at first, stiles didn't even notice it. the way his heart would race and his cheeks would flush; he was used to having that reaction around you. so used to it, in fact, that he had stopped letting it be a distraction. you'd giggle at his joke or look up at him through your lashes and he'd blush, fidget, move on. like his own little routine.
what got distracting was when he had made the sudden realization one day: you're hot.Β
the two of you had been friends for so long, crushing for almost that whole time, that by the time stiles looked up and saw you in your bikini, it was too late to turn back. he was a goner.
literally-he was out of lydia's backyard and in her half bathroom before you could even ask him to help with your sunscreen.
holy shit. he gripped the sink, glaring at his flushed reflection. get yourself together, perv. so she's got nice tits. really, really nice tits and thighs that could suffocate you and jesus her hips-
no! nope, no no no nonono. it is way too early for this. get real. she's seen you recite the entire opening crawl of the force awakens. she is not going to do that with you- woah! or that! get it together. get it together. get it together.
and so stiles marches back out where you and your friends are gathered, playing marco polo. you glance at him and smirk in that way the tells him you're totally cheating, only proven true when allison calls out "marco!" and you slide past her in the water without joining in the choruses of "polo!"s from all over the pool.
stiles stiffens. your goddamn smirk.Β
this is going to be a loooong day.
β
and it was. a long day that ended in his right hand wrapped around his cock and a fantasy he wouldn't repeat even if there was a gun to his head.Β
but that was over, and it was three days later, anyway. the pack was meeting at the movies to see a new romcom, which the girls were excited for, and the guys were... hoping it had a good soundtrack. it's not that they didn't want to go, it's just that their time- well, stiles' time could be better spent on things like useless research and avoiding his homework. that was his mindset walking into the theater.
now, he's about three inches from having no mindset at all. you're sat next to him, too close for him to remember a single detail of the movie, and you're wearing a tank top. low cut. lace trim on the top. prettiest color he's ever seen.
and stiles can see straight down it.Β
every time he glances over at you, whether it be an excuse of reaching for the popcorn or making a joke or listening to you talk, he has a view down your top right to where your tits are pressed together, rising and falling subtly with each breath. he wonders what the smooth skin of your breasts would look like covered in hickeys. he imagines the sounds you'd make if he had you pinned down, mouth enveloping your pert nipples. he-
he gets up a little too hastily when he rushes out of the theater, into the quiet hall.
"god," he mumbles, tugging his own hair. "fuck."
he has to will his blood to cooperate before he can show his face again.
β
it's getting worse.Β
stiles is chewing on the cap of the marker he has in his hand, eyes darting all over his murder board.
"wouldn't they hunt in packs? this fable here, it reads... stiles?"
stiles turns on his heel, watching you now as you sit on his bed. he's been avoiding looking at you lately, since just recently he had a close call when you hit your knee on scott's coffee table and whined a dramatic 'ahh', leaving stiles to imagine that noise, that face you made in other scenarios.
it's been harder (ha, ha, yeah, no pun intended. he's struggling.) since you asked to come over and help with some research he was doing after a meeting with deaton. you sat all pretty and focused on his bed, twirling and tucking and sometimes tugging your hair when you read out of a book he had borrowed (stolen) from the argent's.
so when he looked at you now, it was with great mental strength. especially when you started rattling off a really smart point he didn't think anyone else would notice that he had realized twenty minutes ago, giving him some time to zone out and watch as you gather your hair behind you, tying it up in a ponytail while you look up at him through your lashes. giving him a second to imagine you looking at him like that with your lips wrapped around his cock, letting him guide you by the ponytail-
stilinski! great. mental. strength.
he turns back to the murder board and nods, eyes squeezed shut as he feels the familiar heat spread all over and his jeans get tight. "yeah, that's- i know, that's a good point."
he hears you shift, the way you get noticeably quiet. "stiles, are you... is everything alright? you seem off."
he shrugs, nods, shrugs again. swallows. "yeah. just a bit tired, that's all."
he can feel your disbelief, but he'd rather feel that then disgust. you both sigh at the same time, and the evening moves on.
β
it's pretty much every time he sees you now. he's a mess, unable to choose between relieving himself and willing his dick to cooperate. you've made a mess of stiles, and he's dying.
you're wearing leggings today, talking to scott while stiles watches from the bench. coach is barking orders at a couple of stray lacrosse boys, and stiles is lucky enough to have dodged his attention this evening.
game night is usually when he's free of the hold you have on him, too busy gnawing on his goalie gloves and tracking scott across the field. but you and allison showed up early (curse scott and his happy relationship), so his pea-sized brain has time to imagine sliding the buttery fabric down your legs, kissing exposed skin as he goes. he'd definitely pay close attention to your thighs- he thinks about those more than he'd care to admit, and he's aware of how idiotically insecure of them you are.Β
because of his train of thought, he doesn't realize you've caught him staring until it's too late. you're prancing over excitedly and leaving scott to smirk at stiles all knowingly, and stiles resists the urge to flip him off.
"you gonna play, 24?" you nudge his foot teasingly with your own. he looks up at you and feels those telltale signs as he fanaticizes about tracing the line of your jaw with his finger, both of you panting softly as he coos at you while you whine pathetically. he has to blink away the thought before he can speak.
"um, i hope not. it's an important game." he leans back a bit and you tilt your head, clearly mulling over your next words. he fills the space in the meantime. "but if i do, i'll be sure to keep away from the ball."
it's music to his ears when you laugh. finally, finally he's blushing about something normal, having regular fantasies instead of these hormone fueled pornos that seem to be on repeat in his head lately. he smiles up at you and you take a small step closer to being in between his legs.
"i don't mean to bring it up so randomly..." you avoid his eyes, fiddling with your hands. "but i was just wondering if i've done something to upset you?"
he blinks. "what?"
"it's just that you've been distant and honestly, you're acting kind of like you're allergic to me. if i did something or there's something going on just tell me. it's kinda driving me crazy." you ramble, brows drawn together in discomfort.Β
stiles' eyes widen and he shakes his head, standing. his heart skips a beat when you have to tilt your chin up a bit to keep his eyes. "no, of course not. i didn't know... i guess i've... it's just-" he sighs and rubs the back of his neck. how is he supposed to explain this? 'oh, hey, girl i've been super into for a pathetically long time, i've been imagining what you'd look like if i pinned you to my bed and drove us both insane from a sex marathon! that's cool, right? not objectifying at all!'
you frown, crossing your arms. "just tired?"
it's bait, he knows it is. the same excuse he used less than a week ago to keep you from figuring him out. you're a clever girl and he's stupid when he's horny, so he has to play his cards right here. if you think he's lying, things will only get worse and there's a hefty chance you'll distance yourself. but if he tells a lie a little too well, you're going to be around him constantly again. either way, he's starting to wonder if he's a masochist from the amount of pain he's going to inflict on himself.
"it's nothing, really. i didn't mean to get distant." he clenches his jaw as he gauges your reaction, which is a less-than-ideal-but-not-terrible pout. he wants to smooth the lines of your forehead with his thumb and make you laugh again, but he has to focus. "let me make it up to you?"
you turn your face away (very, very not good) and huff. "no, don't worry about it."
stiles cringes internally and bites the inside of his cheek. how can he un-dig this hole he's in? "no, no, i want to. i shouldn't have made you worry. that's my fault. i'll pick you up tomorrow, we can get food. my treat."
you turn back to face him, and the way your bottom lip just barely juts out tells him you're playing it up, but he doesn't mind. he's come to realize that you like to feel earned, and he's more than happy to earn you. he takes a breath, eyebrows raised. "what are you thinking?"
you drop the pout (much to his relief, he was just starting to imagine you using that face on him when he makes you tell him exactly what you want him to do to you) and put your hands on your (perfect, sexy) hips. "i'm thinking that if you didn't mean to get distant then it was subconscious, and it's going to be more of an effort to be around me than not."
so clever. god, you're so hot when you use critical thinking skills.Β
stiles sighs and shuffles a bit. "yeah, okay, i can understand where you're getting that but it's wrong-"
"but it isn't. you've been proving it right all week and-"
"hold on, no i haven't, i've just been-"
"-you definitely lied to me in your room a few days ago-"
"-there's no way you're actually believing-"
"STILINSKI!" coach's voice booms over both of you, halting the beginning of an argument that probably would have only turned stiles on more. he whips his head around to where the entire team is gathered, and realizes he was so wrapped up in you that he tuned out everything around him, including the team rallying together to talk strategy before the game started. he blinks, distantly hearing you mumble a mortified "oh." and skitter off, leaving stiles to be completely embarrassed alone.
"would you like to join us or are you too busy harassing the young ladies in the general area?" coach's tone is strung with impatience, eyes wide.
"ah..." stiles glances to the spot you just stood in and then back to the team. "no, coach, 'm coming."
"fantastic." he drawls, before turning back to the team and continuing his rant. stiles is half-listening, half-daydreaming about 'making it up to you' in many different ways, positions, and places. for many hours.
yeah, he's dead. for sure. you're killing him.
β
although making it up to you currently involved a lot more clothing and a lot less begging, stiles was having a really good time. sat in his room, arguing about book to movie adaptations, both of you holding your own milkshakes. with all his time spent avoiding you out of... sex-driven fear? he really forgot how much he enjoyed your company.
"you wouldn't get it," you shake your head stubbornly as he stands and sets his milkshake on his desk so he can use the dry erase board in his room. "you don't read books."
"i do-"
"yeah, i don't count the bestiary."
"that's besides the point, anyway. i don't have to read the book to know whether the movie is a good adaptation or not!" he starts writing down movies he knows are heavily based off of books while you crawl across his floor to his desk, sneaking a spoonful of vanilla ice cream and whipped cream. he's too busy to notice that the half-melted treat dribbles off of the spoon and spills above the cut of your tank top (the same one as the movie theater, actually) and onto your exposed thighs.
"fuck." you hiss under your breath. stiles turns to see what caused your quiet outburst, but his brain screeches to a halt at the sight of you.
perched on your knees, you're glaring down at the mess that's been spilled on the top of your tits and thighs, white sliding down to the line where they're pressed together. stiles doesn't even blink, just stares with a slightly open mouth at the sight of you. a small noise leaves his mouth and he can feel the tent in his sweats, but he's a bit frozen.
you look up when he makes the strangled grunt, looking caught with his milkshake in your hand, as if that's his issue right now. "uhh... whoops? i swear, it just flew into my hand! how crazy is that...."
your joke trails off as you really see his face. his eyes are dark and hungry, almost predatory as they sweep over your body, hanging on the spills that you made. his mouth shuts and his jaw clenches. his hands are curled into restrained, white-knuckled fists. and...
he's hard as a fucking rock.
it's easy to tell, with his grey sweatpants, and you feel your mouth water at the sight.
"it's fine." he mumbles, voice dry. you take a second before you realize he's talking about the milkshake. both of you are bright red. you force out a breath and he seems to come to, turning back around quickly. "uh, s-so, harry potter-"
"is that because of me?" you blurt, getting hotter in the cheeks every second.
stiles quiets, turning to face you finally. your stomach swoops and you shuffle barely closer. his adams apple bobs.
"yeah. it... it is"
that's it. a simple confession, but it feels like a chord being snapped between the two of you. your confidence grows. you made stiles like that.
"are you gonna do something about it?"
his head snaps up, eyes wide as he looks at you. "you want me to?"
"why else would i ask, stiles?" you sound almost exasperated, like he's taking to long. he swallows and drops to his knees in front of you.
stiles. is crawling towards you. on his knees.
"are you... do you really?" he's close, so close now. looking into your eyes like they'll answer for you. like they contain every 'yes' you've been too scared to whisper.
which, honestly, is probably not far from true.
"i do. i really, really, d-"
his lips are on yours before you can finish, one hand cupping the back of your neck to bring you closer. you let out a muffled noise of surprise, mouth opening on it's own accord as stiles takes the kiss deeper, tongue exploring your mouth hotly.
"you're impossible-" stiles gasps, going in for more before he can finish. "-to be around-" his teeth nip your bottom lip. "-when i can't have you."
his lips leave a wet kiss on the corner of your mouth, so passionate that he misses, and he continues that trail onto your neck until he finds the spot that makes you squirm. his hands go to your waist, pulling you closer and knocking your knees together. you feel dizzy with want, barely registering his words.
"what-" you gasp, blinking and leaning into his demanding mouth. "what is that supposed to mean?"
stiles groans against the skin of your neck, kissing lower, closer to the sticky mess you made just minutes ago. "i can't think... can't even... fuckin'... breathe when you're near, y'look so pretty. j'st wanna make you-"
he interrupts himself again, opting instead to lick the ice cream off the top of your tits like he's starving. you gasp as the feel of his tongue against your skin, pressing your thighs together to try and relieve some of the sudden pressure shooting down your stomach to your core. he's barely making sense and he still has you all foggy brained, swaying just a bit under his touch.
"you-you've thought about this? befo- oh-" you stumble, as he tugs lightly against the low cut to give himself better access to the sweetness melted onto your skin. he laughs, seeming to clear up a bit.
"yeah. you kidding me? i've basically been-" he's kissing back up your neck now, seeming to track a path to your lips. "-perpetually hard for the past three weeks."
you swallow thickly and he captures your lips. stiles tastes like vanilla ice cream and it's the most tempting sin, luring you over the edge. enticing you to do things you'd normally pretend you weren't into. he runs a hand down the side of your body, squeezing your hip lightly. "you're torture, you know that?"
"i could say the same to you."
he smiles at you, like a sap, like a saint. you feel your mind fall into his hands and your heart nestle against his ribcage. you no longer belong to yourself. you never have. and neither does he, it seems, as his eyes wander all over you.
"wanna move to the bed? i can clean up your thighs..." his tone is low, clearly suggestive in a bad-pickup-line way. you nod, giggling girlishly and stiles hauls you up to gently lay you back on his bed, tugging your tank top off on the way. his eyes linger on your chest before moving along, kissing a wet trail down your body as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. "god, look at you. you're gorgeous."
it's not like you're wearing lingerie and sexy makeup- you went to stiles' place to lounge, so you're wearing your lounge bra and some comfy shorts. stiles looks at you, though, as if you invented beauty. he sighs contentedly as he pulls your bottoms off slowly, eyes drinking in your stomach and hips and thighs like you're the first woman to have them. once he's got them far off enough, his hands press your hips back down and his eyes meet yours.
"not to late to back out. well- obviously it's never too late, it's just... okay, this is me asking for consent. i was trying to make it sexy, but it sounded a bit rapey."
you laugh breathlessly and nod at him where he stands, towering above your almost-naked form. "stiles, please stop talking and fulfill both of our fantasies already."
stiles grins and tugs his shirt halfway off before stopping abruptly. "wait- both?"
you roll your eyes. "stiles, why would i be so... so..."
"obedient?" he offers with a cocky smirk. you flush.
"agreeable, if i didn't want this?" you nibble your lip as he pulls his shirt the rest of the way off his body, getting on his knees at the edge of the bed and spreading your legs. your body moves pliantly under his hands. the sight of it all is downright promiscuous.
"well," stiles presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. it would be sweet if not for the sinful way his eyes are preoccupied with the wet spot on your panties. "i heard girls find consent sexy. maybe i screwed that one up a bit. what do you think is sexy?"Β
he asks in that absent tone that tells you he's storing away information as he kisses further up the inside of your thighs more fervently. you let out a breath that feels too shaky too early and watch as his pink tongue swipes out to lick up some ice cream spill. it makes you clench around nothing.Β
"any day now." his hand is gently rubbing your thigh as he moves to lick and suck almost crudely at your other thigh.
your eyes narrow slightly. "gimme a second."
he gets closer to where you're literally soaked for him, nibbling lightly at the plush flesh of your inner thigh. you shove down a low whine of impatience to avoid your already growing embarrassment.
"your attention to foreplay is- i like it." you admit softly and he hums, licking a stripe of ice cream out of the way. taking a second to think, you continue. "i like the... the desperation. how you took me without really... um... i like it when you just do what you want, i mean."
it's difficult to form a single thought once stiles presses a kiss against your clothed clit, being sure to add plenty of pressure. almost like a reward. "what if you don't like what i want? will you tell me to stop?"
you nod, chest rising and falling heavily with every breath. you glance down at stiles, and a small sound leaves your lips when your eyes catch his hand down his sweats, slowly stroking himself. he flushes.Β
"you.... can't i help?"
he lets out a small moan and his eyes flutter as he halts his movements. "i don't- i don't have a condom."
against all better judgement, you shake your head and thread your fingers through his messy hair. "it's okay. just pull out, yeah?"
his brows shoot up, and you wonder for a moment if he's about to cum in his pants. but then he nods and rises, standing in between your legs now. his fingers deftly tug off your panties, pocketing them in his sweats (for "safe keeping") and his lips part silently once you're exposed to him.
your legs begin to close, feeling suddenly too naked and too insecure for his hungry eyes, but his hands catch your knees easily, even giving you a little tap as a sign to scoot further onto the bed.
before you comply, curiosity takes over and you tug at the strings on his sweatpants. "wait, what about you?"
he tilts his head. "what about me?"
you narrow your eyes, fingers dipping under the band. "can i take these off?"
"oh!" his brows shoot up, as if he forgot about himself altogether. "oh, yeah, of course. please."
you waste no time pulling his bottoms off, his cock springing out. it's flushed and leaking, looking properly erotic in the dim lighting of his room. your eyes flutter up to meet his and you wrap your hands around him, pumping twice.
stiles moans, hips twitching into your hands on their own accord. "holy shit."
part of you just wants to finish him that way, positively fucking hooked on the look he has, pleasure pinching his pretty face all tight. he pants and pulls your hands away, eyes squeezing shut for just a moment. "y're gonna make me cum, holy shit."
"i'm sorry, you just..." you fluster, laughing a tad at the both of you. he shakes his head, though, so you fall silent and let him crawl over top of you, kissing you deeply. he unhooks your bra with a bit of struggle and you both have to cooperate to get it off of your body. you giggle, and his eyes are locked on you as your smile slowly fades.
"don't be sorry," his voice is gentle, "i've imagined that so many times it should be criminal." he kisses you again and you feel his fingers graze along your stomach. stiles pulls back far enough to see your whole face and you wonder why- then his thumb is circling your clit.
the high-pitched gasp you suck in is not as embarrassing as the louder whine that leaves your lips once he's slid a finger into you, eyes closing for a moment to soak in the bliss. it feels like heaven, for a long moment. but his fingers are slow. too slow. and even when you cant your hips, he doesn't speed up enough to have you seeing stars (like you know he can). instead, he has you writhing impatiently. "you're... stiles, please."
it's whiney and pathetic, but stiles seems to stifle a smirk when he hears it, covering it with a sympathetic pout instead. "i know, pretty girl, i know. you gonna ask nicely?"
and you knew you gave him permission to do whatever he wanted. but you didn't expect to be into it. your lips part and you almost tell him to shut up and fuck you already. but you're hot with embarrassment and something else he can totally feel when your walls clench around his torturous fingers. so instead, you opt for falling right into his hands.
"please, stiles, fuck me already." you whisper, lips brushing against his when you speak. "please."
"there we go." he presses a peck to your lips and slips his fingers out. "such a good girl."
you aren't given any time to process that and the fact that it made you throb like a personal whore- stiles is already swiping his tip through your folds, making you gasp when it catches on your clit. he's panting heavily as he lines himself up, and you're a little surprised when he finds your hand and laces his own against it.Β
then, he's stretching you open and you're seeing stars, just like you knew he could make you do.
stiles is sweet, but he's not exactly gentle. hips rolling into you and his tongue pressing against your own. a hand pinning you to the bed and keeping him upright, the other tweaking your nipples or teasing your clit. he's all over you, pulling back every once in awhile to watch the way you arch your back and gasp out unintelligible pleas. his moans are about as pathetic as yours and he hisses "fuck" into your ear when you clench around him tightly. your dance goes on like this for a moment, and he's rambling horny nonsense constantly.
"stiles, 'm close-" you whimper, free hand pulling him closer by the hair. he gasps out and his hips snap roughly.Β
"yeah, me too. jesus, you're so perfect. look at you." he pushes some of your hair out of the way, eyes meeting yours. "you gonna cum for me?"
you nod, eyebrows turning up as you feel the warmth crawl up your belly. your free hand tugs at his mussed up hair again and his expression matches yours. he speeds up and you gasp and whimper, pliant under his body as he fucks you into his mattress.
"stiles, fuck, stiles, i'm-"
"that's it, there you go, hooooly fuck." he holds your hips down when you finish, rutting into you with an open mouth. he's got his forehead pressed against your own, swallowing each others desperate moans as he rides you through your orgasm. stiles' moan is sudden and loud when he pulls out in a rush and finishes on your cunt, his tip pressing into your overstimulated clit and making your legs twitch.
you gasp out a breath and sink into the mattress, sighing contentedly. when your eyes flutter open on heavy lids, stiles is gazing at you. he leans down and kisses you, soft and sweet and full of a confession long coming.
"that was..."
"amazing." he finishes dazedly, hands running over your bare skin anywhere he can reach. "want me to use my mouth?"
your brows raise. "stiles, i just came."
"i know." he sighs, playing with some of your hair. "it was so fucking hot."
"you said you've been perpetually hard for three weeks?" you attempt to change the subject, but stiles only grins wider.
"yeah, so i've got plenty more fantasies to play out before i'm out of steam."
you shove him lightly, fighting a flustered smile. "just- give me a second, you dog!"Β
"awooooo." stiles deadpans an imitation of a howl, nuzzling into your neck. "let me know when you're ready. i'll just be here. naked. on top of you. in the mood to make you pass out from orgasms. willing to learn every kink you have- which, hey, the praise kink was a good guess, right?"
you groan, pushing him off of you. your face is flushed red and you snatch his nearby discarded t-shirt when you sit up. "that was so out of left field."
"yeah, but was it? i mean, you-"
"i'm getting in the shower, stiles." you stand and take a few steps away from him before you turn to gauge his reaction.
his eyebrows shoot up from where he sits on the bed. it makes you bright fucking red when his eyes trail down and he watches a bead of his own cum slide down your inner thigh. he licks his lips.
"i'll come with."
β
this is from the vault, so if you've read it already, that's why! don't be afraid to interact with it anyway, i love crazy readers and feral responses sjdjsaskdj
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
sypnosis: when a hospital visit leaves you too weak to go home alone, you don't think twice before agreeing to let the nurse call your emergency contact. only... the person who shows up isn't who you expected. you thought nanami had walked out of your life for good three years ago β so why is he here now?
content: MDNI, exes to lovers, long-term relationship in the past, just two people hung up over each other, yearning, so much yearning, reconciliation, fluff, non-detailed references to mental health struggles, explicit smut, nanami kento has a big dickβ¦., hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending!! porn with plot, makeup sex (but itβs 3 years in the making) word count: 10k
a/n:Β i've been sitting on this work since last year so i'm really happy it's finally done! i hope the nanami girlies enjoy <3 ALSO uh iβm kinda obsessed with the idea of nanami not being with anyone else for the entire period of the break up because heβs just loyal like that. this man loves you so muchβ¦ i love men who yearn and this particular man yearns hard. ao3 link
you sit on the edge of the bed, the discharge paper crumpled in your hands. your body aches, your head throbs, and the bright fluorescent lights are way too harsh on your eyes.
you kick your feet idly, letting the sound fill up the quiet of the hospital room. youβve been waiting for the nurse to come back and give you the all-clear to leave. she had asked if you would like her to call your emergency contact first β advising that you were still weak and would be much safer with someone to help you get home. exhausted and bleary-eyed, you had simply shrugged and agreed without much thought.Β
your mom would probably rush over, give you a stern lecture about taking care of yourself better, though her worry would be evident in the way sheβd sneak side glances at you the entire drive back to your apartment.
βi told you not to overwork yourself,β she would chide, her brows furrowed. βyou canβt keep living like this.β
guilt presses down, heavier than the fever pressing at your temples. sheβs right, of course. youβre just not sure what else to do. your industry treats burnout as a badge of honour, and slowing down means falling behind. youβve already sacrificed so much, so whatβs a few skipped meals, a few dizzy spells?
a knock on the door draws you out of your reverie. your eyes flicker up to find the same nurse from before at the door, clipboard in hand.
βit says here that your emergency contact is a person namedβ¦?β she squints at the papers in her hand, ββ¦nanami kento?β she peers up at you from her clipboard, offering you a kind smile.
your stomach drops.
nanamiβ¦ kento?Β
you havenβt heard that name in months, much less seen the man himself in two years. the sound of his name reverberates in your ears, a familiar ache washing over you once more.Β
βwe actually tried to get in touch with him earlier while you were unconscious, but he didnβt pick up.β she continues, her tone cheerful, oblivious to the distraught expression on your face. βgood news though, i just managed to contact him and heβs already on his way hββ
βwait, no!β you cut her off, your voice sharp with panic as you frantically wave your hands in front of you.
βohβ¦?β the nurse blinks at you, now startled by your sudden outburst, as you scramble to explain yourself.
βtβthat wonβt be necessary. iβll uhβ iβll call someone else right now,β you say quickly, standing up to grab your phone from your bag. βheβsβ heβsβ¦β
my ex-boyfriend.Β
ββ¦he doesnβt live in tokyo anymore,β you finish, voice softening in panic-soaked whisper. βhe definitely wonβt be able to come.β
and he probably doesnβt even think about me anymore.
βthats odd,β her eyebrows lift. βitβs justβ¦ when we called him, he said he would be here soon, and he sounded quite worried, actually.β she eyes you with a gentle concern.
oh god, no.Β
you sit down just as quickly as you stood up, clutching the sides of the bed frame like an anchor and feeling like you might be rapidly cycling through the five stages of grief.Β
stage 1, denial: because thereβs just no fucking way. nanami kento, who hated you so much he quit his job and disappeared to kyoto to get away, a whole train ride away from tokyo, is supposedly coming to pick you up?Β
step 2, anger: why the hell did you let them call him? what were you thinking? why is he still listed as your emergency contact? which puppy did you kick? what god did you offend?
step 3, bargaining: maybe you can hobble out of here and call a taxi before he arrives. no wait, the nurse had said it wasnβt advisable with your condition. is hiding in the toilet or under the bed a feasible option instead? you canβt help but peer down the edge of the hospital bed. no, too much space underneath. heβd spot you instantly. fuck.
youβre about to progress to the next stage: existential crisis when someone clears his throat at the door.Β
you know instantly who it is without having to look up.
you really donβt want to look up.
how many seconds is a reasonable time to spend staring at the ground below your feet?
taking measured breaths to steel yourself, you count to three before slowly raising your head to look at him.
you swallow hard upon doing so, your voice instantly dying in your throat.Β
standing right in front of you, it's undeniable that heβs just as handsome as ever. the same chiselled jawline and hollowed cheekbones, the signature blue dress shirt, and the same calm, steady presence that used to make you feel so incredibly safe. his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and you have to try really hard not to notice the way his biceps pull the fabric tight against his arms.Β
and.. he still smells entirely familiar, the distinctive smell of the cologne you gifted him on your second anniversary being hard to miss. you wonder if heβs finished the bottle, or if he went out and repurchased the same one. you wonder if he thought of you while doing so, if he remembered the night you shared together the night you presented him with the gift.Β
you wonder if he knows you still think of him β when you pass by his favourite bakery, when you cook a dish that used to be enjoyed together, or when itβs late at night, and the bedβs far too cold, and you find yourself missing the warmth of a certain ex-lover.
he was more than your ex-lover, though. he was your best friend, your home, andβ¦ youβd always thought heβd be your husband one day.Β
you quickly shake off that thought before it cracks your heart right open again.
thereβs a tired look in nanamiβs eyes that mirrors your own, and his tie is slightly loosened β he must have rushed over.
thereβs a brief moment of quiet. neither one of you speaks, the silence thick with unsaid things from the past that come rushing back in an instant for you. shared memories β the laughter, the promises, and the pain, that youβve tried to block out with one too many drinks alone or with friends.Β
he doesnβt ask if youβre okay. he doesnβt ask why your emergency contact list still has his name. he doesnβt ask anything.
βcome on,β he says simply, not meeting your eyes. βletβs get you home.β
he canβt even look at me.Β
so why did he even bother to come?
he just takes your bag from the side table, slings it over his shoulder, and holds the door open for you like itβs been no time at all.
thankfully, the car ride home is short and traffic is smooth, ensuring your suffering isnβt needlessly prolonged. after giving nanami your address, you simply opt to stare out the window, pretending to take great interest in the passing blur of trees and headlights. anything to avoid looking at him.
βthanks for coming,β you mumble, voice stiff and rigid. βiβm sorry about the inconvenience.β
he glances over at you. βthatβs alright. i work nearby.β heβs straight-faced as he stares ahead, and the tone of his voice is imperceptible. you canβt get a read on his emotions at all, even if you tried.
you ignore the part where he just revealed that heβs back in tokyo. working. it shouldnβt hurt you that you didnβt know. he came to pick you up when he didnβt have to, when he didnβt want to, and that should be enough.
βstill,β you say quietly, shifting in your seat. βthank you.βΒ
you know this man like the lines on your palms β every freckle, every sigh, every scar he never let anyone else touch. you know the exact way he takes his coffee and how he prefers to fold his shirts. you have his initials inked into your skin, for goodness' sake. he used to trace over them absentmindedly when he thought you were asleep.
and yet.
here you are.
he was the love of your life, and youβre reduced to exchanging cheap pleasantries like strangers.Β
βitβ it was an accident,β you attempt to clarify, sitting up straighter. βthe nurse asked if i wanted to call my emergency contact, and i wasnβt thinking so i said yes, and she tells me sheβs just called uhβ you, and i must have forgotten to change myββ you cut yourself off, wincing when you realise youβve started rambling.
β...thank you,β you say again stupidly, for lack of anything else to say to fill the space between you. βiβ¦ i appreciate it.β
itβs almost laughable how awkwardly youβre sitting, with your entire body turned away towards the window, like youβre trying to squeeze yourself towards the door and as far away as possible from the driverβs side. you might as well be trying to climb out of it.
βyouβve thanked me enough tonight,β he makes a sound that could seem like a bit of a laugh escaping him. you want to reach for it. to capture the precious sound with both hands and never let go.Β
βsoβ¦β nanami asks, softer now. βdo you feel alright?β
βyβyeah.β you mumble, looking down at your hands. βjust the usual, you know. itβs really not a big deal.β
βthe fainting spells?β his eyebrows raise and he glances at you as he takes a right turn. youβre close to home. βyou still get them?β
you nod, surprised he remembers. βuh huh,β you reply absentmindedly. βitβs just work. i guess iβve been overdoing it lately. but iβve got the weekend off soβ¦ iβll use that time to get some rest.β
βi was really worried when i got the call,β he says quietly. βyou should take better care of yourself.β
you turn your head to look at him, caught off guard. but his eyes are still fixed on the road, focused and unreadable as he pulls up to your apartment complex. thereβs not a flicker of emotion on his face β nothing at all to tell you what heβs really thinking.Β
βyeah,β you mutter. βthaββ you quickly stop yourself. βiβll keep that in mind.β
the engine clicks softly as he shifts into park, but neither of you move.
you stare out the windshield at the streetlights glowing against the pavement, casting long shadows that stretch like ghosts between you.
you bite your lip.
you should let him go. you know you should. thank him again, close the door behind you, and leave this buried in the past β right where he left you those two and a half years ago.Β
but your thoughts are moving too fast, resisting another dreadful goodbye. this canβt be it. not after everything. the way his voice cracked slightly when he said he was worried β that was real, right? thereβs still so much you want to say. thereβs so much you never got to tell him.
so blame it on the hospital meds, or the adrenaline, or the fact that he still smells like that stupid cologne you bought him, but before you can talk yourself down, the words are already tumbling out of your mouth.
you donβt look at him when you say it. your fingers twist painfully in your lap, breath caught in your throat.Β
βdo youβ¦ want to come up for a bit?βΒ
a pause.
youβre beginning to wish you could take it back. to laugh and say nevermind, to play it off like it didnβt mean anything. you glance at him, mouth opening to offer some half-hearted apology, but he speaks before you do.
βyeah. okay.β
it takes a second for the words to register. then another to believe he really meant them.Β
you nod once, then without looking at him again β because you canβt bear to see the look in his eyes β you reach for the door handle and hurriedly step out.Β
the ride up to your apartment is quiet, awkward in that strange, brittle way that only two people with history can manage. you shift uncomfortably next to him, fidgeting with your sleeves, whilst he stands a little too still. the elevator walls seem to be caving in on him, trapping him with everything heβs tried to run from. you mumble something about the weather, how cold itβs been lately, how you miss the sun in the mornings.
nanami gives quiet, polite laughs in return. tells you about his recent promotion. it feels strange, to speak of something so mundane after everything thatβs passed between you. but heβs not sure what else to say, and you donβt press. you nod, your eyes somewhere else, and he can feel the way your thoughts spiral even in the silence.
when you finally reach your apartment, nanami takes the opportunity to look around while you change out of your clothes, taking in the details of your life scattered around the modest place. itβs cute and cosy and has clearly been lovingly decorated. the same warmth and care that used to fill your shared space together β he finds it existing again here.Β
he sees traces of familiar items β small, quiet things that tug at him.
thereβs that piece of artwork you used to hang on your old bedroom wall, now on the wall of your living room. and hanging above your couch, is the sanrio alarm clock he had gifted you on christmas all those years ago.Β
heβd thought it was silly at the time β a childish gift β but your eyes had lit up like heβd handed you the world. he remembers the way you squealed and tackled him on the bed, calling him βthe best damn boyfriend everβ. he didnβt particularly feel like it β in fact he had spent most of the relationship feeling wholly undeserving of you β but you announced it like it was gospel.
he moves further into your space, careful not to disturb anything. his fingers brush against the handmade cushion covers on the couch β your motherβs handiwork. the same ones that used to sit on the couch in your shared apartment. back when things were still good.Β
when he had the world in his hands.Β
on one side of the wall, there are framed pictures of you and your friends. he recognises some of them, like your brother, and some of your friends, shoko and utahime. there are others he doesnβt recognise though, like in one polaroid picture where a guy with weird bangs and too many tattoos has his arm swung over your shoulders as you laugh and strike a peace sign for the camera. you guys look close, perhaps a little too close.Β
he winces at that thought.Β
he has no right to feel that way. not anymore.Β
and he knows that, he knows what he walked away from, the vast expanse of everything he gave up, but it hits him all the same β how much of your life heβs missed. how much youβve lived and grown without him.
nanami canβt help but feel a little out of place. standing in your apartment and seeing these snapshots of your life makes him realise how little he knows about you now. the life you evidently worked hard to rebuild after your breakup with him.
he observes how happy you look in all the photos, your smile bright and beaming β nothing at all like how you looked in the final few months of your relationship. exhausted, dull eyes, and always one breath away from breaking down.Β
back then, he felt like couldnβt reach you no matter how hard he tried. or maybe he stopped trying, because the guilt of failing you became too much.
your relationship hadnβt been in a good place, with his frequent travelling for work, your mother falling ill abruptly, and the both of you trying to stay afloat in the middle of weathering separate storms. he knew the love was still there β it was still loud and palpable β but the space between you only stretched wider and wider.Β
his love didnβt feel like it was enough to hold you together.
nanami remembers that last night like it was yesterday. maybe he had replayed it in his head too many times, like a form of punishment he wanted to inflict upon himself. a thousand moments of disconnect, of mutually failed bids for affection, and of pent up frustration boiled over in a single fight. he said things that couldnβt be unsaid. you had done the same.Β
when you told him to leave, your eyes red and glassy, pushing uselessly against his chest as he stood frozen in your doorway, something in him just snapped. it could have been the exhaustion. or it could have been the unbearable guilt of watching the person he loved look at him like he was the thing hurting her the most.Β
he thought you might have been better off without him.Β
so he listened.
he had done exactly that for the past two and a half years, even packing up his life in a suitcase and taking a new position in kyoto, so he could honour your wishes. sure, tokyoβs a big city, but thereβs no place far enough to run to when youβre nursing a broken heart.Β
god, what was he even doing up here?Β
heβs beginning to regret agreeing to come up when you suddenly reemerge from the bedroom, your work clothes now swapped for an oversized t-shirt that barely covered your upper thighs. he catches himself looking for a fraction of a second too long and quickly averts his gaze.Β
βall done,β you call, padding down the hallway. βsorry for the mess,β you say sheepishly, gesturing vaguely around the apartment. βi wasnβt expecting anyone over.β
βno, i should be the one apologising. iβm the one imposing on you,β nanami mutters.
βitβs really okay! i donβt have any plans for tonight anyway,β you reassure. βdo you want anything to drink?β
βjust a glass of water, thanks.β
he drags out a chair and takes a seat at the kitchen counter, leaning forward and watching as you quickly wash up some leftover dishes in your sink. the scene feels awfully⦠familiar. too familiar.
itβs a strange feeling, comforting, yet unsettling all at once. thereβs an undeniable domesticity to the moment and he feels a heavy ache making its way back in his heart.Β
it calls him back to shared laughter around the dinner table, the comfort lovingly infused in homemade meals, late nights spent draped over each other on the living room couch. two lives intertwined with each other, and the promise of forever that was so close to coming true.
(βkentooooo,β you would tease, nuzzling up close against him. βi love you the most in the whole wide world.β
he would say it back, just as earnestly.
and silently, heβd swear to god to let him die a cursed man before ever breaking your heart.)
it hurts.
he wonders if it hurts you too.
he peers at you, your head down whilst you remain concentrated on the last few dirty plates. if it does, it hasnβt shown on your face at all. besides your initial shock of seeing him, he hasnβt been able to get a read on your emotions.
he knows he should probably say something of substance, something meaningful. try to address the elephant in the room.Β
he clears his throat. βhowβ¦ have you been?β
you pause for a moment, setting a glass of water down in front of him before meeting his gaze. βiβve been okay,β you say earnestly. βthings have been a little hectic at work, but it should calm down a little once the busy season is over. what about you?β
nanami takes a sip of water, nodding slowly, his mind turning over what to say.Β
truthfully, things have never been the same for him since the breakup. heβs always been a man of routine - a man who thrives on structure, a man who finds comfort in the predictability of his day-to-day life. he hated change, avoided it wherever possible. you leaving forced his world to change in a way he couldnβt control, and it had killed him a little inside.
of course, he had tried to distract himself. he buried his nose into work, something entirely out of character for a man like him, dedicated himself to the gym, said yes to more invitations from friends, and tried his best to forget.Β
so far, none of that has ever worked.
thereβs a tear in his heart that bleeds like a fresh wound every time something reminds him of you. it rips open at the seams even at the most mundane things β a song, a smell, a dog he saw on the street that looked like the one you always talked about wanting after settling down.
sometimes, he tries to wrap it up in bandages, crafted out of routine and distraction, praying that one day itβll finally scab over, so that all heβll be left with is a vague scar in the shape of you.Β
but then other timesβ¦ he picks at it. agitates it on purpose, just to feel closer to you again. a man who canβt help but run back into the blade, the reflection of you on the knifeβs edge is what he tells himself he has to be content with.Β
βthe same as usual,β he shrugs, struggling to keep his face carefully blank. βyou know how it can be.β
you hum in understanding, tiptoeing to open a cupboard to rummage for something. your shirt rises up your thighs and he quickly looks down, setting the glass of water down with too much force.
βyeah, work can be like that, huh?β you say empathetically.Β
his mind is drifting, barely catching your words. it goes quiet again and the silence stretches between you, heavy and unresolved.
then, before he can stop himself, wincing as soon as the words leave his mouth, he blurts out, βare you seeing anyone? would heβ¦ be okay with me being up here?β
your eyebrows raise, and you seem taken aback by his sudden question. βno,β you laugh lightly, shaking your head. βthat hasnβt really been a priority for me lately.β
βreally?β self control has abandoned him. he shouldnβt be asking you this, he has no place in your life, but he canβt help himself.
βwhen we were younger, you used to say that you wanted to be married by 26.β
βthings change, i guess. i was a lot younger, and a lot more naive,β you shrug, looking away. nanami tries not to take that personally.Β
βwhat about you?β you turn to face him, eyes searching his. βany lucky lady?β
he shakes his head, βhasnβt been a priority for me either.β
again, nanami studies your face carefully, searching for any hints of creeping resentment, anger, hurt, of anything, towards him. after allβ¦ he had ruined that for you, hadnβt he? if the break up hadnβt happened, heβs sure the both of you would have been married by now.Β
he comes up empty-handed. no anger, no blame, no bitterness on your face. just⦠nothing. maybe you got better at maintaining a facade, or maybe you had just fully moved on from him.
he isnβt sure if he likes either possibility.
he should be happy, he tells himself, to see you living a full life, even after him. itβs all he had wished for β for you to find true happiness, even if it meant him no longer being a part of your life. but itβs standing here, in your house, looking at your face, hearing the sound of your voice after so many years, that makes his conviction waiver. the sight of you is too painful to bear.
his throat feels unbearably tight, and thereβs a twisting, gnawing ache in his stomach that refuses to let up.Β
βhey, which one do you prefer?β you ask then, holding up two different flavours of instant noodles. βsorry, i would whip up something better, but i havenβt done the groceries yββ
god.
he isnβt strong enough for this.
he canβt sit here and pretend that everything is okay. not with the reminders of what he once had, of what he could have had, scattered all around him, mocking him.Β
the chair scraps against the floor in a sharp, screeching sound as he abruptly stands, heart pounding against his chest.Β
ββiβm sorry. i should go.β
your lips part, and your hands slowly lower to rest on the countertop, staring at the noodles youβd just gotten out. he sees it β shock, then confusion, then something pained flickering behind your eyes, but before you can say anything, heβs already moving toward the door.
you remain completely silent.Β
he doesnβt even leave a moment to take a last glance at your face, trembling fingers already reaching for the doorknob to yank it open. but just as heβs about to turn it, your voice stops him cold.Β
βyouβre leaving again.β
the bitterness in your tone cuts through the air. nanami turns to face you slowly, his movements stiff and hesitant.
βwβwhat?β
βyouβre leaving again,β you repeat shakily.Β
βiβ¦β his eyes are trained on the floor, avoiding your gaze. βiβm sorry. i shouldnβt have come up.β
at that, you let out a quiet, mirthless laugh. βyou shouldnβt have come?β you echo, shaking your head. βi never pegged you as such a coward, nanami.β
feeling impending tears prick at your eyes, you quickly turn your back towards him, not wanting him to see you crumble.Β
you feel as though youβve been punched in the gut, nails curling into the table edge with a desperate, white-knuckled grip as you try to steady yourself.Β
βokay. leave then. thatβs what you do best anyway.βΒ
you try your best to sound uncaring, cold β just as he had. like itβs nothing more than a passing inconvenience, but the last few words come out chipped and cracked as the facade youβre been maintaining all night finally breaks.
you loved him.
no, you think bitterly. you still love him.
none of it matters though, because he intends to walk out on you the same way he did three years ago. once that door shuts, youβll never see him again. itβs so cruelly final, so devastatingly familiar, and it steals the remaining composure you have out of your body.Β
your gaze lands on the noodles on the counter. they mock you now. a pitiful reminder of your own foolishness. a stupid, stupid girl who somehow thought that inviting him up here might lead to something real, something redeeming. anything more than this unbearable almost.Β
the hope that had been slowly building behind your ribs, that had appeared like a weak flicker of candlelight the moment you saw him in the hospital, and had hesitantly grown the entire car ride home, with every glance, with every nervous exchange, extinguishes in your chest.Β
none of it matters, and the reality of it all is so damning that all you can do is sob miserably into your hands, feeling like your chest might collapse in on itself from the grief.Β
you hear nanami taking a step towards you. βyou think this is easy for me?β he questions, voice strained.
you laugh through your tears, though the sound is hollow. βit must be,β you snap, refusing to turn around as you angrily wipe at your face. βi already know how this goes. so just walk out on me, run away like you did before.β
you hear him take a deep, drawn out sigh. βthatβs not fairβ¦β he says defensively.
βfair? you want to talk about fair?β you whip around to face him, eyes burning red. βyou ran away, kento! you ran to kyoto, you ran so far off and changed your number and disappeared from my life like it was nothing! four years together, and you vanished without a trace? do you know what that did to me?βΒ
the words pour out. the anguish, the hurt, the sheer betrayal of it.Β
βdo you hate me that much? you canβt even sit across from me for ten minutes before having to leave?β
βyou begged me to leave you alone! you screamed it to my face!β
βno!β you gasp, the pained sound ripped from you against your will. βi didnβt mean it, you asshole! i wanted you to fight for us! not run away! we could have worked things out if you stayed!βΒ
βi knew we could have worked things out,β your voice crumbles pathetically, shaky and cracked, and you turn away from him, rubbing at your eyes furiously with your palms. βbecause it was us. us against the world.β
nanami opens his mouth again, seemingly about to say something. then, it closes and he simply stares at you, his demeanour visibly deflating. his shoulders lift, tense and rigid, before falling in defeat.Β
then, without warning, he closes the distance, arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to him.Β
thereβs desperation in the way he clutches you, the way his fingers fist the fabric of your shirt, his hands trembling against your back. his breath is sharp and uneven and he holds you tight as you sob into his chest.
for a moment, you hate him for it.Β
the unexpected physical contact β his warmth, his scent, the way his hands fall right into place, the way it still brings you comfort β it sends an impulsive wave of bitterness through your body. anger overtakes you for a split second, and you thrash against him, uselessly trying to push him off.Β
βlet me go!β you cry out, the sound fractured, torn between rage and grief.Β
his grip only tightens.
βleave!β
his arms only curl themselves around your shoulders, a steady hold, an unwavering anchor.Β
βyou abandoned me!β you shout. βyβyou let me love you, and then you left. you left!βΒ
you continue to curse, cry, and shout at him, letting your words beat and tear at his chest with years of unexpressed anguish.
βfuck you, kento,β you sob through heaving breaths, clutching at fistfuls of his shirt. βfuck, fuck, you fucked me up good, i hate you, god, i wish i hated youββ another wave of grief ripples through you and you bury your face in his shirt.
and yet, he continues to wrap his arms around you, silent through it all, his grip tighter than ever, his breath hot and heavy down your cheek. you fight against his hold until you have no energy left, until your voice goes hoarse and your chest burns.
when the veil of anger finally subsides, all that is left is hurt and betrayal in its place. βi thought you stopped loving me,β you croak, voice barely a whisper. βi thoughtβ¦ i thought you didnβt want me anymore.β
you slump to the floor defeatedly.
that rush of anger is out of your system, and now you just feel broken. you hate how small your voice sounds, but itβs true.Β
when you finally peer up at him, the sight stops you cold.Β
nanamiβs crying.
youβve never seen him like this before β tears are brimming in his eyes, threatening to overflow as he squeezes his eyes shut to restrain himself. his hands are curled into tight fists by his sides,Β lips pressed in a thin line, barely holding himself back.Β
βiβm sofuckingsorry,β he chokes out, dropping down to his knees to pull you in. βthat couldnβt be further from the truth. i promise you that.β
you can only watch in shock, taking in his words.
he takes a deep, shuddering breath.
βi always wanted you. i never stopped. i justββ he pauses to steady himself, voice low and quivering. ββwhen you told me to leave that nightβ¦ i was just so tired of seeing you hurt and not having any idea how to fix it. i wanted you to be happy again, i really did. so i justβ¦ i thought you wouldnβt want to see me again. i thought me leaving would be the best decision. i thought it would make you happy again. maybe not at the moment butβ¦ eventually.β
youβre about to speak, but nanami shakes his head quickly as he continues on.
βi came back. pleaseβ¦ you have to know that. please.β he looks at you desperately.
this manβ¦ he was like an unyielding rock, always so calm and steady, no matter what happened. you were the crier. he had always kept it together. your heart aches to see him breaking down like this, with his brows pulled tight and a tremble in his voice that youβve never heard before.
βthree months after, do you remember when i called you that night?β
hesitantly, you nod. twenty missed calls from him that night, and then⦠nothing. you never heard from him again. he changed his number, moved to kyoto, and distanced himself from your shared group of friends.
you had never been able to understand why.
βthree months. i took three months to get my shit together and reflected hard on our relationship. iβ¦ i didnβt want to lose you, but my life was falling apart and i knew i just needed someβ¦ some time. i couldnβt think clearly. i was in a bad place. we both were. i didnβt want to keep hurting you,β nanami says, his voice strained.Β
βi came back looking for you, i wanted to apologise for everything. i was ready to do anything to get you back. fuck, i was prepared to beg if i had to. i parked my car outside our apartment that night and iβ¦β he trails off again, looking away from you.
you see more tears spill from the corner of his eyes and your gut wrenches.
βi saw you with some manβ¦β he continues quietly, the words catching in his throat. he squeezes his eyes shut like heβs both reliving it and trying to forget all at once. βiβ i remember how you got out of his car and he kissed you on the cheek and youβ you laughed. i donβt blame youβ¦ i wasnβt angry. not at all,β he swallows hard. βyou had every right to move on.β
ββbut seeing you like thatβ¦ you just looked so happy. i hadnβt seen you smile like that in such a long time, you know? youβre everything to me. you still are. who am i to interfere with your happiness? i thought that even if it wasnβt that guy, someone else would come along, and iββ he runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, voice cracking.
βi donβt knowβ i wasnβt thinkingβ i just felt so defeated at the time,β he sighs, covering his face with a hand. βbut then i regretted not doing something more, hell, i regret it every dayβ but then some time passed, and iβ¦ i thought i was too lateβ i thought i had missed my chance. i thought i had no choice but to let you go.β
a sharp pang of realisation cuts through you.Β
ββkento,β you choke out. you push yourself up on your knees, your arms wrapped around his neck.
βyou got it all wrongβ¦ that nightβ¦ aiko begged me to go on a double date with a guy she kept saying would be perfect for me,β you rush to explain, stumbling over your words.Β
βi didnβt even want to go, but you know aikoβ¦ she wouldnβt take no for an answer. that guy, he was sweet, butβ¦ i didnβt even want to be there. i barely talked to him. fuck, iβ i cried in his car on the way home, i made a fool of myselfβ i couldnβt help it. nothing ever happened. nothing. it was just that one date.β
nanamiβs face collapses in grief. βi should have tried harder,β he says hoarsely, shaking his head. βi wasnβt thinking straight. i shouldβve called again. i shouldβve showed up the next day and every day after that.β he takes another deep, shuddering breath. βiβm so fucking sorry.β
nanami holds you against him for what feels like an eternity. his touch is tender, grounding β his hand rubs small circles on your back, his lips pressing soft kisses to your forehead. he waits, silently patient, as your breathing steadies itself and the sobs fade in quiet shudders.
you lap it all up. in his arms, it feels like he takes up your whole world; the centre of your universe once again. an enveloping, encasing, and all-encompassing warmth that has you forgetting everything beyond the haven of his embrace.
you have no idea how much time has passed, although the sun has completely set, its brilliant hues no longer colouring your living room the way they did when you both had first entered. the sky has darkened, and the gentle glow of your lamp is the only thing illuminating the space.
you sit huddled up to him on the couch for a long time, his arms around you, your knees tucked into his sides. drinking him in. afraid to let go, afraid he might slip away again, like sand through your fingers. terrified that you would wake up and find out it was only a dream.
eventually, you shift to climb on his lap, your chest facing his. he doesnβt speak, but his arms adjust instinctively, holding your waist.Β
that last line comes out a little shakily. it feels terrifying to admit out loud, especially after all this time. you lean your forehead against his, his lips just a touch away. the distinctive smell of his cologne faintly hits your nose β itβs aromatic and woody, a unique blend of amber and nutmeg. you used to love smelling it on him.Β
he doesnβt pull away, but he doesnβt reciprocate your movements either, and you freeze, suddenly afraid that youβve misread the situation.
you lock eyes for a moment, before yours shamefully darts away, suddenly feeling very, very small. you realise his body is tense under yours, and although one hand is lightly pressed against your waist, the other is curled into a loose fist by his side, as if restrained.
deep, burning humiliation floods you, and you feel your gut twist. have you managed to misinterpret the situation this badly? you feel the stinging sensation of tears building up again and quickly wipe them away, not wanting to embarrass yourself further.
βiβm sorry, iββ
frantically, you start to shift, attempting to pull away from him and perhaps look for a hole in the ground to hide in, but before you can stand fully, nanamiβs grip on your waist tightens, anchoring you back in place.
βdonβt.β
you stiffen completely, staring down at him, your expression twisted in a mixture of discomfort and confusion.
βiβve missed you too,β nanami says quickly. βbut i needβ i need to hear you say it,β he admits. βi donβt want you to regret anything. i donβt want you to regret me.β
(nanami is aware that this is awfully uncharacteristic of him.
heβs hesitant, for one, and he doesnβt want you to think he only agreed to come up because he wanted to drop a few sorrowful words to get in your pants. and then thereβs the confrontation you just had β were you even in the right state of mind to be doing this? was he taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state?Β
would you regret it after? kick him out of your bed, saying it was no more than a moment of weakness?
andβ¦ and heβs tried so hard to move on, but he doesnβt even think it matters when youβre right here in his arms, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off your skin. your burning touch, your longing gaze, the smell of your shampoo lingering in your hair.Β
you had always been the kind to wear your emotions on your sleeve. he sees it now too, with your reddened eyes refusing to meet his, the way your lip has started to tremble with self-doubt.
he wants you. he wants this. god, he craves it more than anything in the world. he detests the idea of you thinking otherwise.Β
but nanami knows deep down, after everything, the choice has to be yours. he has to hear it from your lips before he succumbs to his deepest desires.)
βi want you,β you breathe. thereβs something frantic in your quiet admission, a desperate bid for connection. βall iβve wanted is you. i assure you. no regrets.β
βgood,β a tug on your waist has you falling back down onto his lap. βbecause i want you too.β
the admission stirs something primal within you. you lean in, lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. it feels good. like returning to a place you once called home. nanamiβs reaction is immediate this time, his hands threading through your hair, returning the kiss slowly in a hesitant rekindling of lost love.Β
he cups your cheeks, you wrap your hands around his neck, letting unsteady kisses gradually grow confident between you two until youβre both left gasping for air, completely lost in each other.
you moan into his mouth, your hands hungrily trailing across his body, from his chest, down his abs, and across his strong arms. you know nanamiβs always been a well-built man, and he definitely takes care of himself, but heβs a lotβ¦ sturdier than you remember.Β
your hands run appreciatively down his upper body, taking in the changes. itβs an intoxicating mix of both the familiar and the new, and you find yourself captivated, trying to commit every contour and plane of his body to memory.
youβre tasting him β just as heβs tasting you, your eyes taking the other in, palms sliding across what has been untouched for too long. the years of distance feel like theyβre evaporating like vapour with every frantic open-mouthed kiss.
your fingers rush to unbutton his shirt, almost yanking them open as you hastily make your way down towards his hips to undo his belt. itβs hard to focus though, because his hands have travelled under your shirt, palms warm and rough against your skin.
itβs impossible to contain your moans as his hands trail up and down your waist for a moment, before moving to squeeze at the fullness of your breasts. pulling your bra down at the front, his thumbs graze over your nipples, whilst his palms knead at your flesh ravenously.
you manage to get the front of his shirt open, eagerly pushing the fabric aside. itβs still tucked into his pants, but it falls open at either side, exposing his toned chest and a blond trail of hair that leads downwards.
nanamiβs face is flushed, swollen lips red and messy from your kisses. heβs panting slightly too, and the sight of his bare skin sends a rush of heat through you.
βyour turn,β he growls softly, tugging at the hem of your shirt.
you lift your hands to help, and itβs quickly taken off and discarded onto the floor. your bra follows next, unhooked and tossed aside without hesitation.
how long has it been since he last saw you like this? your hands shoot up to your chest, wanting to cover up, but nanamiβs hands encircle your wrists, gently stopping you.
βdonβt hide,β he murmurs, reaching forward to press another kiss to your lips. βyouβre as pretty as ever.β
instinctively, you shoot him a sceptical look.Β
βitβs true,β he hums, the corners of his eyes crinkling. βyou take my breath away.β
his smile is gentle, fond, the one you know was only reserved for you. you want to believe that hasnβt changed.Β
nanamiβs eyes flicker down your upper body, stopping when he finds what heβs looking for. βyou kept it,β he murmurs. βthe tattoo.β a finger runs back and forth on the ink, like heβs trying to see if itβs really still there. βi figured you might have gotten it lasered off.β
itβs a subtle piece.Β
but itβs undoubtedly all for him.
after his surname in kanji: δΈζ΅·; meaning seven seas, you had gotten a small, fine line tattoo of the oceanβs wave under your ribs.
βiβm still yours,β you confess quietly. β...if you want me to be.β
iβve always been yours.
tattooed into my skin and down to my very bones. i was always meant to love you.
he cups your jaw with one hand, pulling back to look at you. βiβve never wanted anything more.β
his tone carries so much sincerity it makes your heart stutter, so you push that shyness aside and slowly let your arms drop to your sides, allowing him to maneuver you until youβre splayed out on the couch beneath him.Β
the world blurs around you.
all you can think about is this very moment.
the significance of what youβre doing is entirely palpable to you. youβre inviting him in, not just to your house, but into your heart again.Β
breathing heavily, your eyes follow his every movement in anticipation as his fingers dance across your inner thighs.
nanamiβs hands slip underneath the waistband of your panties, two fingers sliding in between your slick folds. you tense a little at the sensation as he parts them, the rough pads of his fingers prodding the sensitive bud of nerves that make you shiver and whine.
βgod,β he groans. βiβve fucking missed this pussy.β
you let out a little laugh at the foul language that slips from his tongue. itβs been so long since youβve heard his voice like this, and even longer since youβve felt his touch.
βmissed your cock too, kento,β you murmur, eager to show that youβve been equally longing for him, if not more. you want to hear more of him, so you reach your hand out to palm at his erection. heβs rock hard, and thereβs a little wet spot on his pants from the precum.
βfuck,β he mutters, hips pushing up to meet your hand. βitβs been a while.β
you giggle at that, βitβs been a while for me too.β
βn-no, you donβt understand,β his grip on your waist tightens as he struggles to maintain his composure. βyou were the last.β
oh.
your eyes widen at that revelation, stopping your movements to fully look at him. βwβwhy havenβt youββ
you find yourself in complete disbelief. you were the last person he slept with? that had been more than 2 years ago β way more than enough time for things to change, for someone else to come along.
but then again, nanamiβs always been a serious man, and by extension, that applied to his love life too. never one to seek out casual hookups, that man dated to marry.Β
he exhales quietly through his nose, almost like the answer to the question is too simple, too earnest. βi didnβt want anyone else.β he says. βonly you. that hasnβt changed.βΒ
and then, as he shifts to tug his pants the rest of the way down, he mutters, almost begrudgingly, βand besidesβ¦ how the hell would i explain this?β
you glance down instinctively and your breath catches.
just above his hip, etched into the skin of his v-line, is a tattoo. itβs faint, but deliberate.Β
itβs your birth flower.Β
you used to doodle in the margins of your notebooks all the time as a college student, and sometimes the back of his hands became an unwilling canvas. he used to grumble and complain, but he never washed any of it off.Β Β
those silly little drawings. youβd drawn your birth flower once, on his wrist. pointed to it and batted your eyelashes real pretty at him, jokingly asking if heβd ever consider getting a tattoo of you. heβd said no with a resolute shake of the head, told you he wasnβt the type to get inked, and then gave you a kiss and chuckled at your pouting face.Β
and now, that very flower is tattooed on him.Β
you blink, stunned. βkentoβ¦β you whisper. βwhatβ¦ youβ you got a tattoo of me? when?β
he huffs out a small laugh, head tilting back to rest on the couch. βcall me a masochist, i guess,β his voice turns gentle when he admits, βi wanted something of you to keep.β
your heart clenches.Β
βbesides,β he continues, poking you lightly at your ribs, where your tattoo lies. βyou were stuck with this reminder of me, too.β
it isnβt just desire that curls in your gut now. itβsβ¦ grief. love. the ache of lost time. and the devastating realisation that he never stopped being yours, just as you never stopped being his.Β
βsay it again,β you whisper. βi wantβ i want to hear you say it again.β
βi only want you.β nanami must have realised how much you needed to hear that, the same way he had needed your confirmation earlier, because his voice is more resolute this time.
βi need you to know that iβm not the same person i was before,β he says, voice low and laced with urgency. βafter we broke up, i took a hard look at myself. if youβ¦ if you do give me a chance, i promise it wonβt be the same way. iβll never let you go again.β
you nod your head, blinking away fresh tears and hoping he sees your answer written plain as day on your face. he leans up to kiss you, and thereβs nothing rushed about it this time. he takes his time, kissing you like youβre something sacred, thumbs brushing along your jaw with a reverent touch.Β
heβs kissing you the way he should have for every lost second with you.
a kiss goodbye when he leaves for work.
a goodnight kiss on your forehead, right before he turns out the lights.
a kiss on your cheek, just to see you smile.
a slow, languid kiss down the column of your throat, pressing into the spot just beneath your jaw β the one that always made your breath hitch. he remembers. of course he remembers.
βthisββ his hand moves to cup yours, guiding your movements as he slowly drags your hand over his cock. ββsβall for you, sweetheart.β
a breathy moan involuntarily leaves your mouth, further spurred on by his words. he feels so big, his erection pulling the fabric tight across his boxers. and he called you sweetheart. itβs a simple word, but it kind of leaves you feeling dizzy, like a schoolgirl with a crush, nervous and blushing.
βyou want my fingers?β
you whine and nod your head eagerly.Β
βuse your words, love,β he coaxes. βyou know iβll give you anything you ask for.β
love. there it is again.
you squirm a little, trying to evade his gaze. βwβwant your fβfingers, kento. want them inside me.β
βthatβs it,β he purrs.Β
one hand reaches for the back of your neck, holding you tenderly as he peppers kisses on your lips and all over your neck.
the other hand, though, moves deviously between your thighs, a singular digit plunging into your soaked cunt. one quickly becomes two as he stretches you out with his fingers, the expert movements leaving you gripping the sheets and gasping.
βlet me make up for lost timeβ¦β you gasp when he drops to his knees in front of you, hiking your legs over his broad shoulders. his mouth finds its way to your sensitive clit, drawing quick flicks with his tongue.Β
your thighs involuntarily squeeze around his head, and he simply groans into your cunt. the sound vibrates across your core, and you cry out, tipping your head back as pleasure washes over you.
βkβkento. kento, fuckββ
his fingers continue curling upwards, brushing against your sweet spot, never letting up for even a split second. he doesnβt show signs of stopping, even when your fingers tangle in his hair and your thighs quiver around him.
(and when you cum undone on his fingers, shaking and mewling, nanami relishes the way you gasp into his mouth, back arching off the couch as all sorts of pretty sounds drip from your flushed lips.
i love you.
i still love you, after all this time.
he doesnβt say it out loud β no, it isnβt the right time.Β
but he repeats it loudly enough inside his head, hoping that somehow, you might hear it too.)
hungry for more, you tug him upwards, off his knees and push him back down onto the couch. you capture him in a heated kiss, his mouth still wet with your slick, and he makes quick work of his boxers, the urgency and hunger growing.
βkento,β you beg, dizzy with need. βiβ i want it so bad. give me everything.β
nanami audibly groans when he hears you say that, his voice low and raspy.Β
when you pull back to glance down, your breath catches.
βfuck.β
he cocks his head at you, amused. βyou act like itβs the first time seeing it.β
βw-well, noβ¦ butββ like you said, itβs been a while.
nanami pauses, mistaking your reaction as a sign of hesitation. βdo you still want to do this?β he asks, dutifully seeking your confirmation.
ever the gentleman. truly, it was endearing. if you werenβt so frustratingly desperate for him, you would have scoffed or huffed a laugh.Β
βkento,β you plead. βi appreciate you asking, but i need you to fuck me. i mightβ¦ die if you donβt.β
you pull him down by the shoulders so youβre beneath him, his arms holding himself up by your head. the couch isnβt the most comfortable, but you donβt want to pause to move to the bedroom, hating the thought of having to stop for even a second.
nanami actually laughs at this, an amused smile on his face. you canβt help but return a dopey smile of your own, but thatβs quickly wiped clean off your face when you feel the tip of his cock rubbing briefly against your entrance before starting to ease in, inch by inch.Β
ββfuck!β a drawn-out whine escapes you, squeezing your eyes shut as you struggle to accommodate to his size. βoh god, youβre really f-fucking big. waitβ waitββΒ
βyou can take it, canβt you? doing so good for me,β nanami rasps, eyes trained downwards where his cock is stretching your tight hole out. βdidnβt you say you wanted everything?β
you whimper in response, trying to force your body to relax for him. your dazed eyes meet his, and his pupils are dilated so wide that they seem to swallow the hazel rim around them.Β
he gives you a few moments to adjust, panting from exertion, before delivering slow, shallow thrusts as your breathing gradually evens out and your body relaxes under him.Β
βoβokay. yβyou can go deeper,β you pant.
at your words, he pushes himself all the way to the hilt, hips snapping against your thighs. your face contorts in pleasure, mouth hanging open as your eyes roll back while he drives into you. youβre trying to say something, but your words are lost in between airy breaths and quiet curses.
βyou look so pretty like this, baby,β he grunts.
(you canβt see it, but he can. the creamy ring of arousal at the base of his cock as he pulls out, the slick coating your inner thighs, the way your warm, wet hole seems to be sucking him in with no reprieve. your fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, eyes shut as you struggle to take him.
it makes him want go harder, deeper - wants to see your face as you lose yourself in pleasure and cry for him, only him.)
βitβs all for you,β he rasps. heβs pressing your thighs down and wide open, and you couldnβt run from his cock if you tried. from your position, you can see the way he drives into you, pulling out all the way before pushing his entire length back inside you.Β
βevery. inch. sβall for youβ¦ only ever been for you. so take me good, yeah?β
βyβyes, god,β you babble. βsβso good, feels so goodββΒ
heβs stretching you open, moulding you to his shape, and most of all, heβs yours. heβs yours again, yours to hold, to have, to never let go.Β
your moans are getting breathier and breathier as nanami thrusts into you, soft little gasps that escape your mouth as you buck your hips up to meet his cock.
βfuck,β he curses loudly, screwing his eyes shut. βyouβre sβso fucking tight.β
nanami lowers himself down onto you, sucking on your neck as his hand cups your breasts. you groan loudly when he delivers a particularly deep thrust, wrapping your arms around him as you moan.Β
βlook at me baby,β he rasps, holding himself up with one hand. βwannaβ wanna see your face when you cumββ
heβs hitting all the right spots, and itβs not long before you feel the buildup of heat in your lower stomach, but you canβt even warn him before your orgasm rushes over you rapidly, a full body sensation that ripples through your twitching body.Β
βkentokentokento, mβ comingββ
your own release has your walls clamping down on him, clenching him in a vice grip. βfuck, fuckβ yβyou feel so good,β he gasps.
thereβs unmistakable pleasure written in every strained breath and trembling motion as his own arousal reaches a fever pitch and he delivers one, two, three final thrusts into you. then, he hisses as he pulls out, spilling on your stomach with a groan.
βfuck,β nanami pants, collapsing back down on the couch. βsorry. give me a second.β
you giggle loudly, feeling how shaky your legs are when you tense them. βthat good?β
he pokes you in the side and you yelp. βbeing celibate for two years will do that to you.β
you laugh again, softer this time. the room is quiet now, save for the slow rhythm of your breathing and the distant hum of the city through the windows. nanami shifts beside you, brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek.Β
βwait here,β he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he stands and disappears to the bathroom.
when he returns, he kneels beside you with a warm cloth in hand and a look in his eyes that makes your throat tighten. βlet me take care of you,β he whispers, and the tenderness in his voice is almost enough to undo you completely.
when heβs done, he lifts you, arms wrapping around your back and under your knees. the bedroom creaks open as he steps inside β itβs not the same as the place you used to share, that tiny apartment you lived with him when life was just starting out for the both of you β but in the dim light and the hush of the moment, you can close your eyes and pretend.
nanami sets you down gently, helps tuck you inside the covers, and slips in beside you. his hands reach to envelop yours, the pads of his fingers tracing over your knuckles gently. the movement is familiar; sentimental. itβs what he used to do when you would cuddle in bed, your body draped over his.
the world shrinks to just this. you and him, as though no time has passed. itβs almost like youβre still in your shared bedroom, tangled up in each other, and unbeknownst to you, thereβs a little blue box with a sparkling stone tucked away in his side of the wardrobe, waiting for the right moment to be revealed.
you turn your head to see him already gazing at you. thereβs a trace of a fond smile that forms across his lips, and he raises a hand to trace the curve of your nose, down to your lips.Β
thatβs when you realise this truth: that the ache you carried for him β all this unexpressed love-turned-grief β had never truly left you. youβd simply pretended it didnβt exist, drowned yourself in work, shared the occasional bed with shitty men who could never compare to him, and nursed a bottle or two of wine on lonely nights, but you could never undo his presence in your life.
how his love changed you.
how it made you.Β
youβd be lying if resentment and bitterness hadnβt crossed your heart at multiple points in time after the breakup. but the years have whittled away any semblance of that initial sourness, leaving behind only regret and the desire to make things right again, if ever given the chance.
and itβs right here in front of you, the man who was on his knees with his head dipped in between your trembling thighs. this silly man, who permanently inked a reminder of you on his skin even though he had already resigned to living a life without you. who now lies beside you, looking at you like youβre the only light in his world.
your love for him was never a ghost that haunted you.
it was a dream come true.Β
so is it enough? is it enough to just be two people, who have somehow found their way back to each other, both yearning for another try?
whatever that answer might be, your heart has already spoken: you donβt want to miss your second chance.Β
there are apologies to be made, lost time to reclaim, and parts of each other waiting to be rediscovered.Β
and yet, you know him like an old song. you know every single word, carved into the lining of your skin, you know the melody, a soft hum that echoes in the chambers of your heart. you know the pauses, the quiet lulls where the music fades, only to swell again with aching familiarity.
nanami kento is that lingering rhythm, that pained harmony, existing deep within the cracks of memory and longing β an unfading symphony in your soul. your heart was always meant to be his.
you desperately want it to be enough.Β
and maybe, this time, it might be.Β
a/n: this was fun but also so, so exhausting to write man. like there are were so many emotions happening⦠but i can't stop myself i like the hurt/comfort trope too much. my favourite part was the tattoo bit like PLEASEEEE THIS MAN?????? nanami yearns 4 u the way i yearn to know your thoughts on this!!! so please let me know what you think! <3 i love reading the comments n tags they make my day
if you're interested, check out my upcoming arranged marriage!nanami fic here. taglist is open <3
pairing: steve harrington x hopper!reader
summary: You've known about the prophecy since the day you were born. The curse of the older sister.Β Ever since you and El were raised together in that sterile, white hellβshaped into weapons of warβyou knew your life wasn't yours. Dying wasnβt brave. It wasnβt noble. It was simply the inevitable conclusion you had been walking toward since birth.
wc: 3.7K
warnings: mentions of violence, cursing, mention of y'know, since she choose to die, heartbreak and angst. if you don't feel comfortable reading this, even if it's a 'rewrite' scene from the tv show, please don't read and preserve yourself.
a/n: I was obsessed with the idea of Steve taking Mike's place when El leaves. So, here it is. I think I cried a few times while writing it (help). I was inspired by Ethel Cain's Nettles and Purple Rain to write it.
To love me is to suffer me
And I believe it.
The cacophony was absoluteβa craggy wall of voices, the sharp clack of assault rifles being readied, and the guttural curses of men who had forgotten how to be human.
Steve was shoved forward, the momentum of the crowd carrying him along with Dustin, Mike, and Robin. He caught a glimpse of Robinβs hands, bound tight enough to turn her fingers white, before a soldierβs gloved hand slammed into the back of his neck.
His face was crushed against the cold metal of the transport truck. The smell of oil and old blood filled his nostrils. He couldn't breathe. Every gasp was a battle, his lungs struggling against the weight of a man twice his size pinning him down.
The problem was, he couldn't find you anywhere.
βHeyβhey,β He grimaced, a sharp, sickening pop echoing in his ears as his zygomatic bone groaned under the pressure against the metal panel. βHave you seen her?β
Dustin twisted his head as far as the restraints allowed, face pale but steady.Β
βShe was with El, they must've escaped.β
The relief hit Steve like a physical wave. Good. That was more than good, it was the only thing that mattered. If the plan had workedβif the girl he loved was somewhere safe, somewhere far away from the screaming and the cold steelβthen he could endure whatever was coming.
So a small, genuine smile blossomed on Steve's lips. It lasted only a second, because when he looked up, the smile died where it was born.
Where the sky had torn itself open, where the portal to the Upside Down bled a bruised, pulsating violet into the world, he saw you.
You weren't running. You were standing at the threshold, your silhouette framed by the apocalypse, your eyes fixed on the military line with a gaze so deadly it looked like it belonged to a different person.
βNoβ¦ no, no, noββ Steveβs voice rose from a whimper to a raw, jagged roar. The realization settled in his gut like lead: you had stayed.
You were going to fight a war you couldn't win.
With a strength that shouldn't have existed in his broken, battered frame, Steve threw his head back. He felt the icky thud of his skull connecting with the soldierβs chin. He didn't wait for the man to fall. Two other guards lunged for him, their hands like iron claws on his sleeves, but something had snapped inside him. It wasn't bravery anymore, it was an animalistic, primal instinct.
βSteve!β Robinβs scream was high and thin, a desperate warning as a soldier leveled the butt of a rifle.
Steve didn't hear her. He stumbled, his legs heavy and uncoordinated, and when he finally fell to his knees, he didn't hit the pavement. Cold water splashed against his skin. He realized then, he was in your mind.
You walked quickly toward him and he got up, running to you.
βWhat the hell are you doing?β His voice broke on the words. βPleaseβplease donβt do this.β
His hands gripped your shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket as if the sheer force of his touch could tether you to the earth.
He was shaking. There were tears welling up in his eyes, and despite everything, it was his broken expression that haunted you the most.
βSteve,β you whispered, swallowing the thick knot of grief in your throat. You looked into those deer-like eyes, your own vision blurring as the first hot tears spilled over. βYou need to listen to me. We donβt have much time.β
He was hyperventilating, his chest heaving under his bruised ribs. His eyes searched yours, begging for a lie, begging for a misunderstanding he couldΒ desperately fix.
βWhat? Noβno, whatever youβre thinking, weβll find another way. We always find another way.β
βI need you to understand my decision.β
βNo. No. I don'tβPlease.β
You kept going because stopping would mean breaking. βI need you to tell the others the truth. Tell Hop that Jane's safe. I need you to tell themββ Your voice faltered. You forced it steady. βTell them how grateful I am. For being so kind to me. For loving me.β
Tears slid freely down your cheeks. Steve lifted his hand without thinking, brushing them away with his thumb like he always did, like it was a reflex built into him. He was crying too, silent and helpless, but still trying to take care of you. He always would put you first.
βYou donβt have to do this,β he said, pleading now, like if he said it enough times, reality might listen.
βI do. Steve, this will never ends. El will be hunted for the rest of her life. Sheβs just a kid. She deserves a chance to grow up without blood on her hands.β
You caught his hands, pulling them from your face to hold them against your chest. His fingers were calloused, covered in the fresh scratches and deep purple bruises of the fight. They were the hands of a protector, and they were the only things you were going to miss.
He stared at you like you were speaking another language.
βWhat about you?β The question came out with a sharp edge of accusation, a jagged shard of resentment born from pure, unadulterated heartbreak. βDonβt you deserve to live? Don't I deserve for you to stay?β
You've known about the prophecy since the day you were born. The curse of the older sister.Β Ever since you and El were raised together in that sterile, white hellβshaped into weapons of warβyou knew your life wasn't yours. Dying wasnβt brave. It wasnβt noble. It was simply the inevitable conclusion you had been walking toward since birth.
You were the burden that was meant to be dropped so the light could keep shining.
And Steveβsweet, stubborn, endlessly kind Steveβwas the only thing that had ever made you wish, just for a moment, that fate might be wrong.
But then Hopper found you and Jane together in that forest, clinging to each other like a second skin, desperate and afraid of what fate had planned. And that changed everything.
He had reached through the brush and pulled you into a life you were never supposed to have. He was resilient, jaggedly caring, and he tended to your wounds with a gentleness that felt like an assault on everything the lab had taught you. He fed you, gave you shelter, and advised youβdoing all the things a father was supposed to do. A father you and Jane had only ever seen in child storybooks.
You had been reluctant at first, a wild thing trapped in a cabin. You ran away a dozen times because you were convinced that this lifeβthe warm blankets, the Eggo waffles, the safetyβwas for Jane, not for you.
But Hopper had been immovable. He insisted, with a gruff, stubborn love, that you deserved that comfort too. It wasn't a luxurious life, but it was a life full of affection.
And what was supposed to be just a life for three became a big dysfunctional family, but one that you loved with every shattered piece of your heart.
Joyce, Jonathan, and Will. The family that went through hell on earth when little Byers was possessed and captured by darkness. There was Joyce, who taught you what it meant to be a woman, who brushed your hair with a motherβs tenderness and hugged you until the cold in your bones finally began to thaw. There was Jonathan, the quiet observer, who always stayed close enough to make sure you were alive.
The kids, who followed you like you were something out of a comic book. They made you feel brave when you were anything but. They welcomed Jane like she had always been theirs, and through them, you learned what friendship really was, unconditional, loud, forgiving.
Nancy showed you worlds hidden in books and taught you how to hold a gun without flinching. She kept your secret without ever asking for anything in return. Let you sleep in her basement when Hopperβs house became unbearable. Robin taught you sisterhoodβreal sisterhood. Movie nights, bad jokes, honesty without fear. She made life feel lighter just by standing beside you.
βEvery moment of my life has led me here,β you said softly.
βBullshit.β His voice cracked, raw and furious. βThis is all bullshit. You canβtβyou donβt deserve this. You can stay, Iββ
βSteve,β you whispered. βLook at me.β
You reached up, cupping his face with both hands. His skin was cold, damp with sweat and tears. He pressed his lips together, a sob catching in his throat, and you felt the hot, thick tears roll down his cheeks until they pooled in the palms of your hands.
βFrom day one, you saw me. You saw beyond what I could see in myself.β
Steve let out a broken, animal sound and leaned into your touch, his eyes searching yours for a way out that didn't exist. He had spent years trying to convince you that you were worth saving, and now, he was watching you use that very life to save everyone else.
How could you ever forget that first night in the Wheeler basement? You had been a mess, bruised and soaked from head to toe, looking like youβd gone ten rounds with a nightmare. But even then, he didnβt look at you like a wounded animal. He didnβt look at you like a disposable tool of war. He looked at you with a careful, tentative affection that felt like the first warm sun after a lifetime of winter.
But the words had been written in the stars long before you met him and your story couldn't have been written any other way. If you were here now, it was because fate had allowed you to live. And if you lived, it was because Steve Harrington happened in your life.
It was because he accepted you for who you are. Because he fell first, pretending that all that fascination wasn't masked as love. Because he held your hand that Fourth of July and kissed you under the fireworks. It was because he saved you from near death and allowed you to still have some time together. It was the way he had knocked on Hopperβs door with a bouquet of flowers, his knees literally shaking with fear of your father, just to take you to a movie date. It was because he loved you devotedly, respected you, adored you with everything he had.
βIf I know what it's like to love and to be loved, itβs because of you,β you whispered. βAnd you don't know how forever grateful I'll be to you for giving me that.β
βPlease,β Steve murmured repeatedly, his hands trembling as he held your body against his. He was clutching you as if he could absorb you into his own skin, as if he could hide you from the fate that was coming for you.
βYou made everything easier. All my life I believed I wasn't worthy of being loved, but then you came along and changed everything.β You smiled through the tears, a fragile, beautiful thing. βI wouldn't do anything differently, Steve. Not a single second.β
βDon't do this to me, babeβplease, pleaseββ
It was breaking your heart. Each plea was a physical blow. You felt your heart cracking, tiny pieces of it falling away one by one.Β
βI need you to promise me something, okay? Look at me, Steve.β You sought his eyes and had to exercise a lot of self-control not to break down right there. βI want you to be happy. I want you to live the life of your dreams.β
His laugh was broken, almost soundless. βI fucking hate this,β he said. βHow am I supposed to do that without you?β
βIβll always be with you,β you said, even though you both knew what that promise cost. βYou have a life ahead of you, Steve. A good one. Promise me you wonβt stop. Promise me youβll fight for it.β
He couldn't speak. He just looked at you, his chest heaving, his face a mosaic of soot, drying blood, and fresh, hot tears. He looked like he was physically dying, like his soul was being pulled through his ribs.
βI love you,β was all he managed to choke out between the jagged, guttural sobs that racked his body.
You smiled, even as your heart felt like it was being torn in two.Β
βI love you, Steve Harrington.β
When you moved, you collided like lightning meeting thunder, violent, inevitable, and destructive. Your mouths crashed together in a disastrous mess of tears, salt, and terror.
Steve wanted time. God, he had wanted time so badly. He had built plans around it, trusted it like it was something guaranteed. The weight of his motherβs ring, hidden on a small chain beneath his shirt, felt like it was branding his skin. He had decided he'd propose the moment you got home, the moment the world was safe. He knew how much you dreamed of Alaskaβof the frozen, silent mountains and the way the northern lights painted the skyβand he had spent every spare cent he had for a year to make that happen.
The initial plan was to propose to you with that breathtaking view as a witness to your youth, reckless, love. But Steve had always been haunted by the feeling that time was a thief. That was why heβd put the ring around his neck that morning.Β
He just hadnβt known how little time he had left.
As he kissed you with a painful, bruising intensity, he reached for the chain. He ripped it from his neck, the metal snapping with a faint ping that was lost to the chaos. He pressed the cold silver into your palm, his fingers trembling as he closed your hand around it.
You felt it when he placed it in your hand, the cold metal against your palm.
You felt the weight of it, the history of a family you would never officially join. You deepened the kiss, holding him with a strength that defied your tired body. You were holding your first love, your only love, the boy who had made you human.
When you finally broke apart, foreheads touching, both of you breathless and ruined, you closed your fingers around the chain and held his hand instead.
βPlease, pleaseββ he whispered, the word barely there. βDonβt leave me.β
You wanted to say everything. You wanted to stay forever.
You were at the end of the road, and the time for promises had run out.
βGoodbye, Steve.β
The sound never fully left his throat. It caught there, raw and animal, and when reality slammed back into place, it did so cruelly. Hands dragged him backward. Boots scraped asphalt. Someone shouted orders he couldnβt hear because all he could hear was his own voice breaking apart as he screamed your name.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Everyone was frozen, witnesses to a sacrifice they were powerless to stop. Robin had collapsed to her knees, her sobs racking her frame until she was doubled over. Hopper stood paralyzed, his eyes brimming with tears he couldn't shed, his path blocked by a wall of military personnel. Nancyβs hands were pressed tight over her mouth, a single, silent tear tracking through the soot on her cheek.
These were your people. The one you had built out of chaos and survival and love. The one that had taught you what it meant to belong.
Steve fought like a caged animal, his boots scraping against the asphalt as he begged them to let him go, shouting your name until his lungs burned. He was thrown to the ground, the grit biting into his skin, but he never took his eyes off you.
You looked at Hopper one last time. Not to ask. Not to beg. Just to let him see that this was your choice. That you were at peace with it. That Jane would live. That she would grow up safe, loved, ordinary in all the ways you never got to be. She was now the age you had been when he found you in that forest, feral, terrified, alive. She deserved the life he had fought to give her.
βI'm sorry,β you whispered.
Then, the air crackled. You felt the surge of energy before the world white-outedβa hum that vibrated in your very marrow. A flash swept across the perimeter, a titanic force field that pushed the entire world back. The C4 charges detonated in a synchronized roar, and the Upside Down didn't just break, it folded. Everything was sucked into a violent whirlwind, a chaotic abyss that began to erase itself from existence.
The noise was horrifying, a primal scream of a dying dimension. You closed your eyes, letting go of the tethers that held you to the world of the living. In the fading distance, you could still hear them screaming your name.
But this was the end. This was your story, and as the darkness rushed in to claim you, you realized you were happy. You have lived. You have loved.
One last tear tracked down your cheek. And then, nothingness.
A deafening silence took over the place. Steve stared in sheer, unadulterated horror at the space where you should have been. There was no portal. Just a building in ruins, smoking under a normal, mocking sky.
You were gone. Truly, finally gone.
He dropped to his knees, skin splitting against dust, pain flaring uselessly through his hand. He didnβt feel it. There was no room for it. All he could see was you, every version of you he had ever loved, layered one on top of the other until it crushed him.
Steve squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in broken hitches. It was then that he realized his fist was clenched tight around something cold. He raised his hand, blinking through the tears, and saw it: the silver chain, the wedding ring dangling from the end. He hadn't noticed, but you had put it back in his hands as a promise you were forcing him to keep. You wanted him to move on.
You wanted him to be happy. A future you were asking him to live without you.
Steve let out a sound that barely resembled a sob and curled forward, clutching the ring to his chest like it might still anchor him to you.
But it would never be the same.
Without you, there was no happy ending.Β
βAll right, all rightβletβs go.β
Steve planted his hands on his hips, scanning the parking lot as the kidsβwho absolutely were not kids anymoreβfiled into the trailer. βJeez, did you have to buy the whole store?β he asked, one eyebrow lifting as Robin struggled with a bag that looked one bad move away from tearing.
βIn my defense,β she said, breathless but defiant, βwe have, like, a small army to feed. And I needed a Kit Kat.β She held one up proudly. βI even brought one for you.β She tapped a second bar against Steveβs chest.
He caught it between his fingers, let out a long, grounded breath, and stuffed it into his pocket. βAll right. Enough. Everyone here?β He poked his head into the trailer, performing the mental head-count that had become second nature.
Lucas glanced around. βUhβDustinβs not back yet.β
Steve opened his mouth to complain about the schedule when a familiar voice grumbled behind him.
βJesus Christ, the bathroom in this place should be classified as a biohazard.βΒ Dustin shrugged, his face twisted in a look of pure disgust.
βEverything okay, bud?β Steve took off his shades and patted Dustinβs shoulder, fighting back the laugh that threatened to break through his responsible adult mask.
βBarely,β Dustin said. βI stared death in the face in there, βcauseβ.β
βBiohazard,β Max interrupted, rolling her eyes with a smirk. βWe get it.β
βThatβs what Iβm saying.β
βAll right,β Steve said, gentle but firm, clapping hands to get everyone moving and get things in place. βEverybody, buckle up. Right now!βΒ
Max and Lucas were already arguing about who got to lean on whom for the next leg of the trip.Β Dustin went back to his astrophysics book while Mike, Will, and El chatted happily in the back.Β
Steve caught Elβs eye in the mirror. She gave him a small nod, there was a depth of respect and gratitude in her eyes that always made Steveβs heart ache.Β
When she had returned to Hawkins eighteen months after the Upside Down took you, it had been a bittersweet miracle. Hopper and Mike had known she was safe because of your final message, but for Steve, her return was the final, broken proof that you were gone.
He didn't blame her. He loved her. But looking at her was a constant, living reminder of the price you had paid.
βAll right, dingus,β Robin said, already buckled in, watching him closely. βWe doing this or what?β
Steve slid into the driverβs seat and fastened his seatbelt. βYeah,β he said. βLetβs do this.β
He pressed play.
The familiar, melancholic chords of Piano Man filled the cabin, your favorite song. Billy Joelβs voice drifted through the speakers, steady and nostalgic. Steve turned the key, the engine roaring to life, and before they even cleared the gas station parking lot, the chaos in the back reached a fever pitch. Max was yelling at Lucas, Dustin was laughing at something Will said, and the air was thick with the life you had died to protect.
Beside him, Robin offered a small, closed-mouth smile: a look of pure solidarity.Β
Before hitting the highway toward the long road to Alaska, Steve glanced in the rearview mirror. Hanging from the glass was the silver chain, the wedding ring catching the afternoon sun. It swung gently with the movement of the car, a North Star to guide him.
A small, genuine smile touched his lips. This was what you wanted. This was the life you would have led if fate had been kinder.
βAll right, Alaska,β he whispered, his voice barely audible over the music and the kids. βHere we come.β
He shifted the trailer into gear and pulled onto the open road. It was for the kids. It was for the future.
summary: a scientist arrives on pandora (unwillingly) a year after the exile of the rda. now she must deal with the likes of a clan leader, a great warrior, and a thanator rider. . .
jake x neytiri x tsu'tey x f!reader
Summary: He almost died. You saved him. And now neither of you knows how to pretend it didnβt change everything, especially now that he knows about the thing youβve hidden since the day you arrived. Rivals donβt do the things you two doβ¦ do they?
Warnings: 6k+ words, aged up! neteyam, rival to friends i guess (still with benefits) , explicit smut, p in v, finally not a hate sex, cunnilingus, pussy eating, reader on top (woohoo), riding, this is more fluff than the before i think
Chapters: friendly fire, friendlier fire, friendliest fire
Three days later, the air in the high pods of High Camp was thick with the scent of crushed herbs and woodsmoke. You climbed the woven ramps, your heart doing a nervous stutter-step that you refused to acknowledge.
You found him in the healers' wing, propped up against a stack of woven mats. He was stripped to the waist, a thick, clean white bandage wrapped firmly around his chest. He was pale, but the gray tint to his skin was gone, replaced by the healthy blue glow of someone far too stubborn to stay down.
The moment you stepped inside, his ears perked up.
"Youβre late," Neteyam called out, his voice still a bit gravelly but carrying that familiar, arrogant lilt. He didn't even wait for you to sit before he gestured to a bowl of fruit nearby. "Iβm starving. Peel me one of those? The healer treat me like Iβm made of glass."
"The healer is your grandmother, Neteyam," you said. You stood at the foot of his mat, arms crossed, staring at him. "You almost bled out in the dirt three days ago, and your first words to me are a demand for snacks?"
"Technically," he said, leaning back and wincing just a fraction as his wound pulled, "my first words were that you're late. The fruit was a follow-up."
He patted the space on the mat next to him. When you finally sat down, he watched you with golden eyes that had lost their glaze, regaining that sharp, teasing light that always managed to get under your skin. "I remember the part where you told me to shut up. Very romantic," he said.
"I was trying to save your life," you hissed, feeling your face heat up. "You were being incredibly annoying."
"I was dying! Iβm allowed to be a little dramatic," he countered, reaching out with his good arm to snag your wrist, pulling your hand toward him. He traced the small scabs on your skin where the ropes had been. "But I heard you. 'I've got you,' you said. You sounded so worried."
You hissed, jerking your hand back. "I was worried about the lecture your father would give me if I brought his heir back in pieces. Don't let it go to your head."
Neteyam chuckled, but the sound turned into a small wince as his chest rose. He settled back against the mats.
"How did you do it?" he asked softly. "That thing with the tsaheylu. The leader woman... she looked terrified of you. Like sheβd seen a ghost."
"Her name is Varang," you said. You went still, looking down at your scarred wrists. The memory of the black rage and the way you had crushed Varangβs mind made your skin crawl. "And let's say, experience is the best teacher," you continued.
Neteyamβs ears twitched, his head tilting to the side. Experience? Na'vi don't use the bond like that. They use it for connection, for the ikran, for the direhorse. They don't use it to lobotomize people
He looked at you closely, his eyes narrowing as he put the pieces together. "What do you mean, 'experience'?"
You sighed, the secret you had kept since the day you arrived at High Camp finally slipping out.
"Neteyam, I wasn't a Windtrader. I was a Mangkwan," you said, your voice a cold thread. "Hell, not only a regular Mangkwan, I was the tsakarem."
The silence that followed was heavy. Neteyamβs hand, which had been reaching for yours again, froze in mid-air. "You're one of them?" he whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
"Was," you corrected sharply. "Yeah... maybe I lied about my story when I arrived here," you chuckled, though there was no humor in it. The sound was dry and sharp.
Neteyam sat back, his mind racing through every moment he had known you, the "stray" girl who had fought twice as hard as any Omatikaya, the girl who knew too much about pressure points and psychological warfare.
"So that mad woman..." Neteyam started, his voice hushed as he looked at the entrance to the pod to ensure no one was listening. "Varang. Sheβs your mother?"
You recoiled, a genuine hiss of disgust escaping your lips. "Now thatβs an insult. Iβd rather have been birthed by a viper."
You looked down at your hands, picking at a loose thread on the mat. "The part of me being an orphan isn't a lie."
You felt a cold weight settle in your chest, the kind that no amount of forest sun could warm. "My parents died in the same volcanic eruption that blackened the southern islands. I watched the sky turn to ash and the earth swallow everything I loved."
You looked up at Neteyam, your eyes hard and dry. "Iβve hated Eywa ever since. Youβve never seen me pray to her, have you?" You let out a short, jagged chuckle. "While the rest of you are singing to the trees, Iβm wondering why the Great Mother felt the need to bury my family in ashes."
Neteyamβs expression shifted from shock to a deep, pained silence. For an Omatikaya, for the son of a man who spoke to Eywa through the Tree of Souls, your words were pure sacrilege. But he didn't pull away.
"Varang found me in the ash," you continued, your voice hollow. "She didn't see a grieving child. She looked into my eyes and realized we shared the same hatred. She saw a girl who wanted to tear the world apart, and she took me under her wing to show me exactly how to do it."
Neteyam looked at you deeply. The teasing spark in his eyes had completely vanished, replaced by a heavy, grounding gravity.
"Why did you run away?" Neteyam asked, his voice barely a breath.
"You don't even want to know how the training was," you said, your voice going dangerously thin. You stared at your hands, but you weren't seeing the healer's pod. You were seeing the dark, damp caves of the Mangkwan coast.
"She forced me to bond with dying victims. Men, women, animals... it didn't matter. She made me stay connected while their life flickered out. I felt the fear, the cold, the agony. I felt the last breath they ever took. Again, and again, and again... until I felt numb."
You looked at him, and for a second, your eyes were as cold as Varangβs.
"Thatβs how you control a tsaheylu," you said. "Because their feelings don't affect you anymore. You learn to treat someoneβs soul like a room youβre just walking through."
Neteyam flinched. He looked at the bandage on his chest, realizing that when you had saved him, you had used a skill forged in the deaths of dozens of others.
"But I don't like torturing people," you said, your voice finally breaking, the hardness cracking. "Varang wanted me to enjoy it. She wanted me to be the one who pushed them over the edge. But every time I felt a heart stop... it felt like my own was stopping, too. I couldn't be the monster she wanted," you whispered, the words hanging heavy in the air.
Then, you cleared your throat, forcing the darkness back with a sharp, jagged smile. "I actually had a proper little rebellion. I told her to her face that I wouldn't do it. She was, let's say less than pleased. But I fought her, managed to scramble away, and limped into High Camp looking like a drowned forest cat."
You let out a dry chuckle, nudging his good leg with your elbow. "So, technically, I didn't lie! I was a victim of the Mangkwan. I just left out the part where I was their tsahik-in-training. I figured 'Windtrader orphan' sounded much more sympathetic and much less than 'I-can-fry-your-brain-with-my-hair.'"
Neteyam rolled his eyes so hard he nearly winced from the effort, a huff of indignant laughter escaping his chest.
"A Windtrader," he repeated, shaking his head. "I shouldβve guessed it was a lie. No Windtrader hiss like a wounded kitten every time things don't go their way. And they certainly don't look like they're ready to commit murder when someone asks them to help with the laundry."
"I do not hiss like a kitten," you snapped, your ears flattening.
"You do," he insisted, a teasing glint returning to his gold eyes despite his pale face. "Youβre all spikes and teeth. Every time I try to help you with your footing or show you a better grip on your knife, you go hiss. Itβs cute. Like a little forest cat that thinks itβs a thanator."
"I am a thanator compared to you right now," you retorted, gesturing vaguely at his prone, bandaged form. "Youβre currently a very blue and very talkative rug."
"A rug that saved your life," he reminded you, pointing a finger at your nose. "Before you went all 'scary priestess' on everyone, I was the one standing between you and Varangβs blade. I think that earns me the right to call you a kitten."
"It earns you a smack to the head if you weren't already concussed," you muttered, though you didn't move away. "And for the record, you're so stupid. I told you not to drop that bow. We wouldn't be in this mess if you just listened for once."
Neteyam let out a dry, rattling breath that might have been a laugh if it didn't hurt so much. "Oh, right. Because watching your head get jerked around while you screamed in pain was the perfect time for me to be 'logical.' My mistake."
He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, his face tight with lingering exhaustion. "Honestly? With how much youβve been lecturing me since I woke up, Iβm starting to think I shouldβve just let her cut your kuru. At least then you would be quiet."
Your tail lashed behind you. "And I should have left you bleeding in the forest. At least, the soil wouldβve made better use than your stubbornness."
Neteyam hissed at you.
You hissed back.
The air between you was thick with heat and the lingering tension of two people who had almost lost everything, expressed through the only way you knew how: sharp words and bared teeth.
"Am I interrupting a hunt?"
The deep, gravelly voice of Jake Sully echoed through the pod.
You both jumped. Neteyam winced, hissing for a very different reason as he clutched his chest, and you scrambled back, nearly tripping over a bowl of medicinal mash.
Jake stood in the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked between the two of you. Jakeβs expression was unreadable, but one of his eyebrows was arched in a way that suggested he had heard more than he was letting on.
"Dad," Neteyam panted, trying to smooth his expression into something resembling a disciplined soldier. "No. Just... discussing tactics."
"Sounded like a lot of hissing for a tactic discussion," Jake said, stepping into the room.
He looked at you, his gaze heavy and observant. "And you. I hear the healers have been looking for you. Something about you refusing to let them check your wrists because you were too busy 'supervising' my sonβs recovery?"
You looked at your feet, your tail giving one finalΒ flick. "Heβs a difficult patient, sir."
"Sheβs a tyrant," Neteyam muttered under his breath.
You give him a final hiss before finally excusing yourself to leave the room.
Three months had passed since the "tactical disaster" in the forest, and life at High Camp had returned to its usual rhythm, which, for the two of you, meant a constant state of verbal warfare and physical tension that could set the foliage on fire.
The scar on Neteyamβs chest was now a jagged, silvery mark against his blue skin, a permanent reminder of the day he was an "idiot."
"I hate you," you said. You two were on the way of a hunting, and of course it was full of arguing like usual. "I hate your face, I hate your ego, and I especially hate that you think you're better than me."
"Because I am," Neteyam chuckled.
"You know, the more I think, the more I want to finish what Varang started. Maybe I should re-stab your scar and actually leave you bleeding in the forest," you hissed.
"Still all spikes and teeth," he said. "Are you going to hiss at me again, kitten?"
"If you call me kitten one more time, I will actually fry your brain," you threatened.
Twenty minutes later, the bickering hadn't stopped, but it had shifted into the rhythmic, professional silence of the hunt. Mostly.
You moved through the mid-canopy like ghosts, leaping from branch to branch with practiced ease. Neteyam was a few meters to your left, his long limbs moving with the terrifying fluidity that made him such a lethal scout.
Neteyam didn't even look at you. He just raised two fingers, pointing toward a thicket of purple-leafed bushes. A yerik stood there, its six legs tensed, ears twitching at a sound only it could hear.
He looked at you then, a challenge dancing in his gold eyes. He didn't say a word, but the tilt of his head was clear: My kill or yours?
You didn't wait for a formal invitation. You notched an arrow, the movement silent and blurred. But as you drew back the string, Neteyamβs hand reached out, his fingers brushing your elbow to adjust your stance by a fraction of a millimeter.
"Your elbow is too high," he breathed into your ear, his chest nearly brushing your back. "You're getting sloppy because you're angry."
"I am not sloppy," you whispered back, your tail twitching in irritation. "And get off me. Youβre ruining my line of sight."
"I'm perfecting it," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "Now shoot, kitten. Before it smells your attitude and runs away."
You gritted your teeth, focused on the target, and loosed the arrow. It whistled through the air, a clean, silent streak of death. The yerik dropped instantly, not even a cry escaping it.
"Clean," Neteyam admitted, finally pulling back. He looked at the fallen prey, then back at you with a smirk that was entirely too fond. "Almost as good as me."
"In your dreams, Sully," you snapped, already jumping down toward the forest floor to claim the kill.
Neteyam hauled the yerik onto his shoulders, the weight of the animal barely seeming to slow him down. Instead of heading back toward the main camp, he began to climb toward the high ridges, toward the shimmering, ethereal glow that illuminated the horizon.
"Where are you going?" you asked, jumping over a gnarled root. "The villages are the other way, Olo'eyktan-to-be."
"I know where the villages are," Neteyam replied over his shoulder, his tail swishing with a steady, rhythmic confidence. "Weβre making a stop first."
As the trees began to thin and the air grew thick with the hum of a thousand invisible spirits, the glow intensified. You rounded a corner and stopped dead. The Tree of Souls stood before you, its long, glowing tendrils swaying in a wind that didn't exist, a living cathedral of light.
He dropped the prey at the edge of the sacred ground, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked at the tree, then back at you, his expression maddeningly calm.
You let out a dry, sharp bark of a laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. "Youβve got to be kidding me, Neteyam. Are you trying to perform an exorcism? Do you think the tree is going to smell the 'Mangkwan' on me and strike me down?"
"I think youβre being dramatic," Neteyam countered, walking over to you. He didn't stop until he was in your personal space. "Iβm not asking you to pray. Iβm not asking you to like Her."
"Then why are we here?" you asked, though the hum of the tree was making the hair on your arms stand up.
"Because you spend all your time looking at the ground or looking for enemies," Neteyam said softly. He reached out, his fingers catching a floating woodsprite.
Atokirina. A seed of the sacred tree that was drifting toward your face. He held it out to you, the tiny, glowing creature spinning slowly in his palm.
"I wanted you to see that not everything in this world is fire and ash," he murmured. "Even if you hate the Source, the view is still better than a cave in the Mangkwan coast, isn't it?"
"Itβs just a tree, Neteyam," you whispered, though your voice lacked its usual bite.
"It's a very pretty tree," he corrected, his smirk returning. "And itβs very quiet. Which is the only way I can get a word in without you hissing at me."
The atokirina flew away from Neteyam's palm.
You let out a huff of a laugh, leaning your weight onto one hip as you stared at the swaying, luminous vines. The light played off your skin, making the old scars on your wrists look like silver threads.
"I don't know, Neteyam," you joked, your voice echoing slightly in the hollow silence of the grove. "I'm afraid I would scare your ancestors away. Can you imagine? One touch and all the great Omatikaya leaders of the past start screaming because a Mangkwan witch just walked into the chat."
Neteyam snorted, stepping closer until his shoulder brushed yours. "My ancestors have seen Great Shadow wars and human invasions. I think they can handle one grumpy girl from the coast."
"I'm serious," you said, though your smirk remained. "I did terrible things with my kuru in the past. If I plug into this thing, I might accidentally download a virus into your precious Eywa."
"A virus?" Neteyam shook his head, looking at the tree with a quiet, steady reverence. "It doesn't work like that. You don't 'take' from the tree. You just... listen."
He reached out, his hand hovering near the glowing white tendrils, then he looked back at you. His eyes were soft, searching. "Youβre not a virus. Youβre just afraid."
The joke died in your throat. Your gaze drifted from his face to the swaying vines of the Tree of Souls. The hum of the tree felt like a physical weight against your chest, a heartbeat that wasn't yours
"I'm not afraid," you lied, your voice dropping to a whisper.
But you were. You were terrified. You were afraid that if you connected, youβd see your parents with their faces twisted in the same fire and ash that had claimed them. You were afraid their spirits would look at what youβd become, what Varang had turned you into, and turn away in shame.
And even worse? You were afraid that youβd reach out into that Great Mother's mind and find... nothing. That the silence would be absolute, proving that your parents were just gone, scattered like smoke, and that Eywa had never been listening at all.
"Just try," Neteyam urged softly. He took a step toward you, his hand grazing your arm. "One touch. If itβs too loud, or if you hate what you hear, you pull away."
You looked at the glowing vines, then back at him. "If I see a bunch of old Omatikaya chiefs telling me to do my laundry and stop being mean to you, Iβm never letting you hear the end of it."
"Deal," he murmured, a small, encouraging smile breaking through his seriousness.
You took a shaky breath, your fingers trembling as you reached for your queue. You slowly brought the pink, sensitive filaments of your kuru toward the glowing vines of the tree. The closer you got, the more the air seemed to thrum.
At the last second, you froze. The fear of seeing them, or not seeing them, hit you like a physical blow to the stomach.
"I can't," you gasped, snatching your hand back as if the tree had burned you. You stumbled a half-step away, your chest heaving. "I told you, it's just a tree. Iβm not doing this, Neteyam. Do your own prayer, take the damn yerik, and letβs go home."
Neteyam didn't push. He just gave a quiet, knowing nod, respecting the wall youβd slammed down. You walked away a few paces, leaning against a nearby trunk as you sat down beside the dead yerik.
You watched him with narrowed eyes as he approached the glowing tendrils. He closed his eyes, connecting his kuru with that glowing vines.
When Neteyam finally finished, he disconnected and walked over, sinking down to sit beside you. He didn't say anything at first, just sat there in the shared quiet of the bioluminescent glow.
Suddenly, a single atokirina bobbed through the air, drifting right toward your face. Without thinking, purely out of a reflexive, you slapped it away from you.
"Don't," Neteyam said, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist mid-swing. He didn't pull you away, he just held your arm steady in the air. "Stay still," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the woodsprite.
You were confused, but you stopped struggling. Then, more of them came. It wasn't just one, dozens of the glowing seeds descended like falling stars, landing on your shoulders, your hair, your knees, and your hands. They were weightless, pulsing with a faint, cool light until you were draped in a shimmering, white shroud.
You sat there, frozen, until they all finally took flight again, drifting back into the heights of the tree.
"What was that?" you asked, your voice barely a rasp. You felt exposed, like the tree had just looked right through your skin.
Neteyam was staring at you. "You've been chosen. By Eywa," he breathed.
"For what exactly?" You snapped, standing up abruptly and brushing off the invisible dust of the spirits. "To be a glow-in-the-dark target? To be your tribal mascot? No. Absolutely not. Iβm not 'converting' or becoming a believer just because she says I'm chosen or whatever. I don't care about her seeds and I don't care about her signs."
Neteyam stood up, hoisting the yerik over his shoulders with a grunt. He looked at you, that maddening, smug smirk slowly returning to his face despite your outburst. "Stubborn ass."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Neteyam let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh, adjusting the heavy weight of the yerik on his shoulders. "Of course you would. Only you could be blessed by the Great Mother and treat it like a personal insult."
"It is an insult," you countered, falling into step beside him, your tail lashing with leftover adrenaline. "Sheβs been silent my whole life while I was bleeding in the ash, and now that Iβm finally tucked away in your little forest paradise, she wants to say hello? Sheβs late. By about ten years."
Neteyam didn't look back, but you could hear the smile in his voice. "Maybe she was waiting for you to stop hissing long enough to hear her."
"I will hiss at her, I will hiss at you, and I will hiss at anyone who thinks I'm going to start wearing flowers and singing to a tree," you grumbled. You reached up to adjust your hair.
Neteyam didn't answer with words. Instead, he shifted the yerik to one shoulder and reached out with his free hand, his fingers snaking toward your queue.
"Hey!" you barked, jumping back as if heβd shocked you. "Hands off the merchandise, Sully! You want to lose a finger?"
"Just checking for more bugs," he teased.
"Bugs? I'll show you some bugs, you moron!" you snarled, lunging at him.
Neteyam wasn't expecting the sudden tackle. He tried to pivot, but with the weight of the yerik on his shoulders, his balance was off. You dove for his midsection, your fingers finding the sensitive spot right above his hip bones.
"Waitβno!" Neteyam choked out a surprised, breathless laugh as he went down. The yerik slid off his shoulders into the grass with a heavy thud, and he hit the mossy ground a second later with you pinned firmly to his chest.
You didn't stop. You dug your fingers into his ribs, tickling him ruthlessly. "How's that for a bug, Sully? You want to check for more?"
"Stop! I yield!" he wheezed, squirming beneath you, his hands catching your wrists to try and pull them away. He was strong, but he was laughing too hard to actually use his strength. "Mercy! The Mangkwan... they have no honor!"
"None at all," you hissed, but you finally stopped the tickling.
You didn't move, though. You stayed right where you were, straddling his waist, your hands pinned against the ground by his. The forest around you seemed to go quiet, the glow from the Tree of Souls spread across your face.
It had been three months. Three months since that night in the tent before the ambush. Three months since you two touch each other.
"What's the matter?" Neteyam teased, his voice dropping into a rough, low vibration that seemed to hum right through your skin. "You're usually so loud when you're winning. Why so quiet now, kitten?"
"Shut up," you whispered, though you didn't move.
"Make me," he challenged.
"Oh, I know a way," you murmured.
You didn't go for his ribs this time. You didn't go for a punch or a shove. Instead, you reached around his head, your fingers navigating the dark braids until you found his queue.
Neteyam didnβt flinch. He didnβt try to block you. He just lay there against the moss, his smirk widening into something amused. He wasn't afraid of what you could do to his mind, heβd already felt your soul when you saved his life. He knew you wouldn't really try to fry his brain anyway.
"Go ahead," he challenged softly, his hands moving from your wrists to rest firmly on your waist. "Do your worst, Mangkwan. Break my mind. I think thereβs only room in there for you at this point, anyway."
The challenge hung in the air, thick and heavy. You didn't back down. You reached for your queue, the neural filaments shivering as they sensed the proximity of his.
As the filaments braided together, the world exploded.
Neteyamβs pupils dilated instantly, his golden irises nearly swallowed by black as the connection slammed into him. He let out a ragged gasp, his head falling back against the moss as the sheer force of your mind flooded his. He closed his eyes tight, his fingers digging into your waist as he tried to process the sensory overload. It wasn't like connecting to an ikran or a tree. It was like plugging into a live wire.
Through the bond, you felt him, all of him. You can feel his overwhelming heat, his fierce protectiveness, and the raw, aching want he had been suppressed for months.
You, however, remained perfectly still. You kept your eyes open, watching the way his chest heaved and the way his tail twitched violently in the grass.
"Too much for the prince?" you whispered, your voice cool and steady despite the fire rushing through the bond.
Neteyam let out a low, pained groan of pleasure, his grip tightening on your hips. Through the tsaheylu, his thoughts racing. He was seeing flashes of that night in the forest, the smell of your skin, the way you looked when you were angry, and the terrifyingly beautiful way you looked when you were saving him.
He opened his eyes, hazy and dark, looking up at you with a vulnerability he only ever showed in the dark. [Stop... acting like you don't feel this,] his voice echoed directly into your mind, bypasssing your ears. [I can feel your heart. Itβs lying for you.]
He was right. Even if your face was a mask of calm, the bond didn't lie. Your heart was drumming a matching rhythm against his own.
"You look good quiet like this," you murmured, your voice a cool contrast to the storm raging through the bond.
Neteyam let out a long and shaky exhale. Without breaking the connection, he sat up, his hands never leaving your waist, until you were eye-to-eye in the middle of the glowing grove.
"You're a demon," he rasped, though he was pulling you closer.
"And yet, you're still here," you whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere."
He didn't wait for another taunt. He leaned in, closing the final inch of space. When your lips finally met, the tsaheylu flared again, sending a physical jolt through both of you.
The tsaheylu turned the kiss into something visceral, a sensory overload that made the forest floor feel like it was falling away.
Neteyamβs hands moved with a sudden, possessive urgency, sliding from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him until there wasn't a breath of air between your chests. He tasted like the cool water of the river and the sweet nectar of the flowers.
The tsaheylu spiked, a line of pure sensation shooting through your nerves as Neteyamβs hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. He adjusted you until your back was pressed against the dead yerik, using the animal's body as a makeshift headrest.
"Neteyam," you breathed, your head thumping back against the yerik as his mouth left yours.
He didn't stop. He moved lower, his lips tracing a path of fire down your throat, lingering on the spot where your pulse was jumping like a trapped bird.
He went lower still, his head dipping below your eye line. You arched your back, your breath hitching in your throat as the tsaheylu transmitted every ghost of a touch, amplifying it until you couldn't tell where your body ended and his began.
He also could feel your sharp intake of breath, the way your muscles coiled in anticipation, and he chose that exact moment to slow down. He looked up at you from his position, his golden eyes hooded and dark, glowing like embers in the twilight of the grove.
"Are you unaffected by this, little Mangkwan?" he whispered, his voice vibrating through the neural link.
You tried to glare at him, but it was hard to maintain your "scary priestess" persona when your toes were curling into the moss. "I'm going to kill you, Sully."
"You've been saying that for months," he teased, his thumb tracing a slow, agonizing circle on the inside of your thigh. "But your heart is telling me something else."
Neteyamβs hand moved with a slow, deliberate precision, sliding the edge of your loincloth aside just enough. He leaned in, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he took you in. He could smell the heavy and sweet scent of your arousal.
Then, he leaned in and took a taste.
You let out a sharp, choked-off cry, your head thumping back against the yerik so hard the animal's carcass shifted. Because he was connected to you, he felt exactly how good it felt to you while he did it. He felt the jolt of pleasure as it traveled up your spine, and he fed it right back into the loop, amplifying it until the world was nothing but violet light and the sound of his name on your lips.
"Oh," Neteyam groaned against you, his voice vibrating through your entire lower body.
Neteyam didn't hold back. Every flick of his tongue was a calculated strike against your remaining sanity. You were blinded by the way the bond made every touch feel like a lightning strike, the way his satisfaction bled into your own until you were drowning in a sea of shared, mounting ecstasy.
"Neteyamβ" you gasped, your fingers digging so hard into his shoulders.
You felt his tongue, hot and expert, swirling against you, and because of the bond, you felt his own primal satisfaction at the way your thighs trembled against his ears. He could feel the exact moment your breath hitched, the exact millisecond your internal muscles coiled, and he used that knowledge to push you even harder.
Your fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, your nails carving crescent moons into his skin, but he only pressed deeper. He was drinking you in, tasting the salt and the sweetness. His own arousal bleeding through the link until you could feel the heavy, thrumming ache in his own body.
He let out a low, muffled growl against your skin, his hands sliding up to grip your hips, anchoring you as you began to arch uncontrollably. [Give it to me,] his voice echoed in your mind, dark and commanding. [Let it go, kitten. Let me taste it all.]
The command in your head was the final blow. The release hit you with the force of a physical collision, a psychic shockwave that traveled through the tsaheylu and slammed into Neteyamβs mind at the same time it wrecked your body. Your back arched so sharply it felt like your spine might snap.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the ragged sounds of your breathing. Neteyam eventually sat up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Slowly, your strength returned to your limbs. You sat up, sliding onto his lap and straddling his waist. You reached out, framing his face with your hands, and pulled him into a kiss. This one was slower, deeper, and tasting of the victory you both finally shared.
When you pulled back just an inch, you saw that familiar, smug look starting to creep back into his expression. You couldn't have that. Not yet.
"Don't look so proud of yourself, Sully," you rasped, your voice still a little wrecked.
Neteyam let out a breathless, incredulous laugh, his hands tightening on your waist. "Well. I recall you nearly breaking my shoulders and screaming my name loud enough to wake the ancestors."
"The ancestors are probably more disappointed in your lack of focus," you countered, though your breath hitched as his hands slid from your waist to your thighs, his grip firm and grounding.
"Lack of focus? I'm focused exactly where I want to be." He shifted beneath you, his hips tilting upward just enough to make you gasp.
"If you're so worried about my focus," Neteyam rasped, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register, "then why don't you take control?"
He didn't wait for an answer. His hands, large and steady, lift your hips before he managed to move his loincloth aside. He grabbed your hips again, aligning you perfectly above him. The tsaheylu flared. You felt the heavy and thrumming weight of his desire.
You let out a shaky breath, your hands coming down to rest on his broad chest for balance. "Careful, Sully," you whispered, your eyes locking onto his. "You might find out Iβm a lot more than you can handle."
"Try me," he challenged.
You sank down slowly, the sensation so intense that your head fell back. The sensation hit both of you with a "double" intensity that felt like a physical weight.
Through the bond, you weren't just feeling yourself, you were feeling him feeling you. You felt the incredible, searing warmth of your own body from his perspective, the way you were so tight and welcoming that it made his vision go blurry. At the same time, he was feeling the sensation of fullness through your nerves, a heavy, grounding ache that made your toes curl into the moss.
The feedback loop of the tsaheylu was becoming a storm you couldn't control. You moved with a rhythmic grace, your hips rolling in a slow, torturous grind that forced a groan from deep within Neteyamβs chest.
Neteyamβs hands moved to your hips, his large palms anchoring you, guiding your pace when he felt you falter from the sheer intensity.
[Look at me,] he commanded through the link.
You forced your eyes open, your vision swimming with violet light and sweat. You began to move faster, your breath coming in short, sharp hitches that sounded like prayers in the silence of the grove. He was so warm, so impossibly solid beneath you.
He met every one of your descents with a powerful, rhythmic thrust of his own hips, his tail lashing the ground, coiling and uncoiling in the grass. Because of the bond, you could feel the tension building in his loinsβa coiled spring of energy that was seconds away from snapping. He felt your internal muscles clenching around him, the rhythmic ripples of your body sending waves of agonizing pleasure straight to his brain.
It was a total sensory takeover. The scent of the crushed moss, the humming of the sacred tree, the salt of your skin, and the taste of his breath as you leaned down to capture his lips again.
The kiss was the fuse that finally hit the powder keg. As your lips crashed together, the tsaheylu give a torrent of shared sensation that left no room for thought.
You accelerated your pace, your body a blur of motion against his, the friction generating a heat that felt like it was melting the very air between you.
And then, you felt the exact moment he reached his limit. It acted as a trigger for your own body. The pressure in your core coiled tighter and tighter, an agonizing thrum that demanded to be let loose.
Then, it happened.
The release rippled through your body.
You let out a cry into his mouth as your internal muscles clamped around him in a series of powerful spasms. You felt your own climax as a blinding explosion and then, a millisecond later, you felt his release. A deep, pulsing flood of heat that mirrored your own, echoing back and forth through the tsaheylu until the pleasure was infinite.
Neteyamβs back arched off the moss, his hands gripping your hips so hard his knuckles went white. He groaned your name into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your teeth as he finally let go.
Slowly, the weight of gravity returned. You collapsed forward, your head falling onto his shoulder, your chest heaving against his as you both fought for air.
Neteyamβs hand came up to stroke the back of your head and back. He didn't speak. After a long moment of just holding you, he shifted, slowly laying back down on the mossy ground and pulling you with him.
You let out a soft giggle against the skin of his shoulder. You rolled off his chest but didn't go far, settling onto your side and resting your head on the crook of his arm.
He shifted his arm, pulling you even tighter against his side until you were tucked perfectly against his chest, cocooned by his scent and the heat still radiating from his skin. One of his large hands rested over your hip.
You fell asleep first, your breathing evening out as you drifted into a sleep.
As you drifted deeper into sleep, the tension finally left your body, your hand resting limply over Neteyamβs heart. He stayed awake for a long time, watching the way your expression had finally softened in the dark.
Satisfied, he pressed a final, lingering kiss to the top of your head and let his own eyes flutter shut, his grip on your hip never loosening even as he drifted off.
From the high, luminous canopy, dozens of atokirinas began to descend. The woodsprites drifted down like slow-motion snow, pulsing with a rhythmic white light.
They landed everywhere. They settled on your intertwined legs, on Neteyamβs broad shoulders, and in the messy tangles of your hair. One landed softly on the bridge of your nose, another settled right over the spot where your kuru was still braided with Neteyamβs.
The morning light filtered soft and hazy. You felt the absence of his heat before you even opened your eyes, the tsaheylu have been gently disconnected while you slept.
You stirred, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the back of your hand, and saw Neteyam already sitting up beside you. He was staring at the glowing vines of the tree, his expression a complicated mask of realization.
As he looked around, the weight of last night seemed to crash down on him all at once. The sex, the tsaheylu, the fact that he came inside, and worst of all, that you two had done all of it here, before Eywa, right under The Tree of Souls.
"We aren't mated, are we?" he asked.
You contemplated the thought for a split second, but you quickly rubbed it off.
"Absolutely not," you said firmly, standing up and brushing the glowing moss from your skin.
i emptied my drafts, this is probably the last part, i have no ideas left lmao. also sorry if the title sucks i just can't think of another :p
theartofmadeline
baratheonpilled
turnnoffyourmind
pixelskylines
