"She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down." or Natalie gets fed the fuck up and hires a hospitality attorney before everything else turns to shit.
a/n: i couldn't help myself at all and had to bite by trying my hand at writing for carmy! what can i say? i love men with trauma that need to be cuddled like newborns! please enjoy the beginning of enemies to lovers to enemies back to lovers fic with a workaholic chef and an overly empathetic attorney. angst is my brand! i hope you enjoy!
Being the peacekeeper of your family is never something anyone ever sets out to be.
One day you’re normal and live blissfully with the rose-colored lenses of naivety tinting life shades of bashful blush and magnetic magenta. The next day you’re diffusing a spitfire scarlett dispute between your anxiety-ridden mother and impulsively crude older brother while simultaneously taming the balloon of battered blue tears your baby brother sheds who observes from the corner; scared yet somehow unaware of the emotions sucking the oxygen out of everyone.
At first, it feels good. It feels nice to be appreciated and turned to in moments of darkness. Helpfulness defines your livelihood and gives you the nameplate of the gold star child who can never do any wrong and always finds a solution. But then you realize that is what you ever really are, and you’re both hated for your inability to let things sour and for always having an answer despite uncertainty plaguing every course of action.
Being the peacekeeper of your family is both a Medal of Honor, worn with pride and graciousness, yet a bullet wound wielded by shame and agony. The tenderness and hurt push on it until you can hardly stand it; half expecting pus to be seeping out in pale yellow heaps because the pain feels so real.
There are no exit wounds. There are no breaks. There is no humanity or personal identity or room for self-discovery.
A peacemaker is all you will be and all you will ever accomplish, and you’ll never say it out loud but it’s fucking exhausting.
Being the peacemaker is something Natalie Berzatto never fucking asked for, yet here she is, playing project manager to her haywire (and sometimes freakishly obsessive) baby brother’s blind-eyed throw of a dart that manifested itself in asking Uncle Jimmy for an eight hundred thousand dollar loan with the promise to have it completely paid back within eight months.
She’s not one to rain on a parade, but it’s hard to keep marching when your entire life has been putting out the fires of overly ambitious business ventures during unmedicated fits of mania. She had seen it with their dad, with their mom, and with Mikey. Carmen is the last needle needed to complete the fucked up haystack that engulfs their family.
She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down.
Natalie has never thought of looking into Botox until now; when her face is set in a permanent scowl and her resting heart rate nears triple digits. Pete had been telling her for the past three weeks that she was doing amazing; that this was an impossible task to complete stress-free, and that the stress was “good” because it meant that she cared.
Sometimes she doesn’t realize that not everyone has a mom who drives the fucking car through the den during Christmas Eve dinner nor does everyone have a mom who moves all the furniture to the backyard before having to leave for their oldest brother’s high school graduation. Not everyone has an older brother who blows his head off and doesn’t leave a note and not everyone has a younger brother who would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body and had his mouth that was spewing hurtful insults by the dozen.
Stress does not mean that you care. Stress means that your eyes are staring at the fucking Sun trying to see where the other shoe is getting ready to drop because there’s always another disappointment and always another phone call to make to the pharmacy for more SSRIs.
Needless to say, Richie calling Neil “lard ass” on an antagonizing loop after he had pointed out the wrong wall was being destroyed was the last straw. Well, that and the fact she found a new patch of white hairs colonizing on her hairline the other morning. Constant shouted insults, gray hairs popping up overnight, and the colossal secret of a new infant making its arrival into the chaos in October weigh heavy on her. And she absolutely cannot afford to lose her cool and become the kind of bitchy and mean she knows that she’s capable of.
Your phone number sits inside the LED-lit text thread of a friend she had known in high school. Becca was the older sister of Claire Cantor whom her little brother may have or may have not had a pathetic crush on years ago when he was in high school.
She feels kind of grimy doing what she is; offering up information about Carmy to Becca to give to Claire who apparently thought her baby brother was the bee's knees (which, if she saw the way he was acting right now, Natalie knows she would run the other way). She doesn’t even think Carmen has the capability to think of anything outside of the restaurant and the menu and how royally fucked they all are.
She can feel the dull ache of guilt in her chest that comes with knowing how unlikely anything is to come from this, and how wrong she is for pretending like her telling Becca where he grocery shops or if he has a girlfriend or if he was currently looking for someone to date would somehow tether Claire to a world where her and Carmen are a “thing” (because apparently “boyfriend and girlfriend” is too permanent of a word for Chicagoan twenty-somethings to use).
But she’s doing it for the sake of everyone else! It can’t possibly be as gross and low-lived as she feels it is.
Becca Cantor is insufferable and can only be taken in small doses, but she’s also a big wig junior partner at one of the most lucrative law firms in Chicago. Natalie hates blowing smoke up people’s asses who don’t deserve it (and in Becca’s case certainly don’t need it), but she desperately needs help and knows that she needs to figure something out before she fucks herself in such a deep hole that she couldn’t attempt to unfuck herself if she tried.
Your official title is “junior associate” and you had been working at Becca’s firm following your graduation from Northwestern’s Pritzker School of Law a couple of years prior. Becca had said you were amazing; freakishly smart, funny, and hardworking. She also mentioned that you were the best kind of junior associate; the ones that know when to shut the fuck up and when to get the fuck out of the way. The addition added before the text conversation ended was how you were looking to get your foot into the hospitality legal field, and how you were willing to do anything concerning that for free fucking ninety-nine if it meant you would have some experience.
Natalie sits with her lower lip worried between her teeth and her hands one tick shy of shaking. Her heart beats erratically despite lounging on her couch with the lights off and a re-run of That 70’s Show playing softly in the background. She makes a mental note to bring up the high resting heart rate at her next OB appointment.
It’s because she’s pregnant. Yes. It has to be because she’s pregnant.
She shouldn’t be nervous. It would be absolutely ridiculous to be nervous. She’s not nervous.
She already ran the idea past Sydney and she agreed that they absolutely needed a lawyer in their back pocket. With all of the tax records fucked beyond belief, new workers being hired who actually knew their worth and wouldn’t tolerate not having an actual employement contract, and the lack of permits under their belt currently, a lawyer wouldn’t hurt if getting one turned out to not be as helpful as anticipated. Besides, Becca had said you were doing it for them pro bono which in turn meant free fucking nintey-nine.
But Natalie had lied to Carmen about how much some fluted cocktail glasses cost to ensure that they purchased the cheaper ones so that she could run the numbers and figure out a way to put you on the payroll. Pro bono or not, you’re doing them a huge favor and part of her can’t put the peacekeeping to rest.
Her fingers type and untype a novel of characters. She can’t seem to relax her mind enough to articulate what exactly she wants to say. She has one shot to not scare you off and not lose her mind in a fit of fiery rage and not have everything turn to shit and it be her fault. She has to be perfect.
Fuck. She is nervous.
Hi! This is Natalie Berzatto. I’m one of Becca Cantor’s friends and she referred me to you. I’m working on opening a restaurant and would like for you to swing by and discuss some things about it if you’re open to that! Please let me know. I’m looking forward to hearing back from you soon!
Nat’s finger hits the blue “send” arrow in the rounded box of her phone screen the same time she pushes a gag to the back of her throat. She used to work at a marketing firm for Christ’s sake. Cold contacting people isn’t anything new and she’s usually not one to shy away from reaching out to anyone in her personal life first. But she can’t help the fact that she’s never been able to swallow the artificial bubble gummy niceness of reaching out to a complete stranger for the first time. She feels stupid and knows that she sounds even stupider but tries not to think about it.
Besides, keeping everything together is never easy and she knows that she would be selfish for letting her discomfort prevent her from doing what she knows is best.
Her breath is stuck in her chest as she eyes the open text thread to an unsaved number; her blue text message staring at her menacingly and breeding contempt as the seconds pass. She gasps loudly whenever she sees the gray bubbles pop up beneath it. Pete pokes his head into the living room with a tea towel in his hand and one of the ceramic plates they had eaten dinner on in the other. His eyes wear concern but he knows better than to confront his wife. Natalie was anything but sugary sweet when she was stressed and the influx of hormones as of late have not been helping.
You see the message as soon as Natalie sends it. The unknown “312” number finds its way into your notifications and your eyes read over the words in a frenzy. You know that you’re intelligent. You graduated from law school for fuck’s sake, but for some reason you absolutely cannot comprehend the text you’re reading.
Firstly, you were sure Becca hated your fucking guts. She was a junior partner that everyone hated being assigned to because she pushed all her work onto the associates and nothing ever seemed to be good enough for her. Part of the reason you had to take work home tonight was because she sent you an email with enough passive-aggressive undertone to know that these edits needed to be done now; never mind the fact that the time she took to type out the seven and a half page report about the original report probably took up so much time that she could’ve done the task herself. But yet you replied kindly and have been working through your brain fog and finger cramps since arriving home at six in the evening five hours ago.
Secondly, hospitality litigation was absolutely above your pay grade. You had taken one elective course on it during your 2L year and did a two-week internship before the start of 3L simply because one of your friends wanted to go on vacation and needed to find someone to cover for them. You know jack shit about hospitality law and you don’t even know why Becca Cantor, of all fucking people, would be so willing to recommend you when she couldn’t care less if you lived or died.
But of course, you can’t say no. You can never say no, and if this Natalie person was desperate enough to reach out to you via text at 11 PM on a Wednesday, she definitely needed help and needed it now. Besides, you would tell her that you do not need to be paid and if whatever she needs proves to be way too advanced for you, you can always help her find an attorney that knows what they’re doing.
Right?
It definitely doesn’t mean that you’ll pull an all-nighter and research every aspect of hospitality law in Illinois that you can get your hands on. . .Or look up every department dealing with food and management regulations in the state. . .Or try and look at precedent cases. Your firm gave you unlimited access to West Law. Might as well use it for something slightly more interesting than trusts, estates, and contracts.
You’re unusually pensive for something you know you would love to do. The ongoing battle as of late has been the dispute between seeking joy and wading in practicality; happiness or falsified peace?
You rub your eyes with a roughness that would make your optometrist cringe. You know that staring at your computer screen five hours after your contracted work hours ended was the culprit for your dry eyes, but the hours you need are not going to bill themselves. Getting up to get your eyedrops will have to wait.
Replying to Natalie cannot.
Your fingers type and untype; the feeling of texting back an unknown number foreign and unnerving.
Thanks so much for reaching out and thinking of me! I would love to. What dates and times work for you, and where would it be best for us to meet?
The text stares at you on your phone screen. Why do you sound so. . . corporate? Boring? Infantile.
She could probably tell you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about at all. The feeling of defeat rises in your throat but you ignore it and hit send instead. You’re trying to be better about that; letting your fear of uncertainty keep you from taking action. You’ve come to realize that the hard part isn’t doing the thing. It’s actually sitting in the aftermath of the “thing” and waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
You bite your lip so hard it begins to bleed and throbs with each pulse of watery blood that fills your mouth. The gentle suck you give it to stop the bleeding makes it partially numb.
Natalie chirps when your text illuminates her screen. She gasps and sits up; startling Pete who had settled next to her after finishing the dishes. Her eyes curl up in the same way her lips do.
currently writing bucky x reader! 18+ content, minors please do not interact! some works have triggering themes or include smut, so please proceed with caution. there are full warning lists on each fic/chapter.
i don't have a taglist - if you want to be notified when i post updates to series or upload new one-shots please follow @artficlly-updates and turn on notifications.
** means fic contains 18+ content/smut
➞ SERIES
smog & spirits - fantasy 1920s gang au ** [on going]
mob!bucky x witch!reader
bucky barnes, the leader of sootstone's smog boys, needs a favour. a nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.
➞ MINI-SERIES
a dish served cold - western au [complete - 30k words]
outlaw!bucky x reader
after the murder of your pa, you go on a journey to find justice. fate brings you to crimson junction for a reason, and that reason is bucky barnes.
lessons in lovemaking ** [on going]
bucky x blackwidow!reader
you and bucky barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.
➞ ONE-SHOTS
me & the devil - western au [11k words]
outlaw!bucky x saloon girl!reader
the diamondback saloon and hotel has always attracted bad men, and bucky barnes happens to be one of them.
king of pentacles - western au ** [6k words]
outlaw!bucky x fortune teller!reader
when your travelling circus rolls into town, you are warned that bucky barnes is the outlaw who rules these lands. you plan to keep your distance, but he and his men can not resist a little entertainment.
sweetpea - post-apocalyptic au ** [9k words]
retired!hero!bucky x fem!reader
after the riftborn war, bucky barnes seeks to retire from his past as a hero and settle down, you might just be the peace he’s been looking for all along.
read between the lines - college au [2k words]
frat!jock!bucky x cheerleader!reader
tutoring bucky barnes was already distracting enough, but leaving your diary in his room? that is a whole new problem.
his girls [2k words]
bucky x fem!reader
alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reeling—especially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.
close quarters - fantasy au [9k words]
bucky x fem!reader
when you're assigned a brooding escort for your journey north, the last thing you expect is to be sharing a cramped sleeper car with him.
the art of pretending [12k words] **
bucky x agent!reader
being mentored by bucky is nothing short of torture; he’s cold, infuriating, and impossible to please. but when a mission gone wrong leaves you stranded in a freezing safehouse together, you start to wonder if all that supposed hatred has just been hiding something else entirely
this is (not) fine [9k words] **
bucky x personal assistant!reader
personal assistant rules: don’t crush on bucky barnes. definitely don’t misinterpret a flower delivery and spiral into silent heartbreak, and absolutely never ever get stuck alone with him in an elevator.
➞ SNIPPETS & DRABBLE
i who have known death snippets: one, two
monster hunter!bucky x healer!reader
apocalypse fantasy au with zombie/hivemind parasite elements
daughter of the rotsál snippets: one, two, three **
horselord!bucky x oc
in a world where loyalty is a commodity and power is bought with blood, isolde, a daughter of the rotsál, is sent to marry thegn bucky of House barnes. the task will demand the mastery of every lesson she has ever learned—manipulation, seduction, and sacrifice. as her duty clashes with the world of the naraki horselords, isolde must choose whether to remain a pawn or reclaim the future stolen from her.
“The Na’vi say that every person is born twice, the second time is when you earn your place among the people forever.”
Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan is a warrior before he is a man. Nothing matters to him more than getting prepared to take over his father’s role of being the olo’eyktan of the omaticaya clan; a leader of his people. The respect that his father has earned over the years is something Neteyam’s yearned for. The training, the hunting trips and even keeping the peace amongst clans as far and as wide as the west and eastern sea. They all know his name, and know what he’s training to become. As the first son of Toruk Makto, he’s a force to be reckoned with.
Due to his obsession with his training and duties, he’s thrown into an arranged marriage he doesn’t care to be in. However, an unwanted mate is the least of his worries. After all, there’s you.
Human and meek, fragile and soft. You are the epitome of weakness and with a war unlike no other brewing over the mountains with the ash people, Neteyam can’t afford the distraction. He doesn’t even like humans. The ones that got to stay behind, he’s tolerated. However, there’s something about you that he just can’t shake. Why is he so drawn to you? He has to figure you out but balancing a war, an uprising within the clan and a human he doesn’t want to love could get complicated and dangerous. You weren’t aware of what you’d gotten yourself into the moment you stepped into his line of sight. The second that he’d laid his eyes on you was the exact moment you had become his cataclysmic downfall but also, a part of the greatest love story ever told.
genre: slow burn, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, 18+
overall warnings/notes: heavy angst, war, violence, character death, eventual smut, ages are 20 and up, neteyam x navi!oc (his arranged muntxate), slight oc!navi x human!reader (his best friend), a jealous/possessive teyam and his conflicting emotions, 18+
prologue – “small, infuriating woman”
chapter i – “we are mated for life”
chapter ii – “she’s not just a tawtute” (coming soon)
Summary: a mission, feuds, an underground network, life in the suburbs and bucky. what could go wrong, right? wrong.
Pairing: Bucky x F!Reader
Warnings: angst, fluff, curse words, explicit things, injuries, violence, each chapter has been tagged with their respective warnings, so make sure to read them before proceeding
Status: IN PROGRESS
A/N: sooooo after accidentally in love i wanted to create something just as amusing, yet have its fair share of angst (because you know i love me some angst), and generally something that would make go back to it whenever i feel down. to anyone who's read my other series, i think you might like this one as well. please, if you like it, make sure to reblog the posts, and feel free to let me know what you think about this one! feedback is always appreciated! happy reading!
part one┃part two┃part three┃part four┃part five┃
part six┃part seven┃part eight┃part nine┃part ten
INTERMISSION
part eleven┃part twelve┃part thirteen┃part fourteen┃
part fifteen┃part sixteen┃part seventeen┃part eighteen┃
part nineteen┃part twenty
note: this post will be updated when new parts are uploaded!
"There's a type of hatred that's similar to longing. It's impossible to stop."
"There will be no mercy, so there will be no glory either."
"You should go to heaven when you die, because your life here will be hell."
"I'll be your executioner. I'll join your sword dance. Tell me what do you want me to do first? How do you want me to do it? Who do you want me to kill first?"
"I haven't even gotten started yet. Why are you kneeling already? How will you beg later?"
"When you play Go, you display your desires in silence. You seduce and get seduced. You strip each other bare. And if your opponent doesn't reciprocate, then it just becomes a game of Go."
"You must be punished. If God is on your side, it'll be a punishment. If God is on my side, it'll be a judgment."
Pairing: Neteyam x fem!Metkayina reader. Reader is 18, Neteyam is aged up to 19.
Summary: you’re the youngest daughter of Tonowari and are very sheltered and innocent. When the Sullys show up, you have a chance to explore with a certain Sully brother.
Warnings: mature themes, suggestive language, heavy petting but doesn’t go all the way, praise kink if you squint, thigh riding???
word count: 5,750
Notes: This started out as fluff but…Stuff happened. Also, this is the first time I’ve ever tried writing, so pls point out any errors I need to fix. This might be too long? I didn’t know how much was too much. Reader described as having long, curly hair (to fit Metkayina). Might write a part 2.
As the youngest daughter of Olo’eyktan Tonowari, you were very sheltered. At a young age, your parents began to notice how sensitive you were to the world around you. You were aloof and got distracted easily, often hurting yourself in the process. You trusted too quickly, letting others trick you into doing dangerous activities, and your parents worried that you would get hurt beyond repair. So they protected you, doing as much as they could to shelter you from the world, keeping you under close watch in the village.
You were constantly watched over as you grew up, forced to spend most of your time with just your family. You could never go out and make friends, and you became lonely, yearning for freedom.
There were many things you weren’t allowed to do, like spend time with the boys of the clan even though you were of mating age. Not that any of them would even think about courting you when your father and brother were lurking over your shoulder, ready to scare them off.
You also weren’t allowed to leave the village. You could visit the Cove of the Ancestors and other ceremonies, but always with a chaperone. You thought you would be free after your iknimaya, finally proving yourself as an adult. The first thing you did after your ceremony was ask to visit one of the coves where the other Na’vi your age hang out.
But your parents still refused to let you leave and insisted it was for your own safety. You spent many nights on the beach daydreaming of making friends and exploring Awa’atlu, wishing you were free to do what you wanted.
summary: gifted with intelligence, the Omatikayan war party relies on your strategies and tactics to guide them through the war with the sky people. unsatisfied with being left behind at the fortress, you jump at the offer to join them on an excursion. Neteyam is not as happy.
warnings: explicit language and sexual content, lengthy verbal argument, hurt/comfort, overprotective!neteyam, underage kissing, no explicit sexual content occurs when characters are underage
title from my (favorite) song: When the Sun Hits by Slowdive
word count: 9.1k
childhood friends to lovers pipeline supremacy
re-edited and retitled! SUPER AWKWARD. sorry about that! I had a minor breakdown about the first version while at work and deleted it in a haste. lmao. life is just like that sometimes. Thank you to everyone who sent in kind messages or liked/reblogged it! I took it down and edited it and am reposting a new and (hopefully) improved version of the story. hope you enjoy!
__
Located in the depths of the forest, skeletal remains lay in a makeshift grave, overgrown with thick roots and bright flowers. Rusted metal, broken glass, forgotten arrows. Sometimes, when the enemy airships flew low overhead, the command panel flickered to life. A stuttering last breath of flashing buttons and alarms before falling silent again.
Hidden away in a pocket of the forest, the trees so dense sunlight caught in the leaves and barely touched the ground, it became a reprieve from the Fortress and the expectations of everyone inside it.
You’d found it when you were a kid, straying far from the fortress, curious about whether the rumors of untouched wreckage from the previous war with the sky people, crashed in the jungle, pulled under the foliage, were true.
We shouldn’t be out here, a nervous voice called from behind you. Neteyam, son of the clan leader. It’s forbidden.
No, you corrected, The Shack is forbidden. We’re charting new territory.
Giving you a look of disapproval, he didn’t argue, but slowed his steps.
You don’t have to come, you reminded him, though you knew he wouldn’t turn back. He’d caught you on your way out, despite your best efforts to go unnoticed. When you told him you were going exploring, he told you it was too dangerous to go alone, and that he should go with you.
Your friendship with him was fresh, like a glistening snowfall in the early hours of the morning, untouched and pristine. The war brought you together, in an odd way, him starting to venture to the battlefield and you locked away devising plans and strategies for attacks and counterattacks.
When you found the wreckage, you made him swear not to tell anyone else about it. Not his siblings, his friends, or his parents. He hesitated, especially when you told him he couldn’t tell Neytiri or Jake, but ended up interlocking his pinky with yours in a promise.
The wreckage became a hideaway for you and him, and you and him alone. Which made it the perfect place to have an argument without worrying about prying ears.
You’d been so excited to receive the invite. Considered to be War party adjacent, you never actually went on any of the excursions. Tactics was your assigned job. Jake and the other leaders conversed with you about military plans. The best routes to take through the forest. Ways to attack the enemy with minimal damage. As one of the brains behind their operations, you were offered a place in the room but never a seat at the table.
So, you stayed at the fortress, infuriated, anxious, running over each variation of the plan in your head while the warriors fought on the frontlines. Wishing you could be there to help them through any unforeseen obstacles.
I would be so much more useful, you complained as you watched Neteyam prepare his Ikran, if I could go. Then I could update plans in real time instead of waiting for everyone to get back.
You told him this proposition repeatedly, always met with the same negative response. Still, you’d beat this dead horse until your knuckles bled and the horse degraded into nothing but pounds of meat.
He laughed at you; he always did when you brought up accompanying him to the battlefield. Fixing you with a bright smile meant to distract you from the patronizing shake of his head.
It used to work, but not anymore.
Don’t laugh at me, sliding off the rock you’d been perched on, you offered his Ikran one of the sweet fruits it liked to eat.
I’m not laughing at you, he promised, though he couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. Narrowing your eyes at him, you didn’t say anything about it.
I would be so much more helpful if I could actually be there, instead of just waiting at the Fortress. Another thing you told him over and over, and each time, he said;
You’re helpful here. More than you realize.
With a sigh, you abandoned your futile efforts at convincing him.
You could always talk to my father about it. He came around the other side of his Ikran, leaning against it as he tilted his head down at you. He was teasing, again, and it made your cheeks heat.
Scoffing, you stepped away, putting distance between the two of you. You’d been doing that a lot, recently. Increasing distance between you and him. Something he noticed, his bright eyes flicking over the empty space between you before landing on your face again.
Settling for silence, you returned to your rock and watched Neteyam finish the last of his war preparations.
I’ll see you when I get back, he stopped in front of you.
You didn’t respond. Grabbing your chin, he lifted your face towards his, fingers digging into your cheeks. Come on, say it back. Slapping at his hands with a glare, they fell away.
When met with more silence, he groaned, tilting his head back towards the sky in exasperation. Don’t be like that.
I’m not, you said defensively. See you when you get back.
Staring at you expectantly, you did nothing but avert your gaze from his and went back to picking at the blades of grass.
He left without much fanfare.
Months ago, the two of you had a routine before he left for any battles.
Assisting him with packing his gear, the two of you petting his Ikran and taking breaks to share lunch up in the trees. A warm embrace before he left. You, rising on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. Pressed chest to chest, he promised, I’ll see you when I get back.
And you always promised him the same.
Now, your touches were a lot less frequent. Something had shifted. The war hardened him, his once hopeful exterior solidified and became impenetrable, the result of a few close calls with death. Bullets lodged in his skin and deep cuts along his abdomen.
You patched him up, each time, stomach twisting as he winced and jerked under your hands.
A little more gentle, please, he turned his face over his shoulder, giving you a sharp look. He was sitting cross-legged in front of you, fists clenched in the rug underneath him, gritting his teeth and hissing in pain as you disinfected the wound on his back.
You were supposed to avoid them by going through the passage, you reminded him, though you lightened the pressure on the wound. You hated healing him. It was a job neither of you wanted anyone else to do, but you hated it, nonetheless. On the particularly painful injuries, the ones where he cried, you also cried. Seeing him like this was almost unbearable.
They blocked the passage, he defended himself, turning back to face forwards. I had no other option.
If I had been there, I could’ve—
Stop, he gasped, exasperated. I don’t want to hear it. It’s never going to happen.
Hands stilling, a beat of charged silence passed between the two of you. Pursing your lips, hurt, you didn’t respond and returned to tending to his wounds.
Back then, you always saved his face for last. A warm towel pressed to his jaw, to the bruises along his cheekbone, the blood from his nose. Practically in his lap, providing he had no injuries that prevented it, your faces only centimeters apart. If he wasn’t in too bad of shape, he’d tell you stories of the fight.
I could’ve killed Lo’ak. He’s always making my job so fucking hard.
(Whatever his little brother did that day must’ve been bad, because Neteyam rarely cursed, unless he was too frustrated to use his prim and proper vocabulary)
or sometimes he said other things to make you smile. Things like--
We should visit there when this war is finished. It’s beautiful, I think you’d like it
He’d always talk quietly, the words meant for just you two.
On the bad days, he’d just murmur a quiet missed you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you flat against him as your fingers on his chin tilted his face back so you could finish fixing him up.
But the war impacted you, too. A dark cloud that cast an unmistakable shadow over your relationship, the promise of thick rain and rattling thunder.
When you two were fourteen, him fifteen, your friendship wasn’t a problem. Innocent affection. Afternoons swimming in the river, him teaching you how to use a bow and arrow, you teaching him the undefeated strategies of Omaticayan card and board games.
But you’d both grown. Him, into a strong warrior, and you, into nothing but an ordinary member of the Omatikayan clan, who was just smart enough to beg for scraps on the outskirts of his life, but not good for much else.
The warm feeling of his friendship burned too hot, scalding you, reminding you of the fragility of your relationship with him. You loved each other, he’d told you so, as the years stretched on. Not explicitly in words, but his actions said enough.
Once, the sky people sent a spy. Someone you worked closely with, and once they’d identified you as the brain behind the Omatikaya operation, they attempted to kill you. You had little combat training, hence why they forced you to stay at back at the Fortress, and could barely fight the spy off from wrapping their hands around your throat and pressing the tip of the blade through your heart.
You wished you could take the glory of protecting yourself, but the truth is, they painted the walls with you. Writhing enough to keep the knife from piercing any organs, but not enough to escape the cut entirely, you bled out.
Rather embarrassing.
Upon waking, it was Tuk’s face you saw first. Leaning so close, as if to check your breathing, she jerked back when you opened your eyes.
You smiled, or at least tried to. Lips spit, a metallic taste coated your tongue as you tried to speak but couldn’t. Neteyam’s fingers found yours, and interlocking them, softly squeezing your hand. I’m here, he promised with the action, I won’t leave. I love you.
And he meant it. Even after healing, you didn’t spend a minute alone. Neteyam drifted in your peripheral like a bodyguard. You cared for him, deeply, but you weren’t going to die any time soon, and he still acted like the grim reaper hovered over you, slobbering, ready to rip you from Neteyam’s arms at any moment and slash you with his sheath.
You need to back up, you told him one afternoon, hand pressed to his chest. I’m okay now, there’s no reason to be worried.
He drew his lips between his teeth, eyes trained on your fingers splayed on his skin, looking small compared to his broad frame, dwarfed when he takes your hand in both of his, holding it like a lifeline between you.
You almost died, his voice came out weak, almost carried away by the wind.
I know, I was there, he didn’t appreciate your levity about the situation. You softened, tilting your head as you looked up at him. Thank you for taking care of me. Let me breathe a little, okay?
It was hard to establish that boundary, you usually wanted him as close as possible. But it had to be done.
And as much as you cared for him, you knew he would inherit his title soon, have a family, prioritize others. And then you’d never see him except for military strategy meetings. After the war ended, if the two of you were even still alive, you’d never see him at all, unless in passing.
So, you decided it was best the both of you backtrack. No more embracing before he left for fighting, or anywhere. Occasionally helping with his injuries upon his return, though most of the time you made an excuse about how Kiri or his grandmother had skills better suited for his cuts and bruises.
No more arms thrown around your shoulders, pulling you close as you walked along the tree branches.
No more laying your head on your chest while star gazing, tracing constellations on his skin.
No more sneaking him inside your tent late at night, muffling his laughter with a palm pressed against his mouth.
And then there was this other issue entirely: Jake asked you to accompany them on a mission.
The both of you knew Neteyam wouldn’t be happy about it. Neither of you acknowledged that fact, but he did tell you it was a secret operation that very few even knew about, and you needed to keep it that way.
For the first time, you kept a secret from your best friend. Usually, he was the first one you told anything to, and vice versa. But now, you couldn’t even look him in the eye without the heavy burden of guilt sitting tight in your chest, like an anchor pulling you to the depths of the ocean, where the sunlight refuses to touch.
Your secret, mixed with the knowledge that the two of you would have to grow up and move on with your lives very soon, made being around him difficult.
You tried to be subtle about it. Wean yourself off the physical contact so that he wouldn’t notice. It was supposed to be easy, but Neteyam noticed everything about you. Especially the lack of touching.
But he never said anything about it, and you figured he understood your intentions. It’s for the best, you reminded yourself each time, hands feeling empty without his sinewy body between them.
A little heartbreak now to save yourself later. Microdose the sadness.
And it worked! for a time.
After a particularly rough excursion, where your battle plan spiraled out of control and resulted in many dead and injured, Jake called you into the War Room.
Panicked, you thought he was going to demote you. Blame you for the deaths, for the injured. You knew Neteyam got hit hard, saw him carried to the medic area. Usually, even on the worst days, he could at least walk there on his own. You watched from a distance, briefly considering throwing your personal resolution to put distance between you two into the wind and swallow your pride and help him, but you knew his family could take care of it.
You and Lo’ak stood outside the War Room, waiting to be invited in.
“Neteyam asked for you.” Lo’ak wasn’t looking at you, arms crossed over his chest, blood on his hands. He must’ve been there when Neteyam got hurt. Overcome with the urge to ask what happened, to scrounge for details like a desperate beggar, you bit your tongue. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but—”
“Nothing’s going on between us,” you rushed to assure him, but he gave you a flat look.
“It’s killing him.”
Lo’ak’s words made you shrink into the wall, longing for a black hole to direct its inescapable gravitation pull towards you. How were you supposed to explain your plan to him? You couldn’t, so you didn’t, opting for silence instead.
Finally, Jake appeared, a reprieve from the crushing weight of your conversation with Lo’ak.
“You, first,” he gestured towards you, holding the door open. You shot Lo’ak a worried look, and he gave you two thumbs up.
unhelpful.
Neteyam was the only other Na’avi in the room. Bandaged, torn up, but there. You locked eyes immediately, biting your tongue to keep from betraying any emotion on your face. The weight of his attention suffocated you, even after you glanced away. You took your place next to Neteyam, conscious to keep several feet between the two of you, facing his father and preparing yourself for the humiliation of the inevitable demotion
Instead, he offered you a place in the War Party. Actually in the Party, not just adjacent to it or sentenced to quiet, undercover missions only, but a carved out place for you on the front lines. Or at least as close to the front lines as you’ll ever be able to get. His reasoning was what you’d been saying all along. After the last plan went so wrong, it would be more beneficial if you were there, always, able to recalculate and redirect in real time.
Heart pounding in your chest, you fought against the wide smile that threatened to break loose. Parting you lips to accept, you were interrupted.
“No.”
Whipping your head to the side, you stared up at Neteyam, who was no longer looking at you but staring at his father. They were having some kind of silent conversation, betrayal written all over Neteyam’s face.
“Actually,” you interjected, stepping forward to put yourself between Jake and Neteyam. “What he means is ‘yes, I accept the offer.’”
“No.”
You shook your head. “He doesn’t speak for me. I want to go.”
“As the future Olo'eyktan, I won’t allow this.”
“Future Olo’eyktan,” you emphasized. “You don’t have that power yet.”
Jake looked between you two. “I don’t need an answer right now. Think about it until our next fight in a few days.”
Taking a step forward, Neteyam held his hands out in front of him as if brokering peace. Suppressing an eye roll, you stared at the tense muscles of his back. You were used to this side of him, the side that mediated fights where emotions overpowered logic. What you were not used to, however, was him talking back to his father, the man he admired and emulated.
“Respectfully, sir, I do not think she’d benefit us on the field.”
Lips parted, eyes wide, you stared at him. He wasn’t meeting your eyes, focused on his father, but his insistence that you were not fit for the job stung.
“She has no experience,” Neteyam reasoned, voice strained.
“I do,” you started talking before you could stop yourself, face hot from embarrassment and fury. “I never told you about it because I knew you wouldn’t be supportive, but I’ve actually gone on several missions that you weren’t even aware of.”
Jake looked wildly out of place, caught in a spat between his golden child and his son’s best friend. “Maybe the two of you should talk this out before—”
“Is that true?” Neteyam interrupted, and that’s how you knew he was truly out of his mind. In over a decade of friendship, you’ve never seen him intentionally disobey or interrupt his father. Ever.
Shooting you a long, sullen look, you regretted speaking about it at all. With a heavy sigh, Jake nodded. “Yes,” the hesitance dripped from his tone. “I enlisted her on a few missions that went outside the Fortress.”
Turning his attention to you (finally), you almost couldn’t stomach the look of betrayal directed at you. He wore his emotions clearly, another fatal flaw, and you’d purposefully taken his heart, ripped it from the seams connecting it to his sleeves, and crushed it between your fingers. Like a flower you’d left to wilt, his shoulders turned inwards, his face fell. “You kept that from me?”
“Why would I tell you?” You wanted to shove it in his face with a sneer, recount every detail of how you’d led the team to victory. But instead, your eyes watered. “You think I’m useless. You would’ve tried to talk your father out of it.”
“Of course I would.” he wanted to be angry, you could tell by the way his fists clenched at his sides, but his voice shook in a way you recognized from all the times you heard him cry (which you could count on one hand). “I thought we could trust each other.” He was looking at his father again, but judging by the shake of his head, you felt his statement was directed at you.
A part of you wanted to assure him that you could still be trusted. The part of you that knew he would follow you to the depths of the forest because he didn’t like you adventuring alone. The part of you that cleaned the blood from his face, his calloused fingers skimming the sides of your arms, your waist, along your face.
But he’d hurt you just as badly. He swore, over and over, that you did not have to prove yourself to him. Yet here he was, standing in front of his father, the leader of your clan, making you seem incompetent.
“If you only think of me as dead weight, then I wish you would’ve told me sooner. Would’ve saved us both a lot of time.”
Jaw clenched, Neteyam took in a deep breath. “You misunderstand—”
“Am I dismissed?”
With a nod, Jake let you go. Not bothering to look at Neteyam, you gave him the cold shoulder, exiting before your devastation made itself clear through hot tears and gasping breaths.
Tramping through underbrush and smacking leaves out of your face, you hustled towards the only place you’d get some privacy.
You were so mad, you could’ve given Neteyam a whole new set of injuries. If it weren’t for him, you’d have that position locked down, just as you’d always wanted. He knew how much you craved this opportunity, slobbered over it. Being close friends entailed baring your soul to him, and you did, and he used it against you.
A part of you wanted to be alone. To sit in the reeds and feel sorry for yourself.
But another part of you knew he would follow, and when a flash of blue caught your attention, you shook your head. “I have nothing to say to you.”
Lies. You had a lot to say to him.
Fuck you for ruining this for me.
Are you okay?
I miss you.
How dare you talk down to me like that.
I’m sorry for causing this rift between us.
“I have nothing to say to you, either.” Venturing further into the trees, he grew closer.
Scoffing, you stood, preparing to back away. “You can’t be mad at me.”
“Actually, I can. I am.”
Fists clenched at your sides. “For what? You’re the one that ruined—”
“I saved you.”
“I don’t need to be saved!”
Now, he was the one shaking his head. “I’m not letting you throw your life away.”
Frowning up at him, you said, “I don’t know why you think I’m so incapable. What do I have to do to make you think otherwise?”
“Nothing,” he countered. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me. But there’s also nothing you can do that will change my mind. You’re not going.”
Staring up at him, for the first time in months, you did not avert your gaze. He was angry. You could see it in his glare, in the tension in his shoulders, in the quickness of his chest rising and falling.
Upset body language you’ve seen directed at others, but never at you. It made your throat close, and your eyes burn.
“I’m not weak. I can take care of myself.” Cursing how childish you sounded, you grasped at straws. You used to know him so well, but now you weren’t sure how to get through to him.
“This is war,” he explained, “it doesn’t matter how skilled you are, sometimes all it comes down to is luck. I’m not taking that chance.”
“You take that chance,” you pointed out, eyeing him as he took a step forward. “Lo’ak takes that chance.”
“That’s different.”
“Your parents take that chance; your other friends take that chance—”
“That’s different.” He raised his voice. Something he never did with you, or anyone else. Maybe Lo’ak, but everyone raised their voice at him. So calm and collected, he was frayed at the edges, an unraveled version of your old friend.
“How! How is it different?”
Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath, jaw clenched. “Don’t go there with me.”
“Then, I don’t know what to say.”
It hurt, more than you cared to admit. His lack of faith in you. Yes, sometimes your plans went wrong, but most of them went right. It’s not like you were stupid, unable to think for yourself. You had good instincts. Made good decisions.
He sighed your name, something long and exasperated.
“Why don’t you have any trust in me?” you asked, demanding an answer.
“You lied to me.”
“I had no other choice.”
Displeased at your explanation, he rubbed his jaw. “You could’ve been killed. And I would’ve had to find out after the damage was already done.”
Pursing your lips for a moment, you tried to make sense of your thoughts. But they bounced around your skull, rattling into each other, blending. “Everyone else gets to give their lives for The Cause. I volunteered to do the same.”
“That’s my responsibility,” he gestured towards himself, and your eyes tracked the movements. After spending so much time distancing yourself from him, you wanted to feel his arms around you again, rest your head on his chest. But you’d destroyed any chance of that happening ever again. “I don’t want you to carry the same weight I do.”
With nothing left to say, you let him take the reins in the argument. His tone sharpened. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
The question caught you off guard. Your shoulders caved inwards. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”
Scoffing with a roll of eyes, he said, “right. That’s why you can’t even stand to be around me for more than five minutes.” When he looked at you, it was accusatory, and you floundered for an explanation.
“We’ve been busy.”
It was insulting, how lame your excuse was.
His eyes narrowed. “We’ve been busy.”
“Yes.”
Laughing now, a quiet and cynical sound, he nodded to himself. “Okay. I’ve been busy trying to live up to my father’s expectations, and you’ve been busy lying to me and going on secret missions. You’re the mighty warrior.”
“I didn’t lie,” you corrected. “I just didn’t tell you something. I’m allowed to do that.”
“No, you’re not!” raising his voice again, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “You can’t keep things from me when they involve your safety. I’m going crazy, I’ve been going crazy, thinking about you.”
Deep down, you knew he was right. You’d be upset if the roles were reversed. A perk of being involved in tactics was being able to know the whereabouts of every soldier, of knowing where Neteyam was (or at least should be, if things were going right) at all times during the thick of it.
You’d go equally as crazy if you had no idea of his whereabouts.
“You’re backing away from me like I’m about to attack you.”
You didn’t realize you were doing it until he pointed it out, inching towards a far tree. It’d become second nature over the past few months, a habit you’d give anything to kick.
“We’re fighting,” you reminded him. “I’m sorry if I don’t want to be on top of you.”
A poor choice of words.
Because most of the time, you also craved the comfort of his skin against yours, whether it was your fingers interlocked or his arm around your shoulders or your hands pressed to the firm muscle of his back.
Running a hand down his face, he corrected you. “We’re not fighting. We don’t fight.”
It’s true. In the past, you never argued. Mostly because he could control his temper, or at least bottle his emotions for however long he needed to, and you shied away from conflict. The two of you had good communication before you started pulling away from him, opening up to each other and providing comfort. You’ve never had anything to fight about.
“We’re mad at each other and not talking about it. That’s fighting.”
Silence stretched between the two of you. Neither of you knew where to go from there, both brimming with unsaid words.
“I’ll tell you why I don’t want you to join the War Party if you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”
Neteyam stood closer than you’d realized. He must’ve taken a few strides when you weren’t paying attention, distracted by a bug crawling on a branch, wishing your life was that simple. You forced yourself to stay put so you wouldn’t prove his point.
“I already told you.”
“Bullshit.” he was pissed again, you could tell by the way he moved his hands when he spoke, and the shadow that darkened his face. “Tell me the truth.”
“You first.”
He sighed, shutting his eyes. “When you’re here, I can keep you safe. I can’t promise that anywhere else.”
“I’m trying to tell you that I’m not your responsibility, you don’t have to watch over me like that.”
“I do. It’s my duty as your leader.”
“You’re not the leader, yet. And that’s all this is? You trying to do your job? Using that logic, no one would be allowed to leave the Fortress, ever.”
He was smiling again, though it didn’t reach his eyes, and resembled more of a grimace than anything else. It made your chest tighten. “You’re so smart yet you act so dumb.”
Fuming, you said, “forget it. Neither of us are going to change each other’s minds, we should just--forget it.”
“You’re not understanding me.” Pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, he huffed. “I’m trying to keep you from being hurt. I can’t control what happens to you out there,” he gestured towards some hypothetical battlefield beyond the shack, “the thought of you getting hurt, the way that I’ve been hurt,” he pressed a hand to his chest. “or being killed the way my friends have been killed—” he swallowed, letting his arms fall limp at his sides. “I can’t do it. And if I have the power to stop it from happening, then I’m going to do everything I can to prevent it.” With a shrug, he said, “I’m sorry. You’re not going.”
“I understand what you’re saying. It’s not easy for me, either. Seeing you leave and never knowing if I’ll ever get to be with you again. That’s part of why I want to go so badly. I wouldn’t be so powerless. I could help, prevent you from getting injured or dying. I care about you, too.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
justified, but still hurtful.
“Neteyam.”
“When you first started pulling away, I could justify it. You were stressed about war. What did it matter if we weren’t spending time together outside of that. I told myself that, when the worst was over and we were done with living day to day, you would come back to me. And being injured didn’t seem so bad anymore, because then you’d have to spend time with me. But then you stopped doing that, too, and I realized your absence would be more permanent than I originally thought.”
There was nothing you could say that would reverse that damage. You were looking anywhere but at him, eyes shining, throat lined with apologies and confessions. A rough hand gripped your jaw, and for the first time in several months, the two of you were close.
Your chest brushed against his, your face in his hands, tilted back so you had to meet his eyes. Your hands grabbed at his wrists, pulling, but to no avail. He was a warrior, trained to withstand the physical challenges of the battlefield. Made of lean muscle and unshakeable resolve, now that he had you in his grip, you doubted he’d let you escape it anytime soon.
“Tell me why. You owe it to me.”
“I thought I was doing what’s best for the both of us.” Limp in his hold, you thanked the darkness for covering the flush on your face.
“How could being apart from each other be what’s best?”
“I started to realize that after you became the next leader, I would have no place in your life.” it sounded stupid, when you said it aloud, but there was no running from it now. “You’d have your job as leader, and find someone to spend your life with, and of course I’m happy for you, but I also had to look out for myself. You have this bright future ahead of you, and I’m a dead end, Neteyam. There’s no future for us together.”
You thought you were going to die with how fast your heart beat in your chest, certain that he could hear it. After a long stretch of silence, in which his face betrayed nothing, the hand on your jaw moved down to your throat. Your eyes widened as his grip tightened, cutting your airflow just enough to scare you but not enough to stop you from breathing completely.
He pushed you backwards, your feet dragging across the soil, trying to gain purchase but failing. Using his grip on your throat to lift you off the ground, you strained on your toes, your back against the trunk of the tree. Trapped, alone in forbidden territory, you wondered if you’d angered him so much he wanted going to kill you.
And then he kissed you.
You had kissed him once before, years ago, when you were sixteen and he was seventeen. Dark bruises littered his face, hung like ornaments on his cheekbone and jaw. A cut on his lip, still bleeding, and each time he reached up to wipe at it you grabbed his hand and shoved it back into his lap.
He winced when your fingers pressed down on one of the marks. "Careful."
Sitting back in your heels, you tossed the washcloth you'd been using to clean the blood from his nose. "What the hell is wrong with you."
Not looking you in the eye, his focus locked on something just past your shoulder, he said "nothing."
Suspicious, you narrowed your gaze at him. "You got into a fight."
A roll of his eyes. Slight, barely there, but an eyeroll nonetheless. "Lo'ak exaggerates. It was not a fight."
"You broke his nose. That's a fight."
"It was more like a brief physical altercation. Nothing is wrong with me."
Blinking at him, you waited for him to explain, to give any sort of context.
He didn't, though he did fidget, meaning he was hiding something from you. Gesturing towards the discarded washcloth, he said, "are you going to finish patching me up or am I going to have to do it myself?"
Taken aback by his sass, you did as he asked, rising back into your knees to reach his face. You resumed your work in silence, used to the way he stared at you when you cleaned the blood from his skin.
"I'm sure Ateyo will tell me what happened after he can speak again." You lifted your hand to mend the cut on his brow when he caught your wrist in his grip. His fingers dug into you, tight, pinching the surface. Movements paused, you met his eyes, your teasing gone.
"Don't talk to him again."
Occasionally, Neteyam ordered you around. Simple instructions that used to bother you. I'm older, he'd remind you whenever you refused to listen. One of his fatal flaws; he believed he knew what was best for everyone.
But he never flat out told you what to do like he was doing now. Never set boundaries on your life, like don't go there or don't talk to him.
"Why not?" you asked, voice quiet. You brought your other hand up to rest against his check, thumb tracing a deep bruise. He leaned into it, the grip on your wrist sliding away. Wrapping his arms around your lower back, he pulled you close. So close the tip of your nose brushed against his.
"He's a skxawng."
You smiled. "You think everyone is a skxawng."
But he wasn't paying attention anymore. His eyes were low, half-lidded, focused on your lips. You hadn't kissed anyone before, but your friendship with Neteyam had shifted into something more than what it used to be.
There was an expectation there. A knife through your chest when other Omaticaya girls got close to him. A threat in his eyes when he saw you with Ateyo, or any other boy. It was so fleeting, you weren't sure it was real at all.
Your free hand pressed against his chest, where his heart would be. It pulses under your touch, fast and erratic. But his breathing was slow, eyes unmoving. Your own breath skipped as his arms tightened around you, pulling your further into his lap, no space between the two of you.
"I mean it this time," he told you, distracted. "I should've done a lot more than knock his teeth out for what he said about you."
Tilting his head to the side, one of his hands brushed your hair off your shoulder, his fingers skimming your skin and then replaced with the soft touch of his lips. Not kissing, or pressing down, just brushing against your skin. Your grip on his shoulders tightened, breath hitching.
you couldn't think straight. the fact that he'd gotten into a fight, over what some moron said about you, warranted a knock upside the head to put some common sense back into him.
but he was truly kissing your neck now, his tongue sliding over the skin before the sharp point of his teeth bit down. When you gasped, he groaned, low in your ear, arms around your waist so tight you thought there'd be marks left tomorrow.
You wanted there to be marks left tomorrow.
"I let him hit me a few times," he confessed, pulling back from you to look you in the eyes again. You were having trouble focusing, which he noticed, judging by the faint and playful grin on his lips. "Just so I could be here with you."
In the end, you were the one to kiss him first. Eyes fluttered shut, tilting his face up to yours, you pressed your lips against his. He returned it, soft, slow, his body strong against yours.
You parted, once, but he followed your lips so closely, leaning forward in your space, you didn’t have a chance to speak before he kissed you again. Teeth scraping against your lower lip, tongue sliding against yours, one of his hands on the back of your neck to prevent you from pulling back, you were so distracted by the solid muscle he pressed against you that you almost didn’t notive the heavy footsteps approaching the door.
Pulling away from him, you stood, and fled the room before his father could walk in on something neither you nor Neteyam could explain.
"What the hell were you thinking?" echoed down the hall, but you were long gone by that point.
Neither of you mentioned the kiss, both caught up in insecurity and deciding that the friendship was worth more than that. Still, Ateyo avoided you like the plague and you didn't give him anything but small smiles, heeding Neteyam's warning.
You thought about that kiss, a lot.
And one time, drunk, Neteyam confessed that he thought about it, too.
But it never happened again.
Yet, here you were, his lips against yours. This time, he was the one to lean down.
Shocked, you did little more than stare up at him with wide eyes. It was a soft press of his lips against yours, but still intentional. He slid his leg in-between yours, the muscles on his thigh pressing upwards, and you gasped against him, rolling your hips down.
Prepared for the second kiss, you tipped your face back, meeting him halfway. This one was rough. His tongue slid against yours, licking into your opened mouth, hands still tight on your jaw, fingers still against your throat, not allowing you much movement other than placing your hands on his chest. You slid them over his shoulders, pressing down on the strength of them, then down the front of his chest, over his abs.
The hand wrapped around your throat pressed into the wall next to your head, and while you were distracted by looking at the muscles in him arm tighten, he gripped your chin in his fingers and turned your head to the side as his lips trailed down your jaw and onto your neck.
“Are you still mad at me?” you cursed the breathiness in your voice. Whimpering when he bit down on your soft skin, the sharp points of his skin nearly breaking the surface, he soothed the area with a. hot swipe of his tongue.
“So mad,” he huffed, pressing his thigh harder between your legs. Another roll of your hips and a whimper from you, followed by a groan from him. “Fuck, I can’t even think straight.”
Kissing you again, it was more of a punishment. Teeth against your lip, not allowing you to breathe, not allowing you to run from him anymore. His arms wrapped around you, pulling your body from the tree, and the two of you ended up on the ground. Him laying over you, forearms by your head, hips pressed together.
“Missed you,” he groaned into your ear when you hitched a leg around his waist, rocking up against him.
“Missed you, too,” you gasped, cut off by him pressing his lips to yours again. A few more fast kisses, and he pulled away again.
“You never had to miss me, we could’ve been doing this the entire time.” His lips were at the hollow of your throat, sucking the skin, making you dizzy.
“I’m sorry,” you told him, honestly, using your hands in his hair to pull his face to yours.
He smiled against you, shaking his head. “skxawng.”
Scratching your nails down his back in response, you couldn’t help but smile with him. The moment broke the negative tension, replacing it with an overpowering kind. His hips never slowed, each thrust making you bite back a gasp despite the layers of clothing between the two of you. The kisses slowed and blurred together, nothing but a slow press of tongue and lips and groans that made your thighs tense and your clit throb.
One of his hands toyed with your thin top. He kissed you again, so you were distracted. You pressed your palms flat against his back, feeling the firm muscle, tracing the scars between his shoulder blades. He palmed over breasts with his free hand, the other one working at the knot holding your top against you. The thin sheet of cloth that clung to you did little to protect your sensitive nipple from brushing against his chest, or his fingers pressing against them over your clothes. “Is this okay?” he asked, groaning in your ear when you trailed your lips down his neck, your tongue against his skin.
“Yes,” you were a little too enthusiastic in your response, lifting your shoulders from the ground so he could pull it off. He grinned against you, a gentle laugh pressed into the skin of your clavicle. Most thought Lo’ak was the arrogant one between the brothers, but in truth, you knew Neteyam could be just as cocky. You let it slide as he tossed your top aside, pulling you against him, not bothering to look down before kissing you again.
His hands slid over your stomach, thumbs indenting your skin, before he pressed his palms over your breasts. Leaning back, he pulled himself away from your body to stare down at you. Only for a few seconds, chest heaving, taking in the sight of you underneath him. Lips tracing over your shoulders, he trailed down until he took one of your breasts in his mouth, the rough pads of his fingers sliding over the other.
Arching into him, you bit your tongue to muffle your whimper, legs tight around his waist. The pleasure pushed you higher, the occasional scrape of his teeth against you making you press your fingers tight against his shoulders. He switched to the other nipple, roughly palming the other one. “Shit,” he cursed against you. “You’re making it so hard for me, baby.”
“Want you so bad,” distracted by his free hand sliding up your thigh, you didn’t notice him licking through the valley of your breasts until he reached your hip bone, fingers slipping from your tits to mess with your waist band.
“Can I take this off?”
For the first time, you hesitated. It was a split second, but he caught it, hoisting himself up so his palms were flat against the ground and he wasn’t touching you. Still trapped in the haze, you weren’t entirely sure how to voice your thoughts, but you knew he wouldn’t accept you shying away from him anymore. “Don’t you want to try it with someone else?”
Poor boy looked so confused, frowning, eyes flicking from your tits to your face, trying to stay focused. “What?”
You sat up, and he moved with you, holding your hand to help you up. Your face heated, and you reminded yourself that this was your best friend and not someone who wanted to hurt you. “It’s so permanent. Don’t you want to explore all of your options before committing?”
Staring at you, dumbfounded, his shoulders tense and his hands clenching yours. “Do you want to explore other options?”
“No,” you rushed to say. “I don’t want to force you to do anything. I’m trying to give you a way out, in case you want one.”
Sighing, he cupped the back on your neck, pulling you against him. He gave you another soft kiss, nothing more than a featherlight press of his lips against yours. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I met you.”
The two of you swapped a few more gentle kisses, him chasing your lips every time you pulled back to speak.
“I See you,” you whispered, kissing him again so you didn’t have to see his immediate reaction. “I was scared of it for a long time. But it’s true.”
When he whimpered against you, the noise sent another wave of heat between your legs. “I See you,” he spoke into your ear, pushing you down so your back met the cold ground and he hovered over you. “Can’t live without you. Don’t ever leave me again.”
The following kisses returned to a fevered pace, desperate. You couldn’t get close enough to him, his hands skirting over your front, tugging at your hair, your hands on his waist, against his jaw. His tongue slid into your mouth, his hips rolled down, and you could hardly keep up with how desperate you were. “Please,” you gasped, taking his hands and guiding them down your body.
“Yeah?” he asked, working at the knot holding your clothing over your hipbone. “You want this?”
“So much,” you confessed, devastated at the lack of friction against your core. “Do you?”
“Yes,” he breathed. “So gorgeous, you have no idea how much I’ve had to hold myself back from this.”
licking at your breasts again, he slid the cloth up and over your thighs, bunching it at your hips. “So hard to control myself around you.”
Propping yourself on your elbows, you watched him discard your skirt, sliding it down your legs, his fingers brushing against your thigh, making your hips rise slightly in search of him. The first touch of his fingers against you, gathering your wetness along the pads of his fingers had you laying back, unable to hold yourself up. When the rough pads of his fingers swiped over your clit, his thumb rubbing in slow circles, you had to remind yourself to breathe, eyes shut, face hot.
Other hand sliding up your calf and pulling it over his shoulder, you didn’t realize he spoke until he bit into your thigh. Gasping, you returned to the moment.
“Need you to be here with me,” he told you, making you look at him. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
“I don’t want to stop, it feels good.”
He nodded, biting back his grin at the praise. “Keep making those sounds, then,” he ducked his head, licking from your opening to the top, tip of his tongue pressed against your clit for only a second before disappearing.
you did as he asked, crying at the pleasure as he repeated the action a few times before sealing his lips over your clit and sucking, fingers pressing inside of you. Cursing, your nails scratched against the floor, hips rising to press yourself further against his face, back arching off the ground.
fingers curling inside of you, bullying a certain spot inside of you that made you cry out. the pleasure mounted, his hot tongue sliding against your clit over and over, occasionally replaced by harsh sucks. your eyes rolled back, and you could do nothing but stutter his name and gasp for air.
You were right there, on the precipice of snapping, when he pulled away. His fingers slowed to a slow thrust, and you tears brimmed on your lashes from the desperation of being edged like that. You wanted to ask him why, to yell at him for delaying this, but all that came out was a pathetic whimper and a wanton roll of your hips.
“I’m still mad at you, sweetheart,” his fingers returned to your clit, moving just as slow as his other fingers pumping in and out of you. “you ignored me for months.”
“I didn’t ignore you,” you managed to grit out. “I just put some distance between us.”
Humming, he bent down again, replacing his fingers with his mouth, putting you right back on that edge, only to stop you from falling over once more when he pulled back. You nearly kicked him. “Maybe I should put some distance between us now,” the teasing in his voice was almost enough to make you stand up and leave.
“Please,” you whimpered.
“I could be convinced to stay,” he winked at you, increasing the pace of his fingers thrusting inside of you. But the playfulness faded. “Tell me you’ll never leave me again.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Tell me you won’t lie to me again.”
“I won’t.”
He brought you to the edge, then backed away for a third time. This time, you couldn’t keep the tears from falling, sniffling. He made a mocking sound. “Is this hard for you?”
After you nodded, he increased the pace of his fingers on your clit, and said “don’t cum yet.”
Whimpering, you tried to think of anything else but his hands and lips on you but failed. You were tipping over the cliff, when he stopped again, pulling his hands away from you completely. He gripped your waist and flipped you over, hands on your hips to raise them off the ground, his other hand on your upper back to press your face into the ground.
And then his tongue was on you again, sliding through your folds, lips forming a seal around your clit and sucking, his hands holding your trembling thighs apart. You were no longer above begging, asking him for permission to cum. Drooling over it.
“Go ahead, baby,” he said after pulling away from you. “Say my name when you do it.”
Returning to you, fingers nudging that spot again, tongue hot and slick against you, you couldn’t hold yourself off the ground when you came. A whimper of his name, a moan that echoed, every thought in your head shattered by your orgasm, he eased you onto your back, kissing you before you even had a chance to come back to yourself.
It was a messy kiss, like the kind he’d given your pussy. You could taste yourself on him, and you pulled away for air, lips brushing against his ear. “You’re so good to me,” you said, pulling him closer, you used your own slick to wet your fingers before you pumped his dick a few times.
He groaned. “Don’t tease,” sitting back on his heels, he thrusted into your hand, eyes falling shut and face tilting back. “Waited long enough to have you. Can’t take it.”
Neteyam ended up hovering over you again, the head of his dick brushing your entrance, eyes trained on yours. “We can still stop,” he assured you, even though he could stop the movement of his hips, the tip of his cock hitting your clit with every slow roll.
“I want to do this with you.”
And with that, he used one hand to guide himself inside, the other was used to hold himself over you. The intrusion made you whimper and clench your eyes shut, lip drawn between your teeth. He made noises, too, desperate sounds that had your pussy clenching around him. You were wet and turned on enough that he was able to slip inside, though the stretch still stung and made your eyes water.
Muttering sweet nothings against your lips, once his hips were flush with yours, both of you paused. It was an overwhelming feeling, to be full of him. He brushed against every nerve, upset every balance inside of you, even when all he could manage were shallow thrusts, barely pulling back and pressing in again. He was overwhelmed, too, judging by the way he buried his face in your neck, cursing, begging, praising you. “So perfect,” he told you, pulling out further than he had before, but still not leaving you completely. When he pressed forward again, you moaned, the lewd sound of your wetness distracting you. “Don’t know how I ever lived without this, without you.”
Too overstimulated to return the words, you settled for pressing your lips against his, urging his hips to move. They did, the tip of his cock nudging somewhere so deep inside of you it blurred the pleasure and the pain and had you holding onto him as if you’d disappear if you didn’t.
He shifted your position. “Want to be closer,” he told you as he pulled your legs over his shoulders, leaning forward until your knees were by your head and he set a fast pace, hands returning to your breasts, pulling and tugging on your hard nipples as you met his thrusts, or tried to, before you gave up completely and just let him do what he wanted. Pressed down into you harder, battered that pleasurable spot inside of you, his hands unrelenting on your tits.
“With me,” he begged, hands moving from your body to find yours, interlocking your fingers and pressing them into the ground. “Cum with me.”
You reached that high together, groaning and gasping into each other’s mouths, dissolving into kisses once you both finished.
Later that night, after returning to the Fortress, you snuck him back into your tent, laughing the entire time.
I have googled my life away. I have read bible verses. I have studied the ohilosophical meaning behind the numbers. I have become a modern Gallup trying to ask people to help me figure this out. What the FUCK does it mean.
