roselynviee

[roselynviee]

Eternal Flowers

Myth + Little Red Flower text message + ⭐️⭐️⭐️ memory Taking Control

中文版

[roselynviee]

madness returns ‹𝟹

[roselynviee]

girls when another girl compliments them

[roselynviee]

Who the LADS men are for (nice edition)

Rafaeyel is for

• the makeup/nail artists

• the photographers

• the arts and crafts lovers

• “i need to dye my hair again”

• sea shell/rock collectors

Xavier is for

• the squishmellow collectors

• the foodies

• hoodie collectors

• “the notebook” lovers

• binge watchers

Zayne is for

• the ones that hyperfixate

• book lovers

• candle lovers

• perfume collectors

• crochet enthusiasts

Sylus is for

• the shoe lovers

• love letter writers

• the ones that watch twilight every so often just for fun

• dark academia pinterest board makers

• museum lovers

Caleb is for

• the travel enthusiasts

• “i need to rearrange the furniture again”

• fluffy sock lovers

• thrifters

• “my check engine light has been on for 3 months”

targeted version

[roselynviee]

Who I think the LADS men are for

Rafayel is for

• the escapism girls

• the romantasy girls

• the “no, it’s not perfect yet” girls

• the “always the artist, never the muse” girls

• the “yeah, i believe in soulmates” girls

• the “i’m my own worst critic” girls

• the “maybe one day someone will appreciate everything i have to give” girls

Xavier is for

• the “i wish i could catch a break” girls

• the “i’m so tired, but i can’t stop” girls

• the “i’ll take a break when i’m finished” girls

• the “oh, i forgot to eat again” girls

• the “i’ll be okay, i’m used to this” girls

• the insomniacs and chronic illness girls

• the “i don’t want to be a burden” girls

Zayne is for

• the “heartbreak songs remind me more of my parents than my ex” girls

• the “you don’t know the violence it took to become this soft” girls

• the “i’ll wait until i’m in the shower to cry” girls

• the burned out gifted kid girls

• the “i’m smart, but not smart enough” girls

• the poetry girls

• the “i don’t understand why i’m not good enough” girls

Sylus is for

• the eldest/only daughter

• the “i can handle it myself” girls

• the “i don’t feel a sense of accomplishment, just a mild sense of relief that it’s done” girls

• the “mature for your age” girls

• the “i’m tired of taking care of myself” girls

• the “my worth comes from my accomplishments” girls

• the “i wish someone would take the reins so i don’t have to” girls

Caleb is for

• the “i had to grow up before i was ready” girls

• the “why are you so loud?” girls

• the “no, i’m okay, what’s going on with you?” girls

• the therapist friend girls

• the maladaptive daydreaming girls

• the “i wish someone cared as much as i do” girls

• the “i don’t think i can do this anymore” girls

nice version

[roselynviee]

Credit: @/Meggadoodle85 on Twitter

[roselynviee]

SYLUS BDAY PV WAS SO CUTE IM CRYING

[roselynviee]

Let's goooooo, kittens😼♥️✨💅🏻

[roselynviee]

sighhhh i do miss bi-han a little bit. him and his stupid stupidity and his arms…….

[roselynviee]

Forbidden

Content Warning: MDNI, Eventual Smut, Romance, Slow burn, Emotional and Sexual Tension, Xavier, Professor Sylus, Age gap romance, Taboo relationship, love triangles.

Tag list: @aikonecrosis @daddysyluslittlekitten @laroseevie @ikesimplton @harutogfr @floofycookie @nchant6dkitty @aneertawrites

A/N: Valentine's Day is here, and she's a cruel temptress dressed in a pretty red bow.

Chapter3: Ribbon

Valentine’s Day had smothered the school in cheap affection. Red and pink streamers dangled from the ceiling like veins waiting to burst. Paper hearts clung to lockers, some carefully crafted, others butchered by safety scissors in fits of sugar-fueled chaos. Candygrams flew down the halls like love letters from a war zone, all glitter and artificial promise. It was all so loud. So obvious.

And you hated it.

Not because of the hearts. Not because of the public displays or the way couples pressed too close in between classes. You hated it because it made real desire feel like a disease. And you were already infected. You stepped into Literature and there he was. Professor Sylus.

Standing behind his desk like sin dressed in structure. Today he was wearing a white button-up shirt, sleeves folded at the elbows, showing off his vascular forearms that you found infuriatingly attractive. He wore brown slacks that hugged what you know are muscular legs and that ass… oh fuck he has a nice ass…and a green sweater draped over his shoulders, the sleeves looped at the front. Seemingly innocent, respectable, but it was driving you wild just how good he looks. His ruby eyes lifted the moment you crossed the threshold. His gaze didn’t flick. It locked. Like he’d been holding his breath until you appeared. You felt it, the way his stare slid over you like warm silk pulled taut. It wasn’t new. But today, it scorched.

Because you’d done something stupid. Something small. A red ribbon tied into your hair. A shade just shy of crimson. Not regulation. And definitely not subtle. But you hadn’t worn it for subtlety. And he noticed. Of course he did.

You moved to your seat slowly, spine straight, pretending you didn’t feel his eyes following your every step. The room was full, but it felt like a vacuum, all sound sucked away except for the pulse in your throat and the low creak of his chair as he stood.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, voice smooth but brittle at the edges. “Today, we’ll be studying tragic love in literature.”

Of course we are. You didn’t let your face betray the twist in your stomach, or the low, crawling warmth that pooled in your core. You just opened your notebook and lowered your eyes like a good student. But you weren’t thinking about the text. You weren’t thinking about heartbreak or metaphors.

You were thinking about him.

Sylus moved to the board and wrote a quote as he spoke, the scratching of the chalk providing rhythm to the deep cadence of his voice. “He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun…” His hand paused, his voice gone, to the rest of the class it seemed like nothing. But to you, you saw this as a confession. And your heart nearly seized. “…yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”

Sylus turned back around to face the class but he didn’t look at the class, no. His eyes were on you. A flick of his gaze, his eyes softening for just a moment, as if he were saying to you. You… you are my sun.

Your thighs clenched together as you saw his gaze drop to your mouth and didn’t come back up right away. As if he were momentarily lost in a trance. A soft gasp escaped your parted lips and Sylus’ eyes hardened. The mask of indifference and nonchalantness once more. But you saw it, you saw the way his hand curled too tightly around the edge of his desk. You didn’t imagine it.

The tension was a living thing, breathing between you, coiling tighter with every word he said. By the time the bell rang, your thighs were pressed together beneath the desk so hard your muscles ached and your pen had stopped moving a full ten minutes ago. You stood. So did he and when you turned to leave, his voice came, low and sharp.

“Stay.”

Just one word. Spoken low. Not sharp. Not loud. But it cut through the noise like a blade through silk and you froze. Your name hadn’t been barked, hadn’t even carried weight… but it held you. Caught you mid-step, turned you like a hand fisted in your hair. Your heartbeat skipped, then thundered in your throat. Around you, the classroom spilled into chaos, chairs scraped back, backpacks slammed shut, laughter bounced off the walls. Crumpled notes hit the floor. Sneakers squeaked against linoleum.

But none of it touched him. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Sylus Just stood there… watching you. Only you. As if the rest of the world could burn and he wouldn’t look away. And when the door clicked shut, sealing the noise outside like a coffin lid, the silence settled thick, breathless. Still… he didn’t look away. Not once. Not even to blink. Like you were the only thing worth hearing. Worth seeing. Worth breaking for.

You stood in the center of the room like it was yours. Like danger wasn’t crawling up your spine. Like you hadn’t just lit the match and tossed it at his feet with a smile that said burn with me. And Professor Sylus? He hadn’t moved from his desk. But the tension between you? It did. It curled, coiled, cracked in the air like static, waiting for someone to flinch first.

Sylus’ hands were still planted against the edge, the tension in his arms making the fabric of his shirt strain just slightly across his forearms. His head was bowed, not in shame, but in control. Measured. Restrained. But his eyes? His eyes were still on you. Low. Unflinching. Burning.

You took a step forward, then another. The tap of your shoes against the linoleum echoed like a countdown, soft but sharp, slicing through the hush of the room. Dust motes swirled in the stale mid-day light, catching in the shafts of sun like ash from a fire already burning out of control. Your breath stuttered, tight, shallow, caught high in your chest like it didn’t dare disturb the stillness. Every inch you closed between you crackled with tension, invisible wires stretched taut, humming beneath your skin. The scent of chalk, old books, and something distinctly him, leather and spice and restraint on the verge of shattering, wrapped around you.

“I assume this is about the bow?” Your voice was low. Smooth. A challenge draped in silk.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze rose, slow as sin, heavy as a hand sliding up bare skin. It started at your knees, lingered there like he was already imagining them spread. Then it dragged upward, devouring the line of your skirt like a man tracing his favorite fantasy with his tongue. He paused at the ribbon in your hair, his eyes dark, possessive, as if that innocent little tie was the only thing keeping him from coming undone. And then, finally, he met your eyes. Not like a greeting. Like a claim. Like a verdict etched in heat and hunger, You’re mine

“That bow,” he said softly, “is not part of the uniform.”

You smiled, just a hint of curve at the corner of your lips. A smirk in red. “You planning to write me up for it?” The words rolled off your tongue like a dare, sweet and slow.

He straightened, slowly. Not abrupt. Not dramatic. He simply pushed away from the desk with the kind of grace that came from practiced restraint. Like every inch he moved was calculated to keep from breaking.

“No,” he murmured. “I’m planning to take it off.”

You inhaled. Shallow and sharp. The space between you was closing now, not with threat, but promise. He didn’t stalk. He approached. Measured and controlled. Like someone who knew exactly how much danger he was in and walked into it anyway. His presence wrapped around you before his body ever reached you and when he stopped in front of you, he was close. Too close.

You could smell him. God, you could smell him. That clean, spiced scent that clung to him like sin dressed in velvet. Masculine and rich, threaded with something darker, like smoke and skin and a promise whispered against a throat. It hit you like a drug, curling low in your belly, coiling tight behind your ribs. The heat rolling off him wasn’t just warmth, it was suffocation. It pulsed in waves, licking at your skin, stroking places untouched and already aching and then there was him. The way his jaw ticked, tight with restraint, teeth clenched like he was one breath from snapping. His chest rose too fast, too hard, like he was trying to calm a storm with nothing but willpower. And all you could think was how badly you wanted to drown in it..

“You think this is a game,” he said his voice low, hoarse at the edges.

“No,” you whispered. “I think you’ve already lost.”

His eyes flicked down to your mouth. Once. Then again. His hand lifted slowly, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek with featherlight precision. His fingers barely grazed your skin but it felt like a spark shot straight to your spine.

“I imagine you,” he said, each word a drop of gasoline. “Every day. Every night.”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t look away. You couldn’t. His fingertips ghosted down the curve of your jaw, stopping just beneath your chin. You tilted your face up, inviting and daring. “Then kiss me.”

His breath stuttered out of him. The silence between you trembled. He leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath on your mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. Instead, his hand slid behind your neck, fingers curling lightly in the strands of hair tied beneath that red ribbon. His thumb traced the curve of your throat, slow and reverent, like it wasn’t your pulse he was feeling but his own undoing.

“I want to,” he breathed low, rough, like the words cost him control. Like they tasted of restraint snapped in half and desire dragged bare across his tongue.

Your lips parted, trembling on the edge of breath. “Then… do it,” you exhaled softly, broken and desperate. Like you couldn’t take another second without his hands, his mouth, his everything. Like waiting was the real cruelty.

He leaned in slow and deliberate, until the space between you shattered into static. His nose ghosted over yours, barely there, just enough to make you ache. And his mouth? It hovered a whisper above yours, close enough to taste the heat, not close enough to have it. But he didn’t move. Didn’t take. His body was still. His will unchallenged and that restraint? That restraint burned hotter than any kiss could

“I can’t,” he rasped, his voice frayed, torn from somewhere deep, somewhere breaking. “Not here. Not now.” His gaze dropped to your mouth like it was a wound he couldn’t stop touching. Like kissing you would be both cure and destruction. “Because if I kiss you…” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes closing like it physically hurt to say the rest. “If I kiss you, I won’t stop.”

You could feel it then, the trembling edge in his restraint. The war between want and consequence written in every breath he fought to keep level. You didn’t move. Didn’t back away. And that was the worst part. Because you would’ve let him. He lingered there one more moment, his forehead resting gently against yours, both of you breathing like you had just run miles through something dark and forbidden. Then, slowly, with all the pain in the world, he pulled away. His voice was quieter now. Hoarse and wrecked.

“Go. Please.”

You didn’t speak. You just turned, walked to the door, and opened it with trembling fingers. But before stepping through, you glanced back. He hadn’t moved. He stood where you left him, eyes closed, hands clenched at his sides, like he was holding on to the last thread of his sanity with both fists. And in that silence, between goodbye and too late, something broke. Not between you. But within you both.

The hallway felt like the wrong world. Too bright. Too loud. Too intact. Streamers swayed from the ceiling as if nothing had just unraveled inside you. Lockers slammed in rhythm. Laughter trailed behind perfume-laced girls. Everywhere you turned there was pink and red and glitter. Valentine’s Day clinging to everything like sugar-dusted rot.

And all you could feel was him. The ghost of his voice. The echo of his breath on your lips. The press of his hand at the back of your neck, warm and reverent and restrained to the point of agony. You walked like a sleepwalker, arms heavy, throat dry, your legs weak and strange beneath you. Your heart still thudded in your chest like it didn’t know the moment had passed. Like it was waiting for him to call you back and finish what he started.

“If I kiss you now… I won’t stop.”

The words looped through your skull like a spell you couldn’t undo. Your fingers curled against your thigh. Your mouth still tingled. Your whole body felt like it had been touched. not in the obvious way, not in a way anyone could see, but in a way you would carry for the rest of the day like an invisible bruise. He hadn’t kissed you. Hadn’t touched you like he wanted to. And somehow that was worse. Because you knew now. You knew what it sounded like when he broke.

You didn’t notice the stairwell until you were on it, one hand gripping the railing like it was the only thing keeping you upright. You paused, trying to find your breath again, trying to piece together the girl you were before you stepped into that classroom. But that version of you was gone. Replaced with this new, unsteady thing filled with want and fire and questions with no safe answers.

And then, “Wait—hold on!”

You heard his voice before you saw him, and something inside you flinched instinctively. For half a second, you thought it was him. that he’d followed you, that he’d lost the battle with himself and come to finish what they’d started. But it wasn’t. It was Xavier. Jogging toward you through the crowd, face flushed, tie askew, a streak of pink glitter on his cheekbone like the day itself had marked him. He looked so human. So soft. And so wrong. You tried to mask the flicker of disappointment before he got too close. Your expression folded into something neutral, something practiced. But Xavier saw it anyway.

He slowed when he reached you. His smile dipped with quiet concern. “Hey… you okay? You look… spooked.”

You wanted to lie. Wanted to smile and tell him you were fine and float above it all like the girls who believed in candygrams and glitter. But the lie caught in your throat, and your shoulders just… sagged. Xavier didn’t press. He just reached into his bag and pulled out a small black box wrapped in red ribbon.

“I got you something.”

You blinked, not quite sure you had heard him right. “Why?”

His smile returned, crooked and warm and honest in the way that hurt. “Because I wanted to.”

You took the box carefully, your fingers grazing his. They were warm. Steady. Safe. You untied the ribbon with slow, uncertain fingers. Inside, a silver pen. Sleek. Elegant. Etched near the clip with a single word.

Write.

Your breath caught.

“You’re always scribbling in the corners of your books,” he said softly. “And I’ve seen you go through, like, five half-dead pens in class. I thought maybe… this one might last longer.”

The pen felt heavier than it looked. Heavier than it should’ve. Not in weight but in meaning. Because no one had ever noticed something like that before. No one had ever seen you in the small ways. Not even the man who had nearly kissed you until the silence between you cracked. And for one fragile second, you wanted to step into this moment. To let Xavier’s warmth soak through the ache in your chest. To accept his smile, his thoughtfulness, his kindness. It would be easier. It would be real.

But then you remembered how Sylus had looked at you. The way his voice had rasped your name without saying it. The way not kissing you had nearly destroyed him. And Xavier…He wasn’t fire. He was comfort. He was light and sweet. But Sylus was the reason your lips still tingled and your heartbeat still stuttered and your thighs still ached like memory alone could ruin you.

“There’s, um… something else,” Xavier added, voice a little shy now.

You looked up, eyes still glassy from your thoughts.

“There’s a school dance next Friday. I wasn’t going to go, but then I thought…” He swallowed. “Maybe you’d come. With me.”

The words should’ve felt like a balm. A bandage on a wound. But instead, they stung. Because you couldn’t even picture the dance without thinking of him. Of Sylus in that room. Of the heat in his eyes. The words he didn’t say. The kiss he didn’t take.

“You want me to be your date?” You asked softly, your voice fraying at the edges.

Xavier nodded. “Not because you feel bad. Not as a favor. I want you there because I like you. And I think… maybe you like me too.”

Your throat tightened. Because you did like him. But it wasn’t the same. Xavier made you feel calm. Seen. Like maybe you could be someone soft again. But Sylus made you feel alive.

“I… I don’t know,” you whispered.

Xavier’s smile didn’t falter. He just nodded, like he’d already prepared for that answer.

“That’s okay. I’m not asking for a yes. Just… think about it, alright?”

He glanced at the pen in your hands. “Whatever you choose—you’re the one who gets to write it.”

Then he turned and left you standing there, heart full, hands shaking, pen pressed to your chest like maybe it could stop the burn. But it couldn’t. Nothing could. Because Sylus was still under your skin and no amount of soft smiles or silver pens could rewrite what had already started bleeding onto the page.

~

The classroom is empty. But it still feels full of you. Sylus hasn’t moved from where you left him. He stands in the same spot. Feet planted, spine straight, hands curled into fists at his sides, like if he lets go of himself now, he’ll unravel in a way that can’t be undone. His eyes are still fixed on the door you just walked through, even though it’s long since closed. Even though the echoes of your footsteps have already faded into the hallway beyond.

He breathes in deep. But the air tastes like you. Your perfume. Your skin. That soft, clean sweetness wrapped in the bite of defiance and something warmer, something reckless. Like the way you tilted your chin up. Like the way you said, “Then do it.”

God. You meant it. Every word. He exhales. Slowly and controlled. Like if he exhales too quickly, the fire inside him might pour out and consume everything. His gaze drops to the desk. To the papers he never finished grading. To the lesson plan that now feels so fucking hollow. He lifts a hand, finally. Runs it down his face, over his jaw, through his hair, like he can scrub the feeling of you out of his skin. But it doesn’t work. Because you’re still there. Pressed into the space between his fingers.

Laced into the heat lingering at the back of his neck. Settled like a brand at the center of his chest. When he closes his eyes, it only gets worse. He sees you. Standing in front of him with your lips parted and your pupils wide, breath shallow and hands trembling, not with fear, but invitation. He remembers how you didn’t flinch. Didn’t back away. Didn’t ask him to stop.

You would have let him. You would have taken all of him. And that terrifies him more than anything. Because he wanted to give it. All of it. He wanted to taste the bow from your hair between his teeth. He wanted to feel you arch into his mouth, your voice gone ragged and desperate, whispering his name not like a question, but like a plea. He wanted to lose himself in you, not just physically, not just sinfully, but completely.

He grips the edge of the desk. Knuckles white. Jaw clenched. You don’t know what it costs him, every time he doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t know how close he gets to failure with every breath you take near him.

If I kiss you now, I won’t stop.

He meant it. Because that kiss, that moment, wouldn’t have been a kiss at all. It would’ve been the breaking point. The line collapsing. The choice made and there would’ve been no going back. His hand trembles as it curls into a fist again. But the rest of him stays still. Silent. Contained. Controlled.

Just like always. Except he isn’t. Not anymore. Because you’re not just in his head now. You’re under his skin. Behind his ribs. Woven into the rhythm of every step, every breath, every lie he tells himself about restraint. He presses his fingers to his lips. Not to touch what you kissed. But to mourn what he didn’t and when he finally leaves the room, he doesn’t look back. Because he knows, Next time? He won’t stop.

~

The pen feels heavier than it should. You hold it in your hand like a lifeline, like a question, like a promise you aren’t sure you can keep. It’s beautiful. Clean. Etched with purpose.

Write.

A single word. But in this moment, it feels like a sentence. Your fingers curl around the silver casing. The cool metal presses into your palm as you walk to your next class, body still aching in ways no one else could ever see. The hallway is alive with sound, doors swinging open, lockers slamming shut, voices overlapping in a hundred conversations you can’t hear because your thoughts are screaming too loud. Xavier’s gift is still fresh against your skin. His voice echoes in the softest part of your memory.

“Because I wanted to.” “You never seem to have a pen that works.” “I like you.”

And god, you do like him. He’s gentle. Thoughtful. He pays attention to the smallest details, like the way you write, the way your brow furrows when your ink skips, the way you flinch at loud noises and drift toward windows during storms. He sees you. He offers something easy. Something warm. He offers a future that isn’t heavy with secrets or guilt or punishment.

But Sylus…Sylus is the one you can’t stop thinking about. The one whose voice is still coiled in your stomach like a bruise that pulses every time you breathe too deep. The one who didn’t kiss you, because if he had, he wouldn’t have stopped.

You remember his breath on your mouth. The way his fingertips lingered at the base of your neck like he was already memorizing your heartbeat. The way he said “Go” like it was a plea, not a command. And even now, walking through the hallway, passing friends, passing teachers, holding Xavier’s gift, you feel him. Like he’s still watching. Like part of him is still standing in that classroom, clenched with restraint, wrecked by silence, and so dangerously close to falling.

You wonder what would’ve happened if you had reached up. Tilted your mouth that final inch. Broken the distance. Would he have pulled you closer? Would he have whispered your name against your lips before ruining you in the space between his desk and the door? Or would he have stopped you anyway?

You don’t know. And that uncertainty poisons everything else. You glances down at the pen in your hand, thumb brushing the engraved word again.

Write.

Like you get to decide the ending. But do you? Because one boy offers you choice. The other feels like fate. And maybe that’s what terrifies you the most. That you want the one that feels like you never had a choice at all

[roselynviee]

Forbidden

Content Warning: MDNI, SMUT, Romance, Slow burn, Emotional and Sexual Tension. Xavier, Zayne and Caleb appear. Age gap romance. Taboo relationship. Love triangles.

Tag List: @aikonecrosis , @daddysyluslittlekitten , @laroseevie , @ikesimpleton , @harutogfr, @floofycookie, @nchant6dkitty , @aneerta (for those not here, I tried but it wasn’t working. But I will figure it out, promise)

A/N: it wouldn’t be my story if we didn’t have Xavier appear right? 🫦 he’s soft, sweet and respectful everything you should want.

Chapter 2: Breaking

The next day wasn’t louder by any real measure. The same chatter filled the halls, the same cheap sneakers squeaked across linoleum, and the tired fluorescent lights buzzed overhead with their usual clinical hum. But inside you? Something had shifted.

That moment yesterday—the quiet spark that had ignited in Sylus’ classroom when his eyes locked with yours—it hadn’t gone out. It was still there. Smoldering.

Like a fire that had sunk into the floorboards, waiting to erupt again.

You walked into Literature with your pulse tapping out a rhythm behind your ears.

He was already there.

Professor Sylus stood at the front of the room, flipping through a book in one hand while the other rested on his desk with the kind of easy control that made it look like nothing could ever rattle him. Like the world could catch fire around him and he’d straighten his cuffs before reacting.

He didn’t look up when you entered.

Not immediately. But you felt it—the invisible thread pulled taut between them, the one stretched from the base of your spine to somewhere in the space just beneath his collar.

It wasn’t visible. But it vibrated.

You took you seat, smoothing your skirt with a steady hand, pretending your palms weren’t slightly damp. Xavier was already beside you—familiar, easy, smiling like he always did. He had that warmth about him, all windswept blonde hair and bright blue eyes. There was a softness to him that made people comfortable. Like nothing about you could ever scare him off.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and kind.

You nodded, lips curving into a practiced smile. “Yeah. Just tired.” Not a lie. But not the truth either. The bell rang. Sylus looked up.

His gaze swept the room—not like he was counting students, but measuring distance. His eyes caught yours. Just for a second.

But in that second, something flickered. Controlled. Fleeting. Real.

“Page 152,” he said, voice smooth and clean like a knife blade. “Let’s talk about temptation.”

The word landed like a blow to the ribs.

Your mouth went dry.

He began to lecture, tone even, posture composed—but there were cracks. Tiny ones. He paused a fraction too long on desire.

His eyes skimmed the room, skipping over you like it might burn him to linger.

It did.

Xavier leaned toward you slightly, nudging your book with his elbow. “You already read this chapter?” he asked, voice casual.

You blinked, then glanced down. “Yeah. Last night.”

“Of course you did,” he said with a grin. “Overachiever.”

You gave a soft laugh. “Better than underprepared.”

Xavier smiled again, brushing hair out of his eyes. “Wanna get milkshakes after class? Could use a study buddy.”

Your lips parted—but you didn’t answer immediately. Because you felt it.

The shift.

Sylus had paused mid-sentence. His eyes remained on his book, but the rhythm of his delivery had gone stiff. Just for a beat. Just long enough to notice.

You cleared your throat. “Sure,” you said. “That sounds… nice.”

You didn’t look at the front of the room. But you felt it anyway.

The weight of his attention, pressing against your skin like a brand.

Sylus didn’t look at you again for the rest of the lesson. Not directly. But his shoulders pulled tighter. His voice clipped sharper. And when he called on Xavier to read a passage, the edge in his tone wasn’t cruel—just colder than it had any right to be.

You tried not to react.

Tried not to feel the way your whole body buzzed beneath your uniform. But every time you shifted in your seat, every time your fingers tapped your pen against your notebook, you could feel it—his restraint, pulled like piano wire, humming with the tension of don’t.

Class ended with the usual scrape of chairs and zip of bags.

“Still good for that milkshake?” Xavier asked, nudging your elbow as you gathered your things.

You nodded, lips parting to reply—when his voice cut through the low hum. Your name. Requesting you to stay.

The classroom emptied in a soft, familiar shuffle—the screech of chairs, the clatter of binders, the murmur of plans being made outside these four sterile walls.

You lingered. Because he told you to.

“Miss,” he had said, voice perfectly neutral. Perfectly rehearsed. But beneath the syllables, something had cracked.

Xavier had paused, brows drawn, mouth half-open to speak—but you waved him off with a small smile. “I’ll catch up.”

You watched him hesitate. Then leave. The door clicked closed behind him, the sound echoing far louder than it should’ve.

And suddenly, the air changed.

The classroom, once filled with movement and light, stilled. Dimmed. Sylus hadn’t moved. He stood behind his desk, back partially turned, capping his pen with precise, deliberate movements. Not in a rush. Not even trying to pretend. His focus was elsewhere.

And yet—you knew he felt you.

You walked slowly. The space between them shrinking with every step, the floor creaking faintly beneath your shoes like the room itself was holding its breath.

You stopped at the edge of his desk, clutching your notebook to your chest like armor. But your hands… your hands weren’t steady. Not really.

He didn’t look at you right away. His head tilted down, eyes fixed on the desk, his fingers still circling the pen cap in slow, absent rotations. There was tension coiled in his posture—shoulders squared too tightly, jaw set like stone, the sharp line of his throat exposed above his collar where he hadn’t fully fastened the button.

He was trying. You saw that now.

Trying so fucking hard to be the man he was supposed to be.

When he finally lifted his gaze, the moment cracked open. His eyes—those polished garnet eyes that usually glinted with something academic and distant—met yours, and they didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

They burned.

There was something behind them that hadn’t been there yesterday.

Something heavier. Worse. Not just want. But guilt for wanting.

“Professor?” Your voice came out softer than you meant. Not uncertain. Just fragile. Like if you spoke too loudly, the air between them would break.

His stare didn’t move. He inhaled, the breath sharp. Measured.

“Your analysis yesterday,” he said, the words heavy on his tongue like they cost him something. “It was… thoughtful.”

You blinked. That wasn’t what you expected to hear. Not after the way his voice had caught on temptation during today’s lecture. Not after the way he had skipped over you like you might set him on fire.

Still—you answered. “Thank you.”

He nodded once. And then did something dangerous. He leaned back slightly against the desk, arms crossing over his chest. The sleeves of his shirt rolled halfway to his forearms. His muscles shifted beneath the fabric, the clean, professional lines of his clothing doing nothing to hide the man beneath it.

And the way he was watching you? Not predatory. Not cruel. But raw.

“I didn’t call you up here to correct anything,” he said. Quietly. Carefully.

Your breath caught, just slightly. “Then… why did you?”

His eyes flicked down—to your hands, your mouth—then back up again.

And when he answered, his voice lowered. “I needed to remind myself that you’re still my student.”

The words hit you like a slow drop into cold water—shocking not because you didn’t expect them, but because he said them like he was convincing himself.

Not you.

And you…You were trembling on the edge of something. “And you’re still my teacher,” you whispered, unsure whether it was a reply or a challenge.

He closed his eyes briefly. Exhaled. Painfully restrained. “Yes,” he said. Just that. But his hands gripped the edge of the desk behind him like he was bracing for impact. His fingers curled, blunt nails digging into the wood.

Silence stretched between them again. Not comfortable. Not awkward. Loaded.

You shifted your weight. He noticed.

His eyes dropped to the subtle movement of your legs, then snapped back up again, his expression tightening.

“You always speak like you’re halfway through a poem,” he said suddenly.

It hit you sideways. Again. “Is that… a bad thing?” You asked, breath unsteady.

His lips twitched—not a smile, not even close—but something that cracked through the stoicism for half a second.

“No,” he said. “It’s just… hard to ignore.” That admission felt like lightning behind your ribs. His hands relaxed. Just a little.

He looked tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. The kind that came from weeks—months—of holding too many things too close to the chest. From never letting himself want.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to stay,” he said, softer now. “You should go.”

You didn’t move. He noticed that too.

His voice sharpened. Just slightly. “Go.”

You turned. Slowly. But every step toward the door felt like dragging your body through mud. Your chest was hollow and full all at once. You didn’t understand how someone could look at you like that and still tell you to leave.

When your hand touched the doorknob, something in your spine rebelled. You turned back.

And he was watching you—still.

Still in the same position. Still holding himself like he was the only thing standing between you and collapse.

There was something in his expression that nearly undid you. Longing. And the faintest trace of regret. You didn’t speak.

You just let your eyes hold his. One last time. Then you left. And the door clicked shut behind you.

~

The staff lounge smelled like burnt coffee and disappointment. A half-full pot sat on the burner, long past the point of being drinkable, steaming faintly like it was trying to stay relevant. The air was stale, tinged with old paper, ink, and the faint citrus of someone’s forgotten lunch.

Sylus stood by the window, one hand wrapped around a mug he hadn’t sipped from. His other hand was shoved deep in his pocket, fingers clenched into a fist.

Outside, students clustered in loose groups near the gates—laughing, shouting, slinging backpacks over shoulders like the weight of the day meant nothing to them. Like they weren’t haunted by anything they didn’t understand.

But Sylus—he was still in the classroom. Still staring down your eyes like they were a storm.

Still hearing your voice when you asked “Then why did you?” like you already knew. Still tasting restraint like blood behind his teeth.

He hadn’t touched his coffee. His jaw had been tight for the last twenty minutes.

“You look like you just got out of a knife fight,” Zayne said from across the room, voice dry as ever. He was lounging in a faded armchair, half a granola bar in one hand, the other flipping lazily through a pile of student reports.

Sylus didn’t respond. Not right away.

Caleb looked up from the whiteboard he was scribbling schedules on, brow raised. “He’s been doing that broody-silent thing since he walked in.”

“I always do the broody-silent thing,” Sylus muttered into his mug, still not drinking.

“Sure,” Caleb said, smirking. “But usually you look like you’re mourning a fictional character, not plotting someone’s slow emotional execution.”

Zayne tilted his head. “Or someone’s slow emotional seduction.” That earned him a sharp glance. Zayne didn’t flinch. Just smiled.

“You good, man?” Caleb asked, tone more serious now. “You’ve been off the past few days.”

Sylus turned his eyes back to the window. A group of girls giggled as they passed by, clutching heart-shaped lollipops. Someone had drawn a smiley face on the fogged glass of a car parked just outside.

Everything outside was light. But inside him? Nothing was clear.

“I’m fine,” he said. The words came out clipped. Too clean. Caleb exchanged a look with Zayne but let it drop.

“You know,” Zayne said after a beat, rising from his chair, “you could come out with us sometime. Post-shift drinks. Hell, even a sad movie night. Might help whatever’s got you walking around like a goddamn gothic novel in slacks.”

Sylus gave a tight shrug. “I don’t drink cheap stuff.”

“You brood. That’s close enough.”

Caleb snorted, tossing his marker onto the table. “You just need to loosen the hell up. Take a weekend off. Meet someone who doesn’t quote Latin to cope.”

Sylus’ mouth quirked. But it didn’t reach his eyes. Because what would they say if they knew? That there was already someone.

That he thought about your voice when he was alone. That he saw your hands wrapped around a notebook and imagined them gripping the edge of his desk. That when you bit your lip during class, he felt it like a brand against the inside of his ribs.

That he couldn’t stop.

Zayne pulled on his jacket, pausing at the door. His voice was quieter now. “Whatever it is, Sylus…”

He hesitated.

“Be careful with it.”

Sylus glanced over. “With what?”

Zayne shrugged, too casual. “That line you’re toeing. Don’t fall over it.”

And just like that—he was gone. The room fell quiet again. The hum of the vending machine filled the silence, static and low. Caleb had wandered off. The coffee had stopped steaming. The light outside had shifted to that golden hour glow that made everything look softer—more forgiving.

But Sylus?

He felt none of it. He was still standing by the window, mug cooling between his hands, heart dragging behind him like an anchor.

His mind kept returning to the way you had looked at him before you left. Like you knew. Like you felt it too.

The way your voice had trembled. The way his had broken. The truth wasn’t loud. It didn’t scream. It didn’t demand.

It just lived inside his chest now. Quiet. Constant. Like your name—echoing in a space he had never meant to open.

~

The sun had dipped low enough to stain the sidewalk in copper. Your feet moved automatically, the city humming around you in gentle pulses—cars rolling past, voices echoing from shopfronts, the breeze tugging playfully at your skirt. But your chest still felt full. Heavy.

Like your ribs were holding something they weren’t meant to. The corner café sat tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore—quiet, half-hidden, a forgotten kind of place that still smelled like warmth and sugar.

Xavier was already there.

He leaned against the brick wall, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his hair tousled by the wind and the golden hour light catching the soft curve of his cheekbones. He straightened when he saw you, smile unfolding across his face like sunlight on water.

“I was starting to think you bailed,” he said, voice light.

You offered a breath of a smile. “Sorry. Got held up.” He opened the door for you with that same gentle ease you’d always known—like kindness was his default setting. Like offering comfort never cost him anything.

They slipped into a booth near the window. The world beyond the glass glowed soft and sepia-toned, the kind of color that made everything feel like it might be okay.

A server dropped off your milkshakes—yours pink and frothy, his chocolate with extra whipped cream.

“You get in trouble?” Xavier asked, sipping through his straw.

You blinked, eyes dragging away from the condensation trailing down your glass. “What?”

He tilted his head. “With Professor Sylus. He looked like he wanted to murder someone during class today.”

Your throat tightened. Just slightly. You gave a soft shrug, stirring the straw through your milkshake, watching it swirl into pale, artificial pink. “No. Nothing like that. He was just… intense.”

Xavier chuckled, leaning back against the booth. “He’s always intense.”

You didn’t respond. Because that wasn’t the truth. Not anymore. Sylus wasn’t just intense. He was coiled. Raw. Holding himself together like every breath hurt.

And you had felt it—seen it in the way his hand curled around the edge of the desk, in the weight of his gaze, in the way he said “Go” like it was the last command he had left in him.

“Anyway,” Xavier said, nudging your foot gently under the table, “I’m glad you came.”

You looked up. His blue eyes were soft. Always soft. Like he saw you without expectation. Without consequence.

“It’s just a milkshake,” you said, voice almost playful.

He laughed. “Maybe. But I thought you could use a breather. You’ve been quiet lately.”

You smiled. This time it felt real. Not whole, not healed—just… real. “Thanks. I guess I needed this.”

Xavier nodded, spinning his straw. “Remember when we used to come here after band practice? You always got the same thing.”

“And you always asked for extra whipped cream and then complained it melted too fast.”

He laughed. “Some traditions are sacred.”

For a moment, the past wrapped around you like a warm coat. You let herself lean into it. Just a little. Because being here with Xavier didn’t hurt. It didn’t ache. It didn’t pull at you the way Sylus did. There were no rules in this booth. No consequences. No restraint.

Just safety.

But then Xavier looked at you—really looked at you—and something in his gaze shifted. Softer. Quieter.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice barely above a whisper now.

You hesitated. Because you didn’t know how to answer that without telling him the truth. That you weren’t sleeping. That you were thinking about someone you couldn’t have. That you’d been touched without being touched.

But instead, you said, “I think I’m figuring things out.”

He nodded slowly. And maybe he didn’t understand all of it. But he reached across the table anyway and covered your hand with his. Warm. Steady.

“Whatever it is,” he said, “you don’t have to do it alone.”

And you wanted to believe that. You really did. But even now—with his fingers wrapped around yours and strawberry sweetness on your tongue—you were still thinking about the way Sylus looked when you turned back in the classroom. Like a man breaking apart without making a sound.

[roselynviee]

Reading this made me miss opening AFOP and just staring at in for hours 🥹🥹🥹🥹

Healing Hands

Pairing: So'lek x Zeswa Female Reader

Summary: So'lek has accepted his life as an outsider, no clan of his own to call home. For years nothing has consumed him more than the need to exact revenge on the RDA who stole everything from him. Yet somehow all of that changes when he meets you.

Warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, trauma, mentions of death and war, angst, injuries, obsessive So'lek, lust, p in v, oral, swearing, marking, possessive thoughts, rough, jealousy, yearning, breast play, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, etc (not all inclusive)

You do not need to have played the game to read this story. I did my best to include context clues that make it clear enough.

Disclaimer: I am no So'lek expert so I made some educated guesses based on what I learned playing the game. If you see mistakes....no you don't.

The first instance is innocent. Something that So’lek can attribute to mere chance and furthermore nothing he expected to have any consequence on him. Meeting you is unexpected. 

It happens after a long mission. He had drawn off firepower from the RDA so that one of the Sarentu could infiltrate and shut down one of the drill sites. Not only was the objective completed but it also seemed to have a positive effect on their relations with the Zeswa clan. They are impressed by the action, even more so drawn to a proper alliance between them and the resistance as the effects of Sky Demon technology has worsened on the their plains. 

And so for the first time So’lek gets to witness the Zeswa home. Only there to discuss further relations with the Tsahik and Olo’eyktan, he tries to keep his curiosity to a minimum. However, it is difficult to not be swept away by the beauty of the upper plains. Even more so with the open comradery and community that is exhibited among the clan. The Zeswa are known for being a loud people, proud and brave while also fundamentally aware of possessing such skills. 

They are a direct contrast to the Aranahe in that aspect. Everywhere he walks there are groups laughing boisterously, young warriors sparing while others cheer. Even when they fight there is not the usual demeanor So’lek is accustomed to. An air of playfulness is present. It is not weighed down by the same bitter thirst for revenge his own training exhibits. 

There are colorful tents and kelku all positioned around caring for the hibernating Zakru. These giant beasts lay in the warm embrace of sunshine as their smaller counterparts laugh and rush around them. A foreign yet delightful relationship to behold. 

His meeting with Minang and Nesim is short. No real negotiations are needed as they too are quick to join a fight. It is one of the things that So’lek has always appreciated about the Zeswa. Unlike the Aranahe they require no convincing when it comes to defending their home. If anything, they only wait to see which allies will be worthy of fighting alongside them. Fear is not a common ideal among them. 

It is when So’lek has paid his respect to their leaders and begins making his long trek home, that he hears a voice. 

“Are you going to leave it like that?”

So’lek’s ears perk, tail stopping midair. When a few seconds pass it becomes clear that the voice behind him is in fact addressing him and not a clan member. Slowly turning on his heels he looks down to find you. A female at least a head shorter than him wearing traditional Zeswa colors and looking up at him with an inquisitive brow raised. Despite your diminutive stature, you blink up at him without an ounce of concern. 

“Your arm.” You clarify and much to his surprise he looks down to where you’re pointing and finds that there is a sizable gath along his bicep. It must have occurred somewhere between drawing the firepower out and taking down an amp suit with his bare hands. There is a tinge of pain now that you’ve brought attention to it, but it’s nothing in comparison to what he has endured in the past. 

“It is minor.” He responds slowly, unsure of what answer you are expecting from him. Most clan members among the Aranahe barely acknowledge him. Not that they can be blamed. He is a stranger with a gun in hand and a permanent scowl in place. Neither has it ever truly bothered him. However, you seem to be in no mood to let him out of his impromptu conversation and it has him slightly on edge. 

You scoff, soft features already laced into an amused expression. “Minor or not it needs to be stitched.” 

Are you going to make him visit the healer’s tent? There would be no need. The hospital outpost within Resistance headquarters is sterile and inhabited by Sky People that barely understand the fundamentals of Na’vi anatomy, but it has always done the job before. Big or small injury, he has remained in one piece. 

So’lek keeps a neutral expression, only allowing himself the release of shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Minang has other responsibilities.” 

You roll your eyes and a short laugh escapes your throat. “Men,” you mutter under your breath, just quiet enough that he starts to wonder if he has imagined it. “Come. I will fix it.” 

He doesn’t immediately move at your command. After a few steps you turn over your shoulder to still see him standing there and it seems as if you are trying to hold laughter back at the sight of him. Although, So’lek can’t fathom what could possibly be funny about him. 

“I do not bite. Come.” Voice fused with a playful laugh, you gesture once more for him to follow. So despite his better judgment, So’lek trails behind you, shortening his stride so as to not clip your heels, until he is gestured into a large tent. There are only a couple healers left in the tent. One woman is organizing the herbs while a male healer inspect a gash upon a man’s leg. Both of them turn to exchange a smile with you upon entering. 

Smiles that waiver when they spot him towering behind. 

“Sit down.” You command, pointing to a mat on his left. Reluctantly So’lek obeys, but his tail is already whipping with impatience. The others will be expecting him back soon. It is only a matter of time before Priya is bugging him over the radio for results on his talk with the Zeswa. It is not as if he is about to bleed out or lose his arm from waiting a few more hours for stitching. 

Regardless, you keep an eye on him while gathering a needle, thread, and the proper ointments. You’re checking to make sure he doesn’t run off and you are nowhere near trying to hide it. In fact, when his eyes meet yours, you give a chipper smile. He holds back a sigh. There will be no escaping this tent soon. 

The same upbeat attitude is not fully shared among the other Na’vi present in the tent. They remain polite but on guard. By the time you are kneeling next to him they have one by one created excuses for needing to leave. It’s just the two of you now. 

“Let me see.” In usual fashion you demand, although voice soft. So’lek watches as you examine his arm, small fingers curling under his bicep carefully. The touch lights something in his stomach until once again he is wondering how long this visit will be. “My name is y/n.” 

The sudden admission has him zoning back in. His golden eyes peek to see you from his peripherals. When the ointment is lathered over his wound So’lek is too busy turning the name over in his head to stop himself from flinching. 

“This is the part where you tell me your name.” Your gaze has risen from where it was inspecting his gash to now inspect his motionless expression instead. So’lek bites back the urge to swallow the lump in his throat. Wonderful. This may be a waste of his time but that is no excuse to be rude, especially among members of a new alliance. 

Social interaction, however, has never been one of his strong suits. He had spent years in the forest surviving alone after his clan was wiped out. Many days the only interactions he had with another being was the prey he hunted, diligently whispering the prayer of thanks over their dead bodies before preparing a meal for one. And even since then, So’lek is vexed to admit that a majority of his conversations have been with pestering Sky Demons at resistance headquarters who ask far too many questions and lag in recognizing his distaste for such interaction. 

“It is So’lek.” 

“I know who you are.” You shrug, back to focusing on spreading the ointment. His hairless brows pull together. 

“If you know then why did you ask?” Except, you technically didn’t ask. You urged him to share, a distinction you graciously don’t correct. 

“Because that is what people do when they meet each other. Just because I know who you are does not mean you shouldn’t share your name with me.” Yet another custom he has become out of touch with. Years away from a true Na’vi clan may have broken him in more ways than he had originally imagined. And yet, you don’t appear to be offended. There is a sparkle in your eyes, something he can’t quite analyze but it holds a lightness he’s unfamiliar with. 

The ointment you spread smells sweet. Almost like the pod fruit he picks near headquarters for lunch. Or perhaps the nectar he can occasionally finds while traveling. Whatever it is, it’s far better than the usual stench of medicine used at headquarters. Those strangely packaged doses have a thick texture and sterile smell that always makes his stomach turn. 

But this…this is almost nice. Even as the lathered touch burns along his wound. 

“Your Sarentu friend comes to visit often. They stop by for a meal and materials, even socializing upon occasion. But I never see you.” The needle gracefully slips beneath his skin but So’lek can barely focus on the sensation. “I was starting to think that you were a myth created by them for a good story.” 

So’lek is at a loss for words. What exactly is your point? Are you suggesting he should be spending more time among the Zeswa. It is the Sarentu that had received an invitation to help, not him. Up until now he has remained respectful of your clan’s space. It is only for an invited meeting that he finds himself here to witness your home for the first time. But the way you talk about it makes him almost feel guilty for not dropping by earlier. 

Would the Zeswa people have welcomed him if he had? Give him a smile as he cooked a meal here or crafted a better bow as the Sarentu often do? He’s not sure if he would know how to respond if they did. Your attention has already proven to be hard enough to reciprocate as is. 

“I attend to responsibilities at Resistance Headquarters.” 

“So I’ve heard.” You hum. There is something else in your voice, some hidden message in your tone but So’lek can’t decipher it for the life of him. So once again he is caught wondering what your intentions are in bringing it up. Perhaps nothing. You are strangers to one another. Just because you have gone out of your way to heal him does not mean you care whether or not he graces the clan with his presence. For all he knows, making conversation is a polite practice for good bedside manner. 

Your precision is admirable. A calm consistent draw and pull of the needle to create perfectly tight and even stitches sealing him up. Far better work than that done by flimsy Sky People hands at headquarters. And while their small faces often pinch in concentration when stitching, your features remain relaxed. Even tranquil, with just the softest of smiles present. 

In a way it almost causes his own demeanor to follow suit. That is if it weren’t for your distracting appearance. It has been so long since he has witnessed true Na’vi crafted attire so he can’t really be blamed for running his eyes over your intricate top of bright reds and oranges. It’s only when you shift slightly that he realizes how scantily clad your chest is with only the decorative fabric. And it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. 

Nudity is not a big concern among the Na’vi. They are not ashamed of their bodies. But it’s clear he has been hanging around tawtute far too much as he feels the need to shift his gaze away every time that flimsy covering slides one way or another. And where they land, however, is just as distracting. The soft curves of your faces, long dark lashes that blanket your fixated gaze. Even your hair that is entirely unrestrained with only a few flowers woven along your crown, allowing it to fall down to your waist in soft waves. 

Staring isn’t a big deal. Or at least it shouldn’t be, but there is something about letting his eyes land for too long that puts him on edge. Perhaps it is some lingering adrenaline from the fight that still has him on alert. Even has his stomach twisting into weird knots. Usually by this point these effects have worn off, but So’lek tries not to read too far into it. 

A hiss escapes his lips without permission when fingers suddenly press into his shoulder blade. 

“By Eywa…” You marvel, now coming to press against the area harder even as he hisses his discomfort. “You are wound very tight. There is a giant knot here.” 

So’lek’s teeth dig into the inside of his lips to keep back further hissing, but there is no controlling the writhing of his tail. Despite all of his efforts, however, it seems that none of this is of consequence to you. You are more than content to ignore his pain and dig further into the muscle in order to examine the damage better. 

“It is just…tense.” He defends, finally veering away from your hands. 

“That is a nice way of putting it.” You scoff, shaking your head as if he has told a joke. “It needs to be massaged.” 

So’lek blinks back at you. Massaged? Of course it would be nice to stop having that blaring pain in his shoulder but what is he supposed to do about it? It is simply a consequence of pulling back his bow so many times, or even from slotting the stock of a rifle against that shoulder. But then you are reaching out and it hits him. This is you offering? 

Out of reflex he pulls away. Bottom lip caught between your teeth, that amusement paints your features again as you glare back at him. It’s the same look a parent gives their child when they are misbehaving. It has his ears twitching, tailing curling in anticipation. For what, he does not know. 

“It is fine.” So’lek assures you, holding a hand up when you try to reach him again. 

“Do not be ridiculous. It is not fine. That is, unless you are okay with letting it go until you are unable to move your arm without pain.” You have him there and you know it, watching him patiently until he will finally give in to your superior logic. 

You are being a good healer, no doubt far more observant of his state than anyone that has ever treated him among the resistance. And it’s true that restricted mobility would cause a direct conflict to his plans of revenge against the RDA. What point is infiltrating a base if he can’t even pull back the string of his bow? So So’lek can’t quite understand why the idea of conceding to this massage has his heart racing. 

Perhaps there is a personal aspect to it that makes him weary. He does not know you and you do not know him, no matter what stories the Sarentu has supposedly shared. You’ve just about wrestled him into this tent to get mended and now you are fully prepared to massage his pain away. To let those delicately soft hands run over exposed skin, bring him relief in a way no one else ever does. 

His heart rate is far beyond what it should be outside of battle. 

“Are you afraid I will hurt you?” Brow bones raising, you give him a look that says you know exactly how that idea attacks his male pride. Regardless, So’lek can’t hold back a scoff. 

“No.” 

“Then there really is no reason to be stubborn now, is there?” It’s a rhetorical question because only a few seconds after you are settling behind him and grabbing a basin of massage oil. 

For the first time since meeting you, you hesitate when your fingers just barely brush his tactical vest. Immediately that touch is pulled away and you fumble to find an angle that will reach the knot in his shoulder without touching the gear. 

It’s not the first time he has witnessed this hesitation among the Na’vi. The vest is intimidating, tacked on with a radio, ammunition, and many other pieces of Sky People technology that is entirely foreign to you. He remembers that caution in himself the first time he tried to hold a gun. Despite your carefree and pushy nature, this mysterious article seems to put you on edge too. 

“Do you want me to remove it?” 

“What?”

“The vest.” Daring to peek over his shoulder he finds your bottom lips trapped again before a simple nod is given his way. He sets down the vest a distance away with his gun too. Anything to make you feel a little more at ease. Ironically, however, it is him that is left feeling vulnerable without the heavy piece, only a thin swooping necklace over his bare chest now. Has it really been so long since he has removed his armor? Some nights he forgets to unclasp the vest before exhaustion takes him, but he has always blamed that on pure circumstance, not any sign of associated comfort. 

Your apprehension is washed away as if it was never there in the first place, now that you are facing only bare skin. The oil that you begin lathering over his shoulder smells strongly of dapophet but there is something else mixed in there that he can’t place. A strong essence that has memories long forgotten tugged to the forefront of his mind. Images of his clan, his family. Is it possible that the Zeswa use similar herbs in their medicine as that of his clan’s tsahik?

That thought is immediately interrupted when fingers begin to dig into the muscle again. A sharp agony pings through him, his muscles naturally tensing to protect the injured area. However, it is all for not when you continue to dig at the area mercilessly. So’lek usually considers his pain tolerance to be quite high but somehow this pain is so deeply rooted that he can’t stop himself from veering away. Even when you tug his shoulder back towards you, a hiss escapes his lips. 

“Hold still.” You demand. 

He tries. He really does try because squirming like this is borderline embarrassing. He is a trained warrior for Eywa’s sake! A little massage should not have him writhing like this. Regardless it seems this knot has gotten far worse than he could have imagined. 

“It really is fine.” So’lek grits out between clenched teeth. Star above, it is painful! He’s about ready to let the injury worsen if it means escaping your merciless hands. 

“Are you going to stop squirming like a child or will I need to pin you down to do this?” 

He can hear the amused smile in your voice but that’s not what his mind fixates on. Instead So’lek is horrified to witness how quickly his trail of thoughts leads to sinful places. How fast he can conjure up images of your smooth thighs cinched around his waist, your long hair falling over one shoulder to tickle at his spine. How easily he could quickly flip you over until he is the one that pins-

No. He must stop! A seasoned warrior well into his adult years should not create such innuendos so easily. That is for children, perhaps his years as a teenager where his hormones were wildly out of control. Back then he had a reason, but what excuse does he have now? 

“Better.” You murmur and it’s then that he realizes his dirty thoughts have somehow managed to distract him from the pain, autopilot keeping him in place. 

His jaw still clenches as you prod at the muscle, but eventually pain gives way into something else. Skilled fingers slowly ring out the agony he did not realize was there until his shoulders are sagging in relief. Your technique is meticulous, methodic. For such small hands you have quite the plethora of strength, wearing down his body until it is going lax. 

And then there is a tune. A song so quiet that it takes him a moment to realize it is you humming behind him. That foreign melody captivates him easily. Ears perking to catch every change of note, So’lek drowns in your sweet voice. And sweet it is, no better sound has he heard in years. So much of his daily life is accompanied by yapping tawtute and distant RDA bombs.

There are times where the lab tawtute put on records to play but that music is offending in comparison to the theme you weave now. It reminds him of home. Not even specifically of his clan per say, but just the feeling of having a home. Of having a community to bask in. 

Rich melody and trained fingers working in kind, So’lek melts beneath you. For the first time in a long time he remembers the difference between surviving and healing. Pleasure radiates from every touch you bestow and So’lek begins to slump, limbs feeling like noodles. Lost in the tranquility of the moment he doesn’t originally catch how concerning his thoughts become. How easily his body starts to yearn for your touch in different ways. 

How easily he starts to yearn for you. 

The interaction was innocent. And So’lek stands by that fact. You were pulled away abruptly by others demanding your attention and although it took him a few seconds to come down from that strange high, he had gathered his things and left the Zeswa with only your rushed goodbye as parting. 

He had shaken it off as a weird experience, just the shock of true Na’vi medicine after being corrupted by tawtute practice for so long. However, when days pass and his mind keeps dragging him back towards that event, So’lek knows he is in trouble. 

Were it just about the exceptional effects of Na’vi healing he wouldn’t be so concerned. After all, his shoulder has never felt better, his mobility and flexibility far beyond what he has done in a long time. So it would only be natural to have a fixation on something that rendered such positive results. 

But it’s the dreams that worry him. Dreams that start out as intangible images of your long hair, soft hands over his skin. Things that could be shrugged off as a wrong mix of hormones messing with his subconscious, potentially a faceless woman it imitates. But then they become more intense, uncomfortably vivid. Stories woven by his subconscious that are not only specific but inherently sexual. 

He dreams of how your lips would taste against his own. He dreams of your body pressed against him, of an intimacy far beyond what he could ever describe in words. Even the way his scent would beautifully coalesce with your own upon scent marking his territory. 

It is borderline madness. So’lek has only ever met you once! One time where you simply did your job as a healer. Creating fantasies out of such a small instance is truly pathetic. Of course it has been a while since he has been intimate with a woman but these feelings have not risen in years, especially not in a way so close to obsessive that it has his head reeling. 

And yet the dreams morph into the tangling of his actual conscious thoughts as he tries to go about his day. When he is sneaking up on a sturmbeest he’s wondering if you even remember that short hour together. When he is trading materials with the Sarentu his mind trails to guessing what activities are filling your day. And when he talks to Priya, well he tunes her completely out because surviving your nervous rambling is only doable when he’s imagining how the sun reflected off of your hair. And frankly, anything to keep is patience while talking to the purple haired tawtute is approved as far as he’s concerned. 

Maybe he really has been alone for far too long. He is at an age where courting and mating is a common motivation and so his body is pushing him towards the first female that has given him attention. It is biological. It must be. Once his hormones have died down all will return back to normal and he can forget you ever even met. 

That’s what he tells himself for the first week. So’lek stomps down the day dreaming as fast as possible and concentrates on his true goal, riding this planet of the RDA. He is in cohorts with the Sarentu and takes down every RDA tawtute and vehicle in his line of sight. But that doesn’t stop a nasty urge from sticking. Just this tiny idea of an injury bringing him back to the Zeswa healer’s tent. It seems that your duties primarily reside there and so it would be more than likely that he would find himself under your tender care again. 

And it’s hideous the way this fucked up idea becomes a fantasy for him. He is a warrior! A man of honor and courage. No warrior should ever long for an injury, no matter how minor. Especially when it could take him away from helping those who need him most, away from defending his home. So So’lek won’t say he falls from the tree on purpose. 

He is collecting shell fruit up in the red trees. The proximity to Zeswa camp is only a coincidence. Of course his agility is usually far beyond letting himself get scrapped up and falling a few branches down, but everyone has bad days. The only sensible thing to do while so far away from resistance headquarters, is seek a healer from the Zeswa.

He can be quick. In and out with little interference on their daily activities.

So’lek maintains a neutral mask when he reaches the healer’s tent. His greeting is polite but detached with every clan member that passes him by. However, there is no stopping the disappointment that lowers his tail when it is a different female that ushers him in for treatment. You are nowhere to be found in the spacious tent. Just a few elderly Na’vi receiving care and one child getting a scraped up knee bandaged. 

Truly he is grateful for the help received. Ka’xhori is the name of this healer and she does quick ,but quality, work on his bleeding thigh. Several times her curious stare is caught by the strange devices on his vest and even the darker stripes across his forehead. She makes conversation for a few minutes but when his answers become choppy and short, she silently resigns to his lack of interest. 

It’s towards the ending of the wrapping that he spots you from a distance. Just through the opening of the tent he catches you returning with a group of friends, shortbow in hand. A male to your right carries a fresh kill and the female to your left exuberantly tells you a story. 

Your eyes sparkle in delight, avidly drinking in the story. And then your friends says something that elicits the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. You laugh, a laugh quite different than the teasing one you had exposed him to the first time. This one comes from your gut, a belly laugh that has your eyes crinkling and teeth on full display. There is a vibrance to this demeanor that has him drawn like a moth to a flame. 

You’re babbling back at your friend with that same enthusiastic energy until both of you are struggling to not collapse to the ground in a fit of giggles. Even the male carrying the kill can’t defeat such infectious sounds of joy. Complete unabashed delight. No pretense. No mask, just a blinding smile he may never be able to unsee. 

“That should hold for a while.” Ka’xhori says, tugging on the leaf bandage for good measure. 

“My deepest gratitude.” His deep voice responds on autopilot. Most likely it is not convincing enough but So’lek is already shuffling out of the tent before she can respond. 

Despite the natural tugging in your direction, So’lek turns to the trail opposite. This obsession has gone on long enough. He thought that perhaps coming back here would only prove it to be some silly crush born out of dramatizing your first interaction together but now he sees this is only becoming more dangerous by the second. It’s best to cut himself off now while he still can. 

With a bit of distance and discipline he will be back on track. 

“Hey stranger!” 

So’lek pauses at your call, turning around to find you already leaving your friends behind to approach him. It takes everything within him to not reflect on the sway of your hips, the confident yet eased strut you exhibit.

“Kaltxi [hello].” He murmurs, giving the proper touch to his forehead in respect. 

A giggle catches in your throat at his formality. “Kaltxi.” You mimic his tone, but return the gesture. “How is the shoulder? I hope I didn’t rough you up too much.” 

Only psychologically. Only planting some brain rotting disease he can not rid himself of. 

“It is much improved.” 

Hands placed on your hips, that response seems to do the trick. However, it does not satisfy you enough to allow him an escape from this conversation. 

“So you’ve come back for more business, then?”

So’lek tumbles for a proper excuse. 

“I was here for…” It’s too late you’ve already noticed his bandaged thigh. 

“You are injured again?” You make a small tutting noise in disapproval, coming to circle him closer. “You know, So’lek I have found that it is better to dodge the sky demon bullets, not race right into them.” 

You joke as if the two of you are old friends, even a hint of mischief present in your composure. So’lek is left feeling lost in how to navigate this playful environment you’ve created. Even more so unsure on how to avoid admitting he fell out of a damn tree to get this mark. It would only show his weakness. Perhaps even give you the idea that he is uncoordinated in hunting and combat. 

Not that it matters. Why should he care to prove himself as a competent and athletic male? 

When he doesn’t respond fast enough you beat him to the punch. “You are not actually shot, correct?” 

“I am not shot.” 

“Good.” And he may just be imagining it, but there is a flicker of relief in your expression. What would your reaction be if he was shot? He would be mortified to be caught so easily by poorly aimed sky demon bullets but would that have won him some sympathy? Would you have tended to his wound directly, stayed by his side as he was nursed back to health?

“Well then if you are not bleeding to death you should stay for a meal.” 

So’lek flinches when you’ve suddenly grabbed his left hand and tug. This recoil is punished with your hand pulling back, regret immediately slinking through his veins. Despite his brash reaction there is no sign of embarrassment in your expression. Just a simple roll of your eyes. 

“I could not impose.”

“You are not imposing. It’s an invitation, So’lek.” You correct him. “Which in Zeswa culture really means you have no choice but to accept.” 

He’s tempted to ask what would happen should he refuse, but he bites his tongue. It’s important to keep his relations with the Zeswa friendly, being polite as he can manage with his little social skills. So So’lek trails behind you, watching as the skip in your steps sway that long hair back and forth across the curve of your spine. 

Just as with the healer’s tent, your presence immediately has others joyfully expressing their own greetings. 

“I am still waiting for that rematch, Niwin.” You call to male on their right, covered in red paint markings. 

“I told you, tsmuke [sister]. No number of rematches will give you the victory you desire. It is a waste of time.” He calls back, pausing from his work on a spear. 

“Spoken like a true coward. Is your tail truly still stuck between your legs?” Pearly whites on full display you only laugh when he sends back a teasing hiss. So’lek doesn’t miss the way Niwin’s eyes catch and track his frame. He is not the only one to silently wonder what you are doing with a man like him. 

Exchanging waves and inside jokes along the way, the two of you finally reach the largest of the Zeswa tents. Inside are Na’vi sprawled out and socializing, some crafting weapons while others use the cook fire to prepare meals. 

Trusting that So’lek is following behind obediently, you make a beeline for a certain male next to the cookfire. Long dreads falling over his shoulder he is fast at work, properly cooking meat over the fire. A savory scent fills his lungs. 

“Novao, I have brought you another victim.” You grin, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. 

“Such little faith you have in my genius.” He mutters, but stops short when he notices who stands behind you. His brow bones raise.

“Kaltxi,” So’lek signs awkwardly. 

“Kaltxi,” Novao returns, the response uttered on instinct. “Who is this?” He asks, turning to you. 

“Who is this?” You scoff, pushing at his shoulder. “This is So’lek, of course. By the stars, Novao, you would forget your head were it not attached to your body.” You snicker coming to kneel beside him. 

So’lek hates to appear as if he is mimicking your motions but standing above the two of you now feels awkward so he slowly kneels. 

“Do I want to know by what means you have kidnapped this man?” Novao goads. 

“You said you need a larger sampling audience for more diverse feedback. Look at how I deliver.” You quip, bumping his shoulder with a proud grin. So’lek’s ears flicker at the playful jesting, but he doesn’t allow a smile. “Do not question good things that come your way.” 

“I will once you stop questioning the success of my soon to be famous dishes.” 

Is this how you converse with everyone? If so, perhaps there is nothing special about the way you tease him. Just a general reflection of your boisterous personality that he is not accustomed to. 

“I apologize in advance if this dish causes physical repercussions.” You hand over a leaf of cloaked panther meat crested with vegetables and some sort of seed. A recipe entirely new to him, but he accepts. “There is no telling when Novao’s new recipes will bring you to the heights of ecstasy versus the edge of an early grave. But he needs opinions, so we must do our part.” 

You make a show of holding up your own portions, as if to prove you are in this together. Novao grumbles under his breath but prepares a plate for himself while holding back a smile. 

The first bite is intense. It takes a second bite to fully interpret the burst of flavor in his mouth and once he has, So’lek struggles not to scarf down the entire thing. Even you can’t hold back an approving moan as you chew. A sound that damn near has him spiralling again. 

“It is wonderful,” He says. 

“You see, even this newcomer knows how to appreciate food better.” Novao is quick to jump in. 

Giggling after finally swallowing, you concede. “It is one of your better dishes to date, brother.” 

So’lek has a hard time understanding how this isn’t ranked as the best dish period. He himself is proficient in cooking but So’lek has never taken it up as an art as some do. Most of his dishes have just enough flavor to suffice. During desperate times he occasionally will dip into his small stash of disgusting RDA meals. Nothing, however, has compared to this. 

“Do you claim to cook better?” It’s a genuine question but it has Novao rumbling with laughter immediately. Your brows raise. 

“Oh, look who has a sense of humor after all.” Brows raised, you peer back at him with narrowed eyes and a swishing tail. “Not a very good sense of humor, but one all the same.” 

He can’t tear his gaze away from your burning attention. So’lek’s own tail curls along the floor. It’s not even praise but your spotlight warms his skin just the same. It feels good to elicit some sort of response from you, instead of the other way around for once. 

“Y/n burns everything she touches.” Novao jests between bites. 

“You exaggerate,” comes your quick defense, although posture unbothered as you take another bite. 

“She almost burned down this very tent last time she tried to cook a simple skewer.” 

So’lek can see it now. Na’vi running to and fro out of the tent as you stand there looking perplexed by a raging cookfire. 

“What can I say? I am not made to bother with this mundane task.” You shrug, leaning back on your elbow to lounge. The new position accentuates the dip of your waist until it curves out into full hips. 

“So simple that you purposefully fail at such a boring task?” The questions pops out before he can stop it. But So’lek is slightly startled when you immediately clap a hand down on his knee. 

“You see, So’lek understands!” That dainty hand does not immediately retract, resting upon his bare skin there. He hadn't realized how close you were already laying until now. When you cock your head to the side and continue to banter with the other male, that soft hair comes to tickle at his thighs. 

Being in your space fills his senses with your scent. An essence so unique and addicting that So’lek once again gets the urge to run for the hills. Instead, he remains diligently unmoving, worried that any small shift will have you shuffling away from him. And basking in an entertaining conversation between friends and a good meal before him, So’lek finds that he is in no hurry to return to headquarters. 

It becomes a bad habit of his, looking for excuses to return to the Zeswa home. So’lek had stayed far beyond finishing his meal last time. He blames it on good company, something that seems to be hard for him to keep nowadays. The Sarentu clan joining the resistance has brought him some comfort since but they like him are always busy with their own responsibilities, even further weighed down by scars that are far too fresh. 

So’lek had only convinced himself to leave once your mouth watering essence and occasional friendly touches had become far too much for his body to handle. To his utter mortification there had been a stir in his tewng [loincloth] and he knew then that it was important to make a speedy exit. 

He’s playing with fire, he knows it. So’lek should be doing everything he can to avoid temptation, not race back towards it. Yet, there is something within him that can’t seem to pass up any excuse there is to return. 

“What is wrong?” So’lek reluctantly asks. He doesn’t know how much longer he can silently watch Priya mutter to herself and pace back and forth in front of the monitors. She is on the brink of a full meltdown and as luck would have it, he happens to be the only one in the vicinity as the others take lunch. 

“Nothing,” comes her frazzled response. So’lek shrugs, good enough for him. At least he can say he asked. “Well I mean a little more than nothing I guess. Although that really depends on how you look at it.” 

So’lek holds back a sigh. So they’re doing this after all. 

“It’s just that I sort of forgot to send the coordinates of the new RDA drills sites to the Zeswa after I specifically promised to get it to them within a few days. But I somehow completely forgot, because that’s what I do. Typical Priya. I’m sure at this point they are already upset and-”

“I’ll do it.” 

“What?” 

“I will share the coordinates with Minang and Nesim. That’s what you need right?” 

Priya’s mouth gapes like a fish out of water. She takes an annoying amount of time to gather herself from the apparent shock. 

“Well…I mean yes but that would mean traveling all the way to the Zeswa camp you realize.”

“I realize. Give me the demon tablet.” So’lek snips, holding out his hand for the pad. So maybe it’s not that common for him to help Priya after a foolish mistake like this but he still can’t see how that is enough to elicit such a dramatic response. Nor does So’lek want to wait around for her to start questioning his motives. 

“Wow um yeah of course. I will grab that for you and uh…” She trails off, spinning around as if she is chasing her nonexistent tail, while really just trying to locate the tablet. Priya finally hands it over with a smile. “Thank you, So’lek. I really appreciate it.”

“Yes. Goodbye.” He has never left headquarters so fast. 

Furthermore he manages to make it to Zeswa camp in record time without trying. Walking through the camp he forces himself to make a beeline to Nesim, although a part of him wishes to check the healer’s tent for Minang first. Doing so, however, would only increase the chances of coming across you and getting entirely sidetracked. 

Minang and Nesim are far more forgiving of the delay than Priya gives them credit for. It takes some time trying to properly explain the map on the tablet, as it’s their first time truly interacting so closely with these screens, but eventually he manages to relay the proper information and get all of them on track. 

The beginnings of plans for certain amushes are made and So’lek is given detailed information to return to HQ. Nesim leaves immediately once the plans are made, anxious to get preparations under way. Minang however hangs back in the tent. 

So’lek almost doesn’t notice her presence as he finds himself staring past the tent entrance to where you sit weaving a basket. It feels rare to catch you alone like this but you appear entirely at ease working the fibers together. 

“She is one of my assisting healers.” Minang says, almost making So’lek jump out of his skin when she is suddenly by his side. His eyes immediately dart away, feigning a disinterest as he rakes over the scenery equally. 

So’lek clears his throat before speaking. “That is good.” Despite the strength of his voice, Minang seems to find some sort of amusement in his response. She wears a neutral expression but even he catches the twitch of her lips. 

“I heard the two of you have already met.” 

“Briefly.” 

“Great. Then she will be perfect.” Minang says with an assured nod. 

“Perfect…for what?” A wrinkle settles between his hairless brows as So’lek’s mind races to understand at what point he became so lost in this conversation. Instead of answering his question directly, Minang turns to walk further into the tent. Already moving on to the next task she talks while starting to gather some of her cooking supplies. 

“My sister and I have been talking and we’ve decided it would be beneficial for you to learn how to ride a pa’li [direhorse]. The Sarentu has already taken it upon themselves and has progressed immensely. As another ally of the Zeswa it only makes sense you learn some of our ways too. It may become necessary for any future ground attacks.” 

She continues to gather her things without facing him, but Minang’s ears perk to hear his response. So’lek can’t remember the last time he has ridden on a pa’li. It would have had to have been briefly as a child, not actually making the bond himself but riding with his father. It was not a common experience among his clan and since then he has never had the opportunity to explore it further.

“I see. That is…logical.” 

“Y/n will be happy to teach you. She is an experienced rider. A good karyu [teacher] I think.” 

So’lek feels as if there is a rock lodged in his throat. 

“I would not wish to lessen her availability in the healer’s tent.”

Minang gives a low chuckle, turning to look at him with a swishing tail and wide smile. “I have plenty of help for the time. Besides, since you two have already met, that would make her the ideal choice.” 

“Yes, I see. Although I would not consider us more than strange-”

“I will give her word of this assignment. Return at noon tomorrow for your first lesson.” And with that she saunters out of the tent, leaving So’lek gaping for words and mind lagging to process the turn of events. 

Despite having come all this way for the chance to see you, So’lek goes to slightly extreme lengths to escape the tent without your notice. Brisk walk taking him further and further away from your alluring scent, he asks himself how the hell he is supposed to survive lessons in your presence without going entirely over the line. It’s caught in this spiral that he almost misses Novao’s quick greeting. Just a simple wave before the male is turning back to his meal, but it still catches So’lek off guard. Which appears to be the theme of the day.

And perhaps it’s in his head but it feels as if less people shy away from him as he leaves the camp. A few other Na’vi even extend a goodbye nonchalantly. 

“Did something happen?” Priya twists to meet So’lek’s far off gaze. 

“I have already relayed the information.” 

“I think she means did something happen to have you spacing out like that? You’ve hardly said anything since returning.” Anqa steps in, putting an arm around Priya’s shoulder’s as a comforting act. 

So’lek stares down at the two tawtute. He’s not sure what they expect of him. Confiding with sky people is not a common practice of his. In fact, confiding in anyone is a rare occasion. Neither does he believe they would have any way of understanding his situation. Priya and Anqa are still so wrapped up in their honeymoon phase that giving them any piece of his love life would only set them off like fireworks. He would never hear the end of it. No doubt they would pry until his patience would run out. 

“I will be gone tomorrow.” So’lek says instead. 

“Oh, helping the sarentu again?” Anqa inquires. 

“The Zeswa require my presence. I will return before eclipse.” And before they can question him any further he retreats to his small living quarters. Despite his quick retreat So’lek can still pick up their gossiping whispers behind him. 

Keeping this under wraps may be more difficult than he anticipated. It feels impossible to keep a secret in a place like this, jammed together in a cave with so many tawtute. Then again, this can’t even be qualified as a secret. In order to do so there would have to be actually something to share, and there isn’t. Nothing has occurred between the two of you. It’s just his own imaginings that threaten to get him in trouble. 

You, on the other hand, are just fulfilling the requests of your Tsahik and Olo’eyktan. Even doing a little more than asked by extending a friendly welcome to him. With any luck he will learn to ride a pa’li fast enough to stop this from spiraling out of control and involving other unwanted parties. 

It’s with this attitude that he makes the trek out the next morning. A strong resolve to stay focused and complete the task at hand efficiently. After all, he’s always been a quick learner. Why should this be any different?

“Starting the day a little grumpy, hm?” He spins around at the sound of your voice. Sauntering from a nearby tent, today you wear a decadent feather top. Something so light and revealing it would only take the right gust of wind to have it shifting. So’lek’s digs his nails into his thighs. 

“Um no, I am ready to learn.” 

“Oh so that is your focused scowl. Hard to tell the difference.” With a pep to your step, you motion for him to follow. “Well then if you’re so anxious to learn, let’s get started, lazy bones.” 

“Of course.” So’lek concedes with a nod, but he doesn’t miss the giggle you try to stifle in front of him. Perhaps he is a little formal, even stiff at times, but most people simply take it as a sign to leave him be. The same is not true in your case. 

The sound dies down significantly once the two of you have made it away from the Zeswa camp. Gliding through the tall reeds and plants of the plains there are times where he can only get a glimpse of you through the foliage. So’lek shuffles to keep up. For someone with a significantly shorter stride than him, you sure move fast. 

“There you are!” You call with glee before running forward into a clearing. Finally afforded a proper view of the open space, he spots you next to a pa’li, running a hand along its snout. The creature seems to lean into your touch, just as happy to see you as you are her. “I knew you’d be out here somewhere, girl.” 

When So’lek steps out of the tall grass the creature immediately stiffens. He goes stock still in response. 

“To ride a pa’li you must first show them you are not a threat. Soothe them into letting you approach.” 

So’lek nods his head and takes a steadying breath. Unfortunately, it is only a few steps in before the pa’li is rearing back, trying to get out of your hold. You coo softly, giving comforting words and touches until she is back in your space once more. 

“Perhaps let’s start without your bow first. Just for now.” 

Reluctantly, So’lek slowly removes all forms of weaponry on him and places it on the grass. Try, try and try again, he does all he can to get closer. When you tell him to slow down, he moves at the pace of an insect. When he tries to imitate the cooing sounds you often make it not only has the pa’li running away entirely but also you struggling to hold back your own laughter. 

Trying not to notice the way your tail curls in amusement, So'lek persistently continues.

“A pa’li is not like an ikran. There is no show of dominance to win over lifelong loyalty. Instead you must prove yourself to be caring and trustworthy every time you approach.” 

It’s good instruction but none of it seems to be doing him any use. For whatever reason, he can not get within a few steps of the direhorse before she is running for the hills. Frustration blooming quickly, So’lek’s jaw clenches. 

“You know, the problem is quite clear and simple to fix.” Head tilting to the side you draw forward to him a few steps and this time let the pa’li run off without interference. 

“What is it?”

“That scowl. Not the most inviting demeanor.” You point out and a line forms between his brows. So’lek places his hands on his hips, nose scrunching at the remark. 

“It is my face. There is nothing I can do to change it.” 

“You could try to smile.” You goad, demonstrating a smile of your own. “I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you could manage.” 

“I smile.” Apparently not enough considering you are not the first person to make this suggestion. Keeping a stern expression is not always on purpose, but with all that’s happened it somehow feels like a comforting guard set in place. He is not as vulnerable when others have a hard time reading him. 

“Alright alright.” You concede with hands raised in surrender. “I believe you. It just would be nice to see.” There is a spark of mischief beneath that comforting smile. And something tells So’lek that you are no longer talking about this just in the context of soothing a pa’li. “Let’s try something different then.” 

Air catches in his lungs the second your small fingers are wrapping around his palm. This time, So’lek doesn’t make the mistake of flinching and scaring you off. With rising curiosity he allows himself to be manhandled by your gentle grip. He is pulled along slowly until the pa’li is only a few steps away. 

To his surprise the creature does not immediately shy away now that the two of you approach her together. Slowly his hand is coaxed to lay across her snout, but even once it is placed there your touch does not disappear. Your petite fingers remain calmly pressed over the back of his hand. They coax him to create long soothing strokes across the creature’s leathery skin but every now and then your thumb will run over one of the protruding veins of his hand. 

Saliva gathers atop of his tongue. He should be focusing on this small success and creating a further bond with the pa’li but all he can feel is you. Buttery soft skin and dazzling eyes that peek up at him with praise on your tongue. 

Getting so worked up over something so simple is truly ridiculous and he can’t quite figure out when or how you gained this power over him. 

Soothing the pa’li is one thing but making the bond and mounting the creature happens to be another feat entirely. It takes at least a dozen times to make the bond and mount once but even that only lasts for a few seconds before he is bucked off. Once. Then twice. Then the third time he is catapulted into the lake. 

Breaching the shallow pool, So’lek’s lips turn downwards and he can’t keep back a frustrated grunt. His eyes narrow when they settle on your form nearly hunching over from laughter. Wiping the mud from his brow his gaze is enough to have you trying to stifle your amusement weakly. 

“You are laughing.” He deadpans. 

“No no I am not,” You clear your throat in efforts to stop the giggles as you wade into the water where he sits. “I am not laughing.” 

So’lek doesn’t know what comes over him. An action born from pure emotion, but when he accepts your extended hand of help he doesnt use it to hoist himself up but instead yanks on it hard. With very little force you easily go flying to the ground next to him and beneath the water. A shocked sound escapes your throat the second you resurface. 

An apology is on the tip of his tongue but you don’t give him a chance. 

“Oh I see how it is.” With a threateningly deep chuckle you are already rearing up and splashing a wave of water over him. Whatever amends he was ready to make are chucked aside as he shakes the water from his braids and his tail curls in excitement. 

You are back on your feet and running before he is halfway up. Fast little thing, you are. But it’s no matter, with the adrenaline now racing through his veins it is only a matter of time before he catches up. Splashing, pushing and even tripping all go underway until both of you are covered in lake mud. It’s like being a child again, his hands grasping for your tail at every chance he gets, your own smaller hands managing to fling mud into his braids. 

So’lek’s own deep laughter rumbles in his chest far before he realizes it. An insatiable thrill runs through him as the two of you indulge in play that he has not experienced since he was half this height. And when you tackle him back into the water he comes to find that for the first time in a long time he has forgotten about his nagging objectives. 

He is drunk on your laugh, the way it rings like a beautiful chime in the upper plains wind. Lazily sprawled next to you he tries to reel back his own chuckling just as your chest heaves for air. 

“I knew you could smile.” You manage between breaths. So’lek only has a second to understand your words before there is a distant boom. Head whipping towards the source of the sound he finds it comes from far east. One of the many drilling sites he had shared the coordinates of. He’s ready to shrug it off and continue, far accustomed to the dreadful noise and what it means at this point, but when So’lek turns back to look at you that feeling immediately shifts. 

Your ears are pulled back, almost tucked beneath your hair. Tail limp beneath the water and blank stare fixated in the difference. For the first time since meeting you there are no traces of a smile, not a flicker or spark in those beautiful eyes. Something heavy hangs there in its place. And the breakneck change in demeanor gives him chills. 

It’s as if you’ve forgotten he is there. That usually curving and free moving posture has now straightened into a locked position. 

“It is a drilling site in the east. Several miles away.” So’lek says carefully. There is no telling whether or not his comment makes it better or worse, but with a smooth voice he continues. “It is from a drill that they use to make a hole in the ground.”

‘What?” You whisper, almost as if coming out of a daze. 

“That is what you are hearing. It is an awful sound.” His muzzle wrinkles at the truth of his words. So’lek has come far closer to those dreadful machines then he ever would have liked but at least he now has experienced first hand how they can be stopped. Still, there are nightmares that echo with that Eywa forsaken sound occasionally. 

With a hesitant hand he starts to reach out to place it on your shoulder. “It is alright to be scared.” 

He doesn’t make contact before you are whipping back. 

“I am not scared.” Hastily you spring up onto your feet and back towards the shore. It feels as if the moment has shattered like glass before he could even understand it, leaving him reeling to catch up. “Come, let’s get back to work.” Tone hard and words clipped, you are already out of his reach. 

So’lek is careful not to bring up the drill again, or any RDA activity for that matter. He pretends not to notice that you’ve changed the location of his training further from the drill site. And when he enters the next day he is on edge, watching your features for any signs of distress. 

Surprisingly, you seem to have switched back to your usual friendliness. It’s as if that conversation never happened and since So’lek is more than lost on what to do he easily follows your lead in not talking about it. In fact, as more lessons come and go it becomes easier to follow your lead in many things. 

You are a talkative woman, always chattering about your opinions on different matters (big or small) or filling him in on the intricate inner workings of Zeswa clan gossip. At this point he could probably name just about every clan member from their pieces in your stories alone. When you’re sharing so much like this, it becomes only natural to divulge some information himself. 

You ask about the resistance headquarters, about how many tawtute live there, what they eat. Even more personal things like where he manages to sleep and how he fills his days outside of his pa’li lessons. Although at first feeling a little put on the spot, So’lek eventually warms to this line of questioning. You are simply a curious individual and when you soak in every mundane detail he gives with a vibrant excitement and big wide eyes, it’s hard to not enjoy the attention. 

Learning to ride a pa’li is exceedingly more trying than he had anticipated. Even once he has learned how to mount and start a smooth walk, navigating and getting up to a gallop feels like starting from ground zero again. Despite these difficulties, the extended lessons don’t bother him as he would have expected. 

Some days you greet him with leftovers from Navao’s newest creations (letting him learn the hard way that you’re right about some of them having physical consequences) and other days it is him that brings back foraged fruit or random trinkets from HQ you might find interesting. Those meals are shared in the tall grass of the plains, stories filtering out of your lips faster than he can keep up with as he watches your long hair dancing in the wind. 

There is one question, however, that you never ask him. Perhaps because you already know what happened to his clan. So’lek doesn’t share the story of his clan decimation by the RDA, but word travels. The memory of his people has become a cautionary tale. Not much more than a story to rile anger and motivation to bring the sky people down once and for all. The Sarentu clan shared a similar fate, but they have each other. Even a handful of people is a desirable clan in his eyes. 

It’s a week into the lessons that So’lek finds himself at the Zeswa camp early. He had come across a patch of tsawksyul [pandoran ‘sunflowers’] earlier that morning and was gathering it without thought. He has no use for the delicate flowers but it seems right to leave it with you. Surely you are more than happy to find ways of weaving it into a new intricate top. He’s heard enough about your designs to understand it’s a passion of yours. 

So with a little too much anticipation and haste, So’lek enters the camp early in search of your bright smile. It’s your voice, though, that he hears first. It filters from the healer’s tent. Lurking on the opposite of the doorway So’lek goes to round the structure and enter but he stops midway. 

“Is this about the man from the tawtute clan?” 

“His name is So’lek.” You remind the anonymous female, gently. 

Every muscle in his body freezes at the sound of his name. This is wrong. Listening in on a private conversation is bad enough, even when it is not about you. Yet, his neck cranes to see if anyone else is around instead. Since he is on the opposite side of the tent there is not a soul to note his presence yet and So’lek simply can’t get himself to move from the spot. 

“And why do you assume it would be about him? Does there have to be another man involved in order for me to take time to thoroughly consider Ra’vang’s courtship?” You challenge and the other female lets out a sigh. 

“Of course not, but you have been spending an awful lot of time with him.” 

“Naturally,” comes your simple reply, entirely unbothered. “I am teaching him as I was instructed.” 

“Yeah I know and you’re very kind to do so but you have to admit he is a little…strange.” 

“That is not true! He has simply been through shit that you haven’t.” All softness bleaches from your voice. 

“Woah! Okay, retract the claws. I am sorry. I did not mean to insinuate anything negative by it.” He recognizes your little huff in response. “It’s just that the two of you are very different. That’s all I’m trying to say. He is very…stiff.” 

A beat passes and through the tent material he swears he catches the shake of your head. “So’lek is selective when it comes to socializing. He may come off serious but there is a lot more beneath that hard exterior than you would realize. It’s simply not on show for everyone.” 

It feels as if a wire has been tired around his heart, his lungs furthermore forgetting to take in needed oxygen. 

“I admit I do not claim to know him as well as you do. But…I can not imagine living in such close quarters with sky people like that. Always surrounded by metal.”

“Of course you can not. Most people are not cut out for such a task. But we benefit from the Resistance’s aid, so perhaps we should be grateful that So’lek is capable of dealing with it.” 

“Okay okay, I see your point, sister. Just…be careful what decisions you make right now. Ra’vang is a strong warrior and provider. Even if it’s not him you have other options, many good ones. Spontaneity may be your specialty but I’d hate for you to let a good mating pass by simply because you are not thinking this through properly.” 

You give a small sigh but it’s light, void of anything but fondness. 

“If there is one thing I do know it’s that love is not something to be analyzed and bash one’s own head over. I think things through, but I know how to listen to the song of my own heart too. I don’t make it a practice to question what it tells me.” 

So’lek staggers away. Any longer in that spot and he risks being seen, or sending his thoughts into a further tangled mess. He looks down at the flowers in hand. You defended him, said a lot more than most people would have. It fosters an unfathomable fire in his chest and yet it’s tampered by a reality he wishes to not face. 

You have suitors. Real men of the clan that are not only native to this culture and lifestyle but also expressing interest through real courting displays. If your friend’s words are anything to go off of, you’ve gathered many good prospects. And why wouldn't that be true? It’s easy to imagine what they would see in a woman like you. Easy because it’s everything he sees too.

But So’lek….

So’lek is not Zeswa. He hardly has traces of the lifestyle from his own clan within him. The years have shaped him into somewhat of a mut in Na’vi breeding. He does not know the way of any clan how he should and there is a darkness within him that rages for revenge. These men have been brought up to take care of someone like you. They are able to give you so much more than he ever could and yet here he stands with a courting gift in hand like a true skxawng [idiot]. 

Whether or not it was intentional is irrelevant. If he gives these flowers to you it will surely be a sign of interest. He will instigate himself as a competitor in this game that he has no right playing. 

So’lek discreetly slips them into a basket of herbs in one of the tents. Someone else will find use for them, but it won’t be in his hands when you arrive. 

The entanglement of his thoughts leaves his body buzzing with energy. So much so that even though he hardly hears a word you say during the lesson, he somehow manages to conjure up enough tenacity to stay atop the pa’li while in a gallop. And then faster and faster he pushes the creature with that racing adrenaline he sends down the bond. 

The whip of the wind, the strain of his muscles, all of them work to offset the mental exhaustion that is quickly blossoming. And then his golden eyes finally take in the scene before him. Tall grass races beside him on every side. Trees of crimson leaves dot the open field where arrow deer scurry and Soundblast colossus nap near the sparkling river. 

The plains are monumental. It settles a deep awareness of its grandeur. 

Your celebratory yips and hollers echo from behind. 

And rushing through this scene feels like flying for the first time again. 

Completing the training finally gives So’lek room for a breather. He stunts the disappointment at not seeing you every day with the knowledge that this will only simplify the situation. Without being kept in close quarters he will be free to devote himself entirely to taking down the RDA and you will be free to explore courtings and potential matings without his interference.  

Luckily there is more than enough work to keep him busy now that they are preparing to go up against the largest drilling site to date. When your laughter echoes through his mind, So’lek goes through the RDA rosters until his eyes burn and a headache clouds all thoughts. When his brain compulsively conjures up your teasing jests being directed at another suitor, he hunts feral viperwolves until he is covered in scratches and forced to the hospital wing. 

And it is only once that he accidentally crushes a mug in his grip in front of Alex and Anqa as he envisions another man’s tongue running over your luscious curves. He chalks it up to tension created by the upcoming battle, but it’s clear Anqa has shared the occurrence when Priya gives him worried looks for several days after. 

Despite his busy work, So’lek finds himself relieved when the day of the ambush finally arrives. It is the first time the Zeswa and the Resistance have worked together in combat and the air buzzes with excitement. He only thinks of you for a moment when he mounts a pa’li and joins the Zeswa in leading the majority of RDA firepower towards the hills. 

A small band of Zeswa warriors, tawtute soldiers, and the Sarentu clan work together to infiltrate the base quietly, taking down the drill from the inside. 

Hours feel only like minutes when his body is pumping with adrenaline. It begins and is over all before he can really process it and by some Eywa given miracle, not only do they succeed but there are only injuries to be accounted for. Muscles aching, forehead beaded with sweat, and entire body still pulsing from the intense vibrations of close range gun power, So’lek heaves a deep sigh of relief. A tangible weight lifts from his shoulders, a peace that is often fleeting but something he has learned to enjoy while it lasts. 

There will be more to do tomorrow. The RDA are nowhere near exterminated, but for now he basks in the knowledge that they are one step closer to ridding them for good. The Zeswa holler and cry into the wind with a passion that seems to shake the very hills. Even those that are injured take part in celebrating this victory. 

Watching the scene makes his chest swell with foreign feelings. So many times he has been left to reflect on the aftermath of his solo missions without another to share that moment with. Celebrations occasionally occur at headquarters but never has it felt like this. And his lungs seize, almost bursting with the need to let out his own cry in the mix of their allies. It calls to a part within him that often feels buried away, even forgotten. An instinctual part of him that is true Na’vi, a creature that has a place in Pandora’s beauty. 

Years worth of turmoil releases in that guttural cry and to So’lek’s surprise, it is a sound of pure elation that rings from him. 

It was within that spirit or triumph that So’lek had been extended an invitation by Nesim to join them in festivities. Although noncommittal in his response, he finds himself preparing to leave headquarters hours later. The tawtute and Sarentu work together to create their own party in the dinghy cave. A part of him feels as if he should be there for it, a party of outcasts that he has grown accustomed to associating himself with. But that primal cry remains trapped in his chest. It calls him to the plains. 

And so for once, So’lek decides to let himself celebrate.

There are little memories left of clan parties, most just blurry images of firelight and dancing shadows. They are only mere facades in comparison to the burst of conviviality that So’lek can hear within a mile of camp. 

Walking through the center of camp there are very few Na’vi still residing there, most simply rushing to and fro in search of supplies or friends before scampering back to where the real party is being held. Down the hill he can see towering flames and a gaggle of bodies dancing with fervor. 

He takes a step, then pauses. 

So’lek’s fingers are hesitant as they undo the clasps of his chest guard, but it eventually loosens and slides down his arms to rest in the grass. He sets aside his bow, his gun, and every piece that is made of metal or meant as a weapon. Even his arm guard is placed neatly in that pile. 

The wind nips at his vulnerable form and So’lek is once again struck by how naked he feels without these things. This time though, he settles into that discomfort. This is a party. One night where he will not plot his revenge or sharpen his weapons. A single night where he can pretend to belong. 

The last streaks of fiery red disperse from the sky and in their wake, eclipse conjures Pandora’s bioluminescent glow. Tahni [star-like freckles] light along his exposed skin. So’lek’s ears perk the closer he gets to the party. The very thrum of the heavy drums vibrates at the soles of his feet, reverberating to punch him in the chest. 

There is a vibrance in the air, an energy so palpable it feels as if he can taste it on his tongue. Whatever drug has infused the scene, it seems to spread rapidly among the celebrating parties. Zeswa of all ages and stations are muffled together in a form of dancing that So’lek can only describe as pure frenzy. 

Movement without direction. Feet atop the wind as if a fire has been lit beneath them. 

It is unlike anything So’lek has ever witnessed before. His golden eyes flicker frantically across the parade before him, unsure of what to take in first. The very air in his lungs is filled with the hickory essence of smoked meat. Even his ears flutter across his braids, attacked by the onslaught of sound. 

And then, there is you. 

Right in the very heart of the festivities, as he could have guessed. His overstimulated senses finally find a target, settling entirely on the way you move within the crowd. Much like the rest of the Zeswa your body moves with unabashed enthusiasm. There is no rhyme or reason to the swivel and swish of your small form. You act on pure instinct, a reaction of feeling to the euphoric buzz around you. Pure elation. 

It is a complete disregard of outside perceptions. There is nothing but your windswept joy and the music that moves you to and fro. Although the entire scene is curious by nature to him, there is something about you that constantly pulls him in. And that’s what it is. Your presence is magnetic. It draws not only So’lek in but everyone around you, it’s clear in every reaction he has witnessed. 

You are a free spirit. You move through life as if nothing could ever clip your wings and for all he can tell, you may just be right. Because even in the midst of grief and war, your scars act as the embers to light a vibrant sun in your countenance, until that empathetic warmth seeps to those around you. 

The female next to you, her name Ta’kuri he believes, leans over to converse with you over the pounding music. So’lek’s heart drops to his stomach when she points a finger in his direction and your eyes snag his form. Your responding smile is bright upon spotting him, but So’lek can only focus on the fact that he has potentially been caught staring. 

Small form practically swallowed by the crowd it takes a moment for you to extract yourself from the mesh of bodies. Just enough time for So’lek to calm his heart and feign shown interest elsewhere to cover up for his flub. When you saunter to the outskirts he purposefully waits a beat before sliding his gaze in your direction. 

“Well if it isn’t my star pupil, oeyӓ numeyu [my student]. You actually showed up.” You are all teeth, grin center stage as you pin him with those golden eyes. 

“Kaltxi karyu [hello teacher],” The edges of his lips twist into a lopsided smile without permission. “Nesim invited me.” 

“And now you are here. Finally ready to have some fun, yes?” Chin tilted downward and brow raised, you give him a look that suggests the only correct answer is yes. He feels the snap of a retort at the edge of his tongue. Something about how he is not the grumpy pants you always claim him to be and how he does in fact find time to enjoy himself on occasion. But those are words spoken far before he decided to leave you be. So’lek is trying to be good, desperately trying to be respectful and do the right thing. 

“The celebration is very enjoyable.” 

“Very enjoyable?” You scoff with a half laugh. “How could you even know? You have not even begun dancing yet.”  

So’lek immediately staggers a few steps back, at the speed of a prey avoiding a lethal blow. “No no, I am content to enjoy the party here, paskalin [honey/sweetheart].” Shit! He can’t fathom at what point he gave his mouth permission to utter such an affectionate term. So’lek’s insides twist and for perhaps the first time in years his cheeks fill with heat. He thanks Eywa above that the darkness is enough to hide the new tint. 

Despite his slip up, your grin never falters, in fact it seems to widen until dimples form in your cheeks. “So’lek you need not be stubborn every time I ask something of you.” 

When you catch his wrist in a surprisingly strong hold he is left with no other option but to wobble behind you. “I do not know how to dance. I was never taught.” He shouts to you over the music. 

Throwing a smile over your shoulder you do not respond until he has successfully been pulled into the edges of the crowd. “There is nothing to teach.” You say, dropping his hand to face him. “Dancing is the opposite of thinking, So’lek. You simply feel.” 

“That is not the comfort you believe it to be.” 

Your laugh is barely audible over the roaring drums. “What you need is some liquid courage then.” With a wave of your hand Novao is flagged over. His eyes roll but the swish of his tail is friendly when he comes over to hand two skins of liquor over. 

“You are an angel.” You giggle, taking the containers with glee. 

“So much more than you realize.” Novao snorts before giving your shoulder a teasing bump and sauntering back towards the cookfire. So’lek barely has his hand wrapped around one of the skins before you are chugging back the other. 

When squinted eyes peek up at him over the rim you finally take a breath and push at his hand. “Novao is proficient when it comes to strong drink, I promise.” 

Not wishing to feel out of place for any longer, he slants his lips over the rim and takes an ambitious guilt. Regret immediately stings his throat as it slides down like pure fire. The responding choke that comes from him immediately after is utterly humiliating. Eyes already welling with tears, So’lek does everything in his power to shut up the ridiculous sound and gain whatever is left of his composure. 

“A little strong, huh?” There is a giggling shrill to your tone but a flicker in your gaze shows concern simultaneously. So’lek is shaking his head before you can even suggest a glass of water. 

“No no it is fine just,” He clears his throat, “...different.” 

And different it is in comparison to what he has had. It is only now that it hits him how long it has been since tasting anything even close to resembling alcohol. There are a few tawtute at headquarters that occasionally try their hand at brewing alcohol but it is nothing short of fowl and disappointing. There are no inebriating effects from such water down drink, especially consider he is the twice the height of the intended party. 

So what comes next is completely out of his control. His body is rendered utterly unprepared for the strong drink that he continues to consume in spite of his better judgment and the fact that you don’t continue to urge him to drink. However, So’lek is no child. He is a man, and one that should be able to hold his liquor so when you occasionally blink up at him or catch a glance from the corner of your eye to make sure he is doing alright, it warps his pride to push him into foolishly drinking down even more. 

“Okay I think that is enough.” It takes rising onto your toes in order to reach the rim pointed at his lips. That apparent show of height difference should not please him so much but there is no denying the thrill that tightens his chest. “Now you dance.” 

Braids clinking together he is already resisting as you continue to pull him deeper into the crowd. “I truly do not know-”

“Yes yes, I heard you before. I will assist you.” Peering up at him through thick lashes, your hip bumps against his thigh softly as you tack on, “Or do you not trust me?” 

That is the line that sinks him. Head already feeling floaty, So’lek lets you maneuver him into position. 

Small hands skate across his shoulder blades, for a moment those talented thumbs press into  the muscles there just as you had done upon your first meeting. “You are too tense. You must relax.” 

Easier said than done when there is a line of electricity left behind every inch of skin you touch. But sooner than later he finds his shoulders loosening, starting to sway in a weird motion that seems pointless but actually fits with the rhythm of drums. A burst of confidence fills him when you step back to face him from the front again, trusting him enough to continue the motion. 

“There you go! Learning already.” And just as the simpering student he feels like he is would, So’lek perks up at the praise. Those flirty smiles and encouraging words coupled with the strong drink running through his veins, it becomes all too easy to let his body go without thought. 

Regardless, you continue to guide him. So’lek falls into line with whatever movement feels natural from your promptings. For the first time in years a fuzziness takes over that nagging voice of responsibility and he lets his body take precedence over his overactive brain. The more liquid fire he consumes the easier it becomes to not imagine what he must look like on the outside. Every fiber of his being gravitates towards the addicting pulse of those drums. Drowning in that vibrant energy until he is also engulfed in the crowd of Zeswa. 

Other Na’vi surround him from every side but it’s your touch that pulses through him. A brush of fingers along his arm, his bicep. The zapping electricity every time that dainty hand clasps his own to pull him closer. Even the tickle of your hair in the wind brushing his chest has him fighting back a full body shiver. 

Dancing is not a brash display, although some excel in that arena. No, dancing is the mechanism that pulls you closer to the touch you crave. The perfect opportunity to let hands wander, to mold bodies together without social consequence. And now, So’lek finally understands the rave over this activity. 

So’lek doubts he could confirm whether or not his head is still attached to his shoulders with the amount of alcohol running through him. However, there is no more vivid memory than the one of his hands mapping your frame. They encase your sides, ribs, up to your shoulders over your collarbones, feeling the silky skin beneath as you curve into every brush of his greedy hands. It’s when one hand mindlessly curves around the nape of your neck, the two scents mingling in the most satisfying of ways, that So’lek finally catches the burn of another’s stare.

It radiates from a male off on the sidelines. Each hand holds a skin of strong drink while the male attempts to burn a hole into So’lek’s head through slitted eyes. Something rumbles at the back of So’lek’s head. A voice that tells him there is some reason he should be upset by this situation, but that caution is muffled. It rings out like a message shouted from the deepest part of the lake and So’lek can’t find it within himself to spend more than a few seconds trying to decode it. 

It’s not just you that distracts him. Ta’kuri is suddenly on his left shouting some sort of encouraging words over the music. There’s no making sense of it but before he knows it there are more Na’vi that join the mix. Even Novao meshes with the crowd at some point, slurred conversation passing between him and every Na’vi he meets. Some friends lean on each other to stop from collapsing on the ground in their drunken state while others flourish in a flutter of moves that has the fields buzzing with cheers. So’lek’s own voice joins the other exuberant shouts. 

To call the event hectic would be an understatement but every time So’lek feels as if he may be the one to topple over next, there is a small hand at the base of his spine. Gorgeous golden eyes and a bright smile peering up to remind him that you are watching over him.  

So’lek dances until his ears ring. He dances until the very soles of his feet have grown bruised from landing on the hard ground. It is only when you are stumbling across the long grass, caught by his strong hands desperately trying to pull you back up that the two of you decide to trail off from the dance floor. 

“Save some drink for the rest of us, sister.” Ta’kuri jests, tapping your nose once before helping So’lek pick you up from the ground. That sweet voice seems to be in a constant state of giggling, a sound So’lek is in no rush to rid himself of. 

The two of you find yourselves back in the middle of camp around a fire thanks to Ta’kuri. Several other Zeswa stagger to the outskirts of the cookfire, some already sloppily rolling in the dirt with greedy hands wandering into dangerous territory. The outright display of lust hardly fazes So’lek when his attention is caught by a leaf of meat handed to him. Tender and sweet, it settles in his stomach heavily, finally starting to soak up the excess of alcohol consumed. 

You are just as consumed by the food as he is, scarfing down the last bit with a delighted moan. 

“Alright you miscreants, let’s leave some room for oxygen.” An older male grumbles fondly, softly nudging a couple with his foot who are engaged in a heated lip lock. He settles around the fire and after several minutes of squinting So’lek makes out the figure to be Kin. Although his thoughts still muddle through a haze, So’lek can finally feel his brain starting to come back online. 

Kin engages the group in grand stories while offering milk to be passed around. From the corner of his eye So’lek tracks the way you sway to and fro as the stories continue, but that smile never leaves your tempting lips. Several times you sneak a peek up at him, causing his tail to wind against the floor. 

“This story again.” Ta’kuri mutters from his left, quiet enough that Kin continues the tale without interruption. 

“He has only told it a dozen times before.” Novao adds, sitting on the other side of you. “That is quite good considering how many times he has told the others.” 

“I don’t remember this one.” Lips screwed into a pout and eyes squinted in concentration, you stare intently at the male in the middle. Ta’kuri lets out a short laugh before handing over another container of milk. 

“You don’t remember any of them when you're drunk.” You accept the drink, ignoring her fond scoff and the way So’lek’s gaze is once again drawn in your direction. 

“So rude,” you huff. He lends a steadying hand when chugging down the bowl of milk has you toppling backwards. A deep laugh rumbles in his chest with ease, even once you are back upright and sending him a heated glare. 

Playful comments and quotes of the story are passed between the four in hushed tones until even So’lek is fighting back tears of laughter. Luckily the other Na’vi do not behave much better, half of them already on the brink of wrestling in the grass or laughing until on the verge of passing out. The entire scene is a messy jumble of comradery. It warms him from the inside out. 

“I left it down by the lake.” Novao whispers urgently. 

“You should not be so careless with your things. Who’s to say an arrow deer has not run off with it by now?” Ta’kuri quips back, still even So’lek can tell that she is going to go back and look for his spear with him as requested. 

“I see it is not only Kin making up stories now.” The joke earns him a swift swat to the head with a few fond insults woven before the two are rising. 

“Can I trust the two of you to survive until we get back?” She gestures between So’lek and you, a crooked curve of her lips present. It’s doubtful that you have understood even half of where the conversation is at this point but you do respond in a way that both shocks and amuses him greatly. Fingers together at your forehead you flick it out messily in the same way the sky demons do in salute. It’s imperfect and honestly he’s not sure if there is any true understanding of the action but it appears to be an inside joke that Ta’kuri is in on. She returns the gesture with a fond grin. 

So’lek doesn’t try to break the silence once the pair has left. It’s hardly uncomfortable with such jovial ambience surrounding. Not to mention the fact that he’s not sure how of a conversation you can carry in this state. It makes no difference. Sitting here is nice. Being next to you is fulfilling in a way he could not have imagined. 

“I lied.” 

So’lek’s ears stand at alert. Your comment comes so abruptly that he takes a second to lean forward and make sure that you had meant to say it. Those beautiful eyes are transfixed off in the distance but there is no sign to say otherwise. 

“About what?” So’lek shifts forward, propping an elbow on his knee as he veers forward to observe your strange expression. 

“About not being scared.” It’s a miracle he can detect that whisper over the boisterous conversation around. A part of him wishes he hadn’t. It creates a knot in his stomach. “I am scared. I’m scared all the time. Even on days like this, I should be happy. But I still worry that it could all be ripped away. I don’t want to lose everything, not like…” 

The end of that thought dies in the wind but So’lek catches it anyways. 

Don’t want to lose everything like he did. One glance at your now pinned back ears proves his suspicions to be correct. Comforting others is not his strong suit. Heavy emotions have a way of winding his tail anxiously as he sputters to understand the right course of action. But tonight, he is grateful for the lowered inhibitions brought on by liquor. It’s what allows him to pause and simply feel the weight of your words. 

So’lek’s rough hand, a hand battered by handling weapons in the face of war, settles over your knee. That warm touch has glistening eyes staring back at him. 

“That is not going to happen.” It is a vow, one that is spoken deep from his chest. The Sky People have stolen everything from him. Everything. But he is not afraid to protect you from the same fate. To promise with the last meager supply of hope he has left that he can and will prevent this tragedy from coming your way. 

A single tear cascades over your cheek. Then you’re suddenly curled up against him, resting that head of long hair against his shoulder, seeking refuge there. It bursts something new within him, something even scarier than he has experienced since meeting you. Never in his life has he been a safe place for another person. That honor has never been one he’s opened himself up to or has felt worthy of. 

But you tuck against him, sigh into his neck and every form of tension in your tiny frame evaporates. 

“Fuck, I’m so drunk.” Your half giggled slur coaxes out a deep chuckle from him but So’lek is careful not to move otherwise. This moment is too fragile. And if he’s not careful in a blink it will be tomorrow. A day where he puts that chest guard back on along with every other responsibility he has holstered alone for years. That yearning for revenge will return and clean out the softness that only you can supply. 

So’lek can’t recall at what point he had fallen asleep. The last thing he remembers is Novao laughing so hard that milk came out his nose. Eyes as heavy as metal doors, he squints them open to find the sky still dark. He is not the only one to have dosed off in the middle of camp around the fire. Different groups of Na’vi are passed out in the greenery but there is a warmth at his side. 

You are curled up into a ball, a ball that is slotted against his own body. Even your face presses at the bicep, your nose cold to the touch. Without the protection of tent walls, the breeze is free to brush over the gaggle of Na’vi. Somewhere in your slumber you must have sought out the first available source of heat. Him. 

The wind comes from your direction. So’lek is hardly conscious enough to consider tucking you into a tent for the night so instead he does the next best thing. With careful precision, he lifts himself up over your curled frame and settles himself on the other side. This way the wind now hits him before you. Laying on his side then allows him to create a wall that you can hide from the wind behind. 

A shiver sends down his spine at the first nip of plains of air, but So’lek doesn’t dare consider moving. Legs untangle and your tail splays out flat again. Although it’s clear this tactic has warmed you up nicely, he is shocked to see you turning over to face him once more. Breath caught in his chest, So’lek watches as you groggily tuck up against him and sigh with a smile. 

How many years had it been since he has slept this close to someone? 

So’lek has had occasional lovers, but only as means to an end. Nothing deep. Never anything on an emotional level for either party. And so naturally neither did they end in snuggling close to sleep afterwards. 

Call it pride. Call it living in denial. But something pushes him to forget about tomorrow and cocoon you closer to his chest. 

So’lek’s dreams don’t carry the strain of blood and terror that night.

“There you go, rise and shine sleepyhead.” That soft voice barely filters through the wind, let alone through So’leks head that now feels like the weight of a tank. Throat dry and eyes barely able to slit open to face the light, consciousness comes back slowly.

And when it does, it hurts like hell. 

You lean over to block him from the scorching sunlight. When did the plains get so bright? And when did waking up feel like getting his head smashed beneath an AMP suit? The events of last night are still tucked in his memory, but it takes a moment for So’lek to recall the impact of them properly. And that last thing….the last thing he remembers is you snuggling up against his chest. 

“How long did-”

“No talking, just drink.” You advise, handing over a bowl of water sternly. Although slightly embarrassing, he’s grateful for the way you help him slowly sit up. It’s hard to get his wits about him when the world is still spinning. 

The cold water spears a painful path down his throat, but after several gulps it’s much easier to take in full breaths. The small hand gently placed on his shoulder is a surprising comfort. However, even in a foggy state, that simple touch immediately has him recalling what a true comfort it was to have you in his arms. 

No time in his right mind would he have acted on his impulses so carelessly. But last night he had felt entirely detached from time, even more so distant from the side of him that served to do the right thing. 

“I fear I owe you an apology.” Although your lips are quirked in a half smile, the comment has him stiff as a board. Here it is. The consequences of his actions. In no way did he have the right to act so intimately with a woman of a clan he does not belong to. And now you have finally come to realize that for yourself. “I did not warn you properly of Zeswa drink.” 

A sense of relief bubbles up so fast that So’lek lets a half laugh slip from his lips. It is graciously accepted with a beaming countenance that makes his heart race. 

“No it is fine, simply….different from what I have tried before.”

“Well if I knew you were such a lightweight I wouldn’t have suggested it.” You are never one to give up an opportunity to tease him. It is a routine that he has incidentally become quite fond of. Even more so now when there is a twinkle of sincere concern in your beautiful features. 

You care. It’s not the first time you have shown it and So’lek prays that it won’t be the last, but it seems time has only made the impact of this truth hit him that much harder each time. It flushes through like fire in his veins, far more addicting than the rush of Zeswa alcohol could ever be. 

“I have no regrets,” So’lek says, deep voice rich with sincerity. 

Fingers twiddling in your lap, there is a switch in your demeanor that is hard to ignore. Looking at him through thick lashes and grin barely held by teeth snagging your bottom lip, for the first time a sliver of shyness twinkles in your expression. Although, it is clear that your higher tolerance has afforded a much less dramatic hangover leaving him to look like a mess in comparison, it feels as if he has the upper hand for once. 

“Really? Even now that your head must want to split in two?” That radiant sunshine you hold has his already weakened composure splitting instead. His gravely chuckle intertwines with your own soft laugh and So’lek doesn’t even realize how close he has invaded your space until the next words leave his mouth.

“It was worth it. I wouldn’t trade last night for anything.” 

The severity of his own statement hits like a boulder. Both smiles drop and So’lek is left grappling with the fact that he has meant every word. 

Softened eyes peer straight through him, but these are not full of sympathy. There is no pity extended at now realizing how sad most of his nights must be. There is no squirming to find the right response or looking away with an uncomfortable grimace. 

No, you face him with that excitement that feels like he is bathing in the sun after years of wallowing in darkness. 

“I’m glad.” It’s a small whisper, very much unlike your usual robust calls. And just when So’lek’s eyes have wandered to watch the way your supple lips form those words, he finds that your stare has pinpointed on his own. Golden eyes dart back and forth between his parted lips and So’lek’s own stare. 

There is still that voice that cautions to pull back now. It’s the same voice that screams to curl up and escape your attention before it’s too late.

But you don’t hide. There is only honesty in your curious perusal. 

For once maybe he can find a way not to hide too. 

So’lek breaches the space between you, leaning forward slowly until there is only a whisper of wind between him and the kiss he has desired for weeks. Your noses almost touch. 

“Y/N! Where have you gone? You are needed.” A masculine voice calls from around the corner. There is no one else around the desolate fire where the two of you reside. You make no sign of responding to this call. If he veers forward there will still be enough time to capture what he has dreamed of before the two of you are found out. 

However, So’lek recognizes this voice. It belongs to the same man that had tried to glare a hole through him last night as the two of you danced and so it’s easy to deduce that this must be one of your awaiting sutors. 

A Zeswa male born and raised. A real viable prospect that So’lek is now on the edge of stealing you away from. This is exactly why he has stayed away. And yet all it has taken is one more night in your presence to lose every ounce of self control he has left. 

So’lek veers back. The look of quiet disappointment that crosses your face is enough to twist a knot in his stomach. 

The male rounds the tent, letting out an exasperated sigh upon spotting the two. “Ah there you are.”

“What is it?” You hiss, head snapping in his direction so fast that your hair flies over one shoulder. 

So’lek doesn’t need to look to feel the way this man’s eyes dart between the two of you. 

“Ke’ari is hurling his insides all over the healer’s tent.”

Soft features immediately pinch with irritation. 

“Aim him towards a vase then. He is one of many who are suffering from over indulgence. I am still treating So’lek. He needs food.”

“I have brought him some.” Of course he has. A deep loathing for the other male may already be forming but So’lek can’t ignore the craft of this suitor. He did not come unprepared. 

Hand running through your hair, you take a moment to look up at the sky and conjure the required patience. 

“Fine.” The male is unperturbed by your snipped response. He does, however, glower when your expression melts once facing So’lek once more. “Wait here. I will be right back.” 

It’s tempting to savor the longing in your voice, the way those honest eyes practically plead for him to stay. 

But it’s too late. So’lek regains the reins of his own heart and forces himself to flee at the first chance. The frowning male has no time to implement his intimidation tactics before So’lek is rising onto wobbly legs and searching to retrieve his gear. 

He slips that protective armor back on and leaves without taking a single bite. 

So’lek’s eyes burn from staring at the bright screen, hardly blinking while trying to decode the mess that is RDA rosters. Little progress is made as he stares down at the shining pad in hand and tries for the fifteenth time to pay attention. Perhaps it was a mistake not eating the offered meal this morning. Even if your eager suitor had poisoned it, he doubts dying from it would feel worse than the egregious hangover he suffers now.  

Leaning back against the table, So’lek’s eyes wander again without permission. Headquarters is unusually quiet today, a sign that the party they threw last night was successful enough to put many in the same state So’lek finds himself in the morning after. Priya and Anqa are up, however. Tucked into an alcove near the kitchen they seem to be under the impression that no one can see them here. 

Priya’s giggling echoes through the cave and Anqa only shushes her several times before diving back in for another kiss. Usually this is the part where So’lek’s face scrunches in disgust before he flees to a place he won’t be forced to witness such displays. Today that isn’t the case. In fact today, for reasons unbeknownst to him, So’lek can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the scene. 

“Suffering as well I see.” The voice startles him, almost enough to lose grip of the glowing pad in hand. Shuffling to avert his gaze from the two lovers and appear nonchalant, he looks over to find it is Ri’nela that approaches with an amused smile. “From the hangover.” She clarifies.

“Oh yes…you are unwell too?” The dark mark on his forehead pinches together when she comes to sit on the table beside him. Her new Na’vi attire is still as neat as ever but there is a drowsiness in her gaze similar to his own.

“You seem to forget that I was invited by the Zeswa too.” Although it doses So’lek with a tinge of guilt there is no ill will in her comment. However, it does leave his mind swirling to different concerns. If she was in fact at the party last night, how much of his interactions had she witnessed? More importantly, how much of it would she share? 

“My mind is….clouded this morning,” comes his lame response. Graciously Ri’nela simply gives a hum of understanding before turning towards the direction he was caught looking earlier. 

Priya and Anqa have moved on from swallowing each other’s tongues, but they remain lounged in a hanging chair together, Priya perched atop her lover’s lap as she yaps on and on about who knows what. Although Anqa is less animated in her responses, she listens intently. There is nothing but lovesick admiration in her eyes as she endures the endless jabbering, tucking her girlfriend’s purple hair behind her ear or drawing circles on her side occasionally. 

“It must be nice.” Ri’nela sighs softly, a wistful air to her tone. When So’lek turns to raise a hairless brow at her she motions to where Anqa and Priya. “Having something like that.”

“You envy the tawtute?” So’lek can’t mask how ridiculous he finds the notion. Ri’nela has always struck him as a reasonable Na’vi. Even one that shows great potential as a leader. What do tawtute have for her to be jealous of?

“Well aren’t you?”

So’lek’s nose scrunches. “No.” 

Despite the brunt response, Ri’nela is hardly put out. Her lips perk up slightly and she gives him a gentle look that one does when teaching a small child. “Are you saying you don’t want what they have? A partner? A mate?”

Calling Priya and Anqa mates feels wrong, like a bad taste on his tongue, but he can’t deny they must be something close. After all, they are committed to one another in similar fashion as one does their mate. They always have someone to run to.

“I have not thought about it.” If Ri’nela senses his lie, she doesn’t let it show.

“Hm well I have. It feels kind of impossible though considering our situation.” She sighs and it’s the first thing she has said in this conversation that immediately makes sense to him. Just like him, she is an outcast of sorts. There are only a few that survived in the Sarentu clan and all of them had been kept in with RDA like a lab experiment throughout their adolescence. 

“Difficult indeed.”

Ri’nela lets out a sad laugh, something painful shifting in her features. It sets So’lek on edge, already mentally preparing to navigate a situation where he is expected to comfort another. “Sometimes I think that even being a tawtute would be easier than this. They may live on an alien planet, but even those who have left the RDA have found each other and created this place together. Those two have found love here. This is their clan for all intents and purposes.”

So’lek has never thought of it that way. Do Sky People form clans the way Na’vi do? If so this clan is by far the most peculiar one he has ever seen. Then again, they do work as a team. Everyone comes together to maintain their lodging and when dangers comes knocking there are always a group of former RDA military tawtute ready to act like warriors. 

“We have nobody.” Ri’nela continues. “No clan, no place to call our own. Even our memories of the clan we once belonged to are hazy. This place is the closest thing we have to a refuge and even here no one can truly teach you what it means to follow your path in life.”

So’lek shrinks, fingers idly twiddling together. Of course things have not been easy for the Sarentu that escaped the TAP program but he didn’t know this is how she views the circumstances. 

“And mating…” Ri’nela sighs again, “Mating becomes all the more complicated when you have no clan to pull from.”

“I do not believe now is a good time to mate in general. What is the point when the RDA can easily take away such a bond?”

“Do you really believe that?” 

No, not really. If he had been asked a month ago, perhaps. Back then it had only seemed logical to avoid close ties when he is surrounded by death daily. It would be just another thing for the RDA to take from him. 

But now…now the words are sour on his tongue. 

Ri’nela has this quality about her that is hard to place a finger on. A certain calm vulnerability that somehow makes it difficult to lie to her. So instead of trying, So’lek simply shrugs. 

“I think that if I was lucky enough to find something even close to what they have, there is nothing that could keep me from it.” Ri’nela’s gazes with a sad fondness at Priya and Anqa. There is a longing glimmer to true there that it has his own stare pulled back to the couple. “Someone to weather this storm with. A person that knows you in a way unmatched by any other, and still they choose you. A bond that reminds you why life is so precious, makes it more than just surviving.” 

Is that what Anqa and Priya have? Something worth living for? On the surface it has always seemed like some gooey infatuation, a naive romance that he is forced to witness. But perhaps it is more than that. So’lek doesn’t often think about what life would be like as a tawtute, in fact he never does, but can imagine it not being the most comfortable of circumstances. They are not even able to breathe the Pandoran air around them without suffocating. Going back to their home planet is no good option either as it is already dead. 

So then maybe Ri’nela has a point. Priya and Anqa find happiness in their day to day affairs, affairs that include risking their lives to fight against their corrupt former employers, despite the harrowing circumstances. They always have a reason to smile, something to laugh at. And it’s just hitting him now that this reason is each other. 

“I’m sure you will find something like that, Ri’nela.” The hypocrisy burns So’lek’s throat. How can he claim to believe that when those rules don’t apply to himself? The survivors from the Sarentu clan are the people closest to having the same experience as his own. To have faith in Ri’nela finding a mate not himself goes against all logic. 

“Only time will tell.” Although still melancholy, Ri’nela sends him a sympathetic smile. She rises from the table and goes to make her exit. So nonchalant in her retreat as if she has not induced a spiral of thought for him to wind into. 

She pauses just before reaching the corner and turns to him again. “I know it is not any of my business, but you should know how lucky you are.”

So’lek’s heart drops to his stomach. 

“Don’t let her get away.” 

So’lek would prefer to blame Ri’nela for his inability to sleep that night. After all, she is the one that dropped a bomb on him with her speech about mating. Not to mention the only person in headquarters that has knowledge of his love life and the ability to make his feelings for you public domain. 

However, that would be dishonest. And at the end of the day he knows that tonight was always going to end this way. He has been trying to get his mind off of you for weeks, in fact every time he has returned from the Zeswa camp, and it has always been unsuccessful. And now the fact that two of you had almost shared a kiss only amplifies that obsession more. 

It was already hard enough to control his desires when he could believe that it was a one-sided longing. But now that he knows there is some interest on your side as well, fighting the demons in his head is borderline impossible. You knew he was going to kiss you. You knew and you not only were ready to let him but showed disappointment when he failed to do so. 

How is he ever supposed to resist now that he knows the object of his desires is at his fingertips? That there is a chance he can have you.

Perhaps not as a mate. It would be naive of him to assume his ever growing feelings for you are reciprocated in the same manner. But even knowing you desire him in a physical manner is enough to have him rolling over in the hammock and biting into the material. 

This is absolute madness. 

What is his plan? Avoiding the Zeswa clan forever can surely not be it. He can try to reduce the amount of time spent there but they are still allies so there will always be occasional visits required. Even then, does he really trust that distance will be enough to get rid of these feelings?

No, this is not a phase that will pass. 

And even if So’lek were to find a way of dealing with feelings without intervening in your courtings, what would that change? It would mean that another male comes along and makes you their mate eventually. And every day from then on he would be forced to face the fact that he is in love with a mated woman. He would have to witness that union every time he visits with indifference while everything within him would ache to rip this male’s throat out with his teeth. 

So’leks stuff a growl down his throat. Eywa above, what is wrong with him? Never before has he felt so connected to the primal beast inside of him. For years he has been a master of not only his emotions but impulses as well. But you’ve awakened something else within him. Something that has laid dormant for years and now refuses to go back to sleep. 

When he’s not echoing your perfect laugh in his head, he’s imagining the way you would groan his name. When he’s not recalling the silly story you told him earlier that day with a smile, he is crafting fantasies of his tongue lapping the sweet nectar between your legs. And when he is not pushing back every pulse of his heart that sings for you, he is grinding his teeth at the thought of another ever loving you the way he does, yearning for you the way does. 

Everything circles back to you. 

You have torn him apart from the inside out and the worst part is, he doubts you have any true inkling of this. At most, you understand there is a flirting atmosphere between you two. 

So where does that leave him? It seems there is only one option that has the potential to lead him away from years of insanity. However, that means facing exactly what he has avoided for weeks.

Telling you the truth. 

So’lek is a man. He can and will face rejection if necessary, although the idea of that somehow has his insides curling with dread. If it were only a matter of gaining the courage he would have unrooted his tail from between his legs and told you weeks ago. But that is not the main issue. 

The real danger is having those feelings reciprocated, because that would then mean being open to mating. That would mean letting all of his hard work to protect you go down the drain and instead take you selfishly for himself. And he hasn’t done that. He hasn’t done that because…well because he is not worthy of you. 

Then again, does that imply that your current suitors are the opposite? What do they possess that he does not?

They grew up in a clan, in your clan nonetheless. And So’lek didn’t. He has no clan. 

His conversation with Ri’nela bubbles up again. Does he truly believe that not having a clan means being subjected to a life without a mate? He would not wish that to be true for Ri’nela’s sake. Or Teylan’s. Or really any of the other Sarentu that are left. If she were to come to him in a similar situation, having found interest in someone within the Zeswa clan he would approve of her going after that connection. So why does he not approve of that for himself?

He does not have a deep understanding of his culture or know exactly what it means to have People of your own. And somehow that makes him unworthy of you. Because one day, a long time ago, the Sky People rained hellfire on his home and took away his clan.

Does that one instance mark him as damaged goods for the rest of his life?

If so, that seems to be a lot of power to put in the Sky People’s hands. It means that the Sky People not only took everything he had with such ease, but also everything he could ever gain for the rest of his life. And So’lek…So’lek is so damn tired of having things stolen from him. 

It is not fair for the RDA to steal you away from him too. If he is unworthy of you it is simply because of his shortcomings in character and light when compared to your vibrance. Not because of circumstances he did not choose. You are too good for him, So’lek can recognize that, however that does not mean he is not allowed to chase you like the others. 

Ri’nela prays to find someone to spend her life with, a mate she can call her own, and So’lek can no longer deny that he wants the same too. He does not want to simply survive anymore, he wants to thrive. But unlike Ri’nela, he is lucky enough to already understand who he wants that with. 

So he’s not willing to let you slip away. 

Not before he has given it everything he has first. 

It is only when So’lek hears one of the tawtute’s alarm go off that it becomes clear has had not slept a wink all night. And yet, So’lek has never been filled with so much energy. He dresses and grooms himself within record time, ignoring the puzzled looks that are sent his way. It seems that nothing matters besides getting to the Zeswa camp as fast as possible.

Wrestling his emotions all night has left him with a buzzing energy that threatens to make him explode. He needs to tell you and he needs to tell you now. Every second that this remains unresolved is another that has So’lek on edge. 

And so the trip to the upper plains has never felt longer. Although he makes the trek with incredible speed, his feet don’t take a second to adjust their stomping pace once he enters the camp. In fact, they only drum faster against the long grass as he hunts you down among the bustle. No thought is put into the expression he exhibits or body language, so So’lek doesn’t pay attention to the Na’vi that drive out of his way in fear.

There is nothing but cold steel determination laced with an anxiousness that overtakes him. 

Then there you are. Long hair blowing in the wind and basket in hand as you carefully weave the next row. So’lek’s lungs finally fill with air. Has it truly only been a day since he has seen you? How was he foolish enough to believe he could ever continue being around you without trying his hand at making you his? Heavy steps cross the space, almost on the brink of jogging to where you stand next to a tent. 

When your tails perk and eyes finally clock the impending advance of his tall frame, there is a surprised glimmer in your expression. Even a shot of excitement in those beautiful golden eyes that has all of So’lek’s restraint depleting. 

“So’lek, what are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer with words. Instead he springs the last two steps into your space and immediately hunches to plant his lips against yours. His long fingers curl at the nape of your neck while his thumb caresses your cheek. Although your response is lagged from shock, it doesn’t take long for your lips to meld with his in perfect unison. 

So’lek gives everything to that kiss. Every night that he has laid awake thinking about you. Every sputter that his heart has wrenched from your laughter as he has fallen off a pa’li over and over. Every ounce of desire that rushes through him like a river bashing against a dam ready to break. 

Deepening the kiss, he refrains, however, from letting it get too vulgar. If he lets that primal creature inside of him lose now, he’ll take you right here and now before talking anything through. It’s difficult to remember this, however. Technically his plan was to speak to you then take his shot at a kiss but So’lek can find room for regret when you taste like everything sweet he has been missing for years. You are just as soft as he imagined. Even more addicting than he could have envisioned. 

When So’lek breaks away your lips are already a pretty shade of pink, parted to release heavy breaths. Those golden eyes are now only a sliver of color as your pupils have dilated and eyes widened in disbelief. 

“I should have done that yesterday.” That truth gives little explanation, but it’s the only words he manages to get out without sticking his tongue down your throat. 

Your chest heaves and features morph into a delighted shock. Seeing you like this is more satisfying than he could put into words. You’ve always been the outspoken one between the two of you, but now it is him that renders you speechless. 

So’lek almost goes in for another kiss before the weight of several gazes finally register. Turning over his shoulder he finds that you are not alone in weaving your basket. In fact there is a group of Na’vi sitting on the ground holding their own materials, watching with wide eyes and dropped jaws. It hits him then. You aren’t just sitting here working on your own basket. You are in the middle of teaching a class. 

A class he has so dramatically disrupted. 

“I apologize for the interruption.” And he should be, he really should be but So’lek doesn’t even believe his own words at this point. He stalks off simply out of respect for the class and the chance to remember how to behave in public. 

It won’t matter though, not when he can feel the prickle of your wide-eyed gaze along his back. 

So’lek lingers just outside of camp in an alcove of blood leaf trees. It’s just enough space for him to catch his breath, try to clear his head as he waits for your class to finish. Palms spread along the bark in front of him. So’lek drops his head between his outstretched arms and focuses on inhaling and exhaling. The exercise is borderline pointless when each inhale only sparks attention to your taste lingering on his tongue. 

Never before would he consider himself this impulsive or irrational but even now that he has made a spectacle in front of everybody, So’lek fights the urge to turn around and do it all over again. He barely resists the aching need to stomp back into camp, throw you over his shoulder and carry you into the woods where he can finally have his way with you. 

So’lek spins on his heel, leaning against the tree with his head thrown backwards now. This is insanity. 

His nostrils flare the second there is a trace of your essence in the wind. So’lek almost wishes he wouldn’t have looked because now he is sucked in by the way your breasts bounce as you jog from the camp towards him. 

Great Mother above, how is going to have a conversation with you while in this state?

Luckily, or perhaps not so lucky, you are in no mood for conversation either. So’lek doesn’t get out a simple hello before you are bounding into his chest and pulling him down for another kiss. This time there are no boundaries keeping the kiss from turning absolutely filthy. That devious tongue swirls around his own until So’lek is capturing your bottom lip between his teeth in retribution. 

Fuck, you are so much trouble. 

“Wait…mh...wait.” You don’t afford him the space for speaking so So’lek eventually catches your upper arms in a firm grip and establishes some distance. “Wait for one moment.”

“No, I’m sick of waiting.” Voice teetering on a whine, you brush off the hold and capture his lips back to yours. So’lek feels like he is being torn in two. It’s important to talk things through, make sure that you understand just how deep his feelings are, but with the way his tewng struggles to keep his hard cock trapped, it is only a matter of time before instincts overcome logic. 

So you leave him with no choice. 

With one graceful swoop he has you manhandled back against the tree, arms planted on either side of your head to keep you bracketed there. “You need to listen.” So’lek seethes and it comes out far angrier than he intended. 

In spite of that, your eyes take on a new sparkle. Those beautifully swollen lips part and soft features morph into a dazed shock just as they had done after that first kiss. Except this time, the aroma of arousal thickens.

Fuck, you’re into this. You like the way he has wrestled you into place. You like how he towers over you now and demands to be heard. Perhaps it is the only reason your protests have immediately stopped. He needs to get this off of his chest before the ability to make full sentences leave him entirely.

So So’lek blurts it all out in a heated rush. 

“I did not come here to fool around once. That is not what this is. I am here because it is physically impossible for me to stay away. There is not an hour that goes by where I don’t long to be with you, even in your presence if that is what I can get. I have no clan. I don’t know the customs of your people and I often have a disposition that makes people want to run away rather than draw near. I am not like your other suitors, I do not offer the same things. All of this I know and have tried to respect but it seems no iron will I construct is strong enough to keep me from wanting you all the same.” 

You don’t dare to blink and disconnect his gaze from yours. 

“And want you I do, paskalin. But not just once, not just in a way that satisfies our bodies alone. I yearn to have every part of you that can be offered.” One step closer and So’lek’s can practically feel the drumming of your rampant heart against his chest. “So if this is not what you want, then you need to tell me now. Because I know that once we cross this threshold, once I get one more taste of you there will be no going back for me. You will have my heart until my dying breath.” 

Winds whips against his back. Second feel like years as dainty hands wind up his arms and clasp at the nape of his neck. 

“Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn, So’lek, you would already know that I have been yours since the moment we met.” 

The next connection of lips is softer, far more patient than the ravaging before. It allows So’lek to fall into your confession properly, to let it settle into his head and heart that this is real. That you are truly sunk into his embrace, candy on his lips, and heart open for him entirely. 

So’lek pours every fiber of gratitude into this kiss. He winds his love into the tender brush of his fingers across your cheek. His tail curves around your thigh with the solemn promise to protect you until his heart stops beating. And you breathe in every silent promise he makes with one of your own. 

Your long lashes tickle his cheeks and small hands rooted in his hair causes So’lek’s knees to weaken. 

This tender moment can only last so long, however. That deep seated fire has not been forgotten and with every second the two of you remain entangled, the hotter it burns. That shift is prevalent in the way you go from running nails over his scalp to tugging on the long locks to pull him closer. So’lek’s own hands go from tender exploration to greedy groping down your hips and backside. 

A part of him would question the harshness and vulgarity of his actions were it not for the way you now moan into his mouth. You take every crude touch delivered and beg for more in the same breath. 

So’lek only departs from your lips to finally slot his face into the crook of your neck. Nose running along a vein of your throat, he is free to drown in the place where your aroma is most potent. But it’s not enough to breathe you in, not even sufficient to simply witness the way his scent now intertwines with yours. He must taste it, must run his tongue over every inch of perfectly delicious skin like he has dreamed of for weeks. 

The flat of his tongue draws over from your collarbone to the edge of your jaw. You don’t hide your sound of delight, nor the obvious push of your pelvis to find his own. Bruising kisses turn into sucking deep marks at the vulnerable skin. So’lek only pauses when you manage to crane your head down and capture one of his ears carefully between sharp teeth. The tip of your tongue follows a smooth path at the shell of his ear. It taunts a deep rumble from his chest. 

Pulling back, So’lek hardly gets a chance to witness your pleased smirk before he is caught in another kiss. Unlike the first day in the healer’s tent when you had been hesitant to touch his chest guard, you now use it as your personal leash to bring him closer. Those small hands dig into the tough material and yank without reserve. 

Not that it’s needed. So’lek would gladly crawl at your feet if it means getting to devour you once more. 

However, it quickly becomes not enough. His mouth salivates at the idea of tasting another sweet part he has been dreaming of. You give no struggle when his hand hitches behind your knee, allowing him to curve that long leg around his waist and press your pelvises together. It takes bending his own knees to account for the height difference but it’s worth all of the hassle when feeling the heat that literally radiates through your tewng. 

So’lek suddenly becomes all too aware of how overdressed he is in comparison. That sentiment must be shared because your eyes dance with excitement when he is haphazardly shucking off the chest guards and gear attached. Your own chest piece does little to hide those perfectly shaped breasts, one nipple managing to slip out from under a feather, and even more so does not hide that now red hue over the area. It seems that all your grinding against him, has consequently rutted your chest over his radio and other hard gear. 

Perhaps he should feel bad but all So’lek can think about instead is whether or not his teeth and tongue could exhibit a similar reaction along your perfect breasts. Is the other nipple as hard as the one that has slipped out? 

It’s as if you can read his mind, or rather notice where his gaze has lowered to have him drooling, because without a single prompting you are undoing the clasp and letting the delicate top fall away. 

So’lek would judge any other male for acting the way he does now. So easily reduced to a mouth breathing imbecile just from a natural part of female anatomy. But perhaps he simply didn’t get it until now. Staring at those beautifully pointed nipples and curved breasts the perfect size for his hands, he thinks he may just now understand why a sight like that never gets old. At least, not when it’s yours. 

You grasp the hand not holding your leg, confidently guiding his palm to rest over the right breast. So’lek requires no further invitation. He squeezes and savors the squishy weight in his hand, drawing his thumb over that perky nipple that is begging to be sucked. Delight spikes his blood pressure when he witnesses how his calloused fingertips tighten the bud. 

“So’lek please! I’m not fragile.” 

His name has never sounded so beautiful. Those wicked eyes ensnare him without an ounce of bashfulness. Caught between two temptations So’lek eventually drops your leg in favor of using both hands to explore this new uncovered skin. 

The first time he pinches one nipple between his fingertips and tugs it brings on a sound from your throat so sudden and lewd it makes his cock twitch in its confines. 

“Harder.”

So’lek’s pupils dilate. What a little pain slut you’ve turned out to be and from the blissed expression you wear now, there is not an ounce of you that is ashamed of it. Nor should you be. Every new discovery is a gift So’lek delights in unwrapping. 

“Always so demanding, paskalin.” Voice gravelly and thick with lust, So’lek bends down further until his lips are skating over the swell of your breasts. 

“I’m actually quite a patient person.” Even with labored breath your quip doesn’t lose its whip. 

“Is that so?” It is by no means playing fair, but So’lek latches his lips around your left nipple before letting you respond. He rolls the raised flesh between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to capture the peak and pull it back. 

You have a handful of braids gathered in your grip tightly but they don’t stop the retreat of his head. You let out a guttural groan, rising onto your toes as if to enhance the sharp sting. And still, your determination to get out a response does not falter. 

“I’ve waited for you this long, haven’t I? Agh Eywa mm…flirted with you for weeks waiting for you to take the bait.” 

So’lek switches to the other side, snapping his teeth around the raised bud before muttering, “You poor thing.” 

“Mock me all you want but you’re cruel for making me wait.” A gasp bubbles up your throat when he pinches the disregarded nipple while the other is nipped by his teeth. “A woman has needs, So’lek.” 

Those words have his ears perking in interest, even lapping at the abused flesh so you have a better chance at finishing that thought. 

“Thinking of you with my hand between my thighs is only good for so long before I start wanting the real thing.”

A string of saliva still connecting your nipple to his lips, So’lek pulls back to look up at you. “Is that what you do, paskalin? Touch yourself while you dream about me?” 

Then with zero hesitation, “I was three fingers deep inside myself this morning while I pondered what your cock would feel like down my throat.” 

Static fills his head, the only sound bouncing in his skull is your unabashed confession. This morning. You had been touching yourself to the thought of him this morning. Meaning while he was buzzing with adrenaline, thoughts wild and uncontained at the thought of what if, as he made the trek to the Zeswa camp, you were exploring the parts of yourself he had been dreaming of for weeks while conjuring dirty fantasies of him. So’lek had been spiraling and questioning all of his desires with no knowledge that you were already his for the taking.

And that’s what it has been. Weeks and weeks of him dreaming and wishing and overthinking while you waited patiently for him to untuck his tail and do something about it. How long has he gone on torturing himself while you’ve been right here?

Too long. 

Way too fucking long.

But now, he is determined to make up for every second of lost time. 

“You are trouble.” Voice rough with a rumbling depth, you are unbothered by his change in inflection. 

“I’m just being honest.” You shrug, lips tempted into a crooked smirk. “Don’t ask the question if you can’t handle the answer.” 

Your confident snip simultaneously delights and taunts him. It tugs at the part of him that no longer wants to be gentle or conscientious. You are coaxing out the beast in him that is nothing but teeth, and from your self satisfied smirk it’s clear you know it too. 

So’lek rises back to his full height, dragging his muscular form along your sweet curves until his impressive frame is molded against your own. When you crane your neck to look at him he witnesses your dilated pupils even beneath the shadow that he has cast over you. It’s So’lek’s hand now that roots into your hair, yanking you forward into a demanding kiss. 

He gives no room for air, slotting his nose along yours and devouring you with vengeance. So’lek has to hold back a vicious smirk at the moan you release once he begins sucking on your tongue. Dulls nails dig into his waist, clawing to bring him impossibly closer. They seek to draw blood in retaliation when he finally breaks the kiss. 

“You are not the only one who has been waiting for a taste, paskalin.” 

You grin and lean forward, interpreting that as another filthy kiss coming your way. However, it is not your lips that he speaks of now. Or at least, not those lips. Your tail whips in surprise when large hands begin undoing the string around it. So’lek tugs and digs at those knots without preamble, watching your pretty face as you realize where this is heading. 

Once the offensive garment is ripped away he drops to his knees. His nostrils flare, greedily taking in your thick essence but it's not enough. So’lek roughly yanks one of your legs over his shoulder and his ears twitch to catch your pretty gasp. Now teetering on one leg while the other is curved over his broad shoulder, you are perfectly laid out for him. 

So’lek barely has enough time to appreciate the view before his instincts demand a taste. Intricate stripes along your inner thighs and navel create an alluring path to the treasure between your legs. So’lek runs the tip of his nose along one stripe of your thigh before stopping less than an inch from your soaked cunt. 

Eywa above, his vivid imagination could never compare to the beauty that lies before him now! 

Your needy clit is already engorged, a pretty pearl that begs to be played with. He uses his thumbs to part your lips and get an unobstructed view. Hot breath tickles your sensitive core causing your now displayed entrance to flutter. Watching the way your pussy grasps at nothing has So’lek caught between wanting to drown himself in your juices or fill you with his aching cock. 

“So’lek, you are such a fucking tease I-”

The end of that complaint is strangled into a whine when his lips close around your clit. A small hand pushes at the back of his head. As if he would need the encouragement. So’lek smothers himself in your warmth. Nose slotted between your lips his tongue runs up the sensitive cut of you, collecting every ounce of sticky arousal it can find. The tip of his tongue then circles around that pulsing bud until your clitoral hood is pushed back and he can attack the nerve dead on. 

That action conjures a violent reaction. Hips buck back at him hard enough to have your one supporting leg struggling to remain planted. So’lek takes that as his cue to take pity on you. He slinks the other leg over his shoulder and wraps his arms around your thighs to support the weight. This way he has full control of wrangling your soaked cunt to his lips while you no longer have to focus on standing. 

“Oh Eywa! More…more So’lek…I need more.” Although your voice has flitted into desperate gasps, it loses none of its conviction. 

Your demands push him further, his tongue now spearing into your pussy with a desire to explore. Fuck, even around his tongue you are tight as a vise. So’lek rises to his feet, keeping you sat on his shoulders as your back glides along the tree trunk. If you have a fear of heights it is not voiced as you are pinned against the trunk and ravaged. 

“Right there! Right there! Ah yes! Right-”

That constantly babbling has never been more beautiful than now. His tongue curves to hit that oh so special spot that has your thighs shaking around his head. So’lek’s nails dig into your ass to spread you wider as your own viciously claws into his scalp. 

With the perfect combination of his tongue fucking up into you and his nose rutting along your clit, your first orgasm comes in no time. So’lek drinks up every last drop selfishly. He considers it a reward after all of this time he’s behaved, been patient and tried to get you out of his head. Now that you’ve broken his resolve, it’s only fair that you give him everything that you have. That he collects what belongs to him. 

When So’lek finally peels away, he finds you catching your breath while one hand grips a tree branch above. He’s caught staring but even with a flushed hue over your cheeks, you simply let out a breathy laugh in a daze. Your legs are shaking as he lowers you back onto your feet but that isn’t enough to deter you. 

Half of his face coated in your essence, So’lek graciously obeys the hands that yank him down for another kiss. It seems right that you get to taste how delicious you are too. His big hands wrap around either side of your neck, angling your face upwards and deeper into the kiss. 

Meanwhile, it seems that even in the afterglow of a climax, you can’t refrain from being a minx. Confident hands map the territory of his slim hips and v line before one sneaks back to grab his ass. His dark chuckle is passed between his lips to yours as you hold back a devious smirk. 

“Your turn.” You demand, tugging at the waistband of his loincloth with the patience of a child waiting to unwrap a present. The motion only increases the ache in his groin, somewhat surprised that the piece of fabric has managed to contain his boner. 

So’lek practically jumps out of his skin when you slip past the waistband. His left hand slams against the tree trunk as he groans when you wrap around his base, thumb running up a thick vein. The fire in his eyes matches your own. This is a game of tug a war. Weeks of yearning and dreaming have left both of you utterly insatiable. Matched in intensity, you too are determined to take everything your desired mate has to offer. 

And So’lek is going to deliver it to you on a silver platter. 

That is, after he gets his own chunk of flesh. 

Hastily undoing the string of his tewng, So’lek slots his face into your neck as you start a slow but firm pace stroking him. It is borderline torture, the way you already know how to apply the perfect amount of pressure at the right places while still having your fun sweeping a thumb over his head to collect the precum there. A sweat breaks out along his forehead. He finds himself wishing for a hair tie to wrangle his now messy braids out of the way as he holds back from exploding all over your stomach. 

“You’re so pretty.” You marvel, aroused scent intermingling with his own as you stare down with blown out pupils. Fuck, you are going to kill him if you keep looking at him like that. It’s no wonder his feral instincts have taken over. When yours are already unleashed it’s impossible to hold back. He was a fool for ever thinking he could escape your taunting. 

“No,” So’lek nearly barks when you try to sink down onto your knees. He quickly wraps a firm hand around your bicep to urge you back up. Those plump lips part, no doubt preparing to protest, perhaps say something about how unfair he’s been for once again making you wait. So’lek cuts in before you get the chance. “I need to be inside you. Now.” 

It’s impossible to keep back the rugged timber that takes over his words. Even more so impossible to hide the desperation that fills him to the brim. As much as he is overtaken by the thought of your talented mouth wrapped around him, he knows there is no way he will be able to hold himself back from coming then. And when he reaches that high for the first time with you, So’lek wants nothing more than to be buried deep inside of you, feeling the way you unravel around him. 

But his body is already far too close to the edge. A heat coils in his abdomen and every touch you deposit has his tip leaking more sticky precum. This needs to happen now before he loses it prematurely. 

Luckily, your attitude appears to be put into check by his words. All signs of disappointment quickly shift into a raw fervor, hands grabbing for his shoulders. So’lek takes the cue in stride, hoisting your knee up to his hip and positioning himself at your entrance. 

And then he hesitates. 

So’lek is not small by any means and he has not properly prepared you for him. 

“Oh Eywa,” You groan, “I stretched myself out this morning, So’lek just…please!” 

That whine and pinched expression is borderline distressed and therefore all the encouragement he requires to slink forward. You’re his mate and as you’ve said, a woman has needs. From here on out he is going to be the sole provider for every single one of yours. 

It takes a hand to your hip in order to keep control of his pace sinking inside. So’lek’s hairless brows furrow and muzzle wrinkles at the difficulty required to keep himself from plunging inside with one thrust. Sweet sounds wracking your throat, you provide no help as your hips keep trying to slant forward. At this point there is going to be an imprint of his fingers from where they press into your hip. 

So’lek lets out a harsh breath. 

Stars above, that thought has the potential to send him down a very dark hole. Just thinking about all the ways and places he can mark you has his ball drawing up against his body. 

When he is finally seated all the way inside, pelvis flush against your own, both of you take a moment to breathe. Panted air tickles his chest from where you have your forehead slants against his collarbone. His own nose buries into that luscious hair that he has admired flying in the wind for weeks. 

So’lek’s tail wraps around your planted leg and it’s then that he feels the way you are on the verge of collapsing. Hooking an arm underneath that knee he swipes it to his waist. The new angle makes both of you groan but you are quick to lock both ankles at the base of his spine and cling for dear life. 

This moment is sacred. 

The first of many times that he can feel what it means to be intimately intertwined with you in a way only inferior to making tsaheylu. So much distance he has kept between the two of you only to now gorge himself in a closeness beyond anything he has ever experienced. And someday, someday very soon, it will be even more. Once he has courted you properly, showered you with the love and attention has wanted to give you from the very beginning, the two of you will make the bond. 

A permanent entanglement that he will cherish until the end of his days. 

“So’lek,” You whisper. Nothing but his name against his chest until your right hand is reaching up to brush his cheek. He nuzzles into your palm without thought before ducking down until your cheek is sliding against his own. It’s in this primal act of scenting that his hips finally begin to move. 

Long languid thrusts that have you shuddering against him while his teeth bite into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. In this state you are an open book. Every spike of your pleasure is indicated by the way you squeeze his cock, or dig your nails into his shoulder blades, or even nips at his pulse point. There is nothing demure about your exploration. 

As his pace picks up, now figuring out where that sweet spot is to torment, your soft hands are mapping every inch of him they can reach. His neck, his shoulders, every rigid line of his abdomen. When one hand reaches to squeeze his muscular bicep his tail coils. 

You are matched in desire perfectly, a fact that threatens to coax him into spilling inside of you instantly. So’lek has to grit his teeth to hold back even as your lips find his own again. This kiss is a mess of saliva and haphazard coordination as the increased speed of his thrusts have you jackhammering up the tree trunk. It doesn’t matter. 

All So’lek can focus is your sweet sounds and how eagerly your body welcomes him in. 

“Paskalin,” He groans, barely managing to tear away from your lips. “You are everything.” 

He witnesses the way those words sink in, how long it takes for them to settle before you are able to smile back at him in your disheveled state. This smile is unique from the many others he has seen you wear. It is one not meant for the public eye, a rare form that one can only be seen in an intimate setting like this. A smile that now only shines for him. 

A burst of adrenaline courses through his veins. Tired muscles renew tenfold, cock driving up into you now with uncontained zeal. This burst of energy has him entirely distracted so when a foreign touch suddenly scrapes his kuru, So’lek just about buckles and takes you both to the ground. 

With a hiss he rights himself and pushes you harder against the tree. Nails glide over his protective braid with a featherlight pressure before sweeping over his shoulder and getting dangerously close to the exposed tendrils. 

So’lek’s jaw clamps hard enough to make his teeth ache. 

“Don’t do that, tanhi [star]. You’re going to make me come.” 

“My thoughts exactly.” That devious hitch in your voice cracks when he sends a harsh thrust in reprimanding. 

“I mean it.” He grits. 

“So do I.” Baby hairs plastered to your damp forehead, you stare him down with a renewed fervor. “I want all of you, So’lek. Everything.” 

The dancing tendrils of his kuru are dragged along your shoulder teasingly. His vision zeroes in on the sight, muscles of his abdomen tightening. Your forehead tips against his own, lashes almost kissing his cheek. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” you whisper. 

It’s intentional, the way your pussy clamps around him in a vice like grip as those words leave your lips. So’lek can no longer remember why he was trying to draw this out as he rickets his hips upwards and gets lost in the feeling of his kuru tendrils wrapping around one of your fingers. 

Whatever composure you had temporarily regained becomes frazzled once more as the head of his cock knocks at your sweet spot over and over again with overwhelming accuracy. Your cries muddle together just as your orgasm comes to line up with his. 

So’lek has felt no greater relief than releasing himself deep inside of tight heat. Stars dot his vision while you milk him for all that he is worth, panting against his neck. His kuru is dropped and So’lek’s knees wobble, for the first time finding difficulty in holding both of your weight. 

He becomes a statue following that high. His brain rings with the same dead sound the computers at headquarters make. You are no better off, clinging to him for dear life as your breasts push against him with every rushed exhale. The first movement is your arms cinching tighter around his neck. A strangely innocent and endearing hug considering the lewd entanglement the two of you maintain. 

Gently, So’lek slips out and guides you back onto your feet. He has to scramble when your knees immediately buckle. Swiping his arms beneath your own, he coaxes you to lean your weight on him. 

“Are you alright?” His worried tone is in direct contrast to the breathy laugh you give. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You giggle, clinging to his shoulders. “They’ll work again…eventually.” 

Your eyes crinkle in the same way they do when watching him fall off of a pa’li. So’lek’s lips curve into their own grin. His lips are still stretched wide when he plants tender kisses to your hairline. 

“You smell good,” You hum.

So’lek chuckles fondly before noticing the combined spend that trails down your inner thighs. He has nothing but his gear with him out here in the fields. The only fabric he carries is a small bundle of bandages but he used up the last of it a few days ago. His lips turn down. He will need to be more prepared than this now that he has a mate to look after. 

“Paskalin, let me find something to clean you up with.” 

“No no shhh,” You reach up and place a finger against his lips. “Stop thinking for one second and hold me.” 

So’lek’s heart twists at your little antics, silently obeying your request, shifting both of you to lay on the long grass. Sweaty limbs tangle together, your smaller form messily sprawled across him until your hair is twisted over his abdomen. So’lek slings and arm over your back to cradle you closer. 

This is always the part he has missed. Various partners over the years and yet not one of them holding the tender affection that radiates between the two of you now. The chance to just hold and bask in the other’s presence. Little touches that speak volumes louder than he ever could. So’lek is not good with words. He never says the right thing or in the right way. 

But he can do this. He can drench the sweet brush of his fingertips over your skin with the weight of every confession he has ever been tempted to give you. He can radiate the deep love that blossoms in his chest with every soft kiss to your hairline and swipe of his thumb over your cheek. And he can feel the same devotion reciprocated every time you snuggle further into his chest or trace lines over his abdomen. 

Before long your tail whips out to jest with his curious fingers. He swipes over the thin appendage, watching the way it flickers and circles around his wrist before letting go. The tuft of hair at the end tickles his forearm as it playfully taunts and bats away from his touch. This little game is more amusing than he cares to admit. 

A muffled giggle against his chest tells him that his fixation is not concealed. However, for the first time in weeks he’s allowed to not care. There is no lingering regret at showing his cards to you or betraying his emotions to be analyzed. With you he gets to let that mask fall away, allowing you to see a part of him so vulnerable that So’lek thought it had died off years ago. 

“I will be ready again in about ten minutes.” You state, smiling while tracing the veins of his left arm. The insinuation and expectation is clear and it shakes a surprised laugh from his lungs. 

“And if I am not, paskalin?” So’leks goads with a smirk.

You shift onto your stomach, chin resting atop his chest so that you can look at him directly now. Your tail lashes behind you as you smirk up at him. “Then you better find a way to be.” 

So’lek lets out a low chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Your smile, however, falters when you notice something. Legs still shaky and weak, you try to climb up his chest to get a better look. He’s unsure what you are getting at but So’lek doesn’t hesitate in cinching a hand behind your knee and using that grip to slide you upwards. 

Hairless brows furrowed and bottom lip on the verge of jutting into a pout, one dainty finger runs over the skin beneath his eyes. It is only then he realizes that he must have dark circles beneath his eyes from not sleeping last night. 

“You did not sleep.” 

It truly is of little importance but watching how genuinely concerned you are by it may just be the most endearing thing he has ever witnessed. It reminds him of the day you met. The first time was subjected to your insistent care as he writhed and tried to assure you he was fine. If only back then he knew what he knows now. You always take care of him, of anyone and everyone in your vicinity. 

No matter what front he has put up. Regardless of every effort he has made to convince you and himself that he does not need this, it has never been a match for you. You who not only sees through his walls but knocks them down with that infectious grin. The Great Mother has blessed him with the only woman stubborn enough to break him the way he truly needed. 

“I was up thinking.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Of course you were. What am I going to do with you?” You give him a reprimanding glare but fondness seeps into your beautiful features before you are scooting upwards again. 

So’lek expects a kiss, lashes already flutter over his cheeks in anticipation but then those lips are not touching his. Instead a delicate kiss is placed over each eyelid, as if to kiss the sleep deprivation away. 

When So’lek opens his eyes you are already shuffling to tuck your face against his neck nonchalantly as if you have not made his heart overflow with one simple move. 

This is what Ri’nela had been talking about. Not just surviving but thriving. Have a place to call home, or perhaps in his case someone. For years his sole drive in life has been to repay the RDA for the tragedies they have rained on Pandora, on his clan. That has been his purpose. There has always been something to fight for. 

But for the first time in years he now has someone to fight for as well.  

Please don't hesitate to share your thoughts! I spent way too much time obsessing over this so getting some feedback/interaction would mean the world to me<3

"Taglist" AKA peeps I thought might like this: @pandoraslxna @tallulah477 @eywaite

[roselynviee]

ᯓ WEBSITES you've been looking for ୨୧

!!! % for editing: 𖥻

★ canva (there's a lot of different templates)

★ photopea (alternative to photoshop)

!!! % for gif making/editing: 𖥻

★ ezgif (a very complete tool to create and edit gifs)

★ bloggif (different old school gif editing effects)

★ picmix (to create blingee type of gifs)

★ glitterfy (to put glitter all over your chosen image)

!!! % for gif text: 𖥻

★ cooltext (burning, glittery and glowy text generator)

★ bloggif text (glitter text generator)

★ gigaglitters (glitter text generator)

★ glitterfy words (glitter text generator)

!!! % for fancy fonts: 𖥻

★ messletters

!!! % to remove background: 𖥻

★ remove.bg

!!! % to pick colors and swatches from a picture: 𖥻

★ image color picker

!!! % for aesthetic symbols and kaomojis: 𖥻

★ amino post

★ emoji combos

★ emoji db

★ kaomoji

!!! % for blinkies, dividers, gifs and stamps : 𖥻

★ blinkies generator

★ @animatedglittergraphics-n-more (blog that posts said content)

★ @graphics-cafe (blog that posts said content)

[roselynviee]

Forbidden

Content Warning: NSFW, MDNI, fluff, romance, taboo, Professor Sylus, AU Sylus. Slow burn, sexual and emotional tension. Power dynamic relationships.

Summary: You’re in your final years of schooling. Sweet and freshly 18, Professor Sylus has always made you feel something. But you feel it more now that you’re an “adult”. Perhaps, there’s more to this connection than meets the eye?

A/N: Helloooo, yes I have a problem but I love this concept and I’ve been wanting a professor Sylus fic for a very long time. I am collabing with my sister. She’s a seasoned Kpop fanfic writer hahahah. Anyways, don’t freak out. Every main character in this fic is at 18 and up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: After Class

The late afternoon sun slanted through the high classroom windows, bathing the rows of desks in a golden haze. You slid into your usual seat near the front, smoothing your skirt and laying out your notebook with steady, practiced movements. Despite your composed exterior, your heart gave a traitorous flutter the moment your gaze found him at the front of the room. Professor Sylus stood with one hand resting on his mahogany desk and the other writing the day’s lesson title on the chalkboard. Dust motes danced in the sunlight around his tall figure. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing toned muscles that flexed subtly with each stroke of chalk.

At 18 years old and in your final year of high school, you were technically an adult – a fact that emboldened and unsettled you all at once. Yet, sitting in Professor Sylus’ classroom, you felt small and young, as if the mere presence of your teacher could lay bare the schoolgirl inside you. You bit your lip and forced your eyes down to your notebook, fighting the heat rising in your cheeks. Get a grip, you chided yourself silently. It was just another literature class, and he was just your English teacher – confident, brooding, and far too mesmerizing for your own good.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Sylus began, his baritone voice easily commanding the murmurs in the room to hush. You dared a glance upward through your lashes. He surveyed the class with calm authority, jewel-like eyes scanning over students with a measured patience. His gaze passed over you briefly, and for a heartbeat your eyes met. A spark – real or imagined – skittered through your chest. Quickly, you looked back to your blank page, your pulse thudding in your ears.

Sylus cleared his throat and turned toward the chalkboard. On it he had written a line from the poem they’d been studying: “…somewhere between right and wrong, there is a garden. I will meet you there.” The quote hung in the air like a daring secret. “Today,” he said, “we continue our discussion on forbidden themes in literature – the allure of crossing lines that society has drawn.” His voice was smooth but there was an undercurrent of intensity when he spoke of the subject, as if the topic resonated with some private part of him.

As he launched into the lesson, you tried to focus on your notes, not on the man delivering the lecture. Your pen scribbled dutifully, but your attention drifted to him in spite of yourself. Professor Sylus moved with a restrained energy, pacing slowly in front of the chalkboard. The afternoon light caught in his crimson eyes when he turned just so, making them gleam. There was a certain heaviness to his brow – a brooding intensity that made him appear deep in thought even as he taught. He was relatively young for a teacher – you guessed not much older than thirty – and there was a vitality in the way he spoke that held the class rapt.

“Can anyone tell me what the poet might mean by that line?” he asked, tapping the chalk gently under the quote he’d written. His gaze traveled across the room expectantly. A few students shifted in their seats, avoiding eye contact. You knew the class well enough to predict that silence would follow; most were either too indifferent or too intimidated to volunteer an interpretation.

You inhaled quietly, gathering your nerve. This was your favorite subject, and despite the tremor of nerves around you, you couldn’t resist engaging – if only to impress him. Lifting your eyes, you found Sylus already looking your way, as if he anticipated you might speak. The thought sent a little thrill through you.

You raised your hand. “It’s about a place beyond judgment,” you said when he nodded for you to answer. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you swallowed and continued more clearly. “The poet is saying that outside of right and wrong – beyond the rules and expectations – there’s a space where two people can truly be together. A… a secret meeting place, free from consequence.”

As you spoke, Sylus’ expression shifted almost imperceptibly. The stern line of his mouth eased, and the slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Something warm flickered in his eyes – pride? admiration? – that made your chest tighten.

“Very good,” he said, and that rich voice of his wrapped around the praise in a way that felt personal. “A thoughtful interpretation.” His gaze held yours a second longer than it needed to. In that moment, the rest of the class might as well have not existed.

Your cheeks burned at his approval. You managed a faint smile back before looking down again, hiding behind a curtain of your hair. You could still feel the weight of his eyes on you for a moment more, and the knowledge sent a sweet, forbidden thrill through your veins.

While Professor Sylus went on to elaborate on the poem’s historical context, you dared to steal another glance. He had turned away to address the rest of the class, but there was a new tension in his posture – a stiffness in his shoulders, as if your answer had affected him too. He ran a hand through his silver hair, the fingers briefly tugging in a gesture that might have been subconscious. For an instant, you allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to run your own fingers through that hair, to soothe whatever turmoil made him look so distant and haunted when he thought no one was watching. The fantasy was as intoxicating as it was inappropriate, and you banished it with a quick shake of your head. Your braid brushed against your neck, grounding you back in reality.

Minutes passed, and you diligently copied down the notes Sylus put up on the board, punctuating them with a few stolen looks in his direction. Each time, your eyes seemed to find some new detail to fixate on: the way the veins in his forearm stood out when he gripped a book to read a passage aloud; the precise cut of his jawline; or the way his voice gentled when he recited a particularly poignant line from the text. There was such passion and nuance in his teaching that you found yourself entranced, hanging on to every word despite the turmoil of attraction stirring inside you.

At one point, as he circulated around the room to check on the students’ annotations, Sylus approached your desk. You straightened your spine, heart drumming. He stopped beside you, close enough that you became hyperaware of his presence—the faint scent of cedar and spice from his cologne, the warmth radiating from his body.

“Do you see how the second stanza reinforces that idea?” he asked softly, leaning down to glance at your open textbook. His face was suddenly much nearer to yours, and you hoped he couldn’t hear how loudly your heart was pounding.

“Y-yes,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. The air between you felt charged. As you shifted slightly, your shoulder lightly grazed his arm. The contact was barely there, but it sent a jolt of electricity across your skin. You froze, and so did he.

Sylus drew in a slow breath, his gaze flickering to you. Time seemed to slow in that small moment of accidental touch. You dared to meet his eyes. Up close they were an endless crimson sea, stormy with something unspoken. His jaw tightened as if he was waging some internal battle. Then he straightened, politely putting a safe distance between you once more.

“Good,” he said, clearing his throat. His tone was steady, betraying nothing, but his adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “Keep up the good work.”

You nodded silently, and he moved on, continuing his rounds. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your hand trembled slightly as you underlined a phrase in your book, attempting to appear engrossed in the text while your mind raced. Had you imagined that intensity in his eyes? The way he’d gone still when you touched? Don’t be ridiculous, you tell yourself. He’s your teacher. He was just making sure you understood.

But no matter how you tried to dismiss it, you couldn’t shake the memory of that brief flash in his gaze – like a wild, caged thing peering out. It made your stomach flutter with equal parts excitement and nervousness.

By the time the lesson drew to an end, the sun had deepened to a warm orange, and long shadows stretched across the floor. Sylus returned to the front to wrap up, assigning a short reflection on the poem for homework. The shrill ring of the final bell for the day made several students jump up eagerly, the spell of the class broken as backpacks were slung over shoulders.

You closed your notebook slowly, reluctant for this enchanted, torturous hour to end. Around you, classmates chatted as they filtered out of the room, their sneakers squeaking on the polished linoleum. Normally you would be rushing off as well, joining the after-school buzz in the halls. But today, you lingered, pretending to carefully organize your papers as your mind raced with an idea – or rather, an excuse.

Sylus busied himself at the teacher’s desk as the students departed, stacking essays neatly and wiping a stray chalk smudge from his fingers. His movements were measured, outwardly as composed as ever. Inside, however, his thoughts were anything but calm. Throughout the class he had maintained his usual professional demeanor by sheer force of will, yet now that he was alone… well, almost alone… he exhaled slowly, releasing a tension he hadn’t fully acknowledged until this moment.

He risked a glance upward through his dark lashes. One student remained, hovering at her desk near the front – you. He immediately felt his pulse kick up in response, an unwelcome surge of awareness. She should go, he told himself firmly. Being alone with a student after class was unwise under any circumstance, and with this particular young woman it was downright dangerous to his hard-won self-control.

Sylus had noticed you the very first week he started teaching at Linkon High. How could he not? You were bright, attentive, and disarmingly sincere in your love of literature – a rarity that had drawn his interest initially on a purely intellectual level. But then there were the other things: the way your smile lit up your eyes when you grasped a concept, or the soft tuck of hair behind your ear as you concentrated. Little details that had etched themselves into his mind against his better judgment.

He had brushed off his fascination as simple pride in a star student, nothing more. He was your teacher, after all. Lines existed for a reason, and he was determined never to cross them.

Yet today, when you had given your interpretation of the poem… something in your voice, earnest and a touch vulnerable, had struck a chord in him. Your words about a place beyond right and wrong had felt directed at him in ways you couldn’t possibly know. In that moment, he’d almost forgotten where they were. He had looked at you and seen not just a diligent student but a young woman on the cusp of adulthood – an adult, he reminded himself, albeit a very young one under his care. The realization had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

And then that brief contact – your shoulder brushing his arm – even now he could recall the heat of it. It was nothing, a pure accident, and yet it had set his nerves alight. For the rest of the class he’d struggled to keep his focus on the lesson and not on the memory of how close you’d been, how your perfume—something subtle, with cherry or floral—had left him slightly lightheaded.

Now, as the last of the other students slipped out the door, Sylus forced himself to appear at ease. Calm and collected, he reminded himself, like it meant nothing. With a quiet click, he capped his pen and slid the graded papers into his leather briefcase. Any second now, you would head out as well, and he would be safe to breathe normally again.

But instead of the expected sound of your retreating footsteps, he heard your voice, gentle and hesitant,

“Professor Sylus? Can I ask you something?”

Sylus’s hand paused on the briefcase buckle. He lifted his eyes to find you standing a few paces from his desk, notebook clutched to your chest. Most of your classmates had already disappeared into the hall, leaving an expectant quiet in their wake. The overhead lights were off, and only the honeyed dusk light from the windows illuminated the space, casting half of Sylus’s face in shadow and half in soft, gold light.

For a heartbeat, he simply looked at you, taking in the sight. You looked nervous, biting the corner of your lip in that way he’d come to recognize whenever you were grappling with a thought. The warm glow of sunset danced in your eyes. Why did it feel like the air between you was charged again, now even more intensely than during that fleeting touch?

He cleared his throat, reminding himself to speak. “Of course,” he replied, his tone measured. He leaned back against the edge of his desk to appear relaxed, crossing his arms loosely. “What do you need help with?”

You stepped forward into the aisle between desks, closer by a cautious half-step. You, your mind whispered traitorously. I need you. You banished the illicit thought and drew a slow breath. “It’s about the poem,” you began, willing your voice to sound steady. “Something you said about forbidden themes… it got me thinking.”

In truth, you hadn’t really needed clarification on the lesson – he had been very clear, as always. But the idea of walking out that door felt unbearable when a hundred unspoken questions and feelings swirled inside of you. This was your chance to linger in his presence just a little longer, to maybe confirm if you'd imagined the connection you thought you felt. Even if all you got was a few more minutes of conversation with him, it would be worth it.

Sylus nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving your face. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Which part are you wondering about?”

You came a step closer, until you were right in front of him, the desk between them the only barrier. You set your notebook down atop his desk, open to the page of notes you'd taken. It took all your willpower to keep your hand from trembling. “Here,” you pointed to a bulletpoint in your careful handwriting. “You mentioned how, in literature, forbidden relationships often serve to challenge societal norms. I was just… well, I was curious if you think the writers romanticize those relationships. Do they make it seem more attractive because it’s forbidden?”

Your question hung in the air. In the quiet that followed, you heard the ticking of the classroom clock on the wall, counting the seconds of silence.

Sylus regarded you thoughtfully. He knew literature theory well enough to answer in academic terms – to talk about narrative devices and the human fascination with taboo. Yet as he gazed at your earnest face, framed by a stray beam of golden light, the purely academic answer didn’t seem to be the one caught in his throat. Instead, what came out was a gentle counter-question.

“What do you think?”

You hadn’t expected that. A soft breath escaped you. He often turned questions back on students to encourage critical thinking, but right now the way he asked felt different – almost personal. His voice was lower now, almost intimate in the quiet room. Was it your imagination, or had he inched just a little closer over the desk?

Your fingers fiddled with the spiral binding of your notebook as you gathered your courage. “I think…” you began slowly, searching for words that wouldn’t betray the full depth of what you felt. “I think authors do make it attractive. The risk, the secrecy… it adds excitement.” Your throat felt dry, and you pressed on. “When something is forbidden, maybe it makes every small moment, every glance or touch, feel more meaningful. Because you know it could be taken away.”

As you spoke, your eyes remained locked on the open notebook, tracing the indented lines of your writing rather than looking up at him. It felt safer to voice such things to a page than directly to Sylus’ face. Even so, your heart hammered at your own boldness. You were no longer talking strictly about poems or novels, and you both knew it.

There was a brief rustle, and you realized Sylus had moved. Gently, he reached out and closed your notebook, his long fingers resting for a moment on the cover just beside your own hand. You froze at the proximity – his knuckles only inches from your skin. Your gaze lifted on instinct, drawn by the magnetic presence of him.

Sylus’ eyes met yours, and you saw it again – that flicker of conflict, of heat, carefully restrained behind a composed mask. The dying daylight outlined the strong planes of his face, but his eyes were soft as they searched yours. “Literature isn’t the only place where that happens,” he said quietly. “Sometimes real life mirrors the stories.”

Your breath caught. The desk suddenly felt like an insignificant separator; the space between them crackled with something unspoken. Did he mean… could he possibly be referring to the two of you?

You tried to speak and found your voice had fled. In the silence, your uncertainty must have shown in your face, because Sylus’ expression gentled further. He seemed to be choosing his next words with great care.

“What I mean is,” he continued, tone still soft, “there’s a reason readers are drawn to those stories. A reason we sometimes find ourselves…” He paused, as if debating how frank to be. His gaze flickered down to their hands – his still resting near yours on the closed notebook – and then back up. “…drawn to things we know we can’t have.”

Your heart skipped a beat. There it was – the spark, the admission veiled in careful words but so plainly there. The world seemed to narrow until it was just him and you in that dim classroom, the air thick with everything you weren’t saying. You felt a flush rise in your cheeks and didn’t know if it was from joy, fear, or the dizzying combination of both.

“Sylus…” you whispered, his name slipping out before you could stop yourself. The familiarity of using just his first name hung between them. You weren't even sure why you said it – perhaps to confirm that this was real, that this was him speaking and not a beautiful daydream conjured by your hopeful mind.

At the sound of his name on your lips, something in Sylus broke subtly – his carefully maintained distance wavered. His hand inched forward just a little more, fingertips almost, almost brushing the back of your hand. He caught himself at the last second and withdrew slightly, curling his fingers into a loose fist instead.

“This…,” he said, so softly it was almost a breath. The single syllable carried a world of meaning. He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

You both knew what he meant: this connection, this delicate, dangerous tension humming between you. Acknowledging it was risky, but in that stolen moment neither of you looked away.

Your lips parted, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. You could scarcely believe this was happening – that the longing you'd harbored might not be one-sided. He feels it too… The realization lit you up from the inside. It also terrified you. He is the one person you aren't supposed to want, and the only person you desperately did.

Outside in the hallway, a locker slammed shut, jolting you back to reality. The distant chatter of students reminded you both of where you were – teacher and student, standing on the edge of a line that, once crossed, could change everything.

Sylus drew back slightly, straightening. A shadow of regret passed over his face as the spell between you broke, but the tenderness remained. He lowered his voice, though there was no one else to hear: “You should head home,” he said gently. “It’s getting late.”

You nodded, realizing suddenly how close you had leaned in toward him. You hadn’t even noticed your own body swaying nearer, drawn like a moth to a flame. Flushing, you stepped back, clutching your notebook to anchor yourself. “Right. Of course.”

He walked you to the classroom door, a careful distance between you now. Your mind was still reeling at what had just passed between you—subtle and yet undeniable. At the threshold, you turned back to face him. The corridor behind you was nearly empty now, just a straggler or two heading for the exits. In here, in the golden half-light, Sylus stood with one hand braced on the doorframe, looking down at you with an expression you could only describe as conflicted longing.

“Thank you for answering my questions,” you said softly. It felt like an inadequate thing to say after everything, but it was all your overwhelmed mind could supply.

A faint smile touched his lips. “Anytime,” he replied. “You know you can always come to me if you need help.” There was a quiet emphasis on those last words, as if they held layers of meaning. His dark eyes flickered with the warmth of an unspoken promise before he masked it with a polite smile.

You clutched your books to your chest a little tighter. “I… I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Your voice wavered, and you couldn’t help the small smile that slipped through, hope and anxiety warring in your chest.

Sylus nodded, but just as you were about to turn, he spoke again, voice low and earnest. “Wait.”

You paused, heart leaping into your throat. “Yes?”

For a moment he hesitated, as though walking right up to the edge of that line again. His gaze held yours, steady and searching. Say something, part of you pleaded silently. Admit you feel it too.

“I—” He stopped himself, then tried again, his words measured. “I just want you to be careful.”

Your brow knit in confusion. Was he scolding you? Warning you about staying late at school? Or was there a deeper meaning? “…Careful?” You echoed softly.

Sylus’ jaw tensed, and he let out a slow breath. His next words came out barely above a whisper, meant only for you: “This is uncharted territory. If we’re not careful, someone could get hurt.”

It was both a caution and a confession. He was acknowledging that something was indeed happening between you, even as he tried to protect you both from it. The weight of his words—and the vulnerability in them—hung in the air.

You felt a sting of emotion in your chest, a mix of reassurance and ache. Reassurance that you hadn’t imagined everything; ache that he was already pulling back into propriety. “I understand,” you whispered, your throat tight. “We’ll be careful.”

Silence settled again. His hand still rested on the doorframe, just above your head now. The way he loomed there was not threatening at all—in fact, you felt shielded, cocooned in the alcove of the doorway with him so close. His gaze traced over your face as if committing it to memory.

Then Sylus inclined his head in a slight nod. The corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile, more an expression of gentle resolve. “Good night,” he said softly at last. There was a slight hesitation, as if he’d been about to say more.

You caught that tiny falter—had he almost said your name? The thought sent a warmth fluttering in your stomach.

“Good night, Professor Sylus,” You replied, equally soft. Your fingers lingered on the door for a second, unwilling to break the last bit of eye contact between you. His eyes looked almost black in the dim light, and they were filled with so many things you wished you could decipher.

Finally, you forced yourself to step out into the hall. The spell had to be broken for now. With every stride down the corridor, your body felt lighter and more heated all at once, as if you were walking on air while adrenaline thrummed in your veins.

Before turning the corner, you glanced back one last time. Sylus was still there in the doorway, watching you go. The golden light behind him cast him in silhouette, but you could see the outline of his broad shoulders, the slight tilt of his head. You wondered what he was thinking in that inscrutable moment.

Hidden in the shadows, Sylus allowed himself a single, forbidden indulgence: he smiled – just a faint curve of his lips – as he watched you disappear around the corner. The empty hallway echoed with the fading sound of your footsteps. He let his head rest back against the doorframe and closed his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling a breath he felt he’d been holding all day.

What are you doing, Sylus? he chastised himself silently, even as that ghost of a smile lingered. His heart was still thudding in his chest. He knew this was dangerous ground – more dangerous than anything he’d ever felt. But the way you had looked at him, the way your voice trembled with hope… it made him feel alive in a way he’d nearly forgotten.

He would have to keep his distance, he told himself firmly—for both their sakes. Yet as he switched off the lights and darkness fell over the empty classroom, Sylus realized he was already counting the hours until he would see you again.

[roselynviee]

Bound To You

aemond targaryen x fem reader

Summary: You visit King’s Landing with your family and after an unexpected reunion with Aemond everything changes. What happens when your family finally discovers you are bound to their enemy?

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! Smuttt, LOTS of angst, fluff, enemies to lovers kinda, forbidden love, loss of virginity, pregnant sx, p in v, oral (m&f), targcest, violence/abuse, abusive father, pregnancy, child birth, birth complications, mentions of death, definite show spoilers, some script from the show, the negativity towards team black is purely for the story, happy ending.

Word count: 10.2k (i need therapy)

masterlist

taglist

You arrive with your family in Kings Landing after your journey from Dragonstone. You could tell your stepmother Rhaenerya was annoyed that the queen herself had not come to welcome you all.

You were the daughter of Daemon and Rhea, his first wife. Your father and mother despised eachother and you knew deep down he was somehow responsible for her death. A skilled rider like her does not just have accidents like that. Your father always felt extremely distant from you, he probably loathed the fact that you were even born from that loveless hateful marriage. On top of that, you felt cursed to have gotten his golden hair and not your mother’s brown hair. It made you look even more like your father and also stand out even more next to your dark haired stepbrothers. You had been forced to move around with your father between his marriages with Laena and now Rhaenyra. Although Rhaenyra has been fairly kind to you, you have always felt like the outsider of the family, an unwanted child, an ever lasting reminder of Daemon’s first wife.

Daemon and Rhaenyra part with you to visit the king in his chambers so you follow your stepbrothers to the training grounds where you find Aemond sparring with Ser Criston Cole. You watch as Jace and Luke exchanged worried glances. You may not have been around for most of it but you remember the rivalry that has always been there between your brothers and Aemond. Luke had been the one to take Aemond’s eye, accident or no, that is not something easily forgiven or forgotten. You would never say it in front of your family but you never thought badly of Aemond for hating your stepbrothers, it felt well deserved.

You watch the way Aemond moves, dancing around Ser Criston as he tries to strike him. Aemond pulls a final perfect move that ends with his sword against Cole’s throat.

“Well done, my prince.” Ser Criston says to Aemond. “You will be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” Aemond responds. “Nephews, have you come to train?” His intense stare falls to Jace and Luke before landing on you. Your brothers just roll their eyes at him before leaving the grounds, earning a cocky smirk from Aemond. You follow behind them off the training pitch before parting ways and heading to the balcony overlooking the grounds.

You hang around as Aemond continues training, trying not to seem too obvious as you watch him. His movements were smooth and mesmerizing, he looked like a dancer with his golden hair swaying gracefully with each of his strikes. It was hard to take your eyes off him. Once you notice him putting his weapons away you decide to go and find your chambers.

“(Y/n)!” You hear Aemond call your name from down the hallway you were exiting.

You turn as he catches up to you. Once you’re standing in front of him you realize just how tall he has gotten. He smelled so good, how can he smell so good right after all that training and sweating? His natural scent was intoxicating. He smiles down at you so you smile back up at him. Gods, he has gotten so handsome.

“Yes, my prince?” You ask.

“Did you enjoy watching me train?” He smirks.

“I- I was watching everyone train.” Your cheeks turn red.

“Sure.” His smirk grows, making you blush more.

“You train well.” You say to break the brief silence.

“Thank you, princess. May I just say… you have really grown up.” He looks you up and down, taking in your womanly curves and full breasts.

Your heart suddenly races and you feel an unfamiliar feeling in your stomach, but lower.

“Thank you, my prince. As have you.” You say as you try not to stare at his sharp jawline or strong looking arms. Wondering what those arms would feel like around you.

You felt increasingly shy by the minute talking to Aemond, which was very odd for you because you were much like your mother, who was bold and headstrong. But Aemond made your strong head feel like a million butterflies were fluttering around up there as well as inside your stomach.

“I have to go and rejoin my family but I will see you later?” You say as you begin to turn to leave.

“I look forward to it, princess.” Aemond bows to you with a smile.

Truthfully, you had all the free time in the world at the moment. Your father and stepmother busy visiting the king and the gods only know where Jace and Luke wandered off to. But you needed to leave Aemond’s presence right away because the overwhelming sexual tension between you was becoming very dangerous.

Your head is completely in the clouds thinking of Aemond, causing you to nearly crash right into your stepbrother.

“Jace! Sorry, please forgive me.”

“What was that all about?” He asks.

“What are you talking about?” You raise a brow at him.

“I saw you speaking with Aemond.” He says firmly.

“So?” You scowl.

“So? It looked like a pretty friendly conversation, I have never seen Aemond smile at anyone like that.” He rambles in an angry tone. “And I have never seen you look at anyone like that, sister. So, as I said… what was that all about?”

“We were just talking Jace, calm down. You’re blowing the way out of proportion.” Annoyed, you shrug him off and continue down the hallway.

**********

With your family busy with their own things you become increasingly bored in your room. You decide to find a book from the small bookshelf in your chambers and make your way to the gardens. You curl up to the large tree and become deeply invested in your book, so much so that you don’t notice someone walking towards you until you look up to see Aemond towering over you.

“Aemond!” You startle as you make your way to stand.

“Forgive me for interrupting you, princess.” He gestures his eye to your book.

“Not at all.” You smile. “It was either find something to read or die of boredom before supper.”

He chuckles at your joke and you smile shyly in response.

“What are you reading?” He asks.

“Oh, um, nothing really.” You blush.

You tuck the book behind you and he arches his brow in question.

“Ugh, alright... It’s just a silly romance story.” You sigh as you pull the book out from behind your back.

“A romance, hmm?” He smirks. “So you enjoy that sort of thing?”

“Yes, I suppose… like most woman do.” Your blush deepens.

“And have you…” He hesitates. “…had any of your own romance stories?”

Your loud laugh catches him off guard and you quickly change to a serious expression.

“Forgive me, my prince. Um, no. I have not had anything of the sort.” You admit.

“Why not? It seems like something you clearly want. And I am almost certain there must have been plenty of suitors who have thrown themselves at you…” He says as he looks you up and down seductively.

“Of course it is something I want. And I have had a few interested suitors in the past. I just… have not found a man worthy enough of me.” You shrug.

“I see.” He says, his smirk remaining.

Aemond walks you back to your chambers and the conversation between you was surprisingly comfortable the entire walk. You bond over both being the family outcast or the “black sheep”, you both had much harder childhoods than your siblings. The sparks between you were undeniable. You realized your stepbrother was right, you have never looked at anyone like this, or felt like this towards anyone. But Aemond was off limits, not only was he family but you knew your parents, especially your stepmother, greatly disliked Aemond because of the history with him and her own sons. Even just thinking of him that way feels forbidden.

**********

The entire royal family all join together for supper, the tension in the room high. King Viserys joins the room and gives you all a heartfelt speech about your family rivalries.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world. Yet grown so distant from eachother, in the years past.” Viserys begins.

He removes the gold plated mask on his face that had been covering the horrible effects of his illness.

“My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was… But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire, who may not it seems… walk for much longer among you.

Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all, so dearly.” He says passionately, choking back tears.

His speech triggers heart warming and emotional toasts from Rhaenyra to Alicent, and Alicent to Rhaenyra, stating she will make a fine queen. The tension between them begins to fade and the mood of the entire room begins to lift as everyone drinks to the toasts.

Until there is some added tension when Aegon gets up and walks over to pour more wine into his glass, muttering something to Baela, Jace’s newly betrothed. Knowing Aegon you assume it was something vulgar. Especially when your stepbrother Jacaerys slams his fist on the table and stands. He composes himself and suddenly Aemond also stands. The room stills for a long moment as they eye eachother down. Jace proceeds to make a polite yet cocky toast to your uncles, Aegon and Aemond.

“Well done, my boy.” King Viserys says to Jace.

Aemond sighs and sits back down, you could feel the anger radiating from him. Your brothers always seem to enjoy getting him riled up. You had to resist the strong urge to place your hand on his. Instead, you offer him a sweet smile and his lips curl up for only a brief moment before his hard exterior was painted on his face again.

Music plays and you all enjoy the beginning of supper, everyone happy and laughing with eachother. You chatted mostly to Aemond who didn’t speak much but seemed content to listen to you. It did not go unnoticed by your brother Jace but he chose to ignore it. The air in the room feels lighter as all of the tension fades away. After a short time, King Viserys is brought back to bed due to his pain flaring up.

The music continues and more food is brought to the table. You watch as a roast pig is placed directly in front of Aemond, your eyes shoot to your brother Luke who is already smirking and chuckling at Aemond. Before you even have a second to think, Aemond’s fist slams onto the table and startles you.

“Final tribute.” Aemond says as he stands holding up his cup, the music stopping and the tension suddenly filing the air again. “To the health of my nephews… Jace… Luke… and Joffrey.”

He looks to your stepbrothers who are glaring at him in return.

“Each of them handsome, wise…” Aemond pauses.

You try to meet his eyes with your desperate pleading ones, knowing exactly what he was about to say.

“…Strong.” Aemond states.

“Aemond-“ Alicent tries.

“Come!” Aemond talks over her. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jacaerys challenges.

“Why? Twas only a compliment.” Aemond walks up to Jace. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

It all happens in a flash, Jacaerys throwing his fist at Aemond, Aemond taking the punch to the face with a smirk before shoving Jace to the floor. Aegon starts his own fight with Luke. Now everyone is standing, including yourself, as the guards pull back your brothers.

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” Alicent demands to Aemond.

“I was merely expressing how proud of my family mother.” He says, yanking his arm out of her grasp. “Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

Jacaerys tries to charge at Aemond again before Daemon intervenes and Jace steps back.

“Go to your quarters.” Rhaenyra orders the younger people, including yourself. “All of you go, now.”

You are last to leave as you watch your father and Aemond stare eachother down.

**********

With everything going on no one even notices you leave the group as you rush to Aemond’s chambers. Once you reach his door you knock loudly.

“Leave me be!” You hear Aemond call on the other side of the door.

“Aemond, it’s me. (Y/n).” You call through the door.

You hear nothing but silence for a long moment and get a sinking feeling thinking he is just as mad at you as everyone else. Until the door opens and he slowly peers out from behind it.

“What do you want?” He says dryly, causing a strange ache in your chest.

“I wanted to check you were alright.”

“Why?”

“I- uh, because Aemond… my brothers were horrible and I am so sorry for the way they behave sometimes. They can be so bloody… arrogant.”

You see a faint smile cross his face at that and it brings you a heavy sense of relief.

“Do you want to come in? I don’t think we should discuss such things out here.” He says as he opens the door more for you.

“Sure, yes. You are probably right.” You say nervously as you make your way into his bedroom.

The air feels instantly tense when the door shuts behind you both, suddenly completely alone.

“They have ruined the entire visit.” You vent to Aemond. “I know everyone is looking at you for tonight, because of what you said, but I saw Luke too… They have always loved to antagonize you, and then you get blamed when you react!”

Aemond simply stares at you, feeling truly seen for the first time in his entire life. You were unlike anyone he had ever met, the only person he did not feel as if you saw him as a monster or a burden.

“Yes, well. Your brothers are bastards.” Aemond says with a mix of anger and humour.

“I disagree…” You say with a serious face before smirking. “They are not my brothers.”

Aemond smirks in response when he catches onto what you meant. It was so rare to find someone who agreed with him, who truly understood him. He suddenly realized he did not want to lose you.

“Will you have to return to Dragonstone with them?” Aemond asks.

“I expect I will, yes.” You say sadly.

“Do you want to go?”

“No, certainly not.” Your eyes meet his. “But it never matters what I want.” You advert your gaze to the floor.

“What do you want (y/n)?” He asks as he steps closer to you until he is nearly a breath away.

“It does not matter…” You say in a whisper.

“It matters to me…” He says lowly, glancing to your lips. “What is it that you really want (y/n)?”

“You…” The whisper of the word escapes your lips before you can think, your brain panics for a moment when you realize what you said out loud.

The panic is quickly replaced by surprise when Aemond cups your cheeks and brings your lips to his. You hesitate for a moment, thinking of your family, before your restraint snaps and you throw all caution to the wind and kiss him back passionately. You blindly follow along in the dance your tongues begin to do before you pull away briefly.

“I want you, Aemond.” You breathe. “All of you.”

“You know your family would not like this…” He whispers as his lips move down to your neck.

“I do not care.” You moan.

“This would ruin you for any man to come.” He mumbles as he continues kissing and nipping along your neck, his other hand coming up to grasp your breast. The feeling sending sparks throughout your body.

“Good.” You breathe. “I do not want anyone else, Aemond. Only you.”

“Good.” He says, pulling back to gaze into your eyes. “Because I do not wish to ever share you with anyone else. I do not care of our family rivalry… you are mine now.”

You simply nod eagerly and bring your lips back to his. You both make your way towards Aemond’s bed, lips never parting.

“Are you sure this is what you want, (y/n)?” He asks in a breathy voice as his fingers play with the strings on the back your dress.

“I am certain you are what I want, Aemond.” You say to him with heat in your eyes.

A small smirk forms on his lips as you turn around and he finishes pulling the laces of your gown. After a few moments the dress falls to the floor, leaving you in your thin shift. You turn back to face him and begin removing his shirt, eyes staying intensely connected to his as you do. His shirt falls to the floor and your eyes greedily take in his perfectly toned chest.

He helps as you pull your shift over your head, leaving you completely bare before him. Aemond quietly gulps as he takes in your naked form. He had seen naked women before at the brothel his brother had dragged him to, but you were something else entirely. A heavenly sight that the gods guarded from the world, a sight he had been blessed enough to see.

You reach to pull at the laces of his pants and he helps quickly get them off as they join the pile of discarded clothes. You reach to Aemond’s eye patch, he flinches hesitantly, causing you to abruptly stop. He gently grabs your wrist to lift your hand again, encouraging you. You reach up and slowly pull off his eye patch, revealing a beautiful blue sapphire. You lightly brush your thumb along his scar and he lets out a heavy breath. You both stand there for a moment, drinking in the sight of eachother in all your glory. You look down taking in the sight of his length and worry about how that would possibly fit inside you. Aemond moves towards you slowly, this time bringing your lips to his for a gentle, slow kiss. So many feelings spoken in this short kiss.

“Shall we get into bed then?” You say lowly.

He nods with a smirk as you both crawl into bed, Aemond hovering overtop of you as your lips connect once again, his hardness pressing against your stomach and your breasts pressed tightly against his chest. He takes his time kissing you like this before he kisses along your jaw, down your neck, moving lower until his mouth finds your nipple and sucks hard, causing you to gasp.

Aemond would have loved to continue his journey lower and provide you with even more pleasure, but he knew he was pressed for time because any moment your family could come searching for you to leave, they were likely looking for you right now. Besides, his patience began to run thin when you reach down and wrap your soft fingers around his aching member. The groan that escapes him sends a jolt right to your core.

He lines himself up to your entrance and his eye meets yours for permission. You nod quickly and he pushes into you slowly, both your mouths dropping open and panting at the feeling. Aemond stops when he feels the barrier. You try and control your heavy breathing.

“This is going to hurt for a moment.” He whispers and you nod again.

He pushes through your maidenhead and you cry out in pain, your fingers digging hard into his strong biceps. Aemond stills inside you and kisses you hungrily, the feeling of you squeezing tightly around him made his head completely spin. You whimper into his mouth as he slowly slides out of you before pushing back in. The pain slowly begins to fade as he tries to keep you distracted with his lips.

“More, Aemond… please…” You breathe after a few moments, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer.

Aemond does not hesitate to quicken his speed, causing you to throw your head back as moans poured from your mouth. Neither of you cared if someone heard even knowing you would be in deep trouble. You almost hoped to be caught so you would have to be bound to each other.

Every sweet sound he dragged from you quickly pushes Aemond closer to the edge. He reaches down to rub on your pleasure point, hoping to push you over the edge before he loses control.

“Oh gods! Aemond!” You cry out as you come undone around him.

Intense shocks of pleasure shoot through your entire body and you see stars. Aemond watches the beautiful sight below him as you ride out your orgasm. He thrusts into you hard as his own peak crashes into him, groaning out in pleasure as he comes deep inside of you.

He remains inside you for a minute as you both pant, trying to catch your breath and your thoughts. He smiles and kisses your cheek before rolling off of you. You cuddle up to him and he hugs you tighter. You let out a content sigh before your smile turns into a frown, reality coming back to you.

“I do not wish to leave… to leave you…” You say quietly.

“I do not wish for you to leave either… so don’t.” Aemond says as you turn your head to meet his gaze.

You sigh and lay your head back on his chest, soaking up every minute you have with him.

**********

“What on earth are you talking about?” Daemon demands.

“I just do not understand why I have to leave too. We have only just arrived. I also was not even remotely involved in the fight at dinner, and Rhaenyra will be returning here anyway.” You try to reason with your father.

“What reason could you possibly have to want to remain here alone?” He asks.

“I- I suppose I do not have one…”

You could not tell your father the true reason you wanted to stay, he surely would drag you away if he knew. No other excuses come to mind.

“Good. You will leave tonight with all of us.” He says firmly.

**********

The ship ride back to Dragonstone was absolutely nauseating. You had never been so sea sick, throwing up every morning. The anxiety of leaving Aemond without being able to say goodbye just made you feel even worse. You had no idea how he was feeling, if he was upset, angry, or hardly cared at all. You prayed that some day you would have a chance to return to King’s Landing, to return to Aemond.

**********

So much had happened since your return to Dragonstone. King Viserys had died the same night of your departure and the throne usurped by Aegon. Your morning sea sickness did not go away and the most random smells would make you sick. Certain foods made you throw up just from the scent, while others smelt like heaven, even some of your favourite flowers had you reeling with nausea. The maester eventually confirmed your greatest fear… you were with child. Thank the gods for the maester’s discretion.

It was utterly impossible to tell your family the news with every horrible thing that was happening. The worst of it all… the death of your stepbrother Luke at the hands of none other than Aemond Targaryen, the father of your child. You knew there had to be more to the story, but your family in Dragonstone obviously found the greens completely unforgivable now. You truly did feel heartbroken for Rhaenyra, it also made you feel more protective of your own child growing inside your belly. But your dream to reunite with Aemond seemed to fade farther and farther out of your reach.

You had your dresses fitted looser as your belly began to swell, blaming it on over eating, which you were doing a lot of anyway as you now dealt with an appetite for two. You were not sure how much longer you could hide this, but each time you attempt to tell your father you cannot get the words out. The more chaos that ensued and the more your father cursed the greens and the harder it became to admit.

**********

Your father and stepmother had called for you and you quickly made your way to them. Your heart was racing and palms sweating as you join them.

“You wished to see me, father?” You say once you enter the room.

“Yes, (y/n). I have great news.” Daemon says. “We have found you a worthy husband.”

“W-what?” Your jaw drops, you were not expecting this at all.

“You are to marry Cregan Stark. The Starks have already pledged their fealty but this is the best way to solidify that relationship.” Your father explains.

“Father… I cannot marry Cregan Stark…” You say.

Daemon scoffs at you.

“You can, and you will. It is not up for discussion.” He says firmly.

“There is something I must tell you both…” You say quietly, worried.

You were officially out of time, you had to tell them and you had to do it now. Daemon and Rhaenyra give you their full attention as you refuse to meet their eyes.

“I am with child.” You state quietly, your fists clenched at your sides in nervousness.

“That’s not possible.” Your father scoffs with a chuckle, as if trying to convince himself.

“The maester has already confirmed it…” You continue to speak quietly. “I am quite far along…”

“Who is the father?” Rhaenyra asks.

You meet her gaze but remain silent.

“Dammit young lady! Who on earth did you sleep with?” Daemon yells at you, making you jump.

He stomps towards you and grabs you by the throat briefly before letting go. Although it was only for a second you stumble backward with your hand on your sore throat as your eyes meet his in fear.

“If you are already this angry… I am far too afraid to tell you who the father is.” You say with a shaky voice, holding back tears.

“We are not going to harm him, child.” Rhaenyra reassures you but your father rolls his eyes as if to disagree.

“That is not my greatest concern… My concern is more to do with who it is...”

“Who in seven hells is it?!” Your father snaps and steps towards you again, you step back as he does until your back hits the wall.

“He…” You try to get the words out, your father stops and they both stare at you impatiently. “The father is… Aemond Targaryen.”

You feel as if you are going to puke or possibly faint as you watch the absolute horror spread across their faces.

“I’m sorry…” Your father chuckles in disbelief. “I must have misheard you. Did you say… Aemond fucking Targaryen?”

You look to your feet and nod.

“You’re fucking with me… Please tell me you are fucking with me.” Daemon says, your silence in response answers his question.

Rhaenyra is still standing there speechless in shock.

“This was before…” You look directly to Rhaenyra. “…everything.” Your eyes shift back to your feet.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” Daemon says angrily, rubbing his temples in frustration. “What in seven hells are we supposed to do now?!”

“I… I do not know…” You say in nearly a whisper. “I am truly sorry father… it just… happened.”

“Have you even asked the maester if your condition is treatable at this stage?” Daemon asks.

“Treatable? What do you mean?”

“Is there no way they can rid you of that thing?”

“Is that really what you are considering be done, father?” You scoff in offence.

“Dear daughter, I am considering throwing you down a flight of stairs or stabbing you in the stomach to rid you of that thing if necessary.” He snarls.

Even Rhaenyra shoots him daggers at that statement, having recently lost their own babe during childbirth.

“Stop calling it that! It is a child, my child, and I will not let you harm me nor my baby.”

“I refuse to let you birth the spawn of that monster. Go to your chambers while I go speak to the maesters about what can be done.”

“Father-“

“I said get out of my sight!” His voice booms, causing the room to go still.

You stare at him as if you were to say something else but then turn to run out of the room crying. As soon as you reach your chambers you slam the door and lock it. You desperately reach for your chamber pot before vomiting into it. After, you try and steady your heavy panting as you think of what to do.

Your mind races as you stand up and throw a travel bag onto your bed before quickly packing your things, whatever you could fit. The hour was already late, you thought, so there was no need to wait until nightfall to escape. Surely you could sneak off to the stables unnoticed and flee on your horse, find a ship somewhere on Dragonstone before you were caught. You take a deep breath and look around your bedroom, the life you would be leaving behind, the family. But screw them! You have never felt a true part of either of your father’s families. You rubbed your stomach tenderly, thinking about the future of a true family, your family. With that in mind you throw open your bedroom door only to stop suddenly as you see your father standing on the other side. He looks to the bag in your hand.

“Going somewhere, daughter?” He asks slyly.

“I- I cannot stay here…” Your voice trembles.

“I forbid you to leave this castle until we have decided what to do with you.” He says sternly. “You will not leave your room, we will have breakfast brought to you in the morning.”

Before you can argue he slams the door in your face and locks you inside. You shake and pound at the door. Beating your fists on it as hard as you can.

“You cannot do this to me! Please father! Please!” You cry and beg from the other side.

You fall to the ground staring at your trembling red hands, aching from banging on the door. Anger boils within you until you are back on your feet throwing things around the room, the sound of screaming and breaking glass echoing into the hallways. Eventually you tire yourself out and collapse onto your bed, crying yourself to sleep.

**********

The next morning you hear a knock at the door.

“Come!” You call.

One of your chamber maids opens the door with a tray of breakfast food.

“Good morrow, princess.” She says politely, concern crossing her face as she notices the state of the room. “Shall I send in someone to clean?”

You shake your head before peering behind her and seeing no one else around.

“I need something else from you.” You say quietly to her.

“Of course, princess. What can I do for you?” She says.

“I need you to deliver a note to my guardsman. You know the one I speak of, he is the only one I can trust.” You say as you move to grab parchment and ink, throwing them down on the small dining table which your breakfast now sat.

“I- Forgive me, princess. I do not think can… Your father-“ She says timidly.

“Please! Please, I am with child and I do not know what he is going to do to me. He is trying to kill my baby, he may even kill me to do so if he must. Please, I am begging you.” You grab her hands as you plead with tears in your eyes.

She peers behind her shoulder to the hallway before looking back to you and nodding, making you sigh in relief. You had no idea if you could fully trust her, for all you know she will take this note straight to your father, but you had no other option right now.

“But quickly, princess.” She whispers, continuing to peak into the hallway for anyone coming this way.

You quickly scribble a letter to your only fully trusted person in this land. The only guardsman that had followed you from Runestone to each place you moved. He was loyal to your mother and you knew he always had distaste for your father. It was still extremely risky but he was your one chance at getting out of here. You hand her the folded up letter which she tucks into her dress and you whisper endless thank yous.

“Princess.” She says with a curtsy before departing.

All you could do now was wait…

**********

There is another knock at your door not long after the maid leaves. You open it eagerly and are surprised to see your stepbrother Jacaerys standing on the other side.

“What do you want?” You ask.

“I wanted to know if it was true…” He says flatly.

“That depends on what my father has told you… That I am a deceitful traitor? That I am a whore? That I am growing a demon spawn inside me?” Your say as your blood begins to boil.

“He said you were with child. With Aemond’s child.” He says, pure anger in his tone. “So same thing really…” He shrugs.

“Fuck you, Jacaerys.” You snap.

You are nearly as shocked as he is at the bold statement, but you had no care left in the world about how your family thought of you now. They have already decided in their minds to hate you for being with the child of their greatest enemy. Nevermind the fact that the act of it happened before all of that. If things had not turned out in the horribly tragic ways they did, and the whole of the royal family had remained civil with eachother, you knew your family would still have been displeased but they would have ultimately accepted your bond to Aemond.

“Wow, (y/n)… I knew there was something between you two when we visited King’s Landing. But I thought after everything he has done, everything the rest of them have done to our family…” His voice raises. “I have no more words for what you have done…” He says in almost a whisper, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Well, if you have no more words then I bid you a good day, brother.” You say sharply before closing the door in his face.

You feel like you could spit fire with how angry and hurt you were. You wish Jace’s words did not phase you but they pierced into you like daggers.

**********

Your lunch and supper had been brought to your chambers. You could not help but worry when you saw it was a different maid than this morning. You prayed to the gods nothing happened to the other one due to your actions.

It was the hour of the owl when someone knocked at your door again. Despite the late hour you were wide awake, unable to sleep at all. You cautiously open the door and nearly cry of relief when you see your guardsman standing outside the door.

“We must hurry, princess.” He whispers to you. “Pack what belongings you need.”

You throw on your cloak before grabbing the travel bag you previously packed and threw it over your shoulder before giving him a nod. He holds his hand out to you and you grab it as he leads you out of your chambers and through the dark hallways. He was careful to avoid other guards, occasionally ducking you both behind another wall as one passed by. He leads you down another hallway you had never seen, leading you right out of the castle through a hidden door.

“This way princess.” The guard says.

You follow him to the shore where there lies a small boat. You give him a questioning look, there was no way you could make it all the way to Kings Landing in that.

“There is a ship waiting for us princess with a handful of men I trust. It had to remain out of sight.” He explains.

You nod and get into the boat before he paddles away into the darkness. The small light of Dragonstone begins to fade into the distance just before the dim lighting of a small ship comes into view. He assists you up the rope ladder and onto the ship. You could see no more than five other men on the ship along with your guardsman. They quickly begin working the sails and get the ship moving.

“I cannot thank you enough, Ser. You have truly saved our lives.” You say to the guard as you rub your stomach.

“I was sworn to protect you and your mother. I may have failed your mother but I will not fail you, princess.” He says.

You give him a sympathetic smile of gratitude before looking out into the dark waters of the sea. Thinking of all that is yet to come.

**********

A few days later, you watch as King’s Landing comes into view. Your heart begins to race and your stomach twists into knots. You were the daughter of their enemies, you had no idea how they would react to your arrival. If they would even listen to what you have to say.

You arrive to the gates with your guardsman, the rest of the crew having begun to sail the ship back.

“Who goes there?” A kingsguard asks.

“Princess (y/n) Targaryen. We are here as allies and bring important news.” Your guard speaks for you.

The kingsguard is silent for a moment, contemplating. Your heart pounds in your chest with worry they will simply refuse you and you will have nowhere else to go.

“Very well.” They open the gate and lead you in.

“The king is available to see you right now.” The kingsguard says.

“Oh. I was actually hoping to speak with Prince Aemond first.” You say timidly.

“The prince is with the king, you may see them both now.” He explains.

You nod and take a deep shakey breath before slightly lifting your dress to walk up the stairs. You are led into throne room, following behind the kingsguard and your guardsman.

Your eyes find Aemond first, standing diligently next to his mother. His eye meet yours instantly quickly flickering to your large stomach and you see his eye widen as the rest of his face remains expressionless. You take another deep breath as you continue walking, focusing hard on putting one foot in front of the other until you reach where Aegon sat on the iron throne.

“Princess (y/n)! To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit? Has your traitor family finally decided to bend the knee?” Aegon speaks to you arrogantly.

“No, your grace. I am not here on their behalf, I am here on mine. They had no knowledge of my travels here… I would bend the knee to you now if I were able, my king.” You say, rubbing your stomach. “I am with child…”

Your gaze darts to Aemond for a short second who has not taken his eye off you since you entered the room.

“I can see that.” Aegon chuckles. “I am glad to hear you are pledging your fealty to me, but I do not understand what your being with child has to do with me?”

“It… It does not have to do with you, your grace.”

You look to Aemond again, this time Aegon follows your gaze.

“Well then!” Aegon laughs loudly. “It seems my brother had been very busy during your last visit to King’s Landing.”

Yours and Aemond’s silence was answer and confirmation enough. Alicent stands beside Aemond in a silent shock as she stares at your round stomach.

“You must be exhausted. My guards will escort you to your chambers.” Aegon says. “We shall see you at supper. I believe you two have much to discuss.” He grins, looking to Aemond who glares back at him.

“Thank you, your grace.” You give a small curtsy, unable to bend too low.

You and Aemond watch eachother as you are led out of the room and to your new chambers, your own guardsman following until you are left alone in the room. As soon as the door is shut tears quickly fall from your face, Aemond looked so angry. What if this entire thing was a huge mistake? You had not fully considered Aemond may not even want to have anything to do with you or this child. Who knows what they might do with you now, what if it’s worse than what your father would have done?

You don’t have long to dwell on the thoughts swirling in your mind before there is a firm knock at the door. You quickly wipe your tears from your face.

“Come!” You call.

The door opens and your heart stops when you see Aemond enter, closing the door behind him.

“Aemond!” You say in surprise.

“Is it my child?” He asks forwardly.

“I- yes… I am so sorry…” Your voice breaks as you fight back tears and look to the floor.

“Sorry?” He says softly as he steps closer to you and gently lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “You have no reason to be sorry, (y/n).”

“But I thought…” You start to say.

“If anything, I am sorry this happened without my being there afterward, without being there to protect you.”

“You could not have known…” You say in a whisper.

“Well, I know now.” He says as he takes both of your hands in his. “I will care for you both, you have my word.”

You smile up at him and the tears you held back fall down your face, Aemond takes his thumb and wipes some away.

“I am bound to you, all of me.” He says intensely, as he cups your cheek and stares into your eyes.

“But… are you not only bound to me because I happen to be with child?” You frown.

“I have been bound to you the moment our lips first touched, (y/n).” He gives you the warmest smile you have ever seen on him.

With that said, he touches his lips to yours in a soft tender kiss. The kiss ever so slowly builds and builds until you’re a whimpering mess and chasing eachothers tongues. Aemond pulls away to look at you, pure fire behind his eyes.

“Does being with child stop you from wanting… from being able to…” Aemond couldn’t get the words out but you knew what he was referring to.

“No, no, not at all.” You say with a smile. “Quite the opposite actually…”

Aemond gives you a questioning look.

“If anything, I need you even more now.” You explain before pressing your lips back to his.

He begins pulling the strings of your dress as the kiss continues. You reach your hands in between you and remove his shirt before pulling at the ties of his trousers. Once your dress falls to the ground you feel instantly self conscious, your body having changed a considerable amount since he last saw you. But the way Aemond looks at you was like a wild animal about to pounce on its prey. The sight of your naked body, swollen his child, was the most heavenly sight he could ever see.

You get into bed, kissing in between every movement, like your lips could not stand to be apart for longer than a few seconds. Aemond’s lips soon move to your neck before kissing his way down your chest. His warm mouth wraps around your nipple before sucking hard, causing you to gasp, your nipples being even more sensitive from the pregnancy. He kisses all over your stomach lovingly as one hand rubs across it gently. He looks up and smiles at you as you smile back at him, pure happiness on his face.

“I have been dreaming about this…” He says lowly before licking a strip up your core.

You whimper and squirm as his tongue teases you with gentle licks before he wraps his strong arms around your legs to hold you still as he begins to eat you out ravenously. Your hand shoots to your mouth to cover the loud moans pouring from you as your other hand finds its way down to his head and your fingers bury into his silky white hair. You tug his hair lightly as you’re overcome with pleasure and he groans in response, the feeling of it against your core bringing you closer to the edge.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire as he works you with his tongue, the intensity only increasing as he slips two of his long slender fingers inside you. It’s not long after that until you come undone, clenching around his fingers and bucking against his face as you cry out. Aemond doesn’t relent until your legs are shaking and you’re pulling away from the overstimulation.

He moves back up the bed, wiping his face, and you pull him into a hungry kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“I need you inside me right now.” You beg, the need for him only increased by your release.

He practically growls at your words as he pulls his loose pants fully off and tosses them to the ground. He wastes no time plunging himself into you, causing you both to moan out in tandem. You bask in the full feeling of him inside you again, you felt so empty without him all these months and now you were finally reconnected.

The angle is awkward due to your protruding belly in between you, your eyes meet as unspoken thoughts pass through you. Without a word you reposition so Aemond is laying on the bed and you’re climbing on top of him. After straddling him you shove him back inside you, watching as his jaw drops open at the feeling. With your limited mobility Aemond still takes the lead and begins pounding into you from below. You cling to his shoulders to keep yourself upright as your tits bounce in his face with each thrust and your moans now fall shamelessly from your mouth. You don’t see him observing every facial expression and sound you make while you ride him. The sight and feel of you had him barreling towards release.

“My love, I-“ Aemond chokes out. “Fuck, (y/n), I’m going to…”

“Me too.” You pant as your second orgasm creeps up on you, the sound of your name on Aemond lips only increasing it.

“Gods!” Aemond groans out as the last of his restraint snaps and he spills into you.

His release brings you to your own, the feeling of him pulsing inside you has you seeing stars as you moan loudly, no longer caring if someone heard you.

You fall onto the bed beside him, both panting heavily. After a minute Aemond turns to his side to look down at you, your eyes meet his and you both smile warmly at eachother, nothing but love passing between you.

“I love you, (y/n).” Aemond says as he brushes your cheek with his thumb.

“I love you, Aemond.” You say back, your hand gently covering his still on your cheek.

He leans down and places a firm kiss to your lips before pulling back to admire you again.

“So what now?” You ask.

“Now?” He raises a brow before smiling again. “Now, we marry. Have our child, and live happily ever after.”

“I like the sound of that.” You smile.

**********

The wedding was very small and private, only the main royal family of King’s Landing in attendance. You would have loved to have a large wedding and a grand feast but with your, condition, it had to remain quiet to the people. You still enjoyed every minute of the day, saying your vows with the love of your life and enjoying a lovely dinner with music.

Every minute spent in your wedding chamber was also well enjoyed. You had obviously already consummated the marriage but you could not keep your hands off eachother. The night was passionate and intense.

“I want to taste you husband…” You say lowly.

“Who am I to deny you, little wife.” He smirks.

‘Little wife’, gods, the need for Aemond quickly pooled between your legs at the sound of that.

He leads you over to sit at the edge of the bed and stands in between your thighs. Seeing the way you stare up at him, your face only inches away from where he needed you most, it made his aching member press harder against his trousers.

“Take it out, little wife.” He says.

That name lit a fire inside you. You pull at the laces of his trousers and Aemond hisses when your soft hand wraps around his hardness to pull it out. Your eyes meet his and he watches you with heavy eyes as you begin slow sensual licks around his tip, he shudders when your tongue brushes over the hole. Just as Aemond is about to beg you for more, you shove him as far as you can into your mouth and he groans loudly. You continue to work him with your hands and mouth, testing and finding out what he likes.

“Fuck, I’m-“ Aemond barely chokes out the words before he’s spilling into your mouth with another loud groan.

After that Aemond took his sweet time with you. Kissing, licking, stroking, and worshipping every single inch of your body. You moaned as your hands buried into his hair, his face between your legs eating you like a man starved. One of his hands reaching up, interlocking with yours as he uses his other hand to slide his slender fingers inside you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, little wife.” Those words had you instantly soaking his face and moaning so loud you knew that the guards in the hallway were likely feeling awkward, but you could not care less.

You lost count of the amount of orgasms he coaxed from you that night. If you were not already with child, you definitely would have been after your eventful wedding night. You both felt like you could never get enough of this intimacy, this love.

The months following were extremely stressful, with the inevitable war being planned out, and Aemond being highly involved. He did his best to give you as much of his time as possible. The smile on Aemond’s face when he first felt the baby kick, was the happiest you have ever seen him. He also made sure you were well taken care of by the maids and maesters throughout the entire pregnancy.

**********

Aemond returns to bed well past the hour of the owl after a long dreadful meeting with the small council. To his surprise you were wide awake reading a book in bed with a candle lit beside you. You smile warmly when you notice him.

“What are you doing awake, little wife?”

“Sleep has been difficult lately.” You say as you rub your round belly. “The babe is going to come any day now.”

The tension releases from Aemond, thinking how grateful and lucky he was to have such a beautiful wife and a child on the way.

“What are you doing up so late, husband?” You ask.

Some of the tension returns to him as he sits down on the bed beside you with a heavy sigh.

“The small council meeting dragged on and on… my brother’s ignorance is going to lose us this war.” He sighed in annoyance.

“You should be king.” You say, a hand coming to rest on top of his.

“What?” He agreed with you of course, but it was a bold statement coming from someone else.

“You should be king, my love.” You look deeply into his eye. “Tis you who studies history and philosophy, it is you who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world, it is you who should be king.”

His heart raced at your words, his deepest darkest thoughts he would never say aloud you were saying directly to him. He leans in and places a firm kiss to your lips to show his agreement.

“You are so perfect.” He says to you in a whisper, the words making your heart swell.

He kisses you again, this time with more intent, his tongue dancing against yours. His eye meets yours for permission to continue and you nod, biting your lip. He continues kissing you as you pull up the skirts of your night dress and he undoes his trousers and throws them to the floor. He lays behind you, reaching his arm around to lightly rub your stomach as he kisses down your arm. You both sigh in pleasure as he so very slowly enters you. The sex is slow, intentional, gentle, loving. Savouring every little moment and feeling of one another.

“Stop stop, something is wrong.” You suddenly say as a strange feeling passes through your body.

Aemond immediately stops and pulls away from you and you noticed the bed sheets are soaked.

“I think my water just broke…” You look to him.

Your panicked faces quickly turn excited and he quickly throws his pants back on before calling on the maester and servants. The babe was finally coming!

**********

Aemond paced back and forth outside the birthing chamber for hours, freezing in horror every time he heard a painful scream or cry coming from inside. You had been in there for so long, and none of it sounded good. He knew childbirth was hard and there would be a lot of pain, and he did not know how a normal birth is supposed to sound, or how long it’s supposed to take… but when Alicent came to checkup on him he could see the extreme worry on her face when he told her you were still in there and they both heard another scream of pain from the other side of the door.

More time passes, far too much time, before the chamber door finally opens and the maester came outside, shutting the door behind him.

“Well?” Aemond demands.

“My prince… I am afraid the babe refuses to come.” He explains hesitantly. “We are left now with the difficult choice to attempt saving the child… but at the cost of the mother’s life.” He explains.

Aemond freezes, his heart suddenly racing and palms sweating, his worst fear being brought to life right before him.

“Absolutely not.” He says, his voice shakey. “There must be another way.”

“I’m afraid if she cannot birth the babe naturally… there are no other options, my prince. Otherwise we may very well lose them both”

“Let me see her.” Aemond demands.

“Of course, my prince.” The maester timidly agrees and leads Aemond into the room.

Aemond enters the room to see you on the birthing bed which was drenched in blood, your face covered in sweat and exhaustion. He felt a wave of terror wash over his body at the sight. A grateful smile crosses your tired face when you see your husband.

“My love…” You sigh with a soft smile.

“Everyone out.” Aemond demands the room full of midwives and the maester.

“But my prince…” The maester says, hesitant about leaving you at this stage of the birth.

“I need a moment alone with my wife, I will call you all back in a minute. Wait outside. Now.” Aemond demands, leaving no room for argument.

The maester bows his head and everyone scrambles out of the room. The second the door shuts Aemond is on you, grabbing onto your hand as his other brushes the damp hair from your forehead.

“My love…” He looks at you with pure sadness and worry in his eyes.

“What did the maester tell you?” You mumble, barely having the strength to speak.

“They said if the babe will not come they will have to…” He tries to explain, voice trembling.

“Please... Please, do not let them cut me open. I am not ready to die Aemond…” You pant the words in a panic, tears falling down your face.

“No, you will not die my love. You cannot die…” He says, kissing your forehead and hugging you close as he fights off his own tears. “But in order to live, to remain here with me, to remain here with our child…” Aemond takes your face in his hands. “You have to push.”

“I can’t…” You burst into tears. “I have tried Aemond I really am trying. I can’t… I can’t…”

“Yes you can.” He says reassuringly as he still holds your face. “I am here now, I am not going anywhere. You can do this, (y/n). You must…” His voice breaks at the last words and a tear falls down his face.

You sniffle and nod your head in agreement.

“Alright, come!” Aemond calls to the door.

The maester and midwives quickly file back into the room, finding their positions again. The maester looks to Aemond for an answer to his earlier suggestion.

“We are going to try pushing once more.” Aemond states.

The maester looks concerned and hesitant in the idea, but does not try to argue any further with Aemond. With your husband by your side, your hand in his, you attempt on pushing again. You scream in pain as you push and push and push, the babe refusing to move an inch.

“I can’t do it… I can’t do it…” You sob.

“You must…” Aemond whispers the gentle reminder in your ear. “Please…”

You must do it, you must live... Aemond could not even consider what he would do if you did not.

You begin to push again, putting every ounce of strength you have into it, you scream as your body feels like it’s being torn open, squeezing Aemond’s hand so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if you broke the bones. You take one quick breath before continuing to push and push, fighting through the blinding pain. Finally, you feel a huge wave of relief wash over your body and the sound of crying assures you that it’s all over. Your heavy eyes refuse to open and your body begins to feel even weaker.

“What is happening?” You hear Aemond ask in a panic.

“She has lost far too much blood.” The maester responds.

That is the last thing you hear before you completely lose consciousness. You don’t see or hear them basically shoving Aemond out of the room despite his protests, or the tears in his terrified eyes as he stares at your limp body laying still in the bed.

**********

When you come to, you are still laying in bed but the sheets are now clean and your night dress had been changed. You see Aemond standing on the other side of the room, facing the window.

“Aemond?” You call out weakly.

His head quickly shoots to your direction before he walks over, holding a bundle in his arms.

“My love, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.” You give a soft weak smile. “Is this our child?”

“Our son.” Aemond smiles widely, a genuine rare purely happy smile.

“Our son…” You repeat lovingly as he places the babe in your arms.

You look at your beautiful baby boy and your heart soars, even more so when you glance back to your husband who’s now sitting beside you on the bed. Your heart felt so full in this moment. Everything you had been through to get to this very moment, was all worth it.

**********

masterlist

taglist

[roselynviee]

[roselynviee]

Zayne

Sylus

Caleb