#maybe I'll predict mine

[meziniart]

Come on baby, light my fire

[lamortwrites]

Every day my Labrys as reincarnated GW au grows stronger

[pedgito]

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial. 

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive. 

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in. 

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?” 

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres. 

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard. 

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer. 

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless. 

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved. 

Up. 

Barely. 

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin. 

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire. 

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too. 

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job. 

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.

[obeymissmaddy]

Click here to listen to my oldd intro.

Click here to listen to my oldddddd intro.

update: I encourage alllll subs to make captions in devotion of me. It's a great way for you to show me how much you adore me, my permanently owned subbiesssss.

Turn on notifications for my posts. Allow me to fully mold you/ warp your mind. This is a part of your training protocol, my permanently owned servants/toys. 🔔🔔🔔

update for all the pup subs, betas, sissies, femsubs, cucks, finsubs, fincucks, hypnotoys, etc. etc. etccccccccccccccccccc. that keep asking me if I'll own you: Here goes, ALL of you are welcome to serve me, darlings. If you exist, I'll gladly put you to use and own you. Welcome home, my permanently owned lil hypnotoys. ✨

It's only a matter of time before I own 100k slaves, darling. Come join my slave and simpy army today.

How to join my slave, simp, and hypnotoy army? It's very, veryyy easy, actually.

Step 1: Change your username to something that shows your devotion to me. Check all the fan and simp accounts that comment on my posts for inspiration if you need some. Make it fun. Be creative, show your personality, my eager little toy. You are about to join them in a moments notice, my eager & permanently owned servant.

Step 2: Then, make this gif your new header. Mark yourself as my property. Change your bio to a beautiful one that shows your devotion to me, my simpy slave. If your profile pic isn't cute already, go change it to a fun or cute one, my eager little slave.

Step 3: pin this post right here, and finally, once you have done all of that, start commenting on all of my posts from this moment on. Only from today on. Make your comments unique and beautiful. Make yourself stand out from the crowd. Try to outdo all your fellow slaves n simps, and maybe, maybe if you are a good slave, I may end up giving you some special attention one day. Keep showing devotion. The more consistent you are and the longer that you serve me, the more you'll stand out. If you want my attention sooner, you can send me your initial right now, my weak lil toy. Come back here at least once a day, my permanently owned simp/hypnotoy.

Turn on notifications for my posts. Allow me to fully mold you/ warp your mind. This is a part of your training protocol, my permanently owned servants/toys. 🔔🔔🔔

update: I removed the payment links from my bio. DM me: ''I wish to serve.'' and I will dm you my payment link. Once you have sent me your initial tribute I will allow you to begin your journey of being my permanently owned little subby/toy, darling.

Click here to find out what a ''lil maddy'' is, my adorable lil maddy. Hahah.

DM me: ''Please Mistress!'' if you can't afford your initial and I will put you to use in different ways. I'm claiming you as mine right now darling. I'm claiming you as my slave right now. No matter what, you are about to join my slave and hypnotoy army, right now, my eager little simp. Check the comments on all of my posts. You will join them next. Your training protocol is about to officially begin once you've DM'd me.

Welcome home, darling. Don't message me until you have listened to and followed the instructions I give you in my intro audio above. Sit back, relax, put in earphones or put on headphones and let me guide you straight into my lap. Your journey with me starts now. The most profound domination in the world awaits you once you are mine, pet.

If you long to be my paypig or fincuck, I've got a different intro for you right here. ✨

Once u click on ''Keep reading'' you accept your complete and total surrender to me, subby. I challenge you to not click it, but we both know you can't help yourself, lmao.

See? Hahah. You are beyond predictable. So simple. Such a good and eager little simp for me. Ur now officially mine forever, darling. My permanent servant. My permanently owned toy. My litttle simp. Ur so easy. It's adorable. Mine now, tomorrow and forever. I make the rules. You just obey them. How funnnnn hahah. Welcome to forever, subby.

First of all, I'm the #1 caption domina, the #1 hypnodomme and the #1 findom/ femdomme in the entire world. No matter what, no matter who you are, I'm the domme you have been looking for your entire life in every single way. I mean that darling. Our dynamic will be one of a kind. I'm very open minded and own all sorts of subs. My fav is turning you into nothing but my obedient toy. I'm here to take you to brand new depths of submission. Oh, and all my captions aside, what you'll experience once you've sent your initial will far outshine anything on my tumblr page. Like I said in my intro, they were just one part of guiding you to complete surrender to me and me alone, my good little toy. Your new life is starting right now. You are about to truly submit.

Once you have submitted, you'll be able to earn the greatest and most intense hypno recordings/ files you will ever get the honor of experiencing in your entire life. I am the actual greatest hypnodomme in the entire world and you are incredibly lucky to have found me, my obedient and permanently owned little toy. Once you have earned listening to them, you'll wish you had found me much, much sooner. Welcome home, my perfectly obedient and good little toy. What I do isn't just the most real, raw and profound domination in the world. You will submit to me in ways you can't even imagine. I will take you to depths you didn't even know existed. I will give you a personal experience. A journey. One that has been waiting for you your entire life. Your submission to me is the thing you have been looking for.

Because some subs didnt realize the bar at the top of this post is audio, I'll just say it here once time: The little bar above is audio. The bar with my ''OBEY'' logo. Yeah, that bar lol. Click on the little arrow on the left of it and put your sound on for it to start. I had a bunch of subs message me that they didn't realize it was audio even when I clearly stated so above, so just mentioning it here one final time hah.

Alright, now go on and listen to it if you haven't already, my little subby. I'm here to take you for a spin. Not just any spin, the wildest adventure of your entire life. Of you entire subbbbbbby little life.

From this moment on, I'm your owner. I make the rules, you just obey them, darling. There is no reality in which you aren't owned by me.

Whether you are a beta, (fin)cuck, sissy, vanilla sub, hypnoslut or anything else. Whoever you are, Wherever you are from, I'm here for you, darling. You may call me Mistress Maddy, Miss Maddy, Mistress, Miss or Mommy. All of those are fine by me. I so look forward to getting to know you, darling. I actually mean that. It's always fun and exciting to get to know a brand new toy. Thats you, subby, hehe.

Welcome home, subby. You've finally found your true calling in serving me. That thing you are feeling rn is my complete control over you setting in. Only one tiny little step awaits you. You are almost there.

It's more than clear by now already but I'll just write it here either way. I don't do bland, boring or vapid domination. I'm here to take you deeper than anyone ever has or ever will. Whether you are looking for some quick fun or a permanent/ long term domme/sub dynamic, I'll give you the most exciting experience of your life. I'm the most fun, brilliant, gorgeous and powerful domme you will ever have the honor of serving darling. You know what you have to do now. Serving me will be a true experience unlike any other. Welcome to your true calling.

Sending me your initial will not only allow you to DM me, but will officially begin your journey as my permanently owned servant. You were always meant to be my permanently owned servant, subby. But you won't just be my servant, we'll have A LOT of fun together. So much fun hahah. I look forward to it already. What are you wating for. So many fun surprises are ahead. You'll be able to earn your first hypnosis recordings from me and so much more as soon as you have sent me your initial. The most powerful and intense ones you will ever have the honor of experiencing. I'm the most exciting experience of your life. Hop on in darling, you are ready. I'm what you have been waiting for. You finally found me, my permanently owned subby.

Oh, and btw, on a small final side note, my initial should honestly be much, much, muchhh higher for the personal attention and exciting experiences that you'll get to have to honor of experiencing with me. Like I said, what you'll experience with me will be the most exciting and rewarding experience of your entire life. But, I want all subs to be able to submit to me which is why my initial tribute amount is only $100. Talk soon, my good, obedient, and permanently owned subby.

Once you have sent your initial message me: ''Initial sent, Mistress.''

If you're reading this, DM me: ''Wow!'' and I might give you a very special surprise sooner than later, my eager little toy. You are about to be permanently owned by me.

[villainousauthor]

"We can't keep meeting like this." Villain tsks, thoughtfully as they eyed Hero. It's was just their luck that Hero had not once, but twice, been in a building taken hostage by Villain while in their civilian getup.

Last time was in one of the larger banks downtown two weeks ago. Hero had made the choice to not reveal their heroic persona, wanting to protect their personal identity, and the civilians in case a fought broke out.

Villain didn't look at them twice and did not recognize their nemesis. No casualties occurred, thankfully. Hero was able to walk away with their secret intact, and with Villain likely forgetting their face entirely.

Or so they thought. Villain eyed them now with light amusement. Did they know who Hero was? Or did Villain simply remember their face from the crowd of quivering hostages.

Hero gulped as they kneeled on the cool floor of the vital records office. They tried their best to blend in with the other civilians currently cowering low, but they couldn't ignore when Villain's attention was so directly on them. Curse their life. They only came here for a copy of their birth certificate.

"Um." They swallowed, licked their lips, and tried again to speak. Hopefully Villain wouldn't recognize their voice. "Yes I was -"

"At the bank." Villain finishes. "Do you have a habit of finding yourself in hostage situations?" They smirk wide, obviously enjoying toying with whom they believe to be an innocent bystander while waiting for the clerk to get the records they demanded.

"I...have had a string of bad luck lately." Hero chokes out. Villain laughs, voice echoing through the atrium. The other hostages flinch at the sound.

Villain rakes their eyes over Hero as they kneel. A bit of humor can be found in their expression.

"A bad luck streak, huh?" They look over to where the clerk is still scrambling to gather the documents and printing out more information. Undoubtedly, information that'll be used against Villain's enemies somehow. "Well, if we're all not too unlucky, I'll have what I want soon, and you won't be here too long."

Unable to stop the quip from falling from their lips, Hero responds in a tone unbefitting their nervous civilian persona. "Knowing the work efficency of this place, I'll still be here to nightfall even after you leave."

Villain laughs yet again. Not the same usual villainous laugh they have when tormenting someone, but a real laugh. Hero mentally chastises themselves, knowing they need to stop drawing attention themselves. Villain takes another look at the clerk before turning back to Hero and crouching down low, their eyes level now.

"What's your name?" Villain asks with an amused tilt of their lips. Their gaze holds Hero still, burning them in place. Hero's heart hammers in their chest.

They hesitate before finding a way out of answering. "Why do you need to know? Do you think my luck is so bad that I'll end up in a third hostage situation?" They retort, expecting many different reactions to this refusal. Irritation, anger, dismissal.

Hero has no way to predict what Villain actually says next.

"Maybe your luck isn't that bad, but maybe my luck is that good." Their smile widens. "Maybe I just want to put a name to a pretty face."

Oh God. Villain is flirting with them. Hero feels themselves blink in rapid succession as they try and process what is going on right now. Villain, their nemesis, is flirting with them. While holding them hostage. While not realizing who Hero is, to top it off. This is going to make their next fight very awkward on Hero's end.

Hero can feel the incredulous stares of the other civilians as their own face heats up.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours?" Hero attempts. They try to ignore the heat in their gut at the way Villain's eyes hold them in place, their gaze almost hungry.

With a snort, Villain shakes their head. "Nice try. Maybe after a few dinners, I'll tell you my real name. Cute try, though." They say in a voice that doesn't sound sarcastic enough. Hero can't believe what their life is right now.

As if sensing Hero's continued hesitancy, Villain stands back to their full height. "Maybe our paths will cross again, and I can get you to agree later. To dinner or to giving me your name." They all but purr, before turning back to where the clerk is waiting fearfully with a thick looking folder. All the while, Hero's mind is reeling as they try and steady their heart.

The other civilians continue to look at them as if they've grown a second head.

Villain strides to the desk, taking the documents and giving them a once over. Whatever it is, they find it satisfactory, apparently, snapping the folder shut with a wicked grin after a moment.

"Your participation made this as bloodless as possible. Thanks for the cooperation." Villain's tone is full of mirth as they speak to the clerk one last time. Hero can only be thankful that, again, no casualties occurred. Small victories, they suppose.

Villain makes to walk towards the exit, but before they do, they kneel down in front of Hero, closer than before. Hero can smell the rich smokey smell of their cologne, as Villain grabs their chin gingerly.

They lean in close, speaking quietly enough that only Hero's ears can pick up the soft, almost affectionate words as their breath fans across their neck.

"It was nice to see you outside of costume again, Hero."

[bigmacari]

Hello!! Can I request for dream bbq ENA with fem reader (romantic) who’s an archangel please 🙏 with lots of wings and way too bright for ordinary people to see her lest they’d go blind, except Ena. She would regularly sneaks out from guarding GØD’s gates to see Ena. She likes to gives Ena relics that are way too expensive, and she’s like a royal too

My apologies if this is a bit too specific! You can ofc reject this 🙏

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

Ena (Dream BBQ) x Archangel Reader

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

☆Warnings(s) Classism? (Also, Tumblr is saying that it needs a content label. It really doesn't?)

☆Author Note(s) This was fascinating to write! I wasn't to knowledgeable about what kind of angels there were, so it's always cool to learn something new. I hope you enjoy! 🫶🏻 New format btw ;)

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

☆You know it's wrong, you know that you should keep guard, but you have to see her. Sneaking out into multiple layers of bizarre reality, you find Ena sitting on a deck with her legs dangling off into the bloody water. You feel a mortal like joy as you run to join her.

☆The only person in her world that can see past the beaming light around your figure. "Ah, the appearance of a woman under GØD indeed, your elegance could fix the economy. YOUR ONLY MINE TO LOOK AT IDIOT, UNDERSTAND?"

☆You both lay under the stars that seem to come and go every 10 minutes. The grass below seem to whisper the words you don't feel the need to speak. Ena likes to run her fingers through your wings, it feels like the TV static, which makes them feel numb. She once counted every feather, then predicted the sales she would make from them.

☆The 'gifts' you give her could probably buy a separate reality. The first time you gave Ena a relic, the Salesperson side of her wondered if she should try to profit from it. She didn't, Ena instead put it on her desk to remind her of you.

☆Your relationship with Ena is highly looked down upon. That is, if anyone actually found out about it, it would be. Both you and Ena keep your relationship very secretive. Not out of shame, goodness no, simply out of fear of getting your position taken away. Ena's are treated as a lowly species, after all.

☆ She calls you her angel, always in a soft voice, too, no matter who is speaking. Salesperson Ena grabs your waist, pulling your hips to meet hers while bringing your hand to her cheek. "I'll never get tired of this partnership we have signed off on, my angel." Meanie, on the other hand, says it rarely. On quiet days, when it's just you and her, she takes your hand with her sharp one. "I don't care what GØD you work for, you'll always be my angel."

☆Being entrusted with important missions from GØD, you are often away, leaving Ena alone. During those times, you can find her staring at the bloody sea waiting for your return.

☆Ena is stuck between feeling inferior to you and worshiping your very existence. One part of her feels that you will leave, taking her heart with you. That one day, you will see how many bodies she's built up in her soul. The other seems to want to start a while new religion just for you, so maybe she can become your guardian, your protector.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

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

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

Part 22: To Lost

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

Part 23: To break

He knew he was overthinking.

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

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

And maybe you were right.

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

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

Stay.

Just one word.

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

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

“Dad saw you leave at dawn.”

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

Neteyam exhaled, just a little. “Thanks.”

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

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not pacing—”

“You are.”

“I’m thinking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiri snorted. “She’s not wrong.”

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

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

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

And when you were—he’d be waiting.

With his arms open.

Just like always.

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

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

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

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

The forest was quiet again.

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

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

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

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

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

Just one more night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe she’ll ride with him.”

“Lucky Neteyam, huh?”

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

Ignore it. he told himself sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to scream.

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

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

"Girls chasing him like ikran on a hunt."

"K’shi too—lucky bastard."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eywa, take me now.

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

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

“Brother!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, definitely.”

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

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

“I’m going to throw you into a tree.”

“You’d miss,” Lo’ak grinned.

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

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

“I considered it.”

Lo’ak grinned. “You’re welcome.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake frowned. “And why’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We deal with it,” Neteyam finished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam rolled his eyes. “Don’t be.”

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

The hunt came first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She is more experienced than half of them.”

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

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

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

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

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

Neytiri’s silence said everything he needed to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hunt stretched long under a darkening sky.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold the formation!” Neteyam shouted.

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

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

He nocked an arrow. One breath.

The wind cut across his cheek.

Another breath.

The beast roared. He loosed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The storm cracked the sky in half.

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

But he sat still.

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

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

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

He smiled.

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

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

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

To him.

He began to carve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why now? Why so close?

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

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

Did Norm know? Did you?

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

He carved another bead. This one thinner. Smoother.

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

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

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

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

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

Just like you.

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

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

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

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

But you weren’t there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the world was no longer bathed in gold.

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

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

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

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

Be quiet.

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

Neteyam’s blood turned to ice.

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

Hunting.

Hunting you.

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

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

Protect. Shield. Fight if you must.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked up sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallowed thickly. “And after?”

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

Neteyam barked a quiet laugh, low in his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sa’nari nodded slowly. “Storm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam offered a noncommittal sound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked at her slowly. “How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam blinked, glancing back toward her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For you. Always for you.

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

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

Yours always.

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

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

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

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

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

“Then lie better,” Neteyam muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Its engine was still warm. Freshly used.

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

Why had it been used?

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

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

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

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

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

And froze.

That look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what did you find?” Neteyam hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kate hissed, “Raj, shut up—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice dipped lower, deadly calm.

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

The group fell silent. Pale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve done nothing!” he shouted.

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

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

No.

No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The storm had returned with a vengeance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this…?” he asked, holding it up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lo’ak sighed. “She’s right, bro.”

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

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

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

The night held no peace.

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

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

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

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

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

And in the grass below it— You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked up sharply. “For what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But what if I don’t—”

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

You nodded, tiny, trembling. And then—

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

Outside, the sky was turning faintly gray.

First light.

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

What was that?

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

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

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

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

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

They searched for hours.

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

Neteyam didn’t speak much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We would’ve seen it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Neteyam—”

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

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

“I can’t rest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day Four

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

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

A tree. But not just any tree.

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

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

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

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

Lo’ak frowned. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Neteyam?” Kiri called from below.

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

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

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

“She survived. And she moved on.”

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

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

Lo’ak looked around. “So what now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t lose you.

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

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

But now…

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

Jake.

His father.

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

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

Neteyam didn’t move. “You found me.”

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

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

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

Neteyam’s head snapped up. “No.”

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

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

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

Neteyam’s jaw clenched.

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

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

Jake’s brows lifted.

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

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

“I’m not hiding anything.”

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

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

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

“I’m not telling you.”

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

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

Jake took a step forward. “Neteyam—”

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

“That’s not true.”

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

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

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

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

Neteyam finally looked at him.

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

Jake’s voice dropped. “Try me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam didn’t look at him.

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

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

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

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

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

Neteyam said nothing.

He hadn’t spoken since before dawn—not after another restless night spent staring at the unfinished neckpiece beside his mat. Not after his father’s visit. Not after pressing the white button to his lips and swearing he would not return without you.

They moved past a low stretch of reeds near the creek when Kiri reined in sharply. Her pa’li snorted. “Wait,” she murmured, swinging down. She knelt beside a clump of ferns, brushing her fingers through the damp leaves.

Neteyam dismounted fast, landing beside her. There, wedged under a moss-covered rock, was a shred of something pale. Kiri carefully pulled it out—a torn corner of paper, stained and softened by the rain.

Lo’ak squatted beside them. “Is that…?”

Neteyam grabbed it gently, turning it in his fingers. It was some kind of book—standard RDA stock, crumpled and torn, the ink smeared into illegibility. And stabbed through the center? A thorn. Clean. Deliberate.

“She marked it,” Neteyam whispered. He stood fast, scanning the trees—and then he saw another one. Farther ahead, tucked into the crook of a low branch: another scrap of paper. Pierced through and fluttering slightly in the breeze.

“She made a path,” Kiri said, eyes wide. “Eywa…”

Neteyam didn’t wait. He was already mounting. “Let’s go.”

They followed the path for half an hour—scraps hidden under stones, wedged behind bark, clinging to vines. Each one was like a heartbeat. A pulse. A whispered sign that she was still fighting. Still alive.

And then the trees opened. A clearing stretched before them—tall grass swaying in the midmorning light, golden-bright and deceptively peaceful. But it wasn’t the clearing that made Neteyam’s breath catch. It was the shape above it.

Suspended between the high trees, caught in a web of vines and roots and gravity’s slow mercy, hung a Samson gunship. Rusty. Broken. Twisted with age. Just like in his dream.

His pa’li halted with a soft grunt, sensing the shift in his rider’s pulse. Neteyam didn’t dismount. Couldn’t. He sat frozen, staring at the hanging craft like it had dropped out of his nightmares.

It was the exact same clearing. The exact same spot. The tall grass. The angle of the trees. This was where you had sat in his dream. This was where he’d seen you bleeding. “Eywa…” he whispered.

Behind him, Lo’ak was already moving, climbing up the low branches toward the side of the Samson. “I’ll check the cockpit,” he called.

Neteyam barely heard him. His vision swam. Please no. Please. Then, above him—

“Shit,” Lo’ak said. Neteyam’s head snapped up. And then the words came, sharp and terrible: “There’s a corpse up here.” It was more of a statement.

It was like getting shot in the chest. Everything inside Neteyam dropped. He was moving before he realized—bolting forward, leaping onto a twisted root, scrambling up the tangled vines as if his body no longer belonged to him.

He didn’t think. Didn’t breathe.

She’s gone. She’s gone. You were too late. You should’ve gotten here days ago.

His hands slipped on rusted metal, vines tearing under his grip. He hauled himself up over the edge of the broken ramp, eyes wild.

He was going to see you.

Dead.

Cold.

Eyes closed.

Face slack.

Gone.

The metal groaned beneath his weight as he pulled himself into the dark interior of the Samson—and stopped.

There, slumped in the pilot seat, was a corpse.

But not your corpse.

The uniform was faded tan. RDA insignia still barely visible on the shoulder.

The body was long decayed—just bones and sunken fabric, held together by rot and time. Probably had been here for twenty years, left behind after the war when this Samson crashed and never recovered.

Neteyam sagged forward, pressing one hand to the wall, breathing hard. He hadn’t realized how certain he was that it was you. How much he had already braced himself to see you—cold, broken, gone.

But it wasn’t you. It was some ghost of the past. A pilot who hadn’t made it out of the war. Neteyam didn’t respond right away. Instead, his eyes began to move across the interior.

The cockpit was rusted, yes—but solid. It had held together over the years. The control panels were useless, the wiring fried, but the frame was intact. It could have held weight. A person.

You.

He crouched lower, eyes scanning the corners, the dust-covered floor— And then he saw it. A helmet. Not the soldier’s.

An RDA exo-mask. Propped on its side in the corner, just beneath the pilot’s seat. Inside it… was liquid. Red-brown. Thick. His heart jumped. He reached for it, carefully, lifting it with both hands. The inside panel had been cleaned, smoothed out into a curve—used like a bowl.

First, he thought it was blood. His chest went cold. But then—he brought it to his nose. And stopped. Herbs.

Rulvansip.

Medicinal.

It smelled like the inside of Mo’at’s tent. It smelled like healing.

You have been here.

You used this.

You had treated a wound.

Just like the dream. A wound in her palm. He ran a shaking hand over the glass. “She was here,” he said hoarsely. “She stayed here. She used this.”

Kiri and Lo’ak looked up from below. “Then we’re still on her trail,” Lo’ak said. “Right?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. He just sat there, holding the mask, staring into that rusted cockpit, knowing that for one moment—one terrifying, beautiful moment—he was sitting exactly where you had once sat.

And it meant one thing.

You were still moving.

You were still fighting.

You were still alive.

The fire burned low, its glow soft and unsteady as it crackled in the center of the kelku. Shadows danced on the walls, flickering in slow waves across Neteyam’s face as he crouched near the hearth, unmoving, eyes locked on the flames. The broken screen of the old datapad lay between them, its display cracked and stuttering—sometimes showing the trail map, sometimes just static.

Lo’ak sat cross-legged, turning a dull knife slowly in his hands. Kiri leaned back on her palms, eyes scanning the glowing map projection as it flickered. They’d been going in circles for hours—marking paths, arguing possible turns, retracing your steps in their minds.

Maybe you’d doubled back. Maybe you had turned east again, toward the outpost, following the sun like Neteyam had taught you—head low, wound bleeding, stubborn and alive.

Lo’ak lay on his side nearby, one arm folded under his head, his voice hushed but tense. “We could backtrack to the outpost. If she was trying to follow the sun east, she might’ve tried to stay close to old trails. Even if she veered north, that whole quadrant’s easier to move through.”

Kiri nodded, sitting cross-legged near the fire, frowning in thought. “I’ve been thinking the same. She wouldn’t have gone north. Not with a wound. And the forest gets denser out there—steeper, more dangerous.”

Lo’ak added, “From the Samson to the outpost is not far. We can ride straight in from the creek basin. Be there by midday. But for her on foot…”

Neither of them looked at their brother. Because Neteyam hadn’t said a word in over an hour.

He crouched by the fire pit like a statue, shoulders taut, tail flicking in short, restless motions. His breath moved slow—too slow—and his eyes… weren’t really watching the flames. Not anymore. He was somewhere far deeper.

Inside.

Spiraling.

The heat licked his face, dry and too bright. But it was the only thing anchoring him now. I can’t breathe. He hadn’t breathed properly since the day you went missing. Not really.

For a year, you were just another human—just another voice in the outpost, tucked behind a datapad with dirt under your nails and stubbornness in your voice.

For two years after that… you were a strange ache in his chest. A curiosity. A spark. Someone who saw Pandora like it was made of wonder, not war.

Then you started saying his name like it mattered. In time, you stopped being a scientist to him. And then—somewhere in the quiet moments between shared glances and too-long conversations—you became something more. His distraction. His gravity.

His little star.

You burned so differently from his world—so strange and stubborn but gentle with every living thing. You weren’t Na’vi. You weren’t meant to belong. But you did.

To him.

In the last half year, since the first time you kissed him—messy, laughing, breathless—it had become unbearable to be apart. He’d never been meant for hiding, for secrets. But with you, he would hide forever if it meant keeping you. If it meant waking to your touch, even in silence. If it meant you were still his.

And now?—now you were gone.

He clenched his jaw, nails digging into the skin of his palms as he stared into the fire.

íYou have become part of him.

Every day they were apart since that first kiss had felt wrong. Empty. He needed you near him—needed your laugh, your warmth, your hand brushing his. He didn’t care that it had to be secret. Didn’t care that no one would understand. He needed you like breath. Now, all he had left was a trail of torn paper. An old dream. And the smell of herbs in a mask you’d used to heal yourself.

If I’ve already lost you…

He couldn’t finish the thought. Couldn’t let it live inside his head. His throat felt tight. His chest burned.

I can’t lose you. Not now. Not when you are finally mine.

He reached toward the flames without thinking—just close enough for the heat to bite his skin—and curled his fingers inward, as if grasping for something that wasn’t there. Kiri watched him, her voice faltering as she trailed off mid-sentence. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned forward.

“Neteyam,” she said gently. “You’re doing it again.” He didn’t blink. “You’re slipping,” she said, softer now. “You’re going too deep.”

Still nothing. Kiri moved toward him, settling beside his crouched form, her hand brushing his arm. “Neteyam,” she whispered. “Look at me.”

His breath came out as a shudder. Then, slowly, he turned toward her. “I need to find her,” he rasped. His voice cracked on the last word. Kiri nodded, her grip tightening. “I need her, Kiri. I can’t—I can’t lose her. Not when… not when she’s finally mine.”

It slipped out of him, barely above a whisper. And that’s when the curtain at the entrance rustled.

Neytiri stood in the doorway, framed in firelight. Her eyes were sharp. Her expression is unreadable. “What did you say?” she asked, voice like a drawn bowstring.

Neteyam froze.

Kiri went still beside him.

Lo’ak straightened slowly, the knife slipping from his hand with a dull thud against the floor.

Neytiri stepped further inside, eyes narrowed, locking onto her eldest son with slow precision. “Neteyam,” she said again. “Who is… ‘yours’?”

The fire snapped. The datapad flickered. And in the suffocating silence that followed, Neteyam didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Because everything—everything—was about to break.

And he didn’t know if he could stop it.

Part 24: To breath

The next part will be again from reader's pov.

[takami-takami]

Keigo never really stopped to think about his size before he met you.

He's aware he's big. He has eyes. But it never really mattered much to him besides the typical "huh, nice." when glancing down that men try to pretend they don't do.

So when he first tugs his cock free and your eyes practically pop out of your head, a whisper of "Jesus Christ" escaping, his first instinct is to worry.

He's about to ask "wait, is something wrong?" before he realizes it's not fear, but admiration he sees in those eyes that are laser-focused and transfixed between his legs.

Well. Maybe a little bit of fear. But it's a good kind.

It doesn't take him long at all to develop an ego.

By the third time he has you sobbing on his thick cock, insides stretched to the brim while his thighs grind against your ass, those sweet little words he coos carry an unshakeable confidence.

Words like, "you can take it baby, c'mon, it's okay. Shh, it's alright, so good f'me. Take me inside, baby. I'll make it fit. You've done it before, yeah? So proud of you, you take big cock so good."

Before long, he's faking obnoxious yawns next you on the couch— an excuse to place his arms behind the seat and spread his legs apart, enticing your predictable stare. He couldn't hold back that knowing grin if he tried. His boisterous laugh in response to your accusation of "stop being a slut, Kei'" only ceases once it's cut off by a moan, your knees thudding against the floor to properly kiss his prominent bulge through the clothes.

By the tenth time, he praises himself nearly as much as you.

"You love taking this fat fuckin' cock, don't you? Love being split open on my dick, yeah? Only mine? Shit— yeah, you do. Don't even care that it's stretching your guts, do you? Nah, you love it, you fuckin' love it. 'S that why you're screaming so loud, baby? Sound so pretty when you do. Get your head out the pillow, wanna hear you. Wanna hear that pretty voice scream my name when I take you."

"Mine," he snarls. "All fuckin' mine."

Once the post-nut clarity hits, he promises he'll go back to normal: wings drooping in apology like a kicked puppy as he thumbs away your thick tears of pleasure.

"Ah... Sorry, baby. Wasn't too rough, was I? You did so good. You sore? Want me to run a bath?"

All you're capable of providing is a shaky thumbs up.

[royaljude]

Temptations ~ JB5

Genre ~ Fluff, Angst, smut(later)

Summary ~ Jude Bellingham, the very well known bad boy of Silver Ridge High school, runs into the shy, good girl, Vivian Rose. In a case of she fell first, he fell harder, and tensions high. What will happen when their paths collide? Will Jude’s reputation change? Will Vivian end up not being the so called good girl she is?

Warnings ~ non

A/N ~ first chapter to a new series! LETS GO!!

Pt.2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November in Silver Ridge was grey, wet, and always a little bit miserable. The kind of cold that snuck through your jacket and made your nose sting. The kind of weather that made staying home with tea and a good book feel like the only rational choice.

Which is exactly what I planned on doing

—until my phone lit up for the fourth time in the last ten minutes.

Zoë [7:42 PM]

vivi i swear to god if u don't come i will show up at ur house in crocs and drag u out myself

Zoë [7:43 PM]

it's not even that serious. it's a bonfire. just come for an hour.

Zoë [7:44 PM]

jude bellingham is here btw 👀

That last text made my stomach flip in a way l hated to admit. Jude Bellingham.

The school's golden boy-if golden boys wore leather jackets, skipped class, and could set the whole hallway buzzing with a single smirk. He was chaos wrapped in cologne. And he didn't know I existed.

I stared at the messages, then at my bookshelf. Then back to my phone.

"I'll regret this," | muttered, tugging off my sweatshirt and digging out the one hoodie I owned that didn't scream I read romance novels under my covers at night.

- 20 Minutes Later -

It was louder than I expected. Music pulsed from someone's car speakers, people laughed too loud, and the fire crackled in the center of it all, lighting up faces I usually only saw from the back row of class.

"Vivian!" Zoë yelled, practically launching herself at me. "You came! I'm in actual shock.”

"I don't know why I let you talk me into this."

"Because deep down, you love me." She linked her arm through mine, dragging me toward the fire. "And because part of you is a little curious about seeing Jude Bellingham in person instead of just pretending not to notice him in history class."

I opened my mouth to deny it-and promptly froze.

There he was. Across the fire. Laughing with some senior I didn't recognize. Dark curls, hands shoved into his pockets, smile crooked and dangerous.

He wasn't someone who lived in my world, yet he did.

Our eyes met for half a second.

Maybe less.

But he looked at me. Really looked. Then he looked away.

Just like that.

"Okay," | whispered, throat suddenly dry,

"Maybe I do regret this."

"Come on let's go get drinks." Zoë said dragging me to a nearby cooler with a bunch of drinks in it.

I crouched beside the cooler, brushing a few stray leaves off the lid. My fingers hovered over a can of Sprite before finally grabbing it. Predictable. Safe. Very me.

Zoë cracked open a cherry soda like she’d done this a hundred times before. She probably had. I watched her tilt her head back, laughing at something Leigh said behind us, while I stayed silent. Always the listener. Always on the edge of things.

I sipped my drink and let my eyes wander.

The fire popped and sparked, casting flickering shadows across the grass. People huddled in tight groups, some on old lawn chairs, others standing close enough to blur the line between talking and flirting.

And there was he was again. Jude.

Still by the fire. Still surrounded. His laugh was louder this time—rough and lazy, like he had all the time in the world. Like nothing could touch him. He said something to one of the guys beside him, and a ripple of laughter followed.

I hated that I noticed the sound of his voice before anyone else’s. I hated that it lingered.

“You keep staring,” Zoë said under her breath, nudging me.

“I’m not.”

“You so are.”

“It’s not staring if I’m just looking.”

“Sure,” she teased. “And I only wore this shirt for the weather.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to laugh it off, but my stomach was tight. Because the truth was, Jude Bellingham wasn’t just a name people whispered in the halls. He was the kind of boy who ruined good girls in every book I ever read. The one with the reckless smile and too many secrets. The one you warned yourself about.

The one you couldn’t help noticing.

“He’s not even that attractive,” I said, mostly to myself.

Zoë snorted. “That’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

I shrugged, eyes drifting again—only to find him already looking.

Not a glance. Not a half-second thing this time.

His eyes were on me, unreadable. Calm. Curious, maybe.

And this time, he didn’t look away.

I felt my breath catch, cold air sharp in my chest. His gaze was steady. Not flirtatious. Not smug. Just… there.

And then someone called his name. A girl. Blonde. Confident. Her voice high and sweet. His head turned.

Connection broken.

I looked away fast, like I’d been caught doing something wrong. My cheeks burned.

Sure I had a crush on him, it was wrong. He was the schools troublemaker. Plus it’s not like he’d like a girl like me anyway…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N ~ comment on this post to be added to this series tag list!!!

[juneberrie]

ummm can i get uhhhh snow lands on top for wyatt callow?? i have no idea how requesting really works i just assumed it was like ordering at a wendy’s. but yea i just thought it would be cute if u could pretty please write some hcs on wy having a crush on a girl from town/him having a crush in general!! if not that’s ok i luv that you’re doing this the hashtags have been kinda dry >< okay ily bye.

SNOW LANDS ON TOP - send me a character and a scenario, au, or trope and i'll write some hcs!

𝐔𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 || wyatt callow x town girl!reader

most everyone in the district stayed away from the callows

seam kids, miner's kids, and especially town kids

they always made fun of wyatt especially; they found his affinity for odds and numbers unsettling, especially because he was always right

you ran in different circles; wyatt tended to keep to himself, always in the hob collecting bets or in the mines working, and you were always with your friends or in your parents little clothing shop

you never had a concrete opinion on him. of course, you found the callows disgusting for gambling on the lives of children in the games, but you had always been kind of intrigued by the youngest

when wyatt first noticed you, it had been when he was still in school. he'd seen you outside at lunch, talking with the donner twins and asterid and otho. you had stood out from the other kids. maybe it was your laugh, or the way your eyes glimmered in the weak sunlight, or maybe it was the fact that when you'd caught his eyes, instead of scowling like other kids would have, you smiled

from that day onward, wyatt had been nursing an ever-growing crush on you

he'd watch you from afar, fascinated by everything about you; your hair, your eyes, your smile, your laugh, the way you carried yourself

he didn't know too much about you. all he knew was that you were a merchant's kid

he'd had a crush on you for two years at this point, and he was always surprised by the way his heart fluttered when he saw you

he thought it was ridiculous. he'd never been one for pointless crushes before, instead sticking to his odds. odds were predictable, they were safe. crushes were not. crushes were unstable and unpredictable

but when his mother had asked him to take his brother's shirt to the tailor to mend a tear, he had jumped at the opportunity.

it was a chilly november day. leaves were crunching under wyatt's boots as he walked. he felt out of place; he'd just been in the mines, and now he was walking down the slightly-nicer streets of town. he had a shirt in one hand, the other in his pocket fidgeting with a scrip coin.

he caught sight of you through the window -- you were sitting at the counter, a dress draped over your lap and a needle in your hand.

he paused, his breath catching. there was something about you that made his heart drop to the pit of his stomach

he pushed open the door, clearing his throat

"hey there, how can i help you?" your cheerful voice rang out across the store, looking up from where you had been cutting the thread and setting the dress aside.

he stared at you for a few moments; he was actually going to talk to you. he realized he hadnt answered your question and quickly snapped out of it.

"uh, my brother's shirt has a tear," he said awkwardly, holding up the coal-blackened shirt.

you took the shirt from him, and to his surprise, insisted that he stay as you fixed it; it was only going to take a few minutes, anyways. you had waved away his payment, insisting that the tear was so small it would be rude to take the money

from that day on, he had started going to your shop more often, finding even the littlest rips in his clothes for you to fix

and you started to talk, to become friends

sometimes, you'd ask him about odds and he'd go on tangents, rambling on and on about numbers and probabilities until he caught your cheeky smile and quieted down.

but the look on your face, the way you told him to go on, only made his heart pound against his ribcage even harder

he had always told himself that the odds of you liking him back had been slim to none; you were a town girl, a merchant's daughter, and he was a seam boy, a booker boy at that. no way would you ever like him

one day, you had been fixing a pair of his father's pants as he stood awkwardly behind you. when you finished, you had turned, handing him the pants

he was reaching into his pocket to find the money you would refuse, the same way you always did

"let me pay you," he'd say

"no, its alright," you'd reply

but this time, when he insisted you take his money, your answer changed

you leaned forward, kissing him

not on the cheek, but full on the lips. he stood there, shocked for a moment as his brain went into overdrive

when you pulled away with a small smile, he stayed staring at you. his brain was doing the only thing it was good at; running the odds.

the odds you liked him back had suddenly gotten way better

[cherryswisherz]

WILSHIRE

♱ CONTAINS: semi happy ending, kissing

♱ NIYAHSPEAKS: this is long as hell and most of it is written as flashbacks but here we areeeeee s/o my tyler fans CHROMOKOPIA 10-28 !!!! i'm finna do yall requests over the weekend because i have nothing else to do so... be prepared!

♱♱♱♱

it's the 2024 wnba draft. azzi's my plus one. nika and aaliyah are getting drafted tonight and i'm trying to keep my cool. because tonight is about them, not about me, not about azzi, not about our summer of utter fucking confusion.

lights from cameras flash. i smile, i mog, i pose. reporters are shoving mics in my face asking stupid questions as i guide azzi off the red carpet with my hand in a respectful position on her back. we have to find the girls before the draft starts. azzi wants to meet them before so it's not awkward at the after party. i'm trying to tune everything out but 6 words take me back to june and i freeze in my tracks.

"what's going on between you two?"

met you on a saturday knew it was somethin' soon as you spoke it eye fucking across the table, don't think anybody noticed you asked me if I was coming to the city you from maybe we should kick it, i was interested that would be dumb, if i denied

"paige..." that was the only thing she'd said directly to me all night. the rest of the time she'd spoke to everyone, answering their questions about how she met ethan, what her major was, etc. 

i'd been staring at her as she did this. studying the way she spoke with her hands, the flutter of her lashes, the bounce of her curls. her voice was so sweet and she always smiled when she wasn't talking so i could see her perfect fucking teeth. 

"where you from?" someone, i couldn't remember who, asked and she threw a glance my way, looking me dead in my eyes for a split second. 

i knew where she was from. we played against each other every year in high school. i was a year ahead of her. we never really paid attention to each other off the court, but i knew she was a killer player and an acl injury during her junior year took her out of the game for good

"uh- i'm from virginia. arlington county." she smiled as she cut her chicken. "me and paige played each other before i had to quit." she looked at me again, longer this time, and i damn near melted into the chair before she put her attention back on the conversation. 

"yeah she gave me a run for my money." i laughed, and that made her look at me again. she seemed confused, probably because i hadn't spoken this entire time. 

"my schools giving you a run for your money." she giggled and it was the most perfect sound i'd ever heard. "they say you're gonna be back when you guys play us next month. any truth to that?"

the competitive side of me took over when i answered her. "yeah i'll be back to tap dance on yalls ass in your own arena." 

"i guess we're in trouble then, huh?" she asked, her big brown eyes boring into mine.

you and i make sense, you stayed back at my telly we was chattin' 'til morning, vibration was heavy i wasn't drowning or yawning that's when i told you my feelings you told me you felt the same but you got homie you dealin' with damn, i didn't know, that's a bit unexpected but i get it, it's whatever, least i can do is respect it

after that dinner, azzi and i hadn't stopped texting and facetiming. it felt wrong because she was my friends girl, but i couldn't leave her alone. i wanted to be near her even if i couldn't see her in person until my team played hers. 

as predicted, we beat their ass and i made sure to remind azzi of that the whole ride back to her apartment. and when we got there, i took off my hoodie and plopped onto the couch. 

"so what we doing tonight? you wanna go out or stay in?" i asked her, praying she said stay in because i was dead tired. 

"definitely stay in." she said, sitting beside me on the couch. "lets put on a movie or something." 

and we did. we put a movie on. now did we watch the movie? no. 

we started talking, just yapping about any and everything. i was totally wrapped up in what she had to say, whether it was about school, or music, or anything really. i wasn't even tired anymore, she had my full attention. 

but then the conversation shifted to basketball and azzi's mood shifted with it. 

"sometimes i try and run 1v1 with ethan and for a second, i forget that my leg is fucked. for those 45 minutes i feel like everything is how i planned it to be." she looks at her knee poking out of her ripped jeans, then she rubs her scar. "and then i stand on it the wrong way and i remember that i'm not a player anymore. just a fan." the crack her voice forces me to grab her and pull her into me, letting her sob into my chest.

"az, you'll always be a baller. that shit's in your spirit ma." i almost wanna cry with her. "and even though you can't play anymore, you're one of the most beautiful people on the planet. and you're smart and you could do anything you wanted to do, basketball be damned."

a few minutes passed and she sniffled, looking up at me, and i got lost her red eyes and wet lashes. our faces were so close together, i could feel her breath on my nose. 

"i really like you azzi." 

fuck.  i shouldn't have said that.  she has a boyfriend.  her boyfriend is my fucking friend she's probably stra-

"i really like you too p." 

oh?

"but i'm with ethan. and he's good for me."

oh.

anyway, convince him to bring you to me so we can kick it right in front of his lenses, since nothing here is malicious you sat by me in that movie we went outside for them doobies we walkin' off when we talk man, that nigga not fucking stupid

"you should bring azzi to storrs with you." i suggested to ethan. "does she like horror movies?"

"uhhh yeah i think so..." he trailed off then scard the hsit out of m. "AZ! YOU WANNA COME WATCH A MOVIE WITH US?" i guess she asked who all was coming. "JUST ME AND PAIGE!" and then i guess she said yes. "okay paige, we'll be there in like 30." 

at the movies, in the five minutes i was waiting for them, i checked my hair 4 times, rearranged my jewelry twice and made sure my breath didn't smell like lunch. and when they got there i choked on my spit because azzi was wearing a sundress that hugged her in every right way. 

i honestly dont think there could be a wrong way. 

when she hugged me she whispered "i missed you." in my ear and dropped a light kiss on my neck that left me flushed. 

in the theater, i sat between her and ethan but we didn't really pay him any attention

"you look really good paige." azzi whispered to me. 

i looked down at my basic ass outfit (wifebeater and sweats), that i spiced up with jewelry and some fire shoes. "girl, this is lightweight." i whispered back.

"yeah well you look good in anything." 

"you look good too az," 

"you think so?" she's fishing.

"if your boyfriend wasn't next to me we wouldn't just be talking right now." i laughed, taking her bait. 

i got a laugh out of her and then she moved to hit me on the leg, but i caught her hand and tangled out fingers together, looking forward at the screen. she didn't move her hand. just set both of ours in my lap. and we stayed that way for like 15 minutes until she leaned into me and whispered again. 

"i hate horror movies, and he's snoring." she laughed pointing over me at her boyfriend who was knocked the fuck out. "can we leave?"

"yeah i got you." i thumped ethan on the head, causing him to jerk out of his sleep.  "yo. wake up, you're loud as hell. ya'll go home."

when we left the theater we walked out in silence but when we stared to say goodbye, azzi cleared her throat.

"actually, i wanna get something to eat really quick so, e, you can go home." she placed her hand on my shoulder, squeezing a little. "paige can you take me home after?"

my heart sped a little at the thought of being alone with her but i kept it P because her literal boyfriend was right next to me. 

"uh yeah if that cool with you?" i asked, not because i needed his permission, but because he's my friend and i wanted it. 

"yeah of course." he nodded then dapped me up "goodnight p."

"night." as soon as he was gone, i rubbed my hands together and looked down at azzi, catching those brown eyes in a way that made me think i never wanted to lose them. "so... where we boutta eat because im hungry as hell." 

"im not actually hungry, i just wanted to spend time with you." she said, putting her hands behind her back. "but you live here, so you pick."

"oh word?" i raised my eyebrows and put an arm around her shoulder, turning so we were side by side as we started walking towards my car. "imma take you to my spot."

"take me anywhere you like." she said, opening the passenger door, leaving me looking over the roof of my car, trying to keep it together until i got in the driver seat and began to queue a few songs. 

then i got a text. 

ethan: tell az to bring me a to-go plate

ethan. FUCK.

said you can't fully be into me 'cause you with him then why the fuck when we link it's like he doesn't exist? they all know that we're friends but we both aware that it's more everything i got, if you say the word, then it's yours

the party was loud as shit. i was drunk as shit. azzi was drunk as shit. ethan was nowhere to be found. 

"paige i have to peeeee." azzi whined into my ear. 

"okay come on." i shouted, guiding her to the bathroom, which was empty. 

while she was in the stall, i drank some water from the faucet, because i was so fucked up and i think that's why i haven't been able to stop thinking about her.

about how fucking hot she looked in her outfit. about how long her natural lashes were. about how soft her lips looked. about the heat radiating from her body as she danced with me. 

shes so fucking pretty.

"oh my god i feel so much better!" she shouted into the universe as she came out of the stall and started washing her hands. 

i think i just wanted to be close to her again because i moved behind her and hugged her from behind. with my head in her neck, i kissed her softly moaning quietly, "you smell so good, az." 

she turned around in my arms, facing me and i kept kissing her neck, moving to her collarbones, then i pulled away and we just stared at each other for a second. 

it was like a silent conversation, asking each other "are we really gonna do this?"

and i guess the answer was yes, because azzi leaned in and place a single peck on my lips, then pulled away with the speed of light. 

but one wasn't enough. so i leaned back in and enveloped her lips with mine. our mouths moved in perfect harmony, giving me everything i'd wanted since that dinner so long ago. she moaned into my mouth, and i picked her up, placing her on the sink behind her. 

we just kept kissing, caressing each others tongues, rolling our bodies into each others, both of us enjoying the way the other person felt. 

....until she pulled away, pushing me back when i chased her lips. 

"paige we can't." she said, trying to catch her breath. 

"azzi..."

"i have a boyfriend, paige." she sounded kind of sad as she said it. 

"i know az." i said, walking back up to her. "but tell me there's nothing here." i grabbed her hands. "tell me, that these past 3 months, you haven't felt what i feel."

"you know i do paige. i wouldn't have kissed you if i didn't." she looked at me with tears in her eyes. 

you told me when you're with me it's like heroin told me that your confidence went up since we befriended

"when im with you, i feel like i'm floating. like it's just us and that's all i'll ever need. you're-" she sniffled. "you're the only person who gets how much not being able to play fucking sucks. and you made me feel better about it. you make me feel like so much more than a fan, or just a person in the stands. and no one's ever made me feel that way."

and told me that you didn't wanna hurt him

"but ethan, p. ethan is my boyfriend. hes your friend. and he's so good to me. he loves me. and i can't do that to him."

why we doing this?

"so why kiss me then azzi?" i asked. "why the fuck would you let me touch you, or say the things we say, or let me buy you shit? why did you fucking kiss me?!" 

it was harsh, i know but she fucking played me and i was pissed. 

told me this a awkward situation and you just wanna be through with it

"i don't know paige. and i'm sorry." she kept crying. i assume she felt guilty, and i couldn't give less of a fuck. "this isn't easy for either of us. but i think we should just be friends. i don't wanna lose ethan, but i don't wanna lose you as a friend either. 

i snatched my hands out of hers and back away from her so fast, you would have though she had the plague. 

"friend? azzi. you were never 'a friend' to me. i liked you as soon as i saw you in that fucking restaurant. and i tried to be respectful. i tried to respect your relationship but you were the one who made me think you wanted me. you were the one lying to your fucking boyfriend to spend time with me. sneaking into the bathroom to facetime me at 11 at night. you were the one who kissed me. you. it was all fucking you. and now... now youre asking me to be friends? fuck outta here bro." i said, then walked out of the stall and out of the bar.

i know you could be it and everyone around me that care about me can see it i could fuck a trillion bitches every country i done been in men or women, it don't matter if i seen 'em, then i had 'em but with you, it's a feeling

i was still plastered, so i had nothing but time to think about the situation. 

i knew azzi and i could be great, if she just gave it- gave us- a chance. i knew she wanted to. i knew she felt what i was feeling. i'd have known even if she didn't say it. i also knew she didn't feel for ethan, what she felt for me. but she felt an obligation to him. why? i have no idea. but i just wish she would have made up her fucking mind before sticking her tongue down my throat. 

and i know what you're thinking. 

she just wanted to smash.

and that's not true. me and azzi aren't a quick fuck. 

i mean i'm not opposed to a quick fuck. it wasn't a secret that i was bit of a slut. i mean can you blame me? 

d1 athlete, making bank off NIL money. and every girl in every city i went to, wanted a piece of me. who was i to deny them? 

so yeah i guess you can say i got around, but none of that mattered when it came to azzi. she wasn't just a groupie looking for a quick fuck, or to be a basketball wife. she was a baller. if anything she wanted to live vicariously through me and compete again. and i was willing to let her do just that. 

azzi was the object of my affection for three fucking months. i knew everything about her. i fucking craved her. i knew it was wrong. i knew she was my friends girlfriend. but i couldn't quit her. 

my teammates could tell that i had feelings for her too. anytime i was on the phone for more than 10 minutes, they knew it was hr. they picked on my for it, calling me a simp. kk nicknamed me 'sidepiece' which was a nice change from 'community strap' but it stung worse. 

whatever. 

fuck her. 

you said you told him the truth and you never lied now he lookin' at you with them eyes we never crossed the line but he got every right to be a little pissed off he you picked up, y'all got in argument he got his shit off

two weeks after the bar incident, i'd somewhat gotten myself together. figured out how to sleep without her goodnight text. found new favorite spot to eat. slept with someone without seeing azzis face. i'd found a new routine. 

and then it all went to shit. 

"azzi? its 9:30 at night, why are you calling me?" she answered my question with a sob. "azzi baby what's wrong?

"paige... he- he knows.." she cried into the phone. 

"who knows what, az?"

"ethan!" more crying. "he-he-he asked me out no where if you and i had something going on."

"shit." 

"and i couldn't lie to him paige. i told him we never had sex, but-but i told him how i felt about you, and that i kissed you and he just went off." she was crying so hard, i could narely understand her. "he said he should have known not to trust me around you when i told him i was bi, and that you couldn't let him have one thing, and that he couldn't look at me and- and- and-" she started hyperventilating. 

"azzi baby i need you to calm down for me. breathe babe." i mimicked the way she should breathe and got her to calm down enough to listen to me. "azzi. i'm gonna come get you. send me your location and just stay there and stay calm."

"okay..."

i never drove so fast in my fucking life.

i picked you up, your energy off your lips really dry, something is off you asked if i gotta, i asked if you gotta we tripping on our words nobody is lying, hakuna matata we sat in the car and cried for an hour

as soon as i got to the starbucks azzi was at, i looked at her through the window and my heart broke for her. she was in pajamas and a bonnet. those beautiful brown eyes i'd grown so fond d were red and swollen, lashes wet with tears. her soft lips weren't soft anymore. they looked dehydrated, that's how much she'd cried. 

when she got in the car, she didn't say anything. just played with the sleeves of ethans hoodie. 

"do you-" "i'm so-"

we spoke at the same time, then waited for the other to say what they were gonna say. 

"i'm really sorry paige." she whimpered. "i never meant for any of this to happen. i never meant to hurt you or him. and i shouldn't have called you after what happened." she broke down again. "god i'm so fucking sorry." she cried with her head in her hands. 

"hey..." i rubbed her shoulder, "it's fine. you made a mistake and it's okay. "

"i'm so sorry." she just kept sobbing. she was too upset to hear anything i was saying. "i love you too much to have done that to you paige. im so sorry."

and time stopped. 

she WHAT?!

she said she loved me. she said-  no. she's hysterical right now she doesn't realize what she's saying.

ignoring the pit in my chest, i bring her closer to me, making us both lean over the center console. her head fell perfectly into my chest and she let everything she had out. 

as i held her, and felt her whole body shake as she cried, my heart shattered with hers and shed a few tears with her.

on god, i love that girl i'm a sh-, i'm a bad person like, i'm in the wrong, i'm a bad person i had no ill intentions, though shit, everybody got hurt i got hurt

i never meant for any of this to happen. i pride myself on being a good friend, and being loyal to those who are loyal to me. 

and the one time it really mattered, i had to fall for my friends girlfriend. and he really like her too. i think if i hadn't fucked it up, they could have been great. but i did. and it's ruined. 

and all this for what?

for ethan to be hurt? for me to lose a friend? for azzi to feel like shit? for me to have to act like i'm not hopelessly in love with azzi?

and i'm mad private with this side of my life cause people are weirdos, and i just try to keep anyone i care about in the shadows safe from the commentary and spotlight and thoughts cause it's just a story for the people outside of it but i guess you're just another chapter in a book

and here we are, at the 2024 wnba draft in support of my teammates. 3 days ago, i would have been here alone. 

but azzi needed a pick me up and i would rather her be her friend than nothing at all. 

so instead of breaking down about what could have been on a red carpet, i smile, lean into th mic and say, 

"azzi is one of my closes friends. she was supposed to be one of the greats and if she hadn't gotten hurt, she would have been drafted next year. so i just wanted her to see it in real life because she's so much more than a fan. she deserves to be here with us."

i looked at her and smiled, pulling her to the back rooms of the building where nika and aaliyah were getting ready. 

but between the two of us....

i would shoot someone in the face if it meant azzi would light up like that again.

♱ TAGLIST: @patscorner @riyahtheballer @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary @1onescu

@mrsengstler @kmoneymartini @sageworld @darkskinchristiandiorpostergirl @justliketoreadsowhat @authentic-girl03

[l1zardart1stre]

MEGA ART DUMP

OK ONE LAST THING. here's a bunch of art stuff I've made recently since very rarely do I post shit here these days. The oldest stuff is first and the newest stuff is last for each category. This isn't even all of the twitter exclusive stuff btw, go follow that for everything

DIGITAL STUFF

first off, fanart of Tenna from https://soundcloud.com/bigie_g check out the take I work on it

fanart for https://soundcloud.com/swapfell-i-hate-you

a character that was originally a prediction for a leak take, but I turned into their own character, named "Serpent"

My Sona!

A random doodle of karkat vantas from Homestuck. That's Right! I'm a Homestuck fan :>

SPRITE STUFF

one-off Kris<>Noelle swap au

bootleg undertale au

fan talk sprites for @bryleeoz 's swap au reverie, of the character Wynter

grilled cheese battery rabbit sona. basically me if I was the same kind of darkner batterego was.

almost forgot this one, tenna as that four screen house thing from homestuck which I cant remember.

various chapter three antagonists. annes, tennas, whatever.

Bobee Slox, toby's EVIL twin.

the guy from The New Norm (a "twitter sitcom") as Tenna.

remake of an old secret boss, basically flowey but a cowgirl.

ocs.

a Tenna take of mine, Glen Tenna. two faced bastard who wants to be your friend but gets pissed when you don't want to. Listen to his song https://soundcloud.com/deltarune-landfill/glen-tenna

various Gaster designs, inspired by an idea by huecycles.

Ok that's all I wanna show rn. I left out a lot of fanart that was specifically meant for somebody compared to like a project since I don't have all their twitter @'s on hand rn, maybe I'll do a big fanart post later who knows. not very likely but who knows. anyways I hope this brings you back into the loop on what my arts been like lately, see ya in like 30 years :>

[sato-s-only-wife5107]

LMK!Wukong: The Game.

Word Count: 1078.

Content/Trigger Warnings: Clingy Wukong acting like a baby.

Authors Notes: Based on that one (TikTok?)video with the lady and her adorable clingy kitty. It felt very LMK!Wukong coded, so I couldn't help myself. Hope you enjoy! And don't be shy, feel free to request whatever you want!

<---Previous | Masterlist | Next--->

The vibe of Flower Fruit Mountain was rather peaceful in the past few hours. The little monkeys didn't come to bother you or anything today, which made you a bit suspicious. Wukong wasn't any different though, still the same old monkey, clinging to you like a child with its favourite toy. Not that you minded your boyfriend’s embrace, but being able to scratch your nose would have been nice.

You were on the internet when you saw the inspiration to do something… fun. You glanced at your Monkey King and smiled a bit as he repeatedly nuzzled into your stomach. You moved to sit up on the bed and stretched, which made him briefly let you go so he could do the same. When he was about to bury himself back into you, that's when you struck and stopped him. 

“What?” Wukong looked at you in confusion with a small frown when you didn't allow him to cuddle you. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Stay,” you warned, which made him twitch in excitement at the challenge. The way his tail moved and how his eyes zeroed in on you made him look like a wild animal ready to pounce and not let go till your body stopped moving… Well, in this case till you stop resisting.

“No,” he said yet again like the stubborn little monkey he was.

“Stay,” you repeated, which made the Monkey King pout like a baby. “Don't look at me like that.”

“Mine,” he whined as he opened his arms in an attempt for you to collapse into him. 

Not today. 

“No,” you warned again.

“Not mine?” he teared, you had to give him credit, his guilt trip game was fire.

“Yes yours, but no touchy,” you assured him and tried not to laugh.

“Why?” he whined, but listened to you nonetheless, which surprised you greatly. He showed more self-control today than you gave him credit for.

“No,” you stood firm, wanting nothing more than to see where his limit for the day was.

“Mine…” He pouted at you, his lip quivered, and he looked like he was about to cry. It hurt your heart and soul… But you knew him too well to fall for that. 

“We're gonna play a game, okay?”

“No, mine,” his quivering pout turned stubborn, his arms still open till you lowered them by his wrist with your index fingers.

“We're playing a game,” you said more forcefully, not giving him the choice.

“Mmm,” he whined, but it's a potential game with you, and he’s Wukong, so he let you continue.

“It's called keep hands to self, okay?” 

“No!” he snapped immediately. 

“Volume!” you snapped back.

“Don't care!” he snapped back.

He’s such a child for such an old monkey. You mused to yourself.

He wanted you in his arms! He didn't want to play a stupid game that required him to have you right there but not be able to touch you. He was offended you'd even suggest something like that.

“Too much of a coward?” you smirked and raised a challenging brow that made him flinch. “Maybe you're too weak to be able to do such a simple task?”

“No…” he grumbled and folded his arms as he looked away. 

He's so predictable… I admit I wanna kiss him right now though… you thought to yourself and decided to reward the Monkey King a bit when you were done torturing him.

“C'mon~ surely my big strong Monkey King, Great Sage Equal to Heaven won't be bested by a tiny little game,” you worked his ego, and as it always did, it worked.

“Fine, I'll play your stupid game…” he caved, but his fingers intertwined with yours.

“That-that means your hands too,” you were trying so hard not to laugh as you pulled your hand away from his.

“What?” He narrowed his eyes again.

“Yeah, that includes your hands too,” you told him and removed your hand from his. “Keep hands to self, remember?”

“I don't like this game!” he protested and reached to grab your face, but you were faster and grabbed his wrists.

“My face as well, no touching my face,” you spoke and moved his hands to his lap.

It really hurt you to deny him, the adorable pouting baby opened his arms in an attempt to get you to give in first, but you stood strong.

“No hugging,” you mused.

“Ugh,” he glared at you but kept still with his hands on his lap. You could tell it was taking everything in the Monkey King not to just jump you and be over with. The proof was in the way his tail twitched and swayed in annoyance… and the fact that his entire body was shaking like a chihuahua. 

“Good job!” the second the words left your mouth, that's exactly what he did… jump you.

“Finally!” he said as he squeezed you in his arms, but not so tightly that you'd be uncomfortable and want another reason to leave his arms again.

“W-wait, we’re not done yet!” you laughed and tried to get through to him, but it was clear to see that you had lost. 

“We are done,” he said firmly and buried his face into your stomach.

“I'll tell you when-  I'll tell you-” You still tried to peel him off of you, but he was stuck to you like Flex tape.  “I'll tell you when the game is over,”

“It is over,” he pulled back a bit to speak but buried his face into your stomach again. 

“No, no, no,” you laugh, “let's just try it,”

“No, mine!” he held on firmly.

“But-”

“Mine!” he yelled as he squeezed you more.

“Gods dammit,” you swore with a laugh as you gave in and stroked your fingers through his bed head. “Okay, okay, you win.”

“Mine~” he smirked up at you and moved up to bury his face into your neck. 

“All yours, silly monkey,” you chuckled at his display.

Honestly, you couldn't resist him, just as much as he couldn't resist you. You snuggled into his furry chest and took in the scent of your conditioner he kept stealing. You felt at peace at that moment, and it didn't take long for the tired hero to KO. Not only that, but you still couldn't escape, even with him asleep. Not that you minded, you revelled in your Monkey King seeking your comfort and love. That was the bare minimum he deserved.

[sl-vega]

0.1; retired theater kids-(y/n's squad)

project: love liason! - a scaramouche smau

y/n:

hopelessly in love with childe (has been since freshman year) you are on fairly good terms with him, (even if half of your interactions play out in your head rather than reality)

(ridiculously) hopeful romantic

you were the one who started your friend group after you met everyone else in a drama camp during eighth grade (hence the name retired theater kids)

the "responsible" friend (even though the general consensus is that lynette and navia are the actual responsible ones)

mona:

your best friend and scara's academic "rival". having been forced to have tons of classes together in the past two years, mona and him have been pretty cut throat when it comes to them competing with each other

mona finds him insufferable, and has vented to you about him on numerous occasions, even though you've never even met the guy

super into astrology and zodiacs

she's well known around campus for having scary accurate predictions

"that wasn't on your 2024 bingo card? well it was on MINE."

furina:

president of the drama club at your school, and is often put in charge of directing all of the drama club's shows

she used to be a semi-popular child actress that frequently appeared in famous kids shows, but she took a break recently to focus more on her directing career

was essentially a guarantee for any lead in school productions when she was younger

absolute drama queen

navia frequently keeps her up to date with all the latest gossip so she's a real treat to talk to

lyney:

lynette's older twin brother, and a part time magician for kids birthday parties

one of the girls

also a member of the drama club

both an actor and member of the stage crew as he helps with special effects for productions as well

wants to continue working in the film industry after high school

bounces around as a freelance worker instead of being tied down to a specific gig despite having many offers from several places

says that if he waits the salary offers will get higher

lynette:

lyney's younger twin sister and part time magic assistant

her brother often jokes that she ditched him, but she just preferred to explore her own interests outside of lyney's career

member of both the drama club and science club

unlike lyney she only helps with behind the scenes work

most notably special effects, but she's more interested in the scientific aspect of making it work

navia:

DEFINITION of an fbi friend

knows everything about everyone, does loyalty tests on people's boyfriend's sometimes if they pay her

picks up crazy amounts of info, and has a shit ton of connections to tons of people and places

doesn't disclose how she finds out all of this

the type of friend that can find someone only by their first initial

give her a single piece of info and BOOM

she has their full legal name, all their social media accounts, the location of the grocery store they frequent, and their parent's Facebook pages

currently in a situation ship with chlorinde

additional notes:

profiles are out!

not much I wanna say but yeah :D

i'll try my best to do frequent updates

if you wanna be tagged just send me an ask/comment!

𝜗𝜚 SYNOPSIS: you're head over heels in love with childe, and scaramouche is (begrudingly) smitten with his "rival" mona. and, by sheer divine coincidence, you both happen to be the best friends of each other's objects of affection, so you strike a deal with each other. if scaramouche helps you ask out childe, you'll set him up with mona. so with the annual spring formal right around the corner, the two of you vow to be each other's wingmans so you can end your junior year on a high note (and maybe even kick off your senior year with a new relationship!). between, scheming, planning, and researching, you and scaramouche find yourselves developing a new relationship via helping each other out. now the real question is whether this friendship will remain as a pure platonic bond, or blossom into something more?

< PREV ll MASTERLIST ll NEXT >

🎀 - taglist!;

@agaygothicmushroom, @035814, @freyao7, @sketcheeee, @tsukimara, @shyentsmissingink, @justpeachyteastea, @aries-afk, @lxkeeeee, @sakiimeo, @sugxryratz, @shutingstar, @lalaloveallmydays, @bellflower1257, @haruumei, @kichiyosh1, @littlemisssatanist, @dee-zbignuts, @candyescapism, @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully

[amostimprobabledream]

Sink Your Teeth In (Kensei x Reader)

Also available on Ao3!: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61846402

"I'm so sorry I'm late."

The restaurant is a Western-style one and you pause to admire the decor as you hurry in. Outside it's raining and cold, so the warmth inside draws you closer like a magnet. You really don't like these after work meals, the conversation is always so forced and the people who pick the food tend to go for these fancy restaurants that make you feel guilty for even considering the more expensive stuff.

Yasochika Iemura, one of your annoying busybody colleagues, scowls at you.

"You're late!" he scolds, as if you didn't just apologise for that very thing.

"I know, I was on the train, and it stopped for about twenty-five minutes outside the station-" you begin, speaking fast. "I tried to call but I couldn't get any reception-"

"Well, you should have gotten an earlier one in the event of this happening!" he says pompously, waving away your words, as if you're expected to plan for every single conceivably emergency. "We've already ordered the starters. Hurry up and sit down."

You scowl in annoyance as you wander over to the vacant chair, awkwardly maneuvering past other diners who have come as couples or families or friends. Not a bunch of people you have to see all the time if you want to get paid. You exchange a couple of awkward smiles with a few people you know somewhat well - Isane Kotetsu is sitting across from you and looks like she'd been having ear talked off.

"Hi!" an attractive waiter with spiky black hair approaches you, seeing you're the only person without her own drink. "I'm Hisagi, would you like to order anything else?"

"Oh, um, I'll have a cider." you say, a little flustered by how cute he is. "Thank you."

He nods and disappears off to the bar. You turn your attention to the starter in front of you - it's not the kind of thing you'd have ordered for yourself, it's some kind of soup or stew, maybe? But it's gone lukewarm and to be honest, you're not really hungry enough to brave mouthfuls of lukewarm soup. You decide to just leave it alone an idly skim through the menu, but you're still feeling frazzled and irritated from being scolded like an errant teenager and nothing jumps out at you.

Besides, this menu is predictably overpriced. Honestly you'd rather just go home and boil instant noodles than waste money on something off a menu with a dozen ingredients you probably won't even like that much.

When Hisagi returns with your drink, you thank him and he discreetly whisks away the bowl of soup when it becomes clear you're not going to eat it. He asks if you want to order anything else and you politely decline. He looks slightly disappointed, like he'd been hoping you'd ask him for something, but he doesn't bother you about it.

"You really don't want anything?" asks Nanao beside you. "The chef here is supposedly very good. Muguruma, I believe his name is?"

"It's okay, don't worry." you reply vaguely, reaching over and grabbing some bread. "I'm kind of broke right now."

You butter the bread as you listen to people around you gossip about what went on in the big board meeting last week - apparently one of the executives lost it and challenged the other one to a fistfight. You wish you'd seen it yourself, it's very Mad Men.

When the waiter starts bringing everyone's main courses to the table, you have to fight not to gawk at some of the dishes he brings out, but now you feel awkward about suddenly changing your mind. Plus, even though some of it smells amazing, you're still not convinced it's worth splashing out your cash on. Maybe if your stupid train hadn't got stuck and gotten you all stressed out and panicky and you'd arrived with everyone like you were supposed to…

"Do you want to try some of mine?" Isane offers shyly as your waiter from earlier wanders past. You glance down at her food which looks like some kind of chicken salad thing, but there's way too much dressing on it and you crinkle your nose just a fraction.

"I'm fine," you smile tightly at her, nibbling on bread.

At least people are getting drunker and less inclined to comment on your picky eating habits. You even loosen enough to laugh and joke about, mostly when people begin ribbing Yasochika, which is easy to do considering he's such a tightly-wound prig, but then he goes and asks to speak to the Chef.

"What is he doing?" you hiss at Nanao, who looks similarly disapproving. "The Chef's busy, he doesn't want to talk to some pompous ass!"

"Ssh. Though you're right, I don't know why he has to do this whenever we go anywhere." Nanao tuts, and you smirk - woe betide the person who gets on Nanao's bad side.

Soon enough a man in a chef's outfit appears. Your eyes widen at the sight of him. You don't know why but you had an image of a guy with a beard and French accent and flamboyant mannerisms, some cliche off TV that embedded in your brain.

Kensei Muguruma, as his nametag says, is nothing like that. He looks like he's made of brick or steel - solid and tough, with arms that, even with the thick chef's coat, you can tell are toned. For sure he hits the gym, he holds himself like a man who takes care of his body, all straight-backed and solid posture. His arms are folded over his chest as he listens to Yasochika's pandering compliments. His jaw is held tight, and you're admiring the sharpness of it when he lifts his eyes to yours, spotting you watching him.

"Oi. You."

His words cut over Yasochika, who flops back in his seat like a kid.

"Uh…yes?" you say, looking up. And up. Christ, his biceps.

"You haven’t ordered a single thing since you sat down." Kensei barks, in tones of deep condemnation. "And you sent the starter back."

That's not strictly true, you didn't even order the starter, they just took it away when you hadn't touched it. But clearly this guy takes food very seriously. He'd got a thunderous scowl on his face, like he intends on throwing you face-first out of the nearest window. A flicker of irritation that had dimmed down into embers comes back to life at his accusatory tone - you don't know how he knows that (except, perhaps, Hisagi mentioned it in passing), but what does it even matter? You don't appreciate him acting like you've done something wrong.

"Well," you say, with a passive-aggressive smile. "Maybe I'm just not hungry."

His eyebrow twitches, not missing out on the edge to your voice. He leans down and you fight back the urge to lean away from him - you won't let him use his bigger size to intimidate you, even if it is kind of working. For god's sake, you're a customer!

Are you, though? a voice in your head asks. After all, you haven't ordered anything. No transaction has occurred, besides the drink at the bar you bought.

Kensei speaks in a low tone, like his words are meant exclusively for you. He has a nice voice when he's not barking orders at people, low and smooth.

"Yeah? You've been sitting there for nearly three hours while everybody else eats, and you're not hungry at all? Bullshit."

Your eyes widened, surprised and, to be honest, a little titillated that he's speaking to you like that. You assumed that this place with its atmospheric mood lighting and ambient music playing would be too haughty for that kind of language. Evidently Chef Muguruma doesn't care as much as everyone else does about all that. Your thighs press together underneath the mahogany table.

Easy, girl, easy.

"You're just a fussy brat, aren't you?" he says, and your chest heaves with indignation. How dare he?! Especially in front of your colleagues who are totally earwigging!

"Maybe you're just not a good a cook as you think you are." you reply without thinking. Shit, that was rude.

But instead of getting angry like you expected, Kensei smirks and your stomach flipflops. He's even more handsome when he smiles, maybe because it's such a rare thing you feel like you've won something just by catching a glimpse of it.

"Oh yeah?" he says, straightening up. "Fine. Pick something."

He plucks a menu off another table and hands it to you, folding his arms when you take it hesitantly. By now you feel like everyone in the restaurant must be staring at you, but it's Kensei's gaze you return, everyone else fading into background noise. Swallowing, you look down, eyes tracing over the starters, side orders, main course…there are so many options it's a bit overwhelming, but you take your time with it this time, weighing up your choices instead of skimming and dismissing everything offhand. Your eyes land on something and you point to the dish on the menu.

"This one," you say, reading it aloud. "Sole meuniere."

Kensei's eyebrows rise slightly, no doubt expecting you to pick something excessively complicated just to spite him, not a simple dish like this. But he nods and takes the menu back, his eyes on you.

"Don't you move." he says, as if you have anywhere else to go. "I'll be back."

And off he disappears into the kitchen, and you notice the back of his neck is red. Everybody at the table is staring at you and heat crawls up your cheeks. What? You weren't the one who demanded to talk to him!

"What were you thinking!" Yasochika hisses at you, looking mortified. "You can't speak to the chef that way!"

"Stop making a scene, Yasochika." Nanao says, and you could hug her if you weren't already aware she'd hate it. "He asked her to pick something to cook, she picked, he's cooking it. That should be the end of it."

Nanao's words manage to take some of the heat off you and you smile gratefully at her. She simply nods and sips her drink, ever the professional. You should have expected this much, she's used to handling Shunsui on a daily basis. You like the guy, but you can't imagine the willpower takes not to slap him about the head whenever he's sleeping instead of doing paperwork.

Sure enough, after waiting a little while, Kensei reappears and a sizzling pan of fish is presented to you. It smells heavenly, you look over the golden-brown skin of the fish, bubbling still with butter, and you can feel your mouth flooding with saliva. He's right, you are hungry - in fact, you're starving despite the bread you were eating beforehand. You'd just been doing your best to ignore it.

"Well, don't just stare at it." Kensei huffs impatiently. "Get eating."

"You're seriously going to watch?" you ask in a deadpan, but he's apparently determined to get your reaction firsthand. You suppose that's on you for challenging him so openly, so you turn your attention to the piping hot fish in front of you, accompanied by some asparagus that looks nice and fresh.

You grab some of the fish with your fork, which falls apart easily and slowly, take a bite.

Oh, fuck me.

The flavour is soft, sweet and tantalising. You'd expected Kensei to have harsh, strong flavours that fit his personality, but this is like a warm, slow melting together of complementary tastes. Creamy melted butter soaked into the flesh of the fish, and you can taste the tang of salt and parsley. It's not too rich, and the sizzling hot dish wafts steam into your face that makes you salivate as you chew, each bite releasing more buttery goodness. The asparagus that goes great with the fish too - a soft, slightly peppery crunch that doesn't overpower anything.

Kensei's expression would be annoyingly smug, if you weren't enjoying the food so much.

"Good?" he asks, rhetorically. He doesn't need to ask, the look on your face is enough.

"Good." you reply, covering your mouth with your hand, but unable to conceal the growing smile behind it.

A moment lingers between you - more than just a cook and a customer enjoying the creation between you. You'd blame it on the atmosphere or the alcohol you've had, but as you bite into another mouthful of fish, you know what it is. Attraction. He's a damn fine-looking man even buttoned up to the neck as he is - you can only imagine what he looks like when that white coat of his comes off.

With a grunt that might just be covering slight embarrassment, Kensei turns and disappears back into the kitchen, apparently satisfied he's made his point - and, more importantly, given something to the picky eater she actually liked.

You eat every bite of the sole meuniere, licking butter off your lips. It's so good and warm, perfect for filling you up. You won't even mind braving the rainy weather after this. You keep glancing every so often at the kitchen door, longing to look at Kensei one more time, but he's clearly a busy guy and he doesn't reappear all evening.

When it's time to go, you linger a bit so everyone is ahead of you. Hisagi is picking bottles and glasses off the table when he notices you hovering, and gives you a smile.

"Was everything to your liking, miss?"

"It was," you reply with a smile. "Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you for one more thing."

"Certainly!" he says eagerly, and you hand him a napkin.

"Could you give this to the chef? With my compliments." you say, biting your lip slightly, and Hisagi's smile turns into a grin.

"Of course, I'll give it to him when we close tonight. Have a good evening, miss!"

"You too."

You sling on your coat and yank up your hood, hurrying after your colleagues to brave the journey home. Luckily you did remember an umbrella this time. Your heart is pounding even as you leave the restaurant - you're not the type of person to make such a bold move as to give

"I may be picky," you reply, leaning against the counter. "But when I see something I do like, I know it."

"Yeah?" he says and you can picture that cute amused smile of his again. "In that case, meet me after work tomorrow. I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”

There’s only one answer to that and you grin foolishly as you reply;

“Yes, Chef.”

[xoxoluka]

Could you write one about Schlatt and (streamer)reader meeting on the sdmp?? Maybe they met before years ago like 2020 but their friendship sort of fizzled out?idk

have a nice day🧚‍♀️💝

believe it or not i haven't caught up with sdmp EEK but i will i swear; i've only watched like the first stream and then other clips on tiktok, heres what I came up with!

jschlatt x streamer!reader headcannons

warnings: nothing crazy i don't think, schlatt's online persona

a/n: listen bro i dont really know what im talking about im doing my best, i made it headcannons because i can't write in-game content 😔

⚜ you received an invite to a new minecraft server, one ran by the Sleep Deprived podcast members.

⚜ the last server you were in... yeah, we won't talk about that. you had left it suddenly, and no longer associate yourself and your content with specific people. a few exceptions were tommyinnit, tubbo, and technically jschlatt, although it had been a while since you actually made any content together.

⚜ when you first joined, you met so many new faces and reconnected with a few old ones. or at least tried to. schlatt wouldn't let anyone even near his property, so you couldn't really have a conversation with him without him hitting you or banning you.

⚜ you had made it a mission to yourself, and even a prediction in your twitch chat that you would get schlatt to allow you onto his very special property.

⚜ clearly, we've all seen what happens when you're too loud near his property or if you enter it without his permission. you didn't want to end up like one of them

⚜ you knew schlatt had a very pretty view over the ocean on his property, and even a tiny beach area, and you wanted in, and you also may have had a small crush on him back in the day, so you and your chat made a plan.

⚜ it started with leaving small objects in front of his fence, or putting them in a chest with a sign that said 'for schlatt.'

⚜ you would leave him flowers, some things that you had heard him asking other people for, food, coal, iron ore, anything.

⚜ you had noticed him asking around for who left it, but no one had figured that it was you, so you continued.

⚜ you started leaving larger objects, like already crafted objects, and started sending him letters.

⚜ you sent him a letter, saying 'meet me at spawn tonight. :p'

⚜ once he arrived, he was incredibly skeptical, so you gave him your proposal.

⚜ "listen, schlatt," you start. "i have a proposal. if you let me live on your land, i'll continue to supply you with all of the goods i get. what's mine is yours, if what's yours is mine."

⚜ "hm," he ponders. "i'll think about it."

⚜ he grants you small things from then on, like you're allowed to come into his property, but not yet live. you build a house fairly close to his fence, and place shared chests where you store things that you find.

this was straight dookie my bad anon

requests still open!

© property of xoxoluka. do not repost.