#these could all potentially work for f frame

[lilypixels]

Beggin: A Mini Shorts Collection

Hello hello! I come bearing gifts: three high waisted shorts :D I hope to make more one day, so this is tentatively considered part 1, but we'll see. Consider this a gift for all things happening in June too~ **All shorts have clipping issues when sim bends at stomach (not sure if i can fix that tbh...) also, due to height, they clip with some shirts but they also work with a good amount ! Even ones that aren't crops!!**

Accendio Shorts:

BGC

16 denim swatches

M frame only

Disabled for Random

Biscuit Shorts:

BGC

16 swatches

M frame only

Disabled for Random

Nightwalker Shorts:

BGC

13 swatches (most of original goth kit swatches plus more; i matched the colors of 2 with the netting cause it annoyed me)

M frame only

Disabled for Random

Huge shoutout to my dear friend @zynoox for being a BIG help as I made these mwah <3

Download: SFS | Patreon

[notjustjavierpena]

(Mid)summer Loving

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Yes, based on that new picture. I’ll call this my first contribution to getting railed in a sundress season. 

Summary: The last two years of being with Joel has transformed the both of you. Mostly him. For the better. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, joel’s kink is being loved and appreciated, long haired joel!!!, healthy joel, established relationship, piv sex, size kink (it's big), rough, loud and desperate sex, dirty talk, praise kink, creampie, railed in a sundress season contribution, they are so soft for each other, bit of aftercare. 

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988128

(Mid)summer Loving

It happens when you hear him through the crowd of people in the community center. Your head whips in his direction, your eyes settling on the crinkles around his eyes as he laughs at something Tommy has said to him. He swirls the whiskey in his glass and downs it with slight difficulty because he is still smiling. 

You are only a table away, sitting with some of the women from your patrol group who gossip about potential suitors in the room, especially amongst the newcomers. However, you don’t really pay attention to what is being said because the love of your life sits across from you. It makes you able to admire him, struck by his transformation since he first came to Jackson and barged into your life. Your heart is so soft for him. 

The most obvious change is the hair. It’s gotten longer, the ends curling slightly in a way that softens his otherwise rugged appearance of big leather boots and tripled layered clothing. He used to have it shorter, and while you loved its fluffy bounce on top of his head whenever it was caught in the wind, it doesn’t compare to how it now frames his face by just brushing his collar in the back. It may be a subtle shift to others but to you, it means that Joel is more at ease with who and where he is, and that he has allowed change to find him.

His beard, too, has filled out. It is now thick and even, not at all the patchy scruff that you noticed the first time he talked to you by the rag pile in the trading center. He’d searched for fabric that could be used for shining the creations that he makes when seeking respite in wood carving. You had noticed the patch that resembled a heart first, your own heart skipping a beat as you forced yourself not to point it out to him immediately. That patch is gone but you’ll spend no time mourning it when the result is Joel looking healthier than ever, almost as if his body has responded to happiness with you by filling in all the gaps that heartbreak had left. 

Then there’s his face. It glows, despite his age, with a newfound youth, the signs of weariness and stress of years lived too hard it once bore completely wiped away. When you first met him, your heart had ached for his tired eyes, bags underneath them revealing all the sleepless nights and the burdens that he carried. The way they shine when they look into yours has your heart at ease and you can only hope he feels the same. 

Around you, the women keep chatting, talking animatedly and giggling while you sip your drink and stay silent until they are nothing but a low hum in the background. 

You only snap out of it when your name is said out loud. You furrow your brow, “Sorry?”

“I said that you don’t have to worry about things like this,” one of them chirps happily, “You already got your man.”

“Guess not, guess you’re right,” you chuckle softly and start to feel shy. You have never been one to be glaringly obvious in your happiness to the point where you display it at every opportunity but then Joel came along. He may worry about the gap of years between the two of you, often feeling undeserving of your love and attention but you only wish that he could see himself from your point of view. To you, he is everything. He doesn’t see how his presence calms and grounds you, how he makes you feel safe even in a world beyond repair. In his embrace, you feel even the biggest of anxieties and the worst of your challenges shrink into nothing. All he has to do is put his gentle, calloused hands on you and talk to you in that familiar southern drawl, and then your mind quiets down instantaneously.

However, if not his hands or his voice, his loving gaze also seems to do the trick. He suddenly turns his head in your direction, catching your eyes, and the sound of the lively conversations from each table mutes to nothing. He smiles at you and mouths a ‘you okay?’ at you. 

‘Save me’ you decide to mouth back at him, making a face to see him smile with amusement. He slaps his brother’s back before putting both hands on the table to push himself to stand. You didn’t think he would take it seriously but just the sight of seeing him approach you makes you want to go home with him. 

“Ready to go, honey?” He asks when he reaches your table, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing. 

“Hi Joel,” your friend group says in unison.

“Ladies,” he nods and they giggle like schoolgirls, “Gotta get this one home.”

You shake your head with a little smile at their reaction. Then you swing your legs over the side of the chair. Joel helps you up and a moment after having said your goodnights, you leave together like you’ve done for a few years now. 

Outside, people are scattered across the town square where a huge bonfire has been erected in the spot where the Christmas tree usually stands. Today is the annual midsummer celebration. Jackson is decorated with bundles of flowers that have replaced the painted eggs that tell people it is Easter. You smile at the memory of Ellie having been forced to join in on getting people in the spirit of Easter which had resulted in you trying to guess which of the eggs hanging from the sky had been crafted by the angry teen. You had decided that it might’ve been the one painted completely black.

Now, bright colors from nature hover above your head instead as you make your way down the main road. Joel holds your hand all the way home. He strokes the back of it with his thumb, feeling no pressure to fill up the silence between you as it has reached a point where it is comfortable. 

When you reach your shared house, Joel stops you by the front door instead of opening it for you in the gentlemanly way he always does. He stands in front of you, the porch light softening his features as he gazes at you.

“You seemed a bit distracted with your friends tonight,” he notes, “Is everythin’ alright?” 

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” you answer with a smile, your voice sincere, “To have you.”

“I’m the lucky one, baby,” Joel huffs out a little laugh of disbelief, trying to brush off how flattered he always feels each time you say things like this. He gathers your hand in both of his, lifting it to kiss the back of it a few times, “Best fuckin’ thing that ever happened after the world ended.” 

“Don’t let Ellie hear that,” you tease gently. In your chest, your heart hammers against your ribs from being loved by him. 

“I’d never dream of it,” he steps closer with his eyes burning to get closer to you. You see them darken slightly as desire fills them and your heart jumps into your throat at the realization of what he wants. 

You. 

He wants you. 

That’s the one thing that has also changed since you met him; he has become much more untameable when he has you around. Who knew that his stamina was so impressive? Who knew that Joel Miller getting a confession of love - whether it consisted of the actual words or simply was said in your actions - would have him dragging you to somewhere private as soon as possible? 

“I love you, Joel Miller,” you say dreamily, pulling the trigger, “To the day that I die.”

And then suddenly Joel rips the door open so roughly that you’re afraid it might come off its hinges, pulls you inside along with him and slams it shut behind the both of you afterward. He locks it without hesitation, not about to be interrupted by any of your neighbors even if it’s most likely that everyone is out and about the town to be social. 

You are pressed up against the door next, his broad hands resting on your hips as he holds you against it. He bunches up the skirt of your sundress, groping your sides on top of the fabric, and you sling an arm around his back. Your other arm reaches up so you can cup the back of his head, your fingers sliding into the hair there. He has the perfect length for pulling these days - you should know - but you’ll wait for the right moment. 

His lips nearly bruise yours with how hard he kisses you, beard scratching your skin as he practically eats at your mouth to the point where your head swims and your belly swirls with hours of suppressed desire. You need him now, already soaked through your underwear and ready for him to be inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, heart beating rapidly in your chest. So much that your breathing is already uneven, “Please, Joel, please.”

“S’alright, baby, I know whatcha need,” he rasps as his lips messily start descending on your chin, all the way across your jaw until his mouth attaches to your throat. You let your head bump against the door with a breathy moan, giving him access to bruise your neck too. He creates a purple mark that you will try to hide tomorrow during patrol to avoid interrogation on how Joel Miller is in bed. Only you can know. 

Your skirt falls down the slight amount it has been pulled up when Joel goes to unbuckle his leather belt. The noise of the metal sends a shiver through you, anticipation rising to your cheeks by heating them up underneath no touch. You look down to see the belt hanging open, him shoving the denim down around his thighs afterward and following up with his briefs too. 

The sight of his cock makes your mouth water. He is fully hard already, standing into the air at full attention and threatening to smear your pretty dress with his precome by poking into your belly if he dares get closer. You moan pathetically and he shushes you gently. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes you like he would a child that has scraped their knee. He curls his fingers in the fabric of your dress once more before hiking it up along your thighs until he can stuff the bottom of the skirt into the top of your dress, effectively holding it up so it doesn’t fall down over your soaked panties again. 

You grab at the sides of your underwear to shimmy out of them but Joel doesn’t exercise enough patience to wait for you to step out of them, so he hooks his fingers into the front. He finds your eyes when he feels how wet the cotton fabric is, doesn’t directly say anything about it but just shows you how full-blown his pupils are at the realization. Without warning, he yanks your panties to the side. 

Satisfied with his work, he makes you gasp as he bends his knees to reach down and splay his strong hands on the back of your thighs. He lifts you off the ground and wraps you around him, pressing his knee into the door to hold you up while guiding his throbbing cock into you. You moan desperately at the initial sting, brows furrowing with slight pain as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt. 

“Oh my God,” you whimper, letting his name fall from your lips in a helpless chant as he pulses from how your walls choke him as you strain to take him like you always do in the beginning. He might just split you open right here in the hallway when he starts fucking you. 

“Shh, you can take it,” he whispers with the most brutally gentle peck on your zipped lips, “It’s okay. She knows it’s big, baby, but she can take it. I always fuck ya real good, don’t I?” 

You nod helplessly, and fuck you, he does. It’s fast and hard and dirty. The poor wooden door rattles alongside the jingle of his belt buckle with each slam of his hips, the doorknob painfully gnawing into your lower back, and you fear the fabric of your underwear will snap from the strain that is put on it as it sits to the side. Sometimes you think you might even cut a hole in some of your pairs with how often Joel, still two years later, rushes to get his cock into you. There’s something oddly satisfying and offensive about just being able to bend over and let him see that all he has to do is push in. 

“That’s it, look at me, baby, such a good girl f’me,” he praises to get you back to him, not here to lose your attention to the way his cock feels inside of your tight heat. Your eyes settle on him again, your mouth hanging open to elicit pathetic gasps each time he knocks the wind out of you by driving his hips up into you and effectively pounding your g-spot. His face is so close to you; you can feel his breath and share it with him, can study every little imperfection in the form of tiny scars and dark lines that you hadn’t been able to see earlier from your seat a few tables over. 

“Joel,” you pant, digging your heels into the small of his back, clinging on desperately and angling your hips as he has his way with you. The slight adjustment has him going deeper, touching something inside of you that ignites the first sparks of an orgasm. Your nails claw, dig and scratch at his back in ways that would have been enough to draw blood if he wasn’t wearing a shirt, “Fuck, baby! Don’t— ngh, don’t stop.”

“You feel so good,” he replies with a groan, most likely powering through the exhaustion and strain on his body to make you feel even better. He is everywhere on you, his hands on your thighs, gripping and squeezing. He is everywhere in you too, his cock twitching inside of you each time you cry his name.

“I’m—“ you sob.

“Let go, baby, I can feel ya,” he growls when you dance around the edge of your orgasm because your fingers on both hands tangle into his beautifully chocolate hair, yanking harshly as impending pleasure knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your skin burns, your whole system halts and goes into overdrive at the same time until all you can do is shout silently at the ceiling. Your walls clench in mind-altering ecstasy then and your quietness is over, replaced by a relieved whine as you come on his dick. It is intense from how fast you’ve gotten there since he entered you, your body writhing as it is held against the wall. He fucks you through it, has you wailing as he chases his own high. 

You cradle his head during his last few thrusts, feeling his damp breath against your shoulder as he buries himself inside of your spent cunt and comes hard. It feels so good when he groans as he fills you up, the sound vibrating through his entire body. You whimper at the ceiling with the way he pulses deliciously with each breathy moan until he has no more to give you. 

He leans all his weight into you as he comes down again, holding you in place with his chest against yours to make sure that you won’t fall down and drag him with you. He gives you a moment and places a string of lazy kisses on your lips until he slips out of you with a soft sound. 

Carefully, he places you back down on the floor and eyes you as he does it to be certain you won’t collapse. He moves off of you when it feels safe to do so. 

“I say it back?” He asks as he leans against the door with you. Automatically, you tilt your head towards him. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, turning his head a second later to fully look at your disheveled state. You have a hand on your chest to calm your breathing but it still matches your fluttering heartbeat. He still aches between your legs.

You look back at him, awaiting his words with short breaths, “Say what?”

He makes a gesture to the both of you, “Before what we just did happened. I tell ya that I love you too?” 

“No?” Your reply is almost a question. 

“Shame on me,” he smiles and turns his whole body so that he faces you completely, shoulder against the door. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch is nice when the sweat has started to cool you down, and you lean into his palm, feeling the roughness of his calloused skin against you. 

“Shame on me, indeed,” he murmurs, eyes on your slightly open mouth, “Because I do love ya. More than I can understand sometimes.”

“You don’t have to say it back every time, Joel. I know,” you try to brush off how much your body and mind buzz at the same time. 

He shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving your mouth, “No, I do needa say it. You deserve to hear it. I love you.”

You nod and reach to hold his wrist when he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your open mouth. Just a few minutes ago, the now-careful hands had been rough on your skin and his words had dripped with sin.

“Now, how ‘bout I take you to bed?” He asks and pulls your dress’ skirt out of the top, watching it tumble down and fall back into place around your knees. 

While you wait for him to get dressed again, fatigue seems to finally have caught up with you because you feel like you might collapse in your hallway at that suggestion. When it’s safe to do so, you let yourself fall into his arms and he catches you without hesitation. 

He scoops you up, goes upstairs with you in his arms, undresses you, washes you down with a warm flannel, and gets you into bed. You curl up on your side and after a while, after hearing his boots come off and the shuffling of clothes, the bed dips from his weight. 

The warmth of his body against your back lulls you to sleep. Oh, how simply he loves you. Forever doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[emmyrosee]

You went to bed before Kiyoomi.

You never do that. Ever since you’ve moved in with him, your nights end with a massive pile of cuddling limbs and sweet words of sticky nothings that have you cocooned and ready for a peaceful night.

But tonight, he snapped at you. Something about being too “irate” over “something small.”

He missed dinner. And normally, that wouldn’t be a massive issue for you. But he was with asshole of a PR member who’s been trying to get with him for months, calling themselves his “work babe.” Who were you to think nothing funny wasn’t going down?

It's not a lack of trust from Kiyoomi that has you choked up. It's a lack of trust with them.

You know more than anyone when kindness turns to love, it's the same thing that happened between you both, and it kills you to think they could preform the same spell and potentially take your man from you.

You tell yourself that if they can take him, they can have him.

But the idea hurts none the less.

It hurts enough where you're curled up on your side of the bed, far from Kiyoomi's, where his smell lingers and the coldness on your body isn't offset by his warmth like it usually is. You whimper and bury your face in the meat of your pillow when you hear the front door open, and a soft call of your name follows. You didn't even know he left, to be frank, but you don't say anything as he stalks into the bedroom with another call of your name.

"Are you awake?"

"Am now," you murmur.

"Can we please talk about things?" He sounds desperate, like he knows this is killing you, weighing you down like a sac of bricks and keeping you from him.

"You talk," you say, nodding into your pillow. "I have nothing to say."

"Okay. I understand."

A muscular arm reaches over your frame to reach for your hand, and when you don't put up a fight to keep his hand away, he sighs shakily.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, linking his pinkie finger with yours. You screw your eyes shut and sniffle, and you hear him swallow thickly. “I was just so upset to know that you were right to worry-“

“What?”

“Wait- No!” He says quickly, panic in his voice. “No, wait, that’s not what I meant.” He’s never been good with his words. You let him continue, your heart sinking into your stomach all the same. He sighs shakily, “I meant that you were right about me being here. I should’ve been. We haven’t had dinner together in weeks, and I just… I got so caught up in new sponsorships and gigs that I wanted more, and I thought they had more to give.”

“They want you, Kiyoomi,” you mumble. “I see it. It’s the same way I bugged you when we first started dating, just to show how much I liked you. They’re doing that.”

“I know,” he sighs. Then, he pauses, squeezing your pinky, “I went to talk to them. Told them if they couldn't keep it professional and cut the shit, they can search for other clients. Because I don't want them making either of us uncomfortable anymore. And even if they did want me, I don't care.” He crawls over to you and bends slightly to have his head dangling in front of you, curls flipping upside down at the action. “Because I want you.”

You snort at the sight.

“So can we please cuddle, and you grab my teeth or sniff me or whatever feral thing you usually do?” He asks, leaning forward to kiss you on the nose. “Miss your stupid affections.”

“I miss giving them to you,” you say, moving a finger up slowly to try and pick his nose, just to make him squirm, a sign of a truce. He grunts and whips his head back, letting your laughter fill the room, rather than your tears. When you feel him sit back on his side of the bed, you take your time in flipping over, finally meeting his dark eyes again, filled with hope and adoration that has you falling in love with him all over again.

"You are irresistible," you say, reaching for his hand again.

"Don't care. I don't want anyone looking at me if it means you and I never fight again."

You laugh and gently kiss his hand, flicking your gaze up at him, "we'll go look at paper bags for you to wear this weekend."

He removes his hand from yours to gently cup your cheek, thumb stroking over the swells lovingly.

"It's a date."

[vantetaes]

PARENT TEACHER CONFRENCES🫧🥂

TEACHER!NANAMI X MILF BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! hardworking single mom yn is called to meet with nanami, her sons fourth grade teacher to discuss his performance.

WARNINGS!!! aggressive tones, cursing, penetration, oral {f}, mirror sex, affirmations, sensual, praises, 6.2k

the school hallways are eerily quiet, the usual chaos of children’s laughter, teachers and coaches directing the younger kids to class, and hurried squeaky footsteps replaced by the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. you stride through the marble floored corridor, the sharp click of your black heels slicing through the silence.

your grip tightens around the structured leather of your designer handbag as you reach the door labeled with big black lettering MR. KENTO NANAMI.

you knock twice, before using your entire body weight pushing the wooden door open without waiting for an invitation.

nanami looks up from his desk, his expression unreadable behind his gold square-framed glasses. he’s put together, wearing a clean tan suit. the matching jacket lay carelessly over the back of his chair while his white button up pressed shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to hint at forearm muscle, tie loosened just a fraction. the gold chain he wore underneath barely peeking through to catch the beams of sunlight coming through the large windows.

his whole aura screams methodical, disciplined, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes when he meets your gaze. something unreadable.

“ms. l/n, i’m surprised. thank you for making the time.” he greets, standing as a courtesy. his voice is deep, smooth, but there’s an undercurrent of exhaustion beneath the professionalism.

you set your bag down on one of the two brown leather chairs before seating yourself across from him, back straight, chin tilted slightly upward. nanami watched as your blazer tightened around your frame as you fixed your posture. your sheer stockings with lace cuffing your thigh give the man a tease, revealing with the way your mini pencil skirt rose up to crease at your hips. the simple gold jewelry necklace that hung around your neck, being fixed by freshly manicured french tips.

and the one thing he could never forget about you, you smelled like homegrown vanilla and looked like you were moisturized by gods.

“i always make time when it comes to my son, mr. kento. let’s get to the point.” your tone is crisp, practiced, the same one you use when working around the most elite of clients and workers the same. although it never mattered to nanami. outside of those aura you present, he knew you’d crumble.

“it’s about yuji. he’s a bright kid. engaging , compassionate. but i’ve noticed a pattern of distraction in class. his assignments are often rushed, and while he excels in physical activities, he struggles to focus during lessons. i’m concerned he’s not reaching his full potential.” he exhales slowly, measuring his words. his hazel eyes lock onto yours for a moment, trying to gather an expression.

“so what are you saying? that my son is a problem all of a sudden?” your brows knit together, irritation beginning to bubble beneath your skin.

“not at all, in fact i love having him in my class. i’m saying he needs more structure. more consistency.” nanami doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady. he goes to grab a manila folder, with your sons name right on the front.

“you think i don’t provide that? do you know how hard i work to make sure yuji has everything he needs?” you fold your arms, nails tapping against your sleeve, leg beginning to jump. the small sound of your heel connecting with the flooring filling the uncomfortable space.

there’s a flicker of something in his expression—understanding, maybe, but not pity.

“i’m not questioning your dedication as a parent, ms. l/n. i see how much yuji adores you. but children, especially ones as energetic as him, need more than just material stability. they need presence.”

your jaw tightens. presence. as if you haven’t sacrificed enough. as if you haven’t built an empire just so yuji never has to want for anything.

“i’m present-” you say, voice quieter now, but still firm. “i show up. the amount of money i spend on this crappy little private elementary school, i should be the one signing checks.”

nanami slightly adjusts his glasses, tapping his finger along the opening of the folder. instead, his body shifts backwards in his chair, placing the cream folder in front of you. clasping his hands together, a small, tight line smile crosses his face.

“the amount of money you donate to helping your child’s future doesn’t impress me. do with that what you will. i didn’t mean for you to feel as though i was attacking you, ms. l/n. just bringing light to the situation.”

sitting forward in your seat, you lean over. your nails drum against the polished wood of his desk, slow, deliberate. his eyes can’t help but to draw down to your exposed cleavage. watching your necklace sway with your movements.

“you assume a lot, mr. kento.” your voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, a sharpness honed from years of speaking over men who thought they could talk over you.

“you see a distracted child and immediately think it’s a lack of structure. you see a working mother and assume it’s a lack of presence. tell me, do you make the same assumptions about fathers?”

“i don’t assume, ms. l/n. i observe. and what i’ve observed is a boy who looks over his shoulder every time he accomplishes something. searching for approval that isn’t always there.” nanami doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desk, his expression unwaveringly calm. you could smell the mint wafting off his breath.

“that’s not fair.” heat flares in your chest, something dangerously close to guilt threading through the frustration.

“it’s not about fair.” he says evenly.

“it’s about what’s real. yuji is brilliant, but he’s restless. he’s eager, but inconsistent. i don’t doubt for a second that you love him. but love and attention aren’t the same thing. help him or you’ll run him right into the ground.”

your lips part, ready to retort, but the words catch. because a part of you knows he isn’t wrong. knows that between early-morning meetings and late-night conference calls, between international flights and back-to-back negotiations, there are missed dinners, forgotten bedtime stories, moments you can’t get back. you work so he doesn’t have to struggle. but in doing so, maybe, just maybe, you’ve made him fight for a different kind of survival.

but admitting that feels too much like surrender.

“you’re out of line. i don’t think the dean would enjoy hear about how you spoke to their cash cow.” so you straighten, tilting your chin up just enough to remind him who you are.

“maybe-” nanami exhales slowly, pushing a hand through his blond hair. his voice remains maddeningly level.

“-but if i don’t say it, who will?”

silence stretches between you, thick with something unspoken. outside, the distant sound of a basketball bouncing against pavement echoes through the hallway.

“enough of this. i have to make it home for yuji. i appreciate your concern for my son but from now on, please mind your own business.”

collecting your purse and the folder, you stand up, straightening out your outfit. nanami stands also, watching as you flip your bouncy curls behind one ear, the skirt still high and teasing. nanami watches as your tiny frame shuffles over to the door, a smile sigh leaving his lips.

you grip the door handle, pausing just long enough to steady yourself. the conversation lingers, the weight of it pressing against your spine, taking in a deep breath.

infuriating.

“ms. l/n.” his voice stops you, low and deliberate.

“what now, nanami?” you inhale slowly before turning, arching a brow.

he watches you for a moment, arms crossed, expression unreadable. then, with the same frustrating composure he’s had all evening, “-i was too hostile.”

you blink, caught off guard. “excuse me?”

“i should have approached the conversation differently. more patience, less provocation.” he exhales, adjusting his tie, more out of habit than necessity. then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, “let-let me make it up to you. dinner.”

there’s a pause. sharp, charged.

then you laugh, a short, disbelieving sound.

“is this your way of apologizing?”

“it’s my way of offering a reset.” his lips twitch slightly at the corner, just slightly.

“would your wife be okay with you taking out a parent?”

“no wife. just me and you.”

you study him, searching for any sign of insincerity. but nanami is firm. there’s no arrogance in his offer, no expectation, just a quiet confidence that irritates you almost as much as it intrigues you.

“interesting, well. bold of you to assume i have the time. yknow, with me being an absent mother an all.” you say smoothly, tilting your chin up.

“bold of you to assume i’m not willing to wait, just like today.” he counters with a laugh without missing a beat.

the air between you shifts, charged with something neither of you acknowledge outright.

“send me the details, mr. kento. i’ll think about it.” finally, you smirk, pushing the door open.

you don’t wait for his response as you walk out, heels clicking against the tile, but you don’t need to. because for the first time tonight, you let him have the last word.

-

nanami: dinner. friday. 8pm. send me your preference, or i’ll choose.

you: you assume i’m free.

nanami: i assume you’ll make time.

you: bold of you.

nanami: so i’ve been told.

you: fine. pick the place.

nanami: i already have. i’ll send the details.

you: don’t disappoint me.

nanami: i wouldn’t dare.

read 6:25pm

-

soft jazz hums through your bedroom, blending with the quiet rustle of fabric as you smooth your dress down in the mirror. the dark red silk pulling just right at every curve of your legs and waist. here, in the warm glow of the vanity lights, with yuji bouncing on his heels beside you, you allow yourself a moment of softness.

“mom, you look so cool!” he beams up at you, eyes bright, his excitement buzzing through the air like electricity.

“you really think so, baby?” you turn to him with a warm smile, cupping his cheek gently, watching as the boys eyes lit up like a christmas tree from the affection.

“yeah! like a superhero!” he nods enthusiastically.

“you’re too sweet.” you laugh, pressing a kiss to his forehead, immediately wiping off the faint outline of your lip combo.

behind you, mrs. okoye, yujis nanny, watches with a fond smile but says little, just straightening a few things around the room as if to give you this moment.

“but why are you dressed up? where are you going again?” yuji tugs at your hand, using his other to grab his stuffed bear.

“remember the meeting i had with mr. nanami?” you crouch to his level, smoothing a hand over his messy curly hair.

“when you got mad at him?” he scrunches his nose, pulling the stuffed animal closer.

“we had a discussion. and now, we’re having dinner.” you chuckle.

“so you like him now or are you guys just gonna talk about me, mommy?”

you smirk. “we’ll see.”

the doorbell rings. yuji gasps dramatically. “he’s here!”

before you can stop him, he dashes ahead, excitement bubbling over. he bolts around the corner, dropping his toy along the way. you shake your head fondly, grabbing your clutch and the brown bear and making your way to the door. when you open it, you blink, momentarily caught off guard.

nanami stands there, looking effortlessly composed. navy blue slacks, black button up sleeves pushed up just enough to hint at the veins decorating his forearm. the gold necklace fully visible unlike earlier. but what surprises you isn’t how good he looks. it’s the massive bouquet of red roses and baby’s breath in his hand. the red and white flowers somehow glistening in the moons light.

he stares at you in awe. the way the red dress compliments the rich brown of your skin. he admired how well you layered the gold and diamond jewelry, your warm house lighting catching the gleams perfectly. he loved the way the dress held you, how he could see the outline of your already hard nipples against the silk fabric.

“good evening, ms. l/n.” his voice is smooth, steady, but there’s something almost hesitant in the way he holds out the bouquet. “these are for you.”

“you bring flowers to all your parent-teacher meetings, mr. kento?” your eyes flicker from the flowers to him.

“only when i come on too strong.” his lips twitch, just barely, scratching the back of his neck.

before you can respond, yuji tugs at your dress. “mom! look, flowers!”

“i see that, baby.” you smile, accepting them with one hand while ruffling yuji’s hair with the other. then, turning back to nanami, you arch a brow.

“you’re trying very hard to be charming.”

“is it working?”

you tilt your head, considering, before turning toward the nanny.

“mrs. okoye, put these in water for me? and uh- make sure he’s in bed by 9 at the latest. he has a test monday, his brain needs the rest.”

“but mommy!”

“no buts, that’s how i ended up in this dress in the first place.”

mrs. okoye nods, taking them with a small, knowing smile. “of course, dear.”

“mom says you’re not gonna annoy her tonight.” yuji grins up at nanami.

nanami crouches down to hear the boy more, then glances at you, amused. “is that so?”

you smirk, stepping past the threshold. “we’ll see.”

-

the restaurant is warm and intimate. a few candles provide low lighting casting a golden glow over dark wood and crisp linens. it’s elegant, but not in the way that feels forced or ostentatious. it’s intentional, curated. something made to make you feel something.

nanami is composed, though somehow his tie discarded somewhere between the car ride and now. he looks, relaxed. or at least, as relaxed as a man like him allows himself to be.

“you chose well, i expected something more- predictable, if im being honest.” you say bluntly, running a finger along the rim of your wine glass, the red liquid swishing.

“ah, so you expected a steakhouse.” he lifts a brow, swirling the amber liquid in his own glass.

“no but i expected something safe.” you smirk.

he exhales, the closest thing to a chuckle slipping through his lips. “i don’t play safe.”

you study him for a moment, letting the words settle between you. nanami is measured, meticulous, but never passive.

“oh? you ordered for me?” the waiter arrives, setting down your plates with quiet efficiency. you glance down, amused.

“i made an educated guess.” nanami sets his napkin in his lap.

“i assume you don’t waste time on things like scanning menus when you already know what you want.”

“you assume a lot about me, nanami.” you lean back in your chair, regarding him with interest.

he meets your gaze without hesitation. “i’ve observed things about you since i’ve started teaching yuji.”

the corner of your lips lifts slightly.

“oh yeah? and what else have you observed?” you take another sip.

he cuts into his meal with precision, not breaking eye contact with you.

“that you’re sharp. decisive. used to being in control-” a pause. he places his glass between his lips, taking a quick sip. then, casually “-and that you rarely let yourself slow down ever.”

your grip tightens just slightly around your fork, tongue picking at the inside of your cheek.

“what else?”

“you’re stubborn. too scared to let anyone in. you think too much about what matters right now and not how it’ll affect your son or his growing up-“

“oh! so now you’re a therapist?”

“ha- ms. l/n, i’m not saying this to be rude. i’m just a teacher.” he takes another sip of his drink. “but one who pays attention.” he starts eating, eyes staying on your frame.

you exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “yuji talks too much.”

“he adores you.” nanami actually smiles at that, small, barely there, but real.

“he’s a good kid.” the warmth in your chest is immediate, but you mask it with a slow sip of wine.

“he is.” nanami leans forward slightly, forearms resting on the table. “-and he wants more of you.”

your jaw tenses, and he catches it, because of course he does.

“did you ask me out to berate me? you think i don’t know that?” your voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now. you pinch the bridge of your nose, eyebrows furrowing.

“i think you know. i think you hate that you can’t fix it as easily as everything else in your life.” nanami doesn’t waver.

the honesty of it stings. not because it’s cruel, but because it’s true.

you inhale slowly, setting your glass down. “do you always talk like this over dinner?”

he tilts his head slightly. “would you prefer small talk?”

you hold his gaze, weighing the challenge in it.

then, slowly, a smirk curves your lips. “no.”

he nods once, as if he already knew.

the conversation shifts, flows. work, travel, books that neither of you have had time to finish.

the tension doesn’t leave, but it changes, settling into something less combative, more intimate.

at some point, the plates are cleared. at some point, your wine glasses are refilled for the fifth time. at some point, you realize you’re enjoying this.

and at some point, nanami sets his glass down, watching you with that same measured gaze, and says,

“would you let yourself slow down? just for a little while?”

the question hangs between you, heavier than the air, lighter than the wine.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t have an immediate answer. in all your tipsy, deep talk with the man, you’d actually started to enjoy the way he was looking at you. how protective and smart he was. how much he cared about a child that wasn’t even his own.

-

the drive to nanami’s place is smooth, the city lights blurring past as the car hums through the quiet night.

nanami’s apartment is quiet, warm in a way that surprises you. large windows take up a vast majority of his walls. pure marble countertops, redwood flooring. ambient lighting coming from his carved baseboards.

“jesus, how much does teaching actually pay?” upon entering, the much taller man wastes no time bending down, hands tracing the outline of your body as he carefully removes your expensive heels, placing them to the side and grabbing a pair of slippers from the adjacent shoe rack. carefully sliding them on you, letting you adjust, he walks you over to the bar stools.

“i’ve been teaching a long time, ms. l/n-“

“shit, maybe i should quit my empire and start. and please. call me yn.”

a record hums low in the background, something slow and rich, filling the silence between you.

he moves with his usual precision, reaching into a fully see through cabinet. pouring two glasses of whiskey without asking, handing you one with a steady hand. his fingers brush yours, just for a second, and it’s enough to make something flicker beneath your skin. you take a sip letting the heat settle in your chest.

“let’s move to the couch.” he walks from behind the island, helping you off the high bar hair and leading you by the small of your back to his sleek black couch.

“such a gentleman, who would’ve thought.” you joke, leaning back against the couch.

“you expected something else?” nanami sits beside you, not too close, but close enough.

“i expected something colder.” you tilt your head slightly, studying him. his lips pressed to the glass yet his eyes are focused on the way your dress creased at your waist.

“i’m not as rigid as you think, im sorry about earlier.” his lips quirk, just barely. finally taking a drawn out sip, he places his glass down on one of the sleek black coasters.

“no?” your gaze lingers on him over the rim of your glass.

he exhales, slow, watching you the way he always does, like he’s considering his next words carefully.

“no.”

-

you’re curled into the couch now, one leg tucked beneath you, nanami sitting close beside you, his hand resting on your knee, thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. the city lights below flicker and shine through the darker space. it felt really natural in a sense.

“so, yuji? are you still in contact with his father or-“

your eyes widen as you place the rim of the glass to your lips, drinking in as much of the liquid as you could. already feeling the affects of the wine from dinner and the two glasses of aged whiskey tenfold. your head drops, your bouncy hair covering the sides of your face.

“woah, im sorry if it’s early-“ shaking your hand, you finish off the drink. placing the glass back down.

“i mean, what really is there to say? he got me pregnant, decided he didn’t want to have a wife or a son. left. pretty simple.”

nanamis eyes crease at the side a little, watching as your expression began to falter.

“i won’t bring it up again, im sorry.”

“it’s not your fault. i knew you’d get curious eventually.”

the rest of the conversation flows easily, the whiskey loosening the edges just enough. you talk about work, about travel, and nanami listens intently, his attention never wavering. at some point, the distance between you shrinks, you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“that’s in a week?” he asks, the coldness of his ring sliding across your now exposed thigh.

“a week? i wish! that’s a day to day schedule.”

“holy shit! i’d rather double the size of my classes.”

your glass is fully empty when he reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray curl from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear.

you pause, breath catching just slightly. “what are you doing, nanami?”

his touch lingers, his thumb ghosting along your jaw. “just checking on you.”

his voice is quiet, deep, pulling you in like a slow tide. you should say something sharp, something to deflect, but you don’t. instead, you hold his gaze, letting the moment stretch, letting the tension coil tighter between you. the pad of his thumb rubs across your face gently.

“you always this bold?” you murmur, tilting your chin up just slightly.

“not usually.”

you find yourself leaning forward, falling into the man’s smell. his blonde hair beginning to loose its shape from the day, falling in front of his face. jokingly, you remove one of the fallen strands, pushing it back up into the style before. he leans forward fully, finally connecting your lips.

it’s slow at first, testing, like he’s waiting for you to pull away. when you don’t, he deepens it, his hand slipping to the nape of your neck, fingers threading around your skin as he pulls you closer. he tastes like whiskey, warm and smooth, and something unmistakably him.

your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping him as he presses against you, his other hand sliding to your waist, guiding you into him. the way he moves is controlled, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. with your back pressed to the arm of the couch, you could feel the hunger radiating off the man.

when you break apart, you’re breathless, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin.

“tell me if this is too much.” he murmurs, his lips grazing your jaw.

you shake your head, a small smirk playing at your lips. “you think i don’t know what i’m doing?”

nanami exhales a quiet chuckle, his lips brushing yours again, softer this time, slower. “you’re a headache.”

“you like that, though.” you hum, trailing your fingers up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

his grip on your waist tightens. “i do.”

then he kisses you again, deeper, hungrier, like he’s done pretending this isn’t exactly where the night was always meant to end.

his other hand finds your waist, pulling you fully against him, his grip firm, unyielding. he kisses like he does everything else. controlled, intentional, like he’s taking his time memorizing the way you taste, the way you move against him.

you sigh against his lips, your hands moving to his shirt, fingers slipping beneath the fabric to find the warmth of his skin. his breath hitches slightly at the cold touch, and the sound sends heat pooling low in your underwear.

“you always this damn patient?” you murmur impatiently against his lips, teasing.

nanami exhales a quiet chuckle, though there’s an edge to it now, something unraveling at the seams.

“not always.”

you smirk, your nails dragging lightly down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

“then don’t be.”

his restraint cracks.

nanami moves without hesitation, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you into his lap, settling you against him. the shift has you gasping softly, and he takes advantage of it, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, lips and teeth and tongue leaving a slow-burning path in their wake.

you tilt your head, giving him more access, helping him out by hiking the skirt of your dress up to your hips, showing off your matching red lace panties. your fingers threading into his hair, tugging slightly. he groans against your skin, low and deep, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of your dress, fingertips teasing against bare skin.

“yn-” he breathes, voice rough with restraint, forehead resting against your collarbone. “-tell me you want this.”

you guide his face back up, meeting his gaze, dark and heavy with desire. your fingers brush along his jaw before pulling him back in, your lips barely grazing his as you whisper.

“i do.”

whatever tension was left shatters.

nanami stands effortlessly, lifting you with him as he moves through the apartment, his mouth still on yours, his hands gripping you like he has no intention of letting go.

when he reaches the bedroom, he presses you against the doorframe for just a second, just long enough to look at you—really look at you.

“last chance.” he murmurs, though his hold on you says he already knows the answer.

you smile, slow and knowing, fingers tracing down the buttons of his shirt before slipping one free.

“shut the hell up and fuck me, nanami.”

nanami doesn’t hesitate. the second the words leave your lips, his mouth crashes into yours, all slow-burning control unraveling into something deeper, something more desperate. he carries you effortlessly across the threshold of his bedroom, his grip firm but careful, like he’s savoring the way you feel against him.

the room is dimly lit, the city lights outside casting a soft glow through the windows, but you barely register anything beyond the warmth of his body, the way he moves, the way he kisses you like he’s been waiting for this—like he’s been holding himself back for too long.

he sets you down gently on the edge of the bed, the fluffy black duvet puffy up as you sit. but before he can pull away, you tighten your grip on his shirt, keeping him close.

“uh- don’t act shy now.” you murmur against his lips, fingers making quick work of the remaining buttons.

nanami exhales sharply, his hands settling on your thighs, thumbs pressing slow, deliberate circles into your skin.

“trust me, shy is the last thing i am.” he says, voice low, rough with restraint,

you smile, trailing your hands down his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your fingertips. then, in one smooth motion, you push the shirt from his shoulders, letting it slide to the floor. disappear into the floor from the nights darkness.

your gaze sweeps over him, taking in the broad planes of muscle, tattoos littered across his skin. the faint lighting contouring his abs. your fingers trace over, your touch featherlight.

“you stare a lot.” he murmurs, amused.

you hum, tilting your head as you drag your nails lightly down his torso. “i like what i see.”

his breath stutters just slightly, and before you can tease him about it, he leans down, capturing your lips in another deep, lingering kiss. this one is different. slower, heavier, like he’s savoring every second, every sigh, every way your body reacts to him.

you let him, melting into the warmth of his touch, into the way his hands slide up your sides, tracing over fabric as if debating whether to remove it.

“nanami.” you murmur against his lips, impatient now.

he exhales a quiet chuckle, lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your skin.

“hmm?”

“stop teasing.”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. then, his hands move. slow, steady, as he starts to undo the zipper of your dress.

“uh uh uh, say please.” he murmurs, lips curving just slightly.

you arch a brow, amused despite the heat pooling low in your core.

“you’re pushing your luck.”

nanami smirks, fingers trailing over newly exposed skin, making you shiver.

“and yet, you haven’t stopped me.” he muses, voice dipping lower. with ease, he slips the dress from around your waist, gently pushing your body back to lay down in the warmth of the comforter.

his lips trace soft kisses down your collarbone, nipping slowly at the skin. you gasp, head falling back into the mattress, enjoying the feeling of warmth coming from the man’s breath. he proceeds down, planting kisses down to your exposed chest, tongue faintly sliding over your swollen buds.

“oh! fuck nanami, i’m gonna hurt you.” propping your body up on your elbows, he pushes you right back.

“fine, since you wanna be so impatient.”

dipping down, he picks you up, tossing carefully you so that your head rest on his massive pillows. crawling up to you, his lips pepper kisses. down your sternum, under your breast, kissing slowly down your torso, planting one first one to your belly button.

“how pretty they are, hm? just for me?” his voice raspy and hiding hunger, you let out a small sigh, fingers grasping onto the man’s blonde locs.

his head dips between your thighs, mouth pressing against your clothed cunt. a slight hum comes from his chest, letting his head fall to one side as his eyes look up at you, drunkenly.

without further hesitation, he pulls your panties to the side, tongue immediately collecting your slick that pooled. this was the most intimate you’ve been in a man since yuji was conceived. and god did it feel good.

his hands hook around your legs, holding you open in a middle split while one hand held the lingerie to the side while the other rubbed slow, agonizing circles into the swollen nub. he uses his tongue to slowly pump in and out of your throbbing hole. in the darkness of the room, all you can see is stars and made up shapes floating around in the void. tears pooling at the corners of your eyes as you feel nanami begin to slowly suck at your clit, plump lips wrapped gently around while the tip of his tongue spells out his name. his middle and ring finger pushing and pulling out of you, the sounds of wetness filling the room.

your mouth open, head thrown back into the pillows, and fingers grasping onto the man’s head for dear life, he ate you like he was starving. like a wild beast. everytime he removed his lips from sucking, using his fingers to curl up inside you, fucking your gummy walls.

“nami- oh! i’m gonna cum!” he knew it. he felt how tight you were getting around his fingers. how you were pulling him in now.

“you’re so beautiful, do it. make a mess on my fingers.”

that was enough to have you throwing your arms around the man’s neck, pulling him into a hug as the coil in your belly burned.

“shit! oh fuck.” he let you hold onto him for a few seconds before he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, watching as you frown from the lack of touch.

instead, climbs off the bed, uses his abs to wipe his hands off. he swiftly undoes his leather belt, unbuckling his slacks and tossing them somewhere else in the room. almost hopping right back onto the bed, he climbs back to your limp frame.

“you okay?” he asks, removing a few strands of hair sticking to your forehead.

“mhm.” you give him a weak thumbs up, letting your hand fall against his chest. he leans over, placing a swift kiss to your lips.

“i know you can give me another one though.”

and maybe that’s how you ended up here. bent over his sink, watching as he fucks you passionately. one hand gently around your throat, holding you up, and the other dug securely into your waist. his strokes are slow, sensual. but the way he was looking at you. his eyes got darker, body seemed to get bigger, and he was fucking you in front of his mirror.

“i knew you could take it, hm? say ‘i’m all yours’.” he watched you in the mirror as your makeup smudged and began to run down your face.

“i’m all yours, nami!” you cry out, feeling full from his length.

“mhm, good job baby. now say ‘im a great mother’.” you shake your head before he stops you, halting his movements and staring at you in the mirror. lips pressed against your ear, eye contact never stopping.

“was i asking you? say it.” you whine, trying to fuck yourself into his length, only to get met with a slap on the ass.

“say. it.”

“i’m a great mother!” he rams back into you, causing you to hunch over the counter. eyes still on the mirror as your breast press against the cold marble. he’s relentless, needy. his hand presses into your back as he fucks into you.

“yes you fucking are baby. let me give you another one.” he didn’t know what he was saying. all he knew was that seeing you, bent over his counter, eyes rolling to the back of your head, drooling. he never wanted to stop. he never was going to. he could feel the climax building, watching and feeling as you came undone under him.

“i’m gonna cum baby, oh fuck!”

-

it’s a short drive to his school, and before long, you’re stepping out, holding his hand as you walk him to class. yuji doesn’t mind- not yet, at least. he swings your arm between you both, talking about his favorite cartoons and how he’s going to beat his friend at some game they play during recess.

but as you reach the door to his classroom, his chatter slows, his fingers curling around yours a little tighter.

you glance down at him. “what’s up, baby?”

“you’re gonna be okay today, right?” he hesitates, then looks up at you with those big, earnest eyes.

you blink, caught off guard.

“of course. why wouldn’t i be?”

“sometimes you look tired after you drop me off.” he shifts on his feet, playing with his fingers.

your chest tightens.

you crouch down so you’re at his level, cupping his little face in both hands.

“baby, i’m always okay. especially when i get to come home to you, you hear me? you’re my favorite person in this whole world. i’m always okay when im with you.”

he nods, his tiny hands resting over yours.

“promise?” his voice small.

you lean in, kissing his forehead.

“i super promise.”

a throat clears behind you.

you already know who it is before you turn, feeling the weight of his gaze before you even meet his eyes.

nanami stands in the doorway, his usual crisp attire perfectly in place, though there’s a softness in his face when he looks at yuji and a different kind of softness when his eyes flicker to you.

“good morning, yuji.” he greets first, as always.

“morning, mr. nanami!” yuji chirps, then glances back at you.

“mommy’s happy today.”

your lips part slightly, surprised at his boldness, but nanami only nods, as if he already knew.

“good,” he says simply, then meets your gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his glasses. “i like seeing that.”

your breath catches for just a second, but before you can respond, yuji tugs on your hand.

“okay, mama, you can go now. love you!”

you exhale a quiet laugh, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“love you more, baby.”

he runs inside without another glance, leaving you standing in the doorway with nanami, his presence steady beside you.

you glance up at him, tilting your head. “you always this charming first thing in the morning?”

“only with you.” he exhales softly, almost a laugh.

“dangerous habit, mr. kento.” your heart stumbles, but you cover it with a smirk.

nanami hums, hands in his pockets. “so i’ve been told.”

you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you take a step back.

“see you later, nami.”

“looking forward to it.” his lips twitch into a smile.

you turn, heading back down the hall, but you can still feel his gaze on you.

and for once, you don’t mind being watched.

part {2} {3}

© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

[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, NSFW, human x Na'vi, size difference

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, @minjianhyung, @bkell2929, @erenjaegerwifee, @angelita-uchiha, @wherethefuckiskathmandu, @cutmyeyepurple

Part 20: To suffer

Part 21: To expect

Neteyam barely heard them anymore.

The elders sat in a semi-circle before him, their voices rising and falling in measured, persuasive tones, each argument laced with expectation. Words like duty, legacy, and strength of the People filled the air, weaving a net meant to ensnare him, to box him into the future they had so carefully constructed.

And yet, all he could think about was you.

Last night, you had fallen asleep against him, your smaller frame curled so perfectly against his, your fingers tangled loosely around some of his braids. You had traced over each before exhaustion claimed you.

“Neteyam.”

His name was spoken with quiet authority, cutting through his thoughts like the edge of a blade. Mo’at’s gaze settled on him, unreadable yet heavy with knowing.

“You have not spoken.”

Neteyam inhaled slowly through his nose, fingers curling into his thighs where he sat. His posture remained relaxed, his expression carefully neutral, but the tension coiled beneath his skin was suffocating.

“I have heard you,” he said finally, voice even.

One of the older warriors, a man who had fought beside his father in the Great War, leaned forward. “Then you must see reason. It is time to choose, Neteyam. Your kelku is built. The People look to you as the next Olo’eyktan. You cannot delay this any longer.”

Neteyam forced himself not to react. This had become a routine—a ceaseless, unrelenting campaign to bend him to their will. Every day, they came with new arguments, new pressures, reminding him that his time to choose had come.

And today, they had escalated their efforts.

Three women stood to the side, poised and expectant. The finest choices, they had said. The strongest, the most skilled, the worthiest of standing at his side.

He had barely looked at them.

It wasn’t that they weren’t beautiful—they were. Any other warrior in the clan would have been honored, humbled, to have even one of them presented as a potential mate. But Neteyam felt nothing. Not even curiosity.

He could feel them watching him, waiting. He knew their names. K’shi, a fierce huntress with a sharp mind and sharper aim. Tey’ra, graceful and cunning, with a voice that could command a room. Sa’nari, a skilled healer, gentle yet strong.

All three of them were worthy. But they were not you.

He clenched his jaw as Mo’at spoke again, her voice softer now, but no less firm. “You must consider, ma‘itan.”

There was something different in her tone—something only he recognized. He had told her, or rather, she had seen the truth in him, and yet here she was, pushing like the rest of them.

And yet—

Neteyam felt nothing. The elders spoke in turns, their voices a steady hum of tradition and expectation. They listed the virtues of the women before him, the strengths they carried, the ways they could serve as his equal.

“…would provide you with strong heirs, as the bloodline demands.” “…a union of two powerful lines would strengthen the People.” “…each of them would stand proudly at your side.”

The words twisted in his gut like a blade. He could feel their eyes on him—the women, the elders. Even his father, who stood near the back of the gathering, arms crossed, his silence more damning than any words.

It had been this way for weeks now.

Since their argument, the rift between them had only deepened. It was in the way Jake’s jaw tightened whenever their gazes met. In the way his voice was sharp when he addressed him. In the way he never truly looked at him anymore—only past him, through him, as if he were a problem to be solved, a puzzle piece forced into the wrong shape.

Neteyam felt the weight of it with every step he took in the village.

And yet, he endured. He endured because at night, when the sky stretched endless above him, when the stars blinked down like silent witnesses, he could return to you.

To the stolen moments in his kelku or in the outpost, where you curled against him, where your fingers traced absentminded patterns over his chest, where your voice—soft, teasing, grounding—brought him back to himself.

He endured because when you looked at him, you did not see what the elders did. You did not see duty or legacy or a symbol of what he should be. You only saw him.

And that was the only place where he could breathe. But here, in the suffocating air of the council space, surrounded by the weight of expectation, there was no air left for him. He clenched his jaw.

The women before him stood tall, waiting, their gazes steady. He felt no anger toward them. They were not at fault. They had not asked for this any more than he had. But they were waiting for him to choose. And he already had. Neteyam took a slow breath, steadying himself. He straightened his shoulders, lifting his chin, and met the eyes of the eldest council member.

“I will not choose.”

Silence.

The air shifted.

One of the younger elders flinched, as if he had just spat in their faces. Others narrowed their eyes, their expressions darkening like a storm rolling in over the plains.

Jake let out a slow, sharp exhale.

Neteyam did not look at him. Instead, he held his ground, his golden eyes unwavering.

The oldest among them, a man who had served under his grandfather’s rule, let out a heavy sigh. His expression was unreadable, but Neteyam could see it—the quiet resignation beneath his weathered gaze. “The blood of Toruk Makto runs through your veins,” the elder murmured. “You cannot run from what is expected of you.”

Neteyam inhaled slowly, feeling the weight of every word.

“I am not running,” he said.

He just refused to be caged. The air crackled with tension. Jake’s voice cut through it like a blade. “This isn’t just about you, Neteyam.”

And there it was.

Neteyam finally turned to face him.

His father’s expression was unreadable, but his stance—the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides—said enough.

“This is about the clan,” Jake continued, his voice controlled, measured, but laced with something simmering beneath the surface. “About what’s best for the People.”

Neteyam’s throat tightened. “Do you truly believe that I am what’s best for the People?”

Something flickered in Jake’s gaze—too fast to catch. But Neteyam saw it. The hesitation. The doubt. He had felt it his entire life.

He clenched his fists. “You have always wanted me to be more, to be better,” he said, his voice quieter now, but firm. “To be the leader they need.”

His golden eyes darkened. “Then why do you not trust me to decide what that means?”

Silence.

Jake’s jaw tightened.

Neteyam exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He had nothing left to say. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away. Away from the elders. Away from their expectations. Away from his father’s cold, lingering glare.

The path beneath his feet was damp from the early morning rain, the thick jungle around him still whispering with the fading breath of a storm. The village behind him buzzed faintly—low voices, the rustle of woven fibers, the steady hum of disappointment pressing against his back like weight.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp. He had enough.

He had stood there and listened to their names, watched them stand in a line like he was expected to pick one and say, this one, this will be my life. Like they knew him better than he did. Like they had already carved out his future and all he had to do was nod.

Neteyam walked fast, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead, his tail flicked harshly from side to side. He just wanted to go home. Not the kelku he was raised in. Not the space he shared with his siblings. That place no longer felt like his.

His home was the one he built with his own hands—up in the high trees, away from the clan’s watchful eyes. The one that smelled of you. He was almost to the base of the tree when he heard it—his father’s voice.

“Neteyam.”

He didn’t answer.

“Neteyam, stop.”

Still, he kept walking.

Jake’s footsteps quickened behind him. “We need to talk.”

“No,” Neteyam muttered, eyes narrowing. “We don’t.”

Jake finally caught up, stepping in front of him to block the path. Neteyam stopped sharply, chest rising and falling as he stared at his father—unflinching. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Jake’s eyes searched his face, but whatever he was looking for, Neteyam didn’t give it to him. “You’ve been different,” Jake said, voice lower now, controlled. “For weeks.”

Neteyam’s response was quiet, clipped. “I’ve been doing what’s expected of me.”

Jake frowned. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then say what you mean.” The air between them was tense, sharp as a blade. Insects buzzed in the trees above, the only sound in the silence that stretched between father and son.

Jake exhaled through his nose. “You barely speak to me unless it’s about duties. Orders. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “I speak when necessary.”

“Necessary?” Jake echoed, disbelief in his voice. “Since when do we only talk when it’s necessary?”

Neteyam laughed under his breath, bitter and tired. “Since you made it clear that’s all I am to you—a necessity.”

Jake flinched, barely perceptible, but Neteyam saw it. His father tried to speak, but Neteyam cut in. “You want me to be Olo’eyktan,” he said, voice low, controlled. “You want me to follow your path. Your rules. You want me to make the choices you would make.” His gaze hardened. “Even when it’s about my life.”

Jake straightened, crossing his arms. “Is this about today? About the women?”

Neteyam stepped to the side, trying to move past. “I’m going home.”

Jake moved again, blocking him. “Not until you tell me why you built your own kelku.”

Neteyam’s breath caught.

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You never did it after your dream hunt. You stayed. Even when you had the right. But a month ago—suddenly, you move out. No explanation. Just gone. You built your own space like—like you were starting a new life.”

“I am,” Neteyam snapped, sharper than he meant to. “And I didn’t owe you an explanation.”

Jake’s voice turned colder. “That’s not how this works. You’re still part of this family.”

Neteyam’s eyes flashed. “Then why don’t you treat me like it?”

Jake’s mouth opened, but no words came. Neteyam stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me now? Since that argument? You glare. You judge. Every decision I make, you question. I used to come to you with everything, and all I got back was silence—or orders.”

Jake’s expression tightened, guilt flickering behind his eyes. “I never meant to push you away.”

“But you did,” Neteyam said, quieter now. “And now you want to know why I left?”

His golden eyes locked with Jake’s, hard and unflinching.

Neteyam crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you. I needed space.”

“Bullshit,” Jake snapped, the word sharp in the quiet jungle air.

The tension crackled like dry leaves underfoot. Neteyam’s voice dropped. Cold. Controlled. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a soldier.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Then stop acting like one.”

The silence that followed was thick—heavy enough to choke on. Jake stepped closer. “What’s really going on with you, Neteyam?”

Neteyam let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Now you care?”

Jake’s brows furrowed. “You think I don’t care?”

Neteyam's eyes flashed, his voice sharp. “You care when I disobey. When I don’t act how you expect. That’s when you speak. That’s when you look at me.”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Neteyam hissed, stepping forward now. “When was the last time we spoke about anything that wasn’t duty? Orders? What the clan needs? You’ve barely looked at me since I said no to the elders’ match moons ago.”

Jake didn’t respond.

Neteyam shook his head. “You want me to pick someone.” Neteyam’s throat tightened. He looked away, jaw clenching.

Jake’s voice was firmer now. “You’re acting like I did something wrong.”

Neteyam let out a breath through his nose, low and sharp. “You mean besides putting three women in front of me like I’m choosing a hunting bow?”

Jake’s eyes darkened. “You know that’s not what this is—”

“No?” Neteyam cut in, voice low, sharp. “Then tell me, why do I have to choose someone you think is good for me? Someone the elders think is good for me? Someone Mother thinks is good for me?”

Jake was silent. His voice rose, heated now. “But you—you got to choose. You got to choose her,” Neteyam said, quieter now but still burning, his voice raw. “You weren’t born here. You weren’t even one of us. But you still got to choose mother.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “That was different.”

“Why?” Neteyam demanded, his chest heaving. “Tell me. Why was it different for you?”

Jake didn’t answer.

Neteyam’s voice wavered just once—but he forced it steady again. “So why is it that I don’t get to choose for myself?”

Silence.

Jake took a slow breath, as if to respond—but Neteyam cut him off before he could.

“I already—” Neteyam bit the words down, his mouth snapping shut mid-sentence. His jaw tensed, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly, something shifting in his expression. “You already what?”

Neteyam didn’t answer.

Jake’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to see through the cracks. “Are you hiding something?”

Neteyam didn’t answer. Wouldn’t answer. Not now. Not like this. Instead, he turned his back and started climbing, toward the only place that felt like home anymore.

Jake’s voice followed him—low, heavy with warning. “If there’s something I need to know—”

“You’ll be the last to hear it,” Neteyam shot over his shoulder. And then he was gone, vanishing into his kelku, leaving his father behind in the quiet.

The inside of Neteyam’s kelku was quiet—too quiet. The hum of the forest beyond its walls barely touched him, muffled by the storm brewing behind his temples. He sat cross-legged near the far edge of the woven platform, a small collection of arrow shafts and stone fragments laid out before him in neat, precise rows. His hands moved over them with muscle memory alone—select, carve, shape—but the focus wasn’t there.

His thoughts kept slipping. His jaw clenched every time he remembered the look on his father’s face. The suspicion. The calculation.

He had almost said it. Almost.

His fingers stilled over the half-shaped arrowhead. His breath caught in his throat.

He’d almost told his father about you.

Neteyam swore under his breath, sharp and low, tossing the unfinished tip aside. It clattered against the floor of the kelku, the sound far too loud in the silence. He sat back, running a hand down his face.

Skxawng.

He shouldn’t have let it get to that point. He knew how his father operated—slow, probing, never missing an opening. And Neteyam had just… given him one. He exhaled, long and shaky, his fingers curling into his palms. He had chosen distance.

Not just for himself. For you.

Because this kelku—this place in the trees, quiet and separate from the rest of the village—was the only place he could be with you without fear. Without someone seeing. Without the elders whispering, or his father ordering.

Neteyam lowered his hands, staring up at the ceiling of his kelku. He had made it strong. Private. Secluded. But not strong enough to keep his guilt out. He knew what you risked every time you came here. You weren’t just his. You were a scientist. A human. One of the few allowed to stay in the forest at all.

Only because his father had allowed it.

After the war. After the bloodshed. After the Na’vi won. The peace between the Omatikaya and the humans at the outpost was fragile. It was a line drawn in the dirt—thin, easily swept away.

If that line was crossed… If the clan ever saw humans as a threat—if you became the reason the Omatikaya turned on the outpost…

They’d be sent away by the RDA.

Bridgehead.

He wouldn’t see you again. Not ever. Neteyam’s fists clenched. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t.

If they knew—if the wrong person found out what you meant to him—Neteyam didn’t know what might happen.

And the forest. Eywa, the forest. It was everything to you.

You were never happier than when you were out there—among the plants, the wildlife, your datapad in one hand and a stupid grin on your face as you tried to explain something far too complicated for him to follow. You were a scientist, but more than that— you belonged to the forest, just as much as he did. It gave you joy, purpose. It was where you thrived.

He wouldn’t risk that. Not for anything. Not even for the truth.

The door flap rustled. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Kiri slipped inside silently, her feet light on the woven floor. She paused, taking in the scattered pieces of arrow-making, the tension radiating off her brother like heat from a fire.

“You know, you’re not exactly subtle when you’re brooding,” she said, dropping down beside him.

He didn’t answer. Just picked up a shaft, turned it over, then set it back down.

Kiri tilted her head. “So… that bad?”

Neteyam scoffed softly through his nose. “What do you think?”

“I think Dad came back looking like someone kicked him,” she muttered. “And you’re in here throwing your work around like it insulted you.”

“I almost said it,” he said quietly, his voice flat. “I almost told him.”

Kiri went still.

Neteyam didn’t have to clarify. She knew exactly what it was. “I didn’t,” he added. “But I wanted to.”

Kiri’s gaze softened, her hand reaching over to rest lightly on his shoulder. “You were angry.”

“I’m always angry now.”

Kiri’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know.”

She let the silence stretch for a bit before speaking again. “You know they talk about you, right? Mom and Dad.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want to hear it,” he muttered.

“Well, I didn’t either,” Kiri said. “But sometimes I don’t have a choice. I still live there, remember?”

Neteyam closed his eyes.

“They’re… confused,” Kiri went on. “Hurt, I think. But mostly just afraid. You’re their first son. Their perfect son. You always did everything they asked, everything they wanted. Now they don’t understand why you’re—”

“Choosing for myself?” he cut in, sharp.

Kiri hesitated. “Yes.”

Neteyam exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They want me to pick someone from the clan. Settle. Lead. Be a good little Olo’eyktan-in-training.”

Kiri watched him. Her voice lowered. “They think you’re hiding something.”

Neteyam looked back down at the arrowhead. “Are they wrong?”

She smiled faintly. “No.”

Silence stretched between them for a beat, the fire crackling quietly. Then, Kiri’s voice turned soft. Knowing. “You’re being too obvious.”

He froze.

“You used to be more careful,” she went on. “Slipping out at night, keeping the visits short. Covering your tracks. Staying with her at the outpost.”

Neteyam stayed still. Said nothing.

“But now?” she sighed. “You bring her here. You keep her here. You look at her like… like you don’t care who sees it.”

His grip tightened on the stone.

Kiri leaned forward, voice quiet and serious. “I love her too. You know that. But you both are idiots.”

“I know,” he muttered.

Kiri’s brow furrowed. “Then why are you doing this?”

“Because I love her,” he said, before he could stop it.

Kiri didn’t flinch. She just nodded. “I know.”

Neteyam finally looked up at her. “You don’t understand, Kiri. She’s happiest here. In the forest. When she’s working with the plants, or cataloging things I don’t even have a name for. She lights up. The forest feeds her.” His throat tightened. “If something happened… if the clan forced the humans out, she’d have to go. Bridgehead’s not the forest. She wouldn’t last there.”

Kiri’s expression softened. “You’re trying to protect her.”

“I have to protect her.” His voice cracked on it, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “Even if that means never telling anyone. Even if that means letting the whole clan think I’m stalling or disrespecting tradition.”

Kiri was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “You’re not going to be able to keep her a secret forever.”

Neteyam knew that. The way you smiled at him. The way he looked at you. The way he reached for you without thinking, how he softened at your voice, how your scent lingered on his skin when you stayed the night.

Someone would notice. It wouldn’t stay in the dark forever. He exhaled slowly. “I know.”

Kiri leaned forward, placing her hand on his. “I don’t think you’re wrong for choosing her,” she said gently. “But if you’re going to keep doing this… you need to be ready.”

Neteyam looked at her, golden eyes heavy with a thousand things he wasn’t allowed to say. “I already chose,” he said softly. “I just haven’t told anyone.”

Kiri squeezed his hand, her voice low. “Maybe it’s time you did.” Kiri didn’t press. She didn’t have to. “I get it,” she murmured. “You want to tell the truth. You want to stop hiding her.”

His breath caught at the word.

You.

Kiri knew exactly what he felt.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t have to.

Kiri smiled faintly. “She’s one of my best friends, skxawng. I see the way she looks at you. Like you hung the stars. Like there’s no one else in the world but you.”

Neteyam let out a slow, aching breath. “And I keep her hidden like a secret.”

“She understands,” Kiri said gently. “She always has.”

He swallowed hard, guilt thick in his throat.

“She would never ask me to choose,” he whispered. “Not once has she ever asked me to risk this. But I would.”

Kiri’s smile faded. She shifted closer, her hand brushing his. “You don’t have to risk it alone.”

Neteyam looked at her, surprised. “Kiri—”

“I want to help you,” she said firmly. “We want to help you.”

He blinked. “We?”

Kiri’s gaze softened, a quiet gleam of pride behind her eyes. “Grandmother knows.”

Neteyam exhaled, nodding. “Of course she did.”

“She knows… and she wants to help you.”

That made him freeze. He turned sharply to look at Kiri, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Kiri smiled. “She says you have your mother’s heart. That she’s seen this before. She said… if the girl is going to be your mate one day, then she should start learning how to live among us. Not as an outsider. But as one of us.”

Neteyam stared at her, stunned into silence.

“She spoke to me about it days ago,” Kiri continued. “She said your human is curious, respectful. That she’s always wanted to learn the healing ways. So… she’s giving her the chance. She’ll teach her, alongside me.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Mo’at. The Tsahik. His grandmother. He wasn’t surprised that their grandmother knew. She was Tsahik. She saw what others missed, heard what was left unsaid. And he had already told her—maybe not in so many words, but in ways she would understand.

She didn’t just know—she was protecting them.

Kiri reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This means she can come to the village more. During the day too. No more waiting for the other scientist to come here. No more sneaking around at night, not if there’s a reason for her to be here. No more slipping out like a thief to see her.”

Neteyam’s voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “She would do that? Grandmother?”

Kiri nodded. “She already has.”

His throat tightened. It was the first time since their relationship had started that the weight on his chest felt just a little lighter.

Kiri’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You need to tell her.”

Neteyam exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “She still has her work at the outpost. The RDA expects her to do her job…”

“I know,” Kiri said. “But if she learns under Mo’at, she won’t have to make excuses every time she’s here. At least not for Dad and Mom. No one will question why she spends so much time in the village.”

Neteyam pressed his lips together. She was right. As usual. He leaned back against the wooden frame of his kelku, running a hand over his face before looking at Kiri again. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Kiri smiled. “Of course.”

She stood, stretching. “Just don’t be stupid about it, alright?”

Neteyam smirked, shaking his head. “No promises.”

Kiri groaned, rolling her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

But there was affection in her voice. She turned to leave but paused at the entrance, glancing back at him. “Tell her soon, ma’tsmukan.”

Neteyam nodded. And as Kiri disappeared into the night, he let out a slow breath. He would tell her. Because now, for the first time, there was hope.

The woven walls of the Tsahik’s tent glowed faintly with the warm orange light of the setting sun, the last fingers of daylight slipping through cracks in the canopy. Herbs hung in bundles above the fire pit, their soft, earthy scent curling in the air. Kiri sat cross-legged near one of the low tables, quietly grinding dried roots into powder with a practiced hand. Neteyam stood near the entrance, posture tense but respectful, as Mo’at finished arranging several clay bowls in a careful line before her.

She didn’t look up as she spoke.

“I wondered how long it would take you to come.”

Neteyam exhaled slowly, stepping fully inside. “I needed time. To think.”

Mo’at hummed, a soft, noncommittal sound. “You have always taken too much time when it comes to the things you feel most deeply.”

Neteyam didn’t argue. He stepped forward, lowering himself onto the woven mat beside Kiri. Mo’at turned her gaze on him then—sharp, steady, ancient.

“You wish to speak about the girl.”

He nodded once. “You said… you would teach her.”

“I will,” Mo’at replied simply. “If that is what she wants.”

“I know she does.” Neteyam’s voice was soft, but certain. “More than anything.”

Mo’at inclined her head. “Good.” Silence settled over them for a beat, broken only by the soft scrape of Kiri’s pestle against stone. Mo’at’s eyes didn’t waver from Neteyam’s. “I know you will not choose anyone else.”

The words landed with quiet weight. Final. True. Neteyam’s throat tightened, but he didn’t look away. “I already have.”

“I know,” Mo’at said, voice lower now, tinged with something almost gentle. “And so your mate should be taught as one of us. She must understand our ways. Our stories. Our healing. Our balance with Eywa. If she is to stand beside you—truly stand there—then she must know everything.”

Neteyam’s voice was firm. “You’ll see. She’ll learn it all. She’s… she’s smart. She understands the forest better than most of the People I know.”

Mo’at nodded once, as if that had already been obvious. “I believe that. And I believe she will listen. She does not treat our ways like science in a book—she treats them like something sacred.” Her lips curled, just slightly. “That is rare.”

Kiri glanced up from her work then, offering her brother a faint, knowing smile. “She already pays attention better than half the young healers in training.”

Mo’at made a soft sound of agreement.

“I can help you,” she said, reaching for a bowl of herbs. Her fingers moved with practiced grace, slow and precise. “For now. She will begin learning under me. That gives her a reason to be in the village. Eyes will not question what has an answer.”

Neteyam felt some of the tension bleed from his shoulders, his chest rising and falling with something like relief. “Thank you.”

“But,” Mo’at said sharply, her gaze pinning him in place, “do not mistake help for protection.”

He stilled.

“I am old,” she said, voice even. “And wise. But I am not all-seeing. And your mother and father—” she let the pause hang “—are not stupid.”

Kiri winced softly, but said nothing. Mo’at leaned forward, her tone gentler now. “This will not be a secret forever, ma Neteyam. And it should not be. If she is to be your mate, then in time, the truth must be shown.”

“I know,” Neteyam murmured. “I just… I don’t want her hurt.”

“She will be,” Mo’at said plainly. “Love always brings pain. But hiding her does not protect her. It only delays what must come.”

Neteyam nodded slowly, gaze dropping to the woven floor. Mo’at’s voice softened again, her words careful. “For now, this path gives you both time. Use it well. Teach her. Help her understand what it means to live as one of us. And prepare yourself—because this path is not easy. But it is yours.”

She reached for a bundle of dried leaves, tying them with a thin cord. “Tell her to come soon. She will begin with small tasks. Preparation. Observation. Watching the balance of life and decay. If she can learn the rhythm of Eywa, she can learn anything.”

Neteyam’s chest swelled, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “She can.”

Mo’at smiled then—soft and brief, the way moonlight breaks through trees. “Then we begin.”

The outpost was quiet at this hour. Neteyam knew it would be. Most of the humans had gone to bed hours ago, but he knew you wouldn’t be asleep. You never were.

It was nearly midnight when he reached the airlock, moving swiftly through the shadows, his steps soundless as he crouched by the console. His fingers moved with practiced ease, pressing the override sequence you had shown him long ago. The hiss of the decompression chamber barely registered as he stepped inside.

This place had become so familiar. He had been here more times than he could count, slipping into the outpost long after dark, drawn to you like a moth to flame.

Usually, he would find you hunched over a workbench, hovering over some plant samples, your face illuminated by the glow of your holo-screens as you scribbled notes for your research.

But tonight, the lab was empty. Neteyam frowned, his ears flicking as he listened for any sign of you. Then he turned down the hallway, his long strides carrying him toward your quarters.

The door wasn’t locked. It never was when you expected him.

He pushed the button to open it without a sound, stepping inside—and the sight before him made his lips twitch in amusement.

You were sitting cross-legged on the edge of your bed, a towel draped over your shoulders, damp hair spilling down as you slowly brushed through it. Your gaze was fixed on the holoscreen mounted on the wall, some human movie playing in muted colors.

You didn’t even glance at the door when you spoke.

“No, Kate, I won’t give you my shampoo.”

Neteyam snorted.

Your hand froze mid-brush. He watched the way your shoulders tensed, how you whipped around so fast you nearly toppled over—only to find him standing there, his three-meter-tall frame barely fitting through the doorway, his golden eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.

A slow smile curled his lips. “Not Kate,” he murmured, amusement dancing in his golden eyes.

You exhaled a sharp breath, pressing a hand against your chest. “Eywa, you scared me!”

Neteyam chuckled, stepping further inside. “You should be more aware of your surroundings, yawne.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but the wide grin on your face betrayed your amusement. You reached for him, motioning him closer with both hands. “Come here.”

Neteyam didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in two strides, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring the way your expression softened as he lowered himself into a crouch before your bed. Even like this, he was still so much bigger than you.

Your small hand reached out, brushing over his cheek, tracing the strong lines of his jaw. “Give me kisses,” you murmured, grinning.

Neteyam huffed a soft laugh, tilting his head. “So demanding.”

You beamed. “And you love it.”

Eywa help him, he did. His large hand reached up, thumb grazing over the smooth curve of your cheek. You leaned into his touch without hesitation, eyes fluttering closed for a brief second before you met his gaze again.

Your warmth. Your scent. The way your small fingers curled over his wrist, holding him there.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his nose grazing against yours, teasing. “Neteyam,” you murmured, impatient.

He smirked. “What is it, sweet girl?”

You groaned, your fingers tightening behind his neck. “Stop teasing and kiss me.”

He let out a low chuckle, but obeyed. He leaned in, closing the distance, his nose brushing against yours as his breath ghosted over your lips.

You sighed, tilting your head up, your fingers sliding into his braids, tugging him closer. Neteyam’s restraint snapped. He kissed you—slow and deep—his lips pressing against yours with the kind of longing that had built over days apart.

You melted into him immediately, your body shifting forward, hands gripping his shoulders, pulling yourself closer. Neteyam groaned, his other hand finding your waist, his fingers splaying over the soft curve of your hip.

The kiss was warm and unhurried, but it was filled with all the words you hadn’t spoken. He poured everything into it—how much he wanted you, how much he needed you.

And you gave it all back. Your breath hitched as he deepened the kiss, tilting his head to taste you more fully, to savor the way you clung to him like he was something you couldn’t bear to let go of.

His chest rumbled with a low, satisfied sound as he pulled back just enough to press another lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another along your jaw.

You were breathless, your forehead resting against his as you smiled. “Damn,” you whispered. “You always kiss me like you’re never going to see me again.”

Neteyam’s throat tightened, his grip on your waist subconsciously tightening. Because the truth was… that fear was always there. He let out a quiet breath, pressing one last kiss to your lips before murmuring— “That’s because I never know how much time we have.”

Your eyes flickered with something unreadable. But you didn’t argue.

You just kissed him again.

You moved around the small room with practiced ease, pulling extra blankets and pillows from a storage crate, arranging them on the floor without hesitation. Neteyam watched you, his golden eyes tracing the way you worked—quick, efficient, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t even ask if he wanted to sleep here. You just knew. Like always.

The floor was littered with spare blankets, pillows, and a couple of folded sheets you had tugged from your storage bins without a second thought—just like last time.

The moment you had seen him duck into your room, towering over you in the soft glow of your holoscreen, you’d lit up. And without needing to say anything, you had dropped to the floor and started making the bed. It was a quiet, practiced routine now—one born out of familiarity and stolen nights together.

Neteyam didn’t say a word. He just watched you with that half-smile, that softened look he reserved only for you.

Later, the only sounds were your mingled breaths, the gentle hum of the outpost’s low-power systems, and the distant jungle outside. The two of you lay side by side, bare skin tangled together in the soft nest you’d built. Your head rested against his chest, arm draped over his ribs, your legs tangled beneath the blankets.

His fingers traced lazy circles across your back—absent, distracted.

You shifted, propping your chin on his chest, your still-damp hair spilling over his collarbone as you looked at him with that playful, knowing expression.

Your voice came soft, teasing. “What is it?”

He blinked. “Hm?”

“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmured, your finger lightly trailing along the stripes painted across his chest. “Where you stare at the ceiling like it’s gonna give you answers to the universe.”

His lips quirked.

You tilted your head, studying him more closely. “You look all lost in your thoughts.” Then, quieter—hesitant, your voice turning sheepish as your eyes flicked away. “You’re quiet.”

He blinked, glancing down at you. Your face was flushed, lips still kiss-bitten, your bare shoulders dotted with the fading evidence of his mouth. He could see the way you bit your bottom lip like you weren’t sure if you wanted to say what came next, but then—

“…Was I not good?”

His ears twitched. His brows furrowed. And then he looked at you like you had just grown a second head.  “What?”

You immediately looked away, trying—and failing—not to flush deeper. “You’ve just been lying here staring at the ceiling like you’re about to enter your ‘suffering warrior’ era, and I thought maybe—”

“Kehe,” he said sharply, cutting you off. “No. Don’t say that.”

His voice was low, a soft reprimand—but the kind that curled around your ribs and made you feel warm.

You blinked. “I was just kidding—”

Neteyam exhaled, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “No, you weren’t.”

He rolled onto his side, turning to face you fully. “You think I would be quiet because you weren’t good?” His eyes scanned you slowly, purposefully. “You think I would be silent because you, the only person who makes me feel like I can actually breathe, weren’t enough?”

You bit your lip. Your blush was impossible to miss now.

Neteyam’s hand cupped your jaw, firm and steady. “You are everything.”

Your breath caught.

“You feel like home,” he murmured, brushing his forehead against yours. “And tonight, like every other time, you were perfect. So perfect it makes me ache.”

Your cheeks bloomed crimson, and you buried your face into his chest to escape the look in his eyes. He chuckled softly, running his fingers through your damp hair. “There you are.”

You stared at him, eyes wide, lips parting slightly—and Eywa, how he loved watching you bloom like that, all soft surprise and bashful joy, like you didn’t know the effect you had on him. Your voice was quiet. “That was really sweet.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he replied. “It’s just the truth.”

You smiled at him, and Neteyam leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead. Your fingers curled against his chest again, but the tension was gone now—melted under the weight of his honesty.

For a while, you just lay there. Breathing together. But the peace didn’t last forever. Not tonight. You lifted your head again, brows furrowed.  “…But something is bothering you.”

He was quiet for a long moment. He didn’t answer right away. But then, he let out a breath and murmured, “The elders cornered me again today.”

Your body went very still.

“They… they called three of them this time,” he continued, voice neutral but bitter around the edges. “Three women. All lined up like they were part of some… ceremony. Like they thought I was just going to look at them and suddenly forget everything I want.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Your entire body tensed against him.

“I was supposed to pick one.”

Silence stretched between you. You didn’t say anything at first. Just lay there, still and stiff in his arms, your breath coming a little quicker than before.

Neteyam looked down, watching the way your eyes had dulled slightly, the corners of your mouth pulling tight. “…Hey.” He ran a thumb gently over your lower back. “Look at me.”

You didn’t. But your voice came small and broken. His arm tightened around you, but your muscles stayed taut. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “That you have to keep doing this. Sneaking around. Because of me.”

“Don’t—”

You shook your head, eyes shining as you kept talking, even if your voice wavered. “If I weren’t human, if things were different—if I was Na’vi—they wouldn’t ask you to do this. And you wouldn’t have to choose between what they want and what you want. I wouldn’t be…” Your words caught in your throat. You looked down. “If you ever get tired of it,” you said softly. “Of the hiding. The lying. Of me… I’ll understand.”

Neteyam sat up in a fluid motion, pulling you with him, his large hands cradling your waist as he looked down at you with something fierce in his gaze. “I will never be tired of you,” he said, voice low but unyielding. “Never.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Neteyam’s hands slid to your cheeks, holding you still, making you look at him. “I would rather lie every day for the rest of my life,” he whispered, “than ever lie to myself about you.”

You stared at him. Wide-eyed. Stunned.

“And you—” he leaned in, brushing his nose gently against yours, “you are not something I carry in secret out of shame.” He kissed you once. Tender. Steady. He didn’t pull back far. Just far enough to whisper, voice full of quiet truth— “You are my mate.”

You froze. Your breath caught. And finally, your gaze snapped up to meet his, wide and disbelieving. Neteyam held you there, steady and certain, golden eyes locked onto yours.

“I chose you,” he said, softer now. “Long ago.”

You swallowed, lips parting. “Neteyam…”

“I don’t care what they think. I don’t care what the clan wants. Or what my father expects. I don’t care that you’re human.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. “You are mine,” he whispered. “And I am yours.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but your smile—gods, your smile—was like starlight. Warm. Soft. Terrifyingly beautiful. “Okay,” you whispered back, voice trembling.

Neteyam closed his eyes, pulling you against his chest once more as the tension in his body finally started to unravel.

You were warm and tangled together, limbs loose under the patchwork of blankets. The quiet hum of the outpost filtered softly through the room—the low thrum of machinery, distant footsteps of late-night technicians, the soft chirp of life outside the walls.

Neteyam’s breathing had slowed, deep and steady beneath your cheek. His arm was draped protectively over your back, his hand idly resting against the dip of your spine. Your fingers traced slow circles against his chest, and your eyes were just starting to drift shut, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Until you spoke—softly, barely louder than a breath.

“Honestly… Jake could be scary,” you whispered with a small, mischievous giggle. “But he’s not the one I’m afraid of.”

Neteyam cracked one eye open, peeking down at you. “No?”

You tilted your head, grinning sleepily. “Nope. I’d bet anything your Mother would want to skin me alive if she ever found out.” Your voice was teasing, but there was a flicker of nervous truth in your eyes. “I mean, can you imagine? Me?” You snorted. “Some disgusting little pest under Eywa’s eye, trying to corrupt her perfect, golden firstborn son.”

Neteyam huffed a laugh, his fingers gently sliding up your back to comb through your hair. “You’re not a pest.”

You raised a brow. “You sure about that? I’ve seen the way she looks at me when I’m in the village.” You put on a mock-impression of Neytiri’s stern expression, voice deep and unimpressed. “‘Why is the tawtute always near my son?’”

Neteyam chuckled again, nose brushing the crown of your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m realistic,” you shot back, but your smile was fond, if a little nervous. “She’d never forgive me.”

He didn’t argue. He knew his mother’s views were harsh, especially when it came to the Sky People. She had softened toward a few of them—Norm, Max, a few other scientists… But this?

This would push the limits of that tolerance. Still, he didn’t let it show. He hummed in thought. “She’s… protective.”

“That’s one word for it,” you muttered.

Neteyam was quiet for a moment, his hand trailing up your back and then resting just between your shoulder blades. “But… not everyone wants to chase you away,” he murmured.

You blinked and looked up at him, your cheek still resting against his chest. “What do you mean?”

He shifted slightly, leaning up just enough to meet your eyes. “Grandmother.” His voice was soft. “She wants to teach you.”

Your brow furrowed. “Mo’at?”

Neteyam nodded. “She knows about us.”

That made you sit up slightly, startled. “Wait—what?”

“She figured it out weeks ago,” he said simply, brushing a stray lock of hair off your face. “I didn’t have to say much. She knew. And… she wants to help.”

You stared at him like he’d just told you the sky had turned purple. “Mo’at… wants to help us?”

He smiled faintly. “Surprised me, too.”

You were still processing, eyes wide. “And how exactly does she plan to help us? Offer me a head start before Neytiri hunts me down?”

Neteyam snorted. “No. She said… you’ve always wanted to learn from the Omatikaya. From her.”

“I—” you paused, then nodded slowly. “I mean… yeah. I’ve been obsessed with Na’vi healing since forever.”

“She thinks that’s the answer,” he said. “If you’re her apprentice—or… in training, or whatever you call it—it gives you a reason to be in the village. Regularly. No more sneaking.”

You blinked. And then, your expression cracked into a slow, delighted smile. “Wait… really?”

“If that’s something you want,” he added carefully. “Only if you want it.”

There was no hesitation. You nodded eagerly, your eyes shining. “Yes. Eywa, yes. If it means I can stay with you more—be closer to you—yes.”

Neteyam exhaled softly, a rush of warmth tightening in his chest.

“But,” you added after a beat, your tone a little sheepish now, “I can’t be there all the time. As much as I want to, I’ve still got a job here. If I suddenly go full Na’vi and start skipping my xenobotany shifts, Norm will kick my ass.”

Neteyam was quiet, his breath slow and even beneath your ear, just as you started lazily tracing the soft, glowing stripe that ran down the center of his chest. Your fingers followed it like it was a path made for you and you alone—like his body had been carved by Eywa.

The room was dim, bathed in a soft glow from your holoscreen still humming faintly on the wall, casting flickering light over tangled blankets and bare skin. He felt your lips curve against his skin even before you spoke. “At least if I’m in the village,” you murmured slyly, voice light, “I’ll get to watch the other women try so hard to get my man’s attention.”

Neteyam blinked, caught off guard by how casually you said it—like it was just a simple truth of life. His golden eyes cut down to look at you, still perched on his chest, now drawing invisible shapes across his skin with all the smug confidence of someone who had just won a game no one else knew they were playing.

You didn’t even pause, trailing your fingers lower, brushing along the dip beneath his collarbone. “I bet they’re going to try so hard,” you continued, voice full of fake pity, “like, really put in the effort to win the affection of the next Olo’eyktan.” You glanced up at him, eyebrows raised, “And the whole time, they won’t even realize they’ve already lost.”

Neteyam just stared at you. Completely silent. Expression unreadable.

Your smug grin only grew wider. “What? Don’t give me that look. You know I’m right.”

He blinked again, and then the corner of his mouth twitched. Slowly, his face broke into a grin—eyes shining with pure amusement. “Eywa,” he muttered, reaching up to brush his thumb across your cheek. “You are so—”

“Correct?” you supplied helpfully.

“I was going to say ridiculous,” he said, voice warm and fond.

You gasped, feigning offense. “Excuse you. I’m confident. There's a difference.”

Neteyam let out a quiet chuckle, the sound deep in his chest, and you smirked as if you’d just scored another point. He watched you settle in again like you belonged there—which you did—your chin perched on his chest, arms curled up around his sides like he was your favorite pillow.

And maybe you didn’t know. Maybe you didn’t realize that when you said my man, something in his chest tightened. That when you smiled at him like that, so smug, so proud—he didn’t see arrogance.

He saw devotion. A wild, quiet kind of love that you barely even had to say out loud, because he felt it in every word, every little brush of your fingers.

Neteyam’s gaze softened, his large hand coming up to cradle the back of your head gently, like you were something delicate—even though he knew you were stronger than you thought. His fingers sifted through your still-damp hair, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, and he exhaled slowly, content.

Eywa had given him many things.

But you?

You were his greatest gift. His anchor. His calm. His maddening, brilliant, beautiful little human who didn’t seem to realize you had become his entire world.

And the most dangerous part?

You still looked at him like he was the one worth chasing.

Neteyam leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lips lingering there for a long, silent beat. Your fingers stilled on his chest, and you let out a soft hum, eyes closing briefly.

“I see you,” he murmured, so low it was almost a breath, like the words were sacred.

You opened your eyes slowly, blinking up at him. You were chaos and comfort, firelight and soft moss beneath his hands. And Eywa, how he loved you.

“You know,” he said quietly, brushing a hand along the curve of your spine, “I don’t even look at them.”

You glanced up, eyes warm. “Not even a peek?”

Neteyam leaned in, brushing his nose along your jaw. “No one’s ever made me look away from you.”

Your breath caught for half a second, but you masked it with another smirk. “Good,” you whispered. Then you flicked your eyes up at him, all faux innocence, your chin propped on his chest. “What?”

“You…” Neteyam’s voice came out in a quiet breath, half laughter, half disbelief. “You are evil.”

You beamed. “Thank you.”

He reached up, cupped your face with one large hand, and just stared at you—like you had personally knocked the air from his lungs. Here you were. His tiny, fearless human, lying in his arms completely naked, grinning like you were the goddess of smug victory, talking about him like he wasn’t right there beneath you.

Talking about him like he belonged to you. And he did.

You had no idea just how completely, utterly his heart had folded itself around you. How, without even trying, you had wrapped him around your tiny, delicate fingers and then held him there like it was nothing.

And Eywa, did he love it.

The way you puffed up like a little viperwolf, all possessive and proud—like you could take on the entire clan for the right to stay at his side. You didn’t even realize that to him, you already were everything.

His whole world. His only peace. The gift that Eywa had carved from the stars and placed directly in his path when he didn’t even know he was looking. Neteyam laughed under his breath, shaking his head in awe. “You know,” he murmured, voice low and warm, “it’s a little terrifying how smug you are.”

You grinned wider, not the least bit apologetic. “I’m just saying, I am the dark horse in this weird little mating game, and I already won.”

His hand slid behind your neck, pulling you down so he could press a kiss to your lips, slow and deep. When he pulled back, his golden eyes were soft, full of something deeper, something raw and worshipful.

“You didn’t win, syulang.” His voice dropped, almost reverent. “You never had to race.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity.

Neteyam smiled, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “You were always the answer.”

You blinked faster, lashes fluttering, your smugness suddenly cracking at the edges. “…Okay,” you whispered, dazed. “That was… unfairly romantic.”

He chuckled, pulling you tighter against his chest as you buried your face into the curve of his shoulder, suddenly overwhelmed. He let you hide there, let you melt against him like you always did.

And as his arms wrapped fully around you, Neteyam thought—not for the first time—that no title, no duty, no burden could ever come close to the way he loved you. No matter what the clan expected of him. You were his.

And he would be yours, in every life Eywa allowed him.

The hunting party had returned just before eclipse. Their kills were modest, but clean—four yeriks, three syils, a teylu nest, and a cluster of ripe seedfruit found along the river path. It should have been an easy run.

Should have.

Neteyam’s left bicep burned, the gash already crusted with dried blood and mud from the shallow stream he’d fallen into. It wasn’t deep—no torn muscle, no puncture—but it was messy. Ugly. The sort of thing that could fester fast if left unchecked.

The jungle air was thick with humidity, the scent of rain still lingering after the morning storm. Neteyam ducked into the Tsahik’s tent with a low grunt, blood trailing lazily from a long gash across his bicep. The wound wasn’t deep, but it stung like fire every time he moved.

He winced as the flap closed behind him, brushing damp hair from his brow with his uninjured hand. “Grandmother—”

His voice faltered.

You were there.

Kneeling beside Mo’at, your exo-mask fogged slightly from the humidity, a small woven pouch of dried herbs in your lap. Your hands froze mid-motion, and your eyes widened the moment they landed on him.

Neteyam blinked, caught somewhere between surprise and awe. “You’re here.”

You swallowed. “You’re hurt.”

Mo’at didn’t even glance up from the bundle of leaves she was preparing. “He’ll live. It is not deep.”

Neteyam huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer, his golden eyes never leaving yours. “Could have fooled me. Feels like a viperwolf tried to take my arm.”

Mo’at raised an unimpressed brow. “Because you threw yourself into its path like a fool.”

“I had to pull Ateyo out,” he muttered. “He froze. He would’ve been mauled.”

“You could have done that without getting yourself sliced.”

“Maybe.”

Mo’at clicked her tongue and gestured toward the center of the tent, where a woven mat was laid out. “Sit. And take that nonsense bravado with you.”

Neteyam chuckled under his breath, easing down onto the mat, gritting his teeth when his arm brushed his side. You were still frozen, eyes flicking between him and the salve Mo’at had been preparing. You hadn’t expected him—no warning, no time to prepare, and Eywa, why did it have to be him of all people when you were finally allowed to start learning how to help?

You turned toward Mo’at, who remained calm, composed, as always. Her voice didn’t waver as she handed you the bowl of thick yellow paste. “Use what I taught you today. Clean it. Apply the salve.”

You blinked at her, stunned. “I—I can’t. I haven’t—I'm not—he's—”

“Wounded,” Mo’at cut in, gaze steady. “And in need of healing. You know what to do.”

Your breath hitched. “But I haven’t done it myself. What if I get it wrong? I’ve only watched you do it once. I—I’m not ready. I can’t—” Your eyes shot to Neteyam, who was sitting so casually, so confidently, watching you with quiet amusement despite the blood still dripping down his arm.

Mo’at turned to him, her tone dry. “Does this one complain this much in your bed as well?”

Your eyes exploded wide. “Mo’at!”

Neteyam choked on a laugh, ears twitching as he bit back a grin. “Only sometimes.”

Mo’at didn’t smirk, but the corner of her mouth definitely twitched. “Then she is capable of handling discomfort. Good. She will need that.”

You were too flustered to speak, your fingers tightening around the bowl in your hands as your mask hissed softly with your shallow breaths.

Neteyam tilted his head toward you, eyes warm, voice low. “Hey. Come here.”

You hesitated.

“I trust you,” he said softly.

You blinked.

“I trust you more than anyone.” His voice held no hesitation. “You’ve got this.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you stood, crossing the tent with careful steps, kneeling beside him. Your eyes flicked down to the cut—it was ugly. Angry red, a jagged slash across his bicep, already swelling at the edges. You reached for a clean cloth, dipping it into the water basin beside you.

Neteyam watched as you started to clean the wound, your hands shaking ever so slightly as the cloth pressed against his skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I might hurt you.”

“You won’t,” he said gently. “You never could.”

You bit your lip and kept going, your brows furrowed in intense concentration. Neteyam stayed perfectly still, golden eyes watching you like you were the only thing in the room.

“You’re doing well,” Mo’at said from behind you, tone calm. “You listened. You remembered.”

You exhaled slowly, your shoulders finally relaxing a little. You reached for the salve, scooping a bit of the cool paste with your fingers. You hesitated—then, carefully, you smoothed it across the wound.

Neteyam hissed once through his teeth—but said nothing else. His jaw stayed tight, but his gaze never wavered from you.

You finished the application with slow precision, spreading the salve evenly, wiping your fingers with the cloth before glancing up. “Done,” you whispered, barely able to believe it.

Mo’at nodded. “It will sting for a while. That means it is working. The poultice is strong.”

You looked at Neteyam, still uncertain. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” he said, smiling. “But it’s better now.”

You blinked at him. “You're just saying that.”

“No,” he murmured. “You helped. And you did it right. I told you.”

You looked down at your hands, still faintly green-stained from the salve, and something in your chest fluttered—uncertain and proud, nervous and warmed. “You’ll be a good healer,” Mo’at said, her voice quiet but firm. “You learn with your heart. That is the first lesson. The rest will follow.”

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat, and Neteyam reached out—his large hand closing over yours, grounding you. You didn’t look at Mo’at, but you nodded once. A quiet promise.

Neteyam gave your fingers a soft squeeze. And for the first time, you believed it, too.

The soft glow of bioluminescent fungus lit the edges of the woven tent, casting gentle shadows over the space as night settled fully over the forest. The buzz of the village had died down after the evening meal—voices had quieted, laughter dimmed, fires low. It was a time of rest, of quiet.

Neteyam stepped through the flap with practiced ease, his long silhouette framed briefly by the night beyond. And there you were—exactly where he knew you’d be.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor and your datapad balanced on your lap, fingers tapping away with quiet focus. Your hair was tied back messily, a smear of dried salve still faintly visible on your wrist from earlier that day. You were muttering softly to yourself as you typed—something about alkaloids, solvent extraction, ratios of paste-to-pulp consistency.

Neteyam’s lips curved into a slow smile.

“You’re late,” you murmured, smile playing at the corners of your mouth.

Neteyam let out a soft, amused breath. “I brought you the last of the sweetroot from dinner. You’re welcome.”

That made you glance up, grin widening behind your mask. “You know your way to a girl’s heart.”

Neteyam crouched beside you, setting the little leaf-wrapped bundle at your side before lowering himself fully onto the floor. His eyes flicked to your datapad, where a sketched drawing of a jungle root was labeled in three languages.

“You always do that,” he murmured, stepping closer.

You looked up, blinking in surprise. Then you smiled, warmth blooming behind your mask. “Do what?”

His golden eyes glinting in the low light. “Write everything down the second you learn it. Even before it’s over.”

You lifted your datapad a little, gesturing at it like it explained everything. “If I don’t, I’ll forget the phrasing. And sometimes Mo’at says things and I don’t know what they mean until later—but if I don’t write it down right then, I can’t ask the right questions next time. Mo’at showed me the base tonight—how it reacts to heat. I think it might be a form of thermogenic compound? It’s… it’s fascinating.”

Neteyam rested his elbow on his knee, propping his chin in his hand as he watched you. “You get that look in your eyes when you talk about this.”

You blinked. “What look?”

“Like you’ve fallen in love with the plants instead of me.”

You snorted. “Well, the plants don’t make me risk suffocating every time I kiss them.”

Neteyam’s grin widened. “Mmm. But do they make you tremble like I do?”

“Neteyam,” you warned with a blush.

He just laughed, soft and warm. Neteyam tilted his head slightly, watching you. “You always talk like you have to prove something.”

Your fingers paused mid-tap. You swallowed once, then shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

He didn’t argue. Just quietly reached forward and gently plucked the datapad from your lap, setting it carefully aside.

You blinked. “Hey—”

“You can study tomorrow, syulang,” he murmured. “It’s time to rest.”

You gave a soft huff, but your body already leaned into him without thinking. “You sound like Mo’at now.”

He chuckled. “She’s not wrong.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his—and the warmth faded just slightly. Like a quiet thought had passed behind them. He saw it.

“What is it?” he asked, voice low.

You hesitated. “Just to know I have to leave in the morning.”

Neteyam blinked. “Leave?”

You nodded, your fingers brushing his where they rested beside you on the floor. “The outpost got a transmission. From Bridgehead.”

His entire posture changed—subtle, but clear. More alert. More guarded. “What kind of transmission?” he asked carefully.

“Nothing bad,” you said quickly, soothing. “Just orders. A directive. We’re being sent to check on the last abandoned mining site. The one near Hell’s Gate.”

Neteyam’s brow furrowed. “That far?”

You nodded. “It’s mostly to monitor fauna recovery. Study how the forest is reclaiming the damage. Norm’s team has been petitioning for months to get clearance. Bridgehead finally approved it.”

His jaw ticked slightly. “You’ll be near the old RDA operations. The dead zones.”

“I know.”

His golden eyes searched your face, and you felt the air shift—he didn’t like it. Didn’t like that you were going somewhere that even the Na’vi still spoke of with quiet disgust. You tried to soften your voice. “It’s just for a few days. I’ll be with Norm and Max, and a few assistants. We’ll be cautious.”

He didn’t speak right away.

You reached for his hand. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will,” he said finally, voice quieter than before. “But I still don’t like it.”

You smiled gently. “You don’t like anything that keeps me away from you.”

He muttered. “You’re learning.”

You laughed, low and soft. Then you leaned in, brushing your mask against his cheek in that way you always did when you wanted to kiss him but couldn’t. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” you whispered. “And I’ll be annoying again. I’ll make you let me practice wrapping splints and mixing salve.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re not annoying.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

“No.” His voice was steady. “You are the only part of my day that feels like mine.”

Your breath caught.

Before you could respond, Neteyam stood, offering you his hand. “Come,” he said, a glint in his eye. “You’re not sleeping at the outpost tonight.”

You blinked. “I’m not?”

He leaned down, voice lower now, a soft rumble that curled against your ribs. “No. You’re mine tonight. You leave tomorrow—so you sleep where you belong.”

In his kelku. In his arms. In the quiet place only the two of you had carved out together. You swallowed thickly, your fingers sliding into his palm, letting him pull you up to your feet.

“I always belong with you,” you whispered.

And Neteyam didn’t say it back. He didn’t need to. He just held your hand a little tighter and led you into the forest, back to the only place he called home.

The heat between you was thick, heady, the kind that curled around your spine and sank into your skin like honey. Your thighs trembled where they framed his hips, your body aching, burning with the effort of taking all of him — and still, you wanted more.

You were above him, and Eywa, how he loved the sight of you like this — flushed, breathless, your lips parted as you panted softly through your mask. You were already stretched to your limit, your tight walls wrapping around him with every slow, needy roll of your hips.

You whimpered as you sank down again, your fingers digging into his chest, trembling from the effort, nails leaving faint little crescents in his skin, from the ache, from the desperation curling deep in your belly. You gasped as you bottomed out once more, your body clenching around him, chasing something more — even when you were already full to bursting.

“Kì'ong nekll, ma’yawne,” [Slow down.] Neteyam breathed, voice low, thick with awe. His hands gripped your waist, steadying you as you tried to push harder. “You’re going to break yourself.”

You let out a soft, broken sound — more whimper than word — and he felt it, the way you fluttered around him, how your body responded just from the sound of his voice.

Eywa.

You were soaked, stretched, taking every inch of him despite the way you trembled. Your brows were furrowed, lips slick from where you’d bitten them raw, your voice broken and needy—

“Neteyam, please—”

It was the sound of it—like a prayer, like a plea—that undid him.

He groaned, eyes slowly shut for a beat before they snapped open again, locking on you.

And Eywa.

You looked so pretty like this.

Hair damp and sticking to your temple. Eyes glassy behind your mask. Your lips parted around a mewl as you bounced, your body pushing past its own limits to take him deeper, harder, faster—even when he filled you to your very edge. Neteyam growled softly beneath you, one big hand tightening at your hip, the other sliding up to press flat over your lower belly—feeling how deep he was inside you.

“Easy,” he hushed, voice low and thick. He growled low in his throat, hands slide to gripping your waist to still you—just for a second—as he sat up beneath you.

You gasped, your hands flying up to steady yourself, wrapping around his neck instinctively as he pulled you flush to his chest, caging you in his lap. His lips found your throat, hot and open-mouthed, kissing just under your jaw before trailing lower, teeth grazing over your pulse.

You were being so loud—soft cries, broken whines, panting breaths against the humid air. His ears twitched, eyes flicking toward the flap of the kelku, ever-aware of the village just beyond the trees.

“Shh,” he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other curling behind your neck. “The whole clan doesn’t need to hear how sweet you sound.”

His mouth found your neck—hot kisses pressed to the racing pulse there, tongue tasting the salt of your skin as he breathed you in. Scented you like you were already his mate, his mouth moving over your throat, jaw, shoulder—leaving invisible marks of ownership in every pass of his lips.

You gasped, hips stuttering as he kissed the spot just below your ear—the one that always made you melt.

“Nga kalin, txanew hì'i 'u…” [You sweet, greedy little thing.] he whispered, and you gasped.

Your whole body shuddered at his words, your movements turning frantic now, desperate for more. For everything. And he let you have it. Let you ride that wave as he tilted his head to bite lightly at your neck—just enough to make your breath catch.

His voice was ragged, full of heat and love and awe. “You’re doing so well,” he groaned.

You cried out, your walls clenching down so hard he hissed through his teeth.

“Eywa, you’re close,” he breathed. “You’ve been so good — let me feel it.”

You shattered.

Your body clenched, trembling violently as the climax ripped through you—waves of heat and pleasure crashing over your skin, your voice muffled in his neck as your nails scraped down his back. You rode it out in his lap, your body moving on instinct, chasing every last flicker of sensation.

And Neteyam couldn’t hold back anymore.

With a deep, guttural groan, he buried himself deep and spilled inside you, his arms locking around your waist, his mouth on your shoulder, fangs grazing but never biting. His whole body tensed beneath you, holding you tight as his hips jerked once, twice—and then stilled.

The only sound was your shared breathing.

Ragged. Slow.

You slumped against him with a breathless giggle, your arms wrapping lazily around his neck as you tried to catch your breath. Your body was still twitching slightly, nerves alight, but the smile on your face was soft and glowing.

You looked… blissed out. Completely wrecked. Sweetly high on pleasure, cheeks flushed and hair damp where it stuck to your temples. You met his gaze, wide-eyed and breathless, and grinned. “I think…” you whispered, voice still shaky and slurred with heat, “I think I saw Eywa.”

He huffed a laugh, chest shaking beneath you. “Did she say anything?”

You grinned, nuzzling closer, soft and breathless.

“She said I should do that again.”

Neteyam groaned, resting his forehead against your mask, his hands still gripping your hips like he never planned to let go. “Evil little thing,” he whispered.

“I feel like honey,” you murmured, humming softly. “Everything’s warm.”

He chuckled—quiet and full of awe—and kissed your temple. And even though your body was still trembling from aftershocks, you grinned up at him like the stars themselves had kissed your skin.

And as you curled into his chest, still smiling, still giggling softly in the afterglow, Neteyam held you like you were his whole world.

Because you were.

The quiet between you had settled like mist—warm, still, sacred.

Your bare legs were tangled across his lap, your chest pressed to his as you both came down slowly from the high. His breathing had begun to steady, a low hum in his chest beneath your ear. You hadn’t moved—not really. You didn’t want to. Not when your skin still buzzed with aftershocks, not when you could still feel his heartbeat echoing against your own.

Neteyam’s head rested back against the woven wall of the kelku, eyes half-lidded, his expression soft in a way he only ever gave to you. His tails slowly swaying side to side on the kelku’s floor. He looked calm. Unguarded.

And so heartbreakingly beautiful.

You didn’t realize you were staring at first. Your fingers moved on instinct—delicate and reverent—as you lifted one hand to gently brush his hairline, fingertips barely ghosting over his skin. Your thumb found the first stripe above his brow, that soft curve of dark blue that branched like a river over his forehead.

He blinked, eyes flicking open just enough to meet yours. But he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You traced the stripe slowly, following its arc across his temple, then down to the bridge of his nose. Your touch was feather-light, like you were afraid to disturb something sacred.

“You always look at me like I’m something more,” you whispered.

His brows pulled together slightly, confused.

But you smiled, and your touch never faltered as you caressed the other line that curved down the edge of his jaw, then brushed over his cheekbone. You were studying him—memorizing him. Like he was a story you never wanted to forget. “Like I’m something rare. Something important.”

Neteyam’s throat worked, but he still said nothing.

Your smile turned softer. Sadder. More full. “But have you ever seen yourself?”

His lips parted. You shifted, curling in closer, your fingers sliding down to rest just above his chest where his heart still beat, steady and strong. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you whispered. “In every way.”

His hand moved to cover yours, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles. But you kept speaking—quietly, with something like awe.

“Not just your face. Not just your body.” Your voice was barely breath now. “But your heart. Your soul. The way you fight for everyone, even when it tears you apart. The way you carry the weight of the world and still make room for me.”

His eyes shimmered faintly in the dim light.

And then you said it.

Soft. Sacred.

“I see you.”

The words came like a breath between heartbeats. But they struck something deep—something rooted in spirit, not flesh.

Neteyam froze.

His fingers stilled over yours. His eyes widened just slightly, and for the first time since he was a boy, the world seemed to stop moving around him.

Because you’d said it before—kaltxì, oel ngati kameie, the way the Na’vi did to greet strangers. To show respect.

But never like this. Not in the way that meant I see all of you. Who you are. Who you choose to be. And I love it.

Your thumb brushed beneath his eye. “I see you,” you whispered again. “All of you. And I’ve never loved anything more.”

Neteyam leaned forward slowly, forehead pressing to the glass of your mask, his breath trembling. His hands cupped your face with a gentleness that stole your breath, his eyes locked to yours like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear those words from your lips.

And maybe he had.

You felt him exhale shakily against your skin. His hands trembled just slightly—so strong, but so vulnerable in that moment. “I see you,” he whispered back, his voice cracked and raw.

The fire crackled low in the center of the kelku, its soft amber glow casting shadows across the curved walls of woven reeds and bark. The night outside whispered in hushed tones—leaves rustling in the canopy, distant birds calling out to no one.

You were asleep.

Curled under the furs where he had left you, your breath even and slow, your hand still resting where it had fallen from his chest, fingers curled loosely as if still reaching for him. Your face was peaceful, the lines of tension smoothed away, your mask humming gently with its quiet pulse of oxygen.

Neteyam stood for a long moment, just watching you.

Then he turned, padded silently across the floor, and knelt at the fire pit. He picked up one of the thick logs from the stack near the wall and placed it gently onto the glowing embers. Sparks danced up, licking at the wood, catching quickly. The fire grew brighter, casting warm light over his face, over the hard line of his jaw and the quiet shadow in his eyes.

He sat back on his heels, hands resting loosely over his thighs, and stared into the flames. His mind wandered, unbidden.

Always the first. The first child. The first to walk. The first to hunt. The first to bleed.

Born with duty written into his bones before he could speak. Before he could even understand what it meant.

He had been the oldest, and that had never been a title—it had been an expectation.

He remembered being a boy, barely taller than his father’s thigh, holding Kiri’s hand in the dark when she cried at night, whispering stories to her to make her feel safe. He remembered covering for Lo’ak when he broke something—or said something—when he acted out in frustration, and their parents’ patience ran thin.

Neteyam had always stepped in.

Because someone had to. Because Jake would look at him with that look, the one that said, handle it. Fix it. Keep things from falling apart.

He remembered the first time he’d taken a blame that wasn’t his. He had only been nine. He had stood there with his jaw tight and his head held high while Jake yelled—not at Lo’ak, but at him. Because it was his job to keep his brother in line.

Not because it was right. Not because it helped. Because it was expected.

The firstborn of the Olo’eyktan. Lead by example.  Be strong.  Do what is needed, not what is easy. He had tried. He still tried.

But the older he grew, the heavier it became. The weight of it didn’t rest—it shifted. Grew. Like vines wrapping tighter around his chest with each passing season.

At first it was his siblings. Then it was the training. The war games. The expectations.

And now…

Now it was the clan. The future. The legacy. Mating, ruling, choosing.

But no one had asked what he wanted. Not really. They saw his shoulders and thought, strong enough to carry it all. They saw his silence and thought, he must agree. They saw his father in his face and thought, he will follow in his footsteps.

But sometimes—sitting like this, in the silence of his own home—Neteyam wondered if they truly saw him at all. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, golden eyes reflecting the firelight. “I’m tired,” he whispered to no one. And in the stillness, only the fire answered.

The fire popped softly, casting ribbons of orange and gold that danced across the woven walls. The warmth seeped into his skin, but it didn’t reach the weight in his chest. Neteyam’s eyes stayed on the flame, but his thoughts were far away—drifting, quiet, old.

He had never seen himself as rebellious. That was Lo’ak’s title. The loud one. The reckless one. The one always on the edge of another scolding, another lecture, another disappointment. The one who never walked the path the way he was told to.

But Lo’ak… Neteyam understood him.

His little brother’s defiance wasn’t born of disrespect—it was desperation. It was a boy trying to prove that, despite the demon blood in his veins, he was still Na’vi. Still worthy. Still seen. He wanted to be a warrior. A protector. A son his father could be proud of.

Neteyam had seen it in the way Lo’ak squared his shoulders after every mistake. In the way he held his chin high even after he’d been punished, even when his voice shook. Always looking for his place, and never quite finding it.

He understood that it was hard. Because Neteyam had done the opposite.

He had obeyed. He had done everything right. Every time. Never argued. Never questioned. Never wondered.

If his father said jump, he did. If his mother said protect, he would bleed for it. If the clan needed him, he would carry it, even if it broke him in the process.

He had never considered a different path.

Not until you.

You, who had once been just a sky demon to him. Just another outsider, wide-eyed and dangerous, stepping into a world you didn’t understand. You, who should have been part of the threat—should have been cold and calculating and indifferent like so many others.

But you weren’t. You asked questions—not to challenge, not to pry—but to understand. You didn’t just see the forest. You listened to it. You watched him, but not with fear or awe or expectations. You watched like you were trying to piece him together—slowly, gently, with care.

And the first time you asked him—

“Do you ever get tired of being responsible for everyone?”

—he hadn’t known what to say.

No one had ever asked that. No one had ever thought to. Not his father. Not his mother. Not even Kiri, who knew him better than anyone.

But you… You asked soft questions. Like—

“Do you ever wonder what your life could’ve been, if you got to choose?”

And you hadn’t asked it with judgment. You weren’t trying to plant rebellion. You weren’t trying to pull him away from his people, or his duty, or the threads of legacy that bound him so tightly.

You were just trying to see him. Really see him. You had looked at him like he was more than a role to fill. More than a name. More than the sum of someone else’s expectations.

And that had changed something in him. You had asked him things no one else ever did. “What do you want, Neteyam? Not your father. Not the clan. You.”

The first time he heard it, it hurt. Like being cracked open. Because he had never thought he was allowed to want anything.

He had been born into duty. Into obedience. And yet… you made him wonder.

You followed him, three years ago, with your datapad in hand and a thousand questions in your eyes, trailing him through the jungle when he didn’t want you there. You were persistent. Relentless. Never malicious. Just curious.

You had never asked anything of him except that he be honest. You had respected his silence. But you were never afraid to speak.

And he had hated it. The way you didn’t back down. The way you were never afraid to meet his gaze, even when his words were sharp and his patience thin. You didn’t cower. You didn’t stop.

You just… kept looking at him like he was more than a warrior.

And now?

Now, Neteyam was grateful for that.

For you.

The first time he realized it, it terrified him. Because love wasn’t supposed to feel like freedom. Not for him. It was supposed to be chosen for him. Arranged, appointed, assigned—just another duty.

Because you were the first one to see the cracks beneath the surface—and not try to fix them. Not patch them over or tell him to be strong. You just saw. And you stayed. With you, it had been something he wanted.

Something he claimed.

And no one—not the clan, not the elders, not even his father—could take that from him now. You had never begged for his love. Never demanded it. You just looked at him like he was already enough. And for the first time in his life, Neteyam thought— Maybe he was.

Maybe… he could be.

And over the years, somehow, without ever asking for anything in return, you became the only thing in his life that felt light.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, staring deeper into the fire as it popped and shifted.

Others looked at his life and called him lucky. The firstborn of Toruk Makto. The golden heir.

But you—you saw the weight of it. The ache in his shoulders. The silence behind his smile. The way he moved like someone who never had the luxury of stumbling. You saw that he was struggling.

And somehow… despite everything—despite being so different—you understood. You made it worth it. And he knew it was selfish.

Knew it deep in his bones, the way a warrior knows the limits of his bow. He knew he was choosing you even when the world told him he couldn’t.  He chose you anyway. Because over the years, you became his reason. The reason he kept carrying the weight. The reason he endured.

And he couldn’t give that up.

Not even if it cost him everything.

Not even if it made him the rebel he had never allowed himself to be.

He wasn’t a fool.

Neteyam knew that choosing you would never be easy.

Loving you… that was the easy part. That had come quickly, without question—like breathing. Like waking up and finding the forest already alive with sound and light and the thrum of Eywa’s presence. But being with you—keeping you—that was different.

That was war in a thousand small moments. He knew what the world would say. What his clan expected. What the blood in his veins whispered when the elders spoke of legacy and duty and the line he was meant to continue.

And yet…

Here he was.

Alone in the soft glow of his fire, watching it flicker and spit embers into the dark, and thinking of you.

He rubbed a hand over his chest—right over his heart—and closed his eyes. You were human. And he was Na’vi. That truth never left him.

It lived in the quiet way your breath rasped through your mask when you were sleeping. It lived in the shape of your hands, so small compared to his. It lived in the subtle hesitation behind your jokes, the way you sometimes paused—like you were waiting to be told you didn’t belong.

And that truth followed him. Even now.

He had spent the last week preparing for the next hunt, memorizing strategy, planning routes—training with warriors who spoke of strength and bloodlines and the need for a future mate who could bear children, who could lead beside him.

They didn’t say it, but they all looked at him the same way now.

They didn’t know that he was clinging to the only thing that ever felt like his.

Because what he had with you wasn’t easy. And it would never be.

Neteyam opened his eyes again, gaze distant, the fire dancing in his golden irises. He thought of that night. The night he almost lost you.

-

You had fallen asleep beside him like you always did—soft and warm, curled under his arm, your body so small against his side. You had returned late, after another long day shadowing Mo’at, your satchel tossed carelessly to the corner the moment you stepped inside.

And then, hours later—just as the forest had fallen into its deepest silence—

You jolted upright. At first, he thought it was a dream. But the look on your face—

Your mask was fogging fast, your breath shallow and rasping, and your hands were already fumbling at the seal.

“Hey,” he’d said, sitting up, still groggy. “What’s—”

You didn’t answer. You were already moving—crawling across the woven floor, dragging your satchel toward you in a panic. He followed, heart hammering, helpless as you tore through it—your fingers shaking too hard to grip.

Your breathing was worsening. Your shoulders trembled, and your lips were parting in these desperate, silent gasps, as if your lungs couldn’t catch anything at all.

Neteyam couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

The old mask hissed as you yanked it free—just as your vision blurred, your knees buckling. You slammed the new one onto your face, hands trembling as you sealed it and sucked in one long, ragged breath.

It filled the air like thunder. And he still hadn’t moved.

Only watched.

Helpless.

Afraid.

-

Now, sitting in front of the fire, Neteyam clenched his jaw and curled his hands into fists. He had watched you nearly die in front of him—and there had been nothing he could do.

No fighting. No strength. No amount of warrior’s instinct could save you from a malfunctioning piece of tech. A stupid, fragile mask that stood between life and death every day.

You had recovered quickly—brushed it off with your usual bravado, even made a joke about needing a “cooler-looking death” if you were going to go out in the kelku of the Olo’eyktan’s son.

But Neteyam hadn’t slept that night. Not really.

He had lain awake with you cradled to his chest, listening to every breath. Terrified that if he blinked, you’d go still. That if he closed his eyes, he’d wake to a body instead of a heartbeat. And it wasn’t the first time. He knew how fragile you were.

He’d seen you scrape your knees in the jungle and wince harder than he ever would. Seen you pull back from a branch with a thin cut and apologize for the blood, even as you tried to laugh.

You were strong—stronger than most of the warriors he trained beside. But your body… Your body wasn’t made for his world. And Eywa help him, that truth was carved into him now. Deeper than any scar.

He could make you his in every way that mattered—choose you, claim you, protect you—but he could never have everything. Never all of it. He couldn’t make tsaheylu with you.

He couldn’t feel your soul pressed against his, braided and bound and blessed by the Great Mother. And fuck, did he want to.

Sometimes, when you lay in his arms and whispered soft things against his skin, he’d look at your scalp, at the base of your neck, and ache. Not because he needed to prove anything. Not because he thought you weren’t enough. But because he wanted it.

Wanted you so completely that it felt like a blade to the ribs knowing there would always be a barrier between what he longed for and what he was allowed to have.

He couldn’t mate you before Eywa—not in the sacred way. Not the way his people understood. Not in a way that made the elders nod and his mother finally look at you without suspicion.

He couldn’t have children with you. No heir. No legacy. No bloodline to pass down.

Only this. Only stolen nights, secret lessons, whispered promises behind closed flaps and moonlit touches. Only you.

And still— He wanted it all. Still, he would take this. Even if it broke every rule. Even if it meant giving up the path that had been laid out for him before he ever took his first breath.

Because you were worth it. He could spend his life learning how to be smarter, how to fight harder, how to plan for every threat that might touch you—but the truth would never change: His world was not built for you.

But he would carve you a place in it anyway. Even if it took everything he had. Even if the forest never stopped reminding him how delicate you were. Even if it meant watching you pull oxygen into your lungs like a warrior drawing breath on a battlefield.

He would choose you. And he would keep choosing you.

Again. And again. And again.

Until the day Eywa took him home.

And even then—

He’d still find a way back to you.

Even after that night—especially after that night— you hadn’t wanted to go.

You had insisted you were fine. That the malfunction was rare. That it was just a faulty pressure seal. You’d fixed the issue before he even fully understood what had happened, your hands still shaking as you clipped the emergency mask into place. You’d made light of it the next day.

You hadn’t even hesitated. Not once. You never hesitated when it came to him.

But he had. He was the one who told you to go back to the outpost at the morning.

Not because he wanted you gone—Eywa, never that. The moment he realized just how close he came to losing you. Because it hadn’t been a near-miss. It hadn’t been a scratch, or a scare, or a mistake you could laugh about later.

It was ice-cold fear. The kind that settled into his bones. That clawed at his ribs. That gripped the back of his neck like death breathing down his spine.

You had suffocated in his arms. And the worst part? He hadn’t even noticed at first. You hadn’t made a sound.

One moment you were sleeping—peaceful, warm, curled against his chest like you always did—and the next, you were gone. Sitting up. Pale. Gasping. Fingers clawing at your own mask like it had turned against you.

And he’d just watched you.

Frozen.

That… that’s what scared him most. Because if you hadn’t woken up— If you’d kept sleeping— If your body had just slowly stopped pulling in air while he held you, arms around you, heart so full of love and trust— He wouldn’t have noticed.

Not until morning. Not until your chest was still and cold and the mask stayed silent with nothing behind it.

Neteyam closed his eyes. He could see it. The shape of you still tangled in the furs, face slack, lips parted in sleep. His arms still wrapped around your body, thinking you were resting—when you were already gone.

He could have lost you without ever knowing it. And that... That was a fear he had never known before. Not even in battle. Not when arrows flew and blood spilled. This was different. This was worse. Because you were safe in his arms. You were home. And still, death had almost taken you from him in the dark.

So he’d told you to go.

He made it sound gentle. Soft. Logical. That it would be easier to rest at the outpost, safer while he was away with the hunting party. He’d promised it was temporary. That he just wanted you to be comfortable. That he needed time to prepare the kelku more, now that you were staying longer, staying more often.

But it was a lie. He just couldn’t risk it again. Couldn’t wake to silence and realize the worst thing imaginable had happened right under his hands.

He hated it. He hated that your world needed tech to keep you breathing.

That no matter how strong you were, how clever, how brave—you were still breakable. Still reliant on a machine strapped to your face to keep the most basic part of you alive.

And the truth?

He couldn’t protect you from that. Not with a bow. Not with his strength. Not even with love. And maybe that was the part that gutted him the most. That even after everything he had become—warrior, protector, heir—he still couldn’t guard the person he loved most from the simple cruelty of a failing seal.

So he’d let you go. Not because he wanted to. But because he was terrified that next time, he wouldn’t wake up in time.

And maybe… maybe a little distance, just for a while, would keep you alive. Even if it meant his nights were colder. Even if it meant the fire didn’t burn as bright. Even if it meant missing the sound of your breathing more than he could admit.

Because if something happened to you in his arms again, and he wasn’t fast enough…

Neteyam wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

He still saw it when he closed his eyes. The way your fingers had trembled. The way your face had gone pale, like the color had drained from your very soul. The way you’d gasped—not for breath, but for life.

And still, despite it all—despite the fear that coiled in his chest like smoke—he wanted you back.

Eywa help him, he needed you back.

It had only been three days since you’d returned to the outpost, and already the silence pressed in like a weight. His kelku was colder without you. Emptier. It didn’t matter that he still had the scent of your skin clinging to the furs, or that your little datapad was still tucked into a corner where you’d forgotten it. The walls felt hollow. The sky less bright.

He felt… incomplete. And he hated himself for that. Hated that even knowing the danger—even knowing how easily he could lose you—he still wanted you back in his arms. Back in his home. Back where you were never truly safe.

It was selfish. He knew it. But he couldn’t stop. Because you were his sun.

His light. His warmth. The thing that pulled him forward when the path ahead blurred, when the pressure became too much, when his duty threatened to choke him.

You were joy in a world that asked so much of him. So he did what he could.

He went to Norm. Quietly. No questions, no explanations. Just asked for a few spare exomasks. Said it was for emergencies, just in case.

Norm didn’t press. Just handed over the pack with a knowing look, and Neteyam took it like it was sacred. He stored them in his kelku. Carefully. Hidden, but within reach. One beside the furs. One near the door. One tucked behind the basket where you kept your salve notes. Just in case.

It helped, a little. Made the nights less sharp around the edges.

But he still missed you. And when he saw you again, a few days later—gathering samples with your team just north of the village, crouched over a cluster of yellow-rooted moss with your datapad balanced on your knee—it felt like he could breathe again for the first time since you’d left.

You didn’t see him at first. You were laughing—light and sweet, head tilted back as you teased Max about something. The sound of it cut through the canopy like birdsong. You were sunlit. Alive. Whole.

And he just stood there, watching. Letting the ache ease. Letting the tightness in his chest loosen, even if just for a moment. Then your eyes found him.

And everything shifted. Your smile didn’t falter—not even a little. It bloomed wider. Warmer. Like seeing him was the best thing that had happened all day.

And Eywa, how that undid him. You practically launched yourself at him, arms wrapping around his waist your face pressing against his stomach with a soft thud of your mask against his skin. “Neteyam!” you gasped, laughter in your voice. “I didn’t think I’d see you until we were done with the whole ridge!”

He wrapped his arms around you without hesitation, leaning over and burying his face in your hair, his breath catching in his throat. “I had to check,” he murmured, quietly. “Make sure you were okay.”

You tilted your head up, beaming behind the glass of your mask. “I’m great. You won’t believe what I found—look!” You turned without waiting, grabbing the satchel from your hip and pulling out a carefully wrapped sample. “It’s the climbing root I told you about—the one that only blooms once every few cycles. Look—see the way the pollen stains like this?”

You talked fast, gesturing animatedly, your eyes shining. And Neteyam just… listened.

Watched.

Breathed.

He didn’t hear the rest. Not really.

Because you were talking like always—fast, excited, half to yourself—but your hands were on him, and your eyes were bright, and the tremble in his chest that had haunted him for days finally started to fade.

Neteyam knew he was selfish.

He’d known it from the moment you first touched his hand and didn’t pull away. From the moment he first let your fingers linger too long, from the first time he kissed you, knowing what it meant—what it could cost.

You didn’t belong in the forest. Not truly. Not in the way he did. Out here, everything breathed danger. Everything had sharp teeth, thorns, shadows. And you—gods, you—were soft. Fragile in the ways that made him ache. Breakable.

But still, you came. Not because it was safe. Not because it was easy. You came because you wanted to. And he couldn’t stop you.

You liked to say it in that soft, teasing way of yours—that you were addicted to the forest, to the way the sun dappled through the leaves, to the soft soil under your boots and the sound of insects that only sang at twilight. That you loved being in his kelku, nestled against him after long days, listening to his voice as he murmured stories about the stars or the spirits of the trees.

You lived for those fragments of time.

To brush your fingers against his hand in secret. To kiss him when no one was watching. To sit beside him at the edge of the fire and pretend, even for a heartbeat, that your world and his were the same.

You never asked him for more than that. Never demanded anything he couldn’t give.

You already had your place at the outpost. You were a respected scientist, one of the few humans trusted to work inside Omatikaya territory. You had your own future—clear, structured, safe.

And yet… you still balanced between those two worlds. Somehow, impossibly, you walked both.

By day, you stood beside Norm, recording data, documenting regrowth in places scarred by war. By night, you crawled into his arms and breathed your love into his skin.

Like both lives were yours. Like both homes were real.

And Neteyam… Eywa, he didn’t know what he had done to deserve that.

You were light, and laughter, and stubborn devotion. You were mud on your knees and ink on your hands, bruises on your shins from clumsy climbing and joy in your voice as you pointed out new plants like they were treasures.

You thrived in the forest, more alive out here than anywhere else. You looked at the wild and saw wonder, not fear. And he couldn’t stop wanting you near. Even knowing the danger. Even knowing that the village still wasn’t safe, that his people still didn’t understand.

He should have pushed you away. Should have told you to stay where it was safe. But when he saw you sitting beside Mo’at, eyes wide as you learned the old healing ways… when you looked up at him with your mask fogged and your smile shy and glowing, like he was the reason you wanted to understand Na’vi things at all—

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let go. Because somehow, you had chosen him.

Despite everything. Despite the risks, the divide, the impossibility of it all—you had chosen him. And every single day that you kept choosing him, even for a moment, even in secret…

He would protect you. He would carve out space in this world for you with his bare hands if he had to. He would fight back every whisper, every order, every ancient law that told him you were not his.

Until you told him to stop. Until you stopped choosing him. And Eywa help him… he prayed that day would never come.

Because when you were near—when your laughter echoed through his kelku, when your hands found his in the dark—he didn’t feel like the son of Toruk Makto. Or the future Olo’eyktan. Or the warrior who could never stumble.

He just felt like a man in love.

And for the first time in his life, that felt like enough.

The fire cracked softly as Neteyam exhaled, the sound low and tired through his nose. His shoulders slowly eased as he let the weight of his thoughts fall with the sparks, drifting upward to the woven roof of the kelku like prayers he couldn't quite voice.

His gaze shifted to the edge of the firelight—to the furs. And there you were.

His breath caught. You were curled tightly beneath the pelts, a small shape barely visible in the gentle dark. Your mask hummed faintly in the low light. One of your hands had slipped free of the blankets, twitching every so slightly in your sleep—restless, like you were dreaming.

Neteyam's lips curved into the softest smile.

So small. Sometimes he forgot just how tiny you were next to him. Until he looked at you like this, swallowed up in his bedding, only a tuft of messy hair and the soft hum of your breathing visible above the furs.

His girl.

His weakness.

His fierce, stubborn, brilliant little sky girl who didn't seem to understand the kind of power she had over him. Or maybe you did. Maybe you knew exactly what you were doing every time you leaned into his side and whispered his name like a secret only you were allowed to keep.

He huffed softly, fondness bleeding through his weariness. You were dangerous. Not because you posed any threat to him—no. But because you could get whatever you wanted from him, and you knew it. With one look. One word. One little pout. And he would crumble. Every time.

He could walk into battle with death on his heels and never flinch—but one crook of your finger, one sleepy smile, and he was at your feet. Entirely undone.

And you knew it.

You used that knowledge with terrifying precision—but never cruelly. Never to hurt.

You used it to kiss him when he was trying to be serious. To pull him down into the blankets when he was about to leave for patrol.

To pout and tilt your head and whisper his name in that soft, pleading voice when you wanted him to lift you effortlessly from the ground, wrap his arms around you, press his lips to the crown of your head.

To tug on his arm and ask, quietly, "Will you bring me the red fruit if your patrol takes you near the northern ridge? The one you said tastes like sugarwater?"

He’d roll his eyes—every time—and grumble about long patrols and hard terrain. But if he was near that place again, of course he’d bring it back. And you’d light up like it was a gift from Eywa herself.

Or to climb into his lap like you belonged there. Or to tuck your face into his neck and whisper, “You smell nice,” knowing he’d melt like wax in your hands.

As if he’d ever say no to that. You didn’t ask for much. Just the small things. But to you, they weren’t small.

You cherished every touch. Every moment he was close. Every time he leaned down to brush your hair behind your ear, or picked you up without a word just to hear your delighted little gasp.

He didn’t understand how someone so clever, so capable, could still look at him like he was the miracle. But you did.

A soft sound pulled him from his thoughts.

You stirred.

The shift was small at first. A faint twitch of your hand, a subtle ripple in the furs. Then you sighed softly and blinked your eyes open, the dim glow of the fire dancing across your faceplate as you blinked sleepily into the dark.

Your head turned—and when you found the space beside you empty, your eyes immediately scanned the kelku. It didn’t take long for you to find him.

Crouched near the fire, golden eyes aglow, a soft, tired smile already tugging at the edge of his mouth as he watched you rise on wobbly limbs, still wrapped in a blanket like a sleepy spirit of the woods.

You padded across the floor, quiet as the night breeze, and without a word, you circled behind him and slipped your arms around his shoulders—wrapping yourself around his back and pressing your masked cheek to the warm skin of his neck.

“Why don’t you sleep?” you murmured against his skin, voice still thick with dreams.

Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment, his hands finding yours where they lay over his collarbones. His heart stuttered in his chest. “Couldn’t,” he said softly. “Not while the fire was low.”

You hummed, clearly not buying it.

But you didn’t press. You just held him, body soft against his back, the scent of the forest still clinging to your skin. After a long moment, you leaned in close against the shell of his ear. “Come on,” you whispered. “Come back to bed, mighty warrior. You need your rest.”

His lips curved. “Do I?”

“Mhm.” You leaned in further, voice lower now, full of teasing. “How else will you endure all those women at your feet when I’m not here?”

Neteyam stiffened, but you only giggled, pressing your face to his neck through the mask.

“You know… the elder’s favorites,” you added, feigning innocence. “The ones who suddenly take long walks past your kelku? Or ask to train with you even though they’re already expert warriors?” You squeezed your arms tighter around him.

Neteyam huffed a laugh, finally standing, and you squeaked slightly as he rose—your arms still around his neck, feet leaving the floor as he pulled you up effortlessly clinging on his back. You wrapped your legs around his waist, giggling as he carried you back toward the furs.

“They’ve been relentless,” you teased again. “Kiri said Sa’nari asked if your kelku needed ‘a woman’s touch.’ I don’t know what that means but I don’t like it.”

“She meant cleaning,” he said dryly.

“She meant her,” you muttered.

Neteyam chuckled, low and warm in his chest. “Are you jealous, syulang?”

You grinned against his skin. “I don’t have time to be jealous. I’m too busy being in love with you.”

That made him stop—just for a beat. His palms tightened around your arm, just a little.

“Now come back to bed. Let me have you while I can.”

And that—that—was what undid him. Because you didn’t say before I leave or before I go home.

You said while I can. As if you knew this time—these nights—might not last forever. But still, you wanted them. Still, you wanted him. “You know,” you whispered, as he set you gently back down onto the pelts, “for someone raised to be a leader, you’re very easy to boss around.”

“Only for you,” he murmured.

And then he curled around you beneath the furs, his forehead pressed to your mask, your heartbeat whispering against his chest.

He was your warrior.

And no matter how many women the clan placed at his feet— You were the only one he would ever kneel for.

Soon Neytiri will find out what's happening, and the RDA will fuck everything up. :')

*

I'm going to die in the next two months because I'm taking exams. I'm trying to move on with the next chapter. Wish me luck... :')

Part 22: To lost

[queenofmorningstar]

hello! this is gonna be kinda specific but could you do hcs for vox with a f!reader who’s the overlord of video games? except the catch is the video game overlord refuses to join the vees and instead chooses to be independent/go rogue, so vox basically has beef with her (beef that ends up blossoming into romantic feelings)

this is my first time ever making a request so im kinda nervous lmao

Vox x Video Game Overlord! Reader

Notes: Aww, no need to be nervous at all!! 🥺💖 I’m honored that you chose to make your first request here! Seriously, thank you for trusting me with it—I’ll do my absolute best to make it something you’ll love!! 🫶 Lol this idea has so much potential I'm thinking of making this a series in future.

📺 Vox hates that you're not only powerful but also relevant. Video games are modern media, which means you're encroaching on his territory.

📺 He first approaches you with a “friendly offer” to join the Vees, framed as mutually beneficial but you shoot him down. The fact that you refused his offer, of all people, bruises his pride deeply. 

📺 You started streaming your own gaming content and digital tournaments across Hell, pulling views away from Vox’s network. He retaliates with smear campaigns, glitching your signals, and snide commentary on live broadcasts.

📺 From that point on, it's full-on tech turf war. Glitches in broadcasts. Hacked commercials. Twitch streams hijacked to roast each other. 

📺 Velvette lives for the drama. Valentino doesn’t care unless it affects ratings, but Vel definitely has a betting pool on when the two of you will kiss or kill each other.

📺 Even while "hating" you, Vox always knows where your next game drop is, how many views you're pulling, and who you're allied with. He plays it off as "strategic surveillance” Lies.

📺 Vox actually plays one of your hardest games and beats it. You’re surprised. Turns out, the bastard’s good. He respects your talent, even if he’ll die before admitting it out loud.

📺 Vox uses his control over screens to throw shade in the most public ways possible. Glitching your streams, crashing your online events. You retaliate with your games, mocking him: a pixelated TV-headed mini-boss called “Box.”

📺 He respects you, even if he won’t say it. Vox won’t admit it, but your refusal to bow makes you more alluring. She’s a player in the game of Hell who isn’t afraid to go solo and he loves a challenge.

📺 They argue like divorced tech moguls. Loud, fast, sarcastic, and laced with lowkey admiration. He thinks she’s arrogant. You think he’s an egomaniac. They’re both right. But somehow, no one else ever seems to get them quite like the other does.

📺 The first time they kiss, it’s mid-fight. Voices raised, sparks flying—literally and figuratively. One of them says something, and the other grabs them by the collar and shuts them up. It’s hot. It’s messy. It’s confusing as hell. They both pretend it didn’t happen. Until it happens again.

📺 Everyone around them senses it. There’s this undeniable tension in the air when they’re in the same room. The only ones pretending it’s not happening are them.

📺 Vox studies her game mechanics when no one’s looking. He admires how much innovation she puts into them. Your games aren’t just entertainment—they’re expression. Art. You secretly watches his old broadcasts too. Not just to study him—but because he’s actually magnetic. Charisma like that can’t be taught.

📺 Most of Hell either fears or worships him. She does neither. And somehow, that makes him want to win her over more. Not out of spite but out of this strange, aching need to be seen by you.

📺 Vox hates when other overlords flirt with her. Not because he cares (obviously), but because they’re beneath you. You deserve better. Smarter. Stronger. Sexier. Like… him.

📺 You get territorial when Vox works with other tech demons.

“Oh, so you’re letting that glitch-ridden clown into your systems now?”

“What, feeling left out?” Vox smirks.

“No. I just don’t like watching you lower your standards.”

📺 Their fans ship them hard.

Vox and you have both cultivated online cults—so their “rivalry” gets analyzed, meme’d, and turned into fanfiction by Hell’s online communities. They pretend to hate it. They both secretly read it. 

📺 Ultimate hate sex

📺 Even if/when they get over their pride, and admit to their feelings, you still wouldn’t join the Vees, and Vox will respect that. Though Hell will often see more collaborations between you two.

[toxicrelief]

Crawling Back to You

Chapter fourteen

Synopsis: Your mind is running faster than you can control. To avoid spiraling you are determined to do anything but sit around at your apartment.

Pairing: Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 6k

Chapter: 14/?

Masterlist of all Chapters

TW: Extremely Mild Depictions of Injuries

Note: Two-ish more chapters until one I have been waiting to write for months 😛😼

Taking time off had previously seemed to you like an escape. You fantasized about it a few times after difficult fights, being able to lie in your bed in your apartment and do absolutely nothing. Now that you were being ordered to do it, everything about it felt like a chore. The books on your shelves didn’t pique your interest, you had no one to invite over being that Rae was in a coma, and you did not have much reason to drive around town and run errands. God, were you just a loser?

You could slam your head into the wall a few times, see if that did anything for you. After your visit to the museum, you had rushed home, panicking over the implications of the differences in tales between what Cecil told you and the story the worker had relayed to you. A truth you didn’t want to accept. But it wasn’t a truth yet, right? You couldn’t be sure of your potential fault in the security guard’s death, in John’s death. You needed to confront Cecil and ask him what was true, and what wasn’t. You needed…

What did you need? You had slid to the floor against your front door, soft sobs sounding out in your quiet apartment. Between the discrepancies with your first mission, and whatever happened to Rex and Rae, you were beginning to feel like you were being eaten alive. Guilt, shame, regret, all of it washing over you time and time again like ocean waves pulling at embedded driftwood. It hurt to breathe, to think-

And then you woke up. Hours later, lying on the entry rug in front of your door.

It was the early hours of the next day, over twenty-four hours since you had been woken up to assist with the emergency operations. Your solution to all of these new conflicting feelings about the events of the previous day was simply thinking about something else when it started to surface. The lump in your throat reappeared as you looked at the empty carousel picture frame Rae had given you. You needed to do something. Something other than wallowing in this godforsaken apartment.

--

“What part of take a break wasn’t clear to you?”

“Fuck!” You were working up a sweat, your dominant hand held up, fingers outstretched towards the ReAnimen on the ever-familiar gurney. You had decided you would practice. If the Guardians wanted to raise a fuss about you passing out, having episodes, whatever, you would have to get better. You needed to be better. You needed to be able to go far longer without even getting a headache, or even a twinge. The only way you could accomplish this was practice. Even though working with ReAnimen had proven to be a lot worse at producing results than actual field in experience, you weren’t exactly able to produce some villain out of thin air for you to fight. “Fuck- fuck- fuck!”

You had been trying to make the corpse do anything. Shift, stand up, scratch its ass, ANYTHING. But you were met with nothing, just the sound of your own labored breathing. It didn’t budge, didn’t even tremble. You realized quickly that you couldn’t even feel the blood that resided within it.

“Did you hear me?”

You turned to look at Cecil who had entered moments ago. You knew it wouldn’t take him long to find out where you were and that you were trying to train. But, it had taken surprisingly long. You had run through scenarios in your head. How you would immediately confront him about the security guard, demand an explanation. How he would tell you to go home, and you would refuse, continue working. But now that he was standing here, and after at least an hour of trying to make any kind of connection you were feeling nothing but more fragile. It was stupid. Humiliating even. You had grown so much, completely competent on missions on your own or with others. You could bring people to their knees, literally. And now you couldn’t even get this thing to lift a finger, let alone anything useful.

Cecil’s expression softened slightly before he let out a gentle sigh. “What are you doing, Killdeer?”

You shook your head, running your hands through your hair. “I can’t-” How could you have killed that guard? It wasn’t possible, you couldn’t even get this damn ReAnimen to move. It wasn’t possible. “There’s still blood in there, right? No one removed it because I wasn’t here?”

“There is.” He affirms after a pause, and then he says your name, probably in hopes of getting you to focus on his earlier question. “Why are you here?”

“I have to be better.” You said quickly, extending your hand out to it again, drawing your eyebrows together in concentration.

“Quit it kid, you’re just gonna hurt yourself.” You ignored him, still tensing your entire hand as your eyes watched for any sign of movement. Still nothing. You felt like a little kid trying to test if you secretly had powers after watching a movie. Which wasn’t helping with the humiliation problem.

With a groan you lowered your hand, panting out a few breaths from the strain. “God fucking dammit.” You muttered.

There was a loaded silence as you looked down at your hands, delayed panic starting to settle in. You couldn’t make it move. What did this mean? Were you done? Destined to be powerless for the rest of your life after getting a taste? Could you just be normal again? Maybe you would work some kind of office job, watching as a building across the street gets demolished in a nearby tussle between some new super-villain, attempting to take over the world, and some well-meaning superhero. You would be a powerless bystander.

“You should go to the hospital.” Cecil’s voice cut through the silence.

“Do you think they’ll fix this?” Your voice had more snark to it than you meant it to. Luckily Cecil seemed to be more sympathetic than you thought he would be. In fact, he almost looked… content?

“Stop being difficult. I think it would be good for you to practice some healing rather than this, don’t you?” You glanced at the unmoving form on the gurney and then back to Cecil. “If you can lengthen your stamina in that regard, I’ll consider letting you work on Rex and Rae, help them get back in the field faster.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” You responded quietly.

“It’s not my job to worry about how you feel.” He says matter-of-factly, but after a pause, he sighs again. “Hopefully it will make you feel better, kid.”

--

The hospital didn’t bustle with panic today. The halls were mostly empty, except for the occasional nurse progressing through their rounds. You could hear the persistent rhythmic beeping from every room you passed. The sound eventually fades into the background as the day goes on. It had been a while since you were on hospital duty. Cecil had taken you off after a patient had screamed at you, throwing everything at you they could find in their vicinity. You had experienced many unpleasant interactions during this part of your training, but that one stuck with you more than the rest. Each time you stood next to the doctor who explained some patient’s options to them, you watched the different reaction spread across their face before they even spoke. In less than five seconds after you were mentioned you could tell if your help was going to be welcome or scorned. You could tell if they thought you were a miracle, or unnatural. A freak. Which is exactly what the person who had been throwing ChapSticks and various utensils at you had called you.

Today had been better. There were a surprising number of children in the hospital, all of them sporting similar injuries, scrapes, and gashes. A doctor later told you that there had been some sort of incident at a nearby park, a building collapse, or something similar. You had been given such an expansive number of stories for each individual and how they got there that it was hard to keep track.

You now stood in the hall, leaning against the wall after a few hours of work, holding your fingers to your temple. On the happier side, you still had your powers. It must have been a fluke earlier with the ReAnimen, stress clouding your abilities. On the far less happy side, you could feel your brain pulsing within the confines of your skull. In fifteen minutes when the pain subsided you would go back to it, you needed to be better. But as for right now, you could throw up.

“You doing okay?” A familiar voice spoke from right next to you.

“’s fine, thank you, Donald.” You didn’t open your eyes, squeezing them shut to the point you started to see shapes and colors behind your eyelids.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.” You responded softly. After a few minutes of silence, you started to feel the pain ebb slightly. Your body regenerating. Time to return to work.

“Oh god!” You exclaimed, jerking to the side quickly as you blinked your eyes open to see that Donald was still standing there. “Have you been there this whole time?”

“Yes.” He said with a subtle frown.

You stood for a moment eyeing him. Was that all he was going to say? “Are you okay, Donald?” You finally asked.

He hesitated for a brief second, his brows creasing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just stood here watching me for ages…in silence.” You raised a brow at him. “You worried I’m gonna have an episode, or are you needing to talk about something?”

“Can’t I stand with my friend?”

“Are we, Donald?” You laughed in a soft exhale. “Friends that is. Is that what this is?” You gesture between the two of you. On one hand, you were being honest, maybe a little less subtle about it than usual. You and Donald were on good terms, but friends? Maybe a week ago you would have quickly agreed. Smiled to yourself later that someone confirmed they thought well of you. Now you have bigger problems. Cecil had been the one to tell you that the security guard had been shot by one of the thieves. If this was not true and Cecil had lied, Donald had not told you otherwise. Hell of a friend.

“You’re upset.”

You sigh, straightening your back out in a stretch that has you immediately slouching forward again as it sends a cramp through your spine-adjacent muscles. “I’m tired is all, Donald. It’s good to see you.”

Donald is silent, still frowning. For once you wished he didn’t have those damn glasses. You couldn’t even tell if he was still looking at you. “If you have something to say or ask, just say it.”

“Donald, lets not-”

“You are obviously stewing on something. Tell me.”

You grimace, cursing yourself for your readability. You have to start being more subtle. “Donald-” You’re about to deny it, tell him he’s reading too far into it, you’ve just had a bad few days- bad week- bad life? But his head tilts slightly and you purse your lips closed, biting the inside of your lip. “What happened in the museum? My first mission, Donald. The one where the security guard died-”

“I know which one.” He interjected; his expression didn’t change at all from what you could tell. He just stood there staring at you for a moment. His pointer finger tapped lightly against his thigh.

Just as you were about to continue, he looked off to the left of him, into an open room next to you. It was vacant, you had chosen to stand here specifically because of that. If your headache had worsened, you had planned on lying down. “Follow me.” He said softly, stepping into the room and closing the door after you trailed in behind him. “The security guard-”

“John Spencer.” You blurted. You weren’t sure why. Even you referred to him as the security guard in your head. But at this moment you felt the need to humanize him. Carry the full weight of what his death meant.

“Mr. Spencer,” Donald continued, “Shot you.”

“I know, Donald-” You started with a groan, before he interrupted you, holding one of his hands up.

“That’s it, you know now and you knew then that he shot you.” You cocked your head almost imperceptibly.

“Okay?”

“Think back. You sat on the ground, having been shot for the first time in your life-”

“Hopefully the last.”

“You sat down, with him still pointing the gun at you. You didn’t knock him out like the others or disarm him in any way. And then you started to lose consciousness.”

“Why would I knock out a random civilian?” You questioned.

“To you, how you are now, it makes sense. He shot you. You can heal it back up with relative ease. To your subconscious, you just got shot, and didn’t do anything about it.”

You nodded, trying to follow what he was saying.

“We’ve been monitoring your brain activity during your episodes for a while now. Right before an occurrence there is a lull in your neurons. A moment, and you pass out to recuperate, you have a massive spike in cognitive functioning. Usually, this gets put back into the regeneration process, giving you a little more juice to stay awake longer.” He explained, gesturing with his hands. “It seems, or our hypothesis is, that you have a built-in defense mechanism. If your subconscious believes you are in danger it will… well it will save you.”

“Save me…” You trailed off, folding your arms over your chest. “Save me as in, kill whoever was threatening me.” It wasn’t a question. You had put it together now. It was all related to your subconscious, that was why you kept dreaming about John’s death. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was a memory.

The blood speckling the wall up past the painting. His mouth hanging open as blood begins to shower from his throat. How you could feel that his legs were completely lacking in blood, not just low, squeezed dry. It had all happened.

“None of our agents were teleported in because once it started, we weren’t sure how long you could keep it up. How many bodies you could drain before you fully passed out. We had to wait until you collapsed, and by then, he was dead.”

You blinked a few times, your eyes strung slightly as you furrowed your brow somehow even harder. “Why…Why didn’t Cecil tell me the truth? Why didn’t you?” You turned your gaze to him, trying not to let the hurt reflect off your tone.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Donald looked sympathetic. “And we did not know enough about it. We needed to conduct more research.”

“You don’t get to decide what information I am allowed to have when it relates to me. I killed someone! I can’t just continue on like nothing happened! I am meant to protect people for- Jesus!” You ran both hands through your hair, pacing back and forth.

“Would it have helped?”

You slowed to a stop, slowly returning your attention back onto him. “What?” A soft crack taking over your tone.

“Would it have helped for you to know that you killed him? Would you have fought the same way on missions?”

“I- I don’t know Donald, maybe I would have quit.” You jumble out your words with an almost exasperated sigh.

“How many lives would have been lost if you had quit?”

“There’s no way to know for sure any of them would have been lost, Donald-”

“More than one. We know that. Rex and Rae, you saved their lives yesterday.”

“If I hadn’t quit the team, they might have avoided that completely!”

“All I am hearing is that you shouldn’t quit.”

“Goddamn it, Donald!” You ran a hand over your face. “It’s not the same. I could have…” You paused, biting the inside of your lip against the urge to start tearing up. “I could have saved them, Donald.” The conversation easily shifts to your guilt over Rex and Rae.

“You did save them.” He reaffirms gently.

“I didn’t save them from any of the pain. Rex was shot in the fucking head for Christ’s sake. Rae looked like she’d been crushed by a semi. And I was sleeping soundly in bed.”

Donald pauses, his gaze seems sympathetic but you can’t quite tell because of the glasses. Not that you want his sympathy. You want someone to hold you accountable, tell you how much of a shit bag you are. “The truth is,” He says your name, “You have done a lot of good, and you could beat yourself up over what has gone poorly. Or you can get up and do better.”

You don’t respond, chewing at the inside of your cheek. ‘what has gone poorly’, as if it is out of your control.

“I know firsthand the frustration of being lied to by the GDA. By the director.” The ridge of his lips rises slightly in what almost seems like a snarl. “We should have told you sooner. But sometimes this is just part of the job.” Even as he says it you can tell he does not necessarily agree with it. “Director Stedmen keeps a lot of secrets, he has a burden bigger than most. Especially after the incident in Chicago with Omniman.”

You sigh, but you feel your face soften slightly. “Does Cecil know you’re telling me this?”

“If he doesn’t, I am sure he will soon.”

You both stand there for a few moments, the silence enveloping you. You weren’t sure how to feel. Part of you had thought that knowing definitively would fix something, anything, everything. But now you knew, Donald had confirmed one of your worst fears, and you…didn’t feel any different. You could still hear the faint beeping of different machines in other rooms, and the shuffling of footsteps as they passed the closed door behind you.

“The world keeps spinning, huh?” You said with a tired smile, still trying to fully process everything.

“The world keeps spinning.” Donald repeated, his expression melancholy.

--

You and Donald decided to get lunch together at the hospital cafeteria. It was exactly what you expected, bland and forgettable. But it was nice to be able to sit and discuss with Donald. You weren’t sure if you could really be classified as friends. But you did truly believe he wanted what was best for you. He didn’t tell you what his issues with the GDA were, but you figured that it was for the best as well. After you had both finished and he eventually got called back in for one reason or another, you went back to it. People rejected you or accepted you. Over and over.

The amount of work you were doing would have felt more strenuous if you didn’t have so much to think about. The doctor you were shadowing around after shift change at one point snapped her fingers in front of your face because you had been zoned out to the point you had not heard her repeating your name.

“Do you need a break?” She asked, tilting her head at you, as she stood with her hands on the keyboard of the room’s computer. She had been updating the notes for a patient you had just mended back together.

“No!” You said quickly, startling the patient who was rubbing their arm, sitting on the bed. “Sorry, I mean, no.”

“How long have you been working for?”

“Well like a few months I suppose but I’ve done some volunteer-”

“Today.” She interrupted.

“Oh,” You thought for a second. “What time is it?”

“Why don’t you make this easy for me and just tell me what time you started.”

A little rude. You looked over at the patient before turning your attention back. “Six or so.”

“Go home. Come back tomorrow.”

“I’m not tired, I can keep going-” You stuttered, quickly faced with the reality of what it meant to go back home. The silence that awaited you.

“I will have you removed from the premises if I need to. Get off the clock, rookie.”

As far as you knew you were never on the clock to begin with. ‘Rookie’ my ass. But you didn’t argue back. Your temperament was too unpredictable recently, you didn’t want to say something you would regret. If you planned on continuing this work for the next few days, or weeks, or whatever Cecil wanted, it would be very awkward if you started making enemies.

You looked back at the patient and gave them a reassuring smile as they looked back and forth between you and the doctor. God this was a bit demeaning.

You didn’t want to go home yet. As you left the room your head swiveled left and right to take in the long, sterile hall. It was getting late, and the cafeteria was more than likely closed now, maybe you would just go to your old room.

Your room. Every now and again you recognized how odd your whole situation was. Granted you had not stayed there much recently…minus a short three-day stint, but it was still yours. You watched your shoes travel over the ground as you walked, not needing to look where you were going as the routine started to sink back in. You probably should have looked up though, people were still walking through the halls even if you weren’t looking for them. Which led to your shoulder slamming into someone who was walking past you.

“Shit!- I’m so sorry-” You started, rubbing your shoulder as you turned, whoever it was felt like walking into a brick wall.

“Oh no, I’m- wait don’t I know you?”

You straightened your posture out some as you felt the recognition dawn on you. “Yes, actually. Not formally though.” Shit.

“You were with Cecil when he came to my college,” Mark stated cautiously like the memory was unpleasant for him. It wouldn’t be surprising, honestly, Cecil pushed him pretty hard.

You nodded, feeling your brows draw together slightly at the already awkward tension falling over whatever this interaction was. “Yeah…” You stood there for a moment, before glancing around. You weren’t sure what or who you were looking for. Maybe anything to save you from this interaction. “I’m Killdeer, by the way.” You awkwardly told him your real name as well on top of that, explaining that you were a new Guardian member. Well, sort of a Guardian member.

“Oh. That’s you?” Mark eyebrows lifted in faint recognition.

“What’s me?” You were almost afraid to ask, crossing your arms loosely.

“Oh nothing, I just heard Rex talk about you.”

“What?” You were five seconds away from forming a permanent wrinkle between your eyebrows from the confused look you were giving him. “When?”

“Like, two minutes ago.”

“He’s awake?” Your arms dropped immediately. How long had he been awake? What had he been saying to Mark about you? And, even more importantly, with how much he hated you before all of this, how much did he hate you now? The thought of it almost made you wince. How high were the chances that you walked into whatever room he was in, and he immediately tried to explode you? Explode you? Detonate you? What even was the right word for this? Whatever, he’d do something to you around the lines of attempting to stop you from…continuing…anything.

Ever again.

Probably.

“Yeah, for a little while-”

“Which room?” You blurted.

“Uh?” Mark gave you a weird look, but a touch of a smile ghosted over his lips as he told you the room number.

“Thank you.” You jerked your head in a nod at him and almost immediately started heading that way, before doubling back to Mark. “It was nice to kind of formally meet you, you’re a big inspiration.” Good god. You were going to stay up at night thinking about this for a long time.

“It’s nice to meet you too?” He laughed, shaking your hand that was outstretched towards him.

The touch sent something through you. It wasn’t a jolt or some kind of electric current. It felt like a click. This was your first time making direct contact with him. The closest you had been to his life source. You could feel it. How it pumped in his veins, how a cluster of cells traveled to work on a bruise that must be hidden somewhere under his shirt.

This was a new development, an excellent development.

After the awful few days you were having, you could feel your mood lift slightly at the prospect of being able to tell Cecil something good. You had cracked Viltrumite DNA. You could feel it, but you couldn’t test it. You had no proof. For the first time in the months you had been in training, you wanted to go back to that cold training room. Test your abilities against that Viltrumite blood bag. You could feel even now that you would have complete control.

“Thank you!” You said again, hoping he wouldn’t be even further weirded out by your instant demeanor change, and the way you practically skipped away from him.

--

Crap, what number did he say again? Were you even in the correct building? After passing by a desk with nurses stationed at it three times, they finally waved you down and asked if you needed assistance. After the embarrassing ordeal of having to tell them you were “looking for Rex Splode” and them asking what his last name was, and you saying “…Splode?” you finally were able to get the correct number.

You watched as the numbers on the corresponding doors slowly ascended as you passed through the hall. You were only a few away now, and your pace was slowing.

Now that you were starting to process the excitement of your new development, and the shock of Rex already being awake, you were starting to realize how little you thought this through. What were you going to say? You should have made a plan, or a script, or something! You knew eventually he would wake up. You should have brought alcohol again, that worked pretty well last time.

And then you were at his door. It was cracked slightly open. A voice spoke from inside, feminine; one that was unfamiliar to you. You should go; he obviously has a visitor. Or maybe it was just a nurse? If someone else was there, was it less likely he would try to kill you? He wouldn’t actually kill you, right? You were just overthinking it.

Yeah…

You pushed the door open apprehensively, practically holding your breath. The curtain is pulled closed, and before you think better of it you trail your hand over the material, pulling it slightly ajar.

“Oh, hello.” An unfamiliar voice sounded from in front of you. A woman with bright ginger hair sat at the foot of the bed, blocking your view of the person who resided in it. You recognized her but you couldn’t quite place it.

“Hi, sorry, is this a bad time?” You’re already stepping back to exit the room, immediately taking the given opportunity to run. To be anywhere else.

“No, please!” She stands up, “I was just about to leave.” As she stands you make direct eye contact with the man she had been talking to in the bed. He’s tilting his head to the side, shifting himself so that he can see around her. You swallow dryly as you take him in, it feels as though your throat sticks closed at the sight of him.

He had on what almost looked like a metal helmet, light azure highlights shining off of it on the sides and front. It must be there to assist in his healing process, you doubt that it’s a new fashion statement. His right eye was slightly bloodied beneath the ocular lens. The section of his head the helmet did not cover revealed a choppy buzzcut they must have done after your assistance was no longer needed. Most surprising of all, he was smiling at you, not just smiling but practically beaming.

“Sorry.” You utter softly to the woman, giving her an apologetic smile.

“Really, don’t worry about it. I can only take him in small doses, you’re saving me.”

“Seriously? I almost died!” Rex whined, but his eyes quickly returned to you.

The woman gave you a polite nod before waving at Rex and exiting the room. Leaving you to the exact situation you were hoping to avoid by a guest being present.

You were now standing alone in Rex’s room. He maintained the most ridiculous grin you had ever seen, it almost unnerved you. Maybe it only felt ridiculous because you had hardly seen him smile before. Not in any genuine way.

“She seemed nice.” You said, not stepping any closer.

“Eve?” He responded, “Yeah, she is.”

Another beat of silence.

“You look like shit.” You could walk off a cliff. That’s the best you could come up with? Real conversation starter.

“You should see what the other guy looked like.” He quipped, his smile still not faltering.

Your eyes traveled down over him for a moment. His left arm which had been a bloody stump the last time you saw it was now sheathed in a metal covering. If he was telling the truth about looking better than whoever he had gone up against did, you almost couldn’t imagine the amount of damage done.

You opened your mouth again, to say- well really anything. Then your eyes landed on what looked like magazines being propped up by the metal appendage. “What’s that?”

“These?” He held one up, and after you nodded, he held the same one out for you. “Fucking brilliant is what they are!”

You stepped forward to take it out of his hand. “Ten biggest bedroom makeovers for your new dream home?” You read off the headline on the cover aloud. “A home improvement magazine?”

“Not just one.” He corrects, fanning out the other ones for you to look at.

Shit. You scrambled his brain when healing it. You knew that it was such a tender organ, and you botched it. Shit. You were never going to be able to heal anyone ever again. “Oh…That’s really…nice.” Should you tell someone? Get a doctor?

He looks up at you, his eyes squinting slightly. He pauses and you almost wonder if whatever he was thinking of fluttered out of his grasp. God, is that because of you too? You weren’t sure this kind of thing could even be fixed. Then he spoke. “I didn’t think you’d come.” It’s soft, hesitant.

“Do you want me to go?” You were already holding his magazine back out to him again, preparing to go. The last thing you wanted to do was agitate him; he’d already been through enough on your account.

“What?” His brows drew together slightly, and he made no move to take the booklet back.

“I’m sure you’re tired-”

“You should sit.” He said beckoning to the end of his bed where Eve had been sitting.

You hesitated. “How are you feeling, Rex?”

“Pretty good, considering I’m missing a hand, and have like fifty billion other things wrong with me.” He smiled. “Sit.” He gestured again, it wasn’t a command, but an invitation.

After a moment you decided to take him up on the offer. “You sure you’re feeling, okay? You’re being very… agreeable.” You squinted your eyes at him, if you kept saying stuff like that you were sure he’d snap out of it pretty quickly.

He seemingly ignored your question, opening one of the magazines. “See this?” He turned it towards you. “I think this would go really well in your entryway, right?”

Your eyes traveled over his face as he held it out to you. His expression was soft, he looked almost relaxed. After you didn’t say anything for a moment his eyes shifted from the page of the magazine up to you, which caused you to instantly look down. An unfamiliar feeling falling upon you. You chalked it up to the nauseua you had been feeling off and on all day.

“Rex, that’s like five hundred bucks.” You raise a brow at him.

“You’re a fucking superhero, you don’t think you can afford it?”

--

Rex had practically gone through the whole magazine with you, telling you what he thought was ugly, and what he thought worked well together. As well as assigning certain pieces of furniture to you personally. Saying “this looks like something you’d like.” And sometimes it was, other times it was the ugliest thing you’d ever seen in your life. He snickered each time before he pointed the ugly ones out, which made you wonder how mushy his brain truly was. That seemed very in character for him to you.

But overall, you didn’t discuss anything substantial. You didn’t ask him what happened to him and Rae, you didn’t mention his visit to your apartment, and you didn’t apologize. You figured you could do it all with time, as of right now he was alive. You’d have time to apologize later, but a secret part of you almost hoped he didn’t remember the interaction. Or any of your interactions, from how nice he was being to you.

When you got up to leave, he had frowned, sitting back in what felt a lot like disappointment.

“Will you come back tomorrow? Not that I’m desperate for company or anything, fuck, everyone is crowding to see me.” You looked around the empty room for a moment before returning your attention to him. “You just seem like you could pick out some good home magazines. That’s all.”

“Sure, Rex.” You had said, cocking an eyebrow up at him.

You pulled your phone out as you walked away, dialing Cecil.

Hello?

“Has anyone run any kind of brain scans on Rex yet?” You asked quickly, leaning against the wall a few rooms away.

Yes, why are you calling me this late to ask that?

“Sorry, I just visited him and he was acting strange. I’m worried I… healed something wrong. I mean you know how delicate the brain is-” You started speaking quickly, feeling the mild panic set in again that you had ignored during your entire visit.

Killdeer, his EEG results came back all clear. He’s completely fine. Go to bed.

“Oh…really? Because he seemed a little-” You heard a click and pulled your phone away from your ear. “-odd.” He hung up. Well, at least Cecil isn’t worried about it.

You looked up, the halls were more empty than usual. A quick glance at your phone told you that it was much later than you had thought it was. A steady rhythmic beeping brought you out of your daze, a dim light illuminated out of a dark room in front of you. After glancing up and down the hall you move towards it, exhaustion overshadowed by your curiosity.

A long tubelike structure with a glass cover glowed hazily in the center of the room. Cyan light showered over the walls and floor, licking away at the shadows. An unfamiliar-looking person rested inside, a blanket over her up to her midsection. Her hair spread around her head, sepia-colored locks almost mimicking a halo. An oxygen mask plastered over her mouth, her chest slowly rising and falling.

Looking around for a chair, your eyes locked on the recliner with wheels that resided in every room. Stepping forward, you pulled it up next to the contraption. Sitting down you ran your gaze over her again, her arms were both in bandages and her face was swollen almost beyond recognition.

“Hi, Rae.” You whisper, sitting down in front of the glass incubator, pushing your back against the seat. You rap your fingers against the armrest of the chair, your eyes slowly drooping more and more until you completely pass out.

Author's Note: Lowkey next chapter might have a bit of fluff don't tell anyone tho hehe

divider credit: @/ saradika

taglist: @kittymeowmrow @sketchlove @jewelwayne101 request to be tagged for new parts!

Chapter fifteen

[strawberrystepmom]

yami x f!noble reader. cw smoking, sex insinuated, misogyny and mentions of marriage as well as fertility but not on yami's part. i just like these two sorry for party rockin | wc 1.1k, divider thanks to @cafekitsune

you can read more about these two here

“I know it’s impolite to ask but what happened between the two of you?”

Yami chuckles, shoulders pressed against the rickety headboard behind him. 

“Who?” He asks, well aware of what you mean despite his attempt to seem unsure. You sigh, turning to look at him. 

“Charlotte.”

A moonbeam pours in over the two of you, the room otherwise dark and silent, the stillness emboldening you to finally ask him some questions. Tightening the sheet that is wrapped around your body, you dare glance up at him to find him already staring at you, as though he’s trying to figure out why you’d ask in the first place.

“Sometimes things just don’t work out,” he shrugs flippantly. You get the sense that he’s downplaying but keep it to yourself, wide eyes watching his every movement. “We were more different than we thought and decided to go our separate ways and it has been mostly fine.”

Perhaps it’s naivety (or the four failed engagements) but you believe that you understand what he means, nodding slowly. You’ve always viewed love as an ever changing puzzle, similar to the one in your father’s study at home. A wooden frame holds ceramic sliding tiles and you position them again and again until a picture is clear and in front of you - what you’ve been looking for the entire time. 

You blink hard and glance down at your hands, once again pulling the linens over your exposed cleavage. Goosebumps prickle your skin, forcing you to dive further under, and he notices and pulls you against his warm side.

“Since we’re asking questions all of sudden, how about you?” He raises a brow, sliding lower into the bed and giving you room to rest your head against the firmness of his stomach. “Four is damn near impressive.”

Mirroring his prior shrug, you contemplate quietly what it truly means to tell four men you don’t want to marry them. Arrogant is what one told you and you found it hard to disagree when he was red cheeked and yelling at you. Frigid was what another said, accusing you of hiding potential issues with producing an heir for his family. A third said nothing but left you silently to consider your opinion of yourself, sitting in a wooden backed chair in the study where that slide puzzle rested on a table across from you while he cast you a disappointed glance.

The fourth and most recent you objected to before he could harm your ego further, refusing his offers of land and jewels. You have both of those things. You’re an heiress in your own right despite the sons your father has now sired amongst your 11 siblings. Physical means mean nothing to you when what you desire is deeper than gilded flesh. 

“I cannot commit to living a life where I will be unable to be who I am.” 

You finally answer after prolonged silence, giving yourself permission to be honest since he was honest with you. 

“So you don’t want to get married?” He asks, finally lighting a cigarette but politely blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of you. You shake your head, the back of it against his stomach, leaving you to look up at him. “The opposite, actually. I would love to be married and to have a family but not at the cost of myself and having to be misunderstood to maintain peace.”

He hums, a sound you believe is some level of understanding of what you mean, and inhales another puff. 

“What makes you so different from all the other noble girls?”

The question would be offensive if it were to be asked by anyone else but you know Yami. He’s rough around the edges and sometimes a bit too curt in saying what he means but there’s genuine curiosity not derision in his tone. 

“I’m apprehensive to say that I am all that different considering how similar our upbringings tend to be yet I feel like I’ve never quite fit in with them.” Your head remains resting in the cradle of his slightly bent middle, the cherry glow of his cigarette illuminating his face enough you can make out those wise eyes staring at your mouth. “I’ve never loved high society. It’s suffocating and everyone is very judgemental and most of them have already, probably correctly, theorized that I will be a spinster left to take care of my siblings for all my life.”

A chuckle rumbles through him in tandem with a shake of his head you can see thanks to the glow of his cigarette. He mumbles around the filter, one big hand coming to rest on the covered dip of your waist. “Don’t say shit like that. You’re pretty and smart and funny once you get to runnin’ your mouth so what’s the point in pretending you aren’t?”

Your face warms beneath his praise and your eyes dart away from him, choosing to settle on the specs of dust floating through the single beam of light shining through the room. You’ve already given him more of yourself than you intended and not simply your body, your feelings as well. There’s no turning back so you continue, feeling your heart beating in your throat while speaking.

“I believe it’s easier for me to make all of this my fault,” you nearly whisper, keeping your gaze locked on the ceiling above while you’re making a confession. “To believe there’s something wrong with me rather than the system we use to decide people’s value.”

Stamping out his cigarette against the windowsill with his free hand, he squeezes your waist with the occupied one and draws your attention back, leaving you blinking up at him.

“Well don’t. It doesn’t seem like you’re the problem here at all.” Another squeeze and your heart beats in time with it. There’s an easy smile on his face, one you can barely make out in the dim room, yet you match it with one of your own.  “I think you have plenty of time to find someone if you want to,” he continues. 

“I think the same of you, Yami.” An unexpected response. He raises a brow, sliding further down into the bed beside you. You remain with your head against him, tucked into his side, a large arm wrapped around your waist. “I think the woman who ends up with you will be lucky.”

Pulling you tighter against him, he considers your sentiment and hums.

“I guess you’ll have to ask her when that day comes if she’s lucky or not.”

You nod once, deciding to let silence win you both over as the night continues to fade away, hoping to prolong your time with him as much as possible without any further interruption.

[lilacxquartz]

part 9 of 19 of kinktober: brain riding

kenjaku’s brain x reader

plot: kenjaku would like to try something a bit different with you — themes: oral sex, brain riding, gender neutral pronouns for kenjaku, f!reader, coercion, potentially body horror — a/n: if the idea weirds you out, this is your warning to click out, otherwise read on <3 — w.c: 800ish

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

“Come on, I promise it’ll be fun,” Kenjaku teased, dragging your fingertips along their still freshly sutured incision, “it’ll be unlike anything like you’ve ever experienced before.”

You stammered in slight uncertainty, narrowing your eyes into a concerned stare; studying the liquid that trickled out of their partially undone form. “I-I don’t know, this might be too weird… even for me.”

Kenjaku could only smile as they pulled you back down over their body, urging you to straddle over their frame. They didn’t want to pretend with you anymore—at least not since you last saw their technique and surviving form—so this was simply… the next big step forward.

“Trust me,” they coaxed, lowering their voice into a breathy whisper, “I promise it’ll be fun. If you’re that scared, you can sit a little lower over my vessel’s face and we can work our way up.”

You could only blink as your mind paled at the thought, still struggling to imagine just how this could possibly go. Admittedly, this was something that you had never once anticipated before and yet here you were, giving into the impossible.

“Alright, just… just give me a moment, okay?” you replied in a strained tone in an attempt to calm yourself down.

They simply stared up at you as you straddled over their stomach, their arrogant grin slowly widening with each passing second.

“Do I just… hover over the brain, or?” you asked in a resigned tone.

They tilted their head back in anticipation. “I’ll tell you when, how’s that?”

A whole flurry of troubling thoughts swept through your mind the more you tried to talk yourself into carrying the act through. For one, you felt suddenly… insecure? What could the view for them even be from that sort of angle? Given that your thought process could be easily reflected on your expression, they pulled you down ever so slightly by tugging at your wrists to at least, reassure you.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” they murmured, trying to pad you forward on your knees, “I can promise you that my eyes will be closed if that’s what’s bothering you,” they lied, wanting nothing more than to revel in the view.

You tilted your head in half disbelief, not quite believing them. “R-really?”

They hummed with a confirming nod, finally getting you to hover right where they wanted. With a quick pull, they cast aside the skull cap for now, propping it over to the bedside table before shooting their tongue up towards your clit, hoping to steal a taste while you were still adjusting.

A slight yelp escaped your lips as the rest of your body tingled in a pleasurable shudder; your legs settled parallel over the soft, fleshy mass felt almost softly foreign when compared to any other area of flesh. The tissue was alarmingly supple and left you feeling a little afraid for them.

“A-and you’re sure that this doesn’t hurt you?” you asked in a somewhat innocent tone, genuinely concerned for their safety.

They lightheartedly laughed in response to you, their tone of voice adopting a nonchalant edge, “Well, it might mess up my vision a little but don’t worry, I can fix all of that later. Besides, my brain is firmer than the average person’s, so you’re not damaging a single thing.”

Kenjaku technically meant that first part in a joking manner, but they partially regretted their jab a second later, knowing that you wouldn’t take it in the way they hoped and would very likely hesitate to let yourself go fully.

To counter this, they attempted to pull you down a little closer; their brain tongue greedily lapping up wherever it could feel, the rest of the rosy matter slightly pulsating as it did so as the subtle movements almost caused them to tremble.

Continuing, they licked at your folds whenever you slipped up and tried to steady yourself. Your clit was the primary focus, but your lacking confidence was something that they’d have to train you out of in the future; which was already pre-planned in their mind. Working with what they could, they flicked at your skin’s swollen peak, pushing you towards a quickly building climax. Perhaps it was both the fear and the arousal and the unknown; all three things combined to overwhelm you into a heated mess.

In a way, it was surely frustrating due to the host’s body responding with want and need, pooling tingling pleasure in between their legs. They couldn’t stop now however—not when you were so close—so instead their tongue zigzagged at an almost hurried rate, sending rising shocks of shuddering bliss through your body, forcing you to eventually coil and flood in a seeping release that trickled into their cerebral lips.

As you finally stilled your grinding process, you sat back over their chest and then rolled over to your back, your body involuntarily flinching slightly at the cap they used to secure back over their brain.

“I’m never letting you live this down by the way,” they teased, already planning the next moment they’d do this with you again (and again and again.)

And to your surprise (not that you’d admit it to them), you didn’t feel completely opposed to the idea.

~~~

related art piece

[spikesbunny]

♥︎ SWEET TEA ♥︎

+ warnings: use of aphrodisiac, food play (tea is drugged), dom ruan mei, fingering, use of pet names (sweetheart, darling)

+ ft: ruan mei x gn reader

+ wc: 0.7k

+ @ficsforgaza kinktober: day 14 - aphrodisiacs/food play + ruan mei (m.list)

nsfw under cut, minors dni!!!

ruan mei was always tinkering with something. she loved testing out how plants caused reactions in people, especially those that could be considered aphrodisiacs.

but she never let you try them. she insisted that it was safer, just incase any severe side affects occurred. she would never hurt you.

but you wanted so desperately to try it, to see how it heightened the feeling. were your orgasms harder? were you easily aroused? more sensitive? did it affect your behaviorism?

and so, she finally decided to test it out. after all, it would be better to observe how one reacted, rather than just test on herself. she made sure you were comfortable being randomly dosed, as she didn't want you to be fully aware when taking it (after all, she must take precautions to now potentially skew her results!).

you could smell tea brewing, thinking nothing of the overly sweet smell. she probably made some sort of sweet tea with an artificial sweetener she designed, concern not even a thought in your mind.

after all, there was no point in questioning her, right? she normally made you tea, so it wasn't something unusual.

that was, until you drank it. the liquid was sweet, almost too sweet, and made you feel kinda fuzzy, almost like some twisted version of melatonin.

or so you thought, until you felt your skin burning, aching for your girlfriend. heat was pooling in your gut, a sudden need for release clouding your brain.

you try to ignore it, but the longer left unattended, the worse it gets. finally, you work up the courage to whimper out her name, her graceful figure now standing in the doorway.

"what's wrong, darling?" she coos, so sweetly. she knew exactly what was wrong - it was hard not to, your face was flushed.

"i- i need you," you whine, much to your disproval. you were crumbling, lust coursing through your veins at rapid speeds.

she hums, pulling the chair out to better access your legs. "yea, you want me? does my sweetheart need me?" her words had you melting, nodding eagerly as she works your bottoms down, pressing her fingers between your lips. "suck"

you take them into your mouth, looking down at her, framed so prettily between your legs as you work on her digits, coating them in saliva before she withdraws them.

she eyes your pretty hole, kissing your thighs as she complements you, showering you with "so pretty"s and "my darling looks so ready f' me already", circling her fingers teasingly.

with a free hand, she jots down her observations onto a notepad. "warm skin, sensitive to the touch, extra whiny, trying to rut against the air..." she list off, still tracing around your hole. you whine, trying to get her to already sink them in.

"paitience, dear" she hums, before finally dipping one finger in, curling up to massage your walls. you whine, squirming from barely any stimulation, watching her write down notes.

it was insane to you, how composed she was, as if you weren't feeling your orgasm already creep up onto you.

ruan mei continues her jotting, now adding a second finger, peaking up to observe your face. "red, flushed, lips are bit raw, maybe some tears from overstimulation? all plays into sensitivity..." she whispers, still writing down notes.

her words were so arousing for no reason at all, clenching around the two digits she was leisurely pumping in and out of you.

"there it is, sweetheart" she coos, jotting down notes while muttering "clenching at two fingers" under her breath.

you can barely take it anymore, especially when she breaks her usually distant demeanor, placing a kiss on your inner thigh. "you're doing so good, love, this aphrodisiac really did the trick on you."

that was it, your orgasm crashing over you at her words of praise. she gives you a small smile, continuing to press her fingers into you as you ride it out, before withdrawing.

she writes down two final notes, muttering as per usual - "came after praise" and "was such a good subject."

she sets the pad aside, rising from her position between your legs.

"i'm assuming that wasn't enough, i believe i put too much into your cup... how about we continue this in the bedroom? my observations are done."

you nod, following her graceful figure out of the room. you couldn't deny, being ruan mei's test subject sometimes wasn't so bad.

©2024 spikesbunny- please do not repost or translate my works on other media sites ♡

[ahqkas]

♯ TO LIKE YOU OR LOVE YOU ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! theodore nott was known to be just like an eurasian magpie — drawn by nature to snatch up and fly off with shiny things. it was no surprise the two of you found yourself in possession of a time turner (which certainly showed you an interesting image) ( based on this rq.!! )

WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, time traveling, friends to lovers + lmk of more if found !!

WORD COUNT! 1.8k

NOTES! i love this prompt sm u have no idea how excited i was to find a request for it ☹️☹️ this is a repost bc tumblr wasn’t showing this in the tags. all the credits to the devider bellow belong to @/plutism !

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

TIME WAS THE MOST INTERESTING THING A HUMAN RACE COULD HAVE STUMBLED UPON. It was woven with infinite threads of moments, decisions, and possibilities. Each thread held the potential to shape the fabric of the future in ways unimaginable. It was both a river, flowing inevitably forward, and a maze of paths that twisted and turned, leading to dramatic outcomes. The very idea that time could be manipulated, that one could step outside its relentless march, was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

And Theodore Nott managed to do just that.

The passage of time was like a dance between light and shadow, where the present moment was a balancing act on the razor's edge of now. Like the White Swan and the Black Swan. Memories of the past tugged at the heart, whispering tales of days gone by, while the future beckoned with a siren's call of unknown adventures and uncharted territories.

Time was both a friend and an enemy. It was a healer, softening the edges of pain and grief with its gentle touch, allowing wounds to scar over and hearts to mend. Yet, it was also a thief, stealthily stealing youth, opportunities, and moments that could never be reclaimed. It moved with a steady, unyielding pace, indifferent to the desires and pleas of those who wished to slow it down or speed it up.

And with a Time-Turner, one could do marvelous things. This delicate device, seemingly unassuming with its petite hourglass and golden frame, held within it the power to transcend the natural flow of time. It was a key to the past and the future, a tool for exploration, and a bridge to moments that had long since passed.

The Time-Turner allowed its bearer to step beyond the boundaries of the present, to revisit decisions and events with the wisdom of hindsight. It offered a chance to right wrongs, to experience lost opportunities anew, and to glimpse the world that was awaiting. Each turn of the hourglass was a dance with destiny.

But the true marvel of the Time-Turner lay not just in its ability to revisit the past, but in the taunting glimpse it offered into the future. To step beyond the present and witness what lay ahead was a privilege reserved for the brave and the curious. The future, with its infinite branches and pathways, was a place full of dreams and nightmares, where every possibility coexisted in a symphony of potential outcomes. Everything could be possible in the future.

The golden chain of the forbidden magical item hung in Theo's grasp as he presented it in front of you, showing you the new possession he managed to get his grasp on. You didn't know how and from where, and you were positive you didn't even want to know the details. The delicate hourglass within the frame shimmered with an almost ethereal glow, hinting at the ancient magic contained in its confines.

His eyes, a pretty shade of Italian skies and deep seas, gleamed with a mixture of mischief and carefulness as he looked at you through his eyelashes.

"I'm certain you're familiar with this, am I right?" he asked, the tone of his voice low and conspiratorial, as if he were sharing a treasured secret with you. And at some point, he truly was, because what the two of you were about to do was something forbidden.

You nodded slowly at his words, your gaze fixed on the delicate device between his fingers. Whispers of its powers had circulated through the halls of Hogwarts, tales of old wizards and witches who had bent time to their will, reliving moments or altering their paths. But seeing one in Theo's hands, real and touchable, was something entirely different. The Time-Turner pulsed with promising adventures beyond the ways of the present.

"How did you get one of these? They're forbidden."

"Let's just say I have my ways," a hint of smirk danced at the edge of his lips upon his answer. He was mysterious like that, the Slytherin. Working years on creating the perfect facade for his persona: the quiet and intelligent student to most of Hogwarts, the cunning and bold boy to his closest ones. You had to admit, he was really one of the smartest students in your year. No one would ever suspect him for the acts he had done. "It's about knowing the right people and being in the right place at the right time."

Raising an eyebrow at his poorly said explanation, clearly wanting to hear more, you gave him a pointed look, but Theo just chuckled softly and laced your fingers together in one, the Time-Turner now caged in your joined palms. "Don't worry about it. Just trust me."

His reassurance did little to satisfy your curiosity, but there was something about the confidence in his voice that made you want to believe him. Besides, the allure of the Time-Turner was far too great and enticing to resist.

"Okay," you breathed out in a nervous exhale. Theo swung the chain of the magical device around both your and his neck, bringing you even closer than before. His fingers set the hourglass into motion with a synchronized turn. The world around you shimmered and blurred, the magic of the Time-Turner whisking you away from the present. Your stomach ached a little at the sensation, and when the whirlwind of colours finally ceased, you found yourself standing on the exact same spot, near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

The warm summer air was still the same, the sun casting a golden hue over the grounds of Hogwarts. Before you could fully grasp where — or when — you were, you heard voices nearby. And they sounded all too familiar.

Instinctively, you and Theo ducked behind the huge batch of Hagrid's gigantic orange pumpkins, peeking out cautiously to see who it was. What you saw made your breath hitch in the back of your throat. Just a few yards away, strolling casually along the path that led the Quidditch pitch to the castle, were two people you recognized immediately. But it wasn't just their faces that were familiar; it was everything about them.

It was you. And Theo.

Only, you both looked older — just by a year or two, but the difference was noticeable. Your older self walked slightly ahead, your hand loosely held by older Theo's as you seemed to chat so easily with each other from the distance. The sight was surreal, as if you were watching a scene from one of your friends' muggle movies full of romance and comedy.

Your older self laughed at something the older Theo had said, the sound ringing out in the stillness of the day. There was a lightness to your step, an ease in your movements that spoke of comfort and confidence. You looked happy — truly happy — in a way that filled you with a strange mix of emotions.

Older Theo, too, looked different. He seemed more relaxed, his usual guarded expression softened into something more open, more at peace. The way he looked at you — like you hung the stars on the night sky just for him — was something you'd never seen before, at least not from this Theo, your Theo, standing beside you now. The affection between your future selves was a sight to see, and you wondered in what universe was this really happening. Could it be your very own?

The two of them stopped walking near the entrance to the castle, close enough to feel the homely feeling Hogwarts provided and far enough to stray from any onlookers. Older Theo pulled the older you gently toward him until you were standing close, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so intimate, so familiar, that it made your heart ache with a longing you hadn't fully acknowledged until now. Your older self leaned into his touch, smiling up at him in a way that made it clear how much you openly cared for him.

And then, in a moment that made you widen your eyes from the unexpected gesture, older Theo dipped his head and kissed the older you, his lips meeting yours in a tender, lingering kiss. Watching it was like seeing a secret version of your future — a future where you and Theo were more than just friends, where you were something much deeper, something lasting.

Beside you, the present-day Theo was silent, the look in your eyes matching yours as he took in the scene before him. You could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his hand gripped yours just a little too tightly. This was as much a revelation for him as it was for you — a glimpse into a future neither of you had dared to dream about.

When your older selves ended the kiss, your older self smiled softly at the boy, leaning into his touch when his lips met your forehead. They stood like that for a moment, wrapped up in their own little world, before older Theo spoke, his voice carrying on the wind just enough for you to hear.

"Did you see the look on Malfoy's face when he missed that last shot?" a smirk formed on your, apparently, boyfriend's face as he intertwined his fingers with yours and began to lead the way towards to castle yet again. "I thought he was going to hex his broom out of sheer frustration."

"I'm surprised he didn't. You know how he's with Quidditch — he treats every practice like it's the World Cup final."

The words echoed in the silence around you, sinking into your mind and heart like a promise — a promise of what could be, if you both were brave enough to act upon it.

Before either of you could process what you'd just witnessed, the familiar pull of the Time-Turner gripped you again, the world dissolving into a blur of colors and sounds. When you landed back in your own time, the warm summer day had been replaced by the cool shadows of the evening, and the grounds of Hogwarts were once again quiet.

Theo's hand was still in yours, his grip firm as if he feared letting go would make the memory of what you'd just seen slip away. You turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his in a shared surprise. The future you'd just witnessed was no longer some distant, abstract concept — it was real, and it was possible. The only thing standing in the way was the courage to take that first step.

Theo's expression was a mixture of shock and something deeper, something more profound. He looked at you as if seeing you for the first time, really seeing you, and in that moment, you realized that the future wasn't just something that happened to you. It was something you created, moment by moment, choice by choice.

And in that instant, you knew that whatever came next, you wanted it to be with him.

[kentoxo]

Could you please make a yuta x reader one where goes violent over seeing y/n get hurt?? I love your fics😭

1000000000% lets do it

pairing: reader (f) x bf!Yuta (aged up)

synopsis: in which you get hurt in a dangerous mission, and Yuta cannot contain his anger

warning: curse killing, cursing, gore-esque imagery. Additionally, potential spoilers?

setting: pre-Shinjuku and kinda pre-Culling (sorry if this spoils anything as well x)

a/n: this is kinda long, im so sorry! i got really into the idea. thank you anon for the sick prompt, and for enjoying my writing! it warms my heart and makes my days so much better to know that you like my works :)

This wasn't your first mission with higher grade Sorcerers.

For a while now, you've been allowed to join the bandwagon of the higher ranks, learning from them and their style of fighting. This came to fruition after Yuji had not only sent a letter of recommendation, but put in a good word in for you when speaking with Gojo and the council. Despite Gojo's concern, since you recently just became a Grade 2 Sorcerer, he trusted Yuta's word. And he had yet been led astray, considering you graduated with flying colors within all your ranks.

Well, until today.

You joined this mission with Yuta, Maki, and Toge. You never felt worried as you were surrounded by Sorcerers with profound knowledge as fighters, cursed users, and cursed weapon users. But you always pulled your own, ensuring to tackle Curses that were much easier for the other three. But in this comfort left room for your naivety and misjudgment to flourish.

"There's glass all over," Maki murmurs, leading the charge through the dim hallway of the hospital. The entire hospital unfortunately had a code black, in which an active shooter entered and caused many tragedies. To this end, the hospital was entirely evacuated and closed up for further human investigation. "Watch your step."

Yuta was behind you all, with Toge and you at center keeping in eye on the rooms you all were passing. The gruesome scent of dried blood and still bodies shot pangs of nausea to your stomach. As you quietly held your stomach, Toge taps your shoulder and offers you a mint. "Thank you, Inumaki," you hum, immediately chewing the artificial menthol.

As broken lights flickered, and medical supplies were sprawled all over the ground, Maki quickly stops. Looking up at the signs for direction, she lets out a deep sigh, "we're here." You were in the ER wing of the hospital, which was reported to have seen the most deaths. "Prepare yourselves for what you're about to see."

You all nod, with Yuta quickly placing a hand on your shoulder. "You two go on ahead," Yuta hums. "I'll send Rika to scout ahead of you." With those words, the Queen of Curses appeared from behind Yuta, her large intimidating frame taking over everyone's shadows. "Please warn us, Rika."

With that command, Rika takes charge, allowing Maki and Toge to slowly follow behind her. Yuta narrows his eyes to meet yours, a soft smile playing at his lips. His hands slide down to your own, and give them a light squeeze. His hands were so refreshing compared to yours, which were clammy with nerves. "Are you anxious?" He asks curiously. You sheepishly nod. "This isn't like you-- you're never this nervous."

You give him a shrug, "m'not a fan of hospitals, and seeing... dead people."

Yuta straightens his lips and nods, "I'm not a big fan myself, especially considering your role in this mission. It is why I stopped us here to talk about it first."

"Hm?"

"It would appear that there is only one curse, a Grade 1 cursed spirit. For this, the only thing we need you to do is identify the lives lost," Yuta hums quietly. His blue eyes dim and he could feel pangs of guilt from your solemn expression. "I wanted to warn you without making you feel incapable. But I believe in you so much that I know you'll be able to do this."

You look into his eyes, the ones that put you in a trance every time. Those damn dak eyes could get Yuta whatever he wanted out of you, despite your feelings and detest. You give him a reassuring squeeze, "I got it."

Yuta's infectious smile returns, "that's my girl." He cups your face into his hands and parts a peck on your forehead. "Let us handle the spirit, ignore it and focus on your task."

You nod, finding peace once again in his gaze. But the soothing air was quickly stripped when Maki's voice is heard from the other room. "Yuta! Y/N! We found it!"

You two quickly rush over, with you trying to brace yourself for the sight. When entering the ER, you noticed how completely in disarray it was. Dividing curtains broken and on the ground, gurneys scattered all over, 50% hosting dead bodies. You hear your breath shake, but concern quickly waived when Yuta patted your back.

"Look at all of their wristbands," Yuta advises. "It's the easiest way to find the victim's name and date of birth."

You nod, preparing yourself for it all. As you did, Yuta left you to join Maki and Toge. You didn't give it too much of a look, as Yuta insists you ignore it. But you noticed an energy emanating from a gurney that felt purposely centered in the room.

As you rushed through each body, numbing your brain from the lifelessness in the room. You tried to keep focused, despite the grunts, groans, and yelling you were hearing from behind you. Yuta needs me to do this, you think to yourself. Focus!

But your nerves were sporadic as you listened to them slightly struggle. "Maki!" Yuta yells, his katana working overtime as he sliced through the spirits power. Maki was immersed in her combat with the spirit, deflecting all its moves in swift, but struggling manner. She was always a clean fighter-- definitely one of the best in the newer generation of Sorcerers. But, even so...

"Ah--!" Maki uses her staff to deflect injury, but the power that poured from the spirit was too strong for even her to stop. She was pushed to her limits, and flung to a wall, the plaster shaping around her beat body. Cuts were now ornate on her body, with some likely leaving scars.

This was the moment you turned and realized the gravity of the situation. Maki falls to the ground, having enough energy to soften the blow. You quickly begin to rush over to Maki, to which Yuta immediately yells at you to stop. "Don't!" Yuta spat. He begins to take over the battle, the distorted-looking spirit beginning to tango with Yuta. "Stay away-- Maki will be fine!"

You gulp from the nerves as you watched Toge quickly make his way to Maki instead. He picks her up and places her in a corner, allowing her to take a moment to breath. Turning around, Toge waits to meet eyes with Yuta. Yuta, with amazing footwork, manages to put some distance between him and the dangerous entity. When his blue eyes meet with Toge's, he immediately pulls down his collar. "Switch."

The two men quickly vanish before appearing in one anothers places. Your eyes widen when you see Toge, blood running down his mouth, begin to fight with the spirit. You look over to where Maki is, noticing that Yuta was already performing Reverse Technique on her. "Rika, go help Toge!" Yuta commands, with Rika quickly floating over to join Toge's efforts.

You rush over to Yuta and Maki, in which Maki was sat with groans and grunts spilling from her lips. Your heart was racing, the feeling in your legs threatening to escape. "Wh-what... h-how can I help?" Your words are imbued with anxiety.

"Keep yourself safe," Yuta instructs, "don't worry about us-- we'll be fine!" He looks over at the bodies you were previously searching through. "Continue your mission, don't stop!"

You nod, but realized you couldn't when you met eyes with the spirit. The abstract being was completely ornate with bandages, syringes coming out of its 'body.' It had one eye that was able to travel around its body, being able to look at all its surrounding if choosing so. Its eye then noticed Yuta and began to advance towards him, ignoring Toge completely. Toge rushed behind it, but his efforts would be futile as the curse was much faster than him.

"Yuta!" You scream, staying in space with your arms spread. Your technique, which Gojo coins as the Onion Infinity, is a technique in which there are multiple layers between two objects. Of course, your strength is dust in comparison to Gojo's, meaning the layers of shield is only a tactic to give you more time to consider your next move.

The curse is stopped by your technique, but slowly realizes that it can claw its way through it. Yuta notices and looks up at you with immense worry, "Y/N, why didn't you listen to me? I told you to continue what you were doing!"

"It was charging at you-- I didn't have a choice!" You argued, your strength slowly depleting with every layer being broken. While Yuta continued healing Maki and expressing his gripe over your defiance, you begin looking around. You noticed Toge on his knees, struggling with the pain in his throat after using his technique. Rika made her way to the curse, but struggles to stop his unrelenting advances towards you.

"Y/N, move out of the fucking way, now!" Yuta screamed. "You're going to get hurt!"

You move, but not quite where anybody was expecting. You run over to a small wheeled cabinet, ripping out the drawers in search of something. After a sea of bandages and pills, you found a dark green bottle. Your eyes drag on the medicines name and quickly look over at Toge.

"Inumaki-senpai!" You shout, throwing the medicine towards his way. As you hurl it, you didn't realize your barrier had completely been broken, and a sharp pain was met in your stomach. The curse had transformed its arm into a stake, piercing your stomach and through your back. Your spinal bones crack at its force, forcing blood to be coughed out.

Yuta's eyes widened, and he went deaf. Only a piercing ringing could be heard for him, putting an entire halt to his healing. Maki sits up, well enough to get back on her feet but not quite all there. She adjusts her cursed weapon, shaking Yuta's shoulders desperately. She shouts with urgency, but Yuta could not hear her.

He felt his world shatter while your gruesome screams returned his sound. He got up, ignoring Maki's touch and attempts to keep him calm. "Yuta, please!" Maki urges, "we're going to get her out of there right now."

He raises a hand, "stay down, Maki. You should not continue to fight with your injuries."

Maki slams his back, "are you insane? You can't take that thing on your own-- it will kill you!"

"Rika," Yuta hums quietly. Rika nods and quickly creates a gap between him and Maki. She clouds over Maki, keeping her from assisting him. "I'm very sorry to do this, Maki. But you are in no shape to continue this mission."

Maki growls, "Y/N is going to die here if I don't help you!" She looks over at Toge, who was downing the throat medicine you passed him. Her eyes widen at your quick thinking. She looks back at Yuta, "how the hell are you going to--"

Yuta slowly walks over to the curse, who finally ripped out its arm from your body. A string of pained curses leave your lips, your entire body going completely hot in discomfort. You could feel yourself go dizzy, but you still find it in you to begin your own Reverse Technique. Its weak and slow, but you had no other choice. You weren't sure whether you were going to make it out or not.

Without another moment wasted, Toge narrows his eyes on the curse and opens his mouth, "explode!" Although it was not enough to kill the curse, it was enough to damage it. The equivalent of blood splatters from its body, the obsidian-colored liquid finding home on the broken floor.

Yuta drags his katana on the floor, the DNA of the curse sticking onto the cold blade. While continuing his stride, Yuta lifts the blade horizontally and swipes a bit of the blood onto his index finger. As the curse writhes trying to regain itself, Yuta consumes the blood and swallows it down like a pill.

"Rika," Yuta begins with a dark, hollow voice. You look over worriedly, the pain of your stomach preventing you from uttering a word. You had never seen Yuta this... furious before. So angry that he almost appeared desolate, depleted of all life. "Lend me your strength over here."

Rika leaves her post, and rushes behind Yuta. Maki takes this opportunity to run to you, taking you into her lap. "H-hey!" She holds your face in one hand and shakes you, fearful of the way your eyes rolled behind your head on their own. Your body was fighting consciousness as you healed yourself, uncertain if it would work at all.

An unfamiliar, strange feeling pours into all of you, with Toge looking back worriedly at Yuta while making his way to you. You force your eyes to stay focused on Yuta, with your mind frustrated with your sudden inability to speak. Tears finally stream out, and you watch as Yuta's curse energy glow around him like a dark aura. Toge ignores it for now, downing the last bit of the medicine before looking down at you, "heal faster."

Though you yourself were exhausted, Toge's cursed speech shot a wave of energy in you. Your Reverse Technique hastens, your flesh slowly making its way to connect with one another again. As your body was making a promising recovery, Yuta's body was being completely coated with his cursed energy.

Rika's arms transformed themselves into stake-like shapes, mimicking the same ability as the foe before them. "Hold it down for me, Rika," Yuta instructs coolly. Rika quickly creates more stakes with her body, using them to push the curse to the ground, and nail it down with her new, stake-like limbs.

As the curse struggled under Rika, Yuta hovers over it and chuckles. "Does it feel good?" Yuta asks in a hum, watching in attempt to get free. It hissed at Yuta's face. "I figured it didn't. The only thing that's going to hurt more than this, is your death."

You look over worriedly at Yuta as your body was near its full recovery. Maki and Toge held you, as you felt restless in this moment. Yuta was furious, and you could barely even talk to try and calm him down. You could only hold your stomach in pain, and watch as your lover relieves his frustration and regret.

He begins to cut away at the curse, using his weapon to chop away at its limbs. Yuta could only see read, and his arms pulsed with yearn to destroy. The curse would screech with each slice of his katana, earning no remorse from Yuta. His face was cold, his body unreactive to the agony that he was causing. Rika no longer had anything to hold down, and stood back as Yuta was faced with just the head of the curse. The once intimidating eye was now shrunk, looking small under Yuta's undeniable strength. It screeches with what you imagine is begging for mercy, but Yuta was deaf to it.

Not that he couldn't hear, but he could not care.

With one hand in his pocket, the other held up the katana right above the curses eye, giving it a few more moments of life. "Die," Yuta mutters. Without another second more, he drops the katana down onto the curse, killing it, and eradicating it from this world. He returns his weapon to the sheath behind him, color returning to his body and eyes as he makes his way towards you.

He takes you from Maki's hold and holds you tight, "fuck, fuck, fuck-- are you okay, Y/N?"

Maki slaps his forearm, "you're hurting her, Yuta."

He panics, loosening his grip as he frantically searches for calmness in your pained expression, "I..." His voice breaks, defeat clear in his eyes. "Y/N, m'so sorry I let you get hurt... I really fucked up this time." Tears coat his dark blue eyes.

You bring a weak hand up to pat his chest, unable to verbally ease his mind. You only lean into him a little more, your heart calming down from his touch. You were glad it was over, and more glad that you were in Yuta's arms.

Maki manages to stand, helping Toge up as well while Yuta stood up, keeping you carried safely in his arms. His strength, despite his immense output of cursed energy just now, felt boundless now. It was almost like he didn't break a sweat.

Maki pats Toge's back a bit, while Toge coughed out a last bit of blood, "she held her own, though. Her strategy to get Toge back into the fight was very surprising, but wise."

Yuta was indifferent, "she could have died from my carelessness. I shouldn't have let her come to this mission." You begin to pat at his chest in defiance but he wasn't keen on hearing you out. "I almost lost my partner. I'm not interested in putting us in that predicament again."

"If you won't vouch for her, we will," Maki insisted. "She understands the dangers of doing this, and still wants to continue her growth. I'd say she deserves to continue these missions, considering she still wants to do them."

"Salmon," Toge manages to say while nodding his head.

Yuta's eyes drop to yours, trying to find some sort of disagreement. But your eyes held conviction and fight. Despite your pale face and weak body, you still held that vigor that made Yuta fall for you in the first place. He looks down at your stomach realizing that your technique was giving out.

"Lets go back and see Doctor Shoko," Yuta hums. Although you were safe and sound, Yuta's grip and hold on you did not relent. His hands still had a bit of shake to them, and Rika was much closer to Yuta than usual. "I'm glad you're still here," Yuta whispers the moment he watched your eyes flutter shut.

hope this was good ahhh

[zahri-melitor]

What can you infer about the editorial meddling Young Justice went through?

Oh god. It’s like the old quote about pornography: you know it when you see it. Spend enough time reading comics and you can just tell.

Notable problems with the Young Justice 2019 run that smack of interference:

You can really tell there was external pressure to include Steph in the run and that she was not originally intended to join the team or appear any further than occasional cameos such as the flashbacks at the Hall of Justice as a link to Tim’s final scene in Tynion’s Tec run. Structurally her story makes no sense whatsoever for how to put a plot together. Steph’s not an original Young Justice character, the run already was supporting two new female characters plus a reboot of Amethyst introducing Amy to a new generation, even before we look at the crossovers from other titles in the imprint. The fact they ended up throwing in a single issue entirely about 'what Steph has been up to and her fight against Cluemaster' in the last section of the run makes it even worse, as that was valuable page time wasted pandering that could and should have been used to give Jinny Hex or Keli Quintela more development.

The entire ‘Drake’ situation, which for a costume change had very little build up, was under-designed, and then disappeared with Tim back in the Robin costume between two panels. It was a test balloon from someone that was comprehensively shot down by some mix of the fandom and editorial, and I remain convinced that DC is gunshy about a new costume and identity for Tim all the way up to the present day because of how badly it was handled.

It was being used as the anchor for Wonder Comics, leading to the required mega crossover (that also spilled over into Bendis’ Action Comics to give it some more space), putting even more pressure on the title to be telling a big crossover story when it was still trying to re-establish “your favourites are back” and suggesting potentially expanding the Young Justice lineup out to around thirteen characters, a massively oversized team that the title was not set up to handle.

Lost in the Multiverse was where the story started to get bogged down by being pulled in too many directions by expectations.

It’s also super telling that the last third of the book got turned over to essentially doing one-shot character pieces about the Core Four, the last defence of a run that can see cancellation coming and doesn’t feel confident launching a new story arc they don’t expect to get to finish. Some of this stuff was clearly background character work they would have preferred to have dripped out over a longer run.

Also I know I’m repeating myself, but having the Tim piece focus on Steph mostly, in the frame of Tim and Steph’s relationship? That’s not where I’d be spending my time when looking at Tim Drake in the focus of Young Justice. How he’s coping with his returned memories of having two or three different lives now? Thinking about what ‘Tell Conner you’re sorry’ means? Discussion about his feelings in terms of moving on from being Robin or not? Nah let’s talk about Steph's problems with her dad instead. That’s not a natural fit compared to what everyone else got and does not follow from any of the preceding story.

Still ropeable that the whole set of storylines about regained memories and alternate timelines doesn’t get to intersect with Lois Lane (which spoilers but also is committed to storytelling about ‘people have memories of other places bleeding through’ prior to the full Infinite Frontier retcon) or explore how those memories change things for Tim, Bart or Cassie (Kon at least does get a story about reconnecting in Action).

And that’s just off the top of my head, ignoring any of the more subtle signs.

I love Young Justice 2019. It is a run that adores Bart, Kon, Cassie and Tim (and particularly Bart. I cannot explain to you how much this story adores Bart if you’ve never read it) and the opening 6 issues make me feel warm and fuzzy every time I read them in terms of how cleverly it works to explain how we get everything back. There are clever subtle moments in the text that give a lot more depth to the story that are implied rather than spelled out: how Cassie suddenly remembers Bart when Bart comes near her, suggesting that her returned memories are a Speed Force side effect from being a lightning rod to Bart; Cassie and Tim sense Kon using TTK and recognise it as familiar, something the new characters cannot; the fakeout in the art where when Tim’s memories are restored, he sees Cissie in his memories, but unless you know the exact YJ98 page being referenced you’d think it was Steph; etc.

But gosh it would have been so much better if it had not been required to devote so much page time to crossovers and to pandering to fans, among other elements.

[god-has-entered-my-body]

Hey Lena, LOVE your work so much!!! Could you potentially do a Harrison Patrick Smith fic or a threesome one one with him, matty and reader? I would devour that! xx

okay okay i do have a few thoughts on this!

alright so for harrison i definitely see him into bondage because Duh ties and have you seen that man. WHORE he loves getting tied to the bedposts but specifically facedown, face shoved into crumpled sheets and sharp fingernails trailing down his back leaving delicious red streaks that frame the protruding bones of his spine. maybe you purr seductively into his ear, whispering filthy promises while watching his hips buck pathetically and listening to how his breathing becomes more and more unsteady.

he could swear you'd turned up the temperature, his body overheating with every passing second. He's grateful for you letting him shed his jacket before ripping his tie off of him and making good use of it around his wrists. the burn as it rubs against his skin makes the boy groan into the pillows, the material scratching at his skin yet he's too blissed out to care. when he finally feels your chest press up against his back, and oh, he's a goner; cock twitching in his plaid boxers, leaking against the thin fabric. your lips find his earlobe, gently biting down as he screws his eyes shut in pure pleasure, so turned on he can barely think.

you cant help but slip your fingers into his mouth at that exact moment, relishing in the way his eyes roll back and throat constricts at the sudden intrusion, the sounds of his gagging and sputtering like music to your ears. your fingers slick with his spit, slowly trailing down the expanse of his back, you start toying with the waistband of his underwear. the feeling of your body weight pinning him down drives the boy mad, his hands yanking and pulling at the restraints in a futile attempt to gain some power only makes him realise exactly how powerless he really is against you.

"mhmm pretty boy, so tense," you dig your nails into his lower back, the sudden rush of pain through his body making him yelp loudly. you chuckle at his involuntary reaction, your response only making him feel smaller underneath you. oh, how absolutely perfect he is. but you go lower, slipping your hand underneath his boxers and groping his ass harshly. a quiet moan escapes him at your actions, your ego swelling at just how reactive he is. "please," is the only word he offers up, hips twitching against your lower body as you trace little shapes with your hand, slick with his spit.

"want me to touch you baby? want sm'thing more from mommy?" the nickname makes his whole body shiver, and he nods his head frantically, whining into the pillow. you know its wet, drool and maybe even tears having stained it already. you can't help but grin, pressing soft kisses to his neck and back as your dominant hand moves down to circle his hole, so, so fucking ready for you already.

the soft "a-ah" that graces your ears as you push one finger in makes desire pool in your underwear, soaking almost completely through. you admire how well he takes it, shaking and unable to control his noises as the stretch burns deliciously, all the muscles in his body tensing at the sensation as you push deeper. "doing so well for me sweetheart, taking it so good for mommy. just like you're meant to, isn't that right baby?"

the brunette can only groan at your words, crying out when you crook your fingers slightly, hitting that sweet spot deep inside of him. finally, he cracks.

"f-fuck, oh god y'so good- shit." you smile at his stuttering, your tongue finding the dip between his shoulder blades as sucking diligently, leaving a small purple bruise behind. "please, please more- fuck, feels so good youresofuckinggoodohmygod-" you listen to him slur his words, pleasure taking over every inch of his body and the more vocal he becomes, the wetter your underwear gets.

something makes you want to finish him off, get him on his back with his face between your legs, giving you what you so desperately want- no, need. but playing the long game appeals even more, and you slow down, pulling out halfway.

"what no- please baby don't-" he pleads with you, and you can practically feel the tears pool in his eyes at the sudden loss. you dont give him a chance to beg, yanking his hair and shoving his teary face into the pillows once more, his shoulders and neck aching wonderfully at the sudden change in position.

"you'll take what i give you angel, nothing more, nothing less." you smile even bigger at the boys small nod, fighting the urge to snap back at you, even if its the last thing he wants. as for the rest of your night together? god only knows how much fun you had with your little toy, whining and pathetic, ready to obey every order <3

[mraprilfools]

I just realized I never actually linked this to my Tumblr! VOX FANS HAVE SOME VOX SMUT.

Word Count: 5.6k

Rating: E Pairing: Vox x F!Reader

CW/TW: None

Summary: The Vox-Tek Employee handbook is over 500 pages thick and you're expected to memorize every word. Your boss, Vox doesn't seem to understand why that's an unreasonable expectation. What's worse? After so many infractions he decides to call you into his office to punish your flagrant breaks of company protocol! Preview under the cut

The Voxtek employee handbook was so thick you could beat somebody to death with it. You knew that because you assaulted some creep on the way home with it one night! It was well-organized, you gave it that! But with so many different rules, standards, and procedures you struggled to memorize it all. You’d read the thing front and back multiple times and STILL found yourself breaking some obscure stupid protocol somewhere.

And your fucking boss was a grade-A asshole.

Vox didn’t let a single one go, no matter how minor. When you first started working there you had a phone that wasn’t under Voxtek regulations. So he confiscated it until after work. When you brought in a magazine that was doing a story about the mysterious Radio Demon’s reappearance? He fucking set it on fire and told you that propaganda toward Overlords other than Vee’s was also a violation! Eating anywhere but the break room? Forbidden. Even the food you could bring in had to be Vox-tek approved locations for takeout!

You SWORE you were safe to at least browse on your phone during lunch breaks. To rant about how your boss was an uptight little prick who didn’t know how to unclench his metal butt-hole once in his life. Your bestie on the other end listened to you vent via text messaging, and the two of you even shared some jokes. It was a good way to let off some steam in a place you always had to be on high alert at all times.

A peace that was shattered when Vox came strolling into the break room. The sight scared you straight in your seat, you immediately hit the power button on your phone to hide the conversation. The man had the usual dashing smile that he always wore in public. But you know he was fucking plastic. Fake.

It was unusual for Vox to ever come into the break room. You had a feeling it may have to do with the fact you were alone right now. Normally he’d send Papermint or one of his other secretaries to pick up his coffee but here he was in the…not-flesh grabbing it himself. The smile never left his face as he strolled over, setting his metallic hand on the table beside you. The familiarity he took with you put you further on edge. The coffee mug in his other hand, branding his hatred toward Alastor freely. What a salty cunt.

“Hello Sweetheart! How are you settling into our company? I know we’ve… had a rough start but it’s only because I see so much potential in you. I’d hate to see you wither on the branch!” He was sickeningly cheerful as if his constant reminders of your rule-breaking weren’t annoying, and you couldn’t say a word.

Through clenched teeth, you answered with a fake smile, “I’m doing my best Sir! I’m SO glad to be working here! It’s a real honor.”

The artificial cyan smile spread from frame to frame, a whimsical chime echoing for his speakers. “So glad to hear it! Always glad to see an asset join the team. And-- you have been good? No further questions or infractions?” Vox held the coffee cup forward as if to pull forth a confession from you. The slandering you both on company time was technically against policy but, as long as he didn’t go through your private messages? What could he know?

And you also did have that novel in your bag you bought on the way from work that was more ‘propaganda’. Again, secure in your locker and never opened so what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. With confidence, you answered, “Not at all sir! I’ve taken great care to memorize the entire handbook!”

You’d seen it on the news segments multiple times, how he strangely managed to drink coffee with that screen of his. And you got to see it in person for the first time, sighing with satisfaction when he drained the bitter brew. His head was one of life’s greatest mysteries. “Excellent! That’s what I like to hear!” Vox stood up, making his way to the exit. The sound of his heels clicking against the polished floor. You felt yourself relaxing, dropping your shoulders and letting out the breath you were holding to slump in your chair. You couldn’t relax around that guy.

“Oh--!” Vox snapped his fingers, making you sit up straight in your chair all over again, mechanically turning your head to look his way. “I almost forgot! I need you to come by my office at Seven, I want you to bring me the reports on the new Voxflix pilots aired this week. I don’t need to remind you what to do with the other two copies right? Of course not-- you’ve read the handbook. I’ll see you then!” Vox waved farewell before you could stop him, the door clicking shut before you could explain that no, you did NOT.

Dick.

From what you could remember protocol required a second copy for the record room! You’d completely blanked on the third. But your lunch break was not long enough you could fish out the employee manual and double-check it. With a sigh of resignation, you hoped that you’d remember when it came closer to seven.

[tulipathy]

Latest Fanfics

Rules: post the beginning lines of your most recent 10 published fanfics, then attempt to tag 10 people!

Thank you for the tag, @opal-apparition! ♥️

For chaptered works, the first lines of the most recent part.

soun melinen, soun suinathen (Solavellan, E, "powerful names, powerful silences", ongoing— 4/6 chapters— 13k)

“What’s big and wet, and smells like sand?” “...This beach?” she offers after a few beats of silence, unwilling to let Varric’s attempt go without answer. “Tamassrans, if you follow all the rules,” the Iron Bull says. He says it like it is not a guess.

only her hand may anoint her brow (Solavellan, E, ongoing— 2/6 chapters—12k)

Tarasyl’an Te’las. It is so beautiful she feels sick. There are so many demons she is sick, right onto the snow. She wipes her mouth with the back of her arm and keeps going. Tightens her grip on her dagger and keeps going. There is fightthrill in her and she is so close she is giddy, so close the sourness in her mouth could be a song.

most fair (Abelas/Merrill, E, complete, 3k)

It is so tall it blocks the late afternoon sun, and so beautiful Merrill’s mouth shakes. She takes in the limbs of trees flanking the mirror like guardians. Behind the ends of their branches, the gold of the frame traces silent magic, potential in the glass waiting for knowledge, or words of power, or worthiness, she doesn’t know, she only knows it is whole and untainted.

worth it (m!Hawke/f!Lavellan, E, complete, 3k)

It is true that he is taller and broader than most human men; she noticed this before anything else about him, and the impression stayed with her even when he tugged her hand and grinned wolfishly over her knuckles, irreverent to the Inquisitor at Skyhold. Irreverent to the whole world, it seemed.

treasure (nb!Taash/f!Rook, E, complete, 2k)

A real Lord of Fortune sleeps as well in a hammock as they do on sand or a mattress. If an inn has a solid roof and anything behind the bar, the number of beds in the building is almost inconsequential. But it’s rare to get a room with two beds, especially since one is all Taash and Rook need. They look at the beds, and each other, and then throw their bags onto the smaller bed without a word. They said enough on the last, flirty few hours of the way here.

glory, gold, a few tales told (nb!Taash/f!Rook, E, complete, 3k)

Five separate groups of Antaam means something is going on, so Taash and Rook keep to the shadows of the palms as best they can. High up on the coastal cliffs some scrubby, fragrant trees manage to grow as well. “If we see any more,” Taash says, “You run.” “If we see any more,” Ytredine mutters, “The mirror took us to Par fucking Vollen.”

Tel’banal (Solavellan, M, complete, 2k)

The world they enter is the prison, but it is not the arid, lifeless place he left. Parts of it catch gleam in the unlight, and Solas can feel how it evades the boundaries of his design and sprawls beyond them. 

Studious (Solas & [@!] Lavellan, T, complete, 2k)

He goes alone to the humans’ clutch of buildings and tents in the snow, and inserts himself there in humility so useful and undemanding it is not long at all before they put him directly at the side of the interruption of all his plans. An elf, he is surprised to learn. Young (old enough to know better, one would think), with her wrists held by short chains to the frame of a cot and Elgarnan’s mark like a barbed net across her face. As Dalish a fool as it is possible to be. She is doubtlessly proud of her vallaslin, the way all Dalish are proud of exactly the wrong things. 

woe is the song of the sparrow, the cry of the doe (Solavellan, T, complete, 5k)

He told her— You are perfect exactly as you are. You have a rare and marvelous spirit. Not rare or marvelous enough. In the end, a common and unremarkable spirit, unworthy of explanation even by someone who seemed to cherish spirits so well. A spirit low as dirt and as meant to be casually trampled under a palms up retreat and a sorrowful, bewildering apology.

i pay my dearest costs by silk of silver, or milkweed, or dandelion kites (Fenhawke, M, complete, 7k)

The light in the Alienage is dry by day and dusty by night, and what makes it through the arms of the Vhenadahl is weary. It is usually a quiet place. But on a night that turns out loud and fateful, light slides along the shock of a sharp-armored elf’s hair like it has found another moon and managed to rally to new glory. Hawke is stunned by it the first night she meets him and she looks for it many, many nights and days thereafter.

@dayntee have you done this yet? I would love to see yours! And anyone else who sees this, feel free to say I tagged you! (TAG!) I am still setting myself up on tumblr, you'd be helping me.