strawberryys-stuff

[strawberryys-stuff]

VENGEANCE | OP81

Oscar Piastri x reader

summary: You swore to avenge your father, no matter the cost. Along the way, someone began leaving clues—each marked with the same initials: OP. You don’t know who they are, only that they’re leading you closer to the one who pulled the trigger

contains: violence, detailed descriptions of death, blood, heavily inspired by The Last of Us

The floorboards creaked under your boots as you stepped into the remains of what used to be a shipping warehouse — now nothing more than rusted beams, cracked cement, and shadows that refused to move even when the wind howled through the broken rafters. Rain pattered down from the holes in the roof, cold and constant, soaking through your threadbare jacket and plastering your hair to your forehead.

You were standing over a corpse with your blade slick with blood and hands trembling—not from fear, but from the adrenaline that hasn’t left you in weeks. Their pleas for mercy hung heavy in the air, long after they took their last breath under your sharp, unforgiving, gaze. You had pleaded too. You had sobbed in front of them when their leader, Abby, had your father at gunpoint. You were an innocent child, a fifteen-year-old, who was forced to watch a bullet pierce his skull.

Your father was a master of survival, hardened by a world that left no room for mercy. He did whatever it took to keep you safe—even if it meant crossing lines others wouldn’t dare approach. His choices weren’t always clean, and more than once, they left ripples in the lives of those around him. And Abby was one of them.

She had been just a face in the crowd once—a soldier, a follower, someone with orders. But your father’s actions had touched her life in a way that festered, a wound she couldn’t let scab over. He had made a decision that saved you and cost her everything. And when she stood over him, gun shaking in her grip, it wasn’t war or infection that brought him down. It was vengeance.

You still saw the way she looked at him—not with rage, but with something colder. Purpose. The same purpose you now carried in your bones like marrow.

You remembered your father’s last breath, the way his blood soaked the floor as you screamed and fought and begged. You remembered the stillness that followed, like the world itself had stopped spinning. And then Abby turned and left, her boots echoing in the silence, leaving you broken but alive. Maybe that was her final cruelty—letting you live with it.

But she made a mistake.

Because your father taught you everything he knew. How to track, how to survive, how to stay alive when the world wanted you dead. And now, with that same fire in your veins, you moved through what was left of the world like a shadow sharpened into a blade. You were going to find her.

You were going to find all of them.

You knelt beside the corpse and pried a folded map from its vest pocket. Circled in red ink was a town five miles east. Just beneath it, scrawled faintly:

"She’s heading here next. For supplies. —OP."

You folded the map slowly. It didn’t occur to you to question why OP was helping you. Not yet. All you felt was heat. Raw, seething heat under your skin, in your ribs, pulsing behind your eyes. Abby’s face lived in your memory like rot—sharp, furious, victorious. You saw her every time you blinked.

The journey took two days on foot. You slept in a barn the first night, curled under a moth-eaten coat that still smelled faintly of horses. Rain pounded the roof until dawn, leaking through the boards and into your hair. You didn’t dream. You hadn’t in a long time.

By the time you reached the outskirts of the town, your boots were soaked and your fingers numb. It was quiet—too quiet—and that only sharpened your senses. The main street had been hastily barricaded, trash bins turned over and a burned-out car pushed into the middle of the road like a warning. You stepped around it, careful not to disturb the stillness.

And then you found the second sign.

On the cracked window of an old pharmacy, someone had drawn a circle with ash. Inside, two crossed lines. The symbol OP used when a building was safe—or, more often, watched. You ducked inside, blade already drawn.

There were more of them here—Abby’s people. Some older, one barely out of her teens. They didn’t recognize you until it was too late. The first went down with a single swipe of your knife. The second screamed before you silenced her. The third... begged.

You remembered her. She had laughed when Abby pulled the trigger.

"Please," she sobbed, crawling backward into the corner, blood dripping from a gash in her leg. "I didn’t want to—she made us—"

You didn’t answer. Your hand was steady as the blade found her throat. The sound she made wasn’t much of anything.

Outside, the wind picked up. You stood still, letting it whip through your hair and wash the blood from your face like baptism.

You headed north.

The road narrowed into wilderness. Asphalt broke apart under your boots, giving way to weeds and roots and silence. The trees had a way of swallowing sound here. Even your breath felt muffled. Birds didn’t sing anymore. Nature had learned to stay quiet, too.

You moved fast during the day and barely slept at night. Each hour stretched long and taut, held together only by rage and the thought of her face. You’d replayed that day a thousand times: the sound of the gunshot, the warmth of your father’s blood on your face, the way Abby didn’t even look at you after pulling the trigger.

Like you were nothing.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until your cheeks felt cold.

Two nights later, you found one of them.

He was alone, limping, holding his side like something inside had torn loose. He had a hunting knife but didn’t use it. Maybe he saw your eyes and knew there was no point.

He recognized you.

"Shit... it’s you," he whispered.

You didn’t speak. He tried anyway, eyes wide with panic.

"Please. Please. I didn’t shoot. I—I just watched—"

"Exactly," you muttered.

And then he stopped talking.

His blood soaked into the earth, mixing with the moss. You stayed there a while, staring at his body, your fingers still curled around the handle of your blade. His backpack had a map. You took it, tracing the faded ink with shaking fingers.

Next stop: an old ski lodge in the mountains. Remote. Hard to access. Perfect for regrouping.

You folded it and tucked it into your jacket. The cold wind hit your face as you stepped out of the trees again, but you barely noticed it. You couldn’t stop now. You wouldn’t.

She was close.

And you had promised yourself—sworn it, in blood and fire and memory—that you would erase every single one of them.

Even if it killed you.

The mountains looked like the spine of some old god, jagged and dusted with snow. You weren’t dressed for the cold, not really, but you barely noticed it anymore. The wind bit through the seams of your jacket, and your fingers were numb inside your gloves. Still, your grip on the rifle never loosened.

The trail had grown quieter the higher you climbed. No infected. No birds. Just wind and the sound of your boots crunching over ice. And then—finally—tracks.

Boot prints. Not fresh, maybe two days old, but deep and staggered like someone was dragging a limp leg. You recognized that step. You had seen it in the blood-slick hallway of a burnt-out hospital a week ago. He was still alive then. Maybe still was. You didn’t care. He was one of them.

You followed the trail to a ridge that overlooked a cluster of buildings. There, nestled between snow-covered trees and crumbling ski lifts, was the lodge.

It looked abandoned at first—windows boarded, snow piled against the doors. But the smoke curling up from the metal chimney told a different story. You dropped to your stomach in the snow and pulled out a pair of binoculars taken off a corpse four towns back. Through the cracked lens, you saw movement—a shadow passing by the second-floor window. Two people talking in low, tense gestures.

Your stomach turned. One of them had broad shoulders, hair outgrown and curling at the ends. You didn’t recognize the face, but the way he moved—defensive, alert—told you everything. Soldiers. Survivors. Killers.

Her people.

You crouched low, moving through the underbrush toward the back of the lodge. Your boots barely left a print on the fresh snow, the world around you muffling the sounds of your approach. You didn’t even glance at the blood stains marking your path from the last town.

You waited until the sun dipped low and the snow turned the color of ash.

That’s when you saw it: scratched into the bark of a pine tree near the back entrance.

OP.

A small arrow below it, pointing right.

Your breath caught. You hadn’t seen his signature in a week—not since the broken bus on the highway. You almost thought he had died.

But you didn’t have time to wonder. The arrow pointed to a break in the lodge’s fencing, half-hidden behind a collapsed snowmobile. You slid through the gap, hugging the wall, counting heartbeats and checking windows.

Inside, the hallways were dark. Someone had killed the power—intentionally. Your boots didn’t make a sound on the old carpeting. Your gun was loaded, safety off, but you didn’t want to fire unless you had to.

You passed a cracked mirror and saw your reflection. You didn’t recognize yourself.

Hair wild. Skin too pale. Lips split. A smear of dried blood on your cheek you hadn’t bothered to clean. Your father would’ve hated this version of you—then again, maybe he would’ve understood.

The silence pressed down on you like a weight. The lodge felt alive with tension, as though it were holding its breath, waiting for the storm to come.

The stairs creaked beneath your boots, narrow and steep, each step vibrating with a tension that had been coiled in your spine for weeks. Your fingers curled tighter around the cold metal of the pistol in your hand—heavy, scratched, and reliable.

At the top of the stairs, you paused. The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft, flickering glow of a fire leaking through the cracks beneath a door at the end. The air smelled like smoke, damp wool, and something older—sweat and blood long since dried into the wood.

The sound of murmurs reached your ears—a low, muffled conversation from the room at the end of the hallway. There were two voices. One low and gruff, the other careful—measured like someone was choosing their words too deliberately.

You crept forward, your movements a blur of practiced stealth. The hallway stretched out before you, the floorboards creaking softly beneath your weight as you neared the door. You pressed yourself against the wall, listening again. Their voices had quieted, but the silence that followed only amplified the thundering pulse in your ears.

You nudged the door open with your shoulder.

Inside, a fireplace flickered weakly, throwing trembling shadows across the room. Two figures stood near the window. One turned sharply at the creak of the floor under your boot.

Recognition stabbed into your gut.

He had been there the day your father died. Not center-stage, not the one holding the gun, but he had watched. You remembered the shape of his face in the firelight, remembered how he didn’t blink when Abby pulled the trigger.

You gripped your gun tighter, your heart hammering in your chest. The pain of what had been taken, what had been stolen from you, surged forward like a beast breaking free of its cage. The rage boiled in your veins, hot and unrelenting.

The other man moved—fast. His hand flew toward a rifle propped against a table.

A gunshot cracked through the lodge like thunder.

You flinched.

The other man jerked violently as the bullet struck him square in the temple. He collapsed, dead before he hit the ground. The rifle clattered from his limp hands.

Your eyes snapped to the shooter. He held the pistol steady for a moment longer before slowly lowering it, the muzzle still faintly smoking.

You raised your own in return, finger tense on the trigger, heart thundering in your ears. "Who are you?"

He licked his lips, jaw tight. "Oscar. Oscar Piastri."

Your heart stilled.

Oscar Piastri.

OP.

The clues. The marks. The scratched initials left beside burned-out campfires and carved into collapsed doorframes. The scavenged maps with circles in red ink. Every single one signed with the same two letters: OP.

A long silence passed. The air felt heavy. Dust floated lazily in the thin strip of light cutting through the window. The lodge was too warm, stifling almost, like the building itself was holding its breath.

"You left the clues," you said slowly. "Why?"

His voice dropped, quieter than the fire. "Because I want her dead too."

You stared at him, gun still trained on his chest, arms aching. Oscar stood in front of you, silent, hands loose at his sides.

"Why should I believe you?" you asked, your voice rough—shaken, but not weak. "You stood there while she murdered him. You did nothing."

His jaw clenched. "I was new. I didn’t know what she was going to do—"

"That’s bullshit," you snapped, taking a step forward, lifting your gun higher. "You saw it. You watched. And now you expect me to believe you're on my side?"

The fire crackled behind him, shadows dancing along the walls. His features flickered between hardness and something else—guilt, maybe. Regret. You couldn’t tell. You didn’t want to tell. You wanted to hate him.

“I didn’t stop her,” he said quietly. "I wanted to. I thought I might. But I was too fucking scared."

You laughed bitterly. "And now you want forgiveness?"

He shook his head. "No. I just want her dead."

The words hung heavy between you.

Your finger hovered near the trigger.

Your breath came in short bursts now—not from fear, but from the tidal wave of memories pressing against your ribs. Your father’s voice. His blood on your hands. The weight of his death carving itself into your spine. And this man—this stranger with a familiar face—standing right in front of you...

You hesitated. The shaking in your hand had crept into your shoulders now, into your chest. You hated how calm he was. You hated that a part of you—deep, buried—wanted to believe him.

The silence hung thick in the air, broken only by the muffled groan of the wind outside and the creaking bones of the old lodge. The corpse between you had stopped bleeding, but the red smear on the floor looked fresh enough to crawl.

You finally lowered your gun.

Oscar turned and knelt by a worn backpack resting beside the broken bed frame.

"I didn’t pack much," he spoke, voice low, like he was afraid the sound might break whatever thin understanding had just formed between you. "Didn’t think I’d still be breathing."

You didn’t answer. Your hands were shaking—still from the adrenaline—and you busied them by checking your own gear. Bullets. Knife. Water flask, half-frozen. The faded photograph of your father, creased and frayed at the corners. You tucked it back into your pocket.

"We can cut through the backwoods. Less patrols that way."

"We?" you repeated, sharpening the edge of the word as you walked over to the corpse, nudged the shoulder with your boot, then crouched to pull off a side holster and extra ammo belt.

"I don’t trust you," you revealed unashamedly, voice sharp and cold.

"I wouldn’t, either."

"But I need her dead."

He nodded once. "So do I."

You stared at him for a long time. And for once, it felt like someone understood your motive—understood the way grief could ferment into obsession.

[strawberryys-stuff]

BACKYARD BARBECUE | LN4

Lando Norris x reader

summary: Lano is your brother's favorite person for certain reasons: he joins in on his adventures and comes over with strawberry-flavored gummy bears. And not only is Lano fond of him, he also adores his big sister

pure fluff. that's it. Lano gets a little baby fever

Your youngest brother was a menace—a whirlwind of energy with eyes that sparked with mischief and wonder. The kind that ran around in mismatched socks, demanded chicken nuggets for breakfast, and somehow always had stickers stuck in his hair.

He had an uncanny ability to turn every room into his personal adventure zone—launching himself from the top of the stairs in a daring leap, only to land in a pile of cushions with a proud, victorious grin on his face no one could resist. Or scribbling masterpieces that looked like a hurricane had hit, yet he would proudly display them as though they had been painted by the hands of a professional.

He had a talent for turning peace into absolute chaos. But for some reason, Lando adored him.

It started small—a quick hello during a FaceTime call, a laugh at the way your brother mispronounced his name.

His vocabulary wasn't perfect yet, but he wore his mispronunciations like badges of honor, proudly calling his favorite dinosaur "Grr-nado" instead of T-Rex, and every superhero was "Spidey-Men".

But most importantly, there was Lano, his closest friend in the world. He would say it with such seriousness, as if his version of the name was the only one that truly mattered, and Lando would never correct him, just ruffle his fuzzy hair with a laugh.

The nickname stuck, much to Lando’s delight—and your suspicion that they were secretly plotting to overthrow your entire household grew. He didn't just tolerate the chaos—he became part of it. Piggyback rides through the hallway, endless rounds of hide and seek, and improvised dance battles in the living room.

The first time Lando came over after years of traveling was memorable. That morning, your brother had launched himself at Lando the second he walked through the door—no hesitation, no shyness, just pure toddler enthusiasm.

Lando caught him mid-leap with a startled laugh, nearly dropping the bag of gifts he had bought. "Mate," he smiled, lifting your brother high into the air, "you've grown! What've they been feeding you—jet fuel?"

Both of them laughed like pirates who had just discovered a hidden treasure chest full of juice boxes and chocolate milk.

You watched them from the hallway, leaning against the doorframe, one foot propped over the other. It was hard not to smile at the way Lando let your brother climb over him like furniture. He was wearing the hoodie you had stolen from him once, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, curls a little messy from the wind outside. He caught your eye, then grinned—bright and easy—and that was it.

Yeah, you were ruined.

The morning of the barbecue started in the kitchen, quiet except for the chopping of vegetables and the soft hum of the radio playing some old indie song from the early 2000s. The window above the sink was cracked open, letting in the scent of fresh grass and distant grill smoke from a neighbor two houses down. A fly buzzed lazily near the fruit bowl and your mom swatted at it halfheartedly with a rolled-up magazine.

You were standing at the counter, slicing cucumbers into neat little coins for the salad, and trying not to roll your eyes as your little brother zipped through the kitchen on a plastic ride-on car that sounded like it was powered by bees and chaos. He crashed gently into your mom’s leg, giggled, then took off again.

Your mom, unfazed, stirred the marinade and cleared her throat. “We’re doing a barbecue tonight. Last-minute thing. Family, a few friends.”

You didn’t look up. “Oh?”

“Thought you could invite Lando,” she added casually, like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb.

You blinked and looked at her. “Why?”

She shrugged, but she had that look in her eyes—the one that said she noticed more than she let on. “Well, he has been around here more than the mailman lately. Figured it would be rude not to invite him.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could speak, your dad strolled into the kitchen in socks and cargo shorts, carrying a half-finished cup of coffee and looking entirely too smug for 10 am.

“Did I just hear someone say Lando?” He looked between you and your mom like he was waiting for someone to confess a crime.

Your mom didn’t even glance at him. “We’re inviting him to the barbecue.”

Your dad squinted. “The same Lando who taught our three-year-old how to call the blender ‘the tornado machine’?"

You snorted. “That’s the one.”

Your dad sipped his coffee. “He’s under strict surveillance."

“I’m pretty sure he’s more scared of you than the race stewards,” you muttered.

“I better be scarier than the stewards.”

Your mom just hummed in amusement and went back to the marinade, while your brother zoomed past again, trailing a ribbon he must’ve found god knows where. The radio changed songs—something slow and nostalgic, the kind of tune that made everything feel like a memory even as it was happening.

You texted Lando before you could overthink it.

you busy later? we’re doing a barbecue bring yourself. maybe snacks. or a fire extinguisher idk

He answered five minutes later:

on my way are you the fire or the thing that needs extinguishing?

You didn’t reply. But your cheeks warmed all the same.

The backyard buzzed with the soft hum of conversation and the crackle of the grill, the air thick with the smell of sizzling meat and buttered corn. Fairy lights were strung along the fence, swaying gently with the breeze. The late afternoon sun dipped low, casting everything in a golden haze that made the moment feel a little too perfect to be real.

Your dad stood by the grill, one hand flipping burgers while the other held a juice pouch your brother had insisted he guarded. He wore a ridiculous apron your mom had dug out from the back of a drawer—Kiss the Cook, in faded letters—and while he pretended to hate it, he hadn’t taken it off once.

And your mom was holding court at the food table, defending her potato salad recipe like it was a state secret. Folding chairs, some slightly rusted from years of use, dotted the lawn like a disorganized army, and an old Bluetooth speaker blasted a playlist that veered wildly between a mix of 2000s throwbacks and cartoon theme songs.

Lando arrived just before sunset, dressed in a worn hoodie and jeans, a bag of chips and strawberry-flavored gummy bears tucked under one arm and a juice box in the other.

Your little brother—who had already downed two cupcakes and a fistful of grapes—screamed, “LANO!” and ran full-speed into Lando’s knees, giggling.

You stood on the porch, watching with your arms crossed and a helpless sort of smile stretching across your face. Lando glanced up and caught your eye, giving you a lopsided grin. “Guess I made the invite list?”

“Barely,” you called back. “You bribed the boss with strawberry-flavored gummy bears.”

The backyard had fallen quiet.

The last of the guests had trickled out with sleepy goodbyes and half-eaten desserts wrapped in foil. The speaker had long since died, leaving only the gentle buzz of crickets and the soft clink of empty glasses being collected in the kitchen. Somewhere inside, your dad had fallen asleep on the couch with the TV still on, casting flickering blue light across the hallway.

You stepped out onto the porch barefoot and spotted Lando sitting cross-legged on the grass with your brother fast asleep in his lap, marshmallow still clutched in his tiny fist, a faint smudge of chocolate on his chin. Lando’s arms were wrapped securely around him. He was humming something under his breath—soft, tuneless—and his eyes followed the flicker of fireflies blinking lazily in the warm air.

You knelt beside them, quietly, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off Lando but not quite touching.

“He’s out,” Lando whispered, glancing at you. “Full system shutdown.”

You smiled, brushing a stray curl off your brother’s forehead. “He didn’t stand a chance.”

You caught the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of Lando's lips—quiet, tender, and completely undone by the small boy knocked out cold in his arms. “Here—” you said softly, reaching forward. “Let me take him.”

There was something in the way he looked at you then—something quiet and meek, like watching someone light a candle in the dark, like you were the last piece of his puzzle—the one he hadn't even realized he was missing until it clicked into place.

Gently, he passed your brother into your arms, and the little one sighed sleepily, curling into you without even waking. Your hand found the back of his head, fingers threading through his curls.

Lando didn’t say anything right away. Just sat there, watching the two of you with his hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, smile soft.

“You’re really good with him,” he muttered eventually, voice barely above a whisper.

You looked over at him. The way the fairy lights caught in his lashes, the pink warmth still lingering in his cheeks. There was something so open in his face now—something that hadn’t always been there when you were younger.

“I like watching you with him,” he added quietly. “It makes me… I don’t know. Want things.”

You blinked. “Like chicken nuggets at 2 am and sticky handprints on the walls?”

He laughed. The kind of laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and his shoulders shake a little, unfiltered and genuine.

Suddenly, he felt a flush creep up his neck. Saying it out loud—that he had imagined a child of his own, cradled in your arms—felt too intimate, too raw. As if he had accidentally cracked open a door to something he wasn't sure he was supposed to want just yet.

"Yeah," he breathed out, soft and fragile. "Especially that."

[strawberryys-stuff]

𝔽𝟙 𝕄𝔸𝕊𝕋𝔼ℝ𝕃𝕀𝕊𝕋

LANDO NORRIS | LN4

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY | Lando Norris x reader

-> CRY FOR ME | Lando Norris x reader

BACKYARD BARBECUE | Lando Norris x reader

OSCAR PIASTRI | OP81

VENGEANCE | Oscar Piastri x reader

[strawberryys-stuff]

CRY FOR ME | LN4

Lando Norris x reader | part 2

summary: Lando secures yet another win but craves something more—something a trophy cannot provide. Maybe you can, but will you?

contains obsessive behavior again, I felt dirty writing this ngl—it's kind of nasty guyss but ENJOY ;) and let me know what you think

previous part

Cloaked in papaya orange and carbon black, the McLaren F1 car glistened in the parc fermè with specks of rubber and triumph, battle-worn and glorious.

The engine released its last breath, a faint growl that echoed with dominance. Each scratch and scuff was a badge of honor, a testament to every corner conquered, every straight devoured.

With a grunt, Lando crawled out of the cockpit, first one leg, then the other. His neck ached, his muscles stiff from the strain of the race, but the adrenaline lingered in his veins.

After hours cocooned within the suffocating shell of the car, he allowed the world—drenched in reality and chaos—to pour over his weary frame like a long-forgotten exhale.

Cameras swarmed like moths to a flame, their flashes stuttering like lightning. Microphones surged forward, each one an arrow tipped with questions he wasn’t looking forward to answer.

Each step felt heavier than the last, his racing boots muffled against the concrete as he crossed the threshold from solitude into frenzy. A journalist murmured something into their microphone, but he barely registered it. His ears rang with the ghost of your voice.

Yet he still smiled for the cameras, savored the praise as well as the harsh criticism with quick, sharp nods. But behind his eyes, he saw a precise image of your contorted, tear-stained face.

Your sorrow had burned itself into him, left a mark deeper than victory ever could.

Another journalist asked about the tire strategy. He responded on autopilot, but inside, his thoughts bled elsewhere—to the soft crack in your voice when you tried to speak. To the ache in your throat when you cried over an immature man.

The heavy door to his driver's room clicked shut behind him, muffling the chaos of the paddock—champagne-soaked mechanics, blinding camera flashes, the distorted sound of his name chanted by a hundred different voices. All of it faded as soon as his eyes found you—perched on the edge of the low leather bench, legs pulled up, hands clasped around an untouched bottle of water.

He dropped his gloves on the floor and crossed the room to stand in front of you. He crouched down slowly, resting his forearms on his knees. For a moment, he just watched you with a hunger that had nothing to do with victory.

Your gaze flicked up. And there it was.

That same look—half anger, half ache—nestled behind your lashes. Lando reached for you, thumb brushing beneath your eye like it was the most sacred place in the world.

"Cry for me," he breathed, leaning in so slowly it was maddening. You didn't move an inch. Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier to scoff at the twisted, fragile way he chose to adore you. But instead, you tilted your head into his palm, eyes fluttering shut.

A singular tear rolled down your cheek. And he watched, attentively. Too attentively. Its path remained etched on your skin, leaving behind a faint shimmer.

"This is wrong, Lando. Unhealthy."

"It is," he agreed, brushing away that single tear with the gentlest edge of his thumb. "And I hate it. But God, you look like a goddess every time you cry."

You drew in a sharp breath at his confession. The meaning of his words was heavy, almost unbearable, impossible to swallow. He brought his hand to the back of your neck, fingers sliding into the strands of your hair.

But he stopped when the tip of his nose brushed yours—close enough to burn, close enough to tempt. He wanted to provoke you, to unravel the armor you wore, all with the weight of his gaze.

You gave in with the faintest lean, an unspoken yes twirling in the space between. He was the one who erased the inch that kept him from tasting you.

“You are beautiful,” he muttered repeatedly into your mouth like a forbidden prayer that threatened to rip his tongue out. You felt the sharp tips of his teeth graze your bottom lip as he withdrew from you with a huff. “And it's insufferable.”

You refused to move, heart hammering against your ribcage.

“I try not to look. God, I try.” His laugh was hoarse, haunting. “But your sadness—it’s the most violent thing I’ve ever seen. And I just can’t stop watching. I want to drown in it. I want to worship it.”

You exhaled densely, searching his eyes for lies, a tad of doubt, but there wasn't any. Just straight-up obsession, longing. "Why do you love my tears?"

His shoulders remained stiff with every breath he took. “I love everything that breaks you open and gives me access to your heart."

There was something obscene in the way he said it—like devotion laced with desire. A confession no god would approve of.

Your eyes fluttered shut, suddenly finding it difficult to hold his gaze.

A part of you—a secret part—thrived under the intensity of it all. You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rush up your neck. You couldn’t bring yourself to ignore the way he made you feel—like you were the center of something dark and magnetic. Something he couldn’t let go of.

The attraction was fatal. Excruciating.

"You are mad, Lan. Insanely mad," you sighed.

It was too much. The close proximity, his intentions, his whole existence swirling around you like a dangerous storm. You needed space, needed to regain some control, but even the idea of stepping back felt like a betrayal.

Lando didn’t even flinch at your words. If anything, he leaned closer, a dangerous glint in his eyes. His breath was warm against your face, and his hand reached up to trace the line of your jaw—so gentle, as if his self-control wasn't quietly shattering.

“I’m mad about you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Can’t you see it? I can’t stop. I try. I do. But you…” He paused, his gaze flickering over your face, your trembling lips, before landing on your eyes. “You drive me insane, and I fucking love it.”

You swallowed, searching, as if waiting for him to crack, to show some sign that it was all a game, a lie, something you could laugh off later. But there was nothing there. No cracks. No hesitation. Just a man utterly consumed by you.

He was unraveling, and with every second that passed, you felt yourself unraveling with him.

“You think you’re the only one who’s mad?” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

His eyes darkened, and his hand slid from your jaw to your neck, gripping with just enough pressure to make your heart race. “No,” he said softly, but there was a fire in his voice. “I know you feel it too. And I know you want it as much as I do.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. He was right. God, he was right. You hated the way you didn’t want to let go of the madness, how the pull toward him was so strong it felt like gravity itself was conspiring against you. But you couldn’t—

“I don’t…” You began, but your words died in the air, swallowed by the loud hunger in his gaze. You stared at him, fighting the urge to give in—allow him to own you and spoil you with passion and long-sought pleasure.

You craved it so bad it was becoming intolerable.

"Fuck it," you whispered, your defense cracking, closing the space between you until there was nothing left but the heat of his body, the thrum of your pulse between you.

His hands immediately found their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, as if the air between you both could no longer exist. You could feel the tension in his muscles. Every thought he'd been holding back, every ounce of restraint he’d been fighting—gone in that moment.

His lips were relentless, tracing the curve of your mouth before pressing deeper, claiming you in a way that made your head spin. You’d never felt anything like this before. The heat, the pull, the way his touch seemed to ignite every part of you that you had tried to keep under control.

His hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing the soft skin of your lower back, pulling you deeper into the destructive mess you had created together.

When he finally pulled away, just enough to breathe, his eyes were wild, glassy with satisfaction. “You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered, voice low and rough, like the words themselves were weapons.

His fingers dug into your hips—a silent promise, a raw primal need. “You’re mine now,” he whispered below your ear, the words sinking deep into your chest, marking you in a way you didn’t know was possible.

But something in you, something you hadn’t known was there, wanted it. Wanted him. In all his madness, all his glory.

[strawberryys-stuff]

Girll you need to do more lando ones , the last one was perfect <3

glad you like it ❤️ part 2 is in the works! and many more on the wayy

[strawberryys-stuff]

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY | LN4

Lando Norris x reader

summary: Lando hates when you are upset but loves how you look when you cry

includes a bit of obsessive behavior

next part

Lando never said it out loud—not to you, not to anyone—but there was something about you when you cried that left him utterly, disturbingly entranced. It wasn’t concern that gripped him in those moments. It wasn’t empathy. It was desire. Deep, hungry, and hard to look away from.

He hated himself for it—truly, he did. Because it wasn’t fair. Not to you. Not when you were hurting, unraveling, barely holding yourself together.

But fuck, the way you looked when you were breaking—it undid him.

He’d never seen anything more painfully beautiful.

You didn’t know, of course. How could you? You never noticed the way his breath hitched when your voice wavered, or how tightly he gripped the edge of the couch to keep from brushing your tears away with his thumb, just so he could feel them. You never caught the way his gaze lingered on the curve of your mouth when it trembled, the rise and fall of your chest when your sobs shook through you.

Your face, flushed and damp with tears, transformed into something almost otherworldly. Your lashes clumped together, casting soft shadows against your cheeks. Your skin, streaked with salt and glistening under the softest light. Your lips parted just slightly, swollen with the weight of words you couldn’t say. Your voice, thick and cracked, lingered in his mind long after you fell silent.

But it were your eyes—those red-rimmed, glassy eyes—that did him in. So full of emotion. So undone. They weren’t eyes that begged for help or comfort. They were eyes that stripped him bare, left him unsettled and hot. He’d catch himself staring, transfixed, tracing the path of a tear from your lash to your jaw with his gaze, imagining what it would feel like to follow it with his finger, or his lips.

You never knew that he saw you as art in your worst moments. And not the kind you hang proudly in a hallway—but the kind locked away, hidden, because it made people feel too much.

You looked breakable when you cried. And maybe that’s what made it worse—what made it feel so wrong and yet so irresistible. Because in those moments, you weren't polished or composed or hiding. You were raw. Unfiltered. And beautiful in a way you never were when you smiled. He didn’t want to fix your sadness, he wanted to watch it. Memorize it. Be close to it.

There were times he would imagine it again later, alone—how you looked with your face crumpling, your breath hitching, your hands trembling in your lap. He’d remember how your mascara smudged faintly beneath your eyes and how your voice dragged like velvet soaked in wine. Sometimes, he swore you didn’t even realize how devastatingly pretty you were in those moments. How intoxicating.

And maybe you didn’t. Maybe that’s what gave him permission, in his own mind, to look. To want.

He knew it would shatter something if you ever found out—not because he was cruel, but because it was the kind of truth that tasted like sin. A quiet addiction he never meant to nurture, but couldn’t let go of. Because when you cried, Lando didn’t want to fix you. He wanted to keep you that way.

Just for a moment longer.

It was nearing midnight when you showed up at his place, knuckles white around a half-empty bottle of vodka. There was a heavy flush to your cheeks, the kind that came from alcohol and cold.

Clearly another pathetic attempt at a date.

Lando stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame in a tight black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, not even pretending to hide the way his gaze flickered over your face. Your clothes were soaked, as well as your hair, strands clinging to your skin and water dripping from the sleeves of your jacket. However, he didn't move aside to let you into his warm, cozy apartment.

His eyes were busy tracing the paths of tears and raindrops, unashamedly savoring the view. That gaze was unholy, exhibiting eagerness to cause trouble, irreversible damage. His hand reached for your cheek, a place he loved to caress with utmost delicacy.

But instead of drowning your skin in gentle touches, he grasped your chin to pull you forward.

"God— you look so fucking pretty when you cry."

His lips crashed against yours in desperation, his composure crumbling. You tasted of salt and cheap booze. His other hand hugged the bottle neck of the forgotten vodka as soon as he felt you melt into the kiss, your body suddenly growing heavy. And you let him take it, mind occupied with something else entirely.

He pulled you inside his apartment and shut the door with his foot, refusing to separate your lips now that he had you right there, finally satisfying his filthy little desires.

It was twisted—you were highly aware of that—but you just couldn't resist. It was addicting, thrilling. You sought the need to be seen, worshipped, in the wrong places. You chose to chase men who refused to see beyond your appearance.

You chose to ignore the one man who was willing to tear the world apart, just for you.

How stupid of you.

[strawberryys-stuff]

i'm discontinuing this story, i am so sorry. i haven't had the time to write anything for the past year and i also don't have the motivation to continue.

i'm really sorry. i know you guys have been waiting for an ending since it came out.

Hiiii sorry if this seems rude ir anything...not intending for it to but...is part 3 to aonungs fic still in the works? I got super hooked on it and i just need to know

it's not rude at all ☺️ but yes, part 3 is still in the works! my life got a bit hectic but i promise it's coming soon

and i'm glad you like it

[strawberryys-stuff]

Hiiii sorry if this seems rude ir anything...not intending for it to but...is part 3 to aonungs fic still in the works? I got super hooked on it and i just need to know

it's not rude at all ☺️ but yes, part 3 is still in the works! my life got a bit hectic but i promise it's coming soon

and i'm glad you like it

[strawberryys-stuff]

FOOLED || Ao'nung x Sully!reader

part 2 | part 1

change of plans; i'll have to write yet another part for this request bcs i realized i can't write lmao 🥲 i forgot how to do it, so i apologize for this never-ending wait i'm putting u through

enjoy my poor try to write!

Ao'nung could tell the image of the breathtakingly stunning healer was clouding your mind and found your abrupt bursts of frustration whenever she waved at him with a toothy grin decorating her sparkling turquoise skin quite humorous, attractive even.

Mireya was certainly a beauty among the Metkayina tribe but she was fragile. Your sharp glares and silent growls damaged the unguarded shield around her gracious heart, which forced her feet to carry her sobbing frame inside Ao'nung's marui pod every evening. Despite his warnings and frequent eye rolls, Mireya continued to visit the boy who was clearly becoming irritated by her unannounced appearances outside his home.

He was desperately trying to peel her hands off his muscular arms everytime you were passing by with your sisters, allowing his thick tail to show his annoyance. He would gift you precisely wrapped presents almost every week to reveal his tiny attempts to court you - it started with shimmering seashells that eventually turned into luminescent bouquets - but it was never enough for Mireya as she continued to follow him around like a lost puppy.

Ao'nung wanted your undying love, not hers. He even mentioned it to you during your nightly strolls along the shore, stating that he would rather suffer in solitude than experience mating with Mireya, who basically owned his mother's blessing.

Ronal wished only the best for her firstborn and saw rich, successful future in the Metkayina girl. And the fact that you managed to build an unbreakable bond with Ao'nung in such a short period of time was something she just refused to accept. The idea of seeing Ao'nung with a hybrid, someone who had pure demon blood flowing through their veins, disgusted her.

She observed the way her son seemed to be left breathless everytime you walked away from his tall figure after a polite farewell, which often ended up with Ao'nung chuckling and firing some teasing words after your swiftly moving body. She even caught the way her son spoke highly of you during every dinner, lunch, breakfast - you name it.

She noticed how affectionate her eldest child was whenever he had you by his side, how protective he was over you - she noticed how you were able to handle his childish behavior with ease, no evident struggle present, and yet, she still refused to accept your relationship.

"I am not having this type of conversation, mother." Ao'nung pinched the bridge of his scrunched nose, silencing his growl in deepest part of his throat before it managed to roll off his obnoxiously bold tongue.

He was standing in front of you, shielding your defeated spirit from his stern mother with his lean body. His other hand was keeping you close alongside his tail that robbed you of any escape. Ronal was holding her chin high to display her disapproval once more, but all she received from her firstborn was a disappointed sigh.

Ao'nung brought your intertwined fingers up and proudly pulled you out from his cold shadow. Your drastically different form entered the afternoon sunbeams and blinded Ronal for a split second. Your thin tail was flickering nervously behind you as she inspected the position you were in.

It was awfully obvious what happened during the unusually uneventful eclipse last night, she could sense the abrupt change in the middle of her ribcage - you were officially sharing a neural connection with her son.

The woman began to circle the two of you with a creased forehead and allowed her fingers to wrap around the base of your tail. You hissed through clenched teeth when she left a painful tug behind before her hand moved to your tense shoulders. She spotted a bite mark in the crook of your neck, stifling a snarl.

"Not fully mated." She slapped your precisely knitted braid aside and received a warning growl from your lover. "Just marked," Ronal taunted with a huff, quickly placing one of her hands over her growing belly when your tail twitched her way. "Disappointing."

"That is enough." Ao'nung bared his fangs at the pregnant woman as his hand pushed you forward to create some space between you and his mother. You licked your chapped lips and let your ears fall, trying to ignore her harsh words about your mixed blood and the title people had been using to address you and your younger brother for several years. "She is not an outcast, mom! Quit listing her differences, for Eywa's sake! She is a fucking Metkayina now, accept it!"

"Her rites of passage are unfinished," Ronal reminded her son with a click of her tongue, ignoring his usage of the inappropriate language. "She is not one of us-"

"-yet." Ao'nung interrupted her upcoming remark with a growl and temporarily released your hand to point to his mother's rapidly beating heart. "As for now, I need you to respect my partner - whether you like it or not."

Before the spiritual leader could interject, your furious mate captured your hand once again and dragged you away from the cold-hearted woman, muttering an apology to his younger sister who had to witness the conflict. You bowed to Tsireya quickly and followed Ao'nung out of center of the lively village with flattened ears.

part 3 coming soon! i'm so sorry 😭

[strawberryys-stuff]

posting a bit of my Percy Jackson x Ares!oc at 4am instead of going to sleep.. i wanna cry 🥲

i also know this is going to flop so..

anyways, if u decide to read this tho, enjoy the angst 🥰

sorry if it has grammatical errors, i can barely keep my eyes open

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Alexis hissed through clenched teeth when the tail of the enormous beast collided with her abdomen and knocked her off her feet. Her watercolor eyes widened when she felt cold wind caress her back.

Despite his worsening condition and weakening muscles, Percy leaped after her falling frame with his hand outstretched. He seized her wrist and at the last moment grabbed a piece of metal that was sticking out of the side of the hole the mother of monsters created with a grunt.

Echidna approached the dangling demigods with a mocking smile, the chimera growling beside her. "I must say, I am kind of disappointed."

Alexis looked up at the mother of monsters with fury sparkling behind her eyelashes, knowing the comment was aimed at her. She cracked her lips open to argue but was silenced by Percy, whose strength was decreasing. His hands were becoming clammy and slippery.

"Please," he breathed out with droplets of sweat rolling down his paling face, allowing desperation to come to the surface. His grip was loosening, he could feel it. "Don't do this."

The chimera snarled, showcasing its sharp teeth in the process. Echidna placed her hand on the side of its neck and tilted her head, fighting the urge to laugh. She fed off their fear.

"Percy.." Alexis shuddered, feeling her fingers beginning to slip out of his hand. The struggling blonde glanced down at the auburn-haired girl, his chapped lips quivering. "You have to let go-"

"No," he interjected harshly, refusing to let go of her wrist even though he knew he wouldn't be able to hold onto her much longer. "I am not letting you fall."

"You have to," Alexis insisted, her locks flowing like the waves of a calm sea in the harsh wind. Percy stared distressingly into the depths of her cool grey eyes as his began to flood with tears. "It's okay," she assured, droplets of salt water shimmering in her gaze.

Before Percy could object, Alexis wiggled her wrist out of his grasp, their fingertips grazing. A wrenching scream bolted out his throat as he tried to get ahold of her again, but his hand passed through a fluffy cloud instead.

"What a shame," the mother of monsters snickered as she squatted down to the dangling young boy, whose eyes welled up with rage and raw emotion. "I expected more from you, lighting thief."

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

if you would like to see more, let me know!

i'd also appreciate it if you could help me 'spread' this around

thank u! have a great day ❤️

[strawberryys-stuff]

Is the og character in you Percy Jackson fic a daughter of Ares??

she is, yes!

and she isn't exactly a fan of her father either

if you want to know more, ask away! ^-^

[strawberryys-stuff]

i will post another part of my most requested story Ao'nung x Sully!reader later this week!

stayed tuned! it's gonna be long and nerve-wracking

[strawberryys-stuff]

𝘿𝙄𝙎𝙍𝙀𝙂𝘼𝙍𝘿𝙀𝘿 | Percy Jackson x Ares!oc

Introduction

The midnight blue umbrella snapped closed, releasing a gravity defying plume of small droplets. The defeated elementary school student pulled down her hood and tucked a lock of red hair that barely reached her shoulder blades behind her ear.

After she leaned the overflowing cloth bag of groceries against the brick wall beside the entrance to the block of flats that she had recently moved into with her step-family, Alexis shrugged her rucksack off her aching shoulder to fish her keys out of the front pocket.

"Crap," the redhead squeezed her dusty teal eyes shut and threw her head back with a groan, "not again.."

She pulled out her dying cellphone and unlocked it, sighing. Alexis dialed her step-brother while she was collecting her stuff from the muddy ground and blew strands of hair out of her face.

"Hugo?" she called out to her sibling when the obnoxious ringing got replaced by awkward silence. The young boy on the other side of the line hummed as he rubbed one of his squinted eyes and stifled a yawn. "Could you come down? I forgot my keys."

Hugo grumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose, slightly annoyed. "Come on, Alex.."

"I know and I am sorry, okay? Just-" the red-haired student exhaled heavily and glanced to the side- "come get me, alright? I'll make you a cup of hot chocolate in return," Alexis suggested.

"With marshmallows, though."

She pursed her chapped lips, unamused, but had to agree with his request in the end because she did not want to turn into a popsicle before the eyes of the entire neighborhood.

Alexis chewed on her bottom lip as the early humid autumn breeze swept past and tickled all the exposed spots of her pale skin. She continued to shiver and grew impatient.

"I will murder that boy," Alexis stated with a sarcastic smile as she searched in her jacket pocket for her cellphone once more.

While she was entering the password, a boy her age approached the entrance to the block of flats with earphones in his ears and a skateboard in his hand. Unlike Alexis, the blonde hadn't forgotten his keys at home before he left for school that rainy morning.

The jingling of keys startled the frustrated girl. She stumbled backwards with a shriek when the boy appeared out of thin air beside her. He was taken aback by her reaction, also flinched and dropped his keys in the process.

"Shit!" Alexis covered her rapidly beating heart with her ice-cold hand, her breath sharp and fast.

"My bad," the blonde apologized with a quick nod her way and bent down to pick up his keychain. He inserted one of his many keys into the keyhole, unlocked the door and held it open for Alexis to walk into the warmth of the building.

"Thank you." She bowed her head and gladly stepped out of the autumn weather with the boy on her heels.

The blonde pulled down his drenched hood in the lobby and shook his hair to gain some life back into his messy and undefined curls. With her adventurous spirit and undying curiosity, Alexis searched for his eyes and when their gazes collided, her jaw went slack.

"Oh.." The boy breathed out and scratched the back of his neck after he connected the dots and put a name to her imperfect face. "It's you."

Alexis laughed nervously and shrugged her shoulders. "Yep, it is me! The girl you spilled your apple juice on at lunch.."

"It was an accident," he clarified, "I swear!"

Alexis arched one of her eyebrows at that and looked down at her outfit. Instead of her favorite light blue jeans, she was wearing baggy gray sweatpants along with a black T-shirt that did not belong to her, but to the boy standing in front of her.

After he spilled his drink and some of his leftovers on her clothes, the blonde offered her his clothes, which he planned to change into for his PE class.

"I really didn't mean to-"

"Hey." The redhead placed her hand on his shoulder to stop his upcoming rambling with a tiny smile on her lips. The boy screwed his mouth shut. "I am just messing with you, blondie."

Her smile was contagious. She also had dimples, he noticed. "Yeah," he chuckled and shyly broke their eye contact, his cheeks flushed, "okay."

His gaze trailed a tad bit lower, to the handmade necklace she had around her neck - a thin leather string with three differently colored balls. It looked familiar, he was sure he had seen it before.

"Well," Alexis broke the awkward silence and adjusted the cloth bag that hung loosely on her shoulder. "I have to go.."

"No yeah-" the blonde shook his head slightly and brought his pure blue gaze up- "of course."

"Thank you for the clothes by the way," Alexis gestured to his gym class outfit with a smile. "I will give it back on Monday if that's okay."

"Sure, yeah. Whenever it's convenient for you."

"Okay.." She nodded and bit the inside of her cheek. "See you on Monday then?"

"Yeah.. See you on Monday.."

They shared one last awkward smile before she turned to the elevator and disappeared behind its doors.

The blonde squeezed his eyes shut, regretting that he decided not to follow the red-haired girl he found quite intriguing into the elevator. He was captivated by her playing the electric guitar and musical talent in general.

Alexis Driscoll was a hot-tempered, mysterious and brutally honest elementary school student with a passion for music, who also lived in the same block of flats as Percy Jackson.

Percy could tell she had an enormous amount of secrets and trouble hiding behind her in her shadow, but that was one of the reasons why she had caught his eye.

He didn't know her name nor why her cool grey gaze seemed to be something he would recognize anywhere in a heartbeat, but he knew one thing..

she had been haunting his dreams for quite a while.

How did he know?

Percy Jackson would recognize that necklace blindfolded.

That piece of handmade jewellery was what he had been wearing around his wrist in every dream and every spine-chilling nightmare of his.

For some unexplainable reason, Alexis Driscoll was the key to most, maybe even all, of his unanswered questions.

[strawberryys-stuff]

𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

𝘼𝙑𝘼𝙏𝘼𝙍: 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙒𝙖𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙒𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧

𝘕𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘺𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘭𝘪 𝘛𝘴𝘺𝘦𝘺𝘬’𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯

YOUR WARRIOR | Neteyam x Li'ona!reader (f)

AVATAR | Neteyam x avatar!reader (f) - part 1

AVATAR | Neteyam x avatar!reader - part 2

AVATAR | Neteyam x avatar!reader - part 3

OBLIVIOUS | Neteyam x avatar!reader (f)

HATRED | Neteyam x Omatikaya!reader (f) - part 1

HATRED | Neteyam x Omatikaya!reader (f) - part 2

HISTORY REPEATING ITSELF | aged-up!Neteyam x Tawkami!reader (f)

OUR FAIRYTALE | Neteyam x reader (f)

NOT HAPPENING | aged-up!Neteyam x Omatikaya!reader (f)

𝘓𝘰'𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘦 𝘚𝘶𝘭𝘪 𝘛𝘴𝘺𝘦𝘺𝘬’𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯

DIFFERENT | Lo'ak x avatar!reader - request

𝘈𝘰'𝘯𝘶𝘯𝘨

FOOLED | Ao'nung x Sully!reader (f)

FOOLED | Ao'nung x Sully!reader (f) - part 2

𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙀 𝙊𝙁 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙂𝙐𝘼𝙍𝘿𝙄𝘼𝙉𝙎

𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘵

PASSION | Jack Frost x oc!guardian - draft / possible story

𝙎𝘼𝙈 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘽𝙔

𝘚𝘢𝘮 𝘎𝘰𝘭𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘩

ATTACHMENT | Sam Golbach x oc (f) - draft / possible story

𝙋𝙀𝙍𝘾𝙔 𝙅𝘼𝘾𝙆𝙎𝙊𝙉 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙊𝙇𝙔𝙈𝙋𝙄𝘼𝙉𝙎

𝘓𝘶𝘬𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯

UNTITLED | Luke Castellan x Apollo!reader - draft

UNTITLED | Luke Castellan x Apollo!oc - draft / possible story

UNTITLED | Luke Castellan x Hades!oc (f) / reader - draft / possible story

𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘺 𝘑𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘰𝘯

DISREGARDED | Percy Jackson x Ares!oc (f) / reader - published / possible story

INTRODUCTION

SNEAK PEEK

[strawberryys-stuff]

- like a tattoo -

𖦹 based off the song like a tattoo by sade, i present you some lo'ak angst

𖦹 warnings - mentions of neteyams death, angst

𖦹 OMG IM ALMOST DONE WRITING THIS AND I LOWKEY WANNA MAKE THIS A SERIES????? JUST A RLY SHORT ONE THO BC I HAVE A SMALL IDEA OF LIKE WHAT I WANT TO HAPPEN NEXT OMG

𖦹 ehehe i wrote pt 2 >:)

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

"lo'ak-" you walked quickly behind him, reaching out to grab his hand. but the moment he felt your fingers he jerked his arm away, finally stopping to turn around and look at you. his cheeks were tear stained, just as yours were, and his jaw was clenched. "if you do this," your voice falters, not entirely ready to make the rest of your threat. "then we're done."

lo'ak exhaled sharply out of his nose, turning his head away as he blinked back the overflowing tears.

seeing him like this hurt, but what hurt even more was knowing you couldn't help.

ever since neteyam died, lo'ak has become hard and bitter with the need for revenge. he tried to hide it. tried to hide the way he was so angry all the time. tried to hide his new found anger for his dad for once being one of the sky people.

he was just angry.

but that never stopped you from loving him. and now, even in this moment, you were glad it didn't.

awa'atlu life had somewhat went back to normal. it definitely stopped the tulkun hunting and it had seemed the whole military operation had been given up.

but then, one faithful night, as lo'ak was going to check up on his parents in their pod, he overheard jake talking about how they had come back and were fixing up the base.

this is what set him off.

"i have to go." his answer was short, his voice hard.

"no you dont!" you cried out, desperately grabbing onto his clenched fists. "lo'ak you don't have to go,"

"you don't fucking understand y/n," the harsh tone of his words caused you to let go of his hands and flinch, for a second you couldve seen guilt in his eyes. but that was quickly changed back to his hard gaze. "i have to go after them-"

" and what lo'ak," your voice was now filled with frustration. frustration towards the fact that he couldn't see how stupid this was. "what do you thinks going to happen if you just walk right into their base?"

lo'ak was quiet as he stared out into the water.

"i can take other warriors with me," his voice was low now, as if he was more so trying to convince himself that this was a good idea than you. this made you let out a short harsh laugh.

"you really think ao'nung's going to let you take some of his warriors on some mission that's going to get them killed?"

"y/n neteyam is dead-"

"yea and so is my mother," tears were falling down your face now as you spoke watching the incredulous look on lo'aks face. "and my father and my brother who had just became a warrior." lo'ak simply shook his head, not knowing what to say.

you reached out to touch him, placing your hand on the tattoos he had on his chest.

"you are metkayina lo'ak," your voice was a pleading whisper as you looked at him. "please just stay." lo'ak grabbed your hand on his chest with both of his, kissing your knuckles softly before putting it down. it lay limp at your side as you watched lo'ak start to walk off.

"you know ao'nung wont let you come back if you go lo'ak-" it was your last desperate attempt to get him to stay. but unfortunately it didn't work.

your knees dropped to the coarse sand as you covered your mouth with one of your hands, stifling your sobs as your whole world seemed to collapse as he walked out of view.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

𖦹 this is the end (for now) i really wanna write a pt 2 but heads up if there is in fact a pt 2 it will def be a bit of a timeskip bc thats just the idea i had ok bye hope u enjoyed

𖦹 masterlist

[strawberryys-stuff]

YOUR WARRIOR | part 1

Neteyam x Li'ona!fem!reader

i have been trying to break my writing block for six months and managed to get this piece out of it

contains: brief mentions of scars/wounds, brutal murder of a fish, forced marriage, kind of enemies to lovers

and definitely has grammar errors, sorry for that

It was difficult. He was a na'vi hybrid, an exquisite combination of human and alien species, while you were the daughter of a pure-blood king. The possibility of a lasting relationship was low, nearly non-existent among your tribe, but that thrill ignited a dangerous spark neither of you could quench.

Neteyam was mesmerized by your beauty, by the elegance of your movements, by your firm posture, but mostly by your tangerine-colored eyes. Instead of the common golden gaze, yours had a tint of orange around the pupil. They held so much mystery and passion that Neteyam wanted to grasp and solve like it was some kind of a riddle. They held a bunch of secrets he was willing to discover. Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan fell in love with the Li'ona princess who, unfortunately for him, was betrothed.

You were promised to a determined na'vi, a muscular warrior, whose reputation was apparently unhealthily pure. But tasun was raised alongside your older brother and shared some of his personality traits. He was stubborn, too cocky for his own good and disloyal when it came to relationships. There were seas of rumors about his awful behavior towards his past partners, especially towards your cousin. You strongly disliked that boy but you had to obey your mother.

Maybe that was why you felt connected to the omatikaya hybrid. Neither of you had the freedom you deserved. Both of you were forced to grow up at a very young age, to look after your younger siblings. everybody had high expectations you had to fulfill.

But in reality, you were just hopeless teenagers who wanted, no, needed to experience true love.

You narrowed your tangerine gaze at the swiftly moving target, tightened the grip you had on your whetted spear and pinched your bottom lip with the sharp tips of your fangs, precisely counting every loop the unaware school of fish had been making. After a minute of watching, you aligned your armed hand with the target and inhaled the scent of seaweed as your weapon striked the head of a fish with a splash.

Quickly leaping over the seawall terrace to get ahold of the spear, you battled the smug grin that threatened to spread across your pursed mouth and studied your catch with a burning glimmer in your eyes. When your fingertips were about to touch the handle of the weapon, several weirdly-shaped creatures casted heavy shadows on the unmoving surface of the clear sea and attracted the eyes of other fishermen as well, awaking curiosity and confusion in the Li'ona na'vi.

You collected your spear, along with the multiple breathless fish, and took your feet out of the seawall terrace you decided to clear out today, a woven net overflowing with your catches caressing your exposed lower back. You strapped the netting to your slim figure and created clicking noises with your tongue to call your ilu. The animal greeted you with an enthusiastic squeal and revealed its back to the rider. After you connected your queue to the sea creature, the group of skilled fishermen set off towards the sandy shore where the intruders had landed.

You emerged out of the resting sea with your peers and pushed some wet raven locks out of your eyes that glittered in the afternoon sun rays. You abandoned your ilu along with the woven net near a centralized ilu pen after you offered your recent catch to the bewildered animal and disconnected your queue from it.

"What happened?" your younger sister questioned the sudden cluster of your people after she surfaced beside you, tugging drenched strands of hair behind her pointed ear. You shrugged your shoulders with a shake of your head and approached the herd of Li'ona villagers with the naturally curious girl.

You swiftly dodged any arriving people, keeping your tail close to your calfs in case somebody didn't notice your presence and accidentally stepped on it as they did many times before. Untroubled, your sister walked through the cluster easily, each Li'ona moving out of her way towards the intruders.

You slided aside to avoid approaching muscular bodies and the Olo'eyktan, who was returning with his newly organized hunting party precisely on time. You appeared behind Tasun, your betrothed, and the eldest son of the chief, your brother, with folded arms across your rising chest as Maratu walked out of the herd, spear in hand.

"What is that?" Tasun gestured to the tail of the closest Omatikaya boy, making the victim of his following remarks to glance over his tense shoulder. Your betrothed stifled a chuckle as he pointed to the thin tail that was flicking from side to side. "Is that supposed to be a tail?"

You slapped the nape of his neck in disapproval and released a warning hiss below his ear, forcing it to turn downward as you pushed the two arrogant boys apart. Your brother swatted your hand away from his chest and poked your side in return, chuckling when you took a step forward with a growl.

Neteyam lowered his piercing amber eyes on your small turquoise form and caught your tangerine-colored gaze in the process. The target of the nasty remarks flickered by his side while his withdrawn ears twitched as you displayed your full beauty underneath the bright burning star. A shimmering spark of forbidden interest twinkled in both gazes and sealed the command of the Great Mother herself.

"We seek Uturu," Jake announced and received judgemental glares and exaggerated gasps from each direction. Maratu tilted his head slightly as his wife, Kirnat, emerged out of the humongous crowd with a scowl decorating her facial features. You were pulled backwards by Tasun when the pregnant woman began to circle the foreigners and were detached from the eldest son.

"We are half-reef people," Maratu mentioned the differences as he gestured to the desperate family, weak chuckle stroking his lips. "You are forest people. Your skills will be nothing but a waste, JakeSully."

Kirnat tugged at their thin tails and pointed out that they will not be capable of swimming in the water. She approached the oldest daughter of JakeSully and Neytiri with a huff and seized her wrists to inspect her unusual hands. "These children-" she lifted them up for everyone to see and displayed her five fingers with a silent growl, "-aren't even true Na'vi."

"Yes, we are!" Kiri snatched her hands out of the Tsahìk's grasp and pulled them to her heaving chest, tangling her fingers in the shawl she had on her shoulders. Tuk wrapped her arms around her leg to hide away from the intense stares and snuggled up against her thigh, making you sigh in defeat.

Neteyam tuned out the persuasion when you sneaked past your assigned lover and appeared on his left with flattened ears, his twitching at the sight. He allowed himself to marvel at your softening face that showcased concern and some kind of pity. He absorbed your wrinkled forehead and the unique shape your pigment patterns were creating in the middle of it along with your delicate facial structure.

"Gross," your brother pretended to gag beside his friend and quickly shielded his head when you faced him with a glare and clenched teeth. The boy received a slap on his shoulder from your cousin, Maru, who silenced his laughter with a stern tone.

You bowed to show your gratitude before your youngest brother could tackle your legs. Neteyam narrowed his eyes at the interaction as his father pleaded the Olo'eyktan and Tsahìk for a chance, stating that his family can adapt like he did many years ago. You picked up the whining little boy with an eye roll and let him fidget with your handmade necklace.

The eldest son of Toruk Makto noticed the tender caresses you left on your sibling's upper back to soothe his pounding heart and throbbing headache, swallowing the hums that were threatening to escape out of his mouth. He was flabbergasted by the relationship you had with the little boy and wondered if he was your younger brother. The urge to ask for your name was clawing at his dry throat and forced him to clear it as he dedicated his attention to his father and Maratu, missing the opportunity to catch you staring at his differently built body.

"Your arms are thin, your tails are weak," Kirnat wrapped her fingers around the youngest son's forearm to reveal his five-fingered hand and pulled it upwards, a hiss drumming against the walls of her throat. "They have demon blood!" The herd of her people took a couple steps back, mouths agape with disbelief.

Neteyam flinched when the pregnant woman poked his stiff shoulder and pushed some of his tightly braided hair forward to reveal a healed wound to the little boy that had been taking in his appearance in your arms. He pointed to the scar, which made Neteyam shiver. You followed his curious gaze and noticed the wound as well, scolding the boy for pointing at the Omatikaya. Neteyam covered the healed injury with his four-fingered hand and scooted closer to his younger brother, who had been devouring the beauty of the youngest daughter of the chief.

Maratu shared a look with his mate and tilted his head slightly to convince the woman without using his words. Kirnat stole a glance at the fleeing family and closed her eyes, battling her inner voices. Once they fluttered open, she nodded and gave her husband her consent. "Toruk Makto and his family will stay with us," he began to announce and buried the smooth end of his spear into the sandy shore. "They do not know the sea, they will be like babies taking their first breath. Teach them our ways, so they do not suffer the shame of being useless."

JakeSully encouraged the rest of the family to bow and mutter a quick thank you to the Li'ona leaders. Maratu accepted their politeness easily while his wife stifled a snicker and dissolved the cluster with a wave of her hand, motioning you to follow and return to the village with her. "My oldest son Ralu and youngest daughter Aneya, will teach yours the way of water," he clarified despite the protests of his son and silenced him with a glare. "Enough, ma 'itan. It is decided." [son]

By the imperfect posture of your mother you could tell she was against the idea of allowing armed strangers inside your village. you couldn't blame her. After the RDA attacked your former home, you refused to accept anyone who had the guts to travel beyond their territory, but here you were, trusting a title - Toruk Makto. the legend was well-respected in your tribe and beautifully captured in your songcords and celebrations, but would a true Toruk Makto seek Uturu among strangers? Run away from the threat?

Based on the stories your Ancestors provided you with, no. Toruk Makto would never flee, but a father would. JakeSully was also a father who cared deeply about his children and that was something a true warrior, a true legend would do - he would protect his most valuable treasure.

The thought of leaving your home, the people you love, behind just because humans are sickeningly greedy and unappreciative made you physically ill. And in some way, you had to go through that as well. So, after your father returned into your family marui pod and got scolded by his wife, he approached you with pleading eyes.

Your legs were dangling over the edge of the pod, ankles submerged. Various shoals of fish swam around your feet, trying to avoid colliding with them as your father took a seat beside you in silence. Your bioluminescent dots began to glow along with the underwater world you learned to appreciate and take care of.

Maratu exhaled heavily and placed his hand on your hunched back. You immediately straightened your posture but kept your exhausted gaze on the never-ending sea. "I know you aren't happy with my decision," he stated, figuring how you felt from your behavior during dinner. "And trust me when I say, I am not exactly happy either."

Your ears twitched at his confession which made him chuckle. "I know it will be hard to accept their presence and most people will take decades to do so." You turned to face your father, confusion flashing across your tangerine gaze. He grabbed your hand and placed it against his beating heart - an intimate gesture among your people, your father mostly used to show his seriousness and affection.

"What I am about to ask you may be selfish after what we had to go through, but you are the only one capable of doing what is right." His words scratched the back of your mind which awoke unpleasant memories. "I spoke to JakeSully.." you nodded and encouraged him to continue, "his oldest son Neteyam, I believe it was, was trained to be an Olo'eyktan-"

"What are you trying to say, dad?" you interrupted his speech as your fear of interacting with the Omatikaya boy kept growing. Maratu squeezed your hand and pursed his lips, giving away his request. "No," you snickered sarcastically and pulled your hand away from his tattooed chest, shaking your head in disbelief. "No, dad, that is- I am not-"

"I want you to become his personal trainer-" Before you could protest, he put his index finger on your lips. "He has great potential for a warrior and you will help him get there."

"But dad-"

"There isn't room for buts," he interjected harshly as he collected himself and stood up, silencing your upcoming grunts. "I do not want to hear it, daughter. You will help that boy out either way."

"Yes, sir.." you muttered angrily while your father walked back inside where a wave of joyful cheers and laughter of your younger siblings engulfed his tall figure.

You clenched your fists hard it made your knuckles white. You should have known. Your father never came to have a chit-chat with you, he always assigned you new chores, or ordered you to babysit your siblings.

What was so special about that Omatikaya anyway?

Was it his muscular body that seemed to be perfectly built for the sea and rainforest environment? Was it his pretty privilege? Was it his daddy's title? What the hell made him so suitable for the position you have been trying to get ahold of for years?

You had no clue and that made you furious. A frustrated growl crawled out of your throat before you plunged into the calm sea to clear your head. After you managed to swim far away from your marui pod and realized you were running out of air, you resurfaced at the edge of your resting village, fighting the urge to cough.

"Are you alright?"

Your bloodshot eyes scanned the shore for the source of that sickeningly soothing voice, finding nothing but pure darkness. A trail of tiny glowing dots started to move inside the rainforest your village was surrounded by from the other side. A lean, pretty tall figure emerged out of the woods, clutching a bow with a half-full quiver of arrows hanging on their shoulder. As they stepped out of the shadows into the bioluminescence, you noticed the bold dark-blue skin that was decorated with sharp and straight patterns.

You narrowed your eyes in an attempt to focus on their face, praying silently for any Sully besides Neteyam. But as they entered into the moonlight, you swallowed your prayers. Their tightly-braided hair was tied up in a high ponytail, revealing their defined face features. You traced their glowing dots, from left to right, and captured their golden gaze.

"Oh," you breathed out and cleared your throat as the Omatikaya boy approached you. "It is you.."

"You don't sound very pleased," Neteyam pointed out your disappointment and slung his bow over his free shoulder before he placed his hands on his hips. "You must be the other daughter then-"

You scoffed. "The other daughter?" Neteyam watched you walk out of the sleeping sea, seeing how offended you were by his words, and raised his brows in surprise. "You-"

You stomped towards the na'vi hybrid and poked his stiff shoulder, almost pushing his quiver off. "Do not," you warned and exposed your fangs in the process.

"My apologies." Neteyam withdrew his hands and took a step back to show some respect which you snickered at, not fully believing. "I did not mean to be disrespectful," he admitted and bowed to seal the truth.

The silence that fell upon you two was overflowing with tension and one-sided admiration. You were studying his unreadable facial expression while he was devouring your beauty.

His golden eyes traced every single droplet of sea water you had on your turquoise skin. Neteyam also tried to memorize the pattern of your bioluminescent freckles before you managed to turn away.

"Go back," you muttered over your shoulder as you started to walk back into the endless bowl of water, desperately searching for an escape from his curious gaze.

"Wait-" already ankles deep, you turned around with arched brows. Neteyam offered you a sweet smile, "Can you tell me your name?"

"You will know it soon enough, forest boy."

[strawberryys-stuff]

NOT HAPPENING

aged-up!Neteyam x Omatikaya!reader

contains: mentions of injuries, detailed stitching, swear words, complicated relationship, teasing (some parts might be seductive), vulnerable moment, kisses (?), over 10k, mentions of war - RDA vehicles, sexual tension (?)

this took a couple of days to write so i hope it's worth it

definitely has grammar mistakes

-.-.-

Participating in the Great hunt was a straightforward process of taking high risks and sacrificing your health if necessary, although it seemed to be the complete opposite if you were among the clouds during the event.

Chasing an enormous migration of sturmbeest on a direhorse, where your life is hanging on a thin thread, requested hunters with skill in combat and years of practice to master the behavior of the panicking beast.

The Omatikaya clan had many exceptions and you were one of them. As the daughter of a dauntless warrior and a highly intelligent woman, you were a mounted hunter. Your rank brought various pairs of eyes onto you.

JakeSully was astonished when your father revealed that you were his eldest daughter. He saw you emerge from the treetops with a taut bow and a murderous spark in your amber gaze in the raid on a RDA maglev train and kept an eye on you in the battlefield.

Your determination and flawless archery captivated the elder man, no doubt in that, but his firstborn couldn't agree with him. Neteyam felt great envy when your name got mentioned over every evening meal he had to share with his family and he was starting to despise the pronunciation of it.

Despite his objections and exaggerated groans, Neytiri agreed to include you in her selection of suitors for her son. His grandmother was also fond of you because you would stop by her tent to bid her good morning, collect necessary herbs for tranquilizers, remedies and essential oils for her, you would also listen attentively to her schooling.

Tuktirey adored you with every cell in her tiny body. She would invite you to her games of hide and seek and tea parties with Kiri quite often. To top it all off, you had a younger sibling of your own, so you could handle her unannounced bursts of energy with ease.

Honestly, Kiri was wary of you at first. The plant knowledge and sudden urges to run away from your struggles and doubts kind of frightened her, but all it took was you offering to look after her younger sister and she saw you in a completely different light since then.

And your relationship with Lo'ak? It seemed like a blessing from the Great Mother herself. You and his brother didn't get along as much as you wished you would. Lo'ak refused to accept the chances of having you around more often than necessary and your popularity among the clan didn't help at all.

Angered shouts seeped through the tent fabric and tickled your eardrums, forcing your pointed ears to turn downward. Mo'at motioned for you to collect multiple bowls of herbal paste and follow her outside to treat serious wounds of the hunting party.

You caught the eyes of Neytiri as Jake continued to scold his sons and began to approach them, but a lean, muscular boy stepped in your way. It was Anraì, an obnoxiously loud archer, who was well-known for his frequent tries to impress you.

"Anraì, not now." You weren't far from rolling your eyes and pushing him out of your personal bubble, but your hands were full.

"Let me help you with those." He freed your right palm with a suspiciously big grin decorating his unstoppable mouth. You bowed, muttering a quick thank you as you encouraged your feet to move forward, but Anraì seized your bicep quite harshly, making you hiss and yank your arm away. "Ey, where are you sneaking off to?"

"I am a healer," you growled and pushed him aside, revealing your scowl to the mother of your possible betrothed. Neytiri captured Tuk's outstretched hand and grabbed Kiri along the way toward you. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have wounds to tend."

Kiri figured what caused the sudden change of your behavior and detached herself from her mother to lead the disappointed boy away.

"Sir, I take full responsibility-"

"Yeah, you do!" Jake barked, his furious gaze lingering on your arriving figure beside his eldest son. You counted the number of his injuries and dusted his upper back tenderly. Jake released a huff at the sight. "Not now, Y/n."

"Your son is bleeding," you argued, trailing a hand along Neteyam's spine unintentionally as his father pinched the bridge of his nose. Neteyam pulled away to prevent his cheeks from becoming a shade darker. "I am not leaving until his wounds are treated."

"Go ahead." Jake gestured to his son, whose head was hung low, and exhaled heavily. "He is dismissed."

You wrapped your fingers around his forearm and began to lead his thunderstruck frame to their tent, fury absorbing your mind. The flaps got pushed aside by you, allowing the empty interior to welcome the wounded boy with open arms as the two of you walked in.

"Sit." You lowered him on his sleeping mat and grasped his chin despite his whines of protest. Neteyam spread his legs slightly to create space for you and watched you study his injuries, one by one with narrowed eyes.

You cleaned his dusty skin with care and avoided any open wounds in the process, circling around his seated body. With your fingerpads tracing the pigment patterns on his shoulder, Neteyam closed his eyes and melted beneath your hand with a sigh of content.

Maybe his grandmother truly meant her words and yearning for your touch wasn't a crime, Neteyam couldn't tell, but he was beginning to cherish your presence whether he liked it or not.

"What happened?" you questioned, referring to his vulnerable state. Neteyam groaned, but you didn't know if the cause of it was your inquiry or you pressing your fingers against his bleeding scratch.

"Why do you wanna know? Are you going to scold me as well?" he suppressed a snicker and swatted your hand away when you put a bit more pressure on his injury than necessary. "Ftang nga," [Stop it] he snarled.

"Why? Does our mighty warrior not like that?" you teased the boy, your purplish lips curving into a smirk. Neteyam scoffed with a shake of his aching head and averted his amber gaze. "My, my.. all you do is whine."

His eyes narrowed and forehead wrinkled as you moved to his twisted face with the herbal remedy. His pointed ears twitched when your knuckles brushed their tips and strained for the sounds of your pounding heart. Your abdomen was inches apart from his reddening cheeks and you weren't affected in the slightest.

With various thoughts swirling around his overthinking mind, Neteyam huffed and the ghost of his breath tickled your belly. Your free hand settled down in the crook of his neck to prevent him from pulling away as the medical mass made contact with the biggest wound on his forehead.

A sharp hiss pushed itself out of his mouth and teased your eardrums, which made your ears flicker. Your tail also reacted to his rough growls and silent whimpers only you could hear, involuntarily swaying from side to side behind you. Neteyam took a notice of it and narrowed his irritated gaze at its quick and smooth movements as you continued to coat his injuries with the herbal remedy, groans of protest bubbling inside his throat.

You wiped your hand clean before it tangled itself in his unraveling braids and it made you wonder. "Have you ever considered leaving your hair loose?" you asked as your fingers scratched his itching skull, receiving a puff of air in return. "Can I untangle your braids?"

Neteyam snickered at your proposal and pulled your hand away from his head, although he wanted you to continue. "Absolutely not." He shook his head and placed his bleeding hands on top of his scraped knees, luring your eyes.

You wrapped your fingers around his wrists to inspect the damage on his knuckles despite his objections and released one of it to pick up the cloth you used to clean his dusty skin. He rolled his eyes when you started to dab the dribbling blood on his fingers with the wet fabric.

"What happened?" Kiri questioned the horrible state of her brother when she stepped inside their tent with an overflowing basket of extracting essential oils, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I cannot answer that." You put the cloth away and stood up to take the collection of empty bottles out of her five-fingered hands, shrugging your shoulders. "He refuses to tell me."

Neteyam groaned and hid his reddening cheeks behind his clenched fists, hissing when his sensitive knuckles brushed against his brow bone. You threw a piece of harvesting fruit at the older girl at her request and took one for yourself as well before you retreated to her brother, a bowl with a sharpened splinter and a thread in your other hand.

"Hold up." Neteyam pressed his palm on your stomach to keep some distance between the two of you, embarrassed to show affection in front of his sister but also surprised to see you with the sewing equipment. "What are you gonna do with all of this?" he pointed to the bowl, forehead creased in distress.

You took a bite out of the ripe fruit. "You have a pretty deep gash on your back," you admitted, chewing your quick snack. Kiri approached you with a curious look and stole a glance at the wound you mentioned, gasping at the sight. "I know, it's really bad."

"What?!" Wide-eyed, the eldest son of Toruk Makto seized your forearm to stop you from reaching for the needle, clearly against your upcoming movements. "No." he shook his head frantically, tightening his grip on your arm. "Please, do not."

"Relax." You patted the side of his thigh with a chuckle and gestured towards the line of tranquilizers his grandmother had stored in their tent. "You won't feel a thing, tìyawn." [love] You leaned in and left a light kiss on his bruising cheek, fighting the urge to burst into a laughing mess when a whimper attacked your eardrums. "It'll get infected otherwise."

"That is true," Kiri stepped in to silence her brother's whines of protest and walked up to the collection of tranquilizers, choosing the weakest one according to the depth of his wound. She handed you the small bottle with a smile and patted Neteyam's shoulder, "You will be fine, brother. You are in good hands, trust me."

"Where are you going?" Neteyam questioned his sister before she could slip out of the tent, sending her a warning look. Kiri stated that she would be keeping an eye on Tuk and your sibling while you work on his back, earning a low growl from her brother. "Screw you," he spat as she bid a farewell with a wave and a teasing wink.

You opened the container with the tranquilizer and applied some of it around the gash, your ears twitching in sync with his grunts. "I will make it quick, don't worry."

"You better," he hissed through clenched teeth as his tail slapped your calf. "Fucking hell.."

You traced the pigment patterns on his lower back to distract him and yourself while you waited for the paste to deaden the pain around the wound. When it did, you started to stitch up the gash, eyes narrowed in concentration. Neteyam bit the inside of his cheek to stifle his painful screams and fidgeted with his fingers to avoid your working hands, but whatever he managed to think about bursted into million pieces when the sharp tip of the splinter pierced his skin.

"Do not move," you reminded the boy with a growl and slapped his side gently, receiving a grunt in return which made you roll your eyes. "One more stitch and you are done."

And you were telling the truth. You pulled the splinter through his bruised skin once before you settled the sewing equipment down, receiving a sigh of relief from Neteyam. He dragged his hand through his braids while you picked up a clean leaf, added some herbal remedy to speed up his recovery and placed it against his stitched wound, making him hiss.

"There you go." You caressed his shoulder tenderly and collected everything you had to use to take care of his injuries, putting it away as your patient rubbed his watering eyes. You kneeled in front of him, worry flashing across your gaze. "Are you feeling okay? Does it hurt that much?"

"No," Neteyam chuckled at your abrupt change of tone and allowed his gaze to linger on yours, battling his mind that was persuading him to capture your cheek and pull you closer. "I mean, of course it fucking hurts. I just got my back stitched, so." He shrugged his shoulder, baring his teeth when the movement sent unpleasant pain into his upper back. "It definitely hurts," he muttered as his eyes fluttered shut.

"Poor you." You pushed yourself forward, your plump lips brushing against the tip of his ear as you spoke, "But it is your fault. You should have been more careful."

"Oh?" Neteyam raised his brow at you, licking his chapped lips. He cupped your reddening cheeks and put his elbows on his scraped knees, luring you to lean in. "You think it was my fault? I mean, surely you could do better than me, huh? Dodge every single kunsip [scorpion gunship], murder anybody who would appear in front of you, no?"

You let your wide eyes wander to his smirking mouth and swallowed your words when his fangs peeked out, but you had to play along with his teasing, so, you smiled and shook your head as a snicker drummed against the walls of your throat.

"That is my purpose," you muttered and glanced up, staring at Neteyam through your eyelashes. You wrapped your fingers around his wrists and grinned when his tail flicked behind him. "I am supposed to destroy, kill, and scare sky people, Tey."

"Are you?" Neteyam began to caress your cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs, his amber eyes sparkling underneath the nearest glow lantern, where several hellfire wasps were asking for a meal. His gaze softened when his finger found a scar below your eye and he bit the inside of his cheek. "You are still a child, who has the right to enjoy their childhood." Your eyebrows knitted at his words. "You do not have to be a warrior- hell, who would want to be one, right?"

You stared deeply into his determined eyes, letting him drown your flushed cheeks in gentle touches and strokes you had never received from the boy. You noticed tiny droplets of saltwater in his vulnerable gaze and surprised yourself by leaning towards him, kissing the corner of his pursed lips. Neteyam refused to move away from you and tightened the grip he had on your face.

"You are also a child," you whispered into his cheekbone and pressed another light kiss to his skin. "Yet, you are a warrior."

"I have to be." Neteyam pulled away from you to gaze into your glistening eyes and pushed a strand of your hair behind your pointed ear. "My father was Toruk Makto. People expect me to be his copy - a mighty warrior, possibly a legend. That is my purpose."

"No," you disagreed with a shake of your head and stood up, now towering over the boy. His hands abandoned your cheeks and traveled to your calf muscles, settling there. "You do not have to be the copy of your father. You are Neteyam, not JakeSully. You are your own person, who should be treated like a seventeen-year-old, definitely not like an elder."

Neteyam chuckled as he snuggled up against your abdomen, triggering herds of butterflies to fill your belly. His lips teased the skin above your loincloth and forced your knees to weaken. Your hands clutched his shoulders in an attempt to warn the boy about the consequences his actions could bring, but he ignored how you buried your fingernails in his skin.

"I hate you," Neteyam mumbled as his eyes fluttered shut and wrapped his aching arms around your thighs to prevent you from stepping backwards. You sighed, allowing his words to strike your pounding heart in a way that affected your steady breathing. "But I understand why my mother fancies you so much."

"What?"

"My mother put you on the list of suitors she created with my grandmother." You pushed yourself away and received a groan in return. Neteyam glanced up at you, catching the confusion in your eyes before you managed to show it in your facial expression. "You didn't know?"

"No? How could I?" You left his embrace, ignoring his complaints about losing your warmth. The news twisted your world around within mere seconds and you weren't prepared for it. It was suspicious when your father spoke so highly of you in front of Toruk Makto, but you never realized that there was a chance of being among the women who would be offered to Neteyam.

You shivered when the tips of his cold fingers landed on your collarbones and swatted his hand away from your overheating body, unable to move. "How long have you known?"

Neteyam averted his amber gaze from yours, finding it difficult to hold it at the moment. He believed your mother would share her excitement with you when she found out, but it looked like she decided to hide it from you and keep it to herself for the time being. Suddenly, he felt small and vulnerable beneath your stern stare, knowing that you were waiting for an genuine answer, but all he could give you was a shrug.

"Oh my Eywa," you murmured, your hand sprinting to the bridge of your flat nose to pinch it. "I cannot believe you. You knew the possibility of me becoming your mate was high and didn't bother to tell me?"

His ears flattened and tail twitched beside him as your groan echoed through the tent. "I thought you knew," he grumbled and grasped your biceps, dragging the tip of his tongue along the lower layer of his teeth when you bared your fangs at him and yanked your arms out of his grip. "Your mother was so excited about it, I believed she would tell you the news."

"Well, she did not." You began to pace in front of the boy, gnawing at your lower lip.

An arranged betrothal? That was supposed to be your downfall?

Finding a mate was something you were looking forward to and you were robbed of it, by your own parents at that. Fury clouded your mind without your permission and forced you to ball your hands into tight fists. Neteyam took a quick notice of the change and placed his hands on your tense shoulders to ground you in a way, although he had doubts himself. He had seen you explode once in the past and hoped he could avoid reliving it in the future, but his wish couldn't be fulfilled entirely.

You closed your watering eyes and exhaled heavily, bringing your hands up in defeat. Neteyam released a sigh of relief and cupped your flushed cheeks carefully, knowing you could snap at any given moment.

"I am not mating with you." You opened your eyes to show your seriousness and pushed his hands off your face, your tail flickering behind you. "I am not going to."

"Good." Neteyam straightened his posture as his arms retreated to their original place. He stood tall in front of you and didn't let his disappointment come to the surface, not in your presence. "Our feelings about the situation are mutual, then."