jessie

[neteyamthinker]

i’m here to stay

pairings aged-up neteyam x mom!na’vi reader

notes reader is neteyam’s wife, workaholic neteyam, temporary separation, their son is the cutest toddler on pandora, groveling (if you squint), smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)

synopsis a year ago, you made the painful choice to walk away from neteyam after he proved time and again that his duties to the war party came before you and his son. you knew he was only trying to be the dutiful soldier everyone expected him to be, and that he would have kept going that way... until your son unwittingly reminded his father of everything he was throwing away for the sake of duty and war.

word count 16.8k

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Your hand on your mount’s reins tightened as the sight of the clouded Hallelujah Mountains loomed closer and closer with each beat of your ikran’s wings. The flight from your home clan to the Omatikaya was over an hour long, but you were glad that the weather was nice enough for you to travel. Your other arm renewed its hold on the woven wrap strapped securely to your body, holding your son, his small hands gripping at your woven knife sheath, his large amber eyes wide with excitement.

He was two years old today. Two years since he came into the world, his cries echoing in the vast canopy of a home that no longer existed. His birth was closely followed by the return of the sky people who tore the sky open, burned your forests, forced the people to face a seemingly endless war, and took your husband from you.

“Mama! Look! Look!” Nevan chirped, his tail whipping excitedly against your hip inside the wrap. He pointed a chubby finger at the swarm of flying fkios. “Fkios flying so fast! Like me!”

You smiled, “Yes, sweet boy,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “They are going home, I suppose, just like us.”

He giggled when you tickled his ear with your nose. “Visit Papa?” he asked.

You clamped your mouth shut, pulling his body closer as if he wasn’t literally tied to you at the moment. “Ah, yes... Visiting Papa,” you murmured, but his attention was already back on the flying fkios, his dangling feet wiggling excitedly.

When your ikran glided down onto the landing ledges of the High Camp, the crisp smell of distant rain from high above yielded to the smell of heavy mountain air and some smoke from the resistance’s machinery. You dislodged your kuru from your ikran’s, trying not to look at the man standing at the edge of the platform.

He wasn’t wearing his warrior gear for once, only his chest knife sheath, but he still looked every bit the commander he had become since the sky people’s return. The role he allowed to step over his roles as a husband and a father, you thought cynically, but you immediately tried to quell it. What’s the use of thinking of it when it has already happened before your very eyes and it already ruined everything?

He was standing tall, almost like the pillar that he is to the clan, but the moment his eyes landed on you, his rigid posture faltered, but you tore your eyes off him when your son wriggled furiously in the wrap.

“Alright, alright, sweet boy,” you chuckled, dismounting your ikran and carefully unbuckling the woven wrap.

From your peripheral vision, you could see Neteyam walking toward you two, but as soon as you’d freed him, Nevan immediately scrambled down, his little feet pattering furiously across the ground as he ran toward his father. Neteyam dropped to his knees, his massive arms catching the boy, lifting him high into the air, making Nevan let out a high-pitched, joyful screech.

You watched Neteyam press his forehead against his son’s, closing his eyes as a fierce, protective rumble vibrated in his chest. But even as he held the boy, his eyes flew up, looking past Nevan’s shoulder, his gaze locking onto yours with a look that is so heavy, suffocatingly dense with a longing so profound it felt like a physical weight in the air between you. It was the look of a starving man staring at a feast he wasn't allowed to touch.

His eyes traced the curve of your jaw and the softness of your features, desperate to find even just a sliver of hint that you’re feeling what he’s feeling. But you didn't give him one. Carefully, you looked away, focusing instead on your son’s little kicking legs and on the way Neteyam’s large hands held him safely. You chose to see him only as a father, completely shutting out the man who used to hold you the exact same way.

It hadn't always been like this. That was the cruelest part.

Your marriage hadn't been a political arrangement or a hasty union, it had been a lifetime in the making. Your parents were part of Jake and Neytiri’s inner circle since before the first war against the sky people. Through the many times your parents would bring you to visit the Omatikaya, you had witnessed Neteyam grow from a lanky boy into the man he is now.

And he had known you were for him since you were children. Neteyam was never one to waste time or play games, so he had always stake a claim on you, and the moment you both came of age, he courted you with a fierce, unwavering devotion that made even your parents sigh. You were sweethearts as teenagers, inseparable and fiercely protective of one another. When he mated with you before his and your people, his eyes had held nothing but a future filled with you.

And, your pregnancy had been a dream. Neteyam was a doting, almost ridiculously attentive husband. He would spend hours rubbing soothing oils on your aching back, pressing his ear to your growing belly to whisper stories of the forest and your childhood escapades to his unborn child. He never left your side. You had no doubt, not a single one, that you were the center of his universe.

Then, the sky people returned.

And the man you loved was swallowed whole by the war. Suddenly, he wasn't just Neteyam. He was the firstborn of the resistance leaders, the commander, and one of the unyielding pillars that kept the people from being completely overcome by the RDA. He began leaving before the first light of dawn and returning long after you and the baby had fallen asleep.

For over a year, you lived as a ghost in your own home. You sat alone in the dark, rocking a crying infant, praying to the Great Mother that the next body brought back on a stretcher wouldn’t be his. You begged him, you cried, you pleaded for just one evening. “Just for a day, Neteyam. Stay. Be with me, be with our son...”

But his face would harden, that stubborn, unyielding Jake-Sully look taking over. “I am doing this for our future, my love. If I do not fight, our children will have no world to inherit.”

And then it all just crumbled on your son’s first birthday.

It was a simple thing, really. You had spent days gathering sweet fruits, weaving small toys, hoping against hope that Neteyam would remember. You waited until midnight. When he finally walked into the kelku, covered in war paint and soot, he didn't even look at the small, untouched feast on the woven mat. He just muttered about a successful raid on an RDA supply train and collapsed into sleep.

He had completely forgotten.

And you were hit with the realization that the man you loved was dead, replaced by a warrior who had no room left in his heart for anything but strategy and casualties. You had cried all your tears by then. The well was dry. You were just so profoundly, deeply tired. So, you talked to him about going back home, citing the safety your clan’s territory could provide for you and Nevan to make him agree.

“Baby, this is your home now...” he had told you then, his arms tight around you as he fit his head in the crook of your neck.

“I know, Neteyam. But the explosion was too close yesterday. I am afraid for Nevan. This is not a place where he can safely run around and... be a child. I do not want to lose him, too...”

“Too?” he had asked, his hands maneuvering you so you’d face him but you didn’t budge. “Baby, you didn’t lose me—”

“All evidence to the contrary, Neteyam. I haven’t shared a meal with you in so long, you weren’t there when Nevan first laughed or when Nevan first uttered the word Papa, you weren’t there when he took his first steps. I am a ghost in this home. It would make no difference if we are away, because you had been acting like you had no family to come home to.”

His arms tightened around you, his nose burying in your neck. “It would make all the difference. I am coming home to my wife and child safe and sound, and that was my solace—”

You struggled to remove his arms around you, but his arms were iron tight. Your heart throbbed with pain but you couldn’t even cry. “So, then let me go home. Nevan and I will be completely safe there, if that’s what you truly care about.”

“I can’t be away from you, yawne, you’re practically asking me to stop breathing. I cannot not see you and Nevan—”

“When was the last time you’d seen your son, Neteyam? You leave before he wakes up and comes back long after he’d fallen asleep. I think you can, Neteyam, you can stand not seeing us. As I said, it would make no difference if we were here, or we were back home.”

That was that beginning of you leaving him to his war. He hadn’t known it would be a full-blown separation... But he had long before set that distance between himself and you. You’d just gotten the memo late.

“Watch, Mama! My big splash!”

Nevan’s high-pitched voice snapped you back to the present. You sat on a smooth, sun-warmed rock by the riverbank, your hand propped on the soft woven mat laid beautifully on the grass. Around you were various food, pies, and fruits Neteyam had prepared. You could barely eat it without your throat closing at the grief of this not being a permanent thing.

You’d told him Nevan wanted to celebrate his birthday here, that he misses Jake and Neytiri, and he promised you it would be different this time. You told him not to promise you anything, and just show it to his son. So far, he had kept his promise. He had cleared his entire day, which is probably an unthinkable feat for the commander of the resistance. He had brought a mountain of gifts for his boy. Beautifully carved wooden toys that he probably spent the past moons making, a small bow, and a woven arm band.

Now, he was knee-deep in the crystal-clear water, his loincloth soaked, laughing as Nevan furiously slapped the water, sending a pathetic little wave toward his father’s shins. Neteyam exaggerated his reaction, falling backward into the water with a loud splash, making Nevan howl with glee.

For a moment, the illusion was perfect. You looked like a little family. Neteyam would look up at you from the water, a soft, hopeful smile playing on his lips, trying to pull you into the warmth of the moment. You would smile back politely, a distant curve of your lips that never reached your eyes. You were here for Nevan. Only Nevan.

Nevan waddled out of the water, dripping wet, and proudly held up a crudely constructed object from the pack you brought from home. It was a woven sheath of colorful leaves, bound tightly with vines, holding a cluster of bright purple orchids. You shook your head with a smile as you fixed the pack, wiping the puddle of water he left behind.

“Look, Papa!” Nevan beamed, shoving the wet flowers directly into Neteyam’s face. “A flower sheath! Uncle Maytel taught me how... how to twist the vines. They don't break!”

You searched for a dry towel in your pack, smiling as you watched your son speak, his little body trembling in excitement.

“Uncle... Maytel?” Neteyam echoed. The playful, warm tone in his voice vanished instantly, replaced by a low, measured cadence.

You blinked, your eyes snapping to him. Suddenly, you had become aware of how ugly that sounded in the ears of people who didn’t know. You froze for a moment, the air in your lungs suddenly feeling like liquid lead as you watched Neteyam momentarily narrow his eyes, the look of a formidable hunter spotting a prey. Or a predator sensing blood might be the better description.

“Yes!” Nevan replied excitedly, entirely oblivious to the sudden, deadly shift in the atmosphere. He had just opened a cage containing a predator, and he thought he was playing with a puppy. “Uncle Maytel... He makes the best ones! He is Mama’s friend... They talk all the time. See... This is pretty. Right, Papa? Look at Mama's hair. See? I can make that, too, Papa. I will teach you!”

Nevan pointed a chubby finger at you. You had indeed used a beautiful hair decoration to pin back your hair in a half ponytail, letting the rest of your wavy locks flow loose behind you, having no idea at all how the sight of you earlier today literally stole the breath from Neteyam’s lungs. You are so beautiful, always have been, but it hits him particularly hard now that he doesn't see you as often.

He has never been used to being away from you for so long. This is probably the longest he has gone without you, such that every time he sees you now, his heart starts doing the thing it did when he first realized he loved you: flipping inside his chest and then melting into a puddle.

You kept your face as blank as stone, waiting for Neteyam to look at youjust as his son instructed. Neteyam was standing up now, but he wasn't looking at the decorations on your hair. He was staring directly at you, and the look he gave you almost choked the air right out of your throat. He didn’t look mad, it also wasn’t the detached look of a commander. It was that intensely familiar, deeply possessive, primal look he used to give you when another hunter talked to you for a second too long during his youth. His eyes darkened, his lips tightening into a straight line as his gaze finally dropped to the decorations in your hair before snapping back to your eyes immediately.

“Is that so, my boy?” Neteyam said softly, his voice dropping an octave, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes! He says Mama is... is very beautiful!” Nevan cheered, completely ruining any chance of a graceful exit.

So for the rest of the afternoon, you made it your absolute mission in life to never, ever be left alone with Neteyam.

When you returned to the camp, you practically shadowed Jake and Neytiri. When Neytiri pulled Nevan onto her lap to feed him sweet fruit, you sat right beside her, suddenly intensely interested in what she has to say. When Jake took Nevan to show him the ikran roost, you walked right behind them, using your son as a shield as Neteyam followed like a shadow.

He stayed a respectful distance though, answering his son's hundred questions about the beasts, even the imaginary ones, coming up with the perfect answers for it. For a moment, you were back to being a teenager, annoying the golden heir of Toruk Makto with your silly questions and having him answer you with complete seriousness, as though he really thought about your silly questions like they were points for further research.

His eyes were a constant, burning pressure on your skin the entire time, and every time you glanced up with a neutral expression, he was watching you. Eventually, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purple. Neytiri, seeing how exhausted the toddler was, scooped Nevan up.

“He will sleep with us tonight,” Neytiri said softly, giving you a knowing, gentle look that made your stomach twist. She thought she was doing you a favor, giving you and Neteyam a night of privacy. “Go. Rest.”

“Oh, I can take him—” you started quickly, reaching for your son.

“No, no,” Jake chuckled, clapping a heavy hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. “Let his grandparents spoil him for one night. Go on.”

You stood there, watching Neytiri walked away, your son already fast asleep against her shoulder. Oh, boy. You watched the rest of the camp clear out as the rest of the people retreated to their homes. You didn’t turn to Neteyam, turning instead toward the guest tents, your pace brisk, but you didn't even make it halfway before a large hand gently but firmly gripped your forearm.

It wasn’t a harsh pull,  but his grip was unyielding. “Our home’s here,” he reminded you.

You glared at him through your lashes. “I haven’t forgotten,” you said in a clipped tone, walking straight into the shadows of your old home, and seeing that nothing much had changed, only that he’d put up photos on the wall.

And from where you were standing, you’ve seen one from his unilatron many years ago. With him painted in swirling marks of white and you, standing beside him with a huge smile. Another, at your mating ceremony, and another, a photo of you heavily pregnant. The last one was a photo of the three of you, with Nevan as a newborn, cradled in your arm, both of your faces adorned with brilliant smiles.

Grief seized your heart and you had to physical turn away from it, your hands balling into fist.

“You've been avoiding me all day,” Neteyam stated, standing between you and the flap entrance, his large frame casting a long shadow over you.

“I was spending time with our son's grandparents, Neteyam. It's his birthday,” you replied, keeping your voice entirely light and normal. You walked over to the sleeping mats, untying your travel pack and organizing your things with practiced nonchalance.

“Who is Maytel?”

The question was sharp and direct, like always. Neteyam had never liked beating around the bush. You took a deep breath, turning around with a calm, casual smile. “A childhood friend from my clan,” you said.

“A childhood friend,” Neteyam repeated, his voice low, a dangerous rumble vibrating in his throat. He took a slow step toward you, his tail twitching rhythmically behind him. “Never heard of him before.”

“I have many friends back home, Neteyam,” you said. “There was no reason to bring him up. He's just a friend. He helps at home, and he’s good with Nevan. My friends have all been a huge help to me since I moved back.”

Neteyam stopped just inches from you. He was so close you could smell the familiar mint-y scent of him. All your senses were melting. It knew the smell so well, had even associated it with home and safety, and it tore at your chest, a cruel reminder of the husband you had lost. He leaned down slightly, and though he didn’t touch you, you were forced to look into his heavy, shadowed eyes. The possessive fire in them hadn't died down, if anything, it was burning hotter, fueled by the agonizing restraint he was forcing upon himself.

“He makes ornaments for your hair,” Neteyam murmured, his eyes dropping to the flowers on your soft hair. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out and rip it from your hair, but he kept his fist clenched at his side. “He talks to you all the time—”

“To help. All my friends help me, Neteyam, you’ve seen Laika and Nira helping me last time," you countered smoothly, your eyes locking onto his, refusing to back down. “I am a single mother raising a little boy. I needed all the help I can get. Nothing more.”

His head reared back a little as if you’d hit him. The words single mother hit him squarely like a slap and you saw the visible flinch in his jaw, the way his chest heaved as he swallowed the bitter taste of his own failures.

He stared at you for a long, suffocating moment. He knew you were telling the truth about Maytel being just a friend. He knows you, he knows the woman he married, he knows that you would never violate the bonds of marriage, even a broken one. But that didn't stop the sickening, agonizing jealousy from clawing at his throat. Another man was filling his space. Another man was teaching his son how to weave. Another man was making his wife smile.

“You are not single. I am still very much here,” he said.

“I don’t want to argue about what here actually means,” you replied, tearing your eyes away and removing the decorations on your hair to free it from its bounds.

He watched you, choosing not to press further, but as he stepped back, his eyes remained devastatingly heavy on you. “He is a friend,” he whispered, his voice thick with an unspoken, desperate plea. “But he is not my son’s father. And he is not your husband.”

As he uttered those words, the reality of his hypocrisy came crashing back down on him. Maytel, indeed, was not Nevan’s father, nor was he your husband... But could he honestly say he was both of those things to you and Nevan? He visited the two of you as much as he was capable, but that didn’t mean anything. He was an absent father, and an even more absent husband, and he wondered completely how his son still held excitement and affection for him instead of distance.

And how the boy knew everything he was doing for the people. He knew that, even in your current indifference, you had thoroughly made the boy understand that his father had sacrifices to make for the benefit of Eywa’eveng. He watched you lay down on the sleeping mat, pulling a woven blanket up to your shoulders and turning your back to him. He sat down on the opposite side of the yurt.

He wouldn’t lie down, and you had noticed he never did once the two of you were alone in a space. Whenever he visited back home, he would do the same thing, sitting down far away from you, his heavy, burning gaze fixed on your back, mourning a home he had lost to a war he was still fighting.

The morning arrived with a crisp chill you hadn't felt in so long. The altitude of the floating mountain made the sun feel unreal. You shared a meal with Neytiri and Jake. Your son, having already bathed, wore a new loincloth with fine weaving, and you put a hand over your mouth as you laughing at him proudly showing it to everyone.

“Grandma made this, Mama!” he told you, munching on a sweet fruit as his little body leaned into Neteyam.

Neteyam held his wrist gently, kissing the side of his head. “No sweet fruit yet without a real meal, little boy...” Neteyam mumbled, replacing the fruit with a bite-sized piece of meat.

“Okay, Papa... But Grandpa said I can eat? I don’t eat this at home... Right, Mama?“ Your son turned to you, now munching on the meat Neteyam had given him.

You smiled softly. “I try not to let him eat too many sweets unless necessary to regulate his body,” you explained. “But Papa is right, Nevan. You must eat your food first before the sweet fruit.”

Neteyam glanced at you, his soft eyes smiling even as he tried to look serious for Nevan who nodded without a fight, even picking some vegetables off his leaf and eating happily.

Neytiri smiled at you. “He is a good child, Y/N. You are doing such a great job with him,“ she said, her eyes a little misty.

You smiled, caressing your son’s head. “Neteyam is, too, Mother. Despite the grueling demands of the war, he makes sure to find time for Nevan,” you said. You couldn't possibly leave him out, not when you knew he was trying his best.

After the meal, the peace you were feeling had dissolved and was replaced by the reality that you had a hazardous flight ahead of you. Outside the yurt, the camp was already buzzing with the low, mechanical drone of the resistance. You stood beside your ikran, adjusting the heavy leather straps of the riding harness, checking every buckle with meticulous care. Nevan was already strapped securely to your body in his woven wrap. He was heavy, but his warmth was comforting, his little hands clutching a newly carved wooden ikran that Neteyam had given him.

A shadow fell over you and you didn't need to look up to know it was Neteyam. He double-checked your ikran’s saddle, his movements deliberate and sharp, before he checked the saddle of his own mount, preparing to take flight alongside you. You stopped tightening the cinch of your saddle, your hand resting flat against the leather. You swallowed the dryness in your throat and turned your head toward him.

“Neteyam,” you called out, your voice quiet but steady. He paused instantly, his ears twitching forward as he turned his head to look at you, his golden eyes wide and alert, catching every syllable. “I think... It wouldn’t be safe if you come with us.”

A subtle, pained stillness took over his features. His chest expanded with a sharp breath, his fingers tightening against his mount's reins. “The skies are not safe, yawne. The gunships have shifted their patrol grids closer to the western border. I am accompanying you home.”

“Neteyam, I would like that, too.” you said, stepping closer so your voice wouldn't carry to where Jake and Neytiri were standing a few paces away. You gestured faintly to the sky, then down to the boy against your chest. “But the tension with the sky people is worse this moon. They know your ikran, Neteyam. They know you. You are the commander of the vanguard; your presence draws the kind of attention I cannot risk when I have our son with me.“

The words seemed to render him weak. Neteyam looked at you with eyes so deeply pained, so utterly crushed, it felt like a blow to the chest. He looked down at his own hands, then at his son's chubby legs dangling from the wrap, as if he couldn't fully comprehend the reality that his very existence, the fierce, formidable identity he had built to protect his people, was now a liability to the safety of his own family.

Nevan, completely unaware of the reason of the heavy silence, looked up at his father with wide eyes. He held up his wooden toy, making a little whistling sound through his teeth. “He’ll fly with us, Papa!”

Neteyam’s heart tightened so visibly you could see the muscle in his jaw clench as he forced a small, strained smile for the boy. He reached out, his large thumb gently tracing Nevan’s round cheek, but his eyes kept flickering back to you, searching your expression for any sign of hesitation. There was none.

Behind him, Jake and Neytiri exchanged a quiet, heavy look. Jake stepped forward, his hand coming down firmly on his eldest son's shoulder.

“She’s right, son,” Jake said softly. “The RDA has scout ships tracking your specific signature. If they spot you flying with your wife and child, we don’t know what they could do.”

Neteyam’s shoulders sank, the breath leaving him in a low, defeated hiss. He knew the logic was flawless. He knew it was the right tactical decision. But the soldier in him was currently losing a brutal war against the husband and father who desperately wanted to prolong his hold on both of you.

“I will send two warriors,” Neteyam muttered, his voice thick as he stepped back from his mount. "They will fly low behind you, out of sight. They will ensure you reach home safely.”

You nodded. “Thank you,” you said softly, genuinely relieved.

Neteyam stepped closer to the side of your ikran, his large body aching to simply reach out, to wrap his iron-strong arms around both of you and never let go. He leaned in, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the top of Nevan’s head, his eyes closing as he inhaled the scent of his son one last time.

As he began to pull away, Nevan’s small fingers suddenly shot out, grabbing Neteyam’s long braids with a stubborn, toddler grip. He yanked, preventing his father from moving back.

“Papa kiss Mama!” Nevan ordered with a bright, demanding grin, his tail swishing behind him in a mischievous flick. “Good bye!”

Neteyam froze, his head tilted downward by the boy's grip. Slowly, his eyes lifted from Nevan’s face to yours. They were completely stripped of the commander's armor, now earnest, dark, and filled with a raw longing that made your breath hitch in your throat. He waited, silently asking for permission.

You looked at his lips, then at the desperate hope in his eyes, and felt the old, stubborn walls in your chest crack just a fraction. Slowly, you tilted your chin up, offering your lips to him.

The tension in Neteyam’s shoulders died instantly. A soft, ragged sigh escaped his nose just before his large, warm hand came up to cup your neck, his thumb on your jaw. He leaned down and closed the distance. You were expecting a brief, polite kiss of departure, but you should have known by the way he held you that it wouldn’t be like that.

The moment his lips touched yours, he held you there with the fierce, unyielding eagerness of a man who had been starving for a year. His lips were warm, firm, and thoroughly possessive, parting slightly as he kissed you, reminding your body of exactly who he was to you. A sudden, stupid heat flared in your stomach, your pulse spiking as your lips instinctively softened against his, responding to the familiar, intoxicating rhythm of his kiss.

He groaned softly against your mouth, his thumb caressing your jaw, pulling you just a fraction closer, trying to collapse the entire year of separation into a breathless second. But a sharp, high-pitched giggle broke the air. Nevan was squirming between you, his small hands clapping.

The sound snapped you back to reality. You pulled away, your breath coming a little faster, your cheeks flushed dark with a sudden surge of heat. Neteyam’s hand lingered on your jaw for a second too long, a low, deep rumble of impatience vibrating in his chest at the interruption, his eyes dark and heavy as he stared at your parted lips.

“Fly safely, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough.

You couldn't even form words. You simply nodded, mounted your ikran, and took to the sky, your mind in an absolute daze as the wind rushed past your face.

The flight back home felt like a blur. Even after you had safely landed on the soft, mossy platforms of your home clan and unbuckled an exhausted Nevan from the wrap, your lips still felt strangely warm, tingling with the ghost of Neteyam's mouth.

“My bestest friend in the world! You are back!”

The cheerful voice of Maytel broke your reverie as he walked down the wooden ramp, followed closely by Laika and Nira. The three of them had been your lifeline this past moons, always ready to help with the daily chores and Nevan.

Maytel practically bounded over to you, his face painted with a mischievous, gossiping energy. He didn't even wait for you to greet them before he leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me everything! How was the High Camp? My weekend went just as good! Do you remember that hunter from the clan nearby that I was eyeing? The one with the long arms? I swear, yesterday, we were together—”

“Maytel!” you hissed, your eyes widening significantly as you pointed them sharply down at your son who was rubbing his eyes but listening intently.

Nevan was an incredibly smart boy and his ears picked up on village gossip faster than a direhorse on the run.

Maytel immediately clamped his hands over his mouth, grinning apologetically. “Oh! Right. Hello there, little Neteyam. How was your visit to your Papa?”

Nevan’s ears instantly perked up, his fatigue temporarily forgotten as his eyes lit up with excitement. “We played a lot!” he chirped before holding his small arms out as wide as they could go. “Papa made big splash in the river! And gave me many toys! You’ll see, Uncle!”

Nevan eagerly held up the wooden ikran, bouncing on his heels as he babbled to Nira and Laika about the sweet fruits, the big mountain camp, and how his Grandpa let him touch a real ikran's snout. The three of them doted on him, laughing at his wild gestures until the boy's eyelids grew too heavy to fight.

You carried him down on his soft, woven cot, watching him with a doting smile as his tail curled peacefully. Even in sleep, his small forehead furrowed slightly in a way that looked identical to his father. It was a constant wonder to you how your boy could look so much like Neteyam, even with his soft baby features.

When you walked back out to the main platform, Maytel was sitting on a woven mat, repairing a fishing net. He looked up, a theatrical sigh escaping his lips.

“Now,” Maytel smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “What happened with the dear husband?”

You rolled your eyes, sitting down across from him and pulling a basket of fibers towards you to clean. “Nothing.”

Maytel groaned loudly, tossing a piece of twine into the air. “I do not know how you could do it, syulang! How you can resist all of... that! The last time he came to visit you here, oh, I couldn't even come near the house even if I tried. The air was so heavy! He is so large... taller than all the men in our village! And so handsome, too... Ah, those thighs... One could only imagine the beast he has inside that loincloth—”

“Maytel!” you shouted, your face burning as a sudden, vivid image of Neteyam’s muscular frame hovering over you flashed unbidden into your mind. Your stomach did a treacherous little flip. Oh, indeed, it was a beast. You cleared your throat quickly, trying to suppress the heat in your neck. “Perhaps you should have visited when he was here. Just yesterday by the river, Nevan mentioned your name to him, and it sounded so terrible. Neteyam thought you were my boytoy.”

Maytel’s eyes widened to the size of stones, his hands dropping the net completely. “What?!”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatic reaction. “Yeah. I should introduce you sometime, just so he stops looking like he wants to hunt something down.”

A slow, terribly mischievous smile spread across Maytel’s face. His amber eyes danced with glee. “Was he jealous, syulang?”

You shrugged, trying to appear completely indifferent. “Neteyam has always been very possessive. It is just his nature.”

“Of course he is!” Maytel grinned, leaning in close, his voice dripping with dramatic flair. “The way that man looks at you... Oh, he looks like a predator completely ready to pounce! Only that you’ve put him inside a cage.” He shivered, rubbing his arms. “We should rattle the cage, syulang.”

Your eyes narrowed instantly into a dangerous glare. “What are you talking about?”

He smirked, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean, let’s see what happens if he keeps thinking I actually want you. You know? A little competition...'”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice dropping into a serious, unyielding tone that left no room for argument. “We will not play with my husband like that. He is currently in the vanguard, fighting a war for all of us. He has enough weight on his shoulders without us playing petty games with his mind.”

Maytel pouted, rolling his eyes as he picked his fishing net back up. “You are such a killjoy!”

When night finally came, the village fell into a quiet rhythm, the bioluminescent flora providing light in brilliant shades of cyan and deep magenta.

Inside your quiet hut, the small tablet you used for long-range communication emitted a low chime. Neteyam called almost every day when he wasn't able to visit, a routine he had stubbornly kept since the day you left.

You picked up the device, pressing the connect button and Neteyam’s face appeared on the small screen, the blue light of the monitor reflecting his sharp features, sitting in the dark of your yurt, looking exhausted.

“Papa!” Nevan’s voice cut through the quiet as the boy scrambled from his cot, his small hands immediately snatching the tablet from you.

You let him take it, stepping back. The memory of the kiss from this morning was still burning in your chest, and the ridiculous things Maytel had said earlier kept echoing in your mind. Hearing the deep, gravelly texture of Neteyam’s voice through the speaker seemed to tickle something deep within you, sending a slow, persistent heat crawling up your neck.

You watched from a distance as Nevan babbled to the screen, showing his father the toy again, telling him about the fish he saw in the river. Neteyam listened with an intensity that made your heart ache, his expression soft and full of a quiet, reverence for the boy.

“Go to sleep now, son,” Neteyam’s voice softened as Nevan yawned heavily, his little eyes fluttering shut as he rested his head against the mat, the tablet propped up beside him. “Good night, Nevan.”

“Night, Papa...” the boy murmured, completely out.

The screen shifted slightly as Neteyam adjusted his hold on his end. He knew you were still in the room. Even though he couldn't see you in the dim light of the hut, his voice dropped into a low, intimate frequency that felt like a warm hand sliding up your spine.

“Good night, my love,” he whispered into the quiet. “I love you so much.”

The line went dead with a soft beep.

You stood there in the dark for a long time, the silence of the room suddenly feeling incredibly loud. Your skin felt hypersensitive, your heart drumming a strange rhythm against your ribs as you carried the tablet back to the shelf and finally lay down on your own sleeping mat beside your son.

When sleep finally took you, it didn't bring the peaceful, dreamless rest.

It was a dream that seemed familiar to you. It was real... More like a memory haunting you. You were under a canopy in a forest that was so green and vibrantly alive. Your vision focused and you saw Neteyam in fromt of you. He looked so young, entirely devoid of the rigid exhaustion the war brought. He was grinning, a look that made your heart jump.

He had you pinned against the smooth bark of a giant root, his large hands mapping the curves of your body with a desperate fervor. You were both shivering, caught in the reckless, consuming heat of youthful desire. His fingers were knuckles-deep inside you, the slick, wet heat of you coating him as he moved frantically in and out, stretching you beyond relief. It was a tight, intense friction, but even in the haze of the dream, you found yourself thinking that it was a far gentler stretch than the thick, heavy length of his cock, which your hands were currently fisted around. You pumped him in tandem with his rhythm, his weight leaning heavily into you as a ragged groan escaped his throat.

“I missed you, my baby...” he mumbled against your skin, his lips trailing a path of burning kisses from your collarbone up to your jaw before crashing onto your mouth, tasting of pure adoration. His fingers moved faster, driving you closer and closer to a cliff you wanted to fall off of.

You let out a soft, breathless chuckle against his lips, your fingers tightening around his length. “Missed me? We are always together, ‘teyam...”

But the moment the words left your mouth, you watched his face fall, a profound sadness washing over his golden eyes. “Not really, no...” he whispered, his voice cracking with a vulnerability that made your chest ache. “You are so far away from me right now...”

Panic seized your heart, sharp and sudden like an arrow to the ribs. “What...?” you gasped, reaching for his face, but his image was already dissolving like smoke in the wind. “Neteyam—”

You woke up with a violent gasp, your eyes flying open to the quiet, dark interior of your hut.

Your heart was hammering a frantic, echoing rhythm against your ribs, and your breath came in ragged bursts. The cool night air swept over your bare skin. Between your thighs, the phantom ache of his fingers was still vividly there, a throbbing warmth that slowly turned cold as the reality settled in. You pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to force the image of his younger, unburdened smile back into the dark.

You missed him so much.

This wasn't the first time. You had dreamed of him many times in the past moons. But they were never dreams that hasn’t happened, they were always memories, beautifully cruel and vibrant, haunting you even in your sleep. Your dreams weren’t showing you what could be, it was torturing you with what used to be, a reminder that while you had successfully run away from the war, you had never truly managed to run away from him.

The lingering mix of heat and longing from the dream stayed with you for days, but lately, only the heat seemed to have stuck. And it’s annoying. You were glad you didn’t have to see him for the time being, because it often happens every time you see him. Fortunately, you somehow at least manage to overcome the trials and tribulations of being a woman who chose to separate from the man she loves so much.

By midday, you were sitting on the main platform of your hut, the basket of fibers in your lap serving as a distraction while Maytel sat cross-legged opposite you. He was at it again, his fingers weaving river-grass and glossy feather-like fibers into an intricate hair crown. It wasn't for you this time, because Maytel has always been the unofficial beautifier of the clan's young women, and right now, he was carefully crafting a piece for a girl from the lower terraces.

“I am telling you, syulang, he nearly fell out of his hammock when I walked past,” Maytel was wheezing, his tail thrashing with dramatic delight as he recounted his latest encounter with his long-armed hunter. “He tried to act so smooth, but the poor thing was blushing so hard his stripes almost turned purple!”

You let out a loud, genuine laugh, shaking your head as you tossed a cleaned fiber at him. “You are terrible, Maytel. Leave the poor man alone before you break his spirit entirely.”

“Never! A little torment keeps the blood pumping,” he grinned, his fingers flying through the weaving.

“Mama! Mama!”

Nevan’s high-pitched voice shattered the lighthearted bubble. You blinked, looking toward the main walkway, expecting to see Nira or Laika chasing after your hyperactive son.

Instead, your breath caught squarely in your throat.

Walking just a step behind Nevan, his massive frame practically shadowing over your son, was Neteyam.

He was in his full warrior gear, wearing his cummerbund, his chest knife sheat, and his heavy longbow strapped to his back, looking thoroughly prepared in case he gets attacked on his way here. He looked terrifyingly formidable, and a little out of place, too. Everyone in your clan knows of his reputation as a warrior leading the resistance with his parents, and they have always treated that as something to celebrate.

Your eyes snapped straight to his face after a quick sweep of his gear, your heart jumping to your throat at the sight of his eyes narrowed into slits. To anyone else, he just looked like the stoic, fierce commander of the Omatikaya, carrying himself with his usual rigid authority. But you? You had known him since you were children. You had held him in the dark. You knew every subtle twitch of his ears, every micro-expression of his jaw.

There's your angry man.

He was staring directly at Maytel, his eyes tracking the way Maytel was sitting so comfortably close to you, sizing up his competition with a cold, calculating precision.

“Oh, Great Mother,” Maytel muttered through entirely gritted teeth, his smile freezing in place as he deliberately kept his lips from moving. “Is this your view every day? If yes, how dare you leave him, syulang? If I had one of that at home, I would never think of this clan again.”

You threw Maytel a furious, warning glare. Those seem like the perfect digs, because this isn’t your view at all, you barely even see him. You also didn’t have one of that at home... Literally, because the man was rarely home. You stood up, looking at Neteyam with look of genuine confusion. Before Maytel could even speak again, Nevan reached the steps leading to the platform, throwing his little body against your legs before turning around and pointing proudly at his father.

“Papa surprised me at the ledge, Mama!”

Neteyam stepped onto the platform, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. Without a word, he bent down and effortlessly scooped Nevan up into one massive arm, propping the boy against his hip. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek as he looked down at you.

“Neteyam,” you said, your voice tilting up. “You... you weren't due to visit until next week. The patrol schedules on the tablet said you were in the western valleys... You should have sent word, I haven’t prepared anything.”

His brows raised slightly, his tail twitching in an agitated flick behind him. He adjusted his grip on Nevan, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly tone. “A word to visit my wife and my son? Do I need that now, my love?”

You blinked, completely caught off guard by the sheer pettiness dripping from the commander of the Omatikaya vanguard. A tiny, involuntary rise twitched on your brows. “N...no, of course you don’t,” you stammered slightly, trying very hard to keep your face neutral. “But what brought you here? Are the people alright?”

“The people are perfectly fine,” he answered, his eyes darting back to Maytel who was currently staring up at him with wide, completely unbothered eyes. In fact, Maytel looked like he was watching a theatrical performance, his gaze tracking Neteyam’s shoulders and the broad sweep of his chest with shameless appreciation.

You pursed yourself to stop a chuckle from escaping you at the realization that Neteyam had absolutely no idea what Maytel's true self was. To Neteyam, this was simply the man who was staying way too long talking to you, helping you, and weaving flowers into your hair.

“Neteyam,” you cleared your throat, stepping between them to cut off Neteyam's death stare before he accidentally declared a one-man war on your village. “This is Maytel. The one Nevan was telling you about.”

Neteyam shifted Nevan to his other hip, his posture locking into an intensely rigid, formal stance. He looked down at Maytel as if he were interrogating a prisoner of war. “I see,” Neteyam rumbled, his voice dripping with an absurd amount of authority. “I hear you have been a great assistance to my family, Maytel. I couldn’t thank you enough.”

Maytel blinked, a slow, highly amused smirk tugging at his lips. He stood a full head shorter than Neteyam, but showing absolutely zero fear. Instead, he let his eyes lazily trail down Neteyam's torso, before going back up to his face.

“It is no trouble at all,” Maytel purred, his voice smooth. “Your wife is my absolute favorite person to spend my days with and little Nevan here is just a joy to watch grow. You can’t take your eyes off of kids these days, they grow up so fast!”

You gritted your teeth, widening your eyes at Maytel, and having him glance at you with that confident I-can-handle-this look.

Neteyam’s ears threatened to flatten against his head. His nostrils flared as he looked at Maytel, his jaw locking hard as he absorbed the thinly veiled barb about being an absent husband and father, but the aggressive tension in his shoulder dissolved as quickly as it came. In its place emerged the smooth grin of a boy you had grown up with. Neteyam has never been one to take a slight seriously.

“Is that right?” Neteyam asked, his grin widening into something effortlessly dangerous. He patted Nevan’s back, his tail flicking behind him in slow, rhythmic moves. “Well, I can’t blame you. My wife is an excellent company, and my boy is easily the best part of anyone's day. I appreciate you keeping them entertained while I was away.”

Your lips twisted at how easily Neteyam was able to ride over that wave. Meanwhile, Maytel glanced like you, his eyes communicating ooh, the man can bite and you rolled your eyes. Neteyam caught the way Maytel glanced at you and your dear friend immediately tore his eyes off.

His plan to rattle the cage? Forget that. Neteyam looked physically capable of tossing him off the platform like a sack of dried grass, and as much as he would love to support you to the ends of the world, with the way your husband was sizing him up like a tactical competition, he decided he valued his life. It was time for a very graceful, very immediate exit.

“Oh, don't mention it. Taking care of Y/N and Nevan is the least I can do to contribute to the war efforts... Since you are too busy in it," Maytel said. You closed your eyes, shaking your head with how that once again landed like another dig!

Fortunately, a voice called out to Maytel several yards away and you saw how relieved he looked to have an excuse to get out of here. Your ears perked up, too, ready to send him away so you can finally deal with your husband.

“Oh, as much as I would like to stay...” Maytel sighed, “I think I shall leave you three to your... family time.”

“Right. Thanks, Maytel...” You said, widening your eyes at him when he sneaked in another once-over on your husband’s body.

With a theatrical swish of his tail, Maytel sauntered down the wooden ramp. Neteyam didn’t break his stare from the walkway until Maytel’s silhouette vanished into the lower terraces, but the moment he was gone, Neteyam’s golden eyes snapped down to the corner of the platform. His gaze locked onto a bundle of fibers that Maytel had carelessly left behind, a habit born from being used to coming here whenever he pleased.

“He leaves his things here,” Neteyam muttered, his tone dropping into a low growl. “Like he knows he can just walk back here anytime he pleases.”

“Maytel is harmless, Neteyam... if you’d only open your eyes to see,” you told him.You couldn’t possibly tell him what Maytel really was for that wasn't your secret to share, so you felt conflicted. You didn’t want Neteyam to think you were just allowing random men into your home.

“He is my friend. He can come back. He helps here, so he’s here almost every day.”

You saw Neteyam’s jaw tighten at the words every day and you almost groaned out loud at how you seemed to be cursed with the exact same syndrome Maytel just had: pissing off Neteyam with your choice of words.

“But that is not the point,” you quickly followed, cutting off his impending tirade before he could even start. You stepped closer, looking at the sheer exhaustion hidden beneath his rigid posture. “What’s the reason for this sudden visit?”

Neteyam looked down at Nevan, who was currently occupied with chewing on one of his father’s arm bands. Slowly, deliberately, Neteyam set the boy down on the woven mat. “Will you go inside and play for a while, son? Papa needs to speak with Mama.”

“Okay!” Nevan chirped, completely oblivious to the tension between his parents.

Once the boy was out of sight, Neteyam turned to you. The rigid, unyielding commander of the Omatikaya resistance seemed to slowly fracture, his shoulders dropping. He didn't look like he was preparing to leave. In fact, he had unbuckled his heavy longbow, setting it carefully against the weapon rack by the door, a gesture of permanence that made your heart skip a beat.

“It’s not a visit,”  Neteyam said softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I am staying.”

You blinked, a sudden wave of confusion washing over you. “What do you mean, you are staying? For how long? A week? Neteyam, the raids in the west—”

“I have handed the command of the western vanguard over to Lo'ak and Rey’to,” he interrupted, his voice steady. He took a step toward you, his large hand reaching out as if to touch you, before he caught himself and let it drop to his side. “I am staying here. With you. With our son. For as long as you are here. Even if it takes years.”

Your breath hitched. You stared at him, your mind frantically trying to process the words. The golden heir of Toruk Makto, the boy who had been groomed since birth to carry the weight of his people, the commander who had chosen the war over his own family... had walked away from the vanguard.

“What... What about the resistance?” you whispered.

“I left it,” he whispered, his eyes heavy on you, but for the first time in years, he looked so unburdened. “I don’t expect a pie for it, baby. I know I have a lot of things to make up for. To you, to Nevan, and to our family. There is nothing more important to me in this world but you—”

“Neteyam, y-you cannot do that. Your father, the people, they... need you. You are one of the pillars keeping the people from falling to the demons—”

“And who is keeping us from falling?” he uttered, his voice filled of a raw, desperate emotion breaking through his warrior’s facade. He stepped closer, completely invading your space, his familiar scent clouding your senses. “I spent the entire flight here realizing the hypocrisy of my own words. I told you that Maytel was not Nevan's father, and that he was not your husband... but Eywa help me, I haven't been either of those things to you in years.”

He looked at you with eyes so heavy with longing it made your throat close up with grief.

“My father told me that a leader makes sacrifices for the future,” Neteyam murmured, his hand finally defying the distance, his long, warm fingers gently cupping the side of your neck, his thumb resting against your jaw. “But if the future means I have to stand in an empty home, realizing that the woman I love, have loved my whole life, looks at me like a stranger... then the war has already taken everything worth fighting for. I am choosing you, and I didn’t think it could be that easy. Baby, I cannot lose you...”

You held his eyes as his words hung in the air, your throat working silently as your eyes mapped the familiar contours of his face. The rigid, hyper-vigilant set of his shoulders was still there, and perhaps it always will be there, but the desperate, raw vulnerability in his eyes sent an ache in your chest. The thumb on your jaw trembled just slightly, a rare display of fear from the Omatikaya’s most formidable young commander.

He was giving you everything you had spent a year aching for. He was giving up the vanguard. He was setting down his bow. He was choosing to be a husband and a father over being a war legend.

Yet, as you looked at the set of his jaw and the sharp knife strapped to his chest, a sudden grounded clarity washed over you. You couldn't help but peek past his shoulder toward the lower terraces where Maytel had just vanished. Your eyes narrowed as you stifled a knowing smile, cutting through the heavy emotional fog.

“You are a very foolish man, Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice dropping into a soft cadence that made his ears twitch in surprise. “You fly all the way across the forest, hand over your lifelong duty to your brother, and declare an end to your warrior days... and a significant part of it is because your son said something about some guy making hair decorations for me.”

Neteyam’s posture stiffened instantly. His nostrils flared, a faint, dark flush creeping beneath his cheeks. He tried to maintain his solemn, deeply romantic expression, but the telltale twitch of his ears betrayed him.

“That’s not—I did not leave the vanguard because of that,” he muttered with a defensive, stubborn scowl that reminded you of your son, melting away at your icy defenses.

“No?” You tilted your chin up, your eyes dancing with a quiet, knowing light. “You didn't look at Maytel like you wanted to feed him to your ikran? This wasn’t prompted by the thought that someone else was here, helping me with everything and teaching your son stuff while you were away in the trenches?”

Neteyam closed his eyes for a brief second, letting out a long, defeated hiss through his teeth. When he opened them again, the fierce commander was entirely gone, replaced by the intensely possessive, fiercely protective man you know very well.

He sighed. “I hate imagining and seeing him here... seeing another man's things in our space, knowing he gets to hear our son’s first morning words while I am decoding scout reports... I hate it, yawne. It made me realize that while I have been busy holding up the sky for everyone else, my own world was moving on without me. I am a warrior, yes. But I am your man long before I became one. I am Nevan's father. If I have to crawl to get your forgiveness, I will. Please, just do not tell me to leave.”

The sheer honesty of his words struck deep within your chest, like a lightning bolt cracking at the frost that had settled over your heart during the year of separation. You love him very much, and you knew he could easily get you back if he showed you how regretful he was, but you didn’t want to make it completely effortless for him.

You tilted your head before slowly moving away to let his hand drop from you. Neteyam’s fingers flexed against the empty air, a pained, searching look crossing his features as he watched you move a pace away.

“You can stay, Neteyam,” you said softly, your expression turning serious. “You can stay and be a father to our son. You have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

Neteyam’s chest expanded with a deep, profound breath of relief. You didn’t mention anything about how your relationship will go from here, but that only made a determined, unyielding fire lit up in his eyes. He will work hard to earn you, to replace the time he wasted letting you carry the burden of his absence alone with the reminder that he is still very much here, and that he will never leave again.

“I will earn it back,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. “Every single day.”

And surprisingly, Neteyam kept his word with a relentless, quiet devotion that left no room for doubt.

For the first few weeks, you remained intentionally wary. You kept your distance. You expected the long-range communication tablet on the shelf to chime at any moment, expecting Jake’s stern voice or Neytiri’s desperate call to summon him back to the battlefield. You expected Neteyam to pace the platforms at night, staring longingly toward the mountains like a caged predator.

But the summons never came, and Neteyam never looked back.

While he still kept a strict routine of waking up before dawn to check his longbow and spending an hour on his tablet giving quiet, tactical advice to Lo'ak or coordinate defensive tactics with his father, the moment the sun broke over the mountains, he belonged entirely to his family.

Nevan, unlike you, required absolutely zero groveling. To your son, having his father home every day was a miracle straight from Eywa. The little boy practically attached himself to Neteyam’s hip from the moment he opened his eyes.

“Look, Mama! Papa taught me how to make the ikran call!” Nevan chirped one bright morning, running into the hut with his arms spread wide, letting out a surprisingly accurate, high-pitched screech that made you laugh.

Neteyam walked in right behind him, carrying a massive basket of freshly gathered jungle fruits and roots for pie. He had stripped off his heavy war gear weeks ago, now wearing only his daily clothes. His long braids were freely dancing, and his skin lacked the harsh black soot of the vanguard. He looked exactly like the boy from your dreams... unburdened and happy.

“He is an apt hunter, yawne,” Neteyam smiled, setting the heavy basket down near your cooking hearth. He paused, his golden eyes locking onto yours, admiring the way you look in the morning with that steady, intense warmth that always made your pulse quicken. “Though he still needs to work on his stealth. He gasps too much when he spots a prey.”

“I don’t, Papa!” Nevan protested, throwing his little body against Neteyam’s sturdy thigh. “I am silent like the wind! Right, Mama?”

You couldn't help the soft, genuine laugh that bubbled up from your throat. “I supposed you are, my little breeze. Now go wash your hands before breakfast.”

As Nevan scrambled toward the water basin, Neteyam stepped closer to you. He was never an impatient lover. Even when you two were younger, he had always made sure you were comfortable with the pace he was taking. It was actually you who was impatient, pushing him to his limits and challenging the rules he set for himself.

Now, he didn't exactly invade your space aggressively, but he came close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. He reached into the basket and pulled out a single, perfectly bloomed night-glory flower, its petals glowing a vibrant, brilliant shade of blue. Without a word, he gently tucked the stem behind your ear, his knuckles brushing against your cheek just a second longer than necessary.

“Your son said this matches the pattern of your stripes,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, meant only for your ears. “He seems to have memorized your patterns like I have when I was a boy... I think every part of me loves you, baby. That includes Nevan, because he’s a part of me.”

Your face burned a sudden, dark shade of violet. You batted his hand away with a playful, frustrated sigh, though your fingers instinctively came up to touch the cool petals. “Neteyam... You are supposed to be helping with breakfast, not picking flowers and uttering pick up lines like a flustered young hunter trying to win his intended mate.”

Neteyam’s lips curved into a slow, utterly devastating grin, the exact same cocky, confident smile that had stolen your heart when you were teenagers. “Who says I am not? I am courting you, yawne. I told you I would earn my way back.”

“You are ridiculous,” you muttered, turning back to the hearth to hide the massive smile breaking across your face.

As the moons bled into one another, Neteyam’s quiet crusade to win back your heart took on a life of its own. He stayed and showed no interest in going back at all, integrating himself so deeply into your daily life that the memories of your lonely year apart began to fade like mist under the scorching sun.

Every single day seemed like an adventure with Neteyam and Nevan always making sure you were at the center of it, but today, your son had miraculously stayed behind when Neteyam went out to hunt. Both of you shared a laugh at the fact that the boy was obviously having a lazy day.

Nevan was sitting cross-legged in front of you, his tiny tail curling in a calm concentration. You had a shallow clay bowl filled with crushed, vibrant purple berries between your knees, using the thick juice as a makeshift paint.

“Like this,” you murmured softly, dipping the tip of your finger into the dark juice. You gently pulled his small hand into yours, guiding his index finger into the bowl. “Gently, my boy. We do not want to drown the wood.”

Nevan let out a soft, eager chirp, his ears pinning back in focus as you helped him press his finger onto a flat piece of smooth wood. Together, you dragged his finger down, leaving a thick streak that was meant to represent the neck of a direhorse. The moment you lifted his hand, Nevan gasped, his golden eyes going wide as a bright, toothy smile split his face.

“Pretty, Mama! Look!" he squealed, his little tail swishing frantically against your thigh.

You couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped your lips, leaning forward to press a sweet, lingering kiss right to the tip of his nose. “Aren’t you just Mama’s little artist?”

Nevan giggled, squirming happily against your legs before leaning his small head completely against your chest. He was getting bigger every day, but in moments like this, when he curled up against you and let out those tiny purring sounds, he was still just your little baby. You wrapped your arms securely around his small frame, resting your chin on the top of his head, gently rocking him side to side as you hummed a soft, ancient lullaby, your hands continuously working on the paint.

Unbeknownst to you, Neteyam was standing completely still in the threshold. He had just returned from his hunt, his muscles aching and his heart still filled with the adrenaline of it. He had been prepared to strip off his boundary gear and weapons, but the moment he stepped onto the platform and saw the two of you, the breath completely caught in his throat.

He couldn’t move, he couldn't possibly break the absolute sanctity of the scene before him. His eyes, usually so sharp and vigilant on the battlefield, softened until they were thick with a profound reverence. He watched the way your long hair fell over your shoulder, framing the gentle, fierce love on your face as you cradled his son. He watched how comfortably Nevan fit against your chest, completely protected from the harsh, violent world outside these walls.

He thought about all the days he missed, the quiet days you and Nevan spent together just like this, and a wave of emotion hit him squarely in the chest, so overwhelming and pure it made his throat tighten. Suddenly, his whole world shrank down to just this sight of you humming in the golden light, with his son safe in your arms, and a fierce, blinding clarity washed over him.

Nevan shifted, his little ear twitching as he caught the faint rustle of Neteyam’s movements. The boy's head snapped toward the entrance, his eyes lighting up. “Papa!”

You blinked, breaking out of your peaceful daze, and turned your head to see him just standing there.

Neteyam offered you a soft, utterly devastating smile, the last remnants of his exhaustion melting completely off his features. He stepped into the alcove, immediately welcomed by Nevan’s insistent chirping.

“Papa! Papa, look!” Nevan babbled, squirming in your grip so he could proudly point his purple-stained finger at the piece of wood. “Mama and me made... a pa'li! A big, big one! See the long neck? Like a real one? It eats through the big trees!”

Neteyam let out a low, rumbling chuckle before leaning back to press a kiss on Nevan’s head before his large hand came down to cup it, his thumb gently smoothing back the boy's twitching ear. “Wow, doesn’t this look fiercer than Agre, Mama? Papa has an own pa’li back in the forest... Mama and I loved going for a ride. One day soon, we’ll go see him,” he told Nevan, the little boy’s eyes perpetually twinkling. “Tell me more about this masterpiece.” Neteyam comfortably sat down near you.

“I— I... I didn't drown the wood!” Nevan continued eagerly, his hands gesturing wildly, completely unbothered by the purple juice drying on his skin. “Mama said do it gently. Like a hunter when you hunt the big yerik, Papa!”

As Nevan kept rambling, acting out the hunt with tiny, dramatic lunges of his hands, Neteyam’s gaze slowly drifted up from your son to meet yours. His hand slid from Nevan's head to rest against your jaw, his thumb caressing your cheekbone with a tender, heavy pressure. He was looking at you as if you had personally handed him the stars and the silence between you filled with a shared devotion for the beautiful, bubbly life you had created together.

You leaned into his palm, tilting your head up to press a soft kiss into the center of his hand. Neteyam’s smile widened, his heart hammering a heavy rhythm against his chest. You are his whole world. The little hands holding his braids right now holds his entire world. And he couldn’t believe he lost sight of that.

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

“Please come! The river is very big today, Mama!” Nevan pleaded one afternoon, tugging furiously at your hand while Neteyam stood by the doorway, holding a woven utility basket.

“I have to finish mending these, Nevan,” you replied gently, gesturing to the tangled fibers in your lap.

Before you could even protest further, Neteyam walked over and effortlessly scooped you up from the floor, basket and all, setting you firmly on your feet. He took the fibers from your hands and tossed it onto the shelf.

“These can wait,” Neteyam said, his golden eyes dancing with a mischievous spark. “The commander orders a family excursion to the falls. No exceptions.”

Your lips parted for a moment, curling into a smile of disbelief. “You cannot use your commander voice on me, Neteyam te Suli. I do not report to your vanguard.”

“No,” he whispered, leaning down so his warm breath brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a sudden, electric shiver straight down your spine. “You are the only one I report to.”

You rolled your eyes, still smiling as you let your shrieking son drag you out of the hut, but your eyes lingered on Neteyam as you walked past, glinting with a mischievous light he hasn’t seen in over a year, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared that he decided he had just conjured it.

At the river, you waded in the shallow waters, watching Neteyam teach Nevan how to float on his back, the air cool and misted with the spray of the waterfalls cascading down the upper terraces. Your son splashed his little feet wildly, creating cute splashes that made Neteyam chuckle.

“You need to calm down, son. Make your body light... Think you can remain unmoving for a few seconds?” Neteyam asked, and you watched your son look up at his father with twinkling eyes.

“I can! Watch, Mama!” Nevan said proudly.

Neteyam slipped his large hands under Nevan’s small back, gently lifting him until the boy lay flat on the water's surface. “Relax your shoulders, Nevan. Look up at the sky, not at your feet,” Neteyam instructed, his voice low and soothing.

Nevan stiffened at first, his tail twitching underwater, causing him to sink immediately with a loud gasp and a splash. Neteyam caught him instantly, pulling him up with a warm laugh.

“Again, son. You must trust the water... and Papa. I won’t let you go.”

It took a few more tries. On the second attempt, Nevan held his breath too hard and tipped sideways. On the third, a stray splash hit his nose, making him sneeze and sink. But by the fourth try, you saw a quiet determination take over your son’s eyes, much like the one you often see in Neteyam’s eyes, as he took a deep breath and relaxed his tiny frame, letting the river hold him. Neteyam slowly lowered his hands away. Nevan was floating all on his own, his ears twitching in delight.

“I'm doing it? Mama, look!” Nevan squealed, the sudden movement breaking his balance and sending him plunging back into the water.

Your eyes widened, but he surfaced sputtering and giggling, and you couldn't help but laugh, too. Neteyam caught him, knowing he couldn’t really swim on his own yet. You waded closer to them and Nevan reached for you, his little arms wrapping around your neck. Neteyam grinned at you, his large hand cradling his son’s head.

“Let’s see you do it again, boy,” you grinned at him and Nevan splashed his hand in the water excitedly. You laughed, peering up at Neteyam, “He’s like one of those Terran toys Norm used to show us before.”

He tilted his head, “Robots?”

You chuckled, “No? Those stuff with a string you pull... And then it does something,” you said, helping your son lay flat on the water.

“Pull string toy? That one that talks?” he asked, already laughing.

You nodded, laughing with him as you turned to your son who is now relaxing his little body and letting the water carry him. You slowly let go of him, allowing him to float on his on.

“Calm down, Nevan... Mama will do it, too,” you mumbled, slowly letting yourself fall backward into the cool water, perfectly buoyant.

Neteyam grinned, dropping down right beside Nevan, his long limbs stretching out effortlessly. The three of you drifted together in the shallow waters, staring up at the canopy. Nevan let out a bright, bubbling laugh at the ticklish sensation of the water rushing past his ears, and the sound was so infectious that you and Neteyam burst out laughing too, your voices echoing alongside the waterfalls

The river soon became the site for your family’s almost daily bondings.

Nevan learned to swim in no time, but you still cautioned him against going to the river to swim on his own. Your son might be bigger than average kids his age, but he was still only two, and you worried he would run off to the river unsupervised.

Nevan splashed wildly in the shallow pools divided by smooth stones from the body of the river, chasing after the tiny, bioluminescent fish that darted beneath the surface. You sat on a smooth rock at the edge, watching him with a soft, content smile as you prepared the food for lunch. Nearby, Neteyam moved through the water with a fluid grace that vividly reminded you of his younger self, when he worked so hard to master his stealth as a hunter.

He was a good hunter, and an even better warrior.

He had been so skilled back then that he was grouped with older, more experienced warriors because he always seemed to know what to do. His parents took pride in how he outdid Jake in everything at an even younger age; there was no doubt at all that he would make a great Olo’eyktan. He was the golden heir who had bent his back to the crushing weight of his people’s expectations, carrying it all without a word of complaint.

And he had exceeded all of it, right up until the day he decided to leave everything behind to show you that he’s choosing you.

The thought settled heavily in your chest. You love him so much. Not once, even during the bitterest moons of your separation when you felt hollowed out by his neglect, had you stopped loving him. You had loved him as a wide-eyed child visiting Hometree and chasing him through the roots, you had loved him as a fiercely protective teenager, and you loved him now, as a woman who had given him a son.

But as you watched him move with a breeze of a warrior he will always be, a sudden, sharp ache of guilt pierced your heart.

You had taken him away from what he spent his whole life preparing for.

You were supposed to love every piece of him, just as he loved everything about you. Yet, when the war demanded too much of the man you loved your whole life, you had given up on the warrior entirely. You had forced him into an ultimatum between his duty to the people and his duty to his heart.

This realization plagued your mind for the days that followed. You watched him closely, searching for any flicker of resentment, any lingering gaze toward the horizon where the sky people’s metal birds still flew. But you found nothing. He looked entirely settled, his focus anchored completely on you, on Nevan, and within the confines of your family's hut.

In fact, the only thing that seemed to break his hard-earned peace was the occasional appearance of Maytel.

By midday, you were back on the platform, organizing a fresh basket of weaving fibers. Nevan and Neteyam had just climbed the ramp, returning from a short trek to gather wild spices for your recipe.

Neteyam had barely stepped onto the wood before his golden eyes laser-focused on Maytel, who was currently standing across from you, chatting about the latest village gossip. Under normal circumstances, the sheer intensity of Neteyam’s possessive glare would have made you stifle a laugh. But because you’ve spent days with the weight of your thoughts about him made the humor fade.

Maytel giggled at you, “You never did tell me anything, syulang! It’s been moons! With the way your husband looks at you, I was thinking you’d be round with child but now, but, oh well! You’re too slow,” he rolled his eyes, handing you the small, securely wrapped clay dish.

“Shut up,” you whispered, watching Neteyam and Nevan approach.

“Uncle Maytel!” Nevan excitedly greeted, waving a hand and skipping excitedly.

“I brought over some berry pie I baked this morning. I know how much you like this, little boy.”

Nevan peered up at him happily, his eyes twinkling as his hands clasped. “Thank you, Uncle!”

“Thank you again, Maytel,”  you said smoothly.

Maytel straightened himsef up himself gracefully, his eyes darting toward Neteyam’s rigid frame. “Well, I must be off. I have a date with a certain long-armed hunter down by the shallow banks, and if I keep him waiting, he might snap another bow string out of pure despair.”

He gave you a dramatic wink, but Neteyam’s expression remained entirely hard, calculating, and intensely territorial. He stood frozen until Maytel’s silhouette finally disappeared down the main walkway.

“Mama! Look at the big leaf I found!” Nevan babbled, showing it to you.

You examined it with great curiosity, admiring its beautiful patterns. “The patterns looks like the canopy at Hometree, son,” you smiled at him.

“Wow...” Nevan looked down at his leaf with wonder before scrambling past his father’s legs and running into the hut to add the leaf among his toys.

With the platform suddenly empty, you stood up and crossed the small distance between you and your husband. For the first time since he had arrived moons ago, you stepped directly into his space, your hands coming to rest flat against the warm skin of his chest where you immediately felt the heavy thudding of his heart beneath your palms.

Before he could speak, you slid your hands up to his shoulders, tilted your chin up, and pulled him down into a deep, lingering kiss.

Neteyam froze, his breath catching sharply in his throat. He looked utterly stunned, his ears twitching back in absolute surprise before the instinctual hunger took over. His large hands came up to grip your waist, anchoring you against him as he kissed you back with a sudden, dark intensity that sent a wave of heat straight to your core.

When you finally pulled away, your lips were tingling, and his golden eyes had darkened with something different.

You let out a dramatic, teasing sigh, a faint smile breaking through the serious fog of your mind. “They always told me my husband possessed the keen eyes of a viperwolf... but it has been moons, my love, and you still haven't caught on.”

Neteyam blinked, his forehead furrowing in confusion. “What?”

You let out a soft giggle, your fingers tracing the strong line of his collarbone. “Maytel just said he has a date with his hunter, Neteyam. He is trying to get on with a man, not with your wife.”

A sudden, staggering silence fell over him, his mouth opening slightly, his ears lifting as the pieces finally clicked together. You chuckled as you watched the fearsome commander of the resistance suddenly looked incredibly flustered, a violet flush creeping along his neck.

“He... with a hunter?” Neteyam muttered, clearing his throat roughly.

“Yes,” you laughed softly, leaning your head against his chest. "There was never any reason for you to be jealous, ‘teyam. I never looked at another while I was away from you. How can I possibly ever replace you? Even when I was trying my hardest to act like I didn't care, I would never betray you like that.”

Neteyam’s gaze softened, his large hands smoothing down your back, pressing you closer to his warmth. “I know that, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Not once did I ever doubt your faithfulness to me. It was... the men I did not trust. But... I suppose I should thank Maytel. Not just for watching over you and Nevan when I was too blind to be here, but because the mere threat of him made me straighten myself up.”

You smiled, looking at the scars on his chest. “Well... about that. Maytel was never a threat, you see. It is just... you left the vanguard for this. You left everything you worked hard for—”

“No,” Neteyam interrupted firmly, his forehead furrowing as he caught your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Do not think that. I did not leave the vanguard simply because I was jealous, I left because I was terrified of losing you completely. I have missed so much of our son’s life, yawne. I didn't even know how to make up for all the time I lost. I will carry the regret of that lost time for a very long time...”

A wave of emotion rose in your throat, making your lower lip tremble a little. “I was so hurt during those moons, Neteyam... but I wallowed so deeply in my own pain that I failed to see how hard you were struggling, too. You were keeping up with the two lives you were living, carrying the future of this world on your shoulders, and instead of being there to be the support you needed... I walked away. I left you alone, Neteyam—”

“Don't,” Neteyam commanded softly, his thumb sweeping across your cheek to cut off your words. “Don't you ever blame yourself, or think your choices were wrong. Baby, I wasn't keeping up with my lives. I was living fully as a warrior, entirely forgetting that I had a wife and a child who needed me to be a man, not just a leader. I was a terrible husband. I was a failure of a father. Do not deny that.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath shaky.

“Your decision to walk away did me a favor, baby. I was too blinded by my duty. Who knows what would have happened if you hadn't put me in my place early on, if I had kept believing that everything was perfect while you were breaking in the dark?”

You stared at him, your throat tight, unable to find an argument. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Then let us settle it,” you murmured. “We both made mistakes. I should have spoken to you clearly instead of expecting you to know exactly what you were doing wrong... And you should have remembered that the war isn't the only thing worth fighting for.”

He breathed a huff of relief. “I am so scared, baby... I cannot lose you. You are half of me,” he whispered.

“I forgive you, Neteyam...” you mumbled, pressing a soft kiss against his lips.

He was quick to shake his head, looking almost angered. “I don’t want you to forgive me. I will not accept that. I want to remember this moment in our lives when I have let you and our son down. I would sacrifice and leave behind everything just to make sure this won’t happen again.”

You smiled. “Then I supposed I shouldn’t ask for forgiveness, too, for my selfishness—”

“You are not selfish and I have nothing to forgive,” he countered fiercely. “You only wanted what’s good for you and for our son, I’m glad you made that your priority. Can you imagine what younger me would have thought of me now? He would beat me up, baby, I’m willing to bet...” he pressed his forehead against yours.

Both your hands came up to hold his jaw. “We are allowed to make mistakes, my love... Both of us are still learning. What’s important is that even with what was happening between us, we were still good parents to Nevan.”

He smiled, his eyes lighting up at the mention of his son. “He’s a very resilient boy, my love... It makes me even more guilty that he just... loves me very much despite my absence.”

Your brows furrowed a little even as you smiled softly. “I guess Nevan is just a reflection of my heart. He’s a part of me, too, and every part of me loves you very much,” you caressed his jaw, pressing a soft kiss in his lips.

“I love you more. I love you so much,” he whispered against your lips, before he delivered a harder, more desperate kiss. It was a release of all the months of unspoken grief, longing, and the lingering heat that had built up between you. Neteyam groaned deep in his throat, his grip on your waist tightening until your breaths mixed into one frantic rhythm.

“Oh, Great Mother!”

The loud, dramatic gasp broke the air, making you pull away from Neteyam in an instant, breathless and flushed, only to see Maytel standing at the edge of the platform, his eyes wide with a look of pure, devious glee. He had caught you both completely red-handed, and you could practically see the chaotic, mischievous gears turning in his head.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt this moment, syulang, Neteyam... Well, I forgot my weaving shuttle... Just coming back for it...” he carefully tiptoed before getting what he came here for. “Got it!”

Maytel sneaked a smirk at you, his tail swishing with absolute triumph. Before you could hiss at him, Nevan bounded out of the hut, his little ears perking up at the sound of Maytel's voice. “Uncle Maytel! You came back?”

“I did, little star,” Maytel grinned, kneeling down to Nevan’s level while deliberately keeping his eyes locked on your flustered expression. “In fact, I am on my way up to the upper terraces to visit your grandparents. Would you like to come with me and help me pick some wild ferns?”

“Yes!” Nevan answered way too quickly. “Mama, Papa, can I go?” Nevan squealed, bouncing on his heels as he looked up at you and Neteyam.

Neteyam, still entirely dazed by the intensity of the kiss and thoroughly eager to get you back into the privacy of the hut, patted his son's head, nodded wordlessly.

Maytel giggled. “And I guess you will stay there until tomorrow, little boy...” he threw you an incredibly wicked wink. You're welcome, his eyes screamed.

“Bye, Mama! Bye, Papa!” Nevan cheered, snatching Maytel’s hand and dragging him down the ramp.

You stood on the platform, your face burning a violent shade of purple, completely aware of the heavy, dark promise in Neteyam’s gaze as he slowly turned his massive body back toward you. The platform was entirely quiet, your son was snatched away by Maytel, and the commander seemed very ready to claim a year-worth of action from you.

You bit your lip as you sensed his body turn toward you, making the air feel heavier with the thick tension you know will have you inevitably under him before the day ends. You finally turned to him when he stepped forward, his shadow falling over you, his broad chest rising and falling in deep breaths, his eyes dark as he tracked the soft features of your face, the flush your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, and the curves of your waist down to your shapely thighs.

“See you inside?” you said in a small, seductive voice, stepping backward with your eyes locked onto his while you were retreating into the hut. Neteyam followed you like a predator stalking a familiar territory. He stopped at the edge of your sleeping alcove, his tall frame blocking out the fire from the hanging firepot, casting you entirely in his shadow.

With a slow, challenging smile, your hands came up to the knot of your top, holding his unblinking gaze as your fingers untied the cords, letting the feather-like fibers slip until it pooled at your feet.

You followed it by untying your loincloth behind you, shedding it off until you stood before him entirely bare, the soft dim light catching the gentle curves of your body. You knew exactly what you looked like to him. Completely vulnerable, yet entirely in control of his sanity.

Neteyam let out a low, ragged growl through his teeth, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the wooden partition. His chest expanded, his nostrils flaring as he took in the sight of you. You looked so innocent standing in the quiet of your home, yet the mischievous, heavy heat in your eyes was pure sin.

“Do you mean to torture me, baby?“ he rasped, his voice deep and rough as his hand grabbed his crotch to give his aching hard on a squeeze.

“Torture?” you echoed innocently. “Who says you can’t touch, warrior?”

He blinked, as if it took time before he realized what you said. He stepped into the alcove, his eyes never leaving you, his hand aggressively shedding his loincloth off, as he walked toward you. You opened your mouth to tease him, but before you could do that, his large hands were already on you, his grip firm as he lifted you effortlessly and pressed you back onto the soft furs of the sleeping mat.

You reached for your kuru behind you, biting your lip when his calloused hands parted your thighs with an authoritative, heavy pressure to fit himself between them. You relished the familiar weight of him on you, the warmth and heaviness of his cock grazing your thigh. “Hello,” you mumbled, smiling as you caught his kuru that he let fall over his shoulder.

He watched you darkly, his hand prompting your hands to connect your kurus together. You gasped as the burning intensity of his emotions that surged through you, enveloping your soul with a familiar warmth you’ve never felt in almost a year. You breathlessly pulled him down for a kiss and his mouth enveloped yours right away, swallowing your breaths, kissing you hard and desperately. His arm wrapped around your frame to pull you against him until your soft mounds were squished against his chest, his large hand cupping your jaw.

You kissed and kissed, and you were reminded with just how much you loved kissing him. When you two were younger, making out with each other had been your favorite thing to do. Every lovemaking starts with what seemed like hours of making out sessions, and this moment brought you back. You licked at his lower lip and kissed him with more ferocity than you had earlier, moaning against his lips as your hands roamed the hard planes of his body.

When you pulled away to breathe, his lips found your jaw, leaving burning kisses until he reached your neck. He licked and nipped at your skin, his hand now coming down to your breast to knead and fondle, before his lips followed, filling his mouth with your flesh as he suckled on your pebbled tip.

“Oh, baby...” you cradled his head, your hand grabbing a fistful of his hair.

His kisses slid down your body, his lips kissing every inch of your skin reverently until his face reach between your leg, his hot breath brushing your slick center. You bit your lip as he kissed the soft flesh of your inner thighs, his lips wet as it sucked a bit of your flesh into his mouth before it trailed down to bury his face between your thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat when his tongue swiped upward in one long stroke.

He suckled on your sensitive nub and you shrieked when he playfully nipped down on it, your hands instantly flying into his thick braids as your hips bucked violently off the mat. The sharp, electric heat hit your sensitive nub, and Neteyam hummed a low, vibrating sound of pure satisfaction against your skin as he felt you tremble. He used his tongue relentlessly, sucking and lapping at you until your breath came in ragged, broken sobs.

Desperate for the weight of him, you tilted your pelvis upward, grinding against his mouth, begging for more. Normally, he’d insert his tongue in you, and you can’t understand why he’s being greedy with his tongue now. He paused, lifting his head just enough to look up your body, his lips glistening in the dim light. He let out a low chuckle, kissing the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“Baby, I know you love it... but I won't put my tongue in, hm? My cock will be jealous. Your best friend hasn’t been in you for a year... you see, he hadn’t known a life like that since I was seventeen.”

You groaned loudly, throwing your head back against the furs as the teasing drove you mad. You kicked his chest lightly with your heel, though it lacked any real force. “Then fuck me already! What are you waiting for?”

Neteyam caught your ankle instantly, his grip tightening as he pulled your leg over his broad shoulder. He nipped fiercely at the tender skin near your knee, making you gasp. “So bossy,” he drawled, a wicked spark returning to his eyes. “Just for that, I’d add another thirty minutes to this...”

“Neteyam, please...” you whined.

“Give me one more, baby... I am so parched,” he said dramatically, his handsome face pulling into a mock pout before his mouth came down onto your pussy again.

He didn't give you a chance to protest. He lifted your hips high off the mat, wrapping his powerful arms beneath your thighs, draping your legs completely over his broad shoulders, before burying his face deep between your legs, using the rumbling vibrations of his voice and the flat of his tongue to drive you over the edge. The pressure on your swollen, sensitive flesh was too much, that within seconds, a violent wave tore through you, making you scream his name into the empty hut as your muscles clamped tightly around his mouth.

He held you through the tremors, lapping at your release until you were thoroughly cleaned. He eased you back onto the furs, your eyes closed, completely whited out by the intensity of your recent climax. Your skin was slick with sweat, your long hair sticking to your neck, but Neteyam only seemed to burn hotter at the sight.

You felt the heavy weight of his body settle over yours, his warm mouth moving down to claim your breast, his large hand firmly pressing your knees wider.

“Eyes,” he commanded, his voice dropping into that soft, unyielding tone he only ever used on you.

“I'm so spent...” you breathed, your eyelids fluttering as you weakly pressed a hand against his muscular chest, trying to find your breath.

Neteyam chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated straight into your bones. He kissed the tight line of your jaw before capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss. “You practically kept me in a cage, woman...” he drawled against your lips, his hard length pressing demandingly against your aching center. “And now, you’ve let me loose...”

Your eyes flickered completely open, staring up into the golden fire of his gaze. You pushed your lips forward, leaning into him, and you watched him hold his breath as he realized you were completely his.

“Fuck, I missed you so much, baby...” he whispered, his thumb caressing your slippery folds before he gathered your wetness.

You watched him lather your wetness on his throbbing length as its wide tip nudged your entrance, and with one heavy, agonizingly slow thrust, he slid inside you. Neteyam let out a ragged, guttural groan deep in his throat, his arm snaking behind your waist to pull you up as he buried himself to the hilt, earning a pleasured cry from you.

He froze for a second, his head burying into the crook of your neck as his entire body shuddered, absorbing the intense, tight heat of your walls clamping around him. “Fuck, you're so tight, baby...” he choked out, his breath scalding against your skin.

Before you could fully catch your breath, he lifted himself back up on his hands, his golden eyes finding yours again, refusing to let you look away. Slowly, he began to move. He pulled nearly all the way out, letting you feel every ridges of his length, before driving back in forcefully, making you whimper. Your head rolled back against the furs as your back arched.

His hand instantly came up to cup your jaw, his fingers firm but gentle as he guided your face back to his. “No, look at me,” he commanded, his breath hitching as he started moving.

You bit your lip, but your pleasured whimpers find their way out of your mouth as his large hand caged your jaw to make sure you won’t look away from him as his pace picked up. Your moans grew louder when his thrusts turned deeper and harder, striking the very center of your pleasure. Your breaths came in jagged huffs, mixing alongside your cries and his deep groans.

“Fuck, baby...” he moaned, his eyes closing for a moment.

You pressed a palm against his chest. “Open your eyes,” you commanded, pushing him back a little. “Watch yourself take me.”

He groaned, a huff of weakened and humored laugh escaping through his nose as he lifted himself on his hands, looking down at you with eyes filled of unadulterated hunger. His humor died in his throat the moment he saw the look in your eyes. He was the commander, yes, but right here, pinned beneath the weight of your gaze, he was entirely at your mercy.

“You like to play the general now, do you?” he rasped, his voice dropping into a dangerous register that sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.

His large hand slid from your jaw, his fingers tangling tightly into the hair at the back of your head, anchoring you firmly to the furs. With his other hand bracing his massive weight over you, he delivered a frantic, brutal, and deep pace into you. You stared up at him, your chest heaving as your breaths came in ragged, desperate gasps. You watched the way the veins in his neck strained, the way his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped, and the sheer worship bleeding from his eyes.

He was completely undone, sweating and growling like a wild creature, stripped of all his rigid discipline until there was nothing left but his love for you.

The friction was driving you insane that you were literally reduced to a moaning, crying mess under him as your hips began to meet his every thrust instinctively, the coil of heat in your lower stomach tightening to a breaking point.

“I love you so much...” he moaned.

“Oh, baby... ‘teyam, I am so close, I can't—” you wept, your hips twitching away from his relentless thrusts but you only seemed to burn even more when his hand grabbed your waist to keep you in place.

“No, stay with me,” he rasped, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to keep you grounded. He picked up the speed, his movements becoming a blur of friction as he drove himself into you so hard that the entire world shrank down to your pussy. “Look at me when you break, baby. Give it to me.”

You couldn't hold it anymore. With one final deep plunge, the dam broke in a violent, white-hot explosion of pleasure rippling through your core, your walls seizing and pulsing around his girth. You cried his name, your eyes squeezing closed as your climax tore through you. Meanwhile, the tight clench you’re holding him with was the final blow to his restraint.

Neteyam let out a low groan as he threw his head back, burying himself to the absolute hilt, pouring his heat deep inside you while his body shuddered violently against yours. He collapsed over you a moment later, his frame curling a little so he could fit himself in your smaller frame, his face buried in the valley between your breasts.

His breath scalded your skin before his mouth moved to kiss your skin. He stayed buried deep inside you, his long arms wrapping securely around your waist, holding you so close it felt like he wanted to press his very soul into yours. You cradled his head, your other hand squeezing his shoulder when he sucked on your pebbled tip hard.

You groaned, “What about rest?” you mumbled.

He lifted his head. “Rest?” he raised a brow as if that was a foreign word.

You pushed your lips forward. “See, I was... undisturbed for moons, Neteyam. I think my stamina needed practicing,” you mumbled.

He smirked. “Now might be the best time for practice.”

You bit your lip, your hand cupping his nape to kiss him. “On the side note... You’re right,” you squeezed around him. “I miss you very much.”

He smiled, his lips coming down on yours. The hours dissolved into the shadows of the hut. The clan had grown quiet as the night went on, but neither of you noticed as though the world outside your hut didn't exist. There was only the rhythmic, heavy slap of skin against skin, his low, breathless groans, and your desperate cries of his name echoing in the quiet room.

By the time the bioluminescence outside began to glow with the midnight moons, the frantic heat had finally settled into a soft, exhausted warmth. You lay on top of him, your chin sitting on his chest as his arms wrapped securely around your waist. You were tracing the smooth, familiar lines of his chest, your breathing finally matching his steady rhythm.

Suddenly, a loud, deep rumble echoed through the quiet space.

You blinked, a bit dazed and Neteyam let out a low, amused chuckle. You pouted, pushing yourself up a little, his large hand slid down to caress the soft, slightly damp skin of your flat belly.

“Fuck, I forgot dinner,” he said, his eyes widening a little.

You blinked, lazy, satisfied smile spreading across your face. “Huh... I strangely feel full.”

Neteyam’s hand paused on your stomach, his fingers rubbing a warm, slow circle over your skin as a knowing, utterly devastating chuckle escaped him. He leaned over, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips.

“I sure hope so,” he grinned, his golden eyes flashing with a playful, wicked heat. “But let’s feed you first, my love. I’m not done with you yet.” He reluctantly sit up, lifting you up a little by your waist and gently plopping you down the furs with a hard kiss on your lips. “Don’t get up.”

He came back with the dinner you had prepared earlier and Maytel’s berry pie, both of which you devoured, occasionally feeding each other small bites while sitting cross-legged on the floor, unashamed of your nakedness. The moment the last of the food was cleared, Neteyam didn't give you a chance to think about cleaning up.

He moved to clean it all away quickly. True to his word, he wasn't done with you. The lovemaking that followed was slower and sweeter, full of whispers and quiet giggling. By the time you two settled back into a soft, exhausted warmth, you lay tucked against his side, your cheek pressed flat against his muscled chest, listening to the steady thudding of his heart while his long arm wrapped around you, anchoring you to him.

You stared into the soft darkness, tracing a light circle over his chest. “What do you think about going back to High Camp?” you asked softly.

Neteyam stiffened instantly beside you, his breath hitching before his eyes snapped down to look at you, wide and suddenly laced with absolute horror. “Baby, surely you are not kicking me back to High Camp?” he asked, his voice rough and panicked. “We have just reconciled. I want to stay. I am staying. I will never leave again. Besides... what if you get pregnant and I am not here?”

The sheer dread in his tone made you stifle a smile, but a soft chuckle eventually escaped you. You shifted, resting your chin on his chest so you could look at him properly. “I will be with you. Me and Nevan... we will all go back to High Camp together. What do you think of that?”

Neteyam blinked, entirely caught off guard, his ears twitching in confusion. “I... I don't know,” he murmured softly, his hand coming up to gently smooth down your hair. “You are safer here, baby. You and Nevan. And I don’t want to be away from you ever again...”

A sudden wave of warmth made your eyes tear up. “That is why we are coming,“ you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “You will never be apart from me again. From us. But... that doesn't mean you have to stop doing what you worked your entire life to prepare for,” you stared at him, “I fell in love with a warrior, Neteyam. I mated with a warrior. You are a leader to the people, and I shouldn't have made you choose between your duty to them and your duty to your heart. I meant what I said earlier, baby. We are all learning. I will always be here to support you now, and I will never leave your side. So... I think we should go back. But only if you want it.”

Neteyam stared at you, his own eyes growing misty in the dark. The crushing weight he had carried seemed to fully lift, replaced by a profound peace. Without a word, he pulled you up by your waist, bringing your lips down to his in a deep kiss that tasted of absolute gratitude and a love that grew even deeper and larger.

The next say, Maytel returned your son the moment the morning sun broke over the terraces. His teasing, knowing eyes were incredibly annoying as he took in your flushed skin and Neteyam’s completely relaxed posture, but you chose to ignore his smirks, focusing instead on your son who was as bubbly as ever, practically throwing his little body into your arms, eager to tell you everything about sleeping at his grandparents’ as if it was a vacation.

While you held Nevan, Neteyam stepped forward, his expression serious but entirely respectful. “Maytel,” he said, his voice deep. “Can we talk for a moment?”

Surprised, Maytel’s smirk faltered, his eyes darting quickly to you. You offered him a warm, reassuring nod and a smile, letting him know it was for something good. The two stepped outside onto the platform, and though you couldn't hear the words, you watched as Neteyam clasped Maytel's shoulder in a gesture of gratitude.

Once the air was fully cleared, Maytel left with a promise of more pie for your son, who had just discovered that his parents completely finished off the pie Maytel brought yesterday.

“What would you like for breakfast, my little sun?” Neteyam asked, playfully tickling Nevan’s belly.

Nevan giggled, patting it as his chest puffed proudly. “I ate many smoked fish and... and kelp soup!”

You watched Neteyam chuckle, feigning surprise for his son’s entertainment. “Oh! You already ate, huh? No wonder your belly’s so rooound.” Neteyam bent down a little to blow air into Nevan’s belly, sending your son into a fit of giggles as he threw his head back in laughter.

You leaned your cheek against your son’s small arm, looking at Neteyam as you sat down on the mats of your receiving area. “Nevan,” you smiled, smoothing his little ear back. “How would you like to go on an adventure? We are flying back to Grandma and Grandpa.”

Nevan’s eyes went completely wide, his little tail swishing frantically against your leg. “To see the big ikrans? With Papa?” he squealed, jumping straight into Neteyam’s arms and hugging his neck tightly.

Neteyam melted against his son, his eyes crinkling with absolute adoration that made your smile grow wider. Later that night, you trekked up to your parents’ hut to bring a pie you made and to discuss with them your plans to go back to High Camp. Neteyam took his time sincerely apologizing to your parents who kindly dismissed his apology, gently reminding him that your forgiveness was the only kind that mattered and it clearly seemed like you had given it.

The flight back to High Camp was long and carefully calculated. Neteyam took no chances with your and Nevan’s safety, choosing to fly his ikran yards ahead of yours, scouting the valleys first, taking a much longer, winding route to completely avoid the coordinates he knew were patrolled by the RDA.

When your ikrans finally landed on the rocky ledges of High Camp where you were welcomed back with a small, joyous celebration. Jake and Neytiri were the first to embrace you, their eyes shining with relief to see their eldest son whole again, while the council looked on with relief to have Neteyam back into the fold.

But the moons he spent just learning the rhythm of the world with you and Nevan seemed to have ingrained themselves deeper than his warrior routines. Now, he couldn’t leave the hut without sharing breakfast with you, his large hands gently guiding his son’s tiny fingers over his food to teach him how to eat on his own before heading out to the scouting decks.

Then, he would return at midday to spend the eclipse with you, helping put Nevan down for a nap before heading back out to coordinate the perimeters. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, he was home for the night, stripping off his weapons and warrior gear to belong entirely to you.

He still couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. Even though you had forgiven him, insisting that you both made mistakes because you were still just learning, he believed he should have known better. Now that he was able to manage both of his lives so seamlessly, he couldn't understand how he had let the war consume him so completely before, letting years pass making you feel neglected and thinking he had chosen his duty over you, his heart.

There are nights though, where the weight of his duty still clawed at his shoulders. After an armed encounter with the RDA during his patrols, he still tried to come home as early as possible, his body rigid and vibrating with tension. You had already blew the firelight dimmed by the time he arrived from the council, his movements hurried and when he saw that Nevan was already asleep in his hammock, you saw his shoulders slumped, his face crumpling in controlled distress.

You stood up, welcoming him to help bim remove his cummerbund and weapons, hanging them on a rack. “Has he been asleep long?”

“Only because he played too much with the other kids earlier,” you told him, chuckling as your hands caressed his shoulders. “He could barely eat his dinner, his eyelids were already drooping.”

He looked down at his son, his large caressing the boy’s head. “I’m sorry, I came home late...” he mumbled.

You bit your lip. “Neteyam...” you hugged him from the side, kissing his shoulder, feeling the tension in them soften a bit. “I heard of the encounter. Tell me what happened...”

Your hands gently worked through the knots in his shoulders as he spoke, his voice dropping into that low, tense cadence. “The skirmishes have escalated, baby,” Neteyam muttered, his jaw tightening as he stared blankly at his hands. “It’s only been three moons since we came back, and the RDA patrols are pushing further into the southern valley. Earlier, they nearly pinned my scouts against the ridge. I almost called in a full air strike, but the canopy was too thick. I had to pull them back. Lo’ak thinks we should ambush their next supply line there, but... the risk is too high.”

You stopped massaging his shoulders and shifted, angling your head so he had to look at you. “You did the right thing by pulling back,” you said softly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from you in all the years I’ve known you is that you are not impulsive. You are not a warrior who wants only victory. I think... they are baiting you and they are expecting an ambush on their supply line. Eywa has given us enough to fight the demons, ‘teyam. Perhaps you could change your flight paths, lead them toward the weeping bogs where their heavy metal suits can't tread. Let the forest do the fighting for you.”

Neteyam blinked, a sudden, quiet clarity washing over his stressed features. He let out a long breath through his nose, his lips parting as a humored, thoroughly impressed smile broke through his tension. “See, this is why I’m not performing well in the moons you were not with me...” he pulled you for a kiss.

You smiled, “And that’s completely my fault, I think,” you whispered. “Mind if I make up for it?”

His eyes narrowed a little as you slowly sank to your knees in front of him. His breath hitched in his throat, his hands coming down to rest heavily on your shoulders as your hand moved to his loincloth to palm his hard on, biting your lips when you found him already hard, responding to your show in an instant. You stroke it for a moment before moving the fabric aside to let the thick, throbbing length spring free.

You wrapped your hand around the base of his girth, sliding your palm up to feel the heavy ridges snaking along his length, looking straight up into his eyes, you leaned forward and opened your mouth, sliding your lips over the wide head of his cock. Neteyam let out a low, ragged groan, his knuckles turning white as he gripped on the nearest rack.

You kept an unbroken, intense eye contact as you took him deeper, your throat stretching to accommodate his impressive length, pumping your hand at the base while your mouth worked relentlessly, sucking the sensitive head before sliding all the way down until your nose pressed into his pelvic, the heat of his cock filling your mouth.

“Fuck, baby...” he choked out, his head tossing back for a second before your firm gaze anchored him right back to you.

His large hand came down, caging your jaw to keep your face tilted up toward his. His eyes darkened as he began to move his hips, delivering restrained thrusts straight down your throat. You took every inch of him, your eyes watering slightly from the depth, but you never broke your stare. You sucked harder, swirling your tongue around the ridges, driving him absolutely mad with the tight, wet friction of your mouth.

His breathing turned into frantic, ragged huffs as his thrusts became faster, deeper, completely losing his hard-earned discipline warmth of your mouth. “Fuck, you're so good to me...”

The veins in his neck strained, his jaw clenching as he reached his limit. He delivered three deep plunges into your mouth before his whole body stiffened, his thick, hot release pulsing down your throat. You swallowed every drop of his heavy warmth, your throat moving refusing to pull away even as he pulled you back.

When you slowly slid your mouth off his length with a squelching sound, he shivered, thinking it was over but when you dragged your tongue up to lick him entirely clean from base to tip, your eyes still locked onto his blown-out gaze, his knees buckled.

Neteyam looked entirely undone, his chest heaving as he stared down at you in pure, reverent worship. You licked your lips, smiling at him, while his hands lifted you up effortlessly. His arm wrapped around you, his lips crashing down on your lips at the same time your body landed on the hard planes of his. He groaning as silently against your mouth, his large hand groping your chest down to your waist and hips until it wrapped around the back of your thighs.

He lifted it up and knowing what he wanted, you hooked your arms around his shoulders before wrapping your other leg around him. His hard length was already hardening again against your thigh, and with a swift wipe aside of your loincloth, he drove into you, fucking you with a ferocity that made you feel exactly the tension that was engulfing him the whole day.

You pursed your lips to and buried your face face against the crook of his neck to muffle your pleasured sounds as his fingers dug into your hips, relentlessly moving your over his cock.

“I love you,” he groaned, way louder than he should.

“Neteyam!” you whisper-shouted, your fingers on his scratching.

He chuckled, his head angling to press his lips against your cheek, groaning as muffled as possible, but still letting you know how good he's feeling as your warmth enveloped him tightly. You let out a pleasured huff when he shivered against you, spilling his warm seed inside you, and triggering your own release.

He groaned again, but as silent as he could now, his hand working on the ties of your loincloth behind you, shedding it off you without removing himself from you. He lowered you down on the soft furs, his cock slipping out a little when he removed his own loincloth. He spread your legs wider to slip it back in though, lowering himself to kiss you softly.

Hours later, the frantic heat had settled into a soft, exhausted warmth. You lay tangled together on the messy furs, your head resting on his chest while his arm was around your waist.

“Thank you, my love,” Neteyam murmured into the dark, his fingers gently tracing patterns along your arm.

You let out a soft, sleepy giggle, pressing a light kiss against his bare chest, listening to the steady, peaceful rhythm of his heart. “Someone has to keep the commander grounded.”

The peace in the weeks that followed was a precious, yet stolen gift, because with the encounters along the borders growing increasingly volatile, you knew it would soon reach a tipping point. What began as scattered, desperate shootouts quickly spiraled out of control, and Jake found it better to lead an offensive attack before the demons pushed deeper and harder against the resistance.

So, when Toruk Makto took to the sky once more, High Camp emptied. Neteyam kissed your lips until they were bruised and held Nevan so tightly the boy let out a confused whimper, before taking to the sky on his ikran, his jaw set with the determination of a man fighting to make sure that his children would never know the shadow of a gunship.

While the sky in the distant horizons burned with the smoke of explosions, you remained in the deep caverns of High Camp, sitting among the circle of women, your fingers tightly interwoven with Kiri’s, while Mo’at led the low, rhythmic chanting, praying to the Great Mother for the battle’s success.

Every breath you took felt heavy, not just from the fear for your husband, but from the secret you had yet to tell him. You had known for a few weeks now. You were pregnant.

You chose not to tell him at the height of the planning the offense, wanting him focused entirely on staying alive, but Nevan had practically been manifesting it. Ever since one of his playmates’ mothers had given birth to a tiny, squirming infant, your son had been absolutely obsessed with the concept.

Just days before the warriors marched, Nevan had sat on the mats, badgering you both with endless demands. “Want one of those at home, Mama! To play with!”

Neteyam had just laughed, sweeping the boy up into his powerful arms to cradling him against his broad chest like an infant to distract him. “But you are still our baby, my boy,” Neteyam had teased, his voice thick with affection as he brushed the tip of his nose against Nevan's. “You are always Mama and Papa’s baby.” Nevan had thrown his head back, giggling frantically, completely forgetting about the talk.

Now, clutching your flat stomach in the dim light, you whispered a prayer to Great Mother Eywa to bring that doting their father back to you. Whole and safe. You didn’t realize how much of a pressure it would be to be his wife during a major battle. Even in your distress, you needed to put on a calm facade and show the other women the tranquility that should belong to a wife of a warrior.

Fortunately, even before night fell, Eywa answered your prayers in the thunderous, victorious roars of ikrans echoing through the mountains.

The people had won. The clans Toruk Makto had united once again cleansed Eywa’eveng of the evil the sky people brought upon your world. Tuk roamed around chirping about reports on how the war party blew up Bridgehead, crushing the RDA’s main stronghold and ensuring they won’t bounce back as quickly as they usually should, with Jake leading the talks to force them back to the sky.

High Camp exploded into a frenzy of celebratory flutes and drums as the warriors touched down, their wives and children welcoming them with tears. Through the crowd, you spotted him. Neteyam leaped off his ikran, covered in soot and paint, his braids wild. The moment his eyes found yours through the throng, his fearsome warrior mask completely shattered, walking faster to get to you.

“Papa!” Nevan sprinted toward him and Neteyam caught the boy in his arms, before colliding into you with a force that lifted you off your feet, his massive arms wrapped around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck as he breathed in your scent, desperate to replace the stench of burning metal.

“I'm back, baby,” he choked out, his voice rough against your skin.

You held his face, tears streaming down your cheeks as you kissed him desperately. Nevan was already pulling at his father's braids, forcing him away from you, making both of you laugh. Neteyam pressed fierce kisses all over the boy’s face, and you did the same, making Nevan giggle, his neck scrunching in ticklishness.

The celebration for the victory began as night fell, all the torches and firepots were lit, glowing brighter than it ever had before. Even the moons cast down a glow different than the ones you’ve had in the past years, as if they were breathing more peacefully, too.

As the drums beat steadily in the background, Neteyam sat with you at the edge of the gathering, his arm anchoring you to his side while a thoroughly exhausted Nevan curled up asleep against his thigh. Neteyam looked down at his son, a soft, content smile resting on his lips, before his eyes drifted back to you, brimming with an unburdened, quiet adoration.

“We can build anything now,” Neteyam whispered, his large hand lifting to cup your nape, massaging a little. “A real future. Just you, me, and our boy.”

You smiled, your heart hammering a joyful rhythm against your ribs. You took his large hand, slowly guiding it away from yours and placing his wide palm flat against your lower stomach.

Neteyam blinked, looking down at his hand on your belly, then back up at your face. He froze, his ears twitching as he caught the blooming, emotional heat in your eyes.

“Baby...?"” he breathed, his voice suddenly trembling, the fierce commander completely replaced by the image of a stunned, hopeful boy you had grown up with.

“I can’t believe you’re surprised,“ you playfully widened your eyes at him.

He chuckled, and even through that, you saw a tear slipped down his cheek. “Right. Like I wasn’t actively aiming for that.”

You huffed a chuckle through your nose. “Nevan is going to get his wish,” you whispered, “You are going to have to practice cradling another baby very soon, Neteyam.”

A breathless, ecstatic laugh erupted from his chest. He didn't care who was watching; he leaned forward and captured your mouth in a deep, bruising kiss, his large hand trembling where it rested over the new life you were carrying.

“I will be here now. Always. To hear her first laughs, first words, and to watch her first steps...” he mumbled against your lips.

You smiled, your eyes locking onto his. “Her?”

His smile grew. “I just had little you in mind.”

[notbuckybarnes]

DAVID CORENSWET W Magazine  "Hollywood Cream"

[like-a-dream-about-to-bloom]

Aaand now for part 3 of Jamie pics that I like to imagine Caius as but also Jamie just looks hot

[clarkkentluvr]

Can request a Clark Kent x fem!kryptonian!reader where her escape pod that she was in crash lands on earth so clark has to help her and he teaches her how to get accustomed to earth culture but they end up falling in love and have sex because this man is very pent up and deserves to let loose on some pussy that can handle him haha

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗄𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗑 𝗄𝗋𝗒𝗉𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖺𝗇!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍: 16𝗄 (𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍 𝗒𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾, 𝗂 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌)

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌/𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌: 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 (𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗂𝗏, 𝗇𝗂𝗉𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒, 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒, 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀) 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌/𝗇𝖺𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗆 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗍, 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗎𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗅𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍/𝗇𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍.

𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾: 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗈!! 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺! 𝗂'𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗄𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗌! 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗉𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗄 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗋. 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 <33

Your pod crash landed at approximately 7:48 PM.

Superman was there by 7:50 PM.

It had happened so fast that he almost missed it. The sky above Metropolis cracking open like it was tearing in two. Luckily, he just so happened to be doing his daily patrols when he heard the deafening sound of something fast whizzing through the atmosphere.

Wasting no time, Superman shot after it, a blue and red streak against the deepening dusk, catching up just as it plunged into an open field just outside the city. What he originally thought to be some type of meteor or asteroid, turned out to be neither.

It was a pod. And it had carved a deep, smoking trench into the earth.

Superman eyed it suspiciously, not knowing if it was some type of threat to be wary of. Using his X-ray vision, he peered through the hull. His breath caught. Inside, curled in a protective, fetal position, was a woman. You.

You were clad in a simple, grey suit of some flexible material, skin pale under a layer of crystalline dust. And you were alive. A heartbeat, slow and strong, echoed in his ears.

Being ever so careful, he pried the hatch open. A hiss of equalizing pressure, a waft of sterile, recycled air, and then silence.

Your eyes fluttered open instantly. They were large and doe-eyed and they fixed on him with a confused daze.

A man?

It was the last thing you were expecting to see peering into your pod right as it opened.

He was an interesting man too. He was large and muscled, but was wearing odd garments.

A blue and red one piece? With an S? And was that a cape?

You glanced him up and down once more.

Strange.

You searched past him though, taking in the surroundings of the environment. Your pod was meant to take you back to your home planet, Krypton.

But this looked nothing like it. Nothing like how you imagined it from the stories you were told. Where were you?

Deciding to get answers, you push out of the pod. Your limbs are slightly weak from their cramped positioning for so long and your knees buckled the second you placed both feet on the ground.

“Woah, hey, hey take it easy,” the man says to you, catching you before you fall completely. 

Okay, clearly not a threat, he deduces. What was a random woman doing being sent here like this?

You cocked your head to the side at his unfamiliar words, still gripping onto his forearms for stability. Once you regained balance, you took a few steps back away from the man and his scrutinizing gaze.

You turned from him and started to walk away, hoping to search for answers, for Kryptonians, or for normal looking people who could help you figure out where you were and why your escape pod didn’t take you back to your planet. 

You didn’t make it very far when the man appeared by your side again.

“Hi, I’m sorry if I scared you earlier. I didn’t mean to. Ar-are you hurt? Do you need help?”

You stopped, and turned to face him again.

His dialect was different. You could not understand much at all. You stared at him in silence. Your mind was working overtime, trying to sort meaning from sound. You understood pieces—tone & emotion—but the words themselves felt slippery, like trying to hold water in your hands.

You decide to speak for the first time, and tell him your name.

His eyes widen and he nods in understanding, then points to himself. “I’m… Superman. No, no- just Clark. You can call me Clark.”

Clark. You repeat the name over in your head until you think you can mimic him perfectly. “Cl-ark. Clark.”

“Yes, exactly,” Clark nods triumphantly. “Do you need help? Where are you coming from?”

You scrunched your brows in confusion, and shook your head. Clark must’ve sensed that you didn’t understand a word of what he was saying. 

“Gosh, um. This is Earth. Planet Earth. Is this where you are supposed to be?”

Clark scolds himself again. Obviously you wouldn’t understand that either. He was wracking his brain now. He knew most languages from Earth, but not many from different planets.

But a flicker of recognition flashed in your eyes. Planet Earth. Planet? That sounded familiar. Did he mean Plenetia? But Earth was wrong. You were supposed to be on Plenetia Krypton. Not Plenetia Earth.

You shake your head again and say instead, “Krypton.”

Clark freezes instantly and his eyes widen. Krypton. You were from Krypton? That was impossible. Him and his cousin Kara were the only survivors he knew of. 

“Krypton? You are Kryptonian?” Clark speaks back to you in Kryptonian.

Your eyes light up, and you nod rapidly. He understands you! 

“Yes! I am from Planet Krypton. My pod was sent to another planet to keep me safe when I was a baby. That planet has gotten destroyed, so I was sent back to my home planet, hoping that the threat was gone and it was safe for my return.” You recite in perfect Kryptonian.

Now it was Clark’s turn to be confused. He didn’t know that much Kryptonian truth be told.

Only enough to pick up bits and pieces, and from his understanding, you thought that that’s where your pod was headed. To Krypton. Which no longer exists.

Which meant you didn’t know that Krypton had been destroyed.

Clark’s breath caught painfully in his chest.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just stared at you, standing there in the grass beneath an Earth sky that had once felt just as foreign to him. Your words echoed in his mind, each one heavier than the last.

His hands curled into fists at his sides. How was he supposed to tell you?

How was he supposed to tell this woman he just met, a Kryptonian like him, that you had no home to go back to. 

It had taken time for Clark to come to terms with the fact that there was no one like him here, and that was with the recordings salvaged from his own pod. You had nothing. 

Or at least he didn't think so. 

He glanced between your damaged pod and then back to you.

Deciding to check for you, Clark quickly dashes off to search your pod for a recording, or anything from anyone that might’ve been sent along with you that could help him understand more about you. He almost came up short until he found a small recording plug in the side compartment.

Eyeing it for a moment, Clark took it, and pocketed it. Maybe once he gets you settled in, he can take it to the fortress and play it for you. 

As he rushed back to where you stood, baffled at his sudden departure and lack of response, Clark came to a decision.

He wouldn’t tell you about Krypton. At least not yet.

“Sorry,” Clark said, a little breathless, forcing a small smile onto his face. “I just—I needed to check something.”

You studied him carefully. His expression was calm, but his eyes weren’t. There was something there. Something familiar. Loss, maybe. You didn’t have the words for it yet, but you recognized the feeling.

“You understand me,” you said again in Kryptonian, needing reassurance. “You are Kryptonian.”

Clark nodded. “Yes. I am.”

That fact alone steadied you. You weren’t alone on this planet. Not completely. Maybe he could help you find your family and get back to your planet. 

“You’ve been through a lot,” he said, switching back to English, then catching himself. He slowed, gestured gently with his hands, and tried again. “You… are safe. Here.”

You didn’t fully understand the words, but you understood him. His voice was soft and sweet. You wrapped your arms around yourself for comfort. The air felt different here. The sun was setting, painting the sky in colors you’d never seen before, and its warmth made you feel oddly good.

“I can take you with me. Give you a place to stay, while we figure out some answers and fix your pod for you to go back to Krypton.”

You tilted your head.

“Shoot right,” Clark mumbles, then switches to his poor Kryptonian, “I'll take you with me, to my home. I'll help you get home, to Krypton.”

You nod in understanding, grateful that you had found this Clark, who was willing to give you shelter and assistance back to Krypton.

Clark watched your face light up as you pieced together his words.

Gosh, he suddenly felt like a total jerk. He is a total jerk. Giving you false hope like this, knowing you had no home to go back to.

But what else could he do? 

He barely knew Kryptonian himself and didn’t know whatever other languages you spoke. You also just endured a long journey, no doubt. Telling you this news right now would be nothing but cruel.

You were oblivious to his inner turmoil and took his outstretched hand to follow him, trusting that Clark would guide the way.

━━━━━━━

The first few days on Earth were… unusual.

Clark took you to his apartment in Metropolis. He figured it was safer than the Fortress, at least until you were more stable. Less overwhelmed.

Also, selfishly, he didn’t want you to get any answers just yet. 

Not when it could help you leave him in search of another planet. Not when you were another Kryptonian that literally fell right from the sky that he still had the chance to get to know. 

You sat on his couch hesitantly.

Everything in his apartment fascinated you. The lights. The windows. The way the refrigerator hummed softly like it was alive. You followed him everywhere with wide eyes, silent as a shadow.

Clark noticed.

“You can sit wherever you want,” he said gently, gesturing to the living room. “You live here now.”

You tilted your head, and mimicked his English words. “Live… here?”

“Yes,” he said in Kryptonian, smiling. “With me.” 

Your chest warmed at that. 

You had so many questions, but language was still hard. Earth language came easily to him, but not to you. And Kryptonian came easily to you, but not to him.

But Clark was patient.

Very patient.

He started with the basics, pointing to objects and saying their names. 

“Table,” he'd say, tapping the dark wood. 

“Spoon.” 

“Window.” 

You repeated them, your accent thick but your determination clear. He would smile, a soft crinkle at the corners of his eyes that made you want to learn faster, just to see it again.

One afternoon, he brought home a small, flat device. “This is a tablet,” he explained. “It can show you… pictures. Stories. It can help you learn.”

He pulled up a children's program—simple animations with bright colors and slow, clear speech. You were mesmerized by the technology. You pointed at the screen. “Bird?”

“Yes, bird,” Clark said, delighted. “And tree. And sky.”

You watched for hours, absorbing the language in a way that felt more natural. You began to string English sentences together.

“Clark is making food?” you'd ask, peering into the kitchen.

“Yes, I am making food,” he'd answer, grinning at your language improvement. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes. I am hungry.”

You learned that things here were fragile. You broke a glass simply by picking it up, your fingers closing with a strength meant for a different gravity. You froze, staring at the sparkling pieces on the floor, a hot shame rising in your chest.

Clark didn't scold you though. He didn't even look surprised. He simply fetched a broom and dustpan. 

“It's okay,” he said, kneeling. “You have to be… gentle. Like this.” He demonstrated, picking up a surviving glass with exaggerated care. “Just a little pressure.”

You practiced on everything—doorknobs, light switches, the pages of the books he gave you. You learned to move through his world with more softness than you were used to, a constant mental effort that was exhausting but necessary.

The sun here was your greatest surprise. On your planet, Caelis, the light had been a cool, blue-white. Earth’s yellow sun poured energy into your cells like a floodgate opening. You felt stronger, faster, your senses stretching out further every day, strengthening you by the second. 

It was an adjustment though. Getting so many senses back at once. 

It was overwhelming, and you often found yourself retreating to the quietest corner of the couch, hands pressed over your ears, until Clark would sit beside you and talk in a low, steady voice, pulling your focus back to him.

He taught you how to wear human clothes, carefully explaining each piece. You stared at jeans like they were a trash bag.

“They’re… squeezing me,” you said unsure, but it seemed like the right word. 

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, or tight. Humans like them that way. You’ll get used to it.”

You frowned.

Clark also taught you how to eat human food, with a fork and a knife. You actually liked the ritual. Sitting at the table. With Clark. Holding a mug of something warm and sharing a meal.

“This is tea,” Clark said, sliding the cup toward you.

You sniffed it suspiciously. “Leaves.”

“It is leaves.”

“…Why?” you asked.

He smiled. “You ask that a lot.”

You thought about it. “Why is a good question.”

Clark laughed, full and warm, and something inside you fluttered.

At night however, you couldn’t sleep. The sky reminded you the most of Caelis at that time. You didn’t wanna miss it, even for something as necessary as sleep. You wondered if your foster family there survived. If they managed to escape like you. You hoped that they did, they were lovely people.

Not to mention, the other questions you couldn't yet ask that would swirl in your mind. You'd stare out the window at the unfamiliar constellations. 

When will my pod be fixed? When can I go home? 

You trusted Clark. 

He was helping you. But a deep, restless ache for Krypton, for the family you only knew from stories stirred constantly. 

You noticed he never mentioned it. 

When you tentatively brought up ‘Krypton’ or ‘pod,’ his warm expression would become carefully neutral, and he'd gently steer the conversation to something else like a new Earth food to try, or word to learn, or a park he thought you might like to see.

One evening, you had a breakthrough though. You were helping him dry dishes, and you gathered your courage. “Clark… you are Kryptonian. Yes?”

He stilled, the dish towel in his hands. “Yes.”

“Why… you are here? On Earth?”

He was quiet for a long moment, looking out the window at the city lights. “My pod came here, too. A long time ago. I was a baby.”

“You did not go back?” you asked, confusion knitting your brow.

He turned to you, and in his blue eyes, you saw that same heavy look from the field. The look of loss. “No,” he said softly. “I did not go back.”

You noticed the change in his emotion. “You are sad?”

“No, I am not sad. I’m okay.” Clark said simply enough for you to understand.

You still had more questions though. “Why do humans lie?”

Clark froze, suddenly worried he was caught somehow. “Lie how?”

“They say they are ‘fine,’ but they are not fine. They say they are ‘not sad’ but they are.”

He sighed. You were a fast learner, he’ll give you that. “Yeah… we do that a lot.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re scared,” Clark said honestly.

You processed that quietly. You thought about what could possibly be making Clark scared enough to lie and say he was ok and not sad when he clearly wasn’t.

You brushed it off for now.

You started to follow Clark on walks, learning how to exist in public society once you knew a decent amount of English. How to cross streets and what money was and why people stared when you tried to lift cars without thinking.

“Try not to do that,” he said gently after you accidentally started to pick up a parked taxi.

“It was in my way,” you said, confused.

“I know. But humans can’t do that. They aren’t strong like we are, remember?”

You nodded solemnly. At least back on Caelis you could use your abilities with no shame or hiding. You also missed flying, but Clark said it was not safe to do, especially because you aren’t a ‘superhero’ like him. People would be ‘suspicious’ he said.

The weeks continued to pass.

You learned how to smile at strangers. How to order food. How to say “thank you” and “sorry” at appropriate times. You learned that Earth had many holidays, most of which made no sense.

“Why is there a day for thanks?” you asked.

“It’s about gratitude,” Clark said.

You paused, thinking hard. “I am grateful for you.”

He froze.

“Oh,” he said softly, heart pounding. “I’m… grateful for you too.”

You didn’t understand why his ears turned red.

After three months of living with Clark, you could say that you were accustomed to Earth. Learning everything about his planet was fascinating.

You had routines now. Mornings where Clark made tea you didn’t drink but liked to smell. Afternoons where you practiced English while he worked. You would voice out challenging words for him to correct you on.

“Ruh-ral?”

“Rural.” Clark corrected back, “It means the countryside.”

You nodded and pressed next on your tablet. “Naw-zee-us.”

“Nauseous. Like when you are sick.”

“English is hard,” you huffed.

“You are getting much better. Keep practicing.”

Evenings where you sat together on the couch, close but not touching, watching whatever humans watched on the glowing screen.

But there was something that never left you. This was not where you were supposed to be. Clark might enjoy Earth, but to you, this was simply a stop through.

The questions came back stronger the more you learned. The more stable you felt, the harder it became to ignore the ache.

“Clark,” you said quietly. “When… will we fix my pod?”

His page stilled. “Soon,” he said automatically.

You frowned. “You said soon before.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw it—that fear again.

“You promised,” you added, “You said you help me go to Krypton.”

Clark closed the book slowly. “You’re right,” he said. “I did.”

“So when is soon? 1 day? 1 year? 5 years?”

“Soon is very soon.” And then he got up and walked away, leaving you frustrated and anxious. 

Luckily, soon indeed meant very, very soon and the next day, he took you somewhere new. He even let you fly with him (at night) to the place he called, ‘The Fortress of Solitude.’

When you arrived, ice rose in sharp, crystalline towers, revealing the breathtaking structure. The robots inside greeted you warmly, voices calm and reassuring. They spoke Kryptonian fluently—better than Clark ever could. You felt a rush of relief and began to speak to them.

“They help me fix my pod?” you asked hopefully, turning back to Clark.

Clark hesitated. Then nodded. “Yes, they will help you.”

The robots examined the pod schematics, projected glowing symbols into the air, and spoke gently.

“The pod can be repaired,” one said to you in Kryptonian. “However, reconstruction will take time.”

“How long?” you asked.

“One Earth year.”

You blinked. That was… short. Only 365 days.

“A year?” you repeated, surprised but pleased. “That is not long.”

Clark exhaled quietly beside you. To him, a year felt enormous.

But to you, a Caelian year had been nearly three times as long. A year here felt manageable. Almost comforting.

“I can wait,” you said, turning to Clark with a small smile. “I will stay with you.”

Clark’s chest tightened.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that he had already been here. Already spoken to the robots. Already asked them to delay. To lie. To let you believe that there was still hope.

To give him time. Time to figure out how to break the news to you.

Clark ushered you to one side of the fortress, where there was a big screen. “I want to show you something. It’s from my parents. They sent it along with me when I was a baby.”

You nodded eagerly.

You watched the screen come alive and saw two beautiful figures. They spoke in Kryptonian of how much they loved and missed Clark until it glitched out and finished. You didn’t see much more.

“Where’s the rest of it?” you asked in Kryptonian.

Clark scratched the back of his head sheepishly. 

“It got ruined when I landed.” Not a total lie. 

But Clark did ask the robots to stop the recording shorter than the true length. The part where they mentioned how their home was destroyed was completely cut out. 

Not that you knew that.

“Oh that was beautiful, though Clark. They are beautiful people. Maybe when my pod is fixed you can come with me and visit them sometime. I’m sure they’d love that.”

You spoke fast again, Clark not quite keeping up with all of the words, but if you said what he thinks you did, then yeah, he really is the biggest jerk in the entire universe.

Because now you thought his parents were alive too. Clark faltered for just a fraction of a second before he forced a smile onto his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Clark swallowed deeply, “You ready to go?”

“Yes.” You said your goodbyes to Clark’s friendly robots, making sure they knew how grateful you were for them helping you get back home. Clark waited up at the front for you, and you basically jumped into his arms.

Your excitement only made him feel worse about the whole thing.

He would tell you.

Soon.

Very soon. Once he could figure out the right way.

When you both landed back at his apartment, you were already eagerly bouncing. “When can we go back? I like your robots, they speak Kryptonian well.”

Clark pretended not to understand you since you spoke in Kryptonian. But you couldn’t help it, you were too excited and did not want to struggle through forming English words at the moment. You pouted.

“Clark,” you dragged.

He didn’t budge. Partly because he really did want you to practice your English, but mainly because he hated himself for what he was doing to you. And speaking about it made him want to fly and bury himself in a mountain for years.

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes and switched back to English. “When will we go back to your Fortress? Good?”

“Yes, very good, and we’ll go back soon.” Clark noticed your raised brow and then added, “Next week?”

You beamed, then threw yourself in his arms for an embrace. When you finally let go, you told him goodnight, then retired to the spare room you’ve been staying in.

Clark sighed deeply and sat on the couch, rubbing his eyelids harshly. He knew that everything would change from this point on. 

One year. 

That’s all he had. So he would have to make the most of it.

━━━━━━━

The days had started to slip into weeks. Weeks into months. The year-long countdown was in full effect.

With the pod being repaired by the robots, a new strange peace settled over you. The constant ache for home had disappeared. You had 365 days to experience Earth, to learn from Clark, to prepare for your journey. 

It made you bold.

You started at the library as a volunteer. 

After days of begging Clark to let you get a real job like him, he finally gave in. He was very against the idea as a whole. He’d rather you stay in the apartment, where your abilities and your speech wouldn’t raise any alarm bells in passerbys.

But you argued that you grew restless of the same walls and wanted to make the most of your last year on Earth. So you compromised, and Clark let you volunteer at a place of your choosing.

You didn’t really know many places to begin with, but the library was a word from your English programs on your tablet, and you enjoyed reading (or trying to read) the books Clark gave you.

Thus, the library.

Plus, your super-speed made re-shelving a breeze, though you had to consciously slow your movements to a human pace, like Clark said. Your co-workers found you charming, with your intense focus and strange speech. They adored you.

You learned things even faster by interacting with others in public too. Like certain thoughts shouldn’t be said out loud, things you would normally say to Clark.

Your speech improved because in your downtime you would read through the dictionaries to learn at least three new words to share with Clark.

That was also one of your new favorite parts of the day.

Because you saw Clark less than you normally did, sharing your day with him felt extra special. At dinner, you would tell him about the people at the library and your new words, and he would listen enthusiastically with a warm face that made your stomach stir.

Today, you two were eating breakfast for dinner. Clark said it was basically Earth tradition for humans to have breakfast foods for dinner at least once a week.

“So, how was the library today?” Clark asked.

“It was okay. Very little— I mean, very few people came. I had lots of time to read,” you said proudly. “Do you want to know the new words I learned?”

Clark smiled around a mouthful of eggs. “Always.”

You straightened in your chair like this was a presentation. “Okay. First: nostalgia. It means missing something that is gone, but in a… warm way. Not painful. ”

Clark’s smile faltered, just a touch. “That’s a good one.”

“Second,” you continued. “Subtext. It means what people mean, but do not say.”

Clark nearly choked on his coffee. “Yeah. That one’s… important.”

“And third,” you finished, pleased, “Intimacy.”

Clark went very still.

You frowned slightly. “The book said it is closeness. Emotional closeness. Sometimes physical closeness. It said it can be built over time.”

You tilted your head. “Clark, I think we have that.”

The air shifted. Clark set his mug down slowly. 

You added on, “We are closer because you saved me. And we are both from Krypton, of course.”

“Right, yes. Those are really good words.”

“And you? How was the Daily Planet.”

Clark smiled at how you always referred to his work as the Daily Planet. “It was okay. Both Jimmy and Lois were gone, chasing a lead. Perry yelled at me. But Cat brought doughnuts for everyone.”

“Those are the circles right? With the hole in the center?” you asked for clarification.

“Yes.”

You nodded. “I like those.”

Clark chuckled, “Yeah they are pretty good.” The sound was warm and easy, and something inside your chest fluttered. You noticed that feeling more these days.

Little things would set it off—the way he leaned his elbows on the table, the way he listened like nothing you said was ever unimportant, the way his eyes softened whenever they landed on you.

You finished your food and carried your plate to the sink, carefully. 

Clark watched you from the table, his heart doing something stupid and fast. A year, he reminded himself. Don’t forget that.

But it was hard to remember when nights like this felt so normal. When all he could think about most days was you. 

Clark's friends at the Daily Planet began to notice the change in him, too. The perpetual worry that often furrowed his brow had softened. He laughed more easily at Jimmy’s jokes. He didn't work quite as late.

Lois was the first to pounce. She cornered him at his desk, leaning in with that reporter's glint in her eye. "Okay, Smallville. Spill. You're humming. You, Clark Kent, are humming. Is it the 'friend from Switzerland'? The new mysterious roommate?"

Clark adjusted his glasses, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Yes, … she's adjusting well. She's… amazing, actually.”

“Amazing,” Lois repeated, drawing out the word. “As in 'amazing cook' or 'amazing to come home to'?”

“Lois,”  he sighed, but he was smiling. A real, unreserved smile that told her everything she needed to know.

“Alright, alright, just don’t screw it up.” Lois put her hands up.

Clark's mouth went dry. He didn’t answer.

Because he already had.

He screws up everyday that he continues to let the lie drag on. And he tried. He really honestly tried to tell you, but something always came up, whether that be work or Superman responsibilities.

So rather than just confessing, Clark did the opposite and tried to make up for his ongoing lies by easing his own conscience and essentially spoiling you.

He would bring you a new fresh batch of flowers every week, since you said that they reminded you of the ones that grew back on Caelis. He would shower you in attention, giving you everything you wanted and more. 

It helped, but in a way, also made it worse.

His feelings for you only deepened with each passing day.

And with them came the touches.

They were accidental at first. Easy to dismiss.

His hand brushing yours when he passed you a tea mug. Fingers lingering just a second too long before pulling away, like he’d been burned. Your shoulder bumping into his when you sat together on the couch, neither of you moving to correct it. The way he’d guide you through crowded sidewalks with a gentle palm at the small of your back, touch feather-light but steady.

You noticed all of it.

You noticed how his heartbeat changed when you were close. How his breath hitched when you leaned in to show him a new word on your tablet. How he always, always, waited for you to move first.

So you did.

One evening, while he was helping you with pronunciation, you leaned closer than necessary.

“Com-fort,” you said slowly.

“Comfort,” he corrected, voice low.

You tried again. “Comfort.”

“Perfect.”

You smiled, pleased, and without thinking, rested your hand on his forearm. It felt solid. Warm. Safe. Good. His muscles tensed beneath your fingers, but he didn’t pull away.

Instead, he looked at you, deep into those beautiful eyes that he found captivating the moment he met you.

The room felt quieter suddenly. 

“Is this… okay?” you asked, echoing a question you’d learned was important here.

Clark swallowed. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

So you kept doing it. 

You’d sit closer on the couch, your knee touching his. Sometimes your head would tilt toward his shoulder when you were tired, just barely brushing. The first time you fell asleep there, curled into his side without realizing it, Clark didn’t move for over an hour. He just sat there, heart pounding, afraid that if he breathed too hard you’d disappear.

He started tucking blankets around you when you slept. Adjusting pillows. Letting his thumb brush your knuckles when he thought you were already dreaming.

You were not.

You learned what his touch meant before you learned the word for it. And you liked it. Touching Clark. Feeling his warmth. It felt as though you two were made for each other in those moments.

━━━━━━━

Time passed like this. Soft and domestic.

The closer you grew, the harder it became for Clark to remember the end date hanging over everything. Less than a year now. Less than a year until the truth shattered this fragile, beautiful thing he was selfishly letting exist.

One evening, you stood by the window, watching rain streak down the glass. You liked rain. Clark said it made humans nostalgic.

“That word again,” you said thoughtfully. “I think… I feel that.”

“For what?” he asked, coming to stand beside you.

You turned to him. “For things that are happening now. Is that weird?”

Clark’s chest tightened. “No, it’s not weird at all. A lot of people feel that.”

“Humans are strange,” you decided.

He smiled. “Yeah. We are.”

“But I'm starting to really like them,” you added with a soft smile to Clark.

Thunder rumbled softly outside. You startled. There was no rain or thunder back on Caelis, so you hadn’t expected that. Clark reached out without thinking, resting a hand on your arm.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you turned fully toward him.

“You do that,” you said quietly.

“Do what?”

“You touch me,” you said, not accusing. “When I am scared. Or tired. Or quiet.”

Clark froze, then slowly lowered his hand, like he thought he’d crossed a line. “I’m sorry, I—”

“I like it,” you said quickly.

He looked at you, eyes searching. “You’re sure?”

“It feels like… comfort.” You said with a glint in your eye, knowing you used the word correctly.

His hand rose again, hesitant, and this time you covered it with your own. The contact sent a shock through both of you. Clark’s breath caught. Yours did too.

You stepped closer. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him and the way his presence filled the space.

“This,” you said softly, “is intimacy, yes?”

Clark laughed under his breath, a little shaky. “Yeah. This is definitely intimacy.”

You tilted your head, studying his face. His eyes. His mouth. His lips.

“Humans kiss,” you said slowly, carefully. “When they feel this.”

Clark’s heart slammed into his ribs. “They do,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “But only if they both want to.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You leaned in—slow, giving him time to stop you. Your forehead brushed his. Your breath mingled with his. You paused there, waiting.

Clark closed the distance, one hand cupping the side of your face softly as he did so. The kiss was gentle. Passionate. Everything you imagined it would be. His lips were warm, soft, lingering just long enough to make your head spin.

He pulled back for just a second, checking to make sure you were okay, the smile stretching on your face giving him all the confirmation he needed to continue. His hands gently slid down the side of your face to your neck as he leaned back in again.

After what felt like a lifetime, you pulled back, your eyes wide as you caught your breath.

“Oh,” you breathed.

Clark smiled, breathless. “Yeah.”

You touched your fingers to your lips, then to his, curious. “That is… very intimate.”

He laughed quietly. “It is.”

You leaned into him after that, resting your head against his chest. Clark wrapped his arms around you slowly, carefully, like he was holding his entire universe together.

Outside, the rain kept falling, but inside Clark held you and wondered how much longer he could let himself pretend this wasn’t already love—and how badly it was going to hurt when the truth finally came out.

━━━━━━━

“Date.” Clark tells you, as he secures his work tie  “That’s your word for the day.”

“Clark, I learned what a date is. It's the day, the month, and the—”

“No, no, that is only one of the meanings. There is another.”

“What is the other?”

“That is for you to figure out today while I’m gone. And when you find out what it is, I want you to know that we have one. Tonight at 8 PM sharp, so be ready.”

“Okay but what is—”

Clark shuts you up with a kiss. You melt into it before you realize that he distracted you. Ever since your first kiss with him, it seems like it's something that you can’t stop doing.

You kiss him before he leaves for work, he kisses you when you come back from the library. You kiss him before bed. You simply can’t get enough.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says, interrupting your thoughts and already halfway out the door, before it slams shut.

You stand there for a moment, stunned, fingers pressed to your mouth where he kissed you. Then you smile wide and bright in a daze.

“A date,” you murmur to yourself curiously.

You take your tablet with you to the couch, curiosity buzzing. You type the word in, careful with the spelling. You read the first definition that pops up.

 Date (noun):

A social or romantic appointment.

An outing between two people who are interested in each other.

You blink.

Interested in each other. Romantic appointment.

You scroll.

Dinner. Dressing nicely. Conversation. Laughter. Holding hands. Sometimes kissing. Sometimes Sex. Sex? You were unfamiliar with that last word.

But you disregard it for the moment. Because this—this is what Clark meant.

A date.

You spend the rest of the day preparing for the date. You watch videos on everything ‘first date’ related. 

You search your closet for something perfect to wear. Seeing as most of your clothes were picked out by Clark, you hope that he will like whatever you decide on. Which happens to be a never before worn black dress in the back of your closet.

Secretly, you wonder if he bought this dress with the hope of taking you out on a date in the future in mind. But you brush that silly thought off after a few moments.

By exactly 7:58 PM, you’re seated on the couch, posture perfect, heart racing.

At 8:00 PM sharp, the door opens.

Clark steps inside and stops.

For a moment, he just stares. You stand giving him a twirl so he can see the dress you chose.

“Is this acceptable for a… date?”

He swallows. Hard. “Yeah,” he manages. “It’s… more than acceptable. You look beautiful.”

You blush at the compliment and walk over to him. A part of you wonders if it's too soon to kiss him, but you decide that you really, really want to kiss him, so you do it anyway.

He meets you halfway, his arms coming around your waist as your lips find his. When you pull back, you’re both breathing a little harder.

“That was a good start to the date,” you say, a little breathless.

Clark laughs, a warm, rich sound that vibrates through you. “A very good start. Ready to go?”

Clark takes you to a small, quiet Italian restaurant tucked away on a side street. It’s nothing like the loud, bright places you’ve seen on his screen. It’s all warm wood, soft candlelight, and the smell of garlic and baking bread. A man in a black apron greets Clark by name and leads you to a secluded corner booth.

“How do you know this place?” you whisper as you slide in.

“I saved the owner’s son from a car accident a few years back,” Clark murmurs back, his voice low. “He insists I come by. The food is incredible.”

You trust him. He orders for both of you, speaking in smooth, confident Italian that surprises you. Perfect Italian but terrible Kryptonian.

The food arrives shortly after. Plates of steaming pasta, glistening with sauce, a salad with vibrant colors, bread that’s crusty on the outside and impossibly soft within.

You watch Clark, mimicking which fork he uses, how he twines the pasta. The flavors are rich and tasty, and you make a small, delighted noise with your first bite.

Clark’s eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. “Good?”

“Incredible,” you say, and you mean it in every sense—the food, the candlelight, the way he’s looking at you.

While you eat, he tells you stories about growing up in Kansas, about his parents, about his Kryptonian cousin, Kara, who is on different planets right now.

In return, you tell him more about Caelis. How beautiful it was, how there was no society like here on Earth. How everything was natural, no technology. Everyone was simply friendly and could do as they pleased, so long as it was safe.

When the plates are cleared and a decadent slice of tiramisu is placed between you, you feel another flutter inside. 

“This is my first ever date,” you tell him shyly, grabbing a dessert spoon.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeat, “People don’t really date on Caelis. They just find a partner, and they coexist like that until they die. I wonder how it is on Krypton. How your parents found each other? How did mine?”

Clark goes stiff at that. 

He manages to muster a weak smile, then changes the subject, “I have one more surprise.”

He pays the bill despite the owner’s protests, and then you’re walking back through the cool Metropolis night, his hand finding yours, fingers lacing together.

Clark leads you to a rooftop garden you’ve never seen, high above the city. It’s set up beautifully with twinkling fairy lights strung between potted flowers that remind you of Caelis, a blanket laid out, and a breathtaking view of the skyline.

“Clark,” you breathe, turning to him, struggling to find the right words. “This is… beautiful.”

“I come here sometimes. To think.” He guides you to the blanket, sitting beside you. “I wanted to share it with you.”

You look at him, the city lights reflecting in his blue eyes. Everything that lead you here suddenly all seems worth it. There is only this moment, this man, this feeling swelling in your chest and you think you might burst with it.

“Clark,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, but holding lots of truth. “I think I am falling in love with you.”

Clark doesn’t answer right away.

For a terrifying second, you think you’ve said something wrong. A word you misused. A feeling you weren’t supposed to name yet.

Then he exhales, slow and shaky, like he’s been holding his breath for months.

He reaches for you, carefully, as if you might disappear if he moves too fast. His large hands frame your face, thumbs warm against your cheeks.

“You don’t—you shouldn’t say words like that unless you mean them,” he murmurs.

You nod. “I mean it.”

His forehead presses to yours, giving him the strength to say his next words.  

“I’ve been in love with you,” he admits quietly, voice rough, “for a very long time now.”

Your chest tightens. “Then why do you look so sad?”

Because I’m lying to you, he thinks. Because I’m going to lose you and its all going to be my fault.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he kisses you.

It tastes like tiramisu, and love confessions and feels like a desperate, aching hope. It’s deep and slow, a silent apology and a prayer all at once. When he finally pulls back, he doesn't let go.

“Because,” he whispers into the tiny space between you, “loving someone this much is terrifying. Especially because you never, ever want to hurt them.”

You slide your hands up his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palms. “You don’t hurt me, Clark. You could never hurt me, you saved me, remember?” 

Clark closes his eyes, wincing as a shadow of pain flickers across his face before he masks it with another tender kiss. “Come on,” he says, his voice husky. “Let's go home.”

━━━━━━━

Back at the apartment, the night settles softly around you. Clark hangs up your coat, and before either of you can say anything else, you’re back in each other’s arms on the couch—kissing, touching, breathing each other in like you’re afraid the moment will vanish if you stop.

Eventually, your eyes drift closed as you are cuddled up against his chest, but you’re not asleep. Not tired. Your mind is busy, circling back to the things you read earlier. The words. The meanings.

There’s still one you don’t fully understand.

“Clark?” you murmur.

“Hm?” he whispers, arms tightening around you. “You okay?”

“Yes,” you say. “But there is a word I’m still confused on. From when I was looking up what dates are.”

“Okay. What word?”

You hesitate, then say it carefully. “Sex.”

Clark stiffens immediately. You feel it, every muscle going tense beneath you.

He doesn’t pull away, though. Instead, he takes a slow breath, steadying himself. “Gosh, that’s… umm.”

“Online it said that many people do it after dates,” This was your first date and you didn’t want to leave out any important parts, “Did we do sex?”

“No, sweetheart. We di-didn’t. That’s… that’s something different.”

“But the internet said it’s part of a relationship,” you persist, your voice muffled against the soft cotton of his shirt. “And we are in a relationship now, aren’t we?”

“We are,” he says, the words thick with conviction. “Of course we are. But sex, it’s um…”

Clark trailed off unsure how to explain this to you. He wishes that it would click, that you would be able to piece together the word in your own Caelian or Kryptonian language without him having to explain to you.

And after watching Clark struggle for a few minutes it seems you do. “Oh. Lira.”

“Lira?” Clark repeats.

“Back on Caelis, it is what describes the act that joins two people who have chosen each other,” you finish softly, and add. “Intimacy. That is what sex is right? Lira.”

“Yeah. That… that sounds about right.”

The two of you are quiet for a long moment after that. You break the silence first.

“Clark?”

“Yes.” He gulps because he already knows what you will say next.

“I um, I want lira.” You clear your throat, “I want to have sex with you.”

He is silent for so long that you wonder if you’ve made another terrible mistake, misapplied another word.

“Sweetheart…” he finally says, his voice a scrape of sound. He shifts, gently urging you to sit up so he can look at you. His eyes are wide, pools of blue and he holds your face steady in his hand.

“You’re saying that because you think it’s what comes next. Because you read it.”

“No,” you insist, reaching for his other hand, holding it tightly. “I’m saying it because I want to. I like when you kiss me and when you hold me. And I want… more of that. All of that. All of you.”

Clark’s breath shudders out of him.

He would be absolutely lying if he said, he didn’t want this with you right now. In fact just the conversation is already working him up, making him feel hotter under your touch. 

But this would be crossing a line you couldn't come back from.

If he lets this happen—if he crosses this line—he is responsible. For everything. For the imbalance between you. For the truth he is still hiding. But gosh, your sweet eyes staring back at him makes it difficult to think of anything else.

So he brings your joined hands up, pressing them gently to his chest, right over his heart so you can feel how hard it’s racing. “I need you to understand something first,” he says quietly. “More than anything.”

You nod, eyes never leaving his.

“I want you,” he admits. “I’ve wanted you. But wanting isn’t enough. I need to know that you understand what you’re choosing. That you’re choosing it because you want it, not because you think you owe me. Not because the internet said it’s what people do.”

“I know,” you say immediately. “On Caelis, Lira is never owed. It is only given.” You squeeze his hand. “I am giving it. I choose you.”

That does something to him. You feel the way his shoulders sag, the way his eyes shine, the way something heavy finally loosens in his chest.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.” Definitely going to hell, Clark thinks as he leans forward, his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

His hand cups your cheek again, the same familiar touch that started all of this—comfort first, always. He kisses you passionately.

When he pulls back, his thumb brushes under your eye. “Still want this?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then,” he murmurs, pressing one last gentle kiss to your lips, “Come here.”

Clark pulls you onto his lap in one fluid motion, positioning you perfectly to feel the growing bulge between his legs. He presses you down onto it, moving your hips so you can grind down on him.

The friction makes you gasp, never having felt anything like it. But it feels so good so you rock against him, chasing the sensation, and he makes a choked sound. His lips find yours again hungry and open-mouthed.

"You feel that?" he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick. "That's what you do to me sweetheart. Every time you look at me. Every time you say my name."

The words went straight to your core, causing a strong pulsing sensation that startles you. You whimper, grinding down harder, needing to soothe the new, delicious ache.

“Feel good?” Clark asks at your reaction, bucking up to meet your hips.

You nod quickly. You’ve heard people talk about Lira back on Caelis, describing it as one of the best sensations ever. You were starting to see what they meant. This was the best feeling.

Deep in your thoughts, you don’t feel Clark’s hand moving from your waist down to between your legs, cupping your clothed cunt under your now ruched dress. His large palm over your dampening center has you instinctively wanting to shut your legs.

But Clark doesn’t withdraw. Instead he squeezes tighter, while holding deep eye contact. 

“Have you ever been touched here before, sweetheart?”

You stare back into his blue eyes as you give him a weak shake of your head. “No.”

Clark hums, satisfied at that and applies more pressure. You grind down into his palm needing more.

Clark, ever so in-tune with your body, notices. Wrapping his free arm around your waist, and leaving the other hand between your legs, he uses his super speed to move you both from the couch to the bedroom.

Wasting no further time, he removed his own shirt and hiked your dress up, revealing your bra-less chest. 

The air in the room felt cool against your now exposed skin, but the heat from his gaze was enough to warm you up again.

For a moment, Clark just looked. Soaking in your body. Then slowly he lowered his head and kissed the space between your breasts. His lips were soft and warm. He kissed his way to one breast, taking his time. He circled your hardened nipple with his tongue before finally taking it into his mouth.

You gasped, arching off the bed. The sensation was incredible. A sharp, sweet pleasure that had you getting more and more soaked.

Clark suckled gently, his tongue flicking over the peak, while his other hand came up to cradle your other breast, his thumb rubbing over that nipple in slow, steady circles, squeezing it tight occasionally.

The dual sensation had you overwhelmed. You tangle your hands in his curls, holding him to you. When he was satisfied, he switched sides, giving the same attention to your other breast.

While his mouth worked, his hand began to wander again. It slid down your stomach, tracing the lines of your muscles. He paused at the waistband of your panties, his fingers dipping just beneath the fabric.

He pulled his mouth away from your breast, his breathing ragged.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

He hooked his fingers in your panties and drew them down your legs, tossing them aside and removed your dress over your head. Now you were completely bare before him. His eyes darkened, roaming over every inch of you. The intensity of his gaze made you feel both exposed and cherished.

Clark settled between your legs, but instead of moving forward, he leaned down and kissed your inner thigh. His lips were plush, his stubble a gentle scratch. He kissed his way up, slowly, maddeningly slowly, until his breath was warm against your most intimate place.

You held your breath, anticipation coiling tight in your belly. You felt him look up at you from between your legs and give you a lustful smile.

He didn’t use his tongue right away. First, he just nuzzled you, his nose brushing against your sensitive folds. He inhaled deeply, and the sound he made was one of pure hunger. Your scent was particularly enticing, and he wondered if it had to do with your Kryptonian nature calling you to him.

“Clark,” you whined, your hips lifting off the bed of their own accord.

“Shh,” he soothed, placing a firm hand on your hip to still you and push you back down. 

Only once you stopped squirming did he finally taste you. The first swipe of his tongue was a flat, broad stroke from bottom to top. It was so much, so intense, that you cried out. Your back arched, and your fingers clenched in the sheets.

He did it again, and again, establishing a slow, languid rhythm. He explored you with his tongue, learning what made you gasp, what made you writhe. He circled your clit, then sucked it gently into his mouth.

“Clark, please,” you begged, not even sure what you were asking for.

But Clark knew, and she shoved his tongue deep into your hole, flicking it expertly inside you.

He hummed against you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. Then he added his fingers. One finger, slick with your arousal, pressed against your entrance. He pushed inside, slowly, giving you time to adjust. 

You were very tight, definitely needing to be stretched out, but so wet, and he slid in knuckle deep with a groan.

He began to move his finger in and out, a steady rhythm that matched the strokes of his tongue. The pressure inside you, the flicking of his tongue on your clit, it was too much and not enough all at once.

“More,” you pleaded, your voice broken. “Please, Clark, I need more.”

He added a second finger, stretching you further. The burn was brief, quickly swallowed by a deep, filling pleasure. He moved with care, gentle and patient as he worked your body.

Still, you weren’t satisfied, and he could tell. Clark paused thoughtfully. Most women could hardly take two of his fingers without feeling overly worked. But you, you still couldn’t get enough. 

Clearly able to handle more than regular humans, Clark inserts two more fingers, stretching you out beautifully. He watched as your face scrunched up into a pretty moan, eyes rolled back.

“Gosh, yes Clark,” you whimper, “Much better. Move, please.”

He curled all four of his large fingers inside you, searching, and when he found that spot, you saw stars.

A moan tore from your throat. Your entire body seizing in pleasure. Clark fingered you through it, your first orgasm of the night, his tongue and fingers relentless, until you were sobbing, completely overwhelmed by the sensation.

He gentled his touch, his movements becoming softer, letting you come down slowly. He kissed your inner thighs, your stomach, as you trembled beneath him.

When you could breathe again, you looked at him. His lips were glistening, his eyes blown black with desire. He looked wrecked, and you had done that to him.

“Clark,” you whispered, reaching for him. “That was good. I’m enjoying this. Having sex with you.”

“Oh hon, we haven’t even really started,” Clark chuckled, his tone somewhat condescending.

He withdrew his fingers, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness, and brought them to his mouth, tasting you with a groan of pure appreciation. The sight made you flush and your pussy throb even harder.

Clark shifted his weight, settling fully between your trembling thighs. The length of him, still confined in his pants, pressed insistently against your slick heat, promising so much more. You could feel the size of him, even through the fabric, and a fresh pulse of desire, mixed with a flicker of nervous awe, shot through you.

“Still with me?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. He brushed the damp hair from your forehead, his touch infinitely tender.

“Yes,” you breathed. “I just… you’re so…”

“I know,” he said, understanding instantly. He kissed you, a hot sweaty kiss that tasted of you and him. Clark rocked his hips, a grinding motion that had you seeing stars again. 

“You think you’re ready for it?” He asks you.

“Yes, gosh, yes!”

Clark shakes his head, and scoots back releasing the friction he had on your body. “No, I don't think you are sweetheart.”

“Clark,” you cry out, upset. 

You found yourself growing frustrated. Why is he not giving you what you want? He always gives you what you want. Your eyes start to well. He was being mean.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Please.” Your bottom lip wobbled, and for a moment, Clark almost gave in. “Stop teasing me.”

But he didn’t.

Instead, he shoved his whole hand back into your pussy. Deeper than before and harder.

Your eyes flew wide, a sharp cry tearing from your throat that was equal parts shock and overwhelming, sudden pleasure. The sensation of being filled so completely, so abruptly, stole the breath from your lungs.

Your body twisted, your hands flying to his wrist, not to push him away, but to hold on as the world dissolved into a white-hot point of sensation.

“There,” he breathed, his own chest heaving as he watched you come utterly undone around his hand. “That’s what you need first. You have to be ready, sweetheart. Really ready. For me.”

He began to move his hand, a fast, deliberate pistoning that stretched you to a breathtaking, almost impossible degree. The friction was exquisite, a deep, internal massage that had your toes curling and your vision spotting. You were so sensitive from your first climax, and this was pushing you swiftly, mercilessly toward another.

“See?” he murmured, his voice thick with a possessive awe. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your desperate moans. “You take me so well. But you’re still so tight.” He curled his fingers inside you, pressing ruthlessly against that magical spot, and you shattered.

You sobbed his name, your walls clenching rhythmically around his embedded hand.

He gentled his movements, letting you ride the wave, soothing you with whispered praises against your sweat-damp skin. “Good job, hon. Just like that.”

When the last tremors subsided, he carefully withdrew his hand. You felt utterly open, utterly spent, and yet thrumming with a need that felt bottomless.

Clark stared down at your glistening face, his eyes never leaving yours as he unfastened his pants. He pushed them and his boxers down to free himself.

You couldn’t help but stare. He was… magnificent. Thick and long and flushed with need. A bead of moisture glistened at the tip. You reached out, driven by a sudden, curious need to touch.

Your fingers barely grazed the velvety skin when his hand shot out, wrapping gently but firmly around your wrist. He guided your hand away, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to your palm.

You understand what it meant. He was to be doing all the touches tonight.

He positioned himself over you, the thick head of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance. For a moment, he just stayed there, letting you feel the size of him, the heat. His breath came in short, ragged bursts. You could see the strain in his neck, the corded muscles of his arms as he held himself back.

You felt a sudden spike of nervousness. It looked... like a lot and you've never done this before. He saw it flash in your eyes.

"I'll be gentle—" he started, but you stopped him. No. You wanted this. 

“Clark,” you say, “I am Kryptonian, just like you. I can handle it.” You pulled his head down, your lips brushing his ear. “I need it.”

A shudder wracked his entire frame.

Clark swore that nothing in his life could amount to this. To those words. He finally found his perfect person. Someone who could withstand his strength and speed because you were the same.

All those years of holding back, of being so pent up— well they were about to be unleashed into your poor pussy.

He pushed in, burying himself inside you in one long, deep stroke.

“Mmph,” you whined, feeling him all the way to the hilt, his balls rubbing on your clit perfectly.

“Oh... gosh,” he choked out, his hips stuttering. “You... you’re perfect. So tight, so soft. Sweetheart, you’re made for me.”

And he wasn't wrong. Your Kryptonian anatomies aligned with an impossible precision. He filled you completely, a stretching, filling pressure that showed with an outline of him in your stomach. 

Clark began to move. Slowly at first, shallow pulls that made you both whimper. He was watching your face, checking, always checking. Your eyes were dark, your lips parted on a silent cry, your nails digging into the thick muscles of his shoulders.

“More,” you demanded, your legs wrapping around his waist, locking him to you. “Clark, more.”

You knew that he was trying his best to be careful with you, but you were not a fragile human, and you needed to be fucked like the Kryptonian you are.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

He pulled back almost all the way and slammed back in, a hard, driving thrust that knocked a sharp cry from your lungs and lifted you up the bed. The headboard cracked against the wall.

“Yes,” he hissed, the sound vicious with relief. “Take it. Take all of me.”

He set a punishing rhythm, his hips pistoning, driving into you with a force that would have shattered a human pelvis. 

The bedframe groaned in protest with every impact. Each thrust sending you into a fucked-out state of pure bliss.

Clark leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, biting kiss. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips hard enough to leave faint, blooming bruises that would fade in minutes, palming your breasts, thumbing your nipples, rubbing your clit. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, groaning into your skin.

“Gosh sweetheart,” he mumbled, licking a stripe up your throat. “You smell so good. Driving me insane. Makes me want to… want to…”

Clark didn’t finish the thought, but his thrusts became more erratic, more possessive. He shifted his angle slightly, and on the next deep drive, he hit a spot that made you see stars. You screamed, your hips lifting away.

“There she is,” he growled, finding your spot. He hit it again. And again. And again. “Let me feel you. Show me how good I make you feel.”

The command, the filthy praise, the rough pounding—it was perfect. Exactly what you needed. Your climax tore through you and you clenched around him, milking his length, and his rhythm stuttered as he let go of his release.

When the waves of pleasure finally receded, you felt boneless, gasping. But Clark was far from done. 

Besides, you had the stamina to keep up. Just as quickly as that orgasm came, it went. And you needed another.

“We’re not even close to being finished hon,” he promised you. You wanted some sex. He'll give it to you. Anything you asked for.

In one swift motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach. He pulled your hips up, arching your back, pressing your face into the pillows. He draped himself over your back, his chest hot against your spine, and sank into you from behind. 

The angle allowed him to drill into you with even more power, pounding you deeper into the bed. The sound of skin on skin, of his groans and your muffled cries, filled the room. The bed’s protests grew louder.

You couldn’t form words to speak even if you wanted to. All you could do was sob into the pillow and push back against him, meeting his thrusts.

He fucked you like that for what felt like an eternity, in that raw, vulnerable position, until your thighs were shaking and your pleas were a broken, continuous stream. Just when you thought you couldn’t take another second, he pulled out, letting your release and wetness drip down your legs.

You made a sound at the sudden loss, but before it could fully form, his arms were around you, lifting you from the bed.

“Hold on,” he whispered, and then the world tipped.

You were flying? Or he was. He held you cradled against his chest, your legs still wrapped around him, and he was inside you as he rose into the air.

“Clark!” you shrieked, clinging to him, not expecting that.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, kissing you hungrily as he hovered. He began to move again, shallow, grinding thrusts made possible by the gravity. It was intimate and impossibly erotic, your bodies joined in the air like such.

He floated you both back down, not to the bed, but pressing you against the nearest wall. The cool plaster was a shock against your heated back. He pinned you there, using the wall for leverage, lifting one of your legs, and slammed back into you with renewed frenzy.

The wall cracked underneath the pressure of your two strong bodies. But Clark’s rough pace didn’t falter for a second. Clark reached up, brushing your damp hair out of your face.

He tilted your chin up to meet his eyes. Those gorgeous eyes that he loved so much were filled to the brim with tears that kept spilling down with each hard hit of his cock in your body.

Clark groaned at the sight, fucking you even harder if that was possible.

“Oh Clark,” your eyes roll.

“Yeah,” He moaned, “Gonna fill you up so good, sweetheart. You’re gonna be all mine. You want that?”

You nod rapidly. You would want nothing more honestly. 

“Need words, princess.”

“Yes, Clark, please.”

At that confirmation, Clark switched your position back to the bed. He pulled your legs up and over his shoulder, then shoved your knees to your chest to have you in the perfect mating press.

He rammed into you hard, the position forcing you to look directly at his handsome face as he ruined you. All you could feel was his cock splitting you open, thick and veiny and so long it felt like heaven every time he bottomed out. 

Clark let his teeth graze your calf as the wet, sloppy sounds of your pussy squelching obscenely fill his ears.

You carried on like that for so long, the bedframe finally groaned and splintered beneath you, unable to withstand the force of two Kryptonians joined in passion.

Neither of you notice. Or care.

The longer you two went at, the more it seemed that his scent would fill your senses. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply, groaning as your own scent enveloped him.

You both felt it building simultaneously, a sensation different from the many orgasms released through the night.

No this was something new altogether.

A need to be claimed, to be marked, to be so utterly his that nothing could ever separate you. You tightened around him, clenching down so hard that he couldn’t pull out if he wanted to.

Clark leans down, right onto the sensitive point where your neck meets your collarbone.

His lips are hot, his breath ragged over it, raising goosebumps. A possessiveness surges inside him that has him practically growling against your skin. You mewl under his touch, begging for him to touch the warm area.

Clark's teeth graze over the spot. Then he latches onto it - kissing, sucking, biting, whatever feels right.

For you, the feeling is everything. 

Pure ecstasy shoots from that point, down your spine, and explodes in your core. Your back arches off the ruined bed, a scream ripping from your throat. A flood gushes from you, soaking him, the sheets, and leaves you shaking, your vision spotting.

For Clark, the sensation of your body convulsing around him, the scent of your climax mixed with the faint, coppery taste of your blood on his lips, is his undoing.

Clark buries himself as deep as he can and lets go. His release shoots out in endless hot ropes of cum. He collapses over you, his body heavy and warm.

For a long time, there is only the sound of ragged breathing and the frantic beating of two hearts slowly finding their rhythm again.

Gently, Clark pulls out and rolls to the side, gathering you immediately against his chest. You’re both slick and spent, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just holds you, one hand stroking your hair, the other splayed possessively over the small of your back.

After a few minutes, he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Stay here.”

He returns a moment later with a warm, damp cloth. Softly, with a tenderness that contrasts wildly with the roughness of the minutes prior, he cleans you. He wipes the sweat from your brow and hairline and the evidence of your combined release on your thighs.

He stops for a second to examine your pussy before coming up, spreading your swollen lips apart. You squirm a bit at the unintentional overstimulation. “M'sorry sweetheart, just taking a quick look.”

Clark looks inside you and can see his release coating your walls, a sight that make him swell. Then using his x-ray vision, he takes a closer look at your muscles and walls. He can see exactly where he broke you in. “Oh yeah, perfect. She's nice and open f'me.”

His crudeness has you breathing harder. Clark plants a soft kiss to your puffy folds and comes back up to your face. He peppers your cheeks and neck with soft kisses and then brings the cloth up to finish cleaning you up.

When the cloth passes over the tender mark on your collarbone, you flinch. Clark stills.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice is raw with instant regret.

“No, you could never hurt me,” you whisper, your own voice hoarse. You reach up, your fingers finding the raised, slightly heated skin. It feels… different. You didn’t know how to explain.

Clark’s expression softens. He finishes cleaning you, then disposes of the cloth and returns to bed, pulling the less-damaged comforter over you both. He wraps himself around you, tucking your head under his chin.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs into your hair.

“That was a lot,” you say truthfully, now that it was all over.

“Too much,” Clark asks fearfully.

“No, no. I enjoyed it. I’d like to do it again sometime.” you admit shyly.

Clark chuckles at that. “Yeah we can do that again sweetheart. Let’s move to the spare room, okay? This bed is broken, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Now it was your time to chuckle, also looking at the broken wall and torn pillows. You two destroyed his bedroom. “Okay.”

You follow him out of his room and into your spare room, both of you climbing into the cool, clean sheets. Clark pulls you back into his arms, and you melt against him. You trace the lines of his chest and arms absentmindedly. A comfortable silence stretches when suddenly you remember something.

“Clark?”

“Hmm?”

You tilt your head back to see his face in the moonlight filtering through the blinds. “On Caelis, it is customary to say this phrase to someone you love. Sael’ka varin.”

“Sael’ka varin.” Clark repeats, “What does it mean?”

“Well, it translates closest to ‘my soul recognizes yours.’”

Clark goes very still and swallows thickly. He understands the weight of what you’ve offered, what you've given him tonight. He wants to make sure you know he feels the same. So, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“My soul,” he whispers in Kryptonian, “has been completely yours, long before I ever understood what it meant to give it. You have my whole heart, sweetheart.”

Tears well up in your eyes. It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to you. You don’t have the words in any language to match it. So you show him, curling into him, your leg sliding over his, fitting yourself against him as if the very atoms of your being were designed to align with his. 

That night, you drift into the first true, peaceful sleep you’ve known since arriving on this strange planet.

━━━━━━━

When you wake the next morning, Clark’s side is empty, but you can hear him moving and cooking in the kitchen. You smile, the scent of coffee and sizzling bacon mingling with the lingering, musky scent of him on the sheets. 

You stretch, feeling wonderfully sore in places you didn't know could be sore, a pleasant ache that serves as a constant reminder of the night before. 

But beneath that, something else feels different. Off. It’s a strong pull, a deep yearning that centers directly on the man in the next room. You’ve always felt drawn to Clark, but this is much more intense. It’s not just attraction, it feels more like a biological and cellular-level need to be near him, to touch him, to have his scent and his warmth surrounding you.

So you pad out of the bedroom, the sight of him at the stove in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair still damp from a shower, making your chest warm. 

You walk up to him wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and press your face into the solid warmth of his back. You inhale deeply, the scent of his soap, his skin, something uniquely Clark flooding your senses and easing all tension.

He goes still for a second, then relaxes, a soft chuckle rumbling through him. "Morning, sweetheart," he says, turning his face to press a kiss to your temple. “Sleep okay?”

“Better than ever,” you murmur, reluctant to let go. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, It's only been like twenty minutes,” he teases gently, flipping a pancake.

“It felt longer.” And it had. The moment you'd opened your eyes to an empty bed, a small panic had fluttered in your chest.

He must hear the thread of sincerity in your voice because he turns the burner off and turns in your arms, his own coming around you. He looks down at you, his eyes soft, searching. “Everything okay?”

You nod, rising on your toes to kiss him. “Everything is perfect. I just… like being close to you.”

A beautiful, warm smile spreads across his face. “I like it too,” he whispers against your lips before deepening the kiss. “Now go shower. Breakfast will be ready when you’re done.”

In the shower, the hot water soothes your muscles. You lather the soap, your hands roaming your body, and your fingers brush over the mark on your collarbone. You pause. You can feel the raised skin without even looking. You angle yourself under the spray and glance down. It’s a deep, vivid reddish-purple. 

A flicker of unease passes through you. You’ve gotten small bruises before, from bumping into things in your new, unfamiliar world. They’ve always faded at most within an hour, your Kryptonian healing under Earth’s yellow sun making you remarkably resilient. 

This mark, born from Clark’s passion last night, is different. It hasn't faded at all. It looks as fresh as when he made it.

You dismiss it. Maybe it's deeper. Maybe the intensity of the moment, the force of his… love… left a more lasting impression. Yeah, that was it. Maybe your body is just processing the newness of everything. The thought sends a thrill through you, a strange pride.

You finish your shower and join him at the small kitchen table. He poured you orange juice, sliding a plate of perfect pancakes and crispy bacon in front of you. The whole time, you can’t stop touching him. Your foot finds his under the table. Your hand rests on his forearm as he passes the syrup.

Halfway through breakfast, you can’t ignore the mark any longer. It feels warm and persistent. You touch it lightly.

“Clark?”

“Hm?” He looks up from his coffee, his gaze immediately dropping to where your fingers rest.

“This mark… from last night. It hasn’t faded at all. Isn’t that strange? My bruises never last this long.”

All the softness leaves his face, replaced by a sudden, sharp focus. He sets his mug down carefully. “Let me see.”

You tilt your head, offering him a clearer view. He leans in, his brow furrowed. His fingertips brush over the discolored skin. A jolt shoots from the mark straight to your core, making you gasp softly.

Clark pulls his hand back, his eyes wide with alarm. “Oh, did that hurt?”

“No,” you say quickly, your voice breathy and face hot, before you added, “It just… felt like last night. A lot.”

His concern doesn’t go away. He studies the mark, his jaw tight.

“It should have faded,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Even a… a passionate mark. Under the yellow sun, our cells regenerate too quickly for something like this to stay.”

“Maybe because it was you?” you offer, trying to lighten the sudden heavy mood. “Maybe my body just wants to keep it.”

He doesn’t smile at your attempt, like you thought he would. Instead, he leans in and presses his lips to the mark, a kiss so soft it’s barely even there. But the restless, needy feeling that had been buzzing under your skin since you woke up quiets instantly, soothed by his touch.

He pulls back, his eyes still shadowed. “I don’t know,” he admits, his thumb stroking the skin just beside the mark. “But I’ll look into it. I promise.” He forces a smile. “Don’t worry, okay? Just… let me know if it starts to feel painful or strange in any other way.”

You nod, the anxiety quelled by his kiss and his promise. For the rest of breakfast, you’re at ease again, basking in the simple joy of being with him.

But when he leaves for the Daily Planet, the restlessness returns with a vengeance. 

It’s a Monday, and the library is closed. The apartment feels vast and empty. You try to distract yourself with your tablet, browsing human social media, looking up new words, but your mind wanders. You check the time. 9:48 AM. He won’t be back for at least eight hours.

The need to be near him continues to grow into a physical ache, a hollow feeling in your stomach that has nothing to do with hunger. You find yourself holding the shirt he wore last night, burying your face in it, his scent a temporary, pathetic substitute for his presence. 

You count minutes. You watch the clock. You feel ridiculous, clingy, but you can’t help it. You tell yourself it’s a side effect of the new intimacy, a perfectly normal emotional codependence after such a powerful bonding experience.

When the key finally turns in the lock just after 6 PM, you’re on your feet before the door fully opens. You practically launch yourself at him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Woah, hey, honey!” he laughs, staggering back a step, his work bag dropping with a thud. He catches you easily, his arms coming around you, holding you tight. “Missed me that much, huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe into his neck, inhaling him. The restless static in your veins finally stills. “I missed you so much, Clark.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I missed you too. Felt like the longest day.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes warm. “What’d you do all day?”

You shrug, reluctant to admit you’d done little more than pine for him. “Nothing. The library was closed. Snooped around online. Learned three new words.”

“Oh yeah? Which ones?”

“Aftermath, deception, and kaleidoscope.” You list them off, but your heart isn’t in it. 

You’re just happy he’s home. You make dinner together, your hip brushing his as you move around the kitchen, your hand constantly finding his arm, his shoulder, the small of his back. He seems to crave the contact just as much, his touches lingering, his kisses frequent and sweet.

The pattern repeats itself over the next few weeks. The desperate clinginess doesn’t fade. It intensifies. Each morning you wake with a sharp yearning that only eases when you’re in his arms kissing him. At the library, shelving books, you find yourself very distracted, your thoughts orbiting him.

Your fingers drift to the mark on your collarbone, which remains stubbornly vivid, a brand against your skin. Touching it brings a flash of him, of his scent, of the feeling of his teeth, which both comforts and unsettles you.

And then, a new, colder fear begins to creep in, cutting through the fog of needy affection.

Your time on Earth is running short.

In less than a week, your pod will be ready. The original plan you agreed to, was for you to climb back inside and return to Krypton.

The thought now makes you feel queasy. 

It sends pure panic through your system that you have to stop walking, and lean against a library bookshelf for support. Leave Clark? The very idea feels like someone is trying to tear your soul in two. 

That’s when the idea blooms, desperate and hopeful: He could come with you!

The thought takes root and grows rapidly. He’s from Krypton too. He has his parents there. He could come! You could explore your homeworld together. It’s perfect. It solves everything.

But first, you need to understand what’s happening to you. This obsession and mark that won’t heal… it’s not normal. 

Only then, when you have everything figured out, can you tell him of your amazing idea!

Besides, Clark has been increasingly preoccupied anyways, called away more frequently by Superman duties—a disaster in Asia, a sinking ship in the Atlantic. The absences, though never long, feel like small eternities, leaving you agitated and anxious. 

He’s worried too; you see it in the lines around his eyes when he thinks you’re not looking, in the way he studies your mark with deepening concern but offers no real answers.

You need answers now though. You don’t think you’ll be able to stand another day of not knowing.

So, you decide to go to the only source you know. The Fortress of Solitude holds all of Krypton’s knowledge. They would know.

You wait for a day when Clark is at the Daily Planet. You take a single, curly black hair from his comb, for the Fortress’s systems to recognize you as his DNA. Then you shoot up into the sky, flying the same path he took you many times before. 

You call out as you enter the main chamber, your voice echoing. “Hello?”

No answer. The usual robotic steward, Gary, is nowhere to be seen. You venture deeper, drawn by the sound of low, mechanical chatter. You peek around a crystal pillar into a secondary monitoring room.

Two robots, their backs to you, are hovering before a large, shimmering screen display. They are speaking English, but a rapid, clicking dialect you can just barely follow. But you know from their tone that they are gossiping.

“—he still hasn’t informed her,” one says, its visual sensor focused on the screen.

“Superman’s directive to us was to repair the pod, not manage any emotional fallout,” the other replies. 

Your blood runs cold. Were they talking about you? You strain to see what they’re watching. The hologram resolves into a video. 

Two gorgeous figures appear, a couple holding a baby. They look younger, dressed in Kryptonian robes. They are standing in a sleek, metallic room.

You’re not sure how, an intuition perhaps, but you know instantly who they are.

Your parents.

And in their arms, you.

“Our dearest child,” your father speaks, his voice heavy. “The destruction of our beloved planet becomes increasingly likely to occur. We have arranged to have you taken to a nearby planet for your safety. If all goes well you shall return to us in no longer than a year’s time.”

Your mother smiles solemnly, and starts, “My love, you will be safe on Caelis. Their star is stable, their people peaceful and they await your arrival ready to teach you everything of Kryptonian and Caelian knowledge. We are making this message in case all does not go to plan. If you are watching this means that is so.”

Your heart sinks.

“If Krypton is to be destroyed, we take comfort in knowing you are safe and cared for. You carry our love. You will be strong, and you will do great things. Be brave, and curious, fall in love, and try new things. Our beloved, you are forever in our hearts. As the Caelians will teach you, Sael’ka varin. We love you.”

The screen freezes, then dissolves.

You don’t even realize you started crying. Where did that message come from? Why is it playing in Clark’s fortress? Your mind spins, unable to process anything.

‘If you are watching this means that is so.’ 

Did that mean Krypton was actually destroyed? No, that couldn’t be. Your pod was set to return there after Caelis was destroyed. Clark was trying to help you go back there. He would know if the planet still existed or not. He would’ve told you long ago. Wouldn’t he?

Your mark burns suddenly at the thought of Clark, causing you to reach up and rub it. 

The robots speak up again, “The pod is fully repaired and recalibrated. All systems are optimal. She could depart within the hour.”

“And yet, Superman still delays. He requests ‘more time.’ Superman has not told the female that Krypton is destroyed. He has not told her there is no home to return to.”

The world tilts on its axis. The ice of the fortress seeps into your bones, colder than the void of space.

Krypton really is gone. The robots confirmed it themselves. 

They’re all gone.

You feel sick, bile threatening to rise up your throat. Yet that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that Clark knew this all along.

He knew.

He knew.

A sound, a choked gasp, escapes you. Both robots whirl around, their sensors glowing brightly.

“Intruder— Guest identified as Clark’s female kryptonian,” one states, gliding forward. “We were not aware of your arrival.”

You step out from behind the pillar, your legs trembling. “What,” you say, your voice a hollow rasp. “What did you say? Just now?”

The robots exchange a look, a silent communication. “We are not authorized to disclose you with any information that is not regarding your pod,” it says carefully.

“Tell me everything.” Your eyes glowed red with heat vision, threatening to burn this entire place down. “Now.”

They seem to get the hint.

In cold, precise detail, they confirm it. They confirm everything. Krypton’s explosion. Your parent’s recording plug that Clark took from your pod. All the lies Clark told you since that day.

Clark. 

Your Clark, who welcomed you, taught you, loved you… and lied to you. Every day. With every smile, every touch, every promise to help you return “home.”

Home to a place that could never exist.

The pain is extreme, collapsing your chest into a black hole. You feel adrift all over again, but this time, there is no Clark to anchor you. 

He is the storm.

Numb, you hear yourself ask one question. “The mark on my collarbone. The one from him. Do you know why it hasn’t healed?”

The robots scan you. A beam of light passes over the mark. Their optic sensors dim slightly. 

“The mark bears traces of concentrated bioactive enzymes and pheromones unique to Superman. It is not a simple injury. It is a… bonding mark. A physiological imprint, triggered during procreative-level intimacy under a yellow sun. It signifies a deep, biologically recognized pair-bond. For Kryptonians, such marks are rare and permanent. A claim.”

A claim. A permanent brand on your skin. 

The words echo in the hollowed-out cavern of your mind. He didn’t just lie. Clark claimed you. He anchored you to him and to this Earth with a bond you didn’t understand, while knowing he was never sending you away.

You thank the robots, and then you are gone. The flight back to Metropolis was fast and cold.

Your mind raced incessantly. The needy clinginess you’d felt now makes horrific, perfect sense. 

You beat him back to the apartment. You stand in the middle of the living room pacing. The place that had come to feel like home on Earth, now feels like a beautifully constructed prison. 

You wait for him to come back. You will confront him and he will listen and then—then you did not know.

Leave? That part was still to be determined.

After what seems like forever, you hear him entering the building, taking the elevator, walking the steps to the door. The key turns. The door opens. He walks in, smiling, a bag of groceries in his arm. 

“Hey, sweetheart, I got—”

He stops when he sees your face. The smile dies. Concern etches across his features.

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“You knew.” 

Clark’s heart drops all the way to the ground. The door shuts behind him with a hollow thud. He sucks in a sharp breath.

Did you know? How did you find out? Gosh, he's not ready for this to happen right now. Not yet. He still had a few more days.

Maybe this was something else, something completely different. Maybe it wasn't that. But one look at your pointed glare, crossed arms, and rapidly beating heart, confirmed it. You were angry. Which only meant one thing.

“Knew what?”  

“Do not play dumb.”

“Sweetheart I—”

“You knew this whole time that Krypton does not exist,” You say, your voice shaking. “That it’s gone. That my parents are dead.”

He pales, the bag of groceries slipping from his grasp, fruit rolling across the floor. “Who told you that?” he steps forward.

“I heard your robots,” you spit out. “At the Fortress. Playing the recording of my parents. The one that you stole and kept from me. And they were talking about the destruction. Your robots were talking about how you haven’t told me.” You take a step closer to him, the movement jerky. 

“You lied. This whole time, you lied to me. Every time you say ‘you’ll help’ or ‘soon’ … it was all a lie!”

“I was trying to protect you! You were so lost and scared when you first got here… I wanted to give you time to heal, to find your feet here, before burdening you with that kind of pain!”

Your hands shake violently. Tears spill, hot and uncontrollable.

“My pain?” you scream,. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle! You don’t get to hide my own history from me! My family! My planet! You let me dream of a home that’s been dust for decades! You let me talk about visiting my parents, even your parents, while you knew they were ashes!”

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“You did hurt me. This whole time you’ve been hurting me.”

Tears are streaming down your face now. Short shallow gasps escape you as you hyperventilate.

“A—and then you touch me, and kiss me, and I—I give you lira. You are a monster, Clark. I hate you.”

He reaches for you. “Please, just let me explain—“

You slap his hand away, the contact feeling like a burn. “And this!” you shout, yanking the collar of your shirt down to expose the vivid mark. 

“You marked me! Your robots told me what it is. A Kryptonian bonding mark. Permanent. Did you know? Did you know when you were doing it that you were branding me? That I would carry this forever, while you were ‘planning’ to send me back to a dead planet?”

The look on his face is your answer.

He didn’t know. Not consciously. But that somehow makes it worse. It means his very biology, his deepest, most primal self, claimed you while his conscious mind was deceiving you. Deception.

“I… I didn’t… I’ve never…” Clark stammers, utterly shattered. 

“I don’t care!” you shout. “I will always be yours? Well, I do not want to be! I want nothing to do with you! Nothing to do with your lies, or your pity, or your claim, or this Earth!”

You push past him, heading for the door.

“Sweetheart, wait! Where are you going? Please, don’t go!” He’s begging now, tears in his own eyes.

“Away from you,” you say, the words final and cold. You wrench the door open.

“I love you!” he cries out, the words a desperate, last attempt to try and explain himself.

You pause on the threshold, your back to him.

“Then why? Why did you do this to me? Why didn’t you treat me like someone you loved,” you ask softly, drained from yelling. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I—I don’t know. I tried. I really did, you have to believe me. It was just so hard once we—”

“Clark.”

You stop him before he can continue. Hearing his explanations would only make it worse right now. Nothing he could say would justify this anyways.

“As much as you may like to treat me like one, I am not a child who needs to be protected from the truth.”

And with that final statement. You walk out, slamming the door behind you. The click of the latch is the loudest sound you’ve ever heard.

You don’t get far.

You make it to the stairwell, your legs trembling violently causing you to grip the cold metal railing. You sink onto the concrete steps, the fight draining out of you, leaving only a hollow, echoing agony.

You can hear him inside. Not with your enhanced hearing, you aren’t focusing that well, but because he isn’t being quiet. Clark tries and fails to hold off choked-up sobs that carry through the door.

You should leave. 

You should run as far and as fast as you can. But you have no idea where to go. So you walk aimlessly a while. You sit on a park bench until the sky turns purple, then black. 

Eventually, you check into a motel on the edge of the city with the little cash Clark had given you for emergencies. The room is cold, the bed hard. The mark on your collarbone throbs with a dull, persistent ache.

It almost feels like a torture device. 

Every cell in your body screams to go back, to find him, to bury yourself in his scent and his warmth and kiss and makeup. The bond, now that you know what it is, feels like a leash, yanking mercilessly on your heart. You fight it. 

You curl into a ball on the scratchy motel blanket, sobbing until you’re empty. You think of your parents’ faces, their love, their sacrifice. You think of Clark’s face, his lies.

You can't help but cry.

You cry for Caelis, the only planet you’ve ever really known, destroyed. You cry for Krypton, your true home that you never got the chance to know. Also destroyed. You even cry for Earth, the planet that you were starting to love because of Clark. Completely destroyed.

The pain is all-consuming. 

But worse than the pain is the need. The restless, anxious, clawing need that only he can soothe. It’s an awful withdrawal, agonizing and relentless.

You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You just hurt, inside and out, torn between a betrayal that shattered your world and a bond that insists Clark is your world.

You last two days like this. 

As the third night approaches, you can’t bear it anymore. The motel room walls are closing in. The silence is screaming. The mark is burning.

There’s only one thing you can do.

You find yourself standing outside the familiar apartment door again. It’s late. You raise a trembling hand, then drop it again. You don’t knock. You just stand there, defeated, your forehead resting against the cool wood. 

You don’t know how long you’re there before the door opens inward.

You step back to take in Clark’s appearance, which is albeit not much better than yours. 

Shadows like bruises have formed under his red-rimmed eyes, hair completely disheveled, and he is still in the same clothes from that day. He hasn’t slept either. He’s been waiting. Hoping. 

Clark looks at you, his breath catching. He opens his mouth, unable to muster anything but a pathetic, “Hi.”

"Can I come in?"

━━━━━━━

author's note: i'm dead guys everything i touch turns to angst, this was NOT a sad request lmaoo. anywho, its canon that reader doesn't know curse words yet because clark hasn't taught her. also hella buzzcut season vibes.

as always, my requests are open and check out my masterlist for more of my works!! much love <33

[rylandsgrace]

Stranger Things 5 | Volume 2

[jessevans]

NOBODY’S GONNA DIE!!!! 🫵🏻😠

[sucksessions]

[experienceandobservation]

David Corenswet | Variety Actors on Actors | December 07, 2025

[jessevans]

I need a fic with David!Clark as Hercules and reader as Megara. And the whole cast too, like Lex as Hades, etc.

[kylieminvogue]

ADVENTURES IN THE MAKING OF SUPERMAN (2025)

[clarkdavid2025]

DAVID CORENSWET as River Barkley in The Politician

[olympain]

[matttmurdock]

help me superman im in love with youuu 🥺

[jessevans]

[jessevans]

OMGGGGG 🫦🫶🏻✋🏻☠️🕊️

[jessevans]

I CAN'T STOOOOOP

[jessevans]

I'm obsessed

[sulietsexual]

"If you're going to let one stupid prick ruin your life … you're not the girl I thought you were."

Legally Blonde | 2001 Dir Robert Luketic