#he was there and he was a character and he sounded familiar

[lotuswish]

˗ˏˋ what loving you feels like to them (pt. 7 - diasomnia) 𓆩𓆪 .ᐟ

synopsis: have you ever wondered what falling in love feels like for each twisted wonderland boy? this series explores love from their perspective— how their personalities, experiences, and desires shape what loving you means to them. follow me to see the next part!

featured character(s): malleus draconia, lilia vanrouge, sebek zigvolt, silver.

content warning(s): none

a/n: woo, the final part of this series! after two months of writing, rewriting, proofreading, and endlessly nitpicking, it’s finally complete and posted—feels good to wrap this up! what loving you feels like to them might occasionally use the same words, but those words mean something a little different for each of them. it might sound familiar, but it's still their own!

malleus draconia

loving you feels like a paradox to malleus draconia—both a yearning ache and a soothing balm, a forbidden fruit and the sweetest blessing he never dared to imagine for himself. it’s a sensation so foreign yet so natural, like finding a home in a place he never knew existed. for someone who has lived centuries surrounded by grandeur yet plagued by solitude, loving you is both the most terrifying and the most precious experience of his life.

he has lived a life of solitude, surrounded by awe but never companionship, respect but never intimacy. his world is vast, his power nearly limitless, but it has always felt empty, a hollow kingdom with no one to share it with. loving you feels like standing in a darkened hall and suddenly seeing it bathed in light. it is warmth where there was only cold, music where there was silence. you bring him into a world of emotions he never thought he’d have, filling his existence with vibrancy and depth.

malleus has always been feared, revered, and set apart—kept at arm’s length by the weight of his power and status as the heir to briar valley’s throne. loving you feels like unlocking a door that had always been closed, revealing a world he never thought he could enter. you treat him not as a king, a fae, or a being of immense power, but as simply malleus. the way you meet his gaze without fear, laugh in his presence, and speak to him as an equal fills the void within him he never even fully understood. your love is a bridge between his world and a life of connection he thought was forever out of reach.

but loving you is also a quiet fear, one that coils in the depths of his heart. you are fragile, mortal, fleeting. he knows that time, the same force that has shaped him and his long life, will inevitably seek to take you away. this knowledge makes every moment with you feel both infinitely precious and heartbreakingly finite. it makes his love intense, protective, and almost reverent. he finds himself holding you closer, memorizing every detail, every breath, as though he can somehow defy the inevitable with sheer will.

loving you feels like the answer to a question he’s been asking for centuries, a fulfillment of a longing he could never put into words. it’s bittersweet and overwhelming, but it’s a gift he cherishes beyond anything else. you are his greatest treasure, not because you belong to him, but because you choose him. and he, in turn, chooses you��fully, completely, and forever.

lilia vanrouge

loving you feels like eternity to lilia vanrouge—a thread woven into the centuries of his long life, yet distinct and irreplaceable in its brilliance. it’s a reminder of the beauty in fleeting moments, something he’s come to cherish after watching so much of the world change, break, and fade with time. for someone who has lived longer than most can fathom, loving you feels like a rarity, a spark that rekindles the part of him that thought he had seen it all.

to lilia, love has always been a complex, bittersweet thing. he’s seen how fragile it can be, how it can grow and flourish yet wither all the same. but loving you doesn’t feel like a burden or a fleeting indulgence—it feels like a choice he makes every day, one he makes joyfully. it’s the way you challenge him, intrigue him, and bring a warmth to his heart that he hasn’t felt in ages. loving you feels like finding something entirely new, even in a world he’s walked for centuries.

loving you awakens his playful side even more. he teases you, relishing every laugh, every flustered reaction, and every small moment you share. but beneath his jokes and mischief, there’s a depth to his affection—a steadfastness that reflects the wisdom and loyalty he’s cultivated through the ages. for lilia, love isn’t just passion or fleeting excitement; it’s a quiet certainty, an unshakable bond that weaves itself into his life with a permanence he never thought possible. loving you reminds him that while his life is long, it’s the connections he makes that give it meaning.

there’s also a protectiveness to his love, though it’s never overbearing. lilia understands the fragility of life better than most, and it makes him treasure you even more. he knows that time is fleeting for some, but he refuses to let that deter him. instead, he chooses to savor every moment with you, to live in the present and create memories that will endure in his heart, no matter what.

loving you feels like a song—a melody that lingers long after it’s played, something he hums to himself even when you’re not around. it’s sweet and playful, with notes of melancholy, but above all, it’s unforgettable. loving you is his way of defying the inevitability of time, of saying that no matter how many centuries pass, there are things worth holding onto, and you are one of them.

sebek zigvolt

loving you feels like duty and devotion entwined for sebek zigvolt.

sebek has always lived his life with purpose, driven by an unwavering loyalty to malleus draconia and the ideals of the briar valley. to love someone romantically is an unexpected experience for him—one that initially conflicts with the sense of duty that has defined his existence. yet, loving you doesn’t feel like a betrayal of that duty; instead, it becomes an extension of it. loving you is another cause he throws himself into with all the ferocity of his spirit. it is both a challenge and a privilege, one he approaches with the same intensity and focus that he dedicates to all things important in his life.

to sebek, love is both a challenge and a revelation. it’s not easy for him to reconcile his affection for you with the unyielding focus he’s maintained toward his goals. at first, loving you feels inconvenient, like an unwelcome distraction from his responsibilities. he struggles to understand it, to put it into words, because he has always prioritized duty over personal desires, leaving little room to reflect on his own wants. but the longer he spends with you, the more he realizes that loving you isn’t a weakness—it’s a strength. it pushes him to be better, not just as a knight or a protector, but as a person.

loving you also brings out a side of him he rarely shows—one that is quieter, and deeply earnest. it’s in the way he fumbles over words when he tries to tell you how much you mean to him, the way he blushes fiercely when you catch him staring, and the way he trains even harder because he wants to be someone you can rely on. his love for you is almost overwhelming in its intensity, but it’s also pure and steadfast, a reflection of the unshakable loyalty that defines him.

but loving you is not without conflict. sebek struggles to reconcile his pride and his affection, often fumbling to express his feelings in a way that doesn’t betray his dignity. his words may come out louder or harsher than intended, his actions more grandiose than necessary, because he does not yet know how to soften for you. still, his love is earnest, as unwavering as his loyalty to the draconias. you teach him that love is not about perfection, that it’s okay to be flawed, to grow, and to lean on someone else.

loving you feels like finding balance. it doesn’t take away from his loyalty to malleus or his pride as a knight, but it reminds him that even the strongest warrior needs moments of rest, that even the most disciplined heart deserves happiness. for sebek, loving you is a fire that burns steady and bright, not dimming his resolve but giving it new purpose. you are his anchor and his inspiration, and he loves you with all the intensity of his being.

silver

loving you feels like peace to silver, a quiet but profound warmth that wraps around his heart and stays with him, even in the stillest moments. it is not something he sought out or expected, but something that came naturally, like the first light of day creeping over the horizon. for silver, love is not loud or dramatic; it is calm and unwavering, a feeling that settles deep in his soul and grounds him in a way nothing else ever has. it feels like solace, a rare and precious thing in a life that has always been shaped by duty.

loving you feels like clarity. silver has always lived with a sense of purpose, devoted to his training and his role in protecting malleus draconia. his focus has always been outward, on those he serves, but loving you shifts something inside him. for the first time, he feels like he’s allowed to focus on himself—not in a selfish way, but in a way that makes him realize he is more than his duty. with you, he feels seen for who he is, not just as a knight or a protector, but as a person. and in that, he finds a quiet kind of joy.

but loving you is also vulnerable for him. silver is not used to putting his feelings into words; he is a man of action, not flowery speeches. he shows his love in the way he listens, in the way he instinctively stands closer to you when he senses danger, in the way he remembers the little things that make you happy. for silver, love is something he expresses through quiet gestures rather than grand declarations, but it is no less profound. in fact, it feels deeper because of its simplicity, like an unspoken understanding between you.

loving you feels like balance. silver has always walked the line between the human and fae worlds, a child of both but also of neither. with you, he doesn’t feel like he has to choose. you accept every part of him—the human side that longs for companionship and the disciplined knight who feels an unshakable sense of duty. your love doesn’t ask him to change or to prove himself; it simply asks him to be. and in that, he finds a sense of belonging he didn’t realize he was missing.

for silver, loving you feels like rest. it feels like finding a place where he doesn’t have to stand guard, where he can let his guard down without fear. it’s steady, like the rhythm of his heartbeat when you’re near, and gentle, like the warmth of the sun on his face. it is a quiet love, but it is deep and unshakable, and he treasures it as one would a dream they never want to wake from. with you, silver has found something worth protecting—not out of duty, but out of love.

congrats on making it to the end! if you enjoyed this, likes, comments, follows, and reblogs are always appreciated—they help motivate me to keep creating and sharing!

[midnightfict]

What History?

— 𓆩𓆪 —

𓆩 Lee Byung-Hun x F!reader 𓆪

Summary — Squid Game fans have been shipping two actors not knowing they have a history together.

A/N — aaaa, writer’s block is killing me. but the reqs i've been getting is starting to help. i promise i’m currently drafting for the other reqs.

request post

— 𓆩𓆪 —

The room was brightly lit, cameras positioned at every angle, and a familiar nervousness settled in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t new to interviews, but something about these promotional videos always made you a little jittery. Maybe it was the anticipation of how fans would react, or maybe it was the fact that sitting next to you was none other than Lee Byung-hun—your former high school boyfriend and now your co-star in Squid Game Season 2.

The two of you walked into the room together, followed by director Hwang Dong-hyuk, who greeted the crew with a casual nod.

“Alright,” a staff member announced. “We’re shooting two videos today. The first segment is watching fan edits, and the second is reading fan letters. Just react naturally, have fun, and remember—no breaking into hysterics.”

Byung-hun chuckled beside you. “That sounds like a challenge.”

You smirked. “You sound scared.”

“I might as well be. Have you seen those AI edits of me and Lee Jung-jae?”

The staff gestured for silence, signaling that the cameras were rolling. You introduced yourself to the camera, followed by Byung-hun and Dong-hyuk. The screen before you flickered to life, and the first video started playing.

The first edit was cinematic—a high-energy montage of Squid Game 2’s most intense moments. Gunfights, chase sequences, close-ups of steely gazes. It had everything. The booming orchestral soundtrack made every scene feel ten times more dramatic.

Byung-hun let out an impressed whistle. “Did we actually shoot something this cool?”

You nodded. “Because I don’t remember looking this badass.”

Dong-hyuk leaned forward, squinting. “Wait—when did you do that roll behind cover?”

You snorted. “That’s the one where I landed wrong and bruised my entire arm.”

Byung-hun grinned. “Ohhh, right. And you tried to play it off like you meant to do it.”

“I did mean to do it.”

Dong-hyuk shook his head. “That’s not what you said when you screamed in pain afterward.”

Byung-hun burst into laughter. Your light punch to his side silenced him, earning a dramatic yelp.

“Give respect to your elders!”

You gave the camera a look. “He’s so dramatic. We’re literally only one year apart.”

The next edit was a deep dive into In-ho’s past, set in black and white with emotional piano music. It contrasted his life as a police officer with his role as the Front Man, highlighting the tragedy of his choices.

Dong-hyuk hummed thoughtfully. “This fan basically made a better teaser than we did.”

Byung-hun nodded. “Can we hire them?”

You pointed at a particular shot. “This scene—this is when you had to retake your mask removal, what, twenty times?”

Byung-hun groaned. “Ugh. The mask kept getting caught on my hood. Every time I tried to look dramatic, I just looked stuck.”

Dong-hyuk chuckled. “We had to cut out three takes where you sighed right into the mask.”

Byung-hun held up his hands. “No need to expose me like that.”

Then came the brainrot edit. An animation of Squid Game characters dancing to some bizarre, upbeat song.

You had the biggest grin—too silly not to laugh. The video didn’t even make sense.

Dong-hyuk had his brows furrowed, an amused but not entirely entertained smile on his face.

Byung-hun, on the other hand, sat perfectly still, eyes locked on the screen. No one could tell what he was thinking.

When it ended, you all exchanged an awkward glance.

“I mean… I like it. It’s an interesting video,” you said, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes, still laughing.

Dong-hyuk fixed his glasses. “Is this what people see when they watch my show?”

Byung-hun crossed his arms. “They didn’t do me justice. Why is the Front Man not included in this video?”

The staff smirked. “Don’t worry, there’s a Front Man edit in the next one.”

The next video was different. The music was softer, the pacing slower. It highlighted your character’s interactions with In-ho—subtle glances, moments of hesitation, scenes where your characters moved in sync. It wasn’t obvious in the actual show, but with the way the editor framed it…

It almost looked like something was going on.

Byung-hun blinked. “What’s this?”

Dong-hyuk raised an eyebrow. “They created scenes that aren’t even in the series.”

You squinted. “Are we too old to understand what this is?”

It was a ship edit.

Silence.

Then, Byung-hun let out a slow, amused chuckle. “Well. That was unexpected.”

Dong-hyuk crossed his arms. “You two do have really natural chemistry.”

You cleared your throat. “I mean, our characters have history, so—”

Byung-hun nodded. “Right, right. Former police officers.”

Dong-hyuk hummed. “Well, I had another love interest in mind for In-ho, but thinking about it… your characters being shipped makes sense. Maybe I should make it canon in Season 3.”

Both you and Byung-hun snapped your heads toward him.

“Huh?!”

The crew erupted into laughter. Dong-hyuk smiled and closed the segment with a thank-you and a Squid Game 2 promotion.

After a quick makeup touch-up, a staff member placed a stack of envelopes in front of you, Byung-hun, and Dong-hyuk.

Dong-hyuk stretched his arms and grinned. “Alright, let’s see what the fans have to say. If anyone insults my writing, I’m walking out.”

Byung-hun smirked. “I’d say you’re bluffing, but we all know you’re dramatic enough to do it.”

You laughed. “Place your bets, everyone. How many letters will be about Byung-hun’s attractiveness?”

Byung-hun scoffed. “Excuse me, I am a serious actor. Not just a handsome face.”

The cameras rolled.

You picked up the first letter and smoothed it out before reading aloud.

‘Dear Director Hwang, your storytelling is a masterpiece. Every scene feels like it has so much depth and emotion. How do you come up with such gripping narratives?’

Dong-hyuk’s face lit up. “Ah, A letter for me!”

Byung-hun immediately reached over, fingers grasping at the paper. “Skip it.”

You swatted his hand away. “No, let him have his moment.”

Dong-hyuk straightened his posture, adjusting his jacket with mock importance. “Well, since you asked… My process is simple. I think, ‘What is the most stressful, painful situation I can put my characters in?’ And then I do that.”

Byung-hun leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I knew you enjoyed torturing us.”

Dong-hyuk grinned. “Absolutely.”

Byung-hun exhaled, then grabbed the next letter from the pile, unfolding it.

‘Was filming action scenes difficult? Especially the parkour scenes.’

You didn’t hesitate. “Oh, definitely. That scene where I had to jump from bed to bed? I had bruises for days.”

Byung-hun winced at the memory. “Oh yeah, you took a pretty bad fall.”

You sighed dramatically, throwing your arms up. “And no one even said ‘cut’ when I landed wrong! I had to just lie there in pain.”

Dong-hyuk raised a hand in defense. “Okay, to be fair, it looked intentional.”

Byung-hun let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. “You heard it here first, folks. The director is a masochist.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “It builds character.”

Byung-hun rubbed his temple. “I worry for your future wife.”

You sifted through the pile and grabbed the next letter.

‘To Byung-hun, was it difficult wearing the Front Man’s mask for long periods of time? It looks heavy.’

Byung-hun groaned dramatically, flopping against the back of his chair. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Dong-hyuk snorted. “He complained about it every single day.”

Byung-hun sat up, pointing at him. “Because it was a legitimate problem! The mask was so heavy, and it pressed into my face so much that I had red marks after every shoot.”

You bit back a laugh. “And let’s not forget the time it got stuck.”

Byung-hun groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, please, let’s forget that.”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “We have footage.”

Byung-hun immediately turned to the camera, eyes pleading. “Dear editors, if you have any mercy, don’t include that clip.”

They did.

Dong-hyuk chuckled and grabbed the next letter. “‘Director Hwang, who is your favorite character in Squid Game?’”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “Yikes. That’s like asking me to pick my favorite child.”

Byung-hun smirked. “But we all know you have a favorite.”

Dong-hyuk tapped his fingers against the table, pretending to contemplate. “Well… I have a soft spot for In-ho.”

Byung-hun gasped, clutching his chest as if he’d been struck. “You love me?”

Dong-hyuk’s deadpan stare didn’t waver. “I said I love In-ho. Not you.”

You burst into laughter as Byung-hun recoiled in mock betrayal. “Wow, I won’t return to Season 3 then.”

Dong-hyuk ignored him, his expression thoughtful. “I love complex characters, and In-ho has so much depth. There’s still so much left to explore with him.”

You leaned in. “So, does that mean he’s safe in Season 3?”

Dong-hyuk smirked. “I mean, it’s possible, but I don’t know. We’ll have to find out.”

Byung-hun cut in, laughing. “What do you mean you don’t know? You created the story.”

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “Let’s just say… No one is ever truly safe.”

The next letter Byung-hun picked up seemed harmless at first.

‘I don’t know what it is, but…’

He stopped mid-sentence, chuckling as he glanced at the camera, then at you and Dong-hyuk. “I don’t know if I can continue reading this without someone getting mad.”

Silence fell over the room.

Curious, you snatched the letter from his hands and scanned it. A laugh bubbled out of you. “Who’s gonna get mad over this?”

Byung-hun gave you a knowing look, subtly hinting at someone you had dated during filming.

Your expression faltered for half a second before you quickly masked it with a tight smile. Keeping your mouth hidden from the camera, you mouthed, “We broke up.”

Dong-hyuk grinned and leaned forward to peek at the letter over your shoulder. “Well, well, well. They think you two have some history together because you make the characters so compelling together.”

Byung-hun cleared his throat, spitting out a joke before anyone could dwell on the comment. “Have you guys ever considered we are both just very good actors?”

Dong-hyuk stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. “Seeing how everybody seems to ship you two, maybe I should create a romance movie with you both.”

You and Byung-hun turned to him in horror, simultaneously shaking your heads.

Dong-hyuk simply shrugged. “What? The fans love it. I should give them what they want.”

Byung-hun laughed nervously and quickly faced the camera. “Okay let's end it! Thank you for watching this video. Don’t forget to watch us on Netflix!”

After finishing the shoot, the three of you parted ways—but the internet did not.

A week after the video was published, fans went crazy. The shipping theories got worse. Your social media was flooded with comments. Multiple media outlets invited you and Byung-hun for interviews together, riding the hype.

One afternoon, before another press event, you texted him.

Want to grab coffee before the next interview?

Thought you’d never ask.

At the café, he took a sip of his drink and smirked. “Remember how broke we were from getting coffee every other day in high school?”

You groaned. “Oh god, that was what? Twenty—no, thirty years ago? High school was rough. I don’t even want to remember that.”

“You’re mean. So I meant nothing to you?” He feigned hurt, holding back a smile.

“Oh, shush. You know what I mean.” You playfully pushed his forehead as he held the door open for you. “Besides, we lasted ‘til university, no—”

Click.

A camera shutter.

You froze. He froze.

Through the café window, a crowd had formed. Some held up phones. Others were whispering excitedly.

Fuck. They found you.

Byung-hun exhaled. “Well, I guess there’s no turning back.”

Then, with a smirk, he grabbed your hand, laced his fingers through yours, and yanked you out of the sea of screaming fans.

[witchywithwhiskey]

Alright, Molly, let’s try this again ❤️

What if I say Lloyd Hansen and 1-800-Cupid? 😌 Does that strike your fancy?

be my cupid

pairing: boyfriend!lloyd hansen x female reader

summary: when your boyfriend is away on a work trip for valentine's day, you have a plan to make it special. but then he surprises you with an even more exciting present that you weren't expecting.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, light bdsm, light dom/sub, sir kink, praise kink, finger sucking, aftercare, pet names, established relationship, some insecurity from reader and reassurance from lloyd

word count: 3.1k

a/n: i'm so happy you sent in the "1-800-Cupid" prompt!! i was hoping someone would because it seemed so fun. i really like the idea i came up with for this one—and i think it works perfectly with lloyd! thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

“Thank you for calling 1-800-Cupid,” you trilled into the phone, unable to bite back the smile that had spread across your face when you saw the name Lloyd Hansen appear on the screen. “I’m your personal cupid, here to connect you with your true love.”

“My ‘true love’?” The familiar voice on the other end of the line scoffed with an ungentlemanly snort. 

You could practically hear the whiskers of his mustache twitch as his mouth twisted into a playful sneer. Indignantly, you sat up in your bed. 

“Don’t you dare scoff at me, Lloyd Hansen,” you scolded, even going so far as to give your phone a little glare when you knew there was no way for the man on the other end to actually see your expression. After all, you were sitting in your bed, alone in your apartment, while he was half a world away on some business trip. 

“I’m sorry, cupcake, I’m sorry,” Lloyd said soothingly, managing to sound genuinely contrite and teasingly playful all at the same time. 

You rolled your eyes with affection—it was a feat only Lloyd could manage. But it did the trick and you settled back into the pillows on your bed, playing with the edge of your sweater while you huffed a sigh. 

It took you a moment to get back into character, glancing at the short script you’d prepared as part of the surprise you’d planned.

“Now, why are you calling today, sir?” you asked in your best professionally cheerful customer service voice.

“Well, I found a mysterious card in my jacket, with your number on it,” Lloyd said, mirth filling his tone even as he tried to play along. “You don’t think my girlfriend could’ve had something to do with it, do you? D’you think she’s trying to get rid of me?” 

It took all your effort to stifle a hopeless giggle. You could always count on Lloyd to make you laugh, even when you were sad about the fact that he wasn’t there with you.

It was your first Valentine’s Day together, but he’d had to go away on a work trip, and you’d come up with a little plan to make the holiday special when you weren’t able to be together. But he kept distracting you. 

You took a moment to collect yourself, Lloyd waiting patiently on the other end of the line, seemingly just happy to be on the phone with you, which made you all the more eager to get on with your plan. 

“I don’t know anything about that…” you said primly, trying to keep your mouth from curving into a smile and utterly failing. So you moved on, blurting out the next part of your script. “Would you like me to send a photo of the true love you’ve been matched with, sir?”

“You keep calling me sir, sunshine, and you’re going to be getting a photo of my hard dick,” Lloyd muttered, sounding like he was palming the bulge in his pants already. 

Your breath hitched in your throat, warmth cascading down through your body and settling heavily between your thighs, wetness beginning to gather in your panties. It was on the tip of your tongue to beg him to send the photo, so you’d have something to touch yourself to when he inevitably needed to go and attend to the work that had taken him out of the country.

But you shook yourself and persevered with your plan. “Lloyd,” you admonished, your voice a little breathy despite your best efforts. “Do you want the photo or not?” 

“Sure, princess, send me the photo,” he said. Affection was clear in his tone, which made you soften just a bit. 

Pulling the phone away from your ear, you tapped on the screen until you pulled up the photos you’d had taken in a boudoir photoshoot. They were Valentine’s Day themed, with your body swathed in red and white lingerie, surrounded by rose petals and soft silk sheets. In your hands, you held a pink, plastic bow and arrow, making you look like a particularly sexy cupid.

Biting back a grin and a sound of excitement, you sent your favorite of the photos to Lloyd, then quickly replaced your phone against your ear, holding your breath while you waited with eager anticipation for his reaction.

You were rewarded a few seconds later with a choked groan and a muttered curse from your boyfriend. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought he was in pain, but then his lust-soaked voice filled your ears.

“Fuck, angel, look at you,” he cooed down the line, sending little shivers of delight racing beneath your skin. “You look so fucking gorgeous—so perfect and pretty and…” He trailed off, his words dissolving into another restrained groan, like he was biting his hand to muffle the sound. “Is this all for me? Is this my Valentine’s Day present, sweets?” 

“Yeah,” you said softly, almost shyly, unable to wipe the grin off your face. The rest of your words left you in a rush of excitement. “Do you like it? I wanted to give you something you’d like even though you’re on your work trip.”

“I love it, buttercup,” Lloyd purred. 

His deep voice made you shiver with a desire that you knew was going to go unslaked until your boyfriend got home. No matter how much phone sex the two of you had, it was never quite as satisfying as having Lloyd with you in person, bending you over and taking you hard and deep…

Lloyd kept talking then, distracting you from your dirty thoughts with a surprise of his own.

“I got you something, too, pumpkin. Open your door.”

Excitement shot through your body and you bounced eagerly off your bed. You didn’t think much of his words, it wasn’t uncommon for Lloyd to send you little presents while he was on his work trips—coffee and pastries delivered to your door in the mornings to help you start your day, some jewelry or a book in the evenings because he was thinking of you. 

“Oohh, did you get me flowers, Lloyd Hansen?” you chattered happily, padding through your apartment to the front door. “Some chocolates? One of those giant stuffed teddy bears?” You paused, glancing around your cramped and cozy space, wondering where you would even put a giant teddy bear. 

Your boyfriend just chuckled softly on the other end of the line, not giving anything away. Your excitement to know what he’d gotten you rushed back in, and you turned to the door again, eager to see what he’d sent you.

Flinging open the front door of your apartment, you were stunned to find not flowers or chocolates or a teddy bear, but Lloyd Hansem himself. He wore a familiar smirk on his handsome face, his blue eyes glittering with mischief in the fluorescent lights of the hallway, his phone still held up to his ear. 

“LLOYD!” you screamed, your phone slipping from your fingers and tumbling loudly to the floor as you launched yourself at your boyfriend. “You’re here.” The words came out much softer as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar, spicy scent of his cologne. 

“Did you really think I’d let you spend our first Valentine’s Day alone?” he teased you playfully, one of his arms banding around your back while his other hand cupped the back of your head, holding you tightly against his chest. He walked you backward into your apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here with you, muffin.”

His words filled your heart with joy, and you wrapped your arms tighter around his shoulders, clinging to his big, strong form while he slowly twirled the two of you around, like you were dancing to a silent slow song. You were so happy, it took you a moment for reality to crash back down around you. 

“But I wasn’t expecting you,” you whined into Lloyd’s neck, remembering that your face was entirely bare of makeup and you were wearing the same thing you’d had on all week—a pair of leggings and one of Lloyd’s shirts, even though his cologne had long since worn off. “I’m not pretty right now,” you mumbled, hiding your face against Lloyd’s throat.

Lloyd gently eased you away from his body, having to pry your clinging arms loose, so he could rake his eyes over your bare face. He smiled, his mustache twitching a little, and his blue eyes sparkled with nothing but genuine affection. 

“You’re gorgeous just like this, pretty girl,” he cooed, ducking forward and pressing a kiss to your lips. Then he brushed kisses to your cheeks and forehead, even dropping a kiss to the tip of your nose, making you giggle. “You make a very sexy cupid, but you’re always my gorgeous girl.”

“Thank you, Lloyd,” you said on a soft sigh of contentment, dragging him in for a proper kiss.

His mustache tickled your upper lip in the way that you’d grown to crave, and you moaned at the familiar, delicious taste of your boyfriend. Pulling him even closer with your fingers curled around the lapels of his jacket, you kissed him harder, pouring all the affection and happiness you felt about having him home into the way your mouth moved against his.

Kissing you back just as fervently, Lloyd walked you backward until you were pressed against the wall in your living room. He crowded in around you, pinning you to the wall with his big, hard body, his bulge jutting into your belly while he deepened the kiss, coaxing a burning inferno of need to life within you.

Before long, you were pushing impatiently at his jacket, wordlessly whining for him to take it off. Lloyd was only too happy to oblige, shedding the garment and tugging his shirt over his head, his mouth finding yours again for another hot, searing kiss.

His fingers hooked in the waistband of your leggings, shoving them down over your hips and thighs so you could kick them off. Then his hands came up to cup your face, cradling your head while he licked into your mouth, fucking you with his tongue until you were whimpering, desperately needing him to fill another of your holes. 

Quickly, Lloyd toed out of his shoes and stripped off his pants, leaving him in only a pair of boxer briefs, while you still wore a sweater and your panties. Glancing down at your shirt before he went back to kissing you, Lloyd’s hands pushed beneath your sweater, his fingers finding the soft flesh of your tits and kneading until you were breaking away to moan. 

“Is this my shirt?” Lloyd asked in a low, rumbling voice that was soaked with lust and a little hint of humor. He pressed hungry, nipping kisses along your jaw, pinching your nipples and making you squirm between his hard, unyielding body and the wall at your back. 

“Yeah,” you answered on a gasp. “I missed you,” you confessed, your hands curling around his bare shoulders, clinging to the muscles bunching beneath his warm skin while your head tipped back against the wall and you let out a low, keening whine. 

Lloyd made a gruff sound in the back of his throat, pulling away so he could look you in the eye. Your head was still tipped back, though, so he cupped your jaw in his hand and tilted it forward, his thumb running along your plump lower lip. 

You took the tip into your mouth and nipped playfully before sucking on Lloyd’s thumb, staring up at your boyfriend with half-lidded eyes. You watched while his gaze darkened, his pupils blowing wide with a lustful hunger that made your body clench tight with anticipation. 

“I missed you too, baby cakes,” he rumbled, ducking his head to brush a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His mustache tickled and you giggled, turning your head and letting his thumb fall from your lips so you could kiss your boyfriend.

The kiss quickly turned heated again and it felt like both of you suddenly remembered how long it had been since you’d been joined together in the most primal way possible. There was an urgency in your movements as you impatiently tugged your boyfriend’s boxer briefs down, palming his cock while he tugged your sweater off and shoved your panties down your legs.

“Lloyd, please, I need you,” you gasped, wrenching your lips from his to suck in some much-needed air. The fingers of your free hand curled in the hair at the back of his head, clinging to him while stroked his cock, your thigh lifting and trying to curl around his hip. “Need your cock inside me, need you to fill me up, sir, please.”

“Fuck, alright, alright, lollipop—you want my cock, you’ll get it,” Lloyd rumbled, his hand grabbing your raised thigh and lifting it higher. His fingers dug into your plush softness while he hooked it around his hip and you guided his cock to your entrance. “Take it, honey bee, take your man’s cock.”

You sank down on Lloyd’s cock while he pressed into you, filling you up in one smooth stroke that had your head falling back against the wall and a filthy moan spilling from your lips. You weren’t quite wet enough to take him easily, but you enjoyed the slight burn and the ache of being stretched around his hard length too much to complain. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll face, looking so fucking blissed out on my cock,” Lloyd said on a grunt, pulling out slightly and pushing in again, making you both moan. “I could get used to this—coming home to you and filling your cunt while your body clings to me, sucking me deeper.” 

“Yes, yes, please, sir, I want that,” you babbled, the words falling from your lips and finding you did want it. You wanted Lloyd coming home to you every day, fucking you over the nearest surface and reminding you who you belonged to every night. “I want you filling me every day, fucking me, taking what’s yours.”

Lloyd chuckled, the sound deliciously sinful while he rocked into your body, fucking you against the wall of your apartment ruthlessly. All you could do was cling to him, your fingers curling in his hair, nails digging into the back of his neck while you held on for the ride.

“You want me to take what’s mine, sweet pea? Are you mine, sweet girl?” he teased mercilessly, fucking you even harder. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to say yes, you were his, but then Lloyd changed the angle of his hips. The base of his cock rubbed meanly against your clit with every thrust and you cried out loudly, your back arching away from the wall and your hips bearing down on his cock as you barreled toward your release.

“Lloyd,” you gasped, barely able to get the words out, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it, cutie, cum for me,” Lloyd urged, fucking you in hard thrusts, pausing between each to grind against your clit  “Be a good girl and show me you’re mine, honey pie—cum all over my cock.” 

Between his commanding words and the relentless grinding of his hips, his cock buried to the hilt in your soaking wet pussy, it was too much. Your release crashed over you, making you scream in pleasure while you came on Lloyd’s cock, your inner walls clenching hard enough around him to make him grunt. 

With a few more short, hard thrusts, Lloyd followed you over the edge, burying his face in your neck and muffling a loud groan against your skin as he spilled inside you. Your pussy squeezed every last drop of cum from his length, the two of you collapsing against the wall at your back as you caught your breath and rode out the aftershocks of your releases.

Once you recovered enough to move, the two of you stumbled down the hall toward your bedroom, taking a quick detour to the bathroom to clean up before tumbling into bed together. Lloyd had snagged his shirt from where he’d dropped in your living room and he pulled it over your head, swaddling you in his scent before pulling you close to cuddle.

Your boyfriend lay on his back, your body splayed across his chest, your ear pressed to his sternum while you listened to the steady beat of his heart. After a short time of enjoying each other’s presence, you raised your head, your eyes greedily raking over Lloyd’s handsome face while your fingers played idly with his mustache. 

“Thank you for cutting your trip short,” you murmured softly, your eyes fixed on Lloyd’s mouth, watching the corners flicker with a smile. “I really didn’t expect you to that just for Valentine’s Day.” 

“I did it for you, sweetheart,” Lloyd purred, his fingers closing around your wrist and bringing your fingers to his lips, pressing kisses to the pads of each one until you looked up into his eyes. His gaze was filled with so much affection, it made your breath catch in your throat. He murmured, “I love you.”

It was the first time either of you had said those words and you were surprised by the rush of emotion that flooded your heart when you heard them. Tears pricked at your eyes and you quickly dashed them away. 

“I love you, too, Lloyd,” you murmured, pulling your hand away from his mouth so you could replace it with your lips. You kissed him hard, and he did the same, banding an arm around your lower back and cradling your head while he rolled on top of you. 

When he started kissing down your neck, you tipped your head to the side and let out a delighted giggle at the way his mustache tickled your skin. You felt like you were bubbling with happiness, and you couldn’t help the words that came out of your mouth. 

“So I guess I really did match you with your true love, didn’t I?” you teased playfully, enjoying the way Lloyd laughed against your skin, making your pulse pump harder through your body. “Another satisfied cupid customer,” you joked, your legs wrapping around Lloyd’s hips and squirming beneath his hardening cock.

“Oh I’m very satisfied,” Lloyd said, lifting up to capture your lips in another kiss. His hips rocked between your thighs, grinding his cock against your soft pussy, making both of you moan at the pleasurable slide of your bodies. “You can be my cupid anytime, sugar pie, as long as you’re the one I end up with.”

“Always,” you purred, clinging to Lloyd while he slid inside you again. Then he was stealing your breath with another kiss, fucking you in slow strokes, savoring your body and murmuring his love against your lips. 

All told, it was the first of many happy Valentine’s Days with your boyfriend—and future husband—Lloyd Hansen.

[aspenmissing]

Hello!! Would u be able to write the arcane characters with a partner with short-term memory loss and them being patient with them? Thanks in advance!! 🤗

ᴜɴꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴠᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ || 5167 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱʜᴏʀᴛ-ᴛᴇʀᴍ ᴍᴇ��ᴏʀʏ ʟᴏꜱꜱ (ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ). ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ʙᴜʀᴅᴇɴ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴏɴ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm golden glow over the bedroom. The air was still, save for the soft rustling of sheets as Jayce stirred awake. His body moved on instinct, his arm reaching out across the bed for the familiar warmth of Y/N beside him. But instead of feeling her nestled against him, he found only cold sheets.

Jayce blinked away the sleep, his heart giving a small but familiar pang of worry as he turned his head to look at her. She was already sitting up, legs tucked beneath her, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. Her gaze was distant, unfocused, her breathing shallow. Even before she spoke, Jayce knew. He had seen this before.

He sat up slowly, careful not to startle her. "Good morning, sweetheart," he said softly, voice warm and steady.

Y/N tensed at the sound, her body going rigid. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes searching his with a distant, unfocused gaze.

"Who… are you?" Her voice was quiet, uncertain, as if the words themselves felt foreign on her tongue.

Jayce felt the breath leave his lungs. His smile faltered, the ache in his chest twisting into something deeper, something unbearable.

"It's me," he said, almost a whisper. "Jayce."

But there was no recognition in her eyes.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she looked down at the sheets, gripping them as if they were the only thing anchoring her to reality. She inhaled sharply, her frustration evident. "I... I don't remember." Her voice wavered, breaking at the edges. "I'm sorry."

Jayce reached for her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, squeezing gently. "You don’t have to apologise, love. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll always be here."

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes scanning his face, searching for something familiar. Jayce had gotten used to this—waking up to the same heartbreak, the same fragile moment where she tried to piece together who he was, who they were. It never got easier. But he had never once wavered.

"Do you trust me?" he asked gently, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of her hand.

She hesitated. Then, after a moment, she nodded. "I... I think so."

A soft chuckle left his lips. "That’s a start." He leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of her hand before reluctantly letting go. He stood up, walking to the bedside table where a small, well-worn leather journal sat waiting. He had made sure it was always within reach. Just in case.

He returned to her side, handing it to her carefully. "This is yours. You write in it every night before bed."

Y/N took the journal hesitantly, running her fingers over the soft, worn leather. She opened it, flipping through the pages filled with words in her own handwriting. Little notes, memories, moments she had tried to preserve for herself. And at the top of the very first page, written in bold, unwavering letters:

"Jayce loves you. And you love him."

Her breath hitched. Her fingers ghosted over the ink, as if tracing the letters would somehow make them feel real, tangible.

"I wrote this?" she asked, her voice small.

Jayce nodded. "You did."

She swallowed, her grip on the journal tightening. "I... I want to remember."

Jayce exhaled softly, his heart aching at the longing in her voice. He reached out, cupping her cheek with gentle fingers, brushing away the tear that had slipped down her face.

"Then we'll make new memories," he whispered. "Every day. As many times as you need."

Y/N leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a moment as if savouring the warmth of his hand. "You must be tired of this." The words were barely above a whisper, fragile and laced with guilt. "Of me."

Jayce's brows drew together, and his hold on her face grew firmer—not in restraint, but in reassurance. "Never," he said, the word carrying all the weight of his love for her. "I love you, Y/N. Even if you forget a thousand times, I’ll remind you a thousand and one."

A small, watery smile trembled on her lips. "You're really patient."

He let out a soft chuckle, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Only for you."

She rested her forehead against his chest, inhaling deeply as his arms wrapped around her, holding her as if he could physically keep her memories safe.

And as the morning sun bathed them in light, Jayce made a silent promise—to remind her, to love her, to never give up on her, no matter how many times he had to start again.

VIKTOR

Viktor sat at his workbench, the soft glow of the hextech crystal casting a gentle, flickering light over the room. The air smelled faintly of oil and parchment, the familiar scent of ink mixing with the faint metallic tang of machinery. His hands moved with practiced ease, sketching new designs across a weathered notebook, but his mind was elsewhere—on her.

He heard the familiar sound of hesitant footsteps padding cautiously into the workshop, slow and uncertain. His heart ached in anticipation, though he kept his expression warm and welcoming as he turned in his chair, his golden-brown eyes softening the moment they landed on her.

"Ah, good evening, my dear," he greeted, his voice laced with gentle affection.

Y/N stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim hallway beyond. She hesitated, her fingers brushing against the wooden frame as if she were trying to ground herself. Her eyes, wide with confusion, flickered around the room, searching for something familiar.

“I—I don’t know where I am,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know if I should be here.”

Viktor inhaled softly, keeping his movements slow and deliberate as he set down his pen. He shifted, gripping his cane before pushing himself up to stand with practiced care. There was no frustration in his gaze, no flicker of impatience—only boundless patience and unwavering devotion.

"You are exactly where you are meant to be," he assured her gently. "You are home, Y/N. With me."

She blinked at him, her brows knitting together in thought. Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came. She studied his face, tracing his features with uncertainty, as if searching for something hidden just beyond the reach of her memory.

“Do I… know you?” she finally asked, her voice so fragile it made Viktor’s chest tighten.

The words were a dagger to his heart, but he bore them with the quiet grace of a man who had learned to endure this pain a thousand times before. It would be easy to despair, to crumble beneath the weight of losing her over and over again—but he never would. Not when she was still here, still breathing, still standing before him with a flicker of recognition buried deep within her eyes.

But he loved her. And love, he believed, was not just in memories—it was in moments. In the way her hand felt in his, in the sound of her voice, in the quiet evenings spent together, even if she did not always remember them.

“You do,” he said softly. “But it is alright if you do not remember yet. We have time.”

Her hesitation lingered, but when he reached out, she let him take her hands in his. They were familiar, warm, and despite the veil of uncertainty clouding her mind, she did not pull away.

She looked down at their intertwined fingers, running her thumb along his knuckles as if trying to understand why this touch felt so right.

“What’s your name?” she asked, her gaze flicking back to his, searching for an answer.

"Viktor," he murmured, giving her fingers a light squeeze. "I am your Viktor."

A flicker of something—recognition, perhaps—passed through her eyes, and for the briefest moment, she smiled. It was small, tentative, but it was enough to make Viktor’s breath catch in his throat.

"I think I like that name," she whispered, as if the words were a secret meant only for him.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his grip on her hands tightened just slightly, grounding himself in the moment. “That is good to hear. You tell me so every time.”

She blinked, tilting her head. “I do?”

He nodded, a quiet hum of amusement escaping his lips. “Yes. And then you always let me hold you like this.” He carefully guided her hands to rest against his chest, just over the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat. “And sometimes, if I am lucky, you let me kiss you, too.”

A faint blush dusted her cheeks, the colour blooming softly against her skin. Despite the uncertainty still lingering in her gaze, she let out a quiet laugh—light and airy, a sound Viktor wished he could bottle and keep forever.

“I think… I think I like that, too.”

His heart ached, full and heavy with love as he leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to her forehead. He lingered there, his lips against her skin, letting the warmth of the moment sink into his very being.

Carefully shifting his weight onto his cane, he whispered, "Then, perhaps, we should fall in love all over again."

And so, they did. Every single day.

JAYVIK

The marketplace in Piltover bustled with life, the air filled with the scent of fresh bread, spiced tea, and the occasional hint of metalwork from the nearby forges. Merchants called out their wares, bartering voices rising above the murmur of the crowd. The streets were alive with a tapestry of colours—vivid fabrics draped over wooden stalls, glistening jewels reflecting the golden light of the afternoon sun, and baskets of fresh produce adding splashes of green and orange to the scene.

Y/N had been out with Viktor and Jayce, the three of them enjoying a rare break from their work, wandering through the stalls, taking in the sights and sounds, indulging in the simple pleasure of being together. It was a fleeting escape from the pressures of Piltover’s politics and technology, a moment where they could simply be. Jayce had been enthusiastically explaining a new hextech prototype, gesturing animatedly while Viktor listened with an amused yet interested expression, always ready to ground Jayce’s ambitions in practicality.

But in the flurry of movement, she had wandered off.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, not that she could remember. One moment, she had been holding Viktor’s hand, listening to Jayce ramble about some new hextech idea he was excited about. And the next, she was standing in a completely different part of the market, arms full of random goods. A roll of fabric, a small pouch of herbs, a beautifully carved wooden figurine of a Vastaya, and even a loaf of bread. The weight of them in her hands felt unfamiliar, as though they had simply appeared there without her noticing.

She blinked down at the assortment, confusion bubbling in her chest. When had she picked these up? Had she paid for them? Did someone give them to her? The thought sent a ripple of anxiety through her—what if she had taken them without realising?

A voice, warm but laced with concern, cut through the fog.

“There you are!” Jayce sighed in relief as he jogged up to her, his broad shoulders slightly tense from the worry that had clearly been eating at him. Viktor was only a step behind, leaning slightly on his cane, his golden eyes sweeping over her with the same concern Jayce wore openly.

“Where did you go, dove?” Viktor asked softly, his voice steady and soothing, searching her face for any sign of distress.

Y/N looked between them, her expression blank before morphing into something puzzled. “I… I don’t know.” She furrowed her brows, looking down at the items in her arms as if they might offer an explanation. “I don’t remember where I got these.”

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance, the familiar ache of worry settling between them. They had learned to navigate these moments with her, moments where time slipped through her fingers like sand, where memories faded as quickly as they were made. It hurt, but they never let her see that. They had promised to be patient, to guide her back whenever she lost herself, to anchor her in their presence.

Instead, Jayce offered her his easy smile, reaching out to steady the bundle in her arms. “Well, that’s quite the collection you’ve got there. Mind if we retrace your steps and figure it out?”

Y/N bit her lip, nodding hesitantly. “I… I didn’t steal, did I?” The fear in her voice was small but present, and it made Viktor’s heart ache. The idea of her feeling lost, unsure of her own actions, tore at him in ways he couldn’t put into words.

“No, Lásko,” Viktor reassured her immediately, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing slow, reassuring circles against the fabric of her sleeve. “We’ll sort it out, don’t worry.” (Love)

Jayce, ever the optimist, gave her a wink. “If anything, you might have just been too charming, and people couldn’t help but give you things.”

That made her smile, if only a little. The tension in her shoulders eased, and Viktor reached for her free hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, grounding her in something solid. Jayce did the same on her other side, his grip warm and steady, always there to catch her when she faltered.

Together, they walked back through the marketplace, patient, understanding. They stopped at a fabric stall where the vendor instantly recognised Y/N, smiling warmly and assuring her that she had paid. At the herbalist’s stand, the elderly shopkeeper chuckled, recalling how Y/N had been fascinated by a rare herb she hadn’t seen before. Each stop helped piece the mystery together, each kind word and understanding smile from the merchants easing the anxiety that had settled in her chest.

It wasn’t always easy, but neither of them would ever dream of leaving her lost—not when she was their home, memory or not. And as they walked, hands linked, Y/N found comfort in knowing that no matter how much she forgot, they would always remember for her.

VANDER

The Last Drop was bustling, the scent of ale and smoke hanging thick in the air. The low hum of chatter mixed with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Vander stood behind the bar, wiping down a mug as he cast a concerned glance towards Y/N. She was seated at one of the tables, fingers idly tracing the wood grain. Her brows were slightly furrowed, her lips pursed as if she was trying to recall something just out of reach.

He sighed, setting the mug down with a quiet clink. "Alright, love, we need a few things from the market," he said, walking over to her. He pulled out a chair and sat beside her, his large hand covering hers in a comforting gesture. "You up for it?"

Y/N blinked, looking up at him. Her eyes held a flicker of uncertainty before she nodded. "Of course. What do we need?" she asked, voice light but hesitant.

Vander smiled, pressing a warm kiss to her forehead. "I've made a list," he reassured her, reaching into his pocket. "And you're not going alone this time."

Y/N frowned. "Why not?"

Vi, standing nearby with her arms crossed, snorted. "Because last time, you forgot everything, and we ended up with three loaves of bread and no ale."

Claggor chuckled, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. "Yeah, and you told the vendor you needed... what was it? Oh right, 'that thing Vander wanted'—which could mean anything."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip. "Oh. Right."

Vander chuckled, his calloused fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It’s alright, sweetheart. That’s why I’m sending you with Powder. And she's got the list."

He gestured towards Powder, who was holding a folded piece of parchment like it was the most important thing in the world. Her small fingers gripped it tightly, her blue eyes sparkling with determination. "I got it! I won’t let her forget a thing!" she chirped, bouncing on her heels.

Y/N gave a soft smile, ruffling Powder’s hair. "Alright, alright. Let’s do this then."

=

As they left The Last Drop, the streets of the Undercity greeted them with a familiar mix of noise and movement. Powder held Y/N’s hand tightly, occasionally glancing up at her. "You feeling okay today?" she asked gently.

Y/N squeezed her hand in return, offering a small but appreciative smile. "I think so. Just... my mind feels a little foggy. Like I know what I’m supposed to do, but it keeps slipping away."

"That’s okay!" Powder said brightly. "That’s why I’ve got the list. Vander thought of everything. We’ll get everything and be back in no time!"

=

They made their way through the market, the air filled with the shouts of vendors calling out their wares and the scent of fresh bread mingling with the oil and grime of the Undercity. Powder kept a steady stream of conversation to keep Y/N focused, pointing out interesting trinkets or people she recognised. Each time they bought something, Powder carefully checked it off the list with a piece of charcoal she had found in her pocket.

"Alright, next is—" Powder paused, then frowned. "Wait, where did the list go?"

Y/N blinked, looking around, her heart skipping a beat. "Didn’t you just have it?"

Powder frantically checked her pockets, patting herself down as if the list might materialise out of thin air. "I did! I swear!"

Y/N giggled, shaking her head. "It’s alright. We’ll figure it out. Let’s retrace our steps."

=

They went back to each stall they had stopped at, Powder chattering as she tried to remember where she might have dropped it. "I had it right here!" she insisted, patting her pockets frantically. "It couldn’t have just vanished!"

Y/N watched her for a moment before something clicked. She reached out and tugged at the edge of Powder’s sleeve. "Powder… what’s this?"

Powder blinked as Y/N pulled the missing parchment free. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "No way! I put it in my sleeve?!"

Y/N burst into laughter, doubling over as she held up the list. "Looks like it’s not just me who forgets things!"

=

By the time they returned to The Last Drop, Powder was carrying a bag nearly twice her size, her small frame nearly swallowed by the bulk of their purchases. Y/N was still giggling, shaking her head at the whole situation as she held up the list triumphantly.

Vander smirked, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed. "And here I was worried."

Vi rolled her eyes, flicking Powder on the forehead playfully. "You should've been. Turns out it's a family trait."

Y/N chuckled, setting the goods down on the counter. "At least we got everything, right?"

Powder huffed dramatically, plopping onto a stool with a tired sigh. "Barely. But we did!"

Vander pulled Y/N into a gentle embrace, his strong arms wrapping around her securely. He pressed another kiss to her forehead, lingering just a little longer this time. "You did good, love."

She melted into his touch, her fingers curling into his shirt as she exhaled softly. "Couldn’t have done it without Powder."

"And the list!" Powder added proudly, holding up the crumpled piece of parchment like a trophy.

Vander chuckled, his voice full of warmth. "And next time, maybe we write two of them—just in case."

SILCO

The low hum of the Undercity seeped into the walls of Silco’s office, the faint sound of dripping water echoing through the cracks. His space was dim, lit only by the harsh glow of a single lamp that cast long, stark shadows across the room. The scent of old books, tobacco, and leather lingered in the air, a mixture that felt almost familiar to Y/N. Still, even in the comfort of this space, the world outside her mind felt distant—blurred like an image through fog.

She sat across from Silco, the heavy chair creaking under her as she fiddled with the edge of the glass on the desk in front of her. The intricate patterns of the wood seemed to shift in her gaze, like the shifting of memories she couldn’t quite catch.

Silco sat, as always, calm, his posture imposing yet somehow at ease. His sharp eyes flickered to her, and for a moment, she could feel his steady gaze anchoring her—reminding her that she wasn’t as lost as she sometimes felt.

She hesitated before speaking, her voice quiet. “I… I think you’ve told me this story before,” she said, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass, the motion almost like a reflex. “But I can’t remember the ending.”

A flicker of amusement played across Silco’s lips, but his expression remained steady. There was no irritation in his eyes—only understanding. “I have told you,” he replied, his voice deep and smooth, as if each word was deliberate, calming. “But I don’t mind telling it again. Perhaps it will stick this time.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her gaze drifting to the flickering candle on the desk. “I don’t know how you can be so patient with me,” she said, her voice carrying a trace of self-consciousness. “It must get exhausting repeating yourself all the time.”

Silco’s eyes softened as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface of his desk. “It doesn’t exhaust me,” he replied, his tone unwavering, yet there was a quiet warmth to it. “I find the repetition comforting. It’s you. And you… you are worth every second.”

Her gaze flickered up to meet his, and something in her chest tightened. There was a tenderness in his words that wasn’t often displayed, a rare softness that only she seemed to evoke. She took a slow breath, trying to steady herself. “But what if I forget again? What if one day… I don’t even remember you?”

Silco’s jaw tightened for a brief moment, but his voice remained steady, unwavering. “Even then, Y/N,” he said, his gaze locking with hers, “I would still be here. I would wait for you to remember, or for you to find your way back to me. Whatever it took.”

The vulnerability in her chest pulled tighter. She had become accustomed to forgetting pieces of herself, of her world. But hearing him speak like this, with such confidence, with such certainty… it did something to her. It made her want to believe, to trust in the idea that not everything could slip away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice small, fragile. She immediately regretted it. Sorry for forgetting, for not being the person she once was. Sorry for the uncertainty she brought into every conversation.

Silco leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering, his eyes piercing into hers. “There is nothing to apologise for,” he said, his voice a quiet strength. “Not with me. You never need to apologise for forgetting, Y/N. Not with me.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him. His sharp features, his cold, calculated exterior—none of it mattered in these moments. The softness in his eyes, the gentleness in his voice, was all she needed to see.

“But… I do forget things,” she said, a small, almost helpless laugh escaping her lips. “Little things, big things, important things.”

Silco’s expression softened even further, and for a long moment, he said nothing. He just looked at her, his gaze never leaving hers, as if to say everything with a silent understanding.

"Then I’ll remind you," he said simply, leaning forward and reaching out to gently take her hand in his. "And I will never stop."

Y/N’s breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking into her like an anchor. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling his warmth seep through her fingers. In that touch, she felt the steady beat of something real, something that even the fog of her memory couldn’t quite erase.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze again, the vulnerability still there but softened by the unwavering certainty in his eyes. "What if I forget everything?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Silco’s thumb brushed across the back of her hand, a slow, deliberate motion that felt like a promise in itself. “Then we’ll build new memories together. Ones you won’t forget.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with warmth, a swell of emotion she couldn’t quite articulate. "You really mean that, don’t you?" she asked, her voice small but steady, searching for the reassurance that she hadn’t been abandoned in the pieces of herself that were slipping away.

"I do," Silco replied, his voice firm but tender. "And I will be here, Y/N. Every day. For as long as it takes."

She smiled softly, a sense of peace settling in her chest. In the silence that followed, there was no pressure, no rush. Just the two of them in the moment, and for once, that was enough.

Time passed slowly, but with Silco by her side, Y/N didn’t feel so lost anymore. Even if the memories she cherished slipped away, there was something timeless between them—a bond that not even time itself could erase. And that, more than anything, was enough for her.

JINX/POWDER

The room was quiet except for the soft sound of paper turning. Y/N sat on the worn couch, holding a cup of tea in her hands, her eyes gliding over the pages in front of her. Jinx, sitting cross-legged on the floor, watched her with a quiet intensity, her usual wild energy subdued in the face of the delicate task she had undertaken.

Y/N’s brows furrowed as she flipped another page of the scrapbook. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she had learned that patience would be her guide. The short-term memory loss was something new, and it came in waves—some days, she could remember everything, and others... it was as if entire chunks of her life had simply faded away.

"Do you... do you remember this one?" Jinx’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. Her usual mischievous spark was replaced by something deeper, a tender concern that radiated from her like warmth.

Y/N looked at the page, her fingers brushing over the photo of the two of them, laughing in the sunlight, her hair tied in the long plait that Jinx loved to twirl. For a moment, she felt a tug of recognition, but then it slipped away, the feeling fading like water through her fingers.

"I... I don’t," Y/N murmured, a frown tugging at her lips. "But it’s nice, isn’t it? We look happy."

"Yeah, you and me, like we always are," Jinx replied, her voice uncharacteristically soft. There was no teasing, no sarcasm—only a raw, quiet warmth that seemed to anchor the space between them. "It’s okay, though. It’s just... memory stuff, right? You’ll get it back. You always do."

Y/N nodded slowly, trying to find comfort in Jinx’s words. She could see how hard the other girl was trying to stay patient. She had always been the one to keep things light, to crack jokes and stir trouble, but now, she was more still, more grounded. The change was subtle, but it was there.

Her eyes flicked to the next page, and there, to her surprise, was a picture of Jinx with her younger self, a wild, chaotic expression on her face. The photo caught a side of Jinx Y/N had never seen, one of the many layers she had peeled back over the years, revealing her deeper vulnerabilities.

"Is this... you?" Y/N asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and worry. She didn’t want to upset Jinx by forgetting important things, especially those that were tied so closely to the girl’s heart.

Jinx tilted her head, her lips curling into a small, bittersweet smile. "Yep, that’s me. Before, you know... things got a little... complicated." Her tone wavered, the weight of unspoken memories hanging in the air.

Y/N’s gaze softened as she studied the picture. "I see. So, you’ve always had that spark, huh?"

"Yup, always." Jinx’s eyes twinkled, her smile spreading wider. "I was a little more... explode-y back then, though." She chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, the connection between them flickering to life despite the gap in memory. "I bet. You’ve always had a way with things. Explosions, pranks... and me, apparently."

Jinx gave a little shrug, but the affection in her eyes was unmistakable. "Well, I’ve got to take care of my bestie, right?"

"You always do," Y/N whispered, her heart swelling with the familiar warmth of maternal affection. "You always do."

Jinx’s fingers continued to turn the pages, and Y/N watched her with a quiet gaze as the girl shared more of the scrapbook. There were photos, trinkets, scraps of paper—all carefully placed to help jog Y/N’s memory of the times they’d shared, the moments they had cherished. It was as if Jinx had poured herself into every page, filling the gaps that Y/N couldn’t quite grasp.

=

After a while, Y/N turned to the last page, where a series of sketches Jinx had drawn herself filled the space—images of them together, sitting on the roof of a building, running through the streets, laughing and wild, their bond unspoken but palpable.

"These... these are from you?" Y/N asked quietly, her fingers tracing the outlines of the drawings. "You made these for me?"

Jinx, who usually radiated an untamed energy, seemed to shrink a little. Her usual cocky grin softened, replaced with something vulnerable. "Yeah. I... I wanted to make sure you'd always remember. Even if I gotta keep doing this for a while."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, her heart squeezing. Jinx had always been unpredictable, a whirlwind of emotions and impulsive decisions, but this... this was something different. This was care. This was love. Jinx had become her child, in a way—a chaotic, beautiful, complicated child who needed protection and care as much as she needed to be free.

"I’ll remember, Jinx," Y/N said, her voice steady despite the fluttering uncertainty. "Even if it takes time, I will. And I’ll be right here with you. Always."

Jinx’s smile softened, her eyes welling with gratitude, a flicker of that old wild spark returning in the depth of her gaze. "I know, Y/N. I know."

And for the first time in a while, Y/N felt like maybe, just maybe, she’d remember everything important—and, if not, she’d always have Jinx, her fiercely loyal, loving daughter in her own way, right there with her.

[syluslnd]

Big fan here!! I'd love to read where MC is secretly writing a fic about Sylus. she accidentally left her screen open when she stepped out for a moment just to come back filled with horror seeing Sylus reading the screen. He proceeds to ask if the story was about him despite the male character being unnamed. He teases her about certain scenarios she was imagining.

Happy writing and cant wait ^^

ʚɞ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ʚɞ

You walked back into the room, carrying a cup of tea, only to freeze in the doorway.

Sylus was sitting at your desk, his intense crimson eyes scanning the screen of your laptop. His posture was relaxed but there was an undeniable air of authority and curiosity in the way he held himself.

Your heart skipped a beat as your gaze flickered to the open document on the screen.

Your fanfic.

The one you’d been writing about him.

You hadn’t saved it properly and now it was sitting there in all its unpolished glory, an embarrassing reminder of the fantasies and scenarios you’d been daydreaming about and now, sylus—was reading it.

Oh no.

You tried to compose yourself but the horror in your eyes was probably impossible to hide. Sylus smirked, sensing your presence before even hearing you approach. Without looking away from the screen, he teased “Interesting read, sweetie.”

Your heart raced as you quickly walked over, trying to act casual, though your cheeks were already burning. “w-what are you doing?”

Sylus finally looked up, his eyes gleaming with a teasing light and you saw that smirk spread across his lips, dangerously amused.

“I didn’t realize you had such… vivid imagination” he purred, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms. “I would have never guessed you fantasized about me like this.”

Your eyes widened. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t even respond. The words you’d written about him, for him were too intimate. Too personal.

You cursed yourself.

“Don’t look so embarrassed sweetheart “ Sylus continued, his voice smooth and taunting. “I know exactly what you’re thinking. You didn’t even have to mention my name for me to know the story was about me. The details give it away, darling.”

Your gaze snapped up to meet his and he was still smirking, clearly enjoying the fact that he had caught you in this vulnerable moment.

You took a step toward him, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. “I didn’t—”

He stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, and the intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. “You didn’t think I’d notice? No, darling” he said, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. “Its almost like you wanted me to read this and now, I think we need to have a little chat about the fantasies you’ve written about me.”

You took a small step back, your pulse pounding. “What—what do you mean?”

Sylus didn’t answer at first. He just closed the distance between you and you could feel the heat radiating off his body, the control he exuded in every step. You were completely aware of how much power he had in that moment.

“Let me remind you what you’ve written” he started, his voice low and steady, dripping with dominance. “Pinned down. Helpless. Trapped by my Evol, unable to move. Teased, edged with until you can’t even speak… sounds pretty familiar, doesn’t it?”

Your stomach dropped as he came closer, each word from his lips like a sensation moving through you. The way he said it was mockingly soft, as though he was enjoying the power he had over you at this very moment.

You tried to hold your ground but you couldn’t help the way your heart raced. His presence was suffocating, and there was nowhere to run. You were entirely at his mercy.

“You know, darling” Sylus continued, stepping closer still until he was right in front of you, his voice low and silky, “It’s interesting to think that you’ve imagined me using my Evol to pin you down like that. To tease you. To make you beg for more.”

His hand reached up, his fingers lightly brushing your cheek. The light touch sent a shiver through your body, and you could feel the heat in your face intensifying.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he asked again, his voice an almost dangerous whisper now. “Did you think I wouldn’t realize just how much you enjoy the idea of being controlled by me?”

Your breath caught in your throat as Sylus stepped even closer, leaning down slightly, his lips brushing just above your ear. “You wrote about me using my Evol, darling. You wrote about how I’d fuck you until you couldn’t even think straight,until you were nothing but my human toilet,well I’m not just going to stand here and talk about it.”

Your body froze, realizing what was about to happen.

With a soft click of his tongue, Sylus snapped his fingers and just like that, his Evol was in control your body shifted to the bed all four of your limbs spread across the bed frames ,your body was locked in place unable to move as if his very presence had anchored you to the floor.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” His voice was playful, but there was something darker lurking beneath the surface. “You wrote all of this. Now, I think it’s time you experienced it for yourself.”

You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak and every part of you screamed at the sheer dominance in the air. Sylus wasn’t just reading your fanfic anymore he was turning it into reality.

and you have no choice but to take it.

“You think you can just write about it and escape the consequences?” Sylus chuckled darkly, as his Evol continued to keep you in place. “I do enjoy a good story but now it’s my turn to write the next chapter.”

Your eyes widened but Sylus only smirked, knowing exactly how to push your limits. “Let’s see how well you handle it.”

and just like that, you realized you were now his story to control.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

EWAN MITCHELL featured on Club Ciné’s top 100 performers.

Tell us about your 2025 projects – what are you working on?

I wrapped on a second Fontaines DC music video earlier this month, directed by Luna Carmoon. I’m currently shooting a feature, but my casting is yet to be announced – so I can’t say. And then back riding the dragon in House of the Dragon, season three.

Which actor or filmmaker do you cite as your biggest influence?

I borrowed a DVD from a man in my karate class: Dead Man’s Shoes. It was a mind-altering experience, not because it wasn’t the light entertainment I was accustomed to, but rather because I recognised its world. The main character sounded like me. The social club in the film, the landscape, the people were all familiar. When I sat through the credits, I discovered it was filmed in Derbyshire [where Mitchell grew up]. It felt like Hollywood had been to my hometown. I’d never seen the world of film shine a spotlight on my world before and it felt that tiny bit bigger.

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve received so far, and who from?

I’ve always gravitated more to older folk. They’ve been there and done that. Why reinvent the wheel? My grandad once told me: “The cream always rises to the top”. He served with the paratroopers and the SAS during the 50s. He was a very quiet man, but within the little he told me of his years in service, I found it awe-inspiring how his fellow squaddies came from all walks of life, all shapes and sizes… It wasn’t about where you came from, it was about how deep you were willing to dig to make selection and make a difference. I think it’s similar with this industry.

What’s on your film career bucket list?

Any Stephen King adaptation. Jeff Nichols. Jodie Comer. Ti West. Jonah Hill. Steve McQueen. Hunter Schafer. Lynne Ramsay. Magnus von Horn. Robert Eggers.

Source

[katsu2ji]

fool for you — m. fushiguro

a/n: i love writing megumi as a cheesy lovesick idiot fool because he IS a cheesy lovesick idiot fool. an oblivious one, at that.

megumi didn't even intend to make a joke. he was being completely serious, talking in that deadpan, monotone voice that everyone around him was all too familiar with. he was talking about gojo, of course—he'd done something stupid, yet again.

despite his intentions (or rather, lack thereof), you thought what he said was funny. he was surprised when he heard you laugh; it was a sound that made him turn his head to the source of the noise, his face a mixture of flustered and confused.

"what? what did i do?" he asked, his eyes wide. he looked over your facial features, committing them all to memory without him even consciously thinking about it. christ, you looked—

"no, it's nothing," you answered, smiling at the boy. "it's just the way you said that just now was funny. sorry, i hope you didn't think i was laughing at you."

he was silent for a few seconds before realizing you had spoken; he blinked, coming back to himself.

god, what was going on with him? he was fine two seconds ago, but now he couldn't even look you in the eye. his stomach was doing some odd thing; he felt like he was simultaneously going to throw up and some, strange, other feeling that he wasn't sure how to describe.

"oh—no, i didn't think you were laughing at me. i just..." he paused, looking for his train of thought, "i didn't think what i said was very funny but, um—"

he mentally cursed himself, feeling like an idiot. why the hell couldn't he speak? why couldn't he look at you?

this had been happening a lot recently—the stuttering over his words, being unable to make eye contact you at certain moments—and with the way it's making him act, he wasn't sure if this an avenue he wanted to keep going down.

he took a breath, feeling his cheeks get hot. he ignored the it as he finished his sentence, "i'm glad i was able to make you laugh, i guess?"

jesus, he probably looked like an moron.

later, as he closed his eyes for bed, he couldn't stop thinking about that exchange. never in his life had he felt like he'd made such a complete and utter fool of himself, but he couldn't figure out why it bothered him so much. and that bothered him even more.

he replayed your laugh in his head over and over, the sound turning over in his mind like a lullaby in a music box. he wasn't sure why the thought of your laughing, the look on your face as you did so, struck him as much as it did.

and that wasn't the first time that had happened when it came to you, either, he reminded himself; there had been other moments when you'd done something that stirred up mysterious feelings inside him, like that one time you grabbed his hand to pull him along somewhere, or when you had slumped over on the train and fallen asleep on his shoulder. his mind was spinning now, keeping him from sleep.

what was it about you? everytime you done something or said something that he had found particularly...endearing...he felt the same feelings that he felt today: the warming of his cheeks, his stomach feeling like it was doing somersaults, his words tripping over his tongue. what was happening? why was he acting so unlike himself? why was he acting so—

his eyes shot open as he pieced everything together.

"oh god," he whispered to himself in the dark, staring up at the ceiling wide eyed and awake. as it finally settled into him why he'd been acting like so stupid around you lately, so completely out of character, he threw his hand up over his face and took a deep, loud breath.

oh god, he thought, repeating himself. i'm fucked.

katsu2ji © 2025. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

[kenyuukissme]

here, kitty kitty ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ w/ reo mikage

pairing :: reo x gn!reader

warnings :: aged up!characters ; established relationship ; not proofread ; pet names (baby, darling) ; whipped reo ; lots of kisses ; implied eating issues for reader (nothing too descriptive) ; just fluff cus i luv reo <3

wc :: 1498

a heavy exhale parts the cold air, a small smoke-like vapour appearing white in dull grey surroundings. you blow into your hands, to warm their ever dropping temperature. you’re crouched on the side walk, beanie on your head and scarf around your neck. the scarf is loose enough to cover the bottom part of your face, keeping your face warm at every breath.

a weak meow makes the corners of your lips perk up, your winter trembling lips tugging into a smile.

“hey, baby.” you coo, an automatic baby voice coating your words. a little kitten, frail and with thin fur, slowly walks towards you. she takes time, but eventually curls up at your ankle. she’s small enough to slip under your coat.

“aww, two cuties in my view.” a familiar voice teases, approaching you and the kitten. they stop right behind you, but you don’t need to turn around to know just who is flirting with you.

“hey, baby.” you tip your head backwards to look up. to see him. the third cutie, cuteness overload!

he smiles at you, taking in your cold-flushed cheeks and the kitten’s tail peeking out of under your coat. he can tell you’re about to ask something, so he places a gloved finger over your lips and slightly tilts his head in the same, almost animated way, as usual.

“how long have i been here? long enough to know my darling has a soft spot for stray kitties. shall we get them something to eat?” he moves his finger from your lips, using his hands to move you hair behind your ear and under your beanie. he leans down to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“yeah. that okay?” you stand up slowly, gently patting the kitten. she’s leans into your touch, a short purr vibrating against your hand and warming your heart.

“of course. i assume you’ve not eaten yet, either?” he takes your hand in his, pressing another kiss to your cheek. you don’t even need to answer, the look on your face guilty.

he softly sighs, shaking his head. “that’s okay, let’s get you some hot chocolate with something to eat, yeah? then we can get something for the kitty.”

you nod, smiling at him. he watches you hesitate, unsure whether you want to leave the kitty on the floor or bring her with you. he can tell you want to stay. but its also important to you that she gets fed. and its important to him that you get fed.

so, he does what anyone in his position would do.

“you stay here, i’ll be back with warm milk for the kitty and a snack for you. sounds good?” he tenderly squeezes you shoulder, watching the way your eyes light up. you nearly jump up for joy, but you can’t.

‘cause the little kitty has curled herself around your ankle.

reo simply smiles. not his usual, deal-confirming and confident smile. not the smile he uses when he has to build a front for himself.

his smile is nothing short of lovesick. it’s really just in love. with you, with how you’re so gentle to a little baby.

he plants a quick kiss on your cheek before running off to a nearby convenience store. you can’t help but laugh a little, he’s so eager for something so sudden. you’re not complaining, though. you love it.

you love him.

and this kitty.

you crouch back down on the side of the path, gently petting her thin fur as she stays curled up around you ankle. not even ten minutes later, reo returns. with a small, shallow bowl, a plastic spoon and two paper cups in hand. he crouches down beside you, placing the shallow bowl on flat ground. he uses the end of his nail to open the drinking tab of the plastic lid.

for a split second, you’re captivated by the warm steam of the hot contents inside the cup. its like the steam is battling the cold air it was met with, as it was let out of the cup. reo carefully tilts the cup down towards the bowl, the open hole closest to the rim. there, warm milk floods the interior of the bowl. the milk is warm enough to drink.

for the little silly who wrapped herself around your ankle.

you put out your hand, letting the kitten crawl into your palm. she’s shivering, not very vigorously but even so, its too visible to miss.

reo puts his hands under yours, guiding you and the shivering baby towards the bowl. you put her down right beside it, using the back of your index finger to gently rub her face. she purrs against the warmth of your finger alone, her eyes closed. you use the back of your finger to guide her face to the rim of the bowl.

reo takes the plastic spoon from earlier, shallowly scooping it in the milk. he carefully holds the spoon just below the kitten’s mouth, watching her clumsily drink it. once she realises its safe to drink, reo places the spoon beside the bowl and lets her drink out the bowl.

you both watch as the kitten takes little licks of the warm milk, every so often tripping over her own paws. you can’t help but giggle a little. she’s just so cute. reo pokes your cheek, snapping you out your kitten-fever.

“your turn.” he smiles as he hands you the second cup. you use your nail to press down the cover on the drinking tab, revealing your drink’s warm steam to the cold air. you take a moment to smell the drink, its sweet. its warm in your hands, the cup is a little too hot but its okay. you blow a little above the hole to cool it down a little, then take a small sip.

warm, hot enough to enjoy it in winter, and cooled down enough to drink. just how you like it. you turn to reo, who is still crouched down beside you. he’s gently petting the kitten as she finished the last of the milk in the bowl.

“yes, love?” he doesn’t need to look at you to know you’re staring. but nonetheless, he doesn’t not wanna look at you! so, his eyes flicker to you once you start talking.

“thank you.” you shuffle a little closer, pressing a slightly wet kiss to his cheek. while its a little gross, he can’t help the way his cheeks flush a little pink. he wants to feign disgust and tease you, but he wants to taste the chocolate on his lips…

oh, freak (affectionate).

you giggle at the way his eyes widen, he’s really too adorable. you gently hold his chin between your thumb and index finger, turning his face to face you. then, you use your free hand to take a sip of your hot chocolate.

“now, now. let’s not—” he puts out his hands in front of him like some guard, as if he didn’t want what you were thinking.

you press a kiss to his lips, comfortably squeezing his cheeks with your thumb and index finger. you pull away and wipe your lips on the back of your sleeve. and take a moment to admire the mess you made of mister reo mikage.

his cheeks are flushed a pink like the kitten’s tongue. and his eyes are as wide as the bowl she’s drinking from. before you can tease him for it, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and leans back. so you end up falling on top of him.

you both stare at eachother for a moment. him pulling you down with him spilt the hot chocolate very close to his face, but he’s laughing. you can’t stay mad, and that’s ‘cause you’re not mad. so you laugh along with him.

it must look crazy to people passing by, a couple on the side path near some empty plot. they’re laying on each other, laughing. and there’s a spilt drink on the floor beside them.

reo holds your face with one hand the same way you held his, and uses his other hand to hold your waist when he pulls you in for another kiss. well. more like, getting the hot — now cold — chocolate back onto your lips. and face.

he kisses all over your face, letting go of your waist and cupping both your cheeks with both his hands. eventually, the chocolate dries and gets sticky on your face. before you can flick the spilt remainder of the drink from the floor on him, you feel something soft brush your ankle.

the kitty.

“can we—��� you’re cut off.

“yeah. we can keep her.”

a/n :: raahh delta, this is for you sweetest <3 thanks for being so supportive of me, and good on you for eating. ik this is super late but im so proud of you n i luv you smmm /p!! and erm. new blog reveal from me to u 😓

taglist :: @lakeside-paradise ; @saioratral + open [ask to be added]

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

© kenyuukissme 2025

{do not copy, translate, steal, modify or repost without permission}

[coloraturadiva]

Afterburn (Jake "Hangman" Seresin x OC One shot)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x OC (Stephanie)

Summary:  Jake Seresin returns to his Texas home after a long absence, haunted by the loss of a comrade and the weight of his choices, grappling with regret and the realization that some wounds may never fully heal.

Warnings: angst, ANGST, character's death, marriage issues, absent father, fighting, and hopefully I didn't miss anything.

Word Count: 6000

A/N: english is not my first language (or even the second) and this story hasn't been betaed, I just had some help from Grammarly.

My personal and love life has been so angsty lately, so I guess I want everybody to suffer like me 😅

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

Feedback, reblogs and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

Please don’t post any of my content anywhere else without my permission. Comments and reblogs welcome!

AFTERBURN

The setting sun bathed the Texas countryside in a golden haze, the kind that seemed to stretch out forever, blurring the lines between earth and sky. The air was thick with the scent of dry grass and wildflowers, mingling with the faint sweetness of honeysuckle that clung to the breeze. Jake Seresin gripped the steering wheel loosely, his knuckles brushing against the smooth leather as the truck rumbled along the winding country road. It had been long since he’d driven these roads, but the rhythm of the turns felt ingrained, like an old song you never quite forget.

He rolled down the window, letting the warm evening air rush in. It carried the faint hum of cicadas, their rhythmic chirping rising and falling like a lullaby. The sound was as familiar as the taste of his grandmother’s sweet tea, a reminder of summers spent running barefoot through fields and climbing trees. The horizon burned in shades of amber and crimson, painting the fields in fiery hues that seemed to set the world ablaze. Fences lined the road, weathered and leaning, but still holding strong. Beyond them, cattle grazed lazily, their silhouettes sharp against the dying light. He caught sight of a sprawling live oak tree, its gnarled branches stretching wide as if to embrace the fading light. The tree’s shadow stretched long and thin across the road, a dark ribbon cutting through the golden landscape. He’d climbed that tree once as a kid, on a dare from his friends. He’d sat up there for hours, watching the world from above, thinking about everything and nothing at all.

Jake’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The memories were a comfort, but they also weighed heavy. The road ahead stretched out in endless curves, each mile bringing him closer to something he wasn’t sure he was ready for. The fields on either side seemed to close in, the tall grass swaying like a silent audience, watching him return to a place he’d left behind. He hadn’t been home in too long. Too many excuses, too many days spent somewhere else. The Navy had been his life, his purpose, but it came with a price. A price he was still tallying.

As the truck crested a hill, the landscape opened up before him. The wide-open plains seemed to breathe, endless and free, the golden light catching on the tips of the grass like fireflies. It was beautiful, in a quiet, understated way. Jake slowed the truck, letting the moment settle over him. The sunset seemed to linger here, as if it, too, didn’t want to leave, the sky a canvas of deepening oranges and purples. He leaned his arm against the door, resting his chin on his hand for a moment, eyes scanning the familiar sights.

There was the old tree by the river, the one he’d carved his initials into when he was twelve. The bark was rough and weathered now, the initials barely visible, but the memory was as sharp as the day he’d made them. The barn in the distance, its red paint faded to a muted rust. The structure leaned slightly to one side, as if tired from years of standing guard over the land. And the sky—so big it felt like it could swallow him whole. He’d always loved that about Texas, the way the sky seemed endless, like it was daring you to dream bigger, reach higher. But tonight, the sky felt different. The dreams it offered weren’t the ones he’d chased for years. They were quieter, simpler. The kind of dreams he hadn’t let himself think about in too long.

His chest tightened, and he shifted in his seat, pressing his foot on the gas. The engine roared softly in response, and the truck picked up speed, eating away at the last few miles. The wind whipped through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of rain, though the sky was clear. It was the kind of smell that promised a storm, even if it never came. Jake wasn’t sure what he’d find when he got home. The thought twisted inside him, a knot of uncertainty and hope. He let out a slow breath, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he tried to focus on the road, on the present, on the way the fading light turned the world golden.

Whatever waited for him, he told himself, he could handle it. He had to. The road curved again, and he followed it, chasing the horizon, chasing the light. The sunset wouldn’t last forever, but for now, it was enough to guide him home.

-- - -- - - -

Jake Seresin was everything the Navy dreamed of when it came to their fighter pilots. He was a natural—the kind of aviator who seemed born to be in the cockpit. Every movement he made, every decision, carried a precision that spoke to thousands of hours of training, honed instinct, and a rare kind of brilliance that couldn’t be taught. The F/A-18 felt like an extension of himself, as though it responded not just to his hands but to his thoughts. In the air, he was untouchable—a predator with a keen eye and nerves that stayed steady even in the most chaotic moments.

His colleagues often joked that he could fly through a hurricane and come out the other side without a scratch. There was some truth to it. Jake had an uncanny ability to keep his head when everyone else was losing theirs. When the stakes were highest, when lives were on the line, he thrived. It wasn’t just skill; it was a kind of unshakable confidence that bordered on arrogance. That confidence earned him respect from some and resentment from others.

To those who admired him, Jake was the poster boy of the Navy. His sharp jawline, perfectly tousled dark blonde hair, and piercing green eyes didn’t hurt either, but behind the carefully crafted image was a man who knew exactly how good he was and wasn’t afraid to show it. That attitude didn’t sit well with everyone. Some of his peers found him cocky, too sure of himself. They whispered that he was more interested in being a legend than a team player.

Jake didn’t pay much attention to the gossip. He lived alone in a sleek, modern bungalow just a few miles from the naval base in San Diego. The house was all clean lines and large windows, perched on a hill that offered a stunning view of the ocean. Inside, it was meticulously kept, a reflection of the man himself. It was a bachelor’s home, though not in the clichéd sense. There were no signs of wild parties or fleeting romances. Just quiet, ordered spaces—a sanctuary from the demands of his career.

Still, rumors swirled. Jake Seresin, with his movie-star looks and easy charm, was a favorite topic of speculation. He was seen laughing with women at bars, flashing that effortless grin that seemed to make people gravitate toward him. Some swore they’d seen him leaving with someone, though no one ever had proof. Others insisted he had a string of women waiting for him in every city. If Jake was aware of the talk, he never acknowledged it. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

The truth was, he kept his personal life as tightly controlled as everything else. Work came first, always. His focus on being the best, on pushing himself further, left little room for anything else. And if he had secrets, they were buried deep, locked away behind that confident smile and the impenetrable shield of his persona.

In the air, Jake Seresin was unmatched. On the ground, he was an enigma. And that was just the way he liked it.

- - - - - 

The gravel crunched under the tires as Jake turned onto the narrow driveway, his truck's headlights cutting through the encroaching dusk. The house came into view, perched at the end of the long stretch of drive like an old photograph brought to life. It hadn’t changed much, not in all the years he’d known it. The wraparound porch still hugged the front, and the paint—white, now fading to a gentle gray—still clung stubbornly to the wooden siding.

Jake killed the engine and sat there for a moment, letting the silence settle around him. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles whitening as he stared at the house. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort, before finally releasing his grip and running a hand through his hair. This place had always felt different. It wasn’t just a house; it was a time capsule. Stephanie’s grandmother had lived here once, years ago, back when summer afternoons meant lemonade on the porch and laughter echoing through the big yard. Even then, the house had felt like the center of the world, warm and steady, full of life. He’d never expected it to become theirs, but when it did, it felt right. It was a piece of history, of her history, and now, of his too.

He smiled faintly as a memory bubbled up, unbidden. He and Stephanie couldn’t have been more than sixteen, maybe seventeen, the summer they decided to fix up the old barn. Her grandmother had mentioned it offhand one day, saying it would be nice if the door didn’t stick every time she tried to open it. Jake had jumped at the chance to impress Stephanie, and the two of them had spent days sanding and painting under the sweltering Texas sun. They’d ended up covered in sawdust and streaks of white paint, laughing so hard they could barely stand when Stephanie’s grandmother, Mary, brought out a pitcher of iced tea and insisted they take a break.

“You two look like you’ve been wrestling a cloud,” her grandmother had said, shaking her head with a smile. They’d sat there on the porch steps, sipping tea and listening to the cicadas, feeling like the world could wait forever.

His fingers lingered on the door handle as nerves twisted in his stomach. It wasn’t like him to feel this way. In the cockpit, he was unshakable, his confidence carved from steel. But here, on this quiet patch of earth, with this house standing like a sentinel of everything that mattered, he felt something closer to uncertainty. He exhaled sharply and stepped out of the truck, the cool evening air brushing against his skin.

The porch steps creaked under his weight, just as he remembered. He paused halfway up, his hand gripping the railing as if to steady himself. His heart pounded in his chest, each step feeling heavier than the last. He’d spent countless evenings here, sitting side by side with Stephanie, watching the sun sink into the horizon, their voices blending with the symphony of cicadas. Now, those memories seemed to rise from the wood itself, each step a whisper of the past.

Jake hesitated at the door, his knuckles hovering just above the wood. His hand trembled slightly, and he clenched it into a fist before knocking, the sound sharp and final in the quiet evening. The faint glow of a light inside spilled through the curtains, and his chest tightened at the thought of who might be waiting. He clenched his jaw, summoning the same determination that carried him through dogfights and endless training missions. Whatever came next, he would face it. He had to.

With one final breath, he knocked on the door.

- - - - - - - - 

The roar of the F/A-18 engines filled Jake’s ears as he soared over the ocean, the carrier a distant memory below. It was supposed to be a routine mission—a patrol over contested airspace—the kind of assignment that called for vigilance but rarely escalated into anything more. Jake, call sign “Hangman,” flew in formation with his squadron, the sun glinting off their wings as they carved through the open sky.

Ahead and to his left was Lieutenant Mark “Hawk” Turner, one of the newer pilots in their group. Hawk was solid. Not flashy, but reliable. They weren’t particularly close, but Jake respected him. Hawk had a steady hand and a calm demeanor, the kind of guy you didn’t mind having on your wing. Hawk had mentioned his family once or twice—a wife named Carly and a baby boy, barely six months old. Jake hadn’t thought much about it at the time...

The ambush came out of nowhere. A warning blared in Jake’s headset, followed by a scramble of voices over comms. Enemy jets, sleek and fast, appeared on the radar, closing the distance with alarming speed. Jake’s pulse quickened, but his mind stayed sharp, instincts kicking in as he broke formation and banked hard to the right.

“Hangman, I’ve got your six,” Hawk’s voice came through, steady despite the chaos.

“Copy that, Hawk,” Jake replied, his hands flying over the controls. “Watch your flank.”

The first missile streaked past, missing him by inches. Jake rolled into an evasive maneuver, his vision narrowing as adrenaline surged through him. He returned fire, locking onto one of the enemy jets and watching it explode into a ball of fire and smoke.

“Splash one,” he called, but there was no time to savor the victory. Another jet was on his tail, and he pulled into a steep climb, the g-forces pressing him back into his seat. The sky was a blur of motion—tracers, missiles, and contrails weaving a deadly tapestry around them. Hawk’s voice was in his ear again, cool but urgent, directing the others as the squadron fought to regain control of the situation.

Jake managed to take out a second enemy, his reflexes razor-sharp as he fired off another missile. But in the chaos, he caught a flash of movement on his radar that made his stomach drop. Hawk was in trouble, two jets closing in on him.

“Hawk, break left! Break left!” Jake shouted, pulling hard on his stick to intercept. He could hear Hawk’s strained breathing, the tension in his voice as he tried to shake his pursuers.

“I’m hit,” Hawk said, the words clipped and final.

Jake’s heart pounded as he scanned the sky, searching for a sign of Hawk’s jet. Smoke trailed behind it, spiraling downward, and then—a fireball. The explosion was bright against the blue, a terrible blossom of flame and debris. Jake’s stomach turned, but there was no time to process it. He had to focus, to keep himself and the others alive.

The battle ended minutes later, the surviving enemy jets retreating as the squadron regrouped. Jake’s cockpit was suffocatingly quiet, the adrenaline fading and leaving behind a heavy emptiness. As they turned back toward the carrier, his eyes flicked to the empty space in formation where Hawk should have been. He felt the weight of it settle over him, a mix of anger and guilt clawing at his chest.

He thought of Carly and the baby—the family Hawk had talked about with quiet pride. Jake’s jaw tightened, his grip on the controls white-knuckled. He’d done everything he could, hadn’t he? Two kills, two less threats in the sky. But it hadn’t been enough. Hawk wasn’t coming home.

By the time Jake’s wheels touched down on the carrier, the reality had sunk in. He climbed out of the cockpit and stood on the deck, the salty wind biting at his face. Around him, the crew bustled, but their movements felt distant, muted. Jake stayed rooted, staring out at the endless horizon. For all his skill, for all his training, he couldn’t shake the bitter truth that even the best pilots couldn’t win every fight.

Hawk’s absence was a hole in the formation, a reminder of how fragile it all was. And as the sun dipped below the waves, Jake made a silent promise to himself: to fly smarter, to fight harder, to never forget the cost of what they did out here. Because he couldn’t let himself forget. Not now. Not ever.

_ _ _ _ 

The porch light flickered as Jake stood under its glow, his boots rooted to the wooden planks. The cool night air brushed against him, but it wasn’t the wind that made him shiver. It was the thought of what waited on the other side of the door. He’d knocked already, the sound echoing through the quiet of the Texas countryside, and now he waited, heart pounding in his chest. The warmth of the house, the faint glow spilling through the curtains, felt like another world entirely—a world he’d left behind.

The door creaked open, and there she was. Stephanie. Her blonde hair caught the light like a halo, and her blue eyes—those same eyes that had once looked at him with so much love—now narrowed in guarded recognition. She froze for a moment, her expression shifting from surprise to something colder, sharper. Her arms crossed over her chest, a defensive barrier he couldn’t hope to breach.

“Jake,” she said, her tone as frosty as the night air. It wasn’t a question. Just his name, flat and emotionless, like a closed door.

He swallowed hard, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His hands fidgeted at his sides, fingers twitching as if searching for something to hold onto. “Stephanie,” he began, his voice steady, though his hands betrayed him, fidgeting at his sides. “I know I… I should’ve called or… something. But I had to see you. To see them.”

Her jaw tightened, and she shifted her weight, still blocking the doorway. Her foot tapped lightly against the floor, a small, impatient movement that spoke volumes. “You should’ve thought about that before,” she said, each word deliberate, cutting.

He nodded, exhaling slowly. His shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. But, Stephanie, please. Just hear me out. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“Five minutes won’t undo months,” she said, her voice low. She hadn’t moved, her arms still crossed, her posture unyielding. But she hadn’t closed the door either.

Jake’s hands flexed, and he took a small step forward, careful not to cross the threshold. “Stephanie, I’ve been a damn fool. I know that now. Losing Hawk…” His voice cracked for a moment, but he pushed through. “It made me realize what I’ve been risking. What I’ve already lost. I can’t… I can’t keep pretending my job is the only thing that matters. It’s not. You are. The kids are. And I… I know I screwed up, okay? But I’m here now. I’m here to make it right. Please.”

Stephanie’s gaze didn’t soften. If anything, it grew colder. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she tilted her chin up slightly, as if daring him to say more. “You don’t get to walk back into our lives just because you’ve had a change of heart. You left us, Jake. Your ambition left us. And now you think a few words can fix everything?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. His hands rose slightly, as if to reach for her, but he stopped himself, letting them fall back to his sides. “No, I know words aren’t enough. But I want to do whatever it takes to prove to you that I’ve changed. That I get it now. I…” He hesitated, the confidence he usually carried faltering under the weight of her glare. “I’ve missed so much. I’ve missed them. I’ve missed you.”

“You see them,” she said sharply. “Every week. I send the emails, the pictures. That’s more than most men like you deserve.”

Jake flinched at the words but nodded. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, then relaxed, as if he were trying to steady himself. “And I’m grateful for that. You have no idea how much those pictures mean to me. But it’s not the same. I want to see them. I want to hold them, to…” He ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. His shoulders slumped again, and he looked at her with a pleading expression. “To be their dad again. I want to be the man you married. The man you deserve.”

Her laugh was short, bitter. She shook her head, her arms tightening across her chest as if to shield herself from his words. “The man I married? He wouldn’t have left us in the first place.”

Jake’s shoulders sagged, and he let out a shaky breath. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I don’t deserve forgiveness. But I’m asking for a chance. Just a chance to try. Please, Stephanie. Let me in.”

He hesitated, then added softly, “Did you hear about Hawk? I mean… I know it’s been in the news. I…” He faltered, unable to find the words, but her expression didn’t change.

“I did,” she said curtly, her tone still guarded. Her eyes flickered for a moment, a brief crack in her armor, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “I’m sorry for him. For his family.”

Jake nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. His hands fidgeted again, and he shoved them into his pockets to keep them still. “Yeah. His wife and the baby… It’s just… It hit me harder than I thought it would. Makes you think about what really matters, you know? About what you’ve been doing wrong.”

Stephanie’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she didn’t respond. He tried to fill the silence. “How are they? The kids, I mean. They’re okay, right? I mean, they look happy in the pictures, but…” He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly.

“They’re fine,” she said stiffly. “They’re resilient. Strong. They have to be.”

Jake winced at the unspoken implication but nodded. “I’m glad. I… I hope I can make them proud someday. Make you proud.”

For a moment, there was silence. The only sound was the wind rustling through the trees, and the faint hum of cicadas in the distance. Stephanie’s expression didn’t waver, her arms still crossed, her stance unbroken. She looked as beautiful as ever, but the beauty he has been familiar with for more than 20 years now felt untouchable, like a distant star—something he could admire but never reach.

- - - - --- - - 

The warm glow of the late afternoon sun filtered through the windows of their cozy family home, casting a golden hue over the living room. Toys were scattered across the floor, remnants of the children’s playtime, and the faint sound of their laughter echoed from the backyard. Jake stepped inside, his boots clicking softly against the wooden floor. He paused for a moment, taking in the familiar warmth of the space—a haven they’d built together. A genuine smile crossed his face as he thought about sharing the good news.

“Stephanie?” he called, his voice betraying his excitement.

Stephanie appeared from the kitchen, a dishrag in hand, her blonde hair styled in a simple, elegant updo. Her blue eyes lit up at the sight of him, and her smile widened as she walked closer, clearly eager to hear what had brought him home early.

“What is it?” she asked, concern lacing her tone. “Is everything okay?”

Jake stepped forward confidently, his excitement bubbling over. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Better than fine, actually.” He tried to smile, but it came out forced. “I… I got promoted.”

Her brow furrowed, and she stepped closer. “Promoted? That’s good, right?”

“It is,” he said quickly. “It’s a big deal, Stephanie. They’re moving me to San Diego. I’ll be working with some of the best pilots in the world. It’s… it’s an incredible opportunity.”

Her smile faltered, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “San Diego? So, we’re moving again?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s a great place. The kids will love it. And it’s not forever,” he added quickly, sensing the storm brewing. “Five years, tops. After that, I can transition to teaching. You know, like we talked about.”

Her arms tightened across her chest, and her eyes narrowed. “Five years?” she repeated, her voice rising. “Jake, we agreed. You promised me. When you finished your training, Top Gun and a couple of years of missions you were supposed to start teaching. You said you wouldn’t keep flying missions forever. That you wouldn’t keep risking your life.”

“I know what I said,” he replied, his tone soft but firm. “And I meant it. But, Stephanie, this is important. This is my career. I can’t just walk away from it now. Not when I’ve worked so hard to get here.”

“Your career?” she snapped, her voice trembling with anger. “What about your family, Jake? What about me? The kids? We’ve followed you all over the country for years, waiting for the day you’d keep your promise. And now you’re telling me it’s just… what? Five more years? And you say it like it’s nothing!”

“Stephanie, this is such an amazing opportunity for us,” he said eagerly, stepping closer to her. “It’s not just about me. This promotion… it means a better future for all of us. The pay, the benefits—it’ll set us up for life. And there’s no war on the horizon. I’ll be flying routine missions, nothing dangerous. It’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” she repeated, her voice breaking. “You think it’s fine for me to sit here, wondering every day if the next knock on the door is someone telling me you’re not coming home? To raise our kids alone while you’re halfway across the planet?”

“Please,” he said, his tone pleading now. He reached for her, but she pulled away. “I’m doing this for us. For our family. I’m trying to build something better.”

“Better?” she said, tears streaming down her face. “So what we have already is not good, right? How is any of this better, Jake? You’re breaking your promise. You’re choosing your career over us.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “I’m trying to do what’s right for all of us. Can’t you see that?”

“No, Jake,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t. Because all I see is a man who’s willing to risk everything—his life, his family—for his own ambition.”

His frustration mounted, but he forced himself to stay calm. “I’m doing this for us,” he said again, quieter this time, the desperation creeping into his voice. “Stephanie, I love you. I love the kids. Everything I’m doing is to give you the life you deserve.”

“What do I deserve?” she snapped, her tone icy. “I deserve a husband who keeps his promises. I deserve not to go to bed every night wondering if the father of my children is still alive. You don’t get it, Jake. You never have.”

“Don’t say that,” he said sharply, his jaw tightening. “You know that’s not true. I’m doing my best here.”

“Your best?” she countered. “Your best for the Navy. Your best is putting your career above your family again and again. Your best is deciding what’s best for us without even talking to me about it first.”

“Stephanie, this promotion is everything I’ve worked for. It’s everything we’ve worked for. Can’t you just trust me on this?”

“Trust you?” she asked, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Jake, you’re asking me to trust you after you’ve already broken the biggest promise you ever made to me. How can I trust you when you don’t even see what you’re doing to us?”

“I see it,” he said, his voice cracking. “Don’t think for a second that this is easy for me. I’m trying to make this work. For us. For the kids.”

But she was already shaking her head, her resolve hardening. “No, Jake. Not this time. I’m done. The kids and I… we’re going back to Texas. To my family. You can go to San Diego, chase your dreams, do whatever you want. But we won’t be there waiting for you.”

“Stephanie, please,” he begged, his voice raw with emotion. “Don’t do this. Don’t take them away from me.”

“You took yourself away from us, Jake,” she said quietly. “When you chose this life over the one we built together.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. She turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the living room, the warmth of their home now feeling unbearably cold.

- - - - 

Jake’s knuckles rested lightly against the wooden doorframe, the silence of the moment punctuated by the distant hum of cicadas. Stephanie stood before him, her posture resolute and defensive, arms crossed tightly across her chest. The air between them was thick, the unspoken words from a long separation hanging heavy like storm clouds refusing to burst.

“Stephanie, please,” Jake began, his voice softer now, almost pleading. His green eyes searched her face for any sign of the woman who had once believed in him unconditionally. “I know I’ve made mistakes. Big ones. But I’ve had a lot of time to think. To see what really matters. I… I’ve changed. I’m trying to make things right.”

She didn’t move, her blue eyes unwavering as they bore into his. Her silence was deafening, her lips pressed into a tight line that spoke volumes of her inner turmoil.

He shifted on his feet, desperate to fill the void. “About Hawk...” he said cautiously, though the weight of the subject wasn’t new between them. Her eyes flickered for a fraction of a second, but she remained silent. "When we talked about him before, I couldn’t stop thinking about his little boy. It’s just… it hit me, Stephanie. Losing someone like that. Realizing how fragile it all is. How much I’ve taken for granted."

Stephanie’s gaze hardened. “What’s your point, Jake?”

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “It’s just… it hit me, Stephanie. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

“You’ve wasted enough already,” she said bluntly, her voice cold and unyielding.

His chest tightened, but he pressed on. “How are the kids coping with the situation?” he asked, his tone softening further. “Jimmy, Mary… are they doing okay?”

Her expression shifted slightly, a flicker of pain breaking through her icy demeanor. “They’re learning to live a new life here, with little cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents…” Some seconds of silence and a sigh, before ending her answer. “But they miss their dad.”

The words hit him squarely in the chest, and he exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I miss them too,” he said quietly. “I miss all of you.”

“Don’t,” she said sharply, holding up a hand to stop him. “Don’t stand there and act like it’s that simple. You made your choice, Jake. You chose this life, and we… we’ve learned to live without you.”

Her words stung, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, he stepped closer, his voice trembling with emotion. “Stephanie, I swear to you, I understand now. I was blinded by my ambition, by what I thought I had to be. But losing Hawk… seeing what it’s done to his family… it’s changed me. I’m not that same man anymore.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her features unreadable. Then, from somewhere upstairs, a small voice broke the tension. “Mommy! Mommy! Can you read me a story?”

Jake’s breath hitched, his heart lurching at the sound. Mary’s voice, soft and sweet, carried down the staircase like a beacon calling him home.

“Mary,” he murmured, his voice cracking. His eyes widened, and he took an involuntary step forward, his hand reaching out slightly before he caught himself. He turned back to Stephanie, his eyes glistening. “Can I see her? Please. Just for a minute. I… I could read her that story.”

Stephanie’s hand gripped the edge of the door tighter, and she shifted slightly, blocking his view inside. “No,” she said firmly. “You’re not coming in, Jake.”

“Stephanie, please,” he said again, his voice breaking as a single tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, but not before she noticed. She froze, her eyes widening in surprise. She had never seen him cry before.

But then her expression hardened once more, and her voice rose, trembling with pent-up anger and pain. “I always did what you wanted. ALWAYS! Since high school. Everything revolved around you. We saw each other when you wanted it, we kissed when you wanted it, we first had sex when you wanted it, we married when you wanted it, we had kids when you wanted it. Me and the kids followed you wherever you wanted, and I always bowed my head to you because I loved you more than I lvoed myself and believed in the fact that you cared for us and did everything with our future and wellbeing in mind. I only asked you for one thing, just one: not to go to war. I know the world is full of military wives that do it for their whole lives, but I really didn't want to spend most of my life home alone, with you on the other side of the planet, waiting and praying for you to come back all in one piece. I really don’t want to do that! Now you made that decision and it’s fine, of course you can do whatever you want with your life, but it’s time I finally get in control of my life and the life of my children. You can go wherever you like, but we aren’t be waiting for you anymore.”

Her words left him stunned, the raw intensity of her emotions slicing through him like a knife. He staggered back a step, his gaze dropping to her hands. That’s when he saw it—her wedding band, still glinting softly in the fading light. A stark contrast to his own bare finger. He had stopped wearing his ring when he moved alone to San Diego, wanting to keep his private life private, his sorrows hidden, and to avoid the questions that a wedding ring would have raised. He had thought removing it would make things easier—less painful. He wanted to forget, or at least keep his sorrow boxed in a hidden part of his brain, like the ring was in a box inside the drawer of his bedside table. The weight of its absence was something he had tried to ignore, though it lingered like an ache. After she had left him, he refused to talk about the situation with anybody, even his close family, brushing off concerned questions with forced smiles and vague reassurances. And since then, he had also never tried to get in touch with her, except through the weekly emails that were clinical in tone, devoid of any mention of Jake and Stephanie or their relationship—focused only on updates about the kids he longed to hold but felt increasingly distant from.

“You’re still wearing your wedding band,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Her blue eyes flashed with something indiscernible, a quiet strength as she met his gaze. “I’m still your wife.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Jake’s mind raced, memories of their life together flooding back in a torrent of emotions. But before he could speak, Stephanie’s expression softened slightly, though her resolve remained intact.

“Jake,” she said quietly, her voice steady but firm. “Go. For the good of the children. Please.”

He hesitated, his heart aching with every fiber of his being. But he saw the unwavering determination in her eyes, the protective fierceness of a mother who had drawn her line in the sand. Finally, he stepped back, his boots heavy against the wooden porch.

As he turned and walked away, the faint sound of Mary’s voice drifted through the open window once more, mingling with the cicadas and the ache in his chest.

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

Part 15

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Part 16: To want

The lab was buzzing with the usual energy—datapads flickering, the quiet hum of machinery, and the occasional back-and-forth between the xenobotany and medical teams. You sat at the long meeting table, half-listening, holding a hot coffee mug as Norm scrolled through his notes on the tablet in front of him.

“All right,” Norm said, tapping the screen. “Next on the agenda—Jake wants us to head to the village to do a full recheck of the medical supplies.”

That got your attention. You straightened in your seat as Kate, sitting beside you, exchanged a glance that practically screamed, interesting.

Brian, who had been half-zoned out with his arms crossed, raised a skeptical brow. “Why do they even need our supplies? It’s not like most of the Na’vi even use human medicine. They trust the Tsahik for that kind of thing.”

Norm sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, we know that, but Jake wants to be sure they have access to anything they might need. He doesn’t want anyone suffering if there’s something we can help with. Some of them do come to us in emergencies, and he wants to make sure everything is accounted for. Especially with more human-Navi interactions happening.”

Max nodded in agreement. “It’s not about replacing what Mo’at or the other healers does—it’s just about covering all the bases. And given how unpredictable life on Pandora is, having backup options isn’t the worst idea.”

You leaned forward, already making up your mind. “I’ll go.”

Kate raised her hand lazily. “Yeah, count me in too. I could use some fresh air.”

Brian let out a long breath, shaking his head but smirking nonetheless. “Well, I guess someone’s gotta carry the heavy stuff. Fine, I’m in.”

Norm gave an approving nod. “Great. Max and I will go as well. We’ll head out tomorrow morning and go over the inventory.”

As the conversation shifted to logistics, you felt a familiar flutter of anticipation in your chest. Any excuse to be in the village, to be near Neteyam, was one you were more than happy to take.

Kate nudged your arm under the table, giving you a knowing look. You didn’t need words to understand what she was saying: Oh, I see you, and I know exactly why you volunteered so fast.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small, guilty smile tugging at your lips. Yeah, she definitely wasn’t wrong.

*

The walk to the village was long but familiar, the dense foliage of the forest stretching endlessly in every direction. The sounds of Pandora surrounded you—the distant calls of creatures, the rustling of the wind through the towering trees, and the occasional hum of bioluminescent flora still lingering from the night before.

Brian adjusted the strap of the medkit slung over his shoulder, glancing around with mild curiosity. “How do they even know we’re coming? It’s not like we can send them a text or anything.”

Max, walking ahead, barely looked over his shoulder as he replied. “They already know. They’re watching us.”

Kate, who had only been to the village once before, immediately tensed. Her eyes darted toward the treetops and the thick underbrush, scanning for movement, but she saw nothing—just the endless green, stretching high above and disappearing into the deep shadows of the jungle.

“That’s comforting,” she muttered under her breath, her fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag.

You chuckled, nudging her playfully with your elbow. “Relax, Kate. They’re not going to hunt you down with arrows.”

Kate shot you a look, unimpressed. “You say that, but I know how big those arrows are. And I’d rather not be on the receiving end of one, thanks.”

Brian snorted. “Well, if it makes you feel better, they’d probably go for me first. I talk the most.”

“True,” you said, smirking. “You’d be the loudest target.”

Brian grinned but didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced back at Max. “So, they’re just watching us right now? Like, from the trees?”

Max nodded. “Most likely. They’re cautious about humans, always have been. But they also know we’ve been coming here for years, so they won’t interfere. As long as we don’t give them a reason to.”

Kate exhaled, shaking her head. “Great. So we’re just casually being monitored by a bunch of ten-foot-tall warriors, and I can’t even see them. Fantastic.”

You grinned at her. “Welcome to Pandora and you shouldn’t worry.”

Despite her grumbling, you could see the fascination in her expression as she continued scanning the treetops. And though you didn’t say it out loud, you knew exactly what Max meant—somewhere in the shadows, unseen but ever-present, the Na’vi were there. Watching. Waiting.

*

Kate nudged you with her elbow, her lips curving into a sly grin as she lowered her voice just enough so Brian wouldn’t hear. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. You’ve got backup even in the village.”

You didn’t have to ask what she meant. The look in her eyes—the barely-contained amusement, the way she tilted her head ever so slightly—made it painfully obvious. Neteyam.

You didn’t respond immediately, just shot her a side-eye as you kept walking. But you didn’t deny it either.

Kate hummed knowingly, her smirk widening. “Must be nice.”

You exhaled through your nose, your expression softening despite yourself. “Yeah…”

Kate shot you a look, intrigued by the honesty in your voice. “So,” she dragged out the word, the grin creeping back onto her face. “Have you two seen each other since your little hut adventure?”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you rolled your eyes. “Jeez, Kate, it was only three days ago.”

“And?” she prompted, waggling her eyebrows.

“And he’s got a million things to do,” you said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Just like me.”

Kate pursed her lips, unconvinced. “Mmmhmm. Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself more than me.”

You shot her a sharp look, but she just grinned wider. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not missing him.”

You didn’t answer right away, biting the inside of your cheek. Of course, you missed him. Terribly.

Kate smirked, her voice turning sing-song. “You totally miss him.”

You sighed, unable to help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Shut up, Kate.”

She only laughed, nudging you again. “Never.”

*

The moment you stepped into the village, the air around you shifted. The sounds of daily life—voices calling out in Na’vi, the rhythmic pounding of tools against wood and stone, the distant hum of nature blending seamlessly with the people—welcomed you like a steady heartbeat. It was different from the outpost, from the quiet sterility of the lab, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. It was a world you had come to love, a place where you felt… at home.

Norm had already peeled away, heading straight for Jake, leaving the rest of you behind to take in the scene. Kate and Brian hovered just a step behind you, their postures stiff, their eyes scanning the village with obvious unease. They were used to seeing Na’vi—Neteyam had been a constant presence around you even before you were lovers, and the avatars on the field were a common sight. But this—being surrounded by the Omaticaya in their own home, where their presence was the exception, not the norm—was another thing entirely.

You, on the other hand, felt no such hesitation. You had spent years walking the fine line between observer and participant, and it had only blurred further since Neteyam had claimed a place in your life.

A familiar voice broke through the air before you could take another step.

“Finally!”

Kiri’s voice rang out before she appeared, her tall frame moving toward you with an easy grace, a wide grin on her face.

Before you could respond, Lo’ak was right behind her, his usual lopsided smirk firmly in place as he crossed his arms. “Took you guys long enough.”

You smiled, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease just at the sight of them. “Didn’t know you were waiting for us,” you teased.

Kiri snorted, flipping her braids over her shoulder.

You narrowed your eyes at her, but Lo’ak only grinned wider. “You know,” he drawled, tilting his head at you, “he survived Dad’s lecture.”

You huffed a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Of course, he did.” You weren’t the least bit surprised that Neteyam had made it through relatively unscathed. He was, after all, Neteyam. The golden child. The responsible one. Even when caught sneaking off in the middle of the night.

Lo’ak’s smirk deepened. “You should’ve seen it, though. Dad was pissed. But hey, at least Mom didn’t find out.”

You laughed, crossing your arms over your chest. “And I survived Norm’s lecture, so I’d say we’re even.”

Kiri grinned. “Barely.”

Before anything else could be said, a small figure darted through the crowd, weaving effortlessly between the tall Na’vi bodies before skidding to a stop in front of you.

“Tuk!”

The youngest Sully beamed at you, her big golden eyes shining with excitement. “You’re here!” she said, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Of course I’m here,” you said warmly. “Did you miss me already?”

“Yes!” she declared, nodding enthusiastically before grabbing your wrist with her small, four-fingered hand. “Come on! I have something to show you!”

You laughed, glancing at Kiri and Lo’ak, who both looked thoroughly amused. “Should I be worried?” you asked, letting Tuk tug you forward.

“Nope,” Kiri said, smirking. “But you should definitely be prepared.”

Lo’ak chuckled. “She’s been waiting for you.”

Kate and Brian remained behind, clearly content to stay out of whatever chaos Tuk was about to drag you into. But you didn’t mind. Being around the Sully kids, in the heart of the Omaticaya village, surrounded by these people—it felt like stepping into a world that had slowly, inevitably, begun to feel like yours.

Even if you weren’t technically part of it.

Not yet.

*

Just as you were about to let Tuk drag you off on whatever adventure she had planned, Norm’s voice rang out from the other side of the clearing.

“Hey! Can I get some help over here?”

You turned your head to see him standing near a small set of supplies, Max beside him, already sorting through some of the medical packs they had brought along.

At the same time, Tuk’s small hand tugged insistently at your wrist. “Come on!” she whined, pulling harder, clearly unimpressed with Norm’s timing.

“Go on, Tuk’s orders seem pretty non-negotiable,” Kate teased.

Brian sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about us, we’ll just do all the real work.”

You gave them an apologetic look, lifting your free hand in surrender. “I owe you one,” you said.

Kate gave you an exaggerated sigh, shaking her head as if this was the greatest betrayal she had ever suffered. “Oh, sure,” she drawled. “Abandon us for the tiny one. Unbelievable.”

Brian just smirked, shrugging. “Honestly, I’d take a hyperactive child over sorting medical kits with Norm any day. You’re the one missing out.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I’ll remember that when you’re the one getting dragged away next time.”

Kate rolled her eyes but waved you off. “Go on, then. Have fun doing whatever she has planned.”

Tuk huffed impatiently, pulling at your wrist again. “Hurry up!”

You laughed, finally giving in as you let the Na’vi girl lead you away, casting one last glance over your shoulder at the others. Norm was already muttering something under his breath, clearly not thrilled about being ignored, while Kate and Brian reluctantly made their way toward him.

Yeah. You definitely owed them one.

*

The next few hours passed in a blur of laughter, teasing, and the ever-present energy that came with being around the Sully siblings. You sat with Tuk near the stream, sifting through a collection of colorful shells and smooth river stones she had gathered earlier. Every few minutes, she’d hold one up for your inspection, her excitement palpable.

“This one!” Tuk announced, thrusting a particularly iridescent shell into your hands. “It’s perfect for the center of my necklace!”

You turned it over in your palm, watching how the light shimmered across the surface. “It’s beautiful, Tuk,” you said warmly, handing it back to her. “Are you making this for someone special?”

Tuk huffed dramatically. “For me,” she declared. “I have to look good if I’m gonna be a warrior, right?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Of course. Every warrior needs a good accessory.”

“Look!” Tuk declared proudly as she turned back towards you after searching something behind of the pile of her treasure, holding it up with both hands. The bow was beautifully crafted, the smooth wood polished to perfection, with intricate carvings along its length—Na’vi designs you immediately recognized. The craftsmanship was unmistakable.

Tuk noticed your touch and grinned. “Neteyam helped me!” she beamed. “He said that if I want to be a warrior one day, I need a real bow, not just a tiny one.”

Your fingers traced the delicate engravings absentmindedly. You could practically picture him working on it, carving each detail with careful precision, smoothing the wood with practiced hands. He had helped Tuk make this. He had poured time into it, ensuring it was something she would treasure.

You smiled, warmth filling your chest. “He did a good job. It’s beautiful.”

Tuk puffed up, standing taller as she ran her hands along the string. “It’s strong, too. He made me promise to train every day.” She mimicked drawing an arrow, her stance wobbling slightly. “I’m going to be the best warrior ever!”

Lo’ak scoffed playfully. “Tuk, you’re not even fifteen yet.”

“I don’t care! I can still train,” Tuk shot back, sticking her tongue out.

You chuckled, but even as you listened to Tuk chatter about her future warrior status, your eyes flickered around the village, searching, hoping for a glimpse of him. He had to be around somewhere, right? You hadn’t seen him all day, and even though you knew you weren’t supposed to need to see him, you couldn’t help it.

Lo’ak, who had been watching you with an amused smirk, finally spoke up. “He’s not here.”

You turned your head toward him, narrowing your eyes. “I wasn’t looking for him.”

Lo’ak smirked. “Sure. That’s why you’ve been glancing around every five minutes.”

Kiri grinned, joining in. “He’s with the new warriors up at the Hallelujah Mountains. Some of them have their iknimaya now.”

You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral. It made sense. The iknimaya was one of the most important rites of passage for a Na’vi—bonding with an ikran was a crucial step toward adulthood. But that didn’t stop the faint pang of disappointment from settling in your chest. You hadn’t seen him since the morning he brought you back to the outpost. Since then, you’d been preoccupied with lab work, and he probably had been buried under even more responsibilities.

“After your little nighttime adventure, Dad’s been piling on extra work for him,” Lo’ak continued, grinning as he leaned back on his hands. “He told Dad he was at the Tree of Voices alone, but even with that excuse, he still got loaded with extra duties. You know, as punishment. Said something about ‘keeping his focus where it belongs.’”

Kiri sighed. “Not that he complained,” she added. “He just took it. As usual.”

You stiffened slightly at that. Damn it, Jake. Of course, he didn’t know the full truth—Neteyam had only told him he had been at the Tree of Voices alone. Still, Jake hadn’t bought it completely.

Lo’ak shot you a knowing look, his smirk widening. “You miss him,” he taunted, his voice sing-song.

You exhaled sharply, your patience wearing thin. “Lo’ak—”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “No, no, it’s cute,” he continued, his tail flicking with amusement. “You’ve been sneaking glances all afternoon like maybe he’ll appear out of thin air just because you will him to.”

Your grip tightened on Tuk’s bow as you leveled him with a glare. “Lo’ak, I swear to Eywa, I will hit you with this bow.”

Lo’ak let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Kiri snorted. “Oh, she definitely would.”

Tuk giggled, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. She leaned in closer, holding up her bow like she was assessing its weight. “If she doesn’t, I will.”

You gave Tuk an approving nod. “That’s my girl.”

Lo’ak groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Great. Now you’re corrupting my baby sister.”

“You mean our baby sister,” Kiri corrected with a smirk.

Lo’ak rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He knew better than to fight both of you at once.

Despite the teasing, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming fondness for them. You may not have been born into their world, but they made space for you, treated you as their own. Kiri’s sharp wit, Lo’ak’s relentless mischief, Tuk’s boundless energy—it all felt like home in a way you never expected. Maybe you were different, maybe you weren’t Na’vi, but with them, you never felt out of place.

*

The sun was beginning its slow descent when Kiri grabbed your hand, her excitement barely contained. “Come on, I have something to show you,” she said, practically dragging you back toward the village.

Lo’ak groaned from where he was lying on the grass. “What now?”

“Something actually useful,” Kiri shot back, rolling her eyes. “Not that you’d care.”

Lo’ak grinned, unfazed. “Yeah, yeah. Have fun with your leaves and pastes.”

You chuckled, waving him off as you followed Kiri. Tuk trailed behind for a few moments before running off toward a group of children her age, leaving you alone with Kiri as she led you toward the Tsahik’s tent.

“I’ve been working on something new, and I know you’ll want to see it.”

You didn’t hesitate, knowing exactly what she meant. Despite the countless differences between humans and Na’vi, one thing had always remained true—you loved learning about their ways, their knowledge of the land, the way they understood nature in a way that science could never fully explain.

As you approached the Tsahik’s tent, the warm, earthy scent of dried herbs and crushed leaves filled the air. You had been inside before, but it never failed to amaze you. The tent was lined with woven mats, baskets overflowing with medicinal plants, and bundles of dried flowers hanging from the ceiling.

Mo’at was already there, seated with the quiet authority that came so naturally to her. She looked up as you and Kiri entered, her sharp eyes assessing you for a moment before she nodded in acknowledgment.

“Kaltxì,” Kiri greeted her, settling beside one of the workstations where a few wooden bowls of mixed ingredients were set out. “I was telling her about the healing salve I made.”

Mo’at hummed, her fingers working deftly as she sorted through a pile of dried roots. “Then show her,” she said simply, her voice calm but expectant.

Kiri eagerly gestured for you to sit beside her. You lowered yourself onto the woven mat, your scientist’s curiosity sparking as you took in the various natural remedies laid out before you.

“I know you like learning about this stuff,” Kiri said with a smirk, glancing at you. “I swear, you watch the healers like they’re performing magic.”

You rolled your eyes playfully.

The scientist in you loved studying the plants of Pandora, mapping their properties, comparing them to what little Earth-based knowledge you still clung to. You loved observing, learning. And Kiri, with her deep connection to Eywa and the living world around her, was the best person to learn from.

“This is the one,” Kiri said, pulling a small, round container from a woven satchel. She popped off the lid, revealing a thick, deep green paste inside. “It’s made from yomio leaves and tsawke root. The mixture is really strong for wounds—helps them close faster and reduces swelling.”

You leaned in, inspecting the salve closely. “What’s the base for it?” you asked, reaching out but stopping yourself before touching it.

Kiri grinned, loving your interest. “Crushed yomio leaves, mixed with rendered fat from a syaksyuk.” She pointed to the paste, swirling her finger lightly through it. “The fat helps preserve it longer so it doesn’t spoil, and it also makes it easier to apply.”

You hummed thoughtfully, cataloging the information in your mind. “Do the leaves have to be fresh, or can they be dried before you make the paste?”

“They can be dried,” Kiri replied, “but fresh is always better. The potency fades a little once the leaves start to dry. Mo’at always says the best medicine is made from plants that still have Eywa’s breath in them.”

At that, Mo’at finally spoke, her voice even but carrying the weight of experience. “A plant loses its strength when it is no longer connected to the earth,” she said, glancing between you and Kiri. “That is why we gather them carefully and use them with purpose.”

You nodded, absorbing her words. “That makes sense. On Earth, some plants retain their properties even when dried, but others lose their effectiveness almost immediately.” You glanced at the salve again. “Where do you usually gather the yomio leaves? Does location matter, or are they the same no matter where you find them?”

Mo’at studied you for a moment before gesturing toward a bundle of dried plants hanging nearby. “The strongest grow near the eastern riverbend,” she said. “The water is rich there, the soil full of life. The ones from the higher cliffs are weaker, thinner.”

You nodding. “So the environment affects the potency. That’s fascinating. I wonder if it’s the mineral composition of the soil or if it has to do with the surrounding plants—maybe something in that region encourages better growth.”

Kiri rolled her eyes, but her grin betrayed her amusement. “You really can’t turn off the scientist part of your brain, can you?”

You laughed, shrugging. “I like understanding how things work.” You turned back to Mo’at, tilting your head slightly. “Does it change the way the salve is made? If the leaves are weaker, do you use more of them to compensate?”

Mo’at’s lips quirked just slightly at the corner—amusement, perhaps, or approval. “Yes,” she said simply, reaching for a large wooden mortar near the fire. “Come,” she instructed, patting the woven mat beside her. “Try.”

Kiri handed you a bundle of fresh yomio leaves, their scent sharp and slightly citrusy. “You have to crush them until they turn into a thick paste,” she explained, gesturing toward the massive mortar.

You eyed the size of it warily. It was Na’vi-sized, carved from thick wood, the pestle nearly as long as your arm.

You set to work, gripping the pestle with both hands and pressing the leaves into the mortar’s base. The first attempt barely bruised them. You frowned, adjusted your grip, and tried again, putting more force behind it.

The pestle slipped, nearly knocking into the side of the mortar.

Kiri snorted. “Oh, this is going to be fun to watch.”

You shot her a glare. “I’d like to see you do this with human-sized tools.”

She grinned, but Mo’at, ever patient, simply gestured for you to continue. “Use your weight,” she advised. “Not just your arms.”

You adjusted your stance, planting your feet more firmly. This time, when you pressed down, the leaves gave way under the pressure, releasing a burst of fragrant oil. Encouraged, you kept going, grinding them into a thick, deep-green paste.

After several minutes of struggling, you finally managed to get the consistency right. You sat back with a huff, pushing stray strands of hair from your mask. “Eywa help me,” you muttered, inspecting your work. “How do you guys make this look so easy?”

Mo’at peered into the mortar, then gave a small, satisfied nod. “Good,” she said simply, reaching out to smear a bit of the paste between her fingers, testing its texture. “Strong.”

Despite the effort it had taken, you felt an odd surge of pride at her approval. Mo’at did not give praise lightly.

Kiri nudged you with her elbow. “See? Not bad for a human.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, wiping your hands on a cloth. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe I’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

Mo’at handed you a small wooden jar, indicating for you to scoop the paste inside. As you carefully transferred it, you felt her gaze linger on you. Not cold, not disapproving—just assessing.

Perhaps she wasn’t as resistant to humans as others believed. She wouldn’t say it, but you could tell she was watching, observing how you and Kiri worked together, how you listened, how you tried.

And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to see that you weren’t just one of the humans. You were something else.

You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the satisfied smile from forming. Learning was something you had always loved, and today had been no different. Even in the heart of the Omatikaya, surrounded by their traditions and their knowledge, you found yourself fascinated—drawn deeper into their world. And despite everything, it felt... natural.

*

Kiri, ever the enthusiastic teacher, grabbed a woven bowl and pulled it toward the center of the mat. She reached for a bundle of dried herbs near Mo’at’s side, carefully selecting a few leaves and roots. “So, you saw how the yomio leaves react when crushed into a paste,” she began, stirring the mortar’s remnants with her fingers. “But what happens when we prepare them differently?”

Mo’at, listening silently until now, reached for a small clay pot filled with oil and poured a small amount into a wooden dish. “Water and oil do not carry medicine the same way,” she explained, her voice steady and full of quiet wisdom. “Some plants release their healing properties into water. Others, like tsawke root, need oil to draw out their strength.”

You leaned in, fascinated. “Why is that? Is it because of how the compounds break down?”

Kiri hummed in agreement as she plucked a small, wiry root from the bundle and dropped it into the oil. “It’s because some plants have their power in their juices, but others… the strength is locked in their fibers. Water pulls from the surface, but oil seeps deeper.”

You watched intently as the root began to darken in the oil, its reddish hue leeching into the liquid, staining it a deep amber color. The scent changed too—richer, more pungent, almost spicy. Kiri swirled the dish lightly, tilting it so you could see how the oil thickened as it absorbed the plant’s essence.

Mo’at motioned for you to take another root and place it into a dish filled with water instead. You did as instructed, watching how the root barely changed at all. The water clouded slightly, but it didn’t pull the color or scent in the same way the oil had.

“So for something like tsawke root, an oil base is better for making salves,” you murmured, thinking aloud. “Because it extracts more of the medicinal properties.”

“Yes,” Mo’at confirmed, nodding. “And oil will keep longer than water. No rot. No spoil.”

That made sense. Water-based mixtures would spoil quickly without preservatives, but oil-based infusions could last much longer. You made a mental note of that, filing it away for later.

Kiri reached for another plant, one with soft, rounded leaves that had been drying in bundles around the tent. “Now, watch this,” she said, plucking a few of them and crushing them between her fingers before sprinkling them into both oil and water.

The reaction was immediate. In the water, the leaves darkened, releasing a greenish tint, but they remained mostly intact. In the oil, however, they crumpled further, almost dissolving into the liquid, their edges curling as they infused it with color.

“Their healing properties are weaker,” Kiri explained, “but they still help with pain when mixed right.” She glanced at you with a knowing grin. “And they smell better than some of the stronger ones. That’s why they go into balms.”

You reached out, dipping your finger into the oil mixture and rubbing it between your fingers. It was slick and fragrant, earthy with a hint of spice. “It feels different too,” you noted. “Thicker, heavier.”

Mo’at, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke again. “Yes. The oil holds the medicine in place, keeping it on the skin. Water will wash away. Oil lingers.”

It was all so methodical, yet deeply intuitive. The way they worked with the plants wasn’t just about science—it was about understanding the nature of each one, the way they interacted with their environment, how they behaved under different conditions. You found it endlessly fascinating, the blend of tradition and practical knowledge that Mo’at and Kiri carried with them.

As you were about to ask another question, the tent flap burst open, and a blur of motion barreled toward you.

“Tuk!” Kiri yelped as the girl nearly knocked into her.

Tuk, breathless and grinning, bounced on her heels. “They’re back!” she exclaimed, excitement bubbling in her voice. “The warriors! They came back from the Hallelujah Mountains!”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

Neteyam.

You blinked, suddenly forgetting all about the herbs and their properties. Mo’at gave Tuk a mildly disapproving glance but did not scold her. Kiri, however, rolled her eyes, shaking her head at her younger sister’s excitement.

“You could’ve just said that normally, Tuk,” Kiri sighed, but there was amusement in her voice.

Tuk ignored her, turning to you instead. “Come see! You have to come!” She practically bounced in place, her hands reaching for yours.

Your fingers twitched slightly. He was back. You hadn’t seen him in three days, and the anticipation suddenly coiled tight in your stomach.

Kiri smirked knowingly at your hesitation. “Oh, come on,” she teased. “You’re definitely coming. We know who you’re looking for.”

You shot her a look but didn’t deny it.

Tuk, impatient as ever, tugged on your hand insistently. “Come on!” she whined.

With a deep breath, you rose to your feet, brushing off your hands. The past few days without Neteyam had already been too long, and your heart was already racing at the thought of seeing him again.

“Alright,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Let’s go.”

*

As you stepped outside with Kiri and Tuk, the air buzzed with excitement. The village was alive with movement—Na’vi gathered in small clusters, their voices rising in cheers and joyous laughter as warriors returned, most of them with ikran circling above them. Families and friends celebrated, embracing those who had successfully completed their Iknimaya.

Kiri let out a pleased hum as she scanned the sky. “Looks like a every one of them passed,” she observed, watching the newly bonded warriors dismount from their ikran. Their faces shone with triumph, their bodies still bearing fresh scrapes and bruises from the harsh test of earning a flying companion.

Tuk bounced beside you, clapping her hands. “They did it!” she giggled, pointing toward a group of younger warriors who were being showered with praise.

Your heart thumped against your ribs as your eyes flicked over the returning figures, searching—no, longing—for one in particular.

Where is he?

Before you could voice the question, you felt a strong grip on your arm.

“Alright, lovebird,” Kate’s teasing voice cut in, pulling you back to reality. “Come on, you’re getting that dreamy look again.”

You barely had time to react before she dragged you away from Kiri and Tuk, weaving through the crowd toward where Norm and the others were gathered.

“Kate—” you protested, glancing over your shoulder one last time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Neteyam.

“Nope,” she cut you off, her grip firm as she pulled you along. “You can make eyes at your warrior later. Right now, you’re reporting back to the team like the rest of us.”

Brian glanced up as you approached, lifting an eyebrow. “Ah, she returns. How was your very productive day?”

Kate smirked, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Oh, you know, while we were slaving away, our dear scientist here was out watching the sky, lost in thought.”

You shot her a glare, but it lacked any real venom. “I was not just watching the sky,” you defended, though the warmth on your cheeks betrayed you.

Kate leaned in slightly, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Mmm, sure. Not staring at a certain soon-to-return Na’vi warrior, then?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you love me,” she quipped, nudging you playfully before turning her attention back to Norm and Max.

You sighed, stealing one last glance toward the open clearing where the warriors were returning. Your fingers twitched at your sides, itching with anticipation.

You could wait a little longer.

Maybe.

*

The datapad screen glowed dimly in your hands, the soft hum of village life around you blending into the background as you carefully logged the medical supplies Norm dictated. Your fingers tapped methodically over the touchscreen, cataloging everything.

“Alright,” Norm murmured beside you, scanning over the inventory. “We’re making good progress, but we should start wrapping this up soon. We need to head back before it gets too dark.” He tapped his own screen, checking the remaining tasks. “We still have a couple more things to go over, but we should be done in a few hours.”

You nodded absentmindedly, half-hearing him. Your focus had already begun to drift—your fingers still moved over the datapad, but your eyes had locked onto a figure in the distance.

Neteyam.

He was standing near the central clearing, his posture relaxed but ever-composed, talking with one of the warriors who had returned from their Iknimaya. He must have just gotten back himself, his braids slightly tousled by flight, his skin still faintly glistening from exertion. The golden light of the setting sun played against his deep blue skin, highlighting the strong contours of his shoulders, the ripple of his muscles shifting beneath the intricate woven cummerband he wore. His tail flicked lazily behind him as he shifted from one foot to the other, the easy confidence of his stance utterly captivating.

Gods, how could someone be so beautiful?

You exhaled slowly, watching as he gestured slightly with his hands while speaking, his long fingers moving gracefully, his four-fingered hands so unlike your own. His presence was effortless—commanding yet natural, like he was a part of Pandora itself. And you loved to watch him. To study every detail as if you could carve the image of him into your mind permanently.

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You knew you shouldn’t stare, but it was impossible not to. It had been three days since you last saw him, three days since you had felt the warmth of his hands on your waist, since his lips had ghosted over your skin with whispered words that still echoed in your mind. Now, here he was, so close and yet so far, completely unaware that you were here.

“He doesn’t even know she’s here,” Brian murmured in a low voice beside Kate, and you barely registered the way your friends had begun to whisper.

Kate snickered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think she cares. Look at her.”

You blinked, snapping your eyes away from Neteyam, your fingers tightening slightly on the datapad. You shook your head once, sharp and deliberate, as if willing yourself back to the present. With an exhale, you forced your focus back onto the screen in front of you, resuming your typing as though nothing had happened.

Don’t be obvious. Don’t bother him. Don’t make this harder for him than it already is.

Because this wasn’t like the nights you had stolen together in the lab, when you could be as close as you wanted. This was the village. And here, only his siblings and your human colleagues knew about what you shared with him. If anyone else found out, it would only make things harder for him.

You swallowed the ache that settled in your chest. You wanted him, wanted to be near him, but you also knew better. This was his world. You wouldn’t make it more complicated for him, even if it meant keeping your distance. Even if it meant pretending not to see him.

You tried to focus on the datapad. You really did. The text on the screen blurred as you logged the last of the salves, but your fingers moved automatically, your mind hopelessly elsewhere.

Hopelessly on him.

Your gaze flickered up again, unable to help yourself. Just a quick glance, just for a moment—you told yourself. He was still talking with the warrior, standing in that infuriatingly perfect way he always did, his tail swayed lazily behind him, curling subtly every now and then, the bioluminescent dots along his back shimmering faintly in the warm light of the evening.

You sighed inwardly, dragging your eyes back down to the datapad—only to glance back up again a few seconds later.

Pathetic, you scolded yourself.

But this time, something was different. Your breath hitched as you caught movement near him—Tuk had appeared, bouncing with excitement, tugging on his arm. Neteyam automatically leaned down to her level, listening patiently as she whispered something conspiratorially into his ear.

You smiled fondly at the sight, watching as he nodded along to whatever she was saying. But then—Tuk turned, her hand extending outward. Pointing.

At you.

Your stomach dropped.

Time slowed as Neteyam’s golden eyes followed her direction.

Straight. To. You.

Your brain stalled, panic flaring instantly.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit—

You did the worst possible thing you could do in this situation. You looked around like a dumbass, as if there could possibly be anyone else in the vicinity that Tuk might be pointing at.

As if there was anyone else Neteyam could be looking at.

Your wide eyes darted left. Right. As if the trees or the handful of other humans in the village could somehow be the intended targets of his attention. Maybe he’s not looking at me—maybe—

But then you saw it.

The exact moment Neteyam registered your pathetic attempt at playing dumb. The exact moment amusement flickered over his face.

He shook his head once, slow and deliberate, making his braids sway over his shoulders, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Your face burned.

He knew.

He knew you’d been watching him.

You didn’t need to hear his voice to know exactly what he was thinking.

Caught you staring again, ma yawne.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at him, diving back into the datapad like your life depended on it. Kate and Brian exchanged glances before looking at you expectantly, but you ignored them, determined to pretend none of this just happened.

But deep down, under all your mortification, you felt the warmth spread through your chest.

Because even after all this time—after three years of falling for him, after becoming his secret lover, after knowing his touch, his voice, his kisses—just one look from Neteyam still managed to unravel you completely.

*

Neteyam approached slowly, his long strides easy and unhurried as he made his way toward the small cluster of humans. His gaze flickered to you briefly, warmth lingering in his golden eyes, before Tuk, practically vibrating with excitement, bounced around him, already tugging on his arm.

"Neteyam!" Tuk beamed, gripping his fingers as she bounced on the balls of her feet. "How was the Iknimaya? Did you see any big ikrans? Did anyone fall? Did you have to help someone? Tell me everything!"

Neteyam chuckled, ruffling her braids affectionately. "Slow down, Tuk. One question at a time, okay?"

But she didn't slow down, not in the slightest. "Were they scared? Did everyone pass? What about you? What did you do?!"

He let out a soft exhale but answered patiently, the same way he always did when it came to her. "Yes, everyone passed. Some of them were scared, but they were brave." His voice carried that steady, unwavering confidence that made your stomach flutter, even when it wasn’t directed at you. "And no one fell, Tuk, I promise."

You couldn't help but listen, even as you tried to focus on the datapad in front of you. His voice was like gravity, pulling you in whether you wanted it to or not.

But then Tuk changed the subject.

"Oh!" she gasped suddenly, tugging on his hand again. "I showed her my bow! The one you made for me! And she loved it!"

Your fingers paused over the keypad, and you glanced up from the screen just in time to see Neteyam’s ears flick up, his expression shifting with quiet amusement. His gaze found yours again, this time lingering, as if he was waiting to see your reaction.

You pressed your lips together, biting back a smile, and turned back to the datapad, determined to not let him see how much his attention affected you.

But he was watching you.

You could feel it.

His warm gaze settled on you as you worked beside Norm, like he was studying you just as much as you had been studying him moments ago. He wasn’t even trying to hide it, and it took every ounce of restraint in your body to not squirm under the weight of it. You wanted to be close to him. So bad.

You forced yourself to type. Focus. Focus. Do not look at him. Act normal.

The other scientists greeted Neteyam, and he responded in kind, raising his hand and offering them the traditional "I see you" gesture, his fingers pressed together as he inclined his head in quiet respect.

And then, to your horror and delight—he walked toward you.

Your fingers stilled completely when you noticed his large frame moving closer.

Then, as he always did in the lab, he crouched down beside you, bringing himself to your level with that same effortless grace.

You turned your head slightly, your breath catching when you met his eyes.

Neteyam's gaze was steady, warm, filled with something quiet and unreadable. He was so close. Close enough that you could see every delicate detail of his face—the intricate bioluminescent freckles dotting his skin, the sharp yet soft angles of his features, the slight part of his lips as if he wanted to say something but was waiting for you first.

And Eywa, you wanted to throw yourself at him.

To run your fingers through his braids, to press your face into the warmth of his chest, to feel him again after days of aching for him.

But you couldn’t.

Not here. Not in front of everyone.

So instead, you smiled. A soft, small thing, laced with all the affection you couldn’t put into words at that moment.

And he smiled back.

It was a subtle curve of his lips, barely there—but you saw it.

You knew that smile.

It was the same one he gave you when he was holding you in the dark, when his hands mapped the shape of your body, when he whispered things against your skin that made your head spin.

You exhaled quietly, grounding yourself before speaking. "You made it back in one piece."

"Of course, I did," he murmured, his voice carrying the slightest hint of amusement, his eyes not moving from yours. "Did you doubt me?"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Maybe just a little."

He huffed out a soft chuckle, shaking his head before his gaze dropped briefly—to your lips, then back to your eyes.

It lasted only a second.

But you noticed.

And you knew, without a doubt, that Neteyam had missed you just as much as you missed him.

“You guys look like you bit into a lemon,” Kate whispered, her voice dripping with amusement.

You shot her a sharp glare, but she only grinned wider, clearly enjoying your struggle to stay composed. It didn’t help that Brian was quietly smirking beside her, glancing between you and Neteyam like he was watching a live drama unfold.

You ignored them. Instead, you looked back at Neteyam, your gaze softening despite yourself. Happy to see him again.

He was so close, crouched beside you, golden eyes warm and unwavering. You wanted to reach out, to let your fingers map out the places you had kissed before. But instead, you tilted your head slightly, forcing a teasing smirk to your lips.

“Shouldn’t the future olo’eyktan be celebrating with the new warriors?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that part of your whole ‘leader of the people’ thing?”

Neteyam hummed, tilting his head slightly as if considering it, but then his lips curved into a slow, lazy smirk, his tails swaying side to side happily. “Never,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping into that deep, velvety timbre that sent a shiver down your spine. “Not when the most interesting being is here.”

Your stomach flipped.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes to mask the heat creeping up your neck. “Flattery, huh? I thought you were above that, mighty warrior.” Eywa, how did he do that? How did he manage to say things so easily, so naturally, like he wasn’t completely unraveling you from the inside out?

His tail flicked idly behind him, his amusement barely concealed. “You wound me,” he murmured, placing a hand dramatically over his chest.

Neteyam watched you carefully, studying your reaction like he was memorizing every twitch of your expression. Then, as if sensing your thoughts, his voice softened. “Since when have you been here?” he asked, his tail flicking lazily behind him.

Your heart clenched at the realization, and you softened immediately. “Since this morning,” you admitted, watching the way his jaw clenched slightly, like the thought of you being so close yet out of reach bothered him. “We came with Norm to check on the medical supplies.” You paused, then smirked playfully. “Not that you would’ve noticed. You were too busy climbing floating mountains.”

You exhaled, finally able to answer, but as you opened your mouth, you noticed something in his eyes.

Sadness.

A quiet kind of disappointment.

He was frustrated. Frustrated that he hadn’t been able to see you all day.

Neteyam huffed a small laugh, shaking his head, but before he could respond, a voice called out from the other side of the village.

“Neteyam!”

You both turned toward the source of the voice—a young warrior waving him over. The celebration was still going strong, the newly bonded riders surrounded by their proud friends and family.

Neteyam exhaled through his nose, a very put-upon sigh, his ears twitching slightly in annoyance. He didn’t want to go.

You smirked at him, tilting your head teasingly. “Come on,” you teased. “Your duty is calling.”

Neteyam let out a quiet, dramatic groan, but there was amusement in his golden gaze as he slowly rose to his full height, towering over you once more.

And just as he stepped past you—

Thwap.

His tail flicked out, playfully slapping the side of your mask.

A startled laugh burst from your lips as you reached up instinctively, swatting at nothing but air. “Neteyam!” you half-scolded, half-laughed, shaking your head.

He only smirked over his shoulder, his golden eyes full of mischief as he walked away. "See you soon, syulang," he murmured, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

And with that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you smiling like a complete fool.

And as you watched him go, warmth bloomed deep in your chest.

You had missed him.

*

The next few hours passed in a blur of work, conversation, and the occasional distraction—mainly in the form of Tuk.

She would dart over every so often, her small hands grasping onto your arm as she chattered about something seemingly mundane but infinitely endearing. One time, it was about how she and Kiri had found a new kind of insect near the river. Another time, she excitedly showed you a rock she had found, claiming it looked just like an ikran’s wing. And at one point, she even plopped down beside you, her large Na’vi eyes studying the datapad with intense curiosity.

"How do your fingers move so fast?" Tuk asked in awe, watching as you typed, recording the final pieces of data into the system.

You chuckled, your fingers pausing for just a moment to flex them dramatically. "Years of practice," you said, tapping the screen one last time. "When you have to type reports as often as I do, you get fast."

Tuk hummed thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hands as she leaned against you, peeking at the screen. "It looks like you're talking to the pad," she mused.

"In a way, I am," you admitted, your lips curling into a small smile. "This is how humans keep records. We don’t have memory sharing like you do with Eywa, so we have to write everything down."

Tuk scrunched her nose. "That sounds hard."

You laughed softly. "Sometimes it is."

Tuk stayed with you as you worked, her presence a welcome distraction. She would ask you small questions, tell you little stories, and at some point, she began absentmindedly playing with the strap of your mask, tugging it gently as she murmured to herself about something or another. You didn’t mind—it was nice to have her here.

Still, even with Tuk’s chatter filling the air, your gaze would involuntarily flick towards him.

Neteyam.

He was with the other warriors, standing tall among them, his frame impossibly strong, impossibly perfect despite the clear exhaustion clinging to him. Maybe no one else noticed, but you did. The slight droop of his ears, the way his shoulders weren’t held as taut as usual, the brief moments where he would exhale just a little slower than before.

He was tired.

And of course he was—he had been at the Hallelujah Mountains all day, guiding the younger warriors through their Iknimaya. And now, after all of that, he was still here, still standing, still listening as others spoke to him, still carrying the weight of expectation on his shoulders.

You marveled at him.

At how he made exhaustion look so breathtaking.

At how, even now, he looked like he had been sculpted by Eywa herself—a warrior through and through, but still, somehow, entirely yours.

"You’re staring again," Tuk whispered beside you, her voice full of teasing mischief.

Your eyes widened slightly, snapping back to your datapad as you cleared your throat. "No, I’m not," you muttered quickly, typing a little more aggressively than before.

Tuk giggled. "Yes, you are," she sing-songed, nudging you with her elbow. "You always stare at my brother like that."

You gave her an exaggeratedly stern look. "I do not."

Tuk grinned, her little tail flicking behind her. "Uh-huh.”

You groaned, shaking your head as you turned your focus firmly back onto the datapad. But despite your best efforts, your eyes still betrayed you, flickering back toward him one last time.

And for a brief second—just a second—Neteyam turned his head slightly, as if sensing you, as if feeling your gaze.

You quickly looked back at the screen, pretending to be deep in work, pretending like you hadn’t been admiring him for the past five minutes.

Tuk snickered.

And all you could do was pray that Neteyam hadn’t caught you this time.

*

The last hour had been a blur of work, subtle glances, and the occasional burst of laughter, all thanks to Tuk.

Somewhere along the way, you had surrendered to her latest demand—braiding your hair.

You sat cross-legged, letting her weave her small hands through your locks as she hummed to herself, completely immersed in her task. And if that meant keeping your head down and avoiding Neteyam’s gaze, then it was a win-win. Because Eywa help you, every time you felt his golden eyes flick in your direction, your face burned hotter than the Pandoran sun.

It was ridiculous. You had been together for months now—three years if you counted the years you had been hopelessly in love with him—but now, every single time he looked at you, you blushed like a fool.

And Neteyam?

He knew it.

You could see it in the faint smirk that pulled at his lips each time he caught you looking away too fast, in the way his tail flicked slightly when your cheeks turned pink. The man enjoyed it—enjoyed watching you fall apart under his gaze.

It was infuriating and entirely unfair.

Tuk, blissfully unaware of your turmoil, suddenly leaned back, clapping her hands together. “Done!” she chirped excitedly.

Before you could process what she had done to your hair, Neteyam walked up to you again.

Tuk beamed up at him, bouncing slightly on her toes. “Look, look! I did her hair!” she announced, motioning toward you like you were a masterpiece she had just finished sculpting.

Neteyam’s golden eyes softened as he took in your appearance, his lips twitching up as he studied Tuk’s handiwork. Your long hair had been intricately braided with small woven beads—Na’vi-style—and you had to admit, it felt strangely nice, comfortable, as if the hairstyle belonged on you.

You reached back and flicked your braid over your shoulder dramatically, grinning. “From now on, I am an honorary Omaticaya,” you declared, throwing yourself fully into Tuk’s enthusiasm.

Tuk giggled, clearly proud of her work. “Yes! Now you can’t leave! You’re one of us!”

Neteyam chuckled, crouching down next to you, his eyes drinking you in. “Not bad, Tuk,” he mused, giving his sister a small nod of approval before looking back at you, his gaze lingering. “It suits you.”

Your heart stuttered at the way he said it—low, soft, like a secret meant just for you.

Before you could respond, Norm’s voice cut through the moment. “Alright, that’s it for today.” He stood, stretching his arms above his head before looking toward the sky. The sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting the village in a warm, golden glow. His expression darkened slightly. “We need to head back before nightfall.”

Tuk’s ears twitched at his words, and before you could even stand up, she grabbed your hand.

“Nooo, wait!” she whined, holding onto you with surprising strength. “She has to stay a little longer! I still have to show her something.”

Your heart squeezed at the desperation in her voice, and Eywa help you, you found yourself looking at Norm with pleading eyes, despite already knowing exactly what his answer would be.

Norm’s jaw tightened. “Tuk—” Norm exhaled slowly, clearly conflicted. You knew he hated when humans stayed outside after dark—for good reason.  Tuk, the little menace, squeezed your hand tighter and gave Norm the biggest, roundest, most innocent eyes she could muster.

“Pleaaase, Norm?” she begged sweetly.

You almost laughed. The poor man didn’t stand a chance.

“I will bring her back later,” Neteyam interjected smoothly, his voice calm and steady, but Neteyam’s presence changed things. Neteyam, who was nothing if not responsible, who never let anything happen to you, was a different story.

Still, Norm didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked between you and Neteyam, and you could practically see the calculations running through his head.

Finally, Norm sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “But—not too late.” He turned his gaze to Neteyam then, his expression serious. “Bring her back safely.”

Neteyam nodded once, solemnly. “Always.”

Tuk let out a cheer, pulling you forward before Norm could change his mind.

And just like that, you were staying.

*

Your stomach twisted slightly as all eyes turned toward you. It wasn’t hostile—at least, not entirely—but it was still undeniable that you were an outlier here.

The entire clan was gathered around the fire, their massive forms crouching or sitting as they shared their evening meal. The soft glow of the flames flickered over their deep blue skin, casting warm highlights on their faces, illuminating their intricate bioluminescent markings.

This was their space, their world, and you had stayed past the time you were supposed to leave.

Jake was watching you with interest, his gaze flickering from you to Neteyam—like he was considering something. But what really made you uneasy was the sharp, disapproving look on Neytiri’s face. She didn’t speak, but her piercing amber eyes said enough.

You felt your nerves spike, every part of you screaming that this wasn’t your place.

Just as you started to back away, Tuk’s hand gripped your wrist, tugging you toward the family like she hadn’t just unknowingly pulled you into a tense, silent war zone. You glanced back nervously, expecting Neteyam to stop this—to step in and tell Tuk you should go—but when you met his gaze, his golden eyes were steady, calm in a way that made your chest tighten.

"Don’t worry," he murmured, his voice warm and reassuring.

You swallowed hard, trying not to panic, but you could feel your heart pounding against your ribs. Neytiri’s stare was like a blade, and Kiri and Lo’ak—who were sitting next to their parents—were failing miserably at hiding their amusement.

You couldn’t be here. This wasn’t your place.

"Tuk," you whispered, desperately trying to reason with her as she dragged you closer to the fire, toward her family. "I should go. I can’t be here."

Tuk, oblivious to the tension, just tightened her grip. "Don’t be silly," she chirped happily. "You’re already here! And you have to sit with us!"

Great. Fantastic. Wonderful.

Panic coiled tight in your stomach as she forced you down to sit beside her, right at the edge of the family’s circle. You barely registered the warmth of the fire as you snuck another glance at Neytiri, who had not stopped watching you.

Jake finally leaned forward slightly, tilting his head toward Neteyam. "So... what’s the deal here?" he asked, his tone casual but curious.

Neteyam didn’t even flinch. "She stayed behind with Tuk," he answered simply, his voice even.

Jake hummed, and you tried not to die on the spot.

Before you could even attempt to make a hasty escape, Tuk practically shoved a rather large purple fruit into your hands.

"Taste it!" she said eagerly. "It’s the best fruit ever!"

You blinked, glancing down at the fruit before throwing a glance toward Neteyam, silently pleading for an answer.

Is this even safe for humans?

Neteyam raised an eyebrow at you, clearly amused, but then his ears twitched slightly—his version of a shrug.

"Not that I would know," his expression seemed to say.

Your stomach sank even further.

This was a terrible idea.

*

You inhaled sharply, bracing yourself as you held your breath and pulled down your mask.

The fruit in your hands was a deep, almost unreal purple, the color seeping into the flesh beneath its thick peel. You turned it in your fingers, examining its smooth, glossy surface, your mind automatically trying to compare it to something familiar—but there was no fruit on Earth that looked like this.

You hesitated for a second longer before finally taking a cautious bite.

The moment the fruit burst on your tongue, a shockwave of flavor hit you all at once. It was sweet, but not cloying—tangy, almost citrusy, yet rich and velvety at the same time. The texture was unlike anything you’d had before, somewhere between a ripe mango and honeyed nectar.

You barely had time to process it before your lungs screamed for air, and you hurriedly snapped your mask back into place, sucking in a deep breath as the aftertaste lingered like a dream on your tongue.

Eyes wide, you turned to Neteyam first, then to Tuk, stunned.

"Woah," you breathed, your voice slightly muffled by your mask. "That’s literally the best thing I’ve ever eaten since I got to Pandora!"

Tuk beamed, bouncing slightly. "I told you!" she chirped, looking immensely proud of herself.

Across the fire, Lo’ak let out a loud laugh, his sharp teeth flashing in amusement. "Damn," he chuckled. "She looks like she just saw Eywa herself."

Kiri smirked, nudging him with her elbow. "Guess human food really is as bland as we thought," she teased.

Even Jake was grinning, his sharp eyes twinkling as he leaned back on his hands. "Didn’t expect that reaction, kid," he admitted, chuckling.

You turned back to Neteyam, flustered, but his golden eyes were already on you, soft, amused, and something else—something warm that made your stomach flip.

He didn’t say anything, just watched you with that knowing look, like he’d been waiting for this moment—watching you experience something new in his world, something that made your eyes light up.

The only one who wasn’t amused was Neytiri.

She said nothing, her face unreadable, though her sharp gaze lingered on the fruit in your hands for a second too long before flicking back to Neteyam.

You swallowed hard, suddenly acutely aware of where you were.

This wasn’t your place.

And yet…

When you looked back at Neteyam, his eyes hadn’t left yours.

For just a moment, the firelight flickered between you, and nothing else mattered.

*

The meal slowly came to an end, the soft murmur of conversations fading into the crackling of the fire as the clan settled into a more relaxed rhythm. You carefully finished the last of the fruit, the process tiring but worth it—pulling off your mask, taking a bite, then quickly putting it back on before your lungs protested for air. It wasn’t exactly graceful, but you managed, the sweet taste lingering on your tongue.

Tuk was practically glowing with happiness, her hands clasped together as she rocked excitedly on her knees beside you. "You spent the whole day with me!" she beamed, her tail swishing behind her in delight. "And you liked my fruit! You have to come back so I can show you more!"

You smiled warmly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I’d love that, Tuk."

But before you could say anything else, Neytiri suddenly appeared, her presence looming like a storm cloud. You barely had time to react before Tuk was practically pulled away from you, Neytiri’s firm hand grasping her daughter’s shoulder. She didn’t say a single word to you—didn’t even glance in your direction—but the message was clear.

You were not welcome here.

The warmth of the moment vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold tightness in your chest as you sat there, watching as Neytiri led Tuk away.

Lo’ak and Kiri exchanged knowing glances, their amusement from earlier dying down, though neither of them seemed particularly surprised.

Neytiri’s sharp disapproving gaze flickered toward Neteyam as she walked past, her expression unreadable but heavy with meaning. A silent warning.

But Neteyam didn’t flinch.

He met his mother’s gaze with calm, unwavering confidence, his shoulders straight, unyielding—a silent message of his own. When she finally disappeared into the shadows, you let out a slow, shaky breath, suddenly feeling the weight of the entire evening pressing down on you.

You turned to Neteyam, whispering softly, "I should go back. I already made things awkward."

Your voice was barely above a breath, but Neteyam heard you.

His golden eyes searched yours, something flickering behind them—something unreadable, something deep. Something like want…

But he didn’t argue.

He just gave you a slow, knowing nod before standing, his tail brushing against your side as he turned.

"Come," he murmured, his voice steady and warm. "I’ll walk you back."

*

You followed him through the forest, the air still warm from the lingering heat of the day, but the cool night breeze carried a soothing calmness. Above you, the sky was drenched in stars, endless and vast, stretching beyond what your eyes could comprehend. The bioluminescent flora of the forest glowed in soft blues, purples, and pinks, casting an ethereal light on everything around you. The ground beneath your boots pulsed faintly with life, every step awakening the natural world.

You had walked through this forest countless times before, mostly on his side, but somehow, it never stopped being mesmerizing. And maybe it never would.

Neteyam moved effortlessly ahead of you, his tall frame almost blending with the living, breathing world around him. The sway of his tail, the way his broad shoulders shifted with each careful step—it was like he was part of the forest itself, the embodiment of Pandora’s wild beauty.

You marveled at how different he was from you. So much taller, so much stronger—his long limbs moved with quiet power, his ears flicking at the distant sounds of nocturnal creatures. And yet, for all his strength, he was gentle.

He turned slightly, his golden eyes catching the glow of the plants, making them look even brighter, more alive.

"You’re quiet," he murmured.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "I’m just… taking it all in," you admitted, your gaze drifting to the glowing vines that curled around the trees. "It still amazes me. The way the forest comes alive at night."

Neteyam tilted his head slightly, his expression soft. "You look at it like you’re seeing it for the first time."

"Sometimes it feels like I am," you whispered, reaching out to brush your fingertips along a bioluminescent fern. The soft light pulsed beneath your touch, responding to the contact. "I don’t think I’ll ever stop being amazed by this place."

He hummed softly, a deep, thoughtful sound, before his gaze flickered toward you again.

"I’m sorry I stayed," you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I shouldn’t have. It was awkward. Your mother practically killed me with her stare."

Neteyam exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, but close. "Tuk wanted you there," he said simply, his voice calm and assured. "So it was okay." He hesitated for a moment before adding, a little quieter, "And… I wanted you there too."

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth blooming in your chest at his words.

You glanced at him, watching the way his ears twitched slightly, as if unsure how you’d respond. But you didn’t know what to say. Because you had wanted to be there, too—with him, with his family, with the people who mattered most to him.

The sounds of the distant village still echoed behind you—laughter, the soft murmur of voices, the faint melody of a song. But as you and Neteyam continued walking, the sounds began to fade, replaced by the quiet symphony of the forest.

Neteyam’s pace was slow, deliberately matching yours.

You glanced up at him, still marveling at his height.

When he stood beside you, his palm could easily rest against the back of your head. You barely reached his waist—a fact he never teased you for, but one that was always so obvious whenever you stood next to him like this.

And yet, despite the sheer difference in size, you never felt small next to him. Never felt fragile.

Just… his.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the path ahead, trying not to let your thoughts drift too far. But it was difficult when he was this close, when his scent surrounded you, when you could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

And knowing that he wanted you there, just as much as you had wanted to be there…

Eywa, he made it so hard to keep your composure.

*

The night air was cool against your skin, a contrast to the warmth radiating from Neteyam beside you. You continued walking in silence, the distant hum of the village now completely gone, leaving only the symphony of the forest—soft rustling leaves, the distant call of night creatures, and the bioluminescent glow illuminating the path ahead.

And then—he stopped.

You barely had a second to react before Neteyam suddenly crouched before you, bringing himself to your level. His golden eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath hitch. Before you could say a word, his large hands slid around your waist, engulfing you completely, his fingers spreading wide over your ribs as if he needed to feel all of you at once.

A small, startled squeak escaped your lips as he pulled you closer, and before you could gather your thoughts, his nose pressed against your neck.

A slow, deep inhale. Then another.

His breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You know how hard it was not to touch you?" he murmured, his voice low, rough, and full of restraint.

Your heart stuttered, your fingers instinctively sliding up his muscular arms, feeling the tension there—the barely controlled want.

Your hands traveled further, moving over the ridges of his strong shoulders, stopping at the place where his neck met his shoulder. Slowly, almost unconsciously, you caressed the skin there, feeling the heat of him, the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch.

He let out a slow exhale, his grip tightening just slightly before his lips brushed against your neck.

The soft press of his mouth against your skin made you melt into him, your body molding against his as your breath hitched.

Eywa. You missed him.

Missed his touch, missed the way he could make you unravel with just a whisper, a kiss, a look.

Your fingers dug slightly into his shoulder, your body responding to him before your mind could catch up.

"Neteyam..." you whispered, not even sure what you wanted to say.

But he just hummed against your skin, pressing another slow, deliberate kiss just below your jaw, as if memorizing the taste of you all over again.

*

Neteyam kissed your neck slowly, savoring every second he had with you. Each press of his lips was deliberate, lingering, like he was committing the feeling of your skin to memory. His warm breath fanned over you, and when his lips parted slightly, his tongue barely grazing your sensitive skin, a soft gasp escaped your lips.

His hands were restless, sliding up your back, fingertips ghosting over your spine as they found their way beneath your top. His calloused fingers met your bare skin, and the contrast of rough against soft sent a shiver through you. He moved slowly, his hands mapping the contours of your back, exploring, claiming, and yet, worshipping at the same time.

"I missed you so much," he whispered against your neck, his voice husky and raw with emotion.

Your fingers tightened on his strong shoulders, your breath uneven, your heart pounding in your chest. "I missed you too," you murmured back, pressing yourself closer to him, your body desperate for more.

You took a few deep, shaky breath, holding it, and then—without hesitation—you pulled down your mask.

And kissed him.

It was fierce, desperate, your lips crashing into his as you poured every aching thought, every longing moment into it. Your fingers dug into his scalp, threading through his thick braids, pulling him impossibly closer even though there was no space left between you.

Neteyam groaned softly into the kiss, his large hand sliding up your back, his palm finding the back of your head, engulfing your skull entirely as he held you steady, taking everything you gave him and giving it back tenfold.

The heat of his mouth, the way he kissed you back with such intensity, made the rest of the world fade away. His fingers tightened in your hair, his other hand securing you against him, as if he was afraid you might slip away.

Time blurred. You didn’t know how long you kissed him, only that your lungs burned, screaming for air—but you didn’t want to stop.

But you had to.

With a shaky gasp, you tore yourself away, your lips tingling, your whole body thrumming with heat. You fumbled slightly, quickly securing your mask back into place, your breaths coming in heavy, uneven bursts.

Neteyam’s golden eyes were blazing, locked onto you as if he couldn’t look away. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his tail flicking wildly behind him, the tension in his body palpable.

And Eywa help you—all you wanted was to kiss him again.

*

As soon as you caught your breath, your chest rising and falling in deep, steady pulls, you pulled down your mask again. The cool night air kissed your skin, but nothing compared to the warmth of his presence, his touch, his lips.

You leaned forward, your hands still clutching his shoulders, your fingertips barely ghosting over his warm blue skin before you kissed him again.

Neteyam responded instantly, like he had been waiting for you to return to him. His hands tightened on your waist, his grip firm but reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were in his arms. His lips moved with desperation, with devotion, as though he was memorizing you all over again.

Then, you felt it.

His tail.

It wrapped around your calf, the movement slow, deliberate—possessive. A silent claim. The soft brush of it against your skin sent a shudder down your spine, heat pooling deep in your stomach.

The kiss deepened, and for a fleeting moment, nothing else existed.

But then, the air in your lungs thinned again, your body demanding oxygen. With a soft sigh of reluctance, you pulled away, your lips still tingling as you quickly secured your mask back into place.

As you breathed, your hands moved on their own, gliding along his shoulders, tracing the sculpted lines of his collarbone, until finally, your fingers reached his jawline.

You caressed it gently, your thumb brushing over the strong, angular lines of his face, your heart swelling with something so deep, so overwhelming that it almost frightened you.

A soft, breathy laugh escaped you as you whispered, “You are so perfect.”

Neteyam exhaled sharply, his golden eyes searching yours, his ears flicking at your words as if they physically affected him.

His tail tightened slightly around your leg in response, his hands still holding you close as his lips curled into a slow, reverent smile.

“Not as perfect as you, ma yawne,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his forehead leaning against the glass of your mask, unwilling to let you go.

*

Neteyam pressed his head back against the crook of your neck, his breath slow, controlled—yet you could feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers dug into your waist as if he were trying to mold you against him, to make sure you wouldn’t slip away.

His deep inhale sent a shiver down your spine, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, making you weak in his hold. His hands were desperate, firm, as if anchoring himself to reality through you, through your touch, your scent, your very presence.

He was lost in the sensation.

So lost that he didn’t even realize he had started pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your soft sighs only urged him on.

His lips traveled lower, savoring the way your skin reacted to him, the way you melted in his embrace. And then—his sharp teeth grazed you, a teasing scrape before he sank them into your skin just enough to leave a mark.

Your gasp was soft but sharp, your fingers tightening where they still clung to his shoulders.

“Neteyam...” your breath hitched, the words barely a whisper, but it was enough to make him pause.

His ears flicked, and when he pulled back slightly, his golden eyes were heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide as they flickered from your parted lips to your fingers gingerly pressing against the mark he had just left.

A lovebite.

A visible claim.

Your eyes widened slightly as you whispered, “Everyone will see this...”

You weren’t scolding him. No, your voice lacked any true protest. It was soft, breathy, more like you were stating a fact—one that sent a bolt of heat through your veins.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of Neteyam’s lips. He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. If anything, he looked proud. Still holding you close, he reached for your wrist, his fingers wrapping gently but securely around it as he brought your hand closer to his lips.

His golden gaze softened as he turned your hand over, brushing his lips against the tender skin just above the bracelet he had given you months ago.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice deep, full of certainty.

The word sent a shiver through your body, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You swallowed, watching him through half-lidded eyes, your breath shallow as you felt the heat of his lips linger on your wrist.

Neteyam’s tail wrapped around your thigh now, securing you even closer as his golden eyes flicked back up to meet yours.

His expression was something unreadable, a mix of possessiveness, longing, and something deeper—something unspoken.

And all you could do was stand there, trapped in his gravity, in his warmth, in him.

*

Neteyam closed his eyes, a slow exhale leaving his lips as he kept your hand in his grasp. His fingers, large and warm, cradled your smaller palm as though it was something fragile, precious.

Without a word, he guided your hand to his cheek, pressing it gently against his skin, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

His breathing was deep, slow, controlled—but only just.

You could feel the way his jaw clenched beneath your palm, the way his muscles tightened slightly under your fingers. But then he sighed, a deep, contented sound, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders just by feeling your touch.

The warmth of his skin, the contrast of his blue complexion against your human fingers, was mesmerizing. The bioluminescent freckles on his cheekbone glowed softly beneath your touch, shifting subtly with every breath he took.

And then, in a voice so low, so raw with emotion that it sent a shiver down your spine, he whispered,

"You don’t know how much I want you."

Your breath caught in your throat.

The sheer honesty in his words, the quiet desperation, the way his ears flicked slightly back, the tension in his shoulders despite his relaxed posture—it was overwhelming.

Your thumb, acting on its own, brushed softly against his cheekbone, tracing the faint ridges of his skin. He shuddered under your touch, his grip tightening just a little around your wrist as if to keep you close, to make sure you wouldn’t pull away.

The weight of his confession settled between you, thick with unspoken longing.

You could feel it in the way he held you, in the way his tail curled around your leg possessively, in the way his breathing deepened as if trying to steady himself.

And Eywa help you, because you wanted him too.

More than anything.

Part 17: Soon

Should I write boombaya scene or not?

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 20: Don't Ever Look Back

It seems that once again, Y/N is in urgent need of her knight in shining leather. Lucky for her, he's always there for her. And more.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, slight fight/violence.

A/N: hello!!! guyyyyssss i want to cry...one chapter left....this is it...what you've (we've) been waiting for!!!! or is it???? nahh I'm kidding...unless??? anyway without mentioning anything from this chapter, I just wanted to say that after the last chapter I want to do an epilogue! so if you have any idea please feel free to share!!!! enjoy this chapter🩷

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part

The walk home felt heavier with each passing day.

Y/N clutched her bag strap a little tighter, her eyes on the pavement as she made her way back to the apartment. The streets were bathed in the dim orange glow of streetlights, the air cool but not cold. It wasn’t the kind of evening that should feel lonely, but it did.

She could feel his absence in every room, every routine they used to share. Breakfast felt incomplete without his gruff morning greetings. Dinner was quiet without his occasional grunts of approval at Wade’s questionable cooking experiments. Even passing conversations had changed into strained, clipped exchanges, if they even happened at all.

She thought she’d imagined it at first—that maybe she was overanalyzing things. But as the days stretched on, it became undeniable: Logan was avoiding her. He left before she woke up, came home after she’d retreated to her room, and spent his time at school holed up in his classroom. Their walks to work had stopped altogether, leaving her to trek to and from the school alone, the absence of his steady, silent presence gnawing at her more than she cared to admit.

Wade had noticed, of course. He’d even apologized for his part in it, guilt written all over his face as he tried to cheer her up with jokes and a promise to “fix things.” But there was no fixing this. How could there be? Logan had clearly made his choice. 

She couldn’t even call it friendship anymore—not when the lines were so blurred. Logan was more than her roommate, more than her colleague. He was... everything. And now he was gone.

Today was no different. The streets were quiet as Y/N walked home from work, the chill of the evening air nipping at her skin. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, her thoughts drifting to the empty apartment she’d return to. It wasn’t just Logan’s absence that weighed on her—it was the way it made her feel, like she’d lost something she’d only just started to realize she couldn’t live without. 

The school day had been no better. Colleagues had started asking questions—jokes at first, about why Logan wasn’t walking her to work anymore, why he hadn’t joined them for lunch. But then the concerned looks came, and she found herself fumbling for excuses. “Oh, he’s just busy,” she’d said with a forced smile. Or, “He’s probably working on something.” Lies she barely believed herself.

Her apartment building was just a few blocks away now, the thought of its familiar walls both comforting and suffocating. Home didn’t feel like home when the person who made it feel that way wasn’t there.

As she turned onto a quieter street, the faint sound of footsteps behind her pulled her from her thoughts.

She glanced over her shoulder, but the street was empty except for the shadow of a flickering lamp post. The faint echo of her own boots hitting the pavement mingled with the persistent rhythm behind her.

Y/N quickened her pace, her heartbeat beginning to match the steps in her ears. She told herself it was nothing—a coincidence, maybe someone walking their dog or heading home from work. But she couldn’t shake the prickling unease crawling up her spine.

When she reached the mouth of an alley, the hand on her shoulder came out of nowhere.

She let out a startled cry, but it was muffled almost instantly by another hand pressing firmly over her mouth. Panic shot through her veins as she twisted in the grip, her wide eyes darting upward to see who had grabbed her.

“Mark.”

Her heart plummeted at the sight of his familiar face. His dark eyes glinted under the dim light, his expression a mix of frustration and something darker. He gripped her tightly, ignoring her attempts to push him away.

“Finally,” he said, his voice low but sharp, as if he were trying to contain something simmering beneath the surface. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but you left me no choice.”

She jerked against his hold, her muffled protests spilling out uselessly. When he finally moved his hand from her mouth, she gasped in a shaky breath. “Let go of me!” she demanded, trying to wrench herself free, but his grip only tightened.

“Relax,” he hissed, pulling her farther into the alley, away from the streetlights. “I just want to talk. That’s all. You owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Mark!” she snapped, her voice trembling but defiant. Her eyes darted around, searching desperately for someone—anyone—who might see her and step in. But the street was empty, and the distant hum of cars seemed to mock her helplessness.

“You don’t mean that,” Mark said, his jaw clenching. “You’re upset, I get it. But this isn’t fair, Y/N. I’ve been working on myself. For you. I’ve done everything I could to show you I’ve changed, and this is how you treat me?”

“You didn’t change,” she shot back, her voice breaking slightly. “You’re proving it right now. Let me go.”

His face darkened, and a bitter smile crept onto his lips. “You’re being dramatic. I’m just trying to fix things. You think I’m the bad guy because I won’t let you throw us away? That’s rich, sweetheart.”

She felt her stomach churn as his hand brushed against the pendant hanging around her neck. His fingers closed around the emerald necklace, lifting it slightly to examine it.

“This?” he sneered, holding it up as the faint light reflected off the gem. “Is this what you want? A fancy little trinket? I could give you a hundred of these if that’s all it takes to make you happy. Just say the word.”

“Mark—” she started, but the words caught in her throat as he stepped closer, the bitterness in his eyes morphing into something more dangerous.

“You’re not even listening to me,” he growled. “You never did. You act like you’re so much better than me now, but I know the truth, Y/N. You think this new life you’ve built makes you untouchable? It doesn’t. You’re still you, and I know you better than anyone else ever will.”

She tried to shove him away, but his grip only tightened as he loomed over her. “Stop fighting me,” he snapped. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Her breath hitched as he leaned closer, his other hand brushing against her arm as she twisted in his hold. Fear and frustration boiled over, tears welling in her eyes as she pushed back harder. “Mark, please!”

But he didn’t stop. His face was too close now, his lips parting as if he meant to—

The force that tore Mark away from her was so sudden and violent that she stumbled back against the wall, gasping for breath.

When her vision steadied, she saw him on the ground, clutching his side, a shadowy figure standing over him.

Logan.

She blinked, momentarily stunned by the sight of him, his broad frame tense and his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes burned with a fury she’d never seen before, and for a moment, she almost felt sorry for Mark. 

Almost.

Logan grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him up with a single, effortless motion. Mark’s feet barely touched the ground as Logan slammed him against the brick wall, his face mere inches from his.

“You’ve got exactly three seconds to explain why you thought it was a good idea to touch her,” Logan growled, his voice low and lethal.

Mark froze for a beat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before his jaw tightened. He twisted in Logan’s grip, one hand coming up to shove at Logan’s arm. “Back off, man! This is none of your business—”

Logan didn’t let him finish. His hand tightened in Mark’s shirt, and with a surge of strength, he yanked him forward and slammed him back against the brick wall. The sharp crack of impact made Mark let out a strangled gasp, his bravado faltering.

“It became my business the second you laid a hand on her,” Logan hissed. His voice was a low rumble, the kind that sent chills racing down Y/N’s spine even as she watched from a few feet away, still frozen in place.

Mark’s hands pushed uselessly against Logan’s chest, his struggles growing weaker as he realized just how outmatched he was. “You can’t—she’s—” he stammered, but Logan didn’t give him the chance to finish.

“She’s not yours,” Logan cut in, his voice razor-sharp. “Not anymore. Not ever again. You come near her, you talk to her, you look at her the wrong way—” His grip tightened, and Mark winced, his fear now unmistakable. Logan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You’ll wish I’d ended you here. Do you understand me?”

Mark didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking nervously between Logan’s blazing eyes and Y/N’s tear-streaked face.

“I said, do you understand me?” Logan snarled, punctuating the demand by slamming him against the wall again.

“I—yes, I understand!” Mark finally choked out, panic flooding his expression. “I understand, okay?!”

Logan didn’t move for a moment, his eyes boring into Mark’s with a cold, unrelenting fury. Then, as if deciding the man wasn’t worth any more of his time, he released him with a hard shove. Mark stumbled and fell to the ground, scrambling backward on his hands and knees.

“Go,” Logan commanded, his tone sharp and final.

Mark didn’t need to be told twice. He stumbled to his feet, his steps uneven as he bolted from the alley, looking back over his shoulder in terror until he disappeared into the shadows.

Logan stood still for a moment, his chest heaving, the fury still evident in his stiff posture. Slowly, he turned to Y/N, his expression softening the second he saw her trembling form.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he stepped toward her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded weakly, but her tear-streaked face and the way she clutched her arms around herself told a different story.

“I’m fine,” she managed to say, though her voice was shaky and unconvincing.

Logan wasn’t having it. His hands hovered near her shoulders, hesitant but desperate to make sure she was okay. “Did he—” His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she said quickly, the word almost instinctive, but her voice faltered again.

He exhaled deeply, his brow furrowing as he scanned her from head to toe, as though he didn’t trust her answer. His hands finally settled gently on her arms, steadying her. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice softer, the edge of anger replaced by overwhelming concern.

That was when her composure shattered. A sob escaped her lips, and her knees nearly buckled as she covered her face with trembling hands.

“Hey, hey,” Logan said immediately, stepping closer and pulling her into his arms. His hold was firm but careful, as if he was afraid of breaking her. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

She clung to him, burying her face in his chest as sobs wracked her body. His hand rested on the back of her head, the other rubbing soothing circles on her back as he whispered words of comfort.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out between sobs, though she wasn’t even sure why she was apologizing.

“Don’t,” Logan said firmly, pulling back just enough to tilt her chin up so he could look into her eyes. His gaze was intense, filled with guilt and something else she couldn’t quite place. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault.”

She nodded weakly, unable to form words, and he wrapped his arms around her again, holding her close like he was afraid to let go.

After a few moments, he leaned down slightly, his voice gentle but resolute. “Let’s go home.”

She nodded again, her head resting against his chest. He kept an arm securely around her as they left the alley, his presence a solid, unwavering anchor in the chaos of her thoughts.

———

The apartment was silent when they arrived. Y/N stepped inside first, her legs dragging beneath her as if the weight of the evening had sunk into her very bones. Logan followed close behind, the door clicking shut with an air of finality that felt louder than it should have in the stillness.

Y/N let her bag slide from her shoulder, dropping it quietly by the couch. She turned to Logan, who lingered near the front door. His posture was rigid, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. His eyes scanned the room briefly before landing on her, though he didn’t hold her gaze for long.

“Wade’s out,” she said softly, her voice sounding far away to her own ears.

Logan nodded, his jaw clenching. “Yeah.”

The air between them was thick, almost suffocating. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, unsure of what to say or how to fill the silence. Logan was the first to break it.

“Sit down,” he said gruffly, his voice low but firm.

She blinked at him, surprised by the sudden command, but she obeyed without question. Lowering herself onto the couch, she perched on the edge, her hands resting awkwardly in her lap. Logan remained standing, pacing a few steps before running a hand down his face.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, glancing at her. His tone was sharper than she expected, though it was clear the sharpness wasn’t aimed at her but at himself.

“I’m okay,” she replied with a faint smile, hoping it would reassure him.

It didn’t. His frown deepened as he turned away, his shoulders visibly tense.

“I should’ve…” He trailed off, shaking his head as though the thought itself was unbearable.

Y/N tilted her head, studying him carefully. “Should’ve what?”

“I should’ve been there,” he said, his voice tight. He turned to face her fully, his eyes burning with frustration. “I should’ve been with you, Y/N. And I wasn’t.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he kept going, the words spilling out as though he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

“I’ve been avoiding you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I know you’ve noticed. I’ve been avoiding you because I’m an idiot. And if I hadn’t—if I hadn’t been so—” He stopped, raking a hand through his hair. “Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

Y/N stood slowly, her heart aching at the sight of him, so torn up and angry with himself. “Logan, this isn’t your fault,” she said firmly. “He would’ve found a way no matter what. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

His eyes met hers, filled with guilt and something else she couldn’t quite place. He shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, almost to himself.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but insistent. “Then make me understand.”

Logan exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering to the floor. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted.

Silence settled over them, the kind that felt louder than words. Y/N watched him carefully, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, as though he were fighting some invisible battle.

Her heart ached, not just for him but for the distance that had grown between them in the past few days. She wanted to reach out, to close the gap, but something held her back.

Finally, she broke the silence. “I should… I should get some rest,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nodded, though the tension in his body didn’t ease. “Yeah. You should.”

She turned away, her movements slow and deliberate. Each step toward her room felt heavier than the last, the silence behind her pressing down on her like a weight.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob as her thoughts swirled. She could feel his eyes on her, even from across the room. She didn’t have to look to know he was still standing there, watching her retreat.

For a moment, everything stilled. The air felt charged, like the world was holding its breath.

Then, without thinking, she turned around.

Her steps were tentative at first, as though she wasn’t entirely sure of what she was doing, but with each step closer to him, her resolve seemed to strengthen. Logan didn’t move, his body frozen as she came to a stop in front of him.

Her eyes searched his, and before he could say or do anything, she leaned in. Her lips pressed against his, soft and hesitant at first, but filled with a depth of emotion that made Logan’s mind go blank.

For a moment, he didn’t react, too stunned to process what was happening. But then instinct took over, and his hands came up to cup her face, pulling her closer as he kissed her back. The kiss deepened, raw and electrifying, like fireworks exploding behind his closed eyes.

Her hands found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as though grounding herself. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly, afraid she might disappear.

Everything else faded away—the apartment, the guilt, the fear. All that existed was the two of them, and the overwhelming realization that this moment had been building for far too long.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other’s. Logan’s hands remained on her waist, his touch firm yet tender.

For a moment, neither of them moved, caught in the stillness of what had just happened. The silence between them was heavy, yet not uncomfortable. It was filled with unspoken words, emotions neither of them was ready to name just yet.

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, slightly bashful smile as she pulled back, her hands slowly releasing their grip on his shirt. “We got school tomorrow,” she said softly, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement.

Logan blinked at her, the weight of everything lifting just a fraction. Then, unexpectedly, a low chuckle escaped him, followed by a soft, almost boyish laugh. “Yeah… we do,” he replied, his voice laced with warmth and something close to disbelief.

For a moment, they both laughed together, the sound filling the quiet apartment. And for the first time in days, it felt easy—like they weren’t two people carrying the weight of unspoken feelings and complicated histories, but just two people who had found something good in each other.

It was almost ridiculous, the way her words made them feel like teenagers sneaking around after curfew. But maybe that was the magic of it—the way they could find something simple and sweet in the middle of the chaos.

As the laughter faded, Y/N’s gaze softened. “Goodnight, Logan,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His lips tugged into a small, lopsided smile. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

She lingered for a second longer, as though considering saying more, but instead, she stepped back, her hand brushing lightly against his arm before she turned and walked toward her room.

Logan stood there, watching her until her door clicked shut. He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair as a mix of emotions swirled within him—hope, fear, and something he wasn’t ready to name.

In her room, Y/N leaned against the door, her heart still racing. She pressed her fingers to her lips, a faint smile tugging at the corners.

They both knew this wasn’t the end of the conversation. There were things that needed to be said, feelings that couldn’t be left unspoken forever.

But for tonight, it was enough.

And for the first time in days, it felt like maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be okay.

XXX

[msklassickilla]

Prada You Nataya & Jimmy Oneshot

Summary:

A oneshot peeking into Nataya and Jimmy's relationship, past and currently.

Pairing: Jimmy x Nataya (Taya)

AN: Shoutout to @queeny23 for the suggestion to do a oneshot for Nataya and Jimmy. I hope it offers some background on the two and more insights on what's going on storywise in Prada You.

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains harsh/foul language, age gap relationship, mentions of murder, underage pregnancy.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Jimmy & Nataya Oneshot

April 1998

The smell of freshly brewed coffee and the faint scent of new clothes clung to the air as Nataya stepped out of the store she had just applied to. The mall was bustling, filled with shoppers drifting from store to store, their voices blending into an unrecognizable hum. She exhaled, adjusting the strap of her purse over her shoulder. She needed this job, but something in her gut told her she wouldn’t get it.

“Damn, ma, you look like you thinking too hard.”

The voice came smooth, laced with amusement, and when she turned her head, she was met with the familiar grin of Jimmy who was Johnathan Fatu to those who knew him before the change. He leaned casually against a nearby kiosk, his gold chain catching the light, a black fitted cap pulled low over his eyes. She had seen him around before, knew of him through whispers and the kind of reputation that made most girls either steer clear or dive in headfirst.

Nataya raised a brow. “And what exactly does ‘thinking too hard’ look like?”

Jimmy smirked, pushing off the kiosk and closing the small distance between them. “Like somebody who ain’t gotta be stressin’ about no job if she had the right man takin’ care of her.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Oh, so you just assume I need saving?”

He chuckled, licking his lips before replying, “Nah, but I’m sayin’, why worry about clocking in when you could be ridin’ with me? I take care of mine.”

She wanted to roll her eyes, but something about the way he looked at her made her lips twitch. He was fine, no doubt, and confidence dripped from him like a second skin. She usually dated dudes far different from him. Before she could form a response, he slid his phone from his pocket.

“Lemme get your number, ma. I promise I won’t blow you up too much.”

She hesitated for only a second before taking his phone and typing in her number. What was the worst thing that could happen? When she handed it back, he glanced at the screen before flashing that signature grin again. “Good lookin’ out. I’ma hit you up real soon.”

----

A few days later, Nataya found herself waiting a block away from her house, the streetlights casting a soft glow against the pavement. With the help of her twin, Natasha, she was able to sneak out the house undetected. She felt a twinge of nerves settle in her stomach, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. She knew her sister wouldn’t let her get caught. Maybe it was the way Jimmy had been persistent without being overbearing, or maybe it was the way his voice had sounded over the phone, deep and smooth, when he invited her to a kickback at Jacob’s house.

A car pulled up, headlights flashing briefly before dimming. The passenger window rolled down, revealing Jimmy behind the wheel. “Hop in, baby.”

She slid into the car, the scent of his cologne immediately filling her senses. He looked her over, his eyes lingering in appreciation. “Damn, you look good,” he muttered, reaching over to rest a hand on her thigh. “Been waitin’ to see you all week.”

Nataya bit her lip, trying to hide her smile. “I hope this little party is worth it.”

Jimmy chuckled, shifting gears as he pulled off down the street. “Oh, it is. But you the real reason I wanted you to come out.”

They talked on the way there, easy conversation flowing between them. Jimmy asked about her job interview, cracking jokes that made her laugh despite her earlier frustrations. She learned that he had a twin brother, that he spent most of his time with the Prada Bois, and that he had an undeniable way of making her feel like she was the only girl in the world.

By the time they arrived at Jacob’s house, the party was already in full swing. Music blasted from inside, people filled the backyard, and bottles of liquor were being passed around freely. Nataya stuck close to Jimmy at first, letting him introduce her to a few of his boys before finally settling on the couch with a drink in hand.

The night blurred in a pleasant haze of laughter, drinks, and stolen glances. At some point, Jimmy pulled her onto his lap, his fingers lazily tracing circles on her thigh as he whispered, “I got a question for you.”

She tilted her head. “What’s up?”

“You ready to be my girl?” His voice was steady, but there was something in his expression—something expectant, almost vulnerable, beneath all that bravado.

Nataya felt her heart skip, heat rushing to her cheeks. She should’ve thought about it longer, but the answer was already on her lips. “Yeah… yeah, I’m ready.”

Jimmy grinned before leaning in, his lips brushing against hers in a slow, lingering kiss. The party faded into the background, drowned out by the thrum of her heartbeat as she let herself get lost in the moment.

And just like that, she was his.

----

August 1998

The dim light of Jimmy’s bedroom cast long shadows along the walls, flickering as the fan hummed overhead. Nataya sat on the edge of his bed, her hands tightly twisted together in her lap. She had barely spoken since they got back, her mind tangled in a loop of fear, uncertainty, and words she didn’t know how to say.

Jimmy leaned against the dresser, his gaze heavy on her. He could tell something was wrong, but he was waiting—waiting for her to speak first.

“You good?” His voice was softer than usual, laced with concern.

Nataya inhaled sharply. “No. Not really.”

Jimmy pushed off the dresser, walking over to crouch in front of her. He reached for her hands, but she kept them clutched together. His brows furrowed. “Talk to me.”

Her breath shuddered. “I’m pregnant.”

The room seemed to still, the air thickening between them. Jimmy didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, he let the words settle before nodding slowly. “You sure?”

“I took three tests.” Her voice barely wavered, but the weight of her words was heavy. “I know for sure.”

Jimmy exhaled, running a hand over his head. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Nataya let out a short, humorless laugh. “It’s not that simple, Jimmy.” She finally looked up, her dark eyes filled with something fragile. “My mama is gonna kill me. You know she don’t play like that. Babies come after marriage.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Nah, she won’t.”

She scoffed. “You don’t know her like I do.”

He shifted closer, his hands settling on her thighs, grounding her. “I know if you pregnant, she gon’ have to respect the fact that it’s our decision.”

Nataya swallowed hard, staring at him. “And what if I don’t know what that decision is? What if I’m not ready? Should I even keep it?”

Jimmy’s grip on her legs tightened slightly. “Taya, we keeping this baby. I don’t care what anybody else got to say, including your mama. This is ours. You hear me?” His voice was firm, steady, leaving no room for doubt. “I’m gon’ be here, and I’m gon’ make sure you and my baby straight. That’s a promise.”

She nodded slowly but still looked unconvinced. “How can you say that? How can you be so sure you’ll be here?”

Jimmy frowned, his eyes darkening. “What you mean?”

Nataya shifted, searching his face. “This morning, Jimmy. You and Jey just got released after being questioned about some murder. What if they had enough to keep you? What if next time they do?”

Jimmy tensed, his jaw tightening. “That ain’t gon’ happen.”

“How do you know that?” Her voice cracked slightly, frustration bubbling over. “You don’t think I’ve thought about that all day? If I have this baby and something happens to you—then what?”

Jimmy’s lips parted as if he was going to reassure her again, but he stopped. Something flickered behind his eyes, something unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled sharply and ran his hand down his face.

“Damn. Look, Taya, we did that shit. I ain’t wanna tell you but there it is.”

Nataya’s stomach dropped. “What?”

Jimmy lifted his head, locking eyes with her. “Melo. We did it.” His voice was steady, too calm. “Jey gave the word, and we handled it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Nataya’s breath came in shallow gasps as she jerked back, standing abruptly. “Oh my God. Jimmy are you fucking serious right now?”

Jimmy stood too, reaching for her, but she shook her head. “No. Don’t—don’t touch me.”

“Taya—”

“How could you just—just say that like it’s nothing?” Her voice trembled as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if that could stop the sudden cold creeping into her bones.

Jimmy’s face was unreadable. “It wasn’t nothing. But it had to be done.”

“Had to be done?” she echoed, disbelief flooding her tone. “Why? What the hell did he do to deserve that?”

Jimmy hesitated, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “He crossed a line.”

Nataya’s stomach twisted. “That’s it? That’s the reason?”

He didn’t answer. Not directly. Instead, he muttered, “Jey don’t know how to fucking chill when his emotions involved. And when he gets set on something, the shit gets done.”

She stared at him, realization slamming into her like a freight train. “And y’all just go along with it? No questions asked?”

Jimmy exhaled through his nose. “It ain’t like that.”

“It is exactly like that.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “And now I’m supposed to believe you’ll always be here?”

Jimmy’s gaze softened, but there was something steely beneath it. “I will be. I promise you that.”

Nataya shook her head, emotions clawing at her throat. She wanted to believe him, wanted to hold onto that promise. But deep down, she knew—

Promises didn’t mean much in their world. Survival did.

----

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[satoxurse]

— proof of life in the shadows / dancing on my plans. ࿔*:･ﾟ

satoru gojo one-shot. angst. 640 words. not proof-read. character death mention. jjk spoilers. vague mention of sukugo & satosugu. work written by satoxurse/satorangel. do not steal.

where satoru is finally rewarded with the peace he had craved.

( song inspo : leave the city by twenty one pilots. )

laying on the concrete ground, surrounded by the very source of his existence, satoru stared up at the sky above him.

the atmospheric sounds around him were growing quieter and quieter, muffled and hardly recognisable, as he allowed himself to let his mortality seep from him at last. passing clouds no longer formed shapes, but instead acted as a foggy overcast; a silent whisper of what was to come for those who dared wander through it. he had encountered such a phenomenon years ago, but something had encouraged him to not give in just yet. there was much to do, after all. the world hadn’t yet seen just what satoru gojo could do.

but as he laid there, softly panting with whatever oxygen continued to pass through his lungs, all was silent. there was nothing to push him back up on his feet. there was nothing to warrant him to remain in this world. there was only a promise of eternal peace.

he had achieved his goal, it would seem. and now, it was time to retire.

a shadow of a figure blocked out the sun’s rays for a moment, causing his tired azures to try and focus on the outline of this individual. a few blinks here and there to try and help himself, and eventually the details would slowly form in a blurred manner. those familiar markings, the blood and dirt from the battle marrying its flesh, the satisfied yet oddly sympathetic grin that revealed sharpened canines.

“you were magnificent, satoru gojo,” a low voice complimented, revealing it to be the very being that left satoru in this state. a fight—a vicious war—between two of the strongest individuals in modern jujutsu society. sukuna paused for a moment, satoru feeling a touch of his gaze falling over the remains of his body, before he continued to speak.

“i shall never forget you for as long as i live.”

something stirred within satoru then, causing his slowing heart to skip a devastating beat. a deadly yet selfish reaction at his strength being recognised one last time, something that made the taste of iron delicious as he offered a small smile of his own. he couldn’t respond, the strength that made him so famous and respected seeping from him.

eventually, as the cold breeze kissed his exposed skin and lazily ran their ghostly fingers through his hair, that figure would fuzz out into a sharp, white light. the noise would fade into nothingness, a silent melody of loneliness as he felt his heart eventually come to a halt. with a life he had lived, death was always haunting him, losing many he had thought highly of to such a powerful force. there may have been a time in his life where he had feared such a phenomenon, never wanting to follow those who had their lives taken from them in their stead.

but when those blank surroundings eventually formed into that of an airport, something that he had to bat his eyelids at to even recognise such a strange destination, and eventually revealed that familiar raven hair pulled into a bun. . . he couldn’t help but smile.

a smile tasteless of blood. a smile that made the corners of his eyes crease. a smile that made something within his chest skip more freely, no longer fearful of maintaining his life.

perhaps death was never meant to be feared. perhaps it truly was a blessing, a genuine retirement for those who had protected the weak. perhaps it was a gift that whatever God above had bestowed upon him.

and that thought alone, once those violets soon met with his sapphires and sparkled with something kept silent between them all this time, only seemed to etch its true intention permanently.

death was truly a blessing for satoru gojo. and at last, he could rest.

[imawriternotamagican]

Me the first time listening to Juno Steel and the Promised Land:

OMG OMG omg

[al-luviec]

something simple to try to get out of art block (it didn't work)

[sohosaturn]

i really like the idea of springtrap containing a normal dude that was just unfortunate enough to die in the suit and rot in a room for 30 years

like in fnaf 3, he’s not trying to kill you, he’s just really confused and doesn’t know how to ask for help