#had to stop and stare for a while when i read his thought process

[blissfullyapillow]

Blissfully A Pillow

Wc: 2500~

Summary: My favorites willingly being your pillow. Featuring Neuvillette, Dan Heng, Mydei, Phainon, & Xavier!

Warnings: You might feel all warm and fuzzy inside

Category: Fluff. GN reader!

Pillow Talks: When I realized it’s been 13 months since I last wrote something I had to get something out there lmfao. I realized I let the idea of perfection become my reason for stagnation in regards to writing. It has led to serious burnout in my life and writer's block. So, fuck perfection and I hope you enjoy what I have to offer regardless if it’s full of imperfections; That’s part of the beauty of creation, isn’t it? 

Masterlist

Neuvillette 🪼⋆｡𖦹°🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“Mmh.. Neuvillette..” He perks up at the sound of your voice, glancing at you.

Your curled up form is snuggled against his rigid one as he finishes the remaining paperwork for the day. He smiles softly at your sleeping figure, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. His body relaxes; he’s filled with renewed vigor to finish his work for the day.

When he turns back to his paperwork, a sudden sensation causes him to tense once more.

Subconsciously, your hands have reached out and grabbed his horns. His cheeks warm as you gently yet firmly cling to the end of his horn with one hand, while the other falls back to your side.

He’s tempted to remove your hand, but in all honesty the feeling of your hand holding firm to his horn is a comforting weight.

In no time Neuvillette signs the last document for the day.

Now, he organizes everything on his desk before carefully standing up, removing your hand in the process. It was a struggle at first, you really didn’t want to let go, but eventually he coaxed your hand to release his horn.

He chuckles to himself as he bends down, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. To his surprise your hand now grips the fabric of his clothes.

His heart melts at the adorable sight; your cheek is smooshed against his chest as your own rises and falls with steady, even breaths.

The walk home is a serene one, although the night air is a bit chilly. He holds you a bit closer when you shiver in his arms.

Now home, Neuvillette manages to maneuver you skillfully into his free arm, while the other removes his boots.

During the process you begin to wake, bleary eyes adjusting to the new yet familiar environment.

“Neuvillette... are we home?” Your voice is soft, and Neuvillette smiles. “We are home, sweetheart. Do not fret, I will bring you safely to bed.” Your sleepy smile is enough to make him swoon, but he reigns himself in.

Neuvillette makes true on his word. It isn’t long before you’re both changed and ready for bed, Neuvillette gently slipping under the covers with you.

He makes sure to rest your head on the soft pillow, yet you immediately reposition yourself so your head is resting against him once more.

“You prefer to use me as your pillow.” He sounds shocked, although he shouldn’t be. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this.

“You’re my pillow now.” You state your words as if it’s fact, and the very thought makes him laugh.

“I am not opposed to such an idea.” With a soft kiss to your forehead, cheek, and then the tip of your nose, Neuvillette settles beside you before you share a pleasant dream of a late night walk together.

Dan Heng ༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･

“Can’t sleep?” His question is knowing, and you let out a huff of air in frustration. “Mhm..” Your response comes out as a whine, and Dan Heng sighs.

“Lean on me. Use me as your pillow.” His words make you sit up in surprise. You stare at him with an indescribable expression on your face.

He doesn’t look up from his book, but a smirk lifts the corner of his lips.

“Stop looking at me like that. I’ve offered this before.” You huff out a tired laugh since you know he’s right. “Yeah I know, but I always feel bad like I’m intruding on your reading time.” “Nonsense. Your presence makes moments like these all the more enjoyable.” You hum in acknowledgement.

“Okay then. Don’t blame me if I like it too much. You may wind up being my personal pillow.” He chuckles at your statement, moving your head to rest on his shoulder. “You know I don't mind.”

Your eyes drift shut as you will yourself to fall asleep. A few minutes pass, and nothing.

Another moment of silence passes before you feel something in your hair. Dan Heng’s fingers play with your hair before his voice fills the silence of the room.

He’s reading an informational book, and he honestly sounds like an encyclopedia, but it soothes you nonetheless. After hours of trying to fall asleep, Dan Heng’s soothing touch coupled with his voice lulls you to sleep in almost no time at all.

Dan Heng smiles to himself when he hears the shift in your breathing pattern, signaling you’re asleep.

He continues to read anyway, until it’s his time to join you in blissful sleep.

Mydei ⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

"I told you a warrior does not sleep." Mydei continues to use his stupid excuse to not sleep as you guide him by his hand.

"Yeah yeah, you've said that... three times now? Or was that the fourth?" You scoff and roll your eyes as Mydei indignantly replies, "That was the third time."

He lets you guide him to your humble living space. He takes in the details as you make haste, preparing yourself for sleep.

He watches in silence, but he's ready to stubbornly stand his ground when you inevitably try to coax him to rest with you.

"So you're still going to be stubborn huh?" Your rhetorical question receives a stubborn nod of confirmation from Mydei.

He doesn't fight you as you pull him behind you. Mydei eyes the loungewear you select for him. He opens his mouth, ready to refuse, but he notices the bags under your eyes and just how tired you really are.

Instead of letting him be stubborn and going to sleep you're choosing to stand your ground and take as many attempts as you need to have him rest with you.

Funny enough, your resolve to get him to rest is what finally convinces Mydei to concede.

"Alright, fine. I can see the bags under your eyes. Have you not been sleeping well?" His question receives a heartfelt answer from you. "No. Things have been hectic in Amphoreus lately, and I'd be a fool not to worry about you. Even if you are 'Immortal' it doesn't mean you can't feel pain and get hurt like the rest of us."

Your concern for him touches him deeply. He finds himself feeling a little guilty for being so stubborn and making you worry over him.

"You do not need to concern yourself with my wellbeing." Mydei faces you after changing into the lounge wear you provided, a loose garment that he has to admit feels comfortable despite his initial apprehension.

"That's easier said than done. I tell you the same thing all the time about me. Do you listen?" A knowing smile lifts your lips as you wait for the answer you've heard a million times by now. "No." "Exactly. Now, let's go to sleep. I'm really tired." The yawn that manages to escape your lips shows just how exhausted you feel.

Mydei tsks as he lifts you with one arm effortlessly. You let out a noise of surprise as he carries you to your bed, throwing you onto it. Surprised laughter leaves your lips as Mydei crawls onto your bed beside you, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around you.

"Why did you have to throw me onto the bed? You couldn't place me down normally?" Mydei can see and hear the smile on your lips as you ask your question, so he knows you really don't mind.

"It's more fun that way." Mydei's simple response elicits a wider smile from you. "Now go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." Mydei's promise surprises you, but it's a pleasant one.

You close your eyes as you try to get comfortable. Minutes that feel like hours pass as the two of you lie side by side.

Neither of you are sleeping.

"Let's try something else." Mydei grumbles. He maneuvers you so you're resting your head against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat beneath your ear. It's a steady, comforting sound.

"Will you try to sleep too?" You murmur the words quietly as your eyes remain closed. "I will try. I can't make any promises." Mydei's words are also quiet, and the sound of his gruff voice is soothing to you.

"Okay. Goodnight Mydei." You wish Mydei a goodnight as you focus on listening to his heartbeat. Mydei's arms squeeze you lightly as he whispers a sweet, "Goodnight" as you feel yourself finally relax.

It isn't long before you begin to fall asleep. Your heavy eyelids act as a curtain as you finally drift off to sleep. Mydei smiles to himself as you finally fall asleep. He closes his eyes and allows himself to relax while he holds you in his arms.

With you in his arms, Mydei eventually falls asleep, getting the rest you've been wanting him to get.

Phainon ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

All it takes is one look at you as you walk through the door of your shared abode to know you had a rough day. Phainon shakes his head knowingly as you sluggishly remove your shoes.

"Tough day?" Phainon's question receives a slow nod of confirmation from you. "Alright, let's get you relaxed and ready for bed." Phainon wastes no time in whisking you away, helping you remove your clothes in favor of something more comfortable.

"Wait, I need to get this out of my hair. Someone bumped into me on the way home and-" "It's okay. Don't think about it anymore. Here, let me take care of you." Phainon hushes you as he guides you to the bathroom.

"Sit. Let me wash your hair for you." Phainon ignores your tired protests as he gathers the hair products you typically use to wash your hair.

He situates you so you're sitting on his lap with your back pressed against the bathtub. He takes his time washing your hair; gently scrubbing your scalp with your preferred hair products.

Your eyes remain closed as you enjoy Phainon's pampering. He smiles softly as he continues to dote on you. He had a rough day himself, but being to take care of you like this is his preferred way to unwind after a long day.

"You look so pretty like this." His whispered words bring a giddy smile to your lips. Warmth spreads through your body as he makes sure to thoroughly rinse your hair. He wraps your hair in a towel you didn't see him grab.

"Hold on, let me dry it for you. You can't go to bed with wet hair." Phainon effortlessly lifts you off of his lap as he stands. He doesn't put you down, opting to carry you as he grabs the blow-dryer. "Aren't you tired too Phainon? You don't have to carry me like this." Your concern warms his heart, and his fond gaze in your direction reflects his sincere gratitude for your concern.

"I am, but taking care of you like this helps me relax. So, tell me something good that happened today. I know you can think of something." Phainon gets the blow dryer up and running as he sits you down on his lap once more. He cherishes your soft smile as you recall something good that happened today. Phainon listens intently over the sound of the blow dryer as he dries your hair for you.

"Well isn't that something? I'm glad that happened. It became a positive part of your day today." Phainon responds to your good news with a cheerful smile. "You know what good thing happened to me today?" Phainon doesn't wait for you to respond. He picks you up and dutifully carries you to your shared bed as he answers his rhetorical question. "I got to take care of you today. Oh, and I got to see that gorgeous smile on your lips." Your laugh is a bit bashful as you're used to Phainon's praise but still affected by it.

"I could say the same thing about you. I get to be carried in your strong arms tonight." Phainon's cheeks warm at your flirtatious teasing. "That's enough out of you. It's time to rest." A sweet kiss is pressed to your lips as Phainon gently lays you on the bed, quickly joining you at your side under the cool blankets.

"Come here." Phainon opens his arms for you to snuggle against him. You happily take his offer, wiggling your way into his arms as your head rests against his chest. Phainon's lips press another kiss to your forehead as he whispers, "Goodnight. Have sweet dreams, okay?" You giggle before you whisper in reply, "Only if you do." Phainon chuckles as he gets comfortable.

Sleep comes easy to the two of you that night.

Xavier .𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦

"Can't sleep?" Your eyes open as Xavier's soft voice reaches your ears. You're currently splayed on your back like a starfish as you stare up at the ceiling. Xavier shifts to rest his head on your chest.

"Yeah... I don't know why. I'm tired but I can't fall asleep." Your tone conveys how tired you truly feel. Xavier yawns as he shifts his position once more, moving his head to lie on his side. "Change your position. I have an idea." You follow Xavier's instructions.

You position yourself so your back is pressed against Xavier's chest. He wraps his arms around you, burying his head in your shoulder. "and how is this supposed to help me fall asleep?" Your question elicits a chuckle from Xavier.

"It isn't. I just wanted to cuddle with you." Xavier doesn't give you a chance to respond before you feel his deft fingers tickling your sides. You burst into uncontrollable laughter as Xavier's fingers mercilessly attack your sides.

"Okay, okay! Enough! I can't breathe!" You gasp the words as Xavier's fingers continue to attack. A moment later he finally relents, granting you the precious opportunity to inhale sharp breaths.

"How is that supposed to help me fall asleep?" Your question is one full of amusement. Xavier simply chuckles as he affectionately nuzzles his head into the crook of your shoulder.

"It isn't. Do you want to hear a story? It might help you fall asleep. If it doesn't then we can keep talking until the sun rises." You make a noise akin to agreement, and Xavier takes that as his cue to begin.

His fingers roam your body with feather light traces; they softly glide up and down your arm before they eventually settle into your hair.

Xavier begins to tell you a story about an alien visiting another planet. His voice is a soothing melody, successfully lulling you to sleep with his soft whispers.

Xavier interrupts his own story with a soft chuckle. You feel his lips press against your temple as your eyes flutter close. He continues, and you eventually drift off to sleep.

Mere moments after you fall asleep Xavier emits an exhausted yawn before he joins you, a fond smile on his lips as he enjoys your warmth.

[angry-glasses]

Jo Euishin: ❌Recognize your own worth as a person ✅ Assume your maknae needed a replacement hyung for emotional support (???) and you were just the closest decent option available (???????)

[tobeholyistobeempty]

TASK FORCE 141 HEADCANONS

how your fwb would react to you sending a riskay pic and saying “do you like my necklace?:)”

reader afab. 18+. featuring: gaz, price, soap, simon.

KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK

the moment he opens it, everything stops.

he’s standing in line for coffee - full daylight, in public, and you’ve just casually sent him something that looks like it belongs behind a goddamn password wall, captioned by an innocent little sentence: “new necklace, you like?:)”

he stares. squints. lowers the brightness on his phone like that’ll help.

then the corner of his mouth curves.

he calls you - you don’t pick up. then you get a text five minutes later, presumably after he’s removed himself from the general public’s vicinity.

“you are SO full of shit.”

you giggle like an absolute idiot and type back: “huh?”

he responds two seconds later.

“you send me the hottest photo I’ve ever seen in my life and ask about the fucking jewelry? that’s cold and you know it.”

the way he’s so riled up is exactly the type of reaction you were looking for. it only fuels you to keep going: “kyle. i just wanted to know what you thought of my necklace..”

“you want compliments? okay. the necklace’s nice. but the tits? phenomenal. stupidly good. brain-breaking.”

you don’t reply, too busy dying inside. a few mins pass before he sends you a final message:

“tell me when you’re free, no excuses. i’m making you repeat that pose.” followed up by: “but this time with your hands tied.”

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE

john price is a simple man.

it shows in the way he texts. he’s usually blunt, direct, rarely more than a few words when needed. he says it’s the most efficient way to get a point across.

but you, however, have a point of your own. and today, it arrives in the form of a photo:

you. on your back in the midst of golden hour. nothing on. legs spread just enough with a thin little chain catching the light where it rests against your chest.

no caption needed, but you send one anyway. because you know better than anyone that the best way to get a rise out of john price is premeditated bratting with intent.

“like my necklace, sir? :)”

the moment he opens it, he hears you loud and clear. doesn’t reply for twenty minutes and you just smile like an idiot for it because you know what his silence is saying.

then, your phone dings.

“yes.”

you barely process it before another bubble pops up.

“reckon ill like it more when it’s dangling over my face while you’re riding me.”

you think that’s the end. that he’s made his point. but then he sends one final, simply devastating message.

“keep the door unlocked. i’m getting you pregnant tonight.”

JOHNNY ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

you’re bored. haven’t seen johnny in a few days, and it’s starting to show - both of you restless, every conversation getting riskier. the tension’s thick - always is with him.

so naturally…you make it worse.

you send him the pic in the middle of the day.

he’s just finished a run, shirt stuck to his chest, breath still shallow, sweat dripping down his neck.

he glances at his phone and gets bloody flashbanged by your audacity.

full tits. bare skin. soft and smug and innocent-eyed wearing nothing but a delicate little gold chain, with the message below it reading: “like my necklace? :)”

you get four voice notes. immediately.

0:05 - “jesus christ-“

0:11 - “lass- fuck - ye cannae do that tae me in public. i almost walked into traffic - fucken hell-“

0:22 - “you’re sitten there looken’ like tha, asken about a fucken necklace? what necklace? i didnae see shite - i had tae go back and zoom in an nae ive go’ a problem. ive gone full blackout-“

there’s a brief lapse, a minute, maybe less. then:

0:07 - “yeah. nah. we’re fighten. i’m showen up, and you’re no walken right for a week.”

then he follows it up with a single text message, and makes your entire year.

“you do look beautiful by the way. can’t wait to rip that fucking thing off with my teeth.”

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

you know he’s deployed. you know he’s half a world away. you know it’s the middle of the night for him and you know damn well he’s been running back-to-back missions with no sleep.

you also know he hasn’t touched you in twelve days. hasn’t even seen you.

that’s exactly why you do it.

you wait until you know he’ll be checking in - brief comms window, satellite delay, whatever he can spare - and you send it:

a photo. close-up. bedroom light. completely bare, the thin gold chain you’re showing off just barely visible as it disappears down your chest and out of frame.

caption: “new necklace :)”

then, five minutes later, when he still hasn’t replied, you make it worse:

“been thinking about how frustrated you must be. poor thing.”

and then, to end your own life, you send one more:

“you’d cry if you saw what i just did with my fingers.”

the radio silence is so loud it’s deafening. you get no reply. no acknowledgment. nothing for hours. this doesn’t surprise you - simon riley is not a man to be teased. doesn’t matter where he is, what he’s doing, if he’s provoked in any way - he will be making good on it.

you wake up the next morning to a notification that he’s reacted to the picture with a heart, and a message - a text that makes your stomach drop and your thighs clench at the same time.

“you’re not going anywhere for three days when i get back. pack what you need. you won’t be walking when i’m done with you.”

then another, sealing your fate.

“be home tomorrow. next time you tease me mid-op, you better pray the enemy gets to me before i get to you.”

a/n: hope y’all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed making it. they’re all filth.

[girlinterupptedsblog]

You send your best friend nudes on aciddent

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader (Best Friends)

Summary: you wanted ro send nudes to guy you were talking to and without even realizing you sended them to rafe. He shows up at your house and he fucks you pretty

Warnings:(Explicit sexual content (18+), Rough, raw, and unprotected sex, Best friends-to-lovers tension, Possessiveness/jealousy, Strong language, Slight dominance themes, Mentions of nudes/sexting, Brief edging/denial)

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

Your house was too quiet. Too empty. The kind of silence that made you restless, forcing you to find something—anything—to keep yourself occupied.

You had already scrolled through every possible social media feed, tried binge-watching a show, and even considered taking a nap, but nothing seemed to cure the boredom eating at you. The guy you’d been talking to—the one you had a… thing with—hadn't texted you all day, and for some reason, that only annoyed you more.

With a sigh, you plopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling before an idea popped into your head. A reckless, stupid idea. But an exciting one.

Grabbing your phone, you opened the camera app, biting your lip as you hesitated. Then, without thinking too hard about it, you started posing, taking pictures of yourself—fully naked.

The longer you did it, the more confident you became, experimenting with angles, capturing the way the dim lighting cast shadows over your skin. By the time you finished, you were beyond pleased with how good you looked.

Your finger hovered over the screen as you scrolled through the pictures, feeling the rush of power that came with it. Maybe if you sent them to him—the guy you’d been talking to—he’d finally give you the attention you deserved.

Without another thought, you selected a few of your best shots and hit send.

The moment was thrilling. You smirked to yourself, placing your phone aside as you basked in the satisfaction of it all. You left your phone unattended for a while, assuming he’d take his time responding, so you didn’t bother checking right away.

It wasn’t until an hour later, when you absentmindedly picked up your phone to see if he had replied, that your stomach dropped.

36 new messages.

But they weren’t from him.

They were from Rafe.

Your heart stopped. Your entire body froze as dread crept up your spine. Confusion clouded your mind until you clicked on his name, your blood running cold as you read the first message.

Rafe: Tell me you didn’t just send that to me.

Your breath hitched. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you scrolled.

Rafe: Are you serious right now?

Rafe: Fucking answer me.

Rafe: Jesus Christ, what the fuck?

Rafe: Are you out of your mind?

Panic overtook your senses as you finally understood what had happened. Your fingers shook as you scrolled up, only to confirm your worst nightmare.

You hadn’t sent those pictures to the guy you’d been talking to.

You had sent them to Rafe.

Your best friend.

The same Rafe who had seen you at your worst, who had been there through everything, who—until now—had never seen you like that.

You felt sick.

Rafe: I swear to fucking God, tell me that was a mistake.

Rafe: Are you ignoring me on purpose?

Rafe: Do you even realize what you just did?

You stared at the messages, paralyzed with horror, your mind racing with what to do. There was no taking it back. No pretending it never happened.

Your phone buzzed again, and another text popped up.

Rafe: I’m coming over.

Your stomach flipped.

Oh. Fuck.

You barely had time to process the messages before loud, impatient knocking shook your front door. Your heart jumped into your throat.

Shit.

Rafe was already here.

Panic surged through you as you scrambled off your bed. You weren’t even dressed—still completely bare from your little photoshoot. With no time to properly throw on clothes, you grabbed the first thing within reach—an oversized shirt that smelled faintly of cologne. Rafe’s cologne. It was probably his shirt, one he had left behind on one of the countless nights he crashed at your place.

You barely managed to pull it over your head, the hem brushing mid-thigh, before the knocking got louder.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Open the damn door."

His voice was sharp, edged with something you couldn’t quite place—urgency, frustration… something more.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed out the shirt, schooling your expression into something nonchalant. Like you didn’t just send your best friend a full spread of naked pictures. Like you weren’t freaking the fuck out inside.

You swung the door open, greeting him with a bright, innocent smile. "Hey, Rafe."

His eyes flickered over you immediately, scanning your barely covered frame. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. "You’re fucking joking."

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. "About what?"

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a sharp breath before stepping inside, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary. "Don't do that. Don't act like you didn't just—" He stopped himself, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as his eyes dragged down your body again, lingering on your bare legs.

You crossed your arms, biting back a smirk. "Didn't just what?"

His jaw ticked. "Send me those pictures."

You shrugged. "It was an accident."

His blue eyes snapped to yours, dark and dangerous. "An accident?" He took a step closer, forcing you back slightly. "Tell me, how exactly do you 'accidentally' send someone half a dozen nude pictures?"

You swallowed hard, nerves creeping up your spine, but you refused to back down. You weren’t about to let him see how flustered you were. "I meant to send them to someone else."

His expression darkened, something flickering behind his eyes at your words. His voice dropped, lower, rougher. "Yeah? Who?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You weren’t sure why, but suddenly, saying his name—the guy you’d been talking to—felt wrong. The way Rafe was looking at you, staring through you like he was barely holding himself together, made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t prepared for.

His fingers twitched at his side. "Who were they meant for?"

You hesitated. "It doesn’t matter."

"Like hell it doesn’t," Rafe snapped, stepping in again, this time leaving no space between you. Your breath hitched. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his chest barely brushing yours. His gaze flicked to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking onto your eyes again. "You were really about to send those to some other guy?"

Your mouth felt dry. You blinked up at him, struggling to find your voice. "It’s not a big deal—"

His laugh was humorless. "Not a big deal?" His fingers curled at his sides like he was physically restraining himself. "You seriously don’t get it, do you?"

"Get what?" You whispered.

Rafe exhaled sharply, his jaw clenched so tightly you swore he might break his teeth. Then, in one swift motion, he grabbed your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him. Your breath caught in your throat.

"Don’t ever send shit like that to another guy." His voice was low, dangerously soft. "Not when you have me."

Your heart stuttered. "Rafe—"

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly like he was at war with himself. His grip on your chin tightened just enough to make you dizzy. "Do you have any idea what you just did to me?"

You swallowed, your skin buzzing under his touch. "I—"

"You think I didn’t like it?" He scoffed, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "You think I’m mad because I didn’t want to see you like that?"

Your stomach flipped.

He leaned in, his lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "I’m mad because now I can't stop fucking thinking about it."

A sharp breath left your lungs.

His other hand trailed down, gripping the hem of your—his—shirt. His fingers brushed against your bare thigh, sending shivers up your spine.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The second you didn’t tell him to stop, Rafe took that as a green light.

Before you could process it, his hands gripped your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifted you off the floor. A startled gasp left your lips as he placed you on the nearest surface—the hallway counter—knocking over a few things in the process.

Your legs instinctively spread, your oversized shirt riding up your thighs, exposing just how bare you were beneath it.

Rafe wasn’t blind. He saw everything.

And fuck, he wasn’t about to pretend he didn’t notice how worked up you already were.

A dark smirk tugged at his lips as his hands slid up your thighs, fingers tracing your soft skin. "You didn’t even think about putting something on, huh?" His voice was low, teasing. "Almost like you wanted me to see you like this."

Heat crawled up your neck, but before you could snap back, his fingers were already moving.

Without hesitation, he slipped between your thighs, brushing against your slick heat. A breathy moan slipped past your lips as he ran two fingers through your folds, feeling just how wet you were for him.

"Shit," Rafe groaned under his breath. "Look at you."

Your head tilted back slightly, hands gripping the edge of the counter as he teased you, his fingers barely dipping into you before pulling away again. Your hips bucked slightly, chasing the friction, and he chuckled.

"Needy, huh?"

"Rafe—" Your voice was a quiet plea, but he wasn’t feeling merciful tonight.

He pushed two fingers inside you with ease, the stretch making you gasp. He wasted no time, his fingers curling just right, pressing against that spot that made your entire body shudder.

"That’s it, baby," he murmured, his free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread for him. "Fuck, you’re already squeezing me."

Your legs twitched, the pleasure overwhelming as he pumped his fingers inside you, slow but deliberate. His thumb found your clit, rubbing small, calculated circles that made you whimper.

"Bet you weren’t even thinking about that guy when you took those pictures," he taunted, his pace never faltering. "Bet you were thinking about me."

You didn’t answer, but your body betrayed you—the way you clenched around his fingers, the way your thighs trembled.

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours, but never closing the distance. "Say it," he murmured. "Tell me who you really wanted to send them to."

Your pride held on, but your body was already giving him the answer.

You didn’t answer his question. You couldn’t. Saying it out loud would mean admitting it—to him, to yourself. That you never meant for those pictures to go to anyone but him. That the only person you wanted to see you like this, touch you like this, was Rafe.

But your silence didn’t matter. Your body told him everything he needed to know.

You gasped, yanking his wrist, pulling his fingers out of you before you could tumble over the edge. Rafe’s brows furrowed, his fingers glistening in the dim light, but before he could question it, your hands found his waistband, tugging at his jeans.

He let out a low chuckle, but it was rough, almost breathless. "That desperate, huh?"

You ignored him, too focused on shoving his jeans down. The second they pooled around his ankles, you took a moment—your breath hitching as you took him in.

Fuck.

You already knew he was big, but seeing it—thick, hard, already leaking at the tip—had you swallowing hard.

Rafe didn’t give you time to think. He grabbed your hips, dragging you to the edge of the counter, spreading you wider. He didn’t bother with teasing or stretching you any further—he knew you could take it.

And you did.

The moment he pushed inside, a strangled moan left your lips, your hands flying to grip his shoulders.

"Shit," Rafe gritted, his fingers digging into your skin as he bottomed out in one sharp thrust.

It was rough. Raw. Deep.

He didn’t give you time to adjust—he pulled back just enough before slamming into you again, knocking the breath from your lungs. The counter rattled beneath you with every thrust, his grip bruising, his pace relentless.

"Look at you," he groaned, watching the way your body took him, how you clenched around him with every movement. "This is what you wanted, huh? Not him—me."

Your nails scraped down his back, a broken moan escaping as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot that had you seeing stars.

"You feel that?" Rafe panted, his forehead pressing against yours. "This is mine. You're mine."

You couldn’t even argue.

Not when you were falling apart around him, your body trembling as you came, his name spilling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew.

And Rafe? He followed right after, burying himself deep, groaning your name as he spilled inside you, claiming you in every way possible.

[alienzil]

Nanny Danny

“That is a whole ass baby,” was the only thought running through Lex Luthor’s head when the scientist proudly showed him the tube containing Project KR. It was not remotely the sort of thing he would normally think and most definitely not what he had expected to be thinking the first time he saw the clone.

He’d been pleased when he’d read the reports indicating the success of KR after years of failures. Lex had poured millions of dollars and literally his own blood into ensuring a clone of the alien could be made, one that would be under his total control instead of the unknown aspirations of Superman.  He’d wanted to see the fruits of his labors personally but this…

It. No, not an it. He scrunched his tiny face and smacked his lips and…did he smirk? Was that HIS SMIRK on that baby’s face?! No. No. Babies this small didn’t smile or smirk. They passed gas and their sleep deprived and addled parents mistook it for an intelligent response. He’d heard enough inane conversations in the Lexcorp office about the various progeny of his employees to pick up on that but still. This child had Kryptonian DNA, not to mention his own contribution. Surely, he was far more advanced than the dribbling potato shaped lump of an infant whose pictures he’d been forced to smile and nod over when Mark from accounting had rudely shoved them in his face at the last quarterly budget meeting. Yes, that was definitely a smirk. His, that was his smirk.

“So as you can see its growth is well within expected parameters and we’re planning to start phase one of accelerating the maturation process tomorrow once the testing is do-”

“Take him out.”

“Sir? The testing can all be accomplished while it remains in the tube. There’s no need to-”

“I said, take him out. The project is cancelled.”

“What?! Mr. Luthor you can’t!”

“I think you’ll find I can. Now get me my son.”

*****

Two years later

“Call them again”

“Sir, I’ve called them seven times. They won’t answer.”

“Then call another agency!”

“There isn’t another agency, Sir”

Lex glared at his assistant who stared back at him impassively. Mercy stood by the door staring off into the distance and pretending she didn’t notice him being bested by his own secretary.

He stopped himself from shouting again and took a deep breath before asking, “Then what, exactly, do you propose I do Mrs. Anderson? Adjust my entire schedule around naptimes? Find a toddler size lab coat and safety goggles and bring my son with me to tour the new clean energy project on Thursday? Perhaps buy a tiny business suit while I’m at it for the next board meeting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, Mr. Luthor. I’m telling you that no childcare agency in Metropolis will return my calls anymore. Most won’t even answer.  You’ve gone through 27 nannies in the last 3 months. You need someone better suited to your son’s…special needs.”

Lex snorted. “Special needs might be a bit of understatement. He can lift a car over his head and his favorite word right now is No.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Thank you for…clarifying the situation, Marjorie. If there’s nothing else, you can leave.”

His secretary didn’t move. She looked at him like she was waiting for something and now that he was paying attention, he saw she was holding a file.  “Did you have a suggestion?”

Looking pleased with herself she responded, “Actually, yes, I did.”

“Well?”

She set the file on his desk and flipped it open. He looked down at the first page and raised an eyebrow, “What am I looking at here?”

“This,” she responded pulling out the top set of papers and spreading them out, “is the employee file and background check for Daniel J. Fenton, an intern that started in our engineering department about 4 months ago. He has one sibling, two parents and several close friends he regularly meets with. His current supervisor has nothing but good things to say about him and reports he gets along well with all his coworkers.”

She set out the next set of papers, neatly arranging them on the desk to be easily seen. “These are newspaper articles and screenshots of social media posts regarding a small town vigilante locally known as Phantom. The same small town, Mr. Fenton is from coincidentally. Also coincidentally, Phantom made his first appearance only a few weeks after Mr. Fenton was involved in a minor accident in his parent’s home laboratory when he was 14, the medical records for the incident are included.”

“Hmm,” Lex said observing several photos of Phantom and a younger Fenton arranged in order of similar poses and facial expressions and printed out side by side.

“Finally,” she said handing him the last set of papers directly, “this would be a report from the lab Mr. Fenton works in from an incident that happened yesterday. A test with a new protype went wrong and started a fire. Everyone evacuated per protocol when the alarms went off but one of the other interns was working on a programming issue off to the side of the lab while wearing headphones and didn’t hear the alarm or notice the fire. Mr. Fenton noticed his absence and returned to the lab to get him out.” She stopped talking and let him look at the last several pages in the file, a series of photographs of the lab.

“Is this ice?”

“Yes, it is. It’s several inches thick and covers half of the lab. It completely put out the fire leaving minimal damage.”

“This machine was moved?”

“It was. It was very close to the flames and would have required replacement if exposed to extreme heat or cold. That particular piece of equipment also weighs several thousand pounds and was bolted to the floor.”

Lex read through everything in detail then clasped his hands under his chin and stared at the photo of Daniel Fenton for several moments before turning back to his waiting secretary.

“Have HR send Mr. Fenton up. I’d like to offer him a promotion.”

[navybrat817]

Good as New

Pairing: Trailer Park!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Your neighbor helps with a small repair, and you'd like to repay him.

Word Count: Almost 4k

Warnings: Flirting, swearing, dirty talk, tension, sexual chemistry, world building, bits of insecurity, smut mention, Bucky Barnes (he's very forward and a warning, okay?)

A/N: More of our trailer park!Bucky! I hope you like it!❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The light had barely broken through your window when you decided you should work on the outside of your trailer. As much as you wanted to sleep in, your new chapter wouldn't continue if you didn't put forth the effort. Getting out of bed and distracting yourself would hopefully help forget about your dream of your bold and handsome neighbor. You didn’t want to think about it. You wouldn’t think about it.

But the wetness between your thighs served as a stark reminder that you dreamed of Bucky and his cocky smirk. How he said in a low voice that he was going to have you and that you’d enjoy every second of it. How he stripped you down and wrecked you with his mouth and cock, muttering filthy praise that still had heat flowing in your veins. You felt the burn between your thighs, which you didn’t think was possible in a dream. What was worse was that he held you after, whispering how well you took him and how lucky he was to have you. The tenderness was enough to break you from your slumber and make your eyes burn with unshed tears.

It was silly to get worked up in any capacity. The dream was just that… a dream. It was a fantasy, an illusion. There was no reason to cling to it, especially when it was too much and too soon.

“Don’t think about him. Just get up,” you mumbled.

You didn't jump out of bed, but you didn't drag yourself out either and that was already an improvement to your recent past. Waking up and facing the day should never feel like a burden. You shouldn't feel like a burden. 

“I’m strong and capable.”

You went through a checklist in your mind as you showered and dressed for the day. You needed to fix the door, fill out applications, bake for the potluck, and unpack more. After the furniture was delivered, you had spent the rest of the previous day emptying some of the boxes. You stilled at times as you went through your past and memories, like something you had witnessed instead of being a part of. It was the life you lived, but it wasn't meant to be yours. You didn't cry, even when your chest tightened to the point that you felt something crack. 

And for a second, you thought you spotted a pair of blue eyes watching you from across your trailer before you went to sleep.

“What am I doing?” you whispered when you walked out the screen door that was still hanging on its hinges. 

After going through your toolbox, you managed to get the door off completely without hurting yourself in the process. But once you set the door down and listened to the instruction video you found online, your cheeks burned with shame when you couldn’t get the screen quite right. You stopped and started the video again. The tips didn't make any sense to you and your heart sank as you stared at the door. You prided yourself on being a smart and capable woman just like you told yourself earlier, but you couldn't begin to fix a simple screen. You could almost hear your ex laughing in your mind. 

“You're pathetic.”

You silenced his voice. It wasn't fair to beat yourself up over it. While it was never too late to learn something new, you had to give yourself grace and remind yourself that you wouldn't be an expert overnight. Not to mention, the skills you learned growing up were different, but it didn't mean you were hopeless or less of a person because of it. You wouldn't let previous influences in your life make you feel bad about yourself. 

You heard the footsteps before you turned your head, your heart picking up at the sight of Bucky. He was in an outfit similar to the one he wore the day before, except this time he had a denim vest on. You wanted to be angry at him for being so enticing, but that wasn’t his fault… or was it? And how were you supposed to stop thinking about him when he was right there?

The signature smirk was on his face when he said, “Morning, Sweet Cheeks.”

You snorted and pushed yourself up, wiping your knees off in the process. That nickname wasn't going away. “Good morning,” you said. 

“It is a good morning since I’m seeing your beautiful face,” he said with the utmost sincerity. 

You mentally scolded your heart for the funny flip it did. “Do you ever stop?”

“I would if you asked me to,” he answered just as sincerely. 

You remembered how he backed off when you mentioned harassment and that brought you comfort. “Good to know.”

He looked relieved in a soft sort of way and you wondered if he had thought about you after you parted ways. “Did you have a good night?”

“Uneventful, which is good,” you replied. You slept much easier than you anticipated considering it was brand new and unfamiliar. You were not going to tell him you had a wet dream about him. Nope. But had he dreamed about you? “How was your night?”

“Same. Uneventful.” That mischievous look said something was up. It wasn't like he had visitors that you knew of. Not that you were looking or paying any attention to that. “Except for the dream I had about you.”

You bit your lip without meaning to. “You dreamed about me?”

You dared to look him in the eye when he moved closer. He looked like he was ready to eat you alive. “Happy to give you the vivid details if you’d like.”

Your breath hitched, but you maintained some sense of control. “Not until after I’ve had my caffeine,” you teased. You mentally kicked your own ass. Why not let him tell you?

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. It wasn’t fair how easily his laugh made you smile. “Oh. And I told my sister and my best friend about you.”

That made you pause. “You did what?” you asked. He told a family member and a friend about you? 

“Said I met my future wife and that you have Alpine’s approval.” He winked and you glanced away to hide your smile. 

“You're ridiculous,” you said with no heat behind it. He probably told them that a new neighbor moved in and nothing more. Maybe he mentioned that he flirted, but the future wife comment? Wait, weren't his parting words to you that you might be his future wife?

Bucky was trouble with a capital T. 

“And you just glared at that door like it stole something from you.”

You were thankful for the subject change. “It did kind of steal something.”

He tilted his head. “What did it steal?”

“My pride,” you half teased. “And by stealing my pride, I mean… I don’t know how to fix the screen. I don’t… even know where to start.” Your fingers wrung together before you put your hands before your back. “I tried watching a video, but it didn’t help me.”

Admitting that this was a shortcoming was somehow a relief as painful as it was. That didn’t make sense since you felt so embarrassed by the thought before he walked over. If it had been anyone else, you would’ve folded in on yourself. Why didn’t you with Bucky?

Maybe it was because there was no judgement in his blue eyes. There was almost an understanding, the kind that had you choking up for no good reason. “I can help,” he offered, like it was no big deal. “I don’t mind.”

You had to turn your head away and will away the burn from your eyes. “I can’t ask you to do that,” you softly said. It wasn’t easy to ask for or accept help when you wanted to stand on your own two feet. Accepting a helping hand wasn’t a weakness though, and having help didn’t mean you couldn’t maintain the sense of independence. 

“You didn’t ask, and you don’t have to since I offered.” He shrugged and offered you a smile. “Told you I’m good with my tools.”

He had said that in a very sexual sort of way. “I’d really appreciate it if you could, but if you're busy…” He was already jogging away, leaving you there to stare after him. He didn’t leave you hanging for long, his toolbox in hand as he came back.  You didn’t question why he was using his own instead of yours. “Wow, you’re really going to fix it?”

“You sound surprised,” he said, setting the toolbox down close to you and allowing you to pick up the scent of his soap. It was a scent you wouldn’t mind having on your skin. “It’s what good neighbors do.”

You crossed your arms as he crouched down to go through his tools. “You do this for all the neighbors?”

“Pretty much,” he replied. 

A smile tugged at your lips. While part of you wanted to feel special that he was helping you, you respected that he did this for everyone. “I feel bad. I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself,” you said. No one with the exception of Bucky had stopped by to say hi either. You wouldn’t take that to heart.

“They’re letting you get settled before the potluck,” he said. Did he somehow spread the word to give you some peace until then? “But they’re anxious to meet you.”

That had your stomach turning with excitement and nerves. “I am, too.” You hoped you made a good impression. “Do you mind showing me and explaining what you’re doing?” you asked, your smile widened when he looked up at you. He looked good from this angle, and you wouldn’t think of him kissing up your legs. “Just in case I ever have to fix another screen.”

He pointed at you with a screwdriver. “You mean so you don’t have to rely on anyone,” he guessed. Once again there was no snark or humor, just that quiet understanding that made you want to know more about him.

“You got me there.” It was difficult to depend on people when you were made to feel invisible. “But before you get started, do you want some coffee?” It was the least you could do since he offered to help.

It was his turn to look surprised. “I wouldn't mind, please and thanks.”

“Cream and sugar?”

He smirked and you awaited whatever dirty comment was about to leave his wonderful lips. “I’ve got plenty of cream, but you can provide the sugar.”

You burst out laughing and stepped back. “Yep. You're ridiculous.”

“Maybe just a little. If you're offering though, I would like some cream with that sugar,” he said. 

“You got it.” You paused and winded. “I’d invite you in, but it isn't ready yet,” you said apologetically. It was going to be a warm and cozy place. You had already begun to leave little touches around, like vases and knickknacks, but it was far from visitor friendly. 

It didn’t phase him since he had a smile on his face, likely sensing he’d be in your home sooner rather than later. “Your home, your rules.”

“So you won't come inside without permission?” Your face felt like it was set ablaze the second the words left your mouth and Bucky looked all too pleased. “Not. A. Word.”

He threw his hands up with laughter in his eyes. “Aww, c’mon, Sweet Cheeks. That was the perfect setup!”

“Not a word!”

“I won't come inside without your permission…” He smirked again and your knees went weak. “And you’ll beg for it.”

“Bucky!” You could hear his laughter when you rushed inside and you started giggling, too. When was the last time you laughed like this so early in the morning?

You sobered up quickly when you began to make the coffee. Bucky was being a kind neighbor and helping you fix the screen door, nothing more. Even if he was flirting and looking at you like you were the reason that the sun rose today. You needed to focus on your to-do list and he wasn’t on that list.

Not yet at least.

Bucky grinned the second you walked back outside. “Just made my morning all over again by seeing your beautiful face.”

You snorted so you wouldn’t swoon. “My face isn’t worth getting that excited about, but caffeine is worth it.”

He took the mug with a frown. “You think your face isn’t worth it? Tell that to my racing heart,” he said, gently blowing on the drink. The man was smooth like butter. The pleased groan he let out when he took a sip sounded smooth, too, and had you heating up. “Fuck, this might be the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

“Liar,” you smiled, not-so-secretly pleased that he liked it.

“I’d never lie to you. Anything I ever tell you will be the truth,” he said so seriously that your breath caught in your throat. You lived your whole life around fake smiles and people prepared to stab anyone and everyone in the back. Was Bucky the type to stab while looking someone in the eye and making them face the ugly truth? “What’s the pen and paper for?” he asked, nodding to where the pad was tucked under your arm.

“Oh. For the instructions for the screen. I like to write things down,” you replied, gripping the pen a little tighter. You relaxed when you realized he wasn't going to poke fun at you. 

“Gimme.” He gently pried them from you and jotted something down on the sheet, your fingers tingling from where they touched. There was a soft smile on his face when he handed the pad back. 

“‘How to fix a screen. Step one… Ask Bucky. Step two…’ Wait. Is this your phone number?” You giggled when he wiggled his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Yep. And I’m going to watch as you put my number into your phone before I leave,” he said, smugly taking another sip of the coffee. 

You stared at the sheet to avoid his watchful eyes. “So, the neighbors all have your phone number, too, to help with repairs?”

“Everyone knows they can reach out to me for help, but I’m giving you my number because I want you to have my number.”

You lifted your gaze to see him scratch the back of his head. Was he worried you wouldn’t want it? It was sweet. “Tell me how to fix the screen and I’ll put your number in my phone.”

You held your breath when he leaned close to your ear. “Say ‘please, Bucky’,” he whispered.

Your brain nearly short circuited and you shivered when you felt his warm breath against your skin. He was driving you crazy. “Please, Bucky,” you whispered. 

“‘Atta girl,” he whispered, quickly pulling away and giving you a chance to exhale. “Okay. Let’s get started.”

Watching Bucky work was admittedly a joy. The ways his brows pinched when he concentrated was adorable and he couldn’t seem to keep his tongue in his mouth. He didn’t roll his eyes or seem at all agitated when you asked questions and he paused every so often to drink his coffee, which gave you a chance to look at him between taking your notes. What you really appreciated was that he took the time to explain what he was doing and why in a way that was easy to understand without making you feel dumb. It was nice.

“Wow. It looks amazing,” you said once he was done. You could cross it off your list. “It looks as good as new.”

You thought his cheeks turned pink for a second when he picked up the door to put it back where it belonged. “Just about.”

“Thank you so much,” you said above a whisper. “Not just for fixing this, but for not making me feel bad about it.”

It would’ve been easy to shove it in your face that you didn’t know what you were doing, but Bucky didn't seem like that kind of man. Flirty, bold, but not cruel or discouraging. He wasn’t the type of person who would demand perfection from you. It comforted you like a warm blanket. 

“Nothing to feel bad about,” he said, tenderly smiling. “I’m glad you accepted my help.”

Something soft passed between you before he put the door back on. He carefully tested it and while you didn’t feel any sense of pride since you didn’t fix it yourself, you were happy. That was a start.

“How much do I owe you?” you asked. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed and you realized how quickly you made a mistake by asking. “Not paying me, Sweet Cheeks. I said it’s what good neighbors do.”

“I need to do something,” you said, holding up a hand when he tried to argue. “And don’t say giving you a coffee counts. It took you a lot more work to fix my door than it did to make your coffee.”

He brushed his hands off with a huff once he put his tools away. “You don’t ‘need’ to do anything. I’m not an obligation.”

“That’s…” Guilt filled you and you didn’t want him to think you were trying to do something because you had to. “Bucky, I’m not offering anything out of obligation. I want to, okay?”

A heartbeat passed and a smile slowly crossed his face. “Oh, yeah? Have a drink with me.” He waited for another beat. “Tonight.”

You took a breath, only somewhat surprised by what he wanted. That sounded dangerously like a date. It wasn’t. It was just a drink with your neighbor. Your very hot, sexy, flirty neighbor.

“A drink?” 

“A drink. Maybe two.” He shrugged, but his stance was anything but nonchalant. “Whatever you want.”

You considered it and slowly nodded. “Okay.” It wouldn’t hurt to hang out, especially with how happy he looked that you accepted. “Where do you want to go? Is there a bar around here?”

“Yeah, but it’s a total dive and everyone will hit on you. We can stay here.”

That had you laughing, but he wasn’t. “No one will hit on me,” you said. Whenever you went out with your ex and friends no one paid attention to you. Minus Bucky, you were invisible to people.

“Yeah, they will. Remember how I reacted when I saw you? It’ll be like that, but worse.” He looked you up and down. “Trust me. I’m a gentleman compared to them.”

You laughed harder. You couldn’t imagine anyone hitting on you the way Bucky did. “Fine, fine. We’ll stay here,” you agreed. 

You were already thinking about what you were going to wear. Would perfume and makeup be too much? Yes, it would. It wasn’t a date, so there was no need to dress up. A casual drink meant casual wear.

“And we won’t have to yell over music to talk to each other.”

“Good point,” you said, tilting your head. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Because you still need to put my number in your phone.”

You playfully shook your head and grabbed your phone, but didn’t program it in just yet. “Say ‘please, Sweet Cheeks’,” you said, giving him the same order he gave you earlier. It didn’t sound anywhere near as sexy coming from you, but he seemed to like it since his eyes went dark. And you didn’t back up when he invaded your space, holding your gaze. 

“Please, Sweet Cheeks,” he whispered, wrapping a calloused hand around yours. “Please, put my number in your phone and message me before we have that drink tonight.”

You thought back to your dream, how he had his hands and mouth on you, how husky his voice was… You needed to get a grip and fast. “Message you?” you asked breathily. “I have a lot to do today. I have to fill out job applications and-”

“Message me,” he interjected, cupping your other hand. 

“Bake for the potluck,” you continued, your heart racing.

“And message me,” he said again, taking another step forward.

You exhaled. Was he going to kiss you? He wouldn’t. “And unpack some more.”

His forehead touched yours for a brief moment, but he backed away before you could blink. “And message me.”

It was dizzying that this man not only paid attention to you, but seemed to want your attention. Why? What was so special about you?

“You’re going to drive me crazy,” you said, pulling further away so you could breathe without taking in the scent of him. “I’ll send you a message, okay?” 

He put his hands over his chest. 

With a smile, you glanced at the pad and put his number in. “Did you really tell your sister and best friend about me?” you asked. 

“I did.” His smile was gentle and easy. “They’re great. You’ll like them.” Your heart turned over at the fondness in his voice. They were clearly special to him. And if he thought you’d like them he clearly intended for you to meet them. “Do you really not want to rely on people?”

You looked at the door he fixed with a sigh. It was personal, but it didn’t feel like he was being nosy. “The people I should’ve been able to depend on let me down one too many times. I’m trying to be more careful going forward,” you explained, trying to keep your tone emotionless. It was difficult to pretend that you didn’t care because the truth was you cared too much. 

“I get that.” His hand brushed yours again. “I’ve been let down before, too, and it sucks when the person should’ve had your back,” he said. Who did that? Who hurt him? “But we’re both still standing.”

“Yeah, we are,” you said. Bent but not broken.

“And I’m not saying you should depend on me since you don’t know me that well, but I will be an open book for you. No secrets, no bullshit,” he promised. 

You blinked. Your ex fed you poison coated in sugar. Bucky was promising that he wouldn’t and you wanted it to be true, that he would be honest even when it was easier to lie. Because the truth hurt at times, but pain was real and you needed something real. 

“I’ll be an open book, too,” you replied. You were rewriting your story and there was no reason to hide. 

“Good,” he smiled, taking out his phone. “Now, I need to pick a ringtone for you once you message me. Let’s see… Pour Some Sugar on Me… Honkytonk Badonkadonk… Cherry Pie…” 

“Oh, my god,” you groaned, but you smiled. He was ridiculous and wonderful. 

“Milkshake… Fat Bottomed Girls…” He looked up when you gathered up the empty mug, pen and paper, and went back to your door. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I told you, I have things to do,” you answered. 

His pout could make anyone lose their resolve. “You can do me between your other tasks,” he called out. 

You could, but you had to maintain some of your dignity and not fall into his bed right away. He could work for it. “Another time, if you're lucky.”

He groaned a little. “You’re breaking my heart, Sweet Cheeks.”

“You’ll live. Say hi to Alpine for me! I’ll see you tonight for that drink!” You giggled to yourself and stared at his number before you shot off a text. “Hey, Bucky. It’s Sweet Cheeks. Thanks again for your help with the door. Looking forward to that drink. And by the way, I dreamed about you, too.”

You tucked your phone away, refusing to sit and watch for his response. You had work to do, but you were looking forward to tonight. What kind of questions would you two ask each other tonight? What were the stories behind his tattoos? 

And who let him down?

Okay, lovelies. What are they going to discuss over drinks? And who let 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

ephemeral

Pairing: Batfam x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k words

Summary: You were forgetting something. However the most frustrating part was you couldn't seem to remember what exactly it was that you were forgetting.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @bonefanatic! I know that it's Yandere!Batfam in the OG post but as soon as I read it this is just what it inspired. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Part 2

You were renowned for forgetting things.

You'd always forget to bring your keys the day when your mother happened to be running late. You'd forget your pencil case on the day of exams and forget your bus pass on the rare days that your father didn't give you a ride.

On sunny days you'd forget to wear your sunscreen. On rainy days, much like today, you'd forget your umbrella. Now, when you were a young girl, running back home through the rain wouldn't matter. In fact, you had vague memories of your feet splashing through puddles, hands shielding your face from the pelting rain while you and an old lover got soaked to the bone.

You could hardly even remember those days; just the sound of splashing puddles and the deep petrichor, the cold of the rain mixed with the warmth of someone's laughter...

A coo brought you out of your thoughts and your eyes met those of bright blue. The baby strapped to your chest gave you a semblance of a toothy smile, his teeth only beginning to come out and you returned it, leaning in to rub your nose against his, revelling in the giggles it brought out.

The sweet boy, who only ever saw you, was the reason you couldn't let yourself get wet, standing in the shade of an apartment building and choosing to wait out the rain.

You gave your baby a once over, making sure that he didn't get wet in your effort to reach the building. He looked fine and his clothing wasn't wet, although he did seem a little cold. You held his tiny hands in between your palms, repeating the process with his feet until you were satisfied.

The door of the building swung open and you immediately covered Thomas' ears to protect him from the cold breeze, letting him burrow his face into your chest.

In came a man that had to be larger than anyone you had ever seen in your life. Clearly, he had been caught in the rain, his boots were soaked and so was his leather jacket. He donned a motorcycle helmet, and your stomach lurched at the thought of him driving that out in this weather. Without realizing it, your eyes glanced over his figure, wondering if he had possibly gotten hurt.

When you brought your eyes back up from his muddy boots to his face you were slightly startled. When had he taken off his helmet? His blue eyes stared back at you, shock apparent on his features before he had schooled them back to monotony.

"Are you lost? I don't think you live here." His voice was low and gravelly, but it found a familiar place in the back of your head.

You gave him a small smile, "No, I'm just trying to wait out the rain. I forgot to bring an umbrella, and I really don't want my son to get sick."

His eyes glanced down to your son and you curiously watched as something swirled in his eyes. Longing perhaps? Maybe he had some baby fever? It didn't quite seem like that though...you just couldn't put your finger on it.

"Would you like me to call you a cab?"

"I already tried. The streets here are too narrow for a cab to drive through so I'd have to walk a bit before I'd reach the road."

He nodded, taking a beat before he responded, "Wait here."

And then he took off for the stairs and even though he looked relaxed, you saw him taking multiples stairs in a single step, resisting the curious urge to tell him to be careful and not to slip because of his wet shoes.

He didn't make you wait long, reappearing in less than 5 minutes with an umbrella and something else in his hands.

"Oh, I couldn't."

"Please, I insist. I don't think the rain is going to stop anytime soon and there isn't anywhere for you to sit down," He said earnestly, placing the umbrella in your hands, "I already called a cab. It should be waiting for you at the corner."

"Thank you, young man." You watched him run his fingers through the cute little tuft of white hair bashfully before he handed you something else—a fuzzy blanket patterned with bats.

You looked curiously up at him, "For the little guy. He looks cold."

You really wanted to refuse, but Thomas' nose and ears had begun to turn red from the chill and with the blanket he'd be better protected as you walked to the cab. So, you bundled up the baby in the cozy blanket and thanked the man again who said goodbye with a melancholic smile.

While taking the cab home, your fingers traced over the embroidered monogram in the corner of the blanket that looked like it was brand new.

T.W.

***

You don't know what it was about the travelling circus that had you so enraptured. There was just something about watching the acrobats soar through the sky like birds, as though they were weightless, that made you feel equal parts worried and in awe.

It was unusual. You didn't enjoy watching gymnasts while you grew up and you had certainly never visited a circus, and yet while sitting in the seats for the performance of Haly's travelling circus for the 4th time since they had arrived at Gotham, you couldn't help but wait in anticipation for the show to begin.

Thomas was clutched to your lap, every bit as excited as you were, when a man with dark hair and blue eyes—a common feature here in Gotham, it seemed—sat next to you.

You spared him a glance, only to find him staring back at you with a small smile and a cone of roasted chestnuts in his hand. He handed you a pair of ear protectors.

"They're handing it outside the tent—wouldn't want the little guy to hurt his ears."

You thanked him with a smile, placing them over Thomas' ears and giggling when he laughed at you pointing at the man who returned his toothy grin with one of his own.

"Would you like one?" He offered, holding out the warm chestnuts for you to take and you obliged, thanking him and relishing in the taste and the immediate warmth that spread through your body.

"So, what brings you to the circus?"

Your arms tightened around Thomas, resting your cheek on the top of his head as you contemplated the answer, "I don't know. I just like the acrobats. Every time I watch them, I feel comfortable, like I've been watching them my entire life. Which is weird because I've never seen acrobats before Haly's circus came to Gotham."

You looked back at him, "What about you?"

"My mom used to be an acrobat here. After I lost her, I like to visit, so I don't forget her." He explained, eyes scrolling across the bright colours of the circus, taking everything in. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to comfort him.

He looked down at Thomas, watching as the baby gave him an innocent grin that had returned with a sad smile and giving a delicate little pinch to his pudgy thigh before looking back up at you.

"I really don't want to lose my mom a second time."

***

One thing you really couldn't appreciate enough before having children was the freedom to shop for groceries all alone. Now, after having an infant, something as simple as stocking the fridge turned into a long and arduous feat.

You’d have to get Thomas dressed, make sure his nappy was changed, and time it just right—long enough since he’d eaten that you wouldn’t need to change him again, but not so long that he’d get hungry and need you to breastfeed him in the middle of the store.

Not only that, you'd also be stuck pushing a cart around with him strapped to your chest because he was still too young for the shopping cart.

And finally, the most torturous part of this whole excursion—the car loading. Most of your bags were heavy and packed full, and you couldn’t load them into the trunk with Thomas strapped to you.

So, you’d carefully place him in the car seat, turning on the engine and air conditioning to cool the car after its time baking in the parking lot. Then, you’d haul the heavy groceries into the trunk, turn off the car, take Thomas back out, return the trolley to its rightful place, and—once again—secure him in his car seat before finally heading home.

You stared at the cart full of groceries—enough to last you at least 3 weeks so you wouldn't have to make another trip for a while—trying to summon the energy to load the heavy items in the blasted vehicle.

"Mo—Ma'am?"

A young man approached you, a half-drunk coffee in his hand and your brows twitched. Just how many coffees had this boy had today? You shook your head of the thought. Why would you even care?

"Do you need some help?"

Giving him a polite smile, you shook your head, "I'm okay. Thank you, sweetie."

He gave you a sad smile, and it made you immediately want to take your words back and to give him the world instead. The feeling confused you even more. Why were you so concerned about him? And why did he look so sad after you refused his request? If anything, he should’ve been relieved that he wouldn’t have to do any work.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind." He tried again, this time placing his hand on the handle of the trolley, his hand just a hair away from yours. It was peculiar—your instinct for stranger-danger urged you to pull your hand away, and yet, you felt an equally strong urge to place your hand over his.

You smiled again, "I guess I'll take you up on your offer."

He was stronger than he looked. Despite his scrawny frame, he easily lifted your bags into the trunk, loading everything and shutting it in record time. Dusting off his hands with a proud smile, he turned to you as if expecting praise—only to deflate when he caught you watching him with a small, lingering smile.

It was as though he grew sadder with each passing second, his expression dimming as he gave you one last longing look before turning that same gaze to Thomas, "I’ll return the cart for you. Why don’t you strap him in?"

You nodded, thanking him again, "Thank you so much for your help."

Using Thomas’ little fist, you waved goodbye to the boy. He returned it with an expression far too tired for his young face. You resisted the urge to tell him to get a good night’s rest, instead watching him push the trolley away through your rearview mirror. A pang hit your chest at the sight of his slumped shoulders.

***

A figure collided with your back and you would have been knocked over if he had been any taller, however when you looked down, a young boy with dark hair and beautiful green eyes looked back up at you.

"Ummi..." He murmured, before he even had a chance to stop himself and you frowned in concern for this child who couldn't have been more than 9 years old who all of a sudden looked so small and unsure and something in your soul reached out for him.

You leaned down, well, as much as you could with a baby strapped to your chest, "Did you lose your mom, sweetheart?"

He flinched, eyes going wide and his bottom lip began to tremble in a way that made you want to hold him to your heart and soothe him, "Yes...I have lost my ummi...and I wish she'd come back....I miss her very much."

You reached out a hand before you could stop yourself, almost reaching for him to run your fingers through his hair and scratch your nails lightly against his scalp—

"Damian!"

Your hand froze an inch away as a man, slightly older than you, ran up to him. When your eyes met his, a rush of something surged through you—so intense and so sudden that there wasn’t even time for an epiphany.

All you knew was, you had met this man before.

Only, you couldn't remember when.

"I'm sorry about him. You know how kids are." The man with familiar blue eyes told you, flashing you a charming smile that had done an incredibly good job of hiding the misery underneath. And yet, you still saw past the mask. And still… you chose to look away.

You smiled up at him before glancing down at Thomas, now realizing why this curious stranger's eyes felt so familiar—your son looked up at you with almost identical ones, "I do know."

The man followed your gaze to the happy baby in your arms and you watched as the corner of his lips had dropped from the calculated smile he had worn. It was like he had frozen in time and the more you watched him, the more despondent his expression became.

His son—Damian. Why did that name sound so familiar?— looked up at him with concern, now grabbing his hand and tugging him away.

"Baba." He said softly, finally managing to knock the man out of his stupor.

"Oh," He finally spoke, looking down at his distressed son, "I'm sorry, miss. I hope my son didn't hurt you or the baby. If you need any medical bills covered, you can contact this number."

He handed you a business card and walked away before you could even argue about how absurd it was that you would ask for him to pay your medical bills over his adorable son bumping into you. It was an honest mistake!

You could only watch them walk away before your eyes looked down at the Wayne Enterprises business card.

"Bruce Wayne, CEO."

'Bruce'

You swore you had heard that name before.

And yet... you'd forgotten.

***

Forever Taglist:

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[mooningningg]

notes ₊✩‧₊, no cause i lit just tripped and got a cut on my lip

"You're bleedin', baby."

His voice was quiet, low enough to get swallowed by the wind at the bus stop, but it still made your chest thump harder than it should.

You sniffed, wincing as your lip stung again. "No shit."

Choso gave a tiny huff — almost a laugh, but not quite. He crouched in front of you, long legs folded awkwardly, the plastic bag of pharmacy supplies crinkling in one hand. His other hand was already reaching, calloused fingers brushing over your scraped knee with infinite care, like you were made of sugar-glass.

“Shoulda watched your step,” he murmured, tugging out a mini bottle of antiseptic like he was reading instructions in his head. “Thought you were a street ninja.”

You groaned. “I tripped on a crack.”

“Dumbest ninja ever.”

You squinted down at him. “Choso, I swear—”

“I know, I know.” He uncapped the antiseptic with his teeth, brows drawn tight, mouth twitching with focus as he soaked a cotton pad. “M’just saying. You scared the shit outta me.”

The sting made you hiss through your teeth. He immediately blew cool air over the wound, muttering, “Sorry, sorry,” like it was his fault the pavement betrayed you.

Choso was dazed-looking, like he was still processing the image of you falling — one minute joking around, the next, blood on your lip and scraped on your knees. He wiped gently, his rings clinking faintly as he steadied your leg on his thigh, like he didn’t even notice how soft he’d gone.

“You okay, though? You dizzy?” he asked, gaze flickering up to your eyes and back down again.

You shook your head. “Just… embarrassed.”

He paused, then leaned forward just enough to bump his forehead against your shin.

“You’re still pretty. Even with the blood,” he said seriously. “Kinda metal, actually.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a weirdo.”

Choso smirked — barely. “You love it.”

Then, with the kind of careful tenderness only he had, he dabbed the corner of your busted lip, frowning like it personally offended him.

“Gonna beat that sidewalk’s ass,” he muttered.

You snorted.

He smiled.

And the two of you sat like that under the bus stop’s plastic roof — him kneeling with his hoodie sleeves pushed up, knuckles stained faint pink from cleaning you up, while you tried not to stare too long at the worry hiding behind his lazy charm.

When he finally stood, he cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing under your eye.

“C’mon, baby. Let’s go home.”

[mariasont]

I know youre working on a fic right now but can you sometime make a fic where a new agent comes to work at the bau (the reader) and early seasons Spencer catches her interest, to which he's completely oblivious? Like just a cute little fluffy fic where two genius idiots can realise they like each other throughout their case together.

(also a lot of jokes from Morgan lol)

Reading Between the Lines - S.R

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: reader just being in love with dr. reid

wc: 1.2k

The two of you were alone in the police station break room, which had become something of unofficial workspace for the team during the case. You'd been sitting there for a while, mostly pretending to read through a file while Spencer, across the table, actually read his — flipping through pages faster than should be humanly possible.

You'd been watching him out of the corner of your eye for the last ten minutes, trying (and failing) to keep your focus on your own. You couldn't help it. He was enthralling to watch. His long fingers moved smoothly over the paper, turning each page with that ridiculous speed-reading technique of his.

And when he tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning the words so quickly it looked like he was barely reading at all, you were sure you'd never seen anyone more unfairly attractive in your entire life.

And you did mean unfairly in the purest sense. It was undeniably unfair — no, unnatural — for a man to possess such a perfect plethora of qualities, like Spencer Reid did.

You hated how obvious you were being. Every time Spencer glanced up at you, your face grew hot, and you had to fight the urge to duck your head like a nervous schoolgirl. It was absurd. You were a grown adult — a professional in the FBI, for gods' sake. You had no business mooning over someone this hard. But... it was Spencer. How could anyone not?

Eventually, you gave up trying to work and leaned forward on the table, resting your chin on your hand. "How do you do that?"

Spencer glanced up, blinking. "Do what?"

"Read that fast," you said, gesturing toward the file in his hands. "I mean, it's like you're just flipping through the pages for fun, but you're actually... reading them, right? You're not just pretending?"

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching into a smile. "No, I'm not pretending. I'm absorbing the information. It's called speed-reading."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you just... taught yourself how to do that?"

He nodded, setting the file down in front of him. "It's not as hard as it looks. Anyone can learn it with enough practice."

"Anyone?"

"Anyone," Spencer said, leaning back into his chair. "It's all about training your brain to recognize patterns in the text and absorb information in chunks rather than word by word. It's just a matter of rewiring how you process what you're reading."

You stared at him for a moment, then a grin spread across your face. "Teach me."

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Teach you?"

"Yeah," you said, sitting up straighter. "If anyone can learn it, prove it. Teach me how to speed-read."

For a second, he just stared at you, like he wasn't sure if you were serious. But then his expression morphed into something that looked almost... excited. "Okay. I can teach you."

You tried not to look too pleased as he reached for a book sitting on the nearby counter and slid it across the table toward you. It was some dry academic text about linguistic patterns across extinct languages — typical Spencer reading material — but you figured it didn't really matter what the book was. You weren't here for the content.

"Alright," Spencer said, pulling his chair closer to yours so he could see what you were looking at. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours, and every single coherent thought you had ever had evaporated into thin air. You swallowed hard, staring at the page but unable to actually read anything. "The first thing you need to do is stop subvocalizing."

"Sub... what?" you asked, already lost.

"Subvocalizing," he repeated patiently. "It's when you say the words in your head as you're reading them. Most people do it without even realizing it, but it slows you down. If you can train yourself to read without subvocalizing, you'll process the text much faster."

You nodded slowly, though you weren't sure you entirely understood. "Okay. So... how do I stop?"

Spencer smiled. "It takes practice, but one way to start is by using your finger to guide your eyes. Like this."

He reached out and gently took your hand, guiding your index finger to the first line of the text.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. His hand was warm, touch light as he moved your finger along the page. Did he notice the way you tensed up? Did he feel how clammy your palm was? If he did, he didn’t mention it, his focus entirely on the page. Meanwhile, your focus was entirely on him.

"Try to keep your eyes moving with your finger," Spencer said. "Don't focus too much on each individual word — just let your brain take in the whole line."

Every time you inhaled, you caught the faintest hint of soap and coffee — clean, warm, him — and it was becoming impossible to think straight.

"Okay," you said softly, moving your finger along the line as he'd shown you. "Like this?"

"Exactly. Now, try to pick up the pace. Keep your eyes moving."

You tried, but your focus kept slipping — not because of the text, but because of the way Spencer was leaning so close, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watched you. You could feel his breath, soft and even, against the side of your face, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that this was probably the closest you'd ever been to him.

"Am I doing it right?"

"Mostly," Spencer said, his hair brushing his forehead as he leaned even closer to point at a section of the text. His long fingers hovered just above yours, and your heart stuttered at the proximity. "But try not to pause at punctuation. Just keep your eyes moving in one fluid motion."

"Okay," you said again, though honestly, you weren't sure how much you were actually absorbing. Your brain was too busy screaming Spencer Reid is touching me. Spencer Reid is this close to me.

For a few more minutes, Spencer guided you through the process, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he helped you adjust your pace. You couldn’t tell if you were actually improving or if you were just doing your best to survive the moment without completely embarrassing yourself.

"You're doing better already," he said. "It just takes time to get used to."

You smiled back at him, cheeks warm. "Thanks. You're a good teacher."

Spencer’s ears turned pink, and he glanced down, his fingers brushing idly at the edge of the book. "I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. A good teacher, I mean."

You couldn't stop smiling.

"Maybe next time, you can teach me," he said suddenly.

You laughed. "I don’t think there’s anything I could teach you that you don’t already know, Spencer."

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," Spencer said, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, his eyes met yours, before flicking back to the book.

Correction, you wouldn't be able to stop smiling for the next 3-5 business days.

Morgan was leaning against the hallway wall just outside the break room, holding his phone and scrolling casually, when you finally stepped out of the room.

You didn't see him at first — you were too busy floating on a cloud, practically glowing as you replayed the last few minutes with Spencer over and over in your mind. You were smiling so much your cheeks hurt, and you could still feel Spencer's hands on yours.

"Well, well, well," Morgan voice cut through your daydream, startling you so badly you almost tripped. You snapped your head toward him, your heart jumping to your throat. He was grinning like a cat who'd just caught a mouse. "What's got you all smiley? Pretty boy say something sweet, or are you just thinking about those magic hands of his?"

You felt your face burst into flames. "What? No! It's not —"

Morgan held up a hand, shaking his head as he chuckled. "Save it, girl. I know the look of a lovesick rookie when I see one. Trust me — you've got it bad."

You sputtered, desperately trying to come up with a convincing rebuttal, but Morgan was already walking away. "Better make your move before he speed-reads right past you!"

You groaned, burying your burning face in your hands as Morgan’s laughter faded down the hall. Lovesick rookie? Was it really that obvious?

Yes. Yes, it was.

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[thatonegirlonhere]

Wrong person

Bangchan x f!reader

Alright guys, it is officially time for the 500 follower special!! You voted. You chose the plot line, you chose the member, and now I’m here to deliver. (I actually wrote this at 480 then forgot to release it when I hit 500)

You voted on a Bangchan x f!reader where you accidentally sent Chan a nude 😈😈 (you dirty lil things, ilysm) so get ready. Here is the absolute custom, iconic , panty soaking, thigh clenching smut that you all wanted. And as per usual: Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read ;)

Content warning: tension, angst, fingering, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks!!), edging, teasing, dominant, hair pulling, tears.

word count: ~3100

Master list

Lmk if you want to be added to my tag list ☺️

MDNI 18+⚠️⚠️

The dorm living room was crowded and buzzing—eight boys, too many open takeout boxes, and a half-finished movie no one was really watching. You were curled into the corner of the sectional couch, legs tucked under you, phone in one hand while you absentmindedly picked fries from a shared tray in the other.

Across from you—like directly across—Chan was sprawled out in the single armchair, relaxed in a way that made your insides twist. Sweatpants. Damp curls from a late shower. One hand cradling a can of beer, the other draped lazily over the armrest, long fingers twitching in rhythm to whatever beat was echoing in his head.

You’d already caught him glancing at you a few times. Subtle. Controlled. But his eyes had that heat behind them—the kind that made your thighs press together just a little tighter.

So yeah. Maybe that’s why your brain was scrambled when your phone buzzed.

Your almost-situationship had just texted you back.

“Wish I could see you rn. Send me something to think about?”

You shouldn’t have.

But your camera roll already had that photo. The one you’d snapped just last night, lying naked across your comforter, hand between your legs, back arched just enough. You were flushed, lips parted, completely bare. You looked good. Sinful, even.

Your finger hovered over the “share” button, grin spreading over your lips.

And you hit send.

…or so you thought.

It took less than three seconds for your soul to be ripped from your body.

Because directly across from you, Chan’s phone lit up. He glanced down. Tapped to open the message. Paused.

You didn’t think anything of it until you happened to glance at your screen.

Chan 🐺: delivered ✔️

Your heart stopped.

Your lungs seized.

“No no no no no—” you whispered under your breath, unlocking your phone so fast you nearly dropped it.

There it was. Your full, explicit nude. Sent to Bang Chan. Your best friend. Your group hangout buddy. The man currently sitting across from you in this very room.

Not the man it was meant for.

Your body went ice cold.

And then hot.

And then every molecule in your body began screaming.

You chanced a glance up.

Chan’s phone was still in his hand.

He hadn’t moved.

His thumb was frozen mid-swipe, his eyes locked to the screen like he was processing. Then slowly—so fucking slowly—he looked up.

Your eyes met.

And it was like something cracked in the atmosphere.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t raise his eyebrows. Didn’t joke, or smile, or laugh.

He just stared at you.

Expression unreadable. Completely still.

You tried to mouth something—“I didn’t mean—”—but nothing came out.

He finally looked away.

But his jaw clenched.

He reached for his drink, took a casual sip, leaned back like he hadn’t just seen you fully naked. But now, his legs spread a little wider. His fingers tapped slower. His eyes flicked back to you, once, twice—lingering each time.

And your heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

You were burning.

And not from embarrassment anymore.

He saw you. And you couldn’t tell if he was mad, amused, or… something else entirely.

But something shifted in Chan that night.

And you felt it in your gut.

⸻

You didn’t sleep that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was his face—that unreadable look when he saw the photo. The way he slowly dragged his gaze up to meet yours, like he wasn’t surprised. Like he expected it. Like he’d been waiting.

And the worst part?

Chan never brought it up.

Not in the group chat. Not through a private message. Not even when he sent a TikTok the next morning like nothing had happened at all.

You thought maybe he’d let it go. Maybe he knew you were mortified and wanted to save you the humiliation. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t care.

But then came the next hangout.

And everything changed.

You were in the kitchen when he walked in—plain black t-shirt, jeans that fit way too well, and a cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t say hi. Didn’t look at the others. Just walked straight up behind you, leaned in close enough that you could feel his breath on your neck, and said:

“You always send your nudes to the wrong people… or just me?”

You choked on air.

Your spine went stiff, blood rushing to your face. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t,” he said softly, voice low and thick. “That’s what makes it so interesting.”

He moved away like nothing happened, casually opening a cabinet, grabbing a drink, and joining the others.

You stood there frozen, pulse thundering in your ears.

For the rest of the night, it was like a game.

Chan didn’t touch you. Not really. But his fingers would graze yours when you passed him a drink. He’d lean a little too close when reaching over you. His thigh would press against yours under the table. Every look he gave you was loaded. Every smirk made your stomach twist.

And he said things.

Innocent to anyone else. But not to you.

⸻

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured once when it was just the two of you in the hallway. “Not shy all of a sudden, are you?”

“You looked good the other night,” he whispered behind your ear while passing behind you on the couch. “Real good. That lighting did you favors.”

“Bet you take a lot of pictures like that,” he mused during game night, eyes locked on yours as he sipped from his drink. “Bet you’re used to being watched.”

⸻

You wanted to melt into the floor.

You wanted to slap him.

You wanted to climb into his lap and make him shut the fuck up with his mouth between your legs.

And he knew it.

The final straw came three nights later.

Everyone had gone to bed—except you and Chan. You were both still on the couch, some movie playing quietly, but you hadn’t looked at the screen in ten minutes.

You could feel him watching you.

So you dared to look back.

He tilted his head, biting his lip just barely. Then, voice low:

“That photo’s still in my camera roll.”

Your breath caught.

You opened your mouth—whether to apologize or deny or beg, you weren’t sure—but he kept going.

“You looked so desperate, baby. All spread out, fingers barely hiding anything…”

“Made me wonder what sounds you make when you’re like that for real.”

“Made me wonder if you ever thought about me while taking it.”

Your thighs clenched.

He didn’t touch you.

He just stared.

Then, quietly:

“Come here.”

⸻

You stood up before you could think.

Your legs carried you across the room like they didn’t belong to you, like they needed to be closer to him. Bang Chan. Your best friend. The man you accidentally sent a nude to—and the man who had been slowly, deliciously, destroying your sanity ever since.

He was still lounging on the couch like he hadn’t just invited you to obliterate a years-long friendship.

But his eyes were different now.

Dark. Hooded. Unapologetically hungry.

He didn’t say a word as you stepped closer.

Didn’t move.

Just opened his legs a little wider.

And when you reached him—heart thudding, throat tight—he tilted his chin, tongue swiping lazily over his bottom lip, and murmured, low and devastating:

“So was that for me?”

You swallowed.

You could lie. You could run. You could pretend you were drunk, pretend it was a mistake, pretend you didn’t spend the last three nights soaking through your sheets thinking about his hands.

But instead, you whispered, voice shaking:

“No… but I kind of wish it was.”

That was all it took.

He lunged.

One second he was still—and the next, you were pinned against the nearest wall, his body caging yours in like a fucking wolf finally snapping the leash. His hand cupped your jaw, forcing your gaze up to meet his, his hips already pressing into yours, hard and deliberate.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” he growled, mouth brushing yours without kissing. “Walking around like you didn’t just hand me the filthiest fucking fantasy I’ve ever seen. You don’t get to do that and act innocent.”

His lips crashed into yours—hungry, open-mouthed, devouring. You moaned, fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, like you could climb inside him and never come out. He kissed like a man starved. Like he’d been waiting for this.

Then his hand slid down—slow, confident—and slipped beneath your waistband.

No hesitation.

Two fingers between your folds, slick and ready.

“Jesus,” he breathed, chuckling against your throat. “You’re soaked.”

“Chan—” you gasped, back arching into him.

“Shhh,” he purred. “Gotta check something.”

His fingers curled, and your vision whited out.

You gripped his shoulders hard, moaning into his neck as he worked you with firm, practiced precision, like he’d memorized exactly how to make you squirm. He found your clit and circled—not too soft, not too fast, just enough to make your knees buckle.

“Thought about this every night since that photo,” he murmured, tongue flicking your earlobe. “Wondered how you’d feel. How you’d taste.”

Then he dropped to his knees.

Your breath caught.

Your pants were gone in seconds—yanked down, flung somewhere behind you—and before you could process the shift, his tongue was on you.

Hot, wet, filthy.

He moaned when he tasted you, like the flavor was his new favorite addiction, dragging his tongue through your folds before flicking mercilessly over your clit.

Your hand flew to his hair, fingers yanking hard—but instead of pulling away, he groaned, rutting his hips against the floor like he was getting off on it.

Your thighs trembled. He was relentless—alternating between fast flicks and slow, firm pressure, fingers pumping in and out while his tongue tortured your clit. You were gone. Moaning, panting, grinding against his face with no shame.

“Chan, I—fuck, I’m—”

“Come on my tongue, baby. Give it to me.”

You shattered.

Legs shaking, head thrown back, body writhing as you came hard and messy all over his mouth. He didn’t stop. Not even when you whimpered. Not even when your hands tried to push him back.

“Mmm,” he murmured, lips shiny, eyes wild. “Still twitching. Still so wet.”

He stood, licking his fingers clean.

And before you could breathe—

He turned you around.

Bent you over the couch arm.

“One round’s not gonna be enough.”

⸻

You could barely think.

Your thighs were still shaking, your mouth hung open, and your hands were clenched into the fabric of the couch. Your skin was flushed, sweat-slicked, and Chan—fucking Chan—was behind you, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds like he was considering it.

You whimpered, rocking your hips back against him.

“Please…”

“Please what, baby?” he rasped, one hand gripping your ass, the other steady on your lower back. His voice was calm—too calm. “You think you deserve my cock already?”

You nodded desperately, cheek pressed to the couch cushion.

“I—I need it—”

He laughed, low and breathless, but cruel.

“You don’t need anything. You want it. And you don’t get what you want yet.”

You whimpered again, clenching around nothing, feeling the blunt head of him drag up and down, spreading your arousal, making you ache. He could fuck you. You were ready—more than ready. But he wasn’t giving in.

Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing your spine, voice like gravel in your ear.

“You sent me that picture by accident, right?”

You nodded again, barely breathing. “Yes—yes, Chan, it was a mistake, I swear—”

“And then you didn’t say a word. You let me walk around for days with that image burned into my fucking skull, baby.”

He stood again. Pulled back.

You whimpered at the loss—until his hands gripped your hips and flipped you over effortlessly, laying you flat across the couch cushions. His eyes were dark. Focused.

“You should be punished for that.”

Your breath caught.

But before you could ask how, he was on his knees again.

His mouth found your inner thigh, kissing, biting, marking you before finally—finally—his lips sealed around your clit.

Your hands flew to his hair, tugging hard.

“Still sensitive?” he teased between licks, voice thick with amusement. “Good. You’re gonna come again. But not on my cock.”

You cried out as his tongue flicked over your clit again—faster now, more deliberate. He had no mercy. One arm hooked around your thigh, holding you open, the other hand sliding up your body to squeeze your tits, tugging your nipple just hard enough to make your back arch.

“F-Fuck, Chan, I—”

“That’s it. Be a good girl and give it to me.”

His fingers were inside you before you could even register the stretch.

Two of them.

Curled.

Perfect. Precise. Devastating.

His tongue never let up.

And it was too much—your already-sensitive body twitching under him, your hands fisting his curls so tight he groaned against your pussy, rutting into the couch like he couldn’t take it either.

But he didn’t stop.

Even when you whined. Even when you begged. Even when your second orgasm started to rip through you like lightning, he kept going.

“That’s my girl,” he growled, mouth soaked. “So fucking sweet when you’re dripping down my throat.”

You sobbed.

Actually sobbed—overstimulated and burning, legs wrapped around his head now, trying to pull him closer and push him away at the same time.

And just when you thought he might finally give in—

“No,” he whispered, breath hot against your core. “You don’t get my cock yet.”

He kissed your clit again, featherlight this time, before sitting back, wiping his mouth slowly with the back of his hand.

You stared up at him, dazed, lips parted.

He smirked.

“You’re gonna go home like this. Messy. Wet. Ruined.”

“And when you’ve learned how to ask me nicely for what you want… then I’ll fuck you.”

⸻

It started with a single text.

Chan 🐺: Come over. Wear nothing under your coat.

Your stomach dropped. Your thighs clenched.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to.

Because when Bang Chan said come over, you came running.

When he said nothing underneath, you obeyed.

You didn’t knock. Just walked into the dorm, coat clutched closed over bare skin, heart pounding so loud you could hardly hear anything else. The place was quiet. Dark. The guys were gone.

And he was waiting.

Sitting on the edge of the couch.

Legs spread. Elbows on his knees. Head tilted as he watched you walk in like you belonged to him.

You did.

“Take it off.”

His voice was low. Controlled. Deadly.

Your hands shook as you undid the buttons. Slowly. One by one. Until the coat fell open—and his eyes dropped.

Bare.

All of you.

His jaw clenched. He didn’t speak.

Just leaned back slowly and patted his thigh.

“Come sit.”

You straddled him with trembling knees. His hands came to your waist, sliding up your bare back, mouth ghosting the underside of your jaw—but still, he didn’t kiss you. Didn’t do anything.

You were panting. Dripping. So fucking desperate it hurt.

“Chan, please—”

“Please what? Please fuck you? Please ruin you until you can’t walk straight?”

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. “Yes. Yes—anything, just—”

He leaned in, lips brushing yours.

“Beg for it.”

You lost it.

“You’ve had me soaking for days,” you cried, grinding down on his thigh like a shameless whore. “You’ve fingered me, eaten me out, made me come twice, and you still haven’t fucked me—what more do you want?! I need your cock, Chan—I’ll say it, I don’t care, I need it—I want you to ruin me, please—please—”

That did it.

Something snapped.

Because in a blur, you were on your back.

Coat discarded.

His clothes gone.

And his cock—thick, veiny, flushed red at the tip—was pressed against your soaked folds.

“You want me to ruin you? You fucking got it.”

He slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

You screamed.

Your back arched. Fingers clawed at the couch cushions. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp because he was huge—thick and deep and already stretching you past the point of pain and into pure, agonizing pleasure.

“Fuck,” he growled into your neck. “This pussy was made for me.”

His thrusts were savage. Unrelenting.

The couch shook with every snap of his hips. Skin slapping, sweat dripping, grunts and moans mixing as he buried himself in you over and over and over again. No mercy. No pause. Just pure, primal ownership.

“You teased me with that photo?”

“Now I’m gonna fuck you until you forget every other man who’s ever looked at you.”

You couldn’t answer.

Couldn’t speak.

You were too full. Too overstimulated. Eyes rolling back, mouth open in a drooling mess, hands trapped above your head in his tight grip.

He saw it.

And he smiled.

“Look at you,” he panted. “Already cock drunk, baby? And we’re just getting started.”

⸻

Round 2 came when he flipped you over—face down, ass up, hair yanked back so he could growl into your ear while he pounded into you from behind.

“This is the angle I imagined when you sent me that fucking picture.”

You sobbed into the cushions, walls clenching, body jolting with every thrust as his fingers rubbed tight circles on your clit without stopping.

He made you come again.

And again.

And when your body went limp beneath him, trembling, wrecked, voice hoarse from moaning his name?

He wasn’t done.

⸻

Round 3 was slower. Crueler.

Your legs were shaking. Your body overstimulated.

But he slid back in anyway.

Because he could.

“One more, baby,” he whispered. “I know you’ve got one more in you.”

He took his time now—deep, grinding strokes that had you crying from pleasure, nails dragging down his back, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

“That’s it,” he groaned, kissing the tears off your cheeks. “Let me see it. Cry for me.”

You came with a scream.

And even then… he didn’t pull out.

He stayed buried inside you. Let you twitch around him. Let you fall apart. Let you feel every inch of him while he slowly rocked into your ruined, soaked, used body.

Then, with a deep growl, he grabbed your hips tighter, pulled you flush against him—

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby.”

His thrusts deepened—harder, slower, fucking deeper—and with a shuddering moan, he emptied himself inside you.

Warm, sticky, thick.

Marking you.

Claiming you.

Breathing heavy, he collapsed onto your back, lips brushing your temple in a soft, possessive kiss.

“You did so good, baby.”

“Next time…”

“You send the picture to me on purpose.”

TYSM for reading!! And TYSM for 500 followers!!!

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[eu-nicola]

Morocco part 1

summary: Rafe says goodbye to Sofia and leaves her in outer banks while he goes to Morocco, where you are also and the danger that happens there rekindles the spark both of you thought had lost

warnings: mention of death, weapons, cheating, pregnancy, etc. only things of s4

word counter: 9000

author's note: spoilers of s4, many things have been changed but there are still spoilers, english is not my first language, this is long so get ready to read

There was a warm breeze blowing in from the ocean, bringing with it the smell of salt and adventure. You stood on the shore, watching the waves crash against the sharp, black rocks of the Outer Banks coastline. The sunset dyed the sky deep oranges and reds, painting long, brooding shadows across the sand. In the distance, the lighthouse flickered with its intermittent light, marking time. Your thoughts were filled with questions now that you were going to Morocco, and Rafe’s silhouette approaching along the wooden walkway only intensified that unease. 

Rafe had that look in his eyes that you had always found difficult to read, a mix of defiance and nonchalance that gave him an almost untouchable air. He walked with a confident gait, hands in his pockets, white shirt fluttering lightly in the wind. When he was close enough, you stopped, feeling tension take hold of your muscles. He noticed your expression and, without a word, stood beside you, staring out at the ocean as if you shared a secret that only he understood.

“How are you?” you asked, breaking the silence with a voice that sounded shakier than you had planned. It wasn’t a casual question; you both knew he was carrying a heavier weight. His eyes narrowed just a little, and after a moment that seemed like an eternity, he let out a sigh.

“Sofia is going to stay here,” he said suddenly, as if he had been waiting for you to ask. His words fell like stones to the bottom of your stomach, sinking you into a feeling of emptiness. “I didn’t want to risk taking my future wife to Morocco.”

It took your mind a while to process what he had just said, as if your brain had hit an unexpected wall. Future wife? The icy surprise ran across your skin, leaving you feeling cold in the stifling summer heat. You forced yourself to keep your composure, to not let the confusion become visible, but it was too late: Rafe was already watching you with that look that knew too much.

“Are you engaged?” you finally asked, trying to make your voice sound natural, but feeling the lump in your throat tighten a little more with each word. He gave you a slight smile, which barely curved his lips, but was reflected more intensely in his eyes.

“Yes,” he answered, and the weight of that simple statement crushed your chest. You looked back at the horizon, looking for a respite in the immensity of the sea. The waves continued to break, indifferent to human emotions, while you struggled to maintain the balance between surprise and the pain that you did not dare to let out.

Rafe nodded, his smile wider and more sincere than yours. “Thank you,” he said in a tone that revealed a kind of relief, as if he had been waiting for your reaction with hidden caution. There was a moment of silence, awkward and dense, in which neither of you moved or looked away from the ocean. The waves continued their eternal back and forth, and for a moment you wondered what it would be like to be anywhere else in the world, a place where Rafe’s words couldn’t reach you and where the echo of “future wife” didn’t resonate in your mind like a persistent hammering. 

The breeze blew harder, carrying with it the echo of distant laughter and the voices of seagulls, and as Rafe looked back out to sea, you felt everything moving around you, except you. 

You fell silent, allowing the sound of the sea and the wind to carry away the unspoken words. You didn't want to talk about Rafe's engagement anymore, or about Sofia, or what it meant to you. You had learned to swallow your emotions, to let them burn inside you until they became something more bearable, like ashes after a fire. So you didn't say anything. You just nodded almost imperceptibly and took a step back, as if you were walking away from a conversation that had already ended. 

Rafe watched you with fleeting curiosity, but he didn't insist. He, too, knew when it was best to leave things as they were. Without another word, he turned around and walked back along the same wooden path he had come by, his footsteps echoing in the increasingly dark afternoon. You stayed a few seconds longer, trying to let the cold in your chest dissipate and your breathing return to a normal rhythm. 

When you finally turned around, your thoughts were already far away from there, beyond the ocean, in the dunes of Morocco, in the legends surrounding the Blue Crown. That relic had been the center of stories and rumors among treasure-hunting circles, a lost jewel whose importance went beyond wealth: it was said to have the power to change the fate of whoever possessed it. And now, it was sought not only by you and Rafe, but also by the Pogues, and others. 

You had no time to be distracted, and you couldn't let your emotions prevent you from acting with the coolness that the situation required. You returned to your home where on the worn wooden table, the map of Morocco was spread out, with handwritten notes and markings indicating the places you had investigated before. You sat down, letting the weight of determination replace the pang of jealousy and disappointment you still felt. 

You looked through your things: an old compass that had belonged to your grandfather, oil lanterns, a sharp knife, and a copy of a manuscript with cryptic clues about the location of the Blue Crown, clothes, and a lot of money. 

As night fell over the Outer Banks and the stars began to twinkle in the sky, you promised yourself that you would find the Crown, no matter how many obstacles stood in your way. You weren’t interested in having it, but in what it took to have it, the deals you could make, and how proud your father would be if you did. It would be your victory, your vindication with your father after he nearly “killed” you when he found out you weren’t with Rafe anymore and you ruined his perfect life by not marrying a Cameron. You pushed those memories from your mind, focusing your eyes on the map and letting the adrenaline and obsession with the search take over. 

Tomorrow, everything would change.

The Moroccan sun was merciless, a golden blaze that seemed hell-bent on burning your skin and sapping every ounce of energy you had. The air was dry, with a hint of sand that seeped into your mouth and stuck to your skin. You walked through a bustling market, where the aromas of spices, leather, and sweat mingled in a heady, chaotic mix. Vendors shouted in Arabic and French, selling everything from hand-woven rugs to intricately detailed gold jewelry. Despite the fascination you could feel for the place, the heat made every step a struggle. 

“Damn heat,” you mutter as you wipe the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. Your clothes, light but already soaked, clung to your skin uncomfortably. You were tired, overwhelmed, and everything seemed even more complicated in the middle of that maze of narrow streets. 

Behind you, you hear a low, familiar laugh. “Are you really complaining about the heat?” Rafe’s voice comes with a hint of sarcasm you know well. He’d joined the expedition at the last minute. He wore dark sunglasses and a smile that made him seem completely unfazed, even under the relentless desert sun. 

“It’s not that different from home,” he adds, raising an eyebrow and giving you a look that mixes defiance and complicity. His words hit you with an unexpected truth, and although you hate to admit it, you agree with a slight nod. 

“You’re right,” you acknowledge, trying not to show the irritation you felt. Outer Banks might be stifling, humid, and wild, but this dry, scorching heat had its own way of imposing itself. Still, the comparison was still valid. 

Rafe stops next to a stall where an old man sells copper and silver amulets. He takes one between his fingers, examining it with that calm attention he used to display before making a major move. His presence is as familiar as it is exasperating, a constant that forced you to stay alert.

“Don’t forget what we’re here for,” he murmurs without looking at you, as he returns the amulet to the old man with a polite smile. His words bring you back to the present, to the mission.

You take a deep breath, letting the warm air fill your lungs and force you to focus. “I never forget,” you reply, and although your words sound firm, you both knew that heat, distractions, and personal tensions were silent enemies.

Rafe smirks, a gesture that could be either respect or mockery. Then, without further ado, he walks into the crowd, motioning for you to follow him.

Hours later, night fell over Morocco with the speed of a closing curtain, leaving the air still warm and charged with the promise of new intrigue. The market streets, which during the day were a hive of life, were transformed into a labyrinth of shadows and flashing lights, where low-voiced conversations and distant laughter mingled with the hum of oil lamps. You found yourself in one of these streets, walking briskly alongside Rafe, whose eyes seemed to scan every corner, alert for any sign of movement.

You knew the Pogues were in town. They’d been following the treasure trail for almost as long as you had, and though your paths had crossed in the past, you’d never considered joining them. Until now.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked Rafe, feeling the weight of doubt like a stone in your stomach. It was an idea that had seemed absurd to you when it first came up, but the more you thought about it, the more logical it made. Two opposing forces joining forces for a common goal. But with Rafe, you could never be completely sure of anything.

Rafe cast a glance over his shoulder, his lips twisting into a smile that was more of a warning than a friendly gesture. “Relax. It suits them as much as it suits us.” You stopped at the edge of a crossroads, the yellowish light of a streetlamp illuminating half of his face and leaving the other half plunged into darkness. “Don’t worry so much, if there’s one thing I know about them it’s that they can’t resist an opportunity,” she added, lowering her voice and moving closer. 

The meeting was scheduled in an old warehouse near the port, a place where stacked wooden boxes and hanging ropes created a scene that seemed straight out of a pirate tale. The place smelled of salt and damp wood, and the echoes of the waves crashing against the docks filled the space with a constant murmur. When you arrived, the Pogues were already there, standing in a tense semicircle, exchanging glances and whispers. John B, with his disheveled hair and alert expression, was the first to spot you. Beside him, Sarah tensed her jaw at the sight of Rafe, and you couldn’t blame her. The wounds between them ran deep, scars that would take a while to heal, if they ever did. 

“What are you doing here?” JJ’s voice was the first to break the silence. His eyes, normally full of spark and humor, were now hard as steel. Kie stood beside him, arms crossed and an expression that clearly said he didn’t trust what was happening.

Rafe raised his hands, as if to show he had no ill intentions. “Relax. We’re not here to fight. We’re here to help.”

“Help?” John B repeated the word as if it were a joke, and a bitter laugh escaped his throat. “Why the hell should we trust you?”

“You shouldn’t,” you intervened, taking a step forward. All eyes fell on you, and you felt the weight of uncertainty in each gaze. “But if we want to find the Crown before others do, we have no choice. Rafe and I know things, we have clues that can lead us to it. And you also have information that we need.”

There was a moment of tense silence. Eyes met, searching for answers that neither was willing to give. Pope was the first to move, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as if he were assessing the situation. “What kind of information?” he finally asked, his tone calculating and full of caution.

Rafe smiled, and you knew he’d been waiting for that question. “We know the last clue leads to a site in the Atlas Mountains. But it’s not a place you can get to with maps and courage alone. You need someone who knows the terrain, and we just happen to have people who do.”

Kie let out a sigh, lowering her arms and casting a quick glance at her friends. “It’s crazy,” she muttered, though there was a glint in her eyes that suggested the idea, as dangerous as it was, intrigued her.

John B gritted his teeth, his gaze shifting from you to Rafe, then to his friends. There was a decision to be made, and you both knew it. Finally, he nodded, though not willingly. “Okay, but if this is a trap…”

“It’s not,” you interrupted. And though your words were firm, you knew that everyone there had reasons to doubt. The alliance was not perfect, and past scars still hurt. But in the search, distrust would be a luxury they could not afford.

Rafe crossed his arms, pleased, and looked at John B with a flash of defiance. “Then we better get started. The mountains aren’t going to wait for us.”

The group exchanged glances, a tacit agreement that felt like a leap into the dark.

Dawn in Morocco came with unexpected warmth, as if the sun had risen early with the sole purpose of testing everyone’s patience. The souk, which had just awakened with the first light, was filled with life in a matter of minutes: merchants displayed their wares, children ran through the alleys, and the air was filled with the aroma of spices and freshly baked bread. The relative calm of the morning didn’t last long.

It had been barely two days since you formed that precarious alliance with the Pogues and, as you feared, things quickly went awry. You weren’t sure what exactly had caused the chaos – whether it was Rafe trying to ���get information” the way he usually did, or whether it was an unfortunate run-in with another group of treasure hunters who had gotten wind of the treasure. The truth was that you now found yourself running at full speed between clay buildings and narrow alleys, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the walls as the screams and curses of your pursuers filled the air behind you. 

“Rafe! This is madness!” you shouted as you dodged a fruit stand that you nearly knocked over in your wake. Oranges rolled across the ground, and the merchant let out an enraged scream that was lost in the melee. Rafe, running beside you with a grin that bordered on reckless, barely turned to look at you. 

“Calm down, I’ve got it under control!” he replied in a tone that made you want to punch him in the midst of all the confusion. The shadow of a smile remained on his face, as if this was all just a game and not a race to keep his skin intact.

“You better fix it, Rafe!” you roared, feeling the burn in your legs and the metallic taste of effort in your mouth. “I wanted at least a couple of good days in Morocco!” You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a moment of true tranquility, and in that instant, the desire for everything to be different mixed with the adrenaline that drove you to keep running. 

Rafe let out a laugh, one you didn’t know whether to admire or detest. “Good days? That’s not part of the deal, friend.” His words seemed laden with irony, but also with a truth that stuck in you like a thorn. 

You turned a corner and felt the sunlight hit you directly in the face, blinding you for a crucial second. You staggered and almost fell when you tripped on a small step, but Rafe grabbed your arm and pushed you forward without stopping. The footsteps behind you were getting closer, and you could hear shouts in Arabic that, although you didn’t fully understand, made it clear that the intentions were anything but friendly.

“To the right!” Rafe shouted, letting go of you and pointing down a side street that seemed narrower than the one before. Without thinking, you turned, your heart pounding in your chest like a crazed drum. The alley narrowed even further, and the terracotta-colored walls seemed to close in around you. You could feel the adrenaline bubbling through your veins, sweat soaking through your shirt, and the sound of the chase ringing in your ears as a constant reminder of how close they were.

Suddenly, a thud to your left caught your attention: John B and JJ had emerged from a hidden passage, expressions mixing surprise and relief at seeing you. “What the hell did they do now?!” JJ shouted, a spark of reproach in his eyes.

“This isn’t the time for details,” you replied between gasps, and without stopping, you walked past them, followed by Rafe, who still had that impassive smile.

“We have to split up,” John B said, taking the lead and pointing with a sharp gesture. “We’ll meet at the meeting point! Go that way!” And before you could answer, he and JJ disappeared into another narrow passage, like moving shadows.

You and Rafe kept running, the chase now divided and the sound of footsteps diminishing. The alley opened up into a small square, where the midday shadows were deeper. There, you leaned against a wall, trying to catch your breath and process what had just happened.

Rafe glanced at you, his breathing ragged but a spark of excitement in his eyes. “You see,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow with a quick gesture, “this is what makes everything more interesting.”

You looked at him, feeling a mixture of exasperation and a strange camaraderie wash over you. Maybe he was crazy, or maybe you were crazy for keeping up with him.

After the chase, everything had calmed down, they continued doing their thing during the day and at night when they went to rest at a place where they were staying while you slept you were startled by a thud in the next room. You barely had time to stand up when the door was flung open and a tall man, with scars on his face and eyes as dark as night, pointed a gun at you. “Not a single move, girl,” he hissed in broken English, the threat in his voice as clear as the gun in his hand.

Rafe, who was in the other room, burst in without a second thought. The fight was quick, a clash of bodies and blows that echoed in the small room like war drums. With your heart racing, you searched for something, anything to defend yourself, and your fingers found an old metal lamp. You didn’t think about it. With all the strength you could muster, you threw it at the intruder’s head, the metallic sound echoing as it hit him and sent him reeling.

“Get out!” Rafe shouted, his voice a roar that snapped you out of your trance. You moved toward the door as he finished subduing the intruder. Outside, the streets were deserted, a blanket of silence that was almost as dangerous as the bustle of the crowd. You knew they couldn’t stay there. They had to move.

The next day, things only got worse. Despite having agreed on a meeting point with the Pogues, the pressure of being under constant surveillance and dodging suspicious glances became unbearable. Pope had managed to decipher an ancient map that seemed to lead to a cave in the Atlas Mountains, but they hadn’t counted on the other hunters who caught wind of the advance.

The chase began in the market, with the clatter of falling pots and screams from confused vendors who barely understood what was happening. You leapt up a stone staircase that led up to the rooftops, Rafe hot on your heels and JJ and Kie a few feet behind, bringing up the rear. From above, the flat roofs of the souk stretched out like a makeshift battlefield, dotted with hanging clothes and rusty antennas. The air was thick with heat and dust, making every breath a challenge. 

Gunshots rang out in the distance, the echo spreading through the streets like a wave. You threw yourself to the ground just in time to avoid a second shot, feeling adrenaline turn your fear into a searing drive. Rafe held out a hand and helped you up, the urgency in his eyes clearer than ever. “We have to get down from here now!” he shouted over the din, pointing to an old staircase that led to a narrow alley. 

They managed to climb down and into the tangle of streets, but the sense of impending danger never left. The group briefly took refuge in a cellar, where John B pulled out the map and spread it out on a splintered wooden table. “The cave is close, but we need to make a detour. We’re being followed closely,” he said, his gaze fixed on the markings that indicated a winding path into the mountains.

The tension in the air was palpable. No one fully trusted Rafe, and Kie kept giving you worried glances, as if trying to gauge how much more you could take. You were tired, exhausted, but at the moment the idea of ​​stopping seemed as far away as peace itself. 

That night, when the group decided to split up, you found yourself alone with Rafe in a dark passage, the echo of screams and gunshots still haunting you. The shadows on the stone walls seemed to lengthen and twist as if they were alive, too, watching you. You walked in silence, your breathing still ragged and your body on high alert. Rafe, ever alert, stopped suddenly and put a hand on your arm. The touch was cold, but it also had a hint of urgency that made you still. 

“Listen,” he whispered. You barely noticed the sound of footsteps coming toward you, slow and calculated. Before you could process it, someone grabbed you from behind and dragged you into the darkness of an alley. You kicked and punched, fighting with all your might as Rafe tried to reach you. 

You knew you had been missing for no more than a couple of hours, you had learned to count time without a watch and without getting lost and you knew that you had been exactly two hours with your head covered, except for your mouth. 

In an unexpected twist, it was John B who appeared out of nowhere, pulling your captor and slamming him against the wall with a force that seemed impossible for his build. Once free, you breathed heavily, feeling the world around you blur. You were tired, but John B’s gaze, full of concern and determination, reminded you that you were not alone. 

“We have to move. Now,” he said and you quickly followed. 

The streets began to calm down as John B led you through a maze of passages further and further away from the bustle of the souk.

Finally, John B stopped in front of an old wooden door, dark with age and dust. He knocked three times in a rhythmic manner, and the door creaked open. You entered behind him, feeling tiredness creeping through your body like an unbearable weight. The small room you entered was lit by an oil lamp in one corner, casting a dim light that made the shadows lengthen and distort.

There, sitting in a chair with an expression somewhere between worry and relief, was Rafe. When he saw you, his eyes lit up with a flash of excitement that he quickly tried to hide under a facade of serenity. You had no time for words; you threw yourself at him, hugging him tightly, feeling the warmth of his body and the accelerated beat of his heart under your arms. For a moment, nothing else mattered.

Rafe hugged you back, his grip firm, almost desperate. For an instant, he wasn’t the troubled, arrogant man you’d shared so many moments of uncertainty with, but someone who shared the weight of the same struggle, the same fear, and the same need to find respite amidst the chaos.

“I thought I’d have to kill someone to find you,” he murmured, his voice husky near your ear, heavy with a feeling he couldn’t or wouldn’t admit. You felt his hands tighten around you, as if he feared that if he loosened his grip, you might disappear into the dimness of the room.

“I almost did,” you admitted, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes.

John B coughed softly, breaking the tension in the air and reminding you that you weren’t alone. You looked over at him, and behind him, JJ and Kie had gathered, each with expressions ranging from relief to distrust. Kie smiled briefly, but JJ kept his stance alert, always the first to suspect Rafe. 

“We need to decide our next move,” John B said, crossing his arms and glancing around at everyone in the room. “Those following us aren’t going to stop, and the cave in the mountains isn’t going to sit around waiting for us.”

Rafe let out a low, almost inaudible laugh and looked away, as if he was considering John B’s words. You felt the knot in your chest slowly unravel, replaced by the determination they all shared: to find what they were looking for. 

After the conversation, the small room fell into a heavy silence, interrupted only by tired sighs and the occasional creaking of chairs. The tired looks, the few words. The adrenaline of the day was finally beginning to fade, and exhaustion took its place with relentless force. John B and the others found corners in the room to rest, spreading threadbare blankets on the floor and chairs.

Rafe looked at you and nodded silently, both of you knowing you wouldn't stay there. Without exchanging another word, you walked out the back door, into the shadows of the streets of Marrakech. You walked in silence, unhurried but not stopping, following the paths you already knew by heart. The house you shared was a few streets away, a replica of the many modest buildings in the neighborhood, but set back enough to offer you a semblance of privacy and safety.

Upon arriving, Rafe opened the door and let you in first. The interior was dark and cool, a welcome welcome after the scorching heat of the day and the tension that seemed to have been tied to your back like a weight. You closed your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to feel the ephemeral peace of the place, before letting out a deep sigh and moving towards the small room in the back, where a low, simple bed awaited you. 

Rafe stood in the doorway, watching you with a mix of tiredness and something else you couldn’t quite make out. “Do you want me to make you something to drink?” he asked, his voice soft and husky. 

You shook your head as you kicked off your shoes and dropped onto the bed. “No, I just… need to sleep. It’s been too much for today.” You laid down on your side, hugging one of the pillows and feeling your eyelids begin to droop. You didn’t expect Rafe to do the same, but suddenly you heard him move. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet, and the lamplight flickered for a moment before he blew out the last spark and everything went dark. 

You flinched slightly as you felt the weight of the bed dip beside you. You turned your head, and though you could barely see his features in the darkness, you could feel his proximity, the heat radiating from his body. “I’m not staying in that house with them,” he murmured, like an explanation, though you didn’t need one. You didn’t respond, just closed your eyes, too exhausted to think about what it meant.

The silence stretched between you, only broken by the slow, deep breaths that began to come together. Without realizing it, as tiredness dragged you to sleep, you turned a little, looking for a more comfortable position. Your hands brushed Rafe's arm, and he moved barely, as if responding to your touch was a reflex. Before you could think about what was happening, you felt his arm slide around your waist, pulling you towards him. It was a protective, warm gesture, and although at another time you would have said something, in that instant you only sighed, feeling your body relax completely. 

With his breath close to your ear and the safety of his arms around you, the tension that had accompanied you for days finally dissolved. 

The next morning the sun began to filter through the cracks in the window, filling the room with a soft light that contrasted with the darkness you had fallen into the night before. You woke up slowly, eyelids heavy, body still marked by the tiredness of the day before. Without moving, you felt the warmth of Rafe’s body beside you, his arm still around your waist, and for a moment you couldn’t help but smile quietly.

You tried to turn around to get out of his embrace without making a sound, hoping you wouldn’t wake him, but when you tried to move, something pulled at you. Rafe, still asleep, pulled you closer to him, a gesture so automatic that it made you sigh silently. Your body tensed at first, but then you realized it couldn’t be that bad, at least for a moment longer.

“Don’t go,” he murmured quietly, his tone rough with sleep. The softness of his words made your chest tighten unintentionally.

You stayed still for a second, staring at the ceiling, feeling the warmth of his embrace envelop you, as if the entire world had disappeared, leaving only that small corner of peace between the two of you. But reality, as always, quickly took over. You didn’t want to be that person, you didn’t want to confuse yourself or complicate things further. It was a hug, nothing more.

“Rafe...” you began quietly, almost afraid to interrupt the peace that had formed between you. “I’m not Sofia.”

The sound of his breathing changed, and then, with a calmness that surprised you, he replied, “I know,” as he held you even tighter against his chest. His words were soft, as if there was nothing to clarify, nothing to change. “I just… want to keep sleeping.”

Despite his relaxed tone, you couldn’t stay there all day. You already knew that time was pressing, and things were still moving outside of that little bubble of calm you’d shared with him. “There are things to do, Rafe,” you said, your tone firmer this time. “And we need to eat.”

A frustrated sigh escaped his lips at that moment, but eventually he relented. His body tensed a little as, with a grimace, he began to pull away from you, his arm finally releasing you, though his gaze was still a little clouded by sleep.

“It’s okay,” he said, sitting up with a hand on his head, as if trying to clear his head a little before getting up. “But only because you have to eat.”

The smile that escaped you upon hearing his tired, yet resigned tone was almost inevitable. You got up first, stretching and looking for clean clothes. As you watched him prepare his way to get up.

After a simple but necessary breakfast, with the morning warmth streaming in through the windows, the pace of the day continued. The conversations about the map and the cave in the mountains were quickly forgotten as each of you went about your own business. The chaos and paranoia of the day before had subsided, but danger was still present in every corner of Morocco, lurking in the darkness, waiting for the right moment to emerge.

Rafe, as always lately, had decided to act without thinking too much about it. There was something in his nature that pushed him to throw himself into risky situations without measuring the consequences. And, as always, it ended in trouble.

That trouble came in the form of an old acquaintance who appeared in the square, with clear intentions of collecting old debts. Rafe tried to negotiate, to talk to him in terms he clearly didn’t understand, while you watched from afar, feeling a growing unease in your stomach. There was something about the man’s posture, his cold gaze, that told you that they weren’t going to get out of this well.

The exchange of words escalated quickly, the tone of the conversation going from tense to aggressive in seconds. You knew it wasn’t going to end well, but what you didn’t expect was what happened next.

The man moved quickly, his hand searching for something in his jacket. You didn’t need to be told, it all happened in the blink of an eye. Rafe had backed away, but the man already had a gun in his hands, and his intention was clear. Rafe’s gaze hardened, and in that moment you understood that he couldn’t escape.

The man raised the gun towards him, and the world seemed to slow down for an instant. You knew there was no time to think about it. Fear transformed into action without your brain being able to fully process it. Without thinking, you pulled out the gun you had taken from the cellar the night before. In one swift movement, you aimed and fired. 

The sound of the gunshot rang through the air, the echo repeating in your ears as the man fell to the ground, with a grunt of pain, the gun slipping from his hand. Quickly, you turned to Rafe, who was only a few feet away from you, watching what had happened with a mix of surprise and gratitude, but also with the awareness of what had just happened. 

“Are you...?” you began, but the words got caught in your throat. Adrenaline was still flowing through your veins, making your hands shake slightly, but there was no time to reflect. 

Rafe, after a moment of silence, finally spoke. “Well done,” he said in a tone you couldn’t quite read. But there was something in his gaze, a deep gratitude, and also a concern that he didn’t want to admit.

“It’s nothing,” you lied, quickly putting the gun away, though your heart was still racing. “Be careful, I need you to be the Rafe who makes deals with the worst people possible and comes out on top.”

Rafe didn’t say anything. He looked at the fallen man, then turned to you, and without another word, he nodded. “Let’s move on.”

The two of you walked quickly, away from the scene, the shadows of the streets covering you. Rafe walked a few steps ahead of you.

Your breathing was still irregular, the adrenaline already starting to wear off. The question that had formed in your head escaped your mouth, more out of impulse than out of need to know the answer.

“Isn’t there a minute where we have peace? Where I don’t have to get your ass out of some trouble?” you blurted out, the irony in your voice evident. You didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or scream, but something about the situation made you blurt out that question as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Rafe, without turning around, let out a dry laugh, the one you already knew was the only way he had to deal with the situation, a defense against the chaos that surrounded him. “Like with Sheriff Peterkin,” he said, and although his words seemed light, there was something in his tone that he couldn’t hide: the heaviness of that memory.

The mention of the policewoman made you pause for a second. You knew exactly what he meant. That time, long before they got to this point, you remembered the local police who had almost caught Rafe and his family, so he took it upon himself only for reasons that were never fully understood, your father intervened, paying whatever it took to cover it all up. 

You knew that, in some way, your father’s hand was always present, ensuring that Rafe’s problems didn’t affect him, although it had left you with a bitter feeling in your stomach. Your father never talked about these situations, but it was clear that he had ways of cleaning up messes that others couldn’t. And in some way, he included you in his world, which you were used to and liked. 

“I know,” you answered with a wry smile. You couldn’t help but think of everything you had done to protect Rafe, everything you had put aside for him, for his sake. And what did you get in return? More trouble, more chaos. But at the same time, you couldn’t deny that something about that connection dragged you down, something you couldn’t control.

Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, and for a moment, his eyes softened, as if you were reading his thoughts. “Thank you,” he said quietly, though it wasn’t the kind of thanks that made you feel completely at ease.

“Don’t be,” you replied quickly, feeling the moment become more tense than it already was. “I don’t need you to thank me, Rafe. This is what always happens. But I don’t want to be your fixer all the time.”

Silence fell between you again as you walked through the streets, the sun already warming the air uncomfortably. Your dress, though light at first, now felt sticky and dirty. Sweat ran down your back and the line of your neck, and the dust of the streets stuck to your skin only made things worse. You rubbed your forehead, desperate, and muttered more to yourself than to Rafe.

“This is unbearable. I’m sweaty, dirty, and… I need a bath urgently. This is torture.”

Rafe walked a few steps ahead, but his eyes shifted to you for a moment, as if he was trying to process what you had just said. He didn’t seem worried, but he did seem a little amused to see you in this state.

“I know, but it’s not the most important thing right now,” he said, in his usual, somewhat carefree tone. “We have to stay focused.”

You frowned as you brushed off your dress. “Yeah, sure, very focused… but I could be a lot more productive if I wasn’t so uncomfortable.” You looked around, realizing how ridiculous it sounded: here you were, running away from one problem after another, and all you could think about was a bathroom.

Rafe, noticing your tone, let out a low, amused laugh, as if the idea of ​​worrying about something so mundane in the midst of all the chaos was completely absurd. “It’s not my fault you’re not going to take a bath with me,” he said, as if to joke. 

You turned to him, one eyebrow raised, and prepared to respond, but before you could say anything, he gave you a small tap on the arm, almost playfully, while smirking. The way he did it seemed so natural, as if everything else around them disappeared for a second. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he added between laughs. “You can wait a little longer before you get in the water.” 

He looked at you with that lopsided smile that, despite everything, couldn’t take away the discomfort of being drenched in sweat and dirt. But you couldn’t help but laugh, despite how upset you were. 

“Easy for you to say, right?” You said, trying to make a face, but you couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. “When you’re not the one stuck in a sticky dress with your hair stuck to your face.”

Rafe, hearing your tone, simply shrugged, still smiling. “I promise that once we get somewhere safe, you can shower all you want. In the meantime, just hold on a little longer. It’s not all that bad, right?”

You stayed silent for a moment, looking at his relaxed face as you walked. You knew he was partly right. In the end, the sweat and heat were nothing compared to what you had already faced. But, despite everything, you couldn’t help but think about how much good a nice bath would do you.

“Okay, but don’t make me wait too long,” you said in a more relaxed tone, feeling your body ease up a bit as the tension was released with those words. “Because really, Rafe, I need something more than water to cool off.”

Rafe, looking at you with that look of his, just nodded, and with a mischievous smile on his face, he replied, “I promise, just hold on a little longer.”

You pushed yourself gently against his arm, and laughed.

Although the hours had felt endless, they ended up being productive for you and Rafe. The search for clues had paid off, although not in the way you had expected. They had managed to find some things and talk to some people who would help them, and they had also made some important progress in getting an address that seemed more promising than the previous ones. Despite the discomfort of the heat, the chases they had barely dodged, and the tensions between them, you felt that the hours had been worth it. 

The streets, which had previously seemed overwhelming and chaotic, now felt more familiar. They had managed to blend in a bit with the locals, and although curious eyes continued to follow them, they managed to move more confidently, at least until it got late. Finally, after a day of intense work and a couple of altercations, night fell over Morocco, and the cool breeze that was beginning to blow made you breathe a sigh of relief. 

As the shadows lengthened, the city seemed to calm down a bit, the streets less hectic, the heat of the day slowly easing. You were tired, the sweat stuck to your skin was no longer just uncomfortable, but had left you feeling heavy. All you wanted at that moment was a bath, but you knew things couldn't be that simple.

Rafe had disappeared for a moment, perhaps to talk to someone or continue digging into some clue that had surfaced, but you couldn't wait any longer. You quickly walked to the house you had rented, the temporary shelter where you could only think about taking off everything you had endured that day.

Entering the small dwelling, you closed the door behind you with a sigh of relief. You no longer had to be on alert all the time. There was no immediate danger in sight, and at last, you had some time to yourself.

You quickly headed to the bathroom, where a large, old tub was waiting for you, filled with water that still felt somewhat warm, as if someone had prepared everything in advance. You didn't hesitate for a second and, without thinking twice, you began to undress, removing clothes soaked in sweat and dust from the day. Each piece of clothing you dropped on the floor seemed to take a little more of the weight off your shoulders.

You sank into the tub with a sigh of relief, letting the warm water envelop your tired body. You lay back with your arms outstretched on the edge, closing your eyes and letting the warmth surround you, covering you completely. Each bubble that formed on the surface seemed to soothe you more, as if you were letting go of all the stress and tension you had built up.

The sound of the water gently moving around you was the only thing you could hear, and for a moment, you felt like everything else was left behind. You only thought about yourself, and the movement of the water.

The warmth of the water was beginning to relax you completely, and every part of your body that had been tense during the day was slowly letting go. You had your eyes closed, enjoying the moment, when you finally managed to disconnect from everything else, even Rafe's presence. At last, you felt like the world could wait a little.

The soak in the tub was beyond relaxing. Without thinking, you began to completely relax, the hot, bubbling water enveloping your body as tiredness slipped away from you.

You allowed yourself to stay there for a few more minutes, enjoying the peace that so rarely came to you.

When you finally got out of the tub, you felt like new. The water had done wonders on your tired body.

You decided to replace the water in the tub before Rafe arrived. The water you had used was warm, but it wasn't as hot anymore, so you decided to fill it up again for him. You did this more out of instinct than anything else, you wanted to offer him some peace of mind after everything you had been through that day. The sound of the water flowing in the tub was the only thing you could hear as you prepared to go get some clean clothes.

You didn't notice it at first, but when you returned to the living room, you heard the door open. Rafe walked in with his tired, somewhat heavy gait, but it wasn’t until you turned to look at him again that you noticed something odd about his posture. Something about the way he walked, slightly hunched over, made you frown.

Rafe was hurt.

The sweat on his face and the blood stains on his clothes didn’t go unnoticed. There was some wound, perhaps superficial, but enough to make you worry. You hurried to approach him, but he raised his hand, stopping you before you could say anything.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice tense but firm, as if he didn’t want you to treat him like he was a child. “Just a couple of scratches. A bath will do me good, and that’s it.” His tone was so direct that it left no room for further discussion, as if the idea of ​​being helped was something he preferred to avoid.

You stared at him for a moment, feeling a lump form in your throat. You wanted to help, to do something, but you knew Rafe wasn’t going to let you do it. You knew him too well to know that he wouldn’t accept help easily, especially when it came to something as “minor” as a wound.

“I’ve already filled the tub for you,” you finally said, trying to hide how much it worried you to see him in that state. Your voice sounded calmer than you felt, but there was still a note of concern that you couldn’t hide. “It’s ready. Just… be careful, okay?”

Rafe looked at you with a crooked smile, that smile of his that used to be so trusting, but now seemed somewhat forced. “Thank you,” he said quietly, giving you a slight nod in thanks. 

You stood there for a few moments, watching him head towards the tub, where he paused for a moment before beginning to strip off his blood and dirt stained clothes. 

The tension in the air between the two of you was palpable, but in the end, you knew you couldn’t just leave him like that. If he wasn’t going to accept it, you would take the lead. No matter what was between you, you couldn’t leave him hurt and alone. 

You approached the tub with a clear decision in your mind. Without thinking too much, you grabbed a clean rag and dipped it into the hot water. The sound of the water sliding down his skin, the warmth emitted by the steam, turned it all into a kind of calm that at first seemed disconcerting. Rafe stayed silent, watching you as you moved the cloth gently across his torso, careful not to touch his wounds, cleaning away the dirt that had accumulated on his body.

You didn’t think about his nakedness. You knew that, at this point, it was just a practical matter.

Rafe, despite the awkwardness of the situation, kept looking at you, and with a crooked smile, decided to break the silence. “Are you really doing this?” he said in a sarcastic tone, raising an eyebrow, as if he were in the middle of an awkward joke. “Aren’t you afraid of getting wet?”

You laughed despite yourself, almost unable to help it. The laughter came out of you spontaneously, lightening the heavy atmosphere that had formed a little. “If I get wet, I get wet. It’s not like I haven’t gotten wet before.” You replied, cleaning the part of his shoulder more carefully, always aware of the wounds.

Rafe’s sarcastic tone never faded, though at the moment it seemed more like a way to cope than anything else. He stared at you, but this time, something in his gaze changed. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said casually, as if it were just a comment. But there was something in his eyes that left you speechless. 

Your heart skipped a beat, and you immediately felt uncomfortable. For a second, you froze. “Please don’t say that,” you murmured, trying to look away to avoid him seeing it in your eyes. 

The atmosphere between the two of you grew tense, as if the words were floating in the air, weighing more than anything you could say. There were too many things left unsaid between you, too many intertwined feelings, and the complications of everything going on in your lives. But, in that instant, the comment seemed to change something.

Rafe didn't respond immediately. Instead, he gently took your hand, guiding it through the water as you ran it over his chest. The closeness of his body, the way he touched you, made your breathing quicken. Before you could react, he pulled you towards him, into the tub, unexpectedly. The warmth of the water surrounding both of you only intensified the feeling of closeness, of warmth. 

You stood there, not knowing what to do. Your whole body was telling you to get away, that it wasn't the time, that this shouldn't happen. But something in his gaze, something in the way he held you, made your own thoughts fade away. The doubts and voices in your head seemed to fade away when his lips met yours, in an intense but silent way, as if there was no turning back. 

Despite what your mind was telling you, what was warning you that this could be a mistake, you couldn't help it. The touch of his body, the unexpected connection, made you lose control for a moment. The pressure in your chest disappeared, and for an instant, there was only the sensation of his lips, of his closeness, of the passion you hadn't planned.

You knew that, after all this, nothing would ever be the same again. But in that moment, you surrendered to the sensation, to the connection you both shared, even though everything around you told you not to let yourself go.

You both stayed there for a long time, in silence, only the sound of the water and the ragged breaths filling the air around you. There was no rush, no urgency to move away. The warmth of the water and the closeness of your bodies enveloped you, and for a moment, you let yourself go, you let the chaos of the world be replaced by the calm that only he could offer you in that instant. The tension between you seemed to slowly fade away, as if time had stopped and everything else no longer mattered.

When you finally pulled away from him, a little dazed, it was Rafe who broke the silence with a soft, but determined voice. “Come on,” he said, taking your hand gently. 

You didn’t have time to say anything else before he led you out of the tub and into the bedroom, but you didn’t care. There was something comforting about the idea of ​​spending the night with him, of sharing a space, even if it was just for a few hours. You felt calmer than you had in days, something you didn’t even know you needed until that moment.

[harrysfolklore]

we need a fic about carlos’ win and piastri sisters’ reaction to it

THE LITTLE BITCH WON 🥺 ahhh im so happy for carlos, i had to write this ! i hope yo like thisss

READ LITTLE BITCH HERE

The Mexico City sunrise painted the sky as you and Carlos made your way to the track. He'd been unusually quiet during breakfast, that focused energy already building.

"Nervous?" you asked, squeezing his hand as your driver navigated through the early morning traffic.

"No," he said automatically, then caught your knowing look. "Maybe a little. Starting from pole here… the run to Turn 1 is so long."

"You've got this," you brought his hand to your lips.

"Max will be aggressive-"

"And you'll handle it," you cut him off. "Like the little bitch you are."

That broke his tension, making him laugh. "How do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me feel better by insulting me."

"It's a gift," you grinned. "Now stop overthinking and kiss me before we get to the track and you go all serious racing driver on me."

He obliged, one hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you close. The kiss was deep and slow, full of everything he wasn't saying.

When you pulled back, his brown eyes locked into yours, a soft edge on them that made you melt.

It was hard to think that those same eyes glared you across the paddock once and now you were about to complete five months of being his girlfriend.

When you arrived at Ferrari, Reyes and Carlos Sr. were already there. Reyes pulled you into a warm hug while Carlos got swept up in pre-race preparations.

"My girl," she kissed both your cheeks. "You look beautiful today."

"Thank you, Reyes," you said, squeezing her hands before your eyes unconsciously drifted to the McLaren area.

"You're going to check on your brother?" she asked knowingly.

"Am I that predictable?"

"No, mi amor. Just a good sister."

You couldn't help but smile at that. Over the months you've slowly learned to not feel like you needed to choose between Carlos and Oscar, it was a slow process but their support made it easier.

You found Carlos doing his final preparations. "I'm going to check on Osc for a bit.”

He nodded, already half in race mode. "Tell him I said he's got this. The McLaren's race pace looked good."

"I will," you kissed his cheek. "See you on the podium, little bitch."

His engineer snorted, trying to cover it with a cough.

The walk to McLaren was filled with nervous energy. Early fans were already filling the grandstands, the atmosphere electric with anticipation.

The McLaren garage was quieter than Ferrari, the mood still heavy from yesterday's qualifying. You found Oscar in his driver room, staring intently at track maps.

"Brought you coffee," you held out his favorite pre-race drink. "And Carlos says your race pace looked good."

"Thanks," he took the cup but didn't meet your eyes. "For both."

You sat beside him, studying his face. "Talk to me, Osc. What's really going on?"

He was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer.

"I just..." he set down the coffee, running both hands through his hair. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not good enough for this. Like everyone made a mistake choosing me."

Your heart broke. "Oscar..."

"And I know it's stupid. I know I've earned my place here, but days like yesterday... it just brings all those doubts back."

"Look at me," you waited until he met your eyes. "Do you remember when you were ten, and you came home crying because some kid said you'd never make it to F1?"

A small smile tugged at his lips. "And you made him eat dirt at school the next day."

"Exactly. And what did I tell you then?"

"That I was meant for this," his voice softened. "That you could see it in the way I drove, even in karts."

"And has that changed?"

"No, but-"

"No buts," you took his hands. "You're exactly where you're supposed to be, Oscar Piastri. Bad qualifyings don't change that. Bad races don't change that. You're my little brother, and I've never been wrong about you."

He squeezed your hands. "How do you always know what to say?"

"Big sister superpower," you kissed his forehead. "Now drink your coffee and show them what you can do from P17.”

“Thank you, sister,” he squeezed your shoulder, “Now go back to your man, he’s driving like a beast this weekend.”

When you returned to Ferrari, the pre-race energy was at its peak. Carlos was in his final preparations, but his eyes found yours immediately.

"Oscar okay?" he mouthed.

You nodded, giving him a thumbs up. Another side effect of your relationship was that Oscar and Carlos became closer than ever. Oscar looked up to him and Carlos grew so fond of him that he cared about him like an older brother.

It was something not even in your wildest dreams would make sense a year ago. But right now felt like the perfect dynamic.

The garage began clearing for the grid walk. Carlos pulled you aside quickly.

"Para suerte," he murmured, kissing you deeply.

"Little bitch," you whispered against his lips. "Go win this thing."

Reyes and Carlos Sr. were waiting in the garage, both greeting you with warm hugs as you settled in to watch the start.

"Nervous?" Reyes asked, taking your hand.

"Always," you admitted. "For both of them."

The formation lap began, your heart pounding as you watched Carlos lead the field around. The ambient temperature was rising, making tire management crucial.

"He's got this," Carlos Sr. said confidently. "Look how smooth his formation lap is."

The garage fell silent as five red lights appeared above the start line. Your hand found Reyes', both of you holding your breath. The Mexican heat was stifling, but you barely noticed, every nerve focused on the Ferrari at the front of the grid.

"Vamos, hijo," Carlos Sr. whispered, his usual composed demeanor cracking with nervous energy.

The lights went out, and twenty cars launched forward into the long run to Turn 1. Carlos got a perfect start, but Max's Red Bull was immediately in his slipstream, the blue car looming in Carlos's mirrors. Side by side they went into the first corner, neither giving an inch.

"Come on, come on," you whispered, unconsciously leaning forward.

Carlos held firm on the inside line, forcing Max to take the longer way around. Through Turn 2, the Ferrari emerged still leading, and the garage erupted. Engineers who usually maintained professional calm were jumping up and down.

"Tranquila, mi amor," Reyes squeezed your hand. "Look how controlled he is."

The pit stop window approached, tension ratcheting up. Ferrari brought Charles in first, the stop clean but nerve-wracking.

"Pushing too hard on those tires," Carlos Sr. observed as Carlos finally pitted.

When Carlos crossed the finish line first, the garage exploded. You hugged Reyes, both of you crying and laughing. Carlos Sr. wrapped you both in a bear hug, his usual composure forgotten as he shouted "¡Vamos!" repeatedly.

Through happy tears, you saw Carlos pump his fist as he drove past, and you couldn't be happier for him.

The podium ceremony felt eternal. When they finally played the Spanish anthem, you saw Carlos's eyes glistening as he sang along. He caught your gaze in the crowd and winked, making your heart flutter just like it did that first time you saw him win in Australia.

Back then, you tried to play it cool, like you didn't care that he won. But right now the story was completely different.

After the ceremonies and media obligations, Carlos finally made it back to the team. He lifted you off your feet the moment he saw you, spinning you around as you laughed.

"Mi amor," he breathed against your lips before kissing you deeply.

"My champion," you whispered back. "My little bitch."

He laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. "Only yours."

Carlos received hugs, cheers and champagne showers from friends, team members and family. After taking some photos and watching him complete more interviews, it was time to head out and celebrate.

"I'm going to check on Oscar one more time," you told Carlos, as you walked through the paddock.

"Tell him to come to dinner," Carlos said. "He drove well today, P8 from P17."

You found Oscar in the McLaren garage, already changed and packing up.

"Hey champ," you smiled. "Coming to dinner with us?"

He gave you a small smile back. "Think I'll pass tonight. Bit tired, and…" he paused. "Just want some quiet, you know?"

You studied his face. "You sure? Carlos specifically asked for you to come."

"I know, and tell him thanks," Oscar squeezed your hand. "But you guys should celebrate properly. I'm good, really. Just going to order room service and study the race data."

You pulled him into a hug. "You drove amazingly today. P8 from P17 is no joke."

"Thanks, sis," he hugged you back tight. "Go celebrate with your winner. Just... maybe not too loudly in the hotel? The walls are thin."

"OSCAR!"

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 376,528 others

ynpiastri MY LITTLE CHAMPION BITCH 🥲🥲 i’m SO proud of you mi amor, we all are. one more win this season showing everyone the talented driver that you are. the best is yet to come ❤️

also beyond proud of my baby brother as always, your determination and ability to push through every setback never ceases to amaze me. chin up, i know you got this

oh and lando got p2 i guess

GRACIAS MEXICO CITY 😩

view all comments

username1 AHHHH

username2 SIMP PIASTRI

username3 this is still wild to me they used to hate each other’s guts

scuderiaferarri ❤️

username4 this is wild bc she hated him when he won in australia 😭

nicolepiastri Congrats Carlos! Come visit and bring embarrassing stories of my daughter please

↳ ynpiastri MUM😩

↳ username1 she’s an icon

reyesvdec Te amamos ❤️

↳ username2 the sainz love her so much i could cry

username5 HELP THE LINE ABOUT LANDO 😭

oscarpiastri Love you sis. Congrats to Carlos ❤️

↳ carlossainz55 Thank you brother

↳ username2 this would send 2023 me into a coma

↳ username3 THIS PLOT TWIST

carlossainz55 Te amo

At the restaurant, Lando was the only driver who joined your celebration with the Sainz family. He fit right in, making everyone laugh with stories about Carlos.

"You know," Lando said, taking a sip of wine, "I used to be Reyes and Carlos Sr.'s favorite adopted son."

"Used to be?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, then you came along with your whole enemies-to-lovers storyline and stole my spot," he pouted dramatically. "Now I'm like the forgotten middle child."

"Ay, Lando," Reyes laughed, reaching over to pat his cheek. "You're still our favorite British son."

"Small comfort when YN gets all the good Spanish mom cooking," Lando grumbled good-naturedly.

After dinner, it was time for the party celebrating Carlos' win. He claimed that he didn't want to drink much, but that went out the window when his friends lifted him up as 'Smooth Operator' played.

"SMOOTH OPERATOOOOR!" they sang terribly off-key. Carlos was laughing, one hand clutching his drink, the other reaching for you.

"Join me up here, mi amor!"

"Absolutely not," you called back, but you were laughing too.

Hours later, the celebrations were winding down. You stood outside waiting for your car, Carlos' arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. The Mexico City air was cooler now, but his warmth kept you comfortable.

"I still can't believe it," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your neck. "Second win this season."

You turned in his arms to face him, taking in his slightly flushed cheeks and bright eyes. The victory high was still there, mixed with the pleasant buzz from the celebrations.

"You know what's different this time?" you asked, playing with the collar of his shirt.

"Hmm?"

"I don't have to pretend I'm not happy for you," you smiled, remembering Australia. "Don't have to hide how proud I am."

His eyes softened as he pulled you closer. "You were terrible at hiding it even then."

"I was not!"

"Mi amor," he laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. "You called me 'little bitch' with way too much affection."

"That was pure hatred," you protested weakly.

"Sure it was," he grinned. "Just like when you stared at me during the podium ceremony."

"I was plotting your demise."

"With heart eyes?"

"Shut up," you buried your face in his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter.

"Never," he kissed the top of your head. "I love reminding you how bad you were at hating me."

"I'm starting to hate you again right now."

"No you're not," he tilted your chin up, eyes twinkling. "You love me."

Before you could retort, the car pulled up. As you settled into the backseat, Carlos pulled you close again.

"For the record," he whispered in your ear, "I was terrible at pretending too. Ask Charles - he said I talked about you constantly."

"To complain?"

"That's what I told myself," he smiled against your hair. "But I think everyone knew better."

You intertwined your fingers with his, watching the city lights blur past. "We were kind of idiots, weren't we?"

"The biggest," he agreed. "But we figured it out eventually."

"Yeah," you turned to kiss him softly. "We did."

[hirasunny]

Unforgotten Vow

pairing — k-drama! yeon sieun x fem! reader

synopsis — you and sieun made one simple promise when you were kids, and you continue to do so as you got older.

warnings/reader notes — mentions bullying, you and sieun r crybabies (in a good way), sunshine reader and sieun absolutely adores it, he thinks you're a goddess, references to season 1 plot

genre — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slight angst

word count — 2.5k+ words

note: hi! it's me again <3 i want to thank you for enjoying my fics! i read all of your comments and appreciate it a lot :( it really motivates me to write even though i'm not the best at it. much love u guys ^^ as a thanks, here’s a story dedicated to this precious boy 💛 p.s: should i make a part 2? TT

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　 　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ 　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sieun was 7 years old when he met you.

He was celebrating his birthday at the park before he accidentally tripped and scraped his knee.

His mom and dad sat by the picnic table a few feet away from him, yet he moved unnoticed to a nearby bench. He sat down in pain as he tried to stop himself from crying.

But it was unsuccessful, his tears fell on his lap continuously. He had a feeling that his father was going to scold him again.

“Are you okay?”

Your voice was small and chirpy when you went up to him in question, tilting your head while he wiped his face and nodded—he was not one for talking.

However, you spoke again, “Do you need a band aid? I can give you one.” You asked shyly.

Sieun looked at you closely, your clothes dirty from possibly playing a lot, your hair was in decent braids but some strands already sticking out, and your legs were visibly decorated with dirt.

He moved to your face, chubby cheeks and (e/c) eyes that held curiosity in them. The boy didn’t mutter anything but still took the band aid in your offering hand, ripping it open.

You smiled and sat down beside him as you continued to talk with newly found confidence. Sieun didn’t even know what you were saying—was it about the kids at the playground? He wasn’t sure. You were talking too fast and too much.

Nonetheless, he listened.

It felt like an eternity when his mother finally called out for him; she seemed surprise as soon as her eyes landed on them.

“My mom is here.” Sieun stated, having a glance at his parental figure. That was the first time he opened his mouth, you thought. You pouted at him.

“Already? But I was going to invite you to the slide.” You responded, upset. He didn’t talk—but you liked his company. He was the only one who didn’t cut you off from speaking!

Sieun gazed back at you weirdly. Why weren’t you telling him mean things like the other kids do? And you even want to play with him. It puzzled the poor boy.

Then, he noticed your lips change from a frown to a big grin instead. “But you’ll be back right? We can play next time!” You say in excitement, nodding to yourself.

“What’s your name? I’m (Name)!”

He took a long time to process it before he answered, “Sieun.” Honestly, he had no idea why he replied, but maybe it was the way you were determined to make him your friend.

It made him feel normal in some way.

“Sieun..” You repeated slowly, just to get used to the sound of it rolling off your tongue.

A shout of your name stopped him from speaking up, you took a glimpse in that direction with a pout, “It’s my mom! I gotta go.” You huffed, looking at the boy beside you.

“Come back, okay? I’ll be here tomorrow!” You added, giving a wave as you ran to your mother. He stood up, observing you.

He disliked going outside. But if it meant that you were there, it might be bearable.

—

“Sieun! What happened?” You breathed out after running. The boy was sitting alone at the swing as he stared into abyss.

To everyone else, he looked completely fine.

But you knew him—if you stare in his eyes long enough, you would see how much emotion he actually keeps by himself. And right now, you had no doubt that he was going through something heavy.

“Your mom’s really worried, she called and said you weren’t at home.” You inform softly, settling at the swing next to his. The night was quiet, you heard nothing but the sounds of trees brushing against one another and the creaking of your swings.

You got comfortable as you admired the starry sky.

“My parents..” Sieun started, following your gaze. You hummed, an indication that you were listening.

“They’re getting a divorce.”

You raise your eyebrows in shock, looking back at him. “What..?”

He avoided your look, the ground being more interesting than the look on your face. He felt disappointed that you had to see him like this. Again.

Yet you never cared.

The word was quite new to you, it was only recently when you discovered its meaning—though you knew it was more than just a word that hurt Sieun. It meant something to him.

So you placed a hand on his shoulder and peeking your head closer to his, “Hey, it’s gonna be fine. You have me.”

Sieun finally looked at you, his eyes speaking to you more than words could express.

Thank you, they say.

You laughed lightly, ruffling his hair. He hated when people touch his hair, but you? He never minded.

“But if you have to move someplace else..” You rest your hand back on your lap. “Promise me you’ll come back?”

Oh, why were you looking at him like that?

Like you never want him to go?

Sieun’s shoulders eased and his tense look melted as he studied you. Then, he slowly raised his pinky finger. “I promise.” He told you truthfully. You smiled at him, finding the sincerity in his words.

You hooked your pinky with his, “Okay.” You whispered as to not ruin the peaceful moment.

Sieun was 10 years old when he promised you that he’d come back if he ever left someday.

—

Fate jinxed the both of you.

It must’ve laughed for the reason that it was you who had to move away instead of him.

Here you were, crying uncontrollably in front of your best friend at the airport.

“This is so unfair!” You sobbed, violently wiping your tears as Sieun gave you a tissue. He hasn’t said a single word since the ride to the airport. He seemed out of it, you noticed.

On the other hand, this was his first time to skip a few classes. You were surprised when he showed up at your house unannounced. You kept asking him several times if it was okay for him to do such a thing the whole car ride, he would simply nod as he stared at you after, you ignored it out of nervousness.

You never knew that he was memorizing you, because it could be the last time he’d ever see you again.

The star hair clip he gifted you on your birthday was neatly on your hair, the way you bounce your knee rapidly each time you get anxious, your backpack had all sorts of keychains that you buy from school trips with him, and the looks you give him—every smile, every funny face, every pout and cry. He'd remember it all.

Sieun took a mental note of all the little things, like he was studying: because if this test is about you, surely, he'd ace it.

Though, he wasn't the only one who notices, you also recognized a few things. Like his tight grip on the strap of his bag was evident, the slight twitching of his fingers—a habit he does when he’s overthinking, and his brown orbs that look at you to tell you everything you need to know.

He's...wait.

Is he tearing up?

You widen your eyes as he shuffled awkwardly and looked down, trying to maintain his posture.

"You're.." You were hesitant, but you took a step forward, bringing him to your embrace. You heard sniffles on your shoulder as he laid his forehead there while his arms remained by his side. He didn't know where to place them.

"Don't cry, you big baby." You murmur, your tears slipping out for God knows how many times today. "I'm gonna come back, you know that." You assured him. His hands finally moved to your back, gripping your shirt as he nodded.

You two stayed that way for a few minutes before his gaze lingered at you, "Promise me you will." Sieun lowly spoke with trembling lips. You exhaled from your nose, bringing his hand close to your chest as you do the same, then interlocked both of your pinkies.

"I promise you, more than anything."

Sieun was 13 when you left South Korea.

—

Three years had passed by as Sieun faced everything alone.

The problems, the bullying, the guilt—

Suho.

Every step he took felt like he was getting pulled down further and further away from the light he once saw.

From Suho, and most especially from you.

What would you think of him if you knew what was happening in his life right now?

He got his answer when he saw you.

You.

Your figure stood patiently outside his apartment door, a plastic bag containing all the snacks you used to share together was held loosely in one hand and your phone on the other.

Your appearance had completely changed. Your hair grew a bit longer, and the baby fat on your cheeks now reduced. You looked different, but deep down, Sieun hoped you were the still the happy-go-lucky girl he knew.

As you raised your phone to your ear, you check your left. You paused as the phone of the boy you were waiting for rang loudly in the pocket of his jacket.

The two of you stared at one another as the ringing continued, you, however, smiled knowingly at him.

"I kept my promise."

Sieun couldn't believe he could run that fast when he brought you into his arms.

Slowly, the chaos in his mind went silent.

Finally, for once. He was at peace.

Momentarily, he realized he was crying because you had to wipe the tears away, "I know," You still told him in a caring tone. "I'm here."

No other words were needed as you both remained in each other's arms for a while that day.

A few days had gone by rather quickly, and you started to see more of Sieun. He had grown taller since the last time you saw him, his voice was deeper from the timid, high-pitched one you always heard, and his eyes that used to shine at you were now dull as an unsharpened knife.

Regardless, something else had brought your attention—his walls that broke down when you met him was building itself up again. He became distant. The Sieun you cherished was back in his little shell, the one who refused help and locked himself away from people. You knew you had to pull him out.

So you were present, just like before. In every visit at Suho's hospital, you sat beside him when he typed out his messages; in every school he got rejected to, you had a list of backup schools he can apply for; in every night he had nightmares, you were only a call away; in every session at therapy, you were there outside, waiting.

Despite all the hardships and troubles he was facing, you smiled warmly at him.

He never understood any of it. It resembled the times when you were kids. Where you stayed with him more than anyone else.

How can you, someone so beautiful, still smile adoringly at something so broken, with its pieces gradually falling apart?

One time at the bus stop, it was extremely cold when the rain poured heavily around you.

Even as you laughed at a sarcastic comment he made about freezing to death, you still took his cold hands to yours, blowing on it. "What are you doing?" He questioned, startled as he tried to withdraw his hands.

"Keeping you warm, dummy."

You were glowing, and you gaze at him with the same loving grin. His heart fluttered, feeling his frigid fingers soften and warm up because of you.

He pretended not to know if the cause of his face and ears going red was also you.

You never complained and never rushed. You were there, patient and supportive.

Soon, he thought of himself from a few years ago. Whatever 13-year-old Sieun had realized when you went abroad, he was right.

Because he loved you. For the longest time.

And he was not going to let you go.

Just before the day he would move to the new apartment in Yeongdeungpo, where he was accepted in a school named Eunjang High, he knocked on your door, with your favorite food and drink.

"Wow! Is this your goodbye gift?" You teased him, taking the bag from his hand as you let him inside.

He wordlessly sat down when you invited him to the couch, you tilt your head. When Sieun was quiet, he had something in his mind. There was a sparkle of certainty in his puppy-look eyes as he stared at you.

"You okay, pretty boy?" The nickname was familiar, you always called him that ever since your playground hangouts. He often tells you to stop that—but you couldn't, not when you notice his ears getting red and his lips that tries to refrain himself from smiling.

“…” Crap. What was he going to say again? He made efforts to practice in front of the mirror only for him to fail at the moment he needed his words.

To you, it looked like he was struggling. It worried you.

You took the guts to place a hand on his cheek, fixating his focus on you. "Sieun, what's going on—"

"I love you."

You let out a surprised sound, your eyes wide at the sudden words.

You felt a sense of rushing emotions inside you. Was it excitement, shock, or bashfulness?

Whatever it was, you were just sure it was making your face hot.

Okay. That was straightforward.

But it was Yeon Sieun, the boy who always had a sure answer.

You pinch his cheek lightly, he squinted his eyes at you as if it could help his ruddy ears from turning back to its original color. "Hey, are you crazy?! Why are you saying such things?" You asked just so you can lighten up the conversation.

"Because I do. I love you." He calmly told you again, the three magic words made you cover your face. "Okay, okay! I get it." You were embarrassed, could he not act so nonchalant?! You were freaking out here!

"Is it.. bad?" Sieun mumbled, watching as you grumble something in your hands, somewhere along the lines of: "Curse those cold-blooded veins in your body!"

You looked at him, red faced with a pout. "No, of course not! It's just that..."

You trailed off, finding the strength to face him again and held his cold hands in your warm ones. You took a moment, "I.. I love you, too. Since forever." You breathed out, smiling shakily at him.

Were you a Goddess? Sieun thought. How could you look so beautiful?

He leaned to you, initiating first. "Can I kiss you?" He asks in a deep voice, pulling your hands.

You gulped nervously, nodding as no words could come out of your mouth.

He moved, closer and closer, until your noses touched and the two of you closed your eyes. The world around you stopped moving when his lips gently settled on yours.

Sieun was 16 when he kissed his first love.

[erenjaegerwifee]

Love Of My Life (part two)

Paring: Neteyam x Fem!Avatar!Reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+, explicit language, smut, p in v, oral (f & m receiving), mating, spanking, kissing, mentions of death, mentions of blood, mentions of injury, scary monsters, established relationship. Word Count: 54.9k (yea I know…)

✨Disclaimer: All my characters are aged-up! If you have an issue with that, do not interact with my account or any of my posts. 

✨ Okay guys, this is an immediate continuation of part 1. The blocks towards the end get longer cause I didn’t want to run out of blocks and had to make a third part. I love all the support I’ve gotten and I’m going to put a post here. This post contains spoilers for this fic but I didn’t want to publish without the warnings. Read at your own risk. I don’t think it’s anything bad but I’m not at liberty to say what triggers people so that’s why I’m putting it.

Neytiri’s stare was hard, angry, Kiri tilted her head slightly, her eyes drifting from her brother to the way he held you, like he’d physically come apart without you against him.

“I knew something was wrong.”

Jake looked at her, then back at Neteyam, before he could speak, Lo’ak spoke up, “why did you think you couldn’t tell us bro? Or me at least.”

Neteyam’s gaze softened at him, “I wanted too, I was going too.” He muttered, “but then I saw tsireya and she just reminded me so much of y/n and I got all up in my head. My thoughts twisted up and I started to see things and when I stopped seeing tsireya completely… I let it go. In my head everyone loved her, and she was with me and…” he looked down at you, “and I didn’t make the mistake of leaving you here.”

He looked back at Lo’ak and Tsireya, “and I’m sorry for how I acted, but it wasn’t… real. Tsireya is still one of my best friends and I’d never consciously do that to you.”

Lo’ak looked at him for a second before sighing, he knew his brother, he knew he was telling the truth.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Neytiri who’s expression still hadn’t softened.

Kiri spoke up once more, “so what now?” Her voice was clam but firm

“I want her to come back with me,” Neteyam said immediately. Neytiri’s head snapped towards him.

“To the clan?” Jake asked carefully.

“Yes.”

“That is not your decision.” Neytiri said tightly.

“Maybe not,” Neteyam agreed, “its not. But I’m not asking for permission, either she goes back with me ore I stay here.”

“And what are you asking for?” Jake narrowed his eyes.

“Trust.” Neteyam said, his grip on you tightening. “From my family, the people who love me most in this world. Trust me.”

Silence, you could feel the way their eyes passed over you, scanning your frame, your face, your expression. Like you’re not the enemy but now a friend either. Neytiri looked at her son, the way his body coiled around yours like you were made of something fragile. Her jaw clenched, she wasn’t sure how to process this.

Jake looks between them again. “Alright it’s late we fly back to the village at first light, Kiri, Lo’ak, Tsireya, well stay here tonight.” He looks towards you. “I assume there is enough space?” He points to the cabin, and you nod before looking between all of them.

“You, get some rest. Tomorrow you will ask tonowari if she can stay. And you tell the truth, all of it” he said to Neteyam.

“And if they reject her?” Neytiri asked suddenly, voice shake and challenging,

Jake looked at her then back to Neteyam, “we’ll figure it out if that happens.”

You tap his chest to let him know you’re standing up, “I’m going inside,” you whisper, and he automatically stands and lets you go, “I’ll be right there.”

Neteyam stood eyes on the doorway for a long moment, the cabin’s quiet wrapping around him while the weight of his family’s presence pressed in. You were already inside, out of sight, but your warmth still lingered on his skin. He exhaled, slow and deliberate, then turned to face them fully. The tension was palpable.

Jake had moved closer, not aggressive, but commanding, his chin tilted slightly up, arms loosely crossed. Neytiri stood rigidly near the wall, eyes narrowed, torn between protective fury and maternal caution. Kiri hovered by Lo’ak, who watched Neteyam with a confused mixture of lingering hurt and disbelief. No one spoke for a moment.

“I’m still your son,” Neteyam said finally. “But I’m not the same boy who left that battlefield.”

“You don’t need to tell us that,” Jake said. “We’ve been watching you spiral since the moment you walked back into our lives. You locked us out.”

“I know, I was scared dad,” he started softly, “I missed you, my family so much. It is the reason I left her here, I just didn’t except to miss her so much.”

Lo’ak finally stepped forward, his fists clenched at his sides, not in anger, but frustration. “You didn’t even look at me, Neteyam. You looked through me. I thought you hated me. I thought you blamed me.”

“I never blamed you; I told you that lo” Neteyam said quickly, shaking his head. “Never. I blamed the war. The cost of it. I blamed myself for being careless. I blamed Eywa for letting me live when I was ready to die.” Lo’ak blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty. Kiri moved closer to him instinctively.

“And her?” Neytiri asked, her voice sharper now. “You trust her more than your family?”

“No,” Neteyam said. “But she saw me when I couldn’t see myself. She did what you would have done if you were with me instead of her.”

Jake stepped closer. “That’s the part we’re trying to understand. This… connection. This hold she has on you. We don’t know her. We only know what the RDA made.”

Neteyam’s jaw tensed. “She isn’t what they made. She’s what she chose to become. Just like we all are.” There was silence again, a slow realization settling in.

Kiri spoke next, softly, “You love her.” Neteyam didn’t flinch. “Yes Kiri, I literally saw her in another woman. If that’s not love I don’t know what love is. Lo’ak looked down, jaw working. “And what if she leaves? What happens to you then?”

“I don’t know,” Neteyam admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’d rather face that pain than live with the silence I had before.”

Jake studied him a long time before he nodded slowly. “We stay tonight. We’ll speak to her in the morning. All of us.”

“And if I feel anything is off,” Neytiri added coldly, “I won’t hold back.”

Neteyam looked at her, his gaze steady. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

No more words. No goodnight. Just the fragile, uneasy quiet of a family slowly stepping into unfamiliar territory, trusting, but not yet convinced. Neteyam turned and walked back inside. Behind him, Neytiri muttered to Jake, “That girl better be worth every scar he carries.”

Jake just watched the door close and murmured, “We’ll find out soon enough.”

Neteyam walked in leaving the door open for them to come in when they are ready. You stood in the kitchen; you turned to face him leaning against the counter behind you. Finally, you got him alone.

His steps were unrushed, but he made it to you within seconds, “hi baby,” his hands found your waist and he dipped his head in your neck inhaling your scent. “Hi..” you hug him back tightly; you were so happy to see him again. “I missed you” you said softly.

“Not as much as I missed you.” He raised his head to look down at you, brushing the hair out of your face.

“Are you sure you want me to go back with you? I don’t even speak na’vi.”

“I will teach you, I will teach you everything you need to know. I will not leave your side again. And if they reject your uturu, we will come back here. And stay together.” You smile sadly and shake your head, “Nete… I don’t want to take you away from your family. I know how much you love them.”

“If we are to come back here, they’ll know where to find me. I’m not leaving you again.”

“What happened while you were in Awa’atlu? How was it seeing your family and friends again?”

Neteyam looked down at the floor like it had personally offended him, “Well, seeing my family was everything I could have imagined. It was good; I had missed them. And it was nice seeing my friends.” “That doesn’t sound so convincing.” You squint at him.

He shifted. “It was good. I just—uh…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I was going to leave out some things.” You open your mouth to press, but before you couple a voice came from behind him.

Lo’ak entered first, holding Tsireya’s hand, “I KNEW he was going to do this,”

Kiri followed behind him, already smiling like she knew exactly what was going on. Tsireya stood quietly with a smile. “He always chokes at the confession part.” He continued. Neteyam groaned, “seriously? I do not”

Kiri ignored him and spoke, “mhmm. Hi,” she said to you casually. “Sorry, didn’t mean to barge in or eavesdrop. Or—okay yes we did.”

Tsireya spoke next in a soft voice, “we picked fruit from your garden I hope that’s ok.” She said holding the fruit up in her other hand. You nod at her, she seemed like a very kind girl. Lo’ak dropped into a chair by the kitchen table. “Oh, don’t mind us. Keep going. You were about to lie?”

“I wasn’t going to lie—” Neteyam started, then with a pointed look continued. “I was going to protect her feeling.” His statement made you raise an eyebrow.

“From what? The fact that you though my girlfriend was her?” Lo’ak raised an eyebrow pointing at you. “Because I gotta say, that was one of the weirder things I’ve seen you do.”

“You what?” You gasped softly surprised as you smile. Kiri crossed her arms, her eyes twinkling. “Yeah, you’re supposed to explain like: ‘Hey, while I was suffering a psychotic breakdown and pining for the woman who saved my life, I kinda started projecting her face onto my brother’s girlfriend. Oops.”

Tsireya cleared her throat. “To be fair, it was very subtle at first, then he called me baby in the middle of sorting shells, it was kind of sweet though.”

Neteyam groaned, “oh Eywa.” You glance at him, your lip twitching, “baby? Really?”

“I was delusional!” He blurted. “It was a full-on delusion! You try getting shot and waking up thinking you’re dead and then fall in love with the woman who saved you from bleeding out on her couch.” Everyone was quiet for a second.

“Okay fair,” Lo’ak admitted. “Still, weird though.”

Neteyam finally looked down at you, face blushed softly. “I didn’t mean to project you onto her, I didn’t even realize I was doing it at first. But when I did, I felt sick. I didn’t realize how much I missed you, I didn’t wanna pretend anymore.”

You rub your hands in his arm softly. “It’s alright Neteyam, I can understand where you're coming from, I missed you too.” You say softly. Kiri folded her arms, “we don’t, but you are still our brother, we love you and we will stand with you.”

Lo’ak snorted. “Speak for yourself. I had to watch him cuddle with my girlfriend like she was a storybook princess. It was disturbing my peace of mind.” Tsireya smiled sheepishly. “I thought he was just being affectionate. In a brotherly way.”

“Brotherly??” Lo’ak barked, blinking at her like she grew a second head. “You really thought that? You’ve met my brother, right? Tall, broody, emotionally constipated?”

“He doesn’t cuddle with anyone. If that was brotherly affection, then I’ve been hugging people wrong my entire life.”

“At least he didn’t try to mate with Tsireya…” Jake said. The room went silent before the outburst. You didn’t even see them come inside. Neytiri stood behind Jake as she looked around the room and Jake looked at his children gathered around the table.

Lo’ak’s head snapped back to look at his dad in horror, “Dad!”

Kiri nearly choked on air, “ew! Why would you say that?”

Tsireya blinked like she was about to melt into the floor, “that’s—I— he never—”

Your head whipped to look away from everyone, leaning it on Neteyam who still stood with his arms around you to hold back your laughter. Neteyam’s voice came through, “Eywa dad...really?” He screwed his face up.

Jake just shrugged, as if it was the most rational conclusion in the world. “I’m just saying, we’ve had worse breakdowns. Remember when Kiri talked to a fish for three days and swore it was Eywa?”

“That fish guided me!” Kiri yelled, “but speaking of breakdowns, remember the time Lo’ak tried to ‘calmly’ commune with that seas turtle and it bit him?” She laughed.

Tsireya’s eyes widened, gasping as she looked at him, “you what?!”

Lo’ak groaned, “no not this….”

Neteyam smirked, “you were like, ‘I sense his peacefully energy’ and the thing latched into your finger like you owed it baskets if yovo fruit.”

Tsireya started laughing as she spoke, “I thought you cut your hand on coral!”

You cover your mouth and smile giggling softly at the story and Neteyam tighten his arm around you. The other now leaning against the counter in front of you both.

Kiri laughing at him too, “nope. Turtle bite. He screamed like Tuk does when we eat any of her fruits.” Lo’ak pointing to the finger that had gotten bit, “it crunched! I heard a crunch!” He tried to justify his scream. Neteyam laughed, “and then you ran out of the water yelling for mom saying, ‘it wants me soul!’”

Tsireya was wheezing at this point, she couldn’t even catch her breath and Lo’ak looked at her like she personally offended him. While she tried to hug him back into her good graces while trying to stop laughing but she was clearly struggling. It made you smile how sweet they were together clearly, they loved each other, you could see it even thought you had just met them.

The room pulsed with fading laughter, still echoing softly through the chine like the tail end of a good song. Tsireya was curled on Lo’ak’s lap now still removing from the hysteria with tears in her eyes as she clutched into him. Kiri was sitting in the chair next to him, mumbling something about her ribs hurting from laughing too hard, and even Neteyam wore a real, unburdened smile as he looked around at him siblings— alive, all together.

None of them really paid attention to their parents that were still standing there until the laugher settled. Jake and Neytiri hadn’t come more into the cabin but stood by the door leading outside, they were quiet. They didn’t want to interrupt the moment.

Jake stood with his arms crossed, not tensely but almost thoughtfully, and Neytiri stood with her hands clasped in front of her, watching her children with a soft, distant smile. There was a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there for weeks.

Neytiri reached for Jake and squeezed his arm gently. His thumb brushed over her knuckled as she nudged him to speak. “We’d like to speak with her.” He said voice was firm but not mean, he said as looking directly at you, “alone.” Neytiri continued for him. Her voice was more impatient as if she didn’t want to do this in the first place.

Neteyam’s smile faded just slights, replaced by a quiet protectiveness. He drew you closer against his side, instinctively, “why?”

“We just want to talk,” his mother said, her voice was again impatient, not she held no animosity for her son. Her eyes looked back at you. “You. Come. We speak now.”

“She did not keep me here mother—” he started to defend you immediately, but you stopped him. “Neteyam” you said his name softly as if to say calm down. He looked down at you his jaw was clenched slightly.

“It is alright. I will be fine.” You reassure him.

Still, he hesitated, eyes lingering in yours, “if you need me—”

“I will call.” You said in the same tone.

Jake and Neytiri stepped back outside and waited for you to joined them. A few seconds later you walked out and shut the door behind you.

“We were gonna talk to you tomorrow, but we decided to do it now.” Jake said to you.

“I figured.” You nod and wave your hand.

Neytiri’s eyes burned into you, “you’re RDA. Why are you here?”

You swallow by met her gazed. “I was apart of the RDA. I’m not anymore. I worked with them for the past three years, now I live here.” You confirm her words.

“Then why stay?” Jake asked.

“I didn’t.” You look towards them, the back to the cabin. “I didn’t stay. I was on the ship when it sunk. I could have gone back. Or turned in Neteyam when I found him. But I didn’t. I didn’t want any part of it anymore.”

“And why? Why did you not want to be apart of then? What changed?” Neytiri’s voice clipped, it was sharp and untrusting.

“When Quaritch commandeered the ship to come in search for you. That had nothing to do with me. I didn’t know anything about your life after the whole, betrayed humankind battle 20 years ago.” You look at jake. “My job wasn’t to hunt some family across the moon. I left because to find you they killed that tulkun. The mother and baby. And left it there like it meant nothing just to bait you. I might be human, but I still have a conscience, I still have a heart. After that I saw my opportunity and took it. They think I’m dead somewhere in the ocean and they can’t come look for me because they don’t know about the cabin.”

“Why did you bring him here? Why did you not bring him home? To his family?” She hissed at you.

“He couldn’t even walk the first couple weeks let alone travel. And there was no way I was coming to a clan I know I’m unwelcome in to die while I drop him off. So, he healed and and went back on his own. Which by the way? What on pandora was that? He healed impressively fast. Gunshot wound to the chest, and he was walking in the next few days?” You whisper the last sentence to them as if it was a secret.

Neytiri’s mouth was tightened, her arms still crossed, unmoving. But Jake, he studied more closely now. Clearly, they weren’t in the joking mood.

“What is it did you want to hear? That seeing his dying and saving him gave my life purpose again? I didn’t need him to die for that I had a job before. I saved him because I… I couldn’t watch someone who ran away from war die at the hands of the people he was running from. I had no problem leaving everyone else dying there because I am no stranger to death and destruction. Those things, they don’t tug on my heart string, they don’t hurt me. But isn’t that the whole reason you uprooted your whole life? Everything you’ve know. To keep your children safe? That. I can understand. It wasn’t fair he died after all that.”

Neytiri’s voice cracked through the night like a snapped bowstring. “You expect me to believe you cared for him out of kindness?”

“I didn’t expect to care about it at all. And I certainly didn’t care about him at first. I’m sure you understand that part? You don’t choose who you fall in love with. Then all of a sudden, he was so… comfortable, and we clicked and I…wanted him to stay, I didn’t even want him to go back. But what kind of person would I be if I kept him from the family I knew he missed so much?”

There was silence. Long, tense. Jake looked around at his surroundings sighing. Neytiri’s expression was unreadable, something between suspicion and something softer. Less certain.

Then a soft breeze swept past. You blinked and looked up as something brushed your temple. Floating near your face was a soft, glowing atokirina. Then another. Then a dozen.

Jake’s mouth fell slightly open and Neytiri took an unconscious step forward. They drifted around you in a slow spiral, landing gently on your shoulders, arms, and hair like glowing petals.

Your reaction?

You let out a loud, high-pitched scream and drop to your knees and cover your head before yelling. “What the fuck is—since when was flying jellyfish a thing?!” You panicked, trying to swat one away. And just like that— CRASH!

Neteyam burst through the cabin door at full sprint, tripped slightly, but caught himself mid-stumble and yelled, “Don’t! Babe, those are NOT bugs! They’re like, sacred sky dandruff!”

You froze mid-swat, staring at him in confusion. His arms picked you up off the floor and he stood behind you as you backed away, but he kept you in place.

“They’re what?!” you whispered.

“They’re called atokirina,” he corrected himself, brushing glowing seeds off your shoulders gently. “They’re sacred. You don’t smack sacred things.”

“I thought they were trying to crawl into my ears or something.”

Behind you, the cabin window creaked open.

“She was about to karate-chop Eywa’s messengers!” Kiri whisper yelled.

Lo’ak’s head popped out next to hers. “She screamed like they were attacking her!”

Tsireya gasped, half-laughing. “This is the first time I’ve seen them like this… they’re beautiful.

More and more of the glowing seeds gathered around you, making the night shimmer. Neteyam stood beside you proudly, eyes soft. You glanced at him, bewildered.

“They mean something?” you asked.

Neteyam spoke slowly. “They don’t come unless Eywa wills it. Eywa sees what I see in you.”

You looked down at your open hands, where a few had landed gently in your palms.

Behind Jake and Neytiri, were reminiscing, they had almost forgot what it felt like the night they first met, now they see that love in the eyes of their son. Neytiri’s hand slid up to Jake’s chest feeling his heartbeat as she looked towards you too. Jake with his eyes still in the scene wrapped an arm around her and kissed her temple, as if to say he’ll never forgot how it felt for them.

The kids were now looking through the door Neteyam had burst out of like nosy villagers, whispering and elbowing each other.

“She’s totally chosen,” Kiri whispered.

“She better be, after all that delusional psycho drama,” Lo’ak muttered.

Tsireya laughed so hard she nearly fell over.

Jake rubbed his temples and exhaled a long breath, glancing back at them. “You all good back there?”

Lo’ak shrugged. “Just witnessing divine intervention, no big deal.”

Jake looked at the sky, muttered, “I survived war on two planets, the RDA, and parenting four semi-feral children… and this is what breaks me.”

Neteyam, arms now wrapped lightly around your waist, deadpanned, “He’s being dramatic. You should’ve seen him when Tuk cut her own hair with a fishbone.”

Kiri cackled from the doorway. “Eywa wept that day.”

Even Neytiri snorted softly trying to hide it but failing. She looked at you again, and though she still didn’t fully trust you, something in her gaze had changed.

Maybe it was acceptance, or recognition.

The last of the atokirina drifted off into the night sky, their glow fading into the stars. You stared after them a moment longer, still stunned, until Neteyam gave your hand a gentle tug.

“Come on, everyone’s going inside now,” he said with a soft smile.

You glanced back at the cabin, where the sounds of shuffling, laughter, and Lo’ak’s dramatic commentary floated out the open door. Inside, the cozy space had been completely transformed. Mattresses and woven blankets covered the floor, layered for comfort. Neteyam had clearly raided the upstairs earlier, pillows were stacked high, and blankets spilled from the couch like a soft tide.

“What’s all this?” You asked Neteyam softly.

“Lo’ak wants to sleep next to me, he slept next to me every night since I got back and I figured since you have to get used to sleeping like this with us anyways, it’d be nice.”

You smile at his softy words and walked further into the room. Neytiri and Jake laid together on one mattress and the children laid on the other. You walked to the kitchen while Neteyam laid down with Lo’ak to tidy up and turn the lights off.

You were at the kitchen counter rinsing the last dish, working by the low light, when you heard soft footsteps behind you.

“You’re still up,” Kiri said gently, her voice not startling you this time.

You turned, a little sheepish. “Just finishing up.” You gave a small, nervous smile. “I needed something to do with my hands.”

Kiri nodded, understanding without needing more explanation. “It’s been… a day.”

You chuckled. “That’s one way to put it.”

A pause. Then she added, “You know… I’m really glad he came back.”

You smile and nod hearing her statement, you couldn’t imagine why they must have gone through for the month he wasn’t there.

She nodded. “We lost him that day. I mean—we lost him. Not just his body. He was always the one who kept things together. Even when things were bad, he held all of us in one piece. When we thought he was gone… we all sort of cracked.”

Your chest ached hearing it.

“I didn’t know how to feel when he said you were the one who saved him,” Kiri admitted. “Part of me was scared. We’ve all been raised to think ‘RDA’ and immediately brace for danger.” She shrugged. “But seeing him today? With you?”

She smiled now. Soft and honest. “He looked like Neteyam again.”

You looked down, unsure what to say. Kiri walked over and leaned her elbows on the counter beside you.

“He wants to take you back to the clan tomorrow, I think it’s a good idea,” she said, “you should go.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She nudged your arm gently. “Look, it won’t be easy. There might be stares. Whispers. My mom’s probably going to have a quiet panic attack every ten minutes. But you belong with him. And he belongs with us. So, we all have to figure it out together.”

You took a slow breath, something easing in your chest.

“I’m not saying everyone will accept you right away. But you’ll have us. You’ll have me. Lo’ak. Tuk’s probably going to ask you a hundred questions and try to braid your hair. And if anyone talks nonsense,” she smirked, “we’ll throw fruit at them.”

You laughed, suddenly emotional. “Thank you.”

Kiri smiled and stood upright again. “Also, you’re definitely going to need a better introduction outfit than this.” She gestures to your outfit.

Just then, Lo’ak groaned from the living room, “Kiri, I swear if you don’t stop recruiting people into your fashion cult—”

“Go to sleep!” Kiri snapped playfully.

You heard muffled laughter. And for a moment, everything felt… lighter. “I don’t have any na’vi clothes.”

Kiri turned back to you one last time. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Try to rest, okay? You are family now, or… you will be soon.”

With that, she slipped back into the living room, leaving you standing there blinking fast, hand pressed over your heart. Neteyam’s family was wild. Complicated. Sometimes intense. But maybe, just maybe… they were going to be yours too.

The cabin was quiet, safe from soft snores coming from the living room. You had taken the lights off and moved to the living room. The moonlight casted a soft glow in the room, you saw Neteyam’s parents sleeping off to the side close together under a blanket. Kiri’s sleeping form facing Tsireya who’s tail was intertwined with Lo’ak’s as they slept back-to-back. And Neteyam, his body faced away from you since Lo’ak was against his back.

You walk around making sure not to wake anyone and he was still awake. Waiting for you.

His fingers brushed the blanket back for you to get in next to him. Neteyam’s fingers covered you before resting in your hip, then it moved under your t-shirt to the skin on your waist. You did t way anything as you both laid there but he broke the silence.

“I kept dreaming of this,” he whispered, voice low, deep and velvet-soft in the dark. “Of you. Just being with you.”

You brush your fingers up his arms, and he sighed at the touch, “you didn’t need to dream,” you matched his tone. “You had me.”

He gave a quiet, bitter laugh. “Not that way I needed.”

Your fingers slipped on his skin up to his shoulder and down to his collarbone. “And now?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just pulled you closer, “come closer.” As you scooted his arm wrapped around your body under your shirt, splaying in your back, his forehead rested against yours. You could feel the warmth of his body, the tension he held trying to stay still. Controlled.

“Now,” he whispered, “I don’t know how I went so long without it.”

His hand slid up your back, playing with the hook on your bra as he pulled you flush against him. Your thighs tangled. You pressed your nose to his neck, breathing in the scent of salt and earth and him.

“I missed you more than I could have imagined,” you admitted, the words fragile against his skin. “Even when I didn’t know why.”

He tilted your chin up gently. “You knew. Somewhere. I think we both did.”

For a long moment, you just looked at each other, foreheads touching, eyes open. Then he kissed you, not urgently, not desperately. Just softly. Reverently. Like he was still remembering the shape of your mouth.

When he pulled back, his lips hovered over yours.

“I didn’t know peace until you,” he breathed. You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Your hand slid over his stomach, his ribs, settling against the place where his heart beat slow and steady. He pressed a kiss to your temple. Another to your shoulder. Then he held you, legs tangled under the blanket, bodies curved together like they’d never fit any other way.

“I kept thinking I made you up,” he whispered. “Every time I closed my eyes, it was you. Your voice, your hands… I’d reach for you in dreams and wake up with nothing.”

You said nothing, just leaned in until your lips found his, a kiss slow and reverent, like you were trying to breathe each other in. His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he deepened it, but kept the pace tender. There was longing in it, but also relief. Familiarity. Warmth.

You shifted closer, your chest to his now, one leg slipping between his as you held his face and kissed him again. Your lips moved with unspoken things. But everything that was just as heavy and real.

Then—

“Mmmf.” A low sound, followed by a thump against Neteyam’s back. Lo’ak through his arm over Neteyam, since you were so close it him his fingers landed in your hip under Neteyam’s arm.

You both stilled.

His forehead was pressed between Neteyam’s shoulder blades, clearly fast asleep, mouth parted in the most obnoxiously innocent way.

You pulled back slightly. Neteyam’s eyes fluttered shut for a beat.

“…Is his head still on you?” you murmured.

“Yes,” Neteyam whispered, exasperating. “Yes, it is.”

From the other side of the room, Kiri’s muffled voice: “That’s what he gets for insisting on sleeping next to you like a baby yerik.”

Neteyam groaned quietly. “He said it was ‘for safety.’”

Lo’ak stirred again, snuggling deeper against his brother’s back like a clingy cat. “’S warm,” he mumbled half-coherently.

You snorted softly into Neteyam’s chest. “This is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Oh yes,” he deadpanned. “Nothing says passion like your brother spooning you mid-kiss.”

Neteyam pressed a kiss to your forehead, gentle and lingering. “Next time,” he whispered against your skin, “we wait until he’s not glued to my spine.”

“Next time?” you teased.

His voice was a low hum in your ear. “There’ll be a next time.”

And despite the absurdity of the moment, the extra limbs tangled nearby, the fact that Lo’ak was drooling slightly on Neteyam’s back, it felt impossibly warm. Sweet. Real.

You nestled into him, smiling as your eyes slipped closed. Sleep found you both easily being in each other’s arms again.

The pale morning light spilled across the cabin, thin and golden. Outside the forest hummed softly, not loud, not demanding, just present and awake. Birds stirred in the trees and the distant ocean whispered.

Neytiri was already awake with Jake, they stood near the door. Her arms were folded around her as her eyes watched her children tangled up like pups sleeping peacefully. Jake’s arms were loosely at his side, tail flicking once or twice.

“I forgot how loud they are when they all sleep together sometimes.” He said quietly. “They are peaceful like this,” Neytiri replied, though her tone had a thread if impatience under it. She was ready to leave.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem. No one wants to get up when they feel peaceful.” Jake chuckled

Neytiri smiled and turned to the cluster of limbs in the floor. Her voice was firm but low. “Wake up, we move now.”

Groans and murmured protests rose from the pile. Lo’ak rolled over with his head will against Neteyam’s back, “five more minutes please sa’nu.”

“No.”

Lo’ak groaned again and Neteyam stirred, “alright, alright, we are up.” Kiri say up with a yawn, hair a frizzed halo around her face, tsireya was already up smoothing out her hair for the trip even though she knew it’d get messy again.

Meanwhile you slowly blinked, waking up, still curled against Neteyam’s warmth. He leaned down and brushed his nose against your temple. “Good morning sevin.” He murmured softly. You didn’t respond with words only a soft hum due to tiredness.

Before you could even wake up properly the house was cleaned out off all the food that could go bad, they were talking it all to the clan. The house was tidy and locked up and everyone was outside securing last minute things into the ikran to leave.

The last of the stuff had been loaded, the sound noises the ikran made behind you always drowned out as you looked at your house. So much memories lives here, healing, laughter, tension, tenderness. Neteyam stepped behind you, quiet. His arms wrapped around your shoulders.

“I never thought I’d miss this place.” He said with a low voice.

You smile leaning back against him, “you were barely conscious for half of it.” You exaggerate.

Neteyam chuckled softly and murmured, “still.” Looking at the cabin, the smooth, sand worn edges of the roof, the worn path you both walked a hundred times to get in a out of the door, the small wind chimes you’d hung from the porch beam. “It gave me peace. Gave us time.”

You hooded. The weight of it sat quietly between you, not heavy, just meaningful. “This door was the first thing I ever saw when I realized I wasn’t dead,” he added. “And you sat there in front of me with those pretty wide eyes.”

You laughed softly, lifting your head to look at him, “you had a knife.”

“And you looked like you’d still in the fight.” He said, amused, his thumb tracing patterned on your arm. “I think I fell for you right there and didn’t even realize it.”

You smile at him, his expression was unguarded, eyes steady, “and now we’re gonna make a life together, because Eywa wills it for us to be one. I will not let anything stand in the way of that.” His voice was so gentle.

“Neither will I.” You agree softly. He kissed the side of your head softly. “Come on, let’s go before Lo’ak coming looking for me like a lost child.”

“Too late!” Lo’ak shouted from the distance. Neteyam let out a groan but tugged you along to your ikran where you mounted and took flight, looking at at your house in the distance as you felt the wind in your air. You couldn’t deny a part of you was scared about what might happen. But you were sure Neteyam was not leaving you again and because of that you’ll be okay.

The salt wind whipped past your face as the ocean village finally came into view — distant, quiet, and glowing with early light. The Metkayina home was beautiful, like it had risen straight out of the sea itself — smooth marui pods clustered over the water, connected by long, arching walkways of woven roots and wood. The turquoise lagoon sparkled below.

You hadn’t realized you’d slowed your descent until Neteyam’s ikran coasted close beside you.

He looked at you with a knowing smile. “You okay?” He remembers the first time he saw the village, it was nothing compared to the forest, but it was undoubtedly beautiful.

You gave a small nod, not trusting your voice. He held your gaze for a breath longer, then angled his ikran downward. You followed.

As the Sully family landed on the beach, villagers began to stir, eyes turned, murmurs rippled across the sand like soft wind through leaves.

Neteyam had returned here days ago, his presence wasn’t a shock.

But yours was.

You dismounted quietly, already feeling the weight of their stares. You were the outsider. The unknown.

Tsireya, who had flown in with Lo’ak, landed shortly after. She stepped off her ikran and hesitated for half a second as she spotted you. Then, quickly composed, she walked toward her parents.

Tonowari and Ronal were already emerging from their marui, drawn by the sudden arrival. Ronal’s expression was unreadable as her eyes swept over the familiar faces… and landed on yours.

She stopped walking.

Tonowari followed her gaze. His brow furrowed, not in hostility, but in question.

Lo’ak stepped forward first, ever the bridge when things got uncomfortable. “Hey, um… this is—” Neteyam cut in. “She’s with me.”

His voice was calm. Certain. Jake gave him a brief, supportive nod.

Tonowari approached, his voice deep but even. “You bring someone new.”

“I do,” Neteyam said. “She helped me. When I was hurt. She brought me back.”

Ronal stepped forward, her tone sharper. “And now she comes to stay?”

You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself hesitating under her stare. Then Neteyam stepped closer, just enough to be between you and Ronal, his presence a quiet barrier.

“She’s not here to cause trouble,” he said. “She’s just… here with me.”

“She is not of the reef,” Ronal said, folding her arms.

“She is of me,” Neteyam replied quietly. That made Ronal pause. Her eyes flicked to Tonowari.

Tonowari looked at you, then back to Neteyam. “We will talk. Come.”

Jake and Neytiri stayed close to you even though they weren’t fully in board with their son’s decision to bring you back. You were grateful for it.

And just as Tonowari and Ronal turned to lead you toward their marui, you caught a glimpse of the crowd again. Some looked confused. Others curious.

But no one said a word.

The water shimmered behind you as you followed Neteyam into the unknown, his hand brushing yours just once, just enough to let you know you weren’t alone.

Tonowari stood firm, arms crossed, but it was Ronal who moved first. She stepped down from the woven platform with deliberate grace, her eyes locked on you. Her presence was powerful, regal, commanding, and the air shifted with the weight of her expectations.

She said something sharp in Na’vi, and though you didn’t understand the words, you felt the judgment in her tone. Her hand tugged on your tail making you gasp from the slight pain it caused, and your head whipped to look at her Neteyam moved slightly closer, protective, but Ronal raised a hand and placed it firmly on his chest, stopping him.

“No,” she said coolly in English, pushing him gently but firmly backward. “Let her stand.”

Neteyam frowned, reluctant, but obeyed, stepping back beside his parents. Ronal began to slowly circle you, her gaze scanning you from head to toe. She didn’t hide the suspicion on her face, her lips tight, her brow furrowed. The silence was heavy. You were alone in the center of the platform, under the full gaze of the clan leaders and the Sullys.

Tsireya stood to the side next to a taller man you weren’t sure who it was, but he had the same expression as Tonowari. Lo’ak and Kiri stood behind Neteyam on one side of you and Jake and Neytiri stood behind you in line with him on the other.

“She is of the Sky People,” Ronal said finally, addressing the group. “And now she walks into our home… with no test? No proof of strength? Of loyalty?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Ronal kept circling, like a large ilu measuring the movement of unfamiliar waters.

“She could bring them here. The demons who hunted you,” she said, her voice cutting through the early morning calm. “We remember the fire they brought. The blood.”

“I would never—” you tried, but she cut you off.

“You say this now. But when they come with machines and death, what will you do? Will you run? Will you call to them? Will they follow you like shadows?”

Neteyam stepped forward again, voice sharp. “She fought for me. She saved me.”

Ronal turned on him. “That is love. Not strength.”

Jake moved beside his son. “She survived alone out there, Ronal. Tended to my son’s wounds. She kept him alive when we thought he was gone.”

“She kept your son alive,” Ronal snapped back. “That does not mean she will keep ours.”

Neytiri stepped forward now, her voice low and serious. “We did not ask that you accept her without question. But you know us. You know what we have done for this clan. For you. Let her prove she is not a useless sky person.”

Tonowari finally spoke, calm but firm. “Then she will.”

You looked at him, heart pounding.

“If you are to stay,” he continued, “you must learn. You must fight like we fight. You must protect this place, our people.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing the nerves rising in your throat.

“I will.”

Ronal studied you one last time, then looked to Tonowari. She didn’t nod in approval. She turned to face Tonowari again but lifted her chin slightly, her voice rising above the stillness in the marui pod.

“There is a gathering,” she said, switching back to English for your sake. “A trial of strength and instinct. A proving.” Tonowari’s expression grew contemplative.

Ronal stepped forward again, no longer circling, but standing directly in front of you, tall and unmoving like the ocean before a storm.

“It is a rite for young warriors,” she said. “A tradition. Each cycle, our youth face the sea — they race, they hunt, they fight. It is a test of skill, trust, and unity. Those who complete it with honor are celebrated. And those who take first are remembered.”

She paused, letting her gaze press hard into you. “If you wish to stay, you will enter.” Your breath caught. Ronal continued, voice unyielding.

“And you will not simply take part. You will win.”

“Win?” Neteyam asked, stepping forward again. “She’s not trained like—”

“She will,” Ronal said sharply, without looking at him. “Or she leaves.”

“She’s not one of your warriors,” Neytiri snapped.

“She wishes to live among them. That makes her one.”

Tonowari spoke now, his voice like a steady current beneath the waves. “It is fair. You have brought her here. If she is to be trusted with our lives, she must show us she can protect them.”

Ronal added quietly, “This is not cruelty. It is survival.”

Jake looked at you. He didn’t speak, but his eyes asked the question Ronal had posed with such certainty: Can you do this?

You glanced at Neteyam, his brow was tight with frustration, but his eyes were full of belief. Soft. Fierceness. You turned back to Ronal, throat dry but voice steady.

“Then I’ll win.”

The Sullys had just stepped into their family marui. The woven walls still smelled like sea air and sun-dried shells. It felt good to be home, even after just one night away.

Kiri dropped her things by the corner hammock, stretching. “I still think Ronal wanted to fight someone.”

Lo’ak flopped belly-first onto a mat. “She always looks like that.”

Jake gave a low grunt of agreement, rubbing at his temples. Neytiri paced silently, checking on their belongings, scanning the marui like she was mentally preparing for the next war.

You and Neteyam had just stepped him, you took a second to look around the space, it was decorated with small stuff that made the mauri a home and not just a place to eat and sleep. It looks beautiful. Before anymore words could be exchanged, a high-pitched loud voice came from behind you.

Everyone turned and a small girl about seven maybe eight years old came stomping towards the mauri, Tsireya walking closely behind her with a grin like she knew what was about to happen.

“HEY!” she screamed. Her little body almost bumped into yours, if you didn’t move to the side and circle her, now standing behind her, Tsireya came to stand next to you.

“Oh no” Loak mumbled as he watched his sister angrily stomp to the middle of the mauri. “Here we go” Jake said softly at the same time.

“You all LEFT me.” Tuk started. Hands on her hips and chest puffed out, scanning every guilty face one by one. “All of you just left! Like I wouldn’t notice!”

“Babygirl—” Jake started but she quickly cut him off. “No! No, don’t babygirl me!” She cried, pointing at her dad like a disappointed elder. “You’re my daddy! Yours supposed to take me everywhere!”

Lo’ak snorted, “It wasn’t planned. It just happened and we couldn’t come get you.”

“Oh. It just happened. Like a surprise party? But I was the only one not invited.” She shouted and you cover your mouth to stop yourself from laughing, she reminded you of you when you were that age.

“We didn’t even bring any supplies—” Kiri added gently.

“SAVE IT.” Tuk shouted and raised her hand high up in the air. “While you all were off having an adventure! I was scraping barnacles off the underneath of a canoe! And doing important Tsahìk things!”

“You were safe, you had fun that’s what’s important” Neteyam smiled at his youngest sister. Her wrath turned to him now, “and you! You were my favorite! And you just left me! Didn’t even leave a note!”

“I was compromised, spear me.” Neteyam raised his hand, showing her his palm as a gesture to stop casually, as if that ever worked on Tuk.

“I heard she did very well and had lots of fun. Mother told me she was terrorizing Ao’nung until She fell asleep. Honestly, I’m impressed.” Her statement made Loak and Neteyam laugh thinking about the hell Ao’nung must have gone through.

As if Tuk clocked the unfamiliar face mid performance, she spun her little body around to face you. Her hand still on her hips as she looked at your suspiciously. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“I—” you stated feeling like she put you on the spot which you weren’t expecting. “I’m your brother’s….friend?” You say unsure your eyes dart up to Neteyam’s who immediately had an offended look on his face.

“My friend? You're my friend—” he started before Tim cut him off. “You like games?”

“Yea”

“Okay, you can stay.” She walked over to Lo’ak and dropped your little body over his lap and took the fruit her had and started to eat it while Neteyam continued. “After all that your my friend?”

“I— I mean yea, you never asked me to be your girlfriend.” Your statement made Jake laugh, it was such an earth thing for you to say. It immediately triggered memories of interactions with women he had when he was on earth all those years ago. Neteyam whipped his head to his father then back at you, “but I love you!”

“Which you told everyone but me.” Your smile and stress your words. Which made Neteyam sigh and shake his head. He knew how you felt about him and you knew how he felt. You both were in love and had openly admitted it. But not to each other. “What is so funny?” He glanced back to his dad.

“No- nothing. It’s just, on Earth you don’t court before mating. You date, you exclusive date by asking a woman to be your girlfriend. You assumed she was your girlfriend but she’s still single cause you didn’t ask.” Jake explained to Neteyam while chuckling softly. Neteyam’s eyes go back to you as if to confirm what he had just heard and when you nodded he sighed again.

He walked up to you and lead you out of the mauri leaving everyone behind who had started their own conversation by now. “Baby did you seriously think your not my girlfriend after all that?”

“No, I knew, I just wanted to hear you say it. I wanted to hear you ask me.” You smile up at him and run your hands up his arm.

“I love you, I love you so much. You’re the love of my life, I’m sure of it, and I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. Will you be my girlfriend.” His voice was gentle, sweet, calm and deep. Everything you wanted to hear.

You practically felt the heart eyes when you were looking at him speak to you like you were the most important girl in the world. “I love you too,” you whisper. “Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend” you smile widely at him with a small giggle bubbling up with your chest. Your body felt giddy, hearing him say it was so different than just knowing.

He smiled and leaned down to kiss you, luckily he had pulled you out of sight from the mauri so no one saw. Just a private moment in the clan you were determined to spend forever with him in. And you were sure it’d be the first of many.

His lips were soft you felt him deepen the kiss and you almost melted before he pulled away and rested his forehead against yours.

The day passed fairly easily. You didn’t leave the mauri all day, all you did was sit down and process everything that happened in the past couple days. You were beyond happy when neteyam came back for you, and you don’t regret anything, but you can’t help but feel a bit scared, overthinking everything you may have to do to stay with him.

Everyone was in a out of the Mauri all day, Lo’ak and Tsireya went out earlier and came back, then Tuk stating she needed everyone to make it up to her, Jake and Neytiri carried her to play on the beach, while we got to spend some time together and ask her all about her night with Ronal. Neteyam stayed with you most of the day, he sat with you and spoke to you, started to teach you some na’vi while you had the time and he fed you fruits. You told him you could do it yourself, but he insisted not wanting to ‘mess up your pretty little fingers’

He was amazing. Later in the evening Tsireya came back with a pile of clothes for you, since you had to change out of the human clothes you currently wore. She and Kiri both decided to help you get dressed and show you to how knot the clothes and how they were supposed to fit. It was like having sisters. While you three did that, Neteyam and Lo’ak went to meet up with Ao’nung and some friends.

“Okay, arms up,” Tsireya said, guiding a soft wrap of fabric around your chest. “This part’s the trickiest if you don’t want it slipping off in the middle of dinner.”

“She’s not joking,” Kiri chimed in, tightening the side ties at your waist. “One strong breeze and boom scandal.”

You laughed nervously. “That’s comforting.”

Kiri stood back and eyed you critically, then smirked. “Wow. Neteyam’s going to forget how to talk.” Tsireya gave you a teasing look. “Forget talking, he might forget how to blink.”

You blushed. “It’s not that serious.”

“No, it is,” Kiri said, tapping your arm. “You’ve got curves that don’t quit and legs like they were carved by Eywa herself.”

“And this color—” Tsireya gestured to the top, “—makes your skin glow. Honestly, it’s not fair.”

“Stop hyping me up. I’m gonna trip over my own feet.”

Kiri grinned. “Trip right into Neteyam’s arms.” Suddenly, the flap to the marui rustled open. Lo’ak’s voice: “Yo, we’re back!” The three of you went still.

“Hide me,” you whispered jokingly. Tsireya called out from behind the divider, “We’re decent-adjacent! Stay where you are!” Lo’ak laughed. “That’s not a thing.” Then came another voice, Aonung’s.

“Is she in there?” he asked. “New girl?”

“She’s real,” Kiri called. “And busy.”

“Who is that?” You whisper to them. “That is my brother, Aonung, he was in the mauri this morning with my parents, standing next to me.” Tsireya answered softly.

“Shame. Was hoping to see for myself.” That earned a sharp look from Neteyam, who stood beside him. “You don’t need to see anything.”

Aonung raised an eyebrow. “Relax, bro. I’m just saying, I’m trying to introduce myself properly.” Tsireya turned toward you with a slow, dramatic grin.

“He hasn’t even seen you yet and he’s already flirty,” she whispered. “You better brace yourself.” You took a breath. “Okay… let’s get this over with.” You stepped out from behind the divider and everything in the marui seemed to stop.

Aonung blinked, then let out a low whistle. “Well, you don’t look good. You look dangerous. I’m Ao’nung, Tsireya’s older brother. Neteyam is a lucky man.” He smirked.

Neteyam stepped in front of him almost instantly, not aggressive, but protective. His jaw was tight.

“That’s enough.”

Aonung held up his hands. “Just a compliment. Chill.” But Neteyam’s eyes were no longer on him. They were on you. And for a second, it was like no one else existed. He stepped closer, slowly, like he was afraid to break the moment.

“You…” His voice was quiet. “You look…”

He trailed off, eyes scanning your form, taking in the way the soft Na’vi fabrics hugged you, the way your skin caught the last light of the setting sun. You were radiant.

“…gorgeous,” he finished, almost in awe.

You smiled shyly. “You think?”

“I know,” he said. “You look like you’ve always belonged here.”

Behind him, Lo’ak leaned to Aonung. “Told you she’s the reason he’s been weird all day.” Kiri made gagging noises and Tsireya giggling.

But Neteyam ignored them. For the first time since returning to the clan, he was completely still, his whole world centered on you.

And you, glowing under his gaze, couldn’t help but feel like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

Tsireya started to usher everyone out despite any protest as Neteyam stepped closer to you. His hands can to your waist and trailed down to your exposed hips and back up. “You really think I look pretty?” You ask him softly.

“If sweetheart? You look incredible, you look like my girl.” He whispered then leaned in for a kiss. His lips were soft as he kissed you, deepening it when you kissed him back. Your arms wrap around his neck rubbing down to his arms them back up to his jaw with a soft hum.

He pushed you to walk back until you were once again behind the divider and up against the wall, and he didn’t stop. Only pushing himself up onto you, trapping you in the smallest space he could. Neteyam didn’t want to stop, he wanted to mark you up before he let you go outside like this. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to stare at you forever or take you away so no one could ever see you like this except him.

“Nete…” you moaned as he pulled his lips away and attacked your neck. “Hmm?” He replied as he started to suck on your skin.

“Your— your parents will be back soon we should—” you start with a giggle but ended in moans, but he cuts you off with a small shush.

“We have time.” He whispered against your skin. His hands came up to your well tied top and pushed it up, he didn’t even bother to untie it, he just wanted to expose you. His hands cupped your tits pushing you further into the wall and you couldn’t help but moan at his hands on you.

Neteyam squeezes your tits slightly bringing the nippy up to his mouth to kiss it before he sucks it into his mouth, he swirls his tongue on you and when he’s had enough, he moves onto the next. Your tail lashes the wall at you start to feel his movements send chills straight to your core. Your head lolls back and your mouth opens in a slightly scream.

Neteyam pulls away and looks at you, just for a moment but he stares, your expression, your panting, your messy hair. He owned it, owned you. And he loved it so much. He spins yours round and pushes your head against the wall, pulling your hips back so you were bent over nothing against it. Your hands moved up to the wall next to your head to hold you up as Neteyam pulled the little piece of cloth covering your cunt to the side.

His finger slid down your asshole to your other hold feeling the slick he already made you start leaking. With a smirk he chuckled and used his other hand to pull your ass cheeks apart, so he had a better view. “Fuck look at that, haven’t even done anything to you and your dripping baby.” He cursed softly in Na’vi as you sucked his finger in as he entered, he wasn’t sure he even needed to stretch you out to take him, but he wanted to.

Neteyam’s finger started to speed up before he added another one. Your tail thrashed in the air before it wrapped around his forearm. You tried to be quiet just in case, you really did but Neteyam just had a way of touching you like no one before, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning and hissing under his fingers. His fingers sped up some more, giving you some hard thrust right into your g-spot. You couldn’t even form words to tell him his good he was making you feel. Until he slowed down and pulled out giving your ass a sweet spank as he did.

Neteyam pushed down his tweng and exposed his hard cock that hit your ass when he bounced out. The same hand he had inside you he pumped his cock with, spreading the juices on his fingers over himself.

“Ready for me sevin?” He leaned down to your ear and whisper. His left hand spread you open before you had a chance to answer and the other held his cock as he pushed into your tight hole.

It had been months since either of you felt each other like this. Your eyes rolled and he gritted his teeth squeezing his eyes shut as he bottomed out. His hand moved from your ass to over your head against the wall so he could lean down closer to you and his other hand held your hips with a tight grip, as if to ground him.

Neteyam cursed into the air as he heard your sweet sounds and breaths from just feeling his cock enter you. His thrust started slow, getting a feel for something he missed so much. You felt his breath on your shoulder as he started to fuck the breath out of your lungs.

“Oh fuck...” you stutter out as he fucks you into the wall, moaning with your cheek pressed up against it. Neteyam lays small kisses on your shoulder like he’s not fucking your like it’s the last time he’ll ever get too. You had just started but your legs were already shaking holding yourself up.

“You’re mine,” he murmured into your ear, his words both a claim and an admission. The tightness surrounding him bringing him to the edge so quickly. His voice was hoarse, filled with possessive need.

“Mhmm I’m yours,” you stutter back to him. Neteyam growls softly at your words, his possessive grip on you growing tighter. “Say it again.” He commanded, his voice rough with desire. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m yours tey-teyam.” You moan out. His response was a low, primal growl that reverberated through his chest. Hearing those words come from your lips drove him wild, igniting the most possessive instincts within him. “Damn right you are baby,” he growled, his hands gripping tighter you were sure you’d have marks when he was done.

His thrust speeds up, his body becoming more and more consumed with you. He continued to speak with a low, gravelly whisper in your ear. “You’re all mine,” he repeated, his words wit h devotion. “Every inch of you, every part. Mine to touch, mine to claim, mine forever.”

You let out a heavy, loud moan as the air was forced out of you. You really did love hearing his voice in your ear, especially like this. Neteyam watched your eyes roll back, a surge of satisfaction coursing through him at the effect he was having on you. His touch was drowning, and his grip was tight and commanding. As he continued to fuck you, wanting to bring you over the edge and beyond, “can you feel it?” He growled; his voice was thick with desire. “The way your body responds to me, the way your arch so fucking perfectly into me. It’s because your mine. Mine to take, mine to keep baby.”

His thrust becomes harder, your fingers turning white from the force you were pushing against the wall to push your ass back into him. “Mhmmmm” you moan as you bit your lip.

Neteyam’s grip on you tightens as you begin to press back against him, his own hips thrusting forward to meet yours with growing intensity. His breathing grew heavier, his body consumed by primal need to claim you, to make you his in every sense of the word. “You asking for more sweetness?” His asked, voice a hoarse whisper.

He didn’t wait for you to answer before he continued, “because I’ll give you all the more you can handle and then some.” His forehead hit your shoulder, “I’ll take you so hard and deep, you’ll forget your own name. You’ll only remember who you belong to.”

You nod eagerly and giggle out with a smile, “yes pleaseee”

He responded with a deep possessive growl as you nodded. The way you said ‘yes please’ sent shivers down his spine straight to the tip of his tail and the bottom of his toes. “That’s my good fucking girl.” He says through gritted teeth. “You want more, do you baby?”

You again eagerly nodded with a “yes, yes please.” His desire was growing stronger with every word. He could feel your eagerness, your submission, and it only fueled his primal need to take you completely. His hand that rested on the wall he put on the side of your head pressing you in more. He raised his body off yours a bit but not so far, he couldn’t see your face. “Yea take it baby, take it all.” He starts to meet your thrust, pounding you harder. The sound of skin slapping surely filled the room. You were suddenly grateful Tsireya had taken everyone out.

“Oh, fuck yessss—I’m gonna cummmm.” Your voice raised a pitch as you screamed out loudly. Neteyam’s breath hitched as he heard your words, his own release growing closer as he felt you trembling with pleasure. He knew you were close, and he was determined to push you over the edge. “That’s it,” he growled, his voice a low and possessive rumble. “Come for me, darling. Let me see you fall apart.”

His words send you over the edge and I make a mess cumming in his cock. Neteyam’s grip tightened as you came, his body pressing harder against yours as he held you close. He could feel your pleasure, your convulsions, the way you trembled with intensity. A primal sense of satisfaction washed over him as he held you. It didn’t take him long to join you in the aftermath bliss. He didn’t even ask before he pumped you full of his cum whispering to you about how good you took him, not that you minded him coming in you. It felt so good, “that’s it, he murmured. “My perfect, perfect girl.”

Neteyam pulls his cock out and fixes your clothes to keep his cum snug inside your hole as he straightens up. He pulls you up and turns you around smoothening out your hair as you lean against the wall holding onto him for support before he fixes your top ensuring it fits properly before he takes you back into the main space of the mauri and sits down on a cushion against the wall pulling you flush to his chest in front of him as he kisses you softly anywhere he could reach and hugs you.

You both get comfortable just in time for everyone to file back into the marui. You sat with your back resting against Neteyam’s chest by the fire pit, his arms gently wrapped around your waist. You held a cup of water in your hands, still trying to shake the post-high haze of what just happened. His chin was on your shoulder, and his nose occasionally nuzzled your neck like he couldn’t help himself. You were both quiet, but your shared grin said everything.

The flap of the marui rustled. Neytiri stepped in first with Jake right behind, Tuk skipping in excitedly ahead of them, holding some kind of half-wet seaweed braid and some shells. “Mom! Look, this one looks like a heart!” Tuk beamed, swishing it proudly behind her.

Neytiri gave a small hum of approval, “it’s very pretty Tuk,” ruffling her daughter’s hair. Jake, however, squinted slightly, eyes trailing to the two of you on the far side of the marui. One eyebrow rose. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Neteyam didn’t move. Then the flap opened again.

Lo’ak, Kiri, Tsireya, and Aonung filed in with the kind of timing that screamed suspicious. All four of them were way too calm, like they’d rehearsed this.

Lo’ak faked a big stretch. “Whew. Anyone else feel the ground shaking earlier? Thought we had another underwater tremor.”

Kiri gave a mock-serious nod. “Yeah, something was definitely rumbling. Almost rhythmic.”

Tsireya giggled behind her hand. “Very… passionate tectonic activity.”

Aonung raised a brow. “Might want to get the structure checked. Sounded like someone was, you know, testing the foundations.”

You froze mid-sip. Neteyam still didn’t flinch, just kissed your cheek with a smug little smirk.

Lo’ak plopped down by the fire, glancing over. “Wow, bro, you’re glowing. Must’ve been an intense conversation you two were having.”

Kiri threw in innocently, “Lots of… vocal articulation. So expressive.”

Aonung chuckled. “Heard some spiritual bonding going on.”

You turned slowly, your eyes wide with dawning horror.

Neteyam blinked. “Are you guys done?”

“Just warming up,” Lo’ak grinned.

Jake cleared his throat, cutting in smoothly. “I assume whatever this is… doesn’t need to be explained in front of Tuk.”

Lo’ak threw up his hands. “Of course not! We’re just talking about… architecture.”

“Sound design,” Tsireya added.

Jake gave Neteyam one last look. “Just don’t break the walls.”

Neteyam, utterly unbothered, smirked and pulled you a little closer. “They’re still standing, aren’t they?��

You slapped his thigh gently with the back of your hand. “Don’t encourage them.”

He leaned in, voice low in your ear. “Why? I’m proud.”

You groaned, but you were smiling too, unable to fight the laughter bubbling under your breath.

From across the fire, Kiri whispered to Lo’ak, “We’re never letting them live this down.”

The soft crackling of the fire pit filled the marui with a warm, comforting hum. The glow danced across everyone’s faces as the group settled in around the circle. You were leaning against the wall, nestled between Neteyam’s legs, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist, his chin resting against your shoulder. His body radiated a calm strength, grounding you, even as your nerves ticked with questions. Everyone settled into a loose circle around the fire and ate engaging in conversation together.

You took a sip of water, then looked around the fire. “So… about this competition,” you started, voice low but clear. “Ronal said I have to win it. But no one’s actually told me what it is.”

Tsireya smiled kindly. “That’s because no one ever really knows. It changes every year.”

“It’s three trials,” Aonung added. “Spread over three days. Each one more brutal than the last.”

You raised a brow. “Brutal?”

“Each trial pushes different things,” Kiri chimed in. “Strength, spirit, endurance, intelligence, survival instincts…”

“Fear,” Neteyam said softly, his breath brushing your neck. “They like to test that, too.”

Your fingers tightened a little around your cup. “Alright, then what did you do?”

Neteyam’s voice dropped a little, quiet just for you. “First day, they dropped me blindfolded in the middle of nowhere. I had to navigate back to shore through reef spikes and currents. Couldn’t see anything. Had to feel the pull of the ocean.”

You turned your head slightly, startled. “That’s insane.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Second day, they had me scale the Mistwall cliffs during a wind surge to retrieve a warrior’s band. The vines were slick, brittle. No rope. If I fell, I’d land in razor coral.”

Lo’ak leaned forward dramatically. “He almost fell.”

Neteyam just smirked and continued, “Third day, I was sent into a flooded cave system at night. No torch. No map. The tide rose halfway through. If you didn’t find the exit before the moon reached the peak, you drowned.”

You stared. “Okay, that’s actually insane.”

“But he won,” Tsireya said softly, admiration clear in her tone.

Lo’ak grinned. “Mine was more fun. First day, open ocean sprint on a skimwing, had to ride it into a ring of rock pillars during a lightning storm.”

You blinked. “What happens if you fall?”

“You don’t fall,” he said smugly. “Or you get struck or drown.”

“Second day,” Lo’ak continued, “I had to out swim a tidal wave through the Veiled Caverns. The currents change every minute. If you miscalculate… you’re done.”

“And the third?” you asked, a little hesitantly.

“They drenched me in a type of blood scent that attract predators and dropped me into the mangrove,” he said, popping a bite of food in his mouth. “We had to avoid the predators until the sunrise.

You gave a horrified laugh. “Who designs these?!”

“Elders,” Aonung said flatly but then continued, “our clan has been doing these trails since the time of the first songs. It keeps the clan warriors humble but also trained, in case anything was to happen, they can handle defending the clan.”

You looked at him. “And yours?”

He leaned back with a shrug. “First day, swim relay with weighted net packs around the reef ring. You either make it before your air runs out or you don’t.”

“Second day?” you asked.

“Hand-to-hand combat, but blindfolded. You only pass if you pin your opponent without hurting them. Took me four tries.”

“Third?” Aonung smiled crookedly. “You ever climb an oil-slicked smooth tree in the rain 70 feet high with a flare that can’t go out or explode?”

You just stared at him. “I did,” he added. “And I won.”

Tsireya rested her chin in her hand. “If you don’t finish your task, you can’t retake it. You wait a whole year to try again.”

“That’s… insane,” you murmured again.

Neteyam gently rested his forehead against your shoulder, voice low so only you heard. “You won’t have to wait.”

You tilted your head back against him slightly. “You sound sure.”

“I am,” he murmured. “I’m sure you survive worse.”

A thoughtful silence settled over the group as the fire crackled softly between you. You sat with your back against Neteyam’s chest, his arms loosely wrapped around you, your cup of water resting between your palms. The stories of their trials still lingered in your head, images of rising tides, blindfolded climbs, and sprinting through reef forests with a blade in hand. It was overwhelming.

“When do the trials begin?” you finally asked, voice quiet.

“Two weeks from now,” Tsireya answered gently. “They always wait for the tides to shift and the moon to rise full. That’s when the clan gathers and watches.”

You blinked. “Two weeks?” Whipping my head to look at her

“That’s more than enough time to turn you into a beast,” Lo’ak grinned, reaching for another piece of fruit. “If you don’t mind bleeding a little.”

You gave him a look. “I’m already bleeding a little.” Aonung chuckled. “Then you’ll fit right in.”

Kiri sat cross-legged across the circle, picking at a shellfish. “They always give time for prep—physical, spiritual, mental. You’ll need it. The trials are different every year, but they all test core strengths. You have to be ready for anything.”

“I want to be,” you said. “I want to win.”

“You will,” Neteyam said quietly behind you. “Because you have all of us.”

He kissed your shoulder softly, voice steady in your ear. “We’re going to train you every day. From the moment the sun rises until your body tells you to quit. And even then, we’ll keep going.” You looked around the fire at the faces watching you, some grinning, some serious, but all of them with the same unwavering loyalty.

“We’ve all been through it,” Aonung said, gesturing between himself, Lo’ak, and Neteyam. “We know what it takes. We’ll push you harder than you’ve ever been pushed.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” I laugh softly at his words.

“We’ll simulate trial conditions,” Tsireya offered. “We’ll get you used to swimming blindfolded, tracking by sound, fighting underwater.”

Kiri smiled knowingly. “And I’ll handle the healing in between.”

Lo’ak scoffed. “She’s gonna need it.”

Neteyam chuckled under his breath. “You needed it more than I did.”

“Okay, relax,” Lo’ak muttered, tossing a berry at him.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest despite the nerves. You weren’t alone. And you weren’t just surviving, you were training to thrive.

“Alright,” you said. “Let’s win this.”

“Hell yeah,” Lo’ak grinned.

The two weeks that followed weren’t just intense — they were brutal.

Training started before the sun rose and ended only when your body had nothing left to give. You were thrown into everything all at once: swimming, diving, fighting, endurance, culture, breath work, language. The days blurred together in a storm of movement, soreness, and new skills. But not once were you alone.

Everyone who had sat with you at that fire, Neteyam, Lo’ak, Kiri, Tsireya, Aonung, even Jake and Neytiri, made it their mission to turn you into someone who didn’t just survive the trials ahead, but someone who could win.

Tsireya took the lead on water training. Elegant but fierce, she guided you through ocean currents and ilu maneuvers like she’d been born with gills. She taught you the Metkayina sign language for underwater use, patient when you fumbled it, teasing when you got too cocky. She’d flash a grin underwater and sign something cheeky like “Try not to drown today.” Somehow, her kindness made even the hardest swims feel doable.

Kiri helped you learn to read the environment, the way the ocean whispered danger, how to trust your senses. She also handled your healing, crafting pastes and teas for your aching muscles. She taught you how to see the environment and creatures in a different light. One night, she braided your hair in the traditional Omatikaya style, her hands surprisingly gentle. “You’re one of us now,” she murmured, fingers weaving through your hair. “You carry pieces of all of us.”

Aonung took strength training personally. He barked orders, shoved you to your limits, and made you do impossible climbs with no breaks. But you started to realize that was just his way, he pushed people he respected. Even when you were wheezing halfway up a cliff, he’d just cross his arms and smirk, saying, “You wanted to be ready. This is what ready feels like.”

Lo’ak was chaos. He turned training into challenges, bets, and games. He’d drag you into coral mazes or dare you to outrun skimwings just for fun. “Fear’s your worst enemy,” he told you, hanging off a tree branch upside down. “So, you might as well laugh in its face.” He was focused when he needed to be, teaching you how to be stealthy and how to read ocean currents like it was a different language, even boasting about how good a tracker he was, which wasn’t a lie.

Jake was the quiet cornerstone. He understood better than anyone what it was like to shift into a new body, a new world, and feel completely unanchored. He didn’t yell or correct , he guided. When your instincts failed you, he didn’t shame you. He reminded you, gently, that your strength came from two worlds. “You’ve got something none of them do,” he said once, tapping your chest. “You’re built for this in ways they haven’t seen yet.”

Even Neytiri, who had been wary at first, warmed to you. She helped refine your movements — teaching you how to fight like a Na’vi. Her elegance was dangerous, and when she moved, it was like poetry with claws. She never smiled during training, but there was something in her eyes — a flicker of approval, when you finally got something right. And that meant more than any words could’ve.

Then there was Neteyam didn’t claim one training area. He filled all the spaces in between, sharpening your footwork, correcting your hand position, swimming beside you when your legs gave out. He made sure you were safe, steady, cared for. When you stumbled back sore and bruised, he was already waiting with warmed salve, his hands steady as he pressed it into your skin.

“You took care of me when I couldn’t walk,” he said softly one night, kneeling behind you. “Let me return the favor.” He never asked for anything in return. But you started to feel his presence even when he wasn’t touching you, the gravity of his loyalty, the quiet way he watched you succeed and fail and never turned away.

By the time the two weeks passed, the group gathered for a final test on a wide, sun-warmed sandbar. Lo’ak tossed you a sparring stick. “Alright, killer. Time to show us what you’ve got.”

You rolled your neck and caught it one-handed. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Aonung cracked his knuckles and stepped forward first. “Let’s find out.”

He came at you fast, striking low, then high, then ramming into you with his shoulder. You stumbled back, but planted your foot and spun, ducking under his arm. He caught you with a glancing elbow, but you twisted, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him down over your hip. He hit the sand hard with a thud.

Tuk shrieked from where she sat with Kiri. “HE FELL LIKE A TREE!”

Aonung wheezed out a laugh. “That was… not how I thought that’d go.”

Then came Lo’ak, quick and wild. He threw two punches, blocked your first jab, and swept your legs. You landed with a thud but rolled back to your feet.

“C’mon!” he called. “You’re slacking!”

You smirked, ducked a swing, and slammed your staff against his ribs. He grunted, staggered—then you caught him with a sharp elbow to the gut and twisted him down onto the sand.

Lo’ak groaned. “She fights dirty!”

“You’re still on the ground though,” you teased.

Then, unexpectedly, Jake stepped onto the sand. The laughter died instantly. You blinked. “…You serious?”

Jake tilted his head. “Last test. You ready?”

Neteyam immediately stepped in, tense. “Dad—hold up. She’s already gone through two fights already, and you don’t pull punches.”

But you placed a hand on his chest and stepped forward. “Baby I got this” whispering to him. Neteyam hesitated, jaw tight, but gave you a small nod.

Jake was every bit the warrior you heard about, calculated, fast, relentless. He swept your legs, jabbed your side, came in with force that made your muscles burn just blocking him. You absorbed it, adjusted your stance, remembered everything you’d learned. You feinted, dipped low, and slammed your staff into his back.

Jake staggered, then laughed as he straightened. “Damn. You’ve been holding back.”

Tuk ran up with wide eyes and a mouth full of berries. “YOU BEAT DAD! You’re, like, the champion of everything now!”

You laughed, panting, flushed with adrenaline. But your eyes were already on Neteyam.

He stepped close, voice low and thick with pride. “You were… Eywa, you were perfect out there.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Perfect?”

He leaned in, his voice dropping even lower. “Strong. Smart. Fast. You didn’t just beat them. You commanded them. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as badly as I wanted to see you move like that again.” You swallowed, heat crawling under your skin.

“I mean…” he added with a sly smirk, “I’m still not convinced I wouldn’t win in a one-on-one.”

You tilted your head. “You sure?”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Not even a little. In fact, I’d kind of like you to try. Right now. Somewhere private.”

You felt your breath hitch, and then a small voice piped up behind you. “Are you guys gonna spar again?!” Tuk asked, walking up and grabbing Neteyam’s hand. “Can I watch this time?!”

Neteyam froze. You stifled a laugh as he cleared his throat. “Uh… no, Tuk. This one’s… advanced training.”

She pouted. “Ugh. You two are always doing stuff without me.” Kiri rolled her eyes, dragging Tuk back. “Trust me, Tuk—you don’t want to see that kind of training.”

Aonung groaned from where he still lay on the sand. “I think I’m going to be sore for a week.” Lo’ak flopped beside him. “Bro… we raised a monster.” But all you could focus on was Neteyam, who took your hand quietly, his eyes still full of heat.

“Later, after the ceremony,” he whispered. “You and me. One more round.”

You squeezed his fingers with a grin. “You better hope you win.”

He chuckled. “That’s the plan.” And with the whole family laughing and sore around you, you finally felt it. Like you belonged.

You stood perfectly still as Kiri secured the final twist of your braid, fingers careful and practiced. Tsireya leaned over your shoulder, stringing a final set of small shells and beads around your waist—each piece of jewelry handpicked for grace, balance, and just a touch of allure. Your top was woven delicately from strands of sea silk and lined with shimmering reefstone, framing your form without hiding much. Your waist was wrapped in soft, flowing cloth, slit high on both sides to leave your legs free and your strength unhidden. Metkayina ceremonial wear wasn’t just beautiful—it announced you without a single word.

“You look like the ocean came to life,” Tsireya whispered with a small smile. She braided a single red feather behind your right ear, its stripes identical to the one Neteyam wore tucked in his hair. “This is from him. He left it this morning.” Your heartbeat louder than the drums already echoing across the reef.

Kiri tilted her head as she took you in. “I kind of want to fight you. But also? I’d totally lose.” She snorted, then gently pushed your shoulder. “Come on, sexy sea warrior. Time to terrify the clan.”

When you stepped out into the open reef, lit by the golden glow of the twin moons and flickering torchlight, the noise around the gathering dimmed. Warriors, families, elders, and children lined the moonlit reef, all drawn toward the ceremonial circle where Ronal and Tonowari stood beneath a great arch of woven coral and glowing jellylight.

Neteyam had spotted you first from his place next to Aonung and Lo’ak. And you could tell from his expression, lips slightly parted, eyes low and slow, that whatever thoughts he had weren’t suitable for this sacred ceremony. He didn’t say a word until you passed him.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he said under his breath, tone low and teasing, dripping with restrained heat. “You walk out looking like that, and expect me to focus?”

You smirked as you moved past. “Maybe I want you distracted.”

He gave a quiet, desperate laugh, then leaned in closer, murmuring just behind your ear, “Just so you know, if you survive these trials looking like that… I’m not going to survive you.”

“You look like you were carved out of something I’m not supposed to touch,” he went on, words slower now, more tangled, “and all I can think about is how badly I want to break that rule.”

Your breath caught. He smirked, caught it, and then leaned in just slightly closer, his voice a whisper now. “You take on sea monsters tomorrow,” he murmured, “but tonight, all I want is to feel your hands on me like I’m the one you’re trying to conquer.”

Then he paused, eyes flicking down, like he regretted saying that much, and added with a laugh in his throat, “You know, for… sparring purposes.”

You raised a brow. “Oh? You want to spar?”

“Desperately,” he said.

Tuk piped up innocently nearby, “Why is Neteyam making that weird face?”

Kiri choked on a snort. “Because his brain stopped working.”

The crowd rippled with tension as the drums began. Ronal and Tonowari stood beneath a woven archway of sacred coral, flanked by glowing torches and ocean banners snapping in the wind. The whole clan had gathered, warriors, elders, children. Some were singing soft songs of blessing. Others stood dead silent, watching every movement.

Tonowari raised his hands and called, “The Warrior’s Path begins.”

Ronal followed, voice ringing with power. “Five have stepped forward. Five seek the right to stand among the protectors of this reef. Chosen by Eywa. Watched by all.”

“Come,” Tonowari called, “and hear your fate.”

You stood in a line with the others, two young men and two women, all Metkayina-born and well-known. You were the outsider in the line, but no one dared look away. Tonowari stepped forward.

“The first day, The Trial of the Deep Silence.”

“Only those unafraid of the unknown can lead others through it.”

He began to pace slowly in front of the warriors, voice rising like the tide.

“At dawn, you will be taken far beyond our reef, into the stretch of ocean we call The Drowned Grave. A cursed trench, where currents pull like living hands, and predators lurk in the sand. No direction will be given. No aid. No weapons.”

“A sacred totem lies somewhere below, buried beneath the bones of warriors lost. You must find it and return with it before sunset.”

Ronal steps forward cold and calm, but she did not pace like Tonowari. Ronal had a different type of powerful energy surrounding her. “The totem is crystal red, like the shade of blood. It had a sharp point; you will know it when you find it. If you do you retrieve the totem for whatever reason that may be. You may return to the clan before sunset, or you will be disqualified.

There were quiet gasps in the crowd. Even Aonung’s jaw tightened. Kiri leaned slightly forward, eyes flicking toward Neteyam who hadn’t moved. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, his jaw set.

Lo’ak muttered from beside Kiri, “they are going easy on them huh?”

Tonowari continued. “The second day. The Trial of the Broken Crest.”

“Only those who carry pain and rise again may protect others.”

“You will begin beneath the Crimson Cliffs. You may bring a single spear, nothing more. The coral is sharp enough to tear skin. You must climb it, bleeding or not, while waves crash against you. And once you reach the top…”

He paused, eyes scanning the line of warriors.

“You will leap onto the Roc-Stone Beast.” The crowd stirred, several people gasped outright. Even the Metkayina warriors beside you stiffened. Tonowari’s voice dropped a note deeper.

“This creature does not obey. It is massive, territorial, and stronger than any tulkun. You must stay on it; make it carry you across the canyon waters. It will thrash. It will try to drown you. But if you survive… a warrior waits on the other side. He will mark your passage with fire.”

Tsireya clutched Aonung’s arm with wide eyes. Neteyam had gone quiet again, lips pressed thin. You couldn’t see the flicker of guilt in Jake’s expression, he knew what this meant. Kiri was whispering something soft to herself to Eywa.

Even the wind seemed to hesitate as Tonowari stepped forward again, his tall form shadowed by the moonlit glow of the reef. The ceremonial platform gleamed beneath him, coral light flickering like fire, casting halos around the warriors standing in line. He let the silence stretch.

No one moved. Not the clan. Not the Sullys. Even the sea creatures seemed to know what was coming. Tonowari’s voice dropped low, like it wasn’t meant to carry far, only deep.

“The third and final day,” he said, eyes sweeping over the gathered warriors, “will take you where breath cannot follow. To where fear is made flesh.” A ripple went through the crowd, soft but unmistakable.

“This is The Trial of the Spirit Veil.”

You felt something cold settle in your spine.

“Before the sun rises, you will be taken to the edge of the ancient reef. There, deep below, is a cavern hidden by glowing roots, a place that only opens once a year, when the sea lets it breathe.” Ronal stepped forward, her voice sharpened.

“It is alive. It shifts. It closes. No weapon, no light, no mask will help you. You will swim alone through different collapsing tunnels, breath held, blood quiet, guided only by the flicker of spirits.”

The other warriors were no longer stone-faced. One swallowed hard. Another shifted his feet. But Tonowari’s next words made the silence snap like a bone.

“At its heart waits a creature called Z’ul’koa.” (The Last Breath)

The name seemed to echo.

You didn’t recognize it, but everyone else did. It was written on their faces.

Aonung blinked like he’d just heard a ghost story he didn’t believe was real.

Kiri’s lips parted, a whisper of awe and dread.

Tsireya pressed a trembling hand to her chest.

Lo’ak muttered something that sounded very much like, “What the actual hell.”

Tonowari went on, voice harder now.

“Z’ul’koa is no spirit. It is no vision. It is a beast. Older than any song. Larger than any ilu. Born before our people and never tamed. It does not test you. It does not judge. It guards what is not meant to be taken.” He paused.

“Its skin is stone. Its fangs—poison. Its eyes… see into your soul. It senses panic. Smells fear. If you flinch, it will drown you. If you strike to kill, it will crush you. If you run, it will follow you until your lungs are empty.”

Then, softer, darker. “To pass, you must fight it. Not to destroy. But to endure. You must take from it what it guards: a glowing scale, embedded in its chest. And you must live long enough to return with it in your hands.”

He turned, slowly, back to the line of warriors. “Only three have done so. Not because they were chosen. Not because Eywa smiled on them. But because they refused to die.”

No one spoke. No one even moved. He looked straight at you. The reef was suddenly silent and the waves seemed to have retreated.

But behind you, Neteyam moved His hand found your arm first. Then your waist. Then both arms wrapped around you from behind like a lifeline, pulling you into his chest so hard you could feel the tremble in him. Not his body, his breath. His restraint.

You could hear it, that breath he tried to steady against your shoulder. He wasn’t hiding it anymore. He wasn’t calm. He wasn’t composed. He was terrified.

“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, voice rough and cracked just at the edges. His forehead pressed into the side of your head, and his fingers curled tightly against your hips. “You’ve already proven everything. To me. To all of them. You could walk away right now, and I would still be proud. We can go back, back to the cabin and stay there.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Not with the way he was holding you. Not with how fiercely he didn’t want to let go. You rest your hand on his and hold his arms that were on you, trying to comfort him even if it was for a split second.

But he breathed again. Shaky. Quiet. His arms didn’t loosen. He nuzzled into your temple and took a deep breath, then another, and another. He was having a very hard time keeping it together. You didn’t even realize when Tonowari dismissed the warriors since all of them still stood next to you, I’m bracing their families. You tugged his hand softly, “come,” you whisper softly. But he heard it.

Neteyam didn’t even hesitate. The moment you turned away from the crowd, he was already following, his grip firm like he was afraid to lose you if he let go. The others let you go, no one tried to stop you, because the weight of what had just been announced still hung heavy in the air. And everyone knew what he needed now wasn’t words. It was you.

The moon cast a soft blue glow on the empty beach, waves hissing against the shore like the breath of something alive and watching. You tugged Neteyam by the hand, weaving away from the crowd and the firelight, past the low hum of whispered prayers and worried glances. His hand was clammy in yours, fingers twitching every few steps. You didn’t let go.

Once the sea stretched wide and empty before you, and the voices were far behind, you stopped. The wind tugged lightly at your braids. The ocean waited. And so did he. But not for long.

Neteyam took two steps back, like he couldn’t stand still anymore, and then he broke. “I can’t do this.” The words were ripped out of him, raw and sharp. “I can’t just stand there while they send you off to— to that. Like it’s some kind of test. Like you’re supposed to come back whole from—that.”

His hands were clenched in fists now, shoulders heaving, like he was trying to trap the grief in his body, but it was too big.

“You heard them,” he said, stepping forward, eyes wide and wild and glassy. “The Drowned Grave. The venom in the water. The cliffs. The roc-stone beast that drowns people for fun. And Z’ul’koa—Eywa, that thing isn’t even a creature. It’s a curse. It only opens the cave once a year. You have to fight it, bare-handed, and not die. That’s the goal. ‘Don’t die.’”

His voice cracked. He turned away from you sharply, one hand lifting to the back of his neck as he tried to breathe through it, tried to hold it in.

“I watched you walk to that line tonight like you were already one of them. Painted, braided, glowing like starlight, like you belonged in that trial. And all I could think about was how beautiful you looked and how I can not lose you.” His shoulders jerked again.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered. And then he finally turned back to face you, and his face was broken open. His chest hitched. His jaw trembled. And this time, he did cry.

“I can’t,” he choked, stepping forward, and you barely had time to open your arms before he crashed into them, clinging to you like a drowning man.

He sobbed once, hard and quiet against your shoulder, and his knees buckled, like the weight of it all had finally crushed him and we both fell to the floor. His fingers curled tightly into your back, nails almost digging in.

“I don’t care how strong you are,” he whispered against your skin. “I don’t care how much faith I have in you. I just… I just want to keep you. I want to keep you safe, and I can’t. I can’t follow you where you’re going.”

You held his head against your neck, your own eyes stinging now, but you didn’t let yourself break. Not yet. Not while he needed you to be the stronger one.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know, Neteyam. But I’m coming back. I swear to you, I’m coming back.”

“You can’t promise that” he said again, shaking his head. “You can’t.”

“I can promise I’ll survive for you,” you said. “I’ll fight every second to come back to you. That’s all I need you to believe.” He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in both hands now, forehead pressed to yours, his tears slipping silently down his cheeks as he looked at you like you were already fading.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I should’ve said it more often.”

“You will,” you said, cutting him off. “You will get to say it again. Every night. For the rest of our lives. All I need you to do is trust me. I will come back every night and you’ll be waiting for me on the shore I know you will be.”

He kissed you then. Not with heat. Not with lust. Just a deep, desperate need to feel you alive and warm and here. His lips trembled. His hands did too. When he pulled away, his voice was smaller, hoarse.

“Just… come back to me.” You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I will.”

And you stood there a while longer, in the arms of the boy who would’ve traded the world to take your place, while the sea whispered your fate just a few hours away. “I guess you don’t want the one on one now?”

It was gentle. Light. The kind of joke only someone who loved him could make in a moment like this. Neteyam gave a broken, wet laugh against your neck. “Skxawng,” he murmured, breath shaky. He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes rimmed red and wide with fear and adoration. “Don’t do that. Don’t make me laugh when I’m trying to fall apart.”

“You already fell apart,” you whispered with a soft smile, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. “I just picked up the pieces.” He huffed another breath, still half-laughing, half-crying, pressing his forehead to yours. “I do still want that one-on-one. But only if you come back to me in one piece.” You leaned your forehead against his and whispered, “That’s the plan.”

The morning of the first trial came quicker than you expected. The family was up early as they normally are, Neytiri made breakfast before you had gotten ready. No more ceremonial beads or jewelry, now you were dressed in clothes for movement. You step out from behind the divider after securing the last knot. Jake and Neytiri sat side by side close to the entrance. Lo’ak sat in his hammock next to Tuk and Kiri stood by the divider in case you needed help. Neteyam had sat down since you woke up, his eyes were bloodshot but he wasn’t crying. Quietly I held his hand as we walked outside and everyone moved in step, forming a protective circle around us.

Tsireya and Aonung were already at the ship with their parents, but when they say is coming, they broke off and came to greet up. You smiled politely as they came by, Neteyam still hadn’t let go of your hand. After about a minute of small talk Tonowari announced the ship will be leaving soon and Neteyam immediately tightened his hold on your hands.

“Be careful, we will be waiting for your return. Remember the sea is a way of life, treat it as such, and it will give back in return.” Tsireya said as she gave you a small hug.

Aonung didn’t make an effort to move but he spoke, “don’t second guess yourself, you are more capable than you think.” You nodded at his respectfully and said thank you.

Lo’ak pushed your shoulder softly, “don’t forget what I taught you, be stealthy, don’t slash around it attracts stuff you don’t want to find you.” You laugh softly but nodded giving his hand a squeeze.

“We are counting on you to come back. Show them you are strong.” Kiri gave you a small squeeze in her arms.

“You’re coming back later we have to finish the game!” Tuk cheerfully said and you laughed nodding that you were coming back.

“May Ewya be with you child,” Neytiri hummed in her maternal voice. She hadn’t said it outright but you knew she felt something for you, acceptance.

Jake patted your shoulder and smirked, “give ‘em hell kid.” He smiled, “and stay vigilant.” You nodded and thanked him. Then came Neteyam’s turn.

Neteyam was quiet, head down, unsocial, “kalin it’s time for me to go” his hand squeezed mine as you spoke softly. “I know, I just—” a tear slipped from his eyes as his voice trembled.

“Just come back to me.” He whispered and gave you a tight hug, “I promise sweet boy” you kiss his neck softly before you pull away and kiss him. He tried to pull he back as you pulled away hearing the final call for the warriors, but you couldn’t. “I will see you at sunset.” You hold his face and plant another kiss on him before you let go and walk to the ship. You didn’t look back at them and neteyam was now standing between his parents, you felt like if you saw him you wouldn’t be able to leave but you had too.

The ship had vanished past the curve of the reef, carrying you toward the Drowned Grave and the first of the trials. Neteyam stood frozen on the sand, eyes locked on the horizon long after the vessel had disappeared. His breath came in shallow pulls, chest barely rising. He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. And then, like something inside him gave out and his legs faltered.

But Neytiri was already moving. She caught him before his knees hit the sand, her arms strong around his shoulders as he crumpled into her. Like she had known this would happen — had been waiting for it. She sank with him, pulling him into her lap, cradling him like when he was her little boy again and needed her more than breath. He didn’t hold back anymore.

A sob burst out of him, raw and jagged, and he buried his face in her shoulder as his body shook with the force of it. Neytiri held him tightly, her hand curled protectively at the back of his head, whispering in Na’vi through the grief.

Jake moved in, silent for a moment, then crouched beside them. He placed one steady hand on Neteyam’s back, his voice gravel low. “You love her the way I love your mother,” he said. “And that love? That’s the kind of thing that brings people home.”

“I shouldn’t have let this happen,” Neteyam gasped, “I should’ve have let them make her do this she—she didn’t need to—”

“You gave her your heart,” Neytiri whispered, rocking him slowly. “Now let her carry it.”

Kiri knelt across from him, her eyes wet. She pressed her forehead to his, quiet and sure. “She knows what she means to you. She feels it in every breath she takes. But if you fall apart now, how can she hold herself together out there?” Her fingers brushed his cheek gently. “Let her strength come from you.”

Tsireya hovered nearby but didn’t hesitate. She reached out, placing her hand softly on Neteyam’s trembling arm. “She’s not going to give up. Not when you’re waiting for her. She’ll survive this. Because she’s fighting for you.”

Neteyam tried to speak but failed and only nodded, his throat closed tight around another cry. The waves filled the silence, crashing softly against the shore like they mourned with him.

Tuk approached quietly, small hand reaching for his. She didn’t say anything. Just wrapped her fingers around his much larger ones and held on tightly, her touch innocent, grounding. His breath hitched again.

Lo’ak stood nearby, arms crossed tight, his jaw working. “She’s… she’s coming back,” he muttered. Not looking at anyone. “She’s not like anyone else.” It sounded more like a promise to himself than to Neteyam.

Aonung, unusually quiet, stepped closer. He hesitated, then laid a firm hand on Neteyam’s back. “She’s got the bite of a wave beast,” he said gruffly. “She’ll rip through whatever they throw at her.”

The boat lurches to a stop. The quiet rush of waves gives way to the deep, rolling hush of open ocean. No one speaks. No words are needed. This is the place. Before you lie The Drowned Grave, a cursed stretch of reef where ancient coral towers twist like petrified serpents, and the ocean floor vanishes beneath layers of shattered stone, bone, and debris. No maps. No markers. No guidance. The only thing you know is that somewhere beneath it all lies a lost red totem, and only those who return with it before sundown are worthy. At least in the first day of the trials

You stand with the other warriors on the deck. All of you stripped of anything ceremonial wearing only thin, easy garments for speed and movement. The sky is heavy with cloud. The wind tastes of salt and metal. And one by one, you dive. The water swallows you whole.

You sink fast, surrounded by a maze of coral and wreckage, bones tangled in seaweed, driftwood wedged in impossible places. The temperature drops the deeper you go. Visibility shrinks. The silence is absolute.

Around you, the other warriors split off, some veering to the east ridge, others toward the trench line. You push west, toward a canyon of dead reef marked by jagged spires and purple fan corals that wave like warning flags.

You break the surface and descend into darkness and color. It’s cold. Not freezing, but enough to shock your lungs. The first thing you notice is how dark it is—like the world forgot the sun above ever existed. But then the glow begins. Not from the sky, but from below.

All around you, the ancient reef is alive with bioluminescence. Veins of soft green and purple run through coral like breath pulsing in stone. Tiny specks of blue and silver drift through the water like falling stars. As you swim deeper, massive bone structures and rotted shipwrecks begin to appear, each glowing faintly where the reef has claimed them.

Coral spires rise like the ribs of some long-dead leviathan. Barnacle-covered statues rest half-buried in silt. Schools of silverback fish dart between hollowed eyes of stone warriors, while thick kelp walls sway in slow rhythm, parting only when pushed. Everywhere you look, there’s something ancient, broken, watching.

You spread out without a word. Each warrior takes a path through the underwater maze, weaving past the glowing bones and rusted wrecks. The reef shifts. At first, it’s subtle, a slow creak, a vibration in the stone. But then the seabed moves like it’s breathing. Entire walls of coral slouch sideways. Tunnels you just passed now lead nowhere. What was once a clear path becoming a sealed tomb. The graveyard is alive. Shifting. Rearranging.

You push forward, lungs beginning to tighten. Twice, you’re forced to double back and swim toward the surface, breaking through with gasping breath before diving again. You find small air pockets in shipwreck hollows—just enough for a few precious seconds before diving again. You keep the image of the totem in your head: a red crystal, sharp like a fang.

You search for what feels like hours. Indeed, hours had pasted. Eclipses had come and gone now in the second half of the day. You felt like every time you made some progress the reef shifts and you’d have to start over.

Then, while sliding your hand along a broken arch, a shard of coral slices your palm. The pain is sharp, fast. You jerk back and watch a thin stream of blood bloom like ink in the water. It floats upward. You freeze. Suddenly, everything goes still. You feel it before you see it, a pressure change, like the ocean holds its breath.

Small glowing fish vanish into the reef. A long white eel buries itself in the sand. The Murk Shrimp you passed earlier retracts into a bone crevice, its shell rattling like dry leaves. Then, from beneath a ridge of bone, something moves. At first, it’s just a blur. Then you see the full shape emerge.

A Reef Maw.

Its body is massive, twenty feet at least, with thick, armor-plated scales that shimmer dully under the bioluminescence. Its long, jagged fins slice the water as it glides silently. Its face is long and narrow, with a mouth that opens vertically into a horrific spiral of teeth. And its eyes—cloudy and dead, somehow still find you. You don’t breathe. You don’t move. The blood. It turns. It charges.

You twist around and push off a column, kicking hard. The creature lunges past you, snapping its maw where you’d just been. You dodge through a sunken shrine, ducking beneath the collapsed roof as the Reef Maw crashes behind you. A long fin slams into your back, and you tumble, scraping your leg against coral.

You swim fast, pain biting at your muscles. There, a narrow crevice. You slip inside as the Maw slams into the reef behind you, too large to follow. It snarls deep, gurgling and spins off, circling. You stay inside, panting against the narrow stone, chest heaving. Blood from your hand still trails behind you. It’s not much, but enough to haunt you here.

You dive deeper into the moving grave, the glow of the reef painting your path. Just as the reef shifts again beneath your hands, you spot it. A red crystal, wedged beneath a skeletal hand resting on a broken altar, glowing faintly in the shifting light. You hesitate. You glance back. The Reef Maw is out there. And this place is still moving. But you’re close.

‘Fuck it’ you dart your eyes around before pulling yourself forward as fast you can on corals and weeds, even bones hanging around the area. You reach toward the totem, fingers brushing its sharp, red tip where it juts from beneath a coral-entombed skeleton.

But the water goes vibrates even silent. The silence deepens like it’s closing in around you. A shadow falls across the glowing altar. Your chest tightens. You don’t have to look, you already know. You twist your body just in time to see the Reef Maw coming around the corner, its jagged fins cutting through the water like blades, its mouth already beginning to open in that terrifying spiral. It doesn’t roar. It doesn’t scream. It moves like death, silent, focused, and endless.

You jolt backward, hand slipping off the totem. You kick hard, pushing off the skeleton’s ribcage and darting into the reef again. The Maw slams into the altar behind you, pulverizing the stone in a cloud of bone dust and coral shards. The totem was gone. Buried now.

You weave through collapsing tunnels of glowing bones and swaying kelp, every second a blind dash to not get cornered. The graveyard begins to shift again—the reef groans like something waking up beneath your feet. Whole sections rotate, a corridor you just swam through twists, becomes a wall. You double back. The Maw follows, tireless.

Your lungs begin to burn. You spot a break in the ceiling, a shaft of faint light above. You swim straight up—arms straining, chest about to burst and explode out of the water with a sharp gasp. You float there, panting, blinking hard against the sudden daylight.

But something’s wrong. The sun. It’s moved. Your heart drops. You stare at the sky, throat going dry. The sun is past its highest point, shadows stretching long over the sea. You’d been down there longer than you realized. You only have a few hours left. And you have nothing to show for it.

You feel it now: the pressure. The clock ticking loud in your chest. But you can’t give in. You dive again, water rushing past your ears. The reef is even darker now, lit only by the eerie veins of bioluminescence and the red haze of your own urgency. You retrace your path, no sign of the totem. Just dust. Bones. Rubble. You dig with bare hands, coral scraping your knuckles. You shove aside a collapsed skull. Nothing. Time is slipping like water through your fingers.

You push deeper; into a crevice you hadn’t searched before. The Reef Maw could still be down here, waiting. Every shadow twitches. Every sound makes your heart spike. Then, there it is. Half-buried beneath an overturned spear. The totem. Glowing red motherfucking crystal. Tip sharp as a dagger. You don’t hesitate.

You lunge, snatching it from the stone. A burst of adrenaline rips through you as you grip it tight. But you’re not safe yet. You twist around and launch yourself toward the surface, kicking harder than you ever have. You zigzag through glowing arches, pushing off twisted bones. Your legs ache. Your lungs scream.

Then, light. You burst from the water again with a triumphant gasp, the totem clutched tight in your fist. But you’re far from shore. Alone. And you have no mount. You tread water, heart hammering, salt stinging your cuts. Swimming as far as you could as fast as you could without dropping the totem, you felt like the ocean was just not on your side, not even a rock you could rest on for a minute in sight. Not to mention the sun was setting quicker than you thought it would.

And then, a shape glides beneath you. Sleek. Familiar. An ilu. It circles once, then draws close. Curious, intelligent eyes meet yours. You reach for it. It lets you. Your queue wraps around the tendrils behind its skull, the tsaheylu snapping into place with a jolt of shared breath. Your pulse slows. You’re not alone now. You hold the totem in one hand and grip the ilu’s fin with the other. Time to go home.

Neytiri had gotten neteyam to sleep for most of the day after his breakdown in the early morning, her poor baby was exhausted and worried. All day the Sullys and Tsireya and Aonung stayed around him, even as he slept they made sure he was okay. Lucky for them and for him, he had slept through most of the day and woke up a couple hours before sunset.

Now here he was, in the sand, pacing again. Lo’ak, Tsireya and Kiri had been constantly shutting down his ‘what ifs’ telling him that you were going to come back. That you were apart of him and you would do anything in your power to return to him. And that was the true. Even his mother stepped forward and hugged him gently, “she will return ma itan.”

A voice rang out over the beach: “There! Something’s coming!” Dozens of heads whipped toward the reef, eyes squinting against the glare. A shape was moving through the glowing water, slow and distant, just now emerging past the coral line. A figure, barely more than a silhouette, cutting through the sea. Silence fell. The entire clan froze.

The sun had nearly vanished beyond the horizon, casting long shadows across the water, painting everything in deep golds and violet blues. The faint pulses of bioluminescent life sparked beneath each ripple, but still, no one could see clearly who it was.

Neteyam’s voice broke through the tension, hoarse and raw. “Please…” he whispered, to Eywa or fate or no one at all. “Please let it be her.” When your face broke the last wave, his heart nearly stopped. You were soaked, your hair a tangled mess of braids, chest heaving with exhaustion, but it was you. And you were alive.

Neteyam didn’t think, he didn’t wait, he sprinted as fast as he could to get to you. He didn’t even pay attention to his siblings behind him running after him as well. Jake, not forcefully, but softly caught Neteyam and stopped him when you walk up standing in front of Ronal and Tonowari. You hand raised and open showing the the totem securely held, after centuries of searching, they have gotten back the secret totem.

Ronal was stunned, mouth opened in shock as she saw what you held. And Tonowari was impressed, surprised. He wasn’t expecting a winner in this first round, he took the totem from your hand and spoke. “The totem has been found. She had returned from the Drowned Grave. I present the winner of the first round.” Tonowari’s voice boomed over the clan. Gasps turned into cheers as they celebrated around you for what you have brought back.

Neteyam passed his father and picked you up in his arms tightly as if you weighed nothing, spinning you in a circle thanking the great mother from bringing you back to him unharmed and safe. Everyone wanted to know what happened in full detailed so over dinner you told them the whole story. Neteyam wasn’t too pleased you almost died a couple times and he helped you wrap the wound but he was overall happy you were back. Sleep found you easily as you knew you’d have the rise again the next day for the next challenge.

The next morning you gotten up early just like the day before and ate breakfast, gotten dressed and said goodbye to the family. Again, they walked you too the ship boarding and said their good lucks and to be careful. Neteyam still a sweetheart, again didn’t want you to go but he was more composed this time, so you coddled him, told him how sweet he was being and how much you loved him, giving him a sweet kiss with promises of return from your new trial. Of course he was scared but he knew you had to do this, he knew you could.

The moment your feet left the boat and slipped into the sea; the tone of this trial struck you like a cold slap. The water was nothing like the first day.

Where the graveyard had been eerily quiet, secretive in its depth, here the sea was alive, angry, almost. The currents yanked at your legs like ropes tied to something deep and furious below, dragging and twisting your body in all directions. Every movement was a fight to stay upright and on course, your limbs working against the water like trying to wade through a violent storm.

Waves crashed around you, tall, muscular walls of sea rising up like buildings ready to collapse. Each swell surged like a freight train, heavy and loud, slamming into your chest and shoulders with the force of something trying to push you back, to break your balance. Mist flew off the peaks, stinging your face, soaking your hair and burning your eyes with salt. Every breath had to be timed or choked on. Not to mention it made threading water much more difficult since you were hundreds of feet above the ocean floor.

The cliff. Not a slope, not a hill, but jagged, nearly vertical wall of reef-forged stone and razor-backed coral that rose endlessly from the water, like the ocean had tried to spit it out but it refused to fall.

It was red in places, not from color, but from blood coral, dead and hardened, like it had bled from ancient wounds. Other parts were dark and blistered from old ceremonial burns, the rock twisted and angry-looking. Algae clung to the base in long, green ropes, more like tendrils than moss. It looked slick and dangerous, like it would peel off the skin of your fingers for daring to grab it.

Above that, the real punishment began. The cliff face was shredded, uneven, brutal, and narrow. Coral spines jutted out like knives. Broken ledges offered just enough room for a foot or handhold before biting back. There were spots where others had already slipped, faded handprints in blood smeared across the stone in a trail that vanished higher up.

Even the air here turned hostile. Wind screamed down from the ridge, cutting through your wet clothes, tugging at your balance before you even climbed. It wasn’t a climb. It was a punishment, and the cliff wore its name like a threat: The Broken Crest.

The cliff loomed high above you, not just tall but mean. A serrated wall of pale coral limestone, slick with spray and worn sharp by decades of crashing sea and sun. It rose like a jagged spine out of the churning ocean, its surface pitted with small pockets and knifelike ridges, offering just enough for fingers to cling to, but always at a price. You weren’t alone.

Four warriors hit the cliff together; all tossed toward it by the surge of waves from the boat that had already vanished into the horizon. No words were spoken between you, just glances, gritted jaws, and the hard gasps of breath as each of you began your ascent. It was a scramble at first, everyone trying to claim space, find a path, avoid being shoved off or boxed in by another climber. The rock didn’t care. It punished everyone equally.

Your fingertips burned as they found rough holds — coral spines digging under nails, stone edges slicing into flesh. You hauled yourself up, pressed close against the cliff as a sudden gust nearly peeled you from it. Your shoulder brushed another warrior’s arm — he grunted, blood dripping from his jaw as he pulled himself up and away, refusing to give you even a second’s glance. The higher you climbed, the worse it got.

Salt wind screamed against the cliff, blasting from the side like it wanted to rip the flesh from your bones. The waves below had softened, but the memory of their force stayed in your muscles, still trembling from the effort it took just to reach the base.

Another warrior above you slipped. Her foot kicked out, spraying loose stone — she caught herself, barely, her knuckles white on the edge of a pocketed ledge. You flinched as debris sliced across your cheek, then kept climbing. You couldn’t afford to stop.

The reef rock changed texture as you went. Smoother in places, deceptively so. Your hand slipped once, caught nothing but wet algae-slicked stone, and for a sickening second your body hung in the air. Then your fingers slammed down on another hold, and you dragged yourself up before gravity had a chance to think. Above, the wind was howling through an open crest, not singing, but screaming, a raw and feral sound. That’s where you were headed. You reached the burn shelf next.

A wide swath of blackened coral, fire-scarred from past rituals, cracked and brittle from heat and wind erosion. It flaked under your palms, gave too easily under your weight. Everyone slowed here. One false grip and it could shear away, taking you with it. One warrior beside you reached for a hollowed groove, and it crumbled. He slid down two full lengths before slamming against a sharper outcrop, groaning in pain. You didn’t check if he kept going. You were bleeding now. Elbows, knees, palms. The climb asked for everything and gave nothing in return.

Your breath burned in your chest. Your arms trembled. You could hear the others, some above, some below. One was grunting with every move. Another was absolutely silent, too silent. You didn’t know who was leading anymore. You just knew you weren’t giving up. The final stretch was a vertical gauntlet.

The cliff narrowed into a jagged ridge, forcing you to climb almost straight up, hands and feet pressed to raw coral barely wide enough to balance on. The sun beat against the stone, blistering hot, making the blood on your arms tacky as it dried and pulled your skin. You couldn’t look down. There was no down. The moment your fingers reached the top ridge; your arm gave a tremor you didn’t expect. But you pulled, hard, kicked with both feet, and lunged over the crest like breaking the surface. You collapsed onto the hot rock, chest rising and falling, surrounded by other warriors, some already there, others still clawing their way up. No one spoke. No one had to. The climb was done. But you all knew it wasn’t over.

You pass beneath the first low-hanging branch, and the forest seems to shift around you, like something waiting, holding its breath. The deeper you go, the more unnatural it feels. The trees here are swollen and gnarled, warped by the salt and sea, their roots thick with coral crust and sharp shells. The canopy above closes tight, sealing the forest in a heavy, humid gloom. Strange spores float in the air, faintly glowing, drifting in the stillness like dust caught in water. It smells of decay and seawater. Old blood.

You step carefully, your ears tuned for movement, but it’s not just quiet. It’s dead. No birds. No insects. Only your breath and the soft crunch of coral beneath your feet. You’re alone. The other warriors have disappeared into different corners of the forest behind you, silhouettes swallowed by mist and shadow. You haven’t seen one in ages. The light fades. The ground slopes downward, soft and wet with moss and broken bone, half-digested carcasses littered here and there, some stripped to white, others still bearing shredded sinew.

And then the ground beneath you shifts. Just slightly, like something massive rolled beneath the surface. You freeze, heartbeat pounding in your ears. A low sound slithers through the trees. A guttural hiss, deep and wet, the kind of noise that doesn’t belong to anything natural. Something ancient. You crouch low, eyes scanning. And slowly, impossibly slow, it moves into view.

Massive. Covered in jagged, barnacle-studded armor and coral plating like it’s risen from the reef itself. Six limbs, four for crawling, two tucked close to its sides, ready to strike. Its hide is mottled gray-blue, slick and wet like kelp-drenched stone. Muscles ripple beneath its plating with every step. Its head turns toward you, long, narrow, and wrong, with no visible eyes at first. Just ridges and slits, until something glows. A faint bioluminescent shimmer from beneath the coral crown at its brow. Then it sniffs. The sound is wet. Curious. You don’t move.

Its jaw splits slightly, not to roar, but to taste the air, letting out a breath that reeks of salt, rot, and ancient sea-death. And then, it slips back into the trees again without a sound. Gone. Circling. Stalking. You can’t see it anymore, but it sees you.

It had been nearly two hours of silent tracking, two hours of weaving through the thick, bone-laced underbrush, your breath shallow, your nerves strung tight as wire. The forest had become a maze, overgrown with twisted roots and tide-slick stone. Every sound seemed to echo too far, or not at all. But you kept going. You remembered what Lo’ak had taught you in the months of sparring and survival drills: how to read a crushed fern, a bent stalk, the ragged smear of moss torn by a dragging claw. How to feel when the forest was no longer just forest, when it was watching. You moved in slow, deliberate steps, trailing behind the faint signs: a broken tree limb smeared with salt-damp mucus, deep claw marks gouged into a coral-crusted trunk, a warm patch of ground still damp with body heat. It was close again.

Then—movement. A massive coral frond snapped, not ten feet ahead. You ducked behind a tangle of roots, steadying your breath. Through the pale glow of drifting spores, you saw it step out again. That monstrous, living reef of a creature. Its six legs moved with a grace no creature of that size should have, terrifying, silent, hungry. This time, you didn’t freeze. You circled it low and wide, watching for a pattern. The beast had a perimeter, a territory. But now… now it was near the cliff’s edge. Your heart pounded. This was your only shot.

You broke cover and let out a short, sharp whistle through your teeth, just loud enough to get its attention. Its head snapped in your direction, glowing crests along its jaw flickering. It charged, stone-splitting limbs slamming into the ground as it closed the distance like a living avalanche. You didn’t run. You moved. Darting back toward the cliff’s edge, leaping over stone and bone and sea-warped roots, letting it chase you, angling just right. It didn’t hesitate. As you reached the edge, it launched itself after you with a thunderous roar, not knowing or not caring that there was no more ground beneath it.

You twisted mid-air, grabbing hold of the thick, barnacle-clad plating along its side as it soared past you. Then the two of you fell, crashing through the misty air in a storm of salt and shadow. The wind was torn from your lungs. Then—impact. The sea swallowed you both. Foam and fury erupted around you as the beast hit the surface, its massive limbs immediately churning into motion. The water was chaos, waves like rolling walls, the sea-chasm ahead a howling throat between jagged cliffs. The beast bellowed beneath you, and for a second you thought it would dive deep and leave you behind. But it didn’t.

You held tight, your body pressed to its armored back, your hands finding grip between plates slick with slime and tide-wear. It surged forward, a living battering ram against the rough canyon surf. Waves slammed into you both, one after another, slicing your skin with spray and grit, pulling at your arms, threatening to rip you loose. You stick the spears you had in the outer shell to secure yourself in the back of the creature and you held on.

Salt stung your eyes. Blood from shallow cuts on your knuckles dripped into the foam. Every second was a battle to stay astride, to keep breathing through the chaos. And ahead — finally — you saw the stone outcropping on the other side of the canyon. A lone warrior stood there, holding a charred, blackened emblem, the mark of challenge. The beast roared, responding to the presence of another, and you took your chance.

You leapt. Your feet hit slick stone, barely holding as you stumbled forward and reached out — snatching the burned symbol from the warrior’s hand just as another wave smashed the cliffside behind you. You had done it.

The warrior stood just ahead, perched beneath the sparse shadows of the coastal trees, his chest rising with steady breaths. He was older than you, tall and broad-shouldered, scarred from past trials, skin etched with faded stripes of soot and ritual ink. Their expression was unreadable, sharp eyes scanning you as the roar of the ocean swelled behind. In his hand, the scorched emblem, obsidian-black, shaped like a broken crest, still warm to the touch. You stepped forward, soaked to the bone, your grip trembling slightly as you reached for it. The warrior studied you for a moment, then extended the stone.

His voice low and gravelly. “And did not fall.” You took the emblem from his hand. It was heavier than you expected. “I almost got eaten,” you replied, breathless. A flicker of respect crossed their face. No smile, no celebration, just a short nod, like an acknowledgment between survivors. “Go,” they said, stepping aside. “Before the waves turn again.”

You didn’t know how long you’d been walking. Salt stung the cuts along your legs, throbbed in your palms where the cliff face had bit into you. The burned crest was secured across your chest, tied down with woven strips from your satchel. No ilu. No path home. Just the whisper of wind and sea and the slow, creeping fear that there would be no easy way back.

At the edge of the rock shelf, a narrow cove curled inwards, tangled with seaweed, littered with driftwood, abandoned shells, and frayed vines that had climbed in from the treeline. A small graveyard of the ocean’s forgotten offerings. It wasn’t much. But it would do. You reached for the spear strapped to your back. You wouldn’t need the whole thing. Not anymore. With a firm grip, you snapped the tip free. It cracked with effort, leaving you with a jagged blade, enough to strip bark, slice vine, carve holes. A knife born of necessity.

The raft came together slowly. Driftwood lashed together, secured with knots carved into the vine cords. Not stable. Not safe. But it would float. You shoved it into the tide with a grunt, sweat and sea spray clinging to your skin. Then you climbed on — body aching from the cliff, the search, the ride. And you began to paddle. For hours, you moved across the open sea. Each pull of the wood into water sent ripples back into the dark. The sun bled out slowly behind you, sinking into the waves like the end of a torch. The sky turned deep gold, then indigo. Then black. Still, you paddled. The wind tugged at your limbs. Muscles spasmed. Fingers cramped. But you didn’t stop. Not until, finally, you saw it, the faint, glimmering reef. Home.

You exhaled shakily and dropped onto your back, the night sky vast above you. Stars blinked into place, scattered like the stories of Eywa herself. You stared up, silent, as the water carried you forward in gentle pulses. The raft creaked. Your body trembled. But for the first time all day… you let yourself feel it.

On the reef’s edge, where the waves broke soft against the shallows, the Metkayina had gathered again. Just like the night before before, the clan had perched quietly in the sand and on the rocks, watching the ocean with wide eyes and held breath. Only five warriors had been sent to the trial. But now, it was nearing full dark, and none had yet returned. Then… a voice cried out. A boy near the edge of the shore, small and sharp-eyed. “Look!” Heads turned instantly. Shapes shifted. Tsireya gasped, clutching her brother’s arm. Aonung’s brows furrowed, squinting into the gloom. It wasn’t a swimmer or an ilu. It was…A raft. Kiri stood first, her hand rising to shield her gaze. “Is that—?”

As the raft drifted silently onto the shore, the wood scraping against sand and rock, all sound seemed to vanish from the world around you—save for the gentle lapping of waves and the rustling hush of a thousand watching breaths. You lay still; eyes turned to the dusky sky above. The last of twilight cast everything in a violet-gold hue. Your body ached down to the bone. Arms trembling knuckles raw. Salt stung the cuts that crisscrossed your arms, your thighs, your ribs. The blood had long dried, turned rust-brown and black along your skin. But from a distance to the people watching, you looked drenched in it—bathed in crimson, barely alive.

A voice cracked through the stillness. “Eywa…” Neteyam’s voice. He broke from the crowd like a dam snapping under pressure, sprinting into the shallows. Water splashed up to his knees as he dropped to them beside you. His hands hovered above your body, unsure where to touch you, terrified to cause more pain. Your lips parted to say something, anything, but all that came out was a weak, cracked breath. Neteyam’s face crumpled. His hands cupped your face so delicately, his thumbs brushed through grime and dried blood that streaked across your cheeks and chin. “You’re okay… you’re okay…” he whispered, but his voice trembled, and his eyes glossed. He bit down on his lip hard, chest heaving like he was holding in a scream. You whined softly when he moved you, and that shattered the last bit of his composure.

Still, his arms wrapped under your back and beneath your knees. He lifted you, careful, gentle—like you were made of wet paper. You whimpered quietly in his hold, your head falling against his chest, too weak to keep upright. Tsireya was just behind him now, her hand over her mouth. Her eyes glistened, wide and glassy. “Great Mother…” she breathed. Her voice cracked, and though no tears fell, the water in her eyes made them shimmer. She stepped forward to brush your hair gently behind your ear. “You look—” She swallowed. “You look like you walked through a war.”

Behind her, the rest of the Sully family stood frozen. Neytiri held Tuk tightly against her side, though the little girl had slipped one hand free and now clutched the hem of Neteyam’s loincloth as she stared up at you, wide-eyed and quiet. Jake’s jaw was clenched tight. Kiri’s hand was at her chest, lips parted like she was whispering something under her breath—prayers, maybe. Lo’ak stood beside her, mouth tight, gaze locked on you with a stunned, worried sort of stillness.

Then the crowd began to part. Tonowari and Ronal stepped forward. Neteyam instinctively turned slightly, shielding you more against his chest, but you touched his arm weakly. He paused. You reached down with fingers shaking from exhaustion and pulled the blackened coral stone from your satchel. No one had asked. But they were waiting. Tonowari extended his hand, and you placed the totem into his palm. He looked down at it, silent for a breath. Then he turned, lifted the stone high, and declared with powerful certainty:

“She has conquered the Broken Crest. Winner of the second round” The silence broke into thunder. The clan erupted. Shouts and cheers filled the air. Warriors beat their chests. Children cried out in awe. A second impossible trial completed, two in two days. And you still stood or were held. Neteyam still hadn’t let go. You looked up at him through heavy lids, and he stared down at you like he was still trying to convince himself you were real. His eyes brimmed again, the shine of almost-tears clinging stubbornly to the edges. His brow was furrowed tight as he pressed his forehead gently to yours. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, breath shaking. “I’ve got you.”

The marui was soft with candlelight and shadow, the woven walls barely rustling in the night breeze off the sea. You were tucked gently in the center of it all, surrounded, wrapped in warmth, hands, voices that all tried to ground you after everything the day had taken. Neteyam hadn’t let go of you once since he lifted you off that raft. You sat half-curled in his lap; a blanket draped around your shoulders but your blood-streaked skin still visible beneath it. Most of it had dried by now, and the real wounds, the deep scrapes and dark bruises, were being seen to. Neytiri worked in steady silence, rubbing salve into your arms and shoulders, brushing her fingers over each injury with care. Her touch was firm but motherly, like it hurt her more than you. Jake sat silently making something soft for you to eat. Kiri was at your side, gently lifting your hair to clean the wound at your temple. “You’re lucky,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “That canyon water should’ve shattered your ribs…” Lo’ak sat cross-legged near your feet, arms propped on his knees. His eyes hadn’t left you since you came in. “So… you gonna tell us how you rode a sea demon like it was a prize skimwing?” he asked, half-teasing, though his voice cracked a little at the end.

Neteyam shifted behind you, his hand cupped around your ribs like he was still protecting you from a fall. You could feel the way his breath changed when Lo’ak spoke, tense, listening. You exhaled slowly, your voice hoarse. “It wasn’t a prize. It wanted to eat me. I had to bait it into jumping off the cliff and swam across. Some of the scariest shit I’ve done in my whole life.” Tsireya let out a soft laugh through a sniffle. She’d cried when she saw you come in, your skin slick with blood, body shaking, barely standing upright. Now, she knelt beside Kiri, handing her a new cloth, her eyes still glassy. “We saw you in the distance,” she whispered. “Floating in the dark. Like a ghost.”

Neteyam’s arms tightened around you at that, as if he thought you still might disappear. His mouth brushed your hairline, and he said quietly, “I want to know everything. Start to finish.” You hesitated. But then you told them. The freezing water that slammed you into the reef like a ragdoll. The climb that felt more like a fight for your life. The clawed trees at the top that tore at your arms. The hours spent tracking the beast alone in the jungle, the way it finally turned on you, and how the only way out was down, a cliffside leap into sea foam. “The water was so rough and I kinda had to jump but land on top of that thing, it was basically a mutated dinosaur.”

They all listened in stillness. Lo’ak leaned in slowly, his expression changing from teasing to something heavier. Kiri gripped your hand. Tsireya covered her mouth with trembling fingers. Neytiri’s eyes never left your face, her hands working slower, more tenderly now. And Neteyam… he was silent, jaw clenched, his hand pressed flat over your sternum, feeling each breath as if it were proof, you were still alive. You finished, voice faint. “Then I broke the spear tip and paddled home. Took a few hours. Didn’t think I’d make it before night.”

There was silence for a beat, and then Lo’ak whispered, “Bro… she’s nuts.” A half-laugh slipped from you, weak but real. “That’s your takeaway?” He grinned through a tight throat. “Hell yeah, it is.” Neteyam finally leaned forward, gently guiding a cup to your lips. “Drink. Please,” he murmured, voice thick. You obeyed, swallowing the warm tea, your eyes on the entire time. When you were done, he set the cup down and cradled your face in both hands. Sleep found you easily that night, you had one more day to get through then you’d be able to rest peacefully with Neteyam, and you wanted nothing more than to build a life with him.

The next morning you rose early, the sun was a few minutes from starting to rise, the world was quiet, but everyone was awake, Tuk and Kiri helped lay out something for you to change into while Jake and Neytiri cooked and Lo’ak sharpened your knife. Neteyam sat quietly close to the door his body trembling from the day that awaits you.

The ache in your limbs was deep, bone-sunk, but you were used to that now. It was the nausea that twisted you this time, fierce and sudden, clawing at your insides the moment you sat up. The hut swayed slightly in your vision. You had to brace yourself on your palms to keep from tipping forward. Shallow breaths. You blinked hard, your brows furrowed in the dim light, hoping it would pass quickly like all the other mornings it had appeared. But it didn’t. You didn’t realize anyone was watching until you felt eyes on you.

Neteyam was already dressed, arms looped around his knees. He’d been awake long enough to see it, your slightly hunched posture, the way you pressed a fist to your stomach, the almost silent breaths you were forcing in through your nose. “What’s wrong?” he asked, standing up so fast he knocked over a bowl beside him.

The others looked up. Neytiri paused halfway through tightening her daughter Tuk’s sash. Jake furrowed his brow. Lo’ak sat straighter. Even Tsireya and Aonung, lingering just outside the hut, glanced in. You tried to wave it off, already reaching for your ceremonial wrap. “It’s nothing. Just… just nerves.” Neteyam was in front of you in seconds. “No,” he said, eyes sharp now, hands ghosting over your arms but not yet touching. “That wasn’t nerves. That looked like pain.”

“It’s fine,” you said again, but your voice was tight. You winced slightly as you straightened up and rolled your shoulders, hoping motion would make the tension fade. “It’s not,” he snapped, softer than a shout but harder than usual. “You’re pale. You can barely stand up. You shouldn’t be doing this today.”

Jake stepped in then, calm but firm. “Neteyam.” “No,” Neteyam said again, eyes still locked on yours. “You saw her.”

“I’m okay,” you said again, quieter this time. But even you weren’t convinced. Neytiri rose and approached. “We will help you get ready,” she said softly, reaching for your hair. “We will keep you grounded.” You nodded, not trusting your voice. As she tied your braids back into a tight, high ponytail, her hands were gentle, but there was tension in her touch. You could feel it. Her silence was loaded. Lo’ak hovered behind Neteyam, glancing between you and Jake. “Maybe you should talk to Tsahìk,” he suggested. “Just… make sure.”

Jake gave a single, sharp nod. “Go now. We’ve got time.” I look up from where I sat in front of neytiri and I nodded, “alright.”

“I’m going with you.” Neteyam immediately said. His words sent a shift up your spine you didn’t want, you couldn’t let him go because even if you mad every excuse for what you though the nausea you had meant, you could risk being wrong. Not in front of neteyam because you knew if he he heard those specific words he’d never let you finish the trial and it was the only way you get to stay with him.

“Baby it’s okay I’ll be ri—” you start but he cut you off quickly, “no, no I will go, come” he held your hand to walk with you and you softly stopped him, “kalin, I have a lot to prepare before I leave today, I’d appreciate if you focused you efforts there instead?” You ask softly. But neteyam wasn’t having it. He thought for a second but didn’t want to let you go alone. He was about to speak when his mother caught his attention. “Nete, come I need your help here with something for her to carry on the trial.”

His mother held up and small pouch and he looked at it. While neteyam was insisting he didn’t see the pleading look your casted to his mother, it was your silent way of saying to keep him here. Neteyam kissed your forever and nodded taking the pouch from his mother after he told you to come back quickly.

Neteyam stood rooted where you left him, eyes locked on the space you’d vanished into, jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked. The way your shoulders had rounded forward, the way you’d winced when bending to tie the strap on your satchel, none of it sat right with him.

“She’s hiding something,” he said aloud. His voice cut through the quiet preparation inside the marui pod. Everyone looked up. Neytiri’s hands paused over the bone-woven wraps she’d packed for your trial. Lo’ak slowly lowered the weapon he’d been checking. Even Tuk turned toward him, frowning. Jake stood up straighter. “Neteyam—” but Neteyam interrupted him. “She’s in pain,” not bothering to mask the edge in his voice. “You saw her. Something’s wrong.” His mother reminded him gently. “She told you to let her go,”

“And why would she do that unless she didn’t want me to know what it is?” He started to move after you, quick steps across the marui’s floor, but Jake caught his shoulder with a firm hand. “You can’t go barging into the healing tent before her trial, boy,” Jake warned. “She doesn’t need space,” Neteyam argued, eyes storm-dark with worry. “She needs someone who gives a damn enough to see what she’s trying to hide.”

“Neteyam,” Neytiri said again, but he was already shaking his head. “I’m going.” He tried to step forward, but Jake’s grip held. Then Kiri stood, slinging her satchel over her shoulder. “I’ll go.” Tsireya stepped beside her in seconds. “So will I.”

Neteyam turned to them, eyes flickering. “Find out what’s wrong.” Kiri promised. “We will,”, already moving for the path. “Stay here.” Jake looked to Neytiri, then back at the two girls—but didn’t stop them. Neteyam didn’t watch them go. He turned his face away, fists clenched. The second they disappeared into the trees, he sank into a crouch beside the firepit, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Tuk quietly walked over and sat beside him. She didn’t say anything. She just leaned her small frame against his arm, and after a moment, Neteyam leaned back.

Ronal was already there, bent over a stone basin filled with steaming water, her hands moving in careful, practiced rhythms. She didn’t look up at first, as though she already knew it was you. “You are not here for salve,” she said simply, voice low and steady. You paused, hand instinctively pressing against your stomach again. It wasn’t the first time you’d done that, months now, small moments where the nausea came and went, where food made your stomach turn, and exhaustion dragged at your bones even after long rest. But this morning, it had felt like the earth itself tilted beneath you.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you said, your voice more fragile than you meant it to be. Ronal finally turned to face you, her piercing gaze sweeping over your face, your posture, the way you held your arm to your side slightly, as if to protect your core. “You should have come sooner,” she murmured, stepping forward. “You have known. In your body, in your blood. Women always do.” You swallowed hard, feeling your mouth go dry. “I couldn’t afford to be wrong.”

Ronal gestured for you to sit on the woven mat. You lowered yourself slowly, trying not to show how your ribs ached from the day before. She knelt beside you, her expression unreadable but not unkind. Her fingers were cool as they gently pressed against your abdomen, her touch firm and knowing. For a few moments, the tent was silent but for the bubbling of the steam bowl and the faint trickle of water from a nearby gourd. Then Ronal let out a soft breath, deep and final.

“There is life inside you,” she said. You stared at her, your lungs forgetting how to draw in air. “How far along?” You whisper. “Three completely cycles. Twelve weeks.” You took a deep breath at her words, that would have had to happen the first time you and Neteyam ever had sex. You register the hushed mumbling on the other side of the mauri flap. Quickly you dart up and swing the flap open, Kiri and Tsireya were startled when you suddenly catch them. “Get in here.” You whispered commandingly before looking around outside then shutting the flap behind you. “What the fuck?! What are you doing?” You whisper shout to them. Kiri played with her fingers and tsireya looked to the floor before answering, “we didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to? Do I look like an idiot?” You cut her off then Kiri spoke up, “he is just worried. He thinks your hiding something and he doesn’t like that.” You turn to look at her, “that’s the point Kiri. If Neteyam knows I’m pregnant he’s never going to let me finish the trials. And if I don’t finish the trials, I don’t get to stay here with him.” You stressed to them softly for them to try and understand where you were coming from.

Kiri’s eyes glistened, and her voice was quiet, but firm. “But he should know.” Tsireya stepped forward slightly, her gaze soft and conflicted. “You’re carrying his child… don’t you think he deserves to?” Your eyes dart between both of them, “you don’t think I’m aware? I want to tell him! I want to be an honest, loving girlfriend and make his dinner and tell him we’re gonna have a baby! But there’s a reason I haven’t.”

You turn to Ronal and look at her standing straight up, “is it possible for me to not do the last trial and stay? I won the other two with no complaints.” You ask her to consider your request to be with Neteyam without the last trial being necessary. Ronal’s eyes did not waver.

“I remind you,” she said, her voice sharp but not unkind, “Tonowari and I made our terms clear the first day you arrived. The only way you stay is if you earn your place through the trials. That agreement does not change because of poor timing… or poor family management.” Your breath caught, stung by the bluntness of her words, but not surprised. You didn’t expect mercy.

Kiri’s brows furrowed, and Tsireya’s lips parted as if to protest to her mother, but Ronal’s words continued with quiet finality. “You carry life now, yes—but that does not grant you an exception. It changes nothing.” You stood there, heart thudding, the weight of her words pressing into your ribs like stone. Ronal was unmoving, her expression as ancient as the reef, and as merciless. “If I don’t complete it…” you said softly, almost to yourself. “Then I don’t get to stay. I don’t get to build a life with the man who’s now the father of my child.” Kiri let out a shaky breath beside you, and Tsireya closed her eyes for a beat, absorbing the severity of it. “You choose this path. Now you will walk it. Fully.”

Ronal, who had remained unnervingly composed through your entire reaction, moved quietly to one of her woven satchels and retrieved a small bowl filled with crushed herbs and pale blue liquid. “Drink this,” she said simply, holding it out to you. “It will calm the nausea. For today, at least.” You eyed it for a beat, then took the bowl from her hands with a quiet, “Thank you.” The taste was bitter, earthy, with a sharp tang that made your tongue curl, but as it settled in your stomach, the tension began to loosen just slightly. She even gave you some extra in a small bottle just in case you needed it during the day. Immediately the nausea started to subside, so you were fearful.

The walk back to the Mauri was tense and quiet, the girls walked behind you, keeping up with your pace, their mind ran a mile a minute thinking about the situation you are put in. They knew the trials were not ease and they were worried for your safety since it started two days ago, but it felt like a whole different kind of worry now. Because now, you carry a child, a child that is not only yours, but Neteyam’s as well. Outside the Mauri when it was in view you stopped and turned around. “Not. A. Word.” You emphasized and they nodded.

You didn’t want to be mad at neteyam for what he did when you walked in, you knew why he would do it. Neteyam is not stupid there was no way he didn’t notice the fact that you didn’t want him to go with you to see Tsahìk. But it wasn’t something you could deal with right now. On top of the fact that you were worried and scared for your own life in this final trial, you were now also scared for your baby.

His eyes locked onto yours as you walk back into the Mauri “What did she say?” His voice was calm, but barely. His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides. You kept your expression neutral, even as your hand pressed unconsciously against your stomach. “Nothing serious,” you said lightly. “Just jitters. I’ll be fine once I start moving.” He stared at you, searching for cracks in your face, doubt flashing behind his eyes. “You’re sure?” he asked slowly. “Positive,” you replied, and then turned deliberately to Tsireya and Kiri behind you. “Right?”

Kiri blinked, caught off guard, but recovered quickly. “Yeah. She’s alright,” she said, a bit stiffly. Tsireya nodded quickly, eyes flicking to Neteyam and back to you. “Nothing to worry about. Just nerves.” Neteyam exhaled, though his shoulders didn’t fully relax. “You scared me,” he admitted, stepping forward. “You looked sick” he said softly as if he was disappointed now you have to go on this trial “I guess I needed some air,” you interrupted softly. “And to clear my head before the last trial. That’s all.” He didn’t respond right away. Just moved close enough to rest his hand gently against your arm, grounding himself. You swallowed, offered him a small smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. And though Neteyam said nothing else, the way he looked at you said it all, He didn’t believe you.

The send-off felt heavier than the other two days combined. There was no boat or escort this time, just your ilu waiting near the shallows, the water quiet and still like it understood the weight of the day. The others had already departed, disappearing beneath the waves in separate directions, each tasked with finding the sacred cave by intuition and Eywa’s grace alone. No markers or guidance, only rumors that the cave rejected those unworthy, hidden behind rock formations along the deeper reef, with multiple narrow, winding entrances that shifted like a maze with the tide. Neteyam stood close, silently wrecked. His hand shook slightly as it gripped your wrist, like if he held you tight enough, the ocean couldn’t take you. His lips brushed your forehead, then lingered there, breathing you in. He didn’t speak, because if he did, he might beg. Jake stood with an unreadable face, Tuk clung to Neytiri’s side, and Lo’ak kept glancing away, jaw clenched. Tsireya and Kiri hovered nearby, stealing worried glances between you and Neteyam, both still holding the weight of your secret. Yet, even in their worry they exchanged good lucks and told you to come back safely. When you finally turned toward the sea, Neteyam reached for you again, but let go, barely. Just long enough to watch you slip into the water and disappear. He had no idea how hard you were going to fight to come back to him today, to be able to bring joy to his life when it’s over and you’ve won.

You had been riding for half the day, long enough for the sun to rise to its highest point and begin its slow, unrelenting crawl across the sky. The warmth on your shoulders was deceptive, a thin veil over the unease twisting deeper in your stomach. The further you pushed out into open ocean, the more the world around you shifted. The water, once a clear and welcoming blue, turned murkier, heavier. Like it carried weight. Memory. Warning. No coral reefs out here. No playful fish. Not even the distant calls of tulkun. Just endless rolling waves and the occasional scream of wind passing low over the sea’s surface. Your ilu swam slower now, more hesitant, snorting through its blowholes as if it too could sense you were trespassing. And then you saw it.

At first it looked like nothing more than a jagged set of rocks breaching the surface like broken ribs, clustered together in the middle of the ocean. But as you rode closer, the shape revealed itself, an enormous stone structure, fractured by time and weather, rising like a crumbled crown from the depths. There were multiple gaps along its base, fissures and shadowed openings like crooked mouths, but only one led downward, into the deep. The sacred, unwanted cave. It was no more than a long, uneven crack in the stone, veiled in thick curtains of seaweed that swayed like breath. The entrance narrowed like a throat. Barnacles, razor-sharp and bone white, clung to its edges. The water that spilled from within was colder, darker, like it had not been touched by light in decades. You stopped your ilu. It refused to go closer, even as you urged it forward. It knew better. So you slid off. Alone. Your heart pounded as you floated before the mouth of the Spirit Veil, this sacred, ancient place not marked by song or stone but by dread. You took one final breath and dove, vanishing into the darkness that welcomed only the brave… or the damned.

The tunnels were a labyrinth of darkness and shifting currents. You left your ilu at the mouth of the cave, tying her loosely to a jutting reef-rock, and dove in alone. The water turned cold quickly, silent and pressurized around you as you swam through the jagged maw of the entrance. The stone was slick, ancient, covered in creeping mosses and bone-pale corals that glowed faintly under the filtered sunlight from above. Hours passed in a blur of aching lungs and sharp corners. The cave was massive, larger than you’d expected, its tunnels narrowing, widening, splitting and looping in dizzying patterns. You hit dead end after dead end, sometimes squeezing through tight crevices only to find yourself trapped, forced to backtrack. Twice you surfaced in tiny air pockets that smelled of salt and sulfur, and pressed your forehead to the stone, panting quietly, letting your arms and legs stop shaking before diving again. Time lost meaning.

But then something changed. As you kicked into a tunnel that sloped downward like a throat, a shimmer of movement caught your eye. Tiny lights, flickering, floating, drifted toward you. They were the same ethereal, bioluminescent creatures you remembered Kiri teaching you about back at the reef. They way she could move with them like they were one. Eywa’s whispers in the water. They circled your fingers when you reached out. Warm. Gentle. Curious. Then they began to drift forward slowly like a beckoning path. With no other option, and your heart hammering from more than exhaustion, you followed.

Down and down, through dark chambers filled with eerie stillness. Past twisted roots and carvings so old they no longer looked like anything. And then, as the tunnel widened into an immense flooded chamber, the lights dispersed, and you saw it. Far below, rising slowly from the abyssal shadows, was a creature so ancient it looked carved from the sea floor itself.

The cavern pulsed with an eerie, otherworldly stillness. Pale light from glowing fungi clung to the jagged ceiling and walls, flickering faintly like a dying breath. The air was heavy and damp, tinged with salt and stone, as if the cave itself had been exhaling for centuries. Around you, twisted columns of limestone reached from floor to ceiling like the spines of some long-dead beast. At the center of it all was a vast, glass-still pool of water, crystalline and so clear it looked shallow at first glance. But when you stepped closer, peering down, the illusion shattered. There was no bottom. Just endless, pale blue darkness. Cold and ancient. Like the eye of Eywa herself.

You turned, looking for any sign of the other warriors. There was none. Then the surface stirred. At first, it was small, barely a ripple. Then another. And another. As if something immense was circling far below, brushing against the very bones of the earth. You held your breath, tension crawling over your skin like frost. Then a shape rose beneath the surface. You saw it before it broke the water, glowing lines of bioluminescence, shimmering faintly along an impossibly long, coiled body. It moved like liquid shadow, its size so great it felt like watching a living reef come to life. Segments of its thick hide flickered in eerie patterns, blues, purples, and sickly greens, as it undulated upward. The surface broke in a slow, soundless swell. It was monstrous.

Its body was serpentine, stretching longer than any tulkun, with armor-plated scales like interlocking slabs of stone, ridged and scarred and cracked with age. Patches of glowing coral-like tissue pulsed between the armored plates, lighting up the water around it in ghostly hues. Six long limbs curled inward against its body, each ending in clawed, fin-like appendages that scraped gently across the rock with a metallic hiss. Barnacles clung to its jaw. Sea moss hung from the horns that spiraled back along its skull. But its face— its face was a nightmare carved from the deep. Wide, flattened, with a lipless maw full of needle-thin teeth that curled inward like the mouth of a sea lamprey. Its eyes were vast, jet black, and glassy—utterly void, and yet watching you with an unmistakable intelligence. Ancient. Judgmental. As if it had seen this trial a thousand times and had drowned just as many.

It didn’t roar. It groaned. A sound like a warped conch shell blown through miles of water and bone. The cave shuddered with it. The water trembled. And your lungs tightened from the sheer vibration of the creature’s voice echoing through your chest. The creature circled slowly again, and you saw it, just beneath its throat, glowing faintly where the scales thinned and separated. A patch near its heart, where a single shimmering scale pulsed brighter than the rest. That was what you needed. But it would not give it freely. As it circled back toward you, you shifted into a defensive stance at the edge of the water, heart pounding, muscles screaming from the trials before. You would either take the scale or it would take you.

You stayed crouched at the edge of the water; eyes locked on the glowing patch near the creature’s chest—its heart. Your instincts screamed at you not to go in, but there was no choice. This was what Eywa demanded. The scale wasn’t a gift. It was a trial. And you had come this far. With a final breath, you dove in. The cold hit you like a slap, knocking the wind from your lungs, but you kicked down hard, streamlined, letting your body glide into the deep. The water muffled the cave’s sounds into a distant hum, your heartbeat a pounding drum in your ears. You saw the creature below, coiled lazily in the dark. It hadn’t moved since its call, as if waiting. Watching. Daring.

You approached slowly, hands out, careful not to look directly into its eyes. You knew better. Predators read that as challenge. The shimmering creatures—those sparkling specs of light, Eywa’s whispers—still floated around its body, brushing against you like tiny ghosts. They pulsed brighter as you neared the beast’s heart, guiding you. You were nearly within reach when the creature twitched. Without warning, it surged forward, and the water exploded around you. You twisted, just barely missing its tail as it swept sideways, knocking debris off the cave walls. The current spun you into the rocks, slamming your ribs against a jagged edge. Pain flared. You tasted blood in your mouth as you fought to stabilize.

You swam again—this time higher. It was fast, but you were agile. It snapped at you, jaws closing with a vacuum force that shook the cavern. The water shimmered with disturbed bioluminescence as you darted between its limbs, ducking beneath its slow strikes, latching onto one of the barnacle-covered ridges along its side. Then you made a choice. You let go. Let yourself drift downward, eyes closed, hands out, unarmed, surrendering completely in a way that didn’t make sense. You remembered Ronal’s words, Neytiri’s training. You remembered Eywa’s balance—nothing is taken without something being given. Your body relaxed, trusting. The creature loomed overhead, circling once more. Then it came close.

You opened your eyes as the water settled around you. The beast hovered, face inches away. Its breath churned bubbles from its nostrils, creating currents that gently swayed your hair and skin. You didn’t flinch. You placed a palm against its chest—right over that glowing scale. You thought it was about to eat you. Since you made the stupid decision to stop, but you couldn’t let it slam you into anymore rocks, your body protected more than just you now. It protected the unborn child of the man you were in love with. It didn’t attack though. It lowered its head. A heavy sound left its throat, like approval, or maybe surrender, you didn’t want to question it. Slowly, impossibly gently, the scales at its chest shifted. The glowing one loosened, like it had always been meant to be removed. Your fingers closed around it, heart shaking in your chest.

As you pulled the scale free, the light around you dimmed slightly. The creature gave a slow exhale, then dove back into the dark, disappearing into the deep without another glance. You floated in silence, holding the scale to your chest. Eywa had judged you. And you had passed.

The silence that followed the beast’s retreat was deafening, not fearful, but sacred. Reverent. The glowing scale in your hand shimmered like starlight, still warm from where it had rested against the chest of the ancient serpent. Your fingers closed around it tightly, your chest rising with each shallow breath. Pain. Sharp and burning, a reminder with every inhale. Your hand instinctively moved to your side — right where your ribs had cracked when Z’ul’koa slammed you against the jagged rock wall. The skin there throbbed and pulsed with the weight of bruised muscle and fractured bone. But you didn’t cry out or wince, because you had done it. Only two had passed this trial before. Only two had survived Eywa’s judgment. And now… you were the third.

You hadn’t begged. You hadn’t been spared. You had earned this scale through sheer endurance, through agony and unrelenting determination. This was not a gift — it was proof. You looked around the glowing heart of the cave. The water beneath you was deep and glassy, dark as night but undisturbed now, save for the occasional shimmer where bioluminescent fragments of Z’ul’koa’s trail still floated like stars across the surface. There were no warriors in sight. You were alone, entirely, beautifully alone. But not truly.

Your hand drifted to your stomach, resting gently there, and you closed your eyes for a moment. Your child. The one you would return to tell Neteyam about. The one who had unknowingly endured every ounce of suffering with you. You opened your eyes again with fire beneath your breastbone, ignoring the way the ache in your ribs flared as you moved. It didn’t matter. Nothing could stop you now. You weren’t broken, you were changed. Hardened. Empowered. You tucked the scale safely into your satchel and turned back toward the submerged tunnel system. The exit would be just as treacherous as the way in. But this time, you weren’t hesitant. You weren’t afraid. You had faced a leviathan and won. You were going home, to your family, to your mate, or soon to be and to the life blooming quietly inside you. And when you emerged again into the light, they would see who you truly were. Worthy. Unshaken. Victorious.

It took time, too much time, weaving back through the shifting tunnels with aching limbs and one arm curled protectively around your side. Every dead end you remembered on the way in you now avoided with precision, instinct carrying you forward even when the pain dulled your vision. You followed the soft current, the pulse of the ocean, until finally… you saw it. Light. A distant, wavering gleam that grew stronger with each stroke. The narrow crevice widened into the main tunnel, and your heart clenched when the dark water finally opened up to the sea.

The exit grew brighter, the water clearer, and then finally, you pushed through, breaking the surface. Night had fallen. Stars glittered above, cool and sharp, stretching wide across the sky. The surface of the sea was glassy, reflecting the pale moonlight. You took a deep breath and spun in the gentle current, chest heaving, blinking up at the night sky. You weren’t sure how long you’d been in the cave, hours, at least, but your ilu was still there. Still waiting, loyal and patient just outside the entrance. You whispered a soft thanks to Eywa, stroking its head before climbing onto its back, fingers still shaking.

The moon was high and cold above the reef, casting pale reflections across the water’s surface. The tide had shifted; the air was quieter now, heavier. But the quiet wasn’t peaceful. It was suffocating. The other warriors had returned hours ago, one by one, exhausted and wounded, each one empty-handed. None had made it to the heart of the cave. None had seen you. Not even once. Neteyam hadn’t moved from the shore. He stood in the shallows with his feet submerged, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he was trying to hold himself together. His eyes were locked on the horizon, unblinking, haunted, watching for any sign of you. He’d been doing it for hours. “She should be back by now,” he muttered under his breath.

Lo’ak exchanged a glance with Kiri and Tsireya behind him, concern etched into both their faces. Tuk sat beside their mother, her chin resting on her knees, eyes wide and uncertain. Aonung stood a few paces behind them, quieter than usual. “She’s strong, ma’itan,” Neytiri said softly, placing a hand on Neteyam’s back. “You know she is.”

“She’s never taken this long before,” he replied, shaking his head. “The others came back. And they didn’t see her. That cave system isn’t that big.”

“She probably found a different path,” Kiri offered. “That place is full of tunnels and dead ends—”

“She’s not stupid,” Neteyam snapped, spinning to face her. “She wouldn’t just get lost. She would’ve left a mark, something. You— I know she would’ve.” Jake stepped forward now, calm but serious. “We don’t know anything yet. We wait. Like we said.”

“No,” Neteyam said, shaking his head, voice trembling now. “I can’t. I can’t just wait while she might be—” He choked on the words, cutting himself off before he said it. Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them away fast, swallowing the emotion burning in his throat. His fingers curled at his sides. “I’m going after her.” Jake stepped in front of him. “Neteyam, stop. We don’t even know which entrance she took or where it is. If you get lost too—”

“I don’t care!” he shouted, shoving past him. “I don’t care what happens to me—she’s still out there, and no one is doing anything!” Behind him, the gathered crowd of Metkayina stirred with unease. The silence among them had grown eerie, unnerving, people were beginning to murmur to one another. The kind of whispering that wrapped itself in grief before it was even earned. They thought you were gone. Neteyam’s voice cracked as he stumbled forward again, breathing hard, fists clenched like if he didn’t grip them tightly, he’d fall apart. He didn’t even hear the shout at first.

“There!” someone called from the far edge of the beach. A lookout on the rise pointed to the sea. “Look—an ilu!” Every head turned. Across the moonlit water, a shadow cut through the waves fast and low. An ilu gliding toward the reef, its rider hunched, slow-moving but upright.

You. The crowd gasped, all at once. Then came the shout of disbelief. Relief. Awe. But Neteyam was already tearing down the beach to where your ilu would swim up, heart exploding in his chest, sand flying under his feet, sprinting toward the shoreline like his life depended on it. Because it did. Because you did.

You barely made it to the shallows before Neteyam sprinted into the surf. His arms wrapped around you tight, lifting you clean off your feet and spinning you, water splashing up around you both. You winced when his grip tightened over your ribs but still melted into him as he buried his face into your neck. “I thought—I thought—” His voice cracked, and he hugged you harder. “Great Mother, I thought you weren’t coming back.” You gave him a shaky laugh, brushing your fingers through the braids he’d probably tugged on all day. “I told you I would come back baby.”

He held you for a moment longer, breathing you in, before the rest of your clan crashed onto the scene behind him — first Jake and Neytiri, then Lo’ak and Tuk, Kiri and Tsireya and Aonung trailing behind. Neytiri’s hand flew over her mouth. Jake exhaled hard, as if he’d been holding his breath for hours. Tuk gasped. “You’re back!”

“You’re kidding me,” Aonung muttered, stepping forward like you might vanish if he blinked. “No one’s seen you all day. We thought you were fish food.”

“I told you she’d make it, she has a reason to come home.” Kiri said, mostly to herself, her eyes wide. Neteyam still hadn’t let go of you. “What happened? You were gone.”

“I got… turned around. Lost in the tunnels for a bit,” you said, and before anyone could ask more, you reached for the cloth pouch secured at your side. “But I found the heart.” The crowd had just started gathering when you slowly unfolded the cloth and held out the faintly glowing scale. It shimmered in the moonlight. Deep purple-blue. Edged in rough ivory. Still pulsing like it was alive. Dead stunned silence. Lo’ak gawked. “Is that what I think it is?” Tsireya covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh, my Eywa…” Aonung took a slow step back. “Bro,” he said to no one, “she actually fought it.”

“She didn’t just fight it,” Kiri whispered. “She won.” Neteyam stared down at the scale like it might explode. “This—this is from its chest. That thing’s hide is like stone—how did you even get that?” You shrugged, grinning, despite the ache in your ribs. “Very carefully.”

Ronal and Tonowari stepped forward from the edges of the crowd, their usual composure gone. Ronal’s lips parted in disbelief. She looked down at the scale, then at you, then back at the scale again. “This…” she whispered. “This is the mark of a soul judged worthy by Eywa herself.” Tonowari’s brows shot up, his voice full of awe. “Three,” he muttered. “Only three have ever returned from the Spirit Veil with proof. And none in the last generation. You have earned our trust. You may live here, as one of us.” He said to you before turning to the crowd announcing you as the winner of the trials. The clan cheered loudly for you. Which made you smile victoriously.

Neteyam held you close as he walked you back to the mauri, back him. His arm around your waist as he helped you walk on the bouncy woven path. His family followed in step behind them include Tsireya who wasn’t ready to leave yet even though Aonung opted out of the late-night dinner plans. In the mauri Neytiri cleaned and wrapped your broken rib along with any other small scratches on your body. “You have a strong heart,” she said, her eyes studying your face. “You love strong… deep like the sea.” She placed her hand over your heart. “You did not run. You stay, fight, suffer… all to stand beside him. She nodded slowly. “That is what a mate does.” There was a silence, a look in her eyes, one you couldn’t quite name until she spoke again. “I see you. Eywa shows me. You are his. He is yours. And so…” she smiled gently, voice full of warmth. “…you are mine too.” Then she said it, full of tenderness.

“Ma’ite.” She touched her forehead to yours in the Na’vi way. Your eyes shimmered, but you didn’t cry. It just felt… nice, to be seen like that, to have a mother’s warmth again. “Thank you.” You whisper to her, you couldn’t find words of gratitude, what it felt like to be accepted into the family of the man you loved with ever piece of you soul. After your heartfelt conversation with Neytiri, Kiri and Tsireya helped you clean up and get dressed behind the divider, softly whispering asking you how you felt, if you were okay, if the baby was okay. But you just knew you could reassure them everything would now be okay.

Dinner was severed, roared fish and fruit with root mash, something you had grown to like while you lived with Neteyam’s family. Jake had prepared it, having watched his wife do it countless times he finally figured out how to use spices. Lo’ak had unpacked your stuff softly and Tuk bounced around the mauri filling it with like. Neteyam hooves, you felt clean now, relaxed, you wanted nothing more than to be close to him. Lo’ak had infused some healing tea while you were cleaning so you sipped it softly while eating, he’s not a boy if many sentimental words but he showed he cared. “I’m so hungry…I feel like I’m eating for three people.” You huff as you take your second helping of food.

Kiri and Tsireya looked down at their leaves of food like it had the answers to life, they didn’t want to spoil the secret they worked so hard to keep all day. Your words however, caught the attention of the entire mauri and Lo’ak spoke up, “how is your appetite so high? You’ve been eating like a beast since I met you.” He asked while eating and my eyes dart up to him, “you calling me fat bro?” I glance at him before taking another bite of food. Before he could answer though, Jake spoke up, “Neytiri ate like that when she was pregnant all three times, I had to go hunting every week.” He laughed as Neytiri swatted her hand at him. You lean into neteyam and laughed, and his arm distinctively held you there.

The air buzzed gently with laughter, shared food passed around with teasing grins and nudges, every moment steeped in comfort. It wasn’t just Neteyam’s family anymore. Somewhere between the trials, the quiet moments, and the way they had waited for you, worried for you, fought for you, it had become your family too. You didn’t feel like someone who had to prove themselves anymore. You felt loved. Chosen. Home.

You laughed softly at Jake’s comment about Neytiri, leaning into Neteyam as his arm wrapped around you. Taking a bite of your second helping, you paused for a moment, then muttered without thinking much about it, almost to yourself, but loud enough for the table: “I guess this growing hunger makes sense now… can’t say the nausea’s been too friendly either.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Neteyam’s hand froze on your back. Tsireya and Kiri exchanged quick, knowing glances, trying not to smile. Lo’ak blinked, fork halfway to his mouth, eyes sharpening as he pieced it together. Jake gave a low whistle, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Neytiri’s eyes softened, a slow smile blooming as she looked at you like you’d just become her daughter.

Neteyam’s gaze locked onto yours, confusion melting into dawning realization. He swallowed hard, a breath caught somewhere between shock and awe. You gave him a small, nervous smile. And just like that, the secret was out. “I’m pregnant.” The room held its breath for a moment, then laughter and warmth bubbled up all around. Tuk bounced excitedly, Neytiri’s eyes glistened with pride, and Jake shook his head with a smile. Neteyam just sat there, stunned, but proud.

“You’re pregnant? Really?” Neteyam’s voice was barely more than a breath, like saying it too loud would break the moment. His eyes searched yours, wide with disbelief, like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. You nodded slowly, the corner of your mouth lifting. “Yeah… really.” He stared at you for a second longer, his hand still gently cradling your side like you might disappear. “When did you find out?” he asked, the sounds of laughter and celebration from the others fading behind him, like the world had narrowed down to just you. “This morning,” you said softly. “Tsahìk confirmed it.” His brows pulled together, jaw tightening slightly with realization. “This morning?” “This morning?” he repeated, voice quiet, almost stunned. His brows lifted, eyes locked onto yours like he was trying to read the truth off your face. You gave a small nod. “Yeah… I didn’t want to say anything before the trial. I knew if you found out, you wouldn’t let me go.” Neteyam ran a hand down his face, breath leaving him in a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Eywa…” he whispered, still trying to take it in. Then he looked at you again, softer now, with something shining behind his eyes. “You did all of that… carrying our child?”

Neteyam’s eyes searched yours, his voice dropping even softer. “How far along are you?” thick with disbelief and wonder. “Twelve weeks.” You said softly to him “Twelve weeks?” he asked, his brow furrowing as the words left his mouth slowly. “That means… when?” You nodded gently, already knowing the realization was catching up to him. “In the cabin,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “When it was just me and you.” His breath caught, jaw parting just a little. “That was… the only time there… that was the first time.” You gave a small smile, heart pounding. “I know.” His hand moved instinctively, fingers brushing over your waist like it meant more now, like he was grounding himself. Then, he gave the softest laugh, part shocked, part amazed. “I left to come home,” he murmured, “and I didn’t even know you were carrying my heart with you.” You let out a small giggle before replying, “if it makes you feel better, I didn’t really know either.”

Three moons passed in a blur of kicks, cravings, and more love than you’d ever known possible. By six months, your belly had become the subject of daily conversation. “That can’t be just one baby,” Lo’ak would mutter, eyes wide as you tried, unsuccessfully to sit up without help. Even Kiri had started side-eying your bump during healing checks, mumbling things like, “Eywa loves symmetry, but this looks like chaos.” Neteyam, ever your calm, dependable anchor, simply kissed your stomach every morning with a reverent kind of awe, as if thanking Eywa for every new curve and flutter of movement. The mauri had changed too. Tonowari and Ronal graciously agreed to extend it, giving you and Neteyam a private alcove tucked just off the main space. It wasn’t extravagant, woven reed curtains for privacy, a bigger mat stuffed with soft moss and shells for support, and bundles of handmade baby things tucked neatly in corners—but it was yours. Home. His family had helped with everything, from carving storage bowls for your cravings, which changed daily, to weaving carriers and netting for the baby.

Tuk had taken to resting her head on your bump to “hear the baby think,” while Jake insisted, he wasn’t crying that one time he caught you and Neteyam napping together, both hands wrapped around your stomach. Neytiri, though still the fiercest voice in the family, had become your quiet guardian, often pressing cool herbs into your hands and rubbing lotions on your stomach to help with stretch marks or whispering bits of Na’vi wisdom about strength, motherhood, and patience. The baby had become everyone’s baby, loved long before it ever arrived. And as you walked slowly along the shore one night, Neteyam’s hand resting instinctively on the curve of your belly, the stars glittered above, and the sea hummed below. Everything felt right. Peaceful. Awaiting. Like the calm before something beautiful.

The mauri was alive with the buzz of an easy afternoon, sunlight slipping through the woven walls, Tuk’s humming filling the space, and the faint scent of grilled fish still hanging in the air. You were planted firmly on your favorite mat, surrounded by soft moss and folded wraps, hands splayed across your belly, which had now grown into a planet of its own.

Kiri sat cross-legged nearby, carving something into a bone pendant, while Lo’ak fiddled with a fishing spear he wasn’t planning to use anytime soon. You gave a long, theatrical sigh. “Guys, I think I’ve officially lost sight of my own feet.” Lo’ak didn’t even look up. “You lost those like a moon ago.” You squint at him “I’m serious. I feel like I swallowed an entire fruit basket.” Kiri smirked. “I’d say two baskets. One for each hip.” You glare at her. “You’re lucky I can’t stand fast enough to chase you.” Tuk popped up next to you and poked your stomach like it was a drum. “It’s so round! Do you think the baby’s sitting up in there with a little blanket and snacks?” Lo’ak chuckled. “Nah, with the way she’s eating, I think the baby’s got its own fruit stash.” You huffed as you tried and failed to sit up straighter. “Listen. If one more person comments on how big I am, I’m rolling into the ocean and becoming one with the waves.”

“That sounds like work,” Kiri muttered. “You haven’t moved in an hour.” You speak up victoriously “Exactly, I’ve reached peak comfort. I’m nesting.” The flap rustled, and Neteyam stepped into the mauri with a bundle of supplies in his arms. He paused when he saw you. His eyebrows lifted slowly. “…Eywa,” he said, crossing the space in a few strides. “Did you… grow since breakfast?” Tilting your head back to smile at him. “Don’t be dramatic,” you said. Lo’ak burst out laughing. “She’s like a growing root fruit.” Neteyam gave his brother a look before crouching beside you, placing a gentle hand on your belly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just slowly transforming into a living canoe.” Jake walked by then, catching the end of your sentence. “You better not be giving birth in the mauri. I just fixed that mat.” You time your head to him, “is that a joke? Are you making jokes? I’m only 6 months!” Kiri snorted, and Neytiri sighed as she passed by, inspecting the curve of your belly. “You should go see Tsahìk. It is getting big fast.” You shook your head without hesitation. “Nope. I’m one with this mat now. She can come to me.” Neteyam offered, already moving to scoop you up. “I’ll carry you,” You push his his arm slightly but not enough to move him away from you, “You lift me one more time and I’m biting you,” you grumbled. “I mean it this time.” Lo’ak snorted again. “She threatened me with a spoon earlier.”

“I will use it,” you said. Tuk nestled into your side and patted your belly softly. “Shhh. The baby is trying to sleep.” You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the space and the sound of your family’s laughter wrap around you. No one was rushing. No one was worried. It was just… love. Loud, playful, comfortable love. Neteyam leaned in and whispered, “I missed you.” You grinned up at him. “I didn’t move. I physically couldn’t.”

Another symptom of your pregnancy was something you didn’t see coming at all. All you did was hit your second trimester and you started to feel everything, anywhere at anytime. It was honestly unfair how good Neteyam looked doing anything. He didn’t have to try. The way he moved, fluid and quiet, like the jungle and ocean had both taught him how, was enough to make your thoughts turn hot and heavy in an instant. Six months into your pregnancy, your body was changing by the day. You were slower now, heavier. But your senses? Heightened. Your skin felt more sensitive, your emotions sharper, and your need for Neteyam… constant. Sometimes it was a dull ache in your chest when he kissed your forehead instead of your mouth. Other times, it burned low in your belly just from watching him tie his armband or adjust the cords on his chest strap.

It didn’t help that he always wore so little. That typical Na’vi wrap sat low on his hips, and the way his muscles flexed when he lifted things, or pulled the net, or even just reached to brush your hair back, it was maddening. Everything about him called to you like a fire. A slow, patient fire that had been smoldering for days. And the worst part? He didn’t even know. He’d crouch next to you and rest his hand on your swollen belly, whisper sweet things to your unborn child, completely unaware of the way your eyes drank him in like water. He’d give you a smile, press a kiss to your cheek, then walk off to hang the day’s catch to dry and you’d be sitting there, clenching your teeth and gripping the woven mat like it had offended you. You wanted him. Not just in passing, not just romantically. You wanted him. And with your hormones tangled like vines and your body buzzing with heat, you knew it was only a matter of time before you either said something or accidentally tackled him the moment he walked through the door.

When Neteyam isn’t around, the need inside you curls tighter and tighter, restless and aching. You think about him constantly — the way his strong hands feel on your skin, how his fingers trace slow, deliberate paths over your body, and how just the memory makes your breath hitch. You long for him with a quiet urgency you can barely control. But when he finally comes back, everything changes. His hands are gentle but sure, sliding softly over your swollen belly, pausing to press light, soothing circles that make your muscles relax beneath his touch. His fingers trail along your sides, tracing patterns only he knows, fingertips brushing your skin so tenderly it sends shivers through you.

He cups your face in his large hands, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, grounding you with the warmth of his touch. His hands don’t rush or demand — they ask, invite, and comfort. When he moves down your neck, the soft pads of his fingers knead away the tension you didn’t realize was holding you, his touch slow and reverent like he’s learning your body all over again. His lips follow his hands, pressing gentle, lingering kisses on your skin — small promises whispered in every caress. When he holds you close, you feel his heartbeat steady and strong against your own, a calm rhythm that quiets the storm of desire in your chest. When he finally takes you, it’s slow and careful, every movement filled with tenderness. His hands explore, never hurried, always attentive to how you respond. He listens to your breaths, matching the pace, and with each gentle touch, he eases the burning heat inside you into a soft, sweet warmth. Afterward, he pulls you close, his strong arms a sanctuary where you can relax completely. His touch lingers, fingers tracing lazy circles on your back, soothing and steady, as you drift in the quiet aftermath, still filled with need but soothed by the love and care only he can give.

Nine full months. And still… no baby. You were enormous. Not just big, monumental. Your stomach was stretched tight and high, skin glinting in the sun like the surface of a full moon. You had long stopped trying to see your toes. The little one inside had clearly made themselves comfortable, maybe too comfortable, kicking and shifting with the authority of someone who had no plans of leaving any time soon. You could watch your belly ripple like waves, tiny limbs gliding under the surface. It was mesmerizing. It was also driving you insane. The entire family had shifted around your pregnancy like moons orbiting a planet. Tuk spent every waking moment pressed to your side, resting her cheek on your stomach, whispering stories or making up songs about the baby’s future adventures. Kiri helped you with the finishing touches on tiny woven clothes and baby wraps, her hands gentle and steady, while Tsireya took it upon herself to make sure you were never alone for more than five minutes.

Even Lo’ak was surprisingly helpful — sometimes. He carried whatever you needed, fetched weird cravings without complaint, and made a game out of trying to guess when the baby would come, which he lost every day. Neteyam, though. Neteyam was your calm within the chaos. He built a crib by hand — sturdy, beautiful, covered in etchings of waves and leaf patterns. He’d carved them slowly, patiently, like every mark was a prayer. And at night, when the clan quieted and it was just the two of you, he’d lay behind you, wrap one arm under your stomach and one around your chest, his body curled to yours like a shield. Every night, without fail, he’d lower his head to your belly and whisper to the babies — your babies — as if they were already listening. Already loved. “I hope you look like her,” he’d murmur some nights. “But you’ll have my aim. That’s non-negotiable.” He’d talk until you fell asleep, and sometimes even after.

Lately, even standing felt like a chore. Your body ached in places you didn’t know could ache. Today was no exception — you stood just inside the shade of the mauri, hips tilted from the weight pulling you forward. You groaned under your breath, stretching one hand behind your lower back. Without a word, Neteyam came up behind you and gently curled his arms beneath your stomach. He lifted, just slightly — enough to take the crushing weight off your spine. Your whole body sagged in gratitude. “Don’t move,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “Ever.” He chuckled, warm breath against your ear. “I’ll stay like this until the baby decides to come out.”

“You say that like it’s going to happen.” Your voice was sharp, but tired. “I’m convinced they’re building a second womb inside me. Moving in long-term.” He laughed again, kissing your shoulder, his fingers stroking the underside of your belly. There was nothing left to do. The baby clothes were done. The bedding was stitched and soft. The crib sat at the side of your room waiting — beautiful, empty. And the baby still hadn’t come.

By now, the entire clan had learned to give you a wide berth. Not because you were mean — you were just… volatile. Like a storm cloud with feet. A beautiful, radiant, achy, emotionally unstable storm cloud. This baby was stubborn. Eywa must’ve sent you the one child in all of Pandora who was already ignoring orders. And it was so hot. Not even the ocean breeze helped anymore. You swore the baby was cooking you from the inside out. Everyone had offered the usual comforts. Foot rubs. Back rubs. Endless herbal tea. But today, Neteyam came back from a trip to the cliffs with something different. He had built you a floating bed. Not a mat on the water — no, he had actually crafted a low-drifting cradle out of woven reed and soft hide, layered it with cloth, and anchored it in the shallows so it wouldn’t drift far. The water was cool and shallow beneath it. The whole thing rocked, gently, like a cradle for your exhausted bones. “I thought it might help with the weight,” he said sheepishly, offering a hand to help you in. And Eywa, it did. Your lower back eased immediately, pressure pulled away by the buoyancy. The water lapped around the edges as you floated, finally feeling weightless after weeks of dragging around your body like an overfilled satchel. You almost cried.

“Neteyam,” you muttered, laying back, “if you weren’t the one who did this to me, I would marry you right now.” He chuckled and knelt beside the bed, dipping a cloth in the water to lay across your forehead. “So, you’re saying there’s a chance.” But the peace was short-lived. The baby twisted hard, again making your stomach twitch and bulge like something feral was trapped inside. You gritted your teeth. “I love you, little one,” you growled at your stomach, “but if you don’t come out soon, I’m going in after you.” Neteyam looked alarmed. “Please don’t do that.” You huffed. “I’m serious, Nete. This child is playing games. I saw a whole elbow earlier. What are they doing in there? Rearranging furniture?” He held your hand, rubbing slow circles into your palm. “They’re just waiting for the right moment.” You stared up at the sky. “They better not be waiting for a full moon and a prophecy. I’m so done.”

You weren’t sure when the mission began, but at some point, the Sully family had fully committed to Operation: Get the Baby Out. It started innocently enough. Neytiri made a special herbal broth—something passed down through generations of Tsahìk women that was supposed to “gently encourage the little one to find their way out.” You didn’t have the heart to tell her it tasted like wet moss and regret. You sipped it anyway. Jake got involved the next morning. “Back on Earth, we used to do this thing called spicy food,” he said, proudly holding up a bowl of roasted fruit that had been coated in an eye-watering blend of Metkayina chilies. “Guarantees fireworks.” You took one bite and hiccuped for ten minutes straight while Neteyam silently stared at his father like he’d personally betrayed him.

Kiri crafted a sort of lullaby-humming ritual using sound vibrations in the hopes the baby would respond and shift. You weren’t sure it did anything, but Tuk ended up curled up against your side mid-hum, fast asleep and snoring softly, so you considered it a partial success. Then there was Lo’ak. He showed up late in the evening with a wide, suspicious grin and said, “Okay, hear me out—giant ikran flight. We shake this baby loose.”

“Absolutely not,” Neteyam said at the exact same time you did. Still, Lo’ak didn’t let up, and by the next morning, he’d somehow recruited a pair of ilu and a makeshift sling to drag you around the shallows “gently.” Tsireya tried acupressure. A gentle hand pressing into your ankles while you lay back on a woven mat, breathing deeply. “It works for reef women,” she insisted. “Sometimes.” Even Aonung got involved. He brought over what he called a “warrior’s drum chant” that was definitely not meant for inducing labor but did shake the walls and wake the baby enough to get a few solid kicks right into your ribs. You were flattered. Tired. A little emotional. And very, very pregnant. But then, that night, after all the laughter and failed attempts, you were lying on your side with Neteyam behind you, his warm hand gently stroking across your taut belly. He whispered to your baby again, like he did every night, soft, reverent, in a voice so full of love it made your chest ache.

“I think they’re just waiting for the perfect moment,” he murmured against your shoulder. You sighed, equal parts exhausted and grateful. “They better hurry. If I get any bigger, someone’s gonna mistake me for a boulder and offer me as a sacrifice to Eywa.” Neteyam laughed softly and kissed the side of your neck. “Not a chance. You’re too beautiful for that.”

The night air curled in around the edges of your space, warm and salty, brushing against your flushed skin. You lay back in the floating bed Neteyam had built for you, swaying ever so gently with the water below — but it wasn’t the motion of the tide that had your breath catching in your throat. It was him. Neteyam hovered above you, golden in the lantern-light, all lean muscle and low, reverent breath. His braids brushed your collarbone as his mouth dragged slowly down your chest, tongue flicking against the salt-slick skin he’d kissed a hundred times before, yet always like it was new. His hands framed your belly with aching care, his thumbs stroking the sides as if he were still awed that you carried his child beneath your skin. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured against your stomach, lips brushing the taut curve. “Carrying our baby. I can’t stop looking at you.” You whimpered, fingers threading into his braids. “Then stop looking and do something.” He huffed a soft laugh, low and intimate, before crawling up your body with a slowness that made your spine ache. “Bossy, now?” he teased, lips brushing yours. “What happened to patience?”

“Evaporated the moment I saw your hands today,” you breathed. “You know what you do to me…” And oh, he did. Neteyam kissed you deeply, tongue parting your lips as he settled between your thighs with careful weight. Every motion was slow, reverent — his hands on either side of your bump, his body surrounding yours, grounding you. His length brushed where you throbbed with want, and you lifted your hips with a soft moan, needing more. “Easy,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “I’ve got you. Let me take my time tonight.” He moved inside you with aching care, the stretch familiar, welcome, and still enough to take your breath. You clung to him, your body hypersensitive from months of longing — every brush of his lips against your skin, every shift of his hips, every whispered praise sent heat spiraling low in your belly. “You feel so good,” you whispered, trembling beneath him. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised, pressing kisses to your jaw, your cheek, your mouth. “I’ll give you everything. All of me. Always.” Your bodies rocked in rhythm — soft moans in the quiet, the creak of woven fibers, the faint slap of skin on skin. Your belly shifted between you, round and full, and Neteyam never stopped touching it, his thumb tracing where the baby moved inside. It felt like being worshipped — claimed and loved all at once. You wrapped your arms around his back and gasped as he rolled his hips deeper, slower — just enough to make you shudder.

Then— Sudden, deep pressure. A hard jolt that made your entire core tighten—not in pleasure, but something sharper, tighter. You gasped. Froze. Neteyam’s eyes snapped open above you. “What was that?”

“I—I don’t…” Another wave slammed through you, stronger. Your fingers clutched his shoulders. “That wasn’t you. I think—” Neteyam pulled back just enough to see your face, panic creeping into his expression. “No, no, wait. That wasn’t—?” You winced as your entire body clenched with another contraction. “…Eywa,” you breathed, “I think I’m in labor.” He blinked once. Twice. “…Did I just sex you into labor?” You groaned, laughing weakly through the pain. “Neteyam!”

“I mean—damn, I knew I was good but—” He was already grabbing for your clothes, panicking as he tried to pull himself together. “Okay! Okay, it’s happening! You’re having the baby, I’m—we’re having the baby!” His hands flew everywhere—your hips, your back, your arms—until you grabbed his wrist and dragged his face back to yours. The second contraction came like a crashing wave, stronger than the first, cutting through your spine and tightening around your swollen belly. You hissed, breath stolen, your hands clutching at Neteyam’s bare shoulders as your legs trembled beneath you on the floating bed. Neteyam moved fast, panic under his skin but his hands steady. “Okay, okay—hold onto me,” he murmured, kneeling beside you as he grabbed the nearest cloth wrap and quickly dressed you. He was gentle, pulling the soft fabric over your hips, adjusting it over your belly without hesitation, lips brushing your temple even as you gritted your teeth against the pain.

He threw on his own loincloth the movement swift, practiced, even though his hands were shaking now too. The second contraction hadn’t even fully passed before he swept one arm under your knees and the other behind your back. “Let’s get you inside,” he whispered. He stepped from the floating bed to the anchored wooden platform, careful with his footing despite his urgency. The cool night air clung to his skin, and you buried your face in his neck, gripping the strap across his chest. Inside the mauri, all was quiet—his family still sound asleep in the wide common space. Neteyam’s footsteps were soft but quick as he carried you through the dim, woven light, toward the private room you both shared. You let out a long breath—until the third contraction struck. A sharp, involuntary cry tore from your throat. It was louder than you meant, loud enough to bounce off the walls of the mauri. Someone rustled. Then— “Neteyam?” Neytiri’s voice came first, sharp and immediate, followed by the sounds of her rising swiftly to her feet. She stepped into the soft light and caught sight of him just as he turned the corner into the private space. She stopped in her tracks, eyes wide. “Is it—?”

“She’s in labor,” Neteyam said over his shoulder, his voice tight and low. “Third contraction just hit.” Behind her, Kiri sat upright, blinking through sleep. “What? Wait—wait what?” Lo’ak groaned somewhere behind them, still half-asleep. “It’s the middle of the night…”

“She’s in labor,” Neytiri snapped without looking at him, already moving toward you, calm but urgent. Jake’s voice joined the shuffle. “Shit, I knew it’d happen like this.” He groaned out sleepily. “Language,” Neytiri barked. “Sorry.” Tuk stirred next, confused and curious. “The baby’s coming?!” she gasped, scrambling up and pressing her hands excitedly over her mouth. Kiri was already pulling her hair up, tossing you a supportive look as she moved toward the shelves. “We need Tsahìk.”

“I’ll go,” Neteyam said quickly, already lowering you onto the bedding. “Stay with her.” Neytiri crouched beside you in a flash, brushing your damp hair back as you caught your breath, her touch steady. “We’ve got you, ma’ite,” she said, her voice a calming anchor as you braced for the next wave. Another contraction slammed into you like a wave crashing against rock, making your whole body tighten and tremble. You cried out despite yourself, curling forward, the tension sparking through every muscle. Neytiri was instantly at your side, hand wrapped around yours, the other brushing damp hair from your face. “Stay with me, ma’ite. Breathe. Let it move through you.” Kiri sat close, whispering calmly as she wiped your face with a cool cloth. “Almost there. You’re doing amazing. It’s just your body opening. Let it happen.”

Jake knelt behind Neytiri, eyes sharp and locked on you. His face was tight with concern, even if he tried to mask it with his usual calm. “That one sounded rough,” he muttered. “She’s fine,” Neytiri said without looking at him, focused entirely on you. “Strong contraction. It’s good.” Lo’ak stood a little off to the side, tense, his arms folded and jaw tight. He didn’t know what to do, clearly overwhelmed—but he stayed, hovering near. Tuk was tucked against his side, clinging to his arm and watching everything with huge eyes. “She’s really hurting,” Tuk whispered to Lo’ak, her voice small. Lo’ak dropped a hand to her head, ruffling her braids gently. “I know, Hì'i tsmuke. But she’s strong. She’s okay. The baby’s just stubborn.” Tuk peeked past him again, concerned but trusting. “Will it hurt the baby?”

“No,” Lo’ak said quickly, quietly. “Just takes a lot to bring them here.” Just then, the flap of the marui rustled and Neteyam reappeared, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. He stepped aside just in time for Tsahìk, to enter in a rush, her presence like a steady wind cutting through panic. Tsireya was right behind her with a basket of herbs and supplies. “She is not crowning yet?” Ronal asked, kneeling beside you without hesitation. “Not yet,” Neytiri answered, sliding aside for the healer. Ronal placed her hands on your belly and closed her eyes. “The body is progressing. The baby is low but not ready. You must hold on. Do not push yet.” Tsireya moved gracefully, placing fresh cloths down beside Kiri and offering you a soft, encouraging smile. “You’re doing so well. It won’t be much longer.”

Neteyam was beside you again in an instant, slipping behind you to support your back, his arms strong around your belly as he lifted some of the weight. You sagged against him, heart pounding, and he murmured against your temple, “I’ve got you. You’re almost there, yawne.” Jake moved beside Ronal, taking one of your feet in his hands and rubbing slow circles to soothe the muscles. “You’re okay, babygirl. You’re not alone. We’re right here.” Another contraction ripped through you like fire. You hissed, cried out, and arched your back. Kiri’s eyes went wide. “That one was different.” Ronal nodded. “Yes. Her body is opening now. Be ready.” The marui was filled with motion, hushed voices and steady hands. Amid the chaos, Lo’ak quietly knelt to pull Tuk into his lap, shielding her view with his body as she clung to him. “What’s happening?” she whispered again. Lo’ak bent close to her ear, rubbing her back. “The baby’s almost here, Tuk. She’s doing good. Just be brave a little longer, okay?” Tuk nodded seriously, staying close, her little hand wrapped in her brother’s. And through it all, you clung to Neteyam’s warmth behind you—his breath on your skin, his heartbeat against your spine, as the most sacred moment of your life barreled closer.

The room felt tighter with every passing moment — bodies moving, voices trying to comfort, the rhythm of activity surrounding you like crashing waves. But Ronal, eyes sharp and steady, suddenly lifted her hand. “Everyone out,” she commanded, her voice calm but firm. “Now.” There was a pause — a ripple of surprise — but no one dared argue. Jake hesitated for just a moment, eyes darting from you to Neteyam, then to Neytiri. When she gave him a nod, he gave your shoulder a final reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got this, kid,” he murmured to you, then kissed Neytiri’s temple and stepped away. “Come on, Lo’ak, take Tuk.” Lo’ak gently scooped up Tuk, who gave you one last wide-eyed glance over his shoulder as she clung to his neck. “You’re gonna be a mama soon!” she whispered excitedly, and then they were gone, slipping out with Kiri behind them. The marui flap rustled closed, and the world fell quiet. Only four remained now: you, Ronal, Neytiri, Tsireya, and Neteyam, who had not let go of you for a second.

Ronal knelt back down beside you, her hands sure and smooth as she pressed against your belly. “This is where we focus,” she said. “Only what matters. Her body is nearly ready.” Neytiri moved to your other side, her grip tightening gently on your arm. “You are not alone, ma’ite. We are here.” Tsireya quietly lit a fresh coil of calming herbs, the sweet smoke curling through the space like a soft hand smoothing tension from the air. You let your head drop back against Neteyam’s chest as another contraction built, the pressure turning sharp and relentless. You cried out and his arms tightened, his lips brushing against your cheek. “Breathe. I’ve got you. Right here. Just let me carry it with you.” His voice was soft but unwavering. One hand cradled your belly, the other gripped your hand tightly — and for a moment, all that existed was that circle of presence. You. Him. Your mother-in-law. And the girl who had been like a sister.

The hours blurred together in a haze of sweat, pain, and whispered reassurances. By sunrise, your body had already begun to tremble under the strain. The contractions were brutal, rolling over you like crashing waves—deep, dragging, and sharp enough to take your breath away. You clung to Neteyam like a lifeline, your forehead pressed to his chest, nails digging into his arms, sweat dripping down your temples. He stayed with you, steady and calm even as exhaustion carved shadows under his eyes. He whispered to you, words only meant for your ears: “You’re doing so good,” and “Just a little longer, she’s almost here.” Neytiri remained like a statue of grace at your side, wiping your brow with cool cloths, her tone calm, her eyes fierce with maternal pride and worry. Tsireya worked quietly, refreshing water basins, fetching what Ronal needed, her hands trembling only slightly.

As midday settled in and the heat thickened in the marui, Jake stepped inside with a carved bowl in one hand, Tuk clutching the hem of his loincloth with the other. “She still hasn’t come?” he asked gently, setting down the bowl of broth and water nearby. “No,” Neteyam said, his voice hoarse. “But soon.” You groaned through another contraction and Tuk hurried to your side, resting her small hand on your leg. “You’re being so brave,” she whispered, her eyes big and sincere. “Is the baby almost here?”

“It’s trying,” you managed between gritted teeth. Lo’ak ducked in behind them not long after, carrying another cloth bundle, clean wraps and a waterskin. “I thought this stuff would be over by now,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. But he softened when he saw you. “You good?” You didn’t answer—you were halfway through another contraction—but Neteyam nodded. “We’ve got it.” Kiri came next, brushing past Lo’ak with more urgency and care. She crouched near you, inspected your face, then pressed her lips together in sympathy. “You’re doing amazing,” she murmured, pouring cool water into a wooden cup and helping you drink. “I don’t think I could do this.” They stayed only for a few minutes each time—no one lingering long in the heavy, charged air of the marui. But they kept coming back. Checking in. Bringing cool towels, quiet encouragement, water, broth, little things to ease the unbearable wait.

As the second night began to fall, you could barely speak. You’d sobbed through another unbearable contraction, knees buckling, nails clawing at the mats as Neteyam held you upright. He whispered against your cheek, “You’ve come too far to stop now. She’s almost here.” And you wanted to believe it. But the hours had taken their toll. Your body burned. Your bones felt broken. You were sick of breathing. Sick of pushing. Sick of waiting. “I want it out,” you gasped through clenched teeth, tears streaming down your face. “I want it out now.”

“I know, baby,” Neteyam whispered, voice fraying with emotion. “We’re almost there. You’re almost done.” Ronal’s voice broke through the blur of pain, calm but commanding. “It is time. You need to push now.” You barely had the strength to hold your head up, but Neteyam was there, arms locked around your chest, supporting every trembling breath. His cheek pressed against yours as he whispered, “You can do this, baby. Just breathe with me. One more time.” The next contraction rose like fire under your skin, hot, unbearable and you cried out as you bore down with everything you had left. Ronal’s hands moved expertly, steady, guiding. “Good. Again. She is almost here.”

She. Neteyam’s breath hitched. You choked on a laugh between gasps. “A girl?” “Yes,” Ronal confirmed simply, voice unshaken. “Your daughter.” Tears streamed freely down your face. Neteyam pressed a kiss to your temple, his hands shaking where they gripped your arms. “You’re doing it, love. We’re almost there. We’re so close.” Another wave built in your spine—your hips—and you screamed through it, the pressure breaking like a storm. Then, a wail. Piercing. Raw. New. Ronal caught the tiny, slippery body in her hands, expertly wrapping her as she let out her first breath of life beneath the glow of the moonlight. “She is strong,” she murmured, wiping the baby down with practiced ease. “Very strong.” Your heart cracked wide open.

But instead of placing the baby in your arms, Ronal turned and gently handed her to Tsireya, who stood nearby with eyes wide, waiting. You blinked at the exchange, still dazed and breathing hard. “Wait… why—why aren’t you giving her to me?” Ronal didn’t answer. Her attention was already back on your belly. Neteyam noticed first. He shifted behind you, trying to see around your side. “What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

“She is fine,” Ronal replied calmly. “But you are not done. There is another.” Your head turned so fast toward Neteyam he flinched like he’d been struck. “…What?” Your whole body froze. Neteyam leaned forward in disbelief. “What do you mean… another?” Ronal pressed gently on your still-taut abdomen. “You are still contracting. The second baby is smaller, likely hidden behind the first. You are carrying twins.” You stared at her. What?!” you exploded, voice cracking with disbelief and exhaustion. “No—no, no, no! ONE baby! ONE!”

Neteyam, still holding you upright from behind, tensed as if stabbed. “Wait, what—did she say twins?!” You whipped your head around to glare up at him again, feral and wide-eyed. “YOU GOT ME PREGNANT WITH TWINS?!” Neteyam froze. “I—I didn’t know—how was I supposed to know?!”

“You didn’t NOTICE I was the size of a whale?!” you shrieked. “You didn’t think, ‘Wow, maybe one of those limbs kicking me in the ribs belongs to a second baby?!’” Outside the curtain, there was a loud thump. A moment later, Jake’s muffled voice came through. “Shit that’s some strong genes.” Kiri groaned audibly. “Oh great. That explains the constant mood swings. I thought she was gonna bite someone last week.” Lo’ak’s disbelieving cackle followed. “Oh shit.”

“Oh! Can I name the other one?!” Tuk squeaked. Back in the room, another contraction tore through you like fire. You grabbed Neteyam’s arm and yanked him closer, teeth bared. “This is YOUR fault!” you hissed. “You did this to me! I hope you’re proud of yourself!” Neteyam looked like he was about to pass out. “I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t know—Eywa, I thought it was just a strong baby!”

“Well, congratulations,” you snapped. “It’s two. And they’re both trying to claw their way out of me!” Ronal was unfazed as she prepared for the second delivery. “The next one is moving quickly.” Neytiri crouched beside you, brushing your sweat-soaked face. Her lips twitched with a mix of sympathy and amusement. “This will make a fine story.” You hissed through your teeth. “I’ll write it down after I strangle your son.” Lo’ak cracked from outside, “She’s gonna be mad at him ‘til the kids are grown.” Inside, Neteyam tried to whisper soothing things against your temple, but you growled. “Don’t. Speak. I liked you before. That’s over.”

“Noted,” he squeaked.

The second wave hit harder than the last, tearing through your body with a force that made you cry out, back arching despite Neteyam’s steady arms around you. You barely had time to process ronal gently placing your daughter in Tsireya’s waiting arms before the next contraction surged, and you knew. The second baby was coming. “Ma’ite, breathe,” Neytiri whispered from in front of you, her hands firm but gentle on your knees. “He’s almost here.” You were shaking, soaked with sweat, clinging to Neteyam’s thighs as he cradled you from behind—his breath warm against your neck, his voice hoarse as he tried to soothe you through it. “You’re doing so good,” he whispered, “just one more, just one more push, baby, come on.” Your muscles burned as you pushed again, a sob ripping from your throat but then, in the next breath, you felt it. The release. The shift. And then a sound wet, small, and sharp. “He’s here,” Ronal said calmly but clearly, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to exhale with you.

You collapsed against Neteyam’s chest, gasping, heart pounding as the cries grew louder—your son’s first breaths echoing in the space as Ronal gently lifted him, already wrapping him in a soft cloth. He was tiny, streaked with birth, but undeniably alive. Strong. Beautiful. Neteyam pressed his forehead to yours as he let out a quiet, shaking laugh of relief. “A boy,” he whispered, wonder in every syllable. “We have a son.”

Tsireya was already cradling your daughter gently, her face lit with awe as she softly whispered something to the little one, who squirmed and released a tiny, bleating cry. Neytiri, who had taken the boy from Ronal’s hands, held him against her chest with practiced grace, eyes shimmering as she looked between the two newborns. You lay back against Neteyam’s chest, utterly spent, your body still trembling from the hours of labor, but the sight of your children alive and breathing sent waves of warmth surging through your aching limbs. Neteyam’s arms remained tightly around yours, anchoring you in that moment as his lips brushed reverently against the crown of your head. The women moved with gentle purpose. Neytiri and Tsireya cleaned the twins together, using warm cloths and murmuring quiet praises in soft Na’vi as they wiped away the remnants of birth. Your daughter wailed softly in Tsireya’s arms, her tiny fists flailing, while your son made little grunting sounds, already strong in his mother’s hands. Then, together, they returned.

Tsireya came first, stepping close with a radiant smile as she eased your daughter into the crook of your right arm. Her warmth immediately calmed the little one. Neytiri followed, placing your son gently in your left. Your arms adjusted instinctively, with Neteyam’s larger hands helping to steady both babies in your hold, his body curled protectively behind yours. You looked down at them, utterly stunned by how small and perfect they were, blinking at the world with cloudy eyes, as though they too couldn’t believe they were finally here. Neteyam rested his chin against your shoulder, breath warm. “They’re everything,” he whispered, emotion thick in his voice. “Eywa… just look at them.” Neytiri smiled softly and touched your shoulder. “We’ll give you a moment.”

Tsireya nodded, her eyes tender and glassy. “You both need rest… and time to meet them.” You nodded, wordless, barely able to tear your eyes away from your children. Neytiri pulled back the curtain and the two women stepped out, quietly parting the space to let the dim evening light back in. You caught a flash of the family waiting just outside, Jake standing tall, his arms around Tuk who was bouncing with barely-contained excitement, Lo’ak craning his neck, and Kiri with her hands pressed over her heart. Then the flap closed again. Silence fell, soft and sacred.

You guided your daughter gently to your breast, adjusting her with one hand while Neteyam helped steady your son in the other. The little girl latched quickly, tiny mouth working instinctively, and your breath caught in wonder. Neteyam gazed down at your son in his arms, the baby staring up at him as if he already knew exactly who he belonged to. You leaned your head back against Neteyam’s shoulder. “Twins,” you whispered with a shaky laugh. “You owe me so much for this.” He laughed under his breath, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Anything. Everything. You name it.” Then, with both your children in your arms, his arms around you, and the long, quiet night settling in… nothing else in the world mattered. The room was heavy with warmth and silence, lit softly by the filtered glow of morning through the woven walls. The world had narrowed down to just the three of you, four, now and the quiet rise and fall of breath.

Your daughter had nursed first, clumsily but determined, her little fists pressing against your chest. Your son followed soon after, smaller but no less eager, his jaw working slowly as he fed. You held them both across your arms, your body still trembling with exhaustion, but your heart so full it threatened to overflow. Neteyam had been behind you the whole time, arms bracketing yours, holding you steady through the haze of pain, joy, and awe. Now, as both babies drifted into a peaceful post-feeding sleep, he carefully shifted from behind you. His hands lingered for a moment, brushing over your shoulders, before he knelt in front of you, his eyes flicking from your flushed face to the bundled newborns resting against your chest. “You did it. I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, voice thick with wonder. “I’m so tired,” you murmured, leaning slightly toward him. “I know, yawne.” His voice was soft. “Let me take care of you now.” Gently, he helped you lift your arms, adjusting your clothing with delicate precision. He used a damp cloth to wipe away the sweat at your brow, along your chest, and down the curve of your neck, his touch reverent and slow. Then he leaned in and kissed your cheek, brushing his nose against yours, grounding you in the quiet after the storm. “May I?” he asked, nodding to the babies. You nodded, too tired to speak. With grace, Neteyam leaned in and slid one arm beneath the back of your daughter, the other beneath your son. You didn’t hesitate for a moment—your arms just let go since you trusted him more than anyone. He drew them close to his chest, cradling both with wide, careful hands, his thumbs brushing their small torsos as he looked down at them. His breath hitched.

They were so small in his arms, wrapped in the soft woven cloth Tsireya had prepared during those long weeks of waiting. Their skin was a dusky violet, their ears slightly curled, and already they seemed to know his touch, their tiny bodies settling against him with a deep, instinctive trust. “Hi,” he whispered, staring down at them with the softest, most disbelieving smile you’d ever seen on his face. “I’m your sempu.” You blinked, chest tightening at the sight of him—bare-chested, eyes shining, his entire soul pouring into that moment. His mother stood quietly at the edge of the room, watching the two of you with tears in her eyes. She hadn’t said a word, giving you both this time, her hands clasped gently before her. But when Neteyam turned to look at her, she stepped forward silently and brushed a hand over his shoulder. “You are ready,” she said softly, pride brimming in her voice. “You are already everything they need.” He nodded wordlessly.

Then, outside the woven partition, a familiar rustling broke the silence. “She, okay?” came Lo’ak’s voice, muffled but anxious. “Can we see now?” Tuk added, trying to whisper but failing entirely. Neteyam looked at you, waiting for your nod, and only when you gave a tired smile did, he turn toward the door. “Alright,” he called gently. “Come meet them.” The flap lifted, and the rest of the family stepped into the soft light—Jake with one arm around Kiri, Lo’ak and Tsireya hovering protectively behind Tuk, who was already rushing forward, her hands pressed over her mouth in awe. “Oh wow,” she whispered. “They’re so small.” Jake stopped beside Neytiri, quiet but beaming, while Kiri stepped up to the other side of your bed and rested her hand lightly over your shoulder. And in the middle of it all, Neteyam stood tall, still holding both his children against his chest, his eyes flicking back to you with such overwhelming love that your breath caught in your throat.

Lo’ak lingered in the back for a moment, eyes wide, almost like he was unsure if he should intrude on something so tender. But the moment he saw how pale and exhausted you looked—sitting propped up, arms limp now that the babies were in Neteyam’s hold—he moved without a word. He crossed the room quietly and lowered himself beside you, close but careful not to jostle the bedding. His usual swagger was gone, replaced by something quieter, almost reverent. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, eyes flicking over your face. He looked like he’d just run from battle, but his tone was soft as a feather. You nodded, still catching your breath. “Yeah. Just… tired.” Lo’ak exhaled a sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh—relief, mostly. Then he reached up and gently touched your arm. “You were incredible. Seriously. That was… crazy.” You turned your head slightly to look at him, managing a small, weary smile. “It was.” His eyes drifted to the babies in Neteyam’s arms, and his lips parted in wonder. “So that’s them, huh?” You nodded again, and this time your voice was almost a whisper. “Your niece and nephew.” He blinked, then grinned—wide, real, the kind that brought all the youth back into his face. “That sounds so weird,” he said, then looked at you with something gentler. “But kind of amazing.” Tuk had crept to Neteyam’s side, peering eagerly up at the sleeping twins. Kiri knelt behind her, watching closely, hands folded at her chest while Tsireya kneeled on the other side of Neteyam. Lo’ak reached out, just barely brushing his knuckles against your hand. “You did good, big sis,” he said, a quiet kind of pride in his voice.

You laughed softly, but the tears still came, uninvited and warm. You hadn’t realized how much you needed your little brother right there, in that moment—someone who had seen all your battles and bruises, now sitting beside you when you were at your most raw and real. And just across from you, Neteyam glanced up, eyes meeting yours—still holding both his children with the same tenderness he always held you. Lo’ak had settled right beside you on the floor, careful not to jostle you as you leaned back against the mound of soft woven blankets. You were still sore, your body aching and your belly round but deflated—like it hadn’t quite gotten the message that its job was done. Lo’ak tilted his head, staring at it with that very specific older-brother-who-has-no-filter expression. He slowly reached out and poked it. Squish. You slapped his hand with a tired glare. “Lo’ak.”

“What?” he laughed, eyes wide in mock innocence. “It’s just… it’s still there! But it’s like, not baby hard. It’s like…” he poked again—faster this time to avoid another smack. “It’s like a sack of warm jelly.”

“Say one more thing and I’ll make you carry them for nine months next time,” you grumbled, elbowing him half-heartedly.

“Hey, hey, I’m being supportive,” he said, hand to his chest like he was deeply offended. “I’m bonding with my nephew’s former apartment.” You let out a breathy laugh despite yourself, too tired to argue. “That apartment just ruined my spine and cracked my ribs. Show some respect.” “Respect to the jelly sack,” he said with a bow, then instantly ducked when you tried to smack him again.

Across the room, Neteyam stood with his parents, gently transferring the babies into their arms for the first time—Neytiri’s face awash with emotion, Jake looking both proud and terrified. Kiri and Tsireya leaned over Tuk, who was carefully holding a baby’s little foot between her fingers like it was made of starlight. But your moment, right here—sweaty, sore, and barely stitched back together—was somehow perfect in its ridiculousness. Especially with Lo’ak beside you, smirking and still watching your belly like it might suddenly deflate with a whoosh. “Tell Neteyam I want ice,” you muttered. Lo’ak grinned. “On it. Ice for the jelly sack.”

Neytiri sat with the baby girl tucked against her chest, her expression soft and reverent as she gently rocked the tiny bundle. Across the marui, Jake held the boy, his massive arms cradling him like something sacred. The tension of the long night had passed, replaced now by a thick, honey-sweet quiet. Sunlight filtered through the woven walls, casting golden dapples across the floor. The waves whispered in the distance. Peace had returned. You leaned into Neteyam who had same to sit on the other side of you now, utterly spent, with his arm draped across your shoulders and his cheek resting against your hair. Neither of you said a word—just watching as your family took in the tiny lives you’d brought into the world. Tsireya was crouched near Neytiri, her hand resting lightly on your knee, as if grounding you. Kiri sat nearby, legs crossed, eyes soft with wonder. Lo’ak had let Tuk climb into his lap, her head resting against his chest while she peeked at the babies with wide, curious eyes. Jake was the one who finally broke the silence. He smiled as he looked between the two infants in his and Neytiri’s arms and said with a quiet warmth, “So… what are their names?” You and Neteyam shared a glance, and he smiled, still glowing, still looking at you like you were the most incredible thing Eywa had ever made. He nodded for you to speak.

You swallowed, heart full. “Her name… is Ayula,” you said, voice soft. Neytiri gasped gently, her fingers stroking the girl’s cheek as she repeated, “Ayula…” Her eyes welled with emotion. “A beautiful name.” You looked to Jake, still holding the boy with proud, careful hands. “And his name is Niväk.” A beat passed, thick with feeling. Jake gave a low, approving hum. “Ayula and Niväk,” he echoed, eyes shining. “Perfect.” Tsireya let out a soft, joyful laugh. “They’re beautiful names,” she said, reaching out to lightly touch your arm. “Fitting for such beautiful little souls.” Tuk blinked up from Lo’ak’s lap, whispering the names to herself in wonder. “Ayula… Niväk…”

“They sound like they were born from the sea,” Kiri said gently, smiling at you. “Like something Eywa whispered.” Neteyam’s hand squeezed yours, his lips brushing the side of your head. “They’re already loved,” he murmured. “So much.” And around you, your family wide-eyed, tearful, glowing, held your children like treasures the ocean had carried in just for them.

The weeks blurred into moons, and though the exhaustion was real, sleepless nights, sore limbs, milk-stained wraps, quiet crying at dawn, there was also an overwhelming softness to it all. Your body had changed in ways you never expected. Your belly, once impossibly round, flattened over time, but your figure was different now. Your hips had widened, your thighs had a new weight and strength to them, and your chest, full of milk, pulled your shoulders forward in a way that made your silhouette curve like a wave.

At first, you felt uncertain in your skin, like your reflection didn’t quite belong to you. But Neteyam never let that feeling last long. From the moment your healing allowed him to touch you more freely, he became obsessive, reverent. His hands were everywhere, slow and worshipful. He’d run his palms over the new lines of your waist like he was learning them from memory, always lingering at the dip of your lower back or the soft slope of your hip. Sometimes you’d just laid Ayula or Niväk down in the crib and turn to leave, only for him to pull you back against his chest, pressing you gently into the carved wood frame, lips brushing your neck. “Look at you,” he’d murmur, low and heat wrapped. “How could you think you’re anything less than perfect?”

Other nights, long after the babies were asleep and the world was quiet except for the tide, he’d follow you as you moved about the room. His hands would come to rest at your waist, fingers spreading possessively, thumbs stroking slow circles into your sides as if you might disappear. “You were always beautiful,” he said one night, his voice rough with sleep and longing. “But now… now, you’ve never looked more powerful. More…mine.” It made something shift in you. Every time he looked at you, touched you, whispered things only you were meant to hear, you didn’t just feel desired—you felt sacred. Like every curve, every scar, every soft place your body carried after birth was a mark of love, of pride.

Even in the chaos of new parenthood, he found ways to sneak those touches in. A hand smoothing over your hip as you passed, lips brushing the back of your neck while you nursed, fingertips grazing your thigh beneath the woven wrap at dinner. It never stopped being tender. Never stopped being Neteyam showing you—in a thousand quiet ways—that to him, you weren’t just the mother of his children. You were everything.

You were just laying Niväk down in the woven seaweed-lined crib next to his sleeping sister, Neteyam had crafted with his own hands, when those very same hands slipped around your waist from behind.“Babies are asleep,” he whispered, voice low and dangerous against your ear, “but I’m wide awake.” You rolled your eyes, smiling anyway as his palms smoothed over your hips, slow and possessive. “You said you were going to help clean the fish, not try and start something in front of the children.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, pressing closer until you felt the heat of him through your wrap, his nose nudging behind your ear. “You walk around here with these new curves like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.” He started to press soft kisses along your neck, hands sliding up your sides, then. “EW.” You both froze. Lo’ak stood in the entryway, face twisted in horror, a carved toy in one hand and a stunned Tuk peeking from behind him. “Bro. BRO. She just put the baby down. What is wrong with you?!” Neteyam groaned and dropped his forehead to your shoulder while you stifled a laugh. “I swear, you’ve got like a five-minute timer before you go full feral,” Lo’ak continued, walking past with exaggerated disgust. “The woman just gave birth and you’re out here trying to plant a whole other set of twins—”

“Lo’ak,” you choked out, covering your mouth to keep from laughing too loud. Neteyam pointed at him over your shoulder. “I will fight you.”

“You’d have to let go of her first,” Lo’ak quipped. “Which, honestly, I don’t think you’re physically capable of anymore.” Tuk giggled. “Neteyam loves her sooo much.”

“Thank you, Tuk,” Neteyam muttered, deadpan. “You’re the only one who gets me.”

“You’re disgusting,” Lo’ak called from the other side of the room. “Get a tide-hut.”

A couple weeks later, you were nestled on the woven floor mat, back resting against Neteyam’s chest as Ayula slept soundly in your arms and Niväk rested snugly in his. The mauri was peaceful, dim with the soft gold of the setting sun peeking in through the thatch. You’d been soaking in every second of these quiet moments, and frankly, you weren’t ready to give them up. That peace, however, was promptly disturbed by Kiri breezing in with the casual force of a storm. “Sooo… what are you two wearing to the clan gathering tonight?” she asked far too innocently, already scanning your baskets of folded wraps like she was going to dress you herself. You blinked up at her. “We weren’t planning on going.”

“You weren’t—” Kiri blinked like you’d just said you hated Eywa. “But… it’s the first big gathering since the babies were born!” Neteyam spoke mildly, adjusting his arm around Niväk. “We don’t really feel like putting on beads and smiling at people.” Kiri opened her mouth to argue, but then—“I can help!” Tuk’s voice piped up from the entrance. She bounded in barefoot and practically vibrating with excitement. “Kiri said I could help rock the cradles and tell them stories and—and maybe feed them just a little—” You and Neteyam both stared at her, then slowly looked at Kiri, who was suddenly very interested in the patterns on the baby wraps. “…Why are you two so eager to babysit?” you asked slowly, narrowing your eyes. “No reason,” Kiri said a little too fast. “Just thought you two might want a little break. Some time to feel like humans—uh, people—again.”

“Also,” Tuk added helpfully, “Lo’ak says you two act gross and romantic when no one’s watching so you probably want alone time.” You made a strangled sound as Neteyam choked back a laugh. “That little skxawng,” you muttered. Jake suddenly leaned into the entrance. “You going or what? Your fan club’s been asking about you.” Behind him, Tsireya waved gently, already dressed in soft ocean-toned beads. “I told them you’d show. Everyone wants to see you. You’ve both been missed.” Neytiri added as she stepped inside, her voice warm but firm, “You need to rejoin the village, even if it’s just for a few hours.” You glanced down at your children, warm and asleep in your arms and Neteyam’s. Then to Tuk, who was clasping her hands in hopeful excitement, and Kiri who was — very obviously — not making eye contact. “…If anything happens—”

“I swear we’ll come get you,” Kiri promised. “You’ll be ten steps away at most.” Neteyam exhaled a breath beside you, nudging you gently. “Come on, ma yawne. Let’s just go. Say hi. Eat something without one of them strapped to us.” You hesitated one last second… then nodded. “Fine,” you said. “But we’re not staying long.” Tuk squealed with joy and immediately ran to get the small woven toys from the shelf. “We’re gonna have so much fun!” You watched her buzz around while Kiri prepared the sleeping mats, and you leaned over to whisper to Neteyam, “They’re definitely up to something.”

“Oh yeah,” he whispered back, grinning. “But we’ll deal with it later. Let’s go pretend to be rested.” Tsireya’s hands moved quickly but gently, smoothing the ceremonial fabric into place around your hips. The rich indigo wrap clung just right, held firm by a braided belt adorned with mother-of-pearl and carved beads shaped like droplets of rain. She adjusted the shell-lined shoulder straps, giving you one final glance before stepping back. “You look like you belong in the center of the circle tonight,” she said softly. “They’re going to see it too.” You looked down at yourself, polished, prepared, painted. Your skin was marked in subtle ceremonial patterns, barely visible unless caught in the light. It wasn’t just a gathering tonight. It was your return. Outside the curtained doorway, you heard the murmur of familiar voices. Kiri’s soft laugh, Tuk’s small excited voice, Lo’ak speaking low. Another voice was there too, quieter but steady. Neteyam. You glanced at Tsireya. She gave a knowing nod. “Come on. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

You stepped out into the open air of the main space. The light was low, the warm flicker of woven lanterns casting gold across the walls. Just a few paces ahead, Neteyam stood with his siblings, speaking in a hushed voice. Tuk was hugging a small woven blanket to her chest, beaming. Kiri stood beside her, arms folded but smiling, eyes soft. Lo’ak nodded along as Neteyam said something you couldn’t quite hear. Then Tuk noticed you. Her eyes went wide, and she gasped softly. Kiri followed her gaze. Lo’ak turned. And then Neteyam did. His words stopped mid-sentence. His gaze locked onto you—his whole body going still. You watched his expression shift—surprise, reverence, and then something deeper settle into his face. His jaw tensed slightly, his throat bobbed as if he had to force himself to breathe. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. You crossed the space slowly, and as you reached the twins, you crouched beside them. Ayula let out a tiny coo as she stirred, her eyes fluttering open, and Niväk blinked up sleepily from the wrap of cloth that held him close. You kissed Ayula’s forehead gently, then Niväk’s, murmuring low promises you didn’t need to say aloud. Just long enough for them to feel it. Just long enough for you to believe you could leave them, even for a few hours. Kiri stepped forward and rested a hand on your shoulder as you rose. She didn’t say anything either, just gave you a steady nod.

Neteyam was already there when you turned. Closer now. His hand found yours, his touch grounding—warm, firm, careful. “You look like Eywa touched you herself,” he said finally, voice low and full of weight. “I don’t know how to stand next to that.” You raised an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at your lips. “You’ll manage.” He didn’t let go of your hand. Tsireya and Lo’ak fell in beside you, Lo’ak throwing you a little smirk. “You’re gonna outshine everyone, you know that?” You shrugged. “Not my fault.” Tsireya laughed softly. “Let’s go. They’ll start the gathering soon.” And so, the four of you walked out beneath the wide night sky, your feet brushing the sand and stone path as lanterns swayed above. The sea whispered behind you. The pulse of drums waited ahead.

The firelight from the main bonfire cast gold over your skin, the shimmer of your ceremonial clothing catching every flicker. You stood near a curving reef wall not far from the lounging area, where Jake, Neytiri, Tsireya, and Lo’ak had settled for the evening. Neteyam had stepped away just moments ago to get you something cool to drink — barely ten paces away — but it was long enough. “Damn,” came Aonung’s voice, loud and unbothered, “I knew you cleaned up nice, but this? You look like something Eywa carved just to drive us insane.” You turned slowly, already unimpressed. “That line’s older than your braid.” He grinned. “Didn’t say it had to be original to work.” Before you could respond, Rakan approached more smoothly, his tone lower, more charming. He was one of the warriors who did the trails with you, coming in second place. “Ignore him,” he said, eyes sweeping over you with appreciation. “You look… breathtaking. Like moonlight caught fire.” That made you blink, and, despite yourself, a laugh slipped out. “Okay… that was better.” Aonung groaned. “Oh, come on. That’s what gets a laugh? I bring passion and honesty and get nothing?”

“You bring volume,” you muttered. Rakan smiled, stepping a little closer — but respectfully. “It’s the truth. If Neteyam weren’t already stuck to your side, I’d be chasing you every chance I got.” Aonung crossed his arms. “I am chasing her. Every chance I get.” You rolled your eyes. “Which is why you’re still single.” Aonung laughed. “That’s just because I haven’t caught you yet.” Rakan laughed at Aonung’s bad attempts at making you laugh. “She’s way too fast for you.” Aonung pointed between you and Rakan. “Look at her. She’s glowing. Powerful. Strong. You could probably knock me flat with one kick, huh?” You smirked. “Probably.” He grinned. “That’s hot.” Just then, Rakan tilted his head. “Honestly, though? I don’t know how Neteyam doesn’t explode every time he looks at you.” Aonung nodded, grinning like an idiot. “Right? He’s holding the sun and acting like it’s a torch.” You raised a brow. “It was a little dramatic.” Rakan shrugged, stepping slightly closer—but not overstepping. “For you? Worth it.” Aonung leaned in too. “Let’s be real. You need someone who can keep up. I could carry you out of here and still win a fight after.”

“She could carry you,” Rakan muttered. You fought another laugh, and Rakan saw it, eyes lighting up. “See?” he said softly to you alone. “That smile’s worth the teasing.” And that’s when Neteyam saw it. From the distance — just a few steps away, drink in hand — he slowed. His eyes caught the scene like a snap of thunder: Aonung puffed up and posturing, but you were angled slightly toward Rakan, smiling. Laughing. Not at Aonung’s antics. Not uncomfortable. But warm. A little flattered. Neteyam’s jaw ticked.

Over on the lounging mats, Lo’ak noticed immediately, elbowing Tsireya subtly. “Uh-oh.” She followed his gaze, eyes widening. “Oh, no. Neteyam saw it.” Neytiri looked up next. She didn’t say anything, just tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly as she watched her eldest son pause mid-step. Jake chuckled quietly, not even looking. “That posture means someone’s gonna regret opening their mouth.” Tsireya leaned in closer to Lo’ak. “Do you think he’s more jealous of the flirting or the laughing?” Lo’ak grinned. “Both. But mostly the laughing. He’s territorial.” Back near you, Neteyam closed the distance in silence, stepping up behind the two males just as Rakan leaned in with another low compliment. “Honestly, if you were mine, I don’t think I’d ever stop looking at you.” Without hesitation, Neteyam cut in — voice low and cold. “Good thing she’s not yours.” Both Rakan and Aonung flinched slightly as they turned. Neteyam handed you the drink without looking away from them, slipping his arm around your waist with casual finality. “Neteyam,” Aonung said with a laugh, raising his hands. “Relax. We’re just talking.” He tilted his head, eyes still on Rakan. “She was laughing.”

“She laughs when she’s amused,” Neteyam shot back. “That doesn’t mean you’re funny.” Rakan straightened slightly. “I wasn’t trying to take her. Just complimenting something beautiful.” Neteyam’s voice was sharp. “Then go compliment a rock. You’ll have better luck.” Aonung laughed. “Stars. He’s in rare form tonight.” You glanced up at Neteyam, catching the tightness in his jaw, the tension in his arm still wrapped around you. It wasn’t anger. Not really. It was possessiveness, hot and focused and entirely for you. Rakan looked at you one last time, softer now. “Didn’t mean to step on anyone’s toes.” Neteyam’s eyes flicked to him. “Try it again and I’ll make sure you land on your back.”

Lo’ak snorted from behind you, failing to hide it with his palm. “There it is.” Jake sighed through his teeth, sipping from his cup. “Smooth. Real smooth.” Tsireya smiled, watching with her chin on her hand. “It’s kind of sweet how unhinged he gets for her.” Neytiri gave a soft, knowing hum. “He doesn’t see anyone else when she’s in the room.” The two warriors backed off — Rakan more gracefully than Aonung, who rolled his eyes dramatically before leaving. Neteyam finally turned to you, his jaw still tense, but his eyes softening. “You okay?” You nodded, pressing a hand against his chest. “Are you?” He huffed a breath, the edge finally cracking. “I hate when they make you laugh.” You smirked. “It was one line. And it was funny.” He dipped his head closer, lips brushing your temple. “Then I’ll be funnier.” You smiled, fingers slipping into his hand. “You don’t have to be. You just have to stay right here.” His grip tightened like a promise. “Always.”

After that flare of tension with Rakan and Aonung, Neteyam hadn’t left your side once. Still, he’d softened again, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you spoke with one of his old sparring partners and another hunter you vaguely recognized from training. They’d congratulated you on the birth of the twins, teased Neteyam for “finally settling down,” and it was all warm and lighthearted again. Until the music changed. The beat slowed, mellowed — the drums fading under the breathy rise of wooden flutes and the rhythmic snapping of palm fronds. The crowd around the bonfire shifted. The laughter eased into something quieter, more reverent. Couples began to step out into the ring: not for a showy dance or ceremonial display, but something slower. More intimate. Neteyam leaned down to your ear, voice gentle. “Dance with me?”

You looked up, smiling at the softness in his eyes, all the fire from earlier melted into warmth. “Of course.” He reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, and pulled you into the circle. The two of you moved together easily, not touching much, but always near. He circled you slowly, mirroring your steps. His gaze never left yours. You could feel the weight of it even when you turned your back or moved a few paces away. When your hands did meet again, palms brushing in the firelight, it was like the world shrank down to just that touch. “I missed this,” he said softly as you turned. “Dancing?”

“No,” he said. “You. Smiling like this.” Your chest tightened. He wasn’t talking about the smile you gave the others, not the polite kind, not the one you wore during conversation. He meant this smile. The real one. The one that only rose when your whole body relaxed. “Then don’t stop giving me reasons to,” you whispered back. He spun you lightly. “Never.” Your bodies moved with the slow rhythm, feet bare, steps easy and familiar. The energy of the celebration pulsed around you, but here, in this little pocket where only he existed, everything felt calm. “You’re staring again,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing. Neteyam smiled lazily. “Can you blame me?” You rolled your eyes, even as your fingers toyed with the beads tied into his ceremonial armband. “Yes. I’ve been in this outfit for hours. I’m definitely not at my best.”

“You were at your best the second you stepped out of that room earlier,” he said, lowering his head until his forehead rested against yours. “I almost didn’t let you leave.” You grinned. “Almost?”

“I’m trying to be less possessive.” You leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Hmm, you’re doing a decent job.” You danced a little longer, until the drums slowed and finally gave way to the gentle hush of night. Around the fire, clusters of family and friends lounged with half-eaten fruit platters and warm chatter. You and Neteyam eventually drifted to join them — settling onto a woven mat beside Jake and Neytiri, who’d taken turns teasing you both about how quiet you’d been lately. “Because they’ve been too busy sleeping whenever the babies do,” Neytiri said knowingly, sipping from a carved shell of fruit water. “I remember that dazed look. It means exhaustion.”

“She’s still sharper than most of us,” Jake muttered, tilting his head at you with a grin. “Saw you handle that hunter from the reef clan earlier. What’s his name? Roka-something?” You snorted. “Rakan. And I didn’t handle him. I just… didn’t entertain him.”

“Mhm,” Neteyam hummed, smirking as he handed you your drink. “Handled.” Time passed in slow waves — the music drifting into softer melodies, the conversations mellowing. Lo’ak and Tsireya had disappeared at some point during the last hour, but neither of you really noticed or cared. It was too peaceful. Too grounding. Every now and then Neteyam would touch your hand, or your knee, or just glance your way with that quiet, affectionate look that only he had — the one that said: I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re mine. But after a while… your body started to ache. Not in a painful way, just the deep, steady fatigue that came from birthing twins, dancing in ceremonial clothes, and being away from your children for the longest time since they were born. You leaned into Neteyam’s side, your voice soft. “I miss them.” He didn’t ask who. His arm slid around your shoulders without hesitation, drawing you in as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Let’s go home.” Neytiri smiled as she caught the exchange. “Already?” she asked gently. You nodded. “I think I’m full. Of music, firelight… everything for tonight.” Jake chuckled. “You earned it.” Neteyam stood first and reached down to help you to your feet. He didn’t rush you, didn’t say a word, just held your hand as you said quiet goodbyes.

The walk back to the Sully mauri was quiet — not in the way silence sometimes feels uncertain, but in the way it does when two people are so full they have no need to speak. The moonlight followed you across the pathways of woven coral and bark, your steps light, your body already leaning toward home. When the entrance curtain rustled aside and you stepped into the main space, you felt it immediately. Stillness. No soft baby sounds. No gentle lullabies hummed by Kiri. No rustling or whispering between the sisters. The twins’ little sleep space had been cleared entirely. The woven cradle was gone, the folded cloths they usually slept on vanished. You stopped walking, brow furrowing in confusion. “Where are they?” Beside you, Neteyam let the curtain fall back into place and offered the smallest of smiles. “They’re nearby,” he said, voice quiet. “Safe.” You turned to face him, still confused. “With who?” His gold eyes glinted as he took a step closer to you, the space between your bodies vanishing with one easy stride — the height difference pulling your chin up slightly to meet his gaze. “With our brother, his girlfriend and our sisters,” he said. “In a small mauri just next to this one. Lo’ak and Tsireya set it up with Kiri and Tuk earlier tonight. I asked them to.” Your eyes widened slightly. “You… planned that?” He nodded once. “Every bit of it.”

A breath caught in your throat. “Why?” He didn’t answer with words at first. Instead, he slipped his hand into yours and gently led you toward the private corner of the mauri — your room, the one you’d made yours over the past months. The woven wall parted quietly as you stepped through… and everything felt different. The moment you crossed the threshold, your heart paused. Your room had been transformed. Soft glowing lanterns hung from the upper beams, casting a low amber light across the moss-lined floor. New bedding had been arranged — the familiar woven layers beneath but now shaped into a gentle circle padded with sea-cotton and fresh blossoms. Strands of pale shells and beads from your favorite dive spots hung like starlight from the ceiling. The air smelled like wildflowers, salt, and him. Along the far wall, someone — probably Kiri, had traced quiet spirals in coral powder and pearl dust, sacred symbols for unity, eternity, and Eywa’s blessing. A little shell basin in the corner flickered with bioluminescence, casting dancing patterns of light across the walls like the ocean’s surface at night. Your breath caught. “Neteyam…” He stood behind you now, silent for a moment. And then, his voice came, low, sure, close to your ear. “I wanted us to have this,” he said. “Not just to celebrate what we’ve already done, but to finally do what I’ve wanted since before the trials. Before the twins. Before everything when we were still in the cabin hiding from the world.” You turned to look up at him. He stared down at you with a warmth so deep it made your knees weaken. His hands lifted to gently cradle your face, fingers brushing your cheeks with reverence. “I want to be your mate. Officially. Your husband before Eywa.”

“No more waiting,” he whispered. “No more halves. No more being yours in pieces. I want all of it. You. Me. Our family. Our bond.” He took a slow step back, golden eyes never leaving yours, and reached for his queue. You mirrored him. Your hands found your braid, fingers trembling just slightly as you pulled it forward. No hesitation. No fear. Only love. He dropped to one knee, gently, eyes still on yours, not out of tradition, but out of devotion. And when your queues touched and Tsaheylu was formed. Everything surged.

In an instant, you felt him, and he felt you. Not just emotions, but everything. The way your heart trembled with love for him. You leaned down hands holding you up against his shoulders like the feeling made you drunk in love with him. The memory of him weeping in the sand before your first trial. The fluttering joy when you felt your babies kick for the first time. The quiet ache of fear you carried during recovery. Your unwavering need for him. And he — oh, Eywa, he was a flood. His pride. His awe. His hunger to protect you. His joy. His worship. His love, not gentle, not soft, but absolute. Wild and permanent. When you opened your eyes, your breath shook. Neteyam stared at you like you were the center of the world. “I love you,” you whispered. His hands were already cupping your thighs before you finished the sentence, hand squeezing the flesh, like you were something sacred, like you weren’t real. “I feel it,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. “I feel everything.” You gasped softly, stunned by how overwhelming it was, how you could feel him even in the places your body didn’t touch, how his love curled inside your chest like it had always lived there.

Then, before you could speak again, he stood up and his lips found yours. The kiss wasn’t careful. It was desperate and loving and real, threaded with everything he felt through the bond. It was all-consuming. You melted into him, your hands at his chest, his arms around your waist, but it wasn’t just physical. It was deeper. You could feel how much he missed you even when you were near, how badly he’d wanted this moment, how long he’d waited to give you everything, finally, without fear or hesitation. His lips moved against yours like he’d die if he stopped. And you kissed him back with the same fire.

His kiss deepened, his hands sliding up your back like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you tighter or just feel as much of you as possible. His breath hitched when your fingers curled into his hair, and through the bond, you could feel it, the ache, the hunger, the way your desire lit something wild in him. When he finally broke the kiss, it was only to drag in a shaky breath. His forehead stayed pressed to yours, his voice low and hoarse. “Eywa… I can’t stop touching you,” he murmured. “Every time I do, it just makes me need more.” Your smile was soft, but your eyes were molten. “Then don’t stop.” That was all he needed. Neteyam’s hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you close, chest to chest, hips brushing, your heartbeat tangled with his. He kissed along your cheekbone, your jaw, down your neck, each press of his lips slower, firmer, as if he was memorizing every inch. You sighed, tilting your head to give him more, and his fingers flexed against your hips like he was grounding himself.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered against your throat. “I feel everything. You want me… Ewya, you want me so much—” You gasped, warmth flooding through you, and he groaned in response, the sound rolling against your skin, he took a breath. “Your heart racing. The way my voice makes you burn. The way you tremble when I kiss you here—” His lips grazed the spot below your ear, and you whimpered. “And here—” He kissed the hollow of your collarbone, and your knees went weak. “Neteyam—” you laughed breathlessly, your voice already shaking with heat. His hands slid around to your back again, firm and wanting, and he pulled you against him so there was no space left between your bodies. “You think this is funny?” he growled softly, but he was smiling too, voice unsteady with love. “You think teasing me when I can feel everything is fair?”

“Maybe,” you teased, your voice a breathless whisper. He chuckled, a low, raw sound that curled straight through you. “Then I guess it’s only fair,” he murmured, “if I show you exactly what you do to me.” And slowly, with his eyes never leaving yours, Neteyam began to lower you down onto the soft woven bedding below, his touch reverent and urgent all at once, like he was both worshiping and claiming you.

His kiss broke only long enough for him to gasp your name like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world. Then, low and guttural, his voice rasped “Off. I want it off. Now.” You blinked, breathless, not from fear, but the command in him. The heat in his eyes. “Demanding,” you teased, just to see how far you could push him. His mouth twitched into something darkly amused. “You like teasing me?” he growled, voice rough with disbelief. “You’ve been teasing me; every breath you take drives me insane.” Before you could reply, his hands were already on you, firm, worshipful, but not waiting. He tugged at the wrap around your chest like it offended him, jaw clenching as it came free. The fabric dropped to the floor with a soft whisper, and he leaned back just enough to see you.

And then he stared, chest rising and falling like he’d just surfaced from underwater. “Fuck,” he breathed, voice caught somewhere between reverence and ruin. “Look at you. You’re everything.” Your breath shook. You felt it in the bond, the way his desire curled inside him like lightning, crackling and alive. It wasn’t just lust. It was hunger. Need. You tilted your head, cocky and breathless. “What, surprised I still look like this after giving you twins?” That was a mistake — or maybe not. His eyes flared, golden and sharp. He leaned into you again so fast you gasped, hands sliding down up back, rough and reverent all at once. “Don’t joke like that,” he snarled softly. “You don’t know what it does to me.” You laughed, breathy, dizzy from the bond and run your fingers against his braid, weighting the response. “I think I do.” He pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged. “You’re mine. Not just now, forever. You feel that? You feel what you’ve done to me?” And you did. Every shudder of need. Every thread of wild, possessive love twisting through the bond. His hands slipped lower, thumbs hooking at the waistband of your loincloth. His voice dipped lower, almost cruel in how tender it sounded. “I’m not asking again.”

You giggle and bite your lip before tugging in the knot, loosening the loincloth. Neteyam didn’t waste any time ripping it away from your body and the cool air hit your core sending shivers through you. His lips were against your neck making the bruises he started on even deeper before he moved down to your full tits. You weren’t sure what he would do since you were still breastfeeding, but you definitely weren’t expecting his next move. His fingers slid up your stomach to one of your milk-filled tits and squeezed it. The beads of milk dripped down, over his fingers and down the side of your ribs to the bedding below and you moaned.

Neteyam paused for a moment, his lips on the skin between your tits and his hands cupping them both against his face, they were a bigger handful now than before. His eyes met yours like a predator that knew he won the chase. Your breathing was uneven and shallow. Neteyam could already feel it, he already felt what his little action had done to you, but he never taught you’d get so worked up from him drawing a little milk. “That felt good?” He asked just to confirm in a low, husky voice. You didn’t answer right away but his thumb came back to your nipple brushing the swollen nub and your moans spilled into the quiet and Neteyam breathed it in like it was air. His eyes darkened, chest pressed close as if he needed to feel everything, not just your skin, but the way your body arched under his hands, the way your breath hitched just from his touch.

Neteyam chuckled darkly before darting his tongue out and licking up the mess he made on your skin before circling it with quick, small actions with his tongue. He groaned against your flush skin feeling through the bond and your pretty mewls how good he made you feel. Neteyam sweetly marked his way down your body until he made it to your thighs. Neteyam’s hands gripped your thighs like he owned them, thumbs digging into the soft skin as he spread you open just a little more. His eyes burned as they dragged over you, slow and full of dark hunger. When he spoke, his voice was low, rough, wrecked. “Look at you…” he rasped, leaning in, lips brushing the inside of your thigh. “Already shaking—and I haven’t even started.”

You whimpered, and his tongue flicked out, tracing a path up your skin. He groaned at the taste, his breath hot against you. “You’re driving me mad, baby.” Your fingers tangled in his braids, and he let out a low sound—half growl, half moan. His voice dropped even lower, thick with lust. “You’ve been in my head for days. All I’ve been thinking about is how soft you are right here… how you sound when I have you like this, how much I wanted you.” You arched, and he chuckled under his breath, eyes flicking up to yours. “You like that? Hm?” His mouth ghosted closer, just enough to make you gasp. “Tell me,” he growled, lips brushing where you throbbed. “Tell me you want it.” When your voice caught in your throat, all you could do was moan out, “I want you tey…want you so bad.” That was all he needed. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like just your voice, your scent, your heat had undone him. “Fuck,” he breathed, voice husky and strained. “I’m not gonna stop ‘til I ruin you.”

Neteyam pressed a sweet kiss on your clit before his tongue invaded your cunt. You let out a loud squeal, you weren’t expecting the slaughter he was about to commit between your thighs. His tongue circled your clit multiple times making you involuntarily buck into his face; your hands slid into his hair tugging at the braids. His mouth sucked in your bundle of nerves which made your thighs tighten around his head, your legs feel over his back and down the side of his body holding him against you. He flicked his tongue with sharp burst of intensity, sending jolts of pleasure up your cunt making you arch off the bedding below. “Eywa, you’re so wet..” he growled against your skin making you vibrate with pleasure. You tried to speak, wanting to express how good he made you feel but your words got chocked up in your throat when you tried.

“Ahh!” You gasped when his long tongue speared into your dripping cunt, your back arched sharply. Hands finding purchases on his arms, shoulder, the bedding then back to his hair, you didn’t know what to do, what to hold onto. “Oh fuck yesss,” you moaned into the air. His fingers moved down to your cunt, using his thumbs to spread your folds open so he could get his tongue deeper, and your eyes roll back. Neteyam didn’t let up for a second, plunging his tongue in and out, it was electrifying. So much so that your back arches up completely thighs tightened even more around his head as your entire body besides your head lifted off the bed.

Neteyam lifted onto his knees with your body, so he didn’t have to pull away, his hands splaying beneath you against your back to keep your body lifted off the bed. His grip tightened as he growled, low and possessive, “that’s it baby…just like that,” his words send ripples up your cunt, his voice was husky and dark with heat, almost wrecked from the bond surging between you. You gasp and your grip on his body became tighter, your nails dug into the skin of his shoulder and you other hand gripped his hair and he felt it, ever flutter, every desperate clench and pulse inside you. And still, he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. A strained moan escaped him into your cunt, like he was barely holding himself together, the bond crackled like fire between your chests.

Your tail wrapped around his bicep after it lashed around a bit beating against his tone chest to help ground yourself. Your gasped, half moaning his name and he pressed deeper, hungrier, greedier like he was chasing every last tremble in your body like it was the only thing that mattered. One of Neteyam’s hands slides down to your ass holding you firmly, then he moves, his other arm pushing your body up and over his head now holding your weight on his shoulders suddenly you were weightless. You gasped at his sudden movement, your eyes widening and your voice came out as a broken scream while your grip on his tightens even though you knew neteyam would never let you fall. He turned and dropped like he didn’t care how hard he hit the bed and landed in his back his grip remained on your body until your knees sank into the soft bedding. You were cradled over his face, thighs straddling him. His mouth was possessive, hungry. And the motion was fluid, instinctive, like it was practiced, like he knew all along he’d end up beneath you, consuming you like a worshiper.

Your hands leave his body and hit the wall now in front of you as he moans, low and rough. The sound vibrating through your core. This metkayina training really did something with his ability to hold it breath, it was unreal. His younger somehow reached even deeper than it was making your clench sucking him in even more. His voice came out hoarse and hand broken. “Ride it baby.” He spanked your ass making you yelp which turned into a moan. His hands moved you’re your hips, thighs, ass, rubbing along your curves as he encourages you to grind on his tongue. But you didn’t waste anytime pushing your body weight all the way down and onto him, your head rocked back as you stared to grind on his face.

You were messy, hair sticking to your forehead from sweat, fingers digging into the wall as you used it to push yourself back and forth on his face. His tongue still snug in your cunt and his nose bumping your clit so perfectly it made your eyes roll back. You trembled and cried out his name above him. And he doesn’t falter either, his hand switching from running along your curves to slightly pulling on your whipping tail since he knew how much you liked it when he did that. “Just like that baby…don’t stop.” He whispered against your cunt.

Your head dropped and you saw him, looking up at you like you were divine. Riding him felt like fire curling under your skin, hot and slow. The deeper you sank into his touch the more your body lit up. Nerves flickering with pleasure until it was impossible to tell where your control ended and where your instincts took over. His hands gripped your body like he didn’t trust himself to let go, like he might come undone just from watching you. And you felt it through the bond, his hungry, his helplessness, the way he was trying not to lose it while you took him in again and again. Your breath caught as your hips rocked forward harder, deeper. The sensation wasn’t just between your legs, it was in your spine, in your lungs, radiating up through your chest until you were moaning without meaning to. You swore you could feel his moans in return, low and reverent, pulled from somewhere deeper than just desire.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice cracked and husky. “You ride me like you were made for it baby.” And you did. You felt made for it, for him. Every brush of his hands, every breathless curse against your skin, every broken groan when you clenched around him, it only drove you harder. You were high on him, on the bond, on the heat and the rhythm and the way you could unravel each other just by moving in sync. When your head tipped back, your whole-body trembling, he reached up, not to slow you, not to guide, but just to touch, to worship, as if needing to ground himself in the reality that you were his. And you were. Completely.

Then suddenly you started to feel another amplified sensation that overpowered the others. The rhythm of his mouth didn’t stop, if anything, it deepened, dragging you higher and higher until the pleasure felt like too much to hold. Then something shifted through the bond. A sudden jolt, not yours. A hot, tight ache, raw and overwhelming, rushed through you like a second heartbeat pounding under your skin. You gasped softly, dizzy, and twisted to glance over your shoulder. That’s when you saw it. Neteyam’s hand was between his legs, working himself with hungry, almost frantic strokes. His chest rose and fell beneath you, breathless. His mouth never left you, but you could feel it in the bond, his restraint was crumbling. He was drowning in you. A startled little laugh slipped from your lips, breathy and warm. “You just couldn’t help yourself?” you whispered, voice teasing, shaky with pleasure.

You felt the response before he even moved, his grip on your thighs tightened, and he groaned low, his mouth dragging a little slower, deeper, sending sparks all the way up your spine. Then he spoke, voice thick and hoarse, hot against your cunt. “Why don’t you look at me and try saying that again.” Your breath caught. Not loud. Not angry. Just quietly dangerous. A velvet command wrapped in heat, like he was giving you a chance, just one, to surrender completely. To let him show you that you weren’t the only one who could tease. The bond surged again, that rough edge curling through it, his desire, yes, but also his intent. He wasn’t just desperate for you. He was about to remind you who you belonged to.

You turn back and look down at his half-exposed face, his eyes were daring but drowning in pleasure, you bit you smile with a smile and opened your mouth to speak, “couldn’t help yourself mighty warrior?” You giggle breathlessly. His eyes rolled back as you sped up your pace, he knew you were close, and he wanted nothing more than for you to gush in his mouth so he let you grind on his tongue harder and faster, slapping the flesh of your ass for your little smart comment. It hit you like a crashing wave, overwhelming, and blinding in its intensity. Every inch of you tightened, then released in a rush that left your limbs trembling and your chest rising in frantic breaths. It wasn’t just pleasure, it was being undone in the most beautiful way, like something inside you had been waiting for this moment and finally, finally let go.

Your body arched without thought, nerves alight, skin fevered. Your eyes were teary as you became undo above him. The scream ripped through you before you could catch it, breathless, broken and loud. It wasn’t a sound your made from having any control. It was dragged from somewhere deep, like your body couldn’t contain the feeling any longer. It echoed in your ears, but you barely registered it, too lost in the haze, in him. Through the bond, you felt him take it all in. The way it shook you. The way you clung to the feeling. His reaction wasn’t words, it was a storm of emotion flooding through you: possessive, reverent, hungry. That he could bring you to this. That he had.

His hands grip your hips like he owns you, steady and sure, sliding you off his face without a word. He sits up and pulls you close, lips brushing against yours with a soft, relentless hunger. “You’re fucking irresistible,” he breathes, voice low and rough, almost a growl before he kisses you. It was a deep, smearing kiss, you tasted your essence on his tongue as he effortlessly took dominance in the kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck ready to straddle him, but he wasn’t about to let that happen. His right arm wrapped snug around your waist spinning you on the bed to put you on your knees in front of him. Neteyam's chiseled abs glistened with sweat as he lifted himself over you, his sculpted chest hovered above your face, those stunning golden eyes burning into yours with primal hunger. "Open your mouth," he commanded, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "I want to feed you."

You eagerly parted your lips and Neteyam slid one of his large hands beneath your chin, tilting your head back slightly. He raised higher bringing his massive cock in line with your mouth. With the other hand, he grasped the throbbing, veiny length of his erection and brought it to your mouth. The engorged head nudged against your plump lips insistently. "Suck," he growled, slowly pressing forward. You had no choice but to accept his thick cock into your warm, wet mouth, not that you minded either way. It stretched your lips wide as he inched further in, the sweet taste of his arousal flooding your taste buds. The moment your lips closed around him, Neteyam’s breath hitched, sharp and low, like the sound was dragged from the base of his spine. His hand slipped into your hair fast, fingers threading tight, not yanking, just anchoring. His head tilted back, a curse falling from his mouth before he growled your name. Through the bond, his pleasure hit like a crashing wave heat, hunger, awe. But underneath it was something deeper. Possessive. Reverent. Almost angry with how much he needed you.

“Look at me,” he ordered, voice rough and shaking. You obeyed, eyes lifting, and he groaned like he could feel it everywhere. “That’s it… just like that.” His hips flexed slightly, slow but deliberate, not to control your rhythm, but to show you who was still in charge. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, breath ragged. “Pretty mouth… made for this,” he rasped. “You feel that?” His voice cracked on the end, raw with pleasure and disbelief. “That’s mine.” And through Tsaheylu, you felt how much he meant it, not just the act, but you. All of you. The claiming, the worship, the bond burning hotter with every breath. And he didn’t look away. Not once.

It wrecked him the way you moved, the way you didn’t shy away. Heat coiled low in his spine, spreading like fire as your lips wrapped around him, slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. His jaw tensed. His fingers dragged up into your hair, not guiding, just holding like you were the only thing anchoring him. A ragged breath left him. “Just like that,” he groaned, his voice strained and low, like he’d been holding back for too long. “Fuck… you’re perfect.” Your tongue swirled, your mouth relentless and he cursed under his breath again, hips stuttering once despite his effort to stay still. He could feel you through the bond, all that bold affection, the focused heat, and it turned the pleasure into something deeper. Something molten. Reverent. Then your eyes flicked up glossy, tears threatening the corners and he nearly lost it. “Look at you,” he breathed, wrecked and almost reverent. “Taking me so well.”

His grip in your hair didn’t falter, but his breath hitched subtly, like he didn’t mean to let it out. He tilted his head back just a little, lips parted, golden eyes fixed on you with something feral and soft all at once. “F-fuck—” he cursed under his breath, voice dropping rough and low. He tried to speak again, but your mouth worked him too well, and the next word caught in his throat. When he found it, it came out ragged. “You’re—fuck, you’re too good at this.” His fingers twitched, stroking your cheek with a tenderness that contradicted the tremble in his thighs. He breathed deep, grounding himself, like he needed the weight of you to stay steady. “Look at me,” he murmured, trying to sound in charge and mostly succeeding, though his voice cracked slightly on the last word. You glanced up, lips wet, eyes wide, and he groaned through clenched teeth. “Shit, you’re so beautiful like this. Cryin’ for me and still taking it.” You watched his jaw clench, his control fraying at the edges. “I’m—” he paused again, chest rising like a wave cresting. “Don’t stop— don’t fucking stop.”

Your head bobbed up and down on him sucking on his tip before chocking on his length making you gag. His hand started to control your movements slightly speeding up the pace. You could see above you he was losing it, it was beautiful. The way his head rolled back, and his eyes squeezed shut, but not for long since he didn’t want to stop looking at you. You saw the way he bit his lip when you rolled your tongue round his cock head. It was electrifying, and tenfold through the bond. “F-fuckk yesss tsafya kalin 'eve…” (like that sweet girl) Neteyam stuttered out in a haze. His words caught your attention. You knew he was close now. Neteyam had a habit of slipping into his mother tongue when he was about to cum, and you wanted nothing more than to swallow his load.

“Tsafya ma muntxatan?” (Like this my husband). You pull off his cock just enough to take in a breath and whisper up at him. His tip still pressed against your lips as your breath hit it in effort to catch your breath before going back down on him. You barely finished the last word in Na’vi when his breath hitched, and his eyes snapped to yours, blown wide, wild with heat and something deeper. His hand flexed hard against in your hair like your voice physically struck him. His lips parted. Voice low. Rough. “You speak like that and expect me to stay gentle?” A beat passed. His thumb brushed your cheek again; his gaze locked on your mouth. “Say it again.”

“Muntxatan.” You murmured the word once more, softer this time. His response came fast whispered, wrecked: “Sänrr—what you do to me…” (Fire) Then, in English, almost like he needed you to understand every part of him, “You drive me fucking insane.” Neteyam used his grip and pulled you off his cock and you gasp loudly and pant to catch your breath; your lower face was slick with your spit from how messy you sucked him off and his cock was connected to your lower lip by a string of spit. “What are you—” you start, wanting to know why he stopped you from making him cum. He didn’t answer right away, his eyes were heavy-lidded, chest rising with shallow breaths as he looked down at you, one hand already curling around your waist.

Then, low and rough, almost like he had to force himself to stay gentle, he said. “Because I want more than your mouth, kalin. I need all of you.” Your confusion melted into a flush of heat as he lifted you easily, guiding you up with both hands, still breathless from your surprise, but the bond between you buzzing with intensity. The way he looked at you then, like he was claiming the moment, left no room for questions. His voice dropped lower as he settled back against the pillows of the pretty bedding, eyes never leaving yours.

“Come here. Ride me.” The way he said it wasn’t a request. It was a command. His pointer and middle finger beckoned you closer, with a ‘come here’ motion and you were drunk, entranced. Barely caught your breath but there you were on all fours crawling up to him, slow and sexy like a predator. Neteyam couldn’t take his eyes off you, the way your skin sparkled like stars in the low light, the way your curves moved so perfectly as you came to him like a hunting Thanator, like you were prowling.

Every step you crawled closer, your tail moved like it had a mind of its own, swaying in rhythm with your hips. Your spine dipped just enough to accentuate the shape of your back, the round curves of your body, glowing freckles tracing a trail down your sides like constellations. In the dim light, your golden eyes caught his, bright and sharp, feral and beautiful. Neteyam sat still, breath shallow. His gaze followed every movement, slow and hungry, like his eyes were starving for you.

“Eywa…” he breathed, but it sounded more like a curse than a prayer. “You look…” His voice dropped into a whisper, “…so dangerous like that.” His voice would drop, thick with heat “You’re not playing fair, baby.” You see his throat flex as he swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. But that predator-prey tension would flip something in him, quick. He’d sit up slightly, legs spread, hand flexing against his thigh, fighting the urge to grab you before you made it all the way.

But he doesn’t he lets you come to him, eyes dark and hungry. The moment your hand touches his leg, or your face lifts up to meet his, he’d probably chuckle low and rough. “What are you trying to do to me?” he’d murmur, his fingers already sliding into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head. “You want to hunt?” he whispers, leaning in close. “Then catch me, txe’lan.” (Heart) Your tail flicked again, sharper this time and he exhaled like he felt it in him. You got closer, eyes half-lidded, and his gaze darted between your mouth, your hands, your tail still moving like it had a mind of its own.

You slowly make your way up his body, a hand on his chest pushing him back to lay down as you moved with him to hover over him. Your right legs had shifts up knee on the side of his waist to bring you closer and your left slotting between his legs. You moved down and his head tilted back instinctively before you lean down and kiss him, deep and slow. Your tongue invades his mouth like you were in control, but you knew he was letting you have the moment. His hands slid up your thighs to your waist over your hips then back down. His right hand even sparked your ass making you gasp in his mouth. You broke the kiss but stayed low with your lips on him, “caught you.” You whispered out with a giggle before moving down to his neck to kiss him making him groan.

Neteyam had done a great job marking you up when it was his turn, but now it was yours. your lips brushing that sensitive spot just beneath his jaw, where his pulse jumps. The sensation stole the breath from his lungs. Then he exhales sharply through his nose, jaw tightening. A low, almost involuntary groan rumbles in his throat. He tilts his head just a little, giving you more access, not because he’s passive, but because he wants to feel it, wants to let you do that to him. And when your lips linger there, maybe with a soft graze of teeth, you feel his fingers tighten on your thighs, grounding himself.

Your lips latch down sucking sweetly in his skin making marks that would definitely be visible tomorrow. You could feel the way his eyes shut and his breathing stutter in the bond, they way he wanted you to do whatever you wanted to him. You move to straddle his lap your cunt now directly sat on his length and he groaned. Your hips dragged along his length as you assaulted the skin around his collarbone, and he was about to lose it. You’re grinding slow, dragging your hips over him with just enough pressure to tease, just enough to make him lose his rhythm.

He groans low in his chest, both hands locking onto your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s trying to stay calm… but failing. “Stop playing with me,” he murmurs, voice rough, breath hot against your neck. His golden eyes are darker now, dilated and burning. “You know what I want.” You smirk, just a little against his skin and roll your hips again. He growls under his breath, then sits up slightly, his chest brushing yours as he tightens his grip. “Ride me,” he says, tone husky but clear. “Properly.” His hand comes down hard on your ass making your tail switch and you let out a loud moan next to his ear. “Rutxe… heyn sìn oe set.” (Please… sit on me now)

You bite your lip and raise off his length reaching your hand between your legs to hold him up then you lowered yourself, slow and deliberate. His cock stretched you out like it was the first time all over again. You can’t believe you went so long without letting him fuck you, cause now you’re about to go crazy. Then quieter, almost in a whisper, lips brushing your ear, his hands move up and down the sides of your body “Take me like you mean it.” The moment you give in, give him what he’s been craving, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours.

His fingers tighten around your ass, as if grounding himself through the sensation of you. “Finally…” he murmurs, almost like a prayer, voice low and wrecked, heavy with hunger and tension. It’s not just relief, it is obsession, awe, and possession wrapped into one word. His eyes trail down taking in the way your cunt sucks him before his eyes lift to yours, glowing with heat and something dangerously soft. He doesn’t smile. He stares, drinking in every line of your body, the sway of your hair as you start to move in him, the press of your skin against his and your soft moans that fill the air. The bond surges, thick with the weight of everything you both have been holding back.

“Look at you,” he breathes, a touch of reverence in his tone. “Moving like that… for me.” His voice deepens, rough and full of heat. And when your pace draws another moan from his throat, he lets it happen, not bothering to hold back now. One hand slides up your spine, firm, dragging you closer. You wrap your arms around his neck holding him close to you and he sits up sending his cock deeper into you. Your movements still as you let out a broken moan, adjusting yourself you start moving up and down again on his huge cock, Neteyam held you close, gripping your ass, helping you move on him.

Your lips brush his every time you come down taking him all the way until he had enough of the teasing and kissing you. You could barely kiss him back, mewling in his mouth. “Good girl, just like that,” Neteyam stuttered out between kisses. You already felt your thighs getting tired, but he felt so good like this you didn’t wanna stop, Neteyam knew, felt it through the bond and decided to help you. His big hands started to raise your body off his cock and back down onto it. Speeding up the pace. Your fingers dig into his shoulder, and you throw your head back.

Neteyam leaned back on the pillows once more and bucked his hips up into you. You bite your lip to stop from being too loud, “I want to hear you baby, every sound you make.” He said when he saw you, and your eyes rolled when he hit that perfect spot in you. His fingers dug into your ass, and you tail whipped in the hair as he fucked you. You could barely think, “faster—” you moaned out to him, you were so close already and he showed no sign of stopping. Your hands moved to rest in the pillow on both sides of his head and you started to fuck him back. Your mind was blank with pleasure. Neteyam chucked at your obvious drowning in the feeling of his cock. “Fuck baby…harder…come on. Give it to me. Take what you want.”

His right hand found its way rooted into your hair and he pulled your head up making you scream out. “Oh…don’t stop pleaseeee.” You stretch your words screaming them out, “I’m gonna cum…” you whisper into the air, your vision got blurry, and your jaw was slack noises escaping without resistances then he started to fuck harder. Feet planted onto the bedding now fucking up into your harder that before. It made your body bounce above him and you were loving it. “Come on baby, come on my cock...” Neteyam said breathlessly. The coil inside you twisted tighter, then snapped loose with dizzying release with a curdling scream. Neteyam kissed your neck as he fucked your through your high, “that’s it baby, fuckkk.” He groaned against your skin.

His hands slid up and down your thighs and ass, slow and steady, eyes locked on yours like he already knew what he was going to do. “Move for me,” he said lowly, breathless, and deep, but leaving no room for question. You barely had time to react before he was already shifting, one strong arm wrapping around your waist as he turned the both of you with effortless control. The motion was fluid, practiced, like he’d been holding himself back just to do this on his terms. Now above you, he settled his weight just enough to make you feel it, gaze heavy, lips brushing yours without quite kissing. The way he looked at you then, intense, sure, claiming, made your breath catch in your throat. Neteyam’s hands slide down your thighs, firm and deliberate. He pauses just long enough for you to catch the shift in his breathing, low, steady, but focused.

Then, without a word, he leans forward and wraps his arms beneath your knees. His grip is strong as he lifts your legs, guiding them up with ease until they rest over his shoulders. The stretch of it makes your breath hitch, and the press of his body keeps you grounded beneath him. His weight dips closer, folding you inward with him. You can feel the muscles in his arms tighten beside your hips as he settles into the position fully intentional, controlled. He doesn’t rush. He just holds you there, golden eyes locked on yours, his body pressing close enough that the warmth of his chest and the heat of his breath are all you feel. When he finally speaks, it’s low, husky and unshaken. “Right where I want you.”

With your legs draped over his shoulders and his body pressed close, your vision is filled with nothing but the fall of his braids thick, ink-dark strands swaying forward as he leans over you. You can’t see his face, only feel his breath ghost across your skin. You reach up, fingers weaving gently through the strands. He stills for a moment, breath catching not in surprise, but in attention.

You pull the hair tie from your own braid, looped around your wrist, and without a word, gather the upper half of his braids and tie them back, away from his face. It’s not rough, but intimate in its simplicity. When the last loop is secure, you meet his eyes for the first time since he shifted over you. His gaze is molten. A small, crooked grin tugs at his lips, and his voice drops to a rough murmur, almost amused but laced with heat. “That for you, or for me?” Then, leaning in just enough to brush his forehead against yours

“For me…but I’m sure you’re not complaining about having a view.” You smile up at him and giggle softly. Neteyam chuckled along with him before leaning down to give you a soft kiss. Neteyam’s fingers thread through your hair as his lips parts just a little, inviting yours to follow, and the kiss deepens, slow and deliberate. Each movement is careful, savoring the taste, the feel, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. You hear the slight hitch in his breath as desire stirs beneath the calm surface.

His hips shift up and down rubbing his cock against your clit making you squirm and moan against his lips, you were folded in half right now you couldn’t move even if you wanted too. Your hands grip his shoulders as he pulled back lining up his cock without pulling away and slowly pushing in. He curses under his breath at the warmth that engulfed his length. “Oh…f-fuckk” you let out a broken moan from how deep he was at this angle when he bottomed out and grunted.

It’s not just the physical closeness that intensifies the bond, it’s the vulnerability. With your legs pushed up and held against him, Neteyam isn’t just above you, he’s inside you and around you everywhere, all at once. His forearms cage your head, your hands gripped his biceps, and your chests brush with every breath. But the tsaheylu? That’s where it truly ignites. The connection doesn’t just link thoughts; it drowns you in emotion. You feel his restraint like a taut wire pulled to its limit, the primal urge he’s holding back, and the reverence that keeps him gentle.

Every beat of his heart pounds through the bond like thunder in your ribs. And then, suddenly, a shift like a soft burn beneath your skin. You feel him unravel. Not just physically but emotionally. Awe. Desperation. Possession. All of it washes through the bond like a tide, stealing your breath. Your name repeats in his head like a prayer, but even without hearing it aloud, the bond sings it to you. And when you look into his eyes, he’s not just watching you, he’s inside the way you feel, your pleasure bleeding into his own, crashing and folding in one shared, electric ache.

Through the bond, his thoughts pour into you like warm honey, slow, deep, and molten. He isn’t speaking aloud. He doesn’t need to. The connection between you is too thick, too intimate now. And in this moment, his mind is entirely wrapped around you. You feel it instantly. Desire, but not the fleeting kind. It’s the kind that roots itself in the bones, the kind that makes him tremble with restraint even as he presses closer, folding you beneath him like a secret only he gets to keep. “Great Mother…look at you.” He breathes the thought, not with reverence alone, but with ownership, a quiet, aching pride that blooms deep in his chest. “All mine, all of you… soft and spread wide, flushed, trembling under me.” You feel the way he sees you: your body arched and offered up, glowing in the low bioluminescent shimmer, your skin kissed with light, your eyes hazy and fixed only on him.

Your chest rising into his, thighs gripping his sides, your braids trailing beneath you. “You were made for this. Made to fit against me like this.” There’s a hunger in the way he notices everything, how your hips curve, how your thighs feel against his chest, how your tits are pressed together so pretty from the way he holds you exposed, how your breath hitches when he holds you tighter, how your mouth parts in the smallest gasps just for him. “No one will ever see you like this. No one will ever know you like this.” And that possessiveness? It coils tight in his gut, but it’s not jealous, it’s devotional. You’re not a prize. You’re his match, his other half. But still, seeing you like this, willing and open, golden-eyed and glowing, makes something low and feral stir in him. His cock drags along your cunt slowly, feeling the heat radiating off you. “Look at the way you let me have you. Fuck— what did I do to deserve this?” Then softer, like a whisper folded between heartbeats, “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Oeyä txe’lan… you ruin me (my heart).

You feel like your about to explodes, his thrust had progressively sped up but not how much you wanted it like he was teasing you. Your cunt fluttered around him as you took in his thought, the feeling of his body, the bond, everything. You wanted him to fuck you until you physically couldn’t make a sound and him feeling it through the bind wasn’t enough for you. “Fuck me…fuck me.” You said breathlessly body squirming to get more of him as if you could, your fingers dug into his arms, his back no doubt leaving scratch marks, “ma Neteyam…fuck me harder.” The shift is immediate. Subtle at first, his hips drawing back just a touch farther, his movements beginning to build in power and precision.

Like instinct taking over, like something deeper than thought guiding him now. Where before his pace had been careful, reverent, it becomes deliberate. Driven. His body moves like he’s answering a call only he can hear—like your desire is fueling him, setting the rhythm in his veins. Every motion lands heavier, more grounded, his body rolling into yours with a purpose that feels almost primal. His chest brushes yours with each breath, muscles tightening as if trying to hold back, but the bond tells you he doesn’t want to hold back anymore. He wants you to feel it. All of it. Each thrust knocks the air out of you with sweet sharp sounds echoing in the room, even out the window you were sure if someone passed, they’d know exactly what was happening in here, and you knew Neteyam’s possessiveness would never want you to quiet down.

You were practically melting into him, relaxing into hold, his thrust fucked you so good you swear you already started to see stars. As your legs tighten around him and your toes curled in the air, even your tail intertwined with him between his legs, his pace only answers back, faster now, the rhythm chasing a fire you’re both stoking together. When he feels the warmth spread across his skin, his gaze drops instinctively. Seeing your milk glistening there, fresh and soft against you both, something wild flickers in his eyes. He can’t move his hands that are tangled in your braids or maybe he doesn’t want to, but his mouth doesn’t need permission. His head dips, and the moment the warm droplets touch his skin, something in him snaps, low and deep.

A guttural breath leaves him as he leans in, tongue dragging slowly through the mess you made, tasting you like he’s starved for it. “Fìtxan tsìltsan… can’t even think straight.” (so good) Then, quieter murmured like he’s unraveling: “You taste like you were made for me.” And still, he doesn’t stop. He can’t. He’s lost in it, nose brushing skin, mouth open, chasing more. Not speaking now, only panting. Desperate and dazed, like nothing exists outside the mess you’re making together.

Neteyam was pounding into you so hard now you couldn’t think straight, your entire body rocked with his powerful thrust, legs trembling in the air. You couldn’t even catch your breath, it felt like the whole room shook with his thrust, “T-Teyam…I can’t—too much..” you stutter out as he knocked the air out of you. Neteyam’s eyes were everywhere, any part of your body he could see, his eyes locked on yours taking in your fucked out expression and sweet sounds he literally knocked out of you. “Oh sevin…you’re doing so good for me. Taking my cock so good,” his tone was husky, rough as he dragged it from his throat.

His hands moved from your hair to hold your thighs beneath your knees spreading you even further open, he raised his both slights and fucked into you even harder. “Ahh—” you started screaming, jumbled words about how deep his cock was and how good it felt, how much you couldn’t take it along with screaming his name. And you had no words in you to describe how you really feel even though he felt it through the bond. You were so close, so close to your release you wanted him to fuck you through. Your cunt sucked him in, no matter what incoherent words you’re you threw into the air, he was determined to fuck you until you couldn’t remember anything but him. “Good fucking girl…scream for me, say my name.” He groaned down at you, “gonna come sweet girl? Gonna make a mess on my cock.” You couldn’t even answer, trying to suck in air but before you could form words, he knocked it out. Your eyes rolled back, toes curling until they were cramping and your fingers must have been drawing blood from his back. “Fuckkk, gonna cum—” You scream and repeat the phrase over and over, even drowning out when he replied to you, but you felt his words in your cunt, “cum baby…cum for me…cum on this cock. Lemme see you milk my cock.”

His body bend down his face just inches from yours so he could swallow up all your little screams. For a second, it’s like the world stops moving with him. His arms tighten, his weight sinks just a little more into you, forehead resting against yours, his chest heaving once… twice… Then a low sound escapes him, not quite a groan, more like a broken moan dragged from somewhere deep. And you feel it, not just the warmth of his body, but the way he shudders, like something inside him just gave out. “Shit…” he mumbles, voice wrecked and quiet. “So fucking good—” His fingers tremble where they press into your thighs. He doesn’t say much more. Just presses his mouth to your shoulder and breathes you in, eyes shut tight like he’s trying to come back to himself, but you’re still holding him there, soft and flushed and real beneath him.

You’re both still catching your breath, tangled and flushed, when Neteyam’s hand finds yours. His fingers are a little shaky, but he brings them to his lips anyway, pressing a lazy kiss to your knuckles like he’s trying to ground himself through the touch. He’s quiet for a beat as he pulls out of you with a hiss and lays beside you. Then, with a breathless laugh: “…Are you alive?” You let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. “Barely. You short-circuited something in my brain.” His eyes crinkle with a sleepy grin. “Did I?” he asks, clearly too proud of himself. “Thought I felt you go a little boneless.”

“You shook the whole room, Neteyam.” He groans softly, dragging a hand down his face in mock guilt. “Yeah. That might’ve been me. Sorry.” “You’re not sorry,” you mutter, nestling into the crook of his neck. “No,” he agrees shamelessly. “I’m not.” Then, gentler, “Are you okay, though? I didn’t…” His voice dips, genuine concern peeking through the haze. “Was I too much?” You shake your head, lips brushing his throat when you turn and snuggle into his arms. “You were perfect.” Neteyam huffs out something between a laugh and a sigh. “You wrecked me,” he says, voice rough again, but softer now. “I swear, I’ll never move again.” You nudge his chest playfully. “Liar.”

“Truth,” he counters, eyes fluttering closed. “You looked so good underneath me I forgot my name for like… a full minute.” You start laughing, muffling it against his skin. “That’s not my fault.”

“It kind of is,” he hums, kissing the top of your head. “You make me a mess. Can’t think straight when it’s you.” You lift your head just enough to see his face. “Even now?”

“Especially now.” He reaches out and tucks a loose braid behind your ear, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You’re glowing. Wrecked and glowing. Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” You pretend to hide your face, and he just chuckles again, pulling you closer. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “I want to remember you like this forever.” You softly smile and kiss his chest, “I don’t think we’ll be forgetting anytime soon even if we wanted too.”

The next morning, the soft sound of babies crying filters in from the main space of the marui. You stir first, your body still aching in that sweet, hazy way. Neteyam shifts behind you, arms tightening instinctively around your waist. His chest is pressed to your back, skin warm, slow breaths brushing your shoulder. The flap rustles. Kiri pokes her head in, her braid slipping over her shoulder and a wicked grin already forming on her face. “Okay,” she says, voice low and amused. “I knew you’d be slow to get up, but you two look like you were dragged through Eywa’s roots.” You open your eyes halfway, barely able to lift your hand to reach for the tiny, fussing bundle in Kiri’s arms. “Come here, baby girl,” you murmur, taking Ayula and curling her gently to your chest to nurse. You stay on your side, eyes slipping closed again, your body still boneless, satisfied. Neteyam groans softly behind you, stretching just enough to flash a grin at Kiri. “Dragged? I’d say carried.”

“Oh, please,” Kiri scoffs. “We heard things.” Then Lo’ak’s voice, already full of judgment. “Bro, what the actual—” He stops short in the doorway, holding Niväk in his arms. His gaze locks on the bruises dotting your skin and the smug, very unbothered look on Neteyam’s face. Tsireya walks in behind him, but when she catches sight of you two, her cheeks flush a bright teal. “Eywa…” Lo’ak shifts the baby and groans. “You’re both glowing. Disgustingly.” Neteyam smirks, propping himself up on one elbow, his toned chest on full display. “You think she’s glowing now? You should’ve seen her last night.”

“Neteyam,” you mumble under your breath, hiding your smile in Ayula’s soft hair. Tsireya snorts, trying to hide her grin, and Neteyam just keeps going, eyes flicking to her and Lo’ak with practiced mischief. “Folded her in half,” he says casually. “Like a reef leaf.” Lo’ak nearly drops the baby. “Bro!” Neteyam holds a hand out for Niväk, who Lo’ak hands over. “And she took it like the fiercest little warrior,” Neteyam adds, voice warm and low as he tucks Niväk against his chest. “Didn’t even beg me to stop. Not once.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, trying to glare at him through a sleepy smirk. Tsireya blushes furiously. Kiri groans into her hands. “You’re so annoying,” Lo’ak mutters, but his tone is all exasperated affection. “I swear, if you wink at my girl again—” Neteyam does exactly that. A sly wink at Tsireya. “I mean, if she ever wanted to know what it feels like to be loud at night and glowing in the morning…”

“Neteyam!” Tsireya gasps, though she’s giggling too hard to be actually offended. Lo’ak glares. “You’re done. Put a sock in it.”

“You’re just mad,” Neteyam shrugs, “because your girl’s already curious.”

“I will launch you into the ocean this time, we not doing my brother steal my girl act again,” Lo’ak threatens, though he’s trying not to laugh as he ushers Tsireya out by the shoulders. Kiri pauses at the flap and glances back at you, smiling fondly. “You okay?” You nod slowly, eyes closed, Ayula nursing quietly. “Perfect.”

“Good,” she says. “I’d say ‘take it easy today’ but… I don’t think that’s possible with him.” Then she ducks out. The room goes quiet again. You shift closer, Ayula dozing now against your chest. Neteyam’s already curled around Niväk, who sleeps like nothing happened. “You didn’t have to say all that,” you mumble with a smile. “Didn’t I?” he murmurs, nose brushing your cheek. “You were too pretty not to brag about. And gods, you’re even prettier now.” You laugh softly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Outside, the soft voices of your family drift through the marui, but inside, it’s warm, quiet, and full of lazy, lingering joy.

Two weeks later, you’d barely opened your eyes before your stomach flipped. You groaned quietly, already knowing what was coming. Slipping out of the woven sleeping mat beside Neteyam, you moved to the edge of the marui pod. You barely made it before vomiting again, your body trembling with the effort. Behind you, you heard stirring. Neteyam’s sleepy voice was muffled by blankets. “Ma yawne… again?” He sat up, concern lining his features. You wiped your mouth, forcing a weak smile. “It’s fine.”

The rest of the Sully family had been watching this unfold for days. By the time you returned to the mat and curled beside Neteyam, Tuk was already whispering something to Kiri. Lo’ak let out an audible sigh. Neytiri, crouched in the main area with Jake beside her, exchanged a pointed glance with Ronal, who had clearly just been invited over without your knowledge. Ronal said calmly, brushing into the space. “You’ve delayed long enough.” You groaned and tried to roll away, but Neteyam gently pulled you against him, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Just let her check you. Please.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, but no one looked convinced. With little patience left, Ronal pressed her cool palm to your stomach, then her forehead to yours. Her voice was quiet but absolute. “You are with child. Again.” The room fell silent. You blinked at her in disbelief. “What?” She gave a curt nod. “One this time.”

Your eyes slowly slid toward Neteyam. His arm was still wrapped around your waist, but his expression froze the moment he met your gaze. You felt the frustration bubble up. “You—” You pointed at him accusingly, voice sharp but more disbelieving than angry. “You got me pregnant again?” Neteyam’s ears flicked back, his eyes wide. “I—” He looked like he’d flinch, but then leaned forward, cupping your cheek gently. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. I just— You were so beautiful. I lost control a little.”

Jake bit back a snort. “A little?” Lo’ak let out a low whistle. “Bro. The twins aren’t even crawling.” Tsireya blushed, but she smiled anyway. “You two do look… very happy.” Kiri folded her arms, eyebrows raised as she teased, “You’re glowing. Again. Literally, and not from joy.” You stared ahead blankly, exasperated. “I just got sleep back. Just started walking around without crying. I thought we had time.” Neteyam, still clinging to you like he could protect you from your own uterus, murmured into your shoulder, “We do have time. We’ll be okay. I’ve got you. We’ve got this.” You sighed, but your body leaned back into him anyway, already feeling your anger melt beneath his warmth. Neytiri, brushing your hair gently behind your ear, smiled. “You’re strong, my daughter. You’ve done this before. You’ll do it again—with all of us beside you.” You closed your eyes, groaning softly. “You’re all too calm about this.” Neteyam kissed your temple. “Because we’ve got you. Always.”

The room is finally quiet. Outside, the faint hush of waves rolls up the sand. The woven walls filter the morning light, leaving shifting patterns across the floor. Neteyam lies behind you, warm and still, his arm draped over your waist like it’s instinct, like he’s not even thinking about holding you close, it just happens. You’re both on your sides now, tangled in the quiet, facing the open doorway where the rest of the family had gathered just an hour earlier with wide eyes and too many opinions. Your stomach still feels unsettled, but not from nausea anymore. Neteyam’s voice breaks the silence, low and close behind you. “You haven’t said anything since they left.”

You exhale slowly, eyes half open. “Still trying to decide if I should be mad or just… overwhelmed.” He paused, then his hand shifts over your stomach, palm gentle. “You can be both.” You let out a short laugh. “That’s not reassuring.” He leans in, nose brushing the back of your shoulder, voice quiet. “I just… keep thinking about how beautiful you looked that night.” You scoff, a little blush blooming at your ears. “Beautiful?” Neteyam chuckles softly. “Yeah. I mean—gorgeous. Glowing. Sexy as hell.” You turn slightly, just enough to glance back at him. “You’re ridiculous.” He lifts his head to look at you properly, smiling, eyes soft.

“Maybe. But I’m also right.” He brushes your hair from your face. “You’re still glowing, you know. Still sexy. Even right now, all pouty and annoyed with me.” You bury your face in the blanket, laughing quietly. Neteyam nudges in closer behind you, hand still on your stomach, his thumb brushing slow circles. “It’s just one baby this time,” he says gently. “That feels like mercy, doesn’t it?” You nod against the blanket. “Feels like Eywa’s trying to be funny.” He grins. “Well, she’s got a sense of humor. But I’m not complaining. You gave me everything I ever wanted and somehow, you’re still giving me more.”

You go quiet again, but this time it’s not frustration, it's something tender, something wordless. You reach back, threading your fingers through his. He squeezes once and leans in to kiss your temple. No more teasing. No more panic. Just the two of you breathing in sync, the weight of something new settling between your ribs, something a little terrifying, and still, somehow, beautiful. One of Neteyam’s hands is cradled against your belly, the other wrapped around your waist like he’s still afraid someone might take you from him again. But you’re not going anywhere. Not after everything.

Not after he lost himself, not in war, but in grief. After he tried to replace you in someone else’s eyes, only to find it was never you. Not truly. Not the soul of you. Not the fire that loved him back when he was bleeding and healing. Not the woman who prayed to Eywa to save him, pulling him back from death. And still, when the delusion shattered and the truth hit him like a tidal wave, he came for you. He returned to that cabin broken, desperate, and humble. And you opened your arms. You always would have.

Because you didn’t just wait, you healed. You survived the agony of him not being there for months, then remembered what you were capable of. You stood at the edge of the ocean, stared into the mouth of death, and passed the Trials of the Three Tides, bloodied, nearly broken and pregnant. You came back each time, silent and fierce, your body bruised and your soul blazing. And when Neteyam saw you standing victorious on the final day, the sacred scale still dripping in your hand, he wanted to weep like a boy who had finally come home, you felt it in his muscles as he held you close.

You remember feeling the relief and love as well, you did all that for him. Now, months later, your twins sleep soundly nearby. Neteyam’s face is buried in your hair, his voice thick with sleep and something far deeper when he murmurs, “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” You hum softly, the smallest smile curling your lips. “You said that when I had seaweed in my braids and a broken rib.” “And I meant it,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But now? With our baby in you again? You’re glowing. Strong. Dangerous. And so, God- damned sexy.”

He lifts his head just enough to find your eyes, his gaze softened by a reverence that never quite left after that night he almost lost you. “I love you so much. Oel ngati kameie,” he whispers, like a vow renewed. You blink, breath catching with the weight of everything those words carry. Everything you both survived, the heartbreak, the cabin, the trials, the birth, the loss and finding of yourselves and each other. “Oel ngati kameie, I love you more ma Neteyam,” (I see you) you whisper back. And you mean it. With every heartbeat. With every scar. With every breath in this wild, sacred life you’ve built together. Because after all of it, you’re still his. He’s still yours. And you wouldn’t change a thing.

🩵I hope you all enjoyed reading and if I forgot to mention anything please let me know! I hope you all liked it and I appreciate all the love and support I’ve gotten for it!

🩵Reblogs, comments, likes and feedback are all appreciated and welcomed!

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[ghouldump]

hi your fics are so amazing!!

if you’re open to requests, i was wondering if you could write a lestat x louis x reader fic that takes place during their huge fight in the townhouse? i can imagine the reader being a mother figure to claudia and trying to protect her during it and getting hurt in the process of trying to break up louis and lestat. i’d love to see how the reader deals with the aftermath of her and louis’ injuries as well as claudia taking care of the two of them.

sorry if its confusing😭 i thought of this while rewatching s1

For The Love Of A Daughter | Lestat x Reader x Louis

ෆ out of fear, lestat does the unimaginable and has to try his hardest to win his family's trust back, but it may be too late

the comparison of s1 vs s2 of this scene had me on the edge of my seat 🥺 ⚠️ THIS IS S1 E5 ‼️

How did your once beautiful family go to ruins? When Claudia was created? When she rebelled? Or when she left? Your daughter, you would go to hell and back for her, yet, you couldn't convince her to stay.

Lestat was cruelly strict with her, invading her privacy by reading her diaries, not considering the fact that she was trapped in the early stages of puberty for an eternity. She couldn't help that she was a young girl stuck in this body, and he never let her forget or made it easier on her.

Louis, he'd always been passive, about your companionship, as well as his role as a parent. He wanted to keep the peace and harmony. If that meant allowing Lestat to discipline her, then he’d turn his head to not have to watch out of guilt.

Then you, Lestat often complained that you spoiled her too much. You never raised a finger to her, nor your voice. You hadn't been brought up that way, and so you did the same with her. You still remember the night she left. Packing only a few things, while you and Louis tried convincing her to stay. Standing her ground, she gave you both a hug, letting the wind carry her away.

Seven years flew by, silence made its way into the house that no longer felt like a home. Louis nose-deep in book after book, Lestat leaving going god knows where, while you remained secluded, drawing, reading, and sometimes staring at the wall.

Tonight was a rarity, Lestat wasn't running off, and Louis sat on the sofa, reading, while you sat in a chair, your head lying on your arm, taking in the soft jazz music.

Hearing the door open, Claudia entered, setting her suitcase on the floor. Rushing over, you wrapped your arms around her, rocking back and forth. Pulling away, your heart broke as Louis hugged her tightly. He too had been taking it so hard, since she had been gone. Abruptly, the music stopped, Lestat glaring at her.

“The prodigal daughter”

“I've come to apologize, I put all of you in a bad spot, I wasn't right in my head. I am now,” she said. You couldn't put your finger on it, but there was something different about her, a certain brokenness, she was trying to shut away.

“Apology not accepted,” Lestat said.

“How was college? Magna cum? Summa cum? Phi Beta Kappa?” he continued.

“I've read a lot of books. Started with Persia and Babylon, the old gods who longed for blood. A lot of it was popcorn, but a few old tomes. A Romanian tract on vampirs. A strange old Hungarian text, ‘Masticatione Mortuorum,’ the chewing dead. I plan to leave for that part of the world as soon as I can,” she told him. You and Louis shared a look, sensing that this wasn't headed in a positive direction.

“So, quick stop home to do laundry before you fuck off for good,” Lestat spat.

“A quick stop to pick up my mama and Louis,” she told him. Your hand went to your stomach, trying to control the unsettling nervousness building up. Lestat glanced at the two of you, before glaring at her in disgust.

“Oh, Perused a few folklore anthologies, and now you're going to cross the ocean and take on a society of monsters,” he said, slowly making his way towards her.

“If what I've read is lies, then tell me what's true,” she told him, but he only continued to stare at her as if she was beneath him.

“Seven years and what’s changed, other than you need a housekeeper?” she sneered. He slowly approached her, and as you were about to step forward to intervene, Louis grabbed your hand, discreetly shaking his head.

“The vampires out there…are vicious. Oh, but you've learned that already. Who did you meet out there in the American hinterland? Read her,” Lestat looked at the two of you, walking away. Staring at her, you quickly wiped the tear from your eye, you couldn't imagine what she had been through all on her own.

“That’s it, keep 'em scared. That's his way,” she said to you both.

“The vampires in Europe are much, much worse”

“But I think he's scared,” she spoke over him.

“I never asked, how did Charlie taste? Like the love you'll never really know,” he said, trying to get under her skin.

“And when he's scared, he ridicules”

“She was a destitute little girl, destined to live an inconsequential little life,” he said, approaching the both of you.

“And we took it from her, we cursed her,” Louis said, making the smug expression drop from his face. Looking at you, his frown deepened, seeing you gaze at her, the bloody tears moments from seeping out.

“Come with me!” she called out, both of you staring at her.

“Come with me, mama, Louis”

“Louis, Y/n,” Lestat said, becoming angry as neither of you looked at him.

“I thought I could live without either of you, but I was wrong,” Claudia said, her eyes pleading for you to come along.

“Y/n, Louis”

“Louis, Y/n,” Lestat continued, raising his voice.

“His love is a small box he keeps you both in, don't stay in it,” she said, as you glanced at him.

“A thousand nights of sulking, and the first sight of her, you are just gonna up and leave me?!” Lestat yelled.

“Please, come with me! Let’s be vampires worth of your love!” Claudia screamed before Lestat surged, choking her.

“Get off of her,” you said, going to shove him off of her. However, he was much stronger, gaining the upper hand, his fingers wrapping around your throat, he looked unrecognizable.

“You, always choosing her,” he spat, before Louis charged over, tackling him.

As they fought, Claudia screamed, panicking, as you tried to keep up with them. Throwing Louis in the living room. Lestat straddled him, punching him in the face.

“Lestat, stop it,” you cried out, jumping on his back, but he easily slung you across the room, as you smashed into the wall, you could feel your arm already broken.

“Claudia, stay down here,” you told her, rushing to the bedroom.

“Stop fighting,” you screamed, as they continued tackling each other.

“Let him go,” you hear Claudia crying.

“It’s alright, you stay where you're at,” Louis told her, as if he wasn't completely bruised up.

“You're going to choose her too? Leave me for her when she left you both, I’ve been here,” he told you, as you slowly backed away, unsure of what he'd do next.

“Lestat st-

“Do not tell me what to do,” he told you, wrapping his hand around your throat, and pulling you close. His nails were in your skin, with your airway completely blocked.

Dragging both of you downstairs, and outside, you could hear Claudia running.

“I fought myself a million times, fought my nature, controlled my temper. I never once harmed either of you,” he said.

“Let him go,” you cried, hoarsely, trying to claw at his hand, while reaching for Louis.

“Silence,” he told you.

“Uncle Les”

“It's Uncle Les, now suddenly?”

“Let them go, they didn't do nothin’, let them go, it's me you want,” you could hear her steps approaching.

“Listen to me, and listen very carefully my infant death, it was never you. No matter how much your mama made you think otherwise,” he spat, crushing your throat, and dragging you both out into the road.

“I chose you, and you, given you the dark gift and you've betrayed me,” he said, biting into your neck, draining almost every ounce of blood from your body, before throwing you, watching as you flew into the backyard, colliding with bricks, you could feel your rib cage shatter.

However, as you stood up, you quickly fell to your knees in pain and fear for Louis’s life, watching as they flew into the sky to the point where they were no longer seen.

“Mama, are you alright?” Claudia ran to you, reaching for her hand, your other hand on your throat. You couldn't speak, Lestat’s nails had managed to pierce through. Claudia gasped, as you coughed, blood spilling out.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“I’m okay, we just need to get Louis,” she said, helping you stand, however, just as you stood, Louis fell from the sky, hitting the ground. Limping over, you were afraid to touch him, the slightest touch looked as if it would break him even more.

Crying, you looked up, staring into Lestat’s eyes as he flew over you all, not saying a word. You couldn't say it, but from your expression, there was no way you could easily forgive him after this.

Healing was a struggle, not just from the physical damage, but any previous trust was gone. While you managed to bounce back within a few months, Louis had a long way to go. Lestat skipped town and hadn't bothered to show his face.

You avoided thinking about him, altogether. Dedicating yourself to Claudia and Louis, from coffin-bound to limping, every day was progress. Louis was slowly getting better and you both worked on strengthing your bond with Claudia. Then the calls started coming.

All of this time, you managed to push through the soreness and pain, but the moment he called you hid away, licking your eternal wounds. He was a completely different person that night, the things he said, the things he'd done. After Louis fully healed, you were no longer opposed to the idea of leaving for Europe with Claudia.

Hearing the doorbell ringing, you turned your head, watching as Claudia went outside. You could hear his voice, he had gifts, and he wanted to talk, to apologize. Louis went upstairs, throwing his coffin out of the window, you couldn't help but snicker.

“There’s your answer”

“And where is Y/n? I know she would enjoy these paints, they are rare. I paid quite a price because I knew she would make the most beautiful-

“My mama ain't got nothin’ to say to you, like you said, she betrayed you, choosing me,” she told him, shutting the door, and locking it.

Coming back to the living room, she glanced your way before to Louis, who came from upstairs. As Louis sat next to you, you pulled him close.

“You okay?” you asked him.

“Getting there,” he mumbled, smiling as you kissed his cheek.

Lestat didn't show his face anymore, but the gifts never stopped. Each time more spontaneous than the next, and while you knew, Louis was becoming weaker, you wished you could say the same for yourself.

“Emily Dickinson is not a vampire,” Louis said, as you laughed.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Because she is dead,” you pointed out.

“How do you know?”

“She got a grave,” Louis said.

“And a tombstone,” you added.

“So do you,” She told Louis, all of you laughing, afterward.

As you crossed the streets, the driver honked their horn, as they slowly came to a stop in front of you. Opening the door, Lestat climbed out, smiling at you all. Rolling your eyes, you simply looked the other way.

“25 horsepower Rolls-Royce six-cylinder engine and a front end they call a coffin nose, is that rich? This one’s yours, mine’s back at home in blue,” he said, showing off the new car, and tossing the keys to Louis.

“I know how much you despise driving, so I got you other things, the finest fabrics, books, art supplies, and music, waiting for you at home, I'm back in town permanently,” he continued, looking your way, but you just stared off to the side, as if you didn't see him.

“Were you gone?” Claudia asked him.

“Across the river, in Algiers,” he said, you could still feel his eyes on the two of you.

“You know who lives in Algiers” Claudia said to you, as you clenched your jaw.

“I don't know what possessed me that night,” he said.

“Three years ago, that night, three years ago, he means,” Claudia corrected him.

“I was someone I don't want to be anymore. I've changed. Let me prove it to you. I’m nothing without you. I’m nothing without any of you”

“If you want me to go away, just say so. I’ll obey you. I’ll leave your lives forever. This silence is cruel, all I ask is that Y/n looks at me. You haven't spared me a glance since I've been here. Neither of you were ever cruel, don't let our situation change you,” he said.

“Just look at him,” Louis pleaded.

Turning to face him, he cleared his throat, straightening his posture. You didn't say anything, emotionlessly staring at him.

“You look stunning as always, ma chérie,” he complimented, his heart breaking as you looked away again.

Taking the keys, Claudia threw them, before scratching the car, reaching for your hand, walking away.

Six years, came and went, and more gifts flooded the house. It was unspoken between you and Louis that you both missed him. Although it looked different, Louis wanted him to come running back, each extravagant, but sentimental gift was tugging more and more at Louis’s heart. You preferred the distance, reminiscing on the past, before that night. You didn't think you could have that back, now, you secretly enjoyed every time he saw you, or wrote to you, begging that you would acknowledge him.

Unexpectedly, it happened, the record came in the mail and was immediately played. The song meant to win you both back while pissing you off, a song sung by his affair partner. Louis was seething, grabbing the record, and ran out of the house.

“You're not going with him?” Claudia asked.

“They will be back,” you mumbled, knowing his plan worked, he got through to Louis and would be coming back.

“Rule number four-

“Kill Antoinette”

“Antoinette is my own private-

“Affair,” Claudia said.

“Said child, interfering in the romantic lives of her parents,” Lestat said, wanting one of you to stop her. She had been sharp with him since the moment he stepped into the house.

“She will be 33 soon, far from a child,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes.

“It’s a lick and a promise in vampire years,” he shrugged.

“Maybe, but I am not your child anymore, that's rule number five,” Claudia said, catching his attention.

His eyes shifted from her to you, your interlocked hands. She had you, wrapped around her fingers, taken from him. Louis was more willing to work on the broken relationship, but you had shut him out, choosing your child.

“I’ll be your companion, your sister,” she told him, as he scoffed.

“It's not as simple as choosing a new family configuration, now I'm your cousin, now I'm your aunt, I am your maker,” he told her rudely.

“I’m going to bed,” you said, standing abruptly, he looked into your cold eyes, searching for any emotion.

“Will you not lay down your rules, as well?” he asked, sarcastically.

“Good night,” was all you said, turning away, going upstairs.

“She needs time,” you could hear Louis say.

Did you need more time? You didn't go through nearly as much as Louis and he managed to forgive him, why couldn't you? You were never maternal until Claudia came along, perhaps it came with being a mother. The way that he treated her, turned you against him. As much as you loved him, thinking back to the times you were spoiled, lavished as if you were royalty, you couldn't bring yourself to open up.

Hunting became insufferable. Louis began drinking human blood, it was supposed to bring everyone closer, hunting as a family, but you kept your distance. He knew he'd wounded you, his choice of words hurting you just as bad, and he'd have to be more persistent to win you back.

“I wished you’d look at me, the simplest glance would help me a great deal,” he said, following you, sighing in relief as you faced him.

“Happy?”

“You have my heart at your will, your precious words command me, and I would do anything you ask of me,” he said, trying to fight the tears, as you slowly approached him.

“Take up your heart, I wouldn't want you to feel betrayed when I don't choose you,” you said, turning around, leaving him to stand there and try to gather his emotions.

“Could you at least try to compromise?” Louis asked you, as you looked through the different fabrics in the store.

“I am-

“No, you're not, you put your coffin in Claudia’s room, and the other night, whatever you said, he cried himself to sleep”

“Aw, poor baby,” you said, placing the fabrics into Louis’ arms.

“You agreed that we would work things out, everybody is compromising trying to work through our problems, we need you too,” he said, pouting, as you approached the cash register.

“Fine, I hate when you give me that look,” you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“Thank you, I love you,” you grinned.

“I love you,” you laughed, pecking his lips.

Later that night, after putting away your things, and changing into your nightgown, you were about to into Claudia’s room, when you stopped. Huffing, you went to your shared bedroom, opening the door.

“Did she say anything? I left a note, but she never responds,” Lestat grumbled.

“I talked with her, but it is up to her to make a decision,” Louis said.

“I hope you don't expect us to squeeze that coffin,” you said, making both of them face you.

“We could always sleep in the bed,” Louis offered, both of them approaching you.

‘Thank you’ he said, as you faced Lestat.

“Will you keep that stupid look on your face, or will you speak?” you asked.

“I didn't know it was okay for me to do so,” he chuckled.

“Y/n is willing to compromise, she hasn't said it verbally, but she does still love you,” Louis spoke, as you stared at the two of them.

“Ma chérie, if I could take back what I've said, what I’ve done-

“But you can't”

“I can't, and I will have to live with the burden of knowing I hurt you and Louis both, your role in Claudia’s life was never a problem, I am sorry, my love,” he said, walking to you, falling to his knees in front of you. His head laid against your stomach, and he continued to apologize profusely.

“To have you look at me, after months of refusal, even if it is a look of anger, is to see heaven,” he said, looking up at you. Reaching for his hand, you helped him stand, pecking his lips. Holding your hand out for Louis, as soon as he was close enough, your lips were on his soft skin.

Pushing Lestat onto the bed, you straddled his lap, rolling your hips, as Louis stood behind you, kissing your neck. Leaning down, you wrapped your hands around his neck.

“I’ll forgive you, but if you ever do anything remotely similar, I’ll make sure you burn in the sun, and I’ll wear you as makeup,” you said, making him smirk.

“Anything you say, although the thought of me being on your face, arouses me greatly,” he said, watching as you pulled Louis onto the bed, moving over to him.

Your nearly decade-long monogamy had now come to an end, sharing the night with Louis and Lestat. You had forgotten how spontaneous he was, managing to pleasure both of you.

‘Have you taken him back, like Louis?’ Claudia asked.

‘For now’ you thought, as Lestat kissed along your shoulder blade.

‘Do you think Louis will help?’

‘He will’

‘Do you think it will work?’

‘I don't know, my child, but we will try’

‘We can do it, mama, he wants to keep you and Louis for himself, he hates me and would probably kill me if it meant having you both alone’

‘I know’

Now lying in bed, Lestat in between you and Louis, both of you in his arms.

“I hope you will allow me to continue to prove myself to you, and I am lost without either of you, I feel empty without you both here with me, I love you,” he spoke, you couldn't deny the way your heart fluttered.

“Then it is official, we will kill Lestat’

‘And if our plan doesn't work?’

‘Then we escape to Europe, we find other vampires, and we rebuild our lives there, does that sound okay?”

‘It sounds perfect’

‘Great, good night mama’

‘Good night, my child’

Looking up at Lestat’s face, he lay peacefully, his eyes shut, face relaxed. He was incredibly handsome, you didn't dare tell Claudia but coming to this room, you were just as weak as Louis. Would you be able to kill this beautiful man, the love of your life? Or run away and live an eternity with your daughter? You couldn't decide anymore, only time would tell.

brotha eughhh, this was so mid

[feverish-dove]

Secrets in the Stone World

moments when you share a hidden language with the worlds favorite scientist (well technically he’s the only one, so does it really count?). “this is normal japanese” “this is english” Senku Ishigami x Reader warnings: oneshot, fluff word count: 1,051 cross posted on ao3 this is intended to be a sequel to my other post, Sun Kissed Science, yet can be read as a standalone work!

It had become a daily ritual.

Each morning before the village awoke you sat near the river, carefully applying Senku’s homemade sunscreen. The mixture, though slightly grainy, had saved your skin from the brutal Stone World sun, and you weren’t about to risk another burn.

Today was no different. You were finishing up, rubbing the last bit onto your arms, when a familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“You’re up early.”

You glanced up to see Senku standing a few feet away, arms crossed and that usual confident smirk tugging at his lips. His clothes were slightly disheveled, as always, and a few stray strands of hair fell down even more than usual.

You smiled. “I could say the same to you.”

He let out a chuckle. “Science doesn’t wait.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the warmth in your chest. Ever since Senku had made the sunscreen, you’d started spending more time around him—not just because of his intelligence, but because he made the Stone World feel a little less… overwhelming.

He stepped closer, eyeing your sunscreen application with an approving nod. “Looks like you’ve got it down.”

“Of course. I take my sun protection very seriously.”

He smirked. “Good. I don’t feel like making another batch every few days just because you forgot.”

You nudged him playfully, and he easily dodged, chuckling.

Then, before you could say anything else, a voice called out from the village.

“Hey! Senku! We need your help with—”

You winced, struggling to catch the rest of the sentence. The villagers spoke fast, and even though you had learned Japanese before the petrification, it still took you a few extra seconds to process what they were saying.

Senku, of course, noticed immediately.

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and calculating. Then, in a lower voice, he said something that made your heart stop.

“Do you want me to translate?”

Your breath hitched.

English.

Your native language.

It had been so long since you’d heard it spoken fluently that for a moment, it almost didn’t register.

You stared at him, stunned, before managing a hesitant, “You… speak English?”

Senku smirked, eyes glinting. “Of course I do. I learned it when I was a kid. Comes in handy, don’t you think?”

A slow smile spread across your face. “You have no idea.”

For the first time in years, you felt a sense of ease wash over you. No struggling to find the right words, no awkward pauses while you pieced together sentences—just effortless conversation.

And judging by the look in Senku’s eyes, he understood exactly how much this meant to you.

From that day on, English became your secret language.

Whenever you got stuck in a conversation with the villagers, Senku would subtly switch to English to help you out. Whenever you were overwhelmed, he’d make an offhanded joke in English just to see you smile.

It became second nature.

The others, of course, were completely baffled.

“Why do you guys always talk in that weird code?” Kohaku had asked one day, arms crossed. “Is it some kind of secret science language?”

Senku had just smirked. “Something like that.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

The only person who caught on was Gen.

One evening, as you sat near the fire, Gen plopped down beside you with a lazy grin.

“So, you’re fluent in English, huh?”

You nearly choked on your food. “Wait—you too?”

Gen chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. “Of course~! I used to travel a lot before the petrification, so I picked it up along the way.”

You gaped at him before turning to Senku, who looked entirely unsurprised. “You knew?”

He shrugged. “Gen’s annoyingly talented. It’s not that shocking.”

Gen feigned offense. “Annoyingly? Senku, I’m hurt.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, so it’s just the three of us, then.”

Gen wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooooh, does that mean we have a secret club?”

Senku rolled his eyes. “It just means we have another way to communicate. Which, by the way, could be useful if we ever need to discuss something privately.”

You nodded, understanding immediately. Having a language that no one else knew could be an advantage—especially in situations where secrecy was necessary.

But even beyond that, it was nice.

Nice to speak without stumbling over words. Nice to feel completely understood.

Nice to share something with Senku.

One night, you found yourself sitting beside Senku near the edge of the village, watching the stars.

It had been a long day. You were tired, but your mind was too restless to sleep.

Senku seemed to notice.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, glancing at you.

You sighed, hugging your knees. “It’s nothing. Just… thinking about the past.”

He hummed in understanding. “You miss it?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, in a softer voice, he said, “You’ll see it again, you know. Civilization. Science. Everything we lost. I’ll bring it all back.”

You turned to him, studying his profile in the moonlight. His expression was unreadable, but there was a fire in his eyes—a determination so unwavering that you almost believed he could rebuild the world overnight.

Your heart clenched.

“I know you will.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Damn right I will.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I prefer ‘brilliant.’”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest didn’t fade.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The night air was cool, the sky endless above you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at peace.

Then, without really thinking, you murmured, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Senku blinked, caught off guard.

You felt your face heat up. “I mean—not that I’m glad you got petrified too, but—just, if I had to be stuck in this world, I’m glad you’re part of it.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then, to your surprise, he chuckled.

“You’re such a sap.”

You huffed, nudging him with your shoulder. “Shut up.”

But as you turned away, you caught something unexpected—something rare.

A small, genuine smile.

Not his usual smug grin. Not his teasing smirk.

Just a quiet, sincere smile.

And suddenly, the Stone World didn’t feel so lonely anymore.