in which you avoid your desperately confused and in love husband
PAIRINGS: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader, anthony bridgerton x wife!reader
WARNINGS: flirty af, yearning af, pregnancy, meddling bridgerton siblings (specifically b,e, g, and h), angst, miscommunication, fluff sprinkled in, they love each other so much it makes me nauseous, fluffy ending
WORD COUNT: 4.1k
🎶 : would that i - hozier
AN: 🩵♥️💗 - god this one was so fun to write- it hurt me, but it was fun. please please please enjoy - and get hype for season four!!
Your laughter radiated off the pale blue walls as your husband, the lovesick fool that he was (his words, not yours) attacked you mercilessly with his kisses. His affection often kept you from starting your day, and this morning was no exception. “Anthony-”
“Yes?”
“We must-” Your breath hitched when his horribly handsome eyes met yours. “We must go downstairs. Your family-”
“Our family.” His lips caressed your skin as he whispered. “You are my wife. They are just as much your family as mine.”
“Fine.” You shook your head endearingly. “Our family-” He hummed. “Will be hungry. We should break fast.”
“They can wait and allow me a moment to admire the stunning woman before me.”
“Anthony-” You giggled. “You must contain yourself, or we shall never leave this bed.”
He smirked, looking up from your clavicle, a horribly mischievous look in his eye. “Would that be so terrible?”
You gasped, shoving him away and making your escape. Anthony couldn’t help but admire you as you pulled the duvet off the bed and wrapped yourself with it. Propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes filled with tenderness at the sight. He couldn’t help but adore how you made such a plain blanket look beautiful, an outfit made for a queen.
Donning your dressing gown and slippers behind your folding screen, you waltzed out from behind it, curtsying extravagantly to the man who still lay on your shared bed. “I shall see you downstairs, my lord.”
“Yes, yes.” He groaned, falling against the mattress, a lingering smile still etched on his lips.
Your dressing room laid in your chambers, on the other side of the estate that you were supposed to be residing in. Your mother, the stickler for tradition that she was, was positively shocked when you told her you had no intention of staying in any room that your husband did not also reside in.
A love match was the best way to describe you and Anthony, because that is what it was. You had grown up around each other, had always known each other, and one day, when your eyes caught from across the ball room, you realized that perhaps you wanted to know him.
The rest of your sordid love affair was history.
You smiled kindly at the footman who opened your door, skirting past him to sit down in front of your vanity. “Good morning, Emma.”
“Good morning, my lady.” Your lady’s maid smiled. “What shall I do today?”
“Something simple ple-” Your stomach lurched, and Emma frowned. “I-”
“My lady? Is something amiss?”
“I do not-” The lurch soon grew to a low grumble, your hands growing sweaty as realization fell over you. “I- I need to-” Emma’s hands hooked under your arms, helping you out of your chair and ushering you to the chamber pot as you prepared for the inevitable. Bile rose into your throat, and your eyes squeezed shut, waiting for it to cease.
“It is alright, my lady.” Emma held your hair back, rubbing a comforting hand on your back.
You sat back, breathing hard. “I- I do not know what came over me.”
“You must have eaten something that disagreed with you.”
“Perhaps.” Your heart skipped, hand falling down to your stomach. “But I have not eaten today.”
“Then perhaps you have-”
“Emma.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I have not had my course in some time.”
“Oh, my lady.” Emma grinned. “That would be wonderful, truly wonderful.”
“Yes.” You nodded, suddenly feeling nauseous all over again at the mere thought. “Quite wonderful.”
You took a deep breath, hands clenching your gown in an effort to calm yourself before you rounded the corner, walking into the dining room. Your husband, seated at the head of the table, ceased talking to his brother, grinning brightly. “How good of you to join us, darling.”
You smiled lightly, sitting to his right, across from Benedict. “It takes effort to look like this, my dear husband.”
“You look just as beautiful as you did when you woke, I assure you.” Anthony’s words had a horrible effect on you. His warm smile and his handsome eyes combined with his compliments were enough to reduce you to mush.
“If you say so.” The food before you, which normally made your mouth salivate, now made your stomach twist with distaste. You hand clenched once more. Anthony placed a cup of tea before you, no doubt made just the way you liked it.
“You look as if you’re going to be sick.” Your husband murmured, reaching out to hold your clenched fist.
Benedict, who had the hearing of an owl, scoffed. “One second, you compliment her, the next you insult her. You are quite the juxtaposition, brother.”
Hyacinth laughed, leaning forward in her seat. “I must confess, brother, I am quite confused. You say that you are a gentleman, and then you proceed to call your wife ghastly.” She frowned. “It is quite rude.”
Anthony huffed. “I never said-”
“I must agree with Hyacinth, however much it pains me to do so.” Gregory smirked. “That is a rather ungentlemanly thing to-”
“Shut it, all of you.” The viscount hissed. “My love?”
His touch brought you back to life, the nausea subsiding as he rubbed your now relaxed hand. “I am fine.”
“Are you quite sure-”
“Anthony.” You smiled. “Believe me when I say that it is nothing.”
“They’re despicable.” Anthony shook his head at his siblings. “Little hellions, the lot of them.”
You simply nodded, taking a small sip of your tea.
“Let us be glad then, that it is just us.” He squeezed your hand reassuringly. The action was nice, the statement however, caused anxiety to roll over you in waves, your mind going to dangerous places. Anthony had not wanted children right away, of course he hadn’t. Now here you were, most likely with child, about to ruin his peace.
It was then that you decided you would not tell your husband the news just yet. He already had so much to tend to, why add another issue to the docket?
The rest of the week had been notably uneventful, leaving you to spend your time worrying about Anthony’s reaction. Emma, in her wisdom, had called a doctor for you, reassuring you that he was very discreet.
And so there you waited, grateful that Anthony had been out on business. He would lose his head if he saw a doctor in his home, his mind instantly going to horrible places. If he were to learn that the doctor was there to see his wife, who knew what he would do?
It was not worth telling him on the small chance that you were in fact with child. Then, not only would you worry him, you would also disappoint him in one fell swoop. “My lady-” Emma’s voice rang out from the hall. “He is here. Shall I send him in?”
“Yes, please.” You straightened your posture, trying to calm your thoughts while you braced yourself for news. Whether that would be good or bad news was yet to be determined.
“It is wonderful news, my lady.” The doctor smiled.
You gulped, your voice weak as you spoke. “Wonderful?”
“Yes, my lady.” He stood, dusting off his coat. “You are with child.”
“Ah.” You nodded slowly, taking it all in. “How wonderful.”
Emma stepped forward, walking the doctor toward the door. “My lady thanks you for your assistance, sir.”
“Of course, anything for the Bridgertons.”
God help you. It seemed as if time itself stood still as you sat there, pondering your future. You were with child, Anthony’s child.
“My love!”
Your eyes widened, standing quickly. “Anthony.”
“Is something amiss?” He tilted his head, and you tried your best to play ignorant.
“Not at all.”
“Ah.” Anthony opted not to tell you he had seen the doctor leave the house just as he had arrived. “How was your day?”
“Wonderful.” The word had lost its meaning to you now, its repetition dulling its desired effect. “It was wonderful.”
You hadn’t meant to avoid him. Initially, that is.
Really, it had come naturally, given your far-off state. You’d accidentally sat just far enough away from him that he could not touch you, hold you, or slip his arm through yours. Then, you’d realize that if you kept it up, he would not find out about the child, and you would have more time to plan the announcement.
Anthony had noticed your cold shoulder almost immediately. Of course he had, there was nary a moment the two of you were not attached in some manner. When you attended balls, he was either holding your arm or the fabric of your dress. When you were with the family, playing games or simply enjoying each other’s company, he was either whispering sweet nothings in your ear or placing his arm around your waist.
Today, however, you sat at such a distance that if he had tried his normal behavior, it would have looked odd and highly awkward.
So of course he had noticed.
The family, however, was oblivious to the separation of the couple.
He’d tried to reach out, smiling ever so sweetly. Your eyes had simply flitted over, so quickly dismissed he’d hardly even realized.
Then you’d gone to dinner, and you’d sat beside him, but you had not reached out for him, you had not laughed at any of his quips, and you had not looked at him, truly looked at him, the way that made his heart sore with adoration.
He tried to reason with himself that perhaps you were in a sour mood, that you felt unwell.
Then the family decided to play a game, and you paired with his mother. That was the final straw. Not once in the entirety of your courtship, engagement, or marriage had you and his mother paired together for a game. Heavens, you’d even partnered with Eloise and Benedict on occasion, but never the dowager Viscountess.
And so, as he miserably watched you from afar, he decided he had to ask what it was he had done to make you pull away in such a manner.
You’d gotten ready for bed in silence, neither of you willing to break the peace, if you could call it that. Anthony sat against the headstand, watching you closely as if that would somehow show him the answer, and you sat in front of your vanity, brushing your hair to distract from the inevitable.
“May I ask what has happened?”
Your heart skipped, setting the brush down gently. The brush, you remembered, had been a gift from Anthony. One of many during your courtship. “What are you on about?”
“You know what I mean.”
You scoffed, pushing out of your chair to face him. “Well, it would seem that I haven’t the faintest-”
“You have been distant. Do not try to deny it.” He crossed his arms, and while his face might have been stern, his eyes were anything but. They were desperate for answers, desperate to put an end to this so you could both return to how it had been, how it should be. “Why?” His voice broke.
“Anthony-”
“What have I done, truly?” He stood, walking toward you slowly as if you were a wild animal, skittish and afraid of being backed into a corner. In a way, you were. “Tell me, my love, and I swear to you, I will fix it.”
“My lord-”
He felt as if he was floating, outside of his body, unable to avoid the disaster before it erupted. Unable to understand you for the first time. “Please, do not call me that.” He begged, hands now reaching out for yours. You had never in the entirety of your time together, called him that without a teasing smile on your lips.
You stepped back, eyes to the ground. “I wish to-” A small sliver of hope grew in his chest. “I believe that I would like to sleep in my chambers tonight.”
“You believe?”
“Yes.”
“But these are your chambers.”
You shook your head. “My chambers, my lord. On the east wing.”
He had to have been in a nightmare, fully pinching himself as if that would bring him out of it. It did not, making him all the more horrified. “I-” He realized, as he stared at you with heartbreak etched on his face, that there would be no solving this tonight, no understanding it while you were in this state. While he was in this state. “If that is what you wish.”
You hadn’t even addressed him, stalking toward the door and slamming it behind you.
It was a perfect day, the sky void of clouds as far as the eye could see, the slight breeze causing the flowers to rustle lightly. Their perfume danced through the air, and you couldn’t help but let out a content sigh, leaning your head back to bask in the sun. “I could sit and lounge here for hours.”
“Yes.” Violet smiled, humming as she embroidered yet another handkerchief for you. “The gardens have always offered me comfort. I am glad to see you have followed suit.”
“Did you spend much time out here whilst the children were little?”
“Oh yes.” The Dowager Viscountess smiled warmly. “Edmund and I spent much time out here with the eldest, in particular. Anthony and Benedict always managed to dirty their clothes in minutes.”
“He never told me.” You frowned.
“Yes well,” Violet’s voice softened. “He has always had a hard time reliving the past.”
“Speaking of my dear repressed brother-” Eloise looked up from her novel. “Where is he?”
You shrugged, ignoring the jolt of melancholy that shot through your heart. “I do not know.”
“You do not know?” The younger girl shut her book, sitting forward in her seat. “Do you mean to tell me you have no idea of his daily schedule?” You nodded slowly. “Are you two not attached at the hip?”
“Eloise-” Violet let out a warning murmur. “She cannot keep track of your brother’s whereabouts at all times.”
The horrible thing you realized as the two continued to quarrel, was that Eloise was right. Since your argument only four days ago, you and Anthony had yet to have a conversation beyond simple greetings. It brought about a whole other wave of sadness, thinking of how your fear to disappoint him had driven him away, how you had driven him away. Your heart pounded, eyes watering as you clenched your skirts tightly, hoping they would bring you out of your mind.
Eloise groaned, her face animated as she argued. “I am simply asking-”
You stood up quickly, your head light from the sudden movement. “I think I shall go inside.”
“Are you quite well-” Eloise’s voice softened, reaching out as if to steady you.
“I’m fine.” You spat out. “I shall see you both at dinner.”
She watched you walk away with a frown, waiting until you’d turned the corner to question her mother. “Was it something I said?”
“What truly troubles you?”
You jumped, whipping around to face your mother in law. “Violet, forgive me, I hadn’t noticed you.”
“Do not apologize.” She sat beside you, your swings swaying in tandem. “Something is troubling you, and I assume it did not begin with Eloise’s comment.”
“I-”
“You know you can tell me anything.”
“Violet, I-” Your hand instinctively fell to your stomach, rubbing it gently. “I am with child.”
“That is wonderful-”
“Anthony does not want it.” You looked up, Violet’s face now pale. “I know he does not-”
“And how do you know that, my darling?”
“He said so. At breakfast just the other day, he said he was glad that it was just the two of us. And I-” You swallowed. “I agree, but now that I am-” A tear fell down your cheek. “I’m scared that he will not be pleased, and so I have been-” You sobbed into your hands, hiccuping. “I have been pushing him away.”
“Oh my dear girl.” Violet caressed your back gently. “You must tell him.”
“I know.” You nodded, sitting up. “I know I must, but I am horrified by it. Of the thought of telling him the truth. He will- he will be so terribly angry.”
“He will not be angry.” Her voice was still soft, but firm, confident in her son and the way she had raised him. “He loves you, he could never truly be upset with you.”
“But he said-”
“He said that he liked it was just the two of you, I know.” She smiled, pushing a stray hair behind your ear. “My darling girl, he will be elated when he learns of this precious news.” You nodded, knowing that what Violet said was the truth. “I understand the hesitancy, and you must know that I will support you, whatever you decide to do.”
“Thank you-”
“But, you must also know that my son loves you terribly.” She squeezed your hands gently. “And he will be so very excited to learn of the news.”
“My love.” Anthony’s voice, wavering from fear of your avoidance, caused chills to run down your spine. Not just your spine, you lamented, but your arms, your very soul. “You look stunning.”
You smiled kindly, the wall you had so meticulously built crumbling to ash the longer you went about not confessing. “Thank you, Anthony.”
“Anthony, eh?” He smiled, stepping closer so his siblings would not barge their way into your conversation. “I have missed your voice.”
Your smile grew, reaching out to grab his hand. “I have missed-”
“Bridgerton!” Basset’s voice echoed through the entryway. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
Anthony almost looked dejected as he turned to his friend, bowing ever so slightly. “Basset. It’s been too long.”
You curtsied, hugging your sister in law tightly. “Daphne, you look well.”
“I am well.” Daphne’s smile illuminated the whole of Grosvenor Square as her hand drifted down to her stomach. “Very well, indeed.”
Your eyes widened, and you couldn’t help but wish and celebrate along with her. “Are you quite sure?”
“Very.” The Duchess leaned into her husband’s side. “I do hope it is a boy.”
“As long as the babe is healthy, I do mind what it is.” Basset looked down at Daphne like she was the center of his universe, like there was no one else. “You are glowing, my darling.”
Anthony’s hand to reach out and hold your hand in his. “Congratulations, sister.” Your eyes drifted over, taking in his expression, happy, but almost empty. Like something was missing, and you couldn’t help but think that perhaps he would benefit from learning the news of his own wife being pregnant with his first child.
You slipped your arm through his, leading the way to the dining room. “Anthony.”
“Yes, my darling?”
You swallowed, willing yourself to be brave. “There is something that I wish to-”
“Sister!” The dining room burst into utter chaos, all the siblings jumping out of their seats to hug Daphne and the Duke.
“Perhaps-” You frowned. “Perhaps another time then.”
Anthony frowned along with you, an uneasy sort of knot twisting tight in his stomach. “Another time.”
The carriage ride was smooth, the car itself silent as you and your husband waited to arrive at the Hastings Ball. Daphne and Simon, while attending dinner just three nights ago, announced that they were hosting a ball to not only declare the imminent arrival of their third child but also to celebrate a last hurrah before they retreated to the country for some respite. Very last minute, but they knew their estate would still be filled to the brim with the eager-minded mamas and their ever more eager-minded daughters.
You had decided that tonight would be the night you confessed the truth to Anthony, the night you would finally conquer your fear of him being less than enthused. If he reacted the way you had had nightmares about, at least you would have a good support system in his family.
But, you told yourself as you admired his handsome face, you knew that would not be the case. “Anthony?”
“Yes?” His voice was tight, strained.
“I must tell you something rather delicate-”
“Stop.” He stared at the ground. “Please don’t.”
Your heart stopped. “Sorry?”
“I know.”
You raised a tentative brow. “You do.”
“I had a suspicion.”
“Ah.” You nodded slowly. “What gave it away?”
“Well,” He dared to look up from the floor of the carriage car, eyes full of fear, of heartbreak. You were entirely confused as you watched his hands tremble. “It began when you confined yourself to the opposite side of the estate.”
“Yes.” You nodded slowly. “I am sorry about that-”
“May I ask you one thing?”
“Anything.” You muttered much too fast. “Anything at all, you know that.”
“How long?” His voice broke as he stared into your very being. “How long have you been in love with another man?”
“What?” Your voice grew an octave higher. “I’m sorry?”
“I swear to you-” You had never seen the man you loved become such a shell of himself. “I will not be angry. I am difficult to deal with, I know. If you-” His eyes began to water as he fell to his knees in front of you, as if he were begging for you to stay. “If you have fallen out of love with me, it is alright-”
“Stop talking this instant.” You gasped. “Anthony Bridgerton, I am not-”
“I still love you.” He cried out, on the verge of tears. “I love you desperately, you are all I breathe for, all I live for. I fear I cannot let you go, cannot let you leave. I will-” Your breath stopped as he straightened his posture, his lips just below yours. “I will fight for you to stay with all I have. And soon-”
“Anthony, I am with child.” You slapped a hand over your mouth, shocked at the sudden nature in which you’d confessed the happy news. “I am with your child.” He was horribly still, eyes wide. You took your hand away from your mouth, caressing his cheek gently. “Are you quite alright?”
In an instant, he leaped forward, pinning you against the wall of the carriage. You gasped, moaning into his kiss, your body melting in his touch. “Anthony-”
“How long?” He’d been peppering your entire face with kisses when he’d asked. “How long have you known?”
“Only two weeks.” You replied in between his attacks of passionate, breath stealing, kisses. “But I am almost three months along.”
“Three months?” He grinned. “This is wonderful, simply wonderful.”
“You are pleased, then?” You whispered. “I so hoped you would be-”
“How could I not?” He pulled away, and you found yourself almost following after him. He was grinning, eyes now bright. “The love of my life is pregnant with our first child. I am overjoyed, truly.”
“I am glad.” His hands loosened their grip on your wrists. “I am so sorry, Anthony.”
“Is this the reason, then?” He almost laughed. “Is this why you have been avoiding me as of late?”
You felt so foolish, twiddling your thumbs to distract from the shame. “It is.”
“My darling girl-” He held your hands tightly in his, leaning his forehead against yours. “Please do not ever think that I would be disappointed by this news. I can’t bear to think that you thought I would be displeased.”
“Anthony-” You couldn’t help but sob. “I have been so inconceivably horrible to you.”
“No-” He shook his head. “Do not say that-”
“I have.” You continued on, fighting the urge to fall into his hold. “Anthony, you must know that I was so scared. So terribly scared.”
“Do you know-” He kissed your lips so gently you’d hardly felt it. “Do you truly know how maddening it has been not to touch you?” Another soft kiss, this time, on the corner of your mouth. “To kiss you, to hold you, and admire you for hours and hours on end?”
“Anthony-”
“My beautiful, beautiful girl-” His hands drifted up, cupping your face in his hands. “I love you desperately, and I cannot wait for this child.”
“I love you too.” You sobbed. “It hurt me to be away from you.”
“It hurt me much more, my darling.” He laughed. “I do not think my heart could take it, being apart from you.”
“I promise I will never do this again.” You whispered, leaning forward so your lips grazed against his as you spoke. “I shall never ever-”
“You will not be able to.” He whispered back. “Because I will not let you go.”
Summary⋆.𐙚 ̊<The one where you and Neteyam grew up impossibly close to eachother, but as you reach adulthood you drift apart that is until things go horribly, terribly wrong. And neteyam has to draw you back to where you belong.>
Warnings⋆.𐙚 ̊<size difference, choking, dom/sub, rough, gaslight, manipulation, stalking, oral fem!receiving, squirting, sir kink,fingering, degradation, fear kink, corruption>
Neteyam did not remember a time when she did not exist.
His earliest memories were not of bows or blood or the weight of a spear in his hands—they were of a small, soft presence always just behind him, fingers clutching the woven band at his wrist as she tried to keep up with his longer strides.
She was always there.
Their families kelku stood close together, the shells angled along the trees. The Sullys’ home and hers were joined by a long lasting respect, love and trust from Neytiri's bestfriend. A trust that had been passed down into her daughter and through Neytiri's eldest son-Neteyam.
Every morning, without fail, Neteyam and Jake would make their way over to the neighbouring hut and knock three times.
Jake’s voice followed, deep and warm as usual.
“Can we steal our doll today?”
And every time, her parents laughed.
She would peek out first, with her big eyes, soft smile, and her hair never quite tied back right.
Jake had called her doll from the moment she could walk. Not because she was fragile—though she was—but because she had that comfort about her.
The same comfort that little girls put into their toys.
That was found in her.
The kind that made even the great omatikaya warriors lower their voices around her.
Neytiri loved her as her own. She was the closest thing to a neice that she had-though not by blood, she would do anything to protect her bestfriend's daughter and they would do anything to protect her children. She braided her hair with reverence, painted her markings with gentle hands, scolded the boys if they played too roughly around her.
And Neteyam—
Neteyam watched.
Always watched.
They played at the waterfall together even then. Lo’ak splashed farther out than he should have, whooping when the cascading water knocked him sideways, convinced he was invincible even then, erupting laughter out of all the kids as he scoffed in embarrassment. Kiri drifted along the water, pausing often to watch the leaves shuffle on the trees.
Spider lingered nearby, pretending he wasn’t paying attention, skipping stones and glancing up every few seconds just to make sure everyone was still there.
She stayed closer to Neteyam.
It was better that way, if she stayed near him he wouldn't go complaining to his parents that she went to far into the water, Lo'ak wouldn't get overly excited and accidentally hurt her, kiri wouldn't try to teach her to hold her breath for a whole minute resulting in a near drowning situation.
She was happy this way, she laughed when the water lapped at her calves as a result of Lo’ak’s franctic splashing, reaching for his hand when a fish surprised her, and he let her hold on without comment. Sometimes she tugged him toward the rocks to show him water flowers she liked. Sometimes she followed him without thinking, matching her steps to his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Neteyam slowed for her without her ever realising it.
Lo’ak teased her, endlessly. He poked at her reactions, stole her things, laughed when she would pout and go stomping to Jake and Neytiri.
But he would throw punches for her without thinking.
Kiri adored her softness for it reminded her of the way of Eywa and she often dragged her into meadows to talk about Eywa and spirits.
Spider treated her like she was made of glass. Always offering her things, and always watching Neteyam carefully when he stood too close to make sure he didn't trigger a reaction.
Smart boy.
She was not like the other Na’vi girls. They climbed higher, ran faster, laughed louder. They were edged and fearless, born knowing Pandora would either make you strong or swallow you whole.
She was soft.
Her laughter was quiet. She flinched at sudden sounds. She asked too many questions and trusted the answers too easily.
Pandora loved to eat girls like her.
Neteyam learned that early.
So he taught her fear.
Not in a brutal way.
Just enough to keep her safe.
He would crouch beside her even when they would still young to warn her about the consequences of not listening.
“You must never wander too far” he would say. “There are things waiting for something like you.”
Her eyes would widen. She would nod fast and grip his arm in fear when he would purposefully step on a branch-pretending that it came from the bushes.
When they grew older, when his training intensified and his body hardened, so did his mind. He became mature and brave. He became even more of a protector than he was before. She stayed the same. Taller, yes. Older. But still gentle and soft spoken.
He became Olo’eyktan-in-waiting. A future leader. A mighty warrior in training. His future was layed out on a silver platter infront of him.
She became something else entirely.
Something that needed guarding.
Jake trusted her parents with his children, and they trusted him with her. That trust wrapped around Neteyam like permission.
He trained hard. Harder than anyone. Because strength meant safety. Because power meant control.
And because one day, he would lead—and she would still be soft.
Still kind.
Still his responsibility.
By the time he was twenty-two and she was eighteen, the world had shifted.
Pandora no longer felt infinite in the way it had when he was a boy, because infinity only exists when you don’t yet understand that everything has a cost, and he understood it now down to the bone.
The forest no longer felt like a playground or magical, he now understood the true dangers of it. The danger being that you never know what lurks in it
Twenty-five.
That was the age etched into him long before he was even born.
That was rhe age that the heir of the Olo’eyktan would take his place if he is ready and deemed worthy.
Jake didn’t need to remind him anymore; the weight of it sat naturally on his shoulders, heavy and familiar, like armor he’d grown into rather than something forced on him.
He accepted it, and he embraced it. And along with that came the change. He rarely laughed anymore for happiness is weakness. He rarely spoke for the more you reveal the more liabilities you make.
He was a mighty warrior. He led the omatikaya hunters. And many of the warriors. He trained the young. He built shelters. He served, he fought and he protected. Like a true Olo'eyktan.
And with that came a mate.
The clan chose his future mate with absolutely no concern for how he felt about it.
Which was odd considering the fact that everything else was chosen for him.
She was strong and had a sharp-tongue, independent to the point where compromise felt like an insult to her pride. She trained hard, fought harder, and carried herself like someone who expected obedience rather than trust, which made sense—because she was built to rule beside someone like him.
On paper, she was perfect.
In reality, she made his jaw tighten every time she spoke like command was something she already owned, every time she pushed instead of balanced. Neteyam was dominant by nature, by training, by instinct, and having someone that relentless at his side didn’t feel powerful—it felt violent.
But the level of submission that he would break her down to-might just strip his title away from him before he even got it.
He knew tha the clan didn’t need two voices clashing for control.
They needed one steady hand on the reins, and another presence that grounded them when fear crept in, someone they could breathe around when grief set in heavy and quiet.
And that presence was not the woman chosen for him.
That presence had never been chosen at all.
When she turned eighteen, the shift was immediate, and honestly unbearable.
She didn’t change who she was—she just grew into herself, and that was the problem. Her body softened and filled out in ways that caught the eye whether Neteyam wanted it to or not, curves settling where there had once been angles, her breasts filling out in a way that was so rare for Na'vi women-but she was never like the other women. She still laughed softly, still trusted too quickly, still felt like Pandora. The Pandora that he once knew.
The magic, the wonder it all flowed back when she was here.
So he pulled away. Because he now had an arranged mate. And he could no longer push how he felt towards her down.
He stopped walking her home, stopped sitting beside her during gatherings, stopped offering quiet guidance or watchful presence, and started choosing distance instead. He spoke less when she was near, avoided eye contact longer than necessary, and left spaces the moment he felt his attention drifting toward her out of habit.
She noticed, obviously.
She always noticed when he was feeling off.
But she didn’t confront him, she didn’t demand answers, she didn’t chase him down for reassurance, which somehow hurt worse than if she had.
For she had also matured and learned the art of choices and respect rather than the art of war and protection.
She too accepted the distance with that same quiet grace she accepted everything with, even though confusion sat behind her eyes-she accepted it.
Neteyam told himself this was discipline, that this was what leadership demanded, that protecting her sometimes meant removing himself from her world entirely—but distance didn’t stop him from watching.
He still tracked her movements through the village without thinking about it, noting when she left, who she walked with, how long she was gone, and whether she came back with the same relaxed posture she left with. He followed her into the forest whenever his duties allowed, staying far enough back that she never sensed him, but close enough that nothing else ever got the chance to.
Most nights, he slept outside her kelku, close enough to hear her breathing through the woven walls. When a predator wandered too close once, drawn by movement or scent, it never made it past the treeline, and she never even knew there had been a threat to begin with.
Pandora was no longer magical to him. But you'd be damned to think he wouldn't let it keep being magical to her.
He made sure of that.
When he noticed even a single drop of loneliness or sadness from her he reacted. He sent one of his most trusted female warriors into her life under the excuse of friendship, easygoing and harmless on the surface, loyal and observant underneath, reporting back quietly and without question.
It was better this way. Neteyam was sure of that, until...the reports came back.
She told herself she understood.
That was the easiest lie to live with, because it sounded reasonable and didn’t demand too many answers from the many questions that she always loved to ask. Neteyam was busy now, busy in the way boys who were becoming men always were, busy with training and patrols and expectations that sat heavier on his shoulders with every passing season. Of course he didn’t have time anymore to wander through the forest with her and his siblings, to stop and pick flowers just because she liked the color, to play in the water of jump from vine to vine in the trees.
Of course he didn’t.
She told herself that growth meant distance, that this was natural, that this was what happened when people stepped into their futures while others stayed where they were.
She told herself that it didn’t hurt because it wasn’t personal, because it couldn’t be personal, because Neteyam had never once been cruel to her.
So she accepted it.
She smiled when she saw him and he looked past her. She stepped aside when he entered a space like she had learned to do instinctively, making room for the weight of who he was becoming. She didn’t ask why he no longer walked her home, why he stopped sitting near her, why his presence lingered everywhere except beside her.
She assumed he was just busy.
That belief lasted right up until the day it didn’t.
The announcement came without warning infront of the whole clan in celebration.
Neteyam and Laïloui were to be mated, their bond chosen for strength and the future of the clan, and everyone around her reacted the way they were supposed to—with approval, pride, excitement.
She felt nothing like that.
What she felt didn’t have a name, because she had never felt it before, not once in her entire life. She had known joy, warmth, safety, and curiosity, but this was different. This was cold, sharp and sudden, like something had reached inside her chest and twisted without asking permission.
Her breath caught, not dramatically, not visibly, but enough that she noticed it and couldn’t make it stop.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t scream.
She just stood there, quiet as always, while the world shifted around her and no one noticed that something essential had slipped out from under her feet.
That was when everything changed.
It was when she realised that he wasn't busy. And it wasn't an excuse.
Without Neteyam’s presence hovering quietly at her side, without the unspoken understanding that she belonged with the Sully's.
The village stopped making room for her. Conversations closed when she approached. Laughter softened, then stopped.
She was too soft.
Too quiet.
Too unnecessary.
The friend groups she had always drifted within shut her out, leaving her outside without ever saying she wasn’t welcome anymore. She was left out of gatherings, not given anything to eat during shared meals, criticized for things that had never been faults before. Her kindness was mistaken for weakness. Her silence was interpreted as something worth mocking.
And she took it.
Because she always did.
She woke up every morning with a heavy strain in her chest, the kind that made it feel like breathing required effort instead of instinct, and she carried that weight with her throughout the day like it was just another part of her now. She went to sleep with the same pressure still there, curling around her heart.
She too stopped laughing.
She too stopped talking.
For she had no one to make her laugh. And she had no one to talk to.
Her chosen family had moved on without her.
Neytiri was always busy now, tending to Laïloui with the same care she had once given her, braiding her hair with reverent fingers, smoothing her markings, offering gentle praise that used to make her chest feel warm and full. Jake spent his days training Neteyam, teaching him leadership and strategy and all the things that pulled him farther and farther away. Lo’ak chased his brother’s footsteps relentlessly, desperate to prove himself, while Kiri wandered deeper into Eywa’s pull, searching for her purpose.
And she was still there.
She didn’t blame them. That was the worst part. She understood why they were busy, why their lives were full, why there wasn’t room for her softness anymore in a world that demanded strength.
Understanding didn’t make it hurt less—it just made the pain quieter, therefore heavier.
She remained gentle.
Remained kind.
Remained alone.
And some nights, when the weight in her chest pressed too hard to ignore, she wondered if this was what it felt like to lose something you were never destined to in the first place.
By the time the morning came, she had already come to the realisation that she was no welcome here.
Not in a dramatic way, but in the same way she had learned to accept everything else that hurt her—by letting the truth settle into her bones until it stopped fighting back. The clan was awake around her in small, distant sounds, the soft crackle of dying embers and the faint rustle of early movement, but no one was awake for her, and she realized with a dull ache that no one ever really was anymore.
So she moved carefully.
She gathered her things slowly, folding what little she owned with gentle hands as if the objects themselves might break if she rushed, packing only what she could carry without strain, because she had learned long ago not to ask for help that wouldn’t come. She left behind anything that tied her too tightly to this place—small gifts, old trinkets, things that smelled like familiarity—because she knew if she took them, she might never make it past the treeline.
She didn’t look toward the Sullys’ home.
She couldn’t.
If she did, she knew she’d hesitate, and hesitation had never saved her before.
Her father’s absence still lingered like a wound that never closed properly, his death still too recent, still too raw, and her sweet mother lay sick at the loss of her mate.
She had watched Eywa take pieces of her life one by one, she had started to believe that maybe she was cursed, that maybe the world simply wasn’t meant to keep her for very long.
It would only be a matter of time before her mother was taken too.
And then what?
She would be alone anyway.
So she chose to leave on her own terms, before anyone could make it official that she was now truly all alone, before she had to watch the last thread tying her to this place finally snap.
She slipped into the forest just as the sky began to lighten, the familiar paths already feeling foreign beneath her feet.
She walked until her legs ached and her chest burned, until the weight she had been carrying inside her finally spilled over in the form of exhausted tears she didn’t bother to wipe away. No one was there to see them. No one was there to stop her. No one was there at all.
And that, somehow, hurt the most.
She had spent her entire life being soft in a world that valued strength, kind in a place that respected sharp edges, gentle where others learned to harden, and now she understood what that had cost her.
She had been something people loved when it was convenient, when it was easy, when she asked for nothing—but the moment she needed a connection, protection, belonging, she had been quietly set aside.
So she kept walking.
Because staying had started to hurt more than leaving.
And as the village faded behind her, swallowed by trees and distance and indifference, she didn’t look back—not because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much, and if she let herself linger on what she was losing, she knew she would never survive what came next.
She didn’t realize how long she’d been walking until the forest began to change.
Morning had passed in a blur of movement and adrenaline, her body running on the fragile momentum of decision.
By afternoon, the ache had settled in.
Her legs burned and her throat felt tight, not from thirst alone but from the way her chest kept tightening every time she thought she heard something behind her. Still, she didn’t stop.
The forest grew denser as the daylight faded. And for the first time since she’d left, she felt something other than grief take hold.
Fear.
Not the sharp, immediate kind that made you run, but the slow, creeping realization that she had made a mistake she didn’t know how to undo.
By the time night fell, it wrapped around her completely.
The forest after dark was nothing like the place she’d known her whole life, nothing like the gentle paths she’d walked with Neteyam and the others when laughter came easily and danger felt theoretical. At night, the trees loomed taller, the undergrowth thicker, shadows moving where they shouldn’t, and every sound felt amplified, closer than it should be.
She slowed, then stopped entirely, her breath shallow, and her ears straining as the memory hit her all at once.
Never go into the forest at night pumtsyìp
Neteyam’s voice lived in her head like it always had. His voice getting deeper everytime he said it to her as he had over his many years.
He had never raised his voice when he told her this; he never needed to. The seriousness alone had been enough to make her nod, to promise she wouldn’t, and to grip his arm for protection.
And now she was alone.
Truly alone.
She hugged her arms around herself, her fingers digging into her skin like she could hold herself together through sheer will alone, and for the first time since she’d left, regret bloomed heavy and bitter in her chest.
She wished, stupidly, desperately, that he were there.
Not the future Olo’eyktan, not the warrior everyone admired, not the man who had learned to look past her like she didn’t exist anymore, but the boy who used to slow his steps so she could keep up, the one who had taught her fear so she would survive, the one who had always been there when the forest felt too big.
The night answered her thoughts with another sound—closer this time—and her body reacted before her mind did, heart racing, breath catching painfully as she realized just how exposed she was. She had no fire, no shelter, no plan beyond the one foot she kept forcing in front of the other, and the forest did not care about her heartbreak or her softness or the fact that she had nowhere else to go.
She sank down at the base of a tree eventually, exhaustion winning out over fear just enough to make her legs give, pressing her back against the bark as she curled in on herself, trying to make herself smaller.
Neteyam had been right.
About all of it.
And somewhere deep in the forest, there was something that was waiting to pluck up a little thing like her.
The sounds of claws and wild yips echo through the greenery, causing her to push herself impossibly closer to the tree as a lone tear left her eye.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Based on the fact that he knows this forest back to back, Neteyam knows it must be a small pack of grody grueller's. And he decides that it's best to have her scared than hurt.
Neteyam lowers himself down slowly, his muscular arms flexing with the movement. A large hand grabbing her by the back of her neck.
“What did I say.” Neteyam murmurs, his voice low and gravelly as he draws it out from his chest.
She gasps, her breath stuttering violently as recognition slams into her, and when he eases his hand away just enough for her to breathe, she twists around so fast she nearly trips over herself. Her eyes find him immediately, blown wide and shining in the dim bioluminescent light, and for one humiliating, overwhelming moment, all she can do is stare at him like he’s something unreal.
“Teyam—” His name breaks in her throat,
and before she can stop herself she takes a step toward him, hands lifting like she needs to confirm he’s actually there.
His gaze flicks over her, sharp and assessing, taking in the few scrapes on her, the dirt streaking her calves, the way she’s shaking so hard from the cold that she can’t hide it, and his jaw tightens in a way she recognizes immediately.
He straightens slowly, his presence filling the space between them until she feels small without him even trying.
“Where were you going” he asks, his tone calm but she knew better based on the way it rumbled out of him.
Her mouth opens, then closes again as another sound carries through the trees, the unmistakable purr of the grody grueller's echoing closely, causing her fingers to instinctively curl into the fabric at his side.
“Mawey” he says quietly.
“I just thought—I thought no one would noti—” She blurts out in a whisper. Cutting herself off when shame came crashing down hard enough to make her stomach twist, and she swallows thickly before whispering, “How did you even find me?”
“I didn’t,” he says simply.
Before she can ask what he means a grody grueller prawls out of one of the nearby bushes, and instinct finally kicks in fully as she scrambles back a step, but she doesn’t get far before Neteyam’s hand firmly snaps around her, pulling her back into his space with ease.
The bushes shift again, and this time she freezes completely, her nails digging uselessly into his arm before she abandons the effort altogether and moves behind him instead, pressing herself against his back like instinct alone knows where she’s safest.
“Remember when Lo'ak came home, scrapped up by one,” he continues, humming as if amused by the memory.
She’s shaking uncontrollably now, her face pressed into his mid back, breath hitching as the sounds grow louder.
You disobeyed his words and ran into the woods and now you need to remember why you must depend on Neteyam for everything, even after all these months. Why you owe him your submission.
"You think you would fight them better than Lo’ak?" he asks as a shape slips through the brush ahead, then another, and she lets out a broken sound she doesn’t even recognize as her own.
“Neteyam,” she whimpers, fingers clutching desperately at his waist. “Please.”
“What is it, pumtsyìp,” he asks softly, not turning around. “you looked like you wanted to relocate”
A vicious snarl erupts from the side and she stumbles hard, barely managing to keep her feet as she presses herself against him again, her quiet scream muffled against his back.
He exhales slowly, as he tsks.
He coos at your little pleas. “Have you come back to reality, hm?”
You nod frantically as you whimper out your response through pushing down a dob. “Yes”
They circle you with hunger in their eyes now, stepping closer.
Neteyam knows that a sudden motion from him-a mighty hunter that they have come to recognise would be enough to scare them off.
But you didn't have to know that.
“Oh but you didn’t listen to me”
“I didn’t,” you sob, “I’m sorry!”
"Are you?”
He catches your fragile chin firmly forcing you to look up at him, and whatever expression crosses his face causes your tears to finally fall from your eyes as a pout settles on your lips "I'm sorry" you sob.
It is so satisfying to him to watch your natural submission after so long. It reminds him of when Lo'ak would tease you and you would come crying to him even as a child, and even now. You still come crying to him.
“Mawey, pumtsyìp. Your Teyam is here, here aren’t I?” No response is given, instead just a gasp as another creature inches closer and you dash into his arms. This time he wraps one arm around your small frame.
He lets out a low, warning hiss that cuts clean through the night causing the pack to whine then scatter off into the woods.
Your pleas echo through the air, begging him to protect you. He simply shushes you, making no rush as a large arm tightens to pull you even closer. And Neteyam basks in the moment, a weight shifting off of his chest as he realises that you still long for and need his protection.
Maybe if you listened to him like a good pumtsyìp then you would already know that he has always protected you-thus why he followed you here. Just like he follows and watches you in many places. He would defend you to his very last breath-and you would never have to ask for it, it would make no difference.
However, you’ve always had the most addictive way of begging so why would he ever stop such a pretty sound.
Neteyam lifts you into his arms and you let him, the familiar motion calming all your nerves.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
He so desperately want to to finally corrupt you tonight, but he still kept in mind that you didn't understand sexual acts. But that just fueled his desire even more. Though a part of him wonders if you still blindly trust him like you used you-a part of him knew that your curiosity outweighs your fear.
He needed you to find comfort and protection in him again. And though he admits that he fucked up by ignoring you these past few months-he has also come to realise that he has sacrificed everything he is to become Olo'eyktan. He has surrendered everything and allowed the clan to take and chose everything for him. But you-you were the one thing that he would give up his title for.
And he would be damned if you thought otherwise, so tonight he would make it up to you.
And you would understand that you are his to protect.
He wanted you to have something that would constantly remind you that you need him. Wether is was a swollen belly, a leaking little pussy so full of him cum that it drips out of you pretty little hole, or his scent marked on you.
He would get it through your pretty little head that you are not safe without him.
Now that he has brought you to his kelku (house), he moves your body to his preference, making you straddle him.
The dominance of his action casuing a blush to run across your cheeks as you nibble on your lips, keeping your eyes down to pick at your hands.
His large hands caressing your body so calmly that it has you cooeing at the motion.
“You do understand why you must always come to me. Don’t you pumtsyìp?” keeping his voice low, as his eyes follow the goosebumps on your arms.
His finger tips trail to the back of your neck, his large hand pulling your hair into his grasp, exposing your delicate neck to him.
“I thought you were smarter than that.” His other hand cradles your face, large enough to span the entirety of your head and tilt it upwards. It gives him the perfect view of your expression when both hands smooth up towards your hairline before parting and dragging along your scalp. Lips parted and eyes fluttered closed, he knows he has pressed the right button, pulling a mewl out of you.
"I-I am Teyam" you whispered, you face leaning into his touch.
"Then you would know that a pretty little thing like you should never be in the forest without me"
“So many things waiting to take you away.” he gravelled out, tugging your hair at the scalp, pulling a whiper out of you.
He always knew you were too innocent for this world. And submitting to him for atleast a comforting hug from him, proved him right.
“Away from me” His low voice vibrates through you, opening your eyes to find his lips mere centimeters away from your own.
And just as you lean in, his grip on your hair tightens, keeping you in place.
“You wouldn't want that to ever happen” he ensures, “for you to be taken away from me” He continues, rolling his long tongue out to lick up the side of your face, tasting your dried tears with satisfaction.
“Isn’t that right?”
“Yes Teyam.” You answered, with the smallest whisper as you try to learn forward for more. He tutts in disapproval, shaking your head with hjs grip in your hair. “Y-yes sir.” You correct yourself and like bleeding infront of a shark, the intoxicating scent between your thighs reaches his nose once more. He’s tempted to look now and see if it has left a spot on his loincloth.
And he was so so delighted to see that you still give him the authority that him and lo'ak give to his father. You always made him felt like more than he is. You gave him respect long before he was near the title of Olo'eyktan.
“There’s ma good girl.” He purrs.
His lips hovered near her ear, his breath scalding against her skin.
"You didn’t think I had truly abandoned you, did you?"
She let out a small exhale as she tilts her head down, remembering how betrayed and confused she felt.
"You...left me"
"I never left you pumtsyìp. I was with you every day. They gave me a mate before I could chose the one I wanted. I was waiting for the right time but I'm done waiting now."
"...I wish you and Laïloui all the best" she whispers as she lifts her leg to get off of him, only to have him grip her thigh and plant it back down.
"Laïloui is not the one I want."
"But-"
"Laïloui is no longer here"
Her eyebrows furrowed as she took in his words.
"I needed time to get rid of her, Mawey. That is the only reason I stopped talking to you"
"Rid of her?" She draws out slowly trying to understand what he means by that.
Neteyam tilts his head to the side in satisfaction at the memory of him shoving Laïloui off the cliff right before binding their kuru. It was a wonderful plan really-the Sully family would break their attachment to you so that Laïloui wouldn't retaliate. To keep her in an illusion that they cared for her. To make her trust them. And to draw her attention away from the one that they truly do care about-you. The clan had already chosen Laïloui before Neteyam had gotten the chance to ask you to be his mate-he had been planning it since he was 18 but Jake ensured him that it was best to wait until he was older and the title of Olo'eyktan was in arms reach. So as a result of guilt for ruining his son's lifelong plan. The sullys joined together to help craft this plan. And thus resulting in Laïloui's "disappearance". And with Neteyam’s assertance of dominance by going against the clan's orders and mating with you-that would be the final act of preparation and he would at last be given the title of Olo'eyktan.
He just needed Laïloui out of his way for good. And he needed you to not be seen as a threat in the meantime to keep you safe.
"Don’t worry your little head about that pumtsyìp."
"You should go be with your chosen then Net-"
"I already am."
She barely processed his words before his teeth grazed her earlobe, biting down on it before bringing it into his mouth to suckle on.
“You don’t get to decide my future for me.”
That did it.
Neteyam went still.
And Eywa knows that was worse than anything he could've said.
His grip tightened in her hair, tugging at it to force her face up to meet his eyes. He leaned back just enough to look at her properly, his golden eyes darkening, as his jaw tightened.
“Say that again,” he said quietly.
She hesitated. “Netey—”
“I said,” he cut in, his voice growing impossibly deeper, “say it again.”
Her heart thudded painfully. “You don’t get to decide my future.” She replied meekly, casting her eyes down as shyness crept over her body.
A slow breath through his nose.
Then a low, humorless laugh.
“Decide?” he echoed. “No, pumtsyìp. I don't need to decide anything. I just need to remind you.”
He leaned in, foreheads touching, voice dropping into her mind like poison wrapped in honey.
“Who was there when you were alone.”
“Who taught you how to walk these forests, how to hunt, how to climb trees, how to swim.”
“Who made sure no one touched you, no one claimed you, no one took what was always meant to be mine.”
Her lips parted. “You don’t know wh—”
“I know everything,” he snapped, suddenly fierce, eyes blazing. “I know every man who looked at you too long. Every whisper behind your back. Every risk that vanished before it ever reached you.”
Her pulse spiked. “But you ignored me.”
His hand slid up, fingers curling under her chin—not forcing, just guiding until she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“Yes,” he admitted without shame. “I had to Mawey. But not for one second did I want to. I had chosen you long ago...but I just wanted to be worthy enough for you to chose me too...I was waiting for my title. But the clan chose before I could. And I had to let Laïloui think I chose her to keep you safe. Because the moment the she realized how much I wanted you—how much I need you—I would have gotten rid of her in public.”
His voice lowered, as he cradled her small face in his large palm.
“And now I’m Olo’eyktan,” he said. “No one can tell me no.”
Her breath hitched. “You’re scaring me.”
Good.
His lips curved into a smirk as he squeezed her cheeks together.
"I need you to help me get my title Mawey. I need a mate. And I will not chose one that is not you. The future of our clan rests in your hands."
“I said you’re scaring me net-"
“You’re scared because no matter how much you fight it,” he whispered, “you were never going to be anyone else’s.”
Elaila let out a soft, involuntary sound, her fingers clutching at the fabric of his robe as his mouth found her ear again.
"Such pretty sounds."
His hands explored further, mapping every curve of her body as he tilted her head back with a firm tug to her hair, exposing the fragile line of her throat.
"You'll chose me right?" he murmured, leaving open-mouthed kisses to her throat, the sloppy sounds of the action filling the chamber as he smacked his lips against the skin there before letting his spit drool down her neck just to slurp it up again. "For the sake of your Olo'eyktan."
She barely had time to catch her breath before his teeth sank into her skin to place a claiming bite.
She gasped, her fingers digging into his chest, but he didn’t relent. His tongue flicked over the mark, soothing, then biting again, harder.
"You taste divine," he rasped against her throat.
"May you please move your knife," she replies as she wiggles slightly in her attempt to sit straighter. The movement presses her body further against me
"Fuck" he whisper under his breath. "Not a knife,"
"Oh? Then what is it?"
"Keep squirming and you'll find out"
The hand on her face tilted her head slightly, guiding her gaze to his.
When his lips finally met hers, it was soft at first, but that quickly changed as each kiss became deeper and wetter.
His lips moved against hers with a desperate hunger as a low, growl of satisfaction rumbled in his throat.
When his tongue brushed against the seam of her lips, she parted for him, and he took it as an invitation, his tongue slipping past to lick up her very essence, as his tongue moved against hers in deliberate strokes, coaxing her to meet him, to match his intensity.
The sound of their kiss filled his kelku, soft and wet, mingling with the faint hitch of her breath and the steady growl that vibrated in his chest. Saliva slicked their lips, adding a slight sheen to the movements, their mouths sliding together with a fervor that bordered on desperation.
He tilted his head to deepen the angle, his teeth grazing her lower lip before sucking it gently, a flick of his tongue soothing the sting. His hand shifted, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling just enough to expose her to him fully. The kiss grew sloppier, more urgent, as though he couldn't get enough, couldn't pull her close enough to satisfy the ache inside him.
Her hands pressed lightly against his chest, a feeble attempt to put space between them, but he only responded by tightening his grip. His fingers tangled deeper in her hair, tilting her head back as his lips chased hers, refusing to let her go.
"More," he murmured, his voice rough, breathless, lips brushing against hers as he spoke. "More."
He pleaded as his hand slid to her waist, fingers pressing into her skin as he pulled her flush against him, swallowing the shaky breath she let out.
When they finally pulled apart, threads of saliva connected their lips, breaking only when he leaned back to look at her, his eyes dark with unrestrained desire. Her lips were swollen, glistening, and he stared at them as though already planning the next kiss.
"I'm scared...and confused" she admitted, her soft voice contrasting against his deep one as she kept her eyes strained to the floor.
His other hand came up, rough fingertips tracing along her soft jaw before tilting her face up to his.
"I know Pumtsyìp...I know" he answered lowly as his large hands that layed on her waist gently swayed her side to side.
"Open for me," he growled against her lips as he dived back into the kiss.
Neteyam pressed himself against her wetness with no pretense of restraint. The hard, unmistakable evidence of his arousal grinding against her core.
“Do you feel that?” he snarled against her lips. “This is what you do to me"
Suddenly, he placed her on the wall next to him and dropped to his knees, but he didn’t just do that, he yanked her thighs apart with brutal force, making her momentarily stumble back to grab the wall.
He pulled her hips forward until she was perched right on the edge of his mouth, her back arching instinctively to keep balance.
The sight of him there, his broad, muscular shoulders between her trembling legs made her breath hitch.
Without hesitation, he bent forward, his mouth descending on the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. His lips latched onto her soft skin, his tongue dragging over the delicate curve before his teeth sank in just enough to leave a mark. The sharp sting made her gasp, her fingers clutching at his shoulders, but he didn’t relent. His mouth moved upward, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses, saliva smearing her skin as he worked his way closer to her center.
"What are you doin-?" She gasped as she tried to gently push him away by his shoulder, which obviously failed...
Once he finally reached there, he bared his teeth and clutched it onto her loincloth, and slowly dragged it down. He took a deep breath as he took in the sight of her wet, dripping pussy, all pure and ready for him to claim.
He latched onto her, his tongue pushed between her folds as he dragged it through her arousal, his face burying into her, making her cry out and gasp. The wet slurp of his mouth filled the air as he devoured her, sucking and licking without restraint. His nose pressed against her, his jaw moving with relentless fervor as his saliva mixed with her arousal, dripping down his face and onto his hands, which were still gripping her thighs like a vice.
"Y-ou can't do that, that's dirty!" She squeeled in potest, only to have his tongue circled her clit in response, alternating between flicking it in quick, teasing strokes and pressing flat, broad strokes that left her trembling. He groaned against her, before shaking his face against her wetness making her hand instinctively shoot out to grip his hair as she took a step back, trying to move away from his overwhelming touches, his jaw was slick with her as he pulled back a string of her juices connected his mouth to her core.
“Stay still,” he growled, pulling back
His hands shifted, sliding down to grab her hips and yank her even closer to his face, making her yelp and grab onto his jaw for balance. One hand slid lower, gripping her ass roughly as the other shoved her leg over his huge shoulder, locking her in place. The angle left her completely open to him, and he took advantage, his tongue plunging into her with a ferocity that made her moans bounce off of the walls.
Neteyam growled in satisfaction "Atta girl", the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through her. His lips wrapped around her sensitive bundle of nerves, his teeth grazing it lightly before his tongue swept over it in fast, messy circles. He sucked hard, his mouth wet and sloppy as he alternated between rough suction and flicking his tongue in maddeningly erratic patterns. Saliva coated her, smeared across her thighs and dripping down to the stone floor as he growled against her.
“Neteyam" she gasped, her hands tangling in his hair, trying to push him away when the pleasure became too much. But he was relentless, snarling against her as he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to her sides with a single hand.
He pulled her closer, pressing his face against her harder, his tongue diving deep as his nose pressed against her swollen bud. The wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth echoed in the kelku, louder with every desperate flick of his tongue and every rough suck of his lips. His free hand slipped lower, two fingers thrusting into her without warning, making her yelp out and whimper as he stretcher her as he worked them in time with his mouth.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding as he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his lips slick and swollen. “Look at me while I make you mine.”
Her big, innocent doe eyes locked with his cold, stoic glare, and the sight sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes were feral, dark and wild with possession, his jaw and braids glistening with her arousal.
"I-I'm going to pee get off"
She gasped as she tried to close her legs.
But Neteyam dragged his tongue darted out to lick his lips, as he held her gaze.
"No you're not."
Then he was on her again, his mouth rougher, sloppier, hungrier than before making her throw her head back in ecstasy as she grinded her hips, sensually rubbing her core against his mouth in desperation.
Not long after, the coil in her belly snapped, her release crashing through her with violent intensity as her cries filled the air. Her legs shook, her body arching, her fingers tugging roughly at his hair as waves of pleasure overwhelmed her, but Neteyam didn’t stop. If anything, her climax only spurred him on, his tongue and fingers working her mercilessly as he coaxed another release from her overstimulated body.
Her second orgasm ripped through her, her thighs clamping around his head, trying to stop him from continuing as she screamed his name. He growled, prying her legs apart with a brutal force, and he didn’t stop until her knees buckled and she was gasping for breath, her body utterly spent and slick with sweat.
When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving, his lips and jaw a glistening mess. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before licking off the essence that trailed on it.
"If you ever try to hide your moans from me again, I'll fuck you by the fire where everyone will hear how good I make you feel,” he growled into her ear.
Summary⋆.𐙚 ̊<The one where you and Neteyam grew up impossibly close to eachother, but as you reach adulthood you drift apart that is until things go horribly, terribly wrong. And neteyam has to draw you back to where you belong.>
Warnings⋆.𐙚 ̊<size difference, choking, dom/sub, rough, gaslight, manipulation, stalking, oral fem!receiving, squirting, sir kink,fingering, degradation, fear kink, corruption>
Neteyam did not remember a time when she did not exist.
His earliest memories were not of bows or blood or the weight of a spear in his hands—they were of a small, soft presence always just behind him, fingers clutching the woven band at his wrist as she tried to keep up with his longer strides.
She was always there.
Their families kelku stood close together, the shells angled along the trees. The Sullys’ home and hers were joined by a long lasting respect, love and trust from Neytiri's bestfriend. A trust that had been passed down into her daughter and through Neytiri's eldest son-Neteyam.
Every morning, without fail, Neteyam and Jake would make their way over to the neighbouring hut and knock three times.
Jake’s voice followed, deep and warm as usual.
“Can we steal our doll today?”
And every time, her parents laughed.
She would peek out first, with her big eyes, soft smile, and her hair never quite tied back right.
Jake had called her doll from the moment she could walk. Not because she was fragile—though she was—but because she had that comfort about her.
The same comfort that little girls put into their toys.
That was found in her.
The kind that made even the great omatikaya warriors lower their voices around her.
Neytiri loved her as her own. She was the closest thing to a neice that she had-though not by blood, she would do anything to protect her bestfriend's daughter and they would do anything to protect her children. She braided her hair with reverence, painted her markings with gentle hands, scolded the boys if they played too roughly around her.
And Neteyam—
Neteyam watched.
Always watched.
They played at the waterfall together even then. Lo’ak splashed farther out than he should have, whooping when the cascading water knocked him sideways, convinced he was invincible even then, erupting laughter out of all the kids as he scoffed in embarrassment. Kiri drifted along the water, pausing often to watch the leaves shuffle on the trees.
Spider lingered nearby, pretending he wasn’t paying attention, skipping stones and glancing up every few seconds just to make sure everyone was still there.
She stayed closer to Neteyam.
It was better that way, if she stayed near him he wouldn't go complaining to his parents that she went to far into the water, Lo'ak wouldn't get overly excited and accidentally hurt her, kiri wouldn't try to teach her to hold her breath for a whole minute resulting in a near drowning situation.
She was happy this way, she laughed when the water lapped at her calves as a result of Lo’ak’s franctic splashing, reaching for his hand when a fish surprised her, and he let her hold on without comment. Sometimes she tugged him toward the rocks to show him water flowers she liked. Sometimes she followed him without thinking, matching her steps to his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Neteyam slowed for her without her ever realising it.
Lo’ak teased her, endlessly. He poked at her reactions, stole her things, laughed when she would pout and go stomping to Jake and Neytiri.
But he would throw punches for her without thinking.
Kiri adored her softness for it reminded her of the way of Eywa and she often dragged her into meadows to talk about Eywa and spirits.
Spider treated her like she was made of glass. Always offering her things, and always watching Neteyam carefully when he stood too close to make sure he didn't trigger a reaction.
Smart boy.
She was not like the other Na’vi girls. They climbed higher, ran faster, laughed louder. They were edged and fearless, born knowing Pandora would either make you strong or swallow you whole.
She was soft.
Her laughter was quiet. She flinched at sudden sounds. She asked too many questions and trusted the answers too easily.
Pandora loved to eat girls like her.
Neteyam learned that early.
So he taught her fear.
Not in a brutal way.
Just enough to keep her safe.
He would crouch beside her even when they would still young to warn her about the consequences of not listening.
“You must never wander too far” he would say. “There are things waiting for something like you.”
Her eyes would widen. She would nod fast and grip his arm in fear when he would purposefully step on a branch-pretending that it came from the bushes.
When they grew older, when his training intensified and his body hardened, so did his mind. He became mature and brave. He became even more of a protector than he was before. She stayed the same. Taller, yes. Older. But still gentle and soft spoken.
He became Olo’eyktan-in-waiting. A future leader. A mighty warrior in training. His future was layed out on a silver platter infront of him.
She became something else entirely.
Something that needed guarding.
Jake trusted her parents with his children, and they trusted him with her. That trust wrapped around Neteyam like permission.
He trained hard. Harder than anyone. Because strength meant safety. Because power meant control.
And because one day, he would lead—and she would still be soft.
Still kind.
Still his responsibility.
By the time he was twenty-two and she was eighteen, the world had shifted.
Pandora no longer felt infinite in the way it had when he was a boy, because infinity only exists when you don’t yet understand that everything has a cost, and he understood it now down to the bone.
The forest no longer felt like a playground or magical, he now understood the true dangers of it. The danger being that you never know what lurks in it
Twenty-five.
That was the age etched into him long before he was even born.
That was rhe age that the heir of the Olo’eyktan would take his place if he is ready and deemed worthy.
Jake didn’t need to remind him anymore; the weight of it sat naturally on his shoulders, heavy and familiar, like armor he’d grown into rather than something forced on him.
He accepted it, and he embraced it. And along with that came the change. He rarely laughed anymore for happiness is weakness. He rarely spoke for the more you reveal the more liabilities you make.
He was a mighty warrior. He led the omatikaya hunters. And many of the warriors. He trained the young. He built shelters. He served, he fought and he protected. Like a true Olo'eyktan.
And with that came a mate.
The clan chose his future mate with absolutely no concern for how he felt about it.
Which was odd considering the fact that everything else was chosen for him.
She was strong and had a sharp-tongue, independent to the point where compromise felt like an insult to her pride. She trained hard, fought harder, and carried herself like someone who expected obedience rather than trust, which made sense—because she was built to rule beside someone like him.
On paper, she was perfect.
In reality, she made his jaw tighten every time she spoke like command was something she already owned, every time she pushed instead of balanced. Neteyam was dominant by nature, by training, by instinct, and having someone that relentless at his side didn’t feel powerful—it felt violent.
But the level of submission that he would break her down to-might just strip his title away from him before he even got it.
He knew tha the clan didn’t need two voices clashing for control.
They needed one steady hand on the reins, and another presence that grounded them when fear crept in, someone they could breathe around when grief set in heavy and quiet.
And that presence was not the woman chosen for him.
That presence had never been chosen at all.
When she turned eighteen, the shift was immediate, and honestly unbearable.
She didn’t change who she was—she just grew into herself, and that was the problem. Her body softened and filled out in ways that caught the eye whether Neteyam wanted it to or not, curves settling where there had once been angles, her breasts filling out in a way that was so rare for Na'vi women-but she was never like the other women. She still laughed softly, still trusted too quickly, still felt like Pandora. The Pandora that he once knew.
The magic, the wonder it all flowed back when she was here.
So he pulled away. Because he now had an arranged mate. And he could no longer push how he felt towards her down.
He stopped walking her home, stopped sitting beside her during gatherings, stopped offering quiet guidance or watchful presence, and started choosing distance instead. He spoke less when she was near, avoided eye contact longer than necessary, and left spaces the moment he felt his attention drifting toward her out of habit.
She noticed, obviously.
She always noticed when he was feeling off.
But she didn’t confront him, she didn’t demand answers, she didn’t chase him down for reassurance, which somehow hurt worse than if she had.
For she had also matured and learned the art of choices and respect rather than the art of war and protection.
She too accepted the distance with that same quiet grace she accepted everything with, even though confusion sat behind her eyes-she accepted it.
Neteyam told himself this was discipline, that this was what leadership demanded, that protecting her sometimes meant removing himself from her world entirely—but distance didn’t stop him from watching.
He still tracked her movements through the village without thinking about it, noting when she left, who she walked with, how long she was gone, and whether she came back with the same relaxed posture she left with. He followed her into the forest whenever his duties allowed, staying far enough back that she never sensed him, but close enough that nothing else ever got the chance to.
Most nights, he slept outside her kelku, close enough to hear her breathing through the woven walls. When a predator wandered too close once, drawn by movement or scent, it never made it past the treeline, and she never even knew there had been a threat to begin with.
Pandora was no longer magical to him. But you'd be damned to think he wouldn't let it keep being magical to her.
He made sure of that.
When he noticed even a single drop of loneliness or sadness from her he reacted. He sent one of his most trusted female warriors into her life under the excuse of friendship, easygoing and harmless on the surface, loyal and observant underneath, reporting back quietly and without question.
It was better this way. Neteyam was sure of that, until...the reports came back.
She told herself she understood.
That was the easiest lie to live with, because it sounded reasonable and didn’t demand too many answers from the many questions that she always loved to ask. Neteyam was busy now, busy in the way boys who were becoming men always were, busy with training and patrols and expectations that sat heavier on his shoulders with every passing season. Of course he didn’t have time anymore to wander through the forest with her and his siblings, to stop and pick flowers just because she liked the color, to play in the water of jump from vine to vine in the trees.
Of course he didn’t.
She told herself that growth meant distance, that this was natural, that this was what happened when people stepped into their futures while others stayed where they were.
She told herself that it didn’t hurt because it wasn’t personal, because it couldn’t be personal, because Neteyam had never once been cruel to her.
So she accepted it.
She smiled when she saw him and he looked past her. She stepped aside when he entered a space like she had learned to do instinctively, making room for the weight of who he was becoming. She didn’t ask why he no longer walked her home, why he stopped sitting near her, why his presence lingered everywhere except beside her.
She assumed he was just busy.
That belief lasted right up until the day it didn’t.
The announcement came without warning infront of the whole clan in celebration.
Neteyam and Laïloui were to be mated, their bond chosen for strength and the future of the clan, and everyone around her reacted the way they were supposed to—with approval, pride, excitement.
She felt nothing like that.
What she felt didn’t have a name, because she had never felt it before, not once in her entire life. She had known joy, warmth, safety, and curiosity, but this was different. This was cold, sharp and sudden, like something had reached inside her chest and twisted without asking permission.
Her breath caught, not dramatically, not visibly, but enough that she noticed it and couldn’t make it stop.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t scream.
She just stood there, quiet as always, while the world shifted around her and no one noticed that something essential had slipped out from under her feet.
That was when everything changed.
It was when she realised that he wasn't busy. And it wasn't an excuse.
Without Neteyam’s presence hovering quietly at her side, without the unspoken understanding that she belonged with the Sully's.
The village stopped making room for her. Conversations closed when she approached. Laughter softened, then stopped.
She was too soft.
Too quiet.
Too unnecessary.
The friend groups she had always drifted within shut her out, leaving her outside without ever saying she wasn’t welcome anymore. She was left out of gatherings, not given anything to eat during shared meals, criticized for things that had never been faults before. Her kindness was mistaken for weakness. Her silence was interpreted as something worth mocking.
And she took it.
Because she always did.
She woke up every morning with a heavy strain in her chest, the kind that made it feel like breathing required effort instead of instinct, and she carried that weight with her throughout the day like it was just another part of her now. She went to sleep with the same pressure still there, curling around her heart.
She too stopped laughing.
She too stopped talking.
For she had no one to make her laugh. And she had no one to talk to.
Her chosen family had moved on without her.
Neytiri was always busy now, tending to Laïloui with the same care she had once given her, braiding her hair with reverent fingers, smoothing her markings, offering gentle praise that used to make her chest feel warm and full. Jake spent his days training Neteyam, teaching him leadership and strategy and all the things that pulled him farther and farther away. Lo’ak chased his brother’s footsteps relentlessly, desperate to prove himself, while Kiri wandered deeper into Eywa’s pull, searching for her purpose.
And she was still there.
She didn’t blame them. That was the worst part. She understood why they were busy, why their lives were full, why there wasn’t room for her softness anymore in a world that demanded strength.
Understanding didn’t make it hurt less—it just made the pain quieter, therefore heavier.
She remained gentle.
Remained kind.
Remained alone.
And some nights, when the weight in her chest pressed too hard to ignore, she wondered if this was what it felt like to lose something you were never destined to in the first place.
By the time the morning came, she had already come to the realisation that she was no welcome here.
Not in a dramatic way, but in the same way she had learned to accept everything else that hurt her—by letting the truth settle into her bones until it stopped fighting back. The clan was awake around her in small, distant sounds, the soft crackle of dying embers and the faint rustle of early movement, but no one was awake for her, and she realized with a dull ache that no one ever really was anymore.
So she moved carefully.
She gathered her things slowly, folding what little she owned with gentle hands as if the objects themselves might break if she rushed, packing only what she could carry without strain, because she had learned long ago not to ask for help that wouldn’t come. She left behind anything that tied her too tightly to this place—small gifts, old trinkets, things that smelled like familiarity—because she knew if she took them, she might never make it past the treeline.
She didn’t look toward the Sullys’ home.
She couldn’t.
If she did, she knew she’d hesitate, and hesitation had never saved her before.
Her father’s absence still lingered like a wound that never closed properly, his death still too recent, still too raw, and her sweet mother lay sick at the loss of her mate.
She had watched Eywa take pieces of her life one by one, she had started to believe that maybe she was cursed, that maybe the world simply wasn’t meant to keep her for very long.
It would only be a matter of time before her mother was taken too.
And then what?
She would be alone anyway.
So she chose to leave on her own terms, before anyone could make it official that she was now truly all alone, before she had to watch the last thread tying her to this place finally snap.
She slipped into the forest just as the sky began to lighten, the familiar paths already feeling foreign beneath her feet.
She walked until her legs ached and her chest burned, until the weight she had been carrying inside her finally spilled over in the form of exhausted tears she didn’t bother to wipe away. No one was there to see them. No one was there to stop her. No one was there at all.
And that, somehow, hurt the most.
She had spent her entire life being soft in a world that valued strength, kind in a place that respected sharp edges, gentle where others learned to harden, and now she understood what that had cost her.
She had been something people loved when it was convenient, when it was easy, when she asked for nothing—but the moment she needed a connection, protection, belonging, she had been quietly set aside.
So she kept walking.
Because staying had started to hurt more than leaving.
And as the village faded behind her, swallowed by trees and distance and indifference, she didn’t look back—not because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much, and if she let herself linger on what she was losing, she knew she would never survive what came next.
She didn’t realize how long she’d been walking until the forest began to change.
Morning had passed in a blur of movement and adrenaline, her body running on the fragile momentum of decision.
By afternoon, the ache had settled in.
Her legs burned and her throat felt tight, not from thirst alone but from the way her chest kept tightening every time she thought she heard something behind her. Still, she didn’t stop.
The forest grew denser as the daylight faded. And for the first time since she’d left, she felt something other than grief take hold.
Fear.
Not the sharp, immediate kind that made you run, but the slow, creeping realization that she had made a mistake she didn’t know how to undo.
By the time night fell, it wrapped around her completely.
The forest after dark was nothing like the place she’d known her whole life, nothing like the gentle paths she’d walked with Neteyam and the others when laughter came easily and danger felt theoretical. At night, the trees loomed taller, the undergrowth thicker, shadows moving where they shouldn’t, and every sound felt amplified, closer than it should be.
She slowed, then stopped entirely, her breath shallow, and her ears straining as the memory hit her all at once.
Never go into the forest at night pumtsyìp
Neteyam’s voice lived in her head like it always had. His voice getting deeper everytime he said it to her as he had over his many years.
He had never raised his voice when he told her this; he never needed to. The seriousness alone had been enough to make her nod, to promise she wouldn’t, and to grip his arm for protection.
And now she was alone.
Truly alone.
She hugged her arms around herself, her fingers digging into her skin like she could hold herself together through sheer will alone, and for the first time since she’d left, regret bloomed heavy and bitter in her chest.
She wished, stupidly, desperately, that he were there.
Not the future Olo’eyktan, not the warrior everyone admired, not the man who had learned to look past her like she didn’t exist anymore, but the boy who used to slow his steps so she could keep up, the one who had taught her fear so she would survive, the one who had always been there when the forest felt too big.
The night answered her thoughts with another sound—closer this time—and her body reacted before her mind did, heart racing, breath catching painfully as she realized just how exposed she was. She had no fire, no shelter, no plan beyond the one foot she kept forcing in front of the other, and the forest did not care about her heartbreak or her softness or the fact that she had nowhere else to go.
She sank down at the base of a tree eventually, exhaustion winning out over fear just enough to make her legs give, pressing her back against the bark as she curled in on herself, trying to make herself smaller.
Neteyam had been right.
About all of it.
And somewhere deep in the forest, there was something that was waiting to pluck up a little thing like her.
The sounds of claws and wild yips echo through the greenery, causing her to push herself impossibly closer to the tree as a lone tear left her eye.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Based on the fact that he knows this forest back to back, Neteyam knows it must be a small pack of grody grueller's. And he decides that it's best to have her scared than hurt.
Neteyam lowers himself down slowly, his muscular arms flexing with the movement. A large hand grabbing her by the back of her neck.
“What did I say.” Neteyam murmurs, his voice low and gravelly as he draws it out from his chest.
She gasps, her breath stuttering violently as recognition slams into her, and when he eases his hand away just enough for her to breathe, she twists around so fast she nearly trips over herself. Her eyes find him immediately, blown wide and shining in the dim bioluminescent light, and for one humiliating, overwhelming moment, all she can do is stare at him like he’s something unreal.
“Teyam—” His name breaks in her throat,
and before she can stop herself she takes a step toward him, hands lifting like she needs to confirm he’s actually there.
His gaze flicks over her, sharp and assessing, taking in the few scrapes on her, the dirt streaking her calves, the way she’s shaking so hard from the cold that she can’t hide it, and his jaw tightens in a way she recognizes immediately.
He straightens slowly, his presence filling the space between them until she feels small without him even trying.
“Where were you going” he asks, his tone calm but she knew better based on the way it rumbled out of him.
Her mouth opens, then closes again as another sound carries through the trees, the unmistakable purr of the grody grueller's echoing closely, causing her fingers to instinctively curl into the fabric at his side.
“Mawey” he says quietly.
“I just thought—I thought no one would noti—” She blurts out in a whisper. Cutting herself off when shame came crashing down hard enough to make her stomach twist, and she swallows thickly before whispering, “How did you even find me?”
“I didn’t,” he says simply.
Before she can ask what he means a grody grueller prawls out of one of the nearby bushes, and instinct finally kicks in fully as she scrambles back a step, but she doesn’t get far before Neteyam’s hand firmly snaps around her, pulling her back into his space with ease.
The bushes shift again, and this time she freezes completely, her nails digging uselessly into his arm before she abandons the effort altogether and moves behind him instead, pressing herself against his back like instinct alone knows where she’s safest.
“Remember when Lo'ak came home, scrapped up by one,” he continues, humming as if amused by the memory.
She’s shaking uncontrollably now, her face pressed into his mid back, breath hitching as the sounds grow louder.
You disobeyed his words and ran into the woods and now you need to remember why you must depend on Neteyam for everything, even after all these months. Why you owe him your submission.
"You think you would fight them better than Lo’ak?" he asks as a shape slips through the brush ahead, then another, and she lets out a broken sound she doesn’t even recognize as her own.
“Neteyam,” she whimpers, fingers clutching desperately at his waist. “Please.”
“What is it, pumtsyìp,” he asks softly, not turning around. “you looked like you wanted to relocate”
A vicious snarl erupts from the side and she stumbles hard, barely managing to keep her feet as she presses herself against him again, her quiet scream muffled against his back.
He exhales slowly, as he tsks.
He coos at your little pleas. “Have you come back to reality, hm?”
You nod frantically as you whimper out your response through pushing down a dob. “Yes”
They circle you with hunger in their eyes now, stepping closer.
Neteyam knows that a sudden motion from him-a mighty hunter that they have come to recognise would be enough to scare them off.
But you didn't have to know that.
“Oh but you didn’t listen to me”
“I didn’t,” you sob, “I’m sorry!”
"Are you?”
He catches your fragile chin firmly forcing you to look up at him, and whatever expression crosses his face causes your tears to finally fall from your eyes as a pout settles on your lips "I'm sorry" you sob.
It is so satisfying to him to watch your natural submission after so long. It reminds him of when Lo'ak would tease you and you would come crying to him even as a child, and even now. You still come crying to him.
“Mawey, pumtsyìp. Your Teyam is here, here aren’t I?” No response is given, instead just a gasp as another creature inches closer and you dash into his arms. This time he wraps one arm around your small frame.
He lets out a low, warning hiss that cuts clean through the night causing the pack to whine then scatter off into the woods.
Your pleas echo through the air, begging him to protect you. He simply shushes you, making no rush as a large arm tightens to pull you even closer. And Neteyam basks in the moment, a weight shifting off of his chest as he realises that you still long for and need his protection.
Maybe if you listened to him like a good pumtsyìp then you would already know that he has always protected you-thus why he followed you here. Just like he follows and watches you in many places. He would defend you to his very last breath-and you would never have to ask for it, it would make no difference.
However, you’ve always had the most addictive way of begging so why would he ever stop such a pretty sound.
Neteyam lifts you into his arms and you let him, the familiar motion calming all your nerves.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
He so desperately want to to finally corrupt you tonight, but he still kept in mind that you didn't understand sexual acts. But that just fueled his desire even more. Though a part of him wonders if you still blindly trust him like you used you-a part of him knew that your curiosity outweighs your fear.
He needed you to find comfort and protection in him again. And though he admits that he fucked up by ignoring you these past few months-he has also come to realise that he has sacrificed everything he is to become Olo'eyktan. He has surrendered everything and allowed the clan to take and chose everything for him. But you-you were the one thing that he would give up his title for.
And he would be damned if you thought otherwise, so tonight he would make it up to you.
And you would understand that you are his to protect.
He wanted you to have something that would constantly remind you that you need him. Wether is was a swollen belly, a leaking little pussy so full of him cum that it drips out of you pretty little hole, or his scent marked on you.
He would get it through your pretty little head that you are not safe without him.
Now that he has brought you to his kelku (house), he moves your body to his preference, making you straddle him.
The dominance of his action casuing a blush to run across your cheeks as you nibble on your lips, keeping your eyes down to pick at your hands.
His large hands caressing your body so calmly that it has you cooeing at the motion.
“You do understand why you must always come to me. Don’t you pumtsyìp?” keeping his voice low, as his eyes follow the goosebumps on your arms.
His finger tips trail to the back of your neck, his large hand pulling your hair into his grasp, exposing your delicate neck to him.
“I thought you were smarter than that.” His other hand cradles your face, large enough to span the entirety of your head and tilt it upwards. It gives him the perfect view of your expression when both hands smooth up towards your hairline before parting and dragging along your scalp. Lips parted and eyes fluttered closed, he knows he has pressed the right button, pulling a mewl out of you.
"I-I am Teyam" you whispered, you face leaning into his touch.
"Then you would know that a pretty little thing like you should never be in the forest without me"
“So many things waiting to take you away.” he gravelled out, tugging your hair at the scalp, pulling a whiper out of you.
He always knew you were too innocent for this world. And submitting to him for atleast a comforting hug from him, proved him right.
“Away from me” His low voice vibrates through you, opening your eyes to find his lips mere centimeters away from your own.
And just as you lean in, his grip on your hair tightens, keeping you in place.
“You wouldn't want that to ever happen” he ensures, “for you to be taken away from me” He continues, rolling his long tongue out to lick up the side of your face, tasting your dried tears with satisfaction.
“Isn’t that right?”
“Yes Teyam.” You answered, with the smallest whisper as you try to learn forward for more. He tutts in disapproval, shaking your head with hjs grip in your hair. “Y-yes sir.” You correct yourself and like bleeding infront of a shark, the intoxicating scent between your thighs reaches his nose once more. He’s tempted to look now and see if it has left a spot on his loincloth.
And he was so so delighted to see that you still give him the authority that him and lo'ak give to his father. You always made him felt like more than he is. You gave him respect long before he was near the title of Olo'eyktan.
“There’s ma good girl.” He purrs.
His lips hovered near her ear, his breath scalding against her skin.
"You didn’t think I had truly abandoned you, did you?"
She let out a small exhale as she tilts her head down, remembering how betrayed and confused she felt.
"You...left me"
"I never left you pumtsyìp. I was with you every day. They gave me a mate before I could chose the one I wanted. I was waiting for the right time but I'm done waiting now."
"...I wish you and Laïloui all the best" she whispers as she lifts her leg to get off of him, only to have him grip her thigh and plant it back down.
"Laïloui is not the one I want."
"But-"
"Laïloui is no longer here"
Her eyebrows furrowed as she took in his words.
"I needed time to get rid of her, Mawey. That is the only reason I stopped talking to you"
"Rid of her?" She draws out slowly trying to understand what he means by that.
Neteyam tilts his head to the side in satisfaction at the memory of him shoving Laïloui off the cliff right before binding their kuru. It was a wonderful plan really-the Sully family would break their attachment to you so that Laïloui wouldn't retaliate. To keep her in an illusion that they cared for her. To make her trust them. And to draw her attention away from the one that they truly do care about-you. The clan had already chosen Laïloui before Neteyam had gotten the chance to ask you to be his mate-he had been planning it since he was 18 but Jake ensured him that it was best to wait until he was older and the title of Olo'eyktan was in arms reach. So as a result of guilt for ruining his son's lifelong plan. The sullys joined together to help craft this plan. And thus resulting in Laïloui's "disappearance". And with Neteyam’s assertance of dominance by going against the clan's orders and mating with you-that would be the final act of preparation and he would at last be given the title of Olo'eyktan.
He just needed Laïloui out of his way for good. And he needed you to not be seen as a threat in the meantime to keep you safe.
"Don’t worry your little head about that pumtsyìp."
"You should go be with your chosen then Net-"
"I already am."
She barely processed his words before his teeth grazed her earlobe, biting down on it before bringing it into his mouth to suckle on.
“You don’t get to decide my future for me.”
That did it.
Neteyam went still.
And Eywa knows that was worse than anything he could've said.
His grip tightened in her hair, tugging at it to force her face up to meet his eyes. He leaned back just enough to look at her properly, his golden eyes darkening, as his jaw tightened.
“Say that again,” he said quietly.
She hesitated. “Netey—”
“I said,” he cut in, his voice growing impossibly deeper, “say it again.”
Her heart thudded painfully. “You don’t get to decide my future.” She replied meekly, casting her eyes down as shyness crept over her body.
A slow breath through his nose.
Then a low, humorless laugh.
“Decide?” he echoed. “No, pumtsyìp. I don't need to decide anything. I just need to remind you.”
He leaned in, foreheads touching, voice dropping into her mind like poison wrapped in honey.
“Who was there when you were alone.”
“Who taught you how to walk these forests, how to hunt, how to climb trees, how to swim.”
“Who made sure no one touched you, no one claimed you, no one took what was always meant to be mine.”
Her lips parted. “You don’t know wh—”
“I know everything,” he snapped, suddenly fierce, eyes blazing. “I know every man who looked at you too long. Every whisper behind your back. Every risk that vanished before it ever reached you.”
Her pulse spiked. “But you ignored me.”
His hand slid up, fingers curling under her chin—not forcing, just guiding until she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“Yes,” he admitted without shame. “I had to Mawey. But not for one second did I want to. I had chosen you long ago...but I just wanted to be worthy enough for you to chose me too...I was waiting for my title. But the clan chose before I could. And I had to let Laïloui think I chose her to keep you safe. Because the moment the she realized how much I wanted you—how much I need you—I would have gotten rid of her in public.”
His voice lowered, as he cradled her small face in his large palm.
“And now I’m Olo’eyktan,” he said. “No one can tell me no.”
Her breath hitched. “You’re scaring me.”
Good.
His lips curved into a smirk as he squeezed her cheeks together.
"I need you to help me get my title Mawey. I need a mate. And I will not chose one that is not you. The future of our clan rests in your hands."
“I said you’re scaring me net-"
“You’re scared because no matter how much you fight it,” he whispered, “you were never going to be anyone else’s.”
Elaila let out a soft, involuntary sound, her fingers clutching at the fabric of his robe as his mouth found her ear again.
"Such pretty sounds."
His hands explored further, mapping every curve of her body as he tilted her head back with a firm tug to her hair, exposing the fragile line of her throat.
"You'll chose me right?" he murmured, leaving open-mouthed kisses to her throat, the sloppy sounds of the action filling the chamber as he smacked his lips against the skin there before letting his spit drool down her neck just to slurp it up again. "For the sake of your Olo'eyktan."
She barely had time to catch her breath before his teeth sank into her skin to place a claiming bite.
She gasped, her fingers digging into his chest, but he didn’t relent. His tongue flicked over the mark, soothing, then biting again, harder.
"You taste divine," he rasped against her throat.
"May you please move your knife," she replies as she wiggles slightly in her attempt to sit straighter. The movement presses her body further against me
"Fuck" he whisper under his breath. "Not a knife,"
"Oh? Then what is it?"
"Keep squirming and you'll find out"
The hand on her face tilted her head slightly, guiding her gaze to his.
When his lips finally met hers, it was soft at first, but that quickly changed as each kiss became deeper and wetter.
His lips moved against hers with a desperate hunger as a low, growl of satisfaction rumbled in his throat.
When his tongue brushed against the seam of her lips, she parted for him, and he took it as an invitation, his tongue slipping past to lick up her very essence, as his tongue moved against hers in deliberate strokes, coaxing her to meet him, to match his intensity.
The sound of their kiss filled his kelku, soft and wet, mingling with the faint hitch of her breath and the steady growl that vibrated in his chest. Saliva slicked their lips, adding a slight sheen to the movements, their mouths sliding together with a fervor that bordered on desperation.
He tilted his head to deepen the angle, his teeth grazing her lower lip before sucking it gently, a flick of his tongue soothing the sting. His hand shifted, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling just enough to expose her to him fully. The kiss grew sloppier, more urgent, as though he couldn't get enough, couldn't pull her close enough to satisfy the ache inside him.
Her hands pressed lightly against his chest, a feeble attempt to put space between them, but he only responded by tightening his grip. His fingers tangled deeper in her hair, tilting her head back as his lips chased hers, refusing to let her go.
"More," he murmured, his voice rough, breathless, lips brushing against hers as he spoke. "More."
He pleaded as his hand slid to her waist, fingers pressing into her skin as he pulled her flush against him, swallowing the shaky breath she let out.
When they finally pulled apart, threads of saliva connected their lips, breaking only when he leaned back to look at her, his eyes dark with unrestrained desire. Her lips were swollen, glistening, and he stared at them as though already planning the next kiss.
"I'm scared...and confused" she admitted, her soft voice contrasting against his deep one as she kept her eyes strained to the floor.
His other hand came up, rough fingertips tracing along her soft jaw before tilting her face up to his.
"I know Pumtsyìp...I know" he answered lowly as his large hands that layed on her waist gently swayed her side to side.
"Open for me," he growled against her lips as he dived back into the kiss.
Neteyam pressed himself against her wetness with no pretense of restraint. The hard, unmistakable evidence of his arousal grinding against her core.
“Do you feel that?” he snarled against her lips. “This is what you do to me"
Suddenly, he placed her on the wall next to him and dropped to his knees, but he didn’t just do that, he yanked her thighs apart with brutal force, making her momentarily stumble back to grab the wall.
He pulled her hips forward until she was perched right on the edge of his mouth, her back arching instinctively to keep balance.
The sight of him there, his broad, muscular shoulders between her trembling legs made her breath hitch.
Without hesitation, he bent forward, his mouth descending on the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. His lips latched onto her soft skin, his tongue dragging over the delicate curve before his teeth sank in just enough to leave a mark. The sharp sting made her gasp, her fingers clutching at his shoulders, but he didn’t relent. His mouth moved upward, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses, saliva smearing her skin as he worked his way closer to her center.
"What are you doin-?" She gasped as she tried to gently push him away by his shoulder, which obviously failed...
Once he finally reached there, he bared his teeth and clutched it onto her loincloth, and slowly dragged it down. He took a deep breath as he took in the sight of her wet, dripping pussy, all pure and ready for him to claim.
He latched onto her, his tongue pushed between her folds as he dragged it through her arousal, his face burying into her, making her cry out and gasp. The wet slurp of his mouth filled the air as he devoured her, sucking and licking without restraint. His nose pressed against her, his jaw moving with relentless fervor as his saliva mixed with her arousal, dripping down his face and onto his hands, which were still gripping her thighs like a vice.
"Y-ou can't do that, that's dirty!" She squeeled in potest, only to have his tongue circled her clit in response, alternating between flicking it in quick, teasing strokes and pressing flat, broad strokes that left her trembling. He groaned against her, before shaking his face against her wetness making her hand instinctively shoot out to grip his hair as she took a step back, trying to move away from his overwhelming touches, his jaw was slick with her as he pulled back a string of her juices connected his mouth to her core.
“Stay still,” he growled, pulling back
His hands shifted, sliding down to grab her hips and yank her even closer to his face, making her yelp and grab onto his jaw for balance. One hand slid lower, gripping her ass roughly as the other shoved her leg over his huge shoulder, locking her in place. The angle left her completely open to him, and he took advantage, his tongue plunging into her with a ferocity that made her moans bounce off of the walls.
Neteyam growled in satisfaction "Atta girl", the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through her. His lips wrapped around her sensitive bundle of nerves, his teeth grazing it lightly before his tongue swept over it in fast, messy circles. He sucked hard, his mouth wet and sloppy as he alternated between rough suction and flicking his tongue in maddeningly erratic patterns. Saliva coated her, smeared across her thighs and dripping down to the stone floor as he growled against her.
“Neteyam" she gasped, her hands tangling in his hair, trying to push him away when the pleasure became too much. But he was relentless, snarling against her as he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to her sides with a single hand.
He pulled her closer, pressing his face against her harder, his tongue diving deep as his nose pressed against her swollen bud. The wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth echoed in the kelku, louder with every desperate flick of his tongue and every rough suck of his lips. His free hand slipped lower, two fingers thrusting into her without warning, making her yelp out and whimper as he stretcher her as he worked them in time with his mouth.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding as he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his lips slick and swollen. “Look at me while I make you mine.”
Her big, innocent doe eyes locked with his cold, stoic glare, and the sight sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes were feral, dark and wild with possession, his jaw and braids glistening with her arousal.
"I-I'm going to pee get off"
She gasped as she tried to close her legs.
But Neteyam dragged his tongue darted out to lick his lips, as he held her gaze.
"No you're not."
Then he was on her again, his mouth rougher, sloppier, hungrier than before making her throw her head back in ecstasy as she grinded her hips, sensually rubbing her core against his mouth in desperation.
Not long after, the coil in her belly snapped, her release crashing through her with violent intensity as her cries filled the air. Her legs shook, her body arching, her fingers tugging roughly at his hair as waves of pleasure overwhelmed her, but Neteyam didn’t stop. If anything, her climax only spurred him on, his tongue and fingers working her mercilessly as he coaxed another release from her overstimulated body.
Her second orgasm ripped through her, her thighs clamping around his head, trying to stop him from continuing as she screamed his name. He growled, prying her legs apart with a brutal force, and he didn’t stop until her knees buckled and she was gasping for breath, her body utterly spent and slick with sweat.
When he finally pulled back, his chest was heaving, his lips and jaw a glistening mess. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before licking off the essence that trailed on it.
"If you ever try to hide your moans from me again, I'll fuck you by the fire where everyone will hear how good I make you feel,” he growled into her ear.
More Than Strangers, Less Than Friends - Neteyam // Part One
You are the eldest daughter of Ronal and Tonowari. Several months after his recovery from a bullet wound that rendered him comatose, your parents have arranged a bond-pact between Toruk Makto's son and you to be mated. It wouldn't be such a problem if not for the glaring issue—your lover.
Warnings- ooc Neteyam, obsessive
A/N- This fanfic is old, like 2023 old. I wrote it but never posted it! I decided since Avatar is getting popular again to do it! Here's part one to... I think a five part series? Most likely more knowing myself. I kinda cringe seeing my old writing but eh! Hope you enjoy!
Part Two
You were the first daughter of your clan’s Olo’eyktan, second-born and always second-chosen.
From the beginning, your life had been shaped around the things you were not. Not the next heir. Not the next Tsahik.
It had been simple, really. From the moment you were old enough to understand words. It had been explained gently at first, then plainly as you grew: Tsireya possessed the healer’s gift, not you. Ao’nung was a natural leader, you lacked charm. You suppose your parents thought that by saying it softly, it’d somehow prevent the slow-growing rot of envy.
So you remained something in-between, between earth and sea.
“You do not need to be more than what you are,” your mother always said, brushing your cheek with her thumb. “Eywa makes nothing without reason.” You believed her.
Or tried to.
Years passed, and you made your own purpose. By duty you supposed. It was the only thing you could really accomplish.
If a predator stalked too close, you killed it.
If a child wandered off, you found them.
If a duty was too tedious, too tiring, too thankless—your hands were already reaching for it.
So dutiful.
So indispensable.
So quietly wanted.
Your days always began with you stepping forward and rarely did it slow: walking, running, tracking, fetching, carrying. Your father wanted the reserve spears checked. Your mother requested another set of bowls she trusted only you to choose. The elders needed the births of the new calves recorded before the second eclipse. This, you told yourself, was the shape of your life. This was Eywa’s path.
It never truly bothered you. You found no resentment in your heart. If Eywa needed you to be a steady pair of hands, then you would be steady. You would not question it.
Until that is, your little sister appeared one morning with that smile she wore when she wanted something—and a boy trailed behind her. A darker-skinned, thin-limbed forest boy. The Sully’s third child.
The one whose people dragged death like nets behind them.
And yet Tsireya loved him, utterly and without hesitation.
“Sister,” she said, she would not stop tugging your wrist. “come with us, please? I want to gather some rocks, and Lo’ak has to practice his ikyanama with Ao’nung.”
“Join you? Why?” You had been hauling some baskets of fruit, weathered by the heat and soreness of yesterday's chores. “You are going with Lo’ak, yes?” Speaking of which…Your eyes moved towards the boy.
“Because I like your company. And if anything were to happen—”
“Fine.” You sighed. You dropped the basket gently, placing it on some random mat.
“If mother or father ask,” Tsireya chirped, “I’ll tell them it was my idea.”.
Her idea. Right. As if they’d believe it. But you did not fault Tsireya for your parents' misunderstanding of her. Instead, you pat her back and gently lead her away, narrowing your eyes at Lo’ak.
Lo’ak was smart enough to look away, at least.
When you first spotted Ao’nung, Roxto, and the Sully children gathered in a loose circle—heads tipped in, shoulders brushing, laughter spilling between them—you weren’t surprised. Their closeness had become predictable, albeit a bit concerning in your eyes.
What was strange was Tsireya’s insistence on keeping you glued to her side when such skilled warriors surrounded her. And the looks—the way Tsireya watched you, the way Lo’ak pressed his lips tight, as if swallowing a laugh or a secret.
Strange, you thought.
You kept walking, nonexistent eyebrows lifting a fraction, spear shifting easily over your shoulder.
A flicker of movement—“Y/n!” Kiri called, one arm wrapped around little Tuk’s squirming body.
Their gazes tracked you, polite but persistent, yet none as unwavering as the golden stare of the eldest Sully. Neteyam sat straighter than the others, but his attention never fully left you—not even as he continued polishing gear with practiced motions.
“Hello, Kiri. Everyone.” Your gaze slid to the ocean. “Is something funny?”
“No, no, just—please, sit.” Kiri gestured toward the space beside Neteyam. He caught the cue, offered a small smile, then pat the stone beside him.
You hesitated, studying the spot, then studying him. Oldest child. Steady spine. Quiet strength. Too much like you in temperament, but marked by something different. It was stupid to pretend otherwise.
Dead once, killed by sky-people fire. Returned only because Eywa willed it.
And still, you stayed standing.
“I apologize. I’m only here to guard my sister.” You stilled your tail, which awkwardly curled at the ends. “Er…I should return to my duties.”
A tug yanked your tail.
“Agh—!”
Your sister’s pout nearly eclipsed the force of it. “They’re going swimming! And I need to collect shells. You promised. Stay.”
You swallowed a curse, eyes narrowing at her. “You…” You closed your eyes and calmly frowned. “You owe me.”
.
.
.
“Isn’t he a fast learner, Y/n?” Tsireya whispered, breaking you from your thoughts.
You blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
She only gave a look, returning to the thread stretched between her fingers, drawing it thinner, finer, until it resembled the edge of silk. “I said, Isn’t he a fast learner, Y/n?”
A sigh escaped you before you could stop it. “It is necessary if they wish to stand among our people. Mother has… little patience for slow progress.” Your lashes fluttered at the familiar sounds behind you. Something of water and laughter, an Ilu’s chip. It made the corner of your mouth lift.
Her fingers danced across the beads. “I know,” she murmured. “But still…” Her ears twitched when your weight shifted in the sand. “I only meant…It’s been hard for him. After everything.”
“The past is the past. We honor it, but we do not live inside it. Eywa offered us a future for a reason.”
She didn’t argue, instead she offered a smile, gentle and secret as she carved into a blush-colored shell. The bead slid through the rope, then another shell, then another bead. When she lifted the strand for inspection, you counted only five, though she meant to mark seven. One for each of the Sullies—but Tuk’s was missing. And Spider’s.
You did not understand this. It is a waste.
For some reason, she’d begun updating her songcord more often. In her heart, the Sully family had become a kind of anchor—something worth preserving in memory. You’d added only one stone: amber, for the battle of the three brothers. Newcomers arrived often; that was the way of things.
“Would you like me to gather more shells?” you asked.
“If you find a yellow one and a blue one, I would be grateful.”
So here you were, with soft sand crushing between your toes, steadily searching—combing the shoreline for color, for shape—anything. You even scanned the shoreline for shells. Not one. It was almost insulting. So when your search dragged you across the island, you let out a silent, aggravated groan.
By the time the Sully’s came into view, you were already regretting it. They were acquaintances in the loosest sense—warm enough in passing, but not people you sought out alone. You usually had siblings beside you, a buffer. Now it was just you.
You didn't look at them much. A spare of a glance, nothing more, just a passing confirmation they were still there. Afterall, you didn’t want to invite conversation.
You knelt, fingers brushing the spiraled rim of the shell. By the great mother never again. I need to tell Tsireya no more often, or else she’ll—
You turned.
Neteyam was looking at you.
Then, he sank beneath the water.
What was that?
You had no answer. And honestly, you weren’t the sort to dwell on boys you barely knew, and certainly not on ones who looked at you like that. So you kept walking, brushing stray grains from your palm, until you heard the familiar voices of women.
On the opposite bank, a group of women you recognized leaned together, voices rising in chipped, giggling words.
“If he decides to go in naked, should we steal his twang?”
“Do not.” You grumbled. They jumped at you, before giggling.
“Y/n!” They waved. “Don’t tell anyone! It’s just…” One of them trailed off, looking offside to where Neteyam had been. “Oh! Damn the spirits, where did he go!” You heard them whine and complain as you went past.
Ah… well everyone had their…. taste.
Neteyam was attractive. Hard not to notice. His differences only amplified it—those strange yellow eyes, his skin that caught the sea at an eclipse, frame lithe but carved through with strength. He was all lean and muscle, taller in height than most boys his age. A warrior where he came from. A capable weaver. A presence.
You could appreciate the shape of him, sure. Anyone with eyes would.
But attraction wasn't the same as calling. And yours belonged entirely, stubbornly, hopelessly to someone else.
Tey
That boy…
That stupid, stupid boy.
Just thinking of him made you sigh lovingly. It was absurd, really—how the disciplined daughter of the Olo’eyktan could be undone by someone so… other. Where he was the sun—brash, golden, impossible to ignore—you were the distant stars, distant and sharp-edged. And yet he had slipped past every wall, and laid his hand directly upon your heart.
And though you would never confess it aloud, not even to the Great Mother herself:
He was yours.
You only needed him to finish his Iknimaya so he could stand beside you, and when he did, you two could be mated.
A shadow broke the curve of the rock spire.
Tey stepped out from behind it in that careless, buoyant way of his. Tall, bright-eyed, tail flicking with an easy confidence. His skin was a warm, creamy blue, his stripes soft as seafoam. Thick braids hung over his shoulders, threaded with polished shells that clacked gently when he moved. He was—if one were being painfully honest—beautiful.
By the great mother you love him.
He carried a woven basket in both arms, heavy with fresh fish. The moment he saw your shocked face, he barked a laugh, setting the basket down with theatrical gentleness.
“You’re here!” he laughed, setting the basket down. “Tsireya said you might’ve slipped away, but—hah, didn’t think I’d scare you.” His ears dipped, his gaze falling guilty to the sand. “Eywa, look at me, coming all this way to say something important and instead frightening you.”
“Oh.” The word left small, your throat tight. You dragged your gaze aside, concentrating on willing your freckles to dim. Their glow betrayed too much! But it was hard when he was so near, folding his arms as if he was serious, as if he could ever be serious. “What happened? Are you hurt? Is something wrong?”
“No…” he said in a whisper. “Not really a big deal, it’s just hard to say aloud, Y/n.” He muttered. He peered back at you, bearing a sheepish smile.
He lifted his gaze.
And when he looked at you like that—soft stolen glances, Eywa help you.
Before you could think, you said it. “Why are you here then?”
Stay calm. Keep your face still. Eywa, why can’t you ever—
He simply lowered his gaze. “Shoot, I-”
A sudden poke to your back made you jolt.
Before you turned, before you could hear him, you felt him. Wet hair dripping in slow, rhythmic taps across your spine. A broad hand settling on your shoulder. Warm breath sliding along the shell of your ear. When you turned, his amber eyes were already fixed on you, pupils soft, almost molten. His chest rose too fast. His smile curved too gently.
Still, he leaned in.
“Y/n,” Neteaym murmured, “Could you help me carry these?”
He lifted some Makks, a hard shelled creature that floated in salt water, beyond the reefs. They were notoriously difficult to harvest. Only the best swimmers dared.
Did he swim all the way to the outer reef for these?
Then his gaze shifted—past you, toward Tey. The smile stayed on his lips, but something in it tightened. “I apologize if I interrupted something, is it fine if I take her for a bit?”
Tey only chuckled. “Of course not. Go. I’ll speak with you later, Y/n.”
You frowned lightly. “Okay, Tey… stay safe. And— here.” You pressed the shells into his palms, the ones Tsireya had asked for. “Give these to her, all right?” He nodded with that earnest bob of his head, and finally drifted off. Your gaze slid to Neteyam.
Neteyam moved immediately. Of course he did. To your side. Slightly bowed. Attentive in that quiet way of his. His stride shortened to match yours, slowing himself for you alone. Basket raised to settle against his shoulder. Every few steps, his golden eyes flicked back to you, the corners of his mouth softening into a smile.
Little steps, so wonderfully articulated. Golden eyes not watching, seeing you.
By the great mother, he creeped you out sometimes.
The walk stretched on, quiet and strange. He led when the path narrowed—turning through a cave, skirting the swell of rocks slick with moss. His tail would lift, pause, settle, as he checked you were still behind him. You caught yourself watching the motion: the rise of his shoulders with each breath, the small clack of the beads braided into his hair, rattling like a slow heart.
And then, shamefully, you stared at a leaf instead, anything to pry yourself out of the silence.
Coward.
Because this quiet was not the usual quiet. You felt inclined to talk, strange in itself, but what words could you form? Nothing, nothing at all. And with that, you didn’t. Instead, you counted the Makks. Until finally, he stopped, turning slowly.
“There are whispers about you,” he muttered, almost steady. Almost.
You laced your fingers together, a practiced gesture of politeness, even as a flicker of suspicion narrowed your eyes.
“They say you will participate in this year’s Fertility Festival.”
A swallow.
Another.
His gaze dropped to the sand.
“That you are… waiting for someone.”
You paused, not expecting that to come out of his mouth. “Where did you hear this?” You angled your head to watch him.
He looked up too quickly, at least you thought so. His breath hitched before he met your eyes again. “Some elders.” he said. “I don’t know which.” His fingers tightened around the basket, holding it like a pitiful shield before the sweet color of violet rushed across his cheeks.
In the clearing behind him, mates strolled arm in arm—hands linked, heads bent together, sharing secrets that came from boredom and too many idle days. Stories tended to multiply that way: one whispered into a lover’s ear, passed to another, then another—until rumor became something with teeth.
You slowed your steps until you stood beside him, shoulder brushing his.
“They speak too much,” you murmured. “Huntlessness makes them restless. Weaving won’t tame their tongues.” You slowed your steps. “But… I have thought about it.”
Your gaze drifted skyward. “It is likely I will not attend. Not unless Tey himself decides otherwise.”
His tail froze mid-sway.
You studied him for a heartbeat longer. “You will do the Iknimaya this year, no?”
The village outposts came into focus as you walked. The guardians wore their status proudly: inked bands curling over flesh. Neteyam had none yet. Young still. Though in a year, maybe two, you imagined those patterns would decorate him too.
He dipped his head at your side, fingers tightening around the woven basket. “That is true, yes.”
His braids tumbled forward, shadowing most of his face, but not the shy downturn of his mouth. “I will become part of your clan officially…”
Your mother had pressed him relentlessly these past days, whispering how his age expectancy neared its limit, how the rites needed completing soon. All this so soon after his waking—after the long, punishing coma that had hollowed him, slowed his muscles, stolen his ease. You had been annoyed when told. The boy needed rest, not ritual.
Boy. He was already an adult—just in another clan.
There was a pause, where the waves sounded near. You weren’t particularly close to him. More than strangers yet less than friends. But despite it, you patted his back nonetheless. “I know you will.” You gave a soft smile in return.
His eyes lifted to you. Soft. Wide. The pupils stretched, drinking you in. His ears tipped forward. His tail nudged subtly toward your leg.
You drew your hand back at once. And pretended not to notice.
“We should hurry. The eclipse will come soon,” you whispered.
He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned a breath nearer.
“You know…” He rolled his shoulder, offering his hand, fingers curled in expectation. “Let me carry those for you. I’m close anyway. And you—” He dipped his head. “You have much to do. I shouldn’t have taken your time, Y/n.”
You nodded quickly. “Of course, Neteyam. But it’s fine. Truly. I like helping. So if you need something, ask, alright?”
You lifted the basket from your knee to pass it to him. He took it easily.
Too easily.
Hadn’t he struggled before? You blinked. Maybe he’d just been tired. Maybe he wasn’t now. It didn’t matter.
He drew in a quiet breath. “Of course.”
“Rest easy, Neteyam.”
.
.
.
You were really starting to regret joining Tsireya. Tired eyes slumped evenly to the ground.
It was with each step, another to the front, another to the back. They dragged behind you as if they were a second body barely attached to yourself.
You could see your home just a crook away. A top the hill with blazing grass, decorated with your mothers hefty hands of shells and flower.
Just there, barely there.
Yet finally, as your feet dragged to the top of the hill, you brushed away the cloth separating you and the outside world.
The light in your family’s marui was warm—golden, flickering, softened by bursts of laughter that rolled from wall to wall. The air smelled thickly of fish and brine; clay bowls of stew sat steaming on woven mats as bodies leaned close in a circle of familiar ease.
None of them noticed you at first.
But Tey did.
Your would-be mate was crouched just behind the others, entertaining your baby sister with little chirring sounds. When he looked up, he rose from the ground, and it was then your family took notice. They gave soft smiles with even softer embraces.
Immediately, you placed the leather armor down, weapons included.
“Hello mother, father. How are you?”
Your mother ignored your words, instead brushing a single hair off your cheek.
Your father’s hand found your back—rough, calloused and beloved. “Sit, sit,” he murmured. He guided you toward Tey, who caught your hand in his warm grip and seated you beside him with a soft kiss to your temple.”
Your mother was serious as awlays, stroking your head a bit. “If you wish to sleep, I can save your food? Or maybe dry it for tomorrow's duties?”
“No mother, I wish to eat with all of you.”
She didn’t fret, understanding as she sat alongside your father and took your sister from your potential mate. The mat made of sewa, bent to the extra weight, but did not complain.
Ao’nung, chewing loudly, leaned in with a smirk. “Y/n, aren’t you a little late? Oh wait—never mind. I saw baby-tail practically wagging at the sight of you. So scandalous. He even took you for a wa—Ow!”
You pinched his cheek mercilessly.
“Some of us work,” you hissed, tail flicking in annoyance.
Your mother shot him a warning glance that silenced two conversations at once.
Oh?” your father asked, sipping from his bowl. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly. “He found a school of Makk—heavy ones. He needed help carrying the baskets.”
Your fathers brows rose. “By himself? Surely another hunter—”
“Nope,” Ao’nung cut in, far too pleased. “We were swimming. He vanished. Came back an hour later hauling two baskets like some heroic fisherman—then practically sprinted the moment he saw Y/n. I think he was trying to impre—OW!”
You lunged again, fingers itching for war. “It was nothing like that.”
You glanced at Tey, expecting embarrassment, defensiveness, anything.
Instead he looked distant. His fingers hovered above his bowl like he’d forgotten how to eat.
You touched his thigh gently. “He needed help,” you continued, eyeing Ao’nung now. “Since you are too weak and his brother too foolish, naturally he asked me.”
Ao’nung rolled his eyes but let it die, not without sharing a look with Tsireya.
Finally, when everyone had eaten, Ronal lifted her chin and eyed Tey. “Now. You had something to say.”
Tey snapped back to the present and swallowed hastily, eyes wide. “Ah—yes. I—” He glanced at you, then at your family, then inhaled nervously. “I just… I wanted to say…” He frowned.”I’ll mate with Y/n by this year.” He grumbled. “No hesitation,” he continued, voice firmer. “No trouble. No waiting. I will give everything. And I will mate with your daughter.”
Ao’nung’s mouth opened. “I mean you’ve failed the last three—OW! Tsireya stop that—”
Your cheeks were a sweet purple, eyeing him.
Your mother broke into a radiant smile. “About time. I was wondering if you had turned into a cold fish. I was prepared to banish you myself if you said nothing this year.”
She meant it.
Tey flushed, his large hand warm and grounding on your thigh. Laughter erupted. Hands clapped his back. Tsireya made obnoxious kissing noises.
You couldn’t help your smile then. It pulled at your cheeks, unwilling to be suppressed.
“So when will we have nieces?” your little sister giggled.
Tey was unbothered. “We can begin right after I complete my second birth.”
.
.
.
On another Mauri, Neytiri was deep in thought as she carved a new toy for Tuk. Neytiri worked the small blade with slow, thoughtful precision, shavings of pale wood curling into her palm as she shaped the new toy for Tuk. The marui was quiet in that late, second eclipse.
Her eldest had eaten earlier and left his bowls scattered beside the fire. A year ago, she would have scolded him, but now, she looked at it.
She smiled.
Neteyam.
Whenever someone spoke his name, she had once bloomed, shoulders lifting, pride brightening her eyes. She would answer with all the warmth a mother could hold: That he was noble. That he was gentle. That he led so naturally. He had her face and her fire, they said—but his father’s steady heart beat in his chest.
And every time she said these things, her eyes lowered.
Because she had once believed she would have to speak of him only in memory.
She had begged Eywa with a broken voice. She had offered her own breath in exchange for his. She had wept until the world blurred and swelled and emptied of color. Night after night after night.
Yet his body had not rotted.
She remembered the moment he twitched—a movement so sma;; she thought it memory playing tricks. But Jake fell to his knees, pressing the heel of his palm to their son's chest, and Neytiri held him close, whispering thanks to the Great Mother through breaking sobs.
Norman’s machines came after. Max’s tubes. Foreign breath and foreign feeding forced into Na’vi flesh. For once, only once—she let the sky-people touch her son without protest.
They said the word coma. Neytiri only heard miracle.
They could not explain it. No one could.
But no one questioned Eywa’s hand.
Then the courters came.
They came with herbs and whispers and trembling hands, asking to sit at his side. They brushed fingers through his hair. Murmured their hearts into his unhearing ears. Asked for blessings. Asked for his future. Asked for his hand while it lay limp in hers.
Neytiri watched them with bared teeth, and she sent most away. Only the clan leaders and their children could visit.
Especially you.
You were strange in your stillness. You did not whisper. You did not cry. You changed bandages with steady hands and eyes half-bored, half-distant. And yet, every time you entered, Neteyam stirred. His breath eased.
More then her, more then Kiri’s, more then Ronals or Tsireya’s. You.
So she wondered. She wondered often.
Would you two fit? Could you?
You did not love him. You did not claim him, either. Once, you even sighed—as if burdened by the task. And his ears had twitched at that, too.
She would sit beside him and murmur your name, tell him of your visits, nudge fate the way a mother nudges a child toward their first steps. She had done it before—when he was young and painfully oblivious to affection.
Because Neteyam, Eywa love him, was terrible at love.
When he was young, Neytiri had known he would be fought over one day. She had watched the glances follow him long before he climbed his first ikran. She had been certain that by Iknimaya he would choose a mate.
He did not.
She had pushed gently at first. Too gently, maybe.
She had arranged hunts between him and sweet-eyed girls, weaving projects between him and hopeful boys. The young always returned as friends, laughing, glowing with new companionship… but nothing more.
Every time, Neteyam wore that same proud little smile, thinking friendship was the outcome she had wanted all along.
So she wondered, quietly, carefully, if perhaps his path turned elsewhere. The boys came next. Weaving. Sparring. Laughter. Still nothing.
Once, she had caught his shoulder and pressed a water skin into his hands with feigned innocence. “Neteyam,” she had said lightly, one brow raised. “You two grow close. Will you bring him again?”
He had only smiled. “He and I like different things, mother.”
At one point, she stopped trying. Some spirits simply did not open early. Perhaps he would bloom late, as her own sister once had.
But today… Today her son stepped into the marui with a tired shuffle and sleep-heavy lids, and Neytiri felt the old fear crawl up her ribs. And yet, the freckles along his cheeks blinked faintly—those traitorous lights that only flared with fear, surprise, or—
Attraction.
Neytiri’s heart tightened.
“My son,” she murmured, crossing the space between them too quickly, dropping the knife without care as her arms closed around him. She pressed her ear to his chest as if the rhythm might vanish again if she did not listen hard enough.
He kissed her cheek with tired affection and eased himself onto his mat beside Lo’ak and Tuk, who played at his knees. “I am fine, mother,” he said softly. “Only tired.”
He turned the fish-bone bead on his songcord between his fingers, and the soft glow along his skin dimmed with his breath.
Neytiri was not a fool.
Neytiri had raised four children; she knew when one of them carried a secret, and Neteyam had always been an open book.
Lo’ak had mentioned a girl once, in that offhand way brothers do when they’re trying not to be helpful. He keeps looking at a girl. But Lo’ak never said which girl.
But every time Neytiri pressed, Neteyam’s ears flattened, his gaze slid away, and the wall came up.
I like no one.
You are being overprotective.
So Neytiri swallowed her questions and turned her attention to her younger children instead.
Which, at the moment, proved no refuge at all.
Lo’ak sat cross-legged behind Tuk, fingers clumsy as they worked through her dark tangles. A wicked grin split his face as he twisted another braid. “Hmm… you sure everything was fine? I mean, you kept—”
“Lo’ak!” Tuk shrieked. “You’re pulling too hard!” She squirmed violently, tail lashing. “This is why I like Kiri better!”
Lo’ak hissed at her in playful outrage, then—because he was Lo’ak—tugged her hair even harder. “Yeah? Well Kiri doesn’t do your hair anymore because you’re too fussy—”
Tuk bit him.
Hard.
“AAGH—! MOM—SHE BIT ME—OW, OW!” Lo’ak wailed, clutching his wrist as he stumbled backward. Tears sprang instantly to his eyes. “Look! Look, she really—AGH!”
Tuk launched herself at him again, teeth flashing, fury unrestrained.
Neytiri surged forward and hauled them apart by ear and collar. “Lo’ak. Tuk. Enough! I will tell your father—”
Neteyam, stretched out nearby like a viperwolf before lifting an arm over his ears with a tired smile. “Tuk, the mighty warrior,” he murmured.
He thought no one heard him.
Kiri, arriving with her catch bag slung at her hip, absolutely did. “Hello—oh spirits, she bit you too?” She laughed at the chaos as Neytiri hauled the culprits away, both children offering loud, tear-bright blame.
Kiri had already turned away, her attention settling on Neteyam.
And what she saw made her smile fade.
He looked peaceful at a glance, eyes closed, limbs loose. But she saw past that. The tension in his jaw. The furrow in his brow. The quiet heaviness that had followed him for months now.
She set her bag aside, slipped the fishnet-styled garment from her shoulder, and hung it on a wooden stake. Then she lowered herself beside him, knees drawn up.
“So,” she said gently, patting the ground near his hip. “What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing,” he whispered.
Kiri shifted and laid her head lightly on his stomach. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”
Neteyam opened his eyes at that. “It really isn’t anything,” he said. “Why does everyone keep asking me this?”
She glanced down at her hands, brushing grit from her fingers. “Is it so strange that we worry about you?”
He studied her for a long moment. Then his gaze drifted upward again. “You’re all treating me like I’ll break.”
“Because you were broken,” she said carefully. “And you healed. But this—whatever this is—isn’t that. Something else is weighing on you, ‘Teyam. I can feel it.”
His chest rose and fell in a slow breath.
Finally, he exhaled. “Fine.”
He nudged her gently aside and sat up. “Mom—Kiri and I are going to the reefs.”
Neytiri nodded once from across the space.
“Oh! I want to go too!” Tuk cried, bouncing on her feet.
“No, my sweet girl,” Neytiri said, smiling as she cupped Tuk’s cheeks. “You must rest. So you may grow big and strong enough to surpass Lo’ak.”
Lo’ak stared at her in wounded betrayal. “Mom!”
Neteyam almost laughed, but it quickly stifled it when they lifted the cloth separating their shared home and the outside world. The beautiful eclipse showed the golden array of sun marking their bodies with its light. Yet the ground itself was layered with the bluish night tint. Towards the mountains, they could see the glow of colors that reminded them of their home.
But as they walked, Kiri couldn’t help herself from worrily gazing at her brother. An immediate reaction of questions would not be wise in this situation. Kiri knew that her brother preferred the slow approach, so she refrained from asking her curiosities for a bit.
Walking on the sands, treading through waves. It was nice and peaceful. Enough to satiate Kiri.
It wasn’t until Neteyam lowered himself to pick up a few marbled pebbles, did Kiri finally reveal her question.
Folding her arms close, she swayed her body in a slight impatient hurry. “Ok, tell me what happened.”
Neteyam looked at her, eyes droopy. He straightened himself, clutching the rocks together in a clink. He hesitated, looking straight ahead in equal impatience.
In a pause, he said nothing. Then, he skipped the rocks on the pond, gaining two before it plopped.
“I am in love with Y/n.” The words seemed to tear from his throat, eyes watery as he blinked the tears away, rolling up his lips with his teeth.
For a moment, Kiri thought she misheard. Maybe he said it weirdly. When Neteyam sensed her confusion, he restated it again. His back pointed at Kiri, yet eyes looking away with a softening look.
“I love Y/n. I want her, I want to be with her.”
Kiri’s mouth went agape, her hands immediately touching her chin in surprise. “You…what- but she…isn’t she-”
“The clans first daughter?” He said this bitterly, clenching his hands into tight fists. “In love with another? Barely knows I exist?” His voice rang higher and more desperate with each tell. His eyes were wetter than ever before, and his teeth were bare, moving into a snarl.
He was unraveling. Kiri could see it in the way his shoulders drew tight, in the way he couldn’t remain still—eyes wet, teeth baring, anger trying and failing to hide his breaking heart.
“When…did you start loving her?” She muttered, looking around.
He calmed down a bit, glancing back at her only to soften his gaze when he realized his outburst of anger. He then closed his eyes, thinking deeply. “From the moment I met her. I knew.”
Kiri led him down, both of them sitting on the sand as she furrowed her brows.
Neteyam hid his face within his body, hands clapped around his braids. “When I…” There was pain in his voice. “After I awoke, she was the first thing I saw. She was changing my wounds at the time, pressing cold water on my forehead. She was singing and…”
Neteyam then gently caught his songcord from his waist, moving his fingers at the beads. He was so enamored that he carved some fish bone on that event alone. When people asked him about it, he refused to answer any further than a ‘special event’.
Kiri took a deep breath and looked up to the stars. Soulmates were real, yes. Rare. Sacred. But they were mutual. They were felt on both sides. And Y/n, from what she’d seen… did not look at Neteyam with the same brightness that lit him from the inside out.
Unless she did, and no one saw.
Unless she hid it just as well as he had.
But soul-bonds were mirrors…. Weren’t they?
“I’ve never loved someone as much as I do for her…Eywa- why did she bring me back. I can't be with her, can’t protect her either…” He was sobbing so loud, it hurt.
Neteyam was clutching his chest, letting go of the position he was in to lean back on the sand, faltering.
Kiri didn’t know what to do, and didn't want him to feel so terrible. She wouldn’t allow it, she would do anything to make him feel better.
Eywa you-
Eywa.
Eywa.
Neteyam then felt a hand on his cheeks, pulling him to look at her. He wished he hadn’t opened his eyes.
There she was, freckles brighter than the stars. Her eyes seemed to be glowing. They were wide, pulling him in and spitting him out.
“I have a plan.” She said, and she rubbed away those tears
Oh Eywa, she did promise she was going to make him happy, after all.
A/N- It was nice reading and editing something that wasn't Avatar Odyssey for once! I might post more whenever I feel burnt out on my other fanfic XD
I got so insanely carried away, but again, I just cannot write a short story. I also never write smut so stfu (ᵕ≀ ̠ᵕ ). There will absolutely be mistakes, this isn't entirely proofread, and I cba rn so I'll do it later.
Summary: Duty weighs heavy when the clan expects you to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the one you’ve spent years convincing everyone you loathe. Your father is the clan’s greatest warrior, closest friend to the Olo’eyktan, and their bond sealed your fates together long before you could draw a bow. You grew up running wild with the Sully children but the flawless eldest son always seemed to shadow your every step and you’ve perfected the scowl reserved only for him. The clan believes it and they accept your envy. Everyone except the parents who watch with quiet amusement, because they see what you both still refuse to name.
Or in which; you’re the warrior’s daughter, bound by expectation to the perfect future leader you claim to hate. You insist it’s true and everyone believes you. Except, parents always know their children best.
enemies to lovers, holy slowburn, slight soulmates (but not really?), childhood rivals, forced proximity, aged up Neteyem, so much smut!!! as always, my terrible gramma
Your composure is a facade. He knows it.
He knows it because he sees it.
In the way your scowl falters just a fraction as you swirl colorful insults through velvet words and he finally bites back. In the way you push against him when he even tries to offer his help – because the basket you’re lugging looks absurdly full, and yet you still let him walk you the rest of the way to the village.
You snarl at him when he even attempts to correct your bow arm, and it used to make him flush with something sharp and ugly – envy, maybe? – because you didn’t have a problem with authority, he knows because you seem to take his fathers criticism’s just fine. When anyone else rectified you, you adjusted.
It was only ever a him problem.
Because when he corrected you, you hissed at him like his correcting hand was tipped with arrowheads and poisonous herbs.
You had a problem with Nateyam.
As a teenager, it used to irk him to no end. Because as the firstborn son of the Olo’eyktan, he was meant to carry himself like the leader he would one day become, like an authority the clan respected without question and trusted to guide them through storm and calm alike. Yet the one thing expected of him above all else, the one duty his father never let him forget, was simpler and far more aggravating.
He was supposed to get along with you.
You – the daughter to the clan's most formidable warrior, his fathers right hand man.
You – who did not listen. Who did not trust him. Who always – always – questioned him.
It may as well have been written in the stars by Eywa herself that the two of you were fated to fold neatly into the same position as your father’s. And yet you resisted with every breath possible.
You rebelled, and scowled, and cursed at the mere mention of his name. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with the Olo'eyktan's first born despite your role, and that made it so exceedingly hard to get along with you. It left his skin flushing that embarrassingly dark purple colour which made his mother chuckle whenever he spoke of you.
He tried to make sense of it. Of the way you rolled your eyes at his advice, or scowled when the two of you were paired in training once again and he couldn’t recall doing anything wrong. Not really.
You fought as normal children had, argued and competed as two eldest children to high-ranking parents would, but never with anything sharp enough to leave a lasting wound.. Nothing that should have haunted him like this.
However, he wasn’t a young boy anymore and time had an ironic way of sanding things down. He noticed what once felt like a raw hatred you wore like a book written in some foreign sky-language, suddenly became much more legible as his years grew to start with a two, almost as if he learned how to annotate his memories of you with the clarity he lacked as a teen.
One in particular he remembers most vividly. That evening by the central fire, where you were seated opposite him, and the air still carried the echo of that afternoon’s argument. He sat closest to the basket of ripe utumauti fruits, something he always recalled being your favourite through the years of shared meals, and he remembers the way it sat just beyond your reach on the woven mat.
When you asked for it low and casual, he didn’t think twice. Of course he picked it up and of course he leaned forward to pass it, because why would he not? He sat the closest, and both your siblings and his own had been too occupied in animated conversations with each other to notice.
He also remembers the way you had slapped his hand away with a guttural scoff, almost as if he was utterly ridiculous for even offering. The sting on both his knuckles and his pride had his brows furrowing instantly and that familiar anger, the kind only you could kindle so effortlessly, surged hot beneath his skin once more.
But it was only when the soft snickers rose from nearby – his mother and yours, seated side by side and watching the exchange with far too much interest –that he noticed.
You had still taken the basket.
“Hey!” He remembers the way your fathers voice cut from just to the left, “Play nice.”
And he’d assumed, as always, that your father was less than impressed at his daughter’s rude manners toward the Olo’eyktan’s son. But the reprimand softened almost immediately, chased by a low chuckle that started only after Jake failed to hide a snort of his own beside him.
The two men were already leaning into one another, shoulders touching, Jake’s head tipped low as one hand, holding a piece of half bitten meat hung limply by his mouth, trying and failing to hide his laughs through a mouthful of food.
The nudges of your sister's elbow into your side was the last thing he remembered noticing, sharp and mocking but quickly followed by the look you shot her. It was a silent warning in that strange language he’d never understood as a boy – the one you did with your eyes alone, but one he was now, uncomfortably, starting to. Because you ate your fruit without ceremony, eyes trained forward and stubbornly refusing to drift his way, yet the basket sat firmly in your hands all the same.
That was when Neteyam stopped letting it irk him. When he realised why everyone else around him seemed to find that mean spirit you reserved only for him so humorous, despite his distress. You were composed, yes, but he finally understood why.
Your composure was a lie.
And once it stopped irking him, once it settled into something he thought he understood, all the memories of you persistently adorning that scowl that seemed to exist only for him suddenly lost their bite. For a moment he felt like he had maybe started to figure you out.
But recently, something had changed, subtly at first, then all at once. What was once harmless irritation had suddenly sharpened into something more volatile. You didn't just brush him off anymore, you snapped before he'd even opened his mouth, and flinched away the moment he so much as reached to steady the basket. It was as if every breath he took was a disruption, and his presence had become something you could no longer tolerate in silence.
That mean spirit wasn't funny anymore, because now it was relentless.
Which was why, standing across from you now, he didn’t brace for your signature fang baring scowl. He expected it in a way that made him sigh with knowing fatigue, and yet a little bit of smugness all the same.
“Why must you always be so difficult?” The words surfaced in that defeated tone he reserved only for you and your impertinence for him.
Your body shifted back and you leaned against your heels to glance over your shoulder at where he stood behind you. You were still kneeling over the stump of braided vines you had been meticulously shredding into winding fibres with your knife.
“I am not.” And there it was – that scowl he expected. It twisted your face into that familiar snarl, upper lip curling to flash the set of fangs he saw more than his own. “You just insist on hovering.”
“We were sent out here to collect fibre together. You ‘insist’ on making it a one man job.”
You didn’t look at him again, instead, turning back to the vines where your blade already resumed its steady work, as if his presence were nothing more than a distraction.
“I do not need a partner to cut fibre,” Your response was flat as if it were such an obvious observation, and then you sighed, a long drawn out exhale to yourself. “So ridiculous.”
The scoff that followed was harsh and hidden under your breath.
Despite its low delivery, the sound didn't slip Neteyam’s ear, and he raised an unassertive brow at what he thought he heard, the corner of his mouth tipping low in confusion. “What is?”
His confusion hit you like a sudden gust of wind, and with a growl that spoke as if you couldn't believe he dared asking, you quickly shot up with a whirl, tail whipping fast with a force Neteyam had to step back to avoid. You were facing him completely, now.
“That our fathers insist on sending us out here together like we are still little children. I do not need a partner and I certainly do not need any partner of mine to be you.”
The words landed harsher than the scowl ever could. For a moment he only stared at you, really observing your features twisted with perplexed anger, yet comically softened by what he could only describe as a pout in your lip. He took in the way your stance squared and the way your grip curled around the knife with agitated force.
You may not think you acted like one, but great mother, you looked like a child right now.
“Right, you are not a child.” He said at last, voice level. “But maybe our fathers would not feel the need to treat you like one if you stopped acting as one.”
“Excuse me?”
The grip on your knife tightened, handle creaking under the pressure of your grasp that almost splintered the wood. The corner of your mouth twitched up once again in that scowl that bared the top of your right fang to his watchful eyes, and your tone was so even it almost made him falter.
Neteyam held his ground, though. And instead, he replied carefully in an attempt to diffuse that constantly building tension just a little.
“You make an enemy of me in everything we do, as if we haven’t been paired together since we were barely old enough to hold a blade. If you wish to be met as an adult, you cannot bare your teeth at every word spoken to you, Fang.”
That age old nickname rolled like honey off his tongue but struck your ears and curdled into venom. Your fists curled so tight your claws bit crescent marks into your palms, and the muscles along your jaw tightened until you felt the throb of it.
Fang. You despised when he called you that. The way he reduced you to nothing but the sneer he so often deserved.
With a slow drawn out breath that carried no warmth, you bared the edge of a laugh that held no humour, letting your mocking reply land bitter and sour on your tongue.
“Perfect Olo'eyktan's son, always so composed and responsible. Maybe I would enjoy my time with you more if Eywa hadn’t shaped you so stiff in the tail you forgot how to bend, Tawtute.”
For a heartbeat, the words hung between you like a knocked bowstring waiting to snap with release. Then Neteyam’s jaw tightened, because he always hated when you commented on the human in him, as if it made him less Navi. Less than you.
A Tawtute, a sky-person, as if it were an insult. Spoken like a curse, when all he’d ever done was try to prove it wasn’t.
He let the silence stretch a moment longer, before taking one deliberate breath to regulate his reeling thoughts, choosing to ignore your bait. Low hanging fruit as his father would call it.
“You forget how many times that stiffness kept you from getting hurt.”
You turned back toward the vines with a scoff, knife biting down harder than before. The fibres split unevenly, curling away beneath the force of your hands. “I do not need to be helped by someone who can barely hold their bow arm high enough to knock an arrow. I do not listen to you.”
“Yes,” Neteyam scoffed a humorless laugh, “you never do.”
He sank down into a squat then as well, finally turning his attention to the pile of finished fibres you had shoved aside. His hands were quick to gather a few filaments between his pointer and thumb, testing the strands between the fingers as he twisted the two together, before giving them a short, sharp tug. They held for one, and held for another as he stretched them further, then finally faltered with a snap as he pulled them taught enough.
His mouth twitched down.
“You cut angry,” He observed with a growl. “Uneven. Wasteful.”
You spun once more, this time in your squatted position to meet him at eye level, the knife still gripped between your four fingers almost as a threat. “You waste them with your stupidity! Of course they break when you only weave two fibres!”
“They need to be thick enough for bowstrings, to hold knocked arrows in new bows.” He countered.
You sneered with a slight hiss, leaning further into him. “Then don’t use them.”
“Oh no, I will.” He smirked, as he finally began his job, looping the fibres together, securing them with practiced ease. “Someone has to make sure we don’t come back empty-handed.”
You shot him a glare. “I said I do not need your-”
“You do not need my help,” He finished for you, clearly way too amused now. “I know. You have said it at least five times since we left the clearing.”
He leant closer as he spoke, not directly into your space, but just enough that you had to shift your stance to keep working without him intruding. His looming shadow falling over the stump you worked on, over your hands and the blade that suddenly seemed to falter under a different kind of pressure now.
“And yet,” he continued, eyes never leaving the strands as he calmly coiled the fibres, “you keep cutting while I bind. Funny how that works.”
You stopped your movements, sending him a glare out the side of your eye, one that had your lashes feeling heavy and jaw slightly agape.
“Get out of my way.” You spat, but it was as if you couldn’t convey the weight of anger you meant to land. Your tone was weak and almost a little desperate.
“You always rush when you are angry,” he ignored your demand - if it could even be called that - with a tone that was almost conversational. “Your tail gives you away.”
Your eyes flashed with the realisation that he had even been looking long enough to notice your tells, and your cheeks suddenly flared with something warm and hot that turned you purple.
“Stop watching me, Tawtute.” This time your voice really did sound desperate.
“I can’t. You make it difficult.”
You were close enough to see the faint curve of that infuriating smile he loved to wear, and to feel the heat of him radiating that smug confidence he wore like a headpiece.
Years of success at keeping him as far away as one could be from someone they worked with on a near daily basis, you felt had suddenly dwindled into an endless array of interactions where he always managed to dominate the conversation. Reduced to this. To the way he always stood too close now, and spoke too smugly, as if he had suddenly decided that he finally had you all figured out.
Despite your lack of response, he broke the silence, voice dipping just enough to grate, “You know, for someone who insists she doesn’t listen to me, you react an awful lot when I speak.”
“Because you are provoking me!” You snapped in a low growl.
“You glare like you are about to strike me." He replied, entirely too amused.
“Lucky I am working, because you would deserve it if I did.” The words landed like a pathetic cry, and suddenly it felt like you were deficient of every insult you had ever known, reduced to the same childish fury you’d sworn you’d outgrown.
“Oh are you? Would not have guessed, with the way you are looking at me like a Yerik in the firelight.”
Eywa, if you didn’t look angry before.
“Neteyam!”
This time, you hissed it like a venomous mantra, fangs bared and legs snapping up to your full height as you leaned into his space, close enough to let the words bite the air. Your ears pinned sharp against your braids, and his jaw set as he met your glare without yielding, tension pulling tight between you like that drawn bowstring–
“Oh good, you’re fighting again.”
A sudden unexpected third voice had both your heads spinning towards the break in the clearing just a few yards East, where a very unimpressed Lo’ak tread carelessly down the path with a barely-contained giggling Kiri besides him. Kiri moved with a balled fist pressed against her pursed mouth, supported by an arm crossed along her chest in an attempt to hide her amusement.
“It’s more like flirting again.” The words Kiri muttered were small and meek but Eywa, if they didn’t hit large.
Both you and Neteyam froze at the intrusion, then stilled at the implication, a beat passing before you each stepped back in the same beat of time. He rose to his feet far too quickly besides you, your eyes blown wide in something too closely resembling horror, while Neteyam merely rolled his, tired and resigned, straightening back into the perfect son like it was second nature once more.
“Stop being a skxawng, Lo’ak–.”
“–We are not flirting, Kiri.”
The words collided in the air, yours to Kiri a hiss and his to Lo’ak a sigh, overlapping with a defensive tilt that had the other two chuckling harder.
Lo’ak’s mouth twitched. “Wow." He stated. “Touched a sensitive nerve.”
And Neteyam, the all mighty responsible son he is, didn’t reach for the bait Lo'ak hung so low for him, instead, he crossed his arms with a sigh at his unexpected presence. “What are you doing here?”
The answer came before either of them could speak, as a sudden fifth voice came echoing from the brush of leaves. A small, blurred figure soon came dashing out of the tree scape, making a b-line straight to the centre of the clearing in a full stumbling sprint. She was headed directly towards where you stood in a pout next to Neteyam.
“Dad said to come get you two because you’re taking too long!”
Kiri and Lo’ak's eyes grew wide. And with a quick exchanged glance of horror, at the same time they barked. “Tuk!”
But she ran right past them, as if their voices fell silent to the wind.
Lo’ak lunged forward, catching her by the arm just before she could skid to a stop at your feet. The glare he sent her sharp and immediate enough to make her shrink in on herself, ears drooping as she braced for the scolding she knew was soon to come.
“Dad told us to come get them,” He corrected, gesturing between himself and Kiri. “That wasn’t an invitation to follow.”
Tuk's round eyes glint up with that innocent reasoning you just couldn't deny, her pupils glossing over as she pouted heavy in protest and twisted her head to look at you and Neteyam.
“But Dad said you’ve been out here alone long enough!”
Tuk protested, twisting free of Lo’ak’s grip with a determined wriggle and darting straight to you. The moment she was within your range, she grabbed your forearm with both of hers, tugging urgently as she looked up with those wide, worried eyes.
“He told mom that if you and Neteyam keep fighting like this, you’ll probably end up at the Tree of Souls by tonight!” She paused, then her voice pitched higher with pure betrayal. “But you can’t! You promised you’d help me braid my new beads tonight!”
For a heartbeat, the clearing went unnervingly still. You stared still as stone down at Tuk, mortification burning hot beneath your skin at the implication that flew right over her head but knocked you right up yours instead. And besides you, Neteyam fared no better, looking as if the world had briefly knocked him off balance too, His eyes widening just enough to betray him before he could pull himself back together.
In stark contrast just a ways away, Lo’ak let out a sharp bark of laughter, doubling over with his grip on Kiri's arm, just as she finally outright lost the battle she’d been silently fighting, turning away from the set of two dazed and angered eyes with a hand clamped over her mouth.
She shook with quiet, uncontrollable cackles, restraint entirely gone, fed by the matching looks of mortification plastered across both your faces. The two of you looked ridiculous.
And Tuk, sweet innocent Tuk, oblivious to the chaos her words had detonated in the once silent clearing, glared up at Neteyam's shell-shocked face with furrowed brows and that pouty sneer.
“Stupid Neteyam.” She declared, voice ringing with righteous indignation. “You can’t take Y/N anywhere tonight. Eywa heard it - she’s with me today!”
She punctuated the proclamation with the scrunch of her nose and a quick, defiant flick of her tongue, poked in his direction.
For a split second, Neteyam only stared at her, still caught somewhere between the weight of what had just been said and the very real presence of his little sister. Then he blinked, jaw tightening as the annoyingly-older brother instinct finally won out over shock. With a sharp, almost automatic motion, he reached out and pinched her tongue between his fingers. An act that had Tuk squealing and flailing in protest.
“Oi!” Tuk yelped, recoiling instantly, clutching her tongue with a gasp.
Neteyam let the sound settle before he spoke. He shot you a brief, weary glance, as if checking whether you’d reacted at all, then turned back to his sister, composure sliding firmly back into place. His voice level and measured with a delicate care he reserved specifically for her.
“That is entirely enough out of you. Someone needs to give you a lesson about eavesdropping." He glanced back at his brother and sister, motioning a hand to the two still giggling. "Time to take you home before we all get scolded.”
Tuk’s ears drooped immediately, shoulders curling inward as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, fingers still hovering protectively near her mouth. She opened her lips as if to argue, then thought better of it, gaze flicking between Neteyam and the ground with exaggerated remorse.
That was when Kiri scoffed, the tension finally cracking as ahe straightened, still grinning as she shouted. “He's right, you’ve caused enough trouble. Come on, teylupil.”
She didn’t wait for her to comply, instead walking to grab her, planting two steady hand on each of her shoulders, then began steering her away with decisive finality, already turning her toward the path before she could wriggle free.
“But I didn’t do anything!” Tuk protested.
“Tell it to dad.” Kiri laughed.
Tuk craned her neck back toward you one last time as Kiri dragged her away, voice pitching higher with urgency. “Y/n, don’t forget my hair-!”
“I know,” you cut in quickly, the words tossed over your shoulder like a promise already made as the two disappeared down the winding path in a lingering bicker.
Lo’ak remained a heartbeat longer. His gaze flicking between you and Neteyam, something quiet and knowing glinting behind his eyes as his mouth twitched with barely restrained amusement.
You caught it quickly, and shut it down even quicker, face smoothing into neutrality as you turned away, dropping back into a crouch before the stump as if nothing had been disturbed in you.
“We will collect the threads and follow.” Your voice came out flat and deliberately ungiving, spoken without the fault or fracture he was clearly waiting to see. Whatever reaction they had hoped to draw out of you never came, instead, your expression smoothed into something unreadable, as if nothing at all had happened in the last few minutes.
When he didn't get it from you, Lo’ak redirected his attention to Neteyam with a long, assessing look. He was waiting for the reaction you refused to give, and when he found nothing but the faint quirk of Neteyam’s mouth, he huffed a quiet laugh and finally began his own descent toward the start of the winding path back to the village.
“Dad’s pissed.” He called over his shoulder. “Try not to be too long.”
The brush swallowed him soon after as well, laughter and murmured whispers dissolving into the low hum of the forest. And then the clearing fell still again.
You let out a slow breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, shoulders rolling as the tension finally bled off. Remembering yourself, you turned back to the stump, your hands moved quickly now, rough and efficient, gruffly snatching clumps full of fibre from the scattered pile. You stuffed them into the woven basket Neteyam had brought, as if keeping busy might quiet everything still coiled tight beneath your skin.
For a moment, Netayem watched. It almost seemed like that armored composure of yours was taut as rigid as usual, as if nothing in the last five minutes had made you falter for even a moment. To anyone else, maybe, it did appear as so, but he knew you well enough to see the way your jaw clenched so tight he’d envisioned you cracking a molar, and the harsher than necessary grip in your fingers as you haphazardly tossed the fibre around. Not to mention the stutter in your tail’s path, the tell he’d learned long ago as the one that always surfaced when you were lying.
It left him releasing a chuckle he couldn't contain, a deep, rumbling sound which made your ears twitch sideways in annoyance. You paused in your frantic movements, head snapping to the side in a motion which left your glowing amber eyes glaring daggers at his towering form.
“What?” You spat, tired, irritated and painfully obvious to him – embarrassed.
“Still upset about what Kiri said?"
Your jaw clenched, fangs peeking as you whipped fully around to face him, rising to your full height at the implication. The basket thumped forgotten at your feet as the tension tipped to a peak beyond your capacity, and you stalked towards him with an almost predatory sway.
"I am not angry about that ridiculous–” You cut yourself off, taking a moment to collect the basket off the ground, along with a breath of humid air, allowing it to sit in your lungs before releasing in a desperate attempt to somewhat self-regulate. “Do not flatter yourself, Tawtute. Flirting? With you? I'd sooner make Tsaheylu with a thanator."
His eyes gleamed with mischief, but it wasn’t the boyish, innocent kind he wore when messing with his siblings. This one was the kind he wore only where you were involved, deliberate and cocky, slipping neatly beneath the cracks in your composure because he knew where to press.
The careful, responsible mask he wore all the time loosened just enough to reveal the tease underneath, a glimpse of something warmer and far more dangerous than his jabs at you ever were. He didn’t crowd you with his body so much as he crowded you with his unyielding certainty, leaning in just the smallest amount, voice dropping into something that felt like it belonged in the a dark room rather than under the open light of tree canopies.
“Funny,” He murmured, and Eywa, the way he said it made your spine want to curl. “Your tail is flicking like it does when you lie. And you react so much when I get close, almost as if... as if you enjoy it.”
Heat hit you so fast it was humiliating, up your neck, across your cheeks, down your chest - anger and something you refused to name twisting together until you couldn’t tell which was which. Your hand shoved into his chest on instinct, a firm press meant to reassert space, meant to remind him you were not something to be read and teased apart like the vines beneath your knife.
But his skin under your palm was solid and warm, his breath even, his posture maddeningly steady. You hated that he didn’t move. You hated that the push didn’t become a shove, that your body betrayed you with restraint and a split-second hesitation that had nothing to do with strength. Your pulse seemed to jump when he watched you like this.
“Back off,” You snapped instead, aiming for venom and getting something too light, too strained. You lifted your chin as if height alone could restore your pride. “I do not enjoy anything about you hovering like a skxawng who thinks he is Eywa’s gift to the clan.”
Neteyam didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, the gold in them catching the filtered light until they looked almost feral. The smirk was gone and in its place was something colder as he took one slow step forward, crowding you until the basket handle dug into your hip and the scent of him, warm skin, crushed leaves, the faint sweat from the summer heat, filled every breath.
“Gift?” He repeated, voice quiet and flat, the kind of quiet that made your spine prickle. “I am the one stuck dragging your half-finished work back to the village every time you storm off. That sound like a gift to you?”
Something in his words snapped the tension in a way that almost had a stifled laugh escaping you. The image of perfect Neteyam, future Olo’eyktan, the ever-responsible son, trudging behind you with a basket full of your messy fibers and a everpresent moping frown to match struck you as absurdly funny considering he was the one who always offered to do it anyways. That short, sharp laugh escaped before you could stop it, low and mocking, cutting through the thick air between you.
“Poor you.” You sang, voice dripping with false sympathy as the anger flipped into something crueler and entirely more enjoyable. “All that dragging must be so exhausting for such meek shoulders to carry.”
His eyes narrowed, the feral glint sharpening into irritation, but you were already moving. You jerked the basket from where it pressed against your hip and shoved it hard into his front, the woven edge leaving him doubling slightly from the sudden jab to his ribs, a smack that landed with a satisfying thud.
A few loose fibers fluttered to the ground as he stumbled back a few steps and caught the basket on reflex, fingers curling tight around the rim. The motion finally giving you the space you longed to breathe once again.
“Except, you came here knowing you were going to do it anyways. So, there,” You said, stepping back with a grin that showed too many teeth. “Problem solved. You can carry it all the way home anyways, like the dutiful son you are. Try not to strain yourself complaining about it later.”
Neteyam’s jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the muscle jump beneath his skin, his ears pinning back flat against his skull. The feral edge in his eyes flared hotter, and for a second you thought he might actually snap, toss the basket aside and give you the fight you both pretended you didn’t want.
Instead, he gripped the handle tighter, knuckles paling and barked, “Fnawe’tu skxawng!”
The insult landed far too humorously for you to care, Instead you tilted your head back with an overly delighted smirk, very amused by his irate slurs and the way his facade cracked. “You call me the stubborn idiot? But you carry the basket anyway. Funny how that works?”
He exhaled through his nose, blood boiling at the way you managed to throw his earlier words back at him. The sound was almost a growl, and he took one deliberate step onto the path after you. “Start walking, Fang. The sooner we get back, the sooner I am rid of you for the day.”
“Perfect!" You grinned, but the grin quickly dropped. "Twelve whole hours before you find another excuse to follow me around tomorrow.”
You barely glanced back to see if he was following when you took off towards the village, because you already knew he was.
The clearing was loud with voices and laughter, bodies packed close as food and weapons were passed around in uneven circles, and it felt like the whole village had decided to breathe in the same place at once.
Someone had dragged a fresh kill in not long ago and the smell still hung in the air, mingling with roasted meat, crushed herbs, and the faint sting of smoke from the fire that kept getting fed as if it might swallow the night. Nets of fruit were being unknotted and handed off, cups passed between hands, blades checked and re-sheathed in the same idle rhythm people used when they were safe enough to relax but still too wound up to sit still.
You were wedged between a few of your friends near the edge of one of the many circles, packed close enough that their shoulders kept bumping yours when someone laughed too hard or shifted in their seat. Ki’tiri had been retelling an exaggerated recall of her day on patrol, her eyes gleaming with irate exasperation as she animatedly spoke of the moment Lo’ak decided to start throwing stones out of boredom, nearly nailing Mo’at on the head from the overhang.
Tuk sat too. She had found you the moment you settled onto the woven mat, darting straight to your side to claim her usual spot and spend her evening meal with you instead of her siblings or friends. It's something that had become so common during communal mealtimes that your friends had come to expect the young Sully girl attaching herself to your side like a second tail. It was as if the decision had been made somewhere in her head and the rest of the world simply had to accept it, and now she perched happily at your side like she belonged there.
Her small hand gripped your wrist with the possessive certainty only children had, and she fidgeted with the jewels decorated across your fingers, twisting the woven strands carefully as if she were inspecting treasure. The beads you’d braided fresh not even a few weeks before clinked softly each time she moved, and every now and then she would lean her head against your arm and sigh, pleased with herself like she’d taken down a Thanator.
“Will you make these for me too?” She asked – more like stated – for what had to be the third time tonight, thumb brushing the tiny knotwork with awe.
“When you stop trying to steal mine..” You murmured back, and she grinned, utterly unbothered by the threat.
You let yourself settle into it for a moment, letting the noise wash over you because it was easier than thinking after long days training, because nights like this were meant to feel simple and unwinding. You were halfway through listening to your friend complain about yet another act of stupidity Lo’ak had attempted on their patrol together, when Tuk’s fingers suddenly stilled on your ring, halting and tightening hard enough that the movement forced you to glance down at the girl with a concerned furrow of your brow.
“What?” You muttered, eyeing her of an answer before she spoke it.
Tuk’s eyes flicked past you toward the centre of the clearing, eyeing something in the distance that left you searching the vicinity in hopes of catching the focus of her gaze. Her mouth fell slightly, an almost angered look settling across her face before she scoffed, turning back to you in a huff that had her drawing closer.
“Neteyam is with that noisy woman again. An’aya.”
She spat the name in that high-pitched mocking tone children did, and at first, you didn’t react. Not outwardly, at least. But something in your chest tightened all the same, small and sadistic, as if it even mattered at all.
You followed Tuk’s gaze without meaning to, your eyes slipping past the firelight and moving bodies until they found him almost instinctively. Neteyam sat just beyond the centre of the clearing, leaned back against a stack of supply crates, relaxed in the way you only ever saw when he was amongst people he trusted, his shoulders were loose and his attention tilted toward the woman beside him.
An’aya was speaking animatedly, hands moving as she spoke and laughed so easily, and Neteyam had angled himself toward her without thinking, one knee bent beside his chest, head dipped slightly so he could hear her better over the noise.
It irked you. And it irked you more that it even irked you in the first place. Because you hated him. You told yourself it irked you because you hated that he was enjoying himself. Right. Of course.
But the irritation still sat heavy and ugly in your chest, coiling tighter the longer you watched, and you hated that too, hated that your attention wouldn’t let it go, and that your mood had soured so fast despite being so fine just a moment ago.
There was no reason for it. None that made sense. You hated that stuck up tawtute more than anyone else and you argued with him so much you made a sport out of it. So why did your chest tighten when he didn't brush away the hand she put on his shoulder?
Tuk noticed the shift in your mood right away. Her nose wrinkled as her grip tightened again and she leaned in closer, glaring openly now.
“I don’t like her,” she muttered, voice fierce and final. “She talks too much. And she sits too close to Neteyam. And she laughs at his jokes even when they’re not funny.”
You attempted for even a minuscule moment to draw yourself back, to brush it away and forget it ever made you feel anything by resorting to your usual self regulation habits – insulting the man.
“Nothing Neteyam says is funny.” But not even that seemed to work to calm you because that irrationally confusing feeling still clawed at your chest.
“That’s not true,” Tuk called out immediately, tilting her small face up at you with those wide eyes. “You laugh at him all the time! Just not when he’s looking.”
She leaned in closer, voice dropping into something hurt and almost bordering a whine. “He’s supposed to sit with us.”
“That is not how this works.” You snapped the reply too quick, eyes diverting from the scene to pick up another piece of utumauti fruit as if it never bothered you.
Tuk’s eyes rolled at the response she should have predicted. She never understood why you acted so weird about it, when it was obvious to her that you liked her brother - because that was just what people did when they liked someone. They got weird and sharp and pretended they didn’t. She didn't see it elswhere often, but she knew it because that was what you and Neteyam did.
Your friends had gone quiet at the sudden stir occurring just beside them. Ki’tiri quickly noticed the shift in your mood and tilted her head, studying you now with open curiosity.
“Why are you angry?” She cut in plainly. “Did he do something again?”
“No." You replied stark. “How could he? Neteyam is all the way over there.”
Ki’tiri exchanged a quick, knowing glance with the friends beside you. “I didn't even mention his name." And the corner of her mouth lifted as a chorus of light giggles sung around the circle.
You answered with a quick, harsh warning glare, a motion that had the laughs slowly dying but the smiles still lingering in a knowing gleam. Ki’tiri leaned in again, allowing you the dignity of ending her teasing, feeling almost a little bad at how astoundingly purple you looked.
"You’re getting upset,” She stated simply and not unkindly. “You do that only where Neteyam is involved.”
“I am not upset.” But you were too far maddened for that to be convincing. “And he is not involved. I have been sat here, and he has been there this entire time.”
The lie hung heavy and brittle as you clicked your tongue. Tsk.
"Yeah, sat with that healer girl." Mikatxi interjected low and humoured.
Your chest tightened, sharp and sudden, like the threads Neteyam pulled too taut in the woods and before you could bite it back, the denial tore out of you, louder than intended and edged with fury.
“I do NOT care who he sits with!” You hissed, voice cracking on the volume. “He can sit in her lap for all the stars in the sky care! I would not notice if Eywa herself told me!”
“What is going on!?”
The voice carried across the fire, calm but accusatory, and edged with something that made the fine hairs along your arms rise. In your bladed fury, you let your voice spike too high and missed the one pair of eyes that had locked onto you from beyond the fire.
Neteyam hadn’t stood, he hadn’t even moved from his spot. But he had leaned forward with a watchful, almost concerned eye, braids swinging low and hand hanging off his elevated knee as he observed with what you knew was that stupidly disingenuous concern.
The way he intervened like he was already rehearsing for Olo’eyktan burned you, as if he believed he could snuff out any simmering flame with his big, proud words simply because his blood said so.
And that wasn’t even half your problem. The problem was that An’aya followed his gaze immediately, curiosity sparking as she turned to see what had drawn his attention, blinking and glancing between the two of you, clearly lost by why he interrupted her mid sentence.
That alone was enough to make your teeth grind. Because what was your relationship with that skxawng any of her business?
“We’re fine.” You called back, sharper than necessary, your eyes not even bothering to glance his way once. “Try having your own conversations instead of monitoring everyone else, tawtute.”
Neteyam’s mouth tightened just slightly at the insult, a breath leaving him slow and measured as if he were counting to three in his head. He didn’t rise, not yet. Only tipped his chin and let a quick “Eywa help me,” fall to the air before pushing himself to his feet at last.
He crossed the space between you in a way that had your fist tightening in anticipation for yet another argument, only fueled by the image of An’aya hot on his heels like a second tail of his own, close enough to the boy that it felt intentional whether it was or not. Tuk sat up, planting herself more firmly at your side like a guard animal half her size.
“I said we are fine,” you warned as he stopped in front of you.
Your friends ogled at the two of you, already bracing for the next round of your endless bickering.
“And I said I was just asking.” His voice was calm but firm, and his eyes began searching your face for something, as if he could find whatever it was if he looked hard enough. “You are upset.”
You sputtered a short sudden laugh but your tone held no humour. “Right, I forgot I am only allowed to feel something once you have approved of it first. I forgot I need my warden to tail me through the village and make sure I am behaving. Shall you go report my mood back to our fathers now?”
Neteyam’s jaw flexed, his calm finally straining at the edges.
“That is not what I am doing. You know I do not–”
“You do!" Your outburst came hard against his sentence, not having the patience nor heart to hear his excuses. “My tail flicks to harshly, and it is enough to call council with our fathers! Tell them to rest easy, golden son. I am not about to reign war over one evening meal.”
Neteyam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was bracing himself. “Well, you don’t have to turn everything I say into a fight.”
“And you don’t have to turn everything I do into your problem to solve. The mantle still sits on your fathers head, you are allowed to have a personality until then.”
An overdramatically long groan suddenly sounded to the left of you, and both your eyes snapped over to Tuks exaggeratingly agitated from, as she sighed in that childish way she did.
“Stop fighting!” She begged, voice whiny with pure childish exasperation. “You guys always pretend like you don't want to talk, and then Neteyam comes and you fight forever, and he won’t leave you alone, and you won't tell him to go away, and it's annoying!"
“Tuk!” Both you and Neteyam barked simultaneously, horror gleaming in both of your eyes because that was so obviously not true!
“That is what happens,” she insisted stubbornly. "You do it all the time.”
"No!" You rejected. "We argue because he hovers!"
An’aya, from the shadow of Neteyam’s shoulder, suddenly appeared forward, finally establishing her presence with a smile that was not wide nor warm, but enough to show she was not very fond of the girl her friend had been talking to.
"Maybe, if we did not worry about what you might do next, Neteyam would not be expected to hover and act like Olo’eyktan already."
Your head turned slowly toward her, blood finally boiling to that point only Neteyam’s presence could push it to. Because who was she to imply you were a burden he had to shoulder, a mess he had to trail behind and fix every time you dared to exist too loudly? And especially who did she think she was, inserting herself into Neteyam’s problems as if they were her own. ‘if we did not worry’ — as if she had any right to speak for the frustration he supposedly felt?
“Oh, is that your healer’s wisdom speaking, or are you only borrowing the golden son’s voice while he is too busy ogling to use it himself?”
Your gaze snapped to Neteyam, fury bright and uncontained now that this girl he had dragged to your circle had suddenly felt all too comfortable insulting you in front of all your friends.
“Maybe our fathers should stick her as your new training partner since she is already so good at handling me. My guard dog has a guard dog.”
Neteyam stiffened. “Enough.”
But you didn't stop. “Is this what you tell people about me?”
Neteyam opened his mouth to speak, visibly caught off guard by the sudden accusation.
“That is not–” He started for the umpteenth time but again you didn’t let him finish.
“I would think you respected me even a little, enough, considering all my father has done for you and your family. But you let your women speak to me like I am beneath you.” You scoffed softly, the sound carrying just far enough to be heard.
“A leader, they say you will be.” You continued, words mocking. “Tell me how this is keeping the peace. Seems your peace is built on my silence. Both your peace and our fathers.”
You rose without haste, the motion deliberate enough that the space around you seemed to shift with it. The ground felt steady beneath your feet, solid in a way your chest had not been for the last several breaths, and for the first time that night you welcomed the clarity that came with deciding to leave rather than be dismissed.
“Y/n, no– please don’t be mad,” Tuk whined, the plea tumbling out of her in a rush as she reached for you, fingers brushing the edge of your wrist but failing to catch hold. Her face pinched with genuine worry. "I didn't mean to make it worse."
“You did not.” You said shortly. “This is not on you, Tuk.”
And then you turned and left without a word, the sudden absence of your presence cutting through the clearing sharper than any insult you had ever sent him, and for the first time Neteyam did not know whether you were just angry or actually hurt by what had happened.
It was confusing because you had never let any interaction between the two of you get to you like this, yet now that you had chosen distance in place of where you would usually just choose name calling, he couldn’t help the feeling like he’d missed something far too important while it was happening.
The noise resumed all too quickly behind you, laughter reclaiming the air as if nothing had shifted at all, but he stayed where he was, unease settling low in his chest as he watched your retreating form saunter away, hips swaying with jolting anger and body tempting his eyes to never shift.
He didn’t know when he started noticing things like that. The way your hips rolled as you walked, the flex of the muscles along your thighs with each step, and the way the line of your back shifted as you moved.
It sat wrong that he noticed these things about you, because he didn’t notice them on anyone else. More than anything else, the fact that you hadn’t looked back sat even worse. And the fact that he felt that hollow pull, tight and wrenching in his chest because of it, sat the worst of all.
“At least you don't have to worry about watching her anymore." An’aya’s voice cut in beside him, light and coaxing, like she was trying to pull him back by the wrist.
Neteyam nodded absently, already half elsewhere, the hollow feeling in his chest refusing to settle. Even as he turned back toward the fire, his attention lagged behind, tethered not to the laughter or the conversation resuming around him, but to the quiet space you’d left behind. To the quiet, unwelcome understanding that this time, you hadn’t walked away to cool off – you had walked away because he had apparently crossed a line he didn’t even realise he was dancing.
One delicate, purposeful step after the other. Neteyam watched your sultry hips as they worked against the motion of your legs, swaying against the gracefully deliberate rhythm of your strut. Every step was intentional, not a single wasted motion and certainly no hesitation, each one drawing a slow, tightening circle around him. You eyed him like prey and circled him like a predator.
He, too, circled your figure. Less graceful in his approach, his steps heavier and more grounded, but just as analytical with his eyes all the same. He told himself he tracked your figure because he had to, that he noticed how dangerously alluring you looked in your stride because he was being tactical, certainly not because he found it mesmerising.
Partnered again. You almost rolled your eyes had it not been for the undivided attention you had on his solid figure. You had your suspicions that they were doing it on purpose now, because whenever given the opportunities, your fathers paired the two of you like it was something written into the roots of the forest itself. As if Eywa refused to separate you.
Jake’s voice cut through the air before either of you could make a move.
“Enough posturing,” he barked from the edge of the ring, arms crossed, gaze sharp and unimpressed. “This isn’t a mating dance. Someone's going to have to make a move soon enough. Engage.”
The command barely left Jake’s mouth before you moved.
You didn’t rush him all at once because that was never your style. You shifted your weight and pivoted to your right instead, just as your tail came down with a sharp snap to the left, a deliberate ploy to feint him around you with sound.
Neteyam stuttered for a moment, nearly diving left and falling for the bait, but caught himself immediately, because of course he did. His jaw tightened as he corrected, blocking you by widening his stance, shoulders settling into a space much larger than you had accounted for.
You collided with his chest, steadying yourself with a tight hand clamped around his forearm. It was successful, but your proximity to Neteyam left you vulnerable to an open hand palm against your shoulder, knocking you a step back. It was a warning shot, not meant to land hard, but it angered you all the same.
“Good feint, Y/n. Nice recovery, Neteyam.” Jake called out.
Your eyes never pivoted from Neteyam, but Jake's words riled you further, knowing he got praise for the first hit.
"Is that all you have?" You taunted, circling again, your breath steady despite the fire igniting in your veins. "Afraid to hit me for real, golden boy?"
Neteyam’s ears flicked at your taunt, but his expression stayed infuriatingly calm. He rolled the shoulder you’d nearly landed on earlier, circling with you, mirroring your steps like he’d memorized every rhythm you’d ever moved to.
“Would not want to mess up that pretty face.”
You flared your teeth in a hiss at his words, fangs bared and all, as the implication of them did not evade you. The idea that you were too feminine to fight. Bullshit.
It was bait, you knew it deep within, and yet you lunged for it all the same.
You dropped low, striking dirty with a sweeping leg that made contact with his ankles while your hands aimed for his torso. He leaped back, but you were faster, twisted in the air and raking your manicured claws down his ribs just to watch him hiss.
You landed in a crouch behind him, tail lashing with triumph at the hit but he countered instantly, arm hooking yours, using your momentum to flip you over his hip but you held tightly, and this time you both went down. You snapped right to the ground, landing with a splat and a breathy groan, caged beneath him as his braids fell around your face like a curtain.
“Careful,” he murmured, voice rough, eyes dropping to your mouth, “keep rubbing up on me like that and people may talk.”
Damn his Sully tongue and their dirty human minds. Only they – only he, were rash enough to say such vulgar words.
Heat flared in your face, nothing else but pure rage, and you answered with a growl, driving your knee up sharp between his legs. Not hard enough to hurt, you think, but just enough to make him block instinctively and give you room to twist.
You both rolled again, a tangle of limbs and snarls across the dirt, kicking up dust around you until you came out to a stop, this time you were on top, straddling his waist, thighs clamped tight, hands slamming his wrists into the dirt beside his head.
“I will kill you!”
Neteyam’s eyes blazed up at you, all traces of amusement gone. His ears pinned flat against his skull, jaw clenched so tight you saw the muscle jump. He bucked hard beneath you, trying to throw your weight, muscles straining as he fought your hold.
“Get. off. of. me.” He snarled, voice low and dangerous through his squirms against you, wrists twisting against your grip. “Why must you always turn it into this?”
You dug your nails in deeper, refusing to budge, chest heaving with anger. “You started it with your filthy mouth. Think you can say whatever you want and I will just take it?”
He arched again, harder this time, nearly unseating you from his lap and you slid to settle on his chest. His breath came in harsh pants now, struggling under the weight of you on his lungs, but his eyes still burned up at you with pure defiance.
The shift gave him a perfect view of you, sweaty and furious as you loomed above him, your braids wild, chest heaving and skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat. A deep flush crept up his neck and face at the sight, dark purple blooming across his cheeks and he prayed to Eywa it looked like it was from a lack of air to everyone watching.
“I’m trying to win a damn spar, not deal with your tantrum. Yield!” He said through short breaths.
“Force me, tawtute,” you hissed, grinding your knees harder into his sides. “Or keep dancing for your sempul like the skxawng you are.”
His face darkened at that, a fresh wave of fury rolling off him. He surged up with a grunt, flipping you both violently, dust flying as you grappled, elbows and knees jabbing, fangs baring and hisses sounding like a tussle of five years olds.
He landed a sharp elbow to your ribs and you answered with by snatching at his long swinging kuru braid and tugging at it, pinning him for a split second before you broke free with a snarl.
The spar had turned ugly so fast, no one had time to register what it was until it already had become it. There was no technique left, just primitive fighting and petty aggression mixed with ragged breaths and dirt covered bodies, every strike fueled by years of built-up resentment.
And Jake’s was done watching it.
"That's enough!" Jake barked again, rubbing a tired hand down his face before turning to you both with an outstretched arm that sliced downward in a sharp, commanding swing. "Eywa ngahu, it was funny at first, cute even, when you two were teens and it didn't matter. But by Eywa, you're adults now. You have responsibilities and the clan is going to depend on you." His voice was so demanding and final, it had you cowering in your skin.
The authority in his voice pinned you both in place. Only two men in this world could make you feel small like this, your father, and Jake Sully.
"I'm sorry, sir," Neteyam spoke with a breathy compliance, eyes trained downwards in a way that almost left you scoffing at how pathetic he looked - at how quickly he folded under the pressure of his father despite talking so big against you moments ago. It took everything in you not to roll your eyes while being lectured by his father about acting mature.
So, you muttered through gritted teeth, "Yes, sir," forcing the words out while fighting every instinct that screamed at you to glare at Neteyam instead of Jake.
Jake’s gaze flicked between you. “You two are going to be the leaders of this clan some day.”
As he spoke the words, there was a pause as he immediately noticed the sudden way the two of you began shifting apart, blue faces crawling into flushed purple ones. It only took him another moment to realise the implication of his words, and he saw it. Of course he saw it. Eywa, the two of you couldn’t even look at each other at an implication he didn’t even mean!
Realization dawned on his face, and he let out a long, exasperated sigh. "And this – this right here – is exactly what I mean. Every little thing between you turns into a problem. You don’t know how to keep things contained when it’s the two of you.”
He jabbed a finger toward Neteyam, ready to correct your misunderstanding.
"You will be Olo'eyktan one day." Then the finger swung to you. "And you will be the clan's head warrior. His right hand. His most trusted." Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sooner or later, you have got to get along. The People need to see unity, not... whatever the hell this is."
He said the line so defeatedly, as if his two greatest proteges had become his two biggest failures in that moment, and it left you deflating in embarrassment at the notion that your rivalry with his son had turned into something beyond comprehensive words. Instead, reduced to “hell” - to some weird sky people word.
Shameful.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. You stared at the ground, heat crawling up your neck, wishing the woven walkway would just open and swallow you whole because it was almost like your own father had just admitted that you were acting a fool.
As Jake Sully, the man who raised you almost as his own in the proximity of your father and their strict training regimes, was sighing down at you and his idiot son with weary frustration.
You knew he didn’t mean it cruelly. This was that strange sky-people thing he did, where he slipped into what was described as the “military” tone, meant to correct rather than offend. That didn’t make the cut sting less deep, though.
You were mid deliberation when you suddenly heard it, the tiniest huff of breath from Neteyam’s direction. Not quite a laugh, but close enough, and it had you glancing up at him with the scowl you reserved only for him.
Neteyam wasn’t looking at his father anymore. Now he was looking right at you, glaring through the corner of his limp braids, head still hung low as one side of his mouth twitched upward in that infuriating half-smirk he saved just for you too.
His amber eyes glinted with something resembling a shocked amusement, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe you were actually compliant. Like your mortification was the funniest thing he’d seen all day.
You knew you shouldn’t. You knew this was a horrible time. But in that moment it was like something inside you finally snapped with finality for the first time ever.
Where you usually would have met him with snark, now you were meeting him with red vision and a complete lack of respect.
Your ears flicked back, pinned taught to your hair like an animal on its prey only moments away from pouncing. Tail lashing once almost like a whip.
“What?” you hissed, so low it was almost swallowed by the breeze, meant only for him, but almost so quiet that Neteyam nearly missed the fact that you had spoken entirely. “Something funny, Tawtute?”
He caught your words all the same, the perfect, golden son act completely slipping away, traded for a smirk that widened a fraction larger at your beyond irked facial expression. “A child, Fang.” He taunted, hitting right where he knew you hurt most. “You look like a child scolded by her elder. It’s pretty damn funny.”
That was all it took.
You stepped forward, voice rising despite yourself, despite the voice telling you that only awful consequences would come from acting out right now. The worst part of you could not have cared less that his father wasn’t even through with lecturing the two of you yet, the bigger part of you so enraged, so encompassed by Neteyam and his stupidity, his audacity, that you just-
Did. Not. Care.
Your figure snapped upright, tall and menacing, body twisting to face him fully as your large blearing eyes glossed over, unblinking and fear-provockingly wide.
“Open your mouth again, Tawtute, and I swear to Eywa and everything she deems sacred, I’ll slam you down and make you swallow every sorry sound you choke in front of the whole clan.”
Neteyam’s smirk froze, then vanished almost as quickly as it came. His ears were the ones to flick forward now, sharp at the ends and persistently alert. His golden eyes that had been mocking you a heartbeat ago had darkened into molten amber pits, pupils narrowing to slits. The perfect son was gone entirely.
His tail lashed once, hard enough to slap the air as he twisted his body entirely to tower over yours. It was the first time in all your years of knowing him where he had ever intimidated you, because it was the first time in all the years you’d known him that his size truly registered. Tall, and broad, and built like the future leader he was meant to be.
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, tracing the sharp lines of his frame all the way down until they stopped to linger on the bold stripes that curved low around his hipbones and disappeared beneath the edge of his loincloth. They had always stood out more than anyone else’s, as darker, thicker, more prominent than the others. The Tawtute genes, you told yourself, that’s why they were like that, no other reason, certainly. A flush crawled up your neck, hot and confusing, and what would have been disguised as pure rage to any onlooker.
It pressed in on you though, close enough that the heat of him brushed your skin. Because, it didn’t feel like pure rage alone. Your mind could try to convince you, but your body would do otherwise, betraying your thoughts with that persistent betraying flicker of your tail.
And Neteyam noticed. Of course he noticed.
“Keep staring like that, Fang,” he said, leaning in until his breath stirred the loose strands of hair at your temple, “and I’ll give you something real to choke on.”
The words hit low and vicious, a promise wrapped in threat and before you even processed which arm had lifted first, your hand, with pre-curled fingers was already moving toward his chest to shove him back as hard as you possibly could. A hiss so guttural and sharp tearing from your gaping mouth, decorated by the furiously purple hue that painted your face like a white canvas.
His own shot up just as yours had, catching your wrist mid-air in a grip like the metal on the ships the sky people flew. Not painful, but almost entirely unbreakable.
For one suspended heartbeat you were locked there, with his fingers around your wrist and bodies inches apart, both of you breathing hard, tails thrashing in mirrored fury. The space between you felt suddenly too small, the air too thick.
Then Jake’s voice cracked through it like a whip.
“I said enough!”
He was on you in two strides, one massive hand clamping the back of Neteyam’s neck, the other seizing your upper arm and hauling you both apart with force that made your feet skid on the woven mat.
Jake’s eyes were wild, ears pinned flat, chest heaving.
“You two are done,” he growled, voice shaking with barely-leashed anger. “Done acting like feral animals that can’t control their emotions. Grown adults and I’m still treating you two like I did when you were twelve.”
He exhaled sharply, making the decision at that moment.
"You're going out to the eastern watchpost. Tonight. Just the two of you." He held up a hand when you both opened your mouths to protest. "No arguments, not a goddamn word. It's an hour ride so that's plenty of time to cool off and you'll spend the entire night there.”
Jake was not having it. “I want the supplies inventoried, the platforms repaired, and I want every corner of every ridge scouted for any signs of human activity, and you're going to do every moment of it together. You'll eat together, sleep in the same goddamn hammock if you have to, and you'll come back tomorrow morning acting like the future leaders you're supposed to be."
He released you with a shove toward the rookery.
“Go saddle your Ikran’s.”
When the two of you hesitated, Jake snarled “Now! And if I hear one more word out of either of you before you’re out of my sight, I swear to Eywa I’ll tie you both to the same tree instead.”
Jake's voice sounded so tired and the clearing had gone deathly quiet. Neteyam’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing and he was the first to turn without even so much as a glance in your direction, stalking toward the rookery with rigid shoulders, his braids swaying with each step, and every taut line of him vibrating with a restraint he almost lacked.
You stood frozen for half a breath longer, heart hammering against your ribs, wrist still burning where his grip had been. Then you turned too, spine straight with the kind of discipline that fooled everyone but the Sullys, because Neteyam and Jake could both see the bruise that adorned your ego, they just both knew better than to comment on it this far in.
The young warriors scattered around the training grounds let their conversations die and bows lower as you both strode past. Your ikran sensed the rage rolling off you and answered your call with shrieks and flared wings, and an agitation that mimicked your own. And you mounted without glancing at Neteyam once, attaching your queues to the end of your Ikrans with what was probably a little more force than necessary. He did the same and Jake watched it all with a tired stare as Neteyam banked east first, cutting through the darkness like a blade, before you followed silently behind him without a glance back.
Jake finally let out the breath he’d been holding, dragging a tired hand down his face. The forest answered him with the soft rustle of leaves and distant night calls of your fleeting Ikrans, nature utterly unconcerned with the problem he’d just sent walking into it. He had broken up enough sparring matches to know the difference between anger and whatever that had been.
Eywa help them, he thought. Because I am officially out of patience.
Behind him, the rustle leaves and heavy approaching footsteps had his ears perking up, expecting the presence before the sound of a low chuckle could startle him. The sound of a man who had already arrived at the same conclusion and was simply waiting to see if Jake would catch up.
Jake turned to find your father standing there, arms crossed, tail swaying lazily behind him as his eyes tracked the two figures disappearing into the trees. There was concern there, yes, but there was also something else that Jake had seen displayed on his face every time your families met and you and his son fought. Something almost… entertained.
Your father watched the treeline a moment longer before he spoke, his expression thoughtful rather than amused, though the hint of it lingered all the same.
“You finally snapped.” He said, eyes not glancing at Jake, but to the sway of trees that shielded your retreating forms in the distance. “Only took till the moment they stopped trying to fight clean.”
Jake let out a slow breath and rubbed at the back of his neck, because that had been the exact moment his stomach had dropped, when the spar had stopped looking like training and started looking like something feral. “I told myself it was just their temper getting the best of them,” he admitted. “That they’d settle once one of them landed a solid hit, but I’ve never seen them go at it like that.”
Your father hummed softly in agreement. “Even anger has rules.” He said. “What I just saw forgot them. No form. No distance. Just hands… wherever they could reach.” Your fathers eyes finally glanced over to Jake, a knowing smirk leaving him chuckling at the revelation.
Jake snorted quietly, humour slipping through despite himself and soon they were laughing low in unison. “My son knows better than that.”
“As does my daughter,” He replied, and there it was, that note of worried pride that always crept in when he spoke of her. “Which is how I know they have reached a point where the body starts answering questions the mind refuses to ask.”
“You’re worried.” Jake observed.
“I am a father,” he simply replied, and then after a beat added, “And I have eyes. I know Neteyam is fond of her.”
“He wont–,” Jake moved to start comforting his friend, shifting to place a hand on his shoulder when your father let a short snort leave him.
“I do not worry about Neteyam, I worry about her,” he said, with no effort to soften the curve of his mouth. “Neteyam has always known where the line is even when he pretends not to, and I have watched him choose restraint around her provoking comments time and time again. When it would have been easier not to.” A pause, then quieter, “That matters to me. It is her who has no restraint.” He ended with a chuckle.
Jake’s smirk lingered, but it softened at the edges, tempered by something more careful in tone. “Yeah, well, they have both been very good at lying to themselves.” He let a beat pass before he chuckled. “Well, maybe not your daughter, she can’t lie to save her life.”
“It really is her we should worry about.” Your father laughed. “If I were foolish enough to wager,” he suddenly turned, clapping a hand to Jake’s shoulder, “I would bet they return insisting the night was torture, then flinch every time their queues touch because they finally know what they’re used for.”
This time, the laugh Jake let out was almost too loud for his liking, glancing around in hopes that no one had heard the less than tasteful wording.
“I’m not taking that bet,” he said, then hesitated, the amusement fading just enough to let the doubt through. “I expected you to be angrier with me for sending them off together.”
Your father snorted. “You did the same with Neytiri,” he replied. “And you didn’t exactly handle it with grace.”
Jake grimaced. “That was different.”
“No, It was not,” he said lightly, his gaze flicking back toward the trees, “and Neteyam’s trying too hard not to cross the same line. My daughter has never been good at pretending there isn’t one.”
Jake exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, rubbing yet another exhaustedly stressed hand down his face at the implication of his words. “I’m not gonna sleep tonight.”
“Good,” Your father said quietly. “Someone should keep watch. In case they burn the forest down. Let us just hope we do not share the name Grandfather and time soon either.”
Your feet hit the platform before his did, heavy with a careless thump that transitioned quickly into long strides against the creaking wood, riddled with the intention of getting as far away from Neteyam as possible, who was landing close behind you. There wasn’t anywhere far to run off too, especially in the dark of night on a foreign base you had visited not even twice before, so you settled towards the end of the platform on a pile of large crates that rattled against your weight.
Neteyam dismounted much slower than you had, gently detaching his queue, before petting his Ikran three times, signalling its dismissal to perch elsewhere. It left with a shriek, chasing your own which had scattered the moment you landed.
Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, adorning everything in a bleary silver and deep shadows illuminated by bioluminescent blues. The base was rickety and barely large enough to accommodate a few people with all the supplies stolen and housed from the sky-people around. The wooden branches sagged and the leather tarp frayed, neglected and unkept for what seemed to be decades. But it was going to have to work considering you were banished here for the night.
Neteyam didn’t look at you right away. He took the first few moments to busy himself checking over the boxes, silently counting the stock in the typical Neteyam way that forced him to be a stickler for the rules, to listen to every authoritative voice, to be the most stuck up Na’vi to ever grace Pandora's blue planet.
It took him a second of a forced and uncomfortable silence before he finally broke the tension, his voice low and failing to hide the tinge of irritation behind it despite his attempts to at least try and get something done. “We should start with inventory. Get it over with.”
You didn’t move from your position on the crate farthest south. And you almost laughed at how pathetically authoritative he attempted to sound, because you knew his blood still seared hot with boiling anger at being scolded not even an hour ago. Instead, you tugged at the string of the bow you had picked up from beside you, slowly swaying the one foot you left dangling as you fidgeted with the fraying thread.
“Do it yourself.”
Your voice – so dismissive and blunt in tone – had Neteyam’s pointy ears pinning back and deep amber eyes snapping at you in a quick, sharp warning.
“Do not start.”
You took the first moment since he entered to direct your attention away from the flimsy bow, finally looking up at him with an all too unimpressed glare. “Too late.” You sneered, your typical fang glaring snare on full display. “You started it the second you opened your skxawng mouth back at the training camp. Even children know to be silent when Toruk Makto speaks, yet somehow you can not manage to get that through your thick skull?”
“My thick skull?” Neteyam’s big eyes bore straight through your own, blown wide and non-blinking almost as if trying to read you for an answer he wasn’t going to find. He looked absolutely exasperated and a breathy laugh that held no humor escaped his lips as he shook his head. “Thats rich coming from the one who is sat on a crate of knives, doing absolutely nothing.”
“We are only here because perfect son could not bite his golden tongue long enough to remember his father was still speaking. You listen to him when we're here but not when it counts back home. I thought you were supposed to be the smart and disciplined one.”
“Kind of difficult to concentrate on a lecture when the woman threatening to make me choke is attempting to swing her claws into my chest.”
“I only reacted because you–!”
The words stuttered in your throat, dying in your mouth as heat flooded your face in a violent wave, remembering what led to your outburst in the first place. Remembering the explicit words he let slip from soft yet smug lips like he had any right saying it in the first place.
–Because you speak lewd words that should only be muttered between the most established of mates.
“–Because I what?” Neteyam’s voice was softer now, but the smirk that followed was anything but gentle. It spread slow and lethally arrogant across his face, eyes glinting with a new light that felt almost predatory, as if he’d just found the one loose thread that would unravel you completely.
“Because–” Your face was so flushed, you could hardly bring the words to the surface. “–Because you- you have a vulgar mouth! Y-You speak filth just to provoke me.”
“Vulgar?” Neteyam's eyes glinted with something completely different from the irate exasperation from earlier, it was like his entire demeanor had calmed, replaced completely by that arrogant smirk, like he was the only one able to translate the book the two of you had been trying to read your whole lives. “Me? I think I recall you mentioning something about slamming me down on my back.”
A sharp gasp tore from your throat. The words hit like a physical blow, twisting your earlier threat into something raw and unmistakable. Your face burned hotter, if that was even possible, violet spreading across your cheeks as you instinctively looked him up and down.
“That is not what I speak! Why must you keep bringing up those words?” The words tumbled out too fast and breathless to be convincing, and you almost kicked yourself for the delivery.
“Because you are the one who said them, you just don’t like what they mean.”
He began stepping closer. His strides were so deliberate, as if planned in advance, and unhurried, as if you were not another moment away from clawing out his eyes.
“They meant nothing,” you shot back, chin lifting in defiance. “You twist everything.”
The sound of Neteyam’s footsteps drew your eyes to lock on his figure, tall and looming as he strutted one slow step at a time closer, and you found your eyes doing that traitorous thing they did a lot now, wander. Wander down. And down.
It started with his face, as you watched the sway of his braids while he strode with that infuriating arrogance, brushing the sharp lines of his jaw with a clatter of his beads. Then it was his impossibly round eyes fixed right on you – which they always seemed to be when you were around – unblinking and heated through a downwards gaze. They were eyes that masked what you knew to be such a conceited personality as so deceivingly innocent.
Soon your gaze fell to the wide frame of his shoulders and the firmness of his chest, and it dawned on you that you’d only just noticed how much broader they had become over the years spent together, carved from tireless hours of drawing bowstrings and traversing the harsh landscape of Omatikiya forest, lean with muscle that shifted under blue skin with every stride he took closer.
Your eyes wandered again until they finally fell right to where they seemed to stop at a lot now; his lower body, narrow hips marked by the most vibrant stripe pattern you’d ever seen on any man – on any Na’vi you’d laid eyes on. They were darker and thicker, more pronounced and unlike any others, they trailed off and disappeared so low into his loin cloth it almost felt purposeful in the way they pulled your eyes. Like they were specifically made to draw your eyes and your eyes only, and hold them there by design.
Those lines were unnatural in their perfection and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they made your face so hot and your heartbeat feel as if it could move to places it should not be, and it especially wasn’t fair that it wasn’t a you thing, it was a him thing. You only liked it on him.
You told yourself for the hundredth time – that it was the Tawtute genes making everything about him just a little too defined, a little larger. Not that you were staring, of course, just studying. Because he was different and you were always curious, you told yourself. But your tail flicked once, another betrayal that told you that was a lie, and you prayed the shadows hid it..
The shadows did not hide it. And of course he noticed.
Neteyam slowed, stopping just close enough that the space between you felt inconsequential. He wasn’t touching you, at least not yet and somehow it still felt as if he had pressed his entire body against yours. As if you were suffocating beneath him.
His gaze dipped and it wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t subtle either, following the same path yours had just taken; down the line of his chest, over the sharp cut of his hips, to the stripes adorning his body next to the band of his loincloth before lifting again, eyes glinting with the most unbearably smug sense of amusement you’d imagine possible from a single man at the realisation he had just made.
It was silent for a beat, air heavy with tension before Neteyam spoke.
“You must really like my loincloth.”
Your ears shot straight up and outwards, standing tall and perky as if alerted by a lingering predator, eyes blowing wide as you shot your head up to meet his gaze head on.
“Shut up–!”
“–You know, my mother makes them–”
“ –I don’t care–!”
“ –Shall I ask her to make another? She does adore you–”
“–You do not know anything–!”
“–I know exactly when you lie.”
The words were being sputtered so fast, they crashed into each other in an overlapping, frantic mess. To any onlooker, it would have almost sounded as if you were talking in unison.
Your tone was desperately sharp, doused in mortification and hidden in anger. And his was flooded with pure, unadulterated tease, knowing very well how every word he spoke rolled down your ears and crawled beneath your skin. You blushed so often around him he could almost mistake you as a purple Na’vi now.
The overlap fell apart as abruptly as it had started. You glared at him, chest tight, ears still rigid with embarrassment and fury, daring him to say one more thing. He didn’t…
At least, not right away.
His gaze dipped instead, unashamed and bashfully amused, tracking back down to where yours had been just moments ago. His mouth curved like he’d found something amusing he was excited to explain. But you knew he was only rubbing the fact that he caught you staring in.
“My mother uses five beads on each knot,” he said smugly, and you followed his fingers as they brushed against the small carved beads on the loincloth’s cords. “She says it is the number of balance. Five for the senses and all.”
Then he suddenly looked up at you, those overly round, innocent eyes portraying that innocence all too well. “Seems it isn’t working, you don’t look very balanced right now.”
If you were in half a mind with any common sense, you would have scolded him once again and shoved him as far back as your arms would allow in hopes for a little space and clarity. Unfortunately for you, however, that sense was ripped directly out of your already fumbling grasp the moment your eyes followed his hands to where he gripped that damned loincloth you really couldn’t escape.
They were larger and longer than others, scarred from weaponry and cliff climbing, and calloused in places where the overuse was notable. His fingers grasped the thread of the cloth, and as his grip tightened, the purple veins littering the surface of his skin protruded along with it.
Watching the way his fingers curled, and the way his veins pulsed, it sent heat crawling up your throat and pooling behind your ears. Every flex of a tendon, every faint flicker of those tiny freckled lights, felt like a private taunt aimed straight at whatever composure you had left.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice steady even as it came out breathier than you wanted. “Five is a greedy number anyway.” You muttered, eyes still traitorously fixed on his hands.
His gaze followed yours until it landed on his hands – on the way your eyes lingered there too long, and the way your breath had betrayed you before your mouth ever could. A slow smile curved across his lips, smug and knowing.
“Greedy?” He echoed softly. Without haste, he lifted those hands, the ones you couldn’t stop staring at, toward your face. “Is that what you think this is?”
His long fingers spread deliberately to parade all five fingers to your wide, helpless eyes, and began wriggling them in slow, teasing beats as if he, too, were suddenly fascinated by the anatomy you’d just mocked.
“Tawtute.” He uttered, his voice dipped low with smug delight. “That is what you call me.”
He let his hands hover close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his palms, close enough that if you stuck your tongue out just slightly, you’d be able to taste the skin. Close enough, that the fact you had even entertained that thought made you sick to your stomach with dizzying confusion.
“Txampay tawtute.” He purred, eyes half-lidded and glinting as he drank in the flush climbing your neck.
Then, unhurried and impossibly sure of himself, he leaned in. His body now crowding every inch of air yours occupied, chest nearly brushing yours, until he reached past your shoulder and caught your wrist in one smooth motion. He brought your hand up between you to display the four fingers you always had, and his golden eyes gleamed as if it was the first time he had seen it. Slowly, he lifted his own hand to mirror yours, five fingers spread to contrast the four of your own just across from his, hovering directly opposite it.
“Demon blood.” He muttered, though he wasn’t offended. It was more a statement, or amused even, awaiting a reaction.
You watched, breath caught, as he hesitated for a single heartbeat, watched in your peripheral as his eyes bore into your face, searching for any flicker of protest or resistance. A sign that never came.
And once he realized that, he dipped one long finger down between the gaps of yours. Then another, and another until he slid each one of his fingers between your own, interlocking your hands like he was claiming every unoccupied space he could find.
“Do you call me tawtute so often because you think about how my hands would feel on you?”
Then he guided your joined hands, fully intertwined, up and back, lifting them slowly until your knuckles brushed the rough-woven wall behind you. He pressed them there and the motion brought him so much closer, it was as if he had taken up all the air, because why were you suddenly finding it so much more difficult to draw a breath?
“Neteyam.” The name came out like an unsure whine, nothing like the sharp hiss you’d wielded against him a thousand times before. Because the last place you had ever imagined yourself being was here, pinned beneath the steady weight of his gaze, his body, his five greedy fingers laced so perfectly through your four and it confused you that no fiber of your being was begging to reject it.
You watched with greedy eyes as his face twisted from out of your view, head shifting down towards the crook of your neck and the frantic rate of your breath betrayed every last pretense of calm. His mouth stopped just on the cusp of your left ear, and you felt the warm, velvet skin of his lips brushing the sensitive shell of it, tied with the cherry on top by the soft sway of his braid against your cheek and the smell of him. That intoxicating scent which smelt of eclipse leaves and sweet hearth vines.
They had been your favourite scents for as long as you could remember, and it was only just dawning why that is now.
He took a beat, his breath warm on your skin before he spoke. “I know you hate me.”
You did. You hated him, the Olo'eyktan perfect first born. The boy that followed you like a shadow through the winding roots of Hometree. The child you had been measured against since the first time a blade had been pressed into your palms.
“Neteyam learns quicker,”
“Neteyam already wields a bow,”
“Neteyam never loses his temper.”
You had heard it from your father your entire life and you hated him for being the excellence you couldn’t be. You hated that he wore it so smug. And more than anything, you hated that he actually tried to soften it and make space for you beside him instead of behind. He was so good to you, and you hated that he never got mad when it counted.
And now – now – you couldn’t reconcile that boy with the man standing close enough to steal your breath, hands steady where your resolve should have been. You couldn’t fathom how you were letting him do this. How the same Neteyam you’d spent years resisting, spitting at, and training like Eywa herself had told you to do so in order to best him, had slipped past your defenses without even raising his voice. All it took was him invading your space closer than he ever tried before and your resolve dwindled.
“I know you think you hate me.” He repeated, but this time you could hear the smirk that crept up his irritatingly gorgeous face. “But you never look at me like this when you say it. And this–” his free hand drifted down, fingertips ghosting along the tense line of your hip until they found the base of your tail, “--this is the most still your tail has been all night.”
The gentle, knowing stroke along the sensitive underside made your spine arch involuntarily before you could stop it, so far into him you could feel the press of everything below his loincloth against your lower belly and it made you whine. A guttural, involuntary sound you didn’t mean to make, nor had you realised escaped you until Neteyam’s glowing amber eyes widened alongside his smile.
You struggled to find your voice, with the overwhelming feeling of Neteyam all around you, touching every inch of your skin, all consuming and intoxicating but when you did, it was breathy and weak.
“Do not–” you stuttered, pausing your words to find breath.
Then your voice came again, interrupting his thoughts in a moment where his grip faltered slightly around your fingers and tail. You sounded so primitive and defeated, it was like the entire forest in a ten-mile radius had stilled.
“–stop.”
Neteyam stilled, mind reeling and eyes searching every inch of your face in desperate search of an answer to an unspoken question you sparked within him. Do not? Stop?
Do not stop?
He gawked at you, ogling at every inch of your face in hopes of an answer. Your eyes, droopy and half-shut, turned sideways as if too ashamed to look him in the eyes. Mouth just a touch open, drawing long and heavy breaths, and your beautiful blue skin, flushed that purple colour he was becoming so fond of seeing, gleaming with a layer of warm, sleek sweat.
You looked absolutely ruined. And he absolutely detested the idea that you might have been telling him to stop – truly stop – his advances because now that he had a glimpse of such a sight, he cursed the idea that he may never see it again knowing exactly what you looked like underneath him. So he waited with baited breaths, a wait you did not make him stand long for, and then you delivered.
“Do.. not.. stop.” You spoke between heavy breaths. “Neteyam, please.”
And then he saw it. The way you had been pressing up against his right thigh, locked between both your own thighs and rubbing against your core, just close enough to create friction. The sight and the plea shattered whatever thin thread of control he’d been clinging to as he finally realised what you meant.
A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep in his chest, a half growl, half reverent thanks to Eywa herself, as he surged forward, releasing your tail momentarily, only for the hand to sweep through the air, landing right on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him with a roughness he rarely displayed.
And that's when it finally happened. His mouth crashed against yours, hungry and possessive, swallowing the next broken gasp that spilled from your lips. His fingers curled into the sensitive skin just below your hairline in a way that made your knees weaken, and had you not still been sitting on this crate, you were sure you would have faltered and folded to the ground.
His tongue pushed at the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart with a devastating hunger, as if he had been waiting far too long to claim this moment, only clarified with the roll his body made to press into your own. The muscles of his abdomen elongated and protruded against the skin, screaming at you to touch them, to feel them, as he pushed your intertwined hands further back into the wall.
That was when his hand around your neck finally began its descent downwards. It started at your shoulders, brushing against your collarbone and lingering just a moment around your breasts. He swirled against the curve underneath the soft fat and the trail left hot tingles in its wake, sending blood rushing to every nerve the pinpoint of his fingertips lined.
It continued on, searing down the arc of your waist, against the curve of your hips and drew a curl to stop just a few paces below your belly button, and yet not even a breath above from the band of your loincloth.
Your breath hitched as those fingers paused there, so achingly close, tracing lazy, maddening patterns just above the thin strip of woven fabric – the only thing left between you and completely surrendering to the man who haunted your every waking moment. Neteyam pulled back from the kiss, only far enough to watch your contorting face, the molten amber of his eyes now nearly non-existent, replaced almost entirely by his pupils, blown wide with lust and a restraint that was seconds from snapping.
He could feel the heat radiating from you, and could tell you were trying to resist whatever thoughts were happening in your head, unsuccessfully so. He could see it in the way your thighs tremored ever so subtly, and in the way your hips shifted restlessly against him, as if seeking friction but hating who the friction you seeked came from. A low, approving, yet humoured growl rumbled in his throat as he pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged.
“You are always so responsive.” He murmured, voice gravelly, lips brushing yours as he spoke and fingers still working their patterns at the lowest part of your belly. “Every touch… you light up for me.”
“You always think you know what I feel.” The words spat harsh but breathless, trying desperately to deny him the satisfaction of winning.
But Neteyam just laughed, stating flatly. “Your freckles glow, fang.”
And your flush deepened knowing your body was betraying your mind.
“Stop talking. I still despise you.”
Neteyam took the opportunity to lean back, making enough room to have a full view of your body without disconnecting your lower bodies. Finally his hand strayed from your belly, sliding to the left of it before stopping right at the rope that knotted your loincloth into place. He glanced down at it expectantly, then up to meet your eyes, his own glinting with mischief.
“Funny way of showing it.” He commented.
Then his fingers pulled at the string, and all you did was let your head fall back against the wall in response.
The knot gave with a soft tug, the woven cord loosening until the loincloth sagged against your hips, and you felt the cool air kissing at your newly exposed skin. It left your sighing, and Neteyam actually laughed at the sight of you.
His next move was to grab at your right leg, lifting it high until it settled on top of his right shoulder. The motion had you shifting forward slightly, nearly hanging off the edge of the crate now. Once it was placed, he leaned down, meeting the slant of your body against the crate until his face met just above yours.
“No fangs now, huh?” He taunted, voice dripping with smug triumph, his breath hot against your lips as his free hand slid up the thigh draped over him with the most reverently possessive grip.
Your eyes narrowed, a spark of fury cutting through the haze of pleasure. “I’ll silence you.”
Before he could fire back another cocky word, you flexed the leg hooked over his shoulder and shoved hard. Your heel dug into the muscle of his back as you pushed, using every bit of leverage to force him downward and surprise flashed across his face for a split second before he dropped to his knees in front of you, left hand disconnecting from yours and instinctively reaching to grip your hips as a means to steady himself.
There he was – all mighty Neteyam, son of Toruk Makto, future Olo’eyktan – kneeling between your thighs, directly in front of your exposed core, with amber eyes flicking a mix of shock, defeat and drooling hunger.
You let your head rest back against the wall again, eyeing him through the brush of your lower lashes and fingers threading roughly into his braids to hold him exactly where you wanted him.
“I told you I would make you swallow your sorry sounds.” And with a sharp tug forward, the control had been shifted to your hands. “Now swallow.”
The low, involuntary groan that vibrated through his chest and into your core was the only answer he managed before his mouth obeyed. His head moved first then his tongue dragged slow and deliberate, tasting you like he’d been starving for years and refused to rush the meal. But the grip you kept in his braids, tight and unforgiving, told him exactly who set the pace.
Heat slammed through you, ugly and mixed with the pure rage of having him under you. You hated him for making your body clench like this, hated the way your thighs shook because his tongue felt so damn good, but hated it more that you questioned if the reason he felt so good was because he had done this before. Hated that the idea made you jealous.
You were a mix of pleasure and shame – that Neteyam was on his knees, eating you out like he had no choice and that he was disgustingly good at it. And when you rolled your hips forward, demanding more, he gave it without hesitation, lips sealing around you, tongue curling deep and relentless, then it dawned on you that he was worshipping your clit like he was singing a prayer.
Your thighs trembled around his shoulders, the leg still hooked there locked tighter, heel pressing between his shoulder blades to keep him exactly where you wanted him – on his knees, serving the woman who’d sworn to hate him forever. And he did it so well you had been reduced to a moaning, whining and squirming mess beneath his hands that were holding you down.
“Eywa, shit– Y/n– ” The name slipped out raw and whiny, and the vibration of his voice had you absolutely feral, snapping in an instant. But not to your end. No.
Because the only thing you could think about was why he felt so good. Why he was so talented at everything. The idea of him having experience with this, of him doing this to someone else, made something vicious twist in your chest.
So your hand in his hair tugged hard, snapping his head back and away from your core to glance up at you with daze in his eyes and your slick dripping down his chin.
He blinked up at you, lips swollen and shining, breath coming in rough pants. For once, the smugness was gone, replaced by raw, hazy want and a flicker of confusion at the sudden stop.
You stared down at him, chest heaving, jealousy burning hotter than the aftershocks still pulsing between your legs, and the words came sharp, cutting through the air like an arrow.
“Who else?” You spat, voice accusatory and ugly with envy, fingers tightening in his braids in a visceral way you couldn’t help.
“What?” He sounded so breathless, and so confused, eyes still foggy from being buried between your thighs.
“You move like this is not new to you.” You snapped, the words spilling out jagged. “People do not learn that by accident.”
“Fang, what are you–”
Then your mouth spat the words like the answer was so obvious, like you had been just waiting for the name to be mentioned. “ –It is An’aya, isn’t it?”
“An’aya!?” He said it like the name didn’t belong here at all. Because it didn’t. Because twenty seconds ago he was face-deep drowning in what he deemed to be his new favourite flavour, and now he’s thinking of a girl he’s barely spent more than 10 minutes alone with.
“You lie with her too!” The accusation came out sharp enough to feel final, as if it wasn’t something to be debated and you had already made up the answer.
Neteyam stared up at you for a beat, eyes wide, mouth still wet and open like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or groan. Then the laugh won, short and completely disbelieving as the weight of your words settled into him. He searched your eyes, stern and glazed, angry with something he knew you barely understood and it dawned on him. Holy shit.
“You are jealous.” He said it so incredulously, like it was the best revelation he made all week. A rough laugh tore out of him, head tipping back in your grip, the sound raw and disbelieving. And it was like you couldn’t even deny it, all you could do was sneer your usual fang baring scowl and snap your head away with a tsk of your tongue.
“An’aya?” he rasped, grin sharp and crooked, chin still dripping with you. “Eywa fang, you think I have ever touched her? Ever wanted to?”
He shifted forward on his knees, hands sliding up your thighs as he finally raised to his feet off his knees to meet you at eye level. His face was inches from yours, grip firm but not pushing and you watched as that aggravating amusement melted into the softest look you think he had ever sent you. His smugness fell, the cocky edge dulling into something so honest.
“I do not lie with An’aya. Just you, fang.” He spoke so slowly, voice low and steady, and almost gentle despite the filth of the moment. “I only ever think about you.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Heat flooded your face, your chest, mixing between the jealousy and the flattery until you couldn’t tell which burned more. You didn’t know if you believed him – or more so didn’t know if you wanted to believe him. So you picked your arm up to pinch the side of his ear, using it to drag his face impossibly closer. Your gaze flickered between both his eyes, searching for something, an answer to a question you weren’t even sure you knew what.
For a split second, something in your grip faltered. The idea that he might be telling the truth was somehow worse than the lie. So you tightened your fingers on his ear for a beat before yanking his head back with a force meant to hurt.
“Prove it,” you snarled.
Neteyam’s breath hissed through his teeth at the sting, but the look he gave you was pure lust, not a single trace of softness left. In one brutal motion he tucked one hand under your ass, and the other around the curve of your waist, before spinning you around so fast the world tilted for a fraction of a second. Your chest slammed against the crate, palms scraping metal as he kicked your legs wider and pressed his full weight into your back.
You heard him before you felt him, the quick tug and rustle as he worked the knot of his loincloth free behind you. Something involuntary dragged your head back, forcing you to peek over your shoulder. The fabric fell, and it was like every silent inkling you’d ever felt bite at you, every reflexive moment that told you to study his stripes despite never knowing why, finally dawned on you why it had always been so urging.
Those large, vibrant stripes were only a preview into what the loincloth hid. They tapered lower and thicker up the base of his cock, before finally crawling into a thinning stretch that ended just beyond the tip of his head, which was slick with precum and the most angry, swollen shade of red. Red. Like a Tawtute.
And it was in that moment you realised that all those little characteristics that made him slightly different – the broader shoulders, the extra finger, the sheer size of him below the cloth and the way his tip skin flushed pinker than any Na’vi you’d ever seen – weren’t the flaws or accidents you convinced yourself was the reason you fixated on them. They were proof that he had Toruk Makto’s blood running through him, the son of a leader, born to be a leader. And right now that blood had him hard and leaking for you, the girl who’d spent years calling him sky-demon scum.
The realisation twisted hot and ugly in your gut, hate and want braided so tight you couldn’t pull them apart but that was so swiftly disrupted by the feeling of him pushing forward, the tip of his achingly large cock making contact with your swelteringly wet entrance, and it had you absolutely unraveling at the mere contact of it.
You couldn’t help the moan that slipped out of you at both the stretch he gave with just the top of him, barely even a quarter full, and at the sight of him ogling down at the space between you, at the way the tip of his cock looked barely swallowed inside of your warm hole, his fist gripping at the base.
Neteyam caught the sound, eyes snapping up just in time to see you bury your face in your arm and he laughed that irritatingly smug laugh that vibrated through his chest and into your back.
“Already moaning for me, Fang?” He murmured, voice thick with satisfaction and lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “You can’t even pretend to hate me anymore.”
“Do not…,” you hissed with a breathy sigh, the words cracking despite your best effort to sound venomous, “…dare assume you know what I feel.”
He hummed, amused, like your denial was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.
“I do not think I'll have too.”
Goosebumps rose in its wake, your hips stuttering back despite yourself before you could correct it. His hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady, while the other slid up your spine in a slow, deliberate path until his fingers closed gently but firmly around the thick base of your kuru, the long, sacred braid that cascaded down your back.
The feeling of his hand around your kuru had your entire body jolting, a sharp, electrifying shock racing through every nerve in its wake. You spun in his grip with a surprise he’d never seen on you before, eyes blown wide, breath caught, and all that sharp defiance from before suddenly fractured by something he had never seen painted so vulnerably on you.
You looked so unsure, so confused, so conflicted, staring at his hand like it was both a threat and a gateway to something new.
At your face, Neteyam’s expression softened too, the smugness fading completely as he brought the end of your braid up between the two of you, turning it so the the wispy ends of your braid went limp to expose the pink tendrils beneath. They snaked in the air, searching the air as if awaiting what was yet to come.
His own kuru hung over his shoulder, and he used his other hand to grab at it, settling it so close to yours that the tendrils already began reaching for each other, drawn like magnets, but far enough that they did not touch.
“I will not force this, and I will not continue with this if you say no. I honestly don’t think I can.” he said, voice low, rough with restraint but steady. “Tsaheylu with me… or we stop right here. Your choice, Fang. Always your choice.”
The words hung heavy. You hated him for giving you the out. Hated him for making it feel safe to say yes even though you really thought you would have said no. Hated how much you wanted him, and wanted to know what it felt like to be bound to the one person you’d spent your whole life trying to push away.
Your chest rose and fell fast. The tendrils of your kuru twitched, brushing the air toward his and you didn’t speak as you watched them try to connect. Slowly, deliberately, you reached your hand up to wrap around his forearm, watched as the hand that held his kuru faltered at the intrusion and met his eyes as he searched yours for answer.
It didn’t come as a verbal one, but your mind had been made the moment you tugged his arm forward to allow his kuru to connect to yours. And in an instant the tendrils met, wrapping and fusing, snapping the bond into place.
A gasp tore from both of you at once, backs arching, eyes fluttering as raw sensation flooded through. The pleasure was intense and overwhelming, but more than that: every buried feeling, every unspoken want, every flash of anger and longing and need crashed together in a single, shared current that left you both moaning messes.
He groaned your name like it hurt and you whined his so helplessly, fingers digging into his shoulders and the world narrowed to just the two of you.
Neteyam moved first, hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he spun you both around and sank to his knees. He laid you gently on the cool floor beneath him, settling between your legs, face-to-face now with his forehead pressed to yours, kuru still joined, the bond pulsing with every heartbeat.
He slid back into you slowly, eyes never leaving yours, letting you feel everything – his awe, his hunger, the years of wanting you he’d hidden behind every smirk and fight. And you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and for the first time with there being no crate, no wall, no anger between you, nothing but the bond, neither of you could deny the truth that lingered between you for years anymore.
The bond made it unbearable in the best way because you could feel everything.
You could feel every slow drag of him inside you echoed back through the link. You felt his pleasure at how tight and wet you were, your helpless clench around him, and the ache that flared harder with every inch he gave. You felt the way your body gripped him like it never wanted to let go, and he felt it too, a low, broken groan rumbling from his chest as his hips finally seated flush against yours.
“Fuck–” he breathed, voice ragged, forehead still pressed to yours. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, the golden amber almost gone. “You feel… I can feel you everywhere.”
You couldn’t answer with words. The bond carried it for you: the rush of heat, the ache, the impossible fullness of him stretching you open while his emotions poured into you
He started to move, slow at first, deep rolls of his hips that dragged the thick length of him along every sensitive spot inside you. Each thrust sent a wave through the bond, pleasure looping between you until it built on itself, amplifying, stealing your breath. Your nails raked down his back, leaving red lines over his stripes; he hissed and answered by snapping his hips harder, driving a sharp cry from your throat.
Through the link you felt how much he loved that sound, how it made him throb inside you, how close he already was to losing control and you responded by sticking your mouth to his neck, and sucking hard in an attempt to quiet yourself.
“Tell me,” he rasped, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, keeping your faces close, noses brushing, “tell me you feel it too.”
You did. Eywa, you did. The anger was still there, flickering at the edges, but it only made the pleasure sharper, almost as if the bond was burning it clean and turning years of hate into something so much more overwhelming.
“I feel you,” you finally gasped as your mouth left his neck with a slimy pop, and you noticed the angry purple mark that sat in its wake. Your voice cracked, legs tightening around his waist to pull him impossibly deeper. “All of you. Don’t stop–!”
The next thrust ended with another broken sound from you, a half-moan, half-word that slurred through your tongue almost incomprehensibly.
“Mmm– ’tayem–”
Neteyam’s rhythm faltered for a heartbeat, then picked up again, faster now with a cocky triumph you felt flooding the bond like heat. A low, smug chuckle vibrated against your neck as he nipped the skin, sucking and pinching at it with pride.
“I got you that good, huh?” He murmured, voice rough but dripping with satisfaction, hips rolling deep and deliberate. “Got the stubborn Fang stuttering my name?”
You tried again, desperate, the pleasure coiling so tight you could barely think.
“Ma– tayem–”
He laughed again, breathlessly arrogant and loving every moment of this – loving that you, always so sharp-tongued and composed, always throwing insults at him and trying to embarrass him in front of your families, was reduced to this, such a moaning, whiny mess you couldn’t even get his name correct.
“Ca not even get your words right,” he teased, smirking against your lips, eyes gleaming down at you with such amusement. “If only everyone could see you now.”
“Ma ‘teyam.” You managed it this time, much clearer and insistent of every syllable that trembled out of you on the next thrust. And he froze.
Not completely, his hips still rocked shallow and instinctively, but the rhythm stuttered hard, like someone had yanked his hips backwards and held them still. His eyes widened, searching yours through the haze, the cocky smirk smacked off his face in an instant as the meaning finally slammed into him.
Ma ‘teyam.
Your Neteyam
The bond flared hot with it, your claim, raw and unfiltered, pouring straight into him. A ragged groan tore out of his chest, half between shock and something much, much deeper, like a stirring pot of pleasure and disbelief and possession all tangled together into two bodies merged as one. His forehead dropped to yours again, losing every trace of that smug control because the words were echoing through the link like a vow, and it broke him.
A low, guttural groan ripped from his throat, deep and wrecked and his whole body shuddered as the realization hit him harder than any phrase ever uttered to him. His hips jerked forward once, hard and uncontrolled, completely unlike his usual poise, as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, and that was it. He came with a broken cry of your name, voice cracking on the syllables as he spilled hot and deep, pulse after thick pulse flooding you.
The bond amplified everything and you felt every throb of his release as if it were your own and that made yours follow soon after, the overwhelming rush of his pleasure crashing into yours, the way his heart slammed against his ribs, the dizzying mix of disbelief and euphoria that Neteyam was now claimed by you in the most intimate way possible, solidified by the way your attached kuru still hung besides you, your deep purple marks decorated his neck, and your bodies lay against each other, sleek and fucked out.
His forehead pressed hard to yours, eyes squeezed shut, breath coming in harsh, uneven pants against your lips. His arms trembled as he held himself above you, hips still twitching with aftershocks, grinding slow and shallow as if he couldn’t bear to pull out.
“Fuck… fuck–” he gasped, voice hoarse and trembling, nothing left of the smug warrior who’d been teasing you since you got to this forsaken watchpost. “You… you said…”
“That I despise you?” You murmured, eyes fluttering closed as you breathed him in, beyond exhausted, tail finally curling loose and lazy behind you. “I do.”
A broken laugh tore out of him, warm and disbelieving, his nose brushing yours as his breathing slowly began to steady. “I don’t even need to see your tail to know you lie.”
And as if to prove his point, he brought his hand around to the place where your kurus joined, stroking the exposed, sensitive nerves gently with his thumb. The bond hummed softly at the touch, sending a lazy ripple of warmth through you both and your tail flicked once, then curled deliberately around his thigh, holding him close.
He felt it, of course and a quiet, satisfied hum left his chest.
“See?” He whispered, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “Even your tail is done fighting me.”
You opened one eye, glaring weakly up at him. “Do not get used to it, skxawng. The second we are back with the clan, I am telling everyone you cried after your father yelled at you.”
Neteyam snorted, shifting his weight so he could prop himself on an elbow and look down at you properly. His braids fell forward, framing his face, and the bond carried the soft glow of affection he was trying, and miserably failing to hide behind his usual smirk.
“Then I will have to tell them how the almighty daughter of our clan head warrior begged for me to–”
You slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing. “Finish that sentence and I will bite you again.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, laughter muffled against your palm and you narrowed your eyes as you spoke once more. “I could still push you off this ledge. No one would find the body till morning.”
“Maybe so.” He conceded easily. His hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing the base of your kuru in a way that made your spine shiver despite your best effort to stay at least a little defiant. “But then who would keep you company on patrol anymore? You would miss arguing with me.”
You huffed, shoving at his chest. “I would finally earn peace.”
“Peace is boring.” He countered, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to the inside of it, soft and infuriatingly gentle. “And you would miss my family interrupting us every five minutes, thinking they will catch you slipping in the act. My dad likes messing with us too much to let you go.”
You snorted, but the sound lacked real venom. “Your father likes me because I am not afraid to yell at you when you are being an arrogant teylupil. That is not the same as liking me.”
Neteyam’s grin turned softer, eyes crinkling at the corners. “He likes you because you are strong. And because you force me to be stronger. Even when you are threatening to skin me alive.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but your tail betrayed you again, curling tighter around his leg like it had decided it wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
“Flattery will not save you,” you muttered, dropping your head back to his chest so you didn’t have to look at that stupid, fond expression on his face. “When we get back at dawn, we say nothing. We walked the perimeter. Inventoried the stock. End of story.”
Neteyam arched a brow, amusement flickering through the bond as his eyes flickered around at the area even messier then it was before you two had arrived. “You think they will believe that? Nothing has been done here. And you look…” He brushed a thumb over your neck, tracing where his mouth had been earlier. “…thoroughly ruined.”
You swatted his hand away, but there was no real heat in it, not like before. “You look worse, Tawtute. Like you lost a fight with an Ikran.”
He laughed, full and unguarded this time “Then let them think what they want, I already won.” he whispered when you parted.
You rolled your eyes, but your tail tightened around his leg again, betraying you.
“I still despise you,” you muttered into his neck.
✿ dark!neteyam x fem!metkayina reader x dark!ao’nung part 2
wc, 3.4k .ᐟ
SUMMARY, Ao’nung, the prince of reef, doesn’t let anyone meddle with what is his and get away with it — neteyam sully was no exception.
╰┈➤ WARNINGS, smut /ao’nung and neteyam are both jealous of each other /obsession/fem!receiving /corruption kink /cheating /slight threesome at the end /m!masturbation /slight angst/ choking kink//can we talk about how fine ao’nung looks in the new movie with his tattoo and everything ohmy 😫
part one here!!
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As rumours sparked around the village that you and neteyam were bonded, Ao’nung was furious.
You, his intended mate, have bonded with another man?
It was Ao’nung that you had been promised to for years.
At times he had made it seem like he did not want you for a mate, but deep down it was always you who his dick heart craved.
It was you who he had longed for.
It was you who could fulfil his desires.
It was you who visited his dreams every night.
And yet a boy that had come from the forest with his family, seeking uturu, dared to challenge Ao’nung’s claim on you.
As soon as news spread of what had occurred between you and neteyam, Ao’nung’s friends began to tease him about losing his betrothed to a “forest freak with a small tail”
He was the the eldest son of olo’eyktan, he was the future olo’eyktan himself, how could this be?
You were are to be his Tsahík.
And because of this Ao’nung knew that he had to prove himself, he wouldn’t let neteyam get away with taking what was rightfully his. You.
Mated with the eldest sully boy or not, you were still his and the taller na’vi doesn’t react well to others meddling with his belongings. Especially not to Neteyam sully who the metkayina boy has had a secret rivalry with the second he stepped foot on awa’atlu.
Two days have passed since Ao’nung first heard the village’s gossip and throughout the entirety of that two-day period, he has done nothing but glare daggers at you.
What confused you most is that you and Ao’nung have had plenty of opportunities to talk, plenty of opportunities for him to shout at you, plenty of opportunities for him to do anything. Yet he refused to as much as breathe in your direction.
Earlier that morning your mother had tasked the two of you with feeding ilu as she thought it would help keep peace between you and the Metkayina boy.
But with Ao’nung there was no such thing as peace.
So despite you being made to spend time with each other, he remained silent.
The entire time.
He said nothing, yet his eyes followed your every move — they seemed to be betraying him.
You hated to admit it but his lack of words did in fact bother you. He was never this quiet, it was strange. Ever since you were kids you have not went so long without speaking. Although you and Ao’nung were indeed in an arranged betrothal, it was not something either of you had ever disagreed on.
But Ao’nung’s silence was deafening and made you think that he had something planned. He always did, just like the time he tricked lo’ak into going outside the reef with him.
After all by now everyone in the clan knew better than to mess with the olo’eyktan’s son, clearly not neteyam though
Others may think you were being paranoid but you knew the prince of the reef better than anyone.
And when it came to him, you were rarely ever wrong.
── .✦
This evening yet another celebration was being held, this time to honour the return of the tulkuns. You have already told your spirit sister all about the situation you were in and for once she surprisingly had no advice to tell you. Only that she’ll miss yours and Ao’nung’s bickering
“Tayem are you sure you can’t go?”
There was a hint of pleading in your voice, of course you were fine attending the event with tsireya but members of the clan would surely question on why your mate was away on duty instead of celebrating like a metkayina. The tulkuns were very important to your people, neteyam not being there could be mistaken for a sign of disrespect.
You especially didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to yourself because you knew Ao’nung would be watching, tracing each motion you made with his predatory eyes as he has been doing these past few evenings.
In short, it’d be easier with neteyam there
He comfortingly put his hand on your cheek — one of his hands alone being larger than your entire face, “Paskalin, you know I can’t.”
You looked up hopelessly, softly batting your eyelashes at him.
“Please Teyam”
He hated having to say no to you
How could he refuse his stexli?
He almost groaned at the sight of you like this, a bulge beginning to form in his loincloth.
“Fuck you look so pretty like this baby, let me at least walk you there yeah?”
── .✦
Luckily no one judged you for not being accompanied by your mate which was slightly relieving. This was a time of happiness for your clan, rejoicing with your brothers and sisters — it was no time to worry about who hasn’t come.
You were talking with tsireya, your voices low beneath the open sky when the feeling that your being watched returned, it was that quiet awareness that wouldn’t leave your skin.
Ao’nung stood a short distance away, still refusing to utter a single word to you. He hasn’t joined the conversation, hasn’t tried to. After all why would he, you had betrayed him in his eyes.
Yet every time you shifted your weight, every time you smiled or glanced down at your hands, his gaze would follow. You could feel it.
It never went away.
Your best friend laughed at something you said, brushing your arm. At that moment A’onung’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He looked away for half a breath then back again, as if drawn despite himself.
You turned slightly just enough to catch him watching. He didn’t look away this time. Didn’t speak. His eyes only lingering and eyeing your body up and down, tracing the moment before you returned your attention to tsireya, pretending not to notice the heat of her brothers stare.
Forced into silence, he remained where he was, still quiet but his eyes never stopped finding you. Was he still angry? Was he jealous of you bonding with another man? What was he feeling?
You wanted needed to know
You needed to speak with
The metkayina festival was loud — music rolling through the air, laughter rising and falling like the waves of awa’atlu but Ao’nung stood apart from it, his shoulders tight and jaw set. He hadn’t looked at you once since earlier.
You had to wait for the right moment
You wanted to at least explain yourself.
When tsierya was pulled into a dance by someone (probably lo’ak) and the crowd shifts, you followed him as he moved away from the firelight, towards the quieter edge of the gathering. He noticed you and his pace quick-end, as if meaning to leave altogether.
“Ao’nung,” you called.
He immediately stopped in his tracks.
He has always been weak when it came to you
Slowly, he turned to face you, his eyes, once full of admiration, were now sharp with restrained irritation and anger.
“What” he said flatly, it was neither a question nor an invitation.
You stepped closer, lowering your voice so no one else could hear despite the two of you being far away from the others.
“You’ve been avoiding me for days, a’onung.”
At that he laughed.
His laugh was short and humorless. “I think I’ve had a pretty good reason to, wouldn’t you say so, my betrothed?”
The music felt distant now, muffled by the tension between you. Firelight flickered across his face, highlighting his high cheekbones, catching the fury he hadn’t bothered to hide. He wouldn’t look away, but he wouldn’t soften either.
You struggled to form your sentence properly,
“C—Can you at least talk to me, tell me h—how you feel, I want to know”
You must of sounded so stupid trying to get an answer from him, stammering over your words. After all You were the one who ruined your friendship — everything that happened was your fault but you needed to know the answer. You couldn’t go on like this.
You just wished he would talk to you,
Maybe even argue,
Anything that would show you that he still cared.
The future olo’eyktan’s jaw tightened as he let out a sharp breath,
“Oh so now you care about how I feel, yawne?”
You wanted to say something so badly, maybe tell him that neteyam had connected your kurus himself, but all you could do was pathetically look at him, unable to find the right words as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You hated how despite being mated to neteyam, your heart also ached for ao’nung.
Seeing you look so upset because of him made ao’nung feel a certain way.
His angry gaze quickly turned into something else, something darker.
Lust.
“Great mother forgive me for what I’m about to do, why must you do this to me yawne?” he muttered under his breath but before you could ask the tall na’vi what he had meant, he smashed his lips onto yours.
The kiss was fierce, nothing gentle about it - born of everything he’d held back for so long. It’s angry and aching all at once and for a heartbeat, the world falls away.
But reality cuts through and your thoughts quickly drift back to neteyam, your mate.
You press your hands against Ao’nung’s muscular chest and push him back, your breath still unsteady.
“This isn’t right”
“Him taking my betrothed wasn’t right either, yet he still did and you let him.”
“A—Ao’nung I—I”
Eywa you were so pathetic, you couldn’t even defend yourself because he had a point and you knew it.
You opened your mouth to speak further but he silenced you, capturing your lips again in a kiss that left no room for words. This time the kiss was more soft but still as passionate,
“Shh just let me take care of you, okay?”
His strong tail wrapped around your leg possessively, now kissing you even harder. Instead of his hands landing on your waist as Neteyam’s would every time you got intimate, the metkayina boy held you by your throat as if daring you to push him away again.
One of his hands then slowly began to untie your top but when it started to slip down your body you made an embarrassing attempt to pull it back up. “Don’t get shy on me now yawne, this was all meant to be mine anyway.” Your cheeks go even more purple at his words and you look up at him through your long lashes.
What you see makes your needy cunt drop with even more slick — his gaze was hungry, he was looking at you like predator looks at its prey.
You had never seen him look so desperate nor determined before. He had that look in his eyes that if anyone was to try and take you away from him — he would die right there and then or maybe the fool attempting to separate the two of you would. After all, he has killed for you before.
The hand that he still had on your neck tightened, ao’nung was asserting his full authority over you.
You knew there was no going back after this.
It seemed Ao’nung has also claimed you.
Your nipples harden as they are exposed to the cold evening air, Ao’nung throws your top that was now fully off, to the side before bringing his face down to suck and bite on your perky tits. The position was quite uncomfortable as the muscular man was almost a foot taller than you so instead he decided to pull you down onto his lap.
You gasp as you feel something hard poke against your inner thigh.
He just smirked at reaction, continuing to give you wet kisses all over your breasts, his mouth beginning to slowly trail down your body. He wanted to mark you. Leave marks on your precious skin for your mate to see — maybe he’d finally learn about what happens when someone messes with what belongs to metkayina prince, “Fuck you’re so perfect, neteyam doesn’t deserve all this.”
You moaned at the mention of your mate.
You wondered what neteyam would think if he were to witness this scene. You wondered what he would think when he saw the marks that Ao’nung has foolishly left on your skin as a surprise for him.
Little did you know that your mate was already here — watching everything.
Neteyam hid himself behind a tree while he watched the metkayina man take you, his mate, as he has taken his betrothed a few days prior.
Normally neteyam would punch anyone who dared to lay a hand on you, some of ao’nung’s friends could actually vouch for this — yet the darker na’vi couldn’t stop watching. The ache between his legs wouldn’t allow him to.
His yellow eyes followed the silhouette of you and Ao’nung as the prince went down onto his knees — his kisses eventually stopping as he reached the hem of your carefully crafted loincloth — one that matched neteyam’s, he had made it for you, his paskalin, himself.
Ao’nung smirked to himself as he ripped it off, immediately attaching his lips onto your cunt and draping his thirsty tounge up in your slit like he’d been dreaming of this.
Probably because he has.
“Fuck angel, you taste even better than I’ve imagined.”
You tried your hardest to muffle your moans but you couldn’t help but cry out loud as his tongue flicked your clit with circular strokes — teasing you. You attempted to shut your thighs but he gripped them, holding you wide open for him as he feasted on your pussy.
Neteyam’s breathing got heavier, his hands guiding themselves to his throbbing dick — he was oddly turned on by the sight of you getting devoured by another man. He’d step in soon enough, he thought to himself.
He wouldn’t let you forget who you belong to.
The forest na’vi pumped his dick up and down while watching you come with a scream on ao’nung’s tongue, thighs clamping around his head.
Despite you reaching your orgasm, he didn’t stop.
Instead he continued licking, sucking on your clit even harder than before — he was relentless, he was starved.
“You taste delicious flower”
You could only whimper in response as he whispered even more filth until he finally ate cleaned up the mess you had made between your thighs.
He stood up, helping you balance yourself while your thighs still trembled. You thought it’d be the end of it but he apparently he was just getting started,
“Turn around for me yawne.”
As soon as neteyam heard this he knew it was time to step in. The scene he’d just witnessed may have turned him on a little too much for his liking but he was not about to let another man fuck his wife.
“How about you turn around for me, sevin?”
The sound of another voice made you jump, causing you to open your eyes, as you did you expected to meet the eyes of the man you have spent the entire night with — however you were surprised as you met with the yellow luminous ones of your mate instead.
“N—Neteyam”
Fuck, what have you done?
You were going to explain yourself until you saw that he didn’t seem angry at you, instead he shared a knowing look with ao’nung — as if they were silently communicating with each other.
Suddenly both of their eyes landed on you — matching smirks plastered on their faces.
“Me and neteyam were thinking that maybe we could share you for tonight, what do you think about that baby, hm?”
Your eyes widened, you had expected many things — just not this.
❝ HIS CINDERELLA CAUSE I MAKE IT FIT ! ❞
⤷ Enjin x Fallen Spherite!Reader
>>>>>> Apparently Enjin has all the 'luck' when it comes to finding Spherites in No Man's Land. This time he's found you—a stuck-up Spherite noble—cast out with the trash. You're prissy, needy and an overall pain in his ass. Definitely not his type—but that slutty pussy sure is. ♡
>>>>>> 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟖+ for filthy enjin smut. enjin & reader are delulu & down bad. big dick!enjin. size queen!reader. bimbo!reader. sex under the influence. public sex. breeding. bjs. enjin is overall diabolical. but there's also a bit of plot too with some romance/fluff/humor. no spoilers for anime/manga.
>>>>>> 𝐰𝐜: 13.1k
𝐚𝐧: major special shoutouts to @honeybunnnnie my trash daddy partner in crime, who beta'd for me and gave me lots of good lil' gems I incorporated here. we share one horny brain cell when it comes to this man and the amount of headcanons we have made based on this that I didn't even include is INSANE lmfao.
You aren’t Enjin’s type.
That much is certain the moment he stumbles upon you after being called to check out a disturbance in No Man’s Land. Scanning the terrain of garbage, Enjin wonders if he’s hallucinating.
Still high from the night before—or maybe there’s a leak in his full face?
Either way he had to be tripping absolute balls right now because what the hell else could explain the giant kaiju-like plushie with bunny ears, wide beady eyes, and jagged teeth ripping apart trash beasts in the distance like they were wet paper towels?
But blazed or not, Enjin still has a job to do. Umbreaker sweeps him across the trash dunes in a speedy blur, but by the time he arrives he is already too late and the show is over.
All that’s left is you: a young woman passed out in a pile of demolished trash beast remains and other junk. The giant kaiju-like plushie—now inanimate and no bigger than a hand—lay beside you tethered to your person by a keyring.
Happening upon another giver in No Man’s Land wasn’t out of the ordinary, sure, but if Enjin thought he was high from seeing your jinki in action he had to be damn near in the clouds once he recognized your clothes.
Similar to when Enjin discovered Rudo, he could immediately tell by your dress you are a Spherite. But unlike the threadbare attire of the scrappy tribesmen teen, yours practically screams wealth. They are the finest clothes Enjin has ever laid eyes on. Appearing as if they are woven from gold itself, despite the fresh layer of grime that settled on them.
You aren’t just any ol’ Spherite—you’re a Spherite noblewoman.
Keh, interesting.
With a shake of his head Enjin scoops you up, heading back to HQ. They aren’t gonna believe this…
Enjin digs out a backup mask from his satchel—clearly not made for your face, because it slides right off. With an annoyed sigh, he holds it in place himself. Guess that’s his job now… at least until you wake up.
Although Enjin soon discovers a pattern of how unnecessarily difficult Spherites can be upon arriving to the Abyss—as the first thing you do upon waking in Enjin’s arms is to slap the everloving dogshit out of him.
Fuck, you have a mean right hand.
Enjin tongues a tooth to make sure it’s still there.
“Let me go this instant, you filthy kidnapping degenerate! I demand you to take me home!” You cry out.
Tears fog up the mask on your face as you clearly mistook Enjin for some kind of criminal with his ‘full face’ on. Enjin sighs, tightening his grip on you and taking the not-so-painless beating you’re dishing out until you reach the nearest city.
The very second you both are in a habitable area for breathing, Enjin unceremoniously dumps you to the ground. He catches the mask, yet he leaves you to fall straight on your ass. The fall shocks you but Enjin’s sure what’s really got you stunned is the strange bustling city surrounding you.
Removing his fullface, Enjin crouches down to eye-level with you. Overwhelmed and overstimulated by the foreign place, your eyes dart around helplessly. You’re frantic, looking everywhere for some sort of bearing of where you are and avoiding the man in front of you.
Yet Enjin just waits, clicking his tongue and rocking back on his heels, for you to quiet your hysterics enough for him to get a word in.
When your eyes, still wide with panic, finally meet, he has the nerve to raise a brow—like you’re the one being dramatic and not the guy who literally kidnapped you.
“So, as you may have noticed by now…this ain’t the Sphere,” Enjin says, balancing a cigarette between his lips.
You look at him skeptically—he says it like it’s nothing, while your world is actively falling apart. What is he even talking about?!
“I know this ain’t the welcome wagon you posh Spherites are used to but…”
Enjin pauses, exhaling smoke to the sky. Your gaze follows up, widening once you see the oddly shaped dome covering the city, a strange yellow fog in the atmosphere.
“....welcome to the Abyss, Girlie. Name’s Enjin.”
Blankly staring at Enjin, you say nothing. The both of you in a mini stare down. Although you’re the first to give by suddenly bursting into sobs.
Rolling his eyes, a thought briefly flashes in Enjin's head that he should have just left you for the raiders. Hell, he could still leave you now—you’re calling way too much attention to yourself.
However, Enjin also figures that with you all but swimming in luxury on the Sphere, you probably thought of the Pit—your so-called Hell, or its inhabitants as mere fairytale.
Enjin’s inkling is confirmed when you calm down enough to piece together that your now ex-husband had hired a bunch of shady tribesmen to kidnap and dispose of you—all to collect your inheritance.
Yeah, not your fault. Enjin thinks and cuts you a break.
For your own sake, Enjin somehow convinces you to come back to Cleaner HQ with him. He can’t return you to the Sphere himself—but he knows another Spherite who’s trying to make their way back. That small glimmer of hope is enough to lift your spirits, just barely. This time, you follow him willingly—though you still cry the entire way to HQ.
Shame how prone to hysterics you are, otherwise Enjin actually thinks you’re pretty hot. Noting how the expensive silk of your dress clings so damn well to your every curve. He’d sell your clothes while you were near the shopping district—but unlike Rudo, he doubts he could talk you out of them.
At least—not yet.
But that thought is drastically short lived as Enjin spends more time in your presence. Sure, you could have gotten along. You could’ve even been Enjin’s type. Yet there’s one glaring problem:
You’re an annoying, needy-ass brat.
Besides looks, you tick off nearly every one of his dealbreakers. You’re ditzy, dependent and whiny. Basically Enjin’s nightmare.
Plus your snobby little ass never once thanked nor apologized to him over the following weeks.
Not after he saved you.
Not after he brought you back to HQ where you were welcomed with skeptical, yet open arms—as a new, very reluctant (you had no other options really) recruit in-training.
And you certainly never thanked Enjin, even after all his shit luck, when he was assigned to be your teacher and look after your haughty ass. You have the most indignant pout on your face when Corvus announces that since Enjin found you, you're Enjin’s problem.
“You have to be kidding me? I’m stuck with Trashy Poppins here!?”
“Yo, Trashy—what!?” The reference doesn’t land with Enjin but he knows it isn’t good.
Semiu nods curtly in agreement of the pairing, amused that Enjin finally has someone to keep him on his toes as she ushers you off to get settled in.
The fuck?!
Lamenting being stuck is supposed to be Enjin’s line. Enjin had figured the logical move was to pair you with Zanka—the closest thing to nobility among the Cleaners—and let you bond with Rudo, a fellow Spherite, even if he was a tribesman.
But it doesn’t take long to realize neither boy can handle a grown ass woman like you. One flutter of your lashes and they’re useless saps—like the big sister he never had, you could soothe Rudo’s worst moods with a mere head pat.
While Zanka, older and appreciating your more ‘robust’ qualities, trips over his own tongue trying to talk to you.
Both ready to do anything just to earn a few sweet coos—unless someone steps in.
It had to be Enjin. He was the only one who could ‘resist’ your charms.
Still, Enjin’s got his work cut out for him when it comes to you—especially training you for combat and figuring out how the hell you’re supposed to use that so-ugly-it’s-almost-cute vital instrument.
He tries not to judge. Really, he does. Jinki are personal—he knows that better than anyone. But still…the fact that you even have one? That’s wild.
A Spherite? A noble Spherite, no less—the same pompous assholes who treat the Abyss like a dumping ground—actually caring enough about something to pump it full of anima?
Yeah, that’s impressive, he’ll give you that. What wasn’t though was the name you gave the lil thing: Bubu.
Tsk. Wack as hell. Vital instruments deserve names with some bite. Something like—Umbreaker.
Still, credit where it’s due—you’re picking things up faster than expected.
However, that doesn’t spare him from your nonstop bitching, though. The complaints come daily: the strange smells your hair absorbs, the absence of your sacred skincare routines, not being able to take a 30 minute shower, and how everything down here always tastes just a little off.
But the most absurd? The cherry blossoms.
You complain the most about not being able to frolic in your lush, petal-covered garden full of rows of cherry blossoms. Enjin’s never even seen a damn tree like that, let alone the acres of grass and flowers you describe like some bedtime fairytale. You haughtily anoint yourself as a floral herbalist, an expert when it comes to your pretty little flowers.
It’s shit like that on top of everything else that irks Enjin when it comes to you.
And yet?
Enjin thinks the most irritating thing about you is the fact that he can’t seem to stay away from you.
Sure, you’re annoying as fuck—but in spite of his own objections, Enjin keeps finding ways to keep your time occupied. He makes up excuses to train you longer and drags you along on missions that are solely meant for him.
Moreover, since you can never keep that pretty little mouth shut, anyone you meet clocks you as a Spherite within seconds—which means you need Enjin’s constant protection, whether you like it or not.
Enjin ends up spending less time drinking or chasing women, finding a far more amusing pastime instead—the way your face twists in indignation every time the Ground doesn’t live up to your so-called “noble standards.”
He gets a kick out of it, really. Agitating you on purpose, just to watch you squirm.
“Goddamnit, Enjin! Watch it!”
You’d shriek every time your short skirt went flying from a sudden gust of wind he’d whip up with Umbreaker. Enjin saves that lil trick for No Man’s Land when the others’ backs are turned.
“That’s Enjin-sensei to you, Princess.”
“Choke—slowly, Trashy Poppins.”
You’d lunge for his mask like you actually meant to rip it off, but at 6 '3, Enjin’s tall enough that you never have a chance at reaching it. It’s all worth it too—Enjin’s already got every pastel scrap of lace you own burned into memory, each one tucked away like a reward for getting under your skin.
It’s a little sadistic, sure—the way he taunts you nonstop, delighting in soiling that polished image of yours to grind you into the dirt of the ground right along with him.
There’s a fire in your eyes every time Enjin dubs you as “Your Royal Trash Princess”—or just “TP” if he’s feeling lazy. You never fail to rise to his bait, eager to prove yourself—and prove him wrong.
Enjin feels he’s owed a bit of amusement for all his troubles.
Doesn’t mean anything.
Yet the more Enjin pushes, the harder it is to ignore that your bratty spark isn’t just an attitude problem. It’s energy. Real, raw passion. The kind that could actually cultivate anima. He sees it best when you’re snapping at him, flushed and defiant, too stubborn to back down.
It’s trouble to be sure, but fuck if Enjin doesn’t love coaxing it out of you.
All it took this time to get you going was him doubting your so-called knowledge of plants and remedies— “what kinda ‘floral herbalist’ hasn’t toked one?”
So now here you are, in the HQ lounge, about to smoke your first joint as a ‘pre-game’ to the happy hour Corvus organized for all the Cleaners.
You and Enjin sit shoulder to shoulder on a worn, black quilted-leather sofa that’s seen better days. The cushions creak as you nervously smooth your skirt and settle in, unhooking your jinki—Bubu—from your belt to set her gently on the table.
Enjin rolls a few joints with unhurried precision—like he’s got all the time in the world, and watching you squirm is part of the ritual.
“Bet ya didn’t have anything like this in your lil’ garden, eh TP?” Enjin quips, breaking the silence.
Nose already upturned, your face scrunches as Enjin tosses an extra bud from his stash into your open palms. You hated the nickname ‘TP’ most of all, too easily mistaken for ‘toilet paper’ and Enjin knows that.
You shoot Enjin a dirty look before letting your focus drift back to the brittle sprig in your hands—the first real plant you’ve touched since becoming a Ground-dweller.
You think you actually recognize it.
Back on the Sphere, your family was among the wealthiest, and your garden was massive. You took pride in your green thumb—like Delmon, whose garden you’ve been meaning to ask about. You want to help, if only to see what kind of plants can survive in conditions this toxic. But Enjin never gives you the space—always hovering, always cutting in before you can finish a full conversation.
You brush off those thoughts but your frown stays as your fingers trace the bud’s dry veins. Even for a dehydrated sample, it feels wrong—brittle in a way that hints of sickness.
“Hmm. We had something like this—I think. But it’s just another weed.” You say shrugging.
“Heh,” Enjin smirks at your cluelessness, “Would you believe me if I told you ‘weed’ is exactly what we call it, Princess?”
You roll your eyes at the inordinately simple name. It probably has a proper scientific designation—but expecting Enjin to know it? Please.
“We always uprooted them—weeds are unsightly in gardens, you know. A weed, let alone one sick as this, would definitely be pruned right away so as to not syphon nutrients from the other plant life.”
“HAH?!”
Mid-seal on his joint, Enjin stops cold, staring at you like you just dared to commit some sort of sacrilege before exhaling a theatrical sigh, shaking his head in pure betrayal.
He can’t believe Spherities are probably pissing away the dankest shit ever cultivated. The thought was maddening.
When Enjin’s eyes do meet yours again, there's no amusement as he takes a rather chastising tone with you.
“Princess, for your own good, never repeat that in front of anyone down here…I mean it.”
You huff, but Enjin doesn’t blink—just starts sealing the joint again, eyes never leaving you as his tongue drags slowly across the edge of the paper.
You squirm, and that’s all the reward he needs.
“See somethin’ you like?” Enjin drawls, holding the finished joint out toward you like it’s a gift—and not a trap with your name written all over it.
Turning on teacher mode, Enjin decides to school you.
“I know we mostly have ‘reggie’ down here, but still, it’s worth its weight in gold for its purposes. Not just for fun ya know—chronic pain, nausea, anxiety—gives a bit of relief from the ailments of Abyss-living you Spherites have so graciously bestowed on us.”
From his pocket, Enjin produces a lighter, shoulders curling as he bows into the flame to set it alight.
Your eyes flick over the sinewy stretch of Enjin arms, the way his jacket strains across his shoulders—reminding you just how solid Enjin really is beneath all that shapeless fabric. Built like a weapon, hiding in plain sight.
You watch as his ringed fingers lift the joint to his lips. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, Enjin sinks back into the sofa like gravity’s got a tighter hold on him than usual. Smoke pools in his chest before slipping out in a long, deliberate exhale.
His gaze follows it, distant—like he’s chewing on thoughts far heavier than anything you said… but somehow still set off by it.
“That’s the problem with you Spherites….you don’t see things the way they are—you see things the way you are.”
Enjin chuffs at his own words, closing his eyes to let his high settle. Not even completely stoned yet and he’s already spouting off pseudo philosophical one-liners.
“Everything else is collateral, amirite?”
Ouch.
Toeing at the floor, you sulk in silence. Wounded from the verbal licks Enjin just dealt you. Mulling over his words in silence though, you know it isn’t that simple. Horticulture can be complicated even in the most ideal conditions. Just because a plant is viable doesn’t mean it belongs in every garden—some plants are just incompatible.
However…
You sit silently, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you study the brittle bud in your palm.
…that doesn’t make it worthless.
Instead of exploring any potential use, you tossed the so-called "weed" out—just like everything else the Sphere deemed useless. Not even considering how valuable it could be. You can see why Enjin wouldn't want you repeating that mistake. Enough people already looked at you with disdain as it is.
Sure there’s a lot of things you miss about it, mostly superficial things that had to do with vanity, but overall life up there was super sterile and dull. You’d never say it out loud but you are glad you fell, it was hard on the ground but it was liberating.
Sighing, you quietly concede. You hate anytime Enjin actually has a point though. It’s the worst thing imaginable—for your pride and for his already unbearable ego.
Cracking an eye open, Enjin curses under his breath. Switching tactics, he decides to replace the long look on his Trash Princess’s face. Annoyance would do just fine. Besides, there was no need for you to pout over it, you actually had a shot at redemption here… heh, the kind that might just work out in his favor, too.
“Y’knowwwww, we’re always learnin’ better ways to grow things down here, faster too...”
Enjin moves so quietly, you don’t realize how close he is until you turn—and he’s right in your face, barely a breath away. Swiping his ringed thumb across your cheek, Enjin’s touch is surprisingly tender. However his expression is entirely obnoxious, full of amusement from how fast your pouty little face flusters.
“...could be a nice little hobby that would do alotta good…and if anyone could figure out how to grow this shit properly down here—”
Enjin plucks at the heat of your warm cheeks, pinching just enough to tease and drag the moment into something more lighthearted.
“—I do believe it could be you—Trash Princess.”
Your eyes catch something deeper than just teasing in his golden gaze—but before you can dwell on it, instinct kicks in. You jerk back, swatting his hand away, shoving whatever that was out of your mind.
Enjin just laughs, unbothered, as you glare at him.
“And why can’t you get Delmon to do it?” you counter, arms folding across your chest. By now, you’ve learned Enjin usually has an angle for everything.
Right on the mark, for a beat, Enjin actually pauses. He hadn’t expected you to bring up the obvious—Delmon, the gentle giant practically martyred to the idea of saving what’s left of the Abyss. But Enjin’s roguish grin slips back into place, spreading wider as he leans in, unapologetically invading your space.
“Why? Well...’cause I asked you, Princess. The ol’lug has enough on his plate as it is. You can handle it alone, can’t ya?”
Truthfully, even knowing your interest in Delmon never strays beyond roots and soil, it still irks every time Enjin catches sight of you with him. You look every bit the noble—graceful, composed, eyes soft and curious as you gaze up at Delmon, eager to learn. It grates on Enjin more than he’d admit, knowing he’s never once gotten that look, despite monopolizing most of your time.
“Ya know—unless, your skillset just ain’t up t’par?” Enjin finishes with a shrug.
Wholly unconvinced, you see this for the bait it is from a mile away. Nevertheless, you can’t deny that you are eager to get even the tiniest bit of normalcy back in your life from your old hobbies. Planting something, anything, would be nice—even if it ends up being contraband for Enjin. Although you still aren’t quite sure why you can’t consult Delmon.
“Ugh! Fine!”
You fall back onto the sofa and Enjin follows, his arm settling behind you, practically draped around your shoulders. You don’t even flinch. He takes another slow hit, smoke curling toward the ceiling, but this time there’s a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you. Deciding he’s babysat the joint long enough, he leans in with a lazy smirk and holds it out to you.
“Enjin—your eyes!” You blurt out, disregarding his invitation. “Is that just from smoking!? I can’t go to happy hour looking like some kinda zombie!”
Enjin sputters mid-laugh, coughing as wisps of smoke leak from the corners of his smart ass grin.
“Eh, well duh. Why else would they get so red when I smoke?”
Enjin coughs out a few more chuckles. You roll your eyes.
“I don’t know, Trashy Poppins…I didn't make the connection since the air quality down here is 80% pollution! You could have anything.”
While Enjin is amused by your sass, the joint continues to burn down. Each second unsmoked is wasting precious bud. Leaning in, his voice drops to a low purr—the kind that makes your stomach flip.
Heh, time to pull out the big guns.
“Aht-aht-aht, c’mon now, Princess, you know the golden rule…”
You sigh, thinking you need that happy hour drink more than ever right now.
“You’re not serious.”
But you know he is, and of course you remember the silly motto Enjin makes an unspoken rule for his team. Although he mostly just uses it to get you to do something you’ll usually regret later. You sigh, knowing you’ll never make it to happy hour until you appease the big man-child in front of you.
Enjin’s golden eyes shine with even more mischief than before and together like some damn mantra, you both repeat:
“...it’s not peer pressure—it’s just your turn.”
Resigned, you click your tongue, swiping at the joint in his hands. But Enjin is much faster as he pulls back with infuriating speed. You glower at him, snark locked and loaded.
“Nah, actually I’ll help you out since it’s your first time, Princess.”
Innuendo coils around his words, heat radiating off him as you tense under his gaze. You don’t want to argue with him though, the sooner you smoked, the sooner you both could be at happy hour.
“Open.”
Enjin’s fingers graze the corner of your mouth as he holds the joint to your peach-glossed lips, eyes darkening when you part them obediently for him.
“Now breathe it in, nice and slow…deeper. Yeah, that’s it—hold it. Don’t let go until I say—good girl.”
You want to scoff at him, but you can’t—not with tears stinging your eyes and smoke burning its way down your lungs. By the time Enjin gives you the nod to exhale, you’re already choking, coughing it all back up in ragged plumes.
Yeah, this was nowhere in hell as easy as Enjin made it look.
The buzz rises in your head almost instantly, an airy haze creeping into your consciousness.
“See? Not a terrible cherry pop, eh?”
The glare you throw at Enjin is more of a squint. Still recovering from the fire tearing down your throat, your coughs earn you a few heavy-handed smacks on the back from Enjin. If it’s out of comfort or mockery, you can't tell.
Everything in the room is spinning and becoming more distant, like a daydream.
“Easy there, breathe—it’ll hit easier when ya figure out how to grow it right, Princess. The dank shit won’t burn this hard.”
You want to bite back that even if you do figure out how to grow the damn ‘weed’ plant, you’d never touch it again. But the sudden heaviness seeping into your limbs drags you down, tilting your head on the axis of equilibrium.
“I think, no—I know, I need to lay down.”
Not waiting for permission, you flop down onto the worn cushions beneath you, curling up awkwardly with your head leaning against the armrest and your legs dangling off the seat at an angle.
Enjin doesn’t miss a beat though—he scoops your legs into his lap, tugging off your boots so you can be comfortable.
Leaning back, perfectly at ease, Enjin holds the joint in one hand while the other rests on your stocking-covered shin, giving it a casual, reassuring pat. The way your arm drapes over your face tells him everything—yeah, you’ve got the spins.
“Keh, you’ll make it, Princess. Just let it all ride out.”
You’d make it alright, but not to happy hour anytime soon. Enjin supposes he might’ve let you take a bigger hit than you were ready for.
Whoops.
Silence stretches in the aftermath but it’s not uncomfortable. Enjin takes a few more lazy tokes, one golden eye cracked open just enough to watch you, taking stock of your state.
It’s in moments like this—rare ones, when you’re quiet—that he remembers just how fucking smoking hot you are.
Especially in that Cleaner uniform. Man, God bless August.
The eccentric tailor took special care in designing it thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration—August even convinced Enjin to allow him to keep some of the trim from your Spherite clothes that he repurposes. The outcome of your uniform is shinier, more fitted and much sluttier than standard issue.
You took to it immediately, without much fuss and actually complimenting August. That was August’s gift though—whipping up pieces to suit even the finickiest of tastes—and Enjin had to admit, the man did his big one.
But the real surprise wasn’t the craftsmanship. It was you—his oh-so-prim little Trash Princess—strutting around in something so damn naughty. Dressed up like a treat that Enjin can’t help but eat up with his eyes.
And whaddya know? Enjin has the munchies bad right now.
Left to his own devices, Enjin takes his time devouring the sight in front of him. His gaze lingers down the length of your legs sprawled across his lap, to the soft, exposed flesh of your thighs—spilling over the edge of your stockings just enough to make his jaw clench.
Fuck, they look so soft. He can't help but wonder how they'd feel locked around his head as his eyes climb to the next indulgence—your crop top. Rucked up to your ribs, the thin white cotton hugs just beneath your tits. Shit, the way your cute little nips poke through the fabric makes his mouth twitch with the urge to say ‘hi’ right back—with his tongue.
Is it hotter in here, or—?
Leering at you for too long is a surefire way for Enjin to pop a boner. Enjin knows he’s not alone in that either. That uniform of yours turns heads in every city you pass through. Consequently, Enjin has split more skulls because of idiots trying to hit on you or cop a feel than he ever has for anyone trying to snatch a Spherite.
Not that he’s jealous or nothing.
Nah. Just doing his job. Watching out for you. Plenty of unscrupulous assholes out there willing to pounce on a clueless little thing like you.
However, right now, Enjin’s just as unscrupulous—‘watching out’ only for a flash of your panties as each restless wiggle sinks you deeper into the lumpy cushions, bunching your skirt higher and teasing him with a glimpse of skimpy lace.
Man, just a little more and he’d know exactly which pair you picked today.
Sobering up a bit more, you sigh at your inability to get comfortable when you could feel the very springs in the sofa. Stretching, you straighten your leg suddenly and—
“Yo! Watch the feets, girl!”
Though there’s amusement in his voice as he jolts upright, tatted hands grabbing your ankle before you’re able to land another blow.
“Ah, sorry—” You mutter sheepishly, reeling back your foot. “I didn’t mean to kick Umbreaker.”
For what it’s worth, the apology comes quickly—you’ve learned better than to mess with a man’s jinki, especially Enjin’s. You've nearly tripped more times than you can count over that bulky extension of himself that he always keeps within reach.
You know it’s serious too when he doesn’t even bother with the stupid nicknames he usually calls you. Nevertheless, you’re left puzzled when Enjin’s laughter comes out loud and sharp.
“...that wasn’t Umbreaker, Princess.”
Huh? What does he mean that isn’t—
You freeze.
Carefully peeking out from under your arm, your reddened eyes squint down the length of your body and onto his. When the realization does set in of what exactly you kicked, it smacks you harder than any hit of ganja ever could.
“O…oh…—OH MY GAWD!”
Immediately springing upright, your vertigo swirls with how fast you’re scrambling to your knees as you gawk.
Time passes for what seems like a solid minute or two and neither of you speak.
You’re staring at the crotch of Enjin’s baggy pants and Enjin is staring at you.
“Heh.”
The devious look on Enjin’s face right now could shame the devil himself. Yet you’re still in utter disbelief.
There’s no way that’s his dick!
Still, your brain won’t stop running the numbers—high girl math with clumsy calculations drawn from the fleeting brush of your toes against the long, thick mass hidden beneath the fabric of his baggy pants. Enjin’s words ring in your mind like a gong—‘that wasn’t Umbreaker…’
“You’re burnin’ a hole through my dick, Princess—”
Enjin’s voice unfurls seductively, like the smoke curling from his lips.
“—keep starin’ like that and I’m gonna think you wanna see it.”
Your eyes meet his dead-on.
“I do.”
“Yeah, I’m sure yo—wait, come again?!”
Enjin’s grip goes slack, the joint slipping from his fingers. He was halfway to some sassy quip, ready to taunt your denial—but your delivery is so honest, with no teasing or angle to play off, he doesn’t know what to do with it.
The embers hiss against his thigh before he even registers he dropped it.
“Tch.” Cursing under his breath, he flicks it aside—it’s all roach anyway—and tries to pull himself back together.
You’re fucking with him. Yeah. That’s it.
Smug again, Enjin leans into the bit you started.
“Ha ha…right. I know my stuck up lil’ Trash Princess isn’t asking to give me a dick inspection…”
Enjin adjusts his pants in a casual sweep that doesn’t fool either of you. He’s not brushing off the remaining flakes of ash—he’s palming his restless cock that jumped at the idea of you actually wanting to see it.
But both you and Enjin would quickly discover, despite your snobby Spherite upbringing, you lose any type of filter and sense of couth while high—blurting out your thoughts unabashedly.
“I said I wanted to see it, Trashy Poppins. Or m’not gonna believe you’re actually that big.”
You fold your arms, huffing stubbornly.
There was no way an unbearably annoying man like Enjin was slanging actual horse cock!
He had to be the one fucking with you here.
Well, wait, no—a cocky, stupidly sexy man having a big dick actually tracks, now that you think about it.
But still—you need to verify. For science, if nothing else.
Yeah. Science.
Enjin blinks, taking stock of you—kneeling close, your tits straining like they’re about to burst free, and your skirt rides so high on your thighs this time, he swears one more millimeter and he’d see your panties for real.
“C’mon now…”
Your sickly sweet coos needle at Enjin’s spine.
“...as if you aren’t always upskirting me just to see my panties.”
Shit. You knew it was intentional?
“At least you can show me your undies for a change. If you’re really that big, then I’ll be able to tell.”
The spark alight in your eyes is a challenge to Enjin, who loves pushing your limits. Now he needs to know how far you’ll go. Even if he’s completely unprepared for this turn of events, he’s sure as fuck not gonna be the one backing down first.
“S’that right, Princess? Well, I haven’t even seen yours today so—”
Enjin doesn’t even get the chance to finish before you’re lifting your skirt and spreading your knees wider. You stare up at the ceiling, the popcorn squares suddenly appearing super interesting to you. Enjin’s eyes however immediately zero-in on the pink lace stretched tight across your pussy.
Christ.
With a much closer view, Enjin picks up all the little details he usually misses—like how the hem digs into your soft curves or how the material is thin enough to see the split of your chubby lil pussy lips pressed underneath.
Goddamn, are you intentionally buying them a size too small?
Or is your pussy print just that fat?
Enjin gulps, mouth dry.
His attention caught like a hook to your cunt, everything else is unimportant—including the irony of how he was just teasing you for the very same thing—it’s all utterly lost on him. His priorities shifting rapidly the longer he ogles you.
After a minute, giving him quite frankly more of his fill than he deserves, you let your skirt drop back into place. The alluring spell of your fatma breaks when your knees snap shut and Enjin is yanked back to a world that doesn’t exist between the apex of your doughy thighs.
All of his lecherous starring is worth it though—if only to be able to throw his own saying back at him for once.
“Now, how’s it go again? It’s not peer pressu—”
“—Yeah, yeah, I got it, Princess—My turn.”
Enjin relents, cutting you off with a twisted grin as he shakes his head.
“Ya don’t gotta break my arm to see my dick, babe. Just makin’ sure you’re sure. Don’t need you runnin’ off telling Semiu I flashed ya.”
Semiu is already on Enjin’s ass for teasing you as much as he does. Something about him being ‘too grown’ not to ‘nut up’ and ‘come to terms with his reality’, but Enjin was never listening for long, zoning out as soon as a new lecture was underway.
However, if your prissy ass really wants to see his dick that bad, of course he’d oblige. Hell, Enjin would get another kick outta watching your horror when you realize for real just how much he’s packing. It had been a minute since he'd seen that look on a woman.
For being as hot and charming as he is, Enjin didn’t get nearly as much play as he should’ve. He isn’t a virgin by any means, but too many women take one glance at his size and back off expeditiously.
Life on the ground meant hustling to survive for most. Nobody could afford to be laid up for days just because Enjin’s wrecking ball of a cock tore through their walls, rendering them unable to walk—let alone go to work.
Yet with a clink, that all changes as the leather strap of his belt and gear slides free. Enjin lifts his hips enough to shove his pants down past his thighs and there it is—short red boxer briefs with a black waistband, the fabric stretched thin over the obscenely long, thick outline of his dick resting along his thigh.
Simply put, your jaw drops. There’s a static-like silence buzzing in your mind as you process the monstrous mass of phallic muscle before you.
You’ve never seen a dick that huge in your entire life.
Clocking your shock, Enjin’s chest puffs like he’s just been crowned a king in the room.
“Relax, Princess…” he drawls, smugness saturating every word.
“I ain’t even all the way hard yet.”
Bullshit!
Your eyes pingpong between his face and his cock before landing on the obvious conclusion—no overthinking this time.
“What are you waiting for then? Get hard.”
Enjin actually chokes for real this time, still not used to how blunt his demure lil’ Trash Princess gets when she’s high. He manages to laugh regardless once he finds his breath as he sure as hell doesn’t hate this new side of you.
“Hah?! It doesn’t work like that ya know…”
Enjin lies right through his fucking teeth.
Just hearing that vulgar command from your prissy lil’ lips has his blood surging south, his cock swelling at rapid speed. Already on go, his dickprint thickens, straining against the fabric until threads stretch thin to form almost obscenely over him like second skin.
Yet unlike his past hookups you don’t flinch at the sight of him getting even bigger.
There’s more than enough incredulousness on your face for sure, but Enjin half expected you to backpedal for the sake of your pussy’s self-preservation and book it out the door. Instead, the look you’re giving his dick is more akin to awe than fear.
Truly, though—you are in awe.
Men weren’t like this on the Sphere. Well, your husband certainly wasn’t.
Older than you by over a decade, your husband’s stamina was so poor he never lasted long. His size, his endurance, and his dismissive comments about your sexual appetite being perversely unbecoming for a lady of your station had you wondering if something was wrong with you this entire time—if you expected too much from sex.
But when your eyes drift back to Enjin—catching the thick vein running along his length, visible even through the fabric—you know better now.
It was never you.
The realization brings a surge of boldness. Your gaze trails the pulse of his cock down to the wet patch blooming at the tip—so much pre spilling it seeps through the fabric.
Enjin inhales sharply through his nose. He knows he’s proven his size, but your silence and the way you’re eyeing his cock like some kind of museum exhibit is starting to get to him.
Enjin doesn’t want to back down as he impatiently waits for your final verdict of approval. But if you keep staring at him like that, with those big pretty eyes of yours, he’s going to come in his pants, untouched, like some fucking cuck.
“Well, Princess? Big enough for ya?”
You don’t even hear Enjin, too lost in your own thoughts. Your body, buzzed and reckless, has a mind of its own though. Reaching out, your hand leaves your lap to trace the thick ridges of his cock, mapping its shape through his briefs.
“Oh, shiiii—” Enjin hisses.
His lip catches between his teeth as all thoughts vanish the moment your delicate little fingers start stroking him.
“Argh—fuck. Can’t jus’ go grabbing a man’s dick like that ya know.”
Yet Enjin does nothing to stop you as your touch grows bolder. Your palm flattens around his girth—too thick for even your whole hand to wrap around, even through his boxers.
How would someone even get something that monstrous inside them!?
Encircling his leaky cockhead, you giggle as your index finger slowly tap-tap-taps the mess he’s made there, amused at how many of the small, sticky suds you can gather on your finger through the material.
Enjin’s own laugh is strangled. This can’t be real.
You’re unfazed by Enjin’s provocations – too mesmerized by the obscenely large cock in front of you that has you squirming uncomfortably as your own panties turn swampy with heat.
“May I?”
Meeting Enjin’s gaze, your polite innocence is accented by a wide-eyed pout that’s far too sweet for the filthy implications of your request. Like you’re nicely asking permission to play with your favorite toy—except you don’t even wait for him to give it,fingers impatiently snapping the edges of his waistband like some cockhungry slut.
“Uh…” Enjin blanks while his dick is practically screaming at him to respond—even a damned head nod would suffice. Yet his brain blue-screens as it registers that look—the normally innocent, curiosity filled look that he's been craving since he found you in No Man's Land—now twisted into something debased and filthy. And best of all?
Meant just for him.
Enjin’s so fucking hard right now it’s painful—and hell, if you’re planning to do something about that, he’s not about to stop you.
“Keh. Do you, boo.”
Enjin manspreads, giving you full access. You eagerly pull down his shorts just enough to release his cock, and it springs free, thick and heavy.
Good God, he’s a big boy!
Although you knew that, seeing the monster in all of its unleashed glory was an entirely different experience. Enjin’s dick bobs back to curve towards his abs, a shiny pubic piercing shining at his base under its shadow.
Panting, your previously dormant inner size queen activates. You have to swallow down the bucket of saliva collecting on your tongue before you choke—you can’t help but salivate at the thought of what a huge cock like this tastes like… what it feels like.
You’re pretty sure it could break you in two, and surprisingly, the thought excites you.
Lowering yourself on all fours, the first tentative lick you give Enjin’s length has his toes curling as he grips the sofa, ripping a chunk clean off the decaying material.
You moan out a depraved 'ahhh' once you reach the top, a little smile playing on your lips as you tongue down the hole at his tip. Greedily, you lap up all the little dribbles of pre beading at the tip and flowing out.
“W-Woaaah—ugh. FUCK!”
Enjin’s hand flies into your hair as he clears his throat. Sure, your mouthwatering stares made a blowie likely, but diving in this shamelessly? It’s enough to make him feel like he’s losing his damn mind.
You grip his base—an insurance policy to keep him from cumming—while your other hand cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. His thigh jolts beneath you and you simper at how sensitive he is despite his massive size.
“T-There’s no way in hell they taught your prissy ass how to be this much of a slut up there.”
Pouting, you release his balls to cradle his cockhead against your puffed up cheek, uncaring of the amount of pre seeping across your jaw.
“D-Do…do you hate it? My hus—um, ex said it was a turn off. H-he'd say I have 'the depravity of a slums streetwalker.”
Staring up at Enjin, your eyes are clouded with lust, yet edged with worry—like he’d threatened to rip something precious away. But it’s only his cock you’re coddling tighter against your cheek, your lips parting just enough to chase the beads of pre that drip close to your mouth.
If you weren’t gripping Enjin’s base so hard he definitely would have blown a load all over your face. Fuck, if the thought isn’t tempting to him though – he doesn’t think you’d even mind in this state.
Goddamn, you’re so much sluttier than Enjin could have ever imagined.
And he’d imagined it plenty.
Especially on nights Enjin stumbled back to HQ drunk and alone, having closed down the bar with Corvus and Gris. Left to sate his own booze-fueled boner, he’d shamelessly rut into his pillow. Yet, no matter where his perversions strayed, every faceless fantasy in the dark insisted on transmuting into you.
You seriously think he couldn’t match your freak?
Oh, sweetheart, you have no fucking idea.
“Hate it?”
Enjin holds back the growl building at the back of his throat. There’s a torrent of thoughts swirling with his high all at once—all coming to settle right back into his dick.
“Never. Show me who you really are, Princess—n’ I’ll give it right back to ya tenfold—that’s a promise.”
If you weren’t already trembling with arousal—finally free to let your freak flag fly—you might’ve shied away. Enjin’s easy acceptance of you stirs something deeper, something messy that you usually ignore before it can settle. Now, with his scent thick on your face and tongue, you’re not thinking at all—aching with the urge to all but inhale his cock.
You merely nod, flashing Enjin a coy smile before stretching your plush lips to wrap around him. Slowly, you swallow down his girth, mouth hot with suction so deliciously moist Enjin’s hips jerk up. You gag, but his firm grip on your roots keeps your head in place, forcing his length to breach your throat.
“That’s it, baby…open up f-f’er me—g-good fucking girl, Princess…”
Tears prick at your eyes as his cock pounds back of your throat. The stretch is brutal—but some desperate part of you craves more of his filthy praise. What you can’t take with your mouth, your hands make up for—stroking every thick inch your lips can’t swallow.
“Shiiiit, girl! You’re a pro at this.”
If you ask Enjin later, he’d probably call you a throat goat, however most of your “experience” came from the smutty paperbacks high-society wives hid in corsets and swapped under tea tables—not actual practice. You don’t really know what you are doing. You’re just following the book's explicit instructions.
Still, Enjin doesn’t seem to mind being your test dummy.
On the contrary, Enjin is more than happy to let you do your thing and he does just that. Although, the longer your head bobs along his cock, the more your skirt rides up—until it finally flips over your hips, giving him a perfect view of the cheeky lace framing your ass.
Enjin groans, gripping your ass with bruising force before sliding his fingers down to palm your pussy over your panties—fuck, you’re already dripping for him.
“Hah—uppity cunt gets this sloppy just from a lil’ dick sucking, eh?”
Enjin laughs, yet the gravel rattling in his voice betrays him. No one has ever fearlessly tried to deepthroat him and actually fucking enjoyed it.
Unable to respond with your mouth, too busy still trying to do the impossible and fit more inside your throat, your hips respond instead—wiggling desperately against his fingers, begging for more of his touch.
Enjin doesn’t hesitate. Slipping a tatted finger into your panties, he drags it through your folds, marveling at how wet and scorching you are. Pushing into your core, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his digit.
Oh fuck, even his fingers are big!
A second ringed finger follows – the rough, callous fingers of a man who's seen too many fights scrape so good against all your gooey spots. Lewd squelches echo from your pussy as your throat tightens around him in tandem. The sounds, the squeeze, the heat—all of it is driving him crazy.
Shit he’s gonna cum for real this time.
To his credit, Enjin tries to warn you—tries to pull you off before it’s too late.
He doesn’t wanna risk pissing you off and having you refuse to ever do this again. Enjin still wants to fool around more;, he wants to fuck you. It’s that thought—your pretty pussy lips splitting open to swallow him instead—that has him busting his hot seed down your throat in thick, hot pulses.
“HAHH—FUHH!”
Releasing your hair, Enjin half expects you to pull away, furious he hadn’t warned you. Instead, your nails dig into his thigh, steadying yourself. You moan around him, the vibrations rippling through his sensitive cock while you work him for every last drop, his hips jerking beneath you.
Only when you’re certain you’ve drained him do you pull back, swollen lips coming off his cock with a wet pop.
“Allll go-neee S-Sheee? HAhhhhh~♡”
Tits jiggling as you heave for air, you present your tongue to Enjin as proof you’ve swallowed all of him. Every. Filthy. Drop.
You can’t help but agree—your throat’s wrecked and your pussy’s aching to be used just as thoroughly. Enjin’s fingers aren’t inside you any more, although they are still on your pussy, running through your folds absentmindedly.
“Ngh—n-eed m-more,” you slur.
All your decorum was lost to the wind the moment you asked to see his dick—you don’t even care that it’s Enjin of all people that you just gave head to. Suddenly, the obnoxious pain in your ass seems like your only deliverance. Right now, you're more frustrated that you've spent so much time bickering with him when you could have been fucking him.
You much prefer his moans to anything else coming out of his mouth.
You need him to get hard again—immediately!
Enjin, mind mushy with release, takes another joint out to light. As much as he wants to return the favor after that kind of sloppy top, the man needs a minute. His high has his whole body tingling from the post release sensitivity.
But you can’t wait any longer. It’s been god knows how long since you’ve had a proper orgasm and those were only from your own small, fumbling fingers. Throat achy and raw, you quiver at the masochistic thought of how his cock is going to absolutely obliterate your pussy.
You slide your panties down before flinging off your jacket and top. Taking a seat on Enjin's lap, you're now clad in just your bra, your skirt that's bunched up at your hips, and thigh highs. Grabbing his cock, you give his soggy, half-hard girth a few encouraging pumps.
Your pussy is already slobbering, a viscous string of syrupy slick drips down from your slit to land on his cockhead, connecting you to him as you line him up.
Feeling your fingers around his length, Enjin's eyes fly open, balancing the joint between his lips as he quickly shrugs off his own jacket, checking the pockets.
“Woah, woah. Slow your roll there sweetheart—you’re skipping a few steps.”
You aren’t listening though, not giving a fuck what Enjin is talking about as you cry out, grinding your clit against his fat tip, before running it back through your folds.
Enjin grits his teeth, coughing out smoke as he holds the joint in one hand and your hips in the other. You’re being a brat again, not listening to a single word he’s saying.
“Gotta find my rubbers…also gotta stretch you out better, Princess—you’re gonna split in two if I don’t.”
You whimper, petulant and needy. You press his cockhead against your entrance, swiveling your hips like you’re going to recklessly sink down on him at any second.
“Huh? Rubbers?” You shake your head in confusion, pouting. “m’Ennnnjiiiiin…I can’t wait that long—puh-leaseee don’t make me wait s’long, Enjiiiiin. I can take it, promiseee!”
The way you sweetly coo his name is shattering any sense of self-control Enjin has left. The urge to submit you to the ultimate corruption surges hot through his veins, but Enjin knows how big he is and while he did want to break you, he didn’t want to hurt you in the process. You are absolutely nuts to want to ride him with so little prep—now, on top of everything else, you apparently wanted him to fuck you raw.
Wait—did you just ask what rubbers were? Did you not have condoms on the Sphere?
But any lingering concerns dissipate the second you start fighting to get his tip inside you.
“Too s-slow!” You groan.
Fear is the last thing on your mind—evident in the way you impale yourself on him, defiant even against the impossible stretch. Your pussy is tight around the swollen head of his cock, strangling it as your nails dig into his shoulders. You grind in slow, desperate circles. Tears roll down your cheeks as you bite them to keep from crying out, your body fighting against every inch.
Enjin watches with a dark glint in his eyes – you trying so hard for him makes him want to flip you over and fuck you into the cushions. But he’d let you have it at your own pace…for now.
Releasing your hip, Enjin spits into his palm, rubbing his slick fingers over your clit in slow steady circles.
“Such a hard-headed girl—c’mere…”
Enjin takes a long drag from the joint, balancing it between his fingers as he grabs the back of your neck. His lips crash into yours before you can think.
You gasp and Enjin takes the opportunity to exhale the smoke deep into your lungs, taking the harshest of the hit himself. You're left with only the smooth, earthy flavor warming your chest before it melts through your limbs.
But it’s the way he kisses you after that really knocks the ground out from under you. His tongue pushes past your lips, tangling with yours—hungry, messy, like he wants to steal the little air you have left until you’re only breathing him in.
Your arms wrap around his neck, hands buried in his soft buzzed undercut, anchoring yourself. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, teeth nipping your lower lip before diving right back in. All the while, his thumb keeps grinding into your clit, faster now, like he’s keeping rhythm with the pulse that’s beating under your skin.
Why does it feel this good? How is he doing this to your body? S’not fair!
Not realizing you could feel this good from a kiss, you're unraveling in real time. Your mind goes blank with every pulse, every word, every inch. You’re not even fully seated yet, but you can already feel the blunt head of his cock grinding against your cervix, the pressure building with each centimeter you drop. You never imagined you could feel this full—like he might actually breach your womb.
The thought alone has you trembling, unstable, your aching thighs giving out, causing you to slide down a bit too fast. The thick veins along his length rake across your g-spot and your body snaps. A sharp, helpless spasm rocks you as your breath catches and a small, unexpected orgasm rolls through you.
Enjin pulls back just enough to let you breathe, though your body doesn’t stop shivering, lost in a blur of pleasure and pain.
“Eh... did you just cum, Princess?”
The question is rhetorical, full of smug amusement, as he can feel the increasing wetness leaking down his cock, making it all the easier for you to slide down.
Teasing your earlobe, Enjin’s tongue dips in to flick at the shell of it, making you clench.
“HA! Good fucking girl! A lil’ more and I bet she’ll be a real squirter f’er me.”
Enjin beams, proud of his Trash Princess. No woman had ever taken him this deep—not even close. Enjin hadn’t expected you to be any different. And yet…when Enjin looks down, he releases a groan deep from his gut.
The sight alone almost has Enjin nutting in you -- your drooling cunt spread so wide around his girth, sitting almost at his base. A thought flashes briefly – it's kinda like he’s a virgin again. Parts of his dick had never experienced this kind of molten heat so maybe, in a sense, he is? Enjin didn’t fucking care if he was though, as he ain’t about to be with the way your pretty pussy is giving way like it’s made for him.
“Run that back.”
Enjin takes the final drag, pinching the smoldering end of the joint between his fingers before flicking it aside. He leans in again, slower this time. There’s no rush in how his mouth seals over yours. The second shotgun is less about the smoke and more about the feel of you—your lips parting for him, your breath syncing to his, and the small whimper you make as he sucks slowly on your tongue.
The haze spreads between you both, thick and warm. Simultaneously, his knuckles tease your clit, a soft schlick sound filling the space between you from you getting wetter by the second. By the strength of some unknown force, you finally bottom out, immediately collapsing into his neck.
You both moan. Enjin feels you quivering from the inside out and you feel him everywhere—shifting your guts into your ribs.
“I…I did it.”
Your smile blooms soft against his inked skin, lips grazing the spot where you can feel his own pulse hammering wildly.
Enjin’s in no state to congratulate you on your impressive feat. Completely sheathed in you raw, coring out your gummy walls into the shape of his dick—something in his brain chemistry fizzles. Like a bit of pussy juice, acting as a catalyst, slipped into his dick and traveled straight to his prefrontal cortex to corrode all of his previous thoughts about you. The result is clear.
Enjin doesn’t give a fuck if you are a snobby, annoying, needy lil’ brat who never let him get away with shit and bitches at him constantly—the furtherest thing from his type.
Because honestly?
Motherfuck a bullshit-ass type. Your slutty ass pussy is fuckin’ perfect.
For the first time, Enjin realizes he might be in love with you.
How could he even look at another woman after this?
One thing if for certain—Enjin is going to make damn sure you never have the desire to even look at another man.
Both his hands trail up your hips, groping and squeezing the plump curves of your ass before settling at your waist. His blunt black nails dig into your skin to pull you back from his neck.
Enjin whistles, admiring the stagnant stream of spittle lingering on your chin. Look at you—cockdrunk just from sitting on him.
Enjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful.
“Enjiiiiiin,” you whimper, not being able to hold yourself up.
But your cries for him only inflame the predatory smirk on his lips, your honeyed cunt hugging his cock so beautifully.
“Makes sense you fell from heaven, huh Princess?”
Whether you're ready or not, Enjin forcibly winds you on his cock in slow circles. Your clit brushes up against the well placed pubic ring like a reward for being the first to experience it.
“—cause this pussy’s a fuckin’ angel.”
Your eyes are already lodged in your skull so you can’t even roll them at his cheesy line. But if your pussy is an angel, then Enjin's dick is most definitely a demon—his sinful cock tearing through your insides and condemning you straight to hell.
Moaning loudly, your body moves on autopilot—chasing more friction from the rhythm Enjin set. Good thing everyone was at happy hour or you would for sure be attracting some major attention now.
Although, to be honest you probably wouldn’t notice anyway. You don’t even notice when your bra falls away, your tits spilling out just so Enjin could watch them jiggle in his face. You only register its disappearance once his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue finally saying it’s ‘hello’.
“Shiiiiit!”
Your hips stutter, then stall when Enjin tugs at your sensitive bud with his teeth.
“Hey…I know my Trash Princess ain’t tappin’ out just yet.”
SMACK!
Enjin brings a heavy palm down on your ass and your pussy clenches tighter around him. Enjin relishes the way your plush curves mold to his hands, each smack adding to the wet, messy sounds between you. You’ve already leaked enough on his lap to stain the sofa beneath you.
“Nah, ya just got on the ride, baby. Giddy-up.”
SMACK!
“NNNGH!” You weakly glare daggers at him.
Any softness on Enjin’s face has since been replaced by something far more mischievous. If you thought he was obnoxious before—you’re about to learn he’s a full-blown menace inside of pussy.
Wobbling, you gather together what little resolve you have left to roll your hips forward.
“HAAH! S’too biiiiiig,” you whine but your body can’t stop.
The juices saturated between you grant enough momentum to finally get a good, smooth bounce going.
“Fuck—that’s it, ride it like it’s yours, baby.” Enjin encourages you.
The way you cream harder every time he calls you 'baby' doesn't go unnoticed.
“Oh? You like me talking sweet to the pussy, baby girl?—Or do you just like being my filthy lil’ trash slut, hm Princess?”
Gritting your teeth, you grab on to Enjin’s shirt like reins, pulling him closer to you.
“Y-You’re…gonna—ahshiiiit—hafta f-fuck m’better than thisss…if you want m-me to be your ‘baby girl’—Trash Daddy.”
Unfortunately, your sass falls flat—you can barely keep your head from lulling to the side. But Enjin’s thoroughly entertained nonetheless—he’ll take ‘Trash Daddy’ over ‘Trashy Poppins’ any day.
“Bet.”
Electricity runs through Enjin. He’s all charged up—now it’s his turn to unleash.
Your brow furrows from the noise Enjin makes—you’re not sure if he just laughed or snarled. But it's the only warning you get.
Sliding down the sofa a bit, adjusting himself for stability, Enjin spreads his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he bullies his cock up into you like he's breaking in his own personal fleshlight.
All you can do is go slack, falling forward on his chest. His grip bruising your hips, not allowing you to run from the way his blunt cockhead plows into your womb like a battering ram.
The couch beneath you groans, its frame creaking under the strain. The wood and leather protest like the entire thing might fall apart at any moment.
“Enjinnnnn, m’slowwww dowwwnnn!”
Your cries only fuel his frenzy and Enjin knows from the way you’re gushing on him you can take it.
Fuck—this sweet lil’ pussy is just so good for him. Imagine if he never met you.
If you never—
Enjin cuts the thought off cold.
Moving before you can blink—your world flips. One second he’s pummeling up into you, the next you’re on your back.
Enjin peels away his shirt, muscles flexing as he looms over you. His hands curl around your ankles to keep them pinned overhead. A single bead of sweat catches your bleary eyes as it slides down his bare chest, gliding over firm muscle. The bold ink patterns seem to come alive on his skin. He looks so fucking sexy right now and you can’t help but to shamelessly ogle him.
Yet, there’s something much too serious and somber about Enjin’s current demeanor. You’ve been staring at him far too long to go unnoticed. The highly expressive, sassy powerhouse is rarely this silent. He should be teasing you right now, asking some smartass shit like if you’re ‘enjoying the view’.
“Enjin?”
Your sweet voice hits his ears and instantly you have his attention again. Enjin flashes you a pearly white smile.
“Heh, enjoy the break, Princess? You wont get another.”
Ignoring the question in your eyes, Enjin folds you into a mating press, thrusting to the hilt all in one motion. The sound of flesh lewdly slapping against flesh fills the room, as do your cries.
But there’s still something else burning in his eyes. Enjin knows it’s unfair not to be honest with you, but taking out his unspoken feelings on your pretty pussy is the only way he can express himself at the moment.
Suddenly, there’s a loud creak followed by a decisive snap and two of the sofa’s legs give out. If your sweat and cum weren't like glue on the old leather you’d surely slide off head first. You yell out in alarm, but Enjin doesn’t give a fuck about the damn sofa.
His mood is still soured by the thought that wouldn’t be shaken away until he confronted it—
If you never fell.
But you did. He found you—and now that Enjin has you under him like this, he needs to fuck the point he’s concluded into you:
If Rudo ever finds a way to the Sphere, Enjin will personally travel there and see to your ex-husband himself.
Hell, he might even rail you in front of him a few times—show him what a real man could do. Maybe even a real…husband?
If the sounds of sloshing fluids and skin slapping skin weren't ringing so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else, you would have thought Enjin had lost his mind with the way he was cackling above you. He sounds completely deranged, laughing at the idea of him finally wanting to settle down all while continuing to pound you deeper into the broken sofa.
But despite being high off weed and your pussy, Enjin’s mind has never been more clear—he wants to lock you down.
“Hah… P-Princess, can ya feel me in your tummy? Right…” Enjin’s golden eyes lock on the ever-so-slightly distended bulge from the monstrous intrusion in your guts.
“....right, here.”
Throwing your legs over his shoulders, his large hands splay across your sweat sheened belly. You’re squirming under the heat of Enjin sandwiching your guts between his palm and his cock. Its all far too much—you’re too full, unable to really focus on what Enjin’s saying.
“Ahh, E-Enj—m’ c-cum, g-gonna mmm…” you hiccup, swallowing your tears.
Your nails rake down his arm to ground yourself but your body is thrumming too hard, adrift in the rush rolling through every one of your wired nerves. Your tits bounce obscenely every time your velvety walls devour his cock back down to the base. Enjin’s pubic piercing bucking against your clit has you clutching onto his dick like you were about to break it off.
You feel so fucking good. Enjin desperately needs to feel you creaming on his cock, and you would be soon if your kitten nails raking down his arms– adding more red to his already inked skin– were any indication.
“That’s it, Princess, hah—fuck, baby, I got you. Squirt for your Trash Daddy.”
As if on command, the knot inside you coils to its breaking point, prickling every nerve, releasing a warm rush of fluids. Your body tingling in ecstasy, you quickly tumble over your peak, eyes blinded by speckles of brightness as you cum.
Yet Enjin hasn't slowed, his continuous pounding forcing more of your cum and squirt to gush out of you—the melody of his now drenched balls colliding with your wet ass only growing loude
“Fuck, that’s it. Pussy cryin’ like she wants my cum, Princess…”
You’re barely conscious from all the pleasure, eyes rolling back into your head.
“She’s jealous that slutty throat of yours got all my cum, now it’s her turn to swallow, isn’t that right?”
It’s a rather roundabout way for Enjin to ask if he can nut inside you, but then again, he wasn’t really asking. The thought of breeding you makes him feral.
“Ahh—f’nnghhhh!”
Non-verbal and fucked dumb, you’d probably agree to anything right now. You’re an utter mess–pussy stretched beyond anything you thought possible, face sticky with slobber rolling down to pool in the folds of your neck.
“O’course it is…gonna dump all these trash babies into my princess’ sweet lil’ cunt.”
Although you are super turned on by the thought of Enjin breeding you, there's no way you have any idea how serious Enjin is about putting a baby in you. How could you? You don’t even realize the love confession his cock is professing to you.
“FUHHHH—take it!”
Enjin pumps thick ropes of his cum into your tummy as his body thrashes on top of yours. The primal intensity has you vibrating as another orgasm rips through your overstimulated and overworked pussy. Filled the brim, his spunk overflows, sploshing out of your pussy as he rocks his hips, urging his seed deeper to plant right in your womb.
In the afterglow, the two of you lie off-kilter in a tangled heap on the broken sofa. There’s blood rushing to your head— not the worst place for it, you think, all things considered. Enjin’s weight is heavy, his chest heaving into yours, warm and sticky as he wraps you in his arms.
Just as you feel you both might drift off like this, Enjin stirs. Flinching, you whimper as Enjin wills himself up, his cock sliding out of your pussy with a squelchy suctioning noise. Your knees part for him with zero resistance as he inspects his handiwork, peeling apart your battered pussy lips to reveal your dug out slit.
“Whewww,” Enjin whistles at the sight of the thick creampie glistening in your core. “All this cum your cute pussy pulled outta me—you’d think she was my jinki.”
Sober, you likely would have slapped him for referring to your pussy as his vital instrument. But ecstasy clouds your logic, so high off endorphins and other substances, you only giggle. It is kinda funny you suppose.
“Yeah—squirtin’ on command like that. Definitely an attack type.”
Spread open, the thick plug of spunk froths out of you. But Enjin simply tuts, pushing it right back in, not wanting to waste a single drop.
“Yeah, how about that, ’mma duel wielder! Yup, definitely gotta name ‘er now—what you thinkin’ I should call her, princess?”
Enjin sees the way your pretty cunny is twitching, and in his pussy drunk mind, it's an approval. The spasms that still quake through you are like tremors of Morse Code—your slutty pussy agreeing with him, begging for more. Flipping you over on your belly, Enjin is more than happy to fulfill any request of his new vital instrument.
“Got it! Cumbringer! The Umbreaker and The Cumbringer. Nice ring to ‘em, dont’cha think?”
Cumbringer!?
Later, you would definitely regret being so thoroughly fucked out of your mind you didn’t put a stop to this. Enjin is most definitely going to be insufferably proud of himself for the next 3-6 business weeks. He’d lord this over you and tease you with not-so-subtle hints around the rest of the cleaners.
Yet, as Enjin is swabbing his huge cock through your folds, you feel the ache of loss in your core, wanting to be filled again and you can’t seem to find the fucks to care—you just needed more of his dick, like…now.
Pleased with your compliance, Enjin thumbs the dips at the small of your back, perching your ass up so your back arches real nice.
“Trash Daddy’s gonna take real good care of Cumbringer from now on, too. Make ‘er live up to the name.”
When Enjin pushes into you again, the new angle has him bullying against your g-spot with even more intensity than before. Seeing the way you jolt, he holds back from going as deep this time to directly abuse the spot. Slick runs down your legs and despite how slippery the ruined leather cushions are beneath you, Enjin still holds you firm as his cock sloshes through your ruined pussy.
“Say, how much anima you think is in my nut, Princess?”
You don’t respond but Enjin, proving to have the stamina of a beast, feels like he should give you at least two more doses just to be sure.
⛓
Fading in and out of a euphoric stupor, you’re unsure how much time passes. Absolutely cockdrunk, at some point, you’d simply just surrendered. Your pussy clearly has zero complaints about being a jinki for Enjin’s cock and you are too dumb once you get a lil dick to stop him.
Somehow, you’ve ended up folded over the wide coffee table. It’s unstable beneath you, but Enjin doesn’t seem to care what he breaks when he’s fucking you. He only moved from the sofa when the back of it finally broke.
Straining, you think you hear voices but everything feels so far away and fuzzy. The room gets darker and you realize Enjin’s thrown his coat over you. Still sheathed deep inside you, Enjin’s cock plants lazy kisses to your womb as he speaks rather casually to someone.
Hmm, did he get a call? Is that Semiu?
Semiu is likely calling, wondering why you both haven’t shown up to happy hour yet—shit. There’s no way you’re making it in this condition; your limbs are toast. You can’t even move the weight of Enjin's bulky jacket off of you, the heavy material trapping you in the humidity of your own breath and sweat. But in a way, the warmth is comforting. Your cheek resting against the wood, you allow the tent of muggy heat and his cock moving languidly inside you to lull you into complacency— in your delirium, everything feels like a nice dream.
Yet Enjin is fully alert, a shit eating grin on his face as he stares down Semiu and Gris who had just walked in on Enjin shamelessly beating your doonies down. Enjin only spared your modesty by covering you up, but he has no qualms with either Gris or Semiu seeing him in all his glory and doesn’t even bother pulling out of you.
A fact that is painfully clear as he pats the pockets of his jacket draped over you for his cigs—he might as well smoke if he’s giving you a break.
“I win,” Semiu turns to Gris, hand out expectantly.
Semiu’s cool expression never changes but there is amusement in her eyes as Gris fishes into his pockets and places a stack of bills into her hand.
“Tsk, damn…” Gris shakes his head, although he’s not shocked.
The two of you are down so horrendously bad for each other that this should have happened long ago as far as everyone else was concerned. The tension has been at an unbearable level for those around you, the way the two of you picked at each other non-stop like a kid’s first crush.
Alas, you’re an airhead and Enjin is so stubborn he’s delusional. So the older Cleaner members couldn’t help, but place bets on when and where you and Enjin would finally slip between the sheets. Its a shame that you weren't in one of your beds right now--in between actual sheets--instead of the lounge becoming collateral damage.
“You know, after all the game you talked about winning your money back at poker tonight, Bro said you were a no-show because you knew you were gonna lose…” Gris eyes the boneless, quivering lump that is you under Enjin’s jacket.
Enjin really did a number on you. Your nonsensical babbles pouting for Enjin to ‘make sure to tell Semiu to bring you back some fries from the bar’ obviously means you have no idea that they are actually in the room.
“But it looks like you have your ‘ace in the hole' for an entirely different game.”
Enjin chortles. His hips stutter forward a bit too hard and you squeak in protest, he just hushes you.
“Awe, so you came back all this way to check-up on us? How sweet,” Enjin says sarcastically, taking a drag from his cigarette.
“Hardly. Rudo accidentally chugged an entire beer he thought was soda—then proceeded to throw it all up over Zanka,” Semiu says flatly.
Enjin attempts to hold back his laughter as Semiu continues with a sigh. She explains thatGris helped carry Rudo back, promptly putting his little blacked out ass to bed. Zanka locked himself in the bathroom immediately upon returning.
“Although they're sure to be occupied for the rest of the night, since the kids are back in the building you need to wrap this shit up Enjin—she looks like she could use the break anyway.”
Semiu casts a sympathetic look your way. She did warn you about Enjin though, so he was your mess to deal with now.
“Sure thing,” Enjin says, patting your form underneath his coat, “I’ve trained my new jinki well enough for tonight.”
Semiu takes one look at the absolutely diabolical grin on Enjin’s face and decides she's already had enough of his shit for the night.
She sighs again. “Just hurry it up, alright?”
Enjin gives Semiu a cheeky salute. Yet the second her back is turned, Enjin mimes a dramatic chef’s kiss to the air for Gris. Enjin’s eyes roll back like he’s just had the best meal of his life.
Gris snorts, shooting him a wink and a thumbs-up for a ‘job well done’ like a proud teammate before heading out of the room as well.
“One more thing.”
Semiu pauses in the doorway, hands resting on the double doors, surveying the crime scene-like state of the lounge. The sofa is toast, the coffee table’s on life support, and there's a growing puddle under you, spilling over to slowly drip off its edge onto the floor.
“If you’re just going to recklessly rawdog her, at least get her on the pill. Alice can sort that out tomorrow—right after you replace every piece of furniture you’ve both annihilated.”
Enjin simply shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette.
“I suppose…we can stop by Alice’s too.”
Semiu just rolls her eyes, only to wrinkle her nose as a wave of stale air wafts by.
“And for the love of god—crack a window. Smells like fresh ass in here.”
Once the doors finally click shut, Enjin rips his jacket off of you and smiles. You’re still blissed out in lalaland while your pussy, Cumbringer, is clenching around him like she has one more go left in her.
Grabbing your arm, he pulls you up. Still sheathed inside you, he sits back on his knees, bringing you with him, your back pressed against his chest.
“Mmmm—*yawns* Was that Semiu on the call, Enj?”
Call? Oh, heh.
“Ha, yeah baby girl, just Semiu on the line,” Enjin lies too easily.
It’s for your own benefit though–no need to ruin your bliss with anything silly like embarrassment or shame from being walked-in on. Hell, unless Semiu says something, Enjin might be able to get away with not ever telling you.
“She said they ran outta fries though. I’ll get ya some later, yeah? Jus’ need Cumbringer to clock in one more time, Princess...”
Enjin rocks his hips with yours in a slow wave and your pout melts, no longer caring about the fries. Your head tips back onto his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you.
“Ah, mmmm, b-but—ngnh! She mentioned something about hotdogs and getting pills tomorrow? Is that a mission?”
Enjin hums to keep from laughing as he turns your face towards him. He smirks devilishly against your lips.
Distracting you with sweet chaste kisses, Enjin rubs gentle circles over your womb. You’re gonna be so fucking hot waddling around HQ in your slutty ass uniform, tits leaking and belly full with his brats.
The only pill he’d get from Alice would be a fertility pill.
“Nothing my slutty baby girl or my Cumbringer gotta worry about, Princess. Leave everything t’me.”
𝐚𝐧: ahh tysm for reading, especially if you are new to my writing. enjin brain rot is lethal. i needed to get this outta my system! jjk girlies forgive me for straying from my wip list and kinktober lol. definitely down to write more of him. i have a p2 and another enjin story (an AU) idea. but i have to focus on my jjk kinktober now! ♡
also, in case anyone is wondering—yes, reader's jinki is a labubu and yes, enjin just guilt tripped reader into growing him his own personal stash djhscjhdfj.
banner: mash up of official manga + rororogi mogera 'last mall' doujin panels.
♡ 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 ℑ ♡
♡ 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Luxurious Husbands MATZ x sugar baby reader
♡ 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You never thought that Seonghwa and Hongjoong would take you seriously when you said you wanted to spice up your sex life. And you certainly couldn't imagine that they would arrange a surprise date and, on top of that, ask you to come to them completely naked, covered only by Seonghwa's fabulously expensive, almost royal fur coat. Or, Hwa and Joong show you what sexual diversity looks like in their minds.
♡ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: Smut, Luxurious! AU, Sugar Daddyl!AU, Established Relationship, Million Dollar Man!AU
♡ ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI
♡ 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.2k
♡ 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Older Hongjoong (38)/ Older Seonghwa (38) x younger reader (22) unprotected sex, threesome, double pussy penetration, degrading, pet names, size kink, dirty talk, spit kink, wealth kink, nipple licking/sucking, sir/daddy kink, sex toys, humiliation, oral fixation, cock worship, penetration in both holes, pussy worship, nipple play, deepthroating, objectification, power play, voyeurism, choking, crying, control orgasm, orgasm delay/denial, exhibitionism, impact play, oral, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, сreampie, rough sex, rough oral, power play, anal play, praise kink, squirt, wet and dirty, face fucking, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more.
♡ net: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity
♡ 𝔄|𝔑: So, here it is, the first part of one of the most luxurious and incredible stories I've ever written. If you want to taste diamonds on your tongue and fuck in fabulously expensive furs, you've come to the right place. We're taking luxury porn to a whole new level, bunnies.
Before reading, I advise you to read the first story of the universe Million Dollar Man When it comes to MATZ, it's always all or nothing for me, so if you want to experience the real heat, I guarantee you will.
♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post.
♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔦𝔟𝔩𝔶 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 - check for more
♡ 𝔖𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔥𝔴𝔞 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ♡ - Seonghwa's personal temple
𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉 - Your love makes all this possible
‘Miss, we're here.’
You flinch a little in surprise when the dry and unpleasantly monotonous voice of the taxi driver suddenly breaks through the dense cloud of cosy, dusky silence that has built up in the cabin of the car.
These seemingly ordinary words mercilessly invade your consciousness, like a flock of ravenous birds, rudely plucking you out of the gentle stream of your thoughts and bringing you back from the heavens to the earth, back to the cold, frosty reality.
It causes a slight shadow of displeasure to slip across the delicate, exquisite features of your beautiful face, making you look more like a charming, resentful child than the femme fatale that you so desperately want to appear to be. With a heavy sigh, you raise your large, thickly lined eyes, which are framed by a row of long, doll-like eyelashes, and meet the weary gaze of the driver in the small rear-view mirror.
You don't say anything, just nod your head absentmindedly in response, letting him know that you heard him, but still the man coughs awkwardly into his fist, clears his throat and repeats the words again, this time a little louder to make sure that you heard him precisely.
"We're already here, Miss. Hotel 'Four Seasons', as you requested."
'Mmm, okay. Thank you.' There's a hint of understanding in your voice as you reply to him, but you're in no hurry to leave the relatively comfortable space of your taxi. You nervously bite down on the plushy softness of your plump lower lip, feeling the rich cherry wine flavour of your glossy vinyl lipstick on your tongue, and shift your gaze to the window, covered in a thin layer of sparkling frost, to catch a glimpse of the final destination of your impromptu journey.
The Grand Hotel ‘Four Seasons’ was nothing less than the embodiment of extravagant luxury and ostentatious wealth. It was expensive in every way – from the mirrored facades, polished to perfection, lit on all sides by thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of lanterns that cast a soft, diffused glow over the entire room, making it seem as if the entire building was made of real gold. ending with huge beds of lush, snow-white and pink hydrangeas with velvety splashes of vintage tea roses planted chaotically in between, in front of the grand entrance. Literally every detail was a scream of 'for a select few only'.
Now, looking at all this splendour, all the confidence you had before seems much more shaky and lost than before. And for the second time that night, you think about giving up on this whole crazy idea and asking the driver to take you back to the comfort and safety of Seonghwa and Hongjoong's stunning mansion, but as soon as the thought crosses your mind, it's gone, because you know that neither Hwa nor Joong would appreciate it, especially since you were the one who initiated the whole thing.
When you first brought up this topic, you could never have imagined that Hwa and Joong would take your words about the lack of spontaneity and risk in your relationship too seriously and that you wanted to spice up your everyday sex life with something edgy and kinky. Not that such a thing was something that you really needed, since your hot, incredibly sexy men were all that you needed and more.
They were both attractive, experienced and dominant men, utterly devoid of modesty and shame, possessing that dark, almost animalistic kind of sexuality that no pretty boy of your age could possess, who still continued asking you out again and again even though they knew that you already belonged to someone else. They crowd around you like stupid, drooling puppies with tiny, twitching dicks, in the hope that their annoying persistence and a few dirty compliments will make you spread your legs for them as if by magic.
But you were more annoyed and angry than pleased, because none of these princes Charming could compare to Seonghwa and Hongjoong. And maybe it would be easier to say that it was all about the incredible wealth and power they both had, but that would be a lie, because besides this, they fucked like animals and were not just good at it but fucking incredible.
The sex with Seonghwa and Hongjoong was always long and tedious, unbelievably wet and dirty, almost to the point where it became pornographically disgusting, and each time they left you wanting more and more.
And after two years of your relationship, you can't imagine anyone else beside yourself but these two luxurious men.
Back to the present moment, you were beginning to regret your proposal because you had no idea that they would arrange a surprise meeting for you in one of Seoul's most luxurious and glamorous hotels and ask you to come to them completely naked, covered only by Seonghwa's fabulously expensive, almost royal fur coat and wearing long strings of pearls that Hongjoong had given you in one of his sweet, sentimental moments. And maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if they had at least let you wear a thong or a silicone cunt pad so that you could at least make yourself more or less decent, but no, that's exactly how they wanted to see you – completely naked and wrapped in the most splendid furs.
"Excuse me, Miss, but are you going out? I have other clients too, you know." The driver's scratchy, sandpaper voice cuts into your hearing again, sending a slight shiver of disgust down your spine, but you give him a thin, apologetic smile anyway, nodding your head to heighten the effect of your words.
"Yes, yes, of course, please forgive me; I was a little bit lost in thought." Your hand reaches for your phone to confirm your train on the app and to pay the taxi driver. When everything is done, you apologise again and check one last time that the rich, dense, chocolate fur of your extravagant coat is snug around your naked body, covering all your princess parts, before you finally get out of the car.
As soon as you're on the dank street, a scalding gust of icy wind instantly swoops down on you, which insolently crawls under the heavy hem of your fur coat and greedily licks your skin with its frosty tongue. You shudder, wrapping yourself more tightly in your furs and wrinkling your nose as the penetrating cold sticks to the soft, sensitive flesh on the inner side of your thighs and tickles the smoothness of your labia. The frost continues to flirt with you mercilessly, flicking its tongue over your nipples, making them almost painfully hard and tingling. You let out a low hiss of irritation and brush the dishevelled strands of your long, silky hair away from your face as the thought of getting back in your taxi and getting out of here crosses your mind again. But as soon as you start to think about it in earnest, the car behind you speeds away with a loud noise, leaving you standing in the middle of the street all by yourself.
The distance from the car park to the fashionable glass doors of the hotel wasn't too far, and under other circumstances you would have made it in no time at all, even in the impossibly high and uncomfortable stilettos you were wearing at the moment. If it weren't for one little thing. Namely, a small, expensive vibrator with a remote control and an overly flashy name. The smooth silicone toy sat perfectly in your pretty, warm pussy as if it were its rightful place, pressing tightly against your soft, quivering walls, pleasurably stimulating and torturing you at the same time.
Now the exquisite device was absolutely still, but given the provocative nature of the situation, your completely naked body and the hundreds of people crowding around you, the sensation of the vibrator inside you was palpable, so much so that even the slightest movement made you flinch slightly. You had to be very careful, or the vibrator just might slip out of your cunt.
But either way, there was no turning back, so you let out a heavy sigh and started to make your way slowly towards the front entrance of the hotel.
You take your time, trying to look as natural as possible and not attract unwanted attention from passers-by, but this task seems almost impossible. Your perfectly groomed eyebrows frown slightly as you continue, moving slowly and carefully, making sure to keep your pussy as tight as possible, holding the silicone toy firmly between your warm, silky walls, but considering how wet and slippery they were now, that was easier said than done. It didn't help that with every step you took, the soft, silky lining of the fur coat slid teasingly across your bare skin, and this light but cheeky caress made your walls clench periodically – threatening to push the toy out of you.
It feels like an eternity before you finally reach the gilded glass doors. But before you can step inside the lavish gold-marble lobby, another gust of bone-chilling wind blows in, enveloping your entire body in a frosty cloud. Despite your luxurious fur armour, the cold air somehow manages to penetrate its protection, only to lick greedily at your heated, damp centre.
As soon as the prickling cold touches your sticky, petal-like folds, a low, pitiful moan escapes your parted lips. The contrast in temperature causes the walls of your cunt to contract reflexively, clinging greedily to the soft silicone of the toy and intensifying the sensation of the vibrator inside you. You can literally feel every smooth curve of the silicone and its embossed-in-places texture.
You shudder as a new, even more thick and sticky portion of your slime pours out of you – clear, viscous liquid streams from your tiny hole and flows down the inner side of your thighs.
Immediately, a rich strawberry blush of pure humiliation spreads across your rounded cheeks, a feeling of shame mixed with a hint of shameful excitement foams your blood and spreads all over your body, and you stare dumbly at the floor, awkwardly pushing open the glass door to get inside as quickly as possible – the sooner you can get to your room, the better.
The lobby of the hotel greets you with a thick, inviting warmth and the rich scent of vanilla, with a light touch of white flowers and flecks of amber. The interior is a perfect match for the luxury of the exterior, with an abundance of gold and crystal to support the unified line of the design idea, but before you can fully enjoy the refined splendour of this place, the vibrator inside you suddenly comes to life.
The device hums furiously, sending intense vibrations along the sensitive walls of your cunt, stimulating you in the most delightful way, and if the situation were different, you would welcome the feeling, but right now you want to squeal in frustration and stomp your feet like a little child.
Your pussy pulses hotly, rhythmically clenching around the little fancy toy, sending a new flow of sweet excitement pouring out of you, dripping heavily from the edges of your hole and staining your thighs. The petal-like folds of your cunt are covered in a thick, shiny layer of glaze that makes the lining of your fur coat stick unpleasantly between your legs at times, but it doesn't stop you from squeezing your juicy, plush thighs harder in a futile attempt to relieve the tension.
However, this only increases the toy's pressure on your sensitive walls, and unable to cope, a shrill squeal escapes from your throat, causing the doorman next to you to cast a silent, judgemental glance at you, and your cheeks immediately flush with an embarrassed blush.
Even though it's late in the evening, the lobby is full of people – lonely, wealthy ladies in fancy designer outfits who have come here for one purpose only – to lure into their beds doll-cute younger boys who wouldn't mind fucking someone for a dollar cheque with lots of zeros. Wealthy businessmen holding under their arms miniature, vulgar-looking girls who look like pedigree toy dogs. Young and foolish couples in love, who had clearly gone out of their way to celebrate their first anniversary.
But in the midst of all this, there were those who literally exuded true luxury and natural expensiveness, so intense that you could almost taste it. It brought back memories of Hongjoong and your unforgettable first meeting, and as if you'd come to your senses, you started looking around, hoping to see your gorgeous, incredibly attractive men among all these people.
But all of this hasn't brought you any results - no matter how many times you've looked through the spacious, glistening with lavishness and opulence foyer, you haven't seen none of your men. Your gaze stops at the reception desk, hoping that it will give you some clue about where you need to go and what to do next, and it seems to work because almost immediately your phone rings shrilly, alerting you about a new message, which you rush to check.
Shine Star Daddy:"Be a good girl and go directly to the reception, my Starlight."
As if to emphasise the significance of this message, the vibration of the toy increases dramatically causing a low, half-suffocated moan to escape from your plump, doll-like lips. For a moment you completely freeze like a deer caught in the headlights, too frightened to do anything, and at the same time too horny to stay impassive under the onslaught of continuous erotic stimulation.
Your bizarre behaviour is starting to attract unwanted attention from the hotel staff, and so, you have no choice but to take a deep breath, gather your strength, and start walking towards the reception desk. As soon as you take the first step, the vibrations begin to slow down, getting fainter and fainter with each passing second, until they subside at all, just as you find yourself standing in front of the reception desk made of Calacatta white marble and lavishly gilded with gold.
"Welcome to the 'Four Seasons', Miss. What can I do for you?" The template welcomes you by a sympathetic, petite girl who looks barely older than you. Her dark, chocolaty hair is gathered into an elegant, sleek bun, the classic navy blue uniform, perfectly ironed and tailored to the point of perfection, complimenting her figure, which not only showed her attitude to her work, but also gave away her perfectionist nature. All this contrived perfection disgusted you, but who were you to judge her when you were the one who was standing, almost totally naked in the luxurious foyer of one of the most expensive and high-end hotels in Asia with a vibrator in your pussy.
And that's something that you shouldn't forget for a second, because as soon as you open your pretty mouth to respond to her, the smooth silicone toy comes into motion again, this time sending powerful, intermittent vibrations along the delicate, sensitive walls of your vagina.
Immediately, your whole body involuntarily tenses, and you gasp as the aggressive, jerky pulsations of the toy make your pussy clench and ooze warm, luscious desire even more abundantly. Hell, you should have known that Seonghwa would choose something as extravagant as he is for you, not being able to settle on something simple and classic, and instead, give you something with a hell of a wide variety of different modes.
The sudden change in your behaviour causes the administrator to look at you with a full of bewildered gaze, and you send her a faint shadow of a forced smile.
"Sorry, I'm a bit tired, it's been quite a long and exhausting day. The reservation for Kim Hongjoong, please." There's a hint of a subtle tremor in your voice, which to your dismay doesn't go unnoticed, and you get another weird look from girl, but still, she doesn't say anything, deliberately choosing to ignore your odd behaviour, instead silently nodding back at you and focusing all her attention on the large computer monitor.
"Oh, it's all right, miss. Please give me a few minutes."
"Mmm, sure..." You try to act as nonchalantly as possible, desperately trying to ignore the way the insistent vibrations of the exquisite sex toy, mercilessly continue to torture the soft, sensitive walls of your very royal cunt.
However, that's easier said than done.
With each passing moment, you feel the scalding mixture of lust and arousal inside you tighten more and more firmly into a taut knot at the bottom of your belly, giving you a hint of an approaching orgasm, and from it, your skin begins to tingle faintly. The sharp, rhythmic vibrations of the toy seemed to reach such deep erogenous zones that you didn't even realise existed, giving you almost ecstatic pleasure and at the same time turning pleasure into a kind of sophisticated, exquisite torture.
‘Here you are, Miss.’ The administrator politely hands you a golden keycard, seemingly smiling even more dazzlingly. ‘ Reservation in the name of Kim Hongjoong, "Presidential Suite". Your room is on the fifty-fifth floor. Please use elevator number eight for VIPs, which will take you directly up there. Thank you for choosing “Four Seasons” — we hope you will have an unforgettable time here.
‘I'm sure it will be.’ As soon as you have the keycard in your hands, the toy quietens down, and you let out a faint sigh of relief. Then, turning on your heels, you quickly head for the lift you need.
Fortunately, as soon as you reach the mirrored, gilded doors of the lift, they immediately swing open, as if they were just waiting for you to come. Not wanting to waste another minute, you quickly slip into the comfortable, luxurious privacy of the lift cabin and, with a petty aggression, punch the little gleaming button for your floor with your perfectly manicured finger.
When the lift door closes with a slight ringing sound, you finally breathe a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to relax. You give yourself a mental pat on the back, praising yourself for a job well done, because in some way known only to God, you managed to do it — walk all the way from the entrance to the reception almost completely naked, except for the massive, lavish Seonghwa's fur coat that envelops you like incredibly expensive and ritzy armour, get the keycard that you needed, and even have a polite chat with the administrator, and all this with a mercilessly pulsating vibrator in your cunt.
You feel yourself like a fucking heroine.
The ride doesn't take too long, and soon you hear a soft chime in the air, letting you know you've arrived. The heavy elevator doors slide silently apart to allow you to exit the cramped velvet space into a short, brightly lit hallway. At the end of the hallway are large double doors made of solid black oak, one of which bears an elegant gold plaque reading 'Presidential Suite'. When you swipe your keycard through the electronic lock, it clicks as expected, allowing you to enter, which you do without further delay. You should be used to such luxurious places by now. After all, Hongjoong and Seonghwa's mansion was the epitome of wealth and extravagance, and your daddies have taken you on business trips more than once or twice, during which you have stayed in the world's most luxurious hotels. Yet you cannot help but admire the splendid designer interior of the suite.
The place was, to put it mildly, absolutely decadent. Nearly all the walls in the main hall were made of expensive cream marble flecked with thin veins of pure gold that sensually shimmered in the tantalising semi-darkness. Heavy satin curtains were fully open, revealing a breathtaking panoramic view of Seoul at night.Large mirrors in enormous gold frames were hung on the walls, reflecting the opulent interior from different angles and visually enlarging the already spacious room. The light falling on the mirrors was scattered, making it seem as if the air in the suite contained sparkling particles. And that's not to mention the other undoubtedly fabulously expensive interior items that filled the entire room.
Looking at all this, you couldn't help but wonder how much all this pleasure might have been paid for, although, given Hongjoong's passionate fondness for excessive and sometimes completely unreasonable wastefulness, you weren't surprised that something like this had been chosen for your date by him.
After exploring the main area of the suite, you slowly make your way to the master bedroom. As soon as you enter the room, you are immediately greeted by the sight of a huge king-size bed decorated with dozens of plush pillows and covered with magnificent cream-coloured sheets made of natural Egyptian silk.
However, despite all this luxury, the most important things were missing: Seonghwa and Hongjoong.
You went through hell to get here, and for what? To be greeted by an empty — albeit incredibly opulent — room. You can't hold back your annoyance, exhaling heavily and rolling your eyes as you grab your mobile to call one of your sugar daddies when suddenly, a black velvet envelope lying on one of the plump, cream-coloured cushions catches your attention.
As you approach the bed, you pick up the envelope and turn it over in your hands several times, examining it closely, before running your fingertip over the delicate calligraphy, which you recognise as Seonghwa's elegant handwriting.
The envelope is much thicker than you initially thought, and when you squeeze it, you feel something soft and smooth inside. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and, with almost childlike impatience, you roughly open it, tearing the thick, expensive paper in the process. When the envelope is finally open, you take out a long silk ribbon and a small piece of paper.
"Wear me, Alice," the note says. It almost makes you laugh because who else but Hwa could reference your favourite fairy tale while you wait for him and Joong in a hotel room for the dirtiest, most perverted, disgustingly wet and furious sex?
Nevertheless, you cannot help but feel disappointed that you will have to wait a little longer for your gorgeous man to join you for fun. At least you hope that what they have planned for you will be worth all the wait. With a quiet sigh, you place the envelope on the nearby bedside table and sit down on the bed. The soft, cool silk ribbon feels pleasant under your fingers as you tie it around your head to restrict your vision. Once you are sure that the ribbon is securely fastened, you fold your hands in your lap and wait for further instructions.
In this position, you can finally feel how much moisture has collected between your legs. The amount of fluid that flows from your vagina becomes almost uncomfortable, and you shift slightly in your spot, causing the smooth, silky lining of the fur coat to shift beneath you, sliding between your voluptuous, plush thighs and sticking to your plump, slightly open labia, barely touching the delicate folds and tickling your swollen with excitement clit.
Even something as insignificant as this causes a wave of heat to spread through your body, and you unconsciously squeeze your thighs together, either in an attempt to lessen your arousal or, on the contrary, to get more of this sweet caress. With each passing minute, your need for touch becomes more and more palpable, so much so that by this point it becomes almost physically irritating for you, especially considering the amount of stimulation you have already received.
You move your hips hesitantly, testing the waters to see how much you can get out of it. The smooth movement causes the small silicone vibrator inside you to slide deeper into your pussy, causing a loud, drawn-out moan full of lustful desire to escape from your pretty, doll-like mouth. You repeat the movement again, this time more strongly and aggressively, eagerly rubbing your slippery, needy cunt against the smooth, silky lining of the fur coat.
Usually, you always need permission from Hwa or Hongjoong to touch yourself, let alone orgasm, but since neither of your daddies are around to stop you, you decide to seize the moment. You become bold, spreading your legs wide; you cause the heavy folds of the extravagant fur coat to open, exposing your naked body and sliding one of your hands between your soft, plush thighs to touch your pretty pussy, dripping with sweet juices. You lightly run your fingertips along your slit, feeling the warm, sticky moisture of your arousal cling to the delicate pads of your fingers and stretch out in long strands as you caress yourself.
The wet, squelching sound of your pretty pussy oozing with excitement, mixed with your soft, prolonged moans, fills the entire space of the extravagant bedroom as you keep playing with yourself.
With each passing minute, your touches become bolder, the tips of your delicate fingers brushing against your swollen, sensitive clit, several times persistently circling it, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body.
Your fingers, gaining momentum with a bit more roughness, slide over your sticky, warm cunt, seeking as much stimulation as possible. You aggressively rub your little, reddened bud in narrow circles, in pursuit of pleasure, trying to match the rhythm of your fingers to the chaotic movement of your hips.
You are so wet; the sticky, transparent mucus is flowing copiously down the warm, trembling walls of your vagina and freely flowing from your tiny, delicate hole. It pleasantly moistened your folds, covering your soft, peachy labia with a sticky glaze and making your pussy smooth and so enjoyably slippery to the touch. But at the same time, it is making a real mess all around. The insides of your thighs, the silk lining of Seonghwa's expensive fur coat and even the sheets beneath you are all slippery and damp from your arousal.
If this continues, you can be sure that soon you will be sitting in a pool of your own slime.
Even the tiniest motion of your lusty hips causes the petite silicone plaything to move gradually within your body, gliding up and down between the smooth, snug walls of your warm, silky vaginal canal. It doesn't let you relax, not for a moment, keeping your body taut like a string while the devilish toy continuously and unrelentingly stimulates you in the most pleasant and at the same time the most frustrating way possible.
Your desperation is becoming increasingly apparent, to the extent that it is almost physically distressing. You feel compelled to weep at the fact that no matter how hard you try, all your efforts are completely meaningless and only serve to exacerbate your anguish and arousal. You teeter on the brink, tantalisingly close to the precipice of mind-blowing ecstasy, yet unable to fully surrender to the euphoric sensation of a long-awaited, sensual orgasm.
No longer able to resist, you collapse wearily onto the vast, royally opulent bed, emitting an audible, disgruntled moan. Weariness closes your eyes beneath the dense black satin of the refined blindfold, which remains firmly affixed upon your head, and you permit yourself a brief moment to regain your breath and unwind.
Unconsciously, you begin to fidget in your spot, trying to burrow as deep as possible into the sumptuous cloud of expensive, weighty furs, which were completely saturated with the rich, intense aroma of bittersweet saffron, spicy pink pepper, and refined cashmere wood, which was the perfect personification of Seonghwa himself.
Filthy. Vulgar. And fuckingly beautiful, almost to the point where you wanted to punch him in the face to wipe that majestic, bitchily smug expression off him, which seemed to always enhance these divinely seductive, devilishly beautiful features of his appearance, regardless of the context.
If you were asked to describe this scent, you might say it evokes animal instincts, like fierce, unbridled sex bottled up in an exquisite, crystal vessel.
That was Seonghwa in all his glory—feverishly hot one moment, scaldingly frosty the next.
Your moment of calm won't last long, especially when the pit of your stomach tightens in a painful, delicious, painfully sweet spasm, reminding you once again of your unquenchable arousal. Your delicate hand slips back into the moist warmth between your soft, curvy thighs to tease your swollen pussy that flows with the sticky, honeyed nectar of your lust.
The delicate tips of your fingers slowly slide along your slit, smearing the thick, warm moisture of your arousal over the soft, petal-like folds of your pretty cunt, occasionally deliberately scratching your sensitive labia with your long, sharp nails, sending a slight shiver through your body and giving you goosebumps.
You do it again and again, each time plunging your fingers deeper between the plump, peachy halves of your cunt, caressing your folds and sometimes patting your clit and pressing the soft pads of your fingers against the delicate, thin edges of your little hole that stretches so beautifully around the smooth silicone loop that connects to the vibrator inside you and lets you manoeuvre the toy.
But you still don't think that's enough. Overcome with frustration, you press your fingers forcefully against your swollen, craving clit, circling it a few times and generously soaping it with your viscous, sticky juices until the reddened bud becomes slippery and smooth under your touch, before you squeeze it between your thumb and forefinger and pinch it.
The hot sensation of pleasure sweeps through you like a tsunami, almost unbearable, causing your eyes to roll back and your toes to curl.
It feels damn good—so fucking good, in fact—but it's nothing compared to Seonghwa's long, skilled tongue or Hongjoong's thick cock.
Your whole body wriggles and shakes with pleasure as you pinch your plump, sensitive clit a couple more times, and this brings you closer and closer to the edge. Your wet, needy vagina is being rhythmically spasmed around the soft smoothness of the silicone toy, which is relentlessly stimulating you from within. This causes more and more slime to spill out of you, dripping between your plump buttocks and moistening your tight arsehole. It pools beneath you, soaking the expensive, lush furs of Seonghwa's massive royal fur coat.
“Oh, God…” You let out a loud sob that breaks off halfway, turning into a long, ragged moan full of desire and need. Your thighs visibly tremble as you mindlessly sway them in an attempt to keep up with your pleasure, but it's beyond your control.
Your perky, juicy tits sway lustfully in time with your movements, and the delicate walls of your vagina squeeze around the toy, licking the silicone and intensifying the stimulation as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through your body.
You're so close to cum, so damn close that you can practically feel your orgasm on the tip of your tongue, and at that very moment, a low, velvety hum cuts through the stuffy, thick air of the bedroom, instantly pulling you out of the haze of pleasure and bringing you back from heaven to earth.
‘Look what we have here. Enjoying yourself, kitten?”
summary: fluffery! reader is openly paired with neteyam in the clan, but not yet mated. when a group of hunters begin mocking reader (and even flirting with her…), specifically about neteyam’s restraint to bond, he overhears and grows angry.
oooo yeah possessive neteyam… I like it. first try at an avatar fic lmk what we think.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*
the bond between you and neteyam has never been questioned, evident in the way you are never seen apart. even when you are, it still thrives in the small things; glances across the woven huts, the permanent bracelets engraved with shared initials. everyone in the clan knows you are paired, most not minding the fact that the mating ceremony has not yet been enacted. there is no rush between you two on this journey, a journey guided by eywa’s steady breath.
so, when the training rotations shift for a week, it feels insignificant. hunters are reassigned, paths diverge for a few days, and you’re placed in one group whilst neteyam leads elsewhere. you kiss his cheek before parting when he hugs you tight, promising to meet later, neither of you thinking twice about the situation.
“see you soon, sevin.”
“soon, ma’sayrìp.”
your friends giggle around you, his own mirroring the actions.
you trust him completely, and he trusts you impossibly more. it’s only a temporary separation, nothing more than duty, but it’s the first time in a while that you’re not glued to his side. neither of you realize how much that small distance is about to matter.
-
your new group is made up of familiar faces, young hunters like you with reputations that shine brighter than their smiles. ra’vir grins too wide when you step closer to the senior hunter to hear the instructions. his friend tsìkal, equally as dickish, elbows him lightly as they share a whispered joke. they offer to show you the path, even though you already know it.
“easy work today, a lucky group we have.” ra’vir says casually. you laugh softly, assuming he’s referring to the training. it doesn’t take long for the tone to switch. whispers trail behind you when you walk ahead, low and mocking. you’ve always been aware of the curiosity around the ‘delayed’ bonding of you and neteyam, but in your opinion it couldn’t come close to being a problem. interrupting your thoughts, xeytu’s voice carries enough to be heard,
“she’s still waiting, huh?” followed by quiet laughter. tsìkal glances past you, towards neteyam’s group in the far distance who are starting their trek, smirking.
“strange.” he adds. you don’t understand their jokes and don’t want to provoke them either, so again you just smile, adjusting your gear, unaware of the glances exchanged behind your back.
the comments grow bolder as the hours pass, and at times physically bold. xetyu reaches out without asking, fingers tracing the curve of your bow as he inspects it.
“light,” he says, tugging it before you pull away from him. “delicate, like you. has he taught you to use it properly?”
you tighten your grip, calm on the surface even as you feel unease rise in your heart. tsìkal snorts.
you maintain composure.
“we have taught each other. it is not so difficult, or did you need help learning, xeytu?”
the others laugh at your remark, eyes lingering too long on you instead of the targets infront. you step away, straighten your shoulders and move with a quiet confidence. you’ve trained too long to be shaken by a few loud mouths, especially those that come from hunters much less competent than you are.
ra’vir steps into your space again, this time deliberately brushing your shoulder to test how much you’ll yield. tsìkal laughs under his breath and nudges you lightly with his elbow, enough to throw you off your balance. you scoff and take a large step forward again, muttering a quiet ‘please, stop.’
“you’re patient. more than most would be.” ra’vir teases. “you know, I’d never leave you waiting like he does.”
“I’m not waiting for anything, ra’vir. I trust in our path, to question it is to question eywa.”
your jaw tightens, and your knuckles turn pale with the force you use to hold your arrows. xeytu reaches for your wrist as if to calm you, fingers lingering far longer than necessary.
“easy, taronyutsyìp.” (little hunter) he murmurs. “he’s just saying what we’re all thinking.”
something angry flashes through you. in irritation, you twist in one smooth motion, freeing the threaded cap of your knife as you turn to a still. as ra’vir skips to follow you, his hand catches on the edge of the blade. there’s a sharp groan as he jerks back, his other hand lifting to assess the bleeding. you smirk and tuck your knife back in your side.
“what are you thinking now? skxwang.”
tsìkal, aggresive in nature, snaps.
“who the fuck do you think you are-“
sa’niri moves fast, stepping between you and them with a sharp hiss. she’s older, a senior hunter who they wouldn’t dare to cross.
“enough,” she shouts. “have you forgotten where you are?”
ra’vir’s head drops to the ground, already backing away.
“we- we were just talking.”
her eyes flick to the cut on his hand.
“you don’t touch what isn’t yours, child.” xeytu scoffs at this, mumbling something under his breath. sa’niri notices.
“say it louder. let everyone hear.” she says. xeytu looks up, ears dropping in shame as he finds the dissapointed eyes of the other hunters around, judging.
silence.
“go. you are dismissed from here.” she commands, and they do, retreating back into the woods where they can no longer be watched.
“are you alright, tsmuke?” (sister) her voice now soft.
“I’m okay. thank you, sa’niri.” you hug her briefly, before being pestered by hunting friends about what the hell had just happened.
-
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*
-
a few skips away, neteyam’s rotation ends much earlier than expected, his group dismissed while the sun is still high. he walks back toward the eating fire with his other hunting friends, the conversation light until lo’ak approaches.
“hey,” he says. “I heard what happened, she okay?”
neteyam keeps walking but there’s a halt in his step.
“why wouldn’t she be?”
lo’ak exhales, knowing how this could potentially go wrong.
“ra’vir, tsìkal, xeytu…? got sent back. sa’niri schooled them. they were messing with her… talking about you.”
now he stops. the muscles in neteyam’s jaw flex hard. his hand grips on lo’aks shoulder.
“is she hurt? where is she now?”
“she’s still training, bro. she’s fine.” he added quickly. “she handled it, ‘heard ra’vir caught a nice scar.”
neteyam turns without another word, furious knowing that you had to use your blade to defend yourself against these fucking pricks. lo’ak catches his arm.
“neteyam, they’re gone I said. she’s safe now.”
he snatches his arm back, eyes dark.
“that does not mean it is finished.”
he finds them near the edge of the swing tree, already miles ahead of lo’ak. the moment they see him, colour drains from their faces, tails wrapping around their own legs in fear of what’s to come.
neteyam is older, larger, marked with responsibility that they have not encountered yet. when he pushes ra’vir lightly with his finger, his back hits the tree. no one speaks.
“what did you think you were doing, exactly?”
ra’vir swallows. tsìkal shifts his weight between legs, xeytu hiding behind with eyes fixed on his feet.
neteyam steps closer.
“you touched her?” he’s controlled, even calm when he speaks, which somehow makes it worse.
“we didn’t mean-“ tsìkal starts.
“no.” neteyam shoves him without warning, hard enough that he slams int xeytu. the sound echoes and none of them dare to move.
“you do not mean anything with her,” he spits. “you do not look at her. you do not speak her name.”
xeytu’s voice breaks when he speaks.
“neteyam, we were joking. we are sorry.” neteyam drives his fist into the tree beside his head, splintering wood.
“you joked about what is mine. my mate.”
lo’ak has caught up now, pulling neteyam back.
“bro! stop this. now.”
neteyam is about to speak again when he feels jake’s presence. he steps in close, hand firm on neteyam’s shoulder.
“what is it, boy? you wanna tell me what the hell happened?”
neteyam looks up at him, his chest rising and falling with a harsh pace. he starts to ramble, “they put their dirty hands on her. she had to draw her blade. I couldn’t be there- training-“
“I got it.” jake’s eyes harden as he looks at the boys up and down, taking in their fear, their shame. he pulls neteyam back by the arm, firm but understanding while they walk off.
the hunters are left standing there, shaken, humiliated, fully aware that everyone will know why they were dismissed, and which family they wrongfully crossed.
“you did the right thing, son. but you lead, starting now. we handle this different, the right way.”
neteyam nods once, the anger settling but not fading entirely.
-
✧・゚: *✧・゚:*
-
dark blue has crept over the sky of pandora once your training is complete. you rush to hometree to find neteyam, but he isn’t there, and he isn’t at his family hammock either. so, you find him where you expect to next, far enough from kelutral that the sounds of the clan fade into leaves and glowing biodiversity. he’s sitting with his back against a slanted rock, its coarse surface blanketed with sparkling moss. his eyes are closed, and with your feather-light walk he does not sense your approach.
“hey,” you say softly.
he looks up immediately, relief flashing across his face. his shoulders drop instantly and he feels his anger drain into something lighter.
“hey, ma’tsawke. come here.”
you barely had time to kneel before his hands were on you, his thumbs brushing your arms, shoulders, checking for anything out of place. he kissed your head and pulled you close to him.
“ngatxoa,” (im sorry) he hums.
“I hate that I wasn’t there, baby.” he speaks quietly, but the guilt is loud. the sound of his voice, coated with the velvet of his na’vi accent, resembles a purring when he talks to you… baby… the english term that he used frequently, caused a purple flush to appear on the tips of your ears and nose.
“I’m okay,” you say softly, letting him check all of your skin. “I promise.”
“I know,” he says, quick. “I know you can handle yourself.” his hand slides to your waist, effortlessly pulling you into his lap. “that doesn’t stop this from eating at me.”
he leans his forehead into yours, breathing you in.
“seeing you right now… I just don’t want to let go.” his voice drops.
you smile faintly. “nete’, you’re squeezing me really hard.”
“yes,” he admits. “I need to.” his fingers trail up your back, drawing patterns into your soft skin. “I missed you today. too much.”
you tuck closer into his chest. “I missed you too.”
he presses a kiss into your hair, then your head, then your nose. then, he lets his forehead rest on yours.
“they didn’t hurt you, sevin?”
you try to shake your head. “no. just made me uncomfortable.” his grip on you becomes the slightest bit tighter.
“what did they say to you?” he asks. you sigh in response.
“please, baby.” he says gently. “I want to know.”
you smile, nails tracing the curves in the braids that fell in-front of his face.
“they called me taronyutsyìp,” you huff softly. “as if I didn’t earn my place there.”
he doesn’t interrupt.
“and they kept touching my things,” you continue. “my bow. my hand.” you glance up at him. “I didn’t like it.”
silence settles between you, tense but controlled. his hands curl slowly, then relax again, like he’s forcing himself to stay calm.
your hands rest on his shoulders.
“ma’teyam,” you say quietly. “tell me what you’re really thinking.”
he exhales through his nose.
“I’m angry,” he starts. “not at you. never.”
“I hate that they spoke to you like that.” a pause.
“and I hate that they touched you at all.”
you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, then another at the corner of his mouth.
“I see you, neteyam.”
“I see you, yawne.”
you kiss him properly this time, feeling the tension escape him with your touch. his hands leave your back to hold your face, pulling you deeper into his lips with the most gentle force.
“you’re the only one that matters to me.” you murmur against him. you feel the corners of his mouth curl into a smile, and you pull away to admire the sight.
“there’s my pretty boy.” you coo, pointer finger stroking along the edge of his jaw.
his breath shudders out, tension finally easing as he pulls you closer, forehead resting against yours again.
- cw: lower case intended, aged up!neteyam, smut, p in v, humans can breathe the air, virgin!reader, mention of masturbation, neteyam keeps talking about his imagination, fingering, oral (fem receiving), cum eating, dirty talk, size difference (not explicitly mentioned but reader is human soo), neteyam’s kinda possessive, slight belly bulging. let me know if i missed anything!
- an: apologies if this seems rushed. also, so sad we only got glimpses of neteyam in the third movie, i miss my mannn.
- word count: 4.5k
- summary: you and neteyam were inseparable as children. like spider, you were a human left behind, raised among the omatikaya, growing up with pandora as the only home you ever truly knew. when quaritch and the recoms forced jake sully and his family to flee, neteyam disappeared with them, leaving you behind for years of silence and unanswered feelings.
that is, until he returns.
༻༺
you don’t remember a time before pandora.
the forest has always been there in your memories. the hum of insects at dusk, the way the leaves glowed beneath your bare feet, the smell of rain clinging to everything. you learned the paths before you learned to read, learned which branches could hold your weight, which plants to avoid, which ones neteyam swore were “harmless” right before you proved him wrong.
neteyam had always been there too, along with kiri, lo’ak, tuk and spider of course.
you grew up at his side, trailing after him and his siblings like it was the most natural thing in the world. he taught you how to climb when your human hands slipped, how to keep quiet when the forest went still, how to laugh when you fell instead of crying. sometimes he carried you on his back when you got tired, grumbling the whole time but never once leaving you behind.
you were different, you always knew that, smaller, softer, human. but with him, it never felt like something that mattered. you belonged because he said you did. because the sullys said you did.
those days feel impossibly distant now.
you remember the tension creeping in before everything changed. the way the adults spoke in hushed voices, the way neteyam stopped laughing so easily. you didn’t understand gravity of it then, only that something was wrong. that the forest felt heavier. that goodbye came too fast.
one day, they were there.
the next, they were gone.
the forest felt wrong after that. too big. too quiet. you still walked the same paths, still slept beneath the same stars, but everything felt tilted, like pandora itself had shifted without him in it. you told yourself you were fine. you had to be.
norm and max stayed.
they became your anchors in a way you hadn’t expected. the lab, once overwhelming, all blinking lights and foreign sounds, slowly turned into something familiar. safe. you still visited the clan occasionally, although no way near as much as you once had. you learned how to calibrate equipment, how to catalogue samples, how to keep your hands steady even when your chest felt tight with missing someone you weren’t sure you were allowed to miss this much.
you grew up between microscopes and memory.
years passed like that. quietly. you traded scraped knees and borrowed na’vi clothes for data pads and human fabric that felt strange against skin used to vines and leaves. you still visited the forest, pandora was home, always would be, but you were changing, just as much as everything else.
and then one day..
“they’re back!”
the words didn’t register at first.
your hands stilled over the lab bench. the hum of machinery faded into a dull roar in your ears. they’re back. which meant..
no. you didn’t let yourself think it. not yet.
when they arrived, it was chaos. voices overlapping, na’vi gathering, the air thick with emotion and relief and something heavier underneath. you hung back near the edge, heart pounding so hard you were sure everyone could hear it.
and then you saw him.
neteyam stood just behind his father, taller than you remembered, broader, scarred in ways that made your chest ache. the boy who you remembered to be, was gone. in his place stood a warrior, quiet, alert, eyes sharper than before.
his gaze swept the crowd.
and then it landed on you.
for a split second, something cracked in his composure. not enough for anyone else to notice, but you did. you always had. his eyes widened, just barely, like he was seeing a ghost.
you weren’t the same either.
you saw it in the way his gaze lingered, uncertain, like he was trying to reconcile who you were now with the memory of the human kid who used to sit beside him, legs swinging, asking too many questions.
too much time had passed. too many things left unsaid.
but he was here.
he was here and it felt surreal.
you couldn’t move, feet rooted to the ground and you observed the surroundings. around you, people moved, embraces, voices, relief spilling out in bursts but all of it blurred at the edges. all you could see was him.
however, you broke eye contact first.
it wasn’t dramatic, no rush, no stumble, just a quiet decision made. this wasn’t your moment. it shouldn’t be. he’d just returned from years of hiding, fighting, surviving. his family was there, his clan, people who had mourned him as much as they’d waited. whatever this tight, aching thing was in your chest didn’t get to come before that.
so you stepped back.
you slipped through the edge of the crowd, boots soft against the forest floor, the sounds of reunion fading behind you. laughter, choked voices, someone crying openly. it felt wrong to intrude on it with everything you didn’t know how to say. you told yourself you were being sensible. kind, even. he deserved time. space.
you didn’t want to be selfish. and even more, maybe those feelings you felt years ago were one sided. maybe neteyam didn’t feel the same way you did.
the lab welcomed you back with sterile light and familiar hums. too quiet compared to the forest, but steady. you busied yourself with anything you could reach, data logs, recalibrations, a half-finished report you’d already rewritten twice. your hands worked on muscle memory alone, because your mind kept drifting back to the way his eyes had widened when he saw you.
hours passed.
max and norm both questioned why you hadn’t gone to greet them all yet, but you didn’t have a proper answer.
you were bent over a console, pretending very hard to read numbers that refused to make sense, when a shadow crossed the doorway.
you didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
the air shifted, subtle, instinctive, the way it always had around him.
“you didn’t come say hi,” neteyam said.
his voice was deeper now. rougher. it sent a warm feeling through your body.
you turned slowly, schooling your expression into something neutral, professional. safe. “you just got back,” you said, like it explained everything. “i figured you’d want to be with your family… your clan.”
for a moment, he just watched you. really watched you. not like before.
“i looked for you,” he said quietly.
“you had a lot of people looking for you,” you reply casually. “i thought… you’d want time with them first.”
neteyam exhales through his nose, something between a huff and a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. he steps closer, careful, like he’s not sure if you’ll bolt if he moves too fast.
neteyam eyes flicker over you, slow, deliberate, taking in the way you’ve changed. his tail twitches behind him, restless.
"you’re taller," he blurts out, voice rough. his gaze lingering on your legs, your waist, the curve of your lips.
you swallow hard.
“taller.” that’s all he says? after years? your fingers tighten around the edge of the console, grounding yourself. "and you’re… broader." the words slip out before you can stop them, your traitorous eyes skimming over his chest, the new scars mapping his skin like stories he never got to tell you.
a beat of silence.
his lips quirk. just barely. "you noticed."
your face burns. “damn him”
neteyam steps closer, the scent of him curling around you. too close. your pulse stutters when his tail sways, brushing your thigh. accidentally? you doubt it.
"you left," you blurt, hating how small your voice sounds.
his amusement fades. "i didn’t have a choice."
"You could’ve sent something, tried to communicate with me.” you muttered.
“it was hard when you all left, the only family i felt like i had.”
"i tried." his jaw tenses. "messages got intercepted. people got hurt."
you bit your lip.
neteyam exhales, running a hand through his braids. "you cut your hair." he changes the subject.
you resist the urge to reach for the shorter strands. "it got in the way."
he hummed, his gaze drops to your neck, exposed now. "i liked it long."
“it’s not that much shorter.” you replied.
the air between you thickens, is it awkwardness or just tension? you really can’t tell.
just then, lo’ak swings through the door unceremoniously, his carefree attitude cutting through the thick tension in the air. he takes a moment to take in the scene. neteyam and you are standing close, conversation halted in its tracks. lo’ak lifts an eyebrow, noticing something is off, but his usual smirk remains intact. "you two look serious." he quips, leaning against the console with ease.
neteyam takes a subtle step back, his expression guarded. "we’re just talking." his voice is casual, but there's a hint of irritation.
lo'ak chuckles, his gaze flickering between them. "just talking? looks like it was getting a little heated in here."
“not really.” you butted in, “he was just mentioning my hair.”
lo’ak’s smirk widens at your response, clearly not buying what you said. "right," he drawls, crossing his arms.
neteyam shoots him a glare, tail flicking in annoyance.
lo'ak just shrugs, unfazed. "anyway, dad wants you. something about perimeter checks." he glances at you again, then back at neteyam. "unless you're busy…?”
neteyam exhales sharply through his nose. "i'm coming."
as he moves to follow lo'ak, his fingers brush against yours deliberately, before he pulls away completely. the brief contact sends a wave of heat to your cheeks.
it was innocent enough, but being human on pandora, you never really received any sort of attention from boys, let alone contact.
lo'ak, oblivious to the silent exchange, claps neteyam on the back. "great! because dad’s in one of his moods..”
the door slides shut behind them, leaving you alone in the lab.
later that night, you couldn’t sleep.
your bedroom felt suffocating, so you slipped outside, letting pandora’s night air cool your skin. the glowing flora pulses softly underfoot as you wander deeper into the trees, trying and failing not to think about neteyam.
you felt like you were a kid again, before the events unravelled.
just you and the forest.
the only difference being you in your human pyjamas, rather than the loincloth and top you used to wear.
a twig snaps behind you, pulling you out of your thoughts.
you turn, pulse jumping. only to find neteyam standing there, his silhouette haloed by bioluminescence.
“you followed me," you accuse.
he steps closer, his gaze dark. "yeah." no excuses. no pretenses.
it caught you off guard.
“i was heading over to see you, then saw you leaving so i followed behind.” he replied.
you simply observed.
it made sense.
he made his way over to you, ducking through branches and other greenery.
his fingers trace the edge of your jaw, his touch feather-light, maddening. “i thought about you, you know?” “every damn night under those same stars. wondering if you still looked up at them. if you… missed me."
you gulp as you watch him.
his thumb presses against your bottom lip, dragging it down just slightly. his pupils are blown wide, dark with something raw.
"and when missing you got too much?" he leans in, his next words whispered against your skin, “ i touched myself imagining it was your hands on me."
your stomach clenches, heat pooling low.
neteyam’s words hung thickly in the air, the intensity of his gaze making you shiver. you were short for words, shocked at his sudden confession.
your heart hammered in your chest, a mixture of desire and uncertainty swirling inside you. you swallowed hard, trying to collect yourself before responding. "neteyam, i..." your voice trailed off, uncertain of what to say, but he took another step closer, his tail wrapping around your waist almost possessively.
his hand slid up to cradle your face, his touch sending sparks across your skin.
"sometimes..." his thumb traced the shape of your bottom lip, his voice low and raspy. "sometimes i’d close my eyes, pretend you were with me."
His eyes moved over you, the intensity of his gaze making your heart skip a beat.
"and i’d think about you in those moments... how I would touch you, if you were there."
his breath warmed your neck as he leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “i’d imagine you here… like this… under the stars we both looked up at.”
a shiver raced down your spine as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.
“remember that hollow in the cliffs? where we used to hide from lo’ak during games?” his voice was rough, low. “i’d imagine me lying there at night and picture you beside me.. under me.”
your breath hitched.
“i’d imagine pushing your shirt up slow,” he murmured, one hand sliding along your waist, fingers teasing beneath the fabric, “feeling how soft your skin is, how warm. i used to wonder if you'd arch into my touch like this…” he pressed his palm flat against the small of your back and pushed, just enough to make you gasp.
“and i always imagined,” he whispered against your jaw, “that when I finally kissed you here, really kissed you.. you’d taste even sweeter than i imagined.”
his hips shifted forward, the slightest grind, and a low sound escaped him.
“that’s when i would of slipped my hand down,” his thumb hooked into the waistband of your pyjamas, “you wouldn’t stop me.”
you let out a small whimper.
“i dreamt about feeling how wet you get for me,” he admitted hoarsely. “wondered if those quiet little noises would be enough to drive me wild after years of waiting.” he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.
"you kept me up late," he murmured, teeth grazing your skin.
his mouth moved lower, along your collarbone, nipping at it teasingly.
“teyam..” you whined quietly.
"shhh," he hushed, voice thick with want. his hips pressed firmer against yours, letting you feel every hard inch of him. "my little scientist... finally letting me taste what's been mine all along?"
his hand slid lower, past your hips, down to the back of your thigh and hooked it up around his waist. you gasped as he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the tree.
"i imagined this too," he growled into your ear. "you wrapped around me, just like that night by the waterfall when we were younger.”
you bit your lip as the memory came flooding back in, you forgot about that.
"i dreamed about making you cum under these stars," he whispered raggedly, tail curling tighter around your waist like a promise. "with my mouth on you.. my name on your lips..”
he finally dipped his hand beneath the hem of your pyjamas, soft fabric sliding aside and brushed one fingertip over damp heat.
he groaned low in his chest.
“shit.. no panties?”
“i.. i don’t wear any to bed.” you replied sheepishly.
he let out a rough, pleased noise. half-growl, half-laugh.
“good,” he breathed. “means I don’t have to tear anything off you.”
his finger dragged through your folds slowly, once, twice, making you whimper and arch against him. “you’re already so wet…”
“you made me wait years,” you gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “of course I’m..” you let out a mewl, “ready for you..”
he smirked, adding pressure just where you needed it. “i used to dream about how tight you’d feel around my fingers… my cock.” he slid one deep inside with no warning, slow, deep, and your head fell back against the tree as a moan tore from your throat.
“like that?” he purred.
you nodded ferociously as his thumb found your clit, circling with torturous precision. "tell me," he murmured, voice thick, "how many nights did you lie awake thinking of me?"
you cried out, hips jerking forward. "n-neteyam!”
"answer me." he added pressure, relentless. "did you touch yourself? imagine it was my hand? my mouth?"
a broken sob escaped you. "yes!..” you whined. “almost nightly!..” you followed up.
he continued pumping his fingers in, out, in, out, for a good few minutes.
his fingers curled inside you just right and suddenly, the world shattered. a sharp cry ripped from your throat as heat exploded low in your belly, waves of pleasure crashing through you as you came hard around his fingers, wet and trembling, your knees nearly giving out.
neteyam didn’t pull away. didn’t stop.
he held you through it, thumb still circling the bud gently as the tremors faded, watching your face with fascination.
he slowly slid his soaked fingers free, and without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his lips and sucked them clean.
your breath caught at the sight, the raw hunger in his eyes, as dropped to his knees in front of you.
his glowing eyes locked onto yours as he hooked your pyjama shorts around his fingers and yanked them down over trembling hips.
his nose brushed your inner thigh.
his hands slid up the underside of you knees, spreading your legs wider.
“look at her.. perfect.” he mumbled under his breath as he looked almost star-struck.
you watched, breath heaving, as he pressed light, worshiping kisses up the inside of your thigh, his eyes locked onto yours.
he looked wrecked, just from watching you cum.
his breath was hot against your skin. "you’re so beautiful," he murmured.
then he exhaled low, like a prayer, and lowered his mouth to your cunt, still pulsing from your release. he lapped up at your cunt with slow, deep strokes of his tongue.
"you taste even better than I dreamed," he groaned against you.
your fingers fisted into his hair as he circled your clit with his tongue, before he moved further down and began teasing your entrance.
he didn't let up. just held you steady with strong hands on your hips and drank from you like a starved man.
he groaned against your heat, the sound vibrating through you. “so sweet… mine.”
every flick of his tongue was deliberate. slow at first, savoring, like he had years to make up for. then deeper, hungrier. his nose brushing your clit as he devoured you with quiet desperation.
you gasped, back arching off the tree as his thumbs spread you wider and ‘yes..’ “there!” that wicked swirl right over your most sensitive spot.
“you gonna come again?” he murmured between licks, voice rough with need. “right on my face?”
You could only whimper in return, but it was enough.
because neteyam growled low in his chest and dove back in like a man possessed, licking deep into your folds, circling your clit with maddening precision before sucking it gently into his mouth.
stars blurred above you. the forest pulsed beneath. and all that existed was this, him between your legs, the way his name broke from your lips like a prayer..
“neteyam… i’m.. i’m gonna..”
his ears twitched at the sound, and he redoubled his efforts, tongue swirling faster, sucking gently as one hand slipped beneath to cup your ass, pulling you even closer.
"again," he growled against you. "let me feel it baby..”
and when you came, shuddering violently against his mouth with a choked cry, he didn't stop.
he just moaned like it was him being rewarded.
the vibrations sent another shockwave through your oversensitive nerves, making your legs tremble.
finally, slowly, he pulled back, but only enough to press one soft kiss to your inner thigh.
then looked up at you, eyes glossy, swollen lips glistening with you..
"still not enough," he whispered, voice raw.
he rose in one fluid motion, closing the space between you again, your back to the tree, his body against yours.
you could feel him now. hard, thick, straining against his loincloth, pressed right where your body still pulsed from his mouth.
his lips found your neck, biting gently. "wanna be inside when you come again."
your breath hitched. "neteyam..."
"i know," he murmured, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. "too much? too fast?"
you shook your head desperately.
“no..”
he exhaled sharply through his nose, the closest thing to losing control you'd ever seen from him.
"good." his hand slid down to cup you possessively between your legs, one finger teasing at your entrance again.
he swiftly took off your top
your bare skin prickled as the cool night air caressed your chest.
he leaned in, lips skimming the shell of your ear. "you ever been with anyone else?"
your stomach fluttered nervously. "no..”
he smiled against your skin, satisfaction and relief pouring off him.
"good…" he whispered, his hand skimming up the front of your bare torso, creeping upwards towards your breasts.
"no one else got to touch you like this... did they? only me."
"only you…" you confirmed.
he groaned low, his mouth moving along your jaw, claiming more territory. "that’s right. you’re mine. only mine."
his hand found your thigh again. "put your leg around me."
you wrapped your leg around his hip, drawing him closer.
your heart stuttered as you felt just how hard your touch made him. neteyam inhaled sharply, his fingers digging into your thigh.
"that's it," he murmured, voice rough. "hold onto me."
you obeyed, grasping onto his shoulders, holding him tight. your body hummed with anticipation.
he pulled you even closer, grinding his hips against yours almost involuntarily with a shaky exhale. you could feel just how much you had affected him.
"missed you…" he murmured between kisses, his lips trailing along your neck. "all these years, i… imagined this. over and over again."
"i did too..." you whispered back.
he kissed you, slow and deep, it made your chest ache. not just desire, something more.
when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours under the soft glow of pandoran night.
his hands moved to the ties of his loincloth and in one smooth motion, freed himself.
you gasped at the sight. thick, proud, already glistening at the tip.
he guided himself to your entrance slowly.. teasingly.. letting just the head slide in as his thumb found your clit again.
"look at me," he demanded softly.
you obeyed as you held his gaze.
with a low groan that vibrated through both of you, he pushed forward inch by inch.. filling you completely until there was no space left between you.
you cried out, part pain, part overwhelming fullness as he stretched you for the first time, your body clenching around his girth.
he froze instantly. "hey… hey, look at me," he murmured, voice thick with concern and restraint. his thumb brushed your cheek as he stayed buried deep inside you, motionless, letting you adjust.
tears pricked your eyes.
"you're okay," he whispered against your lips. "i’ve got you. just breathe… for me."
you nodded shakily and took a breath in and then another, feeling yourself slowly relax around him.
“that’s it," he praised softly, kissing away a tear that slipped free. "take all of me."
and when you rolled your hips slightly, a quiet signal, he exhaled like it was agony and began to move.
slow at first, one deep thrust that made stars burst behind your eyelids, then another just as deliberate.
each one sent waves of pleasure spiraling through you until the line between pain and ecstasy blurred.
"neteyam…" your voice called out
he kissed you hard as his rhythm picked up, one hand gripping your hip to pull you onto him deeper with each stroke, the other tangled in yours above your head.
"i’m here," he muttered against your skin. "feel me?" he said as he pushed his much bigger hand against the bulge, disappearing and reappearing in your stomach with each thrust.
"i feel you... all of you," you gasped, nails raking down his back as he rolled his hips harder.
each thrust drove a moan from your throat, deeper, fuller than before. he was so deep inside you it felt like he was touching your soul.
"yeah? you take me so damn well," he growled, shifting slightly, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every powerful stroke. "mine.. only mine.."
you sobbed out his name as the pressure built again, tighter this time, hotter.
"that’s it," he whispered against your neck, his lips on your pulse point. "come for me, baby. i want to feel you.” he pulled back, looking down at you both, watching his cock slip in and out of your cunt.
“look at us,” he rasped, voice thick with awe and hunger. “you’re taking every inch..”
his thrusts turned shallow, rhythmic, just enough to grind against your clit with each roll of his hips. you whimpered, back arching as the pleasure coiled tighter, unbearable now.
“neteyam.. i’m.. i’m..”
one hand slid between you, rubbing firm circles over your swollen bud. “come on my cock. let me feel it.”
and when you shattered, your body clamped down around him in pulsing waves. he groaned like it was salvation.
“yes.. yes.. that’s it..” he panted against your neck as you trembled through the release.
but he didn’t stop moving.
just kept thrusting, deeper now, as if your pleasure had only fueled his need.
"i’m not gonna last..” he groaned, his mouth finding yours again. "not gonna last..”
you could feel his control slipping, his rhythm turning erratic, his breath coming rougher now as he chased his own release.
“then don’t,” you whispered against his lips, nails digging into his back. “i want you to cum inside me.. want to feel it..”
his hips stuttered at your words, like you'd stripped the last of his restraint away.
"shit..” he choked out, burying his face in your neck as his body tensed. "you're gonna make me..”
with a deep, guttural groan, he thrusts into you hard, once, twice and then stilled completely.
you felt it, he came inside you, each wave shuddering through his body and into yours.
he collapsed against you slightly, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breathing ragged and raw.
for long moments, there was only the sound of the forest breathing around you and your hearts beating in sync.
finally, he lifted his head just enough to look at you, eyes soft now.
he cupped your face, thumb brushing your sweaty forehead. "you okay?" he whispered, still out of breath.
you managed a nod, too spent to form words just yet.
he huffed a small laugh, lips finding your temple.
he pulled out slowly, gently and immediately wrapped his arms around you as your legs finally gave way. his warmth didn't leave you, not even for a second, as he lowered himself to the soft moss beneath, pulling you on top of him with care.
he sat with your back pressed to his chest, legs cradling yours, tail curling snugly around your waist.
one hand smoothed damp strands of hair from your face, the other rested low on your stomach, possessive and tender all at once.
"you're incredible," he murmured into your ear, pressing a kiss just behind it.
you leaned into him completely.
his voice dropped lower. "i should've done this years ago."
༻༺
hiii! i hope you guys enjoy this one of neteyam! as always, reblogs, likes and comments are very helpful and i appreciate all of you guys who choose to support my work!
summary: After promising to spend a day with Neteyam, he finds his patience tested when other males from his clan interrupt your time together to flirt with you. Worst part is, he can't really do anything about it. Not when he has to make peace with everybody as the future Olo'eyktan, and definitely not when they think you're his "sister".
tags/warnings: jealousy, slight angry neteyam if you squint, kissing, making out, lil descriptions of sex, mentions of sexual activity, sexual implications, tension, neteyam being horny (be warned), neteyam yearning, reader isn't specified as na'vi so feel free to picture a human instead
Neteyam had always considered himself very patient. Even at this moment, even as he stood below a tree while Eykan so frequently rubbed himself on you in excuse of showing off his hunting “skills”. The young man lightly brushed his fingers along your elbow as he let go of your arm, acting as if he hadn’t noticed his future Olo’eyktan wasn't standing right there watching the interaction unfold with pure discomfort. The boy was either blind or stupid.
“The trick is to release early,” Eykan said, arms coming up behind you to guide your own. He placed a hand on yours and the other around your waist, making sure to be respectfully gentle about it. Neteyam scoffed. His hand placements were clearly unnecessary.
Neteyam could hear the sharp intake of your breath, right before you released the string, and quick as lightning, the arrow struck right through a fish in the water, and as if you’d never caught a fish before, you gave a gleeful grin to Eykan at the catch, to which he mirrored before helping you set it aside. Neteyam had taught you to use a bow, of course, but that never stopped other males from eagerly wanting to teach a trick of their own to get up close with you.
“Alright, I think she’s had enough,” Neteyam interrupted, placing himself between you and Eykan.
“What about the fish?”
“Keep it.” Neteyam gave a tight, polite smile to the warrior before leaving with you in tow.
You were going to say something, maybe mention how disappointed Eykan looked when he pulled you away, but the tense set of Neteyam’s jaw and the hard look in his eyes kept your mouth shut. It was safe to say Neteyam looked absolutely pissed as he dragged you through the forest.
You were supposed to be training with him today, but instead, the whole male population of the clan had apparently decided they’d like to do the same. And Neteyam, ever the patient Olo’eyktan’s son he was, had allowed them to indulge themselves with the pleasure of your attention, until there was no more room for him. He was left to stand to the side as young warriors of the clan attempted to impress you. They thought nothing of the Olo’eyktan’s son, not because they didn’t respect him—you knew the respect the Omatikaya held for him, but because you’d grown up closely alongside his family. So really, there was no reason for the males of his clan to think of you as anything less than a sisterly-figure to him.
But the more Neteyam grew, the more he grew tired of the constant attention you got from the young males of his clan as you came of age.
It didn’t always come, but today seemed to be one of those days where they couldn’t help but shower you in stares and unspoken intentions.
“It’s almost eclipse. You should head home, we can train another day,” Neteyam suggested halfway through the forest like the gentleman he was and you frowned. Something in his face told you he didn’t really want to take you home.
“But we haven’t spent any time together and I know you’re upset.”
He sighed. “It’s alright. We have plenty of other days.”
“I have to help Kiri and your grandmother tomorrow, and you have a hunt the next day.”
“Alright, we have some other days,” he corrected.
Sparing yourselves some pity, you wordlessly grabbed his hand and tugged him towards you. He stumbled at first, legs moving on their own accord, then Neteyam followed without much resistance as you led him in a different direction through the thick trees.
“Where are we going?” He asked, tail swaying hesitantly in curiosity.
“Not home. We haven’t gotten to spend much time together and that’s what friends do, is it not?”
Neteyam shook his head, laughing as he jumped over some vines he almost tripped on. “I suppose it is.”
The clearing you’d found yourselves into was secluded, far from the path towards home. And it also happened to be your favorite place, one that Neteyam hadn’t been to in years. The trees were just as he remembered it, large trunks enclosing the area from any outside predators. It glowed where moss and vines clung to it, and the carvings on them were still intact after years. On one bark was his name under yours, along with a bunch of scratches trying to remove it. It was like a memory unlocked for him, one he hadn’t thought about for a long while. He almost forgot about Eykan. Almost.
“You’re angry.”
“I’m not.” He huffed, looking anywhere but at you. “Maybe I am.”
He reached out to toy with a strand of flowers hanging from a branch, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes practically glued to his strong fingers as they ran through the soft petals. His hand ran down the vine, all the way to the fruit at the tip before plucking it from its stem.
“I hope it’s still sweet,” he said, plopping the small fruit into his mouth.
“You’re deflecting. Stop doing that.” You swatted his hand and the flowers fell, petals adorning the ground beneath him. His ears pulled back and he almost looked offended.
“I’m not deflecting,” he sighed. “Why don’t you show me around?”
“You’re doing it again!” you protested. “And you know your way around. You don’t need me to show you. Now will you tell me what I did wrong?”
“You did nothing wrong.” He paused, eyes cast to a distant branch.
“You don’t always have to spare my feelings, you know. You never tell anyone what’s bothering you, but I thought we were past that. You can tell me, Neteyam.”
He considered you for a moment, tail hanging low as it swayed to his contemplation at your truthful words. His brows furrowed, which you could only guess was from the unpleasant thoughts in his head, and then he finally released a long, drawn-out exhale.
“Look, I know I don’t have a say in your life,” he started, taking a slow breath. “Who you chose to spend your time with is not my concern, nor should it ever be, but if I have to watch another male rub himself on you while I just stand there, I’m going to-” he cut himself off with a frustrated hiss, turning away.
Oh.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” you apologized half-heartedly yet earnestly all at the same time. You weren’t daft, but you weren’t sure either. He could be uncomfortable, but why would he get so upset if he were anything but… jealous? You didn’t want to assume.
“That’s not… It’s not that. It is, but that is not what I meant.” Neteyam laughed pitifully at himself.
“Then what is it?”
He was fully turned to you now, picking at his own arm. “You’re smarter than that.”
The air was thick with something you couldn’t quite place, and a new emotion welled up inside you. Neteyam had always known how to be soft and gentle all over despite the rough toll his training had taken on him. He was calloused hands with gentle touches, a perfect mix of a warrior that would make any woman swoon. Yet here he was, worked up about you spending more time with males that were not him.
“Are you… jealous?” you asked in a whisper, almost inaudibly. His ears lifted at the word, cringing slightly. Neteyam finally looked at you, catching your eyes with his as he took a step forward.
“Is that so hard to believe?” he questioned, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. The unexpected touch made you shiver, a gasp threatening to spill from your lips. Neteyam’s gaze fell to his fingers hovering over the skin of your collarbone, then to your neck, lingering on your lips, then back to your face, and you subconsciously backed away as if his very stare burned you.
“...Yes,” you answered after almost having forgotten to. He smiled.
“I’m sure I can help you think otherwise.” He traced the shape of your jaw with his fingers, gently tilting your face upwards so he could look into your eyes again. “Pretty.”
If you weren’t blushing before you certainly were now. Neteyam’s attention was all over you. Eyes roaming the features of your face, fingers playing with your jaw, tail occasionally brushing your thigh, and you were hyper-aware of all the things he was making you feel. You didn’t know whether to look away or step closer.
“I mean it, yawntutsyìp. You’re very pretty,” he repeated. “There’s a reason why males trip over themselves when you look at them.”
Now you were really overwhelmed to the brink of malfunction. Fortunately for you, Neteyam took notice of your lack of words and continued to speak.
“I might be one of them,” he admitted softly. “In case you haven’t noticed.”
You hadn’t. Maybe you had, but you’d always brushed it off, the line between friendship and something else entirely blurred. Every time he’d stare at you for too long, every little smile he gave, and all the subtle touches he’d given you, you’d brushed it off as something that Neteyam just did. But, oh you were so wrong. You realized that now. You realized as Neteyam eyed you nervously, tail flicking anxiously close to the ground.
“I didn’t mean to make you jealous,” you said honestly, holding the side of his jaw with your hand. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch like he’d been deprived of it.
“I know.” By the time he opened his eyes, your faces were mere inches apart. And for the first time today, it was his breath that hitched.
“We’ll still be friends, right?” you whispered and Neteyam’s chuckle was short-lived as you pressed your lips to his. His arm immediately winded around your waist, pulling you close as he kissed you with equal softness and want.
You felt your stomach flutter as you tugged him closer, kissing him deeper as your teeth grazed his lips. Neteyam almost groaned when your tongue melted against his, his fingers curling on your waist. He had to contain the images running through his head, most of them involving you and things his family would definitely not approve of. He could just take your right here, in the middle of the forest where no one would see. Or better yet, right here where young warriors making their way back could possibly stumble upon. He’d make it known that you were his, that they needed to lay off when you were spending time with him.
He wanted you, very badly. Especially when you made those little noises, the soft moans you let out as his tongue stroked your own. He could barely keep his head straight with the way your little hands tugged at him, trying to pull him closer. He’d been wanting you for a long time.
But he also treasured you. You meant many things to him and he cared too much of a great deal about you to let his desires cloud his actions. So instead, Neteyam slowly pulled away, breath ragged as he gave you room to breathe.
Your chest heaved, dazed in the aftershocks of the kiss as your mind whirled around it. Never in a million years would you have thought that you’d ever get to kiss him. Neteyam had always been a good friend, as his whole family was. To cross a line like that was reckless, too reckless. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. No. After getting a taste of him, you wanted more, and that was probably the most dangerous part.
hello! i saw that u write for avatar and i was wondering if u could write something about neteyam x reader please, maybe the 'she fell first but he fell harder' type? angst with a fluff ending, if possible. i love ur writing! ♡
The Storm
Tags: Neteyam x Fem!Reader, Heacanons, She Fell First But He Fell Harder, Angst, Fluff Ending
Warnings: None
For as long as you can remember, you have been in love with Neteyam. You were convinced that a future olo’eyktan had no room for a love as simple as yours. But when the ache of unrequited feelings forces you to finally pull away, you realize you vastly underestimated your place in his world.
OFCC <33 and tysm!! Neteyam is so popular with yall lmfao
* ˚ ✦ Read below the cut
╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [24/12/25] ❞
You are a friend in the Sully kids circle, someone who grew up with them within the omatikaya clan.
After years spent with them, it was only natural that as you grew older, so did your crush on the eldest Sully.
You were the one who fell first.
He is polite and protective by default, which makes you think his kindness is just... Neteyam being Neteyam.
SO. MUCH. PINING.
It's kind of apart of your everyday routine to watch Neteyam from a distance while he trains. You'd often notice the sweat on his brow and the way he sighs when his father isn't looking.
You're such an acts of service person. Mending loincloth straps, helping him with his braids, babysitting, you do all of it.
In this way, your love is fairly quiet. For Neteyam, you're a breath of fresh air since he knows you're a friend he can rely on.
Sometimes Neteyam will find his gear randomly fixed, you'll bring him utumauti after training, or you're the only one who doesn't ask him for anything.
You have quite a domestic and gentle character as well, which perfectly mirrors his needs. You are also observant and notice the weight Neteyam carries.
I think he’s the type to memorize your scent. Not in a creepy way, just it's something notable to him.
(You smell like pandoran flora, btw. Which sucks for him because that means he senses you EVERYWHERE.)
Neteyam is the type to be incredibly distracted by his sense of duty, but he leans into your touch subconsciously. Your tenderness is a rare indulgence he doesn't get to have often, especially since he's the eldest of his family.
If you're crafty or someone who enjoys collecting, then Neteyam carries a small token you gave him inside his pouch at all times.
One day, however, you saw him interacting with another Na'vi girl. She seemed to be teasing him, and against your will, you felt your heart clench.
You knew you probably shouldn't, but it was too enticing not to listen in on their conversation. Your heart dropped when you tuned into what he was saying.
"I’ve let myself get too comfortable lately. I’ve been spending too much time on things that don't matter for my training. From now on, I have to focus on what’s important."
But... but you're who he spends all his comfortable time with.
Is he inferring that you're a waste of time? That you don't matter?
K-RRR-CK. Hear that? That was your heart shattering into a million tiny pieces.
I guess Neteyam's future plans don't include you anymore.
Ever since overhearing this conversation, you decided to pull back to protect your heart.
You eventually stop showing up to your usual spots, and whenever you do talk, you remain polite. There's an odd frigid edge to your voice, though. And Neteyam notices it fast.
This actually started to seriously hurt his feelings. He didn't know what he did wrong to push you away, so he starts to look for you, only for you to somehow evade him time and time again.
Because of this, Neteyam starts to become irritable and loses focus in his training.
Why does the sun seem to feel less bright without you around?
And this, ladies and gentleman, is where he starts to fall harder.
I think he wouldn't realize he's in love until the threat of losing you hits him.
And when he does fall... it’s intense, devoted, and a little bit desperate.
After a few weeks of being ignored, evaded, or treated like you haven't know him for ten godforsaken years, Neteyam began to reach his breaking point.
When he realizes that you're distancing yourself from him, he accidentally snaps at Lo'ak because he's so stressed about you.
One day, an intense rainstorm had hit, and many Na'vi retreated to caverns for shelter to wait it out.
He followed suit, until he spotted you also doing the same thing, and grabbed you by the wrist to whisk you away back into the forest.
Seeking shelter near some buttress roots, Neteyam cornered you and had you backed up against the trunk. His grip on you is firm, but not enough to hurt.
"Stop. Just - stop for one second."
You refuse to meet his eyes, imploring him to let you go. People are looking, he needs to go back to his father, it's raining...
He doesn't really seem to care at any of your logical protests. Instead, he steps closer, forcing you back against the rough bark of the root until there’s nowhere left to retreat.
"I don't care about my father right now. I care about why you’ve been looking at me like I’m a stranger for the last three weeks."
You tell him that it's better this way, that you're just making it easier for him.
He cages you further against the tree. "Easier? You’re making everything impossible. I can’t think, I can’t lead, I can’t even breathe because I’m too busy wondering what I did to make you hate me."
This hurts your heart to hear. "I don't hate you! I’m just... I’m just staying out of your way, Neteyam. You have so much to do."
The next thing he says makes you feel like you could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.
"You think you’re a distraction? You’re the only thing keeping me sane."
While standing in the rain, the two of you finally have a heartfelt but charged conversation about the way you feel.
Neteyam admits that while you might have loved him first, he cannot imagine his life, or his future as a leader, without you by his side.
You exchange an oel ngati kameie, and it's within this moment that the two of you finally bond properly.
I hope you don't regret this, because you've just unlocked physically clingy Neteyam.
He doesn't want to let go of your hand for the rest of the day.
I think that once the two of you finally date, Neteyam finally lets someone else take care of him for once.
summary: neteyam lets his little siblings have whatever they want, especially tuktirey. she’s just so cute! how could you say no to that face? usually he would h no problem letting her have what she want but when it came to you, he found himself not wanting to compromise.
tuk’s affection for you held that peculiar purity only children manage. there was an instinctive possessiveness, lacking any calculated thought, and an unrestrained loyalty that was evident in every shared touch. when those thin limbs curled around your waist or her tiny fingers traced a path through the ferns to a mossy nook she’d quietly claimed as yours both, neteyam never found reason to protest against it. she’d press her face into your ribs when you sat, call you her extra sister. she was so tiny, still missing a back molar, over-enunciating her r sounds, and everything in her life fit neatly into yes or no, want or don’t. she admired you with barely restrained conviction because you never told her no. your lap was warmer than her woven cot, and you told stories with your whole face and let her interrupt them. she always won when you played, and you never brought it up. for a long stretch, all of it was uncomplicated and entirely sweet.
fruit started flying past his ears whenever you climbed onto his ikran instead of walking back with tuk. she’d go quiet for a second, then launch a half-ripe piece of yovo in a movement that she thought was sneaky. he’d barely sit down beside you at mealtime before she’d twist in from your other side, make noise just to drown him out, latch onto whatever sentence he’d begun since she meant to finish it better. she’d stop playing altogether if you weren’t the one she got to chase. hunter-hunted became something she wouldn’t even consider unless you promised to run slow. one night after you left early, she burst into tears without warning. when their mother pressed, tuk slapped her arm across her eyes and said it wasn’t fair that neteyam had stolen you. whenever he came near, she’d press herself harder into your side. speak louder when he murmured something only for you. your name came out of her mouth first, louder than necessary.
you never scolded her, it was impossible to not find her actions endearing. then again, maybe that’s what made it worse.
neteyam had given up so many things, always with that too-old composure jake mistook for maturity, always paired together with that quiet bow of the head that made kiri roll her eyes and lo’ak feel weirdly guilty. when kiri wanted the biggest tswin feathers, he let her keep them, even if he’d found them first. he had let lo’ak win the race back from the eastern cliff more times than could be counted, even when his own stride outmatched his brother’s and his lungs ached to gloat. he never challenged them when they interrupted. he gave away his portions when tuk asked. he stayed behind when others got to fly out further. he let them talk over him, take over the better hunting posts, climb higher on the vines. when his parents were overwhelmed, he’d take on both patrol and babysitting duty, never once breathing resentment. he gave, and gave, and gave. what he wasn’t willing to give was you.
you weren’t even trying to make it worse, which made your unintentional negligence feel doubly cruel. you were kind to tuk, and it created this illusion for her that she had any claim over you at all. tuk didn’t understand the meaning of your gaze when neteyam caught it during late watches, nor did she notice the way your hands lingered too long when you helped him tie back his hair after long days of flight. neteyam noticed. tuk did not. or maybe she did, and it made her angry. maybe she did, and it made her bold.
“she’s my best friend,” tuk announced one evening, nose wrinkled, arms crossed, expression ripe with the kind of territorial conviction only a baby sister could manufacture.
neteyam turned away from the half-broken spear he’d been repairing. his brow arched, deliberate. “you don’t even know what that means.”
“do too,” she snapped. “means she belongs to me.”
you were sitting between them, quiet when you were entertained and nervous at once. your eyes had darted to neteyam’s face, then tuk’s, then back again. tuk pressed into your side harder, chest puffed out, small but loud. you tried to smile at her. she was just a girl, you reminded yourself. this was harmless.
neteyam disagreed. he leaned back on one arm, muscles stiffening under the stretch of his chest. he looked so smug, so settled. “doesn’t work that way, tuk-tuk.”
she squinted. “why not?”
“because,” he said, hand sliding behind your back under the pretense of stretching, “she picked me.”
you gasped so softly it was barely audible. tuk stared, neteyam smirked. you were sure he’d never looked more insufferable.
“no she didn’t!” tuk shrieked. “she plays with me every day! we pick berries together! we made bracelets! she taught me to ride! she sleeps in my tent when she visits!”
he nodded, nodding too patiently. “that’s true. she also kissed me behind the fire ring last moon. what did she do with you again?”
“neteyam!” you smacked his chest, scandalized. tuk was shrieking. neteyam grabbed your wrist mid-smack, fingers wrapping around your pulse. you couldn’t pull away, and not just because of his grip. his smile wasn’t sly anymore.
“you said you didn’t want a mate yet,” she accused, tiny arms crossed over her chest, mouth turned. “you said you don’t even like the boys in the village.”
your lips parted, “i said i didn’t like most of them.”
neteyam grinned against your shoulder and leaned forward, so your faces nearly touched. you laughed a little and elbowed him, but didn’t move away. you always let him stay close.
“i’m not a boy in the village,” he murmured, tongue clicking against the back of his teeth, “i’m your future mate.”
tuk made a disgusted sound. “no, i’m her mate!”
you looked between them. neteyam was still grinning, cheek resting against his fist, utterly unfazed. tuk was shaking with fury, fists balled, braids shaking. her cheeks were pink, teeth bared.
“you can’t even hunt yet,” he said, barely suppressing a laugh.
“i will!” tuk shouted. “and she loves me more!”
“does she?” neteyam tilted his head at you, “does she love you more than me?”
“you’re being mean,” tuk snapped. “you always give me what i want!”
he finally looked at her. “not this.” tuk’s lip wobbled.
you told tuk the next day that you’d always love her, but that neteyam was different. she didn’t understand, and maybe she never would. she pouted for three days. neteyam was smug the whole time. you ignored them both until you couldn’t anymore. when you kissed him in the mouth of the forest, behind a tree tuk couldn’t climb, neteyam kept laughing into your mouth. every time you tried to silence him, he just laughed harder. he was so happy. you hated it but you kissed him again.
not this time, he thought.
author’s note: this is a repost :3 PLEASEEEE send requests!!! i mean if you want. rise and shine avatar fandom it’s time to rise from the dead!
Summary: He almost died. You saved him. And now neither of you knows how to pretend it didn’t change everything, especially now that he knows about the thing you’ve hidden since the day you arrived. Rivals don’t do the things you two do… do they?
Warnings: 6k+ words, aged up! neteyam, rival to friends i guess (still with benefits) , explicit smut, p in v, finally not a hate sex, cunnilingus, pussy eating, reader on top (woohoo), riding, this is more fluff than the before i think
Chapters: friendly fire, friendlier fire, friendliest fire
Three days later, the air in the high pods of High Camp was thick with the scent of crushed herbs and woodsmoke. You climbed the woven ramps, your heart doing a nervous stutter-step that you refused to acknowledge.
You found him in the healers' wing, propped up against a stack of woven mats. He was stripped to the waist, a thick, clean white bandage wrapped firmly around his chest. He was pale, but the gray tint to his skin was gone, replaced by the healthy blue glow of someone far too stubborn to stay down.
The moment you stepped inside, his ears perked up.
"You’re late," Neteyam called out, his voice still a bit gravelly but carrying that familiar, arrogant lilt. He didn't even wait for you to sit before he gestured to a bowl of fruit nearby. "I’m starving. Peel me one of those? The healer treat me like I’m made of glass."
"The healer is your grandmother, Neteyam," you said. You stood at the foot of his mat, arms crossed, staring at him. "You almost bled out in the dirt three days ago, and your first words to me are a demand for snacks?"
"Technically," he said, leaning back and wincing just a fraction as his wound pulled, "my first words were that you're late. The fruit was a follow-up."
He patted the space on the mat next to him. When you finally sat down, he watched you with golden eyes that had lost their glaze, regaining that sharp, teasing light that always managed to get under your skin. "I remember the part where you told me to shut up. Very romantic," he said.
"I was trying to save your life," you hissed, feeling your face heat up. "You were being incredibly annoying."
"I was dying! I’m allowed to be a little dramatic," he countered, reaching out with his good arm to snag your wrist, pulling your hand toward him. He traced the small scabs on your skin where the ropes had been. "But I heard you. 'I've got you,' you said. You sounded so worried."
You hissed, jerking your hand back. "I was worried about the lecture your father would give me if I brought his heir back in pieces. Don't let it go to your head."
Neteyam chuckled, but the sound turned into a small wince as his chest rose. He settled back against the mats.
"How did you do it?" he asked softly. "That thing with the tsaheylu. The leader woman... she looked terrified of you. Like she’d seen a ghost."
"Her name is Varang," you said. You went still, looking down at your scarred wrists. The memory of the black rage and the way you had crushed Varang’s mind made your skin crawl. "And let's say, experience is the best teacher," you continued.
Neteyam’s ears twitched, his head tilting to the side. Experience? Na'vi don't use the bond like that. They use it for connection, for the ikran, for the direhorse. They don't use it to lobotomize people
He looked at you closely, his eyes narrowing as he put the pieces together. "What do you mean, 'experience'?"
You sighed, the secret you had kept since the day you arrived at High Camp finally slipping out.
"Neteyam, I wasn't a Windtrader. I was a Mangkwan," you said, your voice a cold thread. "Hell, not only a regular Mangkwan, I was the tsakarem."
The silence that followed was heavy. Neteyam’s hand, which had been reaching for yours again, froze in mid-air. "You're one of them?" he whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
"Was," you corrected sharply. "Yeah... maybe I lied about my story when I arrived here," you chuckled, though there was no humor in it. The sound was dry and sharp.
Neteyam sat back, his mind racing through every moment he had known you, the "stray" girl who had fought twice as hard as any Omatikaya, the girl who knew too much about pressure points and psychological warfare.
"So that mad woman..." Neteyam started, his voice hushed as he looked at the entrance to the pod to ensure no one was listening. "Varang. She’s your mother?"
You recoiled, a genuine hiss of disgust escaping your lips. "Now that’s an insult. I’d rather have been birthed by a viper."
You looked down at your hands, picking at a loose thread on the mat. "The part of me being an orphan isn't a lie."
You felt a cold weight settle in your chest, the kind that no amount of forest sun could warm. "My parents died in the same volcanic eruption that blackened the southern islands. I watched the sky turn to ash and the earth swallow everything I loved."
You looked up at Neteyam, your eyes hard and dry. "I’ve hated Eywa ever since. You’ve never seen me pray to her, have you?" You let out a short, jagged chuckle. "While the rest of you are singing to the trees, I’m wondering why the Great Mother felt the need to bury my family in ashes."
Neteyam’s expression shifted from shock to a deep, pained silence. For an Omatikaya, for the son of a man who spoke to Eywa through the Tree of Souls, your words were pure sacrilege. But he didn't pull away.
"Varang found me in the ash," you continued, your voice hollow. "She didn't see a grieving child. She looked into my eyes and realized we shared the same hatred. She saw a girl who wanted to tear the world apart, and she took me under her wing to show me exactly how to do it."
Neteyam looked at you deeply. The teasing spark in his eyes had completely vanished, replaced by a heavy, grounding gravity.
"Why did you run away?" Neteyam asked, his voice barely a breath.
"You don't even want to know how the training was," you said, your voice going dangerously thin. You stared at your hands, but you weren't seeing the healer's pod. You were seeing the dark, damp caves of the Mangkwan coast.
"She forced me to bond with dying victims. Men, women, animals... it didn't matter. She made me stay connected while their life flickered out. I felt the fear, the cold, the agony. I felt the last breath they ever took. Again, and again, and again... until I felt numb."
You looked at him, and for a second, your eyes were as cold as Varang’s.
"That’s how you control a tsaheylu," you said. "Because their feelings don't affect you anymore. You learn to treat someone’s soul like a room you’re just walking through."
Neteyam flinched. He looked at the bandage on his chest, realizing that when you had saved him, you had used a skill forged in the deaths of dozens of others.
"But I don't like torturing people," you said, your voice finally breaking, the hardness cracking. "Varang wanted me to enjoy it. She wanted me to be the one who pushed them over the edge. But every time I felt a heart stop... it felt like my own was stopping, too. I couldn't be the monster she wanted," you whispered, the words hanging heavy in the air.
Then, you cleared your throat, forcing the darkness back with a sharp, jagged smile. "I actually had a proper little rebellion. I told her to her face that I wouldn't do it. She was, let's say less than pleased. But I fought her, managed to scramble away, and limped into High Camp looking like a drowned forest cat."
You let out a dry chuckle, nudging his good leg with your elbow. "So, technically, I didn't lie! I was a victim of the Mangkwan. I just left out the part where I was their tsahik-in-training. I figured 'Windtrader orphan' sounded much more sympathetic and much less than 'I-can-fry-your-brain-with-my-hair.'"
Neteyam rolled his eyes so hard he nearly winced from the effort, a huff of indignant laughter escaping his chest.
"A Windtrader," he repeated, shaking his head. "I should’ve guessed it was a lie. No Windtrader hiss like a wounded kitten every time things don't go their way. And they certainly don't look like they're ready to commit murder when someone asks them to help with the laundry."
"I do not hiss like a kitten," you snapped, your ears flattening.
"You do," he insisted, a teasing glint returning to his gold eyes despite his pale face. "You’re all spikes and teeth. Every time I try to help you with your footing or show you a better grip on your knife, you go hiss. It’s cute. Like a little forest cat that thinks it’s a thanator."
"I am a thanator compared to you right now," you retorted, gesturing vaguely at his prone, bandaged form. "You’re currently a very blue and very talkative rug."
"A rug that saved your life," he reminded you, pointing a finger at your nose. "Before you went all 'scary priestess' on everyone, I was the one standing between you and Varang’s blade. I think that earns me the right to call you a kitten."
"It earns you a smack to the head if you weren't already concussed," you muttered, though you didn't move away. "And for the record, you're so stupid. I told you not to drop that bow. We wouldn't be in this mess if you just listened for once."
Neteyam let out a dry, rattling breath that might have been a laugh if it didn't hurt so much. "Oh, right. Because watching your head get jerked around while you screamed in pain was the perfect time for me to be 'logical.' My mistake."
He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, his face tight with lingering exhaustion. "Honestly? With how much you’ve been lecturing me since I woke up, I’m starting to think I should’ve just let her cut your kuru. At least then you would be quiet."
Your tail lashed behind you. "And I should have left you bleeding in the forest. At least, the soil would’ve made better use than your stubbornness."
Neteyam hissed at you.
You hissed back.
The air between you was thick with heat and the lingering tension of two people who had almost lost everything, expressed through the only way you knew how: sharp words and bared teeth.
"Am I interrupting a hunt?"
The deep, gravelly voice of Jake Sully echoed through the pod.
You both jumped. Neteyam winced, hissing for a very different reason as he clutched his chest, and you scrambled back, nearly tripping over a bowl of medicinal mash.
Jake stood in the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked between the two of you. Jake’s expression was unreadable, but one of his eyebrows was arched in a way that suggested he had heard more than he was letting on.
"Dad," Neteyam panted, trying to smooth his expression into something resembling a disciplined soldier. "No. Just... discussing tactics."
"Sounded like a lot of hissing for a tactic discussion," Jake said, stepping into the room.
He looked at you, his gaze heavy and observant. "And you. I hear the healers have been looking for you. Something about you refusing to let them check your wrists because you were too busy 'supervising' my son’s recovery?"
You looked at your feet, your tail giving one final flick. "He’s a difficult patient, sir."
"She’s a tyrant," Neteyam muttered under his breath.
You give him a final hiss before finally excusing yourself to leave the room.
Three months had passed since the "tactical disaster" in the forest, and life at High Camp had returned to its usual rhythm, which, for the two of you, meant a constant state of verbal warfare and physical tension that could set the foliage on fire.
The scar on Neteyam’s chest was now a jagged, silvery mark against his blue skin, a permanent reminder of the day he was an "idiot."
"I hate you," you said. You two were on the way of a hunting, and of course it was full of arguing like usual. "I hate your face, I hate your ego, and I especially hate that you think you're better than me."
"Because I am," Neteyam chuckled.
"You know, the more I think, the more I want to finish what Varang started. Maybe I should re-stab your scar and actually leave you bleeding in the forest," you hissed.
"Still all spikes and teeth," he said. "Are you going to hiss at me again, kitten?"
"If you call me kitten one more time, I will actually fry your brain," you threatened.
Twenty minutes later, the bickering hadn't stopped, but it had shifted into the rhythmic, professional silence of the hunt. Mostly.
You moved through the mid-canopy like ghosts, leaping from branch to branch with practiced ease. Neteyam was a few meters to your left, his long limbs moving with the terrifying fluidity that made him such a lethal scout.
Neteyam didn't even look at you. He just raised two fingers, pointing toward a thicket of purple-leafed bushes. A yerik stood there, its six legs tensed, ears twitching at a sound only it could hear.
He looked at you then, a challenge dancing in his gold eyes. He didn't say a word, but the tilt of his head was clear: My kill or yours?
You didn't wait for a formal invitation. You notched an arrow, the movement silent and blurred. But as you drew back the string, Neteyam’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing your elbow to adjust your stance by a fraction of a millimeter.
"Your elbow is too high," he breathed into your ear, his chest nearly brushing your back. "You're getting sloppy because you're angry."
"I am not sloppy," you whispered back, your tail twitching in irritation. "And get off me. You’re ruining my line of sight."
"I'm perfecting it," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "Now shoot, kitten. Before it smells your attitude and runs away."
You gritted your teeth, focused on the target, and loosed the arrow. It whistled through the air, a clean, silent streak of death. The yerik dropped instantly, not even a cry escaping it.
"Clean," Neteyam admitted, finally pulling back. He looked at the fallen prey, then back at you with a smirk that was entirely too fond. "Almost as good as me."
"In your dreams, Sully," you snapped, already jumping down toward the forest floor to claim the kill.
Neteyam hauled the yerik onto his shoulders, the weight of the animal barely seeming to slow him down. Instead of heading back toward the main camp, he began to climb toward the high ridges, toward the shimmering, ethereal glow that illuminated the horizon.
"Where are you going?" you asked, jumping over a gnarled root. "The villages are the other way, Olo'eyktan-to-be."
"I know where the villages are," Neteyam replied over his shoulder, his tail swishing with a steady, rhythmic confidence. "We’re making a stop first."
As the trees began to thin and the air grew thick with the hum of a thousand invisible spirits, the glow intensified. You rounded a corner and stopped dead. The Tree of Souls stood before you, its long, glowing tendrils swaying in a wind that didn't exist, a living cathedral of light.
He dropped the prey at the edge of the sacred ground, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked at the tree, then back at you, his expression maddeningly calm.
You let out a dry, sharp bark of a laugh, crossing your arms over your chest. "You’ve got to be kidding me, Neteyam. Are you trying to perform an exorcism? Do you think the tree is going to smell the 'Mangkwan' on me and strike me down?"
"I think you’re being dramatic," Neteyam countered, walking over to you. He didn't stop until he was in your personal space. "I’m not asking you to pray. I’m not asking you to like Her."
"Then why are we here?" you asked, though the hum of the tree was making the hair on your arms stand up.
"Because you spend all your time looking at the ground or looking for enemies," Neteyam said softly. He reached out, his fingers catching a floating woodsprite.
Atokirina. A seed of the sacred tree that was drifting toward your face. He held it out to you, the tiny, glowing creature spinning slowly in his palm.
"I wanted you to see that not everything in this world is fire and ash," he murmured. "Even if you hate the Source, the view is still better than a cave in the Mangkwan coast, isn't it?"
"It’s just a tree, Neteyam," you whispered, though your voice lacked its usual bite.
"It's a very pretty tree," he corrected, his smirk returning. "And it’s very quiet. Which is the only way I can get a word in without you hissing at me."
The atokirina flew away from Neteyam's palm.
You let out a huff of a laugh, leaning your weight onto one hip as you stared at the swaying, luminous vines. The light played off your skin, making the old scars on your wrists look like silver threads.
"I don't know, Neteyam," you joked, your voice echoing slightly in the hollow silence of the grove. "I'm afraid I would scare your ancestors away. Can you imagine? One touch and all the great Omatikaya leaders of the past start screaming because a Mangkwan witch just walked into the chat."
Neteyam snorted, stepping closer until his shoulder brushed yours. "My ancestors have seen Great Shadow wars and human invasions. I think they can handle one grumpy girl from the coast."
"I'm serious," you said, though your smirk remained. "I did terrible things with my kuru in the past. If I plug into this thing, I might accidentally download a virus into your precious Eywa."
"A virus?" Neteyam shook his head, looking at the tree with a quiet, steady reverence. "It doesn't work like that. You don't 'take' from the tree. You just... listen."
He reached out, his hand hovering near the glowing white tendrils, then he looked back at you. His eyes were soft, searching. "You’re not a virus. You’re just afraid."
The joke died in your throat. Your gaze drifted from his face to the swaying vines of the Tree of Souls. The hum of the tree felt like a physical weight against your chest, a heartbeat that wasn't yours
"I'm not afraid," you lied, your voice dropping to a whisper.
But you were. You were terrified. You were afraid that if you connected, you’d see your parents with their faces twisted in the same fire and ash that had claimed them. You were afraid their spirits would look at what you’d become, what Varang had turned you into, and turn away in shame.
And even worse? You were afraid that you’d reach out into that Great Mother's mind and find... nothing. That the silence would be absolute, proving that your parents were just gone, scattered like smoke, and that Eywa had never been listening at all.
"Just try," Neteyam urged softly. He took a step toward you, his hand grazing your arm. "One touch. If it’s too loud, or if you hate what you hear, you pull away."
You looked at the glowing vines, then back at him. "If I see a bunch of old Omatikaya chiefs telling me to do my laundry and stop being mean to you, I’m never letting you hear the end of it."
"Deal," he murmured, a small, encouraging smile breaking through his seriousness.
You took a shaky breath, your fingers trembling as you reached for your queue. You slowly brought the pink, sensitive filaments of your kuru toward the glowing vines of the tree. The closer you got, the more the air seemed to thrum.
At the last second, you froze. The fear of seeing them, or not seeing them, hit you like a physical blow to the stomach.
"I can't," you gasped, snatching your hand back as if the tree had burned you. You stumbled a half-step away, your chest heaving. "I told you, it's just a tree. I’m not doing this, Neteyam. Do your own prayer, take the damn yerik, and let’s go home."
Neteyam didn't push. He just gave a quiet, knowing nod, respecting the wall you’d slammed down. You walked away a few paces, leaning against a nearby trunk as you sat down beside the dead yerik.
You watched him with narrowed eyes as he approached the glowing tendrils. He closed his eyes, connecting his kuru with that glowing vines.
When Neteyam finally finished, he disconnected and walked over, sinking down to sit beside you. He didn't say anything at first, just sat there in the shared quiet of the bioluminescent glow.
Suddenly, a single atokirina bobbed through the air, drifting right toward your face. Without thinking, purely out of a reflexive, you slapped it away from you.
"Don't," Neteyam said, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist mid-swing. He didn't pull you away, he just held your arm steady in the air. "Stay still," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the woodsprite.
You were confused, but you stopped struggling. Then, more of them came. It wasn't just one, dozens of the glowing seeds descended like falling stars, landing on your shoulders, your hair, your knees, and your hands. They were weightless, pulsing with a faint, cool light until you were draped in a shimmering, white shroud.
You sat there, frozen, until they all finally took flight again, drifting back into the heights of the tree.
"What was that?" you asked, your voice barely a rasp. You felt exposed, like the tree had just looked right through your skin.
Neteyam was staring at you. "You've been chosen. By Eywa," he breathed.
"For what exactly?" You snapped, standing up abruptly and brushing off the invisible dust of the spirits. "To be a glow-in-the-dark target? To be your tribal mascot? No. Absolutely not. I’m not 'converting' or becoming a believer just because she says I'm chosen or whatever. I don't care about her seeds and I don't care about her signs."
Neteyam stood up, hoisting the yerik over his shoulders with a grunt. He looked at you, that maddening, smug smirk slowly returning to his face despite your outburst. "Stubborn ass."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Neteyam let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh, adjusting the heavy weight of the yerik on his shoulders. "Of course you would. Only you could be blessed by the Great Mother and treat it like a personal insult."
"It is an insult," you countered, falling into step beside him, your tail lashing with leftover adrenaline. "She’s been silent my whole life while I was bleeding in the ash, and now that I’m finally tucked away in your little forest paradise, she wants to say hello? She’s late. By about ten years."
Neteyam didn't look back, but you could hear the smile in his voice. "Maybe she was waiting for you to stop hissing long enough to hear her."
"I will hiss at her, I will hiss at you, and I will hiss at anyone who thinks I'm going to start wearing flowers and singing to a tree," you grumbled. You reached up to adjust your hair.
Neteyam didn't answer with words. Instead, he shifted the yerik to one shoulder and reached out with his free hand, his fingers snaking toward your queue.
"Hey!" you barked, jumping back as if he’d shocked you. "Hands off the merchandise, Sully! You want to lose a finger?"
"Just checking for more bugs," he teased.
"Bugs? I'll show you some bugs, you moron!" you snarled, lunging at him.
Neteyam wasn't expecting the sudden tackle. He tried to pivot, but with the weight of the yerik on his shoulders, his balance was off. You dove for his midsection, your fingers finding the sensitive spot right above his hip bones.
"Wait—no!" Neteyam choked out a surprised, breathless laugh as he went down. The yerik slid off his shoulders into the grass with a heavy thud, and he hit the mossy ground a second later with you pinned firmly to his chest.
You didn't stop. You dug your fingers into his ribs, tickling him ruthlessly. "How's that for a bug, Sully? You want to check for more?"
"Stop! I yield!" he wheezed, squirming beneath you, his hands catching your wrists to try and pull them away. He was strong, but he was laughing too hard to actually use his strength. "Mercy! The Mangkwan... they have no honor!"
"None at all," you hissed, but you finally stopped the tickling.
You didn't move, though. You stayed right where you were, straddling his waist, your hands pinned against the ground by his. The forest around you seemed to go quiet, the glow from the Tree of Souls spread across your face.
It had been three months. Three months since that night in the tent before the ambush. Three months since you two touch each other.
"What's the matter?" Neteyam teased, his voice dropping into a rough, low vibration that seemed to hum right through your skin. "You're usually so loud when you're winning. Why so quiet now, kitten?"
"Shut up," you whispered, though you didn't move.
"Make me," he challenged.
"Oh, I know a way," you murmured.
You didn't go for his ribs this time. You didn't go for a punch or a shove. Instead, you reached around his head, your fingers navigating the dark braids until you found his queue.
Neteyam didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to block you. He just lay there against the moss, his smirk widening into something amused. He wasn't afraid of what you could do to his mind, he’d already felt your soul when you saved his life. He knew you wouldn't really try to fry his brain anyway.
"Go ahead," he challenged softly, his hands moving from your wrists to rest firmly on your waist. "Do your worst, Mangkwan. Break my mind. I think there’s only room in there for you at this point, anyway."
The challenge hung in the air, thick and heavy. You didn't back down. You reached for your queue, the neural filaments shivering as they sensed the proximity of his.
As the filaments braided together, the world exploded.
Neteyam’s pupils dilated instantly, his golden irises nearly swallowed by black as the connection slammed into him. He let out a ragged gasp, his head falling back against the moss as the sheer force of your mind flooded his. He closed his eyes tight, his fingers digging into your waist as he tried to process the sensory overload. It wasn't like connecting to an ikran or a tree. It was like plugging into a live wire.
Through the bond, you felt him, all of him. You can feel his overwhelming heat, his fierce protectiveness, and the raw, aching want he had been suppressed for months.
You, however, remained perfectly still. You kept your eyes open, watching the way his chest heaved and the way his tail twitched violently in the grass.
"Too much for the prince?" you whispered, your voice cool and steady despite the fire rushing through the bond.
Neteyam let out a low, pained groan of pleasure, his grip tightening on your hips. Through the tsaheylu, his thoughts racing. He was seeing flashes of that night in the forest, the smell of your skin, the way you looked when you were angry, and the terrifyingly beautiful way you looked when you were saving him.
He opened his eyes, hazy and dark, looking up at you with a vulnerability he only ever showed in the dark. [Stop... acting like you don't feel this,] his voice echoed directly into your mind, bypasssing your ears. [I can feel your heart. It’s lying for you.]
He was right. Even if your face was a mask of calm, the bond didn't lie. Your heart was drumming a matching rhythm against his own.
"You look good quiet like this," you murmured, your voice a cool contrast to the storm raging through the bond.
Neteyam let out a long and shaky exhale. Without breaking the connection, he sat up, his hands never leaving your waist, until you were eye-to-eye in the middle of the glowing grove.
"You're a demon," he rasped, though he was pulling you closer.
"And yet, you're still here," you whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere."
He didn't wait for another taunt. He leaned in, closing the final inch of space. When your lips finally met, the tsaheylu flared again, sending a physical jolt through both of you.
The tsaheylu turned the kiss into something visceral, a sensory overload that made the forest floor feel like it was falling away.
Neteyam’s hands moved with a sudden, possessive urgency, sliding from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him until there wasn't a breath of air between your chests. He tasted like the cool water of the river and the sweet nectar of the flowers.
The tsaheylu spiked, a line of pure sensation shooting through your nerves as Neteyam’s hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. He adjusted you until your back was pressed against the dead yerik, using the animal's body as a makeshift headrest.
"Neteyam," you breathed, your head thumping back against the yerik as his mouth left yours.
He didn't stop. He moved lower, his lips tracing a path of fire down your throat, lingering on the spot where your pulse was jumping like a trapped bird.
He went lower still, his head dipping below your eye line. You arched your back, your breath hitching in your throat as the tsaheylu transmitted every ghost of a touch, amplifying it until you couldn't tell where your body ended and his began.
He also could feel your sharp intake of breath, the way your muscles coiled in anticipation, and he chose that exact moment to slow down. He looked up at you from his position, his golden eyes hooded and dark, glowing like embers in the twilight of the grove.
"Are you unaffected by this, little Mangkwan?" he whispered, his voice vibrating through the neural link.
You tried to glare at him, but it was hard to maintain your "scary priestess" persona when your toes were curling into the moss. "I'm going to kill you, Sully."
"You've been saying that for months," he teased, his thumb tracing a slow, agonizing circle on the inside of your thigh. "But your heart is telling me something else."
Neteyam’s hand moved with a slow, deliberate precision, sliding the edge of your loincloth aside just enough. He leaned in, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he took you in. He could smell the heavy and sweet scent of your arousal.
Then, he leaned in and took a taste.
You let out a sharp, choked-off cry, your head thumping back against the yerik so hard the animal's carcass shifted. Because he was connected to you, he felt exactly how good it felt to you while he did it. He felt the jolt of pleasure as it traveled up your spine, and he fed it right back into the loop, amplifying it until the world was nothing but violet light and the sound of his name on your lips.
"Oh," Neteyam groaned against you, his voice vibrating through your entire lower body.
Neteyam didn't hold back. Every flick of his tongue was a calculated strike against your remaining sanity. You were blinded by the way the bond made every touch feel like a lightning strike, the way his satisfaction bled into your own until you were drowning in a sea of shared, mounting ecstasy.
"Neteyam—" you gasped, your fingers digging so hard into his shoulders.
You felt his tongue, hot and expert, swirling against you, and because of the bond, you felt his own primal satisfaction at the way your thighs trembled against his ears. He could feel the exact moment your breath hitched, the exact millisecond your internal muscles coiled, and he used that knowledge to push you even harder.
Your fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, your nails carving crescent moons into his skin, but he only pressed deeper. He was drinking you in, tasting the salt and the sweetness. His own arousal bleeding through the link until you could feel the heavy, thrumming ache in his own body.
He let out a low, muffled growl against your skin, his hands sliding up to grip your hips, anchoring you as you began to arch uncontrollably. [Give it to me,] his voice echoed in your mind, dark and commanding. [Let it go, kitten. Let me taste it all.]
The command in your head was the final blow. The release hit you with the force of a physical collision, a psychic shockwave that traveled through the tsaheylu and slammed into Neteyam’s mind at the same time it wrecked your body. Your back arched so sharply it felt like your spine might snap.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the ragged sounds of your breathing. Neteyam eventually sat up, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Slowly, your strength returned to your limbs. You sat up, sliding onto his lap and straddling his waist. You reached out, framing his face with your hands, and pulled him into a kiss. This one was slower, deeper, and tasting of the victory you both finally shared.
When you pulled back just an inch, you saw that familiar, smug look starting to creep back into his expression. You couldn't have that. Not yet.
"Don't look so proud of yourself, Sully," you rasped, your voice still a little wrecked.
Neteyam let out a breathless, incredulous laugh, his hands tightening on your waist. "Well. I recall you nearly breaking my shoulders and screaming my name loud enough to wake the ancestors."
"The ancestors are probably more disappointed in your lack of focus," you countered, though your breath hitched as his hands slid from your waist to your thighs, his grip firm and grounding.
"Lack of focus? I'm focused exactly where I want to be." He shifted beneath you, his hips tilting upward just enough to make you gasp.
"If you're so worried about my focus," Neteyam rasped, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register, "then why don't you take control?"
He didn't wait for an answer. His hands, large and steady, lift your hips before he managed to move his loincloth aside. He grabbed your hips again, aligning you perfectly above him. The tsaheylu flared. You felt the heavy and thrumming weight of his desire.
You let out a shaky breath, your hands coming down to rest on his broad chest for balance. "Careful, Sully," you whispered, your eyes locking onto his. "You might find out I’m a lot more than you can handle."
"Try me," he challenged.
You sank down slowly, the sensation so intense that your head fell back. The sensation hit both of you with a "double" intensity that felt like a physical weight.
Through the bond, you weren't just feeling yourself, you were feeling him feeling you. You felt the incredible, searing warmth of your own body from his perspective, the way you were so tight and welcoming that it made his vision go blurry. At the same time, he was feeling the sensation of fullness through your nerves, a heavy, grounding ache that made your toes curl into the moss.
The feedback loop of the tsaheylu was becoming a storm you couldn't control. You moved with a rhythmic grace, your hips rolling in a slow, torturous grind that forced a groan from deep within Neteyam’s chest.
Neteyam’s hands moved to your hips, his large palms anchoring you, guiding your pace when he felt you falter from the sheer intensity.
[Look at me,] he commanded through the link.
You forced your eyes open, your vision swimming with violet light and sweat. You began to move faster, your breath coming in short, sharp hitches that sounded like prayers in the silence of the grove. He was so warm, so impossibly solid beneath you.
He met every one of your descents with a powerful, rhythmic thrust of his own hips, his tail lashing the ground, coiling and uncoiling in the grass. Because of the bond, you could feel the tension building in his loins—a coiled spring of energy that was seconds away from snapping. He felt your internal muscles clenching around him, the rhythmic ripples of your body sending waves of agonizing pleasure straight to his brain.
It was a total sensory takeover. The scent of the crushed moss, the humming of the sacred tree, the salt of your skin, and the taste of his breath as you leaned down to capture his lips again.
The kiss was the fuse that finally hit the powder keg. As your lips crashed together, the tsaheylu give a torrent of shared sensation that left no room for thought.
You accelerated your pace, your body a blur of motion against his, the friction generating a heat that felt like it was melting the very air between you.
And then, you felt the exact moment he reached his limit. It acted as a trigger for your own body. The pressure in your core coiled tighter and tighter, an agonizing thrum that demanded to be let loose.
Then, it happened.
The release rippled through your body.
You let out a cry into his mouth as your internal muscles clamped around him in a series of powerful spasms. You felt your own climax as a blinding explosion and then, a millisecond later, you felt his release. A deep, pulsing flood of heat that mirrored your own, echoing back and forth through the tsaheylu until the pleasure was infinite.
Neteyam’s back arched off the moss, his hands gripping your hips so hard his knuckles went white. He groaned your name into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your teeth as he finally let go.
Slowly, the weight of gravity returned. You collapsed forward, your head falling onto his shoulder, your chest heaving against his as you both fought for air.
Neteyam’s hand came up to stroke the back of your head and back. He didn't speak. After a long moment of just holding you, he shifted, slowly laying back down on the mossy ground and pulling you with him.
You let out a soft giggle against the skin of his shoulder. You rolled off his chest but didn't go far, settling onto your side and resting your head on the crook of his arm.
He shifted his arm, pulling you even tighter against his side until you were tucked perfectly against his chest, cocooned by his scent and the heat still radiating from his skin. One of his large hands rested over your hip.
You fell asleep first, your breathing evening out as you drifted into a sleep.
As you drifted deeper into sleep, the tension finally left your body, your hand resting limply over Neteyam’s heart. He stayed awake for a long time, watching the way your expression had finally softened in the dark.
Satisfied, he pressed a final, lingering kiss to the top of your head and let his own eyes flutter shut, his grip on your hip never loosening even as he drifted off.
From the high, luminous canopy, dozens of atokirinas began to descend. The woodsprites drifted down like slow-motion snow, pulsing with a rhythmic white light.
They landed everywhere. They settled on your intertwined legs, on Neteyam’s broad shoulders, and in the messy tangles of your hair. One landed softly on the bridge of your nose, another settled right over the spot where your kuru was still braided with Neteyam’s.
The morning light filtered soft and hazy. You felt the absence of his heat before you even opened your eyes, the tsaheylu have been gently disconnected while you slept.
You stirred, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the back of your hand, and saw Neteyam already sitting up beside you. He was staring at the glowing vines of the tree, his expression a complicated mask of realization.
As he looked around, the weight of last night seemed to crash down on him all at once. The sex, the tsaheylu, the fact that he came inside, and worst of all, that you two had done all of it here, before Eywa, right under The Tree of Souls.
"We aren't mated, are we?" he asked.
You contemplated the thought for a split second, but you quickly rubbed it off.
"Absolutely not," you said firmly, standing up and brushing the glowing moss from your skin.
i emptied my drafts, this is probably the last part, i have no ideas left lmao. also sorry if the title sucks i just can't think of another :p
Summary: The rivalry didn’t stop just because the clothes came off. If anything, the stakes are higher now.
Warnings: 8k+ words, aged up! neteyam, rival with benefits, explicit smut, p in v, (still) hate sex, fingering, edging, blowjob, mention of blood, heavy injury
Notes: yeah this is kinda long ig, but i hope you enjoy it
Chapters: friendly fire, friendlier fire, friendliest fire
The sun was high over High Camp, baking the mud and stone. The air smelled of roasting fish and ozone. You were sitting on the edge of the communal fire pit, restringing your bow. Your fingers were raw, and every muscle in your legs screamed in protest every time you shifted weight—a lingering, aching reminder of the cave floor.
You adjusted the woven strap of your top, tugging it higher on your shoulder to cover the bruise Neteyam had left there. It was a dark, purple mark, shaped unmistakably like teeth.
"That dive yesterday," a voice said, breaking your focus.
You looked up. It was a young hunter from the second squad. He was smiling at you, holding a bowl of fruit. "I saw the telemetry logs. I didn't think an Ikran could bank that hard without stalling. You have to teach me how you shifted your weight."
You smirked, leaning back on your hands (and wincing slightly). "It’s not about the weight. It’s about the knees. You have to lock them against the saddle right before the turn."
"Show me?" He asked, stepping closer, his tail swishing with clear interest. "After the midday meal? We could take the training mounts out."
It was innocent.
It was friendly.
"She's busy," a cold voice cut through the conversation like a obsidian knife.
Neteyam appeared behind the young warrior, looming like a thunderhead. He wasn't looking at the other boy, his golden eyes were locked on you, specifically on the way you were leaning back.
The boy jumped, ears pinning back. "I was just asking about—"
"I heard," Neteyam interrupted, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "But unless you want to explain to the Olo'eyktan why the perimeter sensors haven't been recalibrated yet, I suggest you get back to your post."
"But... my shift doesn't start for another hour."
"I moved it up," Neteyam lied. Effortlessly. "Go."
The boy didn't argue with the Chief's son. He gave you an apologetic look and scrambled away.
You watched him go, then turned your glare on Neteyam. "You're a jerk. And a liar."
Neteyam didn't flinch. He walked around the fire pit and crouched down in front of you, invading your personal space. He reached out and snatched the bow from your lap, inspecting your stringing work with a critical eye.
"You're distracting the other warriors," he muttered, plucking the string. It hummed perfectly. He scowled, annoyed that he couldn't criticize it.
"I was talking strategy," you countered, snatching the bow back. "Something you might want to try instead of barking orders."
"He wasn't looking at your strategy," Neteyam said low, his voice dropping to a rumble. "He was looking at your mouth."
Your rolled your eyes. "So? Maybe I like the attention. Not everyone treats me like a headache they can't get rid of."
Neteyam’s jaw tightened. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that only you could hear amidst the camp noise.
"He doesn't know you," he hissed. "He thinks you're just some brave, pretty refugee. He doesn't know you're a brat who refuses to follow orders."
"Jealous, Sully?" you taunted, tilting your chin up.
"Territorial," he corrected, his eyes darkening. "You're my headache. I'm the one who has to clean up your messes.
"I can handle myself."
"I know." His gaze drifted down to your shoulder, staring pointedly at the strap covering his mark. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. "Fix your strap. It's slipping."
You froze, heat rushing to your face. You quickly adjusted the strap, glaring at him.
"You did that on purpose," you accused.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Neteyam said, standing up and dusting off his hands. The perfect soldier mask was back in place, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Report to the sparring ring in ten minutes. I want to see if your hand-to-hand is as sloppy as your landing was."
"I hate you," you said, standing up and wincing as your sore muscles protested.
Neteyam paused, looking back at you. He let his eyes rake over your form, slow and heavy, remembering exactly why you were sore.
"Ten minutes," he ordered. "Don't keep me waiting."
The moon was high, casting a silver glow over the forest floor, painting the ferns in shades of indigo and violet. The camp was asleep. The fires had burned down to embers, and the only sound was the distant rhythm of the ocean against the sea wall.
But deep in the forest, in a small clearing hidden by a curtain of hanging vines, the silence was being violently broken.
Thud.
You hit the mossy ground hard, the air leaving your lungs in a sharp gasp. Before you could scramble up, a heavy foot pressed into your stomach, pinning you down.
Neteyam stood over you, silhouetted against the bioluminescent canopy. He was dripping sweat, his chest heaving, his braids tied back severely to keep them out of his face. There was no audience here. No recruits to impress. No father to perform for. Just you, him, and the dark.
"Dead," he whispered, the word cutting through the humidity.
You groaned, grabbing his ankle and twisting your hips. It was a dirty move, one you learned from a street fight. You torqued his knee sideways. Neteyam hissed, losing his balance, and stumbled back.
You didn't give him a second to recover. You sprang up, ignoring the ache in your ribs, and tackled him.
The two of you went down in a tangle of limbs, rolling through the wet ferns. He was stronger, but you were vicious. You managed to get a forearm against his throat, pinning him to the root of a massive tree.
"You over-committed," you panted, your face inches from his. "You thought you had me. Typical arrogance."
Neteyam glared up at you, his pupils blown wide in the darkness. He wasn't even trying to throw you off yet. He was just staring, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath yours.
"I let you up," he rasped, his voice rough.
"Liar," you spat, tightening your grip on his forearm. "You just hate being on the bottom."
The air between you crackled, thick and heavy. This far out, there was no one to hear the harshness of your breathing or the way your hearts were hammering in unison.
Neteyam’s hand shot up, gripping the back of your neck. It wasn't an attack. It was a demand. He pulled your head down, not for a kiss, but to press his forehead against yours, hard.
"You fight like a feral animal," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. "No technique. Just... chaos."
"It works," you breathed back, staring defiantly into his golden eyes. "I'm the one on top, aren't I?"
Something in his expression fractured. The rivalry, the anger, the exhaustion all twisted into that familiar, suffocating heat.
"For now," he challenged.
He bucked his hips, a sudden explosion of strength that caught you off guard. He flipped the positions effortlessly, slamming your back against the tree trunk. The bark was rough against your skin, but his body was harder. He pinned your wrists above your head with one large hand, his other hand gripping your jaw to keep you looking at him.
"You talk too much about winning," Neteyam growled, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating purr. "But you forget who trained you."
"You didn't train me," you shot back, though your voice shook slightly as his knee pressed between your legs, parting them. "You just... polished the edges."
"Then let me polish them," he whispered darkly.
He didn't wait for a witty comeback. He crushed his mouth to yours, devouring the sound of your protest. It was aggressive and messy, fueled by the adrenaline of the fight. You bit his lip and he groaned into your mouth, his grip on your wrists tightening to the point of pain— a pain you welcomed.
You wrenched your hands free from his grip, not to push him away, but to claw at his back, dragging your nails down his spine. He shuddered, breaking the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, biting down on the sensitive muscle there.
"You're so loud," he murmured against your skin, his hands roaming down your sides, finding the ties of your loincloth. "Good thing we're miles away."
"Shut up," you gasped, throwing your head back against the tree bark.
The bark of the massive tree bit into your back, but you barely felt it. All you could feel was Neteyam pressing his hips against yours.
His hands were frantic, tugging at the ties of your loincloth, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps against your neck. He was eager. Too eager.
"Finally," he groaned, abandoning the knot to just shove the fabric aside, his knee nudging your legs further apart. He moved to bridge the gap, his body coiled tight, ready to bury himself inside you and take what he thought was his.
You caught him by the shoulders and shoved. Hard.
It wasn't enough to throw him off, but it was enough to stop his momentum. Neteyam froze, his chest heaving, his golden eyes snapping up to yours in confusion and annoyance.
"What?" he rasped, his voice thick with lust. "Don't tell me you're backing out. You started this."
"I'm not backing out," you said coolly, though your own pulse was hammering. You slid your hand down his chest, over his taut stomach, and rested it firmly on his hip bone, keeping him just inches away from where he wanted to be. "I'm just... pacing you."
Neteyam frowned, his brows knitting together. He tried to push forward again, grinding against your hand. "I don't need pacing. Move your hand."
"No," you said, digging your nails into his skin. "I remember the cave, Neteyam. You were sloppy."
Neteyam went still. Even in the dark, you could see the flash of indignation. "I was not—"
"You were fast," you interrupted, tilting your head mockingly. "Embarrassingly fast. For a warrior who lectures me about 'stamina' and 'discipline' all day, you certainly lost yours the second you touched me."
He snarled, a low, animalistic sound. "I was pent up. It was a one-time thing."
"Was it?" You smirked, trailing your other hand down his neck, feeling his pulse jump under your fingertips. "Because you seem to be rushing again, boy. Panting like a dog, fumbling with knots... is this the famous Sully composure?"
Neteyam gripped your wrist, his fingers bruising. "You want composure?" he growled. "Fine."
You smirked, tilting your head. "So I'm setting the pace tonight. You wait until I say you can—"
Neteyam didn't let you finish.
In a blur of motion, he grabbed your wrists, tore them from his chest, and slammed them high above your head against the tree trunk. He gripped both of them in one large hand, his fingers overlapping easily, pinning you completely.
"You think you have the authority to command me?" he growled, his voice dropping into a register so deep it vibrated in your bones.
"I—"
"Quiet."
He used his free hand to grab your jaw, squeezing your cheeks to force your mouth open, silencing you. The playful teasing vanished from the air, replaced by a suffocating, heavy dominance.
"You want slow?" he hissed. "I'll give you slow. But you don't get to decide when it ends. I do."
He entered you then—not with the frantic rush of the cave, but with a terrifyingly slow, deliberate slide that stretched you to your limit. You gasped, your head falling back against the bark, your hips instinctively bucking to try and take more, to speed him up.
"Ah," he chided, his grip on your wrists tightening. He held you still, refusing to let you move. "Stay still."
He withdrew slowly, agonizingly, before sliding back in, just as slow. It was torture. It was a display of perfect, cruel control. He watched your face, watching your composure shatter while his remained iron-clad.
"Please," you whimpered, the word slipping out before you could stop it. The friction was maddening, and his refusal to speed up was driving you insane.
"Please what?" he mocked softly, nipping at your throat. "Please speed up? I thought I was too fast for you? I thought I was sloppy?"
"Neteyam, shut up and just—"
He thrust harder, hitting a spot that made your vision blur, but immediately slowed down again.
"I'm... bored," you lied through your teeth, your voice breathless but dripping with venom. You tightened your legs around his waist, pulling him in deep, trying to force the pace yourself since your hands were still pinned. "Is this it? Is this the legendary stamina? Because you're stalling, Sully."
His jaw worked. The vein in his neck pulsed. He wanted you to break, but you were cracking his composure instead.
"I am controlling the pace," he hissed.
"You're afraid," you taunted, arching your back off the tree to meet him, defying his hold. "You're afraid if you let go... you'll finish in seconds again. Prove me wrong."
That snapped the last thread of his restraint.
But he didn't thrust harder. Instead, he withdrew completely, pulling away from you with a sudden, jarring motion that left you gasping at the loss of heat.
Before you could make a sound, his hands were heavy on your shoulders, shoving you downward. The force was undeniable, a physical command that brooked no argument.
"Down," he snarled, his voice stripped of any patience.
Your knees hit the damp moss with a soft thud. The sudden change in elevation made your head spin. You looked up, wiping a stray lock of hair from your face, and found Neteyam towering over you.
He looked imperious in the moonlight, his chest heaving, his jaw set in a line of hard stone.
"You have a big mouth," he hissed, looking down at you with dark, dilated eyes. He tangled his hand into your hair, tilting your head back until your neck was exposed, forcing you to look up at him. "Use it for something other than talking."
You didn't blink. You just smirked, the expression sharp enough to cut, and wrapped your hands around the backs of his thighs.
"Gladly," you murmured.
You didn't wait for him to posture or prepare. You leaned forward and took his length in, not tentatively, but with a sudden, voracious enthusiasm that knocked the wind out of him.
Neteyam’s head snapped back. A harsh, broken noise tore from his throat. His hands tightened in your hair instantly, not to pull you away, but to anchor himself as his knees threatened to buckle.
You worked him ruthlessly, looking up through your lashes to watch the ruin of his composure. You tightened your suction, using your hand to twist and stroke in a rhythm that was designed to destroy him. You wanted him to lose his mind, and you were succeeding.
He snapped.
He abandoned the pretense of the stoic test. His grip on your hair turned bruising, and he started to move, snapping his hips forward to meet you. He fucked your mouth. Hard.
He drove into you with zero regard for finesse. You didn't back down. You didn't gag. You met every thrust, your own competitive fire fueling you. You took him deeper, tightening your throat around him, challenging him to find your limit.
Is that all you got? your eyes screamed. Take it, his body answered.
He was close. Terrifyingly close. You could feel the way his muscles seized, the way his breath hitched into a high, desperate whine in his throat. He was seconds away from spilling over, seconds away from losing the game and finishing right there in the dirt like a rookie.
And he knew it.
"Fuck," he choked out.
Suddenly, violently, he yanked your head back by your hair, forcing you to release him with a wet pop.
You gasped, trying to catch your breath, staring up at him confused and disappointed. "What? Too much for you?"
Neteyam looked down at you, chest heaving, his face twisted in a mask of pure frustration and lust. He was trembling, sweat dripping from his nose, looking like he wanted to murder you and worship you at the same time.
"You don't get to win that easily," he rasped, his voice wrecked.
He didn't give you a second to process the loss of contact. He gripped your hips and slid down the rough bark of the tree, dragging you down with him until he was seated on the mossy roots and you were pulled hard between his legs.
He slammed your back against his chest, trapping you. His thighs bracketed yours, keeping you spread open, and his arm clamped across your chest like a bar of iron, pinning you against him.
"You stopped," you panted, tilting your head back to glare at him upside down. "You were right there. You coward."
"I'm not a coward," Neteyam growled. "I don't finish while you're still thinking you're in charge."
He didn't wait. He shoved his hand down the front of your loincloth, bypassing the fabric with a rough, impatient jerk. He found you instantly—soaked and swollen.
"And look at that," he sneered against your ear. "You talk so much, but you're dripping for me."
He thrust two fingers inside you, deep and sudden.
You gasped, a loud, broken sound that echoed too clearly in the quiet forest. Your hips bucked instinctively, trying to escape the sudden intrusion, but he had you trapped between his thighs.
"Too loud," he muttered.
He took his free hand, the one that had been pinning your chest, and slammed it over your mouth. His palm was rough, calloused from the bowstring, and it smothered your cry instantly, pushing your head back against his shoulder.
"Quiet," he ordered, his voice vibrating against your spine. "You don't get to scream. You just take it."
He began to move his fingers. It wasn't the clumsy fumbling of a boy but it was the precision of a warrior who knew exactly where to strike. He curled his fingers, hitting that maddening spot inside you with a punishing, rhythmic curl. Come here. Come here.
You bit into his palm, muffled whimpers vibrating against his skin as the pleasure spiked hot and fast. You were already on edge from the teasing earlier, and he knew it. He ramped up the speed, his wrist twisting, his thumb grinding against you, driving you blindly toward the cliff.
Your vision blurred. Your toes curled into the moss. You were there, right there, your body tensing for the release—
And he stopped.
He didn't pull out. He just stopped moving, leaving his fingers buried deep inside you, still as stone.
You made a frustrated, muffled noise against his hand, thrashing in his hold. You tried to grind down on his hand to finish it yourself, but he stay still.
"Ah," he whispered into your ear, his tone dark and mocking. "Did I say you could finish?"
He waited. He waited until your muscles stopped spasming, until the peak faded into a dull, aching throb of need. He waited until you were limp against him, panting through your nose, furious and desperate.
"You wanted to test control?" he murmured. "This is control."
He started again.
Slowly at first, agonizingly slow drags that stretched you out, before snapping back into that vicious, fast rhythm. He played you like an instrument. He built you up, higher this time, the pressure building in your lower belly until it was unbearable. You were arching off his chest, clawing at the arm wrapped around you, begging him without words.
And just as you started to keen against his palm, trembling on the edge of ruin—
He stopped again.
"Not yet," he hissed, nipping the side of your neck. "You made me wait. Now you wait."
Tears of frustration pricked your eyes. It was torture. It was humiliating. And it was the hottest thing he had ever done.
He held you there in the dark, his hand over your mouth silencing your protests, forcing you to simmer in your own desperation while he sat calmly behind you, the master of your body.
"Are you going to behave?" he asked softly, moving his fingers just a fraction. "Or do we go for a third round of this?"
You nodded frantically against his palm, your pride completely dissolved by the ache throbbing between your legs. You couldn't take a third round of edging. You felt like you were going to snap in half.
"Good choice," Neteyam murmured against your ear.
He slowly peeled his hand away from your mouth. You sucked in a jagged breath, your lips swollen and wet, immediately turning your head to glare at him.
"You're cruel," you gasped, your voice trembling.
"I'm effective," he corrected.
He withdrew his fingers from you in one slow, agonizing slide, leaving you suddenly cold and achingly empty. You made a noise of protest, trying to chase his touch, but he gripped your hips and shoved you forward, off his lap and onto the mossy ground.
"Hands and knees," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."
You didn't fight him. You scrambled into position, the damp earth cool against your palms, your back arched instinctively. You heard the rustle of movement behind you, the sound of him adjusting himself, freeing the part of him that you had tortured earlier with your mouth.
Neteyam loomed over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. He placed a heavy hand on your lower back, pressing down to correct your arch, forcing your hips higher.
"Perfect form," he mocked darkly, his voice vibrating against your spine. "See? You can follow orders when you want to."
He didn't give you a moment to retort. He didn't give you a count of three. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise, and drove into you with a single, brutal thrust.
The air left your lungs in a sharp, broken cry. He filled you completely, stretching you to your absolute limit, erasing the empty ache he had left you with moments ago. The sensation was overwhelming, too big, too deep, too sudden.
"Neteyam—" you gasped, your fingers clawing into the damp moss.
"I'm here," he growled, leaning down to drape his heavy frame over your back, his chest pressing you down toward the earth. "I'm right here."
He began to move, and there was no hesitation this time. No "pacing." He pounded into you with a ruthless, punishing rhythm, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the clearing. He pulled your hips back onto him with every thrust, burying himself to the hilt, hitting that spot inside you with a violence that made your vision white out.
"You like that?" he taunted, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he picked up the speed. "You like running your mouth, don't you? But look at you now. Face in the dirt, taking everything I give you."
"Shut... up," you panted, though the words lacked any real bite. You were overwhelmed, your body betraying you, arching back to meet his ruthless pace.
You tried to retort, to tell him to go to hell, but the words dissolved into a broken, ragged moan as he hit that deepest point of you again. Your arms were shaking, elbows bending, threatening to collapse under the force of his thrusts.
"You're struggling," Neteyam observed, his voice dark and breathless. He sounded pleased. "Can't hold yourself up?"
He grabbed your waist with both hands, pulling you back hard against his hips, doing the work for you so he could pound into you with even more force. The friction was blinding. He was relentless, a storm of motion that refused to give you a second to breathe.
"You wanted to finish?" he hissed against your neck, sweat dripping from his brow onto your skin. "I made you wait. I edged you until you were trembling. And now..."
He let go of one hip, sliding his hand down your stomach, slipping between your legs to find the slick, swollen bundle of nerves he had tormented earlier.
"Now I'm going to ruin you."
He ground his thumb against you right as he thrust deep.
It was too much. It was sensory overload. Your head fell back, a scream tearing from your throat that you couldn't suppress if you tried. His hand was skilled, cruel, and fast, working in perfect, punishing sync with his hips.
"That's it," he growled, feeling your walls clamp down around him, feeling the way your whole body seized up. "Cum for me."
The command was the final straw. You shattered. The release hit you like a lightning strike, arching your spine so hard it hurt, a broken scream tearing from your throat. You clamped down on him, your body convulsing in wave after wave of blinding pleasure.
Neteyam groaned, a harsh, guttural sound that vibrated against your back. He thrust into your spasms once, twice—hard and desperate—chasing his own end.
"F-fuck," he stammered, his hips jerking.
He was right there. You could feel him swelling, throbbing, ready to spill.
But at the very last second, just as his breath hitched into a silent scream, he wrenched himself out.
The friction vanished instantly, leaving you gaping and empty, gasping for air. Before you could process the loss, you felt hot, heavy spurts of liquid hitting the small of your back, sliding down your skin to mix with the sweat and the moss.
Neteyam hissed through his teeth, his hand gripping your hip tight enough to leave a mark as he emptied himself onto you. He jerked his hips, groaning your name, shaking with the force of his release. He coated your skin, marking you in the most primal way possible, refusing to hide the evidence of what he’d done to you.
He rode out the high for a long moment, his chest heaving, his forehead resting against your sweaty shoulder blades.
When the tremors finally stopped, he didn't move away. He collapsed forward, his heavy weight pressing you into the ground, his slick chest sliding against your back.
He turned his head, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, right next to where he had bitten you earlier.
"Look at you," he panted against your skin, his voice thick and wrecked. He reached down, his hand sliding over your lower back, smearing the warm mess he had made over your skin. "Covered in me."
You lay there, trembling, face pressed into the dirt, too overstimulated to even speak.
Neteyam let out a low, dark laugh. "I think that counts as a win," he whispered into your ear.
Neteyam finally rolled off you, the loss of his heat leaving you shivering in the damp air. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't ask if you were okay. He just stood up, his feet crunching on the moss, and immediately started fixing his loincloth, hiding the evidence of his lapse in control with annoying efficiency.
You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, wincing as your lower back protested. You felt sticky, sore, and thoroughly used. You watched him run a hand through his braids, regaining his composure as if he hadn't just been snarling into your neck a minute ago.
"Hey," you snapped, wiping mud from your cheek, feeling the wetness cooling on your lower back.
He glanced down at you, his face impassive, though his chest was still rising and falling a bit too fast. He picked up his knife from where he’d discarded it and turned to leave.
"At least give me some aftercare, you asshole," you grumbled, glaring at his retreating back.
Neteyam stopped. He looked over his shoulder, his golden eyes sweeping over your disheveled form, the mess on your back, the bruise forming on your shoulder, the fire still burning in your eyes.
A slow, maddening smirk curled his lip.
"You wish."
He turned and walked into the shadows of the forest without looking back, leaving you to clean up his mess.
You scowled, grabbing a handful of moss to wipe the sticky evidence of his "win" off your skin, muttering curses under your breath. You reached for your loincloth, your legs still shaking so bad you nearly toppled over.
"Asshole," you hissed again, to the empty forest. "Arrogant, preening, forest-boy piece of—"
Snap.
The sound wasn't the rhythmic crunch of Neteyam’s step fading away. It was a sharp, dry crack. Close. Too close.
You froze, your hunter instincts cutting through the post-coital haze instantly. The forest had gone quiet. The insects had stopped buzzing.
You dove for your knife—which was three feet away in a pile of your discarded gear.
You didn't make it.
A shadow detached itself from the gloom of the tree trunk. A heavy, ash-grey hand clamped over your mouth, and a thick arm banded around your throat, jerking you backward off your feet.
You kicked out, your heel connecting with a shin guard made of bone, but the figure didn't budge. You were slammed hard against a chest that smelled of rancid fat and charcoal—not the clean scent of rain and earth that Neteyam carried.
Mangkwan. The Rogue Tribe. Slavers and scavengers who picked off stragglers near the border.
"Get off of me!" you screamed, thrashing wildly. You managed to twist your body, driving an elbow into his gut, but your exhaustion betrayed you.
You rolled, scrambling on hands and knees toward your knife. Your fingers brushed the hilt—
A boot stomped down on your wrist.
You cried out, the bone radiating pain. The Mangkwan warrior loomed over you, raising a heavy obsidian club.
The club whistled down, aiming to split your skull. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the dark.
Thwip.
The sickening crunch of bone never came. Instead, there was a wet thud and a gargled cry of pain. You opened your eyes to see the warrior stumbling back, clutching his shoulder where a long, feathered arrow had punched clean through his bicep. The obsidian club fell harmlessly into the ferns.
"Ambush!" a sharp, female voice barked from the shadows.
Before you could scramble toward your knife, a hand—stronger and crueler than the first—snaked into your hair. You were yanked backward so hard your neck popped, and a cold, serrated blade was pressed against your jugular.
"Still," the woman hissed.
It was Varang. The matriarch of the raiding party. Her skin was painted in skeletal white rib cages, her eyes rimmed with red pigment. She hauled you up against her chest like a ragdoll, using your body as a shield.
A figure dropped from the canopy, landing in a crouch ten feet away.
Neteyam rose slowly to his full height. He had his bow drawn, the string pulled taut to his cheek, the arrow aim locked dead on Varang’s left eye.
"Let her go," Neteyam said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
Varang laughed, a rasping sound like dry leaves rubbing together. She didn't know who he was. "You have a steady hand, boy," Varang noted, her eyes darting between the arrow tip and your throat. "But not steady enough."
She moved.
She didn't lunge for you, and she didn't slice your throat. Instead, she dropped the knife from your jugular and whipped her hand behind your head. Her rough, calloused fingers didn't grab your hair this time.
She grabbed your queue.
She closed her fist tight around the base of your kuru, squeezing the sensitive neural tendrils hard enough to send white-hot lightning shooting down your spine. The other hand holding the knife against it.
You screamed. It was a raw, primal sound of agony that tore through the clearing. Your legs gave out, but she held you up by the braid alone, twisting it viciously.
Neteyam flinched. The perfect statue of the warrior cracked. His bow tip dipped, just an inch, his golden eyes widening in genuine, suffocating panic.
"Drop it!" Varang barked, yanking your head back by the neural whip so hard you thought your neck would snap. "Drop the bow, or I cut it. I’ll cut it right now and leave her severed in the dirt."
The threat hung in the air, heavier than death. To a na'vi, a severed kuru was a fate worse than dying. It was a disconnection from Eywa, from the ancestors, from everything.
"No," Neteyam breathed, his voice cracking. The deadly calm was gone, replaced by the terrified desperation of a boy watching his world about to be destroyed. "Don't... don't touch that."
"Then yield!" Varang shrieked, twisting her wrist.
A white-hot bolt of lightning tore down your spine, seizing every muscle in your body. You screamed, your vision fracturing into spots of light, your knees hitting the dirt. The pain was absolute and it wasn't just physical. It was a threat to your very soul.
Through the haze of agony, you saw Neteyam.
He was breaking.
The boy who never missed, the boy who lectured you on tactical sacrifices, was crumbling. His bow lowered inch by inch, his face pale and twisted in horror. He was going to do it. He was going to surrender himself to these butchers just to stop the pain.
"No," you gasped, the word scraping out of your throat like sandpaper.
Neteyam’s eyes snapped to yours. They were wide, wet, and terrified.
"Don't," you choked out. "Don't drop the bow!"
"Shut up!" Varang hissed, jerking your queue again.
"Shoot her!" you screamed, your voice tearing raw against your throat. "Neteyam, shoot her!"
He aimed. For one heart-stopping second, he aimed right between your eyes, trying to find the sliver of space to hit Varang. His finger tightened on the string. The muscles in his forearm bunched.
But then Varang twisted your queue, just a fraction, and a fresh wave of agony convulsed through your body. You whimpered, your head jerking back.
That was it. That was the breaker.
Neteyam let out a sound like a wounded animal, a sharp, horrifying exhale of defeat.
He didn't ease the tension. He didn't lower the weapon slowly.
He opened his hand.
The bow dropped.
It hit the mossy ground with a dull, wooden thud that sounded louder than thunder in the quiet forest. The arrow clattered uselessly into the ferns.
"No!" you sobbed, staring at the weapon, then up at him. "You idiot! Pick it up!"
Neteyam ignored you. He looked solely at Varang, his hands shooting up into the air, palms open, chest exposed.
"I yield," Neteyam choked out, his voice shaking. "I yield. Look. No weapons."
He kicked the bow away from him, sending it sliding across the dirt toward Varang’s feet. Then, he dropped to his knees. "You have what you want," Neteyam stated, his voice devoid of fear. It was cold. Hard. "I am unarmed. I am compliant."
Varang scoffed, but she saw the look in his eyes, the look of a predator waiting for a single mistake. She uncurled her fingers from your neural whip, though she kept a brutal grip on your shoulder.
"See?" Varang grinned, her filed teeth glinting in the dark. "He can be taught."
She whistled, a sharp, piercing sound.
From the shadows, three more Mangkwan warriors emerged. They had been waiting and watching.
One of them kicked Neteyam hard in the back.
You gasped, lunging forward, but Varang jerked you back.
Neteyam didn't make a sound. He absorbed the blow, his body jerking forward slightly, but he righted himself instantly. He didn't look at the attacker. He kept his eyes fixed on you, assessing the damage, checking your pupils, checking your breathing.
"Hands," a warrior barked, throwing a loop of heavy, rough-spun cord around Neteyam’s wrists.
Neteyam moved his hands behind his back slowly, deliberately. He allowed them to wrench his arms up high, binding his wrists together with agonizing tightness.
"The girl, too," Varang ordered, finally shoving you toward another warrior.
You were grabbed roughly, your own hands bound behind you with biting cord. You were hauled up to your feet, stumbling against the warrior who held you.
"You idiot," you hissed across the clearing at Neteyam, your voice shaking with rage and fear. "Why did you do that?"
"Because I can break out of ropes," he said, his voice low and steady, carrying easily over the noise of the clearing. "I can't fix a severed nerve."
The warrior behind him laughed, yanking the knot tight. "You talk big for a—"
Neteyam moved.
It was an explosion of motion. He dropped his weight instantly, snapping his head back with bone-crushing force, aiming for the nose of the warrior behind him.
But the Mangkwan warrior wasn't a novice recruit in a training ring.
He didn't even flinch. He simply tilted his head back, letting Neteyam’s skull hit his armored chest plate with a dull, pathetic thud.
You sighed, closing your eyes for a brief second. Idiot.
The warrior laughed, a low, wet rumble in his chest. He didn't lose his grip on the rope, in fact, he tightened it, wrenching Neteyam’s arms up so high you heard the shoulder joints pop. Neteyam gasped, his knees buckling under the pressure as the warrior kicked the back of his legs, forcing him back down into the mud.
"Feisty," the warrior mocked, pressing a heavy boot between Neteyam's shoulder blades to pin him flat. "But stupid."
Varang watched the display with a bored expression. She stepped forward, her bare feet squelching in the mud, and stopped inches from Neteyam’s face.
She crouched down, grabbing a fistful of his braids and yanking his head up so he was forced to look at her.
"Are you done?" she asked, her voice sounding like gravel.
You hissed. "Dont"
Varang’s head snapped toward you. Her eyes, rimmed in red pigment, narrowed as she looked you over—bound, helpless, but still snarling commands at her like you were in a position to negotiate.
"Don't?" she echoed, her voice dripping with amusement.
She looked back down at Neteyam, whose face was contorted in pain as she twisted his braids. She smiled, a cruel, jagged thing.
"Don't touch him?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Or what? You'll hiss at me again?"
To make her point, she didn't let go. But she didn't just pull his hair, either.
She looked at you, her eyes dead and cold, and smiled.
"You speak too much," she whispered. "Let's see how loud you scream for this."
She drew the jagged bone knife from her belt. There was no wind-up. No dramatic pause. She simply drove the blade down with terrifying speed.
Schlick.
The sound was wet and sickening. She buried the knife to the hilt in Neteyam’s chest, high on the left side, missing his heart by barely an inch but piercing the lung.
Neteyam’s back arched off the ground, a silent, horrific convulsion. His eyes went wide, the pupils blowing out until the gold vanished. He tried to inhale to scream, but only a wet, bubbling gurgle escaped his lips.
"There," Varang sneered before she ripped the knife out, sending a fresh spray of blood across the ferns. "Quiet."
The world stopped.
The sound of the forest vanished. The sound of Varang’s laughter faded. All you could hear was the wet, rattling wheeze of Neteyam trying to breathe through a chest full of blood. You saw the light in his eyes flicker and start to dim.
Something inside you snapped.
"NO!"
The scream that tore from your throat wasn't human, it was the sound of a wounded thanator.
The warrior holding your arms never stood a chance. You didn't use technique. You used hysteria. You threw your head back, slamming your skull into his face with enough force to shatter his nose and your own forehead.
He howled, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.
It was enough.
You ripped your arms free, the rough cords tearing the skin off your wrists, but you didn't feel it. You spun around, grabbed the warrior’s spear, and didn't even bother to use the point. You swung the heavy wood like a bat, smashing it into his temple with a crack that echoed through the trees. He dropped like a stone.
Varang turned, her eyes widening as she saw you.
You didn't stop. You launched yourself across the clearing, vaulting over Neteyam’s bleeding body, landing in a crouch between him and the matriarch.
You didn't scream this time. You hissed, a raw, guttural sound that vibrated deep in your chest, your lips pulled back to bare your teeth, your fingers curled into claws.
Creak.
Three bows were drawn instantly.
The Mangkwan warriors surrounding the clearing reacted to your aggression with lethal precision. Three poison-tipped arrows were locked onto your chest, the strings pulled taut. They were less than ten feet away. There was no way to dodge.
You didn't care. You stood your ground over Neteyam’s convulsing form, glaring at them with eyes that promised murder, daring them to loose.
"Hold!"
The command cracked through the air like a whip.
Varang raised a hand, palm open, signaling her men to stand down. The warriors hesitated, their fingers twitching on the strings, confused by the order to spare a prisoner who had just broken a guard's nose.
She stepped toward you, ignoring your bared teeth and the feral hiss rattling in your throat. You were crouched over Neteyam, your hands slick with the mud and his blood, ready to tear out the throat of anyone who came closer.
"You have spirit," Varang noted, her voice dangerously soft. "But spirit needs to be broken."
She moved faster than you could track. Before you could lunge, she sidestepped your clawing hands and slammed a knee into your ribs, knocking the wind out of you. She spun you around, not to bind your hands, but to grab the base of your scalp.
"No!" you gasped, thrashing, but she pinned you against her chest, her arm like a vice across your throat.
"Shh," she whispered against your ear, bringing her own braid forward. The tendrils at the end of her queue were writhing, pink and predatory. "I'm going to show you what dying feels like before I even cut you."
She forced the connection.
She jammed her neural tendrils against yours. Usually, Tsaheylu was a gentle and sacred act, a merging of souls. This was a violation. It was a psychic rape.
Snap.
The bond formed instantly.
Varang gasped, her eyes rolling back, ready to flood your mind with her darkness, her sadism, the accumulated pain of a thousand victims. She intended to crush your mind, to turn you into a vegetable while Neteyam watched.
But she made a fatal miscalculation.
She expected to find fear. She expected to find a terrified little girl crying for her mate.
Instead, she connected to a hurricane.
The moment the bond clicked, you didn't pull away. You pulled her in.
The rage that had snapped inside you wasn't just adrenaline. It was a black, bottomless ocean of pure violence. You didn't block her out. You opened the floodgates and drowned her in it.
You want inside? your mind screamed, the voice echoing like a thousand crashing waves. THEN LOOK.
"GAH!" Varang shrieked.
Her body went rigid against yours.
She tried to project pain, but your rage devoured it. You forced your emotions onto her. The blinding red need to kill, the agonizing grief of watching Neteyam bleed, the sheer, animalistic hatred you felt for her right now. It was too much. It was a sensory overload that no single mind could contain.
You weren't the victim in the bond. You were the predator.
Varang scrambled backward through the mud, her heels digging into the earth as she tried to put distance between herself and the monster she had just touched.
You rose to your feet, swaying slightly, your chest heaving. You felt huge. You felt like the forest itself.
You drew in a breath that seemed to pull all the air out of the clearing, your lungs burning with the force of it. You looked at her, then at the warriors standing frozen with their bows, and you let it out.
"DIE!"
Varang shrieked—a high, pathetic sound. Her nerve broke completely. The psychic crushing you had given her, combined with the primal terror of your voice, was too much.
"Retreat!" she screamed, scrambling to her feet and bolting into the darkness, abandoning her dignity, her weapons, and her pride. "Move! Move!"
The warriors didn't hesitate. Seeing their matriarch broken and fleeing, they panicked. They lowered their bows and ran, tripping over roots in their haste to get away from the demon girl who had turned the mind-bond into a weapon.
In seconds, the clearing was empty.
The heavy silence of the forest crashed back down, deafening after the chaos. The adrenaline that had turned you into a monster began to drain away, leaving you cold, shaking, and small again.
Then, a sound behind you shattered the moment.
A wet, gurgling cough.
The red haze vanished instantly. You spun around, dropping to your knees beside Neteyam.
You lunged for him, your hands shaking as you reached for the jagged hole in his chest. The smell of copper was overwhelming, mixing with the damp scent of the earth. You needed to apply pressure, you needed to stop the life from leaking out of him.
The moment your palms touched the wound, his body bucked.
With a sudden, violent burst of adrenaline, Neteyam’s hand shot up. He slapped your hands away with a wet smack, his strength surprising and desperate. It was a soldier’s reflex, just like a dying animal lashing out at anything that touched the source of its pain.
"Stupid!" you hissed, your voice a mix of terror and fury.
You didn't let him fight you. You grabbed his hand and pinned it firmly to the mossy ground. He was weak, despite that burst of adrenaline, and his fingers felt cold against yours.
"I want to go home," he rasped, the words sounding small and hollow, stripped of all his usual cockiness. It was the voice of a boy who was slipping away, his consciousness fraying at the edges.
"Yes," you snapped, your voice thick with a desperate, shaky authority. "You’ll go home. But only if you shut up and let me treat this properly."
But Neteyam, despite being inches from death’s door, was apparently not too far gone to be a complete nuisance.
"It... stings," he whined, his voice a wheezing, pathetic rasp. He tried to wiggle his shoulder away from your hands, his face scrunched up like a toddler. "You’re being... too rough. You’re doing it... wrong."
"I am saving your life!" you hissed, nearly sitting on his stomach to keep him pinned. You grabbed a handful of the medicinal paste you always carried in your pouch.
"That's cold," he complained, his eyes fluttering but his mouth still moving. "Ow... stop. Your hands are... shaky. Get a... real healer."
"Neteyam, I swear!" you snapped, but your voice broke. He was losing too much blood, and his frantic movements were only making it worse. He was spiraling into shock, his mind racing in a dozen directions, and his constant, delirious complaining was making it impossible to work.
You needed him still. You needed him quiet.
Without a second thought, you reached behind his head and grabbed his queue. He didn't even fully processed it before you brought your own queue forward and snapped the neural tendrils together.
Tsaheylu.
The connection hit like a physical wave. Usually, a bond was a shared experience, a mutual opening of souls, but right now, you were the anchor. You didn't let his pain or his frantic thoughts overwhelm the link.
You filled the bond with a heavy, golden sense of calmness.
You projected the feeling of sunlight hitting still water, the scent of the forest after rain, and the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart that wasn't ready to stop. You forced your own steady breathing into his mind, overriding his panicked gasps.
The tension drained out of his limbs instantly. His hands, which had been fighting yours, fell to the moss, palms up. His eyes, once wild and glazed with pain, softened and fixed on your face.
Quiet now, you projected through the link, a gentle command. Just let me work.
He didn't say a word. He just lay there, tethered to your spirit, his senses flooded with the peace you were providing as a shield against his own agony.
In that silence, you finally finished. You packed the wound and wrapped the bandages tightly, your movements smooth and efficient now that he wasn't fighting you. You could feel his heartbeat through the bond, still weak, but steadying.
"I've got you," you whispered, your voice the only tether left. "We're going home."
Home. The word echoed through the bond, a final, shimmering image of the Hometree and the scent of woodsmoke. It was the last thing he processed before the darkness finally pulled him unhim. It's not a cold, lonely darkness, but a deep, healing sleep fueled by the calm you had poured into him.
Summary: Neteyam Sully has spent his whole life being perfect. You’ve spent yours surviving. On the battlefield, you’re constantly at each other's throats. Behind closed tent flaps, you’re... well, still at each other's throats, just differently.
Warnings: 3.8k words, aged up! neteyam, rival with benefits, explicit smut, p in v, hate sex, fingering, a lot of teasing, mdni
Chapters: friendly fire, friendlier fire, friendliest fire
For his entire life, Neteyam was the standard. He was the firstborn son of Toruk Makto and the heir to the Omaticaya after all.
In the training ring, he was faster, stronger, and smarter than every other kid his age. He was used to looking back and seeing everyone else trying to catch up. He lived with the heavy weight of expectation, but he carried it easily because he knew, deep down, he was the best.
Then you limped into High Camp.
You weren't Omatikaya. You were a Windtrader, a nomad born to the open skies and shifting trade routes, not the dense and suffocating forest. But you didn't arrive at High Camp with rare beads or woven songs to trade. You arrived with nothing but the blood-stiffened clothes on your back and a survivor's hollow stare.
The Mangkwan or what they also called the Ash People had descended on your caravan like a pyroclastic flow, brutal and silent until the screaming started. You were the only thing that crawled out of that smoke.
When Jake Sully took you in, Neteyam looked at you with that unbearable softness. Pity. To him, you were just a merchant’s child whose wings had been clipped, a broken traveler terrified of the dark. He saw your silence as trauma that needed gentle handling, not the calculating quiet of a predator waiting for the right moment.
He expected to have to teach you how to hold a bow, to slow his pace for the poor wanderer who had lost their way. He thought he was your savior. He had no idea he was looking at a survivor who had learned to fight dirty long before he even learned to fly.
That illusion shattered the first time you stepped onto the sparring mat.
Neteyam had offered to go easy on you. He remembered the look on your face, it wasn't gratitude, but insult. When he lunged, expecting you to cower, you didn't just dodge, you moved with a feral, desperate speed that he had never seen in a structured lesson. You didn't fight with honor or technique, you fought like a survivor. Within ten seconds, the future Olo'eyktan was face-down in the dirt with your forearm crushing his windpipe.
The silence in the camp was deafening. You hadn't just beaten him, you had humiliated him.
From that day on, everything changed. You weren't the charity case anymore, you were the threat. Suddenly, Neteyam wasn't automatically the best archer, because you never missed a shot. He wasn't the best tracker, because you could smell an RDA patrol from a mile away. He stopped looking at you with pity and started looking at you with a burning and obsessive intensity. He trained harder, stayed up later, and pushed himself to the breaking point just to reclaim his spot at the top, but you were always right there, matching him step for step.
He hated it.
You were the only person who didn't treat him like royalty. You rolled your eyes at his orders, you corrected his stance, and you smirked when he missed. You became the grit in his eye, the one variable he couldn't control. The rivalry consumed both of you, bleeding into everything you did until that aggression and need for dominance found a different outlet in the back of a weapons tent.
Now, he doesn't just want to be the best for his father. Instead, he wants to be the best to prove it to you.
The mist clinging to the Hallelujah Mountains hadn't even burned off yet, but the thwack of arrows hitting woven targets echoed through the clearing.
Neteyam stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his posture text-book perfect. He drew the string back to his cheek, exhaled slowly, and released. The arrow flew straight, embedding itself directly in the center of the painted circle.
He lowered his bow, glancing sideways at you with that maddeningly arrogant tilt of his head. "Center mass. Clean kill. That is how you conserve energy."
You were leaning against a rock, chewing on a piece of dried fruit, looking unimpressed. You swallowed and picked up your own bow— a scavenged thing you’d re-strung yourself, rougher than his ceremonial weapon but just as deadly.
"That's how you kill a target that stands perfectly still and waits for you to shoot it," you drawled, stepping up to the line. "But out there? The Sky People don't wait."
"Form dictates accuracy," Neteyam lectured, watching you closely. "If your foundation is sloppy, your shot is lucky. We don't rely on luck."
"Watch and learn, Golden Boy."
Instead of planting your feet like the instructors taught, you broke into a run. You sprinted parallel to the targets, sliding on your knees through the mud. In mid-slide, you twisted your torso, drew, and fired.
The arrow hissed through the air and struck the target— not dead center, but an inch to the right, deep in the 'lung' area. A kill shot.
You stood up, wiping mud off your knees, and smirked at him. "Dead is dead. Doesn't matter if it's pretty."
Neteyam scoffed, walking over to inspect the target. He pulled your arrow out with a sharp yank. "You exposed your back during the slide. If there was a second shooter, you’d be down."
"If there was a second shooter, you’d still be standing in your perfect pose getting shot while I was already moving to cover," you shot back, snatching the arrow from his hand.
"You are undisciplined," he muttered, stepping closer, invading your space under the guise of instruction.
"Your elbow was too high on the draw. You’re going to tear a muscle."
"My elbow was fine," you argued, standing your ground. "It works for me."
"It’s wrong." Neteyam moved behind you, his chest brushing your back. To anyone watching, he was the dutiful squad leader correcting a subordinate. But you could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his breath hitched slightly. "Raise your arm. Like this."
He gripped your forearm, his touch firm, sliding up to your bicep. His fingers dug in slightly, a silent reminder of who had pinned whom against the tent pole hours ago.
"You're hovering, Neteyam," you whispered, low enough that only he could hear. "Distracting."
"If you're distracted, you're dead," he murmured into your ear, his voice dropping to that dangerous octave. "Focus."
"Get off of me," you said, shoving him back with your elbow, though there was no real bite in it.
"Hey! Break it up!"
The voice made you both jump apart. Lo'ak came jogging into the clearing, looking between the two of you with a confused frown. He held a basket of fish, looking tired.
"By Eywa," Lo'ak groaned, rubbing his face. "Do you two ever stop? I could hear you arguing from the breakfast fire. 'Your form is bad,' 'You're too stiff.' It’s exhausting."
Neteyam immediately straightened up, the perfect soldier mask sliding back into place. "She refuses to listen to protocol, Lo'ak. Someone has to make sure she doesn't get herself killed."
You rolled your eyes, re-nocking an arrow. "And someone has to make sure your brother doesn't turn into a statue while the war happens around him."
Lo'ak laughed, shaking his head. "I swear, you two hate each other more than we hate the demons. One day you’re going to kill each other."
Neteyam glanced at you. A tiny, imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, a secret just for you.
"Maybe," Neteyam said smoothly. "But until then, we train. Again."
He looked at you, his golden eyes challenging. "And this time, try to actually hit the center."
"Make me," you hissed at him, just before loosing another arrow.
The War Tent was stifling, smelling of damp earth and stale smoke. Jake Sully stood over the holomap, the blue light casting long, harsh shadows across his face. You stood in the back, arms crossed, while Neteyam stood right at his father’s elbow, mirroring his stance perfectly.
"We’ve got reports of a supply train moving through Sector 4," Jake said, pointing to a glowing red line on the map. "Neteyam, I want your squad to scout the perimeter. Do not engage. Just eyes on. If the RDA is moving heavy equipment, we need to know."
"Yes, sir," Neteyam nodded sharply. He leaned over the map, tracing a path with his finger. "We’ll take the southern ridge. It provides the best cover from the gunships. We can observe from the high ground and exfil before they scan the area."
It was a safe plan. A smart plan. A textbook plan.
You let out a short, sharp huff of breath. It wasn't quite a laugh, but in the quiet tent, it was loud enough.Neteyam froze. He didn't turn around, but you saw his ears twitch back. Jake looked up, his yellow eyes locking onto yours.
"You have something to say?" Jake asked, his voice neutral but commanding.
"The southern ridge is a wind tunnel this time of year, sir," you said, stepping forward. You ignored Neteyam’s glare burning into the side of your face. "If we take the Ikrans that way, the downdraft will make us fight for stability the whole time. We’ll be loud, and we’ll be slow. If a Sampson patrol catches us there, we’re sitting ducks."
Neteyam turned to you fully now, his jaw tight. "It’s the standard recon route. We’ve flown it a dozen times."
"And the Sky People know that," you countered, meeting his gaze evenly. "They aren't stupid, Neteyam. They predict the 'safe' moves. I say we cut through the Needle hills. It’s tight, it’s dangerous, but the magnetic interference there blinds their sensors. We can get right on top of them before they even know we’re there."
"The Needles?" Neteyam sounded incredulous. "You want to fly a squad through a rock field where one wrong turn means smashing into a cliff? That’s reckless."
"It’s unexpected," you corrected. "Survival isn't about being safe. It's about being invisible."
Silence stretched between you. Neteyam looked like he wanted to strangle you. You looked at Jake.
Jake looked between his son—the careful, burdened heir and you—the survivor who had crawled out of the ashes. He rubbed his chin.
"She's right about the sensors," Jake said finally. He looked at Neteyam. "Take the Needles. But Neteyam leads. You follow his pace. If he says pull back, you pull back. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," you said, a flicker of victory in your voice.
"Sir," Neteyam said stiffly, though he looked like he’d swallowed a rock.
Ten minutes later, outside the tent, the explosion happened.
Neteyam grabbed your arm before you could reach your Ikran, yanking you behind a stack of supply crates, out of sight of the others.
"What is your problem?" he hissed, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "You undermine me in front of the Olo'eyktan? In front of the squad?"
"I gave tactical advice," you shot back, wrenching your arm free. "You were walking us into a trap because you’re too afraid to take a risk!"
"I am responsible for their lives!" Neteyam stepped into you, forcing you back against the crates. The gap between you vanished. "I don't have the luxury of playing hero like you do. If I make a mistake, people die. If you make a mistake, it’s just you."
That stung. You barred your teeth, grabbing the front of his vest and jerking him down to your level. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't know I’m expendable compared to the Great Toruk Makto’s son?"
"Stop saying that," he growled.
"Then stop acting like your way is the only way just because you read the manual!" you shouted, then lowered your voice to a harsh whisper. "I’m trying to keep you alive, you idiot. The southern ridge is a kill box today. I felt the wind."
Neteyam stared at you, his chest heaving against yours. The anger in his eyes warred with something else, the realization that you weren't trying to outshine him, you were trying to protect him. It confused him. It made him furious and desperate all at once.
"You are impossible," he breathed.
"And you're welcome," you snapped.
The tension snapped. He grabbed the back of your neck, his fingers tangling violently in your hair, and crushed his mouth to yours. It was an angry, biting kiss, fueled by the adrenaline of the argument and the fear of the mission ahead.
It was a battle for dominance, a way to scream at each other without words. He broke away, gasping, his forehead resting heavily against yours. His eyes were dark, blown wide.
"We take the Needles," he whispered roughly, his voice scraping against the air. "But if you crash, I’m leaving you there."
You smirked, though your heart was racing like a drum. You ran a thumb over his bottom lip, which was swollen from the force of the kiss.
"Deal. Try to keep up, flyboy."
You shoved him back and turned toward your Ikran, your hands shaking slightly as you reached for the reins. Behind you, you heard Neteyam take a deep, stabilizing breath before shouting orders to the squad, his voice once again steady, commanding, and perfect.
The mission through the Needle rocks had been a success, but it had been a nightmare. The wind shears were worse than you predicted, and at one point, you had to dive your Ikran vertically between two colliding floating mountains to avoid a gunship scan. It was insane. It was brilliant.
And Neteyam looked like he wanted to kill you.
The moment the squad landed back at the High Camp, amidst the pouring rain of a sudden storm, Neteyam didn't even dismiss the others properly. He barked a generic "Equipment check, then rest!" to the group before grabbing the harness of your vest and practically dragging you toward the secluded overhang where the extra saddles were stored.
He shoved you into the dry space, the sound of the rain roaring outside like a waterfall. It was dark, cramped, and smelled of wet leather and ozone.
"You dove," Neteyam seethed, shaking the water from his hair, his chest heaving. "We said stay in formation. You dove into a blind gap!"
"I saw the scanner!" you yelled back, shoving his hands off your vest. "If I hadn't dove, they would have pinged the whole squad! I saved your ass, Neteyam!"
"You risked the mission on a hunch!"
"I was right!"
"You're a maniac!"
The shouting stopped abruptly as he slammed you back against the rock walls. The anger was still there, blazing in his eyes, but it had mutated. The adrenaline from the near-death flight was vibrating under his skin, seeking an outlet.
He looked at you—wet, defiant, chest rising and falling rapidly—and the restraint snapped.
"I hate you," he growled, his voice dropping into that rough, unrecognizable register.
"Feeling is mutual, skxawng," you hissed.
He didn't need to be told twice. He crashed against you, his mouth capturing yours with bruising force. There was no tenderness, no romance. It was a collision of teeth and tongues, a continuation of the argument by other means. You bit his lower lip hard enough to taste copper, and he groaned, a guttural sound that vibrated against your chest.
His hands were frantic, fumbling with the buckles of your heavy vest. He tore the leather straps loose, not caring if they broke, desperate to get the armor off. As soon as the vest hit the dirt, his hands were on your skin, hot and rough, gripping your waist with enough force to leave marks.
"You think you're so smart," he muttered against your neck, hiking your leg up around his waist. He pressed you hard against the rock wall, the friction of his body against yours sending electricity shooting through your veins. "Always have to be the hero."
"Someone has to be," you gasped, throwing your head back as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. You dug your nails into his back, scraping down the spine. "Since you're too busy following rules."
"Shut up," he breathed, his hand sliding down to the waistband of your loincloth. "I'm going to make you shut up."
"Try it."
He lifted you effortlessly, and you wrapped your legs tight around him, anchoring yourself.
Then you hissed at him.
He laughed, the sound like honey and venom in your ears, his breath fanning your neck and sending shivers down your spine. "Someone is eager," he purred, lips brushing your skin. His arms tighten like a vice around you, holding you tight. "Already getting the shivers and I've barely touched you."
"Shut up," you snapped, struggling to sound confident and not at all affected by his proximity.
Neteyam kissed you again. His kiss was demanding, hot, and possessive, swallowing your gasp before you can even think of protesting. He pressed you harder against the rock, the rough texture biting into your back, but all you can focus on is the way his tongue teases yours, the way his body pins you in place.
He started to undo your loincloth. His fingers are rough but quick, the knot of your loincloth unraveling easily under his touch. The fabric slips away, leaving you bare against him. His heated skin pressed flush against yours, the teasing friction making your breath hitch.
"Finally," he growled, nipping at your jaw before dragging his lips down your throat.
His touch is both light and maddening, his fingers teasing at your entrance in slow, torturous circles, only to pull away just as you're about to grind into it.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice rough with barely restrained desire. His fingers trace teasingly, just enough pressure to make you shudder but not enough to give you what you truly crave. "So desperate already."
"Fuck you," you spat.
A sharp grin cuts across his face at your defiance like he was waiting for it.
"Oh?" His voice is pure sin, low and rough as his fingers finally press in, just enough to steal your breath. "That what you want?"
He worked you open slow, deliberate, twisting just there until your hips jerk against him helplessly.
His smirk widens as he feels your body respond, betraying you far more than your words ever could. "Thought so," he murmured, lips grazing your jawline before catching your earlobe between his teeth.
His fingers sink deeper, slow and purposeful, each movement calculated to wring every reaction from you. "You're so fucking tight," he grits out, his own breathing uneven now. His thumb circles your clit, the pressure just shy of cruel, and he watches your face as he does it.
He can read your body like a damn book, every shiver and squirm giving him exactly what he needs to drive you closer to the edge and then pull back just in time.
You let out a whine, hips jerking forward, but before you can even protest, he moved with practiced ease, shifting his own loincloth aside in one smooth motion.
The thick length of him pressed against you, hot and insistent, teasing at your entrance but not giving you what you desperately want.
You hissed again at him. "Stop playing."
"But you look so damn pretty all desperate," he murmured, the words more breath than sound. He rolled his hips again, just enough to make you squirm, his fingers tracing over your waist, your stomach, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "Like you'd do anything I asked, right now," he added.
"Fuck," you cussed but finally give in. "Please."
"Since you asked so nicely," he said, the words rumbling through his chest, thick and full of promise, and then he's sliding into you with a harsh breath.
You arched and cried out, fingers digging into the flesh of his back, hips jerking to take him as deep as possible.
You gasped when he moved. The slide of him inside you gave a slow, torturous burn that goes straight to your head. It feels like fire and lightning all at once, sending sparks through your veins, setting you alight from the inside out.
He's everywhere. His hands on your hips, his lips on your neck, his voice in your ear. You can feel him everywhere, overwhelming all your senses.
But of course, you won't admit it.
"You're terrible," you panted against his skin, moving with him, matching his rhythm instantly. It was a competition, just like the sparring, just like the flying. Who could push harder? Who could last longer? Who would break first?
"And you're loud," he gritted out, his hands tightening on your hips, driving into you with a punishing pace that made your head spin. "Focus."
"I am... focused," you managed to say, though your voice wrecked as he hit a spot that made your vision blur. You bit his shoulder to keep from screaming his name because you refused to give him that satisfaction.
The sound of the rain outside was drowned out by the sound of skin slapping against skin and harsh, ragged breathing.
He wanted to see you come undone. He wanted to prove that he could control you, even if he couldn't control you on the battlefield.
"Say I was right," he gasped, his rhythm faltering as the edge approached. "Say... the southern ridge... was safer."
You laughed, a breathless, broken sound, tightening your grip on him. "Never."
"Stubborn little slut."
When he finished the insult, he felt your orgasm hit, the pleasure spiking so hard it felt like pain, your nails digging into his shoulders as you rode out the waves.
Then he pulled out, stroking his cock few times before releasing his cum on your stomach.
For a long time, there was only the sound of heavy panting and the rain.
He pulled back, his chest slick with sweat, and looked at you. His hair was a mess, his pupils blown wide. Then, he cleared his throat and stepped back, letting your legs drop. He reached down and picked up his dropped gear, turning his back to you to fix his loincloth.
"Your landing was sloppy, by the way," he said, his voice raspy but returning to that cool, detached tone.
You slumped against the wall, legs shaking, pulling your vest back over your chest.
"And you finish too fast, Sully."
Neteyam whipped around, eyes narrowing, though his ears burned a dark purple. "Watch it."
"Or what?" you challenged, standing up on wobbling legs. "You'll punish me again?"
He stared at you for a long beat, the heat flaring up in his eyes again, before he shook his head and shoved past you toward the cave entrance.
"Get back to the barracks," he ordered over his shoulder, stepping out into the rain. "And don't be late for dawn patrol."
"Yes, sir," you called after him, wiping a smear of his war paint off your cheek.
summary: y/n probably should of asked her brother more details about his job and coworkers because an exotic nightclub full of vampires was not on her bingo card
warning: blood, mentions of death, biting, high off vampire blood unknowingly, dream sex
genre: vampire, romance, throuple, drama, smut
pairings: vamp yunho x human afab reader x vamp mingi
word count: 11k
chapter one
chapter three coming soon
masterlist
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The bar was barely alive yet, the usual hum of late night chaos still hours away. It smelled like stale whiskey, lemon rinds, and wood polish, the kind of mix that clung to San’s clothes long after he left work. He was behind the counter, wiping down glasses for the hundredth time that night, leaning on one elbow as the neon “Joong’s Fang” sign flickered in the front window.
“You’ve been sighing for twenty minutes,” Jongho said from the opposite end of the bar, the vampire’s deep voice cutting through the lazy silence. He didn’t look up from his phone, but the slight arch of his brow said enough.
San ignored him, setting another glass on the rack. “I don’t sigh.”
“Bullshit,” Jongho muttered, finally glancing up. His black hair was mussed, like he’d just woken up even though it was nearly 10:00 PM. “You’ve got that look. The one that says, God, I love this job, but I’d rather be anywhere else.’”
San smirked faintly, rolling his eyes. “You’d be sighing too if you spent half your shift listening to Mingi complain like a rejected high schooler.”
“I heard that.”
The voice came from the end of the bar, deep and dramatic, and there he was, Mingi, sprawled on one of the barstools like he owned the place. His hoodie was black, hood down, exposing the messy tangle of his hair he never bothered to fix anymore. A whiskey glass sat untouched in front of him, and he was hunched over like the weight of the world was crushing him.
“You’re still here?” San asked, glancing at the clock. “Didn’t you say you were leaving, like, an hour ago?”
Mingi ignored the jab, dragging a hand through his hair like a man who’d seen things. “Do you know what it’s like to be ruined, San? Ruined?”
San raised a brow. “I work in this bar. I see at least ten people a night who look ruined.”
Mingi groaned, dropping his forehead to the counter with a dull thud. “No, no. You don’t get it. I’ve been alive for over a hundred years, and I’ve never been this…” He waved a hand in the air. “wrecked.”
“Wrecked,” Jongho echoed flatly, sipping blood through a straw in glass. “By what? A bad haircut?”
Mingi lifted his head just enough to glare. “By her,” he said, like that explained everything. “I swear to god, I’ve never had sex like that in my entire undead life. My brain is still trying to reboot.”
San rolled his eyes at the vampire. “It’s been like two months.” Before Mingi could comment, the door to the bar opened, and Yunho walked in. He looked… annoyingly perfect. Dark jeans, black button up rolled at the sleeves, his hair falling effortlessly into place like he’d stepped out of a magazine instead of the Lower East Side. He had that lazy, dangerous energy about him, like he didn’t need to try to make every head turn.
“God,” Yunho muttered as he slid onto the stool next to Mingi, “if I have to hear you cry about, the best night of your life, one more time, I’m going to stake you myself.” Mingi smirked without looking at him. “Jealous?”
“Of what? You pining like a Victorian maiden because some girl let you eat her out?” Yunho asked dryly, leaning his elbow on the bar making San choke and Jongho to roll his eyes so hard they might’ve gotten stuck.
“Not just some girl,” Mingi said, eyes narrowing like Yunho had just cursed his bloodline. “She’s different.”
“You said that about the yoga instructor in Brooklyn in the 90s,” Yunho shot back causing Mingi to shake his head, deadly serious now. “Nah, man. This isn’t the same. That girl… she did something to me. I swear I’ve been thinking about her nonstop. Haven’t even wanted to feed. I’ve been living off coffee, blood bags and anger for two months.”
“Maybe she saw your face in daylight,” Jongho muttered. Mingi ignored him, turning toward Yunho with a grin that was anything but innocent. “You’re one to talk. Weren’t you sulking about your mystery girl not too long ago? What was it you said?” He tilted his head mockingly. “‘She’s different, Mingi. She’s so special.’”
Yunho’s eyes narrowed. “Shut up.”
“Oh my god,” San muttered under his breath, realizing this conversation could spiral into hours of vampire pissing contests.
Mingi leaned back on his stool, grin wide and smug. “What’s the matter? Did your little human princess ghost you too?” Yunho’s gaze darkened, but his smirk was sharp. “Pathetic. You’ve been alive for a century and still act like a frat boy after spring break.”
“And you,” Mingi shot back, “have been alive for a century and still get emo about women you meet once. At least I got her name.”
San’s grip on the bar tightened. He was officially regretting not quitting this job months ago.
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The diner was always louder on Friday nights. Not because it was busy, God, no. The food was decent, the coffee was cheap, and the jukebox still played songs that made Y/N question what year it was. But something about the crowd, the late shift weirdos, the post party girls with smeared eyeliner, the occasional trucker falling asleep over pancakes, made everything feel buzzed around the edges.
She was leaning against the counter, chewing on a straw, watching the rain smear neon reflections down the windows. Her apron was wrinkled, her sneakers had long since given up, and her ponytail was barely holding on.
Next to her, Santana was blowing a bubble with her gum like it was the only thing keeping her entertained. “You ever think about quitting?” Y/N asked, not looking away from the street.
“Every time a grown man orders eggs like it’s a damn emergency,” Santana replied, deadpan. The bubble popped. “Why?”
Y/N shrugged. “Just wondering what rock bottom smells like. Because I think it’s hash browns and burnt decaf.”
Santana snorted, grabbing two mugs from behind the counter. “Speaking of rock bottom, guess what I overheard at table nine.” Y/N arched a brow, only mildly curious. “If it’s about the lady who thinks JFK faked the moon landing, I already got the full conspiracy rundown last week.”
“No, no,” Santana said, setting down the mugs and leaning in, voice dropping low. “It’s about a club.” That got Y/N’s attention. She turned, blinking. “Okay, go on.”
“Apparently,” Santana said, eyes glinting with gossip, “there’s this spot that only opens on the weekends. Like, exclusive as hell. No website, no flyers. Velvet Midnight.” Y/N raised a brow. “Velvet Midnight? That sounds like a lingerie brand.”
“Or a porn star,” Santana nodded solemnly. “But these women, table nine, swore it’s real. Said it’s some kind of exotic club. Like, sexy dancing, strange drinks, private rooms. One of them said she went once and didn’t come home for two days.” Y/N blinked. “Was she kidnapped or just having the best weekend of her life?”
“Unclear. But I’m intrigued.”
“Oh no,” Y/N muttered, already seeing where this was going as Santana smirked, leaning on the counter like a cat ready to pounce. “I want to go.”
“Of course you do.”
“And I want you to come with me.”
Y/N groaned. “Tannie…”
“Oh come on,” she whined, poking her side. “We never go out anymore. You’re always moping around in that hoodie like a sad sexy raccoon. Let’s be sexy and mysterious in a club we might not survive.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the tagline for every horror movie ever.”
Santana grinned. “Exactly. But imagine, us, dressed like sin, slipping into a club nobody knows how to find, probably drinking cocktails with names like, Blood Oath or Sinful Confession. Tell me that doesn’t sound hot.” Y/N bit her lip, then sighed. “You don’t even know where it is.”
“I will by tomorrow. These women were chatty.”
Y/N laughed despite herself, finally smiling for real. “Fine. I’ll come.” She could use a night out, some fun. Especially after a two month dry spell.
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Y/N’s bedroom was a mess of eyeshadow palettes, fishnets, and discarded “almosts.” She stood in front of the mirror, one hip popped out, frowning slightly as she adjusted the strap of her sheer black top layered over a cherry dotted bralette. Red faux leather pants hugged her curves like sin, and the glossy finish caught the light every time she shifted her weight. Her lips were painted a shade of deep oxblood, and a spiked collar sat snug against her throat, sharp, sexy, and just enough to say, don’t touch unless invited.
From behind her, Santana let out a long, low whistle. “Bitch. If you don’t get laid tonight, I’m gonna riot.” Y/N snorted, but her smirk in the mirror was smug. “You think it’s too much?”
“Too much? You look like you just walked off the stage at a goth burlesque show and into my wet dream.” Santana flopped back onto the bed dramatically, her mesh top glinting in the low light. “If you were any hotter, the devil himself would make a bid.”
Y/N turned back to the mirror, sliding her hands down her thighs. The pants were tight. Painted on. Unholy. Good. From the other side of the apartment, the front door opened and shut. Keys clattered. A hoodie hit the floor. Then, San’s voice, calling down the hallway: “Y/N?”
“We’re in here!” Santana yelled back, tone too chipper, like she was definitely hiding something. Seconds later, San appeared in the doorway, a little flushed from the walk, damp hair curling slightly against his forehead. He was already pulling off his work shirt, tossing it into the hamper as he padded into the room with a towel slung over his shoulder.
He paused. Blinked. “Uh…. Whoa.” His eyes flicked over Y/N’s outfit, and he immediately looked up at the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the room. “You going out like that?”
Y/N grinned. “Why? Too much?”
San blinked rapidly. “No, it’s just…. uh, wow. Okay. Just didn’t expect you to look like… that.”
“You mean dangerously hot?” Santana offered.
“Shut up,” he muttered, face reddening as he reached up to tug the towel around his neck. “I’m gonna grab a shower. Then I’m meeting someone.”
Y/N raised a brow. “Ooooh. Mysterious someone?”
San smirked slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… a guy I’ve been seeing.”
Santana perked up from the bed. “Still haven’t met him. Are you sure he’s real?” Y/N crossed her arms. “Seriously, what’s the deal? You keep disappearing, you’ve got this stupid little smile on your face when you get home…”
“I do not,” San scoffed.
“You do,” both girls said in unison making San roll his eyes and start backing out of the room. “His name’s Wooyoung. That’s all you get for now.”
Y/N tilted her head. “And where exactly are you meeting this secret boyfriend of yours?” San paused in the doorway. Something flickered across his face, too fast, too subtle. “Just out,” he said casually. “Bar scene. You know.”
Santana raised a brow. “Oh? Funny. So are we.” San leaned against the doorframe, looking between them. “Where?” Y/N smirked. “Just out.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re being cryptic.”
“You’re being nosy.”
“Touché.” San held his hands up in surrender, backing into the hallway. “Fine, don’t tell me. But if I have to bail you two out of jail again, I’m cutting off your coffee fund.”
Y/N laughed. “Rude.”
“Fair.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, and a moment later the shower kicked on, steam already curling beneath the door. Back in the room, Santana turned to Y/N, one brow raised. “That boy’s definitely hiding something.”
Y/N nodded, eyes flicking to the hallway. “He never used to lie.”
“Neither did we,” Santana grinned. “But here we are. All dressed up for a club we’re not supposed to know exists.”
Y/N turned back to the mirror and smoothed her hands down her sides one more time. The black mesh glinted over her chest, the silver necklaces laying like temptation against her collarbone. Her pants creaked faintly with each breath. Every inch of her body screamed trouble.
“Let’s go cause some,” she whispered, smirking to herself.
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Backstage at Velvet Midnight always smelled like heat, sweat, and blood. The club pulsed beyond the curtain, low and slow like a heartbeat. The floor shook with the bass, dancers prowled the mirror lit prep room in various stages of costume, and the air was thick with the buzz of magic and lust.
Mingi sat alone in the corner on a worn leather couch, shirtless, eyes half lidded, fingers painted red. The lighting above him flickered slightly, either a dying bulb or the energy rolling off him in lazy waves. The human at his feet wasn’t moaning anymore. He wasn’t breathing either.
Mingi let his head roll back against the couch, licking a smear of blood off his wrist, tongue dragging slow as a sigh. The body on the floor still twitched every now and then, reflexes firing even after the pulse had stopped. “Should’ve left when I said stop begging,” Mingi murmured, voice low and almost lazy. He didn’t look apologetic. He didn’t look angry. He just looked… full. Sated. And he wasn’t thinking about her. Not right now.
The bite hadn’t even been about hunger. It had been about distraction. Satisfaction. Control. Something to fill the space she left behind without taking root the way her taste had. Because no matter how many lips he kissed or throats he fed from, no one was her.
But he wasn’t going to mope about it. Not tonight. Not when the club was full, and he didn’t have to perform until later with Yunho. He smirked to himself. That was going to be fun. Yunho hated sharing the spotlight. Hated when Mingi got messier. Wilder. Which was exactly what Mingi planned on doing.
He was still licking his thumb clean when the side door creaked open and San stepped inside, hoodie half zipped, hair damp from a rushed shower, the faint scent of drugstore body spray clinging to his skin, suffocating any other lingering scent he would of had. His boots stuck slightly to the floor, someone had spilled something that definitely wasn’t alcohol earlier, and he grimaced as he stepped further in.
Then he saw it. The body. The blood. The fucking smile on Mingi’s face. “Oh, come on,” San muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Really?” Mingi looked up, entirely unbothered. “Hey, Sannie.”
“Don’t call me that.” San glared at him. “What did Joong say about killing in the backstage lounge?” Mingi shrugged, licking one of his fangs with lazy precision. “Don’t.”
San gestured to the corpse. “And yet?”
“He begged.”
“God.” San dropped his bag near the lockers with a thud. “This place has no HR.”
Mingi stretched like a cat, long limbs unfolding, blood still glistening along the inside of his forearm. “Don’t worry. He didn’t feel a thing after the second vein popped.”
“That’s not the comfort you think it is.” San grabbed a towel from the rack and tossed it at him. Mingi caught it one handed and wiped the side of his mouth with exaggerated slowness. “You’re in a mood,” Mingi said, sniffing the air. “You come straight from work?”
San didn’t answer him as he opened his locker and started pulling out his change of clothes, black pants, sheer sleeveless top, thick silver chains. “You’re so unhinged.” He finally remarked.
Mingi glanced down at the body, then back at San. “Jealous?”
“Of that?” San scoffed. “Not unless he tipped well.” Mingi laughed, tossing the towel aside. “You always this grumpy before you dance?”
San peeled off his hoodie, already feeling the heat of the club creeping under his skin. “Only when I have to walk in and see corpses before clocking in.”
“Drama queen.”
San once again didn’t reply. He just grabbed his kohl eyeliner from the locker shelf, dragging it along his lower lash line in one smooth motion. His reflection in the mirror blinked back at him, sharpened, glittering, deadly. “You performing tonight?” he asked, not looking at Mingi.
Mingi leaned back again, kicking his feet up on the couch arm. “Later. With Yunho.” San paused mid swipe. “Oh?” Mingi’s grin stretched wide. “Haven’t danced with him in weeks. Should be fun.”
“Fun,” San echoed. He didn’t say what he was thinking, You two together on stage is a fucking problem. He just kept getting ready, pretending not to notice the faint red stain on the floor slowly seeping toward his boot.
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The gas station buzzed under flickering yellow lights, the kind that made everything look slightly off color, like a scene waiting for something to happen. It was wedged between an empty car wash and a 24 hour laundromat, humming quietly against the dark stretch of road like it didn’t know it was about to become the setting of a moment that would change everything.
Y/N stood at pump four, one hand tucked into the waistband of her red pants, the other holding the nozzle steady. She could see Santana inside, flirting shamelessly with the girl behind the register. The occasional laugh, low, flirty, dangerous, spilled through the open door like perfume.
Y/N wasn’t paying attention to that. She was too busy adjusting her top under the mesh. It clung to her just right in the mirror of her car’s window, tight, dark, just enough glittering hardware at her throat to feel powerful. She looked like a problem. She felt like a secret.
The gas meter clicked up slowly. The wind brushed her hair back from her face. She glanced down, thumb brushing over her rings. And that’s when it happened. A car door clicked shut across the lot making her look up instinctively, casual, uninterested. And froze.
Yunho.
Tall. Dark. Leaning against his car like he didn’t know he was the first real thing she’d seen in months. He was dressed in black, again. Black jeans, black boots, black button up half unbuttoned, exposing a sliver of pale skin and a silver chain that glinted under the gas station lights. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, veins cutting sharp beneath the surface, fingers flexing like he hadn’t quite relaxed in years.
He hadn’t seen her yet. But she couldn’t breathe. Her grip tightened on the pump handle, knuckles pale. Her heart did something stupid in her chest, something fast and stuttering, something that made her feel like she was right back in his bed, mouth on his, hands clutching his shoulders like salvation.
She hadn’t seen him since that night. Four months. Four months since he fucked her like she was a secret he wanted to keep. Since he had her like she was made to be worshipped. Since she vanished without a trace, like a fever dream he hadn’t fully woken up from.
And now he was just… here. At some shitty gas station on the edge of nowhere. She blinked. Swallowed. He hadn’t changed. Still walked like he owned every space he stepped into. Still looked at the ground like it had answers. Still made her feel like a live wire without even touching her.
Yunho turned slightly, opening his car door to grab something from inside. Then he looked up. And saw her and everything stilled. His hand froze on the doorframe. His eyes locked on hers like he was trying to remember what reality was. She didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Didn’t breathe.
Yunho straightened slowly, lips parting like he might say something, but no sound came out. His gaze dragged down, over the red pants, the fishnet sleeves, the collar glinting at her throat and something in his chest curled tight. She looked… different. Harder. Hotter. Stronger. And he had no idea if she’d slap him or kiss him.
Or both.
The pump clicked in Y/N’s hand, startling her making her jerk slightly, pulling it free and returning it to the cradle before wiping her hands down the side of her thighs, trying to buy herself a second. Just one second to figure out what the hell to do as she turned toward him, but Yunho was already walking. Slow. Measured. Each step a test of control he wasn’t sure he had.
Y/N didn’t move. Not until he stopped just short of her, a few feet of thick night air between them. Not touching. Not speaking. Just seeing.
Yunho’s voice came out low, a little rough, like it had dust on it.
“Hey.”
Y/N blinked once. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Yunho huffed a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. That makes two of us.” He didn’t move any closer. But he didn’t look away either as he stood there, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, jaw tight, expression unreadable, but his eyes were soft. Heavy. Watching her like he didn’t know if he was dreaming. Like he’d already replayed this moment a thousand times in his head, only now it was worse, because she was real again. And she looked like this.
“You look good,” he said finally, voice low and smooth. A flicker of something darker laced the edges, like heat, like memory, like want.
Y/N’s jaw ticked, but she didn’t back down. “It’s been four months.”
“I noticed. You snuck out,” he said simply, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t even wake me.”
Y/N’s lips twitched. “You were sleeping.”
“I’m a light sleeper.”
“You didn’t move.”
“I didn’t want to scare you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t want to say goodbye.”
Yunho paused at that, the air shifting slightly between them. His smile faded, just a little. “Maybe.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, the collar at her throat catching the light again and Yunho’s eyes dropped there for a second, quick, subtle, but not fast enough. “Where are you headed?” he asked, casually, like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t clawing at the inside of his ribs.
She lifted a brow. “Out.”
Yunho tilted his head. “To…”
“Some club.”
“Oh?”
She didn’t blink. “Yeah.”
He chuckled softly, the sound a little breathless. “You always this vague or just trying to keep me guessing?” Y/N smirked. “Why? You want to follow me?” He didn’t answer right away. Because yes. Yes, he wanted to follow her. Wanted to know who she danced with, who she smiled at. Wanted to see what kind of club deserved her in red leather and mesh and a spiked collar like sin made flesh.
But before he could open his mouth, the bell above the gas station door jingled as Santana strutted out, still grinning from whatever nonsense she’d just whispered to the girl behind the counter. She was tucking something into her bra, probably a phone number, and didn’t notice anything strange until she caught sight of Yunho.
Then she paused. Brows raised. Smile lazy. “Helloooo, stranger danger,” she said, striding over to Y/N’s side. “You gonna introduce me to this tall, dark, and ruin my life looking situation?” Y/N opened her mouth, but Yunho spoke first. “Yunho,” he said, offering Santana a small, charming nod. “Friend of Y/N’s.”
Santana’s brow quirked. “Oh?”
“Old friend,” Y/N corrected, folding her arms tighter, eyes fixed on him like a threat.
Yunho’s smirk deepened.
“Well,” Santana said brightly, clearly delighted by the tension. “I’m Santana. Best friend. Emotional support. Perpetual bad influence. And you are very pretty.”
“Thank you,” Yunho replied, voice smooth as velvet. “So are you.” Santana grinned. “Stop. I might bite.”
Yunho’s eyes flicked between them both, and for the first time, Y/N swore she saw something shift in his expression. Just slightly. A twitch of his jaw. The faintest crease between his brows. Almost like a warning as Santana looped her arm through Y/N’s. “Anyway, we should get going before our table disappears.”
Yunho’s eyes locked back on Y/N, sharper now. “You have a table?”
“No.”
He tilted his head again, clearly picking apart everything she wasn’t saying. “So… no table… at this mystery club you won’t name.” Y/N just smiled, wide, pretty, and infuriating. “Exactly.”
Santana pulled her toward the car, and Y/N let herself be led, her steps slower, but she didn’t look back. Not until she opened the door. Then she glanced over her shoulder once seeing Yunho was still watching. Not moving. Not blinking. Just standing there, next to his car, the gas pump forgotten, eyes on her like he was memorizing her all over again.
And he had no idea. No idea where she was going. No idea who she was about to see. No idea that the girl who snuck out of his bed four months ago… was about to walk straight into his world again.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Velvet Midnight thrummed like a living thing. The bass shook the walls, muffled moans and cheers rising from the crowd just beyond the curtain. Strobe lights danced red and gold across the mirrors, catching on glitter and sweat and the flash of bare skin. Wooyoung was on stage, shirtless, hips rolling slow and sin slick, body a study in pure temptation. His hands traced the inside of his thighs, teasing the audience with sharp smirks and heavy eye contact. He was electric, magnetic. Dangerous in the way only someone who knew he was untouchable could be.
Yunho pushed through the hallway, dressed for performance but tense as hell, jaw tight, eyes scanning for someone to yell at. He still hadn’t shaken off the gas station. Y/N’s scent was still in his head, still clinging to his palms like he’d touched her just minutes ago. She looked even better than he remembered. And now she was out there, somewhere in the city, headed to a club she wouldn’t name, in pants that should’ve been illegal, and he had no goddamn idea what to do about it.
He stepped into the backstage lounge, exhaling sharply and Mingi froze. The second Yunho walked in, Mingi’s head snapped up from where he was crouched by the lockers, towel slung around his neck, still shirtless and glowing from his feed earlier. His eyes narrowed. His nose twitched. Then he stood. Slow. Like a hound catching scent for the first time in days.
Yunho blinked at him. “Uh. Mingi?” Mingi didn’t answer as he stepped forward instead, closer, too close, and sniffed. “Okay, what the hell are you doing?” Yunho snapped, shoving him back by the shoulder. Mingi’s eyes were wild, locked on Yunho’s chest like he could see scent molecules clinging to his shirt. “That smell,” he murmured, low, reverent. “It’s her. Where were you just now?”
Yunho stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “What are you talking about? Her who?”
“That scent,” Mingi said again, voice rising slightly. “The perfume, the sweat, the skin, it’s her. That’s my girl.”
Yunho’s brow furrowed. “Wait. Your girl?”
“Yes. My mystery girl.”
“No….. my mystery girl.”
Mingi blinked. “What?”
Yunho looked just as confused now. “I ran into her at a gas station on the way here. Just now. First time I’ve seen her in four months. She was pumping gas and….. oh my god.” His expression twisted. “You’re smelling that?”
Mingi’s lips parted as Yunho shoved him again. “Dude. Back up. The only girl I saw was my girl. And, okay, maybe her friend too, briefly, but still!” The two of them stared at each other, both panting now, tension spiking so hard it was practically radioactive. And that’s when Mingi went still. Like still still. Eyes narrowing. Chest rising slow.
“Oh… fuck,” Mingi whispered. And from the makeup counter nearby, San, who had been pretending to ignore them while applying body glitter, barked out a laugh so loud it echoed as he came to the same realization Mingi just did. He turned around, eyeliner in one hand, absolutely beaming. “Oh. This is beautiful.”
Yunho blinked at him. “You were listening?”
“I’ve been listening to you two whine about this girl for months. Months, bro. Whole moon cycles.”
Mingi was still in shock. “It’s the same girl.”
San tossed the eyeliner into his bag with a grin. “And y’all just now figured it out? I swear to god, if I weren’t already gay…”
“You’re not helping,” Yunho snapped.
“I’m not trying to.” San smirked, grabbing a water bottle and flopping into a nearby chair. “I’m soaking this in.”
Mingi dragged a hand through his hair. “I bit her, man.”
Yunho stiffened. “You what?”
“Barely. A scratch. But I tasted her.”
Yunho looked like he was about to combust. “That’s my girl.”
San took a long sip of his water, letting the two vampires spiral. He still had no idea. No idea that the girl they were both obsessing over, the one with the scent that haunted them, the mouth that ruined them…. was his sister.
And she was walking into Velvet Midnight right now.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Velvet Midnight wasn’t the kind of place you found by accident. It wasn’t on maps. Didn’t have a website. Didn’t even have a proper front door, just a matte black panel in a brick alley across the street from some bar, guarded by a man with silver eyes and a voice like smoke.
The club was drenched in color. Red velvet booths curved around the edges of the main floor like they were hiding secrets. The stage was massive, bathed in gold light and shadows, with iron cages hanging above it. The ceiling shimmered with some kind of moving projection, moons and fire and shifting constellations. Dancers stalked the catwalks like predators.
Everything was dark. Decadent. Charged. Y/N exhaled slowly as her heels touched down on the glossy floor. “Okay. This place is…”
“So slutty I might cry,” Santana breathed beside her, gripping her arm like she needed an anchor. Their eyes drank in everything, the velvet, the leather, the way every person in the room looked touched by something unholy. Even the crowd was beautiful. The energy was thick. Electric. Addictive.
They drifted toward the bar, drawn by the gleam of crystal decanters and the low hum of music that vibrated in your ribs. The bar itself was carved from black marble, glowing faintly beneath their fingertips. And behind it stood him. Hair dark, parted neatly, dressed in a silk shirt with buttons undone just enough to show collarbone and sin. His eyes were lined in kohl, sharp and precise, and his lips looked like they hadn’t smiled in years. But he smiled now. Barely. Just enough.
“Ladies,” he said, voice calm, smooth, with a hint of something cold beneath. “First time?”
Santana leaned on the bar with both elbows, grinning. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to those who know where to look.”
Y/N blinked. Something about his voice felt strange. Familiar. Not in a memory way, more like a dream. Like hearing music she couldn’t name. Santana, as usual, paid no attention to that tension. “Well, since we’re virgins to this place,” she purred, “why don’t you pop our cherry with the strongest thing you’ve got?”
Yeosang, the 300 year old vampire, tilted his head, like he was studying a painting. “You sure?”
“Always.”
He smirked. Then turned to the back bar, hands moving with grace that was almost too perfect. He didn’t pour, he performed. One bottle, matte black with a red wax seal, was uncorked with a flick of his thumb. A crystal decanter added something glowing and amber. And then… something else.
Y/N didn’t catch it. She didn’t see the faint shimmer in the third bottle, how the liquid inside clung too thick to the sides. She didn’t see the brief flicker of Yeosang’s eyes, gold, then gone as he tipped the vial just so. When he set the glasses down in front of them, they were deep red. Not wine. Not whiskey. Something darker. Glossier.
“This one’s called Hellfire,” Yeosang said, his voice smooth as silk over flame.
Santana raised her glass. “Cute name.”
Yeosang held her gaze. “It’s not just a name.”
Y/N didn’t ask. She didn’t know. Didn’t know that vampire blood, when stirred into liquor, dissolved like sugar in fire. Didn’t know that when consumed by humans, it was a drug. One that didn’t hit right away, but when it did? It wasn’t just a high. It was transcendence.
Heightened pleasure. Sound. Touch. Skin. Lust. A euphoric rush that rolled slow and hot through the bloodstream, like being kissed from the inside out. She didn’t know. But Yeosang did. And he watched them both lift the glasses to their lips like a priest watching a sacrament be swallowed.
The Hellfire tasted nothing like its name. It was warm. Smooth. Sweet with something that lingered. Almost floral, but richer. Like honey burned at the edges. Like the last sip of a dream you didn’t want to wake from.
Y/N licked her lips as she set the glass down, her mouth tingling faintly, heat curling low in her stomach. She thought maybe the alcohol was just that strong. That maybe the music and the lights were already playing tricks on her. But the drink felt… good. Too good.
Santana tilted her glass toward Yeosang. “I don’t know what’s in this, but I want it on my deathbed.” Yeosang’s mouth curved faintly. “It’s a house blend.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly, swirling what remained in her glass. “You’re really committed to the whole mysterious bartender thing, huh?”
“I like to keep things interesting,” Yeosang said, gaze slow and steady. “Especially with new faces.”
“You always this smooth?” Santana asked, sipping again.
Yeosang shrugged. “Only with women who ask for the strongest thing I have.”
That earned a laugh from both of them as Y/N leaned on the bar, her body already relaxing under the low lights, music humming through her ribs. She felt good. Light. Like her skin had turned to warm silk and every sound had been dialed up just slightly. The music felt closer. The air, softer. Her pulse fluttered for no reason at all.
Then the lights dimmed further. A single spotlight flared on the stage. And everything stilled. A figure stepped out onto the platform, slow, deliberate, utterly composed. His silhouette was long and lean, movements fluid like water. Then the music changed. The bass hit low and dirty, a slither of sound that curled down your spine, and the spotlight lit him fully.
Y/N and Santana both froze in place. He was… stunning. Sharp, ethereal. Dressed in black slacks and an open vest that revealed smooth, pale skin and sculpted muscle. His hair was slicked back, lips painted red like blood and promise, eyes rimmed in dark shadow that made them look unreal. He walked the stage like it was built beneath him. Like it existed only to carry his grace.
“Holy shit,” Santana whispered. “He’s not real. That’s not a man. That’s a Greek statue who learned to dance.” Y/N didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her mouth was dry, fingers clenched slightly around her empty glass. Every movement the man made was deliberate. His hips rolled to the beat, slow and sinful, hands trailing down his chest like a lover’s touch. He turned just enough to show the curve of his back, the arch of his neck. And when his tongue flicked across his bottom lip? She felt her stomach drop.
Yeosang watched them over the rim of his own glass now, a small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth. “You like him,” he said softly.
Santana let out a breathless laugh. “Like is a strong word. I want him to bite me and ruin my life.” Y/N finally found her voice, low and slightly dazed. “Who is he?”
Yeosang set his glass down. “That’s Seonghwa.” The name landed like silk and shadow. They didn’t know who he was. Didn’t know he’d been alive longer than most bloodlines. That he danced not to seduce, but to feed, on attention, desire, worship. That every sway of his hips, every roll of his neck, was designed to make humans ache. They didn’t know he was a vampire just like the bartender behind them.
Didn’t know that they were already under the influence of something more potent than alcohol. That their eyes were dilated. Their pulses were skipping. Their voices slower now, more languid. The Hellfire was beginning to creep in. They didn’t notice it yet. But Yeosang did.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Yunho sat on the edge of a vanity counter, shirtless, head tilted back as he drained the last inch of blood from a silver lined pouch. The plastic crinkled as he squeezed it dry, fangs glinting faintly in the glow of the bulbs lining the mirror. The blood was cold. Not ideal. But it was enough to keep the beast quiet, for now.
Across from him, Mingi was humming off key, a tub of gold glitter open in one hand, the other gently smearing it along Yunho’s collarbones with a flat makeup brush. “Do you have to hum while you do this?” Yunho muttered, licking a trace of blood off his thumb. “It helps me focus,” Mingi replied, leaning in. “And it’s not my fault you have premium cheekbones. They deserve shimmer.”
Yunho rolled his eyes but didn’t stop him. They were halfway through their usual pre performance ritual, blood, glitter, and an unspoken agreement not to talk about her. It had been ten whole minutes since they’d last argued over their mystery girl. Thirty minutes since figuring out their mystery girl was the same girl.
Mingi was just about to start working on Yunho’s shoulders when the door slammed open. Hard. The air shifted immediately as Hongjoong strode in like a storm on a leash, black on black suit tailored to filth, fingerless gloves, every silver ring on his hands glinting like a threat. His aura hit the room like a slap of pressure, enough to make even the music from the club fade to a background pulse.
“What the fuck is that?” he barked, jabbing a finger toward the far corner of the room. Both vampires turned. The body was still there. Crumbled near the lockers, pale and unmoving, neck torn in a way that was more artistic than necessary. Dried blood stained the floor in a messy halo. Mingi blinked. “That’s Kyle.”
“Kyle is dead, Mingi,” Hongjoong snapped, voice like a whip. “And Kyle is on my backstage floor.”
“He begged,” Mingi muttered. “Like, really hard.”
“I don’t care if he got on his knees and called you God. We do not leave corpses backstage.”
Yunho snorted into his now empty blood bag, tossing it into the trash without comment and Hongjoong spun on him. “Don’t even start.” Yunho raised his hands in surrender. “Hey. I’m not the one who went full Van Helsing massacre in the locker room.”
“Not helping,” Mingi muttered, still dabbing glitter to Yunho’s shoulder because priorities as Hongjoong exhaled through his nose like he was trying not to implode. “You two are on in thirty. Clean that shit up. Now.”
Mingi frowned. “We’re artists, Joong. Can’t you let us focus on our craft?”
“You want to get real artsy? Fine. I’ll have Yeosang pour you a cocktail of bleach and mop water. But if that body’s still here when I walk back in, I swear to fuck, I’ll make both of you work a Tuesday shift.”
Yunho paled. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Tuesday shifts were human night. No blood allowed. Just watered down cocktails and bad tippers. Mingi looked truly stricken. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment.”
“So is draining someone and leaving them on the floor like a goddamn prop.” With that, Hongjoong turned and stalked out of the room, the door slamming behind him with the kind of finality that promised violence if disobeyed.
Yunho licked his canine, sighing. “So… you wanna handle the corpse or should I?” Mingi twirled his glitter brush. “Rock paper scissors?”
“Loser drags him to the boiler room.”
“Deal.”
San wasn’t listening, ignoring the vampires this time, standing in front of the mirror, shirtless except for the black leather harness that crossed over his chest like an X, sweat already glistening down the lines of his collarbone. His pants were low slung and laced at the sides, skin peeking through where the leather gapped. Around his neck hung layered chains, clinking faintly with each movement.
But it was the half mask, the black silk bandana pulled up over his mouth, that made him feel like someone else entirely. He tugged it into place, hiding his face from the nose down, letting the mystery do some of the work. His eyes, already rimmed in smoky liner, were sharp. Intense. He was a performer here. A human among vampires.
He adjusted his rings, rolled his neck until it popped, and stepped into the shadowed wings of the stage. The previous act had ended. The crowd was lit, pulsing with anticipation. He inhaled once. Then walked into the light.
The moment he stepped on stage, everything snapped into place. The beat hit, low and deep, vibrating like a second heartbeat and San moved like the music had teeth in his spine. He prowled. Rolled. Dropped low with a twist of his hips that made people scream. The mask gave him mystery. The way he moved gave him power.
He knew he was hot. He just didn’t care. Until the second chorus hit, and he turned his head sharply toward the crowd, fingers tugging the mask down to reveal his jaw, his mouth….
And stopped moving.
For just a second.
Because he saw her.
Y/N.
His sister.
Standing just off center near the stage, dressed in tight red leather and a mesh top, collar glinting at her throat, pupils blown wide, lips parted…
And watching him with absolute, stunned horror.
His feet stayed planted, body still mid dance, mask hanging around his neck. Her lips didn’t move. But her eyes screamed what the fuck. Beside her, Santana clutched her arm and gasped, “Oh my god… is that your brother?!”
Y/N didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her body had gone hot cold, spine prickling, blood rushing in her ears. It was San. San, her half brother. San, who told her he was bartending tonight. San, who was now on stage at a strip club with his abs glistening, pelvis grinding, and women and men screaming his name.
And he had seen her.
Locked eyes with her.
Looked like he’d swallowed a grenade.
San’s body jolted back into movement on instinct, spinning away and hitting his mark, hands gripping the pole with practiced strength but he was spiraling. Hard.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
San burst offstage like the room was on fire. Mask half hanging from his neck, chest rising and falling with each frantic breath, he practically slammed into the green room like the floor was lava and his sneakers were made of sin.
“She’s here!” he gasped, wide eyed.
Wooyoung, half dressed and glistening from his last routine, barely looked up from the mirror where he was fixing his eyeliner. “She? Babe, you’re gonna have to narrow that down. It’s a club full of shes.”
San flailed his arm toward the door. “My sister is here!”
Yunho, perched casually on a couch in mesh and leather, froze. “Wait…. you have a sister?”
Mingi blinked from his spot in front of the mirror, shirt off, abs shining with body oil and highlighter. “You never said anything about a sister.”
San dragged a hand down his face. “Because she’s supposed to be normal! She works at a diner and makes banana bread when she’s stressed, she doesn’t go to clubs like this!”
“Define normal,’” Wooyoung muttered.
Yunho was trying not to laugh at the human. “She saw you perform?”
San nodded, then groaned and dropped onto the nearest bench, head in his hands. “I think my soul just left my body.”
Mingi snorted, finishing a final dusting of gold shimmer along his jaw. “Well, is she hot?”
San’s head snapped up so fast it was a miracle his neck didn’t break. “What?!”
Mingi blinked. “I’m just saying….”
“She’s my sister, Mingi.”
“Okay, yeah, but, like… is she hot?”
San looked like he was ready to stake Mingi himself as Yunho cleared his throat. “Alright, hold on. Let’s all just calm down. San, maybe she doesn’t even know what the club really is?”
“She saw me grind on a pole while a woman tucked a twenty into my waistband,” he said flatly. “She knows.”
The snort of actual humor that echoed from Hongjoong’s office made San groan.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Y/N’s brain was melting. There was no other explanation. The glittering lights overhead felt too bright, the bass was inside her bones, and her skin felt like it had been dipped in champagne. She could feel everything. Her fingertips buzzed. Her heart was racing. Her eyes were locked on the stage, wide and disbelieving.
She had just seen her brother. San. Grinding. On a pole. Half naked. Looking like he’d walked off a poster for the world’s filthiest rave. He had locked eyes with her mid routine and nearly tripped over his own foot. Santana hadn’t helped.
“OH MY GOD. Is that your brother?!”
She’d nodded, too dazed to lie. And now? Now she couldn’t even catch her breath. Because the second San disappeared backstage, probably to scream into a wall, the lights had shifted again.
Another pulse of music. New beat. New energy.
And the stage was suddenly occupied by not one, but two new figures.
The first one, dark hair slicked back, cheekbones sharp, jaw dusted in gold shimmer, moved like a predator in velvet.
The other, broader, lips curled in a lazy smirk, radiated danger like it was a second skin.
Yunho.
Mingi.
Both of them.
Onstage.
Shirtless. Glowing under red light. Bodies in sync with the music. Swaying. Rolling. Sliding hands over each other like they knew exactly what they were doing to the crowd.
Y/N didn’t breathe.
Not when Yunho threw his head back and ran a hand down his chest. Not when Mingi bent low and rolled his hips to the beat, fingers gripping the edge of the stage like he could pull the world toward him. Not even when they moved closer, mirroring each other, practiced, poised, filthy.
“Y/N?” Santana’s voice sounded far away. “Babe… I’m pretty sure I just had a religious experience.”
Y/N blinked.
Hard.
“Those are… them,” she whispered.
Santana looked at her, confused. “Them who?”
Y/N’s hands clenched around her empty glass. “My… one night stands.”
Both of them.
At the same time.
On the same stage.
Santana choked on her own spit. “I’m sorry… what?!”
Y/N didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because the music was swelling and her knees felt like liquid and….
Oh.
Oh shit.
It was hitting.
The Hellfire.
It was in her blood now.
The world didn’t feel real. It felt like honey and neon and silk. Like her heartbeat had been replaced with music. Like Yunho’s eyes, when they swept across the crowd and paused for half a breath on her, were burning into her soul.
Mingi followed suit a moment later, gaze sweeping lazily then his body twitched. Just a bit. Like he’d caught a scent he wasn’t expecting.
Y/N’s breath caught.
The lights changed again.
The beat dropped.
And on stage, her two one night stands became two obsessions.
Performing.
Together.
For her.
And they didn’t even know.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The moment they stepped onto the stage, Yunho felt it again. That same pull. That same fire under his skin. She was closer now, he could see her flushed cheeks, thosw blood red leather pants hugging her hips, the way her breath caught when Mingi rolled his hips on beat beside him.
He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the gas station. Not for a second. Seeing her again, after four months of silence, had lit a fuse in his chest. But it was when he walked into the club earlier, before the performance, before the lights, that everything changed.
Because Mingi had smelled her on him.
And gone still.
Yunho’s jaw locked tight. His fangs ached. His body wanted to leap off the stage and take her somewhere dark, somewhere private, somewhere his. And next to him, he felt Mingi burn the same way.
Mingi couldn’t breathe. She was here. Their girl. His girl. The one who kissed him like she owned him and then kicked him out before her brother got home. He could taste her name. The one who haunted him. He’d smelled her on Yunho the second he got to the club, sweet, addictive, soaked into his skin like a brand.
And now she was right fucking there. He couldn’t stop staring. She didn’t even know what she was doing to them. Her scent was flooding the air, warm, open, laced with vampire blood from a drink Yeosang must of given her. He could feel it dancing under her skin. That high. That haze. The way her pupils were blown wide and her knees were starting to sway.
She looked wrecked already. And they hadn’t even touched her yet. Mingi’s lips parted, breath ragged. His body screamed to get closer. He didn’t care about the lights, the stage, the eyes on them. All he wanted was her, on her knees, on his tongue, on his goddamn grave if that’s what it took.
The crowd roared as Yunho and Mingi ended their set in a final, mirrored sweep, two shadows cast in heat and glitter, slow burning sex stitched into every breath they took. Y/N didn’t even clap. Couldn’t. She was too high. Not off anything she’d asked for, no. But whatever had been in that drink, Hellfire, Yeosang had called it, was now singing through her veins, turning her bones to syrup and her nerves into exposed wires.
“I need…” she licked her lips, pulse pounding behind her eyes. “I need another drink.”
Santana laughed, drunk on the music and maybe more. “You’re lucky I’m a bad influence.”
They made their way back toward the bar. The air felt thicker. Her skin buzzed, electricity sliding up the back of her neck like a whisper. She leaned her elbows on the counter, heart still racing.
Yeosang was already there. He looked effortlessly calm, like a panther in a black satin button up. His eyes flicked toward them as he set down two more glasses. The liquid inside glowed like it had its own heartbeat. “You’re back,” he said smoothly.
“Need round two,” Santana winked, tossing her curls and tapping the rim of her glass. “Of course.” He slid them forward. “Double Hellfire.”
Y/N didn’t ask what was in it. Didn’t ask why her skin still tingled from the last one. Didn’t ask why Yunho and Mingi’s eyes still felt like they were burning into her from across the room. She just picked it up and drank. Behind her, a quiet figure approached.
San.
His hoodie was half zipped, jaw clenched, the black mask he’d worn on stage now shoved into his pocket. He looked rattled, still catching his breath from the performance… or maybe from the fact that his sister was now in the middle of this world to.
“Y/N,” he said tightly, eyes darting to her, then to the glasses in front of her as Yeosang turned to him. And for just a second, his smile curved sharper. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly, soft enough Y/N wouldn’t catch it, but San did. “I gave them a little Hellfire… a little of Mingi’s blood.”
San stiffened.
Yeosang’s eyes gleamed. “She won’t get hurt,” he added, almost like a joke. “But you might want to keep an eye on her.”
San’s mouth went dry. “You gave her blood?”
Yeosang just smiled. Because what San didn’t know, and what Y/N sure as hell didn’t know, was that drinking vampire blood, especially after already having sex with the one it came from, did something.
It triggered a connection.
Not love. Not fate.
But a bond.
One that opened doors between bodies.
And sometimes? Souls.
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Backstage was buzzing. Hongjoong was barking at someone over lighting, Wooyoung was still dripping sweat from his last set, and Seonghwa was sipping something red and expensive from a glass etched with gold.
But Mingi didn’t hear any of it.
He staggered.
One second he was reaching for a towel, and the next, his knees buckled.
Yunho caught him by the elbow, eyes narrowing. “You good?”
“No…. no, I….” Mingi sucked in a breath, eyes going wide. There was heat crawling under his skin. Not normal heat…. hers. She was inside him. Not physically. Not yet. But in his mind, like a heartbeat he couldn’t silence. He could feel the weight of her hips against a chair, the way her lips parted around a breath, the high pitched laugh that curled in her throat. Her skin burned with the Hellfire, but her mind was spinning, spiraling…..
And all of it was bleeding into him.
Yunho frowned. “What the hell’s going on?”
“I…. fuck……” Mingi’s head snapped toward the club floor. His nose twitched. “She’s high on it. Hellfire. But not just that.”
Yunho blinked. “Not just….”
“My blood,” Mingi rasped, dragging his hand over his mouth. “Yeosang… he put my blood in it.”
Yunho froze. Dead quiet. “What?” he said, voice sharp.
Mingi turned to him, eyes wild, glowing faintly, pupils wide. “She’s bonded.”
Yunho’s heart dropped into his stomach. “You mean…”
“I can feel her,” Mingi growled. “Yunho, she’s fucking buzzing, she’s wet, she’s flushed, she doesn’t even know what’s happening but I do, and I swear to god I’m about to lose my mind.”
Yunho was quiet for a beat too long. His jaw locked. His fists curled. “She drank your blood.”
“It’s like I meant for it to happen,” Mingi breathed, staggering toward the curtain again. “But I feel her. She’s mine now.”
Yunho’s eyes flared red just for a flash. Because he’d had her first. But Mingi had her now. And that bond, that bond wasn’t his.
“Let me go!” Mingi snarled, struggling against Yunho’s grip on one arm and Wooyoung’s vice grip on the other as his fangs had dropped fully. His eyes were glowing red. He looked seconds from frenzy. “I can feel her!” Mingi growled, jerking forward again. “She’s flushed, she’s laughing…. she’s touching someone. I swear to god, I will rip their throat out if they don’t get their hands off her!”
“You’re not thinking straight,” Yunho hissed, sweat glistening at his temple. “That’s the bond. It’s just the blood talking.”
“It’s her!” Mingi roared. “She’s mine. You don’t get it, Yunho. She’s in my head. I can feel her smile. I can feel her thighs shifting. I can hear her heartbeat like it’s inside my goddamn chest.”
Mingi’s hands were shaking. Not just his hands, his entire being. He was vibrating with need. His vision was going red, mouth dry, muscles tense like something inside him was clawing to get out. “I need her,” he said again, hoarse, eyes unfocused. “I can’t…. she’s laughing, she’s breathing, she’s…. fuck…. I feel it. Everything. I can’t think. I….”
“Mingi.”
Wooyoung’s voice cut clean through the noise. Steady. Low. Not teasing. Real. It was rare. So Mingi froze as Wooyoung’s hand clamped down tighter on his shoulder, not to hold him back now, but to anchor him. “The first time a bond hits you,” he said slowly, looking him dead in the eye, “it makes you insane. You feel everything. Want everything. You think if you don’t touch them, you’ll combust.”
Mingi’s lips parted, breathing sharp. “I know,” Wooyoung added, voice dropping a little lower. “Because I bonded with San.”
Yunho blinked beside them, shocked silent for once as Mingi’s eyes snapped to Wooyoung’s. “Yeah,” Woo huffed, like it was nothing. “It was… messy. And loud. And San cracked the bed frame.”
Yunho choked and Wooyoung ignored him. “You’ll level out,” he said. “Eventually. You just have to breathe through it. Don’t act on it while the bond’s still raw or you’ll lose control. and so will she.”
Mingi winced, like the thought hurt. “She doesn’t even know what’s happening,” he muttered.
“Exactly,” Wooyoung nodded. “So get your shit together. You scare her right now, you don’t get a second chance.”
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“I can’t believe you’re a stripper.”
“I’m not a stripper,” San groaned, dragging a hand down his face as Y/N grinned, all teeth, still high from the Hellfire and dangerously close to giggling again. “You were literally on a stage with your shirt off, dancing to The Weeknd, and throwing your sweat at the audience.”
He narrowed his eyes. “It’s called theatrics.”
“Uh huh,” she drawled. “It’s called being a slut with lighting cues.”
“Exotic dancer,” he corrected through gritted teeth.
Y/N snorted. “Well, guess what, Magic Mike. That dinner with Mom and Dad tomorrow is going to be real interesting.”
San went pale and Y/N took another sip of her drink like she hadn’t just threatened his peace, his dignity, and his entire bloodline in one sentence. “I’m telling them you made a whole girl pass out by licking your lips,” she added sweetly.
“Y/N, I swear to god….”
“I’ll even bring up the mask. You kinky little weirdo.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Oop, time for another drink.”
And as she turned back to the bar, cheeks flushed and grin wide… Mingi, still backstage, gasped. Because her laughter echoed through his ribs like thunder.
Y/N leaned her weight onto the bar, fingers tapping the glass as she giggled at literally nothing. The music had shifted to something darker now, slow and pulsing, like the heartbeat in her ears, and the lights seemed to smear and melt, every color a little too pretty, every sound a little too loud.
She didn’t feel drunk. Not exactly. She felt… good. Really good. Warm, tingly, high like she’d been kissed from the inside out. “I feel like I’m floating,” she whispered, smiling down at her own fingers like they were fascinating.
Next to her, Santana was spinning her straw in circles and humming along with the bassline. Her hair was falling in her face, her pupils blown wide, and when Yeosang walked by again, she grinned at him like she might climb across the bar and lick his jaw.
“Okay,” San said tightly, eyeing his sister. “Time to go.” Y/N blinked up at him, confused and glowing. “Huh? Why? We just got here.”
“Exactly,” San said, voice sharp with something protective. “And whatever’s in that drink has clearly hit both of you hard. I’m not letting you stay in here like this.”
Santana waved him off, half laughing. “We’re fine, Sannie. It’s just a little buzz.”
“Don’t call me that. And it’s not just a buzz,” he muttered under his breath, glancing back toward the bar and specifically, toward Yeosang, who had the nerve to smirk at him as he wiped down a glass.
He turned back to Y/N. Her eyes were unfocused, cheeks flushed, neck shimmering with sweat and glitter and something else. He’d seen a lot working here. He’d seen what Hellfire could do. But Y/N looked like it was hitting her ten times harder than Santana.
And that made him nervous. “You okay?” he asked, voice gentler now, leaning in to brush hair from her face. She blinked at him, smile dreamy. “I feel really good. Like… warm. Like I could run a marathon and take a nap at the same time.”
San exhaled slowly. That wasn’t just Hellfire. He didn’t know what the hell Yeosang put in that second round, but he had a very bad feeling about it. “Come on,” he said firmly, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist. “Let’s get you both home.”
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San’s arm was firm around Y/N’s waist as they made it up the stairs to their shared apartment. Santana stumbled ahead, cackling at nothing before dramatically collapsing on the couch in a glittery heap. “Wake me for brunch,” she slurred.
“Not happening,” San muttered as Y/N leaned heavier against him, her steps soft, her limbs loose like she was half asleep, half dreaming. “I feel weird,” she mumbled as he guided her toward her bedroom.
“You’re okay,” he said gently, trying not to sound freaked out. “Just lie down. You’ll sleep it off.” She flopped onto the bed with a muffled hum, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling with an unfocused smile. San pulled her shoes off and reached for the blanket.
“Good weird,” she added, sighing. “Like someone’s hugging me from the inside.”
San paused.
“Okay, that’s enough for tonight.”
She laughed softly, unaware of how her words made his stomach twist. He brushed a hand over her forehead, tucking a piece of hair back. “Get some sleep, dummy.”
“Night, Sannie.”
He closed her door behind him, but she didn’t even notice. Because in the dark, alone in her room… something warm stirred low in her belly.
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Mingi was pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. The moment he and Yunho got home, he tore off his shirt, too hot in his own skin, dragging his fingers through his hair like it might help him breathe.
It didn’t.
“I can’t stop feeling her,” he rasped.
Yunho sat on the arm of the couch, watching him with tense eyes. “She’s probably asleep now.”
“No, she’s not. She’s…” Mingi cut off, growling, “She’s trying to sleep, but she’s restless. She’s flushed. Her sheets are too warm, her skin’s tingling. She’s thinking about…. fuck, I think she’s thinking about me.”
Yunho swallowed hard. He wasn’t going to show how pissed he was because none of this was exactly his best friend’s fault.
Mingi stopped pacing, bracing both hands on the wall, forehead pressed between his arms like he was trying to push the heat out of him. “It’s like the bond is teasing me. Like it wants me to lose control.”
“You won’t,” Yunho said quietly, even though his jaw was tight.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Yunho said, standing now. “Because I’m here. And I won’t let you.”
Mingi turned slowly, eyes blood bright. “She’s mine now,” he said quietly. “And she doesn’t even know it.”
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The sheets were soft. That was the first thing she noticed, how soft they felt beneath her thighs. Silk, almost. Cool against her heated skin.
Then the mouth. Hot. Insistent. Kissing up the inside of her thigh like it had all the time in the world. She gasped softly, shifting her hips as a tongue dragged slow, deliberate… and then teeth. Not sharp, yet, but close.
Her breath caught when she saw a shadowed figure between her legs, hair messy, lips already wet with her. His voice was low, gravel rich. Familiar. “You smell so sweet like this,” he murmured, kissing higher. “Bet you’d let me ruin you all over again.”
She didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
His mouth moved higher, fangs brushing her skin now…. fangs? But her brain was too fogged to question it. Then he was over her, on her, mouth to her neck, licking a stripe from collarbone to jaw as she arched beneath him.
“Missed this,” he whispered, as if she’d ever given it to him before. “You’ve been dreaming of me too, haven’t you?” He kissed her, deep, slow, filthy, and then his hand slid between her thighs again, two long fingers sinking inside her like they belonged there.
She moaned, hips grinding down, her body riding his hand with eager, desperate rhythm. “You’re so wet for me, baby,” he growled, fangs dragging along her throat as his fingers curled just right. “You gonna come for me like this? Gonna soak my fingers before I even sink my teeth in?”
She whimpered. Rocked harder. Felt herself spiraling. And just as her climax broke… as her body trembled, her cry leaving her throat…. he bit. Fangs sinking into her neck, pleasure bursting into something feral, something wild, and she…
Y/N gasped awake, breath ragged, skin drenched in sweat. Her sheets were twisted, her thighs slick, her pulse thudding against her neck like a drumline. She clutched her chest, panting.
It had felt so real.
But it was just a dream.
Right?
Just…
Just a dream.
Wasn’t it?
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The kitchen was quiet, blackout curtains blocking the sunlight from pouring through the window like a crime scene spotlight as Yunho leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Mingi stir sugar into his coffee with all the serenity of a monk on vacation.
Too serene. Suspiciously serene. “You’re in a good mood,” Yunho said flatly.
Mingi hummed. “Am I?”
Yunho narrowed his eyes as Mingi took a sip, eyes fluttering shut with blissful contentment. “Mm. Hazelnut. You never judge me, do you, baby?” he murmured to the mug.
Yunho didn’t blink. “You were pacing like a caged animal six hours ago.”
Mingi shrugged. “I guess Wooyoung was right. It’s just rough in the beginning. Bond hits hard, then it… evens out.”
Yunho’s brow ticked. “Just like that?”
Mingi smirked behind his mug. “What, you wanted me to still be feral on the floor?”
“No,” Yunho said slowly. “I just figured you’d be… I don’t know. Processing.”
“I did.” Another sip. “All night, in fact.”
Yunho’s mouth twitched. Because he had felt it. Not the bond. Not the blood. But something… hot. A pulse in the air. A breath that wasn’t his. A moan that wasn’t heard with ears.
And he’d known exactly who it was.
He didn’t know how. He just… knew. So the fact that Mingi was standing here now, smug and loose limbed and pretending he didn’t just psychically fuck their girl until she came in her sleep?
Yunho didn’t buy it.
Not for a second.
“You didn’t do anything stupid last night,” Yunho said slowly, “did you?”