Rie

Your suit remains in the cylindrical glass vault on the wall—Nightingale’s armour pristine, untouched. The matte black plating catches the cave lights in dull glints, the bat emblem symbolic on your chest, pink highlights and accents decorating your suit.

It's neat. Too neat.

Like it’s waiting.

Waiting for it's wearer to come back and put it on. Dick notices it first. His gaze snags on the suit and lingers half a second too long before he looks away Jason clocks it next. His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring, like he’s bracing for a hit he knows is coming. Damian doesn’t look at it at all.

Bruce steps forward.

“No patrol tonight.”

The words echo strangely against the stone.

Everyone freezes.

“What?” Steph says immediately, boots halfway on. “You’re joking.”

Bruce doesn’t blink. “I’m not.”

Tim swivels in his chair, confusion flashing to irritation in a heartbeat. “Bruce, we’re already running behind—Oracle flagged three hotspots—”

“I know,” Bruce says.

Jason lets out a sharp laugh. “So what, Gotham’s just on its own now?”

Bruce’s mouth tightens. “You’re benched. All of you.”

The cave feels smaller.

Tighter.

“For how long?” Dick asks carefully.

“Tonight,” Bruce replies.

Then, quieter, firmer: “Tomorrow too.”

Damian finally looks up. “That is unacceptable.”

Bruce turns to him. “You’re staying.”

"And if any of you try anything, I'll stretch that time to indefinitely."

The finality in his voice shuts everyone down.

Even Jason doesn’t push. Not when Bruce looks like that—tired in a way no sleep fixes, grief stitched into every line of his face. He looks like he's aged years in the past few weeks

“Suit down,” Bruce orders.

Reluctantly, one by one, they comply.

The walk back up to the manor is silent.

Boots echo against stone. Gloves are pulled off and shoved into pockets. Helmets are clipped uselessly at belts. No one says what they’re all thinking: that patrol would’ve helped. That punching something would’ve been easier than sitting with the ache.

They pass your suit again on the way out.

Cass’s fingers twitch like she wants to reach for it.

Damian pauses for a fraction of a second—so brief it’s almost invisible—but his shoulders tense, breath hitching before he schools himself and keeps walking.

The elevator doors close.

The cave disappears.

They reconvene an hour later in Tim’s room, still dressed half-for-battle, irritation buzzing under the grief like static.

Tim’s sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on knees, staring at the floor. Jason’s leaning against the desk, arms crossed, foot tapping. Steph paces, restless energy with nowhere to go. Cass sits cross-legged near the window on a bean bag, watching the city lights like she might memorise them. Duke’s slouched in a chair, hoodie pulled up, jaw clenched.

Dick stands near the door, arms folded, trying—and failing—to keep the peace.

“This is bullshit,” Jason mutters finally. “Benched. On a random ass Tuesday night.”

“It’s not random,” Tim snaps, far sharper than intended.

Silence.

Steph exhales solemnly. “It's 'cuz tomorrow’s her birthday.”

No one answers. How could they refute that?

Elizabeth Taylor Wayne, your pet Cavalier, pads into the room then, tiny paws soft against the carpet of Tim's carpet, who's room she frequented after your passing. She’s wearing one of her little pink sweaters—slightly crooked, like someone rushed putting it on. She pauses in the doorway, head tilting, tail wagging uncertainly before she beelines straight for Damian. (YO I LOVE DOGS OMFG)

Of course she does.

Damian stiffens as she noses at his boots, then sighs and crouches, scooping her up with practiced care. She settles immediately, licking his chin like she’s claiming him.

“She’s anxious,” he mutters, more observation than complaint.

Jason snorts quietly. “Yeah. Wonder why.”

Dick rubs a hand over his face. “Bruce thinks keeping us here helps.”

“Helps who?” Steph asks.

Yet again, no one has an answer.

Tim finally speaks, voice low. “He couldn’t even look at her suit.”

That does it.

The room goes heavy.

Dense.

Like the air itself is grieving.

Elizabeth squirms, then wriggles out of Damian’s arms and hops onto Tim’s bed, curling up atop one of your old hoodies like it’s instinct. Like she knows.

Damian watches her with an expression he doesn’t have words for.

“She was supposed to wake me up tomorrow,” he says suddenly.

Everyone looks at him.

“She always does,” Damian continues, staring at nothing. “She said birthdays should start early. That they deserve… ceremony.”

Steph presses her lips together.

Dick swallows. “We’ll still—” He stops.

Tries again. “We’ll get through tomorrow. Together.”

Jason scoffs, but there’s no bite to it. “Yeah. Sure.”

Outside, Gotham hums on, uncaring.

Inside Tim’s room, surrounded by half-packed gear, borrowed hoodies, and the soft breathing of a dog who misses you in a way she can’t explain, your siblings sit with the weight of being benched—not just from patrol, but from the one thing they all want most.

To outrun the day that’s coming.

The house knows before anyone says it out loud.

Wayne Manor is quiet in a way that feels intentional, like it’s learned how to mourn without making noise. The kind of silence that presses against the ears, that fills every corner until it’s hard to breathe.

Damian wakes first.

He always does.

Training drilled into muscle memory. For a brief, treacherous moment, his body moves on instinct alone—feet hitting the floor, posture straightening, already turning toward your room with irritation half-formed on his tongue. He expects to see your door open, light spilling out, you already awake and doing something infuriatingly normal.

Instead, the hallway is still. Your door is closed.

The realisation hits him in stages. Not like a blade, but like pressure—slow, crushing, unavoidable. He stands there longer than he should, staring at the door like if he waits long enough, you might open it yourself and give him a kiss on the cheek.

Elizabeth Taylor trots up beside him, soft and warm, tail brushing against his calf. She presses her head into his leg, grounding him. Damian exhales shakily and kneels, burying his fingers into her fur.

Her pink velvet dog bed isn’t in your room anymore.

It migrated.

Quietly. Over several days.

It sits in Damian’s room now, tucked beside his bed, next to Titus'.

No one commented on it. No one questioned it.

She sleeps there every night, curled close to him like she’s guarding what’s left.

Everyone has been taking care of her.

They take turns bathing her, brushing her coat, changing her outfits with the kind of careful attention usually reserved for something fragile and irreplaceable.

Jason complains the loudest but never skips his turn. Steph hums softly while she buttons tiny sweaters. Alfred puts her in a pink stroller and takes her to your grave every now and then. Cass watches her like she’s memorising her existence, Dick brings Haley over more often, for Elizabeth to have a girl companion. Damian's taken up replenishing her doggy bowl and upkeeping her insanely expensive diet you sponsored.

After all, she is the last living thing that loved you without knowing what death was.

Downstairs, Alfred sets the table.

He does it the same way he always has—measured, precise, unyielding in ritual. The grand dining room feels cavernous this morning, its long table too long, the ceiling too high. Sunlight filters through the tall windows and lands across the polished surface like it doesn’t know what it’s illuminating.

Your place is set.

The chair between Duke and Damian is pulled out, napkin folded neatly, cutlery aligned just so. Alfred adjusts it twice before he’s satisfied. He doesn’t look at the chair for long. One by one, they drift in.

Dick checks his phone as he walks, then stops dead when he sees the date. He doesn’t sit right away. Just stands there, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen.

Jason takes the seat across from yours without realising it, then stiffens when his gaze flicks up and lands on the empty space opposite him. Tim arrives last. Hoodie sleeves swallowed over his hands. Eyes shadowed. He hasn’t been sleeping well. None of them have.

Bruce doesn’t come down.

Alfred pours tea.

He comments on the weather. Mentions a meeting at Wayne Enterprises that Lucius has postponed. His voice is steady, clipped, perfectly composed. He asks about training schedules that no longer exist. About patrols that aren’t happening. They answer him because it’s easier than saying anything else.

Forks scrape against porcelain. Cups clink. Damian doesn’t touch his food. Elizabeth sits at his feet, chin resting on his shoe, eyes tracking every movement like she’s afraid someone might disappear if she looks away.

The chair stays empty.

It’s Tim who finally breaks.

His voice is barely above a whisper.

“It’s her birthday.”

No one responds immediately.

The words don’t echo. They sink.

Steph’s hand freezes mid-reach. Duke swallows hard, eyes fixed on the table. Dick closes his eyes like he’s been punched. Jason’s jaw tightens, teeth grinding audibly.

Alfred stills.

Just for a breath.

“Yes,” he says softly. “I believe it is.”

No one wishes you happy birthday.

After breakfast, no one knows what to do.

They hover in that awful in-between—too restless to sit, too exhausted to move. Bruce still hasn’t come down. The manor feels wrong without him, like the absence of both father and daughter has knocked something structural loose.

That’s when they see the package.

Bruce stands near the base of the staircase, motionless, a medium-sized box clutched in his hands like it weighs more than it should.

Your name is printed on the label in clean, unmistakable letters. Ordered weeks ago. Scheduled. Planned.

For today.

No one speaks.

Bruce doesn’t look up. His grip tightens slowly, knuckles whitening. The box crinkles faintly under the pressure.

Alfred approaches quietly, like he’s walking up to something wounded.

“Master Bruce,” he says gently. “Perhaps… a game might be of use. The children could use the distraction.”

Bruce doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t move.

But he doesn’t object either.

So they play cards.

Uno, of all things. They gather in the sitting room, sunlight slanting through the windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air like nothing has changed.

Steph volunteers to deal.

She shuffles once. Twice.

Disperses the cards, makes sure everyone has the standard deck of seven.

Everyone has one. Yet there's one extra deck remaining.

One meant for you.

“Oh,” Steph breathes.

Her hands shake. She almost drops them.

No one tells her to stop.

She reshuffles, and deals again like muscle memory can carry her through what her heart can’t.

They play.

They argue about rules. Jason accuses Dick of cheating. Damian snaps at Tim for not paying attention. Alfred comments dryly from the armchair, pretending not to notice the way conversation falters every time someone laughs too hard.

Tim’s phone buzzes.

A TikTok.

It’s stupid. Genuinely stupid. A video that would’ve made you laugh. Without thinking, without pausing, he hits share.

Your name pops up automatically.

Sent.

The realisation lands a second later.

He stares at the screen, breath leaving him in a sharp, broken sound. The phone slips from his hands. He curls in on himself, shoulders shaking as Cass’ hand finds his sleeve and Dick shifts closer, anchoring him.

Later—after cards, after silence, after everyone drifts away—Bruce stands alone in the hallway.

He holds the package.

He doesn’t open it.

He stares at it like it might start breathing.

“I was supposed to give this to you,” he whispers, voice breaking completely. “I was supposed to be here.”

The manor listens.

And for the first time that day, it lets him cry.

After your funeral, it felt like there was a hole Dinah and Ollie harboured that they couldn't fill up. The penthouse is too quiet when they come back from your funeral.

It’s the kind of quiet that only exists after something enormous—after crowds, speeches, the weight of hundreds of eyes and condolences and hands on shoulders. The doors shut behind Dinah and Ollie with a soft click, and suddenly there’s nowhere for the grief to hide.

Dinah slips her heels off by the door without bending down, toes nudging them aside.

Her feet ache. Her shoulders ache. Her chest feels hollowed out, like something vital has been scooped cleanly away.

Ollie sets the keys down too hard on the counter. The sound echoes.

He winces like he’s broken something.

“Well,” he mutters, forcing air into his lungs, “home sweet—”

He stops himself.

Dinah doesn’t answer. She’s standing in the middle of the living room, still in black, still stiff, still holding herself like if she lets go she’ll collapse straight through the floor. There’s a strange exhaustion that follows events like this. Not the kind sleep fixes. The kind that makes your bones feel heavy, your thoughts slow and sludgy, your body lag a half-second behind your mind. Dinah feels it settle into her joints as she walks further inside, fingers brushing the back of the couch.

She can still hear voices.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” “She was such a beautiful soul.” “She loved you both so much.”

Dinah sinks down onto the couch and stares at nothing. Ollie hovers for a moment, unsure, then sits beside her. He reaches for her hand, squeezes once.

Solid. Real.

“She shouldn’t be dead,” Dinah says suddenly.

Ollie’s jaw tightens. “No.”

“She was supposed to come over,” Dinah continues, voice flat, distant. “To get back her airpods, and she wanted to borrow a dress. She said she’d already planned the outfit but wanted my opinion.”

Ollie exhales through his nose. “She always wanted your opinion.”

“She never listened to it,” Dinah says.

A pause.

“But she wanted it.”

The penthouse smells faintly like flowers—sympathy arrangements that arrived before they left, before they could stop them.

Dinah hates it.

It feels invasive. Wrong.

She stands abruptly. “I need to change.”

Ollie watches her walk away, shoulders squared, movements precise like she’s holding herself together through sheer discipline. He doesn’t follow.

Dinah goes to the closet.

She’s halfway through unzipping her dress when she sees them.

The handbags.

Lined up neatly.

Exactly as you left them.

Her hands still.

For a moment, her brain refuses to connect the dots.

They’re just bags.

Leather. Fabric. Accessories.

Normal things in the closet of a woman who happens to have a billionaire for a husband.

And then the memory hits her sideways.

You, perched on the bench, swinging your legs. “Dinah, why do you have so many black bags?” “Because black goes with everything sweetheart, your father knows that of all things..” “That’s boring. This one though?” You’d picked up the ridiculous beaded clutch, grinning. “This one has personality.”

Dinah’s throat tightens.

She slowly, carefully zips the dress back up and steps out of the closet.

That’s when the days start to blur.

The quiet mornings. The untouched handbags. The way Ollie stops cracking jokes when he realizes no one’s laughing.

And eventually—weeks to months later—it’s the department store.

Dinah hasn’t moved the handbags.

They’re still where you left them—lined up along the back of the walk-in closet in their shared penthouse, pristine and untouched.

Chanel, YSL, the ridiculous beaded clutch you insisted she needed because “Dinah, it’s cute.” Dinah passes them every morning and every night and does not touch a single one.

She tells herself it’s because she doesn’t need them.

That’s a lie.

Ollie notices first.

He notices everything lately.

Dinah feels both blessed and cursed to have such an observant husband.

The way Dinah’s fingers hover, the way she inhales like she’s bracing herself, the way her shoulders tense when she catches sight of something that still smells faintly like you—your perfume, your shampoo, your presence.

“You gonna rotate your bags or keep ‘em in museum formation?” he asks one morning, light, careful.

Dinah doesn’t look at him. “They’re fine.”

Ollie nods. Lets it go.

He’s learned when not to push. He feels your absence as well.

Queen Industries feels wrong without you. Ollie’s office used to be a revolving door whenever you were in town. You’d show up unannounced, feet kicked up on his desk, stealing his coffee, complaining about Bruce, asking if Roy was around, asking if Dinah had eaten yet.

You made the place loud. Lived-in. Human.

Now it’s just… quiet.

Too clean.

Ollie catches himself glancing at the door some afternoons, half-expecting you to barrel in with a grin and a complaint and some overpriced desserts you bought from that viral pastry place downtown.

But yet, it never happens.

The door stays closed. The silence settles.

He hates it.

That’s why he suggests the department store.

“Dinah,” he says one afternoon, keys in hand, “you haven’t bought anything frivolous in weeks. That’s not like you.”

She arches a brow. “I don’t need frivolous.”

“Okay, but want?” he counters. “Come on. Smell some expensive nonsense. Yell at me about notes and undertones.”

She hesitates. Then sighs. “Fine.”

The store is bright and glossy and painfully normal.

Dinah moves through it on autopilot—past makeup counters, past mirrors, past smiling employees who don’t know her world has ended. Ollie trails behind her, hands in his pockets, watching the way she moves slower than usual, like she’s underwater.

They reach the perfume section.

Rows and rows of glass bottles. Gold caps. Elegant labels. Too many choices.

Dinah reaches for one without thinking.

She freezes.

Her fingers close around the bottle.

She doesn’t spray it.

Doesn’t need to.

She already knows.

Ollie sees it immediately—the way her breath stutters, the way her grip tightens, the way her eyes go distant.

“Babe?” he says softly. “What’s wrong?”

Dinah swallows.

Her voice comes out quiet. Fragile.

“Y/N used to wear this.”

Ollie steps closer, his usual bravado evaporating. “Yeah?”

Dinah lifts the bottle, finally spraying it onto the tester strip. The scent blooms into the air—warm, familiar, unmistakably you.

Sweet without being childish. Sharp without being harsh. Confident.

Alive.

Dinah closes her eyes.

And suddenly you’re back.

You’re sprawled across her couch, kicking off your shoes, telling her about a gala you went to with your father and sister that bored you out of your mind. You’re hugging her hello, cheek pressed to hers, that exact scent clinging to your skin. You’re laughing, loud and bright, asking if she wants to gossip because oh my god you will not believe what Dick and Jason did.

Dinah’s chest caves in.

She makes a broken sound before she can stop herself.

Ollie’s arms are around her instantly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ve got you.”

“She smelled like this,” Dinah whispers, fingers trembling as she clutches the strip. “Every time she came over. Every time she hugged me. I didn’t even realize how much I associated it with her until—”

Her voice cracks.

Ollie tightens his hold. “She had good taste,” he says hoarsely. “Obviously.”

Dinah lets out a shaky laugh that dissolves into a sob. “She was our kid,” she says. “She just… showed up one day and never really left.”

“I know,” Ollie replies.

His own voice wavers now. “I miss her stealing my office chair.”

“She stole everything,” Dinah says.

“My clothes. My makeup. My time.”

Ollie exhales. “My peace.”

They stand there like that—in the middle of a luxury department store, surrounded by strangers and polished glass and music that feels inappropriate—holding each other while grief quietly wrecks them.

Dinah pulls back first, wiping her eyes. She looks at the bottle again.

“I can’t buy it,” she says. “Not yet.”

Ollie nods immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”

She puts it back carefully, like it might shatter.

As they walk away, Ollie glances back once, then mutters, “She’d be mad we didn’t buy anything.”

Dinah huffs weakly. “She’d tell you to stop being dramatic.”

“Yeah,” Ollie says. “And then she’d hug us both and say we were doing our best.”

Dinah presses her lips together, nodding. They leave the store empty-handed.

The scent lingers anyway.

Just like the memory of you.

ON ANOTHER EARTH, IN A SEPARATE UNIVERSE.

You remember the night your father died.

23 days before your birthday

On another Earth, the night your father dies does not end when his heart stops.

It stretches.

It coils around your spine and stays there.

You remember the sound first—not the explosion, not the chaos, but the quiet after. The way Gotham goes eerily still when something sacred has been taken from it. Rain clings to your lashes. Your gloves are slick with blood that will never come off, no matter how hard you scrub later.

Batman is not dead.

But Bruce Wayne is.

You don’t scream. That comes later. Right now, you’re too busy counting breaths that aren’t happening, hands shaking as you press down, as if pressure alone could undo destiny.

“Dad,” you whisper, uselessly. “Please.”

His cowl is cracked, his face pale beneath it. His eyes are still open, unfocused but somehow still kind.

That’s what destroys you — the kindness. Even now.

Someone pulls you back. Dick’s voice cracks your name like it’s breaking glass. Damian is shouting, furious and terrified and far too young to be watching this. Tim's gotten nauseous, you can't decipher what Babs is saying over your comms.

You don’t remember leaving the alley. You don’t remember the ride back. You only remember that Gotham keeps breathing even when Bruce Wayne doesn’t.

The cover story is decided before the blood dries.

You are not in the room when they say it, but you hear it anyway — whispered through walls, through Alfred’s careful silences, through the way everyone avoids your eyes.

A drug overdose. Suspected suicide.

The words feel obscene.

Bruce Wayne, philanthropist. Bruce Wayne, troubled billionaire. Bruce Wayne, fallen icon. Bruce Wayne, a father, who is now dead.

The media eats it alive.

They speculate. They pity. They dissect his life like it belongs to them.

You sit at the long dining table and stare at the empty chair at the head.

He died in an alley protecting his city.

And the world thinks he gave up.

Parallel lines you don’t yet have the words for twist tight in your chest.

The funeral is public.

Of course it fucking is.

Bruce Wayne deserves marble steps and black umbrellas and a sea of faces pretending they understand loss and better yet, pretending they knew who he was.

You're holding your dog, and Ace and standing beside Dick, who hasn’t slept. Damian is rigid on your other side, small hand fisted in the fabric of your coat like he might fall apart if he lets go. Tim looks hollow. Cass watches everything with eyes too sharp. Steph cries quietly. Jason doesn’t look at the coffin at all.

They speak of Bruce Wayne’s achievements. They speak of his generosity. His legacy. His struggles.

They do not speak of Batman. They do not speak of the man who taught you how to breathe through pain.

When the casket is lowered, something inside you follows it.

Later, when the cameras are gone and the world finally leaves you alone, you break.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

You fold in on yourself in a hallway at Wayne Manor, hands pressed to your mouth to keep the sound in. Your knees hit the floor. Alfred finds you there and doesn’t say a word.

He just kneels, dignified even in grief, and holds you like you are still a child who scraped her knee.

“I am so very sorry, Miss,” he murmurs.

You nod because if you speak, you will drown.

The days after blur into responsibility.

Someone has to take over Wayne Enterprises.

That someone is you.

Board members test you at first — subtle, patronising, polite. You shut it down quickly. You wear black like armour. You speak carefully.

You do not cry in meetings. Tim's by your side more often then not.

At night, you sit in Bruce’s study with the lights off, listening to the house settle.

You don’t touch anything. It feels like trespassing.

Dick becomes Batman because Gotham doesn’t wait for grief.

You watch him leave the cave the first night, cape settling over his shoulders in a way that makes your chest ache.

He pauses at the steps.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he says quietly.

“I know,” you reply.

But you do it anyway.

Damian stops sleeping through the night.

He ends up in your room more often than not, curled tight and furious with the world, he holds you like you'll disappear as well. You brush his hair back like Bruce used to. You never mention it.

You become the constant in all their lives.

Joining the PTA for Duke regardless of how much you hate Margie and all the other middle-aged women. Showing up to Cass' ballet recitals. Taking Damian to piano classes and his swimming lessons. Helping Jason on the occasional mission, and the occasional hangover.

And it costs you more than you let on.

You and Dick ramp up your presence at the Watchtower.

Initiating meetings, scheduling timetables, emails with the UN.

Even though the two of you are heavily respected, all your league members look at you the same.

Two kids who lost their dad.

And now they're paying the price for his absence.

Dinah and Ollie are the ones who notice first.

Because of course they are.

They show up without warning, no fanfare, just familiar noise cutting through the manor’s oppressive quiet.

Ollie complains about the driveway. Dinah hugs you hard enough that your breath stutters.

They don’t ask you to be strong. They don’t ask you to talk. They just stay.

Something you took for granted quite frankly.

You end up in Star City more often than you expect — weekends at first, then longer stretches. Dinah teaches you how to breathe again, slow and deliberate. Ollie distracts Damian with archery and loud jokes and the kind of fatherly affection that doesn’t demand anything back.

You sit on their couch one night, exhausted, head tipped back, and Dinah drapes a blanket over you without comment.

“You’re allowed to rest sweetie,” she says softly.

You don’t answer.

But you stay.

They become your anchors — not because they fix anything, but because they don’t try to.

Because they remember Bruce without making him a ghost.

Because they look at you and still see you, not just the weight you’re carrying.

When you laugh — really laugh — for the first time in weeks, it startles you.

Ollie grins like he’s won something.

“There she is,” he says

This past weekend, you've been staying with Dinah and Ollie, it was the perfect opportunity as Dick's on a solo mission with the Titans, Tim and Damian are with the Kents, Jason's with the Outlaws and Steph and Cass are preoccupied with Babs on girls night, they were gutted you couldn't come with, but they weren't gonna stop you from being with Ollie and Dinah. They knew how much you relied on them.

Star City feels wrong before you ever see it.

It’s subtle at first.

The way the air hums just a fraction too loud, like the city itself is vibrating under your skin. The sky is clear, but it feels watched.

You stand on the balcony of Ollie’s penthouse, coffee cooling untouched in your hand, and you can’t shake the sense that something is leaning toward you.

Waiting.

Dinah notices because Dinah always notices.

“You’re doing that thing,” she says, leaning against the doorframe. Her voice is gentle, but her eyes are sharp.

You glance back. “What thing?”

“The staring-into-the-middle-distance-like-the-universe-is-about-to-punch-you thing.”

You huff a weak laugh. “Didn’t know I was that obvious.”

“To me? Always.” She steps closer, her shoulder brushing yours. “You been sleeping?”

You hesitate. That’s answer enough.

Below, Star City moves like nothing is wrong.

Cars. People. Normalcy.

It makes your teeth ache.

“I don’t like this,” you say finally.

Dinah doesn’t ask what this is.

“Neither do I,” she replies.

Inside, Ollie’s on the phone, voice low, humour stripped clean. When he sees your expression, he ends the call immediately.

“What,” he asks. Not joking. Not loud.

Just what.

“There’s something in the Glades,” Dinah says before you can. “I can feel it.”

Ollie exhales through his nose. “Merlyn.”

The name lands like a bruise.

You straighten instinctively. “You’re sure?”

“No,” Ollie admits. “But I’m never wrong when it matters.”

The lights flicker.

Once.

Twice.

You all freeze.

That hum you felt earlier deepens, crawling into your bones, vibrating behind your eyes.

Somewhere far away—too far to pinpoint—metal screams.

You don’t say it.

But you’re already reaching for your gear.

The facility isn’t marked on any public map.

It sits half-buried in concrete and steel, a scar stitched into the city’s underbelly. The closer you get, the louder the sound becomes — not noise exactly, but pressure. Like reality being squeezed through a needle’s eye.

Your comm crackles.

“Energy readings are off the charts,” Dinah says, voice tight. “This isn’t just tech.”

“No,” you murmur. “It’s worse.”

The entrance yawns open, heat rolling out in waves. Inside, the air shimmers, bending light in ways your brain doesn’t like. Your head throbs. Your teeth buzz.

Ollie draws an arrow anyway.

“Guess Merlyn decided subtlety was overrated,” he mutters.

You move ahead of them without thinking, instincts honed sharp by too much loss, too much responsibility. Nightingale moves like second nature — quieter than fear, faster than doubt.

The core chamber is massive.

Circular.

Wrong.

Spanning hundreds of metres in distance.

A machine dominates the centre, towering, spiralling rings rotating at different speeds, glowing with a violent, sickly light. Energy arcs between them, snapping like lightning with no thunder.

The air smells burnt, metallic, alive.

You gaze up at the machine

You hear Dinah swear softly. “That’s a supercollider.”

"It's a particle accelerator. Merlyn failed with the last two, this one's gonna succeed." You say.

Ollie goes still. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

At the far end of the platform, Merlyn waits.

He looks pleased.

“You’re late,” he calls out, voice echoing unnaturally. “I was beginning to think grief had dulled your reflexes.”

Your hands curl into fists.

“You’re going to shut it down,” you say coldly. “Now.”

Merlyn laughs.

“Oh, child,” he says. “This is the shutdown. Of everything.”

The machine pulses.

Harder.

Your knees buckle for half a second before you catch yourself.

Dinah grabs your arm. “You okay?”

You nod, even though your vision is fracturing at the edges.

“Split up,” Ollie says. “We disable the outer rings.”

You don’t argue.

You should.

But something in your chest is pulling you forward, toward the heart of the machine, toward the light that feels like it knows your name.

The closer you get, the worse it becomes.

Gravity wobbles.

Time hiccups.

Your footsteps echo twice, then not at all.

You swear you see movement in the light — shadows that don’t belong to anything solid.

Your comm screeches.

“Nightingale—!” Dinah’s voice cuts in and out. “Something’s—wrong—”

“I know,” you gasp.

Your head pounds. Images flash behind your eyes — Bruce’s smile. Damian asleep on your shoulder. Dick’s hand on your back. A coffin lowering into the earth. Another one. Parallel grief folding in on itself.

Merlyn steps into your path.

Up close, his eyes are fever-bright.

“Do you feel it?” he asks eagerly.

“The strain? The walls between worlds thinning?”

You raise your guard despite the vertigo. “You’re insane.”

“Yes,” he agrees cheerfully. “But I’m also right.”

He gestures, and the machine surges.

You scream.

Not from pain — from everything. From the sensation of being pulled apart at a molecular level, of existing in too many places at once. Your knees hit the platform. You claw at the metal, gloves smoking where they touch.

Dinah shouts your name.

Ollie fires an incendiary arrow that disintegrates midair.

Merlyn’s grin widens.

“You’ve been holding the universe together with grief and duct tape,” he says softly.

“You were always going to snap.”

He grabs you.

For a split second, you think of your father.

Then he throws you.

You don’t fall.

You are taken.

The world detonates into colour and sound and screaming light.

Your body is weightless, then impossibly heavy.

You can’t tell where you end and the energy begins. The supercollider howls, rings spinning faster, faster—

Your thoughts fracture.

Is this how he felt?Is this how I die?Is this how I leave them?

Your mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Space folds.

Time screams.

You're shot into a myriad of electric webs, seas of blue with sparkling rope.

You see cities that aren’t yours.

Skies wrong shades of blue.

Your atoms stretch.

Your soul lurches.

The last thing you feel before everything tears—

—is your name being ripped out of the universe like it was never meant to stay.

And then—

nothing holds you anymore.

You wake up on concrete.

Cold seeps through your suit first—through the plating, through the kevlar, through whatever adrenaline is still clinging to your bloodstream like it knows it’s about to be evicted. Your vision swims. Light fractures overhead, neon signs bleeding into each other, letters doubling, then tripling, then snapping back into place.

Star City.

You know it instinctively. The smell—salt, oil, rain. The hum of traffic a few streets over. The particular way the wind curls through alleyways like it’s learned the city’s bones by heart.

But something’s wrong.

Your ears ring, a high, thin whine, like feedback after an explosion. You push yourself up on your elbows and the world tilts violently to the left.

Your stomach lurches. You swallow hard, breathing through it.

“No,” you murmur. Your voice sounds wrong here. Too loud. Too real.

Your head throbs where it hit—when did it hit? The last thing you remember is light. Pressure. The feeling of being pulled apart and stitched back together incorrectly.

You sit up slowly.

The alley is narrow.

Brick walls on either side, damp with last night’s rain. A flickering security light buzzes overhead. There’s a dumpster to your right, graffiti you don’t recognize sprayed in angry red strokes.

You look down at yourself.

Nightingale’s suit is scorched.

Hairline fractures spiderweb across the chest plate. Your gloves are blackened at the fingertips like you tried to grab the sun and lost. Your mask is still on—thank goodness—but the edge is cracked near your temple.

Your comm is dead.

Of course it is.

You try to stand.

Your ears ring as you push yourself upright, palms scraping against the ground.

Your hands stutter.

Not shaking. Stuttering.

Your fingers leave faint echoes behind them when you move, like afterimages burned into the air. You watch, horrified, as your wrist phases a fraction of an inch out of sync with the rest of you, snapping back with a sharp, nauseating jolt.

“Oh—no,” you whisper. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. “No, no, no—”

You stagger to your feet, back slamming against the wall as another wave of distortion rolls through you. It feels like pins and needles under your skin, like your atoms are being politely but firmly told they don’t belong here.

Wrong Star City.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to breathe through it.

In. Out. Slow. The way Bruce taught you. The way Dinah insisted on when your hands shook too badly to string an arrow.

Dinah.

Your eyes snap open.

They were just with you. Both of them. You can still hear Dinah shouting over the rising whine of the collider, still see Ollie’s hand gripping your shoulder, too tight, too scared.

You turn in a slow, unsteady circle, scanning the street beyond the alley mouth.

Pain explodes up your spine and you gasp, stumbling back against the wall. Your breath comes fast, shallow. Your heart is hammering, too loud in your ears.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Okay. That’s fine. That’s—fine.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Where are Ollie and Dinah?

They were just there. You can still hear Dinah’s voice in your head, tight with warning. Ollie’s hand on your shoulder, solid, grounding.

You open your eyes again and the alley is still empty.

No Green Arrow. No Black Canary. No humming supercollider tearing reality open behind you.

Just Star City.

But not your Star City.

You think of your family, of Dick, Damian, your siblings back home, you wonder if Dinah and Ollie notified them of you disappearance. The panic the two of them might be feeling, are probably experiencing.

But your thoughts return to your surroundings.

Of a different Star City.

You don’t realise how deeply wrong it is until you hear footsteps.

They’re halfway down the block, arms full of nothing, the shopping bags long since abandoned back at the department store counter.

Dinah is mid-sentence, voice warm with something dangerously close to nostalgia, when Ollie stops so suddenly she almost runs straight into him.

“Ollie—?”

He doesn’t answer.

He’s staring down the alley.

Dinah follows his gaze, annoyance melting into something colder, sharper, the instant she sees the movement there. A figure braced against the brick, head bowed, armor catching the flickering streetlight in jagged flashes.

The air feels wrong.

Not tense. Not hostile.

Off.

“Do you see that,” Ollie says quietly.

Dinah’s fingers curl around his wrist without her thinking about it. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I do.”

The figure moves—and glitches.

For a split second there are two of them, offset by a fraction of space, before snapping violently back into one. Dinah’s breath catches hard in her throat.

“…That’s not funny,” she whispers. “That’s not—”

They’re already moving.

Not as Green Arrow and Black Canary. Not with masks and weapons and mission parameters.

Just as themselves.

Because whatever is happening in that alley, it feels personal in a way that makes Dinah’s chest ache.

You hear them before you see them properly. Footsteps approaching, voices cutting off mid-conversation.

You spin, adrenaline flaring sharp and hot, muscles screaming as you drop instinctively into a defensive stance. The world lurches again at the sudden movement, your balance wobbling as static skitters across your skin.

Two figures stand at the mouth of the alley.

Civilian clothes.

Dinah’s scarf. Ollie’s jacket.

The exact way Ollie stands when he’s relaxed but ready, weight shifted just so, hands loose at his sides.

Your heart slams into your ribs so hard it hurts.

“—Uncle Ollie?” The words slip out before you can stop them.

Both of them freeze.

Dinah’s eyes widen, just a fraction. Ollie’s shoulders go rigid, like someone’s just drawn a bowstring through his spine.

You take a step toward them.

The world breaks.

Your vision fractures into overlapping images, the alley stretching and folding in on itself as your body lags behind your intent. You gasp, clutching at your side as your outline shimmers violently, air cracking around you like displaced electricity.

“Hey!” Ollie snaps, all instinct now. “Don’t move.”

“Woah—woah,” you say quickly, panic rising, hands lifting placatingly even as they leave ghostly trails behind them. “It’s me, it’s me, I swear—”

You rip your mask off.

For one awful, suspended second, no one moves.

Dinah feels like the ground has dropped out from under her.

It’s you.

It’s your face.

The same person she’s scolded and laughed with , the same cheeks she's pressed kisses to when the world got too heavy. The same jawline, the same scar near your temple she remembers patching up herself.

But your eyes—

Goodness.

Your eyes look like they’ve seen too much.

Not older, exactly.

Just… exhausted in a way she’s never seen on you before.

Like sleep hasn’t touched you properly in years.

Like grief has taken up permanent residence behind them.

There are fine lines of tension around your mouth that shouldn’t be there yet.

Scars she doesn’t recognise.

A weight to the way you hold yourself that makes her chest ache.

You look at them like you’re drowning and they’re the only solid thing left in the world.

Ollie swallows hard.

“…Kid,” he says, voice low, careful, like one wrong syllable might shatter you. “That’s not possible.”

“I just saw you,” you say, breath hitching. “You were there. Both of you. The collider—Dinah, you were yelling at Merlyn, and Ollie you told me to get back and—”

Your body spasms.

A violent ripple tears through you, your form blurring and splitting before snapping back with a sound like a gunshot. You cry out, dropping to one knee, nausea flooding your throat.

Dinah moves without thinking.

Ollie catches her wrist.

“Dinah,” he says quietly. “Our kid is dead.”

The words sit there.

Heavy. Final.

You look up at him.

Something flickers across your face—pain, old and sharp—but it settles into something quieter, sadder.

“…Not on my Earth,” you whisper.

Silence.

Then Dinah steps forward anyway.

She stops just short of touching you, hands hovering inches from your shoulders, like she’s afraid you’ll glitch apart if she makes contact.

“Say that again,” she says softly. “Slowly.”

You explain.

Not cleanly. Not all at once.

Fragments spill out between breaths.

You come from a different Earth.

Different choices.

Bruce died instead of you.

Surviving things you weren’t supposed to.

Merlyn. The collider. The moment everything went wrong.

Ollie listens without interrupting.

That’s how Dinah knows—knows—he believes you.

Because with Ollie, disbelief would’ve come loud. Defensive. Angry.

Your body glitches again, smaller this time but relentless, a constant shimmer at your edges like the universe is tugging at you, trying to pull you loose.

Dinah’s eyes fill with tears she doesn’t bother to hide.

Ollie exhales slowly through his nose. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

She reaches for you.

Stops.

Looks at Ollie.

He nods.

Dinah pulls you into her arms.

The contact grounds you instantly—and breaks something wide open inside your chest. You cling to her like she’s gravity itself, fingers digging into her coat as another wave of distortion rolls through you. Dinah buries her face in your neck, inhaling the same smell that went with you everywhere.

Ollie joins a second later, wrapping both of you up, pressing his forehead briefly to yours.

“We’ve got you,” he murmurs, fierce and unsteady. “We’ve got you.”

For the first time since the collider, the world holds.

They don’t ask where to take you.

Ollie doesn’t even consider anything public.

The penthouse doors slide shut behind you, sealing out the city, and the quiet hits you like a wave.

Without the noise to anchor you, the wrongness comes roaring back.

The penthouse is different.

The kitchen and the living room have been swapped. Dinah and Ollie's wedding portrait looks different. Huh.

It's all a bit uncanny really.

It's the same house, same people, but there differences everywhere.

You think that's probably what they thought when they laid eyes upon you.

Your reflection in the glass windows flickers, lagging a half-second behind your movements. You sway, knees buckling as the room seems to tilt.

Dinah catches you before you hit the floor.

“Easy,” she murmurs, guiding you down onto the couch. “I’ve got you.”

Your glitching worsens under the stillness. Your outline shimmers constantly now, like a bad signal. Ollie watches it with a tight jaw, arms crossed, eyes never leaving you.

“You’re decaying,” he says.

You huff out a weak, breathless laugh. “Yeah. That happens when you’re not supposed to exist somewhere.”

Dinah shoots him a look.

“What,” he says. “That’s my way of panicking.”

She kneels in front of you, cupping your face gently, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes.

“We’re going to fix this,” she says, voice steady despite the tears shining there. “You hear me? We didn’t survive losing you once just to do it again.”

Your throat tightens.

“Still bossy across universes,” you murmur smirking.

Her smile breaks—and she pulls you into another hug, holding you like she’s afraid the universe might steal you back if she lets go.

She hugs you so tightly, it's so comforting.

You can tell she's been through a lot.

She still scratches your scalp the same way she always did, puts a hand behind your neck.

Some things never change, you guess.

The city outside keeps moving.

And for now—

You’re still here.

Ollie doesn’t pace when he dials.

He stands at the window of the penthouse, one hand braced against the glass, the other holding the phone like it might detonate. Star City glows below—alive, oblivious, cruel in its normalcy. Dinah sits behind you on the couch, her arm draped around your shoulders, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles like she’s afraid you’ll slip out of existence if she lets go.

The call connects on the third ring.

“Bruce,” Ollie says.

There’s a beat.

Then Bruce's voice, low, tired, restrained to the breaking point. “Oliver.”

Ollie exhales through his nose. “I need you to listen. And I need you to stay calm.”

That alone is enough to make Bruce’s spine go rigid on the other end of the line.

“What’s happened?” Bruce asks. “Is this about Gotham?”

“It’s about your daughter.”

Silence.

Not the empty kind.

The dangerous kind.

The kind that means Bruce has gone very, very still.

“…Which one,” Bruce says quietly. Asking even though he knows the answer.

Dinah closes her eyes.

“Y/N,” Ollie answers.

The name hangs between continents.

Bruce’s voice drops. “That’s not funny.”

“I know.”

“Oliver.”

“I’m not joking.”

Another pause.

Longer.

He can hear Bruce breathing now.

Controlled. Measured. Like he’s already bracing for impact.

“She’s dead,” Bruce says.

It isn’t an accusation.

It’s a statement. A fact carved into his bones.

“I buried her.”

Ollie swallows. “I know you did.”

“Then don’t say her name like this,” Bruce snaps. “Don’t—”

“She’s sitting on my couch,” Ollie says, cutting in. “She’s alive. She’s hurt. And she’s not from this universe.”

The words land wrong. Like broken glass in the mouth.

“You’re going to explain,” Bruce says, voice razor-thin, “right now.”

“She looks like her,” Ollie continues, slower now, choosing every word. “But older. Tired. Like grief’s been living in her bones for a long time. She knows things she shouldn’t. She called me uncle. She called Dinah aunt. She—”

“Stop,” Bruce breathes.

“No,” Ollie says. “You need to hear this. Because she thinks you are dead.”

Bruce’s hand tightens around his phone so hard it creaks.

“In her world,” Ollie says, “you died on the same mission. Same explosion. They ruled it a suicide. Covered it up. Just like—”

Bruce closes his eyes.

“…Just like we did with her,” he finishes hoarsely.

Dinah opens her eyes again, tears streaking silently down her face.

“She’s decaying,” Ollie adds. “She got into an incident with Merlyn and got shot into this universe, I think it's because this universe doesn't have Y/n in it. But it's like she doesn’t belong here. Barry might be able to help, but right now—right now she needs you.”

A long, broken breath on the other end.

“…I’m coming,” Bruce says.

“Come alone,” Ollie replies gently. “As Bruce.”

The call ends.

He doesn’t go to the cave.

He doesn’t touch the Batmobile, doesn’t pull on armour, doesn’t look at the memorial wall. He takes the stairs instead of the lift, every step echoing too loudly through the manor.

The living room is full.

They’re supposed to be gearing up.

Half-suited, half-armed, irritation crackling through the air because patrol was delayed again.

But they're not. 'Cuz they're benched.

Damian is on the floor with Elizabeth Taylor curled against his thigh, pink bed dragged in like a quiet rebellion. Dick is mid-sentence, Steph sprawled across the arm of a chair, Tim cross-legged with a tablet, Jason leaning against the wall, Cass and Duke close together.

Bruce passes through them like a ghost.

“Bruce?” Dick says, confused. “You good?”

Bruce doesn’t answer.

Jason straightens. “Hey. Where are you going?”

Bruce stops at the door.

“I need to step out,” he says.

Damian frowns immediately. “For what purpose?”

Bruce turns then.

His eyes land on each of them in turn, like he’s committing their faces to memory.

“It’s about your sister,” he says.

The room detonates.

“What?” Steph blurts.

Tim’s tablet slips from his hands and hits the floor with a sharp crack. “Bruce—?”

Dick is already moving. “Is she—did something—?”

“You benched us, then you say that?” Jason snaps. “You don’t get to just—”

“Enough,” Bruce cuts in, sharper than intended.

Silence slams down.

“I will explain,” Bruce says, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Later. Alfred will stay with you.”

Damian rises to his feet, Elizabeth’s leash still looped around his wrist. “Father. You are withholding critical information.”

Bruce meets his gaze.

It softens considerably.

He kneels to meet Damian.

“Son, I need you to trust me,” he says.

Damian’s jaw tightens.

He nods once.

Bruce leaves.

The front door closes behind him with a quiet finality that feels like another loss.

You don’t mean to open the news.

You really don’t.

But the penthouse is too quiet, and Dinah’s thumb has stilled on your shoulder, and Ollie’s gone tense in that way he gets when he’s bracing for bad timing. A tablet is in your hands before you’ve fully registered it.

Your name is trending. It's been trending for weeks.

You stare at it, blankly, like your brain refuses to translate.

You tap.

Your face fills the screen.

Y/N WAYNE, DAUGHTER OF BRUCE WAYNE, DEAD.

Another headline.

Another photo.

A gala smile.

A candid shot with Damian scowling beside you.

Death ruled a suicide.

Your throat closes.

“Oh,” you whisper.

Dinah notices instantly. “Hey—hey, sweetheart, what did you see?”

You tilt the phone toward her.

She sucks in a sharp breath.

You scroll numbly.

Edits. Tributes. Candle emojis.

She would’ve been another year older today.

People arguing in comment sections about whether you were happy.

Whether you were lonely.

Whether you were “too gentle for this world.”

Your hands start to shake.

“I’m dead,” you say, distantly. “Here, I mean.”

Dinah pulls you fully into her chest now, arms locking tight. “I know.”

Your eyes burn. “They said I killed myself.”

Ollie’s voice is rough. “They didn’t want questions.”

You nod slowly. “Same thing they did to my dad.”

The realisation settles like ash.

“This isn’t my universe,” you murmur. “I knew that. I just—I didn’t think it would hurt like this.”

Your vision blurs. The glitching starts again, a faint stutter at the edges of your hands, like static crawling up your skin.

Dinah presses her forehead to yours. “You’re okay. You’re here.”

“Am I allowed to be?” you ask quietly.

Footsteps sound behind you.

The door opens.

Bruce Wayne, your father, stands in the threshold.

He looks smaller without the suit.

Older.

His eyes find you instantly—and stop.

Time folds in on itself.

You look up.

Every breath has left your lungs.

Dinah and Ollie's gazes remain transfixed on you and Bruce staring at each other.

“Daddy?” you say, small and uncertain, like a child testing the edge of a nightmare. You stand, slowly.

Bruce crosses the room in three strides and pulls you into him, arms crushing, desperate, breath shuddering against your hair.

“Oh my goodness, baby, you’re here,” he whispers. “You’re real.”

You cling to him, fingers digging into his coat. “Daddy I missed you.”

He lets out a sound that might be a sob.

When he pulls back, his hands stay on your shoulders, grounding, trembling.

“You shouldn't be here. My daughter is dead,” he says, voice breaking. “Here.”

You nod.

“I know. I saw.”

“And in your world,” he continues, forcing the words out, “I died.”

“Yes.”

The symmetry is unbearable.

“They said you overdosed,” you add softly. “Suicide. They couldn’t tell the truth.”

Bruce closes his eyes. “We did the same to her.”

Your chest aches.

“I buried you. I took over the company. Dick became Batman. Damian—he needed someone. I stayed Nightingale. I just… hardened.”

Bruce cups your face gently. Smiling, even though the pain he's feeling is the worst he has ever felt, like stitches being ripped open again.

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

Your glitching worsens suddenly, static crawling up your arms.

Bruce notices immediately. His jaw sets.

“You’re destabilising,” he says. “Barry can help. He understands this kind of physics.”

You nod, trusting.

Exhausted.

“I don’t belong here,” you whisper.

Bruce pulls you into him again, softer this time.

“Maybe not,” he says. “But you’re not alone. I promise sweetheart.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, feeling like he'll disappear at any second, but you savour this moment.

The moment lingers longer than it should.

Bruce’s hands are still on your shoulders, like if he lets go you’ll flicker out completely. You can feel it—the strange, itchy wrongness under your skin, the way the air doesn’t quite agree with you.

Dinah watches it happen with a tight mouth. Ollie clocks it immediately.

“You’re destabilising again,” Bruce murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.

You nod faintly. “It gets worse when I think too hard.”

Bruce exhales, then straightens. The Batman slides back into place—not the armor, not the voice, but the decisiveness.

“I’ve already called Barry,” he says. “And I notified the Watchtower. Select members only.”

Ollie lifts an eyebrow. “You trust them with this kind of stuff?”

“I trust them with her,” Bruce replies without hesitation.

That lands heavier than anything else.

Dinah squeezes your hand. “Alright. Then we move.”

She stands, already reaching for the hidden panel near the hallway. “We suit up.”

You blink. “Now?”

Ollie gives you a soft, crooked smile. “Kid, if you’re gonna glitch out of existence, you’re doing it somewhere with the best minds in the universe.”

Dinah disappears briefly and returns with something folded carefully over her arm.

Your breath catches.

It’s a suit—but not yours.

Not Nightingale as you knew her.

The silhouette is familiar, but refined.

Reinforced seams. Subtle gold threading worked into the black. A faint canary insignia worked into the inside lining, near the collar.

Dinah holds it out. “Temporary. Modified to stabilise your vitals. Barry’ll do the real work, but this’ll help .”

You take it with trembling fingers. “You didn’t have to—”

“We did,” Ollie says gently.

As you change, the penthouse hums with quiet urgency. Dinah and Ollie suit up too, muscle memory guiding them. When you step back out, fully masked, Bruce stops breathing for half a second.

You’re Nightingale.

But older. Sharper. Tired in a way this world’s Nightingale never had the chance to be.

Bruce approaches you slowly, like you might spook.

“You ready?” he asks.

You hesitate—then lean forward and hug him.

He makes a small, broken sound as his arms wrap around you, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I should go home first,” he says quietly. “I need to tell them, the kids deserve to know.”

You nod. “I know.”

You pull back just long enough to press a kiss to his cheek. He does the same to your hair, lingering.

“Be careful,” he whispers.

“You too, daddy.”

He watches you go with Dinah and Ollie, something in his chest ripping open all over again.

Bruce drives home in silence.

The city lights blur past, reflections ghosting across the windows. His hands are steady on the wheel, but his thoughts are anything but.

Alive. Not his. Dead here. Alive somewhere else.

The manor looms ahead like a mausoleum.

Inside, the lights are on.

Alfred opens the door, welcoming him.

He walks ahead, trying to figure out a way to break the news to his children.

Too many of them. Voices carry faintly from the living room—irritated, confused, restless.

He steps inside and all of them turn at once.

Cass's head perks up first, she nudges Duke who stops talking

“Bruce?” Dick says immediately. “What the hell is going on?”

Jason pushes off the wall. “You disappear and drop that line about Y/N like it’s nothing—”

Steph and Tim are already standing, eyes sharp, scanning Bruce’s face. “Is this about the Watchtower alert?”

Bruce turns his head because how did he have Watchtower alerts?

Damian is quiet.

Elizabeth Taylor sits at his feet, tail thumping nervously, like she knows what's up. “Father,” he says. “Explain.”

Bruce closes the door behind him.

He doesn’t take off his coat.

He walks to the couch and sits.

That alone shuts them up.

“I need you all to listen,” Bruce says. “And not interrupt.”

That earns him a few looks, but no one speaks.

He swallows.

“Y/N is alive.”

The room explodes.

“What?” Steph blurts.

Tim stumbles forward a step. “That’s not—don’t do that.”

Jason laughs once, sharp and disbelieving. “That’s sick, man.”

Damian’s breath hitches. “Father—”

Bruce raises a hand. “She is alive. But not our Y/N.”

Dead silence.

Dick’s voice is barely audible. “…What?”

Bruce exhales. “She’s from another universe. In her world, I died. Same mission. Same explosion. They covered it up as a suicide.”

Tim pales. “Like we did to her here.”

“Yes.”

Cass steps closer to Steph instinctively. Duke’s hands curl into fists.

“So she just—what—shows up?” Jason demands. “Wearing her face?”

Bruce’s voice breaks despite himself. “She called me dad.”

Damian’s composure fractures. “You saw her?”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?” Damian asks immediately.

“They're on their way to the Watchtower, her, Dinah and Ollie. They were the ones who found her.” Bruce says. “She’s unstable. Barry’s working on something to stop the dimensional decay.”

Dick runs a hand through his hair, pacing now. “You didn’t bring her here.”

“It’s not safe yet.”

“For who?” Jason snaps.

Bruce looks at all of them. “For her. And for all of you.”

No one has an answer to that.

Only Elizabeth, who whines softly.

"Can we see her?" Duke asks,

"Eventually, I promise, let them get to the Watchtower, then we'll go." Bruce replies.

The Zeta-tube opens with a sound like the universe holding its breath.

Cold hits you first.

Not wind—there’s no air moving like that—but the kind of sterile, metallic chill that seeps straight through bone and settles behind your eyes.

The Watchtower always felt distant, even when you belonged here. Now it feels… vast. Hollow. Like a cathedral built for gods who forgot how to pray.

Below the transparent curve of the station, Earth hangs in silence.

Blue. Whole. Untouched by the fact that you died on it.

You take a step forward and your boots echo too loudly. Ollie’s already scanning the corridor, hand loose near his bow. Dinah walks just ahead of you, deliberate, protective without being obvious.

“You good?” Ollie asks, glancing back.

You nod, even though the static under your skin prickles in warning.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just… colder than I remember.”

Dinah hums. “It’s always like that your first time back.”

Back. You swallow.

The corridor stretches long and white and impossibly clean. As you walk, doors slide open. Heads turn.

John Stewart—freezes mid-conversation, eyes widening as they land on you.

Hal stares like he’s seen a ghost. Because he has.

Zatanna’s hand flies to her mouth.

Shayera stiffens, her wings twitching.

Martian Manhunter’s gaze sharpens instantly, unreadable but heavy with recognition.

You catch Victor Stone’s reflection in the glass—Cyborg’s systems visibly lag for half a second as he recalibrates what he’s seeing. Even Aquaman, regal and unshakable, pauses.

Every step forward feels like walking through your own funeral. Whispers ripple behind you.

“That’s—” “Didn't Bruce's kid pass?” “Wait what-.” “Is this some kind of—”

Ollie clears his throat loudly. “Eyes forward, folks. Multiverse emergency. Nothing to see here except your own business.”

That gets a few embarrassed looks, but the staring doesn’t stop.

You don’t really blame them.

At the end of the hall, the doors to the Flash’s lab slide open.

Barry’s voice spills out first. “—telling you, the math doesn’t lie, if she destabilises again—”

He stops mid-sentence. Clark turns. Diana looks up.

For half a second, none of them move.

Clark is the first to break.

He tries. You can tell he tries.

His shoulders square. His expression smooths into something neutral, professional. Justice League Superman.

“Nightingale. Y/N,” he says carefully. “It’s… great to see you.”

"Hi Uncle Clark" You reply softly

You barely have time to smile before he fails spectacularly.

In two strides he’s in front of you, pulling you into a hug so careful it almost hurts more than if he’d crushed you.

“Oh,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Oh, kid.”

Your arms come up automatically, pressing into his chest.

He smells the same. Sun-warm and familiar and devastating.

“Jonathan really misses you,” he says softly into your hair. “He keeps asking how your doing, forgetting that your uh-.”

Your throat closes, you cut him off. “I miss him too.”

Diana steps forward next, hands gentle as she cups your face, searching you with ancient eyes.

“You are weary,” she says quietly. “More than you should be.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. That tracks, thanks Aunt Di.”

Barry doesn’t even pretend to be calm. He darts in, hugging you quick and tight, then pulling back just as fast, hands already hovering like you might fall apart if he blinks.

“Okay,” he says, voice wobbling. “Wow. You look—wow.”

“Bad wow?” you ask.

“Tired wow,” he corrects immediately. “Like you’ve been carrying grief in a backpack with no straps.”

That hits harder than anything else.

Clark frowns. “She’s dimmer.”

You blink. “Dimmer?”

Barry nods. “Not in a bad way. Just… less light. Our Y/N was—” He gestures vaguely. “Sharper. Louder. You feel like… aftermath.”

You smile thinly. “Yeah no shit. I watched my dad die.”

That does it.

The static spikes.

It starts in your fingers—white noise crawling up your hands, your vision stuttering like a corrupted video file. The floor feels too far away, then too close.

Dinah swears. “She’s glitching.”

Your body flickers. Once. Twice.

“Hey—hey—hey,” Barry says quickly, hands on your shoulders. “Stay with me. Don’t fight it.”

You try to breathe and fail spectacularly as the world fractures.

Your arm phases through itself.

You gasp.

Clark’s hands hover uselessly. Diana’s jaw tightens.

“I need time,” Barry says sharply. “I can build something, but I need her stable now.”

“I’m trying,” you choke, and then your knees buckle.

The room dissolves into static

When sensation comes back, it’s softer.

There’s a band around your wrist—warm, humming faintly, like it’s alive. The static is still there, but muted. Padded.

Barry sits in front of you, goggles pushed up into his hair, eyes red-rimmed but bright with relief.

“Particle stabiliser,” he says proudly. “Temporary, but it’ll hold you together.”

You flex your fingers. They stay solid.

“Oh,” you whisper. “That’s… better.”

He grins, exhausted. “Yeah. Thought you’d like that.”

Dinah squeezes your shoulder. Ollie lets out a breath he’s clearly been holding for a while.

Across space, a notification lights up on Batman's display.

GLITCHING STABILISED. SUBJECT SAFE.

His hands tremble.

Wayne Manor is silent in the way only grief makes things silent. Bruce stands in the Cave, staring at the message like it might disappear if he looks away.

“She’s stable,” he says finally.

Every head snaps up.

Dick’s breath catches. Tim and Cass are already moving. Jason swears under his breath. Damian looks at Duke and Steph, his eyes shine with something dangerous and hopeful.

“We’re going,” Bruce says, voice ironed flat. “Suit up.”

And somewhere, kilometres away, your laughter rings down a Watchtower corridor—

and the silence that follows it is so loud it hurts.

A/N: Praying that this doesn't flop (it probably will ngl) , it def needs a part 3 sorry guys, i was actually gonna include a scene where AU!Batsis meets the batfam of this universe, but i couldn't be bothered i was cracked out while writing this. also does anybody want a fic of batsis with uncle ollie and aunt dinah, also ik this shit is so ass but I'm so proud of myself for conjuring up 10000 words

Hope you all enjoyed this! Likes, comments, reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! Requests are open!

Duke entered the manor expecting to find any type of scenario waiting for him, like a fight between the siblings over Alfred's last cookie or the same siblings playing some video games in the living room. But when as soon as he entered, he heard voices arguing animatedly, he followed them to the living room where he saw all them gathered together, some lying on the carpet like Tim and Cassandra and some distributed along the sofas and armchairs around them.

"I won't let it. Nope, nuh uh, not on my watch" Dick muttered with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his face, shaking his head.

"Dick, it's not really you that gets to decide these things" Tim replied.

"Yes it is if it's my sister we're talking about!" the older one immediately retorted. "She's my little girl! My princess! And i won't let her date anyone!"

"For the record, she's my sister too, Dickhead" Jason then said.

“TT, she's the sister of all of us Grayson, it's not like just because you're the oldest means you're the only one who can worry" Damian continued and Cassandra and Tim nodded.

Upon hearing those words, Duke noticed that in fact the only presence missing from the gathering of siblings was yours. Maybe you were still at school or out with your friends, he didn't know.

And even though he had that terrible feeling that by doing so he would be getting involved in one of those usual family dramas, Duke decided to join the conversation anyway.

"Why are you discussing about Y/n?" he asked calmly, entering the living room.

Everyone greeted him as he sat down on the couch next to Dick.

"Dickhead here thinks Y/n has a boyfriend and wants to act like the overprotective big brother" Jason replied from the other couch, nodding at Dick.

Dick looked at him with an annoyed frown.

"First of all stop calling me Dickhead. Second of all, you're as protective of her as i am, Jason, why aren't you the least bit concerned about this too??"

Jason shrugged.

"Dick she's 16, it's normal at that age to have a relationship"

"But we don't even know who he is!!" the other exclaimed with a terrified look. "What if he's dating her just because she's Bruce's daughter?? What if he's the son of a criminal?? What if he wants to kidnap her to get to us?? Oh God, what if he wants to kill her??!"

Duke hid a laugh behind his hand, while everyone else let out bored groans.

"How can you be sure she has a boyfriend?" Duke then asked.

"She's been spending a lot of time chatting on the phone lately and smiling a lot more than usual. Not to mention she often comes home later" Tim replied. "This is something you do when you're dating someone"

"Maybe she's just hanging out with her friends more?" the other retorted and Damian shook his head.

"It pains me to admit that i have to agree with Drake" he answered. "Y/n's behavior is unusual. And Grayson's theory is the most plausible one"

"And men are stupid. All of them" Cass added bluntly, causing all the boys present to look at her with an unsure frown.

"I think you're all worrying about nothing"

Another deeper voice suddenly intervened and made the 'kids' turn towards the entrance. Bruce looked at them with a calm smile, while Alfred also appeared behind him, taking off his jacket to hang it up.

"Bruce!" Dick exclaimed, rising to his feet. "How can you be so calm too?? She's your daughter!"

"So are Cassandra, Stephanie and Barbara. And you, Jason, Tim, Damian and Duke are my sons. I will always worry about each and every one of you" Bruce replied. "Y/n has been through worse things than a relationship, so i'm sure whoever this supposed boyfriend is won't cause us any trouble"

Alfred nodded.

"I agree with Master Bruce. Miss Y/n is perfectly capable of handling the situation, but if she ever finds herself in trouble then it will be her brothers' time to step in"

Dick sighed with his head down as Duke patted his back a couple of times and Jason smirked.

It was at that moment that the sound of the front door opening again rang out in the manor and Titus got up from the carpet to run to welcome whoever had just entered.

"Hiii Titus! Oh yes, i missed you too!"

Bruce smiled when he saw you crouch down on your legs to affectionately pet Titus, who licked your cheek a couple of times before walking away. When you noticed his presence you stood up straight and walked towards your father and gave him a quick hug.

"Hi dad"

"Hi sweetie"

Bruce bent his head to give you a quick kiss on the head and then you pulled away to let Alfred take off your jacket, hanging it next to Bruce's.

"Did you have a good day, Miss Y/n?" the butler asked you and you nodded with a wide smile.

Suddenly someone else rushed towards you, holding you tight in their arms. "I missed you sweetheart! Where were you??"

You giggled, hugging Dick back and rubbing your cheek against his broad chest as he patted your head affectionately as one does with children. You didn't mind when he or Jason got all affectionate (though Jason tended to do it more in private). They were your big brothers and you were very fond of them, like they were of you. Sure, you loved everyone else equally, but Dick and Jason had always helped and protected you when you needed it, so you could never refuse their gestures of affection when they were feeling particularly 'clingy'.

"I was out with some friends Dickie. We went to the mall and got something to eat. I thought Damian told you"

Dick whirled around to look at the smaller boy.

"You knew? And you didn't think to tell me?"

But Damian shrugged casually.

"You didn't ask"

Dick sighed and you looked at him with a remorseful smile. In fact you should have thought about it before telling Damian. Maybe it was best to tell Cass or Tim.

Dick walked away to let you get in the living room and sit with the others.

"What were you talking about here all together?" you asked innocently, sitting down next to Jason. "I wanna participate too"

Your brothers exchanged uncertain looks, but Tim took care of resolving the situation.

"Huh, we were deciding what to have for dinner"

"Oh" you nodded. "Anything is fine with me, the important thing is that Dickie doesn't cook it"

"Hey!"

And everyone burst out laughing.

It wasn't Dick's intention to eavesdrop, really. He was just heading downstairs to join Bruce and the others, but his ear couldn't help but hear the voice coming from your room. A voice that wasn't yours, but belonged to Stephanie.

"YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND??!"

"Shhh! Steph no need to scream!"

It was stronger than Dick. Maybe it was his graceful athletic steps that made you not notice his presence outside your room, but still your brother couldn't resist the urge to stop and listen to what you, Stephanie and Cass were talking about . Just for a few seconds, he swears, then he would have left.

"Sorry sorry, i'm just surprised. I didn't think you were actually dating someone" the blonde continued.

"Dick was right" Cass added.

Dick grimaced, stopping himself from storming into your room and yelling an "Ah-Ha! I knew it!". This news was worse than getting punched in the face by Bane himself.

You lowered your head with a goan.

"Was it really that obvious?"

Cass nodded and Steph smiled.

"You know you can't hide anything from the guys. They're very careful when it comes to you, we both know that" she said, patting your back. "But first, when were you going to tell us mh??? It's been a while since we did a bit of gossip!"

You giggled sheepishly.

"I wanted to make sure it was official before i told you. We've been dating for a month and so far everything seems to be going very well"

A MONTH?!?

Dick nearly fainted on the spot. His beloved little sister had been dating a dude for a month... And he didn't know anything about it...

"But" you continued, playing with your hands. "I called you because i wanted to ask you for some advice. This is my first relationship and i think you are more experienced than me. And i think it would be embarrassing to talk about it with the boys or with Bruce"

Cass seemed surprised that you'd come to her for advice as well, while Steph waved a hand with a snort.

"Hey now, i'm not exactly the relationship master" she giggled. "But i'm always available to help you with some idiot boyfriend, you know that"

"He's not an idiot" you murmured with a shy smile.

Cass settled herself better on your bed. "Tell us something about him, so maybe we can help you"

It was at that moment that you looked back down at your hands, feeling your cheeks heat up and your heart beat a little faster.

"Well he... You both know him, actually. In fact, the whole family knows him, to tell the truth" you murmured.

Dick leaned closer towards the door, anxious.

Oh god, who could it be among all your friends. Was he a superhero or a civilian?

"And him and Cass... Dated for a while..."

Those words took a few seconds to take effect in the brains of those present and when Dick realized who you were talking about, his eyes widened in shock. No...

"It's Kon"

This time neither Steph nor Cass stopped themselves from letting out a chorused cry.

"WHAT?!"

WHAT?!

Dick would have loved to come into your room and say who knows what, but he knew that from the exact moment you said that name, he had other priorities. So he wasted no time and turned to run down the stairs. He didn't mind the fact that Steph came out of your room to check if she had heard any noise coming from outside, then shrugged and closed the door again.

The speed with which he was running almost made him fall down the stairs and if Alfred had seen him he would have sternly warned him not to run like a madman. But that wasn't the case and within seconds Dick reached the Bat Cave, where everyone was waiting for him.

Duke was the first to look at him with furrowed eyebrows, confused by his panting and wide eyes.

"Dick are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost"

Dick leaned forward to catch his breath.

"It's Y/n... She has a... She has a boyfriend"

Bruce turned away from the Batcomputer, where Tim was sitting, to look at him with a sigh. "Dick, we already talked about this-"

"I heard her talking with Steph and Cass, i found out who he is" the eldest son interrupted him, looking at the others one by one. "I just found out who's the delinquent that is dating our sister!"

Damian immediately took a step towards him, drawing his sword. "Tell me who he is, Grayson. I want to know if this guy really deserves to go out with her"

Damian was the youngest of your brothers, but that didn't mean he wasn't as fond of you as the two older ones were, despite his rebellious behavior and feigned insensitiveness to brotherly love. On a scale of protectiveness, he was third on the podium, right after Dick and Jason.

Jason reached out to grip Damian's suit around his back, pinning him in place.

"Calm down, Demon Spawn" he called with a smirk, then looked at Dick. "It can't be that bad. The only people i wouldn't want to see with her are Roy and Wally, but i don't think-"

"It's Conner Kent"

...

Everyone present turned to look at Dick as silence fell in the cave for a few seconds until it was broken by Bruce's icy tone.

"I beg your pardon?"

Jason remained silent with his eyes fixed on Dick, while his grip on Damian's suit loosened until he let go and the youngest began to swing his sword with gritted teeth.

"This is even worse than i expected" he hissed, then turned to look at Tim. "It's all your fault Drake!"

Tim looked at him with wide eyes. "Me?? Excuse me, but what does this have to do with me??"

"He's your friend and it's your fault that idiot is hitting on my sister!"

"She's my sister too you brat and we all know it's not my fault! I'm just as furious as you!"

Duke raised his hands trying to alleviate the situation.

"Come on guys, let's try to calm down"

Jason began cracking his knuckles.

"That little punk son of a bitch..." he muttered. "He had a lot of nerve to hit on the other sister after he ended it with Cassandra"

"They're still friends..." Duke tried to say, trying to come to Kon's defense, but he was ignored.

Seeing that all four boys were too busy smoking out of their ears in anger, he tried to turn to Bruce for help calming the situation.

"Bruce tell them that- Oh no..."

But compared to the four sons, Bruce had an even more furious and frightening expression on his face that made Duke jump in fear. And before he could say anything else, Damian quickly passed him marching towards the stairs.

"I'm going to talk to Y/n" he muttered with a pout on his lips.

"I'm coming with you" Dick added.

He was immediately followed by all the others, while poor Duke bringing up the rear, was thinking of a way to stop them. But just before he could reach the upper floor, someone else positioned himself in front of Damian, blocking the entire line's passage.

"Where do you all think you're going?" Alfred asked sternly.

Jason leaned out from behind Dick, looking at the butler worriedly.

"Y/n is dating Conner Kent"

Alfred remained impassive.

"I don't see where the problem is, Master Jason"

"And Kent is an asshole" Damian piped bluntly.

The butler glared at him. "Master Damian, moderate your language"

"No no, he's right" Tim continued. "Kon is my friend, but he's an idiot. I don't want him and my sister dating"

Alfred let out a sigh, looking at the boys one by one.

"I thought we had already discussed about this topic. Your sister's love life is not something that concerns you personally"

"But Alfred-" Dick tried this time, but the man cut him off by raising a hand.

"No buts, Master Richard. We have already clarified the matter. You can insult that boy all you want but Miss Y/n is not the person to let anyone walk all over her. She doesn't need five nosy people meddling in her private life"

"I'm her father. I just want to talk to her" Bruce said, his eyes worried.

Alfred looked at him solemnly.

"If the girl wants to talk to any of you she will come to do so when she deems it appropriate. Until then i forbid you all to insist. Am i clear?"

Bruce and the boys nodded dejectedly. "Yes Alfred"

The old man nodded.

"Good. Don't you have to prepare for tonight's patrol?"

And without saying anything in protest all six returned to the cave with their heads bowed.

A couple of weeks passed and those were the most stressful days of the lives of your brothers and your father, who had only waited in terror for the moment when you came to them crying and saying that your boyfriend who you had kept hidden from them had left you or cheated or hurt you. But to their relief none of this happened, until one evening at dinner, reluctantly, you announced that you wanted to tell them some news.

"I have a secret i would like to share with you" you began with a nervous smile, feeling your siblings' gazes on you. "Well, Cass already knows, but i wanted to wait for the right time to tell you"

Damian who was sitting next to you, kept his gaze on his plate and continued to chew the food in his mouth in an offended manner, as if he really didn't intend to listen to what you had to say (and in fact he was). The last thing in the world he wanted was confirmation from you that you were dating a stupid boy like Conner Kent.

Jason gripped tightly the fork he was holding, so tightly that it bent slightly, but you didn't notice.

Dick had one leg bouncing frantically from under the table, but he tried to mask the annoyance he felt (not for you, obviously) by giving you one of his classic sweet smiles.

Tim, on the other hand, looked you straight in the eyes with an expression you couldn't decipher: either it was the lack of caffeine in his body or he and the others had already understood everything. And something told you it was the second option.

The only ones besides Dick who were giving you an encouraging smile were Cass and Duke.

Bruce on the other hand, had both elbows on the table and his chin resting on top of his crossed hands, while his blue eyes peered into your soul. He too was giving a small smile in your direction, but you could tell from a mile away that it was more to give himself some confidence.

"Um... I just wanted to tell you that i've been dating a guy for a while now and..." you murmured with a shy smile and warm cheeks. "Yeah, in short we went out together and a few days ago he asked me to be his girlfriend. That's it"

"This is awesome Y/n" Duke said with an excited smile. "I'm happy for you"

You thanked him and then looked between all the other brothers.

"TT" Damian muttered. "I guess this means that sooner or later this idiot will come to our house and eat our food and-"

"Master Damian" Alfred's voice rang reproachfully from the kitchen and Damian fell silent, slumping in his chair with a pout and his arms crossed. You looked at your little brother worriedly, even though you expected such a reaction.

"That's good news sweetheart" Dick piped, his smile trembling. "It really is. I'm happy for you, truly, haha..."

"Really Dickie?" you asked with an uncertain tone, not convinced by the tone of voice your brother was using. "You don't look happy"

"Of course i am, princess, i mean it!" he retorted, reaching out to cover yours since he was sitting across from you. "After all, sooner or later it had to happen to you too, right?"

"Can we know who he is?" Tim's voice then intervened.

You looked at him, biting your lip, suddenly even more nervous than before.

"Promise you won't get mad?"

If he hadn't found out that day from Dick, Tim would now have suspected the worst upon hearing those words. But with all his heart he hoped that the older one was wrong and that you weren't actually dating Kon.

But seeing the fear in your eyes Tim gave you a reassuring smile.

"I promise"

He wouldn't be mad at you. At Kon though? Oh, he was going to kick his ass.

You smiled back and then took a small breath, glancing at Cass who nodded at you.

"It's Conner Kent"

Right after your confirmation two heavy grunts came from Jason and Damian, while Duke and Cass chuckled.

"But he's an idiooot!" Dick whined and Jason raised a hand, muttering an "I agree".

You gave them a look. "He's not an idiot. He's sweet and super funny and he's very kind to me"

"It was the same with Cass and yet-"

"Jason" this time it was Bruce's turn to interrupt one of the boys. "That's enough"

Silence fell in the dining room and you turned to look at your father, who was looking at you with a stern expression.

“Sweetheart” he called to you and you settled more comfortably in your chair under his piercing gaze. “You're old enough to be in a relationship on your own and i trust you completely. I know you girls hate it when a man acts like a protective father, so i just want to know one thing in all honesty: does he love you? Does he respect you?”

Despite the seriousness of the speech, you felt your lips automatically curve upwards as you thought of Kon. You were madly in love with him and you couldn't stop the butterflies in your stomach at the mere thought of him.

“He does” you nodded with a shy smile. “It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but our friends say he "treats me like a queen". Their words, not mine. I always have the best time when i'm with him”

Damian and Tim made disgusted faces, while Dick let out a tender smile, noticing the love in the way you were talking about him.

“I really like him and i care about him, you know? And i hope he feels the same way i feel about him, because i'd like to keep seeing him. And if what's between us ever ends, then i hope that we'll still remain on good terms” you concluded.

Your family looked at you in silence for a few seconds, until your father finally smiled.

“Very well” he nodded. “I say that this is enough to resolve all the doubts that your brothers and i had”

“Really??” you asked him, eyes bright with excitement. “So it's not a problem? Are we good?”

Bruce grabbed his fork, ready to start eating the food he had left aside for your little interrogation. “As long as Conner is okay i'm okay. If he makes you happy then i don't see why i should get in your way”

You got up from your chair to go hug Bruce and you noticed that Cass and Duke gave you a thumbs up, also happy that the drama of the situation had dissolved.

“Thanks dad!” you exclaimed, leaning down to give him a loud kiss on the cheek and he rubbed your back with his free hand.

“Anything for you sweetheart” Bruce returned, while from the kitchen doorway he saw Alfred give him a satisfied smile.

Then you raised your head to look at Tim, while your father resumed eating.

“Are you really not mad Timmy?”

Tim let out a sigh and shook his head with a small smile.

“Nah i'm not, i promise. Kon's an idiot, but at least we know you're safer being with someone we know than a stranger. I trust him”

You smiled back, relieved to hear his words. Out of all your brothers Tim was the one you were most worried about since he and Kon were on the same team and you didn't want to ruin their relationship.

And speaking of the other brothers...

Before you could sit back down at the table, two large, muscular bodies glued themselves to yours, holding you in their arms.

“My little princess is growing up!” Dick whined, his eyes teary as he frantically rubbed his cheek against your hair. “It seems like only yesterday i was helping you with your math homework and now... Now you have your first boyfriend!”

“Dickie...” you sighed.

On your other side, Jason held you even tighter and more possessive than his other brother and you thought it was a miracle that you could still breathe.

“I know Conner is Tim's friend, but i swear that at the slightest mistake i'll-"

“I know, i know” you interrupted him. “You'll cut off his penis?”

“Oh i can do even worse than that, sissy” he said in a tone that was a mix of teasing and threatening, typical of Jason. “I'd like to see how far a half-Kryptonian can go”

You giggled and raised your arms to hug your two older brothers back as much as you could given their large frames. Then your gaze fell on the figure of Damian, who until then had remained silent and sulking.

“Dami?”

His bright green eyes looked up at yours.

“Everything okay?” you asked him softly.

He shrugged and frowned at you, even though you knew his bad mood wasn't due to you. Not personally at least.

“I guess” he just said and you nodded understandingly.

As i already said, Damian was also particularly fond of you and considered you one of those very few people in front of whom he could drop his tough mask. But unlike Dick, he wasn't good at expressing the love he felt for you as your brother to an audience. If he wanted to ask you for help with something, he did it in a low voice so that others couldn't hear him. If he was feeling down and in need of a hug from a female figure like his older sister, then he made 100% sure that none of his other relatives were present (the only exceptions were Alfred and Bruce). And if he wanted to express his concerns and suspicions about your stupid boyfriend to you, then he would have done it in the privacy of your or his bedroom, hidden from prying eyes and ears.

“This is unbelievable...” Dick whimpered again as neither he nor Jason loosened their grip around your body. “One day my beloved baby sister comes home with her boyfriend and the next day she will run away to get married to him and start a family”

“DICKIE!” You exclaimed, eyes wide in embarrassment.

And right after you, the angry and indignant voices of your brothers also joined in, insulting him for making that stupid comment. Bruce, along with Cass and Duke, laughed in amusement.

You texted to Kon that same evening, eager to tell him the good news.

YOU

I told them.

KON💙

How did it go?? What about Cass?

YOU

Cass and Duke are happy, no need to worry. And you might think it's strange to hear this but Bruce is fine with it too^^ I would tell you that the worst is over, but i'd be lying ahah.

KON💙

Tim is going to kill me, isn't he?

YOU

Not him, if that's any consolation. But i can't assure you anything about the other three. Especially Jason and Damian.

KON💙

It's okay, i'm Clark Kent's clone, i can take on a team of overprotective vigilantes, one of which doesn't even reach my knee.

You laughed as you read the message.

YOU

You're an idiot.

KON💙

Just for you babe. Hey, i was thinking, you wanna go out this weekend? How about i take you to the cinema?

YOU

I would love to~ Can't wait.

KON💙

Me too. I'd like to talk to you all night but i have to go now, sorry love.

YOU

It's fine, don't worry. Goodnight Kon<3

KON💙

Night babe, love you<3

YOU

Love you too<3

And that night you went to sleep with butterflies in your stomach and your heart pounding, just like every other night you texted him.

A few days later...

“I believe Mr. Kent has arrived for Miss Y/n's date”

Alfred barely had time to finish that sentence that four out of five brothers catapulted towards the front door. Luckily you were still upstairs finishing getting ready for the movie night so your brothers had a few minutes to talk to him. Alone.

When Conner saw the door open he smiled brightly thinking about meeting your face, but as soon as his eyes saw the other four pairs of eyes looking at him murderously he felt his smile falter.

“Hey guys~”

Immediately the half-Kryptonian found the tip of a sword blade pointed at his face and he raised his hands in surrender.

“Come on, do you think that low of me?” he jokingly asked, lifting his sunglasses up to his forehead so he could see them better.

“Yes”

“A little”

“Much”

“You bet” they chorused without hesitation.

Kon turned to Tim, who had his arms crossed over his chest and was looking at him unimpressed.

“Tim you too?? I'm your teammate! We're friends!” the former chuckled nervously. “Don't you remember that saying? Bros before-”

“I suggest you don't finish that fucking sentence if you still want to take my sister on this date, you little shit” Jason hissed, narrowing his eyes. “You're half Kryptonian anyway, i have no problem shooting all the bullets i have at you and seeing how many it takes to make a hole your body”

Conner managed to notice a gun that was hidden under Jason's jacket and although that sight didn't surprise him he nodded frantically, trying not to touch the sword that Damian was still pointing at him.

Then it was Tim's turn to speak up.

“I'm only doing this because it's my sister, okay?” he said sternly. “I trust you and most importantly she trusts you. You better not do any bullshit, understand?”

Kon stared back, no longer intimidated by the presence of the four Robins.

“Look, just because you're her brothers doesn't mean you're the only ones who love her. I care about her and this relationship too, okay?” he said with determination, slowly lowering his hands. “Give me a chance to prove it”

The other four exchanged thoughtful glances, as if they were having a mental conversation. Then after a few seconds, Dick placed a hand on Damian's shoulder.

“Dames, come on”

The younger one hesitated, but then lowered the sword to put it back in its sheath and Conner refrained from letting out a sigh of relief. Not that he was terrified of the four vigilantes, but he didn't want his name to be the first on their blacklist for much longer.

“TT. You better watch your back, Kent” Damian muttered and the other rolled his eyes, ignoring the murderous look he was still staring at him with.

Dick pushed through the group, leaning down to look Conner in the eye.

“I want her home by 10pm sharp. Not a minute later” he ordered, pointing a finger at his chest and Jason nodded in agreement.

Conner also nodded and put a hand to his forehead like a soldier, giving him an arrogant grin. “Yes Sir”

It was at that moment that your voice rang from the stairs, like an angel opening the gates of salvation to Kon.

“Is everything okay there?”

Dick was the only one who dropped his menacing look to give you a wide smile, as if nothing had happened.

“Sweetie, hey! Oh my, look at you you're so pretty!”

Your face warmed up when you saw the eyes of everyone present resting on you as you went down the stairs and you smiled awkwardly, especially due to Kon's presence.

“Thanks Dickie. But it's just a trip to the cinema, nothing special”

Damian's glare softened without him realizing it. “Sister, you would look pretty even with a garbage bag on your head. Though i can't say the same for Drake and Todd"

Jason smacked him on the back of his head while Tim said "Shut your mouth, you little devil", glaring at him.

But even though your ears could hear their argument, your eyes were now fixed on Kon's, who you rarely saw as he often wore his round sunglasses. And even if his usual rockstar look suited him a lot, (the sunglasses, the leather jacket, the gloves on his hands, the gold earring on his left ear), you liked being able to look straight into his blue eyes every now and then.

“Hi” you said with a shy smile.

Conner returned the smile with a more confident one, tuning out the presence of your brothers. “Hey sweetheart”

You made your way through the others to reach him and as soon as you were in front of him he placed his gloved hands on your hips, ready to kiss you (on the cheek of course, better not on the mouth). Still a big mistake.

“Hands where i can see them, punk” Jason's threatening voice boomed from behind you.

“Can you avoid doing these things when we're still here at least?” Tim grumbled with a disgusted grimace.

Kon removed his hands from your body in a split second as he gave you a pleading look that seemed to say "Please let's leave" and you giggled, then turned to look at your brothers.

“We're going” you said, giving them a reassuring smile. “I'll see you tonight, okay?”

Jason took a step towards you to give you a quick hug. “If anything happens call me and i'll come to kick his ass, hm?" he whispered next to your ear.

“I know you will Jay. But i'll be fine, trust me. All of you” you replied before kissing his cheek and he nodded uncertainly.

You repositioned yourself next to Kon and took his hand in yours, ignoring the way Damian stared at your joined hands.

“Have fun, princess” Dick said with a smile and then he looked at Conner with a knowing look. “But not too much fun, yeah? I'll know if anything happens”

You and your boyfriend nodded dutifully and finally turned on your heel to leave for your date.

“Wait” Tim called. “I'm going to call Alfred for the car”

But Conner raised a hand. “Nah, no need”

He lowered his glasses back onto his nose, then ran a hand through his unruly locks to give himself a quick fix. You admired him with loving eyes and he smirked at you, aware of the effect he had on you everytime he did that. Then in one quick move, he lifted your body into his arms and you automatically wrapped yours around his neck, preparing for takeoff. Lastly, he turned to send a goodbye smile to the guys.

“See ya!”

You barely had time to wave goodbye to them for the last time when Kon took flight with a quick sprint, wanting to get away from Wayne manor (more from your brothers) as soon as possible.

Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian watched your figures move further and further away in the night sky, until they became small dots that then disappeared among the stars.

“Stupid show-off” Damian grumbled.

The others nodded, then they turned back inside and closed the door.

Duke entered the manor expecting to find any type of scenario waiting for him, like a fight between the siblings over Alfred's last cookie or the same siblings playing some video games in the living room. But when as soon as he entered, he heard voices arguing animatedly, he followed them to the living room where he saw all them gathered together, some lying on the carpet like Tim and Cassandra and some distributed along the sofas and armchairs around them.

"I won't let it. Nope, nuh uh, not on my watch" Dick muttered with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his face, shaking his head.

"Dick, it's not really you that gets to decide these things" Tim replied.

"Yes it is if it's my sister we're talking about!" the older one immediately retorted. "She's my little girl! My princess! And i won't let her date anyone!"

"For the record, she's my sister too, Dickhead" Jason then said.

“TT, she's the sister of all of us Grayson, it's not like just because you're the oldest means you're the only one who can worry" Damian continued and Cassandra and Tim nodded.

Upon hearing those words, Duke noticed that in fact the only presence missing from the gathering of siblings was yours. Maybe you were still at school or out with your friends, he didn't know.

And even though he had that terrible feeling that by doing so he would be getting involved in one of those usual family dramas, Duke decided to join the conversation anyway.

"Why are you discussing about Y/n?" he asked calmly, entering the living room.

Everyone greeted him as he sat down on the couch next to Dick.

"Dickhead here thinks Y/n has a boyfriend and wants to act like the overprotective big brother" Jason replied from the other couch, nodding at Dick.

Dick looked at him with an annoyed frown.

"First of all stop calling me Dickhead. Second of all, you're as protective of her as i am, Jason, why aren't you the least bit concerned about this too??"

Jason shrugged.

"Dick she's 16, it's normal at that age to have a relationship"

"But we don't even know who he is!!" the other exclaimed with a terrified look. "What if he's dating her just because she's Bruce's daughter?? What if he's the son of a criminal?? What if he wants to kidnap her to get to us?? Oh God, what if he wants to kill her??!"

Duke hid a laugh behind his hand, while everyone else let out bored groans.

"How can you be sure she has a boyfriend?" Duke then asked.

"She's been spending a lot of time chatting on the phone lately and smiling a lot more than usual. Not to mention she often comes home later" Tim replied. "This is something you do when you're dating someone"

"Maybe she's just hanging out with her friends more?" the other retorted and Damian shook his head.

"It pains me to admit that i have to agree with Drake" he answered. "Y/n's behavior is unusual. And Grayson's theory is the most plausible one"

"And men are stupid. All of them" Cass added bluntly, causing all the boys present to look at her with an unsure frown.

"I think you're all worrying about nothing"

Another deeper voice suddenly intervened and made the 'kids' turn towards the entrance. Bruce looked at them with a calm smile, while Alfred also appeared behind him, taking off his jacket to hang it up.

"Bruce!" Dick exclaimed, rising to his feet. "How can you be so calm too?? She's your daughter!"

"So are Cassandra, Stephanie and Barbara. And you, Jason, Tim, Damian and Duke are my sons. I will always worry about each and every one of you" Bruce replied. "Y/n has been through worse things than a relationship, so i'm sure whoever this supposed boyfriend is won't cause us any trouble"

Alfred nodded.

"I agree with Master Bruce. Miss Y/n is perfectly capable of handling the situation, but if she ever finds herself in trouble then it will be her brothers' time to step in"

Dick sighed with his head down as Duke patted his back a couple of times and Jason smirked.

It was at that moment that the sound of the front door opening again rang out in the manor and Titus got up from the carpet to run to welcome whoever had just entered.

"Hiii Titus! Oh yes, i missed you too!"

Bruce smiled when he saw you crouch down on your legs to affectionately pet Titus, who licked your cheek a couple of times before walking away. When you noticed his presence you stood up straight and walked towards your father and gave him a quick hug.

"Hi dad"

"Hi sweetie"

Bruce bent his head to give you a quick kiss on the head and then you pulled away to let Alfred take off your jacket, hanging it next to Bruce's.

"Did you have a good day, Miss Y/n?" the butler asked you and you nodded with a wide smile.

Suddenly someone else rushed towards you, holding you tight in their arms. "I missed you sweetheart! Where were you??"

You giggled, hugging Dick back and rubbing your cheek against his broad chest as he patted your head affectionately as one does with children. You didn't mind when he or Jason got all affectionate (though Jason tended to do it more in private). They were your big brothers and you were very fond of them, like they were of you. Sure, you loved everyone else equally, but Dick and Jason had always helped and protected you when you needed it, so you could never refuse their gestures of affection when they were feeling particularly 'clingy'.

"I was out with some friends Dickie. We went to the mall and got something to eat. I thought Damian told you"

Dick whirled around to look at the smaller boy.

"You knew? And you didn't think to tell me?"

But Damian shrugged casually.

"You didn't ask"

Dick sighed and you looked at him with a remorseful smile. In fact you should have thought about it before telling Damian. Maybe it was best to tell Cass or Tim.

Dick walked away to let you get in the living room and sit with the others.

"What were you talking about here all together?" you asked innocently, sitting down next to Jason. "I wanna participate too"

Your brothers exchanged uncertain looks, but Tim took care of resolving the situation.

"Huh, we were deciding what to have for dinner"

"Oh" you nodded. "Anything is fine with me, the important thing is that Dickie doesn't cook it"

"Hey!"

And everyone burst out laughing.

It wasn't Dick's intention to eavesdrop, really. He was just heading downstairs to join Bruce and the others, but his ear couldn't help but hear the voice coming from your room. A voice that wasn't yours, but belonged to Stephanie.

"YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND??!"

"Shhh! Steph no need to scream!"

It was stronger than Dick. Maybe it was his graceful athletic steps that made you not notice his presence outside your room, but still your brother couldn't resist the urge to stop and listen to what you, Stephanie and Cass were talking about . Just for a few seconds, he swears, then he would have left.

"Sorry sorry, i'm just surprised. I didn't think you were actually dating someone" the blonde continued.

"Dick was right" Cass added.

Dick grimaced, stopping himself from storming into your room and yelling an "Ah-Ha! I knew it!". This news was worse than getting punched in the face by Bane himself.

You lowered your head with a goan.

"Was it really that obvious?"

Cass nodded and Steph smiled.

"You know you can't hide anything from the guys. They're very careful when it comes to you, we both know that" she said, patting your back. "But first, when were you going to tell us mh??? It's been a while since we did a bit of gossip!"

You giggled sheepishly.

"I wanted to make sure it was official before i told you. We've been dating for a month and so far everything seems to be going very well"

A MONTH?!?

Dick nearly fainted on the spot. His beloved little sister had been dating a dude for a month... And he didn't know anything about it...

"But" you continued, playing with your hands. "I called you because i wanted to ask you for some advice. This is my first relationship and i think you are more experienced than me. And i think it would be embarrassing to talk about it with the boys or with Bruce"

Cass seemed surprised that you'd come to her for advice as well, while Steph waved a hand with a snort.

"Hey now, i'm not exactly the relationship master" she giggled. "But i'm always available to help you with some idiot boyfriend, you know that"

"He's not an idiot" you murmured with a shy smile.

Cass settled herself better on your bed. "Tell us something about him, so maybe we can help you"

It was at that moment that you looked back down at your hands, feeling your cheeks heat up and your heart beat a little faster.

"Well he... You both know him, actually. In fact, the whole family knows him, to tell the truth" you murmured.

Dick leaned closer towards the door, anxious.

Oh god, who could it be among all your friends. Was he a superhero or a civilian?

"And him and Cass... Dated for a while..."

Those words took a few seconds to take effect in the brains of those present and when Dick realized who you were talking about, his eyes widened in shock. No...

"It's Kon"

This time neither Steph nor Cass stopped themselves from letting out a chorused cry.

"WHAT?!"

WHAT?!

Dick would have loved to come into your room and say who knows what, but he knew that from the exact moment you said that name, he had other priorities. So he wasted no time and turned to run down the stairs. He didn't mind the fact that Steph came out of your room to check if she had heard any noise coming from outside, then shrugged and closed the door again.

The speed with which he was running almost made him fall down the stairs and if Alfred had seen him he would have sternly warned him not to run like a madman. But that wasn't the case and within seconds Dick reached the Bat Cave, where everyone was waiting for him.

Duke was the first to look at him with furrowed eyebrows, confused by his panting and wide eyes.

"Dick are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost"

Dick leaned forward to catch his breath.

"It's Y/n... She has a... She has a boyfriend"

Bruce turned away from the Batcomputer, where Tim was sitting, to look at him with a sigh. "Dick, we already talked about this-"

"I heard her talking with Steph and Cass, i found out who he is" the eldest son interrupted him, looking at the others one by one. "I just found out who's the delinquent that is dating our sister!"

Damian immediately took a step towards him, drawing his sword. "Tell me who he is, Grayson. I want to know if this guy really deserves to go out with her"

Damian was the youngest of your brothers, but that didn't mean he wasn't as fond of you as the two older ones were, despite his rebellious behavior and feigned insensitiveness to brotherly love. On a scale of protectiveness, he was third on the podium, right after Dick and Jason.

Jason reached out to grip Damian's suit around his back, pinning him in place.

"Calm down, Demon Spawn" he called with a smirk, then looked at Dick. "It can't be that bad. The only people i wouldn't want to see with her are Roy and Wally, but i don't think-"

"It's Conner Kent"

...

Everyone present turned to look at Dick as silence fell in the cave for a few seconds until it was broken by Bruce's icy tone.

"I beg your pardon?"

Jason remained silent with his eyes fixed on Dick, while his grip on Damian's suit loosened until he let go and the youngest began to swing his sword with gritted teeth.

"This is even worse than i expected" he hissed, then turned to look at Tim. "It's all your fault Drake!"

Tim looked at him with wide eyes. "Me?? Excuse me, but what does this have to do with me??"

"He's your friend and it's your fault that idiot is hitting on my sister!"

"She's my sister too you brat and we all know it's not my fault! I'm just as furious as you!"

Duke raised his hands trying to alleviate the situation.

"Come on guys, let's try to calm down"

Jason began cracking his knuckles.

"That little punk son of a bitch..." he muttered. "He had a lot of nerve to hit on the other sister after he ended it with Cassandra"

"They're still friends..." Duke tried to say, trying to come to Kon's defense, but he was ignored.

Seeing that all four boys were too busy smoking out of their ears in anger, he tried to turn to Bruce for help calming the situation.

"Bruce tell them that- Oh no..."

But compared to the four sons, Bruce had an even more furious and frightening expression on his face that made Duke jump in fear. And before he could say anything else, Damian quickly passed him marching towards the stairs.

"I'm going to talk to Y/n" he muttered with a pout on his lips.

"I'm coming with you" Dick added.

He was immediately followed by all the others, while poor Duke bringing up the rear, was thinking of a way to stop them. But just before he could reach the upper floor, someone else positioned himself in front of Damian, blocking the entire line's passage.

"Where do you all think you're going?" Alfred asked sternly.

Jason leaned out from behind Dick, looking at the butler worriedly.

"Y/n is dating Conner Kent"

Alfred remained impassive.

"I don't see where the problem is, Master Jason"

"And Kent is an asshole" Damian piped bluntly.

The butler glared at him. "Master Damian, moderate your language"

"No no, he's right" Tim continued. "Kon is my friend, but he's an idiot. I don't want him and my sister dating"

Alfred let out a sigh, looking at the boys one by one.

"I thought we had already discussed about this topic. Your sister's love life is not something that concerns you personally"

"But Alfred-" Dick tried this time, but the man cut him off by raising a hand.

"No buts, Master Richard. We have already clarified the matter. You can insult that boy all you want but Miss Y/n is not the person to let anyone walk all over her. She doesn't need five nosy people meddling in her private life"

"I'm her father. I just want to talk to her" Bruce said, his eyes worried.

Alfred looked at him solemnly.

"If the girl wants to talk to any of you she will come to do so when she deems it appropriate. Until then i forbid you all to insist. Am i clear?"

Bruce and the boys nodded dejectedly. "Yes Alfred"

The old man nodded.

"Good. Don't you have to prepare for tonight's patrol?"

And without saying anything in protest all six returned to the cave with their heads bowed.

A couple of weeks passed and those were the most stressful days of the lives of your brothers and your father, who had only waited in terror for the moment when you came to them crying and saying that your boyfriend who you had kept hidden from them had left you or cheated or hurt you. But to their relief none of this happened, until one evening at dinner, reluctantly, you announced that you wanted to tell them some news.

"I have a secret i would like to share with you" you began with a nervous smile, feeling your siblings' gazes on you. "Well, Cass already knows, but i wanted to wait for the right time to tell you"

Damian who was sitting next to you, kept his gaze on his plate and continued to chew the food in his mouth in an offended manner, as if he really didn't intend to listen to what you had to say (and in fact he was). The last thing in the world he wanted was confirmation from you that you were dating a stupid boy like Conner Kent.

Jason gripped tightly the fork he was holding, so tightly that it bent slightly, but you didn't notice.

Dick had one leg bouncing frantically from under the table, but he tried to mask the annoyance he felt (not for you, obviously) by giving you one of his classic sweet smiles.

Tim, on the other hand, looked you straight in the eyes with an expression you couldn't decipher: either it was the lack of caffeine in his body or he and the others had already understood everything. And something told you it was the second option.

The only ones besides Dick who were giving you an encouraging smile were Cass and Duke.

Bruce on the other hand, had both elbows on the table and his chin resting on top of his crossed hands, while his blue eyes peered into your soul. He too was giving a small smile in your direction, but you could tell from a mile away that it was more to give himself some confidence.

"Um... I just wanted to tell you that i've been dating a guy for a while now and..." you murmured with a shy smile and warm cheeks. "Yeah, in short we went out together and a few days ago he asked me to be his girlfriend. That's it"

"This is awesome Y/n" Duke said with an excited smile. "I'm happy for you"

You thanked him and then looked between all the other brothers.

"TT" Damian muttered. "I guess this means that sooner or later this idiot will come to our house and eat our food and-"

"Master Damian" Alfred's voice rang reproachfully from the kitchen and Damian fell silent, slumping in his chair with a pout and his arms crossed. You looked at your little brother worriedly, even though you expected such a reaction.

"That's good news sweetheart" Dick piped, his smile trembling. "It really is. I'm happy for you, truly, haha..."

"Really Dickie?" you asked with an uncertain tone, not convinced by the tone of voice your brother was using. "You don't look happy"

"Of course i am, princess, i mean it!" he retorted, reaching out to cover yours since he was sitting across from you. "After all, sooner or later it had to happen to you too, right?"

"Can we know who he is?" Tim's voice then intervened.

You looked at him, biting your lip, suddenly even more nervous than before.

"Promise you won't get mad?"

If he hadn't found out that day from Dick, Tim would now have suspected the worst upon hearing those words. But with all his heart he hoped that the older one was wrong and that you weren't actually dating Kon.

But seeing the fear in your eyes Tim gave you a reassuring smile.

"I promise"

He wouldn't be mad at you. At Kon though? Oh, he was going to kick his ass.

You smiled back and then took a small breath, glancing at Cass who nodded at you.

"It's Conner Kent"

Right after your confirmation two heavy grunts came from Jason and Damian, while Duke and Cass chuckled.

"But he's an idiooot!" Dick whined and Jason raised a hand, muttering an "I agree".

You gave them a look. "He's not an idiot. He's sweet and super funny and he's very kind to me"

"It was the same with Cass and yet-"

"Jason" this time it was Bruce's turn to interrupt one of the boys. "That's enough"

Silence fell in the dining room and you turned to look at your father, who was looking at you with a stern expression.

“Sweetheart” he called to you and you settled more comfortably in your chair under his piercing gaze. “You're old enough to be in a relationship on your own and i trust you completely. I know you girls hate it when a man acts like a protective father, so i just want to know one thing in all honesty: does he love you? Does he respect you?”

Despite the seriousness of the speech, you felt your lips automatically curve upwards as you thought of Kon. You were madly in love with him and you couldn't stop the butterflies in your stomach at the mere thought of him.

“He does” you nodded with a shy smile. “It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but our friends say he "treats me like a queen". Their words, not mine. I always have the best time when i'm with him”

Damian and Tim made disgusted faces, while Dick let out a tender smile, noticing the love in the way you were talking about him.

“I really like him and i care about him, you know? And i hope he feels the same way i feel about him, because i'd like to keep seeing him. And if what's between us ever ends, then i hope that we'll still remain on good terms” you concluded.

Your family looked at you in silence for a few seconds, until your father finally smiled.

“Very well” he nodded. “I say that this is enough to resolve all the doubts that your brothers and i had”

“Really??” you asked him, eyes bright with excitement. “So it's not a problem? Are we good?”

Bruce grabbed his fork, ready to start eating the food he had left aside for your little interrogation. “As long as Conner is okay i'm okay. If he makes you happy then i don't see why i should get in your way”

You got up from your chair to go hug Bruce and you noticed that Cass and Duke gave you a thumbs up, also happy that the drama of the situation had dissolved.

“Thanks dad!” you exclaimed, leaning down to give him a loud kiss on the cheek and he rubbed your back with his free hand.

“Anything for you sweetheart” Bruce returned, while from the kitchen doorway he saw Alfred give him a satisfied smile.

Then you raised your head to look at Tim, while your father resumed eating.

“Are you really not mad Timmy?”

Tim let out a sigh and shook his head with a small smile.

“Nah i'm not, i promise. Kon's an idiot, but at least we know you're safer being with someone we know than a stranger. I trust him”

You smiled back, relieved to hear his words. Out of all your brothers Tim was the one you were most worried about since he and Kon were on the same team and you didn't want to ruin their relationship.

And speaking of the other brothers...

Before you could sit back down at the table, two large, muscular bodies glued themselves to yours, holding you in their arms.

“My little princess is growing up!” Dick whined, his eyes teary as he frantically rubbed his cheek against your hair. “It seems like only yesterday i was helping you with your math homework and now... Now you have your first boyfriend!”

“Dickie...” you sighed.

On your other side, Jason held you even tighter and more possessive than his other brother and you thought it was a miracle that you could still breathe.

“I know Conner is Tim's friend, but i swear that at the slightest mistake i'll-"

“I know, i know” you interrupted him. “You'll cut off his penis?”

“Oh i can do even worse than that, sissy” he said in a tone that was a mix of teasing and threatening, typical of Jason. “I'd like to see how far a half-Kryptonian can go”

You giggled and raised your arms to hug your two older brothers back as much as you could given their large frames. Then your gaze fell on the figure of Damian, who until then had remained silent and sulking.

“Dami?”

His bright green eyes looked up at yours.

“Everything okay?” you asked him softly.

He shrugged and frowned at you, even though you knew his bad mood wasn't due to you. Not personally at least.

“I guess” he just said and you nodded understandingly.

As i already said, Damian was also particularly fond of you and considered you one of those very few people in front of whom he could drop his tough mask. But unlike Dick, he wasn't good at expressing the love he felt for you as your brother to an audience. If he wanted to ask you for help with something, he did it in a low voice so that others couldn't hear him. If he was feeling down and in need of a hug from a female figure like his older sister, then he made 100% sure that none of his other relatives were present (the only exceptions were Alfred and Bruce). And if he wanted to express his concerns and suspicions about your stupid boyfriend to you, then he would have done it in the privacy of your or his bedroom, hidden from prying eyes and ears.

“This is unbelievable...” Dick whimpered again as neither he nor Jason loosened their grip around your body. “One day my beloved baby sister comes home with her boyfriend and the next day she will run away to get married to him and start a family”

“DICKIE!” You exclaimed, eyes wide in embarrassment.

And right after you, the angry and indignant voices of your brothers also joined in, insulting him for making that stupid comment. Bruce, along with Cass and Duke, laughed in amusement.

You texted to Kon that same evening, eager to tell him the good news.

YOU

I told them.

KON💙

How did it go?? What about Cass?

YOU

Cass and Duke are happy, no need to worry. And you might think it's strange to hear this but Bruce is fine with it too^^ I would tell you that the worst is over, but i'd be lying ahah.

KON💙

Tim is going to kill me, isn't he?

YOU

Not him, if that's any consolation. But i can't assure you anything about the other three. Especially Jason and Damian.

KON💙

It's okay, i'm Clark Kent's clone, i can take on a team of overprotective vigilantes, one of which doesn't even reach my knee.

You laughed as you read the message.

YOU

You're an idiot.

KON💙

Just for you babe. Hey, i was thinking, you wanna go out this weekend? How about i take you to the cinema?

YOU

I would love to~ Can't wait.

KON💙

Me too. I'd like to talk to you all night but i have to go now, sorry love.

YOU

It's fine, don't worry. Goodnight Kon<3

KON💙

Night babe, love you<3

YOU

Love you too<3

And that night you went to sleep with butterflies in your stomach and your heart pounding, just like every other night you texted him.

A few days later...

“I believe Mr. Kent has arrived for Miss Y/n's date”

Alfred barely had time to finish that sentence that four out of five brothers catapulted towards the front door. Luckily you were still upstairs finishing getting ready for the movie night so your brothers had a few minutes to talk to him. Alone.

When Conner saw the door open he smiled brightly thinking about meeting your face, but as soon as his eyes saw the other four pairs of eyes looking at him murderously he felt his smile falter.

“Hey guys~”

Immediately the half-Kryptonian found the tip of a sword blade pointed at his face and he raised his hands in surrender.

“Come on, do you think that low of me?” he jokingly asked, lifting his sunglasses up to his forehead so he could see them better.

“Yes”

“A little”

“Much”

“You bet” they chorused without hesitation.

Kon turned to Tim, who had his arms crossed over his chest and was looking at him unimpressed.

“Tim you too?? I'm your teammate! We're friends!” the former chuckled nervously. “Don't you remember that saying? Bros before-”

“I suggest you don't finish that fucking sentence if you still want to take my sister on this date, you little shit” Jason hissed, narrowing his eyes. “You're half Kryptonian anyway, i have no problem shooting all the bullets i have at you and seeing how many it takes to make a hole your body”

Conner managed to notice a gun that was hidden under Jason's jacket and although that sight didn't surprise him he nodded frantically, trying not to touch the sword that Damian was still pointing at him.

Then it was Tim's turn to speak up.

“I'm only doing this because it's my sister, okay?” he said sternly. “I trust you and most importantly she trusts you. You better not do any bullshit, understand?”

Kon stared back, no longer intimidated by the presence of the four Robins.

“Look, just because you're her brothers doesn't mean you're the only ones who love her. I care about her and this relationship too, okay?” he said with determination, slowly lowering his hands. “Give me a chance to prove it”

The other four exchanged thoughtful glances, as if they were having a mental conversation. Then after a few seconds, Dick placed a hand on Damian's shoulder.

“Dames, come on”

The younger one hesitated, but then lowered the sword to put it back in its sheath and Conner refrained from letting out a sigh of relief. Not that he was terrified of the four vigilantes, but he didn't want his name to be the first on their blacklist for much longer.

“TT. You better watch your back, Kent” Damian muttered and the other rolled his eyes, ignoring the murderous look he was still staring at him with.

Dick pushed through the group, leaning down to look Conner in the eye.

“I want her home by 10pm sharp. Not a minute later” he ordered, pointing a finger at his chest and Jason nodded in agreement.

Conner also nodded and put a hand to his forehead like a soldier, giving him an arrogant grin. “Yes Sir”

It was at that moment that your voice rang from the stairs, like an angel opening the gates of salvation to Kon.

“Is everything okay there?”

Dick was the only one who dropped his menacing look to give you a wide smile, as if nothing had happened.

“Sweetie, hey! Oh my, look at you you're so pretty!”

Your face warmed up when you saw the eyes of everyone present resting on you as you went down the stairs and you smiled awkwardly, especially due to Kon's presence.

“Thanks Dickie. But it's just a trip to the cinema, nothing special”

Damian's glare softened without him realizing it. “Sister, you would look pretty even with a garbage bag on your head. Though i can't say the same for Drake and Todd"

Jason smacked him on the back of his head while Tim said "Shut your mouth, you little devil", glaring at him.

But even though your ears could hear their argument, your eyes were now fixed on Kon's, who you rarely saw as he often wore his round sunglasses. And even if his usual rockstar look suited him a lot, (the sunglasses, the leather jacket, the gloves on his hands, the gold earring on his left ear), you liked being able to look straight into his blue eyes every now and then.

“Hi” you said with a shy smile.

Conner returned the smile with a more confident one, tuning out the presence of your brothers. “Hey sweetheart”

You made your way through the others to reach him and as soon as you were in front of him he placed his gloved hands on your hips, ready to kiss you (on the cheek of course, better not on the mouth). Still a big mistake.

“Hands where i can see them, punk” Jason's threatening voice boomed from behind you.

“Can you avoid doing these things when we're still here at least?” Tim grumbled with a disgusted grimace.

Kon removed his hands from your body in a split second as he gave you a pleading look that seemed to say "Please let's leave" and you giggled, then turned to look at your brothers.

“We're going” you said, giving them a reassuring smile. “I'll see you tonight, okay?”

Jason took a step towards you to give you a quick hug. “If anything happens call me and i'll come to kick his ass, hm?" he whispered next to your ear.

“I know you will Jay. But i'll be fine, trust me. All of you” you replied before kissing his cheek and he nodded uncertainly.

You repositioned yourself next to Kon and took his hand in yours, ignoring the way Damian stared at your joined hands.

“Have fun, princess” Dick said with a smile and then he looked at Conner with a knowing look. “But not too much fun, yeah? I'll know if anything happens”

You and your boyfriend nodded dutifully and finally turned on your heel to leave for your date.

“Wait” Tim called. “I'm going to call Alfred for the car”

But Conner raised a hand. “Nah, no need”

He lowered his glasses back onto his nose, then ran a hand through his unruly locks to give himself a quick fix. You admired him with loving eyes and he smirked at you, aware of the effect he had on you everytime he did that. Then in one quick move, he lifted your body into his arms and you automatically wrapped yours around his neck, preparing for takeoff. Lastly, he turned to send a goodbye smile to the guys.

“See ya!”

You barely had time to wave goodbye to them for the last time when Kon took flight with a quick sprint, wanting to get away from Wayne manor (more from your brothers) as soon as possible.

Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian watched your figures move further and further away in the night sky, until they became small dots that then disappeared among the stars.

“Stupid show-off” Damian grumbled.

The others nodded, then they turned back inside and closed the door.

Neteyam didn’t know why he sat down beside her. The urge to go for a walk that night and clear his head had come from her, yet he simply couldn’t help himself.

She looked different. He didn’t know how, but something was different enough to make his gaze fix on her, watching her intently in the moonlight. He had never seen her like this before, and-

“The moonlight makes you even more beautiful.”

The words had slipped out before he could think them through, but he was glad he’d said them when he saw her shy smile. He didn’t know why, but he wanted that moment between them to last, so he suggested they fly together.

He had never expected her to be so nervous about flying with him, it made him wonder if it was because they were so close.

He’d been hurt when she’d asked him to keep their nighttime meeting a secret, but the explanation that her parents were strict made sense. Maybe that was why she acted so differently during the day; when others could watch, she had people to please, and he understood the weight of that.

He even kissed her hand, he couldn’t help but be affectionate with her like that. Even though he had never done or said anything like that with Ila during the day, now it simply felt so right. Being with her felt right, touching her felt right. He was finally able to understand why Eywa thought Ila was the one for him, and not only did he agree, but he could already feel himself falling in love with the real Ila.

___

“I'm telling you, Neteyam, she can't be the one Eywa wants for you!” Kiri insists.

“She's right, bro. Have you seen what she's like?” Lo'ak adds.

“I have, and she's perfect for me” Neteyam says, a hint of irritation already evident in his tone.

He had been trying to be patient with his brothers. He knew they didn’t know the same Ila that he did, but lately they had started to become increasingly insistent in their protests. As much as he wanted to understand, their dedication in denying that Ila was his true mate was a stab in the heart.

She was perfect. Her laughter was like a melody and her voice like a song. Her luminous freckles were more beautiful than any constellation could ever be, and her eyes more beautiful than any moon. He spent his days longing for night so he could see her again, how unburdened she was with her kindness and tenderness toward all the creatures of Pandora.

He would never forget when she had taken him to the ikran’s nest. These animals, who were supposed to try to kill their rider when chosen or ignore the Na’vi when not chosen, welcomed Ila with open wings. They all cherished her, sought her affection and care, and even allowed her near the eggs and cubs as if she were one of them. The way they loved her made her connection to Eywa crystal clear.

Neteyam just wanted Kiri to see; he was certain that if any of his brothers saw what she was like, what she was really like, they would agree with him… but maybe they could.

“Neteyam, please-” Kiri begins, but Neteyam cuts her off.

“I’m going to show you.”

“Show us?”

“Yes, tonight, I’m going to show you how she is the mate that Eywa showed me.”

“Tonight?” Lo’ak asks, and Kiri stares at him wide-eyed.

“Is that why you’ve been sneaking out every night? To go see her?” Kiri asks incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Why? You can just be with her during the day!”

“But not like that!” Neteyam ends up shouting before taking a deep breath and starting over in a lower tone. “Just trust me, please. Tonight I’ll show you.”

___

Neteyam moves through the trees with complete mastery of the path he had taken so many times before to meet Ila at night. His footsteps are silent. Kiri and Lo'ak follow him at a distance. Their reluctance and disbelief are still evident in their behavior, but he is grateful they are giving him the chance to show them.

“Shhh” he signals for them to wait and remain silent as he spots Ila.

She was standing there, gently stroking Katir’s skin while humming a familiar tune. Keeping his presence hidden, he approaches from behind and, wrapping his arms around her waist, lifts her into the air and spins her around.

“Neteyam!” Ila shouts with laughter and clings tightly to the arms holding her to steady herself.

When he sets her down, she turns in his arms to face him.

“I’m happy to see you” he says, gently placing his hand on her face.

Ila opens her mouth to reply, but suddenly her eyes widen, and he can see the panic in them.

“It’s okay! They came with me and they won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

He can see the doubt and insecurity in her eyes. Gesturing for the brothers to come closer, he adds, “You’ll keep it a secret, right?”

“Yes” Lo’ak says.

“I promise” Kiri says.

Neteyam can see Ila wrestling with her doubts, but finally she sighs and smiles, that sweet smile that Neteyam loved and missed so much during the day.

“Okay, okay, so what's the plan for tonight?

-

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“Kiri,” Tasi whispered, leaning in closer. “Since you’re the sister. Is he always like that? And what about Lo'ak? Just the other day, he teased me about my braids and I know I ought to hate it, but he’s so cute I forgot to be annoyed!”

Kiri, who was lazily braiding a length of vine, gave a lopsided grin. “Lo’ak is… well, Lo’ak. He’s a total boy. He spends half his time trying to prove he’s a man and the other half being rowdy and disobedient. He doesn't know when to be quiet.“ She rolled her eyes.

You nodded in agreement while the girls giggled.

Yaremu pressed on, “And Neteyam?”

“Neteyam is alright,” Kiri said, shrugging. “He’s the eldest, after all, so he has a lot to do. He takes care of us when Mom and Dad are not around, and since he’s a hunter now, he’s mostly out.”

“He's so handsome,” Yaremu breathed, nudging you. “Don't you think so, too? He’s always in front of you when we study. Surely you’ve noticed how good he looks when the sun hits his shoulders?”

You paused your grinding, your brows already furrowed. You did not notice that at all. You felt the weight of their gaze, three pairs of eyes curiously waiting for what you have to say. “I notice that his grinding technique is sloppy,” you said, your voice flat. “And that he distracts the circle with their nonsense. If he is to be a leader, he should learn that a healing pavilion is a place of silence, not a stage for his friends to sneaker and fool around.”

The girls exchanged looks, suppressing smiles and rolling their eyes playfully. Tasi bumped her shoulder against yours. “You’re always too serious, sister! You can always study really hard and still have eyes in your head. Everyone should appreciate a beautiful hunter.”

A sudden, raucous burst of laughter was heard from outside the pavilion, making Yaremu and Tasi sit up straighter, going back to their works in an instant. It was a sound you knew very well and it always seemed to follow a particular group. Your cheeks burned, feeling like you’d been caught talking about him even though you were just answering questions! You sat properly, your jaw tightening a little as the voices grew louder, nearing the pavilion.

“Neteyam, you almost dropped it!” a voice boomed, followed by a chorus of snorts.

“I did not! It was Lo’ak, he bumped me!” Neteyam’s voice, already deepening, carried a playful defiance.

A small, knowing sigh escaped your lips. These interruptions are now a constant backdrop to your studies, and you hated it. They weren't even supposed to be here, especially Neteyam, who had just successfully passed his iknimaya and gone through his uniltaron, yet here they were, led by him, no less. You can’t even complain because even though they are rowdy, they are not only eager to learn, this is also beneficial to them as future warriors and hunters of the clan.

Neteyam himself proved to be an exceptional student in the art of healing, which you think is simply natural for him for he excels in everything anyway. He has earned so much praise from Mo’at’s assistant healers that they are now discussing a new initiative with the senior warriors: making first-aid training a requirement for every young warrior and hunter.

The bead curtain at the entrance of the pavilion clattered as the boys spilled inside. You saw Neteyam leading the way, his stride possessing a new, grounded grace since he became a full-fledged warrior of the clan following his iknimaya last season. Close behind were Lo’ak, who was busy trying to trip Atan, while Kipey struggled to carry a bundle of practice splints. Suddenly, the pavilion felt small and their boundless energy made you dizzy. The serene atmosphere you and the girls have earlier is now all but a thing of the past.

Healers Sayka and Jahi entered the pavilion not long after, and because you were looking at them, your eyes caught Neteyam’s and saw him already looking at you. You felt the fine hair on your nape standing up, a bizarre feeling that made you smoothly roll your eyes away, greeting the healers the same time they did.

“Find your places, quickly now,” called out Sayka, the senior assistant healer, as she walked down the aisle followed by Jahi. “The Great Mother does not wait for boys to finish their jests.”

The boys scrambled to sit. Naturally, Neteyam chose the spot directly across from you and your eyes met his again which you quickly averted by looking down on your pestle and mortar. He sat straighter and every time you reached for a new herb or adjusted your posture, you could feel his gaze, not heavy or lecherous, but steady nonetheless, as if he's focusing on a single star in the night sky to properly navigate in the air.

“We heard of the incident during the hunt three days ago,” Sayka began, her eyes landing on Neteyam. “One of the hunters took a horn to the thigh. Messy business,” all of you gasped. “Neteyam took care of the first aid. Didn’t you, Neteyam?”

Your eyes drifted to him and you saw him glanced at you before he turned to Sayka to silently nod at her.

“Tell the circle what the wound look like and what you did before the hunter was brought to the Tsahik.”

Neteyam shifted his focus to Sayka, though you felt the ghost of his attention still lingering on you. “It was a jagged gash,” he said, his voice grounded. “The horn had hooked the flesh, so it wasn't a clean line. There was a lot of blood...”

You watched for any fear or anxiety on his face, but there was none, only certainty and confidence that shouldn't belong on the face of a fourteen-year-old.

“And how did you respond?” Sayka pressed.

“I used a cloth tie as a tourniquet above the wound to slow the flow,” Neteyam explained. "Then I used river water to flush out the dirt. I didn't have any paste, so I just held a soft fortune leaf over it with steady pressure until we brought him to Tsahik.”

“Good. Simple and fast,” Sayka nodded and swept around with her gaze. “A jagged wound is not like a clean wound brought by the slice of a knife. If you have observed a clean slice, it most often closes on its own, but a jagged wound is an angry one. It stays open. Neteyam did well to flush it because with a jagged wound, the first thing to do is to clean it. Dirt hides in the flaps of the skin, so you must use cool, flowing water to wash away the debris. If anything is still inside, you leave it for the Tsahik, but if there’s none, you must clean it thoroughly.”

You nodded eagerly. You haven’t dealt with wounds like that before. Mostly, it was just scraped or small cuts. You wondered what a jagged wound actually looked like and debated whether to ask Neteyam for further details after the class is over. You took a thick and waxy dapophet leaf from the bundle Jahi was distributing. As the leaves were distributed, the quiet was immediately punctured by Lo’ak’s muffled snickering. He was leaning over to Kipey, whispering something about how Neteyam sounded like a “grumpy old grandmother” when he talked about bandages.

You felt a familiar spark of irritation, looking up to to fix the boys with a reprimanding glare, but your eyes didn't even make it to Lo’ak. They crashed into Neteyam’s instead and saw him already looking. The dappled sunlight filtered through the woven roof, casting golden patterns on him and for a moment, you understood what Yaremu was talking about. He is handsome, especially when bathed in sunlight.

You felt something in you flutter. Somewhere in your belly and it tickles. You parted your lips to let out an indignant huff, snapping your gaze away to fix it on Jahi when she spoke. The girls have instilled such ridiculous notions in your head and now, this is what happens!

“The leaves in your hands have a tough outer layer, but inside it is filled with fluid. Now, each of your leaves have a jagged cut you must stitch close,” Jahi explained and you smiled excitedly, looking down at your leaf and the stitching materials being distributed. “Remember not to pierce it too deeply or pull the edges too hard, because the juice might run out. This is similar to a wounded person, you wouldn’t want to pierce them too deeply or pull their skin too hard, would you? You must be mindful to the weight of your own hands.”

You concentrated on your work, carefully stitching the leaf back together. The girls are also silent, which is something you love about them, because nothing could take away their concentration from studying, not even the boy they’ve been mooning over minutes earlier. What annoys you, though, is that you are the one distracted. You could feel his constant glances on you and you decided you’re done with it.

You lifted your head to meet his eyes and you found him with his eyes already on you, as if waiting for the contact. It was infuriating. “Is there something wrong with my stitching, Neteyam?” you asked suddenly, your voice cutting through the silence.

The boys froze. Atan and Kipey exchanged wide-eyed looks.

Neteyam blinked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “No,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re perfect. I mean, I mean your technique... It’s perfect. I was just looking to see... If I’m doing it right.”

Lo’ak cleared his throat and pretended to cover his face to cough, but his shoulders were shaking, and his face and neck darkened to purple. He was laughing. What’s so funny? You tilted your head and look at Neteyam’s leaf. He was doing it right. Your own face burned in embarrassment. Perhaps, he was truly just trying to look at yours to see if he’s doing his stitching right!

“I think yours is good. It looks like a clean stitch,” you said, returning to your leaf without waiting for a response.

“Thanks...“ he said, his voice still soft.

You heard the boys snicker and from your peripheral gaze, you can see them tease Neteyam with silent nudges. You looked at them and narrowed your eyes. The healers only left for a few moments and they are so rowdy again!

Neteyam, who had been grinning at something Lo’ak said, felt the weight of your gaze. You saw him turn, his golden eyes meeting yours, and his smile died instantly. The bravado drained out of his shoulders. He sat up straighter, his ears pinning back for a second before he composed himself into a mask of sudden, intense seriousness. Lo’ak started to let out another muffled laugh, but Neteyam’s elbow caught him sharply in the ribs.

“Shut up,” Neteyam whispered at his brother before clearing his throat and looking down at his own leaf with the intensity of a scholar.

The rowdiness of the boys died down into a strained, respectful silence, all because you had looked at Neteyam. Kiri turned to you with a knowing, almost mischievous glint in her golden eyes. You fixed her with a confused look and she shook her head, softly chuckling to herself.

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You stood in a drawn circle at the training ground with your bowstring drawn back against your cheek. Tasi and Yareumu had already abandoned their targets, preferring to sit in the shade and braid flowers into each other's hair, giggling as they watched the young warriors spar in the ring. All four of you decided to train in archery just last season, but the two of them, including Kiri last week, already gave up on their trainings, citing its futility in the path they are choosing.

Two years had passed and the soft roundness of your childhood had now sharpened into lean, graceful lines of a young lady. At fourteen, the weight of the path you’re forging for yourself is no longer just a dream, but more and more like a shape forming true. You wanted to be of full service to the people, not just as a healer, but as a protector as well, even though you will not be Tsahik. So now, you’re planning to tame an ikran just like Kiri had the year before.

“It’s too much work for my arms,” Tasi sighed, waving a dismissive hand at her discarded bow. “Besides, why do I need to be an archer if I am to be a healer?“

“Because a healer must sometimes be the one to keep the patient alive before the wound is attended to,” you replied without looking back, releasing the arrow. It thudded into the center of the mossy target with a satisfying thwack.

“You are always so serious,” Yaremu teased. “Look, even the boys have stopped their sparring to watch you. Jeto looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe.”

You didn't spare them a glance. You think boys are stupid... Some of them have already wasted half an hour watching and hooting at your every move. The same bunch even tried to invent “accidents” in the past moons just so you would look at them. If Neteyam hadn’t scolded them, they would have continued distracting you in your trainings. Fortunately, they’ve stopped now... But the annoyance of their constant attention has not ceased.

Neteyam stood with Kiri far behind you, supposedly discussing your plan to go up the Hallelujah Mountains soon to tame an ikran for yourself, but he couldn’t help but watch you, his ears tuning out everything Kiri was saying.

You seemed so uncaring of the boys’ antics, your chin tilted high, your air always radiating that quiet, indifferent coldness that made you seem miles above the dirt of the training ground.

“She’s such a snob,” he heard one of the boys mutter behind a rack of spears.

“As if it’s your first time. Keep doing nonsense and she’ll keep ignoring you!” Another replied, followed by a chorus of laughter.

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, a familiar surge of irritation rising in him. Of course. Other boys saw in you what he saw, but he couldn't pretend you were exclusively his to appreciate. Everyone admired you, from their parents to the children, the girls and the boys. And he couldn’t claim to be so different from them...

He had known for a long time exactly what you were to him.

“Neteyam? Are you even listening?” Kiri’s voice poked through his trance. She was leaning against a wooden rack, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as if she knows a secret he doesn’t. “I said the wind currents near the mountains are shifting. If she’s going up in three days, we need to leave earlier."

Neteyam cleared his throat, adjusting the strap of his knife sheath to hide his flustered state. “I heard you. The eastern peaks. I’ll make sure the gear is ready.”

He stepped forward, his shadow touching the edge of your circle. He didn't hover or said anything stupid like the other boys. He’s a boy of sixteen years now, much more matured than the boy he used to be, and somehow, you’ve separated him entirely from the others. You respect Neteyam. He is the future of the clan after all, the next in line to the Omatikaya leadership, and nothing about his presence demanded anything from you.

He waited for you to release your final arrow before he spoke. “Your draw is getting faster,” he noted, his voice an octave lower, and Kiri couldn’t help but snicker at her brother’s attempt to make his voice sound manlier in your ears.

“I have been practicing,” you said, lowering your bow, turning to face him. Your expression was the same mask of cool indifference you wore for everyone, but your eyes lingered on him a fraction longer than they did on the others and sometimes... When it lingered too long, you can feel your belly do the thing. The crazy thing.

He tilted his head and your eyes fluttered, not knowing what to track. Dappled sunlight was on him again and his braids were longer. It annoyed you to think that no boy in the clan is as handsome as him... And perhaps your friends are right. Eywa gave the people a vision to appreciate beauty.

“I can tell,” he said, his voice soft as though he wanted only you to hear what he's saying. “But you’re gripping the bow too tightly. Your hand will cramp and it won’t be good for our climb in two days.”

“I will adjust it,” you said, tearing your gaze off of him.

“You should,” he replied, stepping a bit closer, effectively blocking the view of the snickering boys behind him. “If you’re going to tame an ikran, you can't afford a cramped hand.”

You nodded once, adjusting your hand on the bow. Neteyam watched you adjust your grip, his eyes tracing the line of your knuckles until they softened. He felt a fierce, silent satisfaction in the way his body acted as a shield between you and the persistent stares of the other boys. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way about his possessiveness... The first thing an eldest brother like him ever learned was to share... And yet.

Two days later, you found yourself climbing what seemed like a never-ending vine path upwards. You see nothing below you but mist and hear not but the splash of a distant waterfalls and heavy breathing from the three of you. From his position just behind you on the vine paths, Neteyam found it difficult to focus on the climb.

His eyes were constantly drawn upward to the way you moved. You climbed with a desperate kind of grace, your fingers gripping the ancient roots with a strength that made his chest ache. He saw the sweat beads glistening on your temple and the way your jaw remained set in that stubborn resolve.

Every time you reached a treacherous gap, he felt his own breath hitch. He wanted to reach out, to catch you or guide you, but he knew better. He knew you wouldn’t like being treated more than a casual peer, so he was careful with everything he did, determined not to be shut out like the other boys.

When you all finally reached the summit, he handed you a waterskin and a woven cloth to wipe your sweat with before he even thought of his own thirst and sweat. Though you had your own supplies, you accepted them, only realizing later as you drank the cool water that he’d given you his. He was already focused on watching the ikran, calmly assessing them without bothering to wipe his sweat.

“Hoo! That was one hell of a climb,” Kiri said, drinking from her skin. “You ready?”

You nodded, untying your own waterskin and stepping closer to Neteyam to hand it to him. “You gave me yours,” you said, your eyes sharp and reprimanding, assuming he was too tired to remember you had your own. He accepted it, but you pulled back and opened the lid for him. As your attention shifted to the shrieking, flapping ikran, you missed the way his eyes flared with surprise and intense attraction. Kiri saw it, though, and chuckled to herself. You turned to Neteyam again.

Before he could even get another sip, you huffed, your eyes eyeing the beads of sweat rolling down his temple that was, frankly, getting on your nerves. You grabbed your own woven cloth, your hand wrapping around his forearm. “Hold still,” you muttered, stepping into his personal space.

You didn't dab at him gently. Instead, you used firm strokes, wiping his forehead and the bridge of his nose. Your brow furrowed in a small scowl as you moved to his neck. He was standing perfectly still, his breath hitching as he looked down at you. He didn't care that you were practically buffing his skin raw, because to him, the rough friction felt like a brand. He wasn’t asking for reward, but don’t mind if he greedily enjoys this. He leaned into it a fraction, his chest rising and falling in a heavy rhythm that had nothing to do with the climb you all had just finished.

“There,” you said, finally satisfied. You shoved the cloth into his hand and his fingers touched yours. “Now drink. We don't have all day.”

You turned back to the ikran, missing the dazed, lopsided grin he directed at the back of your head. Kiri, standing a few feet away, just shook her head and gagged quietly. Could there be a worse nightmare for a 15-year-old girl than watching a romance unfold between her older brother and her best friend?

“I’m ready now,” you spoke, doing small jumps on the balls of your feet.

“Good luck,” Neteyam said in a hoarse voice, staying back with Kiri.

His heart hammered against his ribs like an forest ikran trapped in a vine as he watched you step onto the rocky arena, a lone figure among the beasts.

“Choose her,” he whispered under his breath, his fingernails digging into his palms. “See her as I see her.”

He watched a forest-green ikran lunge at you, its beak snapping with lethal intent. Most would have flinched, but you didn't. Neteyam’s breath caught in his throat, he practically stopped breathing as he watched you circle the beast, a blur of blue and shadow, as you dodge each of the beast’s attempt to strike.

When you finally leaped, clambering onto the beast’s neck and wrestling it toward the precipice, Neteyam took an involuntary step forward. His stomach dropping as he watched you both tumble over the edge, a chaotic mess of wings and limbs disappearing into the white abyss of the clouds. Your name tore at his throat, a shout full of fear. He was reminded of the many Omatikaya who died trying the same thing, and for a moment he felt his heart stop beating.

Silence stretched for eternity, both he and Kiri couldn’t talk, and then, a piercing shriek broke through the mist. Neteyam’s heart soared as you flew in the air, banked in a sharp, elegant curve. A lopsided grin broke through his mouth. You are now a rider. The way you sat atop the beast, your braids streaming behind you, and your face etched with a look of pure, wild triumph, was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He didn't waste a second. He whistled for his own ikran that was flying aimlessly around the mountains. He mounted in one fluid motion and pushed his mount hard, diving into the sky to join you. As he pulled up alongside you, the wind roaring in his ears, he saw you look over.

The cold indifference was gone, burned away by the adrenaline of the bond. You laughed, a sound he had heard so rarely it felt like a gift, and for a second, his golden eyes locked onto yours.

I see you. I see you. I see you.

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You gripped the pestle as you grinded the dried roots on the mortar. This is one those days when your friends are not with you, leaving you alone in the quiet of the Tsahik’s tent. You’re not quite sure which version you enjoy better, and you were just deciding that you actually like the peace and quiet when the flap burst open. Kiri stumbled in, her hair a mess and her expression frantic. In her arms, a very energetic and chunky Tuk was squirming, trying to catch a glowing fly.

“Oh, thank the Great Mother, you’re here,” she gasped, nearly dumping Tuk onto your worktable. “Grandmother just sent word. She wanted me to assist her in sister Tayke’s birth, apparently it’s complicated. Mom and Dad won't be back until eclipse. I have to go.”

You looked up from the tray of dapophet leaves you were sorting, blinking in surprise. "Kiri, I have three tinctures to finish before—”

“Please!” Kiri pleaded. “Neteyam is on patrol, Lo’ak is busy training the young ones, and Tuk is… Well, I can’t bring her with me. You’re the only one I trust not to let her eat a poisonous berry or wander off and fall to her death.”

You looked down at Tuk, who was now pulling at your medicine pouch with a wide, toothy grin. You felt warmth in your chest and your eyes soften, Kiri knew you were sold. “Fine,” you sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re a life-saver! Literally!” Kiri shouted over her shoulder as she vanished back out of the tent.

For the first hour, it was chaos. Tuk treated the healing tent like a playground, toddling around and stacking your mortar bowls into towers and trying to “heal” her woven doll with the rarest medicinal pastes. But as the sun began to dip, her energy flickered out. The excitement turned into a sudden realization that she was tired and her mother wasn't there. Her small lips began to tremble, then came the first sob.

“I want Mama,” she said in a small voice, sending a pang to your chest.

“Oh, Tuk-tuk, no, don't cry,” you murmured, quickly moving to her. You scooped her up, tucking her small, heavy body against your chest.

You began to pace the length of the tent, swaying slowly which you had seen the mothers do a thosuand times. You hummed a low melody that seemed to soothe the child. Slowly, the wails turned into soft hiccups, and then into the deep breathing of sleep. You stayed there, standing in the center of the tent, swaying gently and feeling a strange, quiet peace settle over you.

Until the silence was broken by the soft thuds of footsteps outside. Neteyam moved the flap open, his large frame nearly filling the entrance. He had a large, bundled wrap of fortune leaves, the ones you had mentioned needing a few days ago. He had gone straight from his shift to the high ridges just to find them for you.

He stopped mid-stride, his breath catching in his throat at the sight.

He had expected to find you hunched over your work, with your brow furrowed in concentration. This was the last thing he would have expected seeing. The low glow of the hanging firepot illuminated the side of your face and the soft curve of your arms as you cradled his sister. You looked radiant, your face devoid of the mask of cold indifference you wear like an armor. From his current view, you are something warm, something attainable, something his.

Neteyam felt a surge of heat in his chest that made his pulse thrum in his ears. He noticed, with a sudden and sharp clarity, how the last few years had finished their work on you. The slight softness of the girl he used to trail behind had vanished, replaced by the striking, lithe form of a woman. Your beauty, the confidence in the way you stood, and the depth in your gaze all felt like a challenge to everything he knew about your vows. He knew of your great aunt Äye, he knew the weight your family’s traditions. But seeing you there, swaying his sister to sleep, made his heart ache with a hunger that no amount of prayer could suppress.

You turned your head slowly, your eyes widening as you saw him. “Neteyam,” you breathed, your lips curving into a soft, genuine smile.

It didn't help with the delusions he was currently having.

For you, the sight of him was no less of a shock. You were no longer the twelve-year-old girl who was simply annoyed by a rowdy boy. Now, those “stupid” teenage flutters in your belly had evolved into something more. Looking at him now, you felt a creeping heat settle on your nape and spread down your spine.

He had grown so much. He was so much taller and broader, his skin mapped with faint scars, and his golden eyes carry a depth that made you feel exposed. You hated how handsome he had become and how his presence seemed to command the very air in the tent. You looked at the heavy muscles of his arms, then back to his face, and felt a wave of shame.

These are bad thoughts, you scolded yourself, even as your heart hammered a rhythm of betrayal against your ribs. Your skin was tingling and you were practically fighting not to hug Tuk against you harder in your attempt to quell it. A woman on your path should not hunger for the touch of a man! But as your eyes met his in the dimmed light, the ’path’ you had walked so carefully for years suddenly felt terrifyingly narrow.

“You're back,” you whispered. “Kiri said you were on patrol.”

“I was,” he managed to say. He didn't move to put the leaves down. He didn't want to break the tether of this moment. “I found what you needed. Kiri said you were planning to go and get them yourself. Don’t want you going to the ridges on your own.” His head tilted, a brow rising in challenge.

“I’m perfectly capable of navigating the ridge, you mighty warrior. Thank you very much,” you countered, though the bite in your voice was softened by the warmth in your eyes as you swayed Tuk. “I’ve had my ikran for years now. Or did you forget who beat you in that race to the mountains last moon?”

Neteyam let out a short, huffed laugh, finally moving into the tent. “I didn't forget. I merely allowed the lady a moment of glory. It’s called being a gentleman.”

“It’s called being slow,” you shot back, a genuine smirk breaking through your face.

He reached out then, his large hands moving toward the sleeping toddler in your arms. “Here, give her to me. You looked like you’ve stood here for an hour already, I’m sure your arms are ready to fall off.”

As he leaned in to take her, Tuk stirred. Instead of reaching for her brother, she let out a tiny, sleepy whimper and buried her face deeper into the crook of your neck, her small fingers clutching your necklace.

“Oh,” you both whispered at the same time.

“Aww,” you cooed softly, your heart vibrating in your chest, making you almost shiver.

Neteyam echoed the sound with a look of such raw tenderness crossing his face that you had to look away. He didn't pull back; instead, he leaned down and pressed a lingering, gentle kiss onto Tuk’s forehead. His face was inches from yours, the scent of mint and the heat of his skin registering to your senses. You felt like a puddle of candle wax. Soft, melting, and utterly ruined.

“I guess I’m stuck,” you whispered, your voice slightly breathless.

His eyes lifted to meet yours, flashing a smile that made your belly go crazy. “Then let me be of use,” he said, turning to your workbench. “Since your hands are full, tell me what to do. I’m at your command.” He raised a brow playfully.

You didn't hesitate. You needed your tasks done and if he wanted to stay, you’re done fighting the pull. For tonight. “Fine. Those fortune leaves you brought needed to be stripped and ground. Gently, Neteyam,“ you said in a stern voice.

“Oh, I know gentle,“ he quickly remarked, looking down at his leaves just as quick as if he didn’t want to see how you’ll react.

You felt your face heat up at his remark. It could be innocent, you know, but because your mind has thought of many bad things when it came to him, you can’t react properly anymore! Your eyes narrowed. “Just get to work. Don't use your warrior strength on them, or you’ll bruise it.”

He sat down, hunched over the mortar and pestle. The sight was so domestic and it felt dangerously right. You rubbed the soft skin on Tuk's back when she nestled to you. Neteyam looked up and you raised a brow. “How was the western perimeter?” you asked instead. "Kiri mentioned the trackers saw fresh signs of a palulukan near the falls."

Neteyam’s ears flicked. “They did. A big one, too,” he paused to wipe a stray bit of leaf from his thumb. “Apparently, it crossed their path the other day. They had to stay up in the trees for an hour just to let it pass.”

The conversation drifted into something comfortable and domestic. You asked about the next sturmbeest hunt, and he asked about the last herbs he’s given you that you turned into cooling salves. It was so easy, so natural, that you feel nothing but comfort and warmth.

“Is this enough?” he asked, holding up the mortar. The leaves had been transformed into a perfect, dark-green paste, the scent of crushed mint rising from the bowl.

“It’s perfect,” you said, stepping closer to inspect his work. “You’ve missed your calling, warrior. You’d make a fine assistant to Mo’at.”

“I think I’ll stick to my bow,” he teased, his voice dropping into that lower, private register. “Stirring pots is much more dangerous work. I might get ordered around too much.”

“You say that as if you don't enjoy it," you countered, meeting his eyes.

He wasn’t only enjoying it. He was happy. He was more than happy. Every time he glanced up and saw you cradling Tuk, a small child who share the same features he got from his mother, his mind went to places that felt both beautiful and forbidden. He dared to imagine a life where this wasn't a temporary favor for Kiri, but a permanent reality.

The teasing died away when you heard the horn for the evening meal echoed. You walked together toward the communal clearing, the weight of the sleeping child in your arms and Neteyam’s steady presence at your side giving you a sense of belonging that terrified you.

“Your parents aren’t back yet,” you noticed, glancing at the empty dais.

Tuk stirred in your arms, slowly waking up from her slumber. Her eyes drifted to Neteyam, dazed at first but when it registered that her older brother is in front of her, her eyes widened. “Neteyam!” her tiny voice a shrill.

You chuckled, handing her over when she wriggled in your arms, her own tiny arms reaching for Neteyam who readily accepted her with a huff. “Ow. So heavy,” Neteyam playfully said, blowing a kiss on Tuk’s chubby cheek before looking at you. “You carried this boulder for hours?” His free hand shot down to hold one of your arm, instantly massaging.

You chuckled, pinching Tuk’s cheek. “It's alright,” you said, noticing the inquisitive looks some people are giving the two of you. Your cheeks burned, quickly sitting down. Neteyam immediately followed, settling Tuk on his lap. He sat close, close enough that your thighs where brushing, and as the food was passed around, you naturally began to tear off small pieces of roasted fish to feed Tuk.

Across the fire, Lo’ak was huddled with Atan and Kipey. The three of them were barely eating, their heads bowed together as they whispered and pointed.

“Look at them,” Atan snickered, nudging Lo’ak. “If I didn't know better, I’d say the Tsahik’s seat was already filled.”

“Total parents,” Kipey whispered, grinning. “Neteyam looks like he’s ready for a family at nineteen.”

Lo’ak snorted, watching you reach over to wipe a smudge of juice from a stomping Tuk’s chin while Neteyam watched you with a look of such longing and admiration it was almost embarrassing to witness. “He’s gone,” Lo’ak muttered, shaking his head. “He’s been gone for years. He’s practically just waiting for her to melt up.”

“Nom nom!” Tuk said eagerly while a piece of the meat she was holding fell on your thigh.

Neteyam’s hand shot out to pick it up, quickly popping it into his mouth. You looked at him in disbelief. “That just fell,” you pointed out as you watched him chew.

“Not on the ground, but on your skin. That makes it a blessing,” he countered, his voice hummed with a playful vibration.

A blessing? You rolled your eyes away, focusing your attention on Tuk’s messy face to hide the flush creeping up your face. “You are disgusting,” you muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

“I’m efficient,” he corrected, leaning in closer so his shoulder brushed yours. “And hungry. Patrolling is exhausting work, especially when you’re looking for fortune leaves on the side.”

Tuk giggled, sensing the shift in energy, decided to pat Neteyam’s cheek with a sticky hand. “Neteyam silly!”

“See? Even the little one knows,” you teased, finally regaining your composure. You reached for a damp cloth to clean Tuk’s hand, but Neteyam beat you to it. His large fingers gently wrapped around his sister’s small wrist, wiping her palm with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

As you basked in the laughter of the people surrounding you, the thought of the solitary path you were always so sure of your entire life suddenly feel like a cold, lonely place that you didn’t notice you were already leaning closer to the warmth of Neteyam’s arm against yours. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The sounds of voices and of hunters sparring in the training grounds grew louder as you hurried past, your arms filled with fresh bundles of sterilization moss and clean cloths. Mo’at had sent word about the labor of one of the pregnant women in the clan. You were in a hurry, your pace swift yet your spine remained straight, your chin tilted high, as per usual.

A hunter called your name from the weapon racks. “Careful there, the ground is uneven! Do you need strong hunter to clear the path for you?“

“She won't answer you, skxawng,“ another laughed. “Perhaps if you bring her herbs, or better yet, if you were a better warrior than Neteyam!”

“Just ask me to be the next Toruk Makto, why don’t you?” The former remarked sarcastically.

Neteyam watched from the sidelines, a senior warrior was talking to him but his gaze was busy tracking you, watching how you didn't even break your stride or tilt your head. Your chin remained high, your eyes focused on the path ahead. He had known for a long time that to you, the voices of men who call to you were merely just buzzing of summer insects, something too beneath your notice.

“I’ll work on that, brother, then I’ll get back to you,” he told the senior warrior, nodding to him seriously. The latter clapped his shoulder before walking away.

“What a shame,“ he heard one of the hunters mutter. “To have such beauty in the clan, only for it to be locked away for the Great Mother. She takes after Äye. She won't ever look at a man, let alone mate with one.”

“Unattainable,” heard another agree, sighing. “She’s like the High Peak. Beautiful to look at, but no one is meant to live there.“

Their conversation, though, halted instantly the moment Neteyam strode out from the shade. His eyes were dark and unimpressed as he looked at them, that even the hunters a few years older than him couldn’t help but look away.

“Is that what we do now?” Neteyam asked, his voice low but cutting. “Stand around the racks, bothering those on tasks for the Tsahik? Talking about our women with disrespect?”

The first hunter looked away, embarrassed. “It was just a joke, Neteyam.”

“Your mouths keep buzzing like forest insects,” Neteyam snapped, stepping forward so they were forced to look at him. “This constant hooting at her is getting old. Have you not outgrown it? She is doing important work for the clan. If I see the bunch of you doing anything other than training again, I will personally ensure all of you spend the rest of the moon cleaning the waste pits.”

They nodded efficiently, their faces the poster of good behavior, but Neteyam would remember. The next time this happens again, it won’t be just scolding they are getting. He remained standing there though, reflecting on what the hunters have said. None of it had been a lie and he’d felt the bitter, familiar spark of pride and pain flickered in his chest. They are right, he thought, you are unattainable.

He knew better than anyone the depth of your conviction. Over the past years, your quiet friendship had become the foundation of his life, but it was a foundation built on a boundary he could never cross. He had seen you at your most vulnerable and your most powerful, and in his heart, he had long ago committed a quiet kind of blasphemy. He worshiped Eywa the best he could, but you were his deity on land, one whose words he followed without question. One he guards with all of him.

Now, at twenty-one, he had become as reserved as you are, making a silent vow of his own: if you were to be alone, he would be alone with you. He would make a good Olo’eyktan but he didn’t need to be mated to ensure that. The tradition of the leaders being mated was a strong one, but Neteyam knew he could never give himself to another woman when his soul and his heart had long been claimed by a woman who belonged to the Great Mother. If friendship was all the nectar you could offer, he would live his entire life on that single drop.

He turned back to his warriors. He would lead, he would hunt, and he would protect. And in the quiet hours of the night, he would continue to love you from the distance you required, content to be the only man you didn't ignore, even if he could never be the man you held

Hours later, you are alone in the Tsahik’s tent, the adrenaline of the birth you assisted for the first time had yet to leave your system. You were wiping down a set of obsidian scalpels when the tent flap lifted, letting in the cool evening breeze that carried the familiar smell that always seemed to ground you.

Neteyam didn't speak at first, standing just inside the entrance. He had showered away the dust of the training grounds, his skin gleaming in the soft light of the firepot. You lifted your eyes, your lips still curved in a small, satisfied smile. You let your eyes do the thing they always do when he’s in front of you. Feast on. He was the very image of a future leader. Muscled, scarred, and radiating an authority that silenced most men with a single look.

“Hi,” you greeted.

His lips formed a boyish smile. “The village is finally quiet,” he said, his voice dropping into that private, velvet register. “Was the delivery alright? How was it?“

You sighed softly, and for the first time that day, your mark dissolved into a radiant, tired smile. “It was a boy,” you breathed, setting the scalpel down. “Healthy and loud. He didn't stop wailing until Mo’at placed him on his mother’s chest.“

Neteyam moved closer, leaning against a support beam near your herb rack. “And the mother?“

“Strong. She was incredible, Neteyam.” You moved to a bundle of dried leaves, your hands working quickly to sort them, your enthusiasm bubbling over. “But you should have heard Mo’at. While she was cleaning the babe, she looked at him and then looked at me and said, ‘this one is small. Neteyam, now, he was a giant. The biggest baby I have seen in all my cycles’. She said you were so large she nearly wondered if Neytiri had hidden a second child behind you.”

Neteyam’s ears flicked back, a rare flush appeared on his cheeks. He huffed a laugh, looking down at his large, callous hands. “A giant, was I? I suppose I’ve given my mother’s back quite the ache.”

You let out a genuine, silvery chuckle, the sound dancing through the quiet tent. “I truly wish I could have seen you then. You were the very first of your kind, your father’s blood... and that of ours. I’m sure you were beautiful.” you mused, your voice softening as you looked at him. You realized too late how that sounded, and you quickly turned back to your jars. “It is a wonder of Eywa.”

“Is that why you look at me so closely sometimes?“ he teased, stepping into your personal space to reach for a heavy jar on a high shelf you are struggling to reach.

“I do not look at you closely,” you lied, your heart doing that treacherous dance against your ribs as he reached over your head. His arm was a solid wall of muscle beside your ear, and the scent of mint enveloped you.

“You do,” he countered softly, handing you the jar but not pulling his hand away until your fingers were firmly around his. “You track my movements like I am a complex creature you are trying to categorize. It is quite intimidating, being under the gaze of the clan’s most devoted scholar.”

You rolled your eyes, though your hands were trembling. “You are imagining things. Why would I look at you...” Your lips pushed forward, your voice lacking bravado.

Your heart is beating too heavily against your chest and your palms are sweating. He notices. He knows your eyes are often on him. He knows you watch each of his movements, he knows you feel hot every time you see how his shoulder and chest significantly broadened and filled out with muscles, or how the sight of his muscled abdomen flexing makes your breath catch at your throat.

“Research? To see how the 'hybrid' grows?” he says, his voice too innocent.

Your teeth gritted at your attempt to stop a groan from escaping. You are going to hyperventilate! You cleared your throat. “Maybe,“ you managed to say, your voice tight as you gripped the jar he’d just handed you. “It is a healer's duty to be thorough. I simply... pay attention to detail.”

He chuckled while your face felt like it had been plunged into a firepot. Neteyam is too innocent, while your mind is filled with inappropriate thoughts that shouldn’t even be there in the first place. You are a woman firm on the sanctity of your path! For Eywa's sake, gather your wits!

“Well,” he murmured. “If the research is still ongoing, I suppose I am already here. Do you need to... measure anything else? Or is the height of the hybrid sufficient for today's report?”

Your breath caught in your throat. He was obviously teasing, his voice light and playful, but because you're guilty of your shameful thoughts, what is to him simple banter between friends is slow torture to you.

“I need to boil the nettles,” you said, abruptly turning your back you nearly bumped into a tray of obsidian.

Your hands trembled as you reached for a pot of water. Your mind, usually a home of prayer and medicinal formulas, was currently a chaotic mess. You’re both ashamed and shameless, because despite your guilt, you’re still thinking about how soft the chest on his skin looked in the light.

“You're using the cold-press pot for a boil,” Neteyam noted softly.

You felt him behind you, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder blades as he reached around you to get the correct ceramic vessel. For a heartbeat, you were encased in him. You could see the way the veins mapped his hands, hands that were built for a bow and arrow but also held the young with devastating gentleness.

Eywa, strike me down, you thought, squeezing your eyes shut for a fleeting second.

“Right. Of course,”  you choked out, grabbing the correct pot from him with an unusual rashness that his surprised eyes flitted up to meet yours.

“You seem distracted,” he said, his voice losing some of its playfulness.

Your brows furrowed, intending to give him a sharp dismissal, but your gaze caught on the way his lower lip was slightly tucked under his teeth, a habit he’d had since he was ten. It was so boyish, so familiar, and yet, on this man’s face, it was lethal.

“No, of course, not... I’m just tired. It’s been a long day,” you said.

He nodded, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray braid behind your ear. “I’ll work on that, you can go and sit down. I’ll clean up, too,” he said, his eyes searching yours with a sincerity that made you want to scream. His hand wrapped around your upper arm to gently nudge you away from the hearth.

“I can do it,” you said, though your feet were already moving.

“You've been on your feet since the first light,” he countered, his voice firm with that quiet authority he had perfected over the years. “Let me do it, alright? I’ve got so much energy to spare. I didn’t have patrol today, so I’m practically a live wire.”

He turned back to the hearth, his movements fluid and confident. You sank onto the woven mat and from this lower vantage point, the view was even more treacherous. You tried to look at the ceiling. You tried to recite the properties of your herbs. You tried to pray. But your eyes kept drifting back to the way the light of the flames danced across the broad expanse of his back, and the way his tail flicked in a slow, content rhythm as he worked.

“There,” Neteyam said after a few minutes, oblivious to the spiritual crisis happening three feet behind him. He set the pot to simmer and began to move around the workbench. “The nettles are on. I’ve organized the herbs, cleaned everything, and put the scalpels back in its place. Is there anything else, or can I walk you back home now so you can get a better rest?”

“I can walk myself,” you said, perhaps a little too quickly. You scrambled to your feet, desperately trying to reassemble the fragments of your dignity. “Thank you, Neteyam. For the... assistance.”

He stood by the tent flap, holding it open for you. He didn’t press, you know he never would. You passed by him and he gave you a small, tired smile. “Sleep well,” he murmured, your name on his lips a soft caress.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The summer heat had settled over the forest like a heavy, humid blanket, causing most Omatikaya youth to retreat to the river when the sun is at its high. Today alone, half the village had migrated to the banks, the air filled with splashes of water and sounds of laughter.

You sat on a smooth, warm boulder, the rock's heat seeping into your skin. Being bare was as natural as breathing for the people held no shame in the bodies Eywa gave them. Your legs were still submerged in the cold water as you eat the snacks you brought with you. Tasi and Yaremu were wading in the shallows nearby, their voices dropped to conspiratorial whispers that still carried easily over to you.

“He didn't stop there,” Yaremu was saying, her eyes wide and dancing with a secret, frantic energy. She was describing a rendezvous with her boyfriend las night, her hands gesturing toward her lower extremities submerged in the water. “He started at my ankles, and then… well, the way his tongue felt between my legs… I thought I was going to see the Great Mother right then and there.”

Tasi squealed and giggled, leaning in for more. “Was it better than the last time?”

“Oh, it was! It seems to get better and better, you know... We are exploring and learning each other’s bodies,” Yaremu grinned.

Tasi sighed dreamily. “I could say the same. But it’s the way he breathes against my neck that gets me,” Tasi whispered, her fingers tracing the line of her own collarbone. “The heat of it. And when he finally... when he enters, it’s like your whole body forgets how to be separate from his. You are basically a single entity, moving as one—”

Yaremu giggled, splashing a bit of water. “Oh, Great Mother! And the hands! How heavy they feel when they finally stop being polite and start claiming what they want.”

They both giggled, their bodies vibrating with frantic energy. Tasi looked at you and smiled a small one, “Oh, sister! I wish you could have experienced it... But the path reserved for the Great Mother is just as good,” she said.

You made a face of theatrical disgust. “Oh, don’t feel bad for me, sister, I’m not missing out. I can’t even imagine,” you said sassily.

But oh, that’s a big lie. Your mind, usually so disciplined, had been picturing a very specific set of calloused hands, a very specific weight. You saw them on your waist, just as Tasi had described, pulling you flush against the solid warmth of a very familiar body. You imagined the “weight” Yaremu spoke of, imagining how a certain body would weigh. Your mind even completed the picture by providing you with the familiar scent of mint and woodsmoke, you could actually smell it.

It’s like their words were seeds who fell into fertile soil, and now you felt a flush that had nothing to do with the sun.

That was when you saw him.

Neteyam was waist-deep in the deeper water a few paces away, his skin glistening. He was surrounded by a few other hunters, their voices a low drone but their laughter boisterous. He was mid-laugh, but anyone can tell his eyes would wander to you every now and then, because when his gaze drifted back to where you are, his laughter died down a little. His eyes locked onto yours, and the air between you seemed to burn.

There was no boyish embarrassment in the way he stared at you, no hurried glance at the sky. He watched you with a heavy, predatory stillness it made your nape feel like it’s burning as goosebumps pricked your skin. You are not ashamed in your nakedness, the people have always swam in the river like this, and nothing is new with seeing each other naked.

But the gaze of the man across from you had given you a defiant, primitive urge. Instead of hiding, you shifted. You leaned back on your palms, tilting your head to the side to let the sun hit your neck. You arched your spine slowly, a deliberate, feline stretch that pushed your chest forward. Your breasts, firm and perky, on display as the tips pebbled. You felt his eyes track the movement. From this distance, you could see his pupils blow wide, his tail breaking the surface of the water behind him in a sharp, agitated flick. He didn't move, but the tension radiating from him was palpable.

The tension followed you back to the village, and now, even as the sun dipped below the horizon and the communal fire dimmed, the memory of his gaze still made your skin hot. You were walking back to the Tsahik’s tent, intending to collect the herbs you dried and make the poultice you’ve been meaning to make.

The walk was silent, until it was broken by the sound of familiar footsteps behind you. You didn't need to turn around to know it was him. His scent had reached you and the air seemed to tighten, enough to tell you who it is. You plastered on a calm facade before you turned around, seeing him standing in the shadows, his silhouette tall and imposing, his breathing heavy as if he had run to get here.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, his voice a low, rough grate. He stepped into the light of the firepot, his expression uncharacteristically strained. “Earlier, at the river... I hope I did not frighten you.”

Your lower lip caught between your teeth. You remembered the way your body had reacted to him, the way you had arched your back, offering yourself to his eyes. The shame you expected to feel was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a blooming heat, and a frantic beating heart.

“I wasn't frightened,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You took a small, daring step toward him, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I’m... I’m glad you saw me.”

Neteyam’s breath hitched, and then a huff of chuckle escaped his lips. What you said was just the surface, small in the vastness of what he had always held for you. “I have always seen you,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

It seemed so simple, and yet it was all he could say. He wanted to tell you the truth of it, how he had been here since you were children, since the first time you ever looked at him after he had become aware of his feelings. That there was never been anyone else he truly saw. But he would not frighten you. To know that you were not frightened of him after his boldness at the river had been a relief.

You smiled softly, a genuine, aching look that reached your eyes. “I know... I also know that not everyone does...” you said, your hand lifted to press a palm against his muscled chest.

You are perceived differently by everyone in the clan. Just like Äye, you will soon be seen more as a figure of religion or the shadow of the Great Mother. But in your most private daydreams... This man in front of you sees you as a woman... But even if you know that he does, your path does not lead to him. Your palm felt scorched where it touched his chest, feeling the powerful thud of his heart against your fingertips. He was flesh and blood and heat.

He took a half-step closer, forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “They are fools...” he whispered.

You knew you should pull back. You should change the topic and speak of the cooling salves or the morning rituals. But the memory of the river, of the way he had looked at you when you were bare and unashamed, was the only thought taking over your mind.

“Neteyam,” you breathed.

You voice was so soft, so lovely in his ears, that for the first time in his life, he dared to break through the boundaries. He leaned down, his movement slow, giving you every second to turn away. But you stayed. You stayed until his forehead and nose touched yours. You heart was beating too fast it was aching in your chest. You wanted to hold him, to grab him and hold him tight to you.

When his lips finally met yours, it was a collision of years of unspoken feelings and repressed hunger. You let out a soft sound into his mouth as your fingers curled into his chest strap, pulling him closer until there was no air left between you. The kiss was clumsy at first, the frantic meeting of two people who had only ever touched in dreams, but then his hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your braids to tilt your head just right.

As he deepened the kiss, his other arm wound around your waist, hauling you flush against the unyielding lines of his body. You felt the heat of his skin and the terrifying strength of his hold. For this one moment, the twenty-two generations of solitary women in your family were silenced. The path was gone. There was only the weight of his hands and the feel of his soft lips against yours.

When he pulled back, just an inch, his breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against yours. He kept his arms locked around you, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with a look of pure, terrifying devotion. A huge smile sliced across your lips and he grinned, huffing a shaky laugh. You let a breathless laugh yourself, your fingers tangling in his braids.

“Are you making cooling salves? I can be of use. I make the best of them, you know that,” he said casually.

Your nose wrinkled. “I guess I’ll need the help,” you said, your eyes drifting back to his lips. “And the kisses, too.”

You startled when a thunder of laughter escaped him, pulling you to him for a more thorough hug. “Oh, my middle name has always been generous.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

You felt his tail wrap possessively around your leg, a grounding, heavy weight as his mouth moved to the sensitive curve where your neck met your shoulder. Your head fell back, a soft, traitorous moan escaping your lips. “Neteyam...” you muttered breathily. “Don’t leave marks...”

“Hmm?” he hummed with humor, his mouth already sucking some skin into its warmth.

“Tasi pointed out... the marks on my neck the other day,“ you said. “I can’t keep telling her it’s insect bites.”

His body shook as he chuckled, lifting his head to press a kiss on your lips. Then his lips repeated a trail on your jaw, leaving wet kisses and licks, making you smile as you held him tighter. “Why... Can’t help it. You taste so good,” he murmured.

“I’m not a fruit,” you countered.

He hummed, sucking on your skin softly. “So sweet, nonetheless.”

You cupped his face, bringing it up so you could kiss him. You both have improved significantly in the past weeks, having found a different hobby aside from talking, when you two are alone. He helps you in the healing tent, but it’s not always that your companions are not around, like today. Kiri and Mo’at are in the tent, preparing for a severe injury a hunter got from a hunt. You had told Mo’at you will search for night-blooming lilies, but your feet had led you straight to where you knew Neteyam finished his scout rounds.

And now, you’re here, half-lying against a massive tree root, under the comforting weight of a warrior who couldn’t stop kissing you. He deepened the kiss and you felt his hand hover on your waist. One of your hands lowered to hold one of them and his hand immediately move to intertwine his fingers with yours.

You smiled, but that was not your intention. You brought his hand to one of your peaks, moving your top aside so his hand could touch the soft flesh bare. You gained a soft groan from him and he lifted his head to look at you. You rose to chase his lips, pressing his hand on your boob and moaning when he began kneading it.

“Yes...“ you mumbled.

His lips lowered down and you arched your back, waiting for his lips to reach your peaks, and when it did, you fought with your entire body just so you wouldn’t shake and buck. The sensation felt so good, it made you feel even hotter. It made you want to close you thighs, but because his body was between your legs, you could only buck against him.

“Oh...” you moaned, bucking against him again when you felt a hard ridge make contact with your clothed softness. “Neteyam...”

He hummed, his mouth full of your soft flesh, sending delicious vibration across your chest. You felt his hand move down to your hips, holding you in place before his hips came down on you, dragging that hard ridge you felt earlier across your crotch. You shivered, squeezing your eyes tight as you moaned. He repeated it again and again until you felt so ticklish in that spot between your legs, feeling a warm pool of liquid gushing out of you.

“Fuck,“ you heard him say, moving away from you a little to fumble at his loincloth. You felt a warm wetness land on your thigh and he groaned. “Fuck, sorry,“ his deep voice grated and you felt his hand, but you were already lifting your head to see.

You lips parted at the sight of his erected cock on display, a gasp escaping you. It was long and thick, its wide tip a flush of dark indigo, wet with his own release. Most of the glistening essence was on the floor and some were on your thigh. You genuinely didn’t know what to focus on. Your mind wandered to Tasi’s talks and this can’t possibly be the thing that enters a woman.

You curiosity got the better of you though, your hand shot down to grab it but his hand was faster, grabbing your wrist and moving it away. Your nose flared in annoyance and your eyes lifted to glare at him, but he met you with eyes that spoke of challenge.

“That's right. Keep your eyes up here,” he said in that private, lower register, his hand putting that thing back inside his loincloth.

You groaned and pulled your wrist from him. “I just want to touch it,” you whined.

He angled his head to kiss you. “Unless you want to drive me insane, you can’t,” his hand hovered over your thigh to wipe his release off of your skin.

Your hand shot down again, but this time, to dip a finger on his release, popping it to your mouth before he could even react. You were like a kid left unattended with a food that fell on the ground and he's the adult keeping you away from it, because now, he's staring at you both in surprise and wonder. You hummed at its surprisingly good taste and he wasn’t even able to stop you when you dipped a finger the second time around, scooping more essence, and keeping eye contact with him as if daring him to stop you.

You broke eye contact to look at it, intending to scoop down again but his hand already wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. You glared at him, groaning again, but he was already wiping your thigh clean with a piece of cloth. Your lips pushed forward, sad to see the essence gone. “You’re such a kill joy,” you said in a whine, your tail moving under you in an agitated flick.

He huffed a chuckle, his face moving to kiss your pouting lips softly. “Sorry, my love... Maybe next time,” he murmured.

Your hands lifted to hold his face properly so you could kiss him better, smiling against his lips.

A week later, you found yourself standing above the plains, overlooking the valley below as you gripped your basket half-full of cliff-blossoms. Neteyam was leading a pack of young hunters on a sweep of the forest floor. From this distance, he was a vision of controlled power, commanding the space around him without even speaking. You watched him signal a halt with a sharp, fluid movement of his arm. He barked an order, his voice carrying upward, deep and resonant.

He was wearing his full warrior gear, the woven chest straps accentuating the massive breadth of his shoulders and cummerbund hugging his muscled torso. You felt a wave of heat wash over you, settling low in your belly. You were practically vibrating with a hunger that felt both blasphemous and inevitable. You imagined him coming to the Tsahik’s tent later tonight, covered in the dust of the hunt, and the way he would look at you when he finally got you alone.

“A natural leader, isn’t he?”

You jumped, nearly dropping your basket. Kiri was standing a few paces away, her head tilted, watching you with an expression that was far too perceptive for your comfort.

“The clan is in good hands,” you said quickly, forcing your voice into its usual even tone. You turned back to the cliff-side, picking at a blossom with trembling fingers.

She didn't say anything else, but the way she sniffed the air, a subtle twitch of her nose, made your heart stop. For weeks, she had been quiet, but you know how observant Kiri is; she knew the difference between the scent of night-lilies and the scent of her brother who had been spending far too much time tangled in your limbs.

Later that evening, the Tsahik’s tent was filled with the sounds of your friends’ chatters and the air thick with the smell of boiling herbs. Mo’at was away at a naming ceremony, leaving you, Kiri, Tasi, and Yaremu to manage the evening prep.

“He was so frustrated,” Yaremu giggled, crushing a handful of seeds. “I told him we couldn't go all the way, so he just... he took my hand and guided it. I didn't know a man could make those kind of sounds just from a touch of the fingers.”

Tasi leaned in, her eyes wide. “Wait, you just... with your hand? Like you were kneading dough?”

“More like stroking clay, but faster,” Yaremu whispered, her face flushed. “They get so sensitive there. It’s like they lose their minds.”

Kiri let out a boisterous cackle, throwing a piece of bark at Yaremu. “You two are so inappropriate! We are at the Tsahik’s tent!”

You stared into the boiling pot, the memory of Neteyam’s... thing... flashing behind your eyes. You had never seen it again, he made sure of that. But you remembered the way he had stopped you from touching it, the way he had claimed it would "drive him insane."

“Is it... difficult?“ you asked without thinking, your voice cutting through the laughter.

The tent went dead silent. Tasi and Yaremu stared at you as if you had just grown a second head. Even Kiri stopped laughing, her luminous eyes narrowing as she shifted her gaze toward you.

“Difficult?” Tasi repeated, stunned. “Since when do you care about the mechanics of a man’s pleasure?“

“I am a healer,” you said, your chin tilting up, though your pulse was racing. “I am simply curious about the... response. Yaremu mentioned they make sounds. Is it a reflex, or a choice?”

Yaremu grinned slowly. “Oh, it's a reflex, sister. They can't help it. If you move your thumb just right over the tip... they break. Even the strongest of them.”

You swallowed hard, your mind instantly picturing Neteyam breaking under your hand. The thought made the tips of your breasts ache against your top. “I see,” you said, stirring the pot with a bit too much force. “Fascinating. From a research perspective, of course.”

“Of course,” Kiri echoed. She moved closer to you, bumping her shoulder against yours. “Might I ask, sister, if you have been giving Neteyam your favorite lillies... Because he’s been smelling an awful lot like them lately.”

Your lips parted. You haven’t even noticed that! “M-Maybe... Maybe he uses them when he bathes,” you lied.

She pulled away with a smile, nodding as if she understood, while Tasi and Yaremu continued to gossip, blissfully unaware of what’s going on. You didn’t know whether to be worried about Kiri’s reactions or not, still thinking about it even when the evening meal was over. You went back in the Tsahik’s tent, focused on grinding a stubborn root into paste, your pestle acting as a heartbeat for the quiet room.

Your entire body seemed to melt into a puddle, though, when you heard the tent flap rustle. Neteyam stepped inside, looking exhausted but exhilarated. He had shed his heavy scouting gear, leaving only the chest strap. A small smudge of blue paint was smeared across his temple.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice gravelly from shouting orders all day. He didn't wait for an answer before closing the distance, reaching out to tug playfully on one of your braids.

“How was the hunt?” you asked.

“Successful, except that we saw a palulukan on the way back. The Great Mother was kind, because it didn’t see us. Young Kamu was practically swallowing air by the time it was gone, the boy has forgotten how to breathe.”

You pictured the boy, one of the youth who just passed their iknimaya last season. “Cut him some slack, you mighty warrior. The boy is only fourteen,” you said, chuckling. You reached for a damped cloth to wipe the paint on his temple.

His hand followed yours, grabbing it gently and pressing a kiss on your fingers. “Your hands are shaking, baby. How long have you been at this?” he grabbed the pestle and mortar, his forehead furrowed.

“Since the sun was high. Don’t worry about it,” you said, because your hands weren’t shaking because of what he’s thinking, but yoy were grateful for the reprieve nonetheless. You leaned back against the table, watching him take over the task with effortless ease.

“Don’t worry? Your hands seem so overwork, what with that Tsahik’s tasks and your classes at the pavillion,” he reprimanded softly.

You pushed your lips forward, ignoring him as you took your damp cloth again and began to wipe the dust from his shoulders with a damp cloth, your movements lingering. “Yaremu and Tasi were talking today,“ you started, trying to sound clinical as you moved the cloth over the swell of his chest.

“About...“ he trailed after it took you long to continue, still focused on his paste.

“About how... a man responds to a certain touch. With the hand.”

Neteyam went still, and you saw his eyes zeroing in on something. “What touch?”

“They said it makes even the strongest warriors break. That they lose their minds,” you whispered, leaning in until your breath fanned over his skin. “I find the claim about reflex... questionable. I believe I need to conduct my own study. For research.”

He stared at you before letting out a choked, dark laugh. He reached out, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a possessive heat. “Not here,” he whispered.

Your lips broke into a huge grin. “You’ll allow me?”

He moved to kiss the tip of your nose. “I will never say no to you,” he said.

“You did say no... Last week,” you pointed out and a deep laughter rumbled in his chest.

“I did say next time, didn’t I?” he replied, stealing another deep, searing kiss before pulling back with a wink. “I’ll finish here. Go up the higher branch, I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”

You pursed your lips and nodded, almost skipping your way out of the tent. The higher branch of the Hometree was so high in the clouds that the village sounds were reduced to a distant hum. It was a little cold but it was of the good kind, lulling the vibrations of excitement in your body as you looked far beyond the never-ending sight of the rainforest.

When Neteyam arrived, you two didn’t waste time. The moment he was within reach, he pulled you into a kiss that felt like a claim, his hands sliding down to anchor you against him.

“Show me this research, then,” he rasped against your lips.

Your hands were trembling as you reached for his loincloth, but curiosity was a more powerful force than shame. He was also trembling when he was finally bared to you, his cock looking even more formidable in the dimmed light. You caressed the length of it with your fingers first, hearing him take a swift, sharp breath, and when you wrapped your fingers around him, your lips parted at the heat and the velvet-like texture.

You remembered Yaremu’s advice, like stroking clay, but faster, and began to move. Neteyam’s head hit the bark of the tree with a dull thud as you caressed him, pumping your hand up and down high length. A low, gutteral sound tore from his throat, a raw animalistic noise you had never heard from him. His eyes were droopy but not even a palulukan could make him close his eyes right now.

"Oh, baby..." he groaned, his fingers digging into the flesh of you hips.

You watched him with fascinated eyes. He was breaking. This brave and mighty warrior was trembling under your touch, his breath coming in jagged hitches. Emboldened by your power, you moved your thumb over the wide tip, just as Yaremu had described.

Neteyam’s hips bucked uncontrollably, his entire body shuddering. "Fuck—wait, stop—"

But you didn't stop. The curiosity that had been burning in you all day reached a fever pitch. You lowered yourself, your hair spilling over his thighs, and before he could realize your intent, you took him into your mouth.

The sensation was overwhelming. The taste of him, the heat, the sheer size. Neteyam let out a sound that was half-sob, half-growl, his hands flying down to grab your hair. He only let you stay there for a few seconds, his body vibrating so violently you thought he might actually fall from the branch, before he scrambled to lift your head up.

“No,“ he gasped, his face flushed, his eyes wild. He hauled you to straddle him, crushing your lips with a kiss that was almost feral. “Not yet. I can't... if you do that, I'll never let you go back to that tent.“

He held you tight, both your hearts racing and both of you gasping for air in the high, cold wind. You cupped his face, kissing him softly. Nothing mattered, not your path, nor your vow to yourself, it was replaced by the loud, screaming truth of what you were becoming to each other.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

Weeks later, the celebration of the new harvest was in full swing. The communal clearing was filled of the sounds of drums, swirling colors, and the intoxicating scent of fermented berries. The elder warriors were generous with the brew, and for once, you didn't hold back. You leaned back against a carved root, a soft giggle escaping you as you watched a group of younger children unsuccessfully try to mimic a warrior's dance.

Kiri nudged your shoulder. “Careful, sister.”

“Let her have her fun, Kiri,” Neteyam intervened, though he was grinning just as widely. He held up his own bowl, the blue paint on his arm shimmering under the bioluminescent lanterns. “To the best healer-in-training and the worst berry-picker in the clan.”

“What?” you protested. “I am an excellent picker. It’s really just quality over quantity for me.” you said sassily, rolling your eyes.

“Is that what we're calling it now?” Neteyam laughed, the sound deep. He turned to Kiri. “She spent five minutes today analyzing a single fruit while I had already filled two baskets.”

“It's called attention to detail, Neteyam! You wouldn't understand,” you shot back, your eyes dancing. The brew was making everything feel warm and golden.

Kiri watched the exchange, her head tilting in that way that usually meant she was talking to the creatures, but tonight, she just looked at you two and smirked. Neteyam took a long sip of his brew, his eyes locked onto yours over the rim of the bowl, challenge sparking in them.

“I'm going to find Tuk before she tries to eat every pie there is tonight. Try not to get ‘lost’ in the woods, you two...”

She vanished into the crowd with a knowing wink. The moment she was gone, the space between you and Neteyam seemed to evaporate, and in the chaos of the festival, you were the only two people in the world.

“Another bowl?” he whispered, his tail twitching rhythmically behind him.

“I think,” you breathed, looking at his lips, “that I've had enough of the brew. I'm starting to want things they aren't offering.”

Neteyam’s grin turned slow and predatory, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh under the table. He tilted his head toward the dark periphery of the Hometree and raised a brow. You smirked, and bowed down to your food, picking a nut to pop it in your mouth. He stood up to go, and you waited before following him, your heart racing with a fluttering excitement.

By the time you reached the outskirts, the sounds of the party were a distant muffle and the cool night air hit your skin, but it did nothing to douse the heat between you. Neteyam walked closer to you, his pupils blown wide, his movements slightly sluggish and drunken, which only made him look devastatingly handsome.

He cupped your face and kissed you. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about it,“ he murmured against your lips.

“Hm?” you hummed, kissing him softly.

He trailed a hand down your side, his palm hot and heavy, before coming to rest on your thigh. He squeezed gently, his thumb tracing small circles. “I want to return the favor,” he whispered, his breath smelling of sweet berries and forest air.

“How?” you asked, your voice breathy, your body already leaning into his.

He leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Mouth or fingers?”

A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine. You feel like you know what this was. You looked up at him, a bold, drunken grin spreading across your lips.

“Both?”

Neteyam let out a sharp exhaled breath, a flicker of nervous energy crossing his face despite the haze of the brew. “Okay,” he whispered.

He started with your neck, his mouth hot and insistent, sucking at the sensitive skin until you knew a mark would be left for sure.

You two sat by the large root of a tree, his hands were everywhere, caressing and squeezing, until it untied your loincloth around your tail. When the fabric fell away, he didn't hesitate. He knelt before you, his golden eyes filled with a sudden, sharp clarity.

He pressed a reverent kiss there, and then he parted his lips so he could lick your slit from the base to the top, making you pull your hips away in a jerk. His hands on your hips firmly held you in place, though, keeping yoy from running away from his intense ministrations. You bit your lip but small sounds still escaped you, your thighs wanting to close, and when he added a finger, you had to cover your mouth to muffle your loud moan.

Neteyam let out a low, frustrated groan as his finger worked inside you, you were so tight. His mouth and tongue never left you and you didn’t know what hit you, you just began to tremble in his grip, your fingers tangling in his braids and grabbing hard at a handful.

“The world is spinning...” you chuckled as he kissed his way up to your body, sucking hard on your nipple.

“Yeah?“ his lips came down to kiss you softly, and then he lifted his body up, fitting himself between your parted thighs.

He stared at you, his chest heaving, his jaw set in a line of restraint. You moaned in protest when your felt his thumb rub your clit, but you didn’t pull back because it felt so good. You bit your lip and moved your hips gently against his finger. He looked, looking at your bare pussy, and how he had his hand on it, his thumb rubbing you.

And you liked it. He shivered at the reality of it all, his breath catching in his throat. If a year ago, someone told him he’d be here with you, he wouldn’t have dared to believe it... And right now, if he were only dreaming, the person who’ll wake him up will receive the punch of a lifetime.

You looked at him, watching how his pupil blew so wide it’s practically eating up the gold. You smiled breathlessly, reaching to cup his face, your heart overflowing. “What do you want to do, hm?” you craned your head up a little to kiss him sotfly. “Do it... do what you want.”

He stared at you and you yelped when his fingers pinched your folds. “Are you sure?” he rasped, his voice sounding like it was being dragged over gravel.

You nodded firmly. With an animalistic growl, he shed his own loincloth in one fluid motion, revealing the thick, pulsing length of his arousal. You tried to sit up to see his bare form better, but he pressed you back with a hand on your shoulder, and your body tingled at how dominant he seemed to be when he’s drunk.

He didn't enter you, not truly, but he lined himself up against your folds. He began to work his hips, dragging his ridiculous length against your slit in deep strokes from base to tip.

“Fuck, baby...” he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he found a rhythm.

The friction was overwhelming. The thickness of him was overstimulating your clit until every nerve ending in your body was screaming. You arched your back, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his. “So good, ‘teyam...” you moaned in jagged breaths.

He groaned, catching your mouth in a feral kiss. “I’m coming... fuck...”

He wanted to hold out so bad, to prolong the moment, but it was so fucking difficult, especially when you keep whispering in his ear. He came in a hot rush on your stomach just as you came your high again. You clung to him, your body quivering in the aftermath. As he collapsed against you, you reached down, scooping a bit of his essence and bringing it to your lips. You moaned in pleasure, while Neteyam let out a soft, tired laugh, kissing your cheek and letting you do as you pleased.

Once you’re both dressed, you chased each other out of the woods but Neteyam’s hand snaked out, his fingers catching the end of your tail as you tried to dart ahead of him. He gave it a light tickle, a sensation that sent a playful jolt right up your spine.

“That’s cheating!” you squealed, spinning around with a wide, lopsided grin. You smacked his muscled abdomen, but it felt like you hit a warm stone wall, stinging your palm.

Neteyam didn't even flinch, he just huffed a breathy laugh. “Did you hurt yourself?“ he asked, catching your hand.

“Humble bragging, aren’t we?” you teased, stepping into his space and poking a finger into the center of his chest. “I think the brew caused your head to grow bigger than it already is.”

He caught your finger, pressing a kiss to the tip of it. “If my head is big, it is only because you occupy every corner of it.” He pulled you closer, his tail winding around yours in a tight, possessive curl. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you giggled, and for a few more steps, the world was nothing but the scent of him and the dizzying joy of the night.

But as you rounded the final thicket leading back to the communal clearing, the laughter died in your throat. At the sight of your father standing just outside the Hometree’s entrance, you moved away from Neteyam faster than lightning could hit the ground. He was deep in conversation with another senior warrior, his arms crossed over his chest. The shift in the air was instantaneous and your joy was replaced with cold anxiety.

Neteyam felt it, too. He immediately untangled his tail from yours and straightened his spine, his posture shifting from the relaxed lover back to the disciplined son of the Olo’eyktan. Your father turned his head. He didn't move, and he didn't stop his conversation, but his gaze locked onto the two of you. You walked faster to get to your father, feeling the guilt rise in you a little. You wondered if there were marks on your neck, or if your hair was in disarray.

Neteyam reached your flock, raising his hand in a formal warrior’s greeting, his voice steady and respectful when he greeted your father. Your father offered a curt nod, his stare never leaving Neteyam’s face for a long heartbeat. It looked like a silent warning, one that acknowledged the rank Neteyam held, but reminded him exactly whose daughter he was walking home.

“Go inside, daughter,” your father said quietly.

You didn’t look at Neteyam, turning on your heels to walk toward the entrance of the Hometree. You felt ashamed of your feebleness, how you folded so easily at the presence of pressure. You knew your father won’t let it go and that reckoning will soon come, so when you heard the tent flap rustle one evening and didn’t smell Neteyam’s familiar scent, you turned and saw that it was your father. You straightened up, greeting him as you would greet a superior.

“You spend much time in the Tsahik’s tent at night, daughter,“ he started, touching one of the hanging braided ceremonial beads. “And you are rarely alone. Kiri is your friend, isn’t she?”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding. “Yes, father...”

“And Neteyam?“ he inquired.

You blinked, you knew this was coming, and yet, you weren’t able to prepare a proper excuse. “Neteyam is a good friend, father. We have been friends since we were kids,” you said, your words tumbling over one another.

He nodded. “I know that. Neteyam is a fine warrior, the pride of the Olo’eyktan... But a man of his vitality and youth does not seek out a woman of your path night after night, nor does he come out of the dark woods with the same woman.”

Your fingers tightened at the herbs. “We are friends, father. N-Neteyam helps me—”

“Friendship between a future leader and Eywa’s maiden is good, yes, but this is not it," he warned, stepping closer. He gestured to you, to the way you had begun to arrange your hair with more care, the subtle oils you used to make your skin glow. “You are becoming worldly. You are looking at the ground when you should be looking at the Great Mother. Do not forget the honor of our lineage. Do not forget the path that was chosen for you.”

That warning rang in your ears for days. You had shed tears about it, spending your days weakly. You are frightened. You fear that you do not have enough will to fight against this path that has long blurred for you. The only sight you can see is the path leading to the man you have loved half of you life. The man you will have to turn your back to in favor of your family’s honor. The man you will lose to another. You can’t even stand imagining it. He will mate someone worthy and strong... She will have him and his children, and there will be nothing for you.

Those thoughts weighed you down. It was a tragedy.

It followed you into the woods a week later, where you were meant to be foraging berries for a pie you had promised Kiri. The basket felt heavy, the vibrant reds of the fruit blurring before your eyes. You were standing in a patch of sunlight, but you felt cold, your tears freely flowing, something you couldn’t do when you’re back at the village because Neteyam will surely know.

But as if summoned, the large leaves near you shifted and Neteyam appeared, his smile was bright, his eyes searching for yours, but when he saw the tears on your cheeks, the slump of your shoulders, and the way your hands moved listlessly among the bushes, his expression shifted instantly to one of deep concern.

“Hey,” his voice murmured, coming to stand before you right away. “What is it? Did something happen in the village?”

You tried to give him a small smile. “No, I’m alright,” you said in a soft voice.

Neteyam has never seen you cry before, save for whe you are moved by wonder or by something sad happening to others. You have always been composed and laid-back, sometimes he doesn't even know if you ever get mad at all. Ans right now, you were crying, and it seemed so personal it’s breaking his heart. Gently, his lips pressed against your temple, pulling you close.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice so soft it made your heart spasm.

You wanted to say you’re alright again but it shattered before it even reached your lips. The dam you had built with such effort finally broke. A sob escaped you, and then the tears were falling, frantic and unstoppable. Neteyam inhaled a sharp breath, pulling you into his arms, his chest a solid, warm wall against your grief. He didn't ask questions; he simply held you, his hand stroking your hair as you wept into his shoulder, pouring out your fears on how the path now felt like a cage, how your father’s words had cut you, and most of all, the soul-crushing fear that you would be forced to watch him mate with another while you lived a life of cold, sacred solitude.

“I can't do it,” you choked out, clutching the leather of his harness. “I can't watch you take a mate. I cannot watch you belong to someone else. Neteyam, I cannot do it,“ you are crying so hard you could barely understand your own words.

Neteyam pulled back just enough to frame your face with his hands. The fear in your eyes threatened to break him from the inside out. He hadn’t known you had this much fear in you, and although he knew he shouldn’t feel good about it, he still felt it, but it would never be in him to want to prolong your agony. He loves you so much, his heart could burst. He wiped your tears with his thumbs, his gaze so intense it felt like he was looking directly into your spirit.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice thick with a raw, agonizing honesty. “I have always loved you. Ever since we were children learning in the pavillion under the watchful eyes of the healers, you were the only one for me.”

He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his eyes closing as if in prayer.

“When I was young, I worked until my bones ached because I wanted to be worthy of you. I wanted to be a man who deserved to stand at your side. I wanted to be your mate. I wanted to be the father of your children.” His voice dropped to a reverent, shaky register, smiling at you. "But I also know the path you have chosen. And my love, listen to me, you will never, ever lose me. I have long made my decision. I promised myself I will never mate with another.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes wide with shock. “Neteyam, you are the future Olo’eyktan. You have to—”

“I can be a good leader without a mate,” he countered firmly, his eyes burning with conviction. “I have decided. If the Great Mother requires you to be alone, then I will be alone with you. I will be your shadow. I will guard you and walk your path from a distance, but I will never give myself to another woman. I have long been claimed.”

The image of him, noble, strong, and utterly alone in the dark because of you, shattered your heart into a thousand pieces. You didn't want him to be a shadow. You wanted him to be the man who held your hand in the light. You wanted it so much.

“Do you understand?” he asked, his voice low and steady. "Whatever happens, whatever choice you make, I am here. I will be here. You have me. You will always have me.”

You looked up at him and saw the absolute certainty in his eyes. It frightened you, to say the least, to know that he was willing to let the future of his bloodline wither away just to be the man who stood outside your door.

​“You cannot,” you whispered. You cannot possiby be this selfish. You regretted telling him your fears for you know it only solidified his decision. “Neteyam, the clan... they expect a mother for the people. Your father and Neytiri... they want to see you happy. They want to see your children.“

​“Then they will be disappointed,“ he said, his jaw tightening with an uncharacteristic stubbornness. His hands moved to cup the back of your head, grounding you. “There is no happiness for me if I am lying next to a woman who is not you. I would be a shell. How could I lead our people with a heart that is half-dead?“

“You wouldn’t be with me anyway...” you rasped, your head bowing.

He looked at you with sad eyes but still, he chuckled and kissed the tip of your nose. “You haven’t been paying attention, my love. I have long known that and I have accepted it,” he said. “I will do anything you ask of me, you know that, but you cannot ask me to be with another. I will not obey you.”

You parted your lips to breathe, gripping his forearms to feel the solid warmth of him. The selflessness of his love shamed you. What good have you done to deserve such devotion? That question lingered with you even after you two parted. You knew the answer: you have done nothing. You have never been willful your whole life.

Following your great aunt’s path, the path that twenty-two generations of women in your father’s family have taken, have never before felt like an order to be obeyed. You wanted it before you truly knew what you wanted, but now, as you looked back... Neteyam has always been there. He has always stirred your heart in the way only he could do. You have always loved him.

And you will never stop.

Driven by a desperation you couldn’t name, you found yourself at the secluded dwelling of your great aunt. The air was thick with incense and you knew this would be one of those few days where she could be disturbed from her prayers, and even now, she was a silhouette of stillness, her back to you as she whispered prayers that had been her only companions for sixty years.

You didn't speak. You simply sat behind her and began to pray, the minutes stretching into hours. You watched the way the smoke curled in the air, wondering if your life would be just like hers: sacred, hollow, and hauntingly quiet. You wanted to feel guilty for thinking it look gray, but it was what you were thinking.

When the last of the incense burned out, Äye turned slowly. Her eyes, fill of wisdom and spirit, settled on your face. She didn't see her successor; she saw the crumbling ruins of a girl in love.

“What is it that brings you to this quiet place with such a loud heart?” she asked, her voice both stern and full of concern.

“The medicinal roots in the southern ridge are coming in early this year," you said casually, your voice a dry rasp. “I’m thinking of beginning the harvest before the syaksyuk get to them."

She tilted her head, her eyes sharp and assessing.  “You have been sitting here for five hours, praying to a Mother who has already answered you, yet you refuse to listen. I can see it in your face,” she reached out, tilting your chin up. “What is it? And do not tell me it is the harvest.”

You swallowed hard, the weight in your chest becoming unbearable. “I wanted to ask if... If your heart has ever stirred... For a person, I mean. Not for the Great Mother, nor for the people. For a man.” You paused, your voice trembling. “Have you ever felt... desire?“

You waited for her to look at you as if you’ve grown two heads but she didn’t. The old woman’s eyes softened, a distant. She didn't answer right away, instead, she let her hand fall to your shoulder. “Is that what is clawing at you?”

You looked away, the first tear finally breaking free. “This is my path, Auntie... I have known this my whole life. But... These feelings I have in my heart, I have carried with me long before I knew what it was. I have loved him since we were children. And this man loves me with all he is... I supposed it would be easier if he didn’t love me back. It would be easier to accept the solitary path ahead of me, but now, because he loves me, he will forsake his own duty to the clan just so he could freely love me.” You gripped your knees, your knuckles turned white. “I do not want that for him. I cannot let him be alone and empty, I cannot deny him the love I can give him...“

Äye let out a long, slow breath. “The son of Toruk Makto.”

Your eyes snapped to hers. “How... how did you know?”

A small, knowing smile played on her lips. “I have seen it, and I still see it. You have always had the boy’s eyes, and his heart. You see only now.”

“I am scared,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I look at the path laid out for me... This life of solitude and it feels like a cage. I want him... I love him. I want to give him myself...” you looked at her. “Is it wrong, Auntie? To want the ground more than the sky? To want a man more than a goddess?”

Äye reached out and cradled your face in her weathered hands.

“Is it truly the path she gave you?” she asked softly. “Eywa does not give paths, child. She simply makes us feel. What you feel here will tell you where you belong.” She smiled, her palm pressing firmly over your heart. “And clearly, your heart has been showing you the path for a very long time.”

You sniffled, leaning into her touch, a flicker of hope sparking in the dark.

“I have easily done my duty because Eywa did not see it fit to put desire in my heart,” Äye confessed, her gaze turning distant and thoughtful. “I walked this path because it was the only one I saw. But, if I had only felt love and desire for another... if I had felt even a fraction of what you described... I would have let it consume me. I would have allowed myself to be loved by someone I loved.” Her expression became fiercer. “It is a gift, child, and you must not deny yourself what Eywa has given you. You must not deny Neteyam the love that you could give him, or the life you two could live. To turn away from such a love is the only true blasphemy.”

“But my father... the clan...” you whispered.

She scoffed. “Do not worry about your father. He is handled,” she said with a small, knowing smirk. “You go to your warrior. Tell him everything you told me.”

The weight that had been crushing your ribs for years had simply evaporated. You hugged her and she patted your back. When you finally stood up, your legs feel so light, as though you were floating. You ran through the village, past the staring eyes of the hunters, straight toward the training grounds where you knew a certain warrior was spending his day.

You didn't care about the path anymore. There has only ever been one for you, and it led straight to him. The sounds of clashing practice staves and rhythmic grunts welcomed you as you reached the training grounds. You stood at the edge of the clearing, thinking about how you have never done this before even though you passed by it every single day. You’ve never even thrown Neteyam a glance when he was over here, so now, you indulged yourself to the sight of his skin glistening with sweat as he moved with lethal grace.

He was giving corrections, his voice commanding and steady, until his gaze swept toward the edge and snagged on you. He stopped mid-sentence and had to do a double look, his golden eyes widening in genuine disbelief. It was always he who sought you out, he who lingered at the edges, waiting for you to pay him attention. And now, to see you standing here, in the open light, was a surprise that seemed to steal the air from his lungs. A slow, radiant smile began to spread across his face, one that he didn't even try to hide.

The other hunters followed his gaze lazily, shocked as Neteyam was to see you standing there, looking only at him. When he signaled for a break, Neteyam practically glided toward you, his focus so intense it felt like he was pulling you toward him by an invisible thread. He opened his mouth to ask what had brought you there, but you didn't give him the chance.

You stepped forward to meet him halfway, reaching up, tagling your fingers in the braids at his nape to pull him down into a soft, lingering kiss.

The silence that fell over the training grounds was almost funny, jaws practically hit the dirt, and Lo’ak who was standing a few yards away dropped his staff, his eyes bulging.

“When will you be done?” you asked casually, your voice clear and steady. Your thumb traced the line of his jaw, grounding him.

Neteyam looked dazed, as if he were caught in a dream and was terrified of waking up. The smile on his face was huge and utterly devoted, it brought ache to your chest. “Now,” he rasped, his voice sounding hypnotized. He didn't even look back at his men. “I’ll finish this early. Right now.”

You let out a melodic chuckle, your palm pressing flat against the heat of his abdomen. “Don’t be silly. I can just wait here,” you said, gesturing toward the wooden benches.

He nodded fervently, his tail twitching with an excitement he couldn't suppress. You couldn't resist, he looked so uncharacteristically flustered and cute that you leaned in for another quick kiss before patting his chest.

“Go,” you whispered, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “I’ll wait.”

Neteyam turned back to his warriors, but the sternness was gone. The men themselves were in a state of total shock, their eyes kept on darting back to where you are. The rest of the training session was a blur and you couldn’t take your eyes on Neteyam, and you’re glad he was the opposite. He was so focused on it, even though he was less strict, the intensity of his approach did not wane.

He dismissed the session right on time, handing his staff to a young hunter and was at your side in a heartbeat, his skin still glistening with sweat. He wiped it off with a soft cloth and you stood up, grabbing the cloth to help him wipe his sweat. “I need you to come with me,” you said, fighting the urge to smirk.

He breathed, catching your hand to graze a thumb on your knuckles. “Where? The forest? The high ridges?”

“Further,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your stomach. You grabbed his hand and his fingers intertwined with yours as naturally as vines coil on a branch.

The walk was surprisingly casual, the air cooling as the forest began its slow transition into the bioluminescent glow of dusk. You stepped over a spike plant and he gripped your hand tighter. “Careful,” he said, hopping over a fallen log and reaching back to steady.

“I am a healer, Neteyam. I know which leaves bite and which ones soothe. If anything, I should be the one worried about you. You almost walked straight into a stickyplant back there because you were too busy looking at me.”

“Can you blame the warrior for admiring the view?” he countered with a cheeky waggle of his brows.

You laughed, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Getting bold, aren’t we? Must be all those pies Tuk didn't eat. I saw her trying to smuggle a third one past Mo’at at dinner last night. She looked like a prolemuris with its cheeks full of fruits.”

“She’s a menace,” he chuckled, his tail flicking with amusement. “The young these days...” he shook his head. “Just last time, I saw a young hunter trying to impress girls by showing off his battle scars. Most of them were from tripping over during drills.”

“Be kind,” you teased. “We were all young and desperate for attention once. Though some of us,” you glanced at him sideways, “didn't have to try quite so hard.”

Neteyam’s smile softened, his fingers tightening around yours. “I don't know about that. I spent half my youth trying to figure out why the smartest girl in the pavilion wouldn't look at me for more than two seconds.”

“I was busy studying!” you protested. “I had to learn the difference between a glow moss and a spice leaf. One heals a burn, the other causes a rash that lasts for three days. Imagine if I'd gotten those mixed up because I was staring at your growing muscles.”

“A tragedy for the clan,“ he joked, pulling you by the waist and pressing a kiss against your neck. “But a win for my ego,” he whispered.

You squealed and pulled away, running away from him. You heard him chuckle, chasing after you until you two reached the purple glow of the ancient sacred tree. You looked at him with a soft smile and he stared at you, his eyes softening into a reverent look as he savored the look of you bathed in purple light

“It is beautiful tonight,” he whispered, reaching out to caressed your jaw.

“It is,” you agreed, tiptoeing to kiss him again, your arms hooking on his nape.

His hands immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him as he deepened the kiss, his mouth devouring yours. You pulled him down with you onto the soft moss, laying back so he’d follow you. You spread your thighs and he settled his body between them, breaking away from the kiss as if he’d just noticed what position you had pulled him into under the sacred tree.

You smiled, leaning in to press a slow, deep kiss to his lips, “I love you, Neteyam...” you whispered as if it was your secret, kissing him again.

His head lifted, his lips curling into a small, yet triumphant, smile. “I love you more, baby. So much,” he said, his arm wrapping around you to pull you to him. “What’s going on?” he asked.

You smiled and kissed him again, you didn't let him break away, and as your hands moved to his shoulders, the kiss deepened. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your chest. You pulled back just an inch, your eyes locked onto his, and then, with a hand that didn't tremble, you reached back and brought your queue forward. Neteyam’s eyes snapped at your kuru, widening a fraction in a surprise so profound he actually moved back an inch.

“My love...” he rasped, his voice breaking. He looked from your kuru to your eyes, his face pale but his eyes dancing with joy.

You kissed him. “I want to be with you. I want to be your mate... I want to have your children...”

His smile widened, though his eyes still needed more answers. “Are you sure? Once this is done... there is no turning back to the path they chose for you. You will be mine. In the eyes of Eywa and the clan, you will be mine for life.”

“I have never been more sure of anything,” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. “The path I chose isn't the one they gave me. It’s this. It’s you.”

Neteyam’s hand was shaking as he brought his own queue forward. The intensity of the moment was suffocating, a silence so heavy it felt like the ancestors themselves were holding their breath. “I love you so much,” he said, the words a solemn vow. “You have me, until my last breath. You have always had me, baby.”

Slowly, deliberately, the pink tendrils of your queues reached out, entwining and locking together. You gasped, your back arching when a flood of physical sensations surged through you. You felt the raw, unbridled power of Neteyam’s love for you. The years of pining, the quiet agony of watching you from afar, the fierce protectiveness, and the sheer, blinding joy of this moment. And he felt yours. The fear you had felt, the desperate need for his touch, and the struggle you fought that led to this absolute certainty that you belonged by his side.

Neteyam let out a choked sound, pulling you flush against him, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that promised he would never, ever let go. You kissed him until you were both breathless, then his lips trailed down your jaw, making you arch into his touch as a low moan rumbled in your throat. Your hands found purchase in his braids, pulling his head back up, your gaze locking with his.

“Are we doing it?” you asked, your eyes looking up at him in both apprehension and excitement.

He caressed your thigh. “Do you want to? It doesn’t need to be tonight—”

“No, I want to! I want to... Just...” you cleared your throat. “I mean you’re big and... And how did the other girls take this—”

“What?” he whisper-shouted playfully. “There have never been other girls. I’ve never kissed anyone before you...” His eyes looked away from yours to look at your lips.

“What?” you chuckled breathily, the scholar part of you panicking. “No one here knows what to do?”

“No, I do know what to do,” he said, his eyes widening a little. “Trust me.“

You smiled and reached up to kiss him, he met you halfway, his mouth descending, but hungry now, no longer sweet and hesitant. His tongue plunged and you met his fervor, your own tongue dancing with his. His hands moved, tracing the curve of your hips, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending a jolt of pleasure through you as you felt the hard ridge of his cock press against your thigh.

Your fingers fumbled with the straps of his loincloth, your fingers caressing the soft skin of his abdomen. He undid your own, hands quick and deft, discarding the simple covering the same time you shed his. His fingers found your slippery folds, caressing it as he kisses your jaw. Your hand shot down to wrap around his cock, caressing the thick and long flesh.

He huffed, his lips pressing against your cheek before he leaned down, his mouth finding your neck, his teeth gently nipping at where you’re most sensitive. You whimpered, your head falling back against the moss. His tongue traced a path down your throat, over your collarbone, until it reached the swell of your breast. He suckled, his mouth hot and wet, drawing your nipple into his mouth.

Your hips arched involuntarily. “Neteyam,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He moved to your other breast, giving it equal attention before kissing his way down your body until you felt a long swipe of his tongue on the soft skin of your inner thigh. His fingers brushed against your slick pussy, followed by his warm tongue, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your core, his hands slid under your hips to tilt you toward him before his mouth lapped at your wetness like a man starved.

You clutched on a moss, letting yourself moan to your heart’s content until you were a shaking mess with a spinning vision. You can feel his lips and tongue working its way up your body but your mind was zeroing in on the electrifying sensation you’re feeling on your clit, your thighs jolting every time his skin grazes it.

Only when he positioned himself between your legs did you make the effort to lift you head up to look at him, catching him with his eyes darkened with desire as they devoured your nakedness. Your connected kurus pulsed brighter and you felt the jolt of excitement and ecstasy he is probably feeling. You bit your lip, looking at his cock, thick and heavy, pressing against your entrance. You looked up at him, your own eyes burning with desire, and he met your gaze, his lips curved in a small smile and his eyes suddenly became the look of longing and adoration.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice rough with need.

“Yes,” you gasped, pushing your hips up, urging him forward. “Now.”

He chuckled, his hand squeezing your hips before he thrusted, slowly at first, his thick shaft pushing past your eager lips, stretching you, filling you with a sensation so profound it stole your breath. You cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure, as he pushed deeper, until he was fully buried inside you.

He paused, letting you adjust, his chest heaving, his eyes closed for a moment in pure bliss. “It feels so warm... So tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with emotion.

You hugged him, a little breathless at the feeling of being so full of him and yet, you pulled him deeper still. “You’re so big...” you groaned, clenching around him.

He opened his eyes and you saw a primal look in them as he began to move, slowly at first, a gentle motion that soon picked up pace. He pulled almost all the way out, then plunged back in, his rhythm becoming more urgent, more demanding.

“Ah!” you moaned, your body arching, meeting his thrusts with equal enthusiasm. The sounds of your skin slapping together and the wet sounds of him moving inside you filled the air.

One of his hand found your folds, his thumb parting them to flick at your sensitive nub, making you buck and pull away in overstimulation but he only leaned down, his lips finding yours to devour your cries, his tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips continued its relentless rhythm. His hands gripped your hips to lift and tilt you, finding new angles that gave you so much pleasure. His cock felt enormous inside you, stretching you to your limits, yet it was a delicious fullness, a sense of being completely claimed.

The gentle rocking turned into powerful, rhythmic thrusts, his body slamming into yours with increasing force as you felt a familiar feeling in your lower abdomen, a knot that promised release. You clawed at his back, your nails digging into his firm muscles, leaving faint red marks.

“Harder,” you gasped against his lips, your voice hoarse. “Please, baby...”

He responded instantly, his thrusts becoming even more violent, more primal. He pulled out almost entirely, then slammed back in with a force that made you scream, the air whooshing out of your mouth.

“You like that, baby?” he rasped, his voice raw, his breath hot against your face.

You whimpered, unable to speak, your hips bucking involuntarily to meet his every thrust. You felt your muscles clenched around his shaft, milking him, urging him on. He groaned and thrusted one last, powerful time, burying himself to the hilt, holding you tight as your body convulsed around him. Your climax hit you like a lightning strike, giving you a full body tremor that left you breathless and clutching at him. Your muscles seized, squeezing his cock, making him cry out your name.

His body tensed, then relaxed as he emptied himself deep inside you. You felt the hot gush of his seed filling you as he collapsed onto you, his weight heavy but welcome, his breath ragged against your neck. His heart hammered against your chest, mirroring the frantic beat of your own. You lay tangled together, spent and satisfied, the purple glow of the tree a silent witness to your mating.

“I swear to the Great Mother, if this were a dream I’d beat up the person who will wake me up,” he whispered breathily, kissing you.

You chuckled weakly, hugging him tighter to you and kissing his cheek. “It is real, husband. I am here with you,” you told him.

He melted in your embrace, kissing your forehead, and then your lips. “I love you so much...”

A few hours of sleep punctuated with a series of waking up only to make love later, you lay tangled in Neteyam’s arms under the glowing tendrils,  your core still sore from the intensity of your last coupling. His chest was warm under your cheek, and you traced the faint, drying marks your nails had left on his shoulder. Neteyam shifted, his tail winding lazily around your thigh.

“The sun will be up soon,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his hand tracing the curve of your hip with a new, possessive ease. You let out a soft sigh, tightening your hold on him. Neteyam pulled back slightly to look at you, his golden eyes clear and filled with a fierce, protective light. “I’ll face your father. I’ll tell him it was my doing. The haste, the lack of a formal ceremony. I’ll take the weight of his anger.”

You shook your head, reaching up to cup his face. “No. I made this choice just as much as you did. I won’t let you stand there like a criminal for loving me. I’ll handle him, and Äye said she would help. I’m more worried about Mo’at... I am a healer under her. Surely, she’d expect me to follow the traditions.”

“Then we face them together,” Neteyam said firmly, interlocking his fingers with yours. “As one. We are mated now. I am your husband and you are my wife.”

Those words brought you so much relief and joy, you couldn’t help but smile, especially when his eyes reflected a certain, even smug, light in them. The walk back to the village felt different, but as you approached the central clearing of the Hometree, the sight of the gathering made your heart skip a beat.

Not only were your parents already there, Jake and Neytiri were there, too, standing near the breakfast hearth, and beside them sat Mo'at and Äye. The air was thick with the smell of morning broth and an unspoken tension. Your father stood as you both emerged from the ramp, his eyes immediately dropping to your clasped hands and then to the unmistakable, glowing pride in Neteyam’s posture.

“You did not return last night,” your father said, his voice flat but not yet angry.

Äye, who was calmly sipping from a bowl of tea, let out a dry chuckle. “Oh, let the children breathe, Laykon. Do not overreact. Look at them, they look like they’ve finally found where the air is.”

Neteyam didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, gently releasing your hand only to sink onto both knees before your parents. He bowed his head low, his forehead nearly touching the ground in a gesture of profound respect and apology.

“I ask for your forgiveness,” Neteyam’s voice was calm, carrying the weight of a leader. “I have acted with haste, and I have taken your daughter as my mate without the formal blessing of the clan. But I have loved her before I even I understood what it was. I ask only for your blessing now, for I will spend every day of my life proving I am worthy of her.”

You dropped to your knees beside him, your shoulder touching his. “Father, I love Neteyam, I have always loved him. This wasn't a mistake or a moment of weakness. It was the only truth I’ve ever known. I choose this life. I choose him.”

A long, suffocating silence followed. Jake looked at Neytiri, who had a soft, knowing expression on her face, one that spoke of a woman who had once made a similarly reckless choice for love. Finally, your father let out a long, heavy breath. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder, urging him to stand.

“I understand that, daughter,” he told you, his voice softening. “And I do not think this kneeling and bowing are necessary anymore. Words would have sufficed. You two are already mated in the eyes of the Great Mother; what is there for me to do? To fight the wind?” He looked at Neteyam, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his stony exterior. “It is my honor to have an honorable man as my son.”

Neytiri stepped forward then, pulling you into a fierce, warm embrace that smelled of woodsmoke and motherhood. “Welcome to the family, daughter,” she whispered.

You looked toward Mo’at, your stomach twisting with nerves. The Tsahik stood slowly, her face unreadable. Jake cleared his throat, glancing at the matriarch. “Mo’at? Perhaps, you can... give them the official blessing?”

Mo’at let out a sharp, huffed breath, reaching into the woven pouch at her side. To everyone’s surprise, she pulled out a bowl of ceremonial oils and a bundle of sage that had clearly been prepared in advance.

“Why do you think I am sitting here with these?” she asked, a rare humot flickering in her eyes as she looked at Äye. “Some people in this family cannot keep a secret. Come here, you two. If you are going to be mated, let us do it properly so the ancestors don’t think I’ve gone lazy.”

As Mo'at began the rhythmic chant of the blessing, marking your forehead and Neteyam’s with the cool, fragrant oil, you looked at your husband. The fear was gone. The gray path etched on sand was blown by the wind, leaving only the path forged by the Great Mother.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The council meeting had dragged on for hours, with the elders debating trade with so much meticulousness that Neteyam can’t believe it’s starting to annoy him that the second Jake signaled the end, Neteyam couldn’t have exited the council hall faster than anyone. He moved through the village with a restless, joyful energy, his heart pulling him straight to the healer’s tent.

And when he pulled back the flap, the golden afternoon light spilled over you, hunched over a mortar, the same sight that had greeted him for years, but now, strapped to your chest in a soft woven wrap was your months-old son.

“Hello, baby,” Neteyam caressed your arm, leaning down to kiss you. He cupped your jaw and deepened the kiss.

You’d chucke at his eagerness if your son hadn’t let out a soft, melodic cry. It was as if he could sense his father has arrived before Neteyam even greeted him. Neteyam looked down at his son, his large hand caressing the boy’s head.

His face split by a wide, devoted grin. His large hands gently lift the bundle from your chest and you gave him his son, watching him settle the boy into the crook of his arm, his thumb tracing a tiny, rounded cheek. “How was he? Did he give you trouble while I was on patrol?”

You chuckled, wiping your hands on a cloth. “He is just a baby, ma ‘teyam. He slept almost the entire day, only waking to eat and then falling back to sleep.”

Neteyam let out a deep, vibrating chuckle that made the baby’s eyes fly open. “You’re the hungriest boy in this village, do you know that, hm? The biggest baby, too. You’re growing so fast, my son, look at you.”

You leaned against the worktable, watching them with a chest full of warmth. You reached out to tickle your son’s ear, watching his tiny shoulder shrug in reflex. “Remember when Mo’at said you were the biggest baby she’d ever seen?” you laughed. “She said your boy rivals you. Look at his tummy. So full, aren't you, sweet boy?”

The baby suddenly let out a tiny, gurgling chuckle, his first real laugh.

Your eyes snapped to Neteyam’s in shock. You both froze, breath held for seconds, before you both bursted into a quiet laughter. The boy stretched, his chubby limbs sprawled across his father's powerful arm, looking utterly content. As you looked at the small person you had created together, your eyes began to glisten with unshed tears and when you lifted your eyes to meet Neteyam’s his own eyes were pooling with tears.

Neteyam leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “Have I told you how thankful I am that you chose me?”

You grinned, cupping his face. “You do every day, 'teyam. But I am more thankful to you. I couldn't imagine not living this life... you made me realize what I truly wanted.”

“I love you so much,” he mumbled against your lips.

“I love you more, ‘teyam—”

“That couldn't be possible—”

“Uhhmp!” A sharp, demanding shriek from your son broke the moment. His tiny hand had clamped onto your beaded top, his neck craning with singular focus toward your chest.

You laughed, booping his nose. “Hungry again?“

Your smile was huge as you reached for him. Neteyam gently handed him back, chuckling as you settled the boy and eased your top aside. The baby latched in an instant, a rhythmic, quiet sound filling the tent. Neteyam sat beside you, his gaze fixed on the sight.