#I'm trying something different with the style

[takes1]

Hello!! (I don't know exactly how to do this)

Could you write something for Tendo Satori being a simp for short skirts with thigh-high stockings?

Thank you so much

tendou is obsessed with your thigh-highs

hi!! you did it right haha. could not stop thinking about this one. great request!! glad to be able to write it so quickly :0

warnings. nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / tendou is a thigh guy / thigh high fetish / almost fingering / makin out / reserved!reader / yapper!tendou / endstate situationship / intense PDA / college au / TA!tendou / 2.3k words / potential for part two idk

links. masterlist. more haikyuu here. my ao3. my imagines requests open

Tendou clocked your little outfit the second you walked into his study group's reserved room.

As the TA for this course, he tried to keep himself far away from you, just to clear his mind before trying to help. The library was now 40 minutes away from closing, and the handful of students that showed up were nearly all gone.

Helping the last poor soul with practice questions was not quite enough- he found himself praying you would stay another ten minutes for him to try and flirt, just a little.

He wanted to ask what was the deal with such an eye-catching get-up, but he wasn't sure what the best approach was. So, like usual, he just went with whatever felt right.

"Hey!" He was loud, friendly, and accidentally succeeded in startling you from behind.

You turned in your chosen beanbag to give him an unsure look. You didn't say hello back.

There was something different about this guy. You had your guesses at to what exactly ailed him, but they would remain background noise for the time being. Phone clutched to your chest, you collected yourself again in the aftermath of such a fright.

"Did I scare ya?"

He didn't wait for you to respond through your tiny chuckle. He was on a roll, and needed to open this up.

"Whaaat? No homework?" Tendo pushed his weight forward, limp over your beanbag, right beside you, "Don't tell me you're already done?"

Tendou was absurdly quick. Conversations, usually more confined to a specific, academic topic, usually left you spiraling from his fast and unfocused mind. Most of the time, you felt like a passenger in your own talks, but he was waiting for you now.

You hadn't realized how much time had passed, engrossed in a post on your phone for minutes, now. Everybody was almost gone.

"Um- yeah, I am."

There was so much going on behind the squint he gave you. It made you feel all hot and cold at the same time.

He muttered, looking around the rest of the room, "Smart and pretty, cool- that's cool."

Your mouth hung open a little, a blush creeping over your face, but he was onto the next thing. As if he didn't just call you pretty.

"So-ooo do you usually dress up outside of class?"

It was never one question. In this case it led to lots of elaboration, back-to-back.

"Because I totally did not get the memo, if we were supposed to wear something nice. I mean, bro over there is wearing a piano shirt, suit jacket and jeans. I'm-," He paused a moment to snicker at him, "-A little confused. So--,"

His eyes nearly gave him away. They faltered, slipping down to the sliver of skin showing at the top of your thigh-highs, just before the hem of your skirt ended.

"Do you- usually wear this?"

In a natural response, your eyes were following his, and you automatically pulled down on your skirt to cover yourself.

Your voice was quieter, slower, than his by many measures, "I wouldn't call this 'dressing up,' but, um, it is my style."

He had to mask his frustration -the Hellish screaming from inside- with a bigger, sillier thing.

"You got somewhere to be after this?"

Again, more questions. You couldn't help but laugh at the way he asked them so quick, flighty, like he was maybe asking you about course material.

"Like, a date, or something? Going to- I dunno- see your boyfriend? Something like that?"

Now you understood. He was no-doubt flirting. You set your phone on the floor, an inquisitive smile at your lips.

"I don't have a boyfriend," You looked him up and down slowly, watching how he adjusted, plenty aware of it, "Why do you need to know so bad?"

For the first time ever, he was searching for what to say. You grinned.

"Y'know," You shifted, twisted, to look at him straight on, "If you kissed me, I might kiss you back."

Your teeth clinked together in his haste. It was silly, an endearing accident, that made you smile against him.

His lips were soft, and warm, but he kissed you like you were made of chocolate. Something sweet, something to be devoured. There was no room to doubt his intentions because he was so passionate from the start.

A big, strong hand laced through your roots and guided you to get a better kiss from this angle.

It had been a while since your last fling. Tendou could fill the empty space in your heart, between your legs, for enough time to forget how lonely you were. Longevity wasn't something you were after. He was into you and that would do.

"Mm-h," You parted to tell him to come sit next to you, instead.

Tendou wiped the string of spit from his mouth, flushed, but never backed down. His confidence, especially in the face of being such a weirdo, was a turn-on.

"Ya think this is big enough for me~? Let's seeee,"

You watched, amused, at how he slinked into the space next to you and completely filled it up.

"You're... pretty tall," You confessed, shaky. Your hand shot out to touch him, invested in his size, all of a sudden. Hesitation, at the last second, kept you from following through.

"Mhmmm, you know it. 6'2, if you're curious."

Encouraging, he completed your desire to feel him by placing your hand on his shoulder. He did all the hard work so easily.

You were human. You had your preconceived biases. You thought weird, nerdy guys were supposed to be frail and skinny.

Tendou's shoulder was instead strong, and filled out. His shirt was a thin blend of polyester and cotton that was strained at the bicep and not so much at the waist. His legs stretched out much further than yours. All these titillating realizations kept cascading in big waves of shock. It kept you in a state of stillness that directly contrasted his excited wiggling around to get comfortable.

"You okayy?" He laughed, his proximity a safe, but new change. His words buzzed against your cheek between kisses, "You really like tall guys, or somethin'?"

He did usually wear hoodies, in your cold classroom. The way he slouched in it made him look closer to 5'9". It was warm in here so he had set it on the back of a chair a while ago.

You kissed him, falling against his warm chest in an attempt to shut him up.

Though he loved being chatty, he knew when it was a good time to let other things get the point across.

"Mmh-,"

He returned your passion tenfold. Forearm behind your upper back, a hand wrapped all around the back of your neck, he crushed you back down under him.

God, he was good with his tongue.

It didn't take very long to realize you both wanted each other, bad.

You liked what you were finding out about him, the further he went with you- he knew he liked you from the start of the semester, and now got to express his gratefulness for the chance.

"You should wear these more," His dirty, breathy voice matched the rough way he pulled your thigh-highs down.

Tendou was completely lost in the way your thighs squeezed together, how your stockings were just a little too small, your skirt arguably too short for your ass. No wonder you chose a seat like this, far away from the other students.

What he wanted was for you to sit on his face. But even he knew that idea was too much, so he settled for squeezing at your flesh, adjusting to be more over you.

You gave a closed-mouth moan of surprise at the feeling of a stiff cock under his jeans, rubbing on your leg.

The way he had you all spread and squished again for him, a little tight on space, very last-minute and surprised, was exactly how he wanted you. He grinned. Thanks to his features, that made him look intimidating.

"I've got a- a thing, for these," He explained, clearing the air a little, "Now that I think about it, if you wore this to class, I probably wouldn't be able to focus."

Just the idea of keeping him distracted like that filled you with a hot, focused, urgency. You pulled him in, legs parted, for a raunchier kiss.

He groaned against your mouth, biting your lip, and pressed an eager palm against your pussy.

"Ahh-mm-!" Your whine was getting cut short by another carnivorous suck to your lip.

He got you so wet, so malleable, so quickly.

"Fuck," His hips were grinding on your thigh, apparently enough stimulation for him- it made you feel proud, that you could get him feeling so good without much work.

His digits slid under your soaked panties. You gasped against his mouth, fingers filling with the neck of his t-shirt.

"Mmm, fuck that feels so-o good," His confession devolved into more of a growl.

His fingers were using all the wet there to better slide against your clit, a filthy, smooth sensation that kept you writhing.

"Ohh--oh my go-d," You mewled, eyes scrunched shut at how much you needed it. He swallowed up your sounds with hasty, hard kisses.

His groin kept pressed, rolling, against the back of your thigh.

It felt hot, and big from what you could tell, but you were still left to speculate what he was hiding under those jeans.

Never in a million years would you have guessed that he possessed knowledge on how to touch a woman. In any sense, not just explicitly. He was everyone's favorite, goofy TA. Not some womanizer.

Your fingers raked through his messy hair, taking in the feeling of his tongue against yours, all while trying to keep your noise down.

When he began to part, you didn't fight it, because you needed to breathe. But he stopped moving his fingers, and it left you shaky, needy. You rolled your hips and pressed your leg harder onto his hard-on.

"We sh-ould- we should stop," Tendou sighed, clearing his throat.

He was glancing around the empty study room, head on a swivel. He didn't look particularly upset, nor like he had actually heard something. You sure didn't. What the hell was his problem?

You were grabbing at him, groaning, "What?"

Another little kiss to your forehead, and the hottest, most rabid look any guy had ever given you before made you pause.

"I just- uh, I just have--," He was distracted again, squinting around, "A bad... feeling."

"I made you feel bad?" You sounded more whiny, than anything. You would have thought it embarrassing, but your cunt was throbbing with the need for more, and that took priority.

He chuckled, prying his own fingers from between your legs with marked displeasure.

"Noo, no, you make me feel like I wanna tear our clothes off." He thought for a second, sucking the wet from his index and middle finger, "Then run naked into the woods and never come back. Live like our ancestors. Have like, 16 kids."

There was no time to unpack that.

Just as you had fixed your stockings back, and he rolled off of the beanbag to stand -shifting his cock to a less obvious position in his jeans-, the door opened fast with no knock.

"Heyyy!"

Your wide eyes went straight to Tendou, but he didn't look at you. How did he know?

"Hey!" He greeted piano-shirt guy with typical ease.

The unwelcome guest, somebody you vaguely recognized from your class, explained themselves, glancing about the room, "I left my phone here! Have you guys seen it?"

Your voice cracked to say 'No,' and you vowed to remain silent for the remainder of your fake search for this idiot's phone.

Tendou found it in one of the swivel chairs. Part of you couldn't help but feel like he had some magical powers. Once the guy left, you were left mourning all that perfect proximity, all the dizzying desire you had built so quickly.

"Sooo angry," He cooed.

As he invited you for a hug, it was clear that he found your frustration the most adorable thing in the world.

You tolerated it because he held you. More specifically, he held you and palmed your ass from under your skirt. Your arms were stretched, linked behind his shoulders, as you stole more of his perfect kisses. You pushed him to sit on the table so you could stand between his parted legs.

He kept laughing, giggling at least, and messing your kisses up.

"Mh- what? What is it?"

Tendou snickered, "Didn't know you were such a little freak--,"

"Freak?"

"Ohh-kay, okay, not freak- umm," He giggled at the offense you took, cupping your face in his oversized hands, "Sorry. I really like you. I wanna do this more."

You hadn't caught on quite yet, so you leaned in to kiss him again, but only got his cheek. He grinned at your disappointment.

"Nooot here, though."

He was still squinting around, "I dunno, I still don't feel right."

After such a strong demonstration of predictive ability, you couldn't not trust his warning. You glanced around, too.

"Some other time?"

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu. (new) my imagines.

[lets-try-some-writing]

A reminder for myself and other writers in the form of a Q&A style response:

My writing sucks

No it doesn't. Perhaps it is untrained, but it is never worthy of being degraded. The words you weave are a gift that you can cultivate. Never forget that.

What if people don't like my work?

Some people won't like it, and that is the way of things. But that is no reason to be afraid to make the lovely things you have in that marvelous brain of yours. No one else thinks like you do, and no one will ever make the thing you want the same way you could. There is no harm in making something, even if it is not received well. Perhaps someday someone will find themselves changed because of what you have brought into being.

Is it even worth it?

You decide if it has worth or not. Does it bring you joy? Does it increase your skill? Does it challenge you? Does it make you see the world in different ways? Are there people who are touched by it? You decide what makes your work worthwhile. Your life is your own, and no one can choose what should matter most to you. But with that said, every word you write is one step closer to mastery. Never give up because of a lack of engagement.

Are my ideas too crazy/niche?

You'll find your audience, regardless of what you create. There is a place for everyone, and while it is quite likely that farther thrown concepts won't find much ground in bigger fandoms or audiences, there will always be a few who appreciate it. Cherish those people.

I'm worried about my writing style/formatting.

Everyone has their own unique way of going about things. No two writers will ever be the same and that's fine. So long as your work fits into the grammar rules of whatever language you are writing in and doesn't look like a huge text block or otherwise makes no sense paragraph wise, it's probably fine. Most of the smaller issues can be hashed out through a quick chat with a beta reader or even a google search or two. Your style though? That's something you shouldn't stress. It will change as you do and readers will love or hate you for it. Tolkien and C.S Lewis had totally different ways of going about their work and both are beloved. Remember that you can be different too.

I should be writing an original work, not fanfic.

Writing an original work is a draining and monumental effort. Folks make it sound easy, but it isn't. Not usually. And you know what? That's perfectly fine. You don't have to get into writing and instantly whip up the next Harry Potter. In fact, most young writers who do get into things and try to go nuts end up burning out because they lose interest or are not quite skilled enough to bring their vision to life. Fanfiction is a brilliant training ground, a place to test new things, explore your interests through the use of premade templates and worlds, and otherwise begin to develop your style. There is no shame in learning through templates and prompt lists. Besides, if you get good enough at what you do, all your fanfic writing may bear fruit later down the line.

Have some faith in yourself writers. And do be sure to hydrate and take care of yourselves.

[cozycryptidcorner]

DEEP lore for those who have been following me for years- in 2019 some fuckass dude sent whiny anon asks, calling myself and other monster lover blogs "vapid bitches" for not catering to his needs. he sent a couple of previous asks pressuring us to write stories more to his taste, and I told him to be the change he wanted to see in the world. Like, crack open his laptop and start making his own stories.

he essentially said he didn't have the skill, but i did, that my writing was good, so i should throw him a bone. i told him, well yeah, i've been writing since i could string together sentences, so obviously I have the skill to back it up. the best time to plant an apple tree is one hundred years ago, the second best time is now.

anyways he obviously did not like that. womp fucking womp. i figured out who it was pretty quickly by cross referencing the different on/off anon asks we had been getting and comparing grammar and punctuation styles.

all that to say, last time i glanced at his blog, no writing. that's crazy to me. the urge to create and improve is so deep inside my bones i literally cannot fathom living like that. maybe he never respected writing as a skill, maybe he was so intimidated by the idea of being bad at something. but like, get over yourself?

i am starting to learn 3D rendering at the elderly age of 26, driven by my desire to create more realistic environments for my stories. i want you people to SEE what i am trying to communicate with descriptions- and also to make more compelling art. okay. i have no idea where to start except youtube. 3D software is a completely different ballpark than photoshop or rebelle. but i'm doing it for the love of the game.

do what you need to! create! make bad art!!!! write horrible things!!! you'll get better with practice omfg.

[the-ladyrae]

I recently met a girl on Bumble, and I'm mad as hell about it because she lives less than half a mile away from me.

(Which I'm aware is like the opposite of a problem. RIP literally every other lesbian dealing with long distance. It is a privilege for me to be able to take a leisurely stroll to my gf's place [and there's a grocery store at the half way point of the walk so I can stop in and buy her flowers and snacks] and be there in no more than 15 minutes)

Anyway, I'm mad about it because I also loudly decry the effects dating apps have on human courting rituals. The comodification of intimacy to the degree of when people think of meeting someone now a days we don't think of going out to a bar, or dancing, or complimenting an interesting stranger in public. In most cases, we've actually begun to shun these things! The evolution of this in my mind began with the statement of "Women don't want to be approached in public." And for the most part, that holds true. We don't want to be bothered at work, where we have to be nice to you or risk getting fired. Or when we're out doing errands, grocery shopping, laundrymatt, whatever she's just trying to get some stuff done, leave her alone. Or at the gym, where the mindset is not really aligned with that activity. Or at the bar, we came together we leave together and keep an eye out someone might try to put something in your drink.

OK, wait, but back-up, I thought it was acceptable to approach women in social situations?

Well, it was, but doesn't that sound scary? You don't know that person that just came up to you and asked for your number. What if they're a serial killer, unlikely but wouldn't you rather have the opportunity to look into that first? Check their references so to speak.

I mean sure that sounds like a good thing, but how is this safer? I'm essentially doing what my parents told me not to my entire childhood, and meeting up with strangers from the internet.

Sure sure, sure, but this is different! We're providing a safe space where everyone is up front about who they are and their intentions! You can find exactly what you're looking for with all our magical filters (some might cost you a bit, but don't think about that yet). And then here's the kicker you can talk to them before you meet up in our messaging function, take an appropriate amount of time to learn everything you can and decide if this person is trustworthy enough to meet in person. That sounds nice doesn't it?

I guess I do like the idea of having a designated space where I know it's acceptable to approach an individual! And I mean how hard can it be to navigate one app?

Oh sorry I forgot to mention this part. It's not just one app there are like half a dozen major players that everyone kinda cycles through so you'll have to have all of them to play the field and increase the odds of you finding your one. And also because of the nature of us now giving you a haystack of options when you're looking for a needle you'll have to weed out like a dozen people at a time reality TV harem dating show style, while they do the same to you.

That doesn't exactly sound like a better system... But it clearly is, because of this system I met someone, didn't I? Well yes, but she lives half a mile away in the same neighborhood. We shop at the same grocery store, go to the same bars, have similar interests in general, and are both reasonably visibly distinct from a crowd (she's got bright pink hair, I'm a 6'1" femme who can't dress casual to save her life)

And we've both lived in this area for months without even noticing each other even though we're exactly each other's type. I don't know if any of that really made sense, but I think the point is that the dating apps are only fixing barriers to connection that they created. They are only solving problems they created, and we're paying them for it.

tumblr please stop showing me dating apps ads. i'll meet girls the old way; never

[werew0lfhours]

So, a certain someone has decided to rebrand, but before that, she was working on a script for a new video.

(Before I get to far into this, I don't want this to become a blog about her this is my safe side of the internet, I just feel insulted by this.)

Now, here's what she said;

(For those that can't read the fuck ass text; I apologize for everything I've said about Natalie Wynn, Jessica Routhier, Nate Stevenson, Patricia Taxxon, Jessie Earl, Rebecca Sugar, and Abigail Thorne. And if I said something unkind to you and I forgot your name, pop it into the comments and you'll get one personally.)

.... Interesting right?

She apologizes to creators who probably have forgotten about her existence, if they ever knew about her in the first place. And she ends it in a way that says she wants to be reminded of who else she may have hurt. Don't worry hun, I got you.

Crimson Ender; Trans man you have dehumanized and called a pedophile for having a differing opinion and poking fun at you. He's also native, and trying to keep his culture alive. Unlike you.

Sai Scribbles; A lesbian you have dehumanized and happly let be doxxed until it looked bad on you. All for correcting you on a show made for children, and being a bit catty about it. Not to mention, false flagging her content.

Anthony Gragmulia; A bisexual man you have dehumanized, denied his experience with surviving abuse, have been homophobic to, and claimed to have been fired for being a misogynist, which could have gotten him blacklisted from his industry, if it wasn't total horseshit. He also got false flagged by you. All for correcting you on Pokémon lore, a game made for children.

Blake; A person you sexually harassed and tried to get them to admit they were attracted to you, which is still, sexual harassment.

Britt; A woman you sexually harrassed when you were presenting as a cis man. She's a lesbian. You had Tara try and talk her into sleeping with you. That is harassment.

Josh; A man who you were friends with, alleged he faked being in the American Armed Forces, said he was a pedophile (when you had previously tried to get him to date a much younger woman who was a minor at the time), and continue to bring up even though he has moved on.

InkRose; A woman you tried to pressure into dating an older man when she wasn't even legal, and then had your fans draw art of her sona with women, even though she is straight and uncomfortable with that artwork.

KP; A friend you threw away when she wanted some answers. A friend you have doxxed. A friend who wanted to believe you. But you ran like a coward.

Lizzy; You're ex who you dehumanized and have continually said horrible things about unprompted when she hasn't done a goddamn thing. She never said anything about you until you started talking shit. You dragged her name so far through the mud, she doesn't feel safe on Tumblr anymore. You threatened to release the nudes she thought you had deleted. You stole one of her beloved oc's, which is so fucking awful to do. Not to mention: You stole her goddamn last name.

Ginger; A minor you didn't discourage to not draw NSFW of your avatar, when they were very open about being a minor. You then proceeded to have some kind of a relationship with them when they were hardly legal.

Carousel; Another person you had a romantic relationship with that you treated badly after they broke up with you. You also stole an oc from them.

Ren; Another fan you seemed to have a strange relationship with. They're married, and live in Russia. I'm assuming their spouse wouldn't be happy if they knew the full truth, no?

Opal; A fan of yours who you drew a version of your puppet in their style that you got so enraged at because she gave you some weight and curves. She isn't on the internet anymore... Weird, huh?

Lolo; A friend turned fan who you have snapped at as if she is an unruly dog and never seemed to apologize for your outburst after the fact.

Levi; A minor fan who alleges they had a weird interaction/relationship with. Who has screenshots they are too scared to share. Strange.

Mikaila; Your wife. Your wife, who was a fan. Your wife, who has had a very hard life, and sees you as her ray of sunshine. Your wife, who you expect to draw, you whatever art you want without payment. Your wife, who you have trained like a fucking dog. Your wife, who would make noises you didn't like so you cried, instead of talking to her like an adult. Your wife, who you horny posted about when her cat died, and she needed your comfort. Your wife, who you snapped at when her chair creaked, the same fucking day she found out her mother had been stealing from her. Your wife, who left the call after that. Your wife, who you didn't notice she left until a few minutes later, because you were flirting with another woman. Your wife, you chastised for letting dinner burn because you were playing a video game and couldn't get off your ass to check on it yourself. Your wife, who you have dehumanized, and very recently, made it seem like you only value her because she has "holes you can penetrate". Your wife, who doesn't live with you.

Courtney; You know what you did. I don't need to say it.

And to top it off; the countless people you told to kill themselves in very uncreative ways.

But you apologize to people with more power. The one that stands out who doesn't fit in is Patricia Taxxon. You know, a trans woman who has e-flashed her fan base, some of them being minors, has allegedly masturbated in a discord call with minors as well, and posts on her public Tumblr about wanting to fuck her biological father. Actually "fuck" is the incorrect verbage; she wants to be re-victimized by him for her sexual pleasure. She also talks about having pedophilic thoughts in a way she doesn't seem too bothered about. And, don't get me started on Buyer's Market.

And while I'm thinking about it; Why don't you apologize for associating with someone who might actually be a white supremacist. You know who. Your brother.

Cameron. Cameron, who molested your sister and shared a room with you. Cameron, who had other children in your neighborhood, alleged he did the same to him that he did to Courtney. Cameron, who was dishonorably discharged for assaulting several fellow officers. That's public info, you know. Cameron, who deadnames, misgenders, and refuses to acknowledge your identity and your wife's identity. Cameron, who you, for years, said was a piece of shit until recently. Cameron, who is a Trump cocksucker and has made fun of children dying in mass shootings. Cameron, who is the exact person you say we should bash his brains in with a rock, but he's your dearest relative? Your beloved brother?

So, nice try at an apology. But, it isn't true, is it? But nevermind that, we both know that apologizes mean nothing if you don't fucking change your behavior. And you never change. Do you? So, take your apology, because it's worthless here.

Ps. If you were planning your rebrand, why did you still sign your most recent script with your old name, "Casey"? It seems a bit fishy to me, but how would I know? I'm a jackass on the internet :)

(Final line reads; I'm Lily, thanks for watching.)

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound Hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining, NSFW, human x Na'vi, size difference, needy Neteyam, oral sex (fem receiving)

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

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer@eliankm, @quintessences0posts,

Part 16: To want

This is my first time writing an explicit fic, and honestly, I never thought I’d venture into this kind of writing! It was both exciting and a little nerve-wracking to create something so intimate, so please be kind in the comments. I’m still learning and experimenting with this style, so I really appreciate any support, encouragement, or constructive feedback. Hope you enjoy! 💙✨

Part 17: To worship

You don’t know when Neteyam called for his ikran.

You don’t know when it landed next to you in the dense forest, its large wings stirring the night air, rustling the bioluminescent plants around you. You barely register the shift in the ground beneath you as Neteyam moves, guiding you effortlessly.

Because you’re clinging to him—desperate, breathless, lost in the heat of his touch.

Your arms wrap tight around his broad shoulders, your fingers pressing into the firm muscles beneath his skin. Your legs instinctively lock around his torso, holding onto him like he’s the only thing tethering you to the world. Maybe he is.

You don’t understand how or when you end up on the back of his ikran, only that somehow, you do. His warmth surrounds you, his scent thick in the cool night air as the wind rushes past. But all you can focus on is him—his heartbeat against yours, his steady hands gripping you firmly, keeping you pressed against him as the ikran carries you through the sky.

The flight is a blur.

The next thing you know, your back is against the woven walls of the hunter’s hut, and Neteyam is carrying you inside with an ease that makes your stomach tighten. His strong arms hold you effortlessly, his chest pressed flush against yours, his head buried in the crook of your neck.

His lips find your skin.

Slow, reverent kisses.

Soft, teasing drags of his lips against your pulse.

Each touch sends a wave of heat through you, a slow-burning ache that coils deep in your stomach.

Your breath shudders as you grip his shoulders tighter, feeling the way he flexes beneath your touch. A soft whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, and Neteyam groans in response, his grip tightening, his body pressing against yours like he can’t get enough of you.

You want to be closer. Closer than before.

Neteyam must feel it too because he moves with purpose, stepping deeper into the hut, his pace unhurried but filled with intent.

Then—he lays you down on the pelts.

The woven pelts beneath you are soft, but the warmth of his body above you is intoxicating. He hovers over you, his golden eyes dark with want, his breath uneven as he takes you in. His tail flicks behind him, his body taut with restraint even as his hands explore, mapping every inch of you like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.

His weight presses against you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

The space between you is almost nonexistent.

Almost.

Because he’s still holding back.

But you don’t want distance.

You don’t want hesitation.

You just want him.

Now.

Neteyam’s hands are everywhere.  

Large, warm, and reverent as they skim over your sides, your waist, your hips—like he’s trying to learn you by touch alone. His breath is heavy, uneven, his golden eyes locked onto yours with something dark, something raw, something hungry.  

His fingers toy with the hem of your top, his thumb brushing against your bare skin, slow and deliberate. He watches you carefully, silently asking, silently waiting.  

You nod. A barely-there movement, but it’s all he needs.  

With one smooth pull, he lifts your shirt over your head and tosses it aside, leaving you beneath him in only your bra and shorts.  

Neteyam inhales sharply, his ears flicking back, his pupils dilating as he drinks you in.  

“Eywa…” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, like the sight of you knocks the breath from his lungs.  

You shift under his gaze, heat crawling up your spine, your fingers twitching against the pelts beneath you. His golden eyes trail down your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and you squirm, suddenly feeling impossibly small under his intense stare. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest, and his tail flicks behind him. He leans in, so close that his lips brush against your temple before moving lower, his nose ghosting along the side of your cheek next to the edge of the mask, the sharp inhale he takes sending shivers down your spine.  

“Do you know how many times I’ve imagined this?” he murmurs, his voice thick with longing.  

His fingers slide up your sides, teasing, tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your ribs.  

“How many nights I’ve laid awake, picturing you like this? Beneath me, wanting me?”  

Your breath shudders. You can’t think. Can’t breathe.  

His lips hover over your pulse, the warmth of them barely there, just a whisper of sensation, and you feel like you might combust.  

“Neteyam…” You whisper his name, voice fragile, breaking.  

He groans softly, his grip on you tightening for just a second before he presses his forehead to the glass of your mask, eyes wild, burning.  

You don’t think.  

You just act.  

A deep breath. Hold it.  

Your fingers tremble as you reach up, pull the mask off—  

And then you kiss him.  

Fierce, desperate, needing.  

Your lips crash into his, and Neteyam growls against your mouth, his control snapping like a bowstring pulled too tight. His hand tangles into your hair, one sliding down to grip your waist, pulling you up against him, chest to chest, heat to heat.  

His lips move with an urgency that leaves you dizzy, his tongue parting your lips, claiming your breath, your body, your very soul. He kisses you like he’s been starving for you, like he needs you more than the air in his lungs.  

And you give him everything.  

Your hands roam over his shoulders, his back, feeling the ripple of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the way he shudders every time you touch him. Your nails dig into his skin, pulling him closer, closer, needing him like never before.  

Your lungs scream for air, but you don’t care. Not yet.  

Not when his mouth is on yours. Not when his hand is gripping your hips, sliding over your body like he owns it, like he’s claiming it.  

The burn in your chest becomes unbearable.  

You gasp, wrenching yourself away just long enough to fumble your mask back into place, sucking in a desperate breath, your body still thrumming with heat, with need.  

Neteyam is panting above you, his forehead pressing against your temple, his golden eyes dark, his lips kiss-swollen. His hands tremble where they hold you, his fingers flexing like he doesn’t want to let go.  

And neither do you.  

You want him.  

You need him.  

And from the way he looks at you—his jaw tight, his tail lashing, his body still caging you in—you know he feels the same.    

Neteyam’s breath is heavy, his body burning above you as his fingers explore every inch of your exposed skin. But when his hands reach your back, brushing against the fabric of your bra, he pauses.  

His brows furrow slightly, ears twitching as he fumbles with the clasp.  

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the soft giggle that threatens to slip out as his large fingers struggle with the tiny hooks. He huffs softly, clearly frustrated, pulling back just enough to glance down at where his hands are failing him.  

“'upe lu fì'u?”[What is this?] he mutters, his tail flicking sharply in irritation.  

You open your mouth to answer, but before you can, Neteyam growls under his breath. His patience snaps.  

With one firm tug, the clasp gives way—not because he figured it out, but because he simply ripped it open. The straps slide down your arms, the fabric falling away completely as he tosses the ruined garment aside without a second thought.  

Neteyam stills.  

His golden eyes, blown wide with hunger, drink in the sight of you, bare beneath him, chest rising and falling rapidly as the cool night air brushes against your heated skin.  

You tremble.  

The sharp chill sends a ripple over your body, making your nipples harden under his intense gaze. His jaw clenches, his breathing uneven, his tail curling behind him. You swallow hard, shifting slightly beneath him, suddenly feeling exposed, vulnerable under his unwavering stare.  

But Eywa—the way he looks at you.  

Like you are his entire world.  

His voice is a hushed reverence when he finally speaks. “You are…” He trails off, shaking his head as if words are failing him. “…breathtaking.”  

Heat surges up your spine, spreading through your limbs. Your fingers twitch, restless, aching for him.  

But Neteyam… he waits.  

Tension coils tight in his muscles, his self-control an unyielding force. He wants you—gods, it’s painfully obvious from the way he hovers over you, the way his fingers twitch at your sides—but still, he waits.  

And that’s what undoes you.  

That restraint, that unshaken patience, when all you want is for him to break.  

You can’t take it.  

Your hand flies to his head, fingers tangling in his thick beaded braids as you pull him down, guiding his mouth where you need him.  

A deep, guttural groan rumbles in his chest when his lips meet the soft swell of your breast. His mouth is hot, reverent, worshiping as he kisses over your sensitive skin. His tongue flicks over the hardened peak, teasing, tasting—learning you.  

Your breath shudders, a whimper slipping past your lips as your grip tightens in his hair.  

Neteyam feels that reaction—your nails scraping against his scalp, the way your back arches slightly beneath him—and it ruins him.  

A growl vibrates against your skin as his other hand slides lower, fingertips trailing down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your shorts. You shiver beneath him, anticipation thick between you, the air crackling with want.  

He’s barely touched you—barely started—and yet you already feel like you might fall apart.  

And from the way his lips linger against your skin, the way his breath shudders against you…  

He’s just as lost.  

Neteyam’s fingers curl around the waistband of your shorts, tugging them downward, slow, deliberate. The fabric slides over your hips, down your thighs, leaving you breathless beneath him. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, sending a ripple of shivers through your body.

He groans softly at the sight of you—now clad in nothing but the thin scrap of your panties, the last barrier between you and him. His golden eyes, dark with hunger, trace every inch of you, memorizing, devouring.

Your breath stutters when his hands—so large, so warm—grip your hips, steadying you as he begins his descent.

The first kiss lands just below your ribs.

Soft. Warm.

A whisper of reverence against your skin.

Your stomach tenses at the sensation, and Neteyam smirks against you, his lips curving into something purely mischievous.

He felt that.

His flat nose brushes lower, his breath hot against your skin as he plants another kiss, this one deeper, more deliberate.

A soft gasp escapes you.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

His lips continue their slow, tortuous path downward, lingering over your stomach, his sharp canines grazing lightly against the sensitive skin there.

You squirm.

A quiet, needy sound slips past your lips before you can stop it.

Neteyam chuckles—a low, satisfied rumble that vibrates against your skin.

“I like that,” he murmurs, his voice deep, rough with want.

He kisses lower.

Your breath hitches when his tongue flicks out, tasting you, tracing slow patterns along your skin. “Neteyam,” you whisper, his name tumbling from your lips like a mantra.

His sharp ears flick at the sound, his tail curling behind him.

He loves it. Loves hearing his name fall from your lips like that—soft, breathless, full of need.

Another kiss, just above the waistband of your panties, his teeth grazing teasingly against your hip bone.

You gasp, thighs twitching beneath his touch, your body arching slightly toward him, seeking more, more, more.

He hums approvingly, his hands tightening on your hips, holding you in place as his lips move to the other side of your stomach, repeating the same agonizingly slow worship.

“Sensitive here, hmm?” he murmurs against your skin, pressing another teasing kiss just below your navel.

You whimper, nodding, unable to form words, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

His mouth lingers there, reveling in the way you tremble beneath him, the way your body reacts so easily, so completely to his touch.

You swear you can feel his smirk, the way his lips curve against your skin, pleased—no, thrilled—by the way you unravel beneath him.

He wants you like this.

Helpless. Desperate.

He presses another slow, burning kiss just above the last scrap of fabric still keeping him from you, his breath hot against your skin.

And when you whisper his name again, your voice barely more than a breath—

He groans, his restraint hanging by a thread.

He wants more.

And you’re about to give it to him.

Neteyam’s fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, his grip firm but unbearably slow as he drags the thin fabric down your legs. You shiver as the cool air brushes over your newly exposed skin, heat pooling in your core as you feel the last barrier between you and him disappear.

The soft sound of fabric hitting the floor barely registers through the pounding of your heartbeat.

Your breath stutters as reality crashes over you. You’re bare beneath him now—nothing left to shield you from his heated, hungry gaze. Your boldness from before vanishes like mist beneath the sun. You press your thighs together instinctively, suddenly feeling shy, overwhelmed by the way he’s looking at you.

Golden eyes drink you in like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

His tail flicks behind him, the low, steady thumps against the hut floor betraying the barely-contained need simmering beneath his skin.

When you risk a glance up at him, your breath catches.

Neteyam is sitting back on his heels, legs spread, his gaze fixed entirely on you.

Predatory. Ravenous.

Like you’re prey trapped beneath him.

Like he’s been waiting for this moment, craving it, and now that he has you—finally has you—he’s going to take his time.

Heat burns up your neck, pooling in your cheeks as you turn your head away, unable to hold his gaze. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, rich and full of amusement, but when his hand brushes over your thigh, it’s reverent, patient.

He’s not going to let you hide from him.

Not now.

Not when you finally belong to him fully.

His large, warm hands trace the length of your legs, his touch slow, deliberate.

“Open for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need.

Your thighs tremble, hesitating, but his touch is firm, coaxing you apart with a gentle insistence.

One of his large hands moves down, curling beneath your calf almost engulfing it as he lifts your leg, his grip steady, secure.

Your breath hitches as his lips press against your skin.

A kiss.

Soft at first.

Right at the curve of your calf.

Then another.

And another.

His tongue flicks out, barely grazing your skin as he trails slow, burning kisses up your leg, inch by inch. Your breathing stutters, your hands gripping the furs beneath you, helpless beneath his worship. He reaches your knee, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin there, his lips lingering, his nose brushing against you as he breathes you in.

Then, lower.

His mouth moves to your inner thigh, closer, so dangerously close—

A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it.

Neteyam groans.

A deep, guttural sound that sends a tremor through his body.

His ears flick sharply, his tail curling and thumping behind him as his grip tightens around your leg.

“You sound so sweet, ma’syulang,” he whisper, voice thick with hunger.

The sound of his name spills from your lips in a breathy moan as his sharp teeth scrape gently against your thigh.

You gasp, as you try to press your hand against your mouth but the mask is in the way.

Neteyam shudders.

Your touch makes his whole body tremble.

His tail flicks wildly, his self-control almost over as he drags his tongue along your inner thigh, tasting you, marking you. His canines graze your skin again before he bites, sinking his teeth just enough to leave a mark—just enough to claim you. Your body jerks in response, a breathless moan spilling from your lips as your thighs threaten to close again.

But his hands—his strong, steady hands—keep you open for him.

And he’s not finished.

Neteyam growls, his breath hot against your skin as he laves his tongue over the fresh mark, soothing the sting before leaving another kiss right beside it.

You already know—you’re going to have to wear long pants for days just to hide the evidence of what he’s doing to you.

But you don’t care.

Not when his mouth is this warm, this desperate against your skin.

Not when his hands are holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Not when all you want is to be his.

Completely.

Finally.

And the way he’s trembling against you—his fingers digging into your thighs, his breath coming ragged and uneven—tells you that he’s barely holding himself together.

That every noise you make, every twitch of your body beneath him, is destroying him. And you’re about to ruin him completely.

Neteyam settles between your thighs, his body sinking lower, his breath ghosting over your skin.

Your chest rises and falls in uneven pulls, anticipation winding so tightly in your core that you feel like you might snap at any moment.

He’s so close.

So devastatingly close to where you need him, yet he doesn’t move forward.

He lingers.

His golden eyes roam over your body with unrestrained hunger, taking in everything now that there’s nothing left between you.

A slow, reverent inhale, as if breathing in the scent of you is enough to send him spiraling.

His hands, large and warm, trace slow, idle patterns along the side of your thighs, the contrast between his rough palms and your soft skin making you shiver. You twitch beneath him, your fingers curling into the pelts below, your breath stuttering when his lips graze so close, just next to where you ache for him most.

But he doesn’t go there.

Instead, he kisses your thighs again.

Slow.

Lingering.

His mouth trails along the softest parts of you, tongue flicking out just slightly between kisses, tasting you, savoring the way your body trembles beneath him.

A low, pleased rumble vibrates from deep within his chest when he feels you squirm, the need in your body so obvious that it makes his blood run hot.

Eywa, you’re so beautiful like this.

Laid bare before him, trembling, squirming, so soft beneath his hands, his to hold, his to worship.

How many nights has he dreamed of this?

How many times has he ached for you, touched himself to the thought of you, imagined how sweet you would taste, how you would fall apart beneath his tongue?

And now, you’re here.

Real.

Shaking.

Needing him.

His ears flick at the sound of your ragged breathing, his tail curling behind him as his hands squeeze your thighs, spreading you further, holding you open for him.

And yet—

He waits.

He watches.

He drinks in every inch of you, memorizing the way your body reacts, the way your breath hitches when he gets too close, the way your fingers twitch like you want to pull him in but don’t dare to move.

You let out a small, frustrated whimper, shifting beneath him, trying to get closer—but he doesn’t let you.

His lips brush over the skin just beside where you need him, deliberately avoiding the one place that aches for him most.

His control is ironclad, but only just.

His whole body is buzzing with restraint, fighting every instinct that urges him to take you now, to claim you, to bury himself in your softness and never come up for air.

But no—

Not yet.

Not until you’re begging for him.

His tongue flicks against the sensitive skin of your thigh, leaving a slow, open-mouthed kiss just next to where his head is resting between your legs.

Your back arches.

A soft, broken whimper tumbles from your lips.

And then, barely above a whisper—

"Please."

Neteyam groans.

A deep, needy sound that rumbles through his whole body, his tail curling tighter, his ears pinning back as his fingers tighten against your thighs.

His restraint snaps like a bowstring.

And then—

His mouth is on you.

And you shatter.

Neteyam’s mouth claims you in a slow, devastating slide of heat, his tongue pressing firmly against your most sensitive part in a way that makes your entire body jerk.

A strangled gasp escapes your lips, your back arching off the pelts as if a current of electricity just ripped through you.

"Oh, fuck—"

Your fingers fly into his hair on instinct, gripping at his thick braids as your thighs clamp around his head, but it doesn’t deter him.

Not even a little.

If anything, it makes him groan against you, the deep, guttural sound vibrating through your core, sending another shockwave of pleasure rippling up your spine. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you open as he moves with agonizing slowness, his tongue dragging over you in long, deliberate strokes.

Each movement is maddening, a slow, teasing exploration, like he’s savoring every second, every taste of you.

"Neteyam—" Your voice is breathless, a desperate plea as your head tilts back, fingers tugging at his braids, heels digging into his broad shoulders, trying to pull him closer.

But he doesn’t rush.

No, he revels in the way your body twists beneath him, the way your hips roll, the way your thighs tremble, the way you chant his name like a desperate, breathless prayer.

"Eywa, please—" Your voice is breaking, a shameful mix of whimpers and gasps, of curses and incoherent pleading.

Neteyam growls against you, his large hands sliding up your trembling thighs, fingers digging into your skin as he holds you down.

"I have you." His voice is deep, muffled, vibrating straight into you before he sucks at your clit in a way that makes your whole body jolt.

A strangled cry rips from your throat.

Your grip on his hair tightens—desperate, clawing—your fingers curling against his scalp as you pull at him, as if you could somehow ground yourself against the force of the pleasure.

But there is no control now.

No grounding.

Just him.

His mouth.

His tongue works you open, devouring you like you’re the only thing in the universe.

The pressure in your core coils too fast, too sharp, a fiery tension snapping through your veins, your thighs trembling around his head.

His tongue presses harder, his lips sealing around your swollen, aching clit, and then he sucks.

"Neteyam—!"

Your entire body locks up, your back arching off the pelts, your breath shattering into a sharp, broken cry as pleasure crashes over you in an overwhelming wave.

Your thighs tremble violently as your body bucks against him, but he doesn’t stop.

He guides you through it, his hands strong and unyielding as he holds you down, his tongue still moving in slow, languid strokes, drawing out every last pulse, every last shudder.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your whole body trembling, your mind floating somewhere between bliss and disbelief.

Neteyam hums against you, a deep, satisfied sound as he drinks in the way you fall apart for him, his grip on your thighs tight, possessive, like he never wants to let go.

And then, finally, after what feels like an eternity, he pulls back just slightly, his lips glistening, his golden eyes blazing as he looks up at you.

A slow, lazy smirk spreads across his lips as he licks his mouth, his voice thick with hunger.

"That was only the beginning, ma’syulang."

Your chest rises and falls in rapid, uneven breaths, the aftershocks of your climax still coursing through your trembling body. Your muscles feel like liquid, heat pooling in your limbs, your fingers weakly clutching at the pelts beneath you. The air in the hut is thick—humid and heavy, wrapped in the scent of desire and him.

Your mind struggles to catch up. To understand what just happened.

That was the quickest and the most intense orgasm of your life.

Your body still hums with the afterglow, tiny tremors rippling through your thighs where Neteyam still holds you open. The cool night air kisses your flushed skin, sharp in contrast to the feverish warmth that lingers in your core.

You gasp, eyes unfocused as you stare at the thatched ceiling above you.

It’s almost hilarious, in some twisted way.

You had to travel four and a half light-years across space, sleeping in a cryostasis capsule for six years, leave behind everything you’d ever known, survive Pandora’s harsh wilderness, fall in love with a ten-foot-tall blue warrior—just to experience this.

A breathless, disbelieving laugh tumbles from your lips.

You can’t help it.

It bubbles up from your chest, soft at first, then growing until you’re giggling, completely hazed, utterly wrecked, staring up at the ceiling like the secrets of the universe have just been rewritten before your very eyes.

Neteyam huffs a quiet chuckle above you, his large hands still gripping your thighs, keeping them spread for him. You can’t see his face from this angle, but you know he smirks, the amused shake of his head as he watches you come undone beneath him.

"Something funny, ma’yawne?" His voice is deep, laced with satisfaction, but there’s a teasing edge to it, warm and indulgent.

You try to form a response, but your brain is still swimming in the aftermath of pleasure, still trying to grasp the sheer insanity of what just happened.

So instead, you just shake your head weakly, still breathless, still trying to process.

Neteyam shifts slightly, and before you can register what he’s doing, you feel it—

The hot, wet slide of his tongue against your still-sensitive core.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat, your entire body jerking, muscles tensing as a shock of pleasure rips through your oversensitive nerves.

Your hips twitch involuntarily as you try to squirm away—but his hands hold you firm, strong and unyielding.

"Neteyam—" Your voice is raw, breathless, shaking.

He groans against you, his lips pressing against your swollen, aching heat, devouring you all over again.

"Still so sweet," he murmurs, his voice a deep, husky purr against your most sensitive part. "I could stay here forever."

Another wave of sensation crashes over you, your body still so raw, so open to him. Your breath shudders as you try to form a coherent thought, but he’s already moving—his tongue lapping, slow and deliberate, savoring you with an almost devotional hunger.

You can feel the way he takes his time, savoring you, groaning against your heat like this is something he’s craved for longer than he’d ever admit.

And he has.

For so many nights, for so many years, Neteyam has imagined this—you laid out before him, trembling, gasping his name, your fingers tangled in his hair, your small body writhing beneath his tongue.

And now, he finally has you.

And he’s going to worship you.

"Let me have you, ma’syulang," he breathes against you, his voice thick with reverence. "Let me taste you again."

And then, with another slow, luxurious stroke of his tongue, he does.

Neteyam’s mouth is relentless.

The slow, maddening slide of his tongue sends another shudder through your body, his warmth against your most sensitive part making you tremble all over again. You should be too sensitive, should be unable to handle more—but somehow, it doesn’t matter.

It still feels so good.

Your body betrays you, pleasure building once more, deep and slow, coiling in your stomach like a rising tide.

Neteyam knows.

He feels it in the way your thighs tremble in his grip, in the way your breath hitches sharply every time his tongue moves just right. He can hear it in the soft, choked sounds escaping you, the way your hips instinctively arch against his mouth, desperate for more.

He groans, the sound vibrating against you, deep and reverent, like he’s lost in his own pleasure—like this is the most pleasurable thing he’s ever done.

“Eywa…” he murmurs between kisses, his voice thick and strained, full of awe. His fingers tighten around your thighs, spreading you open further, keeping you right where he wants you. “You taste like—", he groans again, voice cut off as he devours you once more.

The feeling is too much, but not enough.

Your hands fly to your mouth, instinctively trying to muffle the shameless, wanton sounds pouring from your lips. But—

The mask.

Your fingers hit the smooth glass instead, a clear barrier between you and your desperate attempt at containment.

And Neteyam sees it.

Sees the way your hands tremble against your mask, your eyes squeezed shut, your chest heaving.

His lips curl into a wicked, knowing smirk against your core, his golden eyes gleaming as he looks up at you.

“Don’t hide from me, ma’tanhi,” he murmurs, his voice dark, teasing.

And then—

His tongue slides deeper.

A sharp, high-pitched cry rips from your throat as his tongue pushes against your entrance, slick and firm, slipping just inside, teasing you.

Your body reacts instantly—your hips arch off the pelts, desperate for more, grinding against his mouth with raw, needy instinct. Neteyam groans loudly at that, a deep, almost pained sound that sends a violent shudder through your body.

"That’s it," he praises, his voice rough, guttural, his hands gripping you harder, keeping you right there. "Give yourself to me."

His tongue flicks against your clit, slow and purposeful, and he moans—a deep, shuddering sound that vibrates through you, that makes you tremble beneath him.

His pleasure is undeniable.

And when he sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue lapping, working you up again, you realize—

You’re going to break.

And he is the one who’s going to break you.

Your body shatters.

The heat in your core snaps, sharp and violent, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. A raw, broken scream tearing from your lips as you come undone on Neteyam’s tongue again. You chant his name, over and over, like a prayer, like a plea—like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. “Neteyam—Neteyam—oh, Eywa—Neteyam!”

Your hands tighten in his braids, your thighs trembling around his head, your entire body shaking as he works you through your orgasm, licking you like he can’t get enough.

You hear it—the low, wrecked moan he lets out against your core, the way his breath stutters like this is just as intense for him as it is for you. Like your pleasure is his own, like he’s lost in it, drowning in the way you come apart beneath him.

Your body slumps back against the pelts, gasping for air like you’ve just run miles, like you’ve been chased and finally caught.

Your limbs feel boneless, your chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths. Your entire body tingles, still thrumming with aftershocks, still trembling from how hard he made you come.

And then—

Neteyam moves.

Slowly, purposefully, he crawls up your body, his golden eyes locked onto yours, dark and hungry.

Your breath catches as you watch him prowl over you, his massive frame caging you in, his muscles shifting with effortless strength. His tail flicks lazily behind him, but his movements are anything but relaxed—he’s deliberate, controlled, like a predator savoring the moment before claiming his prey.

Your mask fogs up from how hard you’re panting, heat radiating from every inch of your overwhelmed body. But it doesn’t matter—

Because as soon as he’s close enough, you rip it off.

And kiss him.

Desperately.

Like there’s no tomorrow. Like the world is ending and he’s the only thing keeping you alive.

His lips are hot, wet with your taste, his breath mingling with yours as your tongues tangle, fighting, devouring each other. You taste yourself on him, and the realization sends another wave of arousal surging through you.

Neteyam groans into the kiss, his massive hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needs you closer, like the space between you is unbearable. His chest rumbles, deep and needy, his entire body pressing you down into the pelts.

You kiss him until your lungs burn, until your chest aches for air.

And only then—only when your vision starts to blur—do you pull back, gasping as you fumble your mask back onto your face.

The moment it presses into place, you flop back onto the pelts, spent, limbs weak and trembling.

Neteyam chuckles, his voice low and amused, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief as he watches you struggle to recover.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, smirking. “So weak. I barely touched you.”

You glare at him, lifting a shaky hand to smack his broad chest. “Fuck you.”

His smirk deepens, his ears flicking forward as he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“That’s the plan.”

The heat between you lingers, even as the urgency fades into something slower, sweeter.

Neteyam’s massive form cages you in, his warm, powerful body wrapped around yours as he leans on his right elbow. His golden eyes drink you in, still dark with hunger, but softer now, filled with something deeper.

His fingers trace lazy, worshipful paths along your naked body—up and down, from the curve of your hip to the dip of your waist, then higher, until his palm spans across your ribs, pressing warm and firm over your racing heart.

He marvels at you.

How small you are beneath him.

How tiny your frame is compared to his—so soft, so delicate, yet still strong in a way that drives him insane.

One of his hands is enough to engulf both of your plump breasts, covering you completely. Marvel them how soft they felt under his palm. He squeezes, testing, teasing, watching in fascination as you squirm beneath him, your breath catching at the sensation.

But even with the stark difference in size, you are perfect to him.

You always have been.

Your breathing slowly evens out, but the moment you begin to relax, your fingers find his shoulders. You explore him, trailing the broad planes of muscle, feeling the strength beneath his skin. You grow bolder, your blunt nails raking gently over his deep blue striped skin, watching the way his muscles twitch in response.

Neteyam hums in approval, leaning down, pressing his lips softly against the lovebite he left on your neck.

Your heart swells with so much affection that you feel like you might burst. The words slip out before you can stop them, soft and reverent.

"I love you so much."

Neteyam stills for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. Then—he presses another slow, lingering kiss to the mark.

"Oel ngati kameie, ma’yawne."[I see you, my beloved.]

The words send a shiver through you, sinking deep into your bones. His voice is low, rich with meaning, with devotion, and your body trembles in response.

But then—you feel it.

The hard press of him against your thigh.

He’s achingly hard, the thick length of him pressed against your skin through the thin material of his loincloth, hot and undeniable. The realization sends a bolt of arousal straight to your core, making you ache all over again. Slowly, you reach down, sliding down on his chest, on his abs, your fingers trembling slightly as you try to touch him—to feel all of him for the first time.

But before you can, his large hand catches yours, pinning it effortlessly above your head.

You let out a soft gasp, blinking up at him in surprise as his lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Not today," he purrs into your ear, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

Your breath hitches as you look up at him, your fingers flexing beneath his grip. “But I want to touch you,” you whisper, pleading, your voice desperate and needy.

Neteyam chuckles, low and dangerous. Instead of answering, he leans down, bites your earlobe—gentle but firm—then soothes it with his tongue, the teasing motion making your stomach flip.

Before you can protest, his other hand slides down, gripping your hips, pulling you closer against him.

And then—he grinds against you.

Slow. Deliberate.

The thick, solid length of him presses against your bare thigh, rolling against your feverish skin. The sensation is maddening, the friction sending a wave of pleasure surging through you.

A moan slips past your lips, high and needy, your body reacting instinctively to his.

You look up at him, your chest rising and falling, your pupils blown wide with desperation.

"Please..." your voice wavers, barely above a whisper. "Oe tìkin nga, ma’Neteyam."[I need you, Neteyam.]

And that—that breaks him.

His golden eyes darken, his restraint shattering like glass.

His left hand trails down, slipping over your stomach, moving with purpose, with promise.

You hold your breath, waiting, wanting—

Then—

The first fluttering touch of his fingers between your thighs makes you whimper.

His calloused fingertips tease along your most sensitive part, deliberate, exploratory, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

You tremble beneath him, arching your hips against his touch, silently begging for more. Neteyam watches you, utterly captivated by how you react to him, how your body responds to every careful movement of his fingers.

Then, slowly—he enters you.

Just one finger.

Long and thick, stretching you in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat. A soft, shocked moan slipping from your lips as your thighs tremble around him.

Eywa—

Just one of his fingers feels like when you use two of your own.

And the thought—

The thought of how much more of him there is to take—

It makes you shudder with anticipation.

You’re writhing beneath him, body caught in a relentless cycle of pleasure and want, teetering on the edge of something bigger, something deeper. You don’t even know how many times you’ve come just by his fingers.

It’s a blur—waves of ecstasy crashing over you again and again, each one leaving you shaken, your legs trembling around his broad shoulders as he works you apart with his expert fingers.

But you do feel when his second finger presses into you.

Your body stretches around him, and the sensation is so much, so deep, a desperate gasp ripping from your lips. "Fuck… yes," you whimper, your fingers clawing at his arms, grasping his armbands for a moment, your nails raking over his unbelievably strong shoulders. "So good—"

Neteyam groans deeply above you, his golden eyes hungry, his tail lashing behind him in raw need. His ears twitch at every sweet, gasping sound you make, drinking them in like they’re the only thing keeping him sane.

You can feel how much he’s trying to hold himself back.

How his hips stutter against your side, how he grinds himself slowly, as if trying to relieve some of his own unbearable ache.

He’s just as desperate as you are.

That thought alone sends another wave of pleasure coursing through you, your hips rolling frantically against his fingers, seeking more, needing more.

Your hands fly up, trembling fingers reaching for him—grasping, pulling.

And then—

You yank your mask down.

Before he can even register it, your lips crash against his, fierce and unrelenting.

It’s messy, desperate, filled with raw hunger as you pour everything—every ache, every longing thought—into the kiss.

Neteyam groans against your small lips, his grip on you tightening, his fingers curling inside you in a way that makes you cry out against his lips.

You don’t care.

You need him.

You need him now.

Your breath burns in your lungs, but before you pull away to put your mask back, you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling, pleading.

"Please, Neteyam…" Your forehead rests against his, your breath mixing with his as your thighs quiver around his hips. “I  need you to…”

"...fuck me."

A deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest—a sound so primal, so filled with desperation, that it makes your whole body shudder.

You barely manage to secure your mask back into place before Neteyam moves.

Before he gives you exactly what you’re begging for.

Neteyam shifts, his movements slow, deliberate, as he settles back on his heels between your open legs. His golden eyes stay locked onto yours, filled with something heavy, something intense that makes your breath hitch before he even touches the knots at his hips.

Your heart pounds as his fingers move, untying the thin strips of fabric that hold up his loincloth. His hands are steady, but you see the way his chest rises and falls with each slow breath, see the way his muscles twitch slightly with anticipation.

And then—

The last piece of cloth falls away.

A sharp, unexpected surge of need crashes through you.

You barely realize you’re moving until your elbows prop you up, your eyes dropping to his body, the forest’s soft bioluminescent light from the outside through the gaps of the woven walls flickered over his deep blue skin, highlighting the smooth planes of his powerful body, all hard muscle and grace. The markings running down his chest and arms seemed to glow faintly, tracing the sculpted ridges of his defined torso, the shadows deepening where his muscles tensed.

He was massive, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, his form both elegant and commanding, honed by years of discipline and training. His thighs were powerful, thick with muscle, built for speed, for strength, for hunt. Yet, here in this quiet moment, he was simply a man before you, yours to admire.

And then… your gaze drifted lower.

A deep flush spread across your cheeks as you took him in. Hard. Heavy. Surprisingly human-looking, yet distinctly Na’vi.

Your breath wavered.

And—Eywa, he’s big.

It was thicker, longer, with a slight curve upward, the flushed tip a deep shade of blue, darker than the rest of him. It twitched under your gaze, as if aware of your attention, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from him. The base of it, where soft ridges ran subtly down the underside, was nestled against the apex of his thighs, right above the dip of his hip bones.

But somehow, seeing this, seeing all of him for the first time, makes reality set in in a way that makes your stomach twist with something dangerously close to uncertainty.

Neteyam notices.

His ears twitch, his breath catches—just for a moment—before his expression softens. You expect him to smirk, to tease you the way Lo’ak or Kiri would in any other circumstances, but he doesn’t. He just watches you, his tail flicking slowly behind him, his whole body trembling with restraint.

Not for himself.  

For you. 

Because you are the one making him like this.  

You are the one he’s been aching for, the one he’s been waiting for, the one he wants with such intensity that it’s practically vibrating through him.  

Your lips part, your chest tightens at the way he’s looking at you—like you’re everything.  

And just like that, the uncertainty vanishes.  

A small, knowing smile tugs at your lips.  

Because you make him feel this way.  

Because you have all of him, completely and utterly undone before you.  

And when you finally lift your gaze back to his face, Neteyam looks absolutely lost in you.

As you sit up before him, the warmth of the soft pelts beneath you is nothing compared to the heat radiating from Neteyam’s body. His massive frame is kneeling before you, yet even like this, he towers over you—his sheer presence overwhelming in the most intoxicating way.

Your heart pounds as you crawl closer, moving toward him with slow, deliberate intent. The dim light of the hut flickers across his deep blue skin, highlighting every tense muscle, every careful breath as he watches your approach.

And then—your legs brace beneath you, and you rise to your feet.

Despite being on his knees, he is still tall enough that you are nearly eye-level with him now. The realization sends a small shiver through you. He is so big, so strong, and yet, the moment you stand, his long arms wrap instantly around your waist, pulling you to him, pressing you flush against his chest.

You gasp softly, his warmth seeping into you, his strength caging you in a way that only makes you want him more.

“Neteyam…” you whisper, your small fingers trailing down, brushing over the solid muscles  as you steady yourself. Your touch is featherlight, gliding over the ridges of his abs, feeling the hardness of his body beneath your fingertips, but carefully—deliberately—you avoid touching his aching length.

A sharp inhale hisses through his teeth at the teasing absence of your touch. His hands tighten on your waist, fingers digging in just enough to warn you.

But you don’t stop.

Your hands travel upward, over his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm before sliding over his powerful shoulders. You grip him there, needing to steady yourself—your legs are still weak, still trembling from the overwhelming pleasure he had given you earlier.

His golden eyes are burning as they lock onto yours, his breath shallow and controlled, but you can feel the way his muscles coil tight beneath your hands. The way his tail flicks in sharp, desperate movements behind him. Slowly, you pull off your mask, holding your breath just long enough to lean in—your lips brushing against the curve of his strangely shaped ear, pressing the softest, most delicate kiss against it.

A violent shudder runs through Neteyam, his grip on you tightening. His ears are so sensitive.

You smile against his skin, your voice barely above a breath as you whisper:

"Why are you holding back?"

And then, before he can answer, you press another kiss just beneath his ear, feeling the way his jaw tightens, how his hands twitch against your waist, how his entire body is practically vibrating beneath you.

Neteyam lets out a low, deep groan, his voice strained as he finally answers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear in return:

"Because if I don’t… I will ruin you."

His words send a wave of heat down your spine, your whole body tightening at the raw, unfiltered hunger in his voice.

"Because if I give in now," he continues, his grip firming on your waist as his head dips lower, "I will not stop. Not until I have had all of you."

His lips graze your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"Not until you are shaking beneath me again."

A soft, involuntary gasp escapes your lips.

Your grip tightens on his shoulders, your chest heaving as your breath catches in your throat. You smile at him—soft, tender, and so full of love that it makes Neteyam stiffen for an entirely different reason. Because despite the aching desire burning in his veins, despite the raw need that has him trembling in restraint, you still look at him like this. Like he is yours as much as you are his.

Even with the undeniable heat pressing between you, even as he can feel the way your body is eager for him, he still waits. Still holds back because he refuses to hurt you, refuses to be anything but careful with you.

And that makes you smile even more.

Your heart swells with something deep, something raw, something endless for the man in front of you. He is so good—so considerate, so perfect, even when he is barely holding himself together, his broad chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths.

You pull your mask back on, taking a few steady breaths, filling your lungs. And then, with deliberate slowness, you remove it again, holding it carefully in your hand as you lean in—your lips barely brushing against his as you whisper:

"What if I want to be yours, ma’Neteyam?"

His entire body freezes.

For a split second, his golden eyes darken with something almost primal, something wild, something so deeply possessive that your breath catches in your throat.

And then—he moves.

His hands grasp your waist, firm and unrelenting, as he pulls you against him. Before you can even gasp, he lifts you—effortlessly, easily—making you wrap your legs around his waist as you cling to him.

You let out a small, breathless noise as your hands fly around his broad shoulders, your body molding against his as he holds you up like you weigh nothing.

And then—you feel it.

His hard length, pressing against the curve of your butt, hot and heavy even through the thin barriers of warmth still between you.

A shudder runs through you at the sheer size of him, your nails digging slightly into his skin as you press closer, feeling the way his grip tightens in response.

"You test me, ma’yawne," he murmurs, his voice low, a growl of pleasure and restraint in your ear.

And then—he moves.

With deliberate ease, Neteyam lowers you onto the soft pelts, his body still caging yours as he hovers above you.

His golden eyes never leave yours, drinking in every inch of you—your heaving chest, the way your lips part slightly as you pant beneath him, the way your legs instinctively tighten around his waist before he gently pries them apart, making space for himself.

His hands glide down your body, slow and reverent, tracing the curves he has memorized in his dreams, the ones he has ached to worship properly for so long.

You quickly put your mask back on, gulping in the air you desperately need. But before you can say anything, before you can even think, Neteyam leans down, his warm lips brushing the shell of your ear, his deep voice vibrating through your very bones as he whispers:

"Then let me make you mine."

Your breath catches as you look up at him, golden eyes locked onto yours, his body poised above you like a force of nature. Your chest rises and falls, lips parted in anticipation, and there’s nothing else—no one else—but him.

"Yes... please," you whisper, voice trembling with longing, with need.

Neteyam’s ears flick at your words, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. His hands, so large, so warm, slide over your sides with gentle reverence, as if mapping you, memorizing every curve, every dip. Then, he leans down, his lips finding your collarbone, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

And then—you feel it.

A sharp gasp leaves you as his hand moves between your bodies, the slow, deliberate drag of his fingers against your skin sending a new wave of anticipation through you. Your legs instinctively tighten around his hips, urging him closer, and he obliges—pressing himself against you, hot and hard.

A shiver racks through your body as you feel the blunt, thick tip of him against your still-sensitive and soaked core, the sheer size of him making your stomach tighten. He’s so big, so intensely there, and yet—he doesn’t move, doesn’t push forward.

Because even now, when every muscle in his body is coiled tight, when he aches for you, he still waits.

Neteyam pulls back just enough to look down at you, his golden eyes burning with so many things at once—desire, need, but also hesitation.

You know what he’s thinking.

That you are so small beneath him. That you are fragile compared to his massive frame. That he wants this more than anything, but he refuses to hurt you.

Your heart swells at the love in his expression, at the silent plea in his gaze, the way his ears flatten slightly against his skull.

And so, you nod, fingers reaching up to brush his strong jaw, whispering again, softer this time.

"Rutxe."[Please.]

Neteyam exhales shakily, his resolve barely holding together, and then—slowly, agonizingly slowly—he begins to push in.

Your breath stutters at the sensation, your fingers digging into his shoulders as inch by inch, he fills you, his thick length stretching you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

Neteyam lets out a deep, shuddering groan, his forehead pressing into your hair as he buries his face against you, his breaths ragged. His ears twitch, his entire body trembling with restraint as he fights every primal urge screaming at him to move faster, to take, to claim.

But he doesn’t.

He waits, panting against your skin, pressing slow, reverent kisses to your temple as he gives you time—time to adjust, time to feel every inch of him, time to let your body mold to him like you were made for him.

His hands clutch your hips, his fingers trembling slightly as he forces himself to still, waiting for any sign, any word from you.

And then, finally, when you exhale a breathless "Neteyam...", he groans, his head dropping to the crook of your neck as he shudders.

Because this—this moment, this feeling—is more than he ever dreamed of.

And he will give you everything.

A gasp leaves your lips as Neteyam finally sinks all the way in, his body pressing flush against yours, his warmth consuming you completely. The feeling is overwhelming—too much and yet not enough all at once—stretching you in a way that has your head spinning, your chest rising in sharp, shallow breaths.

A deep, ragged groan rumbles from Neteyam’s chest as he trembles above you, his muscles taut beneath your fingertips, his entire body coiled with restraint. His ears flatten against his skull, his jaw clenched so tightly you can see the tension straining his neck. He looks almost pained, as if holding himself together is taking everything he has.

"Ma’Neteyam..." you whisper, reaching up with shaky hands, fingers brushing over the taut lines of his arms, feeling the way they quiver slightly from the effort of not moving.

He is huge, overwhelming in every sense, and yet—he waits, his chest rising and falling in unsteady breaths, his golden eyes squeezed shut as he forces himself to stay still, to let you adjust, to not lose himself in you completely.

Your heart aches at the sheer amount of control it takes for him to hold back, to not give in to the deep, primal need raging inside him.

Gently, you trail your hands up his arms, over his biceps, before cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing over the sharp angles of his cheekbones. His skin is burning, feverish under your touch, and when his golden eyes flutter open, they are wild—blown wide with desperation, with so much unspoken need.

"You are so good..." you murmur softly, trying to soothe him, trying to ease the trembling in his body.

But just as the words leave your lips, Neteyam’s hips stutter against you, and the last syllable turns into a long, helpless moan as pleasure shoots up your spine.

Neteyam curses under his breath, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you feel like you might break apart beneath him. He drops his forehead against your mask’s glass, panting, his breath hot against the thin glass.

"You are—" he exhales, voice barely more than a growl, "going to be the death of me."

You let out a breathless laugh, but it quickly turns into a sharp gasp as he shifts, barely moving, and your entire body shudders in response.

You are so full of him, stretched beyond anything you’ve ever known, and yet—it feels right. Like you were meant to take him, like his body was made to fit yours.

And Eywa help you, but you need more.

Your fingers curl in his braids, your lips parting as you pant, pleading. "Neteyam..."

His answering growl rumbles against your skin, his restraint hanging by a thread, his body shaking as he fights every instinct to move, to claim you completely.

But when your small hands grip his shoulders, when your body arches against his, when you whimper his name like a prayer—

Neteyam exhales a shaky breath as he slowly pulls back, only to sink into you again—agonizingly slow, deliberate, as if he wants to savor every second, every inch.

A deep, guttural groan tears from his throat as he buries himself inside you once more, his larger hips pressing flush against yours, his right fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist like he needs to anchor himself, while his right arm is above your head and holding almost all of his body weight.

"Eywa..." he breathes, his voice rough, almost desperate. "You feel so—so good, ma’yawne. So tight around me... so perfect."

His praise sends a sharp wave of pleasure through you, your body clenching around him in response. The sound that leaves him is feral, his hips stuttering before he pulls back and thrusts in again, this time just a little deeper, a little stronger.

"Nete—ah!" you gasp, your hands flying to his arms, gripping onto his biceps like a lifeline. He is so big, so strong above you, his body dwarfing yours, surrounding you completely.

His movements are slow, almost reverent, each roll of his hips measured, precise—like he is learning you, learning how to make you fall apart for him. You moan with every thrust, your head falling back, eyes rolling as pleasure coils deep in your stomach.

"Fuck, Neteyam..." you whimper, your fingers digging into his arms, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Neteyam lets out a low, pleased growl at your words, his tail curling tightly around your thigh. He leans down, his lips brushing over your jaw as he murmurs against your skin.

"You sound so pretty when you say my name like that, syulang..."

His next thrust is deeper, the drag of him sending a sharp, blinding wave of pleasure through you. You cry out, your nails raking down his arms, your entire body arching into him.

"Tìyawn, you're so tight..." he groans, his voice strained as if he’s barely holding himself together. "You feel—Eywa, you feel like you were made for me."

A shudder wracks your body at his words, your breath catching, your thighs tightening around his waist. You feel the restraint in him, the way his muscles coil with every slow, controlled thrust, the way his hands tremble slightly as he grip your hips.

And Eywa help you—you want more.

"Neteyam..." you plead, breathless, your hands sliding up to tangle in his braids. "Please—"

Every roll of his hips sends a new wave of sensation through you, his length sliding in and out of you with such ease now, each thrust sending a tremor through your limbs. The friction, the way he stretches you so perfectly. Your moans grow louder, unrestrained, echoing through the small hut. Right now, there is only him, only the way he moves inside you, the way his body engulfs yours, the way he feels so impossibly perfect.

"Eywa—" Neteyam groans, his golden eyes flickering down to where your bodies are joined, watching himself disappear into you over and over. His ears flick back, his jaw clenching as if he’s trying to hold himself together, but you can feel his restraint slipping. His movements are too careful, his muscles too tense, like he’s holding back more than he should.

That won’t do.

You tilt your head up, eyes locking onto his as you gasp, "You won’t break me, Neteyam."

His breath hitches at your words, his ears twitching sharply. His grip on your hips tightens just slightly, his movements stalling for just a fraction of a second.

And then you laugh—a breathless, hazy sound as you reach up, cupping his face between your trembling fingers. "I can take you," you whisper, your voice dripping with need, with urgency. "I want you to stop holding back."

For a moment, he just stares at you, his golden eyes dark with something primal, his nostrils flaring. His tail flicks once, twice—and then, with a low, guttural growl, his restraint snaps.

Before you can even take another breath, his arms wrap around you, circling your waist and pulling you flush against him. You gasp as your chest meets his, your legs instinctively tightening around his waist as he buries himself inside you all the way, his hips snapping forward with a newfound urgency.

"Eywa—" you choke out, your fingers digging into his back, your body rocking against his with every thrust.

"You can take me, huh?" Neteyam grits out, his voice strained, his breath warm against your temple. "Let’s see if you still say that when I make you come again, syulang."

And then he picks up his pace, his thrusts deeper, faster, sending shockwaves of pleasure crashing through you, making your breath hitch and your toes curl. You cling to him, your nails raking down his back, your moans spilling freely from your lips.

"Yes— Neteyam, yes!" you cry out, your head tilting back as pleasure overtakes every part of you.

His arms tighten around you, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck as he loses himself in you, completely, entirely—just as you wanted. Just as you needed.

Neteyam groans as he finally lets go, his self-control snapping like a bowstring. His thrusts turn deep, urgent, each one stretching you completely, hitting every sensitive spot inside you with devastating precision. Your moans turn into desperate, wordless cries, your body arching helplessly beneath him as he drives into you with long, powerful strokes.

Your nails dig into his upper arms, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. "Nete—" you gasp, your voice breaking as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, the overwhelming sensation too much and yet not enough at the same time.

His breath is ragged, his golden eyes burning as he watches you—watches the way you writhe under him, the way your lips part with each moan, the way your body welcomes him so perfectly. "Eywa, syulang," he groans, his head falling to the crook of your neck, his body shaking from the effort of holding himself up. "Nga zir—nìftxan—tsìltsan."[You feel so good.]

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your body reacting instantly. The pleasure in your core twists, tightens—and then, like a bursting star, it snaps.

"Neteyam!" You scream his name as you reach your peak, your back arching off the pelts, your head tilting back, your eyes rolling back as your release crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your body shudders, clenching down so tight around him that you feel his entire form tremble above you.

Neteyam groans, his rhythm stuttering as he feels you squeeze around him, the sensation too intense, too perfect. "Eywa—" he chokes out, his voice wrecked as he follows you, his hips jerking forward one last time as he buries himself deep inside you.

His whole body shakes, his muscles flexing, his ears flat as he releases a deep, throaty moan. His grip on you tightens, his hand pressing against the small of your back, holding you to him as he rides out his release.

If he weren’t bracing himself on his elbow, he might have collapsed entirely from the sheer force of it. Instead, his body trembles against yours, his breath hot and ragged in your ear, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he slowly comes back to himself.

You’re both shaking, panting, completely spent.

The only sound in the hut is your heavy breaths, the rapid thumping of your hearts pounding against each other. Your fingers, still buried in his arms, twitch as the aftershocks ripple through you.

"Ma’Neteyam..." you whisper breathlessly, your body still trembling beneath him.

He exhales deeply, his lips pressing softly against the side of your neck, as if grounding himself in the feeling of you, in the reality of what just happened.

And Eywa—nothing has ever felt more right.

Neteyam lets out a long, slow breath, his body still pressed against yours, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming. His heart pounds against your chest, his skin still warm and slick with sweat, his breaths uneven as he comes down from the intensity of it all. His arms stay wrapped around you, as if he’s afraid to let go—as if this moment is something sacred that he wants to hold onto for as long as possible.

You’re still trembling, still trying to catch your breath, but as the haze of pleasure fades, a lazy, satisfied smile spreads across your lips. With a soft sigh, you lift your hands, running them gently over his shoulders, easing the tension from his taut muscles with slow, loving strokes.

Then, with a deep inhale, you pull down your mask, just for a moment, just long enough to press a slow, deep kiss to his lips. Neteyam hums into the kiss, his large hands still gripping your waist, holding you close as he lingers in the feeling of you. His lips move against yours deliberately, savoring every second, as if trying to memorize your taste.

When you finally pull away, gasping softly, you quickly secure your mask back into place, still smiling up at him, your body boneless beneath him.

A breathless giggle bubbles up from your chest as you look at him, eyes filled with warmth. "If I knew this would be so good with you..." You bite your lip, teasing, eyes gleaming with mischief, "Fuck, I would’ve been yours sooner."

Neteyam huffs a soft laugh, his golden eyes softening as he looks down at you, pure adoration shining in them. "You have always been mine, ma’yawne," he murmurs, his voice low, affectionate, full of certainty.

Your heart stutters at his words, your fingers trailing over his shoulders, down his arms, down to his chest, mapping every dip and ridge of his powerful form. Your touch is gentle, soothing, filled with love, easing the last remnants of tension from his body.

After a moment, Neteyam slowly pulls out of you, his movements careful, but still enough to make a deep, shuddering moan spill from your lips. Your breath catches as you feel the mess he left inside you, the warm, sticky evidence of just how much he ruined you.

"Fuck," you exhale, laughing breathlessly as you feel his release slowly drip out of you. Your head falls back onto the pelts, a hand loosely covering your face. "You really ruined me."

Neteyam’s ears twitch, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leans down, pressing a lazy, satisfied kiss to your shoulder. "Good," he murmurs, his voice full of smug satisfaction, his tail flicking happily behind him.

His hands caress your hips, his fingers tracing the marks he left on your skin, his touch soothing despite the intensity of what just happened. His golden eyes roam over you, taking in every detail, every mark of his claim, every lingering shiver that courses through you.

"Rest, ma’yawne," he whispers, his forehead pressing gently against the glass of your mask. "I will hold you."

And as you melt into him, wrapped in his warmth, surrounded by his scent, his presence, you realize—there is nowhere else you’d rather be.

The warmth of Neteyam’s body against yours is all-encompassing, his long arms wrapped securely around your much smaller form as you nestle against his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing soothes you, his blue skin still warm from exertion, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your palm. You’re still hazy, still floating from everything that happened between you, but this—this—is just as intoxicating.

His tail lazily flicks behind him, brushing against your leg, his deep, steady breaths melting into something else entirely—a low, rumbling vibration, soft yet unmistakable. You blink, confused for a moment before the realization hits you.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle, but you fail. "Neteyam… are you purring?"

His ears twitch at your words, his brow furrowing slightly as he blinks down at you. "Purring?" he repeats, clearly confused.

But that only makes you laugh harder. The deep, continuous rumble in his chest sounds exactly like a big cat, and it’s so unbelievably adorable that you can’t help but let out another giggle. "Oh my Eywa, you sound like a huge cat."

Neteyam raises a single, unimpressed brow, his expression deadpan. "What is a cat?"

That only makes you laugh harder. "Ohh," you hum through your giggles. "I will show you one day."

He narrows his eyes slightly, clearly not amused at being compared to something he doesn’t even know, but when you nuzzle closer against his chest, the tension melts from his expression. His arms tighten around you, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over your back, his purring—because that’s definitely what it is—deepening.

A warmth spreads through you, something deeper than just affection, something so all-consuming that you can’t contain it. You shift slightly, pushing yourself up to sit beside him, your knees tucked beneath you as you gaze down at him.

Neteyam watches you curiously, his ears twitching slightly as you lean in and rest your chin on his broad chest, staring at him with the silliest, most adoring smile on your face.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice amused but affectionate, one hand lazily tracing the curve of your spine.

You exhale a soft breath, your eyes drinking in every perfect detail of him—the strong lines of his face, the soft glow of his bioluminescent freckles, the way his golden eyes hold you like you’re the most precious thing in the universe.

"Just watching," you murmur dreamily, "the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen."

His expression shifts, something soft and utterly devoted settling in his golden gaze. His ears twitch slightly, his tail flicking against the pelts in response. "Yawne…" he breathes, his voice so gentle, so full of love.

And you can only smile, because Eywa, how is it possible to love someone this much?

Part 18: (Soon)

[rekino2114]

Could we get something with chara for the valentine's day event. I was thinking either 8, 9 or 10 you decide. We need more content for her

Chara valentine's day prompts

Pairing:female chara dreemur x gn reader

A/n:I decided to use a different writing style than usual since I thought it fit better with the prompts

Prompts list

Prompt#9: giving her a hersey's kiss instead of a real one

Y/n:Hey Chara do you want a kiss?

Chara:no

Y/n:what? You always say you love them

Chara:Always is an exaggeration, I can't say I hate them but I don't need one every hour

Y/n:come on pretty please, just a small one

Chara:you're gonna bother me until I say yes aren't you?

Y/n:probably

Chara:[sighs] fine I guess your kisses are nice

Y/n:I knew you liked them!

Chara:whatever

Y/n:Close your eyes first

Chara:why? That's weird

Y/n:no its more romantic

Chara:you better not do something weird

Y/n:don't worry I think you'll quite like it

[Chara sighs again but closes her eyes and opens her mouth, waiting for your kiss]

Chara:come on hurry up

[You take the chocolate out of your pocket and put it in chara's mouth. She's surprised at first, but as soon as she recognizes the sweet taste, she starts chewing it with a smile on her face]

Y/n:so did you like that?

Chara:Yeah.....but what about the kiss

Y/n:That was it, I gave you a hersey's kiss, it's a type of chocolate

Chara:oh...........ok

Y/n:did you want one that bad~?

Chara:when you told me you were gonna give me a kiss I expected a kiss

Y/n:well I did give you one

Chara:fine, if you wanna play it like this then I'm gonna get the kiss myself

Y/n:what do you-

[Suddenly, chara takes you by the collar of your shirt and kisses you passionately on the lips]

Y/n:........wow

Chara:now that was a real kiss

Y/n:Do you....want more kisses

Chara:Yeah

Y/n:which ones?

Chara:both, I love both.....but I guess yours are a bit better

Y/n:[giggle]:I'm glad you love me more than chocolate

Chara:obviously, would I kill someone for chocolate?

Y/n:yes actually, you very much would

Chara:come on, I'm better than that

Y/n:if you say so........wait were you implying you'd kill someone for me

Chara:did I stutter?

Prompt#8:feeding chocolate covered strawberries to each other

[Chara walks over to you eating a chocolate bar looking angry]

Chara:hey y/n, what happened to the chocolate bars in the fridge

Y/n:what do you mean? They're still there

Chara:no I brought 8, like 3 of them are gone

Y/n:......you eat way too much chocolate

Chara:just answer my question

Y/n:I melted it and made chocolate fondue

Chara:......what's that?

Y/n:Are you serious? You're obsessed with chocolate and don't know what chocolate fondue is?

Chara:I'm allowed to not know stuff, but I'm curious now what is it?

Y/n:it's just melted chocolate that you put in a bowl and dip stuff in

Chara:that actually sounds pretty good, can I have some

Y/n:yeah sure, I made it for us anyway

[You take a strawberry,dip it in the fondue and hold it over her mouth]

Y/n:People usually do it with strawberries, so here you go

Chara:I can eat it myself

Y/n:but i made it for valentine's day, it's more romantic like this

Chara:......you are so lucky I love you and chocolate

[She eats the strawberry and hums in happiness as her eyes sparkle]

Chara:wow that's good and I don't even like strawberries normally

Y/n:yeah, you'd probably eat a shoe if it was covered in chocolate

Chara:no seriously try it

[Chara dips a strawberry in the chocolate and shoves it in your mouth]

Y/n:....oh yeah, that is really good

Chara:see?

Y/n:i could have done without the force feeding though

Chara:I thought you said it was romantic

Y/n:You shoved it in my mouth how is that romantic?

Chara:whatever

[Chara looks at the fondue and the chocolate bar in her hands with determination in her eyes]

Chara:what do you think would happen if I dipped the chocolate bar into chocolate?

Y/n:diabetes, I think you'd get diabetes

Chara:.........worth it

Y/n:WAIT CHARA NO!

[honourablejester]

I think you’re right, yeah. The healing thing really jarred when we started out talking about setting up a big cool dungeon that your players will want to spend on long time exploring, but talking about having to go back out to heal up at all also sounded odd in that context. I think he is talking about two different types of dungeons/campaigns, without quite realising that he’s done so.

Which is why it is important, I guess, to sit down and examine your proposed mechanics against your stated goals before you start. Because yes, the meshi style dungeon is very much the one I'm looking for as well.

The tiered vs random layout didn’t strike me as that dissonant, on the other hand, given the way he was talking about it. A tiered dungeon where things generally do get weirder and tougher and more fantastical the further down you go can still be randomised somewhat by setting up access points that let you skip levels from where you are. If level 2 has a passage down to level 3, but also a secret one down to level 5 if the party is feeling frisky, that gives them some room to try out more difficult areas out of sequence.

There’s also some randomness that’ll be brought in by things like party composition. A party of all martials might take their chances on sneaking or fighting their way past higher challenge enemies before they’d take the risk of trying to navigate a vast chasm, where a party with an arcane caster or two would be happier with the chasm. So even though a level might be ‘higher tier’ in the sense of higher CR monsters, it might still be easier to access, given the option, than a ‘lower tier’ area that requires specific magic or tools to access that the party just doesn’t have yet.

And there’s room to mix things up, then. The arcane party who had fly spells to navigate the chasm might try accessing deeper levels by it, but realise on getting down to the bottom that they definitely need more hitpoints to stay down here, so maybe they should fly back up a level or two, but they also find something shiny on the floor of the chasm to reward them for taking the risk. While the party of martials might find that the tougher inhabitants they took the risk of interacting with have a means to get further down the chasm, such as a magic item or even a rickety lift, and maybe they get an ally out of taking their risk.

I don’t find it dissonant to imagine a dungeon that does, generally speaking, get weirder and more fantastical and more difficult the further down into it you go, but also has multiple different ‘routes’ down through it that present different challenges and access different levels as they go. And if a particular route really doesn’t work for your party composition and tools, then you backtrack to earlier levels to look for other routes down. So long as the party maintains a general downward track where they’re levelling up as they head further in, it’s all good. Maybe they find something like a chasm that allows them to try a foray deeper than they’re technically rated for, and they give it a shot to see if it’s doable or not. So long as they have routes to retreat along if it goes bad, that’s just one more option that they can have fun trying out.

And you can do things like put a flooded level up at level 4, which can be accessed relatively early by a party that has someone with spells or tools to handle that, but you also put a collection of caps of water breathing as loot somewhere around level 7 or so, which a party without spellcasters could find after having used a route that took them from level 2 to 5 since level 4 was blocked, and can decide if they want to head back up to explore level 4 after all, or just continue on.

This also does encourage them to collect tools and items along the way, and gives you options for rewards and loot that act as basically keys to certain areas.

I think that was the general direction he was going for with the randomness? But you can also have like, higher CR monsters just wandering around, like a 5% chance that the purple worm burrows their way up to level 5 while the party is on it, and the party has an absolutely terrifying encounter that they have to basically find a way to run away from, and then the purple worm just disappears again, doing what an animal does, but now there’s a burrow that could potentially lead the party deeper, again, than they’re rated for, if they want to risk climbing into the burrow of a thing that just nearly totalled them to see where it came from.

You can keep an overall tiered, ordered structure, while still allowing the party a good bit of leeway in where they go and how they want to approach things. The trick is just to make sure you have multiple routes into and out of any given area, so the party gets to make decisions on which ones they want to try, and they don’t end up fully bottlenecked somewhere they can’t go forward from but also are somehow blocked from going back.

Which, if all else fails, is where your roving burrowing animals of various CRs might come in very handy. Heh.

I’m watching a (3hr) discussion on megadungeons as a concept for modern d20 games on a youtube channel called Knights of Last Call, and I’m enjoying it a lot, because it does explore a couple of points that I’ve been very much looking for. Namely, the idea that megadungeons should be there to enable and reward exploration. Which means, among other things, there can’t be a time-pressure meta plot (you have to get to the bottom of the dungeon to stop the lich before he destroys the world), and that the game/DM needs to explicitly reward (with xp, magic items, etc) the act of exploration, not the act of killing things while exploring.

Because the thing I always found enchanting about the idea of massive dungeons and complexes was the idea of going in to see what’s down there. Not being forced in for a plot, but just … because I’m curious, and I want to see what’s there. And he discusses how modern d20 games like Pathfinder and 5e can actually be better for that than OSR-type games because characters are more powerful and sturdy and can survive doing that. You can explore, and (most likely) have a decent shot of surviving said exploration. You can take risks because you’ll survive a broader range of risks.

The thing with a megadungeon is that it’s there to be explored, and so to encourage, enable and reward exploration for people who want to play that kind of game in the first place, you have to a) not penalise taking risks and going exploring by making it instantly lethal to try and go anywhere, and b) actively reward going exploring by making it the main way your character gets more cool things, such as magic items and/or new abilities from levelling up.

(And, he’s less explicit about this, but also making the rewards self-contained to the dungeon, things you find and gain in the dungeon, and not things you’d have to bring outside the dungeon to benefit from. So cool items you can keep and use, experience to level up, knowledge that would allow you to access new areas, etc, not things like gold where you’d have to go back outside to spend it, or quests that you have to go to external parties to be rewarded for).

The discussion goes into some detail about potential ways to do this, and potential problems with various methods, but overall I just really like the tone of the discussion. Because that very much is a thing I’ve been looking for for a long, long time. A game that rewards the simple desire to go somewhere and see what’s there. I don’t want to explore a massive underground complex because there’s a bad guy down there and I need to stop him, I want to explore it because there’s rumours that there’s a vast underground sea down there where creatures that haven’t been seen in aeons are rumoured to still live (blame reading Journey to the Centre of the Earth as a kid), or to discover why there’s a massive dungeon down there and learn who built it, or just because it’s a big strange space and I just want to see what it looks like.

He does talk about how you make dungeons interesting enough to justify that, things like thematically-distinct areas (like the underground lake, or the weird sunless forest, or the ghoul town, etc) so that it’s not one endless slog of ‘10ft wide corridors and stone rooms’, and to make it interconnected so that the players have full choice of where they go and what risks they want to take (enabling them to skip ahead difficulty levels, or retreat if need be, or escape areas that they’re not enjoying). And to possibly put in some distinct … not end goals, but capstone events, like a boss monster very deep down, that might feel like an ‘ending’ if the party wants to ‘finish’ the dungeon. Not something that will ‘burst out and destroy the world’, but something contained to the dungeon that a party could triumph over if they want a ‘final challenge’ sort of feeling. But one that’s optional, a challenge they can take up if they want to, not a prerequisite for getting out of the dungeon or completing a large goal, but just a challenge that exists if they want to take it on.

Because, and I do agree, a lot of the problem with exploring in D&D is not necessarily that there’s no mechanical support for it, in terms of things like skills, etc, but because there’s no reward for it, and in terms of structured adventures, there’s often either narrative or mechanical punishment for it (running out of time on the baddie, or running into something too lethal for your party to handle with no option to nope out). A megadungeon as a concept is a cool environment where exploration is the whole point, and the only point, and if you take care not to put an external pressure on it (‘kill the lich or else’), then then party has time to poke around and decide what they want to see and what risks they want to take (or nope out of). Especially in something so big that there’s no real chance of finishing it, so there’s no ‘100% completion’ pressure, just a big buffet of options for people to pick and choose from.  

(There are so many things in 5e that would be excellent for an exploration game, especially in terms of spells and magic items, but because combat is so much the driving force of the standard mode of play, people are reluctant to ‘waste’ spells known/prepared and/or items attuned on things like Alarm or Water Walk or Purify Food & Drink or non-combat items like Candles of the Deep or Foldable Boats or Slippers of Spider Climbing when those slots could be used for combat spells/items instead. But if exploration gets you XP, and if you can nope out of combat as required because there’s no massive stakes/story riding on it, then you’ve got more room for these things).

There’s also an in-depth discussion on ‘game balance’ and CR, and why megadungeons might not necessarily require them, for the simple fact that everything in the dungeon is optional and not required to forward the story/plot, so you can try challenges way above your level if you’re feeling frisky that day, and just nope out and go a different way if it starts really not working for you. Which I feel is a fun point.

There is a point that this is a specific mode of play and not meant to be the point of the game in general. It’s specifically for people (like me) who want exploration as its own point and reward, without needing a quest or storyline attached, and for whom combat is an element/hazard/complication but not the point. But. If you are specifically doing a MEGADUNGEON, it’s an interesting look at things to consider and what people might want out of a massive self-contained dungeon that’s going to be the whole point of the campaign in and of itself.  

Where he loses me is when the discussion moves to how to prevent the '15 Minute Adventuring Day', where people go in, do a room or two, and then go back out to rest and heal and resupply, instead of staying in the dungeon to keep exploring. And for some reason allowing healing is bad for this? If you want them to stay in the dungeon, how is it bad to let them heal in the dungeon? Set up factions to trade with and potential base camp locations in the dungeon to let them heal and resupply and set up safe areas so that they can stay in there potentially infinitely? Though it’s possible that I missed something about his point there.

But yeah. I love the idea of megadungeons, vast areas to explore just because they’re there, and I love the idea of game modes with all the cool abilities and spells and powers of D&D BUT where the thing that’s rewarded is exploration and interacting with the environment rather than combat.

(There’s also … I think this also reminds me of the story arc vs episodic discussion regarding TV, where I genuinely like episodic series equally to story-line driven ones, and I think that in games it also works, where there’s a BIG SETTING and the point is to go out and have episodic adventures in it. A loose sandbox like a megadungeon where there’s no plot, you’re just exploring and seeing what you encounter day to day (and possibly developing plots as you interact with individual areas/factions and then connect them to other ones) is also an excellent way to play a game).

Anyway. Forgive the sidebar ramble.

[ablobwhowrites]

Hello, I've been a fan of your yandere ramblings, especially the sonic ones since no one does those really on this.

So I came with my own little ramblings for a human y/n that gets sucked into mobias (basically a reverse sonic X)

First of all, y/n is always staying at someone's house in a rotation (from cream and vanilla to tails to Amy, etc), and isn't allowed to sleep on their own without some mobian cuddling them.

Also y/n pulls a generations and meets different eras of the sonic cast, first meeting classic sonic, tails, knuckles, Amy, robotnik and metal sonic. And robotnik just being intrigued by this other human, and has metal kidnap them (who grows obsessed, yandere robot go brr).

And after a lot of classic obsession and shenanigans, y/n is transported to the mid modern era (sonic adventure and advanced series), and meets new characters like cream, big and chaos.

Cream is the only normal one (still is clingy), and tails is slightly more obsessive (still normal tho), and chaos just plays hot potato of constantly nabbing y/n during adventure 1.

Then onto generations itself and the time monster decides to also nab y/n because Eggman told them to (definitely not because it finds this human adorable).

Also fleetway sonic and scourge being the clingiest and jealous hedgehogs ever.

Omega also likes to just hold y/n randomly, like he does with cream and cheese in the comics

(tails and cream and chao's are strictly platonic yanderes for any yandere sonic stuff I do and may add to the platonic only if needed)

I do imagine they have their are scared as all hell but for classic sonic I do imagine he is shorter kinda how it is in other modern games and just imagining y/n in changing styles everytime they are put into a new sonic generation just to fit into the era. And is the classic era kinda wearing something like eggmans fit but modified to be their own and kinda fitting the hero style but they do try to take their gloves off but it's a struggle. And just imagining classic knuckles keeping y/n near the master emerald as that way he can protect two things at once. Tails is kinda like a that little brother who always wants to show you stuff even if your already doing something. Like tails will come to y/n and holds up his newest invention and y/n is like "oh cool. But tails I'm really busy right now t-" and tails is like "hold on let me show you want it does" and ends up destroying the only portal way home for y/n.

I do imagine just y/n at classic Amy's place and is just like "I wonder if I can make a run for it to see what would happen." But mostly just waiting for the right moment to run like when classic eggman and sonic were fighting and ended up tripping into a open portal somehow and now are in the mid modern era and I like to think their outfits changes to corespondents with the sonic era they are in. And imagining with some cross over games may or may not become obsessed with y/n like the sonic characters are and it's hell for y/n cause like bro has to deal with this now.

Plus imagining omega just being a kinda bodyguard for y/n is nice. They don't know omega is obsessed to buy keeps it more professional and so is shadow because he grows more insistent that he go everywhere with y/n to keep them safe even if not endanger, he still goes just to be sure nothing happens and then rouge is like "oh the master emerald and y/n! What a package deal!" and steals both but if she cannot get the emerald, she goes for the better option and y/n having to cling into rouge because like they do not wanna fall from how high she flys cause like bro you wouldn't be scared just looking down to see how far from the ground you are from?

Plus imagining y/n having a bunch of chao's walking behind y/n like ducklings because I say so and y/n wanting to take one because it decided to sleep on y/n's lap but they can't take them out of the chao garden. I love chao's they are so silly.

Also metal sonic after he sees y/n standing minding their own business:

Metal sonic and y/n are bascially that scene with miles running away and Miguel chasing him. And imagining that metal sonic dragging y/n back to eggmans base by the ankle because like I know if metal sonic held hands with y/n, he ain't never letting go of y/n's hand

(that's it's for my yapping for rn, but anyways if you guys like this y/n or idea please don't feel shy and request your ideas or y/n ideas. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[unluckywisher]

If this is totally outside your realm of comfort to write then that's cool but I figured there's no harm in shooting my shot. Your small chested reader with Caleb piece was delightful, and I was wondering 👉👈Might you consider writing a little something about a trans reader who's dealing with chest dysphoria?

While this isn't my field of expertise, I would love for my fics to comfort all kinds of people so I shall try my best!!! <3 🫡 Constructive criticism is appreciated since this is my first time writing this kind of stuff!! :D

Caleb was the first person you told about your transition, both because you consider him your closest friend, and because you knew he would support you. And he does!

At first he didn't know much about what he should do or how he should act, but being the resourceful man he is, he immediately looked into it so he could be as supportive as possible and anticipate any needs you might have.

Of course one of the first things he learnt about was how you could feel uncomfortable and insecure of your own body. Not on his watch.

Prepare to receive lots of binders in different styles because he just has to make sure you're comfortable and you look how you want to look. All the while saying and reassuring that you don't need these to be a man, you already are, but he figured you would appreciate them.

He would show you his favorite clothing stores and encourage any and all styles you might want to try, trying to be objective with you so you'd know he means it if he says that you look how a guy would look, without being condescending.

If you keep tugging at your shirt or wearing baggy clothes because you're not comfortable with your body yet, he will just. Take your hand and make you feel how big his chest is. He'll joke about how he might need to wear a binder too by your standards.

He'll invite you to go exercising with him and encourage you to wear tighter sports clothes, biggest hype man there ever was.

"You keep complainin' about your chest but I only see it getting flatter and mine getting bigger. I think I'm absorbing your energy and getting more powerful." And such memery aplenty.

Insists that the human body isn't even that representative of anyone. He uses Viper as an example. Then he uses his arm as an example. Then he worries a lot that you'll take it as an idea and go to Professor Lucius to get your body modified.

No even a question but he would pay for any surgery you'd want to have, if you want to have it, and get actually good doctors.

[bellkanari]

Captain America

Trying out something a little different with my art style, and this time I'm going to try and actually draw a proper nose. 🤣💀

-----------------------------------------

Process below 👇

Didn't fully go based off the reference, I kinda winged it and used the ref as a rough draft lol.

[cryptidcave-dweller]

When your older brother is still shorter than you despite him having years to grow up

Diego: You haven't grown at all!

Five: I'm sick of it- It's always the same damn joke every time I visit you!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 3: Enveloping Feelings.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4)

[soybean-official]

It's going to hurt every time

[icewindandboringhorror]

Little bright colored outfit with a fun vest ~

(shoes from ebay like 10 years ago. everything else is thrifted)

[sysig]

I think the world is so wonderful... (Patreon)