āŖ in katsuki's eyes, the little family he built was perfect, no matter what anyone else had to say. katsuki bakugo x reader
content warning: your son is mute in this!!! i thought it would be an interesting concept to explore since bakugo was so loud as a kid. also imagining him with a baby boy that's calm & quiet makes my heart singggggggg
when your son was first born, he looked identical to your husband. they both had the same pale skin and unruly blonde strands you loved threading your fingers through, and after the first few months of your little boy's life, you would come to learn that he had acquired katsuki's smile, too. it was small (uncharacteristically shy) and a sight that had your heart growing three sizes bigger whenever you saw it. you're sure your chest doesn't have enough space to harbor all the love you feel for your two favorite people.
your son was a naturally quiet baby. never fussing much and always quieting down once he was in either you or katsuki's arms. it was no surprise that so many of your friends always fawned over the adorably chubby baby that happened to be so well behaved, and he was quite often referred to as being an angelābut, there was something undeniably different about your son from other children.
while you were used to seeing funny videos of babies blabbering nonsense or the familiar chime of a child's laugh in public, you've never had the pleasure of hearing any of those sounds from your son. the most you and katsuki had gotten were breathless little fits of laughter and small huffs every now and then when he wanted to get your attention. he was... quiet, silent in a way you weren't used to after being with katsuki for so long.
he responded perfectly well to his surroundings, showed no other issues that could have you feeling concerned, and doctors initially told you and katsuki that some children are simply late bloomers. you'd soon come to learn that something had been amiss with him, but you'd also learn how to adapt.
there had been no more trying to coax your son into talking after the acceptance of his fate, just you and katsuki adjusting to the fact that your little boy's voice simply wasn't something you'd get to hear.
you try to be silent as you shift outside your son's bedroom door, using the corridor's light to get a better glimpse at the scene inside. katsuki has one knee pulled up to prop a book against, and his other arm is cradling your son to his chest. the four year old's eyes are bright and attentive, face pressed against the curve of katsuki's broad chest as he listens to his father's gruff voice read him a bedtime story.
katsuki's palm runs up and down the little boy's back, unaware of your watchful eyes in the doorway. you watch your son fight to keep his eyes open and keep listening, but it's not long before he's going limp in katsuki's hold with his lashes fluttering close. there's a few moments of silence before you hear the rustling of fabric as you watch katsuki carefully lay your son onto his bed and tuck him beneath his blanket, smoothing out the blonde strands on his forehead as the little boy's breathing slowly evens out.
katsuki doesn't turn when you wrap your arms around his waist, merely slinging an arm over your shoulder and sitting the both of you down on the edge of your son's bed
"kats, did you like his pajamas?" you question quietly, watching the corner of your husband's lip quirk up in a rare grin
the pajamas you refer to currently on your son are dynamight themed, with bright orange fabric as soft as the fluffiest of clouds. he glances back at the sleeping boy before shaking his head
"didn't think i'd like seeing him wear my merch so much." katsuki grumbles, almost like he's mad at himself for finding the sight endearing
"he got so excited when he saw them while we were out shopping." you murmur fondly
"ya think he's finally taken an interest into hero merch cause he saw me freak out over that icyhot plush I found in his toy box?"
"well, you did throw it off the balcony. totally uncalled for by the way."
"you shoulda seen his face afterwards. funniest thing ever." katsuki snorts, glancing at the peacefully sleeping boy before his eyes soften
"and i got him a bunch of toys after. i think we got even."
"sure," you smile softly. his palm, warm and steady, slips under your shirt and moves up and down the slope of your spine in that comforting manner you've come to love. katsuki eyes your son for a moment, gaze slowly moving back towards you in thought. you look up at him through your lashes curiously, and he suddenly pulls you closer
"i want another one."
"anotherāwhat?"
"you know." he grumbles, and you gasp quietly before gently slapping his arm
"katsuki!"
"what? we make cute babies." he huffs, poking your cheek as you gently swat his hand away. he grabs your wrist, raising his brows to let you know that he was serious, and you pause briefly as you stare back at him
"...we'll see." you finally settle on, and he seems satisfied by your answer as he stands and intertwines your fingers with his, pulling you along with him out of your son's room
"i get to chose the name this time around."
"you'll name it something stupid."
"her. and i won't." he sneers, pinching your cheek as you squeal
"a girl? you'd want a girl? you said you didn't care about the gender the first time around." you say surprised as he shuts your son's bedroom door, leading you down the hall
"yeah, but... i dunno. i like the thought of seeing a mini you running around the house, and i think he'd like a sister... doesn't sound so bad." he murmurs, ears tinged pink as you smile
"that's cute." you coo with an infectious giggle. his faux annoyance simmers away eventually when you squeeze his hand tightly in your own
"mama mitsuki is going to be so happy to hear you want moreāi can already picture her face." you say as you imitate her expression, parting your lips in a mock shock as katsuki groans, loud and unabashedly
"she's gonna be fucking insufferable if we tell her. i'd rather not. don't you remember what she did the first time when we told her you were pregnant?"
"she invited the whole neighborhood to a cookout in her backyard and printed copies of the ultrasound to pass out in goodie bags." you recall with a laugh, and katsuki rolls his eyes
"and that is why we're not telling her. if it happens... we'll keep it between us for a little while, alright?"
his voice is uncharacteristically soft before his hand moves to cradle the back of your head, pulling your forehead closer to him before placing a kiss onto your temple and ruffling your hair.
you use the moment to take advantage of katsuki having his guard down to get on your tippy toes to peck his lips. he doesn't hesitate to wrap his hands around the back of your thighs to lift you off the ground, and you quickly wrap your legs around his strong waist with a grin
"let's leave him at mama mitsuki's for the weekend and work on getting him a sister." you whisper against katsuki's lips, and when you watch his eyebrows shoot to his hairline and a sputtered this weekend?! escape his mouth, you can't help the laugh that bubbles out straight from your belly
I got so insanely carried away, but again, I just cannot write a short story. I also never write smut so stfu (įµā Ģ įµ ). There will absolutely be mistakes, this isn't entirely proofread, and I cba rn so I'll do it later.
Summary: Duty weighs heavy when the clan expects you to stand shoulder to shoulder with the one youāve spent years convincing everyone you loathe. Your father is the clanās greatest warrior, closest friend to the Oloāeyktan, and their bond sealed your fates together long before you could draw a bow. You grew up running wild with the Sully children but the flawless eldest son always seemed to shadow your every step and youāve perfected the scowl reserved only for him. The clan believes it and they accept your envy. Everyone except the parents who watch with quiet amusement, because they see what you both still refuse to name.
Or in which; youāre the warriorās daughter, bound by expectation to the perfect future leader you claim to hate. You insist itās true and everyone believes you. Except, parents always know their children best.
enemies to lovers, holy slowburn, slight soulmates (but not really?), childhood rivals, forced proximity, aged up Neteyem, so much smut!!! as always, my terrible gramma
Your composure is a facade.Ā He knows it.
He knows it because he sees it.
In the way your scowl falters just a fraction as you swirl colorful insults through velvet words and he finally bites back. In the way you push against him when he even tries to offer his help ā because the basket youāre lugging looks absurdly full, and yet you still let him walk you the rest of the way to the village.Ā
You snarl at him when he even attempts to correct your bow arm, and it used to make him flush with something sharp and ugly ā envy, maybe? ā because you didnāt have a problem with authority, he knows because you seem to take his fathers criticismās just fine. When anyone else rectified you, you adjusted.
It was only ever a him problem.
Because when he corrected you, you hissed at him like his correcting hand was tipped with arrowheads and poisonous herbs.Ā
You had a problem with Nateyam.
As a teenager, it used to irk him to no end. Because as the firstborn son of the Oloāeyktan, he was meant to carry himself like the leader he would one day become, like an authority the clan respected without question and trusted to guide them through storm and calm alike. Yet the one thing expected of him above all else, the one duty his father never let him forget, was simpler and far more aggravating.
He was supposed to get along with you.
You ā the daughter to the clan's most formidable warrior, his fathers right hand man.Ā
You ā who did not listen. Who did not trust him. Who always ā always ā questioned him.Ā
It may as well have been written in the stars by Eywa herself that the two of you were fated to fold neatly into the same position as your fatherās. And yet you resisted with every breath possible.
You rebelled, and scowled, and cursed at the mere mention of his name. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with the Olo'eyktan's first born despite your role, and that made it so exceedingly hard to get along with you. It left his skin flushing that embarrassingly dark purple colour which made his mother chuckle whenever he spoke of you.Ā
He tried to make sense of it. Of the way you rolled your eyes at his advice, or scowled when the two of you were paired in training once again and he couldnāt recall doing anything wrong. Not really.
You fought as normal children had, argued and competed as two eldest children to high-ranking parents would, but never with anything sharp enough to leave a lasting wound.. Nothing that should have haunted him like this.
However, he wasnāt a young boy anymore and time had an ironic way of sanding things down. He noticed what once felt like a raw hatred you wore like a book written in some foreign sky-language, suddenly became much more legible as his years grew to start with a two, almost as if he learned how to annotate his memories of you with the clarity he lacked as a teen.Ā
One in particular he remembers most vividly. That evening by the central fire, where you were seated opposite him, and the air still carried the echo of that afternoonās argument. He sat closest to the basket ofĀ ripe utumauti fruits, something he always recalled being your favourite through the years of shared meals, and he remembers the way it sat just beyond your reach on the woven mat.
When you asked for it low and casual, he didnāt think twice. Of course he picked it up and of course he leaned forward to pass it, because why would he not? He sat the closest, and both your siblings and his own had been too occupied in animated conversations with each other to notice.
He also remembers the way you had slapped his hand away with a guttural scoff, almost as if he was utterly ridiculous for even offering. The sting on both his knuckles and his pride had his brows furrowing instantly and that familiar anger, the kind only you could kindle so effortlessly, surged hot beneath his skin once more.
But it was only when the soft snickers rose from nearby ā his mother and yours, seated side by side and watching the exchange with far too much interest āthat he noticed.
You had still taken the basket.
āHey!ā He remembers the way your fathers voice cut from just to the left, āPlay nice.āĀ
And heād assumed, as always, that your father was less than impressed at his daughterās rude manners toward the Oloāeyktanās son. But the reprimand softened almost immediately, chased by a low chuckle that started only after Jake failed to hide a snort of his own beside him.
The two men were already leaning into one another, shoulders touching, Jakeās head tipped low as one hand, holding a piece of half bitten meat hung limply by his mouth, trying and failing to hide his laughs through a mouthful of food.
The nudges of your sister's elbow into your side was the last thing he remembered noticing, sharp and mocking but quickly followed by the look you shot her. It was a silent warning in that strange language heād never understood as a boy ā the one you did with your eyes alone, but one he was now, uncomfortably, starting to. Because you ate your fruit without ceremony, eyes trained forward and stubbornly refusing to drift his way, yet the basket sat firmly in your hands all the same.
That was when Neteyam stopped letting it irk him. When he realised why everyone else around him seemed to find that mean spirit you reserved only for him so humorous, despite his distress. You were composed, yes, but he finally understood why.
Your composure was a lie.Ā
And once it stopped irking him, once it settled into something he thought he understood, all the memories of you persistently adorning that scowl that seemed to exist only for him suddenly lost their bite.Ā For a moment he felt like he had maybe started to figure you out.
But recently, something had changed, subtly at first, then all at once. What was once harmless irritation had suddenly sharpened into something more volatile. You didn't just brush him off anymore, you snapped before he'd even opened his mouth, and flinched away the moment he so much as reached to steady the basket. It was as if every breath he took was a disruption, and his presence had become something you could no longer tolerate in silence.
That mean spirit wasn't funny anymore, because now it was relentless.
Which was why, standing across from you now, he didnāt brace for your signature fang baring scowl. He expected it in a way that made him sigh with knowing fatigue, and yet a little bit of smugness all the same.
āWhy must you always be so difficult?ā The words surfaced in that defeated tone he reserved only for you and your impertinence for him.Ā
Your body shifted back and you leaned against your heels to glance over your shoulder at where he stood behind you. You were still kneeling over the stump of braided vines you had been meticulously shredding into winding fibres with your knife.Ā
āI am not.ā And there it was ā that scowl he expected. It twisted your face into that familiar snarl, upper lip curling to flash the set of fangs he saw more than his own. āYou just insist on hovering.ā
āWe were sent out here to collect fibre together. You āinsistā on making it a one man job.ā
You didnāt look at him again, instead, turning back to the vines where your blade already resumed its steady work, as if his presence were nothing more than a distraction.
āI do not need a partner to cut fibre,ā Your response was flat as if it were such an obvious observation, and then you sighed, a long drawn out exhale to yourself. āSo ridiculous.ā
The scoff that followed was harsh and hidden under your breath.
Despite its low delivery, the sound didn't slip Neteyamās ear, and he raised an unassertive brow at what he thought he heard, the corner of his mouth tipping low in confusion. āWhat is?āĀ
His confusion hit you like a sudden gust of wind, and with a growl that spoke as if you couldn't believe he dared asking, you quickly shot up with a whirl, tail whipping fast with a force Neteyam had to step back to avoid. You were facing him completely, now.
āThat our fathers insist on sending us out here together like we are still little children. I do not need a partner and I certainly do not need any partner of mine to be you.ā
The words landed harsher than the scowl ever could. For a moment he only stared at you, really observing your features twisted with perplexed anger, yet comically softened by what he could only describe as a pout in your lip. He took in the way your stance squared and the way your grip curled around the knife with agitated force.
You may not think you acted like one, but great mother, you looked like a child right now.
āRight, you are not a child.ā He said at last, voice level. āBut maybe our fathers would not feel the need to treat you like one if you stopped acting as one.ā
āExcuse me?ā
The grip on your knife tightened, handle creaking under the pressure of your grasp that almost splintered the wood. The corner of your mouth twitched up once again in that scowl that bared the top of your right fang to his watchful eyes, and your tone was so even it almost made him falter.Ā Ā
Neteyam held his ground, though. And instead, he replied carefully in an attempt to diffuse that constantly building tension just a little.
āYou make an enemy of me in everything we do, as if we havenāt been paired together since we were barely old enough to hold a blade. If you wish to be met as an adult, you cannot bare your teeth at every word spoken to you, Fang.ā
That age old nickname rolled like honey off his tongue but struck your ears and curdled into venom. Your fists curled so tight your claws bit crescent marks into your palms, and the muscles along your jaw tightened until you felt the throb of it.
Fang. You despised when he called you that.Ā The way he reduced you to nothing but the sneer he so often deserved.
With a slow drawn out breath that carried no warmth, you bared the edge of a laugh that held no humour, letting your mocking reply land bitter and sour on your tongue.
āPerfect Olo'eyktan's son, always so composed and responsible. Maybe I would enjoy my time with you more if Eywa hadnāt shaped you so stiff in the tail you forgot how to bend, Tawtute.ā
For a heartbeat, the words hung between you like a knocked bowstring waiting to snap with release. Then Neteyamās jaw tightened, because he always hated when you commented on the human in him, as if it made him less Navi. Less than you.
A Tawtute, a sky-person, as if it were an insult. Spoken like a curse, when all heād ever done was try to prove it wasnāt.
He let the silence stretch a moment longer, before taking one deliberate breath to regulate his reeling thoughts, choosing to ignore your bait. Low hanging fruit as his father would call it.
āYou forget how many times that stiffness kept you from getting hurt.ā
You turned back toward the vines with a scoff, knife biting down harder than before. The fibres split unevenly, curling away beneath the force of your hands. āI do not need to be helped by someone who can barely hold their bow arm high enough to knock an arrow. I do not listen to you.ā
āYes,ā Neteyam scoffed a humorless laugh, āyou never do.ā
He sank down into a squat then as well, finally turning his attention to the pile of finished fibres you had shoved aside. His hands were quick to gather a few filaments between his pointer and thumb, testing the strands between the fingers as he twisted the two together, before giving them a short, sharp tug. They held for one, and held for another as he stretched them further, then finally faltered with a snap as he pulled them taught enough.
His mouth twitched down.Ā
āYou cut angry,ā He observed with a growl. āUneven. Wasteful.ā
You spun once more, this time in your squatted position to meet him at eye level, the knife still gripped between your four fingers almost as a threat. āYou waste them with your stupidity! Of course they break when you only weave two fibres!ā
āThey need to be thick enough for bowstrings, to hold knocked arrows in new bows.ā He countered.Ā
You sneered with a slight hiss, leaning further into him. āThen donāt use them.ā
āOh no, I will.ā He smirked, as he finally began his job, looping the fibres together, securing them with practiced ease. āSomeone has to make sure we donāt come back empty-handed.ā
You shot him a glare. āI said I do not need your-ā
āYou do not need my help,ā He finished for you, clearly way too amused now. āI know. You have said it at least five times since we left the clearing.āĀ
He leant closer as he spoke, not directly into your space, but just enough that you had to shift your stance to keep working without him intruding. His looming shadow falling over the stump you worked on, over your hands and the blade that suddenly seemed to falter under a different kind of pressure now.
āAnd yet,ā he continued, eyes never leaving the strands as he calmly coiled the fibres, āyou keep cutting while I bind. Funny how that works.ā
You stopped your movements, sending him a glare out the side of your eye, one that had your lashes feeling heavy and jaw slightly agape.
āGet out of my way.ā You spat, but it was as if you couldnāt convey the weight of anger you meant to land. Your tone was weak and almost a little desperate.
āYou always rush when you are angry,ā he ignored your demand - if it could even be called that - with a tone that was almost conversational. āYour tail gives you away.ā
Your eyes flashed with the realisation that he had even been looking long enough to notice your tells, and your cheeks suddenly flared with something warm and hot that turned you purple.
āStop watching me, Tawtute.ā This time your voice really did sound desperate.
āI canāt. You make it difficult.āĀ
You were close enough to see the faint curve of that infuriating smile he loved to wear, and to feel the heat of him radiating that smug confidence he wore like a headpiece.
Years of success at keeping him as far away as one could be from someone they worked with on a near daily basis, you felt had suddenly dwindled into an endless array of interactions where he always managed to dominate the conversation. Reduced to this. To the way he always stood too close now, and spoke too smugly, as if he had suddenly decided that he finally had you all figured out.
Despite your lack of response, he broke the silence, voice dipping just enough to grate, āYou know, for someone who insists she doesnāt listen to me, you react an awful lot when I speak.ā
āBecause you are provoking me!ā You snapped in a low growl.Ā
āYou glare like you are about to strike me." He replied, entirely too amused.
āLucky I am working, because you would deserve it if I did.ā The words landed like a pathetic cry, and suddenly it felt like you were deficient of every insult you had ever known, reduced to the same childish fury youād sworn youād outgrown.
āOh are you? Would not have guessed, with the way you are looking at me like a Yerik in the firelight.āĀ
Eywa, if you didnāt look angry before.
āNeteyam!ā
This time, you hissed it like a venomous mantra, fangs bared and legs snapping up to your full height as you leaned into his space, close enough to let the words bite the air. Your ears pinned sharp against your braids, and his jaw set as he met your glare without yielding, tension pulling tight between you like that drawn bowstringā
āOh good, youāre fighting again.ā
A sudden unexpected third voice had both your heads spinning towards the break in the clearing just a few yards East, where a very unimpressed Loāak tread carelessly down the path with a barely-contained giggling Kiri besides him. Kiri moved with a balled fist pressed against her pursed mouth, supported by an arm crossed along her chest in an attempt to hide her amusement.Ā
āItās more like flirting again.ā The words Kiri muttered were small and meek but Eywa, if they didnāt hit large.
Both you and Neteyam froze at the intrusion, then stilled at the implication, a beat passing before you each stepped back in the same beat of time. He rose to his feet far too quickly besides you, your eyes blown wide in something too closely resembling horror, while Neteyam merely rolled his, tired and resigned, straightening back into the perfect son like it was second nature once more.Ā
āStop being a skxawng, Loāakā.ā
āāWe are not flirting, Kiri.āĀ
The words collided in the air, yours to Kiri a hiss and his to Loāak a sigh, overlapping with a defensive tilt that had the other two chuckling harder.
Loāakās mouth twitched. āWow." He stated. āTouched a sensitive nerve.ā
And Neteyam, the all mighty responsible son he is, didnāt reach for the bait Lo'ak hung so low for him, instead, he crossed his arms with a sigh at his unexpected presence. āWhat are you doing here?ā
The answer came before either of them could speak, as a sudden fifth voice came echoing from the brush of leaves. A small, blurred figure soon came dashing out of the tree scape, making a b-line straight to the centre of the clearing in a full stumbling sprint. She was headed directly towards where you stood in a pout next to Neteyam.Ā
āDad said to come get you two because youāre taking too long!ā
Kiri and Loāak's eyes grew wide. And with a quick exchanged glance of horror, at the same time they barked. āTuk!āĀ
But she ran right past them, as if their voices fell silent to the wind.
Loāak lunged forward, catching her by the arm just before she could skid to a stop at your feet. The glare he sent her sharp and immediate enough to make her shrink in on herself, ears drooping as she braced for the scolding she knew was soon to come.
āDad told us to come get them,ā He corrected, gesturing between himself and Kiri. āThat wasnāt an invitation to follow.ā
Tuk's round eyes glint up with that innocent reasoning you just couldn't deny, her pupils glossing over as she pouted heavy in protest and twisted her head to look at you and Neteyam.
āBut Dad said youāve been out here alone long enough!ā
Tuk protested, twisting free of Loāakās grip with a determined wriggle and darting straight to you. The moment she was within your range, she grabbed your forearm with both of hers, tugging urgently as she looked up with those wide, worried eyes.
āHe told mom that if you and Neteyam keep fighting like this, youāll probably end up at the Tree of Souls by tonight!ā She paused, then her voice pitched higher with pure betrayal. āBut you canāt! You promised youād help me braid my new beads tonight!ā
For a heartbeat, the clearing went unnervingly still. You stared still as stone down at Tuk, mortification burning hot beneath your skin at the implication that flew right over her head but knocked you right up yours instead. And besides you, Neteyam fared no better, looking as if the world had briefly knocked him off balance too, His eyes widening just enough to betray him before he could pull himself back together.Ā
In stark contrast just a ways away, Loāak let out a sharp bark of laughter, doubling over with his grip on Kiri's arm, just as she finally outright lost the battle sheād been silently fighting, turning away from the set of two dazed and angered eyes with a hand clamped over her mouth.
She shook with quiet, uncontrollable cackles, restraint entirely gone, fed by the matching looks of mortification plastered across both your faces. The two of you looked ridiculous.
And Tuk, sweet innocent Tuk, oblivious to the chaos her words had detonated in the once silent clearing, glared up at Neteyam's shell-shocked face with furrowed brows and that pouty sneer.
āStupid Neteyam.ā She declared, voice ringing with righteous indignation. āYou canāt take Y/N anywhere tonight. Eywa heard it - sheās with me today!ā
She punctuated the proclamation with the scrunch of her nose and a quick, defiant flick of her tongue, poked in his direction.
For a split second, Neteyam only stared at her, still caught somewhere between the weight of what had just been said and the very real presence of his little sister. Then he blinked, jaw tightening as the annoyingly-older brother instinct finally won out over shock. With a sharp, almost automatic motion, he reached out and pinched her tongue between his fingers. An act that had Tuk squealing and flailing in protest.
āOi!āĀ Tuk yelped, recoiling instantly, clutching her tongue with a gasp.
Neteyam let the sound settle before he spoke. He shot you a brief, weary glance, as if checking whether youād reacted at all, then turned back to his sister, composure sliding firmly back into place. His voice level and measured with a delicate care he reserved specifically for her.
āThat is entirely enough out of you. Someone needs to give you a lesson about eavesdropping." He glanced back at his brother and sister, motioning a hand to the two still giggling. "Time to take you home before we all get scolded.ā
Tukās ears drooped immediately, shoulders curling inward as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingers still hovering protectively near her mouth. She opened her lips as if to argue, then thought better of it, gaze flicking between Neteyam and the ground with exaggerated remorse.
That was when Kiri scoffed, the tension finally cracking as ahe straightened, still grinning as she shouted. āHe's right, youāve caused enough trouble. Come on, teylupil.ā
She didnāt wait for her to comply, instead walking to grab her, planting two steady hand on each of her shoulders, then began steering her away with decisive finality, already turning her toward the path before she could wriggle free.
āBut I didnāt do anything!ā Tuk protested.
āTell it to dad.ā Kiri laughed.
Tuk craned her neck back toward you one last time as Kiri dragged her away, voice pitching higher with urgency. āY/n, donāt forget my hair-!ā
āI know,ā you cut in quickly, the words tossed over your shoulder like a promise already made as the two disappeared down the winding path in a lingering bicker.
Loāak remained a heartbeat longer. His gaze flicking between you and Neteyam, something quiet and knowing glinting behind his eyes as his mouth twitched with barely restrained amusement.
You caught it quickly, and shut it down even quicker, face smoothing into neutrality as you turned away, dropping back into a crouch before the stump as if nothing had been disturbed in you.
āWe will collect the threads and follow.ā Your voice came out flat and deliberately ungiving, spoken without the fault or fracture he was clearly waiting to see. Whatever reaction they had hoped to draw out of you never came, instead, your expression smoothed into something unreadable, as if nothing at all had happened in the last few minutes.
When he didn't get it from you, Loāak redirected his attention to Neteyam with a long, assessing look. He was waiting for the reaction you refused to give, and when he found nothing but the faint quirk of Neteyamās mouth, he huffed a quiet laugh and finally began his own descent toward the start of the winding path back to the village.
āDadās pissed.ā He called over his shoulder. āTry not to be too long.ā
The brush swallowed him soon after as well, laughter and murmured whispers dissolving into the low hum of the forest. And then the clearing fell still again.
You let out a slow breath you hadnāt realized you were holding, shoulders rolling as the tension finally bled off. Remembering yourself, you turned back to the stump, your hands moved quickly now, rough and efficient, gruffly snatching clumps full of fibre from the scattered pile. You stuffed them into the woven basket Neteyam had brought, as if keeping busy might quiet everything still coiled tight beneath your skin.
For a moment, Netayem watched. It almost seemed like that armored composure of yours was taut as rigid as usual, as if nothing in the last five minutes had made you falter for even a moment. To anyone else, maybe, it did appear as so, but he knew you well enough to see the way your jaw clenched so tight heād envisioned you cracking a molar, and the harsher than necessary grip in your fingers as you haphazardly tossed the fibre around. Not to mention the stutter in your tailās path, the tell heād learned long ago as the one that always surfaced when you were lying.
It left him releasing a chuckle he couldn't contain, a deep, rumbling sound which made your ears twitch sideways in annoyance. You paused in your frantic movements, head snapping to the side in a motion which left your glowing amber eyes glaring daggers at his towering form.Ā
āWhat?ā You spat, tired, irritated and painfully obvious to him ā embarrassed.
āStill upset about what Kiri said?"
Your jaw clenched, fangs peeking as you whipped fully around to face him, rising to your full height at the implication. The basket thumped forgotten at your feet as the tension tipped to a peak beyond your capacity, and you stalked towards him with an almost predatory sway.Ā
"I am not angry about that ridiculousāā You cut yourself off, taking a moment to collect the basket off the ground, along with a breath of humid air, allowing it to sit in your lungs before releasing in a desperate attempt to somewhat self-regulate. āDo not flatter yourself, Tawtute. Flirting? With you? I'd sooner make Tsaheylu with a thanator."
His eyes gleamed with mischief, but it wasnāt the boyish, innocent kind he wore when messing with his siblings. This one was the kind he wore only where you were involved, deliberate and cocky, slipping neatly beneath the cracks in your composure because he knew where to press.Ā
The careful, responsible mask he wore all the time loosened just enough to reveal the tease underneath, a glimpse of something warmer and far more dangerous than his jabs at you ever were. He didnāt crowd you with his body so much as he crowded you with his unyielding certainty, leaning in just the smallest amount, voice dropping into something that felt like it belonged in the a dark room rather than under the open light of tree canopies.
āFunny,ā He murmured, and Eywa, the way he said it made your spine want to curl. āYour tail is flicking like it does when you lie. And you react so much when I get close, almost as if... as if you enjoy it.ā
Heat hit you so fast it was humiliating, up your neck, across your cheeks, down your chest - anger and something you refused to name twisting together until you couldnāt tell which was which. Your hand shoved into his chest on instinct, a firm press meant to reassert space, meant to remind him you were not something to be read and teased apart like the vines beneath your knife.
But his skin under your palm was solid and warm, his breath even, his posture maddeningly steady. You hated that he didnāt move. You hated that the push didnāt become a shove, that your body betrayed you with restraint and a split-second hesitation that had nothing to do with strength. Your pulse seemed to jump when he watched you like this.
āBack off,ā You snapped instead, aiming for venom and getting something too light, too strained. You lifted your chin as if height alone could restore your pride. āI do not enjoy anything about you hovering like a skxawng who thinks he is Eywaās gift to the clan.ā
You couldnāt handle it anymore, the way his eyes bore into yours like they read every thought, so you moved to leave the clearing, to be as far away from him as can be.
Neteyam didnāt move. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, the gold in them catching the filtered light until they looked almost feral. The smirk was gone and in its place was something colder as he took one slow step forward, crowding you until the basket handle dug into your hip and the scent of him, warm skin, crushed leaves, the faint sweat from the summer heat, filled every breath.
āGift?ā He repeated, voice quiet and flat, the kind of quiet that made your spine prickle. āI am the one stuck dragging your half-finished work back to the village every time you storm off. That sound like a gift to you?ā
Something in his words snapped the tension in a way that almost had a stifled laugh escaping you. The image of perfect Neteyam, future Oloāeyktan, the ever-responsible son, trudging behind you with a basket full of your messy fibers and a everpresent moping frown to match struck you as absurdly funny considering he was the one who always offered to do it anyways. That short, sharp laugh escaped before you could stop it, low and mocking, cutting through the thick air between you.
āPoor you.ā You sang, voice dripping with false sympathy as the anger flipped into something crueler and entirely more enjoyable. āAll that dragging must be so exhausting for such meek shoulders to carry.ā
His eyes narrowed, the feral glint sharpening into irritation, but you were already moving. You jerked the basket from where it pressed against your hip and shoved it hard into his front, the woven edge leaving him doubling slightly from the sudden jab to his ribs, a smack that landed with a satisfying thud.
A few loose fibers fluttered to the ground as he stumbled back a few steps and caught the basket on reflex, fingers curling tight around the rim. The motion finally giving you the space you longed to breathe once again.
āExcept, you came here knowing you were going to do it anyways. So, there,ā You said, stepping back with a grin that showed too many teeth. āProblem solved. You can carry it all the way home anyways, like the dutiful son you are. Try not to strain yourself complaining about it later.ā
Neteyamās jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the muscle jump beneath his skin, his ears pinning back flat against his skull. The feral edge in his eyes flared hotter, and for a second you thought he might actually snap, toss the basket aside and give you the fight you both pretended you didnāt want.
Instead, he gripped the handle tighter, knuckles paling and barked, āFnaweātu skxawng!ā
The insult landed far too humorously for you to care, Instead you tilted your head back with an overly delighted smirk, very amused by his irate slurs and the way his facade cracked. āYou call me the stubborn idiot? But you carry the basket anyway. Funny how that works?ā
He exhaled through his nose, blood boiling at the way you managed to throw his earlier words back at him. The sound was almost a growl, and he took one deliberate step onto the path after you. āStart walking, Fang. The sooner we get back, the sooner I am rid of you for the day.ā
āPerfect!" You grinned, but the grin quickly dropped. "Twelve whole hours before you find another excuse to follow me around tomorrow.āĀ
You barely glanced back to see if he was following when you took off towards the village, because you already knew he was.
The clearing was loud with voices and laughter, bodies packed close as food and weapons were passed around in uneven circles, and it felt like the whole village had decided to breathe in the same place at once.
Someone had dragged a fresh kill in not long ago and the smell still hung in the air, mingling with roasted meat, crushed herbs, and the faint sting of smoke from the fire that kept getting fed as if it might swallow the night. Nets of fruit were being unknotted and handed off, cups passed between hands, blades checked and re-sheathed in the same idle rhythm people used when they were safe enough to relax but still too wound up to sit still.
You were wedged between a few of your friends near the edge of one of the many circles, packed close enough that their shoulders kept bumping yours when someone laughed too hard or shifted in their seat. Kiātiri had been retelling an exaggerated recall of her day on patrol, her eyes gleaming with irate exasperation as she animatedly spoke of the moment Loāak decided to start throwing stones out of boredom, nearly nailing Moāat on the head from the overhang.
Tuk sat too. She had found you the moment you settled onto the woven mat, darting straight to your side to claim her usual spot and spend her evening meal with you instead of her siblings or friends. It's something that had become so common during communal mealtimes that your friends had come to expect the young Sully girl attaching herself to your side like a second tail. It was as if the decision had been made somewhere in her head and the rest of the world simply had to accept it, and now she perched happily at your side like she belonged there.
Her small hand gripped your wrist with the possessive certainty only children had, and she fidgeted with the jewels decorated across your fingers, twisting the woven strands carefully as if she were inspecting treasure. The beads youād braided fresh not even a few weeks before clinked softly each time she moved, and every now and then she would lean her head against your arm and sigh, pleased with herself like sheād taken down a Thanator.
āWill you make these for me too?ā She asked ā more like stated ā for what had to be the third time tonight, thumb brushing the tiny knotwork with awe.
āWhen you stop trying to steal mine..ā You murmured back, and she grinned, utterly unbothered by the threat.
You let yourself settle into it for a moment, letting the noise wash over you because it was easier than thinking after long days training, because nights like this were meant to feel simple and unwinding. You were halfway through listening to your friend complain about yet another act of stupidity Loāak had attempted on their patrol together, when Tukās fingers suddenly stilled on your ring, halting and tightening hard enough that the movement forced you to glance down at the girl with a concerned furrow of your brow.
āWhat?ā You muttered, eyeing her of an answer before she spoke it.
Tukās eyes flicked past you toward the centre of the clearing, eyeing something in the distance that left you searching the vicinity in hopes of catching the focus of her gaze. Her mouth fell slightly, an almost angered look settling across her face before she scoffed, turning back to you in a huff that had her drawing closer.Ā
āNeteyam is with that noisy woman again. Anāaya.āĀ
She spat the name in that high-pitched mocking tone children did, and at first, you didnāt react. Not outwardly, at least. But something in your chest tightened all the same, small and sadistic, as if it even mattered at all.
You followed Tukās gaze without meaning to, your eyes slipping past the firelight and moving bodies until they found him almost instinctively. Neteyam sat just beyond the centre of the clearing, leaned back against a stack of supply crates, relaxed in the way you only ever saw when he was amongst people he trusted, his shoulders were loose and his attention tilted toward the woman beside him.
Anāaya was speaking animatedly, hands moving as she spoke and laughed so easily, and Neteyam had angled himself toward her without thinking, one knee bent beside his chest, head dipped slightly so he could hear her better over the noise.
It irked you. And it irked you more that it even irked you in the first place. Because you hated him. You told yourself it irked you because you hated that he was enjoying himself. Right. Of course.Ā
But the irritation still sat heavy and ugly in your chest, coiling tighter the longer you watched, and you hated that too, hated that your attention wouldnāt let it go, and that your mood had soured so fast despite being so fine just a moment ago.
There was no reason for it. None that made sense. You hated that stuck up tawtute more than anyone else and you argued with him so much you made a sport out of it. So why did your chest tighten when he didn't brush away the hand she put on his shoulder?
Tuk noticed the shift in your mood right away. Her nose wrinkled as her grip tightened again and she leaned in closer, glaring openly now.
āI donāt like her,ā she muttered, voice fierce and final. āShe talks too much. And she sits too close to Neteyam. And she laughs at his jokes even when theyāre not funny.ā
You attempted for even a minuscule moment to draw yourself back, to brush it away and forget it ever made you feel anything by resorting to your usual self regulation habits ā insulting the man.
āNothing Neteyam says is funny.ā But not even that seemed to work to calm you because that irrationally confusing feeling still clawed at your chest.
āThatās not true,ā Tuk called out immediately, tilting her small face up at you with those wide eyes. āYou laugh at him all the time! Just not when heās looking.ā
She leaned in closer, voice dropping into something hurt and almost bordering a whine. āHeās supposed to sit with us.ā
āThat is not how this works.ā You snapped the reply too quick, eyes diverting from the scene to pick up another piece of utumauti fruit as if it never bothered you.
Tukās eyes rolled at the response she should have predicted. She never understood why you acted so weird about it, when it was obvious to her that you liked her brother - because that was just what people did when they liked someone. They got weird and sharp and pretended they didnāt. She didn't see it elswhere often, but she knew it because that was what you and Neteyam did.
Your friends had gone quiet at the sudden stir occurring just beside them. Kiātiri quickly noticed the shift in your mood and tilted her head, studying you now with open curiosity.
āWhy are you angry?ā She cut in plainly. āDid he do something again?ā
āNo." You replied stark. āHow could he? Neteyam is all the way over there.ā
Kiātiri exchanged a quick, knowing glance with the friends beside you. āI didn't even mention his name." And the corner of her mouth lifted as a chorus of light giggles sung around the circle.
You answered with a quick, harsh warning glare, a motion that had the laughs slowly dying but the smiles still lingering in a knowing gleam. Kiātiri leaned in again, allowing you the dignity of ending her teasing, feeling almost a little bad at how astoundingly purple you looked.
"Youāre getting upset,ā She stated simply and not unkindly. āYou do that only where Neteyam is involved.ā
āI am not upset.ā But you were too far maddened for that to be convincing. āAnd he is not involved. I have been sat here, and he has been there this entire time.ā
The lie hung heavy and brittle as you clicked your tongue. Tsk.
"Yeah, sat with that healer girl." Mikatxi interjected low and humoured.
Your chest tightened, sharp and sudden, like the threads Neteyam pulled too taut in the woods and before you could bite it back, the denial tore out of you, louder than intended and edged with fury.
āI do NOT care who he sits with!ā You hissed, voice cracking on the volume. āHe can sit in her lap for all the stars in the sky care! I would not notice if Eywa herself told me!ā
āSeems like you doā¦ā
āāWhat is going on!?ā
The voice carried across the fire, calm but accusatory, and edged with something that made the fine hairs along your arms rise. In your bladed fury, you let your voiceĀ spike too high and missed the one pair of eyes that had locked onto you from beyond the fire.
Neteyam hadnāt stood, he hadnāt even moved from his spot. But he had leaned forward with a watchful, almost concerned eye, braids swinging low and hand hanging off his elevated knee as he observed with what you knew was that stupidly disingenuous concern.
The way he intervened like he was already rehearsing for Oloāeyktan burned you, as if he believed he could snuff out any simmering flame with his big, proud words simply because his blood said so.
And that wasnāt even half your problem. The problem was that Anāaya followed his gaze immediately, curiosity sparking as she turned to see what had drawn his attention, blinking and glancing between the two of you, clearly lost by why he interrupted her mid sentence.
That alone was enough to make your teeth grind. Because what was your relationship with that skxawng any of her business?
āWeāre fine.ā You called back, sharper than necessary, your eyes not even bothering to glance his way once. āTry having your own conversations instead of monitoring everyone else, tawtute.ā
Neteyamās mouth tightened just slightly at the insult, a breath leaving him slow and measured as if he were counting to three in his head. He didnāt rise, not yet. Only tipped his chin and let a quick āEywa help me,ā fall to the air before pushing himself to his feet at last.
He crossed the space between you in a way that had your fist tightening in anticipation for yet another argument, only fueled by the image of Anāaya hot on his heels like a second tail of his own, close enough to the boy that it felt intentional whether it was or not. Tuk sat up, planting herself more firmly at your side like a guard animal half her size.
āI said we are fine,ā you warned as he stopped in front of you.
Your friends ogled at the two of you, already bracing for the next round of your endless bickering.
āAnd I said I was just asking.ā His voice was calm but firm, and his eyes began searching your face for something, as if he could find whatever it was if he looked hard enough. āYou are upset.ā
You sputtered a short sudden laugh but your tone held no humour. āRight, I forgot I am only allowed to feel some way once you have approved of it first. I forgot I need my warden to tail me through the village and make sure I am behaving. Shall you go report my mood back to our fathers now?ā
Neteyamās jaw flexed, his calm finally straining at the edges.
āThat is not what I am doing. You know I do notāā
āYou do!" Your outburst came hard against his sentence, not having the patience nor heart to hear his excuses. āMy tail flicks too harshly, and it is enough to call council with our fathers! Tell them to rest easy, golden son. I am not about to reign war over one evening meal.ā
Neteyam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was bracing himself. āWell, you donāt have to turn everything I say into a fight.ā
āAnd you donāt have to turn everything I do into your problem to solve. The mantle still sits on your fathers head, you are allowed to have a personality until then.ā
An overdramatically long groan suddenly sounded to the left of you, and both your eyes snapped over to Tuks exaggeratingly agitated from, as she sighed in that childish way she did.
āStop fighting!ā She begged, voice whiny with pure childish exasperation. āYou guys always pretend like you don't want to talk, and then Neteyam comes and you fight forever because he wonāt leave you alone, but then you don't tell him to go away, and it's annoying!"
āTuk!ā Both you and Neteyam barked simultaneously, horror gleaming in both of your eyes because that was so obviously not true!
āThat is what happens." She insisted stubbornly. "You do it all the time.ā
"No!" You rejected. "We argue because he hovers!"
Anāaya, from the shadow of Neteyamās shoulder, suddenly appeared forward, finally establishing her presence with a smile that was not wide nor warm, but enough to show she was not very fond of the girl her friend had been talking to.
"Maybe, if we did not worry about what you might do next, Neteyam would not be expected to hover and act like Oloāeyktan already."
Your head turned slowly toward her, blood finally boiling beyond that point that only Neteyamās presence could push it to. Because who was she to imply you were a burden he had to shoulder, a mess he had to trail behind and fix every time you existed too loudly for her liking?
And especially who did she think she was inserting herself into Neteyamās problems as if they were her own. āIf we did not worryā ā as if she had any right to speak for the frustration he supposedly felt?
You let your eyes trail to her far too self-satisfied form, sneering with the scowl you usually only reserved for that gawking fool besides her. But if she insisted on acting as his equal, she could be handled like him too.
āOh, is that your healerās wisdom speaking, or are you only borrowing the golden sonās voice while he is too busy ogling to use it himself?ā
Her smile faltered and her chin lifted a fraction as her eyes narrowed in something mimicking offence. And then your gaze snapped to Neteyam, fury bright and uncontained now that the girl he had dragged to your circle had suddenly felt all too comfortable insulting you in front of all your friends.
āMaybe our fathers should stick her as your new training partner since she is already so good at handling me."
"Fangā" Neteyam's voice was eerily low.
"āNow that my guard dog has a guard dog.ā
And then he stiffened. āEnough.ā
But you didn't stop. āIs this what you tell people about me?ā
Neteyam opened his mouth to speak, visibly caught off guard by the sudden accusation.
āThat is notāā He started for the umpteenth time but again you didnāt let him finish.
āI would think you respected me even a little, enough, considering all my father has done for you and your family. Enough considering you always like to remind me that 'we are partners.' But you let your women speak to me like I am beneath you.ā You scoffed softly, the sound carrying just far enough to be heard.
āA leader, they say you will be.ā You continued, words mocking. āTell me how this is keeping the peace. Seems your peace is built on my silence. Both your peace and our fathers.ā
You rose without haste, the motion deliberate enough that the space around you seemed to shift with it. The ground felt steady beneath your feet, solid in a way your chest had not been for the last several breaths, and for the first time that night you welcomed the clarity that came with deciding to leave rather than be dismissed.
āY/n, noā please donāt be mad,ā Tuk whined, the plea tumbling out of her in a rush as she reached for you, fingers brushing the edge of your wrist but failing to catch hold. Her face pinched with genuine worry. "I didn't mean to make it worse."
āYou did not.ā You said shortly. āThis is not on you, Tuk.ā
And then you turned and left without a word, the sudden absence of your presence cutting through the clearing sharper than any insult you had ever sent him, and for the first time Neteyam did not know whether you were just angry or actually hurt by what had happened.
It was confusing because you had never let any interaction between the two of you get to you like this, yet now that you had chosen distance in place of where you would usually just choose name calling, he couldnāt help the feeling like heād missed something far too important while it was happening.
The noise resumed all too quickly behind you, laughter reclaiming the air as if nothing had shifted at all, but he stayed where he was, unease settling low in his chest as he watched yourĀ retreatingĀ form saunter away, hips swaying with jolting anger and body tempting his eyes to never shift.
He didnāt know when he started noticing things like that. The way your hips rolled as you walked, the flex of the muscles along your thighs with each step, and the way the line of your back shifted as you moved.
It sat wrong that he noticed these things about you, because he didnāt notice them on anyone else. More than anything else, the fact that you hadnāt looked back sat even worse. And the fact that he feltĀ that hollow pull, tight and wrenching in his chest because of it, sat the worst of all.
āAt least you don't have to worry about watching her anymore." Anāayaās voice cut in beside him, light and coaxing, like she was trying to pull him back by the wrist.
Neteyam nodded absently, already half elsewhere, the hollow feeling in his chest refusing to settle. Even as he turned back toward the fire, his attention lagged behind, tethered not to the laughter or the conversation resuming around him, but to the quiet space youād left behind. To the quiet, unwelcome understanding that this time, you hadnāt walked away to cool off ā you had walked away because he had apparently crossed a line he didnāt even realise he was dancing.
One delicate, purposeful step after the other. Neteyam watched your sultry hips as they worked against the motion of your legs, swaying against the gracefully deliberate rhythm of your strut. Every step was intentional, not a single wasted motion and certainly no hesitation, each one drawing a slow, tightening circle around him. You eyed him like prey and circled him like a predator.Ā
He, too, circled your figure. Less graceful in his approach, his steps heavier and more grounded, but just as analytical with his eyes all the same. He told himself he tracked your figure because he had to, that he noticed how dangerously alluring you looked in your stride because he was being tactical, certainly not because he found it mesmerising.
Partnered again. You almost rolled your eyes had it not been for the undivided attention you locked onto his solid figure.
You suspected that they were doing it on purpose now, because whenever given the opportunities, your fathers paired the two of you as if it was something written into the roots of the forest itself. As if Eywa refused to separate you.
Jakeās voice cut through the air before either of you could make a move.
āEnough posturing,ā he barked from the edge of the ring, arms crossed, gaze sharp and unimpressed. āThis isnāt a mating dance. Someone's going to have to make a move soon enough. Engage.ā
The command barely left Jakeās mouth before you jolted.
You didnāt rush him all at once because that was never your style. You shifted your weight and pivoted to your right instead, just as your tail came down with a sharp snap to the left, a deliberate ploy to feint him around you with sound.
Neteyam stuttered for a moment, nearly diving left and falling for the bait, but caught himself immediately, because of course he did. His jaw tightened as he corrected, blocking you by widening his stance, shoulders settling into a space much larger than you had accounted for.
You collided with his chest, steadying yourself with a tight hand clamped around his forearm that flexed under your grip. It was a successful motion that kept you upright, but your proximity to Neteyam left you vulnerable to an open hand palm against your shoulder, knocking you a step back. It was a warning shot, not meant to land hard, but it angered you all the same.
āGood feint, Y/n. Nice recovery, Neteyam.ā Jake called out.Ā
Your eyes never pivoted from Neteyam, but Jake's words riled you further, knowing he got praise for the first hit.Ā
"Is that all you have?" You taunted, circling again, your breath steady despite the fire igniting in your veins. "Afraid to hit me for real, golden boy?"
Neteyamās ears flicked at your taunt, but his expression stayed infuriatingly calm. He rolled the shoulder youād nearly landed on earlier, circling with you, mirroring your steps like heād memorized every rhythm youād ever moved to.
āWell, would not want to mess up that pretty face.ā
You flared your teeth in a hiss at his words, fangs bared and all, as the implication of them did not evade you. The idea that you were too feminine to fight. Bullshit.
It was bait, you knew it deep within, and yet you lunged for it all the same.
You dropped low, striking dirty with a sweeping leg that made contact with his ankles while your hands aimed for his torso. He leaped back to counter, but you were faster, leaping with a twist and raking your manicured claws down his ribs just to watch him hiss.
You landed in a crouch behind him, tail lashing with triumph at the hit but he countered instantly, arm hooking yours, using your momentum to flip you over his hip, but you held tightly, and this time you both went down. You snapped right to the ground, landing with a splat and a breathy groan, which he followed taut behind with, and soon you were caged beneath him as his braids fell around your face like a curtain.
āCareful,ā he murmured, voice rough, eyes dropping to your mouth, ākeep rubbing up on me like that and people may talk.āĀ
Damn his Sully tongue and their dirty human minds. Only they ā only he, were rash enough to say such vulgar words.
Heat flared in your face, nothing else but pure rage, and you answered with a growl, driving your knee up sharp between his legs. Not hard enough to hurt, you think, but just enough to make him block instinctively and give you room to twist.
You both rolled again, a tangle of limbs and snarls across the dirt, kicking up dust around you until you came out to a stop, this time you were on top, straddling his waist, thighs clamped tight, hands slamming his wrists into the dirt beside his head.
āI will kill you!ā
Neteyamās eyes blazed up at you, all traces of amusement gone. His ears pinned flat against his skull, jaw clenched so tight you saw the muscle jump. He bucked hard beneath you, trying to throw your weight, muscles straining as he fought your hold.
āGet. off. of. me.ā He snarled, voice low and dangerous through his squirms against you, wrists twisting against your grip. āWhy must you always turn it into this?ā
You dug your nails in deeper, refusing to budge, chest heaving with anger. āYou started it with your filthy mouth. Think you can say whatever you want and I will just take it?ā
He arched again, harder this time, nearly unseating you from his lap and you slid to settle on his chest. His breath came in harsh pants now, struggling under the weight of you on his lungs, but his eyes still burned up at you with pure defiance.
The shift gave him a perfect view of you, sweaty and furious as you loomed above him, your braids wild, chest heaving and skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat. A deep flush crept up his neck and face at the sight, dark purple blooming across his cheeks and he prayed to Eywa it looked like it was from a lack of air to everyone watching.
āI am trying to win a damn spar, not handle your tantrum.ā He said through short breaths. āYield!ā
āForce me, Tawtute,ā you hissed, grinding your knees harder into his sides.,āor keep dancing for your sempul like the skxawng you are.ā
His face darkened at that, a fresh wave of fury rolling off of him. He surged up with a grunt, flipping you both violently in a cloud of dust that kicked as you grappled. It was a flurry of elbows and knees jabbing at whatever body parts they could reach, claws scratching, fangs baring, and hisses sounding out like a tussle of five years olds.
He landed a sharp elbow to your ribs and you responded by snatching at his long swinging kuru braid and tugging at it, pinning him for a split second before you broke free with a snarl.
The spar had turned ugly so fast, no one had time to register what it was until it already had become it. There was no technique or poise left, just primitive fighting and petty aggression mixed with ragged breaths and dirt covered bodies, every strike fuelled by years of building resentment.
And Jake was done watching it.
"That's enough!" he barked again, the sound cracking through the clearing like a whip.Ā He dragged a tired hand down his face, exhaling through his nose before turning on you both with an outstretched arm that sliced downward in a sharp, commanding arc. "Get off!"
His voice was so demanding and final, it had you cowering in your skin and scampering clumsily off and away from Neteyams heaving figure mirroring your own.Ā You subtly brushed the dirt clinging to your arms in an attempt to salvage even an ounces worth of dignity, but it wasn't working, because your hands still shook and beneath it all, that ugly vulnerability lingered heavy as Jakes eyes beat down on you.
Jake continued.
"It was funny at first, cute even, when you two were teens and it didn't matter. But by Eywa, you're adults now. You have responsibilities and the clan is going to depend on you."
The authority in his voice pinned you both in place.
"I'm sorry, sir," Neteyam spoke with a breathy compliance, eyes trained downwards in a way that almost left you scoffing at how pathetic he looked - at how quickly he folded under the pressure of his father despite talking so big against you moments ago. It took everything in you not to roll your eyes while being lectured by his father about acting mature.
So, you muttered through gritted teeth, "Yes, sir," forcing the words out while fighting every instinct that screamed at you to glare at Neteyam instead of Jake.
Jakeās gaze flicked between you. āYou two are going to be the leaders of this clan some day.āĀ
As he spoke the words, there was a pause as he immediately noticed the sudden way the two of you began shifting apart, blue faces crawling into flushed purple ones. It only took him another moment to realise the implication of his words, and he saw it. Of course he saw it. Eywa, the two of you couldnāt even look at each other at an implication he didnāt even mean!
Realization dawned on his face, and he let out a long, exasperated sigh. "And this ā this right here ā is exactly what I mean. Every little thing between you turns into a problem. You donāt know how to keep things contained when itās the two of you.ā
He jabbed a finger toward Neteyam, ready to correct your misunderstanding.
"You will be Olo'eyktan one day." Then the finger swung to you. "And you will be the clan's head warrior. His right hand. His most trusted." Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sooner or later, you have got to get along. The People need to see unity, not... whatever the hell this is."Ā
He said the line so defeatedly, as if his two greatest proteges had become his two biggest failures in that moment, and it left you deflating in embarrassment at the notion that your rivalry with his son had turned into something beyond comprehensive words. Instead, reduced to āhellā - to some weird sky people word.
Shameful.Ā
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. You stared at the ground, heat crawling up your neck, wishing the woven walkway would just open and swallow you whole because it was almost like your own father had just admitted that you were acting a fool.Ā
As Jake Sully, the man who raised you almost as his own in the proximity of your father and their strict training regimes, was sighing down at you and his idiot son with weary frustration.
You knew he didnāt mean it cruelly. This was that strange sky-people thing he did, where he slipped into what was described as the āmilitaryā tone, meant to correct rather than offend. That didnāt make the cut sting less deep, though.
You were mid deliberation when you suddenly heard it, the tiniest huff of breath from Neteyamās direction. Not quite a laugh, but close enough, and it had you glancing up at him with the scowl you reserved only for him.
Neteyam wasnāt looking at his father anymore. Now he was looking right at you, glaring through the corner of his limp braids, head still hung low as one side of his mouth twitched upward in that infuriating half-smirk he saved just for you too.
His amber eyes glinted with something resembling a shocked amusement, almost as if he couldnāt quite believe you were actually compliant. Like your mortification was the funniest thing heād seen all day.
You knew you shouldnāt. You knew this was a horrible time. But in that moment it was like something inside you finally snapped with finality for the first time ever.
Where you usually would have met him with snark, now you were meeting him with red vision and a complete lack of respect.
Your ears flicked back, pinned taught to your hair like an animal on its prey only moments away from pouncing. Tail lashing once almost like a whip.
āWhat?ā you hissed, so low it was almost swallowed by the breeze, meant only for him, but almost so quiet that Neteyam nearly missed the fact that you had spoken entirely. āSomething funny, Tawtute?ā
He caught your words all the same, the perfect, golden son act completely slipping away, traded for a smirk that widened a fraction larger at your beyond irked facial expression. āA child, Fang.ā He taunted, hitting right where he knew you hurt most. āYou look like a child scolded by her elder. It is quite damn funny.ā
That was all it took.
You stepped forward, voice rising despite yourself, despite the voice telling you that only awful consequences would come from acting out right now. The worst part of you could not have cared less that his father wasnāt even through with lecturing the two of you yet, the bigger part of you so enraged, so encompassed by Neteyam and his stupidity, his audacity, that you just-
Did. Not. Care.Ā
Your figure snapped upright, tall and menacing, body twisting to face him fully as your large blearing eyes glossed over, unblinking and fear-provockingly wide.Ā
āOpen your mouth again, Tawtute, and I swear to Eywa and everything she deems sacred, I will slam you down and make you swallow every sorry sound you choke in front of the whole clan.ā
Neteyamās smirk froze, then vanished almost as quickly as it came. His ears were the ones to flick forward now, sharp at the ends and persistently alert. His golden eyes that had been mocking you a heartbeat ago had darkened into molten amber pits, pupils narrowing to slits. The perfect son was gone entirely.Ā
His tail lashed once, hard enough to slap the air as he twisted his body entirely to tower over yours. It was the first time in all your years of knowing him where he had ever intimidated you, because it was the first time in all the years youād known him that his size truly registered. Tall, and broad, and built like the future leader he was meant to be.Ā
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, tracing the sharp lines of his frame all the way down until they stopped to linger on the bold stripes that curved low around his hipbones and disappeared beneath the edge of his loincloth. They had always stood out more than anyone elseās, as darker, thicker, more prominent than the others. The Tawtute genes, you told yourself, thatās why they were like that, no other reason, certainly. A flush crawled up your neck, hot and confusing, and what would have been disguised as pure rage to any onlooker.
It pressed in on you though, close enough that the heat of him brushed your skin. Because, it didnāt feel like pure rage alone. Your mind could try to convince you, but your body would do otherwise, betraying your thoughts with that persistent betraying flicker of your tail.
And Neteyam noticed. Of course he noticed.
āKeep staring like that, Fang,ā he said, leaning in until his breath stirred the loose strands of hair at your temple, āand I will give you something to actually choke on.ā
The words hit low and vicious, a promise wrapped in threat and before you even processed which arm had lifted first, your hand, with pre-curled fingers was already moving toward his chest to shove him back as hard as you possibly could. A hiss so guttural and sharp tearing from your gaping mouth, decorated by the furiously purple hue that painted your face like a white canvas.Ā
His own shot up just as yours had, catching your wrist mid-air in a grip like the metal on the ships the sky people flew. Not painful, but almost entirely unbreakable.
For one suspended heartbeat you were locked there, with his fingers around your wrist and bodies inches apart, both of you breathing hard, tails thrashing in mirrored fury. The space between you felt suddenly too small, the air too thick.
Then Jakeās voice cracked through it like a whip.
āI said enough!ā
He was on you in two strides, one massive hand clamping the back of Neteyamās neck, the other seizing your upper arm and hauling you both apart with force that made your feet skid on the woven mat.
Jakeās eyes were wild, ears pinned flat, chest heaving.
āYou two are done,ā he growled, voice shaking with barely-leashed anger. āDone acting like feral animals that canāt control their emotions. Grown adults and Iām still treating you two like I did when you were twelve.ā
He exhaled sharply, making the decision at that moment.
"You're going out to the eastern watchpost. Tonight. Just the two of you." He held up a hand when you both opened your mouths to protest. "No arguments, not a goddamn word. It's an hour ride so that's plenty of time to cool off and you'll spend the entire night there.āĀ
Jake was not having it. āI want the supplies inventoried, the platforms repaired, and I want every corner of every ridge scouted for any signs of human activity, and you're going to do every moment of it together. You'll eat together, sleep in the same goddamn hammock if you have to, and you'll come back tomorrow morning acting like the future leaders you're supposed to be."
He released you with a shove toward the rookery.
āGo saddle your Ikranās.āĀ
When the two of you hesitated, Jake snarled āNow! And if I hear one more word out of either of you before youāre out of my sight, I swear to Eywa Iāll tie you both to the same tree instead.āĀ
Jake's voice sounded so tired and the clearing had gone deathly quiet. Neteyamās jaw flexed, but he said nothing and he was the first to turn without even so much as a glance in your direction, stalking toward the rookery with rigid shoulders, his braids swaying with each step, and every taut line of him vibrating with a restraint he almost lacked.
You stood frozen for half a breath longer, heart hammering against your ribs, wrist still burning where his grip had been. Then you turned too, spine straight with the kind of discipline that fooled everyone but the Sullys, because Neteyam and Jake could both see the bruise that adorned your ego, they just both knew better than to comment on it this far in.
The young warriors scattered around the training grounds let their conversations die and bows lower as you both strode past. Your ikran sensed the rage rolling off you and answered your call with shrieks and flared wings, and an agitation that mimicked your own. And you mounted without glancing at Neteyam once, attaching your queues to the end of your Ikrans with what was probably a little more force than necessary. He did the same and Jake watched it all with a tired stare as Neteyam banked east first, cutting through the darkness like a blade, before you followed silently behind him without a glance back.
Jake finally let out the breath heād been holding, dragging a tired hand down his face. The forest answered him with the soft rustle of leaves and distant night calls of your fleeting Ikrans, nature utterly unconcerned with the problem heād just sent walking into it. He had broken up enough sparring matches to know the difference between anger and whatever that had been.
Eywa help them, he thought. Because I am officially out of patience.
Behind him, the rustle leaves and heavy approaching footsteps had his ears perking up, expecting the presence before the sound of a low chuckle could startle him. The sound of a man who had already arrived at the same conclusion and was simply waiting to see if Jake would catch up.
Jake turned to find your father standing there, arms crossed, tail swaying lazily behind him as his eyes tracked the two figures disappearing into the trees. There was concern there, yes, but there was also something else that Jake had seen displayed on his face every time your families met and you and his son fought. Something almostā¦ entertained.
Your father watched the treeline a moment longer before he spoke, his expression thoughtful rather than amused, though the hint of it lingered all the same.
āYou finally snapped.ā He said, eyes not glancing at Jake, but to the sway of trees that shielded your retreating forms in the distance. āOnly took till the moment they stopped trying to fight clean.ā
Jake let out a slow breath and rubbed at the back of his neck, because that had been the exact moment his stomach had dropped, when the spar had stopped looking like training and started looking like something feral. āI told myself it was just their temper getting the best of them,ā he admitted. āThat theyād settle once one of them landed a solid hit, but Iāve never seen them go at it like that.ā
Your father hummed softly in agreement. āEven anger has rules.ā He said. āWhat I just saw forgot them. No form. No distance. Just handsā¦ wherever they could reach.ā Your fathers eyes finally glanced over to Jake, a knowing smirk leaving him chuckling at the revelation.
Jake snorted quietly, humour slipping through despite himself and soon they were laughing low in unison. āMy son knows better than that.ā
āAs does my daughter,ā He replied, and there it was, that note of worried pride that always crept in when he spoke of her. āWhich is how I know they have reached a point where the body starts answering questions the mind refuses to ask.ā
āYouāre worried.ā Jake observed.Ā
āI am a father,ā he simply replied, and then after a beat added, āAnd I have eyes. I know Neteyam is fond of her.ā
āHe wontā,ā Jake moved to start comforting his friend, shifting to place a hand on his shoulder when your father let a short snort leave him.
āI do not worry about Neteyam, I worry about her,ā he said, with no effort to soften the curve of his mouth. āNeteyam has always known where the line is even when he pretends not to, and I have watched him choose restraint around her provoking comments time and time again. When it would have been easier not to.ā A pause, then quieter, āThat matters to me. It is her who has no restraint.ā He ended with a chuckle.
Jakeās smirk lingered, but it softened at the edges, tempered by something more careful in tone. āYeah, well, they have both been very good at lying to themselves.ā He let a beat pass before he chuckled. āWell, maybe not your daughter, she canāt lie to save her life.ā
āIt really is her we should worry about.ā Your father laughed. āIf I were foolish enough to wager,ā he suddenly turned, clapping a hand to Jakeās shoulder, āI would bet they return insisting the night was torture, then flinch every time their queues touch because they finally know what theyāre used for.ā
This time, the laugh Jake let out was almost too loud for his liking, glancing around in hopes that no one had heard the less than tasteful wording.Ā
āIām not taking that bet,ā he said, then hesitated, the amusement fading just enough to let the doubt through. āI expected you to be angrier with me for sending them off together.ā
Your father snorted. āYou did the same with Neytiri,ā he replied. āAnd you didnāt exactly handle it with grace.ā
Jake grimaced. āThat was different.ā
āNo, It was not,ā he said lightly, his gaze flicking back toward the trees, āand Neteyamās trying too hard not to cross the same line. My daughter has never been good at pretending there isnāt one.ā
Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, rubbing yet another exhaustedly stressed hand down his face at the implication of his words. āIām not gonna sleep tonight.ā
āGood,ā Your father said quietly. āSomeone should keep watch. In case they burn the forest down. Let us just hope we do not share the name Grandfather and time soon either.ā
Your feet hit the platform before his did, heavy with a careless thump that transitioned quickly into long strides against the creaking wood, riddled with the intention of getting as far away from Neteyam as possible, who was landing close behind you. There wasnāt anywhere far to run off too, especially in the dark of night on a foreign base you had visited not even twice before, so you settled towards the end of the platform on a pile of large crates that rattled against your weight.
Neteyam dismounted much slower than you had, gently detaching his queue, before petting his Ikran three times, signalling its dismissal to perch elsewhere. It left with a shriek, chasing your own which had scattered the moment you landed.Ā
Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, adorning everything in a bleary silver and deep shadows illuminated by bioluminescent blues. The base was rickety and barely large enough to accommodate a few people with all the supplies stolen and housed from the sky-people around. The wooden branches sagged and the leather tarp frayed, neglected and unkept for what seemed to be decades. But it was going to have to work considering you were banished here for the night.Ā
Neteyam didnāt look at you right away. He took the first few moments to busy himself checking over the boxes, silently counting the stock in the typical Neteyam way that forced him to be a stickler for the rules, to listen to every authoritative voice, to be the most stuck up Naāvi to ever grace Pandora's blue planet.
It took him a second of a forced and uncomfortable silence before he finally broke the tension, his voice low and failing to hide the tinge of irritation behind it despite his attempts to at least try and get something done. āWe should start with inventory. Get it over with.ā
You didnāt move from your position on the crate farthest south. And you almost laughed at how pathetically authoritative he attempted to sound, because you knew his blood still seared hot with boiling anger at being scolded not even an hour ago. Instead, you tugged at the string of the bow you had picked up from beside you, slowly swaying the one foot you left dangling as you fidgeted with the fraying thread.Ā
āDo it yourself.āĀ
Your voice ā so dismissive and blunt in tone ā had Neteyamās pointy ears pinning back and deep amber eyes snapping at you in a quick, sharp warning.Ā
āDo not start.ā
You took the first moment since he entered to direct your attention away from the flimsy bow, finally looking up at him with an all too unimpressed glare. āToo late.ā You sneered, your typical fang glaring snare on full display. āYou started it the second you opened your skxawng mouth back at the training camp. Even children know to be silent when Toruk Makto speaks, yet somehow you can not manage to get that through your thick skull?ā
āMy thick skull?ā Neteyamās big eyes bore straight through your own, blown wide and non-blinking almost as if trying to read you for an answer he wasnāt going to find. He looked absolutely exasperated and a breathy laugh that held no humor escaped his lips as he shook his head. āThats rich coming from the one who is sat on a crate of knives, doing absolutely nothing.ā
āWe are only here because perfect son could not bite his golden tongue long enough to remember his father was still speaking. You listen to him when we're here but not when it counts back home. I thought you were supposed to be the smart and disciplined one.ā
āKind of difficult to concentrate on a lecture when the woman threatening to make me choke is attempting to swing her claws into my chest.ā
āI only reacted because youā!āĀ
The words stuttered in your throat, dying in your mouth as heat flooded your face in a violent wave, remembering what led to your outburst in the first place. Remembering the explicit words he let slip from soft yet smug lips like he had any right saying it in the first place.Ā
āBecause you speak lewd words that should only be muttered between the most established of mates.Ā
āāBecause I what?ā Neteyamās voice was softer now, but the smirk that followed was anything but gentle. It spread slow and lethally arrogant across his face, eyes glinting with a new light that felt almost predatory, as if heād just found the one loose thread that would unravel you completely.
āBecauseāā Your face was so flushed, you could hardly bring the words to the surface. āāBecause you- you have a vulgar mouth! Y-You speak filth just to provoke me.ā
Ā āVulgar?ā Neteyam's eyes glinted with something completely different from the irate exasperation from earlier, it was like his entire demeanor had calmed, replaced completely by that arrogant smirk, like he was the only one able to translate the book the two of you had been trying to read your whole lives. āMe? I think I recall you mentioning something about slamming me down on my back.āĀ
A sharp gasp tore from your throat. The words hit like a physical blow, twisting your earlier threat into something raw and unmistakable. Your face burned hotter, if that was even possible, violet spreading across your cheeks as you instinctively looked him up and down.
āThat is not what I speak! Why must you keep bringing up those words?ā The words tumbled out too fast and breathless to be convincing, and you almost kicked yourself for the delivery.
āBecause you are the one who said them, you just donāt like what they mean.ā
He began stepping closer. His strides were so deliberate, as if planned in advance, and unhurried, as if you were not another moment away from clawing out his eyes.
āThey meant nothing,ā you shot back, chin lifting in defiance. āYou twist everything.āĀ
The sound of Neteyamās footsteps drew your eyes to lock on his figure, tall and looming as he strutted one slow step at a time closer, and you found your eyes doing that traitorous thing they did a lot now, wander. Wander down. And down.Ā
It started with his face, as you watched the sway of his braids while he strode with that infuriating arrogance, brushing the sharp lines of his jaw with a clatter of his beads. Then it was his impossibly round eyes fixed right on you ā which they always seemed to be when you were around ā unblinking and heated through a downwards gaze. They were eyes that masked what you knew to be such a conceited personality as so deceivingly innocent.Ā
Soon your gaze fell to the wide frame of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, and it dawned on you that youād only just noticed how much broader they had become over the years spent together, carved from tireless hours of drawing bowstrings and traversing the harsh landscape of Omatikiya forest, lean with muscle that shifted under blue skin with every stride he took closer.
Your eyes wandered again until they finally fell right to where they seemed to stop at a lot now; his lower body, narrow hips marked by the most vibrant stripe pattern youād ever seen on any man ā on any Naāvi youād laid eyes on. They were darker and thicker, more pronounced and unlike any others, they trailed off and disappeared so low into his loin cloth it almost felt purposeful in the way they pulled your eyes. Like they were specifically made to draw your eyes and your eyes only, and hold them there by design.
Those lines were unnatural in their perfection and it wasnāt fair. It wasnāt fair that they made your face so hot and your heartbeat feel as if it could move to places it should not be, and it especially wasnāt fair that it wasnāt a you thing, it was a him thing. You only liked it on him.
You told yourself for the hundredth time ā that it was the Tawtute genes making everything about him just a little too defined, a little larger. Not that you were staring, of course, just studying. Because he was different and you were always curious, you told yourself. But your tail flicked once, another betrayal that told you that was a lie, and you prayed the shadows hid it..
The shadows did not hide it. And of course he noticed.
Neteyam slowed, stopping just close enough that the space between you felt inconsequential. He wasnāt touching you, at least not yet and somehow it still felt as if he had pressed his entire body against yours. As if you were suffocating beneath him.Ā
His gaze dipped and it wasnāt hurried, but it wasnāt subtle either, following the same path yours had just taken; down the line of his chest, over the sharp cut of his hips, to the stripes adorning his body next to the band of his loincloth before lifting again, eyes glinting with the most unbearably smug sense of amusement youād imagine possible from a single man at the realisation he had just made.Ā
It was silent for a beat, air heavy with tension before Neteyam spoke.Ā
āYou must really like my loincloth.ā
Your ears shot straight up and outwards, standing tall and perky as if alerted by a lingering predator, eyes blowing wide as you shot your head up to meet his gaze head on.Ā
āShut upā!ā
āāYou know, my mother makes themāā
ā āI donāt careā!ā
ā āShall I ask her to make another? She does adore youāāĀ
āāYou do not know anythingā!ā
āāI know exactly when you lie.ā
The words were being sputtered so fast, they crashed into each other in an overlapping, frantic mess. To any onlooker, it would have almost sounded as if you were talking in unison.Ā
Your tone was desperately sharp, doused in mortification and hidden in anger. And his was flooded with pure, unadulterated tease, knowing very well how every word he spoke rolled down your ears and crawled beneath your skin. You blushed so often around him he could almost mistake you as a purple Naāvi now.Ā
The overlap fell apart as abruptly as it had started. You glared at him, chest tight, ears still rigid with embarrassment and fury, daring him to say one more thing. He didnātā¦Ā
At least, not right away.
His gaze dipped instead, unashamed and bashfully amused, tracking back down to where yours had been just moments ago. His mouth curved like heād found something amusing he was excited to explain. But you knew he was only rubbing the fact that he caught you staring in.Ā
āMy mother uses five beads on each knot,ā he said smugly, and you followed his fingers as they brushed against the small carved beads on the loinclothās cords. āShe says it is the number of balance. Five for the senses and all.āĀ
Then he suddenly looked up at you, those overly round, innocent eyes portraying that innocence all too well. āSeems it is not working, you do not look very balanced right now.ā
If you were in half a mind with any common sense, you would have scolded him once again and shoved him as far back as your arms would allow in hopes for a little space and clarity. Unfortunately for you, however, that sense was ripped directly out of your already fumbling grasp the moment your eyes followed his hands to where he gripped that damned loincloth you really couldnāt escape.
They were larger and longer than others, scarred from weaponry and cliff climbing, and calloused in places where the overuse was notable. His fingers grasped the thread of the cloth, and as his grip tightened, the purple veins littering the surface of his skin protruded along with it.Ā
Watching the way his fingers curled, and the way his veins pulsed, it sent heat crawling up your throat and pooling behind your ears. Every flex of a tendon, every faint flicker of those tiny freckled lights, felt like a private taunt aimed straight at whatever composure you had left.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady even as it came out breathier than you wanted. āFive is a greedy number anyway.ā You muttered, eyes still traitorously fixed on his hands.Ā Ā
His gaze followed yours until it landed on his hands Ā ā on the way your eyes lingered there too long, and the way your breath had betrayed you before your mouth ever could. A slow smile curved across his lips, smug and knowing.
āGreedy?ā He echoed softly. Without haste, he lifted those hands, the ones you couldnāt stop staring at, toward your face. āIs that what you think this is?āĀ
His long fingers spread deliberately to parade all five fingers to your wide, helpless eyes, and began wriggling them in slow, teasing beats as if he, too, were suddenly fascinated by the anatomy youād just mocked.Ā
āTawtute.ā He uttered, his voice dipped low with smug delight. āThat is what you call me.ā
He let his hands hover close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his palms, close enough that if you stuck your tongue out just slightly, youād be able to taste the skin. Close enough, that the fact you had even entertained that thought made you sick to your stomach with dizzying confusion.
āTxampay tawtute.ā He purred, eyes half-lidded and glinting as he drank in the flush climbing your neck.
Then, unhurried and impossibly sure of himself, he leaned in. His body now crowding every inch of air yours occupied, chest nearly brushing yours, until he reached past your shoulder and caught your wrist in one smooth motion. He brought your hand up between you to display the four fingers you always had, and his golden eyes gleamed as if it was the first time he had seen it. Slowly, he lifted his own hand to mirror yours, five fingers spread to contrast the four of your own just across from his, hovering directly opposite it.
āDemon blood.ā He muttered, though he wasnāt offended. It was more a statement, or amused even, awaiting a reaction.
You watched, breath caught, as he hesitated for a single heartbeat, watched in your peripheral as his eyes bore into your face, searching for any flicker of protest or resistance. A sign that never came.
And once he realized that, he dipped one long finger down between the gaps of yours. Then another, and another until he slid each one of his fingers between your own, interlocking your hands like he was claiming every unoccupied space he could find.Ā
āDo you call me tawtute so often because you think about how my hands would feel on you?ā
Then he guided your joined hands, fully intertwined, up and back, lifting them slowly until your knuckles brushed the rough-woven wall behind you. He pressed them there and the motion brought him so much closer, it was as if he had taken up all the air, because why were you suddenly finding it so much more difficult to draw a breath?
āNeteyam.ā The name came out like an unsure whine, nothing like the sharp hiss youād wielded against him a thousand times before. Because the last place you had ever imagined yourself being was here, pinned beneath the steady weight of his gaze, his body, his five greedy fingers laced so perfectly through your four and it confused you that no fiber of your being was begging to reject it.Ā
You watched with greedy eyes as his face twisted from out of your view, head shifting down towards the crook of your neck and the frantic rate of your breath betrayed every last pretense of calm. His mouth stopped just on the cusp of your left ear, and you felt the warm, velvet skin of his lips brushing the sensitive shell of it, tied with the cherry on top by the soft sway of his braid against your cheek and the smell of him. That intoxicating scent which smelt of eclipse leaves and sweet hearth vines.
They had been your favourite scents for as long as you could remember, and it was only just dawning why that is now.
He took a beat, his breath warm on your skin before he spoke. āI know you hate me.ā
You did. You hated him, the Olo'eyktan perfect first born. The boy that followed you like a shadow through the winding roots of Hometree. The child you had been measured against since the first time a blade had been pressed into your palms.
āNeteyam learns quicker,ā
āNeteyam already wields a bow,ā
āNeteyam never loses his temper.ā
You had heard it from your father your entire life and you hated him for being the excellence you couldnāt be. You hated that he wore it so smug. And more than anything, you hated that he actually tried to soften it and make space for you beside him instead of behind. He was so good to you, and you hated that he never got mad when it counted.
And now ā now ā you couldnāt reconcile that boy with the man standing close enough to steal your breath, hands steady where your resolve should have been. You couldnāt fathom how you were letting him do this. How the same Neteyam youād spent years resisting, spitting at, and training like Eywa herself had told you to do so in order to best him, had slipped past your defenses without even raising his voice. All it took was him invading your space closer than he ever tried before and your resolve dwindled.Ā
āI know you think you hate me.ā He repeated, but this time you could hear the smirk that crept up his irritatingly gorgeous face. āBut you never look at me like this when you say it. And thisāā his free hand drifted down, fingertips ghosting along the tense line of your hip until they found the base of your tail, ā--this is the most still your tail has been all night.ā
The gentle, knowing stroke along the sensitive underside made your spine arch involuntarily before you could stop it, so far into him you could feel the press of everything below his loincloth against your lower belly and it made you whine. A guttural, involuntary sound you didnāt mean to make, nor had you realised escaped you until Neteyamās glowing amber eyes widened alongside his smile.Ā
You struggled to find your voice, with the overwhelming feeling of Neteyam all around you, touching every inch of your skin, all consuming and intoxicating but when you did, it was breathy and weak.Ā
āDo notāā you stuttered, pausing your words to find breath.
Then your voice came again, interrupting his thoughts in a moment where his grip faltered slightly around your fingers and tail. You sounded so primitive and defeated, it was like the entire forest in a ten-mile radius had stilled.
āāstop.ā
Neteyam stilled, mind reeling and eyes searching every inch of your face in desperate search of an answer to an unspoken question you sparked within him. Do not? Stop?Ā
Do not stop?
He gawked at you, ogling at every inch of your face in hopes of an answer. Your eyes, droopy and half-shut, turned sideways as if too ashamed to look him in the eyes. Mouth just a touch open, drawing long and heavy breaths, and your beautiful blue skin, flushed that purple colour he was becoming so fond of seeing, gleaming with a layer of warm, sleek sweat.Ā
You looked absolutely ruined. And he absolutely detested the idea that you might have been telling him to stop ā truly stop ā his advances because now that he had a glimpse of such a sight, he cursed the idea that he may never see it again knowing exactly what you looked like underneath him. So he waited with baited breaths, a wait you did not make him stand long for, and then you delivered.
āDo.. not.. stop.ā You spoke between heavy breaths. āNeteyam, please.ā
And then he saw it. The way you had been pressing up against his right thigh, locked between both your own thighs and rubbing against your core, just close enough to create friction. The sight and the plea shattered whatever thin thread of control heād been clinging to as he finally realised what you meant.Ā
A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep in his chest, a half growl, half reverent thanks to Eywa herself, as he surged forward, releasing your tail momentarily, only for the hand to sweep through the air, landing right on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him with a roughness he rarely displayed.Ā
And that's when it finally happened. His mouth crashed against yours, hungry and possessive, swallowing the next broken gasp that spilled from your lips. His fingers curled into the sensitive skin just below your hairline in a way that made your knees weaken, and had you not still been sitting on this crate, you were sure you would have faltered and folded to the ground.Ā
His tongue pushed at the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart with a devastating hunger, as if he had been waiting far too long to claim this moment, only clarified with the roll his body made to press into your own. The muscles of his abdomen elongated and protruded against the skin, screaming at you to touch them, to feel them, as he pushed your intertwined hands further back into the wall.Ā
That was when his hand around your neck finally began its descent downwards. It started at your shoulders, brushing against your collarbone and lingering just a moment around your breasts. He swirled against the curve underneath the soft fat and the trail left hot tingles in its wake, sending blood rushing to every nerve the pinpoint of his fingertips lined.Ā
It continued on, searing down the arc of your waist, against the curve of your hips and drew a curl to stop just a few paces below your belly button, and yet not even a breath above from the band of your loincloth.Ā Ā Ā
Your breath hitched as those fingers paused there, so achingly close, tracing lazy, maddening patterns just above the thin strip of woven fabric ā the only thing left between you and completely surrendering to the man who haunted your every waking moment. Neteyam pulled back from the kiss, only far enough to watch your contorting face, the molten amber of his eyes now nearly non-existent, replaced almost entirely by his pupils, blown wide with lust and a restraint that was seconds from snapping.
He could feel the heat radiating from you, and could tell you were trying to resist whatever thoughts were happening in your head, unsuccessfully so. He could see it in the way your thighs tremored ever so subtly, and in the way your hips shifted restlessly against him, as if seeking friction but hating who the friction you seeked came from. A low, approving, yet humoured growl rumbled in his throat as he pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged.
āYou are always so responsive.ā He murmured, voice gravelly, lips brushing yours as he spoke and fingers still working their patterns at the lowest part of your belly. āEvery touchā¦ you light up for me.ā
āYou always think you know what I feel.ā The words spat harsh but breathless, trying desperately to deny him the satisfaction of winning.
But Neteyam just laughed, stating flatly. āYour freckles glow, fang.ā
And your flush deepened knowing your body was betraying your mind.Ā
āStop talking. I still despise you.ā
Neteyam took the opportunity to lean back, making enough room to have a full view of your body without disconnecting your lower bodies. Finally his hand strayed from your belly, sliding to the left of it before stopping right at the rope that knotted your loincloth into place. He glanced down at it expectantly, then up to meet your eyes, his own glinting with mischief.Ā Ā
āFunny way of showing it.ā He commented.
Then his fingers pulled at the string, and all you did was let your head fall back against the wall in response.Ā
The knot gave with a soft tug, the woven cord loosening until the loincloth sagged against your hips, and you felt the cool air kissing at your newly exposed skin. It left your sighing, and Neteyam actually laughed at the sight of you.Ā
His next move was to grab at your right leg, lifting it high until it settled on top of his right shoulder. The motion had you shifting forward slightly, nearly hanging off the edge of the crate now. Once it was placed, he leaned down, meeting the slant of your body against the crate until his face met just above yours.Ā Ā
āNo fangs now, huh?ā He taunted, voice dripping with smug triumph, his breath hot against your lips as his free hand slid up the thigh draped over him with the most reverently possessive grip.
Your eyes narrowed, a spark of fury cutting through the haze of pleasure. āIāll silence you.ā
Before he could fire back another cocky word, you flexed the leg hooked over his shoulder and shoved hard. Your heel dug into the muscle of his back as you pushed, using every bit of leverage to force him downward and surprise flashed across his face for a split second before he dropped to his knees in front of you, left hand disconnecting from yours and instinctively reaching to grip your hips as a means to steady himself.
There he was ā all mighty Neteyam, son of Toruk Makto, future Oloāeyktan ā kneeling between your thighs, directly in front of your exposed core, with amber eyes flicking a mix of shock, defeat and drooling hunger.
You let your head rest back against the wall again, eyeing him through the brush of your lower lashes and fingers threading roughly into his braids to hold him exactly where you wanted him.Ā
āI told you I would make you swallow your sorry sounds.ā And with a sharp tug forward, the control had been shifted to your hands. āNow swallow.ā
The low, involuntary groan that vibrated through his chest and into your core was the only answer he managed before his mouth obeyed. His head moved first then his tongue dragged slow and deliberate, tasting you like heād been starving for years and refused to rush the meal. But the grip you kept in his braids, tight and unforgiving, told him exactly who set the pace.Ā
Heat slammed through you, ugly and mixed with the pure rage of having him under you. You hated him for making your body clench like this, hated the way your thighs shook because his tongue felt so damn good, but hated it more that you questioned if the reason he felt so good was because he had done this before. Hated that the idea made you jealous.Ā
You were a mix of pleasure and shame ā that Neteyam was on his knees, eating you out like he had no choice and that he was disgustingly good at it. And when you rolled your hips forward, demanding more, he gave it without hesitation, lips sealing around you, tongue curling deep and relentless, then it dawned on you that he was worshipping your clit like he was singing a prayer.
Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, the leg still hooked there locked tighter, heel pressing between his shoulder blades to keep him exactly where you wanted him Ā ā on his knees, serving the woman whoād sworn to hate him forever. And he did it so well you had been reduced to a moaning, whining and squirming mess beneath his hands that were holding you down.
āEywa, shitā Y/nā ā The name slipped out raw and whiny, and the vibration of his voice had you absolutely feral, snapping in an instant. But not to your end. No.
Because the only thing you could think about was why he felt so good. Why he was so talented at everything. The idea of him having experience with this, of him doing this to someone else, made something vicious twist in your chest.
So your hand in his hair tugged hard, snapping his head back and away from your core to glance up at you with daze in his eyes and your slick dripping down his chin.
He blinked up at you, lips swollen and shining, breath coming in rough pants. For once, the smugness was gone, replaced by raw, hazy want and a flicker of confusion at the sudden stop.
You stared down at him, chest heaving, jealousy burning hotter than the aftershocks still pulsing between your legs, and the words came sharp, cutting through the air like an arrow.
āWho else?ā You spat, voice accusatory and ugly with envy, fingers tightening in his braids in a visceral way you couldnāt help.
āWhat?ā He sounded so breathless, and so confused, eyes still foggy from being buried between your thighs.
āYou move like this is not new to you.ā You snapped, the words spilling out jagged. āPeople do not learn that by accident.ā
āFang, what are youāā
Then your mouth spat the words like the answer was so obvious, like you had been just waiting for the name to be mentioned. ā āIt is Anāaya, isnāt it?ā
āAnāaya!?ā He said it like the name didnāt belong here at all. Because it didnāt. Because twenty seconds ago he was face-deep drowning in what he deemed to be his new favourite flavour, and now heās thinking of a girl heās barely spent more than 10 minutes alone with.
āYou lie with her too!ā The accusation came out sharp enough to feel final, as if it wasnāt something to be debated and you had already made up the answer.Ā
Neteyam stared up at you for a beat, eyes wide, mouth still wet and open like he couldnāt decide whether to laugh or groan. Then the laugh won, short and completely disbelieving as the weight of your words settled into him. He searched your eyes, stern and glazed, angry with something he knew you barely understood and it dawned on him. Holy shit.
āYou are jealous.ā He said it so incredulously, like it was the best revelation he made all week. A rough laugh tore out of him, head tipping back in your grip, the sound raw and disbelieving. And it was like you couldnāt even deny it, all you could do was sneer your usual fang baring scowl and snap your head away with a tsk of your tongue.
āAnāaya?ā he rasped, grin sharp and crooked, chin still dripping with you. āEywa fang, you think I have ever touched her? Ever wanted to?ā
He shifted forward on his knees, hands sliding up your thighs as he finally raised to his feet off his knees to meet you at eye level. His face was inches from yours, grip firm but not pushing and you watched as that aggravating amusement melted into the softest look you think he had ever sent you. His smugness fell, the cocky edge dulling into something so honest.
āI do not lie with Anāaya. Just you, fang.ā He spoke so slowly, voice low and steady, and almost gentle despite the filth of the moment. āI only ever think about you.ā
The words hit harder than they should have. Heat flooded your face, your chest, mixing between the jealousy and the flattery until you couldnāt tell which burned more. You didnāt know if you believed him ā or more so didnāt know if you wanted to believe him. So you picked your arm up to pinch the side of his ear, using it to drag his face impossibly closer. Your gaze flickered between both his eyes, searching for something, an answer to a question you werenāt even sure you knew what.
For a split second, something in your grip faltered. The idea that he might be telling the truth was somehow worse than the lie. So you tightened your fingers on his ear for a beat before yanking his head back with a force meant to hurt.
āProve it,ā you snarled.
Neteyamās breath hissed through his teeth at the sting, but the look he gave you was pure lust, not a single trace of softness left. In one brutal motion he tucked one hand under your ass, and the other around the curve of your waist, before spinning you around so fast the world tilted for a fraction of a second. Your chest slammed against the crate, palms scraping metal as he kicked your legs wider and pressed his full weight into your back.
You heard him before you felt him, the quick tug and rustle as he worked the knot of his loincloth free behind you. Something involuntary dragged your head back, forcing you to peek over your shoulder. The fabric fell, and it was like every silent inkling youād ever felt bite at you, every reflexive moment that told you to study his stripes despite never knowing why, finally dawned on you why it had always been so urging.
Those large, vibrant stripes were only a preview into what the loincloth hid. They tapered lower and thicker up the base of his cock, before finally crawling into a thinning stretch that ended just beyond the tip of his head, which was slick with precum and the most angry, swollen shade of red. Red. Like a Tawtute.
And it was in that moment you realised that all those little characteristics that made him slightly different ā the broader shoulders, the extra finger, the sheer size of him below the cloth and the way his tip skin flushed pinker than any Naāvi youād ever seen ā werenāt the flaws or accidents you convinced yourself was the reason you fixated on them. They were proof that he had Toruk Maktoās blood running through him, the son of a leader, born to be a leader. And right now that blood had him hard and leaking for you, the girl whoād spent years calling him sky-demon scum.
The realisation twisted hot and ugly in your gut, hate and want braided so tight you couldnāt pull them apart but that was so swiftly disrupted by the feeling of him pushing forward, the tip of his achingly large cock making contact with your swelteringly wet entrance, and it had you absolutely unraveling at the mere contact of it.
You couldnāt help the moan that slipped out of you at both the stretch he gave with just the top of him, barely even a quarter full, and at the sight of him ogling down at the space between you, at the way the tip of his cock looked barely swallowed inside of your warm hole, his fist gripping at the base.
Neteyam caught the sound, eyes snapping up just in time to see you bury your face in your arm and he laughed that irritatingly smug laugh that vibrated through his chest and into your back.Ā
āAlready moaning for me, Fang?ā He murmured, voice thick with satisfaction and lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. āYou canāt even pretend to hate me anymore.ā
āDo notā¦,ā you hissed with a breathy sigh, the words cracking despite your best effort to sound venomous, āā¦dare assume you know what I feel.ā
He hummed, amused, like your denial was the sweetest thing heād ever heard.
āI do not think I'll have too.āĀ
Goosebumps rose in its wake, your hips stuttering back despite yourself before you could correct it. His hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady, while the other slid up your spine in a slow, deliberate path until his fingers closed gently but firmly around the thick base of your kuru, the long, sacred braid that cascaded down your back.
The feeling of his hand around your kuru had your entire body jolting, a sharp, electrifying shock racing through every nerve in its wake. You spun in his grip with a surprise heād never seen on you before, eyes blown wide, breath caught, and all that sharp defiance from before suddenly fractured by something he had never seen painted so vulnerably on you.
You looked so unsure, so confused, so conflicted, staring at his hand like it was both a threat and a gateway to something new.
At your face, Neteyamās expression softened too, the smugness fading completely as he brought the end of your braid up between the two of you, turning it so the the wispy ends of your braid went limp to expose the pink tendrils beneath. They snaked in the air, searching the air as if awaiting what was yet to come.
His own kuru hung over his shoulder, and he used his other hand to grab at it, settling it so close to yours that the tendrils already began reaching for each other, drawn like magnets, but far enough that they did not touch.
āI will not force this, and I will not continue with this if you say no. I honestly donāt think I can.ā he said, voice low, rough with restraint but steady. āTsaheylu with meā¦ or we stop right here. Your choice, Fang. Always your choice.ā
The words hung heavy. You hated him for giving you the out. Hated him for making it feel safe to say yes even though you really thought you would have said no. Hated how much you wanted him, and wanted to know what it felt like to be bound to the one person youād spent your whole life trying to push away.
Your chest rose and fell fast. The tendrils of your kuru twitched, brushing the air toward his and you didnāt speak as you watched them try to connect. Slowly, deliberately, you reached your hand up to wrap around his forearm, watched as the hand that held his kuru faltered at the intrusion and met his eyes as he searched yours for answer.
It didnāt come as a verbal one, but your mind had been made the moment you tugged his arm forward to allow his kuru to connect to yours. And in an instant the tendrils met, wrapping and fusing, snapping the bond into place.
A gasp tore from both of you at once, backs arching, eyes fluttering as raw sensation flooded through. The pleasure was intense and overwhelming, but more than that: every buried feeling, every unspoken want, every flash of anger and longing and need crashed together in a single, shared current that left you both moaning messes.
He groaned your name like it hurt and you whined his so helplessly, fingers digging into his shoulders and the world narrowed to just the two of you.
Neteyam moved first, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he spun you both around and sank to his knees. He laid you gently on the cool floor beneath him, settling between your legs, face-to-face now with his forehead pressed to yours, kuru still joined, the bond pulsing with every heartbeat.
He slid back into you slowly, eyes never leaving yours, letting you feel everything ā his awe, his hunger, the years of wanting you heād hidden behind every smirk and fight. And you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and for the first time with there being no crate, no wall, no anger between you, nothing but the bond, neither of you could deny the truth that lingered between you for years anymore.
The bond made it unbearable in the best way because you could feel everything.Ā
You could feel every slow drag of him inside you echoed back through the link. You felt his pleasure at how tight and wet you were, your helpless clench around him, and the ache that flared harder with every inch he gave. You felt the way your body gripped him like it never wanted to let go, and he felt it too, a low, broken groan rumbling from his chest as his hips finally seated flush against yours.
āFuckāā he breathed, voice ragged, forehead still pressed to yours. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, the golden amber almost gone. āYou feelā¦ I can feel you everywhere.ā
You couldnāt answer with words. The bond carried it for you: the rush of heat, the ache, the impossible fullness of him stretching you open while his emotions poured into you
He started to move, slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that dragged the thick length of him along every sensitive spot inside you. Each thrust sent a wave through the bond, pleasure looping between you until it built on itself, amplifying, stealing your breath. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines over his stripes; he hissed and answered by snapping his hips harder, driving a sharp cry from your throat.
Through the link you felt how much he loved that sound, how it made him throb inside you, how close he already was to losing control and you responded by sticking your mouth to his neck, and sucking hard in an attempt to quiet yourself.
āTell me,ā he rasped, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, keeping your faces close, noses brushing, ātell me you feel it too.ā
You did. Eywa, you did. The anger was still there, flickering at the edges, but it only made the pleasure sharper, almost as if the bond was burning it clean and turning years of hate into something so much more overwhelming.
āI feel you,ā you finally gasped as your mouth left his neck with a slimy pop, and you noticed the angry purple mark that sat in its wake. Your voice cracked, legs tightening around his waist to pull him impossibly deeper. āAll of you. Donāt stopā!ā
The next thrust ended with another broken sound from you, a half-moan, half-word that slurred through your tongue almost incomprehensibly.
āMmmā ātayemāā
Neteyamās rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, then picked up again, faster now with a cocky triumph you felt flooding the bond like heat. A low, smug chuckle vibrated against your neck as he nipped the skin, sucking and pinching at it with pride.
āI got you that good, huh?ā He murmured, voice rough but dripping with satisfaction, hips rolling deep and deliberate. āGot the stubborn Fang stuttering my name?ā
You tried again, desperate, the pleasure coiling so tight you could barely think.
āMaā tayemāā
He laughed again, breathlessly arrogant and loving every moment of thisĀ ā loving that you, always so sharp-tongued and composed, always throwing insults at him and trying to embarrass him in front of your families, was reduced to this, such a moaning, whiny mess you couldnāt even get his name correct.
āCa not even get your words right,ā he teased, smirking against your lips, eyes gleaming down at you with such amusement. āIf only everyone could see you now.ā
āMa āteyam.ā You managed it this time, much clearer and insistent of every syllable that trembled out of you on the next thrust. And he froze.
Not completely, his hips still rocked shallow and instinctively, but the rhythm stuttered hard, like someone had yanked his hips backwards and held them still. His eyes widened, searching yours through the haze, the cocky smirk smacked off his face in an instant as the meaning finally slammed into him.
Ma āteyam.Ā
Your Neteyam
The bond flared hot with it, your claim, raw and unfiltered, pouring straight into him. A ragged groan tore out of his chest, half between shock and something much, much deeper, like a stirring pot of pleasure and disbelief and possession all tangled together into two bodies merged as one. His forehead dropped to yours again, losing every trace of that smug control because the words were echoing through the link like a vow, and it broke him.
A low, guttural groan ripped from his throat, deep and wrecked and his whole body shuddered as the realization hit him harder than any phrase ever uttered to him. His hips jerked forward once, hard and uncontrolled, completely unlike his usual poise, as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, and that was it. He came with a broken cry of your name, voice cracking on the syllables as he spilled hot and deep, pulse after thick pulse flooding you.
The bond amplified everything and you felt every throb of his release as if it were your own and that made yours follow soon after, the overwhelming rush of his pleasure crashing into yours, the way his heart slammed against his ribs, the dizzying mix of disbelief and euphoria that Neteyam was now claimed by you in the most intimate way possible, solidified by the way your attached kuru still hung besides you, your deep purple marks decorated his neck, and your bodies lay against each other, sleek and fucked out.
His forehead pressed hard to yours, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in harsh, uneven pants against your lips. His arms trembled as he held himself above you, hips still twitching with aftershocks, grinding slow and shallow as if he couldnāt bear to pull out.
āFuckā¦ fuckāā he gasped, voice hoarse and trembling, nothing left of the smug warrior whoād been teasing you since you got to this forsaken watchpost. āYouā¦ you saidā¦ā
āThat I despise you?ā You murmured, eyes fluttering closed as you breathed him in, beyond exhausted, tail finally curling loose and lazy behind you. āI do.ā
A broken laugh tore out of him, warm and disbelieving, his nose brushing yours as his breathing slowly began to steady. āI donāt even need to see your tail to know you lie.āĀ
And as if to prove his point, he brought his hand around to the place where your kurus joined, stroking the exposed, sensitive nerves gently with his thumb. The bond hummed softly at the touch, sending a lazy ripple of warmth through you both and your tail flicked once, then curled deliberately around his thigh, holding him close.
He felt it, of course and a quiet, satisfied hum left his chest.
āSee?ā He whispered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. āEven your tail is done fighting me.ā
You opened one eye, glaring weakly up at him. āDo not get used to it, skxawng. The second we are back with the clan, I am telling everyone you cried after your father yelled at you.ā
Neteyam snorted, shifting his weight so he could prop himself on an elbow and look down at you properly. His braids fell forward, framing his face, and the bond carried the soft glow of affection he was trying, and miserably failing to hide behind his usual smirk.
āThen I will have to tell them how the almighty daughter of our clan head warrior begged for me toāā
You slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing. āFinish that sentence and I will bite you again.ā His eyes crinkled at the corners, laughter muffled against your palm and you narrowed your eyes as you spoke once more. āI could still push you off this ledge. No one would find the body till morning.ā
āMaybe so.ā He conceded easily. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing the base of your kuru in a way that made your spine shiver despite your best effort to stay at least a little defiant. āBut then who would keep you company on patrol anymore? You would miss arguing with me.ā
You huffed, shoving at his chest. āI would finally earn peace.ā
āPeace is boring.ā He countered, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside of it, soft and infuriatingly gentle. āAnd you would miss my family interrupting us every five minutes, thinking they will catch you slipping in the act. My dad likes messing with us too much to let you go.ā
You snorted, but the sound lacked real venom. āYour father likes me because I am not afraid to yell at you when you are being an arrogant teylupil. That is not the same as liking me.ā
Neteyamās grin turned softer, eyes crinkling at the corners. āHe likes you because you are strong. And because you force me to be stronger. Even when you are threatening to skin me alive.ā
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but your tail betrayed you again, curling tighter around his leg like it had decided it wasnāt letting go anytime soon.
āFlattery will not save you,ā you muttered, dropping your head back to his chest so you didnāt have to look at that stupid, fond expression on his face. āWhen we get back at dawn, we say nothing. We walked the perimeter. Inventoried the stock. End of story.ā
Neteyam arched a brow, amusement flickering through the bond as his eyes flickered around at the area even messier then it was before you two had arrived. āYou think they will believe that? Nothing has been done here. And you lookā¦ā He brushed a thumb over your neck, tracing where his mouth had been earlier. āā¦thoroughly ruined.ā
You swatted his hand away, but there was no real heat in it, not like before. āYou look worse, Tawtute. Like you lost a fight with an Ikran.ā
He laughed, full and unguarded this time āThen let them think what they want, I already won.ā he whispered when you parted.Ā
You rolled your eyes, but your tail tightened around his leg again, betraying you.
āI still despise you,ā you muttered into his neck.
note this is my first time doing smth like this !! established relationship, high school!kenma x f!reader, i absolutely adore kenma i think he'd be such a cute bf, yn and kenma are in the same class (nekoma 2nd year class 3), apple divider by @pixopix
š«šššššššš š½šššš pt. 3 ļ¹ ā katsuki bakugou.
smau. profanity & sarcasm. fem! reader. reader & katsuki being sick. jealous! bakugou. based on this request (thanks a bunch!!). creep! mineta. reader skipping meals for exams. part one here, part two here, part four here.
bf!jason whoās eyes always find yours in a crowd of people, smiling when your gazes meet
bf!jason who gets jealous quickly and will definitely give a dirty look (or even start a fight) with any guy who looks at you the wrong way
bf!jason who starts kissing you and being all touchy when heās jealous just so everyone knows who youāre with
bf!jason who buys you flowers and gifts whenever just because he likes seeing you happy
bf!jason who has the worst sense of humor and makes dad jokes 24/7 but you still smile or even laugh at them because of how proud he looks when you do
bf!jason who calls you baby, babygirl, sweetheart, and princess
bf!jason who isnāt afraid to touch you in public and will grab, smack, squeeze and even stare at your ass shamelessly. He starts doing it a lot more just because he likes how flustered you get
bf!jason who definitely wears the most delicious rings on his fingers that make you get heart eyes and asks why youāre staring at his hands like that
bf!jason who gives the sloppiest kisses ever and acts like he hasnāt kissed you in YEARS
bf!jason who says āI need you to use your words sweetheartā when youāre all whiny and needy for him :((
bf!jason whoās too afraid to hurt you when fucking even when you beg him to be rougher
bf!jason who eventually gives in because he couldnāt hold back any longer and fucks you till youāre all dumb and a mumbling mess <3
bf!jason who eats pussy like itās his last meal, his fingers holding your thighs over his shoulders as your juices run all down his chin and down his neck, and he moans when you cum all over his face cause he canāt get enough of your sweet taste :(
bf!jason who lowkey has a breeding kink and starts mumbling āhow pretty you would be with his cum leaking out your pretty little pussyā (but he gets too scared and cums all over your pretty little tits)
bf!jason who gives you gentle kisses all over your face once yall are done and whispers how good you did :((
bf!jason who falls asleep with you in his arms and the cutest little smile on his face <3
dividers belong to @rookthornesartistry
@santoriniii heres a little blurb until I finish your request <3
summary: when you went to go answer the door, you hadnāt expected to see a teary eyed jason who reeked of alcohol. and you definitely didnāt expect to have him in your arms sobbing as you tried to quiet him down before your parents woke up..
warnings: hurt/comfort, angsty-ish lol, fluffy ending, alcohol mention, loss of sobriety, drunk Jason, established relationship, age gap (though not explicitly mentioned or important to the story)
note: this was lowkey inspired by the bathroom scene from waves..
The sound was quiet at first, so quiet you thought it was just the house creaking. It wasnāt enough to pull you from your sleep, but then it happens again. Only this time the knocks are sharp and uneven.
you blink awake, your eyes taking a minute to register the darkness that surrounded you before you looked over at the blinking red light of your alarm clock. 2:47 AM. your heart instantly dropped. Who could be at your door this late?
with the feeling of your heart threatening to pound its way out of your chest, You tiptoed your way off the bed and made way to the window, slowly pulling back the curtain just enough to see outside.
thatās when you spot him.
Jason dilaurentis stood at your front door, his head hanging low and you could just barely make out the shaking of his body. Even in the darkness you could tell something was wrong. Your mind raced with a million things that could have happened to him, on to why he was here. But then he looks up.
your breath catches in your throat. The moon casted a small glow onto the man and you could make out almost every detail of his face now. His usually somewhat kept hair was now a disheveled mess that clung onto his forehead and his eyes glistened with unshed tears.
you didnāt even think. You rush down the stairs as quiet as you could without waking your parents and unlock the door, opening it just enough so you could slip through.
āJace? What happened?ā You whisper, taking a step towards him. The first thing you notice is the shake of his hands, they rested awkwardly at his sides.
without thinking, you reach for him, your hands cupping his. His skin is warm, it felt good compared to the cold you both stood in.
his chest rises and falls with a sharp inhale once he hears your voice and before you could react, his body falls into yours in a shaky embrace.
your arms wrapped around his large body, one arm holding onto his head that burrowed into your neck.
your forehead creased with concern, you knew why he was here. You heard the news of Garret being released and it didnāt take a genius to know that he had broken his sobriety, the stench of alcohol was evidence enough.
āim sorry..ā he managed to croak out, though a bit slurred.
āshh, itās okay..why are you sorry?ā you whispered. You knew garret being released out of jail was the tip of the iceberg for jason, especially with everything else going on in his life. you rubbed his back up and down slowly, you had to make sure he stayed quiet or else your parents would wake up.
ādid i wake you?ā The quiver in his voice crushed your heart, your arms holding him tighter against your body.
you swallowed at the building lump in your throat and shook your head. āno no, itās okay.ā
āIām sorry..ā
you shook your head once again and sighed quietly āI know..itās okayā
āand - and I just had a really bad night you know..and Iām really sorry I didnāt mean to wake you..ā he sobbed out, his words slurring together. You could feel the warmth of his tears start to sink into your t-shirt.
āshh, shh..I know, you didnāt wake me..ā you shifted a bit from your spot on the floor, and nudged Jasonās head off your shoulder. āCome inside,ā you whisper, glancing back at the house. Your parents are still asleep, the house silent. āWe have to be quiet, okay?ā
The sight of him made your heart ache. He looked like a sad puppy dog, his eyes red and puffy and his pink lips swollen. He nods but there was something distance about his expression, like he was lost in the storm of his thoughts.
You pull him inside, shutting the door as gently as you can before leading him toward the living room. The darkness makes it easier to move unnoticed, the faint glow from the kitchen nightlight giving just enough illumination to see.
Jason sinks onto the couch like the weight of his body was too much for him to stand on anymore. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his hands threading through his hair as he exhales shakily.
you stood over him and contemplating what to do, you knew he couldnāt stay here but you also knew you couldnāt just let him wander back home and potentially get hurt. All the thoughts made your head hurt and the tiredness finally hit you.
You let out a small sigh and made your way to the kitchen. Trying to navigate your way in the darkness, you eventually found a glass and filled it with water. If you wanted to try and talk to Jason, you would need to sober him up a bit.
when you came back into the living room, Jason was still in the same position you left him in. you kneel in front of him and place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. āhere..drink this.ā his face finally lifts from its place and for the first time that night you get a genuine good look at his face.
For a second, he doesnāt move, just blinks at you as if trying to process the gesture.
āJason,ā you say softly, nudging the cup toward him.
His fingers twitch before he finally reaches out, his hand brushing against yours as he takes the glass. Itās cold, and he exhales a slow breath, as if the cool condensation alone is grounding him. He lifts it to his lips, takes a careful sip, and you see his shoulders drop just a littleāsome of the tension bleeding out of him.
You stay there, watching him, waiting.
After a few more sips, he clears his throat. āThanks,ā he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper and his words slurring together.
your lips purse together as you watch him, your hand giving him another small squeeze. āTalk to me..ā
His jaw tightens. He shakes his head once, but then his breath hitches, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
āGarrettās out,ā he chokes out. āHeās free.ā
You freeze.
You knew the trial had been a mess. Knew the evidence had been flimsy, that the town was split between those who thought he was guilty and those who didnāt. But hearing Jason say it out loud, hearing the sheer devastation in his voice, makes your stomach drop.
You reach up, cupping his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you. ājace, thatās not on you.ā
He lets out a broken laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. āIsnāt it?ā His eyes search yours, desperate and hurting. āI gave them everything. Everything I knew. Every piece of information. And it wasnāt enough.ā
His voice cracks on the last word.
āHey.ā You stroke your thumbs over his cheekbones, grounding him. āYou did everything you could.ā
Jason shakes his head. āAlisonās still dead. And now the guy who-ā He cuts himself off, inhaling sharply. āWhat if he did it? What if he gets away with it?ā
Tears spill over before he can stop them.
You donāt hesitate. You shift onto the couch, pulling him into your arms once again. He doesnāt fight it. If anything, the second your arms are around him, he collapses against you, gripping onto the back of your t-shirt like he needs something, someone, to hold him together.
His breathing is uneven, his body shaking against yours. You hold him tighter, pressing a hand to the back of his head, fingers threading into his hair.
āIāve got you,ā you whisper, placing a gentle kiss against his head āIām not going anywhere.ā
Jason shudders against you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breath is warm, uneven.
For a long time, neither of you move.
Eventually, the tension in his body starts to fade, his grip loosening just enough for you to lean back and brush his hair away from his forehead. His eyes are heavy, his exhaustion finally catching up to him.
You press a soft kiss to his temple. āYou need to sleep.ā
Jason exhales slowly, blinking at you. āI donāt want to be alone.ā
Your chest tightens. āYou wonāt be.ā
You shift on the couch, tugging a blanket over both of you. Jason lets out a tired sigh, his head resting against your shoulder, his arm draped around your waist like heās afraid youāll disappear if he lets go.
You rake your fingers through his hair, soothing him as his breathing evens out.
And as the weight of the night settles around you both, you press another kiss to his temple. And even though you know youāll have to rush Jason out in the morning or suffer the consequences of your parents find you two, you canāt find it in yourself to care.
ā¢ jason is incredibly protective, always looking out for your safety, especially given the danger that seems to surround rosewood. heās wary of anyone he doesn't trust, and he goes out of his way to ensure youāre safe.
ā¢ jason isnāt one for grand gestures, but he would show his affection through quiet, intimate moments. whether itās cuddling on the couch, taking late-night drives, or enjoying a peaceful morning together, heād cherish the time you spend alone together.
ā¢ trust is a big deal for jason, so heād confide in you about everything. youād have a special bond built on the shared secrets between you, making your relationship feel even more intimate.
ā¢ jason has a dark past and a troubled history, but being with you helps him find balance. you bring light into his life, and he appreciates how you help him see the good in the world, even when things seem bleak.
ā¢ BASKETBALL DATES>>>
ā¢ jason teaching you how to dribble and shoot.
ā¢ jason jumping up to obnoxiously block your shot.
ā¢ once jason commits to a relationship, heās all in. heās fiercely loyal, always putting your relationship first and working hard to make sure you both are happy.
ā¢ he likes to surprise you with spontaneous trips or adventures. whether itās a weekend getaway or just a late-night drive to a secluded spot, he loves the thrill of doing something unexpected with you.
ā¢ despite his intense feelings for you, jason always respect your boundaries. he understands the importance of giving you space when you need it and would never pressure you into anything youāre not comfortable with.
ā¢ jason isnāt always the easiest person to read, but over time, he opens up to you about his vulnerabilities. youāre one of the few people he trusts enough to see his softer side, and he values the way you accept him for who he truly is.
ā¢ PHOTOGRAPHY DATES>>>
ā¢ posing for him so that he can take pictures of you.
ā¢ jason is the boyfriend who would get down on his knees if it meant he could take a good picture of you for your instagram.
ā¢ he isn't the biggest fan of pda. he prefers subtle forms of affection like putting his arm around you when youāre sitting next to each other or holding your hand under the table.
ā¢ the only exception to this rule is that he kisses you before you have to go anywhere.
ā¢ however, when the two of you are are alone, this man is ALL over you.
ā¢ he has to be touching you in some way, whether itās a hand on your thigh when heās driving or touching your calf when heās reading.
ā¢ he likes to know that youāre always there and that you wonāt disappear like alison.
ā¢ his favorite thing to do is to rest his head against your chest and listen to your heartbeat while you run your fingers through his hair. <33
š š¦šššš šš :: A daughter of Aphrodite has the weight of expectations on her and knows that loving another girl is not what she should want, but oh, Clarisse La Rue is there.
šš¤ :: angst w comfort )) internalized homophobia // comphet girl // fingering // oral! fem // scissoring
You learn that love is supposed to be easy for you the moment Aphrodite claims you.
Love is something that happens to you, not something you reach for with shaking hands or a racing heart. Itās the way people look at you when you enter a room, the way conversations with rude people softens, the way boys trip over their words and call you beautiful like itās a revelation rather than a fact.
Love is supposed to arrive 'pre-packaged', already approved and expectedā boys with hopeful smiles and offerings at your feet, crushes that bloom and fade when you decide they should.
āYouāre a daughter of Aphrodite,ā your siblings say, smiling like theyāve solved you. āOf course they fall for you.ā
And you nod, because that is the answer you needed, right? They must know what they're talking about.
You straighten your hair until it lies perfectly, obedient and shining. You laugh when youāre supposed to laugh, tilt your head when youāre supposed to be charmed by someone. You let boys hold your hand and tell yourself the warmth you feel is attraction, not relief that youāre doing this right.
Youāve learned how to want the correct things. To want men you don't even think are that interesting.
You tell yourself that the flutter in your chest when someone compliments you is desire, not validation. That the way you pick your favoritesā safe boys, kind boysā is proof enough. That everyone feels a little detached sometimes.
You are perfect.
And perfect girls do not feel their pulse stutter when Clarisse La Rue walks into vision.
Clarisse doesnāt fit into any of the scripts youāve memorized, that's horrible.
Sheās loud and unapologetic, rough and real in a way that makes you feel painfully over-edited by comparison. Her armor is dented, her knuckles bruised, her presence overwhelming without trying to be.
She doesnāt flirt with you.
Which somehow makes everything 10 times worse !!
You tell yourself the pull you feel toward her is admiration. Envy, maybe. A desire to be more like her.
Girls can admire girls. Girls can want to be other girls.
Girls can't be with other girls. That's not normal.
So when Clarisse sits beside you at the campfire instead of across from you, when she tosses you a water bottle without warning and grins when you catch it, when she says ā you're tougher than you lookā like itās a compliment instead of a joke, you catalog every reaction.
Heart racing? Thatās adrenaline.
Warmth spreading through your chest? Thatās pride.
The way you think about her long after sheās gone?Curiosity.
You are very good at explanations.
The boys you date are like checking boxes.
You go on walks, hold hands. Waiting for something to spark and tell yourself it will, eventually, if you just give it time. Everyone says attraction grows.
When you kiss them, itās fine. Pleasant on a good day. You think about how you look while doing it, whether youāre doing it well. You feel accomplished afterward, like youāve passed a test.
When they pull away, flushed and flustered, you feel relieved. Actually, you donāt examine too closely.
But even when you try to keep going with what you usually do it feels useless. The problem with secrets is that they donāt stay quiet.
They curl inside your chest, grow heavier, until every accidental brush of Clarisseās arm feels like a risk and every laugh shared across the dining pavilion feels like youāre swallowing yourself back down.
Your heart jumps when she leans close to whisper strategy during capture the flag, her breath warm against your ear, her voice low and serious in a way that makes your knees feel weak.
You tell yourself itās you didn't sleep well that night.
When Clarisse steps between you and a wild swing during sparring, blocking it without hesitation, you tell yourself itās instinct since she's a daughter of Ares.
When she smiles at you across the campfire, crooked and easy and not trying to impress anyone, you tell yourself youāre imagining the way her gaze lingers.
You tell yourself a lot of things, don't you?
As if love isn't something you know or how the people act when in love !
The night it all unravels, Clarisse ends up at your cabin almost by accident.
Emphasis on almost.
Thereās been a campfire, laughter lingering in the air, cups passed around more freely than usual. Youāve laughed too hard, let yourself relax just enough to feel dizzy and giddy in a way you donāt usually allow.
Clarisse walks you back, hands shoved into her cargo pockets, quieter than usual.
āYou okay?ā she asks, stopping outside the glowing pink light of the Aphrodite cabin.
āFine,ā you reply automatically.
She arches a brow. āYou always say that.ā
Something about her toneā not accusing, just observantā makes your chest ache.
āDo you want to come in?ā you ask before fear can stop you.
Clarisse hesitates. āYou sure?ā
You nod.
Inside, everything is soft and warm and enchanted, silk curtains catching the light from outside, mirrors reflecting a version of you thatās always pretty. Clarisse looks painfully out of place, armor set aside like it might offend this space just by existing.
You sit on your bed. Too close?? Not close enough??
You talk about nothing. Training. Camp gossip. How Clarisse hates poetry and you pretend you donāt love it. Time blurs, hours slipping past unnoticed.
At some point, Clarisse reaches out, tentative, uncertain, and begins braiding your hair with clumsy fingers.
You let her as your heart pounds, loud and uncooperative.
You wish it cooperated.
She takes a sip from her cup, throat working as she swallows, and you find yourself watching the motion before you force your gaze away, biting your lip without realizing it, a nervous habit youāve perfected over years of pretending youāre calm.
Clarisse tells a jokeā something dumb, something so stupidā and you laugh harder than it deserves, like youāre trying to outrun the feeling blooming in your chest.
She doesnāt laugh with you right away, instead she looks at you.
Not in the way boys usually do, not like sheās waiting for a reaction or approval. She watches you like sheās noticing the way your smile lingers, the way your hands twist together in your lap, the way your breath hasnāt quite settled back into place.
Sheās memorizing something she doesnāt want to forget.
The air feels thick, suddenly, heavy with things you donāt have language for. Your knee brushes hersā barelyā and it sends a shock through you that feels nothing like the polite sparks youāve trained yourself to expect.
Yeah, this is too close now.
You should pull away and laugh it off.
But Clarisseās eyes flick to your mouth, just for a second, and before you can think better of it you lean in, heart racing, breath shallow, and everything youāve been carefully holding back finally tips forward.
She stillsā just long enough to give you an outā and when you donāt pull back, she closes the distance instead, steady and sure, her hand coming up to your waist like it's encouraging you.
Itās a kiss that feels nothing like the ones youāve practiced.
Thereās no performance in it, no awareness of angles or appearances, no mental checklist running in the background. Itās warm and grounding and devastatingly gentle, Clarisseās thumb pressing lightly at your side as if to say Iāve got you.
And then the panic hits.
Not because the kiss is wrongā but because itās so right.
All the rules youāve lived by come crashing down at once. The future youāve rehearsedā boysā shatters on impact. The image of yourself youāve protected fractures irreversibly.
You pull back abruptly, breath shaking, heart pounding like youāve done something reckless and unforgivable.
Clarisse lets you go immediately. You can see her hands drop. She doesnāt chase the kiss and doesnāt try to hold you there. She watches you, eyes searching, confused but still open.
āIāā Your voice catches. You shake your head like you can shake the truth loose. āIām notāā
Clarisse gets closer despite herself, quiet and urgent. āHey. Itās okay. We can slow down. We donāt have toāā
āIām not a lesbian,ā you blurt, the words tumbling out sharp and rehearsed, a line youāve said in your head a thousand times. As if it was a spell youāre hoping will put everything back where it belongs.
The silence that follows is brutal.
Clarisseās hurt is immediate, sharp, unmistakableā not loud, just there in the way her expression closes in on itself.
āOh,ā she says. Then, firmer, even colder. āRight.ā
She steps back, giving you space you didnāt actually want, reaches for her armor with hands that are suddenly very careful not to touch you again.
And she leaves.
The silence Clarisse leaves behind is unbearableā because for the first time, you know with sickening clarity that what you said wasnāt relief. It was fear.
After that day you, you try to go back.
Back to boys and flirting.
But everything feels hollow now, like youāve seen behind the curtain and canāt unsee it. Compliments ring false the kisses feel rehearsed. You catch yourself watching Clarisse from across the pavilion, stomach twisting when she laughs with someone else.
You were never confused.
You were trained to interpret safety as attraction, approval as desire and the expectation of loving a boy as destiny.
You werenāt straightā you were just obedient.
At night you can't stop tossing and turning in bed, thinking and rethinking about the kiss with Clarisse. Hugging your stuffed animal while staring at the ceiling of the cabin and then turning to the side over and over again.
It's horrible, you never had to wear much make up to cover dark circles under the eyes.
After weeks of this, you make a decision.
You find Clarisse on the training field at dusk, striking a practice dummy with frustrated precision as if trying to destroy it.
She stops when she senses you, jaw tightening. āWhat do you want?ā
You swallow hard. Your heart feels too big for your chest.
āI was scared,ā you say.
She laughs once, bitter. āYeah. I figured.ā
āNot of you,ā you rush to say. āOf what choosing you would mean. Of disappointing everyone, you know... not being who Iām supposed to be.ā
Clarisse turns to face you, eyes sharp.
āAnd what am I supposed to be?ā she asks. āYour mistake?ā
The word cuts deep but you know it's deserved since you hurt her.
āNo,ā you say, stepping closer despite the fear curling in your stomach. āYouāre the only thing thatās ever felt real to me.ā
Something flickers across her faceā hope, disbelief, pain all tangled together.
āIāve been taught my whole life that love is something I owe people,ā you continue, your voice trembling. āThat it has to look a certain way and that Iām only worthy if it's that way.ā
You reach for her wrist, grounding yourself in the warmth of her skin. "But when Iām with you," you whisper, "I donāt feel perfect. I feel so weird... My heart aches and I canāt be without you anymore."
Clarisse studies your face, searching for doubt.
"You donāt get to half-choose me," she says at last. "I wonāt be your secret."
"I know," you say, tears spilling freely. āI donāt want you to be.ā
She exhales, long and shaky, then closes the distance in two strides, pulling you into a fierce, steady embrace that makes your knees go weak.
"Good," she murmurs into your hair. "Because Iām terrible at pretending I donāt care."
You laugh softly through your tears and when she kisses you this time, itās certain. Out in the open, for anyone to see.
āI really thought I messed it up,ā you admit, shaking your head.
You shove her shoulder, laughing harder, and she stumbles exaggeratedly like sheās been wounded, clutching her chest.
"Wow," she says. "Cruel. Aphrodite would be ashamed."
You roll your eyes. "Sheād say you deserved it."
Clarisse grins at you, wide and unguarded, and before you can overthink it, youāre kissing her againā quick, breathless, smiling into it. She laughs against your mouth, the sound vibrating between you, hands coming up to steady you when you lose your balance on uneven ground.
You start walking without really deciding to, fingers interlaced, bumping shoulders, stealing soft kisses between words and laughter. Clarisse nearly trips on the path and drags you down with her, both of you laughing too hard to care.
You are happy.
The Aphrodite cabin glows ahead of you, warm and welcoming. Clarisse hesitates at the door enough to look at you, expression softer than youāve ever seen it.
"You sure?" she asks.
"Yeah," you say, smiling. "I am."
You kiss her once moreāslow this time, certainā and then reach behind you to open the door and the light spills out around you as you step inside together.
Your siblings were outā luckily enough at some activity or flirting their ways outāand the space was yours. You kick the door shut behind her, your laugh rough and real as she backed you against the wall, her body pressing flush against yours.
"I'm not gonna lie, I've wanted this," she murmurs, her breath hot against your neck. Her hands were everywhereā tugging at your shirt, sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your bra.
You gasped, arching into her touch, your own hands yanking her shirt over her head. Her skin was flushed, muscles shifting under your palms as you explored, tracing the faint scars from battles. No one had ever felt like thisā solid.
"Clarisse," you whisper, pulling her back for another kiss, tongues tangling in a messy rhythm that leaves you both breathless.
She breaks away only to strip you both further, shirts and pants hitting the floor in a haphazard pile. Her eyes raking over you, dark and intent, as she unhooked your bra and let it fall.
"Gods, you're beautiful," she says, voice low, her fingers tracing the curve of your hip, dipping lower to hook into your underwear. You did the same to her, heart hammering as you peeled the fabric away, revealing the strong lines of her body, the dark bush of hair between her thighs making your cheeks flush.
You tumbled onto one of the plush bedsā yours, with it's silk sheets, scattered pillows and plushiesā laughing again as you bounced, her weight settling over you. Skin on skin, her breasts pressing against yours, nipples hard points that sent sparks through you with every shift.
She kissed you deeply, shared breaths mingling, her hand cupping your face.
"I love you," she says against your lips, the words simple, unadorned, but they hit you hard.
"I love you too," you reply, the confession freeing something inside you.
You'd never said it to anyone like this, not with the weight of truth behind it.
Her mouth trails down your jaw, your neck, sucking lightly at your collarbone, leaving faint marks that you'd hide tomorrow if you had to.
Clarisse's hands are skilled, calloused fingers teasing your nipples into tighter peaks, pinching enough to make you whimper. She's grinning against your skin, that sharp sarcasm flickering in her eyes.
"You like that, huh? All that time pretending with those boys... But they never touched you like this." Her voice was teasing, but there was an edge of curiosity, of care.
You shake your head, threading your fingers through her hair.
"Never. It was always... wrong." The expectations had kept you with menā awkward hookups, fumbling hands that never ignited you. But this, with Clarisse, felt right, you knew it for how you were getting wet.
She hums in approval, kissing lower, her tongue flicking over one nipple while her hand kneaded the other breast. Heat pooled between your legs, your pussy aching as she worked her way down, nipping at your ribs, your stomach.
You spread your legs instinctively when she settled between them, her breath ghosting over your inner thighs.
"How does it feel?" she asks, looking up at you with those intense eyes. "Finally being with a girl. With me."
Your breath hitches a little. "Like I can breathe."
She smiles at your words, a rare softness breaking through her tough exterior, and then her mouth is on you.
Clarisse ate you out like she foughtā with focus and without holding back. Her tongue parted your folds, lapping at your clit in firm, deliberate strokes that made your hips buck.
You moaned, loud and unfiltered, the sound echoing off the cabin walls as she gripped your thighs, holding you open, fingers digging in just enough to bruiseā marks you'd cherish later, hidding under your clothes.
Her tongue delved deeper, circling your entrance before sucking your clit between her lips, the pressure building fast and relentless.
"Fuck, Clarisse," you gasped, your hands fisting the sheets.
She hummed against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core, and slid a finger inside you, curling it against that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
She fucked you with it steadily, her mouth never stopping, tongue flicking and sucking in a rhythm that had you writhing. Wet sounds filled the roomā your arousal coating her fingers, her chinā as she devoured you, obsessed, as if she'd been starving for this.
You came hard and unexpected, thighs clamping around her head, a cry tearing from your throat.
But she didn't stop right away, easing you through it with gentler licks, her fingers slowing until you were trembling and spent. When she finally pulled back, her lips glistened, and she crawled up to kiss you.
"I love you," she whispered again, forehead pressing to yours, breaths shared in the quiet aftermath.
But you weren't done. The ache in you shifted, turning outward.
"I want to make you feel good too," you said, a little bit shy.
You'd never done this beforeā not with a woman at leastābut the want was fierce. You knew about straps but you didn't have anything like that; you'd never even considered it, boxed in by what you thought you should be.
But now? Improvisation was your best friend.
Clarisse raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh yeah? Show me what you've got, pretty girl."
You flipped her onto her back, straddling her thigh for leverage, your bodies aligning. She was wet already, her pussy slick against your skin as you positioned yourself, legs intertwining.
Scissoringā you'd heard about it in parties late at night, but doing it was instinctual.
You rocked against her, clits brushing with each grind, the friction building heat where you connected. Her hands found your ass, pulling you closer, guiding the motion as you found a rhythmā slow at first, not really sure about yourself but when you heard her moan softly you got faster, rolling the hips in sync.
"You're good, lover girl," she groaned, her rough laugh dissolving into moans.
Your breasts bounced with each thrust, nipples grazing hers, and you leaned down to capture her mouth, kissing her messily as your pussies slid together, slick and hot.
The pressure built again, different this timeā shared and more intimate. You could feel her clit swelling against yours, her arousal mixing with yours, the wet slap of skin echoing louder each time.
She came first, her body tensing under you, a guttural "Shit, I love you" spilling from her lips as she shuddered, thighs quaking.
It tipped you over too, orgasm ripping through you both in tandem, breaths mingling in gasps and whispers of affection as you collapsed together, sweaty and tangled, her arms wrapping around you like she was finally claiming what was hers.
Youāre both breathing hard, bodies warm and heavy, the world narrowed down to the quiet space between you.
Clarisseās forehead rests against yours, her breath uneven, she laughs disbelieving like she still canāt quite wrap her head around the fact that this is real. She presses a slow, lazy kiss to your mouth, unhurried, she's practically savoring it.
You kiss her back just as gently, smiling into it, stealing another brief kiss when she lingers close.
"Wow," she mutters, voice rough, a little dazed. She exhales, glancing vaguely around the cabin as if remembering where you are all at once. āWe should probably get dressed before someone gets back.ā
Thereās no urgency in it. Just practicality layered over contentment.
You hum softly, brushing your thumb along her jaw, leaning in to kiss her againā slow, lingering, the kind that leaves both of you smiling and a little breathless all over again.
"I thought of that," you murmur.
Clarisse raises an eyebrow, amused. "Of course you did."
"I put a hairband outside," you add, completely serious. "No oneāll get in. We can rest for a while."
She blinks.
Then she laughs, quiet and fond, shaking her head as she pulls you closer, careful.
"Gods," she says softly. "You really are an expert."
You smile against her shoulder, exhaustion finally settling into something sweet and earned.
ā CAN'T WE BE SEVENTEEN? ; shoto todoroki ; ē¦å
summary: he's loved you since he was seventeen.
pairing: f!reader x pro hero!shoto ; reader was a 1-A student
tags: mutual pining, heavy make-out, thinly veiled sugar daddy shoto, reader does not go pro, touya might be a dick but he's a hero now, shoto is bad at feelings
wordcount: 5.6k
a/n: i do not fucking know what came over me, enjoy your food my little todorokinas. yes the title is what you think it is. no i will not elaborate.
You never did go pro.
Truthfully, you thought there would be more pushback when, in your senior year, you announced your plan to pursue a degree in early childhood education with a focus on non-conforming quirk development.Ā
The War changed a lot. It changed you, your classmates, and theĀ world.Ā But, through it all one thing stuck with you:
What if someone helped Tenko Shimura?
How different would his life have been? How different would history have spun?Ā
You graduated at the top of your class and joined the faculty at Chiba Prefectural Preparatory School for Quirk Specialties two years ago.Ā
Chiba Prep was opened eight years ago in response to a societal cry for more infrastructure around what was dubbed "non-conforming quirks": a nice way to say quirks that can injure, maim, or kill. Maybe even all three on a bad day. Some parents still see their child being labeled as a non-conforming quirk user in the national database as akin to social suicide.Ā
You see it differently.
Your quirk allows you to manipulate emotions ā anger, sadness, betrayal, love, hatred. If you can feel it, you can sink it into another's psyche deep enough to drive them to act. You can even imbueĀ thingsĀ with feelings. For example, a cup of warm milk can transform into more than justĀ aĀ simple comfort,Ā now it can hold the feeling ofĀ home and safety,Ā or evenĀ exhaustionĀ strong enough to put even the biggest foe to rest.Ā
You could easily use your quirk with nefarious intent.Ā
You could steep hatred in someone's bone so deep it drives them to harm themselves. You could sew fury soĀ solidĀ into someone's mind it drives them to violence.Ā
Just a touch and you canĀ controlĀ others with something so intrinsically personal it only exists within themselves: their feelings.
What makes you any different from little Asuke, a shy little girl with a quirk that allows her to see people's greatest fears, and then manifest and control them? You're convinced she can use this forĀ good,Ā if only with practice. In your mind, her future is bright and glimmering. Perhaps she will become a therapist, focusing on exposure therapy? Or, maybe the most prolific horror novelist in their time?Ā
Or, bright and sunny Tao ā a transplant whose parents sought out Chiba Prep's specialized education ā whose heteromorphic quirk makes his bodily fluids,Ā namely saliva,Ā eat through nearly anything but his own biologics. A sneeze is quickly the most dangerous thing in the world for the cheery, lizard-bodied class clown.Ā
He's just a boy given a quirk that needs moreĀ care.Ā
He isn't a villain-in-training.Ā
None of them are.
It's important to teach them that young ā and as their teacher for Year 3 of their elementary schooling, you aim to hammer that in as much as possible. They deserve to feelĀ normal.Ā To feel loved and supported. They aren'tĀ scary,Ā they're children.Ā
So, you take it upon yourself toĀ insistĀ on pushing for privileges like field trips. There aren't many public spaces that welcome the classes of Chiba Prep with open arms. Over the years, there have beenĀ plentyĀ of incidents. But, a day trip into the city to visit Tokyo's Hall of Heroes is green-lit with bubbling excitement from both faculty, the children,Ā andĀ their parents.Ā
You usually keep your history as a graduated member of Class 1-A quiet.Ā
After all, you never did go pro.
And even still, Shoto Todoroki never stopped thinking about you.
He remembers that weekend everyone moved back in for their last year before graduation. He remembers you smiling at him, and helping him drag up a duffel of luggage from the common room to his dorm. You made a joke about how you're sure he got taller over the summer, and how his hair is longer now. You said you liked it.Ā
It was the beginning of the end, then.
His crush was a silent, smothering thing. It made it hard to think. Shoto had enough on his plate thanks to Touya's acceptance into the Villain Rehabilitation Program and his father's insistence onĀ staving off retirement.Ā Not to mention his parent's divorce ā no matter howĀ amicable,Ā it wasĀ still a separation.Ā Add on training, tests, studying, finals, and j-term classes...Ā AndĀ a desperate, writhing, burning crush on the nicest girl in class?Ā
Touya's elbow digs into Shoto's side.
It drags him back to reality ā to the stifled quiet of the historical Hall of Heroes.Ā
Suddenly, the doors to the wing squeak open, and a tour guide ushers in the elementary school class. The buzzing excitement and wonder are visible on each of their faces as the attendant ā one of the HoH's lead tour guides ā excitedly explains the newest, in-progress addition to the Hall:
Endeavor's wing.Ā
There's a whisper of awe that ripples through the children as their teacher and co-teacher follow, and as the class moves through the large, open space. They're staring up eagerly at the gilded statue in the center of the room. It's larger than life and intimidating. Years ago, Shoto might have had to fight the odd tremble in his knees at the reminder it brings: to be small in his father's shadow again. But, things are different now.Ā
Very different.
Touya scoffs. "I thought this wing wasn't open to the public yet."
"They're just children," Shoto hums, turning his back on the gaggle across the way to inspect the large mural winding along the back end of the installation, "I'm sure it'sā"
"Oh, ho,Ā no way!"
Shoto quirks his brow at his brother's outburst. His elbow digs into Shoto's ribsĀ again.Ā
"Ain't that the pretty girl you never got theĀ ballsĀ to ask out your senior year?" comes the rasped drawl of his older brother's voice. Touya is clearly amused, his white hair hanging in his eyes as he leans forward to squint, "SheĀ isĀ cute, Sho'ā"
"Shut up," Shoto grits, turning his head over his shoulder; he tries to bite back the flurry of nerves that ignite in his gut, "Stop talking."
ItĀ isĀ you.
You look...Ā good.Ā
Happy.Ā
You're crouched by a small, timid girl in the back of the crowd. Your hand is in hers, and you're pointing upwards at the large paneled screens replaying Endeavor's most historic fights. You're explaining something to her, your knees bent as you squat. You look...Ā the same. As if in the six years since they graduated, you sat still in time.Ā
For a second, it's like he's seventeen again.
It's his senior year, and he's stuck at the corner of the gym's edge with a half-empty glass of punch in his hand. The lights are low, and there's slow music playing. His tie feels too tight. Bakugo keeps telling him to 'ask her to dance already',Ā and Kirishima is considering bashing his head through the wall. Even Midorya is trying to persuade Shoto.Ā
"It's prom, man!Ā C'mon, this could be your last chanceā"
Touya is about to be a real pain in the ass ā his favorite pastime ā and make some comment aboutĀ yourĀ ass, but when he turns to lob the one-liner at his baby brother, Shoto's gone.
Shoto is on the move.
The crescendo of gasps draws your attention first.
Then, the cry ofĀ "WOAH, IT'S SHOTO!"Ā leaves you dumbfounded. The rippling murmur of excitement bleeds into the children as their eyes ā and the eyes of the tour guide ā widen at the sight of the approaching Pro Hero.Ā
Shoto Todoroki.
He looks...Ā good.Ā
ReallyĀ good.
He's a bit older, and a bit more filled out than when you were both teenagers. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders āĀ it'sĀ a distant echo of his father's physique, though Shoto is so much moreĀ elegantĀ and much...Ā prettier.Ā He's always been.
For a second, you're seventeen again.
It's your senior year, and you're sprawled across Momo Yaoyorozu's bed.
They had finally wrangled out of you who your crush was: something they hadn't been able to do in all their years as classmates.
There's a sticky, Miss Midnight-themed face mask clinging to your expression as you try to flip through the large magazine in your hands as nonchalantly as possible. Mina's voice, as she paints Ochaco's nails a bright pink on the floor, is sweet and saccharine as she looks up at you.
"I think you and Shoto would be, like, the cutest couple ever."Ā
You're still crouched when the tour guide nervously ā like she was caught doing something naughty ā introducesĀ TheĀ Pro Hero Shoto to the already-aware crowd of elementary school students and their teachers. It's like igniting a match; the uproar of excitement leaves you laughing as three of your boys push forward to bombard him with questions about his quirk.Ā
Asuke is smiling shyly, now. That's a small win. She's intrigued by the appearance of aĀ realĀ hero, not the "scary statues" ā and her big, fat tears stopped rolling the moment you laid a gentle hand on her to quell her anxiety over the new environment with a push ofĀ comfortĀ through your quirk. She unhooks her pinkie finger from yours as you guide her towards your co-teacher.Ā
"Boys," you call with a crisp air of authority as you stand and lead Asuke toward the bulk of the field trip group, "What have we learned about personal space?"
"It's fine, really,Ā Insight,"Ā comes Shoto's voice; as warm andĀ placidĀ as you remember.Ā
"Insight?"Ā mutters your co-teacher at the presumed hero-name; a look of confusion plasters itself on her face, and her big, feline ears perk up. She leans in to whisper in a way that borders on conspiratory,Ā "Do you two know one another?"
"Old classmates," you confirm, not daring to get into the finer details.
Shoto's attention is entirely rooted in the way you manage the kids. There's something beautiful about the ease with which you handle the bouquet of students; you quell the excitement into a manageable decibel like it's as easy as breathing.Ā
"Shoto," you start as you gesture to him, "HasĀ a very specialĀ quirk ā Toyamai, he has ice like you.Ā And, fire like Tojiro.Ā He canĀ regulateĀ hisĀ temperature.Ā Can anyone tell me what that means?"
There's a wave of hands shooting up, a fewĀ me, me, me'sĀ rise from the gaggle.Ā
You're using him as a teaching moment.
Shoto's smile is soft.
You nod at Ogomi, excitedly nodding as the reserved child speaks up. Normally, heĀ hatesĀ public speaking. But, recently, he's started working with the speech pathologist during lunch. The boy bounces a little as he answers. "He doesn't g-get too hot, or too c-cold."
"Exactly! Isn't thatĀ cool?" you grin at the lazy attempt at a pun, "This is why it's important to learn about our quirks as much as we can!"
Touya thinks this whole thing is just too cute.Ā
You're different than he remembers ā but, granted, things were sorta different last time he saw you. He was a little too busyĀ trynaĀ kill his old man and lil' Shoto. He's different now, too. A changed man! AĀ real licensed hero.Ā Support items and all.Ā
He hangs back.Ā
He... I mean, heĀ isĀ a jack-ass but he isn'tĀ gonnaĀ ruinĀ this for Shoto.Ā
...It'sĀ kindaĀ cute.
JustĀ about as cute as Fuyumi said it was.Ā
Apparently,Ā Shoto had opened up to her and Natsuo about his feelings after graduation ā about how he regretted notĀ doingĀ anything about it. Fuyumi then told their mum, who then off-handedly mentioned it to Touya... and well Touya dug in because, duh, he is a whore for good gossip. He might be the family's black sheep, but Shoto is the glue that binds.Ā
And he deserves to be happy.
Your co-teacher is ushering the kids to the next installation ā a viewing ofĀ All Might's Legacy, a new documentary following the retired pro's teaching career. It will be a good wind down for them, in comfy seats and the dark. It's hardly the sort of content anĀ elementary school studentĀ would find riveting, but itĀ isĀ All Might.Ā And they love him.
You hang back.Ā
Shoto's heart is hammering in his chest.
"Hey."
"Hi," you greet back, closing the door to the theater and stepping forward as you weave your arms around you, "Long time no see."
"Yea," Shoto breathes, his hands in his pockets as he meets you halfway across the museum's marble floors, "I... I see you're teaching."
His eyes are as pretty as they were back then. Slate grey and piercing turquoise. "I'm in my second year," you confirm softly, fiddling with the material of your sweater, "Congrats to your old man."
You gesture up at the statue, then wave around to the rest of the installation.
Shoto inhales, then nods; he's staring at your face, blissfully realizing you're just the way you were all those years ago.Ā Kind. "I'll pass it along."
"How's he handling it?" you ask, your eyes raking across his expression and trying not to stick to the sharp slope of his jaw, or the bob of his Adam's apple, "Retirement, I mean."
"He's happy, I think. Touya and I are working together and... things are...Ā Ā good."
Last month, EndeavorĀ finallyĀ retired. He cited his age, and his dedication to passing his legacy to his two sons: Shoto and Touya. Shoto has planted himself firmly within the Top Ten in the last year or so, and shockingly, Touya isn't far behind. People love an underdog's redemption story, you suppose.Ā
And the underdog in questionĀ canĀ read a room.Ā
This is getting a little too sexually tense for even him.
"Heeeeey, girl," he rasps out, staggering backward with a thumb over his shoulder, "NiceĀ t'Ā seeĀ ya. I'll let you two catch up,Ā yea? I'mĀ gonnaĀ go pop my head into the theater, see how the kids are handling theĀ snooze festĀ on screenā"
You jump.
How long has he evenĀ beenĀ there?
"Hi, DāĀ Touya,"Ā you strain, wincing a little; theĀ rehab'dĀ villain doesn't seem to mind.
"Hi,Ā teach'. That cool with you?" he asks, wobbling his thumb and quirking a pierced eyebrow; it's comical, like he's trying to disarm you with humor, "Don't want you thinkin' I'm corrupting yourĀ youthsā"
"It's fine," you breathe, ignoring the sting of age-old mistrust. You know better. Shoto wouldn'tĀ be here, with him,Ā if Touya Todoroki hadn't changed. Endeavor wouldn'tĀ be entrustingĀ hisĀ legacyĀ to the ex-League of Villain member if he didn't believe in his capacity for good, "Just don't be disruptive."
Casting judgment on someone whose life was nearlyĀ destroyedĀ by hisĀ ownĀ non-conforming quirk would go againstĀ everythingĀ you taught the kids anyway.
"Touya's wholeĀ thingĀ is being disruptive," Shoto grits as his oldest brother slips silently through the doors, "I apologize for himā"
"No," you wave him off, laughing a little, "Don't. It's... nice to see you two together."
Shoto's expression is soft as he wanders a little closer. "It took time ā and a lot of therapy ā but we've all managed to come out the other side."
"That's great to hear, Shoto," you breathe, your eyes flitting across his face, "I'mĀ reallyĀ happy for you."
There's a long silence, then ā and you can't help but ignore the roil of butterflies in your stomach. The eye contact is heavy with some unspoken thing, and both of your tongues are weighted by secrets-never-turned-confessions.Ā
It's like finally this dance you've been doing around one another for years breaks ā and the two of you throw caution to the wind at theĀ exactĀ same moment.Ā
"Would you like toā"
"Are you freeā"
Hesitant, slow grins bloom on both your faces.
"Dinner?" is all he manages after a sweet moment of soaking up your soft smile, "If you're available...?"
YouĀ makeĀ yourself available.
Yaoyorozu almostĀ diesĀ when you call her that night ā winded from tearing through your entire wardrobe. You explainedĀ you had nothing to wearĀ a-andĀ youĀ needed something nice, and you onlyĀ haveĀ an hour to get ready, because Todoroki ā yes, stop screaming, Todoroki ā is picking you up atĀ 8pm.
Little bro is nervous. Touya can tell.Ā
From his spot on the sofa, the white-haired ex-degenerate scoffs. Natsuo is digging around for some cufflinks in Shoto's dresser.
"Seriously, Sho'? AĀ suit?"Ā
"It's aĀ niceĀ restaurant," his brother says tightly, adjusting the collar of the black button-down, "I booked the upstairs dining room forĀ privacy."Ā
"Who the hell told youĀ t'Ā do that?" Touya quirks a skeptical brow.
"Father was the one who suggested it."
"...That oldĀ dog."Ā
Natsuo rolls his eyes at the exchange before throwing his hands as he emerges from the closet. "Do you haveĀ anyĀ links thatĀ aren'tĀ emblazoned with U.A. High School's crest?"
The ones in Natsuo's hands have his graduation year on them.
Shoto winces.
"Want me to ask dear ol'Ā dogĀ of a dad?" Touya snarks from the corner, his posture becoming less and less upright as he scrolls on his phone.
"Already did," comes the soft voice of Fuyumi; she's smiling, padding into Shoto's room with a velvet box, "He offered up hisĀ nicest pair.Ā He also says not to screw it up with Insight. He likes her."
Of course, he likes her. You worked under Endeavor for a brief work-study period during your third year. Shoto remembers hearing grumbled praise over dinner one night about your talent for de-escalation.
"You told him who I was seeing?" Shoto asks incredulously, taking the box and working the cufflinks on. He's starting to feel exasperated.
Fuyumi nods, popping down beside Touya.Ā
"He asked. I'm not gonnaĀ lieĀ to him."
"Did y' tell ma?" Touya rasps, peeking up over his phone to inspect Shoto's outfit.Ā NotĀ half bad, honestly. He looks good in all black. A man after his own heart, "M'sure she's gonna be real excitedā"
"Yes," Shoto grumbles, "I called her earlierā"
"Chiba Prep isĀ aĀ reallyĀ goodĀ school,Ā y'know," Natsuo buts in as he tries to find a tie that matches Shoto's outfit. Ultimately, though, the middle brother decides against it and tosses the options over his shoulder, "They're, like, on the leading edge for quirk therapies."
"Hey, nerd? Quiet down. The big kids are gossiping," Touya shirks, turning back to Shoto, "What did mum say?"Ā
"She wants me to call her afterā"
"One, you're gonna call mumĀ the morning after," Touya raises a finger, "Because if you don't get laid, I'll be so fuckin'Ā disapā"
Fuyumi slaps Touya's chest. He lets out a pained yelp at the solid smack.
"Uh,Ā ow," he rubs his sternum. "An'Ā two,Ā take a deep breath. You look like you'reĀ gonnaĀ shit yourself. Those areĀ my pantsĀ and they'reĀ expensive."
Shoto lets out a long breath.Ā
Fuyumi's smile is sweet like honey. "Aw, Sho'! It'sĀ gonnaĀ go great. You two have known each other for such a long time, and catching up is going to be amazing. Just be yourself! Confident andĀ kindā"
"āHold the door open for her, and pull her chair out," Natsuo adds as he adjusts Shoto's collar for him, "Car door, tooā"
It's Touya's turn. He's dead serious. "āAnd doĀ notĀ chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night. I swear to god."
Easier said than done.
You never did go pro.
Those years of hardened battle instincts have lost their edge. YouĀ tryĀ to remind yourself this is just Shoto, notĀ The Shoto āĀ but you're a little lost in the wholeĀ celebrityĀ of it all when he picks you up in a very nice,Ā sportyĀ littleĀ car withĀ ENDVRplates.Ā
You answer the door and he forgets how to breathe.
He has flowers for you. They're blue and blooming and beautiful.Ā
Fuyumi's contribution.Ā
You settled then you were going to kiss him at the end of the night.
The restaurant is... nice.Ā ReallyĀ nice.Ā The sort of nice you could never aspire to experience on your teacher's salary. Even the valet is a concept that has your head spinning. But, Shoto handles it all with cool ease. The entire time, his hand is settled on your lower back.Ā
It feels like you've been lit on fire.
You're glad Momo was able to create a dress fitting for the occasion. It's sleek and black. Comfortable, too. Not much can be said for your heels on that front, but it's fine.Ā
Somehow, Shoto managed to book the entire upper floor of this place in all its glimmering glory ā it's just the two of you alone in a sea of tables.Ā
The waiter is pouring you a glass of the chef's suggested pairing of sake.
You thank him, smile, and take a sip as Shoto unbuttons his suit jacket and watches you.Ā
For a second, you're seventeen again.
Sero and Kirishima were always in cahoots when it came to parties back then ā somehow, between the two of them, they always managed to smuggle enough booze onto campus to obliterate any semblance of promised sobriety from even the most stoic members of 1-A.Ā
You remember one night, after aĀ lotĀ of hounding, you finally gave in and joined a few of your classmates on the back lawn for a few drinks.Ā
A few beers turned into a cup or two of wine, and then another big gulp of whatever deranged jungle juice concoction Kaminiari managed to cook up. It tasted terrible, but you were too drunk toĀ reallyĀ care. Shoto was no better. He was nursing his fourth drink of the night ā a rarity he was even drinking at all ā and seemed completelyĀ fineĀ with the way your arms brushed as the two of you sat close in the grass.Ā
He was always so nervous around you. Now, he just seemed...Ā happy.Ā
"I can't believe there is only one week left until graduation."
Graduation day was the last time you saw him.Ā
Until this morning, that is.Ā
You smile into your drink.Ā
"What?" you ask when his eyes never leave your face.
His fingers twitch towards hisĀ ownĀ glass. Shoto blinks, then rolls his jaw. He was caught staring. He clears his throat, looking a bit shy. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" you press playfully, cocking your head to the side.
"You..." he starts, then bawks. You're stunning, and it's making it hard to even think straight. He thought these feelings might have mellowed out over the years but seeing you again has justĀ reignited everything.Ā He feels like a hormonal teenager again,Ā "You look beautiful."
Your expression falters into something lovesick. You chew your lip. "You're not so bad yourself, Todoroki."
He manages a half-smile. "Touya had me worried the suit was a bit much."
The idea ofĀ TouyaĀ offering him advice on his outfit strikes a chord in your heart. It makes you smile even bigger than before. "Well, you can tell Touya that I like it. A lot."
You rake your eyes up and down him. On purpose.
He notices.
Shoto's face feels hot.Ā
HeĀ triesĀ to shake the bone-deep want that has swept his entire body up in its grip, but it's difficult when every single word out of your mouth reminds him just howĀ in loveĀ he was with you back in school. You explain, excitedly, why you chose to teach at Chiba Prefectural Prep and catch him up on where you've been living since graduating. He's pleased to learn you're still in the area, living in the city, and decidedly in love with the commute to the school.Ā
Shoto's always been a good listener ā but you canĀ seeĀ how much he's changed when he begins to speak about his career. He seems so much moreĀ sure of himselfĀ than he was all those years ago. It wasn't that he was...Ā unsure... but,Ā no. He was shy. Quiet.
Now, less so.Ā
It's adorable.Ā
Dinner comes and goes with conversation over sushi that isĀ far tooĀ good for you to even process. It's easy talking to him. It was easy talking to Shoto back, then, too but... Things are different. You're both different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that feelsĀ like coming home.Ā
While you both wait outside for the valet, Shoto shrugs his jacket off and puts it over your shoulders without a single word. Suddenly, you're cradled in a warmth that'sĀ veryĀ Shoto ā his cologne clings to the collar and you bury yourself a little deeper into it.Ā
Shyly, you step closer and steal his hand. It's calloused and warm. He laced his fingers with yours as if practiced. You bite back a grin. You give his hand a little squeeze when you spot the car coming around the corner.
His silence is calming ā and he squeezes your hand back. When you look up at him, you realize he's already looking atĀ you.Ā
His face is close. It's so...Ā intimate.Ā Very. Nearly better than a kiss.Ā
But, you've wanted to kiss Shoto Todoroki since you were seventeen.Ā
The valet driver interrupts the moment with a respectful call of Shoto's name and offers the keys with a shake of the hand. With a little bit of hesitancy, ShotoĀ remembersĀ the thing Natsuo said āĀ the car door, tooĀ ā and moves around the passenger side to open the door for you.Ā
It's sweet.
ReallyĀ sweet.Ā
The car ride back to your apartment is punctuated with easy conversation ā you ask him about Bakugo and Midorya, and you're pleased to hear they're both doing well. He asks about Momo, and if you still keep in touch with Mina and Ochaco. He smiles to himself when you admit youĀ didĀ call Momo for help with an outfit.Ā
"She did a beautiful job," Shoto breathes, a palm moving from the gear shift to brush over the dress' fabric on your thigh.
His hand settles there.Ā
Your stomach does a flip.Ā
You chew your lip, swallow down a sudden burst of nerves, and let your hand rest over his. You squeeze it. Shoto tries to focus on the road. His gaze drifts for a moment at a red light, his heterochromatic eyes dancing across your figure.Ā
Keep it together.Ā
He isn't seventeen.
He's twenty-five. He's a Professional Hero. One of the Top Ten in all of Japan. He's more than capable of keeping it together in the face ofĀ physical touchĀ from the woman he'sĀ dreamedĀ about for years.Ā
...Right?
Green light.
His hand is still on your thigh when he pulls up to your apartment.Ā
The touch is relinquished in favor of putting the sports car in park.Ā
It makes your chest ache.
Shoto swallows thickly.
Do not chicken out on kissing her at the end of the night.
He'll never forgive himself. But, admittedly, he's bad at this. He's notĀ goodĀ at reading body language, or even knowing himself enough to realize he looks mildly terrified as you blink up at him in the passenger's seat. His heart is hammering a mile a minute.
What if you don'tĀ wantĀ to kiss him?
When would he even kiss you? Now? Or at the door?
Why does he feel like he's going to die?
"This was really... Shoto, are you okay?" you ask as you unbuckle your seatbelt; you pause, your brows knitting tightly.Ā
"What?" he asks, blinking back to the present moment. The look of fear disappears, "Sorry. Yes. I'm fine."
You're working his jacket off your shoulders, gently leaning to fold it neatly in your lap. Your voice dips low, into something playful. "You didn'tĀ lookĀ fine..."
"Iā" Shoto clamps his mouth shut as he leans an elbow on the center console, "Sorry. I suppose I'm just nervous."
"Nervous?" you grin, a little giggle punctuating your words as you wriggle in the red, leather seat, "Why?"
Your expression makes his expression crack. He ducks his head as he huffs out a laugh. You continue to egg him on via expression alone. "I... Stop it."
"StopĀ what?"Ā you push some more, your back pressed to the door as you face him in the car, "You're the one beingĀ weirdā"
"I'm not being weirdā"
"Then what's wrong, Shoto?" you tease in a sing-song voice.
"I'mĀ nervousĀ because I want to kiss you."
His words are punctuated by a slow look that takes in every inch of your face. Butterfly wings kiss your stomach walls. And your knees. You feel a little tremble in your chest.Ā
It feels like someone has sucker punched you square in the sternum. Shoto's no better. He isn't entirely sure what the expression on your face means. Is that... good? Are youĀ happy?
Your voice is a little quieter now. You duck your head and fiddle with his suit jacket as you lean back against the seat, a little closer now.Ā
"You don't need to be."
Shoto's breath catches at that.
So, he makes his move.
His hand comes first ā his calloused palm settles nicely against your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as his pointer finger brushes the underside of your jaw. Shoto is slow. Methodical. It's like he's trying to ground himself in the moment.Ā
Truth be told, he thinks he might be blacking out.
Your eyes flit up his wrist ā a dark leather band around his wrist with an expensive watch face, a dark dress shirt with glimmering cufflinks, strong arms and a broad chest, and you can see the dip of his collarbone where the top two buttons of his shirt remain undone.Ā
He looksĀ so damn handsomeĀ with his sharp jaw, pretty eyes, and his trademark white and crimson hair. Even his scar is beautiful.Ā
The touch pulls you in like he's got hisĀ own personalĀ orbit.Ā Ā
Your elbows are braced along the center console, your eyes flicking across his face as his fingers continue to brush along the soft expanse of your cheek. You wring your fingers together.Ā
Then, his eyes stick to your lips.
"Can I kiss you?" he whispers, his breath fanning across your face.Ā
You never did go pro.
But, Shoto did.Ā
It shows.Ā
Because, at this moment, all you can do is nod feebly before you're swept into the sort of kiss people go to war for. It's the sort of kiss that sticks to your ribs, that feels like warm, fresh food. It's the sort of kiss that would drive you to the brink, that would make you nod and agreeĀ sure, let's get married and have three kids, let's name one after your father, and paint the house blue like your mother's favorite flowerā
His mouth is eager, but not in an overbearing way. It's gentle. Slow. As if he needs to remind himself this is real and not some midnight fiction that leaves him aching and alone. Shoto reminds himself to be tepid, pliable, and easy, which is easier said than done when somewhere deep inside of him there's a seventeen-year-oldĀ screamingĀ in victory.Ā
It's better than anything he could have ever imagined.Ā
And then youĀ whimper.Ā
It's a sound tied between bliss and relief and it's muttered against his mouth as you lean in and let your fingers brush the fabric of his dress shirt. The tips of your fingers brush his abdomen and he flexes, the feeling foreign and warm. It warrants his other hand to drift to your face and you break for a breath; he doesn't care that there's lipstick smeared across his mouth. He's kissing you again ā this time a little bit more feverish, a little bit moreĀ aching.Ā
You melt against him, this time your hands trembling to grip his wrists.
He needs to slow down.
He isĀ notĀ having sex with you in his father's car.
That's shameless.
He needs to slow down.
He has to, or he'll lose himself in this and heĀ refusesĀ to fuck this up.Ā
Shoto's breath is ragged when he finally peels himself away, his lip parted and eyes half-lidded. His grip on your face is still soĀ soft,Ā so gentle. It'sĀ very him.Ā
You're glad you didn't do this when you were seventeen.
It would have permanently altered your brain chemistry, you're sure of it. How could youĀ everĀ kiss someone else again after that?Ā
He's rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You swallow, and try to level out your breathing. It's hard when he's still soĀ close,Ā when he's so... perfect.Ā
"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against your cheek, "Since our last year at Yuei."
A well-kissed smile breaks across your face. You reel back, your nose wrinkling as you shake your head in disbelief. Shoto isĀ smiling.Ā A real smile. The sort that's so rare you can count on one hand the amount of times you've ever seen it in person.Ā
"Are you serious?"
"Very," he says, chastely pressing another to your other cheek as he leans back.
"Me too," you admit shyly, "Can we... do it again sometime?"
Shoto's eyes widen incrementally. Then, his smile eases back onto his face.Ā
"Are you free this weekend?"
"IĀ canĀ be," you reply easily with a honeyed look, "And I will be. For you."
"I get off patrol on Saturday around seven," he explains before asking timidly, "We could... do dinner again?"
"Works for me," you breathe as you move for the handle of the car door, "After all, I never went Pro. Weekends areĀ free."
Shoto scoffs.Ā
Then, as you open the door and swing a leg out:
"Oh, and tell Touya I thought the suit sexy."
Shoto's laugh is dry. You leave his jacket on the seat and scurry into your apartment with a lovesick wave. HeĀ swearsĀ he sees the silhouette of a familiar ponytail greet you at the door, but he doesn't dwell on it. He waits until you're inside and the lights to the front door are shut off.
Then it hits him. He has another date with you this weekend.Ā
He dreamed of becoming a hero. Most people didnāt know that about him, not really. They probably assumed heād given up or moved on, that the sports festival had just been a brief glimmer of ambition before reality came crashing in. But that wasnāt true. Not for him. That dream had lived inside him for too long to fade just because the odds were against him. But he knew better than to get his hopes up over it ever coming true. It was just a dream after all. Thatās how heād gotten this far, by keeping his head down, his goals tightly under wraps and his mouth shut.
But as the two of you began to spend more and more time together. Talking, laughing and growing more and more comfortable with each other. So he decided to tell you. He still wanted to be a hero, despite everything. He wasnāt sure how to make it happen, or if it would ever happen but it was his dream.
So when you told him that you believed in him, really believed, heād never forget it.
āYouāve got the quirk, the discipline, and the heart for it,ā youād said after school one day, sitting out on the patio of your favorite cafe. āYou just need the body to back it up.ā
And maybe it was the heat of the afternoon or the shine in your eyes, but those words stuck with him. Stuck with him so hard that he found himself asking if youād train with him. Help him get stronger. Sharpen his skills. Push his limits.
He didnāt expect you to say yes. But you did. And just like that, you became his workout partner.
Every day after school, the two of you would meet up at the training gym or the outdoor track and get to work. You were a natural leader, encouraging, relentless, funny, and having you there made everything easier. Wellā¦ sort of. It also made everything harder.
Because Hitoshi was developing a crush.
Not the innocent, passing kind, either. The kind that made him think about your laugh after midnight and replay the way your hands would linger on his arms while correcting his form. You were so kind. So strong. And he was so whipped.
He knew better than to make it weird. You were his friend. One of his best friends now, and that mattered more than some stupid, hormonal crush.
So he kept it quiet. Let himself smile when you leaned too close. Let his eyes linger when you stretched after a workout, skin dewy with sweat, tank top clinging to every line of your body.
But he couldnāt help the way his thoughts drifted sometimes. Couldnāt help the way he watched you out of the corner of his eye during workouts or the way his heart sped up at the memory of your laugh more times than he could admit to anyone, even himself.
It also didnāt help that you loved to tease. It was playful at first, but lately it had felt likeā¦ more. Teasing comments. Flirty quips. Lingering glances. Inside jokes that toed the line of something else entirely.
But he was content to suffer in silence. To let the crush stay a crush.
Until the night he grabbed the wrong gym bag.
He didnāt realize it until he got back to his dorm and dropped the bag on his desk. The moment he unzipped it, he saw the telltale signs: your water bottle, your deodorant, your extra sports bra folded at the bottom.
His stomach dropped.
He immediately texted you.
Hitoshi: pretty sure i stole your bag
You: lmao yeah iāve got yours. wanna swing by and trade?
Hitoshi: yea i can meet you out front.
You: or you could come in lol itās no big deal.
He probably shouldāve thought twice. Probably shouldāve wondered why you didnāt just meet him outside. But if he was being honest, he was curious. Curious to see your room. Curious to see more of you.
You opened the door in a hoodie and socks, hair up and freshly washed face.
āHey,ā you said. āCāmon in.ā
He stepped inside, glancing around your room, half a compliment forming on his lips
And then you were behind him, your arms slipping around his waist. Warm and confident.
And he didnāt even think.
He turned, still holding the bag,
And then you kissed him. Full, deep, without hesitation.
And he kissed you back like heād been waiting his whole damn life.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, your lips soft and sure against his. And for a second he just stood there, stunned, heart jackhammering in his chest.
He dropped the bag. Pulled you in. Slotted his mouth against yours as you both fought for dominance over the kiss.
You gasped into his mouth, your hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt.
You were the first to pull back, just barely, lips still brushing his when you whispered,
āYou have no idea how long Iāve been wanting to do this.ā
His brain stuttered.
You wanted to do this with him? You wanted him? You, the girl who trained with him every day and had the whole damn school wrapped around your finger, wanted him?
He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but then your hands slid up under his shirt, palms flat against his stomach.
āWhatās gotten into you?ā he mumbled, breathless.
āYou. Youāve been working so hard lately,ā you murmured, kissing along his jaw, slow and sweet. āWatching you throw yourself into training? Seeing how serious youāve gotten about your dreamā¦ itās hot, Shinsou.ā
He shuddered.
His shirt came off. He let you peel it off him, let you touch him, let your fingertips explore the soft muscle heād been slowly building week after week. You werenāt just admiring him, you were drinking him in.
āFuck,ā he whispered, voice low and already wrecked. āWhat are you doing to me?ā
You smiled, a little dazed, a little too proud of yourself.
āJust making good on all the times I thought about touching you like this after a workout.ā
He let out a choked laugh. Half flattered, half aroused, and thenā¦
You slowly dropped to your knees.
His breath hitched.
āCan I?ā you asked, looking up at him with those wide, pretty eyes. āCan I suck you off, Hitoshi? Please?ā
His knees nearly buckled.
āY-Yeah. Yes. Yes, Please.ā
You made quick work of his sweats, tugging them down until his cock sprung free, rock hard from just a few kisses and the sound of your voice.
āHoly shit,ā you breathed, licking your lips. āYouāre perfect.ā
āFuckāā he gasped as you wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. Your touch was soft but confident. Like youād fantasized about this before. Like you knew exactly what you were doing.
And when your lips finally wrapped around the head of his cock?
He actually whimpered.
You licked a stripe up the underside, slow and teasing, then bobbed your head down, taking him deeper and deeper, moaning around him like you were enjoying every second of it.
He couldnāt believe it. This was actually happening.
You were on your knees. In your room. Worshipping him like he was something worth sinking to the floor for.
āOh my god,ā he groaned, one hand flying to your head, fingers trembling as they threaded into your hair. He didnāt push, just held on, needing something to anchor him while you sucked the soul out of him.
He had no idea how long you kept going. Time warped when your mouth was on him. Every bob of your head, every flick of your tongue, every filthy little slurp had his stomach tightening, hips twitching.
āIāmāfuck, Iām gonnaāā
You pulled off suddenly, panting slightly, lips slick and eyes heavy with lust.
āNot yet,ā you said. āWant you to finish inside me. Want to ride you.ā
His brain blanked out.
You stood, stripping for him slowly. Shirt first, revealing the swell of your breasts, no bra. Then your shorts and panties came down in one smooth motion, leaving you bare and glowing in the soft light of your room.
He could barely breathe.
You pushed him back onto your bed, and he went willingly, watching as you climbed on top of him, straddling his hips with practiced ease.
He was still soaked from your mouth, and you didnāt hesitate, just reached between your legs, guided him to your entrance, and slowly, achingly, sank down onto him.
He nearly passed out.
āHoly shit,ā he whispered, hands flying to your hips as you bottomed out. āYou feelāgod, babyāā
You whimpered, bracing your hands on his toned, firm chest, hips rocking forward gently.
āYouāre so big, Hitoshi,ā you moaned. āSo deep already. Itās too good, baby~.ā
He watched, transfixed, as you started to move. Rolling your hips, bouncing just slightly. His cock dragged against your walls perfectly, snug and hot and dripping wet.
āYouāre perfect,ā he gasped. āYou feelāfuck, you feel like a dream.ā
You smiled through a moan, tossing your hair over your shoulder.
āYouāre so sexy, Hitoshi. Getting so big and strong for me. And that voiceāfuck, I canāt think straight when you say my name during training.ā
He groaned. Loud. thrusting up into you in response.
Your praise was making his head spin.
āY-Youāhmm Fuckādonāt have to wait anymore,ā he babbled, voice shaky, hands smoothing up your waist, āYou want this? Iām yours. Iāll give you everything.ā
Your eyes fluttered shut.
āSay it again,ā you breathed.
āIām yours,ā he repeated, more desperate now, hips bucking up to meet yours. āYou can have me anytime you want. However you want. Please, babyāfuckāIāve been dreaming about this for weeks.ā
That did it.
You moaned his name as you came, grinding down on him, tightening around him with a wet clench that pushed him right to the edge.
He sat up, wrapped his arms around your waist, and flipped you effortlessly beneath him. Your legs went around his hips and he thrust into you harder now, faster, chasing his high with a rawness heād never felt before.
āMine,ā he growled, nipping at your jaw. āIf Iām yours then youāre mine too. Say it.ā
āIām yours,ā you cried, your body shivering against his. āHitoshi, Iām yoursāfuckāI want it, want all of you!ā
That was it.
He came with a deep, wrecked moan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside you, his whole body tensing as he rode it out.
And thenā
He blinked.
His room. His bed. And the rising sun.
His sheets soaked through. His briefs sticking uncomfortably to his thighs.
He groaned, dragging a hand over his face.
āFuck me.ā
It had been a dream.
A very vivid, very detailed,
And very, very wet dream.
He sat up in his own mess feeling so embarrassed and slightly ashamed. He should have known all of that was too good to be true. You were just friends. Just friends.
ā“ļø synopsis : a day in your life dating hitoshi shinsou.
ā“ļø content : bf!hitoshi x reader , fluff , kissing , sharing a bed , cuddling , itty bitty teeny weeny angst if you squintttt?? , usage of l-word , silly banter
ā“ļø wc : 2.9k
ā“ļø a/n : he's so black cat vibes
hitoshi shinsou has been your boyfriend since you saw him at the sports festival and knew he was perfect for you, taking initiative to talk to him and befriend him before locking it in. and neither of you could want it any other way if you tried.
this is a glimpse into one of the many days you spend together, as most couples do.
6:30am
you wake up to your alarm playing muffled, tucked somewhere between your decorative blankets and pillows. your eyes peel open, met with soft rays of sun filtering through your window, bathing your dorm room in it's ethereal glow, partnered with your led lights still set on a dark purple, as well as a deadweight on top of you, arm slung around your waist, basking in your body heat like a black cat.
the reason you had to set your alarm this early in the first place.
you squirm, burning up beneath the combination of the sunlight, layer of blankets and your sound-asleep boyfriend. "hmm... toshi," you hum, eyes flitting down to the only part of his face you can see. his typically sharp eyes are shut, peaceful. you love seeing him like this. the rest of his face is smushed into your pillows, his lavender hair tousled over the fabrics.
he doesn't move a muscle.
"toshi." you mumble, a little louder this time, slowly pulling yourself up. he stirs this time, humming softly, turning on his side before his tired eyes meet yours. you've barely managed to escape the prison of blankets, adjusting your flimsy grey tank top. "it's six thirty. you gotta go back to your dorm." you murmur, eyes still heavy with sleep.
he hums, rolling over and wrapping both arms around you, effectively holding you down. "now.. why would i do that when it's so nice and warm right here.." he mumbles, burying his face into your chest.
"because if you stay too long and leave when everyone's already up, how are you gonna explain being in the dorm room for a class you aren't a part of??" you say, exasperated, trying to squirm out of his grip, but you can't help the ghost of a smile on your face.
he only tightens his grip. "fuck that, i'm in the hero course now." he smiles, voice muffled by your chest.
"you wish." you snort, trying to push him off of you. "now let me go. seriously. you're gonna get in trouble."
reluctantly, with a sigh, he loosens his grip on you and rolls over, standing slowly and stretching his back out. his baggy black tee rides up slightly, revealing his lower back. jesus christ, even the most random parts of him are sexy. "i'll just brainwash whoever sees me first." he mutters, and despite it being unserious, you still respond.
"so how would you explain getting caught in the wrong dorm room, with one of my classmates brainwashed??" you grin, sitting up fully, adjusting your top and your pajama pants that have twisted slightly. he turns to you with a shrug. "say i got kidnapped or something, i dunno." he says in that blunt, soft tone of his.
you let out a breath through your nose, standing up slowly and stretching. "you're so dumb." he doesn't respond immediately, opting to wrap his arms around you from behind instead. "i am not. n'you love it." he murmurs, head dropping to your shoulder. you can't help but shut your eyes, relaxing in his grip.
"can't tell me to get up now. we're already standing." jesus, you can hear the smirk in his voice. "hitoshi, you need to leave now. how's that?"
he hums in faux contemplation, before responding. "and what if i took the risk? what are your classmates gonna do, anyways?" you scoff, trying to move around your room, but he's not letting go. he really is like a fucking cat. "they wouldn't do anything, but i'm sure mr aizawa would have your soul or something."
he scoffs, grinning. "aizawa loves me. m'not even in the hero course and i'm his favorite student." he says, finally letting go. you immediately walk over to your closet, grabbing out your uniform. "yeah, that's actually kinda wholesome when you forget about the fact that it's really fucking weird. you're like his son."
he laughs behind you, and the next thing you know he's turning you around to face him. "walk me out, at least? don't wanna get caught alone incase someone is up. plus you'll probably have a better excuse, since they're your classmates." he mutters, soft eyes staring into yours.
you huff, before mumbling a 'fine.' and grabbing his arm, slipping on your dorm shoes and opening your door quietly, checking the hall is clear before padding out into the open space, dragging him with you to the elevator.
the ride is short, per usual, and the both of you walk toward the kitchen to get to the door before stopping dead in your tracks.
sitting on one of the barstools is momo looking too put together at 6:40am, eyes widening as she sees the both of you. "momo, you're my friend. you cannot utter a word of this to anyone." she only rolls her eyes, nodding with a small smile. a relieved breath escapes your mouth, continuing to drag him along, a little sheepish this time.
the two of you reach the door, stepping out, wrapping your arms around yourself at the chilly morning air. "ok.. don't die, or whatever." you mumble, stepping away to the door, but not before he grabs your hand, pulling you back. you laugh, only able to get out a 'heyā' before his hands are on your waist, his lips on yours. it's a short kiss, and you know he's sheepish about things like that.
"see you at lunch rush?" he murmurs, as he pulls away.
12:45pm
you were hanging with kyoka and mina until the cafeteria hall was a little emptier. hitoshi had something to work on anyways, so you know you didn't keep him waiting. you finally make it into the hall, grabbing your food of choice before heading over to your usual corner. he's already sat there, in his own world, that naturally tired look [but beautiful nonetheless] on his face. he's flipping through a notebook of his, chewing on whatever food he's gotten, not having noticed you yet.
his eyes flit up to you, though, as he hears your tray clatter on the table when you sit down next to him. "what's that?" you tilt your head, eyes switching between the notebook and his face, in which a small smile has made it's way onto. "just training notes. m'still nowhere near up to speed with everyone in the hero course."
you move your hand toward the notebook, a 'may i?' gesture, to which he nods. you pull it toward you, flitting through the notes scribbled down in his messy handwriting. "i'd say you're doing pretty well. you're already set to join us next year, and fuckin' aizawa is mentoring you. plus you won against class B during joint training." you ramble, still flipping through the notes. they're detailed. it's genuinely heartwarming how devoted he is to this.
he shrugs, turning back to his food. he doesn't think he'll ever get used to how you see him. doing pretty well? he also lost a round of that joint training.
you eventually shut the book, pushing it back toward him. those notes have got aizawa written all over them, no pun intended. actually, hitoshi in general has got aizawa written all over him. you're proud of him. for staying determined to be a hero, for spending every moment of free time training for the hero course despite being a general studies student.
you don't even realize you've been staring until he pokes you in the shoulder, tilting his head. "what?"
you blink, before smiling. "you're kinda pretty."
he rolls his eyes, trying to hide the grin on his face. "eat your food."
you scoff, taking a bite of your food, but you continue speaking afterwards anyways. "i don't think lunch rush has ever been as full as it was when lunch started." he raises a brow. "yeah? what'd you do while i was finishing up my assignment?"
"was sitting outside with mina 'n kyoka." he nods, tilting his head. "how're ashido and kirishima?" you fake gag, earning a quiet laugh from hitoshi, before responding. "still going strong. it's hard to believe they were ever not dating."
he nods again, before smirking slowly. "and... jirou and kaminari?" you turn to him, eyes wide, and he knows full well he's started a rant.
"still on that "he's so dumb", "she's so annoying" bullshit. i've literally seen him genuinely enjoying life with her more than any of his other friends recently. they have to kiss or some shit soon otherwise i will genuinely kill myself out of frustration." you ramble, dead serious. because what the fuck??
he grins. you're definitely the yapper in this relationship. "oh yeah?"
"yes. even people from other classes thought they were together at first glance because of that dumb 'flirty-insulting' thing they have." you grumble, taking another bite.
"you know..." he starts, eyes flitting to you, that small smirk back on his lips. "we kinda got that... 'flirty-insulting' thing as well."
"exactly! and you woke up in my bed this morning. goes to show how much they need to fucking date."
the conversation flows so easily between you two, all the time. whether you're rambling about a plot point in that american show you've been binge watching, or he's talking about how training was yesterday, or you're asking him to finally teach you how to ride a fucking bike, or you're eating in silence. it's comfortable.
the both of you finish eating after about 20 minutes, deciding to walk around outside for the remaining 10 minutes before he has to go back to lesson and you have to get changed for training. you've fallen into step with eachother, hitoshi's hands in his pockets while one of yours comes up to fidget with your necklace.
he nods, eyes flitting down to you. you're so pretty it's unreal. he doesn't even know how he's walking here with you right now, allowed to call himself your boyfriend. he doesn't really know what love is supposed to feel like, but he knows it's past a crush when his heart sinks just by the thought of you in a bad mood and you're literally all he thinks about during the school day, so he's pretty sure love is what he feels for you. but he's not sure he can say that out loud yet.
"sounds good." is all he says. he's not shy, moreso reserved. and sarcastic. that side of him is so hot. but you like how he can be softer, and clingy around you. "meet me where we usually do."
3:15pm
the last few minutes of class were filled with upcoming training sessions, events, and what we need to improve on, presented by aizawa's harsh bluntness. the usual. and you were glad to leave because jesus, that matcha was calling your name.
you walked out quick, saying a few goodbyes and 'i'll see you back at the dorm!'s to your friends before exiting the main building, walking to the front bench by the student gates where you and hitoshi always been to go downtown. he's immersed in something on his phone, eyes flitting up instinctively when he hears the crunch of gravel under the pattern of footsteps he's learned as yours. "waited forever. thought you'd never show." he smirks, tilting his head.
you roll your eyes, making an effort to bump his shoulder as you walk past. he doesn't move a centimetre. "class ended five minutes ago, you baby. plus your ipad-kid ass seemed perfectly content staring down at your phone just now." you say, hooking your arm through his and starting to walk. he scoffs, pocketing his phone. "had to keep myself occupied somehow."
"it's not my fault your mentor likes to grill us on our progress and what we need to do for our upcoming training lessons." you grumble in faux annoyance, glancing up at him. he rolls his eyes dramatically, firing back with a; "at least you're not listening to cementos yap endlessly about fuckin' economics and the ideal way to be the 'heroes that keep society running'." he mocks in a stupid tone that makes you laugh, which makes him so happy.
"yeah, fair enough. you train willingly. can't blame you, though. i'd die in a general studies lesson." you shrug, and he nods. "you'd disintegrate."
the rest of the 20 minute walk downtown is filled with little remarks here and there, an occasional 'the sky is so pretty!!" or 'omg look at that stray cat over there' between the cracks until you turn a corner, past the small park and into sakae. you check your phone, your lips curling up. "25 minutes before they close. we're good."
you drag him up to the counter with you, taking note of his hand that slides around your waist as you order, the eyes of the lady at the counter flickering with recognition. you've been a regular here since the start of first year, and she's learned to expect him here with you in recent months.
you place your order ; matcha with strawberry foam, which hitoshi hates the tatse of but always asks for a sip anyways just to be annoying, and when you pull out your wallet, he physically smacks your hand away.
"toshiā" "nope." he cuts you off. you frown, watching him pull out his phone and tap it to the card reader, waiting for it to transact before handing you your drink, thanking the lady at the counter and walking out like that didn't just happen. you follow behind him, waving goodbye to the lady before catching up. "hitoshi, what the hell?" you grin, and he's already rolling his eyes.
"you always pay and i feel bad." he mutters, seeing your pretty smile. his eyes drop down to the drink, holding his hand out, eyes expectant.
you shoot him a playful glare. "you don't even like my matcha. m'not letting you fanum tax me this time." his jaw drops in faux-offence, scoffing. "even after i bought your drink and everything like a good boyfriend."
"heyā that was out of your own choice!" you laugh, and he smiles back at you.
the two of you walk back down to that little park you passed on the way to sakae, sitting down under one of the trees. you two have these little moments when you're both free, either using the time to talk and mess around or do your own thing.
it's both today, yourself immersed in a book while he pulls out his notebook and develops a few more notes and techniques, throwing around little comments in between. your eyes flit to him occasionally, the way he's so focused and gets lost in things so easily. his hand moves fast, jotting down potential ways to improve every part of his technique. it's cute.
the sun dips lower and lower in the sky and after about an hour and a half, you're both walking back to campus.
10:00pm
he's been hanging back at your dorm for a while now. he trained with aizawa for almost two hours after dropping you back at your dorm, getting a start on developing his fighting style with those notes he made before heading back, thankfully dropping in unnoticed and making his way to your dorm room.
you've already gotten ready for bed, settling in with him laying down next to you, forcing him to watch the show you've been binge-watching that he pretends to find annoying. eventually it gets later and since your alarm is set at the asscrack of fucking dawn again to make sure he gets up in time to go back to his own dorm, the both of you are about ready to fall asleep at 10:30.
one of his legs tangles with yours under the infamous layers of blankets, resting his head in one of his arms. he places a small kiss on your cheek, mumbling a quiet 'goodnight' which you return, moving closer to him.
a few beats of silence pass before he breaks it. "hey." he murmurs, and you peel your eyes open to be met with his tired ones staring right back at you. you hum, and you catch a flicker of hesitation behind his eyes before he replies.
"i love you."
guess it's not an 'ordinary' day after all. but you're so not complaining.
texts with hybrid readers: āiāve been gone for 10 minutes and this is what happensā
cw: theyāre all kinda airheads :( read the hybrid personalities to understand them better / goes in order of bambi, lamb, bunny (personality profile is unreleased as of current), and kitten
katsuki bakugou is a notoriously light sleeper. he also goes to bed relatively early, and tonight is no exception.Ā
youāre kind of banking on the former when you shift in bed to face him, a little after midnight.Ā
his eyes flutter open, brow creasing when your fingers gently trace the line of his jaw.Ā
your smile is almost enough to ward away the post-waking grumpiness.Ā
āhappy birthday, kacchan.āĀ
he wrinkles his nose, stifling a yawn. āitās late, whatāre ya doing?ā
āhow does it feel to have completed another year of being a top hero, smokinā hot public figure, world-class chef, weirdly inspiring personal motivator, frontliner in the sassy man apocalypse, aaand my favorite person in the whole world?ā
āfeels like i wanna go back to bed,ā he grumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck.Ā
āfair,ā you giggle softly, his nose tickling your collarbone. āany regrets?ā
he huffs, breath warm against hour skin. ātch. not wāyou.ā
āgood,ā you hum, hands carding through his hair. āspecial wishes?ā
ābesides more sleep?ā
ābesides more sleep,ā you agree, huffing out a little laugh.Ā
he pretends to think about it, voice muffled into your neck. his lips brush your skin when he speaks. ānothinā special. just you.ā
you beam into the dark, squeezing your arms around him.Ā
āand thai for dinner. the spicy kind. maybe cheesecake for dessert.ā
ādone and done.ā
itās quiet for a moment, nothing but the faint street noises and your mixed breathing filling the room. you think heās fallen back asleep until he speaks in a low murmur.Ā
āām really your favorite?ā
āin the whole damn world.ā
āhmph. good. now letās go back to bed.ā
āwhatever the birthday boy wants.ā
masterlists ā pngs and icon not mine, dividers by @/saradika-graphics ā i could proofread this but im not going to. silly thing to say happy birthday to The weirdo ever!! love and goodnight <33
Some believe that soulmates are destined partners, someone to nurtureāto love. Others treat them as an unwanted anchor, a reminder that one can never escape fate.Ā
So where did that leave you? As someone who avoids their soulmate altogether? As someone who fears their soulmate without having even met them?
A chance saving from the hot-n-cold hero whose name has followed you since birth. Ideas of peace are challenged, past regrets resurface, and you learn that soulmates may tether you in ways more than a mere mark on your skin.
soulmate mark š„§ 75% of the population is born with their soulmateās name inscribed on their skin. The inscriptionās hue changes upon first skin-to-skin contact with your soulmate.Ā
content š„§ fem pronouns/afab reader, soulmate marks, pro-heroes, villains, grief, angst, hurt/comfort, avoidance, fluff, pining, yearning, shoutoās kinda a flirt (or tries to be), shouto is mildly good at feelings, noodles, flowers, hospitals, books, reader is a bookstore owner, smut (optional to read)
warnings š„§ blood and injury, canon-typical violence, mentions of death, mentions of suicide (readerās mother), mentions of mental illness, grief, avoidance, overthinking/spiraling thoughts
Ėįƽ ŻĖĀ· ā chapters
1 ā saving and soba
2 ā heroes that live
3 ā oasis of comfort
4 ā upon a full moon
5 ā time never stopped, until you came
6 ā omniscience
7 ā wherever you are
ā¢ą„ā” smut scene ā takes place in ch7, optional to read
Ėįƽ ŻĖĀ· ā ending author's notes
tag ā #fic: marked in your heart
before you read: i'm aware that this shouto may not be the most nonchalant boy that we know and love. but i hope you come to like this version of yearning, desperate shouto as much as i do :) happy reading!
ā¤· pairing: pro-hero!bakugou x supermodel!reader.
ā¤· synopsis: the media doesn't know about your engagement to the pro-hero. but lucky for them!! your ring gives you away.
ā¤· cw: fem reader, established relationship, fluff, swearing (ofc).
ā¤· a/n: hi!! soo this is sorta based off how we found out my close personal friend zendaya n mister spiderman were engaged lol. semi proof read :D
the media doesn't even know you and bakugou are engaged until they catch a glimmering ring on your finger as you walk the red carpet at the fashion awards.
you looked absolutely divine and ethereal in a one of a kind, custom gown made by your favorite designer. makeup all sharp and perfect with hair styled beautifully. all that was on your mind was winning the model of the year award.
but the big ass stone on your ring finger had other plans. the jewel shined elegantly as you posed for the needy cameras, completely oblivious to the storm about to brew on social media. god bless your publicist.
bakugou had been more than willing to accompany you (even though he loathes red carpets) to the award show to support his wonderful soon-to-be wife, but you insisted he stay and "take care of business."
bakugou would usually facepalm at headlines about you two, but this one was different. it wasn't a cheating rumor or tales of an alleged breakup.
a flurry of headlines recited the same thing: SUPERMODEL YN AND PRO-HERO DYNAMIGHT REPORTEDLY ENGAGED?!
fuck.
you and bakugou were fairly private when it came to your relationship. all the media had to know was that you guys were together. and happy! nothing more, nothing less. so then how the hell did pop crave know about this?
bakugou sits up a little in his desk chair, eyes behind square frames squinting at the words on his screen.
"hah? how the fuckā" then he scrolls down, seeing the attached photo of you serving face on the carpet. any semblance of anger seeps away from bakugou like sand in an hourglass. a fond smile spreads on his face instantly just at the sight of the love of his life.
he clicks his tongue, zooming into the photo shamelessly. your dolled up face, the intricate lace on the corset of your gown, and the curves of your body he's held countless times. the dork can't get enough of you.
"you run that mouth of yours, pretty girl?" he murmurs to himself, already imagining you yapping it up with one of the red carpet journalists.
then his eyes catch it, the expensive rock on your finger he proposed with weeks ago. it's almost hard to miss. now he gets it.
"fuckin' nosy ass idiots." bakugou huffs, shaking his head as he smiles beside himself. a quiet part of him loved people knowing you were his girl.
and y'know he's expecting a longgg facetime call from you once you're back in your hotel room, excitedly recounting the events of the night with a hello kitty face mask and silk robe on and your model of the year award in the back.
