Vi

🦥 18

[cashmakozume]

tattoo artist! iwaizumi hajime x nail artist! reader

oh no! you own the nail salon next to iwaizumi's tattoo shop. what do we do? him!

my masterlist

warnings // reader is female im so sorry it just flowed out of me, swearing, mentions of drunk men, smoking, kys jokes, a gun, mentioned AI once but u need to understand i will never use it

miyako's notes // i shat this out bc i couldn't stop thinking about tattoo artist! iwaizumi but i couldn't sit and outline a whole story for it IM SORRY shoutoutz to @dumdogs and @lilylilylilylilysstuff for enabling me

[vilovescats]

black tiger!toji, leopard!reader, and exotic pet owner!shiu

someone make it happen and tag me please

[v3is]

IRON HAND IN VELVET GLOVE 𓇢𓆸

SYNOPSIS   𓏲𝄢 Being a blind girl in a bustling village is not easy— especially when nobody was willing to be of help. You've heard stories about a curse frequently roaming around the outskirts of town. A folklore passed down from generations to generations of family inside the village, though nobody has seen this "curse" in person before, the stories were still told like it first surfaced. However, the night when the said curse finally emerged from the thick trees and vaporized the village, you were left behind to fend on your own.

PAIRING   ✶  trueform! sukuna x blind! reader

CONTENT   ✶  sukuna is a dick, what's new . uraume is also . . . mean here, but they will change . no smut . long oneshot . ik it is said that sukuna doesn't have concubines nor sexual partners, but there will be mentions of concubines in this fic . uraume cameo . ik sukuna probably doesn't eat human food too but it's said here that he does (begrudgingly) . reader gets hurt a lot (minor wounds like a cut or scratch) . mentions of blood . mentions of sex . derogatory terms for women . sukuna gets soft but denies it . a little angst if u realize . fluff ending (gosh im not one for angst rn)

NOTE   ✶  divider creds to @/mieluno . it's been so long since i posted here omg. my first draft is almost done, surprisingly. saw how my blind! reader and trueform sukuna fic previously got so much love, i thought why not make another one. probably gonna dip again after this for a bit, then come back again. also, thank you so much for 4k while i was gone, i appreciate it so much. and i hope you guys like this one mwhehe :>

"My mother told me the curse arrives every decade to choose a woman of his choice," this is stupid, you thought.

Your ears twitched lightly at the gossip— the folklore has been around for many decades and it was still spread around like wildfire. Frankly speaking, you didn't think it was right, just something made by worried parents to get their kids tucked safely behind doors on time as the sun falls under the horizon.

For many years, you've heard people speak of the same curse around; but never did the curse showed itself to anyone also over the years, you've heard many different things about the curse:

One, it was said that the "curse" comes by every decade to choose a woman of his choice to be a concubine, or even worse, a wife. However, none of the women here has been chosen by him, nor did the curse ever did come by.

Two, it was said that the curse marries a woman, make her conceive a child, then eats her. Which . . . makes absolutely zero sense at all to you, do curses even engage in . . . bodily intercourse at all?

Three, it was said that when the curse comes, he chooses, and vaporizes the others, and leave. Which also . . . makes absolutely zero sense!

Clearly this was something made by people who felt like it was fun to be passed down for generations. You were born with no vision, so the wonders of the world are all held back in blotches of black, it wasn't the most handy in this life where you do labor for everything.

"Do you think he has disgusting features . . ? Maybe two heads . . . Oh, or four legs, like a deer. Maybe he's a deer curse since he ventures the forest," you wanted to chuckle hearing them speak— it has always been them, you had no sense of time which was pretty horrible in a way you'd need someone to actually remind you it's night while you were out.

And by "someone" it's the owl hooting and hollering loudly, announcing the beginning of its hunt. Along with the crickets by the evening. Oh, don't forget the sounds of doors clicking harshly into their locks or the windows slamming shut in fear that the "curse" would get them.

You have felt intense fear in life. For example, recalling back to the time you'd lost footing in a stream and had the ladies there help you from drowning only to receive a lecture on how you should be more careful. Second, this was pure hypocrisy, however when you tend to stay out after dark, the rustling that comes behind trees and snaps of branches sent shivers down your spine.

Because as much as you try to deny the possibility of the curse roaming around the outskirts of the village, somewhere deep inside you, a little part couldn't help but to indulge into the folklore like these people.

Your eyelids slammed open, the drumming in your heart was getting louder and louder. This wasn't a dream, you were sure of it. So, why the hell were people screaming and hollering outside? Your fingertips grazed over the wooden desk as you guided yourself out of bed, heart racing and the impending doom bubbling right under your chest— people don't scream like this unless something was happening.

Was there another break in? Or were the Shakkin-tori back? They weren't supposed to be back until next year (or so you heard).

Your fingers curled on the door handle and you twisted it slowly, the lock clicking under your command. The air outside felt humid— no, hot even. It felt like the sun had decided to come a little bit closer.

And it smells . . . Awful. Utterly, awful. It smells like charcoal. Were the kids burning wood again? The second your foot stepped out, you were on the ground. Someone had sped past you frantically, screaming bloody murder, and hence, you decided that this wasn't just Shakkin-tori nor a normal forest bandit visit— this was actually real. And you weren't sure what to make do of the lack of information.

"Hello—" Your voice was futile, drowned under the crackles of wood and the mix of agony wafting around.

Your head turned frantically, hoping for anyone, anyone to just notice you this one time. But to no avail, nobody came to your aid as they were also busy with themselves. Families running, clutching onto their little ones as they fled the village only to be a cluttered, lifeless mess the second they try to escape any further.

The smell of metal whiffed into your nostrils, it doesn’t take two and two to conclude that it was blood that you were currently smelling. Especially with this whole fiesta, you’d think blood might have been the first thing you could smell instead of burning wood.

You could make out kids crying beneath all the terrified screams and crackles of burning wood growing louder. It was bound to happen to your safe haven so you stopped yourself from getting back inside— navigating your way outside all based on pure memories and instinct. Your movements were ran by adrenaline at this point, and you disregard the bumping made to the corner of your shoulders, refusing to let it push you down this time.

“Anyone?” You call out, your fingers grasping the air, quietly hoping for someone’s hand to hold yours and bring you to safety.

But nothing came. And you were left to be alone, walking down with your arms stretched out, you felt like a fool.

You stumbled over the hem of your kimono slightly and cursed under your breath, using one hand to grip the fabric and pulling it up slightly so you could step better. However, the lack of stretched arms to navigate your way only allowed you to crash into a wall— no, it sure felt like a wall, but you aren’t stupid enough to know that walls don’t make noises.

“Hello?” Your voice comes out meek and careful, a bit relieved that this was someone you could ask for help from, “What is happening? Hello?”

“Uraume.”

Who is Uraume? You don’t recognize that name anywhere and you surely don’t recognize anyone with that name inside the village. You staggered back, they must be the perpetrators. You turned on your heels and tried to rush away, only for a force to tug you back by your forearm.

“My Lord?”

“Seize her.”

Seize? You try to pull your arm away— keyword: try. When it failed under the touch of the person named “Uraume”, you reason out, “I’m afraid I do not understand what that means, what is happening right now?”

“My Lord, she lacks the knowledge of seizing. She is quite unlettered,” your jaw dropped in offense at the words strewn about you, “shall I discard her away and search for a different woman for you—?”

“I am not unlettered! Forgive me for lacking the vision to see what is revolving around me right now,” you muttered under your breath.

“Seize her. Drag her back to the shrine.”

“Ow,” you wince out, your hair pulled back roughly.

“Hold still,” you didn’t dare move at the annoyance lacing in her tone— you still have yet to know what was happening and who “Uraume” and “My Lord” is.

They had dragged you here without much fight from you. As much as you tried to stop them, their touch roughly screamed out strong and you weren’t brave enough to fight back. Not currently, to keep it short, “Uraume” had commanded a woman to hurl you into a quick bath so you’d look presentable.

“Why have they decided to bring in a blind girl? This is so troublesome,” she spat out, despite that, her fingers worked inside your hair, scrubbing it roughly, pulling the strands back.

Your wince and hisses of pain had gone unbothered by her. And you’d assume she worked under “Uraume” and “My Lord”. By her complaints, she’d rather be doing something else rather than bathing you. Mind you, you had the ability to clean yourself without help!

Don’t even start with the drying. She had used a rough fabric you couldn’t make out, it prickled your skin like needles; you try not to rip the fabric out of her grasp to do it yourself, but the curses she spat under her breath made you endure it. She had dressed you in a kimono, you assumed. The process equaled to the one you do everyday.

Although she had pulled the obijime tighter than how you do it, deliberately cutting the air slightly that you struggled to walk.

She pulled you along. No, she dragged you along her side and you complied. Before then, you’d stumble over wooden stairs she doesn’t inform you of until the sound the traditional shoji door sliding made you shudder. Once the door opened, the aura from the other side made your body felt lightweight.

The woman, you assumed, dragged you inside the room. Her hand lands on the top of your head, pushing it down. Your forehead kissed the rough tatami mat harshly at the force, and she murmurs under her breath; all hostility from before dissipating into one of fear and caution, “My Lord, she has been cleaned up like you assigned.”

“You may leave.”

Her hand disappeared from the top of your head and the footsteps fled, you internally screamed for her to bring you along. But, she doesn’t. The shoji door slid shut and you were left inside the room, on your knees. Slowly you brought your head back up from the mat, palms growing clammy at the silence.

“What is happening—?” Your question doesn’t vary from when they had found you roaming around like headless chicken.

“Silence. You are as of to shut your mouth when not given the permission,” someone solicited.

Again. You were offended. Surely they could have said it in a nicer manner, you fisted your hands on top of your lap. First, they had dragged you here. Second, made you shower with a woman who clearly doesn’t want to do it. Third, tell you to shut it when you needed closure.

“I have been stolen against my will,” you told in a matter of fact tone.

“Kidnap, I believe is the right term.”

“Yes. This is a crime. A felony. You will be severely punished for this,” you mutter under your breath, furrowing your brows, “they will put your head up on spikes and present it to the whole village!”

“Surely they wouldn’t go against someone who had vaporized your village,” you gasped in surprise, “and I made sure to leave the adults choked on their own blood. Who will have whose heads on spikes? I’d say not the adults.”

“I can’t tell if your naivety is laughable or pathetic,” the new voice, deeper, and hoarse made your head cast down slowly, “why so scared now? Where has that courage gone off to?”

The words were blown out of your mind. Whoever this was right in front of you smells of great danger and you weren't ready to deal with this until you've gotten your way around. A low chuckle escaped his lips at the sight of you so meek, "Uraume, show her the chambers."

Chambers? Your head snapped up, "Chambers? I will be detained?"

"Sleeping chambers," Uraume clarify.

You felt Uraume brush against you as they walked, you stood up slowly, trying to follow their footsteps; only to plant your face into the shoji door. A heads up would have been wonderful, you mumbled to yourself internally. Uraume kept his silence, watching you struggle with the fact that the Shoji door was on your way— they pushed the door wider for you to step out, and you did. our foot caught onto the sill of the door and your body jolted forwards slightly.

You would think that Uraume at least had the basic decency to guide you to follow them, but they had took a few steps ahead. No worries, you'd rely on your hearing for so long that you have grown accustomed to this kind of behavior. Your fingers laced against each other, following their steps and making sure that you hadn't lost them along the way.

"When you address him by 'My Lord', what is he? King of the forest? Head of village? Owner of a shrine?" You questioned in confusion, "And who was that lady? She could have been nicer to my hair."

"We do not do nice here. Be glad that My Lord has decided to spare your measly life unlike the adults there . . ." Uraume muttered back, turning around the corner.

Which you didn't hear. Hence, the loud 'thud' your body made as you fell off the end of the engawa, unknown about the sharp corner. Your palm dug onto the ground, little pebbles irritated the surface of your skin, digging into your flesh. A loud hiss escaped your lips at the sting and Uraume's footsteps close in, "This is quite troublesome."

"It would not have been if you had told me about that corner, Waraume."

"Uraume," they corrected.

"Uraume," you fixed.

They didn't help you up. You kept yourself stranded on the ground, one of the zori sandals you wore came off when you took a tumble and you had no idea where it had landed. After seconds, you brushed your palms onto the fabric of the kimono, tapping the ground to find the missing piece of footwear. This is humiliating.

When your fingertips grazed over it, you cheered internally, placing it upright. Uraume grunted, "Be quick, I do not have all the time in this world to wait for your tardiness."

"Tardiness? I am not being tardy. I need help, and nobody is willing to give me the help I needed," you grumbled under your breath, putting the sandal back on begrudgingly.

Uraume shuffled back onto the engawa, letting you climb back on yourself. This time, you try to keep quiet and put all ears up to listen to their footsteps, and you did. Horribly.

Uraume stopped right in front of a shoji door. Their fingers gripped onto the back of your obi, pulling you into a halt. They slid the door open widely this time, "This is where you will reside. You are to consume three meals a day —breakfast, lunch, and dinner— in the Ooku with the other concubines. They can be . . . distasteful, so keep your mouth shut at all times."

You stood there, "Ooku? Concubines? Surely your Lord wouldn't want a blind concubine, no?"

"He has not said anything about you being a concubine, a command is a command."

Uraume ushered you inside the chamber, "But I do not know when breakfast, lunch, or dinner is," your voice was timid, but Uraume isn't there anymore— They had walked away the moment you stepped inside the chamber, with your arms stretched out, you try to find your way around the room. It was spacious, maybe even bigger than your house in the village.

There is the cabinet. A dresser. A few tokonoma hung on the walls. An ikebana vase rested on the cabinet gingerly, and you hummed. Your fingers touched a circular handle and you slid it open— the oshiire, this was where the fluffy futon was tucked inside. And you touched the soft cotton based bedding, this was better than the thin mattress you used back at home.

Walking around the room, your shin bumped onto a small desk by the corner, a loud groan escaped in between your lips and you rubbed the area in the middle of your leg, "Who puts a table in the corner?" What a poor planning.

Like the usual, you only recognized it is nightfall by the time an owl began hooting right outside your chamber. The gargling in your stomach made you huddle down in pain, when was dinner? Right as you began laying down on the tatami, the door slid open.

"You are late for dinner."

"I don't know what is night. Or day. Or time at all. For one, the owls have been my night radar for . . . ever now," you muttered out, clutching on your stomach, "and I have no sense of direction. I do not know where the Ooku lays beneath all these walls and engawa. Nor do I know where the engawa ends," the reminder of the fall you took earlier made you grow annoyed.

Uraume blow out a soft sigh, they walked inside and lit the lantern by the corner of the room, "My Lord is requesting for your presence. The other concubines are not allowed to eat unless your presence is there."

"Is he supposed to eat with the concubines?"

" . . . Not usually," Uraume grappled onto your bicep, tugging you up, "it is an exception just for today."

"Why isn't he dining with his empress—"

"My Lord has no empress."

"Consorts?"

"No."

The walk to the Ooku is quiet. Uraume walked with purpose, often stopping to make sure you hadn't fall off the engawa like earlier— every time you fall back, Uraume stepped their foot once to notify his presence. You followed them down. And when the two of you reached the Ooku, Uraume took a good look at you.

"Make yourself look presentable."

"Do I not look presentable?"

"You look a mess."

"I am still presentable, am I not here to dine? I have no wants to woo your Lord," you smooth down the fabric of your kimono, puckering your lips slightly at how harsh their words are, "I am starving. I hope you served deer meat."

"Fish."

"Fish is delicious as well."

Uraume pulled the shoji door open, and the smell of food immediately caressed your nostrils. The smell made your stomach gargle even more, but you don't dare step inside— not when the whispers of the concubines made your stomach drop in a way not even the dread from the village did. You swallowed the lump in your throat, waiting for Uraume's next command.

"Step inside."

"Where?" Your whisper made Uraume grunt, they slowly grip the corner of your fingers, dragging you along the room. The tatami mat seemed to dig under your foot more as you walked. Before you could process it, they had helped you sit on the fluffy zabuton, right behind the table full of plates and bowls.

Sukuna's eyes watched you cautiously. He kept his mouth sealed, eyeing the way you sat on your knees on top of the zabuton, tucked to the right where a high ranked concubine should have been sitting. Instead, he had requested for you today. And his request was accepted in begrudging acceptance from the concubines.

Inside the Ooku, you sat there awkwardly. The whispers continue and you grumbled under your breath, you just wanted to dine in peace. A low voice came from your left side, "Eat."

The same voice you heard before. 'My Lord', you mumbled inside your mind. Bowls clanked, and you look around, tapping the table in search of your utensils. This was already humiliating as it is, but the fact that all these people have to wait for you to finish eating before being able to leave was even more humiliating— you end up discarding a lot of food just to make it all stop.

Uraume guided you back to your chambers under Sukuna's command.

You guessed a month passed by in a whim. You kept track of it, every single time the owls made their noise, you try to carve the walls of the chambers with a piece of sharp wood. The deep carve helped you counted the days you have been sitting here inside the chambers. It was ridiculous— the days passed by and every single thing in a day was always the same. Wake up, try to fold the futon, shove it back inside the oshiire as much as it could fit, shut the door and hope it doesn't bust, wait for Uraume to bring you to the Ooku for breakfast, bathe, dilly-dally, lunch, more dilly-dallying, dinner, bathe, bed.

"Dinner is served."

The walk to the Ooku was no longer awkward, you had accepted the fact that this will be your life from now on. 'My Lord'— or Sukuna Ryomen, you heard has made no attempt to talk to you at all, and you were glad. He was clearly occupied with the higher rank concubines, or that's what you assumed.

Exception for tonight, Uraume said. And Sukuna had been dining in the Ooku since you arrived here. Also, that explains why these ladies haven't been the nicest to you. By all means. Bath time was the worst, you wouldn't be surprised when one of your kimono pieces go missing, or your sandals, your socks. Even the soap. Or the wooden bucket you use frequently for water.

The constant bumps on your shoulder when you walked by the engawa, or the way you constantly trip on someone's foot as you walked by. They were doing a pretty damn good job at making you feel like chopped liver, not that you feel at home here anyways. You had no plan to get them to stop, nor do you want to be involved with the higher ranked concubines.

"Eat," Sukuna muttered like the usual.

Your fingers grasped the wooden chopsticks. You weren't a food connoisseur, but the cooks seemed to be in a mood to get married today— the salt made your throat ache, but you swallowed it nonetheless. At least the rice was delicious and it killed the over salty . . . everything.

"Uraume."

Every movement inside the dining hall collapsed. The silence is deafening and your movements stopped along with the others when Sukuna suddenly piqued out for Uraume, "Yes, My Lord?"

"Call the dokumiyaku."

The woman to your right speaks up, "Is there a problem with the food, My Lord?" her soft voice was wonderful— one of the kind you'd expect from a noble woman, although it would have been nice if her attitude matches the softness of her voice, "I'd say it tastes quite exquisite today."

Uraume went off and hoisted a dokumiyaku into the Ooku; you sat there, ready to shove your face inside the food, but your chopsticks were stolen right from your grasp at the last second, "I had not command you to eat, did I?" Sukuna's voice glowered.

You couldn't see his expression, but you stayed quiet. Sukuna faced the poison taster standing in fear right by the shoji, and he spoke out, "Taste this woman's food," he commanded.

And by woman, he meant yours. Everyone's eyes panned towards your platter of food. The only thing about this was somehow you were the only one unknown of all this, but you waited. You felt a presence right to your side and you scoot away in response.

"My Lord, there seems to be no problem with anything . . . Though," and then it hits you that the man was trying your food, your food. Sukuna had called a poison taster for your food for whatever reason he believed, "it is quite salty. A little more than . . . usual, and too much salt can cause complications to the body—"

"Hence, it is poison?"

" . . . If digested too much, yes."

"Uraume, discard the platter."

"My food," you mumbled, "surely I will be getting another platter, right?"

Sukuna grunts. He took a look at Uraume, gesturing to his platter as a hint to hand it to you, Sukuna hates human food anyways. Uraume complied, moving the platter onto your table. The concubines brows furrowed at the sight of his generosity— this was the first time Sukuna had done something as humane as this. The jealousy that had been brewing inside their heart boiled even more at the sight, the silence was there, but their hearts were noisy; sending knowing glances at each other as if to make sure every single one of them inside that room saw what just happened.

After Sukuna's command to continue eating, everyone continued. You chowed down the better tasting food and finished everything. How come he had notice something was wrong? Were your expressions saying too much?

Deespite that, you were thankful enough to finish the platter. Also, why does he have a poison taster? Aren’t curses immune to them?

A few months passed by slow, the concubines were being miserable. Especially the higher ranked ones, you would have thought mentions of them being pure evil were just myths— but they were right. You had been miserable all these months.

It started off small like a few months ago. Bath time problems. Missing clothing. Then it escalates to tampered foods, light framing. For example, last month, you had gotten framed for breaking one of the concubine's priced jewelry she custom made from one of the rarest gem in all of Japan. You took the judgement like a rock, with pointed fingers at you, you don't bother at all. Sukuna dismissed the problem, he doesn't sound like he cared enough to be bothered by a broken gem.

Or the other time another high ranked concubine told Sukuna about you somehow being a spy sent by your village to put an end to him. Sukuna blatantly shut down the ridiculous statement by saying he had killed every single person in that village and the said concubine was sent to the chamber . . . not for sleeping ones.

Sukuna doesn’t bother with measly troubles as this. Perhaps it’s the fact he was bounded to these women with lust— he has no problem throwing them away when they get too troublesome. Although, he did have to admit, you had done nothing but be troublesome for him.

Yet, you piqued his interest to the brim. Perhaps it is also the fact that you couldn’t see him that you were not spewing out words of disbelief. Most of his concubines fear him, they feared death. But you? You act like this was another trip around the village and lived life to the fullest.

He loathes dining in the Ooku, the concubines there —most of them— acted insufferable. The tone of their voice differ from the way they spoke to people of lower ranks. Now, Sukuna doesn’t bother with how they acted to the shrine maids or the workers, though his ears twitched every time he overhears them talking about you like you were just a hindrance to them.

The first time Sukuna laid his eyes upon your figure, he had been itching to kill you. To just slice you open and watch the crimson paint the ground like he did to every other people in the village that night, it took him by surprise that he had even commanded Uraume to bring you here.

These concubines were chosen by him, personally. Either that or . . . They had rightfully given themselves by their own want. Sukuna fixed his black hakama as he sat down inside his chambers, the darkness consumed him; and the only light were from the lanterns Uraume had forced inside the room.

“Uraume.”

“Have the concubines been giving that woman a hard time?” Sukuna questioned, shutting his eyes, “They will stop at nothing to get rid of that woman from the shrine.”

“Seems like the concubines are a bit . . . Envious.”

“Envy?” Sukuna questioned in amusement, he stared up the ceiling of his chambers, “Of what?”

“You seem to be favoring her.”

“That blind wench? Favoring? I’m just merely toying with her.” He scoffed.

“Mm.”

Sukuna grunted, “There will be time when I get rid of her— she’s utterly irrelevant and useless.”

Uraume hums softly, “She has no manners, no class, is never on time, takes long baths, mismtaches her outfits often, unable to take care of her looks, and is just . . . Terrible to look after. She is quite troublesome, I’d appreciate if you do get rid of that woman,” they finished in annoyance, “she go on about falling off the engawa and blamed it on me. How rude.”

“She lacks the vision.”

“And common sense.”

Sukuna leaned his chin onto one of his knuckles, his thought reeled back to the way you seemed to be all smiles despite the wrong-doings of the other concubines. He was right, you put no mind into the stuff that revolved around you right now and lived life like you always do— clearly, it shows how much you had been through to be able to accept these kinds of doings with open heart.

Uraume grumbled under their breath, “She lacks the knowledge of time. She lacks the knowledge of etiquette. She is quite the messy eater that even the maids get tired of scrubbing her outfits, it is about time that you get rid of her, My Lord.”

“It will come.”

A sliver of smile appeared on Uraume’s lips and they bowed their head down, “I will be waiting.”

You held back a light sneeze, idle on the futon. Your sleepwear tangled lightly, wondering how you were supposed to be sleeping in such complex materials— you thought of discarding them and sleep with just your skin on, but it would be shameful for Uraume to see first thing in the morning if you hadn’t wake up.

Your eyes were wide open, blinking. The darkness that covered your vision felt suffocating, and you breathe in softly and let the air back out loudly. Your back ached as the rough tatami dug into the futon. Today had been a bad day, you had managed to fall off the engawa once more when one of the concubines, you assume, had tripped you while you walked by.

Two, you spilled your grilled fish and didn’t get another one as change. You tried to complain to anyone. And three, someone had taken your obijime during bath time and you had nothing to hold your obi up. So, you walked towards your chambers holding up the piece of clothing your limbs turning into a makeshift obijime.

This was childish, you thought.

You stood up, the kosode faltering a bit and the oversized hakama Uraume gave to you were annoying. Not only were they too big, they had refused to change anything to fit you.

You slowly slid out of the room, tapping on the walls to navigate your way out. In all honesty, you were not supposed to be roaming out after dark. Uraume frequently goes on to check, but they stop after a certain amount of time— you walked down the hall, finding your way turning corners after corners trying to remember the directions to the garden you came across while exploring alone the other month.

“Running away so soon?”

You stumbled over your foot at the sudden voice and fell face first onto the wooden engawa, the pain registering seconds later into your nose and forehead. A hiss escaped your lips as you scoot aside, sitting on your knees, “Who is speaking?”

“Your Lord.”

“Sukuna?” You confirmed.

The no answer was an answer and you sighed, “How may I be as of help, My Lord?” You murmured out, rubbing the tip of your nose.

“You? Think I need help?”

“You might, which is why I am asking,” an amused scoff went past your lips and he raised a brow at your words, nobody dared to say that to him. Not even Uraume, “I was . . . Heading to the restroom.”

“Wrong direction.”

You freeze. He owned this place, of course he knew everything, a nervous laugh rumbled from the deepest part of your body, “Oh, it seems like I have made a mistake. Please, excuse me then, My Lord.”

He drawls out again, “You are quite the bad liar, wench.”

You retaliate, “Excuse me?” Had he just insulted you? Wench? Oh my goodness, if he weren’t so powerful, you would have your fist all the way up his bottom that it shows up when he opens his mouth! “Do not address me as such. I am not a wench.”

He scoffed, “You’re pitiful.”

“I am not.”

“All smiles under peer pressure, my concubines are giving you a hard time, are they not?” He hummed in amusement, adjusting his black colored kosode hanging by his broad shoulders, “I do not know whether you are being brave or foolish. You are a mere toy for me to enjoy, and until that enjoyment ends, I am to keep you alive and breathing.”

“And once it ends?”

“You will be discarded like every other person,” he spoke with such ease that it made vomit pile in your throat, you were kept here for the sake of his amusement while you were trying to stay alive, “nobody would choose a blind wench, not even humans. You would serve as nothing but a toy to anyone out there, surely you’d be appreciative of the royalty I give you?”

You gasped in horrid, “Appreciative? Over this?! You are insufferable, and terrible. Yes, you are terrible and disgusting.”

He barks out a rancid laugh, “That so?”

“Disgusting!”

You lift your hakama to prevent tripping and walked forwards only to step over . . . Nothing. And the tumble sent you face first into the ground below. Damn that engawa!

“Fool.”

Sukuna’s heavy footsteps began echoing as he walked around the corner, leaving you to complain on your own, blaming the hakama over your fall. The soil stuck beneath your nails as you pushed yourself up, holding the hakama in embarrassment. All that talk and you fall after, shame!

You stood there. The tremble in your legs stood you up there for a moment, graveling in your own shame. After a moment, you found yourself climbing back up onto the engawa, sauntering down the hall in continue to find the garden you accidentally came across some time ago.

Unlike the other concubines, you don’t care about that fiend. Fiend is the right word, he is now a fiend since you are a wench to him. How dare he degrade you like that? Even if nobody was there to witness it— still, how terrible of him. Maybe the folklore was right, maybe he is as terrible.

Ugh. You stomp your foot down on the engawa in annoyance. Not only did he manage to foul your already foul mood, you also did not find the garden even after an hour of roaming around endless corners, slowly lowering yourself onto grounds just to pat over the ground seeking for the familiar feeling of the bushes you touched and seeking for the slick rock that stopped you from toppling over the small pond.

You end up tangled under the blankets of your futon, angrily tugging on the warm sheet like your life depends on it. No, actually, you were channeling your anger towards Sukuna to the poor thing, cursing it under your breath as you kicked your legs in annoyance.

Before then, you had fallen asleep in fits of rage. The crease in between your brows deepened in your sleep, Sukuna plaguing your dreams. You woke up early like a fresh bucket of water had dampen you, earlier than usual. You slip out of your room with a towel and a change of kimono the maids had packed in sets so you wouldn’t mix the colors up— a warm bath without any of the concubines up felt like a breath of fresh air, you tied the obijime just right.

No missing sandals. No mismatched socks. You walked back to your chambers, tidying up the futon and shoving it into the oshiire as much as it could fit in. A low rumble of hunger reverberated and you held your tummy, sitting on your knees, waiting for Uraume to come fetch you.

And when they did, they were fairly surprised to see you up and dressed well. You feel their fingers curl around yours, pulling you out of the chambers. You trudged alongside them, entering the Ooku proudly. Chest puffed up, like you hadn’t been loudly cursing the pink haired curse into the sheets of your futon.

Sukuna’s many eyes panned to you, scoffing under his breath when you sat on your usual spot. Already reaching out for the chopsticks, “Had I given permission for you to eat?”

“I do not need anybody’s permission to eat,” yes, that was great, you thought already poking on the white fluffy rice in an attempt to rile him up.

And you sure did.

His brows deepened, “You dare defy me?”

“I dare!”

His concubines gasp in shock, surely Sukuna wouldn’t let you out of this alive. His maids and servants have died for various reasons— even the little ones, his outfit folded in a wrong way. Death. His room slightly dirty. Death. Caught shit talking him. Death.

Sukuna stared down at you, riled up. All while you were blissfully feeding yourself the warm rice. A delightful moan vibrating inside you, “This is delicious rice.”

Uraume blinked their eyes in surprise before actively trying to stop you. However, Sukuna waves one of his hand towards them, “Leave us.”

Uraume wastes no time ushering out the other concubines— some of them stifling laughter of satisfaction knowing you were in deep trouble after your stunt. They walked out elegantly, bowing down to Sukuna. You were blissfully unaware of the tremble on his shoulders, the way his nostrils fumed at your action.

“You dare shame me in front of my people?”

“In no way am I trying to shame you, I was just simply dining and appreciating how delicious this food is,” his arm swerved, hurling his platter of food aside. The loud crash echoed in the dining hall and you froze.

What the fuck just happened?

Your chopsticks hovered over the pickled radish on the side, the air blown out of you at the noise. Sure you were planning to rile him up, not to this extent though. You couldn’t see but the ominous aura he pushed out of him made you shudder in fear, the pressure on your shoulders added tenfold when his hand lands on your nape.

Oh, no. Is this the moment he crushed your neck and you die? Or is the moment he hurled you like he did to that platter? Or—

“You have the guts for someone who lacks the vision,” he spat out in annoyance, tone deep and brooding, “do you understand the position you are in? Know your place.”

“Respect is earned, if you do not respect me, I will not respect you,” you muttered out through gritted teeth, your chopsticks trembled from how hard you were holding it and you breath in heavily, “you dare address me as a wench, you do not know me.”

“I said, know your place.”

“I refuse.”

His hand clamped tighter on your nape, pulling your head back. You widened your eyes, “You dare—?!”

“Shut your mouth.”

You clamped your lips tightly shut at his command, briefly realizing how overpowerful this man is. You weren’t sure even 100 men could go against him. Sukuna leans in, his lips touching your earlobe, “You dare defy me?”

“ . . . No, My Lord.”

“Know your place.”

You stayed silent because you weren’t sure if you were to agree, you’d be able to keep your mouth shut next time. He’d surely have forgotten about this in a bit, no?

No. He doesn’t forget.

Patience and Sukuna don’t make a great pair, he has no time for patience. If he doesn’t like something, he gets rid of it quickly. Including humans, he has no single care for them. For him, they’re useless.

It was unnerving every time meal time rolled in because he has no idea what kind of stunt you’re planning. The concubines were surprised to see you still standing, they had even prepared tear works and nicely arranged compliments after the news of your death pass by. But, it never came.

Much like you did the other day, you continue to test his short string of patient. Sukuna waved at Uraume to drag you out of the dining hall before he takes a leave to blow his own steam off. Gosh, how can one measly human be so infuriating?

You have continuously succeeded in making him a fool out of himself. It was frustrating, at the same time, Sukuna couldn’t kill you. Not now anyways.

Hence the reason why he had arranged your meal time privately with him from today on. The concubines weren’t elated at the fact that Sukuna has yet again retracted back from eating with them— the reason he came in the first place was to keep his eyes on you anyways. None of the concubines mattered to him.

You were guided into his chambers, “Uraume? Are you sure you are guiding me to the dining hall? The walk today feels longer.”

“Shut it.”

“No. This is a felony.”

“What about everything in here is not?” Uraume snaps, sliding the door open and Sukuna was already inside, one leg up and his hand leaned onto his knee

You were sat next to Sukuna, reaching out for the chopsticks. Once again, that devious smile on your face plays out, “You never cease to annoy your Lord.”

“I do not understand you.”

“You are very stupid that you make animals look smart to me,” Sukuna rumbled, he watched you shove rice into your mouth happily in an attempt to rile him up, “you do understand that from now on you are to dine under my watch and my watch only?”

You froze. And he smiled in satisfaction, “Nobody would be there to assist you.”

A few moments pass by and you suddenly scrambled up, only to be tugged back down, one of his hands clamped onto your wrist, the other onto your ankle. They tugged you back ominously slow into a sitting position, you try to calm yourself in that fleeting second, “Why so scared now? Surely the courage is still left there as when you always shame me in front of the concubines?”

“Fiend!”

He rolled his tongue behind his lips in victory, “What is new?”

“Monster!”

“I have heard worse.”

“Ugly!”

“You are blind,” he deliberately copied a yawn out of people, leaning back to relax himself.

“I don’t need to see to be able to judge that you are ugly!” You point your finger accusingly towards him— no, to the space beside him that Sukuna coaxed himself to look at the space you pointed at slowly. A lopsided grin forming onto his lips, “You are wretched!”

One of his lower eyes shifted towards you, unnerving. And even if you couldn’t see, the shudder strikes you down once more, “Please, kill me now.”

“Careful of your wish, little wench.”

“Do it.”

“I’ll be your guest.”

You waited for the pain to hit, shutting your eyes. But it never did, and you looked around, it was still dark everywhere, of course. Had the action been so quick that you couldn’t decipher the pain before dying? Or had he not done it?

“For someone who dare to defy me, you seem pretty intent on dying, huh?”

How dare he! You narrow your eyes, “You are pulling laughter out of this,” he scoffed at your hypocrisy, he was doing what you were doing, “shut your mouth.”

“Or what?”

“Wretched fiend!”

He hums, “I heard you the first time you told me.”

Sukuna wanted to keep you for the fun of it longer, this was amusing.

“Uraume, does Lord Sukuna eat humans for a meal?” You questioned them.

“Yes.”

“ . . . Is blood equivalent to water for him?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“What a disgusting fiend,” Uraume’s head snapped so fast towards your way that they could only let their jaw clench as they guided you down the hall, towards Sukuna’s chambers.

Nothing had change much for the past few months, you continue to pull at his string and he continues getting angry. But he has made no attempts to kill nor to get rid of you, “My Lord,” Uraume greets softly, sliding the door open for you to walk in.

You no longer fear Sukuna. Sure, he was a menace at times, testing your waters of fear. But strangely, you had gotten used to that practical that it doesn’t bother you anymore— he can try all he wants to be scary, it will never work.

“Tell me, are you a virgin?”

You sputter out the rice towards . . . God knows where. Cheeks warming at the sudden question, “What kind of indecent question is that? I suggest you to shut your mouth this instant,” you scolded in embarrassment.

“I have two. Which one?”

Two!? You would have thought that a curse being not so folklore was shocking enough, but he has two mouths. No wonder he eats humans for a living and slurps blood like a vampire, “That’s . . . Odd. In a very displeasing way.”

Sukuna grunt, “I have four arms.”

“Four!? What else? Two heads and nose?”

“Four eyes.”

“What?”

He grumbled, “You are not deaf, no?”

“So you are a monster,” it wouldn’t have been the first time Sukuna has heard the term, he could care less about it, because he himself agreed to it. He is a monster, what is there to be ashamed of?

“That is right,” he boasts out, chest puffed out.

“You sound proud.”

“I am proud.”

“Nobody would be,” you mumbled, wiping your lips with the sleeve of your kimono in a way that made Sukuna groan out, “what are you groaning about?”

“Even I, a monster, have better manners.”

“I don’t care.”

“You are doing terrific at pulling the end of me,” he tells you, watching you eat your food soundly like another walk around the estate. Your eyes shut in delight as you took a bite out of the grilled fish, Uraume serves them everyday but you don’t seem to be bored of it— unlike the concubines who has the time to complain about it every time Sukuna was not around.

Every single one Sukuna has heard. He doesn’t bother to indulge in it.

“Also.”

His ears twitched, already annoyed, “Speak.”

“Why do you have a poison taster?”

“According to the name—” you cut him off immediately.

“I understand what they do, though, I’m curious because are you not immune to poison?” Sukuna blinked, you were right. He is indeed immune to poisons, he has no idea how long that poison taster has been living inside the estate.

All he knew was that he had one. Apparently, Uraume had hired one to look after the concubines, it would be a nuisance to get rid of every single body all at once.

“I leave Uruaume do the estate handling.”

“So,” you conclude, “you are lazy.”

Sukuna raised a brow, your appearance has trained him patience. Something he has not been fond of for as long as he lived, the way your words nonchalantly flow out as you cocked your head to the side, “No. I simply cannot be bothered to do all that, why should I do such things when I can lay back?”

“Lazy and deluded.”

“Virgin.”

You stammer out, “I did not answer that!”

“You are defensive enough to tell me the truth,” he plays your game, “virgin.”

“Stop saying such things!” You slammed the table, letting the dishes clatter against each other in unison, “And why are we speaking of my sexual experience!?”

“Curiosity.”

You angrily asked, “And if I am not a virgin?”

“No man would want a blind significant other, not only are you a burden— you are too deluded to realize you are a burden,” he points out and you got offended at his words because clearly it hits close to home. Once realizing the effect, he smirks, “and no infant would be honored to grow in that wretched womb of yours.”

You clenched your fists. “If I am such burden, then I should leave. Have a good day, My Lord.”

The lack of “terms of endearment” from you made Sukuna wonder, has he finally pulled your strings? He smiled in victory watching you stumble out of his chambers like a chased fugitive, walking away, even leaving the shoji door open widely. How adorable.

You walked down the engawa in annoyance, the indescribable ache in your heart bloomed even more. No infant would be honored to grow in that wretched womb of yours. How could he say that? If he were to talk about your lack of vision, you would have retaliated because it is something you couldn’t change— but to say something so harsh.

It was to be expected from someone like him. Still, it aches.

A few days pass by. You blatantly refused to come out of your chambers, Uraume doesn’t bother, less work for them to do. You sat there facing the doors, you had been doing some thinking. Maybe if you declined meals, Sukuna would eventually get tired and throw you out. Or even better, end it all for you!

Despite the growing hunger, you kept yourself sane. Sitting on the same spot, dressed in the same kimono, not moving an inch. Days go by, you’d go out every once in a while to fetch water and leftovers to feed inside the privacy of your chambers. Sukuna hasn’t said a thing about the lack of your appearance.

Of course he hasn’t. He’s a monster, he cares of no one but himself! What were you expecting, (Name)? For him to come by, drop to his knees, and start apologizing for his wrongs?

He’s a curse for gosh sake.

You crossed your arms over your chest. And you hear the shoji door to your room slide open, you part your lips, speaking the default sentence you have told Uraume for the past few days, “Uraume, I do not want to—”

“I am not Uraume.”

You blinked, “You don’t sound like them.”

His voice trickles calmly, “You don’t wish to dine in my chambers? As you wish. From today on, we will dine right here in your chambers,” your jaw slacks and clenched over and over at the conclusion he made, “any denial?”

“I refuse. This is my chamber.”

“This is my estate.”

“Still!” You complained like a petulant little brat, “I do not wish to dine with a monster. I wish to dine in this humble abode myself.”

“Denied.”

You gasped, “You selfish—”

“Uraume, dinner,” Sukuna commanded boredly with a yawn, waving one of his arms.”

“Uraume, no dinner!”

Anxiety tightens in your body. He had blatantly ignored your request and you felt assaulted, your safe space was getting bombarded by his ruthless tendency! You stood up, “I command you to leave my chambers this instant,” you point your finger out, body taut.

Sukuna glowered, “You dare command your Lord?”

“You are not my Lord.”

Sukuna stepped towards you, his fingers curled against your wrist into a lock. And your facade falters against his touch, this was back to square one in a flesh— when you had anger him for the first time. The heaviness weighing in your throat grew and then you blow into fits of coughs, all the words caught up in a second. Sukuna pushed your wrist away from pointing at him, “You will dine with me, whether you want it or not. I will force feed you like a bird.”

“No.”

“You are confident the second my touch disappear,” he points out, his hand already hovering right above your throat, ready to pounce, “have the courage to say something with my touch.”

“I can too.”

And his fingers curled over your throat, pressing the sides of it tight enough for you to start gasping for air, “Let me go,” you manage to choke out before he lets go of your throat with a low chuckle, “you are sick in the head, Sukuna.”

“My Lord,” he corrects.

You blurt out, “You are no Lord of mine.”

Sukuna again, chuckles at the answer. Never in his years of life have he ever met someone as stubborn as a mule like you— oddly enough, he couldn’t find the heart to slice you open like he does to anybody else. The heart. What an odd thing to say, he doesn’t have a heart at all.

He’s utter crazy. If crazy had a definition written out, you’d see his name as an example. You stood there before sitting down on your knees. Sukuna sat down next to you; awfully close to you, the musky smell of earth clung onto him, and for once, you wondered if he bathes constantly or if it is just how he smells daily.

No men could smell that good with no bath. Right?

“Are you going to feed yourself or do I need to do the feeding for you?” He questioned, too daring. You know everything that comes out of his mouth was practically something he would do, and you somehow tested the waters once more.

“I am not hungry.”

“I can hear your stomach growling from three rooms away.”

“Do you have four ears too?” You annoyedly asked him, keeping your hands glued onto your lap.

Sukuna shuffled slightly on his spot. He notices the devilish crinkle by the corner of your eyes, as you shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly, “Do I?” He hums softly. Puckering his lips, Sukuna stared down at you.

The way your feet shifted constantly under your weight, the way your fingers curled and uncurled. Or the way your eyelids flutter slowly, lashes batting against your skin. Your lips pucker and pulled back, waiting for his next move.

Gosh, Sukunq has never felt this annoyed. He’s a curse, he shouldn’t have feelings. For a mortal at that— he wiped his palm over his face, sobering himself up from the plaguing thoughts of you, “Eat or I will force it in you.”

“I said, I am not hungry.”

Your lips part to utter more complaints to him, but before the words could leave the tip of your tongue, Sukuna shoved a piece of radish into your mouth. Your jaw clamped shut, and you began crunching on it. The sour sensation bursts in your mouth like an explosion, it’s been days since you took a bite out of the pickled radish.

“It’s . . . Delicious.”

Sukuna scoffed, “Uraume is a good cook.”

“You made them cook?”

“For us. The concubines has too much time to tamper on your food,” he muttered under his breath, “are you going to dine yourself or do I have to feed you?”

“I don’t know,” you tease, “I do not feel like eating myself.”

Sukuna scowled, “You are making a fool out of me.”

“You gave the choice. I answered. You made a fool out of yourself,” you nonchalantly replied, “also, oh no, I struggle with my chopsticks. I think I will need help.”

“Uraume,” Sukuna calls out.

You stopped him, “I can eat by myself, My Lord.”

“I thought so.”

The fact that you’re still alive right now is a miracle. Sukuna had been stuck to your side for ages now— counting 6 months, according to Uraume. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem to mind your presence at all.

Meals have been more relaxed. The teasing added up (on your side). Sukuna hadn’t let his concubines get away with fucking with you, his four eyes have come in handy with keeping tabs on you. Especially during bath time. He doesn’t follow you in, you had reprimanded him once for trying and he stopped.

Surprise.

From then on, he stood outside the bathe house. Arms crossed, concubines wonder what business he had waiting here. And were quite surprised when they find out you were the one he was waiting for— Sukuna commanded Uraume to get you the finest jewelries from all around, the finest fabrics to tailor into home wear, and the finest dine in experience.

“My Lord, do you not think that you are giving too much attention to that blind bitch?” One of the higher ranked concubines questioned in a sultry tone, her slender fingers rubbing Sukuna’s shoulder in a way he doesn’t enjoy.

In fact, he hasn’t been in bodily contact with any of his concubines even if they had indirectly suggested so. He brushed them off like they don’t matter more than a leaf on the ground, “Dare to repeat that?”

“We are neglected,” the other spoke, red kimono flowing elegantly along the tatami mat, “it is quite unfair for her to receive all your attention, and she isn’t even a concubine. Surely, you wouldn’t want to make love with . . . That.”

The way they spoke of you made his blood boil, but he kept his composure calm. Sitting there with two of them latched by his side, fingers tracing the shape of his chest languidly— their eyes screaming ‘make love to me, My Lord’. However, he paid no interest to them. Their fingers traced lower than he liked them to, and with a simple shrug, they were strewn off.

“I have no interest in making love with any of you.”

“My Lord—”

There was one thing he hates more than humans and that is weak humans like such. With a flick of his hand, the hall was blood filled. No screams of agony were fit in before these women’s lifeless bodies dropped loudly. Sukuna brushed his outfit, the splatter tattered his hakama, eliciting an annoyed grunt.

He wastes no time walking out of the chaos, Uraume eyed the condition of the room and instantly understood, “Get rid of them.”

“Understood, My Lord.”

“Inform me of (Name)’s presence.”

“She’s currently in her chambers, she had requested to be brought to the garden today . . .” Uraume bows his head down, retreating into the bloody hall. It wasn’t the first time they had to clean over Sukuna’s mess, and they know it wouldn’t be the last. To think that his Lord would do such things for a mortal was surprising, even surprising is an understatement.

“I will assist her,” Sukuna grabbed the napking Uraume offered, “get rid of the living concubines as well, I have no need for them anymore.”

“Get rid of them?”

“Kill them all.”

Sukuna took the fabric in between fingers, scrubbing off remnants of blood that etched onto his skin. His thundering footsteps echoed along the hall, the engawa shuddered under his weight as he sauntered down towards your chamber. He cleared his throat, sliding the door open.

There you were, sitting in the middle of the room. On your knees and fingers laced against each one of the other, he huffs at the pitiful sight, “Do you await for Uraume’s presence in that position?”

Hearing his voice made a small smile pop up on your face, your head bobs slowly, “I occasionally bump onto the furnitures here, and it doesn’t leave the most un-painful marks. I would rather sit here and wait.”

“Surely, you could have said something.”

“And bother Uraume? As much as I love bothering them with my constant nagging, I do feel somehow . . . Emphatic,” Sukuna blinked, his bottom pair of eyes looking around the room. Neatly made up, he had commanded Uraume to have the maids clean your room every morning during breakfast, “where is Uraume anyway? They are supposed to be assisting me to the garden.”

“Uraume is caught up in . . . An important matter as of currently,” the lie smoothly rolled out, “so, I will be assisting you today.”

“Really? I do not take you for a garden type of person— curse,” you correct yourself last second with a teasing smile.

Sukuna couldn’t hide the tug of his lips, he cleared his throat, “Shall we then?”

The invitation elicits a question, “Do you have your hand out? Because if I must remind you of the lack of vision once more, I will walk out by myself into the garden.”

“And fall off the engawa again?”

“I haven’t fall off in a long time,” you rolled your eyes, trying to find his hand, “and nobody cared to give me precautions over the estate’s turns. Am I supposed to learn everything by a miracle?”

“I would not let you fall.”

“How can I trust a curse?”

“By letting this curse prove you so,” you hummed when the warmth of his hand engulfed yours, slowly pulling you up onto your feet, “shall we?”

“I am unused to you acting so . . . Humane, it is quite odd,” you whisper out so softly that you couldn’t even hear it, almost.

His hand, so rough. Used to kill, used for the negatives of the world, now felt so little under your touch. The lingering warmth he felt under your fingertips made his chest flutter— he is a curse, he should not be getting attached to a mortal. In a way, he was signing up for heartbreak and heartbreak means weakness.

Sukuna and weakness don’t sit well together.

He averted his gaze out to the greens of his estate, guiding you around the corner, making sure your steps aren’t overlapping each other. Despite the brewing dilemma, he still handled you with care. Care. Odd feeling, his lower pair of eyes discreetly pan towards your form. Your dull eyes staring forward. If he thought about it, somehow be would love to thank your lack of vision.

Sukuna isn’t entirely attractive. To humans, at least. Two pair of eyes, two pair of arms, two mouths? For all he knows, even the concubines spoke ill of his appearance— they fear for their lives, and in his eyes they were just a flock of chicken prying for safety by going with the flow. The disarray look they had when he chose them proved enough. Pathetic.

"We have arrived," he announces out loud, "watch your step."

You took small steps on the wooden stairs leading down into the garden, his fingers curled against yours as guidance, "My Lord."

"Yes?" So soft, so unsuiting. He thought to himself, but the sight of you just made it come out.

"I do not know much about curses and their . . . Bathing schedules, do you not realize that you awfully smell of . . . Blood today?" Ah, yes. He swallowed slowly, his thumb caressed the back of your hand unconsciously, "do not get me wrong, usually you reek off earth and incense. Today however?"

"I heard you the first time, do not elaborate further," he hushed you in annoyance, "I killed the concubines."

You freeze. "Why?"

"That is what I do," he lied again, looking up at the sky. It was already a big blow to his ego that he dissected his concubines because they spoke ill of you— he does not need to elaborate further than that, no?

"I am sensing lies," Sukuna tightened his grip on your hand, "I don't want to pry."

Curse this. "They spoke ill of you," he fessed up, looking around the estate, "nobody speaks ill of you, but me."

"You are weird." So weird.

Sukuna grunt, "Am I now?" The teasing in his voice echoed softly into your ears. This is so unlike him at all that it scares you, the warmth in his voice differs from months before and you inhaled softly.

"I am a bit scared."

"Of me?"

"The new you."

Sukuna watches you step deeper into the garden, his steps followed behind yours slowly. Two pairs of eyes constantly looking left and right for any danger that lurked even in the estate, "Why do you attract yourself to such places as this? Quite boresome."

"It smells nice in here."

"Nice?" The sweet smell of flowers made his throat ache, it us anything but nice in here. But he held himself back from ruining the moment, arms crossed tightly.

You took small steps along the path, limbs stretched out to touch every single thing around the garden. Even if you have been here so many times, you were still one curious being, "Do you know what flower this is? Any knowledge?"

Sukuna spared a glance at the flower, "That is . . . A pink flower," he answered.

"I understand if you do not know the name of it, it has a funny shape," you touched the soft petals of it, and Sukuna's jaw slacked at the shame of not knowing his own flowers, "I like this one. I like this flower. Uraume is also quite clueless about the flowers around the estate. And they get pretty annoyed when I ask about it all the time."

You inhaled close to the flower, "Although I find it odd that it has no particular fragrance like other flowers."

Sukuna watched you from a good distance, the delicate touch against those flowers. And he took a good look at himself, the bloodied hakama, the way he looked. Surely, you wouldn't like how he looks . . . He remembered the shock on your face when he told you about the extra features. Monster. Fiend. Disgusting. It should have not bothered him that much, it didn't back then. But now that he's seen you in a different light, it does bother him to no end.

"My Lord."

"Mm?"

"I am ready to head back now, I think I'll ask Uraume to plant more of these flowers," you mumbled the first part to him and the rest to yourself, trying to find yourself back to him.

Sukuna lets you navigate on your own. And when you grasp his girthy arms, he felt himself relax, "Then we shall head back," he muttered, hiding the lower pair of his arms behind his back.

“Uraume.”

“My Lord?”

Sukuna looks out the window, grunting out softly, “I need a re-decor on that woman’s room, she keeps getting herself into trouble,” he muttered out, his eyes tracking down the birds flying around the estate, “and that pink flower in the garden. Plant more of those.”

Uraume raised their brow, “A re-decor?”

“A re-decor is what I said,” Uraume nods their head, unable to fight back. They had felt the softness that shaped around Sukuna gradually along the months, and as much as Sukuna tries to keep his sharp facade around you, Uruame isn’t stupid. They didn’t need long to put two and two together.

The curse, Sukuna Ryomen is in love with a mortal. Sukuna and love don’t go together, everyone knows that.

“I understand, I will have someone do a re-decor on her room,” they retracted away from Sukuna’s chambers, “and the flowers.”

Uraume lifted their gaze, the estate has been serene. Sukuna has not been furious once ever since you, he has been . . . Patient. Everything Sukuna isn’t— well, he is now. And it’s extremely odd! Swallowing back their words, they walked down the hall, feet slowly bringing themselves towards your chambers.

Following Sukuna’s orders, they had got rid of any living concubines from the estate. So, the estate was void of anyone besides the maids and well . . . You. Though, you were clueless of it. But you do wonder where all the concubines have went since you haven’t been exactly losing anything in particular.

Uraume slid the door open, expecting you inside. However, your chambers void of your figure, usually sat neatly in the middle waiting for them. Uraume furrowed their brows, “(Name)?”

“Uraume?”

Your voice came from outside. They tracked you down immediately, finding your form hunched over a bush, “I have fallen and I need help,” you tell them. Uraume took a good look at you hunched over the thick bush, green leaves stuck to your hair and outfit, you were a mess.

“How long have you been stuck there?” Uraume swallowed back a laugh.

“I do not know,” voice ripe with sheepishness, you wiggled your legs, “I cannot tell, I have lost count of it. I felt the need to guide myself to the garden alone today, but of course, this happens.”

“How have you managed to take a tumble?”

“I have fallen off the edge of the engawa yet again.”

Uraume had wasted no time informing of the matter to Sukuna right after they helped you up, brushed the leaves off your kimono, and made sure you spent a good time in the garden.

“(Name) has taken a tumble.”

Sukuna’s head panned up. He was quiet briefly, “The engawa, again?”

Uraume hums softly. “Yes.”

“Re-decor the whole estate,” he bluntly spoke, surprising Uraume mildly, “as fast as possible.”

So the whole redecorating begins, and as much as the maids and Uraume tries to keep their mouth shut about it. There will come the time when you find out the strongest curse has told the whole estate to shut their mouth about redecorating everything to favor you.

“Uraume,” you call out. Oddly enough, Uraume had moved you to a different chamber, much emptier, futon neatly folded and there weren’t any sharp corners at all. However, they did tell you this would be temporary.

It all started making sense when the maids would announce you about being careful around new things around the estate you do not remember anything of, “Mm?”

“Why has the estate change?”

You started the interrogation slowly, wanting Uraume to think you were this stupid and clueless woman asking innocent questions. Uraume grunted softly, “My Lord thought it needed some . . . Changes.”

“It is very (Name) friendly.”

“There is no point in fooling her anymore, she is not stupid.”

Mustering all the courage, Uraume turns their back to face Sukuna. His black hakama hung loose. Bare body, thundering footsteps, “Fooling me? You have been fooling me?” You gasped dramatically, throwing your hand over your mouth.

Sukuna glances towards Uraume, signaling for them to leave. And so leave they did, rushed footsteps leaving you behind. Sukuna’s hand brushed against the small of your back, guiding you back to your chambers. Your newly re-decorated chambers— very you, very carefully made, “I assumed you have done something to my chamber?”

“You assumed right.”

You blinked, “Tell me what is new.”

Sukuna’s eyes traveled around the new chamber, “Everything is new.”

“Which are . . ?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw before he spoke, “I made them rid of what could have been dangerous for you. Which were everything, the oshiire stays in the same place— I have made the maids search for the finest futon. They installed cabinets right here,” Sukuna’s hand brushed against yours, pulling your hand to touch the cabinet, “the corners are dull, hence, you would not hurt yourself,” he was right, the corners are dull, so dull that it made you stood there in awe.

“I had them move further into the chamber, so you would bump into them less, I hope.”

“You are quite kind.”

“Kind?” He scoffed, only to you.

A hum came from you, less convinced. You began making your way around the chamber, “Why?” Your one word question managed to rent the curse speechless, because he was internally asking himself the same thing, “Why do you go out your way to do this for me?”

“Courtesy.”

“Since when do you care about courtesy?” You questioned slyly, “The Sukuna caring about courtesy? I would think that you are excusing yourself, but truth to be told, I had not expect to still be alive by now.”

“Why would you think as such?”

“You said so, once I put up no use— I am a gone woman.”

The atmosphere shifts, he remembers clear as day. The words. Everything he told you in the past, “I misjudged you then,” he spoke, clearing his throat awkwardly, “it feels odd . . . Doing such things for a mortal. Believe me.”

“I believe you.”

Sukuna lets out a low chuckle, “Fool.”

“The garden has changed as well.”

“I commanded Uraume to plant a lot of the flowers you seem to like,” Sukuna replied, “I have learnt about it. They are called camellia. Do not question where I inherited that information.”

“Where have you inherited that information from, My Lord?” You asked him anyways.

“From the scrolls.”

“You ventured the scrolls for me,” your conclusion made his body jolt. His fingers tightened a fraction around yours, “that is very nice of you.”

Sukuna huffed, “I am a monster, I am not nice.”

“Did they tell you that?”

Sukuna raised a brow, “I announce myself as such,” he dragged his hand up towards your arm, “I am quite glad that you lack the vision to see me. I am hideous.”

“Do you announce yourself as hideous too?”

“The mortals address me as such,” he scoffed, “at least I am powerful.”

Your smile faltered. For a beat, you were quiet, unknown of what to say. But you start parting your lips, “May I touch your face? I’d like to feel what my kind concludes as hideous.”

Sukuna freezes. He contemplates, but at the end, he hunches himself in front of you slightly, “I suppose,” it comes out a timid whisper and you pat down his hair first— the thick strands of his hair, the maids spoke of how thick they are and how beautiful his hair is. It is soft under your touch, and your fingers grazed over his forehead.

“Big forehead,” you bluntly spoke, “people of my village wanted their offspring to have big foreheads because they symbolized high intelligence. I suppose they are right about it.”

Then your fingers grazed over his shut eyes, you remembered his revelation about having four eyes. Two of them smaller than the others and located on a hard structure protruding from the right side of his face . . . A bone? Or wood perhaps, “What color are your eyes?”

“Red.”

“I do not know, but it sounds suiting,” you comment again as bluntly as possible, his warm breath pushed into your palm. And your fingers traced the outlines of his lips slowly— tugged into a frown, typical of him, “I think you should smile,” and the corners of his lips began tugging upwards slightly.

Your hand pats down his face, down to his neck, “Thick neck, okay,” you remind him, “very muscle filled. That’s nice, you must work out a lot.”

Do not even start, his muscles were just wonderful. The outline of his bicep that you trace slowly made your stomach flip, “Are you shirtless?”

“I am always shirtless.”

“Creep.”

“You seem to enjoy touching my muscles,” he teased, letting your fingers traced onto his wrist, “what about my wrist now?”

“Big arms. Signifies strength,” and then you began patting the air around him.

Which for a bit, confused him, “What is it you are seeking for, woman?”

“Four arms.”

Ah. Sukuna tried his best to hide the two pair of arms but now that you had asked for it, he couldn’t help but to help guide your hands onto the bottom pair of arms, “It feels odd, no?” You elicit a giggle out of you, “What is so worthy of a laugh right now?”

“I can only feel two arms.”

Sukuna begrudgingly tucked the collar of your kimono neatly, covering your collarbone, and your hand shoots out to grab his hand, “Three.”

With the last hand, he grabbed your free hand, “Four. It feels disgusting, no?”

“You have an extra pair, where is the problem at that? I’d say you would work faster labor,” you whisper, wiggling your fingers gently as his fingers circled around your wrist, gently stroking your skin like a delicate glass, “I do not find any monstrosity on you, hence, you are not hideous.”

He stares you down. He isn’t hideous to the only human that matters, that is more than anything else. Sukuna swallowed the rest of his unknown insecurities inside. How funny, the curse, proclaimed strongest. Never had he felt insecure about his look until you— a blind mortal decided to drop by out of the blue, all of a sudden everything mattered more than usual.

“That so?”

“Mhm.”

He released your hand, “Then you are blind—” he stops himself, looking down at you. Who currently had a cheshire smile on your face, “Apologies. I seemed to have forgotten.”

“You? Apologized?” Only to you. Only to his woman.

“I did. We speak no more of that.”

“I will speak of it to Uraume.”

“Especially not Uraume.”

“I want to venture beyond the estate.”

Sukuna eyed you incredulously, you were safer behind the gates, right here with him. Why would you choose to venture out straight into the dangers of the world? He has made it clear to everyone that you belonged to him, here you were tucked inside the safety behind his arms, and you were asking such . . . Odd questions.

“Beyond? Elaborate.”

“I want to go outside and have fun,” you spoke out with such happiness that his heart swaggered, “I can take Uraume for precautions. I want to explore the world more, I do not want to be stuck here like a bird in a cage.”

“Why take Uraume when you can take me?”

“Uraume seems more loose on schedule.”

“I do not have schedules.”

You coaxed yourself to look up, “You do not? I would have thought royalty—”

“I am no royal.”

“You are king of curses, that is royalty,” your opinion flows out like an argument, he sighs at your stubborn tone, “victory is mine yet again.”

“Yes, yes. Why would you possibly want to put yourself in danger beyond the estate when you are safer in here?” You were stuck in the belly of his shrine, cringing from how frequent you walked down the engawa that you had remembered every route by now. You wanted more. The thrill of it, the fun, “I am not letting you step foot out of the estate.”

His lower pair of arms curled around your torso, pulling you back onto his chest. You sulked, “It is not the same, you are being selfish.”

“I am protecting you.”

“From what?”

“Humans. Predators. You do not know what is out there,” he spoke, tone laced with impatience, “I do not wish for you to get hurt, is that too hard to understand?”

“I will be fine, I am always fine.”

He should have known you, you have always been a rebel since the first time he commanded Uraume to drag you back here. So, it wasn’t a surprise when Uraume told him that you were not located in your chambers, “Locate her, Uraume. Surely she hasn’t gone too far.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Sukuna stood up, a black haori hanging on his shoulders loosely. He stood up, should have known, you don’t back down. That’s one of the reasons why he had gotten so attached to you, “Prepare to set out, Uraume.”

You had taken a broom out, using the stick as a navigator. So far, you had successfully entered into biomes of trees outside the estate and you couldn’t tell how far you had gotten. The stick of the broom prevented you from bumping into the rough tree barks and tumbling over bushes. Uraume should make a stick like this for you, how could you not think of this?

A soft tune echoed in a form of a hum from you, curious fingers touching every single thing. Burying your nose into different things you could touch, “Mm,” you moaned, plucking the wild flower and shoving it into the obi of your kimono to show Uraume later.

What a vast mistake this is. No sense of direction, you should have brought a maid along with you. Every turn you took seemed the same, trees and bushes. Occasionally wet patches on the ground made your sandals sink slightly. When the owls began sounding their loud horns, a wave of panic washes over you.

The itch on your arms made you groan, fingernails digging to cease the feeling. Your brows pinched together, trying to find anything that could be of help, “Hello?” You call out.

But the trees are endless, every time you call out for anyone, your voice bounced back to you. And you were beginning to grow restless, the feeling of uneasiness creeping into your body. Your kimono felt heavier, and your sandals felt wobbly now. You cursed, you should have listened to Sukuna. You should have asked Uraume to come along to guide you.

On the other hand, Sukuna walks calmly through the trees, Uraume walking ahead. The darkness was his forte, he loves it. But he had lost track of the hours he spent walking around what seemed to be similar places, “Where has that woman off to? I tell her one time that she is safer inside that estate and she flees.”

“There are bandits residing in this forest, we should locate her quickly, My Lord.”

Bandits. Sukuna scoffed, they could never compare to him— but you? You were as defenseless as a newborn calf. And now that it was dark, the bandits were surely on the move to find income. And God knows what they could do to you. Sukuna grunted, crossing his arms.

You ran into the trees. Unknown of what was currently chasing you deeper, the adrenaline striking inside you made you lose your broom and all you could rely on was your limbs. You could make out the crude laughter from . . . People? Or were they animals?

A loud yelp escaped you when your foot dug into what seemed to be a trap, the pain dug into your ankle. No, no, no. You chant, this couldn’t be happening right now, your fingers dug onto the wet soil, trying to find the power to continue running, “There!” Ah, so they were humans.

Bandits. You assume. Back when you lived in the village, bandits frequently dropped by and chaos ensued. But there were so many people fighting back, now? It was just you.

“She’s dressed grand, surely she has a few dimes on her,” one of them spoke, the bushes rustling to your right and you clutch onto your hands in fear. Moving slowly backwards, crawling on the ground hopelessly, “her necklace looks pricy.”

“Just get anything that looks grand. We’ll get a price outta whatever.”

You shook your head, “Please,” your plead fell into deaf ears when you feel someone pull on the necklace Sukuna made for you, the string snapping under the force and you grasp the air, “no, anything but that. It means a lot to me, please.”

Your head snapped to the side, your cheek seared. Had one of them just striked you? You whimpered in pain, muddy hand flying up to touch the burning spot. They laughed. How could they laugh at the expense of you!?

“Get the hairpin. Looks like gold.”

You grabbed it before they could, “No,” you clutched it into your chest, another one of Sukuna’s gift from not too long ago, “this is precious to me.”

“Unfortunately, we do not care.”

The gems ripped into your skin when they forcefully grabbed it. You lunged forwards, grabbing onto whatever belonged to them you could hold onto, “Give that back to me,” you mutter out.

“Let go of me, you blind bitch!”

The hits delivered to you were relentless. Then again, these were bandits, they don’t care about anything but money. You held onto one of them tightly, the pain slowly registering into every place they hit— punches, kicks. One of them tried to wiggle their leg out of your grasp, pulling your hair back in annoyance, “I’ll kill you, you prude!”

And then just like that. Silence ensued.

You felt the leg go limp and you breathe heavily, what was happening? Sukuna emerged from behind the trees, annoyance written on every crease on his face as he approaches you. And the second his eyes landed on your battered figure, he glowered out, grabbing your arm tightly, “Why did you not call for help!?”

The surprise from before lingered, and you stuttered out, “My Lord—”

“Look at this,” he loudly said, clamping your jaw tightly, the cuts on your face registered into his mind, “and this,” he pulled your leg.

“I . . .”

“Shut your mouth.”

Once you were settled back inside the estate, Uraume helped you draw a warm bath. Scrubbing the mud stuck to your hair, your kimono was left for the maids to scrub, your wounds were taken care of quickly. The bandages wrapped around your ankle a constant reminder of your stupidity, and once all of that was settled, Uraume helped you into Sukuna’s chambers.

He was not happy. He was far from that.

The door slid shut softly and Uraume walked away. Sukuna steps closer to you, “I give you everything you wanted. You ask me for a bigger garden, I commanded them to reconstruct it,” he drawls out calmly, his fingers thrusting to your shoulder gently, “you ask me for deer meat and I commanded Uraume to hunt the finest deers. I have complied to you every single time.”

“You ask me for the finest fabrics and I have the maids venture out from village to village to earn it, you ask me for a new hairpin and I have provided, you ask me for everything I have complied,” his voice grew louder, “I ask for one thing. For you to stay inside the estate, in safety, and you chose the danger outside.”

Your head fell in shame, “I just . . .”

“You are stupid.”

Your brows pinched, “I am not . . .”

“You track back on what had happened, is it not caused by your stupidity? You claim to be smarter than a curse and here I am saving you from a scenario you created on your own,” he shook your body in anger, “and if Uraume and I hadn’t been there on time? You would have died!”

You snapped back, “Why do you care!? You are just a curse, you do not have feelings!”

“To hell with that!” He yelled back, “I hate admitting but I do care for you. Only you, haven’t I made it clear?”

“You’ll get rid of me nonetheless!”

“Do not put words into my mouth, woman,” he muttered out, clenching his fists in anger, “don’t you dare say I do not care because every complies I did was for you. I did this for you. I lowered my ego for you. Is that not enough? Tell me then, tell me what makes it enough for you to digest that I, king of curses, Sukuna Ryomen do care for a human.”

You stammered, “I . . . You are lying.”

“I lie occasionally to people, yes. Have I ever lied to you?”

“Probably!”

“Mention it to me,” Sukuna growled, “mention one time I have spat out a lie to you.”

“I . . .” You left the gap open.

And Sukuna filled it in, “You do not know? Because I have never done that to you,” he muttered, releasing your shoulders. His heart burnt in anger, but he kept his mouth shut.

You clenched your fists, your anger turned into tears. The crystals slowly dribbled out and you sniffled, “I just wanted to explore.”

“Alone? You are out of your damn mind.”

“You wouldn’t have agreed.”

Sukuna scoffed loudly, “You have a habit of putting the words into my mouth,” he scowled under his breath, looking down at you. The harder your tears fall, the more he becomes annoyed, “stop crying. I command you to stop crying this instant, your tears won’t stop my fury.”

Sliding your arm over your eyes, you striked a hand blindly towards his presence. Which managed to land along the side of his neck, “You dare strike me?”

“I hate you!”

Sukuna hummed, “You are angry.”

“I will never be able to love someone like you, you are a monster. You do not let me do anything, I feel like a prisoner here,” you sobbed. The feelings were not like that— his words made the ticking time bomb blew and you were pulling at his strings, “I hate you. I loathe you. I wish for you to disappear.”

Sukuna stepped back, his hand hovered over his lips. He wanted to say much, but stopped. And he shuts the conversation down, “Understandable. Get out of my sight.”

As the night draws on. You laid on your futon, your chest heavy, you had been lying awake there since . . . hours ago. Your own words eating you up, knowing they weren’t right. The anger speaking for you, just for the victory because he made you angry. But now it was eating you alive.

Your emotions were divided. One side, you were angry at yourself for saying that. And the other part of you just felt sad that you had pushed him away; to think that you told him he was a monster too. Another tear slipped from your eye, and you sat up.

You brought yourself to the front of his chamber, for a bit you wondered if he was in the mood to see you right now. But, you shook your head, clamping your hand onto the shoji door before sliding it open, “What business do you have in here?”

You try to pinpoint his position. Teeth sinking onto your bottom lip, “I need to apologize.”

“For speaking the truth?”

“For speaking of lies.”

Sukuna grunts, “Does not sound like lies.”

You stomp your foot, “Those are lies, you are not a monster. And I am too immature to realize that you were just protecting me . . . I was too prideful to admit my own mistakes. I do not hate you, I do not loathe you, and I do not wish for you to disappear . . .” Your voice cracked at the end and you pursed your lips tightly.

Sukuna turns to look at you. How pitiful and small you looked right now, “That so? You spoke of not being able to love a monster like me—”

You cut him off, “I still love you anyways. I do not care if people view you as one, I love you. I have always do,” your voice broke into wrecked sobs, fingers dug into your own hakama, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for saying that.”

Sukuna watches your body tremble from the sobs, one of his hand tugged on your arm and you fell into his lap. He huffs loudly, “Watch your tongue next time.”

You bury your face into the crook of his neck. He lets you have your time, sitting there, unmoving.

Sukuna blows out a sigh, “Are you finished with the waterworks?”

“If it means that you will stop holding me like this, no I am not done,” you muffled out. Sukuna held your nape, peeling you gently away from your hiding spot. Snotty nose, red nose, tear stricken. You looked terrible, he thought, “what?”

He leans in, his tongue stretched out scooping a tear and his lips touched your eyelids. Sukuna shuts his eyes, “You say that but I never stopped you from touching me, do I?” His lips moved against your skin.

“You . . .” You began to say, but he stopped you, lips tracing down your cheek and he stopped right at the corner of your lips, “do not tease me.”

“Your reactions are amusing.”

“It is not,” you whisper in shame, brows already drawn together in embarrassment. Sukuna cuts the embarrassment short, his lips molded into yours slowly— you slowly relaxed under his touch, brows relaxing and you shut your eyes, leaning into the kiss.

For a curse, his movements were gentle. Like he feared that his own hand would hurt you, one of his hand tucked right behind your head gently tangled into your hair as his lips moved against yours slowly. He pulled back briefly, muttering out, “We do not speak of this to Uraume.”

“I will tell them all about it.”

“Is that so?” Sukuna asks, you nodded.

“Then tell them all about this, yes?” He sealed back the kiss, lips moving with fervor that you whimper into his mouth. He swallowed your noises, tongue caressing your plump lips slowly that you couldn’t help but to part them in a trance, his arms held you so close that your chest pressed against his, but Sukuna pulls back the moment he realized you sucking in a breath, “I have gone too far. Apologies. Are you alright?”

You bob your head, covering your face. He used a set of his hands to peel your hands away, “Surely Uraume would not mind the details, no? Or shall I elaborate more?”

“N . . . No, that was enough details.”

Sukuna’s thumb traced over your lips, his iron hands used to do all the wrongs in the world. Now, clasped in sets of velvet gloves, just for you.

© v3is, 2026 ﾒ do not copy, reconstruct, or upload on another platform + do not feed my works into AI.

[neteyamthinker]

i will burn happily, baby

pairings aged-up!neteyam x mangkwan!female warrior

notes stupid loverboy neteyam, emotional turmoil for the reader, smut (p in v), oral (f & m receiving), childhood trauma :(, kuru torture, violence and blood, reader is a tough cookie but deep inside she just longs for a normal life

synopsis you were sent to kill neteyam, the warrior you have repeatedly grappled with in your clan’s raids that he kept sabotaging. you are confident he won’t recognize you without your paint, but alas, he does!

word count 25.1k

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

“Take this and go!” You pushed a woven basket of herbs into the arms of a young raider, jerking your head toward the hoard of direhorses waiting on the sidelines.

The smell of burning fibers is the familiar perfume of your clan's raids. As the people around you scream in horror, you could almost smell their fears, too. The village huts dissolved into orange embers while you moved around, your double-bladed staff a crimson blur, deflecting a wild swing from a desperate villager and had the man running away. Your fellow raiders pillaged what could be pillaged while Vakrep, the nephew of Varang’s second-in-command Riku, barked orders.

The Mangkwan fell in a disarray the moment Omatikaya war cries were heard from above. Now, most of them were panicking, much like the people of the clan you were just raiding. You were running toward what seemed to be a storage hut when a scream resounded from the distance, your head whipped on its direction, immediately seeing a young boy, barely taller than your waist, his eyes wide with terror as he dodges a Mangkwan warrior twice his size. Taykan, laughed a harsh, guttural sound, his spear already arcing down. You didn't hesitate, you ran towards them, holding your bladed staff out, the curved blade flashing before it hooked on the Taykan’s arm, yanking him off balance. He stumbled, roaring in surprise.

“Go!” you said, a low growl in your chest, eyes fixed on the child.

The boy scrambled away, a small blue streak vanishing into the smoke. Tayrep snarled, regaining his footing.

“For fire’s sake! What is wrong with you?!” he spat, eyes narrowed at you.

You fixed him with a stare that promised pain. “We are to raid the village, not hunt children for sport. Go, help the others secure the hoard!”

He hesitated, then grumbled, turning to rejoin the fray. Your gaze tracked the boy’s escape, a flicker of something soft in your eyes when suddenly, you heard a loud curse from one of the sky people who accompanied you in the raid. Your head snapped to his direction, seeing his metal body grappled against an Omatikaya, larger and taller than his specialized metal suit. You saw the man’s fist move in several sharp, foreign motion, sending blow after blow, and puncturing the man’s metal suit with a sickening crack.

You tilted your head, your lips parting. Neteyam. A Mangkwan ran toward him but he spun fast, his wrist twisting to use the longer blade his weapon to wound the man with a hard jab before kicking him away, returning to the metal suit. Once he’s ruined it all, he pushed it to the ground, not killing the tawtute.

Your gaze traced up from the muscles on his arm up to his angled jaw. His presence here, during a Mangkwan raid, was a familiar insult. Two years ago, on a similar night, you grappled with him in a combat, failing to truly hurt him which you think he deserves for sabotaging your clan’s raid. You remembered the clash of your blade against the blade of his knife at his forearm. He’s extremely strong and hss surprising speed for a warrior of his size, so you learned not to underestimate him.

A low hiss escaped your lips at the sight of him and you lunged without thinking. He turned to you, his eyes widening a little before reacting to meet you halfway, his dual blade fist knife at the ready. You spinned your staff, hurling the blades closer to him. He was taller, a wall of muscle even before, but you were more agile, your quickness a match for his brute strength. The blade that extended to his forearm parried a thrust of your blade. You danced around him, seeking an opening, and smiling like a predator eyeing its meal.

His sharp eyes tracked your every move before shifting, a fluid grace that belied his size, blocking your strikes instinctively. You faked a high strike, then dropped low, sweeping your staff in a wide arc. He jumped, agile as a viperwolf, but you were already twisting, bringing the staff up, the curved hook of the blade catching his shoulder. He grunted, pulling back, but not before the jagged edge bit deep. A line of crimson bloomed on his shoulder.

“Still too slow,” you murmured, a triumphant glint in your eyes.

He huffed, his eyes glowing with playful mischief. You narrowed your eyes, annoyed, so you pressed your advantage, a flurry of strikes to force him back and back until his heel caught on a fallen branch. He stumbled, off balance but he immediately found his footing. You pushed him, hard, your hand pressing againg his chest when you heard Vakrep’s roar cut through the air as he called your name. You glanced over your shoulder, then back at Neteyam. His eyes were fixed on you, a strange intensity in their depths.

You pushed him again. “Go!” you hissed, your voice low and urgent.

He didn't move, just watching you, his breathing ragged. You turned, sprinting towards your party, leaving him standing there in the middle of the burning village. You risked a glance back and saw that he was still there, a lone, blue figure, watching you disappear into the smoke and fire. You remembered years ago... That same moment when you looked back and he was just standing there, watching you run away.

A few moons later, the training grounds was filled with the sounds of blades clashing. You moved among the young Mangkwan, correcting stances, demonstrating blocks, your double-bladed staff a natural extension of your arm. The red blades flashed as you carried it with controlled precision, sparring with a young Mangkwan, barely a man, his eyes wide with concentration. He lunged, a predictable move, and you flowed around him, the flat of your staff tapping his side.

“Dead,” you said in a bored tone. “You’ll die quick if you’re too eager.”

He nodded and you continued, ensuring to fulfill your role of honing their skills, keeping in mind the philosophy that pulsed in every Mangkwan’s vein: only the strong survive. Those who are too weak to hunt, those who are too injured to recover, are left to death for the taking, left to rot as lessons to others.

You remembered Säyim’s frail hand, her hunting days long behind her. Kekihe, her granddaughter, was no more than a foal. They were what this clan sees as disposable, marked for abandonment. Your heart silently rebelled to your own people’s words. Säyim and Kekihe are your life. A family you found in the chaos.

Your eyes caught Vakrep standing on the sidelines. His eyes, as always were on you, the possessive glint in his eyes making your skin crawl. He raised a hand by the time your current trainee wws done.

“I’ll spar with you next,” you heard him say, the sound followed by the snickering of his foolish crew behind him. “I miss... touching you.”

You gritted your teeth, your hand itching to wound him for the disgusting meaning behind his words, reinforcing the talks he spread about having bedded you which held no truth in them. “You talk too much,” you spat, your hand gripping your staff.

His lips curled into a sickening smile, stepping closer to you. “Just a friendly bout, yerik. Do not embarrass me or else—”

You didn’t wait for him to finish. You lunged, spinning your staff, until one of its blades cut an arc across his chest. He jerked back, the tip of your blade catching only the thick woven strap of his knife sheath. His crew’s laughter died down instantly.

“Careful,” he gasped, his smirk faltering as he scrambled to draw his own knife. “You’ll ruin the fun before we’ve even started.”

“The fun starts when you stop breathing,” you hissed, circling him but he moved fast, too.

His low growl rumbled behind you, making you spin, sending a wide, sweeping kick that he evaded. He grinned at you, a predator’s flash of teeth, his eyes hungry. “The yerik fights like a nantang... Always so compelling,“ he sneered, lunging.

You ignored him as you twisted, his grip only grazing your shoulder. You delivered a sharp jab to his ribs, and he grunted, stumbling back, but only for a moment. He came at you again, faster, stronger. He aimed for your head, but you blocked, the jarring impact travelling up your arm. You saw an opening, and you swept his legs out from under him, sending him butt first in the dust. Before he could recover, your staff was already descending on him, the tip of the red blade pressing against his throat while your foot kicked his chest. He looked up at you, his eyes burning with renewed obsession, not anger nor defeat.

“One day, yerik,” he rasped, his voice dark with promise, “You will be mine.”

You hissed at him. “In your dreams, you disgusting dust.”

You were planning to push your blade further on his throat if only a young Mangkwan didn’t arrive, calling you. “Varang calls for you. At the ops center.”

The ops center. You had been there only once since the last year when Varang joined forces with the sky people, finding the alien smell and cold metals really unsettling. You can’t tolerate sky people either with the way they look at your people as though they were tools to use when necessary or mere animals to be tolerated.

The place was filled with machinery and the glare of foreign light that could take the form of anything. Quaritch stood before one, his face etched with grim determination. Varang, her regal posture unwavering, stood beside him, her eyes holding a glint of something you couldn't quite decipher. Meanwhile, General Ardmore stood in the middle.

Quaritch gestured to the shimmering hologram. It showed a desolate landscape, a half-built RDA outpost, then a sudden, explosive eruption. Dust and debris filled the air, and through it, a flash of blue, an ikran flying through the chaos. Its rider, impossibly precise, was disabling machinery and killing sky people. The footage zoomed in, revealing a face, grim and focused. Neteyam.

You watched, a strange awe blooming in your chest for his sheer audacity. He was a force of nature, a single warrior dismantling an entire armed installation. He was everything the Mangkwan revered in a fighter. Too bad, he’s the enemy.

“You looked as if you’re impressed...” Varang’s voice cut through the hum of the machines. Her eyes, narrowed, watched you from across the room.

You turned to her, shrugging, a deliberate nonchalance you didn't actually feel. “He’s not one to be underestimated.”

General Ardmore snickered, a humorless sound. “She’s right. Sully’s boy is one hell of a man. Who among us here will happily march into a hell pit as easily as his boy has?”

Quaritch huffed, a gust of irritation. “He underestimates and embarrasses us, Ardmore. He will continue to think we are assailable if we just let him be—”

“But we are, Quaritch.” Ardmore cut him off, her voice sharp. “If he could come riding that banshee and disable an entire armed outpost with his primitive weapons, then we are assailable, and that is embarrassing. We will put an end to this, once and for all. And I hear he is also a concern for the Mangkwan?” She turned her gaze to Varang.

“He is. He has sabotaged many of my people’s raids in the past years.” Varang’s voice was laced with venom. She strode towards you, her movements deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours. She reached out, her fingers cupping your face, tilting your chin up, presenting you to the sky people as if you were a prize. “This is who I’m talking about… my most beautiful warrior and the most skilled in combat.”

“She is beautiful,” Ardmore agreed, her eyes sweeping over you. “We will send her, at your approval.”

Your eyes snapped back to Varang, a knot tightening in your stomach. Send you? To what? Varang offered them a sly smile, a chilling curve of her lips. “I approve.”

Your breath hitched. “What’s going on?” The words were a strained whisper.

Varang’s hand, surprisingly gentle, moved to your braids, her fingers tracing the simple headdress you wore, a lone red stone framed by two viperwolf teeth, marking your high rank intl the clan. “We will send you to that damned son of Toruk Makto, daughter. You will kill him… Avenge your brothers and sisters that fell in his hands... Think you could do that for me... For us?” Her smile remained, but now it held an uncanny quality that sent a shiver down your spine.

Fear, cold and sharp, pricked at your resolve. You swallowed, trying to steady your voice. “And what if he kills me instead?” The question hung in the air, a challenge Varang rarely tolerated. Her people followed without question, without doubt. To hesitate was to border on betrayal. You saw the impatience flicker in her eyes as she eyed you darkly.

“Then you die.” she declared nonchalantly. “It is something you must do for the people.” Her voice hardened, leaving no room for argument.

Quaritch then stepped forward, his voice a rumble, outlining the details. They told you about the annual convention of the clans which you already know about, a gathering of all the chieftains, discussing peace and trade among each other. They introduced you to a Li’onan man named Taryu who you were told is an RDA mole, infiltrating events such as that to learn the movements of the clans.

He would accompany you along with Trojan, a recombinant soldier under Quaritch, to ensure your entry in the convention. Taryu, a traitor to his own kind, explained that Neteyam would be there this season, to accompany his father, Jake Sully, as next-in-line to the Omatikaya leadership.

You listened to everything they were saying, registering nothing because your mind is reeling. You have to kill Neteyam. At the convention. You pictured the bustling gathering, the chieftains, their heirs, the throng of people. You couldn't just attack him there. You’d be dead before your blade even found him. Or perhaps, you would succeed, only to be cut down moments later. A cold dread settled in your gut. You couldn't die. Not now. Not when you have Säyim and Kekihe depending on you.

You walked back to the yurt you share with Säyim and Kekihe, the familiar scent of leaves burning greeting you as you entered. Kekihe, barely eight seasons old, played with grass, pretending to weave them together, her forehead furrowed in concentration but as you entered, her head snapped up.

“Sister!” she grinned, her happy face looking up at you as if you hung the stars yourselves.

Säyim sat by the low fire, roasting yerik meat wrapped in leaves. She smiled up at you, her eyes filled with adoration making you finally smile. Her eyes betrayed her true feelings though, reflecting her worry for you as she signed. You understand the familiar movement of her hands, remembering what you had to do.

You moved to the fire, warming your hands and staring at the embers. “Varang wants me to go to the convention,” you said, your voice flat. “I will be gone... Maybe a few days. I’ve checked our provisions. You two should be alright until I’m back.” You smiled.

Säyim’s hands, gnarled but strong, flew to your arms, gripping them tightly. Her eyes pleaded, her mouth unable to form the words. She shook her head, signing with frantic gestures, a language only you could understand, yet sometimes don’t. Right now, you're refusing to understand. She understands without you telling her what your mission will be. What will a Mangkwan do at the convention anyway? She drew a line across her throat, then pointed to you, then to Kekihe. A shudder ran through you. She was warning you.

“I will be alright,” you tried to reassure her. “I’ll be back.”

But she wouldn't let go, her grip tightening, her signs growing more desperate. Her hands signed the sign for Varang, then a knife, then your neck. She was furious, her distress visibke. You had to calm her, murmuring reassurances you didn't believe yourself. You understood her fear: Varang is sending you to your death. But the deeper meaning of her signs, the truth she tried to convey about your parents, remained just out of reach, a truth you weren’t able to grasp.

You left the yurt before the sun even rose, the weight of Säyim’s unspoken words and Kekihe’s innocence pressing down on you. You had always known Varang’s ruthlessness. You had seen Mangkwan warriors, out of their blind fanaticism of her, sacrifice themselves for her and... Now, she is asking for your life. The thought of Neteyam, the warrior you secretly respected, the one you were now commanded to kill, twisted in your gut. It is not always that you admit fear... But right now, you are scared.

The journey to the convention was a blur of discomfort. Trojan, a hulking figure wearing your skin with the dead eyes of a sky person, accompanied you and Taryu who led the way. He didn’t only ensure your entry in the covention, he also secured your place among the female performers, a group of young women from various clans, their faces painted with bright, intricate designs.

You stood among them, your own face free of your clan’s ash and paint. Taryu explained that it was part of the disguise, to appear harmless, a simple girl among many young women. You watched them prepare, their laughter light and unrestrained, and a pang of something akin to longing pierced you. You wondered what it would be like, to be one of them, a normal girl, unburdened by the weight of Varang’s ambition, of your clan’s harsh creed. You were twenty, past the age when most women mated, yet no man in the Mangkwan had ever stirred your heart, nor even truly captured your attention. You imagined a simpler life with Säyim and Kekihe, a different path, away from the hardness of your own people. The thought felt traitorous, but in that moment, anger at Varang overshadowed all else.

The performance began. The drums pulsing, vibrating through the ground. You moved with the other dancers, your body flowing, your limbs graceful as you danced, a mask of serenity plastered over your face, belying the turmoil inside you. You tried to lose yourself in the movement, to forget the knife strapped to your thigh, the mission.

As you spun, your eyes, almost instinctively, drifted towards the dais where the clan chieftains and their heirs sat. And then you saw him. Neteyam. You stopped breathing as your heart gave a lurch, a frantic drum against your ribs. From where you are, you can feel his eyes in your direction but you couldn’t be so sure. You are confident he won’t recognize you without your paint, after all, he’s only ever seen you clad in it.

Yet, your stomach clenched, tearing your gaze away, focusing on the dance, on the rhythm, on anything but him. But every time you stole a glance, his eyes were still fixed on your direction. Even when he turned to speak to those beside him, his eyes seemed to return to you, a silent, unwavering focus.

The performance ended. The dancers dispersed, mingling with the crowd and you found yourself wandering, inspecting the stalls that belong to each clan, displaying their unique crafts and delicacies. You accepted every offer of fermented fruit juice, the potent liquid a welcome distraction that helps numb your nerves. You moved through the throngs of people, your senses overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells of a world so different from the ash lands of the Mangkwan or the metallic and asphalt of Bridgehead.

A young man, his face painted with the markings of the Tayrangi clan, began to speak to you, offering another bowl of juice. “That is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted. I saw you trying the juices, you might like that,” he said.

You took it before he even finished talking, nodding performatively, barely listening, your eyes still flicking towards the dais. Neteyam was still there, engaged in conversation. He hadn’t approached. A strange mix of relief and disappointment washed over you.

You lifted the bowl to your lips, the sweet liquid a comfort. The young man rambled on, his voice a pleasant tone that you conveniently tuned out, you didn’t even notice when he abruptly fell silent. In your peripheral vision though, you saw a towering form approach.

“Neteyam,” the young man greeted, touching his forehead. “Oel ngati kameie.”

A deep voice, resonant and familiar, cut through the din as he returned the greeting. You remained focused on your bowl, pretending not to notice the imposing presence even when you felt his eyes on you, a warmth that prickled your skin. You are so nervous.

“What is there to enjoy?” you heard Neteyam ask the young man. You stepped back a little, giving them space. You peered up, and your eyes met his. He touched his forehead, a formal greeting, then his gaze dropped to the bowl in your hand. “What are you drinking?” The casual question was directed at you, his eyes, dark and intense, never leaving yours.

“Swoa…” you answered, a slight tilt of your head, a carefully practiced innocence. You lifted the bowl slightly so he’d look at it instead of you.

His lips parted in a small smile before reaching out, his large hand covering yours as he gently grabbed the bowl. He didn’t take it fully from your grasp, but rather brought it to his lips while you're stil holding it, his eyes still locked with yours as he sipped.

“Sweet,” he said, his voice a low murmur.

The young man from earlier, sensing the shift in attention, had quietly slipped away, unwilling to challenge Neteyam’s obvious interest. You tilted your head. “And if it’s poisoned?”

A small smile sliced across his lips, revealing a flash of white teeth. “Is it?”

You narrowed your eyes. “It could be, and you drank straight from it.” Your usual biting tone slipped before you finished the remaining liquid in your bowl. Your gaze snagging on the white scar on his shoulder, a stark line against his blue skin. Your scar. Your handiwork. A smirk touched your lips before meeting his eyes again, seeing him still watching you, a knowing glint in their depths.

“It would be worth it then,” he retorted, his voice playful, a challenge. “For a man to stare at a woman as beautiful as you as he dies?” He received his own bowl of fermented juice from a passing server, his eyes never leaving yours.

You huffed, a small, disbelieving sound. “You are stupid.” You hadn’t expected this. The serious, formidable warrior you had fought was replaced by this charming, stupidly reckless man. “Do we know each other?” you pretended to ask, your eyes searching his face.

A boyish smile broke across his face, transforming his features. “My name’s Neteyam,” he said, his voice a warm rumble. “Yours?” His question was breathless, as if he hung on your answer.

You considered lying, inventing a name, a clan, a false identity. But a strange impulse, a sudden defiance against Varang’s machinations, pushed your real name from your lips.

He repeated it, testing the sound on his tongue, a soft reverence in his voice. He smiled, a genuine, open smile. “I think I could have imagined that you have a name very fitting.”

You rolled your eyes, a small, genuine laugh escaping you. He was a smooth talker and undeniably charming that you found yourself amused despite the gravity of your mission. You wandered with him through the bustling convention, moving from stall to stall, exploring the various clans’ offerings. He pointed out different customs, shared observations, his voice steady and pleasant, as if he’s used to talk about nearly everything, a true diplomat. Meanwhile, you accepted every offer of fermented juice as though they were bowls of courage sent your way. By the sixth bowl, he caught your hand before you could even lift it to your lips.

“Planning to get drunk?” he asked, his grip firm but gentle.

You looked at him, shaking your head. “Just trying to relax.”

“You don’t like festivities?” he asked, his hand hovering at your waist as you navigated the crowd.

You shook your head again. Mangkwan gatherings were rarely joyous affairs, more often rituals or raucous snuff parties orchestrated by Varang. You found little pleasure in the addicting fumes. You had experienced how it dulled the senses and twisted the mind, and Varang herself rarely indulged in it. You prefer having your wits about you every hour of the day.

“Would you like to explore the woods instead?” he asked, his voice casual, as though there was no meaning in there at all, but perhaps, there was truly none. Neteyam loved festivities, but he also loved peace and quiet which he often found in the woods back home.

You, however, snapped up like syíl hearing a movement. This is it. The opportunity you had been seeking. Get him alone. Render him vulnerable. You fought the urge to narrow your eyes, to let your true intentions show. Instead, you offered him a small, shy smile. “If you want.”

You walked into the forest, the sounds of the convention fading behind you. Bioluminescent flora illuminated your path, casting a glow on the towering trees. You reached out, your fingers tracing the glowing leaves as you two walked. The air here was clean, damp, and alive with the scent of growing things, very different to the metallic smell of Bridgehead and the choking ash of your homeland. You breathed deeply, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart. You were about to do something you had never done before, something that felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

You stopped by a large pitcher plant, its leaves shaped like a goblet. You pulled it down gently, arching your head back before catching the cool, pure water that trickled from it. Some droplets rolled down your chin as you swallowed, rolling down your neck as you faced Neteyam, offering him another shy, innocent smile, part of the act, part of the lure, which proved to be effective because his eyes, dark and dilated, watched you, captivated. He lifted a hand, his thumb brushing away a drop of water from the corner of your mouth.

You stepped forward, boldly, emboldened by all the fermented juice you drank. You rose onto your toes, your lips brushing his, a light touch. You watched his face, saw his eyes drop to your lips, then lock with yours.

“Yeah?“ his deep voice grumbled.

He watched the playful glint in your golden orbs before moving. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close, molding your body against his. His other hand cupped your neck and jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek. His lips descended on yours, hard and searching, a fierce hunger that stole your breath. You staggered back, until your back met a tree. You pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in the braids at the nape of his neck, your other hand pressing against the solid wall of his chest. The sweetness of the fermented juice, the taste of him, filled your mouth. He kissed you with a desperate intensity, as if the world would end with the next breath.

His hand slid down your back, a warm caress. You tensed, a fleeting worry that he would feel the scarifications that marked your skin. But he didn’t pause, his fingers trailing lower, past your waist, cupping your ass to lift you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms tightening around his neck, pulling him deeper. He broke away, only for a moment, his breath ragged, his eyes scanning the surrounding forest probably to look for a place. He kissed your neck, the sensation sending shivers through you, as he walked a little deep away from the main path, finding a private clearing.

The soft moss yielded beneath your weight as he lowered you down. The bioluminescent plants cast a dim glow around you, treating you to a view of his sculpted body as he loomed over you, a mountain of muscle and intent. His eyes held yours as he lowered himself, his lips claiming yours once more.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, while his calloused hand found your breast, giving it a possessive squeeze that made you breathily sigh. He pulled back, his gaze lingering on your face before dropping to the pink feathers adorning your chest. A deft movement, and the top was tossed carelessly to the side, leaving you exposed to the cool night air.

You gritted your teeth, watching his face carefully, trying to see if you’ll see change in them. Three parallel lines of scarification bumps formed a V-shape across your shoulder blades, meeting at your cleavage. They connected to the same patterns on your upper back, the unmistakable tradition of the Mangkwan. You waited and yet he didn't flinch, didn't question, only dipping his head low before you felt his warm lips trace the line of your neck, down to the raised bumps of the scarifications on your shoulders. He kissed them, then licked, a slow, deliberate exploration that made your breath hitch. His eyes, dark and hungry, flickered up to yours as he captured an engorged nipple. You moaned at the foreign, exhilarating sensation, cradling his head as he suckled on them.

He moved further down, his lips tracing another series of vertical lines of scarification on your abdomen, leading to the delicate V-shape of your lower belly. He kissed and licked, a low hum rumbling in his chest, as if it all made it feel better for him. His fingers, gentle yet firm, found your tail, a soft caress that made you arch your back. Then, his lips brushed against the long scar on your inner thigh, a tender kiss as he untied the simple knot of your loincloth. More loving kisses followed the length of the scar as the fabric fell away.

You felt yourself pooling between your legs, a hot flush of embarrassment rising in you. You had touched yourself countless of times before, even explored with your wooden phallics, but this… this was different. His eyes met yours, a silent question in their depths. You groaned, a guttural sound, and he laughed, a deep, rich rumble.

“Relax...“ he kissed your inner thigh before dipping his head, his tongue lashing out. Consecutive hard sucks followed and you couldn't help but moan louder, your hips bucking instinctively. Your imagination, it seemed, had been utterly inadequate. It hadn’t prepared you for the possibility of this.

Weak from his ministrations, your body thrummed, your mind barely conscious as your eyes focused on him. He was untying his own loincloth, his eyes darkly caressing your naked form. You bit your lip, pressing your feet against his lower abdomen, a silent command. He allowed it, smirking at you as he fully freed himself. Your gaze dropped, your breath hitching. He was long and thick, humbling your wooden toys by a mile. Daunted, you couldn't hide the apprehension in your eyes. He saw it, and a primal glint ignited in his own.

He grabbed your ankle, his large hand caressing your leg, tracing your calf, up to the underside of your knee. Then, with a firm clasp, he spread you wider. You couldn't even fake bravery as he lined his cock against the tight opening of your pussy, a soft nudge. You bit your lip and he lowered his head, capturing your mouth in a soft kiss, a good distraction. You moaned into his mouth as the wide head of him slipped inside you. It was uncomfortable at first, a stretching fullness you’d never known and when he eased more of himself in, the feeling intensified, making you feel so full.

He groaned, burying his face in your neck. You cradled his head, your fingers tangling in the strands of his braids. He pressed a hard kiss against your neck, and a scream tore at your throat when he plunged the rest of his length into you, burying himself balls deep.

You clutched his shoulders, your fingernails digging into his skin. He lifted his head, his eyes scanning your face, concern etched into their depths.

“Hurt?” he rasped.

It did, but it thrilled you. You shook your head. “Continue,” you ordered, squeezing his shoulder. His eyes caressed your face, lingering. You watched for a flicker of recognition again, for his gaze to fall on the vertical lines of small scarifications that lined your nose.

“You are so beautiful...” he mumbled instead, his voice thick with desire. He kissed you, then began to move, slow and deliberate at first, then building in rhythm. “So fucking tight.”

You cupped his jaw, gently holding his face, willing him to stare into your eyes as he moved inside you. He did. Both of you were in a trance, the clearing filled with your moans and his groans. A guttural sound ripped from his chest when you kissed him softly, your lips brushing his as he drove into you.

“Fuck,” he weakly breathed, a low chuckle rumbling from deep within him.

He moved with relentless rhythm, pushing you higher and higher until both of you shattered in an explosive climax. He kissed you as you came down, his thrusts shallow now, a gentle rocking. Then, he rolled on his back, pulling you with him, so you wouldn't bear his full weight. His hand, warm and heavy, caressed your back. After a while, you propped a hand on his chest, pushing yourself up. He watched you with dark, dilated eyes, his hand falling to rest on your waist.

“Again?” he asked.

You bit your lip, then slowly, began to move on top of him. A moan escaped you as your clit repeatedly grazed against his pelvis. You quickened your pace, your hand reaching out, searching. Your fingers closed around the familiar hilt of your knife, lying discarded on the moss next to your loincloth.

In a snap, you brought the blade to his throat. His expression didn’t change. His eyes, still dilated with raw desire, locked onto yours. His thumb, resting on your waist, continued its slow caress.

“Do it,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp.

You stared down at him, fear gripping your heart. This was never truly in you. Killing never brought you pleasure, nor was hurting people and animals. You do your duty for the clan but you don’t hurt people if you can help it, but you know that doesn’t make you a good person because at the end of it all, you still brought unimaginable horror to many people. Varang. She had forced your hand, given you no choice, treating you as a tool to use. Your whole life, you had always acted on her behalf, but this… this you couldn't do.

You have always considered this a weakness. You carried something most Mangkwan lacked: mercy. Why couldn't you just kill him? Prove your loyalty to Varang, to the people. But also, why should you? Why prove yourself to the leader who had sent you to your death?

You blinked, your hand, still holding the knife, loosening its grip on his neck. He felt it. So, without breaking eye contact, he slowly, carefully, moved his hand up, covering yours. He gently unclenched your fingers from the knife. When you released your hold, he took it, tossing it away with a soft thud. His hand, now free, hooked around your nape, pulling you down into a searing kiss. Shame and relief washed over you. Shame that he kissed you despite your attempt, and relief that he did. It was strange.

Both his arms now wrapped around you as he kissed you, his hips adjusting between your thighs. A broken cry tore from your throat as he began to thrust from below, his hips slapping against yours with desperate speed. You could barely form a complete string of moans. You didn't know you could be so turned on by the act of being caged in his strong arms, used for his pleasure that you climaxed again, a helpless, shattering release, while Neteyam chased his own, continuously slamming into you. By the time he finished, you were limp in his arms, breathing heavily, unable to move.

At some point, you drifted into a brief, light sleep, but then a jolt brought you back, finding him cleaning you up with a soft leaf. You scrambled away, your eyes hard and sharp, a stark contrast to the softness in his. You grabbed your loincloth and top, dressing quickly. He did the same, rising to his feet as you did.

“You okay?” he asked, watching you carefully as though you were a wild viperwolf he’s trying to calm down.

You hissed at him. “What do you want to hear?“

He tilted his head. “Reviews?” he asked, his voice playful and full of meaning.

Your eyes narrowed. “You are stupid,” you said, continuing to tie your loincloth on your tail.

He chuckled, stupidly amused with your words. “I know you, you know,” he said, his gaze lingering on your face. “You gave me this.” He pointed to the white scar on his shoulder. You glanced at it, a faint line on his dark skin. He felt a little foolish for pointing it out. It was shallow, shamed by the scars you bore, the ones he had just kissed. He couldn't even imagine the wounds they used to be.

You stared at him. “And yet you came up to me, you idiotic man.”

His eyes swept over your body, gaze so full of meaning you felt an urge to slap him. His eyes lit up though, a flicker of realization. “Were you supposed to be in disguise?” he whispered, genuinely curious.

Dumbfounded, you tilted your head. The answer was plain on your face and he scrambled for words. “I am Mangkwan.” you said, slowly, to get it into his thick head.

“I know. I just told you I know you,” he said as a matter of fact. You realized now. Why he hadn't been bothered by your scars because he knew you, he knew what you are. And still went there with you.

You huffed a frustrated breath. “You are one stupid man. You are an idiot.” You hissed at him. You imagined the corpse he would have been now if Varang had sent a different Mangkwan.

He stared at you, his eyes still dazed. He didn't seem to care what you said. He held out your knife, the blade facing him.

Another groan tore from your throat. You snatched the knife from him. “You ought to be careful next time. You were really easy,” you said, narrowing your eyes to mock him. “If I had wanted to kill you, I would have done it already.”

He tilted his head, his eyes darkening, hot on you. “I have no doubt,” he said, a note of pride in his voice. “And there is no next time, neither was there a last time. I’m not that easy.”

You couldn't help but laugh, a sharp, disbelieving sound. He seemed to realize what he had just said, because he smoothly looked away, his hand lifting, as if to rub his nape, before awkwardly dropping it. “Saving face, Sully? I got you there in record time.” You savored the newfound power, a delicious, unexpected sensation.

He stared at you, silent, but you could almost hear the gears grinding in his mind.

“What?” you snapped, confused by his unwavering gaze.

“Just... So this is how you look without your paint,” he said, his voice soft.

Your face crumpled in annoyance. He didn't take you seriously, and it was your own fault. You hissed at him, turning to walk away, feeling his hot gaze follow you and then the thud of his footsteps. Before you reached the edge of the woods, his hand caught your elbow. You tried to shake it off, but he pulled you back, a spring toy snapping into him. Your palms pressed against his broad chest as your body almost slammed against his.

“I want to see you again,” he said, his voice deep.

Your nose almost flared. “I have no reason to see you again,” you hissed, freeing yourself from his grasp. “Be thankful to your goddess that I showed you mercy.”

He watched you walk away this time, his eyes still glinting with a strange mix of amazement and amusement. You returned to the convention, searching for Taryu when a sharp clap was heard. Trojan stepped into view, a sneer twisting his features. You gritted your teeth at the sight of him.

“Impeccable performance,” he drawled, his voice laced with mock admiration. “You didn’t waste time, huh? Varang didn’t tell us we had a hustler on our side.”

You stood impassive, giving him nothing.

“I wasn’t even needed here. You did everything on your own. Got yourself out there and lured that damned demon effortlessly,” he continued, shaking his head. “You must be really hot by Na’vi standards. I mean, you look delectable to me as it is, and I’m a human.” His eyes raked over you.

You chuckled with disdain, the sound mocking his words, especially because he wore a Na’vi body. “I don’t expect anything from you anyway. Now, are you going to patronize me for doing all the work, or will you shut up soon?”

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. He bowed his head mockingly. “Shutting up soon, but I need to know what happened. Where is the demon’s corpse?“

Demon. You wanted to roll your eyes. “I did not kill him. It’s not a job for me to do,” you said, nonchalantly.

“What?” He said, stepping toward you. You stood your ground, watching him with dark eyes, daring him to come closer. “You had the chance, and you did not?”

“How many chances did the RDA have to kill that man? Probably uncountable, and yet he remains breathing. Is there really no honor in you sky people that you had to resort to underhanded tactics to kill a single man?”

“You are in no position to talk about honor, Mangkwan,” he retorted, his voice sharp. “You know nothing about politics and strategies. The RDA won’t waste resources and soldiers just for the life of one man.”

“Then the RDA must bear the losses that one man brings them,” you countered.

“I saw you disappear into the forest with him. Ah, I know,” a snicker escaped him. “He fucked you. And you decided you won’t kill him—”

You hissed, unsheathing your knife, and before he could even blink an eye, you had the blade pressed against his throat. His eyes widened, primal fear flashing in their depths.

“Do not test me, demon,” you threatened, your voice a low hiss.

He took a short, sharp breath, afraid to move his head, lest you dig the blade deeper. He raised both hands, stepping back slowly, watching you as if you were a wild animal. “I’ll relay what happened to Quaritch. Await your punishment from your deranged leader.”

The travel back to Bridgehead City was surprisingly calmer than your travel to the convention. You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t find your anxiety yet, even as you know that Varang will surely deal with you. The sterile air of Bridgehead that welcomd you made you wince. It scraped at your nostrils, it was a stark contrast to the humid forest you had just left.

Quaritch and Varang waited in the ops center, the room humming with the low thrum of machinery, banks of glowing screens casting an eerie blue light on their faces. Varang’s eyes, bright and predatory, settled on you as you entered. A wicked smile stretched her lips. You braced yourself, each step a march toward an inevitable punishment.

“It is swift. Just as I expected from you, daughter.” Pride laced her voice, a sickening sweetness that made your gut clench.

Trojan snickered, the sound grating. “She didn’t kill that devil incarnate, Quaritch. She had the chance though, he got lured right into her trap without her trying but still, that ingrate didn’t kill him.”

Varang’s smile vanished, her eyes snapping to you. “Is this true?”

You met her gaze, a chilling fear crawling up your spine, but you refused to shrink. “Yes.”

Her hand clamped onto your forearm. “And you didn’t kill him, why?”

Trojan snickered again. “Good question—”

You hissed at him, cutting him off mid-sentence. Quaritch, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, raised a hand, silencing Trojan with a glance. You turned back to Varang, your voice low, controlled. “He would kill me if I tried to. And truthfully, I do not want to die.” You lied. “If the sky people want him dead, then they should come for him.” You shifted your gaze to Quaritch, a challenge in your eyes. “Or do you fear him, Colonel?”

Varang’s grip on your forearm tightened, her nails digging into your flesh. “How dare you question Quaritch?” Her voice cracked like a whip. You clamped your mouth shut and she turned to Quaritch, a placating smile returning, though it didn't reach her eyes. “I will deal with her.”

She dragged you out, her grip like iron as you walked past the many machineries and tanks until you reached the place allotted for the Mangkwan. A few children played near the entrance to the living quarters, their laughter a contrast to the dread building within you. Kekihe called your name, her voice filled with innocent joy but Varang’s angry hiss silenced her, and worry morphed her face before her small features twisted in fear. Your forehead furrowed, a pang of hurt piercing through you as you watched how scared she was. You forced a smile, happily waving a hand, a silent assurance to soothe her.

Varang shoved you into her yurt. You stumbled, landing hard on the ground. You knew better than to rise, remaining kneeling, your head bowed, as her fury descended on you.

“You brought me shame. You embarrass me to our allies!” Her eyes, wide and furious, burned into you. “Why did you not kill him?” she bit out, each word sharp.

“Olo’eykte, I already said—”

“I do not care about what you do not want or whether you do not want to die,” she cut you off. “My order was for you to kill the son of Toruk Makto.” Every word was emphasized, punctuated by the deceptive touch of her hand on the thick plait of braided hair behind your head. Your breath hitched, closing your eyes, knowing what would come. “And yet you failed me.”

A beat of silence and then a pained scream tore at your throat as she forcibly connected her kuru to yours. Your back arched, muscles spasming as you threw your head back, a primal shriek echoing in the yurt. White-hot pain seared through your mind, a thousand needles piercing your consciousness. The memories, long buried, erupted. Varang’s voice, cold and sharp, echoed in your head. You were much smaller, being punished for something you can't even remember anymore.

Your body felt like it was burning, every nerve ending aflame. You couldn’t even see her clearly, your vision marred with streaks of white as desperation clawed at you, a desperate need to be freed from this torment.

She grabbed your jaw hard, her fingers digging into your cheek. “I would kill you right now for this misdeed. Tell me why I shouldn’t.”

Your body convulsed, gasping for air, the world spinning. You forced words past your burning throat. “I have been loyal to you, Olo’eykte, my whole life.” That was the truth. You realized now how it was only ever driven by fear and never respect and devotion for her. You wished you could say more, explain the impossible choice she had forced upon you, but your mind was reeling.

She groaned, a sound of frustration, before pulling her kuru violently. You stumbled on the floor, chasing your breath, jolts of pulsing pain attacking your body. “You do not want to kill him… but you are not scared of him.” She said, her voice laced with a strange realization, interpreting what she had read from your raw emotions. She narrowed her eyes at you, then pushed you away. “Get out of here!”

You crawled out of her yurt, gasping, your limbs trembling. Kekihe waited in the distance, her small frame hunched, tears streaming down her face. She ran to you, throwing her arms around your waist, burying her face in your hip, her sobs muffled against your skin. Anguish seized your heart as you kneeled. The physical and mental pain inflicted on you barely made you cry, but as Kekihe cries for you, only then did your tears fall.

You stroke her hair, assuring her you were okay, your voice rough with unspoken pain. “Do not cry loudly,” you whispered, your eyes darting back to Varang’s yurt, “She might hear you.”

You returned to the yurt you shared with Säyim and Kekihe. Säyim sat by the low fire, her eyes fixed on the entrance. Kekihe, still sniffling, recounted what she witnessed. Säyim’s face contorted, groans of rage tearing at her throat. You assured both of them you were fine, though your body throbbed and your spirit felt raw.

From that day forward, you had fallen from Varang’s favor. In turn, you had lost your last shred of respect for her. You didn’t even know if you had ever truly respected her at all, or if you had simply done what you thought necessary to keep yourself, Säyim and Kekihe, safe from her wrath.

You continued your duties, a silent rebel within her ranks. You trained young warriors. You hunted, venturing further from Bridgehead, seeking the clean scents of the forest. You hunted for Säyim and Kekihe, for the vulnerable. If the hunt yielded more than enough, you shared with others, another act of defiance against the selfishness Varang has ingrained in her people.

A moon had waxed and waned since your encounter with Neteyam. And now, you hunted in a forest an hour’s flight from Bridgehead. You had washed away the ash and paint, leaving your skin bare, a conscious choice for a safer hunt. You knew the risks; others had paid with their lives for being Mangkwan in these territories.

You were stalking a small yerik when you heard a sudden, rhythmic thudding on the ground, followed by heavier ones. A blur of blue followed by the monstrous, hulking form of a palulukan, its massive mouth opened, snapping inches away from the person’s head. Without any hesitation, without even a thought, you released your arrow. It whistled through the air, but the palulukan, a creature of pure instinct managed to evade it. The arrow flew past its head, embedding itself harmlessly in a tree trunk further back.

You missed it, but your shot had done a different job. The palulukan, its momentum still carrying it forward, halted mid-stride, its massive head swiveling until its eyes fixed on you. Your breathing hitched at the same time an enraged bellow ripped from its throat. It coiled and then it launched itself, a terrifying, unstoppable force, directly at you. You stepped backward, nocking another arrow, and sending it flying. The forest, so peaceful moments before, now screamed with danger.

“Run!” A deep, resonant bellow, full of urgency and power, cut through the din.

But you didn’t run. You aimed another arrow, holding your breath, scared but still defiant. The palulukan closed the distance between you two in terrifying strides. You released the arrow. It struck the beast’s shoulder, but it merely enraged it further. There was no more time. The palulukan was almost upon you. You turned, finally, to flee, running as fast as you could but your foot caught on a gnarled root, sending you stumbling. You cried out and fell hard on the ground. You felt a jolt of agony splintering up your foot. You sat there, watching in sickening slow motion as the massive palulukan zoomed forward. You fumbled for one of the separated blades of your double-bladed staff, preparing for a desperate, final stand.

This was it. You’re going to die. But at least, it would be in the mouth of a palulukan.

But you heard a whistling sound, and then a thud. The palulukan’s charge faltered. It staggered, a guttural roar tearing from its throat, then it collapsed. An arrow, fletched with large green leaves, jutted from its chest, buried deep. The beast’s momentum carried it forward, its massive body plowing through the soft ground, sending a cloud of dust and leaves flying in the air until its snout came to rest mere inches from your outstretched foot.

Silence descended, broken only by your ragged breathing. You sat there, heart hammering, disoriented, the scent of dust thick in your nostrils as you heard heavy footsteps thud closer, purposeful and swift, followed by an angry, “What were you thinking?!”

You snapped your head up, indignation burning through the pain. How dare he yell at you after you had just saved him, and gotten yourself injured in the process? A tall, broad figure emerged from the tree line. Your lips parted, a huff of disbelief escaping you. Neteyam. His face, initially contorted with anger, softened, a quick wave of concern washing over his features as his eyes landed on you. You would laugh at the swift change if you weren’t so thoroughly enraged.

You hissed at him. “How dare you get mad? I saved you!” You gestured wildly to your throbbing foot. “And now, I’m hurt!”

His eyes widened a fraction, traveling from your face to your ankle. “You’re hurt?” he repeated, already scrambling to your side. He knelt, his large hands gently assessing your now swelling foot. “Fuck, you sprained it.”

You raised a brow at the foreign word. You tried to move your foot, to pull yourself up, but a jolt of excruciating pain shot through your leg. He groaned and gathered you into his arms, lifting you easily as thought you weigh nothing, and set you down on a nearby rock, kneeling in front of you once more.

He carefully pressed down on your ankle, and you hissed. He looked up, his eyes filled with concern. “Hurt?”

You bit your lip. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

He sighed, a deep, rumbling sound. “I won’t allow you to strain your foot further if that’s what you’re planning to do.” His eyes dared you to challenge him. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” He opened his satchel, pulling out a flat, intricately carved container.

“As you should, that happened because of you,” you said, watching him open the container, dismissing the fact that it was your decision to intervene.

He held your foot gently, applying a dollop of thick, minty balm to your ankle. “I’m sorry,” he looked up again, his expression earnest. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

A prickle of guilt pierced your thick shell. You had blamed him, but he had saved you too. You pushed your lips forward. “I know,” you said in a small voice. “Sorry.” A word you rarely utter.

He lifted his head, a small smile gracing his lips. When your eyes met, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You stared at him as a strange, ticklish warmth spread through your chest. You forced a cough, looking away.

“What’s that balm made of? It’s cool,” you asked, changing the subject.

“Dapophet and spice bell, mixed with the nectar of a hatchet bee,” he told you, still smiling softly. “We need to be somewhere safe before it darkens.” He easily gathered you into his arms again.

He walked and you looked around, taking in the unfamiliar forest. “Do you know these woods?” you asked.

“Not much, but I saw a falls over there. That’s where I was planning to jump to escape the palulukan,” he said.

You remembered his calm demeanor earlier, the absence of panic. He had a plan. He wasn’t even fazed by having killed a palulukan, as though it were a small achievement among many. He found a small grotto near the falls, a hidden alcove veiled by hanging vines. He gently placed you down on a soft, mossy stone bed.

“I’ll go get more herbs and food,” he said, leaving his satchel beside you.

When he returned, he already has a string of iridescent fish, a bundle of fresh herbs, and an armload of wood for fire.

“I’ll help you start it,” you said, carefully trying to slide off the stone bed. But he intercepted you, his hands firm on your waist, settling you back down. You almost hissed at him, but bit back. “In my clan, I am a priestess of fire,” you told him in a biting tone.

He smiled, a genuine, easy smile. “Relax, spitfire, I believe you.” He smirked. “But I have to wrap your ankle with poultice. We’ll start the fire later.”

You pushed your lips forward, watching him work. He crushed the herbs with a smooth stone, his movements precise and practiced. You thought of your clan, how no man, not even most of the women, knew anything about tending to injuries. They left the weak to die. And here was this man, a fearsome warrior, yet so gentle, and knowledgeable in the matters of healing. No one had ever cared for you so tenderly and you felt something tug at your heart. No one had ever let you be the weak one.

He meticulously wrapped your ankle with a woven fabric, securing the poultice in place. Then, he helped you down. “Now we can start the fire,” he said, scaling the fish with practiced ease.

You struck a spark, coaxing a flame from the dry tinder. He watched, fascinated, as the fire caught, growing quickly under your ministrations. “How did you do that?” he asked, genuine wonder in his voice.

“We worship the fire,” you said, your tone clipped, a hint of pride in your voice. “We call to it as you call to your Eywa.”

He stared at you, his expression thoughtful and then he nodded. “I understand.” he said with no hint of prejudice and judgment that you held his gaze for a long moment, a strange warmth spreading through you.

You ate the roasted fish together, the silence comfortable, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and the murmur of the waterfall outside your grotto.

When it was time to sleep, he sat on the ground, sharpening his arrows on a smooth stone, despite the ample space on the stone bed beside you. “Don’t you want to lie beside me?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended. His head snapped up, his eyes wide as they met yours.

“I want to, of course,“ he answered quickly, like a yerik being offered food. “I mean, if you want me to… then…” he stammered, so unlike the fierce warrior in the battlefield.

You raised a brow, stifling a laugh at his unexpected decency. “Well, I feel sorry that you have to sleep on the cold ground… when there’s plenty of space beside me… here, on the mossy bed.” You yawned, stretching as you turned to your side, your tail moving lasciviously.

He stifled a smile, his eyes watching your tail. You watched him stand, biting your lip, a small, private smile blooming on your face as he lay down beside you, filling your back with warmth. You fell asleep so quick it was almost record-breaking and when you woke up, sunlight is already filtering through the vines that serve as a curtain for your grotto. You were cuddled to Neteyam, his arm wrapped around you and your cheek pillowed on his chest.

You were so surprised that you jolted awake, moving back faster than you could think. Neteyam’s eyes flew opened, panic already flashing in them watching you fall off the stone bed. His arm shot up immediately though, catching you mid-fall and pulling you back to him.

“Shit,” he breathed and you frowned at the foreign word. “Eywa, she’s a little disaster.”

Your frown deepened. “I was surprised! I didn’t allow you to hug me!” you pushed him away.

He chuckled, sitting up and gently grabbing your leg, you’d kick his hand away if only it wasn’t your injured foot that he was cradling. “I’ll unwrap it, let’s check how your foot is doing,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep.

You’d retort with something smart but you were distracted with his gravelly deep voice, ended up just watching him unwrap it. There was a vibrant bruise of purple and green, but the swelling was already receding. You tried to rotate it but there was still pain, making you wince.

“Stop straining yourself,” he groaned, fixing you with his best stern look, but when you didn’t hiss or bite back, his finger lifted to boop your nose. “We’ll rewrap your sprain with poultice and I’ll get us some food,“ he said, already moving as if he’s being timed.

Days bled into one another and surprisingly, you were never bored except when you’re alone because he’s out to hunt. One afternoon, he came back with a variety of fruits, some of them you never even knew existed. The sight of them alone excited you, but when he presented a small, intricately woven cord, your attention was snagged immediately. You felt like a kid being presented with many, many gifts. Dangling from it, polished to a dull sheen, were several palulukan teeth.

“This is beautiful,” you said, peering up at him, “I like it.”

He tilted his head, smiling. “It’s yours.” He parted both ends of the woven cords and you leaned forward to offer your neck.

You touched the centerpiece. A fang, much longer and more curved than the others that surround it. Your eyes caught the leaf that cradled more palulukan teeth and your hand reached for it. “Can I have this?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

He nodded, his finger brushing the fang sitting on your sternum. “Sure. I have nothing to do with it anyway.”

You raised a brow, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes. “How about bringing it back to your clan as proof of your might?” Even among the Mangkwan, felling a palulukan was a feat. Such a kill warranted celebration, proof of a warrior’s prowess.

He blinked, genuinely perplexed. “Why would I need proof?”

You pushed your lips forward. Of course. The warrior who dismantles entire armed outposts with only his bow and arrows required no tangible evidence of his strength. You simply shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips.

Mornings often found you curled against his side, just like your first morning together. In your defense, the chill of the forest is not to be underestimated. Whenever you cuddled closer, he would stir, a low hum in his chest, and without a word, his arm would wrap around you, pulling you deeper into his warmth. A quiet triumph blooms in his chest each time you woke entangled, your body not recoiling, no sharp hiss escaping your lips. One time, you even snuggled closer into him even when you're already awake.

By the fire at night, you spoke of nothing else but your own people. He spoke of his family, his voice soft with affection as he told you stories about his siblings, while you listened, painting mental pictures of what they might look like.

“How old is your brother Lo’ak?” you asked again, thinking you missed a part because he mentioned a little sister around Kekihe's age.

His eyes snapped at you. “He's mated,” he answered.

You frowned. “And? That’s not what I asked,” you rolled you eyes, biting into a juicy fruit.

“He’s a year younger... But mated already,” he said as if he really needed to add that fact. “He beat me to it.” he added smoothly.

You raised a brow, both understanding and not understanding what he’s trying to say. Yes, he is unmated, but you don’t know how that is any of your business.

“You hunt on your own?” he asked, his fingers absently weaving through your hair. The question came after you mentioned your various solo journeys before this one.

“Everyone in my clan must sustain themselves on their own. Most of them hunt only for themselves,” you told him.

He tilted his head. “What of the old and the young? Who feeds them?”

“The young depend on their parents,” you replied. You remembered scrambling for scraps, foraging for berries in the ashen woods an hour’s walk from the village when you were young. No one hunted for you so you learned to hunt young.

“What about orphaned children? Surely, there are some of them, with how frequently adults in your clan die…” His voice held a gentle probe, a curiosity that bordered on concern.

You pushed your lips forward, in awe of how he hit the nail right on the head. When you were young, you couldn't understand the fact that adults could watch you starve and do nothing... And here he is, perhaps years late, thinking about children like you were.

You sighed. “They either get adopted or die… I have one, her name’s Kekihe.” A soft smile touched your lips at the memory of the bright-eyed child.

“You have an adopted child?” he asked, his voice laced with an almost boyish curiosity.

“Not adopted, not really… I live with her and her grandmother, Säyim,” you clarified. They are your family now. Their presence is a balm in your hard existence.

He nodded, a thoughtful expression settling on his face. “And now, you cannot hunt because of your foot,” he mused, a flicker of worry in his eyes. “I will hunt for you. You can’t go home to them with nothing.” He said, determined.

While he’s out hunting every day, you worked on weaving a choker for him. You used your red dye, stringing small, polished beads onto a fine sinew. The palulukan fang, black and sharp, is its centerpiece. The days continued to melt, and with each passing one, your ankle gained strength. A dull ache with every step remained but the sharp pain had receded. One afternoon, after you were finally done with the choker you were creating, you let the pull of the water outside your grotto win you over.

You were on the upstream of the waterfall, surrounded by large rocks before the actual fall and you felt relief that yiu were not tempted to jump over. You shed your top and loincloth, the cool water making you shiver as you submerge yourself further in the icy water. You floated on your back, watching the sky filtered by the canopy above 

Neteyam arrived then, a huge yerik slung effortlessly over his shoulder. You maneuvered to stand, the water swirling around your hips, looking up at him. “My foot doesn’t hurt that much anymore,” you told him and you were surprised at how sad you sounded. “The water’s cold and it helps.”

He nodded, his gaze sweeping over you, and you felt a strange triumph when you see the subtle downturn of his lips, mirroring your sadness. He lowered the yerik to the ground, its bulk settling with a soft thud. Your eyes followed him as he walked towards the stream, his movements fluid. He untied his loincloth, the simple act sending a jolt through you. Your breath hitched, watching the fabric fall away, revealing his cock, already hard and thick.

He submerged himself, the water rippling around him, and swam under the surface, emerging a few feet away. A sly smile curved your lips as you moved towards him. His eyes, dark and dangerous, watched your every move. You scooped water onto your hand, casually reaching for his shoulder to wash away the remnants of blood from his hunt. You caressed the scar you’d given him, your fingers tracing the raised skin before leaning in, pressing your lips to it. A deep rumble escaped his chest and you smiled, your own desire mirrors the heat in his eyes as you continued to wash the blood from his arms, appreciating the taut lines of his form.

“Did you wander far? Where did you catch the yerik?” you asked, your voice a low murmur.

His hands found the curve of your waist, settling there, his grip firm. “Not that far. It was alone near the river where I fish,” he answered, his voice a low growl.

You peered up at him, finding his eyes dilated, fixed on your face. “It was huge.” One of your hands drifted down to his abdomen, tracing the hard planes of his muscles, your gaze never leaving his.

You rose onto your tiptoes, and he eagerly lowered his head, meeting your lips. He groaned as your mouths finally met, his hand cupping your jaw, tilting your head back to plunder your lips, demanding and possessive. Your hands caressed up, hooking your forearms around his nape. One of his hands slid up, kneading your breast, as his lips traced a path down your jaw, along your neck, and onto your shoulder. You cradled his head, your own head thrown back as he kissed your scarification bumps reverently.

His other hand scooped you by the ass and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your hips instinctively arching. He laid you down on a smooth, moss-covered rock by the stream, the cool stone a contrast to the heat of his body. He loomed over you, kissing your lips again before his mouth trailed down your neck, across your shoulder, over your chest, and finally to your belly, his lips pressing soft kisses to each scarification. You spread your legs wider, a silent invitation as he made his intent clear, he kissed the long scar on your thugh tenderly before his mouth found your pussy.

Your breath hitched and your hips bucked involuntarily, grabbing a handful of his braids, pushing him down further, gaining a deep groan from him. He kissed and licked, a relentless assault on your softness, until you were writhing, stimulated to the brink. He rose then, your body trembling as you weakly watch him, one hand grabbing your breast, squeezing.

He watched you, his eyes dark with raw desire, propping a hand on the rock beside you. He kissed you softly, a tender brush of lips, before pressing his forehead against yours. “Do you want me, my fire?” he asked, his voice low and thick with arousal.

You moaned, a soft sound in his ears. “Yes…”

He pressed a hard kiss against your lips, then gently took your hand, guiding it to his cock. “Put me in you then…”

You whined, a frustrated sound, lifting your head to kiss him, but he pulled back an inch, evading your lips. You groaned, glaring at him as you circled your fingers around his thick cock, the smooth, hot skin making you moan. You spread your thighs wider, lifting your hips slightly, your hand moving up and down his length in a slow caress.

He watched you, biting his lip, a raw, animalistic expression. You breathed shakily, guiding the wide head of his cock into your softness, whining as you move your hips, swallowing him slowly, inch by agonizing inch. He claimed your lips, kissing you deep and hungry, his tongue tangling with yours. Your scream was muffled by his kisses as he plunged the rest of his length into you in one swift, desperate motion, holding your hips in place. You clutched at his shoulders, your fingers digging into his flesh, your other hand leaving angry red scratches on his back. Like the first time, a sharp ache blossomed, but it was quickly overridden by a profound, delicious stretch.

“Hurt?” he asked, his tongue tracing the curve of your lip.

“No. So good…” you mumbled, kissing him again, losing yourself in the sensation.

You made love, there by the stream, and when he carried you back to your grotto, he didn’t let go of you. Later, as you lay tangled on the stone bed, the cool air caressing your heated skin, you felt him kiss your hair, inhaling your scent, a deep, contented sigh rumbling in his chest. You nuzzled deeper into his neck, the scent of him filling your senses.

“I made something for you,” you mumbled, your hand idly caressing his chest.

He kissed your temple. “Yeah?” He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours.

You smiled softly, and his heart lurched, a warmth spreading through his chest as if you were the very source of fire, a true fire priestess. He couldn’t resist, his lips finding yours again. You chuckled, untangling yourself to reach for the choker you’d made.

“I only have red dye with me… so the beads are red,” you said, lifting the choker into the air, a small frown on your face. “Sorry.”

He sat up, his large hands covering yours as he touched the choker. “Do not say sorry,” he said, his voice firm, his eyes reprimanding you. “This is beautiful, baby.” His fingers traced the smooth black fang centerpiece. “Red is beautiful.”

“It is the color of Mangkwan…” you pointed out, as if that alone were reason enough for him to dislike it.

“It is your color,” he corrected, his earnest eyes fixed on yours. He remembered the fierce beauty that had captivated him years ago, the first time he ever saw you in an ambush of a Mangkwan raid. Truthfully, he’d sabotaged the Mangkwan raids that followed that just to see you again. He hadn’t, until months ago, when you’d wounded him, leaving him with a scar that he now wore with pride.

He removed the choker he was already wearing before leaning in toward you. You understood, kneeling to reach behind him to tie the choker around his nape. His hands settled on your waist, and his lips found your chest, pressing a kiss to your scarifications. You sat back on your heels, your fingers touching the beads at his neck.

He stared at you, his eyes soulful. “We will see each other again,” he said, his voice low.

You gave him a haughty look, a playful glint in your eyes. “That sounds more like an order than an entreaty.”

His eyes widened, humor dancing in their depths. “Well, baby, I am not above begging.” He took your hands, his earnest gaze locking with yours. “I beg of you, my fire, say you will see me again and save this warrior from his misery of constantly missing you…” He brought your hand to his chest, pressing it over his beating heart.

A sly smile cut through your lips. You pushed gently against his chest. You’d thought about it countless times in the past days, the desire to see him again, the quiet hope that he would want the same. “You’re being dramatic,” you rolled your eyes. “I will see you.”

He smiled then, a triumphant flash, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your palm. “Always so merciful.”

“Will we see each other here?” you asked, slowly lying back down on the stone bed.

He watched you, his eyes darkening, his hand pressing against your lower abdomen, a slow caress. “I’d go to you, my fire, if you wish.”

You rolled your eyes again. “Sure, if you can make it to Bridgehead,” you smirked, raising your hands above your head, your round breasts offered to his gaze.

His eyes darted down, his hand travelling up, covering one of your breasts, massaging gently. “Is that a challenge, baby?” he asked cockily.

You turned serious, the playful facade dropping. “Don’t even try, Sully. You would never step in a place where every single person wants your head.” Your teeth gritted, the warning sharp.

He tilted his head, a thoughtful hum escaping him. “Someone doesn’t want me to die,” he mused, pinching your nipple, a jolt of pleasure making you moan.

You kicked him lightly with your uninjured foot. “You just said you want to meet me again. What else will we do but fuck? Who will fuck me if you’re dead?”

He laughed then, a boisterous, manly sound that filled the grotto. His smile, deceptively handsome and lopsided, held a glint of mischief as he looked at you. “Only I get to make you feel like this, baby. Only me.” His hand clamped around your inner thigh, spreading your legs apart.

You raised a brow, watching him rise onto his knees, positioning himself between your spread legs. He lowered himself, his mouth claiming yours in a hard, demanding kiss. You closed your eyes, your arms wrapping around his nape, pulling him down to you.

Having to leave that little pocket of forest you two carved out as your own held a surprising reluctance in you. You felt like you didn’t want to leave, but your foot, though still a little tender when you give it your full weight, was mostly healed. Besides, Säyim is definitely worrying. He watched you with silent intensity as you lathered your skin with ash, then applied the black and red paints to your face and forearm, transforming yourself back into the Mangkwan you are. To an outsider, his devotion would be glaringly obvious. He’s a man completely ensnared. Yet, you still thought him foolish for being here, being with you.

You looked at up at him when he leaned forward, dipping his thumb into your red dye, then, with a careful touch, painted the horizontal line from beneath your nose, down to your lips and chin, as if telling you he knew exactly what your signature face paint looked like. When you’re ready, he helped you tie the yerik he’d caught onto your ikran, adding many fruits and strings of fresh fish with it. One would think you were sent out to get food for a whole village.

“That is a lot,” you said, patting your ikran’s head.

“You can do what you wish with it,” he said, pulling you close by the waist and inhaling your scent, making you feel conscious about the ash but he didn’t seem to care at all. “I want to give you everything you need.”

You peered up at him, your eyes glinting with promise that you’ll return the favor... someway else. Varang, the Mangkwan, and the RDA, they all seemed distant, fading in the background. You had never felt this way before, this intoxicating mix of joy and warmth. You had never truly rebelled, not like this, and for the first time in your life, you wanted to chase this feeling Neteyam ignited within you. For once, you wanted to choose yourself.

You flew back to Bridgehead, your heart still alight with joy, a warmth that had settled deep within. But the warmth quickly dissipated, replaced by a cold dread, when you heard Vakrep’s voice behind you as you were discharging the yerik from your ikran’s back, the heavy carcass thudding to the ground.

“Where were you?” he asked, his voice a low sneer.

You snapped a sharp glance at him, your eyes narrowed. “Hunting. What is it to you?”

His eyes, creepy and always invasive, swept over your body. “You killed a palulukan?” he asked, a curious glint in his gaze as he noticed the necklace around your neck.

“Again, what is it to you?” you retorted, dragging the yerik further, then lifting the strings of fruit.

He stepped forward, closing the distance. “It is my business to know where you are going. One day, Varang will give you to me,” he said, his fangs on display, a predatory smile stretching his lips. “So you better watch your actions… and keep yourself untainted. For me.”

You winced, a visceral wave of disgust washing over you. You hissed, a low, guttural sound. “I would kill you before that happens.”

He snickered, a harsh, grating sound. “I’d like to see you try, but you have no choice. You know that. You are a strong warrior, as am I… Varang will ensure the future of the Mangkwan through us.”

You gritted your teeth, watching him turn and retreat.

Meanwhile, at the Omatikaya hometree, Neteyam was enveloped in his mother’s embrace. He had been gone for weeks, but her initial worry, softened into relief as she scanned his uninjured form. Her eyes, however, caught on the choker at his neck.

“Palulukan… you killed a palulukan?” A smile of fierce pride broke across her face. “Where?”

“Western rainforest… it chased me,” he said, a flicker of a smile playing on his lips, and for a moment, Neytiri was reminded of the boy he once was.

“Red beads? Beautiful… It is a strong color,” she mused, her fingers tracing the beads. “It suits you, son.”

Neteyam looked at his mother, his eyes alight with an emotion that surprised even Neytiri. “Does it?” he asked, his voice soft, almost vulnerable.

She chuckled, her hand reaching up to rest on his head, a gesture of affection despite his towering height. “It does.”

The happiness radiating from him, a palpable aura, did not escape Neytiri. Nor did the sight of his thumb, faintly reddened with dye. She watched her son move through the winding ramps of Hometree, a lightness in his steps, as though he floated on air, buoyed by an invisible joy.

The forest, just as it stood witness to thousands of Neteyam’s ancestors, seems to hold the secret of your clandestine meetings, too; hearing the sounds of shared laughter that mingles with the whisper of the waterfall, saw how the mask of the perfect son slips from Neteyam’s face, replaced by vulnerability he only ever allowed you to see. It was a stark contrast to the one he shows when you two were in a spar though. He is a competent fighter and you’ve known that in the two times you faced him in a ground combat, but you had a hunch that he’s holding back which you take as insult.

“Mawey, baby. This is just a game,” he said, sidestepping you, his hand catching your wrist with ease.

“Scared?” you shot back, twisting out of his grip, a kick sent at his side, but he blocked it, a surprised grunt escaping him.

“Fuck, you kick like a direhorse,“ he said, chuckling as he flicked his hand to shake off the faint pain that blocking your kick brought. You circled him, eyes narrowed, a predatory glint in their depths. “Respectfully.” he added with a boyish smile.

You raised a brow. “Don’t hold back on me, Sully,” you said, smirking.

He tilted his head and you could tell he’s accepted your challenge because  you felt the full force of his strength. He was faster, stronger, and his reach longer but you were able to find gaps. You were smaller, sure, but you were more agile and ferocious, your skills honed by countless unrestrained fights.

“You fight as if you want to kill me,” he said after the spar, pinning you against a tree, his chest heaving, a sheen of sweat on it. Your own chest rose and fell rapidly, your eyes locked with his as your lips curved into a smirk. He groaned, cupping your chin and tilting your head up to kiss you hard.

You hummed against his lips, kissing him back. “What if I am?” you mumured against his lips before giving him consecutive pecks.

He laughed, a genuine, booming sound that echoed through the trees, angling his head to kiss you softly. “Will die happily, baby,” he whispered, kissing you again, this time, deeper.

You allowed yourself to melt into his kiss, hooking your arms around his nape at the same time his large hands spanned your waist, both your hearts beating against your ribcages in sync, both seeking release and desiring to tangle around each other, just as you two later were. As your meetings continued and occured as frequently, Neteyam’s absences did not go unnoticed by his clan. In the great communal space of Hometree, the elders and warriors often glanced at the empty place beside Jake Sully. Jake, who had already had a hunch about what Neteyam is doing, remained silent.

The clan had pushed his son to mate, to choose a woman from among them the moment he’d come to adulthood, but Jake had never seen Neteyam show interest in any Omatikaya woman, but these frequent disappearances and slipping back into Hometree late into the night, with that stupid smile on and a lightness in his steps, Jake could only assume.

He shook his head to himself, his lips curling in a private smile. Let the boy find his own path. For this, he often covered for his eldest son, a silent acknowledgement of how Neteyam, who had carried most of the clan’s burdens against their enemies for years, deserves this, more than ever.

“I sent him on patrol,” Jake would state, his voice carrying an authority no one dared question.

One night, Neteyam returned late from a meeting with you, having been away for over a day. He stepped into the Hometree just as the council meeting was concluding.

“You are not in attendance again!” Neytiri’s voice was sharp with concern and annoyance as she reprimanded her son. Her eyes held a steely glint. “Your father covered for you, but this cannot continue.”

Neteyam stood straighter. He had just parted ways with you, your scent still lingering on his skin, the memory of your laugh a warm ember in his chest. His head bowed a little, offering no argument. “My apologies, Mother. It will not happen again.”

“You are late for the council meeting! Late for your duties! What is so important that it pulls you from your responsibilities?” she continued and Jake could almost imagine her breathing fire.

Neteyam’s head remained bowed and Jake knew his son won’t talk back, unless he’s in a position that allows him to defend himself. Jake, taking initiative, put both his hands on his mate’s shoulders, gently pulling her back.

“Mawey, baby, mawey. Give the boy some slack, he’s always working hard,” he nod his head toward his son before pressing on Neytiri’s shoulders. “He is still just a young man.”

Neytiri’s shoulders slumped, realizing that Jake is saying nothing but the truth. No one works harder than Neteyam, and it made her feel guily that she’s expecting so much from him. “I’m sorry, son. You may go and rest now.” she said, reaching up to put a palm over her son’s head.

Neteyam nodded, excusing himself to both of them and walking away. Jake watched his son, seeing the faint smile that touched his lips. The heavy burden Neteyam carried for this clan seemed to lift from his shoulders when he returned from these secret rendezvous. Jake once again smiled to himself, a silent understanding passing between father and son.

You dodged Neteyam’s weapon, spinning as you bring your own twin-bladed staff around in a wide arc. He blocked, his blade thudding against yours. You pressed the advantage, sending a flurry of strikes, each aimed at each opening you can see. He parried, his brow furrowed in concentration, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Too slow, Sully,” you hissed, feinting left, then dropping low, sweeping your staff at his legs. He hopped, a grunt escaping him, but you were already up, disarming him with a swift flick of your wrist. His knife fell to the ground. You pressed the tip of your own to his throat.

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “Always a cheat, my fire.” He didn’t move, eyes glinting with admiration.

“Always a fool for falling for it,” you countered, pulling your staff back. You offered him his weapon.

He took it, his fingers brushing yours, his fingers lingering. “You make it too easy to be a fool.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m starting to think I only managed to wound you because you allowed me.”

A smirk appeared on his handsome face. “I didn’t, but I was definitely distracted.”

You explored the forest, with him pointing out plants, describing their properties, their uses in medicine or sustenance, and you find it funny that he knows so much.

“This one, its sap can soothe burns,” he explained, his finger tracing the broad petal of a healing rose. “And this, its berries, when crushed, make a potent pain reliever.”

“Are you sure you’re not your people’s tsakarem?” you asked, chuckling.

He grinned. “My grandmother knows a lot about healing. Healers, under her supervision, teach the kids the basics. Just in case a situation calls for it,” he said.

You tilted your head, remembering what an expert he was at tending to your injured ankle, seemingly knowing exactly what to do. You smiled, thinking of a people making it a norm to teach the children how to care for one another.

You held his weapon, examining its weight and its design. You’ve never seen a weapon like it before. The handle was beautiful, fashioned after the sloping head of a direhorse. You adjusted your grip around it, remembering how he held it in a perpendicular angle, his hand fisting around the hilt. A short, pointed blade jut forward, it’s the blade he used to puncture that sky person’s metal suit by delivering punches.

On the other side, a longer blade extended down, covering your forearm. This is what he used to wound your fellow Mangkwan with a twist of his hand, slashing at the chest. It has dual blades, customized especially for him, and extremely deadly. “This is a beautiful weapon,” you commented.

He smirked. “It was my Uncle Tsu’tey’s. He was the Olo’eyktan before my father... He fought with my parents in the battle of the Ayram Alusing.”

You smiled at the thought. Every battle he’s fighting is guided with the weapon of an Olo’eyktan and warrior who fought for their people. You wondered about your parents. Mangkwan warriors like yourself... who both died before you could even remember them.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You leaned against a tree, your top askewed and your breathing ragged as streaks of white marred your vision from the mind-blowing orgasm he just gave you. You felt his mouth on one of your nipples and your fingers tightened around his cock. “Shit...”

He chuckled at the word you used, sending delicious vibrations on your breast as he sucked on it, his fingers caressing your still-sensitive pussy. Your hand trembled as it continued moving up and down his length and when his lips traced up, you lowered your head to catch his lips and kissed him. You can feel him smiling against your kiss and you reared your head back to look at him.

You bit your lip before dipping your head to press an open-mouthed kiss on his neck, gaining a breathy chuckle from him. A renewed flame burned within you as your lips traced a path down his chest and to his abdomen, your hand still pumping his cock. You peered up at him, meeting his eyes as your lips hovered near his hard length. He raised a brow, his eyes dilated and hot on you.

“I want to kiss you here...“ you whispered and you felt him physically tremble as his hand grabbed you shoulder firmly.

Many moons unfolded this way. The days you met were punctuated by him teaching you how to hunt better in the forest, by both of you challenging and pushing at each othe’s limits in combat, and by that one activity inside your grotto that you unanimously decided was best for leaving the two of you breathless. It was clear to him where this is going, he knew the odds he needed to beat to get there, and his body was already vibrating with energy when he thinks about what he is capable of doing, for you.

You, on the other hand, found yourself more and more learned about the nuances of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when genuinely happy or amused. Unaware, you mirror his gestures—a hand on his arm, a soft brush of your shoulder against his, and your fingers always finding his skin. The sound of his laughter seemed to have carved itself in your heart, reminding you of warmth when you’re back at the concrete and metallic labyrinth that was Bridgehead where a different kind of tension has settled over your people.

The children had been sick. It doesn’t take one to be so smart to conclude that the nearest river that had been the Mangkwan’s source of water had been polluted with the RDA’s hazards. The last time you went there to collect water, you observed its waters shimmering with an unnatural sheen. You are still Varang’s unofficial tsakarem, having been taught about the various toxins and hallucinogens, but the very little you know about actual healing, you learned from Neteyam.

He knows the basic benefits of each flora you see in the forest and he’s helped you gather herbs for the sick when you told him what has been going on. If only the situation wasn’t so dire, you would find it comical how quickly he acted when you asked, as if it wasn’t in his mind that it was the Mangkwan you were talking about.

You moved between the sick in a makeshift infirmary made of whatever fabrics the Mangkwan has gotten from previous raidings. The children, usually so vibrant, lay listless with eyes glazed and breaths shallow.

“His fever burns all day long,” a mother pleaded, her child writhing on a mat.

You pressed a cool, damp cloth to the child’s forehead, offering a sip of boiled water mixed with crushed bark. “Keep him warm. He needs rest.” You showed her how to mix the herbs, how to make the poultice. You taught the other women, too, their faces grim at first but then began to help, their hands clumsy but willing.

The river, Varang had declared, was merely a form of cleansing when she graced the makeshift infirmary with her presence. “No, this is not natural. The river is contaminated, Olo’eykte—”

“It is weakness,” she told you, her head snapping at the growing number of sick wth disdain. “Here... Only the strong survive.”

“They are children, Olo’eykte. Some are women. They are the future of our clan—“

“I do not wish for the future of this clan to be on the shoulders of children who fall sick over river water,” she said. “My people have endured worst.“

You kept your mouth clamped then, nodding, knowing that you cannot change her mind. She saw the plague not as a threat, but as a culling, a way to purge the clan of its lesser members. But you saw the fear in the eyes of the mothers, the desperation of the fathers, in the children’s small bodies being wracked with sickness.

Each of your hunt became even more desperate. You distributed food among the sick, among the families whose hunters were too weak to stalk game. But it was never enough. The sickness continued to spread, some children had died and though deep ache tug at your heart at the sound of their mothers wailing, you stayed behind to offer whatever comfort you could give.

You were walking with the bowl of fresh herbs you gathered in the nearest forest when you saw young raiders running to the roost. You grabbed one by the arm and saw him visibly catch his breath. “Are you raiding?“

“Vakrep is leading us to Zeswa. Said we need their medicine—”

“You are raiding the Zeswa?“ you asked in a hard tone, and when he nodded, you let go of his arm and rushed to the infirmary.

You set the bowl down and quickly instructed the women on what to do before making your own way to the roost. You felt ashamed at what you’re feeling, the urgency to stop them from doing what you have done, and even led, for years. Were you as beyond saving as Vakrep? Have you done so much evil already that it voids your right to call out the wrongdoing of your own people?

You launched your ikran into the sky, the wind whipping at your face as you flew over quickly changjng landscape until you reached the clouded forest, seeing the Mangkwan raid party right away despite the thick fog. You dove without thinking, intending to intercept and to reason.

But then there were others there, too. Omatikaya warriors had gotten here faster than you did. You jumped off your ikran before it even fully landed on the ground but an arrow flew, and you felt a searing pain in your calf, a gasp tearing from your throat. You staggered, almost landing hard on the nearest tree, the breath knocked from your lungs.

“No!” a familiar voice bellowed. Neteyam.

A dark shape moved over you. Not Neteyam, but Vakrep, scooping you up in his arms, pulling you away from the chaos.

“My leg!” you hissed, struggling against him, but the pain flared.

You heard the clash of weapons fading behind you as he carried you to where the ikran are waiting, slumping you on the back of his ikran before launching into the sky. Back in Bridgehead, the outrage simmered. Warriors, their faces grim, gathered before Varang’s yurt. Their families, gaunt and trembling, stood behind them.

“Our children are dying, Olo’eykte!” a warrior cried, his voice raw with grief. “The sky people poison our waters! What will we do? What will you do?”

Varang emerged, her eyes already cold. “You whine like pups. This is much like the fire that burned our people years ago... Nothing can stop it, but only the strong endure.”

“The strong die in their sleep from fever!” another shouted. “Their bodies swell! This is not like the fire that burned our people, this is the sky people’s poison!”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Weakness. Your bodies are simply not fit for this land. It is your own failings, and if this weakness among you continues, I will have to deal with all of you.”

A collective silence. The warriors exchanged glances. The respect, once absolute is now flattering, replaced by resentment. You watched from the edge of the crowd, your bandaged leg aching. This was not the Varang you had known, the fierce leader who commanded loyalty. This was a tyrant, blinded by her own twisted belief.

A day later, you walked toward your grotto despite the ache in your leg. Your pride simply cannot take the limping. Neteyam was already there, restless as he paced the clearing, but the moment his eyes landed on you, he ran, pulling you into a crushing embrace. His breath hitched against your hair, ragged.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, baby,” his voice thick with stress, with anger. He lowered himself, his large hand gently touching the wrapped wound on your leg.

“Do not worry,” you murmured, squeezing his arm and pulling him up. “That was just a near-miss. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He rose, his eyes blazing, a raw anguish on his face. “Stop saying that.” His voice was a low growl. “Stop saying you can handle everything, especially when I’m here. I’m here for you. You should have told me what you needed, what your people needed, and I would have handled it.”

You smirked, but it was a genuine curve of your lips. You cupped his jaw, your thumb tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone, then rose on your toes to kiss him softly. “I know,” you murmured against his lips. “I know.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment, then opening to devour you. His hand found the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. He lifted you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, and carried you into the grotto, laying you gently on the soft stone bed.

He moved over you, his body a familiar weight, a comforting pressure. His lips found yours, a deep, hungry kiss that stole your breath, erasing the pain, the anger, the fear. You surrendered, as you always did with him, your body yielding to his, trusting him implicitly. He stripped away your loincloth, his eyes dark with desire, tracing the lines of your body with reverent hands. His mouth followed, a trail of fire from your lips, down your neck, across your shoulders, lingering on the scarifications etched into your skin. You arched into him, your hips rising to meet his, a low moan escaping your throat.

His fingers danced between your thighs, teasing, swirling, until you were slick and ready, your core aching for him. He entered you slowly, a deep, satisfying stretch that made you gasp, then moan as you wrapped around him, pulling him deeper still. He moved, driving into you, his hips pounding against yours, and you met him, thrust for thrust. You felt his control slipping, and you held him tighter, meeting his thrusts until he cried out your name, his body shuddering against yours as he spilled himself into you.

You lay tangled, the warmth of his body a shield against the cool air of the grotto. Your fingers traced the lines of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“What causes the sickness?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against your hair.

You sighed, your suppressed anger bubbling to the surface. “The sky people. Their waste poisons our waters.” You paused, then continued, the words tumbling out, raw and bitter. “Varang won't believe us. She calls it weakness. She says they are a drain, that they will only drag the clan down.” Your voice cracked, a tremor running through you. “She has dictated my life. My whole life. She sent me to my death, sending me to you.”

He pulled you closer, his lips pressing against your forehead. “I couldn’t have killed you, baby.”

“You were so stupid,” you whispered, a soft laugh escaping you. “If it had been a different Mangkwan, you would have been dead.”

“If it had been a different Mangkwan, I wouldn’t have been there with her,” he said, his voice firm. “I wouldn’t even come up to her.”

“You say that now...”

“I’m saying it because it is the truth. I told you I know you, didn’t I? It was an easy conquer because I have wanted you for so long.” he said, his voice raw.

You stifled a smile, propping yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him. “Is that what happens when anyone wounds you? Then I am the only one allowed to wound you.” Your eyes darkened, a possessive glint in them.

“It wasn’t because you wounded me,” he said, his voice a little resigned. “It was… years ago.”

Your forehead furrowed. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah.” He croaked, as if he’s accepting the fact that he’s been devoted for years, even without any assurance. And then he remembered... “Who was that man? The one who… carried you away?”

You blinked, confused for a moment. “Vakrep.”

“Who is he to you?” he asked, his voice tight.

“He is a nuisance,” you said in a biting tone.

“He likes you.”

A wave of disgust washed over you. “He does not. He is fucked in the head, as you say. He doesn’t like. He thinks he owns everyone.”

“And does he think he owns you?”

Your eyes darkened further. “I don’t care what he thinks. Do not worry yourself about him.” You pressed your palm against his chest, a silent reassurance. “I am here with you, Neteyam.”

He caught your hand, holding it, bringing your fingers to his lips, kissing them softly. His eyes searched yours, and your heart ache when you saw the silent question and desperate plea for something in them.

At Bridgehead, the whispers grew louder. The Mangkwan, once united under Varang’s cruel rule, now questioned. You sat beside Kiren’s child, applying a fresh poultice to his swollen glands. Kiren, a seasoned warrior, sat beside you, his face etched with worry.

“Our people sicken,” Kiren said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Varang turns her back, just as Eywa had. She sees only weakness.” He looked at you, his eyes holding a fierce, desperate hope. “You heal them. You hunt for them. Many warriors… they follow you. Would you lead us, warrior? Against her?”

You looked at the child, then at Kiren. A new life. A better life for Kekihe, for Säyim, for all of them. The thought sparked, a tiny flame in the darkness. “I... I will think on it,” you said, your voice trembling. “I will get back to you.”

But you never got the chance.

The next morning, a guttural scream, filled with horror, tore through the camp. You ran outside, your heart seizing in your chest. Kiren. His body, mangled, twisted, tied to a post. As they would an animal regularly tortured during rituals. His face, frozen in terror.

Your people’s faces were impassive, blank masks. None showed what they truly felt, save for Kiren’s mate, who knelt in front of his body, her wails tearing through air. Some, you noticed with a sickening lurch, even celebrated, their smiles cruel. Across from you, Vakrep stood, a smug smile on his face. He bowed his head, his eyes meeting yours, as if he knows that you know why Kiren is dead.

A hush fell over the crowd and you saw Varang, strutting into the circle, her head held high. Her eyes, predatory and sickeningly filled with pleasure, swept over Kiren’s broken form.

“Let Kiren serve as a cautionary tale among you, my beloved people.” Her voice was gentle, silken with lie, yet her smile was evil. “Do any of you know what he did to deserve this?” She paused, letting the silence stretch. “He was treasonous. He was planning to oust me. Would you like that? Would you like the leader that rose above Eywa’s misdeeds against us and built this clan from the ashes it was reduced to, to be cast out?”

The crowd shook their heads, the face of subservience. No one was brave enough to challenge her, not now, not after this.

“I thought so, too.” Her smile widened, a cold, sharp thing. Her head swept across the crowd, her gaze lingering, searching. Then her eyes found yours. A sudden sharp dread washed over you. She smiled. And you know it was not a good thing at all.

By midday, the children Kekihe often played with ran toward the makeshift infirmary, their small voices shrill with panic. “Varang took Kekihe!”

Fear, raw and primal, seized you again. You ran, despite your still healing leg, toward Varang’s yurt, but you were stopped by Säyim, her face streaked with blood, her worldless cries tearing at your heart. You pulled her into a desperate embrace, but she was signing frantically, a whirlwind of frantic gestures you couldn’t fully understand. You saw Vakrep behind her, his smile sick and smug.

You unsheathed your knife and walked toward him. Säyim held you back, her grip surprisingly strong, her eyes wide with terror as she continued to sign, her body trembling. “What did you do to her?!” you screamed at Vakrep, your knife held tightly, ready to strike.

“Varang’s orders,” he said, his voice smooth, unconcerned. “I told you, yerik. The day would come. I was counting.” He smirked.

You gritted your teeth, a growl rumbling in your chest, and lunged. But before you reached him, warriors, much stronger and bigger, held you back. You thrashed, your rage roaring within you. Vakrep turned his head to an emerging figure, silently ordering his warriors to let go of you when he saw Varang. The warriors pushed you toward Varang, and when you saw her serene face, your anger flared anew.

“We must come to an agreement, daughter,” she said, her voice soft, smiling. She turned her back, entering her yurt.

You followed, your breath heavy, expecting to see Kekihe, but the yurt was empty. “Where is Kekihe?” You hissed.

“She is somewhere… safe.” Varang smiled, achillingly calm expression, not minding your tone. “She will train under me. Just as you had, daughter.” Her meaning was clear.

“Do not hurt her,” you begged, your voice breaking, a desperate plea. You remembered the pain of your own childhood, the brutal training, the constant fear, the torture. Kekihe could not go through that. You refused to let it happen.

“Of course,” Varang said, her face twisting into a pretense of worry. “I would never. But of course, this is all on you, sweetling. If you are good to me, I am good to her. Do you understand?”

You took a sharp breath, your chest tight with dread. You nodded.

“You will mate Vakrep.” She threw the curveball, and you felt like a knife was twisted in your gut. “You agree?” Your eyes snapped to hers, disagreement blazing in them. She saw it, her smile faltering for a moment. “Säyim and Kekihe… I see you care for them deeply.” Her fingers, played with your kuru, a subtle threat as she repeated, “You agree?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I… I will think about it—”

She tugged, a sharp pull on your kuru. “Do. You. Agree?”

You took in another sharp breath, the air burning in your lungs. “Yes,” you breathed out, tasting ash in your mouth.

She grinned, an uncanny sight. “Just as I thought you would.” She nodded, dismissing you.

You slipped out of Bridgehead the next day, a ghost in the pre-dawn gloom. The forest, once a sanctuary, now felt like a trap. You wanted to run, to flee this place, this fate. But Säyim and Kekihe were constantly on your mind. They depended on you. What would Varang do if you didn’t come back? Besides, you and Neteyam… it wasn’t like that. You couldn’t burden him with your woes, your twisted life. He deserved someone free, someone who wasn’t the enemy of his people. Perhaps, who you were better off with, was Vakrep. Someone who had done things as unimaginable as you had done.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The fire cracked in the grotto, its flame mirroring the tremor in your hand as you traced the cracks of his chest. The words clawed at your throat and every breath tasted like ash, watching him with his eyes closed, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips, both sated and sleepy. It made your coming betrayal feel like a physical blow against your chest.

“We need to stop this.” You whispered.

His eyes, though heavy with sleepiness, snapped open. A frown touched his brow. “What?”

“This. Us.” You gestured vaguely between your bodies, still entwined. “It has to end.”

He pushed himself up fully, sitting upright, the glow of the bioluminescent moss in the grotto allowed you to see his raw, vulnerable look. “Why?”

You sat up, too. “Things always end, Neteyam.” You wrapped your arms around your naked from, creating a wall between you. “Nothing lasts.”

He reached for you, his hand warm against your bare shoulder. “This doesn’t. Not us.” His voice was low, edged with a tremor of its own. “Where is this this coming from?”

You flinched away from his touch. “Neteyam, this isn't serious. You know that, don’t you? We are two young people who find pleasure in each other’s company. There are no strings. That’s all we are.”

He snatched his hand back as if burned. His jaw tightened. “Bullshit,” he said in a growl. “What if I want to be tethered to you? What if I want to be your mate?”

You laughed, a harsh, brittle sound that cracked in the quiet. “Then you are stupid.” Your voice rose, losing its calm. “I am Mangkwan, Neteyam. I am your people’s enemy. How many times must I remind you?”

“I do not care about any of that.” He grabbed your hand, his eyes burning into yours. “I never cared. Not about your clan. Not about your name. Only you.”

An exasperated sigh hissed between your teeth. “Do not make this hard, Neteyam.” Your voice broke, a plea escaping. “You will forget me, trust. This will be a distant memory in the future and yu’ll thank yourself for not taking this seriously.”

He cut you off with an anguished groan, a sound ripped from deep within him. “If I could forget you, I would have done it years ago!” His voice cracked, raw with emotion. “Baby, I am in love with you...”

Tears, hot and sudden, pooled in your eyes at his tone. You loved him. A love so fierce it threatened to consume you. But this was a love you could not allow. You were poison. You would burn him to ash.

“I am to mate Vakrep.” The words echoed in the small space.

His head reared back, as if you had struck him, clawed his face. The fire in his eyes died, replaced by a chilling void. “You can’t possibly do that.” The word was barely audible.

“It is not my choice.” Your voice was thin. “Varang… she decides.” The name was a curse.

“She cannot keep decidinh your life for you!” He gripped your arms, his touch firm. “You must fight. I will fight with you.”

You shook your head, the tears finally spilling down your cheeks. “I cannot. And you must not.” Your breath hitched. “She will hurt Säyim and Kekihe. She has Kekihe now. We haven’t seen her for days.” Your voice rose, a desperate cry. “Neteyam, I know she will hurt her. She’s hurting her. She did it to me when I was small. She hurt me.” Your breathing grew ragged, quick, panicked gasps.

Neteyam watched your face crumple in pain, and then fear, your glassy eyes seem to see nothing but the horror of your childhood flashing before them. His face mirrored the anguish in yours, pulling you into his arms, a tight embrace that stole your breath. Your head burrowed into his shoulder, tears soaking his skin.

“I cannot allow her to hurt Kekihe. This is the only way.”

His hand tangled in your hair, stroking your head. “This isn’t the only way, my love.” His voice was a low rumble against your ear.

You shook your head slowly, a desperate denial. “I am not for you, Neteyam. I am the fire that will burn you to ashes if you don’t let go...”

He tilted his head back, pulling you away just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was soulful, filled with an unwavering devotion that broke your heart further. “I will burn happily, baby.”

You hugged him then, tighter than you had ever embraced anyone. You clung to him, desperate to stop him from slipping away, to prevent the best thing that had ever happened to you from fleeting, leaving you alone in your dark world. Leaving the rendezvous place, the sacred space that had witnessed moons of your life with Neteyam, was the hardest thing you had ever done.

And now, a different fire crackled before you, its flames mocking your despair. You stared into it, your tears falling, unheard, and swallowed by what you must do. Tonight, you were to mate Vakrep. Tonight, you will lose whatever freedom you thought you have. You wished the fire would consume you, turn you to ash before you could endure such a fate.

Säyim sat beside you, her anguish palpable. Her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, mirrored your own. The female attendants, their faces impassive, finished arranging your headdress, an elaborate cage of red and sharp fibers.

Säyim tugged at your hand when they left, her touch insistent. Her hands began to sign. You watched her, a knot forming in your gut.

“Kekihe?” you asked, a desperate hope in your voice. She nodded eagerly, her hands moving again, a frantic dance. “I know, Säyim,” you said, squeezing her hands. “That’s why I’m doing this. I will not let Varang hurt her.”

She shook her head, a violent motion, and pointed at you, her signing more urgent now.

“No, she will not be like me.” You tried to reassure her, your voice thick. “I promise you. Varang will not kill me. I will fight. My priority is to protect you and Kekihe, always.”

She shook her head again, frustration twisting her features. Her hands flew, pointing at you, then at herself, then making the sign for death. You watched her, a chill creeping up your spine. You’d seen the sign for death before, but the context…

“My parents?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. She nodded, tears pooling in her eyes, before making the sign again, insistent. You felt a her fear. “No, Säyim, I will not be like my parents. And Kekihe will not be like me. I will protect her. I promised you.”

She shook her head again, her face contorted in a silent scream. She signed once more, her movements sharp, desperate. You watched carefully, your head tilting as the meaning slowly, chillingly, solidified. When she finished, she stared at you, her eyes pleading, willing you to understand.

You blinked, the world momentarily blurring. “My parents were killed?” She nodded eagerly, her hands signing, a torrent of unspoken words. “Varang?”

She nodded, tears streaming down her face, then she opened her mouth, revealing the raw, jagged scar where her tongue had once been. Your face twisted in horror. The realization and the sheer, brutal truth of it all struck you like a physical blow. You pulled her into a fierce hug, her frail body trembling against yours.

Anger, cold and swift, enveloped you, making you grit your teeth. It surged through your veins, eclipsing all else. You stood, a sudden, fierce resolve hardening your features. You walked to the corner of the yurt, grabbing your double-bladed staff from where it hung against the woven wall. Säyim watched you, fear widening her eyes, but she did not stop you. Not this time.

You burst from the yurt, intent on finding Varang, on tearing her apart. But then, a deafening explosion ripped through the air, shaking the ground beneath your feet. It came from the RDA’s industrial site. You staggered, your fury momentarily forgotten, replaced by alarm. Screams, distant and terrified, echoed. Fire bloomed from the other side of Bridgehead, a hungry orange maw. You were watching in shock when another explosion, closer this time, erupted. You looked up, your eyes scanning the smoke-choked sky. A lone ikran was soaring above the flames.

“Sully’s boy! Sully’s boy!” You heard the shrill of panic from sky peoplw. You saw them, small figures, scrambling, dispatching soldiers on the ground.

Neteyam.

From where you stood, away from the quickly growing fire, your heart drummed hard against your chest as you watched him nock another arrow in a swift, practiced motion. It flew, striking a huge RDA tank, making it erupt in a huge flame, an explosion that rocked the ground. Then, the ikran, with its defiant rider, banked sharply and flew away.

A hand clamped on your forearm. You spun, your eyes locking with Taw’tan, one of the Mangkwan warriors who had shown discontent with Varang’s rule. His face was grim, his eyes wide with urgency.

He tugged at your arm. “Let’s go! Get Säyim!”

Your eyes widened, a breath of horror escaping your lips. Another explosion sent a shower of sparks into the night. The RDA was panicking, soldiers running on foot, fighter jets screaming into the sky.

“No.” You shook your head, pulling your arm free. “You get Säyim! Get her to safety! Get everyone who will come with you to safety.” You met his gaze, your voice firm, absolute. “Kekihe. I will find her.”

He tugged at your forearm again, his grip tight. “We got her. Come with us now!”

You looked at him, surprised. Kekihe was safe? A wave of relief, potent and dizzying, washed over you. But there was no time for questions. Another young warrior, his face streaked with ash, emerged from your yurt, half-carrying Säyim, who was signing frantically, her eyes wide with terror.

“Get them to safety, Taw’tan.” You ordered, your voice sharp, authoritative.

You didn’t wait for his answer. You ran back into your yurt, grabbing your longbow and quiver of arrows. Your divided staff slung across your back. You burst out again, running toward where your ikran waited, agitated by the explosions.

You called to your ikran, a piercing whistle that cut through the din. It flew toward you immediately, a magnificent shadow. You jumped onto its back, making tsaheylu before you beckoned it upward.

The ikran launched into the air, its powerful wings beating against the smoke that managed to hide Neteyam from the sight of RDA pilots. You nocked an arrow, aiming for the closest fighter jet, a monstrous metal bird firing at Neteyam. The arrow flew, finding its mark in its open underbelly. It shuddered, black smoke erupting from its side, then plummeted, ensuring an explosion.

You saw Neteyam then, nocking another arrow toward an industrial site. A fighter jet, its engines roaring, pursued him relentlessly. You nocked another arrow sending it toward the jet. It struck one of its rotors, causing it to spiral into an explosive death. Several Mangkwan warriors on their ikran flew then, too. For a terrifying moment, you thought they were after you. But then, they swooped, targeting RDA tanks. They were on your side.

“Neteyam!” You bellowed, your voice carrying across the wind. You flew closer, noting the ash and red dye streaking his skin, just like yours. You motioned your head toward the dense canopies of the forest below. To cover. To ground.

You flew there, reaching the intricate labyrinth of trees in record time. But a hoard of Mangkwan warriors, their war cries echoing, immediately followed. You and Neteyam dove, flying under the thick canopies, knowing you wouldn’t be able to fight the overwhelming numbers overhead.

“What were you thinking?!” You shouted at him, the wind whipping your words away. You weaved through the giant branches and twisting vines, the forest a blur of green.

Mangkwan warriors, their ikrans screaming, followed, their arrows slicing through the air, forcing you to duck and swerve. Then, you heard another set of war cries, different this time.

“Omatikaya!” Neteyam shouted, his ikran surging, attempting to fly upwards, to meet his kin.

You flew upward, too, but then you heard it. Vakrep’s sick, smug voice, calling your name. Instead of following Neteyam, you maneuvered your ikran, pulling it down, choosing to face him. But Neteyam, seeing your choice, also maneuvered his ikran, circling back down, placing himself between you and Vakrep.

Vakrep’s eyes, filled with a predatory gleam, landed on Neteyam. Surprise, a fleeting flicker, crossed his face. Then rage, when he spotted the choker adorning his neck along with an IFF tag you don’t even know where Neteyam got.

“Neteyam te Suli…” His voice was thick with fury, a guttural snarl. His gaze flicked to you, then back to Neteyam, as if he had just pieced together a grotesque puzzle.

Vakrep lunged on his ikran and Neteyam welcomed his assertion. Their ikran grappled in a swirling dance of fury. But Neteyam managed to unseat Vakrep, pulling him down to the forest floor. Neteyam was taller and bigger in built, his movements stronger. But you knew Vakrep. He was a cheat. Neteyam overpowered him, landing heavy punches on his face. Then, a flash of movement from above alerted you of the coming of a Mangkwan warrior loyal to Vakrep. You saw his arrow aim for Neteyam’s back and you unsheathed your knife, sending it his way, and it flew, burying itself deep in the man’s chest. He crumpled, his longbow falling harmlessly, but the arrow that’s already loosed found its mark in Neteyam’s arm.

He groaned, an animalistic sound of pain and rage. Vakrep found his chance, pushing Neteyam off him and unsheathing his knife to send a blow on Neteyam but you moved, grabbing one of your blades behind you before tackling Vakrep off Neteyam who had just splintered the wood of the arrow lodged in his arm. You held Vakrep by his kuru, wrapping the thick plait around your hand and wrist. Meanwhile, Neteyam was quick to grab a random longbow and arrow, pointing it at Vakrep.

“Put your knife down, Vakrep,” you said, your tone biting. “We will finish this here...”

He put his knife down, spitting blood down at your feet with disdain. “You lay with the enemy, you disgusting whore—”

You kicked the back of his knee, sending him down on his knee, before putting your blade in his throat. “Yes, uncountable times. And it was great,” you snickered, making him thrash against your hold but you tugged at his kuru hard, while Neteyam renewed his hold on the arrow pointed at Vakrep. “Enjoy a warrior’s death.”

You slashed Vakrep’s neck in a clean, brutal cut, hearing him gurgle, a sickening sound, as blood gushed from his throat. You let out a sigh of relief, one that was short-lived because you heard familiar war cries descending from above. You looked at Neteyam, seeing a grimace of pain twisting his features, but he stood straighter, grabbing his weapon at the same time you fixed your blades into a double-bladed staff.

Vakrep, dead at your feet, was the first thing they saw. “Traitor!” One of them said before lunging.

You sifted your hold on the center of your staff, holding it tight before spinning it into a brutal arc to catch the spear of a Mangkwan who charged at you. One of your blades caught the shaft of his spear, knocking it before you spun the other blade to slit at his throat. Before his body even hit the ground, you saw Neteyam moving behind you, dropping low to a avoid a swinging club.

With a sharp thrust of his fist, he delivered a punch-stab to a Mangkwan’s chest, and before pulling the short blade out, he twisted his wrist, ripping his arm outward. The longer blade delivered a sweeping slash to another Mangkwan close to him. It was to your advantage that you know how the Mangkwan fight, some of them even trained under you, and now, when a warrior swung low at Neteyam's legs, you vaulted over the attacker’s crouching form, driving a blade into his shoulder and slicing upward.

Your flank was left exposed, but Neteyam stepped right in, his blade catching the strike meant for your ribs, deflecting it harshly before sinking his weapon into the enemy's side. You moved as one until the Mangkwan warriors fell, one by one, reduced to a heap of corpses.

You stood there, unable to process the carnage, when another hoard of Mangkwan warriors landed. But among them, you saw the familiar faces of those who had sided with you, Taw’tan among them. He eyed Neteyam, his fingers brushing his forehead in polite greeting, something you’ve never seen your people do. He then glanced at Vakrep’s corpse among the heap of Mangkwan corpses before looking at you.

“Säyim and Kekihe are with the women, they are accompanied by Faykir’s crew,“ he told you.

Neteyam beside you spoke for the first time, his voice deep and almost breathless. “Think you can you send a man to their location? I’ll have men get the women and children, take them to safety.”

Taw’tan nodded, turning to Säron. “This is our quickest rider.”

Neteyam nodded, removing an arm band, handing it to Säron. “I’ll send men to the location. Show this to a man named Tormak.”

Säron nodded and walked away, while Neteyam touched something in his neck, speaking to someone in his comms to give his orders. He wasn’t even finish yet when several Mangkwan landed again. You closed your eyes and sighed. When you opened it, you saw Riku, looking at his nephew’s corpse on the ground before his face contorted, a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. Then, Varang appeared, her eyes sweeping over the scene, landing on Neteyam with a chilling curiosity.

“The famed son of Toruk Makto.” Her voice was a silken whisper. She smiled, a predatory curve of her lips, her eyes flicking to you. “You came to take this woman.” She concluded, her gaze settling on you, cold and dissecting. “I wonder what you’ve seen in her. She is weak. She failed her people.”

“I failed no one, Varang.” you spat her name out. “It is you who failed us. Many Mangkwan died because of the RDA, and yet you refused to see. You have been so blinded by ambition and hatred that you’ve lost sight of us! Among us, you are the weak one, refusing to budge and get over a single tragedy, allowing it to control your whole life and dictate what happens to your people!”

She snickered, a rasping sound. “Why would they listen to you? You are a traitor. Just like your parents.” She smiled, a cruel, triumphant twist of her lips.

You watched her, pain piercing your heart. “You killed them.” The words were a whisper.

“Yes, I did.” Her eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction. “They betrayed me. They were traitors who aided the damned Toruk Makto against my orders!”

“And what is the punishment for an Olo’eykte who betrays her people?” You met her gaze, your voice rising, gaining strength. “Who leaves them to themselves in times of great despair?”

She hissed and her warriors nocked their arrows, aiming at you. But then, the Mangkwan who sided with you, their faces grim, raised their bows. Varang’s eyes snapped up when she heard unfamiliar war cries descending from the air. The Omatikaya, among them Jake and Neytiri, landed behind you. The Mangkwan were outnumbered, and she knew it.

“Leave, or this will end here. And it will not be good for you, Varang,” you said her name in a biting tone. “For everything you did to me and my family, I shall be righteous if I tear you apart.”

Varang watched you, her eyes sharp and full of resigned rage. She hissed and you hissed back. It must have taken so much of her pride to turn away, along with her warriors, and the fear that was overpowered by your anger swam to the surface, sending a tremor in your body. You staggered, the adrenaline draining. Neteyam immediately caught you, pulling you into his uninjured arm, his grip firm and comforting.

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, breathless, hugging you.

“Neteyam, thank you. We owe Y/N the lives of our families. And now, we owe it to you, too.” He looked behind him, at the warriors you had helped in the past, their faces etched with gratitude. “If it’s not too much… we’d ask uturu… only until we could stand on our own. If… if you’ll have us.”

Neteyam seemed to look beyond you, his gaze sweeping over the Mangkwan warriors who had chosen to stand with you. He nodded once, his arm reaching out, gripping forearms with Taw’tan. Taw’tan let out an anguished sound, his arm finding your arm, his head bowing. The other Mangkwan warriors, laying down their weapons, knelt on one knee, bowing to your feet. Taw’tan thanked Neteyam, too, his voice thick with emotion and Neteyam told them to stand, his voice firm but kind.

“Neteyam.” A woman’s voice cut through the air. You looked behind you and saw a slightly older woman, her features striking and resembling Neteyam unmistakably.

“Mother.” He said, his voice softening. You moved away, allowing his mother to embrace him. A slightly older man, tall and broad, walked toward them, too, placing a large hand on Neteyam’s head. He had five fingers, much like Quaritch’s, and you remembered him from the convention.

“We all need to go home. You are wounded.” She told him, her eyes tracing the blood on his arm.

Neteyam nodded, his arm still around your waist, his grip firm, leaving no confusion about why this battle had been fought, or who he had fought it for.

Neteyam, despite his wound, made sure to accompany you to where Säyim and Kekihe are when you all arrived at Hometree. You weren’t expecting the Omatikaya to immediately warm up to you and your people, or expect them to accept your presence here, but you were thankful enough that they were not hostile. Save from some curious looks, and some children getting scared, there were really no violent reactions that you know of.

As you two walk, you saw a little girl approach, jumpy on her toes, her short braids flying in the air. “Neteyam!” Her jolly voice sounded, and when her eyes landed on you, you almost expected the girl's smile to falter but it didn’t. “Some of the Mangkwan are sick, so grandmother had them all receive treatment at her tent. Tsanu is setting up a very large tent, he said it’s temporary but it's where they will sleep!”

Neteyam smiled, putting a hand over the girl’s head. “This is Tuk, my little sister,“ he told you.

You smiled. “Hi, Tuk...” you said and her eyes widened a little before she smile shyly.

“Are you Y/N?” she asked curiously and when you nodded, she practically jumped over to your side and held your hand. “I know where your family is!”

She pulled you up a winding ramp, and honestly, you aren’t really that used to climb trees and you almost lost your footing if only Neteyam weren’t able to catch you. Tuk gestured to a small kelku like it was a gift and when you walked inside, you saw Kekihe and Säyim huddled together. You let out a breathe of relief, especially at the sight of Kekihe.

“Oh, Kekihe,” you ran inside, kneeling to hug the girl who hugged you back tightly, her hand clutching at your arm like she's afraid you’ll disappear. Säyim wrapped her around you two and you sobbed in her arms.

“Aww...” you heard Tuk’s small voice behind you.

A deep, unfamiliar wave of relief washed over you as you hugged them both, meanwhile, Nteyam still stands outside the kelku, still unbothered about his wound that his unyielding figure there catching Säyim’s eyes. She signed. Is he your lover? She meant to say and you chuckled, despite your tears. You nodded silently.

“And I love him, Säyim...” you mumbled, your tears falling.

It is a good thing, to love, she signed. He is a good man, I can tell. Her soulful eyes stared in yours, a reassurance.

You smiled and nodded, knowing that already. After talking with her for more, you walked outside, seeing Neteyam standing there. “Neteyam,” you said in a soft voice, your hand grabbing his forearm. “You are wounded, you should have had this treated already.”

“Yes, right now...” he mumbled. “They are okay?” he asked.

You nodded, tears pooling in your eyes again. You feel like crying all day, just cry all the tears you haven’t cried your whole life. “Neteyam. Thank you.”

He raised a hand, cupping your neck and jaw. “We’ll talk about this once I’m treated,” he said and you nodded.

Later, as candles burned inside the Tsahik’s tent, Neytiri stood outside, her gaze fixed on the quiet form of her son inside. Mo’at, her face etched with a calm wisdom, placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“Are you certain, Mother?” Neytiri’s voice was a low murmur, still watching her son.

Mo’at’s smile was soft, a knowing curve of her lips. “I have dreamed of it for years, daughter. And you have never seen your son as happy as he has been in these past moons. Eywa could never be wrong.” Her grip on Neytiri’s shoulder pressed, a silent reassurance. “Do you worry, daughter?”

Neytiri let out a sigh, the sound heavy with unspoken thoughts. “It’s just… this isn’t what I imagined.”

Mo’at tilted her head, her eyes twinkling. “And you think Jake Sully is who I imagined for you?”

A small, surprised huff of laughter escaped Neytiri. “That is different, Mother.”

“Is it?” Mo’at questioned, her gaze unwavering. Neytiri met her mother’s eyes, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Days bled quickly. You watched your people shed their old lives by washing away the ash and paint, the symbols of their Mangkwan identity, revealing skin that had not seen the sun in years. Säyim, her hands never idle, joined the Omatikaya weavers, meanwhile, Kekihe quickly found a friend in Tuk. The other Mangkwan found their place. Some hunters joined the Omatikaya hunting parties. While those who wished to be warriors will have to go through the Omatikaya iknimaya.

Kiri, her movements graceful, often sought you out. “Lo’ak, my brother, already found his mate,” she told you one afternoon, as Kekihe and Tuk splashed in a shallow stream nearby. “He lives at Awa’atlu, in the eastern sea.”

You nodded, a faint smile touching your lips. Neteyam had already told you about it. He spoke to you of Awa’atlu, of the Metkayina, and their wise tulkuns.

Kiri smiled as she observed Kekihe’s joyous shrieks as Tuk splashed her. “Tuk took to her quickly. She doesn’t have many children her age to play with here. Now, there are many new children. I’m pretty sure her friend Popiti will love Kekihe, too.”

Your gaze lingered on Kekihe, a warmth spreading through your chest. You should feel content, you thought. Your people were safe, cared for. Kekihe was happy. Yet, a restlessness stirred within you. Neteyam was healing, you knew, but why had he not sought you out? Days had passed. Perhaps, the novelty of the forbidden has worn off. You are afraid it was the case.

The Omatikaya also threw a celebratory feast. The air filled with the rich aroma of roasted meat and sweet fruits. You watched, a lump forming in your throat, as your people danced, their faces alight with genuine joy. Tears pricked at your eyes. This was true happiness, a gift you had never truly known.

Kiri appeared beside you, her voice gentle. “Pey’ra told me you were Tsakarem of your former clan.”

You turned to her. “I hardly am. I just did what I needed to do.”

“But you were their healer. You gave them hope when there was none. And they said they are alive because of you.” She offered you a vibrant forest flower, its petals unfurling like a tiny, colorful fan. “I think you ought to prepare yourself for Mo’at. My grandmother. She is Tsahik of Omatikaya. You will have many meetings with her.”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “What for?” you asked softly, the words barely a whisper.

Kiri’s eyes shifted past your shoulder, a faint smile playing on her lips. She didn’t answer, instead melting away into the throng, heading towards where Tuk and Kekihe now giggled, chasing glowing insects.

A sudden stillness enveloped you and your heart began a slow, heavy thud against your ribs. You didn’t need to turn to know because the air around you had shifted, became more charged. You turned, slowly, and saw Neteyam, his arm bandage wrapped neatly. His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed on you. A lump formed in your throat again.

“Hi,” you croaked, your voice thin. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he said, his voice deeper than you remembered, a touch rough. “Wasn’t so bad.”

You nodded, looking away, suddenly finding the intricate patterns of the Hometree floor fascinating. “Good. That’s good to hear.” You bit your lip, fighting the tremor that threatened to overtake it. Why the distance? Why the delay?

“You?” he asked, his voice softer now. “How are you settling in? Säyim and Kekihe?”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Säyim is learning with the weavers. She’s always loved to weave. And Kekihe has found a friend in Tuk.” You glanced at your hands, twisting your fingers together. “My people… some of them are no longer used to a Hometree. Ours was burned by the fire long before some of us were born. But they are learning.”

“That’s great to hear,” he replied.

You looked down at the dancing figures, the vibrant colors blurring. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. You didn’t know what else to say. The awkwardness was a physical weight. The thought, cold and sharp, pierced through you: the novelty has worn off. This is how it ends. After everything.

“I’ll go,” you said, your voice barely audible. “Check on Säyim.”

“Are you avoiding me?” His voice, sharp and accusatory, stopped you mid-turn.

You snapped your head back, indignation flaring. “Why would I avoid you?” you asked, your eyes almost narrowing at his audacity. He’s the one avoiding you!

“I just got here.” His eyes narrowed.

“Yeah. Well, it’s awkward. I don’t think we have anything more to talk about.” Your voice was tight, strained.

He tilted his head, his expression hardening. Now that you truly looked, you saw not detachment, but a simmering anger in his gaze. “You think so?” he asked, his voice low, dangerous. “I think we have so much to discuss.”

Your nose flared. “Oh. You weren’t really acting like it. You have avoided me for days,” you hissed, the words tumbling out. “And don’t tell me you were healing. You are a man too virile to be knocked down by a single arrow on the arm for days. Just tell me if we should start acting like we don’t know each other.”

He took a step forward, his immense height suddenly towering over you. His hand, surprisingly gentle despite the anger vibrating in his body, closed around your forearm. “I was angry with you, baby. Hell, I still am.” His voice was thick with frustration as he pulled you closer.

“Why? I didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, I should be mad at you. You are very stupid, you could have been killed!” you retorted, your teeth gritted.

A giggle drifted from nearby. You glanced over to see a group of teenagers, eyes wide with curiosity, whispering amongst themselves, their gazes flitting between you and Neteyam. He tightened his grip on your hand, pulling you away from the feast, deeper into the Hometree’s winding ramps, until he found a secluded alcove glowing faintly with hanging firepots. He stopped, then turned to face you.

“Then what do you suggest I do, baby? Stay back and let you mate that scoundrel? You truly don’t believe I’d let that happen, do you? I would rather die—”

“Don’t say that!” you hissed, your shoulders slumping. The weight of your past, the chains of Varang’s manipulation, are long behind you. You were free. “I had to do it, Neteyam. My problems are not yours and I mean it when I said you shouldn’t waste your life with me.”

He groaned, his grip on your hand tightening further as he pulled you fully into his embrace. “A life without you is the only one I’ll consider a life wasted.” His voice was a raw whisper against your hair. “I am so in love with you. And to know that you would rather carry your problems and burdens alone instead of sharing it with me is a heavier burden for me. I am here now, do you understand? Your problems and burdens are mine. You are mine.”

Tears welled, hot and stinging. The urge to weep, to collapse into his arms, was overwhelming. To be protected, loved, to have your burdens carried by someone who cherished you so deeply. This was a feeling utterly new, completely foreign. Säyim and Kekihe loved you, yes, but you carried them, protected them. This, this kind of love that allowed you to rest, to simply be… it undid you.

You cupped his jaw, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone. You gave him a weak, open-mouthed kiss, and he groaned, a deep, guttural sound. You sniffled, tasting salt on your lips. “I love you, Neteyam.”

His arms tightened around you, crushing you against his chest. His head dipped, finding your forehead, then your lips. “I love you so much, baby. And I see you. I have always seen you.”

You smiled through the hot tears, a genuine, radiant smile. You knew the truth of his words. “I see you, Neteyam.” You pulled back slightly, your gaze locking with his. “And I love you so much.” You rose onto your toes, kissing him again, your arms hooking around his nape, your chest pressing against his. Both your hearts hammered, a frantic, joyous rhythm against your ribs. “Where is your hut?” you mumbled against his lips.

His eyes darkened, but a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “So we can talk more in private?” He raised a brow, a teasing glint in his gaze.

You pursed your lips, peering up at him with feigned innocence. “Didn’t you say we have lots to discuss? It’s a little loud out here.” You pursed your lips.

He grinned. “Well, since you asked…” He took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, and led you up the winding ramps of the Hometree.

In the quiet sanctuary of his hut, he kissed you, softly, lovingly. There was no rush, only the deep connection that hummed between you. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek, his eyes soulful as they searched yours. “I want to be your mate, my love. And… I want you to be mine.” His whisper was raw, full of yearning.

You blinked, a fresh wave of tears blurring your vision. Mating in your clan had been a nothing but a means of reproduction or domination. Theirs, you knew, was a sacred bond, witnessed by Eywa herself. And you had known his body, known his touch, the way he made love, the way he pleasured you like a man cherishing his beloved woman.

His hand cradled your face. “I will not force you to worship who I worship. It will take time for you to believe, I know that. But… I want to be truly yours, and you to be truly mine. So please, have me...” The yearning in his voice was palpable, a tangible thing that wrapped around your heart.

Tears pooled in your eyes, brimming, then spilling. “I am yours, Neteyam. You have me.”

He kissed you, your head pillowed on the soft, woven mat. He made love to you, slowly, the connection of your kurus pulsing, enhancing the experience. His mouth muffled your moans, silencing the sounds that threatened to escape. “Shh, baby. People might hear,” he whispered, a chuckle rumbling against your lips.

“But it’s so good,” you whined, pulling him back for another kiss.

The next times were rougher. You felt his earlier anger and frustration, in every thrust, every hard squeeze on your breasts. You bit down on your loincloth, muffling your cries as you lay facedown, his body pressing into yours from behind. You lost count of how many times he claimed you, how many times you surrendered. Even as you drifted to sleep, he was still moving inside you, his lips pressed to your neck.

You woke to the cheerful sound of children’s laughter. A soft smile touched your lips. You heard Kekihe’s voice among them, clear and bright. It felt like a dream, a fragile, beautiful illusion. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the smooth skin of Neteyam’s shoulder. He stirred, a low groan escaping him, and pulled you closer, his arm tightening around your waist.

“I think they’ll call for breakfast soon,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep.

“Let’s skip it,” he mumbled, his hand on your shoulder sliding down to knead your round breast, rolling and pinching the pebbled tip.

“I’m hungry,” you complained playfully, a soft gasp escaping you.

He chuckled, his lips pressing against your ear. “I’ll fill your belly up, don’t worry.”

You groaned, the soreness between your legs is not a joking matter. “No thanks,” you said, pushing against his chest. You were still recovering from being pounded on literally just an hour ago, both of you waking up just to fuck and then going to back to sleep again.

Neteyam caught your waist as you tried to roll off the mat, pulling you back, your back slamming against his chest, his lips finding your neck. You shrieked, and then clamped your mouth shut, remembering the children just outside the hut. You bit your lip as you found yourself beneath him again, peering up as his hand hooked under your knees, lifting them, spreading your legs wider.

Suddenly, Tuk’s voice, echoed nearby and you sat up and pulled a blanket over you in record time. Thankfully, she didn't burst inside. “You two should really see this! This is the coolest thing you’ll ever see!”

Neteyam groaned, his head falling back. “She says that all the time.”

You chuckled, kissing his cheek. “We should really get up now.” You moved quickly, dressing yourself, trying to smooth your hair as best you could. He followed you out of the small alcove and into the receiving area of his kelku.

There, you stopped, breathless. Hundreds of atokirina, glowing with an ethereal light, floated in the air, swirling and dancing. Thousands, perhaps, some even drifting gently inside the kelku. From below, you could hear the soft murmurs of the people, watching from the branches, while children chased the glowing spirits with joyous shouts.

You felt Neteyam’s warmth behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. He held out a hand, catching an atokirina in his palm, its gentle glow illuminating his face. You watched in awe, never having witnessed such a breathtaking display.

“We have been blessed, my love,” he whispered, his lips pressing a soft kiss below your ear.

You reached out, catching one in your own palm, its tiny light pulsing softly. You smiled, a deep, profound sense of peace settling over you. A promise of a new beginning.

Below, Neytiri, Mo’at, and Jake watched the spectacle unfold.

“They have been blessed, Jake,” Neytiri said, a radiant smile on her face.

Jake blinked, looking at his mate, then back at the floating lights. “What? Did they mate… there?”

Neytiri smacked his arm, her eyes widening in mock outrage. “You don’t say that! To anyone, at all!”

Jake rubbed his arm where Neytiri smacked him. “I didn’t know the atokirina could float this high...” he said innocently.

“Nothing is impossible in Eywa’s grace, children,” Mo’at said, her smile serene, her gaze fixed on the two figures silhouetted against the glowing spirits.

[owwllly]

gojo's dream

[cumironi]

THE BEAUTY AND THE PLUG

pairings: toji fushiguro x you

summary. You only went to Toji Fushiguro’s gym to pick up Shoko’s stash like always—quick, discreet, in and out. But the shirtless, sweat-slicked dealer had other plans. What started as a tense bag handoff turned into him cornering you against the squat rack, folding you in half, and fucking you senseless across every piece of equipment he could think of: bench presses, power cages, lockers, showers, mirrors reflecting every broken moan. One brutal, mind-melting session became two… then routine. Now you’re not just his customer—you’re his favorite obsession. He pays for your nails, your lingerie, your rent, your everything, while railing you stupid whenever you show up. Is he your plug? Your sugar daddy? Your boyfriend? You don’t even know anymore, and honestly, you stopped caring the moment he pinned you under the barbell and made you count reps while he pounded you to failure. This is raw, filthy, gym-twisted smut: dominant Toji wrecking you with heavy lifts as metaphors for how thoroughly he owns your body, your orgasms, and—whether you admit it or not—your entire damn life. Dead dove, no brakes, all sweat and sin.

triggers and warnings. This series contains extremely explicit and graphic sexual content with no fade-to-black, featuring very rough/intense sex including choking, spanking, hair-pulling, manhandling, pinning/restraining, face-fucking, throat-bulging, breath play via face-sitting/smothering, degradation and verbal humiliation (heavy on slut-shaming, objectification, mocking your stamina/form, calling you toy/cum-dump/hole/etc.), overstimulation and forced orgasms (multiple, relentless, hands-free, to the point of shaking/collapsing/tears), edging and orgasm denial, cum play/creampie/swallowing/facials/marking/using your release against you, possessive/ownership language (“mine,” “my little slut,” “my personal rack”), mild impact play (face/thigh/ass/pussy slapping), light bondage/restraint (wrists tied to gym equipment, pinned in racks/cages), public/semi-public risk in a gym setting (benches, racks, showers, mirrors), dominant Toji/submissive reader dynamics with extreme power imbalance (Toji fully overpowers, humiliates, edges, denies, and breaks you even when consensual), strong filthy dirty talk (pun-heavy, degrading, gym-twisted), and emotional manipulation undertones like jealousy, possessiveness, and blurred sugar-daddy/boyfriend lines; aftercare is rare/minimal, the focus is on mean, greedy, sweat-drenched athletic porn with Toji unapologetically cruel and you getting sexually wrecked despite any resistance—dead dove: do not eat, proceed only if comfortable with all of the above.

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN!

꒰ ꒱ Purrrr-rolling me, daddy

꒰ ꒱ Daddy’s Playground

꒰ ꒱ Alleyway Enchanted

꒰ ꒱ Edged Him Till His Balls Sent a Cease-and-Desist

꒰ ꒱ Laundry Room, Nothing Clean About It

꒰ ꒱ Anywhere He Pulls You By the Wrist

꒰ ꒱ Penthouse Windows, You Bent by the View

꒰ ꒱ Capitalism but Make It Porn-Coded

꒰ ꒱ This Is Porn Logic, Don’t Question It

꒰ ꒱ Sugar Daddy with a Spending Problem (You)

꒰ ꒱ Sex So Good It Erases Memory

[cumironi]

THE BEAUTY AND THE PLUG

pairings: toji fushiguro x you

summary. You only went to Toji Fushiguro’s gym to pick up Shoko’s stash like always—quick, discreet, in and out. But the shirtless, sweat-slicked dealer had other plans. What started as a tense bag handoff turned into him cornering you against the squat rack, folding you in half, and fucking you senseless across every piece of equipment he could think of: bench presses, power cages, lockers, showers, mirrors reflecting every broken moan. One brutal, mind-melting session became two… then routine. Now you’re not just his customer—you’re his favorite obsession. He pays for your nails, your lingerie, your rent, your everything, while railing you stupid whenever you show up. Is he your plug? Your sugar daddy? Your boyfriend? You don’t even know anymore, and honestly, you stopped caring the moment he pinned you under the barbell and made you count reps while he pounded you to failure. This is raw, filthy, gym-twisted smut: dominant Toji wrecking you with heavy lifts as metaphors for how thoroughly he owns your body, your orgasms, and—whether you admit it or not—your entire damn life. Dead dove, no brakes, all sweat and sin.

triggers and warnings. This series contains extremely explicit and graphic sexual content with no fade-to-black, featuring very rough/intense sex including choking, spanking, hair-pulling, manhandling, pinning/restraining, face-fucking, throat-bulging, breath play via face-sitting/smothering, degradation and verbal humiliation (heavy on slut-shaming, objectification, mocking your stamina/form, calling you toy/cum-dump/hole/etc.), overstimulation and forced orgasms (multiple, relentless, hands-free, to the point of shaking/collapsing/tears), edging and orgasm denial, cum play/creampie/swallowing/facials/marking/using your release against you, possessive/ownership language (“mine,” “my little slut,” “my personal rack”), mild impact play (face/thigh/ass/pussy slapping), light bondage/restraint (wrists tied to gym equipment, pinned in racks/cages), public/semi-public risk in a gym setting (benches, racks, showers, mirrors), dominant Toji/submissive reader dynamics with extreme power imbalance (Toji fully overpowers, humiliates, edges, denies, and breaks you even when consensual), strong filthy dirty talk (pun-heavy, degrading, gym-twisted), and emotional manipulation undertones like jealousy, possessiveness, and blurred sugar-daddy/boyfriend lines; aftercare is rare/minimal, the focus is on mean, greedy, sweat-drenched athletic porn with Toji unapologetically cruel and you getting sexually wrecked despite any resistance—dead dove: do not eat, proceed only if comfortable with all of the above.

TAGLISTS ARE OPEN!

꒰ ꒱ Purrrr-rolling me, daddy

꒰ ꒱ Daddy’s Playground

꒰ ꒱ Alleyway Enchanted

꒰ ꒱ Edged Him Till His Balls Sent a Cease-and-Desist

꒰ ꒱ Laundry Room, Nothing Clean About It

꒰ ꒱ Anywhere He Pulls You By the Wrist

꒰ ꒱ Penthouse Windows, You Bent by the View

꒰ ꒱ Capitalism but Make It Porn-Coded

꒰ ꒱ This Is Porn Logic, Don’t Question It

꒰ ꒱ Sugar Daddy with a Spending Problem (You)

꒰ ꒱ Sex So Good It Erases Memory

[sadisticslut666]

Toji eats your pussy while he’s on the phone

cw: explicit smut, toji eats you out on the phone w/ shiu.

Toji’s got you spread out on the living room couch, one leg hooked over the backrest, the other pushed up and out by the iron grip of his forearm. Your shorts and panties are long gone—crumpled somewhere on the floor—and his broad shoulders keep you pinned open.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table. He didn’t even pause—just reached over with one lazy hand, thumbed it to speaker, and answered without lifting his head. “Yeah?” Voice rough, muffled against your pussy.

Shiu’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Yo, you busy? Got a job lead, need to talk details. You free to call?”

Toji dragged his tongue up slow circling your clit with the tip before sucking it into his mouth hard enough to make your back arch off the couch. You slapped a hand over your own mouth to muffle the whimper.

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny with you, breath hot against your throbbing cunt. “Yeah,” he drawled casually, “I’m free. Just eatin’. What’s up?”

Shiu snorted on the other end. “Eatin’? This late? You order takeout or somethin’?” Toji’s tongue flicked out again lapping at your entrance before plunging inside, fucking you with slow, deep strokes. Your thighs trembled around his head, pussy soaking his face. “Somethin’ like that,” Toji muttered, voice thick, lips brushing your clit with every word. “Tastes perfect. Real fuckin’ good.”

You whined and despite your best efforts the sound carried. Shiu paused. “…You good, man? Sounds like you’re multitasking.”

Toji laughed as he sucked your clit again, hard, popping off with a wet sound that was obscene even over the phone. “Yeah,” he rasped, dragging his tongue flat up your slit one more time, slow enough to make your eyes roll back. “Just… enjoying my meal. Keep talkin’.”

Shiu sighed, clearly suspicious but too used to Toji’s bullshit to push. “Alright, whatever. So the job’s in Shibuya—client wants it quiet, double the pay if we wrap by Friday—”

Toji hummed like he was listening, but his mouth never stopped. One thick finger slid inside you—then two making your thighs squeeze around him harder. You were dripping down his chin, soaking the collar of his shirt. He didn’t care. Just kept eating like your pussy was the only thing on his mind while Shiu droned on about payout and timelines. “—you in or what?” Shiu finished.

Toji pulled back just long enough to answer, lips swollen, “Mhm,” he finally grunts into the phone, voice lazy. “Double’s good. Send me the location.”

He dives back in without missing a beat—tongue fucking into you deep while his thumb circles your clit in tight, relentless little strokes. Shiu keeps talking logistics—times, entry points, cleanup—none the wiser. Toji responds in short, gruff sentences, each one punctuated by another long lick or a slow suck that makes your hips buck against his face.

Then Shiu pauses. “Yo… what the hell are you eating over there? Sounds like it tastes fuckin’ good. You got some gourmet shit or what?”

Toji laughs against your pussy, “Yeah. Real fuckin’ good. Best meal I’ve had in a while.” You’re mortified and soaked and you feel like you about to fucking cum with Shiu on the phone. Shiu laughs. “Man, save some for me next time. Sounds like you’re enjoying the hell outta that.” He laughs slurping louder, “Nah, I ain’t sharing’.”

Toji’s thumb presses harder on your clit—once, twice—and you can’t hold it back anymore. A muffled moan slips past your fingers. Toji’s grip on your hip tightens in warning, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he gets meaner—tongue plunging deeper, lips sealing around your clit and sucking hard. “Gotta go,” he mutters into the phone, voice rough. “Food’s gettin’ cold.”

He hangs up before Shiu can say another word, tossing the phone onto the couch like it’s nothing. Then both hands are on you—gripping your ass, spreading you wider, burying his face so deep you feel his nose pressed against you.

Tongue and fingers work in tandem—curling inside you while his mouth devours your clit. You come hard, screaming his name, thighs clamping around his head as you shake and gush against his tongue.

Toji doesn’t let up even after you come, thighs clamped around his ears and your whole body twitching. He cleans up every drop, long, dragging licks from your oversensitive entrance back up to your swollen bud. You can barely form words. Your hand’s still clamped over your mouth even though the call’s long dead, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat.

He crawls up your body, caging you in, lips brushing yours so you could taste yourself on him. “Shiu’s right,” he murmurs, “You do taste fuckin’ good.”

a/n: bro I’m actually becoming too obsessed w toji

[gojosluut]

when people see Toji with his sweet girlfriend out in public it’s all whispers

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃

An older woman whispers to another about how sorry they feel for you or assuming what Toji is like behind closed doors just by his large muscular form, grumpy face, and his overbearing rough demeanor it’s not rare people are going talk.

You don’t hear the whispers, but Toji does, all of the tiny hushes going unnoticed by him.

His eyebrows furrow from slight irritation as his eyes watch you wander around the lingerie store trying to find that pink set you saw online.

Toji doesn’t complain on how long you’re taking his heavy footsteps following behind you while you looked around. His ears twitch as he hears a woman whispering to one of her friends about how they feel sorry for you, again assuming how Toji is behind closed doors.

Once you had your full fill of shopping and you were back in your cozy apartment all Toji could think about is how he wished all those people in the mall could see him right now.

large muscular form taking up your entire vanity chair as you test out all the new makeup products you bought. Your hand steadily applies the eyeliner on his lash line - face completely concentrated as you swiftly apply a small wing.

His hair was clipped back by my melody hair clips, face in full glam with all the products you just bought. You lean back eyes scanning his face - hand gripping his jaw as you turn his head from side to side inspecting your work.

Toji doesn’t complain nor does he saying anything just a sigh through his nose - eyes never leaving yours as you stare at him. Finally you give a satisfied smile as you hand him a mirror. “you look so pretty ‘ji !” you squeal while Toji checks out your magic.

Tojis scarred lips tug into a grin as he puts down the mirror grabbing you by the waist pulling you into his lap.

“mhm i do, you like everything you bought then?” big hands rubbing up and down your waist. You nod with a smile as you lean forward kissing his cheek as a thank you for his compliance.

If only the people around them could see him like this. His sweet girlfriend treating him like some doll, then they really wouldn’t be saying anything.

______๑♡⁠๑_____

(not proof read)

[sodaneko]

MINE MINE MINE ; Atsumu x f!reader

who is this diva? your boyfriend!

contains: established relationship, socmed au, domestic fluff, some of the slides are not sfw (mdni), mentions of them having various threesomes (w/ sakusa, hinata & meian), one brief jokingly mention of a cuck chair, they're both just incredibly horny i'm so sorry (i'm not), two kms jokes, wooing a blond man, oikawa mention, idk i wanna thirdwheel them so bad wbu

a/n: looked at him for a bit too long, suddenly i want him sigh

[jadesmultifandom]

First year doing kinktober hehe

Dates/characters/kink

October 1: Joel Miller- Cockwarming

October 5: Javier Peña- Breeding Kink

October 7: Din Djarin- Mask(helmet) Kink

October 10: Joel Miller- Anal

October 13: Javier Peña- Somnophilia

October 17: Din Djarin- Orgasm Control

October 20: Joel Miller- Pussy Spanking

October 22: Javier Peña- Double Penetration

October 25: Javi G.- 69

October 27: Ted Garcia- Mirror Sex

October 29: Javier Peña- Phone Sex

October 30: Frankie Morales- Face Sitting

October 31: Reed Richards- Pegging

I will update this post with links to the drabbles once they are posted!

[firingstars]

insatiable

steve & bucky x assistant!reader

summary: you're in charge of keeping the avengers schedule clean and functioning properly. what happens when two super soldiers divert from what their original plans are, and you walk in on them getting it on? now, they won't leave you alone.

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, no use of y/n, established relationship (steve n bucky), threesome, piv, creampie, cum eating, oral (f + m receiving), fingers will be put in mouths, language, dirty talk, dom ?? bucky, switch steve, sub reader, they lowk talk you through it, lots of orgasms, riding, handjobs, pet names (doll, sweetheart, sweet girl, pretty girl, baby), steve and bucky are gambling, this is just filth idk what to say

word count: 10.7k

a/n: me??? freaked out??? never!

masterlist

You were going to kill someone. 

You weren’t sure how you were going to do it, seeing as the people that you worked for were all highly trained assassins, soldiers, or flew around the sky in metal suits– but you were going to kill one of them. Or all of them. 

You gave them one task. Just one. Not even a task– a simple request. To put their dry cleaning out in the hallway every Tuesday morning so you could run it out to the cleaners. That way, if there was a party that Tony was throwing Friday night, there would be enough time for the cleaners to go through all of the clothes and have it ready for pick up by Friday morning. 

Now, you were going through all of their rooms. You had their permission, of course.Even if you didn’t, they didn’t particularly mind. You’d been working with them for a while now. 

In terms of keeping their lives together off the field, you were their saving grace. You kept them in the good graces of America and the rest of the world. You worked overtime to do any damage control online, combing through forums and squashing any potential harmful rumors that could possibly appear. At this point, you could be an agent yourself with the amount of computer and investigative work you were doing. 

You kept track of their meetings with government officials because they sure as hell didn’t want to meet with anyone. You took notes since they didn’t care to pay attention, then condensed them later and dropped it off at their rooms– personalized notes in a way that you knew they would actually pay attention. Then, you would be the one to form up some sort of reply to those same government officials to tell them to politely fuck off in a way that made Captain America smile at you gratefully.

You kept the pantries and the fridge stocked with all of their favorite goodies, even the more hard to find, out of season fruits. You once found the personal phone number of a company’s CEO and demanded they put you on a special delivery list because Sam was getting pissy that his favorite preworkout mix was always out of stock at the wholesale market down the street. Wanda was very particular to this strawberry farm in Japan. You learned an entire new language just to make sure you could communicate with the owner. 

It wasn’t totally thankless work. There were more than a few perks that you had when it came to working for the Avengers. 

For one, your salary was through the roof (thanks to Tony), and you didn’t even have to spend it on rent in New York. They gave you your own room with a bathroom, and you were free to use the common areas in the compound as if you were part of the team yourself. You could use their kitchen and gym, walk around the floor in your pajamas during and after work hours if you really wanted to, and no one would say a word to you.

It was assistant work, but you weren’t required to wear fancy pants suits or skirts to work. The last time you wore something nice to a full day of work was your first day, when you didn’t know how relaxed they were.

You didn’t know any other assistant that clocked into work wearing sweatpants and a tank top. When you were wearing your nicer clothes, the others would make a face at you and ask you who died. You would only roll your eyes at them before going into a conference room. After your meetings, you would simply go back to your room to change into something more casual. 

The added security they gave you was nice, too. They treated you like a friend, not just an employee. They invited you out for their team gatherings because to them, you were part of their team. You may not be fighting on the field with them, but you helped keep their lives in check. They made sure to let you know that they appreciated you.

Oftentimes, when they would come home from missions that were overseas, you would find different trinkets and souvenirs waiting for you. Bucky was the type to leave them in your room without ever saying a word to you. In the beginning, you had no idea that it was him. Steve and Natasha presented you their presents directly, handing them to you with smiles on their faces. The others would leave them on your desk with a note. At this point, you had an entire bookshelf in your room dedicated to the little things that they had brought back for you during their trips. 

It touched your heart every single time that they even thought about you while they were out there. That they saw something on the street in the middle of their mission, thought that you would like it, and paused their pursuit just to get it for you. 

One time, Bucky got you an obsidian rock with a gold shine on it. It looked like his arm. Steve later told you that he found it on the ground, and thought you’d like it. He was right. You polished that rock and put it on your nightstand. 

You had to remind yourself of those sweet gifts right now, as you were hauling laundry through the halls. Your blood pressure was rising with each step. 

No one was around. 

Steve and Bucky should be down in the gym around this time– it was their allotted training time. Everyone knew better than to try and get in the way of two super soldiers in training, though sometimes others would just watch them spar. It wasn’t a good idea to try and get in the middle of it though. 

Natasha and Clint were most likely in the firing range practicing some new tricks with the arrows that Clint had just designed in the lab. He’d been so excited to finally play around with them, to show off his new toys to Natasha. He’d been waiting for her all week to give him some time, and she finally followed him down there. 

Sam told you that he would be spending his free day in the lab, messing with Redwing. This morning, he grunted to you that he completely had to fix the poor machine. During their last mission, Bucky had ‘accidentally’ slammed into Redwing, squashing it into a wall. Something about the look in his eyes lets you know that Sam doesn’t believe that it was an accident. 

Tony was completely out of the compound for the next two days. He and Pepper were on a much needed couples trip. If you remembered correctly (and you did), it was their anniversary trip. You had tried convincing the scientist to take a longer trip– you even cleared out his schedules completely, and planned the trip for him months ago. He merely gave you a smile and let you know it was okay. You still didn’t expect to see him for another week. 

Wanda was in the kitchen, with Vision. It was her turn to cook lunch for the remaining members in the compound, and Vision insisted on assisting her. That means, her prep and cooking time would be increased by triple as she attempted to walk him through every single step patiently. 

Honestly, there was no party since Tony wasn’t around. There was no reason that you should be grabbing their laundry, but it was the routine. If you broke routine now, after doing this for so long, then you might as well throw away your entire schedule. That, and you were slightly afraid of the amount of clothes that would pile up in their rooms if you simply let it rot for another week. 

You should’ve let the fucking laundry fester.

“Fuck–” Steve groaned at the same time Bucky moaned his name.

You saw sin and felt regret fill your entire body. Then, they met your eyes. Both men, stopping in their actions of pure pleasure– wide eyed, breathless, flustered– staring at you with shock. They were both sweaty, tangled in each other, completely bare. You’d seen more of them than you ever thought you’d have the privilege of witnessing. 

You tore your eyes away as quickly as you could. You felt your heartbeat pounding in your neck as you searched for the laundry basket that you knew was to the right of Bucky’s door– and snatched it like it owed you some sort of debt. You didn’t say a word before you slammed the door shut, and ran down the hall, dragging everyone’s dirty clothes and secrets with you. 

From what you could tell– no one knew about the relationship between the two of them, and you sure as hell weren’t going to sell them out either. If this was something that they would keep private between themselves, then so be it. It was just a damn shame that they had to be all over each other when you were doing your job. 

You did what any logical person would do in this situation. 

You avoided them.

In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been too difficult. You knew their schedules like the back of your hand. You knew what time Steve woke up to go run outside because he preferred to breathe fresh air instead of using the treadmill. You knew what time that Bucky generally fell asleep after his insomniac brain calmed down for the night. You knew what time both of them sat down for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You controlled their meeting schedules, debriefs, and other things. You had full access to the security cameras in the compound from a few taps on your phone, and you could definitely look for them if you thought they were hiding somewhere. Avoiding them should not have been hard for you. 

Then again, you really did think you knew their schedules. But if you really did, you wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. They were supposed to be in the gym, working up a sweat by avoiding each other’s fists, not working up a sweat by fisting each other’s cocks. 

You pushed the mental image out of your mind as you walked down the hall, squeezing your tablet to your chest a little tighter. You needed to focus. You had a meeting with some officials later that you couldn’t fuck up. You needed to complete a presentation on why they should leave the Avengers alone for the thousandth time that year. 

However, it was like both men decided overnight to make your life a living hell. 

Both Steve and Bucky were in the conference room that you were supposed to be in. Their hushed conversation died down when you entered. Your steps faltered, but you gave them a small, polite smile. There was a chair’s distance in between them, and your eyebrows furrowed briefly at it. Usually, they sat beside each other during the team meetings and debriefs. 

“Good morning,” you greeted. “You guys don’t have to be here for this meeting. It’s not on your agenda.”

“You’re defending us to assholes every other week. I think it’s fair we sit in, maybe intimidate them a little bit,” Bucky muttered, sitting back in his seat, relaxed and poised. His ankle is crossed over his knee as he stares at you, a tilt in his head. Every single one of your movements is being observed. He’s watching you like some sort of predator, and you’ve never felt smaller. 

You looked at Steve next, for help, but maybe you should’ve known better. Of course he would agree with his fucking boyfriend because he just gave you a pretty smile, and nodded. 

And the committee that came in didn’t know about your inner turmoil, and none of them wanted to sit in between either of the super soldiers. Once the chairs had filled up, once you finished shaking hands with everyone– you realized this was their plan from the start. You had to sit yourself right in between them, pretend that you weren’t screaming inside, and start the meeting.

It was a little easier once you got going. You could ignore both men. They didn’t say much, only nodded in agreement with your words or grunted in disapproval when the committee said something fucking stupid. 

Eventually, thanks to your pie charts and eloquent words, you managed to push back and gain some more freedom for your bosses-slash-friends after a two hour long argument. You watched as the committee left, giving them a pretty, satisfied smile as they muttered under their breath about getting you next time. 

“Is that how these meetings always go?” Steve asked you. 

“Just about,” you sighed, running your hand through your hair. “They just spew bullshit at me, and they think they’re right. Obviously, they’re not.”

“You hold your ground pretty well,” he murmured. “I’m sorry that we leave you to deal with this. With them.”

You could only shrug, though there was a little tingle of pride that began to blossom in your chest. Well, to be fair– this is why they hired you to begin with. To make their lives easier in every single aspect. Not just laundry and snacks. 

“You guys fight out there. It’s my job to make sure that you guys can keep fighting the important battles,” you told him, briefly meeting his eyes. 

Steve stares at you, for just a few moments. He’s studying your features, looking you up and down. Briefly, you recognize something in his eyes. There’s admiration. It makes you feel giddy. Noticed. A smile comes onto your face. 

It’s quiet in the conference room for a few moments as you finish organizing the notes and packets that you received from the useless officials that were just in the room moments ago. You grab your tablet next, and move to stand.

“About what happened earlier this week–” Bucky began to speak, and your body bristles.

No. You do not want to talk about this. Not now, not ever. You can go the rest of your life pretending that you never saw them, actually. 

“I have another meeting to get to,” you cut him off, shoving the rolling chair behind you so hard that it hits the wall. It’s a lie. You have no meeting. This was your only calendar item for the morning, and you’re free until after lunch.

Still, you’re all but running out the door seconds later. You don’t turn back even when Steve calls out your name to try and get you to stop. You’re disappearing down the hall, rushing to your private office as fast as you can, and locking the door behind you. 

Neither man gives up on attempting to corner you.

You’ve found solace in latching onto another team member every single chance that you get. 

You’ve stuck by Clint’s side in the hallways, chatting with him over updates on his kids when you know that Steve and Bucky are waiting for you around the corner to ambush you. You give him ideas on what gifts to give to his kids, and you even start an Amazon wishlist for him so that he can easily send some presents back home. 

When Tony returns from his anniversary trip with Pepper (that you accurately guessed he would take a week instead of two days), you started to spend your free time in the lab with him. You even started allowing him to spew random science terms at you that you normally would nod off to. Right now, it’s the best thing you could’ve ever asked for, especially when you can see Bucky’s shadow in the corner of your eye, stalking you. 

You wondered if this is what it was like to be hunted by the Winter Soldier. 

You avoid Sam, though you know it confuses him. Sam is a little too close for comfort with both super soldiers. He would invite them into a conversation, and then Sam could possibly be dragged away from that same conversation, and leave you alone to confront the same demons that you’ve been hiding from for over a week now. You’re still polite with him, but you try not to be caught with him alone. 

You don’t even try with Vision. 

Wanda and Natasha are definitely your safest bets. Out of everyone on the team, they were the ones that you got closest with first– that broke down the wall of boss and assistant. They were more than overjoyed when you were hired, and they were the only ones on the team that listened to you when you asked them to set their laundry out, and to update the digital list when they wanted more snacks or supplies.

So, you remained glued to one or both of their sides. You didn’t tell either of them what was going on, even though they both could tell you were on edge. 

You still remained professional throughout each debrief meeting and team gathering. You conducted each mission report with ease, ignoring the gaping hole that Steve and Bucky were burning into the sides of your head. You smiled politely, and quickly excused yourself out of the room each time. You didn’t want to be caught alone with them. 

If, on the off chance, you didn’t have anyone to grab onto, you locked yourself into your own room or office. You knew you couldn’t keep living like this. You just hoped that both of them would drop it, and the three of you could just forget about it. 

And it seemed that’s exactly what happened. 

After about another two weeks of avoiding them, they both stopped staring. Stopped waiting for you around corners, stopped sitting in during your personal meetings with the committees, and they continued as they were before. Steve would give you his polite smiles from across the room as he greeted you. Bucky would wish you a good morning in the hall as he walked by.

Your world finally went back to normal. You didn’t have to use a buddy system to go around your workplace. You didn’t have to leave the compound entirely, spending the night at your parent’s place because you didn’t feel like using the designated room you had in the apartments complex in the compound in fear that the men would somehow catch you off guard– and you definitely didn’t have to look over your shoulder trying to hide from soldiers that had much more experience than you did when it came to hunting. 

You could finally breathe again.  

You looked down at your tablet, running the stock of the weapons room before cursing to yourself. Very briefly, you wondered if someone on the team forgot to sign off on their casings– if they took more than they thought they did.

You looked through the lot numbers with a frown, shaking your head. You needed to get more, order more of the generic kinds of bullets that they had for their rifles and handguns. Then, you needed to go beg Tony to make some more of the special kinds of bullets and have to ask him to forgive you even though it wasn’t your fault for not noticing. He always would. 

Except you knew this would end in another impromptu team meeting where Tony would stress the importance of signing when you take shit from the collective team armory. You know a few of them, like Clint and Wanda, would tune out during the meeting. After all, they didn’t use guns. 

“You would think that F.R.I.D.A.Y. would be programmed to have this shit weighed like one of those hotel mini fridges that auto charges the room,” you muttered to yourself, tapping your screen. You sat down on the bench behind you, letting out a deep sigh. 

“Oh, shit. Are we going to be pulled into another meeting?”

You straightened at the voice, turning around. Bucky was at the entrance of the door, a frown on his face. He looked a little breathless, and he was wearing a compression shirt with the Avengers logo on his bicep, along with sweatpants. He must’ve gotten back from the gym– actually from the gym. 

You couldn’t help the smile that came onto your face at the slight despair in his voice. You turned back towards the shelves, shaking your head.

“It’s not a meeting. Think of it as a… get-together. Just a chat,” you replied.

“Right– because being yelled at by Stark is just a chat,” Bucky snorted as he walked into the armory, going towards his locker. He unlocked it, grabbing a towel to wipe at his forehead. 

“I mean, I don’t see your sign-outs on the log,” you hummed, pulling up the spreadsheet onto your screen. “And you sound pretty defensive. Seems like you’re guilty of something, Bucky.”

“Not sure what you’re talking about,” he responded. “I’m not the only one that doesn’t use the sign out sheet. I know Sam doesn’t.”

“Are you just ratting him out now to save your own ass?” you scoffed.

“I’m lessening my load of the blame.”

You rolled your eyes, your smile growing just a bit wider as your eyes scanned the shelves one last time, checking to make sure you did a proper count before you placed the order. 

“Is there anything you need me to get for you?” you asked him, scrolling through the cart on your tablet screen one more time. “Any spare parts or wiring for your arm that Tony doesn’t have? Do I need to contact Princess Shuri for anything?”

You could hear the gears in his arm whirring, and you looked up at him. You watched as Bucky flexed, and you felt your mouth go dry for a moment as you stared. His arm was pretty– but Bucky himself was just pretty. The compression shirt he wore also did little to hide every single line and contour of his muscles as he flexed. You followed the line of sweat that went down his neck, disappearing down the collar of his shirt. 

He was looking down at himself, thankfully, and not at you. He couldn’t see that you were blatantly ogling a taken man. You moved your eyes up towards his face right as he looked back at you, and you gave him a trained smile, waiting for his response. 

“Arm’s good. Thank you,” he answered, giving you a nod.

“Anytime. Just let me know, or send me a text if you need me to get you something,” you said, looking back down at your tablet.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him still turned towards you. Still watching you. Briefly, you felt a flash of PTSD wash through your body– like how you felt over a month ago when you were trying to avoid him and Steve entirely. 

You forced your body to relax because that war had already passed. You’ve had several conversations with both Steve and Bucky– just like this one that you’re having right now– and you’ve been completely fine. You busy yourself with the order, input Tony’s business card number that you know by heart, and choose the express delivery option. 

You let out a sigh of relief when you see that the delivery will come within two days. Enough time before their next mission. 

“Lucky for you, no team meeting needed,” you said, standing. “Only because I caught the low stock in time.”

“My savior,” he chuckled, shaking his head. 

You’re moving now, thoughts already occupied to your next task– which is the pantry– when Bucky’s hand clasps over your upper arm. His grip isn’t hard at all. You could easily slip out of his touch if you wanted to. No, this is just to stop you from leaving. Not to hurt or harm you.

“Did you think of something?” you asked, eyes dropping down to where he had his hand on you. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, and released you. 

Your arm feels cold without him there. Then, you feel something behind you– a presence. You look over your shoulder, and Steve is standing in the doorway, blocking your only exit route. You freeze, looking between them for a few seconds.

Dread is filling your stomach as you clutch your tablet in your hands. Bucky gently takes the device from you before you can break it, putting it into his locker so you can’t even create an excuse for needing to be somewhere else. You look at him damn near helplessly as he shuts his locker, and presses his back against it. 

“I thought we were over this,” you said slowly.

Steve shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “We just let you think that we were. I didn’t realize that the civilian we hired was actually an agent when she didn’t want to be caught.”

“Take a seat,” Bucky told you, gesturing back towards the bench.

You can’t do anything but listen. Once you’re seated, Steve enters the armory, closing the door behind him. He doesn’t linger too far away from the door. Maybe it’s to ensure that you can’t run. Even if you get close, you don’t have that much faith in yourself to outmaneuver them. They hold you with too much regard in their heads. 

“Why can’t we just… I don’t know– not talk about this?” you frowned at them as they stood in front of you. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the first person that’s walked in on their friends fucking each other like rabbits– we do not have to discuss the logistics of me seeing all three seconds of your possibly extensive intimate life.”

“You… have a very indecent mouth,” Steve said slowly, and Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. 

“You haven’t told anyone?” Bucky asked, looking you up and down.

“Why would I?” you asked, exasperated. “That’s not my business to tell! Is that what this is about? I could care less if you were fuck buddies or married– literally, I do not care. Is this some leftover stigma that’s instilled in your bones from the forties? Guys, we’re in the 21st Century. Men being in a relationship is not uncommon these days. I grew up with gay uncles. This is not new for me or literally anyone on the street.”

“Is that what we are to you? Gay uncles?” Steve asked. There’s an amused look on his face that makes you want to laugh, but nothing about this scenario is funny to you. You want to leave. Run. Start looking over your shoulder, and jump at shadows again. 

“Grandpas, maybe, with the way you both hold a fucking grudge,” you muttered. 

The way Bucky raised his eyebrows at you makes you straighten up completely. You clear your throat, slightly intimidated, and you look everywhere but their face as you try to come up with your next words.

“Listen, okay, I’m sorry,” you said, swallowing thickly. And you really do mean it– you don’t want to walk in on any of your friends doing the deed. “I thought you both were in the gym. Like you were supposed to be, and it was laundry day. If you guys just put your fucking baskets out in the hall like I’ve told you several times, then I wouldn’t have seen you guys naked, and heard you guys moan each other’s names, but I promise I haven’t told anyone. I’ll take this to my grave.”

They’re both silent for a few moments, and you mustered up the courage to look at them. Steve and Bucky aren’t looking at you. They’re looking at each other, having some sort of silent conversation that you know only couples that have been together for years can have. 

You honestly have nothing else to lose. 

“By the way– who the fuck has sex on a Tuesday morning, and doesn’t lock their bedroom door?” you added, watching both of their heads snap back towards you. “Especially a couple that is trying to remain hidden?”

A laugh fell from Bucky’s lips as Steve chuckled beside him, shaking his head. Just like that, the tension you felt in your body was disappearing. 

“You got us there,” Steve nodded, hands on his hips.  

You let out a breath of relief, shoulders sagging just slightly. You rubbed your palms onto your thighs, and closed your eyes briefly as you let yourself relax for a second. “Can I go now? Are we done here?”

“Not quite.”

Your head snapped back up. “What? Is this not it?”

“I heard something interesting, a few months back from Nat,” Steve started, and your eyebrows furrowed at him. You had no idea where the conversation was going now. “You know, she’s always trying to set me up on dates, and I keep shooting her down.”

“Right,” you nodded slowly, then gestured between them. “And now I know why. Do you want me to try and get her off your case without alerting her?”

“No, no. That’s not it,” Steve shook his head, smiling at you. “She tried setting me up with you.”

Your lips parted, and you blinked at him. You could feel the color draining from your face as your heart worked overtime to keep all your bodily functions working properly. You were going to kill Natasha. Yeah– that’s who you were gonna murder in cold blood. 

“She told me that you confessed to her something about climbing me like a tree–”

“Stop fucking talking,” you cut Steve off, raising a hand up in the air. You couldn’t look at him, and your eyes were trained on the ground as your other hand came to cover your face. You tried focusing on your breathing. Slowly, you lowered your hands to your lap as you took in a breath. “Obviously, I didn’t fucking know you were a taken man. I wouldn’t have said that shit if I knew–”

“She also said that you stare at me a lot during training,” Bucky interjected. 

“You know… I used to think talks between girls were sacred, confidential… I’m gonna kill her,” you murmured, more to yourself than either of them. 

The armory was silent, save for the thumping of your heart wreaking havoc in your chest out of pure shame and embarrassment. Maybe you wouldn’t even have time to kill the assassin. You were certain that you were going to die here. Maybe from heart palpitations. 

Your leg started to bounce up and down as you pulled your lip in between your teeth. Your clothes were clinging onto your skin uncomfortably, and your blood was burning, heating and blossoming in color that you were certain that both men could see. You could feel the weight of their eyes on you, never pulling away, consistently watching you. 

You can’t even deny it. You can’t deny what Natasha said, try to say that she’s lying because that wouldn’t be right either. You did say that about Steve, and just moments ago you were looking at Bucky like you were going moments away from having a wet daydream. You were attracted to both men, and that was a clear and obvious fact. 

You took in another breath, and held it for a few moments.

You’re scared. They must be disgusted with you, you think. You’re not only their friend, but their assistant. You work with them, handle their private schedules, and you know everything about them. It’s not right for you to be having these kinds of thoughts about them, let alone voicing it out loud to anyone. Forget about losing your job– you’re afraid of losing their trust. 

“It was… inappropriate for me to talk about you, and look at you like that,” you decided to say, coming up with the best professional apology that you could muster. “I’ll be careful to make sure that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Sweetheart, what? No– we’re actually about to ask you if you wanted to join us in bed.”

The pounding in your chest stops abruptly as your head snaps up towards Bucky. You’re certain he could see the shock and confusion all over your face, and he gives you a smile– almost boyish. There’s no repulsion on his face. He almost looks a little giddy, relaxed.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Steve, but he’s all fuckin’ muscle. There’s nothing soft about his body,” he continued, a deep sigh escaping his chest.

“You think there’s anything soft about you?” Steve demanded, raising an eyebrow at him. “You have a vibranium arm. Do you think that’s comfortable to sleep next to?”

“I have another arm, Rogers. I don’t know why you insist on taking the left side of the bed,” Bucky shot back. 

“It’s my preference,” Steve grunted. 

Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve, crossing his arms as he turned slightly to look at his boyfriend. They’re engaging in some light hearted banter, one that you don’t care enough to tune into. Not when you’re trying to make sense of what was just said to you.  

Time doesn’t exactly feel real, but you’re watching them argue in the way that you’ve watched your parents argue many times before. You’re certain that they’ll make up soon, give each other a light peck on the lips, and then walk out of the room holding hands and talk about what they’ll eat for dinner soon. But, the question still remains–

“You want me to sleep with you? Both of you?” you finally asked.

They both turned to you, not like they just suddenly remembered that you were there. No, they were fully aware of your presence the entire time. Steve gives you a smile, and nods. And Bucky hums.

“Only if you want to,” Steve said.

“Why me?” you asked. It’s the only logical question you can think of at the moment.

“Because you’re the only one who knows about the two of us,” Bucky shrugged, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “And you’ve shown obvious interest in us. It’s a win-win scenario for all of us, isn’t it?”

“In that case, then it doesn’t have to be… me right? I’m sure you could go find a third to join you somewhere else. Someone discreet that can keep secrets,” you quickly said, your mind reeling. “I don’t– I don’t want to be some last minute option to some fantasy–”

“Hang on,” Steve quickly cut you off, coming forth. He’s kneeling in front of you know, hands closing over yours. He’s eye level with you, stopping all of your self deprecating thoughts before it can start spilling out. “You’re not a last minute option. Truthfully, you’re the first option and the only option. Since we heard what Natasha said, we’ve actually been discussing it– discussing you. There’s just not an easy way to bring all of… this up. Also, it’s not just a fantasy, sweetheart. Bucky and I have been with girls before, you know that right?”

“I… have been made aware,” you nodded slowly.

Steve shrugged at you. “So it’s just us wanting to get back into it, just sharing someone with each other. And we like you. You’re reliable, smart, and very pretty. You’ve kept our secret for the past month, and we are very thankful for that. And like we said– no pressure. If this isn’t something that you want to do, then we don’t have to. You don’t have to. It’s just an offer.”

Man. You hate Captain America. 

The leader of the Avengers– fuckin’ great at speeches and good at talking people down from heightened emotions. He’s talking to you incredibly softly, gently. His hand is warm on top of yours, grounding you in place where you sit. He doesn’t stray away from eye contact, and the blue of his eyes are cozy– if that even makes sense. It does, to you. 

You look behind him, towards Bucky, and he offers you a nod of agreement. 

“You don’t have to decide right now, doll,” Bucky added. “Just let us know whenever you’re ready– oh. Steve rarely uses his room, by the way. So, if you make up your mind, you know where to find us.”

With that, Steve stands. He offers you one last smile, and they both leave you there in the armory to sit with your thoughts. Your dirty fucking thoughts. 

A week went by since that afternoon. They had gone on an overseas mission, came back with a few cuts and scrapes. You sat through a few government meetings with fake smiles plastered onto your face. You greeted both Steve and Bucky whenever you saw them over those seven days. You had regular, civil conversations with them. 

They came up to you when you did your regular tasks, asked you about things around the compound. You found a new gift on your bed from Bucky when they returned from the mission. Steve asked you about the debrief that was scheduled next week. Both of them asked you if it was really necessary for them to attend Tony’s party at the end of the month, and if they really needed to be fitted for a new suit.  When you said yes, they both groaned. You threatened to drag them to the tailor if they missed their appointments.

It was too normal. As if the conversation you had with them never happened, as if they didn’t offer to turn your world upside down. Well– they didn’t say that. You had just laid awake in your bed, imagining what they would do to you.

Those three seconds that you witnessed were all you had as a preview, but those three seconds felt like a lifetime. You could only imagine what would happen if you were involved in the mix between two super soldiers with insane amounts of stamina. They reserved the gym’s sparring area for two hour blocks because they could keep fighting for hours at a time. The only reason they didn’t go for longer was so they could go for the punching bags instead, and work on their forms. 

Would you even survive a single night with them?

The question echoed heavily throughout your mind as you stood in front of Bucky’s door. You knew better this time– you knocked. And you waited, but not for long. It opened, just a crack, and you saw the soldier peek through the sliver he created, then visibly relax when he saw it was just you. 

“Come on in,” Bucky told you, opening the door wider for you. 

You forced your feet to move, to step through the threshold of his door. Steve was already in bed, but moved to sit up against the headboard when he saw you. Both men were in pajamas– Steve in a t-shirt and shorts, Bucky wearing a white tank top and cotton pants. They were both watching you, curious.

“I’ve never done something like this before,” you told them, feeling a little exposed under their gaze. You laced your hands together nervously, just to give yourself something to do. “Have you guys?”

“Nope,” Bucky answered. “It’s new for all of us.”

That made you feel slightly better. You watched as Steve came off of the bed, and both men moved to stand in front of you– just a singular step away. You looked up at both of them, breath caught in your throat.

“Are you sure about this?” Steve asked, voice soft, reassuring. You nodded, and he let out a small laugh before he shook his head. “You gotta say it, pretty thing. We won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

You studied their faces for a moment. They were both being patient with you, waiting for you to give them permission. Steve’s gaze was gentle, soft, just like he was in the armory, but there was something darker swirling behind his eyes. Bucky was a little more blatant in his hunger. His jaw was clenched as he looked at you, storm grey eyes looking you up and down, before settling on your face as he waited for your answer. 

“I’m sure,” you whispered, finally releasing the breath you were holding. 

They must’ve really talked about this in depth because their actions were coordinated. Careful. Almost like a dance. 

Bucky reached for you first, pulling you into him while Steve sidestepped you to stand behind you, effectively sandwiching you behind both men. In one quick second, Bucky’s lips were on yours, while Steve busied himself with gathering your hair to the side to attach his mouth to your neck and shoulders. 

“You smell good. Did you just shower?” Steve hummed against your neck.

Of course you showered before coming here. Why wouldn’t you? You scrubbed and shaved every part of your body until you were silky smooth. You lathered on your lotion to ensure that your skin was bouncy, then made sure to layer on your perfume and waited the perfume amount of time to ensure that it soaked into the crevices of your pores before you made the journey to Bucky’s room. You didn’t just do your regular date night ritual— you went above and beyond. 

“Yeah,” you murmured against Bucky’s lips— and he took it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You couldn’t help but let out a soft noise against his mouth, and he squeezed your waist in appreciation. 

Steve’s hands shifted at your hips, tugging at the hem of your shirt, tugging the material upwards. Bucky released your lips briefly to allow Steve to pull your shirt over your head, and watched as Steve cupped your breasts from behind. He kneaded the mounds slowly, your breath hitching as he experimentally massaged you, trying to see what you liked the most. 

“Mm… You’re right, Buck. It is nice to have someone soft,” Steve chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Ah, Steve—“ you gasped, pressing back into his chest as Steve took your nipples in his fingers, rolling the slowly hardening peaks between his fingertips. 

“You owe me money,” Steve said to Bucky, and you could hear a grin on his voice– almost bragging. “I made her say my name first.”

“There’s still more bets on the table,” he grunted, swatting Steve’s hands away from you. You were being torn away from the warmth of Steve, and pulled into the cool touch of Bucky. The temperature difference was alarming, but it wasn’t unwelcome. 

“Bets?” you whispered to Bucky as he hoisted you into his arms, your legs being wrapped around his waist. 

You’ve been in Bucky’s room before, but not for long periods of time. You’ve only been here to grab his laundry basket, hang up his dry cleaning and his suits in his closet, and drop off any new gear that had been developed in the lab onto his bed. But now, Bucky’s bringing you to his bed. 

“Don’t worry about it, doll,” he hummed, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before he laid you down onto the mattress. “Just relax.”

Then, you were being dragged away from under him, and up the bed. You were half laying, half sitting against Steve’s chest, who was resting back against the headboard, like he was when you first walked into the room.

“You’re hogging her all to yourself, Buck,” the blonde soldier clicked his tongue disapprovingly. His hand came up from behind you, cradling your jaw to turn you to face him, to kiss him. Unlike Bucky, who was trying to take it easy on you, it seemed like something had snapped within Steve. The kiss was hungry, deep, and he didn’t ask for entry. He demanded it– licking into your mouth and exploring like he owned the space. 

If Bucky cared that Steve was suddenly taking all of your attention, he didn’t show it. No, Bucky busied himself with other matters that were more important to him. Like taking your shorts off of you. 

Steve didn’t let you break the kiss from him. In fact, his hand tangled into your hair, holding you in place as Bucky dragged the last remaining fabric off and away from your body, then settled himself between your legs and Bucky kissed your other lips. 

You couldn’t keep kissing Steve back, not when Bucky’s tongue was doing pretty circles around your clit, and one of his fingers was poking at your entrance, but never fully pressing inside. Steve didn’t hold it against you thankfully. He kept one hand in your hair, keeping your head tilted to the side to give him some space to watch the show in front of him while his other hand paid attention to a hardened nipple.

“Jesus– fuck, Bucky,” you whimpered, your hips twitching up into Bucky’s face. 

Bucky chuckled against you, and his vibranium hand came to your stomach to gently keep you in place, warning you to stay put. You would say that it wouldn’t be too hard not to, with two super soldiers having their hands all over you, but you were having a difficult time staying still. 

Their touches were barely anything at all. They continued to ghost over your skin. The only real pressure you got was Bucky’s tongue, but even that wasn’t much. He was enjoying every single little sound you made, every little tremble of your legs around his head– and Steve was humming right beside your ear. Both of them were enjoying the sight in front of them.

They were trying to break you, and it was working. 

“Please,” you begged, so impossibly needy.

“Please what?” Steve asked you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “What do you want, sweet girl?”

Anything, at this point. But Bucky’s moved away from your core, and Steve’s also removed his hand from your chest. They’re both on the same fucking wavelength– they’re adamant on making your life harder. What did you expect though? These two grew up together, fought in the same war together, and went through hell and back for each other– of course they would have each other’s back like this. 

“Your pussy is soaked, doll,” Bucky said, cutting through your mental conflict. You looked back down at him, and nearly sob when he takes his fingers, and parts your folds, and tilts his head at the sight of you– fully on display for him. A smile comes to his face when he watches your aching hole squeeze around nothing at all. 

A moan rips through your throat as Bucky sinks two fingers inside of you without warning, all the way down to his knuckles. Steve adjusts his hold on you, locking his arm around your waist as he presses a comforting kiss onto your shoulder. 

Just as quickly as Bucky filled you, he’s leaving you– and the loss is immediate. You let out a whimper, but Steve moans when he sees the arousal left behind on Bucky’s fingers. 

“Shit– she really is wet,” Steve muttered, and Bucky grinned, shifting onto his knees between your legs. You can only watch with uneven breaths as Bucky brings his fingers to Steve’s mouth– and he licks all of your juices clean off of Bucky’s fingers.

“Our poor girl is so deprived, huh?” Bucky hummed, watching Steve for a few moments before looking back down at you. “All you do is work. Never heard you talk to the other girls about getting fucked good. Don’t worry, pretty girl. We’ll take care of you. Just gotta let us know what you want.”

“God– I want your cock,” you whimpered, breathless. You met his eyes as a grin came over his features, and he lowered himself on you, capturing your lips in an open mouthed kiss. You could feel the outline of him through his pajamas pressing against your leg, hard, thick, and waiting for you–

“Fuck,” Steve cursed behind you. It wasn’t one that sounded like he was enjoying what he saw. In fact, he sounded annoyed. You and Bucky broke the kiss, and looked at him. His eyebrow was creased, and his jaw was clenched. 

Confusion and worry washed over your features as you looked between both men, but Bucky quickly pressed another kiss to your lips, a silent reassurance that everything was okay before he sat back on his knees and pulled his tank top over his head. 

“Now you owe me money, Steve,” Bucky told him, relishing in his win as he undid the tie on his pants.

Oh. Another bet, you realized.  

“Shut the fuck up, and fuck her already,” Steve grunted, reaching forward to grab your legs, spreading you open for his boyfriend.

“Working on it. Be patient,” Bucky chuckled, and kicked his pants off– now just as naked as you were. Your eyes immediately traced down his body, watching as the length of him stood proud, slapping against his stomach as it came free from the confines of his pajamas.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. All of it went straight down to your core, producing extra arousal for him to allow him to just slip in easier because there was no way that he would fit otherwise. In fact, you could feel Steve’s dick against your back this entire time, hard and thick, and you didn’t even know if he would fit you either–

“You’re staring,” Steve murmured behind you, nipping at your neck.

“Am I not supposed to?” you whispered back, making him chuckle as his lips moved up to your jaw, trying to catch your lips again. He was distracting you, while Bucky got into position, dragging himself between your folds. It wasn’t working well.

You felt the head of Bucky’s cock slowly press in, and your mouth paused against Steve’s lips. Bucky cursed above you as Steve’s hands tightened behind your knees, keeping you just where you needed to be for Bucky as he slowly pressed in, bottoming out completely. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky groaned, hands finding purchase on the curve of your waist. You leaned your head back against Steve’s shoulder as you nodded in agreement. You couldn’t say a word in response. “Steve– fuck– you’re gonna love her pussy.”

“Stretch her out good for me,” Steve said.

Bucky took those words like a challenge. 

You were already so tightly wound up from Bucky’s mouth on you, their hands all over you but not doing anything much, and now? Your first orgasm ripped through you without any warning– and you found out another bet was won by Bucky at that moment. Even so, Bucky continued fucking into you like this was the only thing task he had to complete, and he was doing it well. 

He pulled out all the way until only the tip of his cock was left behind, and then dove right back in– hard– meeting your hips with such vigor that made you see stars behind your eyes. You were reduced to a whimpering, moaning mess under Bucky– and he was eating it up. Your chin fell to your chest, and you could see it– you could watch where he entered and exited you with each thrust, and the sight made you tremble in Steve’s arms. 

“Are you gonna cry?” he cooed at you, almost mockingly, grabbing your face to force you to look at him. All the while, he never stopped fucking you. If it wasn’t for Steve’s assistance, you were certain that you would’ve tried wrapping your legs around his waist now, or pulling away from him out of pure overstimulation. “Sweet thing, you gonna cry on my cock?”

“Think you broke her, Buck,” Steve chuckled from behind you. 

“All stupid and cock drunk, aren’t you?” Bucky grunted, hips slamming into yours to force a noise out of you, and his fingers slipped into your mouth. “Gotta wake up, baby. You gotta fuck Stevie after me, remember? We can’t leave him hanging. He’s being so good for us, so patient.”

You could only give him a muffled reply with his fingers stuffed into your mouth, tears prickling into the corners of your eyes, and he hummed in response– satisfied with your answer.

Bucky’s fingers left your mouth, much to your despair, returning to your waist. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, less calculated. You heard Steve’s breath hitch behind you, felt him shift a little against your back. You could feel Bucky’s cock twitch inside you.

“Shit, doll— can I cum in you?” Bucky moaned, meeting your eyes. His voice was softer now, a little desperate. “Tell me where I can—“

“Inside me,” you choked out, your voice a little hoarse. “Please, it’s okay— I’m on the pill—“

His hand was wrapping around your throat a second later, his mouth on yours in a wet, messy kiss. Your own walls began to tremble around him as your legs began to shake. Moments later, you felt it. The warmth of his load spilling inside you, the tremble of his body against yours as he came, and he was moaning into your mouth, your name falling from his lips.

Slowly, Steve let go of your legs. You could feel your muscles scream with the release, finally happy to be resting in a more natural position as they came down. Bucky still continued to kiss you, murmuring soft praises about how good you are and how sweet you feel around his cock. 

He’s slipping out of you moments later, partially soft, and your body goes rigid as his fingers scoop up his cum and shove it back into your hole. 

“Can’t waste a drop, doll,” Bucky clicked his tongue at you, leaning back down to press another kiss to your lips. “Don’t let any of it spill before you get on Steve’s dick.”

Gently, he’s pulling you up. You have no feeling in your body— you’re sated and boneless, but he’s right. Steve’s been waiting, patiently, quietly, and you turn to him.

“Take this off, Steve,” Bucky grunted, tugging on his shirt as he dropped onto the bed beside the two of you. You’re also reaching for the hem of Steve’s shirt, pulling it off of Steve’s body, and tossing it off to the side somewhere. 

You rested your hands on Steve’s shoulders, looking down at him— his bare chest, as his hands rested on your hips. He was also checking you out, looking in between your legs where you definitely failed to keep Bucky’s release fully inside of you. 

He sucked in a breath at the sight, and looked back up at you. 

“Feel good, sweetheart?” he asked you. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, giving him a smile. “Wanna make you feel good, too.”

“Jesus,” he groaned, head leaning back and hitting the wall. You took the chance to trail your hands down his chest, and Steve’s lips parted, watching your every move as his hands on you tightened. Your hand dipped below the waistband of his shorts, going directly for his cock, feeling him out. 

Ah.

Bucky definitely stretched you out for Steve, but the fit would still be tight. Where Bucky was long, and filled you in all the way, Steve would be ripping you apart. 

You stroked him just a few times, spreading the precum that leaked over his length, and you watched Steve’s expression for a few moments before leaning forward, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips. 

Bucky wasn’t having it. 

“You’re stalling,” he tutted, pulling you and Steve away from the headboard. 

The sound of fabric tearing filled the room, and there was nothing left between you and Steve as he laid beneath you, your hands on his abdomen for stability. 

“Buck—“

“Shut up. She feels so good when she’s overstimulated. I’m doing you a favor, Stevie, and she’s trying to recover,” Bucky grunted. 

Bucky was behind you, kneeling, an arm wrapped around your waist as you straddled Steve’s hips. Between your legs, he’s holding Steve’s cock, lining him up with your entrance, and sinking you down in one fluid motion that makes both you and Steve gasp out in unison.

Steve’s hands reach for both of you— one hand on your thigh and one hand grabbing Bucky’s hand as he shifts to hold onto your waist.

“Bucky— Bucky fuck slow down—“ Steve cuts himself off with a moan.

You can only whimper in agreement, fingernails digging into Steve’s body as Bucky himself sets the pace. He’s controlling this— he’s fucking you directly onto Steve, hands on your waist, lifting you up and down with ease on Steve’s cock. 

“What? You don’t like it?” Bucky chuckled from behind you. “Isn’t she so warm, Stevie? You don’t like how your cock is soaked with both mine and her cum right now?”

You clamp down around Steve in response to Bucky’s words, and a loud curse falls from Steve’s lips as his eyes fall shut. 

“Jesus fucking— Buck— shut the fuck up, you saying all that shit is— just making her—“ 

Steve can’t even finish his own sentence, not when Bucky is grinding your hips against Steve’s, humming in approval at his own handiwork. He’s enjoying this, watching both of you fall to pieces in his hands. 

“You’ve been doing this all night. Since when do you talk back to me?” Bucky asked Steve, lifting you up off of Steve. You see the panic in the soldier’s eyes at the realization, and he pushes himself onto his elbows to meet Bucky’s gaze. 

And you are empty. You’re dripping all over Steve, soaking him beneath you, and a whimper falls from your lips. 

“Wait— wait— why am I being punished?” you forced out, grabbing onto Bucky’s hands quickly, looking over your shoulder to him. You sound damn near pathetic. “I didn’t— I didn’t do anything—“

“Look, Stevie. Look at what happens when you can’t be good,” Bucky shook his head before he leaned in closer to you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips to placate you— but it’s not enough. “Our girl gets punished, too.”

Your head whipped immediately to the other man. “Steve,” you begged softly, helplessly. 

“I’ll be good,” Steve muttered, sinking back down into the pillows. 

And Bucky’s feeling merciful because you don’t even think that’s a good enough apology, but he’s returning you to Steve’s cock within the next few moments— or maybe it’s a punishment with how hard he’s slamming you down onto him. 

Punishment for who? You’re not certain. 

Both you and Steve can’t keep up with the new, sudden pace. Steve’s hands are all over you, hands on your hips and thighs, but also reaching past you to touch Bucky. He never closes his eyes though. He’s watching every single movement, every single motion, and he’s vocal. It sends tingles down your spine that goes straight down to your core, and he feels every single twitch and spasm— and he lets you know he’s felt it. 

“Cum whenever you want, doll,” Bucky whispered into your ear, one of his hands slipping between your legs to rub your clit. “Only Steve can’t cum without my permission right now.”

You let out a shaky moan, nodding deliriously at the added stimulation. It didn’t take long, not with Steve continuously spearing you with Bucky’s help, and the tight circles rubbing into the overly sensitive nerves— you came for the third time that night. 

Bucky didn’t stop fucking you onto Steve’s cock the entire time. 

“You feel good?” Bucky continued. “Stevie making you feel good?”

“Y… Yeah,” you moaned, swallowing thickly. “Feels… Feels really good, Bucky.”

“Hear that, Stevie? You might deserve to cum tonight,” Bucky chuckled. 

“Let him cum in me,” you whined, grabbing onto Bucky’s wrist. “Want it.”

“God,” Steve groaned from under you, his fingers digging into your thighs. “You want my cum, too? Want me to mix with Bucky’s?”

“Please,” you nodded frantically. 

“Bucky,” Steve called out, his voice broken and hoarse— he was asking for permission. Begging for it. 

“You heard our girl,” Bucky hummed, releasing your hips, and relinquishing control to Steve. “Do what she wants.”

Steve’s hands replaced where Bucky’s was, and you were no longer being slid up and down Steve’s cock. He held you right in place above him, his hips pistoning up into yours. You barely caught yourself on his chest, grounding yourself as he uses your body to get exactly what he wants from you— doing exactly what you asked him to do. 

It doesn't take him long, not when he’s been watching Bucky fuck you for the past hour, and being deprived of his own release due to Bucky’s words. Soon enough, you’re not sure who’s release is whose, but you’re filled to the brim, warm, and sticky. 

You’re both panting, and you’ve collapsed onto his chest. His hands are on your back, holding you against him as his cock softens inside you, and slips out. 

You feel Bucky shift beside you, pressing kisses to your spine in appreciation, before he’s muttering your name for some attention. When you lift your head, he catches your lips, kissing you. 

“Be a good girl and clean up Steve’s cock,” he murmured against your lips.

A shiver runs down your body and you nod, lifting yourself up from Steve’s chest. You kneel between his legs again, and lower yourself down to his softened member. It’s kinda cute when you see it like this.

Steve flinches when your tongue meets his head, and you taste it— all three of you on Steve’s skin. He’s kinda squishy in your mouth in a way that makes you want to giggle. It’s slightly endearing, in a strange way. 

Both men are watching from above, eyes glued to every single one of your movements as you lick Steve clean of the remnants of your sin. When all that’s left is nothing but your saliva, you lift back up, and they both give you lazy, satisfied grins. 

Bucky beckons for you to come closer, pulling you to settle in the middle of them before he reaches between your legs. 

“What the fuck—?!” you gasped out, grabbing onto his arm to steady yourself as two fingers dipped inside of you and curled. You watch as he pulls away, taking the mixture of your releases, and brings it to Steve’s lips, just like how he did earlier. 

Except, Steve doesn’t fully swallow. It settles on his tongue, and Bucky meets his mouth, both men groaning at the taste. You can only watch as their tongues mingle, as their bodies press closer together, and a sense of heat begins to bloom in your stomach again.

And they don’t forget about you. Steve’s holding your hand, thumb rubbing along your knuckles while Bucky’s fingers are moving up and down the side of your thigh slowly. 

When they part, Steve’s tilting your head up to kiss you, and Bucky’s peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulder. Then, it switches. Bucky’s mouth is against yours, while Steve marks all over your collarbone and chest. 

“Wanna do this again?” Bucky murmured against your lips. 

Your eyes widen as you pull away from him. 

“Right now?” you demanded, slightly horrified. 

“I mean— I can. I don’t think you can,” he said. Steve chuckled from beside you. 

“We could make this a regular thing, if you’d like,” Steve offered. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I— Huh? Like regular fuck buddies? A friends with benefits kind of situation?” you asked, frowning. 

Bucky made a face. “I don’t do fuck buddies, sweetheart. I don’t enjoy sharing.”

“You would be sharing me with Steve.”

“That’s different. Exclusive sharing with Steve is acceptable,” he dismissed.

“Again, you don’t have to make the decision right now,” Steve quickly told you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Take your time. Just rest for right now.”

You settled in bed with both of them, in the middle. Steve fell asleep relatively fast, his chest pressed to your back and his face in your hair. Bucky was to your front, face all up in your breasts. Both men had their arms draped around your waist, murmuring about how nice and how soft you were to hold. 

You couldn’t sleep.

Did they just ask you to join their relationship?

masterlist

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn @gallifreyansass @nanikio @jmclouds @sundaepoet @the-salty-asian

[capricornluna-deactivated201810]

this blog hates donald trump

[pearlmarley]

Look how many people hate him. I’m pretty damn happy about that 😁😁😁😁😁😁

[levanswrites]

Masterlist - in this foolish lover's game

pairing: steve harrington x reader x eddie munson

summary: His brain’s spinning out again. Swerving hard down the Steve-path.

Because you’re his girlfriend. Right?

You and Steve. That’s the rule. The boundary. The carved-in-stone given.

warnings: 18+ smut, friends to lovers, heavy pining, polyamory, bisexual!eddie, bisexual!steve, threesome (mmf), p in v, m/m sex, oral, handjob, praise kink, dirty talk, instructional, check-ins, heavy pining, softdom!steve, kind of subby!eddie, voyeurism, insecurity abt scars (s4 canon events), body worship, eddie's pov, bi-panic (!), period-typical internalized homophobia, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

(*denotes smut)

Ⅰ. in this foolish lover's game

Ⅱ. temptation heat, deep in your veins*

Ⅲ. if only for today, I am unafraid coming soon!

[pastanest]

Ik everyone I’ve ever known hates to see my announcement of a new spencer reid edit gracing my fyp

[jupitersmusings]

good things will happen 🧿

things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿

[overlord-fire-bubble]

THIS ONE FUCKING WORKS. REBLOG IT.

[tiny-kt]

this for real fucking works

[scroll-of-thought]

Apparently this one fuckin works, and who am I to argue with the collective agreement of tumblr. Will report back if good things happen.

[pragnificent]

This is Money Snake. She only appears every 312 years. 

If you reblog her picture within the next twenty-five seconds you will have good luck and fortune for the rest of your life. 

[thingsamylikes]

I reblogged her late last year and my 2024 has been very satisfying work-wise and (secure enough to not stress out) money-wise so far. Money Snake is wise and good.

[carpecake]

Not worth taking the risk