#not sure if I just tagged it wrong or what

[goldfades]

joe burrow x popstar

watching edits together and getting so surprised by how freaky ppl are

warnings: nothing but fluff!!!

It starts with Joe’s arm slung lazily over the back of the couch, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. The TV flickers in front of you, some forgettable show playing in the background, its dialogue drowned out by the comfortable silence you’ve both perfected over time. It’s the kind of quiet that doesn’t need filling.

Your phone is in your lap, screen dim until curiosity—or maybe boredom—gets the best of you. A harmless scroll through social media, a pit stop at the tagged photos section, and suddenly you’re spiraling.

“Oh my God,” you blurt out, sitting up straighter, your thumb jabbing the screen with newfound urgency. “Joe. Joe, look at this.”

He leans in without hesitation, chin practically resting on your shoulder, his body radiating that signature warmth. His eyes squint a little, adjusting to the smaller screen, before widening in real time as the video plays—a fan edit, dramatic music swelling, quick cuts of the two of you like you’re the lead roles in some forbidden romance movie. Except it’s not just stolen glances and soft smiles. No, these people are bold.

Very bold.

Joe’s brow arches, mouth falling open slightly. “Is that—did they just—”

“They did.”

You don’t even finish the sentence because the next clip is somehow worse—or better, depending on how you look at it. And honestly, you’re not sure if you want to laugh, cry, or throw your phone across the room.

“Why is it in slow motion?” Joe asks, genuinely perplexed, his voice low and warm against your ear.

“Because that makes it dramatic,” you deadpan, thumb hovering over the screen like it might self-destruct. “Obviously.”

Joe snorts, the sound bursting out of him, and that’s what does it—you both dissolve into laughter, the kind that leaves you breathless and aching. He leans back, his head hitting the cushion with a soft thud, one hand clutching his chest like the sheer absurdity physically hurts.

“Play it again,” he gasps between laughs.

You oblige, because how could you not? The video is somehow funnier the second time around, now that you’re prepared for the dramatic zooms and questionable song choice (yes, False God by Taylor Swift). Joe wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, shaking his head.

“Do people really think we look at each other like that?” he asks, trying to catch his breath.

You glance at him, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the faint flush on his cheeks, the curve of his smile.

“I mean,” you tease, nudging his knee with yours, “they’re not completely wrong.”

His laughter softens into something quieter, something warmer. He shifts, leaning in again, his hand finding yours without thinking, fingers threading together like they always do. The TV is still on, the fan edit paused mid-dramatic frame, but none of that matters now.

“Yeah,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Guess they’re not.”

And just like that, the absurdity of fan edits fades into the background, leaving only the warmth of his gaze, the comfort of his touch, and the quiet realization that maybe the fans see something you’ve both known all along.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

i’m obsessed with your declan fics! can we get one where the reader has to calm him down? it would be even more fun if they were mad/annoyed at each other but he can’t help but seek her out when he needs comfort 👀

Paradoxical.

you currently can’t stand the sight of each other. and yet, in this moment… yours is the only face he wants to see.

declan o’hara x female reader (nickname - lucky.)

warnings - smut. cursing. angst. unspecified age gap. yeeeeeearning.

word count - 4.6k

authors note - she’s back 💋. loooved this request, so thank you so much to whoever sent it!! i’m still on my rivals shit, so please join me in this never ending journey. never getting over this man <3

masterlist. inbox.

“How are you doing?”

You snuggle further into the pillows on the bed, popping another strawberry in your mouth to avoid the question.

“Lucky.”

“Hmm?”

“I asked how you are.”

“M’fine,” you answer as you chew, praying the subject gets changed. She clearly doesn’t believe you, so you sigh and look at her pointedly. “I’m being serious. I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“Taggie.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“What? No! I’d never think that.”

“Then why are you treating me like I’m oblivious? I can see that you’re not fine, but you keep lying to my face.”

Taking a deep breath, you exhale in resignation.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re caught in the middle of all of this, Tag.”

“I’m not-”

“You are. He’s your dad, I’m your friend. You are quite literally the middle man here.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” she counters, perching on the edge of her bed. “If I have to be the peacekeeper, I will be.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.”

“I know, but these things happen. I just… if I knew what had happened, I could try and fix it.”

“You can’t fix this, Tag. I promise you, you can’t.”

She’s quiet for a moment, tracing the patterns on your socks as she thinks.

“What happened, Lucky? I swear that whatever it is, I won’t judge you. I just want to know how it all went so… wrong. One minute the two of you were the best of friends, and the next minute you’re packing up your office and leaving without so much as an explanation.”

“It’s complicated,” you murmur.

“So complicated that you had to quit your job?”

“Yes.”

“He’s never going to find a better assistant than you, you know. Never. He doesn’t even want to look for one, says he’d rather do all the work himself.”

“Well that’s stupid of him. He can’t do all that stuff himself.”

“Exactly. He’s willing to put himself through all of that stress so as not to replace you.”

“That’s his foolish choice, Tag.”

She sighs in frustration, leaning back against the footboard of the bed.

“Did he upset you? Did he say something stupid? You know what he’s like, he often doesn’t think before he speaks. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation here.”

“It wasn’t him, it was me. I quit by my own volition. He didn’t upset me, he didn’t offend me… I just had to do the right thing, which was to leave. I know you’re trying to help, Tag, but you can’t. Not with this.”

Taggie finally realises that she’s fighting a losing battle, choosing instead to shuffle over so she’s all cosy in the pillows next to you.

“I won’t tell him you were here,” she whispers, bumping your shoulder with hers.

“Thank you. I’m sorry you’re caught up in the middle of all of this.”

“I don’t mind, honestly. I just wish there was something I could do.”

“Give it some time. It’s meant to heal all wounds, after all.”

She chuckles, resting her head against yours affectionately.

“Will you help me make some raspberry tarts? I need at least forty of them, and I could do with an extra pair of hands.”

“Of course I will. But if your dad comes home, I’m sprinting out the back door.”

“Alright,” she laughs, shaking her head. “I’ll help with your escape, if need be.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re tempted to smash your head into the bar top.

You’ve been debating the pros and cons of it for the last forty five minutes, actually.

The gala is bustling, bodies packed into the beautiful ballroom with barely an inch between them. Everyone has a drink in hand, the light from the chandelier glinting off of the champagne and whiskey poured into crystal glasses.

You’d said yes to the event when you were still Declan’s assistant - assuming that you’d go together, just like always. And now, here you are, standing on opposite ends of the room and avoiding each other like your lives depend on it.

A cool hand finds your waist, spiced aftershave hitting your senses and letting you know who it is before they even have to speak.

“Hello, darling.”

“Hi, Rupert.”

He spins you around gracefully, smiling at you with a twinkle in his eye.

“You look ravishing, as always.”

“You don’t look half bad yourself, you know. You scrub up quite nicely.”

“Oh stop, I’ll start blushing.”

You can’t help but laugh, accepting his arm as he offers it out to you.

“Come on darling, let’s socialise a bit. You can’t stand in the corner forever.”

“I can.”

“Not on my watch.”

He’s dragging you across the floor before you can process what’s happening, people passing by you in blurs of colour and sparkles.

“Dance with me.”

“Is this fun for you? Torturing me?”

“Oh, immensely,” he grins, hands finding your hips.

You reluctantly wrap your arms around his neck, looking at him with a quirked brow.

“Don’t you have a thousand other women you could be dancing with, Rupert?”

He spins you playfully, laughing as you shriek.

“I do, but none of them are nearly as beautiful as you.”

“Oh god,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “Does that line usually work?”

“Never on women as smart as you,” he chuckles, swaying you gently.

You stare at him carefully for a moment, realising you know him too well when you instantly see through his carefree facade.

“Ask it, then.”

“Hmm?”

“I know that’s what this is. You’re going to get me all soft and relaxed and tipsy, and then you’ll ask me about Declan. You might as well just cut to the chase, Rupert.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re much too intelligent to think that I believe that.”

His eyes don’t leave yours as he tilts his head, getting a good look at you and your unwavering expression.

“Fine, you stubborn woman. Fine. I wanted to ask you about Declan at some point tonight. But only from a place of care and concern, not because I’m going to try to wrangle the two you of back together or anything.”

“Subtlety has never been your strong suit.”

“Forgive me for being confused, alright? You were joined at the hip, and all of a sudden you can’t stand the sight of each other. It’s just so unlike the two of you.”

You sigh deeply, dropping your head forward so it rests on his chest. Rupert’s arms tighten around you, silently letting you know he’s got your back.

“It’s complicated,” you explain, muffled by the material of the man’s shirt. “Stupidly complicated.”

“So complicated that it can never, ever be repaired? I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Blimey,” he half gasps, the sound vibrating through the both of you. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day, you bastard.”

Rupert laughs so loudly that people turn their heads to see why, the cadence of it completely infectious. Declan watches from across the room, unable to help himself from at least glancing at the two of you together so cosily.

“He’s currently watching you like some sort of bird of prey,” he informs, tilting your chin up so you’re looking into his eyes. “Whatever it was that happened, it hasn’t erased the fact that he cares about you. A lot. And I know for a fact you care about him.”

“Of course I do.”

“There we go then. Surely it’s nothing that can’t be solved with a bit of good old fashioned communication.”

“You’re a terrible communicator,” you argue.

“Do as I say, not as I do.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head as you both sway to the music once again.

“If I had a pound for every time that applied to you, Rupert, I’d be a fucking millionaire.”

He twirls you outwards quickly, watching as the skirt of your dress billows with the breeze of the action.

“And if I had a pound for every time Declan has pretended to stare interestedly around the room this evening just so he has an excuse to look at you, I’d be a millionaire too.”

You ignore the way your heartbeat picks up at his words, choosing instead to focus on the steady rhythm of the music from the piano that fills the space.

“Maybe he’s looking at you.”

“No, Lucky. He’s always looking at you.”

You sigh in resignation, fingers fiddling with Rupert’s collar as you straighten out his tie.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to respond to that.”

“You’re practically his right arm. This separation, whatever its cause, is doing both of you more harm than good. I don’t want to push you darling, because that isn’t fair - but just think about everything I’ve said, alright?”

He stares at you expectantly, brows raised in questioning.

“Alright.”

The grin on his face is almost blinding, beaming out in all directions.

“Now, you look too beautiful to stand on the fringes. I will dance with you all night if I have to, if it means showing off this stunning dress of yours.”

“So charming,” you smile, shaking your head. “That’s an offer I can’t refuse, isn’t it?”

“You’d be stupid to,” he winks, still grinning like the devil.

You let him lead you further into the middle of the dance floor, chuckling as he spins you as you go. Your hand has just slipped into Rupert’s once more when you’re both startled by a crash coming from the other side of the room.

The two of you whip your heads around towards the source of the commotion, to see two men in undoubtedly expensive suits brawling with each other. One of them is throwing punches while the other can do nothing but take them, merciless at his opponents hands. Some people are shouting and screaming, trying to physically separate them, while others turn a complete blind eye to the ruckus.

“Fuck,” Rupert mutters, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the scene.

You’re about to ask what the hell he’s doing when you’re pushed forwards and given a clearer view of what’s in front of you, understanding Rupert’s panic immediately.

Ginger is on the floor. Declan is standing above him with bloody knuckles.

“Fuck,” you repeat.

You want to run in the other direction, desperate to not be involved with the drama. And then you look at Declan - the way he’s falling apart at the seams, nerves ruined and adrenaline rushing through his veins, clearly on the edge of something awful… and all of a sudden you’re walking towards the brawl, logic be damned.

There’s so much noise surrounding you that you can’t hear yourself think. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and your heart pounding against your ribcage in your sudden determination to get to the Irishman.

You’re yelling his name without even realising you’re doing it, shouting at the top of your lungs to fight over the commotion.

“Declan! Oh for fuck sake… Declan!”

Your voice somehow breaks through the noise like a sirens call, the familiar melody of it finding his ears like his favourite song. His eyes finally meet yours, and the rest of the room melts away.

You have a conversation without saying anything, so many words exchanged in such a short amount of time. The two of you have always been good at this - communicating in your own language, silently and easily.

You grab his injured hand and intertwine your fingers with his, pulling him away from the scene of the crime with determination. You cast a look back to Ginger, who remains on the floor with blood dripping from his nose, before dragging Declan through the crowd and towards the front door of the huge Manor House. You can hear Rupert trying to mitigate the situation as you leave, using his charm as he does best.

You make your way outside, yanking the man behind you in your path without so much of a glance backwards. You trudge through the gardens in your heels, ignoring the way the dewy grass brushes across the tops of your feet occasionally. Finally, after walking for what feels like hours but was actually mere minutes, you come across a bench, sheltered by an old stone wall and neatly trimmed hedges.

You shove him to sit down, still refusing to look him in the eye. Neither of you say anything, the evening breeze and two sets of lungs heaving all that can be heard.

“What happened?” you whisper eventually, reluctant to disturb the peace. “Who started it?”

Declan looks surprised that you’re speaking to him, failing to hide the shock on his face.

“Will ya sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

“You’re not the boss of me anymore, remember?” you half joke, sitting down anyway.

“Funny,” he says, completely deadpan. He looks at you carefully for a long moment, before continuing. “It was Ginger, obviously. I wouldn’t waste my time with him otherwise.”

“What did he say?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Matters to me.”

“Well it shouldn’t.”

“Right.”

You stare at your shoes, wondering why you even bothered to rescue him back in the ballroom.

“Fuck this, then,” you mutter as you stand up to leave.

A hand wraps around your wrist as quick as a flash, pulling you back to sit down where you were.

“No. You don’t get to just walk away from me, not again.”

“Tell me what Ginger said.”

“Tell me why you quit workin’ for me.”

“I already did.”

“Liar. You gave me a poor excuse that’s absolute bollocks. I don’t believe it for a second.”

“That’s your problem, then.”

“Yes, it is.”

You stare at him, completely exasperated by the events of the last hour.

“You can’t just punch people at galas, Declan. It’s a bad look for you, for Venturer, and for every member of staff that relies on you.”

“I know.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

He scrubs his hand over his face, clearly frustrated with both you and the situation at hand.

“He made some horrible comment about you. I fell right into his trap too, like a bull and a fuckin’ red scarf.”

“What did he say?”

He hesitates for a moment.

“Just… something crude about you sleepin’ with me to get to where you are. Called me a cradle snatcher, too.”

“You can’t be a cradle snatcher if I’m a grown woman.”

“Exactly. And it’s not true, anyway. We all know that.”

“So why did you hit him, then? If we all know it’s not true?”

Declan sighs, fatigue painting the sound.

“Because no one gets to speak about you like that with no consequence. And because I was angry.”

“At me.”

“At you. Yes.”

You fiddle with your fingers, entirely unprepared for the fact that you’re about to have the one conversation you’ve been completely avoiding.

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” you begin. “I’m sorry that it’s come to this.”

“Then what did you mean to happen, Lucky? Did you think that you could just up and quit with absolutely no warning, without a problem? That I’d just let you walk out? Did ya think I’d help you pack your things?”

“Obviously not,” you whisper. “I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not. Which is why I know that you thought about that decision long and hard. And that’s what I can’t seem to wrap my head around.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

He looks at you with pleading eyes, clearly desperate to resolve the issues between you.

“Please, Lucky.”

His voice is cracking just like his heart, breaking down the middle to allow all of his emotions to spill out onto the grass. You’ve never heard him sound like this. You hate it.

“I had to, Declan. For both of our sakes.”

“For fuck sake, can you cut it out?” he snaps, volume raising.

“Cut what out?”

“Speaking in these fucking riddles! I can’t even pretend that I have any idea what you’re talkin’ about. Please, whatever it is, however terrible you think it is… I just need you to say it. We’ll deal with the consequences. But I can’t keep goin’ around in circles, dancing around the subject constantly.”

You take a deep breath, bottom lip wobbling as you will yourself not to cry. You’re well and truly at the end of your tether, unsure of how much more you can take - or how much you want to. Deciding to throw caution into the wind, you exhale carefully before turning to face the man next to you.

“You’ll hate me. When I tell you.”

“I could never hate you. Never, Lucky.”

You get lost in your own head for a moment, staring off into space as you debate the best way to go about this. A large hand finds its way into your knee, comforting and grounding. His thumb rubs patterns into your skin where the slit of your dress is, warming you up from the outside in.

“I thought about it for a long time,” you begin. “A long time. Because being your assistant is the best job I have ever had, or will ever have. It was a dream, Declan. Even when we had a tough day, or week, or month, I always knew we’d be okay.”

He nods, his full attention on you.

“We were comfortable, me and you. Maybe a little too comfortable for a boss and his assistant, but in a good way, I think. I was settled, with you.”

He squeezes your thigh, urging you to continue.

“But then, I think we got too settled. People started to notice - which doesn’t matter, but they did nonetheless. I was sleeping over at your house, staying awake with you until the early hours, attending galas and events as your date. And I wasn’t sure what it was - the thing that was bothering me - until one day, it clicked.”

“Lucky…” he whispers, desperate for you to spit it out.

“I’m in love with you.”

The two of you sit the silence for a moment, listening to the breeze softly whip around you.

“That’s what clicked. And that’s why I quit. Because it felt like a conflict of interest, like a… betrayal.”

“A betrayal?”

“Yes. Like I was taking advantage, or something. And I didn’t think it was fair, for you, having me pining over you at work. I didn’t want you to feel pity for me, if you noticed eventually - I hated the idea of being treated differently by you, all through fault of my own. So I quit to get ahead of it.”

“Are ya done?”

“I, uh… yes?”

“Great.”

Declan surges forward, smashing his lips to yours with the most passion than you’ve ever experienced in your life. One of his hands tangles in your hair as the other cradles your face, pulling you as close as he physically can. His tongue slips into your mouth cheekily, allowing you to taste whiskey, cigarettes and the cool night air. Eventually, when you both need to breathe, he pulls away reluctantly, resting his forehead on yours.

“Did you do that to make me shut up?” you murmur, fighting to keep the smile off your face.

“Yes and no.”

He’s grinning like the devil, chuckling as the palms of his hands find your cheeks.

“Yes and no?”

“Yes and no. I took the action needed to stop you rambling. But I’ve been thinking about doing that for a long time.”

“… What?”

“Why do you think we got so comfortable, Lucky? It works two ways. You were just the only one brave enough to make a change - even if it was the completely wrong thing to do.”

“So you don’t hate me?”

“The opposite,” he laughs. “I can’t remember when it happened. I woke up one day and I just knew. And I knew that you’d never feel the same way, but I love being around you so much that I was willing to make that sacrifice. So I was a coward, and I stayed silent.”

“We’ve made this complicated. Too complicated.”

“Much too complicated.”

“But… it is. You were my boss, and you’re older than me, and I’m good friends with Taggie now, and-”

Declan kisses you again, sweeter this time.

“We can figure it out, Lucky. You know we can.”

“Maybe,” you whisper.

“And I want you to come back to work.”

“Declan-”

“I’m serious. I cannot cope without you. I will never find an assistant as good as you, and quite frankly, I don’t want to. I want you. No one else.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a conflict of interest, like I said earlier.”

“But it isn’t. Not anymore. Before all of this, we were two people in love working together. And when you come back, we’ll be two people in love working together.”

You can’t find it in you to argue, realising that he’s actually making a good point. If anything, it should be easier now that you’ve both communicated your feelings - no more skeletons in the closet.

“Tell me you don’t miss it,” he provokes. “Tell me you’re not even remotely tempted to come back.”

“I can’t.”

“Exactly.”

You take a deep breath, moving the hair away from his eyes tenderly.

“I’ll think about it, alright? I’ll have a think when I go home.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He smiles like the cat that’s got the cream, entirely too satisfied with the outcome of this conversation.

“I know we’re in uncharted territory here, Lucky. But we can figure it out. You know we can.”

“I know. It’ll be hard, but… I know.”

You lean up to kiss him softly, sighing as your eyes drift closed. He winds a hand around the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as he pulls you closer, trying to plaster every inch of his body to yours.

You lose yourself in everything Declan - the way he tastes, the way he smells, the way he feels underneath your fingertips. You want to strip him bare right here and memorise every curve of his muscles, every line in his skin, every mark on his face.

His hand slips further and further up the slit of your dress, gripping at your thigh as if he’s worried you’ll slip away. You’re half in his lap, draped over him on the bench as he still pulls you impossibly closer.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” he whispers against your throat. “Every. Single. Night.”

He kisses his way along your neck, revelling in the way you squirm at the feeling of his moustache on your skin. You grab fistfuls of his white shirt, crumpling it in your hands to try and give yourself some sort of anchor.

When Declan’s fingertips slip into your underwear, all you can do is sigh, resigned to the fact that you’d let him do absolutely anything he wanted in this current moment.

“We’re in public,” you protest weakly, both of you knowing you don’t want him to stop.

“We’re at the bottom of the garden, surrounded by three hedges and a wall. If anyone sees, that’s their fault.”

You drop your head forward onto his shoulder, parting your legs to give him a better angle. He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels just how aroused you are, practically vibrating with want.

“Are ya this wet f’me?”

You nod against his shirt, not trusting your voice.

“Oh, sweetheart. Well I can’t leave you like this, can I? That’d be cruel.”

He pulls your underwear to the side fully so he can slip a finger into you with ease, both of you groaning at the sensation. Sliding a second one in, you hold onto him for dear life, panting like you’ve run a marathon.

“Please,” you whisper. “Declan, please.”

“I’ll do anything to hear you say my name like that again, Lucky. Anything in the world.”

“Declan.”

He sets a steady pace, crooking his fingers as he goes to make sure you see stars. Your eyes are rolling back, lip caught between your teeth to stifle any sounds that threaten to escape.

“God, I wish I could hear how pretty you sound,” he groans, looking at you intently. “You can make as much noise as you want when I take you home. Promise.”

You whimper softly, bucking your hips up to meet his rhythm. The bench is cold underneath you, the air turning chilly, but neither of you pay any mind to it. You’re too far gone to care.

You grab Declan’s other hand and stick two of his fingers in your mouth, laving your tongue around them to keep you quiet. He moans at the sight, all deep and rumbled, the sound reverberating through both of you.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

All you can do is look at him with big, bright eyes, pleading with him silently to finish the job at hand.

“You want me to make you come, sweetheart? That it?”

When you nod, he picks up the pace of his fingers, thumb pressing circles into your clit.

“Have ya thought about this? In bed, alone, getting yourself off in the dark?”

You whine at his words, nodding your head in answer.

“That’s a good girl. Come for me, sweetheart. Come for me and I’ll take you home and fuck you properly, yeah?”

You see stars as you climax, gripping onto his shirt and his hand for dear life. He works you through it, murmuring filthy promises into your ear as he does it.

Lifting his fingers from between your thighs, he pops them straight into his mouth, both of you groaning in unison.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs against your lips, leaning in to kiss you softly. “Perfect girl.”

You shuffle sideways so you’re pressed into Declan’s side, two strong arms encircling you immediately.

“Thank you.”

“For the orgasm?”

“Yes and no,” you laugh. “For listening to me. I’ve been going insane trying to think about what I’d say to you if I got the chance to explain myself, but no words seemed to suffice.”

“I just wish you’d talked to me sooner, sweetheart. I’ve been going insane trying to get through life without you. Not to mention that office is chaos.”

You laugh gently, cuddling into him and his warmth.

“I’ll fix it on Monday.”

“Yeah? For definite?” he asks, hope colouring his voice.

“Yeah. Like I said - best job I’ve ever had.”

“You’ve just made me the happiest man alive, sweetheart.”

You grin as you lean in to press a kiss to his lips, all soft and sugary sweet.

“Besides. Someone’s going to have to sort out the inevitable mess that’ll follow you hitting Ginger at a charity gala.”

“Ah, I forgot about that,” he laughs, planting a kiss into your hair. “What would I do without ya, hmm?”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you smile, resting your head onto his shoulder. “Never again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

You sit on the bench for a little while longer, both of you looking up at the stars that paint the sky in a canopy above your heads. You’re quite convinced you could stay like this forever, just the two of you in your own little universe.

There’s paperwork to be done, meetings to be had, deals to be made. But all of that can wait.

Right now, it’s just you and Declan.

The way it should be.

reblogs are gold dust, lovers!! reblog and circulate your favourite fics, and your writers will create more. simple. <3

[yarnabee]

THE DOCTOR HEADCANNON — BEING HIS PLAYTHING.

harley sawyer ( the doctor ) x reader

tags/warnings: sfw (15+), light gore, torture/impact, power imbalance, degradation, abusive behaviour, posessive behaviour, kidnapping i suppose

sawyer is a HUGE jerk to everyone, including to his own little precious plaything, you. of course, such a cold, dense body made out of metal wouldn't make sense if it had a heart, wouldn't it?

besides.. your timid reactions to his sick, little experiments were what piqued his interest in the first place. what a lovely sight it is to see a flesh roaming around his prison like a helpess, pathetic rat who lost its way home. whether you writhe, yelp, whine, sob, or scream.. it's all melody to his ears.

he loves purposefully letting you escape from his lair, making you think that there's still hope to escape his hellish prison. just as you thought you were free of his grasp, he'll pin you, his beloved trophy, down—his mechanical figure hovering over you, eyes daunting as it pierces towards your cowardly ones, squeezing your neck tightly with his iron first, making sure that you knew there's no use fighting someone much stronger than you are. oh, how he loves watching the glint of hope fading from your pupils—dulling them with fear instead. he'd purposefully taunt you, mocking you with his laugh as it echoes through the hallways, "you really thought you could escape me, hmm? what an interesting thing you are, little rat."

oh, how he loves turning every single thing into a game that he knew you'd lose from the very beginning. it's amusing to see how you'd react time to time, whether you try to fight back or whimper out of fear, he feasts on it nonetheless. he'll purposefully make you play hide and seek with him, taunt you with his creaking footsteps, then having his way with you once he got his fingers wrapped tightly around you—dragging you into his lair once again as your fights and cries means nothing to him. "don't try to fight, little rat. i know you're at least smart enough to understand why."

don't get him wrong, though. just because he's able to leave cuts and bruises all over your delicate skin doesn't mean any of those filthy creatures roaming outside has the right to leave a scratch on you, not even a single one. oh, how sawyer wouldn't even think twice to rip appart the limbs off those past experiments who still roams in the area, who dares to touch you without any permission. you're his plaything, and only his. no one else.

the doctor wants you to DEPEND on him, just like how yarnaby depends on him and obeys him like a God. he wants your pathetic self to see him as YOUR lifeline, as he purposefully brings the necessities you need such as food and medicines, his mechanical joints placing them gently next to you without saying anything. afterall, he needs his little lab rat on good condition to play with, no?

at times where he's not running any 'experiments' and 'games' on you, he always kept you inside of his lab—no contact is allowed without his permission. he'd occassionally let yarnaby roam around and get used up to your presence, but he won't let you or it get too attached to each other.

he barely speaks to you, his answers are either mockery or straight degradation. you never really ask him anything about his motives too, he never liked it when you were curious. "say, little rat, i'd be amused if you hadn't learn what happens to curious little rats who gets too nosy."

a little fun fact; the doctor can easily destroy you if he wanted to. he always lets you know through his grips—how he's controlling it steadilly, letting you know that if he puts just the littlest more effort into squeezing you, you'd have your bones crushed within seconds—and he makes sure that you always remember that at all times.

"now, little rat, go on and amuse me. let's see what else i can get out off you."

[rawflwrs]

Can you pls write some more about terry ?

▐ sugardaddy!terryrichmond ୫ camgirl!reader

summary: after a long day of spending daddy’s money, you both decide to end the night giving your viewers a show.

writer’s notes: I tried my best with this, although it was rushed, so it’s definitely not my best work. I apologise if you don’t like it! I’ve just been busy with assignments, so I’ve been distracted. I also added visuals this time, so let me know if you guys enjoy them and want me to add them in future smut fics. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy and don’t forget to like, comment & reblog </3 !!

warnings: explicit language, begging, pet names (daddy, princess, etc) overstimulation, dacryphilia, clit slapping, bimbofication, finger sucking, choking, spanking, age gap relationship and praising — bratty!sub!reader & dom!terry

tags: @luvrsluxe @gardenof-venus @theogbadbitch @fairygoround @nayaesworld @catxo @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @kenshisluvrgirl @bigjuiciisushii @todorokishoe24 @notapradagurl7 @writingsbytee

Terry knew you were high maintenance before he met you. The way your bedroom lit a soft shade of baby pink with gold and cheetah print accessories surrounding you, your nails and toes always freshly done, either in a sparkly baby pink or a basic french tip: you made sure you were put together. After all, all you did was dress up like a doll and men paid to witness it.

It was one of the few things Terry noticed about you. He never intended to come across you as he believed that watching porn or anything remotely related, wasn’t of any benefit to him, knowing that if he had any sexual needs, there were always a list of women who would be at his beck and call.

But before he knew it, Terry became one of your top contributors, starting off by sending you five thousand dollars in the first stream he joined and progressively adding another ten thousand for every stream after, just to hear you thank him as you pressed your toys into your glistening pink hole.

Terry loved the idea of spoiling a pretty girl like you, hearing your giggles as you repeatedly thanked him for sending you so many gifts or when you joked that you needed to see him in person to thank him properly: he knew that he needed you. When you had announced you were going to do private calls for your top contributors, Terry made sure he was number one on that list.

You were nervous. It was obvious that the person named ‘@/treatsfromterry’ was clearly obessessed with you and although you liked the idea of someone being so desperate for your attention that they would spend what felt like their lifesavings on you, you were also terrified that he would be some old creep.

You were so wrong. When a muscular caramel toned man, wearing thin rimmed glasses and a short sleeve black wife-beater popped onto your zoom call screen, you couldn’t believe your eyes. He was beautiful. You felt your mouth drop open slightly at the sight as his deep chuckle filled your ears. “You okay there, beautiful?” He questioned, fixing his camera position to ensure you can see him clearly. “Mhm” you trailed off, eyes lowering to his biceps. They were so big and soft: you wanted a bite.

“I need to hear you use your words, princess.” He sighed out, feeling himself harden at the sight of you wearing the lingerie he asked you to wear for this special occasion. “I’m fine, daddy. I just didn’t expect you to look so good.” You giggle, remembering that he asked you to only call him daddy. The name definitely fit the view you were seeing. “Thank you, baby. I appreciate you wearing that for me.” He smiled, motioning towards your lingerie.

You smiled. “I mean you spoil me so much, it’s the least I could do. Do I look pretty?” You moved closer to your laptop camera, purposely angling it to face your breasts as you slowly message them, circling your brown areole’s. “So fucking pretty, princess.” He groaned, the ache in his pants getting worse. You smiled, leaning back before thanking him again. “Is there anything specific you want me to do for you, daddy?” You asked.

Initially, Terry thought about asking you to masterbate on the call to watch you moan his name, but he realised that it would be better to see that in person. “No, I just want to ask you one question.” He leaned forward to look directly in your eyes. “Oh? Go ahead, but I’m just letting you know that if I feel uncomfortable, I won’t hesitate to block you.” You said softly, attempting to set your boundaries as clearly as possible.

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable, princess. Tell me if I’m going too far, okay?” He assured you while you simply nodded.

“Outside of this-” he started, gesturing towards the camera, insinuating that he was referring to you being a cam girl. “What is your goal? What job do you aspire to have?” He questioned and it caught you off guard. It’s not usual that one of your viewers even care to ask about how your day was, never mind what your aspirations are. “I want to be rich.” You answered, earning a deep chuckle from him. “What?! I’m serious. I don’t aspire to work. I just want to make money and be happy.” You said truthfully. He found your answer fascinating because it wasn’t one he was used to hearing.

“What if I can be the one to make you rich and happy?” He asked, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip, patiently waiting for your response. “Wh-what do you mean?” You questioned, feeling your body warming up from the tension. Although, he was miles away from you, he made his presence very known. “I’m an investor. I like to invest into businesses I know will be profitable and successful for me-” He started, before you cut him off, “you invest into people too?” You asked. “Not people. . . Just you.” He adjusted his glasses.

“I want you to be my sugar baby.” The comment had you puzzled. It wasn’t like people had never asked you to be their sugar baby, but it wasn’t normal for someone of his calibre to openly ask. “That means I get to spoil you and all I ask for in return is your time and attention.” He continued. You were still silent, debating on whether it would be a good idea as you only started your cam girl services to fund for your college tuition fees, not because you wanted to have close ties to the lifestyle long term. “You can continue your streaming services if you think that’s something I wouldn’t want you doing anymore. I just want you. I want to feel you and be close to you. That’s all I ask for, sweetheart.” He said as you thought deeply about the advantages of being a sugar baby.

“How do I know you’re really rich? You could just be lying to me to get me to meet you.” You pestered. He laughed before pulling out his phone, tapping a few buttons and showing you the amount of money he had in his bank account. You audibly gasped which caused him to laugh harder at the thought of you questioning his wealth. “Does that answer your question?” He asked. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your sugar baby.” You replied almost immediately. “Good girl.” He smiled once more. And with that, your relationship with Terry began.

Who would’ve thought that a year later, you would be walking around Chanel with a 6 ft 3 man, spending his money on whatever you touched. I mean, you had been in the store for less than hour and he already spent over twenty thousand dollars. Terry sat in the corner of the store, tapping away at his phone to handle some business dealings while keeping a close eye on you, knowing you get lost when you’re not in the right mind. “Daddy, come look at this.” You asked softly as he held one finger at you to tell you to wait a moment. “Just give me a minute, sweetheart.” He replied.

You hated when he wasn’t paying attention to you, especially because you knew that whatever he was looking at wasn’t more important than you. “Why do I even bother.” You pouted, grabbing your bags and attempting to leave the store without a second thought. Terry immediately followed after you and paused your movements, noticing your demeanour shift. “I’m here, princess. I’m sorry, you know how work is right now.” He grabbed your chin for you to look up at him. “You said you wanted my time and attention, whole time, you’re too busy on your stupid fucking phone!” You barked back, attempting to walk away before feeling your arm get yanked back.

“Who the fuck you talking to like that? I’ll fuck you up in front of everybody.” He started. “Tread lightly. This bratty attitude ain’t cutting it for me.” He warned. Yes, Terry was a sweet man who was never aggressive with you unless you asked him to be, he still would never tolerate disrespect and recently you’ve been having more bratty outbursts than usual. At first, he thought you were simply hormonal, but as it became consistently worse, he became more agitated that you thought your behaviour was acceptable. “Whatever.” You storm back into the store, ignoring glares from the workers and continue your shopping.

It wasn’t long before you were laying across Terry’s lap on your stomach with your camera angled just so your viewers can see his chest, but not his face as he spanked you in the room he dedicated in his house as your filming room, covered in Sanrio themed accessories after you told him you loved them. “You can take it, princess.” He spanked your plush ass again, watching it slowly bruise up as the live gained more traction with people sending more gifts and reactions. “M’ sor-so sorry, daddy! Please!” You pleaded, feeling yourself start to lose your vision as you stained your cheeks with wet hot tears.

“But you look so pretty like this, mama. Don’t y’all agree?” He questioned, almost taunting the viewers as he landed another harsh slap. Your live stream was gaining more views by the minute, but all you could think about was how much you needed his touch. “Pl-pleasee, daddy. Touch me- I want it so bad.” You cried out. “I nee-ed you.” You breathed out. “That’s all you had to say, princess.” He lifted you to straddle him, facing you towards the camera as he spread your legs open for them to see. “Look at how wet you are.” He slapped your clit harshly, causing you to yelp and jump forward from the impact.

You covered your mouth with your hand as he continued to slap your clit four more times, chuckling after each slap. “Dadd-ah pleasee!” You squealed, knowing your body was giving up on you. Terry used his left hand to grab you by your throat, applying a little bit of pressure to assert dominance. “You know I don’t like brats. Why do you keep playing with me?” He whispered in your ear, rubbing your clit in a circular motion, slowly. “M’ sor-” you were cut off by him applying more pressure to your throat. “You’re sorry? Were you sorry when you embarrassed me today?” He questioned, his grip on your throat getting tighter as he fastened the pace of rubbing your clit.

You couldn’t even respond due to the pressure he had on your throat. Terry moved his left hand up into your mouth as you attempted to catch a breath. He stuck his two fingers in your mouth, watching you suck them softly. He almost forgot you were on your live stream until he heard a ping from your computer which indicated you had reached over fifty thousand viewers: a new milestone. “People like seeing me use you, princess. Should we do this more often?” He asked, pushing his fingers further down your throat while you simply nodded.

He pulled his fingers out your mouth, watching closely as a string of your saliva creeped out. You coughed at the feeling of your airways being free. “You’re my filthy little slut. Aren’t you, angel?” He teased, using both of his hands to rub your clit aggressively. You gripped onto his biceps, your face contorting from the mixed pleasure that you were receiving. Your pussy ached from the heat and you felt yourself losing consciousness. “Aww, you gonna pass out on daddy? But I’m only just getting started, baby.” He cooed. “You can take it.” He bit your shoulder.

The lewd sounds of your pussy squelching, your inconsistent moans and your sweat dripping from all parts of your body made viewers wish they were Terry right now. It was fucking disgusting. You practically losing yourself and he hadn’t even fucked you yet? You were pathetic. He slowed down his pace when he saw you squirting and your juices nearly hitting your laptop camera: truly cinematic.

He groaned at the feeling of his cock aching just from the sight. Terry knew when you started squirting like this, you weren’t far from cumming. “You close, bunny?” He teased as your legs trembled in response. “M’ c-close, pa!” You squirmed, closing your eyes shut while he rubbed you gently, still ensuring his touch was firm. You felt yourself slipping away into your own headspace as you knew you would cum any moment now. That was until, he moved his hands away from you, earning a loud whine.

“You think I’d let you cum after how you acted today? Nah, get on all fours.” He pushed you off him, causing you to fall to the ground. Your legs were still wobbly, but you knew better than to argue with him. After all, it was your mouth that got you in this position in the first place. You sat up on the bed, getting into his preferred position. “Stretch that ass out.” He ordered, watching you spread your ass hole open, ready for him to stuff your ass, whole.

You knew you were in for a long night.

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Hello, good morning/afternoon/evening/night. I'm the anon that requested for the platonic!dad Lilia vanrouge headcanon. I've finished reading it and I would love to request for the biological one! The adopted headcanon was amazing. And I also apologize for for not putting in my request with more thought 😅.

Thanks for the ask! I can totally do that! And don't worry about it, I was hoping to get to write both anyway <3

(I don't know if I'm thinking too far into it, but I wasn't sure if you wanted pre NRC or present, so I'm going with the same as last time)

!Platonic!Dad! Lilia Vanrouge x Biological Daughter

(Kinda a second part to This in a way)

However it came to be; a one night stand, a past lover, or some freak magic accident, you were Lilia's one and only blood relative left. His darling daughter.

Don't get me wrong, Lilia loved Silver and Malleus more than anything, but it felt different looking at you and being able to sense his fae blood running through your veins.

When you were left to the single father's care it was after he had already dealt with a newborn dragon. He believe that as you were his own flesh and blood you'd surely be easier to care for, but oh how wrong he was.

If anything, you were MORE difficult to deal with because you were his own flesh and blood.

Lilia finally got a taste of his own medicine when you started imitating his pranks (how did you even get in such a high cabinet).

At least he understands your magic and can help you figure out how to control it.

He treats you virtually the same as if you were his adopted child, just with the fact that you have his magic in mind- . . .he looked away for one second, where'd you go?

One time, Lilia left you and Silver with a pre-teen Malleus for him babysit as he had something to attend to. Silver spent the whole time sleeping whilst you spent the whole time making malleus play games with you (he didn't mind, he was just happy to have a friend). Lillia came back to see you and Malleus reenacting the war with wooden animals Baur had carved for you (maybe he told you too many stories of his glory days).

Lilia still loves doing your hair- what's that? You want to do his hair?

The other generals keep their mouths shut, but their eyes are glued to the great Lilia Vanrouge and his messy, lopsided pigtails with bright pink and blue bows on each for the entire briefing.

You escaped the cottage once when he looked away to try and get Silver to eat his food, and he had no clue where you were for almost a day. He was freaking out and about to take his magearm and go on an all-out rampage when he got a letter from the queen saying you had 'made a delightfully unexpected visit to the castle for a playdate with Malleus.'

Lilia rushed over to the castle immediately, ready to scold you, but when he got there he couldn't bring himself to. Instead, he fell to his knees crying as he watched you and Malleus sleep softly: cuddled up to each other. The queen found him in this state and simply patted him on the back before recounting how he and her daughter had once pulled a very similar stunt back in their youth. (he has her recount any and all stories of him causing trouble as a child in order to hopefully have a leg up on any stunts you pull in the future)

Right when he thinks he knows how to handle anything you throw at him, you come home with an owl bear cub in toe asking tow. You recount the story of how you found it next to its unmoving mother, and he has no choice but to let you keep it.

When you tell him you want to name the owl bear 'Bear' he tries to argue with you that it's not a very good name, but you win. Bear it is.

Anytime you and Silver go out in the woods to play he sends Bear with you just in case.

Baur gets quite the shock when he comes to pick up his grandson from the cottage only to find him riding on the back of an owl bear as it chases you and silver (you were just playing tag).

He turns to the cottage to see what Lilia was planning to do about this only to see him casually. . .barbequing (if you can even call it that) in the garden and watching you all play. Baur ends up staying longer than expected, mostly to salvage whatever slop Lilia was making for his poor kids, but also to hear Lilia's explanation as to WHY IN THE GREAT SEVENS' NAMES THERE'S AN OWL BEAR PLAYING WITH THE KIDS.

The time finally comes for Lilia to head off to NRC with Malleus, Silver, and Sebek, but this time let's say (for the sake of being different that the other fic) that you somehow end up there as well. Lilia would have liked you to be in Diasomnia with him, but you instead end up going to Ramshackle with the prefect. This is an all-boys school after all, so the best place for you to be on campus is probably in the dorm with the only other female student. (That and Bear came with you and Ramshackle already has Grim so. . .)

There's no telling what trouble you'll get to in your time staying at NRC, but rest assured that Lilia will be there to help you out (whether that means getting you out of trouble or helping you cause more).

Blog Navigation Page

Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

Request Information

[sidekick-hero]

Sing Me A Love Song

rating: t | cw: off-screen domestic violence | wc: 5.6 k | tags: fluff, modern au, love songs, first love, bartender Steve and Eddie, platonic hellcheer, Jason Carver being an asshole as usual, hurt!Chrissy (off-screen)

AO3 LINK

My fill for the @steddielovemonth Day 1. Prompts: 🎵 You and Me - Lifehouse and ❣️"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." - Plato

"Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." - Plato

“You don’t understand,” Eddie groans, raking a hand through his curls. “If I don’t get this done, I might lose my contract.”

Chrissy doesn’t look impressed. She wipes down the counter in front of him, barely sparing him a glance. “I still think you’re being dramatic. You already have, what, ten songs? Isn’t that enough for an album?”

God, he wishes she were right. She should be right. Ten songs isn’t a lot, but it’s enough. Maybe he could throw in a cover, remaster one of his old tracks, stretch it to eleven. A solid number. A prime number, even—Jesus, he really needs to stop talking to Jeff.

But none of that matters. Because the problem isn’t the number.

The problem is the clause in his contract that requires one of those songs to be a love song.

Why did he agree to that? Oh, right. Desperation.

He needed the deal. Needed the money. Because Wayne’s life depends on it. And if Eddie can’t pay for his treatment, his uncle—the one person who’s always been there for him—will die.

So, yeah. It was either this record deal or selling a kidney in Tijuana.

“It’s not enough, Chris. I need one more song. And it’s like—” He exhales sharply, gripping his hair. “It’s like I’ve never written music before. My head’s empty, my hands are clumsier than a toddler’s, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t fail. I just can’t.”

That finally makes Chrissy pause. She sets down the rag, brows drawing together as her bright blue eyes search his face. “Eddie… this doesn’t sound like it’s just about an album.”

The bar is empty. No one’s here to overhear when he finally breaks.

Wayne’s diagnosis. The impossible cost of his treatment. The record label that dropped him like a bad habit the second he was outed—one stupid drunken mistake and suddenly, he was toxic. The desperate, humiliating scramble to find a new label, the rejection after rejection until he finally landed in Chicago, closer to Wayne, signing this contract.

Signing that clause.

Chrissy listens without interrupting, her hands folded over his. When he’s done, she exhales.

“A love song? Why would they insist on a love song?”

Eddie shrugs. “Something about bad boys with a secret soft side pulling in fans.”

She snorts. Loudly.

“Oi!”

“Eddie, sweetie.” Her grin is infuriating. “When I first met you during our shift, I thought you’d be mean and scary. But the moment you tried to slide over the bar and ate shit instead? Yeah. I knew you were just a giant dork.”

It’s impossible to fight off the answering grin tugging at his lips.

“I should be offended, but you’re not wrong. Just don’t tell anyone, okay? I have a reputation to uphold.”

Chrissy hops onto the bar, swinging her legs as she leans in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Then, more gently, “Look, don’t overthink it. Just write about the first guy you fell in love with. First love’s always a hit.”

Yeah. If only it were that simple.

“Great idea. Know any guys willing to fill that spot?”

Chrissy blinks. “Wha—” She stops, eyes narrowing as she really looks at him. “Wait. Are you— Is this your way of telling me you’ve never been in love?”

Eddie gives her finger guns. “Ding, ding, ding! The pretty young lady wins the jackpot.”

She just stares at him. Eddie braces himself, expecting pity, but all he finds in her eyes is warmth. Understanding.

Chrissy exhales. “Well. Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

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

Bartending wasn’t exactly the glamorous, fame-laden career Eddie had dreamed of. But it was something he was surprisingly good at—always had been. Even back in high school, when he worked at the local dive bar just to buy himself and his band a weekly gig.

More importantly, though, it paid the bills.

Most of the first half of his record deal advance had gone straight to Wayne’s medical expenses. A small chunk covered recording costs, but food and rent were a whole different story. Maybe, if he actually delivers this album, the rest of the money will be enough to buy himself a place. But that’s a big if.

So, for now, bartending it is. It keeps a roof over his head, food in his fridge, and—maybe the best part—it gave him his first real friend in this city: Chrissy.

She keeps him sane on the bad days, when the anxiety sinks its teeth into him and won’t let go. And when he told her the embarrassing truth about his love life—or complete lack thereof—she had been nothing but kind. She offered tips, boosted his ego with her sheer bewilderment that someone like him had never been in love, and insisted it was only a matter of time.

Eddie isn’t so sure.

Most of his time is spent combing through Wayne’s medical reports or checking in with his nurse. He calls every day. Visits three times a week, taking the long trip back to rural Indiana to be with the only real father figure he’s ever had.

His nights—except Tuesdays and Wednesdays—are spent at the bar. Sure, plenty of the regulars are hot, and a few of them are actually nice, but Eddie isn’t naïve. He doesn’t expect to show up to work one day and suddenly have the man of his dreams stroll right up to him and say—

“Hello? Are you Eddie, by any chance?”

Eddie looks up from where he’s been taking stock of the liquor and locks eyes with the most ridiculously gorgeous pair of hazel eyes he’s ever seen.

It’s like grabbing a live wire. A jolt of electricity races through him, buzzing under his skin, making his heart slam against his ribs and his stomach do an actual, literal flip.

What the fuck is happening?

“I—uhm, yeah, that’s Eddie. Me. I mean—me is Eddie. Goddammit.” He squeezes his eyes shut for half a second, mentally kicking himself. “I’m Eddie. That’s right. How can I help you?”

The guy in front of him looks like he’s this close to laughing, biting down on a full bottom lip, hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. But he holds back, tilting his head slightly before offering a warm, easy smile.

“I’m Steve. Steve Harrington? Chrissy said she’d give you a call—told you I’d be covering for her for the next six weeks.”

She had done no such thing. Eddie would remember if she had.

Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t heard from her all day. Not that they text constantly, but there’s always something—a meme, a random thought, a conversation that drags out over days. It’s Thursday now, and the last time they talked was Tuesday night, when she asked about Wayne.

His stomach twists.

“From the look on your face, she hasn’t done that.”

Eddie exhales. “Uh, no. No, she hasn’t. What happened? Why does she need someone to cover for her?”

Six weeks. That sounds serious. That sounds… bad.

Steve’s expression softens, but his voice is firm. “It’s not my place to say, I’m afraid.”

That just makes Eddie’s anxiety spike. He should appreciate that Steve is protecting Chrissy’s privacy—normally, he would—but right now, it’s just frustrating. Besides, Chrissy has never mentioned a Steve before. And he tells the guy as much.

Steve nods like he expected that. “She’s a friend of my best friend and roommate, Robin. That’s how we met. She asked me to help out, and that’s all I can tell you, man. I’m sorry.”

He does sound sorry. And Eddie does care about Chrissy, which means he needs to talk to her, not interrogate some guy she apparently trusts enough to take her place.

Steve must read something in his face because he adds, “If you want to call her, I can handle things here. Just tell me what to do.”

It sounds more like a question than an offer, like Steve isn’t sure where he stands and doesn’t want to overstep. Eddie has always had a problem with authority, with people telling him what to do. Steve doesn’t know that, but it still rubs him the wrong way for half a second—until he realizes Steve isn’t telling him anything. He’s offering.

Eddie hesitates for a beat, then exhales sharply and nods. "Yeah, okay. Thanks. Just start by restocking the bar—I’ll show you how to place an order for liquor and supplies when I get back."

Right now, he needs to hear Chrissy’s voice. Needs to know she’s okay. Everything else can wait.

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

Turns out that Chrissy’s asshole of a boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now, thank fuck—had grabbed her so hard during a fight that he broke her wrist. The only good thing about it was that it had finally been the last straw for Chrissy. She kicked his sorry ass to the curb.

Eddie had hated Jason from the second he walked into the bar, all possessive grip and territorial bullshit. Throw in the holier-than-thou attitude, the obsession with “purity” and Christian values, and the way he sneered at Eddie the moment Chrissy’s back was turned? Yeah. He saw this coming from a mile away.

They talk for a few minutes, and Eddie promises to stop by her place tomorrow. He’ll bring ice cream, they’ll watch some cheesy rom-com, and he’ll do whatever it takes to cheer her up.

When he walks back into the bar, his face must be as thunderous as he feels because Steve actually winces.

“She told you what happened, huh?”

Eddie nods, grinding his teeth. “Fucking asshole. I wish I’d run him over with my van when I had the chance.”

Steve doesn’t even blink. “Amen to that. Robin’s already plotting his demise. You two should team up. I volunteered to get rid of the body, because Robin’s not exactly… athletic. Can’t dig deep holes, can’t lift heavy stuff. But she’s scary smart—probably knows some undetectable poison or something. What’s your specialty?”

Eddie hates what happened to Chrissy. Hates that she had to go through it. But hearing Steve talk like this, hearing how much her friends care? It makes him feel a little better. And the fact that he’s apparently included in this unhinged murder plot now? Yeah.

Maybe he got lucky, after all.

“I’m creative and ridiculously good at planning—years of being a Dungeon Master. No one thinks of as many scenarios as I do. I’ll cover every possibility. They’ll never catch us.”

They grin at each other, and for the first time since hearing Chrissy’s small, shaken voice, Eddie feels like himself again.

Steve grins. “Perfect. We’ll make a great team.”

And just like that, the weight on Eddie’s chest lifts a little. It’s easy with Steve, like they’ve known each other longer than just—what, an hour? He’s funny, sharp, and clearly good to the people he cares about.

And, well. It doesn’t hurt that he’s stupidly attractive.

They slip into working together without much effort. Eddie shows Steve the ropes while stealing little glances when he thinks the other man isn’t looking—at the way his fingers move deftly around the bottles, the smooth way he leans against the bar when talking to customers, the stretch of his arms when he reaches for a glass on the top shelf.

He’s a natural. Charismatic as hell, too. More than one customer lingers just a little longer when Steve serves them, and Eddie is absolutely not annoyed by that. Nope. Not at all.

“You know,” Steve says at one point, when the rush has died down, “you’re not bad at this.”

Eddie scoffs, tossing a bar rag over his shoulder. “Not bad? Please. I’m great at this.”

Steve hums, eyes twinkling. “If you say so. I guess I’ll have to stick around to see for myself.”

There’s something in his voice, something that makes heat curl in Eddie’s stomach. A challenge. A tease. A promise, maybe.

Eddie leans in, close enough to catch a hint of cologne and something unmistakably Steve. "Yeah?” he murmurs, smirking. “Guess you will.”

The air crackles between them, heavy and charged, until a customer clears their throat and pulls them back to reality.

Eddie straightens, fighting back a grin as he goes to take the order.

He has a feeling working with Steve is going to be very interesting.

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

Turns out he was right—working with Steve is definitely interesting. It’s also confusing and exhilarating. And, honestly? It’s driving him insane.

Steve is everything Eddie never knew he wanted or needed. None of the guys Eddie’s ever hooked up with or tried dating were even close to being like Steve. And maybe that had been his mistake all along.

Because Steve makes him feel things he didn’t even know he could feel. He catches himself daydreaming about kissing the moles on Steve’s neck and face, wondering what it would be like to run his fingers along the smooth line of his jaw. He catches himself thinking about what he could ask Steve next, wanting to learn more and more about him. Eddie wants to make him laugh, wants to tell Steve about his day, about the last book he read, ask him what he thinks of a certain song or movie.

It’s like every little moment with Steve only deepens the curiosity, the pull. And Eddie can’t seem to stop himself from wanting more.

And yet, he can’t bring himself to take it any further than the harmless flirting they’ve been doing. Steve never seems to mind Eddie’s over-the-top flirting—calling him pet names, throwing himself at his feet dramatically, draping himself over Steve and acting like personal space is a suggestion, not a boundary.

One night, after another intense moment between them, the air crackling with something Eddie can’t quite name, he comes home, sits down, and writes it all out. He lets all these feelings he doesn’t even really understand pour onto the page. Every thought, every feeling—the longing and wonder, the joy and insanity of liking someone, wanting someone so much it’s almost physical.

A few weeks ago, he would’ve been bouncing off the walls with excitement at having written his first love song.

Now? He has a hard time bringing himself to care, because all he wants is to tell Steve these things. To have the courage to look into those beloved hazel eyes and make Steve understand the depth of what Eddie feels for him.

Now, all Eddie wants is to take Steve home and never let him go.

That’s why he’s struggling to feel as joyous as he should when Chrissy tells him she’ll be back next week.

Eddie’s wiping down the bar when Steve steps up, leaning against it with a casual ease that makes Eddie’s heart skip, like it always does when Steve’s close.

“Hey,” Steve says, a little more softly than usual. “You heard from Chrissy?”

Eddie pauses, glancing up, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes. “Yeah. She’s coming back next week. Gonna be back at the bar on Monday.”

“Ah, that’s great,” Steve says with a smile, but there’s something in his tone that doesn’t quite match the words.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You don’t seem so excited.”

Steve shrugs, the movement casual but his gaze fixed on Eddie now. “I mean, I am. I’m glad she’s doing better. Just… I don’t know. Things’ve been good here, you know?”

Eddie’s pulse quickens, his mind racing. He knows exactly what Steve means. Things have been good. They’ve been intense—charged, even. And now, with Chrissy coming back, it feels like a door he’s been carefully edging toward might slam shut.

“Yeah, I get that,” Eddie says, trying to sound casual even though his throat feels tight. “It’s been… nice, having you here.”

Steve’s lips twitch into a smile, a little teasing. “Nice, huh? Just nice?”

Eddie meets his gaze then, the air between them thick with unspoken words. “Yeah. More than nice. I—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

Steve doesn’t let it slide. His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans in, his voice lowering. “No, come on. What were you gonna say?”

Eddie hesitates, heart pounding. He wants to say so much, but the weight of it is too much. Instead, he grabs a glass, fills it with water, and hands it to Steve, forcing a smile. “Doesn’t matter.”

But Steve isn’t buying it. He takes the glass, but his eyes stay locked on Eddie. “It does matter. You matter, Eddie.”

There’s a long silence, and Eddie feels like he’s about to drown in it. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

“Hey,” Steve says, his voice softer now, “don’t worry about it. I get it. Chrissy’s your friend.”

Eddie nods, but it doesn’t feel like he’s actually hearing him. He’s still stuck on the fact that the connection between them has shifted somehow. And now, Chrissy coming back just feels like the beginning of the end of whatever this is.

But all Steve does is give him that reassuring smile, and for a moment, it feels like maybe he’s not as worried about it as Eddie is. Maybe.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Eddie murmurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Steve’s expression softens. “Me too, man.”

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

On Sunday, Eddie gets a visit from Chrissy. He’s just in his pajama bottoms, pouring himself a cup of coffee when the doorbell rings.

“Chris! What are you doing here?”

She steps into his flat, pressing a fleeting kiss to his cheek as she brushes past him. “I’m happy to see you, too.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just surprised to have you drop by like that. I’m always happy to see you, you know that.”

He follows her into the flat, where she’s already made herself at home at the kitchen island, pouring herself a cup as well.

“Yes, I know, I was just teasing you. I wanted to drop by to see how you’re doing.”

“You’ll see me tomorrow at work.” He tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but he probably doesn’t succeed. He really needs to work on his poker face.

Chrissy eyes him like she can see right through him, like maybe she’s already read his mind. Eddie knows better than to think she hasn’t. She’s sharp like that.

“Yeah, and something tells me you’re not doing so great because of that.”

That’s his girl—blunt and straight to the point. Eddie considers brushing it off, pretending he has no idea what she’s talking about, but he knows better. She deserves his honesty.

“No. I’m not really. Not because I don’t want you back,” he adds quickly, his eyes pleading with her to understand. “I missed you, Chris. Like crazy. You’re one of my best friends, and I’m so happy to have you back.”

She nods, her small hand curling over his in a comforting gesture. “But you don’t want Steve to go.”

“How—”

Her smile is soft and amused, like they’re in on some private joke together. “You’ve been talking about nothing but him for the past few weeks, Eds. I’ve never seen you take to anyone so fast. It took me months to get you to talk to me about anything but work. And you and Steve are sending each other memes and texts all day.”

Then, with a mischievous gleam in her eye, she adds, “Besides, you should see your face when you talk about him. I’m just waiting for you to start twirling your hair or kicking your feet.”

“Shut up! I’m not doing that.”

“Might as well be, with the way you’re acting. You like him.” She singsongs.

Burying his face in his hands, Eddie groans dramatically. “God, I hate you.”

Chrissy pulls his hands away, her fingers warm as she gently makes him look at her. Her face is a picture of seriousness, though a hint of a smile still lingers at the corner of her lips. “No, you don’t. You just know I’m right. I told you it was only a matter of time until you fell for someone. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Eddie glares at her, but there’s no real heat behind it. He stays quiet, his eyes darting around the room like he’s searching for an escape. When he doesn’t say anything, she raises her brows, giving him that ‘I knew it’ look. “See? Now you can write your love song!”

He mutters something under his breath, too low for her to hear.

“What was that?”

“I said... I already did,” Eddie says, a little sheepish, but trying to keep his cool. “It’s actually pretty good, I think. One of my best.”

Chrissy’s eyes light up, her voice bubbling with excitement. “Eddie, that’s awesome!”

Eddie shrugs, though his expression is far from pleased. “Yeah, but it’s not enough. He’s still leaving after tonight, and then... I’ll never see him again.”

Chrissy waves a hand like she’s brushing off a bad thought. “That’s such a load of crap, and you know it. We can totally visit him and Robin. I’ll invite them over! You’ll still get to hang out.”

Eddie sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe, but it’s not the same. I won’t see him every day, won’t have an excuse to talk to him, flirt with him. We’ll just be... acquaintances.”

Chrissy taps her chin, looking like she’s piecing things together in that genius way of hers. “Okay, but... have you ever thought about just telling him?”

“Stop saying that like it’s easy,” Eddie demands. Okay, whines. He’s aware he’s acting like a petulant child instead of a grown-ass 26-year-old, but honestly? He doesn’t care. This shit sucks. No wonder he never bothered with it before—falling for someone is exhausting.

“It could be,” Chrissy says with that maddening calm of hers, like she’s solving a simple math problem instead of his entire emotional crisis.

Eddie glares. “Oh yeah? How do you figure?”

“Well,” she says, taking a casual sip of her coffee like she’s not about to drop a bombshell, “it’s not like Steve isn’t talking about you just as much.”

“He is?” Eddie all but shrieks, and Chrissy winces at the sheer volume. He claps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry. He is?” he repeats, softer this time, though he still sounds way too giddy to play it cool.

Chrissy just laughs at him. “Yes, Edward. Steve talks about you, too. Or so I heard from Robin. And the few times we talked, he asked me questions about you.”

Eddie’s heart picks up speed, slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. That’s something, right?

“What did he ask?” he presses, leaning forward like Chrissy is holding onto state secrets rather than just casual conversation.

She taps her chin, pretending to think it over. “Oh, just normal stuff. How long I’ve known you, what you did before coming to Chicago… if you’re single.”

Eddie freezes. The butterflies in his stomach go feral.

But then—like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head—another thought creeps in.

“Then why didn’t he make a move?” he asks, deflating just as quickly as he puffed up.

Chrissy just raises an unimpressed brow. “Why didn’t you?”

Fair.

“Because I’ve never dated anyone before,” Eddie admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Never felt like this for anyone before. I have no idea what I’m doing. I highly doubt Steve has been single all his life.”

Chrissy opens her mouth, then hesitates, like she’s conceding his point. Normally, Eddie loves to be right, but this time? He wants to be wrong. Wants Steve’s questions to mean something.

“I see your point, okay,” she finally says, then adds, “but maybe there’s something in Steve’s past that makes him cautious too. Ever think of that?”

Eddie frowns. “Like what?”

Chrissy’s face softens. “It’s not my place to say,” she says gently. “Let’s just say… love can hurt. And if you’ve been burned before, it makes you scared to touch the stove again.”

Eddie’s chest tightens, both at the thought of Steve getting hurt and at the way Chrissy’s voice dips—because she’s speaking from experience, too. Without thinking, he reaches for her, pulling her into a tight hug. Her head tucks neatly under his chin, her small frame warm against him.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” he murmurs. “You deserved better.”

She nods against his chest. “Yeah. And I’ll get over it. Just need some time. Just like Steve, probably. Maybe he’s not sure if he’s ready to let someone in again, you know?”

Eddie does know. Letting someone in after you've experienced the pain of losing someone, of mourning the presence someone once had in your life, it's scary as hell.

But maybe… just maybe… it’s worth the risk.

“I think I have an idea,” he says, and really hopes he’ll be brave enough to follow through.

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

Their last shift together goes by way too fast.

It’s weird. Like Eddie’s waiting for something to happen, anything. He doesn’t know what exactly—except that’s a lie. He does know.

He wants Steve to kiss him. Wants Steve to grab him, lift him onto the bar top, step between his legs, and cradle his face in those steady hands before finally—finally—giving him a first kiss that means something.

More than that, he wants Steve to tell him. That Eddie’s not crazy, not alone in this. That he feels it too—this maddening, electric pull that makes Eddie’s knees weak, makes his stomach flip, makes his heart hammer against his ribs like it’s trying to escape.

Steve does none of those things.

Instead, they pour drinks, chat with the regulars, do their jobs. And when the night winds down—when the last stool is flipped onto the tables, the floors are swept, and Eddie flicks off the lights—they step outside and fall into each other’s arms without a single word.

They hold on for far longer than what anyone would call normal.

Fuck normal, Eddie thinks, tightening his grip around Steve’s solid frame. Normal never made me feel like this.

Steve exhales against his neck, his voice quiet but soaked in something Eddie can’t name. “I’ll miss this,” he murmurs. “I’ll miss you.”

Say it, Eddie begs in his head. Please. Just say you feel this too.

But Steve doesn’t.

Eddie wishes that he were brave, wishes that he could bridge the metaphorical gap between the two of them by simply taking a leap of faith.

But he doesn’t.

So they pull away, exchanging promises to stay in touch, and Eddie walks away feeling like he just lost something he never even had.

Two weeks later, Eddie finds himself back at The Upside Down, waiting for Chrissy. But this time, he’s not behind the bar, taking stock of liquor bottles or wiping down counters.

He’s behind the curtain of the small stage they built at the far end of the bar, fidgeting with the strap of his guitar, his heart hammering and his hands shaking. The stage usually belongs to local bands on the weekends, filling the space with music that draws in bigger crowds.

But today is Monday. And behind the bar—his bar—is Steve, restocking the cabinets, just like he did the first time he stepped in to cover for Chrissy. Full circle, Eddie thinks, watching from the shadows.

Except this time, Steve is covering for Eddie.

Steve thinks Eddie had to leave for an emergency, an excuse Chrissy fed him about needing to see his uncle. Eddie isn’t exactly proud of using Wayne’s health as a pretext to lure Steve here under false pretenses. But what’s the saying?

All’s fair in love and war.

And if Eddie is going to do something about this mess of feelings, he’s going to do it in the way he knows best.

Through music.

“We’re ready,” Chrissy whispers, squeezing his arm. “Bar’s surprisingly full for a Monday, so don’t be nervous. The only thing that matters is getting your man.”

Eddie salutes her with a grin that’s only half forced. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Then, with a deep breath, he settles onto the small stool at center stage, guitar resting on his knee. The curtain pulls back, and suddenly, he’s bathed in the warm glow of the stage lights, staring out at the sea of faces in front of him.

But there’s only one face that matters.

His eyes find Steve instantly, standing behind the bar, frozen mid-motion with a bottle in his hand, wide-eyed and staring like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him.

Eddie taps the mic, wincing at the light thump it makes through the speakers. “Is this thing on? Yeah, sounds like it.” He clears his throat, nerves tightening in his chest. Here goes nothing.

“Hi, everybody. Some of you might know me as the guy who pours your drinks and listens to your problems, but tonight, I’m here as a humble musician playing a song.” His fingers flex around the neck of his guitar as he exhales. “A special song for a special someone.”

A ripple of murmurs runs through the crowd, but Eddie barely hears it. His pulse is pounding too loud in his ears.

“I ask you to be kind because—well, this is a love song. And I’ve never done that before.” He huffs a breathless laugh. “Written a love song, I mean. Or been in love.” His fingers tighten on the frets, his throat thick with something unnamed. “But then I met someone who changed all of that. Someone who makes me laugh even when I don’t want to. Who makes me want to rip my hair out with how much I want to touch and hold them.”

A beat of silence. His heart feels like it’s about to break his ribs.

“Someone who is kind and brave and quick-witted. A secret nerd.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “And the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

The room feels impossibly still. Eddie can feel Steve’s eyes on him now, burning, waiting. But he doesn’t dare look. If he meets those hazel eyes, he’s not sure he’ll make it through this without forgetting how to breathe.

He takes another shaky inhale, tilts his chin toward the mic. “So, yeah. Please be kind, because this is all new to me.”

And then—he plays.

All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right I'm tripping on words You've got my head spinning I don't know where to go from here 'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do Nothing to prove And it's you and me and all other people And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

The last note fades into the air, leaving the bar in a thick, charged silence. For a split second, Eddie’s convinced he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. His fingers hover over the strings, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat.

And then—

The bar erupts into applause.

Someone calls his name, and he thinks he hears Chrissy cheer Bravo but Eddie barely registers it because his brain is still trying to catch up.

But then he sees him.

Steve.

Still standing behind the bar, both hands braced against the counter like he needs the support. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes wide and shining in the dim lighting. And then Steve runs a hand through his hair, shakes his head in what looks like pure disbelief, and laughs.

Not a mean laugh. Not a nervous one. A stunned, overwhelmed, delighted kind of laugh.

Eddie barely has time to put his guitar down before Steve moves.

He pushes past the bar, past the regulars clapping him on the back, eyes locked onto Eddie like there’s no one else in the damn room. Eddie stands frozen on stage, unsure what’s about to happen but aching for whatever it is.

And then Steve’s there, grabbing Eddie’s face in his hands and kissing him.

It’s not a shy, hesitant kiss. It’s everything. Warm, firm, desperate. Steve’s lips press against Eddie’s like he’s making up for lost time, and Eddie melts into it without hesitation, gripping Steve’s waist like he’s afraid he’ll disappear.

The bar goes wild.

Someone catcalls. Eddie hears Chrissy’s delighted I knew it! but all of it is background noise to the way Steve feels against him, the way his fingers tighten in Eddie’s hair, the way he lingers even as they finally—reluctantly—pull apart just enough to breathe.

Steve's forehead presses against Eddie's, his voice barely a whisper. "Please tell me that song was for me. Otherwise this is going to get awkward very quickly."

Eddie's laugh is joyous, relief palpable in every tone. "Of course. Who else would it be about?"

"I don't know, I've seen the looks you give Herbert," Steve grins, his eyebrows wagging. God, Eddie loves him.

Eddie kisses him again. "No, unfortunately my heart is set on you. Does your reaction to my song mean you feel the same?"

“You idiot,” Steve murmurs, but he’s smiling. Grinning. “You really think you’re the only one who feels this?”

Eddie exhales a laugh, overwhelmed and dizzy and so stupidly happy he can’t stand it. “I dunno,” he rasps. “You never said anything.”

Steve huffs, nudging their noses together. “Neither did you.”

Eddie grins. “Yeah, well. I wrote a song instead.”

Steve shakes his head, laughing again, and kisses him once more—just because he can.

[boybandbaby]

A Night To Remember (Evan Buckley x SingleMom!Reader)

word count: 2267

warnings/tags: single mom reader, a child, v light angst, unspecified reason for father’s absence (let you mind run wild), as always if I’ve missed anything lmk

note: not entirely happy about this but I really wanted to do this concept also sorry if your name is Evie I tried to use a name I liked but something I don’t see most people have

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Your daughter had hopped in the backseat without her usually greeting. With you she was a chatterbox, rambling about her day and what her friends did during school. With new people, she was shy. She’d hide behind your legs as you introduced her to strangers. She takes a while to open up but once she comes out of her shell, she’s a social butterfly.

You’re not sure why she’s so quiet now and she won’t tell you. She sits in the back seat, feet still as her favorite song plays, a pout on her lips as she looks out the window.

You’re worried. Worried that maybe someone had bullied her or that she’d gotten into trouble somehow. No, the school would’ve called.

You make your way home, opening her door to help her out. She hops out and doesn’t hold your hand as you make your way into the complex.

“Did something happen at school?” You inquire.

She shakes her head as you unlock your door. She runs inside and kicks her shoes off, creating a tripping hazard. You figure it’s better to not poke the bear right now and don’t remind her of the rules to put her shoes on the shoe rack.

“Can I do my homework after dinner?” She finally speaks.

“Are you sure? Buck’s coming over, I thought you guys were going to play that new board game he got for you?” You help her take her back pack off.

“I want to go to my room.” She mumbles.

“You don’t want your after school snack? I was going to make you some celery and apples with peanut butter.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Babe, what’s wrong?” You kneel down to her height, brushing hair from her forehead.

“Nothing!” She pushes your hand and runs to her room, door slamming behind her.

You decide to give her some space as you take the groceries out that you bought for dinner. Your mind races with what you could have done to upset her.

Buck arrives about an hour later. His smile drops when he sees the stressed look on your face. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You usher him in and pull him in for a hug. “It’s Evie.” You whisper though you know she can’t hear. “She was quiet the whole ride home and then when we got home, she bolted to her room.”

“Let me go say hi, I’ll be back to help set the table.” He smiles. He makes his way through the apartment to her room.

He knocks twice before opening the door just a crack. “Evie? It’s Buck. I just wanted to say hi and let you know dinner is ready.”

He hears her sniffles. “Come in.”

He smiles despite hearing that she’s been crying. When they first met, she was too shy to even look at him but over the last few months they’ve became besties. Buck of course spoils her and she loves it.

“Hey, you having a bad day?” He softly asks. She nods, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand and putting her pencil down on her open folder which lays on her lap.

Buck gets onto his knees at the side of her bed. “Wanna tell me what happened?” He brushes her hair away from her face and pulls it back behind her shoulders.

Instead of talking, she pulls a pink flyer from behind the worksheet she was writing on. She hands it to Buck.

Elementary School Father Daughter Dance

Saturday February 1st at 6pm

Gymnasium

Please purchase tickets by January 29th. $15 per pair

Dinner | Dancing | Games

“You’re upset because you want to go to this?” He clarifies. She nods.

“My friend Tammy said she’s going with her daddy and my other friend Julie doesn’t have a dad like me but she’s going with her older brother.” Her lip wobbles. “I don’t have anyone to go with.”

“Hmmm. And you don’t want to go with mom?”

“Mommy is a girl.”

“Some people have two mommies instead of a mommy and a daddy and some people have two daddies.” He informs her.

“How does that work?”

“Okay maybe I should let your mom have that talk with you.” He rubs the back of his neck. “How about we go eat dinner and we can show mom the flyer? And if she is okay with it and you’re okay with it, I can go with you.”

“You’ll go with me? Even if you’re not my daddy?”

“Yeah, I’d love to take you. I’m not a good dancer though.” He warns.

“Thank you! Thank you!” She squeals, leaping forward to hug him.

Buck rubs her little back, pulling her up as he stands. “You ready to eat?”

She nods and rests her head on his shoulder as Buck hands her the flyer to hold.

You’re already serving three plates when they come out. You’re smiling when you see that Buck’s gotten her out of her mood.

“Everything good?” You raise a brow at him as you set a fork down by each plate.

“Yes mommy. I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.” She wiggles down Buck’s front and runs to your side. She hugs your legs, the flyer crinkling against your thighs.

“What’s that you got there?” You point to the paper. She steps back and looks to Buck who nods at her, encouraging her to discuss the dance with you.

You read over the paper and look at her. “I want to go with Buck, pleaseeee.”

“So, this is why you were upset?” You place a hand, palm up, under her chin. “Did you ask Buck already to go with you?” She nods.

“If you’re okay with it, I’d be happy to take her.” He steps in.

“You’d do that?” You look at him, eyes glossy. “It’s not too much to ask?”

“Of course not. It’s important to her and you’re both important to me.” He opens the fridge and gets the juice and two water bottles out.

“Then I guess it’s a date.” You shrug, leaning down to kiss Evie’s forehead.

When dinner is over, Buck helps Evie finish her homework sheets. She’s too burnt out from excitement and her earlier crying that she heads to bed early.

She’s old enough to dress herself and brush her teeth, only asking for help putting the toothpaste on the brush.

After Buck helps her off the step stool, he helps tuck her into bed as you fix her nightlight. She falls asleep with a smile on her face, excited to tell her friends that she will be going to the dance.

You and Buck settle into your bed, changed into pajamas and comforted pulled down the bed.

“Buck?” You ask, nervously, as you slip into your side of the bed.

He hums, fluffing the pillow he always uses when he sleeps over.

“You sure you’re okay with taking Evie to the dance? I know we haven’t really talked about your role in her life. I’m not saying I’m expecting you to be her father or stepfather or anything like that and I know you said you were okay with me having a kid. I guess I’m just worried I’m forcing you to take on responsibility.”

“Breathe baby.” He leans into the bed, crawling closer to the middle. “You’re not forcing me to do anything. I love being with you and being your boyfriend and yes you have a daughter but that doesn’t bother me. I love spending time with you both. I like being part of your family.”

“You’re so sweet. I just don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Don’t even think like that. I’m honored that she wants me to go with her and I’m grateful you’re letting me part of her and your life. Okay?” He holds your face in his hands. “I love you.”

“I love you. You’re too good to us.”

“Stop.” He feels a blush creeping up onto his neck.

Just days before the dance, you all go to the mall so that Buck and Evie can get matching outfits.

She’s very adamant about wearing a red dress and requires Buck to wear something red too.

Buck had decided to get ready before he came over for the dance. He also stopped to run some errands before coming over.

Evie had asked you to do her hair and if she could wear makeup. You settled for some sheer lip gloss to satisfy her.

She was pacing the living room. “Mommy! Buck is going to be late.”

“Babe, the dance is in an hour. He’s on his way.” You laugh, pouring yourself something to drink. “Just sit in the couch and relax.”

“I can’t relax! I’m so excited.” She jumps up and down. Buck knocks on the door and she runs. “He’s here! He’s here! Can I open the door?”

“Just this once.” You follow her, standing behind her.

When she opens the door, Buck stands there looking handsome as always. He’s holding a small bouquet of flowers, a pink heart balloon, and a small teddy bear.

“Ah!” Evie screams, holding her hands out for her gifts.

“Hi! You look so pretty.” He kisses her forehead. She giggles and runs to put her gifts on her bed. “She gets it from her mom.”

“You’re a smooth talker, Buck.” You grin at him. “And where’s my gift?”

“Right here.” He winks and pulls you into him by your waist. His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss. You only break away when Evie clears her throat.

“You should’ve seen her. She was more nervous than I was for our first date.” You laugh.

“Is that so?” He picks her up. “No need to be nervous little lady. We’re going to have a great night!”

“You’ll dance with me and my friends?” She pokes at his cheek.

“Of course, we’ll dance all night.” He kisses her cheek.

You kiss them both goodbye and assure Buck you’ll keep your ringer on in case he needs anything.

Buck is a gentleman as always as he opens the door for her both in the car and at the school. Her hand clings to his and he can see the nerves in her little eyes as she looks around the gym.

Her eyes widen and she taps Buck’s side, pointing at her friend Tammy who is sitting at a table with her father. Buck guides her over to the table and asks if they can join them. Buck makes small talk with the man as the kids show each other their dresses and sparkly shoes.

When it’s time, Buck helps serve Evie and helps tuck a napkin into her neckline. He’s at her beck and call, getting her cups of punch and cookies from the dessert table.

They end up winning one of the games due to Buck’s competitive nature. They win gift certificates for a local ice cream shop and promise to go next weekend. They then spend the night dancing (jumping and twirling) to pop music.

Buck’s burnt out, he thinks he might be more tired than a shift at the station. He’s sent you loads of videos and pictures throughout the night, even FaceTimed you to show you the decorations.

Your heart has swelled up with joy and love for your daughter and for Buck. It’s been hard for both of you without her father so her being able to have this experience makes you so happy. And Buck, I mean how could you not love him even more after this? He went out of his way to create a special experience for her without hesitation.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the front door open, having just given Buck a spare key. You both shared an emotional moment when you gave it to him but it was bound to happen sooner or later and you felt the sooner the better.

You click the volume to mute and stand from the couch just as he’s approaching. He looks beat and tired with droopy eyes but he carries Evie’s sleeping form. Though she’s asleep, she holds onto him for dear life.

“Hey.” You whisper and lean up to kiss him. “I can take her.”

He shakes his head, “I got her. Let’s tuck her in. She’ll be too sleepy for a bath.”

You nod and plan to get her all washed up first thing in the morning. You help pull the blankets from her bed as Buck lays her down. You both take one foot each and unbuckle her shoes. He hands you the shoe and you place them in her closet.

After a kiss to the forehead and a flick of the nightlight, you both exit. Buck wraps his arms around you, his chest resting against your back. He tucks his chin into your neck.

“Sleepy?”

“Yes.” He groans. “I have not danced that much since I was a kid. But I had so much fun, she’s such a good kid. You’re such a good mom.”

You blush, cheeks flaming. “She is. Thank you for doing this.” You’re glad he can’t see your face. You’re about to burst into tears.

“I love doing stuff like this for her. And for you. You deserve a night for just you and to not worry about doing all this alone.”

“I love you, you know that?” You turn in his arms.

“Don’t cry.” He urges, hands rubbing up and down at your sides before his thumb wipes a stray tear on your cheek. “I love you. I’ll be here for you both. Always.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

[jschlautism]

someone call the doctor now, i'm feelin' low

note: wouldn't be a fluff writer if i didn't make a sickfic

warnings/tags: schlatt is a big baby about being sick, established relationship, reader is gender neutral, emetophobia, alcoholism is mentioned, hurt/comfort, reader is shorter and younger than schlatt, schlatt doesn't really talk because he feels like garbo

word count: 1,049

Unfortunately, waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of someone retching on the other side of the wall was something you were used to by now, what with your boyfriend being an alcoholic. You tried to help him as best you could, but some days were just far too difficult for him to handle. Assuming that drinking was to blame, you rolled over with a huff and tried to go back to sleep. It was nothing John hadn’t dealt with before, he’d had this problem long before you two got together; you were sure he could handle himself. At least.. That’s what you thought, and that was what you were working off of until John re-entered the bedroom, practically whimpering with a weak voice. A quick pet name was all you had managed to catch him say. At that moment, you realized something was terribly wrong here. Sitting up in the bed quickly, you lay your eyes upon John, who, admittedly, looked worse for wear. He was trembling, his hair a mess, and what looked faint freckles visible on his cheeks, likely from the straining it takes to throw up.

John just stares at you as you begin to get up from the mattress, tossing the blankets aside. You approach him, looking up into those deep brown eyes that you loved so much. They were captivating, even now as he was at his worst. “What’s wrong, my sweet boy?” You ask with softness in your voice that only he ever got to hear, reaching up to gently caress his cheek. The older man simply leans into your touch, closing his eyes as he lets out a shaky breath. To you, that was further confirmation that there was a problem. “Come on bubba, speak to me, tell me what’s wrong..” You push again as you take his hand and begin to lead him to the bed. Even now, you still got butterflies holding his hands, simply because they were much larger than yours were. You bury those thoughts, focusing on him and making sure he’s okay.

He sits down on the mattress slowly, and the moment that he does, you place your wrist to his forehead; you already have a suspicion about what’s going on. Sure enough, when you pull your hand away, you can still feel the warmth on your wrist for just a moment. “J, honey, you’re burning up.. are you sick?” In response to your question, he just nods his head. He was always a big baby when he fell ill, and this time was clearly no exception. You let out a sigh and shake your head. Thinking for a bit, you decide to advise John to lay down and try to get some rest. He protests, but eventually he does give in and lays his head atop the pillows. Once he’s gotten settled in, you tell him you’ll be right back, and leave the room to get some things you think he may need.

You make your way into the kitchen, then retrieve a water bottle from the cabinet. You figure he probably needs water after whatever the hell he had just gone through. Filling the bottle with ice water, you stop and think for a moment. “Should probably get him a bucket or something just in case..” You mutter under your breath while you tightened the lid on the water bottle. Maneuvering around the kitchen, you begin to look for something that you could give him just to make sure he had cover on his way to the bathroom. Ultimately not really finding much, you decide on one of the spare dish pans and coat the inside with paper towels. It would have to be enough.. for now, at least. You can go to the store in the morning to get something else if you have to, but for the moment, you think this will work. He’s probably not too picky right now, anyways. Returning to the bedroom with the water bottle and dish pan in your grasp, you notice that John had actually managed to fall asleep. Sighing, you set the drink and the makeshift bucket on the bedside table, then take a good look at your sleeping beauty. He always looked so sweet when he was resting. You run a hand through his somewhat curly brown locks with a subtle frown on your face. “I really wish you felt better, J…” You whisper with furrowed brows.

Neither of you really got much sleep that night. With John being up and down vomiting, and you having to take care of him, there really wasn’t much opportunity to rest. Eventually, it got to a point where you both just gave up and decided to watch a movie. You let him pick, since he was the ‘poor baby’ of the situation, and he ended up picking Wall-E. In the middle of the movie, he turns his head to look at you. “Not to be a burden or anything, but.. Do you think you could maybe get me some crackers? I… I wanna at least try to eat somethin’...” He mumbles, then looks down at his lap, where his hands were resting. He fidgets with the blankets a bit. You pat him gently on the back and nod, getting up to head to the kitchen. Just as you were about to head back into the bedroom, you notice the bathroom light is on, and you hear the undeniable sound; your boyfriend retching once more. You set the pack of crackers down on the accent table in the hall and enter the bathroom, kneeling down beside the man. Placing a hand atop his back, you begin to rub careful circles into his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, reassuring him every now and then with your soft words. It was disgusting, having to witness this, but you knew you had to be here for him; after all, he was always there for you. When he finally gets a moment of peace, he lifts his head and looks at you with what you could only describe as puppy dog eyes. He looked utterly pathetic, and all you wanted to do was make him feel better.

This was going to be a long week.

[loneisland]

YAAAAYYY thank you hea for tagging me this is my opportunity to prove I haven’t been just sitting on my ass and have actually been writing huhu sorry for disappearing like this 🫣

cupid’s heart compulsion disorder — pro! rin itoshi x orthopedic resident! reader

“Oh, please,” Oliver says, leaning back in his chair with a lazy grin. “You’re just mad because I’m right. Admit it: you’ve thought about it.”

You glare at him. “Thought about what?”

“Itoshi Rin,” he says, waving a hand dramatically. “He’s what? 187 centimeters of pure evil brooding energy? Tell me you haven’t entertained the idea.”

“Not even for a second,” you reply, a little too quickly.

He raises a brow. “Sure. And I’m the Chief of Surgery.”

Before you can snap back, the door creaks open, and Livy pokes her head in. “Oh, good, you’re here. Room 407’s asking for you again,” she says, her voice pitched with barely concealed glee.

You groan, slumping forward. “Of course he is.”

Livy grins like a cat that’s caught a particularly annoying mouse. “What’s wrong, Persephone? Your Hades beckons.”

hearts and horizons — lord! michael kaiser x lady! reader, bridgerton! au

If Michael Kaiser was both comely and titled, why then would the Duke need to marry again? The question lingers in your mind, its weight impossible to ignore.

“You did say you would bring me any information concerning this arrangement, did you not?” Your voice calls to Emma, steady but edged with an urgency you can no longer ignore. She turns to you abruptly, her wide eyes betraying her hesitation.

“Yes, I did, my lady,” she replies cautiously.

“Then why—” The words catch in your throat, and you hesitate, glancing toward the door as though your parents—or worse, the Duke himself—might overhear. You steel yourself and lower your voice to a whisper. “Why couldn’t my parents marry me to Michael Kaiser instead of the Duke?”

Emma’s face pales, and she looks around the room with exaggerated caution before leaning in. “Lady Y/n, Lord Kaiser is…” She pauses, weighing her words carefully. “…a bastard. Few know, my lady, and fewer must ever know. Oh, if they knew…” Emma subtly shakes her head and continues, “The Duke is marrying you because he needs a legitimate heir to inherit his title and fortune.”

out of bounds — brother’s best friend! sae x reader, pll au

“Just leave her,” your brother says, leaning casually against the doorway with a cynical smile. “Can’t blame her if she wants to fry her brain with celebrity gossip.”

“Right, like you fry your brain with all those footballs smacking into your head?” you shoot back, your words dripping with sarcasm.

“Alright, let’s not,” your mom interjects, stepping in to push your brother back with a firm hand on his shoulder. Her voice carries that practiced tone of authority that brooks no argument. “Your dad and I are heading out for the day. The Garretts are having a garden party down the street. Please don’t make us come home to a fire, alright?”

“Only if she can keep her venom to herself,” your brother quips, casting a pointed look in your direction.

You pull a face at him, scrunching your nose as you shoot him a grimace.

“I just want to feel like I can trust two young adults to not turn this house into a war zone,” your mom continues, her sharp gaze darting between the two of you. “Can I trust you both with that, or should I start looking for a professional referee?”

“We won’t be alone,” your brother says nonchalantly, holding up his phone. “Sae’s coming over.”

if you see this, you’re tagged! I want to see everybody’s beautiful creations huhu

silly wip tag game!◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

show us a paragraph, line or dialogue out of context from your current wip[s]. if you aren't a writer, feel free to share one from the last fic you read! ♡

these are from three different wips, the last one is something i wrote in december 2024 (those who remember me talking about nanami and a desi reader...yea), and the second one is something my aashi (@fushitoru) has been asking for since the beginning of time [hint: salaryman choso]

— npt: @gojocon @norikuna @sonnytoru @starmapz @aishi-toru @baepsays @gojosoups @indiewritesxoxo @madamechrissy + anyone else

[momo-rambles]

Vine Reference

Imagine reader telling Task Force 141 a Vine reference and their reactions. I absolutely loved this idea!

Warnings: Language, minimal use of Y/N, not proofread

A/N: Hey, guys! Here’s my first round of imagines for our favorite task force! I can’t imagine that I came up with this idea, so please feel free to tag yourself if you came up with the idea! Also, I kinda got carried away with Gaz’s! Please be gentle!😭 Love you guys!

_________________________________________________

Price:

The sun shone brightly through the truck windows, making me involuntarily reach out and flip down the sun visor. Price sat next to me in the drivers’ seat, his focus maintained on the highway ahead. Soft music humming in from the low volume of the radio.

The truck’s atmosphere had been filled with a quietness that wasn’t uncomfortable. I’d become accustomed to the quiet that usually tended to follow Price around, intermingled with the small talk here and there. Captain Price and I had been traveling for a while now, our destination still unknown to me. He woke me early this morning and told me to pack up and load up, and I did so. No questions asked. I decided to test the silence that has surrounded us for the past two hours.

“How much longer until we’re there?”, I asked quietly. Price swiftly averted his gaze from the road to me in the passenger seat, and then back again. He adjusted slightly in his seat, the stillness from driving taking its toll on his joints. He swapped out his hands on the steering wheel and cleared his throat.

“Not quite two hours.”, his gravelly voice replied. I nodded in understanding, turning my gaze back out the window. I was still taking in the scenery flying past me when I heard Price sigh heavily. I turned back to see him rubbing his eyes quickly, then averting his eyes back to the road.

“What’s wrong?”, I questioned.

Price pointed out the windshield to a large orange sign sitting on the shoulder of the highway. Large black letters read “ROAD WORK AHEAD.”

“We’ll probably be stopped for road work ahead.” He sighs.

The gears in my head immediately begin turning. A grin appearing on my face.

“Road work ahead? Uh, yeah, I sure hope it does…” I spoke without missing a beat, making myself giggle. Price looked over to me in the passenger seat, confusion ringing on his features.

“I beg your pardon?”, He asks.

“You’ve never heard that?”, I laughed harder at his perplexed expression. “The Vine?”

Price shook his head, a small, amused smile becoming more evident on his features as he took in my laughing form. “No, can’t say I have. I’m not totally sure what ‘a vine’ is.”

“That’s a real shame, Cap. You’re truly missing out.”, I stated, finally calming my giggles. Price just smiled and shook his head again.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

_________________________________________________

Soap:

“So, this whole time, Allison has been seeing both Todd and James?”, Johnny questioned, stopping the shopping cart beside me as I examined the bread on the shelves next to me.

We were in the middle of our mid week grocery shopping trip. Conversation seemingly flowed easy during this time. Neither of us could truly understand it, but it was something we had grown accustomed to.

“Yep!”, I confirmed, recounting the latest chapter of the book I was reading. I continued my overlook of the shelves in front of me, never meeting Johnny’s eyes as I spoke. “And this went on for, like…a year or so before they both found out about each other.”

Johnny always entertained the retellings of my current reads. He said I had a knack for storytelling, and thus, continuously found himself enthralled in my books. Even if he himself wasn’t actually reading it. It never ceased to reel him in.

“That’s crazy stuff, there.”, he paused for a moment.

“Ya know, I’ll never understand how people can cheat and keep it a secret for so long.”, he states as he shifts from one foot to the other. I continued to peruse the loaves of bread lining the shelves before me, even going as far to feel a few of them. I plucked a loaf of bread from its spot on the shelf and placed it in the cart. I grabbed a hold of Johnny’s forearm on the cart, signaling him to start walking. We rounded aisle after aisle, quickly grabbing the respective items on our list.

“Me neither. I guess some people are better at keeping secrets than others.”, I mumbled. “Not to mention, Todd and James are roommates…well…were roommates.”

“And they were roommates?”, Johnny whipped his head in my direction, eyes wide as he took in this new information. I immediately looked over to him with a grin, the realization dawning on his features at what he had done.

I could feel the mirth sinking into my eyes.

“Oh my god, they were roommates…”, I mumbled through quick giggles. Johnny shook his head, trying to fight off laughs of his own.

“Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”, he said through small chuckles.

“Afraid so…”, I said trying to maintain my composure.

“You’re lucky I love you.” He states as he places a hand on my lower back to usher me towards the check out.

_________________________________________________

Gaz:

Game nights on base usually went one of two ways: easy and laid back or absolute chaos.

Tonight seemed to be leaning towards the latter.

Soap suggested a friendly game of Uno, which turned out to be anything but. Price was heavily puffing on his cigar, still trying to understand what exactly was happening at the table around him. Soap and Gaz seemed to be lucky tonight, laying down +2 and +4 cards left and right. Ghost, bless his soul, was beginning to look like he was holding a full deck of his own, and has been glaring daggers at his sergeants. I was doing okay, not as many advantage cards as Gaz and Soap, but still not holding as many cards as Ghost.

But, I had quite the competitive streak.

I laid down my wild card, picking blue as my color of choice. A grumble could be heard from Soap, and I felt my lieutenant’s gaze on the side of my head. Soap drew a card from the deck, laid down his blue 2 and gestured to Gaz that it was his turn. Gaz immediately slapped down a wild card of his own, and blurted out red as the next color. I couldn’t help the scowl on my face, as red was the least color of cards I had in my hand. But I wasn’t out yet.

Price laid down his card. Ghost drew three more cards before finally getting one to fit the round, and it was my turn again. I laid down yet another wild card and immediately changed the color back to blue. Soap took his turn. Gaz’s gaze shifted ever so quickly in my direction and slapped down ANOTHER wild card.

“Red”, he smirked.

“Seriously, Gaz? Stop picking red!”, Soap exclaimed with a laugh.

Price exhaled some smoke and laid down his card, which happened to be a +2. Ghost rolled his eyes, drew his cards and laid down his respective card. Back to me. I slapped down a +4 and muttered a quick “blue.”

Soap drew his four and turned it over to Gaz.

Gaz had a devious look in his eyes, pretending to thumb through his hand. I pointed my finger in his direction.

“Don’t you do it, Garrick…”, I warned.

Gaz clamped down his thumb and forefinger around the edge of a card in his hand, eyes challenging me.

“You better not!”, I exclaimed

In one swift motion, Gaz slapped another wild card down.

“Sorry, Y/N, but I’m afraid the color is now red…”, he smirks.

I immediately stood from my seat, threw my cards on the table and began wilding waving my hands.

“What the fuck is up, Kyle?! No, what did you say, dude?! What the fuck, dude?! Step the fuck up, Kyle!”, I chanted from memory.

All eyes were on me in that moment. Soap began laughing at my outburst, like he had heard the sentiment before. Ghost cut his eyes over to my standing form from behind the skull on his face. Price and Gaz stared at me with surprise and confusion.

“I’m sorry, what?”, Price asks through muffled chuckle.

“Yeah, what was that?”, Gaz questions, confusion contorting to amusement.

“You guys know? That Vine video from years ago?”, I state.

Price, Gaz and Ghost all exchange glances, then look back to me.

“We have no idea what you’re talking about.”, Ghost speaks up, voice muffled through his balaclava.

“Soap, you know what I’m talking about, right?”, I turn to the mohawk in the chair beside me.

“‘Course I do. That video’s all over the internet.”, the Scotsman replied, smile still evident on his face.

“Leave it to the muppet…I think I’ve had enough Uno for one night. I’m turning in.”, Price states, putting his cigar out in the ashtray in front of him. Ghost agrees, placing his cards in the table. Both men stand up and retreat to their respective places. Soap stands and stretches his arms above his head.

“Yeah, I think I’ll head out, too. Later.”, he says and exits swiftly, leaving Gaz and I in the rec room. Gaz’s eyes still on me from my outburst, I quickly began cleaning up the cards on the table. I could feel the heat creep up my neck from embarrassment.

“For what it’s worth,” Gaz started, pulling my attention back to him. He handed me the rest of the deck, “I was fully prepared to step the fuck up.”

_________________________________________________

Ghost:

“Alright, any questions on anything I just went over?”, Ghost’s low voice rang through the room. Gaz, Soap and myself were seated around the table in front of him. We had spent the past half hour briefing the next mission. Price conveniently left Ghost in charge of this one, knowing the lieutenant had a penchant for minute details. All of us at the table exchanged glances and shook our heads.

“Good. Because now we get to go over logistics…”, Ghost picked up a tablet from the table, and began flitting over it. We all groaned in disdain. Ghost ignored our protests and began his lecture. I tried my hardest to pay attention, but the drone of Ghost’s voice quickly became background noise. I found myself glancing over at Soap, who looked as equally as enthused as I felt. Gaz, ever the teacher’s pet, was locked in on Ghost’s every word. Soap motioned to Gaz and then clasped his hands at his chest, while mouthing an “awwww” at me, jesting at Gaz’s attentiveness. I couldn’t help the snort that came out of my nose.

“Something the matter, sergeant?”, Ghost stops his lecture to directly address me.

“No, sir. Just having trouble sitting still, is all…”, I explained while adjusting in my seat to get my point across.

“Well, then…make yourself useful and walk this to the garbage can. That should satiate your movement for a bit.” Ghost reached behind him, grabbed his empty soda can and slid it on the table in my direction. It was a reasonable response, given the distance from the table to the garbage can by the door. I picked up the can, and was immediately hit with an impulse.

I shook the can to confirm that it was empty.

“This bitch empty. YEET!”, I say as I chuck the can towards the trash can with all my might. The can just barely missed its intended destination. I sighed, got up from my seat and trudged over to place the can in the garbage. I returned to my seat to see Soap and Gaz trying their hardest not to laugh out loud. It was only then that I felt Ghost’s eyes on me.

“What the fuck was that?”, he muttered out, voice ever low and monotonous. His eyes were glued to my face from behind the skull on his balaclava.

“Not my best moment…” I mumbled back. “It was an old video from long ago. I don’t even know why I did that. I’m sorry, Lt.”

“Right…”, he says as he looks over at the other two sergeants trying to hold themselves together. “You know what, we’ll discuss this the day of. You’re all dismissed.”

Soap, Gaz and myself head for the door. I internally kicked myself for letting my intrusive thoughts win…in the middle of a meeting.

“Uh…Y/N?”, Ghost’s voice found my ears. I hesitantly turned back to face my lieutenant.

“Yes, sir?”, I questioned.

“What the bloody hell does ‘yeet’ mean?”

[hitlikehammers]

that tune without the words

“It was nice, walking through those woods, talking to you,” and the tone of his voice in admitting it makes the whole shebang another line item for Eddie’s getting-to-know-Steve file: lift this man’s standards out of the fucking gutter—but then his tone’s turning sorta wry: “Even if it was mostly about how you were impressed that I was less of a douche than advertised.” 💕

rating: t ♥️ cw: mid-S4, Vol2, steve goes back for eddie’s ‘body’, interdimensional bat venom can be a hell of an paralytic inconvenience ♥️ tags: eddie munson lives (to go on a date that’s not walking through dead hell-forests 🎉), steve harrington having a one-sided/unfiltered heart-to-heart with the cute boy who carved his probable bisexuality indelibly intonstone 💎 (no biggie), an over abundance of flirting in times of mortal peril, planning a future in an actively crumbling hellscape=(soon-to-be)couple goals, happy ending (and hopeful ending, too!)

for @steddielovemonth day two: "if you're lost, you can look and you will find me // if you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting" —Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper

title credit here🪶

When they tangled with Vecna, Eddie’s body gets left behind. Sure, yes, they all know the timeline, the logistics, how the story goes. The gates seal. Supergirl goes nuclear. They kinda-half-lose. The town’s a fucking mess. They gotta lick their wounds.

But the in-between bits get hazy, see.

Specifically when Steve went AWOL and ran back, jumped through the closing gate he’d just barely managed to climb up through in the first place, given the extent of his wounds, and runs for the body they abandoned because he doesn’t leave his people behind.

And somehow in just a couple days, Eddie counted as his people. Even just his body.

The strength, the speed, the stamina to not have been stuck in the Upside Down, to not have dropped the dead weight in the way back up, to not have got suctioned in and crushed in half as the fissures crept closed: that’s the fucking stuff of legends, of parents lifting trucks off pinned children. No wonder they call Steve the mom.

But yeah. Eddie’s body’s left behind.

For like…ten minutes, max.

Then Steve fucking Harrington had to be all Steve fucking Harrington about it, say fuck that, and weigh the risk of two dead bodies as sufficient collateral to leap like it was a fucking two-for-one at Melvald’s.

Bastard made it back, too. Bloody as fuck, everything that’d healed even a little bit torn at least twice as wide in breaking back open; three extra broken bones, with at least on being a rib that there’s genuine concern over puncturing a lung with one more wrong move—and a likely one, given the evidence thus far.

And also, there’s Eddie.

Eddie, who’s breathing, who they don’t know until later whether Steve managed to somehow resuscitate, or if the powers that govern the hellscape zapped him back for nefarious reasons, or maybe they’d all just…fucked up and missed that Eddie wasn’t even all-dead in the first place.

Details, remember. The in-between parts got real hazy.

Eddie knew the truth form the get-go, though.

Having to witness Henderson fall apart, draped across him was maybe the most harrowing thing eddie has ever had to live through—but the point was, he did live through it. Everything was foggy, and he felt like his world was blinking too long in between knowing it was still there, like reality and his place in it were too close to sleep to be rooted, to be trusted, to be sure at all that it would last and that his shitty attempts to get any air in weren’t just painful acts of desperation to delay the inevitable.

But then there had been lips on his lips, and he’d tasted his own blood there but then more blood, other blood.

And his lungs were blissfully full for the first time in what felt like eons.

He wants to turn to find out who’s there, whose mouth had just spared him in his torment for even a few extra moments before the end, but he—

He can’t fucking move. He hadn’t realized that part before—oxygen deprivation, hell of a distraction apparently—but now that he clocks it?

That lungful of air’s gasping out fast as fuck as eddie panic because what’s happening what is happening—

What’s happening is that mouth on his again, giving him back the breath he’s foolishly wasting on panic, coupled with a too-broad hand, palm braced at his chest and fingers curled up his shoulder: firm. Steadying.

“Poison,” a voice says low, close to him enough that eddie thinks he maybe feel warmth from it but he’s not sure, he’s not sure what he does and does not feel and that’s most of the fucking terror: “in the venom. My legs were numb as fuck after, the went too deep at the core and it just fanned out, couldn’t feel a fucking thing but the pain til we got supplies.”

The hand moves fuller to his chest like it’s testing something, then the lips are back, filling up his lungs, like someone who knows how this works, who’s done it before—

A lifeguard would know. Would have done it before and…

Okay, like, Eddie didn’t spend most of every summer the past handful of years in a carefully disguised little copse of shadey trees near enough to keep the community pool in his sights because he was planning to get in the water, y’know?

“But then it felt like there wasn’t enough air when I tried to breathe deep, way worse than my legs, like from,” and he touches Eddie’s neck, then, where the bats barely got him by comparison to…other places so Eddie thinks—with the newly-restored moments of oxygen to his brain cells—Steve’s talking about his suspicious noose-shaped souvenir.

Eddie wants to be able to see, wants to see and know with all his sense that this is steve: touching him and coming back for him and saving him and—

“You’re still breathing,” and shit, it’s like Eddie’s prayers are answered without a god believed in, his fucking lucky day, because Steve’s leaning and holding still so the his cheek under Eddie’s nose, and the bow of his lips just at the corner of Eddie’s mouth, gasping out his assessment when the hint of damp the exhale gathers on his skin, all with a kind of relief that feels…too big, really. Like Eddie can’t possibly deserve that. They barely know each other.

But fuck if Eddie—who was very much banking of giving up the goddamn ghost down here just a couple minute prior, especially once everyone had left and he was just staring at the red lightning waiting to be struck down for good—but fuck if Eddie is gonna pretend he doesn’t want to deserve that care and relief, to merit and earn it for himself, specifically from Steve, especially the Steve he’s gotten to know in the last seventy-two hours. All the shit about crisis revealing a persons true nature?

Sign Eddie the fuck up for a) all of Steve Harrington and his truest true nature as well as b) the sworn duty of keeping this far too tightly wound paladin barbarian crossbreed marvel of a specimen from any more crises, and ensuring the opposite instead, maybe like, holding him close. Kissing his neck. Falling asleep in each other’s arms. More…stuff like that.

Time probably moves faster the vacuum of real actual Armageddon, so. He probably can shrug off the ‘barely know each other’ stuff.

His heart’s doing a little floppy-floppy thing with Steve’s mouth still so close; with knowing Steve’s mouth had been closer, so. Yeah. He’s sold, 100% on board. Bring him the dotted line, he’ll be Mrs. Harrington by morning.

Or…evening? It’s just fucking dark here, he doesn’t even remember what day it is.

“Too much,” and Steve’s not moving form where he’s gauging—presumably—Eddie’s breaths at the source, whispering and so, so close as he waggles his hand around; “before, but,” and Eddie gets it quick: too much commotion. To much hysteria, and more than merited, but Dustin’s sobbing? Robin’s shaking, Nancy’s armor-grip on her gun making trying to measure a pulse less than worthless and Steve…Steve has getting them the fuck out before the gates closed, Eddie remembers hearing that—which begs the question of why he’s here again bow, but one thing at a time.

The one thing Eddie wants to focus on is Steve thought to come back at all, and thought it not inpossible to find him alive and not-yet-but-still-eventually-capable-of-kicking, because the bats had numbed him to fuck, too.

And he hadn’t told anyone, Jesus fuck—this man, and giving more shirts about him already than Eddie’s maybe given for anyone, is gonna be what actually manages to put him six feet in the goddamn ground.

“I had a feeling,” Steve says, and Eddie doesn’t have to try and fail to turn to see the triumphant smirk he’s pulling, still relieved but like, vindicated now, too.

“And even if I didn’t,” he sobers quick; “I wasn’t leaving you here.” And Eddie wouldn’t stilled if he was capable of moving in the first place because…yeah, he’s basically figured he was being left here. Was pretty much solidly on his way to making his peace with it too when feet landed close to his knees and lips closed over his own and the rest is…

Is now. Where Steve Harrington doesn’t leave Eddie Munson, even as the world ends in their fucking faces and all proves to be as good as lost.

He won’t settle for them counting among the loses and that’s…

That’s just kinda…wow.

“Was really banking pretty hard on that feeling, too,” and Eddie hears Steve’s voice strain a little, even as there comes a little tiny huff of slightly manic laughter, and a rip of fabric from fuck knows where. “Want to get to know you better, Munson,” he says, tight like he’s holding up tensions, or swallowing back pain and Eddie doesn’t like that, and likes even less that he can do fuck all about it right now.

But if they’re gonna be in the business of getting to know each other better, then Eddie’s filing that sound away in the ‘keep that shit away from Steve forever’ file.

Eddie likes dealing with forevers in his head, because they so rarely work out for him in life. He craves disappointment, maybe; but.

“Walking through the woods, half-fucking paralyzed was some of the,” Steve starts, honest and earnest before Eddie catches half-a-shrug out the corner of his eye and…maybe he’s not the only one who deals in forevers in their head, and if he’s suddenly not the only one, maybe less disappointing could possibly be imminent.

Maybe.

“It was nice, talking to you,” and the tone of his voice in admitting it makes the whole shebang another thing for the getting-to-know-Steve file: lift this man’s standards out of the fucking gutter—then his tone’s turning sorta wry:

“Even if it was mostly about how you were impressed that I was less of a douche than advertised.”

Eddie wants desperately to laugh, to bump shoulders with Steve again like he did a little, tries for more when they were walking side by side, he wants so fucking bad—

Then there’s fire in his fucking throat.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve sounds more startled than concerned, where Eddie’s kinda afraid his neck is melting into lava or some shit; “yeah, yeah, baby,” and hold the fuck up, what did Steve just say, what did Steve just call him? Our of nowhere?

The lava feeling’s way less important; in fact, takes enough of a back step to make some sense with Steve’s neck words, with his hand back in Eddie’s chest to brace his shoulder:

“You’re coming back, just keep,” he’d tries to laugh, and the sound had gotten lost on Eddie in the agony but it hadn’t been lost in Steve, his baby, holy fucking shit—

“Oh.”

Steve’s tone is something entirely new; awed a little, floored a little, not bad, so that’s a plus, but…overwhelmed like at the edges but then fucking ecstatic in the middle, which down here shouldn’t even be possible, until his hand pressed a little harder into Eddie’s ribs on the less mangled side and—

“Strong enough to feel, now, even when I still can’t feel everything,” Steve’s face swims, gorgeous and kinda like an answer to the universe in the minimal view space Eddie has to work with as he slowly crawls back online, a process not actually being helped by Eddie putting together what’s causing Steve’s reaction—the way his heart’s pumping’s growing a little undeniable even on his own end, and Steve’s hand feeling the raw effects of Steve on Eddie’s body right now isn’t helping matters at-fucking-all, but also Eddie never wants that touch to leave him ever fucking again, ever.

It’s a delicate sort of contradiction.

“Shit, yeah,” and Steve’s laughing, and it’s a soft joy-tinged thing less than the manic hysteria thus far.

Eddie’s fucking toast, man. No hope for him now.

“Strong enough even if I’m kinda fucking shaking,” Steve holds out his hand that, yeah, is in fact a little trembly but hey.

Eddie can’t feel shit yet too good, but he’s almost certain he’s got to be no better. Blood in his veins certainly ain’t winning any awards for steadiness.

And Steve leans down, this time back with another one of those vaguely hysterical laughs and Eddie can’t see everything outside of the angle his head’s held at just now, and the whole problem really starts with how he can’t feel a lot of shit á la bat venom, but.

If Eddie had any money, he’d actually wager that Steve fucking Harrington. Just touched his lips to Eddie’s neck, just kissed where his pulse would kick between his collarbones. And, true or not, the possibility of that?

Holy fucking shit.

“I hope these aren’t too tight,” Eddie sees the motion from Steve’s shoulder, feels…or thinks he feels the lightest ghost of pressure at his fucked up side: tight. The tearing from before; Steve had been wrapping his sorry ass up.

Talk about Eddie’s goddamn knight in shining armor, Jesus fuck.

“Pretty sure it came down to the fact that their poison hit me like it did because of where they got me the worse, and that’s what made me hope in the first place, you know. Your worst bleeders are in the meat,” and yeah, Eddie really does think that’s real sensation for the soft press of Steve’s hand at his flank, not say nothing of the burning flush to his cheeks, blood’s moving just fine there.

“Fucking deep but not so close to the bloodstream, to pump around and make it worse,” and he touches Eddie’s neck again, and ah: that was why Steve had the reaction he did, mainline to the ticker to get it all swum around. “More of it in you, obviously, because there were more of them, more teeth, but not up here,” and fuck Steve Harrington for the way his hand brushes Eddie’s neck almost tender-like, just…fuck him; “no a direct fucking line to the source.”

Yes. Fuck him. Preferably soon and with Eddie at full sensation and on a horizontal surface that’s not bloodsoaked and vaguely reeking of rot.

Just, y’know. If anyone’s taking note of preferences.

“Thank god for it,” Steve breathes out, the air fluttering over Eddie’s face and he can feel it and he wants to cry, he wants to jump up and dance; can’t do that year but his pulse makes a damn good attempt.

“But yeah, anyway, just walking through hell with you was,” Steve shifts back to the part where he’d seemed to be extolling the virtues of apocalyptic flirting, but before Eddie can file it away to do so much better in whatever’s to come? Steve’s slotting his fingers between Eddie’s own; he can’t feel the whole of it, but he damn well feels enough to know the way they fit is perfect, like they were cut form the same clay millennia ago.

Of course Eddie’s heart goes flippy-floppy again; it fucking has to.

“Not the part about Nance so much, though.”

And Eddie thinks he frowns because…oh.

Oh right, yeah, he really hasn’t had a glimmer of hope in hell that what kinda feels like is happening right now was even on the goddamn table, so…maybe he had tried to funnel his sense of pure and unadulterated loss into at east giving the boy he wanted, what < i >that boy wanted.

Whoops.

Won’t be making that mistake ever again, though, at least. Lesson learned, loud and clear.

“That’s been and gone, man,” steve sighs, a if Eddie needs more convincing. “And I don’t want to go back to where I left it. I want to love someone, who loves me.”

It feels heavy and vulnerable, but all Eddie wants to do is shot me, it can be me, let me have the adventure of learning how to love every bit of you better than you ever thought to even hope after pretty fucking please with a goddamn cherry on top—

“So she’s,” Steve huffs, definitive-like: “out of the picture. She could maybe learn to be that, but, and Steve moves, the most intentionally he’s done it so far to look Eddie straight in the eye when he wraps up the point:

“I’m not interested enough to wait.”

Which means it’s no fucking coincidence, that eye-contact, and Eddie’s ping-ponging pulse for it is 100% prevent valid and then some.

“And I know can’t talk right now, so I get this isn’t really,” Steve sucks his teeth in a genuinely unbearably adorable way; “fair, or probably even like, wholly ethical,” and Eddie’s only been around for days but that sounds like Robin right there, and the feeling of a dangerous pull near his cheek makes him think the urge to smile wasn’t wholly ignored by his beat to shit body, fucking progress.

“So think of it just like a,” he hums, then snaps his fingers as he lands on: “suggestion! A suggestion. Like me, just, putting it out there, which I usually do before anyone feels the same way anyway so this is just like, variation on the theme, but,” and Steve’s eyes are so big, Eddie’s never seen them looks this way before while Steve tips his whole face so Eddie can watch before he can sit up or turn his neck, must be fucking painful but he doesn’t even flinch, and Eddie’s only ever just kinda fallen for the puppy droop of those gorgeous eyes. Now they’re all, big and wide and bright and breathless and holy shit, Eddie’s really is just so screwedbest thing ever.

“I want to take you to dinner, a movie.”

Okay, hold up. That idea, said out loud and meant and directed to him: that might be the best thing ever.

“Maybe a drive in so no one will see if you let me hold your hand, or put my arm around you, or start necking with you halfway through,” like that isn’t making Eddie wonder if he just can’t feel the hard on every piece of him is very convinced he has to have right now, if his body can actually pony up just yet.

“If you want, of course. We could go slow,” and it’s like Steve’s thought about it, like this isn’t just adrenaline and near-death and zero impulse control. It’s most like he…like he actually wants. “Just a movie, even like at my house. Or yours. After they,” Steve clears his throat, the only part he’s even hinted awkwardness in; “after they take care of that.”

Ah. Right. Eddie probably does now have a trailer anymore.

Weird how little he’s caring about that at the moment.

“I could cook, I’m not bad at it,” Steve’s ploughing in with secret knowledge because: Harrington. Apron. Sauce on his cheek. KO-fucking punch to the heart, no survivors.

“Takeout’s fine too, I’d get whatever you wanted,” he pivots before trialing of, chewing his bottom lip then saying a little softer:

“But I would look up recipes too, practice to learn your favorite foods.”

And maybe Eddie really was never supposed to survive the Upside Down. He just maybe completely misinterpreted the way he was gonna fuckin’ die .

“I’d kiss you at the door if that’s okay, if that’s not to far,” then Steve’s bit-sparkle eyes darken even in the hell-dim around them; “or take you to bed if you wanted, but only as much as you were sure.”

And y’known how Eddie’s heat’s been flippy-flopping?

What it starts doing then leave that schoolgirl shit to dhame.

“I want to date you, basically,” and Steve’s shoulders are all squared up, like he’s making a pitch that has any chance of failing, and Eddie does have some working knowing of the past failures…thing, but he genuinely believes those fuckers have been at least partially brain dead to leave a man like this free for the taking, by Eddie of all fucking people.

“I want to try, and see if we can be something,” and the way he says those words, it’s…it’s like a soft perfect flame in Eddie’s chest, the first thing he thinks he can feel again fucking perfectly right,

“‘Cause fuck Eddie, I’ve been looking for something for what feels like forever, and the only thing I keep coming back to for any of it is thinking about you, and ain’t that a plot twist, the deepening of the idea that any of this stretched last what started in that fucking boathouse. “Had a whole-ass sexual awakening over you when you started shepherding my kids, can’t let that go to waste, man.”

And holy shit, dude. Eddie can’t leave him hanging on that confession no matter how mostly-carefree his smile stretches. Because Steve’s been in it since last fall?

Well, Eddie’s not one to easily be outdone.

“What?” Steve squints at Eddie’s face which…okay. He probably looks absurd but he’s trying really hard here, and miming isn’t easy when your muscles don’t want to get on board, yeah?

“Are you,” Steve scrunches his nose; tips his head; considers; “are you trying to,” he frowns, like he’s ready to dismiss what he’s guessing but then says fuck it and leaps:

“Are you trying to whistle?”

Yes, oh my god, sign him up for his marriage license for real, they’re meant to fucking be.

It takes Steve a second to make sense of the absurdity, and the fact that it’s only a second is a feat in itself:

“When I was a lifeguard?”

Eddie watches the timeframe, the length of admittedly varying types and depths but always constant infatuation, start to sink in and then:

“Jesus, Munson, for real?”

And lips are coming for his lips, and he’s real hopeful he can feel them this time but: no. Not yet.

But they fill his lungs up quick and full where he’s getting better which breathing by the minute, but. Any but if a boost is appreciated.

Especially from those lips, felt fully yet or not.

“That’s just because I’m gonna lift you up here in a second to crry you, and it’s gonna hurt like fuck no matter how gentle I try to be,” Steve warns him; “so breathe as slow as you can until I can lay you back down topside.”

Right. Right, because…the Upside Down was breaking apart and they’ve been here how long, fuck, they need to get a mov on…probably.

But Steve doesn’t seem concerned about anything but getting his arms around Eddie to pick him up just right, and then staring at him all star-bright bbsome more, and that’s…way more pressing, to be honest.

“But when we get there,” Steve glances behind him; “how about we look into doing that in a way that’s more spit-swapping, less rescue breathing, that cool?”

And holy fucking shit, Eddie genuinely believes right now that he could fall in love with this motherfucker, what the actual hell.

That, and he thinks he’s gonna enjoy it, to boot.

Jesus H. Christ on a goddamn cracker—

He’s looking forward to it more than the air in his fucking lungs could even hope to rank.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here

[starberry-cupcake]

So, I had some chapters ready to recap but I decided to wait because the last bunch didn't get around as they normally do notes-wise and I thought maybe you guys needed a breather from these, I know there's more important things to engage your time with right now, so I thought I'd stop for a bit because maybe I was just posting them too frequently, BUT if I don't keep them up, I can't keep reading, so I'm gonna move on and let it land where it lands ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ at this point, I have to go on even if I'm talking to the void. So, it is what it is.

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general tag

CHAPTER 10 (shattered second house skull...yikes)

nona finally tells camilla about the surveillance situation at school

she wants to go back in the evening to help out sriracha girlie with it

camilla, because she's smart, cautious and all around perfect, tells her no

especially not after the whole shooting mess that happened that very afternoon

nona says she feels responsible for the kids and that perhaps the two other people she maybe is would also feel responsible for them

camilla says one definitely would, the other one maybe

I'm assuming the hard yes is gideon

last time gideon was sort of in charge of kids, things didn't go very well, though

rip the fourth

then they go eat and I don't quite get why nona is so picky with food

is it that the food is bad? or is her body rejecting it? or is she just a fussy child?

just putting this out there, if I ask things here, you don't need to tell me, I just ask to the void, it's fine

anyway, in comes pyrrha looking like crap but acting like it's all fine

she asks palmolive to help her get a permanent shave but palmolive says "I had the joy of working on a...body like yours, the once, and I don't want to repeat the process for anything smaller than a brain hemorrhage"

he was about to say 'lyctor', I imagine

not sure I know what this is referring to but please don't tell me

he asks pyrrha if it's "finally kicking off" and she says "not yet"

(wish this was just fiction and we weren't experiencing the imminent brewing of intense social and political tension every single day in so many places of the world)

nona goes to prepare a bath for her while palmolive and pyrrha fight about the people she saw being taken during the altercation she was caught in

she says she saw three adults taken in, no consensus on whether they were from the barracks or found in the wild

palmolive wants to go fuck shit up to save them but pyrrha says they (aka camilla) won't be able to fight against "two hundred motherfuckers with machine guns"

and points out that camolive aren't a lyctor

palmolive wants to upset pyrrha on account of her not wanting to do more to save people, especially since his house followed them there

and apparently camilla's older sister kiki was one of them

kiki is allegedly from the oversight body

which I have learned has nothing to do with the oversight of potentially having lost gideon's body

different oversight and different body

but pyrrha only cares about keeping all of them safe and can't be swayed into letting camolive fight

I get where pyrrha is coming from but, at the same time, I don't think it's realistic to believe she can do that

keep them safe, I mean

camolive are ready to spring into attack if someone looks at them wrong and nona is a child with a knife

but, in any case, you can't ask a lyctor for compassionate thought

not because they're lyctors but because some of them, including pyrrha, where there when this all started and were complicit in the fuckery

we'll go back to that in a bit

so, turns out nona can hear the blue light in the sky and she calls it "varun"

nona also tells camilla that she'd willingly go to the middle of the mess to help out the people they care about because she isn't afraid of dying

which smells like trouble to me, a kid with no self preservation

and camilla asks her why she isn't, to which nona responds that she likes the "letting go"

camilla responds that she doesn't let go, that is her thing

nona goes to have a bath before going to sleep and pyrrha has to remind her to stop flashing her boobs to the unsuspecting crowd

I have a parallel tally going on in my mind of who would be the most mortified about all this and harrow keeps winning every time

which would be extra funny if this is gideon's mind in harrow's body

JOHN 5:18 (ugh this guy again)

"For this reason they tried all the more to kill him; not only was he breaking the Sabbath, but he was even calling God his own Father, making himself equal with God."

when I named him doctor reverend instead of just doctor I didn't know how accurate that would be in the long run

dr reverend emperor john buttface says he doesn't like change

we kind of guessed that by the fact that he does inhumane things to extend his and other people's lives

he continues on his story of how he started necromancy by playing with two corpses he named ulysses and tatiana and how now he can make them do things with their whole bodies

none of this sounds great

gotta say, it's a good way of re-contextualizing the whole thing, though

because book 1 you are thrown right in the middle of the ninth and harrow is doing nasty stuff with bones and you have to just accept it and keep going

and then in canaan house other necros do other stuff that also seems wild but it's normalized, so you go on and you're like "ok, this is how things are here"

but seeing this at a time closer to us than to canaan house really brings it back to a "this is insane" territory

which I think is very effective narratively, especially to do it now

you're not here for literary criticism from me, though, so let's continue

he goes through who of his lyctors was religious to begin with, who took it as some sort of spiritual experience, and who didn't

mercygirl wasn't and was weirded out but moved on from it really fast

if you ask me, everyone moved on from it really fast, but I'm not a lyctor so I have no say in the matter

according to dr reverend emperor john assface, this was because they wanted to believe

because "everyone wants to believe that God's randomly made them on of the X-Men"

and, not to stop in a minuscule quote for too long and give more unsolicited literary analysis instead of memes but, this sentence shows a lot about this man

idk if this was picked specifically or if I'm reading too much into it BUT

out of every other superhero or superhero group or comic book character with powers he could have chosen, it's so interesting that he chose the x-men

because the x-men are notably different from many of them, especially from their time, because they were oppressed due to their powers

it wasn't just that their powers or their saving the world gig made things complicated for their lives, literally a big part of their narrative is that their powers make them a target of oppression to the point of persecution and violence

some of them famously don't want to have powers

and mutants who do have a good relationship with their powers rarely have a good relationship with society

but he overlooks that and only focuses on having superhuman abilities

and I think that says a lot about this man in just one nerdy sentence

because he's either a) overlooking the entire social context in which the x-men operated to only laser focus on their powers without caring about the rest

or b) he believes himself a victim and a target of society as a justification of being "chosen" to do what he did

since we're at it, because I think it fits the current book narrative and worldwide narrative

this is from 1993

ANYWAY

dr reverend emperor john says he knew, by this body moving thing he was doing now, that he could use this power "for good. Could be used to fix everything, used for you"

we still have this thing where he talks to harrow but as if harrow was around back then, so I think he's talking to ice cube barbie?? but I'm not yet sure what's happening

he also says the corpses were his batteries, which doesn't sound to me like doing good in general, just doing good for him, but anyway

they didn't want the people funding them (who had pulled the plug on them literally and metaphorically) to find out because they could be "used for evil"

so they decided to communicate with the people to spread the word themselves without anyone doing it for them

they decided to stream

cue to agustine and mercygirl as mods in the youtube chat prompting the command !sponsor to promote hello fresh ads while dr john shows the corpses

DAY THREE (CORONABEER MENTION)

CHAPTER 11 (fifth house skull, WE'LL TALK ABOUT THAT)

nona keeps talking about the pool situation, which she says is from her dreams

which doesn't line up with alleged harrow talking to dr reverend emperor john each time in between, but we'll continue

she says she's holding the "girl with the painted face" underwater and she is lying there but not drowning

but there are still hands around her, holding her

nona believes she must be mixing moments

I wonder if underwater girl with painted face allegedly harrow is where ice cube barbie used to be?

because a) it'd explain why she's not drowning but still underwater

and b) we ended up at the tomb last time in the end of harrow's book

and harrow went inside the empty tomb

WAIT A MINUTE

when harrow got into the tomb, it was empty

chains were broken and there was a sword and

fifth house erotica courtesy of gideon

IS THAT WHY THERE'S A FIFTH HOUSE SKULL IN HERE?

BECAUSE OF THE MAGAZINE?

pelase don't answer that, don't tell me anything at all, just let me fail

nona reproduces the way in which she's being held in the dream with camilla and says that in there it doesn't feel "sexy"

to which camilla asks wtf do you know about what sexy is

not in those exact words

apparently, she learned it from honesty

and says she thinks a painting of two flowers is sexy and asks camilla what she thinks is sexy

camilla says "eating breakfast"

camilla is sponsoring my apparel, this is the second ace tshirt with a quote from her I make from this book

nona tells her to ask palmolive what he thinks is sexy

my guess would be dying girls he never met personally

camilla says "strong work ethics and high test scores"

I'm getting a wardrobe out of this conversation

pyrrha is making breakfast and upon nona entering the room

or house section divided in a small space they call a room

she asks what they had been talking about because it "sounded fruity"

nona is onto pyrrha's bs though and can tell she hasn't slept, so pyrrha confesses that she went to the park

the park where she asked palmolive not to let camilla go

she says she didn't save anyone in a way that camolive would understand, so she doesn't want nona to tell them she went

nona isn't good with lies and I totally get that

pyrrha also tells nona to be careful about sriracha girlie because she was at the burn cages and keeping some sus company there

nona gets all mad about pyrrha saying that and calling her name "stupid"

I got mad at nona for getting mad in behalf of people she doesn't know anything about instead of trusting the advice of people she lives with

pyrrha doesn't insist much and nona says she isn't going to stop being friends with sriracha girlie because she has 0 self preservation and a death wish

as established in this same recap

pyrrha is then asked what she thinks is sexy and she pretty much describes commander wake

"love a redhead" she says

wonder if she knows what gideon looks like or if she's just still referencing commander wake

because she met her in harrow's body and I don't know if the oversight with gideon's body being misplaced happened after or before pyrrha saw her

DON'T TELL ME

nona says she doesn't think redheads are sexy, which palmolive thinks is important to note down

I also think it's important to note it down because it's more points for the "this is gideon" side of the scale

when asked what he thinks is sexy, palmolive gives the most boring answer yet

"those little outfits nurses wear"

does he have a thing for yami kawaii stuff? nurses outfits, sickly seventh girls? is this a thing for him?

or is this like the regular sexy nurse fantasy type stuff? the spirit halloween type stuff?

or is this silent hill nurse type stuff? the ones that can kill you?

I don't know, I'm gonna leave it at that, whatever works for you, my dude

we don't have time to ask palmolive specific on his fantasies, though

because the door opens suddenly and there's a GUN and a THREAT

love starting the morning with chill stuff

AND WE'RE DONE!! I'll see how I work through the chapters, they end up getting long if I wait too much but I don't want to oversaturate, which I was probably doing. Anyway, sending hugs and love your way ♥

[phosphns]

✩ . . . PARAMOUR!CHRIS HEADCANONS

paramour!chris who is your boyfriend’s best friend but, god, he’s so fine.

paramour!chris who couldn’t take his eyes off of you the first time your boyfriend introduced you to him.

“so you’re tyler’s girlfriend, huh?” he said, eyeing you up and down as he bit his bottom lip. “mhm,” you confirmed. “daamn, ‘didn’t think he could pull a chick this fine”

paramour!chris who instantly loved how you reacted to his cheeky comments whenever your boyfriend wasn’t around, all flustered and embarrassed.

paramour!chris who hates to see you acting so couple-y, planning dates and cuddling right next to him. the worst part? he couldn’t do anything about it.

paramour!chris who always finds a way to be near you. whether it’s during group hangouts or offering to help you with something — he’s always lingering a little too close, making your heart race.

paramour!chris who will casually ask about your relationship, like if he wanted to check in, be aware of any little cracks in your perfect relationship.

paramour!chris who tries to feel guilty after your first kiss, but can’t. it all feels too right for him, like it was inevitable. he knows it’s wrong tho, and he does feel bad for putting you in so many troubles.

“what… what did we just- chris, we shouldn’t have-” you chocked out. “we shouldn’t have, but we had-” he answered, looking at you right in your eyes. “w-what are we gonna do?” , “we’ll figure it out. just stay quiet and go back to him” he said, watching you go back to him, like you would always do.

paramour!chris who has promised he’d talk to you, to say that he couldn’t bear it anymore and that he would’ve back off, because it wasn’t fair to you — but he’s cut off by your lips on his.

“listen — i.. i really have a thing for you. here, i admitted it. i can’t even see you with him, but for your sake, i’ll back off. i can’t-” he started, fidgeting with his fingers nervously. you didn’t give him the chance to finish, your lips were on his in the blink of an eye, just as you’d wanted since you stepped into the room.

paramour!chris who can’t back off now — not after you kissed him like he was the one and the only. he will stare at you way more than before, stealing touches and making comments. you’d return them, brushing it off when your boyfriend asked if something was up.

paramour!chris who fucks you for the first time when your boyfriend was away, visiting his family for the easter holidays. you pretended to be sick, just for him to ask chris to look after you. what better opportunity?

paramour!chris who degrades you during the act. he’ll remind you of how much of a slut you are, fucking your boyfriend’s best friend, just because he knows that if he praised you, it’d feel too real and too wrong — well, for you.

“you’re gonna take it all.. aren’t ya? good fuckin’ slut,” he pounded into you with brutality, his hands firm on your hips. “mphh — c-chris… i’m c-close” you murmured in a barely audible voice. your skins beat against each other in a delicious but yet rough way. “yeah? well, you’re not cummin’ yet. turn around.”

paramour!chris who stares at you sleeping after, peacefully in his bed, wishing that it was the normality, you falling asleep in his arms and waking up without any rush.

paramour!chris who makes sure to leave cute dresses, bunch of your favorite flowers and risky notes in your room before every hang-out — with your boyfriend there too.

“hey baby… is this dress new? it’s cute — never seen that tho,” your boyfriend asks, eyeing your little pink dress you had put on — as the note requested. “uhm — yeah! yeah it’s new, i bought it last week,” you stammered nervously, feeling chris’ eyes on your back.

yaps. send requests&asks in for this au! i’m sooo excited i love em

tags. @ultrviolenxe

[anotherbananasong]

ugh earth being able to hit the nail on the head that causes alpha to pull away from his family ;;

did earth know how much it'd hurt alpha, and do it on purpose to hurt him the way he's hurt earth(and air), or did he not know and just got insanely good aim to hit alpha where it hurts?? Does he even know HIS words are what caused it?? Surely as a Fellow Dad, he'd have some form of regret from saying it. Not for Alpha. But for Charon, who almost loses his dad bc of it.

I think Earth was conscious of how hurtful his words were; but it’s Alpha, and he doesn’t care what Alpha thinks or feels. That bridge has long since burned.

I ended up spending more time than I should, but I figured with the recent confusion, I’d break down the timeline of events.

Under a readmore because it’s loooooong as shit..

Without revealing too much, @bloodfin had a lovely little blurb that I definitely agree with; Charon wasn’t summoned. Not intentionally, at least. And when Alpha stepped up to the plate, he was already in love with the kit.

He was excited to be a father, especially if it meant he had Dew there with him. There was about a four-day period where the two (now three) of them hid out in their room, just enjoying this new life they were going to have. Charon didn’t leave Alpha’s arms the whole time.

But then, it was time to meet Astra. And Earth is less than thrilled (he doesn’t want his daughter near that asshole).

Earth says he feels sorry for the kit; Alpha’s ruined his life just by being his father. Air, of course, is the only that knows just how low Alpha got, the nights he had to spend with him just making sure Alpha would make it through to the morning instead of giving in to his misery. Though Air is quick to chastise Earth, the damage is done. A perfect example of how you shouldn’t say something hurtful cause you have no idea what someone is going through, or has been through. And, in Alpha’s mind, Earth is right: how could Alpha have possibly thought he’d be a good father?

So he distances. He can’t ruin this kit’s life with his horrid existence. Charon needs a good father, not someone as worthless and cruel as he is. Charon doesn’t understand why the distancing is happening, and neither does Dew. What changed, that made Alpha not love them anymore? What did he do wrong?

After almost a week, Alpha decides he can’t do this. Dew will find someone better to raise their kit. He’s going to ask to be returned to the Pits; Dew and Charon deserve someone better.

Like I’ve said, when Alpha is about to walk, it’s Charon’s cry that stops him.

While he’s lying with Dew and Charon in his arms, that’s when he decides he can’t hide behind “they deserve better” anymore and actually be what he thinks they deserve. He had to come a looooong long way, but that moment made him realize he had more to offer. His kit and his mate love him, and he loves them. Earth can say and think how he feels; Alpha knows he loves these two fire ghouls, and from here on out he will be exactly what he wants to be to make sure they know how much he loves them.

Alpha makes good on his promise that Charon will never cry because of him again. He’s going to protect him as fiercely as he protects Dew.

Sorry, this was long and sloppy… but I figured I’d throw the timeline out there (I forget people don’t know the things @ashthewaterghoul and I talk about and how much lore I haven’t shared…. eh heh). Yes, Alpha’s insecurities and fear pushed him away from Charon for a moment, but he doesn’t stay there. He doesn’t do that to Charon (or Dew) again. I just tend to bounce around when I draw for the “domestic Charon” tag because I bounce all over the place to begin with. Sorry to those that thought it meant that Alpha bounces around between caring for/neglecting Charon… Alpha only pushed him away once; after he had his epiphany, he never shuts Charon out again. He decides to be the father he wants to be to Charon.

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

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

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

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

Part 15

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

Part 16: To want

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” she prompted, waggling her eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

“Finally!”

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

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

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

Kiri snorted, flipping her braids over her shoulder.

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

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

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

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

Kiri grinned. “Barely.”

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

“Tuk!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if you weren’t technically part of it.

Not yet.

*

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

“Hey! Can I get some help over here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. You definitely owed them one.

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kiri snorted. “Oh, she definitely would.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rolled your eyes playfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

Neteyam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

Where is he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could wait a little longer.

Maybe.

*

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

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

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

Neteyam.

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

Gods, how could someone be so beautiful?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopelessly on him.

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

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

Pathetic, you scolded yourself.

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

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

At you.

Your stomach dropped.

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

Straight. To. You.

Your brain stalled, panic flaring instantly.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit—

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

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

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

But then you saw it.

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

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

Your face burned.

He knew.

He knew you’d been watching him.

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

Caught you staring again, ma yawne.

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then Tuk changed the subject.

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

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

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

But he was watching you.

You could feel it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Eywa, you wanted to throw yourself at him.

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

But you couldn’t.

Not here. Not in front of everyone.

So instead, you smiled. A soft, small thing, laced with all the affection you couldn’t put into words at that moment.

And he smiled back.

It was a subtle curve of his lips, barely there—but you saw it.

You knew that smile.

It was the same one he gave you when he was holding you in the dark, when his hands mapped the shape of your body, when he whispered things against your skin that made your head spin.

You exhaled quietly, grounding yourself before speaking. "You made it back in one piece."

"Of course, I did," he murmured, his voice carrying the slightest hint of amusement, his eyes not moving from yours. "Did you doubt me?"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Maybe just a little."

He huffed out a soft chuckle, shaking his head before his gaze dropped briefly—to your lips, then back to your eyes.

It lasted only a second.

But you noticed.

And you knew, without a doubt, that Neteyam had missed you just as much as you missed him.

“You guys look like you bit into a lemon,” Kate whispered, her voice dripping with amusement.

You shot her a sharp glare, but she only grinned wider, clearly enjoying your struggle to stay composed. It didn’t help that Brian was quietly smirking beside her, glancing between you and Neteyam like he was watching a live drama unfold.

You ignored them. Instead, you looked back at Neteyam, your gaze softening despite yourself. Happy to see him again.

He was so close, crouched beside you, golden eyes warm and unwavering. You wanted to reach out, to let your fingers map out the places you had kissed before. But instead, you tilted your head slightly, forcing a teasing smirk to your lips.

“Shouldn’t the future olo’eyktan be celebrating with the new warriors?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that part of your whole ‘leader of the people’ thing?”

Neteyam hummed, tilting his head slightly as if considering it, but then his lips curved into a slow, lazy smirk, his tails swaying side to side happily. “Never,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping into that deep, velvety timbre that sent a shiver down your spine. “Not when the most interesting being is here.”

Your stomach flipped.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes to mask the heat creeping up your neck. “Flattery, huh? I thought you were above that, mighty warrior.” Eywa, how did he do that? How did he manage to say things so easily, so naturally, like he wasn’t completely unraveling you from the inside out?

His tail flicked idly behind him, his amusement barely concealed. “You wound me,” he murmured, placing a hand dramatically over his chest.

Neteyam watched you carefully, studying your reaction like he was memorizing every twitch of your expression. Then, as if sensing your thoughts, his voice softened. “Since when have you been here?” he asked, his tail flicking lazily behind him.

Your heart clenched at the realization, and you softened immediately. “Since this morning,” you admitted, watching the way his jaw clenched slightly, like the thought of you being so close yet out of reach bothered him. “We came with Norm to check on the medical supplies.” You paused, then smirked playfully. “Not that you would’ve noticed. You were too busy climbing floating mountains.”

You exhaled, finally able to answer, but as you opened your mouth, you noticed something in his eyes.

Sadness.

A quiet kind of disappointment.

He was frustrated. Frustrated that he hadn’t been able to see you all day.

Neteyam huffed a small laugh, shaking his head, but before he could respond, a voice called out from the other side of the village.

“Neteyam!”

You both turned toward the source of the voice—a young warrior waving him over. The celebration was still going strong, the newly bonded riders surrounded by their proud friends and family.

Neteyam exhaled through his nose, a very put-upon sigh, his ears twitching slightly in annoyance. He didn’t want to go.

You smirked at him, tilting your head teasingly. “Come on,” you teased. “Your duty is calling.”

Neteyam let out a quiet, dramatic groan, but there was amusement in his golden gaze as he slowly rose to his full height, towering over you once more.

And just as he stepped past you—

Thwap.

His tail flicked out, playfully slapping the side of your mask.

A startled laugh burst from your lips as you reached up instinctively, swatting at nothing but air. “Neteyam!” you half-scolded, half-laughed, shaking your head.

He only smirked over his shoulder, his golden eyes full of mischief as he walked away. "See you soon, syulang," he murmured, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

And with that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you smiling like a complete fool.

And as you watched him go, warmth bloomed deep in your chest.

You had missed him.

*

The next few hours passed in a blur of work, conversation, and the occasional distraction—mainly in the form of Tuk.

She would dart over every so often, her small hands grasping onto your arm as she chattered about something seemingly mundane but infinitely endearing. One time, it was about how she and Kiri had found a new kind of insect near the river. Another time, she excitedly showed you a rock she had found, claiming it looked just like an ikran’s wing. And at one point, she even plopped down beside you, her large Na’vi eyes studying the datapad with intense curiosity.

"How do your fingers move so fast?" Tuk asked in awe, watching as you typed, recording the final pieces of data into the system.

You chuckled, your fingers pausing for just a moment to flex them dramatically. "Years of practice," you said, tapping the screen one last time. "When you have to type reports as often as I do, you get fast."

Tuk hummed thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hands as she leaned against you, peeking at the screen. "It looks like you're talking to the pad," she mused.

"In a way, I am," you admitted, your lips curling into a small smile. "This is how humans keep records. We don’t have memory sharing like you do with Eywa, so we have to write everything down."

Tuk scrunched her nose. "That sounds hard."

You laughed softly. "Sometimes it is."

Tuk stayed with you as you worked, her presence a welcome distraction. She would ask you small questions, tell you little stories, and at some point, she began absentmindedly playing with the strap of your mask, tugging it gently as she murmured to herself about something or another. You didn’t mind—it was nice to have her here.

Still, even with Tuk’s chatter filling the air, your gaze would involuntarily flick towards him.

Neteyam.

He was with the other warriors, standing tall among them, his frame impossibly strong, impossibly perfect despite the clear exhaustion clinging to him. Maybe no one else noticed, but you did. The slight droop of his ears, the way his shoulders weren’t held as taut as usual, the brief moments where he would exhale just a little slower than before.

He was tired.

And of course he was—he had been at the Hallelujah Mountains all day, guiding the younger warriors through their Iknimaya. And now, after all of that, he was still here, still standing, still listening as others spoke to him, still carrying the weight of expectation on his shoulders.

You marveled at him.

At how he made exhaustion look so breathtaking.

At how, even now, he looked like he had been sculpted by Eywa herself—a warrior through and through, but still, somehow, entirely yours.

"You’re staring again," Tuk whispered beside you, her voice full of teasing mischief.

Your eyes widened slightly, snapping back to your datapad as you cleared your throat. "No, I’m not," you muttered quickly, typing a little more aggressively than before.

Tuk giggled. "Yes, you are," she sing-songed, nudging you with her elbow. "You always stare at my brother like that."

You gave her an exaggeratedly stern look. "I do not."

Tuk grinned, her little tail flicking behind her. "Uh-huh.”

You groaned, shaking your head as you turned your focus firmly back onto the datapad. But despite your best efforts, your eyes still betrayed you, flickering back toward him one last time.

And for a brief second—just a second—Neteyam turned his head slightly, as if sensing you, as if feeling your gaze.

You quickly looked back at the screen, pretending to be deep in work, pretending like you hadn’t been admiring him for the past five minutes.

Tuk snickered.

And all you could do was pray that Neteyam hadn’t caught you this time.

*

The last hour had been a blur of work, subtle glances, and the occasional burst of laughter, all thanks to Tuk.

Somewhere along the way, you had surrendered to her latest demand—braiding your hair.

You sat cross-legged, letting her weave her small hands through your locks as she hummed to herself, completely immersed in her task. And if that meant keeping your head down and avoiding Neteyam’s gaze, then it was a win-win. Because Eywa help you, every time you felt his golden eyes flick in your direction, your face burned hotter than the Pandoran sun.

It was ridiculous. You had been together for months now—three years if you counted the years you had been hopelessly in love with him—but now, every single time he looked at you, you blushed like a fool.

And Neteyam?

He knew it.

You could see it in the faint smirk that pulled at his lips each time he caught you looking away too fast, in the way his tail flicked slightly when your cheeks turned pink. The man enjoyed it—enjoyed watching you fall apart under his gaze.

It was infuriating and entirely unfair.

Tuk, blissfully unaware of your turmoil, suddenly leaned back, clapping her hands together. “Done!” she chirped excitedly.

Before you could process what she had done to your hair, Neteyam walked up to you again.

Tuk beamed up at him, bouncing slightly on her toes. “Look, look! I did her hair!” she announced, motioning toward you like you were a masterpiece she had just finished sculpting.

Neteyam’s golden eyes softened as he took in your appearance, his lips twitching up as he studied Tuk’s handiwork. Your long hair had been intricately braided with small woven beads—Na’vi-style—and you had to admit, it felt strangely nice, comfortable, as if the hairstyle belonged on you.

You reached back and flicked your braid over your shoulder dramatically, grinning. “From now on, I am an honorary Omaticaya,” you declared, throwing yourself fully into Tuk’s enthusiasm.

Tuk giggled, clearly proud of her work. “Yes! Now you can’t leave! You’re one of us!”

Neteyam chuckled, crouching down next to you, his eyes drinking you in. “Not bad, Tuk,” he mused, giving his sister a small nod of approval before looking back at you, his gaze lingering. “It suits you.”

Your heart stuttered at the way he said it—low, soft, like a secret meant just for you.

Before you could respond, Norm’s voice cut through the moment. “Alright, that’s it for today.” He stood, stretching his arms above his head before looking toward the sky. The sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting the village in a warm, golden glow. His expression darkened slightly. “We need to head back before nightfall.”

Tuk’s ears twitched at his words, and before you could even stand up, she grabbed your hand.

“Nooo, wait!” she whined, holding onto you with surprising strength. “She has to stay a little longer! I still have to show her something.”

Your heart squeezed at the desperation in her voice, and Eywa help you, you found yourself looking at Norm with pleading eyes, despite already knowing exactly what his answer would be.

Norm’s jaw tightened. “Tuk—” Norm exhaled slowly, clearly conflicted. You knew he hated when humans stayed outside after dark—for good reason.  Tuk, the little menace, squeezed your hand tighter and gave Norm the biggest, roundest, most innocent eyes she could muster.

“Pleaaase, Norm?” she begged sweetly.

You almost laughed. The poor man didn’t stand a chance.

“I will bring her back later,” Neteyam interjected smoothly, his voice calm and steady, but Neteyam’s presence changed things. Neteyam, who was nothing if not responsible, who never let anything happen to you, was a different story.

Still, Norm didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked between you and Neteyam, and you could practically see the calculations running through his head.

Finally, Norm sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he muttered. “But—not too late.” He turned his gaze to Neteyam then, his expression serious. “Bring her back safely.”

Neteyam nodded once, solemnly. “Always.”

Tuk let out a cheer, pulling you forward before Norm could change his mind.

And just like that, you were staying.

*

Your stomach twisted slightly as all eyes turned toward you. It wasn’t hostile—at least, not entirely—but it was still undeniable that you were an outlier here.

The entire clan was gathered around the fire, their massive forms crouching or sitting as they shared their evening meal. The soft glow of the flames flickered over their deep blue skin, casting warm highlights on their faces, illuminating their intricate bioluminescent markings.

This was their space, their world, and you had stayed past the time you were supposed to leave.

Jake was watching you with interest, his gaze flickering from you to Neteyam—like he was considering something. But what really made you uneasy was the sharp, disapproving look on Neytiri’s face. She didn’t speak, but her piercing amber eyes said enough.

You felt your nerves spike, every part of you screaming that this wasn’t your place.

Just as you started to back away, Tuk’s hand gripped your wrist, tugging you toward the family like she hadn’t just unknowingly pulled you into a tense, silent war zone. You glanced back nervously, expecting Neteyam to stop this—to step in and tell Tuk you should go—but when you met his gaze, his golden eyes were steady, calm in a way that made your chest tighten.

"Don’t worry," he murmured, his voice warm and reassuring.

You swallowed hard, trying not to panic, but you could feel your heart pounding against your ribs. Neytiri’s stare was like a blade, and Kiri and Lo’ak—who were sitting next to their parents—were failing miserably at hiding their amusement.

You couldn’t be here. This wasn’t your place.

"Tuk," you whispered, desperately trying to reason with her as she dragged you closer to the fire, toward her family. "I should go. I can’t be here."

Tuk, oblivious to the tension, just tightened her grip. "Don’t be silly," she chirped happily. "You’re already here! And you have to sit with us!"

Great. Fantastic. Wonderful.

Panic coiled tight in your stomach as she forced you down to sit beside her, right at the edge of the family’s circle. You barely registered the warmth of the fire as you snuck another glance at Neytiri, who had not stopped watching you.

Jake finally leaned forward slightly, tilting his head toward Neteyam. "So... what’s the deal here?" he asked, his tone casual but curious.

Neteyam didn’t even flinch. "She stayed behind with Tuk," he answered simply, his voice even.

Jake hummed, and you tried not to die on the spot.

Before you could even attempt to make a hasty escape, Tuk practically shoved a rather large purple fruit into your hands.

"Taste it!" she said eagerly. "It’s the best fruit ever!"

You blinked, glancing down at the fruit before throwing a glance toward Neteyam, silently pleading for an answer.

Is this even safe for humans?

Neteyam raised an eyebrow at you, clearly amused, but then his ears twitched slightly—his version of a shrug.

"Not that I would know," his expression seemed to say.

Your stomach sank even further.

This was a terrible idea.

*

You inhaled sharply, bracing yourself as you held your breath and pulled down your mask.

The fruit in your hands was a deep, almost unreal purple, the color seeping into the flesh beneath its thick peel. You turned it in your fingers, examining its smooth, glossy surface, your mind automatically trying to compare it to something familiar—but there was no fruit on Earth that looked like this.

You hesitated for a second longer before finally taking a cautious bite.

The moment the fruit burst on your tongue, a shockwave of flavor hit you all at once. It was sweet, but not cloying—tangy, almost citrusy, yet rich and velvety at the same time. The texture was unlike anything you’d had before, somewhere between a ripe mango and honeyed nectar.

You barely had time to process it before your lungs screamed for air, and you hurriedly snapped your mask back into place, sucking in a deep breath as the aftertaste lingered like a dream on your tongue.

Eyes wide, you turned to Neteyam first, then to Tuk, stunned.

"Woah," you breathed, your voice slightly muffled by your mask. "That’s literally the best thing I’ve ever eaten since I got to Pandora!"

Tuk beamed, bouncing slightly. "I told you!" she chirped, looking immensely proud of herself.

Across the fire, Lo’ak let out a loud laugh, his sharp teeth flashing in amusement. "Damn," he chuckled. "She looks like she just saw Eywa herself."

Kiri smirked, nudging him with her elbow. "Guess human food really is as bland as we thought," she teased.

Even Jake was grinning, his sharp eyes twinkling as he leaned back on his hands. "Didn’t expect that reaction, kid," he admitted, chuckling.

You turned back to Neteyam, flustered, but his golden eyes were already on you, soft, amused, and something else—something warm that made your stomach flip.

He didn’t say anything, just watched you with that knowing look, like he’d been waiting for this moment—watching you experience something new in his world, something that made your eyes light up.

The only one who wasn’t amused was Neytiri.

She said nothing, her face unreadable, though her sharp gaze lingered on the fruit in your hands for a second too long before flicking back to Neteyam.

You swallowed hard, suddenly acutely aware of where you were.

This wasn’t your place.

And yet…

When you looked back at Neteyam, his eyes hadn’t left yours.

For just a moment, the firelight flickered between you, and nothing else mattered.

*

The meal slowly came to an end, the soft murmur of conversations fading into the crackling of the fire as the clan settled into a more relaxed rhythm. You carefully finished the last of the fruit, the process tiring but worth it—pulling off your mask, taking a bite, then quickly putting it back on before your lungs protested for air. It wasn’t exactly graceful, but you managed, the sweet taste lingering on your tongue.

Tuk was practically glowing with happiness, her hands clasped together as she rocked excitedly on her knees beside you. "You spent the whole day with me!" she beamed, her tail swishing behind her in delight. "And you liked my fruit! You have to come back so I can show you more!"

You smiled warmly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "I’d love that, Tuk."

But before you could say anything else, Neytiri suddenly appeared, her presence looming like a storm cloud. You barely had time to react before Tuk was practically pulled away from you, Neytiri’s firm hand grasping her daughter’s shoulder. She didn’t say a single word to you—didn’t even glance in your direction—but the message was clear.

You were not welcome here.

The warmth of the moment vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold tightness in your chest as you sat there, watching as Neytiri led Tuk away.

Lo’ak and Kiri exchanged knowing glances, their amusement from earlier dying down, though neither of them seemed particularly surprised.

Neytiri’s sharp disapproving gaze flickered toward Neteyam as she walked past, her expression unreadable but heavy with meaning. A silent warning.

But Neteyam didn’t flinch.

He met his mother’s gaze with calm, unwavering confidence, his shoulders straight, unyielding—a silent message of his own. When she finally disappeared into the shadows, you let out a slow, shaky breath, suddenly feeling the weight of the entire evening pressing down on you.

You turned to Neteyam, whispering softly, "I should go back. I already made things awkward."

Your voice was barely above a breath, but Neteyam heard you.

His golden eyes searched yours, something flickering behind them—something unreadable, something deep. Something like want…

But he didn’t argue.

He just gave you a slow, knowing nod before standing, his tail brushing against your side as he turned.

"Come," he murmured, his voice steady and warm. "I’ll walk you back."

*

You followed him through the forest, the air still warm from the lingering heat of the day, but the cool night breeze carried a soothing calmness. Above you, the sky was drenched in stars, endless and vast, stretching beyond what your eyes could comprehend. The bioluminescent flora of the forest glowed in soft blues, purples, and pinks, casting an ethereal light on everything around you. The ground beneath your boots pulsed faintly with life, every step awakening the natural world.

You had walked through this forest countless times before, mostly on his side, but somehow, it never stopped being mesmerizing. And maybe it never would.

Neteyam moved effortlessly ahead of you, his tall frame almost blending with the living, breathing world around him. The sway of his tail, the way his broad shoulders shifted with each careful step—it was like he was part of the forest itself, the embodiment of Pandora’s wild beauty.

You marveled at how different he was from you. So much taller, so much stronger—his long limbs moved with quiet power, his ears flicking at the distant sounds of nocturnal creatures. And yet, for all his strength, he was gentle.

He turned slightly, his golden eyes catching the glow of the plants, making them look even brighter, more alive.

"You’re quiet," he murmured.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "I’m just… taking it all in," you admitted, your gaze drifting to the glowing vines that curled around the trees. "It still amazes me. The way the forest comes alive at night."

Neteyam tilted his head slightly, his expression soft. "You look at it like you’re seeing it for the first time."

"Sometimes it feels like I am," you whispered, reaching out to brush your fingertips along a bioluminescent fern. The soft light pulsed beneath your touch, responding to the contact. "I don’t think I’ll ever stop being amazed by this place."

He hummed softly, a deep, thoughtful sound, before his gaze flickered toward you again.

"I’m sorry I stayed," you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. "I shouldn’t have. It was awkward. Your mother practically killed me with her stare."

Neteyam exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh, but close. "Tuk wanted you there," he said simply, his voice calm and assured. "So it was okay." He hesitated for a moment before adding, a little quieter, "And… I wanted you there too."

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth blooming in your chest at his words.

You glanced at him, watching the way his ears twitched slightly, as if unsure how you’d respond. But you didn’t know what to say. Because you had wanted to be there, too—with him, with his family, with the people who mattered most to him.

The sounds of the distant village still echoed behind you—laughter, the soft murmur of voices, the faint melody of a song. But as you and Neteyam continued walking, the sounds began to fade, replaced by the quiet symphony of the forest.

Neteyam’s pace was slow, deliberately matching yours.

You glanced up at him, still marveling at his height.

When he stood beside you, his palm could easily rest against the back of your head. You barely reached his waist—a fact he never teased you for, but one that was always so obvious whenever you stood next to him like this.

And yet, despite the sheer difference in size, you never felt small next to him. Never felt fragile.

Just… his.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the path ahead, trying not to let your thoughts drift too far. But it was difficult when he was this close, when his scent surrounded you, when you could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

And knowing that he wanted you there, just as much as you had wanted to be there…

Eywa, he made it so hard to keep your composure.

*

The night air was cool against your skin, a contrast to the warmth radiating from Neteyam beside you. You continued walking in silence, the distant hum of the village now completely gone, leaving only the symphony of the forest—soft rustling leaves, the distant call of night creatures, and the bioluminescent glow illuminating the path ahead.

And then—he stopped.

You barely had a second to react before Neteyam suddenly crouched before you, bringing himself to your level. His golden eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath hitch. Before you could say a word, his large hands slid around your waist, engulfing you completely, his fingers spreading wide over your ribs as if he needed to feel all of you at once.

A small, startled squeak escaped your lips as he pulled you closer, and before you could gather your thoughts, his nose pressed against your neck.

A slow, deep inhale. Then another.

His breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

"You know how hard it was not to touch you?" he murmured, his voice low, rough, and full of restraint.

Your heart stuttered, your fingers instinctively sliding up his muscular arms, feeling the tension there—the barely controlled want.

Your hands traveled further, moving over the ridges of his strong shoulders, stopping at the place where his neck met his shoulder. Slowly, almost unconsciously, you caressed the skin there, feeling the heat of him, the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch.

He let out a slow exhale, his grip tightening just slightly before his lips brushed against your neck.

The soft press of his mouth against your skin made you melt into him, your body molding against his as your breath hitched.

Eywa. You missed him.

Missed his touch, missed the way he could make you unravel with just a whisper, a kiss, a look.

Your fingers dug slightly into his shoulder, your body responding to him before your mind could catch up.

"Neteyam..." you whispered, not even sure what you wanted to say.

But he just hummed against your skin, pressing another slow, deliberate kiss just below your jaw, as if memorizing the taste of you all over again.

*

Neteyam kissed your neck slowly, savoring every second he had with you. Each press of his lips was deliberate, lingering, like he was committing the feeling of your skin to memory. His warm breath fanned over you, and when his lips parted slightly, his tongue barely grazing your sensitive skin, a soft gasp escaped your lips.

His hands were restless, sliding up your back, fingertips ghosting over your spine as they found their way beneath your top. His calloused fingers met your bare skin, and the contrast of rough against soft sent a shiver through you. He moved slowly, his hands mapping the contours of your back, exploring, claiming, and yet, worshipping at the same time.

"I missed you so much," he whispered against your neck, his voice husky and raw with emotion.

Your fingers tightened on his strong shoulders, your breath uneven, your heart pounding in your chest. "I missed you too," you murmured back, pressing yourself closer to him, your body desperate for more.

You took a few deep, shaky breath, holding it, and then—without hesitation—you pulled down your mask.

And kissed him.

It was fierce, desperate, your lips crashing into his as you poured every aching thought, every longing moment into it. Your fingers dug into his scalp, threading through his thick braids, pulling him impossibly closer even though there was no space left between you.

Neteyam groaned softly into the kiss, his large hand sliding up your back, his palm finding the back of your head, engulfing your skull entirely as he held you steady, taking everything you gave him and giving it back tenfold.

The heat of his mouth, the way he kissed you back with such intensity, made the rest of the world fade away. His fingers tightened in your hair, his other hand securing you against him, as if he was afraid you might slip away.

Time blurred. You didn’t know how long you kissed him, only that your lungs burned, screaming for air—but you didn’t want to stop.

But you had to.

With a shaky gasp, you tore yourself away, your lips tingling, your whole body thrumming with heat. You fumbled slightly, quickly securing your mask back into place, your breaths coming in heavy, uneven bursts.

Neteyam’s golden eyes were blazing, locked onto you as if he couldn’t look away. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his tail flicking wildly behind him, the tension in his body palpable.

And Eywa help you—all you wanted was to kiss him again.

*

As soon as you caught your breath, your chest rising and falling in deep, steady pulls, you pulled down your mask again. The cool night air kissed your skin, but nothing compared to the warmth of his presence, his touch, his lips.

You leaned forward, your hands still clutching his shoulders, your fingertips barely ghosting over his warm blue skin before you kissed him again.

Neteyam responded instantly, like he had been waiting for you to return to him. His hands tightened on your waist, his grip firm but reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were in his arms. His lips moved with desperation, with devotion, as though he was memorizing you all over again.

Then, you felt it.

His tail.

It wrapped around your calf, the movement slow, deliberate—possessive. A silent claim. The soft brush of it against your skin sent a shudder down your spine, heat pooling deep in your stomach.

The kiss deepened, and for a fleeting moment, nothing else existed.

But then, the air in your lungs thinned again, your body demanding oxygen. With a soft sigh of reluctance, you pulled away, your lips still tingling as you quickly secured your mask back into place.

As you breathed, your hands moved on their own, gliding along his shoulders, tracing the sculpted lines of his collarbone, until finally, your fingers reached his jawline.

You caressed it gently, your thumb brushing over the strong, angular lines of his face, your heart swelling with something so deep, so overwhelming that it almost frightened you.

A soft, breathy laugh escaped you as you whispered, “You are so perfect.”

Neteyam exhaled sharply, his golden eyes searching yours, his ears flicking at your words as if they physically affected him.

His tail tightened slightly around your leg in response, his hands still holding you close as his lips curled into a slow, reverent smile.

“Not as perfect as you, ma yawne,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his forehead leaning against the glass of your mask, unwilling to let you go.

*

Neteyam pressed his head back against the crook of your neck, his breath slow, controlled—yet you could feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers dug into your waist as if he were trying to mold you against him, to make sure you wouldn’t slip away.

His deep inhale sent a shiver down your spine, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, making you weak in his hold. His hands were desperate, firm, as if anchoring himself to reality through you, through your touch, your scent, your very presence.

He was lost in the sensation.

So lost that he didn’t even realize he had started pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your soft sighs only urged him on.

His lips traveled lower, savoring the way your skin reacted to him, the way you melted in his embrace. And then—his sharp teeth grazed you, a teasing scrape before he sank them into your skin just enough to leave a mark.

Your gasp was soft but sharp, your fingers tightening where they still clung to his shoulders.

“Neteyam...” your breath hitched, the words barely a whisper, but it was enough to make him pause.

His ears flicked, and when he pulled back slightly, his golden eyes were heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide as they flickered from your parted lips to your fingers gingerly pressing against the mark he had just left.

A lovebite.

A visible claim.

Your eyes widened slightly as you whispered, “Everyone will see this...”

You weren’t scolding him. No, your voice lacked any true protest. It was soft, breathy, more like you were stating a fact—one that sent a bolt of heat through your veins.

A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of Neteyam’s lips. He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. If anything, he looked proud. Still holding you close, he reached for your wrist, his fingers wrapping gently but securely around it as he brought your hand closer to his lips.

His golden gaze softened as he turned your hand over, brushing his lips against the tender skin just above the bracelet he had given you months ago.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice deep, full of certainty.

The word sent a shiver through your body, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You swallowed, watching him through half-lidded eyes, your breath shallow as you felt the heat of his lips linger on your wrist.

Neteyam’s tail wrapped around your thigh now, securing you even closer as his golden eyes flicked back up to meet yours.

His expression was something unreadable, a mix of possessiveness, longing, and something deeper—something unspoken.

And all you could do was stand there, trapped in his gravity, in his warmth, in him.

*

Neteyam closed his eyes, a slow exhale leaving his lips as he kept your hand in his grasp. His fingers, large and warm, cradled your smaller palm as though it was something fragile, precious.

Without a word, he guided your hand to his cheek, pressing it gently against his skin, leaning into your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

His breathing was deep, slow, controlled—but only just.

You could feel the way his jaw clenched beneath your palm, the way his muscles tightened slightly under your fingers. But then he sighed, a deep, contented sound, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders just by feeling your touch.

The warmth of his skin, the contrast of his blue complexion against your human fingers, was mesmerizing. The bioluminescent freckles on his cheekbone glowed softly beneath your touch, shifting subtly with every breath he took.

And then, in a voice so low, so raw with emotion that it sent a shiver down your spine, he whispered,

"You don’t know how much I want you."

Your breath caught in your throat.

The sheer honesty in his words, the quiet desperation, the way his ears flicked slightly back, the tension in his shoulders despite his relaxed posture—it was overwhelming.

Your thumb, acting on its own, brushed softly against his cheekbone, tracing the faint ridges of his skin. He shuddered under your touch, his grip tightening just a little around your wrist as if to keep you close, to make sure you wouldn’t pull away.

The weight of his confession settled between you, thick with unspoken longing.

You could feel it in the way he held you, in the way his tail curled around your leg possessively, in the way his breathing deepened as if trying to steady himself.

And Eywa help you, because you wanted him too.

More than anything.

Part 17: Soon

Should I write boombaya scene or not?

[doctorlafayette]

I love TGCF fics with the tag "different/alternate third meeting." These are basically fics where Hualian meet up during Xie Lian's second banishment or sometimes right when Xie Lian ascends for the third time before the Bridegroom mission. These are always really fun, but I also find the tag funny because it's not really accurate? Like in a way it is if we're counting each of Hua Cheng's persona as one meeting (Hong'er, Wu Ming, San Lang/Hua Cheng), but that still leaves out the unnamed soldier and ghost fire meetings. And Hong'er met Xie Lian at least three times himself (granted, I'm not sure if Xie Lian realized the boy at the temple was Hong'er).

Don't get me wrong, I'm not criticizing authors who use the tag. It's good short had for pre third ascension meetings. I just find it funny that the reason it is used is probably because the fandom can't agree how many times Hualian has met. Like does each "first" meeting count as one? If not should we count Qi Rong dragging Hong'er and the spirits attacking Hong'er as two, since Xie Lian briefly leaves Hong'er alone (If I'm remember correctly)? Should Wu Ming and the ghost fire be two different meetings? Like their history is so messy! I don't even know if Xie Lian realized that the ghost fire was Wu Ming before the Cave of Ten Thousand Gods. Like, I know three meetings isn't accurate, but I have no idea what the correct number would be so three works well enough!