₊˚ପ⊹Aurora

"strawberries, cherries, and an angel's kiss in spring" ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

[xluvablz]

⌇navigation ✧ ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა ๑

"the light would flicker like a violent womb, the night was thicker than a smoky fume"

✿ ·˚ ༘ masterlist !!

✿ ·˚ ༘ about me !!

✿ ·˚ ༘ guidelines !!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ ⟿ friendly reminders: no plagiarism or translations please! ᵔᴗᵔ

credits to @cafekitsune for all boarders on this page

[xluvablz]

are u ever going to make more jealous neteyam?

yes, jealous neteyam is the best neteyam! will definitely be writing more of this in the near future <3

[xluvablz]

oh my gosh I loved the Neteyam one are you planning to make more? If so I feel like people don’t do a lot of cuddly and super flirty neteyam since he is the most ‘mature’, xoxo ♥️

yes I will definitely be posting some more neteyam content! and I love flirty, touchy-feely ‘teyam so I will indulge ;))

[xluvablz]

❀: “marked by eywa”

pairing: aged-up!neteyam sully x f!omatikaya!reader

summary: neteyam flirts with danger and admirers, but he can’t hide his feelings. when he claims you, the two of you lose yourselves in the glowing forest, your bond igniting into something raw and undeniable.

warnings: MDNI 18+ !! two-thousand words of angsty foreplay, mating / tsaheylu before eywa, porn with plot, slight longing, fingering, oral (fem recieving), p in v, dirty talk, lots of teasing, literally one sentence of a breeding kink, possessiveness.

word count: 3.6k

kelutral - home tree. nantang - viperwolf. skxawng - idiot. paskalin - sweet berry. yawne - beloved.

The sacred fire crackles at the heart of the Kelutral, sparks spiralling upward like prayers carried to Eywa. Its warm glow illuminates the faces of the gathered clan, casting shifting light across painted faces and braided hair. Before the people stand the newly proven warriors – Neteyam among them – shoulder to shoulder. Tall and unyielding, their broad chests are adorned with fresh beads and tightly bound cummerbunds, the marks of Iknimaya earned through blood and breath.

Your gaze finds Neteyam without effort. His bioluminescent markings glow softly beneath the firelight, pulsing faintly, alive – proud. The scent of roasted yerik mingles with crushed fruit and smoke, heavy and celebratory, as drums pulse in rhythm with the thrum of your heartbeat. The night is alive with triumph, and something quietly electric in the air.

Jake Sully’s voice carries over the murmurs of the crowd.  

"Tonight, we honor these warriors. They have proven themselves. And now… they may choose their paths – their mates, if Eywa wills it."

A ripple of excitement moves through the gathered Na’vi.  

Neteyam stands tall among the others, his expression calm; but you catch the way his tail flicks once, betraying his nerves.  

As the crowd loosens and bodies begin to mingle, laughter spilling into the open space, you start to move towards him, drawn instinctively to his side. You slow however, at the sight of another approaching.

From the edge of the circle, Vi’rey steps forward, her golden eyes gleaming beneath fluttering lashes, beaded braids clicking softly as she moves. She wears her finest woven jewelry, her every move deliberate. She doesn’t hesitate, heading straight for Neteyam.  

"The son of Toruk Makto must have many admirers," she says loudly enough for others to hear, her fingers brushing his forearm. Her voice lowers, the space between them shrinking into a private hush, before she purrs, "Strong hunters. Skilled weavers. Those who would bring honor to his name.”

The implication hangs in the air. Neteyam stiffens. But he doesn’t pull away. 

You watch from the shadows of the gathered crowd, your stomach twisting. He’s too kind. Too honorable. He won’t embarrass her publicly, even if his eyes keep flickering toward you. 

Vi’rey smirks, taking his silence as encouragement.  

"Perhaps tomorrow," she murmurs, leaning closer, "you will show me the new trails by the eastern river?" 

A muscle jumps in Neteyam’s jaw, but he dips his head in a shallow nod. "Perhaps." 

The word is polite. Noncommittal.  

But it still makes your chest ache.  

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

The feast stretches into the deep hours of night, the air thick with laughter and the low hum of whispered promise as the celebration devolves from formal rite to social gathering. 

You watch from the edges as warriors weave through the crowd; some already paired off, fingers tangled in new embraces, others still circling like sharp-fanged nantang. 

You keep a careful eye on Neteyam as he makes polite conversation with other candidates who approach him. It makes your skin itch with irritation to watch him play the part of gracious warrior as they touch and preen at him – but he never lets them get too close.

Neteyam remains near the fire, caught in an endless rotation of admirers.  

Vi’rey hasn’t left his side. She laughs too loudly at his dry remarks, her fingers tracing the freshly woven beads around his neck.  

Beside you, a few of your friends gather for the festivities, voices dancing between hushed whispers and soft giggles. The fire flares, spilling warm gold across their delicate features. Se’lanu hums thoughtfully, her eyes flicking to yours with knowing anticipation – as if she’s asked you something already. Perhaps she has. But your thoughts have wandered elsewhere, far beyond the circle of light.

You watch him through the flames. His shoulders sit easy, a quiet calm softening his features. He leans forward just enough to catch the words of the girl beside him, attention unforced, unguarded. One leg is propped up, his arm draped loosely over it – comfortable and grounded.

Then, his gaze skates across the gathering and finds yours.  

His smile fades, replaced by a tender intensity, the firelight illuminating the sharp planes of his face. His head inclines in a near-imperceptible greeting – a silent reassurance – before Vi'rey leans in again, demanding his attention with a coy smile.

Se’lanu bumps her shoulder against yours, her eyes glittering with something you can't quite place, breaking through the fog of your thoughts.

"Still moon-eyed over him?" she murmurs, voice warm with amusement.

Your eyes break away from his hesitantly, head half turning to meet hers before turning away entirely, suddenly transfixed by the leaf of food in front of you.

“I do not know what you mean,” you deflect.

Se’lanu snorts into her cup of fermented fruit nectar, the sound entirely ungraceful.  

"Oh? So you weren’t staring at Neteyam like he hung the stars in the sky?" She leans in, her grin widening as she nudges you again. "Your ears are flicking. You’re a terrible liar."  

Across the fire, Vi’rey lets out a peal of laughter – too loud, too performative – as she leans closer to Neteyam, her hand resting possessively on his forearm.  

You stab your roasted yovo root a little too aggressively.  

Se’lanu’s smirk softens into something more sympathetic. "You should go to him," she murmurs. "Before someone else does."  

Your fingers tighten around your eating stick. "He’s surrounded." 

"And yet," she says pointedly, "his eyes keep finding you."  

A beat passes, the moment heavy with contemplation. 

“It’s not like that. I’ve tried – tirelessly – and he hasn't seemed to get the message. That, or he's choosing to ignore it,” you sigh, defeat heavy in your chest. “Even so, he’s not even trying to hide it.” 

Your eyes lift to his figure once more. “He seems perfectly content,” you add, the word sharp with sarcasm.

Se’lanu’s shifts with understatement.

"Content?" she scoffs, her brows furrowing in disbelief. "More like tolerating. Have you not seen how he looks at you? It's as if the rest of the world doesn't exist when you're in range."

She gives your shoulder a gentle shake. "Stop being so stubborn, skxawng. Go to him."

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Across the fire, Neteyam leans back against a broad tree root, the bark rough against his bare shoulders. The flames cast flickering shadows across his face, sharpening the line of his jaw, the quiet intensity in his golden eyes as they dart – again – to where you sit. He scolds himself.

Vi’rey leans in close, her laughter brushing his ear as she says something meant only for him, bright eyes flicking up to gauge his reaction. When she is met with silence, she notices his absent mindedness.  

"You're distracted," she murmurs, too observant for his liking.  

Neteyam’s tail flicks once – a barely restrained twitch of irritation. "Just tired," he lies smoothly.  

She hums, unconvinced. "Perhaps you need… company to help you relax." Her voice drops, laden with implication.  

His fingers tighten around his wooden cup. "Vi’rey." A warning.  

She only smiles, undeterred. "Come now, Neteyam. You must know how many would kill to be in my place right now." Her hand slides down to his forearm, possessive. "Why resist what’s inevitable?"  

Neteyam’s gaze cuts back to you – watching Se’lanu nudge you, watching your reluctant smile – before he exhales sharply.  

“I don't see why I need to rush anything,” he drawls half-heartedly.

"Is that so?" Vi'rey purrs, her eyes glittering in the firelight. "So you're happy just... waiting around?"  

He sighs. "I didn't say that."

"Then what is it?" She leans closer, her fingers tracing a maddening path up his shoulder. "What – or who – exactly are you waiting for?"

‘Not you’. The words cut through his mind, sharp and instinctive. His jaw tightens, shoulders stiffening as he pulls back just enough to put space between them.

“Not everything has to be like that,” he growls, low and final, the edge in his voice making it clear a line has been drawn.

Her hand drops, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before it's replaced by a pout. "I don't know why you're being so difficult," she sulks, leaning back against the tree root. "You act like you're not even attracted to me."  

Neteyam can't help but roll his eyes, his tail flicking irritably. "That's because I'm not."

Her face falls, "excuse you?," she snaps, voice clipped.  

Neteyam exhales sharply through his nose, his patience wearing thin.  

"You heard me." His voice drops, low and dangerous – the same tone he uses before a fight. “This ends now."  

Vi’rey’s lips part in stunned silence. Around them, the chatter of her friends dims, sensing the shift in tension.  

Neteyam doesn’t care.  

He pushes to his feet in one fluid motion, leaving his cup behind as he strides past Vi’rey’s furious glare, cutting through the crowd with single-minded purpose – straight towards you.  

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

One moment, you're rolling your eyes at Se’lanu’s relentless teasing, the next, a shadow falls over you.  

You barely have time to blink before Neteyam’s hand closes around your wrist, hauling you upright with a single, effortless pull. Your chest collides with his, the warmth of him searing through your skin.  

Se’lanu barely stifles a laugh as Neteyam tosses a gruff "Borrowing her" over his shoulder, already dragging you away before you can protest.  

"Neteyam–!" you hiss, stumbling after him as he weaves through the crowd, his grip unrelenting.  

He doesn’t slow until you’re both deep in the shadow of the towering roots, the sounds of the feast distant. Only then does he spin you around, caging you between his arms, the glow of his markings painting your face in flickering blue.  

His voice is rough, raw with frustration. "Enough." 

You swallow. "Enough what?" 

His nostrils flare. "Enough pretending. Enough waiting. Enough—" His fingers dig into your hips. "Dancing around this, around us. Letting everyone else get close to me, talk to me, when it should’ve been you this whole time."

Your pulse roars in your ears.  

“You mean you knew?” Your voice sharpens despite yourself, disbelief threading every word. “You knew this whole time – and you just let whatever this was keep happening?”

His breath fans hot over your lips as he leans in – close, so close – and growls, "I’m saying it now." 

Your heart stutters despite yourself. You exhale, steadying your voice. “Sorry, no– I’m just… trying to understand.” Your gaze lifts to his, searching. “You’re telling me you felt the same, this whole time, and yet you’ve been entertaining the idea of other girls. As if I wasn’t already yours. As if you aren't mine?”

His grip tightens, his breath coming faster; like he can't believe you're making him say it.  

"I was never theirs," he snaps, voice fraying at the edges. "How could I be, when every time I close my eyes, all I see is you?" 

His forehead drops against yours, his next words a desperate rasp. "I was waiting for you to claim me."

A shudder runs through you.  

“Then consider yourself claimed," you half whisper, half bite – before surging up to finally kiss him.  

Neteyam groans, low and unrestrained, as his arms crush you against him like he’s done pretending restraint exists. He takes control of the kiss completely, mouth claiming yours with a heat that borders on desperate; hungry and undeniable. His lips move with purpose, slow and deep, stealing your breath until your head spins and your knees threaten to give way.

The kiss is consuming. His grip tightens, one hand sliding up your spine, fingers splaying possessively as if to remind you exactly where you belong. You can feel the tension he’s been holding back for weeks – months – pouring into this single moment, every brush of his mouth heavy with need.

The world dissolves. No firelight. No voices. Just the heat of his body, the press of his mouth, the quiet, feral sound he makes when you melt into him. This isn’t gentle. This is want, long denied and finally unleashed.

Neteyam breaks the kiss panting, the sound ragged and unsteady as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, breath shuddering against your skin.

"I'm never letting you go again," he rasps, voice hoarse. "Not ever".

His lips find the sensitive spot under your ear, and you shiver.

"Good," you manage. "Because I wasn't planning on letting you go either."

You feel him smirk into the skin of your shoulder, nibbling gently at the curve. His fingers slide down your waist, tracing idle patterns across your hip, before pulling back to tug you gently.

He guides you along winding roots and well-worn paths, the forest bathed in a gentle bioluminescent glow that makes your star-like freckles shimmer softly against your skin. The air is rich with the scent of damp earth, heavy and intimate, carrying a quiet tension. His hands remain firmly intertwined with yours, steady and warm, as he moves through the canopy with effortless grace.

The Tree of Souls is as enchanting as ever, glowing purple tendrils enticing as they sway gently in the hush of the night, each pulse of light echoing like a living heartbeat. The air hums here – thick with memory and something quietly sacred – wrapping around you both as you step into its glow.

Neteyam slows, fingers still laced with yours, as if reluctant to let the moment rush past. The luminescence paints him in soft violet and blue, catching along his cheekbones and the curve of his shoulders, and for a breath you simply stand there together, bathed in Eywa’s light. The forest seems to lean in, listening.

Neteyam doesn’t wait. He’s on you – mouth searing hot against yours, hands already pulling at the ties of your loincloth. Neteyam’s lips leave yours only to trace the curve of your jaw, teeth scraping lightly, testing, before his tongue soothes the sting. His hands roam, unhurried, mapping every dip and curve of your body beneath him as if committing you to memory.  

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he admits, voice thick as his fingers brush the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “How you’d sound. How you’d feel.”

You arch into his touch as his palm skims down your stomach, dipping teasingly below your waistband – so close – before retreating to grip your hip instead.  

You pant breathlessly, grinding against him. His mouth is on your collarbone, kissing, biting, worshiping every inch of skin he can. You gasp as his fingers slide between your thighs, finding you already slick for him, always for him, and his groan vibrates against your lips.  

“Eywa, you’re perfect.” His touch is deliberate, circling your clit with agonizing slowness until your thighs tremble.  

“Neteyam–”

“Shh.” He nips at your earlobe. “Let me take my time.”

And he does, drawing out every gasp, every shudder, until you’re writhing beneath him, desperate for more. Neteyam’s lips trail down your throat, slow and deliberate, his hot breath ghosting over your skin as his other hand slides its way up your torso, gently kneading at your breasts. You moan softly.

He grunts against your pulse, voice like dark honey, rough and intoxicating. His teeth graze your collarbone, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp. ““Shiit, baby… so eager for me, trembling for me already?”

His movements speed up, sleek fingers putting more pressure on your nub. His fingers ghost over your hole enticingly, aching and clenching around nothing, leaving you gasping with anticipation. His golden eyes are locked on yours, drinking in every twitch of your expression.  

“Tell me,” he rasps, thumb pressing just a little harder. “Tell me who you belong to.”  

“You,” you gasp, hands fisting in his hair. “Always you.”

His growl of approval vibrates through your chest as he finally slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right.  

“Good girl.” 

He lingers a moment longer, nothing but the sounds of your whimpers and his digits pumping in and out of your heat fill the cooling air. His breath comes ragged between kisses, voice wrecked. 

“Need to taste you, honey.”

Neteyam’s grip tightens on your thighs as he drags you down to the mossy canopy floor, his eyes burning with hunger. “Spread for me,” he growls – and you do, trembling as rips off your loincloth before settling between your legs, his breath hot against your soaked folds.  

He doesn’t dive in immediately, he taunts, nipping at your inner thigh, running his tongue over your sensitive skin while his fingers continue to pump lazily inside you.  

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs, dragging his nose through your slick. “All for me.” 

Then, his tongue licks a slow, torturous stripe up your center, and you jolt, a broken cry escaping your lips.  

“Haa–!” 

He chuckles darkly, gripping your hips to keep you still as he does it again – slower this time, savoring the way you squirm.  

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”  

His mouth seals over your clit, sucking hard, and your vision whites out. His fingers curl, thrusting in time with his tongue, dragging you mercilessly toward the edge. 

Then he pulls back, leaving you empty, and you whimper in protest.  

Neteyam’s smirk is downright sinful as he rises over you, his cock pressing against your soaked entrance.  

“Now,” he pants, “you can come on my tongue, or you can come on my cock. Choose.” 

Your eyes meet his glazed over ones, amber irises now almost non-existent, pupils blown wide with lust and something deeper – dangerous, primal.

“I–,” you begin, choking on your own need, “Need to feel you. All of you.” 

Neteyam hooks his arms under your thighs, dragging you flush against his groin. His hands pin your wrists above your head as he removes his own garments, dragging the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds teasingly, making you whine. 

"You want it, baby?" His voice is raw, wrecked. "Gonna fuck you so deep you forget everyone else.”

You buck your hips, desperate, but he holds you down, grinding against your clit just to hear you sob.  

His eyes soften slightly, before flicking between your flushed face and the braided, hair-like appendage resting against the mossy bed. The delicate tendrils curve invitingly, drawing him in with quiet allure.

Neteyam lifts his queue over his shoulder, guiding it toward yours with a feather-light touch, the movement careful and deliberate. You can feel the pounding of your heart, can feel the way his breath stutters as his pulse begins to slow.  

He whispers something in Na'vi under his breath – a prayer or plea, you're not quite sure – then, gently, "May I?"

You shiver as his words hit you. His voice is gruff, but it's the sincerity in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat.  

"Yes," you whisper, voice breaking. "Please."  

He doesn't need to be told twice, the second the word leaves your lips he's surging forward, capturing your mouth in a deep kiss, all consuming and sickenly sweet, as he connects your queues. 

A wave of intimacy washes over you both, a heady mix of pleasure and love that feels infinite and yet never enough. Tsaheylu – mates for life. The truth hits you as you open your eyes; he is yours, just as completely as you are his.

The bond tugs at your cores, deep and hot.

Then, without warning, he slams into you with one brutal thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt. Your back arches off the ground as he fills you, his groan guttural against your neck.  

"Shit baby, you’re so tight–"

You claw at his shoulders, nails digging in as he pistons into you, each stroke hitting deeper, harder. His breath comes in ragged bursts, his moans unchecked.  

"Fuck– this pussy–" His hips snap forward, relentless. "Made for me. Only me."  

His hand wraps around your throat, not squeezing, just holding and claiming as his pace turns brutal.

"Gonna breed you right here," he snarls, voice breaking. "Gonna ruin you for anyone else."  

You cry out as pleasure coils tight, his cock angled perfectly, hitting that spongy spot with every thrust. The bond pulses between you, amplifying every sense and emotion.

"Come for me," he demands. "Wanna feel you squeeze me."

And you do, shattering around him, his name a scream on your lips as he chases his own release.

"Fuck– yours, all yours!” 

He comes with a roar, hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you, his body collapsing over yours in a sweaty, shuddering heap. 

Neteyam keeps you close as he rolls onto his back, holding you snug against his chest as he brushes a few sweaty locks from your face, your queues still connected. His eyes are soft now, gaze adoring, a stark contrast to the dark hunger that had consumed him just moments before.  

His fingers trail gently down your arm, tracing idle patterns across your skin as he tries – and fails – to stifle a yawn.  

"You okay?" he murmurs, voice still a little rough.  

You smile, snuggling closer. "I should be asking you."

He chuckles lowly, his words slightly hoarse but attentive. "Seriously baby, I didn't hurt you?" he smiles at you softly, "wasn't too rough?"

His fingertips trail down your side, checking for any tension as his eyes search yours. Always protective, even now.  

“Never," you murmur, catching his hand and pressing it to your lips. “You were perfect."

A slow, lazy grin spreads across his face, smug almost, but with that undercurrent of relief. "Good." He kisses your forehead, lingering. 

"Rest, paskalin," he murmurs, arms tightening around you. "I've got you."

And as your eyelids grow heavy, his heartbeat steady against your ear and the bond settling into something warmer, gentler, you believe him wholeheartedly.

haha don't look at me guys i'm blushing, this is my first smutty fic! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it <3

[xluvablz]

you write so well and i love your creativity

thank you so much angel, I love writing for you!! <3

[xluvablz]

❀: “healers hands”

pairing: neteyam sully x f!omatikaya!reader

summary: neteyam keeps coming to your tent; first with wounds, then excuses, then nothing at all. teasing and care turn to trust and unspoken feelings. it isn't until he returns with a serious injury that the truth finally unfolds.

warnings: pure yearning. mostly fluffy and a bit of pining, but there is also some angst.

word count: 1.9k

tsakarem - tsahìk-in-training. paysyul flower - water lily.

The first time he limps into your healing tent, he’s all arrogance and sharp edges.  

A gash runs down his thigh; deep enough to need stitching, shallow enough that he insists it’s nothing.  

"Sit," you command, voice steady despite the way his towering frame fills the space.  

He smirks, blood dripping between his fingers, but obliges. "Didn’t take you for the bossy type, tsakarem," he teases surveying your features for a reaction.

You ignore him, gathering yalna bark and spider silk. When you kneel beside him, his breath hitches, just once, as your fingers skim his skin.  

"This will sting," you warn.  

He leans in, voices a low rumble. "I like it when it stings." 

You swallow hard.

With practiced care, you smooth the thick paste along the wound, nimble fingers gentle against his skin. Taking the thread, you begin stitching the edges closed, each careful pull precise and steady, your focus unwavering as you work to ease the pain and ensure the wound heals cleanly.

He barely moves beneath your touch, jaw clenched as he watches you from beneath his lashes. You murmur soft reassurances as you work, reminding him to breathe, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin whenever his muscles tense. 

When the last stitch is tied off, you press a clean cloth over the wound, checking your work with a quiet nod, before sending him off.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Three eclipses later, he’s back – this time with a bruised rib.  

"Fell off a branch," he mumbles, wincing as you prod the swelling.  

You arch a brow suspiciously. "You? The great warrior… fell?”

His laughter is warm, and closer than necessary. "Maybe I just wanted to hear you scold me again."

Your hands hesitate over his ribs. His heartbeat thrumming beneath your fingertips. “You need to be more careful, Neteyam,” you chastise, unimpressed at his new-found clumsiness.

Your hands still, clicking your tongue. “One day I won’t be here to patch you up.”

You reach for the salve anyway, smoothing it over the bruise with gentle pressure. He hisses, then relaxes, leaning subtly into your touch as if the pain is worth it just to be here; under your careful hands and watchful gaze.

His smile falters, just a fraction, at your words. “Yeah,” he murmurs, quieter now. “But you are now.”

A soft smile tugs at your lips. You glance up at him, warmth settling in your chest as your thumb traces a soothing circle near the bruise.

“You enjoy this too much,” you mutter, face falling serious, trying to sound stern.

“Maybe,” he replies softly, eyes fixed on your face. “But I trust you.”

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

The next time, his excuse is thinner than mist. You have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. 

A shallow scratch across his palm; barely deserving of the poultice you press to it.

But when your fingers linger, he turns his hand, his touch grazing yours, almost – almost – intertwining. The contact sends a quiet jolt up your arm, unwelcome yet undeniable.

“Tell me, healer,” he murmurs, fingers brushing over your knuckles, voice low and deliberate. “Do you tend to all the warriors… or just me?”

Your pulse stutters. “Just the reckless ones,” you scoff, forcing a lightness into your tone as you dab the salve more firmly than necessary.

He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his grin widens, all trouble and fangs. “Lucky me.”

You finally look up at him then, catching the way his eyes linger – soft, searching, entirely too familiar. For a fleeting moment, neither of you moves, the air between you taut with something unspoken, before you clear your throat and tug your hand free, pretending your heart isn’t racing.

“All done.”

He gives you a knowing look, head tilting slightly. Your gaze does not meet his, and your fingers writhe gently in your lap. He rises silently uttering a careful ‘thank you’ before disappearing behind the flaps of your tent.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Then comes the night he arrives with no wound at all.  

Just a single, perfect paysyul flower – rare, delicate, glowing softly in the dark.  

"For you," he says, uncharacteristically quiet.  

You stare at his outstretched hand offering you the delicate bundle of petals. Your body is enveloped by a warmth akin to the sun-soaked shallows of the forest, where the water holds heat long after the day has faded; it paints your face with a faint violet tint, and causes a familiar fluttering sensation in your chest.

His fingers brush yours as you take the flower, his touch too deliberate to be accidental. The petals glow softly between your hands, casting shimmering reflections across his face, illuminating the quiet intensity in his golden eyes.  

"You… brought me this?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper.  

He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him, and can catch the scent of earth and morning dew clinging to his skin.  

"Couldn’t think of a better excuse to see you," he admits, voice rough at the edges. His thumb grazes your wrist before he adds, softer. "Missed you." 

The confession lingers in the air between you, fragile as the flower’s glow.  

And then – 

His hand slides up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face toward his.  

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, lips hovering so near yours you can taste his breath, sweet with the nectar of the forest.  

You don’t.  

The moment hangs, heavy with anticipation. His thumb is tracing circles on your jaw, his gaze locked on your lips. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and just slightly desperate.  

And then, from outside the camp, the sound of footsteps and a familiar voice rings through the night…  

"Neteyam!"  

His head snaps up, eyes flashing with irritation, before he lets out a sigh, almost annoyed. "Damn it,” he mumbles with a small huff.

"What is it?" he calls back, not taking his hand off your cheek. Your skin burns where he holds you, blush deepening into a plum hue.

A few moments later, a figure appears behind the tent flap. Lo’ak peers curiously, his gaze flicking between you and his brother for a beat. He arches a brow, taking in the sight of Neteyam’s fingers now shifted underneath your chin, before an amused smile creeps onto his face.  

"What’s this?" he asks, feigning surprise. "Am I interrupting something here?" 

Neteyam shoots him a warning glare. "What do you want, Lo’ak?"

Lo’ak doesn’t miss your reaction, or the way Neteyam’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb pressing into your skin like he’s silently staking a claim.  

A slow, shit-eating grin spreads across Lo’ak’s face.  

"Ohhh," he drawls, crossing his arms. "So this is where you’ve been sneaking off too lately." His eyes flick to you, mischief dancing in them. "Funny how you only seem to get hurt when she’s on healing duty, bro."  

Neteyam’s jaw clenches – hard. 

"Lo’ak," he growls, voice low and dangerous.  

But his little brother just laughs, backing away with his hands raised in mock surrender. "Alright, alright! Sorry to interrupt... whatever this is." He wiggles his eyebrows. "But dad wants you for something."

And with that, he ducks out of the tent, leaving behind only the sound of his fading laughter and tension thick enough to choke on. 

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Weeks pass.  

Neteyam stops showing up with flimsy excuses. The playful tension between you fades into something quieter, made of lingering glances, fleeting brushes of fingers – but nothing more.  

Then, one night, the tent flaps burst open.  

Lo’ak stumbles in, panting, Neteyam slumped heavily against him. Blood soaks through his chest wrap, his breaths ragged. Your stomach plummets.  

"What happened?" you demand, already moving, hands steady despite the panic clawing up your throat.  

"Stupid ikran hunt," Lo’ak grits out, lowering him onto the mat. "Tried to show off – got clipped mid-dive."  

Neteyam’s eyes flutter open, hazy with pain. But when they land on you, his lips twitch weakly. "...Missed you," he slurs, delirious.  

Your hands tremble as you peel back the fabric, revealing the deep gash across his ribs.

"You idiot," you whisper, pressing a dapophet pad to the wound. "You could’ve died."  

His fingers brush your wrist, barely a ghost of touch. "Worth it… to see you… scowl like that."  

Lo’ak groans. "Oh my Eywa, half-dead and he’s still flirting."  

You ignore him, focusing on the way Neteyam’s breath hitches when your fingers trace his skin; gentle, but firm.  

"Don’t you dare bleed out on me," you murmur, voice thick.  

His hand finds yours, squeezing weakly. "...Wouldn’t dream of it, baby."

Your heart pounds out a desperate rhythm as you work, trying to stay focused on the task at hand, but he keeps making it worse. Every ragged breath, every brush of skin, every stolen glance sends adrenaline surging through your veins.  

Lo’ak watches quietly from the side, his amusement replaced with concern. He knows better than to distract you, but his eyes flit between you and his brother with growing curiosity.  

Neteyam’s gaze is hazy, fever-bright, but still filled with an almost reverent fascination. His fingers find your wrist again, a little firmer this time. The salve stings, but Neteyam doesn’t flinch. His eyes stay locked on yours, even as sweat beads at his temples, even as his fingers twitch against the mat. 

You lean closer, checking the stitching. "You’re lucky it didn’t puncture your lung," you mutter, trying to ignore the way his breath hitches when your fingers graze his bare ribs.  

His hand suddenly catches yours, pressing your palm flat against his chest, right over his pounding heartbeat.  

"Feel that?" he rasps.  

You freeze.  

"That’s you," he continues, voice rough with pain and something else entirely. "Every time you touch me – every damn time – it does that."

Your breath catches.  

Lo’ak, still hovering near the entrance, makes a strangled noise. "Okay, I’m out. I’ll just– go tell Dad you’re not dead." 

The tent flaps swish shut behind him, a silence following.

Neteyam’s thumb strokes your wrist. "Stay," he murmurs.  

"I’m your healer," you whisper, trembling. "I have to."  

He shakes his head, wincing at the movement. "Not… what I meant." 

And then – weak but determined – he tugs you down until your forehead rests against his, his breath mingling with yours.  

"Stay after," he clarifies, voice raw. "When I’m not just… another wound to fix." 

Your pulse thrums where your skin meets his.  

Outside, the wind rustles the leaves. Inside, something fragile and long-avoided finally snaps.

You let out a breath shakily, his words settling deep within you. He had stumbled his way into your tent – your life – and had made a home out of your heart.

"I could never leave you," you begin. "You know that. I've always been here– waiting." You take another breath, letting it fill your lungs before you continue, "I will always be with you.” Another breath.

“I see you.”

His grip tightens around your hand, desperate and reverent, words feeling as though they are caught in his throat.

“Say it again," he breathes, voice cracking.  

You don’t hesitate.  

“I see you.”

A shudder runs through him – half pain, half relief –before he tugs you even closer, your lips hovering just above his, sharing the same air, the same heartbeat.  

"Took you long enough," he rasps, but there’s no bite to it, just warmth; just yours. “I see you.” 

And when his eyes finally flutter shut from exhaustion, his fingers stay tangled with yours.  

Finally.   Finally.

[xluvablz]

❀: “the inevitable”

pairing: neteyam sully x f!omatikaya!reader

summary: you and neteyam navigate distance and unspoken feelings as his responsibilities as future olo'eyktan grow. one quiet night in the forest, with a bit of teasing, and honest conversation, finally brings you together, proving your connection was always meant to be.

warnings: literally a dollop of angst lol, other wise super cute and fluffy. a tad bit spicy I suppose?

word count: 3.1k

tsamsiyu - warrior. paskalin - sweet berry. yawne - beloved. kxan'epe - sage mushroom & stagfly ant nectar dish.

The forest was quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the hum of distant creatures. You’re perched on a low-hanging branch, sharpening the tip of your knife. As you run the fine-grained rock along the blade's edge with carefully forged precision, your mind wanders astray. When you had befriended the young warrior you were well aware of his destined path as future olo'eyktan, yet the innocence of your blossoming friendship could not have foretold the future challenges the title would hold. You couldn't be upset, not really. Never have you met a boy so gentle and kind. 

The arrows he shoots are clean and merciful, crafted with the promise of being wielded by a mighty tsamsiyu. He is dutiful, following his fathers orders with a precision and care that you admire greatly. The love he holds for his family is evident, shining through whenever he burdens the blame for Lo'ak's youthful antics, or when he promises to help Tuk with finding materials for her crafts, despite not really having the time. He is what you could call the clans golden boy and his family's pride and joy, yet he does not wear the attention like a badge.

Maybe it was only inevitable that you would fall for him.

Each time his calloused yet gentle fingers graze yours as he quietly lifts a woven basket of fresh herbs from your hands, insisting on carrying it himself, butterflies bloom in your stomach. A soft violet warmth colours your cheeks when his touch lingers at the small of your back, guiding you carefully through the crowd, or when his features soften and golden eyes find yours across the firelight during a shared meal. The elders called you kindred spirits; you insisted he was far too good for you, yet you could never deny that you were cut from the same cloth, two halves of a single whole. Still, the suggestion makes your heart flutter.

So his confusion at your recent hesitance was understandable: a carefully planned retreat here, a practiced indifference there. Even you could admit you had grown distant. Yet as his responsibilities mounted, his absence cut deeper than you expected. Caught between his fleeting touches and a silence you had not yet learned to endure, it became impossible to quiet the relentless thoughts gnawing at your mind.

The snap of a twig pulls you from your trance. You glance up as Neteyam approaches, his face lit with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he states simply, moving to settle beside you.

You give him a quick glance, eyes shying away with a soft huff before returning to your task at hand.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you whisper after a moment, the tension tightening the air between you. He raises a brow at that. You feel his eyes linger, cautious and searching, as though he is trying to unravel what has driven your behaviour these past few weeks. Neteyam turns his body towards you, shifting his weight, and studies you silently. You can practically feel the thoughts swirling through his brain as he processes your words.

After what feels like an eternity, he lets out a breath, the sound a mixture of frustration and resignation. "You think I wouldn't notice?" He asks, the tone of his voice gruff yet somehow tender.

You let his words settle into the silence, accompanied by the cooling breeze of the nearing eclipse. Because of course you knew he’d notice. He always did.

You notice his movements as he leans back against the tree, the muscles in his arms flexing lightly. He's quiet, watching you, reading your every move like an open book. 

After a moment, he lets out a sigh, his golden eyes never leaving your face. "Why are you pulling away like this, huh? Talk to me, paskalin."

You sigh softly, mentally debating how to tell him that you really weren't avoiding him, that instead you were trying to reason with your feelings and his absence.

He notices your sigh, the way your shoulders slump slightly. It's clear something is on your mind but he remains quiet, letting you find the right words. His gaze never wavers from you however, his expression a mix of concern and anticipation. He's waiting for you to talk, to explain why the distance between you feels more like a chasm.

Slowly, you still the motion of your sharpening knife and set it carefully against the lush floor of the canopy. You will yourself to look at his worried expression, feeling a deep pang in your heart for causing his distress.

"Really 'Teyam, I haven't been avoiding you on purpose. I've just needed some time."

His expression softens at your words, the concern creasing his brow smoothing out slightly. He shifts a little closer, his eyes now studying your face intently. "Time? You've never needed time before," he points out gently, his voice low and soft. "Did I do something to upset you?"

He looks genuinely confused and hurt, the thought that he might have inadvertently done something to drive you away clearly troubling him. Your heart stirs.

"No, of course not Tey," you smile at him, tilting your head in adoration. He looks like a lost puppy without having you by his side. Cute, you think. "I guess it's just hard to explain. But you've been so busy with your Olo'eyktan training, when could you have possibly had the time to upset me?" you ponder with a light giggle, bringing your hand to delicately rest upon his bicep.

He visibly relaxes at the sound of your soft laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. The simple touch of your hand against his arm is more than enough reassurance that you're not as upset as he feared.

"You have a point there," he concedes with a nod, the tension in his shoulders loosening. His fingers instinctively find yours, gently intertwining them before he continues.

"Then why the distance, yawne? Something's bothering you, I can tell."

You look at him with a small pout, unwilling to bare your affections to your long-time best friend. Still, you can’t ignore his quiet patience – or the warmth of his hand in yours, his thumb now brushing slow, reassuring circles over your knuckles.

"It's not that easy Tay," you frown.

He catches your frown and his brow furrows in response, his thumb still continuing its comforting motion over your knuckles. He squeezes your hand softly in reassurance as his gaze locks on yours.

"Try me. Maybe I can understand more than you think." His tone is gentle, almost pleading for you to share whatever burden you've been carrying. He can see the doubt in your eyes, the hesitation, and it's torture.

You giggle at his pushiness, finding it comically endearing. "Hmm, soon," you promise. "But I'm hungry, and I know you are too olo'eyktan-in-waiting," you tease the unofficial title, standing from your spot beneath the cloud pine tree while feebly pulling on his arm.

He rolls his eyes at your playful banter, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, very witty," he remarks, his words dripping with sarcasm. He allows you to pull him to his feet, standing to his full height beside you with a bemused look on his face.

As you start walking back towards the village, he slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side. "You think you're real cute, huh?" he teases, his voice holding a hint of affectionate annoyance. You blush at his remark, head bowing low; his arm perched casually on your shoulder sending a tingling sensation through your body.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

The sun has dipped below the horizon, casting the forest in a beautiful array of orange and purple as the evening slowly creeps closer. You and Kiri are currently engrossed in an animated conversation, deep into a topic that you don't quite remember how you arrived at.

As you talk, you catch sight of Neteyam in the distance, engaged in a game with his younger brother and a few of their friends. The warm light of the setting sun dances across his face, highlighting his sharp features and making him look regal and handsome.

"I thought it was really fascinating but- hey!" Kiri snaps her fingers breaking your trance "Are you listening to me?" She questions with a knowing smirk on her face.

"Yes, sorry! I'm just a bit... distracted" Your sentence trailing off as you peer over to him once more.

"Yeah, distracted for sure. That or you're ogling at my brother." She remarks, raising her eyebrow with feigned annoyance.

"Kiri!" You squeal, blushing shyly at the insinuation. Kiri laughs at your reaction, finding your embarrassed response quite amusing. She pokes your shoulder playfully, her tone slightly teasing.

"Oh come on, you make it so obvious." She grins, her eyes flickering over to her brother who's still immersed in his game with Lo'ak.

"I can see the way you look at him all the time. You've got it bad." She continues, her smirk widening as she enjoys your bashfulness.

“Is it really that bad?” you ask, nerves creeping into your voice as you suddenly become far too invested in the bowl of Kxan’epe resting in your hands. Kiri watches you for a moment, her smirk softening into a knowing smile. She leans in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret.

“Honestly? It’s kind of sweet,” she admits. “And between you and me… I think he looks at you the same way when he thinks no one’s watching.”  

Your head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise – but before you can respond, Neteyam appears beside the fire, wiping sweat from his brow after the game. His golden gaze lands right on you, lingering just a second too long before he smirks and reaches for his food.

Dinner crackles with quiet tension – and unspoken feelings hanging thick in the air like smoke from the flames.

Kiri catches the exchange and gives you a sly wink before scooting away with a quiet laugh, leaving you very much on your own.

Neteyam settles down beside you, close enough that his thigh brushes yours. He grabs a piece of roasted teylu from the fire pit with practiced ease.

“You two look real cozy over here,” he says lowly, voice laced with playful suspicion as he eyes your flushed face. “What were you talking about so secretly?”

You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touch.  

“N-Nothing important,” you stammer slightly; bad move.

He turns his full attention to you now, one eyebrow arched in that infuriatingly attractive way. “Hmm. You only stutter like that when you’re lying… or nervous.” His voice drops an octave. “Which is it, yawne?”  

A soft breeze rustles through the leaves above as everyone else laughs and sings around the fire; but in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you beneath a sky beginning to sparkle with stars.

And then… he leans in just slightly closer.

You force a shrug, lips tugging into a nervous smile as you mumble, “Just Kiri teasing me – she likes stirring trouble more than the stew.”

He freezes for half a heartbeat, just long enough for you to realize you’ve said it out loud.

Then that slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face; the kind that makes your stomach flip and your pulse jump. He turns fully toward you, one arm now draping over your shoulder like he owns it.

"Baby," he murmurs, voice velvet and warm as firelight, "you don't gotta whisper things like that to yourself."

Your breath catches.

His thumb strokes the edge of your jaw as his golden eyes lock onto yours. "Say it again."

You can't move. Can't speak. All you do is stare up at him, heart hammering under the weight of his gaze... and suddenly all the pretending feels stupid.

Kiri was right.

You've got it so bad. 

And worse?

He knows.

Mustering the last of your courage, you hum softly, letting your gaze meet his through fluttering eyelashes. Okay, I'll bite, you think. "I said," you begin, your hand drifting up to rest lightly on the arm draped over your shoulder, "It's hard not to look when you look like that”

The smile on his face changes from something teasing into something almost... soft. Warm. Possessive. He shifts again and then... he's suddenly right against you, thigh brushing yours, his thumb still tracing gentle circles along your jawline.

"That right? You like me all sweaty and out of breath?" he purrs, a hint of self-satisfaction in his voice. "Like seeing me playing with the boys like that? Working up a sweat and showing off… does it make you feel all hot and bothered, baby?"

"Mhm" you nod, suddenly at a loss for words.

He lets out a low, satisfied hum, almost like a growl, deep in his chest. The sound alone makes your spine tingle.

“Then why’ve you been running?” he murmurs, lips close to your ear again. His breath is warm, sending shivers down your neck. “You think I haven’t noticed? Every time I get close… you flinch. You look away.”  

His hand slides from your shoulder down to your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, enough that you can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your clothes.

“You’re not the only one who feels it,” he whispers, voice rough now with something raw and real. “I lie awake at night thinking about how soft you are… how sweet you taste when I kiss ya in my dreams.”

Your breath hitches.

He whispers your name so tenderly this time it almost hurts "you don’t gotta hide from me."

A beat of silence.

Then.

“You want me?”

He doesn’t need an answer, he already knows. He waits anyway.

“Of course I want you- how could I not?” you admit softly. “It’s just been hard, with all the weight of your new responsibilities.”

"I never see you anymore" you frown.

His expression softens, the teasing falling away to a look of understanding. One corner of his mouth twitches up into a wry smile. "You think I like it any more?" he asks, fingers toying with the soft fabric at your waist. "Being the future olo'eyktan... It's been nonstop training. And don't even get me started on dad's expectations."

He lets out an exasperated sigh, frustration clear in his voice. "I'm lucky if I get a couple hours of sleep each night, and even then dad has me working again in the morning."

“And I appreciate that - truly. I can’t imagine how heavy that expectation must be,” you say, pausing before adding more quietly, “I only meant that I miss you.”

His whole body stills at your words.  

Then, slowly, he turns to face you fully, his hand sliding from your waist to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb brushing over the curve of your cheekbone like he’s memorizing it.

“Miss me?” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “You think I don’t miss you, baby?” A low chuckle escapes him – warm but laced with pain. “I dream about you every night and wake up aching.”

He leans in until his forehead rests gently against yours, breath mingling in the small space between.

“You’re not just some girl I flirt with,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re my paskalin… my heart.” He pauses. "And I hate that duty keeps stealing me from you."

A beat.

Then, with a smirk tugging at his lips, “So maybe… we stop letting it.”

You close your eyes, heart fluttering at the weight of his words. “Yeah? You mean it?” you ask, voice laced with hope. His thumb drifts from your jaw to skim across your parted lips, his gaze locked onto the spot in a possessive way that makes your knees weak. He leans in closer still, closing what little distance was left.

"Oh Paskalin," he murmurs huskily, lips practically brushing yours now.

"I do."

The intensity in his eyes, the rough quality of his voice, it's overwhelming. The only thing keeping you from sinking into a puddle is his firm grip on your hip.

"You're mine," he says, low and possessive. "And I'm yours."

His words linger.

“Okay, can you two get a room? Ew.” Kiri’s voice cuts through the moment, making both of you jump apart, hands still brushing. Her tone of mock disgust doesn’t match the cunning smirk and mischievous twinkle in her eye as she flicks her gaze between you and Neteyam. Neteyam lets out a low curse, his grip on you tightening instinctively. 

"Damn it, Kiri," he mutters, shooting a glare at his sister, his face dusted a light shade of purple. "Can't even get one moment without you interrupting."

He's clearly irked, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice too. He knows Kiri's been playing matchmaker for years.

Kiri simply laughs, her hands thrown up in mock surrender. "Hey, don't get mad at me for speaking the truth."

Neteyam shoots a final, half-hearted scowling stare at his sister before heaving a sigh of resignation. He's about to say something when Lo'ak saunters up, an amused grin plastered across his face.

"So... you guys finally pull your heads outta your asses?" he quips, glancing back and forth between you and Neteyam.  

Kiri lets out a laugh, leaning against her brother with a knowing smirk. "About damn time, huh?"

Lo'ak chuckles heartily, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Damn straight. I was tired of Neteyam moaning every day about how he 'pined for his sweet berry,'" he mimics in a high-pitched voice.  

Neteyam shoots him a scathing look, clearly mortified at the revelation that he actually was that obvious. "Oh, shut up Lo'ak. Like you'd know anything about relationships."

You giggle at the sight of the two brothers bickering, but beneath the amusement, a quiet thread of contempt stirs in your chest. You and Neteyam – this night, this near kiss – it really had always felt inevitable.

Neteyam turns back to you, his expression softening instantly. He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.

"Yeah," he says simply, voice low and sure. "We were just gonna go get a room."

Kiri raises an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Mmhm," Neteyam smirks, standing and pulling you up with him, smooth as ever. "Gotta make up for lost time... baby."  

You flush hard at the word, heart skipping, and before anyone can say another joke or tease, he leads you away from the firelight, toward the quiet path that winds through the trees.

Behind you, Lo'ak mutters, "Fucking finally."

And Kiri whispers with a grin, "Took them long enough."

But you don’t look back.

Because for the first time in weeks… maybe months… there’s no distance between you at all.

Just warmth.

And promise.

And him.

It's been so long! with the release of the new avatar movie and the influx of fics, i felt compelled to write a little something. hopefully I'll be sticking around a bit longer this time!

[raysome]

In a world of AO3 warriors, I'm forever a Tumblr Trooper...

[xluvablz]

through and through <33

[batmilani]

i hate my friend

@xluvablz i hate how our interests are so similar and its so easy to bond with her. i hate how we can scream and fangirl about certain celebrities. i hate how she and i can make each other be a better person - she helps me realise i can hold myself down whether thats with a big exam and im stressing of my abilities, or scared if my piercing is a keloid or boy problems. she is my anthony mackie to my sebastian stan ! so many things n i cant wait to surprise her for her bday nayways just wanted to say that about oen of myh bestfriends ok bye

[xluvablz]

AWHH BABYYY!! i love you so, so much!! you are literally the sweetest girl i've ever met. you are so smart beyond comprehension, and you have such a poetic way with words. this post is so cute, and perfectly encapsulates your empathy and compassion. i adore you so much, i'm not sure i'll ever be able to properly word it. i promise to always help you with your boy problems, and your overreactions, and guide you through your stresses and vulnerabilities. i'll always be the anthony mackie to your sebastian stan; as long as you promise to be the oscar issac to my pedro pascal. MWAH. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[xluvablz]

❀: "playbook"

pairing: college!quarterback!ellie williams x fem!reader

summary: after an unexpected loss on the field, ellie takes her frustrations out on you.

warnings: MDNI 18+ !! this is foreplay, not full blown smut. ellie is a tease and is lowkey babying reader. fingering, but only briefly.

word count: 1k

Ellie has always been kind to you. Even before you started to date her, she was a good friend.

You met her through mutuals at one of her football games - the sport she loved with a fierce, almost reverent intensity. Ellie wasn’t just another player; she was the quarterback, the leader, the strategist, the one the team looked to when the pressure was highest. Like the rest of her teammates, she was competitive, but in her case, it ran deeper; a sharp-edged drive to prove herself. The field became her sanctuary, where she could focus and drown out the busy noise around her.

So when her team lost, you knew you had it coming.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Ellie lets out a sharp sigh as she slams the door to her shared dorm room, the sound echoing down the hallway. It’s empty - Dina, her roommate and closest friend, is gone for the night. “Off with her boyfriend, Jesse,” you recall her muttering earlier, rolling her eyes before tugging you toward the stairwell, your fingers laced tightly with hers.

"C'mere." she suddenly speaks.

You turn around, a puzzled look adorning your face. Gently you walk towards her, tone sweet and innocent."Yes?"

Ellie grabs you by the waist with both hands, pulling you closer to her. Her body pressed against yours, pinning you against the nearest wall.

"Look at me." Ellie mumbles, her eyes darkening.

Your heart skips a beat. Her calloused hands dig into your side, needing your tender flesh. One of Ellie's hands works its way under your shirt, her fingers delicately tracing your skin. She looks you up and down, her eyes taking in your body.

"Lift your arms for me." Ellie states, her voice dark.

You rush to do as she asks, quickly raising your arms. Ellie nips at the side of your neck, sucking and biting; you're sure it'll leave marks. She pulls the thin fabric over your head, her eagerness apparent. Her hands start to wander, touching your body as she marks your skin. She is gentle in a rugged ellie-kind-of-way. She bites down on your shoulder, her tongue soothing the spot seconds after.

"Back up" Ellie says, before leading you to her bed, your knees hitting the mattress before you fall backwards. Your hand still loosely hangs onto hers as she follows your motions. She is silent as she crawls on top of you, her larger frame covering yours. The air is suffocating as you gasp breathlessly for air, cheeks flushing with heat. You let out a small sigh, your voice quivering with desire. Ellie smirks – she knows what you want, but she'll make sure you beg for it.

Her hand moves to cup your chin, tilting your head upwards to look at her, other hand gently caressing your thigh.

"I need you to tell me what you want, pretty girl." Ellie teases, her voice low and sultry.

"I," you stumble. The heat below intensifies, rearing you unable to respond cohesively.

Ellie's knee slowly pushes its way between your legs, applying pressure to your core. She coos, noticing the effect it's having on you.

"Use your words. Be a good girl and tell me what you want." She pushes, her knee gently moving back and forth.

Your moans are squeaky, thoughts of ellie bending you over and fucking you silly flood your head. You know she won't give it to you if you keep the act up. Through your soft sighs you push out a faint "please".

Ellie leans closer to your ear, her breath hot against your skin.

"Please what? You have to tell me, baby" Her knee rocks at a rhythmic pace.

You whine in frustration. Ellie knows what she does to you. "I," you pause briefly, pathetically trying to grasp a rational thought. "Please, f-fuck me ellie. I want you, only you."

Ellie's smirk widens, you're feeding her ego. She nips at your earlobe, her knee applying more pressure to your core.

"That's a good girl, using your words," She soothes, her voice filled with praise. "I didn't realise you were so desperate for me."

Your breath hitches as Ellie's knee speeds up between your legs, not quite giving you the pressure you so desperately need. Yet, your frustration only fuels her teasing. 

"You're so needy," she purrs. She knows you want more, but she enjoys making you squirm.

"Please Els. Need you," you frown.

Ellie's knee comes to a halt, eliciting a whine from you. She leans back slightly, admiring the sight of you.

"You want more, baby? You have to be a good girl and ask me nicely. Maybe then I'll give you what you want."

Ellie's hand slowly moves up and down your thigh. Her knee still applying pressure to your core. She pushes your shirt up, revealing your lacey black bra, and slowly starts to knead your breast. Growing restless herself, she reaches to unclasp the material, before resuming her actions and gently rolling her thumb over your hardened nipple.

"How are you gonna prove you'll be a good girl?" she asks. "Give me a reason to give you what you want."

Unexpectedly, you take her hand in yours. Guiding her fingers to your now soaked panties. "See how much I need you?" She grunts softly, her fingers move along the lace, tracing your folds through the fabric. You bite your lips as she leans closer.

"Your pretty little panties are drippin'." she murmurs, her eyes filled with lust. "What's got you so worked up, hmm?"

Her tone is condescending, and you know she'll draw this out for as long as she can. You whine in frustration. The overwhelming sensations cause tears to slip from your waterline, sliding down your cheek. Ellie’s demeanour slightly softens, and she uses her thumb to gently wipe it away, caressing your face. "Hey, don't cry, pretty girl," she says, her voice turning gentle. "You're doing so well."

You sniffle and smile through little tears "m'just want you", you state. Ellie’s lips turn upwards at your words, her finger moving to the edge of your panties to pull them aside. “Yeah? Well I'm all yours.” She says before slipping a digit into your aching hole.

As her finger presses into your sopping wet core, a smile spreads across her face. "That's a good girl. Just relax and let me take care of you."

no one look at me. quarter-blow-my-back-out.

[wordssoonforgotten]

Free my girls 💔💔 they did all of it but Idc

[atlasjoyce]

what's your favorite season of criminal minds??

[xluvablz]

can we collectively as a fandom start writing more, ahem, normal pairings for targaryen hotd characters x reader? while these fics are amazing, so many of them are targcest. I know the whole concept is pretty normal in the show, but why are we writing about it like it’s still common?

｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡

[samsblades]

✶ accident or serendipity — emily prentiss

cw : gn!reader, bau!reader, fluff, alcohol consumption, kissing, unedited, 622 words. requested ! for my 900 followers event [ closed ] .

prompts : a green, velvet couch + “i love you. more than you could know.”

“emily, do you think confessions don’t count if you’re drunk?” you ask, really only tipsy. it’s just that rossi’s premium scotch makes your head so fuzzy so fast. not too fuzzy to think about emily, though, and how much you love her.

she looks up at you from her spot on the floor, cushioned by a thick, expensive carpet. she’s been concentrating on not spilling her glass of wine. “depends,” she answers, eyebrows raised. she’s tipsy too, though not as much as you. “it could be a sign of honesty. i think that the most important part is whether or not it’s remembered by both parties once they're sober.”

you meet her gaze, head tilted awkwardly from the way that you’re sprawled out over rossi’s vintage green velvet couch. “and do you think it’s stupid for two people to pine after each other for like… three years and never say anything about it?” you were away one of those years, so you wonder if that one counts. she sets her glass down and makes sure it’s not anywhere she could knock it down by accident. then she turns her body to face you fully, now eye to eye with you and only inches away from close enough to kiss. she licks her lips and your eyes follow the movement without an ounce of subtlety.

“it’s pretty stupid, yeah,” she says, voice softer now. then she drops all pretenses and just talks about you and her without the obvious euphemisms. “it’s just that the logistics are hard. i don’t want to cost you this job, but i don’t want to leave it again. so it’s easier to pine sometimes, you know?” and without any sort of real, tangible confession from either of you, there’s a full admittance of love. three years of it.

“yeah,” you sigh, “but there’s this job that i’m looking at. i– i don’t want to leave the team, but i… it’s really hard. this job is really hard and it’s been a year since i got back and it’s just– i think it might be too much,” you admit to her, eyes gone a little misty. her face morphs into one of deep concern.

“why didn’t you say something?” she murmurs, her face inching closer to yours. “i knew it was hard for you, but… you’re looking for other jobs?” 

you nod, your cheek rubbing against the soft armrest. “yeah. i am. didn’t mean to tell you like this, i don’t think. but since you were talking about logistics. well, maybe we won’t have to worry about logistics.”

“really?” she asks, her voice surprisingly vulnerable and hopeful. your chin bobs up and down again in confirmation.

“really,” you whisper. it’s an odd conversation. a very odd one, mostly because you’re both under the influence, but also because that’s just how you are together. most things go unsaid, but not unknown. most things said to one another are immediately understood without the need for any sort of explanation. but there are some things that should be said, even if they are already known without words. “i love you. more than you could know,” you tell her, your head leaving the plush armrest and leaning in towards her.

her hand floats up to cup your cheek, both for the sake of cradling you close to her, but also to keep your neck from straining too much. before you know it, your nose is brushing against hers. “maybe i do know. ‘cause i love you too.” then, just as they should be, her lips are on yours and you find yourself kissing your coworker on the second floor of your other coworker's mansion. whether that’s by accident or serendipity, you don’t care.

[xluvablz]

awweeeh!! 🤍🤍

[luvvyouforever]

dishes done, food made, clothes cleaned, wounds treated, pussy ate

[xluvablz]

em !! 😣😣

[kirammansbow]

Her tattoos are a need!

[xluvablz]

😋🤭🙏🙏

[xluvablz]

⌇hermione granger !

back to m.list

☆ “the alchemy of unrequited love”

in the quiet of the potions classroom, your unguarded emotions spill out, leaving hermione caught in the weight of what’s left unsaid.

(more coming soon...)

credits to @cafekitsune for boarders