I admit it, i was bounceonit anon1. There was a shame in my chest festering from internet cringe culture getting to me. I will move on, and do better being freaky. However... This supporter.. whoever they may be. They are a genius. They MUST take turns bouncing on it. This is what the bounceonit nation requires.
Also imagine the sensory overload from the feeling of uhh ya know,,, being all around? Filling up all crevices??? Rubs chin thoughtfully. Also is cosmic entity reader lowkey slimey? I think they would be. Slimey and sticky fish god
Alright, awesome transferring to desktop fixed the issue. We established tumble guys! No need to worry anymore, pack it up. (Context)
Anyway-
Gasp. Plot twist of the sensory. D-rook is actually bounceonit anon. The plot twists are twisting. But this supporter? This unknown figure? A new challenger? A foe? Or perhaps... a friend?
Wtf is happening on this blog today.
Anyway, yeah, I am all in support of the bounceonit nation. May your year be prosperous and your harvests plentiful.
Onto the real horny stuff that broke tumblr to begin with:
I think that's the fun of taking a more eldritch concept and making it horny, the smut? Off the charts. Whole new meaning of mindfuck. I can't wait to give writing it a shot. There's definitely something to be said for the overstimulation of being completely surrounded, physically and mentally, by Reader. Simon's in for a time when they get around to it, just saying.
As for how Reader's 'true' form feels? I hadn't really given it much thought. I don't think they'd be slimy? I was picturing more... smooth. Kinda like how people think snakes are slimy, but then you touch them and they're actually just really smooth. I think the Angler Fish/Frog (also known as She and Her) is definitely slimy, though.
Maybe there are occasions where Reader could get kind of sticky though. Maybe that's what happens when they're overstimulated, their form kinda falls apart into a starry, shadowy, goopy mess.
I know they're really warm, and you can feel the hum of them through their skin. Like a subtle vibration, it's the equivalent of their pulse and it does indeed get louder and faster when they're... excited. I described them as 'cool' at the end of You'll Find Me, but that was because they'd exerted most of their energy and almost died, so their Song had gotten quieter and their body colder as a result.
So on top of being overstimulating to be entirely wrapped up in Reader, it would also be incredibly warm. You'd be completely fucked out of your mind but you would be cozy.
warmth and contentment, ohhh how evil, oh nooooo… simon, watch out!!!!
bounced on it too hard, cosmic partner turned into goop. hel p
but yeah i do agree, intimacy like this with something that defies all human norms can go literally every way, mental, physical, deeper into the soul, take them apart cell by cell, atom by atom and put them back together. it is so exciting!!!! aauauhfgughh
Synopsis: Between the cleanup shifts and late-night cuddles, your husband finds himself dreaming about something messier than the Abyss itself: parenthood.
Feat:Enjin, Tamsy, Corvus, Gris x wife!afab!reader (individual)
Materlist — here Word count: 3k (average 700 each)
♥︎ —Enjin
He swore he didn’t want kids.
Excluding the fact that they were extremely needy and messy, Enjin could list off a multitude of reasons why having kids on the Ground was a bad idea. He was always careful to use a condom or to pull out when one wasn’t available. Especially when you had a few pregnancy scares (an expensive trip to Alice’s only confirmed you were just late due to stress or diet).
However, something slowly changed that Enjin couldn’t quite registered. It started with your attention towards Rudo. You were always so patient with him, attentive to his moods yet caring in how your approached him. It was like watching the walls the younger boy had put up come undone before Enjin’s eyes, and with that, the seed of doubt had started to sow its roots, wondering. What would you be like as a mother?
Could he really imagine a little you or him running around cleaner HQ? What features of his would they inherit? Would Enjin even be a good dad to begin with? Living on the Ground was not the most ideal place to raise a child given all the dangers it posed, but at the same time, the idea of completing his family with you didn’t sound too awful.
The thought continued to eat at him more and the more he imagined it—how your belly would swell with his child, your breasts heavy with milk, or the way your hips would seem full—the more the thought inevitably turned him on.
“W-wait Enjin—fuck.” Your back arches off the bed as the fat head of your husband’s cock stretches through your quivering walls.
You barely had time to get into your shared room before he all but pounced on you, pulling your clothes off and pushing you into the bed. He was already achingly hard for you that waiting any longer to feel your snug cunt wrap around him was torture.
“Fucking hell,” Enjin groans. “Squeezin’ me so tight already. Gonna fill this pretty pussy up until I get you pregnant.” The way you involuntarily clenched around him at that had him hissing through his teeth. “You want that, huh? Want me to breed this cunt over and over until it’s dripping with my seed?”
“F-fuck~” you moan as he presses hot kisses against the side of your neck. His arms bracket around your head as he presses himself deeper. “T-thought you didn’t want kids, Jin?”
“Changed my mind,” he mumbled, nipping your skin. One of his large, tattooed hands, skim down your side to squeeze your breast. You shiver as he teases the nipple between his fingers. “One little shit might not be so bad if I get to see these tits swollen and leaking with milk.”
“Then~” You press your lips against the side of his mouth in a teasing kiss. “Put a baby in me Enjin.”
Your all but demand has Enjin’s cock throbbing. He wastes no time folding your legs over his shoulders fucking into you deep, until your knees nearly touch your chest and the swollen head of his cock kisses your cervix. A shudder runs through his body before he begins to move, slowly at first before his pace quickens with deliberate, needy thrusts that have the bed creaking.
Enjin fucks into you rough and hard. Each thrust has his cock dragging against your spongey walls, pressing deeper and deeper to where you’re most sensitive. And each time his hips snap against yours, your toes curl feeling the delicious stretch of his length.
“S-shit….gonna cum…you ready for it babe?” Enjin chuckles. His breathy groans fill your ear as his pace falters slightly. He feels his balls constrict and his abdomen tightened. One, two, three more thrusts and he’s pressing against you when his orgasm hits hard. “Fuck~there you go. Take all of me.”
Your body trembles and your eyes roll back. You feel your stomach warm as your husband paints your insides white with his release. He bends down to kiss you, continuing to grind his hips against yours to fuck his cum deeper. The overstimulation has you whining.
“S-shit, your pussy’s gonna suck me dry,” Enjin groans. “But I got another load in me. Let’s see how many times it takes before it sticks.”
♥︎ —Tamsy Caines
Kids wasn’t something that ever seriously crossed his mind until recently. You had married rather young, and Tamsy assumed that the two of you would spend the next several years being selfish and simply enjoying each other’s company before maybe having a baby or two in your late twenties.
That was until he watched you interact with Remlin during a recent trip to Canvas Town. The young child had obviously been devastated about Gob’s death, but as the one inheriting his jinki to become the next spell caster, they put on a strong front of being okay. But behind closed doors, they broke down in your comforting arms.
Tamsy hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He had been searching for you so that you all could return to Cleaner HQ when the sound of crying alarmed him. Despite his own personal opinion regarding contamination sickness being just an unfortunate occurrence that happened in the Abyss, Tamsy couldn’t help but feel a sense of….longing, perhaps at seeing you act so caring towards Remlin.
“You seemed to have quite the maternal instinct,” Tamsy commented once you were back at HQ.
“You think so?” You ask, beginning to take off the jacket to your uniform. You hang it up in the closet. When you turn, Tamsy is suddenly standing behind you, startling you as you hadn’t heard him approach. The is a somewhat dangerous look in his eyes, as if he seems to be analyzing your every move.
“Mhm. Remlin seemed quite fond of you.”
“I was just trying to supportive since they lost someone they truly cared for.”
“That may be the case but that doesn’t deny that they took to you rather quick.”
Your eyebrow quipped up in confusion, his behavior growing odder by the minute. “Um, is something wrong, Tamsy? You are coming across as upset.”
“Upset?” Tamsy titled his head in surprise. “No. It’s nothing like that at all. In fact, quite the opposite.” Suddenly, he pins you against the wall with his larger frame, making you gasp. His yellowish eyes narrow. “I very much enjoy seeing that motherly side to you. And I know we agreed to wait a few years, but I can’t deny the urge I have to put a baby in you right now.”
Your body flushes down to your toes, heat coiling in the pit of your stomach as a shiver practically courses through you. Tamsy grins at your reaction. He tilts your chin, lips gracing yours briefly. “T-Tamsy…” you whimper.
“Is that a yes, angel? Use your words.” He presses you harder against the wall, his knee nudging between your legs.
You gasp. “Yes! Tamsy, please.”
Your husband’s lips are on yours. Usually, Tamsy is patient, choosing to take his time with teasing you, but this time, he kisses you with urgency as he pulls at your clothes. Your hands tangle themselves in his long hair, tugging at the tie until the style comes undone, his blond and blue strands tickling your skin.
Without breaking the kiss, Tamsy lifts you up with ease, his grip on your thighs tight. He carries you over to the bed, your back hitting the comforter. You’re left breathless when he does pull away. Heat pools in between your legs, your cunt practically throbbing with need.
“Tamsy, hurry up,” you beg, making your husband chuckle.
“Patience, angel,” he chided while making a show of slowly taking his clothes off. Despite his words, his evident erection strained against his boxers. Pre-cum pearled at the tip, staining the fabric. Teasingly, Tamsy drags the leaking head of his cock up and down your slit, smearing his pre cum against your sensitive clit. A twisted grin spreads across his face at the sound of your whimpery moans, the sight sparking a sense of possessiveness and desire to claim you.
Tamsy guides his cock into your messy cunt, hissing as he pushes the tip further into your heat.“Shit—“ Tamsy swears. “You feel heavenly.” His hips stutter, and you moan at the stretch of him in your womb. Your legs hook around his waist to spur him closer, deeper. Only once he’s sheathed all the way does he move.
Your nails dug into Tamsy’s shoulders as you clung to him trying to keep him close. That first penetration gave way to a succession of increasingly rougher thrusts that took your breath away. His cock kisses that particular sweet spot, making your insides tense.
“Fuck—you’re so perfect for me,” Tamsy groans. He kisses you again, this time with gentle tenderness, before resting his forehead against yours. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna make you a mommy, yeah?”
♥︎ —Gris Rubion
The idea of kids was something you and Gris had entertained before but it wasn’t something neither of you were actively trying to pursue. You always said if it happened it happened. However as of late, the idea started to cross Gris’s mind more after you both were tasked with babysitting Dear Santa for a weekend.
You absolutely adored the child and loved having him around. Arguably, Dear was quite attached to you. Around you, he showed a semblance of any emotion other than annoyance, which was a testament to how good you were with kids. And something about seeing you interact with Dear warmed Gris’s heart. How you made the child breakfast, even making more to accommodate Guita who wanted to join. How you spoil Dear with more candy than you probably should’ve. How you carried him to his room when he accidentally fell asleep on the couch when you all stayed up too late playing board games.
Slowly, it made Gris long for that to become a permanent reality.
“I want to try for a baby,” Gris finally admits to you, having worked up the courage to broach the topic. If you were surprised you didn’t show it. “I know we’ve only sort of talked about it before, but after seeing how you were with Dear…fuck, I-I just can’t stop thinking about how good of a mother you’d be, and I…” His face slowly reddens in embarrassment, making you smile softly. Bashfully he rubs the back of his neck. “I really want to be a dad.”
The weight of your silence makes him nervous.
“Well then,” you say. Gris seems to hold his breath, waiting for your response. He stiffens up as you approach, your cold hand teases underneath his shirt, his skin flushing under your touch. “I guess you better get to work then, Mr. Rubion~”
At that, Gris’s self control snaps and he slams his mouth against yours. His hands are rough and needy, pulling at your clothes and groping wherever he can while he backs you into the bed. You fumble with his belt, and Gris quickly kicks off his slacks. He groans against your mouth as you squeeze his bulge through his boxers. He clumsily stumbles over you, making you giggle.
“You makin’ fun of me, Mrs. Rubion?” Gris jokes.
“Not at all. I’ve just never seen you this eager before.”
He kisses your stomach just above your navel. “I just want us to complete our little family.”
Your heart swoons. “Gris…”
“But that being said—“ Gris roughly pins you to the bed. His eyes darken as they rake across your nude body, his hand trailing down your hip over your thighs. “I’m not letting you leave this bed until you’re for sure knocked up.”
This time you lean in to kiss him again. You sigh against his mouth as his lips move against yours. Gris grinds his hips against yours, pressing the heat of his erection on your needy clit, making your breath hitch. He felt so big, and fuck, did you need him so bad, for him to fill you up and satiate the throbbing ache between your legs.
You reach past the waistband of his boxers, trying to quickly free his cock that wasn’t even fully hard yet. It was hot and heavy against your palm, pre-crum drooling from the reddened tip. Now Gris chuckles. “Who’s eager now?”
“Hush. I thought you were going to get me pregnant, Mr. Rubion~” You give his cock a few languid strokes to get him fully hard, making Gris moan. “You’re not quite following through on your promise, now are you?”
“Careful with your words, darling,” Gris groans. “That attitude will get you in trouble later.”
The fat tip of his cock fills your pussy to the brim as he eases himself in. Your fluttering walls struggle to suck him deeper. You feel the throbbing veins on the side of his length, even more so as Gris folds your legs over his shoulders.
“Ack—too deep!” You gasp, tears clinging to your eyelashes. Gris hisses through his teeth as he slowly moves his hips, the girth of his length stretching against your womb. He finds your hand, intertwining your fingers with his.
“Relax darling. I got you.”
♥︎ —Corvus Arkha
A man full of secrets, Corvus Arkha was a mystery to most of the Cleaners. Not much was known about him or his personal life, many surprised to find out that he was married. An even bigger surprise about the boss of the Cleaners, a little known secret to those outside of the organization, was that Corvus Arkha had a daughter.
Corvus loved being a father. His child, though only a few months old, was his everything. And every day he was grateful to not only have her in his life, but to you for bringing her into the world, especially given how uneasy your pregnancy was. Nonetheless, Corvus was constantly in awe with what your body was able to achieve to carry your daughter to full term safely.
However, Corvus would be lying if he said that he didn’t love the change. The weight you gained rounded out your hips, giving them a fuller look. You breasts swelled. And you hadn’t quite lost all the baby weight, giving your tummy a cute pudge. It made you self conscious all the time but Corvus loved every inch of your body no matter what it looked like.
“C-Corvus, what if the baby wakes up?” You stutter, tensing as your husband kisses down your neck. “S-she’ll need to feed and-“
“Sweetheart, the baby will be fine,” Corvus reassured. “Just focus on me right now.”
He lifts you with ease, setting you on the desk in his office. He pulls your top over your head, immediately zeroing in on your breasts. Your tits were swollen and heavy since it had been a few hours since you last breastfeed. Milk had leaked from your nipples, staining your shirt. You felt gross and sticky. Yet Corvus’s expression softened, admiring you with love and adoration.
“You’re just saying that,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest. “I literally have not slept in three days for more than a few hours. And I don’t even remember if I showered this morning. Not to mention—“
“Sweetheart.” Corvus kisses you gently, pulling your hands down. “You are too hard on yourself. What I see is someone who sacrificed her body for nine months and did a remarkable thing that I am unable to. Because of that, I respect you and revere your body for all the hard work it’s done, and I will continue to do so until it’s imprinted in your mind and not a shred of doubt remains.”
Tears threaten to make their appearance but you bite them back. (Stupid fucking hormones.) Corvus drags your buttons down your ankles before slotting himself in between your legs. You gasp, feeling the hardness straining against his pants. Knowing how sensitive your body was at the moment, he was gentle with the way he touched you, teasing as he rolls his thumb across your nipples while he nipped at your neck.
“In fact—“ Corvus continued, the tone of his voice thickened, strained and heavy as desire clouded his senses. “Is it wrong that your body turns me on so much that I want to knock you up again?”
Heat explodes across your body, you stammer out a flustered response that makes your husband grin. He guides you back against the desk, your backside laying across the wooden surface as he pushes a few stray, unimportant documents to the floor.
Your heart pounds as you watch Corvus unfasten his belt to free his cock from the confines of his pants. You swallow thickly as you marvel at his size, never getting used to seeing how big he is despite all your years of being married. Corvus runs his hand up and down his length a few times, smearing the pre ejaculate along his shaft, making his throbbing cock seem to harden even more.
As the tip presses through your quivering walls, the stretch of him burned as he sunk deeper inch by delicious inch. You moan as fills you, his hands squeezing your hips to steel his movements. Corvus takes his time, relishing how you feel around him and to let you adjust to his size.
“Hah—there you go,” Corvus groans. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tensing as you felt the thick girth of his cock nudged through your pussy’s slick folds, trying to mold your womb into the shape of his length. “Doing so well, taking all of me.”
“C-Corvus. S-shit!”
Corvus’s grip on your hip tightens. He holds on to the desk driving himself the last few inches to the hilt, making you gasp. “I always wanted to make sure our daughter had a sibling,” Corvus said with a chuckle. You whimper under him, squirming as he moved slightly. “It’s better if they’re closer in age anyway.”
He’s pacing, coiled tight, still annoyed by something you said earlier, giving you that sharp, silent treatment he thinks is subtle.
You tug lightly at his sleeve. “…Kiss ?” Just one tiny word.
He freezes. His head tilts toward you like you just punched the air out of his lungs. “…Seriously ?” he mutters, voice low, raw, but he’s already stepping closer. “You’re gonna ask me that. Right now.” You nod, small, shy.
His composure snaps — he grips your jaw gently, thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls you in with a frustrated exhale. “You’re impossible,” he whispers against your lips, moments before kissing you slow, deep, like he’s finally melting.
And just like that, the argument disappears. He can’t stay mad at you — not when you ask for him like that.
Zanka
He’s focused, meticulously cleaning his lovely assistaff for the fourth time, pretending he’s not ignoring you.
You whisper, barely audible over the faint shing of metal: “…Can I have a kiss ?”
Zanka drops the cloth like it burned him. His ears turn bright pink — his whole posture softens, instantly yielding. “I— yes. Of course. Come here.”
He steps toward you so carefully, as if he’s scared to do it wrong. He cups your face with gentle, warm hands, eyes flicking between your lips and your gaze, a visible struggle. His kiss is feather-light, almost shy, but you feel his breath tremble against your skin.
“…Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice a soft apology. “I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He kisses you again, just a bit firmer this time. He’s yours the moment you ask.
Tamsy
He’s sprawled across your bed, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily draped over the blankets. Sunlight filters through the curtains, painting soft, sleepy patterns across the sheets.
You crawl in beside him, nudging his side gently. “Tamsy…?”
“You need something, my love ?” He shifts immediately, pulling you against him, his arms wrapping snugly and possessively around your waist. You lean closer, breath warm against his ear, whispering, “Kiss ?”
He freezes for a heartbeat, that familiar, utterly mischievous grin spreading slow across his face. “A kiss, hm? ”
His fingers brush your jaw lightly, tilting your face up to his. “Darling… you didn’t even need to ask.” The kiss is slow, soft, and teasing, a promise of more. When he pulls back, that smirk lingers, warm and playful, daring you to stay in his arms forever.
Gris
He’s just sitting there, legs slightly apart, hands resting open on his thighs, radiating a deep, unshakeable calm.
You step in front of him, a little hesitant, arms clasped behind your back, and whisper: “…Kiss me ?”
For a fraction of a second, his eyes widen — a flash of surprise — then a profound, soft smile spreads across his face. “Of course,” he says simply, his voice low but steady.
He reaches for you, guiding you gently between his legs, settling you comfortably on his lap. His hands rest on your hips, firm yet gentle, keeping you close. He leans in slowly, and when his lips meet yours, the kiss is deep, grounding, and absolute.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he murmurs, a hint of amusement and awe in his voice: “You always know exactly how to get me, don’t you ?”
Jabber
He’s adjusting his rings, posture loose but restlessly energetic, that leftover fight-high buzzing under his skin.
You step close and murmur, “…Kiss ?” and his hands still instantly. His grin spreads slow, sharp, amused — like you just offered him something far more thrilling than simple affection.
He steps into your space, closing the gap, his thumb dragging sensually across your lower lip, deliberately smudging it as he studies your reaction. “Asking me like that… you really don’t know what you’re doing to me, dollface,” he murmurs, voice low and excited.
His kiss comes sudden and intense, holding back just enough not to overwhelm, just enough to make your pulse jump. When he pulls back, he brushes your lips with his thumb again, his smile tilting in predatory pleasure. “Do it again ma,” he says softly. “I like it.”
Follo
He’s in the middle of something, totally lost in his thoughts and humming under his breath as you poke his shoulder.
“Follo… kiss ?”
He blinks. Once. Twice. Then he beams, a sudden burst of sunlight. “A kiss ? For me ?”
He drops everything instantly — whatever he was holding clatters softly — and hugs you so tightly you lift off the ground for a second, a squeak escaping your lips. Then he gives you the softest, happiest kiss, his hands cupping your cheeks with pure, unadulterated affection. “I’ll never say no,” he says with a flushed, genuine smile. “You can interrupt me anytime.”
❝ HIS CINDERELLA CAUSE I MAKE IT FIT ! ❞
⤷ Enjin x Fallen Spherite!Reader
>>>>>> Apparently Enjin has all the 'luck' when it comes to finding Spherites in No Man's Land. This time he's found you—a stuck-up Spherite noble—cast out with the trash. You're prissy, needy and an overall pain in his ass. Definitely not his type—but that slutty pussy sure is. ♡
>>>>>> 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟖+ for filthy enjin smut. enjin & reader are delulu & down bad. big dick!enjin. size queen!reader. bimbo!reader. sex under the influence. public sex. breeding. bjs. enjin is overall diabolical. but there's also a bit of plot too with some romance/fluff/humor. no spoilers for anime/manga.
>>>>>> 𝐰𝐜: 13.1k
𝐚𝐧: major special shoutouts to @honeybunnnnie my trash daddy partner in crime, who beta'd for me and gave me lots of good lil' gems I incorporated here. we share one horny brain cell when it comes to this man and the amount of headcanons we have made based on this that I didn't even include is INSANE lmfao.
You aren’t Enjin’s type.
That much is certain the moment he stumbles upon you after being called to check out a disturbance in No Man’s Land. Scanning the terrain of garbage, Enjin wonders if he’s hallucinating.
Still high from the night before—or maybe there’s a leak in his full face?
Either way he had to be tripping absolute balls right now because what the hell else could explain the giant kaiju-like plushie with bunny ears, wide beady eyes, and jagged teeth ripping apart trash beasts in the distance like they were wet paper towels?
But blazed or not, Enjin still has a job to do. Umbreaker sweeps him across the trash dunes in a speedy blur, but by the time he arrives he is already too late and the show is over.
All that’s left is you: a young woman passed out in a pile of demolished trash beast remains and other junk. The giant kaiju-like plushie—now inanimate and no bigger than a hand—lay beside you tethered to your person by a keyring.
Happening upon another giver in No Man’s Land wasn’t out of the ordinary, sure, but if Enjin thought he was high from seeing your jinki in action he had to be damn near in the clouds once he recognized your clothes.
Similar to when Enjin discovered Rudo, he could immediately tell by your dress you are a Spherite. But unlike the threadbare attire of the scrappy tribesmen teen, yours practically screams wealth. They are the finest clothes Enjin has ever laid eyes on. Appearing as if they are woven from gold itself, despite the fresh layer of grime that settled on them.
You aren’t just any ol’ Spherite—you’re a Spherite noblewoman.
Keh, interesting.
With a shake of his head Enjin scoops you up, heading back to HQ. They aren’t gonna believe this…
Enjin digs out a backup mask from his satchel—clearly not made for your face, because it slides right off. With an annoyed sigh, he holds it in place himself. Guess that’s his job now… at least until you wake up.
Although Enjin soon discovers a pattern of how unnecessarily difficult Spherites can be upon arriving to the Abyss—as the first thing you do upon waking in Enjin’s arms is to slap the everloving dogshit out of him.
Fuck, you have a mean right hand.
Enjin tongues a tooth to make sure it’s still there.
“Let me go this instant, you filthy kidnapping degenerate! I demand you to take me home!” You cry out.
Tears fog up the mask on your face as you clearly mistook Enjin for some kind of criminal with his ‘full face’ on. Enjin sighs, tightening his grip on you and taking the not-so-painless beating you’re dishing out until you reach the nearest city.
The very second you both are in a habitable area for breathing, Enjin unceremoniously dumps you to the ground. He catches the mask, yet he leaves you to fall straight on your ass. The fall shocks you but Enjin’s sure what’s really got you stunned is the strange bustling city surrounding you.
Removing his fullface, Enjin crouches down to eye-level with you. Overwhelmed and overstimulated by the foreign place, your eyes dart around helplessly. You’re frantic, looking everywhere for some sort of bearing of where you are and avoiding the man in front of you.
Yet Enjin just waits, clicking his tongue and rocking back on his heels, for you to quiet your hysterics enough for him to get a word in.
When your eyes, still wide with panic, finally meet, he has the nerve to raise a brow—like you’re the one being dramatic and not the guy who literally kidnapped you.
“So, as you may have noticed by now…this ain’t the Sphere,” Enjin says, balancing a cigarette between his lips.
You look at him skeptically—he says it like it’s nothing, while your world is actively falling apart. What is he even talking about?!
“I know this ain’t the welcome wagon you posh Spherites are used to but…”
Enjin pauses, exhaling smoke to the sky. Your gaze follows up, widening once you see the oddly shaped dome covering the city, a strange yellow fog in the atmosphere.
“....welcome to the Abyss, Girlie. Name’s Enjin.”
Blankly staring at Enjin, you say nothing. The both of you in a mini stare down. Although you’re the first to give by suddenly bursting into sobs.
Rolling his eyes, a thought briefly flashes in Enjin's head that he should have just left you for the raiders. Hell, he could still leave you now—you’re calling way too much attention to yourself.
However, Enjin also figures that with you all but swimming in luxury on the Sphere, you probably thought of the Pit—your so-called Hell, or its inhabitants as mere fairytale.
Enjin’s inkling is confirmed when you calm down enough to piece together that your now ex-husband had hired a bunch of shady tribesmen to kidnap and dispose of you—all to collect your inheritance.
Yeah, not your fault. Enjin thinks and cuts you a break.
For your own sake, Enjin somehow convinces you to come back to Cleaner HQ with him. He can’t return you to the Sphere himself—but he knows another Spherite who’s trying to make their way back. That small glimmer of hope is enough to lift your spirits, just barely. This time, you follow him willingly—though you still cry the entire way to HQ.
Shame how prone to hysterics you are, otherwise Enjin actually thinks you’re pretty hot. Noting how the expensive silk of your dress clings so damn well to your every curve. He’d sell your clothes while you were near the shopping district—but unlike Rudo, he doubts he could talk you out of them.
At least—not yet.
But that thought is drastically short lived as Enjin spends more time in your presence. Sure, you could have gotten along. You could’ve even been Enjin’s type. Yet there’s one glaring problem:
You’re an annoying, needy-ass brat.
Besides looks, you tick off nearly every one of his dealbreakers. You’re ditzy, dependent and whiny. Basically Enjin’s nightmare.
Plus your snobby little ass never once thanked nor apologized to him over the following weeks.
Not after he saved you.
Not after he brought you back to HQ where you were welcomed with skeptical, yet open arms—as a new, very reluctant (you had no other options really) recruit in-training.
And you certainly never thanked Enjin, even after all his shit luck, when he was assigned to be your teacher and look after your haughty ass. You have the most indignant pout on your face when Corvus announces that since Enjin found you, you're Enjin’s problem.
“You have to be kidding me? I’m stuck with Trashy Poppins here!?”
“Yo, Trashy—what!?” The reference doesn’t land with Enjin but he knows it isn’t good.
Semiu nods curtly in agreement of the pairing, amused that Enjin finally has someone to keep him on his toes as she ushers you off to get settled in.
The fuck?!
Lamenting being stuck is supposed to be Enjin’s line. Enjin had figured the logical move was to pair you with Zanka—the closest thing to nobility among the Cleaners—and let you bond with Rudo, a fellow Spherite, even if he was a tribesman.
But it doesn’t take long to realize neither boy can handle a grown ass woman like you. One flutter of your lashes and they’re useless saps—like the big sister he never had, you could soothe Rudo’s worst moods with a mere head pat.
While Zanka, older and appreciating your more ‘robust’ qualities, trips over his own tongue trying to talk to you.
Both ready to do anything just to earn a few sweet coos—unless someone steps in.
It had to be Enjin. He was the only one who could ‘resist’ your charms.
Still, Enjin’s got his work cut out for him when it comes to you—especially training you for combat and figuring out how the hell you’re supposed to use that so-ugly-it’s-almost-cute vital instrument.
He tries not to judge. Really, he does. Jinki are personal—he knows that better than anyone. But still…the fact that you even have one? That’s wild.
A Spherite? A noble Spherite, no less—the same pompous assholes who treat the Abyss like a dumping ground—actually caring enough about something to pump it full of anima?
Yeah, that’s impressive, he’ll give you that. What wasn’t though was the name you gave the lil thing: Bubu.
Tsk. Wack as hell. Vital instruments deserve names with some bite. Something like—Umbreaker.
Still, credit where it’s due—you’re picking things up faster than expected.
However, that doesn’t spare him from your nonstop bitching, though. The complaints come daily: the strange smells your hair absorbs, the absence of your sacred skincare routines, not being able to take a 30 minute shower, and how everything down here always tastes just a little off.
But the most absurd? The cherry blossoms.
You complain the most about not being able to frolic in your lush, petal-covered garden full of rows of cherry blossoms. Enjin’s never even seen a damn tree like that, let alone the acres of grass and flowers you describe like some bedtime fairytale. You haughtily anoint yourself as a floral herbalist, an expert when it comes to your pretty little flowers.
It’s shit like that on top of everything else that irks Enjin when it comes to you.
And yet?
Enjin thinks the most irritating thing about you is the fact that he can’t seem to stay away from you.
Sure, you’re annoying as fuck—but in spite of his own objections, Enjin keeps finding ways to keep your time occupied. He makes up excuses to train you longer and drags you along on missions that are solely meant for him.
Moreover, since you can never keep that pretty little mouth shut, anyone you meet clocks you as a Spherite within seconds—which means you need Enjin’s constant protection, whether you like it or not.
Enjin ends up spending less time drinking or chasing women, finding a far more amusing pastime instead—the way your face twists in indignation every time the Ground doesn’t live up to your so-called “noble standards.”
He gets a kick out of it, really. Agitating you on purpose, just to watch you squirm.
“Goddamnit, Enjin! Watch it!”
You’d shriek every time your short skirt went flying from a sudden gust of wind he’d whip up with Umbreaker. Enjin saves that lil trick for No Man’s Land when the others’ backs are turned.
“That’s Enjin-sensei to you, Princess.”
“Choke—slowly, Trashy Poppins.”
You’d lunge for his mask like you actually meant to rip it off, but at 6 '3, Enjin’s tall enough that you never have a chance at reaching it. It’s all worth it too—Enjin’s already got every pastel scrap of lace you own burned into memory, each one tucked away like a reward for getting under your skin.
It’s a little sadistic, sure—the way he taunts you nonstop, delighting in soiling that polished image of yours to grind you into the dirt of the ground right along with him.
There’s a fire in your eyes every time Enjin dubs you as “Your Royal Trash Princess”—or just “TP” if he’s feeling lazy. You never fail to rise to his bait, eager to prove yourself—and prove him wrong.
Enjin feels he’s owed a bit of amusement for all his troubles.
Doesn’t mean anything.
Yet the more Enjin pushes, the harder it is to ignore that your bratty spark isn’t just an attitude problem. It’s energy. Real, raw passion. The kind that could actually cultivate anima. He sees it best when you’re snapping at him, flushed and defiant, too stubborn to back down.
It’s trouble to be sure, but fuck if Enjin doesn’t love coaxing it out of you.
All it took this time to get you going was him doubting your so-called knowledge of plants and remedies— “what kinda ‘floral herbalist’ hasn’t toked one?”
So now here you are, in the HQ lounge, about to smoke your first joint as a ‘pre-game’ to the happy hour Corvus organized for all the Cleaners.
You and Enjin sit shoulder to shoulder on a worn, black quilted-leather sofa that’s seen better days. The cushions creak as you nervously smooth your skirt and settle in, unhooking your jinki—Bubu—from your belt to set her gently on the table.
Enjin rolls a few joints with unhurried precision—like he’s got all the time in the world, and watching you squirm is part of the ritual.
“Bet ya didn’t have anything like this in your lil’ garden, eh TP?” Enjin quips, breaking the silence.
Nose already upturned, your face scrunches as Enjin tosses an extra bud from his stash into your open palms. You hated the nickname ‘TP’ most of all, too easily mistaken for ‘toilet paper’ and Enjin knows that.
You shoot Enjin a dirty look before letting your focus drift back to the brittle sprig in your hands—the first real plant you’ve touched since becoming a Ground-dweller.
You think you actually recognize it.
Back on the Sphere, your family was among the wealthiest, and your garden was massive. You took pride in your green thumb—like Delmon, whose garden you’ve been meaning to ask about. You want to help, if only to see what kind of plants can survive in conditions this toxic. But Enjin never gives you the space—always hovering, always cutting in before you can finish a full conversation.
You brush off those thoughts but your frown stays as your fingers trace the bud’s dry veins. Even for a dehydrated sample, it feels wrong—brittle in a way that hints of sickness.
“Hmm. We had something like this—I think. But it’s just another weed.” You say shrugging.
“Heh,” Enjin smirks at your cluelessness, “Would you believe me if I told you ‘weed’ is exactly what we call it, Princess?”
You roll your eyes at the inordinately simple name. It probably has a proper scientific designation—but expecting Enjin to know it? Please.
“We always uprooted them—weeds are unsightly in gardens, you know. A weed, let alone one sick as this, would definitely be pruned right away so as to not syphon nutrients from the other plant life.”
“HAH?!”
Mid-seal on his joint, Enjin stops cold, staring at you like you just dared to commit some sort of sacrilege before exhaling a theatrical sigh, shaking his head in pure betrayal.
He can’t believe Spherities are probably pissing away the dankest shit ever cultivated. The thought was maddening.
When Enjin’s eyes do meet yours again, there's no amusement as he takes a rather chastising tone with you.
“Princess, for your own good, never repeat that in front of anyone down here…I mean it.”
You huff, but Enjin doesn’t blink—just starts sealing the joint again, eyes never leaving you as his tongue drags slowly across the edge of the paper.
You squirm, and that’s all the reward he needs.
“See somethin’ you like?” Enjin drawls, holding the finished joint out toward you like it’s a gift—and not a trap with your name written all over it.
Turning on teacher mode, Enjin decides to school you.
“I know we mostly have ‘reggie’ down here, but still, it’s worth its weight in gold for its purposes. Not just for fun ya know—chronic pain, nausea, anxiety—gives a bit of relief from the ailments of Abyss-living you Spherites have so graciously bestowed on us.”
From his pocket, Enjin produces a lighter, shoulders curling as he bows into the flame to set it alight.
Your eyes flick over the sinewy stretch of Enjin arms, the way his jacket strains across his shoulders—reminding you just how solid Enjin really is beneath all that shapeless fabric. Built like a weapon, hiding in plain sight.
You watch as his ringed fingers lift the joint to his lips. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, Enjin sinks back into the sofa like gravity’s got a tighter hold on him than usual. Smoke pools in his chest before slipping out in a long, deliberate exhale.
His gaze follows it, distant—like he’s chewing on thoughts far heavier than anything you said… but somehow still set off by it.
“That’s the problem with you Spherites….you don’t see things the way they are—you see things the way you are.”
Enjin chuffs at his own words, closing his eyes to let his high settle. Not even completely stoned yet and he’s already spouting off pseudo philosophical one-liners.
“Everything else is collateral, amirite?”
Ouch.
Toeing at the floor, you sulk in silence. Wounded from the verbal licks Enjin just dealt you. Mulling over his words in silence though, you know it isn’t that simple. Horticulture can be complicated even in the most ideal conditions. Just because a plant is viable doesn’t mean it belongs in every garden—some plants are just incompatible.
However…
You sit silently, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you study the brittle bud in your palm.
…that doesn’t make it worthless.
Instead of exploring any potential use, you tossed the so-called "weed" out—just like everything else the Sphere deemed useless. Not even considering how valuable it could be. You can see why Enjin wouldn't want you repeating that mistake. Enough people already looked at you with disdain as it is.
Sure there’s a lot of things you miss about it, mostly superficial things that had to do with vanity, but overall life up there was super sterile and dull. You’d never say it out loud but you are glad you fell, it was hard on the ground but it was liberating.
Sighing, you quietly concede. You hate anytime Enjin actually has a point though. It’s the worst thing imaginable—for your pride and for his already unbearable ego.
Cracking an eye open, Enjin curses under his breath. Switching tactics, he decides to replace the long look on his Trash Princess’s face. Annoyance would do just fine. Besides, there was no need for you to pout over it, you actually had a shot at redemption here… heh, the kind that might just work out in his favor, too.
“Y’knowwwww, we’re always learnin’ better ways to grow things down here, faster too...”
Enjin moves so quietly, you don’t realize how close he is until you turn—and he’s right in your face, barely a breath away. Swiping his ringed thumb across your cheek, Enjin’s touch is surprisingly tender. However his expression is entirely obnoxious, full of amusement from how fast your pouty little face flusters.
“...could be a nice little hobby that would do alotta good…and if anyone could figure out how to grow this shit properly down here—”
Enjin plucks at the heat of your warm cheeks, pinching just enough to tease and drag the moment into something more lighthearted.
“—I do believe it could be you—Trash Princess.”
Your eyes catch something deeper than just teasing in his golden gaze—but before you can dwell on it, instinct kicks in. You jerk back, swatting his hand away, shoving whatever that was out of your mind.
Enjin just laughs, unbothered, as you glare at him.
“And why can’t you get Delmon to do it?” you counter, arms folding across your chest. By now, you’ve learned Enjin usually has an angle for everything.
Right on the mark, for a beat, Enjin actually pauses. He hadn’t expected you to bring up the obvious—Delmon, the gentle giant practically martyred to the idea of saving what’s left of the Abyss. But Enjin’s roguish grin slips back into place, spreading wider as he leans in, unapologetically invading your space.
“Why? Well...’cause I asked you, Princess. The ol’lug has enough on his plate as it is. You can handle it alone, can’t ya?”
Truthfully, even knowing your interest in Delmon never strays beyond roots and soil, it still irks every time Enjin catches sight of you with him. You look every bit the noble—graceful, composed, eyes soft and curious as you gaze up at Delmon, eager to learn. It grates on Enjin more than he’d admit, knowing he’s never once gotten that look, despite monopolizing most of your time.
“Ya know—unless, your skillset just ain’t up t’par?” Enjin finishes with a shrug.
Wholly unconvinced, you see this for the bait it is from a mile away. Nevertheless, you can’t deny that you are eager to get even the tiniest bit of normalcy back in your life from your old hobbies. Planting something, anything, would be nice—even if it ends up being contraband for Enjin. Although you still aren’t quite sure why you can’t consult Delmon.
“Ugh! Fine!”
You fall back onto the sofa and Enjin follows, his arm settling behind you, practically draped around your shoulders. You don’t even flinch. He takes another slow hit, smoke curling toward the ceiling, but this time there’s a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you. Deciding he’s babysat the joint long enough, he leans in with a lazy smirk and holds it out to you.
“Enjin—your eyes!” You blurt out, disregarding his invitation. “Is that just from smoking!? I can’t go to happy hour looking like some kinda zombie!”
Enjin sputters mid-laugh, coughing as wisps of smoke leak from the corners of his smart ass grin.
“Eh, well duh. Why else would they get so red when I smoke?”
Enjin coughs out a few more chuckles. You roll your eyes.
“I don’t know, Trashy Poppins…I didn't make the connection since the air quality down here is 80% pollution! You could have anything.”
While Enjin is amused by your sass, the joint continues to burn down. Each second unsmoked is wasting precious bud. Leaning in, his voice drops to a low purr—the kind that makes your stomach flip.
Heh, time to pull out the big guns.
“Aht-aht-aht, c’mon now, Princess, you know the golden rule…”
You sigh, thinking you need that happy hour drink more than ever right now.
“You’re not serious.”
But you know he is, and of course you remember the silly motto Enjin makes an unspoken rule for his team. Although he mostly just uses it to get you to do something you’ll usually regret later. You sigh, knowing you’ll never make it to happy hour until you appease the big man-child in front of you.
Enjin’s golden eyes shine with even more mischief than before and together like some damn mantra, you both repeat:
“...it’s not peer pressure—it’s just your turn.”
Resigned, you click your tongue, swiping at the joint in his hands. But Enjin is much faster as he pulls back with infuriating speed. You glower at him, snark locked and loaded.
“Nah, actually I’ll help you out since it’s your first time, Princess.”
Innuendo coils around his words, heat radiating off him as you tense under his gaze. You don’t want to argue with him though, the sooner you smoked, the sooner you both could be at happy hour.
“Open.”
Enjin’s fingers graze the corner of your mouth as he holds the joint to your peach-glossed lips, eyes darkening when you part them obediently for him.
“Now breathe it in, nice and slow…deeper. Yeah, that’s it—hold it. Don’t let go until I say—good girl.”
You want to scoff at him, but you can’t—not with tears stinging your eyes and smoke burning its way down your lungs. By the time Enjin gives you the nod to exhale, you’re already choking, coughing it all back up in ragged plumes.
Yeah, this was nowhere in hell as easy as Enjin made it look.
The buzz rises in your head almost instantly, an airy haze creeping into your consciousness.
“See? Not a terrible cherry pop, eh?”
The glare you throw at Enjin is more of a squint. Still recovering from the fire tearing down your throat, your coughs earn you a few heavy-handed smacks on the back from Enjin. If it’s out of comfort or mockery, you can't tell.
Everything in the room is spinning and becoming more distant, like a daydream.
“Easy there, breathe—it’ll hit easier when ya figure out how to grow it right, Princess. The dank shit won’t burn this hard.”
You want to bite back that even if you do figure out how to grow the damn ‘weed’ plant, you’d never touch it again. But the sudden heaviness seeping into your limbs drags you down, tilting your head on the axis of equilibrium.
“I think, no—I know, I need to lay down.”
Not waiting for permission, you flop down onto the worn cushions beneath you, curling up awkwardly with your head leaning against the armrest and your legs dangling off the seat at an angle.
Enjin doesn’t miss a beat though—he scoops your legs into his lap, tugging off your boots so you can be comfortable.
Leaning back, perfectly at ease, Enjin holds the joint in one hand while the other rests on your stocking-covered shin, giving it a casual, reassuring pat. The way your arm drapes over your face tells him everything—yeah, you’ve got the spins.
“Keh, you’ll make it, Princess. Just let it all ride out.”
You’d make it alright, but not to happy hour anytime soon. Enjin supposes he might’ve let you take a bigger hit than you were ready for.
Whoops.
Silence stretches in the aftermath but it’s not uncomfortable. Enjin takes a few more lazy tokes, one golden eye cracked open just enough to watch you, taking stock of your state.
It’s in moments like this—rare ones, when you’re quiet—that he remembers just how fucking smoking hot you are.
Especially in that Cleaner uniform. Man, God bless August.
The eccentric tailor took special care in designing it thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration—August even convinced Enjin to allow him to keep some of the trim from your Spherite clothes that he repurposes. The outcome of your uniform is shinier, more fitted and much sluttier than standard issue.
You took to it immediately, without much fuss and actually complimenting August. That was August’s gift though—whipping up pieces to suit even the finickiest of tastes—and Enjin had to admit, the man did his big one.
But the real surprise wasn’t the craftsmanship. It was you—his oh-so-prim little Trash Princess—strutting around in something so damn naughty. Dressed up like a treat that Enjin can’t help but eat up with his eyes.
And whaddya know? Enjin has the munchies bad right now.
Left to his own devices, Enjin takes his time devouring the sight in front of him. His gaze lingers down the length of your legs sprawled across his lap, to the soft, exposed flesh of your thighs—spilling over the edge of your stockings just enough to make his jaw clench.
Fuck, they look so soft. He can't help but wonder how they'd feel locked around his head as his eyes climb to the next indulgence—your crop top. Rucked up to your ribs, the thin white cotton hugs just beneath your tits. Shit, the way your cute little nips poke through the fabric makes his mouth twitch with the urge to say ‘hi’ right back—with his tongue.
Is it hotter in here, or—?
Leering at you for too long is a surefire way for Enjin to pop a boner. Enjin knows he’s not alone in that either. That uniform of yours turns heads in every city you pass through. Consequently, Enjin has split more skulls because of idiots trying to hit on you or cop a feel than he ever has for anyone trying to snatch a Spherite.
Not that he’s jealous or nothing.
Nah. Just doing his job. Watching out for you. Plenty of unscrupulous assholes out there willing to pounce on a clueless little thing like you.
However, right now, Enjin’s just as unscrupulous—‘watching out’ only for a flash of your panties as each restless wiggle sinks you deeper into the lumpy cushions, bunching your skirt higher and teasing him with a glimpse of skimpy lace.
Man, just a little more and he’d know exactly which pair you picked today.
Sobering up a bit more, you sigh at your inability to get comfortable when you could feel the very springs in the sofa. Stretching, you straighten your leg suddenly and—
“Yo! Watch the feets, girl!”
Though there’s amusement in his voice as he jolts upright, tatted hands grabbing your ankle before you’re able to land another blow.
“Ah, sorry—” You mutter sheepishly, reeling back your foot. “I didn’t mean to kick Umbreaker.”
For what it’s worth, the apology comes quickly—you’ve learned better than to mess with a man’s jinki, especially Enjin’s. You've nearly tripped more times than you can count over that bulky extension of himself that he always keeps within reach.
You know it’s serious too when he doesn’t even bother with the stupid nicknames he usually calls you. Nevertheless, you’re left puzzled when Enjin’s laughter comes out loud and sharp.
“...that wasn’t Umbreaker, Princess.”
Huh? What does he mean that isn’t—
You freeze.
Carefully peeking out from under your arm, your reddened eyes squint down the length of your body and onto his. When the realization does set in of what exactly you kicked, it smacks you harder than any hit of ganja ever could.
“O…oh…—OH MY GAWD!”
Immediately springing upright, your vertigo swirls with how fast you’re scrambling to your knees as you gawk.
Time passes for what seems like a solid minute or two and neither of you speak.
You’re staring at the crotch of Enjin’s baggy pants and Enjin is staring at you.
“Heh.”
The devious look on Enjin’s face right now could shame the devil himself. Yet you’re still in utter disbelief.
There’s no way that’s his dick!
Still, your brain won’t stop running the numbers—high girl math with clumsy calculations drawn from the fleeting brush of your toes against the long, thick mass hidden beneath the fabric of his baggy pants. Enjin’s words ring in your mind like a gong—‘that wasn’t Umbreaker…’
“You’re burnin’ a hole through my dick, Princess—”
Enjin’s voice unfurls seductively, like the smoke curling from his lips.
“—keep starin’ like that and I’m gonna think you wanna see it.”
Your eyes meet his dead-on.
“I do.”
“Yeah, I’m sure yo—wait, come again?!”
Enjin’s grip goes slack, the joint slipping from his fingers. He was halfway to some sassy quip, ready to taunt your denial—but your delivery is so honest, with no teasing or angle to play off, he doesn’t know what to do with it.
The embers hiss against his thigh before he even registers he dropped it.
“Tch.” Cursing under his breath, he flicks it aside—it’s all roach anyway—and tries to pull himself back together.
You’re fucking with him. Yeah. That’s it.
Smug again, Enjin leans into the bit you started.
“Ha ha…right. I know my stuck up lil’ Trash Princess isn’t asking to give me a dick inspection…”
Enjin adjusts his pants in a casual sweep that doesn’t fool either of you. He’s not brushing off the remaining flakes of ash—he’s palming his restless cock that jumped at the idea of you actually wanting to see it.
But both you and Enjin would quickly discover, despite your snobby Spherite upbringing, you lose any type of filter and sense of couth while high—blurting out your thoughts unabashedly.
“I said I wanted to see it, Trashy Poppins. Or m’not gonna believe you’re actually that big.”
You fold your arms, huffing stubbornly.
There was no way an unbearably annoying man like Enjin was slanging actual horse cock!
He had to be the one fucking with you here.
Well, wait, no—a cocky, stupidly sexy man having a big dick actually tracks, now that you think about it.
But still—you need to verify. For science, if nothing else.
Yeah. Science.
Enjin blinks, taking stock of you—kneeling close, your tits straining like they’re about to burst free, and your skirt rides so high on your thighs this time, he swears one more millimeter and he’d see your panties for real.
“C’mon now…”
Your sickly sweet coos needle at Enjin’s spine.
“...as if you aren’t always upskirting me just to see my panties.”
Shit. You knew it was intentional?
“At least you can show me your undies for a change. If you’re really that big, then I’ll be able to tell.”
The spark alight in your eyes is a challenge to Enjin, who loves pushing your limits. Now he needs to know how far you’ll go. Even if he’s completely unprepared for this turn of events, he’s sure as fuck not gonna be the one backing down first.
“S’that right, Princess? Well, I haven’t even seen yours today so—”
Enjin doesn’t even get the chance to finish before you’re lifting your skirt and spreading your knees wider. You stare up at the ceiling, the popcorn squares suddenly appearing super interesting to you. Enjin’s eyes however immediately zero-in on the pink lace stretched tight across your pussy.
Christ.
With a much closer view, Enjin picks up all the little details he usually misses—like how the hem digs into your soft curves or how the material is thin enough to see the split of your chubby lil pussy lips pressed underneath.
Goddamn, are you intentionally buying them a size too small?
Or is your pussy print just that fat?
Enjin gulps, mouth dry.
His attention caught like a hook to your cunt, everything else is unimportant—including the irony of how he was just teasing you for the very same thing—it’s all utterly lost on him. His priorities shifting rapidly the longer he ogles you.
After a minute, giving him quite frankly more of his fill than he deserves, you let your skirt drop back into place. The alluring spell of your fatma breaks when your knees snap shut and Enjin is yanked back to a world that doesn’t exist between the apex of your doughy thighs.
All of his lecherous starring is worth it though—if only to be able to throw his own saying back at him for once.
“Now, how’s it go again? It’s not peer pressu—”
“—Yeah, yeah, I got it, Princess—My turn.”
Enjin relents, cutting you off with a twisted grin as he shakes his head.
“Ya don’t gotta break my arm to see my dick, babe. Just makin’ sure you’re sure. Don’t need you runnin’ off telling Semiu I flashed ya.”
Semiu is already on Enjin’s ass for teasing you as much as he does. Something about him being ‘too grown’ not to ‘nut up’ and ‘come to terms with his reality’, but Enjin was never listening for long, zoning out as soon as a new lecture was underway.
However, if your prissy ass really wants to see his dick that bad, of course he’d oblige. Hell, Enjin would get another kick outta watching your horror when you realize for real just how much he’s packing. It had been a minute since he'd seen that look on a woman.
For being as hot and charming as he is, Enjin didn’t get nearly as much play as he should’ve. He isn’t a virgin by any means, but too many women take one glance at his size and back off expeditiously.
Life on the ground meant hustling to survive for most. Nobody could afford to be laid up for days just because Enjin’s wrecking ball of a cock tore through their walls, rendering them unable to walk—let alone go to work.
Yet with a clink, that all changes as the leather strap of his belt and gear slides free. Enjin lifts his hips enough to shove his pants down past his thighs and there it is—short red boxer briefs with a black waistband, the fabric stretched thin over the obscenely long, thick outline of his dick resting along his thigh.
Simply put, your jaw drops. There’s a static-like silence buzzing in your mind as you process the monstrous mass of phallic muscle before you.
You’ve never seen a dick that huge in your entire life.
Clocking your shock, Enjin’s chest puffs like he’s just been crowned a king in the room.
“Relax, Princess…” he drawls, smugness saturating every word.
“I ain’t even all the way hard yet.”
Bullshit!
Your eyes pingpong between his face and his cock before landing on the obvious conclusion—no overthinking this time.
“What are you waiting for then? Get hard.”
Enjin actually chokes for real this time, still not used to how blunt his demure lil’ Trash Princess gets when she’s high. He manages to laugh regardless once he finds his breath as he sure as hell doesn’t hate this new side of you.
“Hah?! It doesn’t work like that ya know…”
Enjin lies right through his fucking teeth.
Just hearing that vulgar command from your prissy lil’ lips has his blood surging south, his cock swelling at rapid speed. Already on go, his dickprint thickens, straining against the fabric until threads stretch thin to form almost obscenely over him like second skin.
Yet unlike his past hookups you don’t flinch at the sight of him getting even bigger.
There’s more than enough incredulousness on your face for sure, but Enjin half expected you to backpedal for the sake of your pussy’s self-preservation and book it out the door. Instead, the look you’re giving his dick is more akin to awe than fear.
Truly, though—you are in awe.
Men weren’t like this on the Sphere. Well, your husband certainly wasn’t.
Older than you by over a decade, your husband’s stamina was so poor he never lasted long. His size, his endurance, and his dismissive comments about your sexual appetite being perversely unbecoming for a lady of your station had you wondering if something was wrong with you this entire time—if you expected too much from sex.
But when your eyes drift back to Enjin—catching the thick vein running along his length, visible even through the fabric—you know better now.
It was never you.
The realization brings a surge of boldness. Your gaze trails the pulse of his cock down to the wet patch blooming at the tip—so much pre spilling it seeps through the fabric.
Enjin inhales sharply through his nose. He knows he’s proven his size, but your silence and the way you’re eyeing his cock like some kind of museum exhibit is starting to get to him.
Enjin doesn’t want to back down as he impatiently waits for your final verdict of approval. But if you keep staring at him like that, with those big pretty eyes of yours, he’s going to come in his pants, untouched, like some fucking cuck.
“Well, Princess? Big enough for ya?”
You don’t even hear Enjin, too lost in your own thoughts. Your body, buzzed and reckless, has a mind of its own though. Reaching out, your hand leaves your lap to trace the thick ridges of his cock, mapping its shape through his briefs.
“Oh, shiiii—” Enjin hisses.
His lip catches between his teeth as all thoughts vanish the moment your delicate little fingers start stroking him.
“Argh—fuck. Can’t jus’ go grabbing a man’s dick like that ya know.”
Yet Enjin does nothing to stop you as your touch grows bolder. Your palm flattens around his girth—too thick for even your whole hand to wrap around, even through his boxers.
How would someone even get something that monstrous inside them!?
Encircling his leaky cockhead, you giggle as your index finger slowly tap-tap-taps the mess he’s made there, amused at how many of the small, sticky suds you can gather on your finger through the material.
Enjin’s own laugh is strangled. This can’t be real.
You’re unfazed by Enjin’s provocations – too mesmerized by the obscenely large cock in front of you that has you squirming uncomfortably as your own panties turn swampy with heat.
“May I?”
Meeting Enjin’s gaze, your polite innocence is accented by a wide-eyed pout that’s far too sweet for the filthy implications of your request. Like you’re nicely asking permission to play with your favorite toy—except you don’t even wait for him to give it,fingers impatiently snapping the edges of his waistband like some cockhungry slut.
“Uh…” Enjin blanks while his dick is practically screaming at him to respond—even a damned head nod would suffice. Yet his brain blue-screens as it registers that look—the normally innocent, curiosity filled look that he's been craving since he found you in No Man's Land—now twisted into something debased and filthy. And best of all?
Meant just for him.
Enjin’s so fucking hard right now it’s painful—and hell, if you’re planning to do something about that, he’s not about to stop you.
“Keh. Do you, boo.”
Enjin manspreads, giving you full access. You eagerly pull down his shorts just enough to release his cock, and it springs free, thick and heavy.
Good God, he’s a big boy!
Although you knew that, seeing the monster in all of its unleashed glory was an entirely different experience. Enjin’s dick bobs back to curve towards his abs, a shiny pubic piercing shining at his base under its shadow.
Panting, your previously dormant inner size queen activates. You have to swallow down the bucket of saliva collecting on your tongue before you choke—you can’t help but salivate at the thought of what a huge cock like this tastes like… what it feels like.
You’re pretty sure it could break you in two, and surprisingly, the thought excites you.
Lowering yourself on all fours, the first tentative lick you give Enjin’s length has his toes curling as he grips the sofa, ripping a chunk clean off the decaying material.
You moan out a depraved 'ahhh' once you reach the top, a little smile playing on your lips as you tongue down the hole at his tip. Greedily, you lap up all the little dribbles of pre beading at the tip and flowing out.
“W-Woaaah—ugh. FUCK!”
Enjin’s hand flies into your hair as he clears his throat. Sure, your mouthwatering stares made a blowie likely, but diving in this shamelessly? It’s enough to make him feel like he’s losing his damn mind.
You grip his base—an insurance policy to keep him from cumming—while your other hand cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. His thigh jolts beneath you and you simper at how sensitive he is despite his massive size.
“T-There’s no way in hell they taught your prissy ass how to be this much of a slut up there.”
Pouting, you release his balls to cradle his cockhead against your puffed up cheek, uncaring of the amount of pre seeping across your jaw.
“D-Do…do you hate it? My hus—um, ex said it was a turn off. H-he'd say I have 'the depravity of a slums streetwalker.”
Staring up at Enjin, your eyes are clouded with lust, yet edged with worry—like he’d threatened to rip something precious away. But it’s only his cock you’re coddling tighter against your cheek, your lips parting just enough to chase the beads of pre that drip close to your mouth.
If you weren’t gripping Enjin’s base so hard he definitely would have blown a load all over your face. Fuck, if the thought isn’t tempting to him though – he doesn’t think you’d even mind in this state.
Goddamn, you’re so much sluttier than Enjin could have ever imagined.
And he’d imagined it plenty.
Especially on nights Enjin stumbled back to HQ drunk and alone, having closed down the bar with Corvus and Gris. Left to sate his own booze-fueled boner, he’d shamelessly rut into his pillow. Yet, no matter where his perversions strayed, every faceless fantasy in the dark insisted on transmuting into you.
You seriously think he couldn’t match your freak?
Oh, sweetheart, you have no fucking idea.
“Hate it?”
Enjin holds back the growl building at the back of his throat. There’s a torrent of thoughts swirling with his high all at once—all coming to settle right back into his dick.
“Never. Show me who you really are, Princess—n’ I’ll give it right back to ya tenfold—that’s a promise.”
If you weren’t already trembling with arousal—finally free to let your freak flag fly—you might’ve shied away. Enjin’s easy acceptance of you stirs something deeper, something messy that you usually ignore before it can settle. Now, with his scent thick on your face and tongue, you’re not thinking at all—aching with the urge to all but inhale his cock.
You merely nod, flashing Enjin a coy smile before stretching your plush lips to wrap around him. Slowly, you swallow down his girth, mouth hot with suction so deliciously moist Enjin’s hips jerk up. You gag, but his firm grip on your roots keeps your head in place, forcing his length to breach your throat.
“That’s it, baby…open up f-f’er me—g-good fucking girl, Princess…”
Tears prick at your eyes as his cock pounds back of your throat. The stretch is brutal—but some desperate part of you craves more of his filthy praise. What you can’t take with your mouth, your hands make up for—stroking every thick inch your lips can’t swallow.
“Shiiiit, girl! You’re a pro at this.”
If you ask Enjin later, he’d probably call you a throat goat, however most of your “experience” came from the smutty paperbacks high-society wives hid in corsets and swapped under tea tables—not actual practice. You don’t really know what you are doing. You’re just following the book's explicit instructions.
Still, Enjin doesn’t seem to mind being your test dummy.
On the contrary, Enjin is more than happy to let you do your thing and he does just that. Although, the longer your head bobs along his cock, the more your skirt rides up—until it finally flips over your hips, giving him a perfect view of the cheeky lace framing your ass.
Enjin groans, gripping your ass with bruising force before sliding his fingers down to palm your pussy over your panties—fuck, you’re already dripping for him.
“Hah—uppity cunt gets this sloppy just from a lil’ dick sucking, eh?”
Enjin laughs, yet the gravel rattling in his voice betrays him. No one has ever fearlessly tried to deepthroat him and actually fucking enjoyed it.
Unable to respond with your mouth, too busy still trying to do the impossible and fit more inside your throat, your hips respond instead—wiggling desperately against his fingers, begging for more of his touch.
Enjin doesn’t hesitate. Slipping a tatted finger into your panties, he drags it through your folds, marveling at how wet and scorching you are. Pushing into your core, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his digit.
Oh fuck, even his fingers are big!
A second ringed finger follows – the rough, callous fingers of a man who's seen too many fights scrape so good against all your gooey spots. Lewd squelches echo from your pussy as your throat tightens around him in tandem. The sounds, the squeeze, the heat—all of it is driving him crazy.
Shit he’s gonna cum for real this time.
To his credit, Enjin tries to warn you—tries to pull you off before it’s too late.
He doesn’t wanna risk pissing you off and having you refuse to ever do this again. Enjin still wants to fool around more;, he wants to fuck you. It’s that thought—your pretty pussy lips splitting open to swallow him instead—that has him busting his hot seed down your throat in thick, hot pulses.
“HAHH—FUHH!”
Releasing your hair, Enjin half expects you to pull away, furious he hadn’t warned you. Instead, your nails dig into his thigh, steadying yourself. You moan around him, the vibrations rippling through his sensitive cock while you work him for every last drop, his hips jerking beneath you.
Only when you’re certain you’ve drained him do you pull back, swollen lips coming off his cock with a wet pop.
“Allll go-neee S-Sheee? HAhhhhh~♡”
Tits jiggling as you heave for air, you present your tongue to Enjin as proof you’ve swallowed all of him. Every. Filthy. Drop.
You can’t help but agree—your throat’s wrecked and your pussy’s aching to be used just as thoroughly. Enjin’s fingers aren’t inside you any more, although they are still on your pussy, running through your folds absentmindedly.
“Ngh—n-eed m-more,” you slur.
All your decorum was lost to the wind the moment you asked to see his dick—you don’t even care that it’s Enjin of all people that you just gave head to. Suddenly, the obnoxious pain in your ass seems like your only deliverance. Right now, you're more frustrated that you've spent so much time bickering with him when you could have been fucking him.
You much prefer his moans to anything else coming out of his mouth.
You need him to get hard again—immediately!
Enjin, mind mushy with release, takes another joint out to light. As much as he wants to return the favor after that kind of sloppy top, the man needs a minute. His high has his whole body tingling from the post release sensitivity.
But you can’t wait any longer. It’s been god knows how long since you’ve had a proper orgasm and those were only from your own small, fumbling fingers. Throat achy and raw, you quiver at the masochistic thought of how his cock is going to absolutely obliterate your pussy.
You slide your panties down before flinging off your jacket and top. Taking a seat on Enjin's lap, you're now clad in just your bra, your skirt that's bunched up at your hips, and thigh highs. Grabbing his cock, you give his soggy, half-hard girth a few encouraging pumps.
Your pussy is already slobbering, a viscous string of syrupy slick drips down from your slit to land on his cockhead, connecting you to him as you line him up.
Feeling your fingers around his length, Enjin's eyes fly open, balancing the joint between his lips as he quickly shrugs off his own jacket, checking the pockets.
“Woah, woah. Slow your roll there sweetheart—you’re skipping a few steps.”
You aren’t listening though, not giving a fuck what Enjin is talking about as you cry out, grinding your clit against his fat tip, before running it back through your folds.
Enjin grits his teeth, coughing out smoke as he holds the joint in one hand and your hips in the other. You’re being a brat again, not listening to a single word he’s saying.
“Gotta find my rubbers…also gotta stretch you out better, Princess—you’re gonna split in two if I don’t.”
You whimper, petulant and needy. You press his cockhead against your entrance, swiveling your hips like you’re going to recklessly sink down on him at any second.
“Huh? Rubbers?” You shake your head in confusion, pouting. “m’Ennnnjiiiiin…I can’t wait that long—puh-leaseee don’t make me wait s’long, Enjiiiiin. I can take it, promiseee!”
The way you sweetly coo his name is shattering any sense of self-control Enjin has left. The urge to submit you to the ultimate corruption surges hot through his veins, but Enjin knows how big he is and while he did want to break you, he didn’t want to hurt you in the process. You are absolutely nuts to want to ride him with so little prep—now, on top of everything else, you apparently wanted him to fuck you raw.
Wait—did you just ask what rubbers were? Did you not have condoms on the Sphere?
But any lingering concerns dissipate the second you start fighting to get his tip inside you.
“Too s-slow!” You groan.
Fear is the last thing on your mind—evident in the way you impale yourself on him, defiant even against the impossible stretch. Your pussy is tight around the swollen head of his cock, strangling it as your nails dig into his shoulders. You grind in slow, desperate circles. Tears roll down your cheeks as you bite them to keep from crying out, your body fighting against every inch.
Enjin watches with a dark glint in his eyes – you trying so hard for him makes him want to flip you over and fuck you into the cushions. But he’d let you have it at your own pace…for now.
Releasing your hip, Enjin spits into his palm, rubbing his slick fingers over your clit in slow steady circles.
“Such a hard-headed girl—c’mere…”
Enjin takes a long drag from the joint, balancing it between his fingers as he grabs the back of your neck. His lips crash into yours before you can think.
You gasp and Enjin takes the opportunity to exhale the smoke deep into your lungs, taking the harshest of the hit himself. You're left with only the smooth, earthy flavor warming your chest before it melts through your limbs.
But it’s the way he kisses you after that really knocks the ground out from under you. His tongue pushes past your lips, tangling with yours—hungry, messy, like he wants to steal the little air you have left until you’re only breathing him in.
Your arms wrap around his neck, hands buried in his soft buzzed undercut, anchoring yourself. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, teeth nipping your lower lip before diving right back in. All the while, his thumb keeps grinding into your clit, faster now, like he’s keeping rhythm with the pulse that’s beating under your skin.
Why does it feel this good? How is he doing this to your body? S’not fair!
Not realizing you could feel this good from a kiss, you're unraveling in real time. Your mind goes blank with every pulse, every word, every inch. You’re not even fully seated yet, but you can already feel the blunt head of his cock grinding against your cervix, the pressure building with each centimeter you drop. You never imagined you could feel this full—like he might actually breach your womb.
The thought alone has you trembling, unstable, your aching thighs giving out, causing you to slide down a bit too fast. The thick veins along his length rake across your g-spot and your body snaps. A sharp, helpless spasm rocks you as your breath catches and a small, unexpected orgasm rolls through you.
Enjin pulls back just enough to let you breathe, though your body doesn’t stop shivering, lost in a blur of pleasure and pain.
“Eh... did you just cum, Princess?”
The question is rhetorical, full of smug amusement, as he can feel the increasing wetness leaking down his cock, making it all the easier for you to slide down.
Teasing your earlobe, Enjin’s tongue dips in to flick at the shell of it, making you clench.
“HA! Good fucking girl! A lil’ more and I bet she’ll be a real squirter f’er me.”
Enjin beams, proud of his Trash Princess. No woman had ever taken him this deep—not even close. Enjin hadn’t expected you to be any different. And yet…when Enjin looks down, he releases a groan deep from his gut.
The sight alone almost has Enjin nutting in you -- your drooling cunt spread so wide around his girth, sitting almost at his base. A thought flashes briefly – it's kinda like he’s a virgin again. Parts of his dick had never experienced this kind of molten heat so maybe, in a sense, he is? Enjin didn’t fucking care if he was though, as he ain’t about to be with the way your pretty pussy is giving way like it’s made for him.
“Run that back.”
Enjin takes the final drag, pinching the smoldering end of the joint between his fingers before flicking it aside. He leans in again, slower this time. There’s no rush in how his mouth seals over yours. The second shotgun is less about the smoke and more about the feel of you—your lips parting for him, your breath syncing to his, and the small whimper you make as he sucks slowly on your tongue.
The haze spreads between you both, thick and warm. Simultaneously, his knuckles tease your clit, a soft schlick sound filling the space between you from you getting wetter by the second. By the strength of some unknown force, you finally bottom out, immediately collapsing into his neck.
You both moan. Enjin feels you quivering from the inside out and you feel him everywhere—shifting your guts into your ribs.
“I…I did it.”
Your smile blooms soft against his inked skin, lips grazing the spot where you can feel his own pulse hammering wildly.
Enjin’s in no state to congratulate you on your impressive feat. Completely sheathed in you raw, coring out your gummy walls into the shape of his dick—something in his brain chemistry fizzles. Like a bit of pussy juice, acting as a catalyst, slipped into his dick and traveled straight to his prefrontal cortex to corrode all of his previous thoughts about you. The result is clear.
Enjin doesn’t give a fuck if you are a snobby, annoying, needy lil’ brat who never let him get away with shit and bitches at him constantly—the furtherest thing from his type.
Because honestly?
Motherfuck a bullshit-ass type. Your slutty ass pussy is fuckin’ perfect.
For the first time, Enjin realizes he might be in love with you.
How could he even look at another woman after this?
One thing if for certain—Enjin is going to make damn sure you never have the desire to even look at another man.
Both his hands trail up your hips, groping and squeezing the plump curves of your ass before settling at your waist. His blunt black nails dig into your skin to pull you back from his neck.
Enjin whistles, admiring the stagnant stream of spittle lingering on your chin. Look at you—cockdrunk just from sitting on him.
Enjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful.
“Enjiiiiiin,” you whimper, not being able to hold yourself up.
But your cries for him only inflame the predatory smirk on his lips, your honeyed cunt hugging his cock so beautifully.
“Makes sense you fell from heaven, huh Princess?”
Whether you're ready or not, Enjin forcibly winds you on his cock in slow circles. Your clit brushes up against the well placed pubic ring like a reward for being the first to experience it.
“—cause this pussy’s a fuckin’ angel.”
Your eyes are already lodged in your skull so you can’t even roll them at his cheesy line. But if your pussy is an angel, then Enjin's dick is most definitely a demon—his sinful cock tearing through your insides and condemning you straight to hell.
Moaning loudly, your body moves on autopilot—chasing more friction from the rhythm Enjin set. Good thing everyone was at happy hour or you would for sure be attracting some major attention now.
Although, to be honest you probably wouldn’t notice anyway. You don’t even notice when your bra falls away, your tits spilling out just so Enjin could watch them jiggle in his face. You only register its disappearance once his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue finally saying it’s ‘hello’.
“Shiiiiit!”
Your hips stutter, then stall when Enjin tugs at your sensitive bud with his teeth.
“Hey…I know my Trash Princess ain’t tappin’ out just yet.”
SMACK!
Enjin brings a heavy palm down on your ass and your pussy clenches tighter around him. Enjin relishes the way your plush curves mold to his hands, each smack adding to the wet, messy sounds between you. You’ve already leaked enough on his lap to stain the sofa beneath you.
“Nah, ya just got on the ride, baby. Giddy-up.”
SMACK!
“NNNGH!” You weakly glare daggers at him.
Any softness on Enjin’s face has since been replaced by something far more mischievous. If you thought he was obnoxious before—you’re about to learn he’s a full-blown menace inside of pussy.
Wobbling, you gather together what little resolve you have left to roll your hips forward.
“HAAH! S’too biiiiiig,” you whine but your body can’t stop.
The juices saturated between you grant enough momentum to finally get a good, smooth bounce going.
“Fuck—that’s it, ride it like it’s yours, baby.” Enjin encourages you.
The way you cream harder every time he calls you 'baby' doesn't go unnoticed.
“Oh? You like me talking sweet to the pussy, baby girl?—Or do you just like being my filthy lil’ trash slut, hm Princess?”
Gritting your teeth, you grab on to Enjin’s shirt like reins, pulling him closer to you.
“Y-You’re…gonna—ahshiiiit—hafta f-fuck m’better than thisss…if you want m-me to be your ‘baby girl’—Trash Daddy.”
Unfortunately, your sass falls flat—you can barely keep your head from lulling to the side. But Enjin’s thoroughly entertained nonetheless—he’ll take ‘Trash Daddy’ over ‘Trashy Poppins’ any day.
“Bet.”
Electricity runs through Enjin. He’s all charged up—now it’s his turn to unleash.
Your brow furrows from the noise Enjin makes—you’re not sure if he just laughed or snarled. But it's the only warning you get.
Sliding down the sofa a bit, adjusting himself for stability, Enjin spreads his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he bullies his cock up into you like he's breaking in his own personal fleshlight.
All you can do is go slack, falling forward on his chest. His grip bruising your hips, not allowing you to run from the way his blunt cockhead plows into your womb like a battering ram.
The couch beneath you groans, its frame creaking under the strain. The wood and leather protest like the entire thing might fall apart at any moment.
“Enjinnnnn, m’slowwww dowwwnnn!”
Your cries only fuel his frenzy and Enjin knows from the way you’re gushing on him you can take it.
Fuck—this sweet lil’ pussy is just so good for him. Imagine if he never met you.
If you never—
Enjin cuts the thought off cold.
Moving before you can blink—your world flips. One second he’s pummeling up into you, the next you’re on your back.
Enjin peels away his shirt, muscles flexing as he looms over you. His hands curl around your ankles to keep them pinned overhead. A single bead of sweat catches your bleary eyes as it slides down his bare chest, gliding over firm muscle. The bold ink patterns seem to come alive on his skin. He looks so fucking sexy right now and you can’t help but to shamelessly ogle him.
Yet, there’s something much too serious and somber about Enjin’s current demeanor. You’ve been staring at him far too long to go unnoticed. The highly expressive, sassy powerhouse is rarely this silent. He should be teasing you right now, asking some smartass shit like if you’re ‘enjoying the view’.
“Enjin?”
Your sweet voice hits his ears and instantly you have his attention again. Enjin flashes you a pearly white smile.
“Heh, enjoy the break, Princess? You wont get another.”
Ignoring the question in your eyes, Enjin folds you into a mating press, thrusting to the hilt all in one motion. The sound of flesh lewdly slapping against flesh fills the room, as do your cries.
But there’s still something else burning in his eyes. Enjin knows it’s unfair not to be honest with you, but taking out his unspoken feelings on your pretty pussy is the only way he can express himself at the moment.
Suddenly, there’s a loud creak followed by a decisive snap and two of the sofa’s legs give out. If your sweat and cum weren't like glue on the old leather you’d surely slide off head first. You yell out in alarm, but Enjin doesn’t give a fuck about the damn sofa.
His mood is still soured by the thought that wouldn’t be shaken away until he confronted it—
If you never fell.
But you did. He found you—and now that Enjin has you under him like this, he needs to fuck the point he’s concluded into you:
If Rudo ever finds a way to the Sphere, Enjin will personally travel there and see to your ex-husband himself.
Hell, he might even rail you in front of him a few times—show him what a real man could do. Maybe even a real…husband?
If the sounds of sloshing fluids and skin slapping skin weren't ringing so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else, you would have thought Enjin had lost his mind with the way he was cackling above you. He sounds completely deranged, laughing at the idea of him finally wanting to settle down all while continuing to pound you deeper into the broken sofa.
But despite being high off weed and your pussy, Enjin’s mind has never been more clear—he wants to lock you down.
“Hah… P-Princess, can ya feel me in your tummy? Right…” Enjin’s golden eyes lock on the ever-so-slightly distended bulge from the monstrous intrusion in your guts.
“....right, here.”
Throwing your legs over his shoulders, his large hands splay across your sweat sheened belly. You’re squirming under the heat of Enjin sandwiching your guts between his palm and his cock. Its all far too much—you’re too full, unable to really focus on what Enjin’s saying.
“Ahh, E-Enj—m’ c-cum, g-gonna mmm…” you hiccup, swallowing your tears.
Your nails rake down his arm to ground yourself but your body is thrumming too hard, adrift in the rush rolling through every one of your wired nerves. Your tits bounce obscenely every time your velvety walls devour his cock back down to the base. Enjin’s pubic piercing bucking against your clit has you clutching onto his dick like you were about to break it off.
You feel so fucking good. Enjin desperately needs to feel you creaming on his cock, and you would be soon if your kitten nails raking down his arms– adding more red to his already inked skin– were any indication.
“That’s it, Princess, hah—fuck, baby, I got you. Squirt for your Trash Daddy.”
As if on command, the knot inside you coils to its breaking point, prickling every nerve, releasing a warm rush of fluids. Your body tingling in ecstasy, you quickly tumble over your peak, eyes blinded by speckles of brightness as you cum.
Yet Enjin hasn't slowed, his continuous pounding forcing more of your cum and squirt to gush out of you—the melody of his now drenched balls colliding with your wet ass only growing loude
“Fuck, that’s it. Pussy cryin’ like she wants my cum, Princess…”
You’re barely conscious from all the pleasure, eyes rolling back into your head.
“She’s jealous that slutty throat of yours got all my cum, now it’s her turn to swallow, isn’t that right?”
It’s a rather roundabout way for Enjin to ask if he can nut inside you, but then again, he wasn’t really asking. The thought of breeding you makes him feral.
“Ahh—f’nnghhhh!”
Non-verbal and fucked dumb, you’d probably agree to anything right now. You’re an utter mess–pussy stretched beyond anything you thought possible, face sticky with slobber rolling down to pool in the folds of your neck.
“O’course it is…gonna dump all these trash babies into my princess’ sweet lil’ cunt.”
Although you are super turned on by the thought of Enjin breeding you, there's no way you have any idea how serious Enjin is about putting a baby in you. How could you? You don’t even realize the love confession his cock is professing to you.
“FUHHHH—take it!”
Enjin pumps thick ropes of his cum into your tummy as his body thrashes on top of yours. The primal intensity has you vibrating as another orgasm rips through your overstimulated and overworked pussy. Filled the brim, his spunk overflows, sploshing out of your pussy as he rocks his hips, urging his seed deeper to plant right in your womb.
In the afterglow, the two of you lie off-kilter in a tangled heap on the broken sofa. There’s blood rushing to your head— not the worst place for it, you think, all things considered. Enjin’s weight is heavy, his chest heaving into yours, warm and sticky as he wraps you in his arms.
Just as you feel you both might drift off like this, Enjin stirs. Flinching, you whimper as Enjin wills himself up, his cock sliding out of your pussy with a squelchy suctioning noise. Your knees part for him with zero resistance as he inspects his handiwork, peeling apart your battered pussy lips to reveal your dug out slit.
“Whewww,” Enjin whistles at the sight of the thick creampie glistening in your core. “All this cum your cute pussy pulled outta me—you’d think she was my jinki.”
Sober, you likely would have slapped him for referring to your pussy as his vital instrument. But ecstasy clouds your logic, so high off endorphins and other substances, you only giggle. It is kinda funny you suppose.
“Yeah—squirtin’ on command like that. Definitely an attack type.”
Spread open, the thick plug of spunk froths out of you. But Enjin simply tuts, pushing it right back in, not wanting to waste a single drop.
“Yeah, how about that, ’mma duel wielder! Yup, definitely gotta name ‘er now—what you thinkin’ I should call her, princess?”
Enjin sees the way your pretty cunny is twitching, and in his pussy drunk mind, it's an approval. The spasms that still quake through you are like tremors of Morse Code—your slutty pussy agreeing with him, begging for more. Flipping you over on your belly, Enjin is more than happy to fulfill any request of his new vital instrument.
“Got it! Cumbringer! The Umbreaker and The Cumbringer. Nice ring to ‘em, dont’cha think?”
Cumbringer!?
Later, you would definitely regret being so thoroughly fucked out of your mind you didn’t put a stop to this. Enjin is most definitely going to be insufferably proud of himself for the next 3-6 business weeks. He’d lord this over you and tease you with not-so-subtle hints around the rest of the cleaners.
Yet, as Enjin is swabbing his huge cock through your folds, you feel the ache of loss in your core, wanting to be filled again and you can’t seem to find the fucks to care—you just needed more of his dick, like…now.
Pleased with your compliance, Enjin thumbs the dips at the small of your back, perching your ass up so your back arches real nice.
“Trash Daddy’s gonna take real good care of Cumbringer from now on, too. Make ‘er live up to the name.”
When Enjin pushes into you again, the new angle has him bullying against your g-spot with even more intensity than before. Seeing the way you jolt, he holds back from going as deep this time to directly abuse the spot. Slick runs down your legs and despite how slippery the ruined leather cushions are beneath you, Enjin still holds you firm as his cock sloshes through your ruined pussy.
“Say, how much anima you think is in my nut, Princess?”
You don’t respond but Enjin, proving to have the stamina of a beast, feels like he should give you at least two more doses just to be sure.
⛓
Fading in and out of a euphoric stupor, you’re unsure how much time passes. Absolutely cockdrunk, at some point, you’d simply just surrendered. Your pussy clearly has zero complaints about being a jinki for Enjin’s cock and you are too dumb once you get a lil dick to stop him.
Somehow, you’ve ended up folded over the wide coffee table. It’s unstable beneath you, but Enjin doesn’t seem to care what he breaks when he’s fucking you. He only moved from the sofa when the back of it finally broke.
Straining, you think you hear voices but everything feels so far away and fuzzy. The room gets darker and you realize Enjin’s thrown his coat over you. Still sheathed deep inside you, Enjin’s cock plants lazy kisses to your womb as he speaks rather casually to someone.
Hmm, did he get a call? Is that Semiu?
Semiu is likely calling, wondering why you both haven’t shown up to happy hour yet—shit. There’s no way you’re making it in this condition; your limbs are toast. You can’t even move the weight of Enjin's bulky jacket off of you, the heavy material trapping you in the humidity of your own breath and sweat. But in a way, the warmth is comforting. Your cheek resting against the wood, you allow the tent of muggy heat and his cock moving languidly inside you to lull you into complacency— in your delirium, everything feels like a nice dream.
Yet Enjin is fully alert, a shit eating grin on his face as he stares down Semiu and Gris who had just walked in on Enjin shamelessly beating your doonies down. Enjin only spared your modesty by covering you up, but he has no qualms with either Gris or Semiu seeing him in all his glory and doesn’t even bother pulling out of you.
A fact that is painfully clear as he pats the pockets of his jacket draped over you for his cigs—he might as well smoke if he’s giving you a break.
“I win,” Semiu turns to Gris, hand out expectantly.
Semiu’s cool expression never changes but there is amusement in her eyes as Gris fishes into his pockets and places a stack of bills into her hand.
“Tsk, damn…” Gris shakes his head, although he’s not shocked.
The two of you are down so horrendously bad for each other that this should have happened long ago as far as everyone else was concerned. The tension has been at an unbearable level for those around you, the way the two of you picked at each other non-stop like a kid’s first crush.
Alas, you’re an airhead and Enjin is so stubborn he’s delusional. So the older Cleaner members couldn’t help, but place bets on when and where you and Enjin would finally slip between the sheets. Its a shame that you weren't in one of your beds right now--in between actual sheets--instead of the lounge becoming collateral damage.
“You know, after all the game you talked about winning your money back at poker tonight, Bro said you were a no-show because you knew you were gonna lose…” Gris eyes the boneless, quivering lump that is you under Enjin’s jacket.
Enjin really did a number on you. Your nonsensical babbles pouting for Enjin to ‘make sure to tell Semiu to bring you back some fries from the bar’ obviously means you have no idea that they are actually in the room.
“But it looks like you have your ‘ace in the hole' for an entirely different game.”
Enjin chortles. His hips stutter forward a bit too hard and you squeak in protest, he just hushes you.
“Awe, so you came back all this way to check-up on us? How sweet,” Enjin says sarcastically, taking a drag from his cigarette.
“Hardly. Rudo accidentally chugged an entire beer he thought was soda—then proceeded to throw it all up over Zanka,” Semiu says flatly.
Enjin attempts to hold back his laughter as Semiu continues with a sigh. She explains thatGris helped carry Rudo back, promptly putting his little blacked out ass to bed. Zanka locked himself in the bathroom immediately upon returning.
“Although they're sure to be occupied for the rest of the night, since the kids are back in the building you need to wrap this shit up Enjin—she looks like she could use the break anyway.”
Semiu casts a sympathetic look your way. She did warn you about Enjin though, so he was your mess to deal with now.
“Sure thing,” Enjin says, patting your form underneath his coat, “I’ve trained my new jinki well enough for tonight.”
Semiu takes one look at the absolutely diabolical grin on Enjin’s face and decides she's already had enough of his shit for the night.
She sighs again. “Just hurry it up, alright?”
Enjin gives Semiu a cheeky salute. Yet the second her back is turned, Enjin mimes a dramatic chef’s kiss to the air for Gris. Enjin’s eyes roll back like he’s just had the best meal of his life.
Gris snorts, shooting him a wink and a thumbs-up for a ‘job well done’ like a proud teammate before heading out of the room as well.
“One more thing.”
Semiu pauses in the doorway, hands resting on the double doors, surveying the crime scene-like state of the lounge. The sofa is toast, the coffee table’s on life support, and there's a growing puddle under you, spilling over to slowly drip off its edge onto the floor.
“If you’re just going to recklessly rawdog her, at least get her on the pill. Alice can sort that out tomorrow—right after you replace every piece of furniture you’ve both annihilated.”
Enjin simply shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette.
“I suppose…we can stop by Alice’s too.”
Semiu just rolls her eyes, only to wrinkle her nose as a wave of stale air wafts by.
“And for the love of god—crack a window. Smells like fresh ass in here.”
Once the doors finally click shut, Enjin rips his jacket off of you and smiles. You’re still blissed out in lalaland while your pussy, Cumbringer, is clenching around him like she has one more go left in her.
Grabbing your arm, he pulls you up. Still sheathed inside you, he sits back on his knees, bringing you with him, your back pressed against his chest.
“Mmmm—*yawns* Was that Semiu on the call, Enj?”
Call? Oh, heh.
“Ha, yeah baby girl, just Semiu on the line,” Enjin lies too easily.
It’s for your own benefit though–no need to ruin your bliss with anything silly like embarrassment or shame from being walked-in on. Hell, unless Semiu says something, Enjin might be able to get away with not ever telling you.
“She said they ran outta fries though. I’ll get ya some later, yeah? Jus’ need Cumbringer to clock in one more time, Princess...”
Enjin rocks his hips with yours in a slow wave and your pout melts, no longer caring about the fries. Your head tips back onto his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you.
“Ah, mmmm, b-but—ngnh! She mentioned something about hotdogs and getting pills tomorrow? Is that a mission?”
Enjin hums to keep from laughing as he turns your face towards him. He smirks devilishly against your lips.
Distracting you with sweet chaste kisses, Enjin rubs gentle circles over your womb. You’re gonna be so fucking hot waddling around HQ in your slutty ass uniform, tits leaking and belly full with his brats.
The only pill he’d get from Alice would be a fertility pill.
“Nothing my slutty baby girl or my Cumbringer gotta worry about, Princess. Leave everything t’me.”
𝐚𝐧: ahh tysm for reading, especially if you are new to my writing. enjin brain rot is lethal. i needed to get this outta my system! jjk girlies forgive me for straying from my wip list and kinktober lol. definitely down to write more of him. i have a p2 and another enjin story (an AU) idea. but i have to focus on my jjk kinktober now! ♡
also, in case anyone is wondering—yes, reader's jinki is a labubu and yes, enjin just guilt tripped reader into growing him his own personal stash djhscjhdfj.
banner: mash up of official manga + rororogi mogera 'last mall' doujin panels.
-----------summary: You're Enjins best friend who helps him get together with his dream girl. Too bad that this girl isn't you.
----- tags: enjin x reader x tamsy, angst, female reader, one-sided feelings, slight ooc enjin for this, graphic mentions of injures and blood
part 1 / part 2 / part 3
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
The next week turned into a quiet, relentless competition, one that only existed inside Enjin’s head but he wouldn't admit it.
In fact, he convinced himself that it wasn't pure jealousy that filled him but concern for you. But every time he saw you standing beside Tamsy, talking so easily as if you were friends for years, something sharp hurts him in his chest. He really couldn't understand why he had to suffer this much. He wasn't able to see any other woman in the same light as you and he didn't even dare to waste a single thought on someone else, when you are right there in front of him.
So many things and Enjin still wasn't sure what to do, to get you back. Why apologizing didn't rewind everything back to the better times. And how Tamsy, calm, unbothered and never bragging, somehow made it worse by merely existing. And those feelings followed him even to the actual missions that also occupied his life.
Team Akuta and Team Eager were assigned patrol near No Man’s Land, where trash beasts had been reported migrating closer to inhabited routes. Nothing that they couldn't handle. It was dangerous, unpredictable work but everyone in the teams were experienced enough to not die right away. Yet, just like the boss always used to say, such missions require trust and team work, a motto you hold in high regard.The kind of trust and teamwork that Enjin kept sabotaging without realizing it.
When the vehicles were ready, Enjin didn’t even hesitate. As not team captain but also driver, he took the liberty to decide that you join him. “You’re riding with me,” he said, already tossing his gear into the
trunk. “That’s your spot. You always call shotgun.” The words felt off in your head. You know he tried to fix things but he did an awful job at respecting you so far.
You paused, hand still on your bag strap.
Before you could respond, Tamsy spoke up, tone easy. “You’re welcome to come with us instead,” he said, gesturing toward the other car where Delmon was already settling in. “It’s quieter. You mentioned you didn’t sleep much.” Tamsy was truly the opposite of Enjin, pointing out your condition and comfort. There was no challenge in his voice unlike in Enjins for some reason. And you realize, he wasn't demanding it but voicing out an option for you to take, one that is in your benefit.
The act of pure kindness made Enjin’s jaw tightened. “She’s on my team,” he snapped, too fast. He did notice his own tone and shifted it slightly “Makes more sense tactically.” You felt it then, the pressure. Not concern, not teamwork. Ownership disguised as logic that he made up in his own mind.
“I can decide where I sit,” you said calmly.
The silence that followed was heavy.
In the end, you chose Enjin’s car, not because he was right, but because the look on his face made you tired and there was no room for any childish fights. Like refusing would start something you didn’t have the energy to fight before the mission even began and you knew that Enjin could go days being upset.
The ride was very stiff, thanks to the road and the people on it. Enjin talked too much, pointing out landmarks, recounting old missions you’d both been on, laughing at memories like they were proof of your deep connection. You responded when necessary, eyes fixed on the road ahead. It was like satisfying a little child.
From the rearview mirror, you caught the view of the other car, barely making out Tamsy and the others. He didn’t look upset or at least that's what you thought. If anything, he looked concerned in the tiny mirror image. Perhaps the one sided rivalry might go down if Enjin notices that Tamsy isn't interested in a fight, or at least you hoped so. But to your demise, it only sparked the flame of competition more.
No Man’s Land was worse than expected.
The air was thick with dust and rot, the ground unstable beneath your boots. Trash beasts crawled out from places ,covered with trash, they shouldn’t have fit, shrieking metal-on-metal cries that echoed too loudly for comfort. Yet nothing you couldn't handle as a united front.
Formations were called and Enjin kept you close. Certainly too close. “Stay behind me,” he ordered, grabbing your arm when you tried to move into position. “I’ve got you.” “I can handle myself,” you snapped, yanking free. Tamsy noticed immediately, adjusting his position to cover the blind spot Enjin had left open. He didn’t comment but just compensated instead.
That was the difference.
The rivalry escalated in small, stupid ways. Enjin cut across Tamsy’s lines, rushing enemies he didn’t need to, barking commands no one had assigned him. And Tamsy adapted silently every time, shifting to keep the rest of the team safe. You tried to focus, but having Enjin mingle with your job every five seconds was harder than expected and you tried ignoring the tension that was coiling tighter with every clash.
Zanka was occupied with Riyo on the south, Enjin and Tamsy were competitive over the north side. Delmon took over the east. And somehow you ended alone on the west, further away from them all after Enjin commanded you away from the danger, thinking the west side of the battlefield is still safe. Then it happened.
A beast burst from the debris at an angle Enjin hadn’t checked, too focused on outdoing, not enough on watching. Tamsy shouted a warning, voice sharp and raised for once.
You turned…Too late.
Something slammed into you, claws tearing across your side as you hit the ground hard. Pain exploded through your ribs, knocking the breath clean out of you. Your vision blurred as dust filled your mouth. “-Shit!” Enjin’s voice cracked, panic bleeding through as he saw the display from further away.
The pain was almost paralysing but giving in now meant death for you and this was something you cannot allow. So you push yourself up, feeling the probably broken rip in your chest, and grab your jinki tight to launch a defensive attack. You only had to endure it till someone would come.
You forced your hands beneath you and pushed, muscles shaking violently as pain lanced through your torso. Something shifted where it shouldn’t have. A broken rib, maybe more. And your vision went black at the edges, but you snarled through it, teeth bared as you dragged yourself upright. The trash beast lunged again while you met it head-on.
Your jinki ignited in your grip, humming violently as you swung with everything you had left. Rage poured into the strike, months of swallowed words, jealousy, betrayal, fear. Each movement sent agony screaming through your body, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You carved into the beast, tearing through metal and rot alike, letting out a raw, broken shout that tore from your throat. While it reeled back, you staggered forward.
Blood soaked your side, slick and warm, dripping onto the ground beneath your boots. Your legs trembled, vision flickering, but you raised your weapon again. One more hit. Just one more.
The beast surged at the same moment you did. And you swore, the time slowed.
Your muscles are locked. Your breath hitched. The strength holding you upright vanished all at once, like a switch flipped deep inside your body and you cursed yourself for being so weak. You almost had it. Your weapon slipped from numb fingers and the last thing you heard was Enjin shouting your name before the world turned black.
So! I'm absolutely in love with So'lek at the moment and wanted to write something. I don’t know if i'll do much more as i have several fics for another fandom that i don’t wish to lose interest in. If i post more then i do if i don’t i'm sorry. I hope you guys like the concept at least. 💚 let me know. Comments and likes are every fanfic writer’s fuel after all!
So’lek x Sarentu!reader
Gunfire tears through the evening air, cutting off all the songs sung in joy, the cheers of merriment and the dancing around the fires as the scent of good food fills the air, replacing it all with screams of terror.
Some try to fight, firing off arrows with their hunting bows as the sky people lay waste to their sacred meeting place. Some flee with children in their arms barely dodging the bullets. Flames burst from some of the the sky people’s metal weapons, cutting off all escapes routs.
The Sarentu people do not understand why this is happening and their questions are only answered with bullets and roaring fire.
The children are grabbed one by one, their parents shot down where they stand in defiance.
One mother barely avoids the attention of the sky people as she rushes to hide her child, desperate to protect her from whatever the sky people have planned for their young. A tiny new born, not even old enough for her first communion with Eywa, is swaddled carefully and placed below an asipspxam (budding watcher). She does not even have the mark on her cheek yet.
The haunting echo of the plant drowns out the cries of her precious baby. Though the screams of their people and the bursts of gunfire are doing the majority of the work.
She catches sight of an AMP suit heading her way and flees in the opposite direction, drawing their attention away from her actions at the asipspxam. She receives several bullets to the back and collapses a short distance from the hiding place. Her eyes look nowhere near the hiding place as the light seeps from them.
Eventually the camp falls deathly silent. Only the last dregs of fires that had torn the place apart are left to make a sound, crackling steadily in the falling darkness.
All of the children have been taken. No one is alive to figure out where.
The elders have been murdered. Massacred. Their stories erased.
A baby Sarentu has been left completely and utterly alone.
She could not move in her swaddling. She could not defend herself. She could not feed herself.
Her mother hid her too well. In her effort to protect her from the sky people, she doomed her baby to starve. Never to connect with Eywa.
As the fires died out, predators move in.
Large beasts with six limbs, their skin dark and shiny like oil, red streaks marking them like smears of blood. They have claws large enough to tear through the thickest hides and teeth to match.
Na’vi fear their very presence so much they choke on it.
Several from a mile in any direction find their way into the once safe space of the Sarentu meeting place and devour the veritable feast the sky people have left behind, careful not to swallow the bullets filling their meals. The Palulukan (thanator) are hungry. They will not waste a single piece of what has been left. It will take days but soon the Sarentu will be a simple step in the food chain, becoming one with Eywa through the beasts that devour them.
Their souls within her have no idea what has happened.
A mated pair devour a stray corpse just outside of the main camp together, ignoring the howls of the burnt asipspxam nearby until those howls sound strange. The pitch rises into shrill cries.
Their heads perk up at the strange new sound, the quills that line their necks spreading to sense it better. The sound of weak prey. Living prey.
It does not take much for them to crack into the space below the asipspxam. Its fungal leaves already damaged by the flames the sky people had released across the area. The inside is still safe and secure, not a single bit of damage from the flames.
There, the tiny Sarentu cries, hungry, filthy, and completely alone. One bite and the palulukan need not worry about its horrid shrieking cries any longer.
A whisper from Eywa, Atokirina’, a seed from the tree of souls lands upon the nose of one of the beasts and they are led to a decision unfamiliar to them. Unnatural, the complete opposite of their instincts. The male lifts the baby carefully and together they keep it.
~~~~~~
If not for Eywa you would not know. Na’vi knowledge would be beyond you.
You would not know that you were once Sarentu before something happened and you were left utterly alone to be found by the beasts. You would not know the songs of your people or their traditions. You would not be a person. You would not even have a name to call yourself.
All you would know is the two palulukan that raised you and the cubs you helped raise over the years once you were old enough.
Perhaps you’d be considered feral to others, more beast than Na’vi. Unable to communicate with any but the savage predators you call family.
Not that you have ever seen other Na’vi, not out in the waking world anyway. They tend to avoid the hunting grounds you call home.
When you commune with the great mother though, that is an entirely different story. You would not know anything if not for those that have become one with Eywa.
They have taught you everything the two palulukan could not.
Your Sarentu ancestors taught you their songs and tales. They taught you about the mark that was meant to be placed on your cheek and how to place it yourself since they understood that it was not possible for anyone else to. You followed their instruction to apply it, gathering the fallen petals from a tarsyu, made the paste, but you also did something different. You added black dye, to match the palulkan that raised you.
A Kame'tire elder taught you medicine to keep you alive, which things in the forest will help you and which will only do harm.
A young Aranahe girl taught you to weave so you would not be cold and an Omatakaya warrior taught you to craft weapons to hunt.
A Trr’ong boy, with an excited smile on his face, once taught you how to braid your hair when you’d mentioned not knowing what to do with it. Until that point your kuru was bare only hidden by the knotty locks of dirty hair draping irritatingly down your back. It’s a shame you never saw him through Eywa again, you would have liked to show him.
Even with their influence though, you know that you are different from them. You spend all your time with palulukan when not communing with the ancestors through the small tarsyu sapling you keep near the den, of course you’re going to be weird. The ancestors with the great mother do not seem to mind at least.
You asked the elder Sarentu once why you were all alone in the waking world, why there were no other Sarentu and where they all went. They had no answer to give you. They do not know why you are alone.
You creep methodically along the edge of your territory, tracking the scent trail of a pali (direhorse) that had passed through the area recently. One of your young brothers, only a year old but almost full grown, is following not far behind. He’s finally old enough to hunt with you without mother’s supervision.
You have long since learned to be perfectly silent as you move. Each step you take is placed with precision. Not a single rock shifts, or a single loose stick breaks under your weight. Not even a leaf rustles at your presence.
You hunt like the palulukan. You blend with the forest.
Your ears flick around, searching for any sound on the other side of the underbrush. Your tail keeps your balance.
Time feels different when you are hunting. As if its counting down to the moment you’re waiting for and not just steadily drifting on as always. The air feels tense around you as if the very world is holding its breath for when prey falls to your hands.
Every so often those horrid bird things with spinning wings fly overhead, ruining the anticipatory buzz with their irritating noise and you pause to glare up at it.
They always scare off the best prey when they fly near the hunting grounds.
The ancestors taught you to only kill what you need. Do not take more than what is necessary for your survival and the survival of your pack. But it is times like this, when those horrid birds fly over that you feel the urge to kill them and leave their bodies for the forest to reclaim. You doubt anything that annoying has anything worth taking, they are just pests that ruin your hunts. Perhaps even the forest would not want such loud things.
Your brother growls beside you, glaring up with his dark eyes, the feathered quills around his head flaring. He shares your irritation at the horrid birds. There will be no food today.
You can at least be comforted to know that none will fly past for several more eclipses now.
With an annoyed sigh you lower your bow and stand tall, rising above the grass and bushes that had kept you hidden. No point staying low now, the hunt is ruined. You will try again tomorrow when the horrid birds have left again. Perhaps the fog will be denser tomorrow. It would make stealth far easier. Prey becomes foolish when it cannot see far.
You’re about to turn back toward the den when an echoing screech joins the roar of the horrid birds. Rapid beats of lightning-less thunder fill the air above, then a blast and one of the horrid birds comes crashing down.
Two birds, the ancestors referred to them as ikran you believe, flit about the space around the horrid birds and tears each and every one of them from the air, sending them crashing down into the river that lines your hunting ground.
You absolutely have to see it up close! The horrid birds that you have dreamt of killing have finally been slain during their weekly migration!
“Come Ey’suka, we must see this!” you grin at the palulukan beside you. “Those ikran have killed the horrid birds.” It is strange that you didn’t see the ikran actually touch the birds. You did not know that ikran had ranged attacks.
You race with your brother toward the shallow swampy river. Your long legs clear logs and land gracefully in soft grasses. You avoid the clusters of sharp plants that litter the ground and dodge the shots from lortsyawll (flamingo orchid) plants defending their fruit as you pass. Eventually you slow atop a ledge overlooking the river, lowering yourself so you can peek over without the horrid birds seeing you if they are still alive.
Dark smoke rises around the corpses of the horrid bird, filling the air with an acrid smell. Even dead they are the worst. Something leaks from their bodies into the water, fouling it for everything down stream.
You will have to warn your pack so they drink upstream from the corpses.
The two ikrans land on the shoreline below the cliff and to your surprise, two Na’vi climb off from their backs. The first Na’vi you have ever seen outside of your communions with Eywa.
You knew that Na’vi tame them, your ancestors told you as much, but you had not expected to see it for yourself.
Apparently, according to your ancestors in the tarsyu, you should have bonded with one long ago, but you did not know where to find one and they could not figure out how to direct you to them safely. It is probably for the best, your sisters would have preferred to eat one rather than let it hang around for you to fly high above once in a while. It could have been a great boon to your hunts though.
The two Na’vi, a man and a woman, approach the corpses and begin searching through them. Is there really something worth taking from the horrid birds?
“We must move quickly.” The man says with a deep voice as he casts his eyes on the forest nearby.
“Do you think they managed to call for reinforcements?” the woman asks as she wades toward the horrid birds corpses. Her ears flick back and forth, listening for any signs of other things approaching.
“No.”
As you watch from above you debate with yourself about approaching them. You’ve never met Na’vi outside of Eywa’s embrace, what if it is different?
Nerves keep you seated, watching from afar.
You were right. Those horrid birds really aren’t good for anything. They’ve searched through each one and apparently found nothing of use. Just as useless as you thought.
“it’s not here.” The woman says, sounding distressed.
The man throws something down in the shallow water in frustration.
You are not sure why they’re surprised. You could tell they were worthless without ever shooting one down.
With a sigh you rise from your perch and turn to head back to the den. Only to find that your brother is no longer beside you.
“Skxawng!” you hiss and race to catch up to the palulukan. You can’t let your brother eat the first living Na’vi you have seen!
You leap over rocks, run along logs, speeding down toward the water to get there before your brother does. One plant launches you in the air, taking you closer to your goal at speed. You’re sure just about anyone can hear you coming from miles around with how you charge down through the forest, cursing your brother the whole way. You are not normally so loud.
You see him as he steps slowly onto the open shore, staring down the Na’vi with hunger and a keen excitement of his first ‘solo’ hunt. He has not noticed your rushed approach; his focus is tunnels on the two he has deemed prey.
The two Na’vi have noticed you though, it’s a little hard not to.
They turn toward the shore, their eyes searching for whoever is charging through the forest like an 'angtsìk (hammerhead), only to spot the young palulukan preparing to maul them.
They do not get the chance to so much as pull their bows before you slide up to the beast, tackling his side to completely throw off his hunt.
~~~~
So’lek POV
In the north of the clouded forest, east of the poison fog that covers the long abandoned Sarentu meeting place is another RDA facility. It is not the biggest he has taken down but it is currently the most tedious.
They cannot be reckless. Tamtey wishes to destroy the base nearby to find what the resistance needs, but if they do, the very thing they need might be lost.
One of the RDA flying machines leaving that base should have had the intel they were looking for to narrow down the location of Mercer. Yet it was not in any of them.
He tries not to be too frustrated at this failing. The sam-sons arrive and depart from this base almost weekly, transporting ammunition and resources to another base somewhere in the clouded forest. Perhaps it is Mercer’s base they are going to. Perhaps they should have followed instead of shooting them down.
Loud crashing sounds escape the forest. branches breaking, panted breaths, and heavy steps rush through the forest as if in a panic.
Had someone from the nearby camp been hunting and noticed something? Are they scared of something?
He turns to search for the source of the sound in the trees, only to stop short.
A palulukan. It stares them both down with obvious hunger, a snarl plastering its maw. It’s body lowered and ready to pounce upon them or their ikran.
Even he, as a warrior for many years feels dread at the sight of the palulukan. Not many some out of an experience with one alive let alone unharmed.
There is a reason he told Tamtey to avoid them at all cost.
He reaches for the gun at his side, trying to come up with a way to get them both out alive. Perhaps he can distract it so Tamtey can fly away first.
He doesn’t even get the chance to raise it before the Na’vi they had heard charging through the forest crashes into the beast’s side, knocking it off course.
He raises the gun faster now, unwilling to allow this person to die when they had just attempted to distract the beast so they could get away. But… if he shoots he risks hitting them instead of the palulukan.
“So’lek, what do we do?” Tamtey asks, her ears pinned back as the Na’vi wrestles the beast on the shoreline.
“I do not-” he is interrupted by the growls suddenly stopping.
“Stop.” The Na’vi shouts “what have a told you, Ey’suka?” she growls as she pins? The palulukan? Down? Her hand around the beast’s muzzle? “Skxawng”
your body washed up on the beach, unconcious, scarred, tangled in algae and… different than any other na’vi seen by metkayina clan. questions are left without any answer, when your eyes finally open, but not a single memory occurs in your mind. without a name, without any familiar face around you, you need to learn how to navigate your new life, connect with new poeple and discover where did you came from.
reader x various avatar characters
masterlist
warning: brief description of panic attack
chapter ii: out.
silence was the only thing everyone around you got in answer. whatever was in eywa’s plans, you weren’t voicing it.
ronal’s patience run out shortly after first question. the feeling in her gut wasn’t getting any lighter, your lack of response solidifying the feeling towards you. what were you hiding? what secrets were you guarding that you couldn’t even grace her with your name? she wasn’t used to hearing ‘no’ and even more she wasn’t used to someone ignoring her presence.
truth was, you weren’t ignoring it, not on purpose. you were dissociative for the time that felt like forever, hearing questions thrown at you and not knowing the answer was putting you in state of constant panic that was blurring your vision, caused ringing in your ears and heat running through your veins.
tonowari’s approach was more gentle at first, but the longer he had to wait for any sound from you, the more he believed his mate that you could be a mystery that shouldn’t be solved on their ground.
tsireya stayed in the pod with you longer than any of them, still tending to your wounds, even when her mother was giving her judging looks.
how could they think you were dangerous, when your eyes were full of such sadness the words couldn’t even describe? tsireya wanted to comfort you in any way that was possible to her, so she often brought you food, soups that helped you heal. she had to feed you, because taking the restrains off your hands wasn’t even a conversation she wanted to start with her parents.
you could feel with passing days getting some of your strenght back, but with lack of movement it was worth nothing.
ao’nung was keeping eye on tsireya, he wasn’t necessarily on board with his mother making you an enemy to their clan, but he still preffered to be somewhere around whenever his sister was about to stay one on one with you.
this lead him to peek his head into the pod you were staying in quite often. sometimes he was right and tsireya was sitting next to you, talking, telling you things with hope that it would help you open up, he could see some days that you were listening, but other days you had this empty look on your face that made him stop for a moment.
what was the ending of this? would you finally speak up and they would let you out? where would you go? would the truth you were holding lead to never letting you go or… never letting you leave alive?
your eyes connected, when he was standing in the door, thinking about every possibility. this was one of the days when you seemed present enough that words would get to you. there was some awareness in your golden eyes. his mother said that forest na’vi were known to have yellowish eyes, but she was sure you weren’t one of them.
“can you even speak?” he asked with a scoff. you were just wasting everybody’s time.
you looked into his eyes with such hurt in your own as an answer, he couldn’t keep looking at you.
he turned around, ready to leave, but something caught his ears.
“i can,” you sighed out.
this was the first time you heard a question you could answer and something in your brain pushed you enough to act, instead of running back into your mind with a panic that it was in fact, the only question you could answer.
ao’nung’s head whipped around, wanting to catch your lips still moving to make sure that he wasn’t just imaginig it. he stood still for a second, before making his way to you.
“now you can?” he huffed, standing over you. you were sure that even if you weren’t on the ground and tied, you would feel intimidated by his form. were you always this scared? was that the kind of person you were? or were the conditions of the situation making your body feel constantly on edge?
ao’nung watched your eyes get foggy again and he couldn’t let it happen. it was the most they all got from you in over a week since you washed up on a beach. the satisfaction he felt that it was him you answered to also played a role. he knew that he would rub it in tsireya’s face so much she’ll smack him.
“you made a step, don’t take that back,” he said, slowly kneeling down on the ground next to you. “i’m ao’nung,” he tried to offer.
if he only knew that was the worst thing he could do to you.
you couldn’t give him anything in return.
one shaky breath turned into whimper, you sniffled once and you couldn’t even think straight, turning into a mess with tears spilling down your temples. in a matter of seconds, you started to choke on your breath and laying down only made it harder to let air back inside your lungs.
oh, his mother was going to be so mad.
ao’nung picked a knife he was carrying with him at all times, before his mind could flash with disappointed look his mother always gave him whenever he did something against her wishes. with two precise moves, he cut the vines binding you and hoisted you up to sit.
he was always bad with reacting to people crying, usually he made fun of them, especially when it was tsireya and in this moment any move seemed bad. he debated if he should step back or stay close.
was his name that terrible for you to end up in such state?
“it’s alright,” he said awkwardly, patting you on the back, as you cried.
ao’nung heard from people who saw his father carrying you to the marui that your skin was like midnight sky, such a deep shade of blue and now he could see this especially, when tears were running down your face, caught in sun trying to break into the pod.
he hated to admit that, but he wished tsireya was here, she would’ve know what to do you. one time he truly wanted her to waste her time sitting close to you, and she wasn’t there… he had to think like her.
“fresh air will help you,” he said, catching your elbows and slowly standing up. your body followed him, your legs were wobbly, hips felt weak, but you couldn’t stop him from leading you out. “easy,” he hummed, putting an arm around you, when he felt how pliable you were in his hands.
tsireya said countless time to him that she wished you to step outside for a moment, maybe some shining on your face could help you as much as it was helping her everyday.
he lead you outside, just few steps in front of marui, and watched. he saw your skin glisten in the sunlight and bright markings almost come alive. your eyes were closed, but your face could say it all, how much you needed to feel breeze and warmth of the weather.
“better?” he asked quietly, holding you still.
soft hum left your lips as you let the sun dry away your tears.
whatever that was, you felt first touch of familiarity ever since you woke up.
#mistytalks i didn’t expect so many people liking this story so quickly… i’m kind of new to posting on tumblr (wattpad was my bread and butter when i was writing things some time ago and it took a long time before people really started reading it) anyway! i’m really excited to see where the story leads us!! leave a comment if you want to be tagged in next parts :3
Summary : While scavenging an overgrown RDA facility, Tamptey is accidentally exposed to something. Hours later, its delayed effects take hold, overwhelming her instincts and leaving her disoriented, territorial, and dangerously focused on So’lek in full view of the camp.
Author’s note : Hey guys! This is the “sweet treat” I talked about. It was originally just a personal little indulgence that I never planned to post, but since I’m back… I decided to share it anyway. Fair warning: I wrote this mostly for shits and giggles, so don’t expect a super plot-heavy masterpiece (i might reuse this plot for a 18+ one of these days, idk). Also this takes place somewhere between my series “Age Gap” and “Ash Grey” so Tamptey is Fem and they are romantically involved.
Warnings : non-consensual intoxication, impaired judgment, territorial behavior, medical restraint, emotional vulnerability, clinging, emotional neediness, a bit unhinged behaviours
As always, happy reading.
The facility is quieter than you expect.
Too quiet, considering how much of it is still standing.
Vines crawl over rusted walls, roots split metal seams with slow, patient force. Consoles hang dead and open, their insides gutted long ago. Whatever power once ran through this place has been gone for years, reclaimed by moss and damp and time.
You move through it anyway, following the path Teylan marked. A storage wing. A signal that had to be coming from somewhere here.
You don’t find it.
You search twice. Then a third time, more aggressively, lifting fallen panels, prying open lockers that should have collapsed years ago. Nothing. Just rot and old dust and the faint, sour smell of things that should have stayed buried.
“Teylan,” you mutter under your breath, activating the comm. “There’s nothing here.”
There’s a pause. Static. Then his voice, insistent.
“Try the outer grounds. Sometimes they moved things after evacuation. Just a little farther.”
You exhale sharply, irritation flaring. “I already checked—”
“Please,” he cuts in, apologetic but stubborn. “Just a bit more. I’m sure it was logged here.”
You grit your teeth.
“Fine.”
You step back outside, feet crunching through overgrown paths that used to be walkways. Nature reclaimed this place with enthusiasm—thick grasses, low clusters of flowers blooming where metal once ruled. The air is heavy, humid, full of scent.
You circle the perimeter, frustration building with every step.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Still nothing.
Your patience snaps.
You turn sharply, intending to head back the way you came—and your foot catches on a half-hidden root.
You stumble.
You land hard right into a dense patch of low-growing flowers that burst under the impact with a soft, traitorous poof. Pale pollen explodes upward, clinging instantly to your clothes, your hair, your skin.
“Oh—come on—”
You inhale before you can stop yourself.
The pollen sticks. Thick, fine, dusting your arms and chest, catching in your lashes. You cough, swearing under your breath as you scramble back to your feet, brushing at yourself uselessly.
“Teylan,” you snap, irritation overriding everything else. “Forget it. I’m going back. There’s nothing here.”
The comm crackles as he starts to respond, but you don’t wait for it.
You’re already moving, annoyed and dusty and convinced the whole trip was a waste of time. By the time you reach the edge of the grounds, the air feels cleaner, cooler. You tell yourself the warmth creeping under your skin is just embarrassment. Exertion. Leftover irritation.
You don’t notice how light your steps feel.
You don’t notice the way your thoughts start slipping, smoothing at the edges.
You just head home.
By the time you reach the base, the irritation has dulled into something forgettable.
You’re dusty. Annoyed. Mostly embarrassed.
You stop at the wash basin out of habit, scrubbing your hands and forearms until the pale residue is gone. Cold water against your face, fingers dragged through your hair until it feels like yours again. Whatever you landed in back there clung longer than it should have, but it comes away easily enough.
Clean.
Satisfied, you move on.
You drop the salvaged container where it belongs, report back to Teylan with clipped efficiency. Nothing there. Grounds overgrown. False lead. He apologizes, flustered. You wave it off. It happens.
Time passes.
You help dismantle a damaged panel near the edge of camp. You sit for a bit, sharpening a blade, listening to the low hum of conversation around you. The world feels normal again. Your body feels normal.
You almost forget about the fall entirely.
Then—
It hits.
Not slowly.
All at once.
Warmth floods your chest, sudden and deep, like a breath you didn’t know you were holding finally being let out. Your thoughts stumble, then slide, the edges of the world blurring just enough to make everything feel distant and too close at the same time.
You straighten abruptly, fingers tightening around nothing.
Your heartbeat is loud.
Your skin feels… aware. Of air. Of fabric. Of space.
And then there’s only one thought left, clear and insistent as everything else dissolves around it.
So’lek.
The sound of his voice. The weight of his presence. The certainty of where he is in the camp, like a tether pulling tight somewhere behind your ribs.
You don’t question it.
You don’t think why.
You just turn and start walking.
The camp blurs as you move through it, your steps purposeful, unhesitating. People call your name. You don’t answer. Someone reaches out—you slip past them without noticing.
You see him before he sees you.
So’lek stands near the central path, speaking with someone quietly, posture easy but alert. The sight of him makes something inside you lock into place.
Relief.
Want.
Focus.
You close the distance without slowing.
“So’lek,” you say, breath warm, voice soft and unguarded.
He turns.
And the moment his eyes meet yours, he knows.
Because nothing about this is subtle.
Your pupils are blown wide. Your expression is open in a way it never is. You’re standing too close, far inside the space you normally keep, like it never occurred to you that there should be distance at all.
And the way you’re looking at him—
Like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.
His jaw tightens.
“Tamptey,” he says carefully. “What’s wrong.”
You smile at him.
Not coy. Not playful.
Relieved.
“There you are,” you say, like you’ve been looking for him forever.
So’lek doesn’t understand at first.
Not really.
He registers that you’re too close, that you’re smiling strangely, that you’ve crossed the distance without hesitation — but those are details, not answers. He assumes distraction. Fatigue. Maybe irritation from the failed errand.
Then your arms wrap around him.
Fully this time.
You press into his chest, fingers curling into the straps at his shoulders like you’re anchoring yourself there. Before he can react, you tip up onto your toes and press quick, careless kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth — affectionate, unguarded, and entirely unconcerned with who might be watching.
So’lek stiffens.
“Tamptey,” he snaps under his breath, hands coming up to catch your shoulders, trying to keep you at arm’s length without making a scene. “What are you doing.”
You laugh softly and cling tighter instead of loosening your grip.
People are staring now. He can feel it — conversations faltering, attention pulling toward you. He hates it. Hates being watched. Hates this kind of exposure even more when it isn’t chosen.
“This is not the place,” he says sharply, irritation slipping into his voice despite himself. “Or the moment for this sort of thing. Control yourself.”
You frown, clearly offended, and tighten your arms around him, cheek pressing stubbornly against his jaw.
“I just want you,” you say, confused by his reaction. Earnest. Unfiltered.
That’s when his annoyance falters.
Because there’s no challenge in your voice. No teasing. No intent.
Just want — stripped of context.
So’lek’s hands slide up to your face before he fully realizes he’s doing it. He grips your jaw firmly, forcing just enough space between you to make you look at him.
And then he sees it.
Your pupils are blown impossibly wide, swallowing almost all the color in your eyes. Your focus slips when you try to meet his gaze, like it’s hard to hold onto any one thing for long. There’s a restless energy under your skin that doesn’t match your expression at all.
Cold understanding snaps into place.
“…Eywa,” he mutters.
This isn’t boldness.
This isn’t bad judgment.
This is interference.
“What happened,” he asks, low and controlled. “Where were you.”
You blink slowly, processing the words with visible effort. “I went… outside,” you say after a beat. Then, helpfully, “I came back.”
That’s it.
No detail. No awareness. No explanation.
His jaw tightens.
So’lek shifts his stance immediately, turning his body to shield you from view, one arm firm around your shoulders now — not affectionate. Protective.
“We’re leaving,” he says flatly.
You don’t protest this time. You relax against him instead, soothed by the certainty in his voice, clinging like you’ve finally found something solid again.
So’lek doesn’t hesitate.
His grip firms at your shoulders, not rough but unmistakably unyielding, and he turns you decisively away from the center of camp. You stumble half a step, then cling again, fingers catching in his gear as if you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you don’t hold on.
“Tamptey,” he says quietly, close to your ear. “Walk with me.”
You don’t really understand the instruction, but the tone gets through. You move when he moves, steps uneven but cooperative, leaning heavily into his side as he guides you forward.
The med bay sits just beyond the busiest paths.
So’lek angles toward it deliberately, choosing routes with fewer people, shoulders squared, expression shut down. Anyone who looks twice gets a glare sharp enough to kill questions before they form.
He can feel the attention anyway.
You’re still too close, too warm, too openly attached to him — cheek brushing his shoulder, arms tightening around his waist every time he adjusts his hold. It draws eyes no matter how quickly he moves.
He keeps going.
Someone calls his name. He ignores it. Another voice asks if everything’s alright.
“It will be,” he snaps, without slowing.
The med bay doors come into view, and the relief is immediate — muted but real. Fewer people. Purpose here. Help.
Inside, the air is cooler, cleaner. Sterile compared to the camp outside.
So’lek pushes through the entrance without ceremony.
“I need help,” he says flatly, already steering you toward one of the beds. “Now.”
You cling harder as he tries to ease you down, clearly unhappy about being separated even by a few inches. He keeps one hand on you the entire time, grounding, steady, like it’s the only thing keeping you oriented.
“Easy,” he murmurs, softer now, meant just for you. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
You relax at that — not fully, but enough to let him position you on the edge of the bed, arms still looped around his waist like you don’t trust the room not to take him away.
So’lek looks up then, eyes scanning for anyone — anyone — who knows what they’re doing.
Anufi.
A medic.
Anyone.
His jaw tightens as the weight of it settles in.
He doesn’t know exactly what’s wrong with you.
Only that it’s not your fault.
That it’s not normal.
He stays close, one hand firm at your back, refusing to step away even as he waits — because someone will be able to help.
They have to.
Hajir is the first to arrive.
He takes one look at the scene — you half on the med bed, fingers locked in So’lek’s gear, dragging him down with you — and slows immediately.
“What’s going on?” he asks, cautious.
You don’t look at him.
You don’t look at the other medics either, hovering just behind him with a scanner already in hand. You don’t acknowledge them at all.
All your attention is on So’lek.
You tug again, insistent, pulling him down until he has no choice but to sit at the edge of the bed with you. The moment he does, you lean into him fully, body pressing close, arms wrapping tight around his torso like you intend to stay there no matter what anyone says.
So’lek stiffens.
“Tamptey,” he says under his breath, trying to ease you back without drawing attention. “Easy.”
You frown, displeased, and cling harder instead — shifting closer, knees brushing his thighs, head tilting up toward his face with an intent that makes his jaw tighten.
Not here.
Not like this.
Hajir clears his throat. “Is she—?”
“I don’t know,” So’lek cuts in, sharper than he means to. He keeps one arm firm around you, the other braced on the bed to stop you from climbing any closer. “She was fine. Then she wasn’t.”
You make a small, frustrated sound and tug at So’lek again, clearly unhappy with the distance he’s insisting on. Your attention never leaves him — eyes unfocused but locked on his face, like he’s the only thing anchoring you to the room.
“So’lek,” you murmur, breath warm, needy in a way that makes his shoulders go rigid. “Stay.”
Hajir exchanges a look with the other medic.
“This looks like some kind of exposure,” the medic says carefully. “But we’ll need space to—”
“No,” you say immediately, turning your face into So’lek’s chest and gripping him tighter.
So’lek exhales sharply through his nose.
“She’s not leaving me,” he says flatly.
Hajir watches you for a beat longer — the way you keep trying to close the distance and climb onto, the way So’lek is very deliberately holding the line between supporting you and letting this go any further.
“…Alright,” Hajir says slowly. “Then we work around him.”
So’lek doesn’t relax — not really — but he nods once, grateful despite himself.
Your fingers curl tighter in his clothing, like you’ve won something.
And as the medics begin setting up around you, murmuring theories under their breath, there’s only one thing you seem to care about at all:
That So’lek stays right where he is.
Even if he has to brace himself to make sure you don’t climb any closer than you already are.
…
Ri’nela doesn’t announce herself.
She steps into the med bay quietly, drawn by whispers that tightened the camp like a pulled thread. The moment her eyes find you, relief flashes across her face — brief, instinctive.
“Tamptey—”
The sound that leaves you are animalistic.
It tears out of your chest low and vibrating, a deep, rolling growl, the kind that resonates more than it carries. Your posture shifts instantly — spine stiffening, shoulders rolling forward as you plant yourself squarely in front of So’lek.
Another growl follows.
Longer. Sharper.
Your lips pull back just enough to bare your teeth, breath pushed out in a harsh warning that makes the air feel tight and dangerous.
Ri’nela stops cold.
Her body reacts before her mind does.
Her spine straightens, shoulders squaring instinctively, chin lifting just a fraction — not in challenge, but in alertness. Every Na’vi instinct she has screams threat, even if she can’t name why.
She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t move.
She knows that sound.
Territorial.
Defensive.
A clear, unmistakable do not come closer.
Your eyes never leave her.
Another growl rumbles through you, lower this time, vibrating against So’lek’s chest where you’re pressed tight against him. You hiss sharply between clenched teeth, the sound pure warning, possessive and hostile in a way that makes the med bay feel suddenly too small.
So’lek swears under his breath.
“Tamptey,” he says firmly, one arm locking around you from behind, grounding without restraining. “Enough.”
You don’t snap at him.
You don’t growl at him.
But you don’t relax either — muscles taut, body still angled to block Ri’nela completely, like you’re prepared to physically place yourself between them if she takes another step.
Ri’nela swallows.
Slowly, deliberately, she lowers her hands at her sides — palms open, posture non-threatening. She doesn’t challenge you. She doesn’t retreat either. She just… holds still.
“I don’t know why,” she says quietly, voice steady despite the chill crawling up her spine, “but she’s guarding you.”
Hajir lets out a sharp breath.
“This,” he says flatly, backing a step away, “is officially outside my field.”
The other medics nod, already uneasy.
So’lek tightens his arm around you, grounding but not restraining, his voice low and firm in your ear. “You’re safe,” he murmurs. “No one here is taking anything from you.”
You don’t relax — but you don’t escalate either.
Ri’nela makes a decision.
She lifts her hands slowly, palms open, gaze softening as she deliberately lowers herself in the hierarchy of the moment. “Okay,” she says, calm but careful. “I’m going to step away.”
Your growl eases a fraction as she increases the distance.
“I’ll get Anufi,” Ri’nela adds, already backing toward the door. “She needs someone who understands this kind of stuff.”
She doesn’t turn her back on you until she’s several paces away. Even then, she keeps her movements slow, controlled, respectful of the warning you’ve made clear.
The moment she slips out of sight, the tension in the room shifts.
Your posture loosens — just slightly.
The growl fades into a restless breath as you press fully back into So’lek, arms tightening around him like you’ve successfully driven off a threat. Your cheek presses into his chest, satisfied, possessive, unaware of the implications.
So’lek exhales through clenched teeth.
“…Good,” Hajir mutters. “That was the right call.”
So’lek doesn’t answer.
His attention is entirely on you — on the way your body is still coiled, alert, instincts hijacked by something foreign and wrong. He keeps one arm firm around you, the other braced at your back, steady and immovable.
“Anufi will fix this,” he says quietly. Not to anyone else. To himself. To you.
You hum softly against him, already calmer now that the perceived threat is gone.
And as the med bay settles into a tense, waiting quiet, So’lek stays exactly where he is — between you and the world — until help arrives.
With Ri’nela gone, the room exhales.
The sharp edge of your posture eases, shoulders lowering a fraction as the perceived threat retreats. The growl in your chest fades into a tight, restless breath. You press back into So’lek, arms still wrapped around him, but the rigid defensiveness loosens into something more uncertain.
You don’t relax.
Not really.
Your head lifts slightly from his chest, eyes darting now — not searching for rivals, but for movement. For unfamiliar shapes. For the humans.
Hajir.
The other medics.
The equipment.
Your grip tightens again, different this time. Not possessive. Anxious.
Your breathing picks up, shallow and quick, and you shift closer to So’lek as if trying to reduce the world down to just his presence.
So’lek feels the change immediately.
He adjusts without comment, turning his body just enough to shield you from the rest of the room, one arm firm around your back. His other hand comes up, resting at your shoulder — grounding, steady, unmistakably here.
“Easy,” he murmurs close to your ear. “You’re alright.”
Your gaze flicks to Hajir, then away again just as fast. You swallow, jaw tight, clearly aware now that there are others watching you — strangers, humans, tools that smell wrong and unfamiliar.
You don’t growl.
You don’t hiss.
But your body stays coiled, ready, like you don’t trust any of it not to move the wrong way.
Hajir notices.
“…She’s anxious,” he says quietly, lowering his voice. “That’s not territorial anymore.”
So’lek nods once, eyes never leaving you. “She doesn’t like being watched.”
You shift again, clearly uncomfortable, pressing your forehead briefly into his chest as if trying to hide. Your breathing stutters, then steadies slightly when he tightens his hold just a fraction.
“No one’s touching you,” he says softly. “No one’s taking you anywhere.”
Your fingers flex at that, grip easing just a little — not calm, but reassured enough to stay where you are.
The med bay falls into a tense quiet, everyone moving slower now, more carefully, as if sudden motions might set you off again.
And in the center of it all, So’lek stays anchored, solid and unyielding, holding you steady while you ride out the aftershocks of instincts that aren’t fully yours.
Anufi will be here soon.
Until then, he doesn’t move.
He just keeps you close — a shield between you and everything that feels wrong.
Hajir glances at the other medics.
“We should give her space,” he says quietly.
The medics nod immediately, relief evident. Equipment is gathered. Movements are slow and deliberate, careful not to draw your attention. One by one, they step back toward the exit.
So’lek stiffens.
His grip tightens just a fraction as he watches them go, unease crawling up his spine.
“Wait,” he says, sharper than he means to.
Hajir pauses.
So’lek lowers his voice, jaw tight. “Don’t leave me alone with her.”
Hajir studies him for a beat — the way you’re pressed into So’lek’s chest, the way your fingers keep flexing against him like you’re testing your hold, the way your gaze keeps lifting toward his face with an intensity that has nothing to do with awareness.
Realization dawns.
“…Ah,” Hajir says quietly.
The other medic hesitates. “You’ll be fine, won’t you?”
So’lek doesn’t look away from you. “No.”
It’s not panic in his voice.
It’s certainty.
“She’s not herself,” he continues, low and controlled. “If I’m alone with her, she won’t understand restraint. And I’m not risking—” He cuts himself off, breath tight. “I need a witness. Someone who can intervene.”
Hajir nods immediately. “Understood.”
He gestures for the other medics to leave. “Go. I’ll stay.”
The door closes behind them, leaving the med bay quieter, dimmer — the world narrowed down to four walls, one bed, three people.
You shift the moment the others are gone.
Your body turns more fully toward So’lek, knees drawing closer, arms tightening again. Your face tilts up toward his, breath warm, gaze unfocused but intent in a way that makes his stomach drop.
So’lek freezes.
“Tamptey,” he says firmly, keeping his tone even, his body deliberately still. “Stay where you are.”
You frown, displeased, and lean closer instead.
Hajir clears his throat pointedly and steps nearer. “Hey,” he says, calm but present. “You’re safe. Just sit.”
You flick a glance at him — wary, unsettled — then back to So’lek, grip tightening again like you’ve decided Hajir is tolerable only because he hasn’t tried to take anything from you.
So’lek exhales through his nose, muscles locked with restraint.
He keeps one arm firm around you — supportive, controlling distance without inviting closeness — and does not move an inch closer than he already is.
He won’t.
Not like this.
Not when you aren’t choosing it.
Not when whatever’s in your system has hijacked your instincts and stripped away consent.
Hajir watches closely, ready.
And So’lek stays exactly where he is — tense, terrified, and resolute — holding the line until Anufi arrives and this is over.
Because no matter how close you cling, no matter what your body thinks it wants…
He will not let this become something you’d regret once you’re yourself again.
His jaw tightens as he breathes through his nose, slow and deliberate, grounding himself the way he always does before a fight. Only this one isn’t visible. There’s no enemy to strike, no blade to steady his hands—just you, warm and shaking against his chest, breath uneven, fingers clutching like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.
There is only one thought inside your head.
You want—no, you need to mate.
And he’s the one you want.
You press closer anyway.
It’s instinctive. Desperate. Your body chasing something your mind can’t quite reach through the haze. He feels it immediately—the shift in your weight, the way your breath stutters when you realize how close you are, how little space there is left between you.
So’lek stiffens.
Not because he doesn’t feel it.
But because he does.
His hands come up to your arms, firm but careful, anchoring rather than pulling you away. He keeps his grip there—nowhere dangerous, nowhere that could be misunderstood—holding you in place like that alone might be enough to quiet whatever is burning under your skin.
His voice sharpens without him meaning it to.
“Tamptey.”
The single word cracks through the room, edged with warning and strain.
You flinch.
It’s small, almost imperceptible — just a hitch in your breath, a sudden stillness — but it’s enough. Your hands loosen where they’re gripping him. Your shoulders draw in, posture folding slightly as confusion washes over your face.
For a heartbeat, your mind… stalls.
The world seems to lag behind the sound of his voice, like it takes a moment too long to catch up. The meaning doesn’t land right away. There’s only the echo of it — sharp, firm — rattling around in your head.
Why would he—
The thought doesn’t finish.
Your gaze drops, unfocused, brows knitting together as your brain scrambles to make sense of it. He didn’t yell. You know that. Somewhere, you know that. But the fever twists everything, turns restraint into rejection, concern into something that feels dangerously close to anger.
Why would he snap at you?
Your lower lip trembles before you even realize it’s happening. Wet gathers in your eyes, blurring the edges of him as the confusion tips into something heavier. Hurt. Shame. The awful, sinking certainty that you’ve done something wrong — that you pushed too far, needed too much.
You blink hard, but it only makes it worse.
A quiet, broken breath slips from you as the tears spill over, trailing down your cheeks unchecked. You don’t look at him anymore. You can’t.
A soft, broken sound slips out of your throat.
Not a growl.
Not a whine.
Something wounded.
So’lek freezes.
“…No,” he says immediately, the edge gone from his voice so fast it’s almost jarring. His hands come up again, gentler now, palms steadying your shoulders. “No—hey. I didn’t—”
A tear spills over anyway, tracking down your cheek.
Your brows knit together, expression crumpling as you try to blink it away, clearly upset but unable to articulate why. You lean forward again, tentative this time, forehead brushing his chest like you’re seeking reassurance rather than closeness.
“I’m sorry,” you murmur, the words slurred and misplaced, as if apology feels like the safest response even though you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.
Something in So’lek’s chest tightens painfully.
Hajir looks away, giving the moment space.
So’lek lowers his voice completely now, every ounce of irritation leashed and locked away. He tilts his forehead to rest lightly against yours — not a kiss, not indulgent — just grounding contact.
“Listen to me,” he says quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Your breathing stutters, another tear clinging before falling. You nod faintly, though it’s clear the words don’t fully register. What does register is the tone — softer, steady again.
His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping the tear away with careful restraint. “I shouldn’t have snapped. That’s on me.”
You sniff quietly, eyes still glassy, and cling to him again — not demanding now, just seeking comfort, like you’ve been reminded how easily he can be taken away.
So’lek exhales, slow and controlled, resting his forehead briefly against yours before pulling back just enough to look at you properly.
“I’m here,” he says firmly. “I’m not leaving.”
Your shoulders ease at that, tension melting just a fraction.
Hajir clears his throat softly. “Anufi should be close.”
So’lek nods without looking away from you.
He keeps one hand steady at your back, the other stilling your restless grip — holding you together as best he can until help arrives.
The need doesn’t vanish.
The heat still coils low in your belly, insistent, aching, your instincts whispering the same thing over and over. You still want to mate. Still want him.
But this time, you keep it leashed.
When you nuzzle closer again, it’s slower. Quieter. Careful in a way you weren’t before — like you’re consciously reining yourself in, fighting your own body so you don’t cross that line again. Like you’re afraid that if you push, if you need too much, you’ll upset him.
Your fingers curl lightly into his shirt instead of clutching. Your weight settles against him without seeking more.
And it guts him.
Which only makes him more determined not to let his frustration show — not even for a second longer than it already has. He keeps his breathing even, his touch steady, anchoring you without encouraging the thing your body is still craving.
Hajir gestures toward the bed. “She’ll settle better if she’s lying down.”
So’lek hesitates for only a second.
Then he nods.
He guides you carefully, easing you back onto the bedding without letting you feel like you’re being pushed away. You resist at first — a small sound of protest in your chest — but the moment he lies down with you, tension drains out of you like a released breath.
You curl into him immediately.
Arms wrapped tight around his torso.
Face pressed against his chest.
Legs drawing up instinctively, seeking warmth and contact.
You cling like letting go would undo everything.
So’lek adjusts slowly, deliberately, making sure you’re supported without encouraging more movement. One arm settles around your back, firm and anchoring. The other braces behind him, keeping his position steady.
“There,” he murmurs, low and calm. “That’s it.”
Your breathing starts to even out.
The sharp edge of anxiety dulls, replaced by a heavy, drowsy warmth. You nuzzle closer once, then still, cheek resting against him as if you’ve finally found the right position. A quiet hum slips out of you — content, soothed.
You’re still tense.
Still clinging.
But the panic is gone.
Hajir watches from a respectful distance, relief flickering across his face as your body finally stops coiling, stops reacting to every sound in the room. “She’s stabilizing,” he says quietly. “For now.”
So’lek nods, eyes half-lidded but alert, every sense still trained on you. He keeps his breathing slow and even, letting you match it unconsciously.
Minutes pass.
You don’t fall asleep — not fully — but you drift, weight heavy and pliant against him, fingers occasionally tightening like you’re checking he’s still there.
Each time, he stays.
He doesn’t move away.
He just holds you steady, letting your nervous system borrow his calm until it remembers how to exist on its own again.
And when Hajir finally speaks again, softer this time — “Anufi’s on her way” — So’lek barely nods.
Because for now, this is working.
You’re calm.
You’re safe.
…
Anufi arrives like she always does.
Unhurried. Unbothered.
She steps into the med bay, takes in the scene in a single, sweeping glance — you half-curled around So’lek on the bed, Hajir lingering nearby, the tension still humming in the air — and clicks her tongue softly.
“What is all this fuss about?” she asks mildly, already setting her satchel down.
The sound of her voice cuts through the room.
Your head snaps up immediately.
Not aggressive — alert.
Your eyes lock onto her, pupils still wide, breath hitching as your body stiffens all at once. Your tail curls sharply behind you, the tip twitching in a slow, deliberate arc that signals warning more than threat.
A low huff leaves you.
Not a growl.
Not a hiss.
Just displeasure.
So’lek tightens his hold instinctively, murmuring your name under his breath, but you don’t escalate. You study Anufi for a long second, head tilted slightly, instincts parsing her the way they did Ri’nela.
Older.
Established.
Not competition.
The tension eases a fraction — but not the discomfort.
You shift closer into So’lek instead, clearly placing distance between yourself and Anufi, tail curling tighter around your leg as if drawing a boundary. Your gaze stays on her, wary but controlled.
Anufi moves again.
You notice immediately.
Your head lifts again, sharper this time. A hiss tears from your throat, louder than before, teeth flashing as your tail snaps tight and curls in warning.
She doesn’t even flinch.
She stops just close enough to be within reach, then sighs — not annoyed, not startled.
“Tsk,” she clicks softly. “Enough.”
The word lands with weight.
You bristle, shoulders rising, another hiss building — but it falters. Something in her tone cuts through the instinct, not soothing it, but overriding it. She smells of smoke and herbs and old places, of rituals older than memory. Your body doesn’t like her closeness, but it recognizes her.
Anufi studies you with a practiced eye, gaze flicking from your posture to your breathing, to the way your grip tightens around So’lek every time she shifts.
“Hm,” she murmurs. “Yes. That fits.”
So’lek stiffens. “You know what this is.”
“I have an idea,” she replies calmly. “I do not name things until I am sure.”
She reaches out slowly — deliberately — and you snap another hiss at her hand, a sharp warning meant to drive her back.
She doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she taps two fingers lightly against the edge of the bed, close enough for you to see them, not close enough to touch you. “If I were a threat,” she says mildly, “you would already have acted.”
Your jaw tightens. You don’t lunge. You don’t bite.
You just cling harder to So’lek, pressing into him like a shield.
Anufi hums in quiet satisfaction. “Good. You still know where you are.”
Anufi watches you in silence for a long moment.
Not your posture.
Not the way you cling to So’lek.
Your scent.
She leans in just slightly, eyes narrowing, then reaches down to the edge of the bed where a faint smear of pale residue still clings to the fabric near your leg. She rubs it gently between her fingers.
Pollen.
She lifts it closer, inhales once — careful, practiced.
Then she stills.
And smiles.
“Ah,” she says softly.
“Well,” Anufi continues, straightening again, clearly pleased with herself. “That explains the fuss.”
So’lek frowns. “You know what it is.”
Anufi nods, amused now. “Yes. I am certain now.”
She brushes her fingers together, letting the pollen fall away. “Lawnol syuang,” she says lightly.
Hajir blinks. “Joy flower?”
Her gaze flicks between the two of you, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. “In small quantities,” she adds, pointedly, “it is sometimes used by couples. Intentionally.”
So’lek stiffens.
Just slightly.
Heat creeps up his neck — not embarrassment exactly, but discomfort at the implication. “That’s not—” he starts, then stops himself, jaw tightening. “I don’t know how she came into contact with it.”
Anufi looks at him more closely now.
Her lips curve faintly.
“There is no shame in such things,” Anufi says. “Young pairs explore. It is… common.”
“No,” he says firmly. “She went to an old RDA facility. His grip tightens protectively around you. “Then this happened.”
Anufi’s smirk fades into something more thoughtful.
“Hm,” she hums. “Then she fell into it.”
You huff faintly against So’lek’s chest, irritated by the conversation even if you don’t understand it. Your tail curls tighter, possessive, as if punctuating the point.
Anufi hums, thoughtful.
“That fits better,” she says.
“You have never seemed the sort to invite chaos for curiosity’s sake.”
So’lek exhales through his nose, tension easing just a fraction.
Anufi’s eyes soften as she looks down at you again. “Dense patches grow low to the ground. Rare in these parts, but not unheard of near abandoned human structures.” She clicks her tongue. “Unfortunate.”
She reaches for her bundles then, all Tsahìk now — the teasing gone, replaced by certainty. “The flower overwhelms the instincts when taken in excess. It strips away patience. Leaves only need.”
You tighten your arms around him at that, as if agreeing.
Anufi allows herself a small, fond smile. “Good taste,” she murmurs, then waves a hand dismissively. “This will pass.”
So’lek says nothing.
His ears flick back once — a reflex he doesn’t bother correcting — before his attention settles fully on you again, as if that’s the only part of the statement that matters.
She begins preparing the remedy, movements calm and unhurried. “Next time,” she adds lightly, “perhaps look where you sit.”
You scowl faintly into So’lek’s chest.
He lowers his chin just enough to murmur, “We’ll discuss that later.”
For the first time since this started, the room feels steady.
There’s a name.
There’s an explanation.
And there’s no accusation hanging between you — just mild discomfort, quickly set aside in favor of fixing the problem.
…
Anufi hums to herself as she works, clearly satisfied.
And So’lek keeps you close, relieved that at least this part has been understood.
It happens fast.
One moment you’re restless — coiled, breathing shallow, grip tightening — and the next your body surges forward with sudden, desperate intent. You make a sharp sound in your throat and lunge toward So’lek like instinct has finally decided now is the moment.
So’lek barely has time to react.
“Tamptey—!”
Anufi is already moving.
“Now,” she says calmly.
So’lek doesn’t question it.
He shifts his weight and catches you, guiding you back onto the bedding with controlled force — not rough, but decisive. He pins your shoulders and hips just enough to keep you from springing forward again, heart pounding as you fight him, furious and panicked all at once.
You snarl and hiss at Anufi as she steps closer, eyes wild, tail lashing.
She remains entirely unimpressed.
“Yes, yes,” she mutters. “I know. You don’t want me near.”
She kneels beside you anyway.
“So’lek,” Anufi says evenly. “Hold her head. Open her mouth.”
“What—” he starts, confused, breathless — but there’s no time.
He does as he’s told.
One hand braces your jaw, the other steadying your head as Anufi grips your chin firmly and tips your face up. You thrash once, furious, and then she presses the rim of a small carved cup to your lips.
“Drink,” she orders.
She doesn’t wait for consent.
The liquid floods your mouth — bitter, sharp, awful. You gag and choke, shaking your head violently as it burns down your throat, the taste making you whine in protest.
And then—
Your resistance falters.
Your grip loosens.
Your body goes suddenly heavy.
So’lek freezes as your muscles slacken beneath his hands, eyes fluttering once before closing completely. Your breathing evens out in the span of a heartbeat, tension draining from you like it was never there.
He catches you fully this time, lowering you carefully onto the bedding, stunned.
“What—?” he breathes. “What did you just—”
Anufi straightens, entirely calm, brushing her hands together.
“She’ll sleep for a few hours.”
So’lek stares at her. “She just— she was— I thought—”
Anufi gives him a look — dry, knowing.
“What,” she says lightly, “you thought there was another way?” A pause. Then, with faint amusement: “Unless you planned to take care of her needs yourself.”
So’lek goes very still.
“That was never—” he starts, incredulous.
“I know,” Anufi interrupts, already turning away to clean her tools. “Which is why this was the correct solution.”
She glances back once. “She will be fine. She’ll wake clear-headed. Embarrassed. Hungry, at most”
So’lek looks down at you — limp now, peaceful, face relaxed in sleep — and swallows hard.
Anufi hums to herself. “Stay with her. Call for me when she wakes up.”
As if he would leave.
So’lek shifts carefully, drawing you closer, one arm wrapping protectively around your sleeping form — still confused, still rattled, but deeply relieved.
And as the med bay settles back into quiet, one thing is painfully clear to him:
Whatever that flower did to you…
It was never you.
And he’s very glad Anufi arrived when she did.
…
You wake to pressure behind your eyes.
Not sharp. Just… heavy. Like your head is stuffed with wool.
You blink up at the ceiling, disoriented, mouth dry and tasting bitter, and it takes a few seconds too long to remember where you are.
Med bay.
Right.
You shift, groaning softly, and that’s when you notice the weight beside you — solid, familiar. You turn your head and freeze.
So’lek.
He’s right there. Sitting close. Awake.
“Oh,” you murmur, voice rough. “Hey…”
The relief that flickers across his face when you speak doesn’t escape you — and that alone tells you something was wrong.
“…How long was I out?” you ask.
“A few hours.”
That doesn’t help the confusion.
You frown, trying to piece together the last clear memory you have — the RDA site, the fall, the bath, coming back to camp—
—and then nothing.
Your stomach drops.
“…So’lek,” you say slowly, unease creeping in. “Why am I here?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
You push yourself up on one elbow, head throbbing, and look at him more closely. His posture is tight. Careful. Like he’s choosing every word.
“…I don’t remember,” you admit quietly. “After I got back.”
That does it.
He exhales through his nose and looks away for half a second, like he’s bracing himself.
“You were exposed to something,” he says. “A flower. Pollen.”
You blink. “A… flower?”
“Yes.”
“…Okay,” you say cautiously. “And?”
He looks back at you then, expression steady but serious. “And it affected your instincts.”
Your chest tightens.
“How.”
Another pause.
You swallow. “…So’lek?”
“You became… focused,” he says carefully. “On me.”
The silence stretches.
You stare at him, brain struggling to catch up. “…Focused how.”
He hesitates — then decides there’s no point softening it.
“You clung to me,” he says. “Wouldn’t let anyone else near. Growled at Ri’nela. Tried to—” He stops himself, jaw tightening. “You were not yourself.”
You lie there for a moment after he finishes explaining, staring at the ceiling and trying to line the pieces up in your head.
They don’t fit.
Not at first.
You remember frustration. Heat. Confusion. Then nothing — just blank space and a headache that feels like punishment.
“…Okay,” you say finally, slow and careful. “But I don’t… I don’t remember doing anything.”
So’lek nods. “You wouldn’t.”
You swallow. “…You said I was focused on you.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t mean I—” You stop, frown faintly. “That doesn’t mean I did anything, right?”
He hesitates.
Just a fraction too long.
Your stomach drops.
“…So’lek?”
He exhales quietly. “You did not hurt me,” he says first. “And nothing happened that you chose.”
That’s not an answer.
Heat creeps up your neck — not the flower this time. Real embarrassment. You shift slightly, suddenly aware of your body in a way that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.
He watches you carefully. “You were… insistent.”
Your face burns.
You press your lips together, mortified, and then — unhelpfully — you become aware of it.
The lingering warmth.
The restless tension that hasn’t quite gone away yet.
The way your body still feels keyed up, uncomfortable, like it hasn’t gotten the message that the danger is over.
Your eyes widen slightly.
“Oh,” you whisper.
So’lek’s jaw tightens. “Tamptey—”
“I tried to jump you,” you blurt, horror-struck.
He doesn’t confirm it.
He doesn’t deny it either.
You groan and roll onto your side, dragging the blanket over your face. “Eywa. I knew it. I can still—” You stop yourself, mortified all over again. “I’m still feeling it. That’s humiliating.”
“It will fade,” he says immediately. “Anufi said some residue can linger.”
You peek out at him, miserable. “…You must think I’m feral.”
“I think,” he replies evenly, “that you fell into something you didn’t know existed.”
That helps. A little.
You sigh and drop the blanket back down, still refusing to look directly at him. “I’m never living this down.”
“You don’t have to,” he says. “No one else needs to know more than they already do.”
Another pause.
“…I’m really sorry,” you add quietly. “For putting you in that position.”
He considers you for a moment, then shakes his head once. “You did not put me there. The flower did.”
You nod, still burning with embarrassment, but the knot in your chest loosens slightly.
“…Next time,” you mutter, “if I start acting like that, you have permission to knock me out immediately.”
A corner of his mouth twitches. “I’ll inform Anufi.”
You huff weakly, then settle back against the bedding, head still throbbing — dignity bruised, memory patchy, body slowly calming.
But underneath the mortification, there’s relief.
You didn’t cross a line on purpose.
He didn’t misunderstand you.
You lie there in miserable silence for a moment, staring at the wall and trying not to think about any of it.
Your head still throbs. Your body still feels wrong in that lingering, restless way. And the embarrassment… Eywa, the embarrassment might actually kill you.
So’lek shifts beside you.
“I’m going to get Anufi,” he says, tone steady, practical. “She said the after-effects can linger. She’ll want to know.”
You groan softly and pull the blanket up over your face again. “Please tell her I’m unconscious.”
“She already knows you aren’t,” he replies dryly.
That earns a weak huff from you.
He pauses, then adds more quietly, “I won’t be far.”
You nod under the blanket, mortified but reassured anyway. “…Okay.”
He rises carefully, making sure you’re settled before stepping away. You feel the absence of his warmth immediately, which only makes you curl in on yourself a little more, waiting for the dizziness to settle.
At the doorway, he hesitates.
“You’re safe,” he says, just in case. “I’ll be right back.”
You don’t uncover your face, but your voice comes muffled through the fabric. “I know.”
So’lek leaves, feet quiet against the floor as he goes to find Anufi — equal parts confused, relieved, and still processing everything that just happened.
You lie there alone, head pounding, body slowly calming, replaying fragments you don’t quite remember and wishing very deeply that flowers had never evolved pollen.
At least… it’s over.
Mostly.
More pieces drift back in, unwelcome and vivid.
Not whole scenes — just sensations.
So’lek’s arm firm around you.
The steady weight of him behind you.
How easy it felt to stay there.
You squeeze your eyes shut, mortification flooding in anew.
“Oh no,” you whisper.
You remember clinging. Refusing to let go. The way your body curled into his without hesitation, like it had been waiting for permission that never usually comes so easily.
The embarrassment is sharp — painful — but beneath it sits something softer, harder to swallow.
You enjoyed it.
Not the why. Never that.
But the closeness.
You and So’lek aren’t distant. You’re careful. Deliberate. You take things slowly, the way people do when they actually mean what they’re building. And lately—between patrols, RDA movements, constant tension—there just isn’t much space for quiet, unguarded moments.
Time alone is rare.
Uninterrupted closeness even rarer.
So when it happened — when you were allowed to stay there, held without watching the perimeter, without listening for alarms — part of you sank into it before you could think better of it.
That thought makes your face burn all over again.
“I hate that I liked that,” you mutter, pressing your forehead into the bedding.
It doesn’t mean you want things rushed.
It doesn’t mean you crossed a line on purpose.
It just means you miss him when things are loud.
And there hasn’t been much quiet lately.
Footsteps approach, and you pull yourself back together, mortification firmly reclaimed. Whatever warmth lingers is quickly buried under dignity and a headache.
Still… as you lie there waiting, you can’t quite bring yourself to regret how safe it felt.
Just how unfortunate the circumstances were that finally allowed it.
Anufi stops beside the bed and looks down at you for a long, measuring moment.
You feel it immediately.
Not judgment — something worse.
Expectation.
“…You’re awake,” Anufi says at last.
You sigh and roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling like it might offer mercy. “Unfortunately.”
“Hm.” She reaches out and presses two fingers lightly at your wrist, checking your pulse, then tilts your chin just enough to look at your eyes. “Clear. Grounded. No haze.”
She straightens. “Good.”
You swallow. “…Am I going to die?”
Anufi snorts. “If that were enough to kill you, I would have lost half this camp years ago.”
That helps. Slightly.
Then her expression shifts — just a touch. The fond amusement drains away, replaced by something firmer, older. Tsahìk to the core.
“Tamptey,” she says.
Uh oh.
You wince and finally look at her. “Yes?”
“You were careless.”
There it is.
You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. You were careless. You rub at your temple instead, grimacing. “I didn’t know it was there.”
“I know,” Anufi replies evenly. “But ignorance does not stop consequence.”
She folds her hands calmly. “Carelessness has a short life in places like that.”
Your shoulders slump. “…Yes, Tsahìk.”
Her gaze flicks briefly to where So’lek stands near the doorway — close enough, still — then back to you.
“And you placed him in an impossible position,” she continues. Not harsh. Just factual.
Heat floods your face. “I know,” you mutter. “He told me.”
“I am not saying this to shame you,” Anufi says. “I am saying it so you remember.”
She leans closer, voice lowering. “Instinct is not an enemy. But when it is stirred without consent or balance, it becomes dangerous — to you and to those you care for.”
You nod, mortified but listening. “I understand.”
She studies you for another second, then sighs — softer now. “You are fortunate.”
“…Because you knocked me out?” you offer weakly.
“That,” Anufi agrees dryly. “And because you were with someone who did not take advantage of what was not freely given.”
Your chest tightens at that, gratitude and embarrassment tangling together.
Anufi straightens again. “Rest. Drink water. Eat when your stomach allows it.” A pause. “And next time you visit old human ruins—”
“I’m wearing a mask,” you say immediately. “And watching where I sit. And maybe bringing Ri’nela.”
Anufi’s mouth curves faintly. “Good.”
She turns to leave, then stops at the doorway. “And Tamptey?”
You brace yourself. “…Yes?”
A small, knowing smile touches her lips.
“At least they chose well. He is easy on the eyes—and steady besides.”
Then she’s gone.
The silence she leaves behind is brutal.
You stare at the ceiling, absolutely frozen, heat crawling up your neck and into your ears. You do not move. You do not breathe properly.
“…I’m so sorry,” you mutter after a long second, voice muffled with mortification. “I swear I don’t normally— I mean, I do think that, but— not like that— and not out loud—”
“So’lek clears his throat.
Once.
He very deliberately looks anywhere but at you.
“That,” he says flatly, “was unnecessary commentary.”
You groan and pull the blanket up to your nose. “I’m never facing her again.”
A pause.
Then, quietly, “She’s not wrong,” he adds.
Your head snaps toward him. “What?”
He stiffens immediately, realizing his mistake. “…I meant,” he corrects, ears flicking back, “that the situation is resolved.”
You squint at him, suspicious despite the embarrassment. “…Sure.”
Another stretch of silence settles—this one easier, less sharp.
Finally, you sigh and let your head sink back into the bedding. “Thank you,” you say, softer now. “For… everything. Even the parts I’m going to cringe about forever.”
He glances at you then, expression gentler. “You’re welcome.”
You close your eyes, headache dull but manageable, dignity bruised but intact enough to survive.
And even if you’re never going near joy flowers—ever again…
warnings: so'lek fucks u good and hard. maybe possessive? i'm so fr i'm not sure what i should warn you of. warning, you'll need a change of pants cuz ur gonna nut ur pants fr fr. sorry, i'm delusional i'm rly rly tired. who cares about being up early for school i have smut to write. anyways, so'lek x human!reader. READER IS GN (or supposed to be, so please tell me how i did because i don't write gn often.)not proofread, i'm tired.
Wind whips past your hand. You twist and turn it in the air like one might when resting their arm out a car window. Only difference is the beast beneath you is certainly not a car, and the wind is much stronger up here. You risk a glance to the earth, pandora?, below but quickly tuck your face back into So'lek's back when you spot how far down the ground really is.
The canopy is probably fifty feet below Iley, and the ground several hundred feet below that. Let's not think about that. Think about the na'vi in front of you, and that he's finally decided to take you on a proper date! After you explained human dating customs he insisted on bringing you on a date. Originally, you were a bit suspicious. Na'vi didn't approach courting the same as humans. However, Priya had practically shoved you out of the base, demanding her hard work doesn't go to waste. At least you get to spend time with him, even if the date turns out horribly stilted. Anxiety is sinking its claws into you. Every way this could possibly go wrong running through your mind at once.
You hug around So'lek's waist a little tighter. Squeezing him to get rid of those awful thoughts. He chuckles, and drops one hand to his waist to intertwine your fingers. Iley slows, flaring his wings and gliding down to a ledge on the cliff face. When you peak around So'lek you spot a pool of water shaded by the wide limbs of a tree. Is this the date spot, then?
So'lek guides Iley to a dry spot just to the right of the pool. The water ripples lightly in response to his landing. A cool breeze stirs the leaves and lush grass bringing with it a new wave of freshness signature to Pandora. So'lek offers a hand and helps you down from Iley. As soon as you're on the ground you notice a cave entrance carved into the rock. You're pulled to it by your hand, picking your way around the large but shallow pool. Naturally, it's darker in the cave, and you stick yourself to So'lek side, worried around tripping in the dark.
There's a dim glow up ahead, but So'lek pulls you to a stop then into his arms. "Close your eyes, yawne." You giggle, but do as he says, holding onto the new chest plate he'd donned for your date night. A dull roaring echoes through the cave, and as So'lek walks it grows louder and louder until you recognize it as a waterfall. Or several, maybe. With anyone else you may have demanded to be set down then, more certain in your own abilities and unwilling to trust yourself to someone else. So'lek is different though, capable in ways other na'vi were not. He doesn't brag, rather he holds a quiet confidence in his ability. The realism is reassuring, and you relax in his hold, listening hard to get any clues about where you'd heading.
The crystal under So'lek's feet offers little traction and he tests each step before entrusting himself, and more importantly you to it. A bolt of nerves runs through him. He isn't good with humans things, technology or otherwise. How come he's become almost irreparably linked with them? The armor he wears, the metal knife he now carries, the guns he's learned to wield with deadly efficiency, the human things in his camp, and finally, the tiny human he's decided is his mate. Great mother, how did he get here?
He crosses two large crystals, and sighs feeling the soft moss on the small island in the center of the cavern. A large karst window breaks way to the sky outside, bright clear sun streams into the lofty stone room. Entranced for a moment he almost forgets to let you down, chuckles before setting you upright.
"Open your eyes."
As soon as you do, your mouth falls open too, stunned by the beauty around you. Several waterfalls stream from the cavern walls, pouring into a stream that surrounds the little island you're on. Lush vegetation surrounds you, similar to most of Pandora. Not so similar are the large blue crystals jutting from the cavern walls in clumps. They glow with an otherworldly light, so large you doubt you could wrap your arms around even the smallest. The largest probably twice as thick as So'lek is tall. You stand in place, spinning with your mouth open trying to look everywhere at once.
So'lek chuckles, breaking you out of your trance and strides past you to the middle of the small island, settling himself in the moss and patting a spot beside him. You hurry after him with a stupid little grin on your face, "This place is incredible! How did you find it?"
"The crying grotto has been known to the people for quite some time. It is not frequented as much now. When I first traveled here one of the Aranahe warned me of its effects on the ikran." While he's talking he pulls several baskets in front of you. One is filled with some of the few human-safe foods on Pandora. Another holds a blanket and a dubious looking bottle of wine.
You snicker, "How did you get wine?" Your mouth waters, you haven't had anything that could be considered a good drink since you joined the resistance. Just plain, ultra-filtered water or questionable tasting electrolyte packets.
"Priya helped me with some of the human things." To your surprise he also pulls out two wine glasses, and pours you a glass. Instead of pouring himself one he sniffs the wine suspiciously, tail flicking high in the air behind him. When you offer your glass he takes a small sip, and wrinkles his nose up at the taste.
After you finish laughing you smile, "More for me then, hm?"
He scoffs, but pulls you into his lap, and leans back on an arm so you can recline. It's another na'vi thing, someone had explained, to keep you comfortable and off the ground. You sigh and lean back on him with a little smile while taking a sip of the cheap wine. So'lek hooks a finger into the food basket and drags it closer. He pulls out a tightly wrapped leaf bundle and tugs on the strings holding it together. Inside is diced fortune fruit protected in it's leathery peel. One of the few Pandoran fruits you can eat without dying a horrible death.
The two of you stay like that for hours, letting So'lek feed you entirely too much food, drinking the rare wine and talking endlessly. A few times So'lek shifts to stretch his legs, and you're struck by the size difference between the two of you. While standing you're eye-level with his crotch. Very convenient, but still a reminder of just how alien each is to the other. Still, So'lek does not seem to mind that you've none of the alure of a na'vi woman. You do not have the same lithe grace, nor would you be any good at defending him. You can't even breathe his air, but he is as enamored with you as any na'vi is with their mate.
It's an ego boost, you won't deny it. So'lek is, for lack of better words, smoking hot, and he has no shortage of women throwing themselves at him. Pride blooms in you whenever he denies them, pointing to you. You lean your head back against him, staring up at his serious expression. When he speaks you feel more than hear his voice, "Something on your mind?"
"Just thinking about how lucky I am. And how handsome you are." He hums deep in his chest, brushing the tips of his fingers over your thigh. You set down your glass, leaning into his touch, already eager for what's to come.
So'lek doesn't indulge you just yet, instead running his fingertips up and down your legs, over your chest, up your neck. Soft, gentle touches that feel less like desire and more reassurance. Reassuring you that you're wanted, or himself that you're still here, alive and well. You sigh and melt back into his arms.
Slowly, ever so slowly, his touch becomes more heated. You ease your legs open, and he traces up from your knee, sending shivers through you. Finally, unable to wait any longer, you turn to face him, straddling his lap. He meets your gaze with a smirk, "Impatient as always, tawtute."
"I'm not impatient, So'lek, you're just a tease." He doesn't answer you, except to laugh and knead at your thighs. At your warning growl he moves his hands higher, and brushes one finger over your covered entrance. God, he'll be the death of you. You huff, and push away from him before stripping completely.
He laughs at this, teasing, "Where is your human modesty?" Though, he doesn't complain when you straddle him again, standing up on your knees so you can kiss him, pulling your mask away then quickly replacing it. One of his hands leaves you, and when you lean back and spot him tugging at the knots of his tewng.
"Who's impatient now?" You knock his hand away and hold his face in your hands, "I've got a better idea for those hands." When you press your hand to his chest he lays back, watching you intently. It's addictive, commanding someone like him. You shuffle up to straddle his face instead, he pulls you to sit eagerly.
You shift his kuru out of the way, giving it a gentle squeeze. So'lek growls in response, and you feel his hips flexing without looking back. Where technique is involved he's average, but the thrill of his size, and more importantly that it's him, has you ruined for anyone else. Na'vi tongues are also proportionally longer on top of that and that is especially noticeable in moments like these. He's reaching parts of you that make you scream, double over and grab as his hair for leverage to grind into him. "F-fuck, So'lek, please."
Big hands grab your hips, and pry you off his face, ignoring your whining sob at the loss of his tongue. Instead, he slips two fingers into you easily and laughs when you grind down on them. It's a stretch, everything is with him, but you can't stop yourself trying to work them deeper into you. It doesn't help that whenever you sink down on them you're close enough for So'lek to lick at you. He curls his fingers inside you, searching for something, and you can only sob when it makes the stretch that much more intense. Eventually, he finds it and you shriek as pleasure shoots through you. Entirely too much and not nearly enough at the same time.
So'lek, ever the hunter, is not one to withdraw with his prize so near. He drags you forward by the fingers inside you and redoubles his efforts, fucking two fingers into with a lewd sound. When you let out a few little pants and stutter out a 'close', he curls his fingers, turns and bites your inner thigh. The snap of pain sends you off the edge and you curl over his head, panting as your body shudders around him. The fingers inside you slow, but don't stop until you reach behind you and clumsily wave away his hand.
When he gives a little push to your hips you shift back down to his waist, and lower yourself to lay on his chest. He pets your back and sides while you catch your breath, clenching around nothing. After a bit he moves his hand to the nape of your neck, where a na'vi's kuru would be. It's a sore subject for him. Despite the fact he bound himself to you, you couldn't do the same for him. Couldn't connect with a tree of souls and claim him in the light of Eywa.
The worst of it is you can't do anything to change it. Nothing except show him just how much you love him in the ways you can. That includes finally untying his tewng, much to his relief. As soon as the cloth falls away he's hard against his stomach, and at you laugh he mutters, "You've finished once already. I have a right."
"Mm, you're right. That doesn't seem fair at all." You kneel between his thighs, tracing your fingers up the insides of his thighs like he did you. He's pretty here, but in all fairness you think he's pretty everywhere. A line of tahni decorate his skin, a pale blue with light stripes. They flow in a line all the way up to his pelvis and you smile as you trace first with your fingers then tongue. So'lek cusses, digging his hands into the moss at his sides. He doesn't try to move though, submitting himself to your affection.
Throughout your teasing his muscles twitch and shudder, he's seemingly incapable of truly staying still. Finally you reach his pelvis and kiss the crease between his thigh and hips. His cock twitches, desperate for affection and you respond with an evil little chuckle. So'lek, again, cusses under his breath then mutters, "I thought you were supposed to be less evil than the rest of the tawtute."
"Not less evil, adjacently evil." He furrows his brows at that, and doesn't see you moving to the tip of his dick. Quickly, you wrap your lips around the head and suck, trying to work more of him into your mouth. The effect is instantaneous, he lets out a strangled shriek and arches like a bow at full draw. His tail whips ferociously at the ground and he tears up a clump of the moss in one hand.
Surprisingly though, he doesn't finish, only growls at your little game, "You'll regret that, vrrtep."
No, actually, you don't think you will. Giggling wildly you leap up and dart away from him. It's a foolish plan, really, in no world could you ever outrun So'lek. Still, you try, because the thrill of him catching you is worth more than the pride of escaping. So'lek catches up to you in just a few steps, as you expected. When he tackles you he turns so you land on him. His vicious hissing only makes you more excited. The idea that his mate tried to escape him only drives him to be more possessive.
He rolls the both of you over and pins you with your face in the moss. One of his hand wraps around both of your wrists and traps them behind your back. With an annoyed huff he leans down and growls in your ear, "Do you know what you do to me? Running from me?" You giggle again, you know exactly what this does to him, but you're cut off when he continues, "Should make sure you can't do that again. I'll fuck you until you can do nothing but beg for more."
Grinning you arch your back up for him. You're moaning as soon as his thick tip presses against you. Desperately, you try to push back, welcome him into your warmth. So'lek doesn't allow it. Instead, he keeps one hand on your hips, holding you in place. "God, please, So'lek. So'lek."
The male huffs behind you, "Keep saying my name, vrrtep." Satisfied when you do as he demands, begging him over and over to fuck you. After an eternity, he folds to your demands and starts pressing in. He's rougher now that you riled him up, and ignores your pathetic squirming as he thrusts in and in and in. It feels never-ending, like he's hollowing a place inside you, making you the perfect sheath for him. When he finally stops you feel his hips brushing against your ass. He actually managed to bully the entire thing into you.
The stretch is intense, and you sob from the feeling of it all. So'lek doesn't give you any mercy. He grinds into you as if he's trying to push even deeper and taunts, "What is wrong, tawtute, you seemed happy enough to provoke me. These are the consequences." So'lek punctuates his statement with another deep grind.
When he finally pulls back it feels like he's left you hollow, until he thrusts back in to stretch you again. So'lek laughs at your pitiful little whimpers, and sets his pace. Not especially fast, but devastingly deep and completely inescapable. As soon as he's got a rhythm he drops his hold on your hips and instead leans over you, bracing with an arm above his head. So'lek's presence is inescapable in every way, it seems, his scent, his deep groans and breathy huffs, his kuru dangly in your face, his chest pressed fully to your back, and the burning stretch of his cock.
As soon as he releases your arms you trail a hand down your front, intent on playing with yourself. Instead you're stopped at your belly, palm laid out flat. You can feel So'lek thrusting into you. Not just in your hole, but on your stomach a noticeable bulge pushes into your hand whenever he forces that monster into you. It's both incredibly arousing and a bit terrifying, and you're not entirely sure what to do about it. So you paw at So'lek's arm and, when he lets you, pull his hand under you to your stomach. "Ma yawne, what are you-"
There, he's felt it, that's him pressing through your body. To be sure he thrusts deep and stays there, holding his hand over that bulge in your stomach. How can your body hold him at all? He thrusts again, and the bulge moves with him. Clearly, despite your whining, your body can tolerate much, much more. He grins, and fucks into you harder, taunting you when you sob out a moan and try your best to press back into him. Still, he's so much stronger. You end up bracing yourself against the moss as best you can and holding on for the ride.
He must be close now, feeling just how much he's shaping you to him has driven him close to that edge. A thin sheen of sweat forms on the arm in front of you, and slicks the slide of skin on skin. He's panting deeply in your ear and growling. Sometimes words, how good you're being, how perfectly you stretch to fit him, how you're meant to take his cock. Sometimes it is just animalistic growling, the feeling of you clenching around him taking away his ability to speak.
A clumsy hand slides from its place on your stomach to pleasure you, and you're quickly brought to the edge too. His kuru swings tantalizingly in front of you. The hair forming his protective braid is glossy and black. You reach out one small hand, wrapping his kuru around it and feeling the silky hair run through your fingers. Smiling wickedly you tighten your grip and pull. So'lek howls, curling forward over you and hitting some deep, almost painful place inside you. The feel of him releasing in you, combined with his rough handling, drives you over the edge.
The both of you groan in unison, So'lek still emptying more cum into you, thrusting shallowly. You feel entirely relaxed, almost limp, under him. Enjoying the feeling of his release coating your walls. So'lek is panting. His forehead is damp when he bends to press it into your hair. Several minutes go by and So'lek doesn't move, keeping you still on his dick while he takes deep breaths of your scent. When his arms start shaking from the effort of holding himself up he wraps an arm around you waist and rolls onto his side. The whole while his dick stays snugly in your walls. Another na'vi thing, its supposed to ensure the male's seed takes. Not that it matters here, but the thought is an enticing one.
While you both lay in the quickly cooling evening air So'lek pets along your body, especially over your stomach now, and praises you endlessly. You sigh in contentment, snuggling back into his chest and pulling his arms tighter around you. So'lek noses at the top of your head, and kisses you there softly before relaxing to sleep.
"Successful date, I'd say. Goodnight, So'lek." You quip, looking up over your shoulder.
He peeks open one eye, and quirks a brow, "Of course, it was. You had doubts?" You giggle, and he kisses you again before laughing into your hair. "Goodnight, ma yawne."
warnings: kuru torture / mommy issues / being tied up / mentions of death / war
author: hey guys!! i really hope u like this one it took me forever to write like literally 3 hours of grinding with my takis next to me,,, while i was writing this i was worried people would think this was a filler chapter but i promise you everything that happens in this chapter is EXTREMELY pivotal to the plot! someone guessed what happens at the end in the last chapter lolll but HAPPY NEW YEARS GUYS!
wc: 6k
the poison, the poisoned, the tainted.
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꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ
The pre-dawn light was a weak, grey smear against the perpetual haze of the Ash Nation, a reluctant guest in a world that knew only shadow. It filtered through the thick, choking veil of ash that never truly settled, clinging instead to the air as if the land itself refused to let go of its scars. The light did not feel earned here. It felt intrusive, exposing a place that had learned to survive without it.
It did not bring warmth, only a stark, unforgiving clarity that illuminated the grim reality of the day to come. Stone blackened by centuries of fire reflected that pale light dully, revealing deep fractures in the cavern walls and the uneven ground worn smooth by generations of bare feet and bloodshed. Everything looked harsher in the light, sharper, stripped of illusion.
The air, thick with the scent of sulfur and the metallic tang of fear, was cold enough to bite at the skin, a constant, biting reminder of the dying mountain that was their home. Each breath scraped down your throat, heavy and acrid, settling uncomfortably in your chest. Beneath the sulfur lingered the faint smell of smoke and old ash, a scent so familiar it barely registered anymore, even though it should have.
In the central cavern, a space carved from the living rock of the volcano’s throat, the atmosphere was suffocating. The ceiling loomed far above, jagged stone arching inward like ribs around a heart. Heat pulsed unevenly through the walls, subtle tremors passing beneath your feet, as if the mountain itself were restless.
Hundreds of warriors stood in grim formation, their bodies a sea of ashen skin and dark leather, their faces painted with the stark whites and blacks of war. The markings were sharp and deliberate, symbols of endurance, conquest, and survival etched across scarred faces. Many bore old wounds, pale lines crossing shoulders, arms, and chests, each one a story of a battle survived.
They moved with a quiet, lethal purpose, checking the straps on their armor, testing the edge of their obsidian blades, their movements a silent, synchronized ballet of impending violence. Fingers ran along blade edges. Leather creaked softly as armor was adjusted. Nightwraith riders murmured low sounds to their mounts tethered along the cavern’s edges, pressing foreheads to scaled hides, steadying both beast and rider.
The usual grumbles and boasts were absent, replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence that was more terrifying than any war cry. No laughter echoed through the stone. No one tried to mask their fear with bravado. Even the nightwraiths seemed to sense it, their movements subdued, their low breaths fogging faintly in the cold air.
You stood at the very front of this assembled force, your heart a cold, heavy stone in your chest, its weight pressing down on you with every breath you took. It felt as though it might drag you into the ground if you let it. Your hands rested at your sides, fingers curled tightly, nails biting into your palms beneath the leather.
These were your people.
They trusted you.
You had a duty to perform, a role to play, and you would play it to its devastating, heartbreaking conclusion.
You raised your voice, letting it carry over the tense silence, praying it sounded stronger than you felt. The sound echoed faintly against the stone, louder than you expected, making your chest tighten.
“The western flank is their weakest point,” you began, your voice echoing slightly in the vast space. You forced yourself to keep your tone even, authoritative. “Their scouts are lazy there, relying on the treeline for cover.”
A few warriors nodded. Others leaned forward, listening intently, eyes fixed on you.
“We will send the first wave there, a loud, aggressive charge to draw out their main force.” You paused only long enough to breathe. “Once they are committed, the second wave, led by me, will circle wide, through the ravine to the north, and hit them from the rear. It will be a hammer and anvil. We will crush them.”
The words settled over the cavern, heavy and final.
It was a perfect plan for an ambush, a plan that would lead to a massacre of your own people. Every detail had been considered. Every movement calculated.
It was also a beautiful, intricate lie.
The western flank was where the Omaticaya’s most seasoned hunters were waiting, hidden deep within the dense foliage, bows already drawn, breath held in patient silence. The ravine to the north was a dead end, its steep sides easily defensible, its narrow entrance a perfect bottleneck for slaughter.
You were committing treason with every word that left your lips, and the shame of it burned like acid in your throat. You swallowed hard, forcing the guilt down, forcing your voice to remain steady.
Just as you were about to give the signal to move, to seal the fate of hundreds, a chilling silence fell over the warriors.
It was sudden. Unnatural. As if the air itself had been sucked from the cavern.
Your breath caught.
You turned, a knot of dread tightening in your stomach, to see Varang striding towards you.
She moved with a predator’s grace, her steps silent and sure against the stone. There was a sharp, crazed light burning in her eyes, something fevered and unyielding that made your skin prickle. A smile, all teeth and no warmth, was stretched across her face, a grotesque mask of triumph that made your chest constrict.
She reached your side and placed a hand on your shoulder, the gesture seemingly maternal, almost gentle.
Her nails dug into your skin like claws.
“My daughter has a brilliant mind for strategy,” she announced, her voice dripping with a venomous sweetness that made your blood run cold.
The warriors stirred uneasily.
“But she will not be leading the war party today,” Varang continued, tightening her grip just enough for you to feel it. “I will.”
Varang’s hand remained on your shoulder for a beat longer than necessary.
The cavern held its breath.
You felt it in the way the warriors stiffened, in the way no one spoke, no one questioned her words. Authority settled over the space like a physical weight, crushing and absolute. Your pulse thundered in your ears, loud enough that you were sure others could hear it.
She stepped forward, finally removing her grip on you, and took the space that had been yours moments before. The shift was immediate. Eyes that had been fixed on you snapped to her instead. Backs straightened. Jaws set. Whatever confusion flickered through the ranks was quickly buried beneath obedience.
Varang raised her voice.
She laid out the plan.
Not the one you had given them. Not the lie. The true route. The narrow pass hidden beyond the lava fields. The timing that would slip them past the outer sentries. The precise moment they would strike, coordinated and ruthless. Every detail was sharp, deliberate, and terrifyingly effective.
She did not stumble.
She did not hesitate.
Every word was correct.
Your stomach twisted as you listened, realization settling cold and heavy in your chest. She had seen through you. Through the careful phrasing, the intentional misdirection, the false confidence. She had known before you ever opened your mouth.
The warriors murmured their approval, low and controlled. Heads nodded. Weapons were lifted with renewed purpose. This was the plan they trusted. This was the plan that would work.
And it was no longer yours.
When she finished, Varang let the silence stretch just long enough to ensure it sank in. Then she dismissed them with a sharp command. The formation broke cleanly, warriors dispersing to prepare, their movements efficient and focused. Nightwraith handlers moved to untether their mounts. Blades were sheathed. Armor was tightened.
No one looked at you.
You stood where you were, rooted to the stone, your limbs heavy, useless. The cavern felt larger now, emptier, like something vital had been torn from its center.
Then you felt it.
Her grip closed around your arm, iron strong, fingers digging into muscle. The sudden contact made you flinch despite yourself.
Varang did not speak.
She turned and began to walk, dragging you with her without breaking stride. You stumbled to keep up, boots scraping against the stone as she pulled you away from the cavern and into one of the side tunnels. The sounds of preparation faded behind you, swallowed by the winding passageways of the mountain.
The tunnel narrowed as you went, the air growing cooler, damper. Torchlight flickered against the walls, throwing jagged shadows that danced and twisted with each step. Your heart hammered in your chest, dread coiling tighter with every pace.
You knew where she was taking you.
Your shared quarters lay deeper within the mountain, carved from the stone long ago. A place that was supposed to be private. Safe.
She shoved you inside and turned, sealing the entrance behind her with a heavy, final sound that echoed through the chamber.
For a moment, she simply stood there, her back to the door, shoulders rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. When she turned to face you, the expression she wore was no longer performative. No audience waited to be convinced.
It was raw.
Fury simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and volatile. Betrayal cut through it, clear and unmistakable.
“You thought you could deceive me,” she said quietly.
The softness of her voice was worse than a shout.
She took a step toward you.
Then another.
She stopped an arm’s length away from you, the torchlight catching in her eyes and turning them bright and unsteady. Up close, the strain in her jaw was impossible to miss, the tension in her shoulders pulled tight as if she were holding herself together by sheer force of will. This wasn’t the controlled fury she showed the clan. This was something rawer, something that had slipped its leash.
“You learned that from them,” Varang said. Her gaze raked over your face, lingering as though she were searching for something familiar and finding only absence. “The forest taught you how to lie. And you still choose them. They are evil.”
"They are not evil, mother!" You hiss, but her loud snarl makes you feel small.
Your mouth opened, but no sound came. Every truth felt like a blade turned inward, every lie pointless. Your thoughts tangled over one another, panic and guilt colliding until you couldn’t tell them apart.
She exhaled sharply and turned away, pacing once across the stone floor, her claws scraping faintly against the rock. When she faced you again, the decision had already been made. She reached for her blades.
The soft metallic sound of them sliding free sent a cold jolt through your body. You stepped back on instinct, your heel catching against the uneven floor. There was nowhere to go. The chamber felt smaller now, the air thick and suffocating. In a single swift motion, she closed the distance and seized your kuru, her grip bruising and possessive, winding into the thick neural braid with practiced ease. Pain flared instantly, sharp and disorienting, and you gasped, your hands flying up on reflex, only for her to twist it just enough to force you still.
She drew one blade up and laid it flat against your kuru. The cold of the metal against the delicate tendrils made your stomach lurch, every nerve in your body screaming danger.
“You are infected,” Varang hissed, her voice low and vibrating with barely restrained rage. “The forest has tainted you. Its softness. Its lies.”
Your breath hitched as tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shook your head frantically, the movement making the blade shift just enough to remind you how close it was. “No,” you choked out. “Please. I just wanted to stop this. I just wanted them to live.”
Her grip tightened.
“I tried to make you strong!” she roared, the words tearing out of her chest. She lifted the blade, the edge hovering a breath away from your kuru. Your body began to tremble uncontrollably, a broken sound clawing its way out of your throat as the reality of it crashed over you—being severed, being cut off from Eywa, from everything you had come to understand, from him.
The blade trembled in her hand.
For a long, agonizing moment, nothing moved. The torch crackled softly, absurdly loud in the silence. Varang’s breathing was uneven now, her chest rising and falling too fast. Then a sound escaped her, not anger, not triumph, but something fractured and unrecognizable.
She lowered the blade.
“My own daughter,” she whispered, her voice raw, cracking under a weight you couldn’t name. “My own daughter has betrayed me.”
She released your kuru so suddenly you staggered forward, barely catching yourself. For a heartbeat, you thought she might strike you anyway. Instead, she turned away sharply, as if she couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. She didn’t speak again as she bound your wrists and ankles, her movements rough and efficient, stripped of any trace of care. Thick leather straps bit into your skin as she forced you down onto the cold stone floor, each knot pulled tight, deliberate, final.
It was a full-circle moment, a cruel echo of the Hallelujah Mountains, where you had once been tied and helpless, burning with defiance and hatred. Now, there was only grief, heavy and suffocating, settling into your chest as you lay there shaking, bound in your own home.
Varang stood over you for a moment longer before turning and leaving. The door slammed shut, the sound echoing like a sentence being passed. Alone on the floor, you listened as her voice carried through the stone walls, laying out the true route to the war party, the one that bypassed the defenses you had tried to protect.
“The forest is ours,” she cried. “We will take what is ours by blood and fire.”
꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ
Back in the Hallelujah Mountains, the air tasted of damp earth and blooming life, but there was no comfort in it. The Omaticaya homebase had become a hive of quiet urgency, the forest itself seeming to lean inward as its people prepared for a war they had never sought. Bioluminescent plants dimmed as warriors passed, their soft glow muted beneath hurried footsteps and low, murmured commands. Bows were restrung, blades sharpened, ikran fitted with harnesses and armor, every movement practiced and tense. The great spiraling structures of the village loomed overhead, usually alive with song and laughter, now heavy with anticipation and dread.
Neteyam sat alone in the cave, on the same worn chair where he had first met you, his elbows braced on his knees, his head bowed into his hands. The stone beneath his fingers felt cold, grounding in a way nothing else could manage. He was terrified. Terrified that you were angry, that your last look at him had been one of betrayal rather than understanding. Terrified that people would die on both sides because of his fear, because of the words he hadn’t trusted himself to say sooner. But more than anything, he was terrified that you hated him.
The thought lodged in his chest like a barbed arrow, a crushing pressure that made it hard to breathe, as if his heart itself were folding inward at the mere possibility. He knew it was wrong. He was of the forest and you were of the ash, and the kiss you had shared should never have happened. But it had, and it haunted him relentlessly. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, about the way your eyes had widened in awe beneath the Spirit Tree, about the way your lips had trembled against his, soft and uncertain and filled with a hope he had been too afraid to name.
“Neteyam.”
His father’s voice cut through the spiral of his thoughts, firm and unyielding. Jake stood at the entrance of the cave, his expression carved from equal parts command and concern. He had been you once, in a way. An outsider, torn between two worlds, human and Na’vi, duty and love. Jake knew exactly how deep that kind of fracture could cut, and he had no intention of watching his son bleed the same way.
“You can’t see her again, boy,” Jake said, stepping closer and resting a heavy hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. The gesture was meant to be grounding, reassuring, but it felt like a cage closing shut. “She’s the enemy. No matter how hard you try to pretend she isn’t.” His voice hardened on the last word. “She’s tainted.”
Neteyam’s jaw tightened. The word struck like a slap, echoing too closely to his own darkest fears, but he swallowed the retort that burned on his tongue. He stared down at his feet instead, his hands curling into fists as he forced himself to remain silent. Angering his father now would help no one.
Soon after, the Omaticaya took to the skies.
Ikans lifted in silent waves, their wings cutting through the thin mountain air as they circled the region the Ash People were expected to attack from. Their bright, iridescent hides were a sharp contrast against the grey stone and mist, flashes of color moving with predatory grace. Neteyam hovered among them, his eyes fixed on the horizon, on the dark smoldering lands beyond the treeline. The wind whipped at his face and braids, cold and biting, but he barely registered it. Minutes stretched, then longer, the silence growing heavier with every passing breath. Too heavy. Too wrong.
A chill crawled up his spine.
His eyes widened as he turned, the instinct screaming in his bones just a heartbeat before he saw them. Blazing arrows arced through the sky, their cloth-wrapped tips aflame, streaking toward them from an entirely different direction than planned. From behind.
“AMBUSH!” Neteyam yelled, his voice raw as he ducked his ikran sharply downward, the world tilting violently as fire hissed past where he had been moments before.
The sky erupted.
The battle roared to life in a deafening cacophony of screeching ikran, clashing blades, and shouts torn loose by panic and fury. Neteyam moved on instinct alone, leaping from his ikran onto the back of an Ash warrior’s nightwraith, the unfamiliar leathery hide slick beneath his hands. He fought the rider off with brutal efficiency, his skinnife finding its mark before he launched himself back into the air, his ikran catching him mid-fall. Over and over, he searched the chaos for you, for any sign that his fear had already come true, for a flash of familiar braids or the shape of your silhouette.
You weren’t there.
Instead, he saw Lew’eyn.
The sight made his blood run cold. Lew’eyn was perched on his nightwraith, bow drawn, loosing arrows into the fray, but not at the Omaticaya. He was shooting down Ash warriors from behind, striking his own people to save the forest. Something was horribly wrong.
Neteyam didn’t hesitate. He dove, landing hard on Lew’eyn’s mount, the impact nearly sending them both tumbling. Lew’eyn spun with a hiss, blade raised, but froze when he recognized him, panic and relief warring across his face.
“Where is she?” Neteyam shouted, his tail lashing, his voice barely audible over the chaos.
Lew’eyn spoke quickly, breathless, words spilling over each other as he explained—how Varang had overheard, how she had taken command, how she had left you bound and helpless. Each word drove deeper into Neteyam’s chest, dread settling heavy and cold in his stomach. He didn’t wait for Lew’eyn to finish.
Without another word, he dove from the nightwraith, his ikran swooping beneath him to catch his fall. He urged the beast forward with a desperate cry, flying straight toward the Ash Nation’s territory, a streak of blue and orange against the ash-grey sky.
He wasn’t fast enough.
꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ
Neteyam landed hard in the Ash village, the ground trembling beneath his feet. The air was thick with sulfur, smoke, and fear, the shouts of the few remaining non-combatants echoing between scorched stone structures. He ran without slowing, straight for the burned-out stump of their old Hometree, the hollowed heart of a grief that never truly healed. Groans and cries for help echoed from within as he plunged inside.
You were there.
Bound in thick leather cuffs, thrashing weakly against the restraints, your face streaked with tears. The moment you saw him, a sob of relief tore from your chest, your entire body sagging as if the tension holding you upright finally snapped. Neteyam was at your side in an instant, adrenaline lending him strength as he broke the cuffs apart.
You surged up, words tumbling out of you in a rush, apologies spilling faster than you could catch them. You told him Varang must have overheard, told him how you had gone back to the Spirit Tree after he left, how you had felt Eywa, how her presence had wrapped around you like something vast and gentle and alive.
“You were right,” you breathed, your voice shaking. “She’s beautiful.”
A low growl sounded behind you.
Before either of you could react, Varang was there, a blade pressed to Neteyam’s kuru just as she had done to you. Your scream tore through the chamber as you froze, terrified to move, terrified that even a breath would make her cut him. Varang gave a mock pout, pulling Neteyam closer, her grip cruel and deliberate as she connected her kuru with his. The tendrils wrapped together, and Neteyam collapsed to his knees with a cry, pain ripping through him as the bond was forced open.
“Choose,” Varang snarled. “Your people. Your mother. Or him.”
Outside, the battle raged on, blood soaking into the forest floor as warriors fell on both sides. Slowly, the fighting began to fracture, the few remaining combatants retreating, battered and broken. Lew’eyn stood between them, shouting that this war was not the answer, but his words were swallowed by smoke and screams as he finally fled, his heart heavy with failure.
Varang’s blade never wavered.
The metal pressed so close to Neteyam’s kuru that you could see the faint shimmer of the tendrils beneath it, delicate and impossibly fragile against something designed only to destroy. Your chest felt too tight to draw a full breath, every inhale shallow and panicked, as if the air itself refused to enter you properly. Your hands curled uselessly at your sides, fingers trembling, the instinct to run to him screaming through your body even as fear rooted you in place.
Neteyam knelt on the stone floor, shoulders hunched, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the forced connection burned through him. His hands dug into the rock beneath him as if he could anchor himself to the ground, as if that alone might keep him from shattering. His face was twisted in pain, teeth clenched, a low sound caught somewhere between a growl and a sob tearing its way from his chest.
“Mother,” you whispered, your voice barely more than breath. Saying the word felt wrong and inevitable all at once, a lifetime of devotion and fear wrapped into a single sound. Your throat burned as you swallowed hard, eyes flicking from her face to the blade and back again. “Please.”
Varang tilted her head slightly, studying you the way one might study a wounded animal. Her eyes were bright, fevered, reflecting the torchlight in sharp, erratic flashes. There was triumph there, yes, but beneath it something far more dangerous—vindication. Proof, in her mind, that she had been right all along.
“You beg now,” she said quietly. “After everything you have done.”
Outside, the sounds of battle were beginning to thin, the roar fading into scattered clashes and distant cries. Smoke drifted through the broken openings in the stone, carrying the scent of blood and scorched earth. The war was bleeding out, warriors retreating not because they had won or lost, but because there was nothing left to give.
Your legs felt weak beneath you. Every memory seemed to press in at once—standing at Varang’s side as a child, watching her map out raids in ash and bone; kneeling in the Hallelujah Mountains, wrists bound, defiant and burning with hate; standing beneath the Spirit Tree, your heart cracking open as Eywa’s presence wrapped around you like something ancient and endlessly kind. All of it collided inside your chest, a storm of loyalty and love and grief so overwhelming it threatened to tear you apart.
Neteyam lifted his head just enough to look at you.
Even through the pain, his eyes searched your face, not with accusation, not with fear, but with something achingly gentle. Understanding. Acceptance. As if, whatever you chose, he already knew it would cost you everything.
That was what finally broke you.
A sob tore free before you could stop it, your vision blurring as tears spilled over. “I never wanted this,” you said, the words rushing out, desperate and raw. “I never wanted any of this. I just wanted it to stop. I wanted them to live. I wanted—” Your voice cracked completely, the rest of the sentence dissolving into a sound of pure anguish.
Varang’s grip tightened on Neteyam’s kuru, and he cried out sharply, his body folding in on itself as the pain surged anew.
“Enough,” she snapped. “This ends now.”
The blade shifted, just slightly.
Your heart slammed against your ribs, terror eclipsing everything else. You took a step forward without thinking, then another, hands raised in a futile, pleading gesture. “Don’t,” you begged. “Please don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever you ask.”
Her smile was slow and terrible.
“That,” she said softly, “is exactly what I am asking.”
The silence that followed was crushing. Even the mountain seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy and unmoving around you. Your mind raced, grasping at impossible solutions, at words that might undo what had already been done. There were none. There had never been.
You looked at Varang, really looked at her, and for the first time you saw not just your mother or your leader, but a woman hollowed out by war, by loss, by a belief so rigid it had left no room for mercy. You saw the fear beneath her fury—the terror of a world changing beyond her control, of a daughter slipping from her grasp into something she could neither understand nor dominate.
Then you looked at Neteyam.
You remembered the warmth of his hands, the softness of his voice when he spoke of the forest, the way his eyes had lit with wonder when he realized you were capable of gentleness. You remembered the Spirit Tree, the way Eywa’s presence had felt like truth itself settling into your bones.
Your choice burned in your chest, searing and inevitable.
Outside, the last of the warriors were retreating, the forest falling into a wounded, aching quiet. Smoke curled upward through the canopy, carrying with it the echoes of screams and shattered vows. Lew’eyn was already gone, fleeing home with the weight of a war that should never have been fought pressing down on his shoulders.
Inside the ruined heart of the Ash village, Varang leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you.
“Go on,” she said. “Choose.”
Your breath shook as you opened your mouth.
And the world seemed to tilt, everything you had ever been and everything you might still become hanging on the next word you spoke.
Your hands were shaking.
You hated that Varang could see it. Hated that your body betrayed you even now, even after everything you had already lost. Your fingers trembled at your sides, nails biting into your palms as if pain might anchor you, might keep you from splintering apart under the weight of what she was asking of you.
Your mother stood so close you could smell the familiar smoke clinging to her skin, the same scent that had followed her through every moment of your childhood. Her blade was still poised at Neteyam’s kuru, the edge gleaming cruelly in the torchlight, so near that it felt like a held breath stretched far too long. Neteyam knelt before her, shoulders tight, his body still recovering from the forced connection, chest rising and falling unevenly as he fought for air.
When he looked at you, it was not with fear.
That shattered you.
There was pain in his eyes, yes, and exhaustion, but beneath it was something far worse. Trust. A quiet, devastating certainty that whatever you chose, he would accept it. That you would not be cruel enough to let him suffer without reason. That you were still you.
Your throat closed.
Every memory of your mother crashed into you all at once. Her voice when you were young, sharp but proud. Her hands guiding yours when you first learned to hold a blade. The nights she sat beside you after raids, silent but present, her approval something you learned to crave even when it came wrapped in violence. She had shaped you, honed you, turned you into a weapon for a world that demanded blood. For so long, you had believed that was love.
And then there was the forest.
Eywa’s presence had not demanded anything of you. She had not asked you to prove yourself through suffering. She had simply been. Open. Vast. Gentle in a way that had undone you completely. And Neteyam, standing at the threshold between those worlds, had shown you that softness was not weakness. That choosing life did not mean abandoning strength.
Your breath hitched.
Your fingers brushed against the shaft of an arrow at your hip.
The movement was instinctive, almost unconscious, driven by something older than fear. Varang noticed immediately. Her eyes flicked downward, then snapped back to your face, sharp and assessing. Slowly, her lips curled upward, the beginnings of a smile spreading across her features.
“Oh?” she murmured, amusement threading her voice. “Is that how this ends?”
Her tone made your stomach twist. She thought she knew you. Thought this was another test she had already won.
You did not answer her.
Your hand closed fully around the arrow, grounding yourself in its familiar weight. You lifted it free, every motion deliberate, your mind screaming even as your body moved with lethal precision. You nocked the arrow and raised your bow, the wood pressing solidly against your palm. When you drew the string back, the tension sang through your arms, steady and true, just as she had trained you.
The arrowhead aligned with Varang’s skull.
For a heartbeat, the world went silent.
Then she laughed.
It was not warm. It was not amused. It was sharp and jagged, a sound that scraped against the stone walls and echoed back at you in fractured pieces. She threw her head back, laughter spilling from her in a wild, unhinged cackle that made your skin crawl. To her, this was still a game. A performance. Proof that you were reaching for threats you could never follow through on.
“You think you could do it?” she taunted, eyes gleaming as she looked back at you. “You think you have it in you to kill your own mother?”
Your vision blurred.
Tears welled despite your best efforts, streaking down your cheeks, but your arms did not waver. You tightened your grip. Drew the string back another fraction. Your muscles burned, not from strain, but from restraint. From holding yourself together when everything inside you was screaming to break.
Killing her would end it. The war. Her grip on your people. The fear that had ruled your life.
And that terrified you more than anything.
Because it meant acknowledging that the woman who raised you had become something that needed to be stopped.
Varang’s laughter faltered.
She saw it then. Not hesitation, but resolve. The way your shoulders squared. The way your breathing slowed, forced into control. The way your eyes locked onto hers, glassy with tears but unflinching.
The sound cut off abruptly, her expression twisting into a snarl.
“You would dare,” she hissed, venom dripping from every syllable.
She saw herself. Varang saw the child she once was, ruthless and determined. You were a spitting image of her, red painted smeared across your face and all. Her pride was crushed by her bruising ego, hating the fact that you were her. Only better. Smarter.
Your chest felt like it was caving in. You wanted to scream. To beg. To rewind time to before any of this had ever happened. But instead, you held her gaze, silently letting her see the truth she had refused to accept.
You had already lost her.
For a long, terrible moment, neither of you moved.
Then Varang’s jaw clenched. With a sharp, furious sound, she shoved Neteyam away from her, releasing his kuru with a violent yank. The forced connection snapped, and Neteyam cried out as his body collapsed forward, palms slamming into the stone as he gasped for breath, pain tearing through him in one final wave.
“Run,” Varang snarled.
You did not hesitate.
The bow fell from your hands as you surged forward, dropping to Neteyam’s side and hooking an arm under his shoulder. He was unsteady, disoriented, but he moved with you, trusting you even now as you hauled him to his feet.
Behind you, Varang’s voice rose, sharp and furious, echoing through the chamber like a curse.
“This is not over!” she screamed. “You hear me? The war is not over!”
You did not look back.
The Ash village erupted into chaos as you burst outside. Smoke hung thick in the air, stinging your eyes, and the ground beneath your feet was slick with ash and blood. Returning warriors froze at the sight of you fleeing together, shock rippling through them before shouts broke out.
Hands reached for you.
Someone grabbed your arm, fingers digging in painfully, and you twisted free with a sharp cry, slamming your elbow back into their ribs. Another lunged for Neteyam, and something feral snapped inside you. You shoved them away, claws raking across their face as they stumbled back, cursing.
Your heart thundered in your chest as adrenaline flooded your veins, fear and determination blurring into something singular and unstoppable. You fought your way forward, dragging Neteyam with you as more Ash warriors closed in, torn between loyalty and disbelief.
For a terrifying moment, it felt like the entire village was turning against you.
Then a piercing screech cut through the chaos.
A nightwraith dove from the smoke-filled sky, landing hard nearby as its wings flared wide. Lew’eyn was already leaning down from the saddle, his expression frantic as he held out a hand.
“Now!” he shouted.
You shoved Neteyam forward, scrambling up after him as Lew’eyn hauled you both onto the nightwraith’s back. Claws scraped at your legs as warriors tried to grab you, but the beast surged upward, wings beating violently as it tore free from the ground.
The village fell away beneath you.
Varang’s scream followed you into the air, raw and furious, carrying long after the Ash Nation shrank into a smoldering blur below.
Neteyam slumped forward, breath still uneven, and you wrapped an arm around him without thinking, holding him upright as Lew’eyn guided the nightwraith higher. The wind tore at your face and braids, cold and sharp, but you barely noticed.
Slowly, Neteyam lifted his head. His eyes met yours for just a moment, filled with awe, disbelief, and something dangerously close to heartbreak. You saw it there, the realization settling in. That you had chosen him. Not just him, but everything he represented. The forest. A future that was terrifying and uncertain and free.
Without a word, he reached forward and took the reins, his hands steady despite everything, guiding the nightwraith toward the distant glow of the Hallelujah Mountains.
You were tainted. And the thrum in your chest didn't help you figure out whether if it was the forest or the ash that had done so.
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