Stay Mindful

I reblog work that I genuinely love 💚🩷

[grilchgurt]

Hii! Can I please request a Ryland Grace x fem!reader who’s a grad student in both molecular biology and engineering (so there is an age gap), so because of that Stratt wanted to send her on Hail Mary as backup in case something happened to Grace and the engineer Olesya Ilyukhina. Y/n becomes then second survivor. She was head of heels back before they boarded the ship and now that they’re working together on Hail Mary with their fragmented memories, she kisses him and he kisses her back (he loves her too)

i am so sorry this took me so long to get this out. i hope you like it!!! i didn't lean super hard into fem!reader--it's pretty gender neutral--which i hope is okay. there was also some tweaking to the reader's field and why they're on the ship to make it fit a little more snug into the book/movie canon.

more generally, apologies to everyone that i have been essentially radio silent for a few days. i went through a bit of a rough patch with writing, just getting super in my head with it, and i struggled with this fic a lot. but i am so grateful for the kind comments that people have left me, and i would like to try my best to respond to them all tonight :)

finally, another huge shoutout to @svietlik for helping me so much with the brainstorming on this (particularly figuring out why the grad student reader would be put on the ship) as well as providing her ryland grace playlist that became the soundtrack to this :)

can't forget (getting what you give) - ryland grace x reader

also posted on ao3 | my masterlist Grace is your crewmate, and your supervisor, and your friend, and--it's difficult to disentangle it all, even without the whole amnesia issue. But you remember coffee, and a dance, and his glasses. ~9.6k words; fluff; and a brief touch of angst; age difference; flashbacks; Stratt's Vat; bioengineering student!reader; gender neutral reader taglist: @umbranull @lilredbird101 @carolineesnell @sillybillyp9 @pixiebuggz @yennimxchi @joccey @cityofstvrdust

The first real memory of Grace comes when you’re both staring at the metal cylinder, side-by-side in front of the lab’s central table.

It starts as a creeping sense of déjà vu. The feeling that this has happened, countless times before: standing next to him, working through a problem together. Then you glance at his hands, the nitrile blue gloves he’s wearing, and the visual cue makes the memory click into place as if it had always been there.

Your workstation in his lab. Countless astrophage samples. Diagrams of the elbow-shaped breeding containers. Blue gloves. You had scolded him, the first day you worked with him, about running his hand through his hair unthinkingly while still wearing his PPE, and then you had made him change his gloves. You can almost hear him, like he’s currently speaking out loud: sorry, sorry, it’s been a while – your instincts are sharper than mine, probably – that’s a good idea, write that down – what’s your program in, again?

Then he’s actually speaking, and the suddenness of it makes you jump. “—hello? There you are,” he smiles. “Lost you for a second.”

You clear your throat. “Sorry. Another memory.”

Grace hums thoughtfully and turns his gaze back to the metal hunk sitting in front of the two of you. “What of? Don’t tell me you’ve somehow seen something like this before. I’d really feel incompetent,” he jokes, reaching forward to grab the cylinder, “because I just cannot figure. This. Thing. Out.” He bangs it against the table at each word.

“I know we established that it’s not a bomb, but maybe don’t smack it on the table. Just to be safe.”

He sets it down with a sigh. “Yeah. That’s probably fair.”

You’re looking at his gloves again without really meaning to. “And no, nothing like that. I think—I was your assistant. On the project.”

“Oh. That…makes a lot of sense, actually. It fits with what I’ve been able to recall. Helps clarify why they’d send someone so young, too. No offense,” he tacks on, glancing at you sheepishly. “How’d you remember?”

You gesture to his hands. “Your gloves. At first it was—I felt like we’d done this before. And then I looked down. You were. Really terrible at not touching other stuff with gloves on. I think I yelled at you a lot for it.”

The laugh he lets out almost tugs another memory loose. You could chase it, if you wanted, follow the feeling that’s building in your chest at the sound, but—maybe one memory is enough, for now, and there are more pressing issues at hand.

Like the alien message currently staring you both in the face. That seems a little more important than figuring out why the sound of his laugh is making something squeeze around your heart. You study it a little closer. This solid form of xenon is incredible, not only for that fact alone, but because they’ve managed to make it so lightweight yet nearly indestructible. It’s the same material as their ship, you’re fairly certain, which means that it can probably hold pressure. Perhaps that’s why it’s so difficult to open; maybe you could find a knife, wedge it into the thin seam at the top of the canister, like how you’d open a particularly stuck jar of sauce.

But surely they wouldn’t send something that was this difficult to open, if they were really trying to communicate. “Maybe,” you say slowly, the inkling of an idea entering your mind, “you should try turning it—”

“The other way?” He finishes for you. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

Grace picks it up and twists it in the opposite direction, before you can suggest that, maybe, he should put it in the fume hood first, and then you’re frantically pushing him toward it as the smell of cat piss floods into the room.

Yeah, this feels about right.

--

“So.”

“So,” you parrot back to him.

He takes his gloves off and tosses them into the trash before sitting in the chair next to you. “I will admit. That maybe. Having an assistant isn’t all that bad.”

“Did you decide that before or after I fixed the prototype for the breeding container?”

A smile pulls at his lips as he runs a hand through the back of his hair. He really needs to stop doing that, you think idly, for a multitude of reasons. “…‘Fixed’ is a strong word for what happened.”

“Right, sorry.” You take your own gloves off, then, and lean back, appraising him carefully. Dr. Grace is not exactly what you expected, but it’s a good kind of surprise. Not a creep, like some of the older male faculty you’ve encountered in grad school, and not completely full of himself, either, as you had assumed after reading his paper once you’d been assigned to him. “I just pointed out that the threads for the 3D-printed model were designed in the wrong direction. No biggie.”

He scoffs playfully at that. His hand is still on the back of his head; it’s not fully clear to you why you’re tracking that so intently. “I would have noticed. Eventually.”

“If you remembered to pull your readers up, sure.”

“What do you mean, ‘my readers’—they’re not readers.”

The grin on your face is wide and positively shit-eating. “Alright. What are they, then?”

Dr. Grace takes his glasses off, then, and inspects them for a moment before cleaning the lenses with his shirt. “They’re. They—help me see things. Up close.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s not the same.”

It basically is the same, but you decide you’ll stop teasing him for the moment. He’s really easy to work with, you muse, much better than your PI at MIT. Thank god they hadn’t just stuck you in his lab here, that he had suggested you work with someone else to ‘diversify your research experience’ (which you suspect was really just ego-related on his part). It is certainly being diversified, if the past few hours have taught you anything.  

Then, suddenly, he’s holding his glasses out to you. “I can hear you thinking that it’s the same thing. It’s not. See for yourself.” There’s almost a pun, there, and it seems like he’s trying to workshop it into something but gives up after a few moments.

You gently take the glasses by their metal arms and slide them onto your face. Jeez, it must be a disaster if he forgets these at a restaurant, or something. You can almost see it in your mind’s eye: sitting across from him while he holds the menu out from his face as far as he can. “Yikes. It’s worse than I thought.”

“Hey,” he pouts. It’s cute.

Er, alright. You push that last thought away and try to focus on him through the glasses. “How do I look?”

He has to push his chair back a little to properly see what they look like on your face. “Oh, it’s great. Very professor-like.”

“Thank you,” you say primly. “Maybe when I defend, whenever this is all over, I’ll buy a fake pair, just to really sell the new doctor persona.”

You expect him to say something else, but he doesn’t—he just keeps taking the sight of you in, wearing his glasses. It’s causing a weird sensation to settle in your stomach, and your eyes are also starting to hurt a little, so you take the glasses off and hand them back. He clears his throat as he perches them on his nose again. “See? Not readers.”

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

--

Well. Rocky lives on the ship, now, apparently. It’s not exactly what you expected after making contact with an intelligent alien species and then painstakingly establishing communication with said alien. In retrospect, though, it seems like this was the obvious outcome.

The memories have been coming easier. Late nights on the Vat; endless amounts of coffee and sour candy (because he has an incessant sweet tooth, though you probably didn’t need the memories to pick up on that); elbows knocking into each other and arms pressed together. You try to tell him about them all when they occur to you, and he does the same—though perhaps you’ve kept that last item on the list to yourself.

“So, cancer research, you said?” The question comes out slightly strained, because Grace has been holding up the clear panel for a while; Rocky has been very particular about where it’s all being placed.

The alien interrupts you before you can answer. “No understand word.”

You cast a hesitant look to Grace. When you’d found out that Rocky’s entire crew had died, radiation sickness had been your first guess. So many living things suddenly dying in space, essentially at the same time, in a species that typically lives for hundreds of years? It was the diagnosis that fit, in your mind, but neither of you had shared your hypothesis with Rocky yet. “We’ll explain it later, bud,” he finally says. The muscles in his upper arms—biceps, triceps, the whole lot of them—are starting to bulge from the effort of holding up the panel for so long.

That’s not. That seems like an observation that’s not relevant. You clear your throat. “Yeah. I was working on a project that was developing a kind of treatment that would selectively target fast-growing cells but avoid things like hair and fingernails.”

He grunts. You try not to pay too much attention to the noise. “Mm. I think I remember that now. The grant you got, the one you told me about once. Makes sense why they pulled you and your advisor for the project. The little guys reproduce pretty quickly and efficiently.”

“Pretty much—he was trying to develop a kind of synthetic predator to introduce to Venus’s atmosphere. I don’t remember if he got very far. And, you know, I kind of got put in a different lab.”

Can Rocky please tell him that he’s got it in the right spot? This is getting a little ridiculous, because you can’t stop looking at his arms, and it’s unclear to you whether you used to do this before. He was almost always in a lab coat, or a sweater, as far as you can remember, but you feel like you would have noticed if they looked like that the whole time.

“Here, let me help you,” you finally blurt out, moving to stand beside him and help shoulder some of the weight.

This, evidently, puts it in just the right spot. Finally. “Is perfect! Now join to other panel, there.” He’s still in his ball, which means the two of you get to do all the work of putting his ‘bedroom’ together while he points and explains just where he wants things. It reminds you of your lab in grad school, back on Earth. Which is not exactly a compliment.

As you shift your hands to lift the little Eridian tool Rocky showed you how to use to fit the clear panels together, Grace speaks, and it’s a little softer than before. “We make a pretty good team.”

You simply smile at that. This was the one thing that you didn’t need all of the memories to tell you: the synergy had been there from the moment the two of you had woken up.

--  

You keep running the simulation, and it keeps giving you the same results. There is just not enough energy on the aircraft carrier to reproduce the astrophage at the rate necessary for the eventual launch.

A coffee cup is placed next to the laptop. You snatch it and take a long, grateful sip, because you can’t really remember the last time you slept. “Still the same?” Dr. Grace says next to you, pulling up a chair to look at the data on the screen.

“Yeah. I just don’t know where we can get all this energy,” you mutter, biting your lip in frustration. “No wonder the things live on the surface of the sun.”

You start typing out some new parameters to run the simulation again, but then he slowly closes the laptop. He starts gently tapping the backs of your hands with it, until you move them out of the way. “You’ve been at this for hours. Take a break.”

He’s right, probably, but you really hate letting a problem lie unsolved like this, hate feeling like you’re not being useful in some way. Also, that’s rich, coming from him, so you scoff and tell him as much. “Coming from the person who stayed awake for three days straight to figure out how they reproduce in the first place.”

Dr. Grace huffs out a little chuckle. “Yeah, well. That’s probably why you’re here. So I don’t just keel over while I’m working on this.” You give him a flat look at that, and he raises his hands up in defeat. “Right, right, sorry, you are a very amazing and talented assistant. An assistant who needs a break.”

In a flash, he’s standing (this happens quite often, whenever he’s had what he thinks is an amazing idea; the actual success rate is sitting somewhere around seventy percent, which isn’t terrible, all things considered), and then he’s rifling through some drawers and bins while mumbling to himself. “What are you doing?”

“Dance break.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s already a soft smile pulling at your lips. “What is this, the Disney Channel? What do you mean a ‘dance break’?”

He must finally find what he’s looking for, because he lets out a little aha! and then holds something up—a speaker. Why this man keeps a speaker in his lab is beyond you. “I do this all the time for my students. Gets the blood pumping. And moving around is really great for thinking, you know. Helps you see things in a different light. There’s a study.” He waves his free hand nonchalantly, as if to say that he knows the exact study he’s referring to, but he just can’t be bothered to rehash the details of it.

“I’m sure there is. So I’m the middle schooler in this instance, then?” Also, it seems a little insane to do dance breaks for children during school. Wouldn’t that just derail their focus entirely? But you’re not a teacher, at least not for students that young, so whatever.

The grin he gives you is entirely too smug. “You are pretty young.”

Not this again. “I am quite literally pushing thirty.”

“Your late twenties aren’t exactly ‘pushing thirty,’ you can’t say that until you’re twenty-nine,” God, he’s such a pedant, “and hush. What song do you want?”

You sigh, long and hard and entirely exaggerated, because he really isn’t going to let this go, is he? “Do you let your students pick?”

“Ah, no. Kids these days and their inappropriate music.” At least he does the bit in the other direction: when he’s not making jokes about you being young, he’s hamming up being an ‘old man.’ The last time you did the math—he refuses to give you his exact birth year, and you are being very nice and not looking it up on your own—he’s only a decade older than you, give or take a few years, but he still likes to pretend to be positively geriatric.

You watch him mess with some of the buttons. Is this a part of the bit, or is he actually this bad with technology? “Then just pick something for me.”

When he’s done fiddling with the speaker and connecting it to his phone, Dr. Grace looks you over for a while, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips in a way that makes him look like a duck, as if picking the right song for you is the single most important thing he’s done that day. It is very much not, obviously. A single glance around the lab would give you several examples. “I think I’ve got it.” He presses play after a moment, and then You Get What You Give is filtering through the room, entirely too loud, given that it’s nearly two in the morning. “Don’t worry if you don’t recognize it. I know this might be a bit before your time.”

One of these days, you’re going to wipe that smug smile right off of his face. You have a few ideas how you’d do it—wait, that’s sort of a strange thing to think, and you’re not quite sure where it came from. You blink the thought away and then roll your eyes again. It’s genuinely miraculous that you haven’t popped a blood vessel at this point. “It is very much not before my time. It’s, like, exactly in my time. I like this song.”

“Great. Now stand up.” He’s already bobbing his head to the beat. “Let’s see your moves.”

“This is really not—we’re going to wake up the whole ship.”

His foot is tapping, and then he’s sort of shuffling side-to-side, and you really wish you had your phone out to record this. “Nah. The walls are thick. I mean, not these ones, plexiglass, and all—but the rest of the ship is literally steel. If you don’t get up right now, I’m going to break out the worst dance moves you’ve ever seen. You don’t want that. I could do the Carlton.”

But you really, really do, actually, so you smile sweetly. “Is that a promise?”

“Will you just—” He walks forward and grabs your hand, pulling you out of your chair. He doesn’t let go, even when you’re fully standing. “This only works if you actually move around.”

Another eye roll, but this one is much more halfhearted than the last. You try to move a little, mostly just shifting your weight from leg to leg, if only to satisfy his ego so you can go back to work. “Okay, great. Blood has been pumped. Can I go run the—”

“Nope, nuh-uh, I will restart the song until you actually dance.” This sounds more annoying than just trying to dance for real, so you give in. It is not very coordinated, because it is, after all, the middle of the night, but his grin widens into something sweet and excited. It’s a really good look on him. He has a nice smile, which is probably the millionth time you’ve noted it. “There you go, was that so hard?”

It’s not, especially when he raises your hand and spins you around until you’re dizzy and giggling. You can’t even remember the last time you’d actually danced like this. This would be a little depressing, but in the moment, you find that you don’t even have the space to be sad about it. “You know,” you say in between breaths, because you’re still dancing, and he’s still holding your hand, “maybe we could use the sun. For the astrophage. Modified solar panels.”

“See? What did I tell you?” His smile is so bright and kind, and his cheeks are just barely dusted pink from the exertion. “I’m sure Stratt has some people she can talk to about it.”

--

You blink. Screen room. Rocky, in his ball. The same song playing.

Grace is looking at you with a smile that you could only describe as ‘secret’—like he knows what you’re thinking of, and that you know that he knows, and neither of you need to say it out loud. He wordlessly extends a hand to you, and you grab it.

--

“What I still just don’t understand,” you say, helping him slide into the lower half of the EVA suit, “is why me. You, I get—”

“That makes one of us.”

Your fingers fly over the various attachments and straps of the suit, as if you’d done this a hundred times, because you have. Sometimes a different memory will flicker each time, but they are all functionally the same: him, getting in and out of the EVA suit to test various pieces of equipment; you, helping him do so, pulling his glasses out of your breast pocket when he was done, sliding them onto his face. “Oh, come on. You literally named astrophage. But—I’m not nearly as qualified. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even finish my doctorate beforehand, and I’m only, like, half an engineer.”

Grace goes to put the helmet on. Thoughtlessly, reflexively, you reach forward and gently take his glasses off, hanging them on the collar of your shirt. “I’d say more than half—thanks, by the way—and, I don’t know. Maybe something happened?”

The last three words rattle around your skull. Maybe something happened. There’s something there, you think, if you sat with it a little longer. It’s like a word that’s just on the tip of your tongue, and you know it, you know that you know it, but each time you get closer it slips from your grasp. “Maybe,” you finally mutter.

“It’ll come when it comes. I’m not worried about it.” This is most definitely one of those things he’s just saying without really meaning it, because half the time you catch him staring off in the distance, trying to make everything click together. “How do I look?” He starts striking different strongman poses, and his face gains a new ridiculous expression with each one.

You stifle a grin. “Oh, great. They should put you in one of those calendars. You know, like the hot firemen ones, except it’s hot astronauts.” This hangs for a moment until you realize the exact implication of what you just said. “Um. Anyway, I’m gonna head back up to the cockpit and monitor. You know. The stuff. With Rocky.” You start to walk away, but then you realize the goggles are still in your hand—‘goggles’ is a bit of a misnomer, but the right word isn’t really coming to you in the moment—so you turn around and hand them to him. “Hopefully these work. We can try to troubleshoot over the radio if it doesn’t.”

With that, you float up to the cockpit and try not to think about that absolute dumpster fire of a conversation. Rocky is waiting patiently (read: impatiently) while you strap yourself in. “No understand word, between ‘hot’ and ‘ones.’ Not astronaut. Rocky know that word. Humans have other humans that are on fire, question?”

Of course, the radio is already on, and Grace is faintly laughing. “No, that’s not—they’re not on fire. They’re people who put fires out.”

“Oh, understand,” he sings. “Because Earth atmosphere is oxygen. Very flammable. Very stupid.”

Grace’s voice still has a hint of laughter when it crackles through the radio. “We’ll try to let them know that. See if anyone can do something about it.”

The two of you settle in to watch him traverse the outer hull of the ship to the astrophage collector, you on the camera feed, him on his texture plate. The little handheld device he has is pretty neat—it’s sort of like a camera, you’ve figured out, designed to selectively capture specific light frequencies and turn them into sound waves that cause the plate to shift and display the images on the screen. “Astrophage collector is ready, question?”

“Yep.” You can see him pull the trays out, all dutifully labeled with the two different paths they would capture. “Trays are live, looking both ways.” His next words are a little quieter, a little more reflective. “I wish you guys could see this.”

“Rocky can see. Is boring.”

They argue for a little bit about whether or not the view of Tau Ceti-e is boring. You gaze at one of the other screens, the one displaying the planet. It would be pretty nice to be out there right now, even if the view would basically be the same as what you’re currently looking at. “We’re about to enter the Petrova line,” you interrupt. “Time to see if the goggles work. If it gets too bright, there’s a dial on the side that you can use to adjust the intensity.”

“And you said you’re only half an engineer,” he jokes. You can hear his smile, can see it in your mind’s eye. “You jerry-rigged portable IR goggles in, what, a day?”

“To be fair, it’s not that different from the Petrovascope. And I had the laptops.”

“Take a compliment, would you?”

You scoff, and your face is starting to feel a little warm. “I will when you do.”

Another laugh, the same clenching in your chest. “Touche.”

Then the ship passes through the line, and he must have switched the goggles on, and they must actually work, because he immediately gasps. Now you really wish you were out there with him, could see what he’s seeing right now, feel the same emotions that must be blooming through his body. You and Rocky watch as he floats there, taking it all in, and then he does a little flip. It’s extremely cute. For once, you let yourself just think that without feeling weird about it.

“What is Grace doing, question?”

“Having a moment,” he chokes out.

Later, when you’re helping him bring the samples in and getting him out of the suit, he’s uncharacteristically quiet. It’s only when you’re sliding his glasses back onto his face that he finally speaks. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “Seriously. That was—it was pretty amazing.”

“No problem. I’m glad they worked.”

The two of you hover there in the airlock, for a second, just looking at each other. The expression he has—it’s a new one, you think at first, but it tugs at something in the back of your mind. You don’t get the chance to pursue it any further, because then a familiar face of mirth and smugness is slowly growing on his face. “So. ‘Hot astronaut,’ huh?”

“Shut up. We were having a nice moment there, and you ruined it.”

Your face is red. His face is also red. Neither of you acknowledge it.

--

“Oh, crap, I need my—”

“It’s already in your bag,” you say idly. “Your laptop? I already put it in there.”

He opens the bag to check anyway, even though you know it’s in there, because you just packed it ten minutes ago. “Oh. Thanks. Now where did I put my—”

It’s a miracle, how he manages to get anything done. “They’re on your face. You know, that has got to be terrible for the hinges, hanging them off your chin like that.”

“They haven’t broken yet, so it’s fine. Probably.”

Dr. Grace is still rifling through his bag, making sure he has everything he needs, and then he’s almost frantically looking around the lab. “Dr. Grace. You’ve got everything. I know this, because I put it all in there. Now go.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best assistant ever?”

You smile at that. “No, actually, I don’t think so.” This is obviously a lie. He tells you this at least once a day, usually more.

He settles the strap of his bag on his shoulder, finally letting his gaze land on you instead of searching the room for anything he might need. “Well, you are. The best. Okay, I should be back in a few days—hopefully, at least, you know how these things are—don’t run yourself ragged while I’m gone. Take a break, call some friends, boyfriend—or partner, whoever, you know—”

“Don’t have one,” you remind him.

“Right. Well. Anyway.” He’s still just standing there, even though he should have gone to the top deck, like, five minutes ago.

Another eye roll. He had joked once that he was going to start a swear jar, except instead of for swears, you’d have to put a dollar in every time you rolled your eyes. You had to inform him that you didn’t have that much extra cash lying around. “Dr. Grace,” you repeat. “I will be fine. The astrophage are pretty much driving the bus themselves, at this point. Go before you get fired.” This is another joke, because he has been present for so many important meetings and scientific breakthroughs that the only way they were letting him go is if they threw him in jail, or something.

“You know,” he says, because he is still not leaving, “we’ve been working together long enough to be on a first-name basis.”

“Sure, fine. Go, Dr.—Ryland.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going, jeez—okay, see you in a few days, love you!” He calls over his shoulder, already out the door.

You turn back to your work, even though you really weren’t kidding when you said the astrophage were kind of doing it all by themselves, at this point. This was going to be a really boring couple of days, while he’s gone doing whatever it is that Stratt needs him for. Probably a meeting with another scientist, or maybe something about the ship’s construction.

You do not register what he said as he was leaving until the memory returns to you, years later.

--

The chains are endless. You see them when you close your eyes. Your fingers twitch, as if you were still putting them together, when you take a break to eat. If you never see a chain for the rest of your (probably short, given the whole being trapped in space thing) life, it will be too soon.

It doesn’t help that the work is monotonous enough that it leaves you with entirely too much time to just think. And think. And think. Sometimes it’s about Earth, wondering what kind of hell everyone is in; other times it’s about your memories, which are, for the most part, back in place.

Most of the time, it is about Grace. (Sometimes your brain will default to Ryland instead. There does not appear to be a rhyme or reason to it; it just happens.)

You look at his fingers putting the chains together. The way his glasses slide off his nose, and the little huff he lets out every time he has to push them back up. When you aren’t looking, you’re sifting through the time you spent together on the Vat, though it starts to get patchy around the time you both arrived at Baikonur.

It is still unclear why you are here, instead of Ilyukhina, who you remembered a while ago was the designated engineer. It’s also not clear why he’s here, either, because there had been a designated science officer, too. The more you think about it, the angrier you get. Sometimes it leaves you so seething and enraged that you either have to cry or pace endlessly just to get the emotion out, because you have no idea where it’s coming from, and therefore have no way to meaningfully deal with it.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I need a break,” you blurt, finishing the last chain link before you rub at your eyes. “Just, like, five minutes, and I’ll be fine.”

He nods tiredly and sets down his own chain before stretching his fingers out. You pointedly look away, training your gaze on Rocky’s still form. The three of you had been trying to stay awake as long as possible to finish the collector chain as quickly as possible, but sometimes he couldn’t help it, especially after eating. “Want some food?”

“I’m alright. Just needed a second. It’s just—on top of this being what feels like an endless task, it’s not exactly the most engaging. Feels like my head is running a mile a minute.” You stretch your legs out and prop your torso up with your hands on the floor. The lab—the entire ship, really—is covered with the chains, and yet it will still be a few more days until it’s all finished.

“Anything in particular? New memories?”

You shrug and glance back at him. He’s mirroring your pose, languid and exhausted, and his eye bags are looking pretty rough. The last time he looked this tired was after he met with the crew about their preferred methods of suicide. He’d had a hard time sleeping, after that. “No. I mean, sure, some random bits here and there, but nothing important, or anything. You?”

Grace hums. His eyes are almost drifting closed, and his voice already sounds tinged with sleep. It makes you feel a little warm, inside, and you’re tired enough that you don’t push the feeling away. “Pretty much the same. Most of it at this point is just us, on the ship. Some stuff about jetting halfway across the world for a meeting. I think I flew more during the project than during my whole life combined.”

“Yeah. I was pretty bored any time you left. I didn’t really talk to anyone else, I think.”

It’s quiet for a little bit while the two of you try to take a few minutes to reset, before the Sisyphean task of putting the chain links together resumes. At one point, you think he might have accidentally fallen asleep, because his eyes have slid shut and haven’t opened for a while. “I’m really glad you were my assistant,” he murmurs. Not asleep, then. “And. I’m glad you’re here.” One of his eyes cracks open to peer at you. “I mean. Not glad that you’re, you know, trapped up here in space instead of safe on Earth. But.”

“I get what you mean. I’m glad, too.” You look down at your hands, at the blisters that have already calloused over from the xenonite links. “And I didn’t really have anyone, back on Earth. I don’t even know what I’d be doing if I was still there.”

His other eye opens so he can look at you fully. “I’m sure you would have found something. Finished your PhD, published, cured cancer. You’re pretty smart.”

You smile, but it’s a touch melancholic. “Thanks.”

He clears his throat, then, and shifts a little, and you’re about to ask if he needs to take a walk, or something, just to get the blood flowing, but then he speaks again. “And you never. There really wasn’t anyone?”

“No,” you say quietly. “There wasn’t—no.”

This is mostly true. By this point, you’ve already figured out that you were nursing a big fat crush on him before, because how could you not? The man brought you coffee, danced with you, told you how amazing you were almost every single day. But it doesn’t really seem like the thing to bring up, the thing that started as a fun schoolgirl infatuation and slowly morphed into something that rooted itself between your nerve fibers. The thing that made you pack his bag for him every time he left, slipping candy into the front pocket; that raised your hands to take his glasses off and put them back on; that directed your gaze to him first whenever you entered a room.

So you suppress a yawn, instead, and stretch your fingers out one more time before picking the godforsaken chain up again. “We should get back to it.”

He does, after a few moments, and you can’t tell if he’s looking at you or if you’re simply imagining the feeling.

--

Ryland drops his bag just inside the lab. You expect that he will sit down next to you, like normal, to go over whatever you’ve been working on that day and what he’d like to set up next. But you don’t hear his footsteps; he doesn’t appear in your periphery; he seems to just be—standing there?

So you swivel around in your chair, and, yes, he is simply standing there, staring at the ground, running a hand through his hair. “Everything okay?”

He literally jumps at that and squeaks, which means that you’re already laughing, even though you have no idea what’s going on to make him act like this. “Oh, jeez, you scared me.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“It was your presence. It startled me.”

“Sure.”

Being acknowledged by you seems to have finally given his system a bit of a jumpstart, because he finally walks forward and sits in the chair next to you. His ears are red, and he starts fiddling with one of the pens on the table before setting it down. “Just had my meeting with Shapiro and Dubois. You know. Astrophage. Things. Krebs cycle.”

“…I know?” You were there when he left, in fact, and have been here waiting for him to return, and you ignore how sad that kind of sounds, as if you were a puppy waiting for its owner. Er, you don’t really like how that metaphor sounds, either.

“The meeting was fine.” You refrain from pointing out that you hadn’t asked, instead waiting to see if he will explain whatever has got him in such a state. Finally, he blurts, “Did you know that they’ve been having sex? Like, for a while now?”

You blink. This is probably one of the most obvious things that is happening on this ship. “I might have heard something about that, yeah.”

Ryland has now started messing with a different pen, and you snatch it out of his hand, because that’s your favorite pen, actually, and only you get to mess with it. “Sorry,” he says, idly, before switching back to the topic at hand. “Well, I just learned about that. Because they told me. Also, apparently they call each other doctor while they do it. Which is weird. That’s weird, right?”

“I suppose? I guess it just depends on what you’re into, I don’t know.” This is what has got him so riled up? You already knew that he’d been single for a while, but you’ve never taken him for a prude. “I would say the doctor thing is less weird than them just telling you about it.”

He finally looks over at you. “Right? They started—they literally scheduled their next. Coupling,” ew, “right in front of me. They’re probably. Okay, actually, I don’t really want to think about that right now.”

This is unfortunate, because you were about ready to start teasing him about the whole thing. You decide to have some mercy on him and tilt your laptop so he can see what you’ve been doing while he was, apparently, being tortured by sex talk. Then, you have to actually slide it in front of him, because instead of just scooching over like he normally would, he just stays put. It’s mostly just updates on the astrophage reproduction; everything’s going smoothly, particularly since the project literally paved the Sahara (you feel bad about that nearly every day, since you might have had a hand in it when you suggested solar panels to Stratt), so the goal of two million kilograms was no longer a pipe dream, but a swiftly approaching reality.

You almost make a pun about the ‘pipe dream’ thing, because initially they were literally being bred in pipes, but you do not.

When he finishes looking everything over, he pushes the laptop to the side and leans back in his chair. “What do you think?”

You shoot him a confused look. “I just told you what I think. The astrophage reproduction is going great. And that I still feel awful about the Sahara thing.”

“No, no.” He waves a hand as if this were entirely inconsequential. It is, quite literally, not. “I didn’t mean that. I meant. Shapiro and Dubois. And their whole. Thing. Their relationship.”

Part of you wants to stay silent long enough to see what different kinds of words he can come up with to describe it, but you figure you should save him from himself at this point. “Um. I’m not sure I have a lot of thoughts on it at all.”

“You have no thoughts. Zero. Zilch. Nada.”

You sigh and try to think about it for a little bit, because evidently this is, for some reason, extremely important to him. “I guess—I don’t really see a problem with it? They’re not on the same crew, they’re both consenting adults, and it’s not really hurting anyone, so.”

He nods and purses his lips thoughtfully while he turns this over. “This is all very true. Right. Yes. Okay.”

There is definitely more he would like to say on the matter. He is positively vibrating with all of the things he would like to say. But it’s kind of funnier to let him work through it by himself, rather than goading him on, so you stay silent, pulling the laptop towards you and clicking through your notes.

“And what if,” well, that didn’t take long, “there was a conflict of interest? Or. Something.”

“How do you mean?”

When you turn to look at him again, he is staring at the wall, and the redness on his ears has spread to his face. “As in. I don’t know, if they were on the same crew. Or there was some kind of power dynamic. Or—I don’t know, it’s just a hypothetical.”

Your body has suddenly grown very, very still. It takes you a few beats to carefully consider your next words. “I feel like I need more details than that. For this hypothetical scenario. What kind of power dynamic?”

There is a brief, incredibly fragile moment, then, where he finally meets your eyes again, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply looks, and you look back, waiting for the response that never comes. “I don’t—forget I said anything,” he mumbles, turning away. “Sorry. It was just super random and really caught me off guard.”

“Sure.”

This is not good, because now there is a little kernel of hope, sitting right there in your chest, right at the center of everything that has festered and tangled up inside of you. It is not helping. It is not helping at all.

--

Your fingers tremble as you help him into the suit. This is immediately apparent to him, because every other time you’ve done this, it has been clean. Efficient. Unhurried. Now, they are fumbling and heavy. “Hey. It’ll be fine.”

“I know.” One deep breath, then another. “I know,” you repeat. “Just. Please be careful.”

Ryland flashes you a confident smile, but you can tell that he’s also nervous. “Who, me? I’m always careful.”

This earns him a halfhearted eye roll from you, and then you have to hurry back up to the cockpit so you and Rocky can monitor everything while he goes out to reel in the predator collector. It feels redundant, because the three of you had quickly discovered that, while his piloting skills weren’t amazing, yours were even worse. And you certainly didn’t have the familiarity with the EVA suit that he did; it was clear, at this point, that you had only ever helped him get in and out of it, that you had never practiced with it yourself. The thought brings a flicker of that simmering rage back into your gut.

You push it away, because you need to be focused, ready to at least try to step in if the ship started being dragged out of its incredibly precarious position in Adrian’s atmosphere.

“So,” Grace’s voice crackles in through the radio, “the sky is on fire, by the way.”

A quick look at the camera feed confirms that, yes, the pure, unadulterated energy from the astrophage shooting out of the back of the ship is quite literally tearing through the atoms of the planet’s atmosphere. You think they start to discuss the predator collector, whether it’s ready to be reeled in, but you are still staring at the fire rippling through the air on screen.

Fire. Astrophage. Explosion.

“I remember now.” The words fall out of your mouth without any regard to whatever conversation is happening. “The explosion. At Baikonur.”

You barely have the wherewithal to look at a different feed, to see Ryland turn around and gaze at the fire in the sky for a few moments. “Oh.”

--

Three people are dead, and you are holding him while he cries, trying your best not to drip snot onto his shoulder.

The three hours are almost up, you think. You haven’t checked the time, but the sun has moved quite a bit across the sky. Most of that time has been spent just like this: trying to soothe him, responding when you’re able to discern whatever he is mumbling into your sweater, leaning back to watch him stare at his shoes in shock and despair.

“I can’t do it. I can’t do it.”

“Then don’t. Don’t go.”

He pulls back and looks at you with wide, bloodshot eyes. The sight makes your insides feel raw and tattered. “But—I don’t—”

You grasp his shoulders tightly. “But nothing. If you can’t do it, then don’t.” The words feel strange in your mouth. If this was anyone else, you think you might say the opposite. You would try to be sympathetic, sure, but ultimately you would stress the stakes of the situation, the sheer number of lives on the line.

But it’s not. It’s not anyone else.

“They’ll find someone else,” you continue. You’re not sure whether you’re trying to convince him or yourself. “And you heard Yao. He won’t allow them to force someone on the ship.”

He’s silent for a while after that, holding his head in his hands. At one point, he nods, like he’s managed to get himself to believe what you’ve said. Then his fingers grip his beanie a little tighter, and his eyes screw shut, and a heaving gasp flies out of his lips.

You wrap your arms around him again. You are being selfish. You know that you are being selfish, and that you are, possibly, about to do something worse than accidentally causing the Sahara Desert to be paved with solar panels, enough that they’re visible from orbit, enough that it will change the climate of the region almost permanently.

You know all of this, and you are going to do it anyway.

“Please, Ryland,” you whisper into his neck. “Don’t go. Stay.”

--

There is entirely too much going on.

The ship is dropping too far into Adrian’s atmosphere. You are screaming his name over the radio, because he’s face-down on the hull of the ship. There are tears in your eyes during all of this, while you try to keep the ship steady enough for him to get back to the airlock, but not do anything to rash that might knock him off, because you’re thinking of the face he gave you after you begged him to stay, the expression that you have only seen on him twice, and then apparently he went anyway.

Ryland gets back up. You think you tell him to forget about the predator collector. He jumps.

Then you’re stumbling to the airlock, because he needs to get out of his suit—you have to help him get out of the EVA suit—you still have his glasses, you need to give him his glasses—

“I’m fine, I’m fine—get in the jumpseat—please.” And then he practically pushes you toward it, because there are only two chairs in the cockpit, and one of them is currently enclosed in xenonite.

The ship shudders and groans around you while you strap yourself in, as you reach over to the monitor embedded in the wall to flip on the intercom. “I’m sorry, I tried to do what I could—we’re too low, I think the planet’s gravity is starting to rip Mary apart, she’s just not rated for this much g-force.”

“I know,” his voice comes through in reply, frantic and fearful, “I know. It’s okay, you did great, it’s fine—”

“Is not fine. Is bad. Very bad. Bad bad bad. Grace lie. Grace need to—”

There’s more yelling, and it kind of hurts your ears, but you keep the intercom on anyway. Maybe, if you survived this, you would look back and laugh at how cosmically terrible the timing of all of this was. Right now, you are simply fighting to keep your focus on the ‘now’ rather than the ‘before.’

The engines cut out. Your body starts to float a little against the restraints from the residual inertia, and you’re about to unclip and head back up to the cockpit to assess the damage when you’re pressed back into the seat. It takes a moment to fully register what this means.

And then the ship is pitching down.

“Ryland? Ryland, what’s happening—”

His next words are deeply strained. “Fuel—hole in the ship—the astrophage is migrating to Adrian.”

Rocky tells him to eject the bad fuel bay. You are about to yell into the intercom that he needs to adjust for the spin that this will cause before he does it, but the bay is jettisoned before you can; and then Mary is spinning so fast, too fast, and you never trained to be an astronaut.

It takes less than a minute for you to pass out.

--

He should be back by now. He said he would come back. That he wasn’t leaving. Maybe you should go look for him—maybe he’s discussing whoever would be the real replacement. Yes, you think, you’ll just go and find him.

--

When you come to, the first thing you notice is that the gravity feels normal. This is good. They must have stabilized the orbit, put the Mary into her centrifugal configuration, so that the three of you can take some time to figure out any repairs that are needed before returning to Rocky’s ship.

Your ears are ringing a bit. The back of your head hurts, too, and when you press your fingers to it, they come back with blood. It’s not too bad—you must have just scraped it, or something, because it’s only a little trickle, really. The sort of injury that can manage with some pressure until you sort out the state of things with Grace and Rocky.

The ringing dies down, and there is a strange screeching noise. Is there something still wrong with the ship? You strain your ears to listen more closely.

Grace. Grace. Grace. Grace. Grace. Grace.

You fumble with the restraints and nearly collapse on the floor, but you are pure adrenaline and fear, because something is very, very wrong.

Rocky is out of his xenonite enclosure. He’s leaking some kind of mixture of black fluid and dust, and then your focus narrows to Ryland. His face pressed against the broken glass. Blood streaming down his face. Trapped by the chair.

You lift the chair back so Rocky can pull him out, and he’s still screeching and crying out his name, and you think you might be trying to comfort him, mingled with chants of Ryland’s name as the two of you drag him to the dormitory.

Just before Armando places the oxygen mask on his face, your hands shoot out to take his glasses off. The needle plunges into his neck.

--

Stratt looks at you from across her desk. You are trying to keep yourself very still, because otherwise you might launch yourself across from it, and there is a very large man behind her, and he has been resting his hand on his holster this entire time.

You should have screamed before, when you were still outside, should have yelled out to everyone what was happening. There is a very high chance that you are not leaving this room alive, or at least conscious, if you’re being optimistic about the situation.

“You can’t do this,” you finally say, very carefully. “I’ll—I’ll tell Yao, I’ll tell everyone what you did.”

The look she gives you is sad and a touch pitying. “Do you think they would disagree? You’re smart. You’ve been right there with him. No one else is qualified enough.”

The laugh that leaves your lips is almost maniacal. “I don’t care. You—you’re killing him. You’re killing him, Stratt.”

Her mouth twists by a fraction. “I know.”

Then she looks at you for a while. You nervously glance between her and the man still hovering his fingers over his gun. This is—you don’t know what to do, you never even got to finish your dissertation, never really told him the thing that has been slowly simmering and building and wrapping you up, because you had assumed you would have the time.

“You know,” she says slowly, “when we recruited you and your advisor for the project, I really just wanted you. It was clear his best ideas were actually yours. But there were concerns that you were too young, hadn’t finished your PhD in bioengineering yet. It’s one of the few times I was vetoed. Did you know that?”

All you can do is shake your head wordlessly. Stratt stares at you for another moment, and then she turns to the man behind her and nods once.

--

When Ryland wakes up, it is during one of the very few moments that you are not watching him. You have kept yourself awake for two days straight, and you had sat down for a moment next to Rocky, and your eyes have just started to slide shut, still clutching the wire-frame glasses in your hands. One of the hinges broke, but you were able to fix them. It took longer than it normally would, because your fingers are all blisters and scabs and burns.

Footsteps. Your eyes snap open.

He’s standing in the hatchway, eyes flicking between you and Rocky, expression oscillating between relief and horror. You stand, slowly, wincing when your throbbing flesh meets the clear paneling as you push yourself up.

You walk over to him. Neither of you say anything, not yet, not as you unfold the metal arms and slide the glasses back onto his face with shaking arms. Your hands stay at the side of his face, even after they are perched on his nose, even when he reaches forward to clutch the fabric of your jumpsuit.

The kiss is salty and desperate. You’re not sure whether it’s from your tears or his, or maybe it’s both, mingling together at the juncture of your mouths as you gasp into him, as he trembles and shudders against you.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. “Rocky? Is Rocky okay?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. An incredibly selfish part of you wants to talk about what has just happened, and you have recently discovered that you might be a deeply selfish person, at least when it comes to him. “I think he’s sleeping, but—it’s—he sleeps so deeply. I don’t know.”

“And—the predator collector?”

It’s still sitting on the floor by the airlock. You managed to confirm that it hadn’t been damaged, that the sample was still secure, but—“It’s over there. I couldn’t. My hands are pretty bad, right now.”

Ryland slowly draws his own hands up, over your forearms, before gently grasping your wrists and pulling them down from the sides of his face so he can look at your fingers, your palms, the damaged and blistered skin of them. “Why didn’t you…? Come on.”

You let him drag you to the dormitory and sit you down, and then he’s asking Armando for ointment, bandages, and pain killers. It’s quiet while he carefully washes your burns and applies the salve.

“So,” you finally say, as he wraps up your hands.

“So.”

Hm. You don’t actually know how to have this conversation, and after the last few days it feels absolutely ridiculous, so you just start laughing after a moment. His eyes flick up to yours. He looks genuinely concerned that you might have brain damage. “Sorry,” you gasp, “I just. So much crazy stuff has just happened, and I haven’t slept in days, and suddenly I can’t figure out how to tell you that I’m in love with you even though we literally just kissed.”

After a beat, a cautious smile pulls at his lips. “I thought maybe—I told you I was staying. If you remember.”

“I remember.”

“Well. I think that was me saying it, at least.”

There are a few different things you think you might like to say at that, ranging from I’d like to hear the real thing anyway to hold on, actually, I think you might have already said it on accident, but you say none of it. Instead, you gingerly slide your hands into his hair and muffle the beginnings of his protests that you need to rest them with your lips.

He’s crying again when you pull away. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

You slide his glasses off so he can wipe at his eyes. “And you’re not—it doesn’t bother you? The. You know. Me being old.”

The look you give him is entirely baffled. “Is this a part of your bit? What are you—you’re not old.”

Ryland grins a little, and it’s the grin that you love, that is kindness and mirth and a touch of embarrassment all wrapped up into one, beautiful expression. “I’m basically cradle-robbing, right now.”

“Pushing thirty, remember? Well—I guess I’m over thirty now. Four-year trip, and all. So if you’re old, that means I’m old.” And then you slide his glasses on, as if to say see, I even need these now, and although you can’t totally make him out, you think he’s giving you the look that you’ve now seen for the third time ever.

You cannot wait to keep seeing it, because now you have the time.

[mindfulsreposts]

The YEARNING 💗. Always love the age gap trope where the older one needs constant reassurance 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ I love creating my own little library of beautiful reads

[scarletmika]

Fly Me To The Moon : ̗̀➛ Ryland Grace x Reader

Pairing: Teacher!Ryland Grace x Teacher!Reader

Summary: The entire school knew how close you and Ryland Grace had become since you'd joined Grover Cleveland Middle's staff a year prior. That knowledge only fueled the rumor mill, that one that ran between the staff and students alike, on just how close the two of you were. It didn't help that you were definitely head over heels for the slightly awkward and endearing science teacher.

Warnings: pre-Project Hail Mary and should not include spoilers but caution anyways just in case, pre-movie storyline, tooth-rotting fluff, idiots in love, workplace romance, friends to lovers, slightly suggestive-ish comments but no smut, female reader but no characteristics described, definitely some incorrect science information but I am not a scientist so apologies, I am also not a teacher so I am sorry for any inaccuracies there lol, lightly edited so apologies for any mistakes

Word Count: 14,596 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“Can anyone tell me why it was that Penelope asked her suitors to string Odysseus’s bow?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Your eyes shut for half a second, a tiny sigh escaping through your lips. Reopening your eyes, not a single one of your students had dared to raise their hands. No one except for Olivia, your star student, who waved her hand repeatedly in the air from the back of the classroom. A single glance to the clock told you all you needed to know.

11:55. These kids were already in lunch mode, and there was zero way you were getting them to listen to you.

With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you gave Olivia the okay to answer the question. She happily took your permission and ran with it, always the first to answer any questions you posed in class. If only the rest of these damn middle schoolers were as eager as she was.

“Penelope didn’t want to marry anyone else, so she gave them an impossible task,”

“Why does she always know everything?”

Marcus thought his comment was whispered just low enough that you wouldn’t hear him in the first row, but he was never quite that lucky. He quickly shut his mouth and looked anywhere but in your direction the second he caught sight of the disapproving look you were casting directly at him.

“You are exactly right, Olivia. Thank you for answering my question,” there were a few chuckles in the room at the obvious sarcasm laced through your words, as you hopped up onto your desk to relax and get a better look around the room full of kids. “Penelope knew the only person that could string her husband’s bow, was her husband himself. She needed to buy time, especially when these suitors only really wanted to be the ones to inherit Ithaca-”

There was a loud knocking on the door to your classroom that had been left open for the last 20 minutes of class, interrupting your words. You weren’t surprised in the slightest to meet the eyes of none other than Ryland Grace, the science teacher.

“Uh- sorry! Didn’t mean to interrupt important book talk stuff. Super important, you uh-you never know when Shakespeare will come up at your future desk job,” the cringe that Ryland physically did at his own comment was easy to see, even from across the room. He gave you a sheepish smile, his glasses barely hanging onto his face from their unconventional spot hanging off of one of his ears. The blonde held up the brown bag in his hand, and you could practically smell the food that rested inside. “I’m early, I’m sorry. Didn’t think you’d want to have a cold burger for lunch.”

“I told you!” Marcus still didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, leaning over to his best friend Jason at the desk beside him, slapping him on the arm. “They’re totally dating!”

“As if Mr. Grace could pull her,”

There was a chorus of snickers and laughter through the class, any semblance of order you might’ve had descending into chaos as every single one of your loveable, little shits just kept casting looks between you and Ryland, who still stood awkwardly in your classroom doorway with reddened cheeks.

Your face was surely no better, you were sure you could feel the heat that was emanating off of your skin, as you ran a hand down the burning skin of your face and wondered why you chose to teach these little menaces for the rest of your life. The world decided to be kind to the pair of you though, for once, letting the lunch bell save you from any further embarrassment from a group of 13 year olds.

“Please come to class prepared to actually answer questions tomorrow!” you called out over the hustle and bustle of the class as they grabbed their things, eager to scurry off to their lunch hour and finally eat. “Your unit test is at the end of next week, and I would prefer not to fail all of you.”

They weren’t listening, but by this point in the day you were hungry and didn’t have the energy to try and argue with them.

Any of that tiredness they brought to your bones? It disappeared the second you watched the way they all interacted with Ryland on their way out the door.

Big smiles, every single one of them excited to see the school’s favorite science teacher lingering in the doorway to their English class. You could just barely hear the tail end of one of Ryland’s terrible science puns, something about a hungry planet needing a ‘light snack’ that got a groan out of Marcus. All it did was bring a soft smile to your face, though, one that somehow softened even more at the quick, secret handshake Olivia shared with him before she was out the door.

Then, it was just the two of you, smiling like idiots as you locked eyes across the room again. And god, did you want that fluttering group of butterflies in your stomach to calm down for just a moment.

Having a crush on Dr. Ryland Grace, the former molecular biologist turned San Francisco middle school science teacher, was inevitable from the moment you turned up at the school for your first day over a year ago. Incredibly smart, amazing with kids, and so incredibly handsome you thought your heart stopped beating the first time you saw him–hell, Mrs. Doyle, the math teacher for over 5 years, said there were at least 4 other young teachers that absolutely had crushes on this man. You were far from the first.

He broke that perfect vision of himself you were building in your head within 5 minutes of meeting, tripping over his own two feet and knocking the stack of papers a mile high from the Principal’s hands, but you had only found it even more endearing.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he apologized again, long legs striding across the room and reaching your desk in a matter of seconds. “I had a free period before this, a-and you mentioned this morning you forgot lunch so I grabbed some for both of us-”

“Sal’s?” you questioned, pointing to the bag of foot now sitting on your desk with the familiar logo. “They’re, like, 10 blocks away. Why’d you go that far?”

“Because I know they’re your favorite,”

The flare of heat in your cheeks was instant. Ryland Grace, who rode a damn bike to the school every day, used his free period to ride 10 blocks away and pick you up lunch from your favorite spot, all because you mentioned offhandedly at 7 a.m. about forgetting your lunch for the day.

Well, he certainly didn’t do that for the four fresh out of college teachers that had crushes on him. You’d mentally consider that a hefty win in your book.

“How sweet of you to remember,” Ryland simply waved you off, head turned away as he passed your wrapped burger into your hands, taking up space on your desk chair while you stayed comfortable on top of your desk. “You even remembered tomatoes this time!”

“I forgot them one time and I never hear the end of it,” laughter was shared between you both for a moment as Grace took a bite of his own burger. “I caught the tail end of that discussion. Olivia answering all your questions like a champ?”

“Isn’t she always,” you shot back with another laugh, turning slightly on your desk to better face him. “I swear she’s the only one that I can ever get to answer any of my questions. She might be the only one that does any of my assigned readings.”

“To be fair, can you blame her?” Ryland’s words were muffled slightly by the food in his mouth. You couldn’t even contain the slight smile that grew as he managed to just barely catch the ketchup dripping off his burger before it could smear itself on the stack of papers that needed graded at your desk. “Shakespeare was just…so interesting. Couldn’t get enough of his stuff. Don’t know why your kids don’t want to read it.”

There was silence for a moment, your eyebrow quirked in his direction. The blonde stopped mid bite of his burger, looking back at you quizzically, trying to figure out what he had said wrong.

“You know we’re currently learning The Odyssey, right?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll let you think about that for a second,”

He did, just slowly blinking in your direction. He glanced at the chalkboard behind you, covering in little notes you’d made throughout the class discussion, before they flickered to the copy of the book that sat on your desk. That was finally when you saw the light bulb flicker on above his head, Ryland’s eyes shutting as he let out a loud sigh.

“...that wasn’t written by Shakespeare, was it?”

The laughter that bubbled out of you practically had you throwing your head backward.

“No, but I’m sure Homer won’t be too offended,” feet landing on the ground as you hopped off your desk, you gave Ryland’s shoulder a quick squeeze as you moved past him. “The attempt was cute, though, it was a good try.”

Cute. Why in the world did you let that one slip? You were practically cursing yourself in your head for that one, taking another bite of your burger as you worked to erase the whiteboard to prepare it for your next class. You didn’t dare steal a glance over at Ryland, in fear that your little slip-up was going to ruin everything.

There was only quiet for a moment before the single moment of awkwardness was gone.

“I promise you I know Homer wrote that. I swear!”

The desperation to believe him drew another laugh out of you. Sparing a glance in his direction, Ryland was giving you his best, exaggerated puppy dog eyes, begging you to believe him, as a smile just barely squeaked its way onto his lips.

“Right, of course you did. My mistake. Whatever you say, Ryland-”

“I mean it!” It was his turn to laugh this time, a sound that had those butterflies rattling around once more. “I was just…distracted.”

“Uh-huh, distracted,” as if you were preparing to scold one of your students, you turned to face him fully with a hand on your hip, eyebrow raised expectantly. “By what, exactly?”

If a human being could buffer, Ryland Grace always seemed to be constantly buffering. Your eyebrow remained raised, waiting for him to piece together his response. All he could do was open and close his mouth like a fish, before looking away and taking another bite of his food.

“Nevermind that, just finish your food before it gets cold. I did bike, like, three miles to get that thing,”

With a roll of your eyes that held zero malice what-so-ever, you made sure the blonde could see your next bite of your food, a satisfied smile on his face.

“Back to the previous topic,” you steered the conversation in another direction, wiping off the last bits of chalk on the board and writing down your next period at the top so that you could start the discussion on the reading over again. “I don’t understand why it’s so hard to get some of these kids to just read the content. They all pay attention in your class!”

“I heard Jason make a comment yesterday during class that Marcus has a crush on Olivia. Maybe they’re too distracted to read,”

You shot him a skeptical look.

“Marcus, crushing on Olivia? He was just making fun of her before you came in the room,”

Ryland averted his eyes, suddenly very interested in his ID badge hanging around his neck from his school issues lanyard.

“W-well, maybe he just doesn’t…know how to express his feelings,” he spared a glance up at you, seeing you were still watching, as he tripped over his words again. “It can be hard for boys–and men–of all ages, to…tell someone how they feel.”

“Well, I don’t know where he’s learning from, but making fun of the girl you like isn’t the right way to go about things,” you shot back.

“Then teach them!” Ryland sounded absolutely ecstatic, that light bulb over his head going off again as he looked like he’d come up with the world’s greatest idea. “Classic literature, there’s plenty of great love stories in there. Get his interest by teaching them about that, so he can learn from them.”

“Alright, give me an example then, Mr. Suddenly an Expert in Classic Literature,”

“Romeo and Juliet,” he said like it was the easiest thing in the world, balling up the remnants of his finished food and tossing it in the bag it came in. “Greatest love story ever told, so great Taylor Swift wrote a song about them.”

“Except they don’t run off and get married and live happily ever after, Ryland. Romeo thinks she is dead and kills himself with poison, and when Juliet realizes he’s dead she stabs herself,”

Ryland’s excitement fell slightly, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ shape.

“...oh,”

“Don’t think that’s what I want to teach young, impressionable pre-teens about love-”

“Daisy and Gatsby, then! He loved her so much he stood on that dock staring at the-the bright yellow light of a stoplight for her,”

“It was a green light and it was the dock light, first of all. I’m not even sure how you could be that off. Secondly, Gatsby is murdered at the end of the book and Daisy doesn’t even attend the funeral, she and Tom move away and pretend it never happened,”

Ryland’s eyes are shut at this point, his fingers massaging his temples and those glasses just barely hanging on from their place around his neck.

“...does anyone not die in these old books?”

The sound of your laughter permeates the room and you sweep over, collecting his trash and combining it with yours. You never even spared him a glance, though you could feel his eyes on you, as you swept the trash away with you to the other side of the room, his voice echoing across to you.

“I’m going to get lucky on one of these guesses!”

What Ryland Grace was really lucky about was how adorable you found him, and how head over heels you were for him, because his lack of literary knowledge was astounding.

❤︎

“I’m sorry, you’re trying to tell me that aren’t currently fucking the eye candy that is the science teacher in room 305?”

“Evelyn!”

Evelyn Doyle was in her late thirties, married since she was 18, and already had three kids with her high school sweetheart. Since you had transferred into Grover Cleveland Middle, you’d become fast friends and she had become a great mentor.

She had, sadly, caught onto your pathetic crush on Ryland Grace before you had even fully realized it, and was now ‘vicariously living through you’ as she always said.

“There’s not a single child left in this entire school right now,” she shot back, gesturing around her empty classroom, as she finished cleaning up anything her students had left around at the end of the day. You rolled your eyes at her excuse, perched on the edge of her desk. “Please, I’m tenured, what are they going to do?”

“I’m more so yelling at you for butting into my love life, once again,” was your reply through laughter. “Ryland and I are good friends, that’s it.”

It was her turn to laugh, finishing up her cleanup around the room before she joined you at her desk, packing her things away into her shoulder bag.

“Oh please, you keep denying that little crush of yours-”

“I never said I was denying that,” you cut her off. “Lord, you realized I liked him before I even did. But he and I aren’t anything besides friends. I’m not lying.”

Your pleas fell on deaf ears, like they typically did when you were around Evelyn. She simply waved your statement off, tossing her bag over her shoulder as you followed her out of her room and down through the quiet of the school hallway. The quietest the hallway ever was, in the hours right after students were sent home for the day. You’d rather be anywhere else, preferably at home, but these mandatory once-a-month staff meetings were unavoidable.

“Whether you’re telling me the truth or not, you have to understand why everyone thinks so–teachers AND students. I think even some parents think so!” The only response she got was an eyeroll, her shoulder bumping into your’s playfully. “He brings you lunch at least once a week, meaning he rides that dingy bike to get whatever you’re craving that day.”

“It’s usually just something random-”

“Constantly in your classroom, or vice versa,” she cut you off, and you quickly realized you weren’t getting a single word into this conversation. “I’m pretty sure Principal Marshall has considered, somehow, moving your classroom closer to his just so he’ll stop being late to classes because he’s busy talking to you.”

Okay…yeah, you didn’t have a retort for that one. Your classroom was on the opposite end of the school building from Ryland’s own, and yet every time he had even a split second he was somehow always leaning in your doorway. Even if it only resulted in a conversation that lasted all of a minute.

Many times those ended with your students having to remind him that the bell rang and he definitely had students in his own class unattended, waiting on their teacher. More than once he’d slipped as he tried to sprint back to his classroom from yours. It didn’t matter how short those little conversations were, though, because every second around him was precious to you.

“Awe, look at you blushing about it-”

You slapped Evelyn’s hand away, throwing her a look of disdain that didn’t really hold any true malice to it.

“Look, all I’m saying is the ball is in his court,” was the response you finally settled on as Evelyn propped the door of the small auditorium open for you to enter. “Ryland is nothing but friendly to me, so if he’s interested then he’s got to show me.”

“You’re acting as if you’ve made your own feelings clear, honey,”

“No, but I clearly don’t do a good enough job of hiding them,”

Speak of the devil: there he was. Ryland’s head shot up the moment the pair of you walked into the auditorium. Those damn glasses hanging down from one side of his face, framing his stubbled jawline perfectly. A smile lighting up his face the second those blue eyes found yours, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

A packed auditorium, as you and Evelyn were the last ones there. Every seat up practically filled, and yet Ryland Grace sat among a crowd of people, eyes trained on you and a single seat saved for you amidst it all.

All you could feel was the heat in your cheeks, and the touch of Evelyn patting your back as she laughed, voice low but loud enough to hear as she shifted past you to find a seat of her own.

“Doesn’t have interest in you my ass,”

Her words swam through your head with every apology you muttered to the other teachers as you snuck past them in the cramped rows, happily taking the empty seat beside Ryland.

“You didn’t have to save me a seat, you know,” your voice held a hint of teasing to it, but it was soft. Filled with an adoration that you knew you were terrible at hiding. Luckily, Ryland was terrible at picking up on it.

“Wanted to sit next to you,” he whispered back as Principal Marshall began to drone on about updates neither of you particularly cared about. He leaned in close, a hint of his breath wafting over the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You make these slightly less boring.”

Close proximity to this man was your worst nightmare, and the cramped auditorium wasn’t helping. That single touch of his breath against your skin was enough to send a simultaneous shiver down your spine and another round of heat to your cheeks. His suit jacket covered arm rested on the shared armrest between your seats, the edge of his bicep ghosting against the bare skin of your arm with every little shift he made, tapping incessantly against the armrest.

The slight action made you smile. He never could sit still in these meetings, always hated them.

“Did anything fun happen in class today?” you kept your voice low, eyes trained on the principal, as your head tilted slightly over to Ryland so he could better hear you.

“Uh, if you count Madison telling me that she thinks the sun orbits the earth, then sure,” you had to stifle your laugh at that, casting Ryland a side glance as he grinned at you, doing a terrible job of whispering back at you as usual.

“How could she possibly think that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Ryland leaned just a tad bit closer, the side of his arm pushed up fully against your own. You could almost hear the smile in his voice without even having to look over at him. “The National Science Foundation estimates that 26% of Americans still think the sun orbits the earth.”

“Jesus, that many?”

“Well, 100% of them are stupid, so,”

Nasty looks from other faculty were shot your way that second you choked on your own breath, slapping a hand over your mouth in an attempt to stop yourself from breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. You gave them the most sympathetic look you possibly could, learning how to breathe normally again before mouthing sorry at them all.

Ryland didn’t care in the slightest for the warning look you shot him, a bright smile on his face as his eyes seemed to trail over every inch of your face.

“If you keep doing this in every faculty meeting, they’re going to separate us, Ry,”

“I met Madison’s parents for the first time last month for parent-teacher conferences,” he continued, ignoring your plea. Instead, he leaned in even closer, eyes locked on yours, and god it was impossible to look away. “They are, 100%, undeniably, part of the Flat Earth Truthers Club.”

You shook your head, a smile creeping back up on your lips. Ryland’s gaze could still be felt on the side of your face as you turned back to face the front, eyes focused back on the principal again in an attempt to pay attention to the meeting.

“Flat earthers are ridiculous. They’re just scared of science,”

“Well, you know what they say…the only thing they have to fear is sphere itself,”

There simply wasn’t enough time to clap your hand over your mouth and conceal your laughter, a split second of it breaking through the quiet of the auditorium. And Ryland? His smile was somehow even brighter than it was before, still locked onto your face, never having strayed once.

“Dr. Grace, is there something you feel needs to be shared with the rest of your fellow faculty?”

Principal Marshall’s voice was enough to knock Ryland out of whatever trance he seemed to have put himself in. Eyes wide as if he’d just seen a ghost, hands barely able to catch his glasses as they almost fell right off of his ear where they dangled, a burst of red spread through his cheeks instantly as his deer-like eyes locked onto the unamused principal.

“I-I uh, no. No, nothing, Principal Marshall,” he scratched at the back of his head, ruffling up his already messy hair, a nervous tick you’d picked up since the moment you’d met him. You simply buried your head in your head, eyes trained on your shoes and Ryland out of the corner of your gaze, terrified to look up at your fellow faculty that you’d already apologized to once. “Just getting super jazzed about faculty updates. Hard to keep it in here. I’m like a mushroom, getting all…hyphae…”

A collective groan sounded through the auditorium at the terrible biology pun that rolled off of him with ease. All you could do was smile into the palm of your hand.

“Please just…pay attention to the meeting, Dr. Grace, before I separate you and your other half,”

Other half. That’s not how she meant it, but it was impossible not to let your mind wander to the idea.

Early mornings. Coffee, the smell of eggs and toast burning in the kitchen. Ryland and his hair that was surely even more unkempt that early in the day. The guarantee that he definitely had about 120 science puns ready to go at any moment.

Late nights. Curled up on a couch. A movie, a shared blanket, warm in the embrace of his arms. The quiet of just being with someone that made you happy in ways you’d never felt before. The promise of another day with them on the horizon.

It was becoming increasingly harder not to think about Ryland Grace like that every day, of what a life with the awkward, endearing science teacher could be.

And as Principal Marshall continued her meeting, and your eyes met the blue ones that were already looking at you: soft, kind, a hint of something you couldn’t understand in them, you could only dream he thought the same thoughts when he looked at you.

❤︎

“Alright, who can tell me the day of the first human space flight?”

Not a single middle schooler, packed into the building’s planetarium, raised their hands at first. Many of them started whispering to each other, confused looks on their faces, but Ryland just waited with a smile on his face. A brave soldier from Mr. Harkin’s class, Damien, finally raised his hand.

“Uh, Mr. Grace? Wouldn’t that…be today?”

“Excatly!” Grace’s clap echoed through the room as he pointed toward the young kid sitting in the front row of seats. “International Day of Human Space Flight, commemorating the first human space flight by Yuri Gagarin. It was a trick question, and you passed my tiny friend.”

Were you excited about losing a chunk of your day to escorting your class to the planetarium, along with other classes in the building, for a special science presentation? Absolutely not, especially not with how terribly your class did on their last The Odyssey assignment.

When you found out that Ryland was giving the presentation during your allotted time? Suddenly, The Odyssey meant nothing to you. Not when you could watch Ryland teach, something he did so effortlessly.

The way he captured every single child’s attention with ease. That glowing smile on his face every time they answered a question right, and simply the way he seemed to love what he taught. You were captivated every time you got the chance to see him teaching the thing he loved so much.

“Yuri Gagarin was a Soviet cosmonaut who became the first person in space in 1961 aboard the Vostok 1,” the planetarium was lit up with the night sky, little stars reflecting down. You could almost see them in the students eyes, in their bright smiles as they looked up into the vastness of space. Your eyes trailed to Ryland, already looking at you with a soft smile of his own, before he cleared his throat and moved throughout the room, focusing back on the kids. “Over the course of 89 minutes, his ship traveled to a maximum altitude of 187 miles, as it orbited the Earth.”

“Wait, so we weren’t the first people in space?” one of your students, Lydia, called out. Ryland laughed, pointing over at her.

“No, we kind of sucked,” you rolled your eyes with a grin at Ryland’s statement, though it drew a laugh from all of the kids. “No, America had actually scheduled its first space flight for May 1961, so this was a huge blow to us. It really heated up the space race.”

“He really is good with them, isn’t he?”

Glancing over, Mr. Harkin had saddled up beside you on the edge of the room, head tilted toward you and voice low so as to not disrupt the lesson the kids were being taught. Your gaze drifted back to Ryland as he continued his lesson, eliciting more laughter from the kids. It only brought another soft smile to rest on your lips.

“He is, in a way that I just don’t understand,”

Those blue eyes you’d become so fond of met yours for a moment across the room, face illuminated by the light projecting onto the planetarium’s dome walls. The little grin he wore seemed to drop just slightly, gaze still locked on you but flickering every moment over to Mr. Harkin as he spoke to the students. Harkin’s elbow dug lightly into your side.

“Careful, you’re giving him major ‘heart eyes’ across the room right now,”

You did your best to conceal your laughter, shooting Harkin a look, Ryland’s gaze still felt on the side of your face even as you looked away.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to find out that every teacher in this school has a secret betting ring going on when it comes to Ryland and I?”

“I mean, it’s not a secret. Principal Marshall runs the damn thing,”

“Mr. Grace?” one of the youngest girls in the grade, Aurora, called out, raising her hand up to get Ryland’s attention. “My mom told me the other day that there’s 8 planets in our solar system. What happened to Pluto?”

Ryland went to answer when Mr. Harkin beside you laughed, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, as he shook his head at his young student.

“No, honey, scientists a couple years ago decided that Pluto wasn’t a planet anymore,”

Your eyes flickered to Ryland, who was already staring at Harkin from across the room as he tossed his little crochet earth back and forth in his hand. His response was a bit of a forced laugh.

“Well, your teacher isn’t wrong. Scientists classified Pluto as a dwarf planet a couple years ago,” he explained to the kids, eyes trained on the little crochet sphere in his hands. “But there’s 8 other very important, even closer planets that we should focus on. I mean, who really cares about a tiny, slow planet that takes 248 years to orbit the sun–honestly, he should just accept that he’s slowly falling into obscurity and stop trying to steal the spotlight.”

The room got quiet. Your eyebrow raised slightly, head tilted, as everyone just seemed to stare at Ryland, who had yet to look up.

“Uh, Mr. Grace?” some student in the back called out. “Why did you call Pluto ‘he’? Are the planets boys and girls like us, too?”

Ryland’s head shot up, as if he suddenly remembered he was in a room full of students. His eyes shot to you, his mouth opening, then closing, before he quickly looked away.

“I–well…planets don’t really…I’m not trying to misgender the planets, you know? That’s not for me to decide, that’s for them to–you know what, does anyone else have any other questions that aren’t related to Pluto?”

You really didn’t want to laugh at Ryland, but only he would be able to accidentally turn a lesson about space and planets into almost a lesson on bodily autonomy. He caught your eye, his widening just slightly and you could almost see his cry for help written across his face, but it only made your laughter worse.

It was little Madison that raised her hand next, speaking before she’d even been called upon.

“Are you sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe?”

Ryland hung his head in shame, the shaking of his head evident from across the room as a few of the kids around laughed at the young girl’s comment. You were quick to shoot them a warning look, not keen to hand out any detentions today.

By the time your gaze turned back to Ryland, he was already looking at you. His gaze flickered to Harkin, then back to you, and it was like a light bulb had just flickered on the way his eyes lit up.

“Yes, Madison, I’m sure the Earth isn’t the center of the universe. And I can show you,” his long legs crossed the room in seconds, his body sliding between you and Mr. Harkin as his hands landed on your shoulders with a tiny little squeeze that sent your heart leaping through your chest. “But to do that, I’m going to need this volunteer that I’m not quite giving a choice.”

“It’s not volunteering if you didn’t ask, Ry!”

You exasperatedly tried to whisper to Ryland as he steered you across the room to stand before all the kids. He only shook his head as a bunch of your own students started cheering for you around the room, only worsening the red that coated your cheeks the second his hands had landed on your body.

“I need you for this,” he shot back hastily, positioning you in the middle of the room, standing in front of you. His body blocked the students from your vision, blue eyes boring down into yours, hands gently squeezing at your upper arms as you begged the blush in your skin to not be too obvious. “You trust me?”

A ridiculous question, because the only answer was yes. You gave him a nod, and Ryland’s smile only widened as he turned back to the kids in the room.

“Alright, kids. Your gorgeous teacher here is the Sun,”

Little oohs and awes sounded from the kids around the room at Ryland’s little slip in of the word ‘gorgeous.’ There was a sting in your bottom lip as you bit into it with your teeth, trying to contain your own smile. Marcus spoke up from across the room without raising his hand, as usual.

“Then what’s Mr. Harkin?”

“Oh, he’s Pluto,” Ryland shot back immediately, nodding his head. “Suits him.”

Laughter rang through the room, the young boys as rambunctious as ever. Ryland met your astonished look with a tiny wink of his own, one that forced a small laugh to tumble from your lips. Then, he began to slowly spin, walking around you in a circle.

“And I am the Earth,” he called out to the kids, and you could only hope he didn’t trip over his own two shoelaces. “The Sun holds 99.8% of the mass in our solar system, which means it’s packing some massive gravity.”

Ryland stopped spinning himself, still moving around you in a circle. He held his hand out toward you, and you slipped yours into it without hesitation, spinning in that circle slowly with him.

“Because the Sun holds such intense gravity, it’s actually pulling Earth into it. But, Earth has such high forward velocity that it actually keeps us moving sideways. Put these two together, and it keeps Earth moving in an almost perfect circle around the sun. Can anyone tell me another fun fact about our movement around the sun?”

The words went in one of your ears and straight out the other. There was no paying attention, not when Ryland’s hand held your own. Soft skin, just slightly rough around the edges, and those blue eyes were so soft, locked onto you as if there was nowhere else he wanted to look.

“Our speed changes!” Olivia called out from somewhere in the back, but you didn’t even try to look and find her. “When we’re closer to the sun in our orbit we move faster, and the further away we are, the slower we move.”

“Very good, Olivia!” Ryland called out, sparing just a quick glance over to the kids in the room as his hand held yours tighter, still spinning slowly together. “Madison, we also know this works because there’s other sun-like stars out there that are also orbited by planets. Like Tau Ceti, which has four Earth-like planets orbiting it.”

“Is the sun important for other things, besides just being the center?”

Ryland’s eyes flickered to you, and you watched as he paused. The slight hesitation on his face, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple for a moment, before those blue eyes locked onto yours and refused to look away.

“I-It is…for a lot of reasons. The Sun is the Earth’s entire reason for existing. The Sun gives the Earth life. The Sun is the reason the world is beautiful,”

Your breath hitched, eyes still trained on Ryland. There was something in his words, something in that earnest, raw look that he had written across his features as he looked at you that added a weight to his words. A weight that sent a tiny chill across your skin, raising the hair on your arms.

“Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing,”

There was quiet across the room. Then, a couple snickers, followed by Olivia’s smug little voice.

“The Sun sounds beautiful the way you talk about it,”

“She is,” his voice was lower, softer than it was before. Until, he seemed to realize what he said, the red on both of your faces spreading further than before as his eyes shot wide. “THE SUN I mean! I-I’m talking about the sun, obviously, b-because this is a science presentation!”

Laughter rang through the room, little chants of your names mashed together coming from some of the kids as the bell rang and saved either of you from further embarrassment.

Ryland, being Ryland, chose that moment to finally trip over his own two feet. You pulled on his hand as hard as you could, saving him from plummeting to the ground as he instead just landed on his one knee.

“Make good choices,” Ryland commented lowly as some of the kids walked past the two of you, still snickering and giggling to themselves. You let go of his hands finally, simply resting it on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Don’t uh, I don’t know, blow up the world during lunch or anything. Or pop those chip bags and give kids heart attacks, whatever you kids do these days.”

You laughed, stepping around Ryland as your kids lined up outside of the room, waiting for you. He shot you a sheepish smile from the floor, and your skin still burned with heat at the memory of his words as you looked at him.

“Every time I think you’re doing well with those kids, they manage to knock you down a peg,”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?”

When you met your class outside, you didn’t let them get a word in before you warned them not to say anything. You could still hear little comments talking about ‘shipping’ their English and Science teachers the entire way back to your classroom.

❤︎

Ryland Grace didn’t understand how he had ended up here.

Well, he did. Calling the leading scholar in his field a “staggering waste of carbon” at a UNESCO conference in Denmark was an easy way to get blacklisted from the field he’d studied in for many years in college. It was an easy explanation for how he ended up teaching middle school science at Grover Cleveland Middle in San Francisco.

Not that he had a problem with teaching! He actually loved it. Loved his kids, loved talking about science. He loved teaching the future little scientists of the world about why every facet of science was awesome. The pay wasn’t great, though.

Especially when it was the reason he rode a bike to school daily.

And there was currently the equivalent of a monsoon raining down from the sky onto the pavement, the reason he’d been standing at the front doors for the last 20 minutes hoping that the rain would simply let up. The heavens didn’t take pity on him, though, and it only rained harder and harder. His rain coat and bike were not meant to withstand heavy rain and damaging winds to this extent. 

Best cast scenario? It takes him a little longer to get home on his usual 20 minute bike ride than normal. Worst case? He crashes and dies, dead in a ditch covered in mud.

“Ryland, please tell me you aren’t thinking of riding your bike home in this?”

Then there was you. You were probably the single greatest reason why he loved teaching at Grover Cleveland Middle. If he ever had the unfortunate chance to meet that scientist from the conference again, he’d thank him this time for being a staggering waste of carbon, because it led him down a path to you.

“I can’t be that bad,” he tried to joke, waving you off as a crack of thunder seemed to shake the entire building, and his fake confidence faltered for a second. He glanced back at you, coat wrapped around your bag instead of yourself in order to keep its contents dry. “Just, you know…the slight threat of bodily harm.”

He really wished the path that led to you was less bumpy and full of himself looking like an idiot, but at this rate he’d take what he could get from the universe.

“Yeah, absolutely not,” was your immediate reply, head shaking as she fished your car keys out of the bag still covered with your coat. “I’m giving you a ride home, can’t risk the best science teacher’s life over a dumb storm.”

Ryland immediately shook his head, turning to face you beside him. He was not letting you risk your own life in the storm for him. If it really came down to it, he’d sleep at his desk. There was a change of clothes he kept in the bottom drawer, it wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it.

“I can’t let you-”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Ryland snapped his mouth shut as you cut in once again, dangling your car keys up in front of him with a little shake. “I…care about you, okay? I want to know you are home safe.”

There was no stopping the immediate heat that filled Ryland’s cheeks, and he knew it. There was red blooming across your own, but Ryland shook all wishful thinking from his mind. The AC unit in this school was unreliable, you were definitely just flushed from the heat. No other reason.

Ryland decided he wasn’t going to put up a fight at this point, but he wasn’t going to let you do this without anything in return. He shrugged the yellow raincoat hanging over his own shoulders off as he kicked the glass door in front of him open, the muffle sounds of the torrential downpour now louder as droplets of water splashed into the front door. He held the jacket out, hanging it above your head to protect you from the rain.

“At least let me save you from getting drenched,”

“You’re going to look like a dog that just had a bath by the time we reach my car,” Ryland only smiled at your joke, and the little giggle that fell through your lips. The close proximity didn’t help as he held the jacket up around you.

“Actually, it’s not windy today,” he shot back with a grin, nodding out the propped open door into the rain. “That means if we run, I’ll be drier than if we walked, because the rain that’s hitting us from above is proportional to time. Though, the rain hitting us from the front is proportional to distance, and when running-”

“Ryland Grace, you are adorable when you get all science-nerd, but if we’re going to run…we should run,”

Ryland was thankful that you couldn’t see the renewed heat flooding his cheeks, as you were both too busy sprinting through the torrential downpour to the staff parking lot.

Being a gentleman (who was head over heels in love with you and too terrified to say a damn thing) was thrown out the window with how fast you were booking it to your car, the idea of shielding you from the rain with his jacket abandoned after just a moment booking it across the lot. He could feel the coolness of the water settling against his skin as it soaked through every layer of clothing he had, every few seconds having to furiously wipe at his glasses in hopes of seeing through them.

None of it really mattered in the end, not when he heard your laugh. The little shrieks of laughter as a particularly big drop happened to fall right in your eyes. Or the laughter as Ryland managed–in his signature fashion–to slip on the final step into the parking lot, and you had to double back in laughter to help haul him to his feet.

He’s spring clumsily through the rain a thousand more times if he got to see you smile like that. And that is why his kids always told him that he was definitely ‘whipped’ for you. Whatever that meant.

The second you had both jumped into your respective seats of your vehicle, doors slamming shut, there was only a moment of silence between the both of you. Ryland felt like his chest was going to explode, remembering why he always hated gym class, his heavy breathing mixed with yours as you both caught your breath, before you locked eyes over the center console.

Then the laughter resumed.

He held his hand to his stomach, feeling an ache settling in as he couldn’t stop his own laughter. Your’s grew slightly louder in his ear as you leaned over, trying to help him wipe at his glasses that were still covered.

“I was right, you look like a wet dog,”

Ryland’s only response was to shake his soaking wet hair like one, a simple reaction that earned yet another shriek of laughter from you and a light slap to his shoulder. You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, but Ryland found himself unable to tear his gaze away from your lips as you started the car and began to pull out of the staff lot. How soft they looked, the way the little beads of water running down your cheeks fell over them.

Whipped. He still didn’t get it, but he agreed wholeheartedly with his kids at this point.

There was no driving fast in this rain, especially when the windshield wipers were moving at their highest programmed speed and it still wasn’t enough. It was quiet in the car for just a moment as you pulled out of the parking lot, but Ryland broke it the second your phone had connected to the car’s bluetooth, music filling the space between him and you.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.

“Frank Sinatra,” Ryland couldn’t help the growing smile on his lips as the familiar song flooded through the car speakers. He kept his eyes trained on the side of your face, watching the little smile grow on your own lips, eyes focused on the road conditions in front of you. “Old books and old music. Didn’t know you had such an old soul.”

“You calling me old, Ryland?”

“N-no!” Ryland immediately back track, hands flying up and shaking back and forth as his eyes went wide. “I might say some stupid stuff some–okay, most of the time–but I know better than to comment on a woman’s age.”

“I’m just teasing you,” he could thankfully hear the sincerity mixed in with the teasing lit to your voice. “But yes, I do enjoy some old music. Always been a big fan of Sinatra, especially this one.”

“It’s a nice song…just not scientifically accurate,” he caught the side eye that you threw his way for just a moment, another crack of thunder banging across the sky and almost shaking the car. Ryland couldn’t help but jump slightly. “Jupiter only has a 3.13° tilt to its axis, so it doesn’t experience seasons like we do. Mar’s would, though, because its axis is tilted at 25°, only 1.5° more than our own tilt…”

Ryland trailed off as the car rolled to a stop at a red light, and he caught you fully facing him this time with a bemused expression written across your face. His smile dropped just slightly as he let out a sheepish laugh, adjusting his glasses as they slid back down the wet bridge of his nose.

“...I went full science-nerd again, didn’t I?”

Your laughter drowned out the rain beating against the roof of the car as your attention returned to the road once more.

“You always do, but I happen to enjoy it very much,”

If only teaching paid more, because the commute to Ryland’s apartment was a lot shorter than his bike ride home every day from work. 

Parked in an open space across the road from the dimly lit apartment building, Ryland Grace hesitated with his hand on the handle of the door. His eyes swept out over the area around the vehicle, still being hounded with rain. The top of his road looked like the beginning of a river, the way the water was rushing down the small incline to pool at the bottom.

“Thanks…for this,” he gestured toward the weather right outside the card.

You moved to respond to him, when the weather alert on your phone propped up on your dashboard sounded out. Ryland could just barely make out the headline: FLASH FLOOD WARNING.

The roads were far too dangerous, and Ryland already knew from various conversations that you lived on the opposite end of town from him.

He…could ask you to stay for the night. Just for safety reasons, obviously! He was quickly trying to work through the pros and cons list in his head.

Pros: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be safe and not driving in this storm.

Cons: his only friend that just so happened to be the woman he’s been head over heels in love with for the last year would be inside his tiny little apartment that looked like it had been hit by a separate hurricane than the one it felt like they were currently suffering through.

“I should probably get home-”

“Stay,” Ryland cut in, quickly continuing his words after his vague statement. “I-It’s just, the roads are bad, and you live on the other side of town. This storm is just going to get worse, and I-I’d hate to know something happened to you.”

You hesitated, he could tell, shaking your head.

“Ryland, I couldn’t ask you to let me stay,”

He hesitated himself for a moment, every feeling he’d kept bottled up for a year now threatening to escape past his lips. Instead, he settled on echoing your own words.

“I…I care about you. I want to know you’re safe,”

Moments later, he had his rain coat draped over your head as he rushed you inside his apartment to shelter from the storm.

Ryland’s hands shook the entire time as he put his key into his front door’s lock. The last time he had guests over…was never. His apartment was built and designed for him and his brain, scattered with notes and books and piles of arts and crafts that he worked on in order to decorate his classroom. It was not meant for visitors, especially not ones as pretty as you.

“Don’t, uh, mind the mess,” he mumbled, holding the door open and motioning after you, allowing you to take a step inside his apartment as he let out the small breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Chucking off his sneakers, little puddles of water forming below them on the ground, his jacket found its way into a pile with them. Ryland wiped his hands nervously against the thighs of his jeans, the action doing nothing against the soaking went material, as he watched you take in his apartment.

The apartment that looked like it had been ransacked, at least partially. Stacks of books relating to a thousand different topics were stacked on the ground by the tv stand, on top of the coffee table along with the coffee cup he’d abandoned there early in the morning in a haste to get to the school, and and by his desk that had a stack of papers scattered around it after her strewn them about in order to find one specific slip of paper at 11 p.m.

It was a mess, and Ryland regretted everything.

“It’s not messy, it’s homey,” your reply sent a burst of heat through his skin as you turned to him with a bright smile, leaving your own bag and coat by his pile of wet items before gesturing to your own soaking wet clothing. “Do you maybe have something a little less…wet?”

He scurried away into his bedroom, trying to ignore that little section of his brain that took your comment in a MUCH different way.

His bedroom was worse. Ryland wasn’t letting you sleep on the couch, but he surely wasn’t letting you see his room in a state like this.

Clothing was thrown across the room and Ryland quickly ran about, shoving piles of clothing away into corners where he was certain you wouldn’t be able to see any of it. Throwing it into his closet and slamming the door before it could fall out, pushing it down in his laundry basket, kicking it under his bed so it was out of sight and out of mind, whatever he could think of.

“Great idea, Ryland,” he muttered to himself, pulling on a dry pair of sweatpants and a tshirt for himself, trying to shake the remaining water out of his hair as he rummaged for something you could wear. “Almost get the woman you’re in love with killed by letting her drive you home in a monsoon. Invite her to stay the night in your apartment that makes you look like an even bigger loser than you are. Amazing idea. A doctorate in molecular biology and this is the best you can do.”

You were waiting by the couch in his living room, just glancing around at everything with a smile, when he reappeared. Sheepishly, he handed the folded clothing over to you, hand running through his soaking wet hair as he pointed down the hall.

“You can take my bed for the night. Uh, just leave your clothes in the bathroom, I can throw them in the dryer in a bit. I can scrounge up something to eat in the meantime,”

“Thanks, Ry,” your hand reached out, squeezing his upper arm lightly, and he felt the heat in his skin instantly bloom under your touch. “For all of this.”

If it wasn’t for the giant crack of thunder that flickered the lights of the building for a moment and made Ryland jump out of his skin, he would’ve forgotten how to breathe again.

He rummaged through every part of his kitchen, desperately trying to find something that he could make the two of you to eat that also wouldn’t make him seem pathetic. All he could come up with…was a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of jelly.

Yesterday. He’d stayed late after the end of the day to help in tutoring. He forgot to go grocery shopping. Ryland let out a sigh at his realization, back to his fridge door and head banging back against the stainless steel, hand running down his face and dragging against his skin as his glasses were knocked off, hanging off of one ear.

“Great,” he muttered into his palm. “Just absolutely freaking great, Ryland.”

Ryland Grace desperately wished he had the guts, the bravery, to just simply tell you how he felt.

From the moment he met you, when you had arrived for your first day at Grover Cleveland Middle, he was a goner. It had been a long time since he’d had a partner, his last one certain that he was too busy with his head in the clouds to pay attention to her, and she wasn’t wrong. But from the moment he looked at you, waving and smiling as you introduced yourself to all of the teachers that had gathered to welcome you, you were suddenly the only thing his brain wanted to focus on.

He had been so focused on you, too busy admiring every inch of you in silence, that in his typical clumsy fashion he tripped over his own two feet and knocked Principal Marshall’s papers out of her hand, spreading them five feet across the floor. But you’d joined him on the ground, laughing lightly to yourself, as you helped him clean up the papers, and Ryland knew he was a goner for you.

It only continued every single day, getting worse, and you somehow became his friend. His only friend, if he was being quite frank. So he tried to hide the way he really felt, too scared to mess anything up. He’d rather have you in his life in any way he could, then mess this up and lose you forever.

Keeping those feelings in was getting increasingly harder in the last few months. Which explained why he’d traveled cross town just to get lunch from your favorite place, or compare you to the sun and basically called you his entire reasoning for living in front of a bunch of children-

Either Ryland was going to blurt it out at some point, or he was taking these feelings to the grave with him.

“Peanut butter and jelly? Sounds like we’re eating like royalty tonight,”

He shouldn’t have looked over at you. He really, really shouldn’t have. Leaning against the opposite wall of the kitchen, hair still damp and dripping onto the cheesy “I had potential” shirt he’d been gifted by one of his students the following year. Sweatpants that were bunched up around your ankles so that you didn’t trip over the length, waist tied in as tightly as possible so they didn’t just slide right off your hips.

Ryland Grace had never thought it possible that you could look more gorgeous than you did every day, but he stood corrected. He felt more in love than he ever had just looking at you right in this moment.

“Sorry, I don’t exactly…live a life of luxury,” Ryland awkwardly laughed as he spoke, pulling out two sad paper plates from the cabinet next to him and flashing them in your direction, shaking them lightly in the air. “Hope this doesn’t ruin my perfectly curated image.”

His eyes followed you as you brushed past him, humming to yourself with a little grin. You fumbled through every drawer in the kitchen, looking for something, when Ryland quickly popped open the one right next to him, showcasing his small selection of utensils. You flashed another heart-stopping grin at him before digging out two knives from the drawer.

“That image cracked a long time ago, Ry. Like that time you let Marcus perform some chemical reaction and got the fire department called to the school,”

The tall blonde groaned to himself, rubbing at his temple as you pushed past him to throw some of the bread down onto the plates and crack open the jars of peanut butter and jelly set out.

“That was one time!” he tried to defend himself, saddling up beside you as you passed him one of the knives. He almost completely missed the opening of the peanut butter jar, eyes too transfixed on the sight of you in his clothing. It was still up in the air if his heart was actually working correctly yet. “I learned my lesson very quickly not to let him handle any more chemicals.”

“Don’t worry. I made the mistake of doing popcorn reading when we were working on The Outsiders. Marcus seemed to end up with every single instance of profanity in the book, which he would yell at the top of his lungs,”

Ryland snapped his fingers, glancing down at you at his side with a teasing smile.

“You know what? That explains that really loud ‘HELL’ I heard across the school a couple months ago. I was so sure that it was going to shatter the windows of my classroom,”

“Oh, shut up! It wasn’t that bad!”

Your laughter permeated the air, elbow digging into his side as you spoke. And when your eyes locked with his, and Ryland got the perfect look at every square inch of your face, he could see it so clearly in his head.

Mornings just like this, where you’d both struggle to get out of the warmth of the blankets. The way he would surely annoy you with his very disorganized morning routine, but he’d make up for it with coffee already set out for you, just as you liked it. The lingering moments by the door, too wrapped up in each other because you didn’t want to leave the peace of this space, even though you were going to the same place.

Late nights, curled together on the couch with some movie playing on TV that neither of you were particularly paying attention to. Whispered words, laughter shared. Kisses that lingered, hands that trailed-

Thunder broke Ryland from his spell, thoughts gone in a flash. He was back in his dingy kitchen, with you just inches away, staring up at him as the picture of true beauty.

“T-This is nice,” he cleared his throat, turning back to his sandwich as he spread his toppings along the bread, heat blooming across his cheeks again. It always did around you. “Making dinner with someone…no matter how sad the dinner is. I haven’t done this in awhile.”

“Right,” your voice responded after a momentary pause. “Sarah, wasn’t it? You were dating her when we first met. What, uh…what ever happened to her?”

“Oh, we broke up a long time ago,” Ryland waved the comment off, shaking his head. “She just, uh, thought my head was too far in the clouds. Didn’t think I wanted to be down here on Earth. She wasn’t wrong. It was for the best, though. She hated…all of this. The rundown apartment, the lack of a car, my love of science. She just never understood it. I was just…too much for her. But she’s with Mark now, so I’m sure she’s happy.”

Ryland chose not to mention that his last relationship had been dead long before it officially ended, the pair not having seen each other in well over a month by that point. If his math was right, which it usually was, Sarah had started dating Mark before she’d even broken it off with him.

He also failed to mention the relief he felt inside when she had called it off, knowing his heart had belonged to you the moment your eyes had locked with his.

Fingertips just barely ghosted over Ryland’s cheek, and he froze in place. Eyes trained on the plate in front of him, he could feel the way your hand curled around his cheek. The way your thumb glossed over his skin, back and forth, and the way your other fingers barely grazed over the shell of his ear. He couldn’t help the way he instantly leaned into the touch, a touch he hadn’t felt in so long.

Ryland turned his head, still resting in the palm of your own, to look you in the eyes. You gave him the softest smile, hand trailing across his cheek and ghosting over his jawline. His eyes watched it move, the way your fingers gently curled around the frame of his glasses dangling precariously from his face, and placed them gingerly back where they belonged, resting on the bridge of his nose.

His breath caught, your body so close to his, as your hand trailed back down and rested on his chest for just a moment, your own gaze flickering to its resting spot while his gaze stayed on your face.

“You are never, and will never be, too much, Ryland. Not for the right person. They’ll love every part of you. The clumsy parts, the nerdy parts, every part that makes you…you,”

The Sun. That’s what you were to Ryland Grace. He meant every word he had said in that planetarium that day, driven by the rare jealousy of seeing Harkin that close to you. 

The Sun was the reason Earth had life. Without the Sun…the Earth would be nothing.

Without you…well, Ryland Grace had accepted long ago that he didn’t understand what it was like to truly live until he’d met you.

Your eyes flickered for just a second, and Ryland took in an audible breath, swearing they settled on his lips for just a second. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and the pattering of the rain against the living room windows.

The moment shattered with yet another terribly timed clap of thunder, your body jolting away from his, focus turned back to the counter in front of you, face hidden from his wide eyes.

“Y-you know…I can’t tell you the last time I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,”

Ryland shook his head, smiling slightly to himself at the little stutter in your own words, turning back to finishing his own food as well. But the moment still lingered in his head, the heat that bloomed from where your skin touched him still lingering.

“Since peanut butter is banned in school for allergies, probably awhile,”

“I almost forgot that rule a couple weeks ago and almost packed peanut butter crackers,” you joked back, before Ryland heard you snap your fingers. “Oh! Speaking of work, did you put yourself down to volunteer for the school dance next week?”

Sandwiches finished off, Ryland packed the ingredients away and stashed them back in their appropriate spots, laughing awkwardly to himself.

“Hah, uh, no I didn’t. I chaperoned last year and kind of left covered in punch, became the kids’ favorite ‘meme’ for a week afterward since one of them got a picture of it,”

He turned back to you. Leaning against the island counter, holding your sad little sandwich in your hands, face still lit up red as you smiled toward him.

“I think so far it's me, Doyle, and Harki, plus Principal Marshal and I think Katie and Dawson from the front office. We could really use another teacher,” he swore the fluttering of your lashes was on purpose just to kill him and his resolve. “Sign-up? For me?”

Well, there was no universe in existence where Ryland said no to a request like that.

Rejoining you at the counter, he held his own sandwich in his hand, reaching out and tapping it against yours as if you were sharing a toast.

“For you? Totally,”

Even as you both took a bite of your sandwiches, eyes still locked together, Ryland felt as if something had shifted in the air. Your eyes were still as kind, your smile still bright, but it felt like there was a new weight to your gaze as you looked at him.

And he swore–and hoped–for just a split second, that your eyes had just flickered down to his lips again.

❤︎

The student council had outdone themselves with this end of the year dance.

As you stepped through the main doors of Grover Cleveland Middle’s building, the smile on your face grew immediately at the sight before you. The walls were lined with little fairy lights, little styrofoam planets hanging down from the ceiling at various lengths, glow in the dark stars right around them and glowing. Silver streamers hung around the fairy lights, with the check in desk decorated with tons and foam and lights behind them to look like twinkling lights in the clouds.

“A space theme?” you called out as the two kids in front of you ducked away from the registration desk. Evelyn Doyle finally looked up from the sign-in sheet, grin growing as she took in the sight of you and rounded the desk. “I hadn’t heard anything from the student council on the theme, but they did well.”

“Nevermind the theme, you’re finally here!” you laughed as you threw her arms around you, reciprocating the hug, before her hands landed on your shoulders in order to get a good look at you, eyes trailing you up and down. “And look at this dress, oh my god!”

The deep yellow dress fell right around your knees, the fabric light and airy as it swooshed through the air with every move you made. Buttons lined the front down to the tie around your waist, leaving just enough room for the little gold necklace resting against your collarbone. You thanked yourself for choosing a short sleeve option, already feeling the heat in the building from how many kids were all packed in and dancing together.

“Thank you,” was the sheepish reply you gave your friend as she let you go. “I’m sorry I’m late, I caught one of my student’s parents in the parking lot and they turned it into a mini parent-teacher conference, sadly.”

“Not a problem,” she waved the comment off, gesturing toward the doors of the gym just off to the left of you both. “Just get on in there, have some fun, and keep those slow dancers at least 12 inches apart at all times.”

If the hallways were gorgeous, the inside of the gym shone even brighter. Bathed in blue and purple, even more little lights twinkled around the room, hung off the walls, the ceilings, and on every surface they could possibly find. Moon and star decals, made by the art students, hung off the walls and from the ceiling, almost glowing under the lights.

Your eyes trailed over all of your children, scattered throughout the room, already having been dancing for at least thirty minutes. The smile on your face grew as you watched each one of them, gathered with their friends as they danced together in groups, or even stood off to the sides and just observed from beyond the dimly lit dance floor.

Mr. Harkin had been stationed at the punch table, and you could hear him from across the room warning these middle schoolers not to try and spike the punch. You could only giggle to yourself, shaking your head at his antics, before your eyes swept over the crowd once more-

The music seemed to stop in your ears, breath hitching, the second you laid eyes on him across the room. Ryland Grace.

He wasn’t in anything fancy. A nice pair of jeans, the worn pair of black dress shoes you’d seen by his apartment door that night. A dark green shirt was tucked into his jeans, adorned with a worn, navy blue suit jacket overtop, and those same glasses almost falling off the bridge of his nose as he spoke animatedly to Olivia.

Ryland looked good. Too good, in your eyes.

For just a second, he looked up, and his eyes happened to meet yours across the room. You thought for sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Whatever had happened that night, in the silence of his apartment with only the beating of the rain against the windows and the roof as a witness, had shifted something. From the moment your fingertips had ghosted along his skin, your hand had rested against his chest, and you’d been close enough to see the specs that danced in those ocean blue eyes of his up close, nothing had been the same.

Like the little bubble you had been existing in with your harbored crushed had finally popped. Like a toe had dipped just slightly over a line, and there was no going back from then on.

You always blushed around your friend, every time he’d manage to fumble his way through a comment that borderlined on a kind-of-not-just-friendly compliment. But since that day just a week or so ago, every time he has been within a few feet of you, your face lit up like a hot summer’s day.

Moments where he’d find a second to linger in your classroom door, held a new weight to them. Sharing lunch together, fingers just barely brushing for a second as you both reached for your food, to moments when you’d simply be walking together down hallways, back of hands brushing along each other’s but no one making any moves to stop it from happening.

Something was different, and you weren’t sure you wanted to go back to how things were before. Not after touching his skin, or existing in his orbit like that. Not when you’d seen the side of him beyond these school walls.

You were in love with Ryland Grace. You had been for a long time. And, finally, you were done trying to pretend that there wasn’t at least a small chance that he felt the same.

“I need your help,”

The heated staring contest between you two was broken by the sound to your right. You turned, just to see Marcus standing directly beside you and reaching up to pull on the sleeve of your dress. His hands wrung together, foot tapping incessantly on the ground, and you immediately knelt down in front of him to get a better look at his face that he was trying to hide from you.

“Marcus? Honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently, hands coming to rest on his arms as you tried to get him to look at you.

“I…I like Olivia,”

Oh. It was one of those problems. The anxiety you felt in that moment finally washed away, an easy smile falling to your lips as you took a quick glance over in Ryland and Olivia’s direction, the former’s eyes still locked onto you from across the room.

“I did hear a rumor about that. Olivia is a great girl,”

“She is,” he said quickly, finally looking at you. His nerves were basically written across his face. “I-I’ve been really mean to her. I didn’t mean to be.”

“I know, honey. Sometimes feelings can be confusing,” you stood up, hands on your hips as you looked down at him with a smile. “Do you want to dance with her?”

“I do,”

You held your hand out toward him with a smile.

“Then why don’t we start by going and apologizing to her?”

With Marcus’s hand in yours, you confidently led him across the room, eyes locked back onto Ryland’s as you approached. He stood with Olivia at his side, who was talking his ear off, a dopey looking grin on his face as he nodded to whatever she said as he continued to watch as you approached him.

“Dr. Grace, I’m sorry to interrupt you and Olivia,” you announced yourself to the pair with a grin of your own, hands on Marcus’s shoulders and you lightly pushed him forward. “But Olivia, there’s something that Marcus here wants to say to you.”

The young boy shuffled awkwardly forward, hands wringing together again as he stood in front of his crush.

“I, uh, I wanted to say I was sorry. For being really mean to you. I didn’t mean it,”

Olivia’s eyes went wide, as she too shuffled uncomfortably for a second. Ryland saddled up to your side, the pair of you sharing a glance as you watched the interaction happen right before your eyes. His hand graced over yours lightly, and it took everything in you not to reach out and lock your fingers with his.

“Oh! It’s, um, it’s okay. Thank you,”

“Say, Marcus?” Ryland called out to them both, catching the boy’s eye and gesturing toward Olivia with a wink. “What do you think of Olivia’s dress?”

“I…I think she looks really beautiful,”

That comment finally seemed to catch Olivia off guard, her eyes wide in shock as she giggled nervously.

“Oh! I…thank you, Marcus. You look really nice too,”

“Thank you,” his posture seemed to straighten out at Olivia’s reaction, like seeing her accept his compliment gave him the confidence he needed. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Olivia shot you and Ryland a look, and you both immediately gave her a thumbs up. Then, your happy eyes could only watch the two pre-teens awkwardly shuffle away together to the dance floor, not daring to meet the eyes of the other.

“Look at us, playing matchmaker for middle schoolers,”

“I think they did that for themselves, we just helped,” you laughed, turning your head. The laughter died on your lips the second your eyes met with Ryland’s, voice low and breathy as you whispered to him through your smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he whispered back just as breathily. His hand came up to the back of his head, running through his hair for a moment, and you could see the red and pink hues that lit up his cheeks. “I got worried when I didn’t see you. I was ready to call you.”

“You could’ve,”

“I’ll remember for next time,” he shot back, hands finding their way to rest in the front pockets of his jeans. His eyes moved back over the crowd, finding your two young students once more. “I’m proud of him for that. That…must have taken a lot of guts to do.”

You followed his gaze, landing on the pair as they danced together, laughing and talking like old friends.

“Like you said before, it can be hard for boys to express their feelings. All he needed was to pull up his big boy pants and ask her,”

Ryland laughed beside you.

“Yeah…I should probably follow in his footsteps,”

You glanced back to him, seeing him already watching you. A single eyebrow raised toward him quizzically, even though your heart felt like it was ready to beat directly out of your chest.

Ryland’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as if he were trying to force out words that he couldn’t quite seem to get right. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, hoping inside that whatever he wanted to say would address the weight that seemed to be hanging between your gazes.

“Stay here,”

There wasn’t even time for you to respond before the tall blonde rushed away, almost tripping as he dashed over to the DJ booth across the way from the makeshift dance floor. He whispered something to the DJ, and you could see the thumbs up he got in return, before he rushed back over to you, panting slightly.

“Ryland?” you questioned softly, the man who held your entire heart without knowing it standing just a foot in front of you with a nervous grin on his face. “What did you just do?”

As if on cue, the song changed, and familiar lyrics floated through the room, bouncing off the walls.

Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars

“I’m pulling up my big boy pants,” he responded with a nervous laugh, his hand outstretched toward you. “And asking you to dance with me.”

Nothing else existed the second that you slid your hand into Ryland Grace’s without hesitation, letting him pull you in. You weren’t in the school, not in a room decorated for a middle school dance, and certainly not surrounded by middle schoolers and a bunch of faculty that had placed bets on you both.

It was just you and Ryland Grace. That’s all you wanted it to be.

Your arms found a place to rest around his shoulders, fingertips just barely brushing past the strands of hair that tickled the back of his neck. There was a fluttering in your chest the second that his hands made their way to your waist, curling around the divet just above your hip bone, pulling you into him just by another inch.

In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. Fill my life with song, and let me sing for ever more.

"I didn't tell you yet…,” his voice was soft, words whispered just between the two of you in a crowded room. “But you look beautiful,"

"You don't have to flatter me, Ryland,"

"No, really, you look-"

"Like a banana in this yellow dress?"

He paused. His tongue poked out, running along his bottom lip, and you could see the nervous bob of his Adam’s apple before he spoke again.

"...like the sun,"

You are all I long for, all I worship and adore.

Oh. That fluttering in your chest was back, and suddenly, you weren’t at a middle school dance anymore. You were back in that planetarium, spinning in circles. And this time, there were no doubts in your mind. You were the Sun, and he was the Earth. And what was the Earth, without its Sun?

"Ryland-"

"I wasn't lying,"

You cocked your head.

"...about what?"

"That I knew Homer wrote The Odyssey,"

That drew a short laugh from you, but you could still see the nerves that were laced through Ryland’s smile.

"Right, you were just distracted,"

"I was. By you. I'm always distracted by you,"

In other words, please be true. In other words, I love you.

You took a deep breath. He’d crossed the line for you, thrown himself onto the other side, and was waiting for you with open arms. It was just a leap of faith.

“I’m always distracted by you, too. Since the day we met,”

The song faded away, melting into the next. There could’ve been eyes on you both, either from students or from faculty, but nothing would break either of your gazes away from the other.

Ryland took a quick look around the room, before his hands took hold of your own, bringing them down between you both. He gave you a grin, one filled with more happiness than you had ever seen–and you knew your own matched his perfectly–before he tugged you toward the doors of the gym.

“Come with me,”

“Ry, we’re supposed to be chaperoning!”

“I don’t see Principal Marshall anywhere. What’s the worst she could do, fire us?”

“Quite literally, yes!” you shot back with a laugh.

Ryland only shrugged his shoulders, tugging you again, and you didn’t even try to fight back. Your feet simply moved with him.

“Worth it,”

Hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, your laughter echoed off the walls of the empty hallways as Ryland Grace ran you down them, a destination clear in his mind. Every few seconds he’d look back, just smiling at you as his eyes trailed over every single inch of you, before you’d yell at him to look at his own feet before you’d both be sprawled across the linoleum floors.

The door to his classroom was open as you flew inside, hand slipping from his as you caught yourself on the projector cart sitting in the middle of the room. Spinning on your heel, you caught his eye just as he shut the classroom door behind him, and the silence enveloped you both once more. Finally alone, no prying eyes to watch.

The momentarily confidence that seemed to seize hold of Ryland dissipated in that moment. He wiped his hands against the front of his jeans, chuckling awkwardly as he took a few steps toward you.

“What was your plan here, Dr. Grace?” you teased, taking a couple steps toward him as well, too high on the feeling of everything you’d just finally realized. High on the feeling of finally not denying what your heart knew long ago: you and Ryland Grace were never just friends.

“I’m not going to lie,” he shot back, coming to a stop just in front of you, barely an inch or two separating you. “I hadn’t thought this far ahead.”

“Then stop thinking,”

No one had leaned in first. It had been both of you, as if drawn together like two magnets, as your lips finally found one another's.

Goosebumps rose across your skin as Ryland Grace’s mouth moved against yours with an ease that shouldn’t exist between two people that have never kissed before. It was like a perfect dance between two partners that knew each other better than anything.

Your lips never left his, moving against his as if you couldn’t believe you had deprived yourself of this for so long, as your hands wound around his shoulders. Fingers curled into his hair, finally carding themselves through the blonde strands that felt so soft between your fingers.

The slightest little moan, enough to send heat coursing through your body the second you heard it, slipping from Ryland’s mouth into your own. His hands grasped at your hips, winding around your back to press into your lower back and tug you as close as humanly possible, as if he was a starved man that craved to touch you in any way that he could.

His lips were soft, a feeling that you knew you were going to crave for the rest of your life now that you’d had a single taste of them. You pressed further into him, a small mewl tumbling from your own lips and swallowed by his mouth as you pressed every inch of yourself into him, desperate to hang onto the moment in case the world would be cruel and wake you from this dream moments later.

The need to breathe was what finally separated you, but not far. Ryland’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning out across your skin. His hands still gripped at your hips, holding him to you, as yours stayed carded through his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as you chest heaved as it tried to level your breathing back to normal.

“If I haven’t made it clear already, you’re my best friend,” his words were breathy, accented by the way he was still trying to catch his breath. But his smile was bright, his eyes almost shining, as he looked down at you. “And I’m completely in love with you. Literally, since the moment we met.”

You laughed, trapped in this little bubble with him, as your hands slid from his hair to instead cup his cheeks. The tip of your nose just barely brushed against his, and he bumped his right back against yours without hesitation.

“I’m completely in love with you too, Ryland Grace. Since the moment you tripped over your own two feet,”

The sound of your laughter filled the empty, dark science classroom again as Ryland’s hands came to scoop you up around your thighs, spinning you in relentless circles. All you could do was hang onto his broad shoulders and smile, his lips peppering a thousand kisses to every inch of skin he could possibly reach.

The Earth needed the Sun, like how Ryland said he needed you. The person that makes it all worth it, that makes the days brighter, that makes this short little life worth it.

The Sun needed the Earth too.

[mindfulsreposts]

Absolutely love this! The slow build, the little chirps they make about each other and their chemistry.. oh my fucking god. Elite. I can already tell this will be a comfort fic for me. THANKS FOR SHARING 💗

[grilchgurt]

roleplay (ryland grace x reader)

also posted on ao3 | my masterlist You and Ryland pretend not to know each other at a bar. It goes exactly how you'd hoped. ~4.3k words; smut; roleplaying; almost public sex (it gets somewhat close); oral - f!receiving; doggy style; unprotected sex a/n: inspired by me asking my fiance all the time how he would pick me up from a bar if we didn't know each other. also--who is the driver, you might ask? i'll never say....

The lights are dim as you lean against the bar top, tugging your skirt down self-consciously and sipping the last remnants of your drink. You let your mouth linger on the straw, because you know that he’s watching, and you are simply waiting for him to come over and make his move.

The move comes a few moments later, when he walks up to stand beside you. He pretends like he doesn’t see you for a moment. Then, as he rests his elbows on the already-sticky surface of the bar top, he looks sideways at you, once, and then does a practiced double-take.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, pushing your empty cup forward. You say nothing else, because this is all him.

He keeps looking forward for a moment before turning his body to face yours, resting his temple on his fist and peering at you over the top of his glasses. “Come here often?”

The line is incredibly cheesy, and you want to tell him so, but doing so would ruin the bit, so instead you mirror his stance and smile. “No, first time.”

He nods in understanding and grins. It’s cheeky, because he also knows the entire exchange is incredibly overdone. “By yourself? Or with friends?”

“By myself,” you reply. You are trying very hard not to giggle. “My friends ditched me.”

“That’s too bad,” he murmurs. His gazes drags down, and down, and down, taking in the cut of your top, the way the hem of your skirt rests on your upper thighs. “Not nice to leave such a pretty girl by herself.”

You simply shrug. “It’s not so bad.” You look up at him through your eyelashes. “As long as you can find the right company.”

His smile widens. “Buy you a drink?”

“Sure,” and your own grin grows to match his. “If I can get a name in return.”

He signals the bartender, then, still looking at you. “Ryland.”

You give him your name, and he doesn’t look away when the bartender comes over, when he gives his order and you give yours. “And are you here with anyone, Ryland?”

“Nope.” He takes both of the drinks when the bartender slides them over, muttering the name on his tab, still looking at you. You take the cup from him and playfully place your lips on the straw, still gazing up at him and waiting for the rest of his reply. “My friends ditched me, too.”

“Mm.” You take a sip, then, wondering what he will do next.

“I think,” he murmurs, glancing down again at the hem of your skirt, “you came here, dressed like this, because you want to dance.” His eyes flick up to yours again. You simply nod and shift your weight to your other leg, because you are already wet and desperate for any kind of friction. “Dance with me?”

“Didn’t take you for a dancer,” you reply coyly.

Ryland grins and extends a hand toward you. “I am with the right partner.”

You let him lead you onto the dance floor, weaving through the bodies swaying to the pulse of the music. Your skin is already beginning to gleam with sweat by the time the two of you stop somewhere near the center of the crowd, and he turns to face you. You drape your arms around his shoulders and press your body against his. “So, Ryland,” you purr into his ear. Your lips just barely graze the shell of it, and you can feel him shudder against you. The hand that isn’t holding his drink comes up to grip your waist, then, as your hips start to move in time to the deep, sultry bass of the song currently filling the hazy air of the room. “What made you come up to me?”

He squeezes your side. You can’t tell if it’s a reaction to the feeling of your mouth against his ear, the way your body is dragging across his already half-hard cock in his jeans, the game the two of you are playing, or a combination of all the above. “I—I had to, obviously.”

“Obviously?” You slide one of your hands up to play with the hair on the nape of his neck.

“Mm-hm,” he hums. “Knew I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

You smile at that. Goosebumps ripple across his skin at the feeling, because your mouth is still grazing against him, and you press a kiss against his fluttering pulse point. “I’m glad you did, then. I’d hate for you to have any regrets.”

“Well, I have to say, there are none to report. No regrets at all, nope.” His words are a little breathless and fast, and he sounds nervous, like he’s afraid to mess this all up.

You thread the fingers dancing on the back of neck further into his hair. “Good,” you whisper, and then to offer a little encouragement, you continue, “you’re doing so good.”

Ryland exhales shakily and swallows. You wonder if this is becoming a little too much for him, but then his hand shifts from your waist and slides across your back to rest at the base of your spine. You shiver and press your body even further against him, still swinging your hips with the music. “Good,” he repeats, and it’s your turn to feel his lips against your ear. “That’s all I want—want to show you a good time.”

Against your deepest, basest instinct to start dragging your lips and your teeth against his throat, you lean back to look at him. His pupils are wide in the low light, and there’s sweat gathering on his forehead. You watch a bead of it slide down his temple and get the sudden desire to lick it off, just to see what he would do. Instead, you take in the sight of him for a little longer, the way his lips part, how the slow, shifting lights illuminate his hair, his nostrils flaring as you stare at him with barely disguised lust in your half-lidded gaze. “Then show me.”

He nods, quickly, desperate to please, and takes a small step back to turn you around. You withdraw your arms from his shoulders and let out a small gasp when he pulls you flush against him again, his hand gripping your hip, fingers flexing into you. He groans softly when you arch into him. You can feel him, fully hard now, against the swell of your ass, and you grind your hips to the rhythm thrumming through your body.

You look down at his other hand, which is clutching his drink so tightly that the plastic cup is starting to bend inwards. “You know what, screw it, screw the drink, don’t need it,” Ryland groans in your ear, and then he downs as much as he can before dropping the cup onto the floor. You’re about to scold him for littering when his newly freed hand splays against your stomach, pulling you in even closer, and his head drops to press an open-mouthed kiss to your neck.

Your head tips back against his shoulder at the feeling, which grants him further access to your throat. Ryland sighs against your skin and then sucks, laving his tongue to soothe the tingling spot once he’s sure he’s left a mark. You lift your free hand behind you to grasp his hair again.

The world narrows until it’s just the two of you, his hands on your body, the feeling of his hips rutting against yours in time to your sway, and you close your eyes to soak in the heady desire washing through you. His palm leaves your stomach for a moment, and you whine at the absense, and then he’s grasping your hand, the one holding your drink.

You open your eyes and tilt your head to look at him, your eyebrows drawing up slightly in a silent question. He simply lifts your hand to bring the cup to your mouth, and you take the straw dutifully, staring up into his eyes as you drink. His eyes flick down to watch your lips around the straw, then down again to your throat as you swallow, before he nods and lets your arm return to your side. You have half a mind to drop your cup, too, but you grasp onto it tightly as his hand returns to your stomach.

His pinky dips beneath the waistband of your skirt. You don’t bother hiding your whimper, not when his other hand slides down your hip to play with the hem laying tight against your thigh, inches above where it was before you started dancing with him. Your cunt is throbbing so needily that you think you could come just from this, just from being pressed against him and feeling his fingers on your skin.

Your head is still lolled back; you’re still watching as he looks down at his hand on your thigh, at your hips stuttering against him, slowly drifting offbeat to match the hum beneath your skin instead. “Ryland.” You crane your head back even further, because you want him to hear what you’re about to say. “I think—I think I would let you fuck me, right here, in the middle of all of these people, if you wanted to.”

He groans and squeezes his eyes shut. “You can’t, you cannot just say that to me, how am I supposed to—I already can barely think like this,” and his hand grips your thigh for emphasis, causing the fabric to slide up even further.

“Then don’t think, just touch me, please.”

The finger beneath your waistband dips even lower at your whine, and you wonder if he’ll do it, if he’ll slide his fingers inside of you right there on the dance floor, because you hadn’t even bothered with underwear for this, and you have just been waiting for him to discover that fact this entire time.

Instead, Ryland pulls his hand back up—and you can tell, distantly, that this is taking him a lot of effort—and chokes out, “Not now, next time, we can do that next time, right now I just—” He pauses, remembering the game that the two of you are playing, and then continues, “Would you like to get out of here?”

You say nothing, instead nodding frantically, and he guides you out of the dance floor, never taking his hands off of you until you’re stepping outside. The bouncer says something about the drink in your hand, and you think you mutter some kind of apology and just hand the cup to him, because there are so many other, more pressing things on your mind at the moment.

The cool night air brushes against your damp skin as you stand in the alleyway. You’re not sure if it is possible for you to be any more lightheaded than you are right now without passing out. You watch as he fumbles for his phone to order a ride home, and then he mutters oh, right, before looking up at you. “Uh—your place, or mine?”

This is one of the things you love the most about him, you think: how he dedicates himself so entirely, that when he says he will do something, he will never do it halfway. “Either is fine,” you breathe, and his lips curl into a knowing smile.

“Five minutes.”

You nod and lean against the wall, squeezing your thighs together and breathing deeply. The night is not over, but you’re pretty sure this already counts as a success, particularly when Ryland steps forward and dips his face down to kiss you, finally, properly. Your hands fist into the front of his shirt as he licks into your mouth and swallows your moan.

This, apparently, lasts about five minutes, because suddenly there is a honking too your left, and he is drawing back reluctantly. “Oops,” he smiles, pushing up his glasses reflexively so he can take in your shining lips and heaving chest. “Ride’s here.”

He opens the door for you—he is nothing if not a gentleman—and you slide into the car as far as the middle seat, because you don’t think you can stand not touching him for even the seven minutes it will take to get home. The driver, thankfully, recognizes that this is not the time for small talk, and he turns the music up with a gloved hand before he pulls away.

Ryland’s hand is on your thigh, then, and you look up at him as his fingers inch upward, pushing yourself even closer to his side and angling your knees to press into his. You keep watching his face as his hand stops, because suddenly his fingers are not meeting what they expected to meet, and you cannot help the grin that blooms when his eyes widen and he sucks in a breath.

It is a very, very long drive home.

Then, finally, you are thanking the driver and stepping outside, following him to the door of your shared apartment, looking on while he fumbles with his keys before unlocking it and leading you inside. Suddenly, you feel a little hesitant, a little self-conscious, because you’re not sure if you should keep the bit going, and then he presses you up against the door and answers your question for you. “You are so—I was already thinking about the skirt the whole time, ever since you put it on earlier, and how did I not even realize you didn’t put on any underwear—”

There are a few things you think you might say in response, but he doesn’t give you the chance, because then he’s kissing you and groaning into your mouth, squeezing every inch of your body that he can. You grab his hair and tug, just a little, but enough to make him whine and drag his tongue against yours. It is starting to become unclear to you how long you will be able to remain standing upright against the door.

Ryland senses this, because he knows you, because he loves every piece of you and is so intimately familiar with how it all ticks, and he hoists you up, gripping the backs of your thighs and wedging you against the door. Your skirt hikes up at the movement; you are fairly certain that you are already starting to leave a wet spot on his clothes.

His head dips down to mouth at your neck, and his nose nudges against the already-blooming mark he left in your skin earlier. “You’re incredible, so beautiful, I cannot stop thinking about the way you move—I am so happy you suggested this, we should do this every week,” he gasps into you, squeezing your thighs and biting another mark into your throat. “So I can fall in love with you every single time.”

“Oh, god, you—you—” There are not a lot of words left in your mind, because his hips are pressing into your cunt, and the pressure is so good, so delicious, and your head feels hazy with pleasure. “Please,” you settle for, “please touch me, please make me feel good, Ryland, please, want you to fuck me—you can do it right here against the door, if you want, I don’t care, just—”

His forehead presses into your shoulder at that, and you can tell that he’s considering his options very, very carefully. “No,” he finally whispers. “I want—something else. Can you stand?”

The answer’s a little up in the air at the moment, but you’re willing to take your chances in order to find out what exactly it is that he wants, so you nod. He gently sets you down, moving his hands to your waist to steady you against the door. There are so many feelings swirling inside of you, all at once, and it’s difficult to pick them all apart; the one you manage to discern is how cared for you feel, how safe, how loved you are.

The two of you make it halfway down the hallway, your hand in his, when he stops and mutters, “Fuck it, don’t want to wait,” and you’re about to comment on his language, because usually he refrains from cursing even when he’s not at work, out of fear that he won’t be able to switch back and forth between the two modes of speaking and thus will accidentally swear in front of a child, but he turns around and steps forward until your back is against the wall before you can say anything, and then he drops to his knees and slowly rolls your skirt up.

One of his hands slides up the back of your leg and raises it to rest on his shoulder, while the other reaches up and splays against your stomach to steady you, just like it did when you were dancing at the bar, and then he just—stares, and stares, and you wonder if he can see how wet you are, even though the hallway light is off. You’re about to ask, or maybe you’re about to beg him not to tease you, but neither of those thoughts make it out of your mouth because he surges forward to press his face into your cunt, as if he simply cannot go another second without tasting you.

Your head falls back with a thud as you squeeze your eyes shut and thread your fingers into his hair. You think you can hear one of the picture frames on the wall rattle. That would be bad, an incredibly distant part of your mind thinks, because that frame was a gift from one of his cousins, but it doesn’t fall, and his tongue is lapping at your clit so feverishly that you don’t give it a second thought.

He mumbles into your slickness the entire time, praising how good you taste, telling you how much he loves you, promising that next time he’ll touch you while you’re dancing, or maybe he’ll take you to the bathroom and make you come there, or finger you in the car on the ride home, but you’ll have to promise that you can keep quiet so the driver doesn’t hear you; because Ryland is a talker, through and through. He wants, he needs you to know exactly what he’s feeling and thinking, even when his words start to fail him and he’s babbling nonsense.

You are already so close, you’ve been close since he pulled you onto the dance floor and grasped you by the waist, since he turned you around and watched as you swallowed your drink, and you start to grind into his face. This just makes him keen and whine even more as he licks and sucks into you. “I’ve got you, so good, you’re so perfect—just want to show you a good time, just like I said I would, that’s it,” and your back arches as your first orgasm rolls through your body, and you pull his hair and keep using his face to chase the feeling.

He keeps his face there, even when you start to shudder and gasp from the overstimulation, until he finally pulls away. His glasses are slightly crooked, and you slowly reach your hand forward to set them right. He closes his eyes, then, leaning his face into your palm when it drops to rest against his cheek.

“Still good to stand?” Ryland looks up at you, and you find yourself distracted by the blue of his eyes, how striking the color is even in the dimness of the hallway. You nod, shakily, and he slowly draws your leg off of his shoulder, helping you find your footing as you follow him to the bedroom.

Part of your foggy mind begins to return to you, so you move to take your skirt off, and his hand honest-to-god slaps yours away from the fabric. Even he is surprised at this, and his eyes are a little wide. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “sorry, I just—keep it on?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” you whisper. “How do you want me?”

“Here, can you—” He guides you to the bed, helping you climb on and rest on your hands and knees. “That’s—that’s perfect, that’s exactly it, except, can you…?”

Ryland lays a hand between your shoulder blades and gently presses. You lay your face against the mattress, hips still lifted up, and fist your hands into the sheets. “Like this?”

You can’t see him, but if you could, you would see the way he looks at your body reverently, the way his hands slowly slide your skirt to bunch up at your waist. “Yes,” he breathes, “like that.”

The bed dips under his weight as he settles behind you. Somehow, he had managed to slide his pants down without you realizing it, because suddenly the head of his cock is brushing against you, gathering the wetness of your first orgasm and making you shiver.

“Please,” you whisper, and that’s all it takes for him to slowly press inside of you, and you grasp the sheets even tighter and moan raggedly. “Oh, fuck, Ryland, that’s—you feel so—oh my god.”

You—you can’t even put it into words, the way his hands grasp your hips, how he buries himself inside you and chokes out a groan. The rhythm is slow, at first, because he wants to relish the way he feels inside of you, the way your walls drag around him, but it soon deteriorates into something fast and desperate. You press your face into the mattress and gather the sheets into your mouth to muffle your cries, and the sound combined with the clenching of your cunt makes him grab one of your arms, resting it on your lower back so he can use it as leverage.

“I, I want you to—please touch yourself,” he groans, “because I don’t think—how could I, when you were moving like that and being so good, want you to come again, I don’t think I have ever wanted anything more.”

Your hips buck back into him as your free hand comes up to circle your clit, and then the only thing keeping you from collapsing against the mattress is Ryland’s hand grasping your forearm against the small of your back, on top of your bunched-up skirt. “Go—go a little slower, please, just a little, oh,” you gasp, because he does, just like you asked, because he promised you that he would show you a good time. “That’s, yes, just like that, you are so, doing so good, love the way you make me feel, love you so much.”

His hand grips your forearm a little tighter. You can tell that he’s already close, and the thought that you can make him come so quickly simply brings you that much closer to the edge again, and you drool onto the sheets until your teeth clench, until your fingers and his cock deep inside you cause all of your muscles to draw taut and then release. You cry out so loudly that you are fairly certain every other person in your apartment complex can hear it. You find that you simply do not care, just like you didn’t care when you told Ryland he could fuck you right there in the bar if he wanted to.

Your body goes limp, then, dropping down into the mattress, and he keeps fucking you, pressing his mouth against your spine and rolling his hips against yours. “Want you to come,” you sob into the bed, “want you to come inside me, want to feel it—want you to feel good, just like how you make me feel.”

He nods into your back, the frames of his glasses digging against your skin, because he refuses to take them off, because otherwise he can’t see how you look, how you writhe against him in pleasure. It does not take long; if only you could see how you look, face buried into the bed, your lower back arching just right to take him—then you would understand why he can finish so quickly, when you look the way you do beneath him.

You can feel his teeth graze against your shoulder blade when he comes, when he stills inside of you and whimpers into your skin, squeezing your hip and your arm. The two of you stay like that, just for a moment, savoring the sweat and the feeling and the euphoria, until he draws back and lays beside you, gently gathering you into his arms.

His glasses are crooked (again), so you fix them while you look up into his eyes. “So,” you whisper, “I’m guessing you liked my suggestion?”

Ryland simply laughs and hugs you a little closer. Soon, he’ll get up and get you a towel, help you clean up; for now, you relish the feeling of his skin against yours, the slickness between your thighs. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. If I had to rate it out of ten, I’d give it a solid fifteen.”

“Fifteen?” You tilt your face to look at him. “I feel like we can up those numbers.”

“Oh, sure. But that might require some extensive trial-and-error. And some very rigorous review. For quality control.”

You smile. “Mm. I see.” He presses a kiss into your hair and dances his fingers along the length of your upper arm. “Well, sounds like we have to test it all out. For science.”

“Exactly. For science.”

[mindfulsreposts]

No words.. it’s like drinking a hot coco with a peppermint stick in peak Christmas season.. 🥹💳

[oddballwriter]

I have this ‘funny’ idea.

Imagine being Grace’s house spouse that he spilled to because he can never keep anything from you, so now you’re sort of brought onto the Petrova taskforce because you kind of can’t be an outsider and know about all this, but you are not a scientist or anything remotely like that sooo… you get the unofficial label ‘Dr. Ryland Grace’s assistant’ slapped onto you because “This dope spilled the beans to his house spouse, and we had to make them sign the NDA, which technically makes them part of the team even though they have no qualifications” sounds bad.

The team likes you though! They think it’s cute that you take your role as Grace’s “assistant” very seriously by briefing with him (asking how he’s doing and making sure he’s okay) and making sure he stays on track (bringing him (and Stratt) more coffee).

This does however mean you get shot up into space with Grace, and that’s why this is ‘funny’. Stratt deciding to make the additional hard choice of also sending you into space because she knows that you two shouldn’t be separated, but if she’s already made the decision that Grace must go, so in turn there’s no other option than to have you go with. Will it look bad that she sent a true civilian into space? Yes. But she knows that you’ll take care of Grace and make things easier (in a way) for him and the rest of the crew has enough respect to care for you too. It’s just a shame that it was only the two of you in the end.

But just imagine how funny it would be when Rocky arrives and you’ve remembered everything about your lives and in addition to Rocky asking why a school teacher is in space, he then turns and asks “Why spouse of the house also in space, question?”.

[mindfulsreposts]

I want this.. this specifically 💳💳💳

[faestria]

He's just nice

Based off this ask <3

Summary: Everyone is convinced you're dating Mattheo Riddle- except for you Content: Oblivious!Reader, Fem!Reader, Downbad!Mattheo, romance, humor, fluff, reader is friends with the Golden Trio, reader is alluded to not be in Slytherin Warnings: Swearing, ass ending Note: I took way too long to write this considering how much I enjoyed it. W/c: 4.1k

.・゜゜・❁・゜゜・．

It started with miniature snowmen in Third year.

Mattheo was walking back from turning in a late assignment to Hagrid when he saw you. And he realized, he'd never truly noticed you before. Y/n L/n, the girl who spent time with everyone but him and his mates.

Your back was to him, and you were crouched down in the snow. The snow- it was drifting lazily then, each snowflake fat, falling and adding to the coating of it on the Hogwarts lawn.

When he walked closer, confused as to why anyone was willingly outside in the dreadful cold, he expected you to be sulking or shaking.

Instead your gloved fingers were rolling around small balls of snow and stacking them into snowmen.

There were four of them already, in a half circle where you seemed to have made a round table.

Your cheeks were rosy, eyes bright despite the chill.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He couldn't resist- even though he knew he was supposed to be a scary Slytherin.

You looked up at him, surprised to see someone else- especially surprised to see it was Mattheo Riddle. He was the one Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the other Gryffindors hated because his dad was You-Know-Who.

"I got locked out."

You said it like it was obvious. That anyone would settle down to make snowmen after getting locked out of the castle.

"You got locked out?" He asked, incredulous. Why the hell hadn't you walked around to a window or different entrance? Why hadn't you pulled out your bloody wand and used magic?

You nodded.

"You're going to freeze," he stated, unable to just walk away and ignore you. You frowned at that, as if finally considering the real possibility of getting sick. Looking at your snowmen once more, you stood, brushing snow off your knit gloves.

"We should go inside then," you suggested, already turning to approach the door that had been locked earlier. When you tugged, it gave the same result. You looked back at him, as if to say, 'told you so'.

Mattheo watched you, startled. You really didn't care who he was, did you? Shaking his head, he walked over and knocked.

It was only a few moments later that the doors were pushed open, and Professor Sprout started at you two, horrified.

"See? Easy," he murmured low to you. It must've looked odd to Professor Sprout, seeing the sweetheart Miss L/n with Mattheo Riddle, both of you flushed from the cold, snowflakes in your hair and on your coats.

"Dear- why were you two out there so long?" She fussed, grabbing her wand, casting some charm that automatically warmed both you from the inside out.

You smiled, honest, genuine. "The door was locked."

"Oh, Peeves," Sprout complained, turning around to try and catch the poltergeist.

But Mattheo couldn't stop looking at you.

You were smiling. Honestly, truly smiling despite being frozen and stuck outside. He would've been livid if he'd had to sit in the snow storm for so long.

And he didn't stop looking at you then. That moment was only the beginning of Mattheo Riddle's crush.

By fourth year, all of his mates knew.

They'd seen their friend staring at you from across classes, how'd he'd purposely bump into you in the hallways, apologizing and helping you pick up any dropped items up.

One afternoon, he was blatantly staring at you from across the Great Hall- the room cleared of tables, students lining the walls.

He was on one side and you were on the other, your arm linked with Hermione Granger's as you chatted, smiling. McGonagall was standing in front of all you fourth years and older, something about not embarrassing Hogwarts in front of the other schools.

Before Mattheo knew what was happening, Theo was tugging him forward as everyone spread out in the room. People were partnering up, and Mattheo had no idea why. He'd been thoroughly distracted.

"Dance lessons, you prat," Theo sniggered, already leaving his side to walk over to a beckoning Tracey Davis.

Dance lessons?

You saw him then.

He was standing near a great big window, his curls falling into his eyes as he looked around. No one was approaching him- which was odd honestly- he was very handsome.

Ignoring Hermione's confusion, you walked over to him.

His chocolate eyes slid over to you as you neared. You weren't deterred at the lack of welcoming in them.

"Would you like to dance together?" You asked, smiling at him.

There was a long pause, almost long enough to make you feel awkward. But he finally shrugged, straightening and extending his hand.

"Sure."

You took his hand, stepping closer.

"Have you danced before?" You asked him, copying those around you and settling a hand on his shoulder while he hovered his over your waist.

He nodded, and you watched his throat as he swallowed. "I have."

McGonagall waved her wand and music started up. Everyone turned to watch her dance with Ron. Soon after, the other students were mimicking their steps.

Mattheo was telling the truth, he had obviously danced before. It took a moment, but he finally held your waist properly, and he guided the dance while you followed.

After that, you were nearly friends.

People reminded you very often who he was. They always wanted you to be sure who you were inviting to sit with you in the Library if he walked in without Theodore Nott. He was Mattheo Riddle, son of You-Know-Who. He was scary, mean, unafraid to talk back to a teacher, or hex someone who got on his nerves.

But you ignored those warnings. He wasn't scary. Sure, he constantly looked like he was cross, but he wasn't scary.

Your friendship solidified in fifth year.

Everyone noticed it. Their eyebrows would raise and their eyes would widen when you'd walk around with him and his mates in the hallways. They were all shocked to see you chatting away with him while he listened- actually listened with a slight smile and his head ducked to hear you better over the other people in the hallways. They were shocked he didn't tell you to shut up or fuck off.

The two of you would go to Hogsmeade together, you explaining to Hermione that he had no one to go with, or that he offered to walk you.

He had also started inviting you to sit with him too, and you accepted more often than not, ignoring Harry's sharp words of friendships with fucking monsters.

Mattheo would invite you to sit with him in class, the Library, or outside while he, Theodore, and Lorenzo lazed on the wall of the Viaduct Bridge.

You were doing just that one Saturday in October. Theodore had cast a charm to keep the rain off the four of you.

"You have to visit sometime over break," Lorenzo said, leaning against the wall you sat on. He was telling you all about his families estate and how the others boy often came over to stay there. "We'll play Dragon's Hoard- you'll probably be on Mattheo's team anyways and him and Blaise are the best at it."

"That's the one where you have to capture the other teams egg, right?" You asked. Mattheo was sat next to you then, his hand resting next to yours as you listened to Lorenzo. "Where it gets heavier the further you move it away."

Lorenzo nodded, setting off on a story of all of them playing it one time. He was interrupted halfway through by Hermione stomping over, wind whipping her curly hair. You frowned, noticing her glare over at Ron and Harry who were huddled close by, watching intently.

"'Mione?" You asked, looking down at her as she got close, stopping. You didn't notice the wariness in her expression as she glanced at the boys you were hanging out with.

"Want to keep me company while I watch Harry and Ron's Quidditch Practice?"

"Oh!" You smiled, nodding, scooting off the wall. "I'd love to."

"Careful, pretty girl," Mattheo said as you reached for the bridge below with your toe, climbing down from where you sat.

Hermione shot him a look while you brushed off you backside. Before you stepped outside of the shimmering bubble Theodore made, you quickly cast your own, turning to face Mattheo.

"I'll see you in class on Monday," you said, smiling at him. He smiled back, the sight of it no longer rare to you, but warming your chest nonetheless.

You waved goodbye to the others before setting off with Hermione back to Ron and Harry.

"Pretty girl?" Hermione asked once you were out of ear shot. You laughed in amusement at her disgusted tone.

"He's nice, 'Mione," you explained, rolling your eyes good naturedly. "You guys all say he's mean, but he really is just nice."

She scoffed. "Yeah. Mattheo Riddle is 'just nice'."

Mattheo's crush had only worsened since third year.

He found every excuse to be near you. And he hated it when someone else had the pleasure of your company.

Despite how he found Harry a pompous-fucking-prat, he could look past the time you spent around him and Weasley. He was also fine to see you talking to Blaise, Theo, or Enzo. But anyone else made his head hurt and caused an urge to pick you up and keep you next to him at all times.

He fancied you- everyone knew that.

The worst part was you didn't even notice half the people he was hating. It got to the point where he noticed some sixth year talking to you during breakfast and he'd completely forgotten to eat.

And when you asked about his lack of appetite, sliding into your now regular seat beside him in Ancient Runes, he just said his stomach was upset.

"Do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey?" You asked, concerned. Mattheo had to remind himself you were just being a good friend.

"I'm okay, pretty girl," he assured you.

You eyed him for a moment before sighing. "Make sure to drink water. Maybe you're dehydrated."

He laughed, earning a frustrated side eye from you. "Okay, I will." He reached out as you bent over your books, pushing your hair behind your ear.

"Thank you," you said, your tone suggesting you saw it as nothing more than him being helpful.

"No problem," he murmured, watching you as you focused on writing down the date on a piece of parchment. And he knew right then, he was either going to end up marrying you or die trying to get you to notice him.

Finally, in sixth year, everyone at Hogwarts assumed you and Mattheo were dating.

You spent nearly all of your time together, and anyone could see it. He began carrying your books in his bag after you complained once that your shoulder was sore. You'd sit with him at meals and in classes without a second thought. He'd lend you his jumper whenever you were cold.

One Monday morning when you were mid conversation with Blaise, Mattheo sidled up to you, his arm already finding its place around you shoulders. You response to Blaise's remark on the House hierachy didn't break when Mattheo pressed a kiss to the top of your head, your response to the greeting being to lean into his side. It was familiar, a comfortable show of friendship between the two of you.

Blaise let out an unimpressed laugh at the gesture before turning to Malfoy.

Smiling, you looked up at Mattheo. "Good morning," you said.

"Good morning, pretty girl," he replied, returning you smile, his eyes softer than usual. You huffed suddenly, glowering at his throat.

"Your tie, Mattheo- honestly," you complained, pulling away from his side. His green and silver Slytherin tie was done poorly, lopsided and half tightened. Sighing, you undid it, straightening both ends of the fabric. He paused for half a breath before a warmth spread through his chest. The same warmth he felt every time you paid him extra attention.

He never said it out loud- but he purposely messed up his tie a lot more often after that.

"Are we still studying tonight?" He asked once you were finished, a small, satisfied smile on his mouth.

"Yes- I might be late though," you explained with a frown at the obvious disappoint in his brown eyes. "I promised Mibby to help her press those flowers her and I picked the other day."

He sighed dramatically, arms circling around you as his chin rested on your head. "So you can't get out of it? Mibby reallyyyy needs you?"

"She reallyyyy needs me," you confirm, automatically hugging him back, laughing.

Mibby was your favorite house elf, the one you befriended in second year. The same Mattheo had also been friends with around the same time- before you two were even on speaking terms.

"Can I come then?" He asked, pulling back as the Bell Tower sent its musical chimes through the castle, signaling first period.

Your smile brightened immediately at his words. He was already starting to steer you towards your first period- Herbology- which he unfortunately didn't have with you. "Of course! Meet me outside the kitchens at seven."

Having already been in Central Hall, it wasn't a long walk, and he stopped outside the Greenhouse Doors.

"I'll see you then, pretty girl," he promised, squeezing your hand that he had been holding.

For him- seven couldn't come early enough. He had to sit through classes- only one of them he shared with you- imagining being silly with you the kitchens. He pictured getting flour on your robes or cheek so he could brush it off.

And finally, outside of the fruit bowl painting, you showed up. He'd been waiting there for some time, embarrassingly enough, leaning against the cool stone walls.

"Matt-" You startled when you saw him before grinning. You didn't think he'd be so early. "You're on time."

"Missed my favorite pretty girl," he said simply, putting an arm around your shoulders. He reached out with his wand, tickling the pear on the painting, and it swung inwards. The two of you walked into the kitchens, immediately greeted with the scent of comforting foods. Roasts, gravy, and yorkshire puddings. The elves were still sending supper up to the Great Hall, leaving the kitchens smelling of dinner foods.

Mibby hurried over to you two immediately, a smile on her tiny elf face. "Mibby has hot cocoa waiting for Miss l/n and Master Riddle," she declared, standing in front of the two of you. "Mibby thinks they are a wonderful pair."

You laughed, not unkind, smiling. "We are not a pair."

You saw as Mibby tilt her large head, confusion dampening the edges of her beaming smile. "Oh. Then why does Master Riddle always ask if Miss l/n has eaten?"

"You ask about me?" You turned to look up at Mattheo.

"Yes," he shrugged, honest. Because he wasn't embarrassed. He would be shocked if this was the thing that made you catch on. "Because you've passed out outside of Charms before after skipping breakfast, and I'd rather not have to lug you up to Madam Pomfrey again."

That bit was a lie. He had no problem carrying you anywhere.

"Oh right." You laughed, flushing ever so slightly, your chest warming. Peeling away from Mattheo's side, you approached the barrels that had been shaped into a small, but cozy village for the house elves down here. "Mibby, should we get started?"

And then one Thursday while you're waiting for Mattheo outside the Slytherin changing rooms- his quidditch practice having just finished- it all changes.

You lean against the wooden stands that tower above, your eyes unfocused as you wait. Other people are around you, waiting for their own mates, or just chatting and sitting on the soft pitch now that practice is over.

Too zoned out, you don't notice the Slytherins have started emerging from the locker rooms. And it's a few moments later that you see Mattheo talking to another Slytherin girl.

She must be younger than you two because you've never seen her in classes before. She's pretty, sharp eyes, black hair sleek down her back. You watch as she gives him a smile. Not some soft smile, she's confident, admirable. Her eyes hold his before you see their focus slip down towards his mouth.

You realize that she's flirting with him. Flirting with your Mattheo. No one ever flirts with Mattheo.

But from the way his lips move, he's obviously giving short answers. His eyes are detached, almost cold. He's not mean, but he's far from interested in this girl.

Frowning, you think for a long moment. Isn't he like that with everyone? Even with Pansy and Daphne who are in his friend group. He's never been awfully warm with girls.

Except for you. And it all suddenly hits you.

He only smiles at you and maybe two other people.

He carries your books everywhere.

He always just happens to be waiting outside of your classes.

He gives you his gloves or coat whenever you seem to be cold.

He remembers what treats you like best and never fails to buy them at Hogsmeade- saying he forgot he wasn't a fan of them.

He lets you hold his hand and trace the scar cutting across his palm and over half the back of it.

He always seems a tad bit moodier after you talk to a boy who isn't him.

He calls you pretty girl.

And he's being doing it for years.

For years you realize that the boy who puts his arm around your shoulders, who kisses your head as a good morning every day at breakfast- has been doing it out of more than being a good friend.

You realize that all of your own reactions and feelings had been deeper than appreciation.

The warmth you'd feel whenever he did something thoughtful- you see now that it wasn't because you thought he was a good friend. You liked that he was the one doing it.

There was always disappointment whenever he missed something. Breakfast, a study session, your late night chats that almost got you caught after curfew many times. It wasn't because you were lonely- you just missed him.

If something exciting happened- he was the first person you thought of. It was always, "I have to tell Mattheo." It stopped being your roommates who got it first, or Hermione. It became him every time.

You've always felt safer around him. It didn't matter how many people told you he was dangerous. That he was cruel and a monster. You knew him. You knew that Mattheo was kind to the people he cared for. And you know now that whenever he was close, any anxiety or fear you felt was calmed. Because you were with him.

Every feeling you've had for Mattheo- it wasn't just gratitude and friendship. It was affection. It was attraction and butterflies. You just never properly realized that the past few years, you've wanted him just as badly.

And now some pretty girl is flirting with your Mattheo.

"Y'alright?"

A familiar voice breaks your thoughts. Theo, changed out of his quidditch uniform, leaning against the wall next to you. He studies your face, your wide eyes, your parted lips.

"Theo," you say, before pausing. "I think Mattheo has been flirting with me for three years."

You see the slow smile curl on his lips, hear the way he lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

"You've only just now worked that out?"

You always thought that love would declare itself.

You thought it would be loud and dramatic.

But you hadn't expected it to feel like this- like comfort. Like looking for him in every room. Or smiling when he hadn't even finished speaking. Or saving seats for him without even considering he might sit somewhere else.

You had mistaken your love for comfort and familiarity. And mistaken that, in turn, for friendship.

It was never just friendship. You've loved him for a long time, your friendship and those feelings mixed until you couldn't tell them apart. The happiness and safety and comfort you've associated with him run so much deeper than plain friendship.

Awestruck, almost horrified at how dense you must've been, you stare at Mattheo's side profile. He's still talking to the Slytherin girl. And now suddenly you understand every mean look girls have given you. They were all jealous you had the attention of the most intimidating boy at Hogwarts. The most handsome boy at Hogwarts.

He was never lonely. He was just picking you.

"Oh, Theo," you groan, covering your face. "I am so thick!"

Theo laughs again, not mocking, he's genuinely amused you caught up. "It's all right. I'm just glad you finally see it- we were all a little in pain watching you two."

That's the moment Mattheo decides to leave the pretty Slytherin girl, walking over to you and Theo.

You are completely mortified.

Theo just smirks. He pats Mattheo's shoulder wordlessly before walking off.

Mattheo, as always, notices something is off. "You okay, pretty girl?"

Somehow, you manage to nod and get a few words out. "Can we go on a walk?"

"'Course." He nods slowly, taking your hand and leading you off the quidditch pitch and down a path towards a stream. His hold on your hand feels different now, more deliberate, warmer.

When the two of you finally stop, you can't even manage to look at him. You haven't ever properly flirted with a boy- at least not intentionally.

But you make yourself speak anyways. You can't make either of your wait any longer.

"The past couple years.. have you been flirting with me?"

The words sound horrible out loud- ridiculous and you fear he might laugh despite knowing he would never be that mean to you.

He sighs.

And you force yourself to look at him, at how he's already searching your face.

"Yes."

You take a breath. "I thought you were being kind."

He lets out a laugh, similar to Theo's, but filled with the affection you'd misunderstood for years. "Merlin, pretty girl."

Your stomach tightens, warms, as he steps closer.

"I've been trying to court you."

You swallow. "For how long?"

"Fourth year. Since the beginning of it when I saw you at the start of term feast." He says it simply, honestly.

"Everyone knew," you manage to mumble. A smile finds his mouth, and slowly, waiting for your silent permission, his hand lifts. You let it, let him cup your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his eyes properly.

"Yes, everyone knew."

"Even Mibby."

"Mibby was one of the first," he says, still smiling. "Behind Theo, Enzo, Blaise, and Granger. Then the whole school followed."

"Everyone but me." You frown, embarrassed and upset you wasted so much time. "That is so irritating- for you as well," you complain.

He shook his head, his free hand finding yours and lacing your fingers like you've done countless times. "It was never irritating. I lasted this long, didn't I? I was never upset with you. I always thought it was cute- maybe frustrating at times when all I wanted to do was kiss you- but never irritating."

You feel your cheeks heat, and his smile widens.

"Now," he says, talking carefully "I can tell all of Hogwarts that we are dating?"

It's not a statement. He's asking you. And you can manage is a soft, "yes," and a nod.

His thumb swipes over your cheekbone. "Brilliant," he murmurs, eyes sliding lower than where they usually meet yours. "Because I have been surviving off their assumptions and praying people don't try and fancy you."

Carefully, just like how he cupped your jaw, he ducks his head closer. And you let him, your empty hand finding the fabric of his jumper, clutching it.

His kisses you. He kisses you slowly, and your eyes flutter shutter. You pour every bit of love you've felt for him into how you respond, you mouth meeting his. This is much different from when he'd feed you something off his utensils or share a drink with you. You're kissing Mattheo Riddle.

After that, things don't change much. He still kisses the top of your head, still carries your books and lends you his coat.

He's still your Mattheo from fourth year.

But now you're openly called his girlfriend, now he kisses you properly or pulls you into his lap simply to be close to you. And you recognize your love for him as what it is.

[mindfulsreposts]

SICKENINGLY CUTE! Love this Mattheo 💗💳

[bfbkg]

Um I’m obsessed with morning sex bkg so him coming to your place after like an 18 hour patrol in the morning and being so horny and sweaty and needy and just 😫 putting u through the mattress is so perfect

BIG REACTION.

bakugou loves getting a reaction out of you.

what’s coming up: smut, fluff, annoying bkg, established relationship, teasing, p in v, touching your clit, protected sex

this was written when i was taking requests. i am not now. it has been a WHILE since i have written smut.

“where’s the key i made you?”

one of the first things bakugou learnt about you, very early on in your relationship is that you are not a morning person. when he suggested a morning hike, you screwed up your face and refused. maybe an afternoon one? when he would sleep over and play his four am morning alarm loud enough to wake you both up, that was enough for you to consider breaking up with him.

but now you open your front door, complete in your pyjamas which consists of an oversized tshirt with his face on it and the capitalised lettering of DYNAMIGHT right underneath. it’s old merchandise he sold a few years back that you insist is your comfiest tee. you’re barefooted, no slippers which is proof he dragged you from your bed all disjointed and your bonnet lays atop your head lopsided. incredibly cute. but aside from his own snarling face looking back at him, he’s got your pretty face twisted in one too.

“it’s six am, kats.” you huff, opening the door wider to let him stomp in, head to toe in his hero gear.

he’s careful not to track any mud or dirt when he steps onto your doormat. he’s quick to take off his uniform, his dirty armour and multiple layers, all while you stand with your arms crossed, staring at him with sleep in your eyes and creases all over your cheeks. you’re having a halfhearted strop.

it’s at this point he decides what he wants.

“i fuckin’ know. i just did an eighteen hour.” he replies, looking to your pouted lips to how your t-shirt rides up with your crossed arms. you’re always so soft when you’re sleepy. “i left my keys at the agency. i forgot to pick them up.”

he wonders if you’re wearing panties.

bakugou pulls off his black kevlar long sleeve, leaving him in his twaron black tank top. then he sniffs, looks to the hem of your tee, “you wearin’ panties under that?”

you roll your eyes, tutting loud and annoyed. “no ‘good morning baby.’ no, ‘you look so beautiful this morning. sorry for waking you up.’ you’re asking if i have panties on. i should kick you out on the street.”

bakugou’s smirk grows, he can deal with you pissy in the morning. in fact, this is exactly how he wants you. looking at him like he’s dirt on the bottom of your shoe, ready to slap him across his face for being crude.

he’s missed you. he wants you.

you eye his golden biceps. muscled and juicy in his tight thick tank. the bulletproof material hugs his pectorals, every ab and points his nipples. you ignore your name tattooed in cursive on his collarbone, the first and last letters peeking out of either side of his left strap. there’s leftover black eye makeup under his eyebrow and sweet sweat all over his body that makes him look similar to a glazed doughnut. he pull off his trousers last, leaving him in these black shorts he wears underneath. you can see his thighs tense as he lands back on both feet, his stupid thigh tattoo being revealed for a split second before hiding beneath the fabric.

bakugou should be exhausted after working for eighteen hours straight, he usually is. but fuck, if you don’t give him a new lease of life.

“good morning my sweet baby,” he coos, almost mockingly, just enough syrup laced in the words to keep you looking at him, albeit still frowning. he steps in closer to you, fingers gripping your chin, “been thinkin’ about you.”

you look up, head tilted in his grasp expectantly. he should be kissing you, right smack on your lips as a hello, maybe even an apology for waking you up.

instead, you follow his ruby pupils as they flicker over your face. lastly, staring at your lips. not kissing them. you hate how easily your body reacts to his proximity after how long he’s been yours, after him being so annoying.

your heart races when you can feel the heat of his body beaming onto your shorter one. you relax at the touch of his hand, any second now and you’re about to lean into his palm. you hate how even the sweaty smell of working on the streets, lingers loudly and warms you from the centre out. you’re one big reactive nerve for your boyfriend, ready to jump and rub up on him like a cat in heat.

“sorry for wakin’ you from your beauty sleep, princess,” he bends in closer to you, his pretty face right in yours. plucked eyebrows, shaven face, a streak of dirt on his cheek. then he smirks, slow and sexy, “is that enough for you?”

at that, you yank out of his grip, slapping his hand off your face. “why are you being so annoying?” you whine, spinning around to go back to your bedroom. “don’t follow me!”

bakugou’s always been good with following rules but he’s choosing not to today. he bounces after you, right on your tail as you push open the door to your bedroom.

your crumpled white bedsheets, one side lifted over from where you were laying before. there’s a box of condoms on the side of your bed he claimed, left from the last time he was around.

“nuh-uh, i meant it. sorry for wakin’ you. i know you hate mornin’s,” he brushes his lips against your ear when he speaks, his hands finding your waist and he’s not surprised by how you lean into him.

“you need to go shower, stinky,” you mumble with a pout.

despite everything, you’re a fool for his attention.

“i will, i will,” he mumbles, slowly pushing you back onto your bed.

you fall back with ease, head on your pillow and bakugou climbs over on top of you. he’s got one of his knees between yours, hands on either side of your shoulders.

you adjust your hips to wrap your legs around his waist and ignoring his own face on your tee, he looks between your legs.

“ah, so you do have panties on,” he grins, hooking his finger on the fabric at your hip and pinging it to your skin.

you slap his hand, still in a mood, “ouch, idiot. obviously, i do.”

your fiery glare serves as loving warmth and heat at bakugou’s crotch. your eyebrows are furrowed yet your legs tighten around his waist. your fingers fiddle with his clothes, adjusting his tank making sure the straps are equal. you’re fighting against him with that cute little pout. bakugou likes when you’re about to snap, he hardly gets you like this.

“y’gonna let me take ‘em off, beautiful?” he plays, rubbing his thumbs over the fabric of them, your pubic hair peeping out the top.

you pinch his bronzed side, “no. say sorry and greet me properly.”

bakugou grunts a laugh, both hands finding your hips and pulling you to his crotch. he notices how you inhale at the feel of his thickness, blink a few extra times.

“i’m not sorry for wakin’ you up. i wanted to see you,” bakugou knows the rules. happy life, happy wife. agree with everything your girlfriend says. but he’s in the mood to push, play with you a little.

you stifle a yawn beneath your palm at the same time birds chime outside. the morning sun is peeping out below your curtains and in this moment, you’re both levelled with how quiet it is.

“say sorry for forgetting your keys and making me climb out of bed to get you.”

“but then i wouldn’t have you and your little attitude lookin’ like you wanna bite me.”

you flick his forehead, your voice in need of some water this early, “so this is an attempt to seduce me? annoying me out of my panties?”

bakugou shakes his head with a grin, his hair thick with the grime of the day. “i don’t needa seduce you anymore. i bet i could slide right in. i bet you want me to.”

you shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. you refuse to touch him but your legs stay put.

“not true. we aren’t kids in a playground. you don’t have to be mean because you have a crush on me.”

“more than a crush. i love you,” he breathes, ducking into your neck to lay a few kisses down. he kisses a trail up to your jaw, lightly biting down on your skin. the angle pushes his cock between your legs and you fight the urge to grind up into him.

“you haven’t even kissed me hello,” you whine, gritting your teeth. “you’ve been mean to me.”

he lays a kiss to the corner of your lips. “is that all my baby wants? just a kiss?”

he’s got you all softened, he knows it. your eyes turn down at the edges, your lips keep twitching every time his face gets closer, your arms wrap around his neck to keep him close.

you nod slowly, “i’ve been telling you.”

“yeah? sorry, baby. it’s been a long day, f’me,” bakugou grins against your lips before slotting his over yours.

he focuses on your bottom lip. sucking your flesh until it’s tender, feeling all your limbs tighten around him and your hips rub against his cock. you’re so reactive when you’re sleepy, like your body is just acting on need and instinct.

once he gets a long sweet moan out of you, complete with a cute, “kats,” bakugou tilts his head to slink his tongue into your mouth. it’s wet, messy and slow. he works you like you’re a puzzle to unwind, to get you as relaxed as possible so he can fuck you back to sleep. you let him take control, all the fight slowly spilling out of your body.

it’s you that’s needy now, his plan all coming together.

he licks around your mouth. sucks on your tongue in order to draw a few more moans from you. you twitch beneath him, fingers grabbing at his tank top.

“kats, please,” you whine, spit connecting your lips to his.

bakugou kisses it away. he rumbles against you, gives you a grind against your core in return. it gets your back arching, a gasp pulled out of your throat.

“what, baby?” he grunts, so sure his arousal has taken over his face. “say it to me.”

“take off my panties. let me feel you,” you say loud and clear, never shy about your needs. bakugou’s always loved that about you, especially in the early days when he could never spit the words out.

bakugou works quickly, lifting your hips to grab your comfy floral panties. he pulls them up off your legs and he wants to stare at you, needy and ready for him but he’s distracted by something, “might need you to take off the tee too. don’t wanna be lookin’ at my face when i’m lovin’ you.”

you look down at his crumpled face, mid cursing in his hero uniform on your tee. “don’t wanna. it’s cold.” you pull up the fabric, resting it all on your breasts to reveal your stomach. “there.”

bakugou grunts, shoving the fabric under your chin. your breasts rise and fall with every breath and he doesn’t miss the goosebumps that prickle around your nipples, “there we go. i’ll keep you warm.”

you roll your eyes, a smile about to break, “get naked, hero. then i can go back to sleep.”

bakugou chuckles under his breath, unable to take his eyes off your face. the curve of a smile appearing and the squint of your eyes. he’s gonna treat you good, now and forever after.

bakugou pulls off his tank with the skill of a model in a perfume advertisement, sexy and purposeful, giving you enough time to skim down his body.

immediately, your hand flies to a spot just below his armpit, “you have a bruise! where were your sidekicks? did you take them?”

bakugou is quick to shush you, “wasn’t from patrol. was sparrin’ with them.”

“oh,” you whisper, resting your hand over the purplish spot, bakugou adjusts to shuffle out of his shorts and underwear in one go. “they need to go easier on you.”

then you look between his legs. you hope he doesn’t go easy on you.

“no the fuck they don’t. i let them have this one. they didn’t get ninety nine percent of their shots.” he replies, taking his cock in his hand before you can.

bakugou has a gorgeous cock, one you speak about when you’ve had too many cocktails and beg for when he walks out the shower with a towel low on his waist. you’re about to start, pulling him to you by your legs at the sight of his scarred hand looking somewhat small when he gives himself a few pumps.

“okay, honourable senpai. you’re so kind letting your protégés hit you for a confidence boost.”

bakugou smirks, just like he knows how to rile you up, you know how to him. “you sure you wanna talk like this now?”

you smile, ignoring him, “get a condom, you’re already leaking.”

you brush your thumb over his head, swiping his pre and sticking it in your mouth.

“fuck,” bakugou gulps, stretching to grab one from his bedside table. “you win, whatever.”

“yay me.”

it’s exactly what you both wanted. bakugou stuffs a pillow under your back, grips your hips and slides completely into you.

you’re a little tight this morning with no foreplay but it’s a stretch you welcome. bakugou’s already panting, stumbles of swears and even a “get it to-fuckin’-gether,” to himself when you accidentally clench around him.

“h-hold on, baby,” you say, eyes closed as you find the best spot.

he feels so good inside you, thick and hugging, so close to prodding your favourite parts.

“you good?” he flicks his gaze away from where you join to your face, lips parted.

“hm, yeah. there we go,” you only needed a few seconds. “move. move, kats.”

bakugou begins his thrusts short and controlled, testing the waters before he can really go how he wants. you feel incredible, amazing, wet and warm and like the love of his life.

he’s already given you his soul, but during sex is when he offers you more and more.

“i love you. fuckin’ love you so much,” he stutters through pants. every thrust louder with a pat pat pat. “been thinkin’ about you all day. comin’ to you. seein’ your lil face.”

you’re listening to every word but you can’t manage to reply to each comment. “faster, baby. harder.”

you can really smell him now. the smell of the day now becoming sweaty sex. your eyes roll back into your head, your clit pulses in need.

bakugou listens like you’re his north star guiding him home. he plants his knees into your mattress and thrusts. harder, controlled yet always careful of you.

“oh fuck,” you moan, slapping your hands onto his back to pull him in closer to you. his thrusts are strong, every single one sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “fuck, fuck, fuck, kats. oh, i love you. love this so much.”

you’re rambling, unable to think straight and the harder bakugou goes, your headboard begins to rattle against the wall.

you both couldn’t care less.

it’s a bundle of moans, body parts that have no beginning or end. your bonnet is falling off your head, some of bakugou’s left over eye makeup has smudged into a sweaty substance by his eyebrow. it gets too much when he pushes your knees by your temples, getting you into a mating press.

you sneak your pointer and middle fingers between your legs to rub on your clit. you do swift circles, already lubricated by your own come.

every thrust has you inching further up the bed to the point, bakugou stops thrusting for a second to pull you to the centre of the bed.

“pillow. under your head baby,” he reminds you and as soon as you move to grab it, he’s back to those sweet skilful thrusts.

one hand on your clit, another flat on his clenched abdomen.

“you’re so—,” you start, losing yourself as a spark of electricity shakes down your legs. your dam is about to break any second now. “so beautiful.”

bakugou huffs, sweat beads bumbling on his forehead. your breasts jiggle with every motion, your hand falling on his chest with every shake.

“thank you, baby. you’re everythin’ to me. you know that.”

you nod, eyes lazed, “i do. i know.” then your mouth gapes open and you release a long mewl. you grab at his side, back arching as your hand speeds up on your clit. “i’m gonna come. i’m gonna come, baby.”

bakugou keeps up his pace, ignoring the tightness of his lower stomach. you’re always first. “i’ll look after you. come on, baby.”

you fall apart loudly. incoherent mumbles where bakugou can only make out wisps of his name and a screech from the back of your throat that makes him grin. your body jolts up and down your bed throughout it all, your toes going numb as your legs stiffen in the air. the pleasure is immense, a stream of rushing waves slapping against rocks. you want to tell him to slow down but he knows without you saying.

bakugou does slow down and the second he does, he spills into the condom with a grunt deep enough to make you come again. it comes from the pit of his stomach, all the exhaustion and stress of the day falling off his shoulders and into this bed with you.

bakugou pulls the condom off, ties it and throws it in your bin across the room. then does he finally, lay beside you in bed.

“thanks for that. needed it,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder.

both of you lay with your eyes closed, too sweaty to touch the other so you just brush your fingertips against his.

“you’re welcome,” you giggle before turning into a downturned smile, “we need to shower—.”

bakugou pulls up the duvet over your bodies, mentally resigned, “no, we can do that when we wake up and change the sheets.”

“but—,”

“you’re about to fall asleep. let yourself,” he whispers, adjusting your tee down your body and spooning you from behind. he kisses the top of your head, “goodnight, baby.”

“it’s the morning.”

“i said goodnight.”

bakugou looks for your snappy reply back but you’re already gone, fast asleep with a palm under your head.

comments and reblogs are appreciated. no part 2 comments, thanks!

[mindfulsreposts]

💳💳💳

[neteyamthinker]

into your world

pairing aged-up!neteyam x avatar driver-scientist!reader

notes reader is a human avatar driver, captive romance, reverse stockholm syndrome 😭, grumpy neteyam, reader is that captive who is sooo talkative she makes her captors want to free her, smut (p in v, interspecies), oral (f&m receiving)

word count 26.8k

synopsis a botanical expedition with your fellow scientists was supposed to be nothing short of a fun field trip, except that it turned into something entirely unexpected. now, you find yourself held ‘captive’ by the omatikaya. granted, it’s not exactly a brutal imprisonment if you’re enjoying every single minute of it. the only problem is that your enjoyment has become the absolute bane of someone else’s existence—the incredibly grumpy eldest son of toruk makto.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The helicopter’s rotors beat a deafening pulse as it lowers itself down the thick rainforest canopy. You couldn’t believe your eyes, even though this wasn’t your first outing. From the point of view of a scholar who had spent her entire academic life studying everything about this world, you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that you were actually here, studying it firsthand.

As soon as the helicopter touched down with a heavy thud, the two recombinant soldiers you were with jumped out to check the parameters. You unbuckled your harness, stepping out onto the damp, glowing soil and smelling the sweet air but rolling your eyes immediately when your avatar’s heightened sense caught the strong smell of gas from the helicopter behind you. Its rotors were just slowing to a deep thrum that finally allowed you to hear your own voice.

“Look at this,” you looked down at where your boots were sinking slightly into a carpet of bioluminescent moss. “They don’t want to believe Dr. Grace Augustine’s study on how this glowing moss is hardwired to a planet-wide neural network, but that was definitely real.”

Marco unbuckled his harness shortly after, following your lead and stepping out right behind you. “Y/N, please. Let's not start the ’Grace Augustine was an unappreciated prophet’ monologue again,” he groaned, scanning the immediate perimeter nervously. “Her data on the electrochemical transduction between the roots was purely theoretical. The RDA board members back at Bridgehead call it ’tree-hugger mysticism’ for a reason. There’s no hard evidence of a literal collective consciousness.”

“That’s because the RDA board members have the intellectual capacity of a wet sponge, Marco,” you snapped back playfully, already dropping to your knees in the dirt. You dug a trowel into a patch of violet ferns, unbothered by the dampness seeping into your avatar's uniform. “They want everything to be quantifiable in tons of unobtanium. They can't handle the fact that the grass beneath their boots has a higher IQ than their entire legal department.”

Dr. Danel stepped out of the helicopter last, looking down at you with a fond, albeit tired smile. “Now, Y/N, science requires skepticism. Dr. Augustine was brilliant, but mapping a planet-wide neural network through a handful of localized root samples is a massive statistical leap.”

“Oh, come on, Doc!” You looked up, a massive grin breaking across your blue face as your tail flicked with pure excitement. “Look at the signal delay when I do this.”

You tapped the handle of your trowel sharply against a thick, exposed root of a nearby tree. Instantly, a wave of faint cyan light pulsed through the moss, rippling outward into the dark underbelly of the forest like a fallen domino.

“See that?” you pointed, leaning in so close your nose almost touched the dirt. “That is not a localized reflex. That is a synapse firing! If Earth’s neurologists weren't so incredibly arrogant, if they just believed in something beyond what can be explained by their rigid Earth science, they could easily get a PhD in neurology just by studying the damn grass here!”

Marco snorted, shaking his head as he maneuvered his datapad. “Sure. A course about advanced synaptic botany, taught by a blade of grass, would be so loved by Ivy Leaguers.”

You rolled your eyes. “Who cares about what they love? We’re on Pandora!” you said. “And I'm serious!” you insisted, scooping a pristine sample of the glowing soil into a sterile jar. “Back on Earth, human neurologists spend decades slicing up organic brains, trying to figure out how a hundred billion neurons create a thought. Meanwhile, out here, Pandora just grew a giant, macroscopic brain and let us walk around inside it. You don't need a scalpel to study this mind, Marco. You just need an open mind.”

Dr. Danel chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “It’s a beautiful hypothesis, Y/N. But until we can map the exact neurotransmitter equivalents traveling through those roots, the military heads at Bridgehead are going to keep treating this world like a parking lot waiting to happen.”

“Then they're fools,” you muttered, sealing the jar as you looked at the back of a recombinant soldier. “Because you don't fight a brain this big. It’s going to outsmart them just as it did in the First Pandoran War with Jake Sully.”

Before Marco could counter your argument with another dry, skeptical remark, all of you grew silent as one of the recoms threw a fist in the air. Dr. Danel looked at them with a deeply worried frown. “Keep your weapons low, Corporal. We are here strictly for ecological sampling. If we trigger a political incident with the Omatikaya, the General will have our heads.”

“Relax, Doc,” the soldier smirked. “We’re just keeping our eyes peeled for the blues.”

Your head snapped to the side, your large, sensitive ears twitching violently backward, catching the unmistakeable sound of footsteps against the moss. The recom near a foliage clutched his heavy assault rifle and pointed it into a void before shooting in the air.

“Stop! What are you doing!” Dr. Danel shouted over the gunfire.

You heard another sound, sharp and cutting, and the next rhing you saw was a massive arrow tearing through the air, embedding itself directly into the chest of the soldier who fired the shots. He didn't even have time to scream before the sheer force threw his massive body backward into the dirt.

“Ambush!” The other recom roared, instantly raising his rifle and blind-firing into the dense thicket. The thunderous crack of gunfire shattered the peaceful morning.

“Get back in the chopper! Now!” Dr. Danel screamed, struggling to reach out from the open bay door, his blue hands outstretched toward you. “Y/N! Marco!”

Everything dissolved into a chaotic blur and from the branches above, massive shadows dropped with a swift, terrifying grace. You saw a massive Na'vi warrior collided with the uninjured recom, sending both of them crashing into the underbrush.

“Y/N!” Marco shrieked. He tried to jump out of the rising chopper to grab your arm, but he was hauled back when the pilot panicked and pulling the chopper upward to escape the hail of arrows. “No! Y/N!”

You scrambled backward on your hands and knees, your specimen jar shattering against a root. Before your brain could even choose between flight-or-fight, a massive, muscular arm strongly wrapped around your waist. You let out a high-pitched shriek as your body was effortlessly hauled up in the air, your feet kicking.

“Stop moving!” A harsh voice barked in your ear.

You blinked through your panic, looking around the clearing. The second soldier was dead, but the other was severely wounded on the ground, surrounded by three Na'vi warriors who had his arms pinned. And holding your by the arm now was a fiercely built Na'vi with striking golden eyes, a stern jawline, and a beautifully crafted bow slung over his shoulder.

“Okay, first of all, ouch!” you gasped, wiggling your arm against his iron grip. “Second of all, we were literally just collecting dirt! Do you see this? It's a trowel! It’s for digging, not for conquering! We are peaceful academics!”

The man narrowed his eyes at you before his head jerked to the nearest man. “Bind her. And secure the recom. We take them to my father.”

You understood that Na’vi and you panicked. “Bind me?! No need! I will go peacefully. I mean, my companions are gone and I might not survive alone here, honestly speaking,” you rambled. “Tell me, which people are you? See, I know a few clan names, just from what I’ve read, but the most famous one was the Omatikaya. Jake Sully’s clan. Oh, Jake Sully, my fellow. You know him? And Norm Spellman? I know them both. Parasocially, of course—”

The man yanked your arm, forcing you into a march. “Keep moving.”

“Ouch! Be careful with me!” you said, only to shriek again when you were hauled up by your waist and flopped down on the back of a huge direhorse. “Wow, you are so nice!”

The man mounted behind you, his hand gathering your hands so fast you haven’t even able to get a word out and your hands were bounded. You turned your head to look at the man with a glare.

“Oh, this was unnecessary!” you complained.

You felt his large hand on your head, forcing it to turn back to the path and you groaned in annoyance. The march back to the Omatikaya stronghold was an absolute nightmare, but mostly for Neteyam. Not you. For a captive who had just survived a lethal ambush, you possessed a completely infuriating trust and hope for your captors. Your legs were swinging on the direhorse as if it were just an ordinary ride and he had never met someone so talkative.

Once, during the ride, you leaned back toward his body and produced a very inappropriate sound. He suddenly regretted knowing your tongue, because it was torture. You even managed to speak in minimal Na’vi to make sure you were including his warriors to your pep talks.

“You know, you have an impressive wall of muscle. The muscular structure of your quadriceps is fascinating,” you chatted amiably, touching his thigh with your pointing finger and removing it before he could even swat your hand away. “You have a distinct body structure from the other dudes in general. Jesus, what are they feeding you? I bet you’re their strongest warrior. Like Achilles to the Greeks or something. And that stunt in the tree you did? Oh, my femurs would literally turn into chalk. Crack. Just dust.” You nodded at him. “By the way, my name is Y/N. What’s yours? You look like a... Nathan. Do you have a Na'vi equivalent for Nathan?”

He didn’t answer and he hated how curious he was. What’s a Nathan? He’d have to ask Jake about that.

“And you!” You pointed to another warriors. “Wow, the braids. Did you do those yourself or is there a designated hair-stylist in your clan? Because the symmetry is immaculate. Truly. I tried to braid my avatar’s hair three days ago and I looked like an electrocuted direhorse.”

Neteyam kicked his direhorse to a halt, stopping it dead in its tracks. The entire column of warriors halted behind him. You turned to him curiously.

“Uhm, why did we stop? Are we finally here—”

“You do not stop speaking,” Neteyam hissed, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You are a prisoner of war. You should be weeping. You should be praying to your false gods.”

Your jaw dropped. He is speaking your tongue, and his voice is sexy. “Oh, you have a sexy English voice. Did you know that? Just deep and gravelly, so hot,” you flashed him a smile. “And honestly, crying burns calories, and I’m already hungry so—”

With a swift, fed-up motion, Neteyam snatched a thick strip of a woven strip from his satchel. Before you could move, his massive hand put the strip into your mouth, tying it securely behind your head.

“Mmph?!” you protested, your eyes widening.

“If you make another sound, I will tie you to my direhorse backwards,” Neteyam warned, his face inches from yours.

Oh, you are lucky to be so handsome right now, you groaned. You’d claw his face if you could! You rolled your eyes, giving a muffled, sassy huff through your nose, and sat properly.

“There,” he said in a low voice near your ear, sending a weird electricity throughout your body.

You felt a weird tingling between your thighs and looked down as if you could see the biological mechanisms of what’s happening in your avatar body. Your eyes narrowed and your jaw dropped. Oh, absolutely. You didn’t know that an avatar body could feel turned on, too, and that it has mechanisms at all for that. You wondered if it works just like a human body.

When the hunting party finally broke through the dense foliage, you were treated to a view of a massive tree. A hometree. “Whoa... This is your home?” you uttered in a muffled voice.

“What? Can’t understand you,” the man behind you said, and when you turned to him, you saw a satisfied smirk on his face.

You groaned, but the shift in the atmosphere already got your attention. The Hometree was massive, it was insane, and in front of its hollowed out entrance stood a large man whose physique differs from those around him. Your gasp was muffled, but you realized that tha was Jake Sully. Looking every bit the legendary, battle-hardened resistance leader he was painted to be in every news you’ve watched about him.

The man behind you dismounted, lifting you off the direhorse in a swift move just as the other warriors were shoving the wounded Recombinant to the ground.

“Sir. We found them near the eastern borders, accompanied by a Samson. One is dead, the others escaped, and we brought this one alive.”

Jake's eyes immediately locked onto the wounded Recombinant before looking at another warrioe. “Get him treated, we need him alive. He’s an asset.”

You, however, were completely ignoring the political drama. Your eyes had landed squarely on Norm Spellman. Your muffled “Mmmph!” becoming incredibly loud.

Norm, noticing your eyes on him, blinked. “Uh, Neteyam. What's up with that one?”

Neteyam sighed heavily. “She has a sickness of the mouth. She does not stop.” With an irritated jerk of his hand, Neteyam reached out and untied your gag.

The moment the leather cleared your lips, you took a deep breath and gasped, “Norm? Norm Spellman?”

Norm froze. “Uh... yeah?”

From the shadows of a nearby rock, you heard someone saying, “A Norm fan? Wow. That's a first for Pandora.” And when you whipped your heard, you saw a grown white man wearing only a loincloth.

You ignored him and looked back at Norm again. “I’ve read every single one of your published papers on the exoflora of the Western Frontier!” you blurted out, your tail swishing with genuine euphoria. “Your study on how Pandoran trees use electrical pulses to communicate with each other was foundational to my entire master's thesis! I can't believe it! You're a legend!”

Norm’s chest instantly puffed out. He looked over at Jake with a smug, self-satisfied grin. “Oh, a small thing. Wait, are you working for the RDA?”

“Not really working working for them, but I’m a scholar. I only really care about the flora and fauna, nothing else,“ you replied.

Norm shared a meaningful look with Jake who shifted his gaze to you. Before he could even speak, you jumped right at it again.

“And you! You’re like... the ultimate legendary villain back on Earth. They literally have a three-hour documentary about how you single-handedly ruined humanity’s chance for a brand new life in a brand new world. I am so incredibly honored to meet you,” you offered him your bounded hands.

He looked down at it, his hand politely holding your jutting out fingers and shaking it lightly before letting go.

“But honestly, I understand you. Humanity doesn’t really mean humanity, anyway, right? They won’t be transferring everyone. At least not the billions of humans on Earth. Only those who have billions. So, seriously, the battle of the Hallelujah Mountains? Masterclass.”

Jake was utterly dumbfounded. He looked at Neteyam, then back to you, completely unsure of how to process everything you’re saying. Neteyam placed a hand over his face, shaking his head.

“I apologize, Dad. I should have left her in the woods. I will put her in the upper cells.” The man beside you said, and your jaw dropped.

“Dad?!” you echoed, your head snapping to the man and looking at Jake. “You are Jake Sully’s son? No way! That’s why you’re built different, huh—”

“Get that man to the underground cells,” Neteyam’s deep voice cut your rambling off, and you saw the warriors drag the Recom by his shirt. “And you, if you don’t shut up, I will put you underground, too.”

“Is that a euphemism for burying alive? If so, then no, you don’t need to do that! I will shut up, now,” you nodded at him with a serious look on your face.

“Good,” he replied, his large hand wrapping at your forearm and started dragging you into the Hometree.

The hollowed-out trunk spans upwards and an intricate winding ramp was so beautiful, you couldn't wrap your head around the fact that it was definitely made by hands. The upper cells were situated three levels up and your cell was a naturally hollowed-out alcove with thick, curling wooden bars to close off the entrance.

Neteyam removed your bindings, his eyes narrowed as he watched you with deep suspicion, gently pushing you inside. To you, it didn't look like a jail cell. It looked like something out of a fairytale. There was even a window-like hole to let in air which also allows you to look at the surrounding verdant bush outside.

“This is gorgeous,” you muttered, running your fingers along the smooth, glowing moss on the root wall. “It’s like living inside a luxury treehouse. It reminds me of those storybook rabbits!”

You turned to him when you heard the door close. You put a hand on your hip, watching him secure it by a heavy leather latch on the outside. Your eyes narrowed.

“No need for that though, even if I wanted to run away, I wouldn’t have known how to go back to Bridgehead.” you said, sitting on the woven hammock, removing your boots.

He stood outside the bars, watching you do a yoga easy sit on the hammock.

“Neteyam, right?” you asked, putting your palms together. His eyes dropped to your hands, his forehead creasing. “Quick question. The Recombinant soldier. Is he going to live? Because from a scholarly standpoint, seeing how his synthetic Na’vi biology handles physical trauma under stress is a once-in-a-lifetime research opportunity for me—”

You were cut off when he simply turned on his heel and walked away into the shadows of the upper tunnels. Your lips parted, pointing a finger to where he disappeared. You stood up, walking to the bars.

“Wow! The nerve of this man!” you yelled after him, throwing your hands up. “A simple ‘I don't know,’ would have sufficed! Oh, you rude, rude man! Super rude!”

You turned around, letting out an annoyed sigh, and banged a closed fist against the wooden bars. The sounds of footsteps nearby reminded you that you weren't alone, though, because standing a few paces away were two young warriors assigned to guard duty. They were gripping their spears tightly, looking all fierce and imposing.

You smirked. Target acquired.

“Hey guys,” you said in Na’vi, sliding down the bars until you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking up at them through the gaps. “So, since you’re going to be my best friends for the foreseeable future, we might as well chat. I’m Y/N. What are your names?”

The guards exchanged a tense glance. The taller one muttered something in rapid Na'vi to his companion.

“Oh, I caught that! You don’t need to be afraid. Surely, they won’t punish you for talking? Unless the Olo’eyktan of Frown Town called Neteyam will get mad about that,” you said. Your accent was a little clunky, but your vocabulary was shockingly vast. “My grammar is bad, but I have a big heart. I’m going to tell you right here, right now that I do not like the RDA. They are... how do you say... greedy parasites who smell like burning gasoline?”

The shorter guard's mouth twitched. He quickly bit his lower lip to hide a smile.

“Seriously!” you pressed on, leaning your cheek against the wood. “I am a scholar! I do not support their violence and destruction of your world.”

A snort escaped the taller guard. He quickly cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the dam had broken.

“You... speak our tongue,” the shorter one said, stepping a bit closer. “Though you sound like a seven-year-old who isn’t sure of her words.”

“I'm doing my best here,” you laughed, your tail flicking playfully behind you. “What's your name, short-and-judgmental?”

“I am Si’an,” he said, a reluctant grin breaking across his face. “And this is Aleto.”

You nodded. “Nice names. Does it mean anything?” you curiously asked and they moved closer to properly chat with you.

When it was time to sleep, you pulled the soft blanket Aleto had smuggled for you up to your chin. You closed your eyes, the bioluminescent glow of the walls fading into a flash of sterile, blinding white light. A harsh hiss echoed in your ears as the pressurized seal of the link pod broke, replacing the warm, rich air outside by the synthetic, recycled chill of Bridgehead’s tech-bay.

You coughed slightly as your throat adjusted to the atmosphere, holding onto something so you could sit up. There was a crowd of tech-assistants and scientists around you, at forefront being Dr. Danel and Marco, their faces pale. Behind them, standing like a dark cloud, was the military division head, General Ardmore's deputy, alongside a couple of armed security guards.

“Y/N! Shit! Oh, thank goodness,” Marco blurted out, helping you up. “We thought you were dead! The chopper pilot said the whole clearing was crawling with hostiles!”

“Where is your avatar?” Dr. Danel asked, his voice worried as he checked your vitals monitor. “Is the link stable? What happened?”

You swung your legs over the edge of the pod, looking around the crowded lab and taking a deep breath. You delivered the news with complete, deadpan gravity.

“I’m in jail.”

Their faces looked like a cluster of colorful balloons had just been violently popped. The entire room went dead silent.

“Jail?” Dr. Danel echoed, his jaw dropping. “The Na'vi have... a penal system?”

You shook your head. “No, no. It’s more of like a dungeon, honestly,” you lied, your eyes sliding over to the military official who was now pushing his way through the scientists.

The soldier leaned over your pod. “Where is Corporal Jeong? The Recom soldier who was taken with you.”

You immediately schooled your face into an expression of vacant, traumatized innocence. You shook your head slowly. “I don't know, sir. The moment the Na’vis dropped from the trees, everything went completely sideways. I was blindfolded almost immediately. I couldn't see a thing.”

“Did you catch on to who got you? Which clan? Where their base of operations is?” the commander pressed, his eyes narrowing

You glanced briefly at Dr. Danel before looking back at the officer, widening your eyes. “N-No. Like I said, I was blindfolded the entire time and the next thing I know, I’m at the bottom of a dark, wooden hole. I haven't seen a single tactical layout.”

The commander gave a tight, deeply unsatisfied nod. “If they bring you out for interrogation, or if you catch any geographical markers through the link, you notify us immediately. Understood? You are our eyes inside the enemy's perimeter.”

“Understood, sir,” you lied flawlessly.

The moment the military detail cleared out, Dr. Danel and Marco practically dragged you by your arms into the break room, giving you a bottle of water and a heated bowl of food.

“Alright, what’s really going on?” Marco hissed, handing you a cup of hot coffee now. “Was that true? You don’t know where you are?”

You took a slow sip of your coffee, keeping your mouth firmly shut. You had made a decision the moment Neteyam dragged you into that spectacular tree trunk. If the RDA found out you were sitting in the literal heart of the Pandoran resistance, they would turn your link pod into a military tracking beacon. They would use your eyes to map out a strike zone and to kill Jake Sully, once and for all.

You were a scientist of life, not an asset for a corporate war machine. Your sole purpose now was to earn the trust of the Omatikaya, to get them to open that wooden door so you could study the magnificent, interconnected mind of this world.

“It’s true,” you said quietly, looking Marco dead in the eye. “And if I know anything, I'm not telling the military a damn thing. I am here to continue my PhD. I am not a spy.”

Dr. Danel let out a long, heavy sigh, but to your surprise, a small, proud smile touched his lips. “Good. Keep it that way. If the General's office smells even a whiff, they will take over your life completely. Just like what they tried to do with Jake Sully.”

“Just be careful, Y/N,” Marco warned, though he looked relieved even as he rolled his eyes. “Wherever you are.”

Because of the immense pressure, you became incredibly strict with your schedule. You spent your human hours locked in the Bridgehead labs, meticulously analyzing the soil samples you had managed to bring back, utilizing the high-tech RDA equipment to catalog data before swiftly diving back into the link pod. You couldn't afford to waste time. Every hour your avatar slept was an hour you could be earning the trust of the Omatikaya.

The next morning, Si’an and Aleto were joined by another young hunter and by noon, you had taught them the universal, high-stakes psychological thriller known as Rock, Paper, Scissors.

“No, Aleto, listen,” you explained patiently, your face pressed against the gap in the wooden bars. “The stone smashes the scissors. The scissors cut the paper. The paper covers the stone. It is a cycle of inevitable destruction.”

“But why does paper defeat stone?” Tseru asked, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. “A stone can tear through a leaf easily.”

“It blankets the stone, Tseru! It smothers its power!” you argued dramatically, throwing your hands up. “Don’t question the ancient lore of Earth. Now, on three. Rock, paper, scissors... shoot!”

You thrust out a flat hand for paper. Aleto threw out two fingers for scissors. He let out a triumphant, booming warrior cry that echoed through the upper canopy of Hometree, thrusting his spear into the air. “I have cut your paper!”

“Ah, a worthy adversary,” you sighed, shaking your head. “You win this round. Now hand over that blue fruit you’re hiding behind your back.”

As Aleto happily passed the sweet treat through the bars, you felt a familiar cue at the back of your consciousness, the digital tether of the link gently pulling you back for a scheduled maintenance cycle.

“Alright, boys, the link is pulling me back for a bit,” you warned them, shifting back onto your woven hammock and pulling up a blanket to your chin. “Don't miss me too much. Practice your tactics.”

“We will guard your cell, Y/N,” Si'an promised solemnly, puffing out his chest.

You spent the rest of the day working in the lab, letting the military guards see you conscious in your human form to show them that there was indeed nothing you could do with your avatar confined in a dungeon somewhere none of you know. You keep up at this, living your double lives seamlessly.

By week two, your cell had ceased to be a prison. It had officially become the hottest social club at Hometree. Word of the many Terran games you were teaching your guards had spread through the adolescent hunter ranks like wildfire. One day, when you linked back into your avatar form, the cell was practically buzzing.

You opened your eyes not just to the usual thrre guards, but seven young warriors huddled outside your bars, arguing heatedly over their hand positions.

“No! Tseru is cheating! His hand was a stone, but then he changed it to paper when he saw my scissors!” Si'an shouted, his tail thrashing in high-stakes frustration.

“I did not! The stone simply unfolded due to the wind!” Tseru countered defensively.

You sat up on your hammock, stretching your long blue arms, a massive grin breaking across your face. “Well, well, well. Look at this. A regular tournament of champions.”

The warriors instantly turned to you, their faces lighting up. “Y/N! You are awake!” Aleto cheered, rushing to the bars. “Teach us another. The finger-game has caused three arguments and Tseru owes me his favorite hunting knife.”

“Alright, alright, settle down,” you laughed, sliding off the hammock and sitting cross-legged at the gate. “Since you guys like tactical competition, let me introduce you to a little thing called Charades.”

For the next two hours, the upper cells of Hometree became a theater of absolute, unadulterated chaos. You had fierce, deadly Omatikaya warriors, men who could take down a large Samson with a single arrow, frantically flailing their arms, hopping on one foot, and mimicking the movements of various forest creatures while the others screamed guesses at the top of their lungs.

“An ikran! No, a sturmbeest! Why are you shaking your hips like that, Aleto? Is it a sick direhorse?!”

“It is a viperwolf catching a bug!” Aleto yelled, exasperated, collapsing against the wooden bars while you wiped tears of laughter from your eyes.

“No, no, he was clearly a very dramatic prolemuris,” you corrected, leaning your head against the bars. “You guys are terrible at this. I love it.”

Si’an smiled warmly, handing you a beautifully carved wooden cup filled with sweet water. “The sky people must have a very strange world if this is how you spend your days. Do you not have forests to run through?”

Your smile softened, your tail giving a quiet, reflective twitch. “We used to, Si’an. Earth was a beautiful planet once. Green, vibrant, full of life. But humans... Well, humans thought a concrete jungle was better. We built too many metal boxes, burned too much black oil, and we choked Terran.”

And that’s what this world needed protection from. Humans don’t know when to stop.

The young warriors fell silent and you sighed, waving a dismissive hand, and telling them about reality television and explained the concept of a cat instead. You were completely unbothered by your captive status and was endlessly entertained by the warriors guarding your cell. They brought you the softest bedding, the sweetest fruits, and would literally sit in front of your cell to talk to you about Pandora and your life back on Earth.

Meanwhile, Neteyam has been having terrible days.

It started at the training grounds. He had been trying to instruct the younger hunters on aerial tracking maneuvers, only to find half of his squad huddled in a circle, giggling. When he demanded to know what was so amusing, one of them had blurted out, “Neteyam, did you know that on Terran, they have tiny glowing boxes where people pretend to be animals for currency?”

He had traced the source of this sudden intellectual corruption directly back to your cell.

Neteyam marched down pathways leading to the cells and as he rounded the corner, his lips parted. There were no less than eight warriors sitting in a semi-circle outside your bars. You were leading them in a clumsy, boisterous rendition of an unfamiliar song, conducting them with a piece of kindling wood.

“What is this gathering?”

The deep, gravelly, instantly recognizable voice cut through the warm atmosphere. The warriors froze. Slowly, every single head turned to find Neteyam standing a few paces away. You pressed your head against the bars, trying to see him. You saw him with his arms crossed over his broad, muscular chest and his golden eyes were flashing with thunderous fury.

You blinked, totally unbothered, and offered him a cheery wave. “Hi, Commander! Perfect timing. Grab a spot on the floor, Aleto is up next and—”

“Everyone, OUT!” Neteyam roared.

The warriors scattered like wood-sprites caught in a flash of lightning. Spears were grabbed, apologies were muttered, and within three seconds, the corridor was empty, leaving only Neteyam standing outside the bars, his chest heaving with irritation.

You blew a loose strand of hair out of your eyes, leaning against the bars with a heavy pout as you looked up at him. “Wow. You really know how to kill a vibe, Neteyam. We were right at the chorus.”

“You are a plague,” Neteyam hissed, stepping right in front of you, his golden eyes blazing down at you. “You are a captive of the Omatikaya, yet you have turned my warriors into simpletons. They speak of stupid games and stupid animals—”

“Oi, communication bridges the gap between warring factions!” you argued, crossing your arms. “Besides, your warriors were stressed. A little cultural exchange is good for moral support. You should try it sometime. You look like you haven't smiled since the turn of the century.”

“Stop,” he commanded. “You will stop distracting them. You will sit in the dark, and you will be quiet. You are an enemy.”

You stared at him, your playful demeanor vanishing, replaced by a sharp, stubborn glint in your eyes. “An enemy? I haven't done a single thing to hurt your people. But fine. If you want a dangerous, silent prisoner so badly... you got it.”

You crossed your arm and hissed like a kitten, showing him your fangs before you turned your back on him. His head reared back a little, watching you lie on your sleeping mat in the furthest corner of the cell, and went completely still. His forehead creased at how his chest fluttered, making him almost smile for whatever reason.

But he caught himself immediately, pushing against the wooden bars and walking away.

For two full days, you did not say a single word. But that was simply because you didn’t link back that much to yout avatar so you won’t have to suffer. When Ateyo brought you fresh fish and roasted fruits, you didn't even turn back. You remained curled in a tight ball, staring blankly at the root wall. You didn't eat. You didn't drink. In your avatar form of course, because as a human, you were eating good.

Because of this, the warriors were in a state of absolute crisis. They were so dramatic about it at the training grounds, you’d think they’d lost their grandmother, but when Neteyam tried to eavesdropped, it was just them talking about how you look so weak and how you’re probably suffering from the fact that you’re not eating and socializing.

“The poor girl is fading,” one of them sighed.

“Is there something we can do to put a stop to Neteyam’s cruelty toward her?”

Cruelty? Neteyam protested in his mind. When he told you to stop talking to his warriors days ago, he didn’t expect you would go on a hunger strike! Now, his warriors are turning against him in silent protest for his cruelty toward you. You could literally create your own army of warriors who would do your bidding for you, and that’s what’s clear to him.

He went to your cell by nightfall, seeing you still curled up to your mat. “Hey,” he called out, waiting for you to move but you didn’t. His eyes narrowed, unfastening the lock.

He went inside, walking toward your mat and putting a hand over your arm to nudge you. Your dead weight surprised him, your body getting carried by his nudge. His heart fell to his stomach, his eyes widening a little as he gently shook you.

“Hey,“ he nudged but to no avail. “Fuck.” he whispered, squeezing your arm.

You’re warm and your flesh isn’t rigid, but what’s with the dead weight? He scooped you into his arms, walking out of the cell. Your warrior friends who saw him locked in right away when they saw you in his arms as he was walking down the pathway.

“Oh, Great Mother, what happened to her?” Aleto asked.

“I knew it, she’s going to die anytime soon because of this!” Si’an said with a shaky voice, both of them following Neteyam as he stepped up the winding ramp to the healing pavilion.

“What’s going on?” Another warrior asked when they passed by.

By the time they reached the pavillion, there were at least nine warriors tailing him, all of them worried. He turned to them before he went inside though, snarling, “Go back to your posts.”

They reluctantly scrambled away, but still looking back to see what they could before he entered the pavilion. Kiri looked up as soon as he did, her brows furrowed. “What happened?”

“She’s not... waking up. She refused to eat for days and now, she’s just... this,” he said, pulling your body closer to his body.

“Put her down there,“ she gestured on a mat. “Is she the avatar brought in weeks ago?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

Kiri checked your vitals. “You’ll have to call Dad, we’ll ask him,” she said.

Neteyam did. While Jake already knew that it was just a case of the driver not linking to the avatar, his son’s uncharacteristic panicking is suddenly too entertaining to not witness further. He stood in the pavillion, watching Kiri show him how dead you are.

Once Jake assured him that your avatar body was perfectly healthy but simply throwing a massive, stubborn tantrum, Neteyam took matters into his own hands. He brought in a tray of food in the pavilion and waited for you to wake up, if you will. And you did. Your eyes peeled open suddenly, your head swiveling until your eyes landed on the man sitting a few feet away.

“Great. She’s awake,” he says. “And the food’s still hot. Eat,” he ordered flatly.

“Whoa, he goes straight to business,” you mumbled but you didn’t move.

Neteyam crouched down, his shadow looming over your form. “Y/N. Stop this foolishness. Do not do this to punish me,” he said in a deep voice.

You rolled on your stomach. “I am not punishing you!” you said in a small voice, giggling.

Your face was noticeably pale, and your lips were dry, it was all starting to tug at Neteyam’s heartstrings until a wicked spark flared on your face. He threw his head back, knowing you’re about to say something crazy again.

“But do you feel punished?” you asked, smirking at him. “Is that why you came crawling back for me to forgive you?”

Neteyam clenched his jaw so hard a muscle leaped in his cheek. “I just don’t want your death on my hands,” he said.

You pouted. “You’re sooo concerned, it really flatters me,“ you teased, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, leaning dangerously close to his space.

Neteyam stood up so fast he nearly hit his head on the low ceiling root. “You are insufferable,” he growled, turning on his heel and storming out of the tent.

You burst into a loud, echoing laugh that followed him all the way to the pathways. He spinned on his heels again, barging back into the tent and seeing you dragging the tray to eat.

“Good. Eat, because I’m bringing you back to your cell,” he said.

You groaned, your feet kicking in protest. “This isn’t my new room? I could really get cozy in here!” your fingers grabbed a cut up roasted meat and brought it to your mouth.

“This is the healing pavilion,” he replied seriously, standing rigidly by the entrance.

“Can I request something?” you asked. “I seriously need an outfit change and a bath. You know, back on Earth, prisoners have rights. They get bath time and outfit changes—”

“I’ll take care of that,” he said before walking away.

You narrowed your eyes. “So rude,” you smirked, munching on the meat.

He returned just as you were cleaning your leaf off, carrying a bundle of soft, woven fabrics. His eyes tracked how you were reclining on the mat, your long legs stretched out and your upper body propped on one elbow. You licked your fingers off, smiling at him and his lips pulled back in what looked like a snarl before he dropped the fabrics on a nearby low table.

“Here.“

You moved to inspect it, blinking as you realized that they were going to complete your whole Na’vi experience. There was a yellow beaded top and a soft purple loincloth.

“You really made sure I will look like a stunner with my new outfit. I love these,” you smirked.

Neteyam let out a low, visceral groan of pure regret. “If you do not shut your mouth, I will throw you back to your cell without the bath.”

You moaned, standing up as you held the fabrics under your arm. “These threats are starting to sound like flirting to me, Commander, so maybe pipe down.” You widened your eyes at him.

He didn’t respond but you saw how his whole face protested against that, making you chuckle as he led you down the pathway toward the winding ramp. You waved a hand to the warriors you know, seeing them perk up knowing that you’re alright.

The walk to the lower root pools was a masterclass in psychological warfare. For Neteyam, at least. You were unbounded, walking freely beside him, and you did not let up for a single second.

“You know, for a high-ranking commander, you walk very stiffly,” you noted, tilting your head as you matched his long strides. “Are all Na’vi men this tense, or is it just the specialized training for the grumpy ones?”

Neteyam stared straight ahead. “I am tense because you are currently walking next to me instead of being in jail.”

“Ouch,” you gasped, placing a dramatic hand over your chest. “But seriously, look at the view! Everything is gorgeous today. Don’t you ever just want to stop and smell the flowers, Neteyam?”

“No. It’s my everyday view.”

“What about a song? Do you enjoy songs—”

“We’re getting closer to the pools,” he cut you off, his voice dropping an octave as he finally snapped his gaze toward you. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll change my mind and really bring you back to your cell without bath privileges.”

You grinned, entirely unfazed. “See? Look at us, communicating! Building a rapport! This is just great!” You raised both hands.

By the time you reached the secluded lower root pools, Neteyam looked like a man who had survived a war but wasn’t sure he’d survive the peace. The area was beautiful and the sunlight provides a dappled glow over a deep natural basin. Neteyam stopped at the edge of the clearing, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You have ten minutes. I will be standing right here. Face the other way, do your business, and do not make a sound.”

“Ten minutes? For a bath and an outfit change?” you scoffed. “I am an Earth girl, Neteyam. I need a longer time than that! Plus, I have to figure out how to put this loincloth on without accidentally flashing the entire clan.”

Neteyam’s ears twitched violently. He immediately turned his back to you, facing the pathway. “You have nine minutes now. Start scrubbing.”

You chuckled, stepping down into the warm, soothing water. The relief was instant, washing away the grime and stiffness of your avatar’s dramatic captive activity. You splashed around a bit, entirely on purpose, listening to the sharp, annoyed sigh that escaped Neteyam’s lips every time a droplet hit the bank near his feet.

“Neteyam...” you called out.

“What?” he grumbled, refusing to turn around.

“How do you guys get your hair so shiny? Is it a specific leaf? Give me the secrets.”

“I am not giving you hair care advice. Five minutes.”

“Boo. Selfish,” you teased, doing a thumbs down behind his back.

After thoroughly rinsing off and using the saps he gave you, you stepped out of the pool, shivering slightly as the cool breeze hit your damp skin. You grabbed the woven fabrics and began the highly ungraceful process of figuring it out.

The beaded top was simple enough, but the purple loincloth presented a serious problem. “Neteyam...” you called again. “We have a tactical error.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! But this loincloth did. Are there instructions for this? Because right now, if I tie this the way I think I'm supposed to, one strong gust of wind is going to ruin your day.”

Neteyam pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders dropping in sheer exhaustion. “It is a standard wrap.”

“Easy for you to say, you’ve been wearing them your whole life! Come here and help me. I promise I won't bite. Unless you want me to...” You made him hear the clank of your teeth biting.

He spun around, a snarl ready on his lips, but as soon as he saw you, he froze. You were holding the fabric securely against your waist, looking thoroughly confused... and so adorable with the little pout that a hot flush creeped up the back of his neck.

Marching over to you with determined steps, he took the ends of the fabric from your hands. You grinned and clapped without a sound, while he focused entirely on the knot, trying to ignore the fact that he was so close to you that some droplets from your hair is on his arm.

“You’re actually really good at this,” you spoke, breaking the moment of tensed silence. “This should be your side hustle. Personal stylist to the prisoners.”

Neteyam pulled the knot tight, a little harder than necessary, making you huff. He stepped back instantly, his expression locking back into a stern mask, though his ears were still pointing out to the sides in clear fluster.

“It is done,” he said flatly, gesturing toward. “Now, back to the cell.”

You looked down at yourself. The yellow beads and vibrant purple looking surprisingly striking on you. You gave him a little twirl and he hated that he liked how you look like in a traditional Na’vi clothes a little too much.

“Honestly? 10 out of 10. I look fantastic,” you declared, confidently walking past him and taking the lead on the path back. “You can walk behind me now, Commander. I know you want to admire your handywork.”

Neteyam let out a sound that was half-growl, half-laugh, shaking his head as he followed you. “May Eywa give me strength,” he whispered.

“She won’t!” you called back cheerfully over your shoulder.

As you two walked up, you spotted Tseru from a distance and he immediately smiled at you. You raised your arm, making a huge wave of your hand, almost walking up to him until you felt Neteyam’s hand on your elbow.

“Another thing. From now on, the guard rotation is canceled. The warriors are completely forbidden from speaking to you. You distract them.”

You gasped dramatically, “You can’t just cut my social life off! Isolation can kill!“ you reasoned, but he already started walking. A slow, Cheshire-cat grin spread across your face as you jogged up behind him, playfully pointing a finger at his back. “But oh, I know this game!”

He stopped abruptly, making you jump. “What game?”

You laughed, your voice echoing in the cavern. “You want me all to yourself?”

He blinked. You saw his ears pin back against his head, like a cat backed in a corner, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve heard that my games are fun and you’re curious, and you—”

He sighed heavily, cutting you off. “Jail.”

He grabbed your wrist and marched down the pathway, bringing you back to your cell. You bounced on your heels, probably the happiest prisoner he’s ever going to see. He pulled the bars shut, and the absolute moment his back was turned and he was out of your sight, Neteyam closed his eyes, a breathless, helpless laugh bubbling up in his chest that he had to bite his own lip to suppress.

A seasoned Omatikaya warrior, not one of your minions, was standing a few paces away, guarding the main thoroughfare, looking at Neteyam with a highly raised eyebrow.

Neteyam instantly wiped the smile from his face, jerking his head toward the man with an authoritative air.

“Don't talk to her.”

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

The hum of the tech-bay at Bridgehead felt colder than usual as you slid out of the link pod. You didn't even have time to shake off your phantom tail before a shadow fell over your pod.

It was the same grumpy military official from before. He at least waited for you to sit on your swivel chair and drink water before he spoke. “Over a month in a hole and you’re telling me you still haven’t heard a single name? No geographical markers? No anything?”

You blinked up at him, your expression a masterclass in exhausted trauma. “Sir, with all due respect, I am a scientist, not a human GPS. They keep me underground. It’s dark. The only thing I hear is the occasional terrifying growl of whatever alien megafauna they have guarding the perimeter. I am already doing my best to keep a billion-dollar worth of avatar body alive.”

The commander sneered, clearly unsatisfied, but muttered a warning about “withholding operational data” before storming out of the tech-bay.

Once the doors hissed shut, Dr. Danel stepped forward, waving the rest of the lab staff away until it was just you, him, and Marco by the centrifuge station. “Kid. Look at me. You’re a brilliant scholar, but you are a terrible liar to people who actually know you. Where are you really?”

You glanced at the security cameras, then sighed, leaning against the steel counter. “The Omatikaya,” you mouthed subtly, letting out as little voice as possible.

Marco choked on his coffee. “That clan? As in Jake Sully’s clan? Jesus. If the military finds out—”

“They won’t,” you cut him off, your voice fierce and resolute. “Because I’m not telling them. Doc, you should see it. They live inside a massive, perfectly engineered ecosystem. We know they are intelligent, but the entire culture is a blueprint for planetary harmony. If I give the military even a hint of where I am, they’ll bring down Samsons and carpet-bomb the entire valley on the virtue of that useless Recom being held captive.”

Dr. Danel stared at you for a long, heavy moment. Slowly, the tension left his shoulders, and he placed a comforting hand on your arm. “I’m proud of you, kid,” he says. “We hold no loyalties to a corporate flag, our only loyalty is to life itself. I’ll see what I can do on the administrative side to push the investors to allow us to have an independent outpost. We need to get out from under the military’s thumb.”

You nodded, sighing heavily. When you linked back to your avatar the next day, you expected to wake up to the now boring and miserable jail with warriors who refuse to talk. Instead, your eyes cracked open to find the soft, dappled light of what looked like a longhouse.

Even more surprising? Norm Spellman was hovering over you, alongside Jake Sully, who was holding a piece of salvaged RDA technology—a damaged emulation device that had been recovered from a scouting raid.

“Finally,” Norm said, glancing at Jake before he looked down at you. “I’m wondering if you know this?”

You squinted, pushing yourself up into a sitting position on your mat. “An emulation device?” you answered.

“What kind? I mean, this was in a secured brief case. I know it is something very important, but this is a new-generation RDA tech, and we’ve been trying to figured it out. You’re the last resort.”

“That’s a new generation firmware emulator. They use these in the field to spoof localized military frequencies. Basically, it mimics the digital signature of a standard SecOps patrol chopper or armored vehicle so the automated perimeter turrets and scout drones don’t accidentally fire on them,” you said, your voice entirely devoid of any corporate loyalty.

​Norm’s jaw dropped. He exchanged a wide-eyed look with Jake. “This is great,” he whispered.

You nodded and yawned, “It is.”

“You know how this works?” Norm followed up and you shrugged.

“Well, you know, before I was thrown into this lovely root cell, I spent months sharing a workspace with the Bridgehead engineers. Let’s just say I know exactly how this new telemetry hardware works. In theory. The tech guys love to brag when they're bored. I know the whole architecture of this thing. If we can manipulate this, you could practically walk a strike team right past their automated scanners. It would be great for you.”

​Jake tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Can you crack it? Can you make it work for us?”

You yawned, “I’d love to but I’m in this cell and I don’t have any connection to the outside world, some people would have died—”

“I’ll decree your freedom,” Jake cut you off.

You looked at Norm, “Give me a stylus and I’ll look at the diagnostic layer, I can bypass the standard encryption using an open backdoor. The RDA is cheap. They never rewrite the core code on their hardware.”

​Within fifteen minutes of clicking, tapping, and completely exploiting a loophole, the datapad beeped, its interface cascading into a clean, unencrypted stream of decoded frequencies.

“We can work on this, Norm,” you said.

“And you’re free. You’re a guest of the Omatikaya now.”

​“I’m free?!” you gasped, a genuine grin breaking across your face.

By midday, you were officially allowed a free woman, given a small, cozy kelku, and granted permission to move about as free as a bird.

Which brought you to your favorite activity: teasing Neteyam.

You spotted him near the lower training ground, checking the tension on his bowstring. You practically bounded over to him, your tail swishing with obnoxious joy.

“Guess who’s a free woman, Commander!” you sang out, sliding into his peripheral vision and waving your hands excitedly. “I’m free! Officially released. No more jail time for this girl. Aren’t you just thrilled?”

Neteyam’s face locked into a deadpan mask. “Considering that I was the one who put you in jail, I couldn’t have been more thrilled,” he answered.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Neteyam,” you teased, leaning down to peer up into his golden eyes. “I know you’re secretly ecstatic that you don't have to break your own rule just to come see me anymore.”

He threw his head back, annoyed but still so handsome. “Do you not have chores to do? Surely, my father freed a high-risk prisoner for an important reason. Members of this clan work. They do not spend their days loitering and harassing warriors.”

“Nope, no chores yet. I’m still in my onboarding phase,” you chuckled, following him step for step as he tried to back away. “Besides, I think my new official job should be your personal shadow. You know, to make sure you don't miss me too much.”

He let out a sharp breath, but before he could snap back, Jake Sully walked by, seeing his son with you. He perked up, making his way to the two of you.

“Neteyam, son,” he clapped a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. “Y/N is going to be doing an important work with Norm and Max at the human facilities...“ Jake told him.

Neteyam was still looking at you as Jake speaks so you grinned at him. “Important work,” you mouthed, winking.

“...She doesn’t know her way there and we can’t trust that she will live when left unattended outside Hometree, so you’re on guard duty. Every day. You told me yourself that she has a habit of forming her own personal army, so I want an experienced commander keeping an eye on her.”

Neteyam’s ears pinned straight back. He looked at his father in absolute betrayal. “You can’t do this to me...”

“Get to work, son,“ Jake smirked, walking away.

You turned to Neteyam, flashing a brilliant, wide-eyed grin. “Looks like you’re my personal shadow instead. Do you see how me and Eywa are literally like this?” you intertwined your index and middle finger together in front of his face.

He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath out of his nose. The distant human research facility is located a few kilometers away through a dense jungle. While you’d like to think that you can actually traverse this alone, some company from a very grumpy warrior is a great thing for a menace like you.

Neteyam marched ahead, his posture so rigid you were convinced a single well-placed twig could snap his spine. His long tail gave tight, irritable twitches every time your bare feet loudly crunched a leaf behind him.

“Neteyam...” you called out and he snapped his head at you with a raised brow, not breaking his stride. “How can you walk like that?”

“Like what?“ he asked.

“I mean, you walk like you’re trying to avoid stepping on bugs,” you said cheerfully, jogging a few steps to catch up to his massive stride. “But it’s impressive! This specialized training is what made it possible for you guys to ambush us and that’s just great, you really showed those Recoms what they are missing—”

“Are you happy you got ambushed and now you’re here as a captive?” he asked.

“I guess so. Bridgehead isn’t really the best place for this,” you twirled. “I deserve this freedom, don’t you think? To plant my feet on this soil, to smell the flowers, to talk to the people, to smell this sweet air—”

“I get it the first time,” he cut you off. “You go back to your human body at Bridgehead, anyway, right?”

“Yes, but I didn’t tell them anything, I swear,” you told him, nodding. “They don’t know where I am.” You made a zipping motion on your lips.

His gaze dropped down on your mouth and his forehead creased. “Why did you do that?” he asked.

You beamed, “Well, err, there’s this thing humans call as zipper. It closes an opening,“ you told him. “So when someone does that, it means their mouth is zipped. They are never going to talk.”

His head tilted, “Well, can you do that? Zip?” he did the motion on his lips.

Your lips pursed, nodding and excited that he’s keeping up. “Yes,” you mouth.

His face visibly smooths over, pointing at the path. “Great. Now, let’s go.”

The daily walks to the human research facility quickly became the highlight of your double life. You link back to your avatar for the important work you do with Norm and Max, but you still spend a significant time in your human body to work on your own study and to ward off military suspicions.

At first, if Neteyam isn’t grumpy, he’s silent. But you were relentless. You ranted about the RDA, you asked him deep theological questions about Eywa, and you taught him incredibly bad Earth puns. Slowly, beautifully, the reverse Stockholm syndrome claimed its highest-ranking victim.

“You know, Neteyam,” you trotted backwards in front of him, looking up at his towering frame with a playful smirk. “I’ve noticed you haven't threatened to tie me to a direhorse backwards in like two weeks. Are you getting soft on me? Am I finally breaking through that thick, grumpy exterior?”

Neteyam stopped walking. The dappled sunlight hitting his sharp jawline and broad shoulders. “You think you are very clever, sky girl,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that deep, gravelly register that made a weird, exhilarating warmth rush straight to your thighs.

“Admit it. You like having me around. You think I’m delightful,” you shot back cheekily, stepping closer before your eyes got snagged by a nearby flower. “Look at that flower over there! Isn’t that called pxuyo? There was a similar plant back in my world—”

“If you touch it, it will shoot thousands of tiny hairs into your face. You will not see the Great Mother, but your eyes will swell shut and you won’t be able to see anything for days.”

“I know! I was saying there was something like that back in my world, and someone made the mistake of wiping their butt with it—”

“What?” His face crumpled in visible distess.

You stared at the beautiful flower, then back at him, nodding solemnly. “Yes,” you said. “But this one’s crazier, because it shoots people. Beautiful and deadly.”

“Like some people,” he murmured, a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth giving him away.

“Oh, did you just smile?!” you cheered, bouncing on your heels in front of him.

As the weeks bled into a routine, the frosty wall between you has completely shattered. You were a walking encyclopedia of useless Earth trivia and hyper-fixated xenobiology facts, and Neteyam, to his own absolute horror, was actually starting to listen. You’d be dissecting the cellular structure of a glowing root, and he would chime in with the practical applications of its sap.

“And then, the humans just sit on a couch and scream at each other for money! It’s art, Neteyam, truly—”

Your foot hit a slick patch of moss. Your arms flailed, your tail whipped around seeking balance, and you went down hard, sliding flat on your butt into a pile of thick, squishy mud.

You sat there, looking utterly ridiculous.

Neteyam froze. He looked down at you. His chest heaved once. Twice. And then, a sound escaped him. A deep, booming laugh that echoed through the canopy. He threw his head back, his white teeth flashing, his entire face lighting up in a way that genuinely took your breath away.

“You’re laughing!” you shrieked pointing a muddy finger at him. “There’s no way! Someone write this down in the ancient lore!”

“Shut up,” he gasped, coughing to clear his throat as he tried to pull his stern commander mask back on, though his eyes were still dancing with pure amusement. He stepped down the slope and extended a hand to haul you out of the muck. “Look at you. You are a disaster.”

“I’m a xenobiologist, Neteyam, I’m all good with mud,” you huffed, deliberately wiping a streak of mud onto his forearm as he pulled you up.

“Well, now, you’re going to a field trip to the nearest river because you can’t go home like that,” he said and you squealed.

Your closeness have grown exponentially that instead of dumping you off at the facility as soon as he has successfully walked you there like he used to, Neteyam started to linger. He would come inside, to the surprise of Norm and Max who weren’t really used to him coming here as much as Lo’ak and Kiri who practically spent every waking day here with Spider.

Neteyam had always preferred spending his days training in his archery and flying on his ikran. Now, he’s sitting cross-legged on a metal crate watching you work with Norm and Max.

“Who is Lo’ak?” you asked when Max mentioned him in passing.

“My brother,” Neteyam answered from where he was sitting, carving on a wood.

“Your brother?! You have a brother I didn’t know about? Where is this man this entire time—”

“He’s mated,” he cut you off. “Not available.”

You choked on your own saliva, your tail giving a violent, shocked flaught. “Mated?! Already? Dang, the younger generation moves fast around here. What about you, big brother? You got a secret mate hidden in the trees that I should know about?”

He slowly raised his head, his eyes locking onto yours with a sudden, heavy intensity that made the playful words die in your throat.

“No,” he said softly, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that did wild things to your heart rate. “I do not.”

“I—I was just asking...” you smoothly looked away, suddenly finding the dirt under your fingernails fascinating. You cleared your throat, frantically trying to focus on your work, but your hands were shaking.

You could feel his gaze on you, heavy and lingering. Over the last moon and weeks, something had shifted. The way his hand lingered just a second too long when he helped you cross a puddle. The way his ears pointed directly toward you the moment you entered a room. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention, not like a security risk, but like something fascinating he was trying to understand.

And it terrified you.

You looked down at your blue hands. This wasn't your real body. Your real flesh and blood was sitting in a metal city miles and miles away, owned by a corporate war machine that you were actively betraying. Your life was a ticking clock of lies, military interrogations, and double-dealing. You were a ghost inhabiting a fake body

Falling for Jake Sully’s son would be a catastrophic complication. But as you stole a glance at Neteyam, who had gone back to his carving with a small, quiet smile on his lips, you realized with a sinking feeling that your stupid, traitorous heart had already crossed the line.

To mask the deafening alarms blaring in your head, you did what you always did when a situation became entirely too real: you turned your internal volume up to a solid eleven.

On the walk back to Hometree, you practically performed a one-woman theater show. You jumped over roots with dramatic flairs, ranted about the nutritions of Pandoran berries, and attempted to teach Neteyam the entire baseline plot of The Matrix using wild arm movements. You didn’t know when it started, but this tension in the atmosphere between you two had only grown thicker and more charged day by day.

And you know that if you stayed silent, it would be awkward, so you talked over it like your life depended on it.

“And then the guy chooses the red pill, Neteyam! It’s an allegory for waking up from corporate brainwashing! Honestly, I think you’d really relate to the main guy—”

You whipped around to face him, walking backward to gauge his reaction, but yoy heel caught the edge of a slick, rain-soaked stone.

“Whoa—!”

Your arms flailed, preparing your body for another ungraceful landing in the mud, but it never came.

A heavy, calloused hand shot out, wrapping securely around your waist. Neteyam hauled you forward against his chest with dizzying force, his other hand anchoring firmly on your shoulder to steady you.

The forest around you seemed to hold its breath. A sudden, gentle breeze rustled the canopy above, sending a flock of fan lizards spiraling down into the clearing. They unfurled into brilliant, spinning wheels of bioluminescent purple and gold, casting an ethereal glow over both of your faces.

Your breath caught. You were pressed completely against him, his chest rising and falling in a rapid and uneven way. You swallowed hard. He’s so handsome. Neteyam’s eyes flickered down, his intense gaze dropping entirely to your lips. You were scrambling for a witty thing to say, beating him from what you know would be a reprimand on walking backward.

But a reprimand didn’t came.

Because he leaned down, and you felt his soft lips pressing against yours, catching your lips in a deep, sudden, breathless kiss.

Now, it would be a lie if you claimed you’ve never imagined kissing him in the past weeks, but you certainly only imagined a gentle, polite kiss. Knowing how he’s this proper and refined gentleman who won’t go up to you at a club and ask you to come home with him.

The kiss was possessive. It was hard and consuming, and made you feel that the hidden glances and accidental brushes of his fingers against yours mean more than what you thought they were. You felt the this is long overdue message he was sending through the kiss as you kissed him back, your hand tightening around his large bicep.

His grip on your waist also tightened, pulling you completely flush against his warmth, emboldened by the fact that you want it, too. When he finally pulled back, his breath was a warm puff against your cheek. Your eyes were wide, your lips parted and your mind was completely blank. He pulled you up to your feet and you had to run your fingers through your hair in an attempt to smooth down your mind.

But still, you couldn’t say a single word for the rest of the walk.

Your zipped-mouth rule was enacted without any request from outside parties, it was simply driven by pure, unadulterated shock for what happened. What you allowed to happen. But Neteyam? The universe apparently loved a comedy of roles, because the moment you shut up, a brilliant, smug smirk broke across his face, and he took it as his personal cue to become the talkative one.

“What’s wrong, sky girl?” he asked, his voice dripping with an insufferable amusement as he matched your stiff stride. “I don’t remember you from my stiff walking classes for the grumpy ones.”

You glared at the path ahead, your tail twitching stiffly behind you.

“You walk very fast when you are quiet,” he noted, jogging a step to lean into your peripheral vision, his ears perking in absolute victory. “I thought you wanted to smell the sweet air? To plant your feet in the soil?”

“Sh...” Shut up, you snarled. You face was already burning a violent shade of deep purple.

So when you two finally reached Hometree, you headed straight for the communal eating areas, desperately seeking refuge. Normally, you sat with your warrior friends, gossiping, playing Earth games, and being loud enough to be a little disturbing. You sat down on a woven mat, grabbing a leaf of roasted fish, hoping the crowd would buffer you.

But a heavy shadow fell over your mat and Neteyam sat right next to you, his long legs crossing comfortably as he reached for a piece of fruit, his arm circling around you instead of reaching in front of you, which made it feel like he was hugging you.

You looked at him, then at your friends who are awkwardly looking at their leaf plates. “What are you doing? Your spot is over there with your family.”

“It just seems more... interesting here,” he said smoothly, a wicked spark dancing in his eyes before he turned to your friends. “Why are we silent?”

You stammered out a clumsy, non-committal noise before shoving more food into your mouth as Aleto scrambled for something to say. It was infuriating. It was like a switch had been flipped in his brain. He had completely adapted to your antics and was now weaponizing them against you. You tried to fight back with narrow glares and sharp elbows, but every time he chuckled, your traitorous heart did a pathetic little flip.

The next morning, the hum of the tech-bay at Bridgehead felt colder and more jarring than ever. You sat at your desk, staring blankly at a centrifuge of soil separation, completely distracted. You had been spinning the same vial for ten minutes without hitting start.

“Hey, little bird,” Marco’s voice cut through your daze. He leaned over your workstation, holding a data pad. “You’ve been staring at that soil like it owes you a worm. Dr. Danel asked for the mineral breakdown an hour ago. What’s going on with you?”

You let out a massive sigh, burying your face in your hands. “Marco. I have a problem. A huge, complicated, multi-layered problem.”

Marco pulled up a rolling stool, eyebrows raised. “Alright, spill. Is the military digging into your field logs again?”

“No, no. Let’s play a hypothetical game,” you said, spinning your swivel chair to face him. “Hypothetically, let’s say someone is in a foreign world. And hypothetically, there is this foreign person. He’s a local inhabitant of that world and... Well, he’s very handsome. But he happens to be, uhm,“ you cleared your throat. “Let’s just say there’s a Romeo and Juliet stuff going on.“

Marco’s brows rose. A slow, knowing grin began to spread across his face. “Uh-huh. Go on.”

“And hypothetically, this local inhabitant has spent weeks being an arrogant, grumpy jerk, but then he suddenly has a personality breakthrough, laughs like music, and then... hypothetically this Romeo kisses Juliet’s brains out under a cloud of glowing fan lizards. Very romantic, very tragic.” You groaned, dropping your head onto the metal desk. “What does Juliet do in this completely crazy scenario?”

Marco let out a low whistle, clapping his hands together. “Jesus, Y/N. Are you in love with Jake Sully’s kid?”

You lifted your head, “I didn't say it was me!”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Marco laughed, but his expression quickly sobered, turning gentle and cautious. “But look...  You know how messy this is, right? You can't... be with him. Even if we ignore the fact that his dad is public enemy number one to the corporate suits upstairs, you're an avatar driver. You live in a metal box. Your real body is here, you, a human. How does that even work long-term?”

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. “I know,” you whispered to the cold metal desk, the reality of his words heavy and suffocating. “I know it's complicated. I know that.”

The harsh reality of exactly how complicated it was arrived three days later, during a festival.

The main comnunal area of Hometree was alive with a vibrant, rhythmic energy. Drums boomed through the wooden pillars, and the tapestries glowed in deep red and orange. You were sitting near the back, nursing a cup of sweet water, looking for Neteyam’s familiar silhouette in the crowd.

You found him near the central hearth. But he wasn't alone.

A striking huntress was standing beside him. She was one of the warriors returning from a long journey trading with the southern clans, her posture proud and fierce. She laughed, a bright, clear sound, and playfully shoved Neteyam’s shoulder. Neteyam smiled back, a polite, warm smile, listening to her talk animatedly about something.

A cold, heavy knot twisted violently in your chest.

You nudged Si’an, who was sitting nearby stringing a bow. “Si’an. Who is that? The girl talking to Neteyam.”

Si’an looked over, his face instantly brightening. “Ah! That is Maneya! She has finally returned from Zeswa. She and Neteyam were batchmates. The elders have been speaking to the Olo’eyktan about their arrangement for a looong time. Everybody knows they are to be betrothed before the turning of the next season. They will definitely be mates.”

“Oh. I see. Good for him.”

But deep inside, the words felt like a physical blow, knocking the air clean out of your lungs.

Betrothed. Mate.

You stared at them across the firelit cavern. The woman was perfect. She belonged here. She didn't have a fake body, she didn't have a corporate countdown hanging over her head, and she didn't spend her days lying to a military division to keep the people alive because she is not the enemy. She was part of his world, entirely and without compromise.

A wave of bitter, stinging humiliation washed over you. You had actually let yourself believe that a kiss and some shared banter meant something in a world you were only visiting. He had a whole life mapped out, basically a fiancée waiting to walk down the aisle, and he had treated you like a fun, temporary distraction. Some sky girl to pass the time with.

You put your bowl down on the nearest table, your tail giving a sharp, defensive lash. You didn't stay for the rest of the music. You walked straight back to your kelku, your heart aching with a sudden, sharp clarity. You were a fool to think you could belong here.

You slept early. You shed your tears in your cold, metal room at Bridgehead, wiping your face, staring at the white ceiling, and deciding right then and there that nothing will come out of this.

This was what you actually loved about yourself. You were a masterclass at adaptability. You had a PhD in accepting things you cannot control. You didn’t let things trip you up for long because life kept moving, whether you were crying or not. Falling for Neteyam was a dead end. It would be an agonizing, impossible mess for both of you, and clearly, he wasn’t even looking in that direction anyway. He had a whole damn fiancée.

You had absolutely zero respect for lying men who went around kissing other women while being fully committed to someone else. You hated that despite being over a nine-foot-tall, majestic blue alien warrior, he was acting just like any trashy guy back on Earth. Nothing turns you off more than that. He’s a loser!

When you linked back into your avatar the next day, just in time for your work with Norm and Max, you took extra care braiding your hair. You made sure you looked sharp, and you felt like a brand-new person with a heavily reinforced wall.

The moment you stepped out of your kelkua and saw Neteyam already standing by the pathway, you almost frowned. See, you were a cool girl, but even the coolest girls needed a grace period after finding out they were accidentally the other woman.

“You’re finally awake,” he said, his voice almost breathless, his golden eyes instantly tracking your face. “You slept early. You left the feast.”

“Ah-ah, correction: I don’t sleep, I log out,” you said, your tone breezy, entirely devoid of yesterday's vulnerability. “I’m not a real Na’vi whatsoever. Remember when I was in my cell and I was just a limp, dead body on the floor? That’s what happens. Spooky, isn’t it?”

Without waiting for him, you started walking down the pathway.

He blinked, rushing a step to follow you. “I remember, and it is not spooky. My father told me that is just how it is with avatar bodies.”

“Yes, totally unnatural, because I’m basically like a remote-controlled toy,” you said, letting out a sharp chuckle. “And I needed to leave the feast early because I had to log out and live my real human life.”

“I tried to find you,” he said, his voice dropping into a lower, tighter tone.

You turned your head, flashing him a bright smile. “Well, I have a strict schedule to make sure my real body won't weaken and die, you know,” you replied casually. “Prolonged time in a link unit can literally kill a human. My real muscles will harden and weaken, I could die of dehydration... and I really need my human body to stay alive. She’s going to get married one day, have kids. She can’t do any of that if I keep stealing her consciousness to play avatar in the woods.”

You glanced at him and laughed, but he only looked visibly pale under the azure. He looked entirely struck dumb by the sudden bombardment of information.

He didn't know what to process first: the terrifying realization that your vulnerable human body was at constant risk of dying if you stayed with him too long, or the sudden, jarring mental image of you married to a human man, having human children, entirely out of his reach. That can’t be possible.

His mouth opened, then closed. He opened it again, clearly trying to find the words to ask you what the hell you meant by that, but the heavy hesitation caught in his throat. He closed it again.

Seeing the hesitation on his face was exactly the window you needed. You loudly clapped your hands together, instantly changing the subject.

“Anyway! Did Norm say if we’re processing the frequency modules today? Because I swear, if Max messed up again, I’m going to lose it.”

You kept up a relentless barrage of small talk, chattering about soil samples, weather patterns, and anything that wasn't personal, leaving him absolutely zero time to process his thoughts. It worked perfectly. Neteyam remained dead silent for the entire walk to the facility, his jaw set so tightly you could see the muscle leaping in his cheek.

You expected him to leave once you reached the shacks, but to your secret frustration, he still stayed. He sat on his usual metal crate, but he wasn't carving wood today. He just watched you with a dark, brooding intensity that made your skin prickle.

Right on the dot, the moment the digital clock on the lab wall clicked over to your designated departure time, Neteyam stood up.

“It is time,” he announced, his voice serious. “You cannot stay any longer. Your schedule.”

You couldn't help but chuckle. “Look at you, playing the schedule police,” you grinned, winking at Max who chuckled. “Alright, alright, keeping me alive. Good job, Commander.”

You were a complete chatterbox, too, on the way back, filling the jungle air with meaningless noise so the silence couldn't breathe. But as you approached Hometree, the welcoming view wasn't the only thing waiting for you.

Maneya was standing right at the entrance. The moment she spotted Neteyam, a bright, beautiful smile broke across her face. You made sure to stop yourself from feeling bitter about it. You need to be happy about this. Happy, happy, happy, you chanted in your mind

You stopped in your tracks for a fraction of a second, then turned to Neteyam with a slow, heavily teasing purse of your lips. He froze, looking at you with wide, panicked eyes, looking exactly like a little kid who had just been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“Well, it’s sleep time for me, and date time for you,” you teased, your voice dripping with artificial cheer as you showed him a closed fist. “Good luck, lover boy.”

“Y/N—”

You walked right past him, offering a polite, breezy smile to Maneya. Maneya’s smile faltered slightly, her eyes narrowing with a quiet calculation as she watched you pass.

You hated this. You absolutely loathed being caught in this kind of trashy dynamic. It felt like being a guy's ‘girl best friend’, the one he was definitely crossing physical lines with behind closed doors while maintaining a perfect, public relationship with his girlfriend. It was cheap, it was messy, and you wanted absolutely no part in this anymore.

The next morning, when it was time to head to the human facility, Neteyam wasn’t outside the kelku. You were told he was caught up in an early council meeting but asks for you to wait for him. You won’t do that, considering he’s still not here and you were going to be late, and you love being punctual. You walked straight up to Tseru instead.

“Hey, Tseru, do me a favor and walk me to the lab today? Commander Grumpy is busy, and I’ve got a lot of data to run,” you said, your voice clipping with fake authority before you laughed it off.

But still, Tseru blinked, looking around nervously. “Uh... Neteyam said no one else is allowed to—”

“Neteyam is busy with his actual life,” you said, your tail lashing behind you. “Let's go.”

Reluctantly, Tseru escorted you. When you arrived at the facility, you threw yourself into your work with a terrifying, hyper-focused vengeance. You ran data with Norm and Max all day, completely ignoring the passage of time, yet you kept glancing at the windows anyway. So, he’s not only late, he wouldn’t have come if you waited for him.

“Whoa, slow down, Einstein,” Norm laughed, watching you aggressively type into a console. “You’re gonna burn out the processors.” he said, biting on his sandwich.

You chuckled, “Sorry. I’m just that way when my mind’s working fast.”

He shrugs, his human body leaning against a table. “Hey, Max and I were actually talking... have you thought about staying out here permanently? I mean, you can’t go back to Bridgehead. We could really use your brain out here full-time.”

You paused, your shoulders dropping as a wave of exhaustion hit you. You’ve though of that many times, and many times, you have been disappointed to know that it’s just not possible.

“Logistically, Norm, I can’t. My human body is sitting in a high-security sector back at Bridgehead. The link pods are massive, heavily monitored corporate property. I can’t exactly pack it into a backpack and walk out.”

“Do you have any friends on the inside who could help smuggle it out?” Max asked.

“No,” you chuckled. “No one with that kind of clearance. It’s just not possible. I’d have to give up one if I want to stay here, you know? Escape Bridgehead as a human, which is also high risk, because the military is hot on me. I lied to them about where this avatar is, remember? And if I escape as a human, I will lose the link unit, and this avatar will be useless.”

Norm closed his eyes and shook his head, defeated, while Max sighed heavily. All the brightest minds on Pandora had no solution to your problem and it just makes it all feel worse.

What you didn't know, however, was that back at Bridgehead, Dr. Danel had been silently moving mountains. Armed with the truth you had trusted him with, he had spent the last weeks aggressively lobbying the main corporate investors, convincing them that your research was too valuable to be compromised by the ongoing political tension with the military.

Now, he had managed to get the ultimate green light: a covert relocation authorization to establish an independent outpost deep within the Hallelujah Mountains. Out of the military’s eyes.

That night, emotionally exhausted from everything and physically drained from your research, you decided not to return to Hometree. You curled up on a cot in the human facility and let your consciousness fade, pulling your mind back to your human body to assist Dr. Danel with what you thought was just standard lab data cataloging.

You had no idea of the sheer, unmitigated chaos you had left behind at Hometree, though.

The moment the council meeting was over, Neteyam had stormed into the human facility, but when he arrived, he found your avatar completely out on the cot. He had tried to shake you, to wake you, but he knew you were entirely gone. He hated that the council took too long, that it had taken so much of the day, and now he wasn’t even able to talk to you about all the things he arranged in his mind last night.

And then, you didn't wake up the next day. Or the day after that.

For nearly three full days, your avatar remained a completely unresponsive shell. Back at Bridgehead, Dr. Danel had initiated a sudden relocation of the link pods. The physical logistics of disconnecting your human pods, loading them onto independent transport, and flying them deep into the floating mountains took many agonizing hours. Because of the system reboots and physical transit, you were forced to stay out of your avatar.

To Neteyam, it was a three-day nightmare. He had spent those three days in a state of absolute, paralyzed terror. Now, he’s sure you had died. But Norm, in his desire to console him, reasoned that the avatar is not dead, but that there is definitely something wrong with you, the human. They mentioned that the military was hot on you for withholding secrets about where the avatar really is, that they have probably learned you were lying about it.

It had taken Norm begging on his knees to stop him from the suicide mission of going to Bridgehead and see for himself what’s really going on. He had hovered over your sleeping avatar body, refusing to go on patrol, his heart crumpling every time he thinks of his absolute foolishness. He should have talked to you. It's only that he didn’t know if you were on the same page with him.

He likes you very much. Probably even more than that. You are an amazing woman who can get anything, anyone, you want, and he refuses to believe that you will settle for someone... like him. He wants you and he had never been more sure of anything in his entire life, but he didn’t know if you would ever entertain that.

He kissed you, and you kissed him back, but does that mean anything to you like it did for him? You have a whole life outside of this avatar. Heck, you have your own world, and this was just what he has. When you said you were going to marry and have a family in your human form, you couldn’t have made it clearer that you do not see your future locked up in this body.

And now, he could lose any chance he could have had because he was too scared to take a risk. So what if you happen not to like him the way he wants you to? It doesn’t matter.

On the afternoon of the third day, you linked back to your avatar as soon as the outpost systems in the Hallelujah Mountains were settled. The cold, sterile air of the facility rushed into your lungs, but before you could even adjust to the light, a heavy, trembling force slammed into you.

Two massive, muscular blue arms wrapped around your shoulders, hauling you upright from the cot and pulling you fiercely against a broad, solid chest. You gasped, blinking in shock as you smelled the distinct scent of mint.

It was Neteyam. He was disheveled, his breathing ragged, holding onto you with a terrifying, desperate strength as if he were trying to fuse your body into his own.

Norm and Max rushed into the room, looking exhausted but small smiles were written on their faces. “Kid, what happened to you?” Max asked. “Got trouble with the military? I almost got war flashbacks, you know. With Jake and all.”

You were grinning at them. “No, no, quite the opposite. It was a long story,” you said, bringing your hands up to push against Neteyam’s chest so he would release his grip.

“What happened to you?” he asked when he finally pulled away.

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heartstrings. It’s not something you’ve ever heard from him and it broke away at the wall you tried to put up. Norm glanced at Neteyam and smirked at you knowingly.

“Just to let you know, he has been here for a record-breaking duration of three days and a half,” he said.

Your brows furrowed, rearing your head back to look at him. “You didn’t go home?”

Like a chastised child, he threw you a sharp look through the fringe of his lashes. “You were not waking up.”

“And you know that’s simply me not linking to my avatar,” you pressed your palm against his shoulder.

He caught your hand and didn't let go. “And what of your human self? Are you alright, were you hurt, were you barred from linking to this body?” he asked, his voice hard and heated.

You blinked, your panicking eyes flitting to Max and Norm who are slowly backing away. “Uh, yes, she’s alright. Not hurt. And no, not barred from linking,” you said.

His face smoothed over, looking calmer than ever. “Then why...?”

You pushed your lips forward, stopping yourself from flashing a menacing smile. “I was on a date and then I got married—”

“What?” he asked, his voice rising. “You got married?”

You pursed your lips, looking at his face fall like you just told him he didn’t pass a test. “I’m just kidding,“ you said with a deadpan face. “We did a major relocation. Dr. Danel managed to snag a life-changing opportunity—”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence when his lips came crashing down on yours. His large hand was clamped at your nape, too, deepening the kiss. You closed your eyes and kissed him back for what felt like forever, just savoring the fact that you are kissing again, and then you remembered.

You pushed against his chest, moving away from him. “No, no, no,” you said, pointing a finger at him. “You cannot do this. To me and that huntress who would be your mate. I don’t know if there’s a concept of being a playboy in this world, but that’s you. You can't just kiss me whenever you feel like it—”

“Huntress who would be my mate?” he echoed. “Maneya? She is not going to be my mate—”

“I didn’t strike you for a liar, but I guess you also are—”

His large hands held either of your upper arms to make you face him properly before he looked in you in the eyes, dead serious. “I'm not. I am not betrothed to Maneya. The council wants that; the council wants her to be my mate, but I don't. I never did, and I honestly never knew what I wanted in that area of my life, but I know now. In fact, I have a ten-year plan that involves this avatar that only links back to her body when she feels like it. I never knew Eywa to be this cruel, but to have me fall in love with someone I can't have is a cruel thing to play at.”

You blinked twice and then thrice. For the second time in your life, and because of the same person, you couldn’t find your words, and you are acting the way you never want to: stupid. You watched his face go from emotionally charged and deeply romantic to that of acceptance.

He nodded once, looking down at your hand, linking his lips wet. “I know you don’t see me that way, but I wanted to get that out,” his eyes snapped up to you. “I don’t want to be just friends with you and I want you to know that.”

Your heart felt like it had stopped beating, then jumpstarted only for it to feel like you’ve ran a marathon. “Was it... necessary to say all that looking extremely handsome... Or?” You drew a circle on your face in the air using your pointing finger.

It was his time to look like he couldn't find the words. “I...I don’t—I don’t know...” he stammered, bringing a hand up to touch his side braid.

You smiled at him, raising a hand to cup his jaw and cheek. “I appreciate that, Neteyam...” you mumbled, hating that you had to wipe off the hope on his face. “But it’s... It’s complicated—”

“Because you’re not like me? I don’t care—”

“Yes, and more. I’m living a double life. I’m a human and this is not me. This is not the real me—”

“So what? This,” he motioned at your body. “is just a vessel. Who you are is whatever you have shown me, shown us. There’s a human version and I like her, too, because that’s still you. It doesn’t matter to me, Y/N.”

“It matters to me,” you said, emphasizing your point. “It matters to me that you will be in trouble for being with me. It matters to me that you will find it hard to live a normal life because you’re with me. It’s not as easy as you think it will be. What you feel for me—”

“It’s not going away. I know myself. It will happen only once and I will never feel this way again,” he vowed. “All of those things you were saying, I can live with that. Don’t worry about me. I’ll worry about us. I’ll handle my people.”

You bit your lip, you gaze dropping down. “I... I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll help you.” he said.

Your eyes snapped up, your brows furrowed. “Help me how?”

He looked at you seriously. “Think.”

By helping you think, it means an unyielding, high-frequency presence. He walks you back and forth from Hometree to the facility, he materializes in front of you whenever you so much as need a heavy crate of stabilizers moved, already lifting it before you could reach for a hoist. If you were sitting in front of a terminal to analyze data, he would be sitting in a corner, sharpening his tools, but still having his eyes locked onto you with a steady, quiet intensity that made it completely impossible to focus on a single string of code.

Eventually, you needed to do something about that. Which is why you pulled Norm and Max for a talk one afternoon, explaining the massive administrative change Dr. Danel had pulled off, the relocation authorization that had successfully shifted your human pods entirely out from under military surveillance and into the hidden sanctuary of the Hallelujah Mountains.

Norm scratched the back of his head, a stunned look passing over his features. “Boy, if this isn't familiar. It's like history repeating itself with better hardware. So, you’re staying here... for real?”

“If you’ll have me,” you nodded firmly, crossing your arms. “I need you to talk to Jake, Norm. I want to stay based at this facility permanently instead of trekking back to Hometree. It’ll save me time every single day, and I can just dive straight into work once I link back to this body.”

You didn't mention the real reason, but you were secretly hoping the distance would act as a natural deterrent. If you weren't at Hometree, maybe Neteyam’s intense focus would naturally drift back to his actual duties.

“Done,” Norm nodded, clapping you on the arm. “I'll clear it with Jake. He'll understand.”

But your master plan failed spectacularly. The distance wasn't a deterrent at all; if anything, it only made Neteyam more deliberate. He was a man of his word and entirely a man of action. The moment he learned you were staying at the facility, he simply adjusted his patrol rotations. He began showing up during the exact blocks of time he knew you’d be in your avatar to work with Norm, silently stepping in to assist with manual labor, his quiet devotion remaining completely unbothered by the miles of jungle between you.

The internal conflict grew so loud that it bled right into your human shifts. Back at the newly settled outpost in your real body, Dr. Danel noticed your distraction. You were aggressively cataloging plates with a tense, exhausted look on your face.

“Why don’t you sit and rest for a moment, Y/N?” Dr. Danel’s leveled voice said behind you. “You seem distracted. Are you doing too much work in your avatar?”

You shook your head. “No, not really. It’s nothing I can handle, Doc. It’s something...” you fell back on a rolling chair, sighing as I looked at the pink pads of your fingers.

“Jake Sully’s son...” he trailed, making you snap your eyes up at him. He had a humored look on his face, “Marco had a slip-up.”

You glared at Marco’s link unit, knowing he’s there because you saw his avatar making his way out earlier. “Oh, I don’t believe that! He snitched on purpose!”

He laughed, still busy working in the bay area. “I wouldn’t have repeated it to another soul, kid.”

You sighed, propping your cheek on your palm. “It’s just that... Doc, have you ever thought of falling in love... here? I know what you’re going to tell me. It’s complicated, it’s hard to make it happen, but... He likes me. And he’s really showing me that he wants me. It would have been better if he didn’t, you know? That it’s just me harboring an unusual class on a very handsome blue alien, but no...”

He listened to you rant the entire saga. You told him everything. How Neteyam sent you to jail, how he became your grumpy, jerk bodyguard, how he softened over time, the kiss under the fan lizards, the weight of your double life, the fiancée that isn’t really a fiancée, and how absolutely terrified you were that you were in deep, irreversible trouble with Jake Sully’s oldest son.

Dr. Danel listened quietly, letting out a soft, amused chuckle as he leaned against a sterile lab counter. “What is there to be scared about, kid? It’s love. I’ll actually give you some credit for thinking this through so thoroughly, because heaven knows Jake Sully didn't think for a single second when he crossed that line.”

You pushed your lips forward into a pout, staring down at your human hands.

“You are incredibly lucky to find something like that here, Y/N,” he said gently, his expression softening. “When we left Earth, we know what left behind. The opportunity to just... be human. We gave up everything in pursuit of science. To find love, hope, and real life, something completely separate from what is strictly necessary for survival on another planet, is an incredible stroke of luck.”

You looked up at him and slowly nodding as the truth of it settled into your chest.

“You are a scientist, Y/N, and I know it is your job to analyze and think,” he added, giving you a reassuring smile. “But try not thinking when it comes to this.”

That was the exact, final push you needed to leap straight off the cliff.

Neteyam had absolutely no idea, but your choice was made.

Later that afternoon, back in your avatar, you asked to him to go down the nearby river under the guise of collecting aquatic plant specimens, which you won’t really need that much on the work you’re doing with Norm and Max, but you could study on it separately.

Now, you’re watching the water rushed softly over the smooth river stones, casting dancing reflections of light against the canopy. You sat on the riverbank, watching him walk over to stand directly in front of you.

A familiar, wicked smirk tugged at your lips, your tail swaying mischievously behind you that his eyes dropped down there as you were reaching out, you caught his large hand and pulled him firmly toward you until his massive torso was securely caged between your thighs.

Before he could even ask what you were doing, you leaned up and caught his lips in a deep, deliberate kiss.

You could tell it completely caught him off guard. Neteyam’s ears twitched in surprise, his head rearing back slightly as the kiss broke so he could look down into your eyes. The sudden, brilliant flare of pure happiness in his golden gaze made your heart soar. You leaned right back in, kissing him a second time, but he was far too wise to let you off that easily. He held his position, withholding the full force of his response, his hands anchoring gently on your waist.

“Tell me you are giving me a chance, and we will kiss more,” he whispered, his voice thick, gravelly, and intense.

“I am giving you a chance,” you whispered back, your fingers tangling in the beads of his braids. “In fact, it’s a really huge chance. Whatever you’re thinking about, Neteyam, I’m right beside you.”

He let out a shuddering breath of pure relief, his shoulders visibly dropping as he grounded himself in your words. Both of his large hands slid up to cradle your face, and he kissed you. Hard, deep, and possessively, before pulling back just enough to stare directly into your eyes.

“You will never regret that. I will not let you.”

You smiled at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him back down. There was an understanding.

Or so you thought. Because there was an obvious cultural barrier at play here, because to you, you two were officially in a relationship now. Dating, plain and simple. But to him, he was still technically in the formal phase of courting you.

The very next day, you stepped out of the facility, stretching your arms and fully prepared for work, and to seeing your new boyfriend by midday, once he comes after his patrol, only to find Neteyam already standing by the path holding a giant, freshly killed hexapede. It was slung over his broad shoulders while his other hand was holding a basket of something.

You stopped dead in your tracks. You blinked once. Twice.

“Uh... good morning to you, too, hunting god,” you stammered, pointing a finger at everything. “Are we... having a very aggressive breakfast, or did you bring me a giant, heavy prop for our walk?”

Neteyam walked forward, his expression deadpan but his ears held exceptionally high. He dropped the carcass right at your feet.

“I have brought you the first kill of my current rotation,” he said, his voice deep. “It’s what we do to show our intended that we can provide. I will provide for you from now on.”

You stared at the dead animal, then up at him, your lips twitching as you tried to process the cuteness of this all.

“Neteyam, sweetheart... I live in a metal shack now with a microwave and a bunch of scientists who eat synthetic protein bars,” you said slowly, peering up at him through your lashes. “But... I guess I can force them to eat what I do with this. Or we could bring this back to the cooks back at Hometree?” you bit your lip, your eyes snagging to the basket full of fruits. “Oh, this, however! I would very much love to keep.”

“Bring back to Hometree? This is traditional. A warrior brings a tribute to the woman he courts to show he can sustain her,” his ears pinned back against his head.

“Courts?” You echoed, stepping right into his space and boldly grabbing his face, pulling him down into a quick, smacking kiss on the lips that entirely shattered his stern warrior posture. His eyes went wide as you pulled back, grinning like a menace. “Baby, we kissed really crazy under a cloud of glowing bugs and I told you I'm riding shotgun on your future plans. The trial period is over. You passed. We’re dating!”

“Dating?” he echoed, the human word sounding completely foreign on his tongue. His forehead creased in confusion. “What is day-ting? Is it a human ritual where you do not accept food?”

“It means you don't have to carry a hundred-pound carcass through the jungle just to prove you're a catch,” you chuckled, reaching up to playfully tug on one of his ears, making it twitch. “It means we are together. It means instead of giving me dead meat, you can just do this.”

You leaned in again, your hands sliding up his chest before wrapping around his neck, pulling him into a long, slow, dizzying kiss that had his hands dropping the basket he had been holding. He melted instantly, his large hands clamping onto your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

When you finally broke away, you were both breathing a little heavier. You winked at him, tapping his nose with your finger.

“See? Way less heavy than a yerik, and arguably much better for morale,” you teased. You patted his muscled chest, “I’m keeping the fruits and the yerik goes to Hometree communal kitchen. I’m eating dinner there tonight so I’m still eating what you hunted for. That okay with you, lover boy?”

You pursed your lips and watched him bite his lower lip. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Okay. I’m going to work! I have data to run, and my boyfriend is making me late!”

Neteyam stood in the middle of the path, looking between the dead animal on the ground and your retreating form, his face a spectacular mix of utter bewilderment and absolute, smitten defeat.

“Humans make no sense,” he muttered loudly, though a massive, helpless smile was finally breaking across his face as he hauled the kill back up.

Since you have already made him understood the concept of dating, you have instituted an intense making-out policy that definitely shouldn't have been part of the official manual, but you casually told him you were merely ‘exploring your avatar body's sensory responses to external stimuli,’ and giving him an absolute green light to do whatever he wanted.

But of course, the pretense didn’t mean anything at all, now that you were deep in the woods, sitting directly on his lap, straddling his waist and devouring his mouth. His large hands were everywhere, squeezing your waist with a firm, desperate grip before sliding up to fondle your breasts, while your hands locked around his neck, pulling him closer. You were kissing like you wanted to completely consume each other, your breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

You shifted your hips against him, a loud, breathless moan spilling from your throat as the solid, heavy ridge of his arousal pressed firmly against your softness through the thin fabric of your loincloth. You have known that being in your avatar and experiencing this kind of sheer intensity from a physical friction makes your body react exactly as you would have as a human, and it was incredible.

“Yawne...” he groaned deeply, allowing you to hump against him, but the sheer stimulation obviously weakened him.

Neteyam leaned his back heavily against the trunk of the tree, throwing his head back as his eyes closed in pure bliss. He kept his mouth glued to yours, but his entire focus had zeroed in on the spot where his hardness is repeatedly meeting your soft mound.

You pulled your mouth away to catch your breath, and a low, needy moan escaped his lips. You smiled, sliding your mouth down to kiss his sharp jawline, nipping at the exposed skin of his neck, and enjoying the way he’s whimpering. You shifted your hips again and again, a sudden, shivering wave of a climax ripping straight through you. You hugged him tightly, hiding your face in his shoulder as your kisses against his neck became wet and sloppy.

He held you firmly, his grip tightening as he maneuvered your body down onto the soft grass. Your sight spun for a moment as you looked up at the canopy, your breath hitching as Neteyam leaned down to kiss and suck hungrily at your breasts. You reached up to grab his shoulders, but he caught your hands, intertwining his long fingers securely with yours, using his other hand to firmly slide your loincloth aside.

The cool air made direct contact with your slick wetness, causing you to shiver, but the chill vanished instantly as you felt his warm mouth press directly against your center.

“Oh!” you moaned aloud, bringing your free hand up to bite down on your knuckles as his tongue began to rhythmically lick and suck at your sensitive flesh.

Your chest heaved rapidly, your mind completely spinning as he continued to pleasurably devour you. The sensation was so intense you were literally shaking, your hips bucking instinctively against his mouth. Neteyam squeezed your thighs tightly, holding you perfectly in place, refusing to let you pull away until it left you completely limp and breathless.

He slowly kissed his way back up your body, hovering over you with a soft, triumphant smile as he caught your lips in a gentle kiss.

“Come back to Hometree with me tonight,” he whispered against your mouth, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.

You blinked up at him lazily, your tail twitching as shivers ran down your spine. “What are they cooking tonight?” you asked, your voice a breathless rasp.

When he told you they were roasting the exact sweet-root and river fish dish you had obsessed over the week before, your resolve crumbled instantly. You smoothed down your hair, adjusted your feathered top, and walked back to Hometree right beside him.

When you arrived, the communal area was already humming with its usual evening life. Over the last moon, the people of the clan had slowly gotten used to the sight of you walking side-by-side with Neteyam. At first, the warriors had kept their distance, watching with guarded eyes, knowing how Neteyam is with you. But seeing how you still have your relentless, bright energy with you, and that Neteyam isn’t really barring any of them from speaking to you, your friendship with them became more permanent.

That didn't mean the council was happy, though.

As you and Neteyam walked toward your seats, you could feel the heavy glares radiating from their circles. You know from the warriors that Maneya’s parents deeply disapproved of this. For generations, traditional arrangements kept the clan’s bloodlines strong and predictable. The elders had been aggressively pushing for Maneya to be his mate before the next season turned. To them, an avatar, a dreamwalker who isn’t even real, was an insult to their customs.

And let’s not talk about the fact that their Olo’eyktan was once a dreamwalker himself.

Neteyam felt the weight of those stares, but his jaw only set firmer. He guided you to the table of warriors he knew would defend you when he’s not around, ensuring you got the best cut of the roasted river fish before he excused himself, noting that his father had signaled for him near the upper dais.

Neytiri sat beside Jake, her sharp eyes tracing the silhouette of her eldest son as he approached.

“Neteyam,” Jake said, his voice quiet but carrying the heavy weight of a man who had just spent two hours listening to old men complain. “The council is still talking. Maneya’s family is pushing hard for the betrothal announcement. They want a firm answer before the next hunt.”

Neytiri stepped forward, her hand resting gently on her son’s shoulder, her gaze searching his face. “Son... are you entirely sure of this? The path you are choosing is not walked on smooth stones. She is... She does not belong with us—”

“Like Dad used to not belong?” Neteyam asked.

Neytiri tilted her head. “That is different,” she replied.

“Mother, it’s not,” he looked down at his mother, his expression softening but remaining completely unyielding. “And I am sure of her,” he added, his deep, gravelly voice carrying a profound certainty that made both of his parents still. “My whole life, I have done exactly what was expected of me. I trained until my fingers bled, I flew the sky lines and led the patrols before I was a boy of thirteen years. I was willing to follow everything you, the council, and the elders told me to do because I thought that was what a leader must be.”

He paused, his eyes drifting across to where you were sitting. You were currently mid-sentence, aggressively gesturing with a piece of sweet-root while your friends laughed loudly at whatever ridiculous story you were telling. A soft, breathless warmth passed over Neteyam’s features.

“But until her, I never chose anything for myself,” he continued, turning back to his parents. “I realized that if I allow people who do not understand my heart to decide my future, I will never be the leader this clan needs. I cannot lead a people with a hollowed being. She is what makes my heart happy. She is who I see in my future, and even if it is difficult, even if it is a mess of two worlds... I would not have it any other way. I want her, and I will keep her. I already have her, and I will not let anyone take her away from me.”

Jake let out a low breath, a small smirk of pure pride cutting through his mouth. He clapped a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. He recognized that exact, stubborn reckless look. He had worn it himself years ago. Neytiri herself had a streak of it years ago.

Neytiri watched her son, her ears twitching slightly. She looked at the determination in his posture, the fierce fire in his eyes, and despite the lingering complications, her own heart swelled with an undeniable pride. He’s no longer a boy. He was a man taking his destiny by the throat. He was a true leader.

“Go to her, then,” Neytiri murmured softly, the corner of her lips pulling into a gentle smile.

Neteyam nodded respectfully to his parents and turned, walking back down toward your table. The moment he stepped back into your peripheral vision, you looked up from your meal, flashing him a smile so bright, so full of life, that his heart did a violent, fluttering flip against his ribs.

From the dais, Jake reached out and took Neytiri’s hand in his own. Neytiri turned her head to look at her husband, squeezing his hand as an understanding smile passed between them. Her son had made his choice, and she believed in her son.

Neteyam slid onto the mat right next to you, his long arm immediately circling around your waist to pull you tightly against his side, entirely indifferent to the whispering elders above.

“Miss me, lover boy?” you teased, nudging his ribs with your elbow.

“Always,” he murmured against your ear, his grip tightening as he stole a piece of your sweet-root, his heart completely at peace.

After the feast, while you were contentedly wiping your hands, Neteyam stood up and smoothly announced, “I am walking her back to the facilities.”

He did walk you. But along the way, his hand tightened around yours, and the path you were taking led to a different one.

“Remember when you asked me about... the collective consciousness of our people?” he asked, but you were already too mesmerized by the bioluminescent weeping willow glowing purple from the distance.

“Yes,” you breathed. “That is the Tree of Souls, right?”

He held your hand and pulled you closer until you two were under its tendrils. “The collective consciousness you were talking about... I don’t understand the technicality, but it is true. Everything we are, everything we know... is in this tree,” he touched a tendril. “Our ancestors and our dead, they are here and they are never gone. They live with us in every plant and every leaf. This tree has witnessed every moment in our lives since we were born and it will keep them in this world long after we are gone.”

A soft smile cut through your lips as hot tears pricked your eyes. “That is beautiful, Neteyam... Dr. Augustine was right. She was right about everything,” you breathed, touching a glowing tendril before you turned to him.

Neteyam stepped closer, the pulsing light from the hanging tendrils illuminating the profound, worshipful softness in his eyes. He reached out, his thumb gently catching the stray tear that escaped your lashes.

“I brought you here because I want Eywa to know I am grateful that she heard me,” he whispered, carrying a solemn weight that made your breath catch. “I want my ancestors to know that my heart belongs to you. No council, no tradition, not even who you are will change that.”

Your face crumpled as your heart swelled with raw emotion, his words completely shattering whatever remaining inhibitions you had. You smiled through the tears, gathering him in your arms and wrapping them tightly around him. “My heart belongs to you, too, Neteyam. This heart and the human heart,” you chuckled, making him smile.

You leaned up and caught his lips in a deep kiss. Neteyam let out a low, gravelly rumble, his hands instantly locking onto your waist and lifting you up slightly, pinning your back flat against the massive, smooth root of the glowing tree.

“Oh,” you gasped, a wicked little smirk flashing on your face despite your breath hitching. “Look at you. Someone’s getting aggressive...”

He groaned as his head dipped, his lips abandoning your mouth to trail a path of hot, heavy kisses down your jawline and into the dip of your neck. He nipped playfully at your skin, making you shiver and giggle all at once.

His hands slid from your face, down your shoulders, his long, deft fingers untying the bindings of your top, making you raise a brow. The soft fabric fell away, exposing your breasts to the cool air and his incredibly dark, hungry gaze.

“Okay,” you whispered as his mouth closed over one peak, suckling hungrily. You arched into his touch, your fingers tangling in his thick braids, pulling him closer. “Okay...”

He pulled back, his golden eyes burning. “Tell me what you want, my love,” he commanded gently. “Tell me how you want it.”

“I want to feel all of you inside me,” you breathed.

He smirked, standing up straighter and reaching behind him. You blinked and swallowed, watching the pink tendrils of his kuru dance as he held it up. His head tilted.

“Not happening without this,” he murmured.

You looked at him with wide eyes. “The bond... We will be—”

“Mates. I will be yours, for life,” he licks his lips. “and you will be mine. For life.” This time, his eyes darkened significantly.

A soft smile cut through your lips, reaching behind you to grab the thick plait of braid and bring it between you. “I think I want that...”

He swallowed and nodded, but he looked like he was going to melt. He held your hand and pulled you down, and once you were both kneeling under the purple glow of the Tree of Souls, he brought his kuru to bind with yours, sending an instantaneous jolt of electricity down your spine that spread through your limbs.

You have never made a bond with any creature on Pandora. You didn’t know what your kuru could do or give you if you connected it to any living being, but the rush of emotions through the bond is an unexplainable phenomenon that not even a scientist like you could come up with words for. You were feeling the absolute weight of his devotion, how you now his entire world, anchored to his soul forever.

You stared up at Neteyam and watched the gold of his eyes got nearly swallowed by the black. You smiled as the warmth of the memory of the first time he ever saw you surged through the bond, his secret admiration, and the quiet moments he spent hoping for this exact night.

This is insane, you thought. This is more than what any human would ever experience. You moved closer to him, reaching for his face and he leaned down to kiss you, wrapping his arm around you while his other hand fumbled with the ties of your loincloth around your tail. Once it’s off and you’re naked as the day you were successfully-made-and-put-in-an-amnio-tank, he lowered you down on the grass.

With a primal glint in his gaze, Neteyam pushed himself up over you, and you were treated to the view of the broad expanse of his shoulder and chest. You bit your lip as you watched him strip his own loincloth away. Your eyes snapped down when his cock sprang free, a powerful and thick column of dark indigo, engorged, and pulsing with heavy life.

Your jaw literally dropped as you stared down, your brain temporarily short-circuiting at the sheer scale of it. “Oh, sweet Lord,” you blurted out, your eyes widening as his large hand grabbed your thigh. “Hold on, timeout!” He stopped and looked at you. You bit your lip, “We need to slow down. Neteyam, honey, this body is technically a virgin and she has not trained to take an absolute monster like that! Are you trying to split her in half?”

Neteyam blinked, a sudden, hilariously confused expression fracturing his fierce look. “A... monster?” He looked down at himself, then back at you, his ears twitching in genuine bewilderment. “Yawne, it is... normal. I am normal.”

“For a nine-foot-tall, maybe!” you chuckled, though you were already biting your lip, your tail thumping against the grass excitedly as you spread your legs for him, “Alright. Go big or go home!”

He let out a breathless laugh, the sweet, adoring man returning for a fraction of a second as he gently pushed you back onto the soft grass. He hovered over you, positioning himself between your legs, his cock brushing against your slick folds and making you gasp.

“Look at me, baby,” he rough-whispered. Slowly, he began to push.

The thick head found your opening, and he pressed with a gentle, patient insistence. You whimpered, your hips arching instinctively to meet him as his shaft slowly stretched you inch by inch until he was buried completely to the hilt.

You trembled, a deep, incredibly satisfying fullness making your head spin. He paused, letting you adjust, his eyes never leaving yours as his large hands tenderly cradled your face.

“Good?” he murmured, kissing you softly.

“Yes,” you panted against his lips, your nails digging into his muscular shoulders.

He began to move with slow, deliberate thrusts, pulling almost entirely out before plunging back in. Your hips rose rhythmically to meet his, his hand locked around one of your thighs to spread you wider.

“Oh, baby,” you commanded, your voice raw. “Faster.”

He obeyed instantly. His thrusts gained a powerful, forceful momentum, his hips slamming against yours. Your breathless moans mingled with his deep, guttural grunts of pleasure. He picked up the pace, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his entire body straining with the sweet effort of pleasing you.

“I’m going to come,” you cried out, your vision blurring with white sparks.

Neteyam smiled, a primal, satisfied grin breaking across his face. He pulled back just enough to torment you, then drove back in with a powerful, precise angle that hit your sweetest spot dead-on. A loud whimper tore from your throat as your body completely seized. A violent orgasm ripped through you, your walls clenching tightly around his cock, milking him fiercely. You bucked and writhed beneath him, completely undone.

Holding you tight, Neteyam rode you over the wave of your climax, his own release building rapidly. With a final, guttural roar, he emptied his heavy warmth deep inside you, his body shuddering violently as he collapsed gently onto you, his chest heaving, his heart hammering wildly against your own.

You lay there for a long time, completely breathless, the scent of the jungle and sex heavy in the air. His cock, still buried inside you, pulsed gently as you felt the warm wetness of his seed filling you.

You let out a weak, shaky giggle, your fingers weakly patting his arm. “Okay... experiment concluded. Avatar structural integrity successfully maintained. Ten out of ten, Commander.”

Neteyam let out a soft, exhausted chuckle against your neck, kissing his way up to your lips to give you a tender, deeply sweet kiss. “Glad to hear that,” he mumbled. “I love you so much.

You stared up at him with bright eyes, grinning at him. “I love you, Neteyam.”

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

The link unit let out a loud, sharp hiss as soon as you are back in your body. You breathed in the slightly metallic air, your heart beating rhythmically against your ribs as you let what just happened sink in. You mated with Neteyam. You are bounded to him forever, and you know it.

Before you could even fully stretch your cramped limbs, you heard the heavy footsteps of what you know belong to the military. You rolled your eyes when three soldiers, clad in full tactical gear, appeared near your link unit.

“Jesus... do you guys ever knock? Or do they just teach you how to kick down doors at Bridgehead basic training?”

The soldier in the center stepped right up to the edge of the link bed. “You've been under for fourteen hours straight, brainiac. For someone who claims to be locked up in a dungeon by the local savages, we've noticed you log into your avatar for an awful lot of hours. Day in, day out. The data logs from this shack are lighting up the grid like a Christmas tree.”

You pulled yourself to sit up, looking at him and letting your face twist into an expression of sheer, unadulterated exhaustion. A mask you had perfected over the last months.

“Yeah, Miller, it's called survival,” you snapped, your voice raspy as you reached for a bottle of water on the side table. “I'm trying to keep the avatar alive. Those people are still feeding the damn thing, alright? They haven't chopped its head off yet because they think it's a harmless and pathetic. If I don't log back in there regularly, if I don't keep up the act of being their perfect captive, it's going to die. And then this multi-billion-dollar asset becomes completely useless to the company. Do you want to explain that loss to the board?”

Miller narrowed his eyes, leaning down until his exopack hissed near your face. “Then why the need for this relocation? If you're not hiding anything, why did you insist on moving your entire setup out to the mountains? This shack used to be within standard radius. Now you're out here in the fog.”

“Because your surveillance is loud, stupid, and they do nothing but intimidate the ones who are actually working to advance what Earth knows about this world,” you replied.

Miller sneered, but before he could step any closer, Dr. Danel stepped forward, his sharp, weathered face set in a furious glare as he planted herself directly between the soldiers and your link unit.

“That is enough, Corporal!” he said. “πou have no right to come into this facility and strong-arm us. The research division is not under the jurisdiction of General Ardmore's immediate military arm. We operate under a separate corporate charter, and I am reminding you,right now, that we are here to research, not submit to your paranoia!”

The two soldiers behind Miller shifted their weight, but Danel didn't back down an inch. He pointed a finger directly at Miller’s chest.

“Other scientists have also requested independent outposts precisely because of this toxic, suffocating surveillance from the military,” Danel continued, her chest heaving. “You are disrupting research critical for the corporation. Now, back off.”

You took the cue, leaning forward and putting on a sad face. “And that recom you guys keep talking about? He's probably dead. I've never heard of him again. In fact, the last time I saw the Na’vis pass through the lower cells, they were carrying his gear. He was shot by a heavy arrow directly to the chest. He definitely couldn't have survived that.” You let your voice crack, squeezing your eyes shut as if the memory was too painful to bear. “My avatar is surviving in a hard, cold, dark, and lonely place, Miller. You don't know what it's like for me right now. Every time I open my eyes in that body, I am surrounded by nine-foot-tall killers. I'm doing my job. What are you doing besides giving me a headache?”

From the corner of the lab, Marco immediately stepped up, patting your back with massive, exaggerated sweeps of his hand, nodding at Miller with an expression of deep, solemn sympathy. “Yeah, man. Leave her alone. Cut her some slack.”

Miller stared at you before finally letting out a harsh breath through his nose and took a step back.

“We'll be back to check the logs again next week,” Miller said, his voice dropping into a low threat. “If we find out you're doing anything other than counting leaves out here, General Ardmore will have you back in a brig at Bridgehead before sunset. Let's move out.”

The soldiers turned on their heels, exiting the shack with the same aggressive energy they had entered with. The heavy metal door slammed shut, the lock clicking into place with.

Marco immediately dropped his hands from your shoulders, letting out a massive breath. “Holy shit... that was an insane clutch, Y/N. Seriously, my heart was in my throat,” he said. “What took you so long out there? You know you can't keep this lie up for long, right? They're going to cross-reference the log feeds eventually.”

You dropped your head into your hands, your messy hair falling over your face. A deep, heavy sigh racked your small frame. “I know, Marco. I know, and... and... and...“

Dr. Danel adjusted his glasses, his eyes sharp as he looked down at your confused face. “What's going on, kid? You look like you're about to throw up.”

You bit your dry lip, slowly raising your head to look at them sheepishly. Your face felt hot, a deep flush spreading across your cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with the link. “I... I mated with Neteyam.”

You watched their faces at the silence stretched

Marco blinked, then his jaw dropped low. “Jake Sully’s son is named Neteyam?!” he yelped.

“Jesus, what?” Dr. Danel said at the exact same time.

“Yes, his name’s Neteyam,” you told Marco, your voice squeaking slightly as you tried to look anywhere but at Dr. Danel’s gaze.

Marco burst into a sudden, loud chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s probably a Na’vi version of Nathan—”

“Right?!” you laughed, the sheer absurdity of the situation breaking through your panic. “I told him once that he looks like a Nathan! And his brother’s named Lo’ak. That's like Luke or—”

“Kid, listen to me,” Dr. Danel interrupted, his voice cutting through the laughter you were sharing with Marco, and he didn't look amused. In fact, his face had gone completely pale. “You mated with Jake Sully’s son? The firstborn?”

“Yes...” you said, your voice dropping into a small, sheepish whisper. You rubbed the back of your neck. “We... we made the bond. Under the Tree of Souls.”

Dr. Danel took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a look of profound gravity. “We can't stay here,” he said flatly.

“W-why?” you asked. “We're safe out here in the ridge, aren't we? The military barely wants to fly through the vortex fields.“

“Y/N, the Na’vi mate for life. You are his wife,” Dr. Danel said, looking at you with an intensity that made you realize the full weight of what you had done. “You cannot be his wife for only half a day and be here in a tin can for the other half. The military is out on your tail. One day soon, they will find out where you really are. And when they realize who you are to the Omatikaya now? They will use you. Or they will kill you to get to them. And that boy will not give you up.”

You bit your lip. “I really brought him trouble.”

“It could be the other way around, too. That boy has given the military a huge headache since we got back here,” he said. “He will bring them trouble. Because of you.”

You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper, your cheeks burning a violent, deep pink as the memory of Neteyam's heavy warmth and the sheer mind-melting intensity of the bond flashed through your mind. He’s so hot.

Marco narrowed his eyes at you, a teasing smirk spreading across his face as he noticed your furious blushing. He opened his mouth to make a horribly inappropriate joke about Na’vi anatomy, but he caught the look on Dr. Danel's face and remembered the severity of the situation.

“Doc, what do you mean about not staying here?” Marco asked, his tone turning serious. “Where are we supposed to go? We have tons of delicate equipment in this shack.”

“Right. Does that mean you want us to relocate directly to the Omatikaya?” you asked, your heart hammering

“Yes,” Dr. Danel answered without a single shred of hesitation. “Because you chose your life, Y/N, and we’re going to make it easy for you. We are your team. We aren't going to let the RDA turn you into a political prisoner.”

The sheer, unconditional protection in his voice brought a sudden, fierce prickle of tears to your eyes. You swallowed hard, looking at the two scientists who had become your real family on this moon.

“We need to get out of the military’s eyes altogether,” Dr. Danel continued, pacing the small width of the lab. "Disappear. I don’t see why we can’t work with Norm and Max if they'll have us. Besides, this needs to be done before the military sets their foot on our necks and keeps you hostage, which I bet will turn into something unimaginable.”

“But how?” you reasoned, gesturing around the space. “The link units are here. Our labs are here. We need everything inside this shack, we can't just leave it behind. If we disconnect the main trunk, the data will corrupt.”

“We can... we can have it airlifted,” Marco suggested, snapping his fingers. “I can ask a favor from Jason. He flies a Samson. I can bribe him with some of that real coffee we smuggled in.”

“No, we can't do that,” Dr. Danel countered immediately. “The RDA radar grid around Bridgehead tracks every single aviation signature. If a Samson flies into Omatikaya territory, they’ll trace the flight path instantly. They'll follow it right to our new doorstep.”

“Well, we can't lift a these reinforced steel container on our own, Doc,” Marco muttered, throwing his hands up. “Unless you've grown some super-strength over the weekend.“

“Wait,” you said, raising a hand, a sudden spark of an idea lighting up your brain. “I... I can talk to Neteyam. Norm and Max were already asking me to stay permanently at the human facilities. I think they'd like more brains there anyway.”

By the morrow, you’re back lying down onto the soft gel pad of the link unit and the smell of sweet, crushed moss of the forest rushed into your lungs. You opened your eyes to the sight of the crystal-like long tendrils of the Tree of Souls gently swaying above you. You felt insanely warm, feeling the heavy arm wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your back flush against a broad, smooth chest that rumbled with every slow, deep breath.

Neteyam was still asleep, his nose buried deep in the crook of your neck. His tail was loosely coiled around your thigh, a subconscious anchor that held you tight even in his dreams. You shifted slightly, a breathless sigh escaping your lips as the movement instantly woke him.

Neteyam’s ears twitched, rising slowly as his golden eyes blinked open, dark and heavy with sleep. The moment he realized you were awake, a soft, incredibly tender smile broke across his beautiful features. He didn't say a word at first; he just tightened his grip around your waist, pulling you so close that there wasn't a single inch of air between your bodies. He dipped his head, pressing a warm kiss directly against your jawline.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated straight through your skin. Through the bond, you could feel the huge ball of warmth in his chest as he hugged you closer, but he also felt the sharp prick of your anxiety. He pushed himself up on his elbow to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

You turned around in his arms so you could look at him. You reached up, your long finger gently tracing the strong line of his jaw. “The— the soldiers. They came to the shack... They are uspicious over the time I'm spending in this body.”

His eyes darkened instantly, the sleepy softness vanishing, replaced by a fierce, cold steel. He sat up, his back muscles flexing. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, no,” you quickly reassured him, pulling him back down by his neck until his forehead rested against yours. “Dr. Danel and Marco stopped them. But Dr. Danel is right... we can't stay there anymore. If we stay, they'll find out I'm with you. They'll use me to get to you.”

His hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “I will not let them touch you. They can’t just do that, they can’t threaten you like that anytime they want. We will relocate your outpost near here.”

“That's the problem,” you sighed, your tail twitching nervously against the grass. “If we relocate, we can't use a human helicopter. The military will track the flight path.”

His head tilted, an amused smirk on his lips. “A Samson is not the only thing that can lift a metal box, yawne.”

You blinked, your own head tilting in question.

“Toruk,” Neteyam said simply. “We must talk to Norm.”

So almost an hour of walk later, you were back at the human facilities with Neteyam standing behind you as you talk to Norm.

“The military just raided our outpost last night. They saw my log-in hours and apparently, it doesn’t look like the log-in hours of someone locked up in a dungeon,” you told him. “Dr. Danel wants to pull the plug and relocate us... here. But we have no way to transport the link shacks without the RDA tracking the Samson’s flight path..“

Norm’s expression shifted from tired to completely alert in a split second. “I knew Ardmore was going to tighten the leash. If they catch you—”

“They won’t,” Neteyam cut in. “We have a way to move their shacks.”

“But, Norm, I need to know if you have space for two more scientists... Danel and Marco are coming with me.”

“The demon we had the day Y/N came in was dead. He did not survive his wound. But the soldiers will use his ghost to hunt my mate. We must bring her people into the safety of our lands."

Your brows furrowed when Norm’s jaw dropped, his eyes darting between you and Neteyam. “Did... did he just say mate?” Norm sputtered. “Y/N... you are mated with Neteyam?”

Neteyam’s hand snaked around your waist. “Yes. She is my mate,” he confirmed.

Norm let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Wow. Okay. Holy shit, Jake is going to have a stroke... wait, no, Jake actually predicted this, didn't he? Alright, all the more reason you need to be relocated immediately and you can be relocated here. I’ll talk to Jake.”

You let out a massive sigh of relief, your shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry for all the trouble, Norm...”

“There is no trouble to forgive, kid,” Norm said, his expression softening into something genuinely protective. “You’ve been part of this family since you got those neural emulation codes working. Now that the tech is almost replicated, we’ve tested it for defensive patrols and it’s brilliant. You are as much a part of this resistance as any of us. And I bet you got some sweet new tech at that outpost?”

You grinned, your tail swishing with a sudden spark of pride. “Oh, we do, Norm. A whole shack of it. State-of-the-art RDA research tech we ‘forgot’ to catalog during the evacuation.”

“Perfect,” Norm grinned back. “Get your people ready. I'm going to find Jake.”

The longhouse of the Omatikaya council was an intimidating place.

When you and Neteyam entered, the atmosphere was already thick with tension. Jake Sully stood at the center, while Neytiri stood just behind him, her arms crossed over her chest. The clan elders, including Maneya's father, were gathered in a semi-circle, their faces hard and unyielding.

Norm had already briefed Jake, and the Olo’eyktan didn't waste any time.

“Y/N’s people are coming here,“ Jake announced, his eyes sweeping across the elders. “She provided us with critical intelligence, and their new technology will help us protect our borders even further. We are going to move their shacks near the human facilities.”

Instantly, an older, scarred warrior named Elder Karin stood up, his tail lashing with anger. “Toruk Makto... you allow too much sky people presence in this clan! First your dreamwalker friends, then this one who wanders our camp like a pet. Now you wish to bring more of their metal boxes into our grounds? It will put our people in jeopardy should these sky people decide to betray us to their soldiers!”

You took a step forward, the urge to defend your people fiercer than your fear. “We won’t do that, Elder Karin. We resent the military—”

“And who allowed you to speak here, dreamwalker?” a harsh voice boomed from the side of the circle. It was Maneya’s father, a warrior whose chest was covered in scars. He glared down at you as if you were an insect. “You have no voice here.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Neteyam stepped in front of you, his entire posture shifted, his broad shoulders blocking you from the warrior's view with his towering height.

“She is allowed to speak,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a calm, gravelly register. He looked directly at Maneya’s father, his eyes flashing. “Y/N is my mate.”

Several elders gasped, their ears twitching violently in shock. Maneya's father stiffened, his hands clenching into fists as a low, furious hiss started in his throat. You turned your head slightly, your eyes widening in sheer panic as you stared up at Neteyam. You hadn't expected him to drop the bomb right now, in front of the entire governing body of the clan.

“I will vouch for her and her people,” Neteyam continued, his voice ringing through the cavernous space with absolute authority. “If she or they happen to betray the clan... you’ll have my head.”

“Neteyam!” both you and Neytiri shouted at the exact same time.

Your hand shot out, pressing flat against his warm chest, your fingers trembling. “Neteyam, stop, don't say that—”

He kept his eyes locked on the elders, though, his chest expanding under your palm as he took a deep breath. “I’m going to put it out there, and I mean it,” he said, his voice softening just enough for them to hear the absolute, unyielding devotion behind it. “I am not an idiot who made my choice based on petty reasons. I know who I mated with, and I will stand by my decision. Even if it costs me my life.”

Your shoulder slumped as you let out a shuddering breath. You hated the fact that your presence, your identity as a dreamwalker, was bringing this much turmoil to the man you loved. You felt like an anchor dragging him down into the mud of clan politics.

But before you could spiral into your own head, a hand covered yours where it rested on Neteyam’s chest.

You looked up, startled and saw Neytiri’s eyes on you. She squeezed your hand against her son's chest, making your heart leap into your throat. She looked back up at the council, her spine straightening as she stood by her son.

Jake Sully looked at the council. “My son made his choice.”

Jake’s decision and order were rock solid, and a few hours later, you were already riding behind Neteyam on his ikran, your arms wrapped tightly around his torso. But as you broke through the cloud cover, a massive, towering shadow loomed over the entire valley.

You looked up and saw the massive, red-and-orange beast flying through the mist, its wingspan wide enough to shadow an entire valley. Perched atop it was Jake Sully. Toruk had lifted heavy equipment before, back when the clan evacuated to High Camp years ago, and Jake knew exactly how to rig the cargo straps to the container's reinforced corner castings.

Neteyam landed his ikran smoothly on the cliff edge outside your shack. The moment his feet touched the ground, the door to the outpost opened, and Dr. Danel and Marco stepped out, both wearing their exopacks. Dr  Danel stopped dead in his tracks, his lips parting slightly as he looked up at the massive form of Toruk settling onto the ridge above them. “My God... I read the reports, but seeing that thing in person... it's terrifying,” he whispered, completely starstruck.

Marco, meanwhile, was looking at you. He walked up to you, a massive grin on his face. “Oh, thank God, your avatar’s really safe," he said, reaching out to give you a huge hug. “You talk to us every day from the box, but seeing the blue version of you here is great!”

Before he could reach you, though, a large hand gently but firmly pulled you back by your elbow by just half an inch. You looked at Neteyam and saw his ears tilted slightly back, his eyes tracking Marco with a quiet, possessive intensity.

You burst out laughing, holding Neteyam’s hand. “He’s one of the scientists I’m working with. He’s like Norm,” you told him, giving him a reassuring smile.

Neteyam’s ears came back up, though his hand is now firmly anchored to your waist. He nodded once to Marco. “I am Neteyam.”

Marco looked up at the nine-foot-tall warrior, his eyes tracking from Neteyam’s broad chest down to where his hand was squeezing your waist. “N-Nice to meet you, man. I’m Marco.”

“We need to move quickly,” Jake called. Dr. Danel was already talking to him and the warriors who were in company.

They all worked together to tie the heavy cables around the container's main chassis, while you stepped inside the shack log out of your avatar, laying down on your designated bed and closing your eyes as Marco initiated the remote sleep sequence. Within minutes, the world faded to black.

A sharp hiss echoed in the shack as it depressures and you opened your eyes to Marco pulling the neural cap off your smaller head. You moved your fingers and toes, pulling yourself up. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a dark monitor screen. Your hair was a mess and your skin looked slightly pale from the lack of sunlight.

“Marco,” you muttered, fixing your top. “Do I look okay? Or do I look like a swamp monster that's been living in a basement for three weeks?”

Marco rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might clip into the back of his skull. “I don't think that man out there is going to care about your split ends, Y/N. The guy is completely head over heels for you.”

“Yeah, he's head over heels for the avatar,” you sighed, finger-combing your hair before wearing your own exopack. “He hasn't seen this version. The human who needs a plastic bubble just to breathe his air.”

“Oh, please. If he survived your personality in the blue body, he can handle your hair in this one,” Marco scoffed, punching the final release valve on the container's seals. “Let's go. They're waiting.”

The heavy metal door hissed open, and you stepped, the wind whipping around your hair as you clutched the straps of your exopack. Dr. Danel and Marco were already walking toward the two Omatikaya warriors who had volunteered to carry them on their ikrans. Neteyam, however, was standing right near the edge, finishing a quiet conversation with his father.

But the moment the door shut behind you, his eyes were on you. You stopped walking for a moment, feeling small standing there in your human clothes and the clear plastic mask covering your face. You raised your hand and gave him a little wave as you grinned mischievously.

Neteyam didn't move for a long moment, just standing there, his eyes wide, his gaze trained entirely on your face even as you walked up to him. He looked like he had just been dropped into a trance, peering down through the dark fringe of his long lashes, his eyes scanning every single detail of your features.

You cleared your throat. “Look at that height difference. It's ridiculous. Are you going to need a magnifying glass just to talk to me now, Commander?”

Jake Sully let out a loud laugh as he adjusted Toruk's harness. “That we can agree on. The height difference is a killer. Thankfully, my time only lasted like three seconds.”

Dr. Danel called out your name, waving you over to where the other warriors were preparing for takeoff. He and Jake walked toward the edge to supervise the final cable tension, leaving you and Neteyam alone on the platform.

“Why are you so silent?” you whispered, looking up at him. “Is it weird?”

Neteyam blinked, as if finally snapping out of whatever spell he was under. He shook his head, his ears tilting forward. “It is not weird,” he whispered, his deep voice carrying a soft, breathy reverence that made your stomach do a violent flip. “It is just... y-you are so beautiful, Y/N. In this body, too.”

A massive smirk broke through your face. “Will it be too cocky of me to say I already know that?” you whispered back.

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed playfully, a familiar, beautiful warmth returning to his expression. “Since when did you ever care about not being cocky, my love?”

You giggled, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his hand. He pulled you gently toward where his ikran was waiting, the large mountain banshee tracking your small movement with its sharp, intelligent eyes.

“Wow... everything out here is just so incredibly big,” you muttered, looking up at the towering wings of the banshee, then up at Toruk hovering above. Then, your head snapped back to Neteyam. “didn't specifically mean you, by the way! But... I mean, you're included in that observation.”

Neteyam let out a low, gravelly chuckle, and before you could even register what he was doing, his massive hands spanned your waist. With a single, effortless lift, he plopped you right on top of the ikran’s leather saddle.

“Oh, no! Neteyam, wait!” you shrieked, your hands scrambling for purchase on the smooth leather. “What if he decides to fly off with just me?!”

“I am right here,” he murmured, mounting behind you as he made the bond. He leaned forward, his massive chest pressing flush against your back, completely enveloping your smaller body in his warmth.

Above you, Toruk shook the rocks beneath the ridge with a massive sweep of its wings, surging upward into the fog, effortlessly lifting the metal shack into the air like it was a children's toy.

Neteyam’s ikran leaped off the ridge, plunging straight into the open sky. Your hands clamped onto Neteyam's thick, muscular forearm as it wrapped around you like a seatbelt.

“Is it tight enough?” he whispered, his deep, gravelly voice buzzing directly against your ear.

You felt a sudden, hot shiver run straight down your spine. Your mind instantly went somewhere incredibly inappropriate, remembering the way that exact same voice had sounded against your skin under the Tree of Souls the night before. You internally scolded yourself, but it didn't change the fact that your heart was pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with gravity.

“Y-yes...” you muttered, leaning back into his massive chest.

He pulled your significantly smaller body completely against his torso, shielding you from the crosswinds. The flight into the territories of the Omatikaya was fortunately uneventful, with Toruk delivering the link shacks safely into the deep part of the forest, right adjacent to the human facilities.

The moment you arrived, Norm and a handful of other scientists were waiting on the reinforced catwalks. Dr. Danel immediately stepped off his warrior's ikran to greet Norm. The two of them had worked in parallel branches of the RDA research sector years and years ago, and within five minutes, they were already animatedly talking about what could be done to hasten the project you were currently working on with them.

While they were talking, you walked toward the entrance of the newly placed container shack to prepare for your log-in. Neteyam followed you, his large hand never letting go of yours as you guided him through the narrow, heavy steel door of the shack.

“This is where I live whenever I'm back in my human body. It's not exactly Hometree, but it has good air conditioning,” you grinned, gesturing around the cramped, highly advanced laboratory space.

You showed him the primary link unit, pointing to the soft gel mattress where your human body spent hours every day. You reached up, unbuckling your human exopack and handing him a recon breather mask just in case he needed to breathe his own air. He held the it with immense curiosity, his large fingers turning it over like a puzzle, telling you he really wasn’t one to spend a lot of time in the human facilities.

Neteyam walked around the small lab, his long tail sweeping carefully behind him to avoid knocking over any glass beakers or computer monitors. He was fascinated by everything, his golden eyes wide as you excitedly rambled on about your job.

“Alright, let me show you how I link back to my avatar,” you grinned, taking a step toward the link bed.

But before your foot could even touch the frame, Neteyam’s hand caught your elbow. With a gentle, effortless tug, he pulled you back toward him. He leaned against the heavy metal workbench, his massive form still towering over you even while semi-reclined.

“Don't link back yet,” he whispered, his voice dropping into that quiet, possessive register that always made your knees weak. He looked down at your small human hands, his long blue fingers gently weaving through yours. “Besides... isn't this the time allotted for your human body? The time you must rest?”

You bit your lip, looking up at him. “Yeah... it is. I just thought... well, I thought it would be better if I logged back in so I could be almost as tall as you again.” you rolled your eyes.

Neteyam let out a soft, low chuckle. His large hands moved from your fingers to your waist, his grip warm as he pulled you directly between his long legs. You stood there, completely bracketed by him.

“It does not matter,” he said softly. “I really like this version, too. You are... very cute.”

“Cute?!” you gasped, your eyes as you let out a defensive chuckle. “Excuse me, Commander, I am not a puppy! You just don't know, but for humans? I'm actually considered really hot. Like, premium tier.”

Neteyam’s playful smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes darkening. “I can see that...” he mumbled, his voice turning hoarse as his hand on your waist caressed your curve against the fabric of your tank top. “Did... did any man back at Bridgehead tried?”

“No,” you whispered, looking directly into his intense gaze. “I'm not really fond of soldiers.”

His brow raised, his head tilting slightly in question. “No?”

You pushed your lips forward into a little pout, your small human hands pressing flat against his hard, heavily muscled abdomen. “No. But... I find I have a massive thing for nine-foot-tall blue warriors who can hit a bull's eye with a longbow even with his eyes closed. Which is so much cooler than being a trigger-happy moron with a rifle.”

Neteyam’s chest rumbled with a deep purr. You leaned your head all the way back, reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss him, and he lowered his massive head instantly, his lips crashing down onto yours with an explosive, hungry heat. He pulled you flush against his frame, his large hands anchoring you to his hips as the kiss deepened, your small human mouth completely consumed by his.

Suddenly, the heavy pneumatic door of the shack hissed open with a loud rush of air.

“Hey, Y/N, we need to calibrate the secondary—” Norm’s voice cut off instantly.

He and Dr. Danel stood in the doorway, both freezing mid-step. You immediately pushed against Neteyam’s chest, breaking the kiss and stumbling back a step, immediately starting to talk about the project. Neteyam just stood there, entirely unbothered, a smug, deeply satisfied smirk gracing his lips as he looked over your head at the two older scientists.

They had definitely seen everything they needed to see.

For the next two weeks, the human facilities became a furnace of pure, collaborative energy.

You lived with Neteyam in the hut you two share as a mated couple, slowly integrating as a member of the clan now. You sleep wrapped in his arms every single night on the soft woven mats, but during the days, you, Dr. Danel, and Marco worked tirelessly between the link shacks and the main human labs.

You stretched, waking up slowly to the sight of golden light filtering through the kelku, dappling inside the room. Neteyam's chest vibrated against your shoulders. He was holding you tightly, his arms locked around your waist, his long tail resting over your hip.

You craned your neck, pressing a soft kiss to his chin as your own tail gently curled around his thigh. “Wake up, lover boy...”

Neteyam buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as he pressed a kiss against your soft skin. He pulled himself up, pulling you in for a deep kiss. “I’ll walk you to the shack.”

You pushed your lips forward, “You have morning patrol,” you reminded him.

“Which wouldn’t be for an hour,” he reasoned, grabbing your loincloth near you and pulling the soft covers off your naked body. “Do we have time?” he asked, dipping his head low to start kissing your jaw.

“No, Commander. No, we don’t,” you said sweetly, kissing his cheek as you grabbed your top.

He groaned, pressing his nose against your neck as he hugged you. “If they want me out there, they’ll need to perfume the air with your smell because I’ve been needing a day with just this,” he drawled, kissing your neck.

“Other things can be done, you know...” you whispered, pushing yourself up on your elbow and gathering your hair.

He lifted his head up, his hot gaze dropping down to you licking your lips.

An hour later, you were standing in the lab with Dr. Danel, Norm, Max, and the other scientists. Jake Sully came the moment Norm called him to see the finish product of what you all have worked on in the past months. Jake held up a small, heavily modified metallic strip between his fingers.

“Alright. I understand that the emulator we brought Y/N months ago will help us hide our tracks during raids... This will do that?”

Norm nodded, “Yes. We managed to reverse-engineer the emulation codes. The raiding party could wear these tags, and when they hit the weapon’s transports, the sensor perimeters would send out a false-positive loop back to Bridgehead. To their automated automated tracking systems, we will be friends, not foes.”

Jake nodded. “This is a game changer, Norm, Y/N, Max,” he said. “We’ll try this in the next raid.”

“Jake, there isn’t a hundred-percent guarantee that it would work but we have tried running tests,” Max told him.

Jake shrugs, “It could make a difference or it could not. Besides, we’ve been doing the raids without this for so long, but if it works, it will be great.”

The rest of that day and the following one were spent in a whirlwind of intense preparation. The war party was mobilizing for a massive raid on an RDA weapons railcar, while Neteyam stayed back at the lab with you that evening to finalize the deployment coordinates. With Dr. Danel and Marco asleep in their own modules, you two spent the night tangled together in your avatar’s cot.

Your avatar was back at Hometree though. It’s you in your human form that he’s holding with an incredible, fragile tenderness, his massive hands mapping every curve of your smaller body as you made out in the quiet dark.

You pressed your palm against his solid chest, moaning as he deepened the kiss, sucking at your tongue. You caressed the braids on his nape, caressing his soft skin as you moved your hips against him. You two eventually fell asleep, you with your head nestled perfectly into the crook of his collarbone and him with his arms wrapped around you tightly.

The next morning, you woke up with your hair completely messy and wild. Neteyam sat up beside you, looking down at your birds-nest hair and bursting into a sudden, booming laugh.

“Oh, shut up!” you huffed, throwing a pillow at his chest. “I did ask you for a haircare secret and you didn't give me anything! You just naturally look like a supermodel while I look like a troll!”

Neteyam laughed even harder, his massive arms reaching out to scoop your body back against his chest. He buried his large face into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing warm, heavy kisses against your skin as he held you tight. “You are beautiful,” he mumbled happily. “Always.”

You prepared for the day, sitting on the soft gel of your link unit and leaning up to kiss him. “See you at Hometree, Commander,” you murmured.

“See you there, my love,” he replied.

You lay back down onto the link unit, pulling the neural cap over your head and sliding into the dark.

When your avatar opened its eyes back at Hometree, your ears picked up on the buzzing sound from the lower branches humming with intense energy. Before you could even stretched, someone suddenly bounded into the kelku, and when you looked up, you saw Tuk with her tail swishing with frantic excitement as she grabbed your large hand.

“Y/N! Come on! Come on! The war party is assembling downstairs! You have to be there!”

“Why should I be there, Tuk?” you mused with a grin, letting the young girl drag you down the winding root pathways of the tree. “I'm just the tech support.”

“Because!” she beamed, pulling you right into the center of the clearing.

The moment you stepped into the communal clearing, you saw the warriors sharpening their arrows, checking the straps on their bowstrings, and preparing their war paint. Your eyes caught Neteyam who just entered the clearing, too, his knife sheath secured in his chest and his longbow strapped across his back. The second he saw you, he walked straight through the crowd, ignoring the lingering stares of the elders. He caught your waist, pulling you tightly against him, and dipped his head to kiss you hard and deep.

Tuk giggled loudly, running up beside you two with two small clay bowls filled with thick yellow and turquoise paint. “Here! His war paint!”

You chuckled, taking the bowls from her. Neteyam pulled you into a quiet, shaded corner of the clearing, sitting down on a low ledge. You dipped your fingers into the cool, turquoise paste, carefully drawing the sharp, traditional lines across his high cheekbones and down the powerful expanse of his chest.

Neteyam watched you the entire time, his golden eyes filled with an intense, quiet devotion. As you finished the last line on his shoulder, he reached down, pressing your hand into the bright yellow paint. His eyes locked onto yours as he pressed your painted palm directly over the center of his chest, leaving a perfect yellow print of your five-fingered hand on his skin.

“My heart is your,“ he whispered.

Your chuckled, you ought to tease him for being too cheesy, but your throat tightened with emotion. You leaned up and kissed him hard. “Come home to me safe, Neteyam.”

Turns out, the raid was an absolute success.

The RFID tags worked perfectly, completely blinding the RDA’s automated sensors as the war party swooped down on the railcar, securing several crates of advanced weaponry and medical supplies without a single casualty.

That evening, the celebration at Hometree was wild and loud. Fire blazed in the center of the clearing and the sound of drums and laughter echoed through the canopy. Even Dr. Danel and Marco had come up from the labs, wearing their exopacks and socializing with the other scientists and warriors.

You danced and drank with Kiri and your friends, laughing until your sides ached, completely lost in the joy of the victory.

Suddenly, a large hand slid around your waist from behind, stealing you away from the group, his arm pulling you into a slow, rhythmic sway near the edge of the firelight. You looked up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you moved together to the beat of the drums.

“Aren't you going to police my schedule, Commander?” you whispered teasingly, your eyes sparkling. xAren't you going to talk about how I've been in the avatar for too many hours and need to log out now?”

“No,” Neteyam mumbled, his head dipping down until his lips brushed against your ear. “Because we are still having fun... and I want to hold my wife.”

You smirked, a wicked, playful thought lighting up your brain. You leaned up, your tongue darting out to lick at your lips. “Except... we could also have a different kind of fun back at the shack, Neteyam... with my human body.”

Neteyam’s head reared back instantly. His golden eyes widened, a sudden, intense heat flashing across his face as his ears twitched violently. “What... what are you talking about?” he mumbled, his voice dropping an entire octave.

You narrowed your eyes playfully, raising a brow. “What, you've never thought about it? Doing it while I'm in my real skin...”

“I... I did, but—... but— but I—" Neteyam stammered, his usual cool, commanding demeanor completely fracturing. He swallowed hard, his jaw tight. “No. Y/N... you are so small. I—I would not want to hurt you.”

You pulled him closer, leaning up to let your lips brush teasingly against his jaw. “Oh, we are so going to the shack right now.”

You squeezed his shoulder, brushing your fingers down his arm before intertwining your fingers with his. You pulled him toward the exit, chuckling softly when he let himself be dragged without a single shred of resistance.

You two walked down the winding wooden ramp that led down to the forest floor, and you were about to start the trek toward the human facilities on foot when  Neteyam gently steered you in a different direction toward the direhorse stables.

“Wow, someone's excited,” you teased, your tail swinging in wicked loops as he swiftly freed his direhorse out from the tether.

Before you could even finish the sentence, his large hands clamped onto your waist and plopped you effortlessly onto the back of the beast, making you shriek in surprise. He then mounted the direhorse behind you, his powerful chest locking you into place as he made the bond. With a sharp command, the direhorse surged into the jungle, sprinting toward the human facilities.

When you arrived, you went into the shack and he tailed behind you. He helped you initiate the log out by depressurizing the link unit. The moment your human eyes opened, you pushed the neural cap off and sat up. Neteyam was already standing right beside the link unit, his massive, nine-foot-tall frame making the small room feel even smaller.

You grinned up at him, sliding off the gel mattress. “Oh, I can see those gears turning in your head...” you teased, stepping closer to him. Your smaller hand reached out, sliding down the smooth skin of his muscled abdomen, tracing the line down toward the lower part of his waist.

Neteyam’s hand shot out like lightning though, his large hand gently but firmly catching your wrist, stopping it. “No...” he rough-whispered, his chest heaving. “It won’t be involved, Y/N,” he widened his eyes. “It’s too dangerous for you.”

You rolled your eyes, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Boo! Coward,” you teased, leaning your head all the way up.

Neteyam immediately leaned down even as he was still chuckling, his lips crashing onto yours with a fierce, burning intensity. He wrapped his massive arms around your back and hauled your small body clean off the unit. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs tightly around his massive, muscular torso, your fingers tangling in his thick braids as the kiss deepened, turning hard and desperately hungry.

He started walking blindly toward your curtained nook in the back of the shack, his eyes closed as he consumed your mouth. A loud noise echoed as Neteyam’s head hit the corner of a storage cupboard. He winced, letting out a sharp grunt as his ears pinned back in irritation as he lowered you down onto your mattress.

You broke the kiss, your brows furrowed in worry as you caressed his head. “Are you okay?” you asked, looking at the cupboard. “Be careful, baby...” you leaned up to press soft kisses on the side of his lips. “Hm?”

His groan vibrated in his chest as he hovered over you, his massive frame blocking out the light for you as his head dipped back down. He kissed your jawline, his lips trailing down to nip playfully at the soft skin of your neck, making you squeal and squirm beneath him.

You two kissed and kissed, the heat between you rising rapidly. You reached down, catching his massive hand from where it rested on your waist, and guided it upward, placing his large palm directly over your breast.

“When are you going to touch them?” you mumbled against his lips.

Neteyam let out a deep, guttural groan. His massive hand, which easily covered your entire breast, cupped the ample curve through your tank top. He squeezed it with a careful pressure and a moan escaped your throat, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you kissed him harder.

Suddenly, he pulled his head back, his eyes wide with genuine awe as he kneaded your chest. “It... it is so soft,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse. He brought his other hand up, carefully cupping and kneading both of your breasts through the fabric. “Your skin...is like silk.”

You smiled, your hips arching slightly as you reached down, pulling the hem of your tank top up and sliding it over your head, tossing it onto the floor. You heard Neteyam take in a ragged breath, his eyes locking onto your chest before he kissed the swell of it

“Come on!” you whisper-shouted. “You didn't even appreciate my lace bra! I wore the fancy one!”

Neteyam blinked, his head tilting in complete confusion. “Your... what?”

You pushed his massive chest back gently, sitting up slightly and arched your back. A hungry, predatory look were on his eyes as his gaze caressed your body.

“This is the equivalent of a really banging top right now. It’s really sexy,” you mumbled.

A low, dark chuckle escaped his lips. You reached for the latch in the center of your chest, unclasping it and freeing your breasts completely. You watched him lick his lips wet, his ears pinning flat against his head. He lowered his massive head, his warm mouth enveloping one peak as his large fingers gently fondled and squeezed the other.

An intense, scorching rush of liquid heat gushed out between your thighs as he suckled and fondled on them, making you let out a breathless whimper, your hands cradling his head as he enjoyed you.

After what seemed like hours, he left your breasts with their pebbled tips swollen and red, his lips trailing down your abdomen. You reached down, your thumbs hooking on your sweatpants and underwear to roll it off your hips. Following your lead, he pulled it further down and you kicked it off your legs. Neteyam shifted, his massive hand coming down to grip your thigh, his calloused fingers firmly spreading your legs wide on the bed.

You saw him lick his lips as he looked down at your pussy, his hand reaching down to gently caress your velvety, slick folds with his thumb. His golden eyes peered up at you through his lashes, burning with an unadulterated, primal hunger. You bit your lip, nodding to him. Neteyam then leaned down, his mouth pressing directly against your pussy.

You took in a sharp breath, your fingers clutching the bedsheets as his tongue began to lick and kiss you with an incredible devotion he’s already showed you in your avatar body. He ate you out like you were his absolute favorite meal, his deep groans vibrating directly against your core as he licked and suckled at your soft nub. Slowly, carefully, he slid one finger inside you, testing your slick warmth.

“Neteyam...” you panted, your hips instinctively bucking against his mouth. “More...”

He added a second finger, his mouth and hands working together in a flawless perfect rhythm until your legs were shaking violently and your entire body seized in a shattering orgasm. You bucked against his hand, completely undone.

Once the waves settled, he hovered back over you, his chest heaving. Your hand shot out, reaching down between his legs to palm his hardened cock. He let out a loud groan, his knees buckling slightly against the frame of the bed.

“Take it out, baby...” you mumbled, your voice thick with desire. “I'll take care of it.”

You reached behind him, helping him untie the bindings of his loincloth. The moment he shed the fabric, his cock sprang free. An impossibly long and thick column of azure, engorged and already licking at the tip. You swallowed hard, pushing yourself up on your elbows. You leaned forward, placing the wide head of his shaft against your lips. You peered up at him through your lashes as you began to lick the sweet essence from the tip, your small hand working the incredible length of his shaft as far down as you could reach.

You tilted your head, moving your mouth to take more of him in, but you could barely get half of it past your lips before your mouth felt completely stuffed. Neteyam let out a loud moan, his hand coming up to grip your hair gently as he carefully moved his hips against your mouth, dragging his length in ths slick warmth of it before gently pulling it out.

His breath was ragged as he started pumping himself with his hand, his other hand firmly keeping your thighs spread wide on the mattress.

He grunted, his body trembling. You reached up, wrapping your small hand around his heavily muscled forearm.

“Put it inside me, Neteyam...” you whispered, your eyes locked onto his. “Please...”

Neteyam bit his lip, his expression fracturing with conflict. He looked terrified of breaking you, but the burning desire to be inside you was written across every inch of his face. You squeezed his forearm when he lowered his hips carefully between your legs.

“Hips up, beautiful...” he said in a low command, his large hand sliding under you to lift your hips off the bed.

You bit your lip as the massive, wide head of his shaft began to nudge against your sensitive, aching folds. You knew there was absolutely no mathematical way his entire length would fit inside you, but you didn't care. You whimpered as the head pushed past your opening, stretching you incredibly wide, while Neteyam let out a deep, guttural grunt as the intense warmth and tightness of your walls embraced him.

You looked down, watching in sheer pleasure as his thick blue cock spread your pussy lips so wide that a huge amount of your own wetness was coating him. His calloused thumb reached down to softly rub your clit as he gently eased himself. His other hand kneaded your soft breast before lowering his head to kiss you deeply.

He stopped pushing in just right, knowing your body's limit. Then, he began to move, dragging his cock in and out of you in a careful, agonizingly slow pace. You kept your back arched, offering your breasts to his mouth. He caught one peak between his lips, suckling hungrily as his hips thrust rhythmically against yours.

“You are... so tight...” he groaned against your skin, his bites turning hard and nipping at the flesh of your breast. “So fucking good, baby.”

“You're just... so big...” you whimpered, tears of sheer pleasure pricking your eyes as you felt every single ridge and vein of his cock molded perfectly against your soft walls.

The intense friction was too much for him to withstand in your tight core that within a few more deliberate thrusts, he let out a loud, primal grunt, his entire body shuddering violently as he spilled his heavy, warm release deep inside you. He carefully pulled out, gripping his throbbing shaft tight as he shivered, painting your pussy with the warmth of his release.

You lay there panting, your fingers caressing his lower abdomen before you u reached down to scoop a dollop of the warm, thick fluid onto your fingers and bring it up to your mouth, licking it off with a playful smirk.

Neteyam let out a low purr, his large hand reaching out to give your breast a squeeze as he smiled down at you. He lowered his head, catching your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he groaned happily.

Suddenly, your eyes snapped wide open. You gasped, aggressively pushing his massive chest away.

Neteyam blinked, looking entirely confused as he sat back on his heels. “What? What is it, my love?”

You scrambled across the bed, your hands frantically grabbing the calendar pad off your nightstand. You stared at the glowing green matrix on the screen, your face turning completely pale.

“What?” Neteyam asked again, his ears tilting forward in concern.

“I'm fertile,” you mumbled in English, blinking up at him with wide, bewildered eyes.

Neteyam’s brow furrowed, his head tilting in confusion. “Fertile? As in good soil?”

“No, me. I’n fertile. I could get pregnant," you said, your face a mix of pure shock and panic. “Like... baby pregnant.”

Neteyam’s head reared back instantly, his ears pinning completely flat against his head. A look of genuine alarm flashed across his face, and he immediately pressed his massive hand flat against your soft belly, as if protecting it. “Baby... no. You won't survive it.”

“I know, oh my goodness,” you said, biting your lip, but as the panic subsided, a sudden realization began to click in your brain. You let out a small, breathless chuckle, patting his massive hand. “But wait... don't worry. It's actually highly impossible for it to happen.”

Neteyam blinked, his ears perking up slightly. “Impossible? Why?”

“Because science,” you nodded at him. “My human immune system will immediately recognize your biological material as a foreign, alien pathogen. The moment it enters my system, my white blood cells are going to launch an assault and attack it. Your little soldiers don't stand a chance against my white blood cells.”

Neteyam stared at you for a long three seconds, processing the complex jargon, before a look of profound, worshipful adoration washed over his beautiful features. He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, leaning down to press a deep, tender kiss right where your forehead met your messy hair.

“You are such a genius, baby,” he murmured against your skin.

You pursed your lips, grinning up at him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Small thing, Commander. That's exactly what brought me to this world in the first place.”

Neteyam smiled, his large arms wrapping completely around your small frame, pulling you close against his chest as the rain began to patter softly against the reinforced steel roof of the shack. “I love your brain,” he whispered adoringly, his golden eyes shining in the dark. “I love you. I love you very much, Y/N.”

You grinned, burying your face into his warm chest, your heart completely at peace. “I love you too, Neteyam.”

[mindfulsreposts]

THANKS FOR SHARING!! I was not expecting it to have so much content, what a ride

[bfbkg]

just coupled up! — bkg.

— love island season is back and so am i.

it’s one of those days in the villa where there’s nothing to do. just the beaming hot sun and attractive people all under one building… if anything, you mostly enjoy watching production behind the scenes. fixing cameras, changing lenses and one of your girls getting her mic fixed in the corner.

some of the boys are playing with the gym equipment, the girls standing in the pools chatting. a few couples have gone off to chat and so have you.

you sit cross legged on the day bed, opposite possibly one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in real life. is it normal to meet someone and immediately want to jump them? to wonder how their lips would feel against yours and their hard toned chest against your softer one.

he lays beside you, thick bicep propping his head up on the pillow so he can see you properly. you recoupled with katsuki last night, drawn in by his pretty red eyes and the few flirtatious conversations you had previously. well mostly the blunt compliments and slight nervousness from him, that easily got you giddy and running your finger down his arm. you want to know more, you especially want to know if he’s boyfriend material.

you scoot closer to him so your knee is touching his side and you can flatten your hand on his collarbone. you watch as his breath hitches at your touch, his eyes staying on your face and not dropping to the tiny piece of fabric between your thighs or your chest.

“i wanna know more about you,” you say, lifting up his black lenses sunglasses off his nose bridge just to check he’s looking at you. he is. two shiny rubies glittering. then you drop the glasses back onto his nose.

you feel his whole body hum, “can say the same about you.”

bakugou is brave when he places a hand on your bare thigh. your eyes widen just a smidge before biting down on your lip. fuck, it is way too early to feel this much sexual tension. you want to drag him into the hideaway and push him down onto the mattress.

politely, you take your hand off his collarbone and his hand off your thigh. “sorry, i can’t think straight with the touching,” you blink a few times like you’re clearing your head, adjusting your posture and stretching your fingers, “i’m serious. i wanna know about your family, your friends on the outside. what’s your usual morning routine… what’s the day in the life with katsuki. what about your last name?”

apparently, you don’t need to have him touch you to feel aroused, his smile can do it for you. the corners of his lips reach up, revealing bright white straight teeth and a gold tooth on his canine. how’d be get that? why? you need to know everything. he adjusts the waistband of his black swim trunks.

“fuck, you’re adorable. one by one, yeah? and then you answer the same question.” his hands are back on his own chest, his fingers twitching with the urge to touch you. even the urge to look between your legs, your cute thighs and that tiny strip of fabric hiding nothing.

you nod, adjusting your hair because you want to look perfect in front of him even though he’s seen how you look when you wake up.

“i usually go to the gym every morning.”

your face scrunches. unimpressed, confused, icked out… katsuki doesn’t get it.

he frowns back at you, “what’s wrong with that?”

“every morning?”

“yeah, gotta stay ready for my work. part of my routine.”

you pout, looking away. you don’t mean to but you run the tip of your finger down the vein in his forearm.

“i need cuddles in the morning if i’m waking up beside my man. i’d hate waking up beside an empty spot all the time in a relationship.”

bakugou lets every word sink into his skin like the sunscreen he slapped on earlier.

“i’d adjust for my girlfriend.” in other words he’d adjust for you. “i’d probably wanna do a lil more than cuddle in the mornin’.” if i woke up beside you.

that gets you staring at his lips. pink and in a small smirk. he has to be an eater. you want to run your tongue along the scar on his cheek. feel his hands back on your body.

“that’s good to know, katsuki. really good to know.”

you’re trying to be serious but the giggles spill out of you faster than you can catch.

“is it too early to say i’ve never felt tension like this before? if we weren’t in here….,” you trail off, you know exactly what you want to say.

“no i get it. fuckin’ magnetic,” then he wipes under his nose. he’s eager for any piece of you you’re willing to give. if it’s a touch, a thought, a look. anything. “if we weren’t here what?”

he’s so naturally flirtatious. you don’t think he even means to be. he’s cutely bad at eye contact sometimes, like your presence overwhelms him. then other times, like when it’s just you and him, it feels you’re the only one in the villa, actually the whole planet.

you lean in closer to his face, nose to nose, “i’m not telling you yet.” then you’re back sitting up straight.

“fine, princess. what’s your morning like?”

“well, mr pro hero, i always wanna be in bed as long as possible. cuddles in bed, morning sex, breakfast in bed, some shitty tv. on the weekend at least.”

bakugou raises his eyebrows, “just the weekend? we can stretch that midweek too, i think.”

you’re trying to hide your smile, biting it down, “and then after i’m happy and fed, you can do whatever you do in the gym.”

“fucked and fed.”

you slap his arm, “katsuki!”

he grabs your hand in the air and shrugs his shoulders. then sweetest, he loops his fingers with yours, “‘m not wrong.”

it’s the demons that push you to ask your next question. you’re supposed to find out about his family, his background, there’s so many questions you can ask about his job.

“what’s your favourite position?”

you wish you were wearing sunglasses right now, so you can subtly stare at his abdomen and all the scars that run over it.

bakugou’s laugh is short and huffy, like he wasn’t expecting that question but he’ll entertain you with an answer.

“i hope you know that even though i’ve never had a girlfriend, it doesn’t mean i fuck around.”

ah yes. this gorgeous prohero has never been locked down. it’s a fact he said a few days ago at the firepit. you’re not sure whether to take it as a red flag or not.

you’ve got no reason to assume he’s lying to you yet so you nod.

“okay! now answer me.”

he squeezes your hand in his, now resting your hands on his stomach. katsuki’s really thinking about this question, scrunching his nose and then releasing.

“this isn’t a cop out, but i love missionary where i have my partner folded,” then he flickers his gaze over to you, “y’know. like her knees to her ears. get to see her face and go deep.”

fuck, fuck, fuck. fuck.

“that’s like equally romantic, equally dirty.” you’re so turned on you hope it isn’t obvious. has anyone gone to the hideaway during the day?

bakugou shrugs. he wonders how you’d sound moaning his name. “i like knowin’ for sure i’m makin’ them feel good. tell me yours.”

with your other hand, you can’t help it, you’re back to drawing shapes on his chest. his other hand is back on your thigh, “i like when the guy is sitting and i’m sitting on top of him. the lotus position? that one is insane.”

“you’re just like me. you love some eye contact and feelin’ it deep, huh?”

you’re smiling at him, “and we can kiss while i cockwarm you.”

you both never realise when you switch to making it personal. like you know someday in the future you both will be doing this.

“cockwarm?” he pushes his sunglasses up his nose. squeezes your thigh.

“if your dick was inside me but not moving or thrusting. thats cockwarming.”

bakugou stares at your lips when you talk, how they curl and go into o shapes.

“oh fuck,” he breathes, tapping your thigh with two fingers, “yeah, that’s sexy.”

“hm,” you mumble, adjusting to now lay slightly on top of him. you stretch your legs out beside his, your arm across his chest and your head just under his.

there’s a few seconds of silence, choosing what’s the best decision to take next that doesn’t include having sex with you somewhere.

“we gotta talk about somethin’ else before i drag you into that fuckin’ hideaway at god knows what time it is.” he grunts, pulling at his shorts and adjusting his body on the bed. katsuki pulls off his sunglasses to rub a palm down his face.

“okay, okay!” you perch your head on his chest and his hand drifts down to your lower back. “when did you move here? you grew up in japan, right?”

he leaves his glasses off now, “yeah i did, i moved here about five years ago? i live in the south now.”

“i live near there too! about an hour drive,” something in common. “so, you must know some japanese.”

he chuckles and you feel his body shake under you, “it’s my native language so i know pretty much everythin’, babe.”

katsuki’s fascinated at how easy this is with you. that apparently it just took him to go in a dating show to find a woman he wants to keep forever.

you sit up on his chest slightly, tits now in his face and lips so reachable. his cock aches just a little.

“say something.”

“what should i say?”

“anything.”

bakugou thinks for a seconds then grins. he says a sentence and you only recognise one word.

“matcha? did you say matcha?” you pout, “you sound so sexy.”

you didn’t think he could get sexier. his voice is deeper in japanese, heck, it’s husky and intimate.

“i did,” he says in english, “any guesses?”

“something about me with my matcha?”

“close. i said ‘you want head first, matcha second in the morning’.”

you burst into giggles at that, your forehead flopping onto his shoulder. bakugou feels his heart swell at making you laugh.

“you’re so stupid,” you grin, “i know how to say hello and thank you.”

nearly everybody knows how to say that in japanese but bakugou thinks you’re incredibly cute. especially because you look so proud at your knowledge.

“go on then.”

“konnichiwa ! and arigato !”

bakugou thinks he’s going to die. especially, when he doesn’t say a word and your smile slowly drops into confusion.

“was that wrong? did i pronounce those wrong?”

“no, no, no. you’re perfect, just real fuckin’ cute, baby.”

“okay, good. arigato katsuki!”

“no problem, princess. now tell me about your family. who do i have to look out for?”

comments are appreciated! don’t ask for part two. i have a love island masterlist here and check the tag for more.

[mindfulsreposts]

Really fucking cute! (And hot af…. Lowkey dying over here)

[zeraxes]

Chosen home.

Masterlist.

Chishiya x Reader.

After Chishiya Shuntaro woke up from a cardiac arrest, he finally lets himself be in a relationship with you.

Not that he realises. But he does appreciate your support as he makes the necessary steps to put distance between him and his family.

2939 words.

Lovely people who wanted to be tagged: @9jloo @kimsri @s0ffelip0ffeli

Comments genuinely make my day <3

Enjoy!

It is only after Chishiya Shuntaro wakes up in a hospital and is told that his heart stopped beating for 63 seconds, that he can admit that he cares about you.

Before, he’d call it tolerating. The only one he’d tolerate, but still just tolerating. He tolerated you from the start, when in high school one of his teachers had paired the two of you up for a group project. You’d push back when he was methodically dismissive, but snickered when he’d muttered a sarcastic remark not meant for anyone’s ears. Even as a teenager, he’d known the image expected of him.

He’d tolerated when you’d join him at recess, where you didn't mind the few words your chatter would receive. “They might be few, but they’re clever.” You’d once told him. “They show you do listen.”

He hadn’t tolerated when you’d become anxious for college. He never asked you why, but with some subtle guiding of topics he still knew.

Money. For rent, specifically.

How tedious.

His own apartment would be bought by his parents, in a safe neighbourhood and close to university.

He didn’t ask you to move in. Instead, he took you to viewings of various apartments, each with a spare bedroom, prodding for your opinions and discarding any place when you dislike them. He’d ignored how uncomfortable you’d been each time.

You only called him out when he, purposefully careless, mentioned a park you liked being near the apartment they were viewing. It’d been quiet but direct. “I can’t afford your parent’s standards of living, Chishiya.” 

“I’m not renting you a room.” He’d answered, his voice mocking but with a soft undernote he didn't realise was there.

You flinch before you realise the actual meaning of his words.

He’d definitely tolerated the relieved smile you gave him when you’d realised housing would be free. It’s still clear, dear, in his mind as he lays in the hospital bed.

He only tolerated you, so he never asked you to move in. You never confirmed. Just the way he likes it. Confirming would give the game away.

You were right next to him when he unpacked his few belongings, unpacking your own.

You’re still living with him now, years later, even though you’ve graduated, your study taking less time than that of a medical course. Neither of you have brought up moving out, just as neither of you have mentioned staying.

He especially tolerated each time you were unnecessarily prideful of him. You congratulated him after each and every perfect mark, even when they were expected. You were there with him when the both of you graduated high school. You waited for him late into the night after his first operation as an attending on a child’s heart.

While he doesn’t need gratification, he can appreciate it. You’re always there.

Except now.

It’s been a week since he woke up. A week where he hasn’t as much as heard from you. The lack of his parents had been expected, even if they both work in the hospital he’s currently a patient in. 

But you’re supposed to be there when his parents aren’t. You’ve always been. So why not now? You’re not on the ever-growing list of victims.

He can admit to the slight sting he feels, reminiscent of when he was still a kid and hopeful for his parents to notice him. 

The nurses are overworked with the disaster, so it’s only now that he gets his hand on a new phone, his old one broken.

You’re the first and only person he messages.

“‘Shiya!

Will you be alright?”

Your immediate response and the use of that ridiculous nickname soothe the sting slightly. There’s a pause before your next message.

“Sorry I’m not there. The hospital said spouses and family are the only ones allowed to visit.”

He can read between the lines. Recovering from the physical trauma he’d endured, he’d forgotten about his parents' disapproval of you. Your next message comes in, as if you want to distract him from those thoughts.

“Did you like the book I left you?”

There’s no book on his bedside table. 

“Assume nothing through my parents reaches me.” He answers you. The sting is gone, replaced by a familiar and old numb feeling that he associates with his parents.

“I’ll be fine.

Did you get caught in the impact?”

He feels the week-long tension leaving his body when you respond you’re not. That you were at the apartment, safe from the blast.

You hug him in the lobby of the hospital when he’s released. It’s with quiet satisfaction that he awkwardly returns the gesture.

His parent’s colleagues will see. Exactly what they’d wanted to prevent by refusing you access to his bedside.

He’s been feeling off ever since he woke up from death. Off enough that he slips up and calls you by your given name.

The effect is immediate. You lit up, smiling brightly at him, while trying and failing to subtly call him by his given name. You beam when he doesn’t correct you.

You stay closer after that. While you refuse to admit you worry, he can see it in your eyes when you move a bit closer to him on the couch than you would before, the way your eyes are on him when he does his chores.

He’d died, but he came back. You seem more affected by his cardiac arrest than he does himself.

That's not entirely true. Something in him has... changed. His parents are on the forefront of his mind as he moves his internship to a different hospital, which his flawless record makes possible.

You, of course, support him completely. He knows you detest his parents.

You start to get touchy. It’s small at first, a ‘coincidental’ brush here and there, then your hand on his arm as you’re talking to your colleague at a work gathering, then leaning against him on the couch as you read your books in the evening.

He finds himself liking it, which interests him. He’s never enjoyed touch before. So he lets you, wondering if the excessive heat of your touch is supposed to be normal.

When at a fundraiser for his new hospital, he takes you so you can do the talking while he assesses. You’re thirsty, but when he returns with both of your drinks one of his peers is being a bit too friendly with an oblivious you. Something bitter curls in his gut, a new feeling he’ll analyse later, and he puts his hand on the small of your back after handing you your drink, leaning in slightly. 

“I wasn’t aware you were taken.” Chishiya doesn’t correct his peer as the man is already walking away.

After that, rumours circulate his hospital that he has a girlfriend. He doesn’t correct those either, as he’s well aware denial will only stoke the flames.

It’s only after he hangs the certificate proclaiming him a doctor that he gets his parents' attention. From one of them, at least. And after years of perfect grades going all the way back to highschool, it's still not to congratulate him.

His father is sipping politely from his tea, eyes sharp in a way that betrays his anger. You’re stiff beside him, closer than you should be.

“Dr. Watanabe claims you have no intention of returning to our hospital.” He ignores your presence, as if you don’t exist. 

His father isn’t the only one angry at this table. This is your home too. Yet his father shows you none of the respect expected in Japanese society. Chishiya remains silent, wondering if his father knows him well enough to catch it. If he does, he doesn't show. 

“It’s expected that you wanted to stray off during your learning years.” His father continues. “It is even good for connections. But now that you have your license, it will look bad for the family if you don’t return. I’ve arranged an interview for a position that will allow growth into a cardiovascular paediatric surgeon. The interview is just for pleasantries, of course. You’ll be guaranteed to have the job.”

Chishiya takes a slow sip of his tea. His silence is seen as compliance.

“And you’ll have to get married.” His father pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Your mother and I will finance the wedding. The girl will have to be acceptable.” Next to Chishiya, you tense more. 

“I’m aware of the rumours that you’re seeing someone.” Finally his father acknowledges you, even if it’s just with a short glance. Chishiya had wondered if he’d bring the rumours up. He doesn’t object, letting his father go on instead.

“I trust you know college trysts won’t make for a good future. You’ll need someone with connections.” The clink of your cup as you put it down is audible, but even though Chishiya knows how much you’ll rage about his father later, you’ll attempt to stay polite. Just because Chishiya had asked you to. His family is his burden to deal with.

His father hands him the paper. On it is a list of names. Female names. Presumably from ‘acceptable’ backgrounds.

Chishiya reads it emotionlessly.

Finally, flatly, like he has many times before, he says: “Of course, father.”

His father has a satisfied glance on his face as he leaves, not one to linger once he has reached his goal.

He really doesn't know him, does he?

Chishiya dumps the paper in the trash the moment the door closes behind him. He looks back at you, still stiff, fingers clenching around your cup. “This place has gotten impractical. How do you feel about moving?” 

It’s direct in a way he’s never been before with you about major decisions, ignoring his preferred game of letting you figure things out.

It tells you everything you needed to know about his intention of removing his family from his life. So you smile back at him. “That sounds lovely.”

The new apartment has both of your names on it, and not a single yen is paid by his parents.

It’s truly yours.

For once, his parents blow up his phone. For once, they put energy in contacting him. But Chishiya has made his decision, and he doesn’t react to any of their messages. He certainly doesn’t give them his new address.

For once, there are no expectations on him. Not anymore. Even though he stays in the path of a surgeon, it's completely his choice. The unreachable shadow of his parent's approval doesn't matter anymore.

It's nice.

One day, he’s walking with you through Shibuya. Everywhere around them are building projects, with the few finished buildings clearly being brand new. But the ashes and debris are gone, as are the remains of the building which rebar pierced his chest.

You don’t like it here. You don’t like anything that reminds you that he died, even if it was just for 63 seconds. So when you put your hand in the pocket of his jacket to hold his hand, he doesn’t protest.

“Hey!” There is a tall woman on the other side of the street with dreadlocks. She seems faintly familiar. She’s also currently making her way towards them.

Does she know him? How awkward for her that he’s forgotten her.

It does bug him. She seems… important, somehow.

The woman stops in front of them. “Do I know you?” She asks brazenly. “You seem familiar.”

Chishiya lazily blinks at her as he takes her in. So she doesn’t remember him either. Then why-

You interrupt your thoughts by introducing yourself. “And this is my boyfriend, Chishiya. Maybe you’ve seen him in the hospital? People look different when not wearing their work attire.”

Boyfriend.

From the outside, his reaction is imperceptible. A quick glance at you to read your face and yes, you’re not lying. You mean it. He knows all of your tells.

You think you’re together?

With him?

It distracts him momentarily from the woman in front of him. It doesn’t make sense, does it? He’s not romantic. The handholding you’re currently doing is the most intimate you’ve ever been.

His attention is snapped back to the stranger as she speaks. “No, I don’t think so. I’m Kuina. Were you a victim of the meteorite?”

“I was.” Chishiya is amused at her directness. 

Except you have been more intimate than holding hands, have you? You call each other by your given names. You’re always there for the other. He’ll just play along with you for now. He won’t embarrass you in front of a stranger. “But I largely remained in my hospital room for the duration of my stay. And you’re not burned enough to be my former roommate.”

You suggest going to a cafe nearby. He’s hyperaware of you now, of your warm hand still in his own, of each word you speak to Kuina, of the tenseness you’re trying to hide.

Kuina, he learns, had undergone cardiac arrest as well. She tells them that it is how she met her girlfriend, whose heart also stopped. Apparently they felt like they knew each other.

He’s well aware that she’s implying that the feeling of recognition comes from their near death experience.

It’d be idiotic, except that she does seem familiar, and Chishiya Shuntaro usually remembers more than that.

And, more significantly, she’s the second person in his life he tolerates.

Intriguing.

But what keeps his mind busy after exchanging phone numbers is you.

“Boyfriend?” He asks you, teasing, once you’ve put your jacket away. 

You seem slightly confused at the question. “Yeah?”

He leans sideways against the wall. “Normally that’s a discussion people have.”

You frown uncertainty entering your face. “You’re the one who likes taking on these kinds of things indirectly.”

Ah. You’re right about that. And he truly can see why you think so: He’s never denied anyone making this assumption about the two of you. And he does treat you very differently than anyone else. Still. “We’ve never even attempted to kiss.” 

You frown. “I figured you’re ace? Shuntaro, we are together, aren’t we?”

Chishiya Shuntaro always assumed that one day, he’d get married. It’s what's expected, after all. He imagined a loveless marriage, one like his parent’s, where the connections were what mattered, not the person itself. 

He never once considered a relationship born from love. 

Does he love you?

He dislikes the frown on your face. He dislikes the anxiety he can spot, and the way your bottom lip starts to quiver. 

He remembers the relieved smile you gave him when you realised you could have a room in his apartment. How you’d beamed when he’d called you your given name for the first time.

He remembers how he relaxes in your presence. How you make him smile at times.

The bitter feeling when someone else flirts with you.

If you remove the romantics, the physical side, he has been treating you like his girlfriend, hasn’t he?

Chishiya Shuntaro might not know what actual love is like, but he does know he dislikes the emotions on your face right now.

He steps forwards, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your skin heats up his fingertips erroneously. Isn’t that a sign of attraction?

His eyes lower to your lips.

He enjoys how your breath stutters as he leans in.

He enjoys the warm, soft feeling of your lips against his more. 

You’re still for moments as he kisses you, before coming responsive, easily letting him deepen the kiss.

You taste like that sweet drink you’d consumed earlier. And Chishiya’s mind, for once, is focussed solely on one thing: You. 

The feeling of you. The taste of you. The noises you’re making.

It’s enthralling.

He takes his time breaking the kiss.

Love, huh?

“I suppose we are together.” He muses. “I didn’t consider it. When is our anniversary?” How long have you thought this was a thing?

You’re melted against his hand, your pupils overblown. Cute.

“Ever since we started using each other’s given names. You really didn’t realise?”

That was why you’d been so happy. “I suppose it does sound like me to start a relationship that way.”

“And then you didn’t correct anyone’s assumptions. Not your peers, not your fathers.” You point out.

“I didn’t consider myself one for a relationship.” He admits. “But you don’t need me to be romantic or physical, do you?”

Because you’d been happy these last few months. You wouldn’t be if you’d wanted that. You’d casually mentioned him being ace.

Is he ace?

He did enjoy kissing you. 

“I don’t.” You agree, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. He finds himself leaning just a bit into your touch. “I just want you.”

“Hmm.” Your eyes are completely open and earnest. “Then you’ll have me.”

This smile of yours is his favourite yet. It’s open, honest and so genuinely, simply happy.

He leans in closer, his breath ghosting your ear. “And we’ll see about me being ace. I’ve never rejected your touch, have I?” 

He sleeps in your bed that night. Your warm body against his as he sleeps? As you sleep? It’s tolerable.

Tolerable enough to make it a habit.

Not that he asks, of course. You are right. He does prefer to dance around talking about these subjects.

He certainly doesn’t ask you a year later when he slips a simple ring in the pocket of your jacket a year later. You don’t tell him ‘yes’ either, but your smile as you walk into the livingroom, wearing it?

Chishiya Shuntaro will treasure that one as well.

[bfbkg]

going to the pharmacy with bakugou and the aim is just to grab two boxes of xl condoms but the five minute trip turns into twenty when he slaps the boxes on the counter but then you put down a new blush you wanna try, two lip balms, your multivitamins and a bag of chocolate for the car.

pointing to one of the lip balms, “ones for you so we can match.”

and he just laughs a huff out his nose.

when all the items get scanned through he nudges you and you pull out your phone to show your membership card so you can collect points. “i’m saving up my points for a new hairdryer.”

“how many do you need?” he hums, pulling out his wallet and licks his thumb to count his cash.

“about ten thousand.”

“how many do you have?”

“three hundred.”

he glances over at you, a raised eyebrow and cocked jaw. you can read him clearly, he thinks you’re being a little… optimistic. he hands three clean bank notes over to the cashier.

“thanks man.” he says to the cashier who looks at him with starry eyes. a dynamight fan you can only assume.

then to you, “i’ll just buy it for you. that’ll take you ages.”

he lets you take the bag of chocolate so you can nibble on some on the way and he grabs the two boxes of condoms, your blush, your multivitamins and the two lip balms in one hand.

“i just keep using them but i’m going to try. imagine a free hairdryer.”

takes your hand with his other hand and pulls you under his arm.

“it’s also free if i buy it for you. use your points for the condoms next time.”

[zeraxes]

Feline Physics.

Masterlist.

Chishiya x Reader.

You're pleasantly surprised by a feline visitor in your apartment. You're even more pleasantly surprised by his owner.

I decided it was high time I threw a cat at Chishiya.

4629 words.

Lovely people who wanted to be tagged: @9jloo @kimsri @s0ffelip0ffeli @van1shiro

Comments genuinely make my day <3

Enjoy!

You’re grumpy and running on fumes after a long day of studying when you come home, kicking your shoes off before making straight for the kitchen, dropping your bag on a chair without even looking. You can empty it after you’ve eaten.

You don’t make it to the kitchen before you’re interrupted by an indignant mraow, making you freeze before looking back at the cat who narrowly avoided your bag.

“Oh I’m so sorry!” You drop to your knees, holding out a hand. “I didn’t see you! I’m sorry!”

The cat hisses at you.

You grab your bag back, pulling out your left-over lunch and hold it out towards the cat. “I’m sorry, see?”

The cat hesitates, before cautiously moving closer, sniffing at the rolled egg before deeming it acceptable, grabbing it gracefully from your hand and jumping back on the empty again chair, where he eats with a satisfied look on its face.

It’s only then you remember that you do not own a cat.

He’s light gray with darker stripes all across its body, blue eyes and it wears a sleek white leather collar, which somehow seems pristine.

Huh.

You do recognise the cat, he used to be a stray you’d slowly won over using scraps of food before he one day disappeared, leaving you worried over his fate.

Looking at his clean, kept fur and his collar, it seems like someone took him in.

Good. You’d wanted to do so yourself, but your apartment complex has a strict no-pets policy.

“Seems like you found someone who takes care of you.” You tell the cat. This time he lets you reach out as his egg is finished, and sure enough, there is a tag on the collar. “Cheshire.” You read out loud, ignoring the phone number beneath it. “Fitting. You look healthy.”

Suddenly, your mood is a lot better. You’re relieved; you genuinely had worried about the animal.

He seems to have forgiven you for the bag incident as he allows you to pet him. “How did you even get in?” You muse as he begins to purr. 

As he’s a cat, he does not answer.

You grant yourself a few minutes before you pull away. “I have to eat myself.” You explain defensively as Cheshire looks indignant at that.

You keep an eye on him as you heat up your ramen. Would it be considered against the lease to have an animal as a visitor? You certainly didn’t let him in.

Cheshire stays until you’re done with eating, and while he pretends to not pay attention to you, you bet he’d been hoping for a morsel.

“Too many spices.” You apologise. “This wouldn’t be good for you.”

Once he realises there is no more food for him to find, he struts over to your front door, and loudly meows to get your attention.

He slips out without looking back the moment you open it for him.

You smile. That unexpected visitor certainly made your day a lot brighter.

He visits more often after that. Even though he slips inside without your help just fine (seriously, you can’t figure out how he gets in), he always meows for you at the door whenever he desires to leave.

You don’t mind. Technically he’s not your cat, so you’re not breaking your lease (you’ve decided), but you do buy a bag of kibble for him. And a bowl. And some toys.

You might have a soft spot for the little beast.

One day, you realise that while he might have once been a stray, he very much does have an owner now. Who might like to know that their cat is being fed by a stranger.

You have a phone number, but that’s no fun. Instead, you tear a piece of paper from your textbook. Then you crumple it in a ball, dissatisfied with what you wrote. You go with your third attempt.

“Hello! To Cheshire’s owner: he’s been visiting me for a few weeks now.

I’ve been feeding him as he’s very persuasive. I realised you might want to know (:”

As you wrap it around Cheshire’s collar, you realise the tag isn’t the only thing attached to it. There is what you assume to be a tracker as well.

You get your answer a day later. There is a piece of paper, non-teared, on Cheshire’s collar the next day. The kanji is neat, the words as straight as if they’d been on lined paper.

“There is a phone number on the nameplate you read. What kind of food? Specify the brand.”

Even though it impolitely lacks a greeting and the words are curt, you smile. You can feel the sarcasm coming off of that first sentence.

“I know.” You write back. “This is more fun.” But you do add the brand of kibble you’d bought. Then you add another smiley face.

Cheshire just lets the wrapping happen, although he does flick his tail to show his displeasure.

The next day as you come home from your studies, there is a plastic grocery store bag hanging from your doorknob. The handles are tied together with a piece of string, where a piece of paper is attached to as well.

You take it off right there in the hallway.

“Don’t feed Cheshire that anymore. Use this instead. Please update me on how much he’s eaten.”

Sure enough, inside the bag are cans of catfood stored. Wet, high quality, expensive catfood. 

You take it inside after some hesitation.

“How the hell does your owner know where I live?” You demand from Cheshire, who’s innocently cleaning his fur on the chair he’s claimed as his own.

You open one of the cans anyway, causing Cheshire’s ears to perk up at the familiar sound.

You tear another piece out of your notebook as the cat begins to eat, but you take a long time before you finally decide on what to write. The tracker might’ve given it away, but you live in an apartment complex. How could they know which floor?

You decide to be direct.

“How the hell do you know where I live?”

As you wrap it around Cheshire’s collar, you murmur: “I really hope you haven’t gotten me a stalker, Ches.”

The reply comes a day later on Cheshire’s collar. 

“You might have noticed Cheshire’s collar has a tracker.” Yes. You did. “That’s almost enough for your location, only the exact floor is lacking. But it’s simply resolved by noticing which floor Cheshire waits for me each day at the end of my shift.”

Oh.

That’s… fair enough.

And cute.

“You wait for your owner's shift to end?” You ask a Cheshire who ignores you as always.

There’s more on the other side of the paper. “I’m not interested in you at all, if you’re worried about a stalker. If I had been, I’d know your phone number by now. Yet still we use this inconvenient way of communication.

Please do add what you’ve fed my cat this time.”

Strangely enough, while the words are a bit short and direct, they assure you. Whoever wrote this isn’t acting affronted or diminishing your concern. Instead they wrote facts. With an air of smugness, yes, but it’s better than if he’d filled the note with insincere assurances.

So you decide that, while you will keep an eye out, you won’t assume malicious intent.

And they seem like they care about Cheshire. Enough to strictly control his feeding. You glance at the cat. He’s at a much healthier weight than he was as a stray. So clearly the owner is doing it right.

When Cheshire later that evening meows at you at the front door, you quickly attach your new note.

“He ate one of your cans both today and yesterday :) dw you don’t seem like a stalker. Don’t change my mind on that. Btw, doesn’t that imply you live here? I thought the complex doesn’t allow animals. My lease at least doesn’t.”

You wonder if you have to change your mind when you receive a response.

“It’s not allowed. Blackmail brings one far.”

It’s a joke, right? Surely they wouldn’t put it on paper if they actually blackmailed the landlord?

“I’ll ignore that.” You write back. “I bought Cheshire a ball that rattles when he pushes it. He’s so cute. He ate another can today.”

“You seem naive.” You get as an answer and… well. This person really doesn’t pull their punches, do they?

You like it. You often overthink how people perceive you, but not with Cheshire’s owner. They clearly would just tell you if they have a problem.

…Maybe you do overthink the limited contact you’ve had if you assume those kind of conclusions already.

There is a blot of ink on the usually flawless paper, indicating they hesitated before their next words. “Have you bought much for my cat?” 

Why is that something they hesitated on? Should you not have? Or maybe it’s because it’s the first time they inquired you about something unnecessary?

“Just a bowl.” That’s reasonable, right? “And some toys. I just couldn’t help myself. And I’m not that naive. I did not tell you my name.”

“I know your name. It’s written on your postbox, like with all residents. You spoil my cat.”

…Oops. “Then it’s only fair if you tell me yours. Cheshire deserves to be spoiled <3.” After some consideration, you add: “I used to feed him when he was still a stray. I’m happy he found someone who cares for him, so thank you for that.” 

“There is no reason for me to tell you my name. Nor is there to thank me. The cat simply appeared inside my home and neglected to leave.

~Chishiya Shuntaro.”

You feel giddy at that one. It’s silly. Very silly. But what information you got from the few notes tells you that this is someone who doesn’t open up easily. Yet he (assuming his gender on the name) still told you a tidbit he didn’t have to. He still gave you his name.

The next weeks, his notes, short and stilted as they are, keep being something in your day to look forwards to, together with the feline visitor.

You’re open in your own messages, adding smiley faces and telling Chishiya about something Cheshire did, or, after a few weeks, telling him tidbits about yourself.

He very rudely tells you he can’t care less, yet he keeps responding, so you keep writing.

Cheshire is purring on your lap as you’re pondering what to write this day, when suddenly, your room lights up yellow, and you look up in instinct to see the source. 

There is a huge ball of yellow and orange and gray growing in the direction of centre Tokyo. You don’t have time to comprehend, to believe, what you’re seeing before the shockwave hits you.

You pull Cheshire to your chest as you make yourself small when the world trembles around you and glass shatters and furniture is pushed away.

For long moments the world is silent. Then sirens ring in the distance and Cheshire scrambles out of your arms, ears flat against his head.

What just happened?

Was that a bomb?

Who the fuck would bomb Tokyo?

You stare at your broken window in disbelief, before you realise you’re bleeding.

The next few hours are hectic. You clean the (luckily shallow) gashes the glass gave you, before subjecting Cheshire to do the same. All the while you’re frantically attempting to call your family and friends, but no call goes through. A small, logical side of your brain reminds you that likely everyone is attempting the same.

It’s only then that you remember television exists, and you turn it on hastily.

A meteorite.

A fucking meteorite.

You stare in disbelief as the reporter starts to name suspected casualties. Thousands of people at least. Many more wounded. They’re talking about containing the fires, possible evacuations…

You’re not in those zones. You’re so very thankful you’re parents live on the city’s edge. 

Some of your friends don’t.

You don’t linger on that.

You leave your apartment, glass shards still scattered over the floor, as you hastily make for your parent’s place, leaving Cheshire outside to go to his owner’s place.

It’s late in the evening when you come back, your parent’s luckily alright. You spend the day helping them clear up the glass and blocking the holes in their walls that used to be windows.

The moment you step inside your apartment building, you’re greeted by a frantic meowing.

“Cheshire?” The cat presses against your legs before you reach out to lift him into your arms, petting him in an attempt to calm him down.

A foreboding feeling fills you.

And sure enough, over the next few days, Cheshire leaves your place often but always returns quickly. The only notes he brings you are ones you wrote yourself, containing a simple “Are you okay?”

You don’t catch the name of Chishiya Shuntaro on the endless list of deceased, but you don’t listen to the reporter droning on names after one of your friends is named.

You sit in your apartment, Cheshire on your lap, staring at nothing.

It feels so… surreal.

It takes days before phones work again. The first number you call is the one written on Cheshire’s tag.

Voicemail. Cheshire’s ears perk up at the low male voice that boredly tells you to call back later.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper towards the cat. What are you supposed to do with him? Your landlord won’t have suddenly changed her mind. Maybe your parents could take him?

For now, you’ll use the chaos to keep him for a bit. Maybe, just maybe, Chishiya Shuntaro is one of the wounded. Maybe he’s just not currently capable of picking up the phone.

Maybe he’ll return.

You don’t believe it, not with how many people you know are suddenly gone. Your next weeks consist of many funerals. It's weird, whenever you're out on the streets. Everyone around you knows someone who's suddenly and violently lost. It's like the air itself is more heavy with the weight of what happened.

It’s more than a month after the disaster that your doorbell rings. Looking through the peephole, you don’t recognise the man.

He’s handsome, long blond hair and dark brown eyes, a mole beneath his left. He’s wearing a pristine white jacket.

There have been a lot of desperate people ever since the impact. While this man does not look like one, you’d rather not open the door.

Until you realise Cheshire is meowing at your feet, scratching the door frantically.

Oh.

The moment you open the door, Cheshire is gone, purring loudly. The man, now fully in view, slowly looks down at the cat pressing himself against his legs, hand in his pockets, before his face changes into slight fondness.

“You’ve missed me, have you?” He crouched down, pulling one of his hands out of his pocket to hold it up towards Cheshire who immediately pushes his head against it, purring even louder. 

“Chishiya Shuntaro?” 

He lifts his head to look at you, slowly taking you in, as if considering something, still staying in his crouched position. “That is me. I assume you believed me dead?”

So he is as brazen in real life as in his messages. You smile, a rarity in the past few weeks. “I did. Do you want to come in?”

He tilts his head. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

You lead him towards the couch, where Cheshire can purr on his lap before you disappear into the kitchen to offer him a cup of tea.

“I called you.” You tell him before you sit down opposite of him. “You didn’t pick up.”

That seems to amuse him. “So it takes a meteorite for you to use a phone.” His next words are as nonchalant as if he’s naming groceries. “I got pierced by rebar here-” his hand goes to his shoulder, “and here.” It lowers to his abdomen. “It took out my phone as well on top of inducing a cardiac arrest. But it seems I’m one of the ‘lucky’ ones.” The word lucky is clearly mocking.

“I’m glad.” You tell him. “Scratch that. I’m happy. Really happy. That you’re alive.”

His eyes are on you, considering you. “You really mean that.” He muses, interested as if you’re an anomaly. “That makes you the only one.”

You blink. That can’t be true, can it? Does he not have parents? Friends? That’s not exactly something you can ask. Instead you say: “That’s not true. Look at how happy Cheshire is.”

His gaze lowers from your face towards the cat as he gives him a single pet. His purrs intensify, melting into Chishiya's touch. “That he is.” Then his gaze is back on you again. “Did you get hurt?”

“Just some scratches. Long healed.” You gesture towards the now-fixed windows. “There apparently have been reports of glass shattering even outside of the city limits.”

“There have.” He confirms, his eyes roaming the room as if calculating how the damage might have looked. “Did Cheshire get hurt?”

You blush slightly as you remember how you protected the cat with your body. “Just a single scratch.” You dismiss. “He was more scared than anything else.”

“Good.” He nods. Then, changing subject: “Do you have any games to play?”

The man is scarily smart, you discover after you pulled your favourite boardgame from your closet. It’s a game you’re used to winning in, yet you don’t stand a chance against Chishiya. He claims it’s his first time playing, yet he comes up with strategies you haven’t seen before.

It only makes him more attractive in your eyes.

You can’t help yourself. You’d enjoyed the notes, sure. You had fantasised a bit about the person on the other side being attractive, as it’d be a great meet-cute. 

You hadn’t expected him to actually be your age. Nor to be handsome. Even less to be this clever.

Worse, Cheshire is still sitting in his lap, and so now and then the man absentmindedly gives the cat a single pet.

It’s attractive. Very attractive.

It might just be your brain grasping onto anything good after the catastrophe, but you can’t help yourself.

The feeling grows worse when, during the next few weeks, Cheshire isn’t the only one who shows up in your apartment whenever you come home. Chishiya isn’t cleared to return to his shifts as a medical student (even more attractive) so that apparently means lounging around your space. He doesn’t even always come to interact with you, instead simply taking his studying material with him, reading and taking notes at your desk.

When you ask him why, he simply responds smugly, knowing the answer: “Do you want me to leave?”

Obviously not. It’s nice, coming home to someone else. 

You learn about him. He’s cold, stand-offish and often sarcastic. He has no qualms in telling you when you’re wrong.

Yet his sarcasm makes you laugh. His cold demeanor just means you melt whenever he crouches down to pet Cheshire. And you’ve spent a lot of time around people who say one thing but mean another. You don’t have to play that game with Chishiya.

He confides in you. Apparently, he’s felt different ever since his cardiac arrest. He wants to stop wasting his life.

You don’t see how he was, but you keep that to yourself. When you ask him how you can help him, he dismisses you. “You already are.”

As he does not elaborate, you have no idea how.

Until you remember he told you you were the only one happy he survived. 

Is it the friendship you offer that helps him?

That theory gets blown away when one day he shows up with a tall woman next to him. For a moment, you’re overcome with jealousy. Unfortunately, Chishiya definitely caught that, the corners of his lips going up in amusement before he introduces you to each other.

“This is Kuina.” He tells you. “She’s been hounding me ever since we met in the hospital. She claims we’re friends.”

“We are.” Kuina corrects him, smiling boisterously at you. “He just refuses to admit it. You know how he can be. He promised to show me Cheshire, but apparently his cat resides at your apartment during this time of the day. Can we come in?”

You let them.

Kuina is fun. You like her. “Chishiya has told me a lot about you.” She chatters. “Well, not that much. But for him? Definitely a lot.” You like her even more when she starts talking about this ‘Ann’ she clearly has feelings for, causing Chishiya to sigh.

Now you know why he brought her here: He, not so subtly, steers the conversation your way the moment Ann comes up. 

You fondly think of him an asshole.

“You could watch a movie with a sapphic couple in it to see her reaction.” You suggest when Kuina protests about simply asking her out, not even knowing if Ann falls for women. There’s something else she’s not saying that bothers her, but you don’t press.

Chishiya clearly has no interest in this, cutting Kuina off. “How about a deal? You ask Ann out and I’ll take her on a date.” He nods towards you.

You have to take a moment to make sure you processed that right, long enough for Kuina to answer. “In front of her? Really? That’s dirty, Chishiya.” Was that why they’d talked about you?

You hadn’t considered Chishiya being into you as well.

You’re proud of how even your voice is when you look at Kuina. “Please take that deal. I want him to take me out.”

Smugness radiates off of Chishiya. And sure enough, he turns up at your door a few days later, hands in pockets like always, and simply informs you he’s taking you to an expensive restaurant. Apparently Kuina successfully managed to ask her crush out.

“You’re not even asking?” You lean against the doorframe. 

“Why would I? You’d say yes.”

He’s right, of course.

The restaurant he takes you to is picture perfect, romantic with vines and candles. The food looks good, a wide assortiment of sushi is available.

You’d bet Chishiya did research. Or maybe Kuina gave him the spot. He’d never choose this place on his own.

As he’d hate it.

You know him well enough to recognise the hint of discomfort in his eyes.

You don't know him well enough yet to be sure as to what causes it. The other people? The setting? The date itself?

But you know he’s feeling it, so you get up from your chair. “Let’s leave.” 

He stills. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. We’re both supposed to enjoy this. You clearly don’t. C’mon.”

He’s silent for a while as he walks behind you. It’s only when he sits down in the passenger chair of the car that he admits, his voice unusually low, “I don’t know how to do this.” You glance at him. His eyes are already on yours. “I’ve never even had a friend before you.”

“Dating doesn’t mean doing things you don’t enjoy, ‘Shiya.” You tell him, the nickname rolling off your tongue without a second thought. “Romantic settings are only enjoyable if we both enjoy them. How about we just get some take out? Our apartments are better than some cozy restaurant anyway. Cheshire is there.”

That hint of discomfort is gone, replaced by his lazy cockiness when he orders the food in the drive-through.

It’s only now that you realise how different he looks when not talking to you or Cheshire. You hadn’t noticed before how cold and empty his eyes can be.

Cheshire is waiting for the two of you at the door to the building, walking in front of you with an air that tries to suggest he’s just coincidentally going the same way.

“He’s supposed to be an indoor cat. Statistically indoor cats have a longer lifespan.” Chishiya confides in you as he opens the door to his apartment. “I haven’t managed to figure out how he keeps escaping.”

“Wait, really?” You step into his white and barren apartment. The only signs of personality are in the medical textbooks on the shelves, a single deck of playing cards on a table and some very out of place cat toys. “You can’t figure it out?”

Chishiya nods, closing the door behind you. “I put locks on the doors and the windows. There shouldn’t be anywhere else he could get out.”

You look at the cat, who blinks innocently in your direction. “I’ve never figured out how he got into my apartment either.” You admit. “I figured I was just overlooking something.”

“I’ll probably put up a camera.” He shrugs, putting the food on the table. “I would’ve done so earlier, but before the meteorite I was busy with my studies.”

He does not mention why he didn’t afterwards. “You don’t have to.” You start to unpack the food. “I enjoy him coming over. And I enjoy his owner following him.” You smile at him.

His eyes soften. “That doesn’t negate that there is a spot in my apartment I don’t know about that’s large enough for a cat to get in and out.” There is an undernote of humour in his voice.

You find the extra piece of salmon you’d ordered, feeding it to an expectant Cheshire while ignoring Chishiya’s tch. You innocently take a piece of maki yourself, as if you didn’t just feed the cat during dinner. “I don’t feed him human food for a reason.”

“He’s cute.” You argue. “I can’t say no to these eyes.”

“The fact that you ordered a loose piece of salmon meant this was premeditated.” Chishiya dryly states. 

“That only means I knew beforehand that I couldn’t say no to these eyes.” You shrug. Chishiya only clicks his tongue in answer.

You eat in silence for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company. It’s nice how comfortable it feels.

Chishiya is the one to break the silence. “I’m not a good person.” His tone is as casual as ever.

You blink. You did not expect that. “Not will I be a stereotypically good partner.” His eyes meet yours lazily. “I’m not romantic, and I have limited patience for touch or warmth. I’m certainly not particularly emotionally available.”

You frown. “Are you trying to scare me away?”

“No. I’d rather not, but you’ve only seen a limited side of me. It's better to lay the facts out upfront.” He puts his chopsticks down, his movements very carefully nonchalant.

You take his hand in your own, gently squeezing it. His head tilts, a curious look in his eyes as he observes you. It’s a similar look you’ve seen on Cheshire when the cat’s not sure what you’re doing.

“I might’ve seen only a limited side of you, but I really like what I’ve seen so far.” You run your thumb over his knuckles, enjoying the warmth coming off of his skin. “I don’t care whether you’re a good person, Chishiya. I care whether you’re good for me. Give me the chance to find out whether you are for myself. I have a feeling you will be. Flaws and all.”

Chishiya studies you. Then, slowly, he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your skin while maintaining eye contact. 

“Okay.” It’s all he says. Just a single, simple okay. But the soft look in his eyes, a stark contrast to the cold and empty look he’d given others earlier, is all you need to see.

Despite his words, you have a feeling this relationship will turn out just fine.

[mindfulsreposts]

Such a beautiful story 🥹

[magicwishingstick]

When i see a fic that is so obviously written by AI, but everyone in the comments is glazing it so i lowkey question my ability to distinguish AI from real writing

[mindfulsreposts]

Gets me so feral I just start biting

(Thoughts in comment section)

(IF YOU EVER SEE ME REPOST AI, PLEASE TELL ME. DONT LET ME LIVE A LIE)

[sweetheartbrina]

you should do this with mattheo riddle

( as a fanfic )

with a super girly reader!!

https://m.youtube.com/shorts/0cDMyemyhtA?ra=m

getting matching hand holding tattoos with mattheo riddle

hiii thank you for your request <3 this is so super cute, i hope you like this! based on this video — reader is depicted as wearing a skirt (the hogwarts uniform) + wearing heels btw !! my first ever non-series drabble hehe

masterlist

Despite (unfortunately) being in class together all day, Theo doesn't notice anything different about Mattheo until after quidditch training.

Mattheo collapses onto the common room couch, Theo rolls his eyes but follows suit on the chair beside him. A few first years scurry away, the two of them barely bat an eye.

Mattheo rubs a large hand over his face, his sore muscles straining against his shirt. It's then Theo notices the dark black ink decorating his hand.

"What the fuck is that?" Theo asks, squinting his eyes.

"What?" Mattheo plays at nonchalance, a bored expression on his face.

"Those... are those fucking stars?" Theo says incredulously, leaning forward to touch the pretty little stars decorating his hand.

"Fuck off." Mattheo swats at his hand.

"Did your girl draw that on your hand or something? How the fuck has it not smudged?"

"Want a closer look? I can bring my knuckles real close to your face." Mattheo snarks.

Before some real bickering can begin, they're interrupted by a squeal.

"You're back!" The sound of heels clicking against the floor increases, it sounds like a drum roll.

A lazy grin tugs at Mattheo's face, one he barely bothers to conceal, when you practically leap into his arms. You wrap your arms around him, tucking your head on his shoulder.

"Hi." You say with a smile as you blink up at him. He readjusts his posture so that he's sitting up against the back of the couch, arms slung over your shoulders.

"Hi baby." He says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He leans his head down lower and places quick kisses across your face, you laugh and squirm in his arms.

You don't know if you'll ever get used to having Mattheo like this — soft and affectionate — no matter how long the two of you have been together. It's deeply unsettling, honestly. So far from the violent and cold-hearted boy you feared years ago.

Theo is sure he'll never get used to it, though. He pretends to gag, drawing your attention to him. You roll your eyes at him.

"Hello, Theo." You say.

"What? No 'hi baby' for me?" He teases, just to get a rise out of you and Mattheo. It works.

"Watch it." Mattheo quips, but it's absentminded as his attention is solely on you. He watches you smoothen out your skirt before you rest your legs on his lap, he tugs the hem of your skirt down and rests his head on yours.

"M'just teasing, principessa" He drawls, Mattheo glares at him.

"Hey, we talked about the italian nicknames." He says.

You soothe your hand over his arm. "No but, Matty, I like that one."

Theo smirks. "See." Mattheo rolls his eyes.

"What principessa wants, she gets." Theo continues, "Besides, I can start calling you principe."

"I'll slit your throat." Mattheo deadpans, you open your mouth to add a retort but opt to close your mouth instead, shaking your head.

Whatever snarky comment Theo was going to retort back with dies in his throat when he watches your hand interlock with Mattheo's. Like puzzle pieces, the tips of your fingers align perfectly with the stars on his hand.

"Holy shit." Theo says, stunned — not for the first time in the long span of you and Mattheo's relationship.

"What?" You tilt your head, giving him a quizzing look. Mattheo sighs, knowing what's coming.

"You got a tattoo for her?"

You blink before you realise what he's so surprised by, you glance down at your interlocked hands and smile when you see the tattoo.

"Oh, that tattoo." You say casually, playing with your hair with your free hand.

"Oh? Oh? That's all you have to say?" Theo says in disbelief, "You two are barely eighteen, how did this happen?"

"I'm older than you." Mattheo says.

Theo rolls his eyes. "Obviously not my point."

"Okay, calm down." You say with a laugh. "We got a little drunk last week and decided to do it, it's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? It's perma— hang on." Theo narrows his eyes at the two of you. "Did you say 'we'?"

You simply slide your hand away from Mattheo — much to his dismay — and show off your own hand.

On the back of your hand are identical stars, though smaller and more intricate.

"Cute right?" You say, Theo gapes. You shrug. "I think it's really cute."

Without waiting for him to snap out of his shock, you simply interlock your hand with Mattheo's again before settling against his chest, closing your eyes. Theo looks over at Mattheo and gives him an incredulous look.

Mattheo is Theo's longest friend, he knows him. While everyone might think this little impulsive act of devotion is on brand for Mattheo Riddle, he knows him better than that. By permanently marking himself for you, he might as well be carving out a permanent space in his heart just for you to rest in for ever.

Theo raises his eyebrows. Damn. He mouths. You're serious.

Mattheo looks down at you and a faint smile appears on his lips, he looks back at Theo.

I've been serious. He mouths back and Theo knows it's true. Even when you and Mattheo were just friends, way before you two started dating, he knew his friend was gone for you.

Those little stars are nothing but proof of a kind of love most people only get once in a lifetime. It's the kind of love that softens Theo's normally very scary friend as he clings onto his girlfriend in the common room.

It's the kind of love that makes Theo want to throw up (from jealousy or genuine disgust, who's to say?)

tag list: @fallingwallsh @fanfictiononly4 @fayezasstuff @glittervame @wxnterwidow333 @thalibaby @cminoko @blainea98 @randomfanpage @megzz-x @kiessecretcove @glubarina @ksy04 @kennedy-brooke @graciedoo @leftonred111 @riddledwithloveee @crazysweettooth-01 @nothin-but-fandom @slut-for-fictional-men @nottinmyheart @ltristessedureratoujours @sweetangeelx @missusdemeanor @randomfanpage @ladygagaswifey @iamaconfusedpan @imdyinghelpplease @uxavity @firstclassjaylee @ribyourtoplip @ccbear5000 @ricelovesriceee @lightbluestar6713 @hrtsbecca @adel1234sblog @arwennasarchive @sunburntbitch @sunshinegirl52513 @cocoabears @lavande3 @777sweet @songkangslvr @lvdybvgz @daniel-is-bae @bambriixx @mimimousev @n1ght-rccn98 @111scorpio111 @div1nedoll @bunnieeegohop

[bfbkg]

going to the pharmacy with bakugou and the aim is just to grab two boxes of xl large condoms but the five minute trip turns into twenty when he slaps the boxes on the counter but then you put down a new blush you wanna try, two lip balms, your multivitamins and a bag of chocolate for the car.

pointing to one of the lip balms, “ones for you so we can match.”

and he just laughs a huff out his nose.

when all the items get scanned through he nudges you and you pull out your phone to show your membership card so you can collect points. “i’m saving up my points for a new hairdryer.”

“how many do you need?” he hums, pulling out his wallet and licks his thumb to count his cash.

“about ten thousand.”

“how many do you have?”

“three hundred.”

he glances over at you, a raised eyebrow and cocked jaw. you can read him clearly, he thinks you’re being a little… optimistic. he hands three clean bank notes over to the cashier.

“thanks man.” he says to the cashier who looks at him with starry eyes. a dynamight fan you can only assume.

then to you, “i’ll just buy it for you. that’ll take you ages.”

he lets you take the bag of chocolate so you can nibble on some on the way and he grabs the two boxes of condoms, your blush, your multivitamins and the two lip balms in one hand.

“i just keep using them but i’m going to try. imagine a free hairdryer.”

takes your hand with his other hand and pulls you under his arm.

“it’s also free if i buy it for you. use your points for the condoms next time.”

[mindfulsreposts]

🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

[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

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

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.”

[mindfulsreposts]

👏👏👏

[bfbkg]

horny y/n jumping on bkg even though he’s exhausted from work and still helps her 🤤

i love goofy ideas like these. u WIN

you were the brave one today. working from home… all alone… unable to adjust to your lover not being around… even if he was at work and you planned for this weekday to be at home. especially when you heard him let himself into your apartment while you had to finish up a work call. it was the hastiest, a borderline unprofessional goodbye how you rushed to end the call because he was here finally.

you only saw him a few days ago after all.

stepping into your living room, bakugou katsuki is hard to miss. massive body sitting in the centre of your sofa, he’s got his head in his hands, elbows on his knees in silence, sporting a black hoodie and shorts.

“you okay?” you ask, practically floating to stand in front of him, tugging his hand so he can uncover his face for you.

when he pulls away, looking up at you, your heart drops to your clit. in sickness or health, whatever words you’ll be saying on your wedding day to this man… well, you get it now.

katsuki meets your eyes with these droopy ones, cushioned with two dark bags underneath them. to anyone else it looks like he’s gonna curse you out any second, his eyes are practically slits but you can note, it’s just tiredness, especially when he leans his head into your palm.

his posture is slouched, body completely and utterly exhausted. this pro hero, one of the best in the world, needs to be on at all times, ready for anything but you, you get the privilege of seeing him off. ready for bed and a hot shower.

katsuki rests his cheek in your palm, those angry ruby gems becoming puppy like, “‘m fine.”

next, his hands hold onto the backs of your thighs keeping you still so he can press his face into your stomach. you feel his whole body sigh into you.

“you don’t look it. you look like shit,” you offer and you get two bouncing shoulders in a short laugh.

“y’got a lisp now? you mean sexy?” he muffles into your stomach, then presses his chin into you so he can look at you properly.

you smooth down his eyebrows with your thumbs. you notice a touch of hoarseness in his words. you press your thighs together.

your smile is apparent in your voice, “you’ve got this defeated look going on.” you bite down on your bottom lip, “it is a little sexy. maybe a lot.”

bakugou thinks he’s in with the joke at the beginning, till you shuffle in closer to him, the press of your hand on his cheek gets harder and he notices the change of pitch in your breath. even the black of your pupils widen, he sees this in real time. you’re not joking at all actually.

that gets him sitting up slightly, a smirk falling on his features. you pout when he does, staring at his lips like a wife separated from their husband for years. he knows his smile is a killer for you, a soft sigh leaving you at the sight of his gold canine and white teeth.

“gimme a kiss,” he demands and the good listener you are, you lean down to press yours against his.

it’s family friendly for the most part, three pecks until his pawlike hands sneak up your thighs to under your ass cheeks.

when you both pull away, you’re staring at each other for a few seconds until you lick your thumb and rub under his eyebrow.

“you didn’t get all your eye stuff off,” you whisper, referring to his eye makeup he likes to put on under his mask.

bakugou grunts in response, letting you clean up the left over marks he didn’t scrub.

“how long have you been waitin’ for me?”

always so perceptive. it makes your eyes widen like you’ve been caught out. “well i’ve been working—,”

“baby,” he soothes, in that soft way like you’ve done something silly and you won’t get in trouble for admitting whatever it is. even though he already knows.

“since the morning,” you breathe, eager to undress on the spot, to get his hands on your bare skin, to jump on his lap and pull down his shorts.

but the exhaustion is still apparent on his body. his movements are noticeably slower now that he can let his guard down.

“hm,” he replies and you run your fingers through his hair, pushing all his blonde locks back to reveal his face. your boyfriend is incredibly handsome. you press an extra kiss to the scar on his cheek and bakugou pulls you in. your knees sink into the sofa as you straddle his lap.

hot hands that were under your ass, sneak under your blouse. they’re like a relief patch, causing your skin to buzz in anticipation.

“what d’you want?” he hums and you’re already ready for your body to bounce on something, fingers twitching as they rest on his shoulders.

“katsuki,” you whine, rubbing your nose against his. his eyelashes brush against yours. “don’t ask me that.”

nimble fingers shift to the little buttons at your blouse. bakugou works on you while you’re fighting your own internal battle.

“why not, baby?”

“you’re tired from saving the city. i’m not going to make you have sex with me because i’m horny.”

bakugou rolls his eyes, completely humoured by the way you let him shimmy you out of your blouse, now sitting on him in your pretty lace balconette bra. he kisses the softness of your breast and you’re completely reactive, arching your back into his face.

“y’think i don’t wanna love you?”

the wording makes you mewl, hugging katsuki’s big head to your chest. your body blushes with heat, unable to look him in the eye, “don’t be adorable when i want you to put me in doggy.”

bakugou chuckles, “on your knees. let me do it.”

“didn’t you have a long day today?”

he looks you in the eye, “the fuckin’ longest. sixteen hours, everyone was on my ass.”

“then you need to sleep.”

“or i can have sex with my girlfriend.”

you have the audacity to look shy, knowing there’s a damp patch if he checked your panties right now. “but you’re exhausted.”

“babygirl.”

“babyboy.”

bakugou raises his eyebrows, “that’s new. i dunno if i like that.”

you shuffle on his lap, your crotch right over his. you’re delighted to find he’s sporting a semi, in fact, it makes you want to rabidly rub yourself over him like an animal in heat.

you kiss the corner of his jaw, tugging the neckline of his hoodie so you have space to kiss his neck. bakugou’s eyes flutter shut in response, hands on your bare waist.

“you’re my baby and you’re my boy.”

bakugou tuts, grabbing the back of his hoodie and tugging it over his head. he’s got nothing on underneath it to your joy, leaving his bare chest on display for you. you lowly moan at the sight of his biceps, the scars that run through them, the discoloured skin that merges with his blushed skin. one hand on you, another giving his toned abdomen a necessary rub.

“i’m your man.”

“fuck,” you whisper, standing up to pull off your leggings and sitting back on his lap like you never left. “and you’re sure? not too tired?”

he’s uncouth when he hooks a finger in your underwear, then runs the pad of his thumb to gather your wetness over your clit. your body slumps into him, giving bakugou all your weight for him to hold up.

“you underestimate how easy it is for me to get you to come.” he smirks, chuffed at himself for how well he knows you. “could do this half asleep. i have done this half asleep.”

referring to the four am sex you had a few days ago when you came all over his fingers with his tongue in your throat. eyes closed and half conscious.

“don’t be so cocky,” you moan for the wrong reasons, loving the slow comfortable pace of his thumb. pleasure rolls through your body softly, your hands mindlessly palming him.

“take him out then.”

“don’t him your dick.”

but still you do, yanking down his shorts and feeling the saliva build in your mouth at the feeling then sight. his adonis belt, deep ridges and harsh muscle. then him, thick and heavy. his cute red tip with veins running up the length of him.

“you love it.”

you’re nodding without realising, placing your palm on the scar on the centre of your boyfriend’s chest.

“fuck me,” you whine, sitting on your knees and shuffling to adjust to sit on his cock. “wanna feel you, ‘tsuki.”

though he stops you, hands on your hips.

“on your hand and knees, babygirl. like you want.”

[mindfulsreposts]

Oh my FUCKING god 😫😳

[zeraxes]

A Son’s Father.

Masterlist.

Chishiya x Reader.

You meet Chishiya's father in a hearts game, and you hate him from the start. You hate how quiet Chishiya gets even more. You really wish he wasn't in the Jack of Hearts with the two of you.

8701 words.

Comments genuinely make my day <3

Enjoy!

Lovely people who wanted to be tagged: @9jloo @kimsri @s0ffelip0ffeli

Chishiya has gone completely silent.

Someone who might know him less than you wouldn’t be surprised by that. They’d expect it even.

But you? You’ve partnered with him in these games for almost a month now, a month that has felt like eternity in a place like the Borderlands.

And you have spent a lot of time watching him in that time. While the intention hadn’t been to learn his tells, you were watching him because of the feelings you’re trying, and likely failing, to hide, you did learn them. Some of them.

And right now? He’s tense. He looks relaxed, sure, leaning against the wall, hands in pocket and his hood up, the cable of his walkman leading up to the earbuds in his ear, but he’s not relaxed.

For one, there has been no sarcastic comment when they walked into the romantic cafe that has turned into a game venue. You expected him to snide at the romantic setting.

But more importantly, he’s been ignoring you.

You’re good at spades games. Chishiya is decidedly not. But you don’t have Chishiya’s intelligence, so the two of you team up during the games. He keeps you alive during hearts and diamonds, you keep him alive during spades and do the socialising during clubs.

It works. You’re still alive. Both of you are. And you like to think you’ve grown on Chishiya by now.

The signs are small: His eyes aren’t quite as empty when they land on you. He’s stopped tensing whenever you have to touch him to help him during another physical game. 

He always gives you one of his earbuds when he listens to music from his home-made taser while waiting for games to start.

Except now, apparently. Another sign he’s tense.

Why? Did he spot something you didn’t? If so, you have no clue what it could be. The venue isn’t likely to be spades, so it can’t be that. And even if it was, he has played some before. He despises club games less now that he has you to steer the crowd.

“Are you alright?” You whisper at him.

He glances at you without moving his head before watching the other players again.

Right. This is Chishiya. He doesn’t consider questions like that worth answering. But the glance already says something: You’d expect him to not even do that.

The game turns out to be a low level hearts game. The announcer says something about the importance of honesty in relationships as you’re led to the next room where you’re made to sit around a round table.

The game is point based. Of the group, only the three with the highest points will receive a game clear. You’ll get points by correctly guessing another’s statement as truthful or a lie, or by having other people be wrong about your own statement.

You’re not the best liar. Luckily you have Chishiya. However much he despises the human heart, he is objectively good at reading people.

You don’t need his help for the first two statements. A physically attractive man who claims to have cheated on his girlfriend? Truth. He’d been checking you out before the game started. A woman trying to say the same? A lie, she’d looked disgusted when the man said it.

It’s the third man that poses a problem.

His expression reminds you of one Chishiya often wears. Lips upticked just slightly so it could technically be called a smirk, and eyes so empty and cold.

He looks right at you as he states: “I love my family.”

Which… 

He should, right? It’s his family. Even people whose families are messed up often still love them, when they hate them too. It’s how messy human emotions are.

But his eyes are so cold. 

You glance at Chishiya, who’s looking at the man. You’re not allowed to talk, so you not-so-subtly nudge his arm.

He ignores you.

You frown, nudging him again. He might be off today, but he can’t be off during the game itself. Your life is on the line.

This time he does look at you, but his eyes as cold and empty as they are when looking at anyone else.

Shit.

Is he not helping you?

You frown, pushing away anger and hurt. You only have twenty seconds left to choose.

You look at the man again, who has tilted his head now, still with those slightly upturned lips.

Ten seconds.

Your hand hovers between the two buttons in front of you, one for lie, one for truth. You really can’t tell.

You glance at Chishiya again, but he’s back to watching the man.

Maybe he doesn’t know either.

Five seconds.

Truth. It has to be truth. Right? Most people feel at least a sliver of love for their family? For at least one person?

Three seconds.

You take in a deep breath, and bring your hand to the truth button.

But before you press it, your hand is nudged away to the other button. Lie. Chishiya isn’t looking at you as he does so.

Like you have so often in these games, you trust Chishiya.

You press lie.

The lamp in the middle of the room turns green. You’re correct.

You’re very uncomfortable with the man still looking at you. There is something in his eyes. As if you’re a specimen he’s planning to vivisect, but would only feel mildly interested while doing so. 

So, obviously, you give him a taunting smile back. You’re not letting yourself be an easy target.

The only reaction he gives is moving his attention to Chishiya, schooling his features back into neutral, if you can call that smirk neutral. Or those eyes.

Chishiya is quicker in helping you the rounds after that, the way he normally is. Still lazy as always, but no more last-second rescues.

As the rounds go by, the man’s attention stays mostly on the two of you. You give him that taunting smile each time you catch his gaze. 

You’ve found that using this particular smile on men often tends to aggravate them. This specific man does not give a sliver of a reaction.

You’re delighted when the game ends and you have the third most points. You get to live for a few more days! You’d been worried when you heard the rules of this game, but you’re not teamed up with Chishiya for nothing. He has the second most points.

Unfortunately, the man made it as well.

You still flinch when the collars explode off the other, panicking players. Neither Chishiya nor the man give a reaction. 

As you are not as emotionless as some others, you stand up to leave. The once romantic cafe is now littered with corpses. No need to stay a second longer than is needed.

“You’re both wearing locker keys. Are you with that cult?” 

You keep walking, ignoring the man. You expect Chishiya to do the same. Instead, to your surprise, he responds.

Chishiya’s voice is… off. You’re not good enough at reading him to tell what exactly, but your gut insists it is. However, it’s his words that make you turn around promptly.

“I am, father.”

Father.

The resemblances are there, you suppose. Had you not thought that his expression was similar to Chishiya’s? The same cold, empty eyes. Their facial structure is the same, although his father is taller.

“You’ll take me with you.”

“Of course, father.”

Yes, Chishiya is definitely off. You’ve never seen him like this before.

I love my family.

No wonder Chishiya hadn’t wanted to tell you to press ‘lie’.

The earlier anger melts. Even for Chishiya, that must’ve been difficult to do.

You hate this man already. The game let you choose what lie or truth you could say. And he chose to, in front of his son, prove that he does not love him.

What you hate more is how Chishiya is acting differently. You’ve seen nothing faze him before. That his father manages…

As you sit down on the driver’s seat of the Beach’s car, you debate driving away before he could step in.

But it’s not your choice to make. It’s Chishiya’s. You check on him through the rearview mirror. He has a blank look on his face, wearing his earbuds as he leans on his palm, staring out of the window.

You’re glad his father sits down in the passenger seat. Away from Chishiya. But to your dismay, as you start driving, he starts to talk to you.

He wants to know about you. Your name (you curtly only give your family name), what you did before the Borderlands, your hobbies. 

It’s Chishiya’s father. That’s the only reason you answer.

He’s good at this, you realise. His friendly, polite behaviour almost makes you forget his vivisecting smile earlier, or his cruel words. 

In the back, Chishiya sits still as a statue, still looking out of the window, seemingly ignoring the both of you. You can only catch a single reaction even though you keep glancing in the rearview mirror a whole lot more than necessary.

It’s when Chishiya’s father offers to patch you up if you get hurt: His jaw clenches ever so slightly.

You remember Chishiya’s hands on you, sewing close a cut that’s now healed cleanly. It’d been a week after you partnered up, and his hands had been clinical, not touching you a second more than necessary, but you’d liked the focus in his eyes. The way his attention was solely on treating you.

No way you’d let his father treat you instead. Even if he has more experience.

You don’t trust his friendly face.

The man has the audacity to apologise for his son after Chishiya steps out of the car when you arrive, telling his father to follow him and leaves without saying a word to you. 

Okay, maybe that’s reasonable. It was rude of him. But you’ve already decided you don’t like the man, and you know Chishiya.

A lack of goodbye isn’t unexpected. Especially as he knows you. And likely knows that you’ll go straight to his room instead of your own, because he’s scarily good at predicting you like that.

When Chishiya enters his room, his eyes fall on you immediately. “This is a private space.” 

You decide it’s definitely more curt than he’d be normally. And you also decide to completely ignore his hint of wanting to be alone.

Even if it’s just as a silent presence, you want to be there for him.

“I know. But we’re friends. And that means I’m here for you when you feel bad.”

“Oh?” He removes his slippers calmly. “I’m feeling bad now?” His eyes stay on you, a calculating look in them you’re familiar with.

“At the very least you’re feeling off.” You’ve got no interest in arguing over semantics. “I’m not expecting you to get all emotional, ‘Shiya. But let me be here for you.”

He stays silent for a moment, tilting his head slightly. “You were talking with him.”

“I didn’t feel like it, but I figured I’d be polite.” 

His eyes still don’t move away as he steps closer. There’s something else in them, aside from the calculation. You wish you were better at reading people. Jealousy? Defensiveness? Vulnerability? You don’t think you’re right. “Don’t talk to him again.”

You blink. “I mean, gladly, but why?” Maybe it’s protectiveness? That doesn’t fit either.

He stops right in front of you, cupping your cheek. He contemplates something, and then, with no hint at what he’s about to do, he leans in to press his lips against yours.

What? You freeze. You hadn’t noticed any sign he’d even liked you. Not like that. And from the way his eyes never strayed, even with all the mostly naked women and men of the Beach, you’d assumed he couldn’t like anyone like thatZ

Yet his lips are moving against yours, clinically but sure. It feels amazing. You love that feeling, you’ve wanted him for weeks.

But something isn’t right.

The kiss isn't long enough for you to comprehend what is happening before he pulls away, removing his hand from your face, putting both in his pockets as he takes a step back.

Distracted. That’s what he is. Even while kissing you, his full attention hadn’t been on you.

Neither is it when he speaks his next words. “We’ll go to pack your things tomorrow. You’ll stay here from now on.” He pauses, looking around the room as if he imagines what it’d look like. “As my girlfriend.”

What.

You want that. Obviously, you want that. But this is Chishiya. Where is this coming from?

It certainly isn’t from a place of love or desire.

Normally you’d be over the moon. This isn’t normal.

You cross your arms. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

He tilts his head, blinking a single time. “I thought you’d want that?”

You are working with a genius who does not care for the human heart, you remind yourself. He might actually not know how to do this. “I do.” You admit. “But not like this. Your focus was barely on me. If we get together, I want it to be because you actually like me in that way. Not because… whatever is going on in your head.”

“I see.” He actually sighs. “You misunderstand. You manage to stay in my head in a way no one else has. I find myself calculating your survival as a necessity. I have been wondering whether these are romantic feelings. But no, that is indeed not why I’m doing this.”

He thinks he might like you? That fills you with hope. A lot more than the kiss did. “So why?” You demand.

One of his hands leaves his pocket to tilt your head down to him. This time he doesn’t lean in for a kiss. “I am my father’s son.” He tells you. “And he is his son’s father.”

He’s quiet for a moment before continuing. “I barely feel anything. I’m vain. Selfish. I have that from him. I don’t like people. Nor does he.” His eyes stay strictly on yours. “He does not do smalltalk. Unless he has ulterior motives.”

Yet he’d spend the entire ride talking to you. Or better said, making you talk.

You frown. “What kind of ulterior motives? Maybe he noticed you acted differently around me? Maybe-”

You’re cut off by Chishiya actually snorting. “No. He has no interest in me.” The casual way Chishiya says so breaks your heart.

“The one difference between me and my father is his interest in observing people.” He tells you. His tone turns mocking. “How they react to obstacles. Tragedies. He does not care for his patients, but keeps contact with them and their close ones to see how they’re affected by tragedy. Or death.” 

“We’re both healthy.” You point out.

“That we are. So I’d rather not take the chance his interest turns nefarious.” The mocking leaves his voice. “Health isn’t the primary cause of death in the Borderlands. To my knowledge, my father has never cared about anyone, and we both assumed I’m the same. You prove that wrong. I’m sure that’d make me an interesting case study.”

“You’re trying to warn me that he might attempt to kill me.” You say slowly, as if making sure you understand correctly.

“He wouldn’t do it himself, but indirectly, yes. He does not place value on a human life. I’d rather not chance it.”

You want to exclaim how messed up it is. You want to sympathise with him. But you know Chishiya would prefer you didn’t. “I could take him.” You confidentially state instead.

There’s something fond in his eyes at that statement, which makes you smile cockily. “You could.” Chishiya agrees. “So he’ll make sure that a direct confrontation won’t happen. He’s as intelligent as I am.”

“So why decide I’m your girlfriend?” The words feel weird in your mouth, even though you do want them to be true.

“Giving us a label might postpone his attempts.”

Us. This is actually happening. Maybe you should be more concerned about a genius who might attempt to kill you, but you got this genius on your side. And your month in the Borderlands has proven you’re not that easy to kill.

So instead, you bring your hand to the back of his head, burying it in his hair as you lean in. “If we’re doing this, I want a better kiss.” You tell him before pressing your lips against his.

This time, it is a lot better. Chishiya isn’t as distracted and you can feel his lips forming a smirk. His movements are more lazy instead of clinical, and he lets you deepen the kiss without hesitation. 

He lies on his side when you go to bed. Perfect, as you cuddle against his back, burying your face in against the top of his head. His muscles lock under your touch at first, but you don’t move away. You’re rewarded by a gradual relaxation. “A face full of hair can’t be comfortable.” You’re glad to hear his sarcastic edge again. You answer by burying your face deeper into his hair. “Disagree.”

It’s only then that you realise a discrepancy. “Why did you take your father to the Beach?” With Chishiya fearing what he might do, it would’ve been better to keep him far away, no?

“Of course I did.” While you can’t feel a change in his body, his words are curt. “He’s my father.”

The next few days, Chishiya stays within your reach. Which you don’t mind. Not at all. What you do mind, is how each time his father enters the room, Chishiya changes in that same, quiet way. His sarcastic comments disappear. Whenever his father talks to him, his vocabulary lessens to “Yes, father.” Or “Of course, father.”

At least it’s just a mask. Or so you hope. Habits ingrained from childhood. Because Chishiya doesn’t actually tell his father anything. Not about the plan, not about the Beach, not about you. He lets his father navigate the Beach himself, granting him none of the benefits that could have come from his son being an executive.

Unfortunately, it does become known that Chishiya’s father is at the Beach. While most don’t seem to notice the small changes in Chishiya, some do. Fortunately, Niragi trying to provoke Chishiya by threatening his father does not work at all. Chishiya simply slowly blinks before moving on. Unfortunately, Mira, the Beach’s most capable heart specialist, definitely notices. While you’re not an executive, so you aren’t privy to all of their interactions, you can see how she purposefully situates his father around Chishiya. She seems to be delighted to watch their interactions. 

But it shouldn’t be long anymore. Chishiya is planning to leave the Beach with stolen cards, and has told you the time will come soon. When asked, he’d assured you it’d be just the two of you who’d leave the Beach together.

Which doesn’t bode well for Arisu and Usagi who he’s planning to recruit.

Yet you’ve grown used to Chishiya using people as bait. You don’t like it, but you see the necessity of it. 

You can handle two more.

The next game you play is the Two of Spades, Human Elevator. As you look at the metal bar you’re supposed to hold on to, you can’t help but be reminded of the horizontal bars on playgrounds as a kid. And the game said nothing against using your legs.

You hoist yourself up first while Chishiya watches, having that slightly irritated look in his eyes he gets whenever he’s forced into physical games. After you’ve hooked your legs around the bar, you help him do the same. 

This way, even if you’re supporting Chishiya with one arm the whole way through, your other hand on the bar, the game isn’t that difficult for you. Chishiya struggles a bit, but not enough to make you worry. 

Unfortunately but foreseeable his father copies your strategy, just like the other players. A doctor spends long shifts on their feet, so he does have strength in his legs. 

Still, it’s satisfying to see him start to struggle halfway through. 

What you don’t admit is satisfying, is that this game clearly proves your capability. But you don’t have anything to prove, you remind yourself. Chishiya knows your worth, and his father’s opinion does not matter.

It’s only days later that Hatter dies, setting Chishiya’s plan in motion. 

It’s a disaster.

You had known Arisu and Usagi would be bait, but you still don’t like it. You’re not sure what prompts you to ask after not having before with any other. When you know the answer. “Don’t you feel guilty for Arisu and Usagi?”

Chishiya stops walking, tilting his head towards you. “You never asked that before. Why now?”

“I suppose it feels different.” You admit. “This isn’t one of the games. In the games it’s our survival on the line. We’ve known Usagi and Arisu for days now.”

“Ah. Instant gratification versus long-term benefits.” While there’s an edge of mocking in his tone, it’s not as prominent as it would’ve been with others. “How human. Don’t forget that this is a matter of life and death. These-” he holds out the cards to you, “will ensure we’ll make it out. The less time spent trying to return to the old world, the lesser the chance of dying in a game will be. Usagi and Arisu are no different from other sacrifices we’ve made.”

Right. He’s right, of course. He turns towards you completely. “Is there anything you won’t do to survive?” His voice is deceptively soft. 

“I suppose.” You start to walk again. It’s better to put as much distance between the two of you and the militants as soon as possible.

We. He’d said we. But the cards will only allow one person to make it back, won’t they?

You don’t want-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud explosion. Your head whips around. It seems to come from the direction of the cars. Did fire get to the gas tanks?

“I hate to imagine it.” You look at Chishiya next to you. “But I suspect the worst.”

He throws his locker key through the exit you were moments away from stepping through. A familiar swishing sound is heard as it hits the red lasers.

A game.

You’re in a venue.

The Beach has become a game?

“Fuck. We- the Beach has become a game? Now?”

Chishiya’s voice is calm as ever. “The games are held in all kinds of facilities. Hospitals, schools, shrines. So it was bound to happen here eventually.” His eyes are fixated on the lasers, and you realise there is something else in his voice. “We only had one step left. Nothing ever goes according to plan ~♪”

You grab his shoulder. “C’mon. We have to make for somewhere centralised. Who knows what kind of game this is. We can’t grab attention.”

He tilts his head towards you. “But we do know. What else could it be but the Ten of Hearts?”

To make matters worse, you get separated from Chishiya almost immediately. He led you to the lobby, the most logical place for all of the Beach members to have to gather. There is a dead girl laying on the ground, knife protruding from her heart. Momoka, you remember. The game is clear: find the evil witch who murdered her.

Immediately her friend (Asahi?) is accused. You stay silent. The answer wouldn’t be so obvious, but you refuse to draw attention to yourself.

Luckily, others are more selfless than you. Usagi steps in. You glance at Chishiya, who doesn’t give a reaction. But you? You’re glad she’s still alive.

Chishiya catches your eyes, nods towards one of the exits and turns around, walking away. You follow.

Like most of his decisions, it was the smart thing to do. It doesn’t take long before gunshots ring out behind you and panicked screams start.

Yet you didn’t leave early enough to not start to run. Except, you realise after you’ve done so, you know Chishiya well enough you really, really, should’ve grabbed him before you ran. 

You turn around. “Chishiya!” Because, as past experience in games have proven, the man will only run if you drag him along. “C’mon!”

But a stream of panicked Beach members flow into the hallway, followed by loud bangs.

Damn it. 

You watch only for long enough to see Chishiya slip into the emergency staircase, away from you, before you start to run again.

Damn it.

You have no chance of finding the Witch on your own. Especially not with crazed idiots waving around their guns. At least, that is the reason you give yourself when you prioritise getting back to Chishiya. 

But you’ll have to find him first.

You make your way towards the surveillance room. As expected, the cameras are still working. 

What you see is a massacre. Swads of innocent people are getting mowed down without mercy. Even with the desensitisation the Borderlands has done to you, it’s tough to watch.

You know some of these people. The militants know these people. They die to the weapons meant to protect them.

You knew some of the militants were fucked up. But some of them had been nice. Some of them had been just like anyone else, the only difference being that they were placed in the faction with the weapons.

Now all of them kill with no discrimination.

You force yourself to look for a white jacket and a blond head of hair when the door behind you opens.

You swirl around, ready to duck for cover or attack, but it’s no militant. 

It’s the wrong Chishiya.

You keep your Chishiya’s warning in mind, but the man doesn’t seem to have any weapons on him. In fact, his face seems friendly. But you know better.

“It seems I’m not the only one who thought of this as a hiding spot.” There’s sociable humour in his voice. 

“I’m not hiding. I’m searching.” You correct him, keeping your eyes on the man as he approaches.

He, as if ignoring you’re a possible threat, comes to stand beside you, and focuses on the screens.

“Ah, my son. You’re quite enamoured with him.”

“Of course I am. That’s normal for couples.” There is none of that original, vivisecting smile on his face.

“No need to be so hostile. Am I to assume that my son has been spreading tales about me?” No, actually. Ever since that first warning, Chishiya’s been deflecting each time his family came up.

“He’s been silent. But I have eyes.” You might not be able to accurately read the man in front of you. But you have made progress in reading Chishiya.

“I don’t mean to insult, but you’re not good at reading people.” Sheesh, this is definitely Chishiya’s father. You glare at him. “During the heart game, my son had to tell you most of the answers. You do clearly have your strengths, as you’re very athletic, but the ability to read people isn’t one of them.”

“I’m aware of my limitations. Get to the point.” Your eyes return to the screens, continuing your search for Chishiya. You want to be able to leave this conversation.

“I just wanted to warn you. I’m aware of what my son is like, and by now you must have too.” You’re well aware of Chishiya’s lack of ethics. He claimed his father was smart, surely the man can do better than this?

You shrug. “What we have works.”

“I don’t believe for a moment my son has joined the Beach because he believes in its cause or wants the benefits. He’s here to steal the cards, if he hasn’t already.” Your head shoots up at that, before you immediately try to force your face to be neutral. Too late.

“Don’t worry. I get no value in telling anyone. But you do realise he’ll sacrifice anyone to win? My son is well-versed in manipulation.” You know what he’s getting at. 

“If you’re trying to turn me against him, you’re failing.” Chishiya can be cold, yes. But however naive it might sound, you’re an exception. He softens around you. He tolerates things from you that you’ve seen him harshly shut down with others.

“I’m not. I’m just laying out the facts. A complete deck will only allow a single person to leave, right?”

“So Hatter claimed.” You dislike that he does make a valid point. “We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

“Will you?” He muses. “It seems my son isn’t with you. And if no face cards exist, the Ten of Hearts is the last card he’ll need.” You clench your jaw. Chishiya wouldn’t. To others? Without question. But to you? You refuse to believe that.

He had used we earlier.

“I think it’s commendable that you want to see the best in him.” You might not be able to see past the friendliness on his face, but you highly doubt he thinks so. “But my son does not deserve that.”

There! Finally, you spot the familiar white jacket, climbing a staircase. It seems like Chishiya is making his way towards the roof.

“It’s not on you to decide that.” You tell the man as you turn your back towards him, eager to leave.

“I was wondering. Did my son disclose to you that he’s engaged?”

What?

“What?”

“To quite a lovely lady. She’s a doctor’s daughter. Smart, too. Shuntaro values intelligence.”

You turn around. You really wish that you could read minds the way Chishiya seemingly can. You can’t see a trace of the truth on his face.

“You’re lying.” There is just no way. 

“I’m just trying to help.”

This is Chishiya’s father, you remind yourself. You don’t believe that he ‘just wants to help’ for a moment.

He knows you’re bad at reading people. He just told you. He knows you won’t be able to tell on his face if he’s lying.

Who you do know is Chishiya. You’ve shared tender moments with him. Those were real. What you have is real.

“You’re disgusting.” You tell the man. 

That, finally, seems to make a crack in his mask as his lips go up in a smirk. 

You find Chishiya sitting on the edge of the roof, staring in the direction of the courtyard where the fires are, cards scattered around him.

You pick one up, flicking it at him as you sit down next to him in a silent question.

“Enough is enough. Now I feel like there’s no point in collecting them.” To your surprise, he lays down on his side, so that his head is in your lap. 

It would almost make you forget that you are in a game, if it weren’t for the tragedy in the courtyard in front of you.

“The game, ‘Shiya.” You remind him.

“Heart games aren’t for me. I’ll leave the game to him.” He moves onto his back.

“Your father?” You ask, your mind going back to the man. Engaged.

“I suppose that could do. But I meant Arisu.”

His eyes are studying your face. “You talked to my father.”

“Yes.” No reason to deny. “He approached me while I was using the cameras to find you.” You pause. “He claimed you were engaged.”

“Oh? Me?” Chishiya’s smile is one of his few where he’s actually amused. “I wasn’t aware. What’s her name?”

That makes you relax. You knew his father was lying.

“Some doctor’s daughter.” You tell him. “Apparently, she’s smart.” Shuntaro values intelligence.

“Unfortunately I’ll have to break the engagement. I’ve got someone much more to my taste here.” He lifts a hand to twirl a pluck of your hair between his fingers, his eyes on it as if fascinated by the simple action.

“I’m not that smart.” You remind him. 

Chishiya blinks. “I’m smart enough for both of us.” He dismisses.

You smile softly. 

The game ends. You don’t learn whether it was Arisu or Chishiya’s father who solved it, but you don’t particularly care.

Chishiya in turn doesn’t seem to care about getting up, but the building is on fire and you do have to leave. He follows you towards one of the cars of the Beach, neither of you interested in teaming with the other survivors.

As you drive towards your apartment, Chishiya lets his hand rest on your knee.

You don’t believe his father, not for a moment. But you also can’t unhear his words.

Chishiya calls your apartment a cluttered mess, which you don’t mind. You bet his own place doesn’t have a single personal item, so his bar is high. 

The next few days during the interlude aren’t that different from the Beach. It’s just that there are no more other people. He doesn’t mention his father a single time.

You leave the theorising about the granted interlude to him as you wait for the next stage.

You have enough days on your VISA. There’s no reason to worry about games.

One moment, a simple moment where he asks you to pass the salt during a meal, he uses your given name to address you.

It takes you a moment to realise, stilling mid-reach towards the shaker. 

“Hmm. I do like the way that sounds.” You can hear the smirk on his face.

“Alright, Shuntaro.” You immediately throw back, although you can’t keep the smile off your face.

“Acceptable. May I have the salt now?”

You watch the announcement of the citizens on your couch together. Chishiya predictably mocks them. The blimps emerge the noon after, which the two of you observe from the roof of your apartment complex.

“Avoid the King of Spades.” He tells you. It’s the only blimp which hasn’t stopped yet. “It might be a free roamer.”

Even though you can tell Chishiya is itching to play the King of Diamonds, neither of you join games for the next few days.

At least, not until you’re forced to.

It’s when you’re out to scavenge that Chishiya notices the blimp of the King of Spades getting too close. Moments later, the sound of gunshots reverberate through the streets. Not at you. Not yet.

This time you grab Chishiya’s hand first before going into a run. Glancing backwards, the blimp seems to be going in your direction.

Shit.

“A game.” Chishiya gets out between breaths. “They won’t mess with each other’s games.”

You glance up at the other close blimp, hovering above the prison across the street.

The Jack of Hearts.

“Really? Hearts?” But he’s right.

Using cover, you make it across, and Chishiya’s right. There’s not even an attempt made to hit you.

You dislike that the venue is in a prison. You dislike that you’re made to wear a collar. You do like that no metal is allowed. That likely means a lack of weapons.

You hate that amongst the people waiting for you stands Chishiya’s father, leaning against a cell not too disfamiliar from the pose Chishiya prefers himself.

You move past him without acknowledging him, glad you can hear Chishiya’s footsteps following you.

You hate that Chishiya’s gone quiet again, not even rolling his eyes as the moaning starts. 

Fortunately, the last two players enter soon. A woman in a hoodie with animal (bear?) ears and another with a hat.

Chishiya stays completely silent through the rules as well. It’s one of the more complicated games you’ve played, which was to be expected of a jack.

There are nineteen players and one Jack of Hearts. The identity of the Jack of Hearts is unknown. The players win if the Jack of Hearts dies while the Jack of Hearts wins if the players die.

A suit appears on the back of your collar. At the end of the hour, you’ll have to enter a solitary cell and guess what suit it is. If you’re wrong, it’s game over. The next round your suit is changed. 

The only way to know your suit is to be told by others. Which means the only way to win is if someone lies to the Jack of Hearts. Which means players are incentivised to lie to each other.

So you’d have to rely on people incentivised to lie to tell you the truth.

You would’ve been so dead if you hadn’t come in here with Chishiya. But you have, so you’re confident about this game.

Neither of you will die. You don’t even have to search for the Jack. You just have to outlast them.

Next to you, Chishiya is analysing all of the players. You don’t follow his example. Likely, most of these people will die. You don’t want to learn about them. 

One of the players, a big man, locks eyes with you for a moment. You smirk at him. You know his type, he’s searching for a victim to dominate. Which you are decidedly not.

The brute settles on someone else. 

The other players start talking game strategy. You’re not interested, but you let Chishiya observe all he wants as a group and partnerships are formed. You glance at his father. He seems utterly uninterested in joining the group as well.

A shame. You have a bad gut feeling as to what his plan is.

And indeed, when the people disperse, his father walks up to the two of you. “Son. What is my suit? You’re diamonds.” He completely ignores you. There is none of that friendly mask now.

“Hearts.” Chishiya answers curtly. It’s not a lie.

You have a bad feeling about this. But Shuntaro won’t lie to you. And you won’t lie to him. It should be fine.

At least he doesn’t follow you as you explore the building. You can’t ask Chishiya to not include his father. The man might die otherwise. And even if Chishiya once warned you he might try to harm you, he hasn’t attempted a single time.

He’s lied, yes. Tried to wedge you away from his son. But that’s not enough to deserve death.

“Spades.” You state confidently in your cell at the end of the first round. Others aren’t as confident: the priest in the cell next to you is praying loud enough for you to hear.

But no one dies this first round. Almost everyone seems completely relieved when they step out of their cells, leaving you once again thankful that you entered this game with Chishiya. 

The relief isn’t long lasted, as the brute immediately searches out his victim. Admirably, the man with the afro, who started the group, goes to defend him.

You consider joining him. The man with the afro doesn’t stand a chance, but you do.

You’re stopped by a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t intervene. Kiriu does not have restraint, and it’s against the rules to render someone speechless or worse. It’ll kill both of you.”

So instead, you make for the cafetaria. You won’t say no to free food.

Searching between the shelves is apparently enough of a separation for one of the men to approach you. “Hey.” He smiles awkwardly with a lowered voice. The man kind of looks like an emo, his hair hiding one of his eyes. “Do you mind if we trade suits? I’m scared of my partner.”

You try and remember who he partnered up with. Wasn’t it the guy who sat on the floor, staring at nothing? Kind of creepy, you suppose. Like with the others, you didn’t pay him much attention.

“You don’t need to tell me mine. I’m good.” You shrug. “But I don’t mind telling you. You’re clubs.”

“Thank you.” He pauses. “You’re diamonds. You never know.”

Chishiya is exchanging suits with his father as you make your way back to him. He disappears before you reach them.

“You’re clubs.” You tell him, brushing his hair away with your thumb, purposefully touching his skin. There’s no reason not to believe his father won’t tell him the truth, but you won’t take the chance. Chishiya matters too much to you.

“Diamonds.” His fingers brush your skin too. Your skin tingles where he touched you.

“Someone approached me.” You tell him as you sit down at a table. “The emo guy? He’s scared of his partner.”

“Matsushita.” Chishiya informs you. He really is observant. “He should be. Banda Sunato is a serial killer. Although he has only killed women.” He glances at you. “Stay away from Banda. I suppose you can tell Matsushita his suit. Just don’t trust him.”

You shrug. “So what if he lies? I know you will tell me the truth.”

His eyes soften slightly at that.

This round, no one dies either. But it isn’t long into the round before an angry scream echoes through the cells.

You’re proud of the victim to see a knife protruding from Kiriu’s back. But that feeling doesn’t last long.

Chishiya predicted right. Kiriu does not have any restraint.

As punishment for bashing the victim’s face in, his collar explodes.

Suddenly, everyone is paranoid, as they whisper someone has to have told the victim, Seto, to do so. Likely the Jack of Hearts.

“Or someone who wants to get the game moving.” Chishiya argues as the two of you share a bag of biscuits. “Right now players fall into three categories. Loners, partners and the group. The loners will die soon enough, they don’t trust anyone. The group will follow soon after. They’ll eat each other up from the inside out. Most of the partners will last the longest.”

“And us? Which category do we fall in?”

Chishiya glances at you. “We’re partners.” The finality in his tone prevents you from asking where his father falls in that case.

Matsushita approaches you when Chishiya is busy with his father. You exchange suits again. “Your partner seems cold.” He notices. You don’t let him say more.

“Don’t. We’re together. I have no interest in continuing this if you insult him in any way.”

He doesn’t respond to that.

This round, three more people die. Two loners, like Chishiya predicted. One was partnered with the priest.

“Does that mean he’s the Jack?” You ask Chishiya, but he shakes his head. “She clearly didn’t trust him.”

The rounds after that blur together. You tell Chishiya and Matsushita their suits, and Chishiya tells you and his father.

The man has completely ignored your existence this entire game. You don’t mind. What infuriates you is how he treats his son.

Each round, he approaches Chishiya. Each round, he simply orders him to tell him his suit. Each round, Chishiya’s “Yes father,” gets quieter.

You’re not sure if you’re meant to hear it when Chishiya remarks: “This is the most I’ve ever talked to him.”

You glance at his father, who’s sitting on his own, watching the last group members sweat. You recognise that same vivisecting look on his face he had during that first game.

It’s ironic, you muse. He is similar to Chishiya, except that Chishiya lacks that morbid interest. Yet you love one and hate the other.

Not that you care about the irony. You can’t stand seeing Chishiya… lesser like this. Less of himself. Quieter. A complete lack of snark.

You can’t stand the implication that his parents weren’t there for him growing up.

That round, four people die. Only Afro and the priest remain of the group. 

The next round, a new group is formed. A blond you haven’t paid any attention to is surrounded by his partner, the priest and afro. 

Their plan sounds good to you. Keep telling each other the truth until the months worth of food runs out, no matter if the Jack is in their midst. That way you don’t have to worry about your VISA nor about the King of Spades.

You could live for months that way. Basically eternity in the Borderlands.

Except you would have to live in close proximity with Chishiya’s father. Chishiya would have. You don’t think you can stand this forced version of the man you love for much longer without snapping.

Chishiya stays once again silent through the announcement, his father wording instead what you could imagine Chishiya saying. “A human being needs uninterrupted sleep. You won’t last long with having to wake up in fifty-five minute intervals.”

The businessman dislikes their plan as well. The next round, he physically blocks the blond’s cell door before he can make it out. When his partner protests, pointing out while the rules neglect to mention letting people leave their cells, it’s forbidden to keep anyone from entering.

The businessman shoves him as he enters, and closes the door again.

You return to the cafeteria, Chishiya in tow.

Matsushita seems jittery this round. You watch as he disappears from the cafetaria.

“You’re not his only friend.” Chishiya says from where he appears next to you. “He’s been talking to Kotoko.” You’re really missing his sarcastic tone.

“Good for him.” You shrug. “I’m just telling him his suit because I see no reason not to. He’s the one who insists on telling me mine.”

That round, all of the members of the new group die. While you know the blond and his partner died because you’re not allowed to be with two in one cell at the end of the hour, you’re not sure how Afro and the priest died. You suppose they must have lied to each other. Maybe the new group’s mission was doomed to fail from the start.

“You’re hearts.” You tell Matsushita. When he turns around, his bangs move to the side. Briefly, but brief enough that you can see his other eye.

Or, notably, the lack of his other eye.

“We weren’t allowed to take metal into the venue.” Matsushita tells you with a wry smile. “Otherwise I could’ve taken my fake eye.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” You smile back, embarrassed. “I was just surprised. Your hair hides it well.”

“Don’t worry, I’m used to stares. You’re hearts as well.”

You make your way back to Chishiya, whose eyes are on you the moment you come into view.

You brush his hair away, your fingers lingering on his skin. “Diamonds.” You tell him, before turning your back towards him.

You can feel his fingers parting your hair, but he remains silent.

“Shuntaro?” 

You can feel him lean in behind you, his breath tickling the side of your neck. “It is impolite to lie.”

You blink. What? You glance back, a feeling of bewilderment taking you over before you realise.

“You’re diamonds.” You repeat. “Why would I lie?”

He can’t actually believe you’d lie, could he?

He’s smarter than that. And he can read you better than that.

Except there’s only one person who could’ve lied to him. 

His father.

And Chishiya acts off whenever he’s brought into the equation.

Chishiya’s eyes are as cold and empty as when you first met him. They roam over your face, as if trying to read the truth there.

“Shuntaro.” You try again, more desperate this time. You refuse to lose him. Especially to his asshole of a father. “C’mon. I’d never lie to you. Never you.”

He tilts his head. “Spades.” You don’t enjoy the return of the mocking in his voice as much as you thought you would. It makes you miss the meaning of what he said at first. Until he clarifies, still mocking, a slight faux-smirk on his face. “You’re spades.”

You freeze. He wouldn’t… Chishiya wouldn’t lie to you, would he? Even in this scenario? But why would Matsushita have lied? You’d helped him from the start.

“Shuntaro. Don’t be stupid. You know all of my tells.” The desperation is clear now. You can’t lose him. You don’t want to die. “You know I didn’t lie.”

The smirk falls, as does his mocking tone. “Your friend lied to you, then.” Suddenly, his eyes aren’t as empty anymore, as he moves to stand in front of you, cupping your cheek. “You are spades. I wouldn’t lie to you even if you lie to me.”

Damn it. Damn it-damnitdamnit. He can’t believe you’re lying. 

“You’re diamonds.” You try again. “Please. You know I love you.” You’ve never said it out loud before. “Don’t believe that asshole over me.” You can’t prevent the venom from slipping into your voice.

Chishiya doesn’t react. He just keeps looking at you. Then he sighs, drops his hand, and starts to walk towards the cells.

You hadn’t noticed that it was time.

Before Chishiya enters his cell, he hesitates. He glances one last time at you. His tone is soft as he says in a lowered voice. “You’re spades.”

The door closes behind you with a click.

Fuck.

What are you supposed to say? You want to believe Chishiya. You really do. But… did he think you were lying? His silence in the end suggested so. Or was he digesting that his own father would lie to him?

Why would the man even do that?

Had he been watching that confrontation? Had he enjoyed it?

Chishiya’s smart. You remind yourself. He wouldn’t let something as silly as sentiment determine his choice. The facts clearly point towards you telling the truth. They have to be.

You don’t know Matsushita. Not at all. And you know you’re not good at reading people. So he might’ve lied without you noticing. You can accept that. But Chishiya?

I wouldn’t lie to you even if you lie to me.

You can’t believe he would lie to you. You refuse to accept that possibility.

So in the end, there really isn’t a choice.

“Spades.” You whisper.

A loud boom reverberates through the cells as the timer hits zero. Your heart is beating in your ears.

“Time’s up. Out of seven participants, the number that survived round 10 is 5.”

Two died. Please. 

You push your celldoor open.

Banda and the businessman stand side to side. Chishiya’s father stands on the opposite side of the hallway.

Matsushita, Kotoko and Chishiya are missing.

Chishiya’s cell is right next to you. You don’t look through the small window before you throw the door open.

He’s standing in front of you, hands in pockets, his back towards you, completely still.

Alive.

Relief floods your body, and before you realise it you’re hugging him.

For a while, the only reaction is a slight leaning backwards into your embrace. Then, he murmurs: “There’s no need to be worried over me.” He disentangles himself from you, although he does take one of your hands with his into his pocket, and finally steps out of his cell, with you right next to him.

“Disgraceful.” You fume at his father’s voice. “You’d really believe that girl over your own father?”

Chishiya looks his father into his eyes. “Yes, father.”

In the background, you notice Banda and the businessman watching you very closely. With a start, you realise Matsushita must be dead.

He lied to you. Still, that made you assume he’d be the Jack of Hearts.

Yet the game hasn’t ended.

“If you lied to your own son.” Banda’s voice sounds distant and low. “You must have a good reason for that. One might think you’re the Jack of Hearts.”

Oh.

For one single moment, there is uncertainty in Chishiya’s father’s face. Strong enough for you to recognise it.

Next to him, the businessman gives a shrewd smile. “I have been dying for the opportunity to have a chat with one of the Borderland’s citizens.”

The Jack of Hearts turns to look at his son. “Shuntaro. You would let them do that to your father?”

Chishiya doesn’t even blink. “Of course, father.”

He walks away without looking back, and you’re right next to him.

Chishiya doesn’t seem all that perturbed by the screams echoing through the building, eating from a fresh bag of biscuits.

You’re still holding his hand, your thumb rubbing circles on his skin.

“Are you alright?” You ask when there’s a moment of silence.

Chishiya looks at you, a soft look in his eyes. For once, he answers your concern.

“With you? I will be.”

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SHHHHH MY SHOW IS ON 📢📢📢📢📢