a mans whore

✿ A B O U T R E A D E R ✿ ➥ meet killing me softly!reader NO description of her appearance except that she’s abled

✿ A / N ✿ i wanna try doing things organically aka developing their dynamic in a way that's not too rushed. this fic is a mix of everything. fluff, comedy, suggestive themes, jealousy, angst, drama. it’s an attempt at showing something real.

+ changed my posting rhythm; pls read this announcement for more information

+ this series will contain approx. 35 chapters

+ it's mostly written story with some smau elements

✿ A D D I T I O N A L S T U F F ✿ ➥ S U M M A R Y O F E V E R Y P A R T (not up to date) ➥ A S K S ➥ M E M E S

✿ S I D E C O L L E C T I O N ✿ this is where i collect everything that doesn’t fall under the main storyline of killing me softly — headcanons, blurbs, what-ifs, possibly one-shots, and random emotional chaos. 

i highly recommend reading all extras for the whole experience + adds a lot of bg info to the main plot

☆ indicates explicit content // 18+ // mdni

✿ P A R T O N E

✿ P A R T T W O

✿ P A R T T H R E E

✿ P A R T F O U R

✿ P A R T F I V E

✿ P A R T S I X

✿ P A R T S E V E N

✿ P A R T E I G H T

✿ P A R T N I N E

✿ P A R T T E N

✿ P A R T E L E V E N

✿ P A R T T W E L V E

E X T R A ➥ rafe confronting topper about his ride offer

E X T R A ➥ wheezie teaching rafe reaction pics

✿ P A R T T H I R T E E N

✿ P A R T F O U R T E E N

✿ P A R T F I F T E E N

✿ P A R T S I X T E E N

✿ P A R T S E V E N T E E N

E X T R A ➥ rafe buying you a gift at the gas station

✿ P A R T E I G H T T E E N

✿ P A R T N I N E T E E N

✿ P A R T T W E N T Y

E X T R A / ☆ ➥ rafe has a solo session

✿ P A R T T W E N T Y - O N E

✿ P A R T T W E N T Y - T W O

✿ P A R T T W E N T Y - T H R E E

E X T R A / (☆) ➥ the boys' group chat reacting to your announcement

✿ P A R T T W E N T Y - F O U R

✿ P A R T T W E N T Y - F I V E

✿ P A R T T W E N T Y - S I X

...

✿ F I N A L E

homebrew timeline : for the sake of this fic I've made up a QZ and a new tlou timeline, here's everything you need to know!! Joel's age is ambiguous, implied late forties to early fifties. He traveled with Tess to the NYC QZ where he lived for a few months, meeting you around this time. His time spent in the Boston QZ is ambiguous. Ellie and Joel do not leave Jackson in search of the fireflies, it's implied that they skip over Jackson entirely in their journey to find the cure, their relationship is not strained. It's irrelevant to the fic so it most likely won't be mentioned, they will simply arrive in Jackson and choose to stay.

It was a regular streaming day for Hasan, for the most part. His typical bogging on about politics, random internet drama, and his frequent frustration at chat. Behind all that though, his mind was a fog. You; another streamer, having been friends with Austin, being introduced to the Fear& group, and all but weaseling your way into being a staple member of the friend group, was all that Hasan could think about. Austin had tried to set the two of you up when you were first introduced to the friend group, but you never ended up going on any serious or planned romantic ventures, the two of yous schedules preventing from such.

That’s not to say you weren’t interested in eachother, it was quite the opposite actually. It was unspoken between the two of you, literally. Minus talking on the podcast or short interactions in videos, you had never spoken outside of ‘work’. That didnt stop the tension from growing though.

It started as accidental; Hasan gently grazing the back of your neck when walking behind your chair during filming in the cramped podcast room, his warm fingers barely lingering for a second on your bare neck, followed by rushed apology. Then it was you; lightly holding his waist as you attempted to squeeze behind him during a cooking stream, still unable to get past without his backside brushing against your front to a degree. And those two accidental touches wouldn’t have been a problem if they had just stayed those two accidental touches. The two of you managed to bump into eachother enough times that it had you each questioning if the other person was doing it on purpose.

Hasan was the first to break the ‘accidental’ rule, having grabbed your waist firmly and practically picking you up off the ground to move you on one occasion. You followed suit with the rule breaking, leaning across him to grab something from QT while filming the podcast and intentionally resting stretched for a moment; your top half shelved atop his forearm as it laid flat on the table.

The two of you refused to do anything about it though, and it was driving you both mad. Each touch was getting more daring then the last, and it was a game of who was going to break first. You were mad because you thought he was intentionally toying with you; knowing it drove you mad whilst not being interested himself. Just doing it to mess with you. Hasan on the other hand was just generally pissed you hadn’t done anything yet, which was ironic considering he didn’t have the gall to do anything himself either.

It was all that Hasan had been thinking of that day, and he questioned that if his facecam didn’t cut off at the top of his head that chat would be able to see the steam emanating from it. He was beyond frustrated, but he found it easy to play off; opting to take his anger out on the idiots who left comments on his livestream.

The two of you hadn’t thought about what your predicament looked like from an outsiders perspective though, not until now atleast.

Hasan was watching some political interview; mostly letting it play while opening links from chat in other tabs. As he opened one in particular, his heart stopped. He quickly clicked back to the tab, his brows taught together as he re-read the title.

“No fucking shot.” He forcibly laughed out, not only in disbelief himself but also trying to play his reaction down a bit for the stream. It was a compilation video, titled “y/n and hasan being down bad for 7 minutes”.

He was shocked he hadn’t thought about it, honestly. He was so concerned with keeping his feelings down while streaming by himself that he hadn’t even considered how he looked when he was actually with you. He clicked play without a second thought, his brain still registering the situation at hand. He had to stop himself from letting a grin slip out.

He watched the whole video without saying anything, which was alarming for chat and him. He was just entranced at how painfully obvious the two of you made it. The way he stared at you as you spoke to someone else. The way you never looked at him when he spoke to anybody. The way he stared at your hands as you fidgeted with a mic cord. The now obvious touches. He was baffled.

But his emotions quickly flipped back to his previous frustration. All that has been going on and you still hadn’t done anything? The two of you still hadn’t even talked? You had interacted this way long enough for somebody to make a 7 minute long compilation and the two of you still hadn’t done anything? He turned to chat, decided to take it out by being defensive.

“It’s actually hilarious the shit you idiots come up with. You do realize we’ve never talked right? The little shit we’ve said on camera is all we’ve ever said to eachother. Ever. I don’t even know her actual name. I don’t even have her in my contacts. I’ve never even thought about her in that way. You guys are so apt on shipping every male and female to ever interact together, it’s disgusting. You guys are fucking weird.” He took a beat, knowing the shit he was saying was doing anything but help his case, and knowing the hole he was digging for himself was just getting deeper. The few excuses he could come up with were borderline pathetic and certainly laughable. He just hoped he said his words fast enough that none of it stuck, even though he could practically feel the clips getting posted to twitter. In a last stitch effort to save himself, he blurted out;

“And anything she’s ever done around me is just for fucking clicks anyway.” He closed his mouth immediately after saying it. Hasan knew how much of a low blow that was, he knew how much he defended other streamers in the space for the same shit, and he couldn’t believe he’d just let that out about you of all people. He knew then in that moment that he’d lost all chances of anything with you, and he couldn’t grasp the fact that he was able to royally fuck himself over in a matter of seconds. He sat there silent, grumbling something else about chat being stupid, and then he went back to his political video.

“Here is the airlock control panel,” Max explains. He hovers his palm over a sensor—when it flashes sage green, the user interface appears. “Once you’re ready to interact with the community, we’ll scan your handprints and give you full clearance,” he futhers. 

You’re helplessly eager. “Do you know when that will be?” you inquire. 

Max presses the controller in the center of the panel. The glass door to the inner chamber slides open. You peek your head inside the airlock space—there are respirator masks for both humans and Na’vi, as well as a broom in the corner. 

“I put that there,” Max says, referring to the broom. He’s stealthily ignoring your previous question. “Told Spider he needs to sweep after himself. He refuses to use the doormat outside. I think the only person who’s touched that broom has been me.”

You look at the ground. The floor of the airlock space isn’t as bad as you’d expect it to be. Admittedly, it’s filthy. There are mud stains of both human and Na’vi footprints on the vinyl floor. The size difference is jarring. 

You have an idea. You smirk to yourself. “What if I cleaned this mess for him?” you offer. “I’ll sweep, then mop. I need to start pulling my weight, too.”

Max sighs. “What? So you can put on one of those masks and sneak out before the Olo'eyktan says you’re ready?”

Your expression sours. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” you reply. “I wasn’t going to sneak out,” you admit aloud. “I was going to accidentally open the front door or something with a mask conveniently in place. It’s not as deceitful that way.” 

Max sighs again. “Well, I have no say in when you’re ready,” he confesses. “That decision is only Jake’s to make.”

You have no choice but to yield. Max taps the censor again. The airlock door falls shut into place. 

---

It takes an entire day to simply show you how everything works. It takes two more for you to demonstrate you were paying attention and know how to use everything. The only intuitive mechanisms are the knobs to the showers and the dials on the washer and dryer.

Like in any society, the science shack has its own set of rules, regulations, and norms—quite literally, since Norm transfers between his human body and Avatar frequently. The showers are closed once every twenty-five days for necessary maintenance. Humans aren’t to leave when the Na’vi are sleeping or on significant Omatikaya holidays. Don’t talk to Max before he’s had his first coffee. Spider is supposed to sweep after himself in the airlock room. You can’t use Mia’s handleless mug, but you’re allowed to wash it if you’re extra careful. 

By the end of the week, your head hurts. 

You know the only way to become proficient in something, like speaking a new language or utilizing advanced technology, is to thrust yourself into it. Take the plunge—don’t fear it. Embrace the nosedive. Freefall. 

So, after dinner on your seventh day, you get as close to doing that as possible. You sit on a small perch by a tiny window, nestled in a corner of the science shack. You’re hungry; for one, Norm’s cooking tastes much worse when you’re not famished, so you couldn’t force yourself to go back for seconds, let alone finish everything on your plate. 

But also, you’re hungry for something else. Now that you’re safe from the RDA, you can actually consider doing what you came to Pandora to do all along. You can practically taste it.

You know Jake Sully is right. Life in the science shack is complicated enough, and you need adequate time to acclimate. But you’re starting to feel like you’re trapped.  

The window allows you to see a slice of life at High Camp. You come here around the same time after a meal, just like clockwork. You haven’t seen Jake Sully since your conversation, but you’ve seen many others. 

Just right now, you see a group of young women shuffle past, laughing and gossiping about who knows what. You see two kids, presumably siblings, one chasing after the other, before they’re stopped by one of the village’s elders. You see injured warriors limp towards the tsahìk’s tent. You see a woman in her homestead, weaving a basket. You feel nothing but sonder; the profound sensibility that these people are all living complex lives of their own, and you’re simply witnessing these complexities unfold right before your eyes. 

You begin to recognize a few faces, like that of the shaman healer, otherwise known as the tsahìk. You also take note of which warriors visit her tent most frequently. 

You routinely see a Na’vi female with short, straight jet-black hair. She tends to pass by the science shack every evening of every day, stare at the door, frown, then leave. On two occasions, your eyes met before she wandered off. 

You’ve learned a few more common phrases, which Norm, Max, Spider and Mia teach you at meal times. Kaltxì is a standard greeting. Rutxe means please, and irayo means thank you. Ngafkeyk pefya? means ‘how are you?’ 

You also learned that the lines you recited to the Na’vi in the forest, Neteyam, were of a standard dialect. They weren’t incorrect, just slightly different from that of the Omatikaya’s. And, allegedly, your pronunciation was off. 

In your extensive travels on Earth, you learned quickest when you immersed yourself in a new, unfamiliar environment. It was the rush—the thrill, the trepidation—that drove you to adapt. It was as just as you told Jake Sully: so I will. 

Immersion is the only way. Norm knows this too; as an exceptional xenolinguist, he learned more from interacting with the Na’vi for a few weeks than he did from reading any book. He really understands. He wishes he had more time to help with your studies, but he must return to his work. His newest botany project is time sensitive. 

As you sit by the window, you use an electronic tablet programmed with a basic flashcard feature to get yourself acquainted with the Na’vi language. It’s not particularly helpful, since spoken practice is more beneficial than anything written. You’ve been skimming some of Jake’s old journals, too. But at the time of their conception, he wrote only in English, and misspelled many Na’vi words and phrases. 

The flashcards do nothing besides test your aptitude for memorization. It doesn’t help that your attention span is elsewhere, like you left it on a far, distant planet.

Everytime someone passes by the window in your peripheral vision, you have no choice but to look up and see who’s there. It’s usually another Na’vi face you’ve never seen before. You don’t realize it initially, but the more you turn your head, you’re helplessly aware that you’re looking for someone. It never is, but you’re hopeful it might be Neteyam—you still owe him for saving your life. You have an inkling however, that he’s probably avoiding this place for one reason or another. That very reason might just be yourself. 

It’s obvious that this method of study is inefficient. You power off the tablet and continue people-watching with your knees tucked against your chest. 

Any moment now, you know you’ll see that girl with shoulder-length hair. You want to know why she frowns, but you don’t know how to ask ‘what’s upsetting you?’ in Na’vi. 

Now that you think about it, though, you’re unsure if that’s a wise idea. Even when you are allowed into the community, you know that you will have to keep a distance. Know your place. Although the humans and Na’vi residing here coexist in apparent harmony, you don’t want your presence to disrupt the peace. 

There’s a quiet knock on the other side of the airlock door across the main room—it’s so faint you almost miss it. 

When you sit up, you hear footsteps thudding against the vinyl flooring. You see Spider look around then over his shoulder as he approaches the door. 

He begrudgingly places his hand over the scanner. He presses a button and the front of the airlock opens. 

He quietly shouts something in Na’vi—skxawng. You’re not sure what this word means yet.

From your window perch, you can’t see what’s going on, but Kiri and Lo’ak enter the space through the main door. They each grab a respirator. 

Spider continues to say things you don’t understand. From his tone of voice, he seems slightly agitated. 

“You can’t be here,” Spider says to both of them in Na’vi. “Not until the new girl gets introduced to the community.”

Lo’ak takes a deep breath—the respirator in his hand looks so small. He’s almost as tall as his father now. As the years pass, Lo’ak just gets bigger and bigger. It makes him feel like Spider is shrinking. 

“C’mon man,” Lo’ak says. “Let us in. We’ll only take a minute,” he adds, wearing a devious smirk on his face. “I uh, forgot something when I was here last?” he tries. 

“Yeah, right,” Spider replies. 

“Lo’ak, you’re not helping my case,” Kiri says, glaring at her older brother. 

Lo’ak’s jaw drops. He scoffs at her. “You told me to come with you!”

“Yes, and it turns out you’re not helping!” Kiri hisses. 

Spider groans. “Can you two just leave? I don’t want to get any flak for this.”

Kiri grits her teeth. She places both of her hands on the glass separating them. “Please, Spider. I haven’t seen Mom in forever,” she says. Her eyes water. “It hasn’t been this long since the time we lived in Awa'atlu… I miss her.”

The crease between Spider’s brows disappears. From what you can see, he looks apologetic. “Oeru txoa livu,” he says to Kiri. “But I’m not supposed to let anyone in besides your dad.”

Lo’ak’s expression falters. He looks at his feet. His ears fall flat. “You know, I haven’t seen Tsireya since we left Awa'atlu,” he says just loud enough for Spider and Kiri to hear.

Spider rubs his nose bridge. Kiri sighs and flicks his temple with her fingers. Once Lo’ak starts talking about Tsireya, he can’t stop. 

While this interaction continues to transpire, you stand from your perch and tiptoe over. Your footsteps are padded by thick, cotton socks. You advance slowly, like you’re approaching a crime scene covered with caution tape. 

“Lo’ak, go home and go to bed,” Kiri says, poking his chest. She then spins back around. “Spider, let me in, please.”

 “I’m sorry, Kiri,” Spider replies. “You know I would if I could.” 

Kiri places her hands on her hips. “You can, very easily, actually. Just press the button,” Kiri says. She points to the spot where she knows it is on the other side of the door. “It’s right there.”

Spider sighs. The crease in his brow returns when he realizes Lo’ak is suddenly smiling. “Why are you doing that?”  

Lo’ak waves to you from the other side of the airlock. “Hi!” He greets you in English. “What’s your name?”

Spider jolts when he realizes you’re standing there right behind him.

Kiri gasps. Her eyes go wide—they practically sparkle when she’s excited. “I told you, I saw her!” she says to Lo’ak in Na’vi. 

You smile at the male and female Na’vi before you. They seem so friendly, and the male Na’vi’s English sounds great. “Hello there,” you reply. You formally introduce yourself. 

Spider presses a palm to his temple. He knows he’s going to get in trouble. 

“It’s nice to meet you!” the female Na’vi says, also in English. “I’m called Kiri. And this is my older brother, Lo’ak.”

That’s his cue—Lo’ak waves again, flashing his vibrant smile. 

Spider scoffs. 

“My good brother here, Spider,” says Lo’ak, “this skxawng,” he adds, more quietly, “was about to let us inside.” 

“I was not,” Spider protests. 

“C’mon,” you say. Spider rolls his eyes—you’ve just met Lo’ak but he’s already infected you with whatever ailment he has that makes him the way that he is. At the same time, however, Spider knows it’s one of the best things about him. 

“Why can’t we let them in?” you ask. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in five days. 

“Exactly,” says Lo’ak. “Let us in,” he chants quietly. 

“The door isn’t broken, is it?” you further, keeping a serious demeanor. “I’ll just check to make sure it works,” you tell Spider. 

“Wait–”

The airlock’s inner chamber door opens, allowing Lo’ak and Kiri entry. 

“Would you look at that,” you profess. “I know how the door works.” 

Lo’ak chuckles as he strolls inside like he owns the place. Kiri rushes past the three of you, making a beeline for the large container in the middle of the main room. She presses her palms against the glass and whispers to the Avatar stuck inside. Your brows furrow in confusion. 

“You were right,” Lo’ak mutters to Spider in English. “She is short, even for a human.”

Your jaw goes slack. A surprised chuckle falls from your lips. “If you call Spider skxawng, then what are you?” you can’t help but retort. 

He grins. “If there was a clan of a hundred skxawng’s,” Lo’ak says, “they would have no choice but to make me their leader.”

You laugh again—harder than you were expecting to. This Na’vi might be an ass, but at least he’s got a sense of humor. 

Spider groans again. “If you two knuckleheads stay, you have to keep it down,” he says.

Lo’ak puts his hands up, defensively. 

“Can I ask what she’s doing over there?” you say aloud. 

Kiri now has her face pressed against the glass. It fogs from her breath. 

Spider and Lo’ak look at each other. Lo’ak rubs the back of his neck before speaking: “it’s a long story, but that’s the Avatar of Kiri’s biological mother. Kiri is my adoptive sister.” Lo’ak then hums to himself. “Maybe it’s not such a long story, after all.” 

That’s why she looked so sad. She simply missed her Mom. 

You blink once. “Oh, alright.” You nod, looking at Spider. “All of that information about Mia’s coffee mug was really important, but this,” you say, gesturing to the tube in the center of the room. “Not so much.”

Spider shrugs. “It’s important,” he says. “But, this is just commonplace for all of us.”

“She’s been doing this since we were kids,” Lo’ak reaffirms. 

“Maybe we’re blind to it,” Spider offers. “It’s always there, so we can’t even see it if it’s right in front of us.” 

Lo’ak simpers. “Well said.” 

“Thank you,” says Spider. He grins.  

They nod together and rub their chins like idiots. You assume this must be a regular thing for them. 

“Skxawngs,” you say. 

Of course, they both look your way, as though you’ve called them by their birth name. 

“Did I use that properly?” you ask in English. 

They nod. You sigh woefully.

Lo’ak practically snatches such low-hanging fruit: “What’s got you all blue?” 

You can’t help but glare at him. “They say you don’t know a language unless you know how to properly insult someone,” you say. “But I don’t actually know any useful Na’vi, and I haven’t had a conversation with anyone. Half of the words I know are just insults!”

“Simmer down,” says Spider. “You learned plenty today,” he says. 

“And, last I heard, you did have a conversation with someone,” Lo’ak mutters. 

Spider crosses his arms over his bare chest and looks you in the eye. “We’ll do our best to teach you.”

“Then teach me,” you reply, glaring daggers his way. 

Spider’s eyes narrow. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. A couple of hours ago, you were enthusiastic. Now, you’re starting to get on his nerves. 

Spider then looks over at Kiri, and makes an almost silent whistling noise. In response, Kiri’s ears twitch and she peeks over her shoulder. 

“What the hell did you just say to her?” you demand. 

“Oh, that?” Spider chuckles dryly. “I didn’t say anything, yet.”

“What is it?” Kiri calls back to him.

When Spider responds, he speaks entirely in Na’vi. When Kiri replies to him, she does the same. Spider then turns to you, speaks only in Na’vi again, then laughs. He says something else. Laughter erupts. Kiri and Lo’ak follow suit. 

You have no choice to presume they’re talking shit about you in their native language. 

In reality, they’re saying things that make no sense just to get you riled up. The first thing Spider told Kiri was “let’s pretend like we’re making fun of her. Keep going along with it until I say stop.”

Needless to say, they play their roles with great conviction, like actors on a stage. They fool you. 

“You guys are dickheads! That’s enough.”

They finally stop when you fold your arms over your chest and start pouting; but they don’t stop laughing until Norm yells from down the hall to, in his words, ‘tone that shit down.’ When they’re caught, Spider purses his lips, and Kiri and Lo’ak takes deep breaths from their respirator masks in unison. 

“You’re incredibly impatient,” Spider admits, lowering his voice. Lo’ak nods in agreement. You’re all sitting around the tube that holds Grace’s Avatar. Kiri traces small shapes on its surface with her lithe fingertips. 

“And you three,” you say, pointing at each of them, “are a bunch of jesters.”

“No, you’re a jester,” says Lo’ak. He doesn’t even know what that word means, not in English anyway. 

“That’s exactly what a jester would say.” You groan in frustration. “I am impatient, but you don’t have to say it so directly,” you reply. Your expression is downcast and dejected. 

You want to learn the language. You want to be able to talk to people. You want to carry out conversations, and learn, and laugh, and cry. You want to become a phoenix, rising from the ashes of an otherwise hopeless situation. You’re here, you’re alive, yet you don’t feel that way. Not at all. 

You don’t want to feel like an outsider. You don’t want to live life from a bird’s eye view, on your little perch by the tiny window. You don’t want to feel like a canary in a cage. You don’t want to feel like a fish in a large, technologically-advanced bowl. Or like a beetle in a glass jar with holes poked in the top. You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want to be locked away in the science shack, just like how you were in the RDA’s basement. 

Your eyes water. How could it be? Have you simply gone from one prison to another?

“You may be impatient, but I think you’ll fit in with us just fine,” Lo’ak interjects. He smiles genuinely. After a few moments, so do Spider and Kiri.

You wipe your eyes. Your face feels hot. 

Kiri calls you by your first name, grasping hold of your attention. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach you to speak Na’vi, and you’ll be just like the rest of us,” she says affectionately. 

“I don’t know about that,” Lo’ak mutters. 

There’s a pregnant pause. You, Spider, and Kiri expect him to say that you’ll never be a true Na’vi, or something of the sort. You weren’t raised as such, like the three of them. 

“She won’t grow another foot overnight,” Lo’ak says finally. He looks right at you with a shit-eating grin. “You’ll never be as tall as we are.”

“Well said,” Spider remarks. 

---

Kiri and Lo’ak can’t stay for much longer—they have to sneak back to their tent before Jake Sully finds out what they’ve been up to. 

“They won’t get in trouble if he finds out, right?”

You and Spider are the last two awake. You’re sitting at the kitchen table. 

Spider waves his hand around nonchalantly. “They never do,” he says. There’s a brief pause. “Okay, sometimes Lo’ak does,” Spider adds. “But never Kiri or Tuk. You’ll meet her eventually. She’s the youngest sibling.”

“Alright, so there’s the three of them. Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk. And Neytiri is their mother, right?”

“Four of them,” Spider corrects you. “Neteyam is the oldest. One year older than Lo’ak.” 

You blink. “Neteyam is the Olo'eyktan’s eldest son? The one who found me?” 

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Spider retorts. 

You glare at him. “Yes, that’s what you said, only a whole week late!” You whisper-shout at him. “Just like with Kiri’s biological mother.”

Spider throws his hands up. “I guess I thought someone already told you,” he says defensively. “You talked to Jake, right?”

“Right,” you reply. “But he didn’t mention anything about Neteyam being his son. Didn’t mention anything about his children actually.”

“With all that you went through with those fuckers, he may have thought it could be taken as insensitive,” Spider suggests. 

You hum. Maybe, just maybe, Spider’s right.

“Kiri works in the tsahìk’s tent during the day. Lo’ak puts in the least amount of effort necessary to be considered one of the warriors,” Spider says. “He’s usually around, but oftentimes not. Either way, we will find time to help you learn Na’vi.” 

“Is Neteyam one of the warriors?” you ask. 

Spider nods. “These days, he’s become one of the best.”

Your thoughts drift back to when Neteyam found you. You were practically ambushed—he was so controlled, so swift with his movements. Spider’s words don’t surprise you.

“So, he’s busy all the time?”

Spider addresses you by name. “What are you getting at?”

“I still need to thank him,” you confide. “He can’t avoid me forever.”

Spider sighs. “He can try,” he mutters. 

“So, he is avoiding me?” you ask. Your cheeks are turning red again.

“He’s…” Spider begins. He looks distraught. “He wasn’t always like this,” Spider says. “Neteyam and I are cool, but he never sets foot inside this place if he doesn’t have to. Ever since the Sully family returned from living with the Metkayina, the Reef People, he doesn’t get along with Norm and the others like Kiri and Lo’ak… He merely tolerates the scientists here.” 

“You’re saying he hates humans,” you say bluntly. 

“Hate is a strong word,” Spider replies. “But he has many reasons to dislike them…” Spider swallows. “To dislike our kind.” 

The words fall from your lips: “you’re right.”

You begin to question whether or not you should follow through with thanking him for saving you. The interaction with Kiri and Lo’ak went so well—perhaps it gave you an ounce of hope, things might go smoothly with Neteyam too. He’s been on your mind constantly, replaying in your thoughts like a broken record. You’re certain there are other Na’vi who share similar sentiments. You have to be careful.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” says Spider. He stands from the table. “I’m going to sleep,” he says plainly. His footsteps fade as he walks to the barracks. 

Spider’s sympathies do very little to ease your mind. 

---

Spider kept his word. Kar is teach. Karyu is teacher, and Karyunay is apprentice teacher. Ayfo kar nga—they teach you. 

In the days—and eventually, weeks—to come, you fall into a new routine.

You study Na’vi during the day-time hours. The science shack isn’t so bad. Sometimes, if he’s available, Norm works with you on your phonetics and grammar. But typically, it’s just you, your electronic tablet, and your perch by the windowsill. 

When you learned other Earth languages in the past, it was easier to learn other languages in proximity to their language group with which you were familiar. Romance languages, such as Spanish, French, and Italian, bore many similarities. The same went for Germanic languages, and even some Sino-Tibetan languages. 

Na’vi, however, is completely different from any language you’ve spoken, or even attempted to learn. But your dedication is unwavering. 

Lo’ak and Kiri return to the science shack two days after your first encounter with them. 

“Okay, Spider was right. At first, he was angry,” Kiri says. She takes a deep breath through her respirator. “But then, I suppose he thought about it more and decided it was a good idea after all.”

Jake Sully has given Lo’ak and Kiri his word of approval to help with your studies at nightfall, as long as they don’t slack off their usual duties. 

“He thinks it’s a good ‘method of assimilation’ or some shit like that,” adds Lo’ak.

You nod. “He’s right,” you say. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Lo’ak admits nonchalantly. “Sometimes.” 

You all sit on the floor around Grace’s tube again. 

“Well,” you clear your throat. “Today, I studied grammatical structure and simple, common vocabulary. Maybe we could start with-”

“Nga za‘u ftu peseng?” Spider asks. He’s asking ‘where do you come from?’

You blink. It takes a moment for the cogs in your brain to rotate. But in due time, you register his question. 

“I come from Earth,” you reply in English.

“If you really want to learn,” Spider says, “you should reply in Na’vi.”

You should. The only issue is, you’re not sure how. But you have no choice but to give it a try. 

You fail the first time. The second time, you almost get it right—close enough to where Kiri pries her eyes away from her mother to give you a look of encouragement and a thumbs up. 

“You’re almost there,” says Lo’ak. He straightens his posture, no longer slouching against the glass tube. “But if you don’t want to sound like a baby learning their first words, you need to change up the word order. For myself, I would reply with ‘za‘u oe ftu Eywa’eveng.’ Which means in English, ‘I come from Pandora.’ Your reply, obviously, is going to be a little different.”

Lo’ak pauses, takes a breath from his respirator, then mimics your higher-pitched voice, speaking as you would reply in Na’vi. 

His impression of you is already spot on. “I don’t sound like that!” you protest. 

They all laugh, and you can’t help but join them. 

For the rest of the evening, the three of them ask you simple questions in Na’vi. All you have to do is reply, also in Na’vi. The longer you go, the easier it gets. You build upon the scaffolding of your day-time studies, as well as every question and response before the next. 

---

This continues for many nights. 

During the days when you’re sitting by the window and Lo’ak and Kiri pop into frame, you instinctively smile and wave to them. They always reciprocate. 

They don’t say it outwardly, but the two of them look forward to these evenings with you. They get to spend more time with Spider. And, although they’re both fluent in English, the practice benefits them, too. Plus, they’ve taken a liking to you as well. 

“Who the hell are you waving at, skxawng?” Neteyam asks Lo’ak one day. They’re about to head off on their ikrans to train. Lo’ak needs to learn a new hand-to-hand technique. Neteyam is conveniently out of your line of sight.

“I’m waving to the new girl!” Lo’ak exclaims. He continues waving. He’s practically beaming.

Neteyam huffs. 

“Her pronunciation is getting much better,” Lo’ak says. His arm falls to his side again. “But it honestly wasn’t bad to begin with,” he adds. “Do you think you were, perhaps, exaggerating?”

“No,” Neteyam answers curtly. He looks agitated—his ears twitch and his tail swishes wildly. “She’s a distraction." You're proving Neteyam's point. Lo'ak won't stop waving. Neteyam groans. "Hurry up, Lo'ak. We have things to do,” he says. When they were younger, Neteyam would’ve slapped Lo’ak’s bicep or grabbed him by the ends of his hair, but he’s a man now. He can’t show his impatience or impulsivity. 

Lo'ak disappears from your vantage point.

---

It’s already been a month. Your diligent practice is starting to pay off. 

You can hold very basic conversations in Na’vi. You’re learning more about the language and culture every day. 

They don't want to feed your ego, but your teachers have discovered you're a fast, proficient learner.

“Syep means 'to trap.' It’s a verb,” Lo’ak explains to you in English. He’s lying on the floor with his legs propped up on a chair from the dining table. Suddenly, he swings his feet from the chair, and stands to his feet. 

You don't want to feed any of their egos either, but they're all smarter than they think. Especially Lo'ak.

“Spider, peseng lu syeprel?” Lo’ak asks. 

You’re unsure what a syeprel is, but you know he’s asking where it’s located. 

“I think it’s in the supply closet, over there,” Spider replies in Na’vi. 

“What’s a syeprel?” you ask, also in Na’vi. 

“Take a guess!” Lo’ak calls from down the hall. 

You hum. You switch back to English: “Well, it must be a particular type of trap? Like a mouse trap or something?”

Kiri hums too. “It does technically trap something,” she says after a few moments. “But you’re thinking too literally,” she adds with a smirk. 

You scratch your head. You’re dumbfounded. 

“A-ha!’ Lo’ak says triumphantly. “I’ve found it.”

“Found what?” you call. 

“Ask nicely,” says Kiri. “In Na’vi.”

You try again. “Rutxe,” you say, slightly embarrassed. You do as you’re told, and ask in Na’vi. 

Lo’ak returns. He’s holding an ancient piece of technology—an extremely old hand-held digital camera with a slightly scratched lens. “Say cheese!” 

He snaps a photo of you, Spider, and Kiri lounging around on the floor. None of you were prepared.

Kiri sighs and glowers at him. “Lo’ak!”

Lo’ak chuckles. “Alright, alright. We’ll take another one.”

The four of you stand around Lo’ak, the camera operator. “Kiri, crouch down a little bit,” he says, directing your places. “Spider, lean closer to Kiri.” You hear Spider sigh. 

Lo’ak then glances at you over his shoulder. “Stand on your toes, tawtute. Or else you won’t be in frame,” he chides you with a sly smile. 

You do just that and smile for the syeprel. “You’re an ass, Lo’ak,” you say through your teeth. 

“Smile, everyone!” he sings in Na’vi. Lo’ak spins the camera around to take a photo of everyone while operating it at the same time. He smiles and snaps another photo. The flash is momentarily blinding.

You break free from your pose. “So, a camera is called syeprel?”

“Yes, it is.” replies Lo’ak in Na’vi. “It traps a moment in time, doesn’t it? Rel means like an image, or a picture,” he adds in English.

It’s clicking. Your jaw goes slack. Spider can’t help but chuckle at your expression. 

“Language learning is so cool,” you gawk.

“You sound just like Norm,” says Kiri. 

“Whatever,” you say in Na’vi. You switch back to English again. “There are lots of animal names in English like that. Anteaters eat ants. Junebugs come out in the month of June to find mates. Grasshoppers hop around in the grass. Centipedes are named after their one hundred legs.” 

“Now you really sound like Norm,” Kiri teases you. “Don’t start talking about plants too, or I’ll have to go home.” 

“What about bed bugs?” asks Spider. “I've only heard of them from the others. Never seen them here. I’m assuming they would be found in your bed?” 

You nod. 

Kiri hums, thinking. “What about butterflies then?” she asks. “I know that butter comes from milk and milk comes from Earth cows, but could they make butter too?”

You scrunch your nose at the mere thought of butterfly butter. “I don’t think so.”

Lo’ak can hardly contain his laughter. “What about cockroaches?” 

Kiri smacks his chest. Lo’ak half-groans, half-cackles. Kiri scolds him in Na'vi, but it's not long before she starts laughing too. 

You and Spider follow suit.  From down the hall, Norm calls for you four to keep it down again.

But you can’t stop. In fact, Norm’s complaints make it worse. Joyous laughter fills the room. You’re having the time of your life. For the second time since your escape, you think this must be heaven. You’re briefly reminded of your imprisonment—you remember the few times you laughed with your cellmates. You remember those slivers of euphoria. 

You also remember that you’re safe now. The science shack isn’t so bad. Not with Spider, and Kiri, and Lo’ak, and even Norm, and Max, and Mia, and all the others. 

You laugh until your ribs hurt. You laugh until tears well in your eyes. 

---

A/N: This chapter was so fun to write! I hope you guys had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Again, please forgive any language inconsistencies.

Don't worry my darlings! Neteyam is going to be all over the next chapter. Believe in the slow burn!

And thanks again for all the kind comments, reblogs, and notes. You guys are awesome!

Klaus' shoulders relaxed when Y/n brushed against him while she moved past to stand in front of him, making him lean against the doorframe.

"It's a lovely day, isn't it?" Aurora spoke, her voice like a little girl’s – sweet and gentle. But Klaus saw straight through it as well as the tick in his wife's jaw. "Heard that you gave birth to a baby g --"

Before Aurora could've finished, Y/n had her pinned to the doorframe opposite to the one Klaus was leaning against.

"Don't you even dare speak of my family," Y/n snarled, her fingers digging into the woman's throat as everything in her told her to rip it out. But before she could've, Klaus' lulling voice began slipping into her ears.

"Now, love," He said softly, grabbing a hold of her shoulders and bringing her back into him, knowing fully well that this wasn't something she truly wanted to do. Then, tucking her lone hair strand back into her braid, he cupped her cheeks – "Why taint the porch with her blood, hm?"

"Because I'd rather see her dead than listen to that filth for another second," she smiled sweetly, her anger evident in the grit of her teeth.

And she'd just begun turning to take a look at an embarrassingly flushed Aurora, when a cry tore through the silent household. For a small second, both Klaus and Y/n shut their eyes, taking a deep breath simultaneously before Y/n was walking back into the house.

"Take a nap with her, why don't you?" Klaus proposed, his back facing the unwanted guest. "I'll take care of this and join you two in a bit," he nodded, passing the exhausted mother of his little girl a sweet smile, encouraging her.

Then he turned back around, almost shutting the door behind him to keep whatever noise was to come at bay.

"What do you think you're doing here, Aurora?"

"I just wanted to see you, Niklaus," she muttered softly, taking a step closer to him. "I miss you," she confessed, reaching to place her hands on his chest.

He backed away just in time, releasing a sharp breath. "I didn't suspect you to be so idiotic and careless with your life," he said sharply.

"Only for you, Klaus." She was looking up at him with a million emotions swirling in her eyes. But Klaus knew better than to not notice malice being one of them.

"Whatever you're planning to do, drop it," he gritted through his teeth. "And stay far, far away, from my family," he warned her as he walked her off their porch and out of their house’ perimeter, tempting the woman in front of him to backtrack.

"Don't test me against this Aurora,” he started, his hands placed behind his back but his frame remained all the more intimidating.

“I will kill you if you even bat an eye in the direction of this house," he was almost beginning to shake now, trying his best to keep his anger at bay and not cause any destruction out here while his little family rested inside the house not too far away.

Leaving her standing, Klaus turned to get back in the house when Aurora called out his name.

"You love me, though! You know you love me," she shouted at him, and Klaus' eyes glowed golden, knowing exactly what she was trying to do here.

And the moment she saw his eyes, she stumbled a little.

"I know you love me, do you not?" She managed to croak out just before Klaus had his hand wrapped around her throat, enhancing the bruising his wife had marked earlier.

"This is your final warning," he growled in her ear before slamming her against the wall behind her, walking away and trying to lose his temper at the same time as he entered the house and shut the door behind him, wincing when a baby's wails followed the noise.

—

As the next morning rolled around, so did the first official day of Summer.

With Hope's little frame already covered in fresh grass, Y/n couldn't foresee the day getting any better. A loud laugh escaped her when Klaus pretended for it to have been hard work getting a hold of the very frantic Hope, who was as happy to see the sun as Y/n was.

"Look who's gotten herself all dirty," Y/n pouted, dusting off as much dirt as she could off of Hope's onesie, while Klaus softly wiped her face.

"Just learned to crawl and of course she's abusing the skill," Klaus murmured, only making his wife laugh again.

Y/n kept Hope caged in her lap with one arm, leaning back on the other one to soak in the sun. She exhaled a deep breath, before turning to look at Klaus, who was already smiling at her.

"You've been such a good father, have I told you that?"

He laughed at that, looking down to hide the blush creeping up his neck, and nodding with his eyes still set on the little ducklings printed on the blanket they were sitting on.

"You have," he began softly. "Many times, actually," huffing out a laugh, he looked up again, now catching Hope's big wondrous eyes as well.

"Good."

With a light groan, Klaus moved to lay beside her. "Hope couldn't have a better mum, though."

"Wouldn't want her to have another mum anyways," she laughed, leaning in just a bit to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth that was curled in a grin.

And as the beautiful day passed them by, with Hope's full cheeks turned red due to the amount of fun she'd had, and Y/n's heart swollen with all the love she couldn't muster up properly at all, no matter how hard she tried – and Klaus knew that he could give it his all and still be unable to put this keen feeling rushing under his skin upon a canvas.

They'd truly said yes to heaven, when they'd said yes to each other on that one day in particular.

So, once they had shuffled back inside their house due to the chilliness increasing, Klaus made his way straight to the kitchen to heat up the leftovers while Y/n changed Hope’s clothes upstairs, in their bedroom. It didn't take long for the tired little girl to slip into sleep's arms and for her head to lull to the side, while Y/n was rocking her back and forth. So she stacked pillows around Hope’s body and went back down to Klaus, reaching just in time when a there was a knock on the door.

Now, with whatever Y/n had been expecting to come across, Aurora Martel at her door once again, was not it.

As she stood still on her ground, looking into the very woman's eyes who was not even supposed to be here anymore, her eyes began to fade to black only for the golden rim of a Hybrid to come through -- to caution the vampire standing in front of her before she attacked.

Because while Y/n hadn’t mentioned it to Klaus, she had heard her fake little love confession to Klaus yesterday and thought about the multiple ways she could unalive Aurora. 

But she decided against putting in such effort and put her body through another wave of pain for the day. She was going to go about his normally, after all, she was the mother of the very man's child that this woman had clearly come after. And his wife, as well.

"Aurora De Martel, the hopeless-romantic human, who only grew more daring once turned into a vampire, at my doorstep all over again," Y/n began, walking to complete a circle around the woman.

"Not an ounce of stupidity was shred in the process-- you know, of your turning; I suppose, since you're clearly still in possession of it," Y/n continued. 

Once she was in front of Aurora again, she took a step closer, the gaze of a predator still present in her eyes.

"Cat got your tongue darling?" She spoke, tilting her head to the side. "Where's that feisty little Vampire that I remember, hm?"

"I'm not that person anymore," Aurora began, struggling once Y/n had her in a choke hold again.

"No need to be a stinking liar, Aurora." Y/n gritted, dropping the choking one on the ground. "I can smell your intentions from miles away."

Y/n didn't tend to be such a threatening and volatile person, that was the reason that she'd fit so well with Klaus. And yet, she wasn't quite sure as to why she'd brought up this side of hers. She knew she wasn’t afraid or insecure that Aurora might get to Klaus; not at all.

But what she did know was that Klaus’ lovers popping back up only made her heart thud because of the potential danger they put Hope in.

She scoffed when Aurora scrambled to her feet, hands around her neck as she swallowed thickly.

“How are you, Y/n?” She croaked out, looking ahead of her despite the fact that Y/n was right by her side, now making another round around her. 

“Hm, concerned, I’d say,” Y/n hummed. “For you, of course.”

Maybe the pregnancy had changed more about her than she’d originally thought. Or maybe, and hopefully, Y/n thought, it was just the hormones. 

“How’s Klaus?” Aurora asked, mustering up the courage to turn and look Y/n in the eyes. “I supposed he’d be here,” she shrugged, "with you." The venom in her voice could be well detected, especially when she mentioned Y/n. And while her guards were high up, prepared for the hybrid to rip her to shreds -- she still held the fake confidence that that won't happen. 

“Why don’t you ask him yourself? I’m sure he’d love to have a chat,” Y/n smiled at her before she walked into the house, towards the room she knew Klaus was putting away Hope’s stray toys in – but not before passing Aurora a cautioning glare, warning her against doing something stupid in her absence. 

“Klaus?” She asked softly, entering the dark room, her eyes already following his figure as he put away the box of toys.

“We have a guest, I hear?” Klaus asked, walking up to her with a lazy smile. One of his arms snuck around her waist to pull her into him to press a kiss on her mouth. 

“No actually – we have a doting lover on our door,” Y/n chuckled. “She’s eager to see you again,” she shrugged, quickly going back to press a kiss on Hope’s forehead before grabbing a very confused Klaus’ hand, leading him outside. 

“Aurora,” he realised in annoyance, a deep frown in between his brows as he caught her sight from the top of the stairs. His mind was racing through a million things, the loudest question in there was, what in the hell was she doing here again? Didn't he warn her just yesterday?

“Isn’t it a pleasant surprise?” Y/n smiled brightly, coming to a halt herself. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she said, ignoring Klaus’ pleading look with an inner laugh as she turned away, most likely to arrange the dishes for their awaiting and heated dinner.

"Just make sure she doesn't ever dare to lose her way and end up here, again," she said, looking straight into Aurora's eyes before crossing over to the kitchen. 

And from the corner of her eye, she saw Klaus shut the door behind him. So, trusting him against making a mess, she quickly cleaned up the kitchen before she was making her way upstairs to Hope’s room, to now feed her some formula and put her to sleep for the night. 

"Are you in there, little wolf?" Y/n spoke from just outside the door, a silly grin on her face as she waited for the same reply she got everyday.

A random babbling noise that showed that Hope was indeed hungry. 

Despite Hope's loud squeak and the sounds of her rolling around in her crib, Y/n walked into the room with the same look on her face – the pretended to have caught her daughter, awake, red handed.

"Hope! You don't wake up once I put you to sleep!" She gasped, swallowing a laugh and reaching with one hand to pick up the little girl, bringing her to sit on her lap while she backed to sit on the rocking chair.

With loud giggles, Hope hit her chest a couple times, grinning up at her while drool began pooling on the boundary of her mouth.

"Uh ah!" Y/n laughed, closing the baby's mouth and watching as she squealed again, this time her palm landing flat on Y/n’s cheek.

Risking a mess by placing the small bowl on her thigh, Y/n held Hope up with her back against her chest and lifted a spoonful.

"Yes!" She cheered when Hope took in the bite without closing her mouth halfway and spilling the rest down her chin.

Slowly and steadily, she let the girl swallow her meal before making her burp.

"Did I get you sleepy, little wolf?" Y/n giggled watching Hope's eyes droop.

"You're so sleepy all the time!" She pouted. "Never got the time on your hands to play with your mummy," chuckling and shaking her head, she got off the chair and walked over to the crib placed near Klaus’ side of the bed upon his insistence, putting the already asleep girl inside.

Lowering with her, Y/n pressed a chaste kiss on her full cheeks that now hung low. Silently, she walked over and peeked out of the door to see if the matter down the stairs had been sorted out.

But she didn't catch sight of either Klaus or Aurora. So, with a sharp frown between her brows and an anxious tick among her fingers, she hurried down the stairs -- only to confirm her first realisation, it seemed.

Knowing that Klaus couldn't have been hurt in any way, she headed back into the master bedroom to get herself into a nice bath and take some time off to relax. 

She lit the candle that Freya had gifted her some time ago, and stepped into the bathtub full of soap foams. Her head lulled back and her eyes shut off, and she began to think of all the time she had been spending building this new little family recently. 

It still felt so surreal, that Hope was finally here. It was all so new and overwhelming, but Y/n knew that neither her nor Klaus would trade this period of their life for anything. It was almost as if everything had fallen into pieces to fit a puzzle the moment they had welcomed their little daughter into this world. 

There was no other source of light in the bathroom apart from the flickering candle, Y/n didn't feel like turning on the bright white light. And, as she began to tune into Hope’s breathing, she felt her heart begin to beat in sync with hers. It would’ve only been silence to human ears, but Y/n could hear the little puffs and the little movements of her mouth that she made in her sleep. 

She could picture Hope’s head lulled to the side, her mouth slightly ajar and her small frame rising and lowering with each breath that she took. Then, Klaus faded into the photo and she could see Hope’s drool slipping onto his arm and drying up there, because of course Klaus had fallen asleep with her on the rocking chair. 

And finally, she entered the picture herself and took the two of them into the master bedroom, laying Hope between the two of them and pressing kisses on both of their foreheads. After turning off the lights, she was looking at the two pieces of her heart sleeping peacefully, because she felt like she couldn’t miss this sight, because she probably won’t feel the time pass before Hope had to be put to sleep in a crib in her own room. 

Just the idea of that brought tears to her eyes. Everything made her cry these days, and she does realise that it’s because of the hormones. But she doesn’t know how to explain the exhaustion of it all. The untrue and mean thoughts she got throughout the day, whether it was regarding her body or her new journey of being a mother and feeling scared that she’d go wrong somewhere and be hated by her own family for the rest of her life. 

Just the energy it took to shut all those thoughts down and to reassure herself, remind herself of what was true and what wasn’t – took so much out of her that when Klaus held her in his arms at the end of the day, she just wanted to let go and fall into pieces, so that he’d bunch her up and tell her or show her stupid brain that Y/n was indeed right and that the thoughts were just her mind playing games. 

Taking in a deep breath, Y/n rose and washed the soap off of her. She could think about this all day and all night, and she could drown in her sorrows for way too long than healthy. But right now, she needed to go and eat dinner if she wanted to sleep on time. 

Which reminded her – she hadn’t heard Klaus come home. Had she missed it, or had he genuinely not come home yet? She began to focus on her hearing, and only came across Hope’s breaths, nothing else. 

Maybe something had occupied him, she thought, wrapping a towel around her and exiting the bathroom. 

—

Klaus was walking in their backyard with Hope in his arms, asleep, as always. He couldn’t balme her though – she was a newborn, after all, and had a lot to register in her brain in the couple hours that she was awake during the day. 

She had been a calm baby so far. The midnight tantrums weren’t as frequent as others had warned him and Y/n about, maybe because they had way more stamina than an average human.

Y/n, right when she had woken up, had been dragged out by Rebekah and Freya. Trust me, Y/n, I’ve been through what you’re going through and it’s been two weeks since you’ve left the house with us! He had heard Rebekah say to Y/n in the kitchen, and he had agreed a hundred percent. 

They had gone out for brunch, and maybe it was because they had a lot to catch up on, that Y/n hadn’t yet come home and it was nearing lunch time. 

And Y/n, as much as she was enjoying her time out in as much sun as New Orleans got on an average, she was dying to go home. She was missing Hope and Klaus and before she could’ve said anything, Rebekah had herself proposed that they should have some dessert already because Klaus and Hope are probably seeing your sight on the doorstep, she’d laughed. 

“I think I’m gonna walk home, the weather’s really nice,” Y/n said when Rebekah began to try and convince her for a lift in her car. 

“Oh, okay!” Rebekah laughed. “You have come out after a long time, so sure!”

Y/n just passed the woman a narrow-eyed glare as she was hugging Freya. 

“Juut text us when you reach home,” Freys said, walking off towards her car. 

Y/n nodded, bidding goodbye and watching the two drive off before she dropped her smile and sighed. God, her cheeks hurt from how much she’d been smiling and laughing. 

She had only walked a couple paces away from their eating spot when she heard footsteps. It was a busy time, a nice day, so many people were out and about. The city was kind of bustling. But still, Y/n turned to look and immediately, she groaned, coming to a pause. 

“Seriously, Aurora?” She almost whined. “You take annoying someone to a whole another scale,” she said with a face that was genuinely twisted into annoyance and irritation. 

“C’mon Y/n,” Aurora said with a newfound confidence, drawing Y/n’s attention right away. “Can’t you have a chat with me, too? Just us girls?” She grinned, and then rolled her eyes when she saw that flash of Hybrid golden in Y/n’s eyes. 

“I’m not here to fight,” she said. “I’m here to make friends with you,” shrugging, she dared to take a step closer, testing the waters. 

“Don’t be so over confident, Aurora,” Y/n gritted, having pinned the woman on a wall. “It almost got you killed, right this moment,” she said, giving her a final flash of her eyes before getting up and walking away. She was not in the mood to kill today, especially not after the amazing brunch she’d had not too long ago. 

But of course, Aurora was too dumb to get that, Y/n noted as she heard feet jogging to catch up to her pace. 

“Just talk to me this once, and I swear I’ll never show you my face ever again,” Aurora rushed to speak, desperate to get Y/n to stop.

They were still a little far from her home, Y/n realised. She could very conveniently kill her right now, and not get blood anywhere near her family home. 

“What?” She asked instead, coming to a stop. 

“I get why you married Klaus now,” Aurora spoke, a smile creeping up on her mouth. Y/n didn’t want to admit that there was a blush as well. It was probably sunburn, she told herself. 

With a slight roll of her eyes, Y/n forced herself to focus. “What do you mean, Aurora?” She asked her, ready to snap her neck if she tried to beat around the bush once more. 

“I mean, you two got together, had a baby so early on in your marriage. I now realise that it’s because he is so good in bed, you had to lock him down somehow, didn’t you?” She laughed, not noticing the gold swarming Y/n’s eyes as she smiled at the ground, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. 

“I would too. Guess I got a bit late, huh?” She continued with a joke, and then stopped. 

Y/n didn’t even talk to her girlfriends like this. How dare this dumb little piece of work, dare to speak of her and Klaus in such a manner? So, she sped through her movements and sunk her fingers in Aurora’s throat, cleansing her insides.

“I rushed. Think I would’ve liked ripping out your dirty fucking tongue instead,” Y/n hissed, her mouth right next to Aurora’s ear and she was so close she could hear the loud thudding of her heart. It made her feel good, and she almost didn’t want to kill her becuase that noise was music to her ears right now. 

Aurora couldn’t say anything, the only noise she could muster up was the sound of choking, because she was. And she was pretty sure her blood was rushing to places inside her where it shouldn’t be. 

But then, something came over Y/n and she slipped her hand out of Aurora’s throat, leaving it intact as she wiped the blood on the very woman’s clothing. “Sleep good. Maybe some rest will knock some sense into you. After all, all this stalking and annoying someone must be exhausting,” Y/n spoke with an understanding shake in her head. 

And then, before Aurora could even realise much, Y/n had her hand placed near her throat and with that, she snapped her neck, quickly rushing to put her back in her house. She wasn’t cruel or angry enough to leave her asleep in the middle of nowhere. 

But she was riled up enough that she needed to rush home and ask Klaus some questions before her mind could get the better of her. 

She knew that this was the time Hope was usually asleep, and she was praying to the gods above that today wouldn’t be any different. And she opened the door to the house, quickly sensing that Hope was, indeed, asleep but she could hear that Klaus wasn’t.

The shower was running. 

Removing her shoes, she walked to the kitchen and washed her hands in the sink. Then, tiredly, walked over and sat on the sofa in the living room, knowing that Hope was in the master bedroom and they couldn’t talk, potentially argue, there. 

A lot was taken out of her today, and she needed Klaus to reassure her so that she wouldn’t have a breakdown somewhere in the house because it felt like she was going crazy. She knew that he hadn’t done it, knew that he couldn’t have done it. 

But just for the sake of her brain, she needed him to say it. Needed the words to come out of his mouth so that she would know for sure. For she trusted him more than she trusted herself. 

Because right now, her brain was telling her that she had heard Aurora’s love confession that day, but she hadn’t heard Klaus’ reply. Or that Klaus mostly shut the door when she left him with Aurora or how that one night he had come home late after she had left the two of them alone for Klaus to sort out the matters, and he’d told her not to worry about it – that it was nothing and he had taken care of it.

She knew that it truly was nothing. But once, just once, she wanted him to tell her that. 

Waiting and waiting for the shower to turn off, Y/n slipped into a slumber. So when she felt someone close to her, she caught Kalus leaning in to pick her up, probably to carry her to their bedroom. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” he smiled, his gaze so soft and his dimples evident as he instead pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood up straight. “The girls tired you out, hm?” He asked her, raising her head and placing it on his lap once he had sat himself. 

Y/n only mumbled something, before turning to hide her face in his hip area. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to him about this when he was caressing her hair so gingerly, but she knew she had to. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said then, looked up at him. 

“What is it, love?”

God, this was going to be hard. She sat up and fixed her bed head with her fingers before she looked at him again, this time with a wavering sigh. 

“Did you sleep with Aurora?” 

You've been psyching yourself up for this for weeks.

The last time you were here had been...horrible. Dry and nervous, you'd left spotting and sore, your doctor rushing through your routine pap with little regard for you or your comfort. You're dreading having to do this again.

What's worse, you don't find out until you're standing in the waiting room that your usual doctor is out for a family emergency.

"Dr. Miller is filling in," the receptionist tells you. "Are you comfortable with that?"

You're not really sure you are - you've never really felt comfortable having this done by a man - but you know you need to get it over with (you've already put it off longer than you should) and so in spite of your uncertainty, you agree to see the mysterious Dr. Miller.

Your nerves only heighten while you wait in the tiny, white room for him, palms sweaty, heart pounding in your ears. You try to avoid staring at the metal tray beside the bed, crowded with tools you're all too familiar with. It feels like you wait for hours, each minute passing slower than the last, and then he walks in. Your stomach drops.

Because Dr. Miller is gorgeous. All broad chested and tan skinned, white coat thrown over business casual attire, a light blue collared shirt over a pair of well-pressed trousers. Greying scruff and salt-and-pepper curls frame his warm, brown eyes while big, strong hands grip a clipboard, his gaze fixed on the files there till he looks up and meets your wide-eyed stare with a blinding half-smile.

Now your heart pangs with something else entirely, an involuntary warmth spreading between your thighs when he extends a hand out for you to shake and takes a seat on the wheeled bench before you, legs spread wide so the fabric of his trousers strains over his thighs.

Then he opens his mouth - and you're a goner.

"I'm Dr. Miller, s'nice to meet you, ma'am."

Your voice shakes when you tell him your name and he repeats it back slowly, checking it against the papers in front of him, almost like he's committing it to memory. You find he's polite and patient, his voice a low drawl that makes your skin tingle while he conducts a quick questionnaire.

How are you feelin' today?

Have you had a pap before?

When was your last period?

Are you sexually active?

And at that last one, you roll your eyes before sardonically telling him, no, openly bitter because it's been far too fucking long since you've had sex or even been touched the way you'd like to be. You're almost embarrassed at the slip of honesty, but Dr. Miller doesn't acknowledge it beyond a small, knowing smirk, enough to make your cheeks warm and your cunt inexplicably throb.

Then he tells you to undress from the waist down and lay out the bed, adds that he'll be right back, and the nerves return tenfold. When you slip off your bottoms and find a wet spot in your underwear, you hastily fold them into a tight ball and hide them under your chair, as if he isn't going to see the evidence of your arousal in just a few moments.

Paper crinkles beneath you as you sprawl out on the bed with your knees pressed firmly together, covering your bottom half with a clean, pale pink sheet. You prop yourself up on your elbows and stare at the ceiling, your heart still racing when a knock comes at the door and Dr. Miller slips back into the room.

All cool and calm, his demeanour does little to relax you.

"Read on your file you had a bad experience last time," he's saying as he wheels his stool to the foot of the bed and dons a pair of blue, latex gloves.

"Yeah," you tell him, voice weak.

"S'alright, I'll try and be real gentle," he assures you, readying the speculum with deft, competent fingers. You shiver at the daunting sight of it. "But it'll help f'you relax."

"Okay," you nod.

"Lie your head back."

You swallow tightly, and with some difficulty, you do.

"Come a little further down the bed."

You inhale a shaky breath, and again, do as he says.

"Feet right here," he instructs you, thick fingers grazing your ankles and guiding them to the very edge of the bed.

"Now..." he hums, moving to touch his hands to your knees. "Knees open for me."

You hold your breath as he coaxes your legs open, keeping your feet together so you're in a sort of frog position, and you suppose it's somewhat less humiliating than the stirrups but only just. Because now there's only a thin sheet of paper separating the beautiful Dr. Miller from your exposed pussy.

You've never felt more vulnerable in your entire life.

"There we go," Dr. Miller murmurs. "Alright so far?"

"Mhm," you lie.

"You're doin' great, darlin'."

Darlin'. Darlin'. It does the exact opposite of relaxing you, that word, the sound of in that honey-sweet voice of his making arousal pool at your core and a burning need to trickle along your spine.

"Thank you," you find yourself saying and Dr. Miller chuckles.

"Gonna move the sheet now," he warns you softly and you stiffen all over again, frozen, for a moment, into silence.

"Okay?" he presses you when you don't respond, prompting you to finally breathe a quiet, okay.

Cool air hits your cunt the moment he pulls the sheet up to your waistline and you squeeze your eyes shut in preparation, fearing the worst.

-

Patient experiences extreme dryness and suffers from anxiety. Previous exam led to bleeding and discomfort.

He'd heeded those warnings, read them over and over in your file, shaken his head when he'd thought of how your last doctor had failed you. Dr. Joel Miller takes care with his job, Dr. Joel Miller has never met a vagina he didn't respect, never met a patient he didn't long to help.

And he wants to help you. He'd been utterly charmed by your honesty, endeared by your sweet smile and kindness even through what he's sure must be crippling anxiety.

Anxiety that still seems to be plaguing you.

Poor thing, he thinks, when he sees you stiffen and squeeze your eyelids together, the evidence of your past experience written all over your weary features.

He's had patients like you before, knows there's only so much he can do when they're unable to produce vaginal lubrication. And frankly, he doesn't blame them. He knows there's nothing exciting about this procedure. He can try his very best, but sometimes the discomfort is inevitable.

Only - when he pulls back the sheet, all his prep goes out the window. Because you're not dry or tense at all.

You're wet.

More than wet, you're visibly aroused. Clitoris exposed, labia swollen and puffy, glistening with slick below the fluorescent overhead lighting. He can see the shining remnants of your arousal sticking to your inner thighs and it makes him wonder how long you've been feeling this way.

Oh, poor thing, he thinks again.

Of course, he's no stranger to this response either. Patients who seem...affected by him. That's not his ego talking either, he'd been told as much by a particularly bold patient once, though he'd ardently pushed back on the...compliment.

You know how handsome you are, don't you?

No seriously, this was easiest one of these I've ever had. That thing just...slipped right in.

He's got no way of knowing if it's him who's got you this aroused but he tries not to read into it too much; all he really cares about is doing his job, and making it as painless for you as possible.

"Still with me?" he asks.

"Yes," you whisper.

"Deep breath, darlin', relax."

He waits until your chest has risen and fallen in a long breath, in and out, and only then does he begin to inch towards the apex of your thighs with the silver, metallic speculum.

"Gonna touch you now."

He doesn't miss the way your walls twitch when he says that. And as much as he tries not to read into it, he's not sure he's ever had a patient this affected by him before.

"Okay."

He carefully uses two gloved fingers to spread you open, leaving your dripping wet hole fully accessible for him to touch the end of the speculum to. You flinch.

"S'cold, I know," he says sympathetically.

You whimper and Joel's shocked to find it stirs something in him, that sound. Something he immediately forces down, something very wrong, something he knows he shouldn't be feeling for a patient. He swallows hard and clears his throat, hums another sympathetic sound that seems to say, I know. I'm sorry.

"Doin' great," he repeats. "You're gonna feel a little pressure."

"Mhm."

But your face is still screwed up with worry, teeth gnawing on your bottom lip, brows furrowed with fear. He knows you can relax more. He knows he can make it better.

"Take one more deep breath for me?" he requests and you obey without question. Inhaling deeply, the crease between your eyebrows finally smooths out. And when you begin to slowly let the air out of your lungs in a long, steady sigh, he eases the speculum inside with hardly any resistance at all.

A hiss passes through your clenched teeth at the intrusion, the muscles surrounding your - admittedly beautiful - vagina tensing around the sharp, unpleasant metal.

"S'okay, doin' so good," he mutters absently as he focuses on adjusting the arms of the speculum, locking them in place to keep you open enough for him to let go and retrieve the spatula.

"How we doin'?" he asks as he works, glancing up at your face to find the worry line has crept back between your brows.

"Fine, good," you grit out. Joel smiles. You're brave.

"Almost done now," he assures you.

-

You are literally going insane.

You'd prepared for anxiety. You'd prepared for nerves. You'd prepared for fear.

You had not prepared for desire.

You're not even sure he's doing it on purpose, it's just...him. His low voice singing your praises and his careful touch making you sick with undeniable need, even though everything about the situation is decidedly unsexy. Your pussy is being pried open by the cold metal arms of a speculum and Dr. Miller is readying a small spatula with which to scrape a sample from your cervix and inner walls. You're lying in a goddamn doctor's office, for fuck's sake.

And yet - all you can think about are his hands - competent, sure, spreading your legs apart. His fingers - gentle, precise, lingering on your wet folds. His voice - deep and sultry, downright hypnotizing in its gravelly, rumbling drawl.

You resist the urge to squirm.

"Alright, now..." he mumbles to himself, hunching forward again and leaning in close. Too close. Not close enough.

"Might feel a little pinch here," he whispers and it really shouldn't make your pussy clench around the speculum when he says that, a rush of anticipation taking over at the thought of him being inside you.

Rather than squeezing your eyelids together in fear, this time, you force yourself to watch him, mesmerized by the relaxed set of features as he slips the spatula into your opening with practiced care. He's so broad, big shoulders and a wide chest that hover almost protectively over your exposed bottom half, melting your insecurities away as something about him just seems to scream safety, assurance, comfort.

And...hot. He's so fucking hot.

You do feel a little something when he inserts the tiny tool and runs it feather light along your insides, far more gentle with it than the last time you'd had this done.

"Still good?" he checks in, so attentive, and your heart stutters at hearing his voice again after such a long beat of silence.

The thought also crosses your mind that you bet he's this attentive in other departments too.

"Yep, mhm," you nod.

"Good job, almost there. Just hold on a little longer for me, okay?"

"Yes, sir," you say without thinking.

You mean it to sound like a joke but it accidentally comes out breathy and desperate and you instantly kick yourself for the stupid, stupid slip. Dr. Miller clears his throat and pulls back, turns away from you to deposit your sample and you think you see him shake his head infinitesimally as he does.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Right, gonna take this out now, ready?" he asks, turning back to you to fiddle with the arms of the speculum.

"Okay."

You brace yourself but there's really no need; Dr. Miller makes it altogether painless, murmuring a soft countdown under his breath before he slides the tool from your slick cunt. A trail of sticky arousal follows in its wake, the metal shining with you where he sets it down on the covered tray beside him.

It's done, you know it's done. But for a long, heated moment, you stay perfectly still, knees spread wide before him, pussy on full display. And Dr. Miller stays perfectly quiet.

Then he hums a deep, ragged sigh and pulls the sheet back over your open legs, kindly returning you to semi-decency.

"All done now, darlin'."

There's an elastic snap as he removes his gloves, the sound of wheels along tiled flooring and then Dr. Miller is at your bedside, looking down at you kindly because for some reason - perhaps the twisting ache of need in your guts or the fiery buzz of desire burning in your nerves - you still haven't moved an inch.

"Need a hand sittin' up?" he asks and somewhat dazedly, you nod.

Dr. Miller stands, towering over you as he holds out one massive hand for you to timidly reach across your body and grab. You let him gently tug you upright as you bring your knees together at last, cheeks warming when you remember you've have them splayed open for probably far too long now.

His hands hover over your arms as you pivot to hang your legs off the side of the bed, the film of paper under you sticking to your bare ass as you do. You face him full on, losing your breath all over again when you meet his warm, patient gaze and see that sweet, half-smile spread across his features.

"There we go," he whispers. "You alright?"

You swallow tightly.

"Yes, thank you."

Dr. Miller smiles, steadies you with two firm hands on your shoulders and you jolt slightly, his touch sending a charge down the back of your neck that you haven't felt in a very long time.

"Better'n last time, I hope?" Dr. Miller presses, his gaze nothing but patient as he stares into your eyes.

You try to smile but you're not sure if you do. There's a faint ringing in your ears and your head is spinning wildly as you stare blankly between his lips, jaw, and neck, transfixed. Dr. Miller is so close now, his chest right at your eye line, the phantom feel of his fingers still clinging to your skin and this is wrong, this is so, so, so wrong - he'd just been doing his job - but it's been so long since you've been touched like that by anyone and you fear if you don't get his hands on you again might actually cry.

He's looking down at you inquisitively, warm palms still lingering over your arms and oh, god, this is stupid, this is so stupid and so wrong, but he's so beautiful and he's so kind and it's been so fucking long -

You don't think, just fist the fabric of his cotton button-down and crane your neck upwards, catching his quiet gasp before you press your lips to his in a searing kiss.

It's desperate and needy but you don't even care, because Dr. Miller is kissing you back, the warm, whiskered feel of his lips on yours stealing whatever is left of your inhibitions. He tastes like mint and man and you press yourself closer, shivering as his fingers coil around your arms with just the right amount of pressure but -

Then he's humming a quiet sound of protest and the hands that grip your arms are prying you off him.

"Hey, hey, wait."

"Sorry - I'm sorry," you babble before he can get another word out. He avoids your eyes, gaze fixed on his shoes, while you burn hot with embarrassment before him.

Dr. Miller shakes his head and you await the scolding of a lifetime, for him to kick you out and tell you never to come back here again - and you'd deserve it, you know you would.

"Dr. Miller, I - "

"Mm-mm," he murmurs quietly, eyes still cast downward even as he holds up one silencing hand that nearly makes you swallow your tongue.

You shrink, wanting desperately to just run from the room as fast as you can, but Dr. Miller's other hand is still gripping your arm, holding you in place.

He sighs.

"I really don't do this kinda thing with my patients, ma'am."

"I understand," you nod shamefully. "I'm sorry."

"You...you're beautiful, I just - "

"Dr. Miller, it's okay. I'll just go, I'm sorry. That was so stupid."

You wriggle under his grasp to try and free yourself, but Dr. Miller steps closer to the bed before you can, caging you in.

"No, I - I mean," he shakes his head again, visibly warring with himself. Is this really happening? "I don't do this with my patients but I - "

At last, his eyes flit up to meet yours, sending your heartbeat into overdrive when you find his warm browns ablaze with lust.

Oh, god, it's really happening.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes, already leaning in again as his hands creep up your arms, so slow, so careful.

Then his lips are back on yours and you inhale deeply through your nose, arching to press your chest into his, gasping into his mouth when his arms begin to snake around your back and tangle at the nape of your neck.

It's like a switch flips.

You moan against him as you hungrily lick between the seam of his lips and Dr. Miller responds in turn, his tongue curiously dancing with yours as his mouth molds to yours with heady fire. Your entire body is alight with need, fingers wrinkling the pristine front of his shirt while his hands move to cup the sides of your face. He's so close - everywhere - but it's still not enough.

The pale pink sheet over you falls away as you wrap your legs around his middle and pull him into the cradle of your thighs so your exposed, wet heat is pressed against his leg, arousal marking the fabric in slick webs. You gasp at the contact where you need it most and Dr. Miller groans, grinding his hips forward in an almost unconscious way, making your stomach flutter when you feel the hard press of his cock against you.

Oh, fuck. His cock. You've been so hungry for his touch, you'd nearly forgotten how much more he could give you. How full he could make you feel. Suddenly, your mouth is watering. You have no idea where this is going, you just know you don't want it to stop.

Knock, knock.

"Dr. Miller?"

A voice on the other side of the door has him hurriedly tearing his mouth from yours, fumbling backwards, both of you gasping and turning to face the source of the sound.

"Dr. Miller? Your next patient is here. Just letting you know."

He clears his throat, running a hand through his tousled hair. His cheeks are pink, lips swollen and wet, fire still smouldering in his eyes.

"Uh, thanks, Denise," he calls back. "Be right there."

You both listen to the sound of Denise's departing footsteps and then Dr. Miller turns back to you and sighs.

"Shit," he whispers at the sight of you half-naked on the bed, still catching your breath as reality sets back in.

"Shit," he says again, averting his gaze and hastily moving around the bed. He grabs your sample and his clipboard, leaving you dumbfounded as he makes for the door, twisting to look back at you one last time.

"I'm sorry," he grumbles and then he ducks out of the room.

-

homebrew timeline : for the sake of this fic I've made up a QZ and a new tlou timeline, here's everything you need to know!! Joel's age is ambiguous, implied late forties to early fifties. He traveled with Tess to the NYC QZ where he lived for a few months, meeting you around this time. His time spent in the Boston QZ is ambiguous. Ellie and Joel do not leave Jackson in search of the fireflies, it's implied that they skip over Jackson entirely in their journey to find the cure, their relationship is not strained. It's irrelevant to the fic so it most likely won't be mentioned, they will simply arrive in Jackson and choose to stay.