#i understand it is different as he is her father but she would not be upset i promise! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bright-side20 · 3 days ago

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Part two of this , featuring smut. Enjoy, and happy Valentine’s Day! 🫶

Azriel stood in the warmth of the house, rain still dripping from him, his body aching from more than just exhaustion. The weight of her words pressed against his ribs, heavy and undeniable.

I love you.

He had spent so long convincing himself he was unworthy of such things of love, tenderness, of her. Yet here she was...

“Come,” she murmured, taking his hand.

He let her lead him. The bathing chamber was filled with the soothing scent of lavender and cedar, steam rising as she filled the copper tub. He watched her move, graceful, certain ,like she had already decided he would stay. Like she had already decided he was hers to care for.

She reached for Truth-Teller first, unfastening the sheath strapped to his thigh. She set the blade aside on the marble counter, her gaze lingering on the dark steel for a heartbeat before returning to him. Only then did she move to the buckles of his leathers, working through the fastenings in his back with gentle patience.

Azriel exhaled sharply when she loosened the final strap, the leathers peeling away from his rain-soaked skin. Cool air rushed over him, followed by the warmth of her fingertips lightly tracing down his spine. His hands clenched at his sides, muscles tensing under her touch.

“Elain,” he rasped.

She hummed softly in response, her fingers ghosting over his arm before she stepped back.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

She disappeared into her room, leaving him standing there, bare except for his soaked undershorts. The tub was now full, steam rising in curling wisps. Azriel exhaled, forcing himself to release the tension coiling in his chest. Slowly, he slipped off his shorts. The hot water engulfed him as he adjusted his wings and lowered himself into the tub, the heat sinking deep into his muscles. He let his head fall back against the rim.

When she returned, she was wearing a fresh pink nightgown soft, clean, and dry. The fabric clung to her curves in. Her damp hair spilled over her shoulders.

And then...her touch.

Her hands sweeping over his shoulders, down his arms. He swallowed hard, his body going rigid before he forced relaxed under her gentle care. He didn’t move as she lathered soap into her hands, working it over his chest. He had been touched before, but never had he felt wanted like this. When she lathered soap into his hair, his eyes fluttered shut, a quiet sigh slipping from his lips.

“Elain,” he murmured.

“I’m here,” she whispered, her fingers combing through his hair, carefully rinsing the soap away. Azriel exhaled a slow, uneven breath. Elain’s fingers lingered, her nails lightly scraping against his scalp in a way that sent a shiver down his spine...

Azriel stared at his hands, the water flowing over his knuckles. For the first time in centuries, he felt the pull to open up. Maybe it was the warmth in her gaze, the quiet way she listened...not out of obligation, not to judge, but because she genuinely wanted to understand him.

So he spoke.

"It happened after my brothers," Azriel said, his voice barely above a whisper. "After I made them scream the way they made me scream."

Elain didn’t flinch at the coldness in his tone, so he continued.

"I was different after that," he admitted. "Colder. Everyone looked at me with fear in their eyes. Even Cassian kept his distance. I didn’t care. I didn’t want anyone close."

"Rhys’s father used me more than ever then," Azriel continued, his gaze fixed on the water rippling around his hands. "I was efficient. I didn’t ask questions. I did what I was told." His throat tightened. "Including the night he ordered me to kill an old male."

Elain’s fingers, resting on the edge of the tub, twitched, but she remained silent, letting him speak.

"He was no one important," Azriel said, though the words felt hollow. "Just a scholar. He lived in a crumbling estate, surrounded by books no one cared to read anymore. He was old, frail. No threat to anyone. But Rhys’s father…" Azriel exhaled sharply. "He was paranoid. He believed the male had spoken treason."

Elain frowned. "What did he say?"

"He told the High Lord that he would lose his loved ones to his own arrogance."

Elain leaned in closer, listening intently.

"Rhys's father believed in eliminating anyone who questioned his control. So he sent me to handle it. Not just to kill him...to interrogate him first. To make sure there wasn’t more he was hiding." Azriel shut his eyes, but it did nothing to block out the memories. The cold stone chamber. The scent of blood.

"He knew," Azriel whispered. "The moment I walked in, he looked at me like he had already seen it all before. He didn’t beg. He didn’t fight. He only smiled at me and said… ‘The night will bow before the light, and the rose will bloom even in shadows.’ Then he told me I would know the truth when I saw her."

Elain’s lips parted, her eyes wide with something unreadable. Slowly, she lifted a hand, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead, her touch achingly gentle.

"Was he… a seer?"

Azriel nodded. "I didn’t listen to him. I did my job. And when he was too weak to speak, I ended it."

The silence between them stretched. Azriel forced himself to look at her, to see if she had finally realized what he was. But there was no horror in her gaze. Only sorrow.

"I didn’t know," he rasped. "I didn’t know that the next year, Rhys’s mother and sister would be slaughtered. That we would fail to stop it. That if his father hadn’t been too arrogant to listen to that male…" He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. "If I hadn’t been so...I wasn’t even angry. I just... I didn’t feel anything. Maybe… maybe I could have..."

"You were a weapon to him," Elain interrupted, her voice firm but gentle. "He manipulated your state of mind and used you."

Azriel shook his head. "That’s not an excuse."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued.

"When you started having your visions, I knew there was nothing wrong with you. The more I listened to you, the more I realized this was your power. Your gift. And all it took was reading one of the books I kept from the scholar ." His breath hitched. "I killed the one who told me about you. And I could tell you about the hundreds of people I tortured and killed because I was emotionless. Because I was falling into the heart of the pit."

Elain cradled his face in her hands.

"And I’m sure you could tell me about the thousands you’ve saved," she murmured. "Including me."

Azriel stilled.

She shifted closer, her hand still resting on his cheek. "What you did in the past does not define you, Azriel." She pressed a soft kiss to his lips before whispering, "That is not all you are. It is not all you will ever be."

He stared at her, at the quiet certainty in her eyes. For so long, he had carried his past like a brand, a wound that would never heal. Yet here she was...offering him love. Offering him acceptance.

Her hands slid down to his. "Come on," she said, tugging lightly. "Let’s get you out of there."

He let her help him, her grip firm as she guided him up. Her eyes flickered downward before she quickly looked away, her cheeks darkening.

Azriel’s lips twitched, just slightly. "Elain," he said, voice rough. "I’m naked."

"I know," she blurted, turning to grab a towel, her face burning. She thrust it toward him without meeting his gaze. "Here."

He took it, a quiet chuckle escaping as he wrapped it around his waist. She was still unsettled, her eyes stubbornly avoiding his chest. The pink in her cheeks deepened when he smirked at her. He might have teased her, but instead, something in his chest tightened… something fragile, something aching.

She turned back, another towel in hand, he expected her to simply pass it to him. But instead, she stepped closer, lifting onto her toes to press the cloth to his damp hair.

He froze, breath catching.

She was so close. So warm.

The gentle drag of the towel over his scalp, the way her fingers brushed the tips of his ears...it was such a simple thing, yet so intimate that his throat tightened. His wings drooped, exhaustion pulling at him.

"Azriel?"

He exhaled sharply. The weight of centuries, of sleepless nights, of battles ...it all crashed over him at once. His wings felt like stone, too heavy to hold up. His body ached in a way he couldn’t explain, but it wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper. Something he had buried for too long.

Elain let the towel fall, her hands finding his shoulders. "Come here," she said, gently pulling him down.

And he did.

He didn’t even realize he was shaking until he felt her arms wrap around his neck. A strangled sound left him, and then the tears came...silent, relentless. He buried his face in her neck, his grip tightening around her waist.

She held him through it, her fingers threading into his damp hair. And when the sobs faded into ragged breaths, when he finally lifted his head, he found her looking at him with nothing but understanding.

"I love you."

Elain’s breath hitched.

"I love you," he said again. " Elain...I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it was the first time you asked me if I could fly. Or the first time I took your hand in mine. But I love you."

His scarred hand lifted, brushing softly against her cheek. "And I think… I think I have for a long time."

Elain swallowed hard, her eyes bright, lips quivering. Then she smiled.

A small, breathtaking thing.

Her thumb traced the damp path of his tears. "And I love you, too, Azriel."

And he closed the space between them.

The first brush of his lips was soft, tentative, but her warmth stole through him like the first rays of dawn after an endless night. He lingered there, breathing her in, his nose brushing against hers.

But when she sighed, when her lips parted slightly in invitation...Azriel broke.

It wasn’t urgent like their earlier kiss. He kissed her deeper, slower, his tongue tracing along the seam of her lips before slipping inside. The taste of her flooded his senses...honey, sweet and intoxicating....

His hands slid down her back to that sweet ass, pulling her closer until every inch of her was pressed against him.

Elain moaned a quiet, breathy sound against his lips...and his grip tightened as if she were the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

She was.

Azriel tilted her head back, taking his time, savoring her. He licked into her mouth, coaxing, teasing, until she met him with equal fervor, her hands sliding up his bare chest, her fingers scraping lightly over his muscles.

He shuddered, a groan escaping his throat.

Elain kissed him like she knew.

Like she knew how much he had starved for this. For her.

Like she knew that this wasn’t just a kiss...it was him.

They broke apart slowly, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, as if he had poured something of himself into that kiss.

Elain’s hands slid down his arms, her touch light, reassuring. She met his gaze without hesitation. "Come with me," she murmured.

She took his hand, guiding him out of the bathroom and into her bedroom. Azriel barely had the strength to think as she led him to the bed, easing him down onto the soft sheets. He exhaled as his body sank into their warmth, his head falling back against her pillows...pillows that smelled like her.

Elain's fingertips grazed his temple. "You're tired," she whispered.

Azriel opened his eyes. She slipped onto the bed beside him, curling her body against his. He didn’t resist when she guided his head down until it rested over her breasts, where the steady, soothing beat of her heart filled his ears.

He exhaled shakily, pressing closer.

Her fingers traced the lines of his shoulders, down the ridges of his spine...gentle, warm, dangerously close to his wings. He wished she would touch them. Wanted her to.

Slowly, the tension in his body ebbed. His wings stretched slightly, then relaxed fully against the mattress. Elain kept her slow caresses, her hands moving in soothing circles over his arms, his neck...until he was melting into her touch.

Azriel let out a contented sigh. He felt her warmth, the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath him, the scent of jasmine and honey wrapping around him, lulling him deeper, deeper…

She was his home. The place he had searched for, longed for, without ever knowing it. And for the first time in centuries, Azriel slept.

A deep, dreamless, peaceful sleep.

....

Azriel stirred, the warmth against his chest unfamiliar yet… right. For a moment, he thought it was another dream...the kind that always slipped through his fingers when he woke. But as his eyes fluttered open, he realized...this wasn’t a dream.

Elain was in his arms.

At some point during the night, they had shifted, and now she lay nestled against him, her face pressed to his neck, her breath soft and warm against his skin. His arm was draped over her waist, holding her close...as if, even in sleep, he hadn’t wanted to let her go.

He blinked at the clock across the room, his eyes widening. Past midday. He had slept too much. More than he had in centuries.

A slow exhale left his lips. Then, Elain stirred. She shifted against him, her hand gliding over his chest. A soft yawn escaped her before her lashes fluttered open, big brown eyes meeting his.

She smiled...sleepy, warm, beautiful.

Her fingers trailed up his throat, brushing over his jaw, her touch light, unhurried. As if she, too, wanted to savor this moment.

"Did you sleep well?" she murmured.

Azriel let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Too well."

Her smile deepened, but before she could say anything else, he rolled her beneath him his wings slightly flaring. She gasped, but he only brushed his lips over her jaw, his voice a whisper against her skin.

"It’s because of you."

Elain's fingers drifted over his bare chest, unhurried. Her touch lingered over the tattoo inked over his skin, tracing the swirling patterns.

Then, before he could think, before he could breathe...her lips followed.

Azriel let out a low sound as she pressed soft, open mouthed kisses over his tattoo, her tongue flicking out to taste his skin. His hands fisted in the sheets beside her, his control hanging by a thread.

“Elain,” he warned, voice hoarse.

She only pressed another kiss over his heart, her breath warm against his skin as her fingers trailed lower.

With a growl, Azriel captured her wrists, pinning them above her head. He watched the way her lips parted, how her breath hitched at the feel of him pressing her into the mattress.

He kissed her deep, consuming, his tongue sweeping against hers as he drank her in. Elain whimpered into his mouth, her body arching, pressing into his throbing cock.

Azriel’s breath came in rough, uneven pulls as he dragged his lips down Elain’s throat, tasting the delicate skin, feeling the way she trembled beneath him. He wanted to take his time, but the way she sighed...soft and aching...

Elain lifted her head slightly, watching him, as he kissed lower, down the center of her chest, over the soft swell of her breast. He pressed his lips to the thin fabric of her gown , his tongue flicking out in a slow, teasing caress over her sensitive nipples .

A gasp left her lips, her breath catching as his hands skimmed down her sides, tracing the delicate curve of her waist before slipping lower, pushing up the fabric of her nightgown. She lifted her arms, allowing him to ease it over her head, and his breath hitched at the sight of her...her perfect, creamy skin glowing in the light, her curly brown hair scattered across the pillow, her soft, round breasts rising and falling with each breath. His gaze lingered, darkening with desire, as he took in the delicate pink of her nipples, now taut and hard, peeking out like tender petals against the smoothness of her skin. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, mesmerized by her beauty...like she was a goddess carved from sunlight, too perfect to be real.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick, his hand gently cupping her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple.

Elain’s cheeks flushed, her lashes lowering, but then she pressed against him again, desperate, needy. Azriel hissed at the friction, and he pinched her nipple just enough to make her gasp. He smirked, dragging his lips over her jaw, his breath hot against her skin. "Patience, love."

Azriel lowered his mouth to her chest, the heat of her skin searing against his lips. He felt the rapid rise and fall of her breath beneath him, the soft swell of her breast pressing against his mouth. When his lips brushed the taut peak of her nipple, a shiver of need shot through him, and his mouth closed around it, drawing it in with soft pressure. His teeth grazed her nipple, and her body jolted in response. He couldn’t resist, his teeth returned to tease the sensitive peak, and a soft whimper escaped her lips. Azriel’s pulse raced as he pulled back, only to let his tongue trace slow, deliberate circles around her other nipple, savoring the soft texture beneath him. He moved lower, his mouth continuing to worship her, trailing kisses across her ribs and down her stomach. Every breathy sound she made sent heat curling through him, urging him on.

Then he reached to the soft skin of her thighs, his scarred hands parting them just enough as he settled between them. He glanced up, meeting her gaze, waiting. He watched her swallow, her fingers twisting in the sheets, but she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she let out a shaky exhale and parted her legs just a little more, offering herself to him.

He pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, then another, and another...closer, teasing, never quite where she needed him. Elain let out a small, desperate sound, her head tilting back against the pillows, her body trembling beneath his touch. His fingers found her through the lace of her underwear, stroking, massaging, feeling the damp heat of her. Her knees buckled, her thighs twitching.

“Azriel,” she whispered, a plea.

He hooked his fingers into the delicate fabric, and she arched for him, helping him slip it down until she lay bare beneath him. But the instant she was exposed, he saw the soft flush spread across her cheeks. Her legs shifted, closing slightly, and he waited, his gaze never leaving hers. She parted her legs just enough, and he let out a low, guttural hiss at the sight of her...slick, waiting, perfect.

“Fuck, Elain,” Azriel growled, his fingers sliding through her dripping folds, feeling how soaked, how ready she was for him.

She arched against him, grinding shamelessly, her breath coming in desperate, gasping moans. "Azriel," she choked out.

He hooked his arms beneath her knees and wrenched them apart, spreading her so wide she had nowhere to hide. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away,not when his fingers dug into her thighs, not when his head lowered between them, not when his hot breath ghosted over her aching, swollen clit.

Then he licked into her... slow at first, just enough to make her whimper. Then rougher. Deeper. His tongue dragged through her folds like he wanted to drown in her.

"You taste good," he groaned, his voice muffled against her. "So sweet."

Her entire body trembled as he sucked her clit between his lips, flicking it roughly before releasing it with a wet, obscene sound. She gasped, hips jerking, but his hands tightened as he held her exactly where he wanted her.

Azriel watched her, the way her fingers clenched the mattress, gripping the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Reaching up, he grabbed her wrist, prying it from the sheets and guiding it into his hair. “Hold on,” he said “I want to feel you.”

He felt her fingers clench in his hair, holding him there, urging him on. He growled against her, the vibration making her shudder beneath him. Then buried his face between her thighs, licking and sucking with an almost desperate hunger, his hands gripping her tighter as he lost himself in the taste of her. He ate her like a starved male, determined to drive her to the edge, to make her feel every inch of the craving consuming him.

She bucked against him, writhing as his tongue pressed deep, as he teased and tormented her with slow, devastating strokes. But when he slipped a finger inside her, curling it just right Elain cried out, her entire body tightening.

“That’s it,” he murmured against her, his voice rough. “Take what you need, Elain.”

She did. She ground against his mouth, chasing her pleasure, using him just as he wanted her to. And gods, he loved it.

When he added a second finger, stretching her, she shattered with a sharp, gasping sob, her walls pulsing around him, drenching him in her release. He didn’t stop, didn’t let her come down, fucking her with his fingers, his tongue laving over her clit until she was whimpering, pushing at his shoulders.

Only then did he pull back, his lips and chin glistening with her arousal. He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip savoring her, his gaze never leaving hers as he crawled up her body.Then he kissed her,leting her taste herself on his tongue.

Elain moaned, her legs tightening around his waist, locking him to her, her bare, soaked heat grinding against his cock, separated only by the thin towel.

Azriel moaned, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her movements as he rocked against her, desperate and aching, feeling how perfectly she fit against him. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to make her his in every way, to lose himself in the way she felt, the way she moaned for him.

But he needed to hear it. Needed her to say it.

“Elain,” he murmured, his lips dragging over her jaw, her ear. “Tell me what you want.”

Her fingers found the edge of his towel and with one motion she shoved it aside.

He watched as her breath hitched, her eyes darkening as she took him in ,his cock, thick, hard, flushed with need. He saw the way her lips parted, the way a soft, helpless sound slipped from her throat. His cock twitched in response.

Azriel clenched his jaw “Elain,” he said

she lifted those wide brown eyes to his and whispered, “Put it in me.” A slow exhale. “Make me yours.”

His mouth crushed against hers his teeth grazing her lower lip before he pulled back just enough to line himself up. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her, holding her open for him.

And then he thrust inside her in one smooth stroke.

Elain cried out, arching against him, her fingers biting into his shoulders.

Azriel's head dropped to her shoulder, his breath ragged as her body clenched around him, impossibly tight, impossibly hot, gripping him like she never wanted to let go.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his voice shaking. “You feel...” He couldn’t even finish.

She whimpered, shifting her hips, her walls fluttering around him .“Move,” she begged, breathless. “Azriel, please...”

He pulled out slow, making sure she felt every inch of him before he slammed back in, setting a ruthless rhythm. She gasped his name, again and again, her legs tightening around him as if she wanted him deeper, as if she never wanted him to stop.

And gods, the way she moved with him, the way she met every thrust, the way her voice cracked on his name...

It wrecked him.

He didn’t just want to take her. He wanted to claim her so thoroughly she’d still feel him tomorrow, next week, forever...

Her pleasure built again...faster, harder...her muscles tightening, her body trembling beneath him. Azriel felt it, felt the way she clenched around him, gripping him so perfectly it made his vision blur, each thrust sending her closer, sending them both spiraling toward the edge.

“Come for me,” he said. One hand slipped between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in circles.

Elain shattered.

She came with a cry, her body arching, her walls squeezing him so tight it nearly broke him. The sound of her, the feel of her, dragged him under, and with one final, bruising thrust, Azriel followed his release hitting him.

A shuddering moan tore from his throat as he buried himself deep, spilling inside her, his entire body trembling with the force of it. He stayed still, buried inside her, his lips trailing soft, reverent kisses over her shoulder, the curve of her neck, the delicate line of her jaw.

“You're mine,” he breathed

He felt her body tense, her breath hitching. The words settled in her, deep and permanent. He could feel it...the way they connected, the weight of the truth hanging between them.

Her hands, tangled in his hair, pulled him closer, her legs tightening around him, pulling him deeper. Her eyes locked with his,and she whispered, “And you’re mine.”

His heart stuttered at her words. He shuddered again, a tremor running through his whole body. His soul had known long before his mind did. She was his. And gods, he was hers.

His fingers slid down, gently tracing the curve of her collarbone, across the delicate skin of her throat, pressing lightly against her pulse. His mouth hovered just above hers, breaths mingling.

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said it.

"I love you, Elain."

Her lips brushed over his, barely a kiss, "I love you, Azriel."

A wave of emotion washed over him, deeper than anything physical. His arms tightened around her, pulling her even closer, and he knew, without a doubt, that he would never let go. Something shifted between them, something more profound than words, more enduring than promises...

#pro elriel #elriel #elriel supremacy #elain x azriel #elriel fanfic #pro elain #pro azriel

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ghosts-and-blue-sweaters · 1 day ago

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“Abraham lived for 175 years, and he died at a ripe old age, having lived a long and satisfying life. He breathed his last and joined his ancestors in death. His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, near Mamre, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite.” - Genesis 25:7-9

In true Grace fashion, I am doing what I enjoy best: going crazy over brothers. And just look at this!!

Imagine. You are born. The story of your birth is a messy one. Your dad and his wife were told, directly, by the Lord of the universe, that they were going to have a son—that God was going to gift them a son. But they grew impatient, grew tired of waiting for God. So your dad slept with your mother, a servant, and that is why you exist: impatience. Your father’s wife mistreats your mother, and your mother runs away, and she is frightened and crying. God sees her. He tells her it’s okay, it will be okay, things will be okay. Go back. And God fulfills His promise and gives a son to your father and his wife, and it is instantly clear that though you are the firstborn, you are not your father’s gift. Your father loves you. Your father calls you son. You make fun of your baby brother. You know you are not the one God promised, but God promised to bless you even so. A great nation will spring forth because of you, God said. You are wild and you are in the wilderness a lot. Maybe the thorns and the animals and the mud and the hawk that snatches its prey crying from the grasses is more understandable to you than your own home. But you think your home never was your home after all. You wish you could love your brother and it is hard.

Imagine. You are born. You are told from the moment you are first held that you are promised, chosen, gifted, loved, anxiously and impatiently awaited. You have an older brother. Your mother does not like him. Your mother does not like him or his mother. Your brother makes fun of you. You don’t know why things are hard. Your brother and his mother are sent away and they do not come back. Your brother grows up wild. You think of him sometimes. God has a plan for you both, and just because the plans are different does not mean that one is less. Your father loves you both. Your father loves you more. You want to love your brother but it is hard.

Imagine. You both live entirely different lives; thistles and tents, water jugs and raised daggers, wildness and submission, prophecy. You live in different lands. You have different people. You think, speak, walk different. You don’t see each other much and maybe sometimes you try to pretend you are not brothers because it would be simpler if that were true. And then your father dies. And you bury him together, next to his wife. Isaac’s mother. Ishmael’s afflicter. But you bury him together.

At the end of the day, you were both born. At the end of the day, you were both loved. At the end of the day, wondrous plans were written into infinity for you both by God Himself. At the end of the day, you both had the same father. At the end of the day, he died. At the end of the day, you bury him. Together.

At the end of the day, you are brothers.

#my post #Christianity #don’t know WHAT happened here #am NOT complaining though #when i said i was gonna make a post about isaac & ishmael i thought that meant #it would be a little post #this is decidedly Not little !!#but anyways #guys there’s brothers #i found their story & their different paths of life so fascinating #like guys… they’re brothers… and they’re so different… and they both bury their dad… guys…#also can you tell by the paragraph length which brother i like more

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cheesechilifreye · 2 days ago

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Dad headcanons that make little to no sense.

Bill

Determined to be better than his father at raising his daughter. After growing up in an abusive home with an absent parent. He doesn’t want her to grow up into what he became.

Unpopular opinion — I believe he eventually realized when she was around a year old that he DID have to straighten up for her. That ment quitting the eBay gig.

Gets incredibly nervous when going to public places with her because he doesn’t want to be labeled a kidnapper.

He can get quite stingy with his collections. But as the years go by he’s only kept his favorites and let her have the rest which he regifted to her through Christmas’s, birthdays, or achievements she’s made.

Encourages her (to an almost extreme level) to try out for EVERYTHING in school so she doesn’t end up boxed in like he was.

If him and his daughter fight he remains aloof around her but in his room has a panic attack.

Hates her friends even if they’re good. Can be very cocky if they end up rotten.

I don’t see Bill ever dating again because of the fear of them abandoning another kid onto him.

Once went 2 weeks without eating so his daughter had enough formula to survive.

Loves her smart ass behavior, hates how she gets into trouble

This man would absolutely rip a school to shreds if they called him out of work because they did something stupid.

Keeps pictures of his daughter hung up around the house. But hates getting his own taken.

Loudest guy at any game or celebration because he’s so proud of her.

Pete

Roughhouses with his kids no matter the gender. It “toughens them up,” as he says.

Pretty sexist when it comes to his kids dating. If his son brings home a girlfriend he’s proud and makes a lot of innuendos. Meanwhile, if his daughter brings home a boyfriend, he’s blatantly planning on murdering him.

Once when his kids were infants they fell asleep on him and he didn’t move. Failing to show up to work cause he was just watching them.

This man has so many half-children. (Like 6. Two of which are twins and mostly boys)

Named them all after horror movie icons or actors/actresses.

Unpopular opinion — Doesn’t care what they watch when they hit 13. But actively shields them from watching rated-r stuff 12 and under.

Makes it a tradition to take their freshly 13 year old kid out to watch their first rated r movie. Even though he doesn’t seem to be too excited, he’s just happy to see their kid look so smug feeling better than the other kids.

Taught them how to fight, cook, and other things at a VERY young age. (Think 5-7) In case one day he didn’t come home.

None of his kids went the football route and he’s very grateful for it. Doesn’t want them to get injured for life.

He’s like the dad who screams at his kids when they aren’t doing a specific dance routine correctly and will LITERALLY perform it.

Man’s pockets are almost empty cause of all the things his kids are in.

Sees his kids as toddlers still (insert Marceline and her dad clip)

Jerry

Terrified to mess it up for his son. The biggest helicopter parent ever.

Comes to every little thing his son does. Even if he doesn’t understand it.

Struggles to bond with his son because of different interests.

Stay-at-home dad. Makes a little money from Magic the gathering competitions.

Picture goofy and max from a goofy movie.

Is gonna bawl his eyes when he drops his son off at college.

Years after the Eltingville discourse (at the comic con) Bill reached out to Jerry to ask if he wanted to attend his daughter’s birthday party. Jerry happily accepted, even if his son was too old.

He once had a fight with his son that lead him into a panic attack where he screamed and called his son, “bill” by accident. Leading him to tell his son about what happened growing up. His son was much more empathetic after this incident.

Jerry cried when he found out his son wrote his 5th grade essay about him.

Tries to make each birthday of his sons better than the last.

Only time he’s ever gotten visibly angry. Was at a football game where his son was getting beat up by a player on the opposing team because of them losing. Jerry had to be held back and dragged off because of the fuss.

He was fine but it scared the hell out of everyone. For reference now everyone knows you don’t mess with his kid.

His son had the habit of gifting him random objects: rocks, gum, sticks. Jerry has them all stored up in the attic. Expect the live animals which he released when his son wasn’t looking.

Caught his son watching studio ghibli movies and felt so proud even though his son was embarrassed.

Josh

Thrilled to be a dad when he heard his wife got pregnant.

Let’s his daughter play with his hair. Didn’t want her messing with a greasy mop so he washes it. (Wanted to set a good example on hygiene as well)

Started to lose weight so he can get to see her grow up.

Very protective of his daughter and her interests.

Dressed up with her for Halloween to match costumes.

Hates Mac and cheese (after his incident in the comics) but his daughter loves it.

Struggles with insecurity but deals with it because of how confident his daughter is.

Woke up to her one day when she was just a year old. To her on his chest just staring in admiration. Cried in the shower that day and made it a daddy-daughter day out.

Embarrasses her in a teasing way.

Half of his collection is in a donation bin and the other half is in his daughter’s room.

Nervous but happy she took after his nerdy side.

He fixes her hair in the morning because he knows the pain of curly hair.

Had a panic attack when they were playing hide and seek and he couldn’t find her. She was under the sink the whole time giggling.

Very boo and sully coded relationship.

Wants to have more kids but isn’t financially stable enough.

Found out MONTHS later his daughter mimicked him a lot when she was a toddler. His walk, his speech, even the way they lay on the couch and watch movies.

His favorite home video is her playing house.

He’s a stern but lenient guy.

Against her dating, period. He knows how awful guys are and doesn’t want her around them.

Dreads the day she goes to high school.

Framed her first drawing of him, his wife and her together.

His daughter inherited his anxiety and eating disorder. He feels awful for it.

Spoils her rotten to an extent.

They love family photos.

#eltingville #dad au #eltingville epilogue #bill dickey #pete dinunzio #jerry stokes #josh levy #self insert #original characters #headcanon

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seitmai · 1 day ago

Text

“That far along, huh? Are we going to have to bribe someone to lie about the date on the marriage certificate?”

“Why can’t I take her on a proper date?” He looks the man up and down. The scrawny little kid has filled out. But the reputation of a son raised by a single mom still lingered. A son who had to get a job far too young to make sure that he and his mother could survive. A son that was accepted into college, and now about to graduate Harvard law. And still he isn’t good enough for you. He is no good. And never would be.

So sad and unfair🥺

“I want to marry your daughter.” “Over my dead fucking body,” Andy’s cheerful face turns sour, and he glares at your father. “You know nothing about my daughter.” “I know that she prefers the moon over the sun. I know that her favorite flower is a lily, but your wife thinks her room looks better with roses and daisies. I know that she wants a big family, and wants to live just out of the city. I know she wants a dog, a golden retriever, and name her Bagel,” your dad stumbles back on that. You said you never would tell anyone that unless you knew they loved you. “I know she loves baking, and she loves to read. I know that you taught her to type.”

Period👏🏻

“You have no idea,” he gets the most devious plan. It’s not as evil as it may sound. Andy plans on marrying you anyways. Currently he doesn’t have your father’s blessing, and this way wouldn’t exactly be a blessing. But at least he couldn’t say no. You are just like every other girl, and would only get the proper talk until you were engaged. You didn’t fully understand how babies are made, or the ways that Andy could love you, and evour you.

Ohhh i see where this is going 👀

🥰🥰🥰

You would no longer be a lady, and sex didn’t automatically mean pregnancy, but he wasn’t going to stop until you became pregnant.

A man with a plan 🫡

“Well,” he says softly, pulling you into his body. His meaty hands run up your sides before they’re high enough for his thumbs to caress over your breasts, and you sigh leaning into him. You were in private, and there’s nothing you wouldn’t let Andy do. Or touch.

🤭🤭🤭

Wedding be damned. You can’t stop this now. You want to feel him inside of you. “Andy, I want you in there,” he glances up at you with an almost evil smirk. “Will you show me what that means?” He will marry you. He will make an honest woman out of you. Your father drove him to do things this way.

I mean fair, and they are consenting 🤷🏻‍♀️

“I want a baby with you,” fuck yes. Yes. Just what he was wanting to hear. “I want to marry you, and live here with you, and have you inside me every single night. I want to take care of our sweet babies, and —“ he pulls himself out of you again, causing you to pout, but then he pushes back in with a jolt.

Just what he needed to hear

“You were made for me, Sugar. Nobody can ever take this away from us. I won’t stop fucking you until I plant a baby in your belly.” You’re too far gone to truly understand the implications in that statement. You just nod your sweet little head, opening your legs wider. Andy leans back, pinning both legs to the bed as he watches himself impale you. Your tight little cunt clings to his cock. Even your body didn’t want him to leave you. It was begging for him to stay buried deep inside you.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“You were supposed to marry the astronaut.” “Guess he wouldn’t want to marry some whore, huh, Nana?” You let your hand drift down your stomach, rubbing over the barely there bump. “Andy did ask daddy for his permission to marry me. He said no, but all I’ve ever wanted was to be Mrs. Barber.”

The astronaut comment? Iconic 😅👏🏻

“Don’t feel sorry for me. I wanted this. I begged for him to give us a baby. And now he’s giving me his last name. We have a home, and he has a job, and will move up at the firm. Let me have this happiness. He kept his promise. So let me keep mine.”

The circumstances might be a little fucked up, but it's actually really sweet, let them be in love and married!

Daddy's Pride and Joy

Summary: Andy wanted you. He wanted things right. But your dad refused. What other choice did he have?

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, narrow views of sex due to the time period, slut shaming, unprotected sex, breeding kink, PIV sex, first time, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.9K

Andy Barber Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Your mom fiddles around with a bouquet of roses and daisies, refusing to meet your eyes. You’ve heard her talk about how you made a mistake for weeks now. How you put yourself in this position. That you should consider yourself lucky that things are going the way they are. And still you feel her judgemental gaze as she peeks at you over the bouquet.

“Marge?” your grandmother questions your mother. Picking up your dress, she then turns to look at you. “What did you do, you stupid girl?” You hold your head high as your sister starts to zip the dress up. Grunting when she reaches a snag. Well…it is now too tight.

“How far along are you?” You play dumb. The dress wasn’t supposed to be a give away. Your grandmother walks behind you to help your sister. “You could have gone with a bigger dress.”

“It fit last week,” your sister is much too young, and does not understand the adult conversation happening between you and the women who are ashamed of you.

“That far along, huh? Are we going to have to bribe someone to lie about the date on the marriage certificate?”

“No,” Andy told you everything would be okay. And it would be. Everything would be just fine.

“Marge?” Your dad peeks out the front window, watching as the little boy from down the street pushes you in the swing. “Marge!”

“Yes, dear,” your mother responds. She wipes her hands on her apron as she walks into the living room.

“Who is that boy?” He points to the little boy with the bright blue eyes that had captured your heart the moment he and his mother moved down the street. “Hmm?”

“The kid from the old house up the street,” it isn’t like your father didn’t know this already. He asked about him every time you played with him. The problem was your father didn’t like him. Didn’t think the son of a single mother was good enough for his precious angel.

“The one whose father is in jail?”

“That would be the one. She fancies him.”

“I think he just sees an access to money,” your mother rolls his eyes, as she starts to step back into the kitchen to prepare lunch. “You laugh at me, but kids younger and younger are being taught by their parents the best way to money is finding some stupid girl that has a rich family to marry. He sees an in. A respectable man that owns a magazine, like myself. The heir…”

“We’re not royalty. His mother says he wants to be a lawyer.”

“Bah. That kid is a loser.”

“Sir,” your father attempts to close the door in Andy’s face, but the younger man places a foot there first. “I would like to take your daughter out on a date.”

“No,” he deadpans. “Is that all?”

“What do you mean by proper?”

“Oh, umm…I didn’t mean anything by it,” he meant he didn’t want to wait below your window as you snuck out with him. In order to not be spotted, he’d just take you on long walks at night, where eventually the two of you would lay looking at the stars. It was kind of infuriating to have you all alone. But you are a respectable woman. And clothes always stayed on.

“You know, Dwayne down the street mentioned something about you and her. Now, I thought it was a bit crazy to suggest that my daughter was riding in a car with the likes of you after midnight,” Andy stands up straighter. Nothing had ever crossed a line. But he has every intention of marrying you, and would prefer it be done the right way. “I want you to stay away.”

“I want to marry your daughter.”

“Over my dead fucking body,” Andy’s cheerful face turns sour, and he glares at your father. “You know nothing about my daughter.”

“I know that she prefers the moon over the sun. I know that her favorite flower is a lily, but your wife thinks her room looks better with roses and daisies. I know that she wants a big family, and wants to live just out of the city. I know she wants a dog, a golden retriever, and name her Bagel,” your dad stumbles back on that. You said you never would tell anyone that unless you knew they loved you. “I know she loves baking, and she loves to read. I know that you taught her to type.”

“You’re not marrying my daughter. Do you know why?” Andy shakes his head. He has done everything a man should do. He even has a job lined up. He has a home he is going to buy, just for the two of you, and eventually your children, and Bagel. He has a car. He will provide for you. “You’re a piece of shit, born from a piece of shit. Do you not think I know about your bastard father rotting in prison? Do you not think I don’t know about how your mom was making some extra money? You’ll never be good enough for my daughter. Never.”

—

You lean outside of your window, smiling when you see Andy on the lawn. Throwing your legs out of the window, you shimmy towards the tree branch, and make your way towards the most perfect man you have ever met. Getting down to his arms, where he gives you a bruising kiss. His hand is holding onto you a bit too high on your rib cage, and his thumb grazes over your breast before you jump away from him. He shouldn’t touch you there while at your parents’ home.

“Where are we going tonight?” your voice is so soft as he grips your hand, and leads you down the road and to his parked car. You are so proud of Andy and all that he has earned.

“Did you talk to my dad?” Andy opens the door of the car for you, and closes it before he crosses over to the other side. “Andy, did you talk to him?” He has to let you date Andy now. He is a lawyer. And you weren’t some shy little girl anymore. You wanted to become his wife, and have cute babies with him. And the sooner that this was public, the sooner you can have that, “Andy?”

“He said no,” your arms cross over your chest as you look out the window of the car. “It’s not stopping me.”

“Why is he like this?” it upsets you that your father can’t see the Andy that you see. He is perfect. And he will give you a perfect life.

“Because you’re his oldest daughter. His pride and joy, and he just doesn’t want you to be married off to some boy.”

“Except you’re not some boy,” you give him a smile, scooting over on the seat towards him. Your dainty hand rubs up and down his chest as you snuggle in, “You’re all man.”

They’d tell you how a woman has wifely duties. But sex with you isn’t a duty. Sex with you almost seems like a life force for him. It is proper to wait for marriage, but this marriage doesn’t seem like it’s going to be approved by your father. And he’d hate to see you leave Andy behind because you needed that.

But…if you were to accidentally fall pregnant how could he say no? You would need to have a man to marry you. What man would marry a sullied woman? Leaving him with no choice but to approve the marriage. Demand it.

It’s not evil. It’s just changing up the way he would like things to go. He doesn’t want you to be looked down upon in the community. He wants you. He doesn’t want to wait. He wants his future wife properly. He’d taken way too many cold showers after leaving you. Relieved himself way too much.

His car turns in a different direction. The house was supposed to be a surprise. But he was also supposed to be given your dad’s blessing. It’s empty, and a bit bleak right now. But if he’s going to have your properly, he wants it to be in your future home with him. You would no longer be a lady, and sex didn’t automatically mean pregnancy, but he wasn’t going to stop until you became pregnant.

Andy has always played the long game with you. He knew the moment he saw this sweet little girl rocking in her saddle shoes as you stood there holding out a coloring book and crayons for him, and told him that you have a swing that he was in love. He fell instantly and even told his mom that he was going to marry you. And he will. Even if you have to get pregnant out of wedlock for it to happen.

“Andy, where are we going? We’ve never been here before?” You ask after a while of silence. You are perfectly content rubbing on your boyfriend as he drives. He gets all fidgety and squirrelly when you do. It makes you feel better knowing his heart is racing just like yours always does around him.

“I bought us something.”

“Oh?” You look up at him with doe eyes, and kiss him on his neck. Giggling when he makes that sound. Kissing on his neck always makes him squirm. You love watching him adjust how he’s sitting and even how he pulls you closer to him. Letting his hands roam where they want to roam. You don't mind as long as you are alone.

“It might not be much. But this is just a starter,” he says, slowing down as he turns onto a road. You squeal as you look forward. Your hand lays on his upper thigh, and he clears his throat. Andy is such a funny man when you touch him in certain areas.

“Andy, it’s perfect!” It truly is. The cutest little white house with a white picket fence. A perfect starter home. “Can we go look?”

“That’s why we’re here,” you don’t even wait for him to open the door before you spring to the house. Having to wait a bit too long for him to come to your side and unlock the door before you're running through the empty house.

Home.

Yours and Andy’s home.

The kitchen is bigger than your mom’s, and a few modern appliances. The living room is huge, but maybe that’s because there was no furniture. Running down the hall you see the perfect room for a nursery. Can already envision the crib.

“Honey,” Andy pulls your hand down the hallway, leading you towards the biggest room in the house. It is mostly empty, sans a bed. “This will be ours.”

“Ours?” You sigh, turning towards him, and run both hands up his chest. “And we’ll get to sleep in the bed together,” your mother hadn’t quite taught you anything concerning marriage. And you’d heard your friends gossip a bit about their husbands, but it just made you queasy. You didn’t want to think about another man. You just want him. You want those conversations with Andy or nobody.

“We can do more than sleep,” he says with a sly quirk of his mouth.

“What else does one do in the bed with their husband?”

Your body heats up with ministrations, and you stare up at him with your eye lids at half mast. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to try with you.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want to make love with you,” your tongue flicks out of your mouth, and you pull your bottom lip in. Biting on your perfect pout as you look up at him. “Do you know what that is?”

You shake your head no as Andy’s hands go to your back, and he grips tight to your zipper as he pulls it down. You gulp, allowing him to undo your dress. It feels right. And you love Andy, so making love sounds right. “When two people love each other, they give each other their bodies.”

“And then what,” you release a wanton mewl when he fully unzips your dress. Placing his hands back on your shoulders, he pulls the dress down, and you watch with bated breath as it pulls at your feet. Andy’s hungry eyes roam over your body before he reaches back behind you, undoing your bustier, and you’re the one pulling it off.

He stands there, taking your nearly nude body in. “Then what, Andy?”

“I taste you,” you gulp. “You taste me,” you shudder. “I enter inside of you,” you whimper. “I come inside of you.”

“Inside where?” Andy’s finger taps between your legs, and your knees start to buckle. Leaning more into him for support, and you shyly pull at his jacket, and fumble with the buttons on his shirt. “Have you ever came inside someone?”

“No,” it isn’t a lie. He’s had sex, and only because he wanted to be the best for you. But that part of him…it is only for you. “Can — I touch you?” You nod your head enthusiastically, and he leans forward. Both hands cupping your breasts before he sucks one into his mouth.

“Oh, god,” the other breast he squeezes and pulls until he reaches your swollen bud, and gives it a little pinch. You pant as you stare down at him. Sucking on your nipple before he pulls off with a pop, and moves to the other one. “Andy…I can’t breathe.”

“We’re just getting started,” he practically growls. He grabs your hand, and places it on his crotch, while you moan. Slick heat races to your core, and your mind goes all fuzzy. Andy always has this innate ability to make butterflies race to your belly.

Feeling Andy like this doesn’t even feel criminal. He’s showing you exactly why he adjusts his pants, “This is what you do to me.”

“And this,” you take a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. You can feel his pulse under your fingers. He’s so hot and heavy under your palms. Yours. This is all yours. “This goes inside me?”

“It does.”

“Show me,” Andy steps away from you before sinking to his knees. He starts to slowly peel away your panties and stockings down your body. Assisting you in kicking off your shoes, and stepping out of your confines while you stand completely bare in front of him.

“Andy,” you coo before he kisses you over your naked mound. “Andy,” you start to melt as he coaxes your legs apart, and he licks through your slit. “Oh dear,” Andy is getting a part of you that no man has. Open and so ready for him. Whatever it means. Is this what people are talking about when they mention the wedding bed?

Lifting you up, he lets your legs wrap around his body, while he moves you to grind over his enlarged bulge. Your eyes blow wide open with curious lust and the simpering sounds of your needy voice make his movements so much quicker. He could just about come looking at you like this alone. Laying you down on the bed, he spreads your legs so wide to stare at your weeping cunt. Perfect. And all his.

“Andy,” you whine, wiggling around. You feel so exposed, and want him so bad. You want him all over you. You want him to feel a part of you that no one has.

“Shh,” he whispers as he starts removing his clothes. You gasp as his cock springs free. Scooting back in the bed, suddenly scared of where he says he’s going to have you. “You can take it. You’ll take it all, and if it doesn’t fit, we’ll make it fit.”

Andy clamors onto the bed, using his wide berth to keep your legs parted as he lines himself up with your center. Pushing just the tip of him in you and quickly pulling back out, and you yip. “Honey, you can take it, huh?”

“Y-y-yeah,” you take a deep swallow as he goes deep, but doesn’t pull out. “Oh, golly,” he slowly sinks his girth deeper. Letting your body adjust to the intrusion inch by inch. “Oh…oh!” Panting when he fully sheaths his steel rod all the way inside of you, and into the depths of your soul.

Both of your bodies hum with the throbbing intensity that is the two of you becoming one. It’s overwhelming and lovely all at the same time. All these years have led you here. Spread wide open for him. Taking him. Loving him.

“There’s a good girl. There is my sweet good girl,” it is overwhelming having Andy inside of you. Stretching you out deliciously. You want him always there. It just feels right. How dare your father try and take this from you. You belong with Andy with him inside of you.

“Andy, I love you.”

“I love you.”

“You like me fucking you?”

“Uh huh,” such terrible language, but right here, right now, it feels wrong not to be saying that. “Fuck me harder. I like that,” he snaps his hips, barreling back into you. Again. Again. And again. And tears spring to your eyes, but he kisses them away. Pistoning into your body with such force you cry out.

The fullness of him. It makes it hard to breathe. Even the sting of the stretch doesn’t hurt all that much.

“Good girl. You sound so pretty crying for me,” you just cling on for dear life as Andy’s movements make the bed slap against the wall. “You were made for me, Sugar. Nobody can ever take this away from us. I won’t stop fucking you until I plant a baby in your belly.”

You’re too far gone to truly understand the implications in that statement. You just nod your sweet little head, opening your legs wider. Andy leans back, pinning both legs to the bed as he watches himself impale you. Your tight little cunt clings to his cock. Even your body didn’t want him to leave you. It was begging for him to stay buried deep inside you.

And he would be. He’ll keep fucking you, and planting his seed until it takes. What is your dad going to say when you’re swelling with Andy’s pride and joy? He wouldn’t want to ruin your good name, therefore the family’s. He’ll be forced to allow you to marry. And he’ll have you exactly how he wants you.

On your back, taking him every night, while every day he gets to worship you. The dream.

“Sugar,” Andy pants, his movements stiffening up. “I’m gonna give us a baby.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Fuck,” he crows, keeping himself lodged deep in your body. “Fuck!” Warmth blooms in your belly, and your mouth goes slack as you stare up at him. “This will be our little secret, okay?”

Until your belly is so round that everyone knows that he’s fucked you good and hard enough to get a baby. Men will stare jealously knowing that Andy has had you with no inhibitions. There will come a day that he will get to tell people that the two of you are trying for a baby. Meaning they’ll know he’s fucking his come inside of you every night.

It will come. But for now, he’s going to keep coming inside of you. Creating a life in secrecy. In hopes that your father will approve this union. He won’t have another choice.

“Beige,” your grandmother huffs as your sister pulls the veil over your head. “You seriously think people won’t notice you’re wearing beige? You spread your legs for the first man that whispered how much he loves you in your ear. You will ruin this family!” your sister looks back and forth between you and your grandmother, but you keep your head held high. Today you become his wife.

“You were supposed to marry the astronaut.”

“Guess he wouldn’t want to marry some whore, huh, Nana?” You let your hand drift down your stomach, rubbing over the barely there bump. “Andy did ask daddy for his permission to marry me. He said no, but all I’ve ever wanted was to be Mrs. Barber.”

“He trapped you,” your mother gasps, holding her hand over her mouth, while the other fans her face. “Sweetheart.”

Let your mom continue to pray that nobody sees the weight you’ve put on. Four months, and six weeks, it is becoming harder to hide. There wouldn’t be a honeymoon. There would only be you going home to your husband. Sleeping in the bed right beside him where you belong. No more sneaking around, and leaving before sunlight. Everyone may know that you didn’t wait, and you don’t even care. Because he still kept his promise.

There would be no more lies. Only the truth, and that’s what has always been known. You love Andy Barber.

Andy Barber loves you.

And Andy is yours.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87 @musingsfromthemitten

@theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy @distractingbeth

#also funfact my aunt was born like 7 months after my grandparents wedding and for yeara they just told everyone she was a preemie #she was in fact not actually a preemie haha #i think they truly confirmed it at their 50th wedding anniversary celebration hahah

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moonlitstoriess · 16 hours ago

Text

Binding Lies- Eris Vanserra x fem! reader (mini-series) Part 7

Summary: When Y/N, Azriel's secret half-sister who lives far away, and Eris Vanserra form a strategic contractual marriage to further their own agendas, what begins as a carefully crafted arrangement soon becomes more complicated. As they pretend to be a perfect couple, the lines between duty and desire blur, and neither is prepared for the consequences.

See masterlist

Previous part

Warnings: kissing scene, some angst, tension

The wind howled outside the small cottage, rattling the wooden walls and making the candlelight flicker. The scent of damp earth and burning firewood clung to the air, mixing with the faint aroma of herbs drying by the window. Y/n sat on the floor, legs crossed, watching as her mother carefully stitched a torn tunic, her movements practiced and methodical. There was something different about her that night—her usual sharp eyes distant, her shoulders drawn tight.

Y/n had noticed it all day, the way her mother had been quieter than usual, how she had barely smiled, barely looked at her. And now, in the dim glow of the cottage, the weight of that silence pressed down on her like a heavy cloak.

“Mother?” Y/n’s voice was hesitant, careful.

Her mother didn’t look up. “Yes, my love?”

Y/n hesitated, fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. “You—you’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

Her mother’s hands stilled. For a moment, Y/n thought she wouldn’t answer. But then, with a quiet sigh, she set the tunic aside and finally met her daughter’s gaze. There was something haunted in her expression, something distant and aching.

“I always think about him,” she murmured.

Y/n swallowed hard. “Did you love him?”

Her mother didn’t answer right away. She turned her gaze to the fire, eyes flickering with the flames. “Once,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “A long time ago.”

Y/n curled her arms around herself, trying to piece together the fractured bits of truth she had collected over the years. She had always known her mother kept secrets. That there was more to their past than she let on. But it wasn’t until that night—until the words slipped from her mother’s lips—that she learned the truth that would change everything.

“You have a brother,” her mother said, voice soft but firm. “In the Night Court.”

Y/n’s breath caught.

Her heart pounded so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of the storm outside. “A brother?” she echoed, as if saying it aloud would make it less impossible.

Her mother nodded, and something in her face softened, like the weight of the secret had finally begun to lift. “His name is Azriel.”

The name sent a jolt through Y/n, like a puzzle piece snapping into place. She had heard of him before—whispers of the shadowsinger, of the spymaster cloaked in darkness. But never, not once, had she thought she could be tied to him by blood.

She shook her head, voice barely steady. “Does he—does he know?”

Her mother’s lips pressed together, a quiet sorrow settling in her eyes. “No.”

The answer was both a relief and a wound.

Y/n wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that she had a brother she had never known, or the fact that he didn’t even know she existed.

A lump formed in her throat as she whispered, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

Her mother exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over her face. “Because I couldn’t.” She turned back to Y/n, her gaze sharp and serious. “You have to understand, my love. I left the Night Court before he was born. And I—I made choices that ensured I could never return. Your father eventually found me and well…we had you. By the time I learned of his existence, it was too late.”

Y/n clenched her jaw, emotions churning inside her. “It’s not too late now,” she insisted. “We could—”

“No.” The finality in her mother’s voice cut through the air. “You must promise me, Y/n. Promise me that you will never seek him out. That you will never tell him.”

Y/n’s stomach twisted. “But why?”

Her mother reached for her then, cupping Y/n’s face in her hands. “Because some secrets are meant to stay buried,” she murmured. “And if you love me—if you trust me—you will let this one remain in the past.”

Y/n blinked back the sting of tears, her heart breaking under the weight of something she didn’t understand.

But she nodded. Because what else could she do?

And that night, long after her mother had fallen asleep, Y/n lay awake in the darkness, whispering the name of the brother she would never know.

Azriel.

Y/n’s eyes snapped open.

For a moment, she forgot where she was, her heart racing in her chest as if she were still that little girl curled up in bed, whispering a name that felt like both a prayer and a curse.

But then reality settled in.

She wasn’t in that small, warm cottage anymore. She wasn’t a child staring at the ceiling, wondering about a brother she could never meet.

She was here. In the Autumn Court. In Eris’s bed.

The weight of the silk sheets tangled around her, but the warmth at her side was far more distracting.

She turned her head slowly, her breath catching as she took in Eris’s sleeping form.

His face was relaxed in a way she had never seen before, his usual sharp edges softened in sleep. The golden glow of early morning painted his features in warm hues, his auburn hair spilling across the pillow, strands falling over his forehead.

She swallowed.

He looked… beautiful.

It was a dangerous thought, one she quickly tried to smother. But it lingered, simmering in the depths of her mind as she let herself stare for a moment longer.

Eris Vanserra was many things—infuriating, cold, calculating. But in sleep, with his guard lowered, he was something else entirely.

Something she could almost admire.

Almost.

She exhaled quietly, forcing herself to look away. This was temporary. They were temporary. It didn’t matter how peaceful he looked now, how her heart gave an odd little flutter at the sight of him. None of it mattered.

With a quiet sigh, Y/n turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

The ball was happening.

She was going to meet him.

Azriel.

And no matter how many times she tried to prepare herself for it, she knew nothing would ever be enough.

Y/n hadn’t been able to sleep.

No matter how long she lay in bed, no matter how many times she closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe slowly, evenly, the storm in her mind refused to settle. The thought of him—of Azriel—seeing her for the first time, truly seeing her, had burrowed into her skull, refusing to let go.

So, at the first hint of dawn, she had given up.

And even though she hated him in that moment—hated the way he had unknowingly turned her world upside down with just a few words—she still found herself staring.

It was unfair, how easily he could rest, while she lay awake drowning in thoughts she couldn’t voice.

With a quiet breath, she slipped out of bed.

She had wandered the halls for hours, the cool air of the palace failing to clear the chaos in her mind. Her body ached with exhaustion, but she knew she wouldn’t find sleep now. Not with the knowledge of what was coming weighing so heavily on her chest.

When she found herself in the quiet wing of the palace where Samira’s chambers were, she didn’t hesitate.

Samira was by the window, brushing out her long, dark hair, when Y/n stepped inside. She barely looked surprised to see her.

“You look like hell,” Samira said bluntly, setting the brush down.

Y/n let out a weak, humorless huff. “I feel worse.”

Samira tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “What happened?”

Y/n sank onto a cushioned bench, running a hand down her face. “Eris told me something last night. About an event we have to attend.”

Samira’s brows lifted. “And?”

“It’s not just another court gathering,” Y/n said. “It’s…all of them. All seven.”

Samira blinked. “A ball for all the High Lords?”

Y/n nodded, gripping her hands together in her lap. She hadn’t meant to say so much. Hadn’t meant to let the words slip so easily. But now that they had, she couldn’t seem to stop the tightness in her chest.

Samira considered her for a long moment. “And why does that terrify you?”

Y/n stiffened. “It doesn’t terrify me.”

“Liar,” Samira said, arching a brow. “You’re pale. You haven’t slept. And you came here before breakfast, which means you’re spiraling.”

Y/n exhaled sharply, glancing away.

Samira leaned forward, voice softer now. “What’s wrong?”

There was no way she could explain it. No way she could tell Samira the truth—that somewhere in the Night Court, a male existed who shared her blood. That he would be at the ball, standing among the others, completely unaware of her existence.

So she forced herself to shrug, forced the words to come out light and dismissive. “I just—this wasn’t part of the plan. I thought I’d only have to deal with the Autumn Court, not every other High Lord and their pompous courtiers.”

Samira studied her for a long moment before sighing. “Court politics will never be easy, but you’ve handled them before. You’ll survive this too.”

Y/n nodded mutely, though her stomach churned at the thought.

Samira hesitated before speaking again. “If it’s too overwhelming, I can stay by your side the whole night. We’ll get through it together.”

Something in Y/n’s chest tightened. Samira had no idea the real reason for her fear, had no idea the storm that was raging inside her. And yet, here she was, offering unwavering loyalty.

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat. “Thank you.”

Samira gave a small nod. “Now, go get some rest. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Y/n huffed a quiet laugh but stood.

She didn’t tell Samira that sleep wouldn’t come. That even when she closed her eyes, all she saw was him.

Eris awoke to the cold.

It wasn’t the temperature of the room that sent a chill down his spine, but the absence. The absence of warmth beside him, the absence of her presence in the space they begrudgingly shared.

His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the morning light that streamed through the windows, casting golden streaks across the polished floors. He reached out instinctively, fingers grazing only cool sheets.

Empty.

The room was empty.

His entire body tensed as he pushed himself upright, eyes scanning the space. Her side of the bed was long abandoned, her clothes were gone, not a single sign of her lingering in the room.

She had left.

Eris swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his mind already racing as he stood. He dressed swiftly, pulling on a crisp tunic and trousers, buckling his belt with sharp, efficient movements. His fingers itched to burn something—to curl around the closest object and hurl it at the wall, but he forced his frustration down, swallowing it like bitter wine.

She was avoiding him.

His jaw clenched as he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, his mind replaying the moment from the feast last night.

The way she had stilled.

One second, they had been sitting together, their usual tension crackling beneath the surface as they pretended, performed for the court. Then, as soon as he mentioned the event, as soon as he uttered those words—all six courts—she had gone rigid.

He had seen it. The way her face had drained of color, the way her fingers had twitched slightly against her goblet before she gripped it too tightly, as if anchoring herself.

And then…

That question. The way her voice had wavered.

“So—so does that mean everyone from Night will be there?”

At the time, he had been too caught up in her odd behavior to fully think about it. But now…

Now, his thoughts were catching up.

His mind reached back, further than last night, back to when they had been on the ship. The first time she had ever mentioned the Night Court, the first time she had spoken Azriel’s name.

She had asked about him, specifically.

His golden eyes narrowed as he fastened his boots, every piece clicking into place, yet still making no sense.

Why had she asked about the Night Court back then? And why—why, last night, had she reacted that way at the mention of the ball?

Eris Vanserra did not enjoy not knowing things.

He was a High Lord’s son, raised to pick apart every detail, to never leave a question unanswered. And yet here he was, standing in the middle of his empty chamber, entirely in the dark.

His jaw clenched, and without another thought, he strode out of the room.

The hall was already filling with the scent of breakfast—freshly baked bread, roasted meats, the rich aroma of tea and spiced cider.

Eris’ pace quickened as he made his way toward the dining room, his lips pressed into a thin line.

She was avoiding him.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

She wasn’t supposed to be the one slipping away, not when he was the one who dictated the terms of this arrangement. Not when he had carefully crafted every move, every interaction to ensure that he was always in control.

Yet, here she was, dodging him, and he hated the way it made his stomach twist.

Eris entered the dining hall with smooth, practiced ease, his expression unreadable as his sharp eyes scanned the room.

And then—

His gaze landed on her plate.

It was empty.

The goblet beside it bore the faintest smudge of where her lips had touched. The plate had been used, the utensils slightly out of place.

She had already eaten.

Before him.

Eris’ fingers curled into fists at his sides.

She had woken up before him, left their room, and eaten before he even arrived—ensuring that they wouldn’t cross paths.

Avoiding me.

The realization burned hotter than it should have.

But there were servants in the room—several of them. And if there was one thing Eris refused to do, it was let anyone see when something bothered him.

So, without a word, without even a flicker of emotion betraying him, he took his seat.

The chair was polished, the table set to perfection, the quiet clink of dishes filling the space around him.

He picked up his fork and began to eat.

Silent.

Seething.

And all the while, his thoughts churned—about last night, about her strange questions on the ship, about the Night Court, about Azriel.

And about the female who had disappeared from his bed before dawn, who was slipping further and further from his grasp.

The midday sun hung high, casting golden rays through the sprawling gardens of the Autumn Court as Y/N sat in the grand courtyard, forced into yet another tedious royal duty. A gathering of noblewomen surrounded her, their chatter blending into one endless, droning noise as they sipped on spiced cider and nibbled on pastries.

It was a tradition—an honor, Lady of Autumn had called it—for the heir's wife to host the seasonal tea gatherings, ensuring that the females of the court remained entertained and content. To Y/N, it felt more like a slow death.

She kept her face poised, her posture impeccable as she engaged in small talk, nodding when necessary, smiling when required. It was exhausting, performing this role, weaving through the webs of courtly expectations, pretending that every word spoken didn’t bore her to madness.

Samira stood a few steps behind, always close, always watching.

Y/N barely listened as Lady Thelia prattled on about some nobleman’s daughter marrying a lesser lord, the woman’s voice lilting with thinly veiled condescension. But just as she was about to take another careful sip of her untouched cider, a sudden commotion at the far end of the courtyard caught her attention.

A young servant boy, no older than fourteen, pushed his way through the gathering, his face flushed with exertion, his chest heaving. His brown tunic bore the Autumn Court sigil, but it was wrinkled and stained with sweat.

He didn’t even bow before blurting out, "Highness—quick, please!"

Y/N immediately straightened, her heart stuttering at the sheer panic in his voice. "What is it?" she demanded, already setting down her glass.

The boy swallowed hard before rushing out, "Prince Eris—he’s been wounded, badly. He needs help!"

The words slammed into her, knocking the air from her lungs.

Her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of her gown, dread twisting in her gut. "What?" she breathed, standing so abruptly that the women around her startled. "Where? How did he—"

But the boy shook his head frantically. "No time, Princess! Please, just follow me!"

Panic seized her. She turned sharply to Samira, whose usually calm expression had faltered into something tense and urgent. Y/N barely needed to say anything before Samira gave a quick nod, her own silent Go.

Without hesitation, Y/N turned on her heel and ran.

The conversations of the nobles turned to shocked murmurs, but she didn’t care. Her mind emptied, one thought, one name consuming her—

Eris. Eris. Eris.

Y/N ran after the servant boy, her heart slamming against her ribs with each hurried step. The gravel crunched beneath her feet, the wind whipping through her hair as she sprinted through the Autumn Court’s vast grounds.

"Eris—badly wounded—" The words rang in her skull, an unbearable knot of fear tightening in her chest.

"How bad?" she demanded, breathless, as they weaved through the towering trees of the palace grounds.

"Very," the boy gasped without looking back, his short legs moving fast.

Her stomach churned. Eris was strong, fast, skilled. For him to be injured badly enough that a servant was sent running for her meant—

She shook her head. No. No, he’s fine. He has to be fine.

The path twisted, and she followed blindly, her mind too focused on reaching him to question why they were moving deeper into the estate rather than back toward the palace’s infirmary. It wasn’t until the scent of damp earth and the low, distant growling of hounds reached her ears that she hesitated.

Her steps slowed as they entered a clearing where high, iron-barred kennels stood in neat rows, each filled with massive, hulking figures of Autumn Court hounds. Eris’ hounds.

Her brow furrowed.

"What the hell?" she muttered, coming to a full stop, eyes scanning the dimly lit kennels. "Why the hell am I here?" She turned to the servant, irritation flickering through the worry still clenching her stomach. "Where is Eris?"

But the boy didn’t answer. Instead, he bolted.

"Hey!" she shouted, twisting after him. "Get back here, you little—!"

"So now you worry for me, huh?"

Y/N whirled around at the deep, smooth voice behind her.

Her breath hitched. Eris stood a few feet away, arms crossed, looking infuriatingly smug.

Her gaze flew over him, scanning—searching—for the grave injury she had been running toward in panic. But there was nothing. No blood, no limp, not even a damn scrape. He looked fine.

More than fine, actually.

"You—" she breathed, chest heaving. "You’re fine?"

And then it hit her.

Her wide eyes turned into a glare so sharp it could slice through steel. Her jaw clenched, her hands curled into fists—

"You PRICK!"

The words tore from her throat as she stormed forward, slamming her hands against his chest. It did absolutely nothing to him—he was built like a damn mountain—but she didn’t care. She hit him again. And again.

"You lied!" she seethed, each word punctuated by another shove. "You lied so you could draw me out here—!"

"Shhh," Eris tsked, his fingers wrapping around her wrists in one smooth movement. He pulled her closer, stopping her assault with infuriating ease. "Yeah, sorry not sorry, but you didn’t give me any other options."

Her glare burned hotter. "You absolute, arrogant, insufferable—"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, darling," he drawled, a smirk curling at his lips.

"I should rip your throat out," she hissed.

"And yet," he mused, his grip tightening slightly, "here you are, so terribly worried about me. How touching."

"Go to hell, Eris."

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her temple. "Darling, I am hell."

She snarled, yanking herself free from his grasp, but before she could unleash another string of curses, a deep, menacing growl rolled through the air.

Y/N stilled.

Eris chuckled, stepping to her side as he gestured toward the towering hounds in the kennels, their sharp eyes watching her every move.

"Y/N, dearest," he said smoothly, "meet my sons."

She blinked, glancing at the monstrous beasts lined up behind the bars. Huge, thickly muscled, their coats ranging from deep russet to ink-black. Their eyes glowed amber in the dim light, filled with intelligence, obedience.

All except for one.

While the rest sat silently, awaiting orders, one beast at the far end paced restlessly, his lips curling back to reveal sharp canines, his growl endless and unrelenting.

Eris sighed dramatically. "And that would be him," he muttered, nodding toward the growling beast. "The problem child."

Y/N tilted her head slightly, watching the hound with intrigue. "What’s his name?"

Eris smirked. "Ruvan."

The hound bared its teeth at her.

Without thinking, Y/N slowly stepped forward. Eris’ hand shot out, but she shook him off.

"Easy," she murmured, crouching before the cage. "I’m not going to hurt you."

Ruvan’s growling softened—just slightly.

She kept her voice low, gentle, murmuring quiet reassurances. The beast tilted his head slightly, his glowing eyes locked on hers. Slowly, carefully, she reached a hand toward the bars.

And for a moment, just a moment, Ruvan stilled.

Then, as if shaking off some trance, he lunged—his teeth snapping just inches from her fingers.

But before he could get any closer, Y/N was yanked backward, her spine colliding with a firm chest, warm hands gripping her waist tightly.

A breath, hot and low, ghosted over her ear.

"Yeah," Eris murmured against her skin, "that’s Ruvan. The one you should probably never go near."

Her breath hitched.

At their proximity. At the way his fingers curled just slightly against the fabric of her gown. At the heat of him pressing against her back.

She swallowed, blinking rapidly as she willed herself to move, to breathe.

Then, with a sharp exhale, she shoved away from him, fixing him with a glare.

"You’re insufferable," she muttered.

He grinned. "And yet, you’re still here."

"Not for long," she shot back, already turning. "I’m leaving."

Eris only followed, keeping pace beside her as she strode toward the exit.

"I believe," he mused, amusement lacing his voice, "you won’t be avoiding me anymore."

She scoffed, not sparing him a glance. "Oh, I definitely will be."

He clicked his tongue. "Unlikely, given that you just sprinted across the palace in a panic over my well-being."

"That was before I knew you were a manipulative, lying bastard."

He sighed dramatically. "You wound me, wife."

"Not yet, but give me a sword and we’ll see."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. They reached an intersection in the halls—her path turning left, his turning right.

She was about to continue forward when he stopped, his voice softer, quieter.

"Y/N."

She hesitated. Something about the way he said her name was... different.

Not mocking, not teasing—just soft.

She turned, brows furrowed slightly, lips parting—

But Eris only held her gaze for a moment before giving a small, almost unreadable nod. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

Y/N stood there, unmoving, watching as he disappeared down the hall.

Her heart beat a little too fast.

And she hated that it did.

Three hours had passed since he had last seen her. Since he had dragged her out to the kennels, watched her bristle and snap at him, only to leave before he could get another read on her.

She was avoiding him. Still.

Eris sat in his private study, the scent of firewood and aged parchment thick in the air. A map of the Autumn Court sprawled across his desk, delicate but marked with small, deliberate annotations—some in ink, some burned into the parchment with his fire. Stacks of reports from spies, lists of names—some crossed out—lay beside it.

A single candle flickered, casting jagged shadows across the room, but he barely noticed. His mind was ruthless, sharp, cutting through distractions like a blade.

His father, Beron, still believed he controlled this court. Still believed his word was absolute. But Eris had spent years working in the shadows, shifting the tides of power, bending them ever so slightly in his favor. And now, with Y/N by his side, his claim to the throne had grown stronger. The marriage had been a calculated risk—a move to solidify his position among the court's nobles. He needed her as his shield and weapon, to keep Beron’s suspicions at bay.

But that had been the easy part. The harder part was what came next.

Eris picked up a letter, scanning the words. It was from one of his informants within Beron’s inner circle. A lord—one Eris had been slowly poisoning with false trust—had begun whispering doubts about Beron’s leadership. Good.

He moved to another document, a list of the strongest warriors in Autumn, ones loyal to him rather than his father. He marked two more names with an ember-hot fingertip. Very good.

But it wasn’t enough. Beron was paranoid. No move could be made until the perfect moment. And Eris couldn’t let his father suspect a thing.

His jaw tightened. The marriage should have been simple: a way to gain power, to steady his image, to play the role of the devoted husband while quietly setting his pieces in place.

But Y/N was not cooperating. She was avoiding him, keeping her thoughts locked away. And that moment last night, when she had frozen at the mention of the Night Court—when something in her eyes had screamed secrets—it unsettled him more than it should have.

He didn’t like being in the dark.

And yet, despite his frustration, despite how inconvenient it was, he found himself drawn to her in ways that were notstrategic. It was… infuriating.

His fingers drummed against the desk. He did not have time for this. He had spent too long shaping this plan, twisting every misfortune into an opportunity. He would not allow something as reckless as feelings to disrupt it.

Eris leaned back, eyes narrowing at the map once more. There were still more pieces to shift. More alliances to solidify. More knives to position in the dark.

A ball was coming. The six other courts would be present. And that meant High Lords, powerful emissaries, and the perfect stage for subtle, deadly negotiations.

If played correctly, this event could bring him one step closer to finally toppling his father.

His lips curved into a slow, calculating smile.

Let the game continue.

The grand dressing chamber was buzzing with movement, the warm glow of candlelight bouncing off silk and gold. Y/N sat rigidly in front of an ornate mirror, barely hearing the hushed voices around her, her thoughts an absolute mess.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she would be in a room with all the High Lords. Tomorrow, she would meet him.

Her half-brother.

Her fingers clenched in her lap, nails pressing into her palms as her mind twisted and turned, cycling through a hundred different ways this could go wrong. Would he know? Would anyone suspect?

She barely noticed the hush that had settled in the room until someone cleared their throat.

“Highness?” one of the maidens prompted, and Y/N blinked, snapping out of her thoughts.

“Oh. Yes—sorry.”

“We asked which of these you prefer,” the maiden said, gesturing toward the row of dresses presented before her.

Y/N forced herself to focus. The first dress was crimson, embroidered with golden filigree and stitched pearls. The second, a deep sapphire, shimmering under the candlelight with a bodice so heavy with jewels that she could only imagine how suffocating it would feel. The third, a pale silver monstrosity with sheer sleeves and intricate lace that swallowed the fabric beneath it.

They were all… too much.

Too glittering. Too excessive. Too drenched in wealth to the point of being ugly.

“I don’t like any of them,” she said simply.

The maidens exchanged glances before one of them stepped forward, her voice careful, but laced with an unmistakable edge of condescension. “But, Your Royal Highness, these dresses are the most expensive in all of Prythian. They were crafted by Lady Evandria’s Atelier, a designer who only makes gowns for the most elite of royals.”

Y/N bit back a sigh. “That may be so, but I still don’t like them.”

The maidens hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words to argue with her without overstepping, when Samira—silent up until now—finally spoke.

“I think I have an idea,” she said, stepping forward.

Y/N turned to her immediately. “What?”

Samira gave her a knowing look before walking over to a trunk she had brought from Montesere, flipping it open. The maidens stood stiffly, their displeasure barely concealed as Samira carefully pulled out two dresses, unfolding them before Y/N.

They weren’t drenched in excessive jewels or stitched with pretentious embroidery. And yet, they commanded attention effortlessly.

The first was an obsidian-black gown, sleek and smooth, with long fitted sleeves and a neckline that wasn’t too revealing, but still elegant. Tiny flecks of silver dusted the fabric like stars in the night sky, subtle yet stunning.

The second was a deep, blood-red dress with a fitted bodice and an asymmetrical skirt that draped effortlessly, the fabric moving like liquid fire. Unlike the dresses chosen by the maidens, it didn’t scream royalty—it whispered it, carrying the weight of power in a way that didn’t need excess to be seen.

Y/N’s breath caught as she reached out, running her fingers over the red fabric. “This one,” she said immediately, her voice quiet, but sure.

Samira smirked, as if she had known all along which dress Y/N would choose. “A good choice,” she murmured, handing it to her.

The maidens, however, were less pleased. Their expressions soured as they moved stiffly to assist, and as they laced up the back of her gown, Y/N caught the glares they were sending Samira’s way.

It was almost amusing.

But just as she was beginning to feel at ease, one of the maidens spoke, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

“Highness, forgive my curiosity, but…” The girl tilted her head, adjusting the folds of Y/N’s dress as she continued, “Have you checked if you are with child yet?”

Y/N’s entire body went still.

Even Samira’s hands momentarily froze before continuing their work, her movements more controlled now.

“What?” Y/N asked, keeping her voice even.

The maiden smiled, as if this were the most casual conversation in the world. “Well, since you and Prince Eris love each other so much, we thought you’d already be with child by now.”

The words love each other rang bitterly in her mind.

Y/N inhaled slowly, forcing herself to keep her composure. “That is an incredibly bold assumption,” she said coolly.

“Not an assumption, Highness,” another maiden chimed in, feigning innocence. “Merely an expectation. Most royal couples are blessed with an heir not long after their wedding.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She wanted to snap back, wanted to tell them to shut their smug mouths—but she couldn’t. Not without giving them more to gossip about.

So she smiled, slow and sharp, as she met the maiden’s gaze. “How fortunate, then, that I decide when and if that happens.”

The maidens fell silent.

Samira hid a smirk as she finished securing the dress.

Y/N turned back to the mirror, staring at her reflection. The gown fit her perfectly, the deep red standing in stark contrast to her skin. She looked regal. Powerful.

And yet, her thoughts were elsewhere.

Her thoughts were on Eris.

On the mess she had gotten herself into.

On the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows against the carved wooden walls of their shared chamber. Y/N sat at the vanity, brushing through her hair with slow, deliberate strokes, the deep red silk of her nightgown pooling around her. The weight of the day pressed down on her, the thoughts of tomorrow's ball, the suffocating expectations, and the damn maidens still gnawing at her mind.

She barely heard the door open—barely felt the rush of cool air before Eris entered.

He didn’t say a word as he strode in, his steps purposeful but heavy with something unspoken. Without so much as glancing her way, he moved toward his side of the room, shrugging off his outer coat.

The tension thickened, pressing against her skin like an iron band around her throat.

Y/N didn’t have to look at him to feel it—the weight of his silence, the sharp, unrelenting energy crackling in the air.

It had been like this all day.

She sighed, setting down her brush. “What’s wrong?”

Eris didn’t even pause in undoing the buckles of his jacket. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Y/N let out a short, dry laugh, tilting her head as she met his gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “You have tense shoulders and a clear frown on your face that makes me feel like if you look at me for more than a minute, I will drop dead immediately. So, yes, there is something wrong, Eris.”

His hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he exhaled through his nose, as if debating whether to even entertain this conversation.

Then, at last, he pulled off his coat, his vest, and the fine shirt beneath, stripping away the layers of Autumn Court finery until he sat on his side of the bed, his back to her.

“Calanmai is approaching,” he muttered. “All this tension is just due to it.”

Y/N blinked.

“…Calamari?”

Eris’s back tensed.

“Don’t tell me it’s some other event,” she sighed, rubbing her temple. “Because if it is, I might just—”

She felt the change in him before she saw it.

A rigid stillness. A sharp inhale. Like he hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

Her frustration deepened. “Eris?”

“Forget what I said,” he said curtly, his voice clipped.

Oh, absolutely not.

Y/N turned in her seat, narrowing her eyes at him. “Nothing this, nothing that,” she muttered, rising to her feet and padding toward the bed. “And yet I’m the one who gets scolded when I don’t tell you something?”

Eris’s jaw ticked, but he said nothing.

She crossed her arms. “What is Calanmai?”

Silence.

“Eris.”

Nothing.

Her irritation flared hotter. “You always demand honesty from me,” she said, stepping closer. “But when I ask you—”

“I said it’s nothing, Y/N.”

His voice came sharp, cutting, the warning in his tone enough to make her stop mid-step.

Before she could say anything else, he rose abruptly, striding across the room and disappearing into the bathing chamber, the door slamming shut behind him.

Y/N stood there, the tension now so thick it was suffocating.

Her thoughts were even more tangled than before.

And for the first time since this marriage began, she wondered if she had finally found something that Eris Vanserra didn’t want her to know.

The next afternoon dragged on, each moment stretching longer than the last, as Y/N paced back and forth in her chambers. Anxiety twisted in her stomach like a coiled snake, its tight grip squeezing every ounce of calm from her. The ball. Tonight. The night she would face the High Lords and everything that came with it. But most of all, it meant she would be in the same room as her half-brother—the one she’d never met before, but whose presence loomed over every decision she made.

What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to act? Her thoughts tumbled over themselves, a jumbled mess of fear and excitement. It felt like the world was about to tilt off its axis, and Y/N wasn’t sure whether she would be swept away in the chaos or crushed by it. Her nerves were raw, like threads ready to snap.

The sound of soft footsteps broke her out of her spiraling thoughts. The maidens, ever-efficient, filed into the room, moving with practiced grace. They bowed to her, their movements synchronized, and immediately set to work. Her dress hung on a nearby stand, its blood-red fabric gleaming in the light.

As the last maiden left the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor, the door remained ajar. And then, he entered. Eris.

His presence was immediate—heavy, commanding—and for a moment, he simply stood there, eyes fixed on her without a word. His gaze was intense, almost possessive, like he was absorbing every detail of her. The way his sharp eyes ran over her, making her feel naked even though she was dressed to the nines, made her stomach flip uncomfortably. It was the same kind of scrutiny a predator might give its prey.

She felt it then—the weight of his gaze. His eyes traced every line of her body, lingering on the tight bodice that clung to her chest, accentuating her breasts and collarbones. She could feel the weight of his stare, the way his gaze lingered—no, devoured—her, his focus fixed on the ruby necklace that caught the light with each subtle movement she made. The way it sparkled and drew attention to the rise and fall of her chest made her acutely aware of every breath she took.

Her skin burned where his gaze touched her. The fluster rose quickly within her, surprising her more than anything else. Why now? Why him?

He hadn’t even spoken yet, but it was as though he’d stripped her bare, rendering her exposed under the intensity of his stare. She swallowed, desperately trying to ignore the rush of heat that flooded her body. Her body was betraying her, reacting in ways she couldn’t control.

His expression remained unreadable, as if she was simply an object to be appraised. But his eyes—his eyes told a different story. They darkened with something primal, something raw, and she had no idea how to read it.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he took a step forward. His movements were deliberate, slow.

"You look..." His voice was softer than usual, smooth as silk, but there was an edge to it, like something coiled beneath the surface. His eyes flicked from her face to her dress. "Ready?"

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Was she?

She swallowed hard, a little too aware of the tension between them. The suffocating pull of it. She drew in a breath and sighed, trying to steady her shaking hands as she reached for him, her fingers brushing over his as she took his hand. "Ready as I’ll ever be."

His lips quirked into a knowing smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Eris never looked at the maidens who had dressed her, nor did he offer any kind of acknowledgment to their work. His entire focus remained on her. On the female he’d dragged into his tangled web. His hand was warm, commanding, as it closed around hers.

For a second, he didn’t move, just stood there. Still, watching her. And then, with that unreadable look in his eyes, he broke the silence.

"Let’s go."

The heavy, echoing footsteps down the grand staircase felt like they were reverberating through the entire hall, each step measured but far too loud in her ears. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath shallow as she clung to Eris’s arm. Her eyes were trained on the space ahead of her, but her mind raced, trying to calm the frantic beating inside her ribcage. Why did it feel like everyone was staring?

At the bottom of the stairs, the faces of Beron and his sons, Eris’s brothers, greeted her—a sight that made her feel like an outsider. There, too, was the Lady of Autumn, radiant in her beauty. Beron, his sharp eyes gleaming, spoke first, his voice cold and clipped.

“How gracious of you both to finally make it down here after an hour of waiting.”

The words hit her like ice. Y/N stiffened, but Eris’s grip on her arm tightened, his expression blank, cold, as he replied, his voice just as frigid.

“We’ve only just arrived, Father. But if you insist…”

The sarcasm hung between them like an invisible fog.

Before Beron could say anything further, the Lady of Autumn’s warm voice broke the tension, stepping forward with a smile that was too bright for the mood.

“You look stunning, dear,” she said, her gaze softening as she turned to Y/N, her eyes taking in the breathtaking gown. “The Autumn Court is honored to have you with us tonight.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed under the weight of the compliment, but she could feel the undercurrent of something else beneath her words. Was it genuine or merely out of obligation? Y/N couldn’t tell.

From behind them, Eris’s brothers exchanged quiet words, their eyes darting between Y/N and one another, clearly amused or intrigued. But, as always, it was Baron who silenced them, his cold, domineering presence drawing their attention back.

“Enough,” Beron’s voice cut through the chatter like a blade, and Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. She didn’t need to hear more from them—this wasn’t the place.

The Lady of Autumn, always poised, took Beron’s arm. Y/N felt Eris nudge her slightly, urging her to follow the lead of their parents. His words were brief, “Stay next to me,” he whispered, his voice so low only she could hear it. She nodded, her thoughts swirling, her nerves on edge.

Eris’s brothers fell in line behind them, and they began to walk toward the Great Doors, the heavy footsteps of their family leading the way. As the massive doors creaked open, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

The ballroom stretched before her like a sea of shimmering faces and colors. Guests from every court were gathered there, mingling, laughing, and drinking. Hundreds of them. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail.

In the distance, she caught sight of a cluster of individuals dressed in blue and white, their white hair almost glowing under the lights. Winter Court, definitely, she thought to herself, before her gaze flitted to another corner. Gold and white, with males and females draped in regal attire—Day Court was unmistakable. Helion. I remember Samira telling me about him.

Then, there were those dressed in blue and gold, so regal they had to be Summer Court. The brightness of their colors nearly blinded her.

And then... her eyes landed on the Night Court.

The contrast between the dark hues of blacks, deep blues, and rich purples felt like the night itself had come alive within the ballroom. She could pick them out easily, just from their aura, from the way they stood—different, not just by their dress but by their presence. Her gaze froze, locking onto the male at the front. Tall, imposing, dark hair... Rhysand, I assume. Beside him was a female in fierce determination, with brown, long hair, standing with an undeniable strength. Feyre. The High Lady.

Her thoughts flickered as she tried to make out the others. There was a long-haired male next to Feyre, and Y/N's eyes narrowed. Cassian, she thought. The infamous Lord of Bloodshed, as Samira had mentioned.

Next to Cassian was a female who stood apart from the others—strong, striking. Nesta. The Valkyrie. Her reputation preceded her. Her intense eyes scanned the room with an air of quiet defiance.

But before she could take in more, Eris’s voice pulled her attention away.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. “My father is about to give his speech,” he murmured. “Afterward, we’ll make our introductions. Be cautious. Helion is a bastard who loves to tease. Keep your guard up around him.”

Y/N blinked, her thoughts jumbled as she absorbed his words, but it felt like the ground beneath her feet was shifting. Helion. She remembered the rumors. A notorious flirt.

“Got it,” she muttered, though her heart was pounding too hard to keep up with the conversation.

Eris’s hand tightened around hers, drawing her closer as they took their seats in the reserved spots beside Baron and the Lady of Autumn. The crowd settled as Beron stood to address the room, his eyes sweeping over the sea of faces.

Y/N’s chest tightened as she tried to steady her breathing, but it was like she could feel every single eye on her. Her skin tingled. Every corner of the room felt like it was burning into her, their gazes weighing down on her like an unbearable burden. She didn’t know how to sit still, how to keep her face neutral. It was hard to think over the sound of her heartbeat.

Beron’s speech was a blur. Her mind was racing, replaying everything she had just seen, trying to calm her nerves, to put up a mask of poise. But it was impossible. She couldn’t remember half of what Baron said, his words lost in the jumbled mess of her thoughts.

She only knew one thing for certain: she had to survive this night.

Once Beron finished his speech, the room erupted into a low murmur of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the rustling of elegant fabric. Eris nudged Y/N, bringing her back from her spiraling thoughts. The weight of the entire ballroom seemed to press on her chest, but her gaze snapped to him when he spoke, his voice laced with a smirk.

“It’s our time to shine, princess,” he said, his tone a mixture of mockery and something else, maybe anticipation.

Y/N inhaled deeply, the sharp scent of expensive perfume and fresh flowers mingling in the air. Music began to fill the hall, the soft, melodic strains of a string quartet weaving their way through the space, lifting the tension in the air. The servants began to move more purposefully, offering trays of delicacies and sparkling drinks to the guests, weaving between conversations.

She took a moment to center herself, her heart still pounding. This was it. She was no longer an observer; she was part of the spectacle.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her nerves still frayed, but she nodded, reaching out to take Eris’s hand. His fingers curled around hers, a silent promise of support as he led her into the center of the room. The instant they stepped foot into the ballroom, the attention of every guest seemed to shift in their direction. It was as if the very air crackled with new energy.

And then, it happened.

From across the room, Helion, Kallias, and Thesan made their way toward them, cutting through the sea of faces like ships sailing into the eye of a storm. Kallias, the High Lord of the Winter Court, was impeccably formal, with his mate, Vivianne, by his side. Helion, ever the flirt, flashed them a grin that could melt ice, while Thesan remained calm, his presence a quiet but powerful force.

Helion was the first to speak, his voice rich with humor. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, his golden eyes flicking over Y/N as if she were a treasure chest he’d just uncovered. “What do we have here? Eris’s newest conquest?”

Before Eris could even react, Y/N shot him a glance, her eyebrow quirked in amusement, her voice soft but steady. “Conquest?” she repeated, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I thought you’d have something more charming to say, High Lord Helion.”

Helion’s grin widened, clearly delighted by the challenge in her tone. “Ah, the lady has a spine. I like that.” He took a step closer, leaning in just slightly as if to whisper a secret. “Tell me, princess, do you enjoy long walks in the gardens under the stars? Or are you more of a fast-paced kind of woman?”

Eris’s grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly, a warning, though he kept his face impassive. Before Y/N could answer, Eris stepped in, his voice cutting through the conversation like a sharp blade.

“Helion,” he said, his tone both polite and firm, “if you’re done teasing, I’m sure Amira would appreciate a more civilized conversation.” His gaze flicked toward her briefly, making sure she was okay, before turning back to Helion, who simply shrugged with a dramatic sigh.

“I’ll behave, I’ll behave,” Helion said with exaggerated regret, though his mischievous smile was impossible to miss. “But one can’t blame a male for trying.”

Kallias stepped forward, offering a warm smile that softened the formality of his stature. “I must admit, Eris does have quite the taste. You look… stunning, Princess Y/N.” His voice was deep but kind, his words measured and respectful.

“Thank you, High Lord Kallias,” she replied, giving him a gracious nod. “It’s an honor to be here.”

Vivianne, standing beside him, beamed. “It’s truly exciting to see the Autumn Court make such an impression tonight. You’re even more radiant in person than in the rumors we’ve heard.” She had the warmth of someone who’d never met a stranger, and her gentle excitement was palpable. “I do hope we get a chance to speak more later. I’m sure you and I could have many lovely conversations.”

Y/N gave Vivianne a polite smile. “I’d like that as well. Thank you.”

Before Y/N could respond further, Thesan stepped up. His voice was calm, low, and laced with reassurance. “Do not let the chaos get to you,” he said, his eyes meeting hers with a steady gaze. “There are many here, yes, but few truly matter. You will find your footing soon enough. Just remember to breathe.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for his simple but effective words. "I will. Thank you, Thesan."

Then, as if everything was suddenly happening at once, Eris’s voice returned, sharper this time. “Enough small talk, people. We’re here to mingle, not to stand around looking pretty.” His gaze flicked back to Y/N with a softer look, an unspoken assurance. “Let’s get this over with.”

Helion, never one to back down from a challenge, grinned again. “Oh, come now, Eris. Let the lady enjoy the attention a little longer. It’s not every day she graces us with her presence.”

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at the banter, feeling a little more at ease with the playful back-and-forth.

The night stretched on, and Y/N felt herself slipping further into the crowd. She tried to keep up with the conversations, making the right faces, nodding at the right times. She had met a few more High Lords--Tamlin, the brooding High Lord of Spring, who barely spared her a glance before turning his focus back to the crowd. The Summer Court's High Lord, whose name she’d already forgotten, had been polite but distant.

The conversations blurred into one long stream of names, titles, pleasantries, until her feet ached from the hours of standing. She had kept up well, trying her best to engage without drawing too much attention. She was getting better at pretending, at playing her part, but it wasn’t easy.

It was only when she and Eris were finishing a conversation with a high-ranking member of the Day court—someone whose name she hadn’t even managed to catch—that the unmistakable, powerful voice of Rhysand cut through the crowd like a clap of thunder.

“Ah, well, I think it’s time for the formal introductions,” Rhysand’s voice rang out, smooth and commanding, drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

Y/N’s breath caught, and she immediately turned, her pulse quickening as she saw Rhysand, standing tall with Feyre at his side. Cassian followed close behind them, a playful smirk on his face, though there was a quiet wariness in his eyes, as if he too knew the importance of this moment. But it was Azriel—just a step behind them—that caused Y/N’s world to stop spinning.

The instant their eyes locked, her heart skipped a beat. The rawness of the moment crashed into her like a wave, her thoughts jumbled and frenzied. She had spent so long in the shadows of her own existence, never quite knowing how to fit into this world—how to reconcile the parts of her that didn’t belong, or the half-brother she’d never known until now.

Azriel’s gaze was intense, cold, searching. And for a brief, wild moment, Y/N felt like she was drowning. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. Every single thought she had about her life, her family, her identity—every fragmented memory of her past—began to collide in her mind.

Eris’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, though it was a distant echo. “Focus, princess,” he murmured, a soft nudge against her side that snapped her attention back to reality.

She blinked rapidly, trying to steady her breathing as her eyes darted back to Rhysand and Feyre, who were both watching her closely, their expressions unreadable. Feyre smiled warmly, and despite the intensity of the situation, it was like a balm on a wound that had yet to heal.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you properly,” Feyre said, her tone light but genuine. “Welcome, princess Amira. We’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

Y/N tried to keep her voice steady, but it trembled despite her efforts. “Thank you,” she said, her words coming out in a soft rush. “I’m honored to be here.”

Cassian, ever the more approachable of the group, gave her a quick smile and a nod. His eyes held something between a challenge and an understanding, but it was clear he was trying to make her feel more at ease in this foreign world.

As her eyes shifted to Azriel, she caught a brief flicker of recognition in his dark gaze, but when he met her eyes fully, it was like a wall slammed down. Azriel nodded, a simple, barely-there motion, before his attention drifted, as if there had been no real connection between them at all.

The sting hit hard, deep in her chest. Her heart sank. Of course he doesn’t remember me. Of course he doesn’t know who I am. She tried to push the bitter taste of disappointment down, but it was there, lingering on her tongue. What had she expected? He was a stranger, even if they shared the same blood.

Eris, however, seemed to notice the subtle shift in her posture. The protective nature of his presence grew more palpable, as if he could feel the discomfort radiating off her. His arm subtly shifted, wrapping around her waist to hold her a little tighter, a subtle warning to anyone watching.

Rhysand broke the silence, his sharp, commanding voice drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “I didn’t think Eristo be the type to pick out a female from Monteserre. A bit of a surprising choice, don’t you think?”

Y/N tried to steady herself, forcing her focus back onto the conversation at hand, trying to ignore the way her pulse raced in her ears, the way her hands felt clammy despite the elegance of her movements. “I suppose it’s a bit surprising,” she replied, doing her best to keep her tone light. “But perhaps I’m more interesting than I appear.”

Eris’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak right away. He simply shot Rhysand a glance—cool, calculating—and then muttered, “You’re one to talk, Rhysand. The night is still young.”

A sharp chuckle rippled through Rhysand, but it was a low, dangerous sound. “Fair enough,” he said, leaning back slightly as his eyes flicked between Eris and Y/N. His eyes, dark and knowing, pierced right through her, making her feel both seen and exposed. “It’s always the quiet ones who surprise us.”

Before the air could grow any thicker, Feyre stepped in, offering a warm smile to Y/N. “Well, I’m so glad you could join us, Amira. You’ll have to tell me about Monteserre sometime. I’d love to hear what it’s like.”

Nesta, her presence like ice and fire wrapped together, also spoke, her voice soft but carrying a bite. “I’m sure you have many stories to share. It’s not every day we meet someone from a court like yours.”

Y/N nodded politely, trying to hide the discomfort that bubbled beneath the surface. Cassian gave her a simple smile, his eyes flicking to her and back to Rhysand, as though gauging her reaction to everything happening around her. His smile was brief, but it was genuine—and for a moment, it calmed her nerves.

Then, Azriel.

Azriel looked at her again, but this time, she didn’t feel like it was a casual glance. There was something there, a flicker of something she couldn’t quite grasp, but it was gone before she could make sense of it. He offered her a barely perceptible nod, the movement almost too small to catch.

And that was it.

Y/N’s heart twisted painfully in her chest. She had been foolish to think there could be anything more. He didn’t even know who she was. What did she expect? For him to remember the sister he never knew existed?

She swallowed thickly, trying to regain control of her emotions. The room felt stifling. The weight of it all pressed down on her chest, suffocating her. The air was too thick with tension, with questions, with her own tangled thoughts. She couldn’t breathe.

Without another word, her resolve shattered. Her hand tightened around Eris’s arm, and in a split second, she was moving.

“I… Excuse me,” she muttered, her voice barely audible even to herself. Before anyone could respond, she turned on her heel and hurried out of the room, her pulse hammering in her ears, her breath ragged in her chest.

She couldn’t stay. Not like this. Not with him here.

YN’s breathing was ragged as she dashed through the darkened royal gardens, the cold night air biting at her skin. She didn’t care. Her mind was in a frenzy, her thoughts crashing into one another in an endless loop. What had she expected from Azriel? He didn’t even know who she was.

What the hell was she doing, coming here? Why had she even thought—

Her feet pounded the ground, desperate, frantic. She didn’t care where she was going, didn’t care about the twisting paths of the maze she was now running through. The walls of hedges loomed on either side, sharp and untouchable, their dark green leaves rustling as she flew past. She was too lost in herself to notice the beauty of the place, to even acknowledge the fragrance of the flowers that filled the air. Nothing mattered except the overwhelming ache in her chest.

She wasn’t sure how long she had been running when she stumbled upon the center of the maze. The sudden opening was a breath of fresh air, and she slowed, her hand on her chest as she tried to steady her erratic breathing.

A grand fountain stood before her, its waters spilling from sculpted stone into a pool below, the sound of the water soothing in the quiet night. The statues surrounding it were magnificent—stone figures with graceful, flowing forms, frozen mid-motion. The moon hung high in the sky, casting its silver light down on the scene, making everything seem otherworldly. She could feel herself being drawn into the beauty of the place, the soft glow of the moonlight making the fountain shimmer as if it were alive.

She walked toward it slowly, her eyes wide with wonder. The cool mist of the water brushed against her skin, and for the first time that night, she let out a deep breath. She knelt at the edge of the fountain, her fingers brushing the surface of the water. Her thoughts, though still in turmoil, began to slow. She closed her eyes, feeling the serenity of the moment seep into her bones.

Why did he have to look at her like that? Why did he have to make her feel so... exposed? She could still feel Azriel’s gaze on her, sharp and cold, and it made her feel like she was drowning. How could she stand in front of him and pretend that everything was fine when every part of her was screaming in confusion?

"Are you going to stay lost in thought forever, or should I drag you back to the ball?"

The voice cut through the night like a whip, and her head snapped around. Eris stood at the edge of the maze, his figure a shadow against the moonlight. His tone was light, mocking, but there was something deeper in his gaze.

She narrowed her eyes. "Even in this maze, you managed to find me."

A sly smile curled at the corners of his mouth as he approached. "Well, for some reason, your scent is the one I smell the best. I wouldn’t call it that hard."

Her breath caught in her throat. "My scent?"

Eris moved closer, not quite sitting but lowering himself so his face was level with hers. "Why did you leave so abruptly?" he whispered, his voice low, his usual bravado replaced with a note of curiosity.

She shook her head, turning back toward the fountain. "It’s of no importance."

But Eris’s hand shot out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. His eyes darkened, his expression fierce. "When it comes to you, nothing is ever not important." He growled, his grip tightening slightly as he leaned in. "You may not be willing to tell me your reasons now, and I won’t pry. But you best believe me, Y/N. Something is upsetting you, and I will find out what it is soon enough." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "And when I do... let’s just hope the Mother takes mercy upon whoever it is."

A shiver ran down her spine, but she pushed against him, standing abruptly. "No one, Eris. No fucking one." Her voice shook with anger, but she couldn’t stop it. "You don’t have to pretend here either! We’re alone, for fuck’s sake!"

Eris followed her, his footsteps purposeful, his voice low but laced with anger. "You think you can run from me? You think you can push me away?"

She spun around to face him, their bodies inches apart now. "You don’t get it," she said through clenched teeth. "You don’t know what it’s like to be stuck in this... this mess!"

His expression hardened, but his voice was quieter now, tinged with something more genuine. "You think you’re the only one who feels like they’re drowning? That you’re the only one who’s lost?"

(I suggesting playing this song now while reading the next scene)

The tension between them thickened, but it was the crack in his voice that made her pause. She sighed, dropping her shoulders, the fight draining out of her. "I don’t want to go back," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Eris’s smirk returned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well, then fuck the ball and fuck the guests." He gripped her arm, pulling her toward the fountain. "Come on."

Her heart skipped a beat. "What are you doing?" she gasped, half-laughing in surprise.

Before she could protest further, he jumped into the fountain, splashing water everywhere. She let out a sharp gasp, the cool liquid soaking her instantly. "Eris!" she yelled, but the laughter bubbling up inside her was unstoppable.

"Get in here!" he called, his voice low but full of amusement.

"No, no!" she protested, trying to step back, but he pulled her in anyway. Water splashed around them as she struggled in his grasp, but the sound of her laughter rang out, real and unrestrained, as the cold water soaked through her clothes.

The night had taken a strange turn, and for the first time in hours, Y/N let herself forget everything but the chaos and joy of the moment.

he water rippled around them, and for a few seconds, neither of them moved. Y/N was breathless, laughing as she wiped the water from her face, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin. The soft moonlight made the entire fountain glow, the mist rising up and catching the glow like sparkling dust.

"You think you can escape me?" Eris’s voice broke through the laughter, deep and teasing as he made his way toward her, slow and calculated.

Y/N quickly scrambled to swim away, her feet kicking up water as she tried to gain some distance. "You’re seriously going to make me regret this, aren’t you?" she shot back, splashing water at him playfully.

His rich laugh rang out, filling the empty space with its low, intoxicating sound. "Oh, I plan to, princess. You’re not getting away that easily."

The chase was on. She darted in a half-swim, half-dash towards the edge of the fountain, hoping to pull herself out, but Eris was too quick. He moved with effortless grace, the water barely making a sound as he closed in.

"I think I’m about to get some revenge, hmm?" He called, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"Revenge?" she laughed, her eyes flicking up to the moon, her breath quick as she tried to swim faster. "You should be lucky I’m even letting you play like this."

"Play?" He swam behind her now, his voice a breath in her ear. "You mean, I’m just your entertainment?"

Y/N shot him a mock glare over her shoulder. "You’re lucky I even bother with you."

In that moment, she felt his hands grip her waist, pulling her back toward him with a soft growl. She gasped in surprise, her heart racing from the sheer electricity of his touch. She tried to pull away again, but he was too fast. He spun her around in the water, and before she could even think, his hands found her waist again. "Not so fast," he growled, his voice low and amused.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she fought to get free, but the water only made it harder to gain any ground. She splashed at him in retaliation, sending waves of water over his head. "If you want to play rough, I’m all in," she warned, grinning through the misty spray.

"You should’ve known," Eris muttered with a smirk. "I always play rough."

She let out a squeal of surprise as he yanked her back, his laughter mingling with hers, filling the night air. The water splashed around them, as they moved in a chaotic circle, fighting and splashing, neither one willing to let the other get away.

Y/N found herself nearly slipping, but she caught her balance just as Eris lunged at her again, his hands quick and strong as they grabbed her waist. She was already laughing so hard she could barely breathe. "You’re not going to let me go, are you?" she teased, her voice breathless from laughter.

"You bet your ass I’m not," he shot back, pulling her against him with a force that nearly knocked the air from her lungs.

With a burst of energy, Y/N used her other hand to push him away, her fingers slipping against his wet skin. She twisted her body in the water, trying to make him lose his footing, but Eris was faster. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around, throwing her off balance.

She spluttered, her heart pounding in her chest. "You really are a menace," she grumbled, but she was laughing through the words.

"A menace?" Eris raised an eyebrow, his voice dripping with amusement. "Sweetheart, I’m just having fun."

Before she could respond, he shoved her back into the water, his fingers tickling her sides as she went under, sending a jolt of laughter through her chest. She came up gasping, sputtering out water as she tried to catch her breath, shaking her head in mock annoyance.

"That’s it," she said, grinning widely. "You’re going down."

Y/N lunged for him, hands outstretched, but Eris sidestepped at the last moment, laughing as he danced out of her reach. "Nice try, princess," he teased, his voice deep and confident. "You’re not getting me that easily."

She scowled playfully. "You’re too fast," she muttered, but her eyes were bright with excitement. "Just wait—"

Without warning, she threw herself at him again, but this time she was prepared. As she dove forward, she grabbed him by the shoulders, twisting his body with surprising strength and sending them both tumbling into the fountain’s deeper water.

As Y/N splashed water at him, laughing as Eris wiped his face dramatically, he narrowed his eyes, a playful glint in them.

"Really?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock disbelief. "This is how you want to play? You're playing dirty now."

Y/N smirked, leaning back, her arms crossed. "You started it," she teased. "Besides, you look like you could use a good splash of reality."

"Reality?" Eris snorted, shaking his head in amusement. "I’m already dealing with you—I don’t need any more reality right now."

"Oh, please," she shot back, ducking to avoid his next move. "You're just mad because I’m winning."

His eyes lit up, mischievous and wild. "Oh, I wouldn’t say winning just yet, princess," he quipped, lunging forward to grab her again.

She yelped, barely staying one step ahead. "You think you can catch me? You'll need more than that." She grinned, gliding out of reach again, barely resisting the urge to tease him further.

Eris’s grin widened, a wicked laugh escaping his lips. "Oh, I’ve got all the time in the world to catch you. And when I do, you’ll regret this."

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with challenge. "Bring it on, pretty boy. I’m just getting started."

Water splashed high into the air as they both struggled to regain their footing, but Y/N had managed to trap Eris momentarily, holding him beneath the water for just a second too long. When he finally broke the surface, his hair was dripping, and his face was flushed with the thrill of their fight.

"You think you can drown me?" Eris grinned, water dripping from his lips as he reached for her again.

"No," she said, but before he could grab her, she splashed a massive wave of water right into his face. He recoiled in mock horror, wiping the water away. "I was just trying to cool you off."

Eris chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing. "You’re going to pay for that," he warned, his voice low with amusement, and the playfulness in his gaze was suddenly replaced by something far more intense. He launched himself at her with a burst of speed, knocking her backward into the water once again.

Y/N yelped, but the moment she hit the water, she grabbed his arms and twisted, trying to force him into the fountain’s stone edge. He laughed at her efforts, easily reversing their positions, and before she knew it, he had her pinned against the stone wall of the fountain.

"Now, now," Eris whispered, his breath against her ear as she struggled beneath him. "You’re getting a bit too excited."

She tried to squirm out of his grasp, her hands pushing against his chest. "I’m just trying to keep up," she teased, but she couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up inside her as he didn’t give an inch.

"Oh, I know," Eris said, leaning closer, his lips hovering just above her ear. "But you’re going to have to do more than that if you want to get free."

Y/N laughed again, a light and airy sound. "You know," she started, "you’re lucky I’m having fun. Otherwise, I’d be much more of a problem."

"Ah," Eris said with a slow grin, "so you admit I’m winning?"

Her gaze softened for a moment, and with that soft smile, Y/N tilted her head back and leaned against the stone wall. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting a soft glow around them. For a moment, everything slowed.

"Not quite," she whispered, but before she could react, Eris's hand slid around her waist, pulling her close. Their bodies were pressed against each other, their faces inches apart. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and in that moment, the playful banter slipped away.

Her breath hitched as she stared into his eyes. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. Their bodies were still tangled together in the water, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to make sense of what had shifted between them.

Eris’s fingers tightened on her waist, his breath heavy and slow. There was something in the way he held her, the way his eyes darkened as he stared at her, that made her pulse quicken. She could hear the water dripping from his hair, his chest rising and falling just as quickly as hers. His voice was low when he spoke again, his words barely audible over the sound of the water.

"You’re not going anywhere for now, princess."

Her heart skipped in her chest. "What if I don’t want to?" The words came out in a whisper, but they felt like a challenge.

His lips parted slightly, his gaze lowering to her mouth as his grip tightened around her waist. The playful tension of moments before was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, more magnetic.

"You don’t want to leave," Eris murmured, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place. "But you will, eventually."

Y/N’s heart raced as the electric current between them surged again. Her mind was a whirl of thoughts, but the moment his lips brushed against hers—slow and deliberate—her entire world went quiet.

She should pull away. She should stop this. But her hands, of their own accord, slid up his chest and gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer. This wasn’t just a fight anymore. This wasn’t just water splashing and teasing banter. This was something else entirely.

Eris growled, the sound rumbling in his chest, and before she could second guess herself, his lips were on hers, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that was anything but lighthearted. It was heated, fierce, raw—a kiss that told her everything about what had been building between them.

For a brief moment, she thought about pulling away. Thought about the consequences, about the repercussions.

But all she could feel was him. And that thought was so fleeting, it barely lasted a second.

Then, as his hands moved to her shoulders, pulling her closer, and her own hands tangled in his hair, she realized that whatever this was, she wasn’t stopping it. Not now. Not when every part of her wanted this as much as he did.

And as they pressed together in the water, bodies slick with liquid, she knew that this moment would change everything.

But for now, she didn’t care. Not when his lips were on hers, and his arms were around her, holding her tight, refusing to let go.

This was reckless.

And she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

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Taglist: @lamimamiii @batboyslutt @k-godling @littowl @jaybbygrl @kissesfromnovalie @talesofadragon @tele86 @annamariereads16 @circe143 @yukimaniac @babypeapoddd @darkbloodsly @hauntedstudentobservationus @i-know-i-can @12358 @holb32 @herondale-lightworm

#eris fanfic #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris angst #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar angst #acotar fluff #eris fluff #eris imagine #eris acotar #Spotify

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specialagentartemis · 14 hours ago

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Aro- and Ace-Spectrum Murderbot Diaries headcanons

For the beginning of Aromantic Awareness Week, I thought I’d write out some of my a-spec headcanons for TMBD characters!

—

Murderbot: its opinions on romance and sex range from “I didn’t give a shit about [it]” to “No!” to “No, no thank you, no. No.” This one’s not a headcanon these are all direct quotes haha.

ART: Because of its limited socialization and its only very recent introduction to deeply feeling the things depicted when watching media, I have a hard time imagining ART conceptualizing romance as something it would want or has any reason to want. Its articulation of closeness, commitment, devotion, and duty is crew. I think upon meeting Murderbot, it kind of got friendship for the first time. But Murderbot is also very much part of crew now as well. I don’t see it feeling the need to add romance to that emotional-relationship framework. It’s adventurous with experiences, though, especially with things it might consider gaps in its knowledge; it may be willing to try certain types of intimacy, experience, or sensation out of curiosity.

Three: Still very new to the freedom to name and articulate its feelings and desires, let alone take initiative to act on them when they involve other people. It had a weird and unique kind of closeness with its squadmates: you’re the only one I can trust. We can’t ever trust each other. You understand me. We aren’t allowed to talk about it. Our communications are closely monitored and limited. We know what the limits are and how to express ourselves within them. I care about you. I want you to be safe. Three wouldn’t call it romance but wouldn’t know what to call it at all besides squadmates. If Three identified as anything it would be quoiromantic, quoisexual, quoi-everything: how can it fit its experiences into a framework of sexuality and romanticism.

Ratthi: Aromantic allosexual with a strong belief in relationship anarchy. Takes the viewpoint of, every one of his relationships is different because every person is different! Hierarchizing them or categorizing them is kind of beside the point! Every relationship, family or friend or colleague or coauthor or person he knows from board game night or sexual partner, is something special. Though the most important people in his life include his best friends Arada and Overse, and they consider each other family.

Gurathin: Aromantic asexual. Limited social energy. Spends a lot of time quiet and alone and likes it that way. A few strong friendships, a few work friends, a few scientific colleagues, a cat.

Pin-Lee: Gray-aroace. Romance, dating, or sex is not a particular priority she wants to spend time pursuing, and she gets an uncomfortable stomach-churning feeling if she feels like she’s being expected to tie herself down to a relationship too fast. There’s a lot about her work and her goals and her life she’s not willing to compromise on. If her friendship with Bharadwaj or Mensah became something more squishy and boundary-blending, she wouldn’t be opposed, but she won’t actively pursue it either.

Arada: Demisexual lesbian. Ideal family household is her wife and her best friend.

Volescu: Aromantic heterosexual. The aro allo het man that tumblr warned you about~ Devoted father and husband. Comes from a culture where marriage and romantic desire are a venn diagram of optional overlap more so than a necessary expectation. (This dovetails with my Divarti political refugee backstory headcanon because as you may have noticed I am going full My City Now at this point)

#The Murderbot Diaries #headcanons

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clarisse0o · 14 hours ago

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The Mayor - Chapter 56

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 2000

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Sitting at the table in Lucy’s spacious open-plan kitchen, with a plate of risotto in front of me, I listened absentmindedly to the conversation. Hugo was negotiating with his mother about an upcoming ski trip with his friends, presenting an impressively persuasive argument to win Lucy over, which amused me.

"Have you considered becoming a lawyer one day?" I remarked.

He smiled at my comment, while his brother Jules, seated across from me, shot me one of his trademark icy glares.

It had been five months since Lucy broke the news to the twins, not long after we had discussed it. I had been impressed by her courage to address it so quickly. Of course, it was a complicated transition. While the boys had known their parents were divorcing for some time, learning that their mother was in a relationship with another person—especially a woman—was something entirely different.

As I had warned Lucy, one could never predict individual reactions. Hugo had been shocked but adapted relatively quickly once the initial surprise wore off. Jules, on the other hand, had a much harsher reaction, vehemently opposing the relationship. He yelled at Lucy, asking how she could do this to him, accusing her of being the "worst mother," and declaring that he never wanted to see me again—“that pathetic girl who has completely derailed your sense of reason!” he called me. He even threatened never to speak to her again if she continued seeing me. This was the same Jules who had once spent weeks with me during an internship and adored me.

Saying that Lucy returned devastated to my apartment would be an understatement. My arms and comforting words consoled her over the following days. Despite everything, she never faltered or doubted our relationship, which was a tremendous relief for me. Over time, things improved, although "improved" was still a relative term. Lucy’s ex-husband, Paul, had stepped in as a mediator, managing to ease the tension with Jules to some degree. Lucy had told Paul first, before the twins. Their marriage had been platonic for years, so he took the news without issue, hardly surprised, as he had noticed her behavior when she talked about me or worked alongside me. I was thrilled by this revelation and loved teasing her about it.

The boys now alternated weekly between staying with their mother and father. I alternated too, splitting my time between Lucy’s house and my own apartment. At 35, I was experiencing the joys of shared living arrangements.

For four months, Jules had outright refused to see me, and I respected his wishes. Recently, he had begrudgingly allowed me to join them for occasional dinners. Even so, the atmosphere was strained by Jules' toxic moods. I did my best to be kind and understanding, ignoring his sharp remarks when he wasn’t completely ignoring me: "It won’t last," "I hate you," "What have you done to my mother," and so on. I had tried to open a dialogue with him multiple times, but he remained unapproachable. Lucy walked a fine line between reprimanding him and trying to remain empathetic and attentive. She was walking on eggshells.

"Composing" was the word that best described my life at the moment. Composing with Jules, the living arrangement, not being able to live with Lucy, and the many challenges. Still, the love I felt helped me stay positive, even when the situation took a toll on me.

Lucy’s voice cut through my thoughts.

"Okay, Hugo, you can go! But let me warn you: you’re not leaving the house this weekend—you’re studying for your mock exams!"

Hugo grinned broadly, clearly pleased with his mother’s answer. Jules chimed in:

"Hey! Don’t forget we’re going to the Christmas market opening tomorrow with you, Mom!"

Indeed, Lucy was set to inaugurate the large Christmas market the next evening, Friday. The event was a town highlight with music, mulled wine, and festive dishes.

"Don’t worry; I haven’t forgotten, considering how much energy it’s taken to organize it!" Lucy replied with a wink.

"Are you coming with us, Ona?" Hugo asked kindly from his seat to my right.

Jules immediately jumped in.

"There’s no way she’s coming! If she comes, I won’t!"

His glare was sharp as ever. What a brat, I thought to myself, holding his gaze in silence. Lucy sighed, exasperated, addressing her son:

"Lower your voice, now! And stop saying 'she'—Ona is right in front of you. Show some respect, Jules!"

"Oh, please, she’s already imposing at dinner; that’s enough! I don’t want her there!"

"God, Jules, give it a rest! You’re killing the mood!" Hugo interjected, clearly fed up.

I decided to speak, my tone unusually firm.

"Don’t worry, Jules. I wasn’t planning on coming with you anyway. I have no interest in ruining my Friday night dealing with your attitude!"

For the first time, I addressed him sharply. He blinked, visibly taken aback. I had always been gentle with him. That night, though, I was just tired—of work, of this situation, of Jules. Tonight wasn’t the night to push me. Lucy seemed startled by my reaction, unsure of how to respond. Thankfully, the house phone rang at that moment. Jules used the opportunity to slip away, heading to the phone.

"Saved by the bell," I muttered, grabbing the fruit basket.

Hugo quickly lightened the mood with one of his stories. Jules eventually returned, explaining that he needed to visit a neighbor to retrieve his agenda.

Later, as we cleared the table, Hugo leaned in and whispered:

"You can come with us, you know."

I smiled at him. He was genuinely sweet.

"Thank you, Hugo, that’s very kind of you. But I’ve already made plans to go with my friend Alexia."

In truth, I hadn’t considered attending with Lucy this year, regretfully. There was Jules to consider, and Lucy was going in her role as mayor. I couldn’t imagine being by her side amidst the crowds, journalists, and local dignitaries.

After the dishes were done, I stepped outside for a cigarette. Lucy soon joined me.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"I’m fine," I replied, my tone weary. She raised her eyebrows.

"Are you sure?"

"Just tired today, Lucy," I admitted.

"I could tell, with how you reacted. But look, it’s getting better... we’re all at the same table," she said, brushing my cheek tenderly.

"Yes, a victory! Maybe in a year, you can touch my cheek without looking over your shoulder, and who knows, in ten years, we might even live together!" I quipped sarcastically.

Lucy bit her lip, lowering her gaze, clearly hurt by my comment.

"What do you want me to do? How should I handle this? If I push too hard, he’ll shut down completely."

I shrugged. "He’s playing this situation perfectly, either way. I’m just on edge tonight; it’ll be fine," I said, trying to reassure her.

"Do you want me to come over tonight?" she asked.

Lucy often snuck away to my place for the night during the weeks the boys were with her, returning early in the morning. Breakfasts with the step-sons weren’t on the table yet.

"No, I have a ton of work," I replied truthfully. She pouted.

Her phone rang again—of course, it was one of those nights. She frowned.

"I need to take this—it’s about tomorrow. I’ll be back soon!" She kissed me quickly before heading inside.

I stayed outside for a while, lost in thought under the stars, until I heard footsteps. Jules was returning from his errand, walking past me without a glance, pretending I didn’t exist. I shook my head.

"What a shame it’s come to this," I murmured.

“What?” he threw at me offhandedly.

“Jules! I’m the same person you talked to, laughed with, for weeks during your internship!”

My tone was sharp and energetic.

“Yes, but since then, you slept with my mother!”

He aimed to throw me off balance with his brazen words.

“Classy, Jules. I expected better from you! Stop acting like a little Twat !”

Once again, my unusually direct tone caught him off guard.

“Oh, so now I’m a little twat ? Mom’s going to love hearing that!”

I sighed deeply.

“I’ve really tried everything with you, Jules—compassion, kindness. I get it, none of this is easy. But I am not your enemy, Jules, and you’re pushing me to my limits…”

He rolled his eyes, a nasty smirk playing on his lips.

I stepped closer, leaving barely any space between us.

“Listen to me carefully; I’ll only say this once, so it gets etched into your stubborn little head. Your behavior is ruining our lives. I know you’re smart enough to see it. You might be fine with wrecking mine—I guess that even gives you some satisfaction. But have you thought about your mom? Just for a second? About how your selfish attitude affects her? I love her, Jules. And understand this: nothing you do, no amount of your bratty behavior, will make me give up on her. Nothing. So go ahead, exhaust yourself trying to make all our lives miserable if that’s what entertains you!”

I never broke eye contact, delivering my words calmly but with firmness, cutting through like a knife.

He didn’t reply. Not a single word.

I turned on my heel and walked inside, closing the door behind me. I listened as he stomped away into the garden. I sighed again. I knew I’d gone far, but it was necessary. That was the breaking point.

I knew this kid; his behavior turned my stomach inside out.

I found Lucy in the living room, finishing up a phone call.

“I’m sorry, I need to rush to the prefecture—some urgent issue about tomorrow’s security! Honestly, they’re exhausting me!” she said, exasperated.

I didn’t want to bring up what had just happened with Jules. She was in a hurry, and it wasn’t the time to tell her I’d called her son a brat.

“I was just about to head out too!”

“See you tomorrow?” she asked as she grabbed her bag.

“Yes, we’ll see each other tomorrow,” I replied quickly before adding with a teasing smile, “I know how it is—Madame Mayor amidst her constituents and journalists for the Christmas market inauguration…”

She pulled me close, pushing me into a dimly lit back room, and kissed me deeply. My body warmed instantly from her touch, her lips, her tongue. She rested her forehead against mine, her blue eyes locked on me, and whispered a tender “I love you…”

I kissed her back, murmuring the same words into her ear before breaking away from her embrace.

She caught my hand as I started to leave. “We’ll get through this…”

“We’ll get through this…”

It was something we told each other often, words that gave us strength.

As I headed to my car, I noticed Jules sitting in the far corner of the garden. I wondered what state he was in and what he might tell Lucy after our confrontation.

#woso #lucy bronze #woso community #ona batlle #barca femeni #woso soccer #lionesses #sefutbol fem #ona batlle x lucy bronze

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gardenladysworld · 14 hours ago

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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 17: To worship (NSFW)

First of all, I want to apologize for making this part so long. I don't know why I'm doing this. :') So this part is set in the past, from Neteyam's perspective and how he experienced the past three years. The present, from which we count back, would be the first part of this fanfic, 'To belong'. This story has 2 volume because it is so long. :')

Part 18: vol 1.: To remember

(2 years and 9 months ago)

Neteyam had prayed for guidance. Months ago.

Under the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Souls, with the whispers of Eywa surrounding him, with the tsaheylu he had knelt and asked for wisdom. For strength. For a path that would make him the leader his father wanted him to be. He had thought of his people, of the weight of responsibility that would one day rest on his shoulders.

And then, you arrived. A human. Small and fragile. Out of place.

Neteyam exhaled sharply, watching from a distance as you stepped into the village again, trailing behind the other scientists. You were speaking with Kiri, your voice animated, your eyes bright with curiosity. Always asking, always looking at everything as if it was the first time. It made something inside him twist—something he didn’t want to name.

You have been here before. Several times now. At first, it was just the introductions, the formalities of trust. But you kept coming back with the scientists. With your wide, searching eyes and your endless questions.

It should not have bothered him. But it did. Because you weren’t supposed to belong here. And yet, somehow, you were starting to.

Neteyam turned away, his jaw tightening as he adjusted the bow slung over his back. He had more important things to do than stand around watching you try to pronounce Lo’ak’s name properly.

“You are angry again,” Kiri’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned his head slightly, realizing too late that she had noticed him watching.

“I am not angry.”

“You are,” she said, unconvinced. “Your tail is moving like you are about to fight something.”

Neteyam exhaled through his nose and forced his tail to still. “She shouldn’t be here.”

Kiri crossed her arms, her ears twitching. “She is trying.”

“She wouldn’t understand,” he shot back, lowering his voice so no one else would hear. “She never will. She is—” He cut himself off before he could say the words lingering on his tongue.

Human. Fragile. Useless.

But the truth was, he had seen your hands stained with dirt from examining plants, had watched you write furiously in your notes, had overheard you arguing with Norm about something scientific that he barely understood. You were not useless, at least not in the way he wanted to believe. Kiri hummed, a knowing glint in her eyes. “You act like you do not care, but I see the way you look at her.”

Neteyam’s ears flattened, a flicker of something sharp curling in his chest. “I do not look at her.”

Kiri only smiled. He hated that smile. It meant she knew something he didn’t want her to know. Before he could respond, a familiar voice reached him.

“Neteyam.”

His shoulders tensed. He knew that voice. Too well.

When he turned, you were standing there, your exo-mask reflecting the light. You were looking up at him, those bright eyes full of something he could not name. For a moment, he only stared at you. You had a way of looking at people—not just at them, but through them. As if you could see past the layers of expectation and duty, past the role he played, straight into the parts of himself he kept hidden.

And that unsettled him more than anything else.

“I—” You hesitated, shifting on your feet. “I had a question about the ikrans. If you have time.”

A question. Of course. You always had questions.

His fingers curled into a fist at his side. He did not know why it frustrated him so much. Maybe it was the fact that you would never understand, no matter how many times you asked. Or maybe it was that you would leave one day, and none of this would matter.

“Ask someone else,” he said, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. You blinked, startled by his coldness.

Kiri sighed beside him, muttering something under her breath before shaking her head and walking off. Neteyam turned away, ready to do the same.

“Wait.”

Your voice was quiet, but something in it made him pause. When he looked at you again, there was no frustration in your gaze. No irritation. Only that same quiet patience. That same quiet understanding. As if you saw the anger and the confusion swirling inside him—and chose not to fear it.

He hated that. He hated that you looked at him like that. Because it made him feel like you saw him. Not as his father’s son. Not as the perfect warrior. Just him.

(2 years and 7 months ago)

You were following him again.

Neteyam could feel your presence at his back, light steps crunching softly against the dirt path as you trailed behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know you were staring, your wide, inquisitive eyes scanning everything—the village, the people, him. It has become a habit.

He didn’t remember when he stopped avoiding you. Maybe it was that moment in the family kelku, when your small, strange hand had pressed against his, your fingers tracing the curve of his stripes like they were something worth studying. Like he was something worth studying.

He had been frozen then, caught between the instinct to pull away and the strange warmth your touch left behind. That moment had shifted something. Now, when you were in the village, you drifted toward him more than the others. And he let you. He had told himself, at first, that it was because you were persistent. That you asked too many questions, that you would only find someone else to bother if he pushed you away. But the truth was, he had stopped minding. And that was dangerous.

Because he had once resented your presence. Had once thought you a disruption to the path Eywa had set before him. But now? Now, he found himself answering your questions. Even the ones that had no answers.

“What does it feel like?” you asked, voice quiet beside him.

They were near the edge of the village, past the woven homes and hanging bridges, where the land sloped downward toward the trees. He had been tending to his weapons when you had found him, lingering nearby, waiting. He knew better than to think you would stay silent for long. He glanced at you, raising a brow. “What does what feel like?”

Your gaze flickered to the distant trees where the ikrans nested. “Riding.”

Neteyam huffed, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to his bow. “There are no words for it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He smirked despite himself, pulling the bowstring back to test the tension. “Maybe not. But it is true.”

You sighed, dropping down onto a rock beside him. “You always say that when I ask something you don’t want to answer.”

That wasn’t true. Was it? His hands stilled for a moment. Perhaps it was. Because sometimes you asked things that had no explanation.

Like how he knew where to step in the trees without looking.

Like how he could feel the presence of another without seeing them.

Like how he could sense the forest breathing, living, shifting all around him.

You wanted to understand, even the things that had no words. Because humans did not see the world the way he did. But you were trying. And it was getting harder to pretend he didn’t notice. Neteyam exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting toward the trees in the distance. “It is like... becoming part of something greater than yourself,” he said, voice quieter than before. “Like hearing a song for the first time and somehow knowing the words.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. But when he glanced at you, you weren’t laughing. You were just watching him, your expression unreadable. For a moment, you looked like you wanted to say something. But instead, you only nodded, your fingers curling around the fabric of your pants.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. And that was the most dangerous part of all. Because he had never thought he would find comfort in a human’s presence. But when you were there—just there—he did.

(2 years and 5 months ago)

Neteyam exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as he listened to the forest breathe around him.

Patrolling gave him space to think. Away from the village, away from responsibilities, away from the weight of what he was supposed to become. Out here, he was just himself—feet light against the damp earth, bow in hand, senses attuned to the quiet rhythm of the wild. Which was why the sound of human voices in this part of the forest made him freeze.

His ears twitched, catching the faint hum of conversation ahead. Carefully, he moved through the foliage, his body instinctively blending into the shadows of the trees. He didn’t expect to find humans here—not this deep, not where the paths faded into untamed land. But there they were. The xenobotany team. His eyes scanned the group, noting their gear, their careful movements. And then—his shoulders tensed.

You were here. You were crouched near a cluster of plants, your exo-mask reflecting dappled light as you scribbled something into a notebook. Your hair had come loose from its usual tie, strands falling across your face as you concentrated. Neteyam frowned. You weren’t supposed to be this far into the forest. “What are you doing here?”

You startled at the sound of his voice, head snapping up. But the moment you saw him, your expression shifted from surprise to something brighter. “Neteyam!”

Your happiness at seeing him was immediate, unguarded. His ears flicked at the sound of his name on your lips, and he ignored the strange warmth that stirred in his chest. He crossed his arms. “It is not safe here.”

You blinked at him before glancing around. “We’re fine,” you said, pointing toward the soldiers stationed a few feet away, their guns slung over their shoulders. “We have protection.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. Sky People and their weapons. They relied too much on them, thinking they could control what they didn’t understand. A gun would not stop the forest from turning against them if it wanted to.

You must have noticed his disapproval because you quickly added, “I’m just helping the others record data. I’m not doing anything dangerous.”

He huffed, his tail flicking. “Being here is dangerous enough.”

You only smiled at that, completely unfazed. Then, as if the entire conversation had already shifted in your mind, you said, “Oh! I want to show you something.”

Before he could respond, you were reaching into the bag slung across your body, pulling out a small, weathered notebook. Neteyam watched, curiosity outweighing his irritation, as you flipped through the pages. The sight of your notes was familiar now—sketches of plants, markings of their Na’vi names, careful observations in a language he was starting to recognize as yours.

Then you stopped on a page and turned it toward him. His breath caught.

An atokirina. It was drawn in careful, deliberate strokes, its delicate tendrils captured with a reverence that surprised him.

“I saw one earlier,” you said softly. “Just for a moment. It landed near me before it floated away.” Neteyam stared at the drawing, at the way you had tried to capture something so sacred with only ink and paper. Deep down, he knew what it meant. A woodsprite did not appear without reason.

Eywa’s presence. A sign. A message. But what was Eywa trying to tell you?

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you were watching him, waiting. Expecting... something. He didn’t know what to say. So he only nodded. “You saw something rare,” he murmured. Your smile widened, pleased, and you carefully tucked the notebook away.

Neteyam exhaled, glancing toward the trees. The weight in his chest had not disappeared. If anything, it had grown heavier. Because the longer you stayed in his world, the harder it became to believe you weren’t meant to be here.

(2 years and 3 months ago)

Neteyam had lost count of how many times you had followed him now. It had started months ago—you're trailing behind him, asking endless questions, always looking up at him with those wide, curious eyes. At first, he had tolerated it. Then, somehow, without realizing when it happened, he had come to expect it. And now? Now, he didn’t know how to go without it.

He had noticed the moment you left Kiri’s side earlier. He hadn’t turned to look, hadn’t acknowledged your approach, but he had known. He always knew. You were behind him now, weaving through the village paths with light, eager steps. You had no hesitation anymore, no uncertainty in the way you moved through this world. Not like before.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

Neteyam exhaled through his nose, adjusting the strap of his bow across his chest. “I am going to check the training area.”

You hummed. “Then I guess I am, too.”

He shook his head, but the corner of his lips twitched. He had given up on telling you to go somewhere else. You never listened. A moment of quiet passed between you, only the sounds of the village filling the space. He expected your usual questions—about the Na’vi, the village, Pandora itself. But instead, your voice came softer. More thoughtful.

“What is your favorite time of day?”

Neteyam slowed his steps just slightly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “What?”

You tilted your head, repeating, “Your favorite time of day. Morning, afternoon, night?”

No one had ever asked him that before. He hesitated, considering. “Dawn,” he said finally. “Before the village wakes. When the sky is still dark, but the world is awake.”

You smiled, as if pleased by his answer. “That makes sense.”

He frowned. “Why?”

You shrugged. “You’re always the first to wake up, right? And you like quiet. You get to have a moment just for yourself.”

Neteyam blinked. You weren’t wrong. You tilted your head, watching him. “Okay, next one.”

His ears twitched, and he huffed. “How many of these questions do you have?”

“As many as you let me ask.” His tail flicked, but he didn’t stop you. “You never go where the others go.” Your voice was light, thoughtful. Neteyam glanced over his shoulder. You were a step behind him, your head tilted in curiosity.

“I do not need to be where they are,” he said simply.

You hummed as if considering that. “You like being alone?”

He thought about it for a moment. “I like the quiet.”

Your lips quirked up slightly. “Then why do you let me follow you?”

Neteyam exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Because you do not listen when I tell you to leave.”

You grinned, not at all deterred. “That’s not an answer.”

He glanced at you again. Your eyes were bright, expectant. He sighed. “You are… not loud.”

It was a weak answer, but you seemed pleased with it anyway. You walked in silence for a while, the forest stretching endlessly around you. It was peaceful. Easy. Then, after a few moments— “What is your favorite fruit?”

Neteyam blinked. “What?”

You repeated the question, tilting your head. “You know, your favorite. The one you always go for first.”

He frowned slightly. “…Tumpasuk,” he admitted after a pause. “When it is ripe.”

You nodded, filing the information away in that strange mind of yours. “And your ikran? What’s her name?”

He hesitated, but only for a moment. “Tawkami.”

You smiled, rolling the name over your tongue like you were testing it. “That suits her.”

Another pause.

“What’s something you’re bad at?”

Neteyam let out a short laugh. “Nothing.”

You snorted. “That’s a lie.”

His smirk deepened. “I am not bad at anything important.”

“Oh? So you’re bad at unimportant things?”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “That is not what I said.”

You grinned. “Still. I want to know.”

He rolled his eyes, but for some reason, he thought about it. Then, reluctantly, he muttered, “I am bad at carving.”

Your brows lifted. “Really?”

“My father is good at it,” he admitted, glancing ahead. “So is Lo’ak. But when I try, the lines are never right. The wood does not listen to me.” You let out a soft hum, like you were committing that to memory. He knew you were. It should have been irritating.

It wasn’t. You asked him more.

What’s your favorite food?

Who was your first ikran ride with?

When was the last time you did something just for yourself?

And then—

“When are you happiest?” Neteyam’s steps faltered. He didn’t answer right away. You didn’t press him. You just walked beside him, looking at him the same way you always did—like you saw him, not the warrior, not the perfect son.

Just him. He inhaled, glancing toward the sky, toward the place where the clouds drifted endlessly. And he thought—

Now.

He did not say it. He found himself smiling. Just a little.

But you tripped over a root a second later, barely catching yourself before you fell. Neteyam huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reached out to steady you. “Pay attention, tawtute.”

You looked up at him, laughing at yourself, and that strange warmth returned to his chest. This. This was why he let you stay. Being with you was beginning to feel like riding his ikran. Like freedom.

When he flew, when he was in the sky, nothing else mattered. Not his duty, not his expectations, not the weight of being his father’s son. Up there, he could breathe. And somehow, you made him feel the same. Even just for a moment.

(2 years and 1 months ago)

Neteyam glanced back over his shoulder, ears twitching as he listened to your exaggerated huff. “This path is ridiculous,” you grumbled, pushing aside a thick vine. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

He smirked but didn’t slow his pace. “You ask that every time.”

“And yet, every time, the answer is never reassuring.”

Despite your complaints, you followed him without hesitation, your smaller frame weaving through the dense foliage, careful but determined. You had seen this plant on your datapad days ago, its image glowing on the screen as you turned it toward him, eyes bright with interest. He had recognized it immediately and, without thinking, had told you he could show you the real thing.

Now, here you were, deep in the forest where even most of the other scientists rarely ventured. He should have questioned why he had offered in the first place, but he didn’t want to think about that. Finally, the trees thinned, revealing the pond ahead.

You gasped.

Neteyam watched as you stepped past him, your boots sinking slightly into the damp earth as you took in the sight before you. The water was a perfect mirror, reflecting the vibrant greens and soft purples of the forest canopy. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, catching on the surface and making the ripples shimmer like liquid gold.

But he knew you weren’t looking at the water. You were looking at the flower.

The Toktorayl floated atop the pond, its petals wide and soft, pulsing gently with a bioluminescent glow even in the daylight. Its roots swayed just beneath the water’s surface, moving with the current as though it were breathing. Your eyes were wide, filled with unguarded awe. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Neteyam felt a strange tug in his chest. He turned away before he could dwell on it, stepping toward a huge fallen tree trunk near the water’s edge. He sat down, letting his legs stretch out until his feet touched the cool surface of the pond. But his gaze drifted back to you.

You knelt at the edge of the pond, your fingers hovering just above the water as if you wished you could touch the flower but knew better than to disturb it. The filtered sunlight cast a warm glow over you, illuminating the curve of your cheek, the slope of your nose. Your skin look softer in this light. Almost golden.

His eyes traced the way strands of your hair had slipped loose from your usual tie, catching the sunlight like fine threads. The gentle rise and fall of your breath. The way your mask reflected the water’s glow, but not enough to hide the brightness of your eyes. You were always looking at the world as if it was something to be discovered.

And for the first time, Neteyam found himself looking at you the same way. The thought made his stomach twist. He forced his gaze away, back to the water, to the ripples spreading from his submerged feet. It was strange. How much he noticed. How much he wanted to notice.

You sighed as you climbed onto the fallen tree trunk too, gripping the rough bark for balance. It was wide enough to sit comfortably, but not so much that there was room to stretch out. Neteyam glanced at you from the corner of his eye as you settled beside him. Your legs, far too short to reach the water, dangled over the edge. After a moment, you kicked them lightly, the motion almost absentminded.

A slow smirk pulled at his lips. “You are like Tuk,” he said, voice laced with amusement.

You shot him a look. “What?”

“When she sits like this, she does the same thing.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Well, sorry for having short legs.”

His smirk widened, tail flicking. “Not your fault you are so small.”

“Not my fault you’re unnaturally tall,” you shot back, bumping his arm lightly with your elbow. He chuckled, shaking his head. Silence stretched between you, but it was not uncomfortable. It never was.

He had learned this over the past months—how easy it was to exist beside you. You didn’t fill the quiet with unnecessary words, didn’t demand things from him the way others did. Instead, you just were. And somehow, he had come to crave that. Still, the ease of it sometimes unsettled him. He didn’t understand why you were here, why you followed him when you could be anywhere else. With someone else.

Why did he let you?

Sometimes, that invisible pull between you—the one neither of you ever spoke about—frustrated him. With a slow inhale, he leaned back on his arms, letting his face tilt toward the dappled sunlight above. His legs remained submerged in the cool water, a contrast to the warmth spreading over his skin.

For a moment, he allowed himself to just be.

The sounds of the forest surrounded you—the distant calls of ikran overhead, the rustling of leaves as small creatures moved through the undergrowth, the soft lapping of water against the trunk. His ears flicked instinctively toward every sound. His tail swayed in a slow, lazy rhythm behind him.

And then— He felt it. Your gaze. Steady. Intent.

It wasn’t the kind of look he got from others—people who measured him as the future olo’eyktan, as Jake Sully’s eldest son. It was different. Like you were seeing something else entirely. He kept his eyes closed, trying to ignore the warmth curling in his chest. But the longer you looked, the harder it became to pretend he didn’t feel it.

Neteyam kept his eyes closed, letting the warmth of the sun soak into his skin. He should have ignored it—the weight of your gaze, the way it lingered. But he didn’t.

Instead, he cracked one eye open, just enough to catch the way you were watching him. Your head was tilted slightly, eyes following the slow sway of his tail, the flick of his ears. You weren’t just looking at him—you were studying him. He let the silence stretch for another breath before speaking, his voice low and amused. “Why are you staring at me?”

You startled, your whole body tensing as if you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Your gaze snapped away, cheeks flushing slightly as you turned toward the water. “How did you know?” you mumbled, barely audible.

His ears flicked lazily. “I always know.”

You huffed, curling in on yourself slightly, clearly flustered. For a while, you said nothing. You just watched the pond, your fingers idly tracing patterns on the bark of the trunk. The water reflected the sunlight in rippling waves, golden flecks dancing across the surface. Every so often, some kind of Pandoran fish leapt into the air, sending small ripples outward before disappearing again.

Neteyam stayed quiet, listening to the rhythm of your breath, the steady beat of the forest around you. Then, finally—

“I was just thinking.” Your voice was soft, contemplative.

Neteyam turned his head slightly, studying your profile. He didn’t ask what you were thinking about. Something in your tone told him that, if you wanted to say more, you would. So, he just nodded, exhaling slowly, and let the quiet settle between you again. For a while, you didn’t speak.

You just watched the forest, eyes tracing the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy, the way the leaves swayed in the gentle breeze. The world around you moved in quiet harmony—creatures shifting in the undergrowth, birds flitting from branch to branch, the water lapping softly against the shore. Neteyam let his eyes drift closed again, letting himself sink into the moment.

“Did you ever think that your life could be different?”

Your voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if you weren’t sure you should ask.

Neteyam’s eyes opened slowly. His first instinct was to brush it off. Of course not. His path had always been clear. He was Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan—firstborn son of Toruk Makto, future olo’eyktan of the Omaticaya. His life was not something to be questioned. It simply was. But the words wouldn’t come. Because maybe—just maybe—he had thought about it.

In the quiet moments. In the rare spaces where he wasn’t just a warrior, a leader in training. In the stolen pockets of time where he was simply himself. Like now. Like when you were beside him.

He turned his head slightly, studying your expression. You weren’t looking at him—your gaze was still on the forest, your hands resting lightly on the bark beneath you. But there was something in your posture, in the way you asked, that made him wonder if you had been thinking about it, too.

His tail flicked, slow and thoughtful, as he considered his words. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure what to say. Neteyam exhaled slowly, watching the ripples in the pond as he considered his answer. Did he ever think about his life being different?

The truth sat heavy in his chest, unspoken for so long that it almost felt strange to acknowledge it now. But you were waiting, patient as always, asking him questions no one else ever did. Finally, he spoke. “I do not know,” he admitted, voice quiet. “Sometimes, maybe.”

You hummed in reply, a soft, thoughtful sound. You didn’t press, didn’t demand more. You just let his words settle between you, accepting them as they were. Your feet kicked lightly in the air, a slow, absentminded movement. You still weren’t looking at him, your gaze lost somewhere in the shifting greens and golds of the forest.

“What was your childhood like?”

Neteyam blinked. His ears twitched at the unexpected question, and for a moment, he was caught off guard. Most people asked about his training. About the responsibilities placed upon him. But you weren’t asking about that Neteyam. You were asking about him.

The boy before the warrior. Before the expectations. His throat tightened slightly. You wanted to know him. Neteyam stared at the water. His childhood.

He had never thought much about it—not in the way you were asking. His memories were not separate pieces but a path leading to where he was now. Training. Responsibility. Becoming the warrior his father needed him to be. But there were other memories, too.

Ones that weren’t about duty. Ones he hadn’t spoken aloud in a long time. “I was… happy,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “At least, I think I was.”

You turned slightly but still didn’t look at him, letting him speak at his own pace. “I grew up with my siblings always at my side. Lo’ak was always causing trouble. I had to pull him out of it, even when we were little.” A soft chuckle escaped him. “Kiri was different—quieter but bold. She saw the world in a way no one else did. Tuk… Tuk was just Tuk. She made everything brighter. She is like sunlight.”

He paused, his tail flicking lightly against the log.

“I remember climbing the trees before I was supposed to. My father would scold me, but my mother always said I was just like him. I remember the first time I caught a fish with my hands—I thought I was ready to be a great hunter. But when I tried to show my father, it slipped away. He trained me from the moment I could hold a bow. And she made sure I knew what it meant to be Omaticaya. To be a son of this clan.”

You laughed softly, and he found himself smiling at the memory. For a moment, he forgot to guard his words. “I used to think I had all the time in the world. That I could just… be.” His smile faded slightly. “But things changed. They always do.”

You finally turned to look at him then. And when you did, you were smiling. Not out of amusement or politeness, but something softer. Something real. Like you saw the honesty in his words and valued it. And somehow, that was enough to make the weight in his chest feel just a little lighter. He cleared his throat and looked away.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, the distant call of a bird overhead. Then, you spoke. “I had a good childhood too,” you said, your voice quieter now, thoughtful. “Even though Earth was—” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Even though it was dying.”

Neteyam’s brows furrowed slightly, and he turned his head to look at you again. You were still staring at the pond, at the way the sunlight flickered across its surface. “It was different,” you continued. “Everything was different. The sky was dull, the air was heavy.” You gestured vaguely toward the water before you. “Nothing was untouched. The world was… dead.”

Neteyam listened, unmoving. He had heard about Earth before. From his father, from Norm, from the others who had come from there. But hearing you say it, hearing the distant nostalgia in your voice—it was different. You took a slow breath.

“But I was happy.”

His ears twitched. You looked at him now, your lips curling into a small, wistful smile.

“It was home.”

Neteyam’s fingers flexed slightly against the bark. And for the first time, he realized something. He knew who you were on Pandora. He knew your voice when you laughed, the way your eyes lit up when you discovered something new. He knew how stubborn you were, how you followed him even when he pretended not to want you to. He knew you were kind, curious, fearless in ways most humans weren’t. But he didn’t know your past. Didn’t know what you had left behind. Didn’t know what had shaped you before you ever stepped foot on this moon. And for some reason suddenly, he wanted to know.

Neteyam studied you for a long moment. You had told him you were happy on Earth. But how could that be? From everything he had heard, your home was nothing like this—no forests, no sky untouched by human hands, no true connection to the world around you. How could anyone be happy in a place like that? Before he could stop himself, the question was already leaving his lips. “What was your life like?”

You turned your head sharply, eyes widening in surprise. He could see the hesitation flicker across your face, like you hadn’t expected him to ask. Like maybe no one ever had. But then, after a pause, you smiled. “My life?” you echoed, glancing back toward the water. “It was… different.”

Neteyam leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees as he waited for you to continue. You exhaled, as if sifting through old memories.

“My parents were good people. Busy, but good. They worked a lot, so I had a lot of freedom growing up. Maybe too much.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I was reckless. Always getting into trouble. Climbing things I shouldn’t, sneaking into places I wasn’t supposed to be.”

Neteyam huffed softly at that. “Sounds familiar.”

You grinned but didn’t deny it. Then, your expression softened. “But my favorite memories were with my brother.”

His ears twitched slightly at the shift in your voice.

“We used to sneak onto rooftops at night,” you continued, tilting your head as if you could still see those distant nights in your mind. “The sky was always this dull, greyish color—too much pollution. You couldn’t see the stars. But we used to lie there and imagine what it would look like if the sky was clear. If we could see the stars the way they were meant to be seen.”

Neteyam felt something strange twist in his chest. You had grown up beneath a sky without stars. Without the forest. Without the breath of a world that lived the way Pandora did. And yet, you had dreamed of it. “I used to wish,” you said, voice quiet now, “just once, that I could see a real forest. Not the artificial ones in the zoos or on screens. A real one. Something untouched.”

You laughed then, shaking your head. “I never thought I’d have to leave everything behind just to see it.” Neteyam didn’t know what to say.

You had left your home, your family, everything you knew. And yet, when you looked around, when you marveled at this world, you never seemed bitter about it. You had found what you were searching for.

And for the first time, Neteyam wondered if maybe—just maybe—Eywa had brought you here for a reason.

“Is it difficult to meet your father’s expectations?” Neteyam’s breath caught, just for a moment. His gaze shifted to you, searching your face. Your voice had been soft, careful, like you knew you were treading into something heavy. Something personal.

He turned away, staring down at the water instead. You had asked so many things today, but this… this was different. For a long time, he didn’t answer. He watched as the ripples in the pond smoothed out, as the faint reflection of the trees above shifted with the wind.

He thought about all the answers he could give—No, it is my duty. No, I was raised for this. No, I do not think about it.

But none of them felt true. Before he could find the right words, you spoke again.

“Because from what I see—” your voice was lighter now, teasing, but not unkind—“how hard it is for us—humans—to comply, it can’t be easy for you.” You chuckled, an honest, knowing sound.

And for some reason, that made something in his chest loosen. Neteyam exhaled slowly. You understood more than you let on. More than most did. Neteyam didn’t answer you. He didn’t have to. Because when he met your gaze, when he saw the quiet understanding there, he knew—You already knew his answer.

Even when he couldn’t say it. He swallowed, looking back toward the water, watching the way the sunlight flickered across its surface. Then, before he could think too much about it, he asked—

“When did you know you wanted to come here?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the shift. For a moment, you didn’t answer. He could almost see your thoughts shifting, pulling you back to a time long before you ever set foot on this moon. Then, you took a slow breath. “Humans discovered Pandora over a hundred years ago,” you began, your voice quieter now. “By the time I was born, people had already been coming here for decades—to learn, to take, to destroy.”

Your hands curled slightly against the bark of the tree trunk, and you glanced down.

“I know what the humans before me did. What they took from your people, from this world. I understand why we’re hated. And… I don’t blame you for it.” Neteyam remained silent, watching you closely.

You exhaled, then continued.

“When my little brother and I were kids, we saw these old holovids about Pandora.” A small, wistful smile tugged at your lips. “We couldn’t believe it. That somewhere out in the universe, there was a moon with floating mountains and glowing forests.”

You huffed softly. “And more than that, we couldn’t believe that there were ten-foot-tall blue aliens living there.” The moment the words left your mouth, you winced. Your head snapped toward him, your expression instantly apologetic. “I mean—” you cringed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Not aliens. That’s not—I didn’t mean—”

Neteyam raised an amused brow, biting back a smirk. You sighed, visibly flustered. After a pause, you cleared your throat and continued.

“The first time we saw how small humans looked next to the Na’vi, I decided.” You glanced at him, your voice steady. “I told myself that one day, I was going to get here. I was going to see this moon with my own eyes.” Your fingers traced idly at the bark beneath you. “And now… here I am.”

Neteyam watched you for a long moment, taking in the weight of your words. You had come all this way—not to take, not to destroy, but because you had dreamed of it. He wasn’t sure if he was the one teaching you about his world— Or if you were teaching him something about his own.

Neteyam hummed at your words, a low, thoughtful sound deep in his chest. His tail swayed idly behind him, the slow rhythm betraying the fact that he was still thinking about what you had said. About how you had dreamed of this place before you had ever set foot on it. About how you had come here not because you had to—but because you wanted to.

His golden eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, watching the way the light caught in your hair, the way your fingers absently traced the bark. Then, before the thoughts could take root too deeply, he turned his head away. Silence stretched between you again, but this time, you were the one to break it.

“Do you fear something?” Your voice was quiet, careful. It wasn’t the question itself that caught him off guard—it was the way you asked it.

You weren’t talking about predators. About battles. About physical dangers. You meant something else. Something deeper.

Neteyam exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting to the water again. He had never really spoken about this before. Not to Kiri, not to Lo’ak, not to anyone. But you were waiting. And you had given him your truths. He could give you this.

“I fear…” He hesitated, then tried again. “I fear not being enough.” The words felt heavy, but also strangely freeing. His fingers curled slightly against the rough bark. “I was born to lead, to be strong, to always do what is best for the people.”

He swallowed.

“I know my duty. I have never questioned it.”

He paused, watching as a leaf floated down from the canopy above, landing softly on the pond’s surface. “But sometimes, I wonder…” His voice lowered. “What if I fail?” The words felt strange on his tongue, like he wasn’t supposed to say them out loud. Like speaking them made them real. His ears twitched slightly. “I have trained my whole life to be the leader my father needs me to be. To be the son my mother expects. But what if—”

He exhaled, shaking his head.

“What if that is not enough?” His tail flicked once, a restless movement. Then, after a moment, he chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “It is foolish, I know.”

But when he finally turned back to look at you, there was no mockery in your expression. No judgment. Only understanding. And somehow, that made his chest ache more than anything else.

Warmth.

It was a subtle thing, a gentle pressure against his thigh. Soft, small fingers resting against his skin. Neteyam barely had time to process it before your voice came, quiet but firm. “It is not foolish.” His ears flicked, his gaze snapping to you. You were smiling—not teasing, not dismissive, but something real. Something certain. “Maybe I’ve only known you for a year,” you continued, your eyes steady on his, “but I’m sure as hell you’ll be a great olo’eyktan for your people.”

The words settled deep inside him, deeper than he wanted to admit. But before he could say anything, you seemed to realize what you had done. Your fingers twitched, and you quickly pulled your hand away, placing it in your lap as if you had touched fire. Then, after a small pause, you added, almost offhandedly—too offhandedly— “Even if a human’s words don’t count as much.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. Neteyam’s chest tightened.

You looked down, your gaze falling to the water below, as if watching your own reflection ripple beneath the surface. “I used to fear too,” you admitted softly. “Fear that my parents were going to be disappointed in me.”

Your voice was quieter now, your fingers curling slightly against your lap.

“They wanted me to become a doctor,” you sighed. “It was understandable. On Earth, there are lots of sick people. It could have been an easy source of money. A stable life.” You inhaled slowly, then exhaled, your shoulders sinking slightly. “But I knew I wanted to come here.”

Neteyam watched you closely, the way you seemed lost in your own memories. You had made a choice—one that had taken you far from everything you knew. And for the first time, he thought about what that must have meant for you. For the girl who had once laid on rooftops, staring up at a sky with no stars— Who had left behind an entire life just to see the world he had always taken for granted. Neteyam hesitated before speaking.

“You said you wanted to come here.” You didn’t react at first, your gaze still fixed on the water below. “To see this place.”

He studied you carefully, searching for something—anything—in your expression. But there was nothing. No flicker of emotion, no shift in your posture. Just stillness. His tail flicked slightly. “But you never talked about your family,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “Why is that?”

This time, you reacted.

Not with words, not with a look, but with the way you swallowed, the way your fingers clenched against your lap before releasing again. You turned your head slightly, looking away. Then, you sighed. Neteyam instantly regretted asking. The air between you felt different now—heavier. He knew that feeling. Knew what it meant when someone carried something too painful to touch.

He almost wished he could take the words back.

Just one minute.

One breath.

But after a long, endless moment—

“They died.”

Your voice was steady, but something about it made his chest tighten. You took a slow breath, as if choosing your words carefully. “Right before I got my approval from the RDA.” Neteyam didn’t move. You weren’t looking at him, your gaze fixed somewhere distant, somewhere unreachable. “It was a car crash,” you continued, voice flat, emotionless. “Just a moment. And they were gone.”

A pause.

“In a matter of seconds, I lost everything.” The forest seemed quieter somehow. Like even the wind had softened to listen. You sighed again, your eyes drifting toward the trees, watching the leaves shift in the breeze. “I always thought I should’ve been with them that day,” you murmured. “If I had followed the path they wanted me to, I would’ve been with them.”

Neteyam barely breathed.

“I was at the RDA headquarters,” you added, voice hollow now. “Studying my ass off. Doing everything I could to manage to get here.” Then, you let out a small, bitter laugh. Neteyam had never heard you laugh like that before.

He watched you. The slow, steady rise and fall of your breath. The way your fingers tapped lightly against your thigh, like there was something unsaid beneath your skin, waiting to spill out. You were thinking. About what, he wasn’t sure. But he could sense it—just like he could sense when a storm was brewing on the horizon, when the wind shifted before the rain. He didn’t push.

You would tell him if you wanted to.

“Do you ever get tired of being responsible for everyone?” The question was like a stone dropped into still water. Neteyam’s body tensed slightly, but he didn’t move.

Did he ever get tired? The weight of expectations had been on his shoulders since the moment he could walk. He had never questioned it. Never allowed himself to. It was not a burden—it was simply who he was meant to be.

And yet—

There were moments.

Moments when he saw Lo’ak running through the trees without a care, Kiri lost in her own world of discovery, Tuk laughing freely at the simplest joys.

Moments when he wanted to step outside of his duty, just for a breath, just for a moment— And be. But that was not the life he had been given. So he swallowed it down. Like he always did. Minutes passed, and he still hadn’t answered. Beside him, you shifted slightly, then sighed.

“You don’t have to answer,” you said, your voice gentle.

When he turned to you, you were already smiling, soft and knowing. Like you understood why he couldn’t say it out loud. Like you already knew his answer. Neteyam inhaled slowly. And for once, instead of burying it, instead of swallowing it down— He let the truth slip free.

“Yes.”

His voice was quiet, but firm.

“Sometimes I do.”

You nodded at his answer, a knowing smile playing on your lips. Like you had known all along. Like you had only wanted him to know it, too. Neteyam exhaled, his gaze drifting back to the water. He wasn’t sure if admitting it made the weight any lighter, but it was strange—to have someone look at him, really look at him, and see it. See him.

Then, after a few moments, you spoke again.

“You know, I used to get overwhelmed too.” Your legs swung absently in the air, your shoelaces bouncing with every kick. You watched them, as if fascinated by the way they moved—like a shadow following your own rhythm. You shrugged. “If I don’t work hard enough, they’ll send me back to Earth.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched slightly, his head turning toward you. You glanced at him, just for a moment, before looking away again. “If I’m not useful to the RDA, they’d terminate my contract.” You huffed in annoyance, crossing your arms. “Fuckers.”

The sharpness of the word made Neteyam’s lips twitch, but he didn’t interrupt. You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I studied my whole life to get chosen by them,” you said, voice quieter now. “And now, I have to prove myself every single day.”

Then you laughed—soft and breathy. But there was no humor in it. Neteyam’s tail flicked, something unsettled stirring in his chest. You had worked so hard to get here. You have fought to earn a place among your own people. And yet, you were still fighting.

Still proving yourself. He knew what that felt like.

And for the first time, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—you were not so different after all. You shook your head, as if shaking off the weight of your own words, and when you looked at him again, your expression was different.

That same smile. The one you had worn the first time you stepped into his village, wide-eyed and full of wonder. The one that had irritated him once, back when he thought you were just another human passing through. Now, it made something in his chest loosen.

“But enough of this puny human’s sad story,” you declared, your lips curling into a smirk. Neteyam raised a brow at your sudden shift. “I’m not that interesting,” you added, tilting your head slightly. “Especially if I’m next to you or someone else from your village.”

Neteyam huffed, shaking his head. He could feel the change in your energy, the way your spirit had already lifted, like the serious conversation from minutes ago had never existed. You were like that.

Moving between emotions with an ease that almost fascinated him. Then, you leaned forward slightly, your voice dipping with curiosity. “Is it true that the warriors dip their arrowheads into venom to make their kill faster?”

Neteyam blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt shift in topic. For a moment, he simply stared at you, trying to determine if he had heard correctly. You looked at him expectantly, completely unbothered by the fact that you had gone from sharing something deeply personal to asking about poisoned weapons in a matter of seconds.

His ears flicked, amusement flickering across his features. “Of all the things you could ask,” he murmured, shaking his head.

You just grinned.

Neteyam exhaled through his nose before answering. “Some do,” he admitted, his tail flicking lazily. “It depends on the hunter and the prey. Certain poisons make a kill faster, cleaner. Others… not so much.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Not so much?”

He smirked. “Some poisons are meant to incapacitate—not kill.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “You mean… like paralyze them?”

Neteyam nodded.

You let out a low whistle, shaking your head. “Remind me to never get on a Na’vi’s bad side.”

Neteyam chuckled, his smirk deepening. “I think it is too late for that, tawtute.”

You gasped in mock offense, shoving his arm lightly. “Hey!”

He only laughed, his tail flicking against the tree trunk. The heavy conversation from earlier still lingered somewhere beneath the surface, but for now, it was replaced by something easier. Something lighter. And Neteyam found that he didn’t mind it one bit. He glanced toward you, his gaze lingering longer than he meant it to.

You didn’t notice. You were too mesmerized by the few Yerik across the pond, their slender forms dipping low as they drank from the water. Your eyes followed their movements, quiet, awed. Like you were seeing something sacred. And maybe, to you, it was. He had seen this look on you before—this quiet reverence, this complete presence in the world around you. It was one of the things that had started to unsettle him the most.

Because you saw things. Not just with your eyes, but with something deeper.

And at some point—without him even realizing—you had started looking at him the same way. Neteyam exhaled slowly, his fingers curling idly against the rough bark beneath him. A year ago, he would have sworn he’d never speak to you more than necessary.

He would have kept his distance, fulfilled his duty, and let you remain an outsider in his world. And yet, now— Now, you are here.

Far from the village, far from the human outpost. Talking about things he had never spoken about before. Letting you ask questions he had never dared to ask himself.

When had that changed?

When had you changed?

Or maybe—

Had he? He still didn’t know why Eywa had placed you in his life. He had spent too much time trying to understand, to make sense of it. But maybe it wasn’t something to understand. Maybe it was something to feel. Maybe it was about seeing.

About having a life beyond his never-ending duty. Neteyam’s gaze softened, a small, unfamiliar smile tugging at his lips. He still didn’t know what this feeling was, didn’t know where to place it—this strange warmth in his chest, this quiet pull toward you. You were far too small compared to anything he knew.

And yet, the way you had woven yourself into his mind, into his life, into the quiet spaces he had once kept to himself— It was terrifying.

(2 years ago)

Neteyam stepped into his family’s kelku, shaking off the lingering tension from the day’s training.

But…

He saw you. You were sitting cross-legged on the woven floor, a mess of tangled grass in your hands, your brows furrowed in frustration. Kiri knelt beside you, effortlessly weaving the long strands with practiced ease, her fingers moving in quick, fluid motions.

You, however, were struggling. Neteyam leaned against the entrance, watching silently as you huffed, attempting once more to bend the stubborn grass into shape. But the material resisted your efforts, slipping from your fingers at the last moment.

You let out a quiet groan, your shoulders slumping. Neteyam felt the corners of his lips twitch. You were always like this—so determined, so desperate to understand things that had no logic, no precise method you could study or analyze. Some things had to be felt.

Learned through patience, through instinct. But you had never been good at patience, at least outside of your job. And for some reason, that amused him far more than it should.

Since your talk at the pond, something has changed between you. He couldn’t quite name it, but it was there, lingering beneath every glance, every quiet moment shared between you. And despite himself, he couldn’t suppress the pull he felt toward you.

He stepped forward. “Is that supposed to be a basket?”

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice. Neteyam smirked as he approached, glancing down at the poorly shaped attempt in your hands. It was lopsided, the strands uneven, some already fraying at the ends.

“I am not sure it can hold anything,” he mused. “Perhaps a single fruit, if you do not move too much.”

Your eyes narrowed. Then, before he could react, you threw the half-finished basket at him. Neteyam caught it with ease, raising a brow as you scoffed.

“You know, there are people who can’t be talented in everything,” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “Unlike some.”

Your squint was exaggerated, your annoyance barely masking the amusement lurking beneath it. Neteyam let out a low chuckle, turning the misshapen basket over in his hands. It was terrible.

But, somehow, he liked it.

(1 year and 11 months ago)

The rainstorm had come fast. One moment, the sky was its usual deep blue, and the next, dark clouds had swallowed it whole. The rain had started slowly—fat, lazy drops plopping onto the village roofs, tapping against the leaves. But then the wind picked up, and suddenly, the heavens had split open. Sheets of rain hammered against the trees, sending waterfalls cascading off the woven platforms, soaking everything in sight.

The humans had been caught off guard. Neteyam had watched them scramble when it became clear they wouldn’t be able to return to their outpost in the near future. The storm was too strong, the paths too slick. Which was why you were here. Sitting cross-legged across from him, huddled beneath the family kelku’s woven canopy, warm and dry.

Unlike him. Neteyam exhaled sharply, reaching for a length of twine to restring his bow. His hair was still damp from earlier, loose strands sticking to his skin, dripping onto his shoulders. He ignored it, fingers moving expertly as he tied a careful knot. He could feel you watching.

You had been fidgeting for the past few minutes, shifting slightly, tucking your legs beneath you. Every so often, you’d open your mouth as if to say something, then hesitate. He raised a brow.

“What?”

You blinked, then shook your head.

“Nothing.”

Neteyam hummed, unconvinced. A beat of silence. Then—

“You know,” you said slowly, tilting your head, “your hair is kind of a mess.”

Neteyam frowned, ears twitching. He lifted a hand to his braids, feeling where the strands had loosened from the rain, the damp weight of them resting against his shoulders. It wasn’t that bad. You must have seen his unimpressed look because you grinned.

“No, seriously. It’s bad. Like—battle damage bad.”

Neteyam rolled his eyes. “The storm was worse than expected.”

“I can tell.” You leaned in slightly, studying his head like you were analyzing something critically wrong. “Your little warrior braids are all over the place.”

Neteyam scoffed, shaking his head. “They are fine.”

“They are not fine,” you countered. “You look like you lost a fight with a banshee.”

He huffed, turning back to his bow. “I will fix them later.”

“Or…” you said, stretching out the word, mischief flickering in your eyes. “I could fix them for you.”

Neteyam froze. Just for a second. You must have taken his silence as permission, because suddenly you were shifting onto your feet, standing up, moving closer, reaching toward him with small, delicate fingers. Neteyam leaned back immediately, narrowing his eyes. “No.”

You laughed. “Oh, come on.”

“I do not need your help.”

“You obviously do.”

Neteyam’s tail flicked in warning. “I can do it myself.”

Your grin widened. “Yeah, but I can do it better.”

Neteyam scoffed. “You do not even know how.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. “Excuse you. I do know how.”

Neteyam gave you a look.

“Okay, well,” you amended, “Kiri tried to teach me once.”

Neteyam smirked. “I have seen your attempts at weaving.”

“That was different.”

“You tangled the fibers so badly that Kiri had to cut them apart.”

You groaned, dropping your head back. “That was one time!”

Neteyam chuckled, shaking his head. But before he could protest further, you scooted closer. He stilled. You were right there. Too close. Your knees bumped against his side as you reached up, fingers hovering near his temple, waiting. “Just let me fix one,” you said, lips quirking. “If I ruin it, you can make fun of me forever.”

Neteyam exhaled slowly, weighing his options. He could refuse. He should refuse. But the way you were looking at him—expectant, teasing—made it impossible. He muttered something under his breath, then reluctantly lowered his hands, giving the smallest nod. Your smile was blinding. “Stay still,” you murmured, your voice quieter now.

Then, gently—so gently—you reached for his braid. Neteyam clenched his jaw.

Eywa.

Your hands were warm. Small fingers brushed against his scalp as you carefully unraveled the ruined braid, working through the damp strands with surprising care. His ears twitched at the feeling, something foreign curling in his chest. No one touched him like this. His mother did, when she tended to his hair as a child. Kiri sometimes, if she was feeling particularly annoying. But this—

This was different.

You were close enough that he could see the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the way you bit your lip slightly as you focused. Close enough that he caught the scent of rain on your skin, the faint traces of whatever strange human soap you used. The firelight flickered against your features, casting soft shadows along the curve of your cheek, through the glass panel of your mask.

Neteyam swallowed. He should not be thinking about your cheekbones. You huffed, frustrated, trying to smooth out a particularly tangled strand. Your fingers brushed against the base of his ear, and Neteyam almost flinched. His tail twitched violently behind him.

You noticed.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, as if you had just made the greatest discovery of your life. “Does that tickle?”

Neteyam scowled. “No.”

You smirked. “It does.”

“It does not.”

You narrowed your eyes, grinning like you had just won something. “Interesting…”

“Do not.”

You wiggled your fingers threateningly. “What would happen if I—”

Neteyam grabbed your wrist before you could even try. His large hand circled around your thin wrist so easily. You gasped, eyes wide in exaggerated offense. “Neteyam!”

He exhaled through his nose, tightening his grip slightly. “You are impossible.”

You just grinned. For a moment, you stayed like that—your wrist in his grasp, your eyes flickering between his face and his hand, something unreadable in your expression. Then— “…You’re really warm,” you murmured.

Neteyam stilled. The words were so soft he almost thought he imagined them. But you were looking at him now, really looking at him, your usual teasing energy replaced by something else. His heartbeat picked up. The air felt… heavy. He should let go. He should let go.

Instead, his grip lingered—just for a second longer than necessary. Then, abruptly, he released your wrist, looking away. “Are you finished?”

You blinked, snapping back into focus. “Oh! Right. Yeah, yeah.”

You made quick work of the rest of the braid, fingers moving more carefully this time. When you were done, you pulled away, sitting back with a pleased look on your face.

“See? Perfect.”

Neteyam reached up, fingers grazing the newly woven braid. It was… decent. He hummed. “It will do.”

You scoffed. “Wow. You’re welcome, your highness.”

Neteyam smirked. “I did not say thank you.”

Your jaw dropped. “You are insufferable.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. But later that night, as the rain continued to fall, Neteyam found himself touching that braid— Again and again. And even though he knew it was just hair, he couldn’t help but think—It felt different now.

(1 year and 10 months ago)

Neteyam didn’t know why he was here. His patrols never took him this close to the human outpost. There was no reason for him to be here. No threat, no duty. And yet, here he was. His steps were silent as he moved through the dense foliage, keeping to the shadows, his golden eyes scanning the small group of scientists in the clearing ahead.

There you were.

Sitting on the ground, cross-legged, your datapad in one hand and a small instrument in the other, completely immersed in whatever you were studying. Strands of hair had fallen loose from your usual tie, and you absently tucked them behind your ear as you worked. Neteyam exhaled slowly. He didn’t understand this.

Didn’t understand why he had ended up here today, why his feet had carried him in your direction instead of somewhere else. You were just a human. Just a human. He had more important things to do. He remained hidden, watching you from a distance. He thought he was sneaky enough. Years of hunting had taught him patience, how to blend into the world around him, how to move unseen.

But then—

You turned. And smiled.

It was wide and bright—brighter than the twin suns overhead.

And Neteyam’s heart stuttered.

“I knew you were there,” you said, grinning as you looked directly at him.

Neteyam blinked, stepping into the clearing with a frown. “How did you know?” he asked, his ears flicking in irritation at being caught so easily.

You only shrugged, tossing your hair over your shoulder with an easy movement. “I just did.” Then, your expression changed. You tilted your head slightly, looking at him like you were about to tell him something secret, something only meant for the two of you.

Neteyam’s body tensed slightly as you leaned towards him just a little despite your size difference. And before he even realized what he was doing, he found himself leaning down, just enough to hear your whispered answer. “I don’t know,” you murmured, your lips twitching. “Maybe I’m a Na’vi hunter in disguise.”

Neteyam rolled his eyes, straightening immediately. You burst into laughter, clearly delighted by his reaction. And despite himself, despite everything— He smiled at you. It was so easy to do. Why?

You crouched back down, returning to whatever work you had been doing, your laughter still lingering in the air. Then, casually, you asked, “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in the village and be a perfect leader?”

Neteyam’s lips parted slightly, but no answer came. Because he didn’t know. Why was he here? Why had he chosen this path, today of all days? Why had he let himself be pulled toward you when there was no reason to be?

Somehow, you must have sensed his hesitation. Because before he could even attempt an answer, you glanced over your shoulder, your voice softer now. “Either way, I’m happy to see you.”

Neteyam’s breath caught. You said it so simply, so easily. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like his presence meant something to you.

And for the first time, he wondered if maybe—just maybe— He had come here because, deep down… He had wanted to see you, too.

(1 year and 9 months ago)

You didn’t hear him. Neteyam had been watching you from the thick branch above, waiting, studying. You were alone, cross-legged against the trunk of a massive tree, your head tilted slightly as you gazed at the forest around you.

Just watching. He didn’t understand you sometimes. Most humans were never still. They talked, they moved, they always did something. But you—you could just be. And yet, that doesn't mean you should be here.

Alone.

He exhaled through his nose and leaped down. The moment his feet hit the ground, you screamed. A sharp, startled sound. You scrambled slightly, your hands pressing against the dirt as you looked up at him with wide eyes. Neteyam straightened to his full height, towering over you. Your chest rose and fell quickly, your exhale shaky. “What are you doing here?” he asked, sharper than he intended.

You blinked at him. Then, instead of scolding him for scaring you—or worse, looking afraid—you smiled. A soft, small thing. “I just wanted to be alone,” you said, shrugging.

Neteyam frowned, his ears twitching. That wasn’t a good enough answer. “Where are the other humans?”

You turned your head slightly, your gaze flicking toward the right as you thought about it. Why did you have to think about it? Then, finally— “Back in the outpost,” you answered.

His frown deepened. That was not the answer he wanted. “You should not be alone,” he said, his tail flicking in irritation. “You are small.”

You scoffed. Then, to his utter disbelief, you laughed. “Neteyam,” you said, amusement lacing your voice. “I am fine.” Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you tilted your head up at him. “Or what?” you teased. “The mighty warrior would be sad if a viperwolf dragged me into its den?”

Neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. You were infuriating. And yet, his lips twitched. You looked up at him, waiting. Neteyam held your gaze, his tail still flicking sharply behind him. Then, gently, you smiled. “Don’t worry, I was fine.”

His ears twitched.

Fine?

You were alone in the middle of the forest, completely unprotected, with no one around except the creatures lurking in the shadows. Yet you smiled at him, as if his concern was unnecessary. His tail flicked again, betraying his frustration. You noticed.

Your lips twitched slightly before you continued, “I was here a few times. And it was always peaceful. Even safe.”

Neteyam’s frown deepened. Safe? You thought this place was safe? You had no instincts, no natural awareness of the dangers hidden beneath the beauty of the forest. He had spent his whole life learning how to listen to it, how to sense the smallest shifts in the air, the softest disturbances in the leaves. You had none of that.

He muttered something under his breath in Na’vi, shaking his head.

You didn’t react—didn’t understand the words—but when he muttered tawtute, your eyes brightened slightly. Then, instead of looking offended, you smiled again. His tail lashed once behind him. Before he could say anything else, you tilted your head and asked, as if you hadn’t just been arguing—

“How was your day?”

Neteyam blinked. The sudden change in topic threw him off balance. For a moment, he could only stare at you, caught between lingering frustration and something he couldn’t quite name. You just waited, patient, watching him with those same curious eyes. And he found himself answering.

“My day?” Neteyam repeated, arching a brow at you. You nodded, completely unbothered by the shift in conversation, as if you hadn’t just been laughing at his concern. He exhaled, shaking his head. “It was… fine. Nothing special.”

Your smile widened slightly. “Nothing special?”

Neteyam huffed. “Training, patrols, the usual.”

“So, running around the forest, scaring away potential threats, and looking perfect while doing it?” you teased, tilting your head.

He smirked. “That does sound about right.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed.

Neteyam watched you for a moment before asking, “And you? Why did you want to be alone?”

You hummed, thinking. Then, with a bright smile, you said, “I don’t know, I just wanted to listen to the forest. I love how alive it is.” Your eyes lit up as you spoke, your hands gesturing slightly, as if trying to grasp something intangible. Neteyam didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t that.

He blinked, watching you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something he didn’t want to name. Sometimes, he doesn't understand you.

You weren’t Na’vi. You had no connection to Eywa, no way to truly feel the world around you as he did. And yet… Somehow, you did. Somehow, you felt it anyway. If you had been Na’vi, you would have been deeply connected to Eywa. He knew it. You would have been strong among his people. A hunter, maybe. A healer. A tsahik.

His tsahik.

The thought struck him so suddenly that he nearly stood up on instinct. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself still. It was a dangerous thought. Yet… It wasn’t bad.

Neteyam exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the ridiculous notion. You were just a human. That was all.

And somehow, only being a human seemed… enough. Still, he crouched down next to you, studying you as if he could understand you just by looking. You noticed, of course. You always did. “What?” you asked, tilting your head.

Neteyam smirked. “I am just trying to see what kind of creature chooses to sit alone in the forest, thinking it is safe.”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “A creature? That’s a little rude, don’t you think?”

Neteyam hummed, pretending to consider. “Maybe.”

You scoffed, bumping his knee lightly with yours. “For your information, mighty warrior, some of us like peace and quiet.”

“You? Quiet?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I do not believe it.”

You gaped at him. “Excuse you, I can be quiet.”

Neteyam gave you a look.

Your lips twitched. “…Okay, maybe not all the time.”

He smirked. “Not ever.”

You gasped again, shoving his arm playfully. “Take that back.” He only laughed, shaking his head.

“I cannot. It is the truth.”

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

“And you are still too small to be alone in the forest,” he countered smoothly.

You groaned, throwing your head back. “Let it go, Neteyam.”

Neteyam just smirked, his tail flicking lazily behind him. For all your stubbornness, you didn’t realize that you had already won something far more important. Half a year ago, he wouldn’t have sat here like this. Wouldn’t have let you pull him into these easy conversations. Wouldn’t have wanted to. But now? Now, he wasn’t sure how to go back.

(1 year and 8 months ago)

Something wasn’t right. Neteyam could feel it. He sat outside his family’s kelku, absently sharpening the tip of an arrow, his movements precise, controlled. But his mind was elsewhere. You weren’t here.

Again.

The humans had come to the village today, just as they always did, hauling their equipment, speaking in their strange clipped words, taking notes on things they would never truly understand. But you weren’t with them. Just like last time. And the time before that. It had been almost a week since he had last seen you, and for some reason, the thought unsettled him more than it should.

You always came. Twice a week, sometimes three. Without fail.

Even before—before he had let himself see you, before he had stopped pretending that you were just another human passing through— You had always returned. No matter how distant he had been. No matter how he had tried to push you away.

So why weren’t you here now? For a moment, the thought crept in— Had he done something? No. That was impossible. If there was one thing he knew about you, it was that you were stubborn. Even when he had tried to keep you at a distance, even when he had been sharp with you, cold, dismissive— You had always come back.

You had never let him scare you away.

And now, suddenly, you were gone? His grip tightened slightly around the arrow.

“She is sick, you know.”

Neteyam’s head snapped up. Kiri stood nearby, arms crossed, watching him with an infuriating knowing look. His brows furrowed. “What?”

Kiri shrugged. “I heard the humans talking. She is sick.”

Something in his chest twisted. Sick? You were sick? He sat up straighter, jaw tightening. “What kind of sick?”

Kiri smirked, stepping closer. “I don’t know. Maybe her weak human body finally gave up on her.”

Neteyam glared. Kiri only laughed, shaking her head. “Relax. It’s nothing serious.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Then why is she not here?”

Kiri tilted her head.“They ordered her to rest.”

Neteyam’s tail flicked in frustration. He didn’t like this. You were always here. Always bright, always talking, always—present. And now, suddenly, you were confined to the outpost, sick, and he had only just now found out? Kiri grinned, clearly amused by his reaction. “You look worried, ma’tsmukan.”

Neteyam scowled, shaking his head. “I am not worried.”

Kiri only hummed, a knowing glint in her eye. He ignored her. But still—his fingers tightened around the arrow.

Neteyam didn’t remember deciding to come here. Yet, here he was. The forest was dark, the bioluminescent glow of the plants casting faint, ghostly light over the clearing. The air was thick with the sounds of night—distant calls of nocturnal creatures, the rustling of leaves in the wind. And beyond it, standing cold and unnatural against the wild, living world, was the human outpost.

Neteyam crouched at the edge of the clearing, hidden in the dense foliage, his golden eyes fixed on the metal structure. It was strange. Too strange. The walls were smooth, lifeless.

Nothing like the woven kelku of his people, nothing like the towering trees that breathed around him. It didn’t belong here. And yet… You did. This was your place. A place where you would be safe.

His grip tightened around the leaves in his hand. He glanced down at them, finally aware of their presence. Dark purple, thick-veined. The kind his grandmother used to crush into a bitter paste when he was a child. It soothed fevers, eased aches.

He had picked them without thinking. Neteyam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. What was he doing? Why had he come here? He had no reason to be this close. No reason to care that you were sick. No reason to feel so restless when you weren’t in the village where you should be.

Should be?

His tail flicked behind him, his ears twitching toward every sound. The outpost was silent. The humans had long since retreated inside, away from the dangers of the night. Still, Neteyam remained where he was, hidden among the leaves, watching. He told himself he was only making sure you were safe. And if that was a lie, then it was one he wasn’t ready to confront.

Neteyam’s sharp gaze flickered over the clearing, scanning the area outside the human outpost. There were plants everywhere. Some were small, contained in odd-looking transparent cases, while others stretched taller, their vines creeping over the edges of the metal structure. He recognized many of them—forest plants, things that belonged deep in the wild, not trapped here under artificial lights.

It was strange. The humans had taken them from their home, pulled them from the soil just to study them. They did the same with everything, didn’t they? Suddenly, a low hissing sound cut through the quiet. Neteyam tensed.

The airgate to the outpost slid open, releasing a controlled burst of sterilized air. A human stepped out, her exo-mask reflecting the dim glow of the outdoor lamps. She was young—close in age to you. He recognized her. She had been in the village once, months before you had first arrived.

He hadn’t paid her much attention then, but now, for some reason, seeing her here made him think. She moved toward a section of small orange plants, datapad in hand, completely unaware of the golden eyes watching her from the shadows. Neteyam’s grip tightened around the dark purple leaves in his palm. Why had he brought them?

The thought nagged at him, frustration curling in his chest. He knew the humans were smart—at least, smart enough to heal their own kind. They had their own medicines, their own ways of treating illness. And yet… A whole week had passed. A whole week of you not being in the village, of your absence stretching longer than it ever had before.

And Neteyam found himself doubting them. Doubting that whatever strange things they used to heal each other were enough. These leaves—he knew them. He had trusted them since he was a child. It worked. It had always worked. And now, here he was.

Standing outside the human outpost, clutching these same leaves in his hand— Not knowing why. Not wanting to know why. Neteyam’s muscles tensed. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward. The leaves rustled as he moved out of the foliage, his tall frame emerging from the shadows.

The woman froze.

Her breath hitched as she turned, her blue eyes wide behind her exo-mask. She gasped.

Neteyam saw the fear flicker across her face, the way she instinctively shrank back, pressing herself against one of the plant containers. He kept walking. His steps were slow, deliberate. Purposeful. Deep down, he knew how this must look to her—a lone Na’vi warrior appearing from the forest in the dead of night, silent and unreadable.

But he didn’t stop. The woman’s hands gripped the edge of the plant container as she stammered,

“I—I mean no harm, please don’t hurt me.”

Then, barely above a whisper, she muttered something else under her breath—something about whShe expected him to do something. Say ether or not he even understood English. Neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose.

She was scared of him. He wasn’t sure why that bothered him. Neteyam stopped.

Just a step away from her now, close enough that he could see the way her chest rose and fell too quickly, the way her fingers trembled slightly against the edge of the plant container. Her fear clung to the air between them, sharp and uncertain.

something. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand. She flinched slightly but didn’t move as he extended his palm toward her, revealing the dark purple leaves resting in his grasp.

“For (Y/N),” he said simply. His voice was low but steady.

The woman’s breath hitched. He met her eyes, unblinking, before adding,

“Crush it for her. She will be better.”

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Her frantic, wide-eyed panic stilled—morphing into something else entirely. Her gaze flickered between his face and the leaves in his hand, as if she couldn’t quite process what was happening. As if she had expected anything but this.

Neteyam watched, silent, as her fear began to unravel, piece by piece. Slowly—hesitantly—she reached out. Her small fingers hovered over his palm for a second, unsure, before she finally took the plant from him, the contrast between her pale skin and the deep purple leaves stark against the dim light.

Neteyam held her gaze for a fraction longer. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared back into the forest.

(few days later)

Neteyam heard you before he saw you. Laughter. Bright, unrestrained, cutting through the usual village chatter like a melody. His ears twitched instinctively, tail flicking as his steps slowed.

Then, a flash of movement— And suddenly, you were there. Within minutes, you had somehow slipped into his orbit, like you always did, standing before him with that unmistakable look on your face. A glowing, shit-eating grin. Neteyam crossed his arms, raising a brow. “You look better.”

Your grin widened. “Yes, of course.” You lifted your chin slightly, eyes twinkling. “I have a blue guardian angel.”

Neteyam exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Is that what we are calling it?”

You hummed, nodding with mock seriousness. “Absolutely. He appeared from the shadows, gifted me a mysterious plant, and then vanished into the night. Very mythical of him.”

Neteyam huffed, but he couldn’t stop the smirk from tugging at the corner of his lips. You were back.

Healthy.

Standing in front of him, talking too much, smiling too wide—just as you always did. And for the first time in days, something inside him settled. Like he could breathe again.

You launched into some story about how Norm had forced you to rest, how Kate had teased you about having a secret admirer after finding the plant, but Neteyam barely processed the words. He was too busy watching you. Taking in the way you moved, the way the golden afternoon light caught in your hair, the way you spoke like the world around you was yours to shape.

He hadn’t realized how much he hated not seeing you. Not until now. Then, abruptly, you sighed dramatically. “But seriously, Neteyam.” His ears flicked at the shift in your tone. You leaned in slightly, whispering like you were about to tell him some great secret. “I have never eaten anything more bitter in my entire life.”

Neteyam blinked. Then, he smirked. “It worked, didn’t it?”

You groaned. “That’s not the point! It tasted like death.”

He chuckled, arms still crossed. “You sound ungrateful.”

“Oh, I am grateful.” You patted his arm dramatically. “I just think my guardian angel needs to work on his choice of gifts.”

Neteyam let out a real laugh then, deep and unguarded, shaking his head as you grinned up at him. He had missed this.

Missed you.

(1 year and 6 months ago)

He should have been somewhere else—training, patrolling, doing something productive— But instead, he was sitting on the mossy ground, watching you work. The xenobotany team had stopped questioning it months ago. By now, they barely even acknowledged his presence.

They were used to him appearing at your side only to disappear into the forest again after a few minutes, like a shadow that came and went with the shifting light. He never spoke to them, never lingered too long—just long enough to see you, to make sure you were safe, to convince himself that he was only here because you were a human in a dangerous place.

That was what he told himself, anyway. But the truth was… He couldn’t stay away from you. And he didn’t know why. You were crouched beside a low-growing plant, fingers delicately brushing the leaves as you observed them.

The glow from your datapad cast a faint, artificial light across your face, reflecting in your eyes as you studied the readings on the screen. Neteyam should have been watching the forest. Instead, he was watching you. Then—

Your eyes flickered toward him.

Just for a second. Then back to your datapad. Neteyam’s ears twitched, but he said nothing.

A moment passed.

Then—again.

Your gaze darted toward him, then away.

Back to your datapad.

And then—

Again.

At first, he wasn’t sure what you were watching. But after a while, he noticed the pattern. Your gaze wasn’t lingering on his face. It wasn’t on his hands or his posture or his weapons. No— Your eyes followed the slow, lazy sway of his tail as it shifted side to side against the moss. Neteyam blinked. His tail stilled for a moment, but the instant it moved again, your eyes followed.

A realization struck him so suddenly that his ears flicked back against his skull. You were fascinated by it.

By him.

The thought sent something sharp through his chest, something he didn’t have a name for, something he wasn’t sure he wanted to name. You didn’t even realize what you were doing. Didn’t realize that you were staring. Didn’t realize that your innocent curiosity was affecting him.

Neteyam forced himself to exhale, looking away before you could catch him watching you just as intently. But the damage was already done. Because now, he knew. You saw him.

And that knowledge settled deep in his bones, thrumming like the distant beat of war drums, impossible to ignore. For a moment, Neteyam wondered if he had misheard you. Because there was no way you had just said— “Can I touch your tail?”

He blinked.

You glanced at him again, your expression expectant—curious—like you had just asked something as simple as can you pass me that leaf? His ears flicked up in surprise. He didn’t know who was more stunned—him or you. Because the moment the words left your mouth, your entire face drained of color.

Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly in horror, like you had just realized what you had said. “Oh, fuck,” you breathed.

Neteyam’s tail flicked behind him— Not because of your question, but because it was taking everything in him not to laugh. “I—I didn’t mean—” you stammered, hands coming up as if to physically take the words back. “I mean, I did mean it, but not like—I—you—fuck—”

Your voice had dropped into a frantic whisper as you looked up at him, terrified, like you had just insulted him, like he was about to exile you from the forest forever. Your hands clenched into fists against your lap as you sucked in a breath. “I meant scientifically,” you blurted. “For science. Obviously.”

Neteyam hummed, tilting his head. “For science?”

You nodded—way too fast.

“Yes. Obviously.”

His tail swayed again, and your eyes immediately flicked toward it before snapping back to his face like you had just been caught. Neteyam smirked. “You want to touch my tail… for science?” he asked, amused.

You swallowed thickly. “Yes?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Just watched you. Watch the way you fidgeted, the way your lips pressed into a thin line, the way your entire soul looked like it was about to ascend from sheer embarrassment.

Finally, he lifted a brow, fighting back a grin. “I don’t think that’s how your science works,” he mused.

Neteyam watched as you very slowly turned away from him, your shoulders stiff with mortification, your entire body screaming retreat, retreat, retreat. His smirk widened. “What are you doing?” he asked, amused.

Without looking at him, you let out a deep, suffering sigh and muttered, “I’m going to dig a hole and become one with Eywa.”

Neteyam’s chest rumbled with laughter. A real, full-bodied laugh that he couldn’t hold back this time. Your head snapped toward him, eyes narrowed in betrayal. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I can’t help it,” he grinned, leaning forward slightly. “You are very entertaining.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I can’t believe I said that. Out loud.”

“You did,” he confirmed, his tail flicking playfully. “Quite clearly, actually.”

“I know!” you whined, tilting your head back toward the sky, looking like you genuinely wanted to cease existing.

Neteyam just shook his head, thoroughly enjoying every second of this. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a low hum. “So,” he teased, golden eyes glinting mischievously. “Do you still want to touch it?”

Your hands flew up, waving frantically in front of your face. “No!”

Neteyam chuckled, his tail flicking once more. Liar. You were dying.

At least, that’s what it looked like. Still sitting next to him, you had buried your face into your hands, groaning softly like you were trying to will yourself into the ground, fully committed to your plan of becoming one with Eywa.

Neteyam smirked, tail flicking lazily behind him. Oh, this was too good. You had made it far too easy. Without a word, he shifted slightly, lifting his tail— Then, with deliberate slowness, let it settle right onto your lap.

He felt your body stiffen immediately. Neteyam almost laughed. Instead, he tilted his head, watching you with quiet amusement, waiting—curious—to see what you would do. A long pause. Then, slowly, your fingers parted, revealing wide, startled eyes peeking through. You blinked.

Then blinked again. Neteyam’s smirk grew. “You wanted to touch it,” he murmured, voice like silk. “So go on.”

You inhaled sharply, hands hovering awkwardly, unsure. And for a moment, he was certain you were going to refuse.

But— You moved.

A small, tentative hand reached out, fingertips brushing over the sleek, sensitive skin of his tail with the lightest, gentlest touch.

Neteyam’s entire body locked up. His breath hitched, something hot and unfamiliar searing through his spine.

Eywa.

He had never— No one had ever— This felt different.

His tail twitched under your touch, betraying him for a split second before he forced it to still. His jaw clenched. He could not react. He could not let you see what this was doing to him. Because this was nothing.

It was just a human—just you—touching his tail. It shouldn’t feel like this. But it did.

When they were children, he and his siblings had been rough, yanking and swatting at each other’s tails without a second thought. He had touched his own tail before, out of habit or necessity. But it had never felt like this. Like warmth sinking into his skin. Like something delicate. Like something dangerous. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression neutral, keeping his breath steady—doing everything in his power not to let you know.

Not to let you see what you had just done to him. You were marveling at it. That was the only way to describe it. Your expression was nothing short of captivated, eyes wide, lips slightly parted in quiet wonder as you lifted his tail ever so slightly, bringing it closer to your face as if inspecting something rare—something precious.

Neteyam swallowed hard, his ears unconsciously pinning back. Because— Eywa— You were too much. You shouldn’t be looking at him like that. Like he was something special. Like he was something worth cherishing. Your fingers wrapped around his tail carefully, gently, like you were afraid to grip too hard, afraid to hurt him.

Neteyam felt his heart stutter. Your hands were so small. So soft. With each passing second, your face lit up more and more, like you were experiencing something magical, like this was the most fascinating thing you had ever touched.

And fuck— The way you touched him— Your fingers moved slowly, tracing along the length of his tail with delicate precision. Then— Your touch drifted lower, toward the dark fur at the end of it, fingers hesitating, lingering. Neteyam felt it—knew exactly what you were thinking.

You wanted to touch that too. But before you could— His tail betrayed him. The tip curled away from your reach, an involuntary movement, a silent challenge. Like it refused to be taken so easily.

You blinked in surprise, tilting your head slightly, watching as it twitched playfully in your lap—like it had a mind of its own. Neteyam clenched his jaw. Because fuck, this was—this was— Your other hand moved. Fingers closing firmly yet still so gentle around the twitching end, holding it still.

And just like that—

Neteyam stopped breathing. Neteyam’s brain is completely short-circuited. Because you—you were— “Wow,” you breathed, looking up at him with a beaming smile, as if you had just made the greatest discovery of your life. “It’s soft.”

Neteyam blinked. You were still holding his tail, fingers gently curled around it, cradling it in your hands like it was something precious. And you— You looked like a Na’vi child discovering their parent’s body for the first time, wide-eyed, fascinated, utterly enchanted by something so simple, so ordinary to him.

Except this wasn’t ordinary. Not at all.

His tail twitched, but you held it firm, running your fingers lightly along its length, watching how the fur caught the dim light. You were studying it, waiting— Waiting for him to tease you, for him to say something sharp, something smug. But the words never came. Because he couldn’t think. Instead, he just stared at you. Like he had just bitten into the sourest fruit in the entire forest.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and his chest felt tight, too tight, as if he couldn’t quite breathe right. Because you had no idea. No idea what you were doing to him. No idea how wrong it was that your small hands felt this good on his tail. No idea that if you kept touching it like that—slow and curious— He was going to lose his fucking mind.

Neteyam snapped. One second, he was frozen in place, your soft hands wrapped around his tail, your fascinated eyes locked onto him, completely oblivious to the havoc you were wreaking inside his chest. The next— He was moving.

Standing up so quickly that the shift was almost abrupt, pulling his tail from your hands with more force than he intended. You startled slightly, blinking up at him in confusion. “I need to go,” he muttered, voice lower than usual, strained in a way he hated.

He didn’t wait for your reply. Didn’t dare look at your face. He turned on his heel and strode into the forest, tail flicking sharply behind him, his jaw clenched so tightly he thought his teeth might crack. His heart was pounding.

Fuck.

He could still feel the ghost of your touch against his skin, the way your fingers had held him, gentle but certain, like he was something to be cherished. His stomach churned at the thought. He didn’t know why this affected him so much. Didn’t know what it was about you that made him lose control of himself, made him want things he shouldn’t, things that were impossible.

A voice broke through his thoughts.

“What was that?”

Neteyam’s ears flicked, catching the words just before he fully disappeared into the foliage. Another voice—yours.

“I don’t know, Kate.”

Neither did he.

And that was the problem.

This part has a 2. volume!

Part 18 Vol 2.: To remember (Soon I will post it)

#avatar 2022 #avatar the way of water #neteyam #avatar twow #james cameron avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you

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