense as he quickly scrambles to his feet, his body protesting in pain with each movement.
The relief he feels is quickly drowned out, however, as he notices the large bioluminescent tail wrapped around his older brother's lower half, keeping him from crashing with the harsh currents.
Jason quickly approached the bridges railing, his heavy boots thudding loudly against the concrete, his heart racing thunderously against his chest, deep sapphire eyes following Tim's wide gaze down into the water. As he saw the sight in front of him, his eyes widened in disbelief.
He gripped the rough stone ledge, leaning over to get a better look at his brother. "What the fuck is that?" The older boys voice cuts through the ringing in Drake's ears.
Tim couldn't respond, his eyes glued on the large tail, his jaw slack. He took in the sight of the long powerful appendage wrapped around his brother's waist. It was beautiful. The long black scales seemed to glow a soft purple even in the dim moon’s light, as if the creature attached was glowing itself. The bioluminescence was something that one could only describe as ethereal.
Tim's heart raced as he took a step closer to the edge of the bridge, his eyes darting around, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. He couldn't believe his eyes. Neither of them could.
Tim's mind reeled, trying to comprehend what they were seeing. His heart was pounding, his breath coming in short gasps as he tried to process the situation. He knew that he should be scared. His mouth was dry, his tongue felt heavy and thick as he finally managed to speak, his voice low and shaky. "I..I don't know." He croaked.
A ragged breath escaped his lips as the sea creature met his gaze.
He was frozen as he locked eyes with the creature. His mouth went dry, everything around him seemed to disappear into the background. The only thing he could focus on was the deep piercing eyes peering up from the darkness of the river.
Everything about the creature was attractive – its long shimmering scales, bioluminescent glow, and even the large dorsal fin along its spine.
The flutter of the creature's gills when its eyes met theirs didn’t go unnoticed by the brothers. Jason's lips parted into as much of a smirk as it could given the situation.
The Mer's features slowly disappeared under the surface, as it made a sudden exit. Both of the boys' eyes flicked towards the water, but the sudden gasping from their elder brother drew their attention away once more.
Dick was struggling, coughing up water as he attempted to pull himself up and out of the water. His large hand was grasping desperately to the creature's shoulder, as he pulled himself up.
Tim's heart leapt into his throat as he watched Dick gasping for air, his body shivering as he struggled to grapple himself out of the water. He was so focused on his older brother's struggles that he almost missed the flicker of glowing purple as the creature’s tail disappeared beneath the surface of the water.
Tim moved forward to help Dick, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to see Jason with a grimace on his face.
"What are we going to do?" Tim asked, his voice filled with worry.
Their conversation was cut short, however, as Dick's coughing subsided, replaced by a strangled gasp for air, his eyes wide and frantic.
"I'm fine," he rasped, his hands trembling as he tried to pull himself up onto the bridge, his body shaking violently. His sharp ocean eyes focused on the crushed seaweed-looking salve used to treat his wounds.
Tim was about to respond when they heard a shuffling from the water, the faint sound of something scratching against the concrete. Tim's gaze snapped down to the water, his heart starting to pound against his chest.
Jason had already stepped back and drawn his weapon, his eyes fixed on a spot in the water a few feet below them. The sound of sloshing water echoed around them again, the dim light from the moon making it difficult to see anything except the faint bioluminescence.
And then, you were gone.
This is the result of the poll -> link.
Don’t judge my random fighting scene with Tim I was trying something out🦖🦖
All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged!
I rewrote everything, so I apologise that this took so long to come out💚
terms of endearment │ Part I: The Princess and the Rogue
See the Series Masterlist for the correct order!
“The marriage between the second daughter of King Viserys I and his own brother, Prince Daemon, raised eyebrows upon its first announcement. Many assumed the match would echo the Rogue Prince’s unfortunate first union with the late Lady Rhea, despite his wish for a Valyrian bride being, finally, fulfilled. It surprised all who took witness to see the intensity of Daemon’s devotion to his second wife, a regard that would persist through a long and happy union between uncle and niece.”
- ‘Fire & Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn
The story of Prince Daemon Targaryen and his brother’s second-born daughter, as told through the many terms of endearment he calls her by.
summary: Being Rhaenyra Targaryen's heir is a difficult thing, but what happens when you also become one of the Realm's most prized posessions?
pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader, reader x platonic targs/velaryon
i. the dear daughter (2.8k) - At one-and-twenty and eight-and-ten, barely a year after their marriage, Ser Laenor Velaryon and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen welcomed their first child, a daughter, into the world. The girl immediately became dear to the whole court, coddled and spoiled by all, but mostly by her grandsire, King Viserys I. The man saw in his granddaughter her mother, and as the girl grew to look like his late wife, Aemma Arryn, it became even clearer that he doted on her more than he did to his own children or his other grandchildren.
ii. about children and trouble (8.2k) - It is reported that in the year 121 AC, when the Realm’s Jewel was only six summers old, her hatchling Merrax was eaten by the Cannibal in a strange turn of events that found him moving from Dragonstone to the Dragonpit in King’s Landing. Princess Rhaenyra demanded to have the dragon’s head cut, but as nobody ever tried nor dared to get close to the Cannibal, it was impossible to do it. Thus, her daughter took the matters into her own hands.
iii. little big lady (5.0k) - Court whispers tell us that during her third pregnancy, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen was particularly sensitive. She managed to cover it up pretty well, apparently, but she had one weak spot: her daughter, her firstborn and heir, who later on witnessed her little brother Prince Joffrey's birth by request of her mother. Despite openly disliking the experience, it is said that the Realm’s Jewel insisted on being present to future labours in case things went downhill — and she did, attending her mother in giving birth to all her future children.
iv. dragons' scars (6.4k) - And after the events that happened during Lady Laena’s funeral at Driftmark, two dragons were left scarred.
v. you'll change your name or change your mind (and leave this fucked up place behind) (5.3k) - When the King’s Justice — the royal executioner — died, the Realm’s Jewel proposed a perfect replacement: Nādrēsy, her dragon, the infamous Cannibal. Even if many eyebrows were raised at the Small Council, the King hastily agreed, happy to have an excuse for keeping his granddaughter close to him, even if it was for only a few days every moon. Or, as it always ended up, for a bit more than that.
vi. but I'll know, I'll know (tbd) - At the ripe age of ten, the Realm’s Jewel was nominated by her grandsire the King, despite all the protests of the Small Council, the official Royal Ambassador; thus, her voyages throughout the Seven Kingdoms started, and yet another nickname was forged for her by the Smallfolk: the Wandering Princess.
A/N: After seven months, it's finally here. Part I of Giyuu's Bundle of Joy. This fic involved a ton of research and tears. I hope you all enjoy. Special shout-out to @squishybabei @kentohours @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 @ghost-1-y and @xxsabitoxx for letting me bombard your DMs with endless snippets from this fic for feedback. Note that this is a multi-part fic, and it will be a non-linear story.
CW: explicit sexual content ☼ MDNI ☼ loss of virginity ☼ unprotected sex ☼ protective/possessive Giyuu ☼ canon-typical violence
LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST HERE
January, 1915
The moon’s rays filtered through the sparse canopy of the trees from above, bathing that small portion of the forest in its silvery glow. There, about twenty paces ahead, Giyuu locked eyes on his target.
A demon; one he’d been pursuing through the dense forest separating his Manor from the base of a great mountain for the last several miles
The demon had yet to notice him, for it was focused entirely on its own prey — a human woman, who was frantically zigzagging as she ran in a desperate effort to evade its clutches.
She was succeeding rather well in her endeavor, managing to dart out of the beast’s reach right as it snapped its sharp, deadly claws at her back. But the girl then miscalculated her movements and stumbled over something — whether it was a tree root or her own feet, he could not say — and she went airborne. For one, sickening moment, Giyuu feared he would not be fast enough to save her from falling victim to the demon he was readying to kill.
The girl squealed as she fell, just narrowly managing to avoid the swipe of the beast’s claws as they cut uselessly at the air where her back had been only seconds before. Something long and wooden flew from her hand as she sprawled across the forest floor – a broom.
Odd.
Steps quick and even, Giyuu’s thumb flicked his sword free from its scabbard. Within seconds of him drawing his weapon, the Slayer’s blade sliced seamlessly through the demon’s neck, its head thudding pathetically to the forest floor before the beast could comprehend the threat.
He landed swiftly on the balls of his feet, the Water Pillar quickly shaking his blade free of the demon’s blackened, rotted blood before sheathing it at his hip. A quick job – that was how he liked it; free of fuss.
Behind him, he heard the leaves coating the frozen ground of the forest shift and crack as the human girl he’d rescued rose to her feet. He grimaced; while helping rid the world of the blight inflicted upon it by demons was his life’s sole and true purpose, and one he fulfilled without hesitation, he was little more than a fish out of water when it came to talking to those he helped.
The girl had yet to flee; Giyuu suspected she might be in shock, if not a bit simple, and he sought to prod her along. After all, the sooner she left the forest, the less likely she’d end up a demon’s meal and waste his efforts in preserving her life.
“You should be fine now. Please return to your ho-,” The dark-haired Slayer’s words were cut off with a sputter as the head of the woman’s broom whacked him sharply up the side of his skull.
Giyuu stood there for a moment, dazed and slightly confused as he turned towards the woman whose life he’d just preserved.
The Water Pillar had not paid her much mind upon discovering her seconds away from becoming the slain horned demon’s newest meal, his attention having been entirely focused on eliminating his target. But now, without the distracting threat of a man-eating beast, he could see she was clad in the traditional attire worn by Shinto priestesses, though she looked far too young to have achieved such a status. Instead, she appeared to be much closer to himself in age. The front of her red hakama pants were streaked in mud and dirt from her fall, and several strands of hair had fallen loose from where they’d been gathered in a ribbon just below her shoulders.
And she was glaring at him.
“What are you?” She demanded, and the Water Pillar noted the faint tremor in her voice that she worked to conceal behind her defensive stance, her broom braced in front of her like a blade.
A slow blink. “I am Tomioka.”
It baffled him that he let his name slide so freely when he’d never been one particularly keen on sharing it. Yet, he’d thought that perhaps the exchange of names would get the wild woman before him to calm, and perhaps lower the sweeping tool —-
“What the hell is a Tomioka?”
Giyuu wondered whether the — Miko, that was what young priestesses in training were called — had hit her head in the fall. “My name.”
A faint dusting of red spread across the Miko’s cheeks as she realized the absurdity of her mistake, though she still did not lower her weapon. Rather, she jutted it towards him in what Giyuu thought may have been an attempt to be threatening.
“And what was that thing just now, Tomioka? And what are you?” Quickly, her eyes swept behind him, scanning. “Are there more?”
Idly, Giyuu wondered why he was bothering to indulge in such a silly conversation to begin with, chalking it up to the mere fact that they were still in a dark forest, with dawn still several hours away.
The foolish girl would end up a snack for another demon if she did not turn around and go home.
“It was a demon. I’d been tracking it for several miles when it stumbled across you. You can count yourself lucky — do not hit me again.” He cut off with a warning, eyes narrowing as the Miko drew the broom back up over her head.
There was a tense moment as the two regarded one another, Giyuu’s eyes locked on the Miko’s trembling arm as she stared distrustfully back at him.
The girl’s hands twitched as the broom cleaved through the air once more, but Giyuu knocked it easily away, sending the cleaning tool flying uselessly to the side where it rolled under a bush.
“Are you finished?” Giyuu asked, irritation creeping into his tone as he stared coolly at the flustered Miko.
“You’ve stripped me of my only weapon, so I suppose I have no choice,” the young woman sniffed, her tone as frosty as his glare.
Giyuu grimaced. “You would not have lost the privilege had you simply done as I asked.”
The Miko folded her arms stubbornly across her chest and glowered at him. “You would truly leave a woman defenseless in the woods? With nothing to protect herself?”
Giyuu scoffed. “You are not a woman; you are a menace.”
The young woman’s mouth opened and closed several times as her face flushed several shades deeper. “Y-you!”
A crack! somewhere in the woods made the sputtering Miko fall silent with a small squeak, and Giyuu was bemused to find that the woman’s hands shot to him for safety, when only moments before she’d tried to clobber him away from her.
“You said that…that thing earlier was a demon, yes?” She whispered and Giyuu nodded, tense as his eyes swept through the shadowy line of the trees, searching.
“Do you think there are more?”
“So long as we continue sitting here like a pair of lame ducks, more are bound to come sniffing.” The wary Pillar replied. “Which is why I suggest you return home — without bludgeoning me further.”
The young Priestess continued to cling to his arm, her eyes wide and anxious. Giyuu cleared this throat, and when the woman’s attention snapped back to him, he pointedly glanced down at her white-knuckled grip on the sleeve of his haori.
“Apologies,” the Miko blushed, and her hands quickly relinquished their hold on his sleeve. She wrung her hands nervously before her. “Might you escort me back to my Shrine? It’s not far from here – less than two kilometers.”
Still within his territory — albeit at the opposite end of the forest where is own Manor stood. He grimaced, but nodded stiffly. His efforts to save the woman’s life would be in vain if she walked away from him and straight into the waiting, eager claws of another beast that lurked in the shadows.
The Miko smiled brightly at him and offered her name. Giyuu elected not to reply, and the girl settled into step at his side, a small frown pulling at her lips.
“I’m sorry for earlier — for hitting you with my broom.” The girl — Y/N — said a short while later, the faintest trace of shyness in her tone.
Giyuu did not think the apology warranted a response, and so he gave none, but the chatty little devil prodded him once more.
“Did I injure you?” She gestured to the side of his head where her broom had caught him.
Giyuu snorted, raising an eyebrow at her. “The day I am hurt by a mere broom is the day I retire from the Demon Slayer Corps.”
Y/N hummed in contemplation. “And what exactly is the great and mysterious Demon Slayer Corps?”
The Water Pillar’s eyes remained forward. “I should think the name is self-explanatory. There are demons who eat humans. We slay them.”
Inwardly, Giyuu cringed at the harshness of his words. It did not happen often, but there were times when he wished he was better with them, when he wished he did not come off quite as aloof and callous —
“You do not know how to talk to people very well, do you Tomioka-sama?” Y/N’s tone was not judgmental; it rather had a mild curiosity to it, as though she were merely commenting on the weather or the quality of a cup of tea.
But the Water Pillar did not know how to answer her. Kocho once told him that others disliked him, but Giyuu wasn’t sure that was entirely true; after all, no one had ever said so much to his face.
Then again, if the young shrine maiden’s words were anything to go by, then perhaps the Insect Pillar’s scathing assessment hadn’t been too far off the mark.
“What even brought you into the forest so late at night?” Giyuu did not know why the question needled at him, but he found the pressing silence of the trees more disconcerting than the Miko’s voice, and so he was desperate for the distraction. “And why a broom?”
Y/N herself seemed surprised at his sudden interest. “Night-blooming herbs,” she said plainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “They are critical for certain rites and medications. And I cannot collect them any other time. The broom was for protection, obviously.”
“I wasn’t aware shrines still performed rituals,” Giyuu pushed an errant tree branch out of their way, and ahead, faint lights began to swim into view. The Shrine. “Are you not a mere relic of a time long since-passed?”
“I’ll have you know that we still perform basic cleansing rites for those in the village,” Y/N bristled. “And we provide medical aid, since there is no hospital nearby.”
She shot him a cold look. “Modern medicine would not have developed but for ancient practices such as ours.”
Giyuu frowned. He hadn’t meant to insult the woman. “Be that as it may,” he said flatly. “Demons prowl at night. You wandering into the forest none the wiser is akin to you waltzing into their territory with a giant sign that says ‘Eat me.’”
Y/N grimaced. “Then what would you have me do? Neglect my duties?”
He could sympathize with that. “No, I’m not saying you should forsake your obligations,” he furrowed his eyebrows at the thought. “Perhaps it is simply a risk you must take. But you should at least be aware of your surroundings.”
Y/N looked upon him with a miserable expression. “You’re of little help, you know that?”
Giyuu only frowned, perplexed as to why she couldn’t understand the import of his words.
An awkward silence ensued, punctured only by the faint hoot of an owl. For that, the established swordsman was grateful; noise meant the absence of predators, which meant they were safe – for now.
“You mentioned tracking the demon earlier – how long had you been doing so?”
“A while.”
The girl was relentless. “And you just so happened to track it here? Where it was conveniently chasing me?”
“I patrol this region. Your rescue was nothing more than coincidence and luck on your part.”
“My gratitude is endless,” the shrine maiden said drily. “Forgive me for not falling to the ground in prostration.”
At that, Giyuu fell silent and refused to engage in any further conversation. The shrine maiden, for her part, seemed to take his cue that he had no interest in her or exchanging meaningless pleasantries, and so she too, went quiet.
The forest floor eventually began to slope gradually up, and before long, Giyuu found himself walking along a carved rock path that curved through the trees until it widened at a great set of stone stairs. At the very top of the steep incline, he could spot a great Torii gate.
Y/N turned to him with a beaming smile. “Allow me to introduce you to the Shrine." Tomioka opened his mouth to protest, but she quickly added, “You should at least know who it is you have dedicated your life to protecting.”
“I’d rather not.”
But she was already leading him up the stairs, his wrist pinched delicately between two of her fingers. Realistically, Giyuu knew it would take him no effort to shake the woman’s hold and disappear into the night. But to his own bemusement, he allowed her to tote him behind her as though he were little more than a useless pet.
The pair passed under the Torrii and into a sprawling courtyard. Though night sky was a deep, inky black, the perimeter of the courtyard was dotted with several stone lanterns -- toro -- each of which had been lit with a generous flame. Giyuu's quick perusal of the Shrine, however, was cut short as the Miko led him into the Shrine's main structure -- the honden -- and tugged him down a narrow hallway. Based on his rough appraisal of the building, Giyuu surmised she was taking him to the center of the honden, likely where the girl's master was.
His theory was proven correct when Y/N drew up to a great slat of shoji panneling. The Miko knocked softly on one of the wooden beams before she slid the door aside, revealing a great, open room that was littered with scrolls, half-dried pots of ink, and burned incense sticks. There, in the center of the room, knelt the head Priestess of the Shrine. She was an old, shriveled, wrinkled thing. The white hair that she’d gathered into a knot at her neck was as wispy as the thinnest clouds, and a quick glance over her hands revealed swollen joints covered by skin spotted with age.
But the Priestess did not appear to be a gentle elder by any means; her thin mouth was curled down into a sneer that was directed at the Miko at his side, and her eyes were hard and cold.
"Head Priestess," Y/N bowed to her elder. "This man is called Tomioka, and he helped save me tonight in the forest."
Giyuu resisted the urge to snort. Helped, indeed.
The old woman's eyes shone bright with an emotion he could not name as the Miko continued. "A creature attacked me as I was returning home. Tomioka says he is a swordsman whose occupation --"
“I know what he is, girl,” the Priestess snapped at her student before she turned those beady eyes to him. “A member of the Demon Slayer Corps will always be welcome at this Shrine – particularly one as esteemed as yourself.”
The Water Pillar straightened at the old woman’s casual mention of the Corps. “I was not aware that of any Shrines so affiliated with the Corps.”
“There was a time when the Demon Slayer Corps would partner with shrines such as this to carry out its mission,” the Priestess replied evenly. From his periphery, Giyuu spotted Y/N’s head snap toward her mentor, her jaw slack. “Once, priestesses were akin to shamans who offered a variety of rituals for cleansing and protection. You slayers relied on our connection with our communities to operate more effectively, and we in turn, counted on your protection to fight what we could not.”
Despite the distinct scent of sake that clung to the elderly shrine keeper like a cloud, her eyes remained sharp and fixed upon him, and her wrinkled mouth pulled into a rueful smile. “Now, it seems, our wise and benevolent government has forced us both to retreat to the shadows to operate in secret.”
She bowed her head. “You have nothing but my respect, Lord Hashira. You are always welcome here.”
Giyuu did not respond, but he inclined his head toward the Priestess in polite acknowledgement.
Y/N gaped at her Master. "Lord --?"
The old woman poured another generous serving of sake and brought the choko to her lips. “Though we are honored by your visit, young Lord, I’m afraid your presence is nothing more than a calculated effort by this one,” she nodded pointedly at the young shrine maiden at his side, whose cheeks pinkened. “To keep herself out of trouble. My apprentice was not permitted to leave the grounds, you see.”
“Oh hush you old drunk,” Giyuu’s eyes snapped to the irate Miko in surprise. “I told you earlier I was going to the village market –”
“Telling me while I am in the middle of lessons with the younger girls and sprinting off before I can respond is hardly me giving you permission,” the Priestess’s mouth curled into a sneer. “You’ve defied me for the last time, girl.”
The old Priestess turned away from her apprentice, dismissive. “You will take the rice bundles and hang them in the drying shed – every last one, for the next three days.”
“You hag!” Y/N fumed, her face pinched in outrage. “I was on rice duty all last week without an ounce of assistance –”
“And you apparently have yet to learn your lesson,” the old woman retorted bitterly, shooting the seething Shrine Maiden a withering glare. “Considering you still think it seemly to mouth off at any and every opportunity –”
The Miko spat a curse at the elder Priestess so filthy and colorful that even Giyuu could not mask his surprise, raising his eyebrow. But if Y/N’s outburst shocked the Shrine’s head, the old woman gave no sign. Instead, she only glowered at the young woman as the latter turned and shoved the shoji door harshly to the side. Giyuu, ever the unwilling observer, was left to be pulled by his wrist back into the hall behind the young Miko before she whipped around to face her senior once more.
Giyuu had thought himself stunned by the crassness of the Shrine Miaden’s language before, but nothing prepared him for the sight of the obscene gesture she made at the old woman before she slammed the door firmly shut.
A telling crash on the other side of the wall signaled the Elder Priestess had hurled her empty sake dish at the door with all her might. “And work on your aim!” Y/N snapped before turning sharply on her heel to stomp out of the honden, tugging the Water Pillar helplessly behind her.
“She seems unstable.” said Giyuu once they were a safe distance away from the main Honden.
Y/N brushed aside his concern with a flippant waive of her hand. “Granny is harmless. As her charge, I suppose I instigate her nearly as much as she torments me.”
Granny. It made sense, then, the curious affection the girl held for the rancorous head Priestess, even if he could not bring himself to fully understand it.
“You are more than welcome to stay the night,” the Miko’s mood lightened considerably the more she put distance between herself and the drunken head Priestess. “We serve breakfast at sunrise, but of course, you’re not obligated to attend.”
The ravenette’s mouth quirked down in a faint grimace, the only sign of his discomfort. “I should return to my own home.”
“It’s quite late,” Y/N glanced up at the night sky, now awash with stars that surrounded the fat, glowing moon like thousands of glittering jewels. She turned back to him with a radiant grin. “At least allow me to show you around.”
—
If anyone had asked him, Giyuu Tomioka would not have been able to explain the series of events that had led him here.
He distinctly remembered telling the vexatious young Shrine Maiden no, that he could not stay the night, yet somehow he’d found himself in the Shrine’s old, musty guest house, already prepared for his stay, a lantern flickering merrily in the corner.
He glanced warily at the fresh sleeping kimono folded beside his futon. The possibility of him actually sleeping in such an unfamiliar place was nil and while the Water Pillar certainly had no issue in appearing impolite to others, he thought that perhaps the Shrine was affiliated with the connection of Wisteria Houses dotted throughout the land, and he didn’t want to risk offending the head Priestess and cause her to shut her gates to other slayers in need of lodging.
So, Giyuu paced the floor of the small guest house, restless. Though his eyes remained carefully trained on the window of his room, waiting for the slightest hint of movement that would give him an excuse to leave without offending his hosts, no sign of either his crow or any demonic threat manifested. Though, he supposed with a frown, it shouldn’t surprise him that he’d not heard from Kanzaburo; the ancient bird was likely flitting about the forest, lost.
He continued to pace until finally, the sky in the East began to lighten signaling that dawn was fast approaching. Stealthily, he slipped out of the small hut that had served as his temporary accommodations and made his way toward the Torii under which he and that Miko — Y/N — had passed upon their arrival.
He’d almost cleared the gate when he saw the elder Priestess standing beside the Torii, apparently waiting for him. Giyuu nodded his head at her, the only expression of courtesy he was willing to give, but he was halted as the old woman flung out a single arm in front of him, her hand flat and palm turned up, waiting.
And that was how Giyuu learned the Shrine was not, in fact, a Wisteria House; not as he was forced to fork over a considerable sum of his earnings into the Priestess’s expectant hand.
Wisteria Houses meant Corps Members stayed free of charge; the price the Shrine’s keeper demanded in exchange for his brief stay bordered extortion.
At least he’d had the money; if he’d been of any lower rank, the old woman would have cleaned him out.
He scowled as he departed but his irritation quickly fell away as he finally laid eyes on Kanzaburo, who nearly collided with his Master’s head as he struggled to pant out his orders.
And so, as the Water Pillar trekked through the forest and toward his new assignment, the view of the Shrine faded behind the dense canopy of the mountain forest, and so too, did any final, sparing thoughts of it, or its inhabitants.
———-
Nearly a month passed since Giyuu stumbled across the strange shrine maiden in the forest separating his Estate from the old Shrine, and the Miko had nearly faded from his memory. Not that such a feat was difficult; the raven-haired Pillar’s mind was far more occupied with tasks like patrol and chasing down leads that could potentially lead the Corps to an Upper Rank demon to focus on much else.
He’d intended only to find a decent meal and then depart the village before nightfall to investigate rumors of women disappearing in a small town to the south. Night was rapidly approaching, however, and he’d yet to find any vendor that sold anything he liked, much to his chagrin. He was about to cut his losses and continue on, when he spied a familiar blur of white and red idly perusing one of the stalls, apparently oblivious to the impending sunset.
Without thought, his feet carried him toward her, his annoyance sparking to life.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
The Miko’s – Y/N’s – head turned back and her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the Pillar standing behind her.
“Tomioka-sama,” she greeted with a polite bow. “I did not expect to see you so soon.”
He ignored her greeting, choosing instead to take a step closer. “I asked what you were doing.”
If she was taken aback by his terseness, she didn’t show it. “I am returning to my shrine after an afternoon of errands,” she replied smoothly. “As is usual for me.”
“It is nearly dark.”
“An astute observation,” and to his annoyance, he saw an amused twinkle in her eye. “Do you also know that tonight is also a full moon?”
Said moon had already made an appearance above them, growing brighter and brighter as the sky faded from twilight to night.
Giyuu had never been one for rolling his eyes, but the young woman’s knowing smirk grated at something inside him, made him feel as he often did whenever Kocho would make a sly comment with that smile of hers, that for some reason made him feel like he was the butt of some joke only she knew.
He grimaced. Teasing; that’s what the shrine maiden was doing. She was teasing him.
“It is nearly dark,” he repeated. “And I did not think you’d be naive enough to risk traveling after sunset.”
“I believe it was you who insisted I did not have to ignore my duties, so long as I paid attention to my surroundings.” She replied coolly. “So that is exactly what I am doing.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Fine. If the stubborn girl wanted to be bait for whatever awaited her in the forest once the sun finally set, then that was her choice. He’d saved her once, and he’d given her sufficient warning; what she did from then on did not concern him.
He was about to bade her farewell when a slurred, boisterous voice boomed her name from across the market. Several heads turned toward the source, including Giyuu's, until he found a round faced, piggish man stumbling away from a sake stand, his cheeks flushed a bright red.
The man repeated the Miko's name in that grating, sing-song voice of his. "Whe're you goin' all by yourself so late?"
He didn't know what possessed him to ask, but Tomioka turned to the shrine maiden. "A friend?"
“His name is Susumo,” she said airily, though she could not conceal her scowl as the man drew closer. “He’s merely the village drunk who forgets to keep his hands to himself.”
The shrine maiden’s eyes narrowed accusingly at the villager, and the Miko remarked, in a raised voice, “And he is not welcome at the Shrine, though he pretends to forget otherwise.”
Susumo only held his hands up, as though in surrender. “You can’t blame a man for wanting to know what lies under all those layers,” and as if the implication of his lechery wasn’t clear enough, he gave the Miko a leering once-over. “Can’t say I was disappointed.”
“But your friend is right,” he slurred, a smirk forming on his lips. “The dark is too dangerous for a pretty thing like you to risk walking back alone —“
“I shall escort her,” Tomioka said abruptly and she whipped back to him, her mouth falling open. “After all, I’m welcome at the Shrine.”
Susumo, too, gaped at the Swordsman. The Miko recovered quickly however, unwilling to allow the opportunity to pass or for the Slayer to suddenly come to his senses and realize he’d rather leave her to fend for herself in the forest.
“You have my gratitude, Tomioka-sama,” and she gave him a small bow of her head. Relieved, she flipped her braid over her shoulder and smiled warmly up at her raven-haired companion. “Shall we?”
She did not wait for Tomioka to answer, nor did she give any further acknowledgment to Susumo, who only continued to stare at the Hashira, his face bright red. With a feigned indifference, she breezed past him, but a sudden yelp from behind caused her to snap back in alarm.
The first thing she noticed was the proximity of the back of a dual-patterned haori as it stood between her and the village drunkard. The Water Pillar’s shroud nearly brushed the tip of her nose, forcing her to step back. Cautiously, she peered around Tomioka’s rigid form, and her eyes widened at the sight before her.
Susumo, it appeared, had tried to grab her, only to be cut off by the Water Pillar himself, who snatched him by his wrist. Though it did not appear that Tomioka was using a great deal of effort to restrain him, it was clear Susumo was struggling — greatly so — against the ferocity of the Slayer’s hold, given how a vein bulged in his forehead, his face, rapidly turning purple.
Her gaze flicked to the Swordsman’s hand, and she felt herself blanch at the odd angle of Susumo’s wrist.
She was no doctor, but she knew wrists weren’t meant to twist as his did in Tomioka’s crushing grip.
“Leave.” the Water Pillar ordered coldly, and there was a darkness in his eyes that matched the brutality of his hold. “Your presence is unnecessary and unwanted.”
“Y-you! Susumo sputtered.
But Tomioka’s grip only tightened. “Now.”
And then he released him, Susumo half-stumbling back from the Swordsman. His eyes were wide with both fear and loathing, and he muttered incoherently under his breath as he massaged his rapidly-swelling wrist.
The Water Pillar, however, did not pay any more attention to the red-faced villager. He turned only to the shrine maiden, who remained frozen in place, her eyes wide. "Shall we?"
Numbly, Y/N nodded and the two set off down the path that led back to the Shrine. Dimly, the Miko noted that the Slayer kept noticeably close to her as they walked, as though he was unwilling to let her wander too far away. The air between them as they traveled was thick and tense. She was on edge enough thanks to Susumo and his oily words, and she was desperate to do anything to distract herself from the buzzing mounting under her skin.
She cast a sly, sidelong glance at the Swordsman walking at her side. He’d not been receptive to her small-talk the last time he’d escorted her back to her Shrine, but saying something — anything — would be better than this stifling quiet threatening to choke her.
“How old are you?” Before the Swordsman could decide whether to answer, she continued on. “If I had to guess, I would suspect you’re around my age, and I just passed my nineteenth birthday.”
She hummed aloud. “You seem quite young, yet you’ve achieved some level of status as a swordsman, according to Granny.” Her eyes fell to the blade secured at his hip before she lifted them back to his profile. “Yet you’re as withdrawn and taciturn as an old man.”
Her words, thankfully, seemed to irritate him into responding. “Are you always so forthright?”
The Miko grinned. “Perhaps I am like you, Lord – what was it? Hashiba?”
“Hashira.”
“Yes, that. Perhaps I am like you, Lord Hashira – utterly lacking in social ability.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she brushed her shoulder against his bicep. “But at least I make up for it by talking.”
“Talking is a distraction,” Tomioka monotoned, his eyes fixed resolutely on the hidden path of the forest before them. “It only serves as an interference to one’s duties.” He looked pointedly at the Miko’s profile, but inexplicably found himself unable to look away. “Or an excuse to ignore them.”
But she was unflappable. “And yet you are the one who decided to escort me all the way back to my Shrine – so who is the one ignoring their duties, Tomioka-sama?”
“I think you enjoy diverting my attention,” the Water Pillar retorted, though Y/N could see the rising annoyance in his eyes.
She felt his gaze bear into her as she flipped her loose hair behind her shoulder. “It’s not possible to distract someone unless they find the diversion in question captivating, Tomioka-sama.”
The Water Pillar almost looked amused. “And you are certainly that, Y/N.”
The Miko ducked her head to avoid that piercing gaze, so that the ravenette would not see the faint rosy blush creeping across her cheeks. “I did not think you had the constitution for teasing, Lord Hashira.”
Tomioka looked at her fully then, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do not jest.” He hesitated for a moment, eyebrows furrowed as he scrutinized her. “Nor do I lie.”
Y/N’s lips parted. There was something about the way the Swordsman beheld her that made her stomach flutter. In her last encounter with the enigmatic Slayer, she’d been so rattled by her close encounter with the demon, that she hadn’t truly noticed much about the man who’d saved her life, apart from his bland detachment and rather unfortunate social skills.
But now, the Miko was struck by how handsome the raven-haired Hashira was; she was mesmerized by the deep azure of his eyes, as vast and deep as the sea. His skin was a delicate alabaster, and, contrasted with the flesh of his hands which were calloused and scarred, his face had not a blemish in sight.
She blinked, clearing away some of the fog that had crept into her mind, put there by the vexatious Slayer. “I must return to my duties,” she said softly.
They spent the remainder of their journey back to the Shrine in silence. She was quick to break away from him the moment they passed under the Torii, though not before she muttered that he was welcome to stay, should he so choose.
She busied herself with her duties, but even the neediest obligations could not fully distract her from feeling the burning heat of his stare as the Water Pillar’s watched her fiercely from across the courtyard. And nothing, nothing at all could have prepared her for how he eventually joined her in carrying out her duties,
The Water Pillar stayed the night once more, departing sharply at daybreak. Later, as Y/N swept the courtyard free of loose brush and clutter long after his departure, she noticed a crow sitting high in a tree, its black eyes watching her every movement. Though its gaze was sharp, the presence of the great, sleek bird did not disturb her, though not as much of a feather twitched from its perch upon the branch as the Miko continued through her day.
As she’d readied for bed later that night, she realized she’d felt oddly comforted by the crow. She imagined it a silent protector, a new guardian of the Shrine, no different than the statues of the gods which dotted its grounds.
She settled into her futon with a great yawn, the image of a certain dark-haired Swordsman flickering in the back of her conscience until she was swept into sleep’s sweet embrace.
Just outside the Shrine’s sleeping quarters, the bird remained, eyes carefully tracking every shift in the shadows, waiting.
And then the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, and the threat of night receded once more.
But the crow remained.
———
Spring, 1915
The crow became a permanent fixture at the Shrine, though it always seemed to keep strictly to a single tree at the edge of the property, one that gave it a full view of the courtyard and structures surrounding the main honden.
Despite the bird's constant presence, more than a month passed before the Water Pillar returned, though he'd seemed even more sullen and withdrawn than he'd been during their previous two encounters. Y/N did not consider herself a friend to Tomioka by any means, but she was the only one brave enough to approach him as he'd lingered by the Torii, apparently unsure whether he should seek out their hospitality or return to the forest.
"You are welcome to come and sit for a hot meal," she called cordially, though she maintained a tentative distance. She frowned when he did not respond. Instead, the Water Pillar continued to stare unseeingly at the cracked stone path leading to the Shrine's courtyard.
"Tomioka-sama?" She pressed gently and the Swordsman's attention finally snapped to her, as though he'd just become aware of her presence.
The haunted look in his eyes sent a chill up her spine. The Miko cast one, cautious glance up at the sky, and her eyes narrowed at the wall of black clouds steadily rolling in from the east. A shift in the wind brought forth the distinct, metallic scent of rain, and if she listened hard enough, she swore she could hear the distant rumbles of thunder. “You know, there will be a storm tonight — please consider waiting it out here, where it’s safe.”
Tomioka only stared at her for a moment before he nodded. His hand twitched into a vague gesture inviting her to lead the way, and Y/N escorted him to the Shrine's elder, in search of her permission.
Granny Priestess agreed to let him stay, but on the condition he paid for his imposition. The Water Pillar had silently agreed, producing one small money bag from his pocket and placing it squarely in the Priestess’s outstretched, waiting hand.
The heft of the bag had made Y/N frown; it seemed a great sum in comparison to their meager lodging offerings, but the Swordsman did not object, so she held her tongue. To comment would only serve to irritate her Master, and the old hag was scornful enough to assign her to duties that would isolate her from the raven-haired Slayer.
Only after the old Priestess sauntered off, leaving behind nothing but the lingering, bitter stench of sake, did the Miko speak again.
“I’m glad to see you in good health, Tomioka-sama,” she bowed, though she thought she spied the corner of his mouth twitch down at her formal greeting. “I trust your patrol went smoothly?”
The Water Pillar’s expression was tight; dark. “It did not. The demon I was tracking managed to get away.” His jaw clenched tight. “But not before it slaughtered an entire family in the mountains.”
All at once, the world around her seemed to slow. It had been easy to assume the dark-haired Swordsman before her always managed to find his target just in time, before it could slaughter its victim. Now, as she beheld the lethal coldness that had settled over his features, Y/N knew her assumptions had been wrong.
Perhaps, she noted with a shudder, her rescue had been the exception and not the rule.
Beneath the icy stoicism limning the Water Pillar’s eyes, the shrine maiden noted a distinct heaviness that weighed down his shoulders; made them curl slightly forward, defeated.
She resisted the urge to reach out to him, in comfort. “I won’t offer you empty platitudes,” she murmured. “But I can invite you to offer your prayers for those who were lost.”
He looked at her, brows drawn, and she knew his instinct was to decline, so she added, “I will do it regardless of whether you join me.”
All at once, any protest he had was snuffed out within him. Instead, he was left with a curious softness as he regarded the shrine maiden, so assured and earnest in her invitation.
He didn’t know why he’d sought out the Shrine.
He’s been angry; angry at himself for not being faster, for allowing innocent people to die on his account of his failure.
He still felt angry. Yet, as he followed Y/N into the Shrine’s haiden to light incense, he also felt a solemn gratitude for the Miko, who’d not let him indulge in his self-loathing but instead requested he act, and act with her.
So he had; and somehow, the weight on his chest, the one that threatened to suffocate him, lightened bit by bit until Giyuu felt like he could breathe once more.
Later that night, Giyuu spotted the shrine maiden from his window as she darted around the courtyard to light the tōrō to illuminate the Shrine grounds. A deep rumble of thunder, however, signaled the spring storm had finally arrived. Y/N, however, only continued with her task, huddling over herself to strike the matches needed to finish lighting the lanterns as rain began to dampen the landscape around her.
He was about to go outside and demand she return to the warm, dry haven that was the girls’ sleeping quarters lest she catch a cold, but then the last of the lanterns were lit and the shrine maiden straightened.
And then she tilted her face up toward the sky, allowing the rain to wash over her.
And she grinned. And Giyuu was mesmerized; so much so, that he had not stopped staring at where she’d stood, laughing in the rain, even long after the Miko retired to bed.
-
Y/N awoke well before sunrise the following morning and spent hours laboring over the hot stoves in the kitchen. By the time the sky finally lightened, she'd only just finished her task and was in the process of boxing up her creation when she spotted one of her fellow shrine maidens passing by the entryway.
The Miko called out her name. "Has Lord Tomioka awoken yet?"
Her sister trainee lingered in the doorway. "Oh yes, he's been up for a while," and the girl looked back over her shoulder. “But he is already on his way out —“
The Miko swore viciously under her breath as she slammed a lid atop the small bento and hastily wrapped it in the small cloth she’d swiped from the laundry.
“Move,” she barked at a small group of trainees that had gathered in the hallway outside the kitchen. The girls flattened themselves against the wall as Y/N sped by. She hurtled up the stairs, nearly tripping in her haste. Just as she burst into the courtyard from the honden, panting and winded, she spotted him.
“Tomioka-sama!” Y/N called, hurrying after the retreating form of the Water Pillar before he could pass through the shrine gates. “I have something for you!”
The raven-haired slayer turned back to her, his face neutral, though Y/N could tell, by the slightest raise of his brow, that she’d piqued his interest.
“Thank goodness you hadn’t left yet,” the Miko said brightly, holding out a small bundle wrapped in furoshiki cloth. “I was worried this wouldn’t be ready before you did.”
Tomioka’s eyes dropped to the parcel in her hands. “What is it?”
Y/N motioned for him to take it, and to her slight surprise he did, holding it slightly in front of him as though it were liable to burst open. “A meal for the road. Granny and I prepared it this morning — as thanks, for everything you’ve done.”
But the Water Pillar was already shaking his head, trying to press the package back into the shrine maiden’s hands. “I need no thanks; I do my job, and your shrine happens to be part of it.”
If his words disappointed her, Y/N did not show it. “And yet we are grateful all the same,” she said firmly, arms crossing in front of her chest to avoid taking the small bento back. “Besides, it’s salmon; it will only go bad if you don’t eat it.”
Had she not been watching him, Y/N would have missed the slight widening of his eyes, or the way his hand twitched back towards himself, bringing the packed lunch closer to him.
Cerulean eyes watched her for a long moment, before dropping as Tomioka tucked the bento into his pocket.
“Thank you,” was all he said before he turned away and continued through the gates of the shrine, setting off on the path which would lead him through the forest.
If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn the Water Pillar looked happy as he departed.
———
The Slayer returned exactly one week after she’d given him the home-cooked salmon – but he did not return empty-handed. For there, wrapped in the same furoshiki cloth, was a strange, oblong object, sitting in the palm of his hand though if he thought it heavy, Tomioka gave no indication.
“What’s this?” Y/N leaned curiously over the Pillar’s outstretched hand and squinted, trying to discern what the cloth could have been concealing.
Tomioka pushed his hand toward her, beseeching her to take the parcel from him. “A knife.”
The Shrine Maiden looked up at him in alarm, pulling away from the Water Pillar. “Why on earth would I need a knife?”
He rolled his eyes. “Protection.”
“From what?” The Miko wrinkled her nose down at his offering, though there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “As I recall, I walloped you just fine with my broom.”
Tomioka shot her a dull look. “Be that as it may, cleaning tools are useless against demons. Without the sun, the only thing that works against them is decapitation with this — its metal is unique.”
He parted the folds of the cloth to reveal a simple blade, though Y/N found it daunting all the same. The hilt was basic, an unembellished metal handle wrapped in plain black leather. The blade itself was an unassuming silver, slightly longer than her hand.
The Slayer motioned for her to take it, though she only shrunk away. “You know how to use one, yes?”
The Miko’s eyes met his, wide and anxious. “For domestic uses, of course, but not –”
Tomioka’s fingers closed around her wrist and lifted, guiding her hand toward the dagger. His hand moved to cover hers, wrapping them both around the hilt of the blade before squeezing. “Grip it like this,” he held their joined hands up for her to inspect. “Keep your hand in a fist; do not lift your fingers away from the grip – that’s the best way to injure yourself instead of your target.”
But the shrine maiden could hardly focus on the Pillar’s instructions. Her attention was directed entirely at the way her hand was swallowed by his, his skin warm and his grasp firm. She studied how his calluses – thick and forged from years of brutal sword training – pressed against hers; how, despite the roughness of his fingers and palms, and his solid hold still remained gentle.
“-- and thrust like this,” he remained oblivious to her distraction as moved her arm in a sharp jab, a second and then a third time, before dropping her hand. “Now do it yourself.”
His command startled her out of her trance, a heat creeping up her neck from beneath the collar of her kosode. She held out the blade awkwardly before her as scrambled to recall the Water Pillar’s words. To her dismay, all she was able to conjure was the memory of his touch, and how cold she suddenly felt without it.
Lamely, she mimed jutting the knife at an invisible enemy, the blade gracelessly wobbling through the air. Though she was by no means a swordsman, even she knew something was off, her movements disjointed and clumsy.
She glanced shyly back to the raven-haired Demon Slayer and deflated as she was met only with bemused resignation.
Tomioka shook his head in disdain. “Perhaps you would fare better with a broom.”
The Miko bristled. “I am not a swordsman —“
“You’ve made that abundantly apparent.”
“— and I do not have the basics you seem to take for granted.” She finished, glaring indignantly at her raven-haired companion. “So teach me.”
The Water Pillar considered her for a moment before he gave her the slightest, almost imperceptible nod of his head.
“Watch me.” He turned his body toward the Miko and mimed getting into a defensive stance — feet ajar, his weight evenly distributed on each leg, and bent.
He looked back to the Shrine Maiden expectantly, and she parroted his movements, crouching into what she imagined was the perfect mirror of his position.
It wasn’t.
“No — you need to—“ Tomioka straightened and huffed, impatient. He moved quickly behind her, and without thinking, his hands shot to grip her hips to guide them into the proper stance, until her weight was evenly distributed on both feet.
“Like that — now bend your knees.” The ravenette pushed down on her hips until her legs bent, apparently oblivious to the way the Miko flushed crimson.
He was close; far, far too close. She’d never been touched the way the Water Pillar touched her. Tomioka’s hands were twin brands, burning her skin even through the layers of her shrine attire, and it sent every nerve beneath her skin buzzing.
She was aware of every inch of him pressed against her; of his arms, caging her in, his hands twin brands against her hips as he turned and pulled her into the proper stance. She was aware of how warm he was, of how formidable his presence felt, even though to her, he posed no threat. Every movement of his was precise and fluid, like the water he’d claimed to style his techniques after.
And if his touch wasn’t distracting enough, his scent threatened to overwhelm every last bit of sense she’d clung onto. Y/N didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed how good he smelled — like mahogany and citrus — so rich and so warm; a stark contrast to his otherwise cold and aloof nature mask.
The swordsman, however, appeared to remain oblivious. “There,” he finally said, having satisfied that she’d achieved proper form. For moment, the two of them lingered there, with Tomioka’s chest against the shrine maiden’s back, his hands remaining steady in place on her hips. It was as though they’d frozen: Y/N, out of a mixture of shock and red-cheeked embarrassment, and Tomioka out of utter cluelessness.
Another beat passed before the Water Pillar finally realized the compromising nature of their position. His hands dropped quickly from her hips, and there was a rush of air at Y/N’s back as he swiftly stepped away, putting distance between them once more.
The raven-haired Slayer gruffly cleared his throat. “You should also keep wisteria on you.” And Y/N gulped down her embarrassment to turn back toward him.
Tomioka kept his face neutral and cool, but the tips of his ears had turned pink. “Check your perfumes for it or ask one of the other shrine girls if you can borrow theirs – oil would be better. More concentrated”
Any residual awkwardness that may have lingered fell quickly away. The Miko only stared blankly at him, her head tilted slightly to the side as her eyebrows pinched together. “Perfume?”
Tomioka blinked. “Yes. As all women have.”
It was an effort to fight off the smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “Exactly how many women do you know, Tomioka-sama? Such that you would know their perfumery habits, that is.”
His mouth thinned into a firm line. “Enough.”
And though Y/N supposed he’d meant to sound self-assured and confident, the Slayer was betrayed by the slight doubt in his voice, as though he’d been questioning his own answer.
The shrine maiden only continued to look at him, her eyebrow slightly raised, amused. The longer the silence stretched between them,the more awkward the ravenette grew, his discomfort plain from the way he shifted under her stare.
“You seem like someone who would use it.” He finally offered, after another moment of quiet.
It was her turn to blink, taken aback. Her smirk quickly slid from her face and with a grimace, she felt her right eye twitch, ever so slightly. “Apologies, then, for disappointing you.”
Tomioka frowned and he made like he was going to respond, but the Miko squared her shoulders and stalked briskly past him.
“I must return to my duties, and I’m sure you need to do the same,” she paused in the doorway of the garden hut and cast one, sidelong glance back to where he stood, clueless. “Until next time, Tomioka-sama. Thank you for the blade.”
With that, the Miko paced briskly away from the garden hut, her spine stiff. The Water Pillar remained in place for a moment, stupefied, before he collected himself once more, before setting off back toward the forest; to his Manor.
And as Giyuu retreated through the rusting Torii gate, he could not quite shake the distinct impression he’d done something wrong, though he knew not what.
–
The Water Pillar returned the following week, though to a decidedly cooler greeting than that which he’d steadily grown accustomed to receiving.
That wasn’t entirely true — the majority of the Shrine’s residents had welcomed him warmly, their kindness always far more than he thought he deserved. Only one hadn’t greeted him as enthusiastically as the others, and to his annoyance, that one was the only person whose opinion of him mattered, even if he couldn’t quite articulate why.
She hardly stopped to acknowledge his arrival, only gracing him with a brisk nod, though she’d refused to meet his eyes. Bemused, Giyuu followed her across the courtyard as she made her way to the Shrine’s small storeroom. He leaned against the doorway and watched as the Miko began pulling jars of dried herbs from the rickety shelves lining the walls and stacked them on a sizeable work counter that cut halfway across the room. All the while, she continued pointedly ignoring him, humming lightly under her breath as though she could not see or hear him as he shifted against the doorframe, waiting.
Her obstinate silence grated at him. “May I assist you?”
“No, no, I am perfectly fine, thank you.” She turned away to browse the shelves once more, before finding what she needed: a stone mortar and pestle.
The grinder settled against the wooden counter with a heavy thud and the shrine maiden snatched up one of the jars she’d stacked and dumped its contents into the bowl, followed by another bottle of herbs. Pestle in hand, she set to work grinding the leaves together, mixing in a vial of fragrant oil she’d kept in her pocket to create a thick paste.
Giyuu watched her quietly as she worked. “You’re…” he frowned. “You’re behaving strangely.”
Y/N glanced up at him. “In what way?”
“You’re trying to avoid me.”
“Am I?” She straightened, rolling her shoulders. “Only because I’ve not yet bathed today. I didn’t want to risk offending you with my stench.”
Giyuu paused. “Why would that matter?”
“You made sure to point out you thought I needed perfume during your last visit.”
He pushed off the doorframe, eyebrows knit together. “For protection.”
The shrine maiden rolled her eyes. “Yes, and apparently, because you believe I am the type to need it.” When Giyuu only continued to stare at her with that same, mildly lost expression, Y/N groaned, exasperated. “You implied I stink.”
The Water Pillar’s jaw slackened as he gaped at her. “That is not –”
“It is what you implied,” she repeated, turning away from him to focus on her task of grinding herbs, though the force with which she ground the pestle was perhaps greater than necessary.
Giyuu rounded the small countertop of the Shrine’s storeroom to face her head-on. “I like how you smell.” He insisted. “It’s nice.”
The Miko’s irritated churning of the stone paused and her eyes finally lifted to his. For a long moment, she watched him, head slightly cocked.
“You are very odd, Tomioka-sama.”
But she said it with a small smile that he almost wanted to return.
Before long, things between them returned to normal once more, with the Miko directing him to collect her gathering basket from where she’d left it in the Shrine’s infirmary and bring it to her. Once he returned, he helped her grind charcoal to make incense sticks as she chatted happily away.
Surprisingly, Giyuu found himself not only engaged in her musings about daily life at the Shrine, but offering her small personal anecdotes of his own, though he was not nearly as proficient as she when it came to story-telling.
Once the sun began setting once more, and he received no new orders from Headquarters, he simply sought out the Shrine’s head Priestess and silently passed her a small money bag.
And then Giyuu retired to the guest’s quarters for the night.
—--
As spring warmed into summer, the Water Pillar began making bi-weekly visits to the Shrine that quickly melted into habit; expectation. Once a fortnight, a thrill would settle over the young maidens in anticipation of the arrival of the stoic yet handsome Slayer, with girls of all ages eagerly looking toward the Shrine gates in hopes of spying him the moment he crossed beneath the Torii. The elder employees of the Shrine had learned to time Tomioka’s arrival by listening for their excited gasps, exhaled as a collective as brooms and rices sacks were dropped where their handlers stood, the girls far too interested in rushing to greet the exalted Slayer than they were in completing their tasks.
“I do not see the reason for such excitement,” she sniffed, though even she wasn’t stupid enough to think her fellow trainees bought her bluff. “He is only a swordsman.”
“A handsome one,” a wispy trainee named Miyoko sighed dreamily. “And no doubt strong and capable.”
The group of maidens dissolved into another fit of giggles, concealing their blushes behind their hands.
“His face is attractive, but his hair is odd,” another commented. “It looks like he’s hacked at it with his own blade.”
“Oh, who cares about his hair? I’m far more interested in what’s beneath that uniform —“
“Enough,” Y/N snapped. While her friendship with the Water Pillar was tenuous at best, the suggestive way her sisters-in-training spoke of him left her feeling decidedly discomforted.
Though, if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she, too, wondered whether Tomioka’s strength was the product of a finely-hewn tuned physique. But she wasn’t, so she bottled that thought up and tucked it tightly away, where it belonged.
Slowly, her cohorts all turned to look at her.
“You seem to spend a great deal of time with him, Sister,” Miyoko directed at Y/N, who felt her cheeks heat. “Is there anything you’d like to share?”
“Tomioka-sama always asks where Sister Y/N is, the moment he arrives!” A tiny voice chimed, and Y/N’s eyes slid shut in an effort to fight off a wince. “Sometimes they even do chores by themselves!”
Komatsu. At only ten, she was the Shrine’s youngest trainee, and followed Y/N around like a shadow. Not that the shrine maiden minded all that much; she tended to spoil the girl a bit, when she could. But as pure as the girl’s intentions surely were, she’d yet to lose that childlike earnestness that made her prone to revealing information that Y/N rather remained a secret.
“Alone with a man?” Miyoko repeated, her eyes shining with malicious glee. “How scandalous — even for someone without a family to embarass, dear Y/N.”
“Careful, Miyoko,” she warned softly. “Don’t go speaking on matters of which you know nothing.”
“Or what? What would you do?”
As fond as Y/N was of her sisters-in-training, one did not make it through the Shrine’s rigorous education and training without learning how to trade in the kind of currency young women valued most.
Information; specifically, gossip.
So the shrine maiden only leveled Miyoko’s own smug smirk with one of her own. “Or I shall tell Granny how you spend your afternoons kissing the boys from the village, rather than tending to your lessons.”
The other girls gasped, their stares turning back to the gossiping shrine maiden. She savored how quickly the girl’s prideful grin slipped from her face as the weight of the threat settled.
While Y/N, parentless and thus without anyone to truly care about her propriety, was being primed to take over Granny Priestess’s position overseeing the shrine, her position was unique. She was parentless and thus, without anyone to truly care about her propriety or whatever other ridiculous expectations of modesty that were often attached to other young women her age. In being no one, Y/N was relatively free to do as she pleased, and that freedom almost made up for her lack of belonging.
But the other girls residing at the Shrine were different. Families across the region sent their daughters to the Shrine for training, not only in their cultural practices and arts, but also for education; to become well-rounded women who would then serve to be valuable marriage prospects once they returned home.
Scandal would not affect her; but it would affect someone like Miyoko.
“How do you think your parents would feel, to know their heir was behaving so brazenly in public? Risking her reputation on the marriage market before she’s even entered it?”
Truthfully, she liked Miyoko; had gotten along well with her, in fact. But she would not risk those sacred few moments she spent with the Water Pillar in an effort to keep the peace with another trainee. Not when those few instances she spent in his company were the only times she’d felt connection — true, human connection and belonging.
Her sister-in-training ruefully fell silent, and Y/N savored her victory. Later, when she was left with nothing but the company of her own thoughts, however, the exchange played back in her mind.
In all her posturing, she’d managed to avoid having to answer for Miyoko’s lofty observation.
You seem to spend a great deal of time with him, Sister.
She did; and, to her slight horror, she realized that she had no interest in stopping.
She only wanted more.
–
It was past dawn when Giyuu trudged under the great Torii gate of the Shrine, exhausted and aching.
It had been a long while since a demon was last capable of wounding him, but he’d been blown backward by a delayed attack that hit after he’d beheaded the damn thing. As a result, he’d been sent flying back, slamming through a dilapidated wall of the abandoned hut he’d tracked the creature to, resulting in a sizeable gash to his shoulder.
He grit his teeth in mild annoyance. He would need some treatment of his wounds — not that they were deep by any means, but they were substantial enough that he knew infection could spell trouble for him, should it spread.
Some small, irate voice in his head snidely reminded him he could have just as easily gone to the Butterfly Mansion for treatment — that, in fact, the Insect Pillar’s estate had been much closer to the location of his mission than the Shrine had been. He’d rationed that, as much as he admired and respected Kocho, he was still a bit raw from her mocking about how unliked he truly was among his comrades.
Besides, he groused. Kocho was not the one he really wanted to see, anyway.
He found Y/N in the Shrine’s storeroom, seated upon the floor with a detailed ledger spread out before her as she took inventory of various scrolls and texts.
Giyuu did not bother to announce himself. “You have medical training, do you not?”
The Miko startled, the charcoal stick she’d been using to tally the ledger clattering to the floor. She blinked up at him in surprise. “Tomioka-sama — welcome, it’s been a few weeks — forgive me, I did not see you come in.” She quickly rose to her feet, shutting the store ledger and tucking it under her arm.
Her eyes found the blood-stained shoulder of his hair and widened. “I have some; I can stitch and dress wounds —“
He nodded. “Then I require your assistance.”
—-
Y/N led him to a small office inside the honden that served as the Shrine’s unofficial infirmary. “Take a seat,” she nodded at a small stool that sat under the room’s solitary window, right by a modest working table. “Let me see what we have.”
Tomioka sat upon the stool with his back to her as she busied herself sifting through cupboards in search of supplies. “What sort of wound is it?”
She turned back and nearly dropped a tin of medicinal salve she’d located as she beheld the Water Pillar strip himself of his clothing from the waist up.
There, across his right shoulder blade, she saw it — saw his blood. Quickly, she located thread and a needle and she grabbed a roll of cloth that could double as wrappings and she crossed back across the room.
She spread her bounty out across the table, right beside the neatly folded pile of his clothing. Silently, she set to work cleaning the gash, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she saw that it was little more than a shallow flesh wound.
“Lucky you, this won’t need stitching,” she said lightly as she wiped away the last of the dried blood from the Water Pillar’s skin. “But I shall need to wrap it so it won’t become infected.”
Tomioka only gave her a curt nod. She stepped back to work open her tin of medical salve, and as she warmed the substance in her hands, she let herself fully examine the Swordsman sitting before her. Her eyes trailed over the sculpted planes of his back. It surprised her how muscular he was, given his leanness. Yet, without the layers of his uniform shirt and haori, she could see he was well-built, each muscle defined.
She didn’t know why it surprised her that there was a man beneath the mask of the Slayer, but what a man he was. Her mouth went dry at the thought. It was an effort not to allow her eyes to wander lower; to ponder what he might look like under his uniform pants, stripped and fully bare before her —
“What is that scent?” Tomioka’s sudden question startled her away from her increasingly treacherous thoughts.
She’d never been more grateful to be facing away from him. That way, he could not see the blush coloring her cheeks as she hastily slathered the salve across his wound. “Anti-septic; I know it’s rather stringent, but — ”
The Water Pillar shook his head. “I know what antiseptic smells like. I mean you. The scent you wear.”
She pursed her lips for a moment before she recalled the distinctly floral scent of her cleansing oils. “Sakaki blooms, I suppose.”
“What properties does it have — what are its effects on others?” He pressed. She was surprised at how insistent he seemed, and there was almost an urgency in his tone that unsettled her.
“None, to my knowledge — why do you ask?”
The tips of Tomioka’s ears turned pink and he turned away from her, lips pressed into a firm line. “Forget I said anything.” he muttered after a moment, his shoulders and spine stiff.
Neither one of them spoke again as Y/N finished treating the Water Pillar’s injury and wrapped it.
“You're done,” she said after a moment, tapping him lightly on his other shoulder.
“You have my thanks,” Tomioka quickly refastened the buttons of his uniform shirt as the Miko stepped aside, pointedly wiping her hands clean with a small cloth. She only looked at him once he lifted his haori from where he’d carefully laid it atop the small examination table, but her eyes narrowed as he rose from the stool, shrugging the material back over his shoulders. “I am happy to pay you for the resources you used —“
Y/N did not appear to be listening, not as she leaned forward and pinched the sleeve of his haori between her thumb and index finger.
“You have a tear,” she frowned, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “Right here, see?”
There, on the side bearing his sister’s half of his haori, right where his sleeve met his shoulder, was indeed a small hole, the threads around it broken and shifting slightly in the wind.
The Miko’s hand fell away, and she squared her shoulders, mouth set in a firm but determined line. “If you’ll give me a moment, I assure you I can have it repaired in no time –”
“Not necessary,” the Swordsman said abruptly, twisting back from her. “I can figure it out on my own.” He would not part with it, would not so much as let another put their hands on it and risk ruining his most cherished possession.
Y/N only stepped toward him, ignoring his attempt at distance. “There’s no need to be prideful,” she huffed impatiently. “Truly, it would take no effort at all –”
“No.”
“Why are you being so difficult?” She snapped, but her hands continued reaching for him, for his sleeve –
Tomioka snatched her wrist mid-air and held it there, halting her. “No one touches this. Understand?”
Y/N’s lips parted in faint surprise at the Water Pillar’s severity. Her eyes darted to where his fingers were locked tight – uncomfortably tight – around her wrist. When she glanced back at the stone-faced Slayer, she felt a chill lick down her spine. She’d known he could be intimidating against threats, even without saying a word. It was his eyes – his eyes would harden, with the lapiz hue of his irises darkening to something more akin to indigo, as he stared down an opponent. She’d witnessed it the very first night she’d met him.
She just hadn’t thought she would ever be on the receiving end of such a cold glare.
“I understand,” she said softly, and she began flexing her wrist against his grip in an effort to work herself free from his hold. “Please forgive my indiscretion, Tomioka-sama. I overstepped.”
The raven-haired Slayer blinked and quickly let her go, her wrist falling limply back to her side. Just outside the infirmary’s small window, he heard the familiar, urgent cry of a crow.
He’d never been more grateful for a distraction. “I must be on my way.” His tone was stiff; clipped.
“But — you’ve only just arrived —“
“Farewell, Y/N.” Giyuu gave her a curt nod.
Helplessly, the Miko watched as the Water Pillar stalked out of the small office, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He did not so much as spare a glance back, leaving Y/N to wonder whether she would see that odd patterned haori again.
The thought she might not made something cold and heavy sink into her gut.
—-
(One week later)
It wasn’t often that Giyuu Tomioka found himself annoyed, much less angry. He much preferred channeling his existing emotions into slaying demons, allowing them to taste a fraction of the rage and hatred he felt deep within, a vicious fire he so rarely let bubble up to his service.
Until that evening. After the fiasco that was Mount Natagumo and the subsequent chaos at the Master’s mansion as a result of the Kamado boy and his demon sister, Giyuu had finally noticed that the previous day’s trials had resulted in the tear along the shoulder of his haori that he knew could no longer be ignored.
He grit his teeth; the battle against the Lower Moon spider demon had hardly required him to exert any energy — yet the demon’s last ditch attempt to preserve its life had managed to enlarge the small hole in his most prized possession, and the Water Pillar was utterly without the skill to repair it.
So, he’d been forced to sit through the meeting with the Master, the hole in his haori feeling more like a gaping wound that only festered with every passing moment, until finally, finally they’d been dismissed.
Giyuu hadn’t wasted any time departing swiftly from his Master’s estate, though that hadn’t stopped him from catching the tail end of Shinazugawa’s biting remark of how fuckin’ typical it was for him to leave without so much as a farewell to his comrades. He tried not to let the Wind Pillar’s words get to him; but he was unworthy of their company regardless, so he supposed it really didn’t matter what they thought of him. It shouldn’t.
And so, that was how Giyuu found himself padding silently along the cracked, stone pathway which led to the Shrine at the edge of his designated territory, ready to eat crow and ask for assistance from a particular Miko whom he felt certain would not hesitate to remind him of how he’d coolly rejected her help only days earlier.
Hence, his irritation.
So, his movements stiff and his mouth twisted into a firm grimace, Giyuu stalked under the Torii and into the main courtyard of the old Shrine. It was coming upon midday, though there was a thick cover of clouds overhead that threatened that open up at any moment and shower rain across the region. He ignored the respectful bows of the Shrine’s various inhabitants and staff, eyes sweeping over faces in search of her.
He located her near the storehouse, chatting with one of her fellow trainees as the pair worked to clean vegetables. Giyuu trudged over to her, eyes locked unwaveringly on her serene, easy smile, as he tried to ignore the way it made something in his gut clench and churn.
He drew to a stop right before her and her Shrine-sister, the latter looking up at him with wide eyes, her hands stilling over her work as she looked up to the Slayer in awe.
Giyuu cleared his throat but Y/N only continued wiping the dirt from carrots with her cloth.
The ravenette tried again. “I am in need of your assistance.”
Y/N’s comrade nudged her with her elbow, but the Miko only continued to clean, pointedly ignoring them both.
Giyuu pursed his lips. “With my haori. The tear has grown larger —“
“I am busy.” Y/N’s tone was clipped. “Perhaps there are others who might assist you.”
“Please.”
The Shrine Maiden’s hands finally stilled and she lifted her chin to face him. The moment she beheld the pleading sincerity in his eyes, coupled with the hard set of his jaw that betrayed just how desperate he was, her gaze softened.
She sighed. “Very well then,” she rose, brushing her hands free of any residual dirt. She held her chin high and squared her shoulders, determined not to show him how he’d bruised her ego; how he’d frightened her. “Follow me.”
—
The Shrine sat at the base of a great mountain. But, nearly half a kilometer up the winding, twisting path leading up the mountain and carved into its side, was a grassy hilltop that then plateaued into a small overlook that boasted a phenomenal aerial view of the Shrine below.
The summer grass had turned a vibrant shade of emerald, broken up only by dots of tiny white and blue wildflowers that had gathered in small clusters sprinkled throughout the overlook. At the back of the clearing stood an ancient willow tree, its trunk gnarled and knotted with age, its wisps swaying lazily in the wind.
It was her favorite spot; a little ways away from the hustle and bustle of the Shrine, which meant they would have some privacy as she worked. Y/N settled down against the grass and pulled a needle and a spool of thread from her pocket. She turned her face up toward the Water Pillar where he stood over her. “I’ll take that haori, now, if you’ll please.”
Wordlessly, Tomioka carefully slid the garment from his shoulders and handed it to her, though he hesitated in letting go as she took it gingerly into her hands.
It was clearly very important to the Slayer, and perhaps that was why she felt the need to reassure him. “I promise to take care of it.”
He nodded stiffly and let go of the fabric and the Miko quickly set to work repairing its torn shoulder. The Water Pillar lingered awkwardly beside her for a moment longer before he too, sat in the grass next to her, though his back remained straight, his posture rigid.
She glanced at him as her needle wove the haori’s fabric back together. “I suppose this happened because of your occupation?”
It was faint, but the shrine maiden swore she saw his mouth twitch into something reminiscent of a grimace. “Yes.”
“You should be lucky it wasn’t your flesh.”
At that, Tomioka scoffed. “I would not allow such a weakling to get close enough to try.”
“My, I’d not pegged you as the boastful sort, Tomioka-sama.”
“It’s not boasting; I speak only the truth.” He retorted evenly.
The shrine maiden only hummed as she worked. “And what of your family? Do they support your path as a Slayer?”
The Water Pillar turned his head away, his form stiff. For a moment, the Miko feared she would be left to repair his haori in silence, with nothing but the faint whistling of birds to keep her company.
“I have none,” Tomioka’s voice was soft, nearly swallowed by the wind. “There is no one left to object, even if they wanted to.”
Y/N’s hands paused their work as she thought. “You are alone?”
It would be nice, she supposed, to find another who, like her, belonged to no one; a kindred spirit of sorts.
“I suppose,” Tomioka spoke up after a moment, his eyes squinted in thought. “I have a mentor. But it was he who trained me to join the Corps.”
“I should hope he’s more sober than mine,” Y/N drawled. “And less irritating.”
The Miko’s attention was so fixed on her careful stitching along the hole in his haori, that she didn’t see his faint smile at her words.
——
The Slayer and the shrine maiden continued talking long after she’d finished repairing the tear in his haori. It was only when Tomioka had realized nightfall was a mere hour away that the two reluctantly descended the hillside to return to the Shrine.
“I almost forgot.” The Water Pillar said, halting in front of the honden as Y/N escorted him back to the Shrine’s entrance. He dug into his pockets and pulled something free. “Here. For you.”
The Miko gaped down at the fat red fruit that sat heavily in his palm. “This is -“ she said breathlessly, “A pomegranate!”
He nodded, arm still outstretched towards her as he waited to drop the ruby fruit into her hand.
She shook her head. “No, Tomioka-san, I cannot accept something so expensive-“
“I insist.” The Water Pillar withdrew a small knife and split the fruit in half, staining his hands crimson with the juice that spilled over its soft flesh.
Hesitantly, the young Miko accepted the half he offered her, and thumbed some of the fat, glistening jewels loose. The moment she brought them to her lips, Y/N sighed, contentedly, and for some reason, Giyuu found his cheeks heating as he watched her savor the sweet fruit.
She lazily opened her eyes after swallowing her first mouthful, but she was startled to see the Hashira staring at her, unwaveringly, and she realized he’d moved closer towards her than he had been only seconds earlier.
Tomioka’s azure eyes were fixed hard on her lips, as he leaned in close to her, Y/N flushing as he drew nearer.
Is he going to kiss me? Her traitorous heart thundered at the idea, and it caused her no short amount of grief to know she was uncertain whether she wanted him to do so. As her emotions warred with her logic, the Water Pillar’s gentle fingers cupped under her chin, and his thumb brushed delicately across her lower lip.
“Pomegranate juice,” he said, but Y/N could still feel the warmth of his breath still as his hand lingered under her chin. His eyes were wide as though he, too, could not believe what he’d just done.
“Yes,” she breathed, before she felt her cheeks heat. “I – I mean, thank you.”
The Water Pillar’s gaze dropped to her lips and her stomach twisted violently. All at once, awareness seemed to come crashing down upon him, and he then stepped back, his hand falling from its hold on her face and back to his side.
The shrine maiden remained frozen in place for a heartbeat longer. “Are you certain you’re unable to be our guest tonight?” Her voice was little more than a pitiful squeak.
Her eyes lifted to his and she knew the answer before he spoke it. “I cannot,” and to her surprise, he almost looked as disappointed as she felt, but he added hastily, “But I will be back. Soon.”
“Soon,” she echoed, feeling rather dazed. “Yes. Of course. I — we — look forward to it.”
She was thankful that Tomioka had already turned away from her as he made his way down the long, winding steps that led to the main route out of the forest; that way, he could not see the way her cheeks burned crimson, or how she buried her face in her hands as she cursed her own embarrassment.
—
Giyuu was grateful his back was to the young Miko as he retreated through the Shrine’s gates and back to the path which would lead him home. It meant she could not see as he stared at his thumb – the thumb he’d used to clear away the small bead of pomegranate juice from her lips – or how his eyebrows pinched together. It meant she could not hear his heart as it beat wildly in his chest at the memory of how soft and full her lip had been beneath the pad of his thumb, soft enough that some treacherous part of his brain had urged him to lean in, to see if her lips would feel as good against his –
He shook his head, trying desperately to dispel his wild intrusive thoughts. It was ludicrous; he did not think of the young shrine maiden in that way. Not when she frequently sought to needle him, not when she frustrated him to no end.
His collar suddenly felt tight; his skin, far too hot. His gaze dropped back down to the hand that had touched her, and it clenched.
A pomegranate. It was only a pomegranate; nothing more.
“It was a thank you gift,” Giyuu declared, as though speaking the words out loud gave them more force. “It is nothing more than an expression of gratitude.”
And even his crow, ancient and dull as he was, scoffed at the obviousness of the lie.
——
Late Summer, 1915
Summer blazed hot and humid. But neither the sweltering heat of the sun nor the most arduous missions he took exhausted Giyuu more than the complicated, tangled mess of feelings that had taken root within him. Because with every day that passed, the Miko of the Shrine at the edge of the forest occupied more and more of his mind. And Giyuu did not know what it meant or what he should do about it.
She’d not just repaired his haori or made him salmon; she’d somehow wormed her way into his every waking thought, and to his great confusion, he found himself almost unwilling to think of anything but her.
Admittedly, Giyuu Tomioka did not have the requisite tools in his social arsenal to successfully navigate human interaction. He hadn’t quite known the extent of his ineptitude however, until the Insect Pillar had so cheerfully pointed out that none of his comrades, in fact, liked him. That revelation had made him doubt every interaction he’d had since, made him wonder whether even the lower ranked Slayers viewed him with the same apathy, if not the same outright hostility toward him shared by Shinazugawa and Iguro.
He’d come to doubt them all — except her.
Y/N was different; at the end of each visit to the Shrine, the Water Pillar did not find himself feeling drained or unwanted. He felt lighter; rejuvenated, even. She was a breath of fresh air that Giyuu found more difficult to go without with each passing day.
She still picked at him, but she did so without the malice he’d normally come to expect, even from those he considered friends, like the Kocho. The young Miko had a way of teasing him that did not leave him feeling decidedly othered. Rather, her japes only spurred him to respond with his own, though admittedly, they tended to fall flat.
He’d known, from the moment she’d attempted to bludgeon him with her broom, that there was more to the Miko than met the eye; but he hadn’t imagined he’d find himself as drawn to her as he was, unable to tolerate going more than a handful of weeks without paying her a visit.
And, given the way she’d blushed after he’d thanked her for repairing his haori, perhaps she was drawn to him, too. Perhaps he hoped she was.
But he would have to wait to find out, for his obligations to the Corps had taken him to a village a considerable distance away from his designated territory. He’d been tasked with investigating a series of disappearances of young women in the region, but his orders had come abruptly enough that he’d not been able to spare a visit to the Shrine before he departed.
He was anxious — eager — to return, though not before he took care of the demon likely behind the mystery plaguing the village he now patrolled.
Nightfall was still a little ways off, and so Giyuu found himself wandering the streets to pass the time. He made his way to a sizeable outdoor market, still packed with shoppers oohing and ahhing over vibrant displays of silk, crafted jewelry, and sugary confectioneries.
Idly, he too, joined other patrons in browsing the small vending stands that lined the bustling village streets, though his perusal was disinterested, if not bored. But his eyes snagged on one small bauble displayed on the merchant’s small stand upon a swath of silk. It was small; unassuming. But the carefully crafted decoration was painted in a startling shade of crimson that he found hard to ignore.
The image of a certain Miko flashed through his mind. He couldn’t leave without it. he wouldn’t; not when its paint so perfectly matched the color of Y/N’s hakama trousers.
I spend the year longing for autumn. That was what she’d told him, that day on the hillside after she’d repaired his haori.
He almost smiled to himself. This would be a way for her to enjoy her favorite season even in the scorching heat of summer or the biting cold of winter.
He waited for the merchant to notice his presence, his fingers twisting around the small money sack he kept tucked in his pocket. His eyes flickered back to the small trinket. Idly, Giyuu wondered when he’d begun associating the color red with the shrine maiden and not with the blood he’d always imagined stained his hands.
He continued to stare the merchant down until he finally managed to catch the vendor’s eye, who flinched at the intensity of his unblinking stare.
Giyuu jutted his chin toward the small token. “How much?”
—-
He found the Miko a few mornings later, relaxing on the hillside overlooking the Shrine. She laid amongst the late summer wildflowers that had bloomed, her form framed against the grass with petals of soft blue and bright marigold.
Giyuu wordlessly settled beside her, and he tried to ignore the thunderous beat of his heart against his sternum as she rolled her head toward him to greet him with a sleepy smile. They exchanged pleasantries and settled into a comfortable silence, both content to watch the sun rise higher over the horizon.
Easy; it was so easy for him to sit beside her, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“So, you are to take over the Shrine, one day?”
Y/N’s head turned to the Water Pillar in surprise; though he’d grown steadily more talkative over the months since she’d met him, it wasn’t often that he initiated conversation.
She settled back against the cool grass of the hilltop overlooking the Shrine, enjoying the precious few moments of quiet in the early morning before the chaos of the day called her away. “Yes,” though there was a slight uncertainty in her voice. “I’m sure it’s the expectation, after all. I have to repay Granny for her kindness.”
Giyuu frowned. “But is that what you want?”
“What I want is irrelevant,” the Miko folded her arms behind her head and tilted her face up toward the sky. Her eyes tracked the great, fluffy clouds that drifted lazily by, though the Water Pillar suspected she was attempting to avoid having to meet his eye.
“It’s not irrelevant,” he countered. “If nothing else, you should be allowed to consider other possibilities.”
She did not answer him, and the silence between them stretched enough that he thought to drop the subject, not wanting to press her any further.
“I think,” she said in that faraway voice that Giyuu had come to learn meant she was trying to conceal some deeply felt emotion. “I think should like to belong somewhere.” Her eyes shone. “No, that’s not it — I want someone to belong to me, and I to them.
“A husband.” He said flatly.
The Miko shook her head. “I have never belonged to anywhere or to anyone. I’ve no family to call my own - only an old woman who took pity on me as an infant and raised me. I wonder — what must it be like?” She laid back on the grass and closed her eyes. “That is the one thing I would change. I belong nowhere because I’m no one — nobody’s.”
Giyuu frowned. “I don’t think that’s true—“
“It is true,” she insisted, though she said it with such ease and conviction, like it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world. “I am here for a moment and then I will be gone, and no one will ever know or remember that there once was a shrine maiden named Y/N here. I’ve made peace with that.”
I would, Giyuu wanted to tell her. I would remember and I would tell them all.
“I am nobody as well,” Giyuu admitted quietly after a moment. “And I have no one left to belong to.”
The image of her face, so kind and sad and full of understanding at his words, had stayed with him for the rest of the morning and even as he settled in for a few hours of sleep in the Shrine’s guest wing.
And in his dreams, her face remained a constant.
—
The sky had turned a vivid shade of orange by the time the Water Pillar emerged from his guest lodgings, ready to depart and resume his duties. Y/N had been helping another shrine maiden tote firewood across the courtyard when she heard a quiet call of her name.
She turned and saw the raven-haired Swordsman standing near the great Torii gate.
She looked back to her fellow trainee, who waved her off with a knowing smile, and Y/N brushed her hands clean against her hakama pants before she approached him.
“Leaving so soon?” And she tried to mask her disappointment at the shortness of his visit.
Giyuu nodded. “We’ve been stretched thin, in light of a few…changes to our ranks.”
The Miko nodded grimly. He’d told her that a fellow Hashira had been slain a few months prior, and another had retired following a rather violent battle that had destroyed part of a far off city.
“But I wanted to give you this.”
She glanced down to his outstretched hand, where a small parcel was wrapped in plain furoshiki cloth. Stunned, she took the package from him, her eyes flicking between it and the Water Pillar watching her intently.
Gingerly, she unfolded the bundle and unveiled a long, but fragile metal and wood reed.
A hairpin, she realized with a soft gasp. Y/N could scarcely bring her fingers to run over the exquisitely crafted ridges of the leaves that adorned the top portion of the pin, afraid that even the slightest pressure from her touch would cause the Water Pillar’s precious gift to her to crumble.
I spend the year longing for autumn, she’d told him. She hadn’t thought he’d been particularly interested in listening to her talk; but as Y/N cradled the delicate ornament between her palms, she felt a blush begin to creep across her cheeks.
As her fingers traced across the delicate ridges of a cluster of maple leaves, lacquered in a thick coat of scarlet paint — a perfect match to the hue of her traditional Miko hakama pants — Y/N realized that perhaps Tomioka had been paying more attention to her than she’d realized.
For the Water Pillar had given her a piece of autumn to hold onto year-round.
“Tomioka-san, you do not-“
“Giyuu.” The ravenette interrupted her. “Please, call me by my name; it’s Giyuu.”
Y/N’s mouth closed, but she smiled softly, considering. “Alright. Giyuu — please, you do not need to feel obligated to bring gifts for us — it was only salmon.”
But Giyuu only shook his head. “I don’t bring gifts for everyone; just you.”
Y/N turned scarlet.
“Please, just-“ Giyuu frowned, and Y/N could have sworn she saw the faintest glow of pink coloring the Hashira’s cheeks. “Just take it.”
“Okay,” her voice resembled a mouse’s squeak as she cradled the pin delicately between her hands. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
“And it wasn’t just salmon.”
Y/N looked to him in surprise, her head cocked in curiosity. “Pardon?”
Giyuu exhaled harshly through his nose before stepping closer to her. “This is not only because you made salmon.” Her eyes tracked his hand as it rose to grip the front fold of his haori in his fist. “This – this is all I have left of my family.”
“My sister,” he gestured to the red half of his haori. “She died protecting me.” His hand drifted to the green and orange patterned half of the garment. “And this belonged to a dear friend. He also perished protecting me – and others.”
The Miko’s lips parted, understanding and sorrow flooding her eyes. “Tomioka-san — Giyuu — I had no idea —“
“They both died because of demons – because I could not help them. And now this is all I have left to remember them by.” And then he did the unthinkable; he grabbed her hand and pressed it against the checkered portion of his haori, right over his heart. His hand was warm and firm. Gentle, though she could feel his callouses against her knuckles as he held it in place. “So it wasn’t just salmon.” He repeated, and there was a heat in his eyes Y/N had not seen before, one that stoked a fire in her belly. “And you are not just anyone.”
A soft exhale blew past her lips at the sincerity of his words. For the first time in all her nineteen years, she wondered if this was what it meant to mean something to someone.
“Thank you,” she breathed, eyes wide and sparkling with unshed emotion. “I will treasure it.”
She swore she saw a faint blush creep across the Water Pillar’s cheeks, but she brushed it aside as nothing more than the shadows of the sky as twilight darkened the horizon.
Tomioka nodded. “I must get going now; I will see you soon.”
She did not want him to go.
But the shrine maiden concealed the pang she felt in her chest with a breezy smile. “Farewell, Tomio-“
“Giyuu.”
She blushed. “Yes — Giyuu. Until next time.”
—
“I cannot believe he lets the old woman charge him an arm and a leg to stay a single night,” Miyoko said in awe as the pair watched the retreating form of the Water Pillar through the shrine house gates.
The hairpin clutched tightly in her hands suddenly felt like a stone weight. “I’m sure he stays here only for convenience’s sake,” Y/N replied airily, turning sharply away from the egress to the shrine to hide her warming cheeks.
Miyoko snorted. “Hardly. The Demon Slayer Corps has tons of safehouses throughout the country. Corps members get medical treatment, hot meals, and lodging free of charge.” Y/N’s sister-in-training grunted as she heaved a hefty bag of rice flour from the storeroom to the girls’ side, no doubt hauling it out to prepare the evening meal.
“I’ve heard of at least four such houses in this region alone. As a Hashira, Tomioka-sama could go to any one of them and be treated far more kindly than he is here.”
Y/N frowned. “I wonder why, then, he continues to return here so often? Surely our shrine is some distance from his home, given that he stays the night each time.”
Miyoko shot the young shrine maiden a knowing glance. “Perhaps he tolerates the Granny’s abuse because he is fond of the company.”
Y/N only felt her face grow hotter as she ducked down, though she felt Miyoko’s amused stare burn through her back.
—-
The Water Pillar had returned from his intel assignment and promptly journeyed to the Shrine, its inhabitants abuzz as they prepared for the arrival of autumn and the colder months, now only mere weeks away.
He found the shrine maiden of his interest inside the main wing of the manor, back in the kitchen as she prepared herbs to be incorporated into various salves and medications. Y/N smiled brightly at him as he’d sidled up beside her, taking a handful of dried greenery from the bunch next to her and deftly pulling the leaves from the stem and handing them to her.
“Is it your day off?” The Miko gratefully accepted the leaves he’d stripped and dumped them into the rocky mortar to join the others.
Giyuu felt his stomach clench as his fingers brushed against hers. “I have completed my duties for the time being, yes.”
"You're welcome to help me, as long as you do not mind a bit of busy work."
He didn't; of course he didn't. In fact, as he accepted the heavy stone pestle from the Miko and set to work mashing the leaves she handed them into the mortar, Giyuu rather supposed he would do just about anything to remain in the shrine maiden's company, even if that meant assisting her in a task as banal as grinding medicinal herbs. And though the Slayer and the Miko fell into their well-practiced habit of quietly tending to Y/N's duties side by side, there was a notable absence of the bright chatter he'd grown accustomed to hearing during his visits.
The Water Pillar frowned. “You’re quiet.” It was not a question. “There is something on your mind.”
“Is there?” Y/N hummed loftily, her hands continuing to strip leaves from their stems. “Perhaps I am simply focused.”
Giyuu found his eyes wandering to the side to study the Miko’s face more often than usual. Though she maintained a pleasant smile as they worked, he could see that it did not fully reach her eyes. And even her sage expression could not conceal the way the troubled look in her eyes, hands pausing their work as she stared at something behind the walls of the small shrine kitchen.
“Something is bothering you.” Giyuu took the bundle of herbs clutched in her hands and replaced them with his pestle, allowing her to work her frustrations over the paste forming at the bottom of the stone bowl.
She blushed and refocused her gaze, grinding the pestle hard. “Nothing is wrong!” She chirped.
“You are a dreadful liar.”
The Miko replied with an airy laugh that made his throat tighten. “So I’ve been told — often, in fact.”
“There is…trouble in the village,” Y/N said carefully, though she kept her hands busy as she continued to grind herbs into a thick paste. “It is nothing we can’t handle, but it has put many of us on edge. Particularly Granny.”
Giyuu frowned as he handed the shrine maiden another bunch of leaves from her basket. “What sort of trouble?”
She hesitated. “It is petty village drama, nothing more.”
“You won’t give any further details?”
The Water Pillar could not explain it, but he found himself troubled by the way the Shrine Maiden forced a smile and a far too casual shrug of her shoulders. “There are none worth re-hashing.”
He frowned, but he did not press her further, resolving instead to poke around later. Perhaps he would see whether the Shrine’s head Priestess’s tongue was as loose with information as it was with vulgarity once she’d properly indulged in her sake; he’d make certain she was well-stocked in advance.
Giyuu furtively glanced back at the shrine maiden’s profile, in part to see whether he could deduce anything from her expressions, but he found himself instead studying her, puzzling over a change in her appearance he hadn’t noticed before.
Sensing his stare, the Miko turned to him with a light smile that then faltered. “What –?”
“You changed your hair.” It took everything within him not to reach out, to see if her hair would feel as silky in his fingers as it looked shifting softly in the wind. “I’ve never seen it down.”
“Oh!” Her smile turned bashful, a pretty pink dusting spreading across her cheeks. “I wanted to wear my hairpin – see?”
She turned her head, the long curtain of her hair rippling smoothly with the movement. With her back to him, Giyuu could see the pin he’d given her neatly tucked into the long strands of her hair, pinning half of it back. The red of the pin’s maple leaves posed a lovely contrast with the hue of her hair.
Y/N was already quite beautiful, but with her hair partially down, he thought she looked softer; younger. She peeked over her shoulder at him, fingers nervously combing through her tresses. “It’s not practical for every day, of course, but I thought since you’d likely be arriving soon –”
His eyes widened and Giyuu became acutely aware that his heart now thumped wildly in his throat as Y/N choked off with a squeak, apparently realizing what she’d revealed. Though she hurriedly turned back around, Giyuu could see how the tips of her ears burned bright red.
Despite her efforts, her admission hung like a cloud in the air between them. She’d worn it – the hairpin – for him.
Giyuu swallowed thickly. “I like it.” He cleared his throat and turned, allowing his own unruly hair to obscure his face. “On you, that is.”
For once, the Miko had neither a quick remark nor barb to lob back at him. Instead, she only turned back to her task of grinding her herbs, a thick curtain of her hair concealing her face from his sight.
Once she'd finished bottling up her new medicinal salves, Giyuu helped her carry the tins to the Shrine's storage house, directly across the courtyard from its main wing. The shrine maiden remained curiously quiet, even in spite of his own lame attempts to converse with her. He'd finally given up after his dry comment about the weather went ignored. But every so often, he let his eyes wander to her as they returned to the honden, and that nagging feeling returned as he watched her gnaw incessantly at her bottom lip, a faraway look in her eyes.
Giyuu was not a nosy man, but the Miko's clear distraction unsettled him. He was about to pull her aside, to demand she tell him exactly what it was that had chased away the smile he so longed to see when they were approached by Y/N's haughty Master.
“Lord Tomioka,” the head Priestess nodded curtly at him in greeting. “I am glad to have run into you — I am in need of your assistance.”
The old Priestess turned to her young protégée. “Go assist the younger ones; they need to give their offerings before dinner.”
Y/N’s mouth opened to protest but the head Priestess cut her off. “Now.”
To his surprise, the shrine maiden did not argue with her Master, only turning to him to give him a helpless shrug before she began to make her way toward the Shrine’s honden.
The Water Pillar grimaced. He tried to convince himself the pit in his stomach was only because her odd behavior gnawed at him; that he was only curious to learn what it was that troubled her. But as the Miko cast one last, reluctant look over her shoulder at him, Giyuu found that he was as unwilling to watch her go as she was to leave.
If the Shrine’s head priestess noticed his inner anguish, she paid it no mind. “You will accompany me in the kitchen.”
—-
The first thing he noticed was the conspicuous absence of the scent of sake, which he’d grown accustomed to following the Priestess around like a pungent cloud of perfume. He resisted the urge to scowl; he would have to find another way to get the old woman to talk.
Giyuu followed the woman into the small structure that stood adjacent to the honden that served as the Shrine’s kitchen. He watched silently as she pulled a cleaver, large and deadly sharp, free from where it was stored in a cabinet and laid it atop a butcher’s block. The elder stepped outside of the kitchen and returned a moment later, a recently de-feathered and skinned chicken in hand.
“Things around here seem…tense,” Giyuu observed carefully as the old woman slapped the chicken on the counter for preparation.
“Tense is one word for it, I reckon,” she bit, taking up her cleaver. “The world we live in is dark. I should think you would know that better than most.”
The corner of his mouth dipped down. “But even your girls seem unusually subdued; distracted.”
Her eyes flashed to his, piercing and sharp. “You mean Y/N.”
It wasn’t a question.
“She is always restless this time of year,” the old woman sighed. “Though she loves autumn, she despises winter — or, rather, she despises how it reminds her of what she does not have. And winter is well on its way.”
He nodded, recalling what the shrine maiden had revealed to him that day, on the hillside.
“But your observation is correct — that is not all of the reason she is so distracted,” the old Priestess said darkly, and Giyuu was surprised to see how alert and focused the normally soused elder seemed. “A man from the village — Susumo — has been following her. Demanding her.”
Giyyu straightened. “What do you mean by ‘demand?’”
The haggard woman cursed below her breath as she broke down the chicken’s body. “I mean in the way that men often feel entitled to women — especially angry drunks like him.”
Every hair on Giyuu’s body stood straight as the weight of the Priestess’ warning settled.
“I have forbidden her from venturing out in the dark alone,” the Granny continued, harshly wrenching a joint on the fowl.
“She is a Priestess in training; surely that status affords her some protection?” Giyuu’s knuckles turned white where his fists clenched at his sides.
“I’m not sure the shrine is enough to keep him out for much longer. He’s been lingering — and threatening consequences, if I do not agree to hand her over to him for marriage.” The old Priestess grimaced. “Her status does her no good if he burns this place to the ground.”
The old woman set her cleaver next to her with a heavy thud, her frustration palpable. “The girl is of age, and I am not her blood family; there is no one here who can claim authority over her, not like a parent or an elder sibling.” When her eyes lifted to his, Giyuu could see a hint of fear underlying the hard anger in her gaze. “These days, I half-expect to awaken and find that she’s been stolen in the night.”
The Water Pillar felt his jaw clench. It was rare that he felt the burning flush of anger and it was not directed at a demon, but the idea that Y/N was being harassed and threatened by some village drunkard who felt entitled to her, lit something hot in his stomach. For as vexatious and confounding as he found the young Miko to be, no one deserved to be stalked like prey.
Especially her.
“I’ve had a crow stationed here to alert me of any demon attacks for months,” Giyuu began, and the old woman looked to him in surprise. “But I will assign more to keep watch during the day. If there is anything strange afoot, they will tell you.” He paused a moment before adding, “And they will alert me, too.”
The head Priestess laid down her cleaver to look at him, long and hard. “Then she may have a fighting chance yet, Lord Hashira.”
————-
By the time he found Y/N once more, dinner was over and the moon had risen high in the night sky, casting the shrine grounds in its pale, silvery glow.
He’d told her, rather tersely, that he was unable to stay the night, and he tried to ignore how his chest tightened at the crestfallen look that flashed across her face. Despite her tangible disappointment, she insisted on escorting him out of the Shrine, desperate to cling to every second that might be spared to them.
“You are rather quiet tonight,” the Miko observed, walking him to the grand Torii. “More so than usual.” It was an understatement; the Water Pillar had been downright sullen and withdrawn from the moment he’d returned from whatever takes Granny had insisted she help him with.
Rather than give her any explanation, Giyuu halted his step and reached for her wrist, stilling her. “You did not tell me you were being harassed.”
She looked up to the Water Pillar in surprise. “How did you —?”
He released her from his grip in favor of drawing closer to her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Y/N opened and closed her mouth, struggling to find her words. “I suppose,” she began, but her mouth quirked down in a frown. “I did not think you needed to be burdened by something so insignificant.”
Giyuu stared at her as he mouthed the word insignificant, the look he shot her giving the distinct impression he thought her an idiot. “I do not think your safety is insignificant,” Giyuu’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, clenching it tight. “Nor do I think you are insignificant.”
“Compared to your other obligations? I should think I’m very unimportant.” Y/N turned away from him, fiddling with a gathering basket she carried on her hip to avoid having to look him in the eyes.
But the raven-haired Pillar caught her wrist and turned her back to face him, not willing to be ignored. “If you call for me, I will come to you.”
Y/N’s heart lurched at the Water Pillar’s words, spoken with such conviction and sincerity that it made her falter in her step. “Tomioka-san,” she said breathlessly, her eyes wide as she turned to him. “You have far more important duties to see to than to concern yourself with than mere village drama —“
But the raven-haired Hashira only shook his head as he took another step towards her, his expression severe; calculating. “You have the knife I gave you, yes?” His eyes dropped to her pocket, and Y/N felt compelled to show him that the small blade was indeed tucked safely within the folds of her hakama pants.
“Giyuu,” she pled, and she noted the way that he twitched towards her at the sound of his name falling from her lips. “Please, don’t worry —“
“I do not make promises I cannot keep,” the Water Pillar cut her off, closing the distance between them until the tips of his zori nearly grazed hers, his head bent down towards her as the heat of his stare threatened to consume her. “So I repeat: if you call for me, I will come to you.”
Any thought of arguing faded from her mind as Y/N became keenly aware of the lack of space between their bodies, of the way her hands, clasped in front of her chest brushed against the folds of his haori as it shifted softly with the wind.
“I understand,” she breathed. Y/N held his gaze for a long moment, though it was in part due to the battle waging within her not to allow her eyes to drop to his lips.
She would not let herself acknowledge how close they were; how soft they looked, or how warm they might feel against hers; her skin.
Giyuu lingered as well; after a pregnant pause, he finally stepped back, blinking as though coming out of a trance. “Good,” he nodded, and he glanced furtively over her shoulder. His eyes narrowed and he nodded as though satisfied before he turned crisply on his heel to begin his trek towards his duties and away from her. “Do not forget.” He called one last time over his shoulder, before the shadows of the woods swallowed him whole.
As Y/N dazedly made her way back towards the shrine, a crow following closely behind her, she almost laughed at the suggestion she could.
——-
Autumn, 1915
The weeks passed by without much fuss, and soon, the palpable tension that had settled over the Shrine as a result of Susumo’s lingering threats subsided. Soon, life at the Shrine returned to normal, and Y/N often found her mind wandering to thoughts of raven hair and endless blue eyes.
Until that night.
It had been a normal evening at the Shrine; autumn, blissful autumn had arrived, heralding forth crisp winds and golden skies. Though the days were steadily growing shorter, Y/N found herself rejuvenated by the new chill, especially as she watched the leaves of the trees shift from green to gold to ruby.
The leaves on her hairpin indeed had been a perfect match to those which were steadily drifting from the tall maples dotting the Shrine. Though she couldn’t wear her hair down the way she had the last time the Water Pillar paid the Shrine a visit, Y/N had found new ways to incorporate his gift into her daily life, weaving it through her plait or tucking it behind her ear.
That night had been one like any other; after dinner, the girls of the Shrine had scattered to tend to their evening duties. The shrine maiden had been walking alongside her Master, planning for the upcoming festival in the nearby village, during which the Shrine would seek new patrons to keep it operational. The women mulled over which families might be more inclined to assist them, and settled on a prominent merchant known to frequent other shrines on his travels through the country.
That was when they’d spotted the smoke.
“Fire!” A shrill voice cried, and both the old Priestess and Y/N blanched. “The honden is on fire!”
All at once, chaos broke out across the Shrine grounds as girls darted to and fro, frantic. Granny began barking at her charges, ordering the younger ones to gather in the courtyard while instructing the older girls to assist in putting out the flames.
"The granary!" Someone else cried. "The granary has gone up in flames!"
The elder Priestess snatched Y/N's wrist in her weathered hand. “The scrolls!” Granny's expression of horror was a sure match to her own. “They’re in the storeroom near the granary!”
The scrolls in question had been in the Shrine’s custody for over five hundred years, carrying sacred inscriptions of the gods and prayers essential to its operation and legitimacy.
They were priceless; irreplaceable.
“I’ll go!” And before her Master could protest, the Miko had already turned away and began sprinting toward the fire that was rapidly engulfing the granary near the back of the property.
Thankfully, the storeroom had yet to catch fire, but if the one steadily consuming the granary was not dealt with soon, it wouldn’t be long before it spread to consume the small wooden hut.
And Y/N knew it wouldn’t take much to reduce the storeroom to ash.
Coughing, she pressed her arm to her nose and mouth, using the large bell sleeve of her kosode to block some of the smoke that burned her eyes and nose. She pulled her other sleeve over her hand to protect it as she pushed the storehouse’s door aside.
Inside was dark; quiet. Though the nighttime made it difficult for her to see the scrolls and prints carefully rolled and tucked away into tiny cubbies lining the hut’s walls, Y/N wasn’t stupid enough to waste time searching for a candle to light. So, with only the flames eating away at the granary at her back to light her way, she began pulling handfuls of scrolls free from their storage, tucking them under her arm.
She turned to take her first armload of priceless Shrine artifacts from the storeroom and nearly tripped over a collection of heated coal pans that had been stacked in the corner to keep the scrolls sealed within the room at a stable temperature. She managed to hold onto her scrolls, however, and she quickly moved them away from the hut, placing them safely on a nearby rock that was still far enough away from the storeroom should it catch fire. She returned to the hut to survey what else she needed to salvage, but a familiar, tiny yelp and the flurry of movement in her periphery made the Miko’s stomach twist.
“Komatsu!” Y/N turned and saw the anxious younger girl lingering at the storage hut’s door, her tiny hands trembling. “Get away from here! It’s not safe!”
“B-but Sister,” the girl cried, hopping anxiously from foot to foot. “This is too much to do on your own —“
“You need to go find Granny,” the shrine maiden ordered. “I will join you in a moment.”
The girl’s lower lip wobbled. “But —,”
“Now!”
With a great sniff, the girl turned away, leaving Y/N alone once more. The Miko sighed and resumed her hasty perusal of the hut’s shelves, searching for anything else that could not be replaced.
There was a rustling near the doorway and Y/N bit her lip in an effort not to swear in front of her younger peer. “Komatsu, what did I say —“
She turned to admonish the girl, but her reprimand dried instantly on her tongue. For there, in the entryway to the storeroom, was Komatsu, her eyes wide and her face bone-white with a terror that matched Y/N’s own.
Because the girl was not alone.
Wrapped around her bicep was a hand, as large as a small boulder, and tipped with long, wicked claws that threatened to pierce Komatsu’s bicep. The hand was attached to a forearm, inhumanly thick and muscled. Slowly, Y/N’s eyes dragged up the length of the monstrous arm to behold the sinister face that grinned at her.
It was Susumo — only it wasn’t Susumo. Y/N recognized the vague features of the face that had once belonged to the village drunk and her personal tormentor. His hair was the same as was the general shape of his face, and the cruelty of his smirk, but that was where the resemblance to the Susumo she’d once known ended.
Now, he boasted a row of sharp fangs that distended nearly to his lower lip. And his eyes — no longer were they a cold, soulless black; now they were crimson red, and his pupils were cut into catlike slits.
Demon. A voice whispered in her mind. Demon.
“Enjoy my fires, Priestess?” Even Susumo’s voice had changed, forming a growl that matched his monstrous appearance. “I set them for you — I knew you would not be able to resist seeing such a spectacle.”
“Komatsu,” Y/N ignored him in favor of addressing the young girl, though her voice was unusually high though she fought to keep it as steady as possible. “Please go find Granny and help her with the honden.”
The young trainee trembled but Susumo’s clawed hand only tightened around her arm. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, sweet Priestess,” the demon crooned. “You have something I want, you see.”
The slick, oily look in his eyes made his desire clear.
Y/N’s eyes darted quickly around the hut, finally falling on a series of coal pans stacked to the side of the room, only a few feet from where she stood, paralyzed. Her quick, cursory glance at the pans revealed iron that was slightly red, and she swore she could see the air around them distorted by the heat.
Hot; they were still hot.
The Miko looked back to where the demon continued to leer at her, ravenous. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I will go with you, Susumo.”
Komatsu looked between her and the demon in horror, but Y/N only kept her eyes locked with the demon’s. She edged closer to where the coal pans were still burning hot, eyes not daring to drop his as she drew closer to the demon and the younger trainee. He grinned, revealing cruelly sharp and bloodstained teeth, and his yellow eyes shone with a triumphant smugness, believing the Miko was surrendering to him at last.
As she brushed past the pans, Y/N furtively reached out a hand and closed her fingers around one of the handles. “Komatsu,” the Miko kept her eyes carefully trained on the demon. “Run.”
Her hand seized around the coal pan and with every ounce of her strength, she swung it toward the demon. The hot iron of the pan slammed into the side of his head, forcing him to drop his hold on the younger girl. There was a struggle between the older shrine maiden and the demon, who fought to wrench the pan free from her fierce grip, but Y/N would not relent.
“Run!” She shrieked at the girl again, and Komatsu darted away. Y/N’s fingers stretched to close around the tiny lever on the handle of the coal pan, and with a snarl of fury, she managed to latch around it, squeezing it with all her might. The lid of the pan opened and red-hot coals spilled forth over the demon’s head. Susumo howled in fury, and Y/N dropped the pan, letting it crack against his head as she shot past him, desperate to escape the tiny storeroom.
The faster she got into open air, the better chance she had of living.
But a claw, sharp and deadly sunk into her bicep, and yanked her back. She could not help the small scream that tore from her throat as she felt his talons rip at her skin and the sleeve of her kosode was shredded into ribbons beneath his nails.
“Sister Y/N!” Komatsu’s tiny, terrified voice cried out from several feet ahead.
The shrine maiden swallowed her building panic. “Go!”
The little girl hesitated again and Y/N knew she could not follow after her, not without risking her safety once again. With a defiant scream of rage, the shrine maiden tore her arm free of the demon’s razor-like claws, fighting back the bile that rose in her throat as she felt blood run down her arm, hot and thick.
The demon grasped wildly at her but found only air. Thinking only of the safety of Komatsu and her fellow trainees, Y/N turned on her heel and ran for the trees, away from the chaos unfolding at the Shrine.
And the demon, still snarling and panting and undoubtedly enraged, followed her into the forest.
Shit, shit, shit!
Y/N hurtled over a snarled root as she ran, her life dependent upon every stride as she fled the newly-demented Susumo.
In the back of her mind, the Miko knew her efforts were in vain; because for every inch she managed to gain, the angry demon at her heels seemed to gain a foot.
“You’ve denied me for far too long!” The monster’s voice growled behind her, far too close for comfort. “I will have you!”
Y/N palmed the small nichirin knife tucked safely within the deep pockets of her hakama pants, and wildly she wondered whether it was possible to decapitate a demon with such a small blade. Perhaps the Water Pillar should have left her a sword. After all, a sword could not really be that different from a broom, and she’d walloped her fair share of handsy drunkards and would-be thieves with the cleaning tool.
If she lived through the night, she would tell him as much the next time she saw him.
Y/N’s musings did nothing to help her avoid the root of an old tree that jutted out from the earth, snarling around her ankle and sending her flailing to the forest floor. Angry tears of frustration clouded her eyes. Although she knew these paths like the back of her hand, that knowledge did her little good in the dark, as she fled for her life.
Scrambling up to her feet, Y/N caught sight of a pair of eyes watching her from the brambles, dark and inky.
A crow. The image of a certain Hashira flashed before her eyes, as Y/N recalled the way that the members of the Demon Slayer Corps used crows to communicate.
Perhaps this crow was so affiliated, and she was desperate enough to try. “Please!” Y/N begged, sobbing as the crow stared down at her with those black eyes. “Giyuu!”
———
The night had been unusually peaceful for the Water Pillar.
His ambling patrol around his territory’s perimeter hadn’t revealed so much as a whisper of demonic activity. But the absence of any conspicuous threat did not mean his guard was down; his eyes remained sharp, his ear finely tuned, listening for any shift in the wind, any sign that something was amiss and required investigation —
A sudden rustle of leaves sounded from his right, and Giyuu’s hand moved reflexively for his blade, bracing against its hilt in preparation. A small shadow burst from the canopy above him, its wings flapping wildly. He recognized it instantly as the crow he’d assigned to watch over the Shrine — to watch over her.
“Demon attack at the Mountain Shrine!” The crow squawked, circling above him frantically. “Demon attack! Go now — quickly!”
He hadn’t hesitated to turn sharply on his heel, furiously making his way toward the Shrine. He broke through the line of trees at its edge in record time, and even he’d been taken aback by the chaos that had broken out.
“The honden is on fire!” the old woman cried out to the Pillar as he swiftly landed among the chaos unfolding across the shrine grounds. “The girls were still doing their evening duties – but then another fire was started near the granary!”
“My crows said a demon had made an appearance,” Giyuu’s eyes carefully scanned the terrified, frantic faces of the Shrine’s residents, his hands braced against the hilt of his sword. “Has anyone been hurt?”
The head Priestess stared at the Water Pillar in muted horror. “I have not seen – but I haven’t taken any headcount of the girls to know –”
A piercing cry from near the south gate of the Shrine cut the old woman off, and both Priestess and Slayer whipped toward the sound. A girl, no more than nine, was half-running, half-stumbling toward them, frightened tears streaking down her face.
“Komatsu!” the old Priestess blanched as she caught sight of the small apprentice’s busted, bloodied lip. With a sob, the young girl flung herself into her elder’s arms and clung tightly to her. “What on earth –?”
“Sister Y/N!” the girl called Komatsu wailed, and Giyuu felt himself go cold. “Granny – th-that man – he’s a monster!”
The head Priestess paled in recognition. “Susumo?” Giyuu’s gut clenched at the name. The old woman knelt before the girl, her hands clutching wildly at her slim shoulders as she shook her lightly to recenter her. “Komatsu, was Susumo the monster?”
The young girl nodded. “He was so – hiccup – fast! I didn’t even see him!” She only cried harder. “And t-then Sister Y/N – she grabbed the coal pan and dumped it on him until he let go.” Komatsu trembled as she lifted a shaking hand to wipe at her cheeks. “A-and then she t-told me to r-run –”
THe old Priestess caught the girl’s quivering chin in her hand and forced her to meet her eyes. “Where is Y/N, Komatsu?”
Komatus’s eyes were wide with fear. “She ran,” she whispered. “Into the woods – b-but Granny – she was bleeding –”
The Shrine’s Priestess turned to the Slayer, ready to beg him to follow after the demon and her apprentice, but the Water Pillar was gone. For a brief moment, she feared all hope was lost; that they’d been abandoned and non one would be able to save the young Miko – her heir – from whatever horrid fate awaited her at the ends of Susumo’s crazed, brutal claws.
She caught a flurry of movement right against the dark line of trees that snagged her attention; a flap of the edge of a mismatched haori, and the glint of a blade being drawn, its wielder already furiously making his way into the shadowy depths of the forest.
The Priestess exhaled and clutched her trembling young trainee to her chest. As she soothed the shaken young girl, the old woman prayed the Water Pillar would not be too late.
–
She was fucked; well and truly fucked.
Y/N had no idea how long she’d spent sprinting furiously through the forest, but she knew she was quickly running out of stamina. Worse, it seemed the demon on her heels knew she was slowing, and was now playing with her. But even his patience seemed to be at its wit’s end; for a sudden sharp blow to her back sent the Miko flying several feet forward until she slammed against the uneven, rough terrain of the forest floor.
Y/N gasped for air that would not come as she tried to push herself up. Crawl! Her mind begged her body. Crawl, damn you!
A dark chuckle from behind sent every hair on her body standing straight on end. A hand locked around her ankle and flipped her over until she was nearly nose to nose with the demon crouched over her. “Got you,” he sang, and the moonlight glinted off the sharp edge of his fangs as he grinned.
Her fingers found the handle of the knife the Water Pillar had gifted her in her pocket. With a determined grunt, she pulled it free and plunged it deep into the meat of his shoulder, praying furiously to any god who would listen that she might have hit an artery so that he would bleed out.
The demon loosed an enraged scream and fell away from her, hands blindly fumbling for the blade.
No longer pinned beneath him, Y/N scrambled back. Her hands scraped against the broken brush and pebbles below her in her desperate attempt to put distance between herself and the demon rising to his feet ahead of her, snarling. As he began advancing toward her, Susumo gripped the knife she’d buried in his shoulder and with a grunt, he wrenched it free and tossed it carelessly to the side, right along with the last shred of any hope she’d had of making it out of the woods alive.
The demon’s mouth curled into a cruel, savage grin, the moonlight glinting off his long, wicked fangs. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he growled, saliva dripping down his chin as his nostrils widened to scent her blood and her fear.
This was it; there was nowhere for her to run, no weapon she could try and protect herself with. There was nothing she could do; she was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Just as Susumo drew upon her, close enough that she could smell the rancid, pungent odor of rotted meat on his breath, he stumbled back, startled.
One moment the demon was standing mere inches from her, ready to devour her whole; the next, he was sent sailing back, his body smashing into the trunk of a nearby tree with a sickening thump!
A blur of dark matter soared over the Miko’s head toward the monster. Susumo barely had time to stand before the shadow converged on him once more. There was a flash of light — the moon reflecting off metal — followed by a dull thud. The shrine maiden’s heart lodged in her throat as she watched the head of the former village drunkard roll across the forest floor before distingrating, his body following soon after.
She was nearly hyperventilating as the shadow turned to face her, but the pall of the moon finally illuminated the face of her savior — her Water Pillar.
“G-Giyuu,” she stuttered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears of relief that washed over her all at once.
But Giyuu did not respond, his lapis eyes narrowing in on the dark stain spreading across the white of her kosode. Y/N cowered at the cold, unbridled rage that contorted the ordinarily stoic Hashira’s face as he began to shake at the sight of her blood. In a flash, Giyuu had closed the distance between them and knelt down by her side, gripping her wounded arm in his hand as he tried to pull her tattered sleeve down and inspect her wound.
“Tomioka — Giyuu,” she pled, trying to wrench her arm from his iron-like grip. “Please, it’s not that bad —“
“Did it get you anywhere else?” Giyuu demanded harshly, and the authority underlying his tone made Y/N fall silent for the first time since she’d known him. “Did it -“ the Water Pillar hesitated. “Did it touch you anywhere else?”
Y/N was trembling, and the Hashira’s hand around her arm tightened. “Ah!” She winced. “No, I promise, Giyuu, it’s just a flesh wound, I’m fine-,”
“You are bleeding. You are not fine.” Giyuu snapped back. “You could’ve been killed, or turned, or -,” the Water Pillar began to hyperventilate, and it shook the young Miko to her core. The Water Hashira was normally so unflappable, so stoic, that his panicked anger frightened her.
“-So do not tell me you’re fine,” Giyuu’s rant continued. “Not when you could’ve — not when I might’ve failed — not again --”
She was at a loss for what to do as she watched the raven-haired man struggle to form words. Vaguely, she recalled the way the Granny-Priestess had once explained to her that when someone panicked, they needed to regulate their breathing, and there were many ways someone could help force another to breathe properly…
Stomach fluttering, Y/N’s free hand came up to grip the fold of the Water Pillar’s haori. Giyuu’s incessant rambling only ended when her lips urgently pressed against his own, his eyes going wide. A heartbeat or two passed and then the Miko pulled away, her eyes serious as she stared at the stunned Water Hashira.
“You need to give me a sword.” She told him, earnestly, her face blazing.
———
Giyuu helped her back to the Shrine, though the Miko found herself needing to bat off the Water Pillar with a stern reminder that she’d only sustained a small arm wound as he’d tried to scoop her up into his arms.
The Swordsman had been rather subdued the entire journey out of the forest, his eyes curiously wide and dazed right until the pair breached the tree line at the edge of the Shrine’s property. The moment they stepped into open ground, they were swarmed by the tearful, relieved faces of the Shrine’s inhabitants. Words of gratitude to him were woven through worries over the Miko’s arm wound as they made their way across toward the small infirmary which, thankfully, had not been touched by Susumo’s fire.
The honden itself was still standing; though the flames had finally been subdued, smoke still curled up toward the sky, blocking any view of the moon or the stars.
The head Priestess waited for them outside the infirmary. Though her face was grave, Giyuu could spy the relief shining in her eyes. He stood numbly by as the Miko and her master regarded each other warily for a moment, before the elder Priestess reached forward and yanked her charge forward into a fierce embrace.
“Reckless girl,” she chastised gently against the side of Y/N’s head. “Thank every one of the gods that you’re safe.” The old Priestess’s eyes found those of the Water Pillar. “And thank you, Lord Tomioka.”
Y/N was promptly escorted inside to have her wound examined and stitched. Despite the old shrine keeper’s gratitude for his aid in saving the young shrine maiden, that thankfulness apparently did not extend to permitting him inside the infirmary with them, and for good reason. For under the Elder’s withering glare, the Water Pillar realized that Y/N’s treatment would require her to be stripped of her kosode, leaving her exposed and bare.
As unwilling as he’d been to part from her, the thought of witnessing the Miko undressed and vulnerable had been enough to temper his urge to look after her, if nothing else because the mental image of her in such a state flustered him to no end.
Though, he supposed his bewilderment also had something to do with what had transpired between them in the forest.
Kissed him; the shrine maiden had kissed him.
His fingers drifted to his lips. They still felt warm where they’d been graced by hers, and he swore he could still feel the softness of her mouth from where it had brushed against his.
He needed to talk to her; he needed to know what the hell she’d been thinking, kissing him like that.
But as shocking as the Miko’s kiss had been, there was something else, something far heavier, that weighed on his mind.
She’d nearly been killed. By a demon. On his watch.
He should’ve apologized; he should’ve begged for her forgiveness for letting her come that close with death. For letting her get wounded because he hadn’t been fast enough.
I was concerned for you, he wanted to tell her. I thought I would be too late.
No; concern didn’t cover it; did not do near enough justice to his true emotions upon learning the Miko had fled into the dark forest with a hungry, loathsome demon hot on her trail.
He’d been scared; terrified; almost beside himself at the possibility that he’d be too late and find that she’d already been reduced to the beast’s meal,
He’d been scared he’d never again see her smile or hear her laugh, and that had terrified him more than anything. For it was the memory of both that soothed his anxious nerves each time he startled awake from visions of his dead loved ones, demanding to know why they had died in his stead.
He’d feared that he would have to add her face to those he saw when he slept — the faces of those he’d failed to protect, who’d died for his sake. He’d been terrified of seeing her image in painstaking clarity, just as he saw the faces of his sister and Sabito every morning.
He did not know what to do with them, these confusing feelings, so abundant and intense that they’d welled up within him and threatened to spill over. He couldn’t name them, let alone begin to untangle the knot they’d formed within his heart. All he knew was that every one of them were inextricably tied to her.
His shrine maiden.
His.
—
Y/N’s arm ached, but it had been properly sewn and bandaged, and there was work to do before she could settle in for the night; and so, she found herself helping her peers with cleaning up the courtyard from the debris of the night’s events.
Truthfully, she'd been grateful for the distraction. Occupying herself with cleanup meant she did not have to think about what she’d done in the forest. But then Granny Priestess saw her trying to heave away broken wood with her freshly stitched arm and Y/N found herself forced to abandon her fellow trainees as the old bat smacked her upside the head and squawked about how she was going to break her stitching and complicate the healing process.
The Miko tried not to pout as she retreated, opting instead to grumble over the old woman’s dramatics as her arm stung and her ego throbbed. When she finally returned to her sleeping quarters, exhaustion slammed into her, making her limbs heavy and leaden. Unable to quite rally the energy to crawl into her futon, she slumped against the doorway of the room, her head and her heart a tangled mess of emotions she couldn’t quite name.
What she’d felt the moment the Water Pillar had stepped into the moonlight had been more than mere relief that he’d managed to save her life for the second time. She’d felt safe, so unbelievably safe that the forest itself could have been on fire and she wouldn’t have been afraid; not as long as he was there with her.
Something between them had shifted; that much was clear. In truth, things likely had begun to change the moment she repaired his haori, and she’d admitted to him her deep-seated loneliness and lack of belonging.
She only hoped he felt the change, too.
—
Much to Y/N’s chagrin, autumn was quickly giving way to blasted winter.
Though, the Miko hadn’t been able to fully resent the rapid shift in the seasons; repairs at the Shrine had consumed nearly all of her attention, and as Granny’s heir, she was expected to contribute to its reconstruction more than any other trainee.
That expectation meant Granny left the task of figuring out how to finance the necessary repairs entirely to her young protege. Y/N had spent all of two days agonizing over ways to raise the necessary funds when she awoke to find a mysterious sack of money that had been left on the doorstep of the honden. Inside had been an amount more than generous to cover the cost of repairs from the fire, with a hefty remainder that could be put toward other necessary improvements to spruce the Shrine up, and perhaps restore it to its former glory.
No note had been left with the money to indicate the identity of the Shrine’s benefactor. But amid all the excitement of her peers at the thought of being able to afford materials and laborers to assist with the more difficult aspects of the Shrine’s refurbishment, Y/N had spotted a familiar crow perched high in a nearby tree.
That position had afforded the bird with a perfect view of the money sack, allowing it to silently ensure it fell into the proper hands. But repairs had finally slowed, and Y/N now found her days returning to normal. Almost.
What was not normal was how agitated she'd become in waiting for his return.
Another week passed without any communication from the Water Pillar, and the Miko had grown desperate for any sort of distraction. She found herself one late, autumn morning passing the time in the Shrine’s garden hut. She was pretending to be searching for tools that would help her prune the wilting Shrine garden when something grazed against the small of her back. Startled, she turned and was greeted by familiar, unruly raven hair and a pair of deep azure eyes.
“Giyuu,” his name slid easily off her tongue, and suddenly she could not remember why she’d called him anything else.
A ghost of a smile graced his lips. “Hello, Y/N.”
A poignant silence followed, and her cheeks grew hot. "Don't mind me," she said quickly, turning her head away from him as she pretended to organize stray gardening supplies. "I am only just now finishing my tasks for the day."
Though he remained silent, she became acutely aware of the way Giyuu’s eyes followed her as she tried desperately to keep herself busy, to avoid having to meet that piercing, discerning stare.
“I did not get a chance to properly thank you after the turmoil of that night,” she said casually. Nervously, she hoped that his heightened senses did not alert him to the way her heart fluttered in her chest, or how her stomach flipped in her gut. Her nails dug into her palms as she lifted her head to meet that unnerving, fathomless stare.
But the Water Pillar had already closed most of the distance between them, having moved so silently she’d not heard him, despite even the creaky, uneven slatted floor of the garden hut. “How is your wound?” He asked softly, his hand skirting up the outside of the arm Susumo had wounded. “Has it healed?”
It took a great amount of effort for Y/N to remember how to keep her breathing steady. But she forced her lips into an easy smile as she rucked up the flared sleeve of her kosode to reveal her bicep. “It will likely scar,” she admitted, her fingers lightly tracing over the three, angry red marks that remained imprinted on her skin, though they’d fully scabbed over. “I consider myself quite lucky, all things considered.”
“Why did you do it?”
The Miko ducked her head, willing the sheet of her hair to fall and conceal her mounting blush. She did not need to ask him to clarify; she knew after what he was asking.
But she feigned ignorance all the same. “I don’t know what you mean, Tomioka-sama –”
“Don’t call me that,” and even though she refused to meet his eyes, she could sense his irritation at her avoidance. “We’re well past such formalities, Y/N.” Giyuu stepped closer to her, his cerulean eyes melting into something more akin to the midnight blue of the evening sky. “You kissed me. That night.” The Water Pillar’s hand glided up the arm that Susumo had injured, caressing softly over the healed skin beneath the sleeve of her kosode.
“I-I did no such thing!” Y/N sputtered, though her reddening cheeks betrayed her. “I was only attempting to help you calm down — you were panicking, and inconsolable.”
Giyuu’s responding smirk only served to irritate her more. “Should I thank you then, Y/N?” His hand slid from her shoulder to below her chin, his delicate fingers curling to tilt her head up towards his, as he closed the distance between their bodies. “Should I show you how grateful I am that you were able to assuage my worry?”
Y/N tried to focus on anything but the feeling of Giyuu’s breath — warm and enticing — against her face as he leaned in close. “You had no reason to worry; I was completely fine before you showed up.”
“Fine,” the ravenette scoffed, his grip on her chin tightening slightly. “So fine that you were bleeding and about to become that beast’s snack — or worse.”
“But you saved me, did you not?” Y/N whispered, unable to stop her eyes from dropping to the Water Pillar’s sensual, soft-looking mouth before rising once more to meet his punishing gaze. “And then I helped you.”
Giyuu’s second hand brushed against her waist and the shrine maiden thought she might leap out of her skin. “You did,” he conceded, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a small, half-smile. “Though I apologize that you needed to do so — I suppose I become a little over-zealous when things that are precious to me are threatened.”
Even if she could have thought of some witty remark to throw back at him, those words surely would have been blocked by her heart as it lodged in her throat.
Things that were precious to him. She was precious to him.
“So I’ll ask again, Y/N,” Giyuu whispered, and his nose brushed delicately against hers. “Should I thank you for your assistance?” The fingers beneath her chin stroked her jaw. “Should I kiss you?”
She fought to suppress the excited shudder that licked up her spine. “Yes, Lord Hashira,” she breathed, and her stomach turned cartwheels as Giyuu’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Perhaps you should.”
“Who am I to deny the request of a priestess?” Giyuu murmured, and then his lips were moving against hers, warm and soft. Y/N’s fingers flew to clutch the Water Pillar’s rocky biceps beneath the soft cloth of his haori, anchoring him against her. The hand that had gripped below her chin slid to the side of her face, tilting her head so that the Water Pillar could have better access to her as he pressed his lips harder against hers.
Y/N moaned into his kiss, wanting him closer, impossibly closer to her than he currently was.
Giyuu broke away from her once, though he kept a hand on the back of her neck to keep her in place. “What are your duties today?”
Y/N’s fingers curled around the front of the Water Pillar’s haori, her forehead resting against his. “None of import.” She gave him a sly smile. “No one will miss me if I am gone for a few hours.”
Giyuu returned her smile with a tiny smirk of his own. “In that case,” he tugged her hand and he began to lead her towards the grassy overlook where they’d spent a great deal of time talking and learning one another. “I could use your assistance.”
–
Y/N hadn’t greeted the sunrise with the intent to neglect her shrine duties, but she couldn’t say she regretted how she ended up spending the day.
They spent the day resting on the hillside overlooking the shrine grounds, rolling back and forth upon the browning grass as they kissed each other again and again.
“You weren’t wrong, that day — right after we met,” Giyuu gasped against her lips as they broke apart, the blush on Y/N’s cheeks a sure match to his own. “I do not find you captivating.”
Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth parted, a protest on her tongue when Giyuu surged forward, his lips brushing against her neck. The Miko’s words choked off with a squeak as the Water Pillar danced his lips to the hollow of her throat, his tongue flicking out once right where her heart pulsed wildly.
“I think you are utterly transfixing; enchanting,” he breathed against her skin. “You have cast a spell over me that I do not want broken.”
“I find it hard to believe anyone could wield that sort of power over a Hashira,” Y/N’s voice was high pitched as Giyuu’s lips made their way back to hers.
In the back of her mind, Y/N wondered if his words were motivated purely by his physical desire for her. It would not have surprised her if he was only so taken with her because he longed to be touched; held. Like him, she’d gone much of her life without intimacy from anyone. She could not blame him for seeking it from someone so willing to give as she.
“But you are not just anyone, not to me.” was all he replied, his lips moving softly against hers once more. “You are…everything.”
Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The Water Pillars words, dripping like honey from his lips, were only sweetened by the fervent sincerity of his eyes as he pulled back to gaze into hers, so deeply, she felt as though he could see every thought in her head.
She wondered if he lowered that piercing, discerning stare, whether he’d be able to see straight to her heart, too; see how it bore his name.
Even though her breath guttered in her throat at his words, her heart clenched painfully in her chest. The idea that she’d attached more meaning to their relationship than he, that perhaps she’d overestimated her value to him made her tense, made her want to push him away and —
“You’re distracted,” Giyuu murmured against her lips, brushing his nose against hers. “Your thoughts are loud.”
Her fingers caught the front fold of his haori, fiddling idly with it. “There is nothing for you to repay, you know. You do not owe me your time or your attention. I know the Shrine is simply a part of your designated patrol. I understand if its convenience is the only reason —”
A single finger pressed itself against her lips, quieting her. “You think and talk too much.” The ravenette chastised. Her mouth parted, a protest forming on her lips, when he cut her off again. “Ah ah,” Giyuu silenced her with his lips, his tongue flicking out to skim along her bottom lip. Above her, he shifted and allowed his weight to fall against her, pinning her beneath him. Reluctantly, his mouth broke away from hers. “It is my turn to speak.”
“I do not come to the Shrine because it is easy,” Giyuu’s lips brushed hesitantly against her jaw. “Nor do I come here out of any preconceived obligation to repay your kindness.”
He pulled back to study her, panting and flushed beneath him. As his eyes slowly combed over her, Y/N felt a strange knot pull and twist in the depths of her stomach. “There is only one thing that brings me back here, no matter how exhausted I am after weeks of endless missions; no matter how often certain junior Corps members pester me to train them.” His eyes narrowed at the hollow of the Miko’s throat, exposed by the way her kosode had shifted as the pair of them rolled around the grass. Curious, Giyuu leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against it.
And then he did the unthinkable; the Water Pillar moaned, ever so softly, against the fluttering of Y/N’s frantic pulse. The sound, so rich and full of need – of want – washed over her and drowned out all other thoughts, all other higher reasoning from her mind. INstead, the Miko was left with nothing but the sharp urge to press her thighs together, an unknown heat beginning to pool in her most sacred area.
“Do you know what that thing is, Y/N?” He whispered against the soft dip in her throat, his breath hot as it fanned across her skin. “Can you guess what it is I cannot stay away from – could not, even if I desired otherwise?”
His fingers dropped to the collar of her kosode, tracing lightly over its crisp, white fold. “When I close my eyes in the mornings, it is your face I see,” he murmured. “It is your laugh I hear in my dreams; your scent I find myself longing for when I awaken.”
The Miko shivered as his index finger traced from her collar up her throat, over her chin until it came to rest on her bottom lip, gently stroking over its curve. “It is you I seek to turn to remind myself that there is still good in this world – good still worth protecting. Why is that, Y/N?” His eyebrows furrowed and he seemed almost earnest in his question. “Why is it that my mind refuses to be occupied by anything but you?”
“Because I vex you,” she said softly, eyes wide and locked with his. “Because, try as you might, you’ve never been able to fully fit me into a box as you have with others.”
Giyuu shook his head. “Vex me?” He tsked at her. “Perhaps once that was true. But now? I desire you in ways I can hardly understand, and it drives me mad.”
Her breath hitched in her throat. “What are you saying?”
“I think I’ve been rather clear,” and instinctively, Giyuu rolled his hips against hers, desperate to relieve some of the friction mounting in his groin. “And it’s that I want –”
But the Miko did not get to hear what Giyuu wanted; not as he was drowned out by the screeching cry of a bird from high above. Only, this bird was not the dull, graying crow she’d come to associate with her Swordsman.
“I thought your crow was older?”
The Water Pillar frowned as he turned to look up, his eyebrows drawn together. “That’s not Kanzaburo — that’s one of the Master’s —“
“CAW,” the bird circled above their heads in narrow, rapid turns. “Lord Tomioka! Return to headquarters immediately!”
Giyuu’s jaw clenched. “Can it not wait?”
Y/N, however, only gaped up at the bird flying above them. “It talks —?”
But the crow only cried again, “Emergency meeting at headquarters!!
With a short, frustrated exhale, Giyuu rolled to the side of the Miko and rose, but not before he extended a hand and helped lift her to her feet.
He gingerly brushed some loose grass from her hair. “I’m sorry.”
She only shook her head as she reached to adjust his haori, righting it in his shoulders. “It’s your duty, Giyuu. I understand that.”
He scowled back up at the bird still circling above them, bleating a refrain of “Emergency! Go now!”
“I’m not finished with this conversation,” Giyuu said plainly, a frustrated hand working through his hair. Though his annoyance was plain as day, it fell away as he looked back to the Miko at his side, his gaze softening. “Nor am I finished with you.”
A single finger reached under Y/N’s chin and lifted her head toward him so he could brush another kiss against her lips. “I will come see you – soon.”
With a shy boldness, the Miko rose on her toes and gave him one final kiss, and Giyuu’s hand tightened where it rested against her waist. “I’ll wait for you, Lord Hashira.”
———
December, 1915
Y/N cursed at the ancient priestess who insisted on using only gas-powered lanterns rather than the newer, much safer, electric powered lights that other shrines had begun using.
“We are an esteemed shrine dating back hundreds of years,” the old crone had simpered, “Tradition has kept us going this far!”
Y/N hadn’t helped her cause by asking whether tradition or spite was what kept the hag from dying off and finally leaving her in peace.
And that was how the young Priestess-to-be found herself stomping through the snowy grounds of the Shrine, forced to light each and every lantern by hand using a match and oil, utterly by herself.
She knew better than to levy such an obvious taunt at the old woman, but admittedly, Y/N hadn’t been in the best of moods as of late.
Giyuu had not returned since that day on the hillside, when he’d kissed her silly and told her he could not stop thinking of her. It was as though he no longer existed; even the crows at the Shrine were no more, having all disappeared one morning before she’d awoken.
As the weeks passed, the weight of his absence had grown heavier, threatening to beat her into the ground below.
But Y/N had done her best to hold her tongue over the last weeks as her anxiety mounted, and Granny should’ve known that — so really, it was her own fault if she’d taken offense to the Miko’s barb.
She grumbled and cursed under her breath as she trudged toward the small garden hut standing at the furthest edge of the Shrine’s grounds — her last stop of the night. She shoved past the old, rickety door and braced her merrily flickering, hand-held lantern out before her, bathing the small hut in a warm, orange glow.
All was silent and quiet within the small storeroom. The air was cold, though the slatted walls of the hut offered some protection from the howling, snow-dotted winds outside. Determined to complete her task and return to the comfort of her warm futon, the Miko fumbled around one of the store shelves for a small can of oil.
“It’s you,” a quiet voice startled her from behind, and Y/N nearly dropped the lantern clutched in her hands.
But she did not feel afraid as she recognized the calm, soothing cadence of the voice, that voice that belonged to the one person capable of making her blush.
The one person who held her heart.
“It’s been a while, Giyuu. I was wondering when I’d see you again.” She turned and saw the raven-haired man standing in the doorway of the garden hut, his face characteristically neutral, though he seemed tense, even more so than usual.
Instantly, she moved toward him. “What’s wrong?”
His eyes tightened, and the darkness which swam within them betrayed his aloof facade. “Things have changed quickly in my world,” he began, and she saw his fists clench at his sides. “We believe the demons are preparing for war — and so we have been as well.
“War?” She repeated softly, her step faltering. “I hadn’t realized the demons were so…organized.”
Giyuu nodded. “One creature is responsible for all demons. He is the orchestrator; he is the one we must kill, and we believe the opportunity to do so is drawing nearer.”
The monotonous cadence of his voice fell away as he quietly added, “That is why I haven’t been able to return — we’ve been training. This battle — it may start at any moment.”
He made like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself, pressing his lips into a tight line.
“And?” She prompted gently, taking a solitary step toward him.
“He hesitated, and she spied how his throat worked to swallow. “And I do not know when I will be able to see you again. After tonight.”
Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyes searching his. “When you say you don’t know ‘when’ we will see each other again,” she began, cautiously. “Do you mean ‘if?’”
Giyuu’s answering silence said more than any words could.
For a moment, the Miko could not remember how to speak, not as she felt the organ in her chest splinter into a thousand, mismatched pieces.
“I just wanted to see you,” the Water Pillar struggled to swallow around the growing lump in his throat. “One last time.”
She could scarcely breathe.
He was leaving and he might never return.
Leaving to go try and put an end to the scourge of demons that plagued their world. It was a noble thing to do; sacrifice in its purest form.
But she hated it.
She was filled with such a deep melancholy that it nearly brought her to her knees. As the Water Pillar turned to leave, Y/N couldn’t stop herself as she reached for him, her arms encircling him as her hands locked over his front, stilling him.
“Giyuu,” she said thickly, her face pressed into the back of his haori as she willed the tears in her eyes not to fall. “Giyuu.”
He turned in her grasp and looked down at her in awe, a finger rising to brush the errant tear that had escaped down her cheek as he held her gaze.
The flame within her lantern flickered as Giyuu softly grazed his lips against her own, Y/N’s arms weaving around his neck to hold him close to her.
His hands were gentle, if not a little uncertain as they found her waist, but once they came to a rest against her, he pulled her close, arms winding around her middle and holding her securely against him as he deepened the kiss. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair as she opened up for him, his tongue gliding alongside her own until she was left breathless and wanting.
Vaguely, the Miko was aware that he was walking them deeper into the garden hut, allowing the old door to thud shut behind him, and the thought of not returning to her plush futon suddenly did not seem like such a loss.
Giyuu’s hands returned to her face, thumbs stroking softly along her cheeks as he broke their kiss to brush his lips against her eyes, her nose, and forehead. Y/N’s hands parted the Water Hashira’s haori from his shoulders as Giyuu’s fingers dropped to her collar bone, sliding beneath her kosode, and grazing her bare shoulder.
“You have been my most treasured encounter,” he whispered, and she felt her heart seize in her throat, tears threatening to spill anew from her eyes.
A year’s worth of interactions had all led to this moment, but it was not the satisfying payoff of the tension and longing that had been steadily building between them.
This was a goodbye.
Because it was likely that the Water Pillar would not survive the impending battle; but neither did he want to leave this end untied.
She had known, deep in her heart, that this affair had been doomed before it had ever begun, but that hadn’t stopped her from falling for the kind, brave, selfless man now kissing her like she was his entire world anyways.
She would not get to have him in the morning, so she resolved to give herself to him for the night.
Giyuu’s hands eased her kosode from her shoulders, exposing her to the cool air within the garden hut. His warm hands, however, worked to chase away any chill that spread across her skin as he ran his palms over the curve of her shoulders before sliding down to rest on her bare waist, his long fingers grazing just below the curve of her breasts.
Her own fingers trembled as she fumbled with the buttons on his uniform shirt but in time, she’d worked them open and Giyuu broke their kiss long enough to let his shirt drop to the floor beneath them.
The two stood there for a moment, chests rising and falling rapidly, as they looked at one another, half-nude and vulnerable. The shrine maiden and the slayer knew that they had come upon a precipice, and if they stepped off that ledge, there would be nothing to break their fall.
Y/N made the first move, taking a tentative step towards the Water Pillar as she trailed her fingers lightly up the beautiful, sculpted ridges of his abdomen, relishing how warm he was beneath her touch.
Giyuu shivered beneath her fingertips as the miko’s hand came to a rest against his sternum, marveling the way his heart thundered beneath her hand. “Are you certain?” He breathed, his face was impassive, but his own uncertainty was betrayed by the slight tremor in his voice. His hand rose to gently cup the side of her face, his thumb ghosting over her bottom lip.
She reached to grab the Pillar’s free hand and brought it up to rest against her sternum, mirroring her own hold on him so that he could feel the steady drum of her own heart — and how it thrummed for him. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m yours, Giyuu.”
Once, she had believed the Hashira incapable of expressing anything other than cold aloofness. she’d not been able to comprehend the subtle ways with which his eyes could signal his mood; how they darkened when angry, or how the outer corners turned up, almost imperceptibly, when he was content.
But she had long since learned to read him, and so, her stomach fluttered at the way the raven haired man’s gaze heated with both adoration and desire — for her.
Giyu brushed his nose against hers affectionately before bringing their lips together once more, his kiss growing fervent as her hands slid up to tangle in his ebony hair. Y/N gasped into his mouth as she felt Giyu bend down, his hands gripping firmly under her thighs as he lifted her up, forcing her to lock her legs around his waist. Her lips parted, and Giyuu’s tongue slid seamlessly into her mouth.
Her lover locked one steely arm firmly around her lower back to support her as Y/N felt him lower them to the floor to lay her down, the Water Pillar’s free hand coming to brace against the back of her skull, to protect her head from thudding back against the wooden slats of the hut floor. The Miko steadied herself, prepared for the cold bite of the dirty hut floor to nip at the bare skin of her back, but she was only settled against something warm and soft; something that smelled distinctively of the Slayer panting above her.
Her fingers dropped to her side and grazed against the familiar fabric of Giyuu’s haori; his most prized and cherished possession, spread out beneath her to protect her from the cold ground, a makeshift bed against which she would let him take her and make her his.
He withdrew his lips from hers to sit back, his cerulean eyes tracing over every inch of her, from the way her dark hair spread out in a soft halo around her, to the blush staining her cheeks. His eyes darkened as they lowered to her bare chest, at the way it rose and fell jerkily as Y/N struggled to control her breathing.
Giyuu’s long, slim fingers reached out to trace along the top of her scarlet hakama pants, his finger tips just grazing along her ribs and the underside of her breasts.
“I’d never known such -,” He covered his struggle for words by pressing a sweet kiss against the hollow of her throat, a soft gasp escaping the Miko at the unfamiliar sensation. “Such beauty,” Giyuu’s lips trailed down to skirt across the ridge of her collar bone. “Not until I met you.”
His face was against her sternum, pressing kisses as he trailed his lips down her skin. “I am sorry I could not give you more time.” His voice was soft, softer than even she had ever known. Before she could respond, Giyuu’s mouth hesitantly brushed against the stiffened peak of her breast, and Y/N’s mouth fell open with a soft cry.
Azure eyes flashed up to meet hers. “Is this — is this okay?”
The Miko's eyes fluttered shut as she nodded, unable to trust that she could hold her voice steady if she spoke. Her fingers weaved their way through the Pillar’s thick, raven locks, and she grazed her nails against his scalp in encouragement.
Giyuu grunted softly at her touch, and he leaned forward to suck more of her soft mound into his hot mouth, teeth grazing lightly against her nipple as he explored her.
“Oh,” she moaned, her thighs inadvertently pressing together as Giyuu’s tongue and lips worshipped her bared flesh, licking and sucking and nipping at her in his devotion.
“Beautiful,” he murmured against the soft, sensitive skin of her breast. “So very beautiful.”
He repeated the movement again and again before he traced his mouth across her sternum and began lavishing her other breast with the same fervor. Her hands fisted in his hair as she mewled for him, enamored with the feeling of his hot mouth latched around her. He gave her more and yet it was not enough; every pass of his tongue over her stiffened peak only amplified the ache between her legs, only made the emptiness she felt more pronounced.
A breathy, whining and needy moan blew past her lips in time with a reflexive buck of her hips against his.
The ravenette pulled off her breast with a start, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed as he gazed down at her in awe. “Do that again.”
“W-what —?” She pushed herself up on her elbows to look down at him, her chest heaving.
“Tell me what to do,” Giyuu’s breath was ragged though his fingers continued trailing down her sides, seeking out the ties securing her bottoms around her waist. “Tell me how I might help you make that sound again.”
“I –” Y/N squirmed beneath the intensity of his gaze, her thighs rubbing together to stifle some of the electricity she felt between her legs. “I want you to – I need you closer.”
Her eyes drifted to the bulge that had formed between the Hashira’s thighs, and she felt her heart skip in her chest.
Giyuu pressed his groin against hers and ground. She gasped at the spark of pleasured friction the movement stoked between her thighs, and her eyes flew to meet his, only to see they were as wide as hers.
And just as hungry.
Her hand gently cupped his face. “Closer. Please.”
He pressed his cheek into her palm and with a soft groan, his fingers quickly loosened the fastenings of her bottoms and then he was pushing them down her hips and over her legs, discarding them carelessly to the side. Giyuu sat back on his knees and let his eyes roam her, now fully bare and laid out beneath him.
When his appraisal of her finally reached the thatch of curls between her thighs, the Water Pillar loosed a shaky breath. She had half a mind to cross her legs, to conceal the most intimate part of her body from the raging fire of his gaze as he studied her, but she forced herself to remain relaxed; open.
One, broad and calloused hand stretched tentatively out to run along the outside of her hip and down her leg, before smoothing back up in the inside of her thigh. His eyes flicked once to hers, and then he leaned forward and brushed delicate kisses down her abdomen, over her hip and along her thigh. He continued his descent as he slowly pushed himself back from her, and once he imparted one last, sweet press of his lips against her ankle, he rose.
The flickering light of the lantern cast shadows along the alabaster of his skin, further accentuating how the muscles of his torso and abdomen flexed and shifted as he worked to free himself of the remainder of his clothes. His eyes did not leave hers, not even as his hands found the buckle of his belt and tugged it loose, and Y/N found herself free falling into their depths.
The ravenette dropped his belt to the floor, and then his fingers were at the waistband of his trousers, pulling and fiddling with their fastening. At last, Giyuu freed his lower half from the confines of his uniform pants and stepped out from the puddle they made at his feet.
Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as her eyes raked over his beautiful form, so lean yet solid and muscular. Her cheeks burned with a renewed blush as her gaze followed the small, dark trail of hair beginning just below his navel, and down between his hips, where the evidence of his desire stood proud.
Her throat went dry. He was large — the flared head of his tip nearly grazed his navel, and his width was a little more than two of her fingers. Her thighs clamped together nervously, as she pondered how on earth she’d be able to accommodate him.
Giyuu noticed her hesitation, and a faint dusting of pink spread across his cheeks. “I have never -“
The shrine maiden shook her head. “Nor I,” she whispered, though the knowledge that this was as new to him as it was to her helped ease the clench in her stomach. For all her nervousness, the Miko could not ignore the heat and longing which burned within her as she lifted her eyes back to his. She found her muscles softening as she saw the same fire within those cyan pools she’d come to love. Y/N laid back against the floor — against the comforting soft of his haori, and let body relax, her legs falling open to him.
She held her hand out to him, beckoning, “Come back to me, Giyuu.”
The ravenette did not hesitate as he returned to her, covering her body with his own as he pulled her in for a heated kiss, the weight of his hardened length resting heavily against her hip as he settled between the cradle of her thighs.
Y/N moaned into his mouth, instinctively rolling her hips against him, desperate to feel closer to the man who had claimed her heart before she’d realized anyone was capable of holding it.
Giyuu groaned, softly, against her as she repeated the movement, breaking their kiss to look down at the flushed Miko threatening to drive him wild with her silken touch. As much as he was desperate to feel her — every part of her — he knew what they were about to do would not be nearly as pleasurable for her as it would be for him.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” the Water Pillar’s eyes were stormy, a tempest of competing desire and pain at the idea of causing her even the slightest discomfort raging within him.
Y/N brushed her lips against his once before trailing along his jaw, pausing only to suck softly as the soft spot beneath his ear. “I am only ever undone by you; never hurt.”
He moaned softly, lowering his head back down to reclaim her mouth firmly with his own, his lips beseeching her to let him consume her.
She was only too happy to do so, parting her mouth so that his tongue could slide in and dance languidly with hers, as he reached between them, gripping hold of his aching length and positioning himself at her entrance.
The first brush of his hot, velvety tip against her folds broke their kiss, both gasping at the new yet intoxicating feel of the other’s most intimate area.
Giyuu braced his free arm by her head, his fingers stretching to run comfortingly through her hair, as he pressed his forehead against hers. “If it becomes too much, just tell me, and we can stop.” His voice shook ever so slightly as he waited for her signal, the ache in his groin becoming nearly painful.
The Miko grazed her lips against his throat. “Don’t stop.” She murmured. She hitched her legs higher up on his hips, angling herself so the trembling man above her would have better access to her.
Slowly, so very slowly, the tip of Giyuu’s length began to push into her, and Y/N felt herself temporarily forget how to breathe. Above her, Giyuu’s eyes squeezed shut in a concerted effort not to sheathe himself within her in one stroke.
“Y/N,” Giyuu panted, unable to stop the shaky moan that fell from his lips as he sunk into her warm heat that wrapped tight, so impossibly tight around him.
The shrine maiden winced at the unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable sensation of being slowly stretched and filled by the Pillar. She felt as though she was a wave, crashing and breaking and parting around a rocky shore with every inch gained by the press of his hips against hers.
Giyuu hardly had a quarter of himself seated within her when he felt his head brush against a thin barrier. His eyes opened to look down at the Miko, panting beneath him, her eyebrows pinched in slight discomfort. When she noticed he’d stopped, she peered up at him through her thick eyelashes, her cheeks flushed.
The hand Giyuu had held at his base to help guide himself within her lifted to grip her hip, her legs relaxing as his fingers massaging soothing circles into her flesh. Giyuu removed his forehead from its resting place against hers and he buried his face into the side of her neck as he pressed his body flush against hers. The hand he’d used to brace himself found hers, and he lifted to rest above her head, his fingers twining tightly with her own.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, pressing a sweet kiss against the shell of his ear. Giyuu nearly shuddered at her words, and he pressed his hips forward, his cock finally breaching that thin, inner barrier to the rest of her welcoming heat.
Y/N cried out at the bright spark of pain that flared through her as Giyuu claimed her as his own, but the Pillar held her steady, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her neck.
A hitched gasp blew past Giyuu’s lips as he became fully seated within her heat, her core gripping him like a vice. He panted against the sweat-dampened skin of her neck as they both adjusted to the sensation, her nails digging harshly into the skin of his back as she waited for the discomfort to subside.
Giyuu pulled his face back to look down at her, the hand he’d had on her hip rising to cup her face as he brushed his lips across her cheeks and eyes.
“My beloved, are you all right?” His breath came hard and fast as he panted, the growing friction between where they were connected becoming hotter, more demanding the longer he remained still.
Y/N’s eyes slowly opened to meet his, he felt her relax as he kissed her, slow and gentle.
Her lips broke from his and she nodded, shakily. “You can move — just hold me. Please.”
Giyuu let his full weight fall against her as he wound an arm tightly around her waist, his other hand tilting her face up so he could kiss her fiercely, eager to show her what she meant to him when his words otherwise failed to do so. As she opened up to him, tongue flicking out shyly along his lip, Giyuu rolled his hips experimentally against hers.
Both the shrine maiden and the Pillar cried out in unison as Giyuu’s movement stoked an intense pleasure where they were joined.
It was like a spark of flame had ignited between her legs before shooting up to her belly, making her insides clench and pulse.
It was addicting, and, judging by the way the raven haired swordsman above her hissed, he’d felt that jolt of electrifying pleasure, too.
“Oh,” Giyuu moaned as he began to move atop her, his cock sliding in and out of her heat as he worked to set a pace. “You feel – this is –” his stutters broke off into ragged pants that melted into broken moans with every movement as he found his rhythm.
The grip he had on her hand tightened as he pulled back from her neck in favor of watching her body jolt and bounce with each of his thrusts.
His head dropped down to study how his length, now coated in something shiny, appeared with every long draw of his hips out before disappearing back into her warmth.
He threw his head back. “Heaven,” the Water Pillar groaned out, a tendon throbbing in his neck as another cracked moan slipped free from his throat. “You are heaven.”
Shallow thrusts turned deeper, more purposeful, as the Water Pillar settled into his tempo. Each push of his hips opened her up more, bit by bit, until Y/N’s limbs liquified and she was left moaning and whimpering in time with his movements.
One particular thrust made her cry out, caused her legs to reflexively tighten around Giyuu’s hips as something hot flared deep within her stomach.
“M-more,” she managed, her voice tapering off with a squeak. She needed to feel that spark again, wanted to feel that jolt of electricity that made her stomach clench. “P-please — ah!— Giyuu —“
With something between a moan and a growl, Giyuu angled himself to thrust deeper, his weight pushing her hips back from the floor. Her legs were forced to hike higher up his waist, her ankles locking instead against the dip in his spine rather than his backside.
The new angle meant that Giyuu was able to hit at a spot that sent a bolt of lightening between her legs, and she could feel herself tighten around him.
The combination of her walls fluttering and pulsing around him and the strange fullness she felt was both overwhelming and exhilarating. She did not think she could stand to feel empty again; to not feel him consuming every inch of her.
Gradually, the small garden hut was filled by the sounds of their pants and moans, weaving together to form the melody of a song meant only for them.
Giyuu began thrusting harder, and soon, a dull clap of skin began to reverberate off the hut’s slatted wood walls, adding a steady beat to the rhythm of their pleasure. Though the air inside the hut had been nearly as frigid as what lay beyond its door, both the Miko and the Slayer found themselves coated in a thin sheen of sweat that made their skin glisten in the faint, orange glow of her lantern.
Above her, the Water Pillar was as lost in his pleasure as she. Guided purely by instinct, Y/N arched her lower back away from the floor until her breasts were flush against his sternum, desperate to feel that jolting spark between her legs.
She felt the walls her of her core clench tighter around Giyuu’s length with her movement, and he answered her with a deep growl as his arm cinched tighter around her waist.
Deep; he was so deep within her, that she wondered whether he might reach her soul before they had to part.
Giyuu’s thrusts quickened, the base of his groin grinding against that sensitive spot between her thighs that had her wanting more as she moaned, her thighs squeezing the Hashira’s hips.
His head was thrown back, his eyes tightly shut as the most beautiful sounds of pleasure Y/N had ever heard poured from Giyuu’s mouth.
“I — fuck.” He growled as one arm tightened around her waist to the point of pain, the other grabbing her hand to bring it to his lips in a futile attempt to stifle the sounds lilting from him like song.
His name fell from her lips like a hallowed oath and Y/N’s legs fell to the side, allowing Giyuu to chase the crescent of his release, as hips pistoned into her with wild abandon.
“Y-Y/N,” her black-haired beauty of a lover grit through clenched teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “My treasure, I-I’m gonna-“
The Water Pillar buried his face into the side of her neck, cradling his groans into her throat, and Y/N could feel his length twitch within her.
As Giyuu’s hips slammed into her one final time, so to did the realization that she loved this; she wanted always to be this close to him, wanted always to be unable to tell where she ended and he began.
She loved him.
But the bitter truth was that she’d never again get to hold Giyuu the way she was right then, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she felt something warm gush through her, a pleasured groan, so beautiful and husky tumbling from the Hashira’s lips as he pressed a sweet kiss against her collarbone.
She would not get to love him past this most sacred rite.
If she were honest, she’d likely never again experience this intimacy with anyone, for as long as she lived — for how could anyone else ever possibly compare?
She supposed she’d been doomed to never hold onto the people who were meant to love her since the day she was born. She should’ve known better.
But as the roll of Giyuu’s hips into her heat slowed, and his labored breaths eased, Y/N could not find it within herself to regret it; to regret him.
Because, fool though she was, she loved him.
Giyuu collapsed against her, his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck as he came down from his high, still buried inside her as the two panted.
Her hands moved of their own accord to card through his raven hair, fingertips massaging his scalp as his breathing slowed, his breath adding further moisture to the already sweat-dampened skin of her neck.
She wished they could remain like that always; that the dawn creeping over the horizon would not herald forth the sun, and they could stay on the floor of the garden hut forever, wrapped in one another’s embrace. She desperately wanted to memorize the tempo of his heart as it beat steadily against his chest, the vibrations of which she felt against her ribs. Such a beautiful melody, it was, and yet it filled her with such despair to know she might never again hear its sweet song; that it might cease playing forever, the moment Giyuu resumed being the Water Pillar once more, and walked through the shrine gates for the last time.
But Y/N had never had anyone she could call her own, and as much as she loved the man nuzzling her neck as he whispered sweet nothings against her skin, he’d never been hers to keep.
“My beautiful, beautiful Y/N,” Giyuu murmured, kissing his way up her throat to her lips. “Are you alright?”
She held his lips for a moment before breaking away, letting her eyes roam his face, and she nodded. “Are you?”
To her utter surprise, the Water Pillar chuckled softly, his laugh breathy and his smile heartbreakingly beautiful. “Yes, my treasure. I am more than alright.”
He brushed a kiss against the tip of her nose. “After all, I am with you.”
———-
He’d brought her against his chest and they’d laid there together, simply staring at one another, trading soft kisses as Giyuu traced a finger over every feature of her face at least twice.
If he was to die, he knew his last thoughts would be of her, and he wanted to be sure he’d committed every last detail of her face to memory.
Soon, far too soon, the deep indigo of the night sky was broken by the first, watery rays of morning light, and both the Miko and the Slayer knew their time was up.
The lovers dressed quickly, their backs to one another as both steeled themselves for the goodbye they could no longer avoid.
And now, that time had come. Though it was Giyuu who walked to his likely doom, Y/N felt as if she was embarking on her own death march as the pair drew near the towering Shrine gate. Perhaps she was; after all, he would be taking her heart with him, and she was unlikely to get it back.
Y/N did not know whether to lean in and kiss him, one last time, or whether such a display of affection would only scratch at the gaping, open wounds they now bore on their chests, where their hearts had been.
Giyuu, apparently, did not know what to do either, so the two only stood there beneath the Torii, eyes swimming with emotions neither could bear to voice.
There was a beat, and then the two moved toward one another, drawn together like magnets as they locked themselves in a tight embrace. Giyuu’s hand cupped the back of her skull as Y/N pressed her face hard into his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his haori, desperate to keep him rooted to her — to life, safe and away from demons.
But he couldn’t stay; she knew that. And so, with a deep inhale in a desperate attempt to memorize that mahogany and citrus scent of his she so adored, Y/N pulled away. She made to step back from him entirely, to put distance between them, but those warm fingers caught her under her chin, tilting her head up to face him before his hand slid to cup her cheek.
The emotion swimming in the azure depths of his irises threatened to chisel away at the lock she kept on her own. Tears burned in her eyes, but she would not let them fall; she would not make this harder for herself — for him — than it already was.
“If you do not hear from me, leave the mountain. Go to the city, and do not go out at night. Keep your dagger and wisteria on you at all times, even when you sleep,” Giyuu’s eyes were serious, the hand on her face holding her in place. “Live, Y/N. Grow to be an old woman. Die only from age.”
The shrine maiden closed her eyes as she willed herself not to cry. “And if you win?”
Giyuu hesitated for a moment and Y/N knew better than to ask him to make a promise he could not keep.
“Send a crow, if you can.” She whispered, feigning a small smile. “It would be nice to not be afraid to go and gather night-blooming herbs.”
The Water Pillar nodded, his hand smoothing through her hair one last time as his lips pressed against her forehead. “Thank you, Y/N.”
She didn’t need to ask what for.
She hoped she’d never forget the way he said her name; the longing and the breathless passion that dripped from every syllable, and the way it sent shivers down her spine.
Giyuu broke away from her and set off towards the east. Y/N watched until he was nothing more than a speck on the horizon, before he disappeared entirely.
He did not look back.
————————
He hadn’t trusted himself to look back at her, though every fiber of his being had screamed at him to turn around and behold her beauty one last time. But the Shrine Maiden had become his largest weakness, and Giyuu knew if he’d looked back, he would never make it back to his estate; to the Corps.
And if you win? She’d asked him, and he hadn’t been able to form the words of the answer he’d so desperately wanted to give her.
Because while Giyuu Tomioka never made promises he couldn’t keep, that did not mean he didn’t hope. Right then, more than anything, his greatest desire was to win this war; win it, and come back and tell Y/N that she no longer needed to fear the night.
In any other life — if Giyuu had been any other man — there would be no question as to who he’d choose to spend the rest of his days with.
And so, Giyuu thought as he forced himself to march forward, his eyes burning, if he made it out of this war alive, he would go back to the Shrine and tell Y/N of their victory himself.
And perhaps she’d then allow him to make her his wife.
Keep an eye out for Part II to see if Giyuu comes back and makes good on his promise!
Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX
Summary: As Neteyam comes back to life, the two of you have to decide how you want this new chance at a future to look like, and that means leaving some things behind in order to gain others.
Pairings: Neteyam x Avatar!Reader
Word Count: 15,5k words (wtf honestly)
Warnings/notes: it's over :'( , so many feels i'm drowning in them, smut (kinky, filthy smut, 18+ Minors DNI!!!)., cursing, mentions of blood and death.
A/N: 200,000 words later, the Cardigan series has officially come to an end. I have so many things I want to say, but I feel like no words would do justice to how incredible writing this story has been as an experience for me, how much it's meant to me and will continue to. I said in the first chapter of Illicit Affair that this is the first things that I have written that will ever see the light of day, and to see how many people have resonated with it, engaged with it, it has been beyond my wildest dreams (another TS reference, ha!). I will never be able to convey how grateful I am to literally each and every person that has liked, commented, replied, followed, reblogged. I know you probably hear that a lot, but I mean it from the bottom of my heart when I say I love you, and I thank you for giving me a voice, and a sense of community.
I have one more Oneshot I am planning to write for this story, which will be set in the future, and then I will be moving on, and starting new challanges. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and once again, thank you so so much.
I've been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night
And now I see daylight, I only see daylight
And I can still see it all in my mind
All of you, all of me intertwined
I once believed love would be black and white
But it's golden, like daylight
You were almost on the brink of drowning as you came out of the vision, looking at Kiri, who met your gaze with a mirror of your own, wide and shocked, thrilled and ecstatic, hopeful and joyful beyond any reason. You struggled to keep your cool, to keep your mouth closed, when all you wanted was to open it and scream, scream at the top of your lungs, scream for all the world to hear that you did it. You got Neteyam back. He was dead, but you revived his heart, you restarted his body, you found him in Eywa, you led him home. You never realised how literal his nickname for you would ever turn out to be, but you were grateful, for now and always, to have someone who loved you, who understood you, who shared in your every pain and grief, in your every moment of relief, in your deepest fantasies and happiest hours, who thought of you so profoundly, your being so connected to his own that your existence would be intertwined for life, for all life, for every life you led.
Holding hands, you swam towards the surface and smiled as you saw Lo’ak and Payakan hanging out. Payakan was officially reinstated in the clan and in his tulkun tribe, after heroically helping in the battle against the Sky People. Still, he preferred being with Lo’ak most of the time, and preferred being on his own. It was a hard pill to swallow, but one you were forced to many times, that, in time, you learn to love your chains. You learn to rely on the solitude, to accept it as your own, as a friend and companion, and the imprints of the shackles still dig into your skin even after they are gone. It was a phantom pain, solitude, and even when it was gone, you still felt it, still craved it, still wonder how long it would be before it inevitably came back.
As you surfaced, Lo’ak entire body jolted and turned in your direction, quite literally on the edge of his seat as his legs were hanging off his brother’s fin. His eyebrows were raised and his eyes were so wide, they were emanating light in the night darkness surrounding you, like little beacons in the sea. Both his palms were propped upwards, towards the sky in an inquisitive motion, and you could tell he was dying to know, dying to find out whether he still had a brother. You smiled in his direction, a wide smile that could barely scratch the surface of all the emotions trying you, but it was enough for him to understand, enough for him to jump up, and run laps on Payakan’s back, yelling and screaming in relief, much like you wanted to do, much like you felt you needed to.
“COME ON, come on come on, let’s go!”
You laughed at you brother and you saw Kiri rolling her eyes, but you all had tears swimming like little fish in the sea, and hope in your heart, and as you helped your sister onto Payakan, you knew you had to hurry, you knew there were very few thoughts or words that could encompass what you were all going through.
The tulkun made quick work of the journey, the gentle giant surprisingly fast for his size, and in no time at all, you found yourselves near the entrance of your marui, hearing voices coming from the inside. You stopped still in your tracks, the increase in your heartbeat so quick it made the world spin around you and your knees wobble, until they felt like the tendrils of the Tree of Souls, deep in the Omatikaya forest. Why were you nervous? It was Neteyam… your Neteyam. You’ve been together for a year now, you’ve known each other your whole lives. Seeing him hasn’t evoked this feeling in you since you were 16 and so in love with him your heart thumped at the mere mention of his name, beads of sweat dripping down your body at his mere gaze towards you, electric shocks down your back and to each extremity at any mere touch he bestowed on your body. His presence still evoked these feelings in you, the raw physical reaction you had to him unchanged in time, but you were never nervous around him anymore. Your love was comfortable, evolving from a wild fire, setting everything ablaze in its wake, to a camp fire, providing solace and warmth, providing comfort and home.
Why were you nervous? Maybe because going through those flaps, and seeing him alive would really allow the fact he was gone from this world, gone from your life to begin with, sink in. Maybe it is cause it will bring to focus how close to losing him, to losing yourself, you really were. Maybe it’s because you knew his fluttering eyes and his lips wrapping around each word as they left his mouth would bring you to your knees, would remind you of how your last conversation was a fight, a horrible, insidious fight and that in the meantime, in his absence, you lost so much, including the promise of a baby you knew he wanted more than anything in the world. How were you supposed to tell him? How would he react? Would he ever forgive you? Would you ever forgive yourself?
“Angel, you coming?”
Lo’ak waved a hand in front of your face while he gently shook you with his other one.
“Angel, you ok?”
You gulped audibly, then looked at him with panic deep set in your features. His eyes softened taking you in, and he pulled you into a hug.
“It’s going to be ok. We’re all going to be ok. You did it, angel. You brought him back to life. Now’s the happy part, you know? Now’s the good part. Come on, I’m sure he can’t wait to see you again.” He took your hand in this and pulled you behind him as he walked, and you allowed him to guide you, appreciating the little push, as you don’t know if you would have been able to make it by yourself.
There was chaos in the tent, chaos that tired you, that reminded you how exhausted and depleted of every possible resource you actually were. Max and Norm were busying themselves with machines and medical equipment, no doubt trying to make sure Neteyam’s vitals are alright, that he was alright. Would there be brain damage? Would there be physical consequences for his coma, for his lack of oxygen when he died? You tried to focus on one voice at a time, to allow it to ground you to the moment, ground you to environment around you, as you felt lightheaded and close to collapse. You found the only voice that mattered, the only voice that you would recognise anywhere, anytime, in any plane of being, in any state of consciousness, in any body or mind, in any alternate or parallel universe. The only one.
“I’m alright, sa’nok. I am here. I’m sorry.”
You’re still yet to see him, buried under all the bodies of your family members, all straddling and caressing his arms and chest and legs and feet, clinging to him like they didn’t want to let go - like they couldn’t. You got the impulse, you got how necessary it felt, how demanding a compulsion. You stood cowering in a corner of the marui, allowing them the moment you got in the spirit tree, allowing them to wallow the loss and rejoice the rebirth of their son, of their brother, of their hero.
Your hands settled on your lower abdomen, flat and taut against your palms, that you cradled and caressed softly, imagining it soft and tripled in size, imagining your fingers pressing down on it to meet the little hands and feet pushing from inside it to feel you, to talk to you. You thought sadly about the baby that was gone, your baby, Neteyam’s baby, your little perfect bundle of joy, and looked at the way Neytiri and Jake hugged their son tightly, so much love and gratitude filling the air around you, so many tears and cries filling the silence of your home. You knew then that if that was your price to pay, if this was your burden to carry, you were happy to do it, happy to have been able to be even a small reason why this moment was unfolding in front of you.
A son for a son.
A little synchronised movement between all of them is all it took for you to come face to face with the man you loved more than all the stars in the night sky, all the stars adorning his beautiful body, that stiffened as he took you in, his golden eyes wide as they landed on yours. You held the breath in your lungs and counted. Nothing else mattered in this world, not ever, not anymore. Nothing but those eyes. Nothing but the soul that was reflected so well in them, like mirrors to the depths within him, that nobody knew like you did, like nobody understood in the way you could, just like you knew he knew you. Your twin flame. You melted at the scrutiny of his gaze, that now migrated to your hands, to your lower belly that you were still holding affectionately and his eyebrows raised taking it all in. A small sob escaped your throat at seeing him, finally seeing him, at him seeing you, finally seeing you, exhausted and cried-out and marked in bruises and cuts, in thick loin cloths that were dripping in a mixture of water and blood, all the way down the leg and on the floor of the marui.
The entire family turned around to follow their son’s gaze, and when theirs landed on you, when it shifted in between the two of you, when the air became thick with tension and anticipation, in your grief and fear, in his confusion and hope, you faintly saw Jake motion everyone out of the room. Tuk came hurrying to your side, and you had to break your eye contact with your mate to kneel and take her in your arms.
“Thank you!” She was crying, small hiccups escaping her mouth with every deep breath and her small arms encircled your neck so hard they were hurting you, but you held her, allowing her to cry it out in your presence, that you knew consoled her. You have always been scared of the eventuality of motherhood, scared of your demons getting the best of you and manifesting as bad parenting, scared of the possibility of hurting your child without realising, without meaning to. Scared to be a bad mother. But holding Tuk in your arms, knowing what you meant to her, knowing you were pretty much her second mother and have been for a while now, it put your mind at ease. It helped you deal with the mind-paralysing fear and to some extent, helped you be hopeful of a time when your own child will look at you the same way.
Neytiri got up from where she stood and approached you, her eyes so red and puffy there was barely any identifiable white in them, and your heart constricted in pain at the sight. She’s had to endure so much. She hugged you, so tightly her beaded top and jewellery were scratching painfully on your skin and you smelled the faint smell of metal as blood started pouring out of you.
“You know, when I first saw you, you were the smallest thing I had ever laid my eyes on. So small, smaller than I could ever imagine a baby being. I stood next to your mother while she gave birth, and had to watch her scream in pain, scream so loudly I thought the whole forest would wake up. I was pregnant then, and watching her scared me, scared me for when I would have to give birth to my son. And when you came, you were bloodied, and covered in goo and a little wrinkled, but then, Norm and Max washed you, and I swear I had never seen anything more beautiful in my life. Not just you, but your mother. And the look she had on her face, the love I could feel all around me, the instant unbreakable connection, the unconditional bond that would transcend time and space, would always be more than any words can describe. I loved your mother, my girl. I loved her so much, and I promised to take care of you when she passed.
Imagine my surprise when you ended up taking care of us, instead. I always knew you were special, but to watch you grow up, watch you become the reason my clan is rid of a disease that plagued it for years and years, watch you fight alongside us, complete your Iknimaya, become one of the people. Watch you bring my son back to life… my son, that you have been connected to since before he was born.”
You were both crying as she was caressing your head, pushing your hair backwards and stroking it gently.
“When I was very heavily pregnant, I came to see your mother. We met in the forest, and she brought you with her, you were just a couple months old, and they had just managed to make a little oxygen mask for you, so Marj wanted to show you the forest. We lay on the ground together, just talking, like we always used to do. And all of a sudden, you reached out your little palms, almost like you were searching, and you touched my belly. And you just kept your tiny hands there, on my belly, with a little smile on your face. We laughed about it at the time, but didn’t think that much of it. Until just a few hours later I went into labour, and had Neteyam not too long after.
I thought about that moment since it happened, every time you two were together. Every time it felt like you two were one soul, split in half down the middle, meant to one day reunite and become one again. It was scary, and foreign. You were human, and he was Na’vi. You would never be one of us, I thought. But no one could deny the connection between you, not even the Tsa’hik. When you were young, your mother told me in confidence she is working on an Avatar for you. That she feels like you belong with us, you always have. That you belong with Neteyam. I agreed, but after she died, so did my hope for it.”
She looked guilty and torn as she spoke. “I pushed him, I told him to leave you, to give you space. I told him to find a mate, I thought that’s what needed to happen, I thought it would help you both heal, it would help you move on from a love that couldn’t be, that was impossible. I am so sorry. I had to see you both suffer and know I caused this.” You took her in your arms again and held her, your turn to console her.
“It’s alright, sa’nok.”
“When Norm told us about the Avatar, I was so happy. So, so happy, it felt like this was always meant to happen, this was always meant to be. I knew then that you and Neteyam would always find each other, that I was right from the beginning. That Eywa willed it so. Eywa willed everything so. The Avatar, the impossible to make Avatar happened, and it could only happen to you, because you had to be one of us, you had to guide us, you had to be Neteyam’s light. Your hands brought him into this world when he was born, your light guided him, and then brought him back to this world, when we thought we lost him forever. It was you, always you.
I will never be able to repay you. But I will continue to be your family, your mother, for as long as I still can, for as long as you’ll allow me. I will always love you, and I will always protect you with my life, just like you have continued to for me, for us, for so long. Oel ngati kameie, ma’ ite (I see you, daughter).”
Your mind was at a loss for words at Neytiri’s confession, at her love letter to your mother, to her son… to you. This woman, this incredible, strong, capable, beautiful, intelligent, kind woman has done so much for you, has given you motherly love you thought you would never feel again. She welcomed you in her life, in her family’s lives, she gave you a home and a cause and a reason to get up in the morning, and you never thought you would be able to give her anything that would be able to balance any of that out. You were beyond elated to hear that you did manage to give her something, that something you did helped her, brought her comfort and safety and peace.
“Oel gnati kameie, sa’nok (I see you, mother). You and this family are everything to me, everything. And I will continue to fight everyday to be worthy of it. Of you. Thank you.”
You hugged each family member individually, and thanked Norm and Max for their invaluable contribution to your and Neteyam’s health, for always being such good men in the storm, for being the best extended family you could have ever asked for. You watched as every last one of them left, and, with a deep breath in, you turned your gaze to him, the only person in the world - now and always.
“Hi.”
His smile dazzled you, feeling the dizziness you have been struggling with for a while, the ache deep in your womb come back into focus and knock you to your feet. You walked slowly to where Neteyam was laying, every step a torture, every step a moment in which your body seemed like it was catching up to itself, catching up to everything it’s been through. Ever since your dad’s message, your body fought and fought, it withstood everything that was thrown at it. Fight or flight always did wonders for you, until it was time to crash, until after the world settled around you and the adrenaline, the stress diminished, and you could finally feel the overwhelming pain that was lurking beneath the surface. Neteyam reached a hand out to you when he saw how wobbly you are, but winced when the gesture tugged at the needles of the IV fluids currently flowing inside his body. You grabbed his hand into yours as you plopped yourself to the ground, and he inspected you carefully, sorrowfully, frown lines so deep you thought they would never go away. His eyes fixated on the thick, unattractive loincloths you were dressed in, that were still dripping on the floor from your swim, and his frown somehow deepened at the blood that was clearly visible on the material and that had dried going down your thighs.
Your hands travelled all over his body, from the hand he reached out, up his arm and on his chest, over his every bruise and cut that was way underway to healing, to his navel and over his abs and up again, until they reached his neck and face, his face that clearly showed him awake and cognisant, clearly showed that he was back to you, back into your life that he was violently yanked away from, and seeing his expressions, his eyes, reminded you of the vacant ones he left behind that haunted your every moment, reminded you of his blood on your hands and Neytiri’s wails, of how every ounce of happiness and love just dissipated from you like water on a hot day.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” Your voice cracked in the middle of the sentence, and hearing that voice, so defeated and broken, so much like how you felt inside, was enough to push you over the edge, enough to make you sob aggressively in his chest, grateful to be able to do this again, grateful for the way his arms found their way to your back and hair, that he was caressing gently, his touch everything you have needed for days that felt like years, like lifetimes that you lost, that you would never get back.
“I’m here. I’m so sorry it took me so long, Atan. You’ve always been so much quicker than me, at everything. It always takes me a bit longer to catch up to you, but I am here. And I’m never leaving again, not without you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
It took a long time for Neteyam to manage to calm you down, but eventually your heartbeat lowered to an appropriate rate and your breath stopped feeling like it was burning your lungs and you were so dehydrated from crying that that also stopped eventually.
“I’m so sorry about your dad, Atan. So, so sorry. When I saw him in Eywa…” he couldn’t continue. “I am so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you, so sorry you had to go through all this by yourself.”
“Neteyam… I am the one that needs to apologise. I have so much to be sorry for, so much that I need to tell you. I -“
“You have nothing to apologise for. Nothing. The fight, what I said, what you said, it was all wrong. It all came out wrong. And you know… when I left you then, I was so sad, so unmoored, like it was a problem that we would never be able to solve, but then, as I watched Lo’ak leave for Payakan and knew that I would follow him into danger once more, no consideration for the consequences, no other thought outside of saving him, I knew it then you had been right to say the words you said. You were right. And if I want a family, if I want us to move forward, it has to come from me. I have to show you what you mean to me, that I’m here to stay, that I will keep myself safe as much as the people I love, so I can live to see my children grow up, the way I’ve always wanted to. So I am sorry. And I will be ready when you are, whenever that is. Whatever it is, we’ll brave it through together, and I promise I’ll be here for you, and I will be more careful.”
You had no idea how much you needed to hear those words until they left Neteyam’s lips, but as you did, your whole heart lit up from within, and the light that shone through the cracks helped mend them, helped heal it, helped put it back together. You would be ok. You and him, you’d be okay. As long as you had each other, there’s no storm you couldn’t weather, including parenthood.
“I need to tell you something. And I fear when I do, you’re going to hate me. And I’m so sorry. I am so sorry that it happened, because it took it happening for me to realise that I am ready, that I am not afraid anymore.”
“What is it, Atan?”
He struggled to sit up so you could be face to face, and despite your wordless protests, you helped, heart throbbing at his proximity, and his presence that enveloped your own like the warmth of a sun, and when it was done, you sighed and continued, feeling soothed by his thumb tracing your lips and the white luminescent freckles on your cheeks.
“When the ship attack happened, the fight with the humans, the effort it took to get my dad away from it all, the stress of losing you, the effort of bringing you back… there was so much pain in me, pouring throughout my whole body, but I thought that was just from all the wounds, both physical and emotional, all the wounds I had to withstand in such a short amount of time. B-but…” You choked on your words, hoping and praying that by swallowing them whole you wouldn’t have to utter them, not have to say them out loud, not to him. Your hand involuntarily went to your abdomen, that you stroked mindlessly, and when Neteyam’s eyes followed your movement, a look of terror grazed his face.
“I found out… I was pregnant. We were pregnant. The little being we wanted, the little bean I was so scared of, it had been there, and I didn’t even know. I didn’t even know until the stress and the pain and all the loss and grief running through every inch of my being took it away, away from me, away from us.”
Admitting this to your mate was somehow even harder than you thought it would be, and you found yourself once again collapsing on his chest, once again pushing out tears from a body that felt like it had very little water left to spare, but still it gave you its last remaining sources for this, knowing you needed it, knowing there was nothing else there, but the tears, to drown the emptiness you felt in your body, in your womb.
Neteyam was reeling at your words, so much shock and pain, no amount of painkillers pumping through his veins could keep up, could ever numb this feeling down. But, as he watched you suffer, convulsing with each sob that escaped you, he realised the grief he felt was for you, for how much you had to deal with, power through, all alone. To know that this is what was happening while he was revelling in a fantasy land with all of his heart’s deepest desires come alive, it killed him. The guilt he felt ate him alive and left only scraps in its wake, enough for birds to peck on until only the bones were left behind. He should have been here, should have helped you through this, you should have been able to mourn the loss together, feel its unbearable weight together. He felt tears gather in his eyes and spill down his cheeks and neck, looking at your thighs that were smeared in your blood, just like your loincloth was, knowing what caused it.
“Please, please don’t hate me. I am so sorry. When they told me, I realised how much I wanted it, how much, despite everything I said to you that day, nothing would have made me happier than to watch myself get bigger each day, than to watch you beam with pride at the thought of being a dad, than to watch us trying to figure out how we’re going to do this, than to know no other baby has ever been so loved, so spoiled, so cherished as ours would have been.”
The tears were unrelenting, hearing your pleas, laced in anguish and terror. He took your face in his hands gently, moving it away from his chest, that was now soaked in your own tears.
“Atan, look at me. Please? Please look at me. You crazy girl, how can you ever, ever think I could hate you? What am I supposed to hate you for? Because you fought on the ship? Because you tried to save your dad? Because you worked tirelessly to bring me back home? What kind of person do you think I am?”
Your sniffles were all that could be heard in this tent that has seen so much, too much, too many tears, too much pain and grief, that would be forever plagued by the Sully’s misfortunes, but that Neteyam was adamant to change. He was adamant that the tides were turning, and that the only cries it shall ever hear again were those of pure, unadulterated, incandescent happiness.
“Come here.”
His hand wrapped gently around your throat and the action made you gasp, but he pulled you towards him gently until your lips met in a kiss that promised to heal you, to mend all these unconquerable torment and reshape it into hope and wonder. He was desperate for your touch, desperate to feel you, desperate to make up for time lost and past gone, but he wanted to wait - you both needed to heal, to mourn together and move on, and right now, you both needed to fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Neteyam woke up groggy in light of last night and all the drugs being pumped in his body, but as he felt your back snug against his chest and heard your soft breaths, his mind cleared and focused, and he was able to notice the rest of the world around him, such as his dad’s snores and Lo’ak’s senseless sleep-talk, as well as Tuk’s little body tucked in yours, as you held her tightly in your arms. He really felt the need to get up, and stretch his legs. He felt the need to see the sea, to breathe in fresh air and watch as the nature surrounded him, as the Metkayina got up and ready for the day. He missed it, he realises. Missed all of it. It was great to be back in the clearing, and have you, and see the two babies, but waking up in your arms, with your pheromones inundating his senses, seeing his family share his space, seeing people exist outside of him and his problems and grief - he missed it and he was happier by the second to be able to experience it again.
It didn’t take a lot of movement on his part for you to stir in your sleep and open your eyes, immediately turning your head to look for him, almost as if you were trying to make sure he was still here with you. He smiled a little at your panicked expression and the frown that melted as soon as your eyes locked, and the smile you gave him, wide and serene, with your fangs poking through, made him finally understand what you meant when you told him humans say being in love feels like having “butterflies in your stomach”.
“Good morning, yawne. God, it feels good to say that again.”
“Do you think we can go outside? Just you and me?”
You looked at him with a flicker of concern, but nodded softly. You turned around and patted Tuk awake gently.
“Tuk-tuk, I need to go, can you please go sleep with your parents, baby?”
Tuk whimpered a little, but almost sleep-walking, made her way in between his mother and father and instantly fell back asleep. You both snickered at the sight and he wished silently he could sleep that easily.
You got up, wincing a little as you did, which Neteyam dreaded, and carefully removed the needles in his body. You held out both your hands to help him get up, and he felt grateful for your help as he realised he could barely move his body by himself anymore, deep pain and numbness throughout his entire being. It took a long time and a lot of effort to get him outside, and he felt ashamed about it, embarrassed at the strain required to do the most basic things. Neteyam prided himself on his physical prowess, something he had worked for his whole life. He was strong, powerful, he was quick and agile, he was fast and limber and right now, he was none of those things.
With a sigh, he lowered himself on the edge of the platform, allowing his feet to dangle in the water, that was warm against his skin, a big difference to the ice cold water of the river in the clearing.
“It’s going to take a while, my love. For both of us.” He noticed your hand moving once again to your lower abdomen, almost a necessity at this point. You did it so often, without even thinking about it. He pressed his hand on you, as well, imagining a little kick meeting his touch, imagining the swell of your belly as life grew inside of you. He was so sad about it, but tried not to dwell on it, as he knew this wasn’t meant to be, and when it was, it would make the experience even more meaningful in light of everything you both have lost.
“Does it hurt, Atan?”
You nodded weakly. “The physical pain I can deal with. It’s everything else that hurts more.”
“I know. But you are the strongest person I know. And if anyone can do this, it’s you. And I'm here. You don't have to do this alone.” He struggled lowering his body so that his head rested on your lap, but when he did, the comfort it provided alleviated any pain and frustration in his heart. He nuzzled his nose against your belly and pressed small kisses all over, and you laughed softly as they tickled you slightly. Your hand found his hair that you stroked rhythmically until he was so relaxed, he was on the brink of slumber once more.
“I think it’s time for you and me to go back home.”
“What?”
Neteyam’s astonished tone made you giggle a little, and you almost didn’t recognise yourself or that sound, having been so long since you last heard it.
“I think we should go home. I think it’s time.”
“Atan… we can’t go home, you know that.”
“Yes, we can. We left because Jake wanted to keep us and the village safe by hiding. But they found us. We’re not safe, and we can no longer hide. And if we’re going to fight, if we’re can’t hide anymore, I’d rather do it back home, where you and I belong, where we’ve always belonged.”
“Neteyam… your last words were ‘I want to go home’. You want to go home, and so do I. Neither of us wanted to leave to begin with. We belong there, with the Omatikaya. Our children belong there. Our children will learn the ways of the forest, they will learn to hunt and shoot a bow and arrow, they will learn to climb the trees and the Iknimaya, they will get their own ikran, just like we did. I love this place, and this clan, I really do, and it will always have a special place in my heart. And we will visit. We will have to, considering our brother will be their Olo’eyktan one day.” You chuckled again at the though of Lo’ak, his newfound love for this clan and the chief’s daughter, and how even in this way, he is a carbon copy of his father.
“Shit. I never thought about that.”
“But our place isn’t with them. And that’s okay. Sometimes growing up is knowing what works for you and what doesn’t, and knowing when to let go of the people you love, for them to be able to grow and evolve on their own, and for you to be able to do the same. You’ve held on to Lo’ak your whole life, clung on to him, and on a quest to protect him, you lost your life. Lo’ak’s always felt alone back home, and he always felt like an outcast, but here, he’s free at last. Having found Tsireya and Payakan, he found himself as well. He’ll made a great Olo’eyktan one day, but in order to do that, he has to not feel like he’s always living in your shadow, in my shadow. So let’s just go, you and me. Let’s go home.”
Neteyam’s mouth was agape in surprise and shock at your words. He struggled to comprehend what you were saying to him. Go home. Their home, their real home. They couldn’t do that… could they? Neteyam resigned himself months ago in knowing his home was a long forsaken dream, that he might never see again. He resigned himself in knowing he will never be truly himself again, in knowing he had to live without an integral piece of what made him who he was, an Omatikaya warrior, rider of banshee, son of the Olo’eyktan and Toruk Makto, future Olo’eyktan himself. You said once humans had a saying, that home is where the heart is, and he felt that way most times, content in life as long as he had his family by his side, you by his side. But he didn’t agree fully to it - home was also where your clearing was, home was where he imagined his children being born and raised, home was in the trees and in the Hallelujah mountains, home was night rides with Seze and Neyn, home was where the Palulukan and Yarik and Talioang and Pali were, home was all of those things and more. And to have a chance to live in it again, have a chance at making his dreams and childhood fantasies come true, it was incredibly enticing, so much so his heart ached instantly just at the fleeting thought of it not happening.
But how would it even work?! How would he ever be able to leave his family, his brother behind? His careless, stubborn, loving, amazing brother that he has spent every day of his life with, that he watched grow up so much in the mere few months they were in Awa’atlu, that finally felt like he had found his place, and Neteyam winced at the realisation him and his baby brother didn’t share the same idea of home. It pained him to admit that you were right, as you always seemed to be. Lo’ak’s home was here. The sea was his home, the sea would be his children’s home, before their birth and after their death, and Neteyam would have to watch from a distance, and get glimpses of the man his brother would grow up to be in time. He felt tears pricking painfully at his eyes. He was happy, so happy for him, that he finally found a place, found a family in Tsireya and Payakan, but he was saddened by the thought that, in the end, that family wasn’t him. Growing pains fluttered through his entire being as he realised childhood was over, and it was time to grow up, it was time to step up and be the adult that was needed, that would be able to take care of his own family, of his children and his mate.
When you were younger, Neteyam saw you read a book that you loved dearly. Neteyam would listen intently as you talked about it, as you read him passages from that book and one of them always stuck with him as he made his way through life. He always wondered what it meant.
“You will find little joy in your command. But with luck, you will find the strength to do what needs to be done. Kill the boy. Kill the boy and let the man be born.”
Now he understood. He finally understood that his death was the death of innocence and childhood, and it was time to let it go, and let new beauty, new life peer through, for new happiness to shine.
“Let’s go home, Atan.”
════════════════════════════════════
It’s been a few weeks, and Neteyam felt himself getting stronger by the day, in no small part due to Norm and Max and their infinite patience in helping him heal, in helping him be able to slowly move his body again, his shoulders and arms. They said the journey to recovery would still be a long and strenuous, but that in time, he should be able to get the full function of his muscles again, and be as good as new. In those weeks, Neteyam watched blissfully as you were getting better, too, the bleeding close to completely gone. It was time. Time to talk to his family and let them know of the decision you two made, that only solidified in his mind in time. It was the right decision, the only decision. He wondered briefly if his parents would think the same.
It was a good as time as ever, as the morning light beamed through the marui and filled it with warmth and patterns moving with the wind on the ground. It’s been a peaceful, calm few weeks and everybody could tell, the atmosphere serene and filled with laughter as his mother and sister were preparing breakfast for everybody. Neteyam saw you give him a pointed look, raising your eyebrows in their direction, and with a small sigh, trying to work up the courage, he cleared his throat and spoke.
“Ahem… everyone, there is something we wanted to tell you.” His heart started booming in his now healed chest as his whole family turned around and watched him intently.
“What is it, ma’ itan?”
He felt comforted by the feel of your fingers intertwining with his and the little squeeze that followed.
“We’ve thought about it for a long time, and Neteyam and I want to go back home, to the forest.”
His father’s mouth dropped, as did the rest of his family’s, and his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as he sighed loudly and shook his head.
“Kid… we’ve talked about this.”
“No, Jake… we haven’t. We made this sacrifice because we thought it was the only way. We thought we were protecting the Omatikaya, the Na’vi, we thought by hiding we could keep this family safe. It didn’t work. The humans found us, the humans took so much from us. There is no hiding anymore, and we want to go where we belong, where we’ve always belonged.”
“Dad… I know this comes as a surprise. But we are doing this. My whole life, I have spent giving up pieces of myself, pushing down my feelings and my desires, in order to be the version of myself I thought you wanted. The version of myself that I thought this family needed, the clan needed. But I’m no longer a child anymore, and no longer the future Olo’eyktan. I died, dad. My mate lost a baby, my baby, and I wasn’t even there. This will never happen again, I won’t let it. I want to be a good father, a good mate - like you are. I want to raise my kids in the forest, I want to fight for my clan and for my people that have raised me, that I have sworn to protect since the moment I passed my Iknimaya, since the moment I knew I was the son of the Toruk Makto.”
Neteyam looked at Lo’ak, who looked sad and angry.
“I want to make it clear that I don’t expect anyone else to join us. This is something we have to do, but brother, you don’t. You… you’ve grown so much, Lo’ak. I watched as you found your place in this world, as you found your mate… your brother. The sea gives and the sea takes. You taught me that, brother. It took the forest away, and it took me away, but it gave you so much, and will continue to give you… strength, and a purpose… a family. And I will watch you become the man I always knew you could be. And when you become Olo’eyktan one day, I will know you are the best Olo’eyktan this clan has ever seen. A mighty warrior. A good leader.” Lo’ak’s face changed into a misshapen mess, trying to maintain his composure and not let the tears inundating his eyes fall, the way they were threatening to. Neteyam moved closer to him, patting him affectionately on the head.
“I’m so proud of you, Lo’ak. And I’m so sorry if my existence ever made yours more difficult. It’s hard for me to think of you as anything else other than my baby brother, but you are a man now. And it’s time to let you go. And I can’t wait to see you again, and get to see your incredible future unfold in front of my eyes.”
Lo’ak said nothing as he slapped Neteyam’s arm away and pounced on him in a rib-shattering hug, and he was pleasantly reminded of the thousands of times his baby brother has done this when he was younger, back when his love for Neteyam was obvious and manifested itself physically, back when they were inseparable. Neteyam circled his arms around Lo’ak and patted his back and Lo’ak let out his sadness and frustration, years of pent up resentment and anger, years of feeling inadequate and isolated. They both needed this. The rest of his family quickly joined into the hug and Neteyam felt suffocated as his siblings and parents squeezed the life out of him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. It was time for all of them to heal, for all of them to grow.
You took Spider’s hand in your own, the two humans who didn’t quite belong anywhere, but who had a family they loved and that loved them and you watched the beautiful moment unfold in front of you, happy tears slowly falling down your cheeks, your other hand resting, as it always was these days, on your belly, mindlessly caressing it. Being here, in Awa’atlu, surrounded by the endless ocean, has been painful for you, filled with emptiness and grief and loss, but oh-so-necessary. It had been something you all needed to go through, a time of discovery and growth, a time to break and a time to heal. You realised with a small smile that Tsireya was right.
Water connects all things. Life to death. Darkness to light.
You were almost done. Most of yours and Neteyam’s stuff was now safely tucked in Norm and Max’s helicopter, deciding you would give Neyn and Seze some freedom to fly as wildly and freely as their hearts desired. Both of the ikran were playing with each other in the airspace above you, their happiness so clear it was palpable. Seze was hard to budge from Neteyam’s side, so protective and desperate to ensure he wasn’t going away again anytime soon, so much so Neteyam had to order her away to play with Neyn. It turns out, Kiri has also been feeling similar to you and Neteyam, and despite how much she enjoyed being here, how much she enjoyed the water and the new flora and fauna, she too missed home, and her grandmother, and her Tree of Souls. So you watched as she said goodbye to her parents and to Lo’ak and Tuk, and held Spider’s hand as she put the rest of her stuff in the helicopter.
It was a bittersweet moment. The whole clan was here to bid you goodbye, and you started with Ronal and Tonowari, that you owed for eternity for the way they took you in, for the way they give your dad his forever resting place. You approached them slowly and thanked them the best way you knew how, with an “I See You” and a ceremonial bow, that quickly turned into a hug when that felt like not enough to impart all the feelings you held inside. It was strange to them, and a bit out of place, but Tonowari was quick to adapt and reciprocate, while Ronal was ever the stoic, although she did wrap one arm around you in a moment of uncharacteristic affection.
“Thank you. We will both miss you dearly.”
“Don’t be a stranger, nantutetsyìp (little human).”
“I won’t. We won’t. We will be here so often, you will get tired of us.” Tonowari laughed while Ronal rolled her eyes, but a small smirk was still apparent on her beautiful face. You reached a hand over to her belly, that you touched softly.
“I can’t wait to meet this little baby. I will be her favourite aunt, that’s a promise.”
You moved on to Ao’nung and Rot’xo, that you punched affectionately in the chest.
“Take care of my baby brother and sister. Or I will come back and I will show you how us forest people handle conflict.”
You hugged them both, and were surprised to see the hint of sadness in their eyes. You will miss these knuckleheads.
There was no hint in Tsireya’s eyes, as she was full blown crying in Lo’ak’s chest, and you had to pull her away from him so you could look at her and remove her tears with you thumb as you caressed her beautiful face.
“Don’t cry, sister. We will see each other again soon. You have to visit, you have to come to the forest and see our home, you have to climb the Iknimaya with us. And when you come, I will show you the labs, and I will quiz you on all the English that Lo’ak should be teaching you. I don’t want you falling behind on our lessons, ok??”
“Yes, sister. I will miss you so much, I wish you didn’t have to go.”
She gave you two beautiful shells, almost identical, turquoise and dotted in white bioluminescent freckles, just like she was, and placed it tightly in your hand.
“This is for your songcords. Both you and Neteyam have a place among us, you always will.”
“Thank you, Tsireya.”
You turned your full attention to Lo’ak, who was once again, contorting his face so as to not appear weak in front of the girl he loved, and in front of the girl he used to love.
“Take care of her, Lo’ak. And of yourself. You don’t have us to save your ass anymore, so you have to be your own older brother now, and Tuk’s. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Angel.” You were proud of how well you handled it, no tears up until now, but as you looked in the eyes of your best friend, of the boy who got you and your humanness in a way no one else really did, not even Neteyam, who shared your sense of humour and wild streak and your inclination for cheesy old school movies and TV shows, you couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“Be safe. And visit, ok? And don’t forget us while you enjoy your endless walks on the beach and adventures with your new brother. Me and Neteyam still got dibs on you, do you understand?”
“Yes, Angel. I’ll miss you so much.”
“Me too, baby brother.”
Finally, you moved to Neytiri, Jake and Tuk, who both decided they would move between the forest and the reef, so as to spend equal quality time with all family members. They had no more responsibility, no more weight on their shoulders, no Olo’eyktan or Tsakarem duties anymore. They could just be for a while, enjoying the peace while it still lasted, and you were happy they could finally be free, at least until the humans decided to strike yet again. But the victory at Three Brothers Rocks definitely put a dent in their plans and budget, and you knew it would be awhile until that were to happen. You had time. You all had time.
“We’ll be home soon, ok, kid? It would be great if you could clean the tent for us beforehand, ha!” You rolled your eyes at Jake, but laughed as you hugged him. “Enjoy retirement, pops.”
You moved onto Neytiri, who was so happy to know you were going home, and that so was she soon, ecstatic to see her mum again, to see the forest again.
“Don’t take too long, sa’nok. Mo’at will not be happy to be kept waiting and I can’t live without Tuk for too long.”
“We won’t, ma ‘ite. Be safe. Eat well. Don’t strain yourself, you are not fully healed yet.”
You smiled at her motherly ways that she was never able to fully disconnect from, that you never wanted her to, especially when they were directed at you. “Will do, ma.”
You kneeled on the soft sand to take Tuk in your arms as held her as she cried.
“We’ll see each other again very soon, my baby. Don’t be sad, you know I would never leave you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise, baby. Come here.”
You held on to your mate as you said one final goodbye to everyone, and then climbed onto Neyn and connected your queues, feeling her excitement overwhelming you at the thought of going home. I know, girl. Me too.
You felt your stress and anxiety melt away with every kilometre you got closer, with every tree that came into focus, until it completely melted from your bones at the sight of the forest in the distance. You looked at Neteyam, who was smiling widely, relief so transparent and obvious on his face, and you laughed at how it was mirrored on Kiri and Spider’s faces as well. You felt free. Free at last. You knew they did, too.
════════════════════════════════════
Neteyam woke up like from a reverie, like from the vision in Eywa, back in your tent, in both your tent, and felt like he was floating. He looked at the fabric and counted all the dots in it through which light blinked carelessly, and felt warmth envelop his body as he tightened his grip around your sleeping form. It’s like he never left. Your home looked exactly the way you left it, both of you having spent a few days getting it back to this point. He glanced around, at the bows now back in their stand, at the quivers and the guns, and he hoped it would be a long while before they had any use for them again. He looked at your desk, and smiled to himself at how you did a happy dance at seeing them all again and having it all back, all the books your mother spent her whole life collecting and keeping close to her heart. He peered at the mirror you looked at every morning before you went outside, and the two songcords that were back where they belonged, hung on it, one on top of the other. It was hard to picture the life he left behind, hard to imagine the reef as anything but a dream, a hallucination.
As he pressed a small kiss on the top of your head, he saw you turn to face him, wide golden eyes and pearly whites the only thing he could focus on as he took you in, in all your unbelievable beauty. Your gaze turned primal as you continued to look at each other, need enveloping you both like a thick blanket you wanted to get lost under. It’s been so long, so long since he had you, so long since he took you, so long since he claimed you the way he knew you craved, the way you both craved. You both found solace in each other’s bodies, in the way your individual needs were only met in each other - his need for control, your need to relinquish it. Even in this way, you were perfect for each other, made for each other. You were his match and he was yours.
His cock throbbed in need, in desperate need to fill you to the brim until you were dripping in cum, until you were swollen and sore, until you were begging him to stop while pushing him deeper in you. It drove him mad, your look, the way your pheromones were flooding his nostrils, the way the sound of your pounding heart matched the twitching of his hard member, the way the smell of your arousal was so thick, sweet and floral, he could feel it on his tongue.
It took every scrap of self-restraint in him to not rut into you like a feral animal, but he had other plans and the surprise he had planned had to take precedence.
“Atan… I need you to be a good girl for me and wait until tonight… can you do that?”
You whined as you threw a leg over his hips and started grinding yourself slowly on him.
“I have had to wait for weeks. Weeks, Neteyam. Weeks in which the only thing I could think of is your cock so deep in me I start to see stars.”
Neteyam growled, a deep guttural growl and removed your leg from him.
“You’re gonna make me fucking crazy, Atan. But if you are a good girl for me, I will make it worth your while. And I will indulge your every whim… All. Night. Long.”
You threw your head back and moaned, and after thinking about it for a while, you eventually relented.
“You better make it worth my while, or I’m gonna have to start without you.”
He shook his head and kissed your nose affectionately. “I love you, my crazy, insatiable fiend.”
Your patience was not one of your more formidable attributes, Neteyam thought tiredly as he was helping you onto Seze, a big frown on your face. You were definitely needy and desperate, and have been the whole day, which made it Neteyam’s day hell, having to push you away every 5 minutes, having to keep a level head for the both of you. You’ve been asking him about the surprise the entire day, testing his patience that he felt like he had infinite supplies of at the moment, thankfully. Eclipse finally settled and the mountains glowed with iridescent hues, that Neteyam made a mental note never to take for granted again.
“Are we going to the cave? Or to the clearing? I thought we couldn’t really go to the clearing again?”
Neteyam sighed for what felt like the millionth time today, and got behind you on his ikran.
“You are a pain in the ass sometimes, you know?”
“But I’m your pain in the ass, remember?”
Neteyam made Seze land deep in the forest, in a place that was very familiar to both of you, and he knew you would know where you’re going as soon as you saw it.
“So we are going to the clearing. I knew it.”
He grabbed your hand in his and intertwined your fingers, his other hand moving to your jaw as his lips closed over yours. You moaned and immediately deepened the kiss, to which he laughed.
“We’re almost there, Atan. Come on.”
You growled and threw your head back, but followed him without saying another word.
You knew you were being annoying. You could feel yourself being annoying, but you couldn’t stop, not when you have been unhinged with need the whole day, the whole month, since before that fateful ship attack and all throughout both your recoveries, throughout the journey back, throughout settling back in the forest. You still didn’t know what this was. You knew it was a surprise, but you didn’t know what it was or why it was. You were pouting now, walking pointedly towards your clearing, and you tried to relax and get excited about the fact you haven’t seen this place in so long, way before you even left for Awa’atlu, out of fear that humans might find you here and take you away.
You looked around you, at the beauty of the forest and the glow surrounding you, at how your each step was illuminated by the ground your feet were touching, and the howls and sounds of the nocturnal creatures coming out to play, the soft hum of the insects and the chirping of the birds. You loved all of it, missed all of it so much, a symphony that felt like that background music to your life’s story. As you pushed past the trees into your clearing, you gasped, the breath knocked out of your lungs at the sight. A red woven blanket was placed on the ground, pillows and covers enticingly waiting for you to snuggle in. You stared in awe at the huge holographic screen projected over the river, currently stopped at the introduction scene of Pride and Prejudice, your favourite book, the one you still had by your bed in the tent, the one whose covers were falling apart at the seams.
“Neteyam… what is this?”
“It turns out, believe it or not, that I have been lucky enough to call you mine for a whole year now. Actually, it’s been a lot longer than a year, but our actual anniversary fell at a bit of an inopportune time, since you know… I was dead. And afterwards, we were both reeling, and grieving our loss, and healing our bodies, and when you told me you want to go home, I knew I should wait and do this properly. And so this is what I’m doing.”
“I wanted to thank you, Atan. I don’t think I say this enough, but thank you. For having been my light since the moment I was born, until the moment I died, for guiding me back home, to you, every time I lost my way. For giving me a reason to be better - a better friend, a better sibling, a better son, a better man, a better mate. My whole life, I have looked up to you. My whole life, I saw in you the person I knew I wanted to be worthy of one day. I have watched, in awe, every day, as you became the most intelligent, caring, incredible, beautiful person in this world, a person who struggled so much, and went through so much grief, a person who carried so much darkness inside, and yet managed to emanate only light all around you, in everyone’s life. I have watched you be my sister’s best friend and confidante, my brother’s shoulder to cry on, my baby sister’s hero and my parents’ biggest critic and supporter and every day, I grew more in love with you. I have been by your side my whole life, and not one moment did I not love you, did I not hope that I would never have to be parted from your side, for as long as I lived. You have been the woman I have been madly in love with since I was 15, and the woman I hoped and prayed could one day be the mother of my children. I am so eternally grateful for every moment I get with you, every moment I get to watch you, every moment I get to wake up next to you, I get to look at you and know that nothing will ever change between me and you, between this formidable happenstance we call our love.”
You were sobbing violently at his words, that made you feel so special, so loved and appreciated, that healed every hurt in your soul, that mended every crack in your forever broken heart, until there was only love, the love you felt for him, for your relationship, for the lifetime of memories you have made together, for the lifetime of memories you’re yet to make. He took you in his arms and held you, caressing you gingerly as you cried and sniffled in his chest.
“I have a gift for you. Actually, I have two gifts.”
“I thought this was the gift.”
“No, Atan.”
You removed your head from his chest and waited as he went to the blanket and removed two things from underneath the covers. The first was a book. You took it in your hands with a confused look on your face, that quickly turned stunned as you read the cover. Pride and Prejudice. It was your mum’s book, but the cover was different. It was new. Made of wood, the woodwork detailed and intricate, with flowers and patterns, as well as a carving of the Bennett house as depicted in the movie that was currently paused on the screen.
“This is actually cheating a little. This was the original gift I planned for your 17th birthday, that I never got to give you. I started the covers, but never got to finish them, and after I left, I thought I’d never get to give them to you. When we came back, I thought it would be the perfect time to finish it, and Norm and Max helped me bind the book. I know how much you love this book, and I know how sad you were that it seemed like it was falling apart. So hopefully now it will have a really long life, long enough to pass on to our kids, and their kids after that.”
You always wondered about your life, about how it seemed so out of balance, so filled with sorrow and pain. You realised now, as you’ve always suspected, that Neteyam was the counterweight. Your good karma. He was what made all the sorrow and pain bearable, what made this life worth living, still so unbelievably beautiful, and exciting, and good. It was him. He was your gift, the Universe’s gift for all you’ve had to suffer through. You had no words that could convey what this meant to you, what his words and the gestures and this night will always mean to you, so you just kissed him, hopefully able to convey it to him in this way. He chuckled a little as the kiss came to an end.
“You’re welcome, Atan. Here, your last gift.” He gave you a big cork board, and you recognised it faintly, it was a board that used to be in one of the labs you grew up in. Except now, it was filled with a collage of photos, photos that used to be hidden in your Pandora’s box, back in your old bedroom, where you kept all your secrets, all the things you were too scared to ever deal with. Photos of yourself as an infant, as a toddler, as a child. Photos of you and Neteyam, of your mum and dad, of the scientists, of the Sully family. And new photos, that you were seeing for the first time, of yourself, sleeping or hanging out with your siblings, laughing animatedly with Jake. Photos of you sleeping snug against Neteyam, photos that he obviously took in secret.
“When did you take these?”
“My dad has a camera that I use sometimes when you aren’t looking. Out of every human invention, I definitely think I like the camera the best. It’s amazing to be able to have these moments captured, forever. I have been collecting the pictures for months, and as we came back, I was able to print them in the lab.”
You looked at the gap that covered the bottom right quadrant of the board, and looked at him expectantly.
“That’s for all the new memories we’re going to make. It’s for when our children are born, for when we become aunt and uncle to all our little nieces and nephews, it’s for the amazing life we still have to live. I thought we could hang it in our tent, so you can look at it every day and be proud of everything you’ve achieved, Atan, of this incredible life you’ve led, that is only a tiny speck in the sky of the rest of our lives.”
You smiled up at him, still in shock at everything he did, and all the thought he always put in his gifts, at how much he loved you, at how much you loved him. He took the gifts from your hands and left to put them by the blanket, away from view.
“Do you want to watch the movie? Or… are there better things we could be doing beforehand?”
You looked at him through your eyelashes, your vision blurry from how badly you needed it, how badly you just wanted to be fucked, like it was the first time, the only time.
"I'll take that as a yes."
His eyes darkened, pupils so dilated there was barely any yellow left in them, and he stalked towards you like a predator, like you were his pray to hunt, to take, to kill. You were panting in anticipation, your frilly beaded loincloth soaked in your arousal, that has been continuously pouring out of you all day, so saturated it was trickling down your ass and thighs. You couldn’t believe this man, couldn’t believe he was yours, yours to keep, yours to admire, yours to fuck until you blacked out, forever. He only stopped when he was so close to you, his breath was fawning over your face, and his smell, his musky, woody scent hit you instantly, making your tempestuous need uncontrollable. You raised on your tiptoes to bring your lips to his, but he stopped you, wrapping his long fingers around your throat and squeezing until the air left your body and the asphyxiation made you dizzy.
“No, Atan. You’ve been a good girl so far, you don’t want to ruin everything at the last second, right?”
He let go of your throat and you gasped, the sudden burst of pleasure making you moan and push your thighs tightly together, as the throbbing deep within you was so intense it was starting to hurt.
“Fuck, Neteyam. Please, I just, I need you to fuck me. Please.”
“God, I love it when you beg. It drives me fucking crazy. You drive me crazy. I have needed to feel you, feel that pretty little pussy milk me, squeeze me, drench my cock in your cum for so long. I’m going to make you feel so good, Atan. I’m not gonna stop until you beg me to, until you’ve come so many times you pass out with my cock still deep in you. How’s that sound, mm?”
You were almost done just at his words, the power they held over you unspeakable, the power this man had over your body still astounding you, a year later. You had no words, just moans, but it was not good enough for him. His hand squeezed around you once more and you were gasping for air that wasn’t coming, not until he allowed it.
“I asked you a question, Atan.”
“Fuck. It sounds amazing, i-it sounds so good, Neteyam. P-please. Fuck.”
“That’s my girl.”
The hand that wasn’t tight against your throat went to the back of your head, taking a fistful of your hair and pulling roughly on it, until your head was thrown back, and you felt a dull sting of pain when his canines dug into your throat, until blood came out and you went feral at the feel of his tongue licking over it, at the thought of it coated in your blood. You were reminded that the remnants of your blood were still circulating through his body, another way through which you owned him, you possessed him just like he did you. He kissed you, roughly, tongue darting over your lips and you opened them, drove to the brink by the taste of metal, of your blood on his tongue, in your mouth. You moaned in the kiss and he smirked, and you knew he loved seeing you like this. Panting, begging, mewling like a little bitch, desperate for his touch, desperate to be fucked unconscious.
He lifted you effortlessly off the ground and knelt with you in his arms until he placed you on the blanket, your back loving the feel of the warm, fuzzy fabric. You reached behind you to grab a hold of your queue and brought it forward into his line of sight, and he smirked again as he did the same.
“You want to feel what you do to me? How fucking wild you drive me? How deeply you own me, how badly I need you, Atan? You want me to feel your mind going blank as I bottom out in you, as I lick every bit of the nectar dripping in between your legs? Is that what you want?”
“Yes, fuck. Yes. Please.”
“Good.” He connected your queues and the influx of feelings, of desires, of savage, untamed emotions was almost too much for you to bear, eyes rolling in the back of your head. It was his turn to moan and the noise sounded so much better coming from his mouth, his deep voice reverberating deep within you, driving you one step closer to release.
He skilfully removed your clothes and his own, leaving you with a glorious view of his incredible body, of his defined abs and bulging biceps, of the v-line that lead to his large, beautiful cock, rock hard and so swollen it was deep purple at the tip, slapping against his abdomen, leaking precum that you were dying to lick off it.
“You are so beautiful, Atan. You are fucking perfect. I can’t believe you’re mine. I can’t believe my luck. I promised I would make it worth your while, let me show you I keep my promises.”
He lined himself to your entrance, that was gushing in need, and you mewled as he teased you, slapping his dick against your folds, grinning like a devil. You arched your back and shut your eyes, deep frown lines on your forehead, that was already covered in a thick layer of sweat. He grabbed your jaw and pushed your head down to meet his wild gaze.
“Look at me. Look how I fill you up with my cock, Atan.” Your eyes drifted down to where your bodies met, and you struggled to maintain you gaze as each inch of him was being buried in you, eyes fluttering open and close, the feeling too much, too intense. You felt yourself being stretched to the brim, until the border between pleasure and pain was delightfully unclear, until his tip hit your cervix, until his girth pushed against your g-stop, until your walls were contracting at the sensation you have been deprived of for so long.
“Fuck, you take me so well. So, so good for me, baby.” He didn’t move, and you felt through the bond the intensity of his own feelings, so much love and care, so much need and desire in him and you waited, getting lost in this feeling, getting lost in the pleasure that so good, it was getting unbearable.
“Move, Neteyam. Please, move.”
“I need to feel you first, baby. I need to feel the way my cock stretches your needy cunt, I need to feel the way your walls are throbbing around me, I need to admire the bulge in your abdomen as I fill you up. Look at it.” He pressed where the little bulge formed by his impressive length was visible, and as he did, you somehow felt even fuller, and once again you felt the need to close your legs, to try to get some relief from the torturous wait.
Taking pity on you, Neteyam started a slow, maddening pace and he smiled when he saw tears in the corner of your eyes at how desperate you were. Without warning, he started rutting you like the little slut you were, like the way you have been begging for, and almost immediately your first orgasm washed over you with enough power to knock the air out of you and he didn’t stop, not when it was done, not until you came again, and again, and again, until tears were falling down your face and into your ears at how overstimulated you were.
“Neteyam, I can’t anymore.”
“Yes, you can, Atan. Come on, just one more and then I’ll fill this pretty pussy with my cum. Do you want that? Want me to fill you up real nice? Want to be dripping in my cum, want the whole village to smell me on you?”
At his words, at the picture he painted, you felt the pleasure coil in you again, and you knew this orgasm would hit you like a tidal wave, keeping you on the ground with no power to get back up.
“Y-yes, I want it. I want it so badly. I want your cum, fuck, I want it.”
“You want me to give you a baby? Want to make me a daddy?”
“Y-yes. Yes, I need it, need your cum in me, please.”
“Fuck yeah, baby. Take my cum, like the good little girl you are.”
You both moaned as you came, the liquids in you mixing and spilling out of you, over your ass and onto the blanket. You didn’t know if it was all you’ve had to endure, or how long you’ve been without it, but this was definitely the best orgasm you ever had.
“I agree.”
You laughed loudly, and looked at him affectionately.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I can feel you, Atan. I can feel the pleasure that washed over you, more intense than you have ever felt. I feel the same.”
He pulled out of you, and pecked you gently on the lips. As you were trying to get up on your elbows, he pushed you back onto the blanket and you fell backwards with a soft thud.
“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not done yet. I told you I will indulge you all night long, didn’t I?”
“Neteyam, are you not going to be happy until I pass out?”
“Isn’t that what I told you, baby girl? Did I fuck you dumb already?”
How were you still so turned on? How was your cunt still throbbing in need when you’ve lost count how many times he’s made you come already? You loved it when he was mean, such a stark contrast to the peck from earlier, to his usual demeanour, to his real, day-to-day self. You loved it, it made you squeeze against thin air, feeling the need to be filled once more.
His hands wondered over your whole body, over your breasts that he caressed and pinched until you whimpered, until his fingers were replaced with his tongue, the ministrations making you grind your hips against nothing, the noises coming out of your mouth more unholy with each second that passed you by, each minute that he was sucking and licking every inch of skin he could get his fingers and mouth on, until he reached your folds, still leaking a mixture of both your cum, that he lapped at like he had been starved, like this would cure the drought plaguing his senses. Your senses, on the other hand, were plagued by him and his skilled tongue, and the way it was pushing into you, sucking on your abused clit, until your walls were clenching once more. He pushed two fingers in you effortlessly, curling them to touch that spongy part in you that made you cry out in pleasure, and the stimulation was too much, the coil in you close to snapping again, your hips grinding on his face roughly. The animalistic moan he let out pushed you over the edge, and you squirted on his face, down his chin and nose and he laughed proudly as he licked it all off.
“That’s my good girl.”
“How about we watch a bit of the movie and then I fuck you again?”
You laughed as he made his way next to you and you cuddled up close to his chest.
“Yes…daddy.”
════════════════════════════════════
Your family was in a tizzy today, preparations unfolding all around you for your upcoming trip, that you were supposed to leave for any minute now. It wasn’t going to be a particularly long trip, but it was definitely an important one, one that had you giddy with happiness and excitement. You were already packed, the clothes, gifts and medical supplies once more tucked away at the back of Norm and Max’s helo, both of whom were accompanying you, as well. Although never quite part of the people, both of the scientists were honorary Na’vi at this point, their continuous support, love and care for this planet and all its inhabitants not gone unnoticed, even within the Metkayina clan, who have taken a liking to the two.
“Kiri, don’t forget the thing, the thing…” Jake was pointing aggressively on the floor at something by his daughter’s legs, and you laughed at how nervous he seemed. It was endearing and a little surprising, seeing how Jake was usually quite stoic and well put-together, especially when it came to his two boys. That has changed in the past few months since you returned home, the distance that always existed between himself and either one son or the other softening his rough edges, making him more open and affectionate to both of them. You guess it was true what they said, after all - absence does make the heart grow fonder.
With one last smile in their direction, you quietly exited the tent and got up on your ikran, who cooed softly in your direction. She has been particularly gentle and tender with you recently, and you couldn’t tell if her having laid tiny ikran baby eggs was the reason behind it, or just general happiness and gratitude at your decision to return her to her home. Either way, you were grateful, and so, so excited to meet her babies when they were going to be here, fantasising about the idea that her babies and your own would one day be united, the same way you were.
“Let’s go, baby girl. There’s one last stop I need to make before we leave.”
You got to the Tree of Souls easy enough, having visited so often recently you could make the trip with your eyes closed. You swore it would never be as long as it used to be for you to visit your parents, for you to keep in touch, to see them and talk to them, to make sure they knew they were missed and not forgotten. You wanted them to be part of your journey, in a way they never could before, and you were happy to say that regardless what was happening in your life, you came once a week without fail, nothing able to keep you away.
The cove wasn’t desolate, several Na’vi lost among the tendrils, connecting to their ancestors, to their loved ones, to people they lost. You greeted each of them, all of them looking at you almost in awe, at the girl whose parents came from the stars, who stole the Toruk Makto son’s heart, who cured an illness that pillaged from them, that took away so many Na’vi men, women and children, including some of the people that were being visited today.
You chose a part of the tree than was unoccupied, and connected your queue to one of the mauve tendrils swinging gently in the breeze. You were immediately transported in a place you were now very familiar with, your mother’s old house back on Earth. The humid heat hit you instantly, as did the smell of the ocean and the cold breeze that pushed sand into your nose and eyes, and you took a second to take it all in, as you always did, the beauty of Earth, so different and yet so similar to Pandora, always a treat, always worth the extra few minutes of reflection. You pushed the fence door and made your way to the house on the broken cobblestone path, and smiled as the sound of a piano playing could be faintly heard from inside. You didn’t bother to knock, and took your time walking through the narrow hallway, looking at all the photos that were hanging on the walls, a lot more than you remembered from your first visit, including new ones, one of you, human and grown up, in between your two parents that were smiling widely at the camera. Photos of you in the living room you were currently walking towards, playing piano and dancing with your father, propped with your feet on his as he swung you around. Photos of your mother rolling her eyes as she was caught mid-cooking, and a photo of your parents kissing on the beach, taken by you (you assumed) without them knowing. They were beautiful, so beautiful, just like they were.
“Bunny! You came!” Your mum got up from the couch as soon as you entered and ran to your side, hugging you loosely so as to not hurt you.
“Of course I came. Don’t I always come?”
“Yes, but we expected you in a couple of days.”
“I can’t come in a couple of days, ma. We are leaving for Awa’atlu soon, remember?”
“Ah, yes!!” Your mum face-palmed herself and you laughed at her. She was a little ditzy, you realised. You never realised that as a kid, but it was blatant now, more so by the week. Your dad joined in the laughter and came by your side, placing a small kiss on your cheek.
“Hi, love. Are you excited for the journey?”
“Eh, not for the journey, but definitely for the occasion. Thank you for the gift idea. He’s going to love it.”
“Of course, bunny. How often does Lo’ak get to take his Iknimaya and become a man?”
“Well, hopefully just the one.”
They both laughed in unison at your joke.
“I can’t believe how much he’s grown. God, he used to drive Jake crazy when he was a toddler, he would just run and run and crawl through tight spaces, where Jake could never fit through. He was an angel when Neytiri was around, but as soon as she left, he terrorised his dad. Poor Jake hasn’t had a good night sleep since the second Lo’ak came out of Neytiri.”
“Well, that hasn’t really chanced. But he’s bigger now, so he’s easier to catch.”
The laughter was music to your ears, and you dreaded knowing you’d have to leave soon and not see them for at least a week.
“Where’s little, puny me?”
“Don’t call her that.” Your mum frowned at you, and you snickered at her face. You and… well, you, got along fine most of the time, but you realised that you were incredibly annoying and having to see yourself every week made you more appreciative for Neteyam and his never-ending patience.
“She’s taking a walk on the beach. She loves doing that. She’ll be sad she missed you… and this little belly… I could just eat you, you know?”
“It’s not that little anymore.”
You placed your hands over your mother’s on your belly that was becoming exponentially larger by the day, and she squealed when she felt kicking meeting her palms.
“Oh my God, do you feel that?”
“Of course I feel that, mum.”
She scoffed at you, but she was too excited to rebut, too busy taking your dad’s hand and placing it where hers was. The baby kicked again and you winced, and felt the sudden urge to pee.
“I need to go. We have to leave soon. I’ll be back as soon as I can, ok? Tell her I said hi, and that she better catch up on all the songs I learnt after I died.”
“Bye, bunny. Say hi to Lo’ak and the rest of the family for us.”
When you came out of the vision, you felt arms circling you, and you smiled as Neteyam’s familiar scent filled your every sense.
“Hi.”
“Hi, Atan.” He was pressing small kisses down you neck, while his hands wandered on your body, from your breast, now full and barely covered by your increasingly small tops down to your belly, and he gasped silently when he felt the same kicking your parents did.
“He’s kicking! Oh, Great Mother, he’s kicking!” He took you by the shoulder and spun you around and you laughed a little as the action made you dizzy.
“We don’t know it’s a he yet, yawne.”
“I know.” You raised an eyebrow at him, but said no more, and watched as he lowered himself to your belly and looked at it in adoration, like he was venerating it, venerating you.
“Hi, ma ‘itan. Be gentle to your ma, deal? We don’t want to hurt her.” He showered you in kisses until you melted in his touch, and by the time he reached your face, you were panting and in need. Neteyam groaned as the smell of your arousal hit him.
“Atan, we have to get going, my dad’s already out of his mind with worry and excitement, and my mum keeps packing food, to the point the ikran are going to drown in the sea because of the overbearing load. We are the only sane ones in the family now, we have to act like it.”
You threw your head back and laughed heartily, at his words, and at his tone that sounded serious, not an ounce of humour in it.
“Fine. But when I’m hot and bothered for three days during the trip there, I don’t want to hear you complain.”
Suffice it to say you were late to get going.
════════════════════════════════════
As you spotted the familiar island of Awa’atlu, you heard the beautiful horn announcing your arrival, and felt emotion overtake your being at the thought of seeing your brother and Tsireya, as well as the leaders of the clan after so long. It’s been a few months since you have left, and although Neytiri and Jake have come here in that time, you have not. You were excited to see Lo’ak’s reaction at your news, and excited to watch him become a man, be born again as a member of the reef clan, that was now his forever home.
You saw him before making out anybody else, his deeper blue skin sticking out like a sore thumb among the Metkayina. You jumped off from Neyn before she even landed, and you heard Neteyam and Neytiri both hiss at your recklessness. You were too busy to care, running as fast as you still could and wrapping your arms around Lo’ak’s neck in a tight hug. The younger man was too stunned to say anything, so stunned that his arms remained motionless by the sides of his body.
“Hug me, you skxawng.”
“Angel…what?!”
You scowled at him until his eyebrows dropped and his eyes softened, his open mouth curling in a soft smile, one you knew too well, one you loved so much.
“Hi, Angel.”
“Surprise?”
He pushed you a little and kept you at arms length as he inspected you, placing a hand on your belly.
“How long have you been gone? You look like you’re about to pop.”
“You’re such a dick, Lo’ak.”
“I’m kidding, Angel. I can’t believe this. I’m so happy. So, so happy. This is the best present you could have ever gotten me.”
“Oh, ok, then, I guess I’ll just leave the solar-powered projector loaded with all your favourite movies and tv shows in the helo.”
“WHAT?! ARE YOU SERIOUS?”
“Why are you more excited about that than being an uncle??”
“Can I use the baby as a projector? Didn’t think so.”
“Sing for us, Angel. You didn’t bring your guitar all this way to keep it by your side all night.”
“Fine, but only if after, Tsireya can translate everything I sing.”
“Ha, she’ll kick your ass, you’ll see.”
“Hey, I might be pregnant, but I will still kick your ass if you keep annoying me.”
“I see the glow of motherhood didn’t do wonders on your temper.”
“Lo’ak… she will hurt you if you keep going.” Neteyam sighed, rolling his eyes in his baby brother’s direction.
“Fine, fine. Just sing, Angel, please?”
You looked at your mate who was eyeing you lovingly and strummed a song you knew he’d know, you knew he’d love. You saw his eyes go wide and then settled on a look of wonderment and euphoria, a look you’ve seen a lot of recently. You gave him a wink before you started singing.
We were in the backseat, drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar
"I rent a place on Cornelia Street”, I say casually in the car
We were a fresh page on the desk, filling in the blanks as we go
As if the street lights pointed in an arrowhead, leading us home
I hope I never lose you, hope it never ends
I'd never walk Cornelia Street again
That's the kind of heartbreak time could never mend
I'd never walk Cornelia Street again
It was a sweet reunion, one you desperately needed, and as you spent the night catching up by the fire, Neteyam’s arms wrapped around you and the sounds of your family laughing and chatting away filling your ears, you felt lucky for everything good in your life, that overwhelmingly outweighed the bad, and hopeful for the future and all the beauty it would bring with it.
Thank you again for this amazing journey. I love you all x
Summary: Y/n and Ao'nung's future is revealed as Pandora is thrown into war.
Pairing: Ao'nung/Fem!Na'vi!Sully Reader
Warnings: Fluff, romance, mentions of mating, implied sexual content, injury, mentions of birth, mentions of death, etc. (I'd considered NSFW but for only, like, three or four paragraphs)
posted on ao3
Word Count: 6k+
Tag: #'anla ao'nung fic
Na'vi Words: Iknimaya - Rite of Passage, tsurak - skimwing, Sänrr Rong - Glow Tunnel, marui - house/pod, nga yawne lu oer - I love you, kuru/tswin - queue braid, tsaheylu - the bond, ilu - plesiosaur like animal, ma muntxate - my mate/spouse/wife, olo'eyktan - clan leader, tsahik - spiritual leader, sa'sem - parents, ikran - mountain banshee, pa'li - horse like animal, olo'eykte - female clan leader, ma'txe'lan - my heart, tulkun - whale like animal
A/N: As my first attempt at writing for Avatar comes to a close, I want to thank everyone on ao3 and tumblr for the breathtaking support for this series! I could not have continued without your love for this fic and it only makes me want to write more for this fandom and for you!
THREE YEARS LATER...
The war against the Sky People ended up spreading across all of Pandora. More clans got involved and the Na'vi grew in numbers, rallying to the call of Toruk Makto. Jake was a soldier by heart, and he knew, deep in his gut, that this war would be his last, win or lose, and hopefully, it would be the last defense against the Sky People once and for all. He was determined to make this world clean, free of war, and with a future far brighter for his remaining children. Although, they weren't considered children anymore.
Jake Sully, as a soldier, knew that wars could drag on for years, and his own war was no exception. In order to secure a future for his children, he had to sacrifice watching said children grow up right out from under his nose.
Y/n and Lo'ak were quick to grow up. Blink and you would have missed it. After Neteyam was killed, they assumed the role of older siblings and didn't hesitate to take charge and take responsibility in the upcoming battles. Jake found it difficult to accept them as warriors and send them off to fight so soon after Neteyam, but he didn't have much of a choice. He needed every able-body out there, and by Na'vi law, his oldest daughter and son were fully grown and of the People.
It didn't help that Ao'nung and Tsireya were now in the picture and the Sully family now extended to them. Jake nearly felt blindsided that the very children he had known since birth fell in love with the son and daughter of the Metkayina clan leaders. After discovering Ao'nung and Y/n's courtship, Jake helplessly watched as Lo'ak quickly completed his Iknimaya and began to court Tsireya as well. Jake was relieved to see that both Ao'nung and Y/n waited on becoming mates, but they had waited for a different reason entirely. If it weren't for the war, they would have done so much sooner.
The Sky People didn't wait as long to retaliate against the Na'vi like they did last time. The humans fought back without giving the Metkayina much room to breathe, so in favor of fighting back, everything was put on hold, including Y/n's courtship with Ao'nung. Toruk Makto had hoped that they would wait until the end of the war, but as he said before, wars sometimes last years, and even Jake knew that war sometimes brought people closer together just as often as it drove them apart. The clans scattered around Pandora were no exception.
Other Na'vi clans, even the more violent ones, were starting to answer Jake's call to war, agreeing to many peace treaties in exchange for eradicating the Sky People once and for all. While Jake was elsewhere, rallying other clans at his disposal, the Metkayina had a brief window of peace while waiting for reinforcements, and many took advantage of this time to be with their loved ones before war forced them apart once more.
Ao'nung and Y/n were among those who took advantage of this. Slipping away and into the night, they grab their tsurak and take off. Ao'nung brings her to Sänrr Rong with the promise of surprising his love. The Glow Tunnel greets her favorite guests with the same beautiful, bioluminescent archway... but there was a new sight that Y/n had never seen before. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp at the sight of a small raft with a marui built on top, floating beneath the arch, rocking steadily along the small waves caused by their approach. It was simple but elegant, the mouth of the pod leading out to a small, wooden lookout. To avoid floating away, the top of the marui was tied up against the wall of the tunnel.
Ao'nung watched Y/n's reaction with a proud grin, "I made it myself."
"It is beautiful," she whispered breathlessly, "Thoughtful."
The tsurak swam up to the marui and waited until their riders had pushed themselves up onto the platform before swimming away. Ao'nung and Y/n both stood on the floating platform, craning their necks to look up at the very top of the archway, marveling at the ceiling of glowing algae all around them. They could have stayed that way for hours, Ao'nung standing behind Y/n, arms wrapped steadily around her as they continued to enjoy their small little haven, no war at the moment to speak of, just them and their Sänrr Rong.
"Ao'nung."
"Hm?"
"I am done waiting."
He tilted his head back down to the young woman in his arms, her siren eyes already waiting for him there. She didn't miss the small glimmer of hope in his eyes that he forced himself to stomp down as he gently moved her until she fully faced him, his hands now resting on either side of her head. He made her look directly at him, but she wouldn't have fought it. She would gladly look at him forever if she had a choice. His eyes flicked over her gaze, trying to spot any sign of doubt or hesitancy,
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," she answered without wasting a moment between breaths, leaning into his hands, "I want you to be mine and I want to be yours. For life."
His smile is unlike any other, so bright and joyful as if she had just given him the world. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, whispering into her skin, "I have always been yours... even when I didn't know it."
"I know," a faint smile etched into her lips, leaning into his kiss, "But I'm done holding back for the sake of war and our families. We've been courting for years now. Please don't make me wait any longer."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he chuckles under his breath, guiding the both of them to kneel across from each other on the wooden platform. Keeping his hands on her face, he quickly lands a soft kiss on her lips, "Nga yawne lu oer."
"I love you, too," she whispered, heart hammering in her chest like it never had before.
"Say the word, Forest Girl, and I'm yours."
"Please."
She whimpered quietly when he leaned away but the excitement took over when he had reached back to pull his kuru braid from over his shoulder. Y/n did so as well, reaching out for him with her free hand. She let out a breathy laugh when Ao'nung took it a step further and used his free arm to lift her up into his lap, pulling her flush against him as if they were already one soul. But it wasn't enough. Y/n squirmed at the thought of being even closer, more than they'd ever been before. With their queues in hand, they both held their breath as the tswin slowly began to entangle with each other, and the reactions they made when the tendrils completely tied together were instantaneous.
Y/n tilted her head up as the air left her lungs, overcome by this new feeling, able to sense Ao'nung everywhere in her mind and body. His torso, pressed tightly against hers, expanded harshly when he breathed out, and through their bond, Y/n was able to feel his arousal when his nose detected her scent. She instinctively clung to him at the thought, her excitement spreading out through their new bond as she wrapped both of her arms around his neck. Ao'nung's hands slide up her whole spine, driving her to arch her back, goosebumps prickling her skin under his touch like electricity. When she finally leaned down to kiss him, the electricity came together in sparks.
Before she knew it, Y/n was on her back, Ao'nung's weight pressed comfortably between her legs. Comforting and enticing. That is what she felt with his weight on hers, pressing her down against the wooden platform of the floating raft, all her senses filled with Ao'nung and nothing but him. It made her feel complete, whole again for the first time in her entire life. It was both overwhelming and not enough, and Ao'nung could feel that through their shared bond. He fitted himself over her, letting her wrap both of her arms and legs around him until there wasn't even room for air between their bodies. Pleasure began to spike through her when Ao'nung began to touch her, her womb warm with love and anticipation, tightening like a spring as their conjoined bodies began to rock in motion with the waves beneath their raft.
She wasn't sure when she had closed her eyes, but upon opening them again, she could see why Ao'nung hadn't brought her inside the marui for this. On her back, as they made love, she was able to watch the glowing algae twinkle down at her from the ceiling of the archway with awe. That, along with the pleasure Ao'nung brought her, his head buried in her neck, muffling his moans, Y/n felt as though she was floating over clouds, ascending into the equivalent of heaven. Wave after wave of pleasure, coming and receding, edging her to several gently, toe-curling climaxes.
It may not have been before Eywa or any Spirit Tree most couples would become one under, but here-- in the place they truly fell in love and spent a great deal of time together, it just made sense. This was their place after all. When Ao'nung finally met her in ecstasy, finishing inside her, it was both dizzying and perfect all at once. Hearing her name fall from his lips as they both peaked, Y/n was nearly brought to tears with the amount of love she had for this man. She was excited to spend the rest of her life with him.
They continued to lay there in the afterglow, still connected through the bond, too exhausted to move or have Ao'nung pull out. Y/n knew she wouldn't be able to take his weight forever, but as of right now, she was comfy, and the pleasant sounds he made in her neck when her fingers combed through his hair were just as enticing as tsaheylu.
"I wish we had done this sooner." She sighed, mourning all the time they could have been truly together without a care in the world.
"I'm not," Ao'nung plants a kiss on a sensitive part in the juncture of her neck, forming goosebumps wherever he touched her, "It may not have been as perfect as it is now if we had mated sooner."
"That is true," her arms tighten around his back, "It was worth the wait."
He brings his head up to hover over hers, her heart stuttering in her chest when her eyes meet his. Ao'nung smiled similarly to when they were younger and just starting to become friends. He smiled like when he first approached her on ilu, inviting her to see Sänrr Rong for the first time. He looked so young again. It wasn't as though a lot of time had passed and they were old, no, but war ages people far more than time could. As children of war, Ao'nung and Y/n were no exception. They had a few scars here and there, and as time and war dragged on, they were given more warrior tattoos to signify their valiant deeds, both along their faces and bodies. They were all grown up, old enough to notice the difference between now and when they first met on that beach several years ago.
Ao'nung leaned down again, placing several kisses all along her face, "Ma muntxate. Ma Y/n."
He whispered those words like confessions-- like he was testing them out on his tongue for the first time and he liked how they sounded. Her eyelashes fluttered while she basked in his attention, equally delighted by her new name as he continued to bathe her in kisses and confessions, "I cannot wait to spend our futures together."
She hums thoughtfully, her mind reverting to realistic goals and expectations, "I suppose we should discuss plans for our future. In case we survive the war."
"When we survive, Forest Girl. When."
"Alright. When we survive," her fingers trace one of his face tattoos, staring down at his lips, "Tell me what you want."
"I think I would like to build a different marui for us, and I want to stay there even when I am olo'eyktan."
"Hm." This request surprised her, "Your father's home is not to your liking?"
"It's in the center of the village. I never liked it there," he hid his face back in her neck, grumbling to himself, "I like it a lot less now at the idea of having to share you with the whole clan."
She snorts quietly, "No need for that. The clan would be better off having your sister as their tsahik than me."
"If that is what you want."
"It is."
"Alright, but I still want a separate marui. My sister can have our sa'sem's when she is tsahik. I know she wants a large family, so it's perfect for her future."
"And what about us? What kind of family do we want?"
Ao'nung hums in thought, "I chose what we should do for our home. You can choose what kind of family shall live in it."
Y/n taps her chin while staring up at the ceiling of the glowing archway, "I don't want a big family. Just one or two babies."
"Could I convince you for three?" He playfully nipped her neck, grinning to himself when a laugh was forced out of her lungs.
Her laugh reverted to soft hums while her hands resumed running through his hair, "Three. And no more than that."
~~~~~~~~~
Once they returned to the village the following afternoon, they were shocked to learn that Lo'ak and Tsireya had wasted no time in mating as well. The entire clan was overjoyed to learn that Tonowari and Ronal's two oldest children had found happiness during this small window of calm before the storm. Neytiri cried out of joy for her children while Kiri and Spider gave their siblings shit-eating grins when they noticed a few teeth marks on the two new couples. Tuk and Kailani just gagged at how sappy their older siblings looked.
When Jake returned to the Metkayina with an army, he found out his eldest daughter and son had found mates. It was like someone had completely tilted Pandora's axis right underneath his feet. Before Toruk Makto could even get used to the idea, he now had a son and a daughter-in-law. The Sullys' bond with the Metkayina had never been stronger.
While Y/n and Lo'ak had found partners, Kiri was focused on becoming the best healer, and Spider was more determined to make himself an active member of the family every day, never again accepting himself as just a stray cat. As for Tuk, the baby of the family, Jake and Neytiri's youngest... well, she had only just begun to start hunting both on land and at sea. And before Jake could manage to wrap his head around that, the Sky People quickly returned, so he didn't have time to think. Instead, he acted, refusing to run again in the hopes of saving his family. This time, his family stood its ground and fought right alongside him.
Like before, the Na'vi still managed to draw the Sky People back to Bridgehead by just the skin of their teeth, and there was a brief window for the respective clans to grieve for their loss and take their small window of peace before the next war made itself known. Everyone knew that the biggest threat was yet to come, and they would need to recruit more Na'vi. Jake wasn't going to take any chances this time, not when he had more to lose.
Not only were his children growing up and marrying off, but they had begun to start families of their own. After the most recent battle, Y/n had found out she was expecting. The Metkayina took this small moment of peace to celebrate the tsahik's and olo'eyktan's first grandchild, overjoyed by Eywa's gift for their recent victory against the Sky People. Neytiri laughed even as she was holding Jake back from trying to kill Ao'nung, joyful tears in her eyes at the realization that her first baby girl was going to have a baby of her own soon. While Jake entrusted both Spider and Lo'ak to give Ao'nung a stern talking to, he took a moment to let the news sink in, still surprised that he was going to be a grandfather.
Even with a baby on the way, Y/n wasn't deterred from fighting. There was still a fire in her eyes that would only grow larger as time went on. Y/n had a reason to fight the Sky People. At first, it was to avenge her twin brother, knowing that Quaritch and Wainfleet were still out there after Spider confessed to saving his biological father. The monsters responsible for Neteyam's death were still alive, and Y/n wanted to fix that. And now, the idea of a child on the way only drove her further to fight, wanting to win this war quickly so that her baby had a future. While Jake wanted to order his daughter to stand down, now more than ever, Neytiri convinced him not to. Both she and Ronal are living proof that it is not hard for pregnant Na'vi to fight and Jake had to remember that Y/n wasn't human and it wouldn't be much of a struggle. Jake only gave in when he saw that same fire in his daughter ignite in his wife's matching eyes. Neytiri was just as determined to fight, if not more. Her husband could see, even with Neteyam gone, that she now had more things worth fighting for.
Even while pregnant, Y/n was still one of the best warriors Jake had on his side. She was still one of the best flyers and best archers, just like her mother. While she wasn't stupid enough to do up close combat in her condition, Y/n still fought her battles from afar, astride her faithful ikran, Evi, and a bow in hand. She flew over every battlefield, whether on land or by sea, her watchful eyes always pinpointing her loved ones out among all the fighting. Y/n tended to fly close to wherever Payakan might be, knowing that Lo'ak would never leave his Spirit Brother vulnerable during the fight. Y/n made sure to always have her little brother's back so that he may protect Payakan, shooting down any sky demon who dared to try killing Lo'ak whenever his back was turned.
Sometimes, depending on where they were on the battlefield, Spider would fly with his sister over the years as the war dragged on. He was a skilled archer as well, and so he often flew with Y/n to scope out dangers from above, since he wasn't entirely capable of fighting for the Na'vi without his own pa'li or tsurak. And if Spider wasn't flying with Y/n, he was flying with Kiri, keeping his best friend safe when she wasn't much of a fighter. Jake was always at peace knowing Kiri would be safe as long as Spider was with her.
Wars came and went, and victories and losses on both sides happened, but Jake believed he got the best victory of all when he got to hold his granddaughter for the first time. Y/n and Ao'nung named her Sìla immediately after she was born instead of waiting to announce it to the rest of the village. They didn't have much of a choice, as the village had been compromised after the latest battle, and unfortunately, everyone needed to evacuate. But after they had all made it to safety, Jake had the honor of being the first to hold Sìla in his arms with the exception of her parents. She was Metkayina, through and through, but even newly born, Jake could see hints of eyebrow hair and an extra finger on each hand, hidden by the infant's clenched fists, physical traits that she no doubt inherited from her mother and her grandfather. Despite forgoing tradition, the clans rejoiced at the first signs of new life in the midst of war.
But Sìla would be the only one born into war. Not long after her birth, her parents and all the other Na'vi managed to eradicate the rest of the Sky People before they could fly back to Earth or call for reinforcements. Again, Jake wasn't taking any chances. With his granddaughter now born, he was just as determined to ensure that the Sky People never returned... for good this time.
With peace finally reaching all corners of Pandora, the Sully family continued to grow. Lo'ak and Tsireya were now expecting a child, and Tuk was now old enough to choose a mate if she so wished. Neither Kiri nor Spider appeared interested in growing families of their own, but Jake was fine with that if that meant he could still have some of his own children to himself. Sìla had only just started to swim and walk on her own when Ao'nung and Y/n announced they were expecting again, and the celebration outweighed the upcoming sadness. Tonowari was heavily wounded in the final battle against the Sky People and was slowly succumbing to his injuries. He had let go and joined Eywa in his sleep after he was told more grandchildren were on the way. Knowing he was at peace, the Metkayina celebrated his life instead of grieving over him, thankful for the legacy he left behind.
Ao'nung was olo'eyktan now, but Y/n had agreed with Ronal that even as his mate, she wouldn't become tsahik. Y/n never wanted that role, even when it was hers for the taking as a child of the Omatikaya. She was not a healer. She was a fighter, so Tsireya would assume that role once Ronal was ready to step down or if she passed away, and Y/n would be known as the clan's olo'eykte. No one questioned the decision, but they were happy for the family's strength in position and legacy, nevertheless.
Speaking of the Omatikaya, Kiri returned to her family's clan after the war and took the role of tsahik at the behest of her dying grandmother. Mo'at was a force to be reckoned with, even in death, so no one questioned her succession, not even Tarsem. Neytiri, Tuk, and Spider also flew back to the Forest with Kiri and stayed until Mo'at had passed. They told her all of their stories as she closed her eyes, smiling as if she were sleeping. She had outlived so many loved ones. She outlived a daughter, a mate, a grandson, and many other friends and family. She had lived long enough to become a great-grandmother, and so when she passed away in her daughter's arms, Neytiri did not cry. Instead, she was incredibly grateful that someone in her life finally managed to live until old age.
When Kiri assumed the role of tsahik, Neytiri decided to stay. She had been separated from her clan for far too long, and she belonged in the forest. She was finally ready to come home. Spider also stayed with the Omatikaya and actually became a teacher for the children of the Na'vi. Grace Augustine's legacy lived on not only through her daughter but through Norm, Max, and all remaining humans who lived on Pandora. Above all, her legacy lived on through a boy who didn't even know her but grew up wanting to teach the Na'vi all that he learned living in two different worlds, worlds that Grace had wanted to share with the children when she was alive.
Tuk decided not to stay with the Omatikaya but didn't travel back to Awa'atlu alone. With the war now over, plenty of clans wished to mix and mingle with one another. So when Tuk returned to the Metkayina, she brought back not only her childhood friend Popiti but at least a dozen Omatikaya warriors who wished to learn the ways of their reef brothers and sisters.
Ao'nung and Tsireya -Ronal had stepped down from tsahik while Tuk was away- gladly welcomed the Omatikaya and Jake watched as Lo'ak and Y/n reunited with old friends and new faces from their mother's village. Even though he wanted to catch up with the warriors from his clan, he didn't want to wait any longer himself. Toruk Makto was anxious to join his wife, daughter, and son back in the Forest, but he wanted to stay long enough to ensure the children who would remain with the Metkayina would be in good hands. Even if they were no longer children, he couldn't help it. He was still their father and even though not all children stay close to their parents, he still wanted to be sure they were loved and cared for before he had to leave them.
Jake found it difficult to regret missing out on so much of his children's lives because of the war, knowing that he would do it all over again if it meant they would get the chance to have a future. He was content knowing that he fought a war so his children would never have to in the future. Instead, they'll get to live their lives and raise their children without the fear of leaving them behind to fight, or worse, lose a child to war as Jake and Neytiri did.
Neteyam was on his father's mind now more than ever, especially as Jake held his first grandson in his arms. He had waited to leave Awa'atlu until after Y/n had given birth again, now honored to meet the first boy in the family's next generation. So far, Lo'ak and Y/n's respective families have only had two girls between them, so the village rejoiced at the birth of the olo'eyktan's first son. Y/n named the baby boy Nokteyam and the meaning behind that name wasn't lost on anyone, especially not on Jake. Tears welled up in his eyes while staring down at Nokteyam, sleeping peacefully in his grandfather's arms. He didn't have a single physical human trait and strangely, he didn't inherit any Metkayina features either. Nokteyam looked exactly like a forest child with all the correct Na'vi fingers, toes, and tail. It only made Jake's heart clench even tighter when he realized Nokteyam looked like his own firstborn son.
When Jake had asked, Y/n firmly stated that she would not be calling her son 'Teyam as a nickname. She claimed she wanted to honor her dead brother's name, not haunt her son by it. No, Y/n named her son Nokteyam but called him Nok for short, so that he'd grow up with his own identity and not the ghost of his uncle's, a young man whom he never had the pleasure of meeting.
Sìla wasn't happy at the idea of being a big sister, mainly because she was barely old enough to grasp the idea of it. But throughout the first week of Nok being in this world, she grew to love her little brother and positively beamed whenever someone told her she was the best big sister. Once Y/n and Ao'nung had settled into the life of parenting a toddler and a newborn, Jake flew back to the Forest, his heart heavy to leave three of his children behind, but was also excited to reunite with his wife and his two adoptive children, along with the Omatikaya.
The Sullys have been divided, but that didn't mean they weren't sticking together. Lo'ak, Y/n, and Tuk were closer than ever, living among the Metkayina, while Jake, Neytiri, Kiri, and Spider worked together to oversee the future of the Omatikaya. Not one Sully was left alone, and that gave Jake some comfort. They all kept in touch and often flew to each other's villages when given the chance. During one of these visits, Y/n told her parents that she was pregnant again, but when she eventually gave birth, neither Jake nor Neytiri was with her this time, oceans away and unaware that they were grandparents again.
Instead of having the three children they agreed upon, Y/n and Ao'nung end up having four, because the third child turned out to be twins. Having twins was inevitable as it had never skipped a generation. First, it was Jake and Tommy, then Neteyam and Y/n... now it was Tawnu and Nangi, both boys and both sporting a healthy mixture of human, forest, and reef features.
Despite having more children than she initially wanted, Y/n could not be happier. However, she was slightly terrified of the idea of having the same amount of children her parents did before losing Neteyam and adopting Spider. What if she made the same mistakes her sa'sem did? This is what she was trying to avoid when she first told Ao'nung she only wanted two babies, worried that she might accidentally favor one child over another, or worse put too much burden and responsibility on one of their shoulders. Ao'nung wasn't worried, however, vocally adamant that his wife was strong and she always learned from her mother and father's mistakes. She was already the best mother in the world just by worrying she'd mess up. The Na'vi only ever want what's best for their children, and Y/n and Ao'nung were no exceptions.
From the beginning, they had both agreed to expose the children to forest and reef life, both mother and father teaching the next generation what they had been taught in their separate, respective clans. While Ao'nung worried about teaching the children to swim from infancy, Y/n made sure her children knew what it felt like to fly.
It was one of her favorite activities to spend time with her children. Only risking to take them one at a time, Y/n would strap one baby to her chest and take her ikran out for a long flight around the island. She did this with all of her children, but never all at once.
Ao'nung also loved when Y/n took one of their children to the skies, but not for the same reason. He enjoyed spending quality time with the remaining three children while his wife was away with the fourth. Like his father before him, Ao'nung was a great and mighty leader, often intimidating by size alone. But to his children, he spoke soft and gently, never raising his voice unless it was to be heard.
The olo'eyktan found himself sitting on the beach, his legs stretched out in the sand with Nangi sitting between them. The baby, only old enough to sit up and nothing else, was playing, in awe of the sand and shells his father provided for him to inspect. Meanwhile, Ao'nung was keeping a watchful eye on Sìla and Nok as they chased one another into the water, never going any deeper than above their waists. Their laughs and squeals of joy can be heard echoing in the winds as they travel through Awa'atlu. Despite the high pitch, it was a peaceful sound and one of Ao'nung's favorites that he liked to replay in his head. He tried to retain as many good memories as possible, still occasionally caught up in the bad ones. While he loved his children always asking him questions, it was always hard to answer why he had a large, wide scar on his right leg.
It was hard enough that Ao'nung barely remembered what happened himself. It happened early on in the war against the Sky People. Lo'ak, younger at the time, told Ao'nung when he woke up from the battle that a sky demon had emptied an assault rifle into his leg. Ao'nung had lost a lot of blood, and at the time, there were Ronal, Kiri, and Mo'at all hard at work, trying to keep him alive and save his leg. Ao'nung couldn't remember the pain or the event leading up to getting injured, but he remembered being in and out of consciousness throughout the whole ordeal, and the faint memory of Y/n screaming and crying his name still haunts him to this day. Y/n, who was heavily pregnant with Sìla at the time, was bargaining with Eywa, pleading for the Great Mother to spare the father of her unborn child and how she didn't deserve to lose anyone else she loved. Whether it was the tag team of tsahiks or Y/n's prayers, Ao'nung had miraculously survived, and he had fully healed just in time to be there for his mate when she went into labor.
Ao'nung tries to remember the birth of his first and only daughter over the memory of his injury, and sometimes he prefers telling Sìla the story of her birth over the time he nearly died. He doesn't mind the scars, but the memories behind them are terrifying. His children make them better -they make everything better- by admiring the scars and talking about how brave their father is. They like the scars. Like the songcord, scars tell the children of Na'vi a story, and it makes Ao'nung filled with pride.
His thoughts are interrupted by the familiar screech of an ikran. Looking up with a smile, he sees Evi, the light blue banshee with gold lightning running up her figure, flying up ahead. Life is a little funny and ironic as Ao'nung fondly thinks. 'Funny that the first time he ever met Evi, she was nearly ready to eat him, and ironic how her rider would someday become his mate. Whenever he told that story to his children, they had yet to believe him.
The chief of the Metkayina doesn't get up from the sand and watches the ikran circle him before promptly landing on the sand a couple of yards away. Only then when the banshee landed did Sìla and Nok notice the beast as well and squealed with excitement, running over to Evi like she was a long-lost family pet. Ao'nung fondly smiled as he watched the ikran rider dismount and cling tightly to the bundle strapped against her chest. Y/n now stood as tall as her mother used to be, still sporting the braided hair and beads, but now wore clothing more appropriate for a leading member of the Metkayina. Like Ao'nung, she was nearly covered in tattoos, other than her chin where the tsahik symbol would've been if she hadn't let Tsireya take on the role. Otherwise, most of Y/n's tattoos symbolized a warrior and a high-standing figure among the villagers; as their olo'eykte. Ao'nung still felt pride whenever he saw the akula tooth carved to look like an arrowhead, resting just above his mate's heart and now woven into her chest piece.
Y/n had bent down to gather Sìla and Nok in her arms when they ran up to greet her but was careful not to squish the baby still sleeping at her breast. Standing up, Y/n carefully adjusted Tawnu to rest comfortably against her collar before she grabbed Sìla and Nok's hands, walking with them along the beach, heading in the direction of the olo'eyktan and Little Nangi.
When they were close enough, Ao'nung called out, "Did Evi get to stretch her wings?"
Y/n smiles with a shrug, "Enough to last the old girl another week before she insists I take her again."
The Na'vi woman sits down beside Ao'nung in the sand, leaning heavily against his side, knowing that he'd gladly take her weight, his arm sliding around her waist to hold her close. Ao'nung paid no attention to Y/n's tail loosely wrapping around his own waist and instead busied himself with trading twins, setting Nangi down on Y/n's lap before helping Y/n with taking Tawnu out of his sling. Ao'nung lets Tawnu continue sleeping in the crook of his other arm while Y/n gathers Nangi in hers, cooing to the baby boy and making him laugh when she riddled his little chubby face with kisses.
Once the parents were settled, Sìla took this opportunity of happiness to plead with big, blue eyes and a pouty lip, wrapping her little arms around Y/n's, "Can I go again, Mama?"
Evi squawks in the background, likely offended that she's now the family's show pony in her old age, while Y/n smiles sweetly and leans her forehead into her daughter's, "You have to wait your turn, ma'txe'lan. It will be Nangi's turn next time, then I promise I will take you."
Sìla whined but otherwise didn't complain, distracted by Nok when he pinched her and ran off. The chief's daughter runs after him, vowing for revenge in their own twisted game of tag while their parents watch on in adoration.
Ao'nung briefly looks up to the sky, "The winds are getting warmer. The tulkun should be returning soon."
"Hm," Y/n replies while looking down at Nangi. Apparently, he had followed in his twin's footsteps and fell asleep, "I'm sure they will be very happy to meet the twins for the first time."
"I will be very happy to introduce them to my Spirit Brother," Ao'nung turns his head to his wife, "When do you think Sìla can meet your brother?"
Y/n's resulting smile was soft and kind, but Ao'nung knew better than anyone the level of sadness behind it. Even as she had aged and small wrinkles had started to form around her lips, she still looked like the young girl who had lost her other half as if it was only yesterday. She looks off over the waves and out into the vast ocean, thinking back to all the times she had visited the Spirit Tree over the years. As promised, she only visited Neteyam on special occasions. She visited when each of their siblings finished their Iknimaya or when Lo'ak and Tsireya were officially betrothed, when the Na'vi had won the war, and when Y/n found out each time she was pregnant. She had started to visit less and less, far too busy as a wife and a mother, just as Neteyam had hoped for, but she'll still go to see him when her children go through big and meaningful milestones, always excited to share them with her twin brother.
The children have yet to learn about Neteyam, their parents believing they are still far too young. Nok knows his name stems from someone important to his mama, but that is the extent of his knowledge. Soon, however, Sìla will be old enough to knowingly connect to the Spirit Tree all by herself, unlike her first communion with Eywa. When that time comes, Ao'nung and Y/n will sit her down and tell her the story of her Uncle Neteyam.
It will break Y/n's heart when Sìla asks if they meant Uncle Lo'ak or Spider, but Y/n will correct her daughter and tell her that she actually has a third uncle. Both her mother and father will tell Sìla stories of a young boy she had never met, a boy who never got to grow up alongside his friends and siblings... A boy who loved his family deeply and would have loved Sìla and her brothers even more, he would've hung the world for them if he were still alive.
Y/n's heart will always ache to know that Neteyam was robbed of being someone's husband and father, whoever those poor souls might have been. Her heart ached to know he would never get to be olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya or meet each and every one of his nieces and nephews until they were all old enough to go to him themselves. However, her heart has been healing for some time instead of breaking, and like Neteyam said she would, Y/n has managed to balance her sadness with her happiness, missing her brother just as much as she loved her mate and her kids.
She leans further into Ao'nung's shoulder, watching two of her children play in the water while the remaining two slept safely in their parents' arms, "Soon."
Her husband hums quietly, turning his head until it's half buried in her hair, whispering his response in a kiss he placed on the top of her head, "Nga yawne lu oer, Forest Girl."
"Nga yawne lu oer, Seaweed Brain."
Sìla: derived from "hope"
Nokteyam: Nok (a man's name in Na'vi) and Neteyam "not the end"
Tawnu: derived from "sky"
Nangi: derived from "surprise"
Even though I'm finishing up this series, I think I still want to write about it. I plan on writing about missing scenes that weren't initially written in the series, like Ao'nung's injury and in-depth reactions to Y/n's pregnancies. So stay tuned for that! If you have a request for me to write about a certain topic for this series, please don't be afraid to ask! (I'm also not opposed to writing 'what-if' scenarios like "what if Neteyam survived and watched his twin sister's family grow?")
summary: although neteyam had never reciprocated her feelings, choosing him was always an easy decision for y/n, one of those she could make in a heartbeat. so when another man tries to win her affections, neteyam suddenly becomes aware of what he has been missing out on
wc: 7,7k
contains: childhood friends to lovers, first love/puppy love, jealousy, long-time crush
a/n: the way i completely made up everything about the vayätu-creature. sometimes i just write without a plot and although i was very excited for this idea, it was so difficult to finish it. i hope you enjoy reading it, please let me know if you do
masterlist
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“Come on, Lo’ak, don’t take it to heart,” Kiri nudged her brother, “You know that Neteyam has been having a hard time lately, it’s not that he pushes you around on purpose.”
You emerged from behind the thick bushes, finally finding Lo’ak and Kiri sitting on a log, engrossed in a conversation. Your curiosity piqued at the mention of Neteyam.
“Why is Neteyam having a hard time?”
Kiri stiffened under your expectant gaze, but before she could even signal to Lo’ak to hold his tongue, he was already spilling out the truth. She groaned in frustration at how senseless her brother could be at times.
“Because our parents have been nagging at him to choose a mate lately.”
Neteyam must choose a mate. Your heart dropped at the statement you had been dreading to hear for years now, ever since he had first passed his Iknimaya. It was never going to be you, you were used to the thought, but nothing could have prepared for the weight of bearing it now.
“You are such a skxawng,” Kiri hissed at Lo’ak, swatting his arm. She shot you an almost apologetic glance.
“Why? It’s not like it is a secret,” Lo’ak rolled his eyes, finally drawing a connection between your sour expression and Kiri’s sudden irritation, "Neteyam has to choose a mate soon, so that the grandmother has enough time to prepare the new tsakarem. He's been putting it off for far too long."
“It is not easy to choose someone to love for a lifetime,” Kiri added with a sigh.
But it was. Choosing Neteyam was always an easy decision for you, one of those that you could make in a heartbeat. He had been your tunutu since childhood, a curious fascination with the older brother of your friends that eventually grew into a frustratingly intense crush, haunting you at every stage of your life. It was by Eywa's grace that your paths crossed with the Olo'eyktan's children when you were about six years old, learning to hunt and running through the forest together until the eclipse. On the second day of playing with Kiri and her brothers, you had boldly declared your love for Neteyam to everyone in the village, turning it into a big inside joke among the clan. If you had known that it would follow you far into your teenage years, when kids your age were relentless and cruel, you would have been more guarded about it. The guys teased Neteyam for having an admirer so clingy, it seemed as if he had grown a second tail. But no matter how much they tried to get to you with their taunts, it never seemed to bother him.
Even as a child, Neteyam had a maturity that went beyond his years. He seeked no entertainment in punishing someone for their feelings, something they cannot control. On the contrary, he admired your loyalty and dedication to him, the way you had remained his close friend, despite his gentle refusal of your romantic overtures. And so, that’s how it went. Your relationship grew stronger over the years, you learned and failed together but were always there for each other to offer a supporting shoulder. It hit a rough patch for a short period, right after both of you had completed your Iknimayas, when you tried to distance yourself from him to avoid any rumors. But Neteyam was persistent to keep your friendship, and so he did. Eventually, your feelings for him were pushed to an afterthought, as you had come to terms that Neteyam was never going to choose you. You had made peace with being just his friend, but your heart still sank at the thought that soon enough you will be replaced.
“Y/N, are you okay?” Kiri’s concerned voice caught your attention.
“Sure,” you gulped, forcing a small smile, “Lo’ak is right, it’s not like I didn’t know.”
“Right,” Lo’ak nodded hesitantly.
The siblings exchanged a knowing look. At times, your crush on Neteyam was sweet, entertaining even. But the two of them also got to live the nasty side of an unrequited love through you. Especially Kiri, who had shared the pain of knowing she couldn’t be with someone she loved, often commiserated with you in it.
“Maybe this is a sign for me to start looking too, you know? Find a mate,” your blabbered without a thought, trying to cover any traces of the stinging pain.
“Huh?” Kiri's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she glanced at Lo'ak to see if he was as taken aback as she was. This was new.
You had never expressed the desire to find a mate before. Knowing well that Neteyam did not reciprocate your feelings and there was no point in getting your hopes up, the idea of being with somebody else appeared in your mind quite frequently, you just never voiced it. It was scary, the prospect of settling for someone you loved less, simply because there was no other choice.
Your parents had often spoken of their own bond, a relationship that began as platonic and it was only natural when they decided to choose each other for their companions. Companions, not lovers. Though your mother had assured you that once they had completed a Tsaheylu, everything changed. That the blessed bond is a connection deeper than love, one that is impossible to ignore after experiencing everything your mate had gone through. So with a heavy heart, you had to accept that one day you might have to face the same fate.
“Y/N, are you sure you’re okay?” Lo’ak stood up from his seat and walked over to you. He placed the back of his palm against your forehead, as if checking for a fever.
“I am not ill,” you chuckled, shoving him away, “I mean, I’ve known for a long time now that I’ll have to accept the advances of another man at some point. Why dwell on something I can’t have?”
It burned your throat to say the words but it was only the truth, and truth hurt. Kiri and Lo'ak agreed hesitantly with you but were still unsure if you meant it. It was as though you were convincing yourself more than them.
“Oh, Y/N…” Kiri began but Lo’ak was quick to interrupt her.
“No, don’t do that, Kiri,” he shushed his sister before she could even express how sorry she felt for you, “You’re right, Y/N. Do you have any idea how many of my friends keep asking about you? You should get out there and have some fun, I mean, Txi’pu’s practically turning purple when he sees you.”
“Txi’pu?” you questioned, “Didn’t he tame his ikran at like… twelve?”
“Yes, yet the man is flustered by your mere presence,” Lo’ak chuckled, “But he seems like a cool guy, maybe you should give him a chance.”
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“Hey, what’s that about?” Neteyam nudged his brother, staring in the direction where you sat.
The communal dinner was in full swing, right after Lo’ak had given Txi’pu the green light to approach you. You were engrossed in conversation with Kiri, as she nibbled on her food, when Txi’pu gathered up the courage to come up to you and offer you a plate of cut-up fruit.
Lo’ak followed his brother's line of sight and straightened immediately, intrigued by the interaction. He grinned in satisfaction, as he watched you shyly accept the gift.
“Txi’pu is going to ask Y/N out,” Lo’ak explained.
“Poor man,” Neteyam snorted, watching you intently, “She’s clearly not interested.”
Neteyam braced himself, eager to enjoy how you would decline Txi'pu's offer. He had seen you reject advances before with such poise and kindness that the men didn't even realize they were supposed to be offended. It was always amusing to watch. But as he saw you take Txi'pu's hand and stand up, a low growl rumbled in his throat.
“What’s happening?” he questioned with a strained voice.
“Looks like she said yes,” Lo’ak shrugged.
Neteyam shot his brother an angry glare, as if it was entirely his fault, before turning his attention back to you. He watched Txi'pu led you away from the clan, his eyes following the sway of your hips. Eventually, as the two of you disappeared from his line of sight, Neteyam clenched his fists so tightly that the pain from his nails digging into his palms went unnoticed.
He stood up abruptly, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the noise surrounding him. The fiery glow of the flames painted him in a crimson hue, adding to his already intimidating demeanor. Lo’ak frowned as he watched his brother walk away.
“Hey, where are you going?” he called out after him, but Neteyam was already gone.
That night, Neteyam laid in his hammock, unable to fall into his usual deep sleep as he gazed up at the starry sky. The distant sound of your laughter reached his ears, and he couldn't tell if it was real or just a figment of his own imagination. He had never felt this way before when you got attention from other men because you never reciprocated it. He wondered what you saw in Txi'pu. Would you be happy with a man like him?
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The next morning, Neteyam returned later than usual from his hunt, his body tired and mind restless from the lack of sleep. As he made his way towards the communal area, his attention was immediately drawn to you, seated with his siblings, engrossed in a conversation that seemed to captivate them. Neteyam felt a surge of energy within him at the mere sight of you talking so animatedly, he couldn’t wait to join and hear what you were saying. Quietly, he slipped in between Lo’ak and Kiri, so as to not disturb you, and his heart dropped upon the realization that the topic of the gathering was your walk with Txi’pu.
“Did he take you somewhere nice afterward?” Kiri asked, grinning.
Neteyam kept his gaze trained on the ground, not wanting to appear to be invested in your babbling about the last night, yet he hung onto every word you spoke. His patience was running thin, Kiri’s tail whacking him on the back with increasing excitement as you shared more details. He clenched his jaw in annoyance.
“We went to the waterfall, the one by the cliffs,” you smiled, “It was very beautiful.”
“Oh, that’s a good spot,” Lo’ak chimed in with a mischievous grin, “Girls are always impressed when I take them there.”
“Yeah, sure, Romeo,” Kiri rolled her eyes at him.
Neteyam cleared his throat loud enough to catch your attention.
“I think it’s too cliche. The waterfall,” his voice possessed a hint of annoyance, “He clearly hadn’t put much thought into impressing you.”
“No, it totally depends on who’s taking you there,” Kiri argued.
Lo’ak intervened too, and as the two of them went back and forth about it, Neteyam’s eyes locked on yours. He studied you intensely, trying to read whatever was going on in your mind. You seemed pleased with the outcome of the last night, of the time you spent with another man. He wondered if you had truly moved on from him, and he felt a pang of guilt for secretly wishing that you hadn't. You stiffened under his penetrating gaze, sinking deeper into your seat.
"How was your hunt?" you hoped to shift the conversation away from the uncomfortable tension that had suddenly taken hold.
“Nothing special,” he shrugged, then reached for the pouch on his loincloth, taking something out of it, “Here, I brought this for you.”
Neteyam had made a sweet habit out of bringing you small treasures from his hunts. From simplest rocks to wildflowers, he always admired how you managed to turn them into something beautiful. He thought that the vibrant blue feather he found this morning would look nice braided into your hair.
You accepted it with a smile, admiring the unique pattern. And as he watched you observe it, Neteyam just couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the moment. His usually cheerful expression was clouded with gloominess. He had hoped that you would confide in him about Txi'pu's unwanted advances and ask for his help, but instead, you seemed content with the outcome of the previous night.
“Thank you, Neteyam,” you beamed at him, but he could only manage to give you a faint smile.
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Neteyam tousled the edges of his loincloth, irritation babbling in his chest, tightening so hard from within, he felt like he could snap any second now. His mother’s words, usually held dear to his heart, sounded like an annoying screech, as she went over the same topic: finding a perfect mate. Somebody on whom he could rely on when he becomes the Olo’eyktan, when the responsibilities are too much to handle. That the poor girl, whoever she is, must be prepared for her role in the upcoming few years, and that unlike Neteyam, she didn’t have her whole life to train. So he was being unfair to her by postponing the decision, leaving her no time to adjust.
His grandmother sat silently not too far, hands occupied with work, as she occasionally nodded to agree with Neytiri’s words. There was nothing new about them, it was the same lecture that has been passed down in generations through Mo’at’s lineage. She was sure that one day Neteyam would pass it down to his own children.
“Are you paying attention?” Neytiri asked again, and Neteyam had to nod to convince her that he did, though he stopped listening a long time ago, “She must be strong, resilient. It is important that you choose wisely. I believe you are mature enough not to be fooled by beauty only -”
Y/N was undeniably beautiful. Was he fooled by her appearance? By the way her hair cascaded down her shoulders, those two beaded braids, adorned with some that he had gifted her, framing her face and complementing the yellow of her eyes. By the way her body moved, like the flow of water, gentle and natural, as if every movement was planned out by Eywa herself. He couldn’t deny that sometimes his eyes lingered on her longer than a friend's should. Sometimes, even the way she sat close to him, their thighs pressed against each other and her small delicate shoulder nudging his, could make him too flustered.
“Led not only by her heart but also by her mind,” Neytiri continued.
Surely, you were smart, capable for your age. Neteyam would even dare to say that you were smarter than most of the adults he had known, probably smarter than him too. And you were kind too, with a heart so big that you willingly offered support and loyalty to him, though he had done nothing in return. If it were any other girl, she would have likely cursed him out and refused to acknowledge him for the rest of her life.
“Prepared to protect her clan and her family.”
Would Y/N be a good mate, ready to take on the responsibility of tsakarem? The thought was fleeting but heavy enough to ooze his head with delight. Neteyam took a deep breath to calm himself, feeling overwhelmed by how much the descriptions expanded to you. Neytiri paused, observing him for a moment.
“There is someone already, yes?” she asked, failing to conceal her hopeful tone.
Neteyam’s eyes snapped back to his mother, as she waited for him to answer. He could only shake his head and mutter an apology before scurrying away.
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No, it was wrong. Not after all those years of rejecting your affections, of not noticing when he crossed the lines and you didn't mind, he couldn't just swoop in now. Neteyam had struggled with this thought for many nights since the rumors of you letting Txi'pu court you began to circulate. You would tell him, right? He was your best friend, he had to be the first to know. But then again, it was probably foolish to believe what others had assumed. He had heard you say it to Lo'ak.
"I'm just taking things as they come," you shrugged, seemingly unbothered. Neteyam wished you would give him more of a reaction, so he could make some observations, "I don't think he and I are there yet."
But how could he believe it when he had seen you with Txi'pu repeatedly - the other day, the day after, and yesterday. He had noticed how you accepted the cut-up fruits from the warrior during communal dinners, held his hand, laughed with him - how it all had become somewhat of a habit. Neteyam struggled to maintain his appearances - he’d rather stay hungry than see you leave early with Txi’pu. Why him? The question knitted his eyebrows together in a deep-wrinkled frown, and he turned in his hammock once more, coaxing another annoyed whine from Lo'ak.
"Could you please stop?" his younger brother whispered, trying not to stir the rest of the family.
With sunrise approaching, it seemed unlikely to get any sleep anyway. Neteyam huffed and rose from his hammock, determined that a walk would clear his head. Maybe he was being selfish, greedy to keep you all to himself. But the idea of you being courted by someone else didn’t seem fair, especially when he had rejected everyone, every potential suitor suggested by his mother. Secretly, Neteyam wished that she would say your name, and then he would give her a sign that he wasn’t opposed to mating with you. But was it really unfair? After all, he never really gave you a chance.
His feet carried him away, making a few laps around the village. People were beginning to stir, emerging from their homes to begin their daily chores. Neteyam headed to the camp, intending to start his training early. But he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard your name.
Txi’pu and his friend were standing in front of the training hut, grinning widely and snickering about something. About someone. Neteyam hesitated to reveal himself, but his curiosity got the best of him, and he moved closer, trying to eavesdrop. The camp was beginning to get busy with the morning session, and just when Neteyam heard Txi'pu's malicious words about you, rage surged through him. In a split second, he made a decision. The rest was just as rushed, a heated fight took place between the two men.
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“You, go to Tsahik, now,” Jake ordered to Txi’pu with a scowl, then turned to you with a softened expression, “Y/N, please take care of this knucklehead,” he gestured to his son.
You nodded, hunching slightly, disappointment evident in your demeanor. You weren't sure how you felt when you first saw Neteyam on top of Txi’pu, punching him too hard for it to be considered a part of the training. Luckily, Jake was there, pulling his oldest son away from the other warrior before bigger damage was done.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Neteyam sighed.
“You do not look sorry,” Jake scoffed, “So stop with the lying, and go get cleaned up. We will talk about this later.”
Similar to Neteyam, Txi’pu refused to meet your eyes. He looked guilty, even more so than Neteyam. You wondered what had caused their fight, the thought consuming you so much that you almost missed Neteyam walking away from you. Anger began to bubble up inside you at the lack of information. It wouldn't have surprised you if it were Lo’ak, but Neteyam rarely resorted to using his fists.
“What happened?” you asked again, catching up to Neteyam.
But he only shook his head, refusing to reveal the reason. As the two of you headed into his family hut, you gently shoved him to sit down and began shuffling through his mother's baskets. You quickly settled on picking out one of the healing balms, the one that usually stung the most. You were furious. For not telling you what had happened, for getting hurt, for attacking Txi'pu; that’s not who he was. Careless, reactive.
“Just say it,” he gritted through his teeth, feeling the cut above his brow throb under your fingers, “I can feel that you’re mad at me.”
"You shouldn't have attacked him like that," you replied, your voice laced with irritation. More than anything, you hated when Neteyam got hurt.
“He deserved it.”
"That's not the point," you replied sternly. "This isn't like you. You don't go around punching people."
“Why him?” his voice cut harshly through the air, his amber eyes searching yours desperately, “Out of all people, why would you give yourself to him?”
“What?” you frowned, “I didn’t.”
“Well, that’s what he’s telling everyone,” Neteyam rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t believe you. You shook your head, partly to convince him you were telling the truth, partly denying the fact that he believed somebody else over you.
How could he truly think you would do that? Knowing how much you valued the sacred bond, how could you, a woman he had grown up with and seemed to know through and through, give herself to a man with whom she had spent only a mere of two weeks. Without feelings, or even proper courting? And even if it was true, wasn’t he supposed to support you regardless of what you did? The thought stung, bringing anger into your voice.
“And what if I had given myself to him? It is none of your concern,” you snapped, pulling away from him with a sharpness that left him reeling. Your words were meant to wound, to protect Txi’pu and to strike back at Neteyam, “You had no right to attack him like that.”
“But I had,” he hissed, frustrated with how oblivious you were at reading his actions, “I have every right to make a call, when you can’t.”
“That’s not fair,” you shook your head firmly, as if denying his words, “You don’t get to act possessive over me.”
Neteyam retreated slightly. Did he reveal too much? He had always been aware of the deep-seated feeling in his chest that riled up every time he saw you but had never dared to give it a name. He couldn’t let you recognize it before he’d bring himself to confront it first.
“Do you think I did this for you? I am the future Olo’eyktan, and it is my duty as a leader and a warrior to keep skxawngs like him in tact,” he retorted, his voice dripping with venom, “I am not some lovesick puppy.”
You stared at him in bewilderment, struggling to reconcile this angry, unfamiliar version of Neteyam with the man you thought you knew like the back of your hand. His face was masked with rage, as he took it out on you for a reason that had still remained unclear. ‘Lovesick puppy,’ did he mean you?
"Got it," you spat out.You knew better than this - to trust that he wouldn’t hold your feelings for him against you one day.
“I didn’t mean to -” he regretted immediately, grasping at your hand but you yanked it away from his grip and stormed off.
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“Bro, what’s wrong with you? Dad looked like he was going to skin you,” Lo’ak plopped down next to Neteyam.
The older brother sat defeated on the cliff, feet dangling from the abrupt edge mindlessly. He stared out into the distance, the sun setting over the rainforest.
“I don’t regret it, Txi’pu is disgusting,” Neteyam spat out, anger still lingering in his voice.
“What did he do?”
Lo’ak pushed for answers, since the reason for the fight was still unknown. When the fight was broken off in front of the other warriors, Neteyam refused to voice it. He didn’t want to repeat the nasty words spoken by Txi’pu when you were there and embarrass you in front of the others, even worse, he didn’t want to hurt you. Neteyam didn’t care enough to defend himself, didn’t care for the scolding he got from his father after that. Frankly, he didn’t regret attacking Txi’pu at all, drawing blood felt good. But his father pressed, knowing exactly how to prod the words out of his oldest son. Jake decided not to intervene in the matters of your friendship then, he only advised his son to be mature and clean up his own mess.
“He was saying these things about Y/N, and I couldn’t just let it go,” Neteyam gulped, his fists clenching in anger, “He told his friends that she gave herself to him without a Tsaheylu. That after years of pining for me, he had finally ‘cured’ her... some shit like that.”
“What an asshole,” Lo’ak sighed, shaking his head.
“Yeah…”
Both brothers sat there for a moment, giving each other the space to process their conversation. The only sounds were the soft rustling of the wind through the vines and the distant calls of the banshees. Eventually, Lo’ak decided to break the silence once more.
“I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, but you shouldn’t have caused a scene like that. You got yourself into so much trouble.”
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam turned to look at him, a little frustrated, “It was about Y/N. How could I let it slide?”
“No, I know, I agree,” his little brother was quick to raise his palms in the air to show he was still on his side, “I’m just saying, you never act like that. Maybe the jealousy got the better of you.”
“I am not jealous,” Neteyam protested, “I just can’t stand it that she chose to spend time with some asshole and then got herself hurt.”
“It’s her life, she can make her own choices,” Lo'ak placed a comforting hand on Neteyam's shoulder. He could sense that his brother was battling with something deep within himself, that the boundaries were blurring.
“But he doesn’t deserve her.”
“And you do?” Lo’ak asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
“W-what?” Neteyam scoffed, standing up to show he was done with the conversation, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s okay if it took you so long to realize. Just don’t make her wait any longer,” Lo’ak shouted after Neteyam, who was already walking away.
Neteyam's eyes widened with a sudden realization. It was as if Lo'ak's advice had struck the exact spot in his mind that had been bothering him for days, offering a simple solution to his inner turmoil. It was like medicine to his aching soul, and all he had to do was reach out and take it.
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Txi’pu's apology came quickly but lacked any genuine remorse. It was as if he had been forced into it, and by the look on his face, you suspected that he had been, most likely by Jake. The thought of the Olo’eyktan having to waste his time like that and hear about the stupid rumors was humiliating. Neteyam, on the other hand, took his time, letting you cool off, while he would figure out his feelings. Though he hadn’t suspected that the lack of his apology drew a distance between you that you were previously unfamiliar with. He’d steal glances at you during the dinners but that was it. Your best friend, the man you have been in love with, didn’t feel like a safe person anymore.
He was confused about it too. Couldn't tell if it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or if he was genuinely blind to how much he used to relish in your presence. He gazed from afar with a longing look as you sat, looking pretty as ever. Your eyebrows were knitted in a gentle frown, eyelids halfway closed, as you huffed air out of your plump lips. He couldn't help but steal another glance in your direction, as he watched your head pull back with a loud whimper, your mother's hands quickly braiding another section of your hair, gripping tightly as you struggled to keep your neck straight. It would almost make him laugh at the way you reacted to pain, if he hadn't been so distracted by how pretty you looked.
“Stop gawking,” Lo’ak nudged him with an eye roll, “Just apologize already. It’s been days.”
Neteyam shook off his distracting thoughts, but the knife he was supposed to be sharpening remained as blunt as his mind, struggling to keep up with whatever Lo'ak was saying to him.
He wished he could just go back in time and stop himself from lashing out at you, from taking his frustrations out on the one person he cared about the most. He regretted pressing on the wound in your heart that had been bleeding for him for years, hurting you in the place where it hurt the most. The distance between you two had become unbearable, but he couldn't bring himself to close it. It felt different this time. Throughout all the years of your friendship, you had never fought like this. You had always been there for each other, through thick and thin. Misunderstandings were usually quickly resolved with sincere apologies. But the venomous words that had spilled out of him due to jealousy had stung like no other, ‘I am not some lovesick puppy.’
“Lo’ak,” Neteyam’s voice quievered, “Can you talk to her for me? She might listen to you.”
“Really, dude?” Lo’ak raised an eyebrow at him, “You want me to apologize for you?”
“No, I don't want you to apologize for me,” Neteyam frowned, already getting irritated, “Just make her talk to me, please.”
“Fine, but you owe me,” Lo’ak stood up abruptly, with a huff. Neteyam’s eyes widened at his sudden movement.
“Wait, are you going right now?”
Lo'ak gave a nonchalant shrug as he glanced in your direction, still seated in front of your mother. Neteyam thought it would be too humiliating to watch his brother beg for your attention while he was right there. You would think him as pathetic, a mighty warrior afraid to approach his friend of fifteen years.
“But she’s busy,” Neteyam's voice trailed off, eyes following as Lo’ak jogged over to you.
He watched the way Lo’ak greeted your mother with respect and earned a kind smile from her. You took your time to grant him your attention, tail swishing lazily from side to side, while Lo’ak made small talk. Neteyam stiffened once your eyes landed on him with a newfound harshness. He had never seen it from you before, and he could feel his heart sink in his chest.
What was Lo’ak telling you? Neteyam strained his ears to try to catch some of the conversation, but the soft murmur of your voices made it impossible. All he could do was pray that the little shrug you gave was meant to be for him, a chance to let him explain himself.
“I will be tracking a Vayätu after the eclipse. If he wants to apologize, he can help me first,” Lo’ak relayed your message to Neteyam.
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Your ears perked up at the faint rustling sound, eyes already scanning the area, hunched over from behind the thick bushes. The mysterious spell was casted over the forest with the presence of Vayätu, a creature just as ethereal as it appeared. You felt it was near, just like Eywa, lingering somewhere in the dark. The bioluminescent shimmered over its sleek iridescent fur, concealing the creature, but the two sets of prominent yellow eyes stood out in the densest part of the forest.
Among your clan, Vayätu was one of the most valuable creations of Eywa. An animal rarely shown in the forests of Pandora, that despite its incredible speed and agility, was delicate, easy to scare away. Its only defense was disappearing into the foliage, blending with the surroundings. If a Vayätu got hurt once, it would never return to the same area.
Then there was the medicine that came with it. Deep within its long neck, the creature had a gland producing thick, viscous substance highly prized for its medicinal property, used to ease the pain for treating big wounds, or fed to women before giving birth. Retracting the liquid wasn’t harmful to the animal, similar to the way your eyes would produce tears when crying, but there was a certain routine to it. Requiring at least two hunters, one of which would hold the animal down, while the other one would gather the substance.
You stiffened immediately, hand reaching for your leather rope - a signal for Neteyam to prepare for the attack. Simple. You had done this before once, worked perfectly together, and then couldn’t stop laughing as the adrenaline rushed through your blood, jumping through the trees to hurry back home and announce your victory. But it seemed like at that moment, as he was kneeling beside you staring up at your profile, Neteyam had forgotten everything he knew. The apology, along with the confession he had been crafting carefully for days now, were ready on the tip of his tongue. He had to wait for the right moment.
Your skin was adorned with bioluminescent freckles that resembled a star constellation, just like the ones he used to stare at with his father on clear nights. Your eyes glowed softly, narrowed as if concentrating on something in the distance, and Neteyam was too distracted to pick up on it. He had seen you many times from many angles before, yet he couldn't help but be captivated by the way you tensed up, the definition of your lean, delicate arms, and the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you breathed quietly and steadily.
Neteyam was so entranced by the way your body moved that he didn't notice when you jumped forward, your form confident as you chased a shadow. His attention was quickly drawn to the two sets of yellow eyes piercing through the darkness, before disappearing in an instant. He realized that he had missed the signal to attack first.
The forest came alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and cracking branches, as you ran after the Vayätu, hot on its tail. But the extra set of legs gave the creature an advantage, it was faster, putting a prominent distance between you. Frustration bubbled within you at the realization that you were alone in the chase. Where the hell was Neteyam? You were not set for this; speed wasn’t your strength. That was Neteyam’s part, you were better at sneaking.
“Neteyam!” you called out loudly, snapping him out of his thoughts.
You pushed harder, heart racing, as you refused to let the creature out of your sight, because once you did, you would never see it again. Neteyam caught up then, quick on his feet, as he articulated through the trees. He felt guilty for getting distracted, he had to prove himself to be helpful for you.
You, you, you. You were all that filled his mind. With determination, Neteyam lunged forward, his lean muscular body fluidly navigating through the dense undergrowth of the forest. His eyes remained fixated on the Vayätu up head, never losing sight of his target as he closed in on the ethereal creature. With a sudden burst of speed, he leaped towards it, his arms outstretched as he managed to tackle it to the ground.
You were still a few paces behind, your blood pumped with adrenaline, as you watched the scene unfold. Quickly, while Neteyam was still holding the animal down, you dropped to your knees right next to them.
“Where the hell have you been?” you hissed angrily, your eyes already darting all over the trembling creature.
“I’m sorry, I got distracted,” he mumbled. You only shook your head, dismissing his apology.
Elderly often instructed young hunters to calm their prey, make them feel safe and connected to Eywa. Following their advice, you reached to gently stroke the creature’s neck, whispering soft prayers to soothe its fear. Neteyam’s gaze was glued to you, as if something intimate and intricate was happening, something that only the two of you could comprehend.
“Okay, get ready to apply more pressure,” you warned, before taking out your wooden flask, crafted out of the root of the Home Tree.
Neteyam only nodded, watching the way you worked. The creature trembled under your touch, but his grip was unyielding, letting you collect the precious liquid and gently store it away. With a pat on his arm, you signaled for him to release the animal. Neteyam leaned back, panting heavily as the Vayätu sprang to its feet, shaking its head and snorting in frustration before darting away into the darkness.
Both of you stood up and remained quiet for a moment, as he wiped away the sweat and grime clinging to his skin. You were too covered in dirt, body exhausted from the chase. Yet, the triumph took over you once the realization that you had been successful settled in. A small smile crept onto your face.
"Nice work," you spoke quietly, “Even though you almost snoozed.”
He chuckled weakly, a little embarrassed. Amber eyes scanned your face, tracing the now smudged patterns of yellow paint.
“Let’s wash off,” he offered.
The tension slipped right back in and hung heavily between the two of you, as you walked ahead, letting Neteyam trail after you. Navigating through the dark forest was easy, you had taken this way to the pond many times before. There was no need to check if Neteyam was still following, you knew he was. He wouldn’t let this opportunity slide, not after sending Lo’ak to talk to you. You weren’t going to deny it - you missed Neteyam terribly, and a part of you had hoped that the apology would be sincere enough to soothe the pain left by his words.
The water was still under the shimmering moonlight, creating a perfect mirror of its surroundings. You carefully removed your belt, ensuring that the items in the pouch didn't spill, and placed it on the ground. Neteyam followed your lead and quietly put down his weapons.
“You wanted to talk,” you began first, the harshness returning to your voice.
Sure, it was disappointing, the way things turned out with Txi’pu. You couldn’t help but pity yourself for being played by the first guy you decided to give a chance to. The thought of him holding your hand now seemed disgusting, sent shivers down your spine. But it was easy to dismiss it because for the past week, the sting left from Neteyam’s words was much worse. You wanted it to go away, desperately.
“Y/N… I am so sorry, I truly am,” Neteyam took a long breath, forcing you to look at him, “I wish I could take back everything I said.”
"Don't apologize if it's how you really feel, Neteyam," you replied, your voice catching in your throat. "I just wish I had known sooner, so I would stop acting like a ‘lovesick puppy’ around you."
“No, no, I didn’t mean it,” he raised his palms in the air, as if to stop you, “I didn’t even think. I only spoke out of jealousy.”
“Jealousy?” you scoffed in disbelief. Did he really try to lie his way into forgiveness? “Why would you ever be jealous?”
Neteyam sighed and took a few steps closer to you. Almost too close. Of course, as friends, you had been even at a closer approximation before, but there was something different about it now. Too intimate, like no one else was supposed to see it. Your eyes flickered up to his face.
"Because you gave a chance to somebody else, and... I hated it," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing you hold his hand instead of mine, laugh at his jokes, accept his gifts...it hurt me, more than I care to admit. Do you understand?"
You blinked in confusion, though your heart raced at the mere possibility that he was hinting at what you had hoped for a long time. Neteyam waited for you to answer his question, but when you opened your mouth to speak, no words came out. Then you felt him reach for your hand, long fingers intertwining delicately with yours. Goosebumps covered your skin in an instant.
“Every time my parents talked about choosing a mate, I got frustrated because all I could see was your face… you by my side. And I was so confused, I didn’t know what it meant back then, but now I do,” words spilled out of him with sincerity, “I like you more than a friend, Y/N. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.”
“’s better late than never, right?” you attempted a faint smile with a croaky voice, though your heart was racing like crazy.
Then, as he leaned in, every thought seemed to wash away, and all you could focus on was him.
“Can I just..?” he trailed off, his arms open for you.
You nodded, stepping into his embrace. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply, savoring your scent. He had missed you so much and had been dreaming of holding you in his arms ever since the fight. All he wanted was to keep his arms around you, both gentle and strong at the same time. And sweet like honey, his voice dripped.
“I see you, Y/N.”
You pulled away, searching for his face.
“Can I kiss you?” his voice trembled like a leaf on a windy day, and your own heart skipped a beat at the question.
You could only stare back, frozen, as Neteyam’s fingers brushed hesitantly against your face. He leaned in and waited for you to push him away, but once he was sure you wouldn’t, his lips ghosted over yours. A beat, and with a shaky breath, he pulled you closer. You surrendered to the feeling immediately, hands finding their way to his chest, trying to touch, feel every part of him, just to convince yourself this was real. With a soft gasp, your tongues intertwined, his taste like honey, sweet and intoxicating, marked you as his own.
The kiss broke, foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "I should have waited for your permission."
You shook your head weakly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. All you knew was that you wanted more.
"Don't be sorry," you nuzzled his face with your own, "I...I wanted this for a long time."
Neteyam felt like his heart couldn’t take it anymore. He was lightheaded, intoxicated by you. By the way your lips tasted, by your scent, by the feeling of your hands on him. He kissed you again, more desperately this time, pushing you back slightly, stepping into the the pond. You followed him without a word, the water lapping at your ankles.
The water was cool around you, causing a shiver down your spine, though you weren’t sure, maybe it was just Neteyam. He pulled you closer, dipping the two of you into the water half to your waist. There was only one thing on his mind - he needed to take care of you, wash away the stress and the tiredness he had caused, and make up for it with his love.
You closed your eyes, surrendering yourself to his embrace, as he began to run his hands over your back, gently massaging your shoulders and arms. Some of the water he cupped had dripped over your back, relaxing away all of the tension in your body. You could feel yourself leaning onto him more, as if your knees were ready to give out any second now.
Neteyam’s hands continued to roam all over your body, exploring every curve he never had the chance to touch before. Everything that he had dreamed about was right there, under the pads of his fingers. He scooped another handful of water, bringing it to your face this time, washing away the dirt and the traces of paint off your face. You let out a sigh of pleasure, when his thumb grazed the blue stripe over your cheekbone.
His hands then strayed lower and lower, found their way to your hips and lingered there. He couldn’t move, thumbs pressed into your skin, leaving hot traces. You could feel the heat building in your chore, the desire in his eyes was undeniable. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you again, his tongue probing gently at your lips. You opened your mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss, and you felt a rush of heat flow through your body.
“Neteyam…” you sighed softly, your hands reaching for his loincloth, tugging at it weakly.
“Yes?” he asked, as he dipped his head to kiss your neck.
“I want you,” you managed to let out, hand reaching lower to stroke over his length. He pressed into your palm with a groan.
“I want you too,” he planted another kiss to your neck, “But we have to wait…”
“What? No,” you shook your head weakly.
“Mhm, yes… I have to court you first,” he spoke in between short breaths he took, mouth never leaving that sensitive spot on your neck, “Do it properly. Earn your affections.”
“Neteyam, you know you had me all this time,” you chuckled weakly.
His chest heaved as he pulled away slightly, his hands still cradling your cheeks. He looked deeply into your eyes, a small smile curling his lips as he studied your flushed face for a moment.
“I want to do this right, Y/N, will you let me?” he asked softly, like he had already planned out the whole thing in his head.
Butterflies churned in your stomach, and you nodded, your own lips stretching into a lovesick grin. He planted another gentle kiss on your forehead.
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