Part 1 of ‘Night Shift Love’ series. - Read here on AO3
Summary: When you started your internship at PTMC, that’s when you first laid eyes on Jack Abbot. Grey curls and all soft crinkles when he smiled. Trying so hard to keep up the tough veteran exterior. Falling for him was the easy part, sneaking around to keep it from your older brother, Robby? That’s the hard part. <3
Warnings: Language, Medical Inaccuracies, age-gap relationship, angst.
Word Count: 9k+
Author’s Note: Long time no see !! i have officially dove back into the pitt fandom now that season two has started !! enjoy this little (aka longest fic i’ve ever written) of jack because i’m down bad for him. <3
Waking up for night shifts at PTMC never got any easier. The warmth of the bed and temptation of more sleep clung to you like cellophane. The quietness of your mostly empty apartment didn’t help, the silence only making your eyes grow heavier in protest. Being in your own apartment was something that had become increasingly rare, and it somehow felt almost wrong to you now; being there without him.
Sleeping always came easier when you were in his apartment, wrapped up in a comforter that smelled like him, musky and soft and warm. The city streets and sounds of cars driving by always a little noisier over there; almost like a white noise machine. Waking up midday after a long shift tangled up with him, all soft skin and freckles and security. It felt more like home now.
Still, you knew he needed space when he had a shift and you didn’t, despite his protests that he slept better with you there. You’d both probably agree on that. There was something so domestic and intimate; delicate, about waking up with his arms wrapped around you. Fingers laced together as his thumb rubbed soft circles over your knuckles. Stillness that was rare in your lives that could be so hectic.
That’s really where you wanted to be right now.
You reminded yourself just one more shift, and then you’d have two days off. Even when it was difficult; there was something about the night shift that you loved. Maybe it was getting to see the sunrise every morning, the different chaos that came into the ED at night, or the fact that you got to go home to him and climb into bed when everyone else’s day was just starting.
With your backpack slung over your shoulder you ventured out into the brisk winter air. Two bagged lunches and your water bottle weighing the bag down, the strap digging in just enough for the need to be readjusted. Navy blue scrubs clung to your skin as you hurried through the busy Pittsburgh streets, thankful for remembering your winter coat.
The winter cold almost made your breath hitch in your throat at the sudden contrast from the warmth inside. The sun was just starting to go down, warm orange and pink hues painting the sky. You made good time, watching the city night life that was just beginning around you. The few snowflakes that started to fall and stick to your jacket. It was simple things like these that made you enjoy the night shift too.
The signs for PTMC soon came into view, the bright light of the emergency room sign welcoming you as you slipped in; passing by some day shift workers completing their shift change. The waiting room was mostly empty, just enough people to keep a steady flow. The ED warmth brushed over you, wiping the pinkness from your cheeks. You reached the reception hub, Dana’s blonde hair coming into view as she finished off her shift.
“Heya, darlin! How are ya?”, She smiled that familiar smile that had quickly become so comforting when you first started at PTMC.
You sighed with a breathy laugh; “Ready for the weekend.”
“Amen to that”, She says, typing a few last minute things on the computer, looking back up at you over her glasses with a smirk; “He’s looking for you.”
Your bottom lip slipped between your teeth in an attempt to keep the smile from forming on your lips, but it did no good. The lights of the locker room buzzed above you, your eyes squinting as you put your bag away. The board above the hub was calling your name, patients and cases written across it. Each case varied, some trauma, some extremely minor. Anything from a simple cut, to head trauma, or internal bleeding. You rubbed your hand down your face before clapping them both together.
“Right, first; coffee.”
The break room was in sight, so close you could almost taste the coffee.
Then, a hand was suddenly on your arm, pulling you into a different break room, a small yelp escaping your lips, followed by the door swiftly being shut behind you.
“Hey! What’re you-“
A quiet “shh!” interrupted you with a breathy chuckle, the familiar smell of cedar and aftershave filling your nose as you let out a sigh.
“Jumpy tonight?”, Jack’s already smiling down at you with that smile only you get to see, his big hands finding your waist and pulling you closer.
His face is nuzzled into your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses until he reaches your jaw before pulling back.
“Only when I’m being kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped is a strong word…”
Your hands found his shoulders, broad and strong; yet a little heavy and tense with the weight of the shift before him.
“Think anyone would pay the ransom?” He’s laughing softly now.
“I’d just come back, anyways.”
“I’d let you.”
His lips find yours, soft and slow and warm in a way you would never tire of. The taste on your tongue so uniquely him.
You let your eyes wander his face, taking in every detail as if it was the first time all over again. Soft hazel eyes, the faint wrinkles by his eyes, his dimples, the slight scruff on his chin.
“I missed you”, His warm breath hitting your face.
You hum in response, running a finger along his jaw. His lips are on your neck again, a laugh escaping as he gently bites at your jaw. Your fingers find their way to his hair, playing with the red and grey curls that had grown a little longer than he usually let them.
“Your hair’s getting so long at the back, you’re starting to look like Whitaker”, You teased, tugging on some of the wisps at the nape of his neck.
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that”, He says, feigning annoyance as you slap his chest.
“Want me to trim it for you? I used to do Robby’s all the time”, An offer so mundane it makes his chest ache.
A laugh escapes him like he couldn’t keep it in if he tried; “You mean Robby looks like that on purpose?”
“Wait until I tell him you said that.”
You try to turn in his grip, ready to start on some coffee when he pulls you back in.
“Already started it for you, sweetheart”, His forehead resting against yours.
A sigh; “What would I do without you?”
He doesn’t answer, shaking his head as it falls back slightly, exposing his neck. Every inch of you wanting to bite and kiss at it the same way he was doing to you.
“You coming over tonight?”, His voice low and husky.
“Sure you won’t be too tired? You’re working a double.”
“Never too tired for you”, He’s leaning down to kiss you again, humming softly against your skin; “I’m thinking takeout, share a shower, and then sleep for two days.”
A half laugh, half sigh from you in agreement; “That sounds amazing.”
You step out of his arms when the coffee finishes brewing, pulling two cups out and filling them up, keeping his black and bitter; just the way he likes it.
“I just have to swing by my apartment after work and grab a few things”, You tell him, popping the lid on his cup and holding it out to him.
He hums in acknowledgement, bringing the cup to his lips before dramatically rolling his eyes back and bending his knees; “Best cup of coffee i’ve ever had.”
Your hand smacks his chest again before you can stop it, being pulled in for another kiss by the waist, the taste of coffee now mingling on his mouth; warmth brewing from the inside. The sudden sound of the doorknob makes him back away, eyes flicking towards the door just as Robby, who’s apparently also working a double; sticks his head in.
“Hey, incoming MVC trauma. ETA about five minutes…”, He’s looking between the two of you with his brow raised; “What’s going on?”
You shake your head, holding up your cup; “Coffee.”
It was partly true.
“Dr. Abbot was just telling me about one of his cases from earlier”, You lie. Your brother squints his eyes, thankfully accepting the answer without suspicion, or if he hadn’t, he doesn’t say anything.
He’s standing up straight, his figure mostly inside the room, but still blocking the doorway, peering at the two of you over his reading glasses. He looks between the two of you, eyes flicking back and forth before he speaks;
“Trauma, five minutes.” Then he’s on the move again, leaving the doorway empty.
You sigh, letting your body fall against Jack’s again. You can feel the vibrations in his chest as he laughs, resting his chin ontop of your head.
“He’s gonna give me an aneurism”, Your voice is muffled by Jack’s scrub top.
“More like we’re gonna give him one.”
You let your arm wrap around his torso, hand running back and forth over his ribs; “Gloria’s already given him at least three.”
Jack’s chest vibrates in a laugh again, his hand gently rubbing circles on your back, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You pat his ribs three times, standing up straight again.
“Alright Dr. Abbot, work time”, The words barely leave your lips, Jack watching you with nothing but fondness in his eyes, like he wants to say something; but the sound of gurney’s rushing through the floor cuts you both off.
“Right on time”, Jack says, before you’re both running out to assist.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
Your relationship with your brother had always been good. You’d grown up a little under his shadow as he was pretty much started med school as you were growing up. He always looked out for you, staying in touch when he started working at PTMC. You talked on the phone daily and had always been really close; and when you completed med school and moved into the city with him? He was right there taking you under his wing again. He welcomed you with open arms to PTMC, you starting out as an intern. That’s when you first met Jack.
You still remember his slowly greying curls, the lights reflecting perfectly off his face; creating a strong shadow that made his jaw sharper. The way he looked so serious all the time, but when he smiled at you, it was the biggest smile he could muster. It was welcoming, adorable even. He had your breath catching before your first shift even started. But still he knew, you were Robby’s younger sister. At first, he was just your brother’s best friend, a mentor, someone else to help you learn and teach as your internship went on. Things started to shift when your residency started, joining him for rounds on the night shift.
You spent every shift together, him hovering over you as he talked you through a procedure; his big hand over yours as he guided you. There was a different side of him when he was around you; he was softer, more gentle and patient. His eyes softened every time he saw you, his heart hammering against his chest and ribcage.
But still, you were Robby’s younger sister. The fact always popped in his mind like an alarm each time you’d be alone long enough together during a shift. Taking breaks together and talking over coffee, the lingering gentle touches as he maneuvered around you. The attraction growing stronger. It started building up inside both of you, bound to snap at some point. Surely it was only a matter of time before the restraint cracked between you.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
The hope you had for an easy shift after you saw the mostly empty waiting room earlier was quickly forgotten as a steady flow of traumas came in. Ambulance after ambulance, everyone moving in twelve different directions. You swore you hadn’t stopped moving since getting your cup of coffee when you had first arrived.
The sound of fast footsteps were approaching behind you, Robby coming in hot with a gurney as he read out the patient’s chart.
“Male, mid thirties, Motorcycle MVC; compound fracture of tibia in left leg. Minor head lac, possible spinal injury; c-collar placed until CT scan.”
You turn to follow Robby when another gurney comes up behind you, this time pushed by Jack.
“Trauma room 6. Male, mid twenties, Motorcycle MVC; pedestrian hit. Dislocated jaw or possible fracture. Severe head trauma, no pupil response; possible brain bleed. Need imaging immediately, and call up to the OR!”, You hear Jack’s words as you spin around, unsure where to go.
You make eye contact with Robby, who nudges his head for you to follow Jack. It makes sense, Robby’s patient is closer to being stable, Jack’s however; will need all hands on deck. Quickly tying a gown on you rush into Trauma 6, slipping gloves on and sliding in between Jack and Dr. Walsh. The patient being transferred off the gurney lets a loud smack echo through the room, you pale slightly at the amount of blood on the sheets. Breath caught in your throat, eyes almost watery, feeling like you need to stable yourself. Blood didn’t normally bother you. But this much blood? It had you reeling in the heaviness of the situation.
Suddenly your name is being called, pulling you out of your trance; your head whipping over in the direction it came from.
“You ok, kid?”, It’s Jack.
You swallow. Hard. But nod with uncertainty anyways.
“I’m good. Where do you need me?”
He’s calling out orders again, pulling you over to assist you through resetting the patient’s jaw. He’s trying to stop the bleeding when a nurse comes in.
“OR is ready for you.”
Jack wastes no time, rushing the bed and patient out of the room and towards the elevators. You step forward to help him, but he stops you.
“You stay here. Walsh and I have this, go help Robby”, Then he’s gone.
Normally, you’d be upset. Feel like you’re missing out on helping with a good case; but you saw the fear and worry in his eyes. Even still as you’re making your way over to help Robby, all you find yourself worrying about is Jack.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
The night everything changed with Jack came unexpectedly. A night shift that had been slow, dare you almost say q-word. Four a.m. rolled around, and suddenly it was chaos. A trauma pile up, three critically injured veterans. The team tried everything they could, the first two coded within the hour, no amount of resuscitation was enough. The third hung on a while longer, but when that monitor started to beep, something changed in Jack.
He was more determined than ever, eyes dark and movements frantic. He had to save one, at least one. He wasn’t going to let this man die too. He had nurses pumping air into the patient’s lungs, more hands on standby; but he wasn’t moving from his spot. He was going to do it, it had to be him, he had to make things right.
You watched with wide eyes when you entered the trauma room with Robby in tow, Jack delivering chest compression after chest compression. His brow sheening with sweat, his gown covered in blood. You knew his arms were burning, knew he was tired, but still he didn’t stop. His eyes briefly flicked to you as he called out for more help, more oxygen, more blood; his hands still pumping against the patient’s chest hard enough to break a rib.
Monitor’s beeped, machine alarms blaring, the sound of flatlining. Yet Jack still didn’t stop. A few “cmon!”’s were gritted through his teeth, face red with exertion. It had to be going on an hour of it. But he refused to stop. Even when Robby called out to him.
Once. Twice.
The third time wasn’t so soft.
“Dr Abbot”, Robby’s voice was stern, not mean but grounding, cutting through all the noise.
Jack finally looked up, eyes wide and glassy.
“Get some air”, Robby told him.
Then Jack was ripping his gown and gloves off in a huff, throwing them down as he headed for the door; “T.O.D. 5:45.” It was grunted out, he didn’t even look back, trauma room door swinging shut behind him. Nobody in the ED asked questions as he passed, they just knew. Robby’s hand was gently on your back, guiding you over towards the patient.
“Let’s get this area cleaned up. We’ll find him later.”
You both knew finding Jack now would only escalate the situation. He needed a moment to himself to do just what Robby had sent him to do, get some air; breathe. Seeing Jack upset never got easier. It didn’t happen very often, and when it did he usually kept it hidden inside. Only a stone hard face and exterior, short responses and his body on autopilot gave it away. But the sadness and pain in his eyes as he left the room replayed in your head over and over. The exhaustion, the brief flicker of failure in his eyes, like he couldn’t believe he hadn’t been able to bring the patient back. It made something inside you crack open. Made your heart clench and your breath catch. Jack had seen a lot in his career, saved a lot of people, lost a few patients like everyone else, but this? This broke him.
You found him on the roof about an hour later, the cool evening Pittsburg air surrounding you. He stood in the same spot he always did, the other side of the railing, dangerously close to the edge. He didn’t move at the sound of the roof door snapping shut behind you, or when your footsteps got closer. He just stood still like he always does, hands in his pockets, distant look in his eyes like he wasn’t fully present.
“You know”, You start, trying to break the quiet, “Grubhub doesn’t deliver to the roof.”
He doesn’t look at you, but you can see his shoulders twitch. You stole his own line he once used on Robby to now use against him. You wondered how it sounded, landing on his ears now instead of leaving his own lips. The cold metal of the bar railing hit your fingers as you grasped it, stepping up next to him.
“It’d be kinda rude if you jumped on my shift”, You say, stealing your brother’s words this time.
He still doesn’t respond, a beat goes by and then;
“At least do a cool flip or something, if you absolutely have to.”
That got a small upturn at the corners of his mouth, a deep breath leaving through his nose. He looked down at his feet, shifting his weight, his prosthetic screaming to be taken off.
Finally, he speaks; “What are you doing up here, kid?”
You don’t hesitate; “Looking for you.”
He finally turns to look at you, face tired, making him look a little older. His eyes almost sunken and empty, dark circles encapsulating them. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you, like he’s taking you in for the first time, studying your movements or lack thereof.
“Robby send you up here?”, He asks.
You shake your head; “No. He doesn’t even know I came up here.”
That makes something unreadable flash across his face, his eyes suddenly a little softer, like he’d realized something for the first time. Like something had knocked the wind out of him, hit him hard enough to make a difference. You watched him finally duck under the railing with a sigh, coming back onto the side that was safer; finally letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.
He’s looking at his feet now, hands back in his pockets as he leans against the railing, shaking his head slightly; “Those vets down there survived two tours, multiple deployments and a fucking car wreck is what gets them.”
You don’t say anything. You can’t. You know he’s not done. You know he needs the silence.
You can’t see the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but you see the way his chest and shoulders shake as he tries to take a breath in, the way he bites at his lower lip before looking anywhere but you, the early morning sun shining in his eyes.
“I couldn’t even save one of them”, It’s quiet, he says it flatly, voice quivering.
“Jack…”, You don’t give him a chance to respond before your wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in and letting him just feel your presence there; ground him as much as you can.
His hands eventually find your back, his cheeks pressed to your shoulder as he buries his face in your neck; but he’s still there. Still breathing; still Jack. You let him take as long as he needs, and eventually you hear him sniffle, feel his head leave your shoulder; suddenly feeling bare and cold without his warmth.
“Jesus”, He mutters, still not looking at you; “M’sorry.”
“Don’t”, You tell him, “Don’t do that, Jack.”
Your hands cup his face before you can stop yourself, forcing him to look at you. He instinctively leans into the touch, the warmth, the fact that he hasn’t been this close to anyone in years, let alone felt anyone else’s hands on him except maybe a dying patient.
“You did nothing wrong”, He scoffs, tries to look away again, but you don’t let him; “You did everything you could. Nobody could’ve done any better, do you hear me?”
His eyes flick to yours, a shaky breath and then a slow nod. You find yourself bringing him closer, forehead now resting against his. Keeping him close, more intimate than you’d ever been with each other. But the feelings were there, you both knew that. His gaze drops to your lips for a brief moment before his hand trails up to the back of your neck, holding you steady. You can feel his warm breath on your face as he leans in.
“Tell me to stop”, He says, leaning closer; “and i’ll stop.”
You shake your head; “Please don’t.”
Then his lips are on yours, once briefly, like he’s testing to make sure it’s ok, before coming back full force. It’s longer, more passionate, more real and grounding. It’s all lips and soft skin, not rushed just searching, trying to be as close as you could possibly be to each other. Your fingers find the curls at his nape, threading through them as you feel his shoulders relax in front of you, air leaving his nose.
When he pulls back his forehead stays resting against yours, his eyes staying closed for a moment like he’s savoring it, or like he’s afraid if he opens his eyes like this will all disappear. You can feel his lashes fluttering open briefly against your skin.
“Thank you”, He says, voice hoarse and quiet; “For finding me. For staying.”
You smile up at him softly; “I’m not going anywhere, not as long as you’ll let me stay.”
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
Since then it had been quiet moments snuck between you two; early breakfast at a diner after your shifts when they aligned. He’d walk you home, make sure you get inside safe. Eventually he’d drive you to his place where you’d stay the night for the first time; wrapped up in his warmth and the smell of whiskey and cedar that’s so uniquely him.
Nobody knew except Dana, but she caught on quick. She noticed the lingering glances towards each other across the ER, the way Jack’s hand always found your back or an excuse to gently touch you, like it helped him stay upright. She noticed him bringing you breakfast or coffee or how you sometimes arrived to work suspiciously close in time; one right after the other.
“You and Abbot, huh?”, She nudged you one day.
You opened your mouth, eyes wide but no words came out.
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything”, She gently puts a hand on your shoulder and leans in closer; “Keep it up. You make him really happy.”
That made your cheeks turn pink, small smile on your lips as you found the silver haired man across the room, his head tilting with his own smile when he makes eye contact; like he was asking why you were smiling like that.
Even still, through all the good, as you stood next to Robby helping him with his patient after Jack had told you to stay, you feel a twinge of guilt for keeping it from him. He’s your older brother after all. But he’s also Jack’s oldest friend, and very overprotective when it came to you. Neither of you knew your kiss on the roof would turn into you practically living at his place just a few months later. Besides, you were scared of how Robby would react.
“Kiddo, you with me?”, It’s Robby’s voice pulling you back to the present. Looking up at you with brows raised from where he’s crouched over a patient.
You nod about to say something before he speaks again; “We need to intubate and get him up for a CT scan. You’re gonna intubate.”
You follow his directions, getting the patient up to CT within fifteen minutes; and finally, the ER seems to settle back into the familiar early morning lull. There’s a half an hour left to your shift, and all you want is to find Jack; having not seen him since he took his patient up to the OR.
Robby’s hands stop you from reaching the hub, pulling you with him into a corner of the hallway that’s eerily empty.
“What’s going on with you today?”, He’s straight to the point.
“What?- Nothing i’m fine.”
“Fine? You were in lala land for like five minutes back there. I called your name twice”, He’s looking at you sternly now, bending his knees to be at eye level with you.
“I just have a lot on my mind, sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“You’re right. You have two days off”, He says, clapping a hand on your shoulder; “Go home, sleep, refuel. We need you present.”
You nod, eyes still wandering around looking for Jack as Robby leans down again.
“You sure you’re ok?”
You force a dry laugh; “Robby, i’m fine. Quit going big brother on me.”
“I was going for more of my attending voice, but ok”, His hands are in his pockets now, smiling at you as he finally goes to walk away; “I mean it, rest.”
You shoo him with your hand, laughing as you watch him turn and disappear down the hallway; “Love you!”, you call after him, receiving a thumbs up from around the corner in return.
You turn to find Dana smiling at you, and quickly make your way over to the hub before anyone else can grab you.
“Where’s Jack?”, Your fingers grasping the end of the desk.
“Getting some air”, She says, pulling her glasses off her face; “Figured you’d go after him.”
A few minutes later you’re on that familiar rooftop, the air chillier now than it had been all those months ago. This time, Jack’s on the safe side of the railing; hands still in his pockets as he looks out at the sun rising.
“Hey old man”, You start, “Ready to go home?”
He spins around, offering a face of fake defensiveness; “Oh I know you’re not talking about me.”
But still, he’s smiling, adjusting the stethoscope around his neck as he makes his way towards you, sneaking a hand around your waist. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment as he takes you in.
“Where do you want dinner from?”, He finally asks, laughing when it gets you jumping giddily.
“Oh I think you know”, You answer, making him roll his eyes as you reach the roof door.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
You find yourself outside the door of Jack’s apartment an hour later after stopping to get some things from home; not even bothering to knock and using your spare key to let yourself in.
The smell of your favorite food hits you immediately as you set your bag down and slip your shoes off. The living room is empty, tv blaring some recap of the nights baseball game earlier in the evening. You step further in, almost flopping on the couch when a familiar voice hits your ears.
“Thought I heard you come in.”
You turn and find Jack standing in the hallway, chest bare and grey sweats hanging low on his hips, hands above his head on the doorframe, hair tousled like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times since he got home. You couldn’t help but take him in. All strong muscles and tan skin, freckles coating every inch of his shoulders. The way he’s just soft enough in the midsection that his hips squish a little against his waistband. Every vein in his arms popping out.
Stepping in front of him you find your arms around his torso again, one hand resting on his ribs like it had earlier in the break room. He lets one hand come down onto your back, kissing the top of your head. Like the hour you were gone was an eternity for him. Like he was saying he missed you without using any words.
“You hungry?”, His voice comes out a little tired.
“I’m starving.”
He’s moving then, standing up straight and taking you with him; “Eat and shower after?” Like he’s checking it’s still ok.
You don’t answer, just let him take your hand, guiding you to the kitchen. The idea of a warm shower with him sending adrenaline and anticipation through your veins. No matter how many times you’d done it, it would always make you anxious in the best possible way. Like you couldn’t wait to just sit there with him in the warmth, his strong arms around you as you wind down after a long day.
Dinner was quiet, both of you too hungry and tired to really share a conversation. But you enjoyed those quiet moments; no expectations or having to fake being ok or more awake than you really were. Just the two of you, good food, and whatever channel Jack had landed on playing softly in the background.
You clean up when you finish, you always do, despite Jack’s protests. Padding your way back the hallway you find him in his room when you’re done; down to just his boxers, shower warming up in the background. Still, you don’t really say anything, just let him help you out of your scrubs, tossing them to the hamper for later. Your laundry had begun to mingle with his at this point, not planned, just happening; just the two of you slowly filling each other’s lives.
When you followed him into the shower you dropped your head back in relief at the warm water, letting him pull you down into his lap. For a moment you just let the water wash over the two of you, soothing aching muscles and tired bones. His hands find their way to your head, washing your hair gently before you turn to do the same for him. You use his shampoo, something he secretly loved but would never tell you out loud. When the water ran cold he helped you back out, whatever t-shirt of his he’d grabbed hanging loosely on you.
He let you rub a towel through his curls, fluffing a little as they dried, silver almost turning into something warm under the lights as they dried. He slid into his own sleep shorts before making his way into bed, propping his prosthetic against the nightstand. You exit the bathroom a few minutes later, hair mostly dry and pulled up.
Jack’s lying on his side, blankets pulled up to his waist; arm outstretched to you. You don’t hesitate, crawling in after him and letting him pull you close in his arms. He sighs when you’re finally there, like everything is ok in his world now that you’re there. Like he can’t bear to be apart.
“M’sorry for today”, He says, voice low as you look up at him; “For making you stay down with Robby.”
You twist in his arms a little bit, searching for his eyes.
“I just didn’t want you to see that. Which is silly I know, you’re a doctor but…part of me forgets that sometimes, still wants to protect you from seeing certain things. I don’t wanna see you upset”, He explains, and god you could melt right there.
You weren’t mad at him when he’d told you to stay, not really, just more worried about him.
“I know, baby”, You tell him, cupping his cheek; “M’not mad. Just worried about you taking on too much.”
He scoffs a laugh; “Me? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Your hand smacks his chest gently, making him laugh as he looks down at you. You let it get quiet again before speaking;
“I just want you to be ok”, It’s soft, but heavy enough to settle in his chest; “Are you?”
He pulls you closer, chin resting on your head before his cheek takes its place; “You make me ok.”
It goes quiet again, just the sound of his even breathing, you think he’s asleep and then;
“Move in with me.”
You shoot up to look at him, eyes wide, your hands on his chest; “What?”
“Move in with me.”
He says it with a simple shrug of his shoulders, like it’s the easiest thing in the world; “You’re already here half the time anyway.”
You let your forehead fall to his chest, hand resting against his warm skin.
“Baby you know I’d love that more than anything…”
“But?”, He asks, raising his eyebrows.
You’re sighing again, voice a little quieter now; “I don’t wanna do anything big until we tell Robby.”
You can feel his exhale into your hair, hand rubbing your arm softly; “That’s ok, sweetheart.”
“Just wait until rotations are over, then we’ll tell him, ok?”
Jack’s already nodding against you, sensing your apprehension and possibly guilt, kissing your temple; “Whenever you’re ready, kid. I’m just fine right here with you.”
You lift your head to find his eyes again, running a hand through his soft curls, never wanting to leave. Everything felt right in his arms. Eyes growing heavy and ready to sleep for two days.
“Get some sleep”, He tells you, “I’ll be right here.”
You tilt your head up further, letting his lips meet yours softly, warmth and safety spreading between the two of you.
“Goodnight, baby”, You murmur against his chest.
His cheek finds your head again, hands rubbing circles on your back; “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
The next shift doesn’t go as planned, you and Jack working opposite shifts, you decided to come in a little early so they’d overlap at least a little bit, so you could see him before he went home to bed.
It was mostly calm, another rare lull sweeping through the ED until the waiting room started to fill up. It got louder as you moved from patient to patient, stopping to chat with Dana as she came in for her shift.
“Don’t you ever go home?”, She asks, smirking and knowing why you’re here early.
“Oh sometimes”, You say, “I run on spite.”
She scoffs; “Don’t we all, hon.”
Suddenly the noise from the waiting room picks up, growing louder and more hectic. You can hear shouting, both of your heads turning towards the commotion. You can hear a familiar voice; loud and firm but not yelling, not yet. You head towards it as soon as it registers in your brain, Dana hot on your heels.
You arrived just in time to see Jack with his hands up, trying his best to talk down an angry patient who’s a little bigger than him, a little taller. Full of rage. Then the man swings his fist back, hitting Jack right in the nose. He doesn’t fall, but stumbles backwards, grabbing a chair to steady himself. Security guards are on the man before you can blink, trying their best to deescalate the situation. The man’s yelling back, trying to pull his arms out of their grip when his elbow connects with Jack’s face again.
The sound is sickening; this time, Jack’s on the floor. You don’t care anymore; your feet are moving before you can stop them, crouching down beside Jack and cupping his head.
“Dana! We need a trauma room!”, She’s already moving before you finish your sentence.
You look back at Jack, blood from his nose all over his face, a large gash on his forehead.
“Jack”, You say, patting his face; “Jack baby, open your eyes for me.”
You’re tapping his cheek gently when he groans, peeling his eyes open to look up at you; “Hey sweetheart, fancy meeting you here.”
You huff a laugh and drop your head to his chest, smiling as relief flooded through you; “I hate you.”
“That why you’re leaning next me on the floor?”
He’s smiling up at you despite the ringing in his ears, a hand going up to his face before you reach out and grab his wrist, stopping him.
“Don’t touch, Dana’s getting help.”
That makes him roll his eyes despite the searing pain that shoots through his head as he does, forcing himself to sit up despite your protests.
“Stay down until she gets here, you might’ve hit your head”, You tell him. He groans again.
Dana’s back by your side, helping you get Jack to his feet on the count of three. A grunt and he’s up, letting you help him walk back towards the room Dana had prepared; both of you on either side of him, holding his arms to keep him upright. You both knew he’d never agree to a wheelchair, hell the entire ED knew.
When you get close enough to the hub, Robby comes into sight, doing a double take from behind his glasses when he sees the sight in front of him, already practically running towards you.
“Jesus christ-“ His hands hover over Jack’s face, looking him up and down; “What the hell happened?”
“I’m fine”, Jack grumbles, “Angry patient, that’s all.”
Robby doesn’t respond to him, instead he jumps into full doctor mode, looking around for any interns or med students that could help.
“Get him to a room. Order a head CT scan, see if anything’s broken. We need to stop the bleeding, reset the nose if needed. He needs stitches for that lac”, Robby briefly pointing to Jack’s head, a sigh coming from his lips as he follows the three of you to a room.
He stands in the doorway as you help Jack get into the bed, hands on his hips before taking a seat and wheeling over to him, shining his pen light in his eyes.
Jack winces and pulls back, closing his eyes; “Jesus, Robby-“
“Shut up, i’m checking you for a concussion”, Robby shuts him down, light going from left to right and then back; “Pupils reactive, which is good.”
He says it like you aren’t all doctors or nurses. Robby gently touches up and down Jack’s face, pressing softly with his thumbs, checking for fractures. Jack winces when Robby’s reaches around his nose; “Fucking hell-“
Robby sits back on his chair; “Definitely a CT scan, he’s got a facial fracture in there somewhere, if not his nose too.”
Jack groans, protesting again; “A CT really? I’m fine-“
“Jack, you are not fine”, You interrupt him; “You got hit in the head twice, and have more red on your face than flesh. Quit being stubborn and let us do our jobs.”
He shuts up with a sigh after that. Almost saying a “yes ma’am.” You don’t get stern with him often, but when you did, he knew it was serious. Jack lets his head fall back against the pillows with another groan, staring at the ceiling above him; the distant hum of movement in the ED filling his ears.
Eventually it’s just the two of you again, Robby stepping out to check on other patients, Dana standing in the hub. You’re cleaning up Jack’s face as gently as you can, purple and blue already starting to form on his face. He winces and tries to pull away, but your hand on the back of his head stops him.
“Stop moving, the head bleeds a lot”, You say, more as a statement.
“I know that”, he says, almost laughing, like you weren’t about to do shift handoffs twenty minutes ago.
It’s quiet between the two of you then, too quiet. Him trying his best to stay still, you trying to get his stitches done nicely so they won’t scar. The air in the room feels charged between you. You’re finishing up the sutures above his brow when he speaks.
“You mad at me?”, He asks, it’s quiet and barely there, but the way he’s looking into your eyes make him look like a lost puppy.
“I’m not mad Jack”, You sigh, adding another stitch; “Just-“
You pause for a moment, placing a bandage over his finished sutures before dropping your gloved hands into your lap; “You can’t do that! What if security hadn’t been able to stop him? What if he’d had a weapon? I can’t lose you, Jack. I can’t-“
His hands come up to cup your face, resting the unwounded part of his forehead against yours. You can hear him breathing, feel his breathing; soft yet calloused thumb rubbing your cheek.
“Hey, hey…”, There’s a soft kiss to your cheek, his chin briefly sitting on your head before he looks into your eyes again; “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
He sees the tears in your eyes, threatening to spill, and it’s all he can do to keep himself composed, stay strong for you. Not show that he might’ve been a little scared himself.
“I’m right here, ok?”, He adds, pulling you closer; “You’re stuck with me.”
You huff a wet laugh, finally tilting your head all the way up to look at him as he pulls you in for a kiss. Still soft and warm, but something more protective and firm underneath it. All you can hear is the distant voices of patients and monitors beeping, footsteps on the floor, and then;
“What the fuck?”, Robby’s voice.
You both spin around, eyes wide and stunned. He’s almost scowling, hands on his hips as he looks between the two of you, anger and disbelief flashing behind his eyes.
“Robby-“ He cuts you off with a hand.
“Jesus fuck, just what we needed huh? Can’t just have an injury no, let’s have an HR case too!”
His voice grumbles through the room; “You’re fucking around, huh? How long?”
“Robby it’s not like that-“, He cuts Jack off too.
“Shut up, Abbot”, It’s sharp, cutting through the air like a knife; “How long?”
“Couple of months”, You answer, so quiet it might’ve been missed if the room wasn’t so silent.
By now Dana and a few other colleagues had formed behind the curtain, looking in with wide eyes.
Robby’s eyebrows go to his hairline, but his eyes don’t change. He looks like he’s searching for words; “You’re gonna throw everything away for him?”, it’s like venom, he doesn’t mean it, your name leaving his lips in a huff; “Should’ve known something was up after seeing you in the break room the other day.”
“Robby!”, His name leaves your lips in a warning tone, defending Jack. Even against your big brother, you’d stick up for him no matter what. Robby doesn’t see the side of him you do.
Jack’s on his feet, hand resting on your shoulder; “Robby-“
Robby’s hands grab the collar of Jack’s shirt pushing back up against the wall; “You stay away from her, you hear me? Stop screwing around with her-“
“Robby, I’m not just fucking around!”, Jack’s voice is louder, stronger now; “It’s more than that…it’s-“
“It’s what?”
“I love her!”
Silence. The weight in the air heavy, Robby drops Jack’s collar, his face neutral as he steps back, looking between the two of you. He’s storming out before another word can be added.
“Robby wait!”, You call after him, but he keeps moving.
You turn back to Jack, heart thrumming in your chest, tears threatening to spill; “You love me?”
He looks exhausted, eyes still wide, the bruises on his face darker now. But still, there’s a soft smile toying at his lips. He reaches out to you, grabbing your hand gently and pulling you up against him, his hands going to your waist.
“I- yeah”, He clears his throat; “I love you. I’m in love with you.”
Your breath catches, tears spilling now, all you can do is smash your lips into his, careful enough not to hurt him, but strong enough he knows you mean it. Your fingers find the grey curls at his nape, tugging him closer. When you pull back and find his eyes they’re blown wide, searching your face like he’s seeing you for the first time again.
“I love you too, Jack.”
He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for way too long. His lips are on yours again, Robby’s confrontation momentarily forgotten. Outside, Dana’s hands are clasped together with a knowing smile, and Shen’s handing Trinity fifty bucks, offering an eye roll of defeat as he sips on the last of his iced coffee.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
Later, when Jack’s finally upstairs for his CT scan, you find yourself in the ambulance bay when you finally let yourself break down; sitting in the back of an empty ambulance with your legs swinging just slightly above the ground. Robby’s words keep replaying in your head, the look on his face making your heart ache.
You never meant to hurt him, he was your big brother after all. You just wanted his approval. You never planned for this to happen with Jack, yet you’d never in a million years wish for it to have gone any different or ask for a do-over; no matter what Robby thought. You knew now Jack was the love of your life, your home, your safety.
The sound of shoes scuffing against pavement makes you look up; Robby standing a few feet away with his hands in his hoodie pockets, looking down as he kicks at a pebble before sighing. You quickly wipe the tears off your face.
“Hey, kiddo”, He says, voice soft again; “Mind if I join you?”
You shrug in response, scooting over a little to make room for him. He sits next to you quietly, a long breath leaving his nose, shaking his head.
”He back from CT, yet?”, You ask, not looking up.
Robby shifts beside you; “Yeah. Nothing too bad, broken nose and a minor facial fracture. Should heal in a few weeks.”
You let your shoulders relax.
Robby’s still tense beside you, he’s still angry, but something else is there too, like something in him shifted in the last half hour.
“Guessing you hate my guts now?”
You look up at him; “I could never hate you, Robby. I’m just upset…hurt.”
He sighs again, scratching the back of his neck, eyebrows raised to his hairline again.
“Listen, I’m sorry”, He starts, eyes flicking to you like he’s checking see if you’re really listening; “About the way I reacted earlier…I just…you took me by surprise, ok?”
You find his eyes, your elbows flexing as you let your palms drive deeper into the metal below you, tears still brimming your eyes, cheeks red. You don’t say anything, not yet, not while the anger and hurt still bubble up inside your chest, not while you try to stay composed and hear his apology, his explanation; not when tears are so close to falling.
“It’s not everyday you find out your baby sister is hooking up with your best friend”, His eyes are trained forward, staring at something blankly in the distance.
You shift a little closer to him; “We’re not just hooking up, Robby.”
That makes him lift his head, tilting to the side a little to meet your eye line, nerves and apprehension behind his eyes. He looks you over like he’s reading you, silence still hanging between you, but not as heavy.
“Did you mean what you said in there?”, He finally asks, still staring at you like you might disappear; “That you love him?”
You sigh, unable to help the smile on your lips as you think about Jack; “Yeah…I did…I do.”
He’s quiet for another moment, and then his arm is around your shoulders, pulling you into him; letting your head rest on his shoulder.
“He wants me to move in with him”, You nuzzle into the soft fabric of Robby’s jacket; “I told him not until you knew about us.”
Robby sniffs, blowing his cheeks out; “It’s serious, huh?”
You force yourself up to look him in the eyes; “Robby when I saw him laying on the floor like that in the waiting room my life flashed before my eyes. The thought of him not being here, of losing him? I’d lose me too. He’s my everything.”
Robby pulls you back down into him, resting his chin on your head; “Ok, kiddo”, He lets his hand rub your back softly; “I just want you to be happy.”
You huff another laugh of disbelief into his shoulder; “I’m the happiest i’ve been in a long time.”
He lets your words sink in, heavy and meaningful. More worried about the fact that you’ve changed and grown up on him. Not being the little sister he picked up from school everyday anymore, but someone he knew and loved and trusted more deeply than he ever had before. His sister, his built-in best friend; now together with his other best friend? For a minute, the world seemed like it would be ok in his head. Even with the apprehension, not completely trusting the situation; he’d deal with that on his own.
“Are we ok?”, Robby asks, pulling you up to look at him.
You nod; “We’re ok.”
You find yourself on your feet, hugging him the same way you always had, his chin resting on your head again before placing a quick peck in your hair, the sound of an ambulance approaching in front of you; “Alright kiddo, time to get back to work.”
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
A few weeks later, Robby was still adjusting to the idea of you and Jack. He tried not to get in the way, to give you his support, but he was still skeptical. He’d seen the two of you during shift changes, brief but sweet interactions. He’d made up with Jack, apologized for the things he said. Made it known he was still protective over you, still trying to come to terms with it. You’d since moved into Jack’s apartment, and despite Robby’s mind still wavering, he supported you.
The final acceptance came a few weeks after he found out about your relationship; the staff all gathering at a bar to celebrate the end of a residency and Dana’s birthday. Bar’s weren’t really his thing, not his scene; only ever frequented when he had a particularly hard shift. Yet still, he sat on a stool in between Dana and Shen, sipping his own drink and letting his eyes wander through the crowd of people dancing.
His eyes stopped when they landed on you and Jack. Dana followed his gaze.
“Damn they look happy, don’t they?”, She says, sipping on her own cocktail.
Robby lets his lips curl up slightly at the corner, a small huff of air leaving through his nose; “Yeah…yeah they do.”
The smile doesn’t leave his face as he watches the two of you; Jack’s hand protectively at your waist, keeping you close to him. The way your eyes shined when you looked up at him. Your hand either holding his or playing with the small curls at his nape. The way you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him out of nowhere, and Jack not only let you, but welcomed it with practiced ease; everything else and every conversation around him melting in that moment, nothing else mattered.
Something shifted in Robby’s chest then, seeing the way Jack treated you like a gentleman, someone who not only would protect you but wanted to. He’d still probably never get used to it, but acceptance and pride settled in his chest as he sat there under the blinding lights and loud music. His eyes met with Jack’s as he looked up, a subtle smile between them, a soft nod from Robby saying ‘Thank you, I see you. Keep her safe and happy.’ Then Jack looked back down at you as you began talking to him, leaning up to whisper in his ear, him pressing a soft kiss to your temple in return.
Robby took another swing of his drink, not to soothe any doubt or anxiety anymore, just to join in the atmosphere; be presents with his friends.
“Twenty bucks says they’re engaged by the end of the year”, Dana lightly elbows Robby’s side, making his eyes go wide as he chokes on his drink.
“What?-“
Shen cutting him off with a tip of his glass towards the blonde woman; “You’re on. Thirty says by next month.”
On the dance floor you lean into Jack’s chest, breathing him in like you always do. Watching the corners of his eyes and mouth crinkle as he smiled, the bar lights reflecting off his hazel eyes like christmas lights. You knew then you’d be safe no matter what, there with Jack, in his arms; and yeah, that was home for you.
Summary: After rescuing you from the RDA, So’lek is forced to fight instincts he can’t afford to lose control of.
Disclaimer: I haven’t played AFOP (yet) so forgive me if things aren’t as…cannon so to speak. But @zestys-stuff stuff and I have been brain rotting over So’lek non-fucking-stop. He’s lowkey so Ralak coded, but obviously very different in his own way. I hope I do him justice honestly. Yes, this is a collab (we have been blessed), and the illustrations created by this amazing and talented artist — @zestys-stuff stuff — will be linked!
Content Warning: smut, !MDNI!, drugging (?), physical violence, murder/death (lightly described), an ungodly amount of sexual tension, age gap (reader’s around 20 & he’s almost 40), power dynamics, heat cycle, scenting, blowjob, gagging, forced proximity, dubcon, cliffhanger I’m so sorry
Author’s Note: Guysss. When I tell you how excited I was to do this collab with zee…i’ve been feral this entire time. Y’ALL THE ART IS INSANE. I stare at it regularly before bed. Jesus, help me. Anyways, this man is my new fixation. My new obsession, if you will. Naturally when I have a new one of those my immediate reaction is to write a heat/rut fic. So yes, there will be a part two to this, and possibly more.
W/C: 7k
You never gave it much thought. Being bait, that is. You’ve been everything up until this point—a pawn in this sick war, a subject for their experiments, a punching bag for their anger, an object with no value other than the war machine they could train you to be.
But bait? That’s a new one.
They like to call him the ‘Dog Tag Warrior’. That’s the name they’ve been using while you’ve been imprisoned between four glass walls, confined to a metal bench by chains that grow heavier by the minute. Days pass by like a thief in the night—silent, unknowable. With no windows, there’s no way to tell if it's night or day—to see what the great mother has created. No reminder of life or hope.
What’s worse is that every so often one or two of the pink skinned storm inside with their assault rifles and handguns concealed in their boots, threatening you in an attempt to drive fear into your heart. But no matter how much they torture you, whatever the punishment inflicted, the pain doesn’t come close to what you feel when they speak of him.
And your biggest mistake is letting them figure that out.
“I should’ve blown off his head while I had him.” The male shouts angrily, huffing as his loud footsteps pace up and down the concrete floor.
You keep your gaze fixed to your bruised ankles as your heart pounds from the terrifying, yet oddly comforting, confirmation that So’lek is alive. You can’t allow them to see your fear.
No fear, Sarentu, is what he’d say.
“Then next time, don’t fuck around.” A rough female voice. Next time? “You’re lucky you still have your tag, corporal.”
Your ears flick towards the distinct sound of metal and glass dinging together. You’ve heard this before—the sound alone is enough to bring you back many years ago, to the experiments, to the trauma you endured in TAP.
You peek up through your lashes, careful not to make any sudden movements, and see her holding a familiar large, glass syringe a foot away from her face. She flicks the tip with her middle finger until some thick liquid spurts out.
What are they going to do to you now?
“We’re just gonna have to treat these fuckers like the animals they really are.” She says in a sick, twisted tone. “Let’s see how long he can hold out after he gets a whiff of her.”
The male’s finger settles on his trigger as he moves in front of her, towards the door to your enclosure. Your chains drag against the concrete beneath you as you ready your stance. If you could manage to take the gun from the male, you could get out of here.
You could find So’lek.
The plan comes to you quickly. Once they’re close enough, you go for the male's mask, then take his gun and shoot the female.
Easy, right? So’lek’s voice echoes in your head.
You watch intently as his hand swipes across the biometric reader, causing the seal on the thick, reinforced door to break. Human air gusts in and the pressure in the room changes, briefly disorienting you. Before you can focus, the male aims, pulls the trigger and you feel the impact in your chest.
The room spins and you look down to see a bright feathered dart lodged into your right breast. You’ve never seen that before. Suddenly, you have to command your lungs to work, your eyes to stay open—your heart to keep beating. But despite it all, you feel yourself slipping away, vision blurring, sounds muffling together.
Is this death?
“What…What is this?” You slur your words as you reach for the dart, only for the female to slap your hand away.
She leans in, her face level with yours—her head impossibly large, her body impossibly small—and thrusts the needle into your thigh. You wince, just barely, trying to maintain what dignity you have left as you inhale, then exhale, and inhale again.
“Ah—d-don’t…touch—What are you…w-what the fuck…is that?” Your low voice echoes in your ears, your vision splitting into two.
“They said it’ll take effect in about two hours.” She speaks with feigned innocence, emptying the syringe into your spasming, burning muscle, “but we just don’t have that kinda time.” She withdraws the needle from you and steps back as your head lulls side to side. “So I gave her double.”
“Fuck you.” You garble the incoherent words, commanding every muscle in your body to stay upright, to keep your chin up.
“Brutal.” The male chuckles, his vile, pink hand laying softly against your cheek. “Such a shame, she really is a pretty thing.”
A hiss erupts from your throat, only to sound weak and small. Your body feels like dead weight, as heavy as these chains, dragging you down. You can’t move, you can’t get up.
“Tranq her.” She gives the order, using her scrawny finger to shove your swaying frame until you make contact with the floor.
“Are you sure? Didn’t they say one is enough?”
“And what? You want to keep her awake enough so she can be your personal toy when we’re finished with her? I said tranq her, Corporal. That’s an order.”
Another silent shot and your eyes roll to the back of your head.
“Good. Load her in.”
–
So’lek has been tracking you down for what feels like months. After a close call with the RDA that left him wounded, he was able to get a good idea of your location from scent alone. He wasn’t going to let anything, not even his own injuries, stop him from finding you.
Branches whip past him as he prowls through the forest, his bare feet making harsh impact with the flora beneath him. Every dash, every step is precise, measured. He’s been tracking your scent for a little over an hour now, yet it’s leading him off course. Why does your scent become almost overwhelming the deeper he goes into the forest? His pace lags when the realization dawns on him.
They’ve moved you.
But why?
He takes a moment to think, to calculate. To make sense of it all. Why would they relocate you? To throw him off? Is this a decoy? What if you aren’t really there? But, what if you are? He won’t take that chance. Your scent is too strong. You must be there.
So, how could they have acted so quickly? That means there’s less time than he thought. He scowls, frustrated, conflicted. It’s a trap. Exactly what kind of trap, he’s unsure. But it’s one that requires you to be bait. Just the thought ignites a fire inside him. You, out here, possibly alone, injured and weak.
Easy prey for a hungry predator.
So’lek won’t allow it. He quickly weighs his options—track your scent into a potential trap, or abandon the mission to regroup. What else can he do? He can’t gather his thoughts, he’s overwhelmed. Your scent is blinding—it’s grown stronger and he’s barely moved. You need him, he senses this in a way he’s never been able to before. He breathes you in, filling his lungs to capacity, letting himself have this one thing, just for this one second.
There is no choice.
So’lek wastes no more time, making quick, tactical strides in the direction of your scent. The horrifying, looping thought of what they’ve done to you, or worse, doing to you, drives his feet forward. He’s crouched low, keeping out of sight, camouflaging himself as best he can. He has to approach this perfectly, he can’t afford to make a mistake. He won’t. Not when you’re involved.
When his nostrils almost burn from the scent of you, he slows his tracks once more, observing, plotting. Silent, and lethal. He counts at least ten RDA troops, scattered sporadically amongst the trees. No, never sporadically. They’re in position. He stalks through the shadows of the approaching eclipse, recounting and revising. They’re surrounding a clearing, which is suspiciously empty. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus.
Then he sees you.
Oh. You. Naked. With what looks to be a strange, miniature arrow—a dart, impaled into your breast. Your head and body slump forward, arms limp behind you, bound to the tree. The flame inside him roars. You look dead, but your welling scent and heaving chest tell him otherwise.
These pink skinned will pay, he thinks as he decides who will die first, and who will follow in what particular order.
He unsheathes his knife, preparing for the most meticulous, silent melee of his life. He swallows, forcing himself to regain focus, to chase the lingering, savoury taste of you from his tongue. It’s imperative he isn’t distracted.
Is that a part of their plan?
Focus.
He makes his first kill. Clean, and silent. But not satisfactory enough. The fire inside him is hungry for more. He moves quickly onto the next, cutting deeper for his Sarentu. He takes special pride and joy in killing your foes. He steals a glance at you and notices your ankles, how the shackles have eaten away at your supple skin. He snaps another thin neck like a twig—easy. His inner fire flares, pleased with the sacrifice.
But it’s never truly satiated.
So’lek moves on to the next offering, smothering him as he pins him to the ground, watching as he writhes. He doesn’t look away as the struggle fades. The flame curls, pleased, and despite himself, a grim satisfaction pulls at his lips. This is the part that he can’t always fully control. The part where the fire consumes him, too.
It’s when he’s most dangerous. Most distracted.
But for you, it’s almost natural. It’s like a switch flipping. One second he’s here, and the next, he’s somewhere far away. An observer in his own body, watching himself finish off the next six soldiers in a blur of violence and pure instinct.
It’s not the hushed sound of the shot, no, it’s the heat pooling in his shoulder that brings him back momentarily. The same bright feathered dart, comically tiny in comparison to his arm, lodged in his upper bicep. A menacing growl rumbles from his chest as he looks in the direction of where it fired from. In the shadows, the silhouette of a metal suit stands in front of him, in front of you.
Wrong bullet of choice.
So’lek plucks the dart from his arm, his two fingers effortlessly snapping and crushing the frail glass into mere fragments. The metal suit immediately fires another dart straight into his chest. So’lek pants, his ears flickering as he releases a guttural hiss, heated by the flame itself, before he pounces on his prey, unleashing the rest of his wrath. By the end of it, all that’s left is unrecognizable.
All except for you.
So’lek’s vision clears once he sees you again, granting himself a moment to take in your condition. When his eyes rake over your bare body, he can’t help his thoughts no matter how hard he tries. The thoughts of admiration.
“Tamtey.” He breathes heavily as he stumbles back, his head spinning.
He glances down and rips the dart from his own chest with a grunt, before falling to his knees to pluck the dart from yours. He forces himself to look away from your puckered, dark nipples. It’s off limits. These thoughts, these feelings, are. off. limits.
The sound of oncoming machines and the buzz of electricity solidify his self-discipline, and So’lek moves fast, cutting you free and hoisting you over his shoulder. He takes off into the thick foliage, using it to his advantage to keep you both out of sight.
So’lek pushes himself to his limit, stride after stride, getting you both as far into the forest as possible. As far away from those demons as possible. Until he can no longer ignore the falter in his step. Whatever they shot him with, it’s slowing him down. He’s losing momentum—focus, and he’s losing it fast.
No. This won’t do. At this rate, he’ll collapse before he can make it to the mountains and that won’t be good for either of you. He ponders his next move, but there’s this cloud in his head that he can’t clear. Double vision sets in and he blinks a few times in an attempt to fix it. He shakes his head from frustration and readjusts you on his shoulder.
With a deep breath, he starts scoping out the nearest shelter. He spots a rather large rock not too far off, half swallowed by the roots of nearby trees. If he didn’t look hard enough, he would’ve missed the broken mouth at ground level, just big enough for him to fit through. It’s a chance. It could be nothing. Or it could be everything you both need right now.
Warily, So’lek approaches the cave, carefully tucking you among the safety of the roots. Now that you’re hidden, he can focus on scouting out the cave. Rifle in hand, he enters the darkness, discovering that it slopes gently downward, putting you out of his sight. He feels a sense of unease and looks back up at you, hesitating.
He doesn’t like you out of sight.
He huffs a sigh and grits his teeth, hauling himself further into the cave. He understands it’s the most logical choice. The air shifts, it’s cooler, and a little damp. He scans the cave, even through the haze, checking sightlines, listening for echoes. The deeper he gets, the more the darkness shifts into color. The bioluminescence of the glowy moss and small creatures bloom, revealing a thin stream that trickles from a narrow crack in the rock. A small waterfall that pools shallowly before disappearing into the stone.
Good, he nods to himself. Water to drink.
But more importantly, it's empty.
It's safe. For now, at least. It’s somewhere to disappear for a few hours and let his body fight its way back. Immediately, So’lek turns back, entirely too uncomfortable with the fact that he can’t see you. Had your scent not followed him into the cave he probably wouldn’t have even gotten this far. When he resurfaces, that same scent floods his senses. It’s overpowering. To the point that he’d be a fool not to acknowledge what it really is.
Your pheromones.
You’re in heat.
He breathes hard, eyes closed, trying to push back that fog creeping through his limbs—his body. Your pheromones are only aggravating his state of mind. He scoops you into his arms, using what strength he has left to carry you inside the cave. He’s careful of your head—of your entire naked body—taking his time as he navigates through the cave.
Once he reaches the soft moss, he is satisfied enough to put you down. He drops to a knee as he does, gentle with his touch, ensuring your head is cushioned by the thickest part of the moss. You curl into a fetal position on your own, the beads of sweat beginning to ball at your temples, your face screwed with discomfort.
So’lek takes a moment to gather himself, to gather the strength to move away from you and towards the thin stream. He cups the water, splashing it over his face, letting it run down his jaw and neck. It’s there, in the way his blood stained hands tremble as he pulls them from his face, that the realization settles.
In here, he might be the danger.
If he can’t get a hold of himself now, what will he do when you wake up? How will he resist…you? He exhales, long and shaky, eyes half-lidded now. He retreats to a nearby ledge, far enough from you, but not too far. His instinct won’t allow it. He lowers himself onto the rock, acting as the shield between you and whatever’s outside of this cave. His back presses against the cool cave wall, and he positions his legs just enough to keep himself steady. He settles his rifle on his lap, head slumping back against the rock, finger near the trigger.
Even in this state, he’s ready for whatever may come. No one will ever take you from him again. He lets himself rest, for now, stealing glances at you every time your sweet scent wafts towards him. Being in an enclosed space certainly doesn’t help the effect it’s having on him. But he can only hold his breath for so long.
He’s got no other choice but to breathe you in.
It feels like he’s got the reins in his hands but he can’t grip them tight enough. Like they’ll slip through his hold if your pheromones get any stronger. And they are. They most definitely are. Especially now that you’re starting to wake up.
Your groans start low, and small. More like little whimpers, but they’ve got him watching you none the less. Those glances are no more. He simply didn’t have the discipline to look away at this very moment. He feels ashamed to stare, and he knows it’s the last thing he should be doing. You’re bare. And he’s your mentor. You trust him implicitly. This would be a breach in that trust. But your nipples are puckered so beautifully, dark and flushed. So’lek’s gaze moves downward, your legs are so tightly closed, yet your arousal is so pungent he can practically taste it.
His tongue swipes his bottom lip before he swallows, his eyes daring to wander a little further down. Heat pools in his stomach and his brows jump when he sees the single, glistening drop of slick slowly roll down your inner thigh, onto the green bed of flora. He shuts his eyes, a harsh breath expelling from his nostrils, his jaw tight.
In all honesty, he’s never felt jealousy toward moss before, but there’s a first for everything. So’lek bites his tongue, tasting blood. Anything to snap himself out of this trance he’s in. This is a line he won’t cross—can’t cross. No matter how much he may want. He can’t bring himself to turn his head, so keeping his eyes shut will have to do.
“Mmmn…”
The groggy sound dislodges from your throat before you can even register it came from you. It’s like there’s a lag between your body and mind. You know you want to open your eyes, but they don’t listen to your command right away. You need to see, or how else will you know what they’re plotting next? You force them open and things are a blur at first.
Blobs of colors sprinkle your vision and you try to blink them away. Soon enough they merge and things sharpen until you see that you’re in a place you don’t recognize whatsoever. Panic blooms in your chest, and adrenaline pumps through your veins at a frightening rate. Your eyes, once heavy as sandbags, bulge from your head as you spring into a seated position.
You scramble back until you hit something rough and hard, and reach for your knife which isn’t there. The worst comes to mind. They’ve dragged you to this place where no one will ever find you and left you for dead. And even worse, they’ve found him and killed him. You look down in horror—you’ve got no top on, no tewng, nothing. You begin to hyperventilate, clutching your chest with one hand and hugging your knees with the other.
“Mawey.” A familiar, comforting voice coos, and when you look up you realise it’s So’lek. Relief cascades over you. “Mawey, Tamtey. You are safe, I have you. Breathe.”
He’s towering over you, hand cupping your cheek, concern etched into each wrinkle and scar on his perfect face. But his eyes—they’re hazy and glossy.
“So’lek? Ma’So’lek!” You sob, fat tears streaming down your cheeks as you throw yourself into his arms.
“Breathe, Tamtey.” He coos as he cradles you close to him, counting down the seconds he has to savour how you feel in his clutch before he reluctantly lets go.
You look around, and you’re so, so confused. But if So’lek is here, that means everything will be alright.
“Where are we?” You ask, chest heaving, body burning. “What…what happened?”
So’lek’s expression hardens as he skitters back, away from you. His eyes flick down to his feet. “I am…not entirely sure.”
Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of yourself. The sweaty hair stuck to your neck. Your hard nipples. The faint throb between your legs. What’s happened? You close in on yourself even more, embarrassed. He probably doesn’t even want to see you this way, yet you’ve thrown yourself on him.
Silence passes. The air is thick with tension, an awkwardness filling the space between you and him. You wrap an arm around your chest and cross your legs. You feel utterly exposed, even though he refuses to look at you.
If anything, that actually makes it worse.
So you turn inwards, to your own muddy thoughts, trying to run through the last memories you have. They shot you, twice. And gave you an injection. And then…that’s it. That’s all you can remember. An unsettling feeling blankets over you. Why are you naked? And…what did they do to you? Worry cramps your stomach, and suddenly you’re nauseous and clammy.
“You live, Sarentu.” So’lek’s sarcastic tone brings you back from that dark place. He’s finally looking at you now, eyes filled with concern, a light smile on his face.
You laugh and wipe your tears with a trembling hand. “You came, chicken.”
“Hmm.” So’lek hums weakly. He looks spent. Like he can barely keep his head up. Like when they shot you.
“What happened…to you?” You ask quietly, you’ve never seen him like this before. “You look like shit.”
So’lek’s head rolls towards you and his brow bones jump, one side of his mouth curling into a smirk.
“Me?”
“Ha-ha.” You say faintly, a soft smile pulling at your lips. Yeah, you do probably look like shit, all things considered. At least you feel that way. Like you’ve been caught in the middle of a titanothere stampede.
But in the same breath, your body feels…strange. Similar to when you’re sick with a fever. That sort of sluggish, air-headed feeling.
“My head…mmm—” You mumble to yourself as your eyes flutter shut. There’s a muffled ringing in your ears. “…I don’t know.”
“Tamtey?” So’lek’s calls for you, but he sounds far away. That ringing in your ears is getting louder.
A bead of sweat crashes onto your chest, and it’s enough to make you look down. Your skin glistens, your tahnìs blinking haphazardly in the dark. There’s a heaviness down there, a pull that makes your legs open to get more comfortable.
In a flash, a fog claims your mind as you hazily watch your knees part, exposing how swollen and flushed you are. Your puffy folds glisten, and you go to touch them, curious to see how it feels—how it would feel. Your fingers touch, parting slightly, playing with the stringy, clear slick.
Just as quickly as the fog comes, it clears. And you’re left with this mortifying sense of clarity of what you just did. Of the fact that he’s just seen you, spread wide. Your legs snap closed and you look up, meeting the glowing eyes of your mentor.
“I…I don’t know—I don’t know why I just did that. ‘m sorry…” You stumble with your words, looking away in shame, further retreating into the wall. He must be so disappointed in you.
So’lek doesn’t move. He can’t. If he does, it won’t end well. He just holds his breath, embracing the way his lungs scream for air, focusing on that tight feeling instead of the tightness of his tewng. He acts as if it did nothing to him, like his cock isn’t as hard as it was during his first rut. Like he’s entirely unbothered.
But the truth is…
Your pussy is perfect. She’s more beautiful than he’s ever imagined. Shiny with your arousal, so inviting. As if she’s calling for him. And he’d cut his own tail off so he could answer. But he doesn’t entertain the thought. Instead, he reminds himself not to breathe. Because if he does, then he’ll really taste you on his tongue.
“It cannot be helped. It is fine.” He manages to get out of his screaming lungs, inching further away from you. But there’s something inside him that’s physically stopping him from completely leaving your side.
“It’s not—haaah…” You moan shakily as you feel the fog seep back in. You burst out into a shiver, tiny bumps sprinkling your skin. “It’s coming…again. Th-they gave me…something. I don’t—I’m, I feel weird, So’lek.”
His head snaps towards you, ears tall and alert. “What did they give you?”
“I don’t know. S-Something.” Your lungs tremble as a wave of heat covers you like a sheet. “An injection.”
You moan again, that heavy sensation in your lower tummy grows into a sharp ache and you can’t help but cradle that part of you.
So’lek growls, displeased by the mere thought. And your body responds to the sound alone, producing more of that slick between your legs. His nostrils twitch and you swear his eyes darken when they fall on you protecting your empty womb.
He will protect it once it’s full.
“It’s hot, it’s so fucking hot…” You mumble, smacking your dry tongue.
“You and that mouth.” He rasps, finally taking in a deep breath and immediately regretting it. It’s like the air has gone straight to his head, a pressure swelling there until he can’t form a rational thought.
You’re dangerous like this. No. You make him dangerous.
The wave passes and some sort of coherence settles, leaving you feeling the most vulnerable you’ve ever felt in your life. Not only that, but the daunting realization dawns on you that this is entirely out of your control. Like there’s something wrong with your body. Anxiety flashes across your face and sympathy floods So’lek’s.
“Hold still.” He’s speaking to you like your mentor as he makes cautious, calculated movements towards the small pool of water. He cups it in his hands and brings it to your lips, and you drink from them fervently. It’s more than refreshing, it’s reviving.
“Better, now?” His voice rumbles, his face just inches from yours. When you’re finished, he drags his calloused, wet hands down your throat, cooling you off.
The feeling is divine. His touch is right. And he’s so close to you that you can feel his hot breath against you. You can smell him. You hadn’t noticed until now, exactly how good he smelled. And it seems to be coming from somewhere a little further down. You don’t realize that you’re looking there, but there's a notable bulge in his tewng.
“Eyes up, Sarentu.” He rumbles. “Focus.”
“So’lek…” You moan as that formidable fog looms back over your entire body. “Ma’Solek.”
“Do not say it…like that.” His brows furrow and his jaw flutters.
“Ma’So’lek…” His name drips from your lips again, thick as tree sap, your hand brushing against your heavy breasts. Your nipples tighten, a tingly sensation zinging through you like electricity. You’re an open nerve, all of you. And it makes you squirm.
“I said, rä’ä rikx [do not move].” He bares his canines as he speaks, his voice is deep and thick with restraint.
“Don’t think I…can—I can’t…” You pluck at your nipples, over and over, it’s annoying how itchy they’re getting. You feel blood rush to your face as another wave of heat crashes over you, leaving you panting and clammy. “Oh, Ma’So’lek…Touch…touch me, please.”
“You are not in your right mind.” So’lek strains his words as he stumbles back, his head turned away from you, yet his eyes still locked on your every move.
He scorns himself for the lack of discipline he’s showing, for looking at you in your most vulnerable state. He mounts the ledge with a gruff grunt, slightly spreading his legs to make space between his thighs. He leans back, abs tensed, his body unbelievably heavy.
Then your womb throbs. A yearning sensation, something instinctual flares inside you. It’s not pleasant, but it’s not unpleasant either. It’s just different. An entirely new feeling. You clutch your belly, curling over yourself, trying to understand this all.
“What’s happening?” You whine, crossing your legs tight to quell that bothersome pulse.
“They put you in heat.”
“H-Heat? I’ve never…I really, I-I don’t like it.”
“You never…?” So’lek hisses softly, sinking his head into his hands.
Of course you’ve never had your heat cycle. You’re half his age. Between that and cryo, it makes complete sense as to why you’re so confused. It’s why you’re so innocent to him to begin with. You’re young, and a little naive. Inexperienced. Untouched. Oh. You’ve never been touched, which means…he’d be your first.
No. No, he won’t.
His fingers rake through his hair as he breathes hard and fast, his hands covering his ears to muffle your sounds. It’s like listening to an ikran in distress. He wants to help, to make it better. But he can’t, so he won’t. Not like this.
“Nggh–h-how…why’d they…why?” You can barely speak, just let these humiliating sounds come from some primal part inside you.
“So I will come.” Constraint tenses his deep voice, but it's laced with something else, too.
Hunger.
You don’t understand, you just want. You crave, you need, you yearn. For him. It still doesn’t make sense to you. There is no point in trying to understand, to fight this. It’s going to happen no matter how much you resist it, so it only makes sense to just let go. To let it happen, right?
“Would it be…haah…s-so bad?” You ask hazily, settling on your knees, letting your hand slip down between your thighs.
“Yes.” He’s sharp with his answer, giving you that tone he usually does when ‘it’s final’. Dismay bursts through your ribcage.
“But why?” You let out a frustrated sob, sounding like a child who didn’t get their way. “Why not!”
“Tamtey.”
He uses your name like a warning, finally looking at you, just to meet his biggest temptation yet. You’re touching yourself, your inexperienced fingers fumbling, your eyes half lidded and cloudy. Inside, he burns with shame—the internal battle of conflict ensuing.
“I have lived nearly twice your life already.” He sounds weak. He is weak. Whatever they shot him with is still coursing through his bloodstream.
“Ke tare [it doesn’t matter].”
“It does.” He snaps at you, overwhelmed by a new, stronger wave of your pheromones. Your heat is peaking. So’lek narrows his gaze on you, his mouth turning downwards. “You are still young. It is your first heat. I will not hurt you.”
The tears come, and you can’t stop them. They’re only confirming what he’s said. “…it’s already hurting.”
“Shushh…Mawey. I do not like when you cry.” His breath shakes from restraint, from the struggle between what he wants and what he should do. “You are strong enough for this, Sarentu.”
You whimper as you fall forward on your hands and knees, sinking your chest into the moss until your hips lift into the air—your tail swishing wildly behind you. This position feels better, it dulls the ache, it satisfies the pull. It’s the position your body should be in.
So’lek watches you through lidded eyes, groaning when you rock back and forth a little. He wants to come behind you and settle on his knees. He can see himself so vividly, curving over you, his pelvis flush to you, pressing into that soft, sticky slit you're presenting to him. Instinct rides him, and he shifts his hips.
He wants to take this bait.
The scent of your pussy is driving him mad, he can’t take it. He can smell how ripe you are from where he sits. He wishes you’d move to the side a little so he can get a better look, like you did earlier when you mindlessly played with your puffy folds. He craves to know how it feels inside.
You don’t mean to move. It just happens. Your palms press into the moss, one in front of the other, your knees following effortlessly behind. This distance between you and So’lek feels wrong, his scent isn’t strong enough anymore.
Why is he so far away?
So’lek doesn’t dare take his eyes off you, every muscle in his body is flexed—eerily still. Because you look like a palulukan stalking him, hunting her prey. He’s yours. And it’s doing something to him, something dangerous. He presses his pelvis forward, chasing the throb down there that he can’t ignore anymore.
You start at his calf, nudging at it with your cheek. You drag your flushed face up his muscular leg, past his knee. You're inhaling his musk, deep and long, pressing your nose into his thigh.
“Sarentu…” He exhales shakily, his hands gripping relentlessly onto the stone. “What are you doing?”
“It’s coming…from here.” You mutter into his inner thigh, rubbing your face against him as you breathe in his musky scent. It’s stronger the further up you go.
“You are scenting me.” He whispers through gritted teeth, “…like I am yours.”
“Yes, ma’So’lek.” You moan, your hands wandering up his thighs. You push them further apart, your face burrowing right between them. “You belong…to me.”
So’lek’s restraint is palpable. It’s in every loud breath he heaves, to each small spasm of his muscles.
“Tamtey.” He warns longingly, his throat tight. “You are going to send me into rut.”
“You want me.” It’s not a question, it’s defiance—insistence. You know it in your bones. You feel it radiating from him, his containment, the way he’s peering down at you between his legs.
So’lek’s jaw tightens. His lips press thin as he intentionally slows his breath, each movement measured.
“Yes.” He speaks through his teeth, quick and breathless. He will never lie to you, not even about this.
“Then let me.” You breathe open mouthed against his inner thigh. Your sensitive lips drag upwards, right across that bulge inside his tewng.
“No…Sarentu.” He speaks quietly, brows tensed, ears slicked back.
“Smell s’good.” You mumble, rubbing your face against it. It’s hot, and it strains hard against the fabric. You want to see what’s inside.
“You…” He groans from the friction, his breath heavy as he fights the pleasure. “You do not know what you are doing.”
“Want…please.” Your tongue darts out for a taste, but it doesn’t taste like much. You need to get rid of this thing stopping you. Frustrated, your hand lugs higher, weak fingers tugging at the taut material.
He’s the male. He’ll help you.
“Help, Ma’So’lek, help.”
Hearing you plead for help triggers something inside him, that part that screams protect. Provide. His hand jolts, instinctively going for his tewng, but he stops it at the last second. He can’t think straight, not when your innocent, flushed face looks so perfect between his legs.
“You will regret this, Sarentu.” His voice is strained, his eyes closing.
“No, please. Please.” You beg, out of your mind, going for his tewng again, tugging it a little harder. “Want to see…what’s inside. Let me. It smells…s’good.”
“Eywa.” He hisses through gritted teeth, opening his eyes to see you nipping at his tewng with your little canines. “Give me the strength.”
“It's what I want…I need…I hurt, ma’So’lek.”
Well, that pains his heart. Heavily. He can’t have you hurting like this. His hand moves, guiding yours, hooking your fingers underneath the side of his tewng, shifting it slowly. He’s in a trance, moving on impulse as he watches your tail swish excitedly, your body vibrating with eagerness.
His chest swells with pride, he’s satisfying you, doing you right, as he should. It is right—whatever you want. His duty is to give it to you. Your ears flicker and then pin to your skull, your mouth seeking the source of his scent. You whine longingly, shifting your knees, shuffling closer.
Eager to see. Your hands slip to his thighs, holding them there so they don’t move, one hand gripping just underneath his muscle. Your fingers sink into his skin, your heart beating its way out of its cage.
So’lek’s breath is so heavy it’s audible, he’s never seen you so eager. His tewng finally shifts to the side, and his cock springs out, painfully hard.
Immediately, you rub against his length with your face, enjoying how hot it feels on your skin.
“Tamtey…” So’lek rasps your name in a haze, mesmerized by you entirely. His hand seeks out the ledge once more, gripping it with all his strength when your wet nose brushes against his tip. His cock twitches away from your face, slapping against his stomach.
“...what are you—?”
He watches as you shove your nose into that space between his thigh and cock, filling your lungs to capacity. Your tail thrashes wildly behind you as you shuffle even closer, your achy breasts brushing against his calves.
“Ma’So’lek…Ma’muntxatan….”
Yes. So’lek purrs at the sound of you calling him yours. He is your mate. He feels that is so. That’s also right. His hips buck, the tip of his cock leaking with slick, beading down his length.
You want to taste it properly, and your mouth opens, tongue lolling out, wet and inviting. You look up at him through damp lashes, dazed. He’s watching intently, like his life depends on it.
Glancing down, you really see it. It’s big, really big. And hard, so hard it’s straining. His tip tapers into a point, garnished with small spikes, his slit oozing and leaking. He’s throbbing too, just like you. You want to lick the veins protruding down his length, to the base of his cock that's turning deep purple.
You want to know how it feels against your tongue.
So’lek draws in a sharp breath when you rest his tip against your hot tongue. Sweetness bursts on your tastebuds and you moan, closing your lips around the head of his cock so you can swallow the taste. It pulses in your mouth, his balls pumping more of those delicious beads into your cheeks.
Your pussy tightens, slick dripping down your thighs—your belly swirling with anticipation. Your eyes flutter shut as you take more of him inside until that swollen, pointed tip hits the back of your throat and your shoulders heave when you gag.
A guttural groan rumbles from him, and his hips stutter, making you gag again. He’s never experienced anything like this in his almost forty years of living. How do you look so innocent doing something so filthy? He doesn’t know what to make of it, pleasure and guilt tighten his stomach. It feels too good, his body is reacting quicker than his mind.
His hips drive forward again, rougher this time, but you don’t gag—drool just oozes from the corners of your mouth, your nose getting snotty. His ears grow hot and his swelling balls pull tightly to his core. He’s going to shoot his load down your throat if he doesn’t find the strength to stop you soon. He can’t do that to you. He shouldn’t even be doing this with you now.
Fuck. He’s losing it, really losing it. He wanted to do this right, to ask you to be his mate.
But the little self control he had left is gone. Like it was never there to begin with. He’s on the cusp of it now, he feels it creeping up on him. Threatening to take the reins straight from his hands. That fire inside him is waking up again, and it’s not demanding spilled blood.
It’s demanding you.
That plump slit between your legs. It wants him inside, deep, touching the opening of your womb. The womb he’ll fill with his seed that you will bear for him. He’s longed for it for some time, to see you round and swollen, carrying a part of him inside you day and night. Now he can make it happen, he can make it real, right here, right now. He can hold you down as you squirm and breed your cunt, over and over. Then he’ll knot you, deep enough to hear your sweet sounds of pain and pleasure, keeping you stuck to him—from running away.
He’s staring at your expression, hot and bothered, your lips stretched around his fat cock perfectly. He thrusts his hips, driving his cock a little deeper down your throat. His hands fly to your head, fingers weaving through your hair, and he firmly holds you there as you gag repeatedly. With every gag, his knot swells and his cock throbs. He’s going to come down your throat.
Shit. He’s going to come down your throat.
The realization hits him like a punch to the face and he springs to his feet, his cock popping out of your mouth as you fall to your behind. You gasp for air, unable to catch your breath properly as you stare up at him expectantly. Your hands reach down for the heat between your legs, rubbing and tickling and the sight sends his cock frantically jumping.
“Tamtey.” He growls low in his throat, his rut riding him hard. “Run.”
God the restraint this man has makes me want to break him so much more.
Also run??? Sis I’m tripping like one of those big tiddie bimbos in the horror movies; ass up, ready for him. Like ohhh noooo stoooop pleaaaaasee dooooon’t~.
Babe this was so delicious, I’m going to need to be put in a straight jacket until you drop that next part.
I got so insanely carried away, but again, I just cannot write a short story. I also never write smut so stfu (ᵕ≀ ̠ᵕ ). There will absolutely be mistakes, this isn't entirely proofread, and I cba so I'll do it later.
Summary: Duty weighs heavy when the clan expects you to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the one you’ve spent years convincing everyone you loathe. Your father is the clan’s greatest warrior, closest friend to the Olo’eyktan, 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 you’ve perfected the scowl reserved only for him; sharpened your fangs on 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; you’re the warrior’s daughter, bound by expectation to the perfect future leader you claim to hate. You insist it’s 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.
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 attempts to offer his help, because the basket you’re lugging is absurdly full, and yet you still let him walk you the rest of the way to the village.
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 – envy, maybe? – because you didn’t have a problem with authority, he knows because you seem to take his fathers criticism’s 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.
You had a problem with Nateyam.
As a teenager, it used to irk him to no end. As the first born son to the Olo'eyktan he was supposed to be a leader too, an authority that the clan respected and did not question because they trusted him enough to follow. But most importantly, he was supposed to get along with you.
You– the daughter to the clan's most formidable warrior, his fathers right hand man.
You– who did not listen. Who did not trust him. Who always–always–questioned him.
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 father’s. And yet you resisted at every moment 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.
He tried to make sense of it. Of the way you rolled your eyes at his advice, or scowled every time the two of you were paired in training. He couldn’t 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 it was nothing sharp enough to leave a lasting wound. Nothing that should have haunted him like this.
However, he wasn’t 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.
He specifically remembers one time during communal dinner when you asked for the basket of fruit that sat just beyond your reach by the central fire, the one he sat closest to, and of course he picked it up and attempted to pass it, because why would he not? He also remembers the way you had slapped his hand away with a guttural scoff, almost as if he was ridiculous for even offering. The act had his brows furrowing, that familiar anger – the kind only you ever managed to draw out, boiling beneath his skin once again.
But it was only through the snickers of both your mother and his who had been watching the interaction intensely, that he noticed. You still took the basket.
“Hey!” Your fathers voice rumbled from just to the left, “Play nice.”
He’d imagine your father was probably less than impressed at his daughters rude mannerisms towards the Olo'eyktan's son – once again – but the reprimand softened almost immediately, soon chased by a low chuckle that started only after Neteyams own father attempted to hide a snicker of his own just beside your father.
They were leaning into one another, shoulders touching, Jake’s 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.
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 way you finally shot her a look, warning her in that weird silent language he used to not understand, but one he was now starting to. Because you ate your fruit without ceremony, and your eyes trained forward in an attempt to not glance his way, yet the basket sat firmly within your hands, despite it.
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.
And once it stopped irking him, once it settled into something he thought he understood, all the memories of you persistently adorning the scowl that seemed to exist only for him suddenly lost their bite.
Which was why, standing across from you now, he didn’t brace for your signature, fang baring scowl. It was expected in a way that made him sigh with knowing fatigue, and yet a little bit of smugness all the same.
“Why must you always be so difficult?” The words surfaced in that defeated tone he reserved only for you and your impertinence for him.
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 just moments ago.
“I am not.” And there it was – that scowl he expected. “You just insist on hovering.”’
“We were sent out here to collect fibre together. You ‘insist’ on making it a one man job.”
You didn’t look at him again, instead, turning back to the vines, blade already resuming its steady work as if his presence were nothing more than a distraction you had already adjusted.
“I do not need a partner to cut fibre,” Your response was flat as if it were such an obvious observation, and then you sighed, a long drawn out exhale to yourself. “So ridiculous.” The scoff that followed was harsh and hidden under your breath.
Despite its low delivery, the scoff didn't slip Neteyam’s ear, and he raised an unassertive brow at what he thought he heard, the corner of his mouth tipping low in confusion. “What is?”
The words hit you like a sudden gust, 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 in your trail with a force Neteyam had to step back to avoid. Now you were facing him completely. “That 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.”
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 almost a pout in your lip. He took in the way your stance squared, and the way your grip curled around the knife as if it were an extension of your arm rather than a honed tool.
You looked like a child.
“Right, you are not a child.” He said at last, voice level. “But maybe our fathers would not feel the need to treat you like one if you stopped acting as if.”
“Excuse me?” The grip on your knife tightened, wood creaking under the pressure of your grasp that almost splintered the wood. The corner of your mouth twitched up 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.
Neteyam held his ground, though. And instead, he replied carefully in an attempt to diffuse that constantly building tension just a little, “You speak against me in every task, as if we haven’t been paired together since we were both 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.”
That age old nickname rolled smooth off his tongue but approached your ears like venom. Your ears pinned back flat against your skull and the muscles along your jaw tightened so hard you felt the throb of it.
Fang. You despised when he called you that. The way he reduced you to nothing but a sneer he so often deserved.
Your ears stayed pinned, chest rising with a slow drawn out breath that carried no warmth, and the barest edge of a laugh that held no humour. Your next words landing bitter and sour on your tongue.
“Perfect Olo'eyktan's son,” you murmured, “always so composed and responsible. Maybe I would enjoy my time with you more if Eywa hadn’t shaped you so stiff in the tail you forgot how to bend, Tawtute.”
For a heartbeat, the words hung between you like a knocked bowstring waiting to snap with release. Then Neteyam’s jaw tightened, because he always hating when you commented on the human in him, as if they made him less Navi. Less than you.
A Tawtute, a sky-person as if it were an insult. Spoken like a curse, when all he’d ever done was try to prove it wasn’t. 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.
“You forget how many times that stiffness kept you from getting hurt.”
You scoffed, turning back toward the vines, knife biting down harder than before. Fibres splitting unevenly, curling away beneath your hands. “I 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.”
“Yeah,” Neteyam scoffed a humorless laugh, “You never do.”
He suddenly sank down into a squat then, finally turning his attention to the pile of finished fibres you had finished shredding and shoved aside. His hands were quick to gather a few filaments between his pointer and thumb, testing the strands between his 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.
“You cut angry,” He observed with a growl. “Uneven. Wasteful.”
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. “You waste them with your stupidity! Of course they break when you only weave two fibres!”
“They need to be thick enough for bowstrings, to hold knocked arrows in new bows.” He countered.
You sneered with a slight hiss, leaning further into him. “Then don’t use them.”
“Oh no, I will.” He smirked, as he finally began his job, looping the fibres together once again, securing them with practiced ease. “Someone has to make sure we don’t come back empty-handed.”
You shot him a glare. “I said I do not need your-”
“You do not need my help,” He finished for you, clearly way too amused now. “I know. You’ve said it at least five times since we left the clearing.”
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.
“And yet,” he continued, eyes never leaving the strands as he calmly coiled the fibres, “you keep cutting while I bind. Funny how that works.”
You stopped your movements, sending him a glare out the side of your eye that had your lashes feeling heavy and jaw slightly agape.
“Get out of my way.” You spat, but it was as if you couldn’t convey the weight of anger you meant to land. Your tone was weak and almost a little desperate.
“You always rush when you are angry,” he ignored your demand - if it could even be called that - with a tone that was almost conversational. “Your tail gives you away.”
Your eyes flashed with the realisation that he even been looking long enough to notice your tells, and your cheeks suddenly flared with something warm and hot that turned you a darker shade of purple.
“Stop watching me, Tawtute.” This time your voice really did sound more desperate.
“I can’t." He smirked, as if it were so obvious. “You make it difficult.”
You were close enough to see the faint curve of that infuriating smile he loved to wear, and to feel the heat of him that radiated the smug confidence you knew 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 in which he always manages 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.
“You know,” despite your lack of response, he broke the silence, voice dipping just enough to grate, “for someone who insists she doesn’t listen to me, you react an awful lot when I speak.”
“Because you are provoking me!” You snapped in a low growl.
“You glare like you are about to strike me." He replied, entirely too amused.
“Lucky I’m working, because you would deserve it if I did.” You spat the words in a pathetic cry, and suddenly it felt like you were deficient of every insult you had ever known, reduced to the same childish fury you’d sworn you’d outgrown.
“Oh are you? Wouldn’t have guessed with you looking at me like a Yerik in firelight.”
Eywa, if you didn’t look angry before. “Neteyam!” 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 bowstring–
“Oh good, you’re fighting again.”
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 Lo’ak 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.
“It’s more like flirting again.” The words Kiri muttered were small and meek but Eywa, if they didn’t 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 own eyes blown wide in something too closely resembling horror, while Neteyam merely rolled his eyes, tired and resigned, straightening back into the perfect son like a it was second nature once more.
“Stop being a skxawng, Lo’ak–.”
“–We are not flirting, Kiri.”
The words collided in the air, yours to Kiri a hiss and his to Lo’ak a sigh, overlapping with a defensive tilt that had the other two chuckling harder.
Lo’ak’s mouth twitched. “Wow." He stated. “Touched a sensitive nerve.”
And Neteyam, the all mighty responsible son he is, didn’t reach for the bait Lo'ak hung so low for him, instead, he crossed his arms with a sigh at his unexpected presence. “What are you doing here?”
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 treeline, making a b-line straight towards the centre of the clearing in a full stumbling sprint, heading directly towards where you stood in a pout next to Neteyam.
“Dad said to come get you two because you’re taking too long!”
Kiri and Lo’ak's eyes grew wide. And with a quick exchanged glance of horror, at the same time they barked. “Tuk!”
But she ran right past them, as if their voices fell silent to the wind.
Lo’ak 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.
“Dad told us to come get them,” He corrected, gesturing between himself and Kiri. “That wasn’t an invitation to follow.”
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.
“But Dad said you’ve been out here alone long enough!”
Tuk protested, twisting free of Lo’ak’s 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.
“He told mom that if you and Neteyam keep fighting like this, you’ll probably end up at the Tree of Souls by tonight!” She paused, then her voice pitched higher with pure betrayal. “But you can’t! You promised you’d help me braid my new beads tonight!”
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.
In stark contrast just a ways away, Lo’ak let out a sharp bark of laughter, doubling over with his grip on Kiri's arm, just as she finally outright lost the battle she’d 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.
“Stupid Neteyam.” She declared, voice ringing with righteous indignation. “You can’t take Y/N anywhere today. Eywa heard it - she’s with me today!”
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.
“Oi!” 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 you’d 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.
“That 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.”
Tuk’s 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 Lo’ak scoffed, the tension finally cracking as he straightened, still grinning as he shouted. “He's right, you’ve caused enough trouble. Come on, teylupil.”
He didn’t 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.
“But I didn’t do anything!” Tuk protested.
“Tell it to dad.” Lo’ak laughed.
Tuk craned her neck back toward you one last time as Lo’ak dragged her away, voice pitching higher with urgency. “Y/n, don’t forget-!”
“I know,” you cut in quickly, not turning, the words tossed over your shoulder like a promise already made.
Kiri lingered a heartbeat longer. Her gaze flicked between you and Neteyam, something quiet and knowing glinting behind her eyes as her 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 at all.
The knife was in your hand again before the clearing could settle.
“We will collect the threads and follow.” Your voice came out flat and deliberately ungiving, spoken without fault or the slightest fracture they were clearly waiting to see. Whatever reaction they had hoped to draw from you never came, 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, Lo’ak shot his attention to Neteyam with a long, assessing look, like he was waiting for the reaction you refused to give. When he found nothing but the faint quirk at the corner of Neteyam’s mouth, he huffed a quiet laugh and finally grabbed Kiri by the arm, tugging her along with him toward the start of the winding path back to the village .
“Dad’s pissed.” He called over his shoulder. “Try not to be too long.”
The brush swallowed them soon after, 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 hadn’t 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 he’d 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 tail’s path, the tell he’d 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.
“What?” You spat, tired, irritated and painfully obvious to him – embarrassed.
“Still 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.
"I am not angry about that ridiculous–” You cut yourself off, taking a moment to collected a breath of humid air, allowing it to sit in your lungs before releasing in a desperate attempt to somewhat self-regulate. “Do not flatter yourself, Tawtute. Flirting? With you? I'd sooner make Tsaheylu with a thanator."
His eyes gleamed with mischief, but it wasn’t 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.
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 didn’t 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.
“Funny,” He murmured, and Eywa, the way he said it made your spine want to curl. “Your 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.”
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 couldn’t 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 didn’t move. You hated that the push didn’t 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.
“Back off,” 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. “I don not enjoy anything about you hovering like a skxawng who thinks he is Eywa’s gift to the clan.”
Neteyam didn’t 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.
“Gift?” He repeated, voice quiet and flat, the kind of quiet that made your spine prickle. “I 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?”
Something in his words snapped the tension in a way that almost had a stifled laugh escaping you. The image of perfect Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan, 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.
“Poor you.” You sang, voice dripping with false sympathy as the anger flipped into something crueler and entirely more enjoyable. “All that dragging must be so exhausting for such meek shoulders to carry.”
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.
“There,” You said, stepping back with a grin that showed too many teeth. “Problem 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.”
Neteyam’s 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 didn’t want.
Instead, he gripped the handle tighter, knuckles paling and barked, “Fnawe’tu skxawng!”
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. “You call me the stubborn idiot? But you carry the basket anyway. Funny how that works?”
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. “Start walking, Fang. The sooner we get back, the sooner I am rid of you for the day.”
“Perfect!" You grinned, but the grin quickly dropped. "Twelve whole hours before you find another excuse to follow me around tomorrow.”
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. Ki’tiri had been retelling an exaggerated recall of her day on patrol, her eyes gleaming with irate exasperation as she animatedly spoke of the moment Lo’ak decided to start throwing stones out of boredom, nearly nailing Mo’at 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 you’d 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 she’d taken down a Thanator.
“Will you make these for me too?” She asked – more like stated – for what had to be the third time tonight, thumb brushing the tiny knotwork with awe.
“When you stop trying to steal mine..” 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 Lo’ak had attempted on their patrol together, when Tuk’s 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.
“What?” You muttered, eyeing her of an answer before she spoke it.
Tuk’s 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.
“Neteyam is with that noisy woman again. An’aya.”
She spat the name in that high-pitched mocking tone children did, and at first, you didn’t 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 Tuk’s 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.
An’aya 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.
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 wouldn’t 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.
“I don’t like her,” she muttered, voice fierce and final. “She talks too much. And she sits too close to Neteyam. And she laughs at his jokes even when they’re not funny.”
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 – insulting the man.
“Nothing Neteyam says is funny.” But not even that seemed to work to calm you because that irrationally confusing feeling still clawed at your chest.
“That’s not true,” Tuk called out immediately, tilting her small face up at you with those wide eyes. “You laugh at him all the time! Just not when he’s looking.” She leaned in closer, voice dropping into something hurt and almost bordering a whine. “He’s supposed to sit with us.”
“That is not how this works,” You snapped too quick, eyes diverting from the scene to pick up another piece of utumauti fruit as if it never bothered you.
Tuk’s 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 didn’t. She hadn't seen it very 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. Ki’tiri quickly noticed the shift in your mood. She tilted her head, studying you now with open curiosity.
“Why are you angry?” She asked plainly. “Did he do something again?”
“No." You replied stark, and then more sharply, “How could he? Neteyam is all the way over there.”
Ki’tiri exchanged a quick, knowing glance with the friends beside you. “I 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.
Ki’tiri leaned in again, allowing you the dignity to stop her teasing, feeling almost a little bad at how astoundingly purple you looked.
"You’re getting upset,” She stated simply and not unkindly. “You do that only where Neteyam is involved.”
“I am not upset.” You snapped, already too far gone for that to be convincing. “And he is not involved. I have been sat here, and he has been there this entire time.” The lie hung heavy and brittle as you clicked your tongue.
"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. Before you could bite it back, the denial tore out of you, louder than intended and edged with fury.
“I do NOT care who he sits with!” You hissed, voice cracking on the volume. “He can sit in her lap for all the stars in the sky care! I would not notice if Eywa herself told me!”
“What is going on!?”
The voice carried across the fire, calm but accusatory, and edged with something that made the fine hairs along your arms rise. Neteyam hadn’t stood, he hadn’t 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 thigh as he observed with what you knew as stupidly disingenuous concern.
The way he intervened like he was preparing for the role of Olo'eyktan burned you, as if he thought he could snuff any simmering flame with his big, proud words because his blood said so.
And that wasn’t even the problem. The problem was that An’aya 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.
“We’re fine. You called back, sharper than necessary, your eyes not even bothering to glance his way once. “Try having your own conversations instead of monitoring everyone else, tawtute.”
Neteyam’s 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 didn’t rise, not yet. Only tipped his chin and let a quick “Eywa help me,” 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 An’aya 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.
“I said we are fine,” you warned as he stopped in front of you, too close now as your friends ogled at the scene, ready for yet another brawl between the two of you.
“And I said I was just asking,” he replied, voice calm but firm, eyes searching your face like he could read something there if he looked hard enough. “You are upset.”
“Right,” You went on before he could answer, sputtering a short sudden laugh but your tone held no humour. “I forgot I am only allowed to feel something once you have approved of it first. I forgot I need my lenensip wolf to tail me through the village and make sure I’m behaving. Shall you go report my mood back to our fathers now?”
A few people nearby stilled outright at the sudden outburst, the weight of the scene landing harder than a simple insult. Neteyam’s jaw flexed, his calm finally straining at the edges.
“That is not what I am doing.” He said, lower now and tone measured like he was choosing every word with treading precision. “You know I do not–”
“You do!" Your outburst came hard against his sentence, not having the patience nor heart to hear his excuses. “I sneeze too sharply and it is enough to call a clan council with our fathers! Tell them to rest easy, golden son. I am not about to start a war over one evening meal.”
Neteyam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was bracing himself. “Well, you don’t have to turn everything I say into a fight.”
“And you don’t 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.”
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.
“Stop fighting!” she begged, voice whiny with pure childish exasperation. “You guys always pretend like you don't want to talk, and then Neteyam comes and you fight forever, and he won’t leave you alone, and you won't tell him to go away, and it's annoying!"
“Tuk!” Both you and Neteyam barked simultaneously, horror gleaming in both of your eyes because that was so obviously not true!
“That is what happens,” she insisted stubbornly. "You do it all the time.”
"No!" You rejected. "We argue because he hovers!"
An’aya, from the shadow of Neteyam’s 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 Olo’eyktan already."
Your head turned slowly toward her, blood finally boiling to that point only Neteyam’s 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 dared to exist too loudly? And especially who did she think she was, inserting herself into Neteyam’s problems as if they were her own. ‘if we did not worry’ — as if she had any right to speak for the frustration he supposedly felt?
“Oh,” you started, the word soft but sharp enough to startle, “is that your healer’s wisdom speaking, or are you only borrowing the golden son’s voice while he is too busy ogling to use it himself?”
Your gaze snapped to Neteyam, fury bright and uncontained now that this girl he had dragged to your circle had suddenly felt all too comfortable insulting you in front of all your friends.
“Maybe our fathers should stick her as your new training partner since she is already so good at handling me. My guard dog has a guard dog.”
Neteyam stiffened. “Enough.”
But you didn't stop. “Is this what you tell people about me?”
Neteyam opened his mouth to speak, visibly caught off guard by the sudden accusation.
“That is not–” he started for the umpteenth time but again you didn’t let him finish.
“I would think you respected me even a little, enough, considering all my father has done for you and your family. But you let your women speak to me like I am beneath you.” You scoffed softly, the sound carrying just far enough to be heard.
“A leader, they say you will be.” you continued, words mocking. “Tell me how this is keeping the peace. Seems your peace is built on my silence. Both your peace and our fathers.”
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.
“Y/n, no– please don’t be mad,” 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."
“You didn't,” you said shortly. “This is not on you, Tuk.”
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 couldn’t help the feeling like he’d 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 your retreating form saunter away, hips swaying with jolting anger and body tempting his eyes to never shift.
He didn’t 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 didn’t notice them on anyone else. More than anything else, the fact that you hadn’t looked back sat even worse. And the fact that he felt that hollow pull, tight and wrenching in his chest because of it, sat the worst of all.
“At least don't have to worry about watching her anymore." An’aya’s 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 you’d left behind. To the quiet, unwelcome understanding that this time, you hadn’t walked away to cool off – you had walked away because he had apparently crossed a line he didn’t 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.
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 had on his solid figure. You had your suspicions that they were doing it on purpose now, because whenever given the opportunities, your fathers paired the two of you like it was something written into the roots of the forest itself. As if Eywa refused to separate you.
Jake’s voice cut through the air before either of you could make a move.
“Enough posturing,” he barked from the edge of the ring, arms crossed, gaze sharp and unimpressed. “This isn’t a mating dance. Someone's going to have to make a move soon enough. Engage.”
The command barely left Jake’s mouth before you moved.
You didn’t 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 anyway, steadying yourself with a tight hand clamped around his forearm. It was successful, 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.
“Good feint, Y/n. Nice recovery, Neteyam.” Jake called out.
Your eyes never pivoted from Neteyam, but Jake's words riled you further, knowing he got praise for the first hit.
"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?"
Neteyam’s ears flicked at your taunt, but his expression stayed infuriatingly calm. He rolled the shoulder you’d nearly landed on earlier, circling with you, mirroring your steps like he’d memorized every rhythm you’d ever moved to.
“Would not want to mess up that pretty face.”
You bared 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 to 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, but you were faster, twisted in the air 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, caged beneath him as his braids fell around your face like a curtain.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes dropping to your mouth, “keep rubbing up on me like that and people may talk.”
Damn his Sully tongue and their dirty human minds. Only they – 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.
“I will kill you!”
Neteyam’s 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.
“Get. off. of. me.” He snarled, voice low and dangerous through his squirms against you, wrists twisting against your grip. “Why must you always turn it into this?”
You dug your nails in deeper, refusing to budge, chest heaving with anger. “You started it with your filthy mouth. Think you can say whatever you want and I will just take it?”
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.
“I’m trying to win a damn spar, not deal with your tantrum. Yield!” He said through short breaths.
“Force me, tawtute,” you hissed, grinding your knees harder into his sides. “Or keep dancing for your sempul like the skxawng you are.”
His face darkened at that, a fresh wave of fury rolling off him. He surged up with a grunt, flipping you both violently, dust flying as you grappled, elbows and knees jabbing, fangs baring and hisses sounding like a tussle of five years olds. He landed a sharp elbow to your ribs and you answered with 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 left, just primitive fighting and petty aggression mixed with ragged breaths and dirt covered bodies, every strike fueled by years of built-up resentment.
And Jake’s was done watching it.
"That's enough!" Jake barked again, rubbing a tired hand down his face before turning to you both with an outstretched arm that sliced downward in a sharp, commanding swing. "Eywa ngahu, 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." His voice was so demanding and final, it had you cowering in your skin.
The authority in his voice pinned you both in place. Only two men in this world could make you feel small like this, your father, and Jake Sully.
"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, and 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.
Jake’s gaze flicked between you. “You two are going to be the leaders of this clan some day.”
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 couldn’t even look at each other at an implication he didn’t even mean!
Realization dawned on his face, and he let out a long, exasperated sigh. "And this – this right here – is exactly what I mean. Every little thing between you turns into a problem. You don’t know how to keep things contained when it’s the two of you.”
He jabbed a finger toward Neteyam. "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."
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 “hell”, to some weird sky people word, that's what you were deduced to.
Shameful.
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.
Jake Sully, the man who appeared in nearly every childhood memory, 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 the same weary frustration. And you knew he didn’t mean it cruelly. This was that strange sky-people thing he did when he slipped into what he described as his “military” tone, meant to correct rather than offend, but it didn’t make the cut hurt less deep.
Then you heard it, the tiniest huff of breath from Neteyam’s 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 wasn’t looking at his father anymore. 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 like he couldn’t quite believe you were actually compliant. Like your mortification was the funniest thing he’d seen all day. And in that moment it was like something inside you finally snapped for the first time in a long time.
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.
“What?” 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. “Something funny, Tawtute?”
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. “A child, Fang.” He taunted, hitting right where he knew you hurt most. “You look like a child scolded by her elder. It’s pretty damn funny.”
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 wasn’t 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.
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.
“Open your mouth again, Tawtute, and I swear to Eywa and everything she deems sacred, I’ll slam you down and make you swallow every sorry sound you choke in front of the whole clan.”
Neteyam’s 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.
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 you’d known him that his size truly registered. Tall, and broad, and built like the future leader he was meant to be.
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 else’s, as darker, thicker, more prominent than the others. The Tawtute genes, you told yourself, that’s 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 didn’t 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.
“Keep staring like that, Fang,” he said, leaning in until his breath stirred the loose strands of hair at your temple, “and I’ll give you something real to choke on.”
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.
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 Jake’s voice cracked through it like a whip.
“I said enough!”
He was on you in two strides, one massive hand clamping the back of Neteyam’s neck, the other seizing your upper arm and hauling you both apart with force that made your feet skid on the woven mat.
Jake’s eyes were wild, ears pinned flat, chest heaving.
“You two are done,” he growled, voice shaking with barely-leashed anger. “Done acting like feral animals that can’t control their emotions. Grown adults and I’m still treating you two like I did when you were twelve.”
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.”
Jake was not having it. “I 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.
“Go saddle your Ikran’s.”
When the two of you hesitated, Jake snarled “Now! And if I hear one more word out of either of you before you’re out of my sight, I swear to Eywa I’ll tie you both to the same tree instead.”
Jake's voice sounded so tired and the clearing had gone deathly quiet. Neteyam’s 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 he’d 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 he’d 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 almost… 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.
“You finally snapped.” He said, eyes not glancing at Jake, but to the sway of trees that shielded your retreating forms in the distance. “Only took till the moment they stopped trying to fight clean.”
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. “I told myself it was just their temper getting the best of them,” he admitted. “That they’d settle once one of them landed a solid hit, but I’ve never seen them go at it like that.”
Your father hummed softly in agreement. “Even anger has rules.” He said. “What I just saw forgot them. No form. No distance. Just hands… wherever they could reach.” 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. “My son knows better than that.”
“As does my daughter,” He replied, and there it was, that note of worried pride that always crept in when he spoke of her. “Which is how I know they have reached a point where the body starts answering questions the mind refuses to ask.”
“You’re worried.” Jake observed.
“I am a father,” he simply replied, and then after a beat added, “And I have eyes. I know Neteyam is fond of her.”
“He wont–,” Jake moved to start comforting his friend, shifting to place a hand on his shoulder when your father let a short snort leave him.
“I do not worry about Neteyam, I worry about her,” he said, with no effort to soften the curve of his mouth. “Neteyam 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.” A pause, then quieter, “That matters to me. It is her who has no restraint.” He ended with a chuckle.
Jake’s smirk lingered, but it softened at the edges, tempered by something more careful in tone. “Yeah, well, they have both been very good at lying to themselves.” He let a beat pass before he chuckled. “Well, maybe not your daughter, she can’t lie to save her life.”
“It really is her we should worry about.” Your father laughed. “If I were foolish enough to wager,” he suddenly turned, clapping a hand to Jake’s shoulder, “I would bet they return insisting the night was torture, then flinch every time their queues touch because they finally know what they’re used for.”
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.
“I’m not taking that bet,” he said, then hesitated, the amusement fading just enough to let the doubt through. “I expected you to be angrier with me for sending them off together.”
Your father snorted. “You did the same with Neytiri,” he replied. “And you didn’t exactly handle it with grace.”
Jake grimaced. “That was different.”
“No, It was not,” he said lightly, his gaze flicking back toward the trees, “and Neteyam’s trying too hard not to cross the same line. My daughter has never been good at pretending there isn’t one.”
Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, rubbing yet another exhaustedly stressed hand down his face at the implication of his words. “I’m not gonna sleep tonight.”
“Good,” Your father said quietly. “Someone 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.”
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 wasn’t 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.
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.
Neteyam didn’t 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 Na’vi 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. “We should start with inventory. Get it over with.”
You didn’t 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.
“Do it yourself.”
Your voice – so dismissive and blunt in tone – had Neteyam’s pointy ears pinning back and deep amber eyes snapping at you in a quick, sharp warning.
“Do not start.”
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. “Too late.” You sneered, your typical fang glaring snare on full display. “You 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?”
“My thick skull?” Neteyam’s big eyes bore straight through your own, blown wide and non-blinking almost as if trying to read you for an answer he wasn’t going to find. He looked absolutely exasperated and a breathy laugh that held no humor escaped his lips as he shook his head. “Thats rich coming from the one who is sat on a crate of knives, doing absolutely nothing.”
“We 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.”
“Kind of difficult to concentrate on a lecture when the woman threatening to make me choke is attempting to swing her claws into my chest.”
“I only reacted because you–!”
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.
–Because you speak lewd words that should only be muttered between the most established of mates.
“–Because I what?” Neteyam’s 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 he’d just found the one loose thread that would unravel you completely.
“Because–” Your face was so flushed, you could hardly bring the words to the surface. “–Because you- you have a vulgar mouth! Y-You speak filth just to provoke me.”
“Vulgar?” 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. “Me? I think I recall you mentioning something about slamming me down on my back.”
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.
“That is not what I speak!” you snapped, the words tumbling out too fast and breathless to be convincing. You almost kicked yourself for the delivery. “Why must you keep bringing up those words?”
“Because you are the one who said them,” he replied evenly as 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. “You just don’t like what they mean.”
“They meant nothing,” you shot back, chin lifting in defiance. “You twist everything.”
The sound of Neteyam’s 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.
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 – which they always seemed to be when you were around – 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.
Soon your gaze fell to the wide frame of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, and it dawned on you that you’d 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 you’d ever seen on any man – on any Na’vi you’d 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 wasn’t fair. It wasn’t 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 wasn’t fair that it wasn’t a you thing, it was a him thing. You only liked it on him.
You told yourself for the hundredth time – 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 wasn’t 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.
His gaze dipped and it wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t 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 you’d imagine possible from a single man at the realisation he had just made.
It was silent for a beat, air heavy with tension before Neteyam spoke.
“You must really like my loincloth.”
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.
“Shut up–!”
“–You know, my mother makes them–”
“ –I don’t care–!”
“ –Shall I ask her to make another? She does adore you–”
“–You do not know anything–!”
“–I know exactly when you lie.”
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.
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 Na’vi now.
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 didn’t…
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 he’d found something amusing he was excited to explain. But you knew he was only rubbing the fact that he caught you staring in.
“My mother uses five beads on each knot,” he said smugly, and you followed his fingers as they brushed against the small carved beads on the loincloth’s cords. “She says it is the number of balance. Five for the senses and all.”
Then he suddenly looked up at you, those overly round, innocent eyes portraying that innocence all too well. “Seems it isn’t working, you don’t look very balanced right now.”
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 couldn’t 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.
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. “Five is a greedy number anyway.” You muttered, eyes still traitorously fixed on his hands.
His gaze followed yours until it landed on his hands – 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.
“Greedy?” He echoed softly. Without haste, he lifted those hands, the ones you couldn’t stop staring at, toward your face. “Is that what you think this is?”
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 you’d just mocked.
“Tawtute.” He uttered, his voice dipped low with smug delight. “That is what you call me.”
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, you’d 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.
“Txampay tawtute.” 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.
“Demon blood.” He muttered, though he wasn’t 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.
“Do you call me tawtute so often because you think about how my hands would feel on you?”
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?
“Neteyam.” The name came out like an unsure whine, nothing like the sharp hiss you’d 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.
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. “I know you hate me.”
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.
“Neteyam learns quicker,”
“Neteyam already wields a bow,”
“Neteyam never loses his temper.”
You had heard it from your father your entire life and you hated him for being the excellence you couldn’t 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 – now – you couldn’t reconcile that boy with the man standing close enough to steal your breath, hands steady where your resolve should have been. You couldn’t fathom how you were letting him do this. How the same Neteyam you’d 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.
“I know you think you hate me.” He repeated, but this time you could hear the smirk that crept up his irritatingly gorgeous face. “But you never look at me like this when you say it. And this–” his free hand drifted down, fingertips ghosting along the tense line of your hip until they found the base of your tail, “--this is the most still your tail has been all night.”
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 didn’t mean to make, nor had you realised escaped you until Neteyam’s glowing amber eyes widened alongside his smile.
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.
“Do not–” 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.
“–stop.”
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?
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.
You looked absolutely ruined. And he absolutely detested the idea that you might have been telling him to stop – truly stop – 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.
“Do.. not.. stop.” You spoke between heavy breaths. “Neteyam, please.”
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 he’d been clinging to as he finally realised what you meant.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Your breath hitched as those fingers paused there, so achingly close, tracing lazy, maddening patterns just above the thin strip of woven fabric – 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.
“You're always so responsive.” He murmured, voice gravelly, lips brushing yours as he spoke and fingers still working their patterns at the lowest part of your belly. “Every touch… you light up for me.”
“You always think you know what I feel.” The words spat harsh but breathless, trying desperately to deny him the satisfaction of winning.
But Neteyam just laughed, stating flatly. “Your freckles glow, fang.”
And your flush deepened knowing your body was betraying your mind.
“Stop talking. I still despise you.”
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.
“Funny way of showing it.” He commented.
Then his fingers pulled at the string, and all you did was let your head fall back against the wall in response.
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.
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.
“No fangs now, huh?” 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. “I’ll silence you.”
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 – all mighty Neteyam, son of Toruk Makto, future Olo’eyktan – 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.
“I told you I’d make you swallow your sorry sounds.” And with a sharp tug forward, the control had been shifted to your hands. “Now swallow.”
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 he’d 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.
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.
You were a mix of pleasure and shame – 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 – on his knees, serving the woman who’d 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.
“Eywa, shit– Y/n– ” 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.
“Who else?” You spat, voice accusatory and ugly with envy, fingers tightening in his braids in a visceral way you couldn’t help.
“What?” He sounded so breathless, and so confused, eyes still foggy from being buried between your thighs.
“You move like this isn’t new for you.” You snapped, the words spilling out jagged. “People don’t learn that by accident.”
“Fang, what are you–”
Then your mouth spat the words like the answer was so obvious, like you had been just waiting for the name to be mentioned. “ –It is An’aya, isn’t it?”
“An’aya!?” He said it like the name didn’t belong here at all. Because it didn’t. Because twenty seconds ago he was face-deep drowning in what he deemed to be his new favourite flavour, and now he’s thinking of a girl he’s barely spent more than 10 minutes alone with.
“You lie with her too!” The accusation came out sharp enough to feel final, as if it wasn’t something to be debated and you had already made up the answer.
Neteyam stared up at you for a beat, eyes wide, mouth still wet and open like he couldn’t 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.
“You are jealous.” 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 couldn’t 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.
“An’aya?” he rasped, grin sharp and crooked, chin still dripping with you. “Eywa fang, you think I’ve ever touched her? Ever wanted to?”
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.
“I don’t lie with An’aya. Just you, fang.” he spoke so slowly, voice low and steady, and almost gentle despite the filth of the moment. “I only ever think about you.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Heat flooded your face, your chest, mixing between the jealousy and the flattery until you couldn’t tell which burned more. You didn’t know if you believed him – or more so didn’t 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 weren’t 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.
“Prove it,” you snarled.
Neteyam’s 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 you’d 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 – the broader shoulders, the extra finger, the sheer size of him below the cloth and the way his tip skin flushed pinker than any Na’vi you’d ever seen – weren’t the flaws or accidents you convinced yourself was the reason you fixated on them. They were proof that he had Toruk Makto’s 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 who’d spent years calling him sky-demon scum.
The realisation twisted hot and ugly in your gut, hate and want braided so tight you couldn’t 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 couldn’t 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.
“Already moaning for me, Fang?” He murmured, voice thick with satisfaction and lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You can’t even pretend to hate me anymore.”
“Do not…,” you hissed with a breathy sigh, the words cracking despite your best effort to sound venomous, “…dare assume you know what I feel.”
He hummed, amused, like your denial was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.
“I do not think I'll have too.”
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 he’d 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, Neteyam’s 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.
“I will not force this, and I will not continue with this if you say no. I honestly don’t think I can.” he said, voice low, rough with restraint but steady. “Tsaheylu with me… or we stop right here. Your choice, Fang. Always your choice.”
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 you’d 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 – his awe, his hunger, the years of wanting you he’d 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.
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.
“Fuck–” he breathed, voice ragged, forehead still pressed to yours. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, the golden amber almost gone. “You feel… I can feel you everywhere.”
You couldn’t 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.
“Tell me,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, keeping your faces close, noses brushing, “tell me you feel it too.”
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.
“I feel you,” 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. “All of you. Don’t stop–!”
The next thrust ended with another broken sound from you, a half-moan, half-word that slurred through your tongue almost incomprehensibly.
“Mmm– ’tayem–”
Neteyam’s 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.
“I got you that good, huh?” He murmured, voice rough but dripping with satisfaction, hips rolling deep and deliberate. “Got the stubborn Fang stuttering my name?”
You tried again, desperate, the pleasure coiling so tight you could barely think.
“Ma– tayem–”
He laughed again, breathlessly arrogant and loving every moment of this – 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 couldn’t even get his name correct.
“Can’t even get your words right,” he teased, smirking against your lips, eyes gleaming down at you with such amusement. “If only everyone could see you now.”
“Ma ‘teyam.” 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 ‘teyam.
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 couldn’t bear to pull out.
“Fuck… fuck–” he gasped, voice hoarse and trembling, nothing left of the smug warrior who’d been teasing you since you got to this forsaken watchpost. “You… you said…”
“That I despise you?” You murmured, eyes fluttering closed as you breathed him in, beyond exhausted, tail finally curling loose and lazy behind you. “I do.”
A broken laugh tore out of him, warm and disbelieving, his nose brushing yours as his breathing slowly began to steady. “I don’t even need to see your tail to know you lie.”
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.
“See?” He whispered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “Even your tail is done fighting me.”
You opened one eye, glaring weakly up at him. “Don not get used to it, skxawng. The second we are back with the clan, I’m telling everyone you cried after your father yelled at you.”
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.
“Then I’d have to tell them how the almighty daughter of our clan head warrior begged for me to–”
You slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing. “Finish that sentence and I’ll bite you again.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, laughter muffled against your palm and you narrowed your eyes as you spoke once more. “I could still push you off this ledge. No one would find the body till morning.”
“Maybe so.” 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. “But then who would keep you company on patrol anymore? You’d miss arguing with me.”
You huffed, shoving at his chest. “I would finally earn peace.”
“Peace is boring.” He countered, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside of it, soft and infuriatingly gentle. “And you’d miss my family interrupting us every five minutes, thinking they’ll catch you slipping in the act. My dad likes messing with us too much to let you go.”
You snorted, but the sound lacked real venom. “Your father likes me because I’m not afraid to yell at you when you are being an arrogant teylupil. That is not the same as liking me.”
Neteyam’s grin turned softer, eyes crinkling at the corners. “He likes you because you are strong. And because you force me to be better. Even when you are threatening to skin me alive.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but your tail betrayed you again, curling tighter around his leg like it had decided it wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
“Flattery will not save you,” you muttered, dropping your head back to his chest so you didn’t have to look at that stupid, fond expression on his face. “When we get back at dawn, we say nothing. We walked the perimeter. Inventoried the stock. End of story.”
Neteyam arched a brow, amusement flickering through the bond. “You think they’ll believe that? Nothing has been done here. And you look…” He brushed a thumb over your neck, tracing where his mouth had been earlier. “…thoroughly ruined.”
You swatted his hand away, but there was no real heat in it, not like before. “You look worse. Like you lost a fight with an Ikran.”
He laughed, full and unguarded this time “Then let them think what they want, I already won.” he whispered when you parted.
You rolled your eyes, but your tail tightened around his leg again, betraying you.
“I still despise you,” you muttered into his neck.
Quaritch was shot in the arm by Spider, and later, when trying to rescue him, he was unable to lift him, symbolizing his ineffectual attempts to connect with his son, which manifest in twisted, flawed treatment even when he has good intentions.
Neytiri was shot in the back by Varang (who channels grief in a destructive way) in the same spot as her son, mirroring Neteyam’s wound, which symbolically represents her wounded heart after his death.
Jake was shot in the leg, which can be seen as a symbol of his past disability and a weakness fueled by his past. May also allude to the biblical story of Jacob, who was left with a damaged leg after wrestling with God for a blessing.
As someone previously noted, everyone was shot on their dominant side: Quaritch and Jake are right-handed, while Neytiri is left-handed.
All of these shootings happened before the character’s inner healing, or, in Quaritch’s case, before giving himself time for it by escaping death at Neytiri’s hands.
Casual - Pt 4 - Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader
Summary: You and Steve Harrington aren’t dating. You’re not even really together. You’re just… hooking up. Secretly. Repeatedly. Stupidly. No one knows, especially not Dustin, who would combust if he found out his sister was sneaking around with his hero. Following season 4 storyline! She/Her reader!
Warnings: anxiety, jealousy, emotional intensity, over thinking, sexual jokes, fear, sexual themes and acts, retroactive jealousy , strong language, trauma references, romantic tension.. Potential smut in future
Word Count: 8,603
Masterlist
Nancy’s car was too tense.
No one was really talking.
Lucas kept glancing at Max like staring hard enough might keep her safe, while she looked straight ahead, gripping the cassette player with all her might, fingertips turning red. Nancy watched the empty stretch in front of you with both hands clamped on the wheel, knuckles pale.
You tried not to look in the side mirror. Tried not to think about the car behind you where Steve had been stuck driving Robin and Dustin. Tried not to think about Steve’s confused face this morning when you’d practically launched yourself into Nancy’s passenger door instead of taking the front seat in his car like you always did.
Tried not to wonder if he was looking at the back of Nancy’s car and thinking about anything other than monsters.
Last night kept replaying in broken pieces. Your voice saying friend like it was a joke. The way you’d shoved whatever you felt for him straight down, deeper than before.
You didn’t have time to be hurt. Didn’t have time to sit with the fact that you’d basically taken your own heart, held it out, and then slammed the door on it yourself.
All you knew was that you couldn’t do this anymore.
You couldn’t keep putting yourself in situations where your heart was that exposed. Not when you’d gone into this knowing exactly what it was. You wanted to be mad at Steve. It would’ve been easier if he’d done something terrible. But every time you tried to aim the anger at him, it slid back onto you.
Because he hadn’t lied. He hadn’t promised you anything. You agreed to this. You knew from the start he was never, ever, going to be more than just your friend.
You squeezed your eyes shut for half a second. Your chest ached like you’d swallowed a piece of glass and it was just sitting there, sharp edge up.
Max shifted beside Lucas, her knees bumping the back of Nancy’s seat. She stared out the window with that hollow, far-away look again, like she was already half somewhere else.
Your fear and stress over Steve suddenly felt small compared to the real threat sitting three feet away. Max was in danger. Serious danger. And none of you had the faintest idea how to save her.
If your chest hurt before, now it felt like it was being pried open. You loved that girl. Loved her and El both. Steve might’ve collected the boys - Dustin, Lucas, the rest of the idiotic gremlin parade -but the girls had somehow become yours.
You thought of sleepovers and movie nights last year, of Max snoring into your shoulder halfway through some crappy horror flick while the boys dragged Steve into something stupid and reckless game outside. She was too young for this. If you could’ve traded places with her, you would’ve done it without blinking.
Your brain skipped to Dustin next, like it always did. To the way he looked up to Eddie like some chaotic little metalhead prophet. Eddie, who you’d mostly known in passing - group projects, quick conversations when you picked Dustin up from Hellfire - but who had always been kind. Goofy, loud, theatrical… but kind. At first, every overprotective cell in your body had screamed “bad influence” at the sight of him. But then you watched Dustin light up around him, watched how much Eddie respected him, listened to him, fought for him - and eventually he’d been promoted to “acceptable older brother figure”... right under Steve.
And now Dustin was fighting for him.
There were too many people to worry about. Too many ways to lose them.
Every thought made your heart pound harder, and your fingers trembled against your jeans. There was not enough room in your body for heartbreak and terror at the same time, but apparently you were trying anyway.
“It should be up here,” Nancy said finally, voice thin but controlled. “Old Creel place is off that right turn.”
You leaned a little closer to the windshield. “This is so fun and not at all like the start of a horror movie,” you muttered.
The right turn appeared, a narrow strip of cracked asphalt disappearing into trees. Nancy slowed and pulled onto it. The temperature seemed to drop the second you left the main road, like you’d driven through some invisible wall.
The house emerged out of the bare branches a moment later. The porch sagged forward like it was exhaling its last breath. Windows were boarded over with uneven planks. Paint peeled in long, curling strips. The yard was a tangle of dead grass and brambles that looked sharp enough to claw your ankles if you stepped wrong.
“Awesome,” Max mumbled behind you.
Everyone piled out at once, just as Steve’s car crunched to a stop behind Nancy’s. Gravel bit through the soles of your shoes. Damp air pushed against your face, sneaking under your jacket, chilling the sweat at the back of your neck. Steve came up to stand beside you at the edge of the yard, hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets. He stared up at the house, lips pressed into a line.
“That’s not creepy,” he said under his breath.
“Nice analysis, Harrington,” you muttered.
He let out a rough little huff of laughter. It sounded frayed, like it had fought its way past his nerves, but for half a second, his shoulders loosened.
Nancy was already climbing the stairs. Robin moved to her side. You followed with the others, the porch groaning under your combined weight.
Up close, the front door was somehow worse. Paint chipping off the wood, which was beginning to weather under the Hawkins sun. Glass fogged with grime. The handle rusted and stiff.
Steve grabbed it anyway and gave it a try, like maybe fate would just… cooperate.
It didn’t.
“What exactly are we supposed to be looking for in this shithole?” he asked even as the knob refused to budge.
“Connections,” Nancy said, eyes tracing the frame like she could will it open. “Anything that links Creel to Vecna. Patterns, marks, whatever.”
“Cool,” Robin muttered. “Yeah. Just a casual nightmare scavenger hunt.”
Steve rattled the handle again like something might’ve changed in the last two seconds. “It’s locked,” he announced.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dustin muttered from behind him.
You stepped off the porch, scanning the base of the stairs, the weeds, the warped boards, looking for something, anything, you could use. Your toe clipped a loose brick half-buried at the edge of the steps. It shifted against your shoe.
You crouched, pried it out, and held it up.
“Found a way in,” you called.
Robin spun around like you’d just announced you discovered Excalibur. “Oh my God, we found a key,” she echoed, hurrying over.
Steve frowned. “That is not a key.”
“Not with that attitude,” Robin said.
Nancy hesitated, then stepped aside, giving you a clear shot. “Careful,” she warned. “We do not need anyone cutting themselves on glass today.”
You motioned everyone back and, with all your might, hurled the brick through the cloudy pane beside the knob. The glass cracked, spiderwebbed, then shattered with a sharp crash. Shards skittered across the porch.
You stepped forward to reach through but Steve’s hand landed on your shoulder, warm and solid, nudging you gently back.
“Let me,” he said, like it was automatic.
Your breath hitched for half a second, but you stepped aside. He pushed his arm through the jagged opening, fingers groping along the inside until you heard the soft thunk of the lock releasing. Then he yanked the door open, hinges shrieking in protest.
The smell rolled out first - dust, old wood, and something sour that had seeped so deep into the boards it would never come out.
“Smells like my grandma’s closet,” Steve muttered.
“Smells like something died,” Dustin added.
“Maybe both,” Robin questioned.
You stepped inside, and daylight dropped away almost instantly. The front hall swallowed it whole, shadows pooling around your ankles.
Steve slowly turned in a circle, squinting against the sudden beams slicing through the dark. “Where did everyone get those?” he demanded.
Dustin scoffed. “Do you need to be told everything?” He gave Steve a pointed look. “You are not a child.”
“Thank you,” Steve said flatly.
You dug into the front pocket of your backpack, fingers closing around plastic. You pulled out your own flashlight and flicked it on. The beam cut cleanly through the dust.
You felt Steve’s attention snag on you again.
“Of course you have one,” he muttered.
“It’s called being responsible,” you said. “You should try it sometime.”
“Excuse me,” he said, gesturing at himself. “I am too busy making sure you shitheads don’t die.”
You lifted an unimpressed brow. “Sure.”
You dug into your bag again and tossed something in his direction. He caught it on instinct - your spare flashlight. Surprise flickered across his face for a second before he muttered a quick, almost sheepish, “Thanks,” and snapped it on.
Your beam swept over peeling wallpaper, framed family photos with cracked glass and faces faded to ghostly blurs. The staircase curled up toward the second floor like a spine. Dust lay over everything in a thick, undisturbed layer.
“Everyone stay in groups,” Nancy said, pulling your attention back. “We’ll cover more ground that way. Steve, Dustin - you two stick together. Lucas, Max - take the kitchen and dining room. Me, Robin, Y/N - we’ll check the upstairs bedrooms.”
It took all of three seconds for Steve and Dustin to start bickering as they moved away.
“You don’t even know what we’re looking for,” Dustin was saying.
“Oh, I’m sorry, are you suddenly head detective around here?” Steve shot back.
Their voices faded as you followed Nancy and Robin up the stairs. Each step creaked loudly enough to make your shoulders tense.
Upstairs, the hallway stretched long and narrow, lined with doors on either side. Your flashlight skimmed over old picture frames, the shapes of abandoned furniture hunched in dark corners, strips of wallpaper slouching toward the floor like melted skin.
Nancy stepped into the first bedroom on the right, her beam sliding across a bare bed frame and dresser that had been ransacked long ago.
You and Robin lingered in the hall, and just as Nancy was out of earshot, Robin leaned closer. “So,” she said lightly. “How long are we going to pretend everything is normal with you and Steve?”
You groaned under your breath. “Seriously? Now?”
“Seems like a good time,” she said. “You’re trapped in a dead guy’s house and maybe a psychic serial killer. There’s nowhere for you to run, and I’m taking full advantage of that.”
You stared at a peeling strip of wallpaper, focusing on the curl of it like you might be able to step through it and back into the car if you tried hard enough.
“There is nothing to talk about,” you said. “We’re fine.”
Robin snorted softly. “You two are so far from fine right now it’s almost impressive.”
“We’re friends,” you replied, automatically.
She raised her brows. “Right. And I am the prom queen of Hawkins High.”
You clenched your jaw. The floor felt just a little too unsteady beneath your feet. “It’s complicated,” you muttered. “And with Max and Vecna and everything else, it doesn’t matter. We don’t have time for… whatever that was.””
Robin watched you for a long beat, her expression softer than her tone. “You’re allowed to care about more than one terrifying thing at a time, you know. Brain can multitask. You can worry about the monster wizard and be heartbroken.”
You swallowed around the knot in your throat. “I’m not heartbroken,” you lied.
“Sure,” she said. “You’re just thrilled every time Nancy breathes within a ten-foot radius of him.”
Heat crept up your neck. “I’m not jealous.”
“I never said jealous,” Robin replied. “But now that you bring that up, you do look like you’re going to throw up every time he looks at her.”
You didn’t have an answer for that, and luckily Nancy stepped back into the hall, saving you from the conversation, “Nothing in there,” she said. “Check the others.”
You moved down the hall as a group, peering into bedrooms that felt like the bones of a family’s life. Kids’ drawings hanging off the walls. A toy car abandoned beneath a cracked vanity. A hairbrush with a few blonde strands still caught in it.
By the time you reached the far end of the hall, the silence felt thick, heavy. Robin and Nancy split off into opposite rooms. You hovered in the doorway of one, your flashlight nudging shadows aside.
Then a scream snapped you out of your thoughts.
“Jesus Christ!” - Steve’s voice, sharp, high, and absolutely terrified, ricocheted down the hallway.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. For one horrible second, you pictured him suspended in midair, eyes rolled back, limbs broken like Chrissy’s and Fred’s. Your legs started moving before you could even process the fear.
Nancy bolted toward the sound. You were right behind her, Robin on your heels.
“Steve!” Nancy shouted.
Footsteps thundered toward you. Steve burst out of a room at the far end of the hall so fast he nearly collided with Nancy. She caught herself with a hand on his chest.
He was breathing hard, eyes wide. “Do not go in there,” he said, jabbing a finger back over his shoulder. “I’m serious. Do. Not. Go. In.”
Robin frowned. “Why? What is it? Vecna portal? Floating body? Murder shrine?”
“Spider,” Steve said. “Big spider. Black widow.”
You blinked. “That’s it? A spider?”
“Yes, that’s it,” he snapped, voice pitching up. “Did you not hear the black widow part?”
“Technically they’re not aggressive unless provoked,” Dustin’s voice floated faintly from down the hall.
“Thank you, National Geographic!” Steve hollered back.
Something about the whole thing squeezed a laugh out of you. It came out thin, but real. “You have webs in your hair,” you told him, lifting your flashlight a little. Strands clung to his curls and the collar of his jacket. “Very avant-garde.”
He immediately started swatting at the back of his head with both hands. “Get them off. Seriously, get them off.”
Robin peered around him into the dark room. “If there is a spider in there, you’re never going to find it until it lays eggs and the babies spill out.”
Steve stared at her like she’d personally betrayed him. “What is wrong with you?”
For a second, you forgot about everything else and stepped forward, hand half-raised to help him…but Nancy was already there. She rose onto her toes and started carefully plucking the worst of the webs out of his hairline and collar. Her fingers moved quickly, brushing across his neck, smoothing a fold of his jacket.
“Hold still,” she said. “You’re just making it worse.”
He went still for her instantly, and you just sat there and watched. It was nothing. It was small. Familiar. But watching her do it, watching how easily they fell back into that old rhythm, felt like someone holding a sign up in front of your face.
Of course it was her.
It would always be her.
You didn’t dislike Nancy. That was the worst part. You understood the appeal. She was beautiful and sharp and composed. Smart but not nerdy. Strong without being scary. People gravitated to her like she was the sun.
It had happened once before, someone leaving you for her. Jonathan had been one of your closest friends for years. You always ate lunch together, hung out while the boys got together. But when Nancy came into his life, all of that stopped and you had to deal with the fallout, the fear, the Upside Down aftermath, mostly on your own.
That was probably why you and Steve had gotten so close. Two people left behind, orbiting the same mess, finding each other in the wreckage. Steve slipped into the space Jonathan used to take up so easily it scared you.
So you knew how this would go. You could see the cycle starting all over again, right in front of you…but you refused to let it end the same way.
That was why you pushed so hard to be casual. Why you insisted you were friends, and nothing more. If there was no label, then there’d be no reason for him to drop you when he and Nancy inevitably found their way back to each other. No reason to cut you off when the universe decided you were expendable once again.
You shoved the thought away like it physically hurt just as Nancy stepped back, apparently satisfied with her work.
“There,” she said.
“Thanks,” Steve replied, his voice dropping a little…almost like he was upset the moment ended. She gave him a small nod and turned toward the next doorway, her flashlight beam swinging ahead.
You fell into step beside Steve as the group shifted down the hall. Your shoulders brushed once, a tiny static shock that made your skin buzz.
“You’re really that scared of spiders?” you asked quietly, more to remind him you existed than anything else.
He shot you a look. “Excuse me for not wanting fanged venom monsters within a ten-mile radius of my face.”
“You have no problem throwing yourself into a pit of demodogs,” you said, mouth twitching. “But you scream at the sight of a spider.”
“Those monsters don’t sneak into my shoes and crawl into my mouth while I’m asleep,” he muttered. “Also, you’re one to talk…just last week you were screaming at the garden snake in my back yard.”
You scoffed. “I did not scream.”
He gave you a look of theatrical disbelief. “You literally jumped into my arms, Henderson. Begged me to kill it.” A laugh slipped out of him, warmer this time. “Didn’t even hesitate. One little wiggle and you were, like, koala-mode on my chest.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but the memory flashed too clearly in your head - bare feet on his back deck, his hands catching you around the waist, his laugh too warm against your ear.
He slowed without warning, and you almost walked right into him. When he turned toward you, some of the humor had drained from his face, leaving something quieter, something you really couldn’t afford to name.
For a beat, the two of you just stood there in that suffocating hallway, flashlight beams overlapping at your feet like some kind of spotlight. Too close. Too still. Too easy to fall into whatever this was.
He opened his mouth, as if he was going to ask something and your chest tightened. Nope. No. Absolutely not doing this here…not in a murder house, not with Nancy ten feet away, not with everything already ripping apart at the seams.
You cleared your throat, sharp enough to cut the moment in half, “Come on,” you said, stepping past him before it could get dangerous. “Let’s catch up with the others.”
You didn’t look back, but you could feel him hesitate behind you for just a second before his footsteps followed.
By the time everyone regrouped downstairs, the air felt like it was buzzing under your skin. Everyone drifted into the foyer, flashlights bobbing.
“Nothing upstairs,” Nancy reported.
“Kitchen’s a bust,” Lucas added. “Dining room too.”
You stared down at the cracked tiles beneath your shoes. The unease in your stomach hadn’t lessened. If anything, it was worse. Like the house itself was holding its breath.
Dustin’s head tilted, his brows pinching - “Guys,” he said tightly. “Do you see that?”
You followed his gaze.
The light fixture above you flickered once. Twice.
The hairs on your arms rose.
Max swallowed. “Yeah,” she whispered.
A low electrical hum crawled across the walls. Dustin swung his backpack off his shoulder and dug through it, pulling his flashlight back out with frantic hands.
“If Vecna’s in the Upside Down version of this house, maybe we can track him from here,” he rushed out. “Like… whatever he’s doing there might be messing with the lights here.”
You nodded, your own instincts kicking in. You raised your flashlight, beam cutting toward the ceiling. “Everyone spread out a little, but stay where we can see each other. Aim your lights at the walls and ceiling. If the bulbs start reacting, we move with them.”
One by one, everyone followed your lead. Flashlights pointed up, beams crisscrossing moldy plaster and peeling wallpaper. Dustin swept his light slowly, eyes locked on the overhead fixture.
Fear crawled up your spine, sticky and cold. On paper, tracking Vecna sounded smart. In practice, it meant walking toward him.
You drifted closer to Steve without thinking. Your shoulder nearly brushed his again.
He glanced sideways at you, eyes searching your face like he was trying to gauge how close you were to breaking. “You sure?” he asked softly.
“No,” you said.
The corner of his mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile like that answer somehow made him feel less alone.
The fixture above you buzzed louder. The bulb pulsed.
Dustin shifted. “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay… everyone turn left. Slowly.”
You turned with the group, beams shifting in unison. The hum in the air ratcheted higher. The hair on the back of your neck prickled. Your heart pounded so hard you could feel it in your teeth.
The bulb flickered again - bright, dim, bright - and each flare seemed to tug upward, toward the second floor. Like a compass being yanked north.
Up.
The stairs.
“Of course,” Robin muttered. “Because why would the murder wizard ever hang out in a nice, safe living room?”
You swallowed hard as the group started to move, following the invisible pull. Fear pressed tight against your ribs, hot and suffocating - but underneath it, something else twisted when you felt Steve fall into step just behind you, close enough that if you stopped suddenly, he’d run right into you.
You didn’t look back.
You didn’t dare.
You just climbed, one foot after the other, into the darker part of the house, where the air felt too thin and the walls creaked like something on the other side was listening.
Nancy’s car felt even smaller on the way to Eddies.
This time you were wedged in the back with Lucas and Max, your shoulder pinned between Max’s and the cold door panel. Robin sat in the front passenger seat with a map half-folded in her lap, and Steve and Dustin were crammed into the trunk space like two gremlins.
Nancy’s knuckles were white at ten and two, eyes locked on the road like if she looked away everything might collapse.
Outside, Hawkins passed in gray streaks. Bare trees. Quiet houses. Empty streets. All of it painfully normal for a town that was rotting from the inside out.
By the time the car rolled to a stop near the boathouse, your stomach had already sank.
There were vans lined up along the shore. News logos slapped across the sides. A tangle of cameras and boom mics pointed accusingly toward the water. Police cruisers flashed in slow pulses, blue and red lights stuttering weakly against the gray sky.
No one moved at first.
You all just sat there, staring.
A reporter stood precariously close to the edge of the lake, hair sprayed into immovable curls, mic held tight in a gloved hand.
“…fugitive still at large. Police are now officially naming local Hawkins teen, Edward Munson, as the prime suspect…”
Your chest tightened until it hurt.
Beside you, Max let out a breath like it had scraped her throat on the way out. Lucas swore quietly. Dustin’s whole body went rigid.
You moved together, silent and tense, slipping out of the car and into the thin tree line where the reporters couldn’t spot you. The wind off the water was damp and cold, threading through your clothes and straight into your bones.
As usual, Steve came up behind you, close enough that you felt him before you heard him - the soft crunch of gravel under his shoes, the faint warmth of his breath brushing the side of your neck.
“Great,” he muttered, jaw set tight. “Exactly what Eddie needed… Hawkins’ very own witch hunt.”
You swallowed hard. The guilt picked you apart from the inside. Eddie wasn’t a murderer - he was terrified, alone, hunted, all because the real monster lived under everyone’s feet and no one even knew. The world thought he was the threat while the actual threat was invisible and picked people off one by one.
Static burst sharply from Dustin’s walkie. Everyone jerked toward him.
Dustin snatched it up. “Hello?”
Eddie’s voice came through in a frantic whisper. “Henderson, you hear me?”
Relief hit you so fast it almost made you dizzy. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been holding your breath until your lungs suddenly remembered how to work.
“Yeah - yeah, man, we hear you,” Dustin said. “Where are you?”
Eddie started mumbling, going off about something but landed on “Skull Rock, you know it?”
Dustin ignored him completely. “Stay put, okay? Don’t move. We’re coming to you.”
A shaky exhale crackled through the walkie. “Not going anywhere, man.”
The line clicked.
Nancy was already turning back toward the road. “We can’t stay here. Too many eyes. We’ll park farther down and cut through the woods.”
You followed her back to the car, gravel slipping under your shoes, heart pounding in your throat. The sight of Eddie’s name being read like a breaking-news headline replayed in your head over and over.
A boy who once argued with Dustin about the correct rules of DnD now had half of Hawkins calling for his head.
Your hands curled into fists without you meaning to. Steve brushed past you on the way to the trunk, his arm grazing down yours, but you didn’t look at him. Too much was happening, too fast, and your brain couldn’t hold all of it - the terror for Max, the guilt for Eddie, the instinct to protect Dustin, and the stupid, aching awareness of Steve’s presence behind you.
You sank into your seat when the car doors shut again, swallowing hard.
The woods behind the road were damp and crowded with trees, branches snagging at your jacket as you followed the narrow trail. The sky was mostly cut off by the canopy, only dull gray filtering through between the leaves. The ground was uneven - your sneakers kept slipping on wet leaves and hidden rocks.
Lucas, Max, and Dustin walked in a loose cluster at the front, talking quietly, sometimes bickering, sometimes falling silent. Nancy and Robin followed a little way behind them, Robin muttering about roots and murder caves while Nancy kept her eyes fixed ahead.
You drifted a few steps behind them without meaning to, and Steve drifted with you.
It happened the way it always did - slow, unconscious, like gravity - until you were side by side again, shoes sinking into the same patches of wet leaves.
For a while, there was nothing but the crunch of branches and the occasional birdcall. The others moved farther ahead, swallowed by the trees, until their chatter blurred into something distant. But then -
“Hey,” he said finally, voice low. “Can we… like, talk? For a sec?”
You didn’t look at him. “About what?”
He hesitated - long enough to make your heartbeat tick upward.
“I’ve just been thinking,” he said slowly, searching for words he clearly didn’t know how to form. “About… us. Or, I dunno, the way things have been. Lately.”
Your pulse tightened painfully.
There it was.
The beginning of the conversation you had been terrified of.
“Steve,” you sighed, trying to keep your voice even, “I’m not really in the mood for this right now.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “I know the timing sucks, but I just - ” He broke off, grimacing like he hated the words coming out of his mouth. “I don’t want things weird between us.”
Weird.
You’d known this was coming. You’d known it ever since you saw Nancy appear the other day. Of course he’d try to put a lid on whatever you two had going on, make sure things weren’t weird before running off.
“Things aren’t weird,” you lied.
“They feel weird,” he said, eyes flicking sideways to you. “You’ve been… different. And I keep thinking maybe I screwed something up without realizing it, or maybe you’re mad at me about - ”
“I’m not mad,” you cut in sharply. “I’m just tired. And stressed. And trying not to die.”
A tiny smile twitched across his lips. “Yeah. Okay. Fair.”
But he didn’t stop.
He never stopped when he should.
“It’s just - ” He blew out a breath. “When you said what you said the other night, I wasn’t sure if you meant it or if you were just… scared. I mean, things got intense. And I get if you regret it or ”
You stopped walking.
He took another step before realizing you weren’t beside him anymore, then turned back, brows knitted in confusion.
“Steve,” you said, your voice flat but shaking at the edges, “there’s nothing to clarify.”
“But - ” he tried.
“No,” you pushed, harsher than you meant to. “Seriously. Just stop overthinking it. I don’t have the mental capacity to navigate whatever this is on top of everything else. So can we not do this right now?”
You stepped around him before he could answer, brushing past a low-hanging branch.
Behind you, you heard him exhale - long and frustrated.
His footsteps caught up to you again, heavier this time.
“You always do that,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.
“Do what?” you snapped.
“Shut me down before I even get the words out,” he said, not angry - just hurt in a way that made your chest pinch. “Like you’ve already decided what I’m gonna say.”
You swallowed, trying not to let that land. He wasn’t wrong, and that only made it worse. Sadly picking a fight with him was easier than admitting your feelings.
“Steve, look … I know you want to make sure things aren’t messy between us so it doesn’t interfere with… whatever is going on with you and Nancy - ”
“Wait, what?” he barked out a short, stunned laugh. “What are you talking about me and Nancy?”
You didn’t answer.
You didn’t need to.
He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Henderson, I’m not trying to have some deep talk so I can go make heart eyes at Nancy Wheeler.”
Your jaw clenched. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He stared at you. Really stared. Like you had genuinely knocked the wind out of him.
A twig cracked under your sneaker - loud in the silence that fell between you. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
You hated the look on his face, the stunned confusion curling into something dangerously close to pity. He probably thought you wanted more. Heat crawled up your neck, embarrassment mixing with panic, and for a split second you wished the earth would swallow you whole.
“I’m not” he said again, quieter this time. “You really think I’d - ?”
Before he could finish the question - before you could untangle any of it -
“Guys!” Dustin’s voice tore through the woods. He barreled toward you, leaves flying behind him. “Hurry up! You two walk like you’re eighty!”
Steve dragged a hand over his face. “Henderson,” he snapped - not harsh, just fraying at the edges - “please, man, just give us a moment.”
“Can’t,” Dustin said, completely missing the tension as he waved his compass between you like a flashing neon sign. “Also, we’re heading the wrong direction. Completely wrong. Like, not-even-close wrong.”
Steve heaved an exasperated sigh. “We are not heading the wrong direction. This is the path to Skull Rock. I’ve been here a thousand times.”
“Yeah, well,” Dustin lifted the compass closer to Steve’s face, “your sense of direction is about as reliable as a broken Etch A Sketch. The needle is literally pointing that way.”
“It’s busted,” Steve snapped. “Or you’re holding it wrong. Again.”
Dustin scoffed dramatically. “I know how to hold a compass, Steve. North is north, idiot.”
Steve let out a groan and stormed past both of you, brushing branches aside with way too much force. “Forget it. Let’s just find the stupid rock.”
He took long, angry strides forward, determined to prove Dustin wrong about something. Anything.
He shoved aside a bush, stepped around a jagged stone, and then stopped short.
A beat.
Then a smug, triumphant turn.
“Skull Rock!” Steve announced, pointing at it like he’d personally summoned it from the earth. “In your FACE, man. In your stupid cocky little face!”
You winced. Dustin remained completely unfazed.
“Yeah okay but…” Dustin frowned down at the compass again, “…this still doesn’t make sense.”
Steve groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my GOD. You’re seriously still going?”
“Because the compass is wrong, Steve!” Dustin said, like this was the most urgent mystery on Earth. “It’s literally pointing away from Skull Rock. Which means - ”
Steve scoffed loudly. “Yeah yeah. Even when it’s literally RIGHT THERE, you still can’t admit it.” He jabbed a finger at Dustin - but his eyes flicked toward you, sharp and stinging. He pushed his fingers through his hair once more then muttered, “You just can’t admit when you’re wrong, you little butthead.”
“I’m not a butthead,” Dustin said calmly, studying the compass. “This is actually a fascinating phenomenon -”
Before he could finish, a voice boomed dramatically overhead.
“I concur,” Eddie declared, perched on a boulder like some chaotic woodland creature. “You, Dustin Henderson, are a TOTAL butthead.”
There was a rustle above you - a branch shaking, boots scraping rock - and then Eddie Munson dropped down from a jagged outcrop like some feral woodland creature.
Hair wild. Jacket muddy. Eyes too bright, too tired. But still Eddie.
Dustin lit up like a Christmas tree.
“EDDIE!” he shrieked, sprinting forward and slamming into him so hard Eddie stumbled back a full step.
Eddie choked out a laugh - half hysterical, half relieved - and wrapped his arms tight around him. “Holy shit,” Dustin said into his chest. “You’re alive.”
“Not gone yet, little man,” Eddie exhaled, patting Dustin’s back like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or collapse.
Something in your own chest unclenched - the tension loosening just a little, enough to let air in.
When Eddie finally lifted his head, his gaze swept over the group (who just caught up to you all)… and then landed on you.
Longer than necessary.
He pressed a hand dramatically to his heart.
And for a tiny, stupid second, you felt Steve’s stare burn into the side of your face.
But then the moment broke and reality rushed back in, dark and cold and heavy.
Eddie motioned everyone to huddle in, his voice dropping as he explained everything - Jason and Patrick chasing him, the panic, the water, the way Patrick had been yanked helplessly into the air, limbs bending at impossible angles before crashing back down like a broken doll.
Every word dug claws into your stomach. When he finished, silence crawled through the woods.
“Wait,” you said suddenly, pulse spiking. “When exactly did it happen?”
Eddie blinked, thrown. “Uh… around - ”
He checked his watch. Or what used to be one. The cracked face hung uselessly from the strap. He handed it off to Nancy.
You and Nancy locked eyes at the same time.
“It lines up,” she said quietly. “With the lights. At Creel. When everything blew out.”
Your heart thudded painfully.
“So Vecna hit Patrick right when the lights burst,” you murmured.
No one spoke for a moment.
The woods felt too still.
Too aware.
Then everyone started talking at once.
Max whispering it’s getting worse.Robin muttering that everything would be easier if El were still here.
Dustin pacing, rambling about his compass and energy.
Lucas rubbing a hand down his face, saying this was larger than before.
Eddie scrubbed both hands over his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus. And here I was thinking this town just hated metal.”
He glanced over at Dustin, who had gone quiet again, brows pinched like he was deep in numbers only he could see.
Eddie’s voice softened. “Hey… Henderson isn’t, uh… cursed or anything, is he?”
The question snapped the group back into motion. You stepped forward instinctively, cutting in before Dustin could say something mortifying.
“Nope,” you said firmly, “That’s sadly normal for him.”
Dustin started pacing in frantic little circles, staring down at his compass like it had personally betrayed him.
“No, no, no… this is wrong. Something is - ”
He stopped dead.
Then pointed straight at Steve with the force of a divine revelation, “BOOM!”
Everyone jumped.
“I was right,” Dustin declared. “Skull Rock is north.”
Steve threw his arms out so hard his jacket flared behind him. “Are you kidding me? You’re serious right now? This -” he slapped both hands against the boulder beside him “is Skull Rock. You are one hundred percent wrong, right now.”
Dustin shook his head violently, curls bouncing. “Yes… and no.”
“Oh my God,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“Compass is off,” Dustin said, holding it up like a sacred artifact. The needle jittered wildly, twitching away from north like it was trying to escape. He turned in a slow circle. Same twitch. Same refusal.
“The needle should be pointing true north,” he said, voice rising with each syllable, “but it’s not. Which means something out here is messing with the magnetic field.”
You stepped in automatically, peering over his shoulder. “If you have a really intense electromagnetic field nearby, it can override magnetic north,” you said. “Like… magnets, power lines, big machinery - anything that generates a strong current. But out here?” You gestured to the trees. “There’s nothing.”
Dustin’s head snapped toward you, eyes huge.
“No natural reason,” he said.
“But an unnatural one…” you finished.
The two of you froze, staring at each other as the idea clicked into place, bright and terrifying.
Then, simultaneously: “Like a gate.”
Dustin pointed at you. “Like a gate!”
Your matching excitement was embarrassingly loud.
Behind you, Robin whispered, “Oh great, the Henderson twins are theorizing again.”
Eddie smiled at that - soft and amused, like he liked seeing you two that animated.
But you were already walking, following the stubborn pull of the compass. Dustin jogged to keep up with your longer stride.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve shouted behind you. “Where are you two going?”
You waved a vague hand forward. “This way.”
“That’s not an answer!” Steve yelled. “Eddie is still a wanted man, we can’t just go hiking deeper into the woods!”
Dustin spun around mid-stride, walking backward to keep facing Steve. “This might be the one thing that saves Max and Eddie,” he said. “We find the gate, we get proof, we figure out how to close it.”
He pointed the compass dramatically at Eddie.
“What say you, Eddie the Banished?”
Eddie blinked, processing. His gaze traveled from Dustin… to you…to the group…. to the trees stretching endlessly ahead.
“I say,” he began slowly, “you are asking me to follow you into Mordor.”
Dustin grinned.
“And if I’m being totally straight with you…” Eddie sighed. “I think that’s a really, really bad idea.”
A pause.
A deep breath.
“But,” he added softly, expression shifting into something more serious, “the Shire… the Shire is burning.”
Dustin actually bounced and a smile tugged at your mouth before you could stop it.
“So Mordor it is,” he finished.
He stepped forward and slung an arm around your shoulder, the other around Dustin, pulling both of you in as he started walking. His body was warm, grounding, alive. You leaned into him without thinking.
Behind you, you heard a sharp exhale, almost like a forced laugh - but you didn’t bother to turn around as you heard the groups footsteps following yours.
And just like that, you were all moving again - deeper into the woods, toward whatever the compass and your gut both insisted was waiting for you.
You kept close to Dustin and Eddie as the compass pulled you deeper into the trees.
Not because you were particularly attached to either of them at that moment - though Dustin’s excitement was weirdly comforting, and Eddie’s presence had a way of filling the space with warmth you didn’t know you needed.
But mostly because you were terrified of getting caught alone with Steve again.
You could still feel the echo of that conversation - the hurt and embarassment, the heat in his voice when he snapped. Your nerves were too raw right now to risk another moment like that.
So you stuck to the safest spot in the group, halfway between your brother and Hawkins’ most wanted criminal.
Eddie made sure the silence never lasted too long.
He babbled nervously about everything - trees that looked like they could attack, how Hawkins woods felt like the exact setting where a low-budget horror movie would begin, the fact that he was definitely not built for cardio.
He kept talking - half jokes, half rambling questions about how on earth you all got wrapped up in this nightmare. If he was trying to distract you, it worked. You laughed a few times. And every now and then, when he thought you weren’t looking, he snuck a glance at you, only to immediately trip on a rock and pretend he’d meant to do it.
It was easy to fall into whatever distraction Eddie was providing - but every so often, you caught yourself looking back to check if the others were still following your compass-led parade.
Sometimes you caught Robin and Lucas arguing quietly behind Nancy. Sometimes you saw Max walking slowly, eyes down, fingers clenched in her sleeves.
And sometimes - the moments that felt like being punched in the sternum - you saw Steve leaning in toward Nancy, saying something low, something meant for her and not you… Just once or twice, Steve caught you looking.
His gaze flicked to yours - quick, unsure, almost guilty - and you tore your eyes away before your thoughts could spiral.
Eventually, the thick woods began to thin. The smell hit first - cold water and wet earth - and then a gray smear of lake appeared through the trees.
Lover’s Lake.
Quiet. Still. Empty.
No cops. No crowds. No lights.
Just a narrow shoreline and a sagging wooden pier leading a few feet out over the water.
And, a few yards off the path, a lumpy shape covered by a mildewed blue tarp.
Eddie spotted it first.
“Oh ho ho…” he said, jogging awkwardly toward it. “Jackpot.”
Steve followed, already squinting like he expected disappointment. “If that’s a dead body, I’m going home.”
Eddie crouched, grabbed the edge of the tarp, and yanked it back with a flourish. Underneath was a rowboat - old, scratched up, the paint half peeled - but clearly still afloat-able.
Eddie and Steve didn’t hesitate - they each grabbed a side and shoved. The wood complained but didn’t break, sliding into the shallows water.
Nancy stepped forward, her eyes scanning the open stretch of gray water like she expected to spot the gate glittering beneath the surface. “Alright,” she said, voice steady. “We use the compass. When the needle goes wild, that’s where the gate is.”
Simple. Terrifying. Straightforward.
Robin hopped down beside the boat and shot Steve a look, “Well? Gentlemanly assistance, please.”
Steve extended his hands automatically. Eddie did too, though less gracefully. However Robin ignored both their hands and instead used both boys like human stepping stools - one hand on Steve’s shoulder, the other braced on Eddie’s head, her boot scraping Steve’s thigh as she half-fell, half-dropped into the center of the boat with a thud.
“Ten out of ten form,” she announced proudly.
Nancy followed next. Steve’s hands were already out, steadying the boat, his grip firm on the edge as he offered her the other. She took it without hesitation, stepping in with that calm poise she always had. For a second, their heads bent close together - Nancy murmuring something too quiet to catch, Steve smiling, small and involuntary.
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.
Then both Eddie and Steve turned to you.
Eddie gave a dramatic bow. “Milady,” he said, offering his hand.
Steve didn’t bow. He just held his hand out - palm up, steady, open. His eyes lifted to yours, and something flickered there. Not quite hope. Not quite uncertainty. Something in between - something that made your ribs feel too tight.
You didn’t let yourself look at it long enough to understand it. Instead, you slipped your hand into Eddie’s.
You didn’t see his face.
You didn’t have to.
You could feel the shift in the air behind you…sharp, tense, blink-and-you’d-miss-it disappointment. His hand dropped back to the rim of the boat a little too fast, knuckles whitening for half a second before he forced them to relax.
Eddie grinned like he’d won a prize. He gave your hand a showy little tug, pulling you forward with a flourish that made you wobble. You caught his forearm to steady yourself as the boat rocked dangerously. Steve tightened his grip on the side immediately, bracing the whole thing with his body until it settled.
Behind you, Dustin edged toward the dock’s edge. “Alright, my turn,” he declared.
You twisted around so fast you nearly lost your balance. “Whoa - no. Absolutely not. You trying to sink us? This thing maybe holds four people, tops.”
“I’ll sit real still,” Dustin argued. “You won’t even know I’m there.”
“Not the point,” you said. “Besides… you stay with Max and Lucas. Keep an eye out for trouble.”
Dustin’s outrage was immediate. “You keep an eye out,” he shot back, pointing at you. “It’s my goddamn theory.”
“And I’m your sister,” you said, brows lifting. “And I’m telling you to stay back.”
Robin raised her hand. “You heard Y/N.”
Dustin whirled on her. “Who put her in charge?”
“I did,” Robin said, absolutely unfazed.
Dustin threw his head back in a dramatic groan, muttering curses as Max smirked beside him. Lucas hovered at her elbow, not saying anything, but the fear in his eyes was loud enough.
Steve climbed in last. He swung one leg over the edge, planted his foot, and lowered himself into the back of the boat.
The whole thing dipped sharply. Water sloshed against the sides.
“Okay,” Nancy said, settling on the front bench with the compass balanced in her palm. Her eyes didn’t leave it for a second. “Slowly. Head toward the middle.”
Eddie and Steve dipped their oars into the water, the boat nudging forward with a groan like it resented all of you. Ripples fanned out behind you, the shore shrinking with every pull.
The lake felt bigger from out here - too big. Like it could swallow all of you without even noticing.
“Slower,” Nancy said suddenly. “We’re getting close. The needle’s starting to twitch.”
Her knuckles tightened around the compass. Robin leaned in beside her, scanning the surface with sharp, anxious flicks of her eyes, like she was waiting for a hand to explode out of the water.
Behind them, Steve shifted his weight.
Then he started undressing.
First the jacket. Then the sweater.
You blinked. “Steve, what the hell are you doing?”
“Getting ready,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He tugged the sweater over his head and tossed it aside, the hem of his shirt lifting just enough to flash bare skin, old scars, and the muscles across his ribs that he pretended didn’t exist.
Robin sputtered. “I - sorry - what? Ready for what?”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” Steve said, now peeling off his shirt, “I’m going down there.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, but his hands were steady. Too steady.
He was terrified and doing it anyway.
Unless one of you four can top being Hawkins swim co-captain and a certified lifeguard for three years,” he went on. “Then it’s gotta be me. No complaints.”
He looked around the boat like he expected a fight before finally tugging his undershirt off.
Robin made a strangled sound that was part nervous laugh, part dread.
Nancy… Nancy stared openly, gaze snagging on Steve’s bare shoulders, his back, the water dripping off his hairline.
Your chest tightened sharply, too tight to breathe right…. You looked away fast.
Focus. Just focus.
The lake rippled gently beside you, innocent and silent in a way that made it worse.
Steve crouched at the edge of the boat, fingers curling around the rim. The sky hung heavy above you, gray and low, and the air felt thinner the closer he inched toward the water.
Without even thinking your voice called out, smaller than you meant to be, “Steve”
He glanced back at you - quick, sharp, attentive.
“Be careful,” you forced out. It was all you could manage without your throat closing.
His expression softened - not dramatically, not obviously, just a barely-there shift that cracked through all the frustration from earlier. A tiny flicker of something that made your heart stutter.
“Always am,” he said..
Then he sucked in a breath…
…and slid into the lake.
The surface sealed over his head with barely a sound.
You gripped the bench so tightly your fingers ached. You counted in your head because it was that or scream.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
A full minute.
“He’s been down a while,” Eddie said, voice higher than he probably intended.
“Give him a second,” Nancy murmured, though her eyes were glued to the water, unblinking.
Your chest burned. Every horrible image the Upside Down had ever given you crawled across your mind…dark water, claws, no air, no escape.
Then -
Steve burst upward with a gasp, hair plastered to his face, blinking hard.
You exhaled too fast, too shakily. You weren’t even aware you’d been holding your breath until your lungs ached.
“I found it,” he said, breathless.
Nancy leaned over the edge. “You found it?”
“Yeah.” He swam closer, reaching for the boat. You leaned without thinking, hands moving to steady him, your fingers brushing the warm curve of his arm for a split second before he grabbed the side instead.
“It’s wild,” he said, still panting. “More of a snack-sized gate than the usual, but still pretty big.”
Your mind tripped over the words. A gate. Right beneath you. Right now.
Steve inhaled again, about to explain further, when his body jerked violently downward, like something had hooked deep into him and pulled.
Hard.
His eyes went wide.
His grip slipped.
His mouth opened - no sound
“STEVE!” you and Nancy screamed.
He vanished beneath the surface.
Water slammed against the boat. The whole thing lurched sideways. Nancy grabbed the rim. Robin swore. Eddie sat frozen in fear.
You didn’t move.
Not at first.
Then instinct swallowed you whole.
One heartbeat you were on the bench.
The next, you were standing.
“Wait!” Eddie shouted, reaching for you. “Y/N - wait, wait -!”
But you were already gone.
The cold hit you so hard it stole every breath from your lungs.
For a split second, there was nothing but black water and roaring blood. No up, no down, just the crushing cold swallowing you whole.
And even through the panic, through the darkness, through the suffocating cold—
One wild, merciless thought tore through you:
Of course you jumped.
Of course you did.
No matter how much you denied you feelings for the boy, you were never going to let him go under alone.
There was nothing sexier than a man in uniform, is a statement you stood firmly by. That is until you saw Kelly Severide in a suit and tie. Those piercing blue eyes locked onto yours from the opposite side of the room, the sexy grin on his lips as he tipped back bubbling champagne. This man either had no idea how sexy he was or was the best tease in the world. When he loosened his tie, you had to go with the latter. Okay then Mr. Severide, you could play this game.
You were nothing special, or at least you didn’t think you were. But the red dress hugging your hips, the painted on lip gloss and high heels gave you enough confidence to saunter to his side of the room. Snatching some liquid courage from the tray as the waiter passed, you were so over this Fireman’s ball. You didn’t stop, brushing your hand along his lower back as a signal you hoped this man would understand, and want.
The minute long wait in the empty women’s bathroom was enough to set your nerves on edge, your mind doubting whatever dumb plan you had concocted. He was Kelly Severide, why would he want you? Then the door was swinging wide, his face like a blur as he slammed it shut with a resounding creak of the lock latching. Then he was hoisting you by your thighs onto the counter, lips inches from yours as he offered you an out. Oh honey. Not a chance.
“That’s a nice tie, though it and the shirt that costs more than I can fathom would look so much better on my floor.”
“Careful darling, those are dangerous insinuations.” He grinned, lips finally pressing to yours and it was like emerging from ice cold water as you gasped in his kisses. “We shouldn’t be doing this. I am your squad leader.” With a breathless laugh, you skimmed your nails down the front of his suit jacket. His lips trailing to your neck and you shut your eyes as the delicate touch.
“It’s only wrong if we get caught.”
-
this is why I don’t write smut lmao sorry this is so weird
Warnings: not edited all that well, but… it’s been awhile since I posted
Requested by @stilesloverdaily
Y/N worked hard to get to where she was in life, but she loved every second of her journey. As a nurse at Forks General Hospital, she was attaining the goals she had set for herself during her final teen years. Plus, as a person who worked mainly in the children’s ward… Y/N was sure the only things that could possibly be missing from her life was a raise (because honestly, nurses do not earn enough, and she had a mortgage) and some semblance of a love-life (it had been a while for her, and she didn’t really like it).
Truthfully, Y/N had been essentially alone since her grandfather died two months after her nineteenth birthday. For nearly a decade, it had only been the two of them after the death of her pappy (her grandfather’s life-partner). His death had been sudden, but the young woman had been thankful that he had the chance to go calmly into the night – made comfortable by the nurses at Forks Hospital.
The young woman applied to a nursing course at her university the following week.
Now, she was helping others and successfully completing her dreams, at only twenty-six years of age. The only true wish Y/N had now, was her private plea to the gods – to make Doctor Cullen less distracting
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