[daydreamfiles]

Emergency Contact - John Logan

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

blurb: You were determined not to call Logan for help. The sink had other plans.

warnings: 18+, explicit smut, sexual tension, dirty talk, teasing, brief apartment emergency

꒰১Taglist໒꒱ @littlemissclairebiggs, @legendarychrattgirl

The leak started as a soft, irritating drip beneath the kitchen sink.

At first, you tried to ignore it. Hannah and Allie had left for the weekend with a list of instructions that made the apartment feel less like a place to live and more like something you had been trusted not to destroy, and you refused to be the person who called for help over a little water.

By the time you opened the cabinet, the bottom shelf was already wet.

“Great,” you muttered.

You shoved a towel under the pipe, then another when the first one soaked through faster than you liked. The water was not pouring out, not yet, but it was steady enough to make your stomach tighten. You crouched in front of the cabinet with your phone balanced on your knee, watching some man on a repair video explain the shutoff valve like every sink in the world had been made by the same person.

You found what looked like the right valve and twisted it with more hope than confidence.

The dripping slowed, and for one brief second, you thought you had handled it.

Then something under the sink gave a sharp little sputter, and water sprayed straight across the front of your shirt.

You scrambled back with a gasp, bumping into the cabinet behind you.

“Shit.”

Your eyes went straight to the fridge.

Hannah’s post-it was still there, bright yellow and impossible to ignore.

logan — if something leaks, breaks, explodes, or you panic. do not let him flirt his way out of doing the job.

You stared at his name for a long second.

“No,” you said to the empty kitchen.

The pipe sprayed again.

You grabbed your phone.

It rang twice before he answered.

“Please tell me this is the part where you say you need me.”

You closed your eyes. “I need a wrench.”

There was a small pause, and then Logan laughed under his breath. “That is a devastating downgrade.”

“I might need a plumber,” you said, looking at the water spreading across the tile. “Or an exorcist.”

“Which apartment?”

“Hannah and Allie’s.”

“Yeah, figured. Hannah told me she left my number.”

“She also told me not to let you flirt your way out of doing the job.”

“She wrote that down?”

“In pink ink.”

“Wow.” You could hear the grin in his voice. “She knows me so well.”

“Can you fix a sink or not?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I haven’t seen the sink yet.”

“Logan.”

“I’m five minutes away.”

You looked down at your wet shirt clinging to your chest, then at the puddle near your feet. “Make it four.”

His voice softened slightly, though the amusement stayed. “You okay?”

“I’m wet, annoyed, and my kitchen is flooding.”

“That sounds like a yes with attitude.”

“It’s a yes with a time limit.”

“I’m on my way.”

He was there in four.

When Logan showed up, you were standing in the kitchen with damp socks, a soaked shirt, and the deeply unfair feeling that the apartment had chosen to embarrass you in front of the one person who would enjoy it.

He knocked twice before you opened the door.

John Logan stood in the hallway in sweats and a dark T-shirt, hair slightly messy, mouth already tilted like he knew the night had handed him something good.

His gaze flicked over you, quick enough to almost be polite, then lifted back to your face.

“Bad sink?” he asked.

You stepped aside. “Evil sink.”

He walked in, glanced at the towels on the floor, then at the bowl under the cabinet. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“I had it under control for about twelve seconds.”

“That’s longer than most people.”

You looked at him.

He held his hands up, fighting a smile. “That was supportive.”

“It sounded judgmental.”

“It was both.”

Despite yourself, you almost laughed, which annoyed you more than the leak.

He crouched in front of the sink and opened the cabinet, leaning in with one shoulder braced against the counter. The easy joking faded just enough once he saw the pipe, and that was somehow worse. He was still Logan, still too relaxed in your kitchen, but now he actually looked like he knew what he was doing.

You passed him the wrench when he asked for it, then a dry towel. His fingers brushed yours both times, and you told yourself it was only because the kitchen was cramped.

“So,” he said from under the sink, voice muffled. “Boyfriend couldn’t come save the day?”

You leaned back against the opposite counter. “That would require having a boyfriend.”

He paused with his hand still under the sink.

Not long. Just enough.

“Good to know.”

Your stomach dipped, and you hated that he probably heard the silence that followed.

“That was not an invitation.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

He turned the wrench again, but there was a smile in his voice now, low and pleased and impossible to miss.

You looked down at the towel in your hands instead of at him. “Fix the sink, Logan.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A small laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

Logan glanced back at you like he had caught something he wanted to keep, and that annoyed you more than if he had actually said something about it.

You busied yourself with the towels, wringing one out over the sink while he went back to the pipe. The kitchen settled into the sound of water dripping into the bucket, his hand moving against metal, and your own very poor attempt at not watching him work.

After another minute, he reached out without looking. “Towel.”

You handed it over.

He wiped beneath the pipe, then adjusted something near the valve with a focus that made you regret how much you were watching his hands.

“You sure this is fixing it?” you asked.

“No faith in me?”

“I met you through a post-it on the fridge.”

“That post-it had my number for a reason.”

“Hannah also warned me not to let you flirt your way out of doing anything.”

Logan looked up at that, grin slow but not overdone. “Smart girl.”

“I meant her.”

“I didn’t.”

Your stomach dipped, and he ducked back under the sink before you could come up with anything decent to say.

After another turn of the wrench, he said, “Relax. I’m good with my hands.”

You almost dropped the towel.

He noticed without even looking directly at you.

“That came out exactly the way you meant it,” you said.

“Did it?”

“Logan.”

“What?” He glanced up, all innocence and none of it believable. “I’m fixing your sink.”

The worst part was that he really was fixing it.

He joked too much, and he looked entirely too pleased with himself every time he made you stumble over a response, but he was not just poking at pipes for show. He knew where to look, what to tighten, when to stop and check the leak. Every few minutes, he asked for something, and every few minutes, you found yourself looking at his hands before you realized you were doing it.

It was getting irritating.

Not because he was annoying.

Because he was annoying and attractive and actually helping.

That combination felt personally unfair.

When he finally told you to turn the faucet on, you did it slowly, one hand on the handle and the other ready to shut it off if the sink decided to attack again.

For two seconds, everything was fine.

Then water burst from under the pipe and hit Logan square in the chest.

“Shit.”

He reached under the sink while you scrambled for the faucet, twisting it too far in the wrong direction before finally getting it right. The spray stopped all at once, leaving behind a dripping cabinet, a wet floor, and Logan kneeling in front of the sink with his shirt plastered to his chest.

He sat back on his heels, water running down his neck, and pushed a hand through his hair.

You meant to look at the pipe.

You looked at him instead.

His shirt clung to him in a way that made the kitchen feel very quiet. You could see the shape of his chest beneath the wet fabric, the way his stomach tightened when he breathed, the water caught along his jaw before it slipped down his throat.

Logan’s eyes lifted to yours.

For once, he did not say anything immediately.

That was worse too.

He stood slowly, reaching for one of the towels on the counter. “That part was not supposed to happen.”

“I figured.”

“You look a little too satisfied about it.”

“I’m deciding whether I should still trust you with the sink.”

He dried his face with the towel, but his eyes stayed on you. “That what you’re deciding?”

The question was simple. The way he asked it was not.

You shifted your weight, suddenly aware of your own shirt sticking to your chest.

“Yes.”

His gaze dropped for half a second, then came back up.

“Okay,” he said, quieter. “Decide.”

The kitchen seemed smaller than it had a few minutes ago. Water dripped softly into the bucket under the sink. Your shirt clung to your skin, and his clung to him, and the space between you felt thin enough to snap.

You looked at the towel in his hand, then at his wet shirt, then at the way his fingers tightened around the fabric like he was stopping himself from reaching for something else.

“You told me you were good with your hands.”

Logan’s expression changed.

The teasing did not disappear, but it settled into something heavier.

“I did,” he said.

A second passed.

Then he stepped closer.

“Was that just about the sink?” you asked.

His eyes dropped to your mouth.

“No.”

That was all it took.

He crossed the space between you in one hard step, and then his mouth was on yours.

It was not sweet. It was not tentative. It was a wet, hungry kiss that shoved the breath out of you and made your back hit the counter before you realized he had moved you. His hands went to your waist, firm and hot through the damp fabric of your shirt, and you grabbed his shoulders because he was already kissing you like he had been thinking about it since he walked in.

Maybe before that.

His tongue slid against yours, and the sound that left you made his fingers dig into your waist.

His hands tightened on your waist. He stepped between your legs, caging you against the counter, and the feel of his body pressed to yours sent a hot, dizzy rush through you.

His shirt was cold and wet against your chest, but underneath it he was warm, solid, all hard muscle and restless hands.

He kissed you until you could barely think through it.

Then his hands slid down to your thighs.

“Up,” he said against your mouth.

You barely had time to react before he lifted you onto the counter.

The casual strength of it made your stomach flip. One second your feet were on the floor, and the next you were sitting on the cold kitchen counter with Logan between your knees, pulling you forward until your legs opened around him.

“Well damn,” you breathed before you could stop yourself.

His grin was instant.

“Already?”

“Shut up.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand spreading across your lower back as he pulled you tight against him. He did not leave space between you. Not even a little. His chest pressed to yours, his mouth stayed close, and his other hand slid along your thigh, fingers pushing beneath the hem of your shorts.

You shivered.

He felt it.

A pleased breath left him against your jaw. “Still thinking about what I said?”

“About what?”

His fingers skimmed higher.

“My hands.”

Your breath caught.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then the line of your jaw, then the side of your neck where your pulse was making a fool of you. His arm stayed locked around your back, holding you against him as his hand slid between your legs over your shorts.

The first press of his fingers made you inhale sharply.

Logan paused just enough to look at you.

“Still okay?”

You nodded.

His eyes stayed on yours. “Say it for me.”

“Yes.”

The answer barely left your mouth before he kissed you again.

His fingers moved slowly at first, rubbing over the damp fabric, learning the shape of your reaction. You tried to keep kissing him like you were still in control of any part of this, but then he pressed harder, right where you needed him, and your mouth opened against his.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

You dug your nails into his shoulders.

“Cocky,” you managed.

He smiled against your neck. “You like it.”

“I haven’t decided.”

His fingers slid beneath the waistband of your shorts.

Your whole body tensed.

Logan’s arm tightened around your back, keeping you close as his hand dipped under your panties. His fingers found you wet and aching, and his breath left him in a rough sound that went straight through you.

“Fuck,” he said softly. “You’re soaked.”

“You sprayed me with the sink.”

He laughed under his breath, but it broke when his fingers slid through your pussy, gathering the wetness there.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s definitely what this is.”

You would have snapped back if he had not started touching you properly.

Two fingers rubbed slow circles over your clit, and every thought you had scattered across the kitchen floor with the towels. You pressed your face into his shoulder, biting back a moan, but Logan was not having that. His hand at your back slid up beneath your shirt, palm warm on bare skin, and he pulled you closer until your breasts pressed hard against his chest.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said near your ear. “I want to hear you.”

The words made your pussy clench around nothing.

His mouth brushed your ear, his smile almost cruel. “Yeah. You liked that.”

You lifted your head and kissed him because it was easier than answering. He kissed you back immediately, tongue sliding into your mouth while his fingers kept moving between your legs. The wet sounds of his hand under your shorts were obscene in the quiet kitchen. You could hear them beneath the drip of the sink, beneath your uneven breathing, beneath the small groan he made when your thighs tightened around his hips.

He was still standing right in front of you, holding you like he wanted every inch of you pressed to him. You could feel his cock getting hard through his sweats, thick against the inside of your thigh.

The realization made heat roll through you.

Logan’s fingers slowed.

“You felt that, huh?”

You looked at him, breathless. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re sitting on the counter with my hand in your shorts.”

You hated how badly you wanted him.

You hated how much he knew it.

Then he pushed one finger inside you, and you stopped thinking about anything else.

Your head fell back, a moan slipping free before you could swallow it. Logan’s mouth moved to your throat as his finger slid deeper, curling slowly, testing what made your thighs shake. He found it too fast. A smooth curl, a press, and suddenly your hips jerked against his hand.

His laugh was soft and wicked.

“Still questioning my hands?”

“Logan.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

He added a second finger, stretching you with slow, deliberate strokes that made your eyes flutter. His arm stayed around your back the entire time, keeping you upright against him, close enough that every breath dragged your chest against his. Your wet shirt stuck to your breasts, and when he shifted, the friction made your nipples tighten painfully.

He noticed.

His mouth moved lower, kissing over the damp fabric at your chest before his hand left your back just long enough to drag your shirt upward. You lifted your arms because there was no pretending now. The shirt came off and hit the floor with a wet slap.

Logan looked at you.

Really looked.

Your skin burned under it.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

You reached for him, suddenly needing him closer again, and he came willingly. His mouth covered yours as his free hand cupped one of your breasts, thumb dragging over your nipple while his fingers kept fucking you. You arched into him, your knees tightening around his hips.

“That’s it,” he said against your mouth. “Let me feel you.”

His thumb circled your clit while his fingers moved inside you, and the combination made pleasure build fast and hot in your stomach. You gripped the edge of the counter with one hand and his shoulder with the other, trying to hold on to something as your body started to shake.

He kissed you through it.

Messy, deep kisses that stole every sound from your mouth until he wanted them back and pulled away just enough to hear you.

“You had a lot to say a minute ago,” he murmured.

You tried to answer.

He curled his fingers again.

Your words fell apart into a moan.

Logan’s eyes darkened. “That’s what I thought.”

You were close already. Embarrassingly close. Maybe it was the teasing. Maybe it was his fingers. Maybe it was the fact that he still had one arm around you like he had no intention of letting you lean away from a single second of it.

Maybe it was all of him.

His wet shirt. His mouth. His hand. His cock hard against you. His voice in your ear, rough and smug and getting less controlled every time you moved against him.

“Come for me,” he said. “Right here.”

Your thighs trembled.

“Logan.”

“I’ve got you.”

That did it.

The words were softer than everything else, but they hit harder. Your pussy clenched around his fingers as the orgasm rolled through you, sharp and warm and dizzying. You buried your face against his neck, moaning into his skin while he kept touching you through it, slower now, drawing out every pulse until your body went loose against him.

He did not let you fall back.

He held you close, breathing hard against your hair, his fingers still buried inside you until you whimpered from how sensitive you were.

“Fuck,” he said, voice rough. “You look good like that.”

You lifted your head, still trembling.

He kissed you before you could answer.

This kiss was different. Hotter because he had lost some of his patience. His fingers slipped out of you, and you gasped at the emptiness, but then he was reaching for the waistband of your shorts.

Then your shorts and panties were being pulled down your legs, his hand gripping your thigh to lift you enough to get them off. They dropped somewhere near the towels. You barely cared. Your hands were already at his shirt, dragging the soaked fabric upward.

He helped you yank it over his head, and for a second you lost your place in the rush of it.

Because he was right there.

Wet skin, hard chest, hair damp and messy, eyes locked on you like he was trying to decide whether to kiss you again or devour you whole.

You touched him because you had to.

Your hands slid over his chest, down his stomach, feeling the flex of muscle beneath warm skin. Logan sucked in a breath when your fingers reached the waistband of his sweats.

His hand returned to your lower back instantly, catching you, pulling you upright against him again. The closeness made your head spin. Even while you fumbled with his sweats, even while he shoved them down enough for his cock to spring free, he kept you against him like he could not stand the idea of space.

Your eyes dropped.

He was hard and thick, flushed at the tip, and the sight of him made your mouth go dry.

Logan noticed.

“Still full of myself?” he asked.

You dragged your fingers along his cock, and his breath hitched.

“Maybe not full enough.”

His eyes snapped to yours.

For once, he looked like you had stolen the line right out of his mouth.

Then he laughed, low and disbelieving, and kissed you again. “You’re trouble.”

“You asked if I had a boyfriend while fixing my sink.”

“Yeah, and look how well that worked out for me.”

He reached down, wrapped his hand around his cock, and dragged the head through your pussy. The slick slide made both of you go still. Your hands gripped his shoulders. His forehead dropped to yours, and for one breath, neither of you said anything.

Then he did it again, dragging himself over your clit, down to your entrance, then back up until your hips lifted on their own.

“Logan,” you breathed.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

His eyes lifted to yours. “Yeah.”

There was something in his voice that made you ache worse than the teasing had.

He reached to the side, grabbing his sweats from where they had bunched at his thighs. You realized what he was doing when he pulled a condom from his wallet. The normalness of it should have cooled things down.

It did not.

Watching him roll it on while standing between your spread thighs made your stomach twist all over again.

Then he stepped back in, one hand sliding behind your back, the other gripping your thigh. He pulled you to the edge of the counter until your pussy brushed the head of his cock.

You inhaled sharply.

He kissed your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

“This still what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

You looked at him, heat blooming in your face despite everything he had already done to you.

“I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes went dark.

“Christ.”

Then he pushed inside.

The stretch made your mouth fall open. Logan groaned, deep and rough, his arm tightening around your back as he sank into you inch by inch. You clung to him, legs locking around his waist, your body adjusting to the thick pressure of his cock filling you.

He stopped once he was fully inside, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“Fuck,” he said. “You feel so good.”

You could barely answer. He was so close, chest against yours, one hand spread wide over your back, holding you upright while his cock throbbed deep inside you. The counter was cold beneath your thighs. His skin was hot under your palms. The sink dripped behind him like the most ridiculous reminder of how this had started.

Then he moved.

Slow at first, just a pull of his hips and a deep thrust back in that made your nails dig into his shoulders. His mouth found yours, swallowing your moan. His tongue slid against yours as he started to fuck you, still holding you close enough that every thrust rocked you into his chest.

You had expected him to be good.

You had not expected this.

The closeness made it worse. Better. Impossible. He did not give you room to turn away from the feeling. His arm stayed around your back. His hips pushed between your thighs. His mouth kept coming back to yours every time you tried to breathe. It was wet and heated and messy, the kind of kissing that made you feel like he was just as gone as you were.

Your breasts brushed against his chest with every thrust, nipples dragging over damp skin until you were shivering from that alone. He gripped your thigh harder, lifting it higher around his waist, changing the angle so his cock hit deeper.

Your head tipped back.

“Oh my God.”

Logan’s mouth moved to your throat.

“There,” he said. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

You could only nod.

He did it again, and your whole body jolted.

“Words,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin.

“Yes,” you gasped. “There.”

His hips snapped forward a little harder.

Pleasure sparked bright through your body.

“Right there?”

“Logan.”

He kissed you, smiling into it for half a second before the smile disappeared into a groan. “You say my name like that again and I’m not lasting.”

You clenched around him.

His eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck.”

You would have laughed if you had enough breath for it. Instead, you pulled his mouth back to yours and kissed him until he started moving faster.

The rhythm turned frantic without losing the closeness. He fucked you hard, but he kept you wrapped against him, one arm behind your back, one hand on your thigh, his chest pressed to yours like he needed to feel every reaction. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging when he hit that spot again, and his answering groan vibrated against your mouth.

“Keep your legs around me,” he said.

You did.

You could not imagine doing anything else.

Your heels pressed into the backs of his thighs. Your pussy took every thrust, slick and tight around his cock, the wet sound of it mixing with the harsh pull of his breathing. The counter creaked beneath you. Somewhere behind him, water dripped into the bucket.

It should have been funny.

Maybe later it would be.

Right now, all you could think about was Logan’s cock inside you and his hand moving between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again with devastating accuracy.

Your body jerked.

He felt it and groaned.

“God, you get so tight when I touch you there.”

You made a helpless sound into his mouth.

He kissed you through it, his thumb rubbing steady circles while his hips kept moving. The pressure built again, hotter this time, deeper because he was inside you, because his cock kept dragging through you just right, because he was holding you like there was nowhere else he wanted to be.

“Next time,” he said, voice rough, “you don’t have to wait for the sink to break.”

The words went straight through you.

“There’s a next time?”

His hips slowed just enough for him to look at you.

His eyes were dark. His mouth was swollen from kissing you. His hair was damp, his chest flushed, his hand still moving between your legs like he knew exactly how close you were.

“You tell me.”

Your answer came out as a kiss.

He took it like a yes.

His hips drove forward again, and the counter dug into the backs of your thighs. You barely felt it over the pleasure gathering low in your stomach. His thumb circled your clit faster, his cock thrusting deep, and you broke away from his mouth with a moan you could not hold back.

“Logan, I’m gonna come.”

“I know.” His voice sounded wrecked. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

You tried to hold his gaze, but then he shifted the angle again, deeper, harder, still pressed so close you could feel his heartbeat against your chest. The orgasm hit fast, a rush of heat and pressure that made your pussy clamp around him as your body shook in his arms.

He cursed into your neck.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

He kept moving through it, fucking you while you came, his thumb slowing only when you started to tremble from too much. You clung to him, face buried against his shoulder, every pulse of pleasure leaving tingles down your thighs, your spine, the tips of your fingers.

Logan’s rhythm faltered.

His grip on your back tightened. His mouth found yours again, rough and desperate, tongue sliding against yours as he chased his own release. You kissed him back, still clenching around him, still shaking, and that seemed to break whatever control he had left.

His hips drove in deep once, twice, then he came with a low groan, his forehead dropping to yours as his body went tense against you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The apartment was quiet except for breathing.

And the sink.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

You started laughing first.

It slipped out of you, breathless and disbelieving, your forehead falling against his shoulder as the full reality of what had just happened came crashing in. Logan lifted his head, looked at the sink, then looked back at you.

“Technically,” he said, still breathing hard, “I did solve the emergency.”

You wanted to shove him. You also wanted to kiss him again, which was deeply inconvenient.

He slid out slowly, making both of you suck in a breath, then helped you down from the counter like he had any right to be sweet after what he had just done to you. Your legs were not entirely trustworthy, and Logan noticed immediately.

His hands went to your waist.

“Whoa.”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

You gave him a look.

He kissed you once, quick and smug, then reached for his discarded shirt and paused when he realized it was soaked.

You glanced around the kitchen. Towels everywhere. Your shorts on the floor. His sweats low on his hips. The sink still dripping into the bucket.

Your phone buzzed on the counter.

Hannah’s name lit up the screen.

did everything survive? did you call logan?

Logan glanced at it before you could move the phone away.

“Nosy,” you muttered.

“She asked about me.”

“She asked about the sink.”

He looked past you, toward the cabinet, where the dripping had finally slowed to almost nothing.

“Same thing.”

You rolled your eyes and typed back.

yes. unfortunately.

Logan laughed under his breath. “Unfortunately?”

“You heard me.”

His smile stayed, but he let it go. For a second, neither of you moved. The kitchen was still a mess, your clothes were still on the floor, and his hoodie hung loose on your body while he stood there shirtless and damp, watching you like he already knew this was not ending here.

Then the sink gave one last quiet drip.

Logan sighed and reached for the towel.

“Give me two minutes.”

This time, you did not pretend not to watch him work.

A minute later, the dripping stopped.

He stood, glanced at the post-it on the fridge, and took the pen from the counter.

You narrowed your eyes. “Logan.”

He only smiled as he wrote beneath Hannah’s note.

good with his hands.

[devourride]

₊˚⊹♡ of cold milk and dried ink.

pairings: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader. word count: 4.9k. summary: jacaerys velaryon was no stranger to rhaenyra and daemon's affections, he wondered what it would be like to be intimate with another person. his frustration finally leads into something as the maid comes in with a tray of warm milk. warning tags: nsfw. cunnilingus. handjob. blowjob. female receiving. male receiving. reader is guiding him, jacaerys is unhinged. porn with plot. requested: no, i just had a prompt in mind. naz says: i managed to squeeze out some words after years of being in a slump, lol. please bear with me on this. requests are open! 

upon seeing his mother and daemon’s affection with each other, jacaerys grew curious of what it would be like to fully surrender yourself in the hands of someone else; to let go of whatever armor you wore suit, and to bare yourself naked, figuratively and well.. literally, in front of someone else you hold dear.

he only had limited time to think about certain thoughts, for the realm is in havoc and they were caught up in the middle of a conflict within their own house, within their own name. he wanted to do everything in his hands and beyond, for his mother’s throne and birthright, for their family.

jacaerys smothered his hands on his face, growing restless and frustrated over what was happening in the realm, of how rhaenyra was in deep distress. he was in the middle of writing a letter, the raven patiently awaits and perched on the window in his chambers; he once again thinks of what could happen on this evening, or in the following days.

the maid entered his doors, knocking politely on the wooden opening that allows him his own privacy, he looked up and saw you carrying a tray with a pitcher and a glass. “your grace, the queen ordered me to bring you hot milk as she thinks you have been in trouble having sleep.” you were looking down, deeply aware of the differences in your status, knowing better than to meet his gaze.

it was that very reason that you missed the way jacaerys looked at your form, of your smooth skin and the way your hair was held into an updo, emphasizing your bare neck. he heaves a sigh, feeling as if his head was once again getting filled with curiosities and ideas. he had known you, for a while in fact, gracefully doing your duties and making yourself seem smaller—but he never fails to miss you. in each time you walked into a room, clearly oblivious of the set of gazes thrown at your way, you were never unseen, no, not completely.

“stay for a moment.” he uttered when you were placing the tray on top of his table. there was a moment of shock, for you thought jacaerys mostly kept matters to himself. if he is in need of something, surely there would be a better choice than you.

you finished setting the tray on the table, making sure it does not touch the number of blank papers and books, and to ensure it would not fall towards the ground, “yes, your grace?”

he moves his chair away from the table, his body now directed towards you; there was a hint of worry in his face, and you thought it was a desperate moment for him. you allowed yourself to prepare, racking up the knowledge you have over the houses, recounting the events that had happened with regards to the throne; moreover, you allowed yourself in a headspace to feel, if in any case he needs to be consoled.

“what do you know about.. coupling?”

that was something you can never prepare for. The prince, the queen’s first-born, asking about marital duties and in a tone so plain and simple you could not comprehend it as quickly as you could.

there was a puzzled look plastered on your face, alongside a hint of light blush creeping under your skin, “your grace?”

“forget about it. you may go now.” he dismissed, going back into facing the table, picking up his quill as he goes, but not writing anything in the paper.

you got nervous initially, thinking that you have failed to do a simple duty, to answer when a question is asked—it could have been anyone else, but to fail the prince is considerably a grave mistake.

“i only know very little about coupling, your grace. we were taught about it back then, on how to please our husbands in the matters of producing a child.” you answered as quickly as you could, not knowing how to stop now since you fear of disappointing him, yet a new wave of unease just hits you. you were never given a permission to speak, as a matter of fact, you were dismissed. yet here you are.

“must it only be done when producing an heir? is that only the purpose of it?” he looks up from his table and continued where the question was left off, whatever it was that he was trying to write is completely forgotten now.

“i do not think so, your grace. my mother said it could also be done if you want to please your husband, if you want to pleasure them.” you scrambled to look at anywhere else but him. there was a small fidget from you as you play with your fingers, finding anything else in his chambers to look at instead of feeling the weight of his stare.

“must it always be between husband and a wife?” he spoke again in the gentlest of tone, not breaking his gaze on you and plainly seeing the tensed expression you have.

you wondered how and why he had led to think of these matters, you wanted to ask what prompted him to think of it, and how or when he started getting ideas.

“not entirely, your grace. the women in whore houses—”

“i was not talking about the ladies in those places. can it be done with a friend? or.. a maid?” he contemplated on the last question before saying it, as he himself was feeling anxious as well, careful not to make you feel any sort of discomfort.

“i.. i believe so.” the question hung in the air for some moment before you understood that it was your turn to answer, “if both persons allow it, your grace, i deem it should be possible.”

jacaerys stood up from his seat, almost a bit too hasty, that the wooden leg of the chair made a sound as it scratched against the ground when he made a move, he walks towards you, dangerously close, up until his breath fans over your face, “would you..”

you swallowed, hard, the proximity of your bodies and how the distance could almost come to a close in a mere second would have sent you fainting, but you stood still, a little voice in your head whispers just how much of this you can take some more. you couldn’t deny it, not anymore, how warm the room suddenly got and how he could easily send a shiver down your spine, and the worst of it all, he looked unaware of it, or he did know, except he didn’t let himself care.

the prince’s hand makes its way to your face, gently cupping your cheek with his warmth, his thumb softly brushing over your bottom lip and you parted it, almost out of instinct, almost naturally, as if this whole ordeal is something that occurs very commonly; he felt right, he felt safe. your mind lingered over past memories for a minute, how this certain boy captivated you since you got into dragonstone, since the moment your own house swore allegiance and loyalty to the one and only heir to the iron throne, queen rhaenyra. he stood quietly by her side back then, unassuming in the background while daemon talks, you briefly locked gazes and you saw comfort; you had known of what was happening, and how hell will break loose any second, between the queen and her half-brother—even more aware of the number of hours that jacaerys spends in solitude, an unexplored abyss deep within him, seen through the lenses of his eyes, and you felt an inexplicable urge to take care of him in little ways, like bringing milk into his chambers and masking it under the guise of being the queen’s orders.

a soft exhale escaped your lips and you looked up at him, at his pair of eyes that looked lonely when he thinks no one else is looking, at the same pair of eyes that burns in fury to defend his mother’s name—at the same pair of eyes that has been darkened by something else at the moment, something primal and all-consuming.

“would you allow me to learn of it?”

it was a simple question, not even uttered in a sense of giving an order or a command, he was asking you. the mere fact that he has asked a woman with a name who is not entirely known anywhere to bed him, when he could have done it with anyone else, with someone who is like him, someone with a name, someone who has the honor, someone who has the pride. yet when he placed his hand to caress your side, and his thumb rubbed on your lip, propping it open, all your worries seemed to evaporate and you were left with an empty state of mind.

you willed yourself near him, crashing your lips to his in a split second; your once-shy arms seemed to have a mind on its own and wrapped itself to him, as if you needed to grasp but careful enough not to make it hurt, as if you needed him to anchor you before you fall into the deep end.

the shared kiss was passionate and intense, a certain matter of thirst needed to be quenched and it could only be done with this. you were never letting go no matter how sloppy it has gotten, jacaerys’ inexperience was noticeable at first but he has always been good at following orders and you knew he was always quick at learning things. he opened his mouth to gasp any amount of air and you took the liberty for yourself to slip your tongue inside, and he made a sound, almost a whine and you thanked yourself you were not too lost in the moment to register the kind of noises he makes. you explored within, willingly and messily; and you felt his hand encircling on your lower back now, hugging you even tighter, pressing his body further into you.

then you pulled away.

“is this your first time, your grace?” you struggled to breathe for air, wiping the side of your mouth with the back of your hand. he could only nod, a light shade of pink crept its way into his cheeks as he looks away, similarly catching his breath after the steamy exchange.

you pushed him towards his chair, propping him downwards until he’s fully seated; he looked baffled, crossing his eyebrows in the process but obliged without questions.

“it would be my honor to teach you a few things, your grace.” there was a hint of pride in you now, jacaerys was always following orders, whether it’s from rhaenyra, daemon or rhaenys, he would be following regardless. his utmost compliance boosted a certain confidence in you, the idea of having him on his knees, the absolute fact that the queen’s first-born son is right at your mercy.

it was deep in the night when you hand-delivered the milk, yet you worry that someone might come in and push past the doors, so you wasted no more time, for you did not know if something as completely bizarre and euphoric, such as this, could ever happen again. You kneeled towards him, never tearing your gaze away, he straightened himself on the chair, his arms already prepared to stop you from kneeling but you ignored him and placed both palms against his lap, applying enough pressure as it trails upward, a small grin paints itself onto your face upon seeing just how clueless he gets at every movement demonstrated.

you started pulling on the strings of his garments, the dent on his clothes is almost impossible to ignore, even more so now that it has created a wet patch. once done, you urged him to raise himself from the chair to pull the linen downward, freeing his hard cock in the process and throwing away his clothes elsewhere. you took a quick observation, for someone who has not experience anything thus far, he appeared clean, the hair just below his abdomen was trimmed and its tip glistens with wetness, already leaking as it stands upright.

“i-is it bad?” he asks, keeping a tight grip on the chair’s arms with both hands, not knowing where else he could hold onto.

“you are perfect, your grace.” you smiled at him, genuine and pure, in hopes of smoothing away his worries and to only think of the pleasures that will come along.

“jace. please. please call me jace.” he uttered in a small voice, his breathing growing heavier now, and beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“as you wish, jace.” you held onto his shaft, earning a loud gasp from him as he jerked from his seat, “since we are asking nicely, jace, please let me know if you feel good, what does not, then you can learn from that.” the hold on his cock has been gentle at first, slowly increasing in pressure and pace as you make a suggestion. jace nodded eagerly, not quite bothered by his labored breaths now as he struggles to maintain a stable composure.

you guessed that he was sensitive, and you wanted to see how much more you could make a mess out of him in this regard; so you started pumping, stroking his cock languidly but careful not to touch the leaking tip. your other hand tries to calm him down by placing it on top of his lap, the tensed muscles lets you know he’s far from being relaxed, and you revel in it anyway.

“that’s good..” he whispered, closing his eyes as he leans back on the chair, one would think he’s slowly getting used to it, yet his hands that are getting almost too pale from strongly gripping on the chair’s arms says otherwise.

you hummed, prideful to yourself with just how easy the words seem to flow out of him, and the other matter that it is so impossibly easy to please the man; you would think that he could already come undone just with your hands alone—and you can’t have that. not yet.

while his eyes remained closed, and his face contorted with both pleasure and bliss, you took the time to bring your mouth towards his cock, surrounding the tip with warmth. as expected, both of his eyes shot open in a flash, looking straight at you now while your tongue licks at his skin, the immediate hint of the salty taste enveloping your tongue and you pushed forward into his shaft, taking more of him into your mouth.

he groaned, naturally so, as one of his hand found its way on your head, placing it idly on top, not guiding, not commanding; his other hand kept its place on the arm of the chair, still holding onto it like his life depended on it, “gods.. that’s.. that’s good.” you feel him slightly thrusting to follow the rhythm you have set whilst sucking his cock, your head continuously bobbing as you take his length, fighting the urge to gag and choke as you try to take all of him right down on your throat.

“hold on a moment, please.. please slow down.” he spoke softly, almost coming out as a whisper and he genuinely wanted to push you off, yet his hands does not carry a weight on it as he holds your shoulders; he could only place it there, putting his luck to the old gods and the new, hoping they would grant his wishes.

“slow down, please, please..” it sounded somewhere in between a cry for help and a plea, he suddenly did not know how to sit properly, where to put his hands; you maintained your pace, not minding the way he practically begs for you to slow down and to stop. you wanted to push him closer to the end, eager to let the ropes snap, determined to bring him to the best of days. with both pace and intensity, you kept on attempting to swallow him whole, one of your hands then moved to cup his balls, fondling over on the soft sack and providing a sudden massage over the smooth area.

jace was never known for being mean, nor vulgar in any time of the day. he was careful, composed and most of the time, in control; though he usually grows angry and frustrated but he would always craft his words politely. that is why there is a genuine shock when you heard him mutter a string of profanities, multiple curses flew off from his mouth as he holds your head lower and more into his cock; gods be damned if he knew how to speak this way in so long, yet in another note, it does make sense, this man was around daemon for half of his life. He would naturally pick up a thing or two.

“move, please, stay back, i am about to—” he did not get to finish his sentence when you felt a spurt of liquid shooting into your mouth, painting the inside of your cheek with his load and he did release quite a lot. you swallowed, gratefully and obediently, shooting him a look in the process and carefully examining his face; jace is properly drenched in sweat, his pupils blown out as he recovers from his climax, eyes dilated and filled with awe and satisfaction. you contemplated how he was just airing out vulgarities a second ago and shifting into a polite beg of moving your head away.

his face reddens, “i-i’m sorry.. i did not mean to—”

you chuckled, “pay no mind, your grace. i wanted to taste you.” and only then did his face relaxed, slowly forming a smile as he pulls you closer up until you straddled on his lap. he kisses you deeply, with an ample amount of hunger, still, and you returned the favor in the same intensity. you wrapped your arms around his neck and ruffled on his hair while he attempts to slip his tongue inside your mouth; quietly and adorably mimicking your previous actions.

then you felt as if you were floating, jacaerys lifted you from his lap and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, not breaking the kiss despite the jolt of surprise. he carries you to the table, the hot milk long forgotten now, the ink on the quill has all dried up. jace placed you gently on top of the wooden table, finally breaking the kiss as he looks downward, his pair of hands snaking on both of your legs, caressing the soft skin and leisurely making its way up.

“can i taste you too?”

you were rendered stunned, and it was your turn to be baffled now. the women who surrounded you before only given most of their thoughts and wisdom in terms of pleasing men—not receiving them. you looked away, expectant to see some answers or excuses to politely decline it, you did not know how it would feel, while it is true you have touched yourself beneath the sheets just before slumber, it would be an entirely different feeling to have someone else’s tongue.

“i—i do not know, jace. i have no knowledge of sorts when it comes to giving pleasure to a woman.” you cracked, finally, taking an ounce of shame as you respond in complete honesty.

jace’s grin grew bigger at that, “let me, please. teach me how, please, let me know how to please you.” he was already lowering himself, meekly keeping his gaze on your eyes, as he holds the hem of your dress, raising it until it sits on your abdomen, he deliberately removed your garments as you laid there, nervous and unmoving, your arms kept to yourself in fear of knocking over materials placed on top of his table, alongside you, that you presumed he deemed precious.

he carefully spread your legs wider, opening a pathway for him to thread on; jace stared at your cunt, examining it like the scales of the dragons. there was a genuine curiosity in his expression, his eyes filled with wonder; he willed his thumb to brush over it and you exclaimed, jolting at his warmth making contact on your pussy. he figured it was a sound out of pleasure, and drove him to do it again and again, until he pressed his thumb deeper, only to have it completely covered with slick.

“and this is..?” he wondered, prompting a question as he pause from scanning. he played with the wetness he gathered from your cunt, placing his index against his thumb to feel its slippery texture.

“arousal.. jace. it is a clear sign of arousal.” you answered, propping your elbows against the table to get a clearer sight of him in between your legs.

“are you aroused?” he had a genuine look of curiosity written all over his face, and you almost sneered at him, as if you had not been aroused since he walked towards you a couple of moments ago, as if seeing his face twist in fits of pleasure and experiencing climax has not made you squeeze your legs harder to feel an ounce of friction.

“very, your grace.” you simply answered, a gush of cold wind from his open window brushes lightly on your skin, bringing a handful of shivers on your bare cunt. jace was still very much captivated with your slick on his finger, he then brings it into his mouth, sucking on his thumb and letting the taste sit on his tongue before grinning to himself.

he wordlessly leans in closer to your cunt, wrapping his arms on each of your leg as he spreads it wider, allowing himself to have more room as he goes in to taste more of you. you shook at the sudden feel of his tongue rubbing on your clit, eliciting a soft moan, which caused you to place your hand over your mouth, muffling the sounds as a result, careful not to let the knights outside the chambers to hear what was supposedly the prince only drinking his serving of milk.

“do not shy yourself away from me.” he halted when he caught glimpse of what you were doing, you glanced at him, at his wet lips, a mix of his own saliva and your arousal, and it was more than enough to cause your head to blank out.

“the guards, your grace—”

“it would be a favor for them, i had imagined they would be delighted hearing something completely different from council debating over the realm’s conflicts.” jace dismissed your worries, though not fully convinced, you moved your hand away from your mouth as he resumed his own business.

it was all over the place, his tongue knows no bounds and directions of any sort, he was lapping like a madman, making it certain that every skin is marked with him. Jace being completely new to this kind of experience is rather adorable, at the start, but now you were feeling so incredibly and undeniably aroused that you just wanted to reach the high you’ve been wanting to achieve; with that in mind, you grabbed the prince’s hair, patches of his brown strands caught in between each finger and you simply yanked him in, pulling him further into you up until you felt his tongue closer to your sensitive nub, with just enough pressure. the way you moaned louder at that sensation did not escape jace’s ears, he wanted to please you more, wanted to see you pleasured real good, like how you did him on the chair.

the man raised his head lightly, getting another good look at your face before his index and middle fingers traced the lining of your cunt, spreading it open for him to access to; he did not know you were close, painfully unaware of the coiling tension inside your abdomen, he glances the way your nails were digging on his wooden table and a small smile curls up on his lips, as he knows he will be seeing the scratches one of these days while he works—and he will be left with a sweet memory. he did not know you needed a release, not yet, yet he licked on the newfound territory as if he belonged there, as if he knew exactly which places to give pressure on, and you were very clearly losing your mind; his warm and wet tongue was way beyond satisfactory, and you did not know you were pulling him rougher by his hair.

jace winces in pain, yet he paid no mind. he couldn’t get enough of you, of how you taste like; he had a previous thought that men who goes out to seek women in whorehouses were simply wasting time—and now that he had a taste of what pure bliss felt like, he knew he would not be stopping any time soon. You have opened the door to a whole new world for him, and it was more than enough to keep his frustration and rage at bay.

your toes curled at every time he hits a certain area in your cunt, at every moment he tenses his tongue and abuses your pussy with its tip; the growing release in your abdomen was all familiar, and you thought you’d be so, so close in a few—until he changed his attack. he had switched to sucking on it now, you didn’t know if it was a skill taught to him by someone else, or he was mirroring the way you sucked his cock earlier, or if he was trying something else—whatever it was, it simply reeled you closer to the edge, as he seemed to know where exactly to suck on, that little bead you have felt on your fingertips whenever you touch yourself.

you were close to screaming now, unable to contain your voice and unable to keep it in a very low volume, you kept his head close to where you want him, and he has been playing with you by both licking and sucking. “gods.. y-yes, right there!” you demanded, and jace found it amusing that you seem to have lost the initial modesty you have had before he spreads you open.

in seconds, you convulsed, violently shaking against the table, lightly raising your hips in the process as you see white; jace tried to hold you down, a wave of shock washing over him as he wonders what had occured; but he does know you have been wetter now, and another distinct taste fell on his tongue. he stood, “are you alright?”

a nod was the only thing you could do, smiling to yourself as you reached your climax once again. it was a completely different feeling to it, and you cannot tell yet if it was better than your own fingers, but you haven’t really trembled anywhere near that intensity, no matter how much you jog up your memory.

you got up, raising yourself from laying down and met his lips, there was a different taste on his lips, and you figured it must have come from you—considering how he was practically eating you just moments ago.

“was i good?”

you giggled now, fixing your clothes as you realize what just happened with the two of you, inside his chambers, a soft hint of pink pooled on your cheeks, “you must have sucked all life out of me, gods.” you stared at him, rubbing a thumb over his chin to clean off remnants of your release and he tilted his head lower, meeting your thumb and he had started to suck on it, not wanting to waste a single drop of what you just gave him.

there was a hint of tenderness in his gaze, almost too soft, and for some reason, this had changed the way you viewed him; on every glance, on every gazes met, on every halls where you could pass him by—you’d be forever reminded of his lips, his grip on your thighs, his pair of lustful and hungry eyes, his tongue on your cunt, and his cum that is a mix of sweet and salty.

“your grace, queen rhaenyra summons you.”

you were quick to move, jumping from the table and immediately tended to your appearance, there is a little discomfort of a warm, and sticky feeling trickling down on your thighs but you ignored it—walking out of his chamber is a top priority. he did the exact same thing, getting into the garments you previously discarded, he worried that your scent may have permanently marked him, especially his mouth, and he was already thinking of other ways to speak with his mother, in such a way that she does not get a single waft of your scent.

“i shall have my hot milk again on the morrow, bring it around the exact moment as you did on this evening.” he was back to this usual composed demeanor, as the guards opened his doors for him; you bowed your head slightly, silently praying the knights did not hear any sound from you.

“as you wish, your grace.” you carried the tray once again, the milk still and untouched, it has been long since it got cold and you reminded yourself it will be the same on the next morrow.

[ashuhleawrites]

I Can Fix That - a John Logan x F!reader one shot.

a/n: ok so I watched Disney movies all day & Holes was on and all I could think of during the Sam and Ms. Katherine montage/backstory was John Logan and reader flirting with each other by you giving a bunch of tasks and he just wants to be around you and for you to be taken care of so he does all of it with a smile and an ‘I can fix that.’

warnings: 18+ ONLY — typical shirtless shenanigans, longing, fix it felix, handyman!logan, neighbors, strangers to lovers, descriptions of sexual acts, teasing, dirty talk, making out, fingering, oral (f!receiving) protected sex, p n v. he talks you through it cause it's john fucking logan, of course he does.

tags: @berryhush, @bluejaysaysstuff, @notsosweetcreature, @hellsdamsel, @putbloghere, @ur-local-padawan, @velvetdahliaa, @soupiemeowmeow, @xnightmarexpunkx

words: 6.4k

You'd moved into the old McAllen home that was next to the boys' house last semester and run into nothing but issues since you'd signed the lease. Within the first three months of living there, your water heater had gone out, the garbage disposal stopped working and on warm nights, sometimes the air conditioning would go on the fritz, leaving you in sweltering heat and being miserable in your underwear while laying on top of your bed.

Your landlord was absolutely useless and you were probably on a list of dozens of other properties that were probably experiencing the same issues. And for a while, you just grit your teeth and dealt with it the best you could.

One day, you'd finally had enough and got your dad's old toolbox out of your storage and decided to try to figure out the AC unit on your own. A decision that you instantly regret once you get the thing open and see the wires and metal.

But it was at least eighty degrees inside of your house, your outfit of the day consists of a pair of cut of denim shorts and a bikini top. Your hair is up as high off your neck as it can get and you're still sweating. You groan at the tangled mess of wires and are about to give up and just live in the nude this summer when you hear a voice behind you.

"Need a hand?"

You turn to see the Captain of the Briar U Hawks, John Logan with his sunglasses up on his forehead. He looks concerned at how you're holding the tool in your hand and how much electrical you're around right now.

"My air conditioning blows but it's not cold," you explain desperately, "I'm dying," you confess. Hastings has been in the middle of an unseasonably warm heat wave. By mid day, it's over one hundred degrees and at night, even with the sun down it's around eighty five and it's very humid.

Logan winces and drops his backpack, "Yikes," he says and steps forward, taking the pair of pliers from your hand and eyeing them up with a soft chuckle. He drops them gently into the toolbox and moves a few things around before he finds a flathead screwdriver.

"I can fix that," he says as he manages his hand inside of the opening you'd just found earlier. He flicks his wrist and the screwdriver hits something metal and he looks underneath the unit before he gives a quick nod. "Go in, see if it's cold," he tells you and you walk around to the back door of your two bedroom little starter house.

You don't know much but it was a senior who graduated who'd lived here last — but you do know that student did not take care of the place. You'd spent the first few weekends of your first year here pulling weeds, throwing away old furniture and giving the place a thorough scrub down.

It wasn't much but it was yours and you were proud of it.

As you step into the living room, you walk up to the wall where an air vent is sitting at the top, you stand up on your tipped toes and hear the air conditioner start to whir outside and air kicks out of the vent.

And it's hot.

You huff. And just as you're about to call out that it didn't work, your fingers cool down slightly. It's working and it's getting colder.

For the first time in three weeks, you would be able to sleep in an air conditioned house. You could kiss him right now and you don't even officially know his name.

Sure, you're not stupid. Anybody with eyes on campus knows who John Logan is. But at the end of the day, being his neighbor has made him incredibly human. You've seen him stumble out of the front door ten minutes late for his first class, taking out the trash in his boxers, you've seen him say goodbye to countless women, usually in the early morning hours. John Logan didn't do morning afters, you'd noticed.

Realizing you sound like a fucking stalker; you shake your head and rid your thoughts for a second. You step back outside and give him a gracious smile.

"It's working now, holy shit," you gush. "Thank you so much —" you trail off.

"John," he places a greasy hand on his chest and it leaves a stain. "Logan, that's what everybody calls me," he nods. "You renting?" he motions to the house with the screwdriver still in hand.

"I'm Y/N, yeah, until grad," you nod gently. "I'm a sophomore."

"Locking a place down already," he nods appreciatively at the house then back at you. His eyes linger for a beat longer than appropriate and he clears his throat as if to let you know that he's aware he's messing this up. "Smart move," he says. "Me and the guys rent too, same; til we're outta here," he smirks.

You've had a few classes with a few members of the hockey team and they all seemed nice enough. Their playboy personas definitely preceded them.

"Well hey, listen, if you ever need anything around the house like this kinda thing," Logan taps the air conditioner, "Lemme know, it's kind of my hobby," he confesses.

You raise an eyebrow, "Yeah," you nod slowly. It couldn't hurt to have someone who actually knew the names of what the fuck fixed things. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," you smile.

He picks his backpack back up and places the screwdriver back in the toolbox, shutting the box. "Have a good day," he smiles sweetly before walking across the street and up the stairs to the hockey house.

You pick up the toolbox and walk back into your house, making a silent vow to yourself that you'd only ever call John Logan in case of emergency.

About a week later, you're working on the garden in the front yard that's by your door when you see the shadow of someone who's standing behind you. You squint gently before tilting your head over your shoulder and catching a glimpse of Logan.

You hadn't been avoiding him per say, you had just been going about your day to day life. But you had been noticing that he had been outside more, working out in the backyard and you could have sworn he'd been staring over at your house a few times.

He's shirtless, sweaty and has a bandana on that's damp at his forehead. His athletic shorts are hanging low on his hips and you can see the little trail of hair that goes from his belly button dow—

"How's the AC?" he asks, hands on his hips and you turn back to your pruning, desperate for a distraction. He's asking such a simple and innocent question and your thoughts are racing about how strong he was. You wondered if he could bench press you, but a voice sounds inside of your head.

Holy shit, Y/N, not fucking now.

You nod your head, "It's great, thank you again," you say again.

He shakes his head like it was nothing.

"I was headed to the hardware store this morning," he says and you're wondering why he's telling you when he motions to your back fence. "When I was over here last week, I noticed you're missing a couple of slats," he shrugs. "I can fix that."

You look over towards where he's pointing and sure as shit, there's about four broken or missing slats to your fence scattered along the back wall. You sigh. You haven't been in the backyard much yet this spring and are afraid of what you're going to have to face when you finally do get around to it.

"I could pick up a couple of boards," Logan offers nonchalantly. "Our shower keeps getting clogged," he says and he instantly knows that his roommate Dean is the culprit. "Since I'm there already," he trails off and glances at you.

You blink.

"Oh, uh, yeah - that would be great," you say with a shake of your head. This guy was too good to be true. You smirk gently when he nods happily.

"Cool," he says as he reaches back and pulls the t-shirt that's hanging from his pocket out and over his head in a swift motion. Like he's done it all his life.

"I'll be right back," he tells you with a wave before turning and jogging towards his pickup.

Forty minutes later, Logan is carrying plywood back into your jungle of a backyard. He sees the weeds and laughs, giving a low whistle.

"Lemme guess," you say with a sly smirk and he grins back at you.

"I can fix that," he nods once.

"At least on that one, I can help," you say as you watch him start to line up the boards in the missing spots. He measures twice, you notice.

You excuse yourself after a minute and go inside to lean against the kitchen counter.

John Logan is in your backyard, fixing your fence. The only thing that could make it better was if he was shirtless, you think as you make your way to the sink, looking out the window that sits in front of it.

Oh, and just like that..

Logan grabs the hem of his baby blue t-shirt and rips it off, tossing it to the side and you groan internally. You look down and see your hands clutching the counter.

"Fucking hell," you grumble softly. "This is torture," you mumble as you watch his shoulder blades flex as he starts to hammer in nails.

You search the kitchen for some way to show your appreciation and find some lemonade in the very back of the fridge. You see a chunk of ice in it floating so you know it's good. The iceberg clinks around the glass pitcher walls as you find a glass.

You hastily pour, looking out at him and biting your bottom lip. He has no fucking business coming to do chores at your house looking this fucking good, you think to yourself and place the pitcher down on the counter.

You inhale slowly and realize your hand is shaking. Like your entire body is slowly starting to gravitate towards the idea of reaching out and touching him.

You steady yourself before walking outside as calm as you should be with a hot guy working in your backyard, shirtless.

The sound of nails grounds you and you clear your throat and he turns, offering a genuine grin at the glass of lemonade.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he says and drops the hammer to the ground, taking the glass and chugging half in one go. He gasps as he takes a deep breath and nods in appreciation. "That's delicious," he says before his eyes widen and he rubs his temples, "Fuck that shit's cold," he laughs through his temporary brain freeze. "Thank you," he nods and takes another sip, slower this time. He's learned his lesson.

You laugh softly, "Are you kidding me? Thank you," you motion to the three new fence posts that are already in place.

"Ah, it's nothing," he waves. "I'd rather do this and be outside than fishing condoms out of the shower drain," he says and when you give a confused look he shakes his head. "Don't ask," he warns.

You hold your hands up in surrender and laugh once and Logan smirks.

He likes the sound of your laugh.

"So, next weekend I've got an away game," he says matter of factly. "But the weekend after that we're home, I could come and help you with some of this stuff," he kicks a bush that's just given up on the will to live.

You nod gently, "That would be great, I'll get out here next weekend and try to get some out of here before you come back," you offer and he shrugs.

"No worries if you don't," he says quietly. "I could get this clear in an afternoon, couple of hours if I loop a couple of freshman into helping," he smirks.

"That's cruel, even for freshman," you reason with a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

He lets a beat pass before gazing around the backyard and he states boldly, "So no boyfriend around to help ya."

It's more of a statement than a question and you don't know how to respond.

Your eyes widen slightly at his forwardness before laughing softly. Something you did when you got uncomfortable. You shift between your feet and shake your head.

"Nah," you say simply and leave it at that. John Logan doesn't need to know your entire relationship history since coming to Briar.

He eyes you up suspiciously before turning back to the fence, "Well, I'll get this last one done and get out of your hair," he says dismissively. He kneels down and grabs the hammer again, digging into his pocket for a handful of nails. He sticks a few between his teeth by their flat heads and he starts to hammer them into the wood and with each hit, you feel the opportunity of getting to know Logan more slip away until two weeks from now.

"Hey, can I get your number?" You ask suddenly between hits and he raises an eyebrow and looks over his shoulder at you. He's got a look that screams curiosity and maybe even excitement at the idea of you asking for his number.

Before he can get too cocky, you follow up with a bold faced lie, "My water heater has been weird lately—" you say quietly and make a mental note to go in there before he comes to fix it and fuck it up somehow. "In case it blows up or something while you're gone.." you trail off and place your hands in your pockets.

His lips slowly pull into a sly smirk and he nods, "Yeah, I can give you my number," he winks. "In case something blows up," he confirms before hitting the final nail on the head and placing the hammer into the toolbox at his feet. "Done."

You hand him your cell phone and quietly watch him type in his name and number before handing it back to you. He hit 'call' and 'end' quickly so that he'd have your number as well — he wasn't dumb. He wasn't going to wait for something to break to talk to you again.

"Thanks again," you tell him as you walk him towards the front of the house. He's wiping his face with his bandana that he's removed from his head. His hair is slightly sweaty and sticking to his forehead, he puts his hands in his t-shirt and lifts it up to wipe his face even better and you get a good glimpse of his abs before the shirt falls back down.

"Yeah, of course — get inside into that air conditioning," he tells you seriously. "It's getting fucking hot," he grumbles. He loved spring and summer but not when it was as hot as Hell outside, literally. He could feel the thickness of the air when he inhaled and that was something he'd learned that he did not like since this heat wave had begun.

You smirk gently and nod your head, "Yeah, you too," you muse and he waves you off.

"I'll talk to you later," he promises and crosses the street and you stand there for a moment, looking at your feet for a second before going inside and plopping onto the couch trying not to imagine him naked.

You end up taking an hour long cold shower.

It's only four days later when you're sitting in your bed, trying to read a book. Your eyes scan the same paragraph for the sixth time, trying to force yourself to comprehend.

You've been thinking about John Logan since the fence fixing and it was starting to consume your day to day life. In the middle of lectures, just as you were disassociating to your professor's monotone, you'd get a glimpse of the dimples behind his back that were more pronounced whenever his arms were above his head.

At the end of a long day, you would come back to your house and look over to the hockey house; wondering what he was doing.

Your phone vibrates on your thigh and you look down.

It's late, Hannah had already said goodnight a few hours ago and that was the only person that you been talking to that day. You close your book and place it to your side, looking at your phone screen.

Logan: Just checking in to make sure nothing has imploded on you before I head to bed — thought I heard a bang.

You smirk slowly and resist the urge to kick your feet at the sight of his text. No, this isn't an elementary school crush, no — you were fully lusting over John Logan and he was seemingly interested in seeing what could be between you two.

You slowly type back, "Nothing here at least from what I can tell, I think you're in the clear…"

And instantly, those three little dots slowly pop up and you inhale slowly.

Logan: That means nothing coming from you: I saw how you hold a pair of pliers. If you're trying to reassure me, you're doing a terrible job.

A grin pulls at your lips and you lean back in your bed against the headboard.

"Who needs to know how to hold a pair of pliers when they live next door to Fix-It Felix," you respond with a GIF from Wreck it Ralph. He gives a 'haha' to the image before responding quickly.

Logan: I'm not gonna be here forever — unlike some of my teammates, I take my schooling very seriously. I'm not planning on being here for a decade. When I graduate, you're fucked. 😭

You laugh and roll your eyes.

"Good thing I have your number then, huh?"

He starts typing but the dots disappear and you stare, waiting for them to show up again.

They don't.

You exhale and let your head fall back between your shoulders against the headboard.

Another vibrate.

Logan: What are you up to? Me and the boys just got back from Malone's & I'm about this close to refereeing a rock, paper, scissors tournament, I think.

You smirk and debate how you want to play this. You could easily turn this into a flirtatious conversation — ask Logan to come across the street and keep you company. Or you could stay just like you were, just talking. It seemed like a win win either way. You're in your thoughts when the phone vibrates again in your palm.

Logan: JK, Dean passed out on the couch and Garrett decided he's headed to bed. Another fun night at the Hockey House!

"Sounds like a blast, more fun than I'm having," you hit send and then send another message. "I'm trying to read a book but my mind is just elsewhere, I guess…" and you add a shrugging emoji to make sure he knows you're not being blatantly flirtatious.

Logan: Hate that for you. What's up? Something on your mind?

You swallow and stare at the message.

Yeah, you think to yourself, you.

And your thumbs start to move mindlessly, "Just nothing is keeping my attention and I just feel restless."

Logan: Except me.

And you can see the smug ass smirk that's probably on his face right now across the street.

You stand up and pace back and forth as you think of how to respond.

You type back with one word.

"Apparently."

Logan's little dots pop up and taunt you with what you imagine his response could be. He could be smug, he could be completely disinterested and respond with a 'quit it, freak' or worse, he could be totally fucking into it.

Logan: I can fix that.

And your heart skips a beat as you text back to explain yourself and you delete what you've got, going for a third attempt at an excuse when your doorbell rings.

Your stomach falls into your ass as you slowly lift yourself up off the bed and walk down the hallway towards the front door. Through the decorative windows at the top of the door, you can see the very top of Logan's head, moving back and forth.

You slowly reach out and open the door, looking at the hockey captain who has his hand behind his neck and he gives a gentle smile.

As you watch him, you rack your brain for everything and anything that could be considered 'broken' so that you can keep him here as long as you could, but he simply shrugs his shoulders and leans against the door frame.

He's switched out of his clothing from this evening at Malone's and is now in a pair of gray sweatpants, the drawstrings hanging between his thighs. His t-shirt is one size too big for his frame — either he doesn't care about flaunting his muscles or he doesn't realize how fit he truly is.

"I know nothing's broken," he states matter of factly. "Can I come in anyway?"

Instead of speaking, you probably couldn't if you tried right now, you simply step to the side and motion for him to come inside. He does so with a smile and looks around as soon as he's inside.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask him quietly and he shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p' as he shoves his hands into his jeans pockets. "I'm all good, I uh, just wanted to see you," he confesses.

"Me?" you ask with a surprised look on your face. Logan could get any girl on campus with a bat of those long eyelashes and that stupid lazy smirk that he's got on his face whenever he looks at you.

"You," he nods with the same surprised look on his face, laughing softly. "Yeah, you," he states with a shrug. "Truth be told," Logan sighs dramatically and leans against the kitchen island, arms against his chest. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since you were trying to fix your AC," he tells you as if it's no big deal that he's been thinking about you for weeks.

There's a slight skip in your heart's rhythm when you think about if he's had the same type of thoughts about you?

He watches you intently as you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at him with your mouth slightly agape.

"Y/N, you gotta give me something to work off of here," he begs gently with a pleading look in his eyes and you shake your head in disbelief.

"Sorry," you say simply with a blink, "I just… think my brain short circuited," you joke but you feel like doing literally anything but laughing. John Logan has been thinking about you, you remind yourself and you swallow before feeling yourself returning into your own body again. "Thinking about me," you try out quietly as you start to step towards him. "Like how?"

Logan stares at you as if you're a piece of prey as you step closer, dark eyes locked on your frame as you saunter towards the island. He bites down on his bottom lip gently, "Oh, if I told you you would think that I'm insane," he warns.

Eyebrows lifting slightly, you gaze up at him curiously and tilt your head to the side, "Try me," you say in an encouraging tone.

Logan swallows. Hard.

"I've been thinking about you—" he inhales sharply as if he really is considering doing this. He looks down at you and reaches over, grabbing your waist and tugging you between his legs. His hands find your hips as his thumbs gently graze at your hip bones. "In the worst fucking ways possible," he says, "—which is a problem because I haven't even taken you out on a proper date yet."

Ah, you think. A romantic, how sweet.

You smirk gently, "Oh, shit," you say in a low tone. "That bad, huh?"

Logan groans and shakes his head, "Like right now, all I wanna do is put you up on this counter and have my way with you," he says in a voice just above a whisper. He pulls his right hand up and strokes your cheek as if he's testing the waters. "I've been thinking about how badly I wanna fuck you," he confesses and your cheeks flush.

Your lips curl up into a smirk and you lean in, whispering into his ear. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you," you say softly and he looks down at you with furrowed eyebrows.

"What? What's the bad news?" he asks, worry in his voice.

"I've been thinking about that too," you say. "And then you kept coming over shirtless and shit looking like a Ken doll," you groan and rub your hand over your face.

"Can I at least be a GI Joe?" he asks and you roll your eyes.

Logan's eyes light up slightly and he reaches forward, capturing your lips against his. He takes a step and spins you around, effectively caging you in against the countertop. Your tongues play against each others and both of his hands slip up to either side of your neck, deepening the kiss. After a moment, his hands slide down to your hips and he grabs you tightly, fingertips digging into your pajama bottoms and lifts you. He plops you right on your ass onto the counter, legs dangling and he steps between them effortlessly.

Your mind is fucking racing right now as his hands start to roam up and down your sides over your pajamas. Finally realizing what's going on, your arms instantly go around his neck and your leg hooks around his waist and pin him against the counter. He groans into the kiss slightly and lets his hand slip up your shirt.

His palm brushes against your breast and rolls your nipple gently between his index finger and thumb and he grins against your lips at the noise that comes out of your mouth.

You reach up and let your hand rake through his hair, sighing into the next kiss that he plants on your lips. He then breaks away, trailing kisses down your jawline as his hand switches over to your other breast and starts giving it some attention as well.

Logan's hands pull at the hem of your shirt and his eyes meet yours, asking silently for your approval before continuing on.

When you nod, he has the green light and he yanks the fabric up and over your head with no flair. He's too excited to be pulling out all the moves even though he knows he needs to slow the fuck down and savor this moment.

His lips graze down your jawline and down onto your neck and he nips gently at your pulse point before he sucks gently to ease the pain. Your lips part and you exhale, tilting your head to the side to give him the best angle of your neck that he can get.

You secretly hope he leaves marks. You want to walk around campus with makeup poorly covering his little claims on your body — at least the ones that are visible.

Logan's eyes drift down to your tits and smiles appreciatively. "Jesus," he breathes out as he reaches behind his neck and tugs at the collar of his own t-shirt. He throws it to the side and your hands rest on his muscular chest, fingers tracing the silver chain that he wears every day.

He presses you up against his chest and he closes his eyes, resting his forehead against yours as your hand slowly slides down between his pecs to his abs. Your fingertips slowly trace small little circles along the muscles and his flinches his belly away from you instinctively before you smirk up at him and let your hand rest at the waistband of his sweats.

You watch his face intently as your hand palms against his dick through the fabric and you can feel him tense underneath you instantly. He sucks in a deep breath of air and grunts gently.

"You gonna tease it or you gonna play with it?" he asks gently, a slight challenge in his voice. He's never going to not be a smart ass when it counts.

You grin, letting your fingers curl around his fabric covered length. He hisses and closes his eyes, shifting his hips forward into your hand and he groans.

"Y/N," he warns, "I've wanted this all week," he tells you and you give him a sympathetic look.

He looks at you with a smile that shouts two can play that game and lets his fingers hook into the elastic of your shorts. In one swift motion, he's got you naked sitting on your kitchen counter and you feel like a million bucks as you sit in front of him with that grin.

He's looking at you like he's hit the lottery and he licks his lips before he leans back in, "You're fucking perfect," he whispers genuinely into your ear.

He grabs your thighs and wraps your legs around his waist and tugs you closer, picking you up off the counter with ease and walking you towards the living room where he saw a couch earlier that seemed like it would give him enough room for what he wanted to do to you.

He lays you gingerly back against the couch cushions, dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you and nudging your knees apart with his shoulders. Logan's lips plant kisses up your thighs and just as he's about to reach your center that's throbbing at this point, he hovers and hesitates.

Logan's dark eyes stare down at your pussy, all wet just for him, and he blows air against your exposed clit before he goes to your other thigh and starts to kiss down towards your knee. You whimper and squirm underneath him and lift your head up off the couch.

"Fucking tease," you mumble with a sigh and he laughs between your thighs, laughing and leaning in. His lips place a gentle kiss at your clit before he lets his tongue lap in lazy circles against you.

His tongue moves just like a skater on the ice and you can't help but fall back against the cushions as he starts to inch you closer to an orgasm. His arms wrap around your ass and tugs you down onto his tongue, humming happily as he eats you out.

Your hand reaches down and grabs a handful of his hair and as he slips a finger inside of you, you tug in approval. A shaky sigh escapes from your lips as he throws your knee over his shoulder, burying his face deeper.

Your eyes widen as he starts to suck at your clit, a second finger added to the mix with a moan from you giving him encouragement every step of the way. The way your hips are starting to roll against his fingers makes him grin and his cock twitches between his legs.

Not now, Logan says to himself as he curls his fingers up just right and rubs against your spot.

"That's right," Logan nods, eyes dark. "You like that?"

Your head bounces like a bobblehead.

Logan shakes his head down at you, pressing his fingers deeper. "Say it," he says.

"I like it," you say eagerly and he smirks gently at how much control he has right now in this moment — even though he knows you can switch that dynamic around real fast.

He curls his fingers and pumps his fingers out as he sucks at your clit again, looking up at you.

Jesus Christ, John Logan between your thighs looking up at you may be the sexiest thing you've ever seen in your entire life.

"Fuck," you manage out a moment later as he keeps his motions going, leaning up though and grinning down at you.

"What's up, baby?" he asks in that snarky little tone that makes you clench around his fingers slightly. "Mm, you're close, aren't you?" he asks.

You nod weakly and Logan lifts a finger to his earlobe.

"Use your words, princess," Logan growls gently as he tilts his ear down towards you.

"I'm gonna come," you breathe out, your fingertips digging into his forearm.

Logan grins, "Good, let go for me," he says softly into your ear, "C'mon, let me have it," he tells you.

Your eyes close and you whimper as your thighs quiver around his fingers and he slows his fingers yet adds an entirely new sensation at this moment: his thumb, rubbing gently against your clit steadily.

He holds you as you tense up under him, kissing any inch of your body that he can get his lips on as you ride out your high.

"There she is," he grins once you seemingly come back down to Earth and you giggle softly, leaning in and kissing his lips roughly.

Logan leans back into you and kisses you back before pulling away and exhaling. He glances down and bites down on his bottom lip.

"You're not done," he tells you quietly as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock and gives it a slow pump. His eyes are locked on you and you sit up slowly, grinning.

You lean over him and open your coffee table drawer, reaching in and grabbing a condom before taking the wrapper between her teeth and tearing it open.

Logan's seen women trying to make condoms sexy a hundred times but you, however, are the only one to succeed. He bites harder into his bottom lip as he pumps his cock once more, watching as you grab the latex and line it up with him.

He groans as you slowly roll the condom down with your hand, gripping him as you slide down and grinning up at him as you notice him twitch.

He crawls up onto the couch between your thighs and lets the head of his cock rub against your wet folds teasingly.

Your eyes roll at the feeling and you reach down to grab his forearms that are braced on either side of you.

And with one swift thrust, Logan pushes inside of you and you moan softly.

He pauses when he's fully inside of you and gives you a second to adjust before he rolls his hips back - only to thrust right back in. His head drops back between his shoulders and he groans.

You wrap your legs around his waist and he buries himself inside of you with each thrust, each one growing more and more passionate. He's savoring this moment just as much as you are, you notice, as he looks down at you as if he's memorizing this. The way your tits bounce with each thrusts, the sound that your bodies are making as they collide or maybe even how you feel.

"Just like that," you egg him on as he angles his hips just right and you feel a sudden sensation building in your stomach.

He beams at your words and tries to hit that spot over and over and over again.

He groans slowly, "You look so gorgeous like this," he tells you. And you don't care how many girls he's told this to before, you believe him. And your hands slowly reach up to your tits, squeezing them together as he brings your knees up to your chest and continues to pound into you.

You groan and know that you're on the edge and it's way too fast for your liking but you have no say in the matter. Logan for all intents and purposes has full control of you and this moment and you wouldn't have it any other way.

He leans down and kisses your lips as he bucks his hips, his thrusts getting more and more desperate and ragged as he rocks his hips back and forth. When he feels your thighs shake again and your breathing hitch, he groans deeply into the kiss and his hips start to slow down, looking down at you. His eyes lock onto yours as he fills the condom, moaning and kissing your jaw again.

And you two lay like that, just together, chest to chest on the couch, catching your breath. A comfortable silence falling between you two. You quietly wrap an arm around his shoulders as he places kisses against your collarbone, slipping out of you a moment later.

You sit up and Logan instantly walks over to the kitchen and grabs the roll of paper towels. He peels the rubber off of his dick and cleans himself off quickly and hands you the roll of towels for yourself.

He pulls his sweats back over his hips and he sits on the couch, running his hand through his hair and exhaling contently.

"You good?" he asks gently after a beat and you offer a grin that makes him laugh. "Jesus," he laughs, "You keep looking like that and I'm gonna get you for three tonight," he grins and leans in, pecking your lips.

"What's wrong with that?" you ask with a small smirk.

Logan chuckles lowly and swats at your thigh, "Nothing, but I'm gonna get hooked," he smirks. "And then you'll never get rid of me," he shrugs quickly.

"I thought I already couldn't get rid of you," you muse and he leans in, tickling your sides and making you writhe underneath him in an entirely different way.

"So I'm gonna take you out to dinner tomorrow night," he tells you simply, tracing circles up and down your arm.

You laugh gently at the shift of conversation.

"I'll see if I can pencil you in," you say gently. "Have you seen my backyard?"

He smirks, "Alright, fine, instead of going out for dinner, we'll get some take out and we can work in the backyard and get some work done before I head out on the road," he says, like it's the easiest decision to make.

You purse your lips and nod, "I don't think my sprinkler system is even hooked up," you muse after a minute and Logan hums behind you, hugging you tight to his body as he shrugs.

"I can fix that."

a/n: well, here we are hussies, (jk lol) I hope that you enjoyed my first smutfic in a HOT ASS minute. what a muse, huh? is he just not the finest hunk in the world? the things i'd do-- and with that, i'm headed to bed. let me know what you think -- as always, requests are OPEN and I'm always willing to take your suggestions! who knows -- maybe this becomes a mini-series in and of itself depending on how ya'll like it! i love you all so very very much! thank you for reading!

[maybestrid33]

Bedrest

Jacaerys Velaryon x wife!reader - House of the Dragon (spoilers for s3 ep1!!)

Summary: Jacaerys survives the Gullet, so naturally the maesters have opinions about what he should and should not be doing during his recovery. Unfortunately for them, Jace has opinions too.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT hurt/comfort, handjob, oral (blowjob), eventual smut, near-death aftermath, medical treatment, injuries/blood, married couple shenanigans, excessive flirting, Jace Velaryon lobbying campaign

A/N: this works as a standalone or sequel to Saltwater, except this fic is significantly less angsty and significantly more "what if jace spent a month trying to argue with medical professionals." :) must admit i cracked myself up a lil writing this and also PLEASE send in reqs im running out of ideas

MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (open) - WC: 4.0k

A month after the Gullet, the castle still smells faintly of medicines, as though the sea itself has followed Jacaerys home and settled in the stone with him.

You have grown so accustomed to it that you hardly notice anymore.

A month ago, you would have given anything to smell it. A month ago, there had been blood. So much blood. But now there are only maesters, all the time.

Three of them stand gathered around the table right now near the window, speaking in low, serious voices while Jace sits in a carved chair looking increasingly irritated with every minute.

Sunlight spills through the narrow panes behind him, catching in his dark curls and turning the edges of them gold, softening him in a way that makes him seem almost boyish despite everything he has endured in the last couple weeks.

His injuries have faded from terrifying to merely alarming. The worst of the bruising is gone, the cuts have begun to heal, and colour has returned to his face, though not yet enough for you to relax.

Unfortunately for everyone else, so has his stubbornness.

You stand beside him with one hand resting lightly on the back of his chair, partly affection but mostly precaution if you're being honest with yourself, because the prince has developed an unfortunate habit of forgetting that nearly dying is supposed to slow a person down.

"Your Grace is recovering admirably," Grand Maester Gerardys says at last.

Jace straightens immediately, as if the words themselves have restored him. Gerardys clears his throat with the patient air of a man who has spent his life delivering unwelcome truths to the powerful. "Recovering admirably, however, does not mean recovered."

Jace slumps back with all the theatrical suffering of a man condemned to the Wall. Gerardys continues as though he has not noticed the prince's offence.

"Your ribs are still mending. The wound to your side has not fully healed. The fever has passed, but weakness remains. Any unnecessary strain could set back his recovery considerably."

Jace folds his arms. "What strain?"

The three maesters exchange a glance, and you immediately become suspicious. Jace notices it too, his brows drawing together. "What strain?" he repeats, sharper this time.

Nobody answers.

The silence stretches, and stretches, and then stretches a little further, until finally the old maester clears his throat again, looking faintly pained. "This includes physical exertion."

Jace nods at once. "Yes, I gathered that, obviously."

"Excessive physical exertion."

"Yes."

"Particularly..." Gerardys pauses, and one of the younger maesters suddenly finds the floor fascinating. "...marital exertion."

The room falls completely silent.

For a single moment Jace simply stares at them. Then his face changes all at once, horror and outrage arriving together.

"I beg your pardon?"

You turn away quickly because you can already feel laughter rising in your throat and you know if you let it out now you will never stop. Beside you, Jace looks scandalised beyond measure. "What do you mean?"

"My Prince-"

"No." The word echoes off the stone walls. "Absolutely not. This is absurd and I refuse to accept it."

Gerardys remains maddeningly calm. "It is only temporary."

"Temporary?" Jace sounds personally betrayed. "You are forbidding me from bedding my own wife."

The younger maester goes slightly red. You stare very intently at the tapestry across the room, because if you look at Jace now you will lose whatever dignity you have left. He points an accusing finger at the entire collection of healers. "I survived a naval battle."

"Indeed."

"I was shot."

"Yes."

"I nearly drowned."

"Correct."

"And your conclusion is that my greatest threat is my wife?"

The maesters look vaguely embarrassed. Jace looks outraged. And suddenly, despite the lingering ache that still lives in your chest whenever you remember the sight of him bleeding on a bed, you feel lighter, because this is familiar. This is your Jace. He's alive enough to argue and complain. Alive enough to glare dramatically at innocent old men and be stubborn.

Your hand slips from the chair to his shoulder, and immediately he covers it with his own. Gerardys notices, and his expression gentles. "My Prince," he says, "the restriction is not punishment."

Jace groans. "I would beg to differ."

A few of the maesters smile despite themselves. Gerardys gathers his papers, "It is only another month."

Jace nearly chokes. "A whole month?"

"Perhaps less, if recovery continues."

"A month."

"You survived the Gullet. Surely you can survive a few more weeks."

Jace mutters something deeply disrespectful under his breath, and you squeeze his shoulder in warning and affection both. His fingers immediately tighten around yours as he looks up at you, exhaustion and frustration playing on his features.

You smile at him, and his expression softens immediately.

Then Gerardys speaks again, and the spell breaks at once. "And separate beds may also be advisable."

Jace's head snaps around, "No."

Silence settles over the chamber. Jace's hand remains wrapped around yours, firm and warm and immovable. "I nearly died, so I am not sleeping without my wife."

They exchange glances and then, wisely, surrender. "Very well."

You lower your head to hide your smile, because truly, there are battles even the maesters cannot win.

That evening the matter should have been settled, at least in theory.

The maesters had spoken, their instructions delivered and their warnings had been repeated no fewer than six times over supper, as though saying them often enough might somehow make Jace more inclined to obey.

Instead, he is attempting to negotiate, which is perhaps exactly what you should have expected from him and yet still feels faintly absurd when he is sitting there shirtless on the edge of the bed, looking incredibly offended by the very concept of restraint.

You sit beside him with a fresh roll of linen in your lap while he holds one arm lifted so you can reach the wound along his side.

The chamber is quiet except for the crackle of the fire and the distant, steady sound of waves striking the cliffs below; night has fully settled beyond the windows, leaving only darkness on the other side of the glass and the warm gold of candlelight within.

Carefully, you peel away the old bandage, and he hisses through his teeth at the movement. You glance up at once. “You are being dramatic.”

"Three arrows pierced my body.”

“A month ago.”

“It still counts.”

You make a skeptical sound and reach for the ointment, though you cannot quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. For a few moments silence settles between you. You smooth the salve across healing skin, studying the angry scar that is beginning to form there, the sight still makes something twist painfully in your chest.

There are moments when you look at him and see only Jace; your husband, your best friend, the boy who once raced you through castle corridors and stole lemon cakes from the kitchens with the shameless confidence of someone who had never once been told no in his life.

Then there are moments like this, when memory comes back all at once and with it the blood, the fever, the endless waiting, the terrible certainty, however brief, that you might lose him. Your fingers pause before you can stop them.

Immediately, his hand settles over yours.

He notices. Of course he does.

You lift your eyes, and his expression softens at once. “I am all right,” he says quietly.

“Mm.”

His thumb brushes slowly across your knuckles.

Then, because Jacaerys Velaryon possesses the survival instincts of an overconfident golden retriever, he says, “I still think the maesters are being unreasonable.”

You close your eyes for a brief, weary moment. You had been wondering how long it would take.

“You are recovering from grievous injuries.”

“I am recovering exceptionally well.”

“You still tire walking up stairs.”

“Well, I dislike those stairs.”

You begin wrapping the fresh bandage around his ribs. “They are not unusual stairs, Jace.”

"They are steeper than other stairs."

Despite yourself, you laugh, and his grin appears immediately. He tilts his head, thoughtful in the way that always makes you suspicious.

“What exactly constitutes marital exertion?”

You nearly drop the bandage. “Jacaerys.”

“It is a reasonable question.”

You finish tying the linen perhaps just a little tighter than necessary, and he winces. You feel no guilt whatsoever.

“They were quite vague,” he says after a moment.

“They were not vague. They were, in fact, extraordinarily clear.”

Jace considers this with the air of a man weighing evidence in a trial he has already decided to win. “Perhaps to you.”

“To everyone.”

“Not to me.” His smile widens, and you are suddenly struck by the realisation that the maesters should perhaps have prescribed confinement in separate castles.

“They said strain,” he says, as though he's continuing a perfectly sensible conversation.

“Yes.”

“And exertion.”

“Yes.”

“So theoretically-”

“No.”

“What if-”

“Jace.”

He stops, though only because he is laughing now, actually laughing, and the sound fills the room so easily that for a moment you forget everything else.

“You are impossible,” you inform him.

“I have been told.”

He reaches for your hand, and you let him take it. His fingers close around yours with a warmth that feels almost unbearably familiar, and when he speaks again his voice has lost its teasing edge. “Another month is a very long time.”

You shake your head, smiling softly, but before he can begin constructing another ridiculous argument, you lean forward and press a kiss to his mouth.

The effect is immediate. Jace falls silent, blessedly, wonderfully silent, and when you pull back he blinks once, then twice, as though he has forgotten every thought he was having.

A second kiss lands at the corner of his mouth, then another against his cheek, and with each one his smile grows slower, softer, warmer, until by the third he has entirely abandoned his campaign against the maesters.

You feel rather proud of yourself.

He grins and reaches for you, and you allow him to pull you nearer. The blankets shift around you both as you settle beside him carefully, because he is still healing and you are both painfully aware of it.

His arm slides around your waist. Your head finds its familiar place against his shoulder.

The first week after the maesters' decree is irritating.

The second becomes ridiculous.

By the third, it's infuriating.

Jacaerys Velaryon approaches recovery the way he approaches every obstacle in his life: by refusing to accept that it is truly an obstacle at all.

If the maesters insist upon restrictions, then he will simply find exceptions.

One evening, as you sit beside him on the bed with your book open in your lap, he glances over and says, almost casually, “I stand by my opinion that their instructions were imprecise.”

You do not look up. “No.”

“They never actually provided definitions.”

You turn a page. “They are maesters, Jace, not scholars debating philosophy.”

He sighs, long-suffering and theatrical, and shifts a little closer.

Recently, he has become fond of finding excuses to sit beside you, or hold your hand, or drape an arm around your shoulders, or rest his head in your lap while insisting he is 'too weak' to move despite having spent the entire afternoon arguing in council.

“What if,” he begins. You close your eyes.

“What if,” he repeats, undeterred, “the concern is specifically overexertion?”

“It is.”

“Then surely the solution is simply avoiding overexertion.”

At last you lower the book and look at him properly. His expression brightens at once, as though he has won something merely by drawing your attention.

“Jace.”

“Yes?”

“No.”

He groans, and you return to your book.

Three nights later, he appears to have developed a new argument. You discover this when he is sprawled across the bed with his head resting against your shoulder, warm and comfortable and entirely too pleased with himself.

“What if,” he says thoughtfully.

You nearly laugh. “Again?”

“I have had several days to refine my position on the issue.”

“Gods preserve me.”

“What if I simply did not move very much? You could do all the... moving... uh, like difficult parts.”

You lower your embroidery hoop and glance down at him. He looks entirely sincere, which somehow makes it worse.

“Jacaerys.”

“I am not going to do any part because we are not going to do anything.”

He studies the ceiling for a moment, then turns his head just enough to look at you. “I think you are dismissing my proposals too quickly.”

“I think you enjoy hearing yourself talk.”

“I enjoy talking to you.”

Oh, you hate how good he is at being charming.

His arm slips around your waist. “You know,” he says quietly, “I do understand why you’re worried.”

The humour fades a little. You look at him, but his gaze remains fixed on your joined hands.

“You frightened me,” you admit.

Something flashes behind his eyes. “I know.”

Silence settles between you, gentle and sad and comfortable all at once. Then, because he is incapable of allowing a serious conversation to remain serious for too long, he lifts his head and says, “So that is still a no?”

You stare at him.

Jace immediately begins laughing, and when you throw a cushion at his face he catches it easily, looking delighted by the rejection.

Which, unfortunately, only convinces you that recovery is proceeding exceptionally well.

One morning at the beginning of the fourth week you're standing at the edge of the bedchamber, the salt-laced wind moaning through the open shutters as the last embers in the hearth crackle low.

Jacaerys is desperate today, even more than usual

He lies propped against the pillows, his bare chest rising and falling with quick, restless breaths, the angry red scars along his ribs and hip still mapped in fresh pink, but they are scars now, nonetheless.

It's been two months since the Gullet.

To the naked eye he seems fully recovered — he partakes in council meetings, goes on long walks with you along the shore, is no longer winded by those particularly steep stairs — but the maesters’ edict remains iron.

No strain, no exertion, no touch that might tear what they say has barely knit. Yet here he is, dark eyes fixed on you with shameless hunger, voice low and frayed.

“Please,” he murmurs, the words thick with frustration, his hand extended, palm up, fingers flexing as if he can already feel the shape of your waist.

“I cannot do this, I’m not some broken thing anymore. I feel you every night in my dreams, and then I wake up and you won't even let me touch you properly. I need your hand, your mouth, anything. Just… let me feel you again.”

He sits up a little straighter, a small grin finding his lips, voice dropping to a growl. “You’re aching too, I know it. Two months without feeling how wet you get for me-"

"Jacaerys, stop being so crude, you cannot possibly think-" but he continues, completely disregarding your objections.

"Gods, I’d give anything to see you under me like I used to, but I won’t move. I swear it. Just you, I'll even lie still.”

Your fingers tighten on the bedpost, because you cannot dent he's right. You do miss him, painfully so. You miss the feel of his hands on you and the stretch of him inside you, but reluctance still coils tight in your chest.

You take one hesitant step closer.

The cool stone floor beneath your bare feet gives way to the softness of the mattress as you perch carefully at his uninjured side, your fingers brushing the edge of the linen without yet touching him.

“Jacaerys,” you whisper, “I cannot, the maesters said-” But the way his hips twitch, just once, desperate and involuntary, stops the protest on your tongue.

A soft, helpless sound escapes him, and something shifts inside you, because this, in a way, is also him in pain, except this time you actually have the power to help him.

Your hand drifts over the sheet, hovering just above the bulge you can just start to see emerging beneath the linen.

“You must promise me you’ll lie perfectly still,” you remind him, the words gentle but unyielding, “There are reasons they forbid it; you could open one of the wounds.”

His dark eyes flash, jaw tightening as if he might argue, but apparently the months of forced stillness have left him too raw, too aching, and he nods once, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple.

You smile then, small and maybe a little teasing, and let your fingertips graze the linen over the head of his cock.

Slowly you peel the sheet down, then work on the laces of his breeches before pulling them down and finally revealing him fully to the firelit air.

His cock thick and flushed dark, the vein along its length pulsing visibly as you wrap your fingers around the base with deliberate lightness, still not quite sure how this is going to go.

He groans, low and broken, head tipping back against the pillows, but he holds himself rigid as promised, muscles trembling with the effort.

You lean in, breath ghosting over the sensitive head, and press the softest kiss there, tasting the salt of him while your free hand rests lightly on his uninjured hip to remind him of the boundary.

“Only on my terms tonight, dearest husband,” you whisper against his skin, stroking him once, slow and torturous, savouring the way his breath hitches and his fingers clutch the bedding instead of reaching for you.

“I will give you this, you just lay there and let me take care you.”

You tighten your grip just enough to draw another shuddering groan from him, your thumb circling the slick head of his cock in slow, deliberate strokes that make his thighs tense against the sheets.

He’s so hard it must be painful, the heavy length twitching in your fist with every pass,

The sight of your big, strong husband, normally so commanding, now reduced to biting his lip to keep from thrusting stirs something warm and aching in your chest.

It feels like the biggest relief.

You still remember every moment of the last two months, watching him wince at every breath, lying awake beside his bandaged body while fear gnawed at you both, and now here he is, flushed and leaking for you, trying so hard to obey even as his hips give one tiny, involuntary roll.

It’s adorable, that stubborn flicker of dominance surfacing in the way he grits out your name, only for it to dissolve into a whimper when you lean down and drag your tongue along the underside of his shaft.

His fingers fist the bedding harder, knuckles white, and you can see the war in his eyes, the urge to grab your hair and guide you deeper warring with the maesters’ warnings and his own fragile healing.

“Fuck… just like that,” he rasps, voice cracking with need so raw it makes your own neglected body clench.

You take him deeper into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks with a soft suck that has him arching his head back.

It's as if you're watching him heal in real-time, because he’s becoming himself again, that fierce, passionate man who once pinned you laughing to the furs.

You hum around him, savouring the salt-bitter taste of him while your free hand strokes soothing circles over his tightening stomach.

You pull off just enough to murmur against the flushed skin, teasing the slit with the tip of your tongue until his breath stutters.

“Still, Jace.”

Then you resume your rhythm, slow, twisting strokes of your hand paired with wet, deliberate licks. He trembles beneath you, every suppressed sound proof of how desperately he’s craved your touch.

You quicken your pace with deliberate mercy, not seeing a point in dragging this out any longer than you have to, lips sealed tight around him as your tongue swirls and your hand pumps in steady rhythm, feeling the way his thighs quake despite his vow to stay still.

His voice breaks on your name, half-command and half-plea, while one of his hands finds your hair and grips tight, not that you mind at all.

Finally, he spills hot and pulsing across your tongue, thick spurts you swallow with a soft moan of your own. You keep stroking him through it, gentling your touch as the last tremors fade, watching the tension drain from his battered body until he lies boneless and breathless, dark eyes glassy.

For a long moment afterward, neither of you says anything.

The chamber is quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire and the distant rhythm of the sea beyond the windows. The candles have burned lower than either of you realised, leaving the room washed in warm gold and shadow.

Jace lies beside you with that same dazed, contented smile still lingering on his mouth, as though he has not quite remembered how to put it away.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye and shake your head. “What?”

His smile only deepens. “Nothing.”

“Mhmm.”

He gives a quiet, breathless laugh and reaches for your hand where it still rests atop his stomach, threading his fingers through yours. His thumb moves over your knuckles, warm and absentminded.

The sight of him like this, softened and unguarded, makes something in your chest loosen.

You fuss over him out of habit more than necessity, fetching a washcloth, straightening the blankets around his hips and making certain he is comfortable, searching his face and posture for any sign that he has overdone himself despite every promise he made.

Jace watches the whole business with open affection, his expression growing gentler by the moment.

“My darling,” he murmurs, though there is no real complaint in it. You ignore him. “You are checking on me.”

“Someone has to.”

His teasing fades then, leaving something softer in its place. For a moment he simply watches you, and when he lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles, the gesture is so familiar that it catches you off guard all the same.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You look up at him.

The words are not playful nor triumphant, not even particularly clever. Your chest aches unexpectedly, because beneath all the bargaining and persistence and impossible shamelessness, you know what this has really been about.

Weeks of fear. Weeks of recovery. Weeks of being careful. Weeks of wondering whether life would ever feel normal again.

You squeeze his hand, and his fingers tighten around yours at once.

“You do not need to thank me.”

“I do.”

His voice is gentle. “I know I was insufferable.”

You giggle softly. “Do you now?”

Without either of you needing to say anything, Jace opens his arm toward you. You move into it at once, as naturally as breathing, as though you have done it a thousand times before. Because you have. Your head settles against his shoulder, his arm folds around your waist, and the blankets shift around you both as you settle more comfortably together.

Eventually you feel his lips brush lightly against your hair, a sleepy, lingering kiss that makes you smile before you can stop yourself.

“Tired?” you murmur.

“A little.”

“You should sleep.”

“So should you.”

The waves continue their endless song beyond the walls.

somehow i ended up writing a several-thousand-word account of jace velaryon attempting to find loopholes in doctor's orders. i regret nothing <3 lemme know if you guys liked this, trying to decide wether to write more for jace or not.

[victoria-pedretti]

OFF CAMPUS S01E06 — "The Breakaway"

[vaniellea]

You want to prove to Jake that you’re worthy of Neteyams love

“again.”

your spear hits the ground before it even gets halfway to the target.

you don’t even try to hide the sigh this time, shoulders slumping as you trudge forward to pick it up, fingers tightening around the shaft like maybe if you hold it harder, it’ll finally listen to you.

it doesn’t.

it never does.

“hey,” neteyam’s voice is softer than the frustration buzzing in your chest, and it makes something in you ease despite yourself. “don’t start that.”

“i’m not starting anything,” you mumble, even though you are…just not out loud.

he steps up behind you anyway, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him at your back, his hand gently covering yours where it grips the spear.

“you’re holding it too tight again,” he murmurs.

of course you are.

you always are.

“if i don’t, it slips,” you argue weakly.

“it slips because you’re fighting it,” he corrects, not mean, not sharp, just patient. always patient with you. “relax your wrist.”

you try.

you really do.

his fingers adjust yours, careful, guiding instead of forcing, and for a second you let yourself lean back into him just a little. just enough to feel steady.

“there,” he says quietly. “now throw.”

you exhale.

and throw.

the spear flies—

—and misses.

again.

not as bad this time. closer. but still not enough.

your chest tightens anyway, a familiar, awful heat creeping up your neck. embarrassment. frustration. something heavier that you don’t really have a name for.

neteyam doesn’t say anything at first.

he just… rests his chin briefly against your shoulder.

“better,” he hums.

you let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

“neteyam—”

he turns you gently by your arm before you can spiral too far, forcing you to look at him. 

“you’re getting better,” he says, firmer now. “you just don’t see it.”

your lips press together.

it’s easy for him to say.

he’s good at everything.

everyone knows it.

golden boy. perfect aim. perfect form. perfect son.

and you—

you’re just…

you.

“i slow you down,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

his expression changes instantly.

not angry.

not annoyed.

just… there’s not a word for it.. it’s just Neteyams typical look when you say something you shouldn’t have.

“don’t say that.”

“it’s true,” you push, quieter now, eyes dropping. “everyone else— they don’t need help like i do. you’re always—”

“i want to help you.”

that makes you pause.

you glance back up, caught off guard by how serious he looks now.

“that’s not the same thing.”

his hand comes up, thumb brushing lightly under your eye before you even realize you’re on the verge of tearing up.

“it is to me.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

so you don’t.

you just stand there, caught between wanting to believe him and every doubt you’ve ever had about yourself.

and neteyam…

neteyam just smiles, softer this time, nudging your spear back into your hands.

“again,” he says.

—

jake notices before either of you are ready for him to.

it’s not anything obvious.

not a confession. not a mistake big enough to call out.

it’s the small things.

the way neteyam’s attention drifts when you’re nearby. the way you hover just a little closer to him than you do to others. the quiet, shared looks that last half a second too long.

jake sees it.

and he doesn’t like it.

“son…”

neteyam pauses mid step at the entrance of the marui, his father’s voice enough to make his shoulders straighten automatically.

jake doesn’t look angry.

that almost makes it worse.

“you’ll be twenty three soon,” he starts, measured. thoughtful. “which means your training will change. people will start to look at you differently.”

neteyam nods once. “i know.”

jake studies him for a moment longer before continuing.

“they will also look at who stands beside you.”

there it is.

neteyam’s jaw tightens slightly. “father—”

“if they see your mate as someone who is not…” jake hesitates, choosing his words carefully but not carefully enough. “not capable, they will question you.”

that does it.

“i don’t want to hear this,” neteyam cuts in, sharper than he means to but he doesn’t take it back.

jake’s gaze hardens.

“you need to.”

“no,” neteyam shakes his head, stepping forward now. “i don’t…not about her.”

“this is not just about feelings—”

“it is to me.”

the words land heavier than anything else he could’ve said.

jake exhales slowly, already losing patience. “there are other girls, son, strong ones. skilled. daughters of—”

“i don’t care.”

silence.

thick. tense. suffocating.

neteyam doesn’t back down.

“she makes me happy,” he says, quieter now but somehow more solid. “when i felt like i couldn’t breathe under all of this—” he gestures vaguely, meaning everything—expectations, pressure, legacy—“dad , she really makes me happy. .”

jake doesn’t respond right away.

but the look on his face says enough.

he doesn’t agree.

—

you notice.

of course you do.

it’s in the way jake’s eyes linger on you now. no longer neutral, no longer warm. not cruel, but… assessing. critical.

it’s in the way neteyam stands a little straighter around him. a little more guarded. like he’s bracing for something.

like he’s already fighting a battle you didn’t even know started.

and suddenly…

everything clicks.

your grip tightens around the basket in your hands.

oh.

—

that night, you don’t cry.

you don’t run to neteyam.

you don’t pretend you didn’t notice.

instead, you sit there in the quiet, staring down at your hands, at the small scars, the clumsy fingers, the proof of every time you weren’t good enough.

and for the first time, it doesn’t just make you feel small.

it makes you determined.

“i’ll fix it,” you whisper to yourself.

not because jake said so.

not even because you doubt neteyam.

but because you want to stand next to him without feeling like you have to apologize for it.

not because jake said so.

not even because you doubt neteyam.

but because you want to stand next to him without feeling like you have to apologize for it.

—

it starts the next morning.

earlier than usual—earlier than you’ve ever willingly woken up for anything—but you don’t let yourself think too hard about it. if you do, you might talk yourself out of it, and you’re tired of doing that.

the village is still quiet when you step out, the air cool against your skin, the sky barely touched with light. for a moment, you just stand there, adjusting to it, to the stillness, to the absence of anyone watching.

good.

you don’t want anyone to see this part.

not yet.

your fingers tighten around your bow as you make your way toward the training grounds, steps slower than you’d like but steadier than before. 

you nock an arrow.

pull.

your shoulders tense—of course they do—but you catch it this time, forcing yourself to breathe through it instead of fighting it.

release.

it misses.

you exhale sharply through your nose, jaw tightening but you don’t stop.

again.

and again.

and again.

by the time the sun starts to rise, your arms ache, your fingers sting, and your frustration sits heavy in your chest but there are more arrows in the target than there used to be.

not perfect.

never perfect.

but closer.

“you’re going to wear yourself out before breakfast.”

you don’t turn right away.

you know that voice.

“then i’ll just have to get stronger,” you mutter, lowering your bow as you finally glance over your shoulder.

neteyam is leaning casually against one of the posts, arms crossed, watching you in that quiet way of his that always feels like he’s seeing more than you’re showing.

“…you didn’t wake me,” he adds.

there’s no accusation in it.

just something softer.

you shrug lightly, looking back at the target. “you need sleep.”

“so do you.”

“i’m fine.”

he hums like he doesn’t believe you but he doesn’t push it. instead, he pushes off the post and walks toward you, slow, unhurried, like he’s giving you time to decide if you want him there.

you do.

you always do.

“show me,” he says quietly, nodding toward your bow.

you hesitate for half a second.

then you lift it again.

this time, when you pull the string back, he steps in closer but he still doesn’t touch you. you can feel him there, though. 

watching.

it makes your heartbeat pick up.

you release.

the arrow flies

and lands.

closer.

not center, but close enough that something in your chest loosens.

“…better,” he murmurs.

you glance at him. “just better?”

a small smile tugs at his mouth. “do you want me to lie?”

you huff softly, looking awaybut you’re smiling too.

“i’m trying,” you say after a second, quieter now. “i really am.”

his expression shifts at that, softening in a way that makes your chest ache a little.

“i know,” he says.

you don’t realize how close he’s gotten until his hand finally does brush against yours

you don’t pull away.

so his fingers slide more fully into place, adjusting your grip just slightly.

“relax here,” he murmurs, guiding your wrist. “you’re still holding too much tension.”

you let out a quiet breath, trying to follow his lead.

it’s easier with him.

it always has been.

“there,” he says softly.

you tilt your head back just slightly to look at him, and he’s already looking at you. closer than you expected, eyes flicking between yours and your lips for just a second too long.

your breath catches.

“…neteyam—”

he closes the distance before you can finish.

it’s not rushed.

it never is with him.

his hand slides from your wrist to your jaw, thumb brushing lightly along your cheek as his lips press against yours, warm and familiar in a way that makes your shoulders finally drop, tension melting out of you without you even realizing it.

your fingers curl into the front of his chest, grounding yourself there as you lean into him, just a little.

just enough.

he hums softly against your lips, like he feels it too.

like he always does.

“you’re doing good,” he murmurs when he pulls back, his forehead resting lightly against yours.

you let out a small, breathless laugh. “you say that even when i’m not.”

“no,” he says, quieter now. “i say it when you don’t see it.”

your smile falters, just a little.

because that’s the part that’s hardest.

but before you can respond, 

“neteyam.”

you both freeze.

this time, you pull back first.

neteyam doesn’t let you go.

his hand stays at your waist, firm, like he’s not even considering it.

jake stands a few feet away, his expression unreadable but his eyes are sharp, taking in everything. your closeness. the way neteyam’s hand hasn’t moved. the way you haven’t stepped away.

“…you’re up early,” jake says.

“so is she,” neteyam replies evenly.

jake’s gaze shifts to you.

you feel it.

but you don’t drop your eyes this time.

not immediately.

“…i see that,” he says.

there’s a pause.

then he steps closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough that it feels intentional.

“show me,” he says.

you blink. “what?”

“what you’ve been working on.”

your grip tightens slightly on the bow.

for a second, doubt flares up suddenly.

you could say no.

you could laugh it off.

you could wait until you’re better.

but then, what would be the point?

you nod once.

lift the bow.

pull.

your arms shake slightly, but you steady your breathing the way neteyam showed you—slow, controlled, focused.

release.

the arrow flies

and lands.

not perfect.

but close.

close enough.

silence stretches for a second.

two.

three.

“…again,” jake says.

so you do.

and again.

and again.

until your arms burn and your fingers feel numb and your frustration threatens to creep back in—but you don’t let it.

you don’t stop.

not until jake finally exhales, nodding once.

“better.”

just one word.

but this time, you feel it.

you really feel it.

when you lower the bow, your chest is rising and falling a little too fast, your hands still trembling but there’s something else there too.

something steadier.

jake looks at you for a long moment, then at neteyam, at the way he’s still standing close, still watching you like nothing else matters.

“…you’re serious about this,” jake says, more statement than question.

neteyam doesn’t hesitate. “i am.”

jake’s gaze lingers on him, searching, weighing. Then he starts walking off. 

The days that follow blur into a moment you can’t really pinpoint. 

Jake’s plan isn’t subtle. Not to Neteyam, anyway.

First it’s Nari, a hunter’s daughter with a flawless aim and the easy laugh, “accidentally” finding reasons to train near the two of you. 

Then it’s Seyka, broad shouldered and small waist, bringing fresh kill to the Sully marui and lingering when Neteyam is there. They smile at him. They brush against him. They offer to spar, to hunt, to show him new routes through the forest.

Neteyam is polite. Always polite. But his hand finds the small of your back every single time, pulling you closer. His tail brushes around your ankle under the table. His eyes never linger on them longer than a second.

You notice. He notices you noticing.

One evening after Seyka leaves yet another woven gift at the entrance, Neteyam tugs you away from the village entirely. His fingers lace tight through yours as he leads you to a secluded waterfall pool, the one only he seems to know about.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just pulls you into the water with him, cool against heated skin, and kisses you like he’s been starving for it all day. Deeper than usual. Hungrier. His tongue slides against yours, while his hands roam down your sides, over the curve of your hips, then up again to cup your breasts through the thin beads and fabric, thumbs brushing your nipples until they pebble.

You gasp into his mouth. He swallows it.

“ Neteyam… what are y-“

When he finally pulls back, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours, his voice is low but rough.

“I know what he’s doing,” he murmurs. “Sending them. Thinking I’ll change my mind.” His thumb traces your bottom lip. “I won’t. I never will.”

Your heart stutters. “Neteyam…”

“I want you,” he says, simple and fierce. “Only you. And I’m tired of waiting for him to see it.”

His hand slides lower under the water, palm pressing between your thighs, cupping you through the thin loincloth. 

Not pushing inside, just yet, just rubbing, right against the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of your slit until your hips jerk and a soft whimper escapes you.

He watches your face the whole time, eyes dark.

“ Neteyam.. not right now.. I have to watch tuk for your mom…” 

“Okay,” he promises as he takes his hand from between your legs, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

–

The touches grow bolder after that.

During a private picnic on a high branch, his fingers are beneath your loincloth while you’re straddling his lap, circling your clit with slick, teasing strokes until you’re shaking and biting his shoulder to stay quiet. 

On a night hunt he presses you against a tree trunk, kissing you until your knees buckle, grinding his hard cock against your belly through both your cloths while whispering how perfect you feel.

Every time he stops just before you can tip over the edge. Every time he leaves you aching and wet and wanting.

Until the night he doesn’t stop.

He takes you to the same hidden pool, moonlight silver on the water. This time there’s a woven mat and soft blankets he brought ahead. This time his hands tremble slightly as he helps you out of your top, eyes reverent as your breasts spill free.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, leaning down to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently until your back arches and your fingers thread through his braids.

He lays you down. Kisses every inch of you, down your stomach, along your thighs, then between them, tongue slow and worshipful on your clit until you come the first time with a broken cry, thighs clamped around his head.

Only then does he rise over you, loincloth discarded, thick cock heavy and flushed against his belly. The head already glistening.

His queue—long, neural tendrils glowing softly—sways behind him. Yours curls forward instinctively.

Neteyam looks down at you, eyes burning.

“I want to mate with you,” he says, voice rough with need. “I want tsaheylu. I want to live with you. Wake up with you. Have a family with you. I don’t care what my father says. I choose you. Now. Forever.”

Your throat tightens with emotion even as heat pulses low in your belly.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, Neteyam. I choose you too.”

He leans down. The moment your queues connect, braiding together with a soft, electric snap, the world explodes into color and feeling. You feel him—his love, his want, his steady unwavering certainty—and it steals your breath.

Then he’s pushing inside you.

Slow. So slow.

The stretch burns. He’s thick, and you’re tight, and the first few inches make you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Shh, yawne,” he murmurs, kissing your temple, your cheeks, your lips. “Breathe. I’ve got you. Just relax for me.”

He keeps rocking forward in tiny increments, letting your body open for him, whispering praise the whole time about how warm you are, how perfect you feel around him, how much he loves you. When he’s finally seated to the hilt, both of you are shaking.

He stays there, buried deep, forehead against yours, letting you adjust while the bond floods you with his pleasure.

Then he starts to move.

Long, slow thrusts at first, careful. The pain fades into a deep, aching fullness that makes your toes curl. Your breasts bounce gently with every push, nipples tight, and Neteyam can’t stop looking at you pretty body witb his eyes dark, and his lips parted.

“Mh…, look at you,” he groans, picking up pace. The wet sound of him sliding in and out fills the air. Your tits jump more noticeably now, soft and full, and he leans down to catch one nipple in his mouth again, sucking in time with his thrusts.

You moan louder, legs wrapping around his waist.

The pleasure builds fast, his cock dragging against a perfect spot inside you, the bond letting you feel his own rising ecstasy, the way your tight heat is driving him insane.

You come first, clenching hard around him with a cry, vision whiting out. He follows right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a guttural groan, hips jerking as pulse after pulse of hot seed fills you.

For a long moment you just cling to each other, panting, connected in every way possible.

Then Neteyam laughs—soft, breathless, delighted—as he nuzzles your neck.

“We’re going to have a kid,” he murmurs against your skin, still buried inside you. “I can already see it. Our family.”

You let out a shaky laugh, still floating. “What if… what if I don’t get pregnant this time?”

He lifts his head, eyes sparkling with love and mischief and fresh hunger. His hips roll slowly, cock still hard and twitching inside your sensitive walls.

“Then we’ll just do this again,” he whispers, starting to thrust. “And again. As many times as it takes.”

Your head falls back on a moan as he settles into a steady rhythm once more, the bond singing between you, his hands sliding up to cup your bouncing breasts while he fucks you slow and sweet under the moonlight.

Hi hope you enjoyed!

Based off this request!

@ami-s-k, @mow6li, @scenic236, @celestesolace, @bibbidibobbidibooos , @babymilne, @raleiya, @mershyjershy, @thatoctobergirl28, @aruscape , @veiledpies, @melonsharkzzzz , @fangirlsmatter-blog , @florescencls , @moize , @khiarsa , @amaramaesworld , @kiatjuddae , @bakugouswaif, @cecebar, @eliankm, @violet0182, @kittyslayercute, @pizzaflavouredoeros, @jkdhdjfjdhdd, @kklovescookies , @angelteardropss , @dumplingsyum

[broughtchaburger]

[smuttyjane]

im kneeling daddy 🤗

[jakesullyblr]

you're welcome

[tigerpetals]

❀࿔ you teach lo’ak how to eat you out

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔ aged up! lo’ak x fem! na’vi! reader

summary: title is self explanatory 😬 he’s rlly bad at it at first but learns quickly and really enjoys it himself (maybe a lil tew much 👅)

warnings: lower caps, smut, kissing, awkward first times, oral (f receiving obvi!), fingering, slight ground humping, hands free orgasm

wc: 2.9k

author’s note: idk yall i had this idea… but i flowkirk wanna make this a series 😈 like first times doing things w the avatar characters? yk? idk lmk what yall think

you shift awkwardly next to lo’ak, your knees nearly brushing together as the tension in the air thickens between the two of you.

not too long ago, you gave lo’ak his first handjob, and ever since then he’s been insistent on returning the favor.

you had taken multiple steps in your relationship, like kissing each other with more confidence, heated touches in private, but not much else.

when you brought up the idea of pleasuring him, he was hesitant at first but ultimately loved it. and you loved it too.

he wanted to give you the same pleasure, and its not that you didn’t want him to, you were just nervous. what if he didn’t like what he saw? what if you embarrassed yourself?

however, you recalled how much you enjoyed pleasuring him, how his pleasure was also yours. so, you mustered up the courage and told lo’ak that you would let him go down on you, an idea that he suggested a few days after you had given him a handjob.

which brings you to now.

you both had been sitting in silence for at least a few minutes now, and you finally decided to speak up. “so…”

“so..?” he repeats, his eyes flicking down to your crotch before back up to your face. he gulps slightly, suddenly feeling very nervous. he had never done anything like this before, and you were the only one he’d ever want to do this with. “what do i do?”

you chuckle awkwardly. “uhh,” you look away from him, your face flushing with nerves. “im not sure,” you admit.

“how do i… make it good for you?” he asks softly. “do i just… put my mouth down there?” he looks absolutely clueless, but also really eager to learn.

you nod hesitantly. “well, yes… but not immediately, i dont think.”

he cocks an eyebrow in confusion. “okay, so… what first? do i like… kiss around it? is that a thing? eywa, i feel so stupid right now.” he buries his face in his hands briefly before looking back up at you.

you laugh softly. “its okay, just…come here.” you lean in and press your lips to his, hoping to ease some of the tension.

he melts into the kiss immediately, parting his lips to let your tongue in. his hands come up to grip your shoulders gently as he kisses you back eagerly.

your fingers brush against the smooth skin of his shoulders, feeling the heat radiating off him. he hums into the kiss, pulling you closer until your chests are pressed together. when you finally break apart, his eyes are blown wide with lust and affection. “okay, i think i’m ready to learn.”

your cheeks flush and a new wave of nerves pool in your stomach. “okay,” you shift anxiously. “im just gonna, uh, take off my loincloth now..” your hands go down and undo the intricate knots of your loincloth, letting it fall to the ground.

he watches with bated breath as you slowly pull it off, revealing your pussy. his eyes widen slightly, but he doesn't look scared or grossed out. if anything, he looks really curious, and even a little turned on.

heat spreads across your face and you instinctively close your legs, suddenly feeling very bare and exposed before him.

lo’ak reaches out hesitantly and places a gentle hand on your knees. “open your legs for me,” he says softly, his voice gentle and coaxing. “i want to see.”

you hesitate for a moment before obliging, spreading your legs wide and allowing him to see you fully.

his eyes widen as he gets a full view of you. he swallows hard, staring at your pussy like he's never seen anything like it before. (and he probably hasn’t) “it's... really pretty,” he breathes out, reaching out to gently touch your inner thigh, rubbing soothing circles.

“it…is?” you ask, your voice laced with nerves.

“mhm,” he nods slowly, his thumb brushing closer to your center with each circular motion. "i never really thought about it before...but seeing you like this...it's really beautiful." his eyes meet yours.

you feel yourself blush at his words as he gazes lovingly at you. you lean up to press a quick kiss to his lips.

lo’ak smiles softly against your lips, kissing you back with the same gentle affection. when you pull back, he opens his eyes and looks at you with a mix of innocence and desire. “can i….can i touch you?” he asks hesitantly, his hand still on your inner thigh.

you nod. “yes.”

his fingers slowly trail up your inner thigh until they reach your pussy. he hesitates for a moment before gently parting you with his fingers. he touches you softly, exploring you with gentle curiosity. his thumb brushes over your clit accidentally and he freezes. “does that feel good?”

you pause awkwardly. “um… i think maybe you need to move a little more? up here..” you bring your hand down and point to your clit.

his eyes light up with understanding and determination. he moves his thumb exactly where you pointed, pressing down gently on your clit. he watches your reaction closely, his breath hitching when he sees your face flush and your legs shake slightly. “like this?” he asks softly.

you nod. “yeah, thats better…” you let out a small moan at the gentle pressure he’s applying to your clit. “feels good…”

he grins proudly and starts to rub you in slow circles, his other hand coming up to spread you apart even further. he’s still a bit clumsy with his movements, but his enthusiasm makes up for it. after a few minutes of this, he suddenly stops and looks up at you with wide eyes. “you're wet,” he points out.

you nod, your face flushing slightly with embarrassment. “yeah…”

“because of me?” he asks, his voice filled with a mix of pride and disbelief. “am i doing good?”

you smile at how proud he sounds of himself. “yeah, you are.” you pause for a moment. “do you still wanna try…um…” you trail off.

his face lights up with excitement and a hint of nervousness as he understands what you’re asking. he nods eagerly. “yeah, i really wanna try that," he says softly, his eyes dropping down to your pussy. "what do i do?"

“um.. i guess you just start by.. putting your mouth on it? licking it?” you suggest, just as clueless as he is.

he swallows hard, his heart racing with anticipation. he slowly lowers his head between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs gently. he sticks out his tongue hesitantly and gives your clit a soft lick, tasting you for the first time.

the first touch of his tongue to your pussy makes you jump slightly.

lo’ak freezes, looking up at you with wide eyes, his tongue still out. “did i do it right?" he asks softly, his breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. seeing that you jumped a bit makes him think he did something good.

“uhh, i think you need to do it more?” you suggest.

his eyes light up with understanding and he eagerly starts licking your clit in slow, gentle licks. he spreads your lips apart with his fingers to get better access, his tongue flattening against you. “like this?”

“better,” you breathe out, however he only becomes more clumsy with his movements as he becomes more anxious.

he looks up at you, his face buried between your thighs. he’s trying so hard to please you but he's clearly nervous and unsure of himself. his tongue is moving too fast and too hard in some places, while missing others entirely.

you sit there uncomfortably as he pokes and prods at you with his tongue. you shift your hips slightly, trying to create any sort of friction, but it’s no use.

he continues to lick you, his tongue moving in random patterns as he tries to figure out what feels good. he’s so focused on pleasing you that he doesn't notice how awkward he's being. after a minute or two, he suddenly pauses and looks up at you with a frown.

you meet his gaze and offer him an unconvincing smile.

"i’m doing this wrong, aren't i?" he asks softly, looking frustrated and embarrassed. his tongue was going every which way and he could tell you weren't enjoying it. “eating pussy is supposed to feel good, right? you’re not even moaning or anything...”

you sigh as the truth of his words hit you. “i think you’re overthinking it.” you say, trying to calm him down.

he sighs heavily and buries his face back between your legs, his shoulders slumping slightly. he starts licking you again, but this time even more clumsily as he's gotten frustrated. his tongue flicks out erratically, sometimes hitting the right spot but most of the time missing entirely.

you shake your head. “stop, stop, stop…”

he immediately stops licking you and pulls back, looking up at you with a guilty and embarrassed expression. his face is all red and his hair is messy from being buried between your legs. “i’m sorry," he says softly, hanging his head. “i’m just really bad at this...i don't know what i’m doing...”

you chuckle softly. “you’re nervous.” you point out.

lo’ak nods, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. “yeah...i’m really nervous. i just wanna make you feel good but i keep messing it up,” he admits, his hands squeezing your thighs gently. “can you...can you show me how to do it right?”

you nod, offering him a coaxing smile. “just relax, lo’ak. dont overthink it. go slow. pay attention to the way my body reacts. i’ll help you.”

he takes a deep breath, trying to relax as he nods at your instructions. he looks up at you with determination in his eyes, his hands gently spreading you apart again. he starts off slowly, licking your clit gently in long, slow motions. he’s paying close attention to your body language, watching for any signs of pleasure.

“better..” you breathe out, moaning slightly at the pressure his tongue is applying to your clit.

his eyes light up at your moan, his nervousness fading slightly. he continues licking you slowly and gently, his tongue moving in soft, repetitive motions. he’s focused entirely on pleasing you, his hands gripping your thighs softly to keep them spread.

“you can, uh, try more things with your mouth? explore me more?” you suggest, your voice shaking slightly.

he nods eagerly, taking your suggestion to heart. he starts exploring with his mouth, licking up and down your slit and circling your entrance with his tongue. he’s still a bit clumsy, but he's learning what feels good.

you moan louder as he grows more confident in what he’s doing. “yeah, i like that…” you bring a hand down to tangle in his hair.

he groans softly at the feeling of your hand in his hair, encouraging him to keep going. he’s getting more confident now, his tongue moving with more purpose. he starts to focus on your clit, sucking and licking it in a rhythm that makes you squirm. “does this feel good?” he asks against you.

you nod frantically. “yes, fuck, dont stop..” you whine out, hips bucking up slightly towards his mouth.

he smiles against your pussy, happy that he's doing something right. he increases the pressure slightly, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue over it rapidly. he can feel your hand gripping his hair tighter and he loves it. “mmm...you like that?”

you nod and bite your lip, a deep blush spreading across your face as you become lost in the pleasure.

he continues his enthusiastic sucking and licking, occasionally glancing up at your flushed face with a mix of pride and arousal. he slides one hand up to gently massage your breast while the other keeps your thighs spread wide.

you whine as his hand touches your breast beneath your top, his thumb brushing over your nipple. “lo’ak…”

he groans against your pussy, not wanting to stop even for a second. he loves hearing his name on your lips like this. he hesitantly slides his hand down to press a finger against your entrance. “you’re so wet...” he rasps out.

without warning, he pushes his finger inside you, slowly pumping in and out while continuing to suck and lick at your bundle of nerves. he watches for your reaction, his voice muffled against your pussy. “this okay?”

your back arches slightly off the ground as he curls his finger to hit a spot inside of you that makes your legs shake. “yes, keep doing that, fuck…”

he groans softly, getting more and more aroused from eating you out and your enthusiastic responses. he adds another finger, curling them inside you. he’s clearly enjoying himself now, his face buried between your thighs like he never wants to come back up.

your soft whimpers echo across the space around you as well as the obscene sounds of his tongue and fingers working your pussy. “im gonna come if you keep doing this,” you warn.

his fingers move faster inside you at your words, his mouth sucking harder. he wants to make you come, wants to see you lose control because of him. he starts to intentionally grind against the ground, his own arousal growing. “mmm...come on my face then..”

your breath catches at his words. “you want me to?” you ask, breathless.

he nods enthusiastically, his fingers pumping in and out of you rapidly now. his tongue flicks over your clit constantly, applying just the right amount of pressure. he spreads his legs wider without you noticing, rubbing his crotch against the ground more deliberately.

you throw your head back and come with a cry, your release gushing over his fingers and mouth.

lo’ak moans loudly against your pussy as you come, sucking and licking through your orgasm until you push his head away gently because it's too sensitive. he lifts his head slowly, face soaked with your arousal and looking completely fucked out himself despite not even touching his own dick.

“that was…” you start, your chest rising and falling with heavy breathes.

lo’ak smiles lazily, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. his chest heaves slightly as he catches his breath. he looks up at you with satisfied eyes. “good?”

you nod and give him a genuine smile. “yes. very good.”

his smile turns into a smirk, clearly pleased with himself. he slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean. he watches you the whole time, his eyes dark with unfulfilled desire. “you taste amazing... i could eat you out all day.”

a deep blush forms across your face as he praises your taste. you chuckle softly before leaning in and meeting his lips in a searing kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

he kisses you back deeply, not caring that his face is covered in your juices. his tongue sweeps into your mouth, sharing your taste between the both of you.

you pull back, eyes wide with desire. “should i…return the favor?” you ask, but then your eyes dart down to his loincloth, completely soaked. “oh..”

he looks down at his stained loincloth and blushes deeply, realizing you can see exactly how aroused eating you out made him. he hadn’t even touched himself and yet he came just from pleasuring you with his mouth. “i, uh...” he looks away, avoiding your eyes.

you laugh softly at his flustered expression. “dont be embarrased.” you reassure him.

he nods, trying to smile sheepishly despite his obvious embarrassment. “it just... happened. tasting you, seeing you react... it was too much.” he admits quietly.

“its okay,” you reassure him. “its kinda sweet. and kinda hot,” you admit, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “it shows how much you like me..”

he blushes even deeper at your words, looking down at the wet stain on his loincloth with a mix of embarrassment and pride. he likes that you found it enjoyable, likes knowing that eating you out turned him on so much that he couldn't help but come in his loincloth.

you smile and press your lips to his in a quick kiss. “wanna clean up now?” you ask.

he nods, slowly standing up on shaky legs, his wet loincloth leaving a damp spot on the ground. he offers you his hand to help you up, his face still flushed with embarrassment and arousal. “yeah, that's a good idea. i'm kind of a mess….”

you laugh softly and nod your head in agreement. “yeah, you are…”

the two of you clean up and continue with your day, ultimately feeling very pleased about the experience you shared together.

hope yall liked dis one 😁😁😁 as always don’t hesitate to send me ideas!

[vaniellea]

You can’t sleep so your mate Neteyam fuck you to sleep

minors dni | 18+

TW : explicit smut, post-pregnancy sex, soft dom neteyam, overstimulation, creampie, mental fatigue, slight angst, motherhood stress

WC : 3k

━━━━༻❁༺━━━━

𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩

It's been years since you gave birth to your second baby.

Another boy.

Your first boy was hell—tantrums louder than normal, constant chaos that left you drained to the bone, little hands grabbing at you nonstop.

But not with your second one—he's calmer, sweeter, like he balances out the storm.

The kids have been more active and vocal lately, though.

It's like they feed off each other's anger, bouncing screams and fights back and forth until the marui feels like it's closing in.

And Neteyam was nowhere usually.

He was always so drawn into the war, it was hard to find him—out with Jake's strategies, scouting threats, his broad shoulders tense under the weight of it all.

Jake ended up making him a war leader.

With Neteyam leading the war, it scared you deep in your gut.

But you knew Neteyam.

You knew no other man was capable of leading like he could—steady, fair, eyes sharp but heart open.

You were worried his kindness would get in the way.

That he would sacrifice himself for the life of another.

He always does that. He puts others before himself. It was one of the reasons you fell in love with him.

It was hard not to.

The kids had you at your breaking point that morning—screaming over nothing, tugging at you from both sides, your head pounding from the noise, chest tight like you couldn't breathe right.

Neteyam came in from planning, saw your face twisted in exhaustion, and reached for you gentle, his big hands pulling you into his warmth.

You took a deep breath, hands shaking a little on his arms. "Give me a second," you muttered, voice barely there, but he didn't hear over the boys' wails, already murmuring soft reassurances.

"Give me a second!" you said louder, voice cracking raw. He froze instant, ears flicking back apologetic, golden eyes wide with worry.

Then he nodded slow, hands loosening but not letting go, thumbs stroking your shoulders light.

"Take all you need, yawne," he whispered, voice low and patient, waiting right there till you breathed out shaky, the storm in your chest easing just from his steady presence.

And that's why you're in the clouded forest now.

He may not be there with you as much, but he loved spending as much time with you as possible—those rare hours where his world narrowed to just you, tail curling soft around your leg.

You didn't have to say the kids were mentally draining you.

He knew from your heavy smile, the way your eyes dimmed, that he needed to provide for you more.

He asked his mom if she could take the kids while he took you to get some fresh air for a few days.

And of course she agreed, her wrinkled hands gentle on their heads.

She loves your boys.

She tells you all the time they remind her of Neteyam when he was just a baby by himself—fierce little spirits, full of fire.

You and Neteyam walked all day around the clouded forest, vines brushing your skin, mist kissing your faces. You saw the prettiest waterfalls of your life—crystal threads plunging into pools that shimmered like Eywa's tears.

The coldest water, shocking your toes when you dipped them in, laughing breathless as Neteyam pulled you close against the chill.

You never really visited much since the Sarentu troubles, the war keeping everyone pinned down. And you really needed this—air that felt clean, his hand in yours, no cries pulling you apart.

You were with Neteyam at a camp from a clan in the clouded forest.

They gave you a beautiful room, big and woven from glowing vines, art drawn along the roof—illustrations of their story, ancestors dancing in bioluminescent swirls that pulsed faint like stars.

Neteyam's arms were wrapped around your waist, gentle as always, his chest solid against your back, breath even in sleep.

You don't know if it was your body so used to being up and down for your kids—pacing around at odd hours, nursing through the night—but you couldn't sleep.

Maybe your body was conditioned to stay awake, ears pricked for cries that weren't coming.

You really couldn't tell.

You blinked around the room, tracing the glowing patterns, hoping it would hypnotize you to sleep. But it never did.

It's been what felt like hours now, the mist outside humming soft. Your muscles start to tense, so you adjust yourself a little, shifting your hips. Your movement nudges Neteyam out of his own sleep, his arm tightening instinctive.

Like he can feel you awake, he murmurs sleepy, voice rough from dreams, "Why are you up?" It takes a while for you to respond, exhaustion heavy, giving him a simple,

"Can't sleep."

He rubs gentle touches along your stomach, fingers tracing the faint stretch marks from carrying his boys, calluses soft from years of bows and blades.

"What can I do to help?" His words rumble warm against your ear, no judgment, just care.

There really wasn't much he could do.

What was he gonna do?

Sing you a lullaby like the kits?

"You could touch me." It started off as a sarcastic joke, half-bitter from tiredness.

You weren't serious.

But when his fingers started at your sore breasts from milk feeding, slipping just under your top, your opinion started to change just a little.

They were slow and tender, kneading the ache away like he knew every tender spot.

This wasn't his first time with his hands around your boobs.

As of recently, it was because you asked him to—nights when your nipples were so sore from your son sucking on them like he hasn't eaten in years, greedy mouth pulling till you winced.

It felt like you fed him so much milk, but the next day you'd be back full and clogged, heavy and throbbing.

So of course Neteyam came to your rescue before leaving the next morning for his war planning, hands patient, mouth soothing when you needed it.

You twitched under his touch gently, a soft gasp slipping out.

His chest pressed firmer against your back, heart picking up.

You could feel his own body heat up just a fraction, breath deepening.

His thumb and index finger twisted along your nipple lightly, rolling the peak till it hardened sweet under him.

Your fingers flew to your lips, pressing hard to block out your own moans, but they leaked through muffled.

Your legs squeezed together for more pressure, thighs rubbing slick. Neteyam's own legs tangled against yours, strong and warm.

His kisses started from the back of your neck to your shoulder—gentle, open-mouthed, trailing slow like he was mapping you anew.

He mumbled a few things you couldn't quite hear from the heat of the moment, words lost in the haze.

His fingers slowed down a little on the twitches as his palm grazed along your tits, cupping full and heavy, like he was feeling every inch of you, memorizing the weight. His kisses didn't stop—soft presses along your skin.

He continued to kiss you as his hands dragged along your tiddies, feeling the hardness of your nipples peak every time his hand touched.

His hips ground lightly against your ass.

It was slow, deliberate, but you could feel it building—his thick cock tracing along your ass through the thin cloth.

You could feel it slow through your crack just a little, parting your cheeks, heat throbbing insistent.

His hand rested on your lips as you moaned against his touch, fingers warm over yours.

Taking his hand, he pushed your hair behind your head gentle, landing kisses there—soft on your scalp, your ear—as he tugged your loincloth down.

He started on the hip you weren't laying on, peeling it slow.

Then you lifted your body a bit, helping pull the other side down.

You could feel the cloth slowly come off your pussy, cool air hitting wet skin.

A trail of your juices left a quick string on your bottoms before it broke, sticky and warm.

You could feel your pussy juices slide between your legs as you moved your own hips back against Neteyam's grind, chasing the friction.

Even though Neteyam wasn't inside you just yet, you could hear the sound of your pussy moving from the grinding in the room—wet, slick noises filling the quiet.

His hand pulled up from your hips gentle.

His whole hand grabbed your breasts now, squeezing full.

You could feel the fabric of his loincloth hitting against your ass with each roll.

He groaned low in your ear before he laughed to himself, soft and breathy, like he couldn't believe this either.

Then landed kisses back on your ear, tongue flicking light.

His question came in pieces, voice strained. "Do you—" As he huffed warm against the touch of your ass, grinding deeper.

"Care if I—" Another moan cut him off from the sound of your pussy being tossed around from his growing cock under his loincloth, hard line pressing insistent.

"Put it in." His pace sped up just a little against your ass—firmer—before slowing down again, placing kisses on your ears, breath ragged.

His hand untightened under his touch as he gripped a little too hard to control himself, fingers digging into your breast like your boobs were his stress ball, kneading the tension from his day.

You didn't say anything for a while.

Because if you moved your fingers from your lips, you would definitely moan loud.

Your face scrunched in pleasure, brows knit, eyes fluttering.

He started moving his hips left and right now, side to side, teasing.

The sound of your pussy even louder as your own pussy lips hit against your clit with the motion, sparks shooting up your spine.

"Neteyam," you whispered in a moan as you finally voiced some type of words, breathy and desperate.

He doesn't answer you in words but with a deep groan, rumbling from his chest.

His lips connected to your ear again, sucking soft.

"I need it."

That was all he needed to hear. His own loincloth pulled down high enough for his cock and balls to fall out heavy, free.

His hand went back up to your waist, gripping firm as his cock slid against your ass to make it to your pussy—hot, slick trail.

The tip slid against the entrance slowly, nudging your folds. His tip was preparing you for what was about to come, circling wet.

Slowly his cock slid along your thighs just on your lips, teasing the length. You could feel his cock on your thighs, thick and pulsing, then he went right back to your hole. He didn't need his hands to position it correctly. He was hard enough for that—standing rigid.

You could feel his tip slowly open you up, parting folds with that first sweet stretch.

It went in slow as the touch opened both of your mouths in matching gasps.

His hips stuttered a little—overwhelmed—before he continued again, sinking deeper.

His balls sat heavy against the outside of your pussy, warm and full.

His hands found their way to your tits again as he caught his breath against your ear, panting soft. He doesn't move himself at first, so you take the chance to slowly move your hips. They're slow and short rolls. But this is enough for Neteyam to let out a low growl, tail flicking. "Yeah," he breathed out, voice gravel. "Like that."

You could feel him inside you as you moved—thick, filling, your walls clenching around him greedy. And then he started moving himself.

His thrusts started steady, deep but not rushed—each one filling you to the brim, his thick length dragging slow along your walls, textured ridges catching every spot that made your breath hitch sharp.

You felt every inch stretch you open, his hips snapping soft against your ass at first, skin meeting skin with quiet, wet slaps that echoed soft in the woven room.

His hand stayed firm on your hip, thumb rubbing small, soothing circles there, keeping you grounded while his palm moved back to your breast, squeezing gentle like he was worshiping the weight of it, the milk-warmth.

"So good for me, yawne," he murmured low into your ear, voice rough-edged with need, breath fanning hot.

"You’re doing so good."

Your body rocked forward with him, pussy gripping tight on every pull back, wet sounds growing louder, slicker as he picked up just a hint of pace—grinding deep, circling his hips to nudge that bundle inside you till pleasure coiled tight.

Your head fell back against his chest, and your back arched sharp, spine curving to take him better.

You could feel him poking your stomach over and over again—bulge pressing under your skin with each deep plunge. Your ass slapping against his hips now, louder rhythm building, flesh rippling soft. He lifted your leg up, placing it on top of his as he deepened his thrusts.

He hooked your leg over his thick thigh easy, muscles flexing under your calf as he held it there firm, opening you up wider for him—vulnerable, exposed.

Thrusts went deeper now, harder into the angle, his cock plunging full and relentless each time, tip brushing that devastating spot inside that made stars burst hot behind your eyes, vision blurring.

Ass slapped louder against him, the sharp sound mixing with your gasps pitching higher and his low grunts right by your ear, tail wrapping your thigh possessive.

Your tiddies jump with every thrust

"That's it, ma yawne—feel me right there? So deep," he whispered, breath hot and ragged on your neck, free hand sliding down your belly flat, pressing right where you felt him move inside, making the pressure sharper, your walls fluttering wild and desperate around his girth.

Wet heat built fast, your juices slicking his length, dripping down, his heavy balls tapping soft and steady against you with every roll, skin sticky.

And then you came all around his cock—walls pulsing hard, squeezing him in tight waves that crashed over you, body shaking as pleasure ripped through, soaking him further.

But he's not done with you.

He whispered sweet nothings as he flipped you on your stomach, cock still pounding you.

"Shh, I got you, love—easy now," he breathed soft against your ear, easing you over gentle even as he stayed buried deep, not missing a beat.

On your stomach now, face pressed warm into the soft furs of the bed, he hovered half over you—broad chest brushing your back sweat-slick, one arm braced by your head for leverage, the other guiding your hip up just enough.

Cock pounded steady, deep strokes that rocked your whole body forward with each one, ass lifting instinctive to meet him, walls clenching oversensitive.

"So beautiful like this, taking all of me.," his voice stayed low, reassuring like a promise, lips grazing your shoulder blade between thrusts, tail curling over your thigh.

And he continued to fuck you as he got on top of you with your stomach on the ground bed.

He whispered sweet reassuring words to you as your toes curled and you twisted under him as he fucks you.

He shifted full over you now, weight pressing you firm into the bed—comforting blanket of muscle, hips driving down slow but powerful, pinning you sweet with every plunge, cock stretching you full as your toes curled tight into the furs, body twisting instinctive under him from the overwhelm, fingers clawing sheets.

"You're doing so good, yawne—feel perfect around me. Almost there again? I have you, always," he murmured right by your ear, voice warm and steady like an anchor, nosing your hair gentle.

One hand laced fingers with yours tight, squeezing reassuring, while the other braced your hip, keeping the rhythm deep and grinding—wet slaps filling the air louder, your pussy clenching him over and over, chasing that blinding edge as sensitivity turned everything electric.

He kept going till his breaths turned ragged, hips stuttering uneven as he chased his own end—groans deepening.

"Gonna—fuck, yawne, gonna —" A deep groan rumbled from his chest, raw and broken, and he came hard, thick ropes spilling hot inside you, pulsing with every final thrust till he filled you full, overflowing warm.

Slowed to lazy rocks, milking every drop, chest heaving against your back.

Then finally pulled out careful, slow, watching his cum leak messy from you, a soft hiss escaping him.

He gathered you close right after, arms wrapping tight around your spent body, lips pressing soft to your temple, your forehead.

His tail draped over you both, breaths syncing slow as exhaustion finally pulled you under, safe in his hold.

I’m not sure how I feel about this, but i hope you’ve made it this far ❤️

You are welcome to request, I would lot to write something for you

[vaniellea]

⭒ husband neteyam giving exhausted mate a body massage

Warnings: maybe one or two mentions of your asshole

Neteyam pushes through the doorway and stops the second he sees you.

You’re bouncing the baby on your hip, hair a mess, voice tight as you try to wrangle the older two who are screaming and running circles around the marui. Your shoulders are practically up by your ears.

He doesn’t even say anything at first then walks straight over, takes the fussing toddler from your arms, 

“Out. Go play,” he tells them, voice low and final. They don’t argue because the next second, they’re gone, then Neteyam turns back to you.

Neteyam doesn’t say a word at first. He sets his kid in his arms down with his siblings, and waits until the sound of their feet fades down the walkway. 

Then he looks at you and yeah, it’s bad. 

You’re standing there like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, hair sticking to your face, hands clenched because, if you don’t, you’ll probably cry or yell or both.

He sighs quietly. It’s the kind of sigh that sounds more like a thought than a sound, and then moves. 

You try to protest when he starts picking stuff up—“Neteyam, I’ll do it,”—but he cuts you a look over his shoulder, and you just shut your mouth. 

He starts folding small things first—baby cloth, one of the kid’s tunics—then moves to the bigger mess. The floor creaks under his feet, his tail flicking once as he steps over something. 

He’s calm, too calm for how fried you feel, and weirdly that makes it worse for a second. You almost hate how easily he can bring order to something that had you spiraling an hour ago.

You sink down on the nearest mat, rubbing your hands over your face. Everything smells like milk and smoke and something faintly metallic. 

You hear the quiet clatter of bowls, his footsteps moving back and forth. It’s grounding in a way you didn’t know you needed.

When you finally look up, he’s standing infront of you, hands on his hips, surveying what’s left like he’s checking a hunt site. His mouth twitches when he catches your expression. “You feeling better?”

You shake your head, half laughing. “No. I’m sorry. I lost it.”

He frowns like that word offends him. “Don’t say that.”

“I was just tired. They were screaming, and—”

“Hey.” He steps closer, voice low but firm. “Stop apologizing.” 

You do. Because he’s in front of you now, crouching down until he’s eye level, hands resting on his knees like he’s trying not to touch you yet. “You don’t need to be sorry for being overwhelmed,” he says. “It happens. You’ve been doing everything.”

He says it like it’s obvious. Like it’s a fact that doesn’t need defending. Then he reaches out, fixes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, thumb brushing your cheekbone. It’s such a small thing, but suddenly your chest feels too tight.

“C’mon,” he says after a second, nodding toward the hammock. “Lay down before I make you.”

You roll your eyes but obey, dropping back against the fabric with a little huff. 

He grins, satisfied, and goes right back to tidying up like he didn’t just completely reset your nervous system. 

The kids are still shouting somewhere outside, but it’s softer now, kinda like background noise and for the first time you’re able close your eyes and breathe.  

You must’ve fallen asleep without meaning to because when you finally wake up, the sun is more golden around the edges of the room and the air smells faintly like herbs. 

You can feel Neteyam’s hands on you, moving slow along your skin.  

He’s sitting beside you, while his palms slide over your legs, spreading oil and pressing his thumbs in just hard enough to ease the ache that settled there during the day. 

you blink a few times while rubbing the sleep from your eyes, trying to catch up to whatever’s happening.  

“Was wondering when you’d wake up,” he says, and there’s a small smile in his voice because he already knows how long you needed that nap.  

You lift a hand to your face and cover a yawn before mumbling, “Where are the kids?” because suddenly the quiet feels strange without their usual noise.  

“They’re with mother,” he says easily, not looking up. 

“They ate, and they’re probably asleep by now.” He pours a little more oil into his hands while you watch and rubs them together before pressing back into the muscle of your thigh. “You should’ve told me you were this tired.”  

You stretch a leg out and glance at him through half lidded eyes.

“You already have too much to worry about,” you say quietly while placing your hand on huge muscle of his arm. “The war, the patrols… and all I do is keep things running here, and I can barely manage that properly.”  

He glances at you for a second with a kind of look that says you have it wrong, and the corner of his mouth twitches because he’s half amused. “That’s not true,” he says while dragging his thumb up the back of your leg. 

“You think it’s easier for me? I spend all day with grown adults who don’t listen. It’s not simpler than what you do. At least the kids try.”  

You let out a quiet laugh because you didn’t expect that, and you tilt your head back again while his hands keep moving up and down your thigh. 

He moves closer so one knee brushes your leg. “It’s not simple keeping them fed and this place together,” he says after a bit, voice lower now because he’s concentrating. “You make it look easy, but I’ve seen how much you give.”  

You exhale and it feels heavy but good, and the sound of it blends with how steady he’s breathing near you. 

Surprisly, the air feels warmer now, thick with the scent of the oils, and even the noises outside fade into a low hum.  

He leans forward a little while his voice drops softer. “You don’t have to hold everything up alone,yawne” he says while his thumbs drags higher up your thigh, lightly rubbing your inner thigh one last time before smoothing back down again. “You can tell me when you need help. That’s all I want.”  

You nod because speaking feels pointless right now.

Neteyam reaches for the small clay bowl with a patient smile.

He pours more oil into his palms until it drips onto his own thigh and rubs his hands together until they glisten.  

“Always cold at first,” he murmurs, blowing into his hands with a long grin before they meet your skin.  

His hands return to your legs, starting at your calves first, sliding up slow. His palms press into your muscles, working the ache out as they move higher.  

You twitch at the first touch, your breath catching. “Mhm… that feels…”  

He chuckles under his breath. “Good? Yeah, I know.”  

His fingers wrap around your thighs, thumbs stroking your sensitive skin on the inside as he glides upward. 

It’s not a suprise that the oil makes everything warm and slick as be takes his time letting his hands explore the soft flesh, squeezing gently here and there before they drift even higher.  

Only then do his slick fingers finally reach the outer lips of your pussy. He traces them careful and slow, spreading the warm oil over the soft folds. He rubs it thoroughly along every curve, his thumb gliding back and forth. 

“Is it cold?,” he says softly, voice low enough to put you to sleep

You lift your hips slightly, breath stuttering. “You’re teasing me.”  

He smiles but doesn’t deny it.  

He makes sure to coat your inner thighs too, the oil is  dripping a little as he smooths it in. You can also hear his slow breathing above you

He drags his palms higher after that, rubbing slow circles over your plump stomach, over the stretch marks from your multiple pregnancies over the years. The pressure is light but firm, easing the looseness there.  

“You’ve been carrying too much right here,” he murmurs, voice close with a small pout.   

You blink, half laughing into the stillness. “You talk like a healer.”  

He grins, fingers moving wider. “Maybe I am. Just for you.”  

He reaches for the bowl again and pours more oil. 

Slowly, —after his hands make their way up your waist and ribcage— His hands move to your breasts, cupping them gently. His palms glide over the soft curves, thumbs brushing across your nipples in slow strokes as he works the oil in. You let out a heavy sigh when he rolls a nipple between his thumb and finger.  

“That’s… nice,” you whisper.  

“Yeah?” His gaze flickers up to your expression, voice almost teasing again. “Feels better when you tell me that.”  

He takes his time, letting his fingers feel the weight of them, the way they fit in his hands. Neteyam reaches for more oil while still talking soft. “Turn over for me.”

You pull yourself up, with Neteyams help and you roll onto your stomach. 

He’s already rubbing fresh oil between his palms. Once you settle, he starts on your back, long strokes smoothing down your spine then he works lower to your hips, kneading the tension away, then up to your shoulders.  

The sound you make is half relief and not surprisingly but half want. “You’re too good at this.”  

He laughs quietly, leaning close to you. “I’ve been practicing.”  

Finally his hands reach your ass. He squeezes the soft flesh, fingers digging in deep into the curve of your ass. 

He slides to the underside where your ass meets the back of your thighs next and rubs there firm. He squeezes again, then gently pulls your cheeks open just a little, to look whatever your fat covered, maybe it’s your vagina maybe it’s your ass, who knows. 

“Open your legs,” he says quietly.  

You do. 

His hand returns between your thighs and rubs your pussy from behind, slow like everything else. His fingers glide over your folds once again, massaging more oil into your skin. 

Then they drag down again and he feels how wet you are.

He pauses. “Yawne… if you felt this good you should’ve told me.”  

You bury your face in your arms and let out a small whine, pout, an embarrassing sound, to describe how embarrassed you are. 

“Couldn’t find the words?” he teases lightly, his smile is very audible.  

Neteyam glances toward the doorway, checking the empty path outside. Then he slides one finger along your pussy lips, parting them with a loud wet sound. You shiver at that because it’s too loud in the quiet. He strokes up and down your clit slowly a few times, then eases a single finger inside you.  

A shaky, breathless sound escapes your throat as you arch into his finger sinking inside of you. “Neteyam…”  

He looks to the doorway again before quickening his pace, finger moving in and out letting the wet sounds fill the marui.  

“Open your legs a little more,” he whispers.  

You do. 

His fingers start slapping lightly against your ass as your as his fingers deepen ,and to top it off, your ass is shaking against the pressure and it only makes it worse for Neteyam. You bite your arm, trying hard to keep quiet.  

Your whimpers turn into soft desperate whispers. “Neteyam… please… I want you…”  

He exhales sharply through his nose, a small smile tugging his lips. “You always ask nicely when you’re desperate.”  

“Please…” you breathe again, voice cracking.  

He pulls his finger out of you with a string of your arousal and presses his thumb there instead, making slow circles right over your hole without pushing in. 

You arch back into it. He looks around one last time, then moves behind you. His thighs cage you in, knees sinking into the floor.  

He tugs his loincloth down just enough for his cock to slide free. It bounces around a while as he’s fixing his position behind you before he catches hold of it.  

After one more quick glance behind him, he holds the base of his cock with his right hand and slides his cock up and down your slick folds, coating himself. 

His left hand squeezes your left ass cheek tight, shaking it a little and his thumb pulls at the underside so he can see your pussy and asshole better.  

Then he presses inside you slowly and his head tilts back a bit at the tightness of you and the pleasure from it.  

“Fuck…” he mutters, breath trembling, “you take me too well.”  

Once his cock is deep enough inside of you, he braces his hands beside you and lowers his chest to your back. 

He brushes your hair behind your ear.  

“You feel so good,” he whispers against your skin.  

You turn your head just a little, voice muffled. “You always say that.”  

He chuckles softly, the sound almost lost in the sound of your breaths. “Because it’s always true.”  

He sinks all the way in until his balls rest against your clit, chest pressed warm to your back. Because of the intense amount of pleasure, be stays there, licking soft at your ear and kissing your cheek. 

His hair falls along your face until he tucks it back. He keeps kissing you gently while his cock rests deep inside.  

When your whimpers quiet he starts short grinds, hips barely lifting. Quiet moans slip from both of you, hushed and close.  

Eventually he lifts his hips more and thrusts shallow, careful not to slap loud against your ass. Every now and then his hips accidentally meet your skin with a soft smack but the only sounds are your whispered cries,his low groans, and the wet slick of your pussy taking him.  

“Faster,” you whisper, almost too quietly.  

“ you want to go faster?” He teases in your ear then gives you a kiss there and does exactly what you ask.

He gives you one more kiss on the cheek, then pushes up from your back. His hands grip your hips, thumbs near your ass, pushing you deeper into the floor and he thrusts deeper, still keeping the noise low but the wet sounds of your pussy grow louder.  

You cum hard randomly, it’s not out of the ordinary for your body to do so after giving birth to many times. Your body is trembling as tears prick your eyes. He slows but doesn’t stop and then he grabs your wrists and guides your hands back. “Hold it for me.”  

You do, spreading yourself so he can sink deeper without as much slapping noises. He groans soft and moves harder. Fresh tears slip down your cheeks from how good it feels as you lay your head deeper into the floor.

Eventually, he cums he pushes in as deep as he can, balls tight against your clit. He grinds there, shaking his hips side to side to push every drop inside. He gives one last deep thrust and he slowly pulls out.  

His cum spills from your pussy right away, thick and warm, dripping down over your clit to the floor and smearing on your inner thighs.  

Neteyam sits beside you, breathing steady. He smiles softly when he sees you’ve already fallen asleep again. 

He leans in and kisses your cheek quick, then reaches down one more time. He gently parts your pussy lips and lets the rest of his cum drip out slowly, watching it run down your folds and thighs.  

“Sleep, yawne,” he whispers, brushing his thumb across the hollow of your hip. “I’ll clean you.”  

And for a while, this still the best sleep you’ve gotten in a while.  

Hey does anyone want to claim any emojis so I can add to my pinned?

Based off this request!

[connorwyndham]

AVATAR: FIRE AND ASH (2025) Directed by James Cameron.

[vaniellea]

⭒ can neteyam last a full month without your pussy?

“Ah… mhhh… Neteyam,” you whispered through his fingers, slobber soaking through his palm as your eyes fluttered. Your voice came out muffled and broken, but you couldn’t stop the little whimpers escaping anyway.

“You gotta keep quiet, yawne,” he growled low against your ear, hips snapping harder. His breath was hot on your neck. “They’ll hear us.”

You nodded weakly, but it was useless. Another thrust had your back arching, pushing back against him. 

He cursed under his breath, pace faltering for a second before he drove in deep and stayed there.

You felt the hot spill of his cum as he came, pulsing inside you, some of it leaking out around his cock and dripping down to coat the crescent of your clit. His hips kept slapping against your ass in short, greedy strokes, milking every last drop while your own orgasm crashed over you shamelessly, toes curling in the furs.

For a moment the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant calls of the forest outside.

But Neteyam didn’t pull out.

Instead he shifted, rolling you both onto your sides so he was spooned behind you, cock still buried deep inside your slick heat. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his chest as he lazily rolled his hips again, slow and deep.

You let out a tired little laugh, still hazy from coming so hard. “Yawn—agh… don’t you have a meeting to go to?”

He groaned, nuzzling into the back of your neck, hips giving one more slow thrust like he couldn’t help it. “Five more minutes…”

You giggled softly, reaching back to thread your fingers through his braids. “You said that twenty minutes ago.”

Neteyam sighed, but finally pulled out with a wet sound, his cum leaking out of you in a warm rush. He sat up fast, ears flicking as he grabbed his loincloth and started tying it on, looking guilty. “Shit. I’m sorry, yawne. I really can’t help you clean up this time. Jake’s gonna kill me if I’m late again.”

You rolled onto your back, stretching lazily, feeling the mess between your thighs. A little laugh bubbled out of you. “It’s fine. Go be the perfect son. But we both know you can’t get enough of me.”

He paused mid tie, shooting you a crooked grin that always made your stomach flip. “Can you blame me? Look at you.” His eyes dragged over your body, still flushed and marked from his hands. “One of these days I’m actually gonna make it out the door on time.”

You sat up on your elbows, smirking. “Sure you will. Hey… since you clearly can’t keep your hands off me, how about a little game? One whole month. No sex.. First one to cave loses. Loser has to take the other’s fire watches for two moons.”

Neteyam raised an eyebrow, finishing with his loincloth. He looked amused… and already interested. “You really think you can last a month without begging for me?”

You tilted your head, biting your lip. “I think you’re the one who’s gonna break first, mighty warrior. You can’t even leave for a meeting without making love to me twice.”

He laughed low, leaning down to press one last quick kiss to your forehead carefully not to let it turn into more. “Deal. Starting right now.”

Then he was gone, slipping out of the kelku with one last heated glance over his shoulder.

The first few days were almost easy. 

Almost.

You’d catch his eyes across the village. 

During training he’d watch you stretch a little too long, but he’d look away fast. 

At dinner you sat across from him instead of your usual spot tucked against his side.

By day five the teasing started on your end.

You wore the thin woven top he loved, the one with the delicate beads that clicked softly when you moved. 

During morning herb gathering you “needed help” reaching a high branch. You called him over all sweet, standing on your toes with your back arched, tail swaying slow. When he stepped up behind you, hands hovering but never touching, you leaned back just enough for your spine to brush his chest for half a second.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re evil.”

You smiled over your shoulder, all innocent. “I’m just reaching, ‘Teyam. Is that against the rules?”

His tail lashed once behind him hard.

Day eight you got bolder.

At the river you bent over extra slow to rinse herbs, knowing exactly how the sunlight hit your skin and how your loincloth rode up into the folds of your lips. 

Neteyam was supposed to be helping Lo’ak with something nearby, but his eyes kept drifting to you. You caught him staring, you always did with his tight jaw, and gave him a little wave with wet fingers.

That night at the communal fire you licked sauce off your thumb slowly while holding his gaze. His ears pinned back. Tail flicking restlessly against the mat.

“You’re playing dirty,” he muttered when no one was close enough to hear.

You shrugged, smiling sweetly. “I’m just eating. You’re the one who can’t stop looking.”

Day twelve, during ikran sightings you stretched languidly in front of him, arching your back, letting out a soft sigh that sounded way too much like the noises you made when he was inside you. His arrow went wide which caused Lo’ak to laugh his ass off.

By day seventeen Neteyam was fraying.

You could see it in the way he carried himself—shoulders tense, jaw set, golden eyes following you everywhere with barely hidden hunger. 

At night you could hear him shifting restlessly on his mat across the kelku. Once, when you were alone for half a second near the edge of the forest, you stepped just close enough that he could feel your body heat but not close enough to break the rules.

“Only thirteen more days,” you whispered, tilting your head so your hair fell over your shoulder, exposing your neck. “Think you can make it, baby? Or are you gonna cave and drag me behind a tree like you always do?”

His breath hitched. He leaned in, forehead almost touching yours, voice rough. “Keep pushing and see what happens when I finally snap.”

You smiled, slow and teasing, even as heat curled low in your belly. “Big words for someone who looks ready to break.”

He backed away with visible effort, breathing hard, and disappeared into the trees.

Day twenty-one.

The teasing had turned into a full game now.

You wore the tiny accessories he used to love taking off with his teeth. You stretched catlike in front of him whenever you could. 

You’d “accidentally” brush past him close enough for your tail to flick against his calf. Every time you caught him staring you’d lick your lips or tilt your hips just so.

Neteyam was suffering.

His usual steady calm was gone. He’d started taking longer patrols just to get space, but he always came back and found you waiting at home with soft smiles, pushing every button he had.

Tonight the family was settling in the kelku, bioluminescent plants casting soft purple glows. Lo’ak was telling some story, but Neteyam wasn’t listening. His eyes were locked on you.

You stretched lazily on your mat, arching your back slow and pretty, letting out a quiet sigh that sounded exactly like the ones he used to pull from you when his mouth was between your legs.

His tail lashed hard.

You met his gaze across the space, lips curving. “Something wrong, ‘Teyam?”

He didn’t answer. Just stared, chest rising faster, fists tight on his knees.

Later, when everything had gone quiet, you slipped out onto the little ledge overlooking the glowing forest. The air was thick with night flowers. You leaned against the vine railing, heart beating fast, knowing he’d follow.

He did.

Soft footsteps. Then his voice, low and strained like he was barely holding on.

“You’re killing me,” he said, stopping a careful distance away. Golden eyes dark, pupils wide. “You know that, right?”

You turned, letting the moonlight paint your skin. “I’m just enjoying the night air. Is that a crime now?”

He stepped closer, fists clenched. “The way you move. The way you look at me. Whispering those things…” His voice dropped. “You have any idea how bad I want to fuck you against this railing right now?”

“Then why don’t you?”

He growled, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “Nine more days. Nine more days and when you finally cave, I’m not stopping until you can’t walk straight.”

You smiled, thighs pressing together even as your own body ached for him. “Big talk for someone who’s been hard nearly everyday ”

Neteyam opened his eyes and gave you one last burning look, like he wanted to devour you whole. Then he backed up slowly.

“Keep teasing,” he warned, voice rough. “See what happens.”

He turned and disappeared back inside, leaving you standing there with shaky legs and a racing heart.

Twenty-one days down.

And resisting Neteyam Sully for a whole month?

It was starting to feel completely impossible.

Especially when you wanted him just as badly.

You were getting ready for bed, standing near the low sleeping mats in nothing but your thin loincloth, fingers working through your hair to loosen the braids from the day. 

The month was finally over. 

Twenty nine long days of teasing, 

Twenty nine days of pure torture. 

Twenty nine days of you wearing a tiny woven top just to watch his ears flick and his tail lash. 

Twenty nine days of bending over slow when you knew he was looking, of whispering filthy little reminders when you passed him in the village, of stretching on your mat at night before you slept so the soft sigh you let out sounded exactly like the ones he used to pull out of you when he was buried deep inside of you.

Neteyam had held on. Barely.

You’d seen him crack in little ways but he never touched. 

Never kissed. 

Never dragged you off like he used to. 

But tonight the month was up.

The kelku was quiet, everyone else asleep or out on late patrol.

You heard soft footsteps behind you.

You didn’t even have time to turn around fully before Neteyam was there.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just stepped right up behind you, chest pressing to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist and yanking you against him. His other hand came up to grip your jaw, tilting your head so he could growl low against your ear.

“Twenty nine days,” he rasped, voice rough like he’d been holding it in forever. “You teased me every single one of them..”

His hips rolled forward, and you felt how hard he already was, pressing against your ass through the thin fabric. You let out a shaky breath, hands gripping the railing.

“Neteyam—”

“Did you have fun?” His fingers tightened on your jaw, not enough to hurt but enough to make your knees weak. “You had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer because he cut you off with a low growl that rumbled straight through his chest and into yours, the sound vibrating against your back before he spun you around so fast your breath caught in your throat. 

For a moment he just stared at you, chest rising and falling hard, like he was memorizing every inch of your face after forcing himself to stay away for so long.

Then his hands moved.

Without another word he pushed you down, firm but careful, guiding your shoulders until your knees sank into the soft furs of the sleeping mats. 

You went willingly, heart hammering loud in your ears as you looked up at him. 

Neteyam’s fingers were already working at the ties of his loincloth, tugging the knots loose with impatient jerks. The thin fabric slid down his hips and thighs, pooling at his feet before he kicked it aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, the tip already leaking and glistening in the low bioluminescent glow of the kelku.

“Open,” he ordered, voice low and rough, almost hoarse from how long he’d been holding everything back.

Your lips parted instantly. He didn’t ease in. One big hand fisted tight in your hair, gripping right at the roots so he could control your head, while the other wrapped around the base of his cock to guide it. He pushed forward in one smooth motion, sliding past your lips and straight into the wet heat of your mouth until the head bumped the back of your throat.

You moaned around him right away, the sound muffled and vibrating along his length. Slobber spilled immediately from the corners of your stretched lips, warm and messy, as he sank deeper. Your eyes watered, lashes fluttering, but you breathed through your nose and relaxed your jaw, letting your throat open for him.

“That’s it,” he groaned, hips rolling forward slow and deep at first, savoring every second after the long month of nothing. “Take it, yawne. Take it like the good girl you are for me after the way you treated me .”

He started thrusting properly then. slow, steady strokes that let you feel every thick inch sliding over your tongue and nudging your throat. 

His fist tightened in your hair, holding your head exactly where he wanted it, using your mouth with the careful control he always had… until he didn’t. His pace picked up, hips snapping a little harder, a little deeper. You gagged softly when he pushed too far, throat fluttering around him, but you didn’t pull away. You just let him use you, more slobber dripping down your chin in shiny, messy strings that ran over your neck and dripped onto your chest, making your skin slick and shiny.

Neteyam’s breathing grew heavier above you, ragged and uneven. His tail lashed sharply behind him, ears pinned flat with pleasure. Those golden eyes stayed locked on your face the whole time—watching the way your lips stretched wide around his cock, watching the tears cling to your lashes, watching how eagerly you drooled for him after making him suffer for thirty days.

“Look at you,” he panted, voice thick and wrecked, hips rolling deeper. “So fucking good to me. Taking my cock so pretty.” He groaned low, hips snapping harder now, the wet, obscene sounds of your mouth and throat filling the quiet kelku. “And now here you are.”

You whimpered around his cock, the sound making his thighs tense under your hands. The ache between your own legs was getting unbearable, thighs pressing together tight as you knelt there on the furs, letting him fuck your mouth deeper, faster, wetter. 

Your hands came up to rest on his strong thighs, fingers digging in just a little, not pushing him away but holding on while he used your throat.

He kept going like that for a long minute, lost in it, hips rolling with that steady, claiming rhythm until your chin was completely slick and shiny, thick strings of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his cock every time he pulled back even an inch.

When he finally pulled out, you were gasping hard, chest heaving, lips puffy and glistening with spit. Long, messy strings of saliva still connected your mouth to the head of his cock, breaking slowly and dripping down as he looked down at you with dark, satisfied eyes, chest rising fast.

Neteyam didn’t give you time to catch your breath.

Neteyam grabbed you under your thighs, his big hands sliding down to grip the soft flesh as he lifted you like you weighed nothing at all. Your legs dangled for half a second before you instinctively wrapped them tight around his waist, ankles locking behind his back. 

He lined himself up, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance, still messy from your spit. Then he pushed in with one hard thrust.

You cried out, the sound loud and broken in the quiet kelku as he stretched you open all at once. Your walls fluttered around him, trying to adjust, but he was already so deep, hips flush against yours while he held you suspended in the air.

Neteyam groaned low against your neck, the sound vibrating through your skin as he buried his face there for a moment, breathing you in. 

Then his hips snapped up into you. The slap of skin meeting skin echoed through the small space, wet and loud, each lustful thrust lifting you slightly in his arms before pulling you back down onto his cock.

“Missed you” he growled right against your ear, voice dark and strained, each word punctuated by a deep upward thrust. “Missed this”

Your nails dug hard into his shoulders, leaving little crescent marks as moans spilled out of you uncontrollably. 

His hips rolling up with strokes that had your whole body bouncing in his hold. Every thrust was so deep that your toes curled tight, thighs trembling around his waist. You were already close, way too sensitive after the long month of wanting and never getting, your body wound so tight it didn’t take much.

He felt it. He always did. He can read every little flutter and clench like it was written on your skin.

“Come on,” he grunted, pace starting to falter as he chased his own release, hips snapping harder. “Cum for me.”

You shattered with a broken moan, back arching in his arms as your orgasm crashed through you. Your walls clenched tight around him, pulsing and fluttering, pulling him even deeper. Neteyam followed right after with a low, guttural groan, burying himself as deep as he could go and spilling hot inside you. You felt every thick pulse, every rope of cum flooding you, his hips jerking through it as he filled you up until it started leaking out around where you were joined, dripping down his thighs and yours.

But he still wasn’t done.

He stayed buried inside you, strong arms holding you securely as he carried you the few short steps to the sleeping mats. Your legs stayed wrapped around him, body limp and trembling in his hold. He lowered you down onto your back on the soft furs without ever pulling out, the movement making his cock shift deeper for a second and pulling a soft whimper from your throat.

The second your back hit the furs he started moving again—slower this time, but just as deep. Long, lazy rolls of his hips that dragged his cock along every sensitive spot inside you, pushing his cum even deeper with every stroke. 

He looked down at you with those dark, satisfied golden eyes, braids falling around his face like a curtain, sweat glistening on his chest and shoulders in the soft glow.

“Neteyam…” you breathed, voice completely wrecked, legs trembling around him.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently to yours, one more slow, possessive thrust making you gasp as it pushed his cum deeper. “One more, yawne,” he murmured, voice low and warm now, but still edged with that hunger. “Give me one more. I’ve waited too long not to feel you cum again.”

You whimpered, already feeling another orgasm building from the sweet overstimulation, your body so sensitive every drag of him felt like too much and not enough at the same time. 

His pace stayed steady and deep, rolling and grinding in that deliberate way that made your toes curl all over again. 

When you came it was softer this time, shakier, drawn out, your walls fluttering weakly around him as you gasped his name, fingers tangled tight in his braids.

Neteyam followed with a quiet groan, hips pressing tight against you as he spilled what was left inside you, the warmth spreading until it was leaking out around his cock and onto the furs beneath you.

Finally he stilled, cock still buried deep as he collapsed half on top of you, chest heaving against yours. 

He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, pressing slow, soft kisses along your jaw and down to your collarbone, his tail wrapping lazily around your thigh like he never wanted to let go.

“Missed you,” he murmured, voice softer now. “Even when you were being a little human, teasing me every single day.”

You laughed weakly, body sore. “Human!?”

He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through you as he nipped gently at your ear. “Yeah… but I won in the end.”

With a low, satisfied hum, Neteyam slowly pulled out. A thick gush of his cum followed immediately, warm and messy, spilling out of you and dripping down between your folds onto the furs below. You whimpered softly at the sudden emptiness, your body still fluttering from everything he’d given you.

Before you could even think about closing your legs, Neteyam’s hand moved between you. He wrapped his fingers around his half hard cock, still slick and glistening with both of you, and guided the head back to your entrance. He rubbed it slowly through the mess, coating himself in the warm mix of his cum and your slick, before pressing forward.

With one smooth, gentle push he slid back inside you, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt again. The wet sound it made was filthy in the quiet space. You gasped softly, oversensitive walls stretching around him once more, feeling every thick ridge as he filled you up all over again.

Neteyam let out a quiet groan, forehead dropping to your shoulder. He stayed there for a second, just enjoying the feeling of being back inside you, before he leaned in and pressed a slow, tender kiss to the curve of your shoulder, lips warm and lingering.

He gave one lazy roll of his hips, pushing his cum deeper, making sure none of it escaped this time. 

But you knew you were nowhere near done, because Neteyam started thrusting into your pussy again.

First time ever using the word “ good girl” after cringing everytime I see it and I don’t know how to see about it? How did u feel about it?

Based off the request!

[wolverinecore]

Spread those legs further boy😛

[vaniellea]

𓂃 ⭒neteyam can’t keep his hands off of you

Neytiri had noticed the changes in her son over the past weeks. 

Neteyam had always been reliable during hunts, steady at her side. Lately though, he slipped away more often, returning later than usual with his braids slightly out of place and a distant look in his eyes. 

Today he was meant to help her prepare the evening meal, yet he had not appeared. Worry nudged at her, quiet but persistent, so she set out along the familiar trails, calling his name softly at first.

The sounds reached her before the sight did — soft, intimate noises from the grove. Neytiri pushed through the leaves and stopped short.

Neteyam’s face was buried between your thighs, his hands holding you open as he worked with focused devotion. Your back arched slightly, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other tangled in the moss.

The moan broke from your lips as his tongue dragged hot and flat through your soaked folds. 

Neteyam had you laid out on the soft moss in the hidden grove, thighs spread wide around his head while he devoured your pussy with slow, hungry licks. 

His strong hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as his mouth worked you open, tongue sliding deep inside your dripping cunt before pulling back to swirl around your swollen clit.

He groaned against you, the low sound vibrating straight through your core. “Taste so good,” he murmured, barely lifting his mouth before diving back in, licking messy and greedy, lips sucking softly on your clit until your hips jerked against his face. 

His braids fell forward, brushing your thighs as he buried himself deeper, tongue fucking into you in steady strokes, drinking down every drop of your arousal with wet, obscene sounds.

Neytiri’s voice cut through the air, sharp with disbelief. “What is this?”

Neytiri stood at the edge of the grove, eyes wide with shock that quickly turned to anger. 

Neteyam froze above you, ears pinning flat. You scrambled to sit up, heart pounding as you quickly reached for your discarded loincloth with shaky hands. 

The fabric felt tangled and awkward in your rush, cheeks burning hot as you tried to tie it back into place.

Neteyam moved fast to help, his fingers steady despite everything, gently adjusting the ties at your hips and smoothing the cloth down your thighs so it sat properly. His touch was quick and careful in the middle of the panic.

“Mother—” he started, voice low.

“Go home,” Neytiri told you firmly, her tone leaving little room for argument, though it carried an undercurrent of concern rather than pure fury. “Now.”

You gathered yourself and slipped away, cheeks warm, the moment shattering around you. 

Before you passed Neytiri, you gave Neteyam a small pat on the back, soft and quick, meant to steady him before you disappeared down the path toward home.

Neytiri turned to Neteyam, reaching out to grab him firmly by the ear, the way she had when he was small and reckless.

“Does your father know about this?” she demanded, guiding him back toward the village with purposeful steps.

Neteyam winced slightly at the hold but answered evenly. “He does.”

When they got back, she decided that saying nothing to him was for the best 

The next evening the air around the cooking fire felt thick with unspoken things. Fish sizzled over the flames while Neytiri tended it with careful movements. 

You sat nearby, awkward under the weight of yesterday’s discovery, eyes flicking between the food and the ground. 

Neteyam sat across from his mother, trying to focus on the meal, but his gaze kept drifting to you.

He broke the eye contact between you and his mother by looking down at the fire, then quietly tapped his thigh against yours under the cover of the low table. The small contact brought a faint smile to your lips despite everything.

Neytiri noticed. Her posture stiffened just a touch. “Do you two need room?” she asked, voice calm but edged.

Neteyam looked at her sweetly, the way he always did when trying to ease tension. “What is the problem, Mother?”

“It is nothing,” she replied, turning the fish with a little more force than necessary.

He watched her for a moment, then asked gently, “Is it because of what you saw yesterday?”

Neytiri paused, then shook her head. “No. You are both adults now.”

Neteyam studied her expression, his own softening. “Is it because you did not know?”

Despite not saying anything, she gave a small nod, ears lowering slightly.

He exhaled quietly, a hint of fondness in his voice. “Even Father did not know at first… he found out the same way.”

Neytiri’s eyes widened a fraction… “ are you guys doing this everyd—“

Jake, who had been listening from nearby, rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Yeah… let’s just say I’ve seen some things.”

then a reluctant laugh escaped her, short and surprised. The sound broke some of the awkwardness, easing the tightness around the fire. You felt your own shoulders relax, a quiet smile forming as the tension started to lift.

Neytiri couldn’t keep you guys apart from each other.

It got worse than before as the sneaking continued.

One afternoon, while your mother was out gathering herbs, you stayed behind to prepare fresh fish for the evening meal. soft light filtering through the woven walls of your home as you worked at the low table, knife moving steadily over the scales.

Neteyam slipped inside without a sound, his presence warm behind you before you even heard his footsteps. He stepped close, arms sliding around your waist, and pressed a slow kiss to the side of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a small shiver down your spine.

“I like this look on you,” he murmured, voice low and fond, lips brushing your ear. “My mate, preparing food for her family… it suits you.”

You laughed softly, leaning back into him for a moment, the knife pausing in your hand. “Not too long, My mother will be back any minute so she will take all the attention”

But the laugh turned into something quieter when his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer. 

One thing led to another — his mouth on your neck again, your head tilting to give him more room, the fish forgotten on the table. Before you knew it, he had you on your back on the woven mats, your legs bent and folded behind your head as he sank deep inside you with one smooth thrust.

his cock filling you completely. Neteyam groaned low against your mouth, hips rolling in deep strokes that made your breath catch. “I’m almost there,” he whispered, voice rough and close, forehead pressed to yours. “Keep quiet, yawne.”

You tried — you really did — but soft moans slipped out anyway, your walls clenching around him with every thrust. “My mom is gonna be here soon,” you gasped between moans, the words broken and breathy as pleasure built fast and hot. “Neteyam—ah—she’ll be back any moment—”

He didn’t slow down, just fucked you deeper, the wet sounds of your bodies meeting filling the small home. His rut was starting to edge in, making his movements a little more urgent, his scent heavier, the base of his cock swelling slightly with each push. “Just a little longer,” he breathed against your lips, eyes half-lidded and dark. “You feel too good.”

The door flap rustled.

Your mother stepped in, basket of seasonings in hand, and dropped it with a sharp clatter. Spices and dried herbs scattered across the floor. “What is going on here!” she cried, voice rising in shock and anger. Her eyes widened at the sight — you on your back with your legs folded high, Neteyam still buried deep inside you, both of you frozen mid motion.

Neteyam pulled out quickly, shielding you as best he could while you scrambled to cover yourself, cheeks burning. Your mother’s face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and fury.

“How dare you do this in my home?” she snapped, stepping forward. “Neteyam, you are the future Olo’eyktan — is this how you show respect? And you—” she turned to you, voice trembling with worry, “—I raised you better than to let this happen when I could walk in at any moment.”

The argument lasted longer than you expected. Your mother paced, gesturing sharply. “Pregnancy is not a game. Your heats are approaching, and his rut is already starting — I can smell it on him. One slip and you will be carrying a child before either of you are ready. I do not want my daughter with child yet. The clan is still recovering. You both have responsibilities, training, duties. This rushing will only bring trouble.”

Neteyam listened quietly, ears low, offering soft apologies when she paused for breath. You sat beside him, mortified but unable to deny the warmth that still lingered between you.

Finally, as the tension eased just a fraction, your mother pointed toward the door. “Neteyam, Out. Both of you need to think about what you are risking.”

On his way out, she stopped Neteyam with a firm look. “It is not respectful to do such activities in my home, Neteyam. Not while I am expected back any moment.”

Neteyam bowed his head slightly, sincere. “I am sorry. It won’t happen again here.” He glanced back at you with a small, secret smile — warm and full of that quiet pining — before slipping out the door and running off toward the village paths.

Your mother watched him go, then turned to you with a long sigh, the anger softening into tired concern. The fish still waited on the table, half prepared, while the scattered seasonings lay forgotten on the floor. 

Lowk, I had to do a bit of research on ruts and stuff and it was pretty interesting, I’ve never written anything about this so I’m sorry … please tell me more about ruts and stuff, I would love to write something similar

Based off this request!

[neteyamthinker]

exes don’t fuck, yawntu.

pairings aged-up!neteyam x omatikaya!female reader

notes literally just heavy smut with a plot... p in v, oral (f and m receiving), kuru play, tsaheylu, angst with comfort

synopsis neteyam and you are exes... but neteyam refuses to be an ex.

word count 17.2k

————————

You contentedly sighed as you meticulously sorted through the day’s forage. Your fingers, used to years of handling rough fibers and sharp roots, moved with practiced ease, separating edible tubes from those meant for weaving while the smell of ferns, rich damp soil, and the faint, sweet perfume of blossoming epiphytes surrounded you.

You were smiling  to yourself as you breathed it in, a familiar comfort… Until you were not. The pleasurable smell is now marred with something familiar, something more potent, the smell your brain conjures whenever you reach your climax every time you touch yourself— if that is even possible. 

Then, a shadow fell over your work, tall and broad. Your shoulders tensed, a familiar prickle of annoyance rising before you even turned your head. You didn’t need to. The scent of him, that particular blend of wildness and something uniquely him, had announced his presence long before his physical form blocked the dappled light.

Neteyam. Your ex.

Or, rather, the man who refuses to be your ex. A sigh escaped your lips, a tiny puff of exasperation. It has been moons since you uttered the words ‘let’s stop this’ and not a single day had passed without his looming presence. To be fair, he did reply ‘I don’t want to’ to what you said and proceeded to act like you two never broke up.

“It’s late,” he rumbled, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through the air, the vibrations reaching your spine.

You rolled your eyes and gathered everything without the genteel and care you previously had. “It’s none of your business,” you said, standing up so you could walk away.

He reached out, his large hand gently taking the basket from your grasp. His fingers brushed yours, a lingering touch that felt both accidental and deliberate.

You pulled your hand back, a sharp tug. “Do not touch me!” you said in a hiss, your teeth gritted as your sharp eyes snapped at him.

A slow smile spread across his face, a possessive curve that always made your stomach clench, a mixture of annoyance and a traitorous warmth. “So cranky, my baby,” he said, voice filled with humor.

You hissed as you walked away, a deliberate swish of your hips, ignoring the way he easily kept pace beside you. “Go away, you!”

Now, a huge grin cut through his lips. “Such a harsh greeting for your man–”

You spun to face him again. “You are not my man,” you snapped, your voice tight as you quickened your stride.

He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. His eyes, a golden pool, held a familiar glint of amusement. He stood taller, broader, and more muscled than most Na’vi, a warrior's physique honed by countless hunts and patrols. His queue, thick and braided, hung over his back.

“Not your man, then what am I?” He tilted his head, a playful challenge in his expression.

“My ex,” you bit out, trying to walk past him, though your heart hammered against your ribs. The word felt like a brand, raw and painful.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “I’m pretty sure you won’t let your ex fuck you on your hands and knees last night, yawntu…”

Your face flushed as you glared at him. “That was a mistake.”

“Was it?” His voice was a whisper now, close to your ear. His breath, warm and smelling of mint, feathered against your cheek. “Felt so good to me.” His hand, large and calloused, hovered over your waist, caressing softly.

You swatted his hand away. “Stop it, Neteyam. I’m serious!” You gripped a cluster of medicinal leaves nearby, pulling them harder than necessary, just pretending to do anything.

He moved in front of you, blocking your path again. His smile was infuriatingly charming, the kind that made your breath catch even when you despised him. “I finished my patrol early. Thought I’d keep you company.”

“I don’t need company.” You tried to step around him, but he mirrored your movement, a wall of muscle and stubbornness. You stopped abruptly, facing him. "What do you want, Neteyam?" Your voice was low, tight with frustration.

He stopped too, his height eclipsing you, casting a long shadow. He held your basket loosely, his muscles flexing under his dark skin. "Just wanted to see you." His eyes held yours, unblinking, a silent challenge.

"You see me every day," you said, your voice rising slightly. "You follow me. You wait for me. You act like–"

"Like what?" he interrupted, taking a step closer. The air between you crackled.

"Like we're still together!" The words burst out, a frustrated whisper. You glanced around, afraid anyone nearby might hear.

His smile widened, a mischievous glint in his golden eyes. "Are we not?"

You threw your hands up in exasperation. "We broke up! Moons ago! I told you, I want to move on. Find someone I can actually have a future with, and not–" You cut yourself off, the last word catching in your throat.

He tilted his head, his expression softening, a dangerous tenderness entering his gaze. "Not just what, yawntu?" His voice dropped, a silken caress. "Not just love you with every fiber of his being?"

"Don't," you warned, taking a step back. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" He took another step forward, closing the distance you tried to create. "Love you?"

"Manipulate me," you corrected, your voice trembling slightly. "You know what I mean." You turned, resuming your walk back to Hometree, the weight of his presence still a heavy cloak around you.

The next day, as you were helping your mother weave a new sleeping mat, you spotted a small, intricately carved wooden ikran on your workbench. Its wings spread as if in mid-flight, its eyes fashioned from polished river stones. You recognized the craftsmanship immediately. Neteyam had carved it. He had always been good with his hands, creating small, beautiful things from wood and bone.

Your mother, her nimble fingers working the fibers, glanced at it. “A gift.”

“An annoyance,” you corrected, picking it up. It was smooth, warm from his touch. You wanted to throw it, to smash it, but instead, you simply placed it carefully on a high shelf, out of immediate sight, but not out of mind.

Later, while you were collecting water from the nearby river, he was there again. He stood talking to a hunter, his voice low and his posture straight. But his eyes, you felt them on you, a constant, unwavering presence. As you bent to fill your gourds, a sudden, playful splash of water hit your cheek.

You looked up, glaring. He’s now bent by the river, a mischievous grin playing on his lips, snatching a water gourd.

“Careful,” he said, his voice laced with feigned concern. “You almost fell in.”

“I’m perfectly capable of getting water without your help.” You wiped the water from your face, annoyance bubbling.

“Just making sure.” He leaned, submerging the water gourd he’s holding to fill it with water, his gaze lingering on your face. “You look… parched.”

You ignored him, filling your gourds, the weight of his stare heavy on you. When you turned to leave, he stood up, keeping pace with you, and taking the gourds you’re holding.

“Move, Neteyam.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“There’s everything to say.” He took a step closer, his height intimidating. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything. I’m living my life.”

“Without me?” He scoffed. You walked past him without a word and he followed you, his long strides easily matching yours. “You think I’ll just let you go?”

“You have no choice.”

He tilted his head at what you said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He seemed to be holding his words back and you rolled your eyes, walking past him, your shoulders shoving his arm.

The next few weeks were a blur of Neteyam's relentless pursuit. He'd appear beside you during your morning foraging before he leaves for patrol, his large hand brushing against yours as he passes a water skin. During the evening meals, you'd feel his gaze on you from across the communal fire, a steady, unwavering heat. He’d bring you small gifts… a perfectly carved wooden animal, a rare iridescent feather, a cluster of sweet berries he’d found deep in the forest… Always with that infuriatingly innocent smile.

One afternoon, you sat by the weaving looms, your fingers deftly interlacing fibers when one of the hunters, Raynuk, approached, his expression open and friendly.

He began with calling your name, his voice soft, "I was wondering if you would consider joining me forage tomorrow. My family needs more feather blade seed, and you know the forest paths better than anyone."

You smiled, a genuine smile that hadn't graced your lips often lately. "I would like that, Raynuk. I know a good abundant site."

Before Raynuk could respond, a shadow fell over you both. Neteyam stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.

"Raynuk," Neteyam's voice was a low growl, "I need you for a patrol of the northern ridge tomorrow. First light."

Raynuk’s brow furrowed. "But, Neteyam, I-I already have plans—"

"This is an urgent matter," Neteyam cut him off, his golden eyes fixed on Raynuk with an intensity that brooked no argument. "The palulukan tracks were fresh this morning. It requires our best hunters." He paused, then added, "And you, Raynuk, are one of our best." The words were a thinly veiled threat.

Raynuk’s shoulders slumped. He glanced at you, a silent apology in his eyes. "Of course, Neteyam. I will be ready." He nodded curtly at you, then turned and walked away, his shoulders stiff.

You glared at Neteyam, your weaving forgotten. "You did that on purpose!"

He shrugged, a nonchalant tilt of his head. "Just fulfilling my duties as a warrior. The clan's safety comes first." His gaze met yours, a triumphant glint in his eyes. "You understand, don't you, yawntu?"

You snatched up your unfinished weaving, your fingers trembling with rage. "You are insufferable!" You stalked away, leaving him standing there, a smirk playing on his lips.

The cycle continued. Every time a young warrior or hunter showed even a flicker of interest, Neteyam would materialize, his presence a silent wall, his words a polite but firm dismissal. He’d find a sudden, urgent task for them, a distant patrol or a difficult hunt. Your potential suitors, sensing the unspoken challenge, would retreat, leaving you alone with Neteyam’s smug satisfaction.

Truthfully, you want to be peeved by it. You want to genuinely be annoyed at him and lash out on him, but you can’t even bring yourself to act like it because Neteyam can be really silly when he’s too determined that you find his antics funny instead of infuriating. Besides… Your resolve is too weak. Especially when it comes to him.

You moaned, your hand squeezing the sap to extract its lather, the water’s warmth seemed to loosen the tight cords of the muscle on your upper back, its fall a delicious weight cascading down your unbraided hair. You lathered the sap on your skin, bending down to work on your thighs but your relaxation was quickly replaced with hyper vigilance when you heard a rustle nearby.

You craned your neck, looking at where you last heard movements, expecting a direhorse or a hexapede. Instead, Neteyam emerged from the foliage, his loincloth clinging to his wet skin, his queue dripping water. He had clearly been swimming, perhaps in the waters far from here. His golden eyes, bright and alert, fixed on you.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, his voice smooth as the stream water. He walked towards you, his movements fluid and powerful as a playful glint danced in his golden orbs.

You sighed. “Are you following me?”

He stopped a few feet away, his gaze lingering on your bare chest before it travelled down your legs that were partially submerged in the water. “Just enjoying the forest. Is that forbidden now?”

You covered your chest and ought to turn your back, but he’ll see your ass if you do! You glared at him, “Then move along. Someone is bathing here as you can see… And turn around,” you ordered in a sassy voice.

He snickered. “I’ve seen it all… Licked it all,” he said, and even though you’re not looking, you can tell that he’s smirking.

You groaned as your face heated up. You spun around so you could throw the sap you’re holding directly at him but he merely moved his head to the side and evaded it effortlessly. “You are so crass!”

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound. He stepped into the stream and your breathing hitched. “But did I lie? Baby, my mouth knows every crevice of your pussy better than I know the patterns on my own face—”

“Neteyam!” You shrieked, your face and chest already burning up from embarrassment. He was right, no lie there at all, but must he really say it that shamelessly?!

He moved closer and you threw another sap which he, once again, evaded without any difficulty. The laugh he let out probably cost his muscles more. You delivered several splashes of water his way so that he’d stop but it only propelled him to get to you faster, his iron-like arms wrapping around your waist.

You shrieked and squirmed in his arms, you’re wet and slippery and it ought to give him a hard time but one of his large hands clamped around one of your thighs and wrapped it around him. Your arms found purchase on his broad shoulders, scared you’d fall. One of his hands pushed you further into him, groaning when he felt your soft breasts pressing against his chest.

His hands settled on your hips, large and possessive, pulling you gently against his front. His hard cock, already springing to life, pressed against your belly. Your breathing hitched, your fingers gripping his biceps.

“What are you doing?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Making sure no one else sees you?” he murmured innocently, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. His tongue flicked out, tasting the water and your skin. He began to kiss your neck, slow and deliberate, his hands tracing the curve of your hips, then sliding lower, cupping your bottom.

You sighed softly. “Handing me my clothes would have been the best way to do so…” And yet, you craned your neck, giving him better access to it.

He chuckled as he lifted his head so he could kiss you. “Or I could cover you with my body,” he whispered against your lips before capturing them into another searing kiss.

You tightened your arms around his shoulders and he lowered his head even further, deepening his kiss as if to answer your eagerness. He scooped you into his arms, your other leg instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carried you into the bank, and then to the undergrowth, towards a small, secluded clearing.

He laid you down gently on a bed of soft moss, his body hovering over yours. The weight of him, familiar and comforting, pressed you into the moss. His golden eyes, usually so serious, now held a mischievous glint as they wandered on your body with appreciation and lust.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire as before lowering his head to suck a pebble tip into his mouth with a groan. He lifted his head and stared into your eyes, “See how we always come back to each other?“

You rolled your eyes, a small huff escaping your lips. “I’m only here because you carried me here, you brute.”

He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. “Details.”

His fingers caressed its way up from your waist to your breasts, already swollen and sensitive under his gaze. He watched you, his eyes devouring every inch, a slow, possessive hunger in their depths. A shiver ran through you, a mix of apprehension and undeniable arousal, as you watched him lick his lips.

He lowered his head, his tongue tracing the delicate curve of your collarbone, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. You arched your back, a soft moan escaping your lips. His hands, large and calloused, moved to your hips. His touch was both gentle and demanding, a tantalizing dance of power and surrender.

His lips found your nipple, sucking gently, a wet, warm sensation that made your toes curl. You gasped, your fingers tangling in his long braids, pulling him closer, urging him on. He moved from one breast to the other, suckling more flesh into his mouth. Your body was alive, every nerve ending humming with anticipation.

He moved lower, his tongue tracing a fiery path down your stomach, stopping just above your mound. You trembled, your breath catching in your throat. His golden eyes met yours, a silent question passing between you. You nodded, a desperate, silent plea for him to continue.

His fingers touched your silky folds, parting them gently. The air, cool against your heated flesh, made you shiver. He dipped his head, his tongue flicking out, tasting you. A gasp tore from your throat, a wave of intense pleasure washing over you. His tongue was a hot, wet brand, swirling around your clitoris, teasing and tormenting. You bucked against him, your hips lifting, desperate for more.

He groaned, a deep sound of pleasure. His fingers found their way inside you, two of them, stretching you, exploring your wet depths. You were slick, already so ready for him. His cock, thick and hard, is pulsing with anticipation. He could scarcely wait to be inside you again. 

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

He moved his fingers in and out, a slow, deliberate rhythm, while his tongue continued its exquisite torture on your clit. You were writhing beneath him, lost in a haze of sensation. The scent of sex, musky and sweet, filled the air around you.

“Neteyam,” you whimpered, a plea, a demand.

He pulled his fingers out, and you cried out in protest. But then, he shifted, positioning himself between your legs. His dark eyes watched you as his large hand clamped around the underside of your knees, spreading you impossibly wider. His cock, a thick, throbbing column of flesh, pressed against your entrance.

He pushed, slowly, deliberately. You gasped as his head breached your opening, stretching you, filling you, and with a powerful thrust, he plunged fully inside you. A moan ripped from your throat, a mix of pain and exquisite pleasure. You were stretched to your limit, filled to overflowing. His cock filled you completely. It’s been weeks since the last time that the stretch felt both new and familiar, a deep, satisfying ache.

He began to move, a slow, rhythmic thrusting that quickly gained momentum. His hips slammed against yours, a primal beat that resonated through the jungle. The sound of your bodies meeting, a wet, slapping sound, filled the air. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he immediately lowered himself down, so you could pull him close. He captured your lips in an open-mouthed kiss and you moaned into his mouth. When he angled his head to kiss your neck, you buried your face in his shoulder, your teeth clamping down on it.

He whispered your name, again and again, his voice hoarse with exertion. Each thrust was deeper, harder, more insistent. You were lost in the rhythm, your mind emptying of everything but the sensation of him inside you, filling you, claiming you. Your clit, still sensitive from his earlier ministrations, was now being stimulated by the friction of his movements, rubbing against his pubic bone.

You felt the tension building within you, a coil tightening in your belly. Your body began to convulse, a series of exquisite spasms that wracked your frame. You cried out, your orgasm tearing through you, raw and intense.

He groaned, his body tensing, his thrusts quickening, deepening. With a final, powerful surge, he emptied himself deep inside you, a hot, pulsing gush that filled you to overflowing. He collapsed on top of you, his heavy weight pinning you to the mossy ground, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You mewled, kissing the bite you left on his shoulder to ease him from the pain but he probably didn’t even feel it because he merely smiled and kissed your cheek, thinking you were being sweet.

“I bit you,“ you said. “Sorry.” 

He lifted his head a little, craning his head to see. He smirked before he turned to you with a mischievous grin. “I guess I got myself marked,“ he said. 

“Shut up. I just needed something to clamp my teeth on,” you countered.

He chuckled, cupping your jaw and pressing a hard kiss on your lips. “Was it that good, baby?“

You groaned, your cheeks heating up, you pushed against his chest, your hips bucking against him. “Get off me,“ you ordered but your voice lacked its usual fire.

His amusement never faltered though, even teasing you by pulling your hips toward him as he rose, making you straddle him. He kissed you, “Take me back…” he whispered against your lips. “This break up is not funny.”

You reared your head back, your eyes fixed on his lips. “I don’t know…”

He tilted his head and kissed you, his arm wrapped around you and pulled you to him until your breasts were pressed tightly against his chest. “Do you understand I’m never going to let you go?” he asked.

You huffed a mocking laugh. “You’ll have to… Eventually,” you said in a hoarse voice.

His jaw clenched and you can feel the heat of his intense stare even if your eyes are fixed somewhere else. “What do you mean?“

You rolled your eyes and grinded your hips against him, your tender clit rubbing against the hard planes of his pelvis. You moaned, your walls stretched and filled to the brim, squeezed around him involuntarily and he groaned, holding your hips in place but you only lifted your hips so you could get the fiction you're craving.

You groaned when he wouldn't cooperate, still trying to pull you down his lap. “Will you fuck me or not?” you asked, looking into his eyes now.

There was a hard look on his eyes and his lips were in a thin line as he stared at you, as if he’s weighing things down, and then he pulled you by the nape of your neck and kissed you hard. His large hand splayed behind your thigh and pulled it around him before laying you down on the ground again. He merely parted your legs a little wider and started delivering a series of punishing thrusts that stole your very breath.

Your hand squeezed his bicep while the other wrapped around his shoulders. You don’t even know if it's still possible for him to pick up his pace, but his thrusts did come harder and more urgent, as if punishing you for whatever but it wasn’t a punishment at all, for it feels so good. Your body responded in kind, your hips bucking against his, your moans growing louder, more desperate.

You felt the familiar tightening in your core, the building pressure, the inevitable climax approaching. You cried out, your voice raw with pleasure, as another wave of ecstasy washed over you, even more powerful than the first. Your body convulsed around his cock, milking him, drawing out his own pleasure. He groaned, a guttural sound, his body tensing, then he too cried out, his seed spilling deep inside you again, hot and potent.

His breath came in ragged gasps, fanning the side of your face before he buried his own in your neck, his lips pressing a hard kiss against your soft skin. “I love you so much…” he breathed as he peppered your neck with kisses that trail its way up to your jaw and cheek.

You bit your tongue and when he lifted his head to look at you, you buried your face on the crook of his neck to hide from him instead. He chuckled and cradled your head, his hand running through your unbraided hair which reminds you that you’re going to see Kiri tonight. She promised to braid your hair.

You startled when you remembered. “I have to see Kiri tonight. She’s going to braid my hair,” you said, pushing against his chest.

He groaned but pushed himself up anyway, kneeling between your legs and pulling his cock out of you with a squelching sound. You mewled at his absence, your walls clenching at nothing as you felt warm wetness gush out of you. His hand were on you right away, scooping his cum and pushing what he could back inside you. Your hips bucked and you moaned, both from the sensitivity and the pleasure of it. He watched you with dark eyes, lathering some of the wetness over your soft and silky folds before bringing his hand up close to your mouth.

You parted your lips to bring your fingers into his mouth, sucking his fingers clean with a hum. Your tail did a happy wag behind you, something it usually does when you’re eating what you like. Your eyes peered up at him and the look on your face brought heat to his face that for a moment, he felt like a teenage boy again.

He grabbed your clothes and helped tie your loincloth around your tail. He runs his fingers through your hair as you fix your top over your chest. He fixed himself as well, and in the dimmed light, you could see how spent he looked despite the shit-eating grin he had on his lips and you wondered if you looked as exhausted because you are.

The jungle was loud with the symphony of night creatures as you walked beside Neteyam. The path, worn smooth by generations of Omatikaya feet, offered a familiar comfort under your own. He walked with that easy, predatory grace, his broad shoulders cutting through the humid air.

“Wait here,” you said, your voice flat, devoid of the tremor that still shook your insides. The hometree’s immense roots loomed ahead, a dark, living fortress against the sky. “Just for a few minutes. I’ll go in first.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. His golden eyes, usually so serious, crinkled at the corners, a flash of amusement sparking within them. He found your little charade entertaining. Your insistence on maintaining the illusion that you two broke up, even when the very smell coming from you screamed of him. He scented of you too, a potent blend of jasmine and forest floor, the unique aroma of your skin. Anyone with a working nose would know.

You turned away, the rustle of your feet soft against the forest’s quiet. You didn’t need to look back to know he was still smiling, a silent, knowing grin. A moment later, you heard the deeper tones of young male voices, approaching Neteyam. You glanced over your shoulder, unable to resist. Three young hunters, their faces earnest, now stood before him. They spoke of a patrol, a minor disturbance in the southern territories. Neteyam, the ever-serious, commanding warrior, simply nodded, his smile still fixed on his face.

He waved a dismissive hand, a gesture of "all is well," the cheerfulness radiating from him so out of place that even the young warriors exchanged bewildered glances. They probably thought he had lost his mind. None of them knew they had you to thank. Another time, if Neteyam weren’t properly sated, he would have gotten so mad, but because he had his fill of you, nothing could possibly ruin his mood.

You pushed through the hanging vines and stepped into the familiar warmth of the Sully family kelku. The air inside smelled woven reeds and the faint, sweet scent of Kiri’s herbal infusions. Tuk saw your loose hair and jumped in joy, knowing she could help braid and design your hair. Now, Kiri sat cross-legged on a mat, her deft fingers already weaving strands of your hair into intricate braids. Tuk, eight seasons old now, sat nearby, meticulously arranging a pile of polished river beads she means to put on your hair.

She held up a set of deep purple ones. “This one is really good, Y/N. You love this color, I think. And if it hits the light, it shines. See?“ she grinned at you and you smiled back.

“It’s beautiful, Tuk-tuk, I think I do like that,“ you agreed.

Suddenly, the kelku entrance rustled. Neteyam strode in, his presence filling the space. His gaze immediately found yours, a possessive warmth in his golden eyes. Tuk turned to him, her head tipping up as her nose twitched in the air. She seemed to follow a trail in the air and her gaze locked with yours when it connected to you.

“You smell like Neteyam,” Tuk said, her small nose twitching as she looked up at you, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity. 

A muffled snort came from the corner where Lo’ak sat, meticulously polishing his rifle, the metallic gleam catching the dim light. Spider, perched on a woven stool next to him, erupted in a burst of laughter as they both watched Neteyam move with purpose, heading for the waterskins hanging from a sturdy root.

“Bro, is that a bite mark on your shoulder?” Lo’ak pointed, his voice laced with mock concern, his eyes twinkling.

Neteyam took a long, slow drink from the waterskin, his throat working. He lowered it, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and simply nodded.

Spider’s laughter intensified. “A wild wiperwolf got to you, huh? Left hickeys, too?”

Kiri, her fingers still working diligently through your hair, tugged subtly, a silent signal. “I thought you two broke up?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You sighed, a weary exhalation. “Yeah,” you whispered back, the word tasting like ashes in your mouth. You thought that too. You truly did.

The days that followed were a relentless campaign. He appeared everywhere. When you were foraging, he’d be there, a silent shadow, offering a helping hand with a heavy basket or pointing out a particularly fruitful patch of berries. When you were training, he’d be on the periphery, his eyes following your every move. During communal meals, he’d subtly maneuver to sit near you, his knee occasionally brushing yours under the table.

He sabotaged every attempt you made to move on. Raynuk would try to engage you in conversation, his voice a hopeful murmur, only for Neteyam to materialize, a silent, imposing figure, his golden eyes fixed on Raynuk with an intensity that bordered on menace.

One evening, as Raynuk was attempting to walk you back to your family’s kelku, Neteyam appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, holding a freshly caught fish, still wriggling.

“I caught this for your mother,” he said, his voice loud, cutting through Raynuk’s hesitant words. “She said she wanted something fresh for stew.” He looked at Raynuk, his gaze cold. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Raynuk, visibly uncomfortable, stammered a quick farewell and retreated, his shoulders slumping. Your sharp eyes followed him. You don’t know if you should be annoyed or what, but none of these men knew how to stand up to this man.

You turned on Neteyam, your eyes blazing. “What was that?”

He shrugged, offering you the fish. “Just being helpful.”

You slapped his hand away. “You did that on purpose!”

“Did what?” He feigned innocence, though a smug glint in his eyes betrayed him. “You’re ruining everything!”

“Am I?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “Or am I just reminding you of who you belong to?”

You turned away, your heart pounding with a mixture of anger and something else, something dangerous and undeniable. He was a constant, persistent ache, a wound that refused to heal.

“I’m leaving with a hunting party,” he said one day, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. “We’ll be gone for two weeks. Deep into the Lowlands.”

You tried to keep your face impassive, to project an air of indifference. You wanted to tell him you didn't care, that his departures meant nothing to you anymore but it did. You’ve always sent him off, always prayed for his safety. “Take... care.” you said in a small voice.

He tilted his head, his hand cupping your neck, his thumb on your jaw. “I’ll go home to you. Whole, I promise,” he chuckled and you bit your lip to stifle a smile.

“You better,” you said in a hoarse voice and he groaned, bending at the waist to kiss you.

You woke up early the next day, before light, thinking of sending him off and you did find yourself walking up to the highest branches of the hometree to where the ikran roost, only to be stopped at the sight of a familiar huntress. Lenara. The name landed like a stone in your gut. A cold, heavy lump formed in your throat, choking off any casual word you might have managed. She’s the daughter of Jake’s second-in-command. The one the council whispered about, the one they considered suitable.

You took a step back and with a heavy feet, walked away from there. You found yourself on a higher branch, away from prying eyes,  trying to force the image of Lenara out of your mind. Moons ago, the whispers had begun, soft at first, then growing louder. Neteyam, the son of Toruk Makto, destined to lead, his future intertwined with the clan’s. He was in line to be Olo’eyktan someday. His life wasn’t his to decide. They needed to find a mate for him, a strong, capable partner to stand by his side, to bear his children, to lead with him. Lenara fit the description perfectly. A huntress of renown, she had led many successful hunts, her prowess in the forest undeniable.

You had accepted it then. That’s why you broke up with him, why you refused to take him back. You knew him. He was dutiful to a fault. He would follow his parents, the council, the ancient traditions. You would only get hurt if, one day, he came to you with that solemn, resigned look in his eyes and told you he had to choose another. You were doing both of you a favor by letting go. It was never going to be you. Two years you had spent together, and not once had he asked you to be his mate. It was clear. You understood. You were unsuitable. A gatherer, from a long line of weavers. He needed someone strong, someone suited to the public eye, to the demanding role of leadership. All you provided was physical pleasure, a fleeting comfort in the shadows of the forest.

“You didn’t come to see me good bye,” a deep voice spoke behind you and you startled.

You looked over your shoulder and saw Neteyam in his full warrior gear, the stones on the cummerbund you’ve woven for him shining in the dimmed light. He walked nearer and you lower lip tugged downward. You wanted to hug him, cry to him about your woes, hold him, hold him, hold him. But you can’t. Distance yourself, that’s what you must do.

“Do I need to?“ you asked.

He raised a brow at your sharp tone but he ignored it, moving closer until he could hold you. “Yeah. Always,“ he breathed the scent of your hair. “For the sake of your warrior, he must receive a sweet kiss from his woman. He’d ask for something else, if only his woman weren’t so grumpy in the morning.”

He bent to nuzzle his nose along the line of your neck, leaving soft kisses. You let him and you indulged yourself, stubborn and disobedient. You wouldn’t even listen to your own words.

“Kiss,“ he mumbled and you gave him your lips, reprimanding yourself at the same time. He claimed them, holding your jaw in place and kissing you deeply. You kissed back with the same fervor and he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer as his tongue plundered your mouth and his lips warred with yours for dominance.

When he broke the kiss, his eyes searched for yours in the dim light. You know that look and you bit your lip. His hand slid down your thigh, pushing your loincloth aside. His fingers found your pussy, grunting when he found your folds already wet and silky with desire. He circled your clit with his thumb, then plunged two fingers deep inside you.

You gasped, your hips arching, your body responding instantly to his touch. He began to move his fingers, slow and deliberate, stretching you, filling you. You leaned your head back against the bark, your eyes closing as pleasure rippled through you. You felt him kneel and in a moment, his lips found the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasped, realizing his intent. He licked a warm, wet trail, then opened his mouth, taking your clit between his lips.

A jolt of pure ecstasy shot through you. You cried out, your body trembling, as his tongue began its rhythmic dance, sucking, licking, teasing. His fingers continued to plunge inside you, while his mouth worked magic on your clit. The sensations were overwhelming, a delicious torture.

You moaned, your hands gripping his hair, pulling him closer. He was relentless, his tongue a masterful instrument of pleasure, his fingers pushing deeper, faster. You felt yourself unraveling, your body shaking uncontrollably.

“Neteyam!” you whimpered, your voice barely a whisper.

He continued, his mouth never leaving your clit, until you convulsed, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washing over you. You screamed, your body arching, your muscles contracting around his fingers. He swallowed the pearls of cum the dripped out of you, then continued to lick what comes out, savoring your climax.

You were breathless, spent, your body trembling. He pulled his mouth away, his hands holding you steady as he stood up to his full height. You shuddered as you looked up, as though you were reminded only now of how massive he is compared to you. You pressed a hand against his muscled abdomen when he kissed you, tasting yourself in him as you moved your hand down his loincloth, moving past its frontage and cupping his hardened cock.

He groaned against your lips and you answered with a moan when his hand grabbed the back of your thigh and lifted it up to wrap it around his waist. Meanwhile, you moved his loincloth aside to bring his cock out, pumping up and down its magnificent length as he positioned himself between your thighs. He pushed into you, slow and deliberate, filling you completely. 

“Fuck, baby...“ he moaned, pushing your hips further toward him. 

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. He began to thrust, slow and deep, his hips rocking against yours. The bioluminescence around you reflected in his golden eyes, dark with desire as they watched multiple emotions dance around your face.

“Good?“ he asked and you nodded frantically. He stopped thrusting, “Words.“

“So good...” you breathed and he angled your thigh higher, moving faster, his body a powerful engine, driving into you. You tried to match his rhythm, your hips rising to meet his, your hands gripping his broad shoulders.

He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours, his face contorting with pleasure as he worked through the tight grip of your flesh around him. His head lowered and flicked the beads covering your bouncing breasts to bring one of it into the warmth of his mouth. You bit your lip when he suckled them earnestly, his cheeks hollowed as he tried to suck more flesh into his mouth. The pleasure built, a fierce, insistent thrum.

You cried out, your body convulsing around him, milking him. He roared, a guttural sound of pure satisfaction, and emptied himself inside you, his seed hot and thick, filling you with his warmth. You moaned as he continued kissing your soft skin, both your bodies trembling. The lingering scent of sex hung heavy in the air, a testament to the undeniable pull between you. You knew this was wrong, but in the moment, as his warmth enveloped you, it felt undeniably right.

He pressed his lips against your cheek as he slowly pulled out, watching your walls embrace his cock until it clenched at nothing, followed by thick strings of his come trickling down your thighs which he quickly gathered in his fingers and pushed back inside you.

You mewled. “It would drip anyway...“ 

He nuzzled his nose against your cheek. “Still need to make sure it all goes inside you,” he whispered, lathering the wetness over your folds and then bringing his hands to his cock so he could lather himself with it, too.

You licked your lip, fighting the urge to groan because you want to touch him and give him back what he’s given you but the sun is almost rising. He carefully put your thigh down, fixing your loincloth and angling his head to kiss your neck. He stood taller and tucked himself back in his loincloth. 

His hand caressed your waist, squeezing gently before it trailed up to your breast. He kneaded both of them. “Sorry, best friends, we’re quick today,“ he told them, lowering his head to give both pebbled tips a quick suck.

You huffed. “You’re silly,“ your lips curled into a tired smile.

He kissed your forehead, his hand now snaking behind you, encircling an arm to hug you. “Don’t silly me, beautiful. I’m going to miss you so damn much,“ he said, emphasizing the last words, staring into your eyes.

You tore your gaze away, looking at his lips instead. “It’s just two weeks...”

“Still two weeks away from you,” he replied, his free hand now fixing your top. “I made a mess of you...”

You peered up at him, biting your lip. “It’s alright,” you mumbled.

He tilted his head. “You’ll wear me the whole day then?” he teased, his hand palming your slick inner thigh.

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. He smiled back, kissing your smiling lips. A horn was blown, a signal for the hunters to convene. Your smile faded a little as you inhaled, he saw it and smiled a reassuring smile. “I’ll come home to you,“ he promised, like he always had, finding your hand.

You two walked hand in hand to the roost, but you pulled your hand away once you’re already there.

Neteyam grinned, shaking his head at this pretense. You gave him a sharp look that could be translated into ‘take care and don’t be stupid out there’. You turned your back on him, your tail flicking lasciviously. He licked his lips wet and reached for it, making you squeak and laugh, you’d slap his hand away if only Lenara had not appeared, her eyes already scrutinizing when it landed on you.

Your smile faltered a little, but you kept your chin lifted, and when you saw how her nose twitched after smelling Neteyam on you, you smiled at how her face had turned deep purple. You looked at Neteyam, “Lenara’s probably sent to fetch you. I’ll go,” you said in a hoarse voice, turning your back on them.

You looked over your shoulder when you were far enough and saw Neteyam still watching your back retreat even as Lenara talked to him. It was crazy how you felt so confident then, while the next two weeks felt like an eternity. Each sunrise felt colder, each sunset more desolate. The jungle, once vibrant and loud, now seemed muted, its sounds echoing your own emptiness. You were wondering what he’s up to… If Lenara’s working her way into his skin, as was intended.

When the news of their successful hunt reached the hometree, a strange mix of relief and dread washed over you. A grand festivity was planned to celebrate their return. You found yourself drawn, against your better judgment, to the ikran roost, the massive, gnarled branches that served as a landing for the winged beasts. You watched, hidden amongst the shadows, as the hunters returned. Their ikrans descended, their cries piercing the air, a flurry of vibrant wings and triumphant shouts.

Then you saw him. Neteyam, dismounting from his ikran with that effortless grace, his golden eyes scanning the crowd. And beside him, Lenara. She laughed at something he said, a bright, clear sound that carried on the breeze. She playfully smacked his chest, her hand lingering for a moment, her smile radiant. The sight was a physical blow, a sharp, cold stab delivered right to your chest. The air left your lungs, leaving you gasping, though no sound escaped.

You turned, stumbling away from the roost, the familiar path blurring through a sudden film of tears. The humiliation burned, a hot flush spreading across your skin. How stupid, you thought, how utterly foolish of you to think it was your place to wait for him. You spent the rest of the day in a haze of misery. He seemed truly busy, caught up in the preparations for the feast, surrounded by his family, by the other hunters. And probably by Lenara. He didn't seek you out immediately, and that absence, that lack of his usual relentless pursuit, only twisted the knife deeper. It felt like a confirmation of everything you were overthinking in the past weeks.

As the festivities began, the rhythmic drumbeats and communal chanting filling the air, you tried to disappear into the crowd. You watched from a distance as the Sullys  took their place on the dais. Then, you saw the hunters who brought abundance to the clan, among them Neteyam and Lenara, performing the ancient tribal dance among the swirling mass of dancers. They moved together, their bodies flowing with the music, surrounded by other hunters and warriors. Cheers erupted, their voices rising and falling with the beat. It felt like someone was strangling you, forcing you to choke on dirt, on the bitter taste of your own insignificance.

You were unsuitable for that. For the public display, for the grand gestures, for the honored place by his side. Your place, you realized, was in the hidden thickets of the forest, designed only to pleasure him, a low virtue woman, a secret kept in the shadows.

You slipped away, unnoticed in the jubilant chaos. The sounds of celebration faded behind you as you made your way back to your family’s kelku. It was empty, a silent sanctuary. You collapsed onto your mat, the woven fibers cool against your cheek. The tears, held back for so long, burst forth. A raw, guttural sob ripped from your throat, followed by another, and another. You allowed yourself to make noise, to release the grief that had been building, knowing your family wasn’t home to hear.

You loved him. You always had. From childhood, through the awkward years of adolescence, and now, a love that was both a blessing and a curse. To know that it would never be you. You two would never happen. You would never have him in the ways you craved, the ways that truly mattered. Your sobbing was so loud, so consuming, that you didn’t hear the soft rustle of someone entering the kelku. You didn’t notice the shifting shadows until a warm hand touched your arm.

Your eyes snapped open, wide and startled, your breath catching in your throat. You flinched, pulling away, your gaze flying to the intruder. Neteyam. His forehead was creased, deep lines of worry etched between his brows, his golden eyes filled with a raw concern. His hand flew to your face, his thumb brushing away a tear, and he groaned, a low, pained sound.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

You swatted his hand away, your earlier grief curdling into a familiar anger. “None of your concern. Why are you here?”

“Can’t find you in the crowd,” he answered, his hand falling to his side, but his eyes never leaving your face.

You rolled your eyes, turning your back to him, pulling your knees to your chest. “I wonder why,” you murmured, the sarcasm thick in your tone. You lay back down on your mat, facing away from him. The last thing you wanted was for him to know you were crying because of him, because of Lenara. “Leave. Leave me alone.”

“What?” you heard him ask, the word laced with confusion. His hand reached for your waist now, the other settling on your shoulder, gently but firmly turning you. He maneuvered your body until you were facing him again, your eyes still swollen and red. “Baby, why are you crying?”

You pushed against him, the anger now boiling over. “I already said nothing. When will you ever listen to what I say? I have told you we are over, and you won’t leave me alone. I told you to leave me alone, and you’re still here. Do you not respect me at all?”

Tears welled in your eyes again, blurring his face. He knew this was not the time for his usual playful indifference, his way of dismissing your words through jokes. This was real. You had pushed him away countless times before, but you had also allowed him to get close, to pull you back. He had never truly acknowledged the breakup, treating it like a temporary disagreement, a stubborn phase you would eventually get over. He couldn’t understand why you wanted to end things when nothing seemed to have changed. Your passion when you lay together, your fervent kisses, they were all still there. Did you not want him anymore, beyond the physical?

“Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. You stopped breathing, your heart hammering against your ribs. “That I leave you alone?”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat a painful obstruction. You braved the agony, the raw, searing pain in your chest, and nodded. “Yeah,” you said, your voice barely audible, a fragile whisper that seemed to shatter the silence. You tore your eyes from his, unable to meet the wounded gaze that now clouded his face.

You sensed him nod, a slow, deliberate movement. A fresh wave of tears threatened to overwhelm you. It’s for him, you told yourself, and for you. Should he one day realize he needs to act on his duty to the clan.

“Can I stay though?” he asked, his voice small, vulnerable, a stark contrast to his usual confidence. “Tonight? I missed you so much. I was counting the days until I got back and saw you again, and this is how you welcome me? A sight of you crying?”

“Stop,” you mumbled, pressing your hands over your ears, trying to block out his words, his pain. “Just go, Neteyam. And no, you can’t stay tonight. I want to be alone.”

You flopped back onto your mat, your back facing him, curling into a tight ball. He didn’t leave immediately. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, feeling like an eternity. You held your breath, terrified that any inhale, any exhale, would unleash another torrent of sobs. You heard the rustle of movement, the soft pad of his feet, the faint sound of the kelku entrance opening and closing. He was gone.

The relief was immediate, sharp, and quickly replaced by a profound, desolate emptiness. You let out a shuddering breath, and the tears came again, with a finality that echoed the silence in the kelku. This time, there was no holding back.

Meanwhile, Neteyam stood rooted outside as you sobbed within the kelku, the ache in his chest a dull throb. He was so frustrated with himself. For moons, he had asserted his will, his presence, refusing to acknowledge the space you demanded. Now, when he needs to truly be there, to gather you into his arms and hush your tears, he couldn’t, because he would be proving you right about not respecting your boundaries.

Do you not respect me at all? The question burned, a brand on his skin. He wanted to show you that he respects you. So he stayed, a statue carved from sorrow and regret, listening to the guttural sounds of your heartbreak.

You wished for his arms, the familiar weight, the scent of him that clung to you even now. But the image of Neytiri and Jake, their faces alight with pride as they watched Lenara by his side, twisted in your gut. He would forget you, once he was mated. Perhaps you would forget him, too, once you were mated. The thought felt like a lie, a cruel joke. No one could ever take his place. No one.

The days stretched, thin and brittle. You moved through the forest, a ghost among the vibrant flora, your foraging punctuated by your constant crying fest. You scanned the tree line, the undergrowth, a futile search for his familiar silhouette. He never appeared. Yet, a faint tremor in the leaves, a fleeting shadow at the edge of your vision, hinted at a presence. He moved unseen, a silent guardian, a shadow clinging to your path, ensuring your safety without breaking the fragile boundary you had erected.

At communal dinners, the warriors spoke of Neteyam and Lenara. The huntresses, however, offered a different narrative. Lenara, they murmured, was simply too eager. The whispers reached you, sharp barbs that pierced your already bruised heart.

Meanwhile, Raynuk whose admiration for you had been repeatedly thwarted by Neteyam’s possessive maneuvers, saw his chance. He approached you one day as you gathered fibers from plants. He moved with a quiet grace, his hands reaching to help you with the heavy basket of glowing specimens. You found yourself conversing with him easily, the simple act of sharing a task a comfort in your solitude.

He walked beside you, the basket now resting easily in his strong hand. As hometree’s immense roots began to loom into view, he stopped. He brushed his nape, his fingers wrapping around it nervously.

He called your name, his voice a low rumble. “There’s something I want to ask you. I want to ask now, just in case I get stopped by circumstances again.”

Your smile faltered. You recognized the hesitant posture, the slight tremor in his voice. You tilted your head, waiting. He truly believed it was "circumstances" that had kept him from you, oblivious to the silent, watchful presence that had always deterred him.

“I… well, can I court you? I have liked you for so long. And well, you were close to Neteyam and I thought you two are more than just friends… but I guess you’re not.” He offered a small, awkward smile. “I-I can wait for your answer. You don’t need to answer now. You can have all the time to think.”

A relieved smile spread across your face. “Alright… I’ll think about it, Raynuk. Thank you.”

He smiled back, a genuine warmth in his eyes. You resumed your walk towards Hometree, the basket now back in your hands.

From the training grounds, Neteyam’s gaze, sharp as a hunter’s arrow, fixed on your retreating figures. He watched Raynuk hand you the basket, a brief exchange of words, then a tentative hug before you parted. A low growl rumbled in Neteyam’s chest. He hadn't slept, barely eaten in two weeks, consumed by your absence, yet here you were, smiling after a touch from another. His eyes narrowed, a storm brewing within their golden depths.

He put his bow in its place, the thud echoing across the training area. Lo’ak’s voice, a distant shout, called out to him, but Neteyam ignored it. He knew your routine. After foraging, you always washed by the river. He stalked towards it, a predator on the hunt.

You knelt by the bank, washing the dust from your arms, when a familiar scent, a powerful blend of forest and warrior, reached you. You startled, your head snapping up. He stood there, a gaunt shadow, his face pale, eyes heavy with sleeplessness. Yet, your own eyes, sharp and accusing, met his, as if he had wronged you when you were the one who had sent him away.

“Raynuk and you, huh?” he said, his voice laced with a bitter mockery.

You rolled your eyes. “And how is that your business?”

“Everything about you is my business,” he replied, his voice hard, unyielding.

You rose, slowly, deliberately. He quickly straightened, the mighty warrior who faced the most fearsome beasts without a flinch now seemed to fear, a comical tremor in his stance.

“I don’t think so, Neteyam. I think you’re doing just fine in the past weeks.” You mocked, a cruel edge to your voice. “What is it the hunters say? Oh, you and Lenara. I can see how perfect of a match it is. I can’t wait for you two to mate,” you said, voice thick with sarcasm.

You turned, attempting to walk past him, but his hand shot out, grabbing your arm, pulling you back with a jolt. You sprang back, a toy on a string.

“Do not listen to what they say because I don’t care for her,” he said, his voice hard as stone, his eyes, dark and intense, pinning yours. “I can’t even properly eat and sleep, so depraved of you, thinking about what’s gotten into you that you’ll throw us away just like that and then I’ll see you with Raynuk? Do you want that boy to be thrown out of here?”

You saw the truth in his words. His pale skin, the shadows beneath his eyes, spoke of genuine suffering. Your eyes widened at his threat though. “Neteyam!” you reprimanded, a sharp gasp. “How can you say that?! Raynuk is a good and loyal hunter of the clan—”

He groaned, cutting you off. “What did you two talk about? I saw him. He hugged you…” His voice, raw and hoarse, betrayed his desperation.

“He asked to court me,” you shrugged, feigning indifference.

“And you rejected him?” he asked, his voice strained, on the precipice.

“Nope,” you answered, a wicked satisfaction blooming in your chest as his eyes flared, a dangerous fire igniting within. His hand on your arm tightened, pulling you against him, the sudden contact stealing your breath. “It’s time I accept suitors—”

“Don’t you love me anymore?” he asked, the vulnerability in his voice so palpable, so raw, it caught you off guard. The sharp humor vanished, replaced by a sudden, aching sorrow. This was no time for games.

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze, unable to answer. He tugged at your arm, forcing your eyes back to his.

“I love you so much and I always will, but I do know when to stop. If you truly want me out of your life, then say so,” he said, his voice etched with pain, his eyes pleading.

You couldn’t answer. He huffed, an impatient, anguished sound.

“I don’t know what’s making you act this way, but I wish to know, baby, so I could fix it. We are good, babe, don’t throw this away,” his voice cracked, anguish thick in the air.

“Yeah, we are good. I am good. Especially on my back, for your pleasure,” you pushed against his chest, tried to pull your arm away, but his grip tightened, unyielding. “But not just on my back, right? Sometimes on my hands and knees, on top of you, or—”

“What?” he sounded enraged, his voice a low growl. “Do not ever say that, not when you are everything to me—”

“I don’t think so,” you said, looking at him, your lips pulled down, tears pooling in your eyes. “Two years, Neteyam. Two years we were together but not once did you ask me to be your mate! This is pathetic but it is true—”

“No, it’s not true. I want you to be my mate, to be truly mine, but the council—”

“Yes! The council. Your parents. Do what they want, as you have always done, perfect soldier! Dutiful son. Mate Lenara, like what they want you to do! Leave this behind! Forget about me and I shall find my own path!”

He stared at you, seething with anger. Not at the insults hurled at his person, but at the idea of you finding your own path. Your paths were intertwined, for all he cared.

“And find your own path how?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips. “Well, first, I’ll accept Raynuk’s courtship,” you said, the words dripping with nonchalance. “Perhaps I’d like him enough to mate him—”

He produced a sound, a guttural growl that vibrated through the air. He stepped closer, towering over you, and a shiver ran down your spine. You swallowed, once again confronted with how massive he really is.

“And you think I will allow you?” he asked, his voice a silken threat.

“You have no choice,” you spat, defiant.

“For that alone, I’ll add Raynuk to the team that will set out for the Aranahe clan tomorrow. He’ll be gone for six moons…” He paused, his eyes gleaming with a predatory confidence. “And by the time he comes back, you’d be swollen with my child.”

You pushed against him, but he didn’t budge, a mountain of muscle and determination. His hands found your waist, pulling you against him. Your breath hitched as you felt his hard, thick cock press against your midriff.

“That was the reason, huh? You left me because you think I’ll follow my parents’ order to mate with whoever they desire?”

You rolled your eyes. “Isn’t it true? You always did your duty,” you said, a bitter accusation.

“Not when it comes to this. Not when it means I’ll live a miserable life away from you. Not when it means I’ll live in agony watching you with someone else,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, raw with truth.

You tore your eyes away, unwilling to believe that he will disobey the council and his parents... all for you. But still, a tremor ran through your body at the thought of it. You wished with all your heart that it was true.

His hand snaked behind you, pulling you even closer, his erection insistent against your skin. “You are too young, yawntu, you and Kiri always talked about not mating young. I thought that wasn’t your preference.” He squeezed your waist, regret vibrating through his touch. If only he had known your true desire in those two years, he would have ensnared you sooner.

“Excuses. Your mother had you at nineteen!” you retorted.

He laughed, a rich, deep sound, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His hand caressed your back, a soothing rhythm. “Is that so, hm? Did you want a baby at nineteen, too?” he asked, a playful glint in his golden eyes.

You glared at him, your anger warring with a sudden, unexpected warmth.

“I want nothing else but that, too…” he said, his other hand rising to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. “It’s not too late, you know… you’re only twenty.” He smirked, bending at the waist, bringing his face closer to yours. His lips, soft and tentative, grazed yours. You didn’t pull away, didn’t push him back. He released a shuddered breath of relief, pressing another series of kisses, light and tender. “I love you so much…” he whispered, pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes. “Do you love me?”

Your lips pushed forward, your eyes fixed on his mouth, longing evident in their depths. “Yeah…” you mumbled.

He inhaled shakily, as if that single word had been the air he desperately needed. “I need the words,” he said, indulging you, indulging himself.

“I love you…” you mumbled again, softer this time.

A huge smile broke across his face, lighting his eyes. “I love you more, baby,” he said quickly, fiercely. “How much?” he followed up.

“So much…” you said, rolling your eyes, but a smile touched your lips. He only chuckled.

“So much?” he pressed, and you nodded. “Mate with me then, right now. If you love me so much,” he dared, his voice a challenge and a plea.

Your wide eyes snapped to his. “This isn’t a joke, Neteyam,” you said, the seriousness of his request settling over you.

“I am not joking. Mate with me. Right now,” he insisted, his serious eyes fixed on yours, unwavering.

“T-The council…” The irony of your own words, your own fears, echoed in your mind.

“I’ll handle them,” he said, dismissing the unseen authority with a wave of his hand. “Right now, I need you to be mine. Truly, in every sense of the word.”

You stared up at him. He tilted his head, waiting for your answer, his gaze burning into yours. You nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. A huge smile once again spread across his face. He breathed a relieved sigh.

“Thank you, baby,” he whispered, cupping your face, kissing you hard, deeply.

He pulled you away from the river into the depth of the forest until you two reached the ancient, sacred heart of the forest, the Tree of Souls. Its majestic presence, adorned with bioluminescent tendrils, never fails to fill you with awe. He led you beneath its shimmering embrace, turning to you, his smile wide, his lips finding yours again. You smiled into the kiss, a warmth spreading through you, chasing away the lingering chill of sorrow.

His forehead furrowed, his eyes serious as they searched for yours. “Yawntu… I want you to know that there was never a hesitation, nor have I ever had any second thoughts about where you stand in my life,” he said, taking your hand and pressing it against his chest, against the strong beat of his heart. “You have always been the it for me. I love you very much, so please believe what I say.”

You smiled, tears pooling in your eyes, blurring his face. “I believe you, Neteyam…” you mumbled, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry that I have been too petty, that in thinking I was doing us good, I ended up hurting you and in the process, hurting myself. Instead of talking to you, I proceeded to just end it and…” A sob tore at your throat. “It was the worst moons of my life. I thought I would never be with you again…”

He groaned, pulling you into a tight, crushing hug, hushing you with soft whispers. “It’s all over, baby… and we weren’t separated that long anyway. Good thing I don’t know how to stay away from you, huh?”

You chuckled, remembering his stubborn persistence. “I secretly loved it…” you confessed, your voice muffled against his chest.

He laughed breathily. “Good,” he grinned, lowering his head to kiss you. “You won’t be able to get rid of me. Never.”

You choked a laugh, groaning dramatically. “I guess I’m doomed, huh?”

He smirked, his eyes twinkling. “To a lifetime of being loved unconditionally.” He sealed the words with a kiss.

You grinned against his lips, kissing him back hotly, your hands roaming the expanse of his muscled body, humming with appreciation for what you could touch. You pushed him against the rough bark of the Tree of Souls, and he groaned at your aggression, his arousal spiking. You fumbled with the ties of his loincloth, untying it with urgent fingers until he stood naked before you. You pushed him down, until he sat on the ground. You looked down at him, then slowly shed your top, revealing your round, full breasts to the soft, ethereal light.

Next, your loincloth. You untied it with deliberate slowness, watching his hard, thick cock twitch upwards despite its weight. You licked your lips at the sight, kneeling and crawling towards him. His hands found your waist as you neared, lifting you effortlessly, plopping you onto his lap, your legs straddling him, his cock already aiming for the tight hole of your pussy, desperate for the tight sheath of your warmth.

“No,” you protested, pushing against his chest and lifting your hip up to avoid the head of his cock as he lined it to enter you.

He looked at you, a soft groan escaping his lips. He gripped his cock, as if to placate it as he reluctantly released you.

“There’s something I want to do to you…” you said, pushing him gently against the tree, positioning yourself on all fours between his legs.

He watched you, his eyes filled with lust, a drunken smile on his face, allowing you to take control. You lowered your head, kissing the base of his shaft, licking your way up to its head which you then gave a deep suck, making him groan. You reached for your queue behind you. The pink tendrils moved on their own, rising. He quickly reached for his own, thinking you would make tsaheylu, but instead, you guided your queue to the wide head of his dick. You felt the tickle of it, your knees almsot buckling from the sensation it gave you. But as you watched his eyes dilate, his lips parting, the muscles of his abdomen contracting, you could tell he was more pleasured.

That satisfied you, watching his dick swell even larger and harder. You didn’t take your eyes off him as you lowered your head again, your ass still high in the air. You licked the length of it, the tendrils of your queue embracing the head. You sucked at the thick ridge on the underside of his cock. He made sounds, deep and pleasured, and you caressed the skin of his inner thigh. His hands had fallen to his sides, his own queue forgotten. You took it, bringing it close to your breast until the tendrils embraced it, and he groaned loudly, his hips buckling.

“Fuck! Fuck, baby…” he moaned, his hand flying to your shoulder as bolts of electricity shot through his spine.

You removed your queue from the head, wrapping it around his balls instead, so your mouth could suck on the head. You sucked and twirled your tongue, your eyes locked on his. His mouth gaped perpetually, releasing shuddered breaths, moaning your name as his face cortort in pleasure.

You pleasured him with your mouth, taking him whole as you had done countless times before, your body instinctively knowing how to accommodate him. When he came, he came so hard, his cum spilling from your mouth, dripping down your chin. You swallowed everything, humming happily, your tail wagging as if you're savoring your most cherished food.

You licked the sides of your mouth as you rose. Neteyam reached for your face, scooping the drip from your chin with his thumb, bringing it to your mouth. You sucked his thumb clean, and he stared at you, his lips parted and his eyes gleaming with wonder and desire.

“Good?“ you asked, licking your lips.

His lips curled into a lopsided smile, his hand falling on your breast, pinching a nipple. “It was mind-blowing, baby,” he said in a hoarse voice. “So. Fucking. Good.” 

He was leaning against the bark, looking spent and weak, reeling from your ministrations, but quickly he regained his strength, pulling you to him, effortlessly maneuvering you into the straddling position he had you in earlier. Your legs spread wide, your body slightly slanted as he cradled you in his arm. He lowered his head, taking one of your breasts into his mouth, while his queue stimulated the other. You reached for his cock, gripping it, caressing its length and he jolted, his teeth clamping down hard on your breast.

“Aw!” Your hand flew to his shoulder as you arch your back, your breast seeking comfort from the sharp pain brought by his teeth.

“Fuck, sorry, baby...” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your breast before licking the outline of his teeth around your nipple, then sucking it softly. You cradled his head, caressing the braids on his nape. He lifted his head, his eyes dark with desire as he perused your form, laid out for him like a feast. He detached his queue from your breast and you smiled, detaching yours from his dick. He brought his queue up, showing you the pink tendrils, and when you leveled yours with his, he made no delay in touching his kuru with yours, making the tsaheylu.

You both gasped, a jolt of unexplainable sensation pulsing through your bodies. The warmth and lightness in your heart brought tears to your eyes, though your brain couldn't fully comprehend the intensity. All his feelings: the love, the longing, the frustration... It coursed through you. You smiled when you saw a vision of yourself by the river, a younger you, looking over your shoulder and smiling huge.

That image made your heart beat faster, and you realized it was the beat of his own heart, his feelings for that particular memory. It was the very moment he fell in love with you years back and it’s the image he keeps going back to. You were so radiant, so beautiful as a halo of light surrounds you. You are his own heart.

 You peered at Neteyam, seeing his dilated eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “I see you, my love…” he said with wonder. 

You smiled, tears tracing paths down your cheeks. “I see you, ma ‘teyam…”

He held your hand, bringing it to his lips. “I love you so much...” he said, forehead creased as if the intensity of his emotions is so overwhelming, it’s making his face contort.

A sob tore through your throat and you pulled yourself up so you could hug and kiss him, your heart filled with unspeakable joy. You pressed your forehead against his. “I love you, Neteyam. I love you so much.”  

“Not possible. I love you so much more,“ he countered and you groaned, chuckling in the process.

“Show me?“ you said, biting your lip.

His eyes darkened, looking into your eyes as if challenging you before he brought you back to your earlier position, your upper body slanted, suspended in the air supported only by his arm around you, his hand hooked on your shoulder.

He grabbed his dick, giving it a few pumps before lining it up with your pussy. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for his entry. When he entered, he entered completely in one go, pushing into you while his other hand on your hip pulled you to him, stretching your tight walls with a delicious thickness. He groaned at the same time you arched your back, a startled yelp tearing at your throat.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby...“ he gritted his teeth, his face contorting with pleasure.

Your free hand found your breast, kneading it as the other caressed his bicep. “You’re not complaining, are you, my love? My best friend has not visited me in over a moon,” you feigned a pout as you squeezed around his girth.

He huffed a laugh, adjusting himself so he could start moving. “Did you miss him?” he humored you, his large hand covering your hand over your breast so he could help with the massage.

You pretended to think, but your face had already betrayed you when he started moving. “Ah, yes... I miss him so much,” you gripped his bicep, your other hand on your breast caressing down to move over your belly where he’s bulging. “Hi, bestie.” You chuckled, poking the bulge.

He squeezed your breast and laughed. “Want to see him go fast, baby?“ he asked.

You peered up at him with a seductive smile. “Yes... Wanna see him go fast so bad,” you said in a husky voice.

He raised a brow, adjusting his hands on your body, and then he thrusted, fast and hard, pulling your hips to him as hard as he pleases. You felt like a doll, body being used entirely for the pleasure of your husband and nothing aroused you better than the thought. He fucked you, harder than he ever had, and the sensations were heightened, intertwined by your mating. You felt what he felt. How your warm walls embraced his cock tightly, how good it felt for him. And he felt what you felt too, the stretch of his cock, the profound pleasure of everything.

He was insatiable. It was as if all the pent up energy he had during the moon you weren’t together begged to be released and you, the culprit, the very reason of both of your forced abstinence, shall receive it. And with great enthusiasm, you did. When you came in that position, coming down from his high didn’t even take long for he laid you on the ground, kissing you, your neck, your shoulders, your chest.

He pulled out of you with a wet pop, his still-hard cock standing in salute for you, both of you dripping with thick essence. The image made you feel so hot but he was busy kissing his way down your body, his fingers scooping every drop of cum that dripped out of you.

He brought it to your lips and you lapped at it, sucking in earnest. His lips found your slick inner thigh, kissing and licking, until he reached your wetness, kissing it with parted lips, sucking on your soft folds. Your hips bucked and he held it down, curling both hands on your parted thighs as he ate you out with extreme vigor— licking, sucking, and nipping at your folds.

You were a trembling and crying mess by the time he was done with you, but he wasn’t truly done for he kneeled between your legs, hovering over you and you were once again lost in a daze by how majestic he looks. Bigger and broader than any warrior you know that the expanse of him could easily cover your body from sight.

He gathered your right thigh and hooked it around his forearm while he bent the other, leaving it on the ground before plunging into your heat once more and this time, you were given no adjustment because he delivered punishing thrusts in an instant, leaving you a moaning and crying mess.

You wondered if this is what Eywa ought to witness, for your moans sounded more like a sacrilege, and the Tree of Souls was filled with only that sound, mingled with his groans and grunts, and occasional dirty talks. You wondered even more if other Omatikaya couples had breached the threshold of freakiness here, too.

The first rays of Eywa’s light pierced through the tendrils of the Tree of Souls. During the day, when it’s not glowing, it appears translucent, like waterfalls shining in the sunlight, a silent witness to the vows exchanged beneath its boughs. You stirred, a warmth radiating beside you, Neteyam’s arm a heavy band across your waist. A shiver traced your spine, not from the morning chill, but from the enormity of what you two had done.

You shifted, pressing a kiss to the warm skin of his shoulder. He hummed, pulling you tighter, his scent, a mix of forest, musk, and something uniquely him, enveloping you.

“We should go,” you whispered, the words catching in your throat. Your voice felt raw, unused.

He loosened his hold, tilting his head to look at you, his golden eyes still heavy with sleep, yet alight with a profound contentment. A smile touched his lips, slow and tender. “Not yet.”

“They’ll be looking for us,” you insisted, a knot of nerves tightening in your stomach. “My mother… she’ll be frantic.”

He traced the line of your jaw with a thumb. “I’ll handle her. She’ll know you are safe, you are with me.” His tone held an unshakeable certainty, a quiet strength that both soothed and unnerved you. He truly believed it, didn’t he? That being with him was all the explanation needed.

You pushed yourself up, gathering the loincloth that had been carelessly discarded. “She won’t see it that way. Not when the council…” You trailed off, the weight of their expectations pressing down.

He sat up, his movements fluid, powerful. The morning light caught the planes of his chest, the ripple of muscle beneath his skin. He reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “I will handle the council. They have no choice when you are my choice.” His voice held a note of steel, a promise.

You shook your head, pulling your hand free to smooth down your hair. “You say that as if it’s a simple matter. It isn’t. You know it isn’t.” You looked around the sacred space, the serene beauty of it suddenly feeling like a fragile bubble about to burst. “This… this was just for us. The world outside…”

You felt the irony of what you’re saying. You questioned what you thought was his complete obedience to the council and now that he showed you that he will disobey whatever in the name of having you, you felt the weight of it.

He rose, towering over you, his shadow falling across your form. He reached out, cupping your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. “The world outside cannot change what is inside here.” He tapped your chest, then his own. “We are mated, yawntu. Before Eywa. Nothing else matters.”

“It matters to my mother,” you countered, stepping away from his touch, the coolness of the morning air against your skin a stark contrast to his warmth. “It matters to the council. It matters to your parents.”

He sighed, a low rumble in his chest. “They will see. They will understand.” He moved towards you, his presence a comforting heat at your back. “Do not worry about anything. I will handle it all.”

Your forehead creased as you looked up at him. “What can I do? You shouldn’t handle all of these on your own.”

He tilted his head and smiled a radiant one. “You’ll focus on not stressing yourself so you’ll conceive faster,” he smirked. “We have a deadline here.”

You laughed despite yourself and he grinned at you, holding your hand tightly. You walked back through the forest, the familiar path feeling alien under your feet. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, sent a fresh wave of anxiety through you. Neteyam, beside you, strode with an easy confidence, his hand holding yours firmly. His warmth was a constant anchor, but it couldn't entirely quell the tremor in your heart.

As Hometree's colossal roots came into view, a splash of vibrant colors caught your eye. A group of children, small figures darting between the thick roots, played a game of tag. Tuk, her braids flying, chased after a slightly older boy, her laughter echoing through the morning air.

One of the boys who admired Neteyam as a warrior caught sight of the two of you, stopping mid-run and calling out, “Neteyam!”

The children froze, turning towards you. Tuk’s eyes, wide and bright, landed on you, then on Neteyam, her head cocking to the side. The male friend, a boy named Korin who often trailed Neteyam like a shadow, pointed.

“Neteyam!” Korin’s voice, though high-pitched, carried a clear note of awe. His gaze flickered between your joined hands and Neteyam’s beaming face. “Are… are you two mated?”

You felt your cheeks flush, a sudden heat rising. You squeezed Neteyam’s hand, a silent plea for discretion.

Neteyam, however, grinned, a flash of white teeth against his blue skin. He tightened his grip on your hand, pulling you a fraction closer. “Yes, little brother.” His voice was deep, resonant, brimming with pride. “Y/N is now mated to me.” He winked at the boy, a playful glint in his golden eyes.

A collective gasp rose from the children. Tuk, her eyes wide as saucers, bounced on the balls of her feet. “Yes! Does this mean Y/N is now my sister?” She launched herself at you, wrapping her small arms around your waist, burying her face against your hip.

You laughed, a genuine, joyful sound that surprised even yourself. You knelt, hugging her back, the simple innocence of her question a balm to your frayed nerves. “Yes, Tuk,” you murmured into her hair. “Yes, it does.”

A sudden, sharp voice cut through the children’s excited chatter. “Oh, Y/N! There you are!”

Your head snapped up. Your mother, Ni’alu, emerged from the shadow of a root, her usually serene face etched with worry, her shoulders hunched. She hurried towards you, her eyes fixed solely on your face. “I was so worried about you, you stubborn child! You didn’t come home last night!” She reached you, her hand already reaching for your arm, her gaze not even registering the large, blue figure standing protectively close.

“Mother!” you protested, trying to pull away.

But her grip was firm. She pinched your side, a familiar reprimand from your childhood. “Where were you, child?” Her voice was laced with a mixture of anger and relief. She aimed for your other side, her gaze still not quite focusing.

Neteyam stepped forward, his broad frame interposing itself between you and your mother’s next pinch. Only then did her eyes finally land on him. Her jaw dropped, her hand freezing in mid-air. Her gaze traveled up his towering height, her expression shifting from anger to utter shock.

“Neteyam?” she breathed, the word barely a whisper.

He offered her a smile, one that usually disarmed even the most formidable warriors. You knew, however, from the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw, the slight tension in his shoulders, that he was nervous. Only you could pick up on those subtle tells. “Good morning, Ni’alu,” he said, his voice steady, respectful. “I am the reason she didn’t come home last night.” He paused, his gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment, a silent promise passing between you. “I… Well, we mated.”

The children, who had been watching in stunned silence, gasped again. Tuk, still clinging to your leg, bounced on the balls of her feet excitedly.

Your mother’s lips parted, her eyes wide with something akin to horror. “You… you mated with my daughter?” Her voice rose in pitch, a tremor running through it.

Neteyam nodded, his expression unwavering. “I have loved your daughter since we were children, Ni’alu. And if you’ll allow me, I’ll ask for you and for Taylan’s blessing.”

She staggered back a step, releasing a nervous, almost hysterical laugh. “What of the council, Neteyam? My daughter is not Tsakarem! We are only weavers!” The words tumbled out, a desperate plea for reason in a world suddenly turned upside down.

Neteyam shook his head, his hand reaching out to steady her, his touch gentle but firm. “It will be handled, Ni’alu.” His voice was calm, resolute, a mountain against her rising tide of fear.

The walk into Hometree felt like a procession. Your mother, still reeling, led the way, her steps uncertain. She made a beeline for Mo’at’s tent, her usual composure utterly abandoned. Neytiri, by chance, was already there, her face a mask of quiet contemplation as she listened to her mother.

Neytiri’s eyes, sharp and discerning, swept over you and Neteyam as you entered, your hands still clasped together. A flicker of understanding, then concern, crossed her features. She needed no words.

“I will first apologize for my daughter’s recklessness, Mo’at, Neytiri,” your mother began, her voice a torrent of anxious words. “But she mated with Neteyam—”

“Do not apologize, Ni’alu.” Neteyam’s voice, cold and firm, cut through your mother’s frantic speech. Jake, summoned by Tuk at Neteyam’s quiet instruction, arrived, his presence a solid anchor beside Neytiri. Neteyam’s gaze, now fixed on his parents and Mo’at, held an unwavering resolve. “I asked her to mate with me because I could no longer spend time away from her, without her truly being mine. I have always loved her, and if you know me, you’ll know that, too. No council could ever decide against my desire to have her as my mate, so I won’t apologize for this decision. And I expect you all not to make my mate apologize for this, either.”

He looked at his parents, his expression demanding their understanding, their acceptance. Jake watched his son, a slow smile spreading across his face, a nod coming almost instantly. Pride swelled in his eyes.

Neytiri, however, the one whose approval you craved and feared most, stepped forward. Her gaze, fierce and penetrating, locked onto yours. “And you allowed that, Y/N?” Her voice was low.

You met her gaze, your lips trembling. The words caught in your throat. How could you explain the whirlwind of emotions, the sudden, desperate certainty that had driven you?

“No ceremonies? No blessings from the Tsahik?” she pressed, her eyes narrowing.

You swallowed, finding your voice, though it was still a little shaky. “It makes no matter, Neytiri. I love Neteyam, and we mated before Eywa. That much is a blessing in itself.” Your words held a quiet strength, a conviction that surprised even you.

A slow smile broke across Neytiri’s face, a breathtaking sight. She glanced at Mo’at, who stood serene and composed, as though she had seen this moment coming for a lifetime. Mo’at’s eyes, ancient and wise, met yours, a gentle understanding shining within them.

“I will now give my blessings,” Mo’at said, her voice a soft murmur, yet it resonated with immense authority. “Y/N. Neteyam.”

Neteyam squeezed your hand, pulling you closer to Mo’at. Everything happened in a rush, a dizzying blur of movement, much like the mating itself. You knelt before the Tsahik, Neteyam beside you, his presence a steadying force. Mo’at’s ministrations were swift, the ancient chants and sacred gestures flowing around you, enveloping you in a cocoon of tradition and acceptance. It felt quick, almost too quick for such a profound ritual, but the depth of its meaning was undeniable.

Midday, the air in Hometree bristled with unspoken tension. Neteyam was summoned to a council meeting. The news of his mating had spread like wildfire, reaching Lenara’s father, who, as you suspected, sought an immediate explanation. The gathering was formidable: the elders, Lenara herself, her parents, Neytiri, Jake, and Mo’at.

“Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan,” Rama, a female elder with eyes like polished obsidian, began, her voice crisp, unyielding. “When you were eighteen, you agreed to a consensus with the elders. That once you are twenty-two, you will have been mated to a woman of our choosing. A full cycle has passed since what was agreed upon. And now we hear that you are mated. But she is not the council’s choice.”

Neteyam let out a silent sigh, almost imperceptible. “Such is the case, Elder Rama,” he confirmed, his voice calm, even.

“Then it is clear that the son of Toruk Makto is not a man of his words?” the elder pressed, a hint of accusation in her tone.

“The council has chosen Lenara for you, Neteyam,” Lenara’s mother interjected, her voice tight with thinly veiled anger.

“I didn’t agree to anything that involved Lenara or any other woman,” Neteyam’s answer was swift, cutting.

“May we know what it is with Lenara that you do not agree with, Neteyam?” another elder, Karim, inquired, his voice laced with patronizing curiosity. “She is a better fit for you; a proven skilled huntress. She has a sharp mind and could also prove to be a competent Tsakarem.”

Neteyam shook his head. “It is not that there is anything about Lenara that I do not agree with, Elder Karim. She is a skilled huntress, as you say, and a good colleague. It is only that my heart has long chosen another.” His gaze flickered to his mother, then to Jake, a silent plea for understanding.

“Such disobedience among the young these days!” Lenara’s father thundered, his face darkening. “The future Olo’eyktan fails to follow through to his words and obey what the elders see fit for him! Where is your loyalty, boy? Where is your heart?”

“Hear, hear! How can we trust a future leader that is already showing such obstinate nature and disregard of better judgment—” another elder chimed in, the words echoing the sentiment of disapproval.

Peeved at their choice of words, their clear implication that he had made a mistake, Neteyam’s voice thundered, cutting through the rising tide of discontent. “What is this ‘better judgment’ you speak of? What do the elders see for me that I cannot see for myself? You speak of my loyalty and my heart, yet you fail to see and consider to whom they truly belong, and with whom they would flourish to help me better myself. Among this council, it is only I who knows what would help me grow and keep me strong. For so long, I have resolved to obey the council when it comes to it. But how can I do that if it means I’m going to live a miserable life with my heart outside my body? Could I truly function as your leader if I were a hollowed shell, away from the woman I love with all of me? Now, if you see it fit that I am removed in the line of succession, then so be it. But I will not apologize for the decision I made simply because I loved.”

Mo’at squeezed Neytiri’s hand, a silent message passing between them. Neytiri smiled at her mother, both of them swelling with pride for the boy he once was and for the man you had made him to be.

“Neteyam, there is no need for that,” Jake immediately said, stepping forward, his voice firm, unwavering. “My son has chosen. And we know that it is not always that he allows wants or impulse to dictate his decisions. He chooses his battles, and he rarely chooses wrong. I understand that the council might think it better that they choose for him, but my son is fully capable of choosing for himself, too. And I am asking for the council’s leave to grant my son this one.”

“Is there anything to grant? Your son is already mated,” one of the elders said with a chuckle, the tension in the room easing slightly. “I guess what’s better fit to do now is to wait for his child, and I think this one won’t be a long wait?”

A ripple of laughter spread through the hut, the collective mood lightening. Neteyam himself allowed a small smile to touch his lips, the tension in his shoulders finally loosening. That won’t be long, he promised silently, though he didn’t voice it. He wanted nothing more than to go to you now that the council was adjourned.

He walked out of the hut, but Lenara’s voice calling his name stalled him. He turned to face the huntress who now looked annoyed, her nose twitching as she smelled the potent smell of you from Neteyam. The same smell she smelled from him when they set out for the hunt. She hadn’t smelled it in weeks, and now, it was even thicker, mixed with the smell of a mated bond.

“Yes, Lenara?”

Lenara fixed him with a hurt glare. “I want to know, Neteyam, if it was true that there was nothing you don’t agree with with me... If it was true, then you would have considered... Considered taking me as your mate. We are good, I have known you my whole life, we trained together, fought together. What does she even know? She’s years younger than you, she doesn’t do what you do. I don’t know why you just can’t see me.“ she snapped. 

She rambled so fast, laying down all her arguments that Neteyam felt dizzy. “Lenara, it was true. There’s nothing that I don’t agree with with you, but that doesn’t mean anything. That’s how I see most colleagues of mine. It doesn’t warrant consideration of you being my mate, not when I am already in a long-term relationship with Y/N who has always been the only woman I see. You and I, Lenara, are colleagues. Teammates. For the clan. Y/N is my woman and it doesn’t matter if she knows what I do because she knows me better than anyone,“ he told her.

“Well, you didn’t allow me to know you,” Lenara countered. “I like you, Neteyam... And I was thinking we could—”

“What do you like about me?“ he asked.

Her lips parted a little, surprised that he would ask that. “Y-You’re a good leader... A skilled hunter and warrior... And you’re more handsome... and hotter than most men in the clan,“ she answered, her cheeks burning purple as she said the last statement.

Neteyam sighed and tilted his head. “Lenara, I think you know what you liked more. You don’t like me, you like this illusion you think I represent. Those are titles I carry in the clan but those alone don’t represent me. Even if you think you can see a future with me now, that would be you lying to yourself. Don’t wallow in what you think is heartbreak following what happened. You don’t know me, you don’t like me, what you’re feeling is regret from being stripped off a title and position in the clan you believe should belong to you. You’re an ambitious woman and I don’t fault you for that, but with my wife... Those titles you spoke of is what complicate things between us. She hated those and if she could have me without them, she’d like that better.”

Lenara looked down, wrangling her hands. She closed her eyes and sighed, as if some sense was knocked into her. “Oh, I’m sorry, Neteyam...“ she gasped for sharp air. “For everything I said. For questioning your relationship with Y/N. I was stupid, and perhaps, you are right. My parents... They expect things from me... And in the process of doing what they want me to do, I lost sight of what’s truly important.”

Neteyam shook his head, feeling bad for the girl. “I’m sorry about that, Lenara. I hope you can find your own path someday. For now, take care, Lenara.“ he said before walking away.

During those tense hours, you sat in the central clearing with Kiri and Tuk, a knot of nerves in your stomach, yet an unshakeable trust in Neteyam. You watched as the hunting party assembled, preparing for their journey to the Aranahe clan. Your eyes scanned the familiar faces, and there, among them, was Raynuk. Your head tilted. Neteyam… that scoundrel had indeed manipulated things to add Raynuk to this party! A small, knowing smile touched your lips.

A few hours later, a wave of relief washed over you as you saw your husband emerge from the council hut, his face no longer etched with the strain you’d seen earlier. A huge grin spread across his face, confirming that nothing dire had transpired. You smiled, rising to meet him, your hands pressing against his chest, caressing the soft skin as you encircled your arms around his neck.

He settled both hands on the curve of your waist, pulling you against him, and bent to kiss you hard, his lips demanding, possessive. “We ought to make up for the time lost in that meeting,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire. “In those hours, I could have had you in ten different positions.”

You smacked his chest lightly, a laugh bubbling up. “We can do that tonight,” you grinned, angling your head to kiss his jaw.

He groaned. “Tonight?!” he asked dramatically. “We’re losing so much action due to all of this council drama...” he mumbled, nuzzling his cheek against yours.

You chuckled. “You have all of me now, Neteyam. Always... We have all the time in the world.” you promised him, your hand pressing against his chest.

Always true to his words, Neteyam’s words about Raynuk proved to be prophetic for six months later, when Raynuk returned from the Aranahe clan, his face etched with the weariness of a long journey, still harboring a faint, lingering hope. He approached Hometree, the communal clearing bustling with energy as the festivities of their arrival welcomed them, scanning the familiar faces, searching for yours. He had imagined you waiting, perhaps, now ready to consider his courtship.

He sought you out, a hopeful glint in his eyes, but his steps faltered as he saw you. You stood by the dais, where the Sully family took their seat during festivities and communal meals. Your hands resting gently on the prominent curve of your belly as you watched something in the crowd.

And then as if on cue, Neteyam rounded the dais, his hand filled with food that you eyed with excitement. He put it down on the table, standing beside you, his hand snaking possessively around your waist, his golden eyes, usually so sharp, softened with an overwhelming tenderness as he looked at you. He was broader, even more muscled, a mountain of a man, radiating an aura of fierce contentment.

Raynuk’s gaze flickered between your swollen belly and Neteyam’s proud, unwavering stance. Your eyes found Raynuk, feeling the stare and although you knew that the festivities are held for the party dispatched for Aranahe, it completely slipped your mind that Raynuk was among them.

You offered him a smile and a nod. Neteyam, sensing you were looking at someone in particular, traced your line of vision and saw Raynuk. He remembered the one-sided beef he had with the hunter, the competition he fought without the other’s knowledge. Now, he still felt like the man poses a challenge, seeing how he looked at his wife, but then he realized that Raynuk was probably also seeing how swollen you are with his child.

He watched how a flicker of understanding, then resignation, crossed Raynuk’s face before the hunter offered a small, polite nod, then turned, walking away, the weight of a hope unfulfilled heavy on his shoulders. He was clueless of the declaration Neteyam made moons ago, but the sight before him spoke volumes.

Neteyam looked at you, a triumphant glint in his golden eyes. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your jaw. "I told you," he whispered, his voice full of pride and love. "The next time he sees you, you’d be swollen with my child,“ it was a soft, possessive murmur that sent a shiver of warmth through you.

You smiled, a contented sigh escaping your lips. You pressed a hand to your belly, feeling the gentle flutter of life within. “Well, you are diligent. It wasn’t really a surprise, my love,” you said with a chuckle. 

No one is probably as determined as Neteyam on a mission. There was not a day you weren’t filled with his seed, even making you lie with a pillow beneath your hips, having heard from Norm that it’s the best way to conceive. And since the bond has opened your body for conception, it didn’t prove that much of a challenge that only a few weeks into your marriage and Mo’at has already taken notice of the frantic beating of the pulse on your neck, telling you it is a telltale of pregnancy.

Neteyam’s hand pulled you closer by the waist, his lips brushing against your temple. You leaned into him, your hand finding his, intertwining your fingers. The quiet hum of your connection, the steady beat of his heart against your back, the soft flutter of new life within you, it was all the answer you needed. Your path, it turned out, was always meant to be intertwined with his.