#and if you say they look like anything/anyone else I will lock up this blog and die

[a-eo-iu]

these guys' designs (without colors) kinda almost remind me of sem and niemer but it's probably just the hair. and the "punk guy x nice responsible guy" vibe. even though these guys are totally different (and both are responsible and irresponsible. in some ways)

[captain-huggy-bear]

girl omg i am EATING your celly pieces up, you truly never miss. you’re gonna be at 2k SOON i know it

could i request “Bet you they don’t make you sound like that, do they?” with Clayton Keller? since my brain has been locked in on that man since i found your blog smh

This wrecked me in the best sort of way to write. 18+ NSFW Smut: Clay realising that friends with benefits/casual maybe isn't for him anymore, Clay being a little bit of a possessive twat but in a hot way. I hope this is okay and not rubbish! I think it's okay??

1000 Followers Celly Finished Requests are currently closed while I work through current ones <3 Writing Masterlist

He's being stupid and he knows he is. You're not flirting with Jack. He knows you're not deep down, but fuck...it feels like you are. The way you smile at the guy, how you laugh at some stupid fucking joke and touch his bicep for a touch to long (in Clay's opinion anyway), the way you have to tilt your head to look up at him, how Jack seems to brighten at that touch, eyes twinkling...it's fucking stupid. It makes him want to tear you away from Jack, makes he want to tell Jack to fuck off...as if Bainer isn't one of his friends, his team mates, his found family.

You're not flirting with Jack...and even if you are he hasn't got a right to say shit, not when Clay's been refusing to put a label on what the two of you are for months, not when he's been keeping things casual, 'easy' while you beg him for more, for a crumb of exclusivity. While he's been acting like it's all physical...like he doesn't really care that much. You have every right to flirt with who you want, every right to fuck who you want, but the idea of you with anyone else has him feeling sick to the stomach, seeing red as his nostrils flare and his jaw locks.

When you look over at him, mid-laugh at something Jack has said, you freeze. Eyes locking as you notice the way his jaw tenses, how his lips purse, that dimple in his right cheek clear. Clay's fists are clenched at his side for a moment before he crooks a finger at you in a 'come hither' motion. You should ignore him, should keep talking to Jack but he has you wrapped around his finger, always has done...so you excuse yourself politely from Jack who just looks between you and Clay knowingly, before shuffling your way towards Clayton.

You feel unsure, a little nervous, it's obvious Clay's not happy about something and yet you know he'd never be anything but good to you. Clay, for all his protests that things were just casual, that you were just friends who sometimes fucked, had always, always been gentle with you, good to you. He never raised his voice. He never touched you in away that didn't bring pleasure. The only way he'd ever hurt you was his refusal to become something more, his inability to commit. Something you couldn't truly be upset about when you'd agreed to casual in the first place, even knowing you couldn't do casual, even knowing you were going to fall irrevocably in love.

The moment you're within arms reach of him Clay's arm is sliding around your waist, hand resting there as he pulls you to his side and walks. You go along with it, feeling the way his fingers flex, tips digging into the fat on your waist with each movement.

"Clay?"

"Just give me a minute." His voice is short, tense, jaw only moving enough to get the words out and it's obvious he's processing something, trying to keep composure.

You let him lead you out of his living area where the entire team and then some had gathered for the evening, down a corridor until you're gently ushered into his bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, the lock turns.

"Clay, what's wrong?"

He doesn't answer you, not a word is shared, instead the look that lands on you is heated, so heated your own skin begins to burn as his eyes trail you slowly. He starts at your own, baby blues meeting yours, until they scan you, trailing down your neck, lingering on the way your dress clings to your breasts, to your waist, the curve of your hips and down the expanse of your thighs.

It's the sort of gaze that feels like a touch, that feels like Clay's hands are sliding over your skin as goosebumps rise up and hairs stand on end, breath hitching and catching in your throat.

You watch, feeling rather helpless in the sort of way that only comes from wanting someone so badly who has made it clear he doesn't want you the same, as he loosens his tie, throws it off to the side. Each button on his shirt is loosened in the sort of intense silence as he watches you that has your thighs clenching, hips shifting in place.

It's like he's bewitched you, the way you can barely breathe, chest tight, lip bitten between your teeth, eyes unable to look away as Clay strips himself of his shirt. Broad shoulders, tan skin, that goddamn cross, coming into view. He looks like a daydream, like something unattainable, untouchable and yet he's the one who dragged you into his room. He's the one slowly unbuckling his belt, long fingers threading the leather through the loops of his trousers with a slow deftness that feels like he's stalking towards you.

There's no fighting it really, the way your panties dampen between your thighs, the flush to your skin, the impossible need to have him even if a fuck is all he'll give you...even if you'll never get anything more substantial. Any crumbs are enough for you right now as he strips down to just his boxers, cock pressing against the fabric like he's already thinking of what he's going to do to you. Heavy, thick, all for you.

"You think it's funny? Flirting with Jack like that, sweet girl?" The distance between you takes barely a couple of strides before he's on you, you stumbling a step backwards at how intensely he comes upon you. Your knees hitting the edge of his bed while he crowds you, so close your chests are touching.

"Cla-" You want to explain because you weren't flirting with Jack...because you hadn't even thought of another man like that since this whole thing started with Clay...because it was impossible to think of another man touching you, kissing you, loving you when you were so in love with Clayton.

"No, I get it...he's taller, he probably gives you the attention someone as needy as you needs, right?" He's being a little mean, mean in a way he never usually is, is a huff to his words like he's frustrated with you. Like he has a right to be.

"Clay, it-" The way he grips your cheeks between his fingers isn't painful, but it is firm, squishing until your mouth is a perfect pout, eyes widening, thighs rubbing together as your clit aches at the sudden show of dominance, of possession...because God, all you've ever wanted was for Clay to want you just as much as you want him.

"Shhh, baby, it's okay, i'm going fuck every single thought of Jack out of your head and remind you why I'm the only one you should be flirting with." The smirk he sends your way, teeth peeking out just a touch, brows lowered, it's evil, it's downright sinful and only deepens at the way you shudder against him. You're so utterly weak for him that he could ask anything of you in that moment and you'd do it, you'd say yes 1000 times over.

Clay's mouth captures yours, teeth tugging and nipping at your bottom lip almost meanly as his fingers release your cheeks, hand grazing down your neck until it wraps around your throat gently. There's a tenderness to the way he holds your neck, a gentleness that belies the heat in his kiss, the roughness as he tries to devour you and your taste.

You gasp against his mouth, lips opening up for his tongue when his hands leave you to grip your thighs pulling until you fall backwards against the bed in a mockery of a trust fall. Clay's on you immediately, weight pressed heavy into you, cock grinding against your cunt through his boxers, through your dress, your panties.

Your soaking through them, slick gathering between your thighs as his fingers trail down to hem of your dress, tugging it up past your hips. His kiss doesn't stop, a relentless pressure of his lips against yours, his tongue dancing with your own until you can barely breathe, nostrils flaring and working overtime to get any oxygen.

"You think he could make you feel like this, baby? Huh?"

"No, no, only you, Clay..." You're a babbling mess as his fingers push the gusset of your panties aside, rough tips gathering your wetness, trailing from slit to clit in a lazy sort of rhythm that has your hips stuttering, unsure if you want to move closer or pull away.

"You sure about that, sweet girl? Cause you were awfully fucking close to him out there." It's torturous, the way he just glides his fingers through your slick, not pushing into you, not circling your clit, not doing anything of substance as he leans over you, lips finding the hollow beneath your jaw, sucking harshly, tongue laving the skin until it comes up bruised, purpling. It looks fucking good on you, makes his cock throb in his boxers because shit, he's fucking yours and everyone, Jack included, should know about it. He's been yours from the first time he kissed you like that was just something friends were supposed to do, like he wasn't an idiot trying to resist falling in love, not realising he was already on his knees.

"Meant nothing, 'm sorry, fuck, 'm sorry, Clay..." You're babbling, voice breathy and light like you can barely breathe.

"That's right, baby, it meant nothing, cause you're mine, right?"

"Yours, all yours, Clay, please..." Clay likes to think he has restraint, control, willpower...but there's nothing like restraint, nothing like discipline as he tugs your panties down and out of the way. There's nothing like control as he pulls himself from his boxers, rock hard, throbbing, purple at the tip. There's no willpower, nothing that can stop him as he presses the head against your cunt and pushes in, head dropping to your shoulder at the way your warm walls grip him, at the scrabble of your nails digging into his back as he punctures a gasp from your chest.

"Clay, Clay, Clay..." His name is a mantra, a fucking prayer as he slides each inch in until he bottoms out, hips meeting flush with yours, lip dripping spit onto your skin as he breathes open mouthed and heavy against your skin.

Even like this, even as Clay's hips pull back and slam back against yours, thrusts hard, forceful, even then there's a gentleness to it, a tenderness to the way his hips cradle yours, how his tongue laves over your skin, pressing purple marks across every inch of available flesh. There's a sort of reverence to each touch of his fingers on your thighs that bracket his hips, a worship in the way he mumbles against your skin as sweat drips from his skin to yours, as strands of that brunet hair cling to his skin like he's just gotten off the ice.

He's so beautiful that you can't close your eyes, forcing them to stay open, even if heavy lidded as he thrusts into you over and over again. Each press of his cock into you getting deeper, until the head of his dick presses against the spongy spot inside you. A spot that has the most debauched moan falling from your lips before you can stop it, before you can hide the noise.

“Bet you Jack doesn't make you sound like that, does he?” It's spat out, frustrated and gives it all away, gives the jealousy a voice that's possessive and frustrated.

Your hand coming to your mouth to cover it, to hide each moan, each groan, each whimper as he presses into you at a hard pace that has skin smacking against skin. Your wrist is taken in Clay's hand and pressed into the mattress, tender even as it's firm.

"Wanna hear you, baby, want Jack to hear how good I make you feel, yeah? Show him that you're mine, not his, never fucking his, fuck..." You're clamping down around him, so fucking tight that it has his stomach tightening as you get closer to your end. Clay's fingers trail down your stomach, brushing over your clit in slow, practiced circles. In the way that makes you clench down on him, in the way that has your head dropping back, eyes finally closing, a guttural sort of moan falling from your throat as it stretches taut. The perfect canvas for his lips as he continues to turn you purple and red, until your chest and neck are a Jackson Pollock of hickeys and love bites.

"Fuck, 'm so close, baby, c'mon, sweet girl, cum for me, yeah? Wanna hear you let go, baby..." It's the tenderness in his voice, the devastation like you've utterly ruined him combined with his fingers on your clit that finally does it, that has you clenching around him as you cum.

He's not long after, whine falling from his throat, neck arching back, chain swinging as he spills inside you, hips continuing to rock on instinct through it until he's spent, sweat gliding down his neck and splattering on your collarbone like tear drops.

There's an extra level of gentleness when Clay pulls out of you, shushing you gently, soothingly when you wince before he walks off for a wash cloth.

It's cool and soft against your skin as Clay trails it over your face, wiping away the sweat there before trailing down your neck, over the constellation of his marks.

He's gentle as he does it, tender, eyes locking with yours as his voice comes out soft, almost shy, "I love you... you know that? I...I know I've been putting it off, labelling us..." The cloth stops at the junction of your thighs, a slower, softer touch as Clay becomes hyper aware of how sensitive you are, every twitch as he tries to clean you up.

"You told me you didn't want anything serious..." Your voice is just as small, scared that one wrong word, one loud exclamation might change his mind, might change what you think he's about to say.

Clay sighs out heavy, throwing the cloth towards the laundry basket as he leans over you, fingers reaching out for your hips but hesitating to touch, like he's not sure you'll let him.

"I know...but seeing you laughing with Bainer...I felt fucking sick...the idea of you with someone else...of not loving you openly...it makes me wanna die, so...maybe I'm an idiot but...but I want to be your idiot?" His smile is bashful, honest, sincere and God, it's all you've been waiting for for months. How many times had Clay said it was just casual? That he wasn't prepared for commitment? How many times had you let him into your bed anyway? How many times had you kissed him hoping that would be the moment he came to his senses? The moment he stopped running? God, you'd been so patient, but that smile? That look directed at you? It was worth it. Worth the tears. The nights wondering if he'd ever change his mind. Worth the patience. Worth every single moment.

"Is there a question in that?" You laugh at him giddy and joyous, a sort of lightness taking over you at the realisation that Clay's finally stopped running, finally stopped hiding from you.

"Can I be your boyfriend?" Not be my girlfriend, not be mine...but can he be yours?

Your silence feels like an eternity to him, unnecessarily cruel as your eyes glimmer, as your fingers grasp at his chain and tug him closer until your noses are brushing and his eyelashes are fluttering. There's a desperate urge to kiss you again even without your answer.

And then it comes, so soft, so quiet, a hairsbreadth away from his lips, so close it's like he can feel every single syllable, "I'd like that..."

"Thank fuck." Clay groans out in relief, forehead pressing against yours, grin so wide it's blinding. You're both laughing, giddy, overjoyed even as your dress, still half rolled up your body, clings to your skin. Even as sweat dries sticky on his own.

"You two done fucking like rabbits or should we go and leave you to it?" Jack's voice laughs from the other side of the door, booming, too loud, embarrassingly so. Your cheeks heating, warmth filling your face, roiling under your skin

"Fuck you, Bainer!"

"Think someone already did that, Kells!"

But, nothing...absolutely nothing can wipe that smile from Clay's face because you're his and he's yours and God, why the fuck did he wait this long to make that a reality?

[sebastiansluts]

Surprise?

idk what this means for the blog, but it's the first thing i've written in months and i wanted to share it with you all. i miss you all so much, and if anyone's still here, i appreciate you more than you know. for now, requests will stay closed and we'll see what else i come up with writing-wise!

~Rose

Bucky Barnes x Reader; oral sex m receiving, vaginal sex, semi-public sex, daddy kink, authority kink,

ANY HATE WILL BE DELETED THIS IS A JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE DON’T LIKE, DON’T INTERACT; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+

"What are you doing here?" Bucky growled, pushing you back against the wall. You pressed into his hold, but it didn't give an inch, metal and flesh both tight with tension, hands locked firmly on your upper arms. You shoved at him again. "If you don't stop that you're going to bruise," Bucky said, and you glared at him.

"Then let go of me," you shot at him, and Bucky's fingers tightened minutely before letting go entirely. He shoved up and away from you, backing up and taking a deep breath, his jaw tight.

"Doll, I don't have time for this right now," Bucky said, strain evident in his voice, and your heart clenched.

"Well fuck you, I was having a great time at the party, I don't need this either," you quipped, hands against the wall to press away from it, sliding behind your back instead at one hard look from Bucky.

"You're not s'pposed to be here, and you know it baby. I told ya t'let me handle this one, I don't want you on Valentina's radar."

"Bucky, you're crazy if you think everyone's not on her radar."

"Still, don't need to be giving her reasons to go lookin' at ya," Bucky grumbled, and you sighed. This time you did push off the wall, but only to reach forwards and wrap your hands around Bucky's arm, sliding up to his shoulder, pushing gently until he turned around, looking down at you.

"You're so damn protective, you know that?" You smiled softly, leaning up on your toes to kiss the underside of his jaw, feeling it hard beneath your lips.

"Someone's got to be," Bucky muttered, and let you trail a series of kisses up his jaw and down his neck, until you were meeting the collar of his shirt.

"Mm, oughta be careful with these kisses, wouldn't want anyone to suspect anything, would we, Congressman?" you teased, licking at his Adam's apple, teeth scraping against the scruff of a beard he'd sported tonight.

Bucky groaned, one hand finding your hip, the other burying deep in your hair at the back of your head, both guiding you backwards until you were pressed up against the wall, feeling the long line of Bucky's dick against your stomach.

You moaned loudly, quickly cut off by Bucky's lips, shushing you in between kisses. "Baby, shh, it's a blindspot, they can still hear us if you're too loud." You reached down, palming his dick quickly but gently, a loud noise tearing out of Bucky in surprise.

"You were saying, Congressman?" You grinned, as Bucky glanced around, pressing you deeper into the corner. You could see the tops of a few people's heads under the railing next to you, but only just. If they looked this way a little too long or hard, they might see something...and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through you at the thought. Bucky pressed into you further, slipping his thigh between yours, giving you something to rest against as he took your head in his hands and pulled you into his kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, meeting him kiss for kiss, your body rolling on thigh, against his torso, pushing your chests together.

"Please, fuck me, Daddy," you whispered into Bucky's ear, feeling him shudder and nod, one hand already leaving its place supporting your neck to travel between you. He tore at his belt, quickly getting it undone and his pants unzipped, his cock falling heavy out of his briefs.

You salivated at the sight, and you whined lightly, desperate to get your mouth on him. Bucky seemed to be in the same mind, because he ground out, "On your knees, babydoll, get it good and wet."

Your eyes fluttered closed at the first touch of his dick to your tongue, heavy and salty, and you breathed in excitedly, taking more of him into your mouth. You suckled gently at first, then harder, making yourself nearly choke on his cock, until Bucky pulled you back by your hair.

"Easy doll, don't make this end before your favorite part," Bucky chided, looking down at you fondly. You were of half a mind to disagree, you loved almost nothing more than his cum down your throat, but Bucky grinned, sensing your mood. "Does that mean you're ready?"

You popped off his dick cleanly, a thick ring of your dark red lipstick staining the base of his cock and part of his balls. You smirked to yourself, before you were lifted up and off your knees, spun around, and shoved against the wall. You were bent forwards with your ass out, your face pressed against the cool marble, your hands held at the small of your back in Bucky's metal one. His other hand flipped up the skirt of your dress, smacking your ass when he found it bare of panties.

"Naughty girl," Bucky said approvingly, hand massaging your ass. "Gods you must be drippin' baby," he grunted, hand sliding between your legs to press into you, coming back covered in your slick. You could feel him slicking up his cock with your juices and you bit your lip hard to hold back a moan.

Bucky began teasing you with the head of his dick. He circled it around and around your clit, leaving you with shaking legs and a heaving chest when he pulled away.

"Don't you fucking dare leave me like this, Congressman," you hissed, and Bucky grabbed your arms, pulling you up and spinning you around, slamming you back into the wall again. He bent down and picked you up, your legs spread over his arms, one of your hands flying to your mouth to stifle your gasp, the other going to his shoulder to steady yourself.

"Never gonna leave you anywhere, babydoll," Bucky murmured before sliding his cock into your open and waiting pussy, burying himself to the hilt immediately.

Your back arched, your breasts pushing into Bucky's face, smothering him as you adjusted to being full. You slumped back down to the wall but Bucky followed you, keeping his mouth on your tits, sucking a mark between them.

You grasped his hair, holding on firmly while Bucky began to pump his hips, dragging his dick back and forth against your walls, clenching desperately to keep him inside you every time he pulled out.

Bucky's lips met your own in a messy kiss, spit and tongues mixing together until you were sure your lipstick was everywhere, but you didn't care, you just wanted more, more Bucky, more everything.

Bucky adjusted his hold on you, pulling your ass away from the wall so just your upper back was against it, your hands scrambling to hold onto Bucky's neck, but he had you, fully, in his arms. He fucked you hard then, bouncing you on his dick, until you were nearly crying with the need to come.

"Daddy please," you gasped, curled forwards and wrapped around Bucky's shoulders, begging into his ear. "I needa come, gotta come, please!"

Bucky just adjusted his hold once again, wrapping your legs around his waist and cradling you against him as he pushed you up against a pillar.

"Now, baby, come now," Bucky ordered, hips moving powerfully again, deep and fast, right where you wanted him. You couldn't hold back your orgasm if you tried, it was intense and hit you right away. Your cunt clenched, tightening around Bucky's cock, forcing him to fuck you harder to stay inside you, and you bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out.

Bucky sighed heavily, his own orgasm triggered by your bite, and he flooded your cunt with his cum, fucking it back into you until you were shaking from overstimulation.

Gently, very gently, Bucky helped you uncurl your legs, placing them back on the ground. He rubbed circles on your thighs, getting blood flowing again as you fixed the skirt of your dress, making sure it hung properly. Bucky helped adjust the top, before you cleaned up his suit jacket and buttoned his pants, letting him do the belt.

Bucky gathered you in his arms, pulling you into his chest, letting you regulate your breathing and just be for a moment. With a kiss on the top of your head, Bucky gently pulled away, swiping at a line of your lipstick on your chin.

"Come on doll, time to mingle."

[springismss]

ᱬ ࣪𖤐 just some actor! touya thoughts after seeing a lot of actor au content over the past few weeks.

i may or may not have part 2 in the works already because this thought has me in a chokehold. i'm just a sucker for a bad guy in a performer role.

lowercase intended, female! reader and sfw! as always likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

part word count: 1.3k | series word count: 3.3k

links: bnha/mha masterlist | masterlist | part 2

actor! touya who enjoys his job more than anyone should. not only does he get to spend time with his family, he also gets to play a villain that’s a hit in everyone’s book.

actor! touya who spends several hours each day in the makeup chair getting in character. sometimes he doesn’t mind it, sometimes he does. after all, having scarred skin and staples glued to him can be a bit tedious at the best of times.

actor! touya who runs through his lines several times in front of the mirror and with his cast members, just to make sure he’s got the personality of dabi in those scenes down.

actor! touya who likes to post behind-the-scenes photos to his public socials, giving his fans a little insight into what he was doing and who he was with. smiling at the comments that he gets before locking his phone and placing it away.

actor! touya who's formed a close friendship with one of his co-stars, actress! toga. of course there were rumours around the two of them dating, but he laughed them off. she was more of a little sister to him.

actor! touya who’s grateful for her as she keeps him sane most of the time, along with the rest of the league cast. after all, they bring the term chillin' like a villain to life half the time.

actor! touya who, one day, overhears actress! toga on the phone to someone, the glee obvious in her voice. amused at how the blonde bounced on her feet before saying a quick goodbye.

actor! touya who, the same day after shooting some scenes for the league, meets you for the first time. he’s not going to lie, he thought you were part of the crew until he saw actress! toga to go up to you to hug you.

actor! touya who finds himself being pulled in your direction by his blonde co-star. who looks down at you as you offer a quick wave with a sweet smile “hi”. who smiles slightly and offers his own “hi”.

actor! touya who gets more used to you as the days go on, learning from actress! toga that the series you were currently working on was on a small break. who's intrigued to know that not only were you an actress yourself, but a makeup artist in your spare time.

actor! touya who, when he walks out of his trailer one day, sees you pacing back and forth not far from your friend. you’re talking on the phone to who he assumes is your agent, judging by the way you’re usually cheerful demeanour is a tad more serious now.

actor! touya who later finds out, thanks to his own agent, that you’d been cast in an upcoming horror movie trilogy as he had. who couldn’t wait to get to know you a bit better, without anyone else interrupting.

actor! touya who spends the few days he has off looking you up and your work. who has to admit that he's impressed at what he sees and what you've starred in, you've made a name for yourself from a young age.

actor! touya who wonders how he's just hearing about you, considering you've starred in some of his favourite movies and shows. who decided to take a look at your public socials to see what you've posted.

actor! touya who sees that you're just like him when it comes to your posts, you love to show off small snippets of your set life and the odd insight into your personal life. who knows that you'll have private accounts made for just friends and family.

actor! touya who'll just persuade actress! toga to give them to him, after all, you were friends after you met, and you would be working together, it would make talking to each other outside of the set easier when either of you needed to go over anything.

actor! touya who sends requests from his personal accounts once he knows your handles, who is surprised to see how quick you've accepted and send him a message. who can't help the smile that tugs at his lips once he reads the string of messages you sent, giving his own string of replies, leg bouncing in happiness.

actor! touya who spends time getting to know you, asking cliché questions which you always happily respond to, before asking your own. who can feel a weird feeling start to take over him as he looks at his phone, it's almost like he's waiting for your messages now.

actor! touya who, when you both arrive on set to start filming together, spends time reading lines with you. who offers his input where he feels like it's needed and accepts yours when you offer it as well.

actor! touya who starts to enjoy his job even more, knowing that he's going to work where you are. who tells himself that it's normal to feel, after all, you were both steadily becoming close friends.

actor! touya who ends up with your personal phone number after a shoot one day. who find himself texting you daily with the most random things he can, smiling when you match his energy back.

actor! touya who bites the bullet one day and asks you to spend time with him outside of the set. whose palms are sweating as he sees you've read the message and are busy typing back. did it get hot all of a sudden?

actor! touya who blinks several times when he sees you've responded back to his message. "of course i'd love to! just let me know where you want to meet!".

actor! touya who feels his heart skipping a beat or two when it comes to spending time with you. who feels like a kid all over again when you ask him questions. who stutters over his words trying to string together a coherent sentence. who smiles slightly when you tell him to breathe.

actor! touya who loves to posts pictures of what the two of you get up to to his own private socials, with captions that make zero sense to anyone other than you and him. who gets teasing comments off actress! toga who knows for a fact her male co-star is smitten, he's just too dense to realise it sometimes. who finds out through a conversation with her that you're single.

actor! touya who finds himself growing closer to you. whose touches linger a little longer than normal, and eyes that watch every move you make. who feels his heart beating in his chest whenever he thinks of you.

actor! touya who one day, when you're both finished shooting the final scene of the film you're on, asks if he can talk to you. who's tapping his foot trying to calm his nerves, as you nod your head.

actor! touya who, when you're both alone in his car, stumbles over his words before muttering out a quick "will you be my girlfriend?". who starts to regret his words the moment he sees you staring at him, brows furrowed slightly.

actor! touya who turns to face away from you before he embarrasses himself any further. who wonders why the hell he opened his mouth, it was clear you didn't feel the same way.

actor! touya who feels his hand being gripped and his body move before you kiss him quickly. who's now the stunned one as he sees you smile. who feels his heart race when you utter the words "of course i will, dummy".

actor boyfriend! touya who takes you to your favourite spot by the beach just as the sun sets. who takes a photo of both of you together before posting it to his private accounts. 'here's to our next project, the rest of our lives, my love @/itsherisms'.

actor boyfriend! touya who lets you take your own photo and post it with your own caption, 'from on-screen lovers to real life lovers, you'll be my favourite co-star for life @/toutodo'.

actor boyfriend! touya who feels like the luckiest man in the world as he puts his phone away, holding you close as you both stare out to sea. who spends the longest time just rambling on with you, holding you close as he sneaks in kisses between your words.

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[demie90s]

Hello can you do USC x R. R plays to win she doesn’t play to have a nice time. What happens when somebody sits a hard screen on juju. Someone’s got to step in to stop her.

Play to Win

USC WBB x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: I don’t play for fun. I play to win. So when someone sets a dirty screen on Juju? I don’t think—I react.

Warnings: Protective behavior, on-court aggression, ride-or-die teammate energy, intense emotions

Word count~0.6k

I don’t care about handshakes, highlight reels, or who brought their whole damn family to the game. I care about locking in, doing damage, and walking off the court with a W.

So when someone threw a blind screen into Juju—shoulder straight into her chest, no warning, no ball, just spite—it felt like the whole gym paused.

She hit the floor hard. Her body folded in a way I didn’t like. Not slow. Not careful. And everybody just froze.

Refs? Nothing.

Bench? Quiet.

Crowd? Gasped.

And the other team? Just kept moving like Juju didn’t have ribs.

Nah. That didn’t sit right.

I started walking before I even processed it. The game was still live, but I didn’t care. I stormed straight up to the girl who hit her—jersey bunched in my fists before anyone could blink.

“You think that was basketball?” I said, teeth clenched. My voice was low, tight, and on edge. I could feel heat crawling up my spine, chest tight like I was ready to snap. “You think that was cute?”

She didn’t say anything—just smirked, shrugging like it wasn’t her problem. Juju was still on the floor, hand on her side, and all I could think was: Why didn’t anyone else move first?

And yeah—I saw Rayah sprinting over, Avery calling time out with her whole body, Aaliyah trying to get the ref’s attention, Kiki holding back Dom, who had already thrown her towel halfway across the bench. But that was after. That was after I got loud.

Because in that moment? It was me standing in front of her like the whole court belonged to us.

“Do it again,” I said. “Try it again. I dare you.”

Ref finally blew the whistle. Late. Like two plays too late. Coach was yelling now. Our whole bench up. The other team pretending like they didn’t know what the screen was.

Dom ran out in her slides, yelling, “YOU TOUCHED THE WRONG ONE!”

Kiki behind her, grabbing the back of her jersey. “Dom, please—don’t make us viral.”

Rayah and Avery got to Juju first, pulling her up slow, eyes wide like they couldn’t believe it. Aaliyah looked me dead in the face and whispered, “Breathe.”

And I tried. I really did.

But my jaw was locked, my vision was sharp, and I couldn’t stop staring at the girl who hit her like she was prey. Timeout was called. Bench cleared. I sat down still fuming, chest heaving, fists clenched.

Coach walked over, didn’t say much—just tapped my shoulder and said, “I get it. But be smart. They want you to lose your cool.”

I looked her dead in the eye and said, “I didn’t lose my cool. I protected my team.”

After the game, we won by ten. Juju finished with ice wrapped around her ribs, barely talking. I sat next to her on the bus, arms crossed, still too mad to speak.

But when reporters got hold of the clip and asked about the scuffle?

I stepped up to the mic. Didn’t smile. Didn’t hesitate.

“She got hit for no reason. The ball wasn’t in play. Nobody screened. They tried to take her out, and y’all expected me to clap?”

Flashes went off. I leaned in.

“I don’t play to have a nice time. I play to win. And winning means everybody walks out on their feet. You touch Juju like that again? Don’t ask me to apologize for the reaction. Ask why y’all let it slide in the first place.”

Dom posted the clip on Instagram that night with the caption: Don’t play with us. This ain’t club ball.

Rayah reposted it with “Ride or ride harder.” Kiki just added a fire emoji.

Juju didn’t say much. But she turned to me before we got off the bus, looked me in the eye, and said, “I got you next time.”

I nodded. “Hope not.”

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @zizi-bee-yapping @kaliblazin @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey

[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

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: @fanchonfallen, @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer@eliankm, @quintessences0posts, @minjianhyung, @bkell2929, @erenjaegerwifee, @angelita-uchiha, @wherethefuckiskathmandu, @cutmyeyepurple, @420slvtt, @zimerycuellat

Part 22: To Lost

I'm sorry it took me almost a month to post the new part. Unfortunately, I barely had time to write. I'll try to post the next part within 2 weeks. <3

Part 23: To break

He knew he was overthinking.

Knew he was being that kind of mate again—the one who hovered when you adjusted your mask before you leave the outpost, who always walked one step too close on forest patrol, who checked the wind three times before letting you climb even one vine. You always laughed at him for it.

“Overthinker,” you’d whisper with a smirk, your fingers brushing his arm as you passed. “You’re worse than Norm.”

And maybe you were right.

Maybe today would be like any other. You’d spend one day in the field—just one. Collect some roots, catalog glowing spores, get a few weird cuts from a plant that looked deceptively soft. Then tomorrow… you’d come back. He could bury his face in your neck again, arms locked around you under the morning sun, and feel your laugh rumble against his chest.

He didn’t say it out loud then at the outpost. But he’d wanted to.

Stay.

Just one word.

So why did his gut feel like a knot pulled too tight?

He touched down in the clearing just outside the village, his ikran letting out a low, familiar screech as he dismounted. The breath he exhaled felt heavier than it should’ve. His feet barely hit the ground before a voice drifted from behind him.

“Dad saw you leave at dawn.”

Neteyam turned fast, shoulders tense, already expecting judgment—but it was only Kiri, crouched beside the roots of a flowering tree, her hands working through a bundle of herbs. She didn’t look up, but her brow arched with quiet amusement. “He didn’t say anything, though. Just asked me if you were going hunting.” Her golden eyes lifted. “I didn’t correct him.”

Neteyam exhaled, just a little. “Thanks.”

Kiri hummed, then narrowed her eyes slightly. “She stayed with you?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Kiri rolled her eyes with a grin. “You’re so predictable. Honestly, it’s amazing no one else has caught on.”

“Maybe they have, Kiri,” he muttered, lowering his voice. “Maybe they just pretend they haven’t.” He glanced toward the central hearth, where the rest of the village was beginning to stir. “She just... didn’t want to be alone before heading to the pit.”

His sister sobered slightly at that. “The old mining zone?” she said. “I thought they weren’t sending anyone back there.”

“Bridgehead changed their mind.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a tension still coiled beneath his skin. “Only for a day. She left with the others at sunrise.”

Kiri nodded slowly, brushing a loose braid from her face. “And now you’re pacing around like your tail’s on fire.”

“I’m not pacing—”

“You are.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Exactly,” she said, grinning. “You’re thinking. And thinking for you means worrying. About her.” She tilted her head. “You know, sometimes I think Eywa gave you a human girl just to test your patience.”

He barked a soft laugh. “Sometimes I think She gave me to her just to test hers.”

A small giggle cut through the morning air behind them. “You always sneak her away!”

Neteyam stiffened and turned just in time to see Tuk stomping across the grass with a fierce little pout on her face. She jabbed a finger up at him like he’d personally insulted her bedtime story.

“Tuk!” Neteyam half-laughed, half-grunted as his little sister slammed into his legs.

“You sneaked her away again!” she pouted, fists pressed to her hips. “I didn’t get to say goodbye!”

“Shh!” Neteyam and Kiri hissed in unison, both crouching to bring her volume down to something less announcing.

Neteyam pulled her close, brushing back her hair. “Tuk, you cannot shout about that.”

“Why not?” she frowned, lower lip trembling like she might cry. “She’s my favorite! She always braids my hair when I ask. And she said I could help her plant the glowing beans next time at the outpost—!”

“Tuk…” Kiri cut in gently. “You know she’s not supposed to be here at night.”

“But she always sneaks in anyway,” Tuk whispered, conspiratorial, “so why can’t she just stay?”

Neteyam sighed. “Because not everyone understands,” he murmured. “It’s not safe. Not yet.”

Tuk blinked. “But… if you love her, can’t you tell everyone?”

Kiri choked on a laugh, covering it with a cough.

Neteyam flushed, glancing at the trees. “It’s not that simple.”

“But you do love her,” Tuk said, wide-eyed. “I see the way you look at her. Like Dad looks at Mom when he thinks we’re not watching.”

Kiri snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

Neteyam laughed then—low and warm, the tension in his shoulders finally unraveling. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Eywa… give me strength.”

“You’ll need it,” Kiri snorted. “Because when Mom finds out? You’re dead.”

Neteyam only smiled. And for the first time since that morning, the weight in his chest didn’t feel so heavy. Maybe you were right. Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe you’d be back tomorrow with your arms full of samples, cheeks smudged with dirt, and that stupid glow in your eyes like you’d just found the answer to the universe in a glowing vine.

And when you were—he’d be waiting.

With his arms open.

Just like always.

“You’ll see her again soon, Tuk,” he said, gentler this time. “Maybe even tomorrow.”

Tuk narrowed her eyes, arms crossed. “She better braid my hair first.”

“Deal,” he said with a smile, ruffling her curls. “But only if you don’t tell Mom and Dad that she is with me at night.”

She grinned, all sharp little teeth and sunshine. “I won’t tell. Promise.” And then—just like that—she darted off down the path, chasing her friends with a squeal of laughter.

The forest was quiet again.

Neteyam stood slowly, watching the direction she’d gone, and exhaled. He didn’t realize until now how tight his shoulders had been. Kiri nudged his arm.

“She’s okay,” she said softly. “You’d feel it if she wasn’t.”

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s just… a feeling.”

Kiri tilted her head. “Is it your feeling? Or hers?”

He looked at her. She gave him that look—the one that always made him feel like she knew more than she should. He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back toward the trees, towards west, eyes scanning the horizon. Tomorrow, he told himself.

Just one more night.

The sun had risen full by now, casting long, amber shadows across the training grounds. The younger warriors-in-training were already gathering in loose clusters, pa’lis tethered nearby, their sleek grey hides shimmering beneath the light.

Neteyam stood at the head of the clearing, arms crossed as he surveyed the group. He let the morning air fill his lungs—wet grass, sweat, the distant scent of roasting rootfruit from the hearth. He could still feel the weight of your absence like a bruise behind his ribs. But work helped. Structure helped.

“All right,” he called, voice steady. “Listen up.”

The warriors fell silent as he approached, straightening instinctively. It showed in the way they looked at him, the way they leaned in when he spoke.

He cleared his throat. “Today’s hunt is different,” he said, voice steady, carrying easily across the courtyard. “No ikrans. We move on pa’li. You need to feel the earth under you again.”

The warriors exchanged quick, eager glances. The hunt needed to be smooth today. No ikrans—only pa’li, as his father had insisted. Grounded hunting. Riding with bow in hand, tracking and striking as their ancestors had before them. He didn’t mind. It built discipline.

He paced a slow circle around the group as he spoke, voice even but sharp with focus.

“We ride south,” he began. “The talioang herds passed through two nights ago. We follow the trail by the river and push them into the shallow basin where the ground is soft.” His eyes skimmed the gathered warriors, young but capable. “We strike from the flanks. No lone riders. Pairs only. And we do not chase the herd once it splits. If you lose your target, you regroup. No hero runs.”

There were some nods. Some sharper grins from the more hot-headed ones. Neteyam crossed his arms, leveling a look at them. “The point is not to show off. The point is control.”

That earned a few guilty shuffles of feet. “They bed down near the water in the heat. We stay mounted—always. We strike from the saddle. Clean shots. We do not separate from our pa’li. If you fall, you are out.”

A ripple of excitement moved through the warriors. Some of them bumped shoulders, grinning like fools. Neteyam almost smiled himself. This was what he was made for. Not diplomacy. Not marriage arrangements. This. “First group will form a half-circle on the northern side,” he continued, drawing a shape in the dirt with the tip of his spear. “Second group will drive them forward. Push them into our trap.”

He crouched lower, marking out the movement with quick, clean strokes. The warriors leaned in, listening sharp and hungry. He could almost forget the rest of the world standing here—almost forget the way his heart twisted whenever he thought of you.

Almost.

He stood, brushing the dirt from his fingers. “Questions?”

A few moments of heavy silence hung over the clearing—then, predictably, the questions started.

“What about you, Neteyam?” one of the younger warriors piped up—a boy named Tanawa. “Will you ride alone?”

The group chuckled lowly. Even Neteyam smiled a little. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No one rides alone today. I’ll pair up, same as the rest of you.”

That earned a few more nudges and sly looks, some of them glancing toward K’shi, who lingered too neatly at the edge of the gathering, pretending to check her bowstring. Neteyam pointedly ignored them.

Another voice called out—this time from Ärengko, a sturdier boy who already had the heavy shoulders of a future warrior. “Will you take the kill, Neteyam? Or leave it for us?”

A few of the younger ones laughed at that, jostling each other with mock offense. Neteyam’s mouth twitched at the corner. Good. They’re excited. “I’ll only take a kill if you fail,” he said simply, stepping around them again. His eyes gleamed with quiet challenge. “And I expect you not to.”

That lit a fire under them. A few stood a little taller, puffed their chests. Young, yes—but hungry. Determined. He liked that.

Another question—this one laced with a grin from Pakxo, older and always one to stir trouble: “And if you fall from your pa’li, do we leave you in the mud, Neteyam?”

The others chuckled under their breath, looking toward their leader. Neteyam let a rare smirk curl at the edge of his mouth. “If I fall,” he said dryly, “you will laugh at me for the rest of your lives.”

The warriors howled with laughter at that, a rough, warm sound that echoed across the clearing. Neteyam rolled his eyes fondly, about to signal the end of questions—when he caught it.

A flicker of movement at the edge of the clearing. K’shi. Standing half in shadow, half in the golden morning light, arms folded in an artful pose that was definitely meant to look casual but wasn’t. And she was watching him. Only him.

Neteyam set his jaw and looked away sharply, pretending he hadn’t seen it. But of course, the warriors had. He heard the low hiss of whispers passing through the group like wind through tall grass: “She’s watching him again…”

“Maybe she’ll ride with him.”

“Lucky Neteyam, huh?”

He stiffened slightly, keeping his expression carefully neutral as he answered a few last questions about the tracking formations. Pretending he didn’t hear the teasing. Pretending he didn’t feel the weight of those knowing looks pressing at the edge of his patience.

Ignore it. he told himself sharply.

One last hand lifted—Txo’ma, earnest and practical. “Will we be setting traps too, or only the push?”

Neteyam seized the question like a drowning man grabbing a vine. “No traps,” he said briskly. “The basin terrain is too soft. It would slow the pa’li and risk injury. We drive them with pressure alone—noise, speed, formation.”

More nods, more thoughtful looks. Good. They were settling now. Listening. Ready to move.

Neteyam took one last breath, letting the morning air fill his chest and steady him. He didn’t look toward K’shi again. He didn’t have to. He could feel her gaze clinging to him like burrs caught in fur.

And as much as he tried to focus on the hunt ahead, a small, sour thought coiled low in his gut: How many more times will I have to smile and nod while others decide my future for me?

Still. Work first. Always work first. He was about to move on when another boy—Ja'yen, always the smart one—leaned a little closer to his friend and muttered just loud enough for others to hear, “Looks like someone else wants to pair with Neteyam, anyway.”

A few others snickered. He could feel the weight of her stare from across the clearing, like the sun itself had focused into a single burning line aimed straight at his skull.

He gritted his teeth and turned back toward the warriors, pointing. “The trail should be easy to find. Fresh tracks. Broken reeds. Watch the wind.”

But even as he spoke, the snickering picked up behind him—because now, from the corner of his vision, he saw K’shi. Striding closer. Trying very hard to pretend it was casual. Neteyam braced himself.

She approached the group slowly, her steps light and measured, her smile a soft curve as she tucked a loose braid behind her ear. She was tall, confident, hair braided with feathers and bone—obviously skilled, beautiful in the way the clan valued. The kind of mate every parent dreams of for their eldest son. A few of the younger boys elbowed each other. Someone actually whistled—quick and low, but Neteyam caught it anyway.

He wanted to scream.

K’shi stopped just a little too close, her smile tilted coy. “Neteyam,” she said, voice like warm honey, “I heard about the hunt. I would be honored to join your party.” She placed one hand lightly on her hip, tilting her head just so. “You could use more skilled riders, could you not?”

Around them, the warriors pretended not to watch—but he heard the soft chuckles, the low whistles under breath.

"Girls chasing him like ikran on a hunt."

"K’shi too—lucky bastard."

“Next Olo’eyktan won’t even need to choose a mate. They’re lining up for him.”

Neteyam gritted his teeth so hard he thought his fangs might crack. He offered K’shi the barest, tightest smile. “Your skills are known, K’shi. But today’s hunt is for the training of the younger warriors. You are beyond that.”

Flatter her. Make it sound like a favor. Keep it professional. Keep it safe.

But K’shi only smiled wider, leaning even closer, her shoulder almost brushing his. “Still,” she murmured, “I could help... oversee. Assist you. You should not carry the burden alone.” She lowered her voice, her eyes sparkling. “You could... lean on me. If you needed.”

Neteyam bet his whole soul—and his ikran, and the next storm season—that his mother had a hand in this.

He could almost hear Neytiri’s voice now: “K’shi is strong. She is clever. You should speak to her more. Get to know her.”

This was what she wanted. Some nice, respectable Na’vi girl. One from a strong family. One who could give him strong sons. One who wasn’t a human scientist always scribbling in a datapad and laughing at the wrong jokes.

I would rather count every blade of grass from here to the floating mountains, Neteyam thought grimly. Twice.

And still—still—he forced himself to answer gently: “Your offer honors me. But today, I ride only with the trainees.”

“Oh, but I would not distract them,” she said quickly, stepping even closer until the distance between them was barely polite. “I would stay by your side.”

Eywa, take me now.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, just a flicker. But she smiled again, smooth and poised. “Perhaps another time, then.”

He opened his mouth to politely, firmly reject her when—

“Brother!”

Lo’ak crashed through the gathering with all the subtlety of a charging thanator, grinning like he’d just gotten away with something. “Dad’s calling for us,” Lo’ak said casually, jerking his chin over his shoulder. “Wants to see us before we leave. Now.”

It wasn’t a lie. Neteyam knew it wasn’t. But it had never sounded more like a lifeline.

Neteyam almost dropped to his knees right there. Instead, he grabbed his spear, turned to K’shi, and gave a short, stiff nod. “Forgive me. Duty calls.”

He barely waited for her polite nod before he was striding after Lo’ak like the devil himself was on his heels. They left behind the warriors, the gossiping, the stifled laughter.

When they were finally out of earshot, Neteyam let out a breath like he’d been holding it for ten minutes.

“I swear,” he muttered, “I will build you a shrine.”

Lo’ak laughed. “She had the look, bro. Like she was about to start carving your mating beads for you.”

Neteyam groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Mother put her up to it. I know it.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“I’d rather wrestle a palulukan naked than sit through another forced conversation like that.”

“You poor thing,” Lo’ak said, dramatically patting his shoulder. “So tragic. All the pretty girls want you.”

“I’m going to throw you into a tree.”

“You’d miss,” Lo’ak grinned.

Neteyam gave him a sideways glare. “You sure Father wants us?”

Lo’ak nodded. “Yeah. But I just figured if I didn’t get you out of there soon, you’d throw yourself into a strumbeest stampede.”

“I considered it.”

Lo’ak grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Neteyam exhaled again, this time with a softer smile. “Seriously. I owe you.”

“Eh,” Lo’ak shrugged. “I just know your girl wouldn’t like it if you got stuck riding off with K’shi into the sunset.”

Neteyam paused, then smirked. “You think she’d be jealous?”

“I think,” Lo’ak said, “she’d braid your ears together while you slept.”

Neteyam laughed—and this time, it reached his chest. Even if just for a moment.

They walked together through the village paths, the packed earth still damp underfoot from the early morning mist. Neteyam and Lo’ak moved quietly now, the energy from earlier bleeding away with each step closer to the kelku.

Their family home loomed ahead—woven high into the trees, broad-leafed and strong, shaped with care by many hands over many years. It was home, and yet Neteyam felt the tightness coil back into his gut the closer he came to it. As if the walls themselves carried expectations heavier than any armor.

Lo’ak shot him a sideways look, reading his tension easily. But—for once—he didn’t tease. Maybe he knew this wasn’t the time. At the entrance, Jake’s voice reached them first.

“—need to move fast. Before the storm.”

Neteyam ducked through the low-hanging vines first, Lo’ak close behind. Their father stood near the center of the room, shoulders tense, arms crossed, that permanent set to his jaw that said something was wrong. Neytiri was beside him, quiet but sharp-eyed, her bow leaning against the wall within easy reach.

“You called for us?” Neteyam said, straightening.

Jake nodded, curt. “We have a situation.”

Neytiri shifted slightly, her tail flicking. She was uneasy too.

Jake nodded, still looking at the map. “Lo’ak said you were just wrapping the briefing for the hunt. Good. You’ll still make it out before eclipse.”

Neteyam stepped closer, his posture shifting into the straight-backed, chin-lifted stance he always used around their father now. “What’s going on?”

Jake tapped a spot on the map. “Here. Northeast. Just beyond the old mining pit.”

Neteyam’s heart sank. Northeast. That was close. Too close.

“You think it’s the RDA?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Already fearing the alternative.

“I don’t think anything yet,” Jake said. “Could be Norm and his people—got turned around, maybe. Maybe got cut off. Maybe some old drone reactivated. We’ve seen stranger things. But I want eyes on it before the eclipse. We’ll scout tonight. On ikrans.”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched. “I don’t think it’s Norm’s team.”

Jake frowned. “And why’s that?”

Neteyam hesitated just a beat too long. Neytiri turned her eyes sharply toward him. “You are certain of where Norm’s team is?”

He nodded once, too smoothly. “I saw them. Days ago. On patrol. The xenobotany team said they’d be collecting data at the old pit on this day.”

“Since when do you forget to report something like that?” Jake asked, the words calm but clipped. “You’ve been thorough lately.”

Neteyam met his father’s gaze evenly. “It slipped. My focus’s been on the warriors and the southern border.”

A long pause stretched between them—Jake still watching him like he was trying to hear what wasn’t being said. Neteyam held the silence, refusing to flinch. Eventually, Jake sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “All right. We’ll know for sure once we’re in the air.”

Lo’ak stepped in, arms folding. “So it’s us three?”

Jake nodded. “We fly in after the hunt. Before the eclipse hits. I want a clean look before the storm rolls in. If it’s nothing, we’re back before mudnight. If it is something—”

“We deal with it,” Neteyam finished.

“Good,” Jake said. “You, me, Lo’ak. Fast and quiet. I don't want a whole war party unless we find something real.”

Lo’ak shifted, looking like he wanted to crack a joke and wisely deciding against it. The air was too heavy for it. Neteyam nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the request. This wasn’t a father asking his sons to tag along. This was the Olo’eyktan giving orders. Orders you didn’t refuse. Not that Neteyam would. Duty came first. Always.

They hadn't really talked in weeks. Not really. Every word between them now was duty, hunting formations, patrol rotations. Nothing else. Not the unspoken pressure about finding a mate. Not the arguments, the ones that simmered under every glance, every stiff nod of dismissal. Neteyam had grown colder to it all these past few months—more stubborn. More silent. It was the only way he could survive the suffocating weight of what they wanted him to be.

Jake must have felt it too. But neither of them said it out loud. Across the room, Neytiri stirred. Her voice was quiet but firm. “I am going as well,” she said firmly.

Jake turned to her, brows lifting. "Neytiri—"

“I go,” she said again, eyes hard and full of something fierce and ancient. “If humans are there—if they come near what we have lost again—I will see it with my own eyes.” 

Neteyam knew better than to argue. When his mother decided something, not even Jake could move her.  Jake hesitated, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. We’ll all go.”

“Alright,” he said. “We leave before eclipse. Just after Neteyam returns from the hunt.”

Neytiri looked satisfied. Lo’ak looked a little too eager. And Neteyam—Neteyam felt like his bones were wrapped in thorns. If you were still out there… If you were caught up in that movement… If your path had taken you anywhere near the northeast—

He didn’t let the thought finish. He just prayed to Eywa that you were still safe. Still tucked deep in the pit, buried in your plants and your data and your weird, wonderful focus.

Because if anything happened to you out there— He didn’t know what he’d do.

“You two prep your gear,” Jake said, already turning back toward the map spread across the floor mat. “This one needs to go clean. No mistakes.”

Neteyam gave a sharp nod and turned, walking out with Lo’ak on his heels. The moment they were outside, his brother leaned in.

“That was smooth,” Lo’ak muttered. “You saw them ‘on patrol,’ huh?”

Neteyam didn’t break stride. “Drop it.”

“I’m just saying,” Lo’ak said with a grin, “you’re getting better at lying. I’m proud of you.”

Neteyam rolled his eyes. “Don’t be.”

Neteyam stepped out into the light once more, the sky now high and bright above the village. The weight of the conversation with his parents still pressed against his shoulders, but he pushed it aside. One thing at a time.

The hunt came first.

As he moved back toward the gathering grounds, he could already see the warriors-in-training assembling again. Pa’li pawed at the ground nearby, bows slung over shoulders. A few of them greeted him again with eager nods, standing straighter as he approached. Neteyam offered a few curt nods back, but didn’t speak yet.

Lo’ak moved beside him silently, then elbowed him with a small, dry smirk. “Heads up.” Neteyam followed his line of sight—and felt his stomach twist.

Neytiri stood near the edge of the training ring, clearly followed them, in low, hushed conversation with none other than K’shi. The young huntress smiled, graceful and poised, and stood a little too close to Neytiri. Her braids gleamed in the light, feathers carefully arranged, and her expression was full of that infuriating mix of humility and expectation.

And then—Neytiri looked up. Right at him. Their eyes locked for a second. Long enough to know it wasn’t coincidence.

Neteyam turned sharply on his heel before either of them could say anything, jaw tight, and mounted his pa’li in one clean motion. “Mount up,” he called to the gathered warriors. “We ride soon.”

The others hurried to obey, the energy rising again as they prepared. Neteyam leaned forward, gently tapping the creature’s neck, trying to focus. Just get through the hunt. But before he could move so much as an inch, a quiet rustle of footsteps came from the side—soft, deliberate. He didn’t need to look.

“I see you are leaving without her,” Neytiri said calmly, her voice close now.

Neteyam exhaled through his nose and looked down at her from his mount. “The hunt is for the trainees. She’s not needed.”

Neytiri tilted her head, unreadable. “She is skilled. They could learn from her.”

“She is not one of them,” he replied, too quickly.

“She is more experienced than half of them.”

“She is not needed,” he said, voice tighter now.

His mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You do not trust her to lead?”

“I do not want her here,” he said finally, biting the words before they grew too sharp. “This hunt is about them. I do not want distractions. I do not want…” He hesitated. “Complications.”

Neytiri studied him for a moment, searching for something in his expression. “You are the future Olo’eyktan,” she said gently. “You must learn to lead alongside others. Especially those who may one day share that future.”

Neteyam looked away, gripping the reins a little too tightly. “This is not about leading,” he muttered. “And it’s not about training. It’s about you wanting me to choose.”

Neytiri’s silence said everything he needed to know.

He glanced back at her, his voice low. “You’ve already chosen for me.”

“I have not,” she said, quieter now. “But I know the path that brings strength. That brings peace. That brings balance to the people.”

He shook his head. “She is not my balance.”

Neytiri’s expression didn’t change, but her voice softened. “She would stand beside you. She understands this life. She would not drag you into the sky and away from your people.”

His throat tightened. “And what if I don’t want someone who stands beside me because it’s expected?”

Neytiri’s eyes flickered. “Then you risk standing alone.”

They stood in silence for a breath, the air around them heavy. Warriors shifted in the background, unaware of the quiet storm brewing at the edge of the hunt. Finally, Neteyam leaned forward on his pa’li, his voice steady but cold. “Then I stand alone.”

Neytiri’s expression didn’t waver. “And yet she came. She offered. Do you think she does not notice how you dismiss her?”

“She doesn’t need to be here just to be dismissed,” he muttered.

His mother narrowed her eyes. “You speak as if she is a burden.”

“I speak as if this is a training hunt,” Neteyam bit out. “Not a matchmaking ceremony.”

That caught her. A flash of surprise—and then something colder beneath her gaze. “She is Omatikaya,” Neytiri said, low and clipped. “She is strong. Loyal. Respected. You would be wise to know her better.”

“I know enough,” Neteyam snapped before he could stop himself. They stared at each other in silence for a moment—warrior to warrior, but also mother to son. “I do not need help managing this hunt,” he said, voice dropping to something quiet and final. “And I don’t want her there.”

Neytiri’s jaw tensed. “You would let a girl from the clan feel cast aside, when she offers her strength?”

Neteyam’s hands tightened on the reins. “I would let her know that not every gesture must be accepted just because it’s offered.”

Neytiri stepped back a fraction, the corner of her mouth twitching with disapproval. “You forget your place.”

“No,” Neteyam said, looking forward now, his voice flat. “I remember it. Every day.”

For a moment, Neytiri looked at him like she didn’t quite recognize him—then she turned away, silent as a shadow, and walked back toward the path where K’shi waited. Neteyam didn’t watch her go. “Move out!” he called, clicking his tongue as the pa’li surged forward beneath him. The hunt began. And he didn’t look back.

The hunt stretched long under a darkening sky.

By afternoon, the air had thickened—warm and damp, the kind of sticky humidity that clung to your skin and promised a storm before nightfall. Thunderhead clouds crawled along the horizon, low and brooding, casting a dull, silver-gray sheen across the plains. The sun was still above the trees, but the light had shifted. Softer. Dimmer. A warning.

Neteyam rode at the edge of the formation, his pa’li moving in smooth, quick strides through the tall grass. The riders flanked him, young warriors tense with anticipation, bows gripped in uncertain hands. They had followed the herd south, just as he predicted. The strumbeests had crossed the shallow riverbed and bedded briefly in the softer basin ground before moving again, likely stirred by the charged air.

It was Lo’ak who spotted them first—five thick-necked beasts, moving through a narrow glade beyond the last ridge. The warriors tightened ranks.

They split into pairs just as trained, two by two, fanning into a wide arc to push the herd back toward the clearing. It was a good plan—smart, simple. But the pa’li were nervous. The wind had shifted. Distant thunder cracked once above the trees.

The strumbeests sensed it too. The biggest one, a bull with jagged horns and a wide scar across its flank, reared back suddenly and broke into a charge before the others could react. It crashed through the shallows and made for the open field.

“Hold the formation!” Neteyam shouted.

But one of the younger pairs panicked. Their pa’li reared; their arrows loosed too soon. The beast took one in the shoulder—only a graze—but it was enough to enrage it.

It turned. Snorting. Charging straight at them. Neteyam was already moving. He spurred his mount and galloped low, weaving between riders. His bow was in hand before he even registered the motion.

He nocked an arrow. One breath.

The wind cut across his cheek.

Another breath.

The beast roared. He loosed.

The arrow struck deep, straight into the strumbeest’s chest right into its operculum. It stumbled, let out a terrible sound, then fell hard into the shallow creekbed with a splash of mud and water. Silence followed. Only the soft shuffle of hooves and the slow panting of the pa’li. Neteyam sat still for a moment, shoulders tense, bow still half-raised.

Then he exhaled. The warriors regrouped, their expressions sheepish, winded, wide-eyed. Lo’ak trotted up beside him, letting out a low whistle. “Well,” Lo’ak said, glancing at the fallen beast. “That could’ve gone worse.”

Neteyam didn’t respond right away. He looked back over the young hunters, watching them dismount, some already approaching the strumbeest to prepare the body for transport. When he finally spoke, it was with quiet conviction. “You held the line,” he said, turning toward them. “You didn’t run. You missed—but you tried. That’s what matters today.”

Some of them looked relieved. Others are embarrassed. But all nodded. “First time hunting from pa’li isn’t easy,” Neteyam added, quieter now. “You’ll do better next time.”

That earned him a few smiles. A few straighter backs. The mood lightened, if only a little, as the warriors set to work. The strumbeest was cleaned swiftly, tools pulled from saddlebags, hands practiced if not yet graceful. The smell of blood mixed with the coming rain.

Neteyam let his pa’li walk toward the edge of the clearing, where the creek still ran shallow and clear. He dismounted, stepping into the cool water, its surface rippling softly around his feet. He stood there for a long moment, the sky above beginning to change with the eclipse’s approach. The light was getting stranger now—dimmer, gold-tinged, almost dreamlike.

He looked down. Among the stones and moss, something caught his eye. A shimmer. He crouched, brushing water aside, and plucked the object from the streambed.

A stone—small, smooth, and iridescent. Its surface shimmered in the shifting light, catching greens and blues and soft, smoky purples. Not just light. Color. Like the glowing spores you were always chasing, laughing with that wild-eyed joy.

Neteyam turned it over in his fingers, frowning slightly, and then… a small smile tugged at his mouth. It would make a good pendant. A small one—simple. Nothing elaborate. But something he could shape with his hands. Something he could give you. Something only you would understand.

He imagined your reaction—eyebrows lifting, a laugh just under your breath, fingers brushing it like it was made of starlight. Maybe you'd tease him. Maybe you'd say something clever, something human. But you'd smile.

And he wanted that smile. That look. He slid the stone into the small pouch at his side, glancing skyward. The light had changed again. The first sliver of eclipse was creeping across the sun, shadows sharpening, strange and long.

You said they’d return before the eclipse. The xenobotany team had strict protocols—they had to be back before nightfall, before the storms, before the high-altitude winds made flying unsafe.

You promised. He reached up absently and touched the pouch again, grounding himself. You would be safe. You would come back. He would see you again—soon.

The storm cracked the sky in half.

Rain battered the canopy above, fat and warm, pouring in sheets against the woven walls of the kelku. Wind howled through the upper branches, shaking the structure with each gust, and thunder rolled so loud it made the bones in Neteyam’s chest rattle.

But he sat still.

The flickering firepit cast low light across the room, embers pulsing red and gold, shadows dancing up the curved wood beams. The flames guttered now and then when the wind snuck through a gap in the walls, sending sparks skittering across the floor. Beside him, a knife gleamed dull in the firelight, and scattered bones sat in a tidy pile, pale against the dark pelt beneath him.

In his palm lay the small iridescent stone. He turned it slowly between his fingers, watching how the firelight danced across it—blue, green, violet, a hint of silver. The color shimmered, ever-shifting like the sky at twilight. It reminded him of you. Of the way light clung to your skin when you leaned over your datapad, eyes half-lit with wonder. Of the way your smile always hit faster than your words.

Neteyam let the stone settle against his palm and reached out, grabbing a small curved knife from the floor near the hearth. Beside it, a bundle of thin, pale bones—sanded down, dried clean—lay wrapped in leather cord. Notched, old, but strong. He unwrapped them slowly, eyes flicking to the shadows cast by the lightning flashing through the walls. The fire hissed as it caught one of the storm’s exhalations.

He smiled.

He could already see how it would look—the stone wrapped tight with sinew, flanked by bone beads shaped with simple curves. Clean. Natural. Something for you alone.

You would fidget the moment he gave it to you. Look down at your hands, smile crooked, mutter something about how “you didn’t have to,” even while your fingers curled around it like it was the most precious thing you’d ever touched.

And then you’d wear it. Always. Just like you did with the bracelet he gave you half a year ago. You wore that bracelet like it was a badge. Like it connected you to something deeper than science.

To him.

He began to carve.

The knife moved easily—clean strokes shaving thin curls from the bone, his fingers steady despite the storm. Each small bead he shaped was smooth and purposeful, the rhythm of his work syncing with the fire’s crackle and the beat of rain above. Outside, thunder cracked again, and the whole kelku flashed with white light for a moment—then fell back into flickering amber.

The beads came slowly. One at a time. He lined them up beside the stone, imagining how they’d rest against your collarbone. His expression softened, pride flickering behind his focused eyes.

But as his hands worked, his thoughts wandered. To the flight earlier.

The storm hadn’t broken yet when they left. He’d returned from the hunt—drenched in sweat and the stink of blood but satisfied—and barely had time to drink before he was saddled again, flying into the darkening sky on his ikran beside his family.

Neytiri. Jake. Lo’ak. And him. The four of them had flown north as the first eclipse shadows stretched over the trees, their ikrans soaring low, wings skimming the high canopy. The forest grew stranger in the eclipse light—half-night, half-day, colors muted to bronze and gray, as if Eywa herself were holding her breath.

They reached the clearing in silence. And there it was. The unmistakable hulking mass of a dragon assault ship, half-buried in the tall grass. Its hull was scorched in places, but intact. Nearby, a Scorpion—parked for safety, rotors folded back. There were crates nearby. Scorch marks in the dirt. Trampled underbrush. All the signs of a deployment zone.

But no people. No movement. No sound. It was like they had landed… and vanished.

Neytiri had crouched at the edge of their perch, her entire body tense. She stared down at the ship with a look Neteyam had only seen once before.. Her voice, when she finally spoke, had been sharp as obsidian. “They are back. And they are close.”

Lo’ak hadn’t said anything. Neither had Jake. Not right away. The silence stretched, the only sound the distant churn of the approaching wind. Neteyam could still feel it—the pressure, the burn of it behind his ribs. They didn’t see a single human. But there had been movement recently. The soil told that story. So did the discarded wrappers, the markings on the crates. Tools and sealed gear. The kind no recon team left behind.

Neytiri had wanted to destroy the ships. Set fire to the clearing and let Eywa decide what remained. But Jake had held her back. “We don’t know why they’re here yet,” he’d said. “We don’t make the first move unless we have to.”

Neteyam hadn’t disagreed. But as he glanced at the empty ship, something inside him had turned cold.

Why now? Why so close?

And the look she gave those ships… Neteyam knew it by heart. Grief, buried under rage. She’d lost too much to sky people. She didn’t trust coincidence. And neither did he.

They’d left soon after, under strict silence, flying back into winds that threatened to tear them from the sky. Jake said he’d speak to Norm in the following, see if there were signs anyone had passed word of this movement. But Neteyam had his doubts.

Did Norm know? Did you?

He knew you didn’t lie well. If you'd known something this big, this dangerous, you would’ve told him. Wouldn’t you?

He carved another bead. This one thinner. Smoother.

His fingers moved faster now, catching the light as the beads began to stack beside him—each one small, perfect, shaped to slide on a leather cord. He had no design yet, not really. Just a feeling. Something that reminded him of the moments he treasured most: your hands brushing his as you passed tools, the way your eyes lit up under bioluminescence, the sound of your breath when you laughed in the quietest part of the forest.

Neteyam clenched his jaw and set down the bone shard he’d been carving. He picked up the iridescent stone again, turning it over in the firelight. Lightning flashed through the kelku, and for a breath, your face filled his mind—smiling, lit from below by a bioluminescent spore cluster, skin smudged with dirt and joy.

You were already back. Safe at the outpost. Behind its shields. Surrounded by Norm, Max, and the others. You were smart. Careful. And you never broke your word.

But the world was different now. He glanced toward the woven wall, where water slipped down the fibers. The sound of rain had changed—harsher now. As if the storm had teeth. The forest wasn’t just dangerous now. It was hunted.

And if the sky demons were moving again—if this was the start of something—he’d do anything to keep you from it. He set the stone carefully between the beads and reached for the knife again. The next bead would be smaller. Closer to the stone. Delicate, but strong.

Just like you.

The storm outside howled louder. But in the warmth of the kelku, surrounded by firelight and bone and purpose, Neteyam carved. And the gift he shaped was not just a pendant.

It was a promise. He’d see you again. And when he did—you’d wear this against your skin. And you’d smile.

It was bright. Too bright. The forest shimmered with golden sunlight pouring down through the thick canopy. Every leaf, every vine, every stone pulsed with life. The air was fresh and warm, the scents of flowers and damp earth so vivid he could almost taste them.

Neteyam moved through the trees with growing urgency, heart hammering against his ribs. He called out, but the sound of his voice was swallowed by the forest. Everywhere he looked, there was color—bright birds flickering through the trees, insects buzzing in lazy circles, the river ahead gleaming like a ribbon of light.

But you weren’t there.

He searched. He searched until the ground blurred under his feet and his breath came sharp and shallow. He checked the vines you liked to climb. The caves you liked to explore. The meadows you would lie down in just to watch the suns drift by overhead.

Nothing. You were nowhere. Panic gnawed at him. That cold, sharp panic he rarely let himself feel. Not in battle. Not in hunts. But now.

He was losing you. He staggered through another wall of green, nearly slipping in the wet moss—and stopped. There. By the creek.

Colourful fishes flitted around your fingers, nibbling curiously. You wiggled your fingers at them with a soft, delighted laugh, your hair falling in messy strands across your face. The sunlight kissed your skin, and for a moment, you seemed almost made of it.

Relief hit Neteyam so hard he nearly dropped to his knees. He exhaled, a raw, broken sound he barely recognized as his own, and started toward you. Of course you had wandered off. Of course you were chasing something curious and beautiful. It was who you were. And how could he ever stay mad at you for it?

He walked closer, the ground cool beneath his feet, his voice soft and cracking at the edges. “There you are,” he said.

You looked up at him, your face splitting into a huge, radiant grin. Your eyes sparkled in the sunlight—alive, mischievous, full of everything he loved and everything that scared him to death.

Without a word, you pushed yourself upright and reached toward him with wet, dripping hands. Before he could react he was already leaning down to your level, your palms cupped his face—cold, slippery from the water—and he froze, wide-eyed. Your grin widened. “You found me,” you said, like it was the most obvious, wonderful thing in the world.

Neteyam swallowed, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders all at once. “I always will,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You laughed again, bright and easy, and gently dragged your thumbs across his cheeks, leaving damp streaks behind. “You were worried,” you teased, your eyes narrowing playfully.

He huffed a breath, something between a laugh and a groan. His hands lifted to cover yours, pressing your palms firmer against his face, grounding himself in the feel of you. “You don’t listen,” he muttered, his forehead brushing against yours as he closed his eyes. “You never listen.”

You only laughed again, tilting your face up so your mask bumped his head. “That’s why you love me.”

And Eywa help him, it was true. Neteyam exhaled against the glass panel, the warmth of your hands cradling his face still grounding him—when something shifted. He blinked.

And the world was no longer bathed in gold.

The sunlight vanished, swallowed by a heavy, oppressive darkness. A cold rain lashed against his skin, the roar of the storm all around him. The trees groaned under the weight of the wind, their branches thrashing like wounded creatures.

Neteyam realized he was crouched on a high branch, slick with rain, the bark beneath his hands cold and wet.

For a moment, disoriented, he looked around—searching, heart pounding against his ribs. Then he saw you. You were there, only a few feet away, clinging to the branch, your body trembling with cold and fear. Your hair, soaked and tangled, stuck to your mask and neck. Your clothes clung to your small frame, and you pressed yourself low against the bark as though trying to disappear into it.

Before he could call out, before he could even breathe your name, you turned your head sharply toward him, eyes wide with terror. You pressed your small fingers quickly to his lips, shaking your head with urgent ferocity.

Be quiet.

He froze instantly, obeying without question. Your lips trembled as you leaned in, close enough that he could just hear your whisper over the rain: “They’re here,” you breathed. “Viperwolves.”

Neteyam’s blood turned to ice.

Your eyes darted downward—and he followed your gaze. Far below, weaving through the underbrush like dark, restless shadows, the viperwolves prowled. Their sleek forms slithered through the misty forest floor, low to the ground, muscles rippling under soaked fur. Snarling. Sniffing the air.

Hunting.

Hunting you.

You pressed closer to him, your body rigid with fear. He could feel the way you shivered, not just from the cold—but from terror. Real, paralyzing fear. And Eywa, he had never seen you like this. Not you. Not the girl who laughed at storms and climbed higher than any scientist had any right to. Not the girl who would poke at a thanator’s pawprint just to marvel at how big it was.

He felt something hot coil inside him—a fierce, protective anger. His hand moved automatically, sliding down across his chest, fingers brushing the hilt of the knife strapped there. His instincts roared awake.

Protect. Shield. Fight if you must.

He leaned in closer, so their shoulders touched, so you could hear him even through the rain. His hand brushed lightly over your arm, steadying, grounding. “Hey,” he whispered, voice low and steady. “Breathe. You’re safe.”

You shook your head slightly, your wet hair clinging to your cheeks. “They’re hunting me. They followed me. I ran, but—”

“You did good,” he cut in gently. His hand pressed against the small of your back now, warm despite the rain. “You climbed. You got out of reach. That’s smart.” You blinked up at him. He could see the doubt, the terror clawing at you. He shook his head firmly. “I’m here now,” he said. “They won’t touch you. I swear.”

Slowly, very slowly, he moved his hand up and cupped the side of your head, shielding you from the worst of the rain, shielding you from the fear. Your forehead leaned instinctively into his palm, seeking the warmth and safety. “I will protect you, yawne,” he murmured. “Always.”

Another snarl echoed below—but Neteyam didn’t flinch. His whole focus narrowed to you—to the way you trembled under his hand, to the way your heart raced against his side. “We’ll wait,” he whispered. “Let the storm cover us. Then I’ll get you out. You trust me, yes?”

Your lower lip trembled, but you nodded. Pressed your forehead against his shoulder. Neteyam’s arms tightened around you instinctively. Nothing would take you from him. Not rain. Not fear. Not viperwolves. He closed his eyes, feeling your small form against him, the storm raging around them—but in the hollow space between you, there was something stronger. Something steady.

And he held onto that as he planned the way down—already thinking of how to move, how to shield you, how to make sure, no matter what, you would make it out safe. You were his to protect. And he would never let you fall.

Neteyam woke with a sharp breath, like he had surfaced from deep water.

For a moment, he just sat there in the dim morning light, blinking blearily at the woven ceiling of the kelku, his heart still pounding dully in his chest. The storm had passed sometime during the night; he could hear the steady drip-drip of rainwater sliding from the leaves outside, the soft hum of the waking village in the distance.

He dragged a hand over his face, his palm rough against the skin still damp with sweat. The dream still clung to him—sticky, heavy, colder than anything he'd ever dreamt of you before.

Normally, dreams of you were warm, sweet things. Quiet laughter. Whispered words. The soft brush of your fingertips against his chest. Sometimes, dreams he woke from with his cheeks burning, your smile flashing in his mind like a secret only he was allowed to carry.

But this... This had been different. Dark. Terrifying in a way that gnawed at his gut even now. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the tight knot of unease coiled low in his belly. It was just a dream. Nothing more. You were safe. You were fine.

Probably hadn’t slept all night, though, he thought with a small, dry smirk. He could practically picture you now: bouncing from workstation to workstation at the outpost, hair a mess, goggles pushed up onto your forehead, muttering rapid-fire notes into your recorder as you tested the new spore samples the xenobotany team had pulled from the pit.

You lived for discovery. You never slowed down. And Eywa, he loved you for it. Even if you wore yourself to the bone sometimes. You never could resist new samples. He chuckled under his breath. His relentless, unstoppable little human.

He sat up slowly on the edge of his pelt, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering tension. Already, his thoughts were drifting to you—how your face would light up when you explained some new discovery, how your hands would wave wildly as you tried to describe some chemical reaction that made absolutely no sense to him but sounded beautiful all the same because it was you saying it.

He missed you. Even though he had seen you the morning before. Even though it hadn't even been a full day. He missed you enough that a new idea slipped into his mind, quiet but insistent. I should see her tonight.

The thought settled there like a promise. He would find an excuse to slip away after the evening duties. Maybe just watch you work and listen to your ramble yourself into laughter. Anything. He just needed to see you. To remind himself you were real and alive and safe.

Just as Neteyam started to push himself up from his pelt, thinking about slipping away quietly to start his day before anyone could catch him, a soft sound made him stiffen — the faint swish of vines parting.

He looked up sharply.

At the entrance to his kelku stood Neytiri, her silhouette outlined in the pale morning light. Her expression was calm. Too calm. Neteyam immediately felt the tension return, settling deep in his spine like a coil ready to snap.

“Ma’itan,” Neytiri said, stepping lightly into the room.  It wasn’t a mother checking on her son. It was the Olo’eyktan’s mate arriving with duty. Expectation.

He said nothing. He only straightened where he sat, waiting.

"You will go with Sa’nari today," Neytiri said without ceremony. No greeting. No kindness to soften the blow. Just the words, heavy as stones.

Sa’nari. Another one of the “chosen” girls. A skilled healer, yes. Gentle, wise, kind — all the things a good tsahìk might look for in the future mate of an Olo’eyktan. Exactly the kind of girl his mother and grandmother would favor. Exactly the kind of girl that wasn't you.

Neteyam blinked slowly at her, forcing himself to stay still when every part of him wanted to groan, flop backward into his pelt, and will himself into nonexistence. Eywa help him, he had barely survived yesterday being paraded around like a prize calf for K’shi—and now this?

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at her, jaw clenching tighter. Neytiri stepped inside a little, her expression softening just barely. "Sa’nari is skilled," she said, as if that explained everything. "A healer. Gentle, but strong. Mo'at sent her to gather herbs today by the western basin. The creek." Her eyes met his pointedly. "You will go with her." A pause. "Guard her. Learn from her. Know her."

Neteyam’s fists curled against his thighs. He knew better than to speak quickly—but the words came out anyway, sharper than he meant. "I don’t want to go."

Neteyam stared at his mother, a muscle ticking in his jaw. But Neytiri’s gaze pinned him where he sat. Calm. Expectant. Unyielding. She wasn’t asking. She stepped closer, folding her hands neatly. “She needs protection.” Her tone shifted slightly, almost too casual. “And... time to be known. To you.”

Neteyam let his head fall back slightly, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Of course. Of course it wasn’t just about guarding. It was another push. Another quiet pressure disguised as duty. He fought the heavy sigh rising in his chest. “I have patrols,” he said tightly. “Lo’ak can go with her.”

“Lo’ak is needed elsewhere,” Neytiri said swiftly. “You are free this afternoon.”

He gave her a look — flat and unamused. “Mother—”

She lifted her hand in a quiet but firm motion. “You already hurt K’shi’s feelings yesterday,” Neytiri said, her voice sharper now. “You will not behave like a reckless boy again. You are a grown man, Neteyam. Start acting like one.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because they were the same ones Jake always used too, whenever he wanted to twist the knife deeper. Grown man. But still being told who to speak with. Who to walk with. Who to consider worthy.

Neytiri turned away before he could say anything more, already moving toward the kelku’s entrance with the quiet, predatory grace that she carried everywhere. “This is not about what you want,” she said over her shoulder, soft but cutting. “It is about what you owe to your people.”

Neteyam looked away, jaw clenching, fighting the urge to argue—to shout. To say that the only hands he wanted to hold were already too small, too human, too forbidden. That the only future he could picture smelled like earth and lab-ink and laughter.

Instead, he said nothing. He just stared at the floor until Neytiri sighed quietly. "You will go," she said, final and heavy.

Before she slipped through the hanging vines, Neytiri’s voice floated back to him, quieter now, but still unrelenting. “She leaves within the hour. Meet her by the eastern path.”

And then she was gone. The kelku was silent again, except for the steady drip of water from the leaves outside. Neteyam sat there, unmoving, for a long moment. Eywa, he wanted to scream. Instead, he dragged both hands down his face, groaning low into his palms. Another wasted day. Another charade. Another moment spent pretending he didn’t already know where his heart belonged.

And it wasn't with Sa’nari. It was with the small, stubborn, relentless human who was probably covered in soil and glowing spores at that very moment, laughing to herself in a lab somewhere far too close to danger. Neteyam dropped his hands into his lap, exhaling hard.

Fine. He would go. He would guard Sa’nari. He would play the good son. The good warrior. The good heir. And then, when it was done, when he could finally slip away into the cover of night—he would find you.

He would find you, and maybe—just maybe—he could finally breathe again.

The scent of crushed herbs and damp moss filled Mo’at’s tent, rich and grounding. Bundles of dried roots hung from the ceiling, swaying gently with the morning breeze, their shadows dancing across the floor. The old tsahìk sat near the hearth, her fingers busy weaving a new binding cord from thin, water-soaked reeds. Her movements were slow, methodical—yet even in her stillness, her presence commanded the air like a quiet storm.

Neteyam stood at the edge of the space, tense and unblinking. “I don’t understand,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “You know.”

Mo’at didn’t look up, but the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth told him she’d been expecting this conversation. “I know many things, ma’itan,” she said evenly.

“You know about her.” He stepped forward, not angry—yet—but tight with confusion. With frustration. “You know what she means to me. You’ve helped us meet here. You said her learning from you gave her a reason to stay in the village at night.” He gestured around the tent, to the walls where his human had sat cross-legged for hours beside the old tsahìk, soaking up knowledge like the forest soaked rain. “You said—”

“I said it made sense,” Mo’at interrupted gently. “Not that it would last forever.”

Neteyam’s mouth opened, then closed. His hands moved unconsciously to the stone in his fingers—the iridescent one from the creek. It had been resting in his palm without him realizing since he left his kelku, shifting slowly between his thumb and forefinger as if it had grown attached to his skin.

Mo’at’s eyes followed the movement, her gaze landing on the stone for only a second before she resumed her weaving. “She will not be harmed,” she said softly, as if sensing the darker thread beneath his words. “Not by me. Not by this.” Then her eyes lifted again, sharper now. “But your mother is not so patient. And she sees your future clearly, as I once did with hers.”

“That’s the problem,” Neteyam muttered, jaw clenched. “She sees a future. Not my future.”

Mo’at set the half-finished cord aside and leaned back slightly, folding her hands in her lap. “You are not wrong to feel it,” she said. “But you are wrong to think you can ignore it. Your mother… does not yet understand how deep your bond runs.” Her eyes met his squarely. “But she fears losing you. To a path she does not know.”

Neteyam looked down again, his grip tightening slightly on the stone. His chest felt too small. The air too thick. “So I just go?” he said. “Pretend? Smile? Spend the day walking beside someone I don’t want, when the only person I—”

“—is probably halfway through cataloguing a leaf sample and humming to herself,” Mo’at said mildly, a knowing glint in her eyes.

Neteyam blinked. He couldn’t help it. His lips twitched. Just barely.

Mo’at smiled. “Then make this journey useful,” she said, gesturing toward his hand. “You will walk by the creek, yes? The vines there hang strong. Good for bindings.” She nodded toward the stone. “That one would suit a thread of river-hanger vine. Smooth. Durable. Fitting for something meant to last.”

Neteyam stared down at the little stone in his palm, light dancing across its surface in soft hues of purple and blue.

Mo’at leaned forward slightly, voice dropping low, wise and wicked all at once. “Gather what you need. Pretend for your mother’s sake. But weave your own path, ma’itan. Quietly, if you must.” She smiled, eyes gleaming. “Even a Tsahìk cannot bind the heart.” Mo’at's voice was gentler now, like wind brushing over leaves.

“You do not have to give them your heart, ma’itan. But you do have to give them your presence. For now.”

He swallowed thickly. “And after?”

Mo’at only smiled again. “After? You will return to the outpost. And someone very small and very stubborn will probably throw herself at you the moment you step through the door.”

Neteyam barked a quiet laugh, low in his throat.

Mo’at’s smile turned sly. “And you may give her that stone. And perhaps she will kiss you. And perhaps your mother will still be angry, but perhaps… that kiss will be enough for a little while longer.”

He closed his fingers around the stone, warm now from his touch. “I hate this.”

“No,” Mo’at said, rising to her feet slowly. “You just love. And love is always heavier than duty.”

Neteyam stood silent for a moment longer, the stone clutched in his palm like an anchor. Then, reluctantly, he nodded once and turned to go. Outside, the path toward Sa’nari waited. But so did the creek. So did the vines. And later—so did you.

The forest was quiet in that damp, post-storm way—leaves heavy with lingering droplets, the underbrush glistening under the muted morning sun. Birds chirped high in the canopy, but otherwise, the air felt still. Waiting.

Neteyam walked behind Sa’nari in near silence, his steps measured, his bow strapped loosely across his back. The light played across her shoulders as she moved, her braid trailing down the center of her back, her satchel bouncing softly against her hip with each step.

She was speaking softly to herself as they went, fingers brushing certain plants, occasionally pausing to tug a leaf or run her thumb across a petal. Her hands were deft—gentle but sure. Trained. She didn’t fumble or hesitate. Every movement had purpose.

She had always been like that, even as a child. Smart. Precise. Focused. She finally broke the silence after they passed a patch of sun-drenched ferns. Her voice was soft, careful. “You do not have to look so tense, Neteyam. I will not bite.”

He huffed a small breath through his nose—not quite a laugh. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t sleep well.”

Sa’nari nodded slowly. “Storm?”

“Something like that,” he said, eyes flicking ahead toward the path, unwilling to give more.

They walked for a while longer in quiet, the creek now murmuring somewhere ahead, just past a dip in the terrain. Birds rustled through the canopy. The wind carried the scent of water. “I heard the hunt was a success,” Sa’nari said lightly. “Even if some of the younger ones panicked.”

He allowed a small smile. “They’ll learn. They did well enough.”

She glanced at him sidelong, her eyes sharp and warm all at once. “You sound like your father when you say that.”

Neteyam grimaced slightly. “Let’s hope not too much.”

That made her laugh softly. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she walked—a quiet confidence in her, not unlike Kiri’s, though less wild, more restrained. Everything about her was composed. She reached out to pluck a sprig of redroot from the moss, tucking it neatly into her pouch. “I’ve gathered here many times,” she said, “but it’s nice to have someone with me this time.”

Neteyam offered a noncommittal sound.

“Redroot, five clusters,” she murmured now, mostly to herself. “Three more of the silvercap. And I’ll need river moss if it’s still holding—” She paused, then glanced back at him, eyes shy but bright. “You can tell your mother I am not wasting the day,” she said with a faint, sheepish smile. “Mo’at will have more than enough herbs when we return.”

Neteyam gave a quiet huff, not quite a laugh. “She doesn’t think you’d waste it.”

Sa’nari smiled again and turned back toward the creek. They kept walking for a while, the sunlight filtering through in soft shafts, their shadows stretching long. Eventually, she slowed as they reached the low western basin, where vines hung down in heavy coils from the upper branches and the water ran cool and shallow. Dragonflies buzzed lazily along the surface, their wings catching in the light.

Sa’nari knelt beside a patch of flowering reedgrass and began to work, carefully clipping stems and tucking them into her pouch.

Neteyam stood nearby, gaze drifting to the vines overhead. River-hanger. Just as Mo’at said. His fingers itched slightly.

But then Sa’nari spoke again, her voice quiet. “You’ve changed, Neteyam.”

He looked at her slowly. “How?”

“You’re quieter now,” she said without turning. “Heavier.”

He didn’t answer. Not immediately. It was the kind of observation only someone who’d known him a long time could make. And Sa’nari had. She’d been there since they were children—never loud, never pushy. Just always there. A quiet presence in the village. The girl who knew how to stop a bleeding wound faster than most warriors could draw a bow.

She gathered a bundle of moss into her palm and stood, brushing her fingers together. “Your mother wants what’s best for you,” she said gently. “We all do.”

He turned to look at her fully then. And she met his eyes. Sa’nari glanced at him again. This time, her eyes lingered. He knew that look. Longing. Quiet, hopeful longing.

He had seen it a hundred times before, in so many girls’ eyes. He’d caught them watching him across the hearth fires, smiling too brightly during training, lingering too long during blessings. At first, he hadn’t known what to do with it. Now… now he just felt tired.

Because he knew the truth. Knew how cruel it was. Sa’nari would make a wonderful mate. Any warrior would be proud to walk beside her. But she would never have his heart.

Because someone else already held it. And Sa’nari didn’t even know she’d never had a chance. “I’m glad to have your company,” she said after a moment, quieter now. “Truly.”

He swallowed, the weight of her sincerity pressing heavily in his chest. “You’re easy to walk with,” he said honestly. “That’s a gift.” Her smile flickered, then steadied.

They reached the creek shortly after, the water trickling over smooth stones, reeds swaying gently at the banks. Sa’nari moved to the edge without hesitation, beginning her work—snipping, sorting, murmuring the names of each plant she gathered.

Neteyam stepped away slightly, eyes scanning the trees, but really… he was searching the vines. His hand slipped to his pouch. The stone waited there, quiet and warm.

He would find the right one. A strong, supple strand of river-hanger vine. Enough to cradle the stone, to let it rest where it belonged—over your heart. He moved silently along the edge of the creek, scanning, gathering, his fingers brushing over the vines one by one. And as he worked, the ache in his chest softened slightly.

Because he wasn’t just here to follow orders. He was weaving something of his own.

Neteyam knelt some paces away, his fingers brushing over the heavy strands of river-hanger vine dangling from the branches. He tugged gently on a few, testing their strength, his mind already moving through the steps. The stone in his pouch would hang best from something soft and braided. He could reinforce the base with fine leather, maybe add some carved bone or seed beads to make it more personal. She liked when things told stories. Maybe he’d carve a small pa’li figure, or a little sprig of that glowing fern she’d once fallen in love with. His lips twitched faintly at the thought.

“You’re making something,” Sa’nari said suddenly, her voice calm but perceptive.

Neteyam froze just briefly, then resumed his work. “Maybe,” he said.

She tilted her head slightly. “Something for someone?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just gave a soft grunt that could’ve meant anything. She smiled faintly to herself and stood, brushing the dirt from her knees and moving toward another patch of herbs. “Can I ask you something?”

Neteyam glanced up, wary but open. “You can.”

Sa’nari’s fingers hovered over a cluster of blossom-fronds before she spoke. “Do you ever wish… someone else could choose for you?” Her voice was soft. Unassuming. But the words carried weight.

Neteyam straightened slowly, letting the vine fall from his fingers. “No,” he said. “I think… I’ve always known what I want.”

Her back remained to him, but he could see the stillness in her spine. “That’s rare.”

He considered her carefully, then asked, “And you? Did you ever love someone? Or did you just wait… for your parents to choose for you?”

She turned then, her eyes thoughtful and open. “I used to think I would wait,” she said. “Until someone was chosen for me. It seemed easier. Simpler. But…” She gave a small shrug. “I learned that simple things don’t always feel right.”

Neteyam looked away, down at the vines, at the way they curled like veins along the branch. “You’re kind,” he said after a moment. “Gentle. If you wanted to be chosen… you would be.”

Sa’nari smiled faintly. “Maybe I was.” Her gaze was steady. Not pressing. Not accusing. Just honest. “But sometimes I think we are all just trying to be someone our families can be proud of. Even if it means hurting ourselves a little.”

The words settled in him with an uncomfortable truth. Sa’nari knelt again to gather a flowering stalk, but her voice carried across the hush between them. “I’ve seen the way you walk with humans. How you speak with them. The way they trust you.”

Neteyam blinked, glancing back toward her.

“I think your father must be proud,” she continued, “that you never turned bitter. That you never resented those who were worthy of our respect—even if they shared blood with those who hurt us.”

Neteyam’s fingers curled unconsciously around the vines in his hand. He thought of you.

Of how you always apologized for things you never did. Of how you looked at Pandora like it was a sacred book, not a prize. Of how your hands trembled the first time you touched a glowing tree and whispered, “I don’t want to break anything.”

You were human. But you had never been a sky demon to him. You were his little star. And stars, he thought, don’t destroy. They guide. “They’re not all the same,” he murmured finally, voice low. “She never hurt anything,” he murmured under his breath, not even realizing he said it aloud.

Sa’nari tilted her head slightly, but said nothing. Just listened. After a while, she smiled. Soft. Knowing. “You will be a wise leader, Neteyam,” she said. “When your time comes.” He looked at her, caught off guard. “You carry many things quietly,” she added. “And you do not speak hate, even when your heart is torn.” After a moment, she said, “Your father must be proud of you.”

Neteyam huffed a breath, not quite agreeing, but not willing to argue.

The path back to the village was quieter than the one they had taken out.

The basket slung over Neteyam’s shoulder was heavier than it looked—overflowing with herbs, moss, and flowering stalks, the day’s careful work bundled tight. Sa’nari walked a few steps ahead, her pace light despite the long hours, her head tilted slightly as if still listening to the songs of the forest.

Neteyam didn’t mind the silence. It wasn’t awkward, just… still. Like the earth had settled again after the storm. As they passed under the heavier canopy near the village’s outskirts, he felt it. A gaze. Heavy, focused. He didn’t need to look to know who it was. Still, he glanced once—and immediately regretted it.

Neytiri stood just beyond the main clearing, near the tsahìk’s tent. Her posture was proud, her arms folded loosely over her chest, her head tilted in that quiet, pleased way that said she was already imagining the future—one where he and Sa’nari stood together, mated under the eyes of Eywa, strong leaders for the Omatikaya.

Neteyam turned his head away sharply, the muscles in his jaw tightening. He didn’t want to see that look. Not when it wasn’t meant for the life he wanted. They reached the slope where the healers’ supplies were sorted, and Sa’nari slowed, finally turning to face him. She reached out carefully, taking the heavy basket from him with a small, grateful nod. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For today.”

Neteyam managed a small, genuine smile. “You didn’t really need guarding.”

“No,” she agreed easily, adjusting the basket against her hip. “But it was still... better. Having someone there.”

He inclined his head slightly. At least, he thought privately, she hadn’t been as pushy as K’shi. Sa’nari had let the day breathe. Let the spaces between words stretch comfortably. That counted for something. He turned to go, but her next words stopped him.

“I’m grateful you walked with me,” she said, her voice lower now, almost hesitant. “Even though your heart is already... elsewhere.”

Neteyam froze, blinking once. He almost did a double take—almost stumbled.

He turned slowly to look at her. Sa’nari only smiled up at him, shy but calm. No accusation. No anger. Just a quiet understanding. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Neteyam,” she said with a soft chuckle, her eyes bright with kindness. “Whoever she is… she must be very special.”

He swallowed thickly, unsure what to say. His hand twitched at his side, almost reaching instinctively for the small stone still tucked safely in his pouch.

Sa’nari’s smile softened further, and she stepped past him, the basket swinging gently at her side. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said lightly over her shoulder. “It’s not my story to tell.”

Neteyam watched her go for a moment—watched the way she disappeared into the crowd gathering near the healers’ tents—before finally exhaling.

The knot in his chest loosened just a fraction. She understood. More than he had given her credit for.

And even though the path laid out for him still felt impossibly narrow, impossibly sharp, at least there was someone else who knew he was already walking another one. Quietly. Stubbornly. Truly.

For you. Always for you.

Neteyam turned away from the gathering crowd, slipping quietly back toward the edges of the village, where the trees grew thick and the sky opened wide.

Tonight, he would find you. Tonight, he would slip through the outpost’s barriers, find the light in your window. And maybe—maybe—he could hold you again and remember that, no matter what the world tried to make of him, he was still yours. Yours first.

Yours always.

Later that night, after the suns dipped low beyond the treeline and the village fires began to burn soft and golden, Neteyam found Lo’ak lingering near the kelku.

He moved quickly, keeping his voice low. "If anyone asks," he said, tightening the strap on his bow, "tell them I'm on patrol."

Lo’ak turned, catching the tone immediately. “To her?” he asked, a sly grin tugging at his mouth.

Neteyam gave him a sidelong glance but didn’t deny it. “If anyone asks, I’m on patrol.”

Lo’ak rolled his eyes, but there was understanding in them. “They always ask. Especially Mom.”

“Then lie better,” Neteyam muttered.

Lo’ak sighed, raising his hands. “Fine. You’re deep in the southern trail. Dangerous patrol. Very heroic.” Lo’ak smirked, flicking a pebble into the ring. “You’re getting worse at sneaking out, you know.”

Neteyam just raised a brow. “You gonna rat me out?”

“Please. I’ll say you were wrestling a palulukan bare-handed if it helps,” Lo’ak grinned. “Tell her I said hi. And not to throw you out if you fall asleep mid-sentence again.”

Neteyam rolled his eyes but gave him a quiet, grateful nod. “Irayo.”

He turned and made his way to the high perch just beyond the village, where the ikran rested. His bonded mount, Tawkami, raised his head the moment he approached, eyes bright with recognition. He let out a sharp, echoing chirp, already rising to his feet and shaking out his wings. Neteyam reached up to press his forehead against his, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. “You can feel it too, can’t you?”

He warbled low, nuzzling against him with excitement. The bond snapped into place with ease, tsaheylu weaving their thoughts together. Tawkami’s wings lifted with anticipation.

They launched into the sky together, slicing through the rising winds. The world stretched beneath them in darkness and silver moonlight, but Neteyam’s heart was steady. He knew exactly where he was going. The anticipation of seeing you again, of slipping into the quiet safety of your light and your laugh, filled him with something electric.

He hadn’t seen you in almost two days. And even though that wasn’t unusual for you—especially during sample analysis—it had still gnawed at him all day. He needed to see you. Hear your voice.

But when he reached the outpost, it was not the calm haven he had imagined. As the outpost came into view—a small glint of artificial light tucked between the trees—he felt the anticipation swell. Tawkami descended in a tight spiral, and Neteyam leaned into her rhythm, expecting quiet. Calm. Maybe your soft humming from inside the lab tent.

But something was wrong. The outpost wasn’t silent. It wasn’t calm.

The floodlamps along the wall were on, buzzing faintly in the humidity. The front gate was open, the interior glow flickering through the plastic panels of the lab’s main structure. But more than that—Neteyam’s eyes narrowed as he landed beside the Samson.

Its engine was still warm. Freshly used.

He ran a hand along the metal, frowning. That ship had returned with the xenobotany team just yesterday. If they were testing samples, they wouldn’t be flying again. They had protocols. Safety rules.

Why had it been used?

He dismounted in one swift motion, his instincts sharpening as his boots touched the packed soil. Tawkami shifted behind him, feathers twitching as she sensed his tension. Neteyam stepped into the main yard—and that’s when he saw them.

Norm. Max. Brian. Kate. And few other scientist whose names he didn't bother to remember.

All in full field gear—vests, boots, packs still strapped across their backs. They stood around one of the large plant containers near the far wall, a datapad held between them, its screen glowing faintly with a map.

A map of the mining zone. They didn’t look up right away. But Neteyam saw their faces—drawn tight with stress, eyes shadowed, clothes rumpled like they hadn’t slept in two days.

And she was nowhere. His chest went still. Cold. At first he thought—maybe she’s inside. Maybe she's working late again. Maybe— But then Max turned. Saw him.

And froze.

That look.

Neteyam knew it instantly. Something happened. He took three steps forward, voice low but hard. “Where is she?”

Norm looked up then, his face pale, jaw tight. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out for a beat. Neteyam’s heart thundered in his chest. “Where is she?” he demanded again, louder now.

Norm exchanged a glance with Max. Kate stepped back slightly, rubbing at her brow. Brian whispered something under his breath. Something that sounded like “shit.”

Neteyam’s stomach dropped. “She’s inside… is she?” he said, even though he already knew the answer.

No one spoke. Not yet. The only sound was the quiet hum of the datapad and the soft, electric whine of tension rising in his blood. Then Max finally stepped forward, slowly. “Neteyam,” he said, voice low, careful. “We need to talk.”

The world tilted. Cold and sharp. And Neteyam already knew:You were gone. And he had no idea where.

Kate was the first to break the silence. “You should’ve come earlier!” she snapped, voice sharp with frustration and something deeper—fear, maybe. “Maybe then we could’ve found her!”

Neteyam’s eyes snapped to her. “What?”

But Kate didn’t stop. Her words tumbled out too fast, like she’d been holding them in for hours. “We waited too long. We split up twice. The ridge was already washed out by the time we circled back, and then we couldn’t pick up any signal—not from her tag, not from the datapad. That fucking flux vortex… If you were here—if you’d just come earlier—”

“What do you mean find her?” Neteyam asked, the word catching in his throat. His voice was low, dangerous, but laced with disbelief. “Why would you need to find her?”

His breath was shallow now. In his mind, up until this moment, you were safe. You were in the outpost. You were maybe inside the lab, maybe reading, maybe sketching those new plant samples you found. You were waiting for him.

But the way they looked at him told him otherwise. He turned to Norm, needing to hear something—anything—different.

The man had known him since he was a baby. He’d patched his wounds, watched him take his first steps, taught him human words when Jake had refused. He had never looked at Neteyam with fear.

Until now. His lips parted. “Neteyam…” Norm said gently, like one might speak to a wounded animal. “She disappeared.”

The words didn’t land at first. Didn’t make sense.

“Disappeared?” Neteyam echoed, the syllables dull and foreign on his tongue. “No. She’s not—she wouldn’t—she was supposed to be here.”

“She went missing yesterday,” Max said, quietly stepping in. „But it was already near eclipse, and the storm rolled in faster than expected. We stayed until we couldn’t see anymore. We searched for hours.”

“You left her?” Neteyam growled, his voice raw now, cracked wide open.

Max stepped forward, raising his hands. “We didn’t want to—Neteyam, listen. We stayed as long as we could. But visibility dropped to nothing, and the eclipse was setting in fast. The storm was—”

“You LEFT her!” Neteyam shouted now, taking a step toward them.

“We marked the area!” Brian snapped back, frustrated. “We left signal markers! We planned to return at first light!”

“And what did you find?” Neteyam hissed.

The silence that followed was the worst part. Nothing. No one looked at him. Max rubbed his temples. “The rain washed everything. No tracks. No trail. No broken brush. Her comm is dead. Or damaged. We don't know.”

Neteyam’s chest heaved. His breath burned in his lungs. You weren’t here. You haven't been here since yesterday. You were out there. In the forest. Near the old mining zone. You had been out there during the eclipse. Alone. During the storm. During the night. And he—he had spent that night thinking you were safe, warm, maybe curled up with your datapad and tea.

But now—now he remembered the dream. You, trembling, soaked, clinging to a high branch in a blackened forest, lightning flashing around you. He thought it was just guilt. A stupid dream. He wanted it to be just a dream. But now— Now it felt like truth. You were still out there. His mate. You were still out there. “I’m going after her.” His voice was low, guttural. He turned on his heel.

“No, Neteyam, wait,” Norm stepped in front of him. “It’s dangerous. There’s another storm rolling in tonight.”

“I don’t care.” His jaw clenched. “I’ll find her.”

“You can’t see anything out there in the dark,” Max said. “We can barely navigate that terrain in daylight, even with scanners.”

Neteyam was already moving toward Tawkami, who growled low as if sensing his rider’s boiling fury.

“Neteyam!” Kate shouted. “If you get lost too, what good does that do her?”

“I won’t get lost!” he snapped. “I know that forest. Better than any of you. I know the pit. I know how the water runs.”

“But you can’t help her if you’re dead,” Norm said firmly, stepping between him and the ikran. “You go out there now, in this storm, in the dark, we may lose both of you.”

Silence followed that. Tawkami hissed softly behind him, restless. His heart roared in his ears. His whole body was screaming to move. But Norm stood there like stone. Unmoving. Max beside him, rain starting to tap on the Samson’s hull. The others watched, hollow-eyed.

Neteyam's breath came hard. He hated it. Hated waiting. But some small part of him—buried under the panic—knew they were right. Still, he turned his back on them and walked several paces away, just far enough to breathe, to feel the air against his skin.

“She was alone,” he whispered, barely audible. “All night.” No one answered. The wind picked up again, as if the forest itself mourned with him. And in his heart, something curled—tight, angry, and aching. Because waiting might be wise. But every second was agony.

For a moment, there was only the sound of rain beginning to pick up again—slow, steady drops on the metal roof of the outpost. The tension in the air was thick, almost electric, like a storm itself was standing in the room with them.

Then, from behind the group, a quiet voice broke through. “She didn’t have anything with her,” Raj said. His voice was small, almost hesitant. Neteyam turned slowly. His stare locked onto Raj’s like a spear thrown mid-flight. “Just… just her satchel. And a field knife. That’s it.” His voice cracked. “We thought… in the morning, with the storm and all—”

Kate hissed, “Raj, shut up—”

But it was too late. The words had already landed like knives in Neteyam’s chest. His vision tunneled. He stepped toward Raj slowly, his entire frame radiating something primal. The heat of fury rolled off him like smoke, barely contained. The others tensed as his shadow fell over the smaller man. “You thought you’d find her corpse?” Neteyam repeated, voice deathly calm.

Raj paled. Kate whipped around to stare at Raj. “You fucking idiot! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Raj flinched, clutching his side. “I didn’t mean—I was just saying—”

Neteyam was already walking toward them. His face was unreadable, but the way he moved—deliberate, quiet—set the hairs on Max’s arms on end. His eyes locked on Raj, dark and wild like a brewing storm. “Say one more thing,” Neteyam said lowly, his voice like thunder before the strike. “Say one more word that implies she’s dead.”

Raj swallowed, suddenly very aware that Neteyam, standing tall and furious, was ten feet of trained warrior who could break him in half without even trying. “You thought you’d find her body?” His voice was so quiet it was nearly a growl. “So you left her out there. You left her—with nothing but a knife—while the storm was coming.”

Max tried to step in, his hands raised. “Neteyam, listen, we—”

“No,” he snapped. “You listen. If anything happens to her—” he jabbed a finger at the group, his chest rising and falling with fury “—if she’s hurt, or worse, because you left her out there… I will make every single one of you regret the day you set foot in our forest.”

His voice dipped lower, deadly calm.

“I’ll burn this outpost to the ground. I’ll drag each of you into the forest and leave you to survive with just a knife. I don’t care what deal my father made. I don’t care about your research. If she dies—your lives mean nothing to me.”

The group fell silent. Pale.

“You think you’re here because Eywa allows it?” Neteyam’s voice rose like thunder, snapping around them like a whip. “You live in our forest because my People lets you. Because we chose to trust you.”

He pointed sharply toward the map still glowing on the datapad. “You call yourselves scientists, protectors of life—but you left one of your own behind.”

Even Norm took a step back, his hands half-raised, trying to de-escalate. “Neteyam, I get it—she’s important to you,” he said carefully. “But threatening us won’t help her.”

Neteyam bared his teeth—not in a snarl, but something close, his tail lashing behind him. “You think this is me losing control? You haven’t seen what happens if I do.”

Raj looked like he wanted to disappear. Brian wouldn't even meet his eyes.

“We did what we could,” Max insisted, voice tense. “We stayed as long as we could. We waited as long as we—”

“You’ve done nothing!” he shouted.

The air went dead quiet. Even the machines around them felt silent.

Neteyam loomed over them, muscles tight, his chest rising and falling like a warrior before battle. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Couldn’t. The only image in his head was you—cold, trembling, bleeding maybe, hiding from viperwolves or worse. Maybe still curled on a high branch, like in his dream. Maybe already—

No.

No.

“You think scanning empty ground and waiting till morning counts as doing something?” Neteyam hissed. “She’s not a sample. She’s not data. She’s my mate.”

The silence that followed was stunned. Max’s mouth parted slightly. Brian swallowed hard. Even Kate looked like she’d been slapped. Norm’s expression changed. Not surprise—but realization. Quiet and heavy. Finally, without another word, Neteyam turned, storming toward Tawkami.

“Where are you going?!” Kate called after him, but he didn’t answer.

Tawkami crouched low at the signal, sensing his rider’s fury like a second skin. As soon as Neteyam swung into the saddle, the ikran launched upward in a burst of wings and wind, scattering dust and fear in every direction.

The outpost vanished beneath him like a bad dream. But the fire stayed. The forest was vast, and yes—he could search alone. He would search alone. All night if he had to. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He needed help. Real help. His family.

Kiri could hear through the forest better than anyone he knew. And Lo’ak—Lo’ak would fly through a hurricane if he thought it would help Neteyam find her. He tightened his grip on the harness, heart hammering.

The woven walls of the kelku were bathed in a flickering gold from the fire pit outside, but Neteyam didn’t feel the warmth. His steps were sharp, restless, pacing tight lines across the floor as he moved back and forth between his storage chest and the saddle pack laid out on the mat.

Bow. Quiver. Rope. Flint knife. Water skin. Another blade strapped across his lower back.  Everything he could possibly need—and none of it would be enough. He dropped a folded tarp into the pack and buckled it shut just as the flap at the entrance rustled open.

Footsteps sounded behind him—quick and uneven. Lo’ak. “Bro, I thought you’d be back at dawn,” he said, pushing aside the kelku’s curtain with a lazy grin. “What, she kick you out this time or—”

He stopped dead when he saw Neteyam’s face. The smile fell off his mouth instantly. Neteyam didn’t even look up. Just secured the pack with a tight pull and dropped it near the door. “She’s not at the outpost,” he said, voice hollow and flat.

Lo’ak’s brows pulled together. “Wait—what?”

Neteyam finally turned, his eyes sharp, glowing like coals beneath the low firelight. “She went missing yesterday. During the field run.” His jaw flexed. “They lost her. Eclipse was setting in. Storm was rolling. They left her.”

Lo’ak’s eyes widened, disbelief etched into every line of his face. “What do you mean, left her?”

“I mean she never came back. And they abandoned the search after dark.”

Lo’ak stared at him, stunned—then his hands curled into fists. “Eywa…” he muttered. “And you didn’t kill them?”

“Not yet.”

Lo’ak looked at the pack, then at Neteyam’s gear. His brother. Always calm. Always in control. But now? He looked like a blade waiting to snap. “Who else knows?” Lo’ak asked.

“No one,” Neteyam said. “Not yet. And I want to keep it that way—for now.” He stepped forward, grip tightening on his bow.

Lo’ak stood frozen for half a second—then swore under his breath and stepped inside. “Eywa. Are you—shit. That’s why you’re back. You wanna go after her.”

Neteyam nodded once. “I need someone I can trust with this.” He grabbed the pack again and slung it over his shoulder. “Where’s Kiri?”

Lo’ak didn’t hesitate. “Still in the healer’s tent. She was helping Grandmother with the vision sap harvest.”

“Good. Get her.” Neteyam glanced up sharply. “We need her. You know how she hears things—how she feels things. She’ll help us track.”

“When do we tell Dad?” he asked after a moment.

“Not yet,” Neteyam said. “Not unless we have to.”

Lo’ak didn’t argue. He knew what it meant—for their father to find out. For their mother. “I’ll get Kiri,” he said quietly, then turned toward the door. Just before he stepped out, he paused, looking back. “We’ll find her,” he said firmly. “We’re not letting the forest take her.”

Neteyam didn’t answer—he just nodded once, eyes burning. Because she wasn’t gone. Not yet. And he would tear through the jungle with his bare hands to bring her home.

The storm had returned with a vengeance.

Wind howled through the trees outside the kelku, rattling the woven walls like angry spirits. Rain lashed the leaves in sheets, the forest moaning under the weight of wind and water. Thunder cracked above like a whip, and still Neteyam stood near the doorway, his pack at his feet, ready to run into it.

He was shaking. Not from fear—but from the raw, unbearable need to move. Then the curtain pulled back again.

Lo’ak stepped in first, face grim, and right behind him came Kiri, her braids still damp from the rain. She stopped when she saw Neteyam—really saw him—and her expression faltered.

Her eyes were wide the moment she entered, searching the space for something—anything—that might change the words her brother had just spoken. But all she saw was Neteyam, fully armed, jaw clenched, chest heaving like he hadn’t stopped since the second he landed. “She’s gone?” Kiri whispered, her voice cracking.

Neteyam didn’t answer at first. Kiri already knew. Lo’ak had told her everything. Kiri crossed the floor quickly, rain dripping from her braids, and stopped in front of him. Her hands were trembling, but she was trying to keep it in—trying to be calm. Trying to be steady. “She’s one of us,” she said, barely above a whisper. “She’s my friend too. Don’t shut me out.”

Neteyam closed his eyes briefly, nodding. “I’m not.” He opened them again, looking at her with raw, carved honesty. “I need someone I can trust with this. That’s why you’re here.”

Kiri walked further in, standing beside Lo’ak. “What are we doing?” Kiri nodded once, lips pressed tight.

Neteyam didn’t hesitate. “We find her.”

“Without telling them?” she asked, but it wasn’t judgment—just clarification.

He nodded. “If Mother and Father find out… they’ll demand answers. They’ll ask why I’m ready to tear apart the forest for a human girl. We don’t have time for that.”

Lo’ak gave a tired snort from near the door. “You say that like she won’t smell the panic coming off you tomorrow.”

Neteyam shot him a look. “Then we don’t give her time to. We’re out before sunrise.”

Kiri’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing more. She understood. They all did. Neteyam’s jaw clenched again. He didn’t answer. Kiri rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to stop the shiver that crept through her. She moved to sit beside the fire pit, staring into the flames, letting the silence stretch until she could breathe again.

Neteyam took a breath and moved toward the corner of the kelku where a small pile of scattered belongings rested. He crouched down and moved aside a folded cloth.

Lo’ak beat him to it—his fingers brushing against the cracked, black casing of a datapad half-buried beneath a pelt.

“Is this…?” he asked, holding it up.

Neteyam nodded once. “She left it here. A few weeks ago.”

Lo’ak sat on the floor, thumbing the cracked screen. “Still works.” He tapped a few controls, the screen flickering weakly to life.

Kiri leaned in. “She kept maps on it, didn’t she?”

“She kept everything on it,” Neteyam said, unable to help the faint smile that ghosted his mouth for a second and then turned back to Kiri.

Lo’ak tapped the screen, and it flickered to life, dull and sputtering—but functional enough. The blue-white map display shimmered into view, blurry lines tracing the jungle in grainy detail.

Kiri stepped closer, kneeling near his pack. “We’ll need a plan. Not just charge out there and hope. She’s smart,” she finally said. “If she knew she was lost, she’d look for shelter first. Not run around like a fool.”

“She has nothing but her satchel and a knife,” Neteyam said. “But she’s not helpless. I taught her what to do. Where to hide.”

“So do I,” Kiri said. “I trained her. Every herb I know. Every sign in the trees. She’s not Na’vi, but she listens better than most of us.”

“She’s smart,” Kiri said, voice tense. “She wouldn’t just wander aimlessly. She wouldn’t panic. Not after everything we taught her.”

Neteyam looked at her. “So where would she go?”

Kiri’s eyes narrowed, thoughtful now. “If she realized she was being left behind… she’d go high. Somewhere dry. She wouldn’t risk the waterline in a storm.”

“I know.” Neteyam crouched beside her. “We start at the mining zone. She was lost somewhere near the old ridge—right where the western shelf starts to collapse into the basin.”

“She’s smart,” he said. “If she got turned around, she’d know better than to stay near the pit. Too exposed. She’d move.”

“To where?” Kiri asked, kneeling beside him.

“Would she go east?” Lo’ak asked. “Toward the outpost?”

“She’d try,” Neteyam said. “She’d want to get back. But not in a straight line—not without direction. Not without light.”

Lo’ak crouched beside Kiri, turning the tablet so she could see. “There,” he pointed. “The pit. And the outpost. She’s somewhere in between.”

Kiri leaned in, her eyes scanning the terrain. “You think she’d try to go east?”

“But even if she did,” Lo’ak said, voice hesitant, “she’d have to stay hidden all night. Through a storm. She must��ve been so scared…”

Neteyam looked away. He didn’t need to imagine it. He dreamed it.

“She’s smart,” Kiri added. “But that’s still days of walking. Through unfamiliar terrain. Alone. It’s full of palulukans out there. Lanay’kas too.”

“But look,” Lo’ak pointed. “These creeks—there’s a few between the pit and the outpost. If she found one, maybe she followed it. Water leads somewhere.”

“We’ll need more hunters,” Kiri said finally. “Even just two. If we split the area, we’ll cover more ground.”

“No,” Neteyam said. “Not yet. I don’t want anyone else involved. Not unless we have to.”

Kiri glanced at him, eyes sharp. “Neteyam—”

“She’s mine,” he said quietly. “They wouldn’t understand. I won’t let her name be whispered through the clan like a curse.”

Lo’ak looked at him, the weight of that word—mine—settling deep between them.

Kiri exhaled. “Fine. Then we do this ourselves.” Neteyam nodded. “But not tonight.” He looked up sharply. “You know we won’t find anything in this storm,” Kiri said gently. “It’ll bury any trail she left behind. If we go now, we’ll waste energy. We’ll miss signs.”

Neteyam hesitated. Every instinct in his body screamed go. Every heartbeat was a drum pounding now, now, now. But he also knew Kiri was right. She always was. He dropped the charcoal and let his hands rest on the mat.

“You need to rest,” Kiri said. “Both of you. We’ll go at first light.”

Lo’ak sighed. “She’s right, bro.”

Neteyam sat down hard on the edge of his mat, burying his face in his hands. The rain thudded against the kelku like a war drum. His heart beat in time with it—furious, aching.

“Get some rest,” she added. “You need to be strong. For her.”

He didn’t argue. No one spoke for a long moment. He just stared at the storm outside, praying—begging—that you were out there, still fighting. That somewhere under all that rain, you were waiting for him to find you. And he would. No matter how long it took.

The night held no peace.

Outside the kelku, the storm raged—rain battering the woven walls like distant drums, thunder rolling across the canopy in great, groaning waves. Inside, Neteyam sat still for hours, legs crossed near the entrance, unmoving, listening to the wind and the rise and fall of his own breath.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged him down. He didn’t remember closing his eyes. But he dreamed. Again.

He found himself in a clearing. It wasn’t like before. Not rain-soaked branches or shadows full of teeth. This time, it was quiet. Too quiet.

The air was soft and heavy, the storm strangely absent here. Everything was quiet—too quiet. No insects. No rustling leaves. Just the sound of creaking metal and the slow moan of something swaying in the wind.

Between the trees, a Samson hung broken from the high branches. Its tail section was caught on a twisted trunk, the body dangling at an awkward angle—like a forgotten toy. The wind stirred it gently, letting it creak and swing in slow arcs. Half the cockpit window was cracked. Panels torn away. The metal gleamed wet and sharp.

And in the grass below it— You.

You sat curled on the damp moss, your knees drawn in, your satchel spilled to one side. Your hair was a tangled mess, stuck to your cheeks and brow. And your hand—your small, shaking hand—was cradled in your lap, slick with blood. A deep, angry slice carved across your palm, oozing fresh and vivid.

You were crying. The sound hit him like a spear to the chest—soft, trembling sobs, the kind he’d never heard from you before. Not in the labs. Not in the field. Not even in your worst moments.

He stepped forward slowly, his feet soundless on the moss. Your head jerked up. And when you saw him—saw Neteyam—you didn’t speak right away. Your lower lip wobbled, and you blinked hard, trying to clear the tears.

Then you reached out toward him. You showed your hand to him like a child might, small fingers shaking, your palm smeared with blood. A jagged cut sliced from the base of your thumb to the edge of your hand, the skin torn and pulsing.

“It hurts, Neteyam,” you whispered. Your voice was soft. Broken. Like a child. He dropped to his knees in front of you, reaching for your wounded hand, cupping it gently in both of his. You winced. “I climbed… I thought maybe I could reach the comm system,” you whispered, not meeting his eyes. “There was a shard of metal—I didn’t see it until…”

You trailed off. He gently turned your hand over in his, examining the wound. Deep, but not fatal. Not if it was cleaned. Not if it didn’t get infected. But the way your fingers curled inward told him you were in pain. Real pain.

And not just physical. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He looked up sharply. “For what?”

You shook your head, tears spilling over your lashes. “For being scared.”

He froze. You never said that. Not in the field, not in the labs, not even when he warned you of creatures in the trees. You’d always smiled and said you’d be fine. “You’re here, aren’t you?” you’d say, like that was all you needed.

But here, now, you were trembling in front of him. And you couldn’t look him in the eye. Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “Stop.”

“I just—” you exhaled shakily, still not looking at him. “You’re a warrior. You wouldn’t be afraid if you were alone like this. You wouldn’t cry.”

He gently tilted your chin up with two fingers. “Don’t say that.”

“I don’t want to die out here,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Not alone.”

Neteyam felt his whole chest collapse inward at the sound. You finally looked up at him. And your eyes—those bright, curious, maddening eyes—were rimmed with red, filled with something raw and terrifying. “I want to see you one more time,” you said, barely audible. “Even just for a minute.”

His hands slid to your face, cupping your cheeks with infinite care. “You will,” he said fiercely. “You’ll see me again. I promise.”

“But what if I don’t—”

“You will.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “You will, yawne. You hold on.”

You nodded, tiny, trembling. And then—

He woke. His breath left him in a sharp gasp as he sat up straight, drenched in sweat, the woven mat beneath him cool from the night air. The storm had passed sometime before dawn. His heart still thundered in his chest.

Outside, the sky was turning faintly gray.

First light.

Neteyam ran a hand down his face, dragging air into his lungs as if it might slow the pounding. He looked around, the kelku still and quiet, Lo’ak and Kiri probably preparing already, waiting. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at his trembling hands.

What was that?

A dream. Just a dream. But it hadn’t felt like one. It felt too sharp. Too vivid. He could still feel the warmth of your blood on his fingers. Still hear your voice in his ears. He clenched his jaw. His mind was playing tricks on him. It had to be. Showing him things—fears, nothing more. You were smart.You knew how to survive. You would survive.

And they would find you. He stood, shoulders squaring as he reached for his bow and strapped on the pack.

The morning brought a break—just enough light to fly under—but the forest was soaked, the canopy still weeping. Everything beneath the trees was washed clean. Or, at least, clean enough to make tracking impossible.

They flew out before the sun fully crested the ridgeline, a trio of silent shadows on their ikran: Neteyam, Lo’ak, and Kiri. No one else. No word to their parents. Not yet. Neteyam wouldn’t allow it. He couldn’t take the weight of Neytiri’s disapproval—not when every second was a scream echoing through his bones.

They swept past the cliffs in tight formation, their path following the old scar of the mining pit—a stretch of land long since swallowed by vines and forest, but still raw beneath the surface. The ghosts of what had been done there still lingered, in broken stone and blackened soil. Neteyam hated this place. And now it hated him back, swallowing the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose.

They searched for hours.

Kiri guided them in long, looping arcs, dipping down every time she felt something—movement, a wrongness, even the softest disruption in the silence. Lo’ak stayed close to Neteyam, knowing better than to let him veer off on his own. Not now. Not when he was wound so tight he looked ready to snap his bow over his own knee.

Neteyam didn’t speak much.

Every few minutes he’d dive low, scanning the mud for a boot print, a scuff, a sign. But the rain had done its work. Nothing remained. Every root was clean. Every patch of soil was untouched. The forest was too quiet. As if it was hiding something.

By midday, they regrouped at a narrow ridge above the northern basin. Lo’ak circled overhead once before landing beside his brother. “Nothing,” he said, breathless, frustrated. “Not even a broken leaf.”

Kiri landed just behind them, her braid plastered to her neck with sweat. Her face was pale. Tired. “It’s like she vanished,” she said softly.

“She didn’t vanish,” Neteyam growled, pacing along the edge. His steps were sharp, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. “She didn’t just disappear.”

“Bro…” Lo’ak tried gently. “The storm—”

“I don’t care about the storm,” Neteyam snapped, turning sharply. “She had to go somewhere. She’s not stupid.”

Kiri approached carefully, her voice even. “And maybe she went west. Or south. Or climbed high to stay out of the water.”

“You saw the map,” Neteyam said, voice low and fierce. “There’s no shelter past this point. No caves. No high ridge that would hold her weight in that storm.”

Lo’ak glanced toward the trees. “Then maybe she backtracked.”

“We would’ve seen it.”

“Maybe not,” Kiri said. “Maybe she covered her trail. Or maybe Eywa covered it for her.”

Neteyam’s jaw worked, his fists clenched at his sides. “Or maybe she’s lying out there somewhere dying, and we’re here talking about maybes.”

That was the first moment they saw it—really saw it. The crack starting to form. Neteyam had held himself together through everything—through duty, through pressure, through the endless push and pull between his family and his own secret love. But now? Now he looked like a cliff edge after the rain. One more tremor, and it would all fall.

“Neteyam,” Kiri said softly, stepping forward. “Please.”

He didn’t move. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “We need to go back. Just for tonight.”

“No.”

“Neteyam—”

“No,” he snapped again, but this time his voice cracked at the edges.

Lo’ak stepped in next, placing a hand on his other shoulder. “We’ll come back. At sunrise. Just like now. But you have to rest.”

“I can’t rest.”

“Then fake it,” Lo’ak said, eyes sharp. “Because if you collapse out here, we’ll be dragging both of you back to the village.”

Neteyam hesitated—but his legs trembled just enough to give him away.

Kiri tightened her grip. “She’s alive,” she whispered. “I know it. Eywa hasn’t taken her. I would feel it.”

Neteyam turned toward her then, finally, his eyes wide and hollow. “What if I can’t? What if we’re too late?”

“You won’t be,” Kiri said. “Because we’re going to find her. Together.”

Neteyam stood there, trembling, for a moment longer. Then finally—finally—he let his shoulders fall. “Fine,” he whispered. “But we leave again at dawn.” They left in silence. The rain had started again, light but steady, soaking through their clothing as they mounted their ikran and soared back into the grey.

It felt like defeat. But it was survival. Just barely.

Day Four

They left again before dawn. This time, the light was clearer. The storm had finally passed in the night, leaving the air cleaner, cooler. The sun broke through the canopy in soft gold streaks as they returned to the last known location, the wind carrying birdsong and the scent of wet bark.

And it was Neteyam who saw it first. They were passing the northeastern edge of the basin, gliding above a ridge when something below snagged in his vision—a shape, tall and gnarled, rising from the slope near the ravine.

A tree. But not just any tree.

It stood out from the others—its bark weathered and dark, limbs twisted like old hands. One of its roots had grown high over a rocky outcrop, forming a natural hollow. Shelter. High enough to escape floodwaters. Thick enough to shield from rain.

He nearly dropped from his saddle. Lo’ak and Kiri followed without question, their ikrans diving after him. They landed on the ridge beside the tree, and Neteyam was off his ikran before her talons touched the earth. He ran straight to the trunk, sliding to his knees beside the hollow.

It was there. Neteyam didn’t answer at first. He just stared. There, halfway up a steep, moss-covered rise, was a tree.

A thick-barked colossus with roots that rose like spires around its base, and a hollow carved into the trunk high above—just large enough to shelter a body. Neteyam’s heart slammed against his ribs. “That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s the one.”

Lo’ak frowned. “What?”

“I saw this tree,” Neteyam said, already dismounting. He stepped through the mud, pushing toward the roots. “In my dream. The night she vanished. I saw her—shivering—in the hollow. And there were viperwolves circling the base.”

Kiri followed fast behind, her voice cautious. “Are you sure?”

“I remember the shape of the branches. The tilt of the roots. The way the light cut through here—” He pointed to the canopy above. “It’s the same.”

Lo’ak followed, brow furrowed. “You think it was Eywa? A vision?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. He was already climbing. The roots were slick but solid. He hoisted himself up with quiet, practiced movements, and when he reached the hollow—

He went still. Inside, the tree was dark, lined with old nesting leaves and bark. But near the back, half-buried under a clump of moss, was a shape.

His hand trembled as he reached for it. A single white button. Round. Stretched along the edge. It was from the shirt you wore the morning you left. He remembered the way it sat just beneath your collarbone. You’d complained the buttons were old. He’d joked that he’d just rip them all off next time. Now it lay in his hand.

“Neteyam?” Kiri called from below.

He turned slowly, clutching the button so tight it nearly cracked in his palm. “She was here,” he said, voice hoarse. “She was alive. She made it through the storm. She climbed up here to escape.”

Kiri and Lo’ak stared up at him, eyes wide. “And the wolves?” Lo’ak asked.

“No blood,” Neteyam said. “No bones. No torn cloth. She wasn’t attacked.” He dropped to the ground in two swift motions, landing hard.

“She survived. And she moved on.”

Kiri’s eyes narrowed. “That hollow’s old. She might’ve only stayed a night.”

“But she was alive when she did,” Neteyam said, voice full of urgency now. “We’re close.”

Lo’ak looked around. “So what now?”

“We switch tactics,” Neteyam said, breathing fast. “We stop flying. From now on, we track on foot. She’s not in the trees. She’s moving through the ground. We need to see the forest the way she would.”

Kiri nodded. “Pa’li, then. No ikran. Ground only.”

“She’s not far,” Neteyam whispered, clutching the button like a lifeline. “She’s not far. And she’s still alive.” And this time, he was sure. The forest hadn't taken you yet. And he would find you. Even if it took every step, every hour, every last piece of himself to do it. He would bring you home.

The kelku was quiet, lit only by the flickering fire pit. The smoke curled lazily toward the open vents in the roof, but Neteyam barely noticed. He sat cross-legged on the edge of his sleeping mat, spine rigid, head bowed. The white button lay in the center of his palm, resting there like a fragment of bone. Small. Insignificant.

And yet it felt like it weighed more than stone. It was the only thing he had from you since you vanished into the forest. The only proof that you were still out there. That you hadn’t just… disappeared. He turned it over slowly between his fingers, rubbing the edge with his thumb.

Now it was the only thing he had. Not your laugh. Not your touch. Not the way you’d wrinkle your nose when you concentrate too hard or hum that one off-key Terran tune you swore was “meditative.”

Just… this. A button. The first sign you had survived that storm. That you had made it through one more night alone, in a world that wasn’t made for you.

His eyes drifted down to the half-carved neckpiece at the side of the pelt. The one he’d started for you, the one he couldn’t finish because the day he picked up the stone was the day you went missing. He reached toward it, slowly, running one hand over the notched bone beads already strung. The river-hanger vine rested beside it, partially braided, the iridescent stone glinting faintly under the firelight. It should’ve been done by now. Should’ve been around your neck, warm against your skin, fingers brushing it every time you laughed.

Instead it lay unfinished. Empty. He leaned forward, pressing his palms into his eyes, breathing slow, deep, strained.

He couldn’t lose you.

He should finish it. That was the plan. When you came home, he’d give it to you, watch the way your cheeks flushed and your fingers fidgeted, and you'd mumble something about how you didn’t deserve something so pretty.

Couldn’t let that dream become a prophecy—the one where he’d seen you sitting in the tall grass under a low-hanging Samson, blood dripping from your hand like petals. He hadn’t told anyone about that one. Not even Kiri. Not when it felt so close. Too close.

But now…

He clenched the button tighter in his palm. Now he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get the chance. The fire cracked softly. Outside, a breeze stirred the trees. And then, without warning, the curtain at the entrance shifted. Neteyam’s shoulders tensed instantly. A tall shadow stepped in.

Jake.

His father.

He stood there in silence for a breath, just watching. Neteyam said nothing. Didn’t even try to hide the way he bristled. Jake’s eyes flicked once around the kelku. The gear piled neatly by the wall. The bones. The carving tools. And the half-finished pendant resting beside his son’s pelt.

His gaze narrowed. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said finally.

Neteyam didn’t move. “You found me.”

Jake stepped inside, brow furrowed. “You’ve been gone every day since the last hunt. Always out before dawn. Always coming back after dark. And your siblings are with you.”

Neteyam didn’t answer. His fingers twitched around the button.

Jake took a breath. “You’re going back to the clearing, aren’t you?” he said, tone low. “Where we saw the assault ship. You think there’s movement there.”

Neteyam’s head snapped up. “No.”

Jake raised a brow. “Don’t lie to me, boy.”

“I’m not,” he said sharply. “You want to talk about recon? Ask anybody elsei. I’m not wasting time going back there.”

Jake crossed his arms, watching him. “Then what are you doing?”

Neteyam’s jaw clenched.

“You don’t answer to no one now?” Jake asked, stepping forward. “You disappear for days at a time. Avoid your mother. Duck out of every gathering. Refuse every invitation to meet with Sa’nari. You don’t even look at K’shi anymore. Your mother says you haven’t shown interest in anyone.”

Neteyam laughed, bitter and low. “I wonder why.”

Jake’s brows lifted.

“I’m out there,” Neteyam said, rising slowly to his feet, “doing what you raised me to do. Surviving. Working. Leading. And suddenly, you’re interested in my love life?”

Jake didn’t flinch. “I’m interested in what you’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

Jake’s eyes flicked again to the pendant beside the pelt. “What’s this?” he asked, reaching out.

Neteyam was on his feet in an instant. “Don’t touch it.”

Jake looked up, startled. Neteyam’s face was drawn tight, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. “Is it for Sa’nari?” Jake asked carefully.

“I’m not telling you.”

Jake’s expression darkened. “That’s not how this works.”

“Funny,” Neteyam said bitterly. “Because nothing about this has worked for me.”

Jake took a step forward. “Neteyam—”

“I’m doing what I have to do,” Neteyam said, voice low and tight. “I’m trying to do everything right. And still—it’s never enough. I’m either too stubborn, or too cold, or not enough like you.”

“That’s not true.”

“No?” Neteyam barked a laugh. “Because it sure as hell feels like it.”

Jake’s tone shifted, quieter now. “I get it. You think I don’t? I know what it’s like to carry too much. I became Olo’eyktan before I was ready. I led a war before I understood what leadership really meant. And every day after that, I had to prove I was good enough to stand in the place I’d taken.”

Neteyam’s breath hitched—but he didn’t speak.

“I know it’s hard,” Jake said. “I know it feels like you’re being crushed from every angle. Like you have to carry the future while everyone tells you how to live it. But you don’t get to shut me out when things get hard.”

Neteyam finally looked at him.

Neteyam’s throat worked. He wanted to scream it. That you were missing. That you were alone. That every breath he took without knowing where you were was agony. That he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t breathe without seeing your face somewhere in the trees. But if he said it—if he said your name—it would be over. He turned away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Jake’s voice dropped. “Try me.”

Neteyam froze. The silence stretched. Then finally—slowly—he turned his head just enough to speak over his shoulder. “There’s someone out there,” he said. “Someone who matters.”

Jake’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Neteyam didn’t elaborate. His eyes flicked to the pendant. The button. The fire.

Jake took a breath. “You’re scaring your mother.”

“I’m doing what you taught me to do,” Neteyam said coldly. “Protect what I care about. Even if it means breaking the rules.”

Jake stared at him for a long time. Then, finally, he stepped back toward the entrance. He paused at the curtain, one hand lifting it just slightly. “You’re keeping something from me, Neteyam. I know it.”

Neteyam didn’t look at him.

“I just hope,” Jake said quietly, “it’s not something that gets you killed.”

Then he was gone. The curtain swayed. Neteyam stood there for a long time and every breath felt like a countdown.

You were out there. And he was out of time.

The day was already thick with heat when they rode out.

The air clung to Neteyam’s skin like oil, humid and oppressive beneath the canopy. Their pa’li moved steadily over the forest floor, hooves squelching in soft earth, rain still dripping from swollen leaves. Kiri rode ahead, her eyes sweeping the ground. Lo’ak flanked behind, quiet for once.

Neteyam said nothing.

He hadn’t spoken since before dawn—not after another restless night spent staring at the unfinished neckpiece beside his mat. Not after his father’s visit. Not after pressing the white button to his lips and swearing he would not return without you.

They moved past a low stretch of reeds near the creek when Kiri reined in sharply. Her pa’li snorted. “Wait,” she murmured, swinging down. She knelt beside a clump of ferns, brushing her fingers through the damp leaves.

Neteyam dismounted fast, landing beside her. There, wedged under a moss-covered rock, was a shred of something pale. Kiri carefully pulled it out—a torn corner of paper, stained and softened by the rain.

Lo’ak squatted beside them. “Is that…?”

Neteyam grabbed it gently, turning it in his fingers. It was some kind of book—standard RDA stock, crumpled and torn, the ink smeared into illegibility. And stabbed through the center? A thorn. Clean. Deliberate.

“She marked it,” Neteyam whispered. He stood fast, scanning the trees—and then he saw another one. Farther ahead, tucked into the crook of a low branch: another scrap of paper. Pierced through and fluttering slightly in the breeze.

“She made a path,” Kiri said, eyes wide. “Eywa…”

Neteyam didn’t wait. He was already mounting. “Let’s go.”

They followed the path for half an hour—scraps hidden under stones, wedged behind bark, clinging to vines. Each one was like a heartbeat. A pulse. A whispered sign that she was still fighting. Still alive.

And then the trees opened. A clearing stretched before them—tall grass swaying in the midmorning light, golden-bright and deceptively peaceful. But it wasn’t the clearing that made Neteyam’s breath catch. It was the shape above it.

Suspended between the high trees, caught in a web of vines and roots and gravity’s slow mercy, hung a Samson gunship. Rusty. Broken. Twisted with age. Just like in his dream.

His pa’li halted with a soft grunt, sensing the shift in his rider’s pulse. Neteyam didn’t dismount. Couldn’t. He sat frozen, staring at the hanging craft like it had dropped out of his nightmares.

It was the exact same clearing. The exact same spot. The tall grass. The angle of the trees. This was where you had sat in his dream. This was where he’d seen you bleeding. “Eywa…” he whispered.

Behind him, Lo’ak was already moving, climbing up the low branches toward the side of the Samson. “I’ll check the cockpit,” he called.

Neteyam barely heard him. His vision swam. Please no. Please. Then, above him—

“Shit,” Lo’ak said. Neteyam’s head snapped up. And then the words came, sharp and terrible: “There’s a corpse up here.” It was more of a statement.

It was like getting shot in the chest. Everything inside Neteyam dropped. He was moving before he realized—bolting forward, leaping onto a twisted root, scrambling up the tangled vines as if his body no longer belonged to him.

He didn’t think. Didn’t breathe.

She’s gone. She’s gone. You were too late. You should’ve gotten here days ago.

His hands slipped on rusted metal, vines tearing under his grip. He hauled himself up over the edge of the broken ramp, eyes wild.

He was going to see you.

Dead.

Cold.

Eyes closed.

Face slack.

Gone.

The metal groaned beneath his weight as he pulled himself into the dark interior of the Samson—and stopped.

There, slumped in the pilot seat, was a corpse.

But not your corpse.

The uniform was faded tan. RDA insignia still barely visible on the shoulder.

The body was long decayed—just bones and sunken fabric, held together by rot and time. Probably had been here for twenty years, left behind after the war when this Samson crashed and never recovered.

Neteyam sagged forward, pressing one hand to the wall, breathing hard. He hadn’t realized how certain he was that it was you. How much he had already braced himself to see you—cold, broken, gone.

But it wasn’t you. It was some ghost of the past. A pilot who hadn’t made it out of the war. Neteyam didn’t respond right away. Instead, his eyes began to move across the interior.

The cockpit was rusted, yes—but solid. It had held together over the years. The control panels were useless, the wiring fried, but the frame was intact. It could have held weight. A person.

You.

He crouched lower, eyes scanning the corners, the dust-covered floor— And then he saw it. A helmet. Not the soldier’s.

An RDA exo-mask. Propped on its side in the corner, just beneath the pilot’s seat. Inside it… was liquid. Red-brown. Thick. His heart jumped. He reached for it, carefully, lifting it with both hands. The inside panel had been cleaned, smoothed out into a curve—used like a bowl.

First, he thought it was blood. His chest went cold. But then—he brought it to his nose. And stopped. Herbs.

Rulvansip.

Medicinal.

It smelled like the inside of Mo’at’s tent. It smelled like healing.

You have been here.

You used this.

You had treated a wound.

Just like the dream. A wound in her palm. He ran a shaking hand over the glass. “She was here,” he said hoarsely. “She stayed here. She used this.”

Kiri and Lo’ak looked up from below. “Then we’re still on her trail,” Lo’ak said. “Right?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. He just sat there, holding the mask, staring into that rusted cockpit, knowing that for one moment—one terrifying, beautiful moment—he was sitting exactly where you had once sat.

And it meant one thing.

You were still moving.

You were still fighting.

You were still alive.

The fire burned low, its glow soft and unsteady as it crackled in the center of the kelku. Shadows danced on the walls, flickering in slow waves across Neteyam’s face as he crouched near the hearth, unmoving, eyes locked on the flames. The broken screen of the old datapad lay between them, its display cracked and stuttering—sometimes showing the trail map, sometimes just static.

Lo’ak sat cross-legged, turning a dull knife slowly in his hands. Kiri leaned back on her palms, eyes scanning the glowing map projection as it flickered. They’d been going in circles for hours—marking paths, arguing possible turns, retracing your steps in their minds.

Maybe you’d doubled back. Maybe you had turned east again, toward the outpost, following the sun like Neteyam had taught you—head low, wound bleeding, stubborn and alive.

Lo’ak lay on his side nearby, one arm folded under his head, his voice hushed but tense. “We could backtrack to the outpost. If she was trying to follow the sun east, she might’ve tried to stay close to old trails. Even if she veered north, that whole quadrant’s easier to move through.”

Kiri nodded, sitting cross-legged near the fire, frowning in thought. “I’ve been thinking the same. She wouldn’t have gone north. Not with a wound. And the forest gets denser out there—steeper, more dangerous.”

Lo’ak added, “From the Samson to the outpost is not far. We can ride straight in from the creek basin. Be there by midday. But for her on foot…”

Neither of them looked at their brother. Because Neteyam hadn’t said a word in over an hour.

He crouched by the fire pit like a statue, shoulders taut, tail flicking in short, restless motions. His breath moved slow—too slow—and his eyes… weren’t really watching the flames. Not anymore. He was somewhere far deeper.

Inside.

Spiraling.

The heat licked his face, dry and too bright. But it was the only thing anchoring him now. I can’t breathe. He hadn’t breathed properly since the day you went missing. Not really.

For a year, you were just another human—just another voice in the outpost, tucked behind a datapad with dirt under your nails and stubbornness in your voice.

For two years after that… you were a strange ache in his chest. A curiosity. A spark. Someone who saw Pandora like it was made of wonder, not war.

Then you started saying his name like it mattered. In time, you stopped being a scientist to him. And then—somewhere in the quiet moments between shared glances and too-long conversations—you became something more. His distraction. His gravity.

His little star.

You burned so differently from his world—so strange and stubborn but gentle with every living thing. You weren’t Na’vi. You weren’t meant to belong. But you did.

To him.

In the last half year, since the first time you kissed him—messy, laughing, breathless—it had become unbearable to be apart. He’d never been meant for hiding, for secrets. But with you, he would hide forever if it meant keeping you. If it meant waking to your touch, even in silence. If it meant you were still his.

And now?—now you were gone.

He clenched his jaw, nails digging into the skin of his palms as he stared into the fire.

íYou have become part of him.

Every day they were apart since that first kiss had felt wrong. Empty. He needed you near him—needed your laugh, your warmth, your hand brushing his. He didn’t care that it had to be secret. Didn’t care that no one would understand. He needed you like breath. Now, all he had left was a trail of torn paper. An old dream. And the smell of herbs in a mask you’d used to heal yourself.

If I’ve already lost you…

He couldn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t let it live inside his head. His throat felt tight. His chest burned.

I can’t lose you. Not now. Not when you are finally mine.

He reached toward the flames without thinking—just close enough for the heat to bite his skin—and curled his fingers inward, as if grasping for something that wasn’t there. Kiri watched him, her voice faltering as she trailed off mid-sentence. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned forward.

“Neteyam,” she said gently. “You’re doing it again.” He didn’t blink. “You’re slipping,” she said, softer now. “You’re going too deep.”

Still nothing. Kiri moved toward him, settling beside his crouched form, her hand brushing his arm. “Neteyam,” she whispered. “Look at me.”

His breath came out as a shudder. Then, slowly, he turned toward her. “I need to find her,” he rasped. His voice cracked on the last word. Kiri nodded, her grip tightening. “I need her, Kiri. I can’t—I can’t lose her. Not when… not when she’s finally mine.”

It slipped out of him, barely above a whisper. And that’s when the curtain at the entrance rustled.

Neytiri stood in the doorway, framed in firelight. Her eyes were sharp. Her expression is unreadable. “What did you say?” she asked, voice like a drawn bowstring.

Neteyam froze.

Kiri went still beside him.

Lo’ak straightened slowly, the knife slipping from his hand with a dull thud against the floor.

Neytiri stepped further inside, eyes narrowed, locking onto her eldest son with slow precision. “Neteyam,” she said again. “Who is… ‘yours’?”

The fire snapped. The datapad flickered. And in the suffocating silence that followed, Neteyam didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Because everything—everything—was about to break.

And he didn’t know if he could stop it.

Part 24: To breath

The next part will be again from reader's pov.

[fatphobiabusters]

Hello. I’ve never sent a message on here before, although I’ve been following for awhile, but I was hoping I could vent a bit (anonymously, if possible. Thanks.). So I came across a disgusting YouTube video (channel name is Asmongold Clips so people can avoid it) where a guy mocked a fat airline passenger and joked about essentially locking fat people up in concentration camps to lose weight, all while using very dehumanizing language. Against my better judgment, I left a reply (my first-ever YouTube comment at that) since I didn’t come across anyone calling him out. I immediately got attacked for it, and while I’ve gained a lot more confidence in myself and my ability to handle offensive things ever since coming across blogs like this, it still bothered me. Probably doesn’t help that I’m also autistic as well as a minor and can’t process things like this very well. Not long after this, I also heard that leaving comments on any kind of YouTube video supposedly gives the channel money if it’s over a certain amount of words. I’m not positive if this is true, but it left me feeling guilty/worried. I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to see what your all’s thoughts are on this and if I handled it well, or if there are better ways of dealing with things like this. Thanks for listening, and sorry if it became a bit rambling. Also, know that I really appreciate this blog; it’s helped a lot.

____

Mod squirrel:

People in the youtube comments are uniquely out of pocket and Im not sure why. To be frank no one will listen if they want a fight. If you leave a comment you do it on the off chance someone else relates but not in hopes of changing minds. Ive actually disabled notifications for comment replies because I argue too much in YT comments. I try a one and done approach with comments and dont wait around or care if someone who can't even upload a pfp has to say.

All that said:

You aren't obligated to fight every battle. Its definitely a skill that has to be trained up. You can leave a dislike and move on. Like I said youtube doesn't work for changing minds in the comments. If you want to make comments look into disabling the notifications for replies, say your peace and not look back.

The money thing I have no idea. I thought everything was about views and retention time. Either way thats not your burden. You can try the dislike button instead (at a minimum this teachers the algorithm what you don't want to see giving you more peace, hopefully).

And because this got me thinking: I dont suggest minors going full face forward like, say Greta Thunberg. As sad as it is to say. Any minor, on any issue, leave it to the adults because these bigots and trolls can be vile. You can support and stuff but dont become the "face" of anything. Being swatted or something is a possibility and I especially don't want any minors getting caught up in that. You can help in other ways but yall gotta stay safe. Greta has had absolutely horrid things said about her and if you want to care about issues there's levels between 1 and 100.

The occasional youtube comments won't put a target on you. That level of stuff is fine. Reading books and educating yourself is a foundational level that can take years.

I dont think you, anon, specifically are going to run off to do something wild but your ask got me thinking about how in movies there's always the teen who wants to save the world. Today's digital climate is so murky and dangerous. Its a balance between safety and realizing your full activism goals.

Anyway a bit of a tangent there.

Tldr you're doing great, you didn't do anything wrong. 🫂

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

"Can I put a bow on it"

✰---summery: in short, leeknow smut. you wanted to do a tiktok Trend with your boyfriend you saw... you didnt know it'd turn into all this but lets be honest youre not complaining

✰---approx: 20 min read

✰--A/n: first part of my smutober series! the other couple parts are coming v soon so stay turned! idk how good this is ive never written smut like this please forgive me if its terrible and ive never written for leeknow. also I figured id just make birthday fics for the skz members born in sep in oct as my take of kinktober but not as kinky lmao please ignore spelling mistakes I wrote this at two am

✰--- warnings/info: kissing, swearing/ dirty talk, smut and lots of it, not a very strong plot I fear, leeknow kinda chokes reader(?), leeknow fingers reader.

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper.” This is in no way is mean to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~

if you don’t have an age indicator saying you’re not a minor in your blog then I will be blocking you! So minors dni!!

•••••••••••••••••••••

his arms lock tighter around where your plush thighs and knees meet, he pants heavier, drilling into you with such passion your mind goes blank with noting more inside it then dumb babbilling thoughts that bounce around like a computer screen saver.

youre left wondering how you somehow knew it was gonna come to this.

when you had appoched your boyfriend of a year asking him to do some TikTok trend you had been having saved for a while and had rediscovered.

he scoffs at you with a smile "what is it baby?" he cranes his neck to look at you standing beside the sofa. "can I tie a bow around it?" you ask, innocent smile on your face as his eyes widen. when you show him the video of a girl tying a bow around her boyfriends bicep to your surprise he, in one swift motion stands up, circles his arms around your waist them brings you back down to the sofa with him.

"around what?" you can feel his smirk on your spine, hear it in his voice.

you know what hes doing but he can't fool you so easily. you can feel his heatbeat on your back as he presses you against his firm chest. "hm, so you like the idea then baby?" his only response is nibbling at the tip of your ear, pressing his face into you.

a second later and you feel hot air hit your neck, tickling you. "You like my biceps that much, yeah? you like that ive been working out and how big they've gotten?" you fiddle with your own fingers. "maybe." "you like that I can do this--" he turns you around so he can carry you princess style, carrying you to your shared bed.

he flips you down on it, but still being careful to cradle your head even though it only hits the soft blankets on top of the plush mattress. he looks down at you, sprawled out on the bed, the two of yous bed. and he looks at you like youre a master piece, a beautiful piece of art he wants to preserve forever. "I didnt even tell you what I wanna do."

he flops down next to you "im good with whatever." you reach into your jeans pocket to pull out the pretty silk ribbon you'd put there in case he'd say yes. which to be honest you knew he would. He couldn't resist you. not for long anyways. you roll yourself on top of him, legs on either side of his hips as you straddle him. he sits up and you make a show of wrapping the ribbon around his bicep and maybe hes a little miffed you didnt want to wrap it around anything else.

but he quickly recovers because as soon as you move on to his shoulders, rubbing them with just the right amount of pressure hes shivering. starting at the bow, you kiss, nip, then lick his skin. eventually youre at his color bone and then eventually youre at his jaw, though now just peppering it with more kisses than anything.

thats when Minho decides he has enough and flips you around, caging you in as you smile and giggle at each other, a cute little moment-- coupled with you playing with the ribbon.

but filled with want, he couldn't help himself he pounces on you like an animal

You let out a cute little squeel of surprise that turns him on even more. His hard cock is pressed shift your thigh as you’re chest to chest, your hot breath in his ear as he nips at your collar bone. Someone you end up finding his bicep and biting at it, your lips covering his smooth skin. He stops pinning you to the bed in the little play fight you two have going on. Just long enough to whine out a complaint.

“Ahhhh shit jagyia you broke my arm!” You sit up on your elbows and raise your eyebrow “oh stop” you playfully slap him on his knee, knowing he was only joking too “you’re fine.” “I’m bleeding!” “No youre not” “ok but it left a mark” you lean down and plant a light kiss on the very much not marked up place you bit.

He makes a little ~ahhh~ face of contentment along with the sound. “Wow I suddenly it feels so much better” “so all the pain… gone?” You laugh, “is that all you wanted, a—“ he pins you back down, cutting you off because you both well know he would’ve agreed that yes all he wanted was a soft kiss from you. He was not wasting any time devouring you like a man starved. Though you wished he’d direct his attention elsewhere. Further down your body. To your aching core preferably.

He gets there soon enough. Your pretty pussy hot through your panties. He looks up at you once he’s done kissing down your throat and body, his hand gripping onto your breast thumbing over your pebbled nipple. “Oh yes” you whine, knowing he was asking for permission. “Tell me what you want baby” it’s all overwhelming for you. But that’s what makes it so fucking good.

“Wan’ you to make me feel good” he gets a little closer to your heat, pressing his sharp nose to your clothed clit, making you shiver. “Oh yeah,” he mumbles against you,”how?” You knew that he wasn’t going to do much of anything until you said what he so desperately wanted to hear.

"touch my pussy, Min. can't you see im already so wet for you?" you feel him take another deep breath in, inhaling your intoxicating scent. "come on sweetheart you can do better than that. act like you want it." its borderline a command and you love it. your hips buck up into his face, chasing some sort of friction, just anything to satisfy the want you have inside you.

to your surprise he doesn't pin your hips down like usual, letting you buck up into his face a second time. "mmm yeah," he groans, muffled by your flesh. "fuck yeah just like that baby. you want this so bad dont you." and hes right you really did

"I-I" you try to start your sentence. "what's wrong?" he lifts his head up and pouts in fake sympathy for your breathless state, "can't speak baby? c'mon I know you can do both. keep humping my nose, doll."

you bite your lip in consentration "I want you to finger fuck me while you lap at my clit."Minho chuckles "what is my nose not enough anymore? thought you liked it" you roll your eyes and are about to tell him to shut up until he yanks your panties down your legs until the won't go any further and youre stuck having them dig into your thighs. not that you mind though, the sensation adding to the whole lustful feel in the moment. besides you know they won't be there for long. soon enough he'll be pulling them off completely because he can't get enough of you and needs to be as close as he can to your body.

"too bad, they looked so fuckin sexy on you." you dont even get a chance to say anything cause hes diving head first (literally) into your pussy. lapping at your clit just how you asked him to. but it did make your knees weak and your face heat up.

they were just some old underwear you'd had for a little while you had grabbed out th drawer this morning cause they were the first thing you saw. noting special, in fact, the waist band was starting to have the tiniest bit of fraying. but apparently only you noticed. that was the thing about him, no matter what you were wearing or what time of the day it was he always full heartedly thought you looked amazing. and for all the shit he gives you, you know he thinks that every time he looks at you. and by those looks he shamelessly gives you, well, anyone could tell.

he lifts his head, chin glistening. "I can feel how much youre enjoying this baby. want me to finger you now, hm?" he says it with a fake pout, almost in a slight mocking tone. but you dont care. hes right, fuck you really wanna feel his fingers. you pant out a yeah and when he slides in two fingers, the stretch mixed with the pleasure of him already moving and curling them how you like sends you to another planet.

you focus on his face, somehow concentrated but cocky, proud of the reactions he was getting out of you but longing for more. your legs try to squeeze shut but he forces that back open again and again.

and once hes got you cumming around his fingers and you start to sit up he drags you right back down by your thighs, "im not done with you yet." and it sounded like a promise. your lips curve into a sloppy and dazed smile, "good" you commend. "yeah I bet you feel so," he pauses to kiss your collarbone, "empty. without something filling you up dont you?"

"I do. please ,hurry up and fill me with your cock" he breathes in the scent of the skin of your neck, obviously pleased.

somehow you ended up with his cock drilling into your sopping wet pussy, the sounds your bodies moving together were making driving your a bit insane. with Minho behind you, your nose pressed in the fold of his arm as his hand caressed the side of your face and other free arm held onto your hips for dear life for leverage to fuck you better.

he leaned down to your ear “you gonna be a god slut for me? Yeah, gon take this cock” as he presses his thumb into your mouth on your tongue "oh my god, fuck yeah right there, " you moan as his cock drills into your pussy, hitting your cervix, "hm? god isn't here baby."

you moan in pleasure, knees weak and elbows tired from supporting you. "no, no," he exsencuates his words with sharp pumps oh his dick. "moan my name for me baby." you dont question it, the next time you moan you do. its choppy, long and drawn out but you can feel his smile against your neck. "mmmmh" he whines, "letting the neighbors know who's fucking you so good, hm?" you gasp and make another sound of pleasure at his words.

Minho knows full well what hes doing, and between the gruff tone in his voice, his other hand reaching down to rub at your swollen clit the way you like, and the way his other hand is half pressing on your neck with his thumb on your chin... its all so much but in the best way. he pulls you to him, whispering, coaxing you to cum on his cock, squeeze him so so fucking tight like he wants you to, clamp down on him, soffocate his cock till he cums.

with his heart beat against your back and soft kisses on your neck, you get pushed over the edge with your back arching into his chest. and you barely get enough time to recover till he lays you down gently on the bed, cradling your head and kissing your lips. you gasp when he slips back inside your warmth, and he hisses as his pace picks up to a break neck speed, chasing his own orgasm.

as the pleasure turns into overstimulation he fucks into you with newfound vigor. but you dont care, the look on his face above you making you feel euphoric. he cums soon after and youre sure you'll walk a little funny tomorrow.

you fall asleep on his chest, warm as ever. hm, maybe you should ask him to do more TikTok trends more often... wait... that reminds you, shit! you never filmed the stupid thing. well, guess you'll just have to do it again once you wait up.

~end~

thanks for reading! please reblog and or comment if you liked it!

Taglist: @bamtorin

[kpop---scenarios]

Girlfriend

Pairing: Yang Jeongin x Reader

Genre: Non! Idol, friends to lovers

Warning: Smut, Semi Public smut (Fingering f. Receiving, bathroom smut, cream pie (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk. [18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

Summary: You try to make Jeongin jealous, and it works.

Word Count: 1.3k

Everything Taglist: @piscesrising01 @baby-stay92 @kisses-too-the-moon @dwaekkiiracha @rylea08 @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @satosugu4l @iovecb97 @lordmaahes-nsc @sailorkoss @minh0scat @pixie0627 @50-husbands @jinnies-muse @yaorzu-blog @joyofbebbanburg @number1jeonginstan @skzooluvr @jisunglyricist @ambersnowxxx @stay-tiny-things @thegingerthatwaited

@wife2straykidss @silly250 @tsunderelino @1810cl @ayyonoona

@31maze13

A/N: it sucks, I'm sorry lolol

You fucking hated the in-between stages of a relationship. The stage where you're sleeping with someone, enjoying their company, going on dates but there's no label on what the two of you were, leaving you jealous when another woman manages to catch his attention, even if it's just for a moment.

That's how you ended up sitting at the bar instead of being on the dance floor with your friends and Jeongin, wallowing in some self pity type shit. You glance over at Jeongin, who's talking to some woman, and roll your eyes at the sight. Even though the two of you weren't together, you didn't want his attention to be on anyone else. You wanted the full blown relationship thing with him, but you were too much of a chicken shit to say anything about taking things to the next step. So instead, you took another shot, and another one, until someone sits beside you, noticing your sour mood and face.

“You okay?” The man asks. You don't respond, only shrugging your shoulders, taking a sip of your drink while you wait for another shot to be poured.

“Man troubles?” He asks.

Was he fucking psychic?

“I guess you could say that.” You sigh. You point towards Jeongin. “That's my boyfriend but he's not my boyfriend but I want him to be my boyfriend.” You murmur.

“And you're jealous he's talking to the mediocre woman?” The man laughs.

You protrude your lip, nodding your head. You look over, seeing the handsome man, you smile. “I'm Y/N.” You smile.

“Nice to meet you. I'm Chan.” He says, smiling back.

“You wanna dance?” He asks. “Might make your boyfriend, not boyfriend, wanted boyfriend jealous.” He suggests.

Instant excitement flows through your body. Jeongin? Jealous? Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn't, but you were willing to find out. You hop out of your chair, grabbing Chan's hand and dragging him to the dance floor. Chan places his hands on your stomach as you grind your ass into his crotch, but you move them down your curves, placing them right above your ass, leaving your hands on top of his. Your eyes wander, looking for Jeongin and you find him immediately. You smirk as you see his jaw clench, now ignoring anything the woman was saying. You can see the veins in his arms pop as he squeezes his fists, his entire body tense. He steps away from the woman, his eyes locked in on yours. Your stomach flips as you continue to dance with Chan, looking away from Jeongin, trying to act like you don't care.

“Y/N.” He yells. You look up at him, smiling.

“Oh hi.” You yell back.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asks.

“Dancing.” You say, continuing to do a sexy dance on Chan.

“Can you back the fuck away?” Jeongin snaps, glaring at Chan. He lets go of you, putting his hands up and backing away. You turn around and mouth a ‘thank you’ to Chan who nods and smiles in response. You turn back to Jeongin, who looks like he's ready to snap you half, and you fucking wanted it.

“The fuck are you doing?” He asks. “Why are you letting another man touch you like that?”

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize that was off the table. I would have asked but you were a little busy.” You snap back.

He laughs, moving closer to you. You look away from him but he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You trying to make me jealous, baby?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

“Are you jealous?” You ask as he moves his face closer to yours.

“Yeah, I fucking am. You're mine. And only mine.” He spits, crashing his lips to yours. He releases your chin, his hands moving down your body, gripping your ass. You push your body into his as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth. It doesn't last long, he suddenly pulls away from you, turning your body around to face away from him. He presses his semi-erect cock against your ass, his finger gliding up and down your bare thigh.

“Dance.” He demands. You sway your hips ever so slightly as he moves his fingers underneath your dress, gently rubbing your lips. You were so fucking happy you'd opted for a thong tonight. He effortlessly moves your panties to the slide, his fingers between your lips, touching your clit. You're frozen in your spot, biting your lip to try and mask the moan that wants to escape from your lips. Jeongin slowly circles the tips of his fingers on your clit as you try to pretend like you're dancing. Adrenaline rushing through your body, the fact that he was doing this in public was so fucking hot and you were already on your way to cumming. You were just about to tell him, when he leans in, his lips grazing against your ear. “Don't even think about cumming.” He whispers, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

“J-jeongin… please.” You gasp, leaning your head against his chest. He swiftly pulls his hand from under your dress, grabbing your hand, pulling you away from the dance floor. You didn't ask any questions, your brain was foggy as your clit throbbed from being denied to cum.

Jeongin pulls you into a bathroom, pushing you against the door before he latches his lips to your neck, down onto your collar bone. You stifle a moan as he runs his tongue up your neck, and back down. His hands hike up your dress, turning you around, pinning you against the door. He kneels down, ripping your panties down, letting them pool around your ankles. He lifts up your leg, moving your panties away before kicking your foot to spread your legs more.

“Fuck Jeongin.” You gasp, clenching your cunt around nothing. You were so fucking desperate for him to plow you. You listen as Jeongin unzips his pants, shuffling behind you before he pushes his cock into you. He grabs your hair, pulling your head back, pounding his cock deep into your cunt. You gasp, loudly, with each thrust, the sound of Jeongin grunting plays in your ear.

“You take my cock so fucking well, princess.” He moans.

You reach between your legs, rubbing your clit, your body jolting at the feeling. Your knees begin to buckle as Jeongin starts pounding into you harder.

“Don't…stop.” You breathe, your face pressed against the door. “Please.”

“Mhmm baby, I won't stop until you cum all over my cock.” He groans, digging his fingers into your hips.

Your eyes roll back as your orgasm hits. You cry out, Jeongin increasing the pace of his thrusts. He groans as he cums just seconds after you, spilling his cum into you. He thrusts a few more times before pulling out, chuckling as he pulls his pants back up.

You walk towards the stall, but Jeongin grabs your arm, pulling you back towards him. He grabs your panties, shoving them in his pocket.

“Where are you going?” He asks.

“To clean myself up.” You laugh.

“No you're not.” He says, pulling you into him. “I want you to keep my cum inside you for the rest of the night.” He smiles. “At least until I take you home later, and we take a shower.”

He grabs your hand, pulling you out of the bathroom. He drapes his arm over your shoulders as the two of you walk back out towards the dance floor. The woman Jeongin was talking to before walking up to the both of you.

“Can we continue our conversation?” She asks him.

“Like I said earlier.” He sighs. “I'm not interested. get it through your head. I have a girlfriend.” He finishes. You look at him, shocked.

“Y/N is all I've ever wanted. Save your fucking breath.” He finishes, walking away, with his arm still wrapped around you.

“So I'm your girlfriend?” You ask.

“I mean…” He pauses. “If you want to be.”

“I'd love that.” You smile. “Finally.”

[torturedtypewritersdept]

the sun + the sand - pt. six - the proposition

↳PAIRING: bff!rafe cameron x fem!reader

↳SUMMARY:you have a stalker, but your best friend rafe won't let anything happen to you, even if he has to come clean about how he really feels.

↳WARNINGS: mentions of stalking, blackmail, inappropriate behavior (not from rafe), protective!rafe, etc.

↳A/N: this is a repost from my old blog @illicitfixations + @lovelornanonymity. all of my works are being reposted to this one + the previous blog has been deactivated.

The aluminum of the boat you sat in swayed back and forth, the ebb and flow of the current beneath it creating a rocking pattern against your skin. It had always made you nauseous – being on the water. There was something about the unsteady, uncoordinated movement of the waves that reminded you how much you were like them, floating through life with no destination. You had always followed what everyone else was doing and when you were drowning, Rafe clung to you; he had always been the life vest protecting you amidst the water trying to permeate your lungs. The nausea was overwhelming as you listened to Pope spew facts he had learned at the science camp he had spent the first few weeks of his summer at; his obsession with becoming a coroner shining through as he led the conversation. You couldn’t quite wrap your mind around what was being said the same way John B’s arm draped around your shoulders, you should’ve been enjoying affection from a boy, especially one so sought after. But, you couldn’t because really, it all felt wrong. It always did when you spent time with this crowd. Though the blue and pink hues of the decorated cotton candy sky was a nice addition to your sunset boat ride, you still felt out of place. You knew you would no matter what. Even after John had practically begged you like a puppy to join the gang for this rendezvous, promising JJ would be nowhere in sight – it still felt odd and wrong to be there, to be amidst his friends, when all you could think about was Rafe. You were torn away from the thoughts that your brain was creating at the speed of light as your phone chimed. 

Unknown: you look so beautiful today. 

The screen read a sweet message and you wondered who it was from, it couldn’t be Rafe. If he was going to say something sweet, he wouldn’t text you from a private number. You quickly closed and locked your phone thinking it must be nothing more than a wrong number, even though the compliment gave you the resemblance of butterflies in your gut. 

Unknown: don’t ignore me. 

This time as your phone chimed, the message changed in tone and you decided to reply – a snarky, sarcastic comment for the person who remained anonymous was what you dished out. 

To unknown: It’s hard to reply when I don't know who I’m speaking to. 

As quickly as you had hit send, another message appeared in the queue. 

Unknown: watch your mouth or I'll gut you like a fish. 

You swallowed thickly at the words that littered your screen, unsure of who was behind them. You couldn’t think of anyone who would talk to you like that unless it was one of your boys playing a joke. But quickly pushed away the thought. Surely, they’d never speak to you that way even if they were kidding, or so you hoped. 

“Are you alright, y/n?” 

John B’s voice echoed against your ears as tears pricked your eyes and panic rose through your chest, the walls of your heart contracting simultaneously, you subconsciously recognized the tells of an anxiety attack creeping its way up your throat. John B’s lack of awareness, lack of knowing you the way Rafe did was just one more reason why you needed to be away from him. 

“R-rafe, take me to Rafe. Please.” 

You begged and he nodded though reluctant, wanting you to trust him and confide in him the same way that you did Rafe. He wanted you to be his peach, to regard him in your heart the same way you regarded the Cameron boy, though part of him knew it would never happen. Girls like you weren’t meant to end up with guys like him and even if you loved him in the same way he loved you, he knew Rafe Cameron would die before he ever let it happen. 

-

John B barely had time to get the hms pogue adjacent to the Cameron’s dock before you jumped off the ledge, clearing the width between the aluminum and the wood of the pier. You needed Rafe and you needed him now, it left no time for pleasantries and frankly, you didn’t care about the routledge boy enough to provide him with a false sense of comfort, a false sense that you were his when you weren’t. So, you did what you knew how to – you ran. Your feet padded against the wood of the dock as fast as they could, your breath uneven as you made it to the end and scoured the property for your person. He stood by Kelce and Topper at the pool, his tan skin stretched across broad shoulders, muscles contracting as he laughed and sipped from the red solo cup in his hand. You made your way toward him, almost knocking him over as you latched on to him like a child after losing their parents in the grocery store. 

“I know those arms, anywhere.” 

He chuckled against you, leaning into you as you hugged him from behind. You stilled against him, muscles retracting in relief as just his aura brought you an immeasurable amount of peace. His laughter stopped as he felt tiny drops hit the skin at the middle of his spine and before you could protest he turned around, taking you in. His blue orbs searched you for injury, it wasn’t like you to look so panicked, especially in public settings. This behavior was not like you in any sense and he couldn’t figure out for the life of him what was going on. So, he did what he did best. He picked you up, guiding your arms and legs around his neck and torso in a koala like hold and carried you to his bedroom, knowing that whatever was plaguing you couldn’t be shared in front of the other two stooges. As he entered the threshold of his bedroom, he placed you onto the blue satin sheets that you loved so much, the coolness against your skin was already soothing you as Rafe parted your knees and wedged his body between them, balancing on the balls of his feet. Your eyes remained focused on the tan skin of his chest, his pectoral muscles built to such a degree that it made him look like a c-cup. You smiled briefly at the thought. 

“Peach, baby, what’s going on?” 

He asked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and rubbing his thumb across the skin of your cheek. 

“I-, were you and the boys sending me weird texts earlier?” 

You stuttered as you asked, afraid of his answer being yes, but also afraid of it being no. You wanted so badly for it to be a practical joke and for you not to have a reason to be scared. 

“No, baby. Why would you ask that?” 

You didn’t respond, simply handing over the phone, placing it in his hands and watching as he took in the conversation. His eyes darted back and forth as read the contents of the screen, stopping only when he was finished. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” 

He questioned, remaining in his spot between your legs. 

“I’m fine – that’s the last thing I need to hear right now, Rafe.” 

He swallowed thickly before retorting. 

“Well, what do you need to hear? What am I supposed to say about this? About you showing up on my doorstep every time you’re in trouble?” 

His words stung – he knew they had, shit, they had felt like vomit expelling from him, the twist of his insides after he lurched over the toilet ever present. That’s what he felt as he watched your face contort in sadness. 

“I don’t know, tell me this is fake, that it’s a joke, that I don’t have a reason to be scared. I mean, this paired with all the other weird shit, it just, I don’t know, okay? Sorry – I’ll go. I just didn’t know what to do. But, hey – I’ll figure it out.” 

You said, swaying on your feet as you stood, preparing to walk away from the room of the boy you loved. Your brain didn’t process any of what he said in normal emotion, it only registered that he was sick of you and you were adding stress to him and that was the last thing you ever wanted to do. He pulled you in by your wrist, making your face collide with the muscles of his chest as he rubbed your hair away from your face and craned his neck to plant a kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I want to help you, okay? You are not going to navigate this by yourself, peach. I’d die if something happened to you. Now, I think I may have an idea.” 

You pulled your head away from his chest, meeting his eyes with question laced in yours. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

You asked, moving to sit on the bed again and Rafe followed your lead, plopping down parallel to you before turning to face you. 

“Well – it seems like all this stuff is related, that weirdo at your house and these texts. I’m worried someone is stalking you, sweetheart.” 

He said, blue eyes boring into yours and you had to fight the urge to laugh at him. 

“Stalking? Come on, Rafe – as if. I’m not special enough for someone to stalk me.” 

You muttered.

“Peach – yes you are. Just because you can’t see that, doesn’t mean it’s not possible, baby.” 

He replied, grabbing your hands in his. 

“Okay, so what’s your big idea? I mean what are we supposed to do? We don’t even know who it could be.”  

You stated matter-of-factly. 

“I think we should be boyfriend and girlfriend.”

He replied and you were shell-shocked, the question and confusion written on your face. 

“Huh? Like for real?” 

You asked. 

“I mean – I need to protect you and come on, it’s not so far off for us, is it? The idea of being your fake boyfriend for a while, I mean. No one will come near you if you’re with me, sweetheart and it just means more time with my Georgia peach.” 

He said, smiling from ear-to-ear. 

“How long are we supposed to keep this up?” 

You questioned. ‘Forever, I hope’ he thought as he stared into your sweet face. 

“As long as it takes.” 

He replied, pushing his thoughts down. 

“Okay, but we have to make it look real, Rafe. People will figure it out otherwise, we can’t just act like we usually do.” 

You said and he curled his eyebrow upward. 

“What do you propose, Peach?” 

He asked.

“I mean – we could kiss?” 

You said, almost in the form of a question and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours. You were shocked, mostly because it felt the way it was supposed to, the way you had always daydreamed about, electricity running from your mouth to the tips of your toes. You pulled away after a moment and looked at him. 

“Just practicing.” 

He said, a smirk lifting on one side of his mouth. You couldn’t help but smile and wished so badly that one day, this would all be real. 

as always, if you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know <3

taglist:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw

[dunmeshi-darlings]

Hey i love your blog thank you for doing these imagines!

Can i request an half dragon beastkin reader x Izutsumi? Maybe they found them chained up somewhere in the dungeon and laios and them set them free?

Of course dear anon, and congratulations on being my first izutsumi focused ask

The dungeon held many secrets in its labyrinthian halls, Secrets of magic ancient and powerful, Secrets of Shady Deals among less than savory criminals, Secrets of viscious monsters, Secrets of life and death, But some secrets....were much darker than others.

As the group was travelling they heard a strange sound, it sounded like a person in trouble so they followed the sound to its source. It was a iron gate in the ground with a chain on it, around the gate were the bodies of various criminals who seemingly had been killed by an orc raid. As chilchuck and izutsumi listened they heard labored breathing and quickly laios broke open the lock on the chain as they opened the door, there eyes widening at what they saw

A beastkin looked up at them, They had hard reptile scales that covered there body, large clawed hands and feet scraped at the stone floor as a large tail moved behind them, large horns adorning the figures head. You looked up squinting your eyes and covering them, it had been so long since you had seen light.

Izutsumi was the first to notice, large chains were wrapped around your limbs and neck keeping you trapped in place. At first nobody moved, afraid that you were some sort of criminal or were dangerous. Laios asking you why you were down here, you explained that the thugs outside kept you chaine dup down here to show off to other people as a freakshow for coin, normally they would be guarding the gate but you heard them get attacked by orcs and they all must have died. You honestly figured you were going to die in this whole, left to starve to death.

Before anyone could react izutsumi grabbed chilchuck and jumped down into the hole. She put the half-foot down and told him to pick the locks on the chains to get you out now! everyone was surprised at how urgent she sounded, marcille asking what was going on with her. She scowls saying she know what its like to be shown off like a freak and she isnt going to let anyone deal with that.

Everyone agrees and chilchuck picks the locks as you feel the weight of the chains slide off you, you stand up showing just how tall you were compared to everyone else, cracking your neck as you breathed a sigh of joy at your newfound freedom. You tell laios your in there debt and want to help them on there adventure to save his sister, and you join them from then on.

You got along well with everyone in the group, of course laios kept asking you questions about being half dragon but you didnt mind. But it was izutsumi you seemed to be the closest with, She often spent her time being near you. The two of you chatting and talking about being beastkin. Her explaining how it was forced on her when she was a little child and cant remember anything before it. Normally she wouldnt talk about this with anyone...but your different, you get what she has been through, and she feels more comfortable with you than anyone else. You put your hand on her shoulder and comfort her telling her that your sorry she has gone through all this, and that hopefully you guys can find a cure for this curse on her.

You two began to grow closer, She moved from sleeping in the same cot as chilchuck to sleeping with you in your cot. Her commenting how your body is alot warmer than chilchuck and your perfect to lay on top of and fall asleep on. Whenever she falls asleep on top of you, you cant help but put one arm around her and drift off to sleep rather quickly, since she started doing this you have never slept better.

Whenever senshi cooks food she is always sneaking the bits she doesnt like into your portions of food, now having a place to dump the veggies she doesnt like. You are always more than happy to eat them for her, and in return you let her have some of the stuff she does like from your food. you two basically sharing food portions together.

The two of you are incredibly protective of each other, any time the group fights a monster you two are close by each other. Fighting in unison and defeating the monsters that the mad mage sends after you. And when either of you gets hurt, the other one cant relax until whoever got hurt is better. Izutsumi tries to play it off, but her tail will constantly flick as she sits next to you as marcille heals you up.

One night when you two are laying together, Izutsumi is up much later than she usually is. You could tell she was tense about something so you ask her if everything is ok. she hesitates for a moment before speaking up. "yeah it is...its better than ok, thats the problem. Ever since i met you i just...ive never felt like this before you know? ive never really cared about anyone else but myself, after all im the only one thats ever been there for me all my life...but its different with you. I cant stop thinking about you, i worry about you when you get hurt...and i hate not being around you. But it makes my chest feel tight and my head fuzzy when im around you and i keep smiling, im not used to this and i dont know what is going on. Im not used to it and...im scared, ive never felt like this and its so weird to me...i really like it..but it feels so weird i just..." She trails off, her tail flittering as she hides her face in your chest, even through her fur you can feel her blush. "i think i really like you...i really like you alot. But im scared, ive never liked anyone like this before and im scared cause im so used to just being by myself that....that the idea of being with another person all the time and relying on another person scares me, but i really want to be with you, even the idea of depending on another person scares me,but if i dont say anything its going to keep eating me alive.." she said looking up at you, You look at her stunned for a moment. This was unlike her, izutsumi was never one to be open about her emotions. She always did what she wanted and didnt care about what anyone else thought, she was a self reliant woman and other than with you she was never really the friendliest person ever. So to see her being so open with her feelings, being open about her fear and being so vulnerable was something you never expected from her.

You squeeze her tight towards you, your tail wrapping up with hers as as you place a soft kiss on her forehead. you tell her that you feel the same about her. That you love her and the idea of being with her is something you have dreamed of, and that you want nothing more than to always be there for her. You promise her that you will always be there for her and she never has to deal with the world by herself anymore.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Duck Pond: Alden Parker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mandy426 @caffeinatedwoman @elefrog25-blog @toheavenwmydrms

Companion piece to:

Pillow Talk - Alden realises he's a shitty husband.

Two Points For Honesty - Alden makes a confession about his time on the run with Viv.

Wild Flowers - You confront Viv about what happened with Alden.

You’re not in your office when Alden comes to find you at the end of the day, the lights are off and the door is locked. Through the glass panelling he can see the spring wild flowers sticking out of the trash can, a tulip wilting over the edge and he knows in that moment that Viv has been to see you.

This situation between the three of you, it’s becoming untenable. His case is no closer to being solved and the longer it goes on…

Well he worries about there being a marriage to come back to because as tortious as he’s finding her presence, it must be a thousand times worse for you.

He finds you on a bench by the duck pond the two of you like to visit on Sundays. You always bring a small bag of frozen peas because it’s nutritious and the ducks love to play with them.

There’s a pink pastry box from the Flamingo bakery by your side and your fingertips are covered in powdered sugar. He sighs because this is another one of your stress behaviours, if it’s not smoking it’s donuts and from the size of the box he knows you’re going to be bouncing off the walls when you do decide to come home, if you decide to come home.

“One of those days huh?” He says as he picks up the box and takes up residency in it’s space. He sets it back down on his lap, feeling the weight of one donut remaining.

“Yea.” You reply, gesturing towards the box. “I got you a Boston Cream, I was going to bring it home with me but...”

You aren’t quite ready to go home yet because the apartment you share, it doesn’t feel like the sanctuary it used to, it hasn’t since that whole mess with the Raven started. You’ve been working hard, trying to get back into that mindset but it’s hard when the place keeps getting invaded.

First by Viv after the Raven took her, then the FBI, Alden with his secrets and Kris with his letters. It doesn’t feel like your refuge anymore, the sanctity of it’s been broken and you’re not quite sure how to fix it.

“Can we stay somewhere else tonight?” You ask him, your cheeks colouring as you make the request. “I know it’s stupid, but I just need to be somewhere where it’s just us, where there’s no memories of anything else, anyone else. I just need…”

You need him, him to remind you that you’re a priority in this relationship, that everything Viv says isn’t true, that you’re not just a placeholder to their inevitability.

Alden’s jaw clenches as he looks out across the duckpond and you feel something inside you just die, because you know what’s coming next.

“I can’t, there’s a stakeout tonight…”

He trails off unwilling to say the next part and he doesn’t have to because you know he’s spending the night in a car with his ex-wife, talking about old times, rekindling that flame. She’s right because there it is, that inevitability.

“Ok.” You say, your voice barely more than a whisper as you raise to your feet. “I forgot I need to be somewhere…”

“Lisa…” He calls out after you but you don’t respond you just keep your head down so he can’t see the tears on your cheeks as you walk away.

Love Alden? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[pebbleshake]

PERSONALITY SWAP - 1x1x1x1 / Shedletsky

3rd person PoV:

WARNING THIS ONE IS A LOT MORE UH

VIOLENT

IF YOU WILL

and yes this is what i have been doing instead of reblogging rps with my pre-forsaken 1x blog

[ After the whole c00lkidd-007n7 swap, which lasted three whole days, everyone was… thoroughly traumatized, to say the least. The worst part was that 007n7 and c00lkidd weren't even aware of this change. Only 007n7 became aware after the three days. ]

“I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I don’t know how- I-I just lost control.”

[ 007n7 apologized, over and over. ]

“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do it on purpose. Let’s all collectively forget about this and never mention nor bring it up again. Alright?”

[ Elliot interrupted, he was surprisingly, the calmest one out of everyone here. Everybody nodded. ]

[ The survivors weren’t the only ones confused, the killers were, too. 1x1x1x1 was the first to notice while watching one of c00lkidd’s matches, where he was running from 007n7…? 1x1x1x1 asked c00lkidd why he was running away from 007n7, when it should be the opposite, and why he was acting so nervous and worried. c00lkidd could not provide a good answer, so 1x1x1x1 just gave up. After three days, c00lkidd returned to his playful self, which the other killers were very grateful for. ]

[ Today seemed pretty normal… Or was it? ]

[ Shedletsky’s door was locked. Builderman tried knocking multiple times, but there was no response whatsoever. ]

“Ya’ alright, bud?”

[ He asked with concern, but yet again, as he expected, he received no response. Oh well, he could always talk to Shedletsky later during the round. ]

[ What was going on with Shedletsky though? He sat in his dimly-lit room, which looked like One from The Power of Two, episode 17’s pocket dimension after she got pissy. Furniture was cluttered everywhere. He was feeling frustrated, he hasn’t felt this since… he’s lost count, he doesn’t know. ]

[ The match started, with 1x1x1x1 being the killer this round. Again though, he wasn’t killing anyone. Builderman had a gut feeling that something bad was going to happen. Eventually, he did find 1x1x1x1, but instead of him killing people, he was… uh… snacking on some fried chicken. ]

[ Builderman immediately started to worry. Oh crap, where was Shedletsky? ]

“Hey Builderman! What are you up to?”

[ Builderman flinched a little. He was NOT used to 1x1x1x1 being so polite. 1x1x1x1 waved at Builderman, before reaching into his paper bag full of fried chicken to consume more chicken. Builderman turned and waved back, not wanting to rude by ignoring the other. ]

“Uh- Er… Heya. I uh… I was just about to take a walk.”

[ He lied, a little too afraid of mentioning anything about Shedletsky in front of a currently docile 1x1x1x1. ]

“Hey, uh. You’re peaceful today.”

[ Builderman pointed out. 1x1x1x1 shrugged and continued eating, which Builderman found very weird. This was awkward. Builderman looked into the distance, then at 1x1x1x1, then he looked back into the distance again. He took a deep breath, hoping that he wouldn’t aggravate the ‘killer.’ ]

“I hope ya’ don’t mind me asking… But do ya’ know where Shedletsky is…?”

[ Builderman asked, a hint of nervousness showing through. 1x1x1x1 just stared at him blankly for a few seconds, before shaking his head. Builderman nodded, sighing in relief before moving on to find his friend. Maybe he should ask someone else if they had seen- ]

[ He looked to his left. ]

[ A dead body lies there beheaded. Wait, wasn’t 1x1x1x1 basically ‘peaceful-’ Oh. Yeah. Shedletsky. ]

[ He needed to find and stop Shedletsky, immediately! Builderman felt the presence of someone behind him. He didn’t even have time to react, he didn’t have time to- ]

[ SWISH. ]

.

[ CLANG! ]

.

.

.

[ What a surprise. 1x1x1x1 managed to parry Shedletsky’s incoming slash. Builderman stumbled forward, his life flashing before his eyes. He was shocked. Heck, even 1x1x1x1 was a little surprised!]

“Builderman. Run.”

[ 1x1x1x1 whispered. ]

[ Builderman hesitated for a second. Perhaps there was still Shedletsky in there. But no, Shedletsky was not Shedletsky right now. This Shedletsky was merely a shell of his normal self. Builderman collected himself and ran, bursting into a full-on sprint. Unfortunately, a second was all Shedletsky needed. He noticed and directed his attention towards his friend, immediately throwing his Illumina at him. ]

[ And it hit. ]

[ The sword punctured Builderman's chest. The adrenaline was still there, but pain still spread through his whole body. His vision was blurring. ]

“Shedletsky… Why…”

[ Builderman managed to make out a few more words. 1x1x1x1 stood there, in a bit of shock, while Shedletsky walked over to his own friend’s corpse to recollect his sword. ]

“Because. The longer I take, the longer the swap stays in effect. The worse it’s going to be for everyone. I’m doing this for all of us.”

[ That was totally not a lie, totally not an excuse, and it was definitely not because '1x1x1x1 only feels "hatred, toxicity, and negativity," which is why he kills people.' But… This was new, because unlike c00lkidd, 007n7, and even 1x1x1x1, Shedletsky was definitely aware of this effect. Too bad he couldn’t control himself. How fun. ]

[ Of course, he couldn’t continue his massacre before stabbing the body a few more times to make sure that Builderman was dead. Yep, Builderman was dead. ]

[ Now, all that was left was 1x1x1x1 and Shedletsky, who had an unreadable expression on his face. After a while of staring, did Shedletsky finally make the first move and attack. 1x1x1x1 easily dodged Shedletsky’s first attack and parried the next. He faked his attack, confusing Shedletsky. ]

[ 1x1x1x1 took this time to back away and flee. Shedletsky recovered and continued to pursue his own creation. Unfortunately, being like the slowest killer, also meant that he couldn’t escape for long. So… He took a deep breath and turned around. ]

[ Uh. ]

{ You really think me… 1x1x1x1. }

{ One of the most- Uh… powerful exploiters in all of Robloxia… will back down from YOU, a puny (uh) admin?}

{ Well guess what? }

[ He went for the attack to try to stun Shedletsky and- Oh. he missed, just like every other person who mains Shedletsky out there. Oh, is he cooked! Shedletsky then ruthlessly sliced him into pieces. Hm? Maybe he did enjoy this. For now, at least. ]

[ Everyone was teleported back to the cabin. Shedletsky was, once again, nowhere to be found. A few survivors seemed scared almost, and a few were unsure. ]

[ Meanwhile, 1x1x1x1 was teleported back to the other killers, c00lkidd being the first to greet him. ]

{ “Hi, one to the power of four! You seem really positive today, are you alright?” }

{ “Never been better!” }

[ 1x1x1x1 responded, leaving c00lkidd… very much flabbergasted, to say the least. ]

[gamblersdoll]

Omg I asked so many people. Cause I need this. I even asked a mxm blog... Omg I am so embarrassed

Non alcoholic shy reader and neighborhood big bro satoru.

Context.

Reader is new in the building. And the grandma gives her alcohol and alcohol based food. Since the granny is the nicest woman alive. So, reader gives the food and alcohol to gojo. But one day, things escalated and he took her virginity.

he was a big brother to everyone, always preaching wisdom and how to do things in creative and certain ways— since he supposedly “went through the same thing last year or two years ago.”

yet, he had his eyes dead set on you, ever since you moved to the big house that almost everyone wanted. they questioned how you were able to afford it, yet, they praised you more. the house was nice, had a nice pool in the back. with a big, nice balcony overhead the patio. on top of that, it was much more spacious on the inside than out, it almost felt surreal when you stepped in.

and on top of that, you had already liked your neighbors. this one grandmother and gigi next door loved and adored you. you were of age and weening off the liquid alcohol, so you only really ate anything that wasnt too strong or no alcoholic based food or beverages. luckily, you found satoru who actually enjoyed it— she didnt mind, of course. she treated you like her own, always looking forward to sitting with her on a rocking chair drinking a arnold palmer.

yet, you were still excited to see this party down at some house that was obviously satorus’. you did feel nervous at first, no lying there. hell, you were new, so was it a problem?

the wall’s reverberated with the music, the hum and the rough beat pulsing through your veins all around you. you looked around yourself, damn. maybe everyone in the neighborhood was a alcoholic or just turned eighteen. you couldnt tell, the way they had two cups in hand and drank from both of them. on top of that, they mixed white alcohol and brown, like fucking idiots.

yet, again. both his ocean eyes and your colored ones were locked onto each other, leaving leading glances from across the room until he was buzzing to come over to you.

“new girl.” he chortled, leaning down to your face and holding his cup. you smelled it— yeah, that was malibu and henny mixed together.. idiot. he was more than buzzing, drunk even maybe. “you– doing alright?”

“yeah, i’m good.” you replied, watching how the tips of his ears were red and his nose looking like rudolf.

it felt like nothing was ever there, like no one was there. the way his lips crashed down to yours, a hand on your hip and him giggling in the kiss. “been meaning to ask how you greet people!” he tipsily says, ruffling your hair and taking his leave.

yet, something felt like he tells you to follow him.

so you, a girl that was so easy to get her heart racing, followed him to some random vacant room. he only giggled and hiccuped when you spoke about your move and how you only just started your freshman year of college, and he swirled his drink in the cheap plastic red cup.

he nods every now and again, a hand inching up your thigh and resting his head on your shoulder. it got you running hot, feeling how much thicker the air was and how his breathing matched yours. another hand groped a breast, him whining yet moaning at the contact.

his nips at your neck, snickering when you rambled about “what are you doing?” or whatever you said. he didnt care.

he simply knew that it would be a good idea to claim you before anyone else did.

and thats how you got here, a drunken satoru gojo between your legs. ontop of that, he was eating your pussy– no, slobbering all over it. was that what alcohol did to people? make their arousals more potent and make them more nasty than anything? hell if you fucking knew it.

his fingers were covered in what you truthfully believed was his spit, but it was ninety percent spit, ten percent arousal from you. and he piston it into your clenched walls.

he scooted up to your face, leaving a sloppy kiss on you lips, then your cheek as he slips himself in, until you hissed and tapped on him.

“whats wrong?” he asks, stopping himself and looking into your eyes. “too big?”

“no– well, maybe…” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and looking away. “just.. go slow.”

his eyes dilate, he instantly knew what that meant.

you were a virgin, and you were allowing hims to take your virgin mary body and ravage it with all of his might. he grits his teeth, keeping himself from groaning and rolling his eyes back.

he does as promised, slipping away into your velvet walls and keeps himself there, allowing your shaking legs to subside and giving pepper kisses along your jaw to soothe your aching. you look up, nodding your head.

“you can, start now.” you pause in between, moaning instantly as you feel him pull away, slamming himself back in.

it felt pornographic the way his thrusts were, the ‘plap, plap, plaps’ that echoed and your moans drowned out by the music of eight bit playing in the back, it also felt so lewd the way your breasts bounced up from the sheer force of the ravaging nine inches he gave you.

and be damned if he could draw a orgasm while having you cream all over him. because thats what just happened whenever he hit that spot that does feel foreign at first, but with the way his mean fat tip was, it felt like heaven. and he was no better, deciding that since it was your first time, he would spurt himself all on your pretty nipples.

yet, usually he never went for the experienced women, because he knows once you start having sex, you crave it more than anything.

fortunately for you, he would enjoy you.

[demie90s]

Can we get some Jackie young x rookie reader where reader is like hyper but anxious and Jackie helps her calm down? Can be either established relationship or that’s what leads to them falling in love, up to you!

Jackie Young x fem!reader

Settle Me

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: I talk fast, move faster, and overthink everything. Jackie doesn’t say much—but when she looks at me, I swear the world slows down.

Warnings: Anxiety, emotional comfort, soft tension, falling in love slowly

Word count: ~ 0.4k

I talk too fast when I’m nervous. Which is almost always. And Jackie—Jackie just breathes. She exists like still water, smooth and steady, never rushing, never raising her voice unless it’s to call out a screen or tell someone to lock in. The first time I met her, I said three sentences before she even said hi. I was halfway through telling her I wasn’t sure if my jersey was tucked in right when she just gave me that soft nod, looked me right in the eye, and said, “You’re good.”

And somehow, I believed her.

I don’t think anyone would’ve paired us together on paper. I’m hyper, twitchy, always buzzing. My thoughts move faster than my feet, and my feet move fast as hell. I run my mouth on the court, bounce between teammates during shootaround, crack jokes in the huddle even when we’re down by fifteen. Jackie? Jackie’s the quiet one. The calm. Icewater eyes. Every word deliberate, every movement grounded.

But she never made me feel like too much. If anything, she kept me steady.

After our third game, I was pacing the locker room, full of post-game adrenaline, spiraling over a missed free throw I’d had in the second quarter. Everyone else was showering, changing, but I was ranting about arc angles and wrist flicks. Jackie walked up behind me with a water bottle and just handed it to me like she’d been listening the whole time.

I stopped mid-rant, took it from her, and blinked.

“You always do that?” I asked.

“What?”

“Know when to save me from myself?”

She smiled, barely. “Only when I know you’ll listen.”

The next time I had a bad game, I ended up sitting on the practice court alone, hoodie over my head. I didn’t want to cry. I just wanted to scream into my sleeves. I thought I was alone until Jackie walked over, sat down beside me, and said, “You don’t have to be perfect every night.”

I didn’t say anything. I just leaned into her shoulder.

That became a thing. Me leaning. Her holding. Not saying much. Just letting me burn out without judging it.

One night after a long-ass road trip, I was venting in the hotel hallway at like midnight, going off about a play I’d fumbled, pacing in my socks. Jackie leaned against the wall, arms crossed, listening like she always did. When I finally stopped to breathe, she looked me dead in the face and said, “You did fine. But even if you didn’t—I’d still be here.”

I blinked.

“Wifey,” I mumbled under my breath. Then louder, “Like actually. You’re—oh my god, you just… that’s real wife behavior.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We might as well be married at this point. Like what you just did? That’s spouse-level emotional regulation. That was marriage material.”

She smiled, still calm, still unbothered.

“Wait,” I added, “Hold on—I don’t wanna be the husband. I’d be the chaotic aunt who shows up at the reception in glitter boots.”

Jackie laughed then. Real soft. Real low. “I’ll be the calm one,” she said.

We stayed in that hallway a little too long.

Eventually, I looked at her and whispered, “You’re kinda falling for me, huh?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just slid her hand into mine and said, “I already did.”

And I—finally—shut up.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @zizi-bee-yapping @kaliblazin @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey

[flightlessangelwings]

What Was Unspoken, And What We Finally Said

Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word count-3.6k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), sexworker reader (respectfully), mutual pining, reader is said to have been with both men and women but her sexuality is up to you, unprotected sex, hj, finering, oral (f receiving), protective!Din, soft!Din, feelings, no description of reader other than body parts and no use of y/n

Notes- This is part a bonus Valentines fic and part a thank you for 5,000 followers fic! I would have liked to do a full follower celebration but since I'm low on writing time lately, I'm doing 2 gift fics for y'all instead. I just want to say thank you each and every one of you for following and supporting me all these years!

Since this is Star Wars, I looked up if there was anything like Valentine's Day and while there isn't one canonically, there is a "Lover's Day" that the fandom kinda agreed is equivalent so I used that here but it can be read any time of year since it's Star Wars and we can say it's any time lol! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

~

You were exhausted.

If you were honest, you weren’t even sure what day it was… or even what time of day at all. Things had never been busier at the brothel the last couple days, and you weren’t sure why. Especially today it was back to back clients for you. The extra credits were nice, and much needed, but by the Maker were you wiped out. But it wasn’t all bad. The brothel you worked at was safe and respectable and the clients almost always tipped well. You even had a lengthy list of regulars, which was nice. Many of them even came by today too.

The day started with a visit from one of your favorite bounty hunters, Fennec Shand. She was usually more quiet and stoic, but today she had an air of playfulness about her, and the smirk she wore on her face made your heart flutter. Later in the day, Axe Woves came by, and seemed more flirtatious than usual. He always left you with a wink and a kiss on the back of your hand, but today he left a lingering kiss on your cheek… and extra credits in tip. 

But there was one person you looked forward to seeing more than anyone else. And he hadn’t come by in some time. 

You let out a heavy sigh as you flopped down onto the bed. Wrapping your robe around yourself, you closed your eyes as you finally got some time to rest after a busy day. Just as your body relaxed into the plush mattress and you felt yourself about to doze off, there was a knock at the door.

“Coming,” you sighed as you pushed yourself up, ready to turn away whoever was on the other side of the door. You just wanted to rest for the rest of the night. “Listen, came you come back tomor…” you froze mid word as your eyes landed on the one person you had hoped to see, “Din!” you breathed.

“Did I come at a bad time?” he asked, tilting his helmeted head to the side, “I had a bounty in the area and I thought I would come by.” Since it’s been awhile, he thought to himself, and I missed you.

“No, no,” you ushered him inside before he could walk away, “Come in.”

The Mandalorian walked past you, entering the room while you closed and locked the door, “Everything alright?” he asked, noticing the exhaustion in your voice.

“Fine,” you replied as you crossed the room and sat down, motioning for him to sit next to you, “It’s just been really busy here the last couple days. Not sure why,” you shrugged. 

“Want me to come back another time?” he asked plainly, his tone hiding his true disappointment especially after having not seen you in so long. Din truly looked forward to the days when he could come by the brothel and spend time with you.

“I think I can muster up some energy for my favorite client,” you replied with a flirty wink. It took everything you had to not sound like you desperately wanted him to stay, and even if you couldn’t even pull yourself off the bed you would do it for him.

Din tilted his head to the side slightly as a soft amused huff escaped his lips, “Your favorite, huh?”

You heard the smile in his voice. Biting your lip and subtly shimmying your shoulders, you closed the gap between your bodies and traced the chestplate of his beskar armor with your finger, “Don’t tell anyone else. They might get jealous,” you purred as the room started to warm around you.

Din reached in his pocket, pulling out a generous amount of credits and placed them on the nearby table before he leaned in closer to you. He cupped your face, tenderly caressing the side of your head in his gloved hand, “Your secret is safe with me.” Din gently rubbed his thumb against your cheek while his large hand cradled you softly while he pushed his body against yours.

“Din…” you breathed as your eyes fluttered shut and you allowed him to guide you back until your legs hit the bed. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmured as his hands moved down the front of your body and tugged at your robe. 

A gasp escaped your lips as the cool air hit your skin. But, you didn’t feel cool for long. Even through the darkness of his vizor, you could feel Din’s gaze on you, and you could tell he eyed you hungerly. The way his breath hitched whenever he saw you bare for him, the way his helmet tilted slightly, the way his hands gripped you just a little bit tighter… you knew all Din’s tells by now. And you craved the feeling of being under his touch.

“Beautiful,” Din sighed as he guided your body down onto the bed. He stood in awe over you for a moment as your robe fell open and framed your figure. His pants felt tighter as his cock reacted to the way you settled yourself, spreading your legs wide for him. Din let out a low groan as he tugged his gloves off. They were the only thing he ever removed, and he only ever took them off with you.

“Din,” you whispered again as the bed dipped as he hovered over you, “Let me…”

You ran your hands down his chest once more, imaging what it would feel like to feel his bare skin under your touch instead. You bit your lip when you reached the hem of his pants, and you expertly unzipped and freed his cock without letting any other sliver of skin show. You knew the trust he put in you, and you never took it for granted. You felt honored that he even trusted you with his real name- something else you held near and dear to your heart. 

Savoring the groan he let out, you stroked his length slowly. You made sure to squeeze right where he liked it, and you let out a whimper every time a louder growl escaped his lips involuntarily. But you let out another whine when you felt his thick fingers cupping your pussy, and you mewled when Din pushed them inside you.

Pumping his fingers to the same rhythm as you stroked his cock, your moans harmonized with his grunts as you both prepped the other. Heavy breaths filled the room as you fought to keep your eyes open and locked on his vizor. Din rested his helmeted forehead against yours as he thrust his fingers deeper inside you, causing you to cry out louder. But, being a professional, you kept your wits about you and squeezed his cock harder in response.  

Din groaned and let out an amused laugh, “Are you ready for me, mesh’la?” he cooed.

“Always,” you whispered back with a smirk of your own.

Another short huff echoed from his helmet as he murmured your name and pulled his fingers out of you. At the same time, you let go of his cock, your hand brushed against his as he reached for it to line himself up with your pussy. The two of you froze for a moment as your gazes met, and for a breath, time felt like it stopped.

A whirlwind of emotions ran through both of you as you stared at each other. It was as if you could both sense the other had something to say, and if you both had a secret you kept buried. Yet, it remained unspoken between the two of you. Your mouth dropped open and a deep breath escaped your lips, like you were about to put into words what neither of you would say.

Before you could, though, Din thrust his hips forward, driving his cock into you in one swift movement. Your head dropped down into the bed as you let out a loud, obscene moan as you felt the familiar stretch of his cock. 

“Din!” you cried out as he reeled back and thrust forward again.

“I know,” he grunted as he felt his skin sweat underneath all the armor. You had an effect on Din that no one else did. He lost all control when it came to you, especially when he was inside you. And the way you moan with every thrust of his hips only made him come more and more undone.

You cried out in ecstasy as Din rocked in and out of you in a fast and steady rhythm. Tears filled your eyes as you clutched the sheets. He made you feel something you had never felt before. And every time Din visited you, it became harder and harder to deny your growing feelings for him.

Passions ran wild as Din picked up his pace, thrusting deep into you harder and faster. He growled from under his helmet as he felt your warmth engulf his cock. Grabbing your hips, Din gave one harsh thrust, driving his length as deep inside you as he possibly could.

The gasp you let out when he did that made his cock twitch, and Din knew neither of you would last much longer. Din kept a strong grip on you as he repeated the action, changing his thrusts to slow and deep and deliberate.

“Fuck… Din…”

“I know,” he grunted.

You moved your grip from the sheets to his arms as you clung to him for dear life. With every slow, deep thrust, you felt your climax inch closer and closer and closer until you finally spilled over the edge. With a loud scream and trembling legs, you came hard on his cock. Squeezing your inner muscles as you gushed between your bodies, wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through your body as Din continued to thrust into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

With a low groan of your name, Din came right after you. He spilled himself deep inside you as he drove his cock as deep as he could once more. Din kept his pace as long as he could, riding out both your orgasms as you moaned and groaned together, clawing at each other in desperation as you did so.

After one last thrust, Din pulled out of you. He watched as you collapsed onto the bed while he regained his composure. Heavy breaths filled the room as you both came down from your highs, and Din rested himself on the bed next to you in silence. His breath hitched in his throat as you immediately rolled close to him and nested yourself comfortably against his body.

“Hey,” you breathed, breaking the silence, “Is your bounty urgent or do you want to stay for the night?”

Din let out a short laugh, “He’s frozen in carbonite,” he sounded pleased with himself, “He’s not going anywhere.”

You smirked against his beaker chestplate as his unspoken acceptance lingered in the air like a comforting blanket between the two of you. Together, you laid in silence as Din wrapped his strong arms around you. Your heart pounded at the feeling of being in his arms, and you wished that it could be like this every night. But, he was a Mandalorian bounty hunter, there was no way that was in the future for you.

Suddenly, an explosion of fireworks echoed from outside, making you gasp and jump up with fright. Din tightened his grip around you, pulling you even closer and going on high alert. The two of you looked out the window as another color firework lit up the sky in the distance. More and more fireworks continued as the show went on, and in the distance you heard a crowd ooh and ahh at the marvel of the show.

Then the realization hit you. “Maker…” you breathed as you burst into nervous laughter, “Do you know what today is, Din?”

He turned to you but said nothing.

“It’s Lover’s Day!” you laughed more to cover the nerves. You just spent the evening of Lover’s Day with Din…

He seemed to mull over for several moments, his gaze moving down before he finally said, “So it is,” Din was quiet again as he turned back to you. 

Even without seeing his face, you felt your skin warm under his gaze. Somehow, you felt all his emotions just in the way he held you, and as Din moved his hand and cupped your face your world felt like it was spinning. You savored the warmth of his touch, and you let out a deep breath as you leaned into his hand and closed your eyes contently.

“Since it’s Lover’s Day,” Din was the one who broke the silence this time, “Let me take care of you…”

“Din…”

Carefully, Din rolled your bodies so that you laid on your back while he hovered over you. Looking up at him, your breath caught in your chest and your heart fluttered as he pushed himself down and settled between your parted legs. 

You let out a whine as heat rushed through your body. All you could do was swallow hard and moan in anticipation as you watched Din lean forward so that he hovered over your exposed pussy.

He murmured something incoherent before he rested his hand on your hips, gently pinning you in place. Not wanting to let go of you, Din used the leverage of your body to tilt his helmet up while he positioned his face over your folds.

A gasp escaped your lips when you felt his breath on your skin, “Din…” you whimpered as you closed your eyes tightly.

Din growled as he licked his lips before diving into you. The cry you let out sent a jolt through his veins, and combined with tasting you, Din almost lost all his composure. “Fuck,” he groaned against you before he lapped at your cunt again.

His hips bucked against the bed as he savored the sweetness of your pussy. Din groaned into you as his hands gripped you tighter, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And the way you moaned and cried out in pure bliss only added to the overwhelming sensations and emotions he felt.

Not having expected this, tears quickly filled your eyes and your mind and body floated in the pleasure that Din’s tongue brought you. With every lap of his tongue, you felt a shock of pleasure tingle through your veins. And it wasn’t because he physically made you feel good either. It was the act itself, Din putting himself into a vulnerable position just to lick and suck at your pussy, and doing this for you.

It had to mean something, right?

“Fuck… Din…” you whimpered as you moved your grip from the sheets to his wrists, finding just the tiny sliver of skin under his armor.

Din grunted into you as he pushed his face more against your body. His hands shifted slightly so that his fingers curled around yours, holding both your hand and your hips at the same time. As much as he wanted to murmur soft words of encouragement, to tell you to cum in his mouth, he also couldn’t tear himself away. From the first taste, Din was addicted to you, and he already knew he wanted more… Wanted you.

Your legs trembled on either side of his helmet as you felt your body warm as your climax was about to hit. Without warning, you came hard with a loud scream, arching your back off the bed and gushing into Din’s mouth as your cries of pleasure filled the room.

He slurped and sucked at your folds as he tongue hit your clit over and over again, allowing you to ride out your orgasm on his tongue. And Din greedily lapped up every drop of your release, swallowing as much of you as he could. His grip on you tightened as he moaned against your body, lapping at you until you couldn’t take any more.

With one final gasp, you flopped down limp on the bed as Din broke away from you with a huff. His helmet slid down to cover his face in one smooth motion as he sat up and licked at the corners of his mouth from under the cover of his armor.  He watched you with captivate fascination as your breasts rose and fell with your deep, heavy breaths as you recovered from your intense climax.

There were so many words on the tip of his tongue. So many things that Din wanted to tell you. The tension in the air was so thick that it almost overpowered the smell of sex in the room. Din ran his hands up and down your body, gently caressing you and letting his touch speak for him instead.

“Din,” you murmured as you broke the silence and blinked your eyes open to meet his armored figure in the low light, “I…”

He moved his hand to the side of your face, not covering your mouth but the motion itself paused your thoughts. He said nothing as he pushed himself up to your face, stopping for a moment to rest his helmeted forehead against your own. As the two of you sat like that for a few moments, he brushed your cheek with his finger tenderly. Din whispered your name as he broke away, moving his hand to cover your eyes as he did so. 

Your lips pasted with a gasp, yet you stayed still, fully trusting the Mandalorian. With your eyes covered by his large hand, your world went black. Faintly, you heard a hiss in front of you, but before you could ask what was happening, you felt something on your skin. His breath.

Din pulled his helmet up just enough to uncover half of his face. His lips felt cold as the air hit his skin, but he was instantly warmed again when he pressed his lips to yours. He swallowed the moan you let out as he kissed you for the very first time. Tightening his grip on you, Din pushed himself even closer against you, desperate to feel you as close as possible.

You surrendered yourself to him willingly. Tilting your head, you were mindful to keep your eyes covered as you deepened the kiss by parting your lips for him. Din eagerly accepted the silent invitation, and you both moaned into the other when you tased each other for the first time. The fireworks continued around you, but the only explosions either of you cared about were the ones happening between you.

“I know,” Din murmured against your lips when he reluctantly broke away from you.

You let out a deep breath against his face, and you knew he felt your smile against his skin. Din placed one last kiss on your lips, lingering on yours for several moments before he pulled away and dropped his helmet back down.

Blinking your eyes open, you grinned when you were met with the familiar silhouette in the darkness once more. A soft smile lit up your face, and it made Din’s chest tighten with the sincere look in your eyes. Just as you were about to say something, though, a knock at the door made both of you jump to attention.

Din was quick to stand and shift into attack mode. Out of pure reflex, his hand reached for his blaster, ready to protect you.

“Wait,” you grabbed his wrist with one hand as you reached for your robe with the other, “It might be another client. Hang on,” you slid the robe over your shoulders and wrapped it around you as you moved around the Mandalorian.

He didn’t stray far from you, hovering behind you as you opened the door and recognized the man who stood on the other side, “Hey, I’ve got an overnight tonight,” you told him in a kind voice, “Can you come back tomorrow? I promise I’ll leave a time open for you.”

The man stuttered as he suddenly felt nervous as the Mandalorian glared at him from over your shoulder, “Y-yeah,” he finally said, “Sure… Sorry,” he mumbled before he turned and left.

Closing and locking the door, you turned back to Din and shook your head as you grinned, “He’s a nice guy,” you explained to him, “One of my best tippers too… So please try not to scare away my source of income.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled an apology as he visibly relaxed. Din had no issue with what you did for a living, he only had your safety and best interest in mind. He had seen you mistreated once before, and while he knew it was a rarity, Din never wanted to see you hurt ever again. Especially not if he could prevent it and protect you. 

“Let’s lay down,” you said softly as you reached your hand out to him. Your heart fluttered for a moment as he took your hand and allowed you to lead him back to the bed where you both made yourselves comfortable. Din immediately pulled you in close and held you in his embrace. 

Settling down for the night, you never felt more safe than you did right now, in Din’s arms. Yawning heavily, you felt the exhaustion start to overcome you once more, and you knew soon you would be sound asleep, “Hey Din,” you muttered sleepily, “Happy Lover’s Day.”

Din’s breath hitched in his throat as you quickly started to snore softly. He looked forward to nights like this, nights with you. And it was pure coincidence that he happened to come to you on Lover’s Day. But perhaps it wasn't a coincidence. Perhaps he was meant to be here tonight… with you. As Din listened to your steady breaking while you slept, he leaned in and whispered, “Happy Lover’s Day, cyare.”