★

“no! no, no clark, just yours. I only need yours.”

“atta girl,” he chuckles, resuming his pace when he got the answer that he wanted. it took only a few more minutes of him gliding himself in balls deep and watching her wither and cry until he’s turning into a whiny mess himself.

“oh god, oh god baby that’s so good, your pussy was made for this dick,” he whimpers. has to hold out and harshly grip the base of his dick on one pull out so that he doesn’t bust prematurely. she grinds back against him and doesn’t seem to give a shit that he was trying to hold himself back with his hand, pushing her ass forwards so that she could swallow up more of his cock.

“baby I’m gonna cum if you keep going like that,” clark warns with a shaky breath, losing his composure when she still points her ass up and clenches.

“I need it. fuck me harder. I need you to ruin me.”

clark hums through another whimper and gathers himself. wipes some sweat lingering off his forehead and then grabs her hips to hold her in place.

“yeah? you want it hard and fast?”

“fucking yes—“

clark doesn’t even let her finish her thought before he’s slamming in and already making her gasp. he yanks himself out and then quickly slams himself back in, repeatedly angling himself in ways that hit up against all of her favorite spots. a bigger mess starts to gather on his dick, and both of them have turned into a crying, whining mess, matching each other’s moans while he moves with so much ferocity and momentum that the bed creaks and pushes up against the wall.

he can feel it when she cums, twice in quick succession, falling apart on his dick while she screams into her pillow and lazily grinds back. clark isn’t far behind, not at all. a few vicious pumps later and he’s spurting everything he’s held inside, cum dribbling between her pussy lips and already starting to fall out while he whines and tries to catch up with her. she doesn’t move after that. doesn’t speak. her head is still shoved in the pillow, deep breaths that at least tell him she’s still alive, and he taps her shoulder, shakes her gently to check in and see if she’s really okay.

“baby, baby is everything okay? was it too hard? I should’ve gone slower. gosh….”

his eyebrows pinch in when his mind floods with worry, turning her over to find that he just fucked her right to sleep.

when she hums lazily, more than half asleep, letting him know she’s okay without even lifting her eyes, she quickly drifts back to her wonderland and her breathing deepens once again. clark laughs while he gets up to fetch her a towel for the mess still spilling down her legs, wipes her clean with a warm rag. he leans in and kisses her forehead before pulling her in his arms, smug as he realizes he just fucked her so good that she didn’t wait even a beat until she was passing out. it pulls a smirk on his face as he rubs her shoulder, observes her as she sleeps. she didn’t get up for over an hour, only briefly to chug some of the water he left on her side table before passing out yet again. clark sees how relaxed, how loose and drowsy and still more worry-free than she’s ever been after taking his dick all the way to her stomach. it puts pride in his heart to know how he’s capable of giving it to her so good she loses consciousness

. . .

He shot you a look—half exasperated, half pleading. “There’s a wedding. Next week. One of my childhood friends. Ma and Pa really want me to come home for it.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, sipping your coffee. “And this is a crisis because…?”

Clark hesitated, his cheeks flushing pink. “Because they’ve been…asking if I’m seeing anyone. For months.” He adjusted his glasses, avoiding your eyes. “And I may have…implied…”

“Oh, Clark.” You set your cup down with a grin. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” he admitted miserably, slumping into the chair across from you. “I didn’t mean to! Ma asked if I was lonely and—I panicked. I didn’t want her to worry, so I just... And then Pa said he was happy I’d found someone, and by the time I realized what I’d done it was too late.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. “So let me get this straight: your parents think you have a girlfriend, and now you’re about to roll into Smallville looking tragically single at a wedding full of gossiping neighbors?”

Clark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Exactly.”

“That is hilarious,” you said, fighting back giggles.

He peeked at you through his fingers. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s so funny. You’re basically in a Hallmark movie, Clark.”

He gave you a flat look, then took a deep breath like he was bracing for impact. “That’s why I wanted to ask you something.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Oh boy. This sounds serious.”

“Would you…” He swallowed, fidgeting with his tie. “Would you pretend to be my girlfriend? Just for the week. Come to Smallville with me, go to the wedding. Smile at my parents so they don’t think I’m a complete failure at dating.”

You stared at him. For a second, you wondered if he was joking. But no—Clark Kent didn’t joke like this. His expression was earnest, almost sheepish, and you realized with dawning horror that he was completely serious.

“Oh my God,” you breathed. “You are in a Hallmark movie.”

He said your name softly, and the way it rolled off his tongue almost made you forget this was ridiculous. You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “So you want me to be your fake girlfriend. To meet your parents. And your entire hometown. For a whole week.”

He winced. “When you say it like that—”

“Clark, that’s not fake dating. That’s method acting.” But then you caught the nervous way he was watching you, the faint blush on his cheeks, and the way his hands curled awkwardly in his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them. And suddenly… you weren’t laughing anymore. “Well,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ve always wanted to see Smallville.”

The relief on his face was so immediate and genuine it made your chest tighten. He beamed, wide and boyish, like you’d just saved the world instead of agreed to play along with his lie. “You will? Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head at him. “But you owe me, Kent. Big time.”

He grinned, sheepish and grateful. “Deal.”

And just like that, you’d agreed to be Clark Kent’s fake girlfriend. For one week. In his hometown. At a wedding. What could possibly go wrong?

---

Clark’s apartment was exactly what you’d expect from him: neat, cozy, and just a little bit old-fashioned. Stacks of newspapers were carefully folded on the coffee table, a half-finished crossword sat beside a pencil, and a throw blanket was draped across the couch in a way that screamed Martha Kent folded this once upon a time and Clark never changed it.

You perched on the edge of the sofa, eyeing the surroundings while Clark fussed in the kitchen. He’d insisted on making tea—because apparently, if you were going to fake-date him, beverages were mandatory.

He emerged a moment later, balancing two mismatched mugs in those big hands of his. He handed you one, sitting down at the opposite end of the couch like a man preparing for a business negotiation.

“So,” you said, blowing across the steam of your tea, “we should probably set some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” he echoed, brows lifting above the rim of his glasses.

“Obviously,” you said. “Fake dating is a delicate art, Clark. If we’re going to sell this, we need a game plan. Consistency. Coordination.” You ticked off on your fingers. “We need a backstory, a timeline, rules of conduct—”

“Rules of conduct?” His mouth twitched, like he was trying not to laugh.

“Yes,” you said firmly. “For example: no kissing unless absolutely necessary. None of this ‘spur of the moment’ stuff.”

He choked a little on his tea. “Kissing?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Clark, if your entire hometown thinks you’ve got a girlfriend, someone is going to expect us to kiss. You’re not exactly going to sell the act with a stiff side hug.”

He went scarlet, staring down into his mug like it might save him. “I just… didn’t think about that.”

“You didn’t—Clark, you dragged me into a fake relationship without considering kissing?”

“I panicked!” he said, voice higher than usual. “I just wanted Ma and Pa to stop worrying, I wasn’t thinking that far ahead.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Unbelievable. Fine, rule number one: no kissing unless we both agree it’s necessary. Rule number two: no embarrassing stories that make me look bad.”

Clark looked up at that, indignant. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t?” You leaned forward, smirking. “You’ve got thirty years’ worth of baby photos your mother will absolutely whip out at dinner, and you expect me to believe you won’t let me suffer?”

His ears turned pink. “I’d never embarrass you on purpose.”

You sipped your tea, studying him. He meant it—you could see that earnestness in his eyes, the way his brows knit slightly like the thought of humiliating you was genuinely offensive to him. That sincerity was going to make this entire charade very dangerous.

“Fine,” you conceded softly. “Rule number two: no intentional embarrassment. Rule number three…” You hesitated, twirling the mug in your hands. “We need a believable backstory. How we met, how long we’ve been together, that sort of thing.”

Clark perked up a little, as if relieved to be on more solid ground. “That’s easy. We could just say we met at the Planet. Friends turned into something more.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s boring. And vague. If people ask questions, you’ll fold like a cheap suit.”

He frowned. “I don’t fold.”

“You fold,” you said flatly. “You’re too nice to lie convincingly.”

He sputtered, adjusting his glasses. “I can lie!”

“Clark,” you said sweetly, “what did you have for breakfast this morning?”

“…Toast,” he replied, after an oddly long pause.

You arched a brow. “Uh-huh. And that little hesitation wasn’t suspicious at all.”

“I did have toast,” he muttered, flustered. “I just also had… three pancakes.”

You laughed so hard you nearly spilled your tea. “Exactly my point. If someone corners you at the reception and asks how we got together, you’ll crack in seconds.”

Clark sighed, conceding. “So what do you suggest?”

“We build a story with details,” you said, warming to the task. “Something casual but sweet. Like… you asked me out after we stayed late on a story together. You brought me coffee, I brought you takeout, and we realized we’d been accidentally dating for weeks already.”

His mouth softened into a smile. “That’s actually… really nice.”

“See? Believable and romantic.”

Clark set his mug down, fiddling with his tie like he always did when he was nervous. “Okay. That works. And, um… how long have we been dating?”

You tapped your chin. “Long enough that meeting your parents isn’t weird. But not so long that people start asking about rings. Four months?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds right.”

You could feel his eyes on you as you scribbled the details onto a notepad you’d stolen from his desk: timeline, first date story, favorite things about each other—fake answers pending. When you finally looked up, he was smiling faintly, like the sight of you planning this out amused him more than it should have. “What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, looking away. But the tips of his ears were red, and you weren’t entirely sure what that meant.

You shook your head, setting down the pen. “Alright, Kent. We’ve got the ground rules. Now all we have to do is survive one week in Smallville without blowing our cover.”

Clark smiled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “What could go wrong?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Oh, don’t say that.”

---

The drive out of Metropolis stretched on for hours, skyscrapers shrinking into farmland, city noise dissolving into the steady hum of open road. Clark insisted on driving—something about “wanting you to see the view,” though you suspected it was also his way of staving off nerves. He fiddled with the radio more than usual, tuning through stations until he settled on a fuzzy country channel that seemed to relax him.

The closer you got to Smallville, the more he loosened up. His posture uncurled, his shoulders dropped, and for once he wasn’t hiding behind that sheepish city-desk persona. This was his world—cornfields rolling in every direction, red barns dotting the horizon, and an endless sky overhead that felt like freedom.

By the time you pulled into the long dirt driveway, your nerves had caught up with you. The Kent farmhouse came into view: white paint weathered by decades of Kansas sun, a porch swing creaking lazily in the breeze, and a bright patchwork of Martha’s flowerbeds framing the front steps. It looked like a painting. Too picturesque—like the kind of place where pretending to be Clark Kent’s girlfriend could unravel in an instant.

Clark parked the car and turned to you, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Okay. This is it.”

You glanced at the farmhouse. “Your childhood home. No pressure at all.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he said, though his own hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Ma and Pa… they’ll love you.”

The words slipped out before he could catch them. He froze, ears going red. “I mean—they’ll love meeting you. Because you’re… you know… nice.”

You bit back a smile. “Smooth, Kent.”

Before he could sputter out a defense, the screen door banged open. Martha Kent stepped out onto the porch, apron dusted with flour, her face lighting up the second she saw her son. She waved, calling his name, and a moment later Jonathan appeared beside her, steady and smiling as he leaned on the railing.

“Showtime,” you muttered under your breath, reaching for the door handle.

Clark glanced at you, nervous, and then did something unexpected. He reached across the console and gently took your hand in his, his palm warm and steady. “We’ve got this,” he said softly.

Your breath caught, just for a second. Then you nodded, squeezing back.

Martha reached the two of you first, arms outstretched. “Clark Jerome Kent, you didn’t tell me you’d be here this early!”

Clark laughed, pulling her into a hug. “Hi, Ma.”

Jonathan followed, giving his son a firm clap on the back before his gaze shifted toward you. “And this must be the mystery girl we’ve been hearing about.”

Oh God. Here it was—the test.

Clark’s hand was still laced with yours as he pulled you gently forward. “Ma, Pa… this is my girlfriend.” His voice wavered only slightly. “We, uh—we work together at the Planet.”

Martha’s face broke into the warmest smile you’d ever seen, eyes crinkling as she caught both your hands in hers. “Well, aren’t you just lovely. I’ve been waiting years for Clark to bring someone home. Come in, come in, I’ve got pie cooling on the counter.”

Jonathan chuckled low in his throat. “Better warn her about your Ma’s pie, son. Once you’ve had it, you’ll never eat another slice without comparing.” You laughed politely, though your stomach was still tight with nerves. Clark gave you the faintest smile—reassuring, like you’d passed the first round

Inside, the farmhouse smelled like cinnamon and clean laundry. The living room was cozy, lined with bookshelves and family photos, a worn quilt draped over the back of the couch. A pair of boots sat neatly by the door, clearly Jonathan’s. Every detail radiated warmth and history, a life well-lived.

Martha ushered you both into the kitchen, where she sliced pie and asked question after question. How did you and Clark meet? What was your first impression of him? Did he take you out somewhere nice, or did he settle for greasy takeout again? Clark’s ears went red at that, but he played along. “It was good takeout,” he muttered defensively.

You smiled into your fork. “It was actually perfect. He insisted on paying even though I said we could split it. That’s when I knew he was trouble.”

Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “Sounds like our boy.”

Clark glanced at you from across the table, and for a moment it felt less like lying and more like slipping into a story that fit too well.

Later, after Martha declared herself satisfied with your answers and shooed everyone out of her kitchen, Clark led you upstairs to drop your bag in the guest room. He paused outside the door, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry about all that. They, uh… they can be a little enthusiastic.”

“They’re wonderful,” you said honestly. “Honestly, Clark, if this is how you grew up, no wonder you turned out so…” You trailed off, realizing you were about to say so good. So kind. So easy to love.

He tilted his head, curious. “So what?”

You shook your head quickly. “So polite. That’s all.”

He didn’t push, though something in his expression softened. Then, awkwardly, “just so you know, uh… there’s a chance they’ll show you baby pictures tonight. They… do that.”

You grinned. “Can’t wait.”

Clark groaned. “You’re supposed to dread it.”

“Why? I think little farm-boy Clark sounds adorable.”

His cheeks flushed pink again, and he muttered something under his breath about regretting this already. But when he looked at you—really looked—there was something flickering behind his glasses. Something that said he wasn’t regretting a thing.

The sun was just beginning to dip low over the Kansas horizon when Martha called you both down for supper. The farmhouse smelled incredible—savory roast chicken, mashed potatoes whipped light and buttery, green beans fresh from the garden. You hadn’t even sat down yet, and your stomach was already growling.

Clark walked beside you down the narrow staircase, his hand hovering near your back in that tentative way of his—like he wanted to guide you but wasn’t sure if it crossed some invisible line. When you glanced at him, he quickly dropped it, shoving both hands into his pockets as if he’d been caught.

The dining room was warm and homey, mismatched chairs pulled around a sturdy oak table that looked like it had hosted every holiday and birthday party for decades. Martha bustled at the head of the table with serving dishes while Jonathan poured sweet tea into mason jars. “Sit, sit,” Martha said cheerfully, waving you both into the chairs beside each other. “Clark, don’t let her hover. She’s company, not a farmhand.”

“I wasn’t—Ma,” Clark protested, but he obeyed, pulling out the chair for you before sitting down himself. The gesture made your chest tighten unexpectedly. Fake boyfriend or not, it was… nice.

Dinner began with chatter about the weather, the crops, how the community had rallied to prepare for the wedding. Martha asked you questions in that gentle but probing way mothers have, as though she could piece together your entire character with just a handful of details. “So,” she said, ladling chicken onto your plate, “what’s it like working with Clark?”

You paused, fork poised. Clark stiffened beside you. “Well,” you began, deliberately glancing at him with a mischievous smile, “he’s punctual. Organized. A little too serious sometimes. But he’s also… dependable. The kind of guy you want around when things get messy.”

Martha’s eyes sparkled knowingly, and Jonathan chuckled into his tea. Clark ducked his head, ears turning red. “She’s exaggerating,” he muttered.

“Am I?” you teased. “You’re the one who makes sure I eat lunch on deadline days.”

Martha clapped her hands together, delighted. “Oh, I like you.”

Clark gave you a sidelong look that said thanks a lot but his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile.

Halfway through dinner, Martha disappeared into the living room and returned with a thick leather-bound photo album. Clark immediately groaned. “Ma, no.”

“Yes,” she said firmly, setting it down in front of you. “If you’re bringing a girl home, she deserves to see the whole truth.”

Jonathan smirked. “Brace yourself.”

You opened the album eagerly. The first page showed a chubby-faced toddler Clark, cheeks smeared with chocolate cake. “Oh my God,” you breathed, grinning. “Look at those curls.”

Clark covered his face with his hand. “Please don’t.”

But Martha was already leaning over your shoulder, pointing out pictures with relish. “Here he is at five, trying to wear his father’s work boots. Couldn’t lift his feet an inch, but he insisted. And this one—oh, he was seven, insisted on wearing a cape made out of a pillowcase for an entire summer.”

You laughed so hard you nearly dropped your fork. “A cape? Really?”

Clark peeked through his fingers, groaning. “I was imaginative.”

“You were adorable,” you corrected. “Don’t fight me on this, Kent.”

Jonathan’s eyes twinkled as he added, “That pillowcase got more miles than our old truck.”

By dessert, you were wiping tears of laughter from your cheeks, and Clark was slumped in his chair like a man resigned to his fate. Martha set a fresh pie in the center of the table, looking utterly pleased with herself. “I like how she teases you,” she said to Clark. “You need someone who doesn’t let you get away with hiding.”

Clark shifted uncomfortably. “Ma…”

But her words lingered in the air, heavier than she probably intended. You glanced at Clark, catching his expression—the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his eyes darted toward you and away again. It sent a flicker of something warm through your chest, something that had nothing to do with pie.

Later, as you helped Martha clear the table, she leaned close and murmured, “he’s happy with you here. I can tell.”

You froze, a plate balanced in your hands. “Oh, well, we—” You caught yourself before stumbling over the whole truth. “He’s easy to be around.”

Martha smiled softly, knowingly. “That he is.”

When you returned to the living room, Clark was on the couch with Jonathan, who was recounting a story about Clark trying to build a treehouse as a teenager. Clark looked up as you entered, and for just a moment—barely a flicker—you saw it, the way his shoulders eased when his eyes landed on you.

Like he really was happy you were there.

And that was far more dangerous than any fake-dating rule you’d written down.

---

The Kent farmhouse was quieter at night than you were used to. In Metropolis, even at 2 a.m., you could hear taxis honking, people shouting, the hum of life never shutting off. Here, the silence felt different—peaceful, weighty, broken only by the chirp of crickets and the occasional low moo from the pasture.

You padded barefoot down the hallway, the floorboards creaking in that way old houses did. Clark was waiting near the back porch, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded loosely across his chest. He looked… comfortable here, like part of the house itself, a boy who’d grown into a man but never really shed the soil of Smallville from his skin.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked softly, pushing his glasses up.

You shrugged, joining him. “Too quiet. My brain keeps waiting for a siren or a car alarm.”

Clark chuckled, holding the screen door open so you could step outside with him. The night air was cool, carrying the smell of cut hay and earth. Above, the stars stretched endlessly, brighter than you’d ever seen them in the city.

For a moment you both just stood there, listening to the rustle of the breeze through the cornfields. Then you nudged him with your elbow. “So. Pillowcase cape, huh?”

Clark’s head whipped toward you, his expression stricken. “My mother—”

“—is a treasure,” you cut in, grinning wickedly. “And she told me everything. Little Clark, running around the farm with a pillowcase flapping behind him. Tell me, is that where the whole Superman aesthetic came from?”

He groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Please don’t.”

“No, really, it makes sense!” You leaned against the railing, smirking. “The cape, the heroics, the dramatic poses—it all started with a pillowcase. Honestly, I’m impressed. You’ve been workshopping the look since you were seven.”

Clark peeked at you through his fingers, his ears turning bright pink. “I’m never forgiving Ma for that.”

“You should thank her,” you teased. “If not for her laundry, the world would’ve been deprived of Superman’s fashion choices.”

“I can’t believe you’re making fun of me for this,” he muttered, but his lips betrayed him with a reluctant smile.

“Oh, I’m never letting this go,” you said firmly. “Next time you swoop in to save the day, I’m going to picture you in cowboy boots and a pillowcase.”

He laughed then, shoulders shaking, the sound low and warm. It curled in your chest, softer than you expected. He wasn’t embarrassed so much as he was… delighted that you were delighted.

The porch swing creaked as you sat, pulling your knees up and gazing out at the fields. Clark joined you, the swing dipping slightly under his weight. His arm brushed yours, just enough to make you aware of the heat radiating from him.

“It’s funny,” you murmured after a moment. “You always seem larger than life in Metropolis. But here…” You glanced at him, silhouetted against the starlight. “…you just seem like Clark. The guy who eats too many pancakes and folds under interrogation about breakfast.”

He turned toward you, his expression soft. “I like being just Clark. At least here, I don’t have to pretend as much.”

Something in the way he said it made your heart squeeze. You wanted to ask what he meant, wanted to push past the careful smile and the glasses he always seemed to hide behind. But you swallowed the question. Not tonight.

Instead, you bumped his shoulder with yours, light and teasing. “Well, for the record, I like just Clark. Even if his cape beginnings were tragic.”

His laugh was quiet, but his gaze lingered on you longer than it should have, like he was memorizing the way you looked under the stars.

The screen door creaked open, and Martha poked her head out, smiling knowingly. “You two don’t stay up too late now. Big day tomorrow.”

Clark’s ears went pink again. “Yes, Ma.”

When she retreated, you smirked. “She thinks we’re sneaking kisses out here.”

Clark nearly choked. “What? No—”

“Relax,” you said, fighting a grin. “I didn’t say we were. Just that she thinks we are. Which, honestly, is good for our cover.”

He shifted, visibly torn between mortification and agreement. “…I suppose that’s true.”

You leaned back, eyes twinkling. “Don’t worry, Kent. Your virtue is safe.”

Clark groaned. “You’re going to make this week unbearable, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” you said cheerfully. “That’s what fake girlfriends are for.”

But as the porch settled into silence again, you became aware of his hand resting close—too close—on the swing between you, your pinky brushing his knuckle every time the swing swayed. Neither of you moved. Neither of you acknowledged it.

And in that quiet, under the stars and the scent of hay, the line between fake and real grew blurrier than ever.

---

Clark was up before the sun. You should have expected that—farm boy habits die hard—but you hadn’t counted on him knocking softly at your door at seven in the morning, hair still damp from a shower, glasses slipping down his nose, looking far too awake for someone who’d been teased mercilessly the night before. “Sorry,” he said when you opened the door, still in your pajamas. His voice was low, almost sheepish. “Did I wake you?”

You blinked blearily at him. “You mean, aside from the rooster at five? No, you’re just the cherry on top.”

His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. “I thought maybe we could get breakfast in town. If you’re up for it.”

You stared at him for a moment, then sighed dramatically. “You’re really milking this fake-girlfriend thing, huh?”

Clark’s expression faltered. “We don’t have to. I just thought—”

“I’m kidding,” you interrupted, fighting a grin. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll even make myself presentable for Smallville.”

He relaxed, the tension slipping from his shoulders. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” you said firmly, shutting the door in his face.

Ten minutes turned into fifteen, but when you came down the stairs, Clark was waiting by the door, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He smiled when he saw you, warm and genuine, and for one terrifying second, you forgot this was pretend.

The drive into town was short. Clark’s truck rattled a little on the old roads, dust kicking up behind the tires, the fields stretching endlessly on either side. Smallville proper came into view, a few blocks of brick storefronts, a courthouse with a flag flapping in the breeze, a row of shops that looked like they hadn’t changed in fifty years.

Clark parked outside a diner with a faded sign that read Maisie’s, its front windows fogged from the smell of bacon and coffee. Inside, the bell above the door jingled, and immediately half the heads in the diner turned toward you. “Clark Kent!” an older man in a John Deere cap called from a booth near the window. “Well, I’ll be damned. Thought you were too high-and-mighty in Metropolis to remember us little folk.”

Clark flushed but smiled politely. “Good morning, Mr. Jenkins.”

“Morning,” the man said with a nod, eyes flicking to you. “And who’s this?”

Clark glanced at you, then back at the man, his voice a little tighter. “This is my girlfriend.”

It was the first time you’d heard him say it to someone outside his family, and the word landed strangely, heavy in the air. Girlfriend. Like it wasn’t borrowed or temporary. Mr. Jenkins let out a low whistle. “Well, ain’t you full of surprises, Kent.”

By the time you slid into a booth, whispers had already begun to ripple through the diner. You leaned across the table, lowering your voice. “You realize everyone in this town is going to know I exist within the hour, right?”

Clark’s smile was small, almost apologetic. “Yeah. Sorry. Gossip travels faster than tractors around here.”

“Fantastic,” you muttered. “By lunchtime, someone’s probably going to ask me when the wedding is.”

The waitress arrived then, a cheerful blonde who looked only a few years older than you. Her eyes widened when she saw Clark. “Well, if it isn’t Clark Kent! Back in town for the big wedding?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said politely.

“And who’s this?” she asked, smiling at you.

“My girlfriend,” Clark repeated smoothly, glancing your way. Something about the ease in his voice caught you off guard. It sounded natural. Too natural.

The waitress grinned. “Well, she’s prettier than the last girl you brought in here.”

Clark nearly choked. “There wasn’t—”

“She’s teasing,” you said quickly, rescuing him, though you were grinning. “Relax, Kent.” His cheeks went red, but he ducked his head, fiddling with the laminated menu. When the waitress left, you leaned your chin on your hand, studying him. “You get flustered so easily.”

“I don’t,” he protested weakly.

“You do,” you said, amused. “I’m starting to think this fake-dating plan was a bad idea. You’re going to blow our cover by turning red every time someone mentions the word girlfriend.”

Clark sighed, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll get better at it.”

“I hope so,” you teased. “Because if not, I’m going to have to start kissing you just to make it believable.” His head snapped up, eyes wide behind his glasses. For a second, you thought he might drop his menu. “Kidding,” you said lightly, though your pulse betrayed you.

Clark muttered something that sounded like “not funny,” but his ears burned scarlet all the way through breakfast.

When the food came—pancakes stacked high, eggs, bacon—the smell alone made you sigh in delight. You dug in without hesitation, and Clark watched, amused, before following suit. “This is dangerous,” you said between bites. “If I lived here, I’d weigh two hundred pounds from this diner alone.”

“You’d get used to it,” Clark said with a chuckle. “Smallville’s good at simple comforts.”

He looked around the diner, his expression softening. Neighbors waved at him, old classmates stopped by to say hello, and through it all he introduced you—my girlfriend—with the same steady tone, each repetition settling deeper into your chest.

By the time you left, the bell jingling overhead again, you could feel eyes on your back, whispers trailing behind you like a ribbon. Smallville was watching.

After breakfast at Maisie’s, Clark offered to give you “the tour,” which seemed ridiculous—you’d seen the whole town from the truck window in under three minutes. Still, you didn’t protest. Watching him here was different, and you wanted to see more.

The sidewalks were cracked and uneven, lined with lampposts draped in faded bunting for the upcoming wedding. Storefronts had old-fashioned awnings, and the bakery window displayed heart-shaped cookies dusted with sugar. People waved as Clark passed, and he waved back, every smile warm, every handshake firm.

It was strange. In Metropolis, Clark blended in so well—quiet, unobtrusive, the kind of man you could overlook if you weren’t paying attention. But here, he was someone. Not flashy, not larger than life, but rooted. Known. Loved.

You were halfway down Main Street when a voice called out. “Clark? That you?”

A tall man in a plaid shirt strode across the street, grinning. Clark’s face lit up with recognition. “Pete,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “It’s been a while.”

Pete glanced at you, curious. “And this must be…?”

Clark’s hand found yours before you even thought about it, fingers slipping between yours with easy confidence. “My girlfriend,” he said, the word so smooth it nearly made you stumble. “We came down for the wedding.”

Pete let out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “Well, well. Clark Kent finally found someone. Don’t let him fool you,” he said to you, “he was the shyest guy in school. Could barely look a girl in the eye.”

You laughed, squeezing Clark’s hand just enough to make him squirm. “Some things never change.”

Clark groaned, but Pete chuckled and clapped him on the back before heading off, muttering about telling the whole town Clark finally grew a backbone.

As you continued down the street, Clark muttered, “you didn’t have to encourage him.”

“Oh, but it’s fun watching you squirm,” you teased. “Besides, you’re very convincing when you say girlfriend. Almost like you believe it.”

Clark stopped walking, his hand tightening around yours. For a heartbeat, he looked at you with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. Then he cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and said lightly, “we should stop at the florist. Ma will want fresh flowers for the rehearsal dinner.”

You let him change the subject, though the word girlfriend still buzzed in your chest like static.

At the florist, an older woman behind the counter recognized him immediately. “Clark Kent, as I live and breathe! Haven’t seen you in years.” Her eyes slid to you, widening with interest. “And who’s this pretty thing?”

Clark’s voice didn’t even waver. “My girlfriend.”

The woman beamed. “Well, aren’t you two a pair. He’s always been such a sweetheart. You take good care of him, honey.”

You smiled politely, but when you caught Clark’s pink ears, you nearly laughed. “Don’t worry,” you said sweetly. “I plan to.”

Outside the shop, Clark groaned. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“You’re not?” you asked, arching a brow.

He hesitated, lips parting as though he had something to say—something true, not part of the act. But then a car horn blared, and a group of locals waved from across the street, shouting greetings. Clark waved back, the moment gone.

By the time you made it back to the truck, you’d been introduced as Clark’s girlfriend half a dozen times. Each time, it slipped more easily from his tongue. Each time, it rattled you a little more. Sliding into the passenger seat, you buckled your belt and exhaled. “Well. That was exhausting.”

Clark laughed softly, starting the engine. “That was Smallville.”

You glanced at him, taking in the relaxed curve of his smile, the way the sunlight hit his profile. For all your teasing, he looked… happy. And that, you realized with a pang, was the most dangerous part of all.

---

The community hall in Smallville had been dressed to the nines for the rehearsal dinner, though it still bore the bones of a building that usually hosted county fairs and bake sales. White streamers looped from the rafters, strings of fairy lights cast a golden glow over folding tables covered in rented tablecloths, and someone had gone heavy on the mason jar centerpieces. The place buzzed with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of cutlery.

Clark walked in at your side, hand brushing yours, and instantly half the room turned to look. “Clark Kent!” someone called, and then there was a chorus of greetings, neighbors and old friends hurrying over.

You had seconds to brace yourself before you were introduced for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “This is my girlfriend,” Clark said smoothly, his hand sliding against your back with the ease of a man who’d been doing it forever. The word girlfriend rolled off his tongue too naturally. Too comfortably. Each time he said it, it landed in your stomach like a stone—and not in the way you expected.

The bride, a sweet-faced woman named Lucy who looked at Clark like he was still the boy who carried her books in high school, hugged him tightly before turning to you with eager eyes. “So this is the famous girlfriend! I was beginning to think he made you up.”

“Oh, I’m very real,” you said, smiling as Clark went red. “And Clark has been nothing but a gentleman.”

“Of course he has,” Lucy said warmly. “He always was.”

The groom—broad-shouldered, with the air of a man used to tractors and long days in the sun—shook your hand firmly. “Brave of you, coming to Smallville with this one. Everyone’s gonna talk.”

You laughed lightly, squeezing Clark’s hand beneath the table as you all sat down. “Let them. I can handle it.” Clark’s glance was quick, but his eyes were warm.

Dinner was served family-style, platters of fried chicken and bowls of mashed potatoes passed around the tables. Clark helped fill your plate before his own, a small gesture you noticed more than you should have.

The conversations flowed easily at first—neighbors asking Clark about Metropolis, about the Planet, about his parents. Then, inevitably, the spotlight shifted. “So,” an elderly aunt asked, leaning forward with sharp eyes. “How did you two meet?”

Clark froze. You felt it in the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his hand under the table tightened around yours like a lifeline. He was going to stumble. You could see it coming. You jumped in. “We worked late on a story together. He brought me coffee, I brought him dinner, and the next thing I knew we’d been accidentally dating for weeks.” The table chuckled approvingly, the aunt nodding as if you’d passed some kind of test. Clark exhaled, sending you a grateful look that made your stomach twist. But the questions didn’t stop.

“What was your first date like?” someone else chimed.

You opened your mouth, ready to spin another tale, but Clark surprised you. His voice was quiet, steady. “It was simple. Dinner, conversation. I remember thinking I didn’t want the night to end.”

The table cooed. You stared at him, caught off guard, because he wasn’t embellishing. He wasn’t grinning or winking like he was playing a part. He was looking at you with a softness that felt alarmingly real. Your heart skipped.

The music started after dinner, a local band striking up a tune that was more enthusiasm than skill. Couples drifted to the dance floor, laughing, clumsy but joyful. “Dance with me?” Clark asked suddenly, his hand outstretched.

You blinked. “Clark, people are watching.”

“That’s the point,” he said, though there was a nervous edge to his smile.

Reluctantly, you let him pull you up, his hand settling warm and careful at your waist. The band played something slow, the kind of song that made small-town folks sigh and sway. At first, you were hyper-aware of every step. His palm against your back. The way his thumb brushed lightly as if by accident. The heat of his body so close to yours.

But then the room blurred. The chatter and laughter faded. There was only Clark, his eyes behind the glasses searching yours like he was memorizing you. “You’re good at this,” you said softly, trying to lighten the moment.

“I’m trying not to step on your toes,” he admitted, smiling faintly.

“You’re doing fine.”

The song stretched on, and neither of you pulled away. His hand was steady, his touch gentle, but the way he held you—it didn’t feel fake. It didn’t feel like a performance for the town. And you knew he felt it too, because when the song ended, he didn’t let go right away. His fingers lingered at your waist, reluctant, like he hadn’t quite remembered this was supposed to be temporary.

Applause rippled through the hall as couples clapped for the band. You and Clark stepped back quickly, both a little flushed. “You’re enjoying this too much,” you teased, though your voice wasn’t as steady as you wanted.

Clark’s smile was soft, almost shy. “Maybe I am.” And that was the problem. Because maybe you were, too.

The hum of the truck filled the silence, a low steady sound as Clark steered them down the two-lane road back to the farm. The headlights carved pale cones into the dark, catching glimpses of cornfields stretching endlessly on either side. The town lights had faded in the rearview, leaving nothing but Kansas night sky—vast, jeweled with stars, endless.

You leaned back in your seat, still warm from the glow of the rehearsal dinner. Your hair smelled faintly of fryer oil and wildflowers from the centerpieces, your cheeks still held the flush of laughter and dancing. And yet, for all the noise and chatter of the evening, this silence felt louder.

Clark’s hand was loose on the wheel, but his knuckles were pale where he gripped it tighter than necessary. “You did good,” you said finally, breaking the quiet.

He glanced at you, puzzled. “Good?”

“Convincing,” you clarified. “Not even a single stutter when you called me your girlfriend.”

His mouth twitched. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Practice, huh?” you teased, tilting your head to study him. “Well, if you keep this up, you’re going to make half of Smallville jealous. There were at least three women tonight who looked ready to throw me out the window.”

Clark groaned softly, adjusting his glasses. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you pressed, amused. “You really didn’t notice? They were practically glaring daggers. And Lucy? She nearly swooned when you walked in.”

“She’s married,” Clark protested.

“Doesn’t mean she’s blind.” That earned you a startled laugh, deep and genuine. It rolled through the truck, warm enough to loosen something tight in your chest. The road stretched on, the stars overhead brighter than anything the city could offer. You found yourself watching him instead of the fields—the relaxed way he held himself here, shoulders a little looser, smile a little easier. And then, because you couldn’t resist, you said, “so, Kent. About that dance.”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly, eyes fixed on the road. “…What about it?”

“You didn’t seem like a man faking it.”

His jaw worked, but he didn’t answer right away. The truck’s engine filled the silence, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “I wasn’t trying to fake anything.”

The words sat between you, heavy, undeniable. You swallowed, suddenly very aware of your pulse. “Clark…”

He cut you a glance, something raw flickering in his eyes before he turned back to the road. “I just meant—it was nice. That’s all.”

You wanted to push, to ask what nice meant when his hand had lingered at your waist, when his eyes had looked at you like you were the only thing in the room. But the farmhouse lights appeared in the distance, saving him from having to say more—and saving you from having to admit you weren’t sure you wanted this to stay fake anymore.

Martha had left the porch light on, warm and welcoming. The moment the truck rumbled into the driveway, you exhaled like you’d been holding your breath the whole ride. Clark parked, cut the engine, and for a long moment neither of you moved. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You don’t have to come out to chores tomorrow if you don’t want to. Most people don’t find feeding chickens relaxing.”

You smiled faintly, grateful for the reprieve. “I’ll think about it.”

When you stepped out of the truck, the cool night air rushed around you, carrying the scent of hay and summer. Clark walked you up the steps, his hand brushing against yours in a way that couldn’t be accidental, not anymore.

At the door, you paused. “Goodnight, Clark.”

He hesitated, his mouth opening like he wanted to say something more. But all he managed was a quiet, “goodnight.” You slipped inside, heart racing, leaving him on the porch with the night sky and whatever thoughts he couldn’t quite bring himself to voice.

---

The smell of coffee drifted up the staircase before sunlight even fully crept through the curtains of your guest room. By the time you stumbled downstairs, hair mussed and still tugging on a sweatshirt, Clark was already at the stove, spatula in hand. He glanced up at the sound of your footsteps, smiling in that calm, easy way that made you feel like mornings weren’t so bad after all. “Morning,” he said. “I made pancakes.”

Of course he did. You sat at the table, wrapping your hands around a steaming mug of coffee. “Do you ever not make pancakes?”

“They’re easy,” he replied simply, sliding a plate stacked high onto the table. “Besides, Ma says I’ve been hooked on them since I was five.”

You took a forkful, begrudgingly admitting they were good—fluffy and warm, just sweet enough. Clark watched you like he was waiting for a verdict, and when you gave him a satisfied hum, his whole face brightened. “See? Worth it.”

After breakfast, he offered to show you around the farm, which apparently meant actual chores. You protested—halfheartedly—until he handed you a pair of boots and led you out into the yard. The Kansas sun was already hot, beating down on fields of tall corn and stretching pasture. The barn loomed ahead, red paint faded but sturdy, and the distant lowing of cows echoed across the property. Clark walked like he’d done this a thousand times, easy and relaxed, while you tried not to trip over uneven ground in borrowed boots. “You’ll like this part,” he said, leading you toward the chicken coop.

The smell hit before you saw them. A dozen or so hens clucked and strutted around the pen, feathers ruffling, beady eyes watching like tiny sentries. Clark opened the gate with practiced ease, stepping inside. You hesitated at the threshold. “They look… aggressive,” you muttered.

“They’re harmless,” Clark promised, grabbing a tin bucket of feed. “Come on.”

Against your better judgment, you stepped in. The hens crowded closer, clucking louder, pecking at the dirt near your boots. “See?” Clark said reassuringly. “They just want food. Here.” He handed you a scoop of feed. “Scatter it on the ground, not on yourself.”

You tossed a handful of feed nervously, and the chickens surged forward. One particularly bold hen—a plump white one with a sharp little beak—made a beeline for you. Your eyes widened. “Clark. Clark, it’s coming at me.”

He barely looked up from scattering his own feed. “She’s fine. Just toss it further away from you.”

“She’s not fine! She’s charging!” The hen flapped its wings and darted closer, pecking eagerly at the ground right by your feet. You yelped, stumbling backward and nearly dropping the bucket. “Clark!” you shouted, scrambling toward him. “Do something!”

Finally looking up, Clark tried—and failed—to hide his grin. “She’s just curious.”

“She’s a demon,” you shot back, clinging to his arm as the hen advanced again. “That thing is going to kill me.”

Clark laughed then, full and unrestrained, the sound echoing across the yard. He gently nudged the hen away with his boot, then steadied you with his free hand, warm and solid against your waist. “You’re safe,” he said, still chuckling. “I promise.”

You glared at him, though your heart was thudding from more than just the chicken attack. “You think this is funny?”

“A little,” he admitted, eyes twinkling. “I didn’t know you were afraid of chickens.”

“I’m not afraid,” you insisted, scowling. “I just have… a healthy respect for animals with sharp beaks.”

Clark’s smile softened, though it lingered at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from all terrifying poultry during your stay.”

“Gee, thanks, Kent. You’re my hero.”

His expression shifted almost imperceptibly at that—something flickering in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite name. He looked at you a beat too long before clearing his throat and stepping back, releasing your waist.

“Come on,” he said, voice a little rougher than before. “There’s more to see than just chickens.” Clark led you out toward the pasture after depositing the empty feed bucket back at the barn. The air smelled of grass and sun-warmed earth, and the low, steady sounds of cattle drifted over the fence line. “You’ll like this better,” he said, leaning his arms casually over the wooden fence. “Cows are easier than chickens. Slower. Friendlier.”

You eyed the herd suspiciously. Half a dozen big, lumbering animals grazed lazily in the field, tails flicking. They didn’t look dangerous, but they also didn’t look like creatures you wanted charging at you. “Friendlier?” you asked doubtfully. “They’re huge.”

Clark smiled, the kind of patient, good-natured smile that was annoyingly reassuring. “Just follow my lead.”

He swung the gate open and gestured for you to follow. Reluctantly, you stepped in after him, boots sinking into the soft dirt. The cows barely acknowledged your presence—until one of them, a massive brown one with a curious face, lifted its head and started walking toward you. You froze. “Clark.”

He glanced back at you. “What?”

“It’s coming this way.”

“That’s okay,” he said calmly. “They’re curious animals. Just stand still.”

The cow picked up speed, ears flicking forward. Your heart lurched. “Clark, it’s not walking. It’s charging.”

“It’s not charging,” he said, though his brow furrowed now. “She probably just wants to sniff you.”

“Sniff me? Clark, she’s the size of a car!”

By now the cow had broken into a lumbering trot. Instinct kicked in—Clark moved in front of you, his arm shooting out like a protective barrier. For a split second, you thought he was going to push you down out of the way. Instead, the cow barreled straight into him. The impact was less of a crash and more of a giant, clumsy bump, but it was enough to knock Clark off-balance. He stumbled backward—into you—and the two of you went down in a heap onto the grass.

The world tilted, your breath whooshed out, and suddenly you were flat on your back with Clark sprawled half over you, his glasses askew, his face inches from yours. For a moment, neither of you moved. The cow huffed once, sniffed Clark’s jacket, then wandered off with a flick of its tail, entirely unconcerned. You blinked up at him, stunned. “Did Superman just get taken out by a cow?”

Clark groaned, pushing himself up on one elbow, his hair sticking up from where it had been mussed in the fall. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” you said, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. “The man of steel, the hero of Metropolis, flattened by Betty the cow.”

His ears went pink. “Her name’s Daisy.”

That only made you laugh harder. “Even better.”

Clark rolled off to the side with a sigh, flopping onto the grass beside you. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, muttering, “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” you said, still giggling. “If the chickens didn’t take you out, at least the cows did.”

He turned his head toward you then, and despite your teasing, his expression was soft. His glasses were crooked, his cheeks flushed, but there was something in his gaze—something warm, unguarded—that made your laughter catch in your throat. “Glad I broke your fall, at least,” he murmured.

The words hung there between you, heavier than they should have been. You swallowed, your heart pounding far too fast for a moment that was supposed to be funny. You forced a smile, breaking the tension. “Don’t flatter yourself. The cow did all the work.”

Clark chuckled, shaking his head, but his eyes lingered on you a beat too long before he sat up and offered you his hand. As he pulled you to your feet, steadying you easily, you realized something unsettling: for all the jokes and the pratfalls, falling with him—literally—didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

By the time you and Clark trudged back up the dirt drive, you were both dusted in grass stains and flecks of dry earth. His jacket was smeared with a suspicious streak of mud, and your hair was sticking out in directions you didn’t think hair could manage.

Martha was waiting on the porch. The second she saw the state of you, her eyes widened, then narrowed in the way only a mother’s could. “What on earth happened to you two?”

Clark winced. “The cows.”

“The cows?”

“They, uh… got curious,” he said diplomatically, shooting you a warning glance not to elaborate.

You ignored it. “One of them full-on tackled him.”

Martha’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a laugh. “A cow tackled you?”

“Bumped into me,” Clark corrected quickly, color rising in his cheeks. “It wasn’t—”

“She flattened him,” you cut in, grinning. “And took me down too, by the way. So much for Superman—small-town livestock is apparently his one weakness.”

Clark groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not in a million years,” you said sweetly.

Martha was still smiling as she ushered you both inside. “Well, I hope you had the sense to laugh about it. Jonathan always said the farm humbles everyone eventually.”

You kicked off your boots by the door, muttering, “some of us more than others.” Clark shot you a look but didn’t argue.

Upstairs, you tried to fix your hair in the guest room mirror, but it was a lost cause. A gentle knock sounded on the door, and when you opened it, Clark stood there with a damp towel in one hand and a sheepish expression. “Thought you might need this,” he said, holding out the towel. His hair was still mussed, a little dirt streaking his jaw. He looked less like the put-together reporter you knew in Metropolis and more like… Clark.

“Thanks,” you said, taking it from him. “You’ve got grass in your hair, by the way.”

He reached up blindly, fumbling at the wrong spot. “Here.” Without thinking, you reached up and plucked the stray blade of grass from his dark curls, holding it out between your fingers. His breath hitched, just faintly. He smiled, soft and lopsided. “Guess I lost the fight, huh?”

“You lost to a cow, Kent,” you reminded him, grinning. “There’s no coming back from that.”

“Technically, you went down too,” he pointed out.

“Details,” you said quickly, fighting to keep your tone playful even as your heart thudded.

His eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long. The air between you seemed to hum with something unsaid. You stepped back first, breaking it with a forced laugh. “Anyway. Go clean yourself up before your mom decides we can’t be trusted unsupervised.”

Clark chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Good idea.”

---

Morning broke bright and clear over the Kent farm, sunlight spilling across the fields like it had been ordered special for the occasion. Inside the farmhouse, however, it felt less like a tranquil Saturday and more like a staging area for a major operation.

Martha was already bustling about the kitchen before either of you made it downstairs, humming as she packed pie and potato salad into carefully labeled containers for the reception. Jonathan was outside, making sure the truck was clean, muttering something about “showing up respectable.”

And then there was Clark. You stopped short in the hallway when you saw him in the mirror by the coat rack, fumbling with his tie. His dress shirt was crisp, sleeves rolled up to his elbows while he tried—and failed—to wrangle the silk knot into something passable. His brow was furrowed in concentration, glasses slipping down his nose. He looked unfairly handsome. “You’re going to strangle yourself,” you said finally, stepping into the room.

Clark looked up, flustered, and immediately shoved his hands into his pockets like you’d caught him in something compromising. “It’s… fine. I’ve got it.”

“You don’t,” you said, laughing softly. “Come here.”

He hesitated, then stepped toward you. The tie hung loose against his chest, and you slid your fingers along the fabric, tugging it free. The scent of his cologne—something subtle, woodsy—drifted around you as you worked. “Stand still,” you murmured, looping the tie neatly. “You wear these every day and you still don’t know how to tie one?”

“I usually don’t rush,” he admitted, watching your hands. His voice was quieter now. “Guess I’m nervous.”

Your eyes flicked up to his. “About the wedding?”

“About all of it,” he said simply.

Something in your chest tightened, but you didn’t push. You finished the knot, smoothing it down against his shirtfront, your fingers lingering longer than necessary. “There,” you said softly. “Now you look like you could charm a whole town.”

Clark gave you that boyish smile that still managed to undo you. “Thanks.”

Before you could step back, Martha appeared in the doorway, beaming. “Well, don’t you two look nice.”

Clark immediately straightened, ears turning pink. You, however, only smiled. “Your son cleans up well.”

Martha winked knowingly. “He does.”

The rest of the morning blurred into a whirlwind. Martha insisted on fussing over your hair, pressing bobby pins and a sprig of baby’s breath into it like you were family. Jonathan handed Clark a fresh boutonniere, clapping him on the shoulder. “You two ready?” he asked as he grabbed his jacket.

“As we’ll ever be,” Clark said, glancing at you with a smile that felt like it was meant just for you.

The truck ride into town was quieter than usual. You smoothed your dress nervously in your lap, feeling the weight of what was coming. Clark’s hand rested casually on the seat between you, close enough that the back of your hand brushed his every time the truck hit a bump. Neither of you moved it away.

By the time the church came into view—white clapboard, steeple stretching into the sky, steps already crowded with guests—you were acutely aware of every eye that would be watching you today. Not just strangers. Clark’s entire world. Clark parked, turned off the engine, and looked at you. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Just… looked. Like he was memorizing you. Finally, he said, quiet and certain, “we’ll be fine. As long as we stick together.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “Together. Got it.”

When he offered his arm, you took it. And as you walked toward the church doors, the weight of his hand steady against yours, it was impossible not to wonder if this—this closeness, this ease—was really something you could just pretend.

The church was packed. Benches creaked as families crowded in, dressed in their best Sunday clothes. Ceiling fans whirred overhead, stirring the faint scent of flowers from the bouquets lining the aisle. The organ player struck up a cheerful hymn while chatter swelled, punctuated by the rustle of paper programs and the occasional shush from an impatient grandmother.

Clark guided you toward a pew near the front, his hand pressed lightly against your back. Heads turned as you walked—neighbors, childhood friends, people who clearly remembered Clark Kent as the lanky boy who once tripped over his own shoelaces at the harvest festival. Now, here he was, with you. “Don’t look now,” you murmured as you slid into the pew beside him, “but we’re officially the second-biggest event at this wedding.”

Clark adjusted his glasses, pretending to study the program. “They’ll get over it.”

“Will they?” you whispered, glancing at the row of ladies behind you, all of whom were leaning close and whispering as they stared. “Feels like we’re about to be written into the town newsletter.”

That earned you a faint, amused smile. “There’s no newsletter.”

“Oh, please. Every town has a newsletter. Even if it’s just Mrs. Henderson calling everyone after Sunday service.” He huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t argue.

The music swelled, and the bride appeared at the back of the church, radiant in lace and satin, her father beaming proudly at her side. Everyone stood. Clark rose smoothly, tugging you up with him, his hand curling around yours where it rested against the pew.

Through the ceremony, you felt the weight of that hand, steady and warm, grounding you. Every time you shifted, every time your nerves prickled under the gaze of curious neighbors, he squeezed gently, as though reminding you: I’m here. You’re not alone.

The vows were sweet, the kind only small-town sweethearts could make—filled with promises of “forever” and “home” and “nothing fancy, just us.” The bride’s voice trembled as she said “I do,” and the groom grinned like he’d won the lottery.

Something tugged at your chest then. You glanced sideways at Clark. He was watching intently, his expression soft in a way that made your stomach flip. For a moment, you wondered what his vows would sound like—what promises he would make, who he would look at with that same quiet devotion.

The kiss was met with applause, cheers echoing through the church. As everyone settled back into the pews, Clark leaned close enough that his breath tickled your ear. “They look happy,” he murmured.

You nodded, forcing a smile even as your heart did a strange little twist. “Yeah. They do.”

When the ceremony ended, the couple walked back down the aisle, hands clasped, faces shining. Guests followed in pairs, spilling into the sunlight. Clark offered his arm again without hesitation. As you looped yours through his, someone behind you whispered, just loud enough, “don’t they make a picture?”

Another voice replied, “Martha must be over the moon.”

You felt the flush creep up your neck, but Clark only squeezed your arm a little tighter, leading you out into the bright Kansas day like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The crowd spilled out of the church in a blur of chatter and laughter, guests making their way toward the hall where the reception would be held. Martha and Jonathan disappeared into the throng, happily stopping to greet old friends. The bride and groom were swarmed with congratulations, a blur of white lace and wide smiles.

Clark guided you through the press of people, his hand firm against your back, until you slipped around the corner of the church into the shade of a big oak tree. The sudden quiet was almost startling after the crush of voices. You leaned against the rough bark, tugging at the hem of your dress. “Is it always like this here? Everyone staring like they know your business before you do?”

Clark chuckled softly, adjusting his tie. “Pretty much. Smallville doesn’t have secrets. Just… stories waiting to spread.”

“Great,” you muttered, glancing around to make sure no one had followed. “By now, half the town has us married with three kids.”

His lips curved into a smile, but he didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his gaze lingered on the sunlight spilling across the fields beyond the churchyard. “Would that be so bad?”

You blinked. “What?”

Finally, he turned toward you. There was no teasing in his eyes, no smirk—just something earnest and steady, the kind of look that made your throat tighten. “I mean,” he said quickly, a touch of color rising in his cheeks, “I’m not saying… I just—” He broke off, raking a hand through his hair. “Forget it.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Clark.”

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “You make this whole thing feel… easier than I thought it would. That’s all.”

The words sat heavy in the air, more than they seemed at first glance. Your pulse quickened. You forced a light laugh, trying to ease the tension. “Well, you picked the right fake girlfriend. I’m very convincing.”

But Clark didn’t laugh. He stepped a little closer, the sun catching in his dark hair, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You are.”

For a heartbeat, it felt like the world held its breath. The quiet hum of cicadas in the grass, the faint murmur of voices around the corner—it all faded until there was just him, so close you could see the flecks of grey in his eyes. Then the church doors burst open, and a gaggle of bridesmaids spilled out, their laughter shattering the moment. Clark stepped back instantly, clearing his throat, tugging at his tie like it had betrayed him. “Reception time,” he said, his voice steadier than his expression.

You pushed off the tree, heart still racing. “Right. Reception.”

The reception hall was already buzzing by the time you and Clark arrived. Fairy lights twined along the rafters, mason jars filled with wildflowers lined the tables, and the smell of fried chicken and barbecue lingered in the air. A local band tuned their instruments in the corner, testing notes that rang out sharp before melting into twangy chords.

As soon as Clark stepped through the door at your side, a ripple went through the room. Heads turned. Smiles widened. It was subtle, but you felt it—the way people were watching, whispering. “Here we go again,” you muttered, leaning closer to him.

Clark’s lips quirked faintly. “They mean well.”

“Sure,” you said. “Until one of them asks when we’re having kids.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before Martha appeared, beaming as she drew you both toward a cluster of relatives. Jonathan trailed behind, more subdued but no less proud. “This is her,” Martha announced warmly to a group of older women who looked like they’d been waiting for this exact moment. “The girlfriend I told you about.”

The women descended like hawks.

“Oh, isn’t she lovely.” “Clark, you clean up nice, don’t you?” “Look at the way he’s holding her hand—so sweet.”

You smiled politely, answering questions about how you met, what you did for work, what Clark was like at the office. Every time you stumbled, Clark jumped in smoothly, filling the gaps, his voice steady. And each time he said my girlfriend, the words felt heavier, pulling at something inside you.

Dinner was a blur of chatter and food passed down long tables. You barely managed a few bites of potato salad before the bride’s uncle leaned across to ask, “so how long have you two been together?”

“Four months,” you answered quickly, sticking to the story.

“Four months?” The man grinned. “Well, I’ll say this—he looks at you like it’s been forty years.”

Your fork froze halfway to your mouth. Heat crept up your neck, and when you dared to glance at Clark, he was staring fixedly at his plate, ears red. The band struck up a lively tune, and the chatter shifted to laughter as couples drifted toward the dance floor. The bride and groom took the first spin, twirling under the string lights while the crowd clapped in time. Then the music shifted to something slower, sweeter. “Go on,” Martha urged, nudging Clark toward you. “Don’t just sit there. Dance with her.”

Clark hesitated, but when you raised your brows in challenge, he sighed and offered his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

You let him lead you to the floor. His palm slid to your waist, warm and steady, and your hand rested against his shoulder. For a moment, the chatter around you dimmed. The music swelled, and Clark moved with a surprising grace, guiding you easily. You tried to focus on the swirl of couples around you. But the weight of his hand at your back, the gentleness in his touch—it didn’t feel fake. Not one bit.

The song ended, but Clark didn’t let go right away. His fingers lingered, reluctant, until the band launched into a faster tune and the floor filled with laughing dancers. Only then did he step back, clearing his throat. Before you could recover, the bride’s voice rang out. “Bouquet toss!”

A gaggle of women gathered in the center, cheering. You were herded into the group before you could protest, Clark grinning as he leaned against the wall to watch. “This is ridiculous,” you muttered, glancing back at him.

He only shrugged, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Tradition.”

The bride tossed the bouquet high, petals scattering. It arced through the air, and before you could even think, it landed squarely in your hands. The crowd erupted in cheers. Someone shouted, “looks like Clark’s next!”

Your face burned. Clark’s ears went pink, but he laughed, shaking his head. He crossed the floor toward you, slipping an arm around your waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Guess that’s our cue,” he murmured.

You looked up at him, bouquet clutched in your hands, your heart thudding far too fast for something that was supposed to be a joke. “Don’t get any ideas, Clark.”

The cheers still hadn’t died down after the bouquet toss. People were laughing, clapping, shouting things like, “better start ring shopping, Clark!” and “don’t let her get away!”

Clark groaned softly, though his arm stayed firmly around your waist. “I told you this would happen,” he muttered, his voice low, just for you.

“Oh, don’t blame me,” you shot back, clutching the bouquet like a weapon. “You’re the one who grew up in a town that treats weddings like a spectator sport.”

Before he could answer, someone in the crowd called, “kiss her, Clark!”

The chant caught like wildfire. “Kiss her! Kiss her!”

Your heart stopped. You looked up at him, wide-eyed, panic prickling your chest. This was supposed to be pretend—handholding, dancing, smiles for his parents. Not this. Clark froze too, his grip tightening at your waist as if to anchor himself. His eyes flicked to yours, searching, questioning. “What do we do?” you whispered, your throat dry.

“They’re not going to let it go,” he murmured, voice taut with nerves. “If we don’t—” He didn’t finish the sentence, but you both knew what he meant.

You swallowed hard. “So we…?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded. “Only if you’re okay with it.” Your pulse thundered in your ears. The crowd’s chant grew louder, impatient. Clark’s hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you gently closer. “It’s just for show,” he whispered. “Right?”

“Right,” you breathed, though it sounded anything but convincing.

And then he kissed you.

It was tentative at first, careful—like he was afraid to push too far. His lips brushed yours, soft and warm, a touch that should have been fleeting. But the second your mouth met his, the world seemed to tilt. The noise of the reception hall faded. The cheers dimmed. All you could feel was Clark—solid, steady, trembling faintly like he was holding back something bigger.

Your fingers curled against his chest before you even realized what you were doing, holding on like you didn’t want it to end. He deepened it just enough, the faintest pressure that sent your stomach flipping.

Then it was over. Too soon. The hall erupted into applause and whistles, but you barely heard it. Clark pulled back, his forehead brushing yours for a dizzying second before he straightened, his glasses askew, his cheeks flushed red.

The crowd roared, satisfied, moving on to the next round of dancing. But you stood there, bouquet still clutched tight, your lips tingling, your heart in your throat. Clark leaned close, his voice low and rough. “Guess that sold it.”

You forced a shaky laugh, though your hands still trembled. “Yeah. Totally believable.”

But as you looked up at him—at the way his eyes lingered on you like he couldn’t quite look away—you both knew the truth.

It hadn’t felt fake at all.

---

The farmhouse was quiet when you returned from the reception. The drive back had been filled with the low hum of the truck and little else. Clark had kept his eyes on the road, hands steady at the wheel, but you noticed how his knuckles were tight on the leather. You didn’t speak—didn’t dare—because every word you thought to say came back to the same impossible thing: the kiss.

You lingered in the living room with Clark, the faint tick of the old clock filling the silence. He pulled at his tie, loosening it, and you pretended to smooth the wrinkles out of your dress though your hands were still trembling faintly. Neither of you mentioned the kiss. “Long day,” he said finally, voice quiet.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Your whole town knows my life story now.”

His lips quirked faintly, but the humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “They’ll forget in a week.”

You snorted. “You don’t actually believe that.”

For the first time since you’d left the reception, his gaze lingered on you—steady, searching. Your heart tripped. Then he looked away, running a hand through his hair. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow’ll be busy too.”

“Right.”

You both moved at the same time toward the staircase, falling into step side by side. It felt like a scene from a play you hadn’t rehearsed, every move too careful, every breath too shallow. At the top of the stairs, the hallway stretched in two directions—his room one way, the guest room the other. You turned first, gripping the doorknob. “Goodnight, Clark.”

He hesitated, his hand resting on his own doorframe. “Goodnight.” His voice caught just slightly on the word, low and rough, like there was more he almost said.

You held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Something unspoken pulsed between you—louder than any words you could’ve managed. Then you slipped into your room and shut the door softly behind you.

Leaning back against it, you let out the breath you’d been holding. On the other side of the wall, you swore you heard him do the same. Something had changed. Neither of you named it, neither of you touched it—but it hung heavy in the air between your rooms, undeniable and terrifying.

And maybe… thrilling.

---

Sunlight slanted through the curtains when you woke, soft and golden, carrying the faint crow of the rooster outside. For a moment, you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the previous night pressing down. The laughter, the bouquet, the kiss—the kiss most of all.

You dressed quietly, smoothing your hair, then padded down the creaky staircase. The smell of coffee and frying bacon filled the air. Martha was at the stove, humming, her apron dusted with flour. Jonathan sat at the table, paper folded neatly, coffee steaming in front of him.

Clark was already there, of course. Shirt sleeves rolled, hair still damp from a shower, glasses slightly fogged from the steam rising off his mug. He glanced up as you entered, and for a split second his eyes softened—then he quickly looked back at his plate. “Morning,” Martha greeted cheerfully, sliding a plate of eggs onto the table for you. “Sleep well?”

“Fine,” you said, sliding into the chair opposite Clark.

Jonathan’s eyes twinkled over the rim of his paper. “You both look a little tired. Long night?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Clark coughed into his coffee. “Reception ran late,” he said smoothly.

Martha’s smile was quiet, knowing. She didn’t press, but when she set the plate in front of you, her hand lingered on your shoulder, a gentle squeeze. Breakfast passed in near silence, punctuated only by the clink of silverware and Martha’s occasional chatter about neighbors or crops. Every now and then, you caught Clark glancing your way, then quickly dropping his gaze. The air between you was different now—charged, careful, like neither of you knew how to step without breaking something fragile.

When the last of the dishes were cleared, Martha dried her hands on her apron and turned toward you both. “You’ll be heading back today?”

Clark nodded. “Yeah. We should get on the road before it gets too late.”

Martha smiled, but there was a softness in her eyes, a weight in her voice. “Well, we’re glad you came. Both of you.”

Jonathan folded his paper, looking at Clark. “Drive safe.”

The goodbyes on the porch were warm, lingering. Martha hugged you tightly, whispering, “Come back soon.” Jonathan shook your hand with a firm squeeze, then pulled Clark into a rough hug that spoke volumes. And then it was just you and Clark, back in the truck, the farmhouse shrinking in the rearview mirror. For a long while, neither of you spoke. The road stretched ahead, dust rising behind the tires, the Kansas sky vast and endless. Finally, you said, lightly, “so. That went well. No one threw tomatoes. No one questioned our act.”

Clark’s hands tightened faintly on the wheel. “It wasn’t an act to them.”

You glanced at him. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Something in his voice made your chest ache. “Clark…”

He shook his head, cutting you off gently. “I just mean—they believe it. That’s what matters.”

You wanted to argue, to ask if that was really what he meant, but the words tangled in your throat. Instead, you leaned back in the seat, staring out the window at the fields rushing by.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. Not exactly. It was something else—full, heavy, brimming with all the things neither of you were saying. And as the city skyline of Metropolis eventually came into view, you realized one thing with terrifying clarity: leaving Smallville didn’t mean leaving this behind. Whatever had shifted between you… it was coming home, too.

---

The Daily Planet was just as loud and chaotic as when you’d left it. Phones ringing off the hook. Perry barking orders from his office. Reporters weaving between desks with half-empty coffee cups and stacks of notes. It was as if the world hadn’t paused at all while you were gone.

But you had.

You slipped back into the rhythm easily enough—sorting through emails, drafting headlines, scribbling notes on the pad by your desk. Clark sat across from you, glasses in place, tie neat, typing with steady precision. Everything looked exactly as it had before. And yet, nothing felt the same.

You didn’t talk about Smallville. You didn’t talk about the kiss. You didn’t talk about the way his hand had steadied you during vows, or the way the town had cheered when his lips touched yours. Instead, you talked about work. Sources. Deadlines. The article due by end of day.

Normal.

Except every so often, when you glanced up, you caught him looking. Not at you—not exactly. At your lips. His gaze would linger for half a second too long before flicking guiltily back to his monitor.

The first time, you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. The second time, your pulse jumped, and you immediately ducked your head, pretending to rifle through your notes. By the third time, you couldn’t ignore it anymore. You set your pen down, leaning back in your chair, fixing him with a look. “Do I have ink on my face or something?”

Clark startled, blinking behind his glasses. “What? No. Why?”

“Because you keep staring,” you said lightly, arching a brow. “At my face. My mouth, actually.”

Color crept up his neck, blooming hot across his ears. “I—I wasn’t—” He pushed his glasses up in a flustered motion, fumbling with his tie like it had suddenly betrayed him. “I was just—thinking. About—about the article.”

You bit back a smile. “Right. The article on zoning ordinances that’s apparently written across my lips.”

His expression was priceless—caught between mortified and desperately trying to regain composure. He ducked his head, typing furiously, as if the clacking of keys could drown out the truth.

You watched him for a moment longer, your heart thudding, then shook your head and turned back to your own screen. Neither of you said anything more, but the silence buzzed, alive, charged with everything left unsaid.

Later, as the office bustled around you, you caught yourself glancing at him too. At the curve of his mouth, the softness in his smile when he thought no one was watching. And you hated to admit it, but you weren’t thinking about zoning ordinances either.

The next few days slipped into routine again. Deadlines, coffee runs, editing sessions where Perry barked orders from behind his glass office door. On the surface, everything was exactly as it had been before Smallville.

But beneath it, the air between you and Clark buzzed differently. It started with little things. Reaching for the same file at the same time, your fingers brushing briefly over his. Neither of you pulled away as fast as you should have. Walking back from the copy machine, his hand at the small of your back to guide you through the crowded bullpen. You didn’t shrug it off, and he didn’t remove it quickly enough. Leaning over his desk to point out a typo on his notes, your shoulder pressed against his. You swore you felt him stop breathing for a second.

And through it all, Clark was Clark—earnest, soft-spoken, trying desperately to pretend nothing was different. But he was also terrible at hiding the way his eyes lingered. Sometimes you’d catch him staring not at your face, but at your lips, and the pink in his ears would give him away instantly when you tilted your head like you’d caught him red-handed. “Problem?” you’d ask innocently.

“No,” he’d mutter, ducking behind his screen.

And still, the cycle repeated. It didn’t help that people were starting to notice. One afternoon, Jimmy stopped by your desk with a grin. “So, uh, when are you and Kent gonna make it official?”

Your pen froze mid-sentence. “What?”

Jimmy’s grin widened, oblivious. “Oh, come on. You two have been joined at the hip for weeks. Everybody’s talking about it.” You opened your mouth, ready to protest, but across the bullpen you caught Clark’s reaction—his chair jerking upright, his tie tugged nervously, ears bright red. Jimmy laughed. “Oh, I get it. Playing it cool. Respect. But seriously, don’t wait too long, or someone else might swoop in.” With a wink, he sauntered off, leaving you staring after him with your pulse hammering.

You turned back to your desk slowly, only to find Clark watching you. The moment your eyes met, he dropped his gaze, fiddling with his glasses like the frames themselves had betrayed him.

The rest of the day was torture. Every glance felt weighted, every brush of contact charged. Even simple things—sharing a pot of coffee, exchanging notes—seemed to hum with the memory of that kiss in Smallville.

By the time the office emptied for the night, you were both wound tight with unspoken words. You gathered your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Clark stood too, smoothing his tie, clearly debating whether to say something. But he didn’t. He only offered a small, quiet smile. “See you tomorrow.”

You nodded, forcing your voice to sound normal. “See you tomorrow.” As you walked away, you felt his gaze on your back. Warm. Lingering. Like he was holding back an entire storm of feelings he didn’t know how to let loose. And the worst part? You realized you were doing the same.

---

It was nearly midnight when you heard the knock at your apartment door.

You’d been curled on the couch, still awake despite the late hour, nursing a half-empty mug of tea while the city hummed faintly outside your window. The knock startled you—not loud, but steady, unmistakable.

When you opened the door, Clark stood there. He looked… disheveled. His hair mussed, his shirt rumpled, a faint smear of dirt across his jaw like he’d just come from something he didn’t want to explain. His tie was missing, his sleeves rolled unevenly. And his eyes—those soft, steady eyes—were brighter than usual, like he hadn’t been able to talk himself out of whatever had driven him here.

“Clark?” you asked, confused. “It’s late. What are you—?”

“I—I’m sorry,” he blurted, shifting on his feet. “I didn’t mean to wake you, if you were—were sleeping. I just—”

He broke off, pushing his glasses up his nose, then immediately dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “I couldn’t—go home without—”

“Clark,” you said gently, stepping back to let him in. “You’re rambling. Come inside.”

He hesitated only a second before stepping past you. You closed the door, watching as he hovered awkwardly in your living room, as if unsure whether to sit or stand, whether he belonged here at all.

“You look like you wrestled a tornado,” you teased softly, trying to ease the tension.

“Something like that,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.

You tilted your head. “What’s going on?”

Clark’s jaw worked as if he were chewing over the words. He started pacing, slow and deliberate, like movement might untangle the knot in his chest. “I’ve been trying to ignore it,” he admitted, his voice low, rough. “Back at the office, on the drive home, even in Smallville, I told myself it was just—pretend. That it didn’t matter.”

Your heart thudded. “Clark…”

He stopped pacing, finally looking at you. His expression was raw, unguarded in a way you’d never seen before. “But it does matter. More than I thought it could.”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “What are you saying?”

Clark’s hands flexed at his sides, restless. “I want to kiss you again.” The words tumbled out, fast, like he’d been holding them back for too long. “I know we said it was fake—that it was just for show. But I can’t stop thinking about it, and I—” His voice faltered, his cheeks flushing as he pushed on. “I don’t want the only time I kissed you to be in front of everyone else. I want it to be real. Just… between us.”

The silence stretched, heavy with everything unsaid. You stared at him, at this man who could hold up the weight of the world but still stood here, shifting nervously like a boy confessing a crush. Your heart hammered in your chest, every nerve alive. Slowly, you stepped closer, close enough to see the faint streak of dirt still smudged across his cheek, the way his breath caught when you moved.

“Clark,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips despite the way your pulse raced, “for someone who can fly, you really are terrible at subtlety.”

His laugh was shaky, breathless. “I know.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers lightly against his jaw, the smear of dirt soft beneath your touch. “Then stop talking.”

And before he could overthink it, you leaned in.

This kiss was different. Not hesitant, not for show, not careful under the eyes of a crowd. This was heat and softness and everything you’d both been holding back. His hands came up, cupping your face as if you were something fragile and precious. Your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he went willingly, melting into you with a sigh that made your knees weak.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together.

“That,” Clark whispered, his voice low and reverent, “that’s what I wanted.”

You smiled, your heart racing. “Good. Because I think I want it too.”

Chapter 1: Five years old

Chapter 2: Seven years old

Chapter 3: Nine and twelve years old

Chapter 4: Fifteen years old

Chapter 5: Eighteen years old

Chapter 6: Eighteen years old: the dawn of Firefly

Chapter 7: Eighteen and twenty - eight years old

Chapter 8:  Twenty- eight years old

Chapter 9: Twenty-eight years old, Come what may.

Chapter 10: Knocking on Heaven’s Door

Want to read more:

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

———————————————————————————————————–

Your parents were always as supportive, especially since you were an only child. They gave you praise freely, often reinforcing every step you took without doubt.

And that kind of attention turned you into who you are.

Now, you’re known as one of the most capable huntresses in the clan. People speak of your name when asked about skilled ones, those who can do both hunt and treat wounds.

You can track, fight, and heal when needed, moving between roles depending on what the situation demands.

Because of that, praise has followed you for most of your life. It became expected even, and over time it built the attitude you now carry.

“Y/n, that’s your eleventh cup already. Stop before your father drags you out of here himself.”

You only grinned wider, slamming the wooden cup back down on the table and asking for another pour. “Pey’, what are ya sayin’? Thiz is greatuh!” The elders around you laughed along, more excited than concerned as you kept going.

You just returned from a successful mission and the celebration quickly turned into something louder than expected when Jake approved of it. Praise kept coming from every direction, and you just stood in the middle of it.

“Don’t mind them, y/n!” One of the elders said, making Peyrral let out a tiny gasp.

“The mighty huntress!”

“Drink! Drink! Drink!”

Peyrral groaned as she stood nearby with arms crossed, watching the entire scene with annoyance, Vetxo just stood beside her.

An elder lifted you onto his shoulders, cheering and praising you like it was a ceremony. Your face had turned flushed, your smile stuck in that exaggerated pleased expression you always made when praise piled up too much.

“These old hags need to stop feeding her ego like this,” Peyrral muttered, glaring at the group. She uncrossed her arms immediately when an elder bumped her shoulder while passing.

“Yer jus’ jealous, lil one! Let ‘er enjoy ze moment. She earned it, did je nah?”

Peyrral scoffed, “Unbelievable, can barely even understand a word…” Vetxo tilted her head, before clearing her throat to speak. “He said we’re jealous of Y/n. That we should let her enjoy herself while it lasts.”

“I am NOT jealous of y/n! Mind you, I only had two cups. I would never let myself turn into that.” She gestured toward you. “Look at her. She has training tomorrow, right? Enlighten me how she’ll function!”

“She just usually does.” Vetxo shrugged. “Let’s just wait until the noise settles, then take her home after.”

Peyrral pouted, but didn’t retort. Both of them stayed where they were, watching over you as the celebration continued a little longer.

It only grew louder as more elders fed into the atmosphere around you. Drums echoed again, voices overlapping, the whole clan caught in the energy of your success.

“Enough.”

It was a voice that carried immediately, cutting through the fun. The drumming stopped mid-beat, and the noise began to settle as everyone turned toward the source.

There, Neteyam stood at the edge of the gathering. “It’s already past midnight. Please lower the noise as others are resting.”

The man holding you on his shoulder quickly lowered you back down. You stumbled when your feet hit the ground. “Hey!” You hit the old man, before preparing yourself turning toward Neteyam.

“There he is,” you said, tilting your head with a smirk. “The party-pooper. Why do you always do this, man? Afraid I’m getting more attention than you?”

Neteyam gently took your hand and lowered it away from him without hesitation. “No one is envious of you. I am simply asking for respect toward those who are already taking a rest.”

“So yes,” you added, turning back to the crowd, “he’s a party-pooper!”

The crowd laughed along, Neteyam exhaled through his nose, used to you pushing boundaries like this.

“She’s not entirely wrong, Neteyam,” one of the elders called out. “Come join us. You worked the mission as well.”

“C’mon, Neteyam!”

“Drink with us!”

Neteyam gave a small, respectful bow of his head. “I do not drink. I apologize.”

The reaction was immediate. A mix of laughter and disappointment spread through the group. “Boo!”

“Excuse me?” Neteyam asked, taken aback as the crowd reacted like that.

“One night won’t kill you!”

“You’re with the clan’s finest tonight. Do not refuse it!”

You crossed your arms, watching him with amusement. “Wanna see who can handle more drinks, pretty boy?”

Neteyam looked down at you for a moment, expression unreadable as you smirked confidently up at him. There was a pause, like he was considering it only long enough to make a decision.

“No.”

You flinched. “No?!”

“I will not participate in a drinking competition. Especially not when we have training tomorrow under the Olo’eyktan. You should also be resting instead of prolonging this gathering.” He glanced at the crowd, then back at you. “It would be wiser if you returned as well.”

You stared at him for a second, like you were processing what he just said and deciding which part annoyed you more.

“‘WiSeR’?” you mocked. “Are you insinuating that I can’t handle a night out, Neteyam?” A few people nearby quieted a little, sensing the shift in your tone. “I just came back from a full mission wherein I led, fought, healed people on the way back, and you’re standing here telling me to go rest like I’m some child?”

Neteyam didn’t react, only watched you like he was waiting for you to finish before responding properly. “That’s not what I said, Y/n. I am simply saying you’re overextending yourself unnecessarily.”

You scoffed. “No, that’s exactly what you’re saying. You always do this. You talk like I need to be managed. Like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

People exchanged looks, unsure whether to laugh or stop the argument.

“You think I’m incapable of deciding for myself just because I’m not standing here acting all stiff like you?”

Neteyam frowned as he lowered his voice enough for you to hear. “That’s not what I think. You’re not making a proper decision right now. You’re not sober, at least drink water, there are children nearby watching you speak to me like this.”

Your eyes squinting at that, “Then stop making this difficult. If you don’t want me to be celebrated, then go back to whatever duty you have and stop trying to act like you’re competing with me for the position.”

Neteyam’s eyes widened at the accusation. “That’s not—”

“You don’t have authority over me,” you cut in instantly, stepping closer without hesitation, whispering next to his ear. “Just because you’re the Olo’eyktan’s son doesn’t mean you can order me or my people around like this.”

Peyrral leaned toward Vetxo, lowering her voice. “Should we stop them?” Vetxo watched the two then shook her head once.

“Let’s not.”

-

That night did not end well. The news of your argument reached the Olo’eyktan faster than either of you expected, and by morning, both you and Neteyam were kneeling in front of him.

The punishment was simple: clean the village, no ikran flying, and assist with any work for a full week.

For Neteyam, it wan’t harsh. He had endured stricter consequences before when a clan discipline was involved. He assumed this would pass quickly, he also thought you’d treat it the same way.

You didn’t.

“But sir—”

“No buts, Y/n,” Jake cut in, “One complaint and I will extend it to a full moon.”

That shut you up, your mouth closed. You stayed still, arms tense, glaring down at the ground.

Jake looked between you both, “If I hear another issue from either of you, involving each other, I’ll deal with it more strictly next time.”

He sighed, palming his face. “I’m being lenient as we have active missions and need capable hands. So, for now, your usual duties will be redistributed. The people will compensate for your absence during this period.”

The two of you nodded along.

“Your punishment starts tomorrow. If there are no questions, and there must not be! Then, you’re dismissed.”

You stepped out of the kelku, and your hands were still fisted at your sides. You were clearly sulking, irritated with energy spilling out with every step while Neteyam followed behind with distance.

“Y/n—”

“Do not.” You turned the moment he said your name, cutting him off. “As you can see, I’m very much livid. This punishment wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t acting like an asshole.”

Neteyam stared at you. “Listen. We received this because we were both involved in that argument.” He took a small step closer. “We can still complete the tasks efficiently if we cooperate…”

“I don’t know, Neteyam,” you said, “I do not think ill be able to focus with you nearby. I’d rather complete this alone. No offense.”

No offense taken… Was what he wanted to say, right before he watched you walk away from him without looking back.

Neteyam understands that you view him as a rival for leadership, but he never saw himself as competing against you. While he once pursued the role of Olo’eyktan out of duty to his family and clan, his feelings eventually changed, and he began imagining a future where the two of you would lead together, with him as Olo’eyktan and you as Tsahik by his side.

It wasn’t something he planned, and definitely not something he would say out loud just yet. Because if you ever heard him say that, you would laugh at his face.

Because truly, how could he fall for someone who has always made it clear she cannot stand his presence?

But despite your behavior toward him, Neteyam had always admired your strength, beauty, and ability to stand alongside the best hunters of the clan. Because the two of you were constantly paired together throughout your training, his admiration deepened into something far more personal.

But things didn’t turn in his favor.

You didn’t simply dislike him, you seemed to want him out of the way entirely, beneath you, and no longer a threat. As far as he understood, the reason was that you knew he was pursuing the same leadership position you wanted for yourself.

-

“This is what you get for arguing with the golden son.”

You groaned, letting the broom drop to the ground. “Drop it already, Pey’. I’ve had enough scolding entering my very smart brain today.”

“How long does this punishment even last?”

You crossed your arms right back, mimicking her stance without thinking. “A whole week! Which means I’ll miss the exchange with the Tawkami clan, and I won’t meet the Tsahìk of the Metkayina.”

You panicked over the possibility of missing two major once-in-a-lifetime events and started spiraling, only for them both to point out that you were already losing your mind over it.

“Please, you guys have to help me get out of this!”

Vetxo glanced at you, leaning back against the rock. “What can you do?”

“I can like… clean the village, take whatever job they throw at me, and I’m not even allowed to see Seya.”

Peyrral dismissed your complaint about your ikran, questioning why it was even part of your punishment, you agreeing as fast, then she suggested you spend your time helping the healers since it was one of your strengths anyway.

Vetxo looked at her, then back at you. “No. I suggest you try something else.”

“I already know everything, Vet.” you scoffed, flipping your hair. Both of them stared at you, judging. “…Continue.”

“There’s one thing you’re not good at.”

“Yeah? Name one!”

“Weaving.”

You froze for a second, you slapped your knee then laughed like she had just told a ridiculous joke. “Right. Okay. So I think I’ll go with Pey’s idea. I’ve always said she gives better ideas than you anyway. So Im definitely doimg what she said.”

“Actually, I agree with Vetxo.”

You quickly rejected the idea of weaving, insisting that you despised it, but Vetxo said that you’d have to learn it eventually considering it’d be necessary for making your future children’s loincloths, you shut the idea down entirely, insisting that you weren’t having children.

Peyrral watched you with mild irritation, “But you want the Olo’eykte position. You’ll have to… continue your line.”

“Then I’ll be the one to end that tradition.”

Peyrral threatened to extend your punishment if you kept babbling, forcing you to bite back your tongue. Reluctantly giving in, you agreed to go before your frustration got any worse.

You headed toward the weaving kelku with Peyrral and Vetxo, continuing to complain on the way. Convinced that nobody actually enjoyed weaving, you tried to persuade them to stay and suffer through the work with you.

“Girls? What brings you here?” one of the women asked, hands pressing against her cheeks. “You’ve come at a fortunate time, we have very few commissions for this week.”

“Good day! and that’s wonderful to hear, ma’am,” Peyrral replied, “Though we’re not here for an accessory.”

Vetxo nodded. “We’ve come to offer our dearest friend to your care, if it’d please you of course. She has been… quite eager to lend her hands among your work.”

“Is that so?”

“She even insisted that we bring her here ourselves. She said, and I quote, ‘I’m rather shy to ask the kind women on my own…’”

Peyrral and Vetxo shamelessly exaggerated your reputation in front of the weavers, much to your annoyance. When the weaver asked who you were, the two presented you to her, leaving you no choice but to put on a sweet smile and introduce yourself politely.

“Oh my… Y/n?” the woman gasped, covering her mouth as the others turned toward you as well. “Don’t youhave training today?”

You tried to answer but Peyrral stepped in and claimed your training had been rescheduled, adding that you were so dedicated to serving the clan that you couldn’t rest without finding another way to contribute.

The woman was convinced by her explanation and assumed you came to help for the day, but before you could confirm it, your friends eagerly volunteered you for an entire week instead.

“Oh my,” the woman beamed. “That’s very generous of you, Y/n! I shall make sure the Olo’eyktan hears of this.”

“Yes…”

“Thank you so much, Lady Ka’li,” Peyrral hugged the lady, then bowed her head. “We shall leave her. We trust she will be of great help to your hands, especially as she prepares to serve our clan in the future.”

Before you could protest, Peyrral shoved you toward the weavers and dramatically bid you farewell, teasing that she and Vetxo would miss working with you.

After that, you watched the two walk away from the kelku, even humming to themselves as if they hadn’t just abandoned you.

You stood there for a moment, jaw tight, before turning back to the women who were still smiling at you with clear fondness. “Please, do tell how I may be of assistance.”

The weavers explained that there was little work available due to a lack of recent commissions which gave you hope that you’d have an easy week. Unfortunately, thanks to your friends’ exaggerated claims about your eagerness to help, they decided to keep you occupied anyway.

‘Those bitches…!’

“We would rather have you stay with us!”

“Let us get to know you better.”

“That’s right!!”

Your relief vanished as the weavers immediately overwhelmed you with endless questions. Though internally frustrated, you maintained a polite smile and composed posture while enduring the interrogation.

“Tell us, dear… has anyone ever caught your eye yet?”

Another leaned in right after. “Or are you already looking for a mate at this time?”

When the conversation turned toward courtship, you insisted that finding a mate wasn’t a priority, emphasizing your ambitions as the future Olo’eykte. Even when asked about the upcoming courting moons, you made it clear that you would only participate if it didn’t interfere with your responsibilities.

Then they brought up having children which you dismissed the idea, explaining that your priorities were centered on serving the clan.

“And the Tsahik path? You’re skilled with healing.”

“My father taught me what real duty looks like. I won’t settle for less when I can do more.” You smirked.

“...What do you think of Olo'eyktan's son?”

You answered. “Lo’ak is… hardheaded. He acts before he thinks. But I guess he can do well if scolded enough.”

“And Neteyam?”

“He follows his duty well, it’s commendable.”

“Do you find him… attractive?”

The question carried more weight, but you answered honestly anyway, confused as to why it was being asked. You described Neteyam as a constant obstacle to your focus, viewing him primarily as a rival because the two of you were pursuing the same leadership position.

You shrugged again, “Although he’s strong, sure. Not useless like most of the boys.” The ladies nodded watching you lean back. “So I’ll say this… he’s competent. But I’m still better at what I do.”

You looked at the ladies, seeing them still waiting for an answer. “But attractive? I dont think about it that deeply. If someone’s worth noticing, they usually know it already. Like me, I know I’m strong, so I believe that I’m attractive!” You grinned, touching your cheeks.

When the weavers mentioned that your admiration for strength meant you found Neteyam attractive, you rejected the comparison, insisting that no one, including him, operated on your level.

“Kindly answer straightforwardly!”

“Listen. If I call myself beautiful, which I already am, that doesn’t mean I’m strong. But if I call myself strong, then it naturally includes being beautiful, because in my vocabulary, strength is part of what makes someone appealing. So yes, I’m attractive because I’m strong. That’s the baseline, and it doesn’t extend outward. Other people being strong doesn’t automatically place them anywhere near my level of attractiveness.”

The lady gasped, “But you said you find yourself attractive because you ARE strong, and you said he’s strong too. So technically—”

You argued that strength and attractiveness were separate qualities, insisting that acknowledging someone else’s strength didn’t mean you viewed them as equally attractive as you. Confident in your own beauty, you ended up questioning the matchmakers if they doubted your attractiveness.

“Oh no, Y/n, you’re attractive!”

“There’s no doubt about that!”

“Do you find him cute at least?!”

“He’s… alright.” You nodded.

The ladies finally let out a sigh of relief as they had finally extracted something usable out of you after all that vague logic.

“But I’m the cutest, so I couldn’t care less!”

-

It has been four days since you and Neteyam began serving your punishment. Since then, you’ve only been allowed to watch your people enjoy themselves during evening gatherings while you’re assigned to cleaning duties, with the elders teasing you as they pass by and you snapping back at them.

You’re also growing aware of Seya, your ikran, whom you haven’t seen in days. The absence sits in the back of your mind, but you take some relief knowing Peyrral and Vetxo have been taking it upon themselves to feed and check on her while you’re occupied.

“Yeah, and just so you know, Seya is pregnant.”

“What?!”

You dropped the stick holding one of the finest meats within the clan, the food falling against the ground as Vetxo spoke. Your head snapped toward her, completely thrown off by the statement.

“I said… Seya is pregnant. Your ikran?”

You were shocked that everyone seemed to know something you completely missed, saying you would’ve noticed if there had been signs. Vetxo pointed out that while you noticed the anger, you failed to understand what was actually causing it, leaving you demanding to know who the mate was.

They exchanged a look, confirming something without words. Vetxo gave a small nod, letting Peyrral speak instead. “We’re guessing… Neteyam’s ikran.”

You sat up fast, already pacing. “When did this even happen? I shouldn’t have left her alone with his… that bird in that cave weeks ago. I knew something was off. Neteyam must’ve planned this.”

“Are you serious?” Both of them spoke at the same time.

You believed he had been trying to compete with or undermine you, complaining about how much he had irritated you over the past weeks, that eveb his suggestion that the two of you work together sounded like a move, leaving your friends stunned by how you actually misunderstood his intentions.

“What are you going to do then?” Vetxo asked.

“I’m going to put some sense into that golden son’s brain.” You clenched your fist, deciding the outcome of the conversation in your head.

“Y/n, shouldn’t you check on Seya first and see how she’s doing?” Peyrral asked. You scoffed and turned away. “I am going to see her.”

Except you didn’t.

You had only one goal that night, and it was to find Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan.

It didn’t take long for you to find him helping the cooks prepare food for the clan. You then marched straight up to him, knocked your shoulder into his to get his attention.

“Follow me. Now.”

Noticing your mood, Neteyam followed you into the forest, but you stopped him before he could get too close. Turning to face him, “Haven’t you heard my ikran is pregnant?”

Neteyam’s eyes widened before softening, a small smile forming as he looked at you. “That’s… a good thing. Congratulations.”

“What do you mean congratulations?!”

“Did you not want your ikran to be pregnant?”

“Your bird impregnated mine!”

“W-what do you want me to do then?” Neteyam stiffened at your grip on his wrist,

You demanded that he have your punishment removed, but he told you that he couldn’t just ignore clan protocols. But you pressed him further, frustrated by the restrictions and especially by the fact that Seya is still with her ‘pervert’ mate.

“Teyu isn’t a pervert,” he defended, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked at you when you insulted his brother.

“I don’t KNOW, Neteyam!” you shot back, tightening your grip on his wrist. Before he could argue again, you yanked him forward, dragging him along the path.

“Where are you taking me?” he asked, trying to match your pace without actually resisting you too hard.

“To your father’s kelku.”

“That isn’t something we just walk into—”

“It’ll be!”

-

“What’s this?”

You straightened, stepping forward with way too much confidence for the situation, “This is our offering. Mine and Neteyam’s. Mostly mine, let’s be honest.”

You pressed a hand against Neteyam’s arm, “In exchange to lifting our punishment, because clearly there has been a VERY serious incident involving his bird and mine.”

Neteyam sighed as you continued, “She’s pregnant, sir. P-reg-na-nt. And I demand, respectfully, the mother be allowed to see her child.” you crossed your arms.

Jake just stared at you. “Say that again.”

A sudden breeze made your confidence falter, so you shoved Neteyam forward to deal with his father instead.

“Dad— Sir,” he corrected, clearing his throat as he tried to gather himself. “Teyu and Seya… they mated without me and Y/n knowing. I was also surprised when she told me, as I didb’t sense anything from my ikran that suggested… this.”

Jake questioned how either of you knew about the pregnancy if you were forbidden from seeing them. You stepped in to defend yourself, insisting that the information came from your friends and that you had followed the punishment without breaking the rules.

“Really now, y/n?”

“Yes, sir! I’ve been nothing but a dedicated huntress in carrying out this punishment that was bestowed upon me by Toruk Makto himself. You may ask the weavers yourself, even they kept going on about how fortunate they are to have me working for them. I mean, anyone would feel lucky to have me around.”

Neteyam almost wanted to palm his face, looking at you as you speak, now pouting up at his father, “Unless you, Sir, no longer see my value and would rather risk our people in the middle of a war. Then… I suppose someone has to be sacrificed eventually…”

“Y/n, you’re speaking to the Olo’eyktan. Be polite,” Neteyam whispered under his breath. you shot him a glare. “I’m being polite, golden boy.”

You redirected your attention to Jake, asking for permission to see Seya. After a long, weary sigh, he finally motioned for both of you to come inside and continue the discussion.

Neteyam remained distracted by his father’s reaction, assuming the disappointment stemmed from a simple breach of protocol. You, on the other hand, cared about none of that as you brought up Seya again.

“I know, Y/n, I just need the two of you to listen before I decide what to do with your punishment.”

Once you were settled, Jake revealed that he would have to postpone both the exchange with the Tawkami and the meeting with the Metkayina, signaling that something serious had come up.

Your head snapped up instantly. “What?!”

“How come, sir?”

Jake’s jaw tightened before he answered. “I was informed by our sky-watchers that there’s a possibility that Mangkwan may make a move. We’re of course preparing for a potential intrusion, and I need all available warriors ready.”

Your tail flicked hard behind you before you could stop it as you heard the name of the clan. He paused then added, “That includes lifting your punishment early. You two are needed back in active duty.”

Neteyam understood where the conversation was leading, his surprise evident as he began to piece it together. Jake then confirmed his suspicion, assigning both of you to a covert mission that would require infiltrating Mangkwan territory.

While the mission itself didn’t intimidate you, the thought of going to their territory brought Seya to mind, what unsettled you was the worry that your ikran wouldn’t be safe in her current condition.

As if catching the same concern, Neteyam spoke up, “But Sir… our ikran…”

Jake then expressed his disappointment that neither of you had noticed what was happening with your ikrans, reminding you that your bond should’ve made you aware of changes like these. As you and Neteyam reacted uneasily, he made it clear that this disconnect was a serious issue that needed to be addressed before either of you could be trusted with a mission inside the enemy’s territory.

You two were dismissed that night. Now you stood inside the council gathering, surrounded by warriors, hunters, and elders who watched your every movement as the map lay spread across the center table. The clan’s artists had marked routes, terrain details, and territory lines, waiting for your input.

Your finger traced a path across the ground route marked on the map. “Hence, I have decided that infiltrating their base on foot would benefit us. We’ll move inside their base, gather information directly from within the clan, and see if they’re preparing an attack. The process, you can leave that to us.”

An elder leaned forward. “Can you at least tell us what you have planned? This is a dangerous task, and if anything happens to you two, it’ll be harsh for your ikrans who are already in a compromised state due to its mating season.”

“The Mangkwan are nothing but a problem that needs solving,” you said, stepping closer to the map. “I will be the one to do it properly. For my clan.”

Neteyam glanced at you, but you ignored him and pointed at the route, ears still pinned back. No one else seemed to notice the small shift in your posture.

You presented a plan to infiltrate the Mangkwan by disguising yourselves with matching pigments and fully adapting to their appearance and behavior. Based on your observations, you explained that their leadership seemed to rely more on fear.

You reiterated your request for the artists to prepare materials that would allow you and Neteyam to mimic their appearance as accurately as possible for the mission.

“Daughter… Are you certain of this?”

You answered with confidence when your father approached you, insisting that gathering information was the least you should be capable of if you hoped to lead one day.

“I’ll protect y/n, sir.” Neteyam nodded to your father and you glared at him before paying attention again to the feedback of the elder.

“How will you execute this plan?”

You stepped forward again as your hand hovered over the map. “One of our sky-watchers reported that they hold nightly gatherings, similar to ours. That’s where we enter, when they’re distracted.”

The plan was to depart before nightfall and enter during active movement, allowing you two to blend. You intended to take the lower forest route despite the difficult terrain, using the thick canopy and uneven ground to mask your presence and disrupt recognizable sound patterns. Once inside the territory, the priority would be observation, studying their behavior, speech, and mannerisms closely enough to imitate them.

The others nodded, exchanging glances as your plan began to settle in their minds. For once, it didn’t sound like you were charging headfirst into danger, but walking into it with purpose.

After explaining more details, you crossed your arms and gave a small shrug. “and that’s how a very capable and quite frankly deserving Olo’eykte executes a properly calculated plan. Otherwise, I’m not convinced any other approach here would work as effectively.”

The mood eventually went down.

While the council acknowledged the plan was well thought out, concerns were raised about the risks of sending their own people deep into enemy territory without support.

However, Neteyam stepped forward before you could respond. “Her plan is structured and it accounts for Mangkwan behavior. I’ll ensure the execution remains controlled.”

You let out a scoff, crossing your arms tighter as you glanced at him before looking back at the council.

“Since it has been said, yes, my plan is structured. Obviously. I’ve delivered results every time I was given responsibility, it’s only logical that I’d continue to do so. If anything, this is the safest way you’re gonna get information without losing more people… especially the great ones, me!”

You were fortunate to have the clan supporting you and your plan, as they should. What caught your attention more was how quick everything began moving the moment you finished speaking.

The thought of leaving for the mission without Seya weighed heavily on you. For someone who shared such a deep bond with their ikran, the separation settled uncomfortably in your chest.

You reflected on Seya’s behavior lately and realized the signs had been there all along, from her unusual restlessness to changes in her appetite. What you had once dismissed as exhaustion now seemed far more significant in hindsight.

Vetxo who sat beside you spoke, “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of your girl,” she reassured you, glancing toward the direction where Seya had been secured.

You exhaled at her words, the tension in your shoulders eased. Even if you wouldn’t say it out loud, you trusted them with her more than you trusted most things right now.

-

“Ow! Not so tight, old hag!”

You let out a sharp hiss as Ikeyni tightened your braid with no mercy, pulling your hair back with force.

Ikeyni, Olo’eykte of the Tayrangi Clan, didn’t flinch at your complaint. “Shut your mouth, skxawng. Didn’t you say you wanted to blend in? If they find beauty within the clan, you’re gonna get your ass slapped.”

“They’ll slap my what?!”

“Your butt, dummy.”

“But why would they slap my butt?”

“It was just… an expression.”

You continued anyway, completely confused. “How come people here aren’t slapping my butt though? I’ve always been called the epitome of beauty. What about you? Do you wanna slap my butt?”

Ikeyni went still for half a second, then looked at you like she was regretting ever opening her mouth that led the conversation here. “No.”

After getting your hair done, the right side was slicked tightly back against your scalp, it almost felt uncomfortable with how still it was. The left side remained looser and layered, falling over your eye as the artists worked, giving you that look of mimic.

You remained still as the weavers completed your transformation, having already prepared your skin with an ash soak before layering grey-blue pigments carefully across your body to mimic Mangkwan coloring. Once finished, you stepped out in the new garments, adjusting to the unfamiliar feel, only for your gaze to fall on the materials and a clear look of disgust to cross your face.

The top was barely anything, a thin wrap secured tightly around your chest, more like a bandage than actual clothing.

“Check you out. Looking pretty decorated.” Vetxo tilted her head, giving Peyrral a slow examination as she adjusted one of her fallen straps.

“Only now do you decide to look at me?” Peyrral grinned as she let Vetxo fix her lace.

“Stolen things usually don’t get my attention, you see.”

“Good thing I took this from y/n then.”

From a short distance away, you let out a groan while still trying to adjust the tight band across your breasts. “You guys look at this! These are suffocating my babies.”

“You wanted to lead missions like this, did you not?” Peyrral nodded once in agreement. “Consider this part of your properly calculated plan.”

You were about to enter enemy territory, the Mangkwan’s own ground, and for the first time since the plan began forming, small doubts started to creep in at the edges of your mind.

“I know you guys would miss me but dont miss me too much…”

They joked that they could finally experience peace again now that you’re leaving, you laughed it off, pinched both of them in retaliation, and stepped back.

Later, Mo’at stepped forward once the clan had gathered, she lifted her hand, eyes moving between you and Neteyam. “Eywa hears what is spoken, and what is not.” Her hand lowered, resting near you and Neteyam’s chest. “May Eywa walk beside you when your eyes cannot see clearly, may she steady your breath when your spirit wavers, and may she return you to us when your task is done.”

You stood there, you felt your father step closer beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you with an expression that didn’t quite hide his worry.

“You will come back…” he muttered. His hand rested on your shoulders before pulling away. You gave a small nod, “Of course.”

On the other side, Neteyam stood with his family gathered close. Neytiri reached up to adjust something near his shoulder, his siblings lingered, Tuk had already wrapped herself around his leg, holding on tightly while Kiri stood at his side, her hand wrapped around his forearm, then Lo'ak stayed just in front of him, trying to keep out of the cheesy moments, but it slipped the moment Neteyam reached out and placed a hand on his head.

You and Neteyam moved through the forest in silence, both alert as you scanned the surroundings, with him keeping his bow ready and carrying both your supplies. You took the lead, unwilling to place yourself behind anyone, while he followed eith no protest after insisting on carrying your bag as a sign of respect, which you accepted without argument since it worked in your favor.

“Get down!”

Neteyam followed your movement immediately, though his voice came out confused. “What? Why?”

“Heh. I was just testing the golden son’s awareness,” you said with a smirk, trying to get a reaction from him.

“Seriously?”

Later, the two of you moved through Mangkwan base without drawing suspicion, blending into the flow of their people. Eyes followed you with a nod, especially when they noticed the dead nantang being carried by you. It had nearly attacked the two of you earlier, forcing you to draw your bow and do what was required, before offering a prayer to send the creature back to Eywa.

To them, you weren’t strangers, just a warriors returning with something worth celebrating more. Your hips shifted side to side with confidence, while Neteyam walked just behind with his arms resting behind his head, with a arrogant grin on his face.

“Olo’eykte not here, Olo’eykte there, come.”

‘That easy?’ you thought.

The hunter reached out, hand moving toward the nantang as if to take it from you but before he could, you hissed at him to make him back off.

Of course you weren’t sure if it was normal for their men to take the heavier load from women, but you werent gonna risk your plan over that.

The hunter led you through the center of their base, pushing past bodies that made space for your arrival. The closer you got, the more the noise settled, all eyes went toward the woman being surrounded ahead. When you reached her, you dropped the nantang to the ground with enough weight to make it noticeable, then adjusted your posture, copying the bow the others gave.

“Olo’eykte, I back!”

A woman wearing a feathered headdress questioned your identity, prompting you to maintain your disguise and act offended while reminding her of your supposed earlier introduction.

From the moment you stepped in, it was already clear to you how they functioned. Their speech was broken, their words lacking structure, but their reactions were easy. And unlike your clan, their system was not rule-based but hierarchy-driven.

She circled you slowly, her fiery gaze never leaving your cold one as she studied you from every angle. “This is the first time I see one of my people walk in like this… so confident of themselves.”

Neteyam watched from the crowd with growing unease, forced to stay hidden while you stood close to the her. Though he trusted you, his inability to help and the risk of the situation left him tense.

The woman stepped closer, closing the distance between you intentionally. Her hand reached out, catching one of your braids, twirling it around her finger as her eyes studied your face.

She physically asserted her control over you, threatening your kuru with a dagger while suggesting she could turn you into her puppet. Holding your fate in her hands, she challenged you to give her a reason not to.

You defended your value by claiming you understood how enemies think and behave through observation, making yourself useful beyond brute strength. Though she questioned whether you were anything more than a distraction, you challenged her judgment, insisting she wouldn’t see you that way ever.

“How sure are you?”

“Very sure.”

Then she straightened, turning her head toward one of her hunters. Without taking her eyes off you, she lifted her finger and signed to the creature below.

“Throw.”

The hunter obeyed, dragging the nantang away and tossing it toward the fire pit where it would be prepared, the act speaking of acceptance.

Behind you, the crowd erupted into celebration again, you turned, scanning through the crowd until your eyes caught a familiar pair of golden ones. Neteyam stood among them, his gaze showing pure concern, silently asking if you were alright.

You held his stare, tightening your expression in response, giving him a clear signal through your eyes alone. He understood, and without breaking the act, he moved with the crowd to join the cooks.

You didnt wait for the gathering to end after that, stepping inside the leader’s hut. Your eyes adjusted as you scanned the place, metal accessories scattered, weapons displayed.

“I… see you, Olo’eykte.”

you said as you stepped further in, eye twitching as you watch her tend to the fire, adding something that made the flames rise higher.

“My people normally don’t approach with fiery heart.”

“now that change,” you whispered, moving closer behind her, your gaze lowering to observe what she was holding. In her hand was a slender pipe, a tepi, and within her palm a mixture of ash and powder.

“Before we fix your tongue,” she said, turning to face you, “Varang must see your soul first.”

Your eyes went from the tepi to her face as she stepped closer. “Be still,” she commanded. But you shifted back instinctively, she closed the distance again. “I said, be still.”

You obeyed just then. The moment the tepi was lifted to touch your nose, she blew instantly, the powder hitting you, flooding your senses before you could react. You staggered, eyes rolling to the back of your head, “W-wait…” you stuttered, your body giving in as you dropped to the ground.

Varang watched your pupils react, you tried to steady yourself but your body felt hot, your thoughts felt messy, it was overwhelming.

She turned back to the fire, throwing the remaining powder into it. “Fire is precious… Anything deadly could happen to you, and you’ll feel it… that moment where you think something will come for you.” She tilted her head looking back at you. “But it does not.”

You forced yourself to stay present, even as your body reacted, your breathing uneven. When she reached for your kuru, bringing it forward, your body tensed.

“We will begin fixing you… but first,” she started lifting her hand slowly, revealing the tattoo on her palm, an eye staring back at you, “you answer me.”

“Who is your name?”

“n/n.”

“What do you seek, n/n?”

Your thoughts blurred, the powder pressing against your mind, “You. I come for you, I seek you.”

“You wish to serve me? Be my puppet?”

“…Yes. I need that. Help me.”

After gaining Varang’s trust and letting her fall into the version of you she wanted to see, you walked toward the meeting point you and Neteyam had agreed on.

Inside the cave, Neteyam was seated fixing yout things, checking each piece confirming nothing had been taken. His ears flicked when he heard your footsteps.

He turned, already rising before you entered. “Are you okay?” he inquired, eyes scanning you from head to toe, searching for anything off.

“Duh,” you replied, smirking as you walked further in. You tugged at your braids, loosening the tension from the tight style, your scalp already beginning to itch now that you were away from them.

“She didn’t hurt you?” he pressed, following you deeper into the cave as you started looking for your bow.

“She didn’t. She wouldn’t anyway… I got it, Neteyam.” You stepped aside, rolling your shoulders. “I didn’t think I’d ever be so happy being called someone’s puppet or slave. But I swear, Neteyam, it works. She believes it.”

You explained how your plan had been working more easily than expected, even wondering if Eywa was guiding you, before sharing what you learned about the Mangkwan losing faith after their forest burned and no help came.

As Neteyam watched you, he said he still believed in Eywa, but understood why they would question her after experiencing that kind of suffering.

You bit your lip, holding in a giggle as you glanced at him. “Of course you’d answer it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like the golden son would…” you muttered, rolling your eyes. He studied your fsce, then spoke. “And how would you want me to answer it then?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know… maybe less empathetic?”

“I cannot do that, I feel for them.”

“Of course you do…”,

He tilted his head at you. “You don’t?”

“I… do, too.”

-

“Lady n/n! Olo’eykte seek you!”

Over the past weeks, Mangkwan had grown to treat your name with respect, something you carried with arrogance despite knowing your position under Varang.

Your patience had been wearing thin as she continued to stay vague and ahead of you, refusing to reveal anything despite your attempts to question her plans.

Her repeated answer only deepened your frustration, and the growing uncertainty began to weigh on you, making it harder to focus in a place where even a single mistake could cost everything.

You kept your silence, even from Neteyam, maintaining distance as planned and treating him like nothing more than another presence in the clan, though his attention still lingered.

What played on you most was not Varang or the war, but yourself, slipping into something you could no longer fully control, while despite the position and access they gave you, you were left with nothing that you really needed.

You clicked your tongue under your breath, jaw tightening. How stupid have you been?

Maybe you had miscalculated and they had been the ones playing you all along, letting you believe you were ahead while guiding you straight into their grasp.

Your thoughts snapped the moment you felt a pull. A Mangkwan had grabbed your tail again, fingers curling around it. You turned, irritation can be seen through your face, eyes glaring as you yanked against their grip.

“Let go!”

You hissed at them, but they only laughed, their attention lingering in a way that made your skin crawl as others nearby began to watch.

Your tail flicked as you pulled back, posture straightening while your gaze hardened, letting your temper slip to remind them of who you were.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” you muttered, before letting your hand shoot forward, fingers wrapping around their queue.

You pulled them closer, copying Varang’s exact behavior. “You dare laugh?” Their breath hitched immediately, body going still beneath your grip.

You held their gaze for a moment longer before releasing their kuru, then shifted your eyes toward the nearby warriors who moved immediately, stepping forward to drag the individual away without question.

You then headed straight for Varang’s hut. “Took you long enough to arrive,” she said without looking at you working over something at the fire.

“My apologies. Mangkwan have been getting on my nerves.”

“What were they doing?”

“Nothing important. Just… touching my tail. I do not like it when people do that.”

She hummed. “If they cannot satisfy you, how would they satisfy me, n/n?”

You didn’t react, only tilted your head. “I promise, it’s nothing, I am just easily irritated lately. I let the warriors handle it. Please. Tell me why I am here.”

“I have the plan ready.”

Your heart dropped at that sentence, a smirk still found its way to your lips as you lowered yourself onto the ground, settling comfortably inside her kelku, “Yeah? I’m listening.”

Varang didn’t look at you. “It speaks…” she murmured, pointing at the flame, while you watched the movements of her hands along it.

“What’s it telling?”

“It shows me patterns… movements that repeats itself, even when it thinks it changes.”

You let out a soft breath through your nose, leaning your weight onto one arm. “Sounds like a riddle.”

Varang grinned wider, teeth flashing in the firelight as she spoke again. “It is as is. We strike the Omatikaya at their weakest point, their sacred grove near the old kelku ruins.”

You were confused, that, really?

“The sacred grove? That place is heavily guarded. How will we get past their warriors without losing too many of our own?”

“How do you know?”

“From… the last battle. I told you I know a lot about them, I practically already memorized them.”

“It’s easy. We send a small group first to draw their hunters away. While they chase shadows, the real force circles from the east river and burns everything they hold dear. They will never see it coming.”

You smiled, gulping. “It sounds… awesome. What if the first group gets wiped out too fast though?” You muttered then Varang’s hand slammed against the ground beside her, making you flinch.

She stared at you hard. “Are you questioning me, brat? This is how we’ve always fought. Fire does not ask for permission. It burns what it wants.”

You quickly lowered your gaze, heart beating faster. ‘Damn it… I need to calm down.’

“No, Olo’eykte. I am only making sure the plan is strong as I want us to win.”

“Good. Because you will lead that first group. Within this war, you are to show me your usefulness.”

Your stomach dropped. Leading the distraction group sounded like a death sentence, but you forced yourself to nod.

“That’s … I am honored. What about backups? Will we have them close by in case things go bad?”

Varang laughed. “Backup? I thought you were as smart as you claim to be? You either succeed or you burn with the enemy. That is the plan.”

She stood up slowly, towering over you, “You came here wanting power, wanting to stand beside me. This is how you earn it, little flame. Unless you’re suddenly afraid?”

You shook your head fast, letting out a giggle. “Me? Afraid? I am not. I will do it. When do we move?”

“Five nights from now. Prepare yourself well, n/n.” Varang stepped closer and grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to look up at her. “Do not disappoint me. I have no patience for those who squander what little worth they’re given. I do not keep the feeble, nor do I tend to the useless. If you prove yourself to be either… then I will see you burned out of my sight like ash that dared to think itself fire.”

The plan felt too reckless but you knew you shouldnt push too hard or you’ll blow your cover.

Three nights before the war, you were assigned a small group of five warriors, while Neteyam’s placement remained unknown to you. With security tightening among the Mangkwan, any form of contact between the two of you had became impossible.

While your clan prepares with care, the Mangkwan trained through brutality, pushing their warriors through cruel methods. You watched, disturbed by the way rhe young fighters were shooting at living targets in a spinning board:

Two days before the war, the harsh training continued without rest. Varang kept pulling you aside to go over your role again and again.

Varang assigned you the role of “messenger,” a position that sounded important but actually placed you alone in dangerous combat zones, keeping you away from the main force.

One day before the war, Mangkwan kept pushing themselves harder, you could barely believe you were only hours away from a war commencement.

Hours away from facing your own people.

16 hours before the war, the weight of everything pressed on your chest, but you ignored it. You hadn’t seen Neteyam in days. The thought of him fighting somewhere else without knowing the truth made your stomach twist.

12 hours before the war, the camp grew louder as final preparations began. You moved between groups, listening to every order while trying to memorize escape routes.

5 hours before the war, you decided this was your only chance. You would try to break away early and reach your people before everything started. Even if it meant risking everything.

3 hours before the war, Mangkwan gathered in formation, eyes wild with excitement for death. You stood among your small group, grip tight on your bow.

You took one last look around, hoping to catch even a glimpse of Neteyam. Nothing. You whispered a prayer to Eywa and readied yourself to move at the first opportunity.

You tried to move through the crowd unnoticed, keeping your head low, but you were seen anyway as a hand suddenly seized your wrist, and before you could react, it pulled you around to be faced directly.

“Where are you heading off to, n/n?”

You forced a grin and answered. “Just… gonna take a fresh breath of air before we murder those people.”

Varang grinned back at you. “Well, save those fresh breaths for later. We begin now.”

Your stomach dropped. “The war starts in three hours. What’s the rush? Those people will not win against us anyway!”

Varang caught you and tightened her grip, accusing you of disobedience as she revealed the plan to ambush early. Without waiting for your response, she dragged you back to your group, leaving you shaken and realizing you might no longer have a chance to send a message to your clan.

Varang shoved you forward into the middle of your small team. “Messengers who wander off tend to lose their tongue.”

You stayed under the warriors’ suspicious stares… For the first time since arriving, you no longer felt in control and only cornered.

One of your group members nudged you. “Lady n/n, Olo’eykte watch you closely, you focus.”

You swallowed hard and gripped your bow tighter, you hissed at him. “I am focused, bitch. Focus on yourself.”

Panic continued to build as you realized Neteyam and your clan had no warning while the ambush was already underway. Mangkwan began moving through the dark forest, splitting into groups, and you followed your assigned team behind Varang, your heart pounding the entire time.

Varang looked back at you with a grin. “Draw them out… make them chase.”

The plan still felt completely off. Too dumb. You didn’t understand these people and how rhey work. So, you tried one last time as you neared the fork in the path. “Olo’eykte, maybe we should adjust. If I take a smaller path through the thick trees instead, we can—”

Varang cut you off with a harsh laugh and grabbed the back of your neck roughly. “You still question me… after all I have granted you?”

“N-no!”

She shoved you forward toward the narrow trail that led to an old abandoned cave near the grove. “Go. Do as I have commanded. Drive them in, if you must… and draw them deep.”

You stumbled a little but caught yourself. Panic was rising fast in your chest now. Your group moved ahead with you at the front. You kept looking back, hoping to see Varang or any chance to run, but she stayed behind watching, the cave entrance appeared soon after.

Something felt very wrong.

You turned to your team. “We wait here and make noise when they come then draw them inside.”

Suddenly heavy footsteps came from behind. Varang stepped out of the shadows with two of her strongest guards. She was smirking. “Well done, n/n, you have led them exactly where I desired.”

You froze. “What? The plan—”

Varang walked closer, towering over you as her guards blocked the cave entrance. she let out a scoff. “There was never such a thing. You thought to play me, stupid… you were seen from the very first breath.”

“What are you talking about? I’m—”

Varang laughed loudly and grabbed your arm, yanking you toward the deeper part of the cave. “Every meeting, every word… you truly believed yourself clever. A spy wearing borrowed skin, thinking she had fooled us? Me?”

You struggled against her grip, heart pounding wildly. “Let go! I do not know what you mean! I have always followed you—”

She shoved you hard into a small hole chamber inside the cave. You stumbled and hit the rocky ground, panic flooding your body as you looked up.

Varang stood there, looking down at you. “You and your little companion is lucky.”

Her guards started pushing heavy rocks and old wooden bars across the opening. You tried to push yourself up, “No wait! Where is he!”

She watched you struggle with amusement as her people pushed more heavy rocks to block the entrance. You slammed your hands against the closing gap, voice cracking. “Varang! Please! Do not hurt them!”

“Such a request… I am not your weak mother. You do not ask. You must prostrate yourself before me.” The last rock slid into place with a heavy thud, sealing you inside complete darkness.

You screamed and banged on the rocks until your fists hurt. “Let me out, you bitch!! Asshole!”

You kept screaming until your lungs burned, calling for help like someone might still hear you through the weight of the rocks sealing you in. It was too dark to see anything properly, only a thin line of moonlight from above breaking through the opening, where the trees moved against the sky.

Panic took over completely. You paced the small cave fast, breathing hard, tail lashing wildly behind you.

How did she know?

What about Neteyam? Is he safe?

You slid down the wall, hands shaking as you pulled at your braids in frustration. Tears burned in your eyes but you refused to let them fall.

You felt completely trapped, unsure of what to do as fear took over your body. The situation made you feel weak, and you blamed yourself for everything, hating how you had fallen right into her plan.

Your thoughts spiraled toward your father’s disappointment, your clan’s broken trust, and the promise you made to Neteyam that everything would go according to plan.

Leadership no longer mattered to you in that moment, only the fear of what might have happened to him and whether he was safe or already caught.

You stood up and started pushing against the rocks with all your strength, but it wasn’t budging. You screamed and hit the wall again, fists hurting. “Fuck!”

Suddenly you heard noises outside. Rocks were being moved, one by one. Your ears perked up fast. You rushed to the entrance and pressed your face close to the small gaps.

Then you heard his voice. “Y/n?! Are you in there?”

It was Neteyam.

Relief hit you so hard your legs almost gave out. You threw yourself against the opening the moment it was wide enough. “Neteyam!”

Neteyam caught you and pulled you out, hugging you tight against his chest. You hugged him back just as hard, heart still racing from both fear and relief. You both pulled away at the same time.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Are you okay?” he asked at the exact same time. You answered first. “I am fine. They locked me in here. I shouldn’t have been chosen for this mission… this is my fault. I should’ve never been—”

“Y/n—”

Your voice cracked as you looked at him, panic rising fast. “Where were you? I couldn’t even— I couldn’t help anything. I ruined this!”

Neteyam’s grip tightened on your arm immediately, “Hey. No, listen to me.”

You tried, but your breathing was still trembling.

“This is not on you, you didn’t cause this war. You didn’t lock yourself in this place. You’re here now with me.” Your hands shook as he held your gaze. “You’re not alone in this. We’re partners, right? I need you.”

“N-Neteyam— I’m scared,” you admitted, voice breaking. “I don’t know what to do. S-she— Varang—”

Neteyam exhaled, pulling you closer. He was panicking too, but seeing you like this made it worse, like your fear doubled in his chest. “I know, I hear you. I’m right here. I need you focused. You tell me what’s going on.”

You broke down in front of Neteyam, admitting everything had been a lie and that you had been completely misled.

“We will track them, Y/n. We already know their direction.”

Your head whipped toward him. “H-how can we do that?! We don’t even have our ikrans, they have their dragons! I’m sure they’re already there by now. And our people—”

“Just follow me!”

You both started running out of the cave together, the forest blurred as you ran side by side. You felt safer now that he was with you.

You both ran as fast as your legs could carry you, pushing through the exhaustion. Neteyam held your hand tightly the whole time, guiding each other toward the loud battle noises and Mangkwan war horns. Your ears picked up every distant uell.

“Neteyam, I think they went that way!”

“We will go there. Hold on tight, okay?” He squeezed your hand and nodded. “Mhm!”

You were exhausted from the confinement, your energy nearly gone as the battle came into view. Instead of your clan, you found the Mangkwan already clashing among themselves in disorder.

You pulled Neteyam behind some thick bushes to hide when you spotted Mangkwan riders flying above with bows in their hands.

You watched in silence too as Varang jumped from one nightwraith to another. She grabbed a warrior by his queue and sliced it brutally with her dagger, killing him.

You felt sick seeing it.

You were lucky you never experienced that side of her… you sighed deeply and held Neteyam’s hand even tighter. He noticed how nervous you were and gently pulled your head against his chest, not letting you watch the scene any longer.

“I’m glad I found you,” he whispered against your hair. You nodded and held him closer for a moment.

“We have to get out of here,” you said as you pulled away.

You took his hand and followed the direction the Mangkwan had gone, moving in as their battle cries echoed through the forest. Before you could go further, a voice called out from behind, stopping you both in your tracks.

“stop there, traitors!”

You and Neteyam turned around fast. He recognized the warriors who had guarded him earlier and emerged from the side.

You raised your bow without hesitation, fingers moving to pull an arrow from your quiver. The shot was clean, the arrow slicing through the air before striking the guard straight in the neck, dropping him instantly.

You let out a scoff, already reaching back for another arrow, your focus locked on finishing it. But in that moment, your attention stayed forward for too long, and you failed to notice the second guard lifting his bow, already aiming straight at you.

One arrow flew straight.

Neteyam saw it at the last second, so he pushed you back hard and stepped in front of you. The arrow struck him in the upper chest with a heavy thud. He groaned loudly from the pain and held his chest.

“Neteyam!” you screamed and caught him as he stumbled forward. Blood started spreading fast across his chest.

Your hands immediately pressed against the wound, panic flooding back stronger than before. “Fuck!”

You heard a loud familiar cry from above. You looked up and saw Seya diving down fast with Teyu right behind her. The ikrans attacked the remaining warrior, enraged.

You lifted Neteyam onto your back, careful with his wound. You ran to the edge of the cliff and called for Seya without waiting to see her in your sight. You jumped, trusting her completely.

She caught you both smoothly, you adjusted fast on her back, connecting your queue to hers while keeping Neteyam secured behind you. He groaned loudly every time the wind moved the arrow still stuck in his upper chest. More blood kept coming out.

Teyu flew above you, watching for any more threats. You didn’t know where you were going, but you trusted Seya to take you somewhere safe. She flew toward another cliff closer to your village.

You could see the battle starting below. Mangkwan forces were closing in while your people prepared to fight.

You bit your lip again out of habit. You landed with Seya and carefully helped Neteyam down to the ground. He groaned in pain as you laid him on his back.

“Take a deep breath, Neteyam!”

You broke the arrow shaft in half, then pushed the head through to pull it out completely. Fresh blood poured out fast. You grabbed a big leaf nearby and tore fabric from your loincloth using your teeth to make a tight bandage.

“Y-Y/n… go to them. Find a safe place—” Neteyam’s voice was deep and hoarse. It startled you and made your panic worse. “No! I’m not leaving you here!” you snapped back.

You pressed hard on his wound with both hands, trying to stop the bleeding. He kept groaning every time you moved. “Leave me be, Y/n…”

“Please, do not do this to me, Neteyam! I’m fucking panicking already. I don’t know what to do, just let me help you!” You tied the fabric around his wounded arm from the metals, tears stinging your eyes.

Neteyam reached up and put his hand over yours on his chest. “Y/n… I need to tell you something.” He breathed heavily and looked at you.

“You waste time! I’m tryna keep you alive!” You pressed harder, hands shaking. Neteyam gave a weak smile despite the pain.

“...I don’t want you to become the Olo’eykte, Y/n.”

You froze for a second. “What are you saying? I refuse to talk about that right now!”

He continued anyway despite your retorts, “I didn’t want that position just to surpass you. I wanted it so… you would stand with me. As my Tsahìk.”

“Stop talking, please. Save your strength!”

Neteyam squeezed your hand weakly. “I have wanted you for so long. Not just as a rival. I want you as my mate, my wife, the mother of my children. I want us to lead together, to have a family… even if they’re running around causing trouble like my baby brother.” He let out a painful chuckle. “That’s why I push so hard. So I can have you beside me instead of against me…”

“Shut up already Neteyam!” You tightened the fabric, voice cracking. “Why are you telling me this now?! Cant you see you’re bleeding!”

Neteyam tried to comfort you by confessing his feelings and distracting you from the situation, but you snapped at him, refusing to think about anything except saving him.

You kept pressing hard on his wound, but the blood kept seeping through your fingers. Your hands would not stop shaking no matter how hard you tried to control them. Neteyam’s breathing was getting heavier, and it only made your panic worse.

“I can’t- y/n, I don’t wanna see you like this—”

“Well stop talking about stupid things so you can save your air!” you hissed at him, “I need to stop this bleeding first. I cannot lose you, skxawng!”

You broke down with the battle closing in and no supplies to help him, you grew more desperate, admitting you had no idea what to do.

Neteyam lifted his hand weakly and touched your arm. “Y-you’re doing enough. Just stay with me.”

“You stay with me! I told you this mission would work and now… look at you!”

More blood came out when he tried to move. You cursed loudly and leaned more of your weight on the injury. “Stay still, damn it! Seya, Teyu, Help me!” You called for the ikrans again.

You took a deep breath and tried to think clearly. “Okay… okay. I will do something, then we move. We have to reach the healers. Until then, I need you to stay with me. Please.”

Neteyam gave you a smile. “T-there you are, my stubborn girl. I-i’ll have to know your answer so…”

You hissed at him again but your hands stayed gentle on his chest. “Shut up and save your energy. Im still mad at you for jumping in front of that arrow.”

“I can’t let you get that instead.”

“That was for me!”

The panic was still there, heavy in your chest, but you refused to let it stop you. Neteyam needed you right now, and you woulnt let him down again.

Seya landed and crouched low so you could lift Neteyam onto her back. He groaned loudly as you moved him, one hand clutching the leaf bandage on his chest. You tore another big leaf in half and tied his wrist tightly to Seya’s harness line.

“Stop groaning so much!”

You climbed in front of Neteyam and wrapped his arms around your torso. He rested his chin on your right shoulder, whimpering softly when the tie on his wrist pulled tight. “Bear with it for now.”

You connected your queue to Seya’s and took off fast into the air. You chose the shortest path toward the clan, flying high into the clouds to avoid any Mangkwan riders. Neteyam held onto you tighter as the wind hit his wound.

“We’re almost there… Just hold on a little longer, Neteyam.”

He pressed his face against your shoulder. “I’m still here. Keep flying...”

You arrived at High Camp with urgency, drawing immediate attention as people rushed toward you, shocked at Neteyam’s condition.

As Mo’at stepped in with a serious expression, you quickly freed him from the harness while the crowd gathered, their voices rising in alarm around you.

“What happened?!”

“Are you alright?!”

“Is that blood?!”

You jumped down from Seya and warned the clan that the Mangkwan were already on their way, their leader aware of the truth. Despite your exhaustion, you immediately searched for the leaders, asking where your father, Neytiri, Jake, and the others were.

One of the elders stepped closer. “They already left. We knew something was wrong when we received no word from either of you. The Olo’eyktan took most of the warriors ahead to meet them.”

Norm appeared in his avatar body and moved. “We’ll take a look at him.” He carefully lifted Neteyam and carried him toward the science tent. You watched them go, heart still racing.

Peyrral and Vetxo pushed through the crowd and ran to you. “Y/n! Are you okay? What happened out there?!” Peyrral shook you.

You shook your head, still panicking. “A lot… everything went wrong. Neteyam got shot b-because of me.”

Mo’at raised her hand and spoke. “Give her space. Now.” She gently took your arm and pulled you away from the crowd toward her kelku. “Come, child. Let me see your wounds.”

You followed Mo’at and only then realized your own injuries, breaking down in her care as she tried to calm you, you apologized through tears, blaming yourself for Neteyam’s condition.

Mo’at wrapped her arms around you and stroked your back. “Hush, child. You have done what was placed before you. Neteyam chose his path, do not dishonor it by turning it into guilt.”

You kept crying, voice shaky. “What would my father think… letting Toruk Makto’s son get hurt like this because of me?” Mo’at continued cleaning the red paint and dirt from your wounds, her touch steady and calm.

“He would give thanks that his daughter has returned alive. Your father and the others have already gone ahead to face the enemy. The silence from you both didn’t sit well with them…”

You whimpered and looked down. “So… me and Neteyam went through all that for nothing?” Mo’at shook her head as she applied fresh herbs to your cuts. You hissed when they stung.

“Not for nothing, my child,” she replied, voice full of quiet wisdom. “Your ikran sensed the danger through the bond. Eywa moves in ways we do not always see. You know this. Your bond with Neteyam, and with your ikran, carried warning back to us. It gave us time we wouldn’t have otherwise had.”

After what felt like a long session with the Tsahìk, where your wounds were treated and your thoughts were cleared, you stepped outside. The moment you did, your two friends were already there, pulling you into them without hesitation.

“We were so worried!”

“I’m fine, you guys,” you replied, letting yourself stay in the embrace for a second before pulling away. Physical contact still felt strange right now, especially with everything happening. “We need to help the others.”

“Y/n, no,” Peyrral snapped, pinching your arm to anchor you in place. “You’re staying here with us.”

“But—”

“We’re not letting you go back there. Did you see what happened to Neteyam?” Vetxo cut in.

Your expression changed fast, eyes widening as the memory hit. Your head dipped, tension tightening in your jaw.

Your friends warned you that if the arrow had truly been meant for you, then you were still in danger, also the fact that the enemy likely held deep resentment toward you for betraying them.

“I…” your voice faltered, words collapsing before they could form properly. “It’s all too much…” You covered your face with both hands.

Your friends led you down to the nearest river to remove you from the disguise, the cold air biting at your skin as Peyrral carefully started removing the metals in your body.

“Usually we’d be scolding you nonstop but clearly we care about you too much for that right now” Vetxo said from where she sat on a nearby rock, leaned back as she watched Peyrral work on you.

You scoffed, trying to push back into your usual attitude even if your breathing still felt uneven. Peyrral pinched your skin harder. You hissed and tried to pull your arm away from her. “Watch it!”

“I know you too well, Y/n. I know you’re already planning to sneak back into the battle the second we finish cleaning you up, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widened because she was right.

You were thinking exactly that.

Vetxo straightened her back and crossed her arms. “Do not even think about it. Let the old people handle this one.”

You looked down at the ground, ffowning. “It’s… my fault though. The battle is happening because of what i did out there.”

Peyrral rolled her eyes. “They’re not attacking because of you. They’re just selfish and greedy. They burn everything they touch just to take more life.”

Vetxo nodded and moved closer. “Right. So stop acting like everything revolves around you, miss wannabe olo’eykte.”

You gritted your teeth when vetxo towered over you. “Hey!” you hissed, and hissed right back, Peyrral giggled and poured water over your shoulders. She started scrubbing the red Mangkwan paint off your skin with a rough piece of fabric. “Enough, you two.”

Vetxo crouched down, scooped water in her hand, and splashed it straight onto your face. “Wake up, n/n. You’re back home now. I don’t wanna go back to babying you again.”

You wiped your face and glared at her. “Do not baby me then!”

Peyrral and Vetxo reassured you as they cleaned your wounds, subtly sharing a look, while you admitted feeling useless staying behind. Peyrral had to remind you that you already did your part in the fight, and Vetxo nudged you, and told you to stop trying to be rhe hero all the time.

It was fortunate that the battle ended sooner than expected. The elders, warriors, and hunters finally returned, many of them injured. You stood among the crowd and scanned every face, looking desperately for one specific person.

“Y/n!”

You turned quickly and saw your father. He was barely injured. Your eyes filled with tears as you ran straight to him. “Dad… I am sorry…”

Your father pulled you into a tight embrace, relieved that you were safe, while you broke down against him, apologizing and admitting that your plan had been exposed.

Your father chuckled and stroked your hair. “You have nothing to apologize for. I am just glad you came back to me.”

You pulled back a little and looked at him with teary eyes. “What happened out there?”

He stood up and patted your head. “They backed off. We have Toruk Makto on our side after all.” He to smiled and looked toward the crowd where Jake was guiding the warriors with Neytiri beside him. “Talk to them, daughter. They were worried sick about you and Neteyam. Where is he?”

Your eyes widened at the mention of his name. “He… he got shot b-because of me, dad. He’s with Norm right now.” You looked away, guilt heavy in your chest.

Your father sighed. “Nothing bad happened because of you. Go speak to his parents. They need to see you.”

You nodded and walked toward the crowd. People parted to let you through until you stood in front of Jake and Neytiri.

She rushed to you and held you tightly, Jake offering his hand on your head beside her, it just made your emotions tighten more. When she pulled back, concern took over as she asked if you were alright and demanded to know where her son was.

You bit your lip hard. “He… he took an arrow that was meant for me.”

Both of them gasped. Neytiri turned to Jake, worry on her face as the news settled in. She moved in quickly, pulling you into a tight embrace, “Oh greatmother…”

Jake kept a hand on your head, grounding you as he spoke. “I see you, Y/n. I am glad you are back safe.”

You held back your tears as you explained that Neteyam was still being treated, she comforted you, reassuring you that her son is strong and had only done what any warrior would to protect someone he cared for.

You struggled with how calmly they told you to rest, but Jake urged you to do so after everything you had done.

But insisted on going with them to the science lab as you needed to see Neteyam who was now lying on the white mattress, chest wrapped in fresh bandages, no longer in disguise, breathing slowly.

You finally let out a breath you did not know you were holding when Max turned to everyone and spoke. “He will be fine. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s stable now. He just needs rest.”

Kiri reassured you that it was not your fault, explaining that Neteyam had always been the type to put others before himself. Though you were surprised by her words, she acknowledged you sincerely, saying she was glad he has someone worth protecting.

You looked down at the white tiles. “I just keep thinking… what if I had gotten shot instead? That arrow was meant for me anyway. I feel like everything that went wrong out there started because of me.”

Kiri uncrossed her arms and touched your hands. “You survived the Ash people and came back with my brother. Thats more than enough. Stop carrying the whole forest on your back, Y/n. You will collapse.”

After that, Kiri brought you outside for fresh air, away from the lab’s sterile silence. The two of you ended up talking more than you expected, your thoughts slipping into memories of Neteyam and everything that happened in the desert clan.

You didn’t even fully understand when it changed, how you went from avoiding him to trusting him, maybe even relying on him, despite how much you used to find him unbearable for how flawless he seemed.

It has been two weeks already, and Neteyam is yet to wake up, the elders reassured you that he would wake soon. You visited him almost every day, sitting beside his bed and talking about everything happening in the clan while watching his chest rise and fall.

Right now a big dinner gathering was happening down at the camp. You sat with your friends, biting into the skewered meat.

The three of them were talking about something, but your mind kept drifting back to the cave and the battle.

“—y/n?”

You flinched when Kiri said your name. You looked up at her, confused. “huh?”

Peyrral grinned and leaned forward. “She said she is pregnant and wants you to be the auntie of her child.”

Your eyes widened. “What?!”

Vetxo pinched your waist hard. “She is joking! What the hell, Y/n? Why were you not listening?”

You rubbed the spot she pinched and rolled your eyes. “I was just thinking!” The three of them groaned at the same time. You sighed. “‘Kay. What is it?”

“The courting moon is around the corner. Do you have any plans?”

You raised an eyebrow and pointed at yourself. “Me? Plans? No man ever has two balls to approach a beauty like me.” You flipped your hair.

Vet’xo crossed her arms and smirked. “Really? No man?”

“No man.”

“Then what do you call Neteyam?”

Your ears heated up instantly. You remembered the confession he gave you while bleeding on the ground, how he said he wanted you as his Tsahik, as his mate, how he wanted a future with you.

You quickly cover your ears with your hands, knowing they turn purple when you blush. “What are you guys grinning for?!”

Peyrral looked away while Vet’xo kept smirking. Even Kiri looked interested. She leaned closer, “Do you like my big brother, Y/n?”

You shook Kiri, denying it, and dismissed your other friends, which immediately triggered Peyrral to call you out, offended as a joke by how you labeled them after everything they had done for you.

“Whoever gets hit will be hit.”

“You’re just deflecting, y/n!” Peyrral pointed at you while you got your arms crossed.

And they were right, you actually had no plans for the courting moon, never needing to prepare since attention always came to you naturally, which as it should. The weavers though still offered to dress you for the occasion, so you had no choice but to join. The event itself centered on admiration, where people presented handcrafted offerings as expressions of genuine affection.

It was nothing new.

And yet for some reasons, you found yourself thinking about it…

It wasnt long before you were back to teaching the young children again. You rolled your eyes with a grin when one of the boys started showing off his dance moves for you.

“Alright, wrap it up, Ao’kurr,” you said as you stood up from the rock and clapped your hands. “Everyone, break is over. Get back to stance number three. We will fix each of your positions today.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look strict. The kids just giggled at your face. “ExCUSE me? What are you all laughing for? I said stance number three!”

One of the children pointed behind you excitedly. “Look, lady Y/n!” You turned around fast and your heart dropped. Neteyam stood there, looking at you with a small smile on his face.

He was finally awake…

“You’re still teaching them that old stance? I thought you were a fast teacher,” he teased, chuckling.

“Ne… teyam?” you said, voice barely above a whisper. You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling too wide and slowly walked toward him, making sure this moment was real. “You are… you’re back.”

“I am.”

You couldn’t stop staring into his golden eyes, and he couldn’t stop staring back at you. Both of you were smiling like idiots.

The children started making loud awww sounds and giggling at the two of you. “Does this mean training is dismissed?!” Ao’kurr exclaimed.

You quickly enforced the training routine, threatening to remove them if they refused, which immediately made the kids protest and complain.

The children begged you to let them rest, using Neteyam’s return to sway you, and you nearly gave in to scolding them. But the moment you heard a chuckle behind you, your focus broke, your heart reacting before you could stop it.

You slowly looked back at him. “Cmon, teacher Y/n… the kids are right,” he said with a grin. You pouted, glaring, and crossed your arms. “Neteyam, do not baby them.”

“I am not babying anyone. I just woke up from my long nap. I want to be alone with you.”

Your ears turned purple so fast that you didn’t have enough time to cover them with your hands, and heat rushed up your neck, but Neteyam stayed calm, still smiling at you.

“Whatever. Fine. A short break for yall,” you mumbled. The children cheered even louder and ran to hug both of you at the same time.

When the kids ran on their own, you walked side by side with Neteyam through the forest. Your hands were clasped behind your back while his right hand rested gently on his freshly bandaged chest. His left hand moved as he spoke about what it felt like during the long weeks he was unconscious.

You walked slowly, matching his pace. He was not yet at full strength after being unconscious for so long, his body still recovering from the blood loss—his circulation slowly stabilizing, oxygen flow returning to his brain and muscles as his nerves and strength gradually came back.

It felt strange hearing his voice again after so many days of that deafening silence.

You didn’t even wanna admit it, but you had really missed him. The thought made your cheeks turn a darker shade of blue, you even tried to hide it by looking straight ahead.

“Y/n?”

You turned to him. “Yes?!” Your eyes widened before you looked away again, unable to hold his golden gaze for long, because every time you did, you would remember his confession when he was bleeding.

He scratched the back of his neck, looking a little worried. “I apologize. Do you… not want to be alone with me right now?”

You shook your head fast. “No! I mean… no. I don’t mind. I don’t really care.” You crossed your arms and turned your face away.

Neteyam chuckled at your reaction. You glanced back up at him. “What?”

“I just cannot believe I didn’t get to see you for weeks.”

You felt heat rising up your neck again. “I mean… I would wonder the same if I didn’t see a beauty like me for two weeks,” you said, rolling your eyes.

You tried to keep your distance by reminding him you wouldnt give up your position just because of what he did, but he responded saying he didn’t expect anything and was simply happy to be with you, leaving you groaning.

The two of you kept walking until you reached the Veil Pool inside the hidden cave. You stepped in slowly, letting the water reach above your knees while it barely touched Neteyam’s calves.

You grinned at him when he said something he usually would say before. “The two weeks of sleep didn’t change you at all?”

“I never changed, Y/n. I am still the same. Like the old me, I still think you are as beautiful as the moon.”

Your heart skipped as he reached out and touched your forearm, giving you time to pull away if you wanted.

“Liar…” you muttered.

“What’s there to lie about?”

You moved your hand and touched his right bicep without thinking. “Everything. About me being beautiful as the moon or whatever.”

Neteyam caressed your hand. “You are, though. You’re the most extraordinary girl i’ve ever known, as bright as the sun and more luminous than the moon itself. You’ve been the light guiding me forward.”

You bit your lip and looked away before turning back to him. “If that’s true… if you really find me beautiful, Neteyam…” He waited, watching you closely. “Then why haven’t youtouched my butt yet?”

Silence filled the air.

Neteyam blinked, caught off guard by what you just said. “Say that again?” He leaned forward a little, thinking he heard you wrong.

“I said, if you find me beautiful like you claim, how come you haven’t touched my ass?” Neteyam pulled back, eyes wide. “Why would I… do that?”

You pouted and crossed your arms. “Ikeyni told me that if someone truly finds me beautiful, they would touch my butt. Maybe even slap it, or squeeze it.”

Neteyam stared at you. “She said that?!”

“Yes, she did!”

“Why would she say that…” Neteyam’s voice trailed off as he scratched his head. He couldn’t meet your eyes, trying to push away whatever image just popped into his mind.

After all, he was no better than any other man when it came to you.

You shrugged. “It’s whatever. People were exaggerating anyway. now that I think about it, it’s really ridiculous. There are other girls who are far more—”

You stopped talking the moment his hands rested on your waist. You looked up at him and saw him gulp hard.

His big palms slowly slid down to your hips, paused for a second as he took a deep breath, then continued lower until both hands settled firmly on your ass.

The closeness made you grin. You felt his hands palming your ass perfectly, like they belonged there.

However, to you, it simply meant he really found you beautiful, admitting to it.

But to him… Oh, you don’t even ask.

“I knew it,” you mumbled, looking up at him with a smirk. You rested your hands on his forearms before wrapping your arms around his neck.

Neteyam’s voice came out shaky. “Y-you like that?”

“Of course I do, Neteyam. I like it very much.” You smiled and rested your head against his chest.

He muttered, “That’s… good to know,” His hands stayed on your ass, unsure what to do next.

“You wanna squeeze it?”

Neteyam’s eyes widened. Before he could say anything—

“Woah…”

You and Neteyam turned your heads at the same time. Peyrral and Vetxo were standing there watching.

Vetxo slowly covered her eyes with her palm. The second Neteyam realized they saw everything, he snatched his hands off you.

You looked at him suspiciously before turning back to your friends. “What’s up?”

Peyrral scoffed before crossing her arms and glared mostly at Neteyam. “‘wHat’s uP?’ Seriously? What’s UP, y/n?”

You crossed your arms too, copying her stance. “Yeah, what’s up?” you repeated sassily, not taking her attitude.

Neteyam facepalmed and covered his mouth with his hand. Vetxo peeked through her fingers. “Are they done, Pey?”

“Oh, they should be!”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “Why are you covering your eyes, Vet?” She lowered her hand and looked straight at Neteyam. “Ask him.”

You turned to Neteyam, who was now looking away like the cave walls were suddenly very intriguing. “What happened, Neteyam?”

He cleared his throat and waved his hands. “I swear it’s not what it looks like!”

Peyrral hissed. “It should NOT be what it looks like, Neteyam.”

You raised both arms in confusion. “What?? What does what look like?!”

Vetxo walked over and grabbed your wrist. “Yknow what, Y/n? Come with me. The Olo’eyktan is looking for you.” She started dragging you toward the entrance. You looked back at Neteyam and Peyrral. “What about them?”

Peyrral answered without breaking eye contact with him. “We’ll be there.” You frowned as Vetxo pulled you away.

You sat with Vetxo by the campfire, with some children toasting over it. After hitting her harshly earlier for her joke about the Olo’eyktan calling for you when in fact not, you settled back on your hands.

Your attention drifted when you heard footsteps approaching from your left, and you glanced over just in time to see Neteyam and Peyrral returning together.

Peyrral wore her usual grumpy expression, arms tense at her sides, while Neteyam was frowning, his brows drawn slightly together.

You raised an eyebrow at the sight, watching them for a moment before looking away as they drew near, stealing a glance at Neteyam, who didn’t even bother to look back at you.

-

A few sleeps remained until the courting moon began within the clan, and the village was already shifting into preparation. Decorations were being hung across the walkways, woven details and small offerings to show appreciation among the people.

You had just returned from flying, spending the day with Seya and letting the wind settle both of your thoughts. Jake had finally allowed Seya and Teyu to be together again, now that she was no longer in that irritable phase.

You two stayed high up in the mountains with her, watching the sunset while rubbing a cooling herb on her belly that you prepared on the spot. Her skin had been itching, and it also helped calm her mood for the day.

“Lady Y/n, you are finally back.” One of the elders grabbed your forearm gently after you finished caressing Seya’s snout and pulled you toward her stall.

“I am, Elder Kxara. Did something happen while I was gone?” you asked, letting her guide you in the crowd.

She informed you that her stall would be among the first offerings, now presenting meat prepared by her husband instead of her usual weavings like the other moons, her grip on your forearm tightening slightly as she awaited your reaction.

“Alright then, I’ll buy the most expensive one!” you said, flipping your hair. Kxara gasped. “Lady Y/n, are you sure? This one is quite big and expensive!”

You rolled your eyes at her. “Just give it to me, woman!” She giggled and went behind her stall to prepare the finest seasoned yerik meat.

“Here! It has been seasoned with my love… may it sit well with you.” She placed the meat on the table.

You grinned and reached down to your loincloth for your pouch. And before you could pay, a hand stopped you.

You looked up and saw Neteyam. “Here,” he said, paying for the meat with his own offering and smiling at the elder.

“Lord Neteyam!” Kxara beamed.

“Hey,” You pouted up at him. “That was supposed to be mine!” Neteyam grinned down at you. “It’s all yours, lady Y/n. Let it be my treat for today.” He emphasized the title.

You crossed your arms. “And what does the mighty warrior, Lord Neteyam, owe this little ol’ me for?” You leaned in closer as he did the same. “Because… you took Teyu’s mate out for a ride?”

You put your hands on your hips. “That was just our little date since your pervert bird stole her from me.”

“Well for what, I have no need for a reason when it comes to honoring someone as faultless as you, Lady Y/n,” he said as he pressed a kiss to the back of your palm, earning an immediate eye roll from you.

“Why, thank you, Lord Neteyam.”

“Jt’s always my pleasure, Lady Y/n.

The two of you walked along the stalls, stopping to look over different offerings as you occasionally had Neteyam pick up this and that for you.

You were smiling more than usual throughout the day, and although social interaction normally drained you quickly, being with him felt different like it kept your energy recharged.

Neteyam noticed it too, not just the way your energy stayed unusually full but how you would subtly roll your shoulders and gently crack your neck often.

So he did what he had to do.

He carried all the things he bought for you as you dragged him back to your kelku. It was already getting dark, but the first day of the offering stalls made the camp busier. You pushed the curtain open and stepped inside.

“My father is on patrol tonight. He will be back tomorrow. Just put everything on the ground,” you ordered, stretching your arms. You turned to him and smiled. “Thank you for today. I strangely had fun with you, my lord.”

Neteyam set the items down carefully and smiled back. “Of course, my lady . It was nothing.”

You shook your head. “It was not nothing, Neteyam… After everything that happened, I should be the one treating you.”

He stepped closer and fixed a strand of hair that fell over your ear. “I wanted this, Y/n. I wanted to spend time with you.”

You bit your lip and looked away for a second before squeezing his biceps. “If you wanted to, we could have done it without you emptying your pouch.”

He chuckled softly. “I wanted to do it. I approached the stall and paid for the meat myself, right?”

You rolled your eyes but could not hide your smile. “Yeah… well, what can I do for you in return?”

Neteyam shook his head. “There is nothing I want in return. Although… I would really appreciate it if you let me take care of your body tonight.”

Your eyes widened. “W-what?”

“Let me massage you. I noticed you cracking your bones while we were walking. You must be exhausted after flying with Seya all day.” He held your hand gently.

“Oh…” You looked away, cheeks warming.

“Why?”

“Well, you do not have to, Neteyam. I am perfectly fine—”

He cut you off. “I insist, Y/n. Please, let me help.”

You rolled your eyes but pushed the curtain to open your sleeping area. “Fineee. My herbs are in the jars in the kitchen. Take some.”

You started removing your heavy accessories and when he came back, he began to take off his cummerbund and arm guards as well.

He noticed you struggling with the top piece because the pebbles on the band got tangled. “Do you need help?”

You turned to him and pointed at the mess. “I just realized how heavy this is…” you groaned, cracking your neck again.

Neteyam helped you remove the accessories and set them aside with his own things. He sat on your soft mattress and patted the space in front of him. You sat between his legs with your back facing him.

He moved all your hair to your left shoulder. “When are you gonna get your hair braided again?” he asked while opening the jar of herbs.

“Probably tomorrow. Peyrral and Vetxo usually do it for me. The braids from the disguise still hurt my scalp. It’s too sensitive.”

You closed your eyes and sighed when he applied the cooling herb on your back. The sensation felt really good.

His hands moved slowly from your neck to your shoulders, pressing with the right amount of strength. You whimpered when he worked on a particularly sore spot.

“How does that feel?” he whispered close to your ear. You hummed, almost melting under his touch. “Really good… don’t stop.”

Neteyam’s hands worked slowly down your back, pressing into the tight muscles. His thumbs circled along your spine, easing the knots you did not even realize were there.

“You’re really tense here,” he murmured close to your ear. His breath brushed against your skin, sending small shivers down your spine. “Relax for me, Y/n.”

You hummed in response, eyes half-lidded. His hands felt warm and strong, sliding lower until they rested just above your hips. You shifted, pressing back against his touch. “That feels good, ‘teyam…” you whispered.

Neteyam let out a hum and continued, his palms gliding over your lower back again with more pressure, thumbs digging in.

The air in the kelku felt thicker now. His fingers occasionally brushed the sides of your waist. You bit your lip wheneber his hands moved to your thighs, kneading it before sliding up once more.

His hand moved to massage your stomach, before his fingers slowly moved upward to your chest, gently massaging your breasts, making you lean back against him.

You turned your head slightly, looking at him over your shoulder. “Keep doing that…”

Neteyam’s hands stilled for a second before he leaned in closer, lips brushing the back of your shoulder as he continued the massage.

He massaged the edges of your breast gently, making sure not to apply too much pressure; he knew it could hurt you badly, and that was the last thing he wanted. Instead, he had you biting your lip when his fingers that were cold from the herbs, pressed against your nipples.

His touch became slower, every press of his fingers sent warmth spreading through you. You could feel his breathing getting heavier against your skin as his hands explored the curve of your waist and thighs.

“Neteyam…”

He kept pressing a kiss on your cheeks before pulling back. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

“No, don’t stop…” you whined, grabbing his hands and placing them on your inner thighs. “It aches here too.”

“Yeah, baby?” he whispered, squeezing and massaging your thighs painfully slow. His other hand moved to your knee, gently opening your legs further apart. You rested your head back on his shoulder, breathing heavier. “Mhm… ‘Teyam.”

Your fingers dug into his biceps, nails scratching against his skin as the pleasure built. His hand suddenly brushed against your loincloth, making you hiss softly.

You kept whimpering, hips moving. “Just relax. You don’t have to move,” he murmured against your ear.

He reached for the ties of your loincloth and started untying it. You helped him remove it completely, letting it fall aside. You grabbed his hand again and placed it back between your thighs, right where you needed him most. Both of you were breathing hard now, hearts racing.

“Please… Neteyam,” you begged, not even sure what you were asking for. He kissed along your neck. “Hm? Please what?” His fingers slid along the sides of your aching core, rubbing up and down slowly to ease the ache.

“Touch me…” You moaned louder and spread your legs more for him. One hand stayed gripping his biceps while the other held onto his knee.

“Are you sure?” He said, searching your face as you swallowed, tightening your grip. “I am. just… go slow. If it’s too much, I’ll tell you.”

“Say stop and I stop, okay?”

“Mhm… I trust you.”

He then finally touched your pussy directly, massaging gently before pulling away instantly. You whined at the loss.

Neteyam opened the jar again, added more herbs to his fingers, and applied them back to your inner thighs. He slid his fingers over your pussy once more, rubbing slow circles on your clit. You guided his forearm with your hand, showing him exactly how you wanted it.

You tilted your head more, giving him better access to your neck. He breathed in your scent deeply while continuing those steady circles, making your hips move against his fingers.

He kept rubbing slow circles on your clit with his herb-slick fingers, pressing just enough to make your hips twitch. “That’s it, y/n… feel how wet you are already?” he whispered against your neck, voice deep.

You moaned and pushed back against his hand, needing more. He slid one finger down and slowly pushed it inside you, curling it. “So tight… just breathe for me, okay? Let me take care of you.”

It was inevitable to not whimper and grip his forearm tighter when his fingers kept hitting the right spots, you couldn’t help but roll your hips in circle against his finger that went in and out painfully slowly.

Neteyam added a second finger, stretching you good while his thumb kept rubbing your clit. “Good girl… look at your pussy taking my fingers so well,” he praised, sucking on the side of your neck. “You feel so good around it, baby. So warm and wet. Wish you could feel it…”

He kept the pace slow, pumping his fingers deeper while whispering in your ear. “Mhm… move your hips just like that. Show me how much you like it.”

You whimpered louder, legs shaking as the pleasure built higher. Right when you felt yourself getting close, he slowed down and pulled his fingers out.

You whined desperately, trying to chase his hand. “N-Neteyam, c’mon…”

“Not yet, baby. I want to hear you beg a little more.” He chuckled and applied more of the herbs to your inner thighs before driving his fingers deep inside you once again. When he curled them against that specific spot, a gasp escaped your lips.

“‘teyam… please, I need it…” you begged, voice shaking. He kissed your shoulder and kept moving his fingers at that same torturing slow pace. “I know you do, pretty girl. But you’re going to be good and wait for it, right? I want you to feel everything.”

He kept edging you like that bringing you close again and again before slowing down, praising you the whole time. “So cute when you moan like that.”

His other hand stayed on your thigh, holding you open while he worked you with his fingers. You were trembling, breathing hard, completely lost in his touch. “Please… I can’t—”

He licked the spot under your ear and whispered hotly against it, “Yes you can, baby. Just a little longer, alright?”

Neteyam pulled his fingers out slowly and kissed your cheeks. “Turn over for me, please. Lay on your stomach.” You obeyed and laid down on the mattress, face turned to the side.

He began pouring more herb onto your back and started massaging it with his heavy hands. His palms moved from your shoulders down to your hips, pressing and sliding smoothly on your skin.

You whined loudly and unconsciously lifted your ass toward him. He noticed immediately and poured more herb onto your ass, massaging it thoroughly with both hands.

You spread your legs a little more and lifted it without thinking, showing him everything. Neteyam groaned and slid his hand between your thighs again. He pushed two fingers back inside you, moving them while his other hand kept kneading your ass.

“That’s it, baby… let me hear you,” he murmured, voice rough. “You’re so wet for me. So good.” You moaned and whimpered continuously, hips moving back against his fingers.

“Good, just like that. You take my fingers so well… letting it slide faster from your wetness. You like it that much?”

“F-fuck, Mhm.. Neteyam..!”

He curled his fingers inside you and sped up a little, hitting that spot over and over. You were trembling hard, begging between moans. “Neteyam… please… I’m so close…”

“Come for me then.”

And so you did, your orgasm hit you hard. You cried out his name, body shaking as you clenched around his fingers.

Neteyam didnt stop though. He kept moving his fingers through your orgasm, drawing it out longer. “Good girl… keep going. You look so pretty when you cum.”

You tried to close your legs but he held them open gently. “Too much… ‘Teyam…” you whimpered, still sensitive.

He kissed your shoulder again. “Just a little more, baby. You can take it, right? Trust me…” He kept fingering you, thumb rubbing your clit, pushing you straight into overstimulation. You moaned loudly, body twitching under him. “Damn it…”

“You’re doing so well, baby. One more for me, yes?”

Neteyam kept moving his fingers faster after your first orgasm, not giving you any break. His thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit while his fingers curled deep inside you.

It wasn’t sooner when you came again with a loud moan, body shaking uncontrollably under him. Even after your second orgasm, his fingers didn’t stop. He kept pumping them faster, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You grabbed his forearm and flipped yourself onto your back, breathing hard. “N-Neteyam… I… fuck, stop—” you panted, chest rising and falling rapidly. He finally slowed down and pulled his fingers out.

Neteyam licked his wet fingers clean while looking at you. “I’m sorry… Are you okay, baby?”

You caught your breath and gave him a small smile. “More than okay…” Neteyam leaned down and pressed gentle kisses on your cheeks, then your forehead. “Stay here. I’ll grab you some water.”

He stood up and went to the kitchen area, coming back with a wooden cup filled with water. You sat up slowly, still trying to process everything.

The massage had turned into something much more intense. You could’ve expected a day where you took your last breath, but you definitely didn’t expect it to end with his fingers inside you instead, and you were not complaining at all.

Neteyam sat beside you again and handed you the wooden cup. “Drink slowly,” he said. You took a sip, still feeling the aftershocks running through your body.

The next day, you woke up in a good mood. You chose your lightest feather accessories this time, the ones that complimented your skin perfectly. You felt light as you danced while walking along the stalls, greeting the people who bowed at you.

Your steps halted when you spotted Neteyam and Peyrral talking in the corner. Peyrral had her arms crossed tightly, glaring up at him. Neteyam looked flushed, ears pinned back as he listened to her, nodding.

You rolled your eyes without thinking. A strange feeling settled in your chest. Instead of walking toward them, you changed direction and headed toward the river for a swim.

You kept glancing back at them as you walked away. Peyrral looked serious, saying something while pointing at Neteyam’s chest. He rubbed the back of his neck, blushing.

The sight made your stomach twist a little.

You turned away completely and continued walking. cursing under your breath. You didn’t wanna think why your best friend always seemed to pull Neteyam aside for private talks lately.

But you refused to think of Peyrral that way as you would never let a man come between a friendship you valued very much.

Unfortunately, the planet seemed to have other plans. No matter how much you tried to keep your thoughts clear, only a few hours later you found them together again, assisting the elders as they carried out offerings for the third day.

They walked beside the elder, engaged in a conversation as she smiled up at them, and your left eye twitched at the sight again, not to mention you had barely spoken to anyone since yesterday, choosing instead to keep yourself busy.

By the sixth day, with only one day left before the courting moon began, you had successfully avoided most interactions within the clan. Whenever contact happened, you quickly found excuses to leave, slipping away before anything could linger.

You tried not to dwell on your thoughts too much, telling yourself it gave you more time with Seya, where you could relax, rub her belly, and lean into her warmth.

Right now, you were sitting on the forest floor, chewing on a cannonball fruit, or Rumaut as the locals called it, after dropping one you had climbed high into a tree to get, considering it was usually your father cracking it for you.

Your ears twitched when you heard footsteps approaching from behind. You glanced over your right shoulder and saw Neteyam walking slowly toward you. “Hey.”

You mumbled a hi before turning back to your food, ignoring him. “May I sit here?”

“Do whatever you want,” you replied, licking the sweet juice from your fingers as he sat down near you, leaving some space.

Neteyam held out a neatly wrapped food in an edible leaf. “Here.” You looked at the offering, then glared at his face before looking away again.

“Keep it, Neteyam.”

He pulled the food back and stared at it. “...I made this with the cooks today. They wanted to see if I still remembered everything they taught me during our punishment.”

“You must have done it with Peyrral,” Your eye twitched as you mentioned her out of nowhere, unsure why it came out like that, though you meant no harm.

Neteyam frowned, looking genuinely confused. “Why would I do it with her? She’s not even a cook.”

“How would you know? She is a great cook. She would make a good housewife too. Think about it.”

He looked even more lost. “I meant that she was not with the cooks during our punishment… Why are you telling me this? Is everything okay?”

“All’s fine.”

“What about us? Are we?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

Neteyam lowered his head. “You’ve… barely talked to me lately. I don’t know if I did something wrong… or if it’s because of what happened before. If you didn’t want that, I’m—”

“Are you having an affair with me?”

Neteyam looked at you with eyes widened. “Pardon?”

You turned your whole body toward him. “I said, are you cheating on someone with me?”

Neteyam looked offended, “What? Who would I even—”

You kept pushing. “Do you like Peyrral?”

Neteyam straightened his back and let out a sigh, “First of all, you’re not an affair to me, Y/n. I would never dishonor anyone in that way. Second, I’m not with anyone else, and I’m not cheating on anyone with you. And I do not have feelings for Peyrral. I have feelings for you… I told you that already, didn’t I? There is no one else.”

You gulped. “Do not lie to me, Neteyam.” He looked straight into your eyes. “I am not lying, Y/n.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then what were you two talking about at the Veil Pool?”

He tried to recall what had happened at the cave that day, realizing you were referring to the moment Vetxo pulled you outside while Peyrral spoke to him alone.

Back at the cave, she watched him scratch his neck awkwardly, he even tried to walk past her toward the entrance, but she quickly grabbed his ear. “Ow!”

Peyrral accused him of inappropriate behavior and refused to believe his attempts to explain, while defending her best friend.

“Let me explain—”

Peyrral continued interrogating Neteyam, convinced he had brought you to the Veil Pool for suspicious reasons and refusing to accept any excuses. Neteyam repeatedly denied her accusations, insisting he had no bad intentions and desperately trying to convince her to believe him.

Peyrral crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You better start explaining properly then, golden son. Because from what I saw, you looked exactly like those guys who only want one thing from her, and you know what that is.”

Neteyam admitted that you had asked him to prove that he genuinely found you beautiful by touching your ass, explaining that he went along with it because he didn’t want you to think he had been lying.

Peyrral groaned and rubbed her face with both hands. “That stupid girl…” She pinched Neteyam’s arm hard. “And you! You knew better than to agree to something like that!”

He admitted that he shouldve explained things better and apologized, but she still struck his chest above his bandage, warning him not to take advantage of you or she would make him regret it.

You were at a loss for words as he explained what had happened after you left them alone. You cleared your throat and spoke again, forcing yourself to continue, “What about the day after you… after our night? I saw you two talking in the corner.”

He immediately understood what you meant, clearly remembering the awkward and embarrassing details from that conversation with Peyrral.

Neteyam was helping an old man carry heavy offerings to the stalls, smiling politely at everyone. His smile faded the moment he saw Peyrral standing in the corner, arms crossed, nodding her head to the side, clearly demanding he come over. He excused himself from the elder and walked toward her.

Peyrral immediately confronted him, making it clear she already knew about what had happened to the two of you, while Neteyam tried to explain himself.

She sighed loudly and cut him off. “The courting moon hasn’t even begun… and yet someone already forgot where his hands are meant to stay.”

Neteyam tried to explain that everything had happened with your permission and that he genuinely cared about you, but Peyrral cut him off before he could finish.

Peyrral hit his chest with the back of her hand. “I went to her kelku yesterday to bring the meal she asked for. Instead I heard her moaning your name like that. Let me guess, she’s no longer a virgin now, is she?!”

Neteyam blushed deeply, face turning purple. He reassured her that nothing more had happened and that he had respected your boundaries the entire time.

“Listen to me very carefully, boy. If you ever leave her crying, I will personally walk into your family’s kelku at night, take the sharpest dagger I own, find the exact hole where that arrow went into your chest, and push the blade deep inside it until your blood runs down your body again. You understand?”

“What about when you two were helping at the stalls?” you asked, still not fully convinced. “She pulled me aside again to scold me, but an elder came and asked for our help with the heavy baskets.”

You frowned and continued. “I also saw you with her and Vetxo in the forest that day. Peyrral had her hand on your hair while Vetxo was laughing at both of you. What was that all about?”

Neteyam rubbed the back of his neck, ears turning slightly purple. “They cornered me before I could go hunting. Vetxo asked what my plans were for the courting moon. I mentioned that I’ll court you seriously… Peyrral hit my head and warned me not to court you with just pleasure. Vetxo laughed at how purple my face got.”

“and what about the time she was looking at your songcord?” you crossed your arms, finally pulling out every moment you had seen them together.

“She was talking about how I would need to add a piece of you into my songcord one day, because I want you as my mate.”

You went quiet and looked down at your lap, frowning. You felt stupid for accusing both Neteyam and your best friend when in reality she was only trying to protect you, while he had been defending himself this whole time just to prove how zerious he was about you.

He lifted your chin so you would look at him. He leaned in, hesitated for a second, then pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes while his hand stayed on your cheek and the other held your hand on your lap.

“Y/n, I promise you there’s nothing between me and her. She only talks to me to warn me and make sure I do not hurt you. That is all it has ever been. I apologize for how it looked like.”

You looked away, “No, I’m sorry…”

Neteyam kissed your forehead. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m willing to talk about everything.”

You kept your gaze down. “Just take my apology…”

He smiled. “It’s alright. Although I fail to understand why you would think that way about me and her when she already has someone else.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What? No she does not.”

Neteyam raised an eyebrow at you. “What do you mean? She and Vetxo are together.”

Your eyes widened. “What?! No, they are not!”

Neteyam looked surprised by your reaction. “Uhh… they are, Y/n…”

“How? Did they tell you?” you asked, still in disbelief. Neteyam scratched the back of his neck. “Not exactly… but Vetxo made a joke once. She said that if I got to remove your… umm innocence before she got to remove Peyrral’s, she would actually ride a nantang…”

Your jaw dropped. “What…”

-

Neteyam hovered over you on the soft grass, his body warm against yours. He licked your earlobe slowly, making you whimper and rub your thighs together. The conversation had quickly turned into this after mentioning the night before, and you were already aching for one another.

He moved down to your neck, licking your skin before reaching your collarbone. You lifted your accesories, exposing your breasts. Neteyam immediately replaced your hand with his tongue, rolling it around your nipple while his fingers played with the other one.

“Oh… Neteyam, I missed this,” you moaned, throwing your head back. He hummed against your skin and switched sides, sucking harder on your other nipple.

His free hand grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his hip, pressing his hard cock against your loincloth.

You wrapped both legs around him and pulled him closer to your core, pushing his face into your chest. He started grinding slowy, humping you through your loincloths. You could feel every inch of his hardness rubbing against your throbbing pussy, the fabric the only thing stopping him from entering you.

“Fuck, baby… you feel how hard you make me?” he groaned against your neck. “All this for you. Just from touching you.” He kept rolling his hips, pressing his cock right against your clit with every thrust.

You moaned louder, matching his movements desperately. He sucked harder on your neck, right on that sensitive spot that always made you loud.

“You like when I grind on your little pussy like this?” You whimpered and nodded, nails digging into his shoulders.

Neteyam suddenly pulled back, making you hiss in frustration. He lifted both your loincloths at the same time, exposing your wet pussy. He groaned at the sight and wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it while his other hand went between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit.

You grabbed fistfuls of grass, needing something to hold onto. He teased his tip against your folds, sliding it up and down your pussy without pushing inside. “Look at you… so wet and needy for me.”

He kept rubbing his thick cock along your slit, pressing the head against your clit before sliding back down to tease you.

The risk of someone walking by in the forest only made everything hotter as you were whimpering and begging loud, hips chasing his cock.

“Please, Neteyam…” you moaned. He leaned down and gave your forehead a kiss before moving lower. He spread your legs wider and kissed your inner skin, he didn’t waste time as he buried his face between your thighs, licking your pussy hungrily.

“T-Taste so fucking good, baby,” he whimpered, sucking on your clit while teasing your hole and pushing two fingers inside you, remembering how it gsve you so much pleasure.

He ate you out like he was starving, tongue and fingers working together perfectly. Every time you got close he slowed down, edging you again and again. “Hold it for me…”

You shook your head, telling him you couldn’t because you were feeling too horny, and he simply nodded against your core, letting you go. When he finally let you cum, you cried out loudly, you were shaking, moaning his name over and over, thighs squeezing around his head.

But he didn’t stop there though, he kept licking you through your orgasm, “One more, baby? Give me one more, pleasee…”

Neteyam pushed your legs wider apart and kept sucking. He sucked on your pussy, groaning against your wet folds. Moving faster, swirling his tongue around your clit before pushing it inside you, tasting every drop you could give him.

“Fuck… baby,” he groaned, voice muffled. He sucked harder on your clit, eyes half-lidded when your juices coated his tongue. “I could eat this pussy all day…”

You moaned loudly, hips jerking against his face, hands pulling his hair. He held your thighs down and kept devouring you.

It wasnt long before another yet orgasm hit you hard. Your whole body shook as you came on his tongue, crying out his name.

Neteyam didn’t pull away. He groaned loudly when he felt you cum, eyes rolling back again as he drank every drop. “That’s it… give it to me.”

He kept licking through your orgasm, pushing two fingers back inside you while sucking on your clit. You were shaking, trying to close your legs but he held them open. “Neteyam…—” you whimpered.

He looked up at you, lips shiny with your wetness. “One more, baby. Just one more. Please, I need it. Let me taste you again.”

He dove back in even hungrier, tongue flicking fast on your sensitive clit while his fingers curled deep inside you. You were sensitive, your pussy kept throbbing, coming again within seconds, thighs trembling around his head, pulling harder on his hair.

You didn’t know what to do; you were shaking so hard from the pleasure he was giving you. You kept pushing his head away from your pussy, even as your hips involuntarily chased his tongue.

Neteyam moaned as if he were the one feeling the pleasure. He thrust his hips against the grass, desperate for any kind of friction, his eyes rolling back as he licked you through it, completely refusing to stop.

You were gasping, tears in your eyes from the pleasure. “Neteyam… stop, I can’t—”

When he heard the word he finally slowed down but still licked you, cleaning you up with soft strokes of his tongue, pulling away with a kiss on your pussy.

“Kiss me…” you demanded as he crawled up your body and kissed your lips, fighting with your tongue, letting you taste yourself on his.

You felt him smile against your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile back. You bit his bottom lip gently before deepening the kiss, holding his jaw as your tongue fought for dominance. Neteyam lets you take control, groaning into your mouth.

Before you could wrap your arms around his neck, he suddenly pulled away and sat up. His ears twitched as he looked toward the trees. You turned your head too, hearing your friend’s voice calling your name from somewhere in the forest.

“‘teyam?” you whispered, still breathing hard. He placed a finger on your lips, eyes scanning the area.

He looked back at you and pressed a soft peck on your cheek, then on your lips. He gently pulled your top and loincloth back into place, covering your body. The forest air felt cool against your flushed skin as you tried to catch your breath.

Neteyam reached for a nearby flask of fresh river water and used a soft damp cloth to gently pat your sensitive pussy and inner thighs, you shivered from the cool touch. He set the cloth aside and laid down beside you on the grass, facing you while resting his head on his palm.

His fingers tangled in your hair, stroking the top of your head until your racing heart started to calm down. You could hear his own heart beating even faster than yours. When you looked up at him, his cheeks were flushed a deep purple.

“Why?” you whispered. He looked away, clearly embarrassed. His hand moved from your hair down to your waist. “Nothing…”

The voices of your friends calling for you had faded away as they must’ve gone somewhere else. You noticed Neteyam was still breathing hard.

That was when you realized you had cum multiple times, but he had not.

You sat up on your elbow and looked straight at him. “Do you want me to suck you off?”

Neteyam’s eyes widened and he shifted his legs. “No, y/n. It’is alright.”

You frowned and sat up fully. “It’s fine by me. I want to do it.”

He sat up too and held your hands that were reaching for his thighs. “Yeah but you’re exhausted. I swear it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.”

You glared at him with a pout. “Neteyam…”

He looked flushed again. “Baby… it’s alright, trust me. Maybe next time.” You tried to argue but he leaned in and pecked your lips. “Let us head back to the village.”

Neteyam knew he would have to deal with his throbbing cock and the visible bulge in his loincloth later when he was alone. Just like the night he fingered you, he would probably end up jerking off while thinking about you again. It was nothing new for him.

-

The courting moon had begun a few days ago. Neteyam was indeed very serious about courting you, and he made sure everybody in the clan knew it. You finally told your friends everything that happened, especially Peyrral, including all your worries about the situation.

She listened before pulling you into a hug. “Im sorry for making it seem that way. I didn’t want anyone to hurt you.” She glanced at Vetxo, who nodded at her. “And… yes, Vetxo and I are together. Well, she courted me. I haven’t given her an answer before so we didnt mention anything.”

Both of them started babying you like parents for the rest of the day. They stole you away from Neteyam, cornering him earlier so they could have you to themselves. They spoiled you with your favorite fruits, braided your hair nicely, and kept feeding you snacks while laughing together.

You eventually told them more details about what happened between you and Neteyam. How he gave you pleasure with just his fingers and mouth, but refused to let you return the favor every time. Peyrral raised an eyebrow while Vetxo smirked. “He’s really holding back, huh?”

They started telling you more things mates usually do with each other, making you aware. The way they described it made your face burn hot. You kept imagining doing all those things with Neteyam, your mind filled with pictures of his hands, his mouth, and his body on yours.

Peyrral noticed your flushed face and grinned, Vetxo nudged you. “Don’t worry. When you finally mate with him, it will feel even better than what he did with his tongue.”

You covered your ears that were turning deep purple. “Stop it…”

You couldnt stop thinking about Neteyam and everything your friends just told you. The images in your head kept getting more vivid with every passing minute.

That’s why you found yourself pressed against the tree, Neteyam kissing you deeply as his hands roamed your body. You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He was already hard, his cock pressing against you through his loincloth.

He broke the kiss and started moving lower, intending to drop to his knees. “Neteyam…” you moaned, grabbing his hair and stopping him. “No. I want you now.”

He looked up at you with desperate eyes, pouting. “But baby… please. Let me taste you. I need it.”

You shook your head, breathing hard. “I said no. I want you to rail me against this tree right now.”

Neteyam hissed at your words, eyes darkening with lust. He stood up and lifted both of your legs, wrapping them around his hips. “You’re so needy, baby… where did you learn to talk like that?”

He pinned you on it, one hand on your ass while the other braced beside your head. “You want it badly? You want me to stretch this tight little pussy now?” he groaned, grinding his hard length against you.

You whimpered and nodded fast. “Yes… please, baby.”

He moaned at the nickname and pulled your loincloth aside, he rubbed his throbbing cock along your wet folds, teasing your entrance.

“Feel that? Dripping for me desperately.”

You moaned loudly, rolling your hips to chase his tip. “Put it in… damn it.”

Neteyam chuckled, sliding his cock up and down your pussy without pushing inside. “Not yet, baby. I want to hear you beg properly.”

You whined in frustration, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please… I need you inside me. Stop teasing mee.”

“Sorry, baby…” He finally pushed the head of his cock inside you slowly, stretching you open. You gasped at the feeling, legs tightening around him. “Oh… it’s—it’s so tight, baby,” he groaned, eyes rolling back for a second. “Squeezing me so good. Such a perfect pussy for me.”

He kept pushing in deeper, inch by inch, until he bottomed out. Both of you moaned loudly. “Take all of me,” he whispered hotly against your ear. “I’m barely all in, baby…”

Neteyam started thrusting into you, slow and deep. The tree bark scraped lightly against your back with every movement. “You’re so big, ‘teyam…”

You moaned his name over and over, legs locked tight around his waist. He picked up the pace, railing you harder against the tree. “Tell me how much you like it,” he whispered, lightly wrapping his hand around your throat like you had asked before.

“Love it so much, babyyy. Go faster, please..”

He groaned and fucked you just the way you like it, tail wrapping around your thigh to hold you even closer. “Yeah? I love it just as much, baby…”

“You wanna cum, baby? C’mon, let me feel you squeeze me.”

You cried out as the way he spoke so dirty made your orgasm hit you hard, clenching around him. He groaned at how tight you hugged his cock, but he didn’t stop, ensuring to fuck your orgasm through it with more thrusts.

“Fuck, N-Neteyam…!”

He fucked you harder against the tree, thrusting deep and fast into your tight walls. His hips snapped forward with every stroke, arching your back.

You were moaning uncontrollably, tail curling in pleasure, matching his pace by thrusting your hips back to meet every of his thrusts, letting his cock keep hitting that perfect spot inside you.

“baby… don’t squeeze me so tight,” he groaned, kissing you messily, tongue sliding against yours as he pounded into you. You whimpered into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders. He pulled back just enough to look at your face, breathing hard. “Where do you want it, Y/n? Tell me.”

You moaned loudly, legs locked tighter around his waist. “Deep… deep inside me…” You kept thrusting back against him desperately, chasing that spot that made your eyes roll. “Please… fill me up. I need it so bad.”

Neteyam growled and kissed you again, harder this time, biting your lip as he railed you even faster, “Going to fill this pussy until it leaks out, may I do that?”

You were losing control, just nodding to whatever he was saying, saying nothing but his name, while thrusting your hips to meet his pace. Every thrust made wet sounds echo in the forest, and the thought of someone hearing you only made you wetter.

Neteyam was just as desperate, groaning loudly against your neck as he fucked you senseless.

“Neteyam… I’m close again—” you cried out, clenching hard around his cock. He kept slamming into you, hitting that spot perfectly every time. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel it please.”

You came hard with a loud moan, body shaking violently as your walls pulsed around him. Neteyam groaned deeply, thrusting a few more times before burying himself as deep as possible. “Fuck… taking all of it, baby.”

Neteyam thrust deep into you one last time and came hard, groaning loudly against your neck as he filled you up. His thighs shook from the intensity, almost collapsing, but he held his ground, arms wrapped tightly around you so he would not drop you. He dropped his head onto your shoulder, breathing heavily while still slowly thrusting through both of your orgasms.

You lifted his head gently and pulled him into a deep kiss. He kissed you back, trying to match your energy even though he was still sensitive and dazed, his cock twitching inside you. You went down on your feet, arms still wrapped around his neck as his hands moved down to your waist and then your ass.

His fingers reached lower, rubbing your messy pussy, making you arch your back. You pulled him out of you slowly and watched as his cum leaked out of your pussy, dripping down your thighs. You bit your lip and looked up at him with even more lust in your eyes.

Neteyam was still breathing hard, trying to recover. Before he could say anything, you pulled him down onto the grass and straddled his thighs. He moaned into the kiss when you started grinding your wet pussy along his still-hard cock, rubbing against it while pulling his hair. “Y-y/n… please.”

You pulled away from the kiss and looked down at him. “You like that, baby?” you asked, rolling your hips in slow circles, teasing his sensitive cock. “Does it feel good when I do this?”

Neteyam whimpered, hands gripping your hips. “Yes… fuck…”

You smirked and kept grinding on him, sliding your soaked pussy up and down his length. You leaned down and bit his neck, marking him. “I wonder… if the girls in the clan could make you feel like this. Would you let them ride your cock like I do?”

Neteyam shook his head quickly, moaning. “No. Only you. Only you, baby. I beg you…”

You lifted yourself and guided his cock back inside you, sinking down slowly. He groaned loudly, head falling back. “Baby— I’m still… you’re going to kill me.”

You started riding him properly, moving your hips up and down while talking to him. “That’s right… all of this is mine. I want it so bad—I want my body molded to yours so completely that no one else could ever have me..” You clenched around him on purpose, making him whimper. “what do you think?”

Neteyam flushed, hands trembling on your waist, breathing ragged. “Y/n… it’s too much… I just came—”

You rolled your hips harder, riding him faster. “You can take it. Be a good boy and cum inside me again. Fill me up like you did earlier...”

You leaned down and sucked on his neck, leaving more marks for girls to see. He was moaning loudly now, thighs shaking underneath you from the overstimulation.

You kept riding him, whispering dirty words in his ear, rolling your hips in deep circles while looking down at his flushed face. Neteyam whimpered underneath you, hands gripping your waist tightly, he couldn’t even bring himself to thrust up.

“You don’t get to cum yet, okay?”

He groaned loudly, eyes glassy with desperation. “Y/n… please… I need to cum inside you.”

You smirked and clenched around his cock on purpose, making him twitch hard. “The mighty future Olo’eyktan begging like this? So pathetic for his… future tsahik.”

You leaned down closer, lips brushing his ear. “Your future is riding you, Neteyam. Does that make you hard? Knowing I’ll be the one standing beside you as your mate?”

He moaned brokenly, nodding fast. “Yes… fuck, yes. Please, baby.”

You sped up a little but still refused to let him cum, lifting yourself until only his tip was inside before sinking back down. “How many kids do you want, Neteyam? Tell me. You want me to carry your children, right? Build a clan with you?” You kept riding him. “Answer me.”

Neteyam was losing it, whimpering and shaking under you. “As many as you want… please, Y/n. I want it all with you. Just let me cum— I- I’ll give you everything.”

You grinned and kept moving, still edging him. “Not a single girl in the clan gets to have you like this, right?”

He looked completely wrecked, eyes rolling back every time you clenched around him. “Only you… only you, yawne. Please… I cannot hold it anymore.”

You rode him harder, still not letting him finish. “Beg better. Tell me how badly you want to.”

Neteyam was panting, voice cracking. “Please… let me cum inside you… fill you up…”

You quickened your pace, leaning down to pull him into a deep kiss while tugging on his hair. Neteyam thrust up to meet you, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths. You came hard around him again, whining loudly as his warm cum coated your walls at the same time.

He lost his balance and fell back onto the grass, pulling you down with him. You laid on top of his chest, breathing heavily while your pussy kept clenching around his cock. Neteyam wrapped his arms around you, one hand gently rubbing your back in slow circles.

Both of you stayed like that for a while, still connected. His cock was still inside you, twitching occasionally. Neteyam kissed the top of your head softly. “Are you okay, baby?”

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah… more than okay.” You stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Neteyam… about what I said earlier. I meant it.”

He tightened his hold on you, heart beating fast under your cheek. He looked up at the swaying trees above, a small smile on his face. “Really? All of it? The future… kids… standing beside me?”

You lifted your head to look at him. “Yes.”

Neteyam searched your eyes, still a little unsure. “Even after everything? After I was so annoying and kept fighting over the position?”

You chuckled and rested your chin on his chest. “I changed my mind the day you risked your life to save me. When you took that arrow for me… that was the moment I realized I didn’t wanna lead without you.”

He smiled at you, caressing your cheeks. “Then we will do it together, baby.”

“Mhm…”

Neteyam smiled widely and pulled you back down into his arms, still buried inside you. “I like the sound of that… my future tsahik.”

“Of course you do, my future olo’eyktan.”