☆

he doesnt come over again for a few days, despite usually stopping by every night to complain about work and watch your show together.

and neither of you texts or calls, despite years of your phone buzzing constantly, because hes a double-triple-quadruple texter and you're just as bad.

by the time that nearly a week has passed, youre a mess of anxiety and the looming dread that your best friend will never speak to you again.

and then he's there, at your door, with a bag of takeout and a shameful blush dusting his cheeks.

you dont know what to say, so you say nothing at all, just letting him in. he sits where he always does and pulls containers of food out — food he always gets, because he's a picky eater and because he knows your orders by heart. and then he turns on the show he always does, giving you the same look he always has when he's waiting for you to join him so he can press play.

you dont talk about it.

you just watch your show, laugh at all the right times, kick your feet up and relax into the cushions in all the right ways. and you do your best not to think about the fact that your panties are soaked, that they have been since he'd shown up at your door looking like he always does, smelling like he always does.

you do your best not to think about the fact that he's hard. that you can see the tent in his pajama pants, that you notice when he shoves a throw pillow over his lap to hide it.

that he's wearing pajamas, which means he plans on staying.

he stays until it's too late to leave — you watch the clock next to the TV, watch as it passes his usual time to pack up and go home — and then he mumbles under his breath.

"want me to sleep on the couch?"

your heart jumps, because you recognize what this is. that he's giving you one last chance to leave things here, without ever moving forward. that it would be okay if you want him to stay here tonight.

your heart jumps, because you know what it means if you say no.

you swallow and stand, stretching in a way that you hope doesn't show how shaky you are, and move down the hall, praying it looks casual.

"no, it's fine. the couch isnt comfortable, anyway."

you dont let him know that you can hear when he breathes out a quiet 'fuck' and moves through the room faster than he usually does.

you dont sleep. you just lie there, facing away from him and staring at the wall. waiting to hear his breath even out, waiting to know that hes asleep.

it never does.

every time you think he might be asleep, he shifts, and your heart flies into your throat. and you know that tricking him into thinking youre asleep wont work, because your breath keeps hitching and your heart keeps pounding so hard that theres no way he cant feel it through the mattress.

you stare at the wall until streaks of sunlight start to fall against it.

thats when his fingers brush against your back, gentle and cautious.

your skin breaks out into goosebumps wherever he touches. he takes it as permission.

when his chest presses against your back, it's with a shaky breath and trembling fingers on your waist. he doesnt ask if this is okay, and you dont tell him that it's so much more than that.

he just presses his hips against the curve of your ass, and you just gasp, because he's still hard, even after all these hours.

but you shouldnt be surprised, because youre still soaked, the desire for him feeling more and more like a craving, a desperate need.

tsukki buries his face in your hair, letting out an uneven sigh when he rolls his hips forward against your ass. you arch your back, pressing into him gently.

"fuck," he whispers, sliding his arm under and around your body and pulling you flush against him. you whimper, pushing back and enjoying the feel of him.

and then you choke out a moan, because he's slipping his other arm over your waist and shoving his hand down your pants.

"o-oh, my, god-" your voice breaks when his fingers — ice cold and trembling with nerves — push past the band of your underwear and land right where you need him, swiping one circle over your clit and then one more.

his hips jerk forward, breath heavy against your neck when he slides his fingers through your folds. "so fucking wet f'me," he groans. "just like last time."

you cant answer, too busy trying to find the breath in your lungs. hes rocking his hips the whole time, always managing to bump you forward against his fingers, stars bursting behind your eyelids whenever he pushes down on your clit.

"tsukki-"

you dont need to say anything else. he understands.

it's no more than a jagged inhale and his hand ripping out of your pants before you find yourself on your back.

your pants and his pants missing.

your underwear soaked and his boxers tented and wet with his own pre-cum.

when he grinds down on you, way less fabric between you than the first time, his moan is low and drawn out, echoing in your ears and forcing you to whimper in response.

he bends you in half again. you mewl embarrassingly loudly, the thought of being used smacking around inside your brain and setting your skin on fire.

he grunts in response. "you liked this last time, too." the shallow rut of his hips makes you bounce, and you hear when he moans in the back of his throat. your shirt is dragged up and over your chest, the hem pushed up to your lips. he doesnt tell you to bite, but you do anyway, the fabric soaked with your drool the moment you piece together that he wants to watch your tits bounce while he grinds against you.

he swears under his breath, both hands coming up to cup your breasts, his hands so big compared to yours. he kneads them under his fingers, calloused and rough, and you whine, your hips wriggling against his in response.

you dont need to tell him what you want — that this feels nice but you need him to refocus. he just gets it, either by the look in your eye or by the way your hands reach down to tug on his boxers.

when his fingers clamp down on the backs of your thighs and your knees end up closer to your face than anyone else has ever been able to get them, the shirt drops from your mouth, because youre letting out an echoing, needy sound that youve never made before.

he slams his hips down against yours, again and again and again, grunting and moaning and biting down on his bottom lip to keep the sound trapped in his throat. and then he huffs out, breath ragged, and takes in the sight of you properly.

"fuck, y/n, whats all this about?" his voice is rough, and hes sweating and flushed, and his hands are gripping your thighs tight but trembling nonetheless. "what is it, huh?"

your answer comes out in broken pieces, matching the rhythm of his hips. "us-ing-me-nngh-"

he stops. you cry out, tears pricking at your eyes. he just stares down at you, eyes wide as he examines the frustrated look on your face and the humiliated burn on your skin.

you start to cry, barely noticing when he uses one hand to brush the tears away, his thumb rough on your cheek.

you barely notice, because he covers it up by reaching down and tearing your panties off of you in one smooth motion.

you gasp when your body jostles against the mattress. you stop breathing entirely when he shoves his boxers down to his thighs.

"want me to use you?" he mutters. "okay. i'll use you."

you dont respond, just staring down at his cock and trying to process that that is never going to fit inside of you.

but he even doesnt try.

he just lines his cock up against your folds and slides through them slowly.

your head falls back and a cracked, broken moan falls past your lips. he doesnt sound much better, his breath sharp and his grunt tense in his throat.

"fuckin'-" he slides against you again, choking. you cant breathe. it's so hot and hard and nothing like anything youve ever felt before. "so fuckin' good," he breathes. "you feel so fucking good-hah-"

and then he leans forward, putting all his weight on the backs of your thighs and folding you in half, just like you like it.

his lips fall on yours like he's in love.

you kiss him back like you are, too.

the pace he finds is brutal, but he doesnt keep it for long. between kissing you and mumbling about how good you feel, his hips are unsteady.

which is exactly how the tip of his cock ends up catching on your entrance, slipping in just far enough for you to feel the stretch.

"oh-fuck-fuck-" he chokes, his eyes flying open and his hands slipping clumsily off your thighs and slamming into the mattress on either side of you. "fuck-y/n-"

your back is arched, chest pressing against his and your breath stuck in your throat. you stare up at him, unseeing, heart pounding in your ears.

"tsukki-"

he hears it again. what youre asking. but for your sake, he pretends it's his idea.

"c-can i-" he stumbles. "just a little?" he still hasnt slipped out, so he feels when you clench around his tip, dragging him in just a little more. he drops his head, groaning low and watching where your bodies meet. "fuck. fuck. i-please, y/n-" he lifts his eyes, staring down at you, his gaze wild and his arms shaking and his face radiating waves of heat. "please?"

there are more tears rolling down your cheeks, burning as they go, and you can only nod frantically. "please, tsukki. need you to-"

-use me.

he breathes out a quiet "oh, fuck," and starts to roll his hips in, soft "fuck, fuck, fuck"s falling past his lips the further in he pushes. the more he stretches you around his cock.

you're letting out embarrassing sounds, ranging from simple moans to humiliating chants of his name and the words "more" and "please" and "yes, fuck", all slurred and babbled together.

you dont even realize he's fucking you into the mattress until you hear the headboard slamming against your wall, over and over and over again. until his voice is right next to your ear, his chest pressed to yours and your thighs gripped tight in his hands.

"thank you," he grunts. "fuck, thank you. thank you."

you feel when it pushes you right over the edge, feel yourself mouth the words "yours" and "take it" and "please" against the shell of his ear, your walls squeezing tight around him as you come.

the noise he makes rumbles low in his chest and feels primal, and suddenly your headboard is hitting twice as fast and youre feeling his cock smack up against a spot you'd never realized was there.

when he comes, it's with your name on his tongue and his cock buried deep inside you, warm and pulsing and filling you just right.

you fall asleep like that, and he does, too. just like last time.

Your eyes flick from the amused guard to your new ‘friend’ who gets one last pull-up in before dropping two socked feet to the ground with a grunt. You swear the fucking ground rumbles. He turns towards you and your knees wobble as his shadow over takes you.

Red eyes. Half of his face is mutilated, marred by a fire from long ago, you can surmise. His face tattoos match his body. He’s tall, you wouldn’t even be able to reach the height of his makeshift pull-up bar on the tips of your toes.

You stiffen as he sizes you up like the other inmates did on your way in. You hope you wrapped your chest tight enough. A woman in an all male prison? Not a good idea for too many reasons.

“Hi—” you clear your throat of the high pitched tone, adopting a fake, deeper one, “Hey, bro. It’s uh— cool to meet you— or whatever.”

You could slap yourself. Who are you kidding? You don’t know how to talk like a guy. You should have told Gojo ‘No, no amount of money would make me spend a year in a male prison.’ You shouldn’t have drank so much and stupidly agreed that night at the bar, because now, the best case scenario here is that the guard takes you away and they throw the real you into a women’s prison for trying to ‘fool the system.’

The man takes a step forward, and you’re already tensing for a blow— but he just shoulder checks you on the way out. You stumble a little, immediately going to rub your shoulder.

The guard looks properly amused, holding back a laugh. “Here,” he kicks off the wall, pushing some supplies into your arms. Another guard must have handed these over to him as you greeted your cellmate.

“Have fun,” he makes his brows jump and moseys away.

You deeply exhale through the nerves in your chest, walking towards your bed, if you can even call it that. You drop the supplies onto the thin mattress. Sheets, blanket, toothbrush, etc.

You’ve never been one to pray, but you’re considering it right about now. You shake your head and give yourself something to do: put on your sheets, organize the few toiletries you have on your desk.

After fifteen minutes, some kind of bell rings through the prison and you watch inmates filter out of their cells.

You stand and lean out of the cell curiously. You catch one of them muttering about ‘green beans’ and you realize it’s dinner time.

You enter the crowded mess hall and you’re immediately overwhelmed, clattering trays and chaos. The smell of old meatloaf and sweaty man fills the room.

You keep your head down as you get in line, adopting a slight slouch in hopes to avoid accidental eye contact that could be perceived as a threat. The second you’re pulled into something like a violent altercation, you’ll likely be exposed as a woman quite fast.

Dinner is slop with a side of slop on a metal tray, and you’re realizing why Gojo wanted to avoid this place so adamantly. A fucking paid vacation, he’d said.

You scan the mess hall with the tray in your hands, heart racing.

You spot two guards leaning against the entrance, watching you with amusement— like they’re waiting to see what happens to you, who will pick the runt of the litter. You’re the entertainment. You must look like a little meek boy, shaking in your boots.

It’s packed. Big men in little stools. It reminds you of highschool clicks but worse. You spot your pink haired cellmate, sat alone at the only empty table, but one mean glance up with those red eyes and you’re searching elsewhere.

“Who do we have here?” A deep voice sings as a heavy arm drops around your shoulders.

You glance up at him to see a blue haired man with scars all over his body, like he’d previously had poorly done stitches. He smiles at you with dead eyes.

Some of his friends surround the two of you, bored and idle— but their bulky presence only makes you nervous.

“Need somewhere to sit?” he hums tauntingly, tilting his head down to your level. “My name’s Mahito.”

“Oh, I—”

“Shhh little pet, I’ve got you now. I’ll take you under my wing! You don’t even have to thank me or anything.” His smile makes your spine tense with chills as he moves to stand in front of you.

Do you have another choice? You’re afraid of offending him and his scary friends if you decline.

Mahito continues, as if your acceptance is a given. “Let’s just get some things straight before—”

He’s interrupted by a large fist slamming into his jaw, knocking him right off his feet and onto his ass. Your hands tense around your tray, eyes wide as your gaze snaps to see who just punched Mahito into a limp, dream state.

It’s your pink haired cellmate, looking down at his victim while ringing out his fist like it’s just another Tuesday.

Fights must be common around here, because when you look around, no one seems surprised. Most of the men just mind their business and continue eating their food. Even the two guards are whistling, turning the other cheek.

You gulp. Mahito’s friends don’t even try to defend him, they just back away— like hyenas in the presence of a lion. You hear one of them mutter a name, ‘Sukuna.’

You wonder if anyone is even going to bring Mahito to the infirmary, but when Sukuna’s roaming gaze sweeps over you, all thoughts freeze in fear.

You hold his gaze a beat too long, unsure, until you see a flicker in his expression, a subtle tightening of the corner of his eyes. In a breath, you fold inward, chin dipping down to your chest in retreat.

He breaks the tension first, adjusting his neck as he turns away. He settles back into his seat with his meal, relaxed and borderline bored.

You have no clue what his intentions are, or what saving you signifies. Regardless, you’re relived to not sit with Mahito.

With no other option, you inch your way over to the only empty table where Sukuna sits. He remains focused on his food, ignoring your presence completely as you sit as far away as possible— on the literal side edge of the seat.

You cautiously take a bite, peeking at him defensively, but he remains indifferent.

__________________

Lights out, 9:10 pm.

You lay in your uncomfortable little bed, staring at the dirty ceiling. The cell door clanged shut at exactly 9 pm and when the guard made his final round, flashlight shining through the corridor— he passed by with a slow, deliberate glance followed by a wink that made you feel uncomfortable.

You can’t sleep, tossing and turning for 10 minutes. You shift on your side, unable to lay in one position for longer than two minutes due to this stone of a mattress.

“Quit. Moving.”

You freeze at the demand coming from your cellmate, who probably hasn’t been able to sleep with all of your loud movement.

“Sorry,” you chirp quietly, pressing your lips together between your teeth.

He exhales, deeply. You peek at him and he’s facing the opposite wall, naked back towards you.

You don’t know prison etiquette, are you meant to do something specific if someone saves you from a group of scary individuals like he did earlier? Maybe give him half of your lunch from now on or he’ll take you into the back and beat the teeth out of you?

“Um,” you whisper, practicing your ‘boy’ voice.

You feel the energy in the room shift, like when you were a child sharing a bunk with your sibling and you’d start spouting nonsense to each other after 3am.

“Thank you.”

You feel relief when a silent moment passes, maybe he’s asleep and didn’t hear you, because now that you’ve actually said it, you regret it. How stupid and naive could you be? You reckon gratitude like this may not apply in prison.

He grunts as he adjusts his position, and you cringe at the ceiling, subtly inching your thin blanket up to your chin. Oh. He definitely heard you.

You nod off after too many minutes of silence and you wake in the morning to the sound of the breakfast bell. You all but squeal opening your eyes to see your sweaty cellmate looming over your bed.

You quickly clear your throat, sitting up and glancing around at your surroundings. You kick your ‘boy’ voice up, trying to recover from your girly scream. “Morning.”

He throws a small towel over his shoulder and walks off, unbothered by the strangeness of standing over someone’s bed before they’ve even awoken.

Your breast wraps are still in tact when you peek down under your shirt, so you don’t think he saw anything he wasn’t supposed to.

Breakfast is uneventful, thankfully. Mahito, who has fresh dark bruises along his face, doesn’t even look your way. You sit alone at Sukuna’s table, the same acceptable distance as before.

Things are just okay, you think.

That is, apart from the whole using the bathroom thing. You’ve been putting it off. But, it’s unavoidable.

After breakfast, you peek into your cell where the shared toilet is, only to see Sukuna casually reading a scroll with one hand and doing one armed push ups with the other. The image of using the toilet in here makes your face sour. That’d be a type of humiliation you’d rather avoid, and that’s not even accounting for keeping your gender a secret.

Instead, you settle for the shared bathrooms connected to the showers in one large tiled, communal room.

Standing in front of the toilet stall, you curse Gojo’s entire family line. Because of course the stalls don’t have doors. Somewhere far away, Gojo suddenly feels shivers race down his spine in the middle of his little mochi date.

Apart from the unsettling experience of using the bathroom surrounded by large men shaving and brushing their teeth, you overheard interesting information as you did your business. You had to translate male prison gossip lingo, but apparently Sukuna and Mahito’s little altercation yesterday wasn’t random.

They have history. Something about ‘daring to touching his soul’ — whatever that means. You think soul is code for a drug supply, maybe.

Yesterday’s incident was a ‘checking’ as your fellow inmates say. Mahito was trying to force you, someone weak and new, into his group, which made him look strong among the lower ranks. But when Sukuna stepped in, punching his lights out in front of everyone, it was a show of power.

Mahito dominates people like you, small and submissive by nature, to stay on top, but Sukuna operates on a whole nother level. In that simple act, he showed everyone that you’re on the bottom, people like Mahito are in the middle, and Sukuna reigns on top.

You’re already cringing at your naivety thanking him last night, like he was some knight in shining armor.

Once you get back to your cell, Sukuna’s still reading, this time, sat on his bed all glistening with sweat having finished his workout.

You ignore your nerves walking past him to sit on your own bed with your back against the wall.

You’d scored a notebook and pen from the recreation room, and begin idly drawing the time away. Seeing how he’s the only thing there is to draw in this place, you start sketching Sukuna’s profile.

His nose is particularly a unique shape, reminiscent of the Greek God statues. You glance up for the millionth time to get the particular slope of his bridge committed to memory, and startle to see him looking back at you with a glare.

You slouch into yourself, your face growing hot having been caught staring and you force your eyes back down.

“You keep thinking you’re allowed to do that.”

Your heart rate kicks up at his scary gravelly tone, like a demon having come back to life in the form of his vocal cords. You naively thought he didn’t notice your glances, since he never even spared you a look.

“Sorry,” you mutter quietly.

“Look at me,” he demands in a way that you wouldn’t dare consider disobeying. Fuck. You were hoping he’d just let it be.

You clench your eyes shut for a brief moment, squeezing your pen in your palm before slowly sitting up and peering at him.

“Pitiful. Truly.” He scoffs, looking at your entire form with disgust. “Do you have no honor? Stand.”

You hesitate, gaze flicking, feeling like you’re playing a game of simon says.

“I said,” his tone rumbles as he moves to sit at the edge of his bed, chin resting on his fist, “stand.”

A passing inmate side eyes your open cell, but he minds his business as if it holds a sleeping monster within.

You gently toss your notebook to the side and your brows twitch as you push yourself up to stand, socked feet meeting the cold floor.

You aren’t even sure if you’re meant to be looking at him still, gaze uncertain.

“Now kneel.”

A flashback of how hard Sukuna’s fist met the bone of Mahito’s jaw makes you slowly bend and drop to your knees.

You spot a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes before a judgmental expression takes over, like your obedience is simultaneously sickening and mandatory to him.

“You hold your head quite high,” he hints at your lack of respect, and if putting your forehead on the dirty floor is all he makes you do for disrespectfully staring, you’d probably be lucky.

Your brows pinch in a pout, grossed out with the prospect of it but still, you inch your head down.

“Good,” he drawls the word out with a whispery rasp, “Go on. All the way down.”

Once you’re in a fully seated bow, like a servant in the old ages, he exhales slow and deep. Cathartically.

A long moment passes with his red eyes on the back of your head. The floor smells like dirt and a trace of bleach. You’re completely vulnerable in his position, with the back of your neck exposed and blinded.

Honestly, you’re wondering if Sukuna is still there. It’s so quiet, all you can hear is the subtle mumble of the others outside of the cell in the main area and the tick of the clock.

You prepare to speak by taking in a small breath, and that’s all it takes for Sukuna to snap at you.

“Did I say you could speak?”

You gulp.

“You’re new,” he complains, “The next time you disobey me, you won’t enjoy what I do.”

You hear the bed creak from him standing, but he doesn’t take a step in any direction. Just stands above you.

“Lick the floor.”

Your lips part in shock, blinking at the floor in confusion. You can’t even begin to imagine the disgusting things that line this floor after decades of men coming in and out. You’ve seen the guy who cleans the floors, he’s blind— literally. Humiliation is the only benefit to making someone do something like this, to knock them back into their place. You don’t have another choice.

“Show me,” he snaps, making you flinch. “Your tongue.”

Fuck this place, you obey. Slip your tongue out and slide it against the floor, eyes clenched shut to cope with the taste of everything horrible and bitter.

Pushing your palms to the floor, you lift your head, giving him the pathetic display of your twitching tongue.

The light above halo’s his pink head like a dark angel, and you see his lips curl into a diabolical smile. Pleased with your submission.

He squats, lining his mouth to your ear— not touching, but close enough to hear. “The hell are you looking at?”

Your eyes clench shut as fast as his words come out and you almost flinch when you feel the tip of his finger brush against your clavicle. Your breast wrap is right there—not impossibly close, but too close for comfort. It’s like he’s bringing attention to how frail your bones are, brushing the bone so lightly.

“Speak.”

“You— I’m sorry,” is all you know to spit out around the taste of the bitter floor in your mouth.

He tuts like your answer is just average, a boring C- at best. It seems to be all you know how to say, that and thank you.

“I don’t want trouble— I didn’t know I couldn’t look at you,” you stupidly explain.

“Have a little crush on me?”

You gulp, shaking your head. “N-No.”

He stands. “Why are you here?”

“Because you told me to—” your uncertain gaze flicks around his face but never connects to his eyes.

He interrupts you, repeating himself in a rougher tone, “Why are you here?”

You realize he’s asking why you were locked up.

“Speak. My impatience is not passive you’ll soon find out,” he snaps at you when you don’t immediately answer.

“I— I lost a bet. I needed money.” Technically not a lie, but you can see how your words imply that you robbed someone or something.

He uses a socked foot to nudge at your tummy, and you tense, praying he doesn’t lift it or lower it in either direction.

You’re bracing for a kick, a shove, something. Instead, he simply runs his foot down your abdomen until his toes brush the clothed skin above your pussy. You shiver in anticipated worry, looking up at him through your lashes like he’s a god given the right to deciding your fate.

Just when you think this is it, he’s going to push just an inch lower and notice your lack of dick— he loudly sniffles and walks out like nothing happened.

________________

Later, 11:25 am.

Your one reprieve after your humiliating morning is the library. Everyone has a job in prison— a 0.25$ paying job— but it’s better than nothing. You’d been lucky to land a job sorting books. Pushing a little cart around, organizing the collection of educational texts, self-help, religious, even things like the hunger games— it was nice.

That is, until your heart drops down to your ass when Sukuna pushes you against the shelf, chest pressing into your back.

You gasp, dropping the book in your grasp. Your mind immediately flicks to movies you’ve seen, involving a homemade shiv and a lot of blood, people who have nothing to lose and kill just for the hell of it. You’re an easy target too, smaller than the rest.

“You’re welcome,” he says casually into your ear. He’s not even pushing into you in an overtly sexual manner, just pinning you to the shelves.

You knew he was awake last night. But, he definitely didn’t intentionally protect you from Mahito, no, it had nothing to do with you. He’s taunting you.

You let out a shaky breath, daring to speak just above a whisper. “F—for what?”

“This is how it’s going to work,” he explains, hard hand gripping the back of your neck, “I’m going to fuck your ass, use you until that gratitude dries up and in return— no one will touch you.”

Oh shit. Your face pales. He’s explaining the concept of being a ‘bitch’ to you because it’s your first time in prison. Was it that obvious? (Yes.)

You let out a fearful whine under your breath, so quiet, but being so close, he hears it.

“What’s wrong? Thought you wanted to thank me,” he mocks you, hot breath fanning your ear. Maybe in another universe, you’d beg the domineering man fuck you— as you. But if you want your gender to remain a secret in here, you have no choice but to get out of this.

“I— but,” You grip the shelf harshly, thinking of any excuse, “I’m a virgin!”

A pause. Did that actually work? You’re not an actual virgin, but you’ve never done anal— technically not a lie.

Your bated breath halts when he lets out a boisterous laugh. “Oh?” he drawls like a king on a throne.

You can almost guarantee he feels your heart thumping through your fucking back.

“You’re just a hole. Meant for use. Doesn’t matter to me, I truly don’t care.”

“I— please, I can’t do that for you. I want to— I really want to! But I can’t,” you breathe, hoping you haven’t offended his ego— which you assume is larger than this building. You want to be able to say yes, just so that you don’t have a target on your back.

“Tch,” he clicks in distaste, “I won’t injure you. Is that enough to address your concerns?” You think he mutters a ‘loser’ under his breath but you aren’t sure.

The fact that he’s even trying to quell your fears is surprising, and gives you a spec of hope. It also allows you to consider the idea of what his protection in exchange would mean. Everyone clearly fears Sukuna, you’d get through this year untouched— aside from the obvious.

“Uh—uhm,” you gulp, side glancing back at him as much as his grip will allow. “I’m insecure about uh.. my dick.”

His brows lower into a furrow, looking at you with judgement. “Fine,” he rolls his eyes, “your little cock won’t come out of its confines. Satisfied?”

Are you actually going to do this? Can you even pull this off? The fact that this man even wants to fuck you in the first place is completely out of the blue. You knew things like this happened in here, but from this guy?

You shift. “Why do you want this— with me?”

“I’m not gay,” he scoffs, “Fool. I simply need a flesh light.”

“Oh, and,” he pushes his nose into your head, behind your ear, and sniffs, “you smell nice, like a woman.”

You shiver. It’s horrifying that he can actually smell that on you without knowing it.

“Deal?”

You clench your eyes shut and nod.

He finally pushes off of you and mutters a ‘good’ before walking away and out of the library.

___________

You’ve never been one for the concept of anal. You’d glare whenever a boyfriend would even bring it up. It’s always felt inconsiderate, like you’re just being used when a more pleasurable hole is right there. You’re kind of nervous, but part of you is relieved.

Since you made the deal, Sukuna has ‘claimed’ you. He makes you grab his meals for him, sit across from him in the cafeteria, visible signs of ownership. The other inmates avoid you completely; even a minor bump into your shoulder in passing earns an apology. You’re his now, and everyone knows it. Off limits.

As for your end of the deal, you aren’t sure when Sukuna is going to be in the mood to fuck. You’ve been stealing peeks at him, watching too closely, hoping for a signal, but Sukuna noticed. After that time you practically jumped when he stood up from his bed, he gave you a glare that made your knees weak. Instead, you’ve decided to just wait for him to tell you when he’s ready.

A few days after your library talk, Sukuna finally gives you the signal.

It’s morning, and you wake to see him hovering over your bed once again.

You startle, sitting up quickly as you rub your eyes. “Wh— what happened?”

He tosses you a little bag of chips, the type you can only get from the confectionery, and your brows furrow down at it.

“Um,” you glance at him, unsure, “thank you.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“Library, 12 pm. There’s a spot with no cameras in the back.”

Your eyes flicker in recognition, and your heart races as you nod. “Okay, I’ll— um— I’ll be there. That’s great. Sounds good.”

He deadpans at your pathetic attempt at speaking and walks off.

You can’t help but feel a weird affection placing the bag of chips under your bed, rolling your eyes at yourself. It’s a bag of chips, and you have more to worry about than catching feelings for this guy.

You have to prep.

The communal showers are sectioned by half walls and curtains. You’ve been able to shower, dry yourself, wrap your breasts, and get dressed all inside of the little shower section without anyone seeing your important body parts since you’ve been here. Still, you’d rather some privacy as you do what needs to be done today.

Thankfully, it’s empty when you check the showers while breakfast is taking place.

You stand there naked under the water, toes curling in nerves as you slowly bring the empty bottle up to fill it with water. A homemade douche. It’s mildly humiliating shooting water up your ass but it’s a necessary evil.

About a few hours later, you’re sorting books like your job entails, while anxiously glancing at the door and wall clock every two minutes with anticipation.

At 12:03 he pushes the door open, and you immediately turn your head back to face the shelves.

You hear him snap at the only person reading at a table, forcing them to leave. Your heart races when you hear him lock the entrance door behind them.

You stupidly pretend you’re deciding which shelf the book in your hands belongs on as his heavy footsteps close the distance between you.

He settles right beside you and you peek up at him.

“Come.” He nods his head, gesturing you to follow as he turns and leads you to the last isle, all the way to the back of the room.

“Right here?” You glance at the camera in the corner.

“Right here.”

You gasp when he grabs your hips and manhandles you over to the very corner of the isle, pressed into the shelf with your back to him. “It’s a blind spot.”

“Okay,” you lick your lips nervously, fumbling with the hem of your sweatpants. “I— how do we— should I just—?”

He squeezes his big hands over your shaky ones, stopping you. “Relax,” he snaps. “Ass fucking is not that difficult. It’ll be a lot easier for you than it is for women.”

You gulp at that, his (rude) reassurance means nothing considering the obvious.

He swats your hands away and you squeak when he pulls your sweatpants down enough to expose your ass to the chilly air.

You curiously glance back when you hear a click of a cap opening. He squirts an ungodly amount of lube into his palm and tosses it aside. (How did he even obtain lube in here?)

“Pretty fucking ass,” he says as if it’s an insult, using one hand to spread your cheek and slide a glob onto your hole with two fingers.

You cringe at the cold feeling of the gel as he rubs your hole, anticipating him shoving his finger in there.

“It’s gonna hurt,” you say wearily, “right?”

He rolls his eyes, using his middle finger to push at the resistance of the rim.

You gasp when it pops in. He slowly massages your insides in a manner to loosen the very edges, preparing the most taught of the muscles to stretch. It’s more weird than uncomfortable feeling something wiggling around in there.

“You’re lucky I’m doing this,” he rasps, “Virgin.”

“Thank you,” you squeak. He uses his free hand to shove your hips out a bit more.

He whispers as he pulls his finger out, “How’s it feel knowing you’re about to get fucked in the ass? Feel the shame yet?”

You gulp and clench your eyes shut when you catch a glimpse of his hefty cock being pulled out of his sweats. A large, scary winding vein catches your eye.

“Slow,” you chirp as he presses the tip to your ass, “please go slow.”

He notches his chin over your head, wrapping one arm around your tummy to push your back into his chest and grunts, “I will.”

His large body envelops you, like a hard hug. If it weren’t for his tip forcing your asshole to open up, you’d probably enjoy being held by a big man like this.

You hiss, unable to keep your hands from snapping back and digging your nails into his hips. The intrusion is uncomfortable, so odd and unnatural to have something this big pushing into your backside.

He doesn’t seem to mind your nails, undulating the tip around in circles within the very inside so you can get used to the feeling.

“That’s it,” he drawls, “open up.”

You let out a high-pitched whine and your ‘boy’ persona is thrown out of the window, completely irrelevant as he inches the rest of it in. He’s fully seated.

“Okay, okay,” you gasp, frantically tapping his hip and toned back, “don’t move yet.”

He exhales deeply, like he feels relaxed having finally mounted a warm hole. His warm huffs of breath calm you as they steadily fan the side of your head.

“Tick tock,” he hums after a minute of your hole pulsing around him in attempt to cope with the intrusion. “It will hurt less if I move.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, shaky hands moving to brace against the shelves. “Okay, fine.”

“Good.” He wraps one hand roughly around your mouth and his other arm holds your midsection taut to his front.

You squeal behind his hand when he pulls out and barrels back in with one hard rut. It hurts, but somehow, his large dick has reached your g-spot through your ass. You likely have a bulge in your tummy from the way his tip is angled to push down against your vaginal canal through the back door.

“Ahhh.” He tilts his head and rumbles an exhales right into your ear, like he’s dipping into a nice, warm hot-spring.

It doesn’t take long for him to set a rhythm, rocking his hips in short, hard thrusts. The contact of your cheeks meeting his hips creates a loud ‘plap,’ bouncing off the books in lewd repetition. His harsh breaths are the most you receive from him in terms of vocalized pleasure, but sometimes he offers a grunt.

Your feet shuffle with every hit, toes barely touching the ground as his strong hold keeps you up in the air like you’re just a human sized flesh light. He’s using you, and you can’t deny his incidental abuse of your g-spot feels good.

“You moan like a fuckin girl,” he hisses into your ear as he pounds your ass.

You can only moan under his palm, confirming his what he thinks is an insult. The jackhammering is short and mean, barely a few inches of his base exiting your puckering hole before stuffing it back inside.

“This ass is mine,” he grunts as your clit throbs with need, “Pathetic fuck. Letting a guy bend you over.”

Your legs shake as he grows frantic and mean, putting horrifying strength behind each thrust. You’re fucking like bunnies, your body frantically jostles up and down and you’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how he’s completely dominating you. A few books fall right off of the shelf and clatter to the carpeted floor with the force of it all. You wonder if he’s fucking you this hard because he thinks you’re a man, that you can and should be able to handle it.

You exhale sharply out of your nose, eyes clenched shut as you take his last few slams.

“Fuck!” He grunts, throwing his head back as his grip on you grows so harsh you’ll have bruises on your waist later. You feel his dick pulse as he dumps his load as deep as he can go into your ass, keeping his hips still against your irritated asscheeks.

Finally he sighs as he slides out, making your hole clench shut the second the intrusion is gone.

You practically stumble for balance as he lets you go, knees buckling. Pussy dripping and confused while your ass aches.

You want to just collapse right here, take a much needed rest, but you can’t risk an accidental flash of your pussy. You pull your sweatpants up, out of breath.

He tucks his dick back in, glancing down at you with a glow of physical relief on his face. “You took me well,” he licks his top teeth, tilting his head. “Did you enjoy getting your cherry popped?”

That was almost a compliment. Your insides are still screaming for an orgasm and a break simultaneously. You feel your face rise in temp, pathetically, and you can’t help but tuck your chin to your chest.

“Just fucked you and you’re getting shy.” He snickers with a look of disgust. “I think i’ll play with you again and again until I tire of this.”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before moseying out of the library, adjusting his dick in his pants as he goes.

Somehow, you’d gotten away with the first fucking without revealing your secret. Aside from not having a chance to finish the job and rub yourself to a much needed orgasm, you’re quite proud of yourself.

Sukuna doesn’t speak to you more than usual following the act, he’s just not the type. Does one speak to their flesh light between uses?

That night, you almost believe you’re dreaming when you wake up to Sukuna’s weight lying directly on top of you. You couldn’t sleep comfortably on your sore ass, so you’d had to sleep on your tummy, giving him a perfect opportunity.

“Again,” he rasps into your ear, grinding against your ass. You must have done well earlier if he’s already back for more, or he’s fond of how your asshole feels.

You tiredly whine and lower your groggy tone to say, “But the guards will hear— and the others.”

He ignores your concerns and crawls down your body, yanking your sweats down. You squeak, pushing a hand under yourself to keep your pants up at the front.

You glance over your shoulder. “What are you— oh!”

He spreads your ass and licks a stripe up your asshole, terrifyingly close to your pussy. So close your pussy clenches in anticipation, having a sweet mind of its own.

He pauses as he looks down at your hole with furrowed brows. It’s dark enough that he won’t be able to see the feminine parts of you, you hope.

He doesn’t say a word about his pause, just brings his face back down and pushes his tongue into your ass. He wriggles it around and you cringe, gripping the sheets as he stimulates your sore hole. You can’t even tell if it feels good to have your ass ate, or if it’s the concept of this man with his face in your ass, or the fact that you’re just fucking horny and begging for scraps.

After one last lick from your hole all the way up to your lower back, he crawls up to lay on you with his lips to your ear.

“Why the fuck is your ass sweet?” he asks as he lifts his hips to yank his cock out. Your brows raise, almost letting out a snicker. It must be due to your pussy leaking wetness down to your ass all day since the library.

“I— I don’t know,” you mumble as he holds one of your cheeks open and slides his tip against your hole.

“Just,” he grunts as he pops the tip in, not even waiting before pushing in to the hilt, “stay quiet and I’ll be done in a second.”

You whine under your breath, fisting the sheets as your toes curl. His legs surround the outsides of yours as his arms wrap around your neck in a loose headlock. You aren’t sure you can stay quiet if he pounds you like he did before without his hand covering your mouth. Getting caught with his dick in your ass doesn’t sound so great.

But fuck, you suddenly don’t care because his abs clench as he lifts his hips and slides back in, already gaining a stead rhythm. It’s slower than before, but hard. Your eyes roll back at how passionate it is, fingers pressing into his pulsing arms around your neck. You can’t remember the last time a man truly put his heart into fucking you.

You think you may be able to enjoy this little arrangement after all, considering his dick is big enough to pound into your g-spot with every hump. Maybe his claim on you, the free use of it all, is charming too.

But then, he begins to slide a hand down under you and you freeze.

He’s reaching for your nonexistent dick.

You snap your hand down to grip his wrist, stopping him, but you know that he could bypass your frail hold if he really wanted to.

“D-Don’t touch,” you breathily murmur through his continued thrusts.

“Tch,” he grunts in distaste, “Won’t see your ugly dick. You should be thanking the gods that I’d even try to touch you.”

You wish you could allow him to touch, rub your clit, finger you, fuck you the proper way. But no matter how horny you are, you have to have a clear head about this. If he knew you were a woman, he could tell the guards— or worse, tell the other inmates and let them have a turn with you. That’s just the tip of the iceberg of the horrible things that could happen to you if you’re exposed.

“I know, I know,” you gulp, lips parting as he manages a particularly nice thrust, “just— next time. Okay? Next time.”

He huffs, exasperated and gives up, moving his hand away and instead uses it to dig into your hip to get a better angle.

“Fuuck,” you breathe in a particularly girly way as he reaches deeper, and he hisses in your ear in obvious pleasure. He seems to enjoy the way you ‘moan like a woman.’

“Good,” he thrusts, “little,” thrust, “hole.”

He cums with a last few pitiful humps and rubs his hips against your ass in a circle as if to make sure his cum is deeep in there.

You feel utterly spent when he pulls out, two loads in your ass just from today and you’re clocking out.

He doesn’t even give you another look as he gets up and stretches with a yawn, wet dick still hanging about his thigh.

You pull your sweats up with a grimace at how sore your asshole feels. If you weren’t so horny, you might be annoyed how beat up your insides feel.

You exhale in relief when he passes out the second he flops down into bed like any average man does. You’re already thinking of some way to fool him into thinking you have a cock by the next time he wants to fuck.

_______

You’ve stolen a cucumber from the kitchen. It wasn’t easy, but you managed.

Sukuna has you up against the cell bars and has grown quite confident in his ability to fuck you within an inch of your life. He doesn’t seem like he’s all that invested in you, after all, he still thinks of you as some boy he’s using to get off. But you’re still enjoying it as much as any woman can reasonably enjoy anal.

He definitely seems to enjoy fucking you too, because you can feel his thighs shake as he pounds into you.

He kicks your feet wider and reaches around you to grab at your ‘dick.’ “Gonna let me touch it now?”

You gulp, peeking down at his hand that finds the cucumber and grips it.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking hard.”

You would laugh in his face if he wasn’t obliterating your insides with heavy humps.

He slowly begins to knead your ‘cock’ and the only way you know that, is because the tip of the cucumber incidentally rubs against your clit with every one of his strokes.

“Oh shit,” you breathe, brows raising and blinking into an eye roll of surprise pleasure. The stimulation to your clit and g-spot is like heaven after two days of being pent up.

“Don’t— don’t stop,” you beg, making his brow quirk.

The second you start fucking back into his cock, like an auto-masterbater, Sukuna’s eyes roll and his orgasm appears in the distance.

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, indifferent to the pain he could be causing and meets your thrusts half way. There’s no way you’re not waking the entire cell block with the slapping sound bouncing off the concrete walls.

You sigh in disappointment when he lets go of your ‘dick’ and uses both hands to grip your hips, thrusting harder than ever.

He hisses an inhale like it hurts, a string of saliva connecting your shoulder to his teeth— and cums as his feet slightly shuffle.

“Phew,” he exhales, pulling out and tucking his dick back in. He crashes right into bed, just like before, and leaves you throbbing and needy. Again.

_____________

Sometime in the middle of the night, Your cell.

Sukuna has turned ravenous, he wants to fuck everyday, at least twice. It’s a bit much because you have to prep the same day before anal, and you’ve had to turn him down. Not without worries of how he’d take the rejection with little explanation, but thankfully, all he did is tsk and walk off.

One day of no sex, and he’s been staring at you through the entire day. When you wake up, in the cafeteria, on walks, while you draw on your bed. It’s frightening since you can’t read his expression that’s always resting in a threatening way. Would it be stupid to ask what he’s feeling?

Honestly, you just wanted him to wait until you could prep, and then he could have at it— but he didn’t get the message. And it’s not like you can just tell him, ‘Hey Sukuna, you can fuck my ass anytime now. Clock’s ticking!’ That’d mean you’re actively seeking anal, and that’s ridiculous. Right?

You shrug it off and decide to ignore his stare, focusing your attention on the book in your hands. He’s a big boy, if he needs something, he’ll ask for it.

And ask for it, he does.

You gasp when you’re suddenly pushed down flat to your bed, strong hands spreading your legs so Sukuna can rest between them as your book clatters to the floor. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps, or the creak of his bed as he stood.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, looking up at him with your heart racing out of your chest. “You scared me.”

His clothed bulge is hovering just above your pussy, but if he rested his weight down a few inches, you’re fucked. Maybe literally.

He must have just showered, his hair is damp and dark pink. He looks down at you hungry, like you’re not a person but a fucktoy with a timed lock on it that’s almost ready to use again, licking his bottom lip. “Does this fix your problem? Can I fuck you now, princess?”

Your brows furrow, an obvious question mark on your expression. You ignore the pet name meant to taunt you, because you’re not a man with toxic masculinity.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not kissing you. Missionary is as romantic as I’ll get. Take it or leave it.”

What? He must have misinterpreted your rejection as a desire for more intimacy and affection when you have sex. The idea of missionary with Sukuna makes your tummy flutter— but you can’t.

You press your lips together, concealing a laugh. “Oh. Um— no,” you gently press against his chest, “I like how we usually do it.”

“You know,” he leans into your face, “I’m getting real tired of you bossing me around.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, recalling your excuse for keeping your dick out of sight, “I just feel— uh—insecure.”

“Fuck that,” he grunts, grabbing hold of the hem of your sweats, “Only way to get over that shit is to face it.”

You grasp his wrist, nervously. It’s not like you don’t want Sukuna to know you’re a woman so you can fuck the way you want to, it’s just too complicated and risky.

“I— really, let’s just do it against the wall, like we always do!” you attempt to convince him as he pulls against your hold.

He doesn’t say a word, just squints at you like he can smell bullshit in your words.

Suddenly, he yanks your pants all the way down until they fall to the floor and you immediately cup your sex, trying to hide from him. You twist your lower half to lie on your side, legs bent around his side so they can stay together.

He glances down at your lower half and grips your thigh. “Show me,” he snaps, more suspicious than warranted if he actually believed your lies of insecurity.

You shake your head stubbornly, clenching your eyes shut.

“Now,” he allows the word to reverberate against the walls of the cell, and you swear you can feel the vibrations in your chest.

That domineering tone is like a frequency that emits a wave of submission in timid people like you, like a lions roar to a cornered bunny.

Still, you don’t open your legs.

He scoffs a huff of air, like he’s in disbelief of your sudden ability to grow balls. Pun intended.

You peek your eyes open when you feel him shift to crawl down your body until his breath is fanning your hand covering your pussy and naked asshole.

You squeak when he slides his tongue against your fingers. “Open up,” he taunts, giving your asshole a little lick as well.

You whimper as he begins licking at your hand and your thighs, resolve dissolving with every warm, wet touch.

“I’m— I’m scared,” you admit with panic, though you’re being too vague for him to actually console you even if he wanted to.

He takes a big bite out of your thigh and you gasp, pussy clenching in need from the sting. Your wetness has made your hands slippery, and the second he takes another bite, this time a deep one on your fingers, your hand slips away with a sting and a hiss.

He takes the opportunity to yank your legs apart, spreading them over each of his thighs till you’re on full display in front of him. Like a plate.

Your wide eyes flick from your exposed pussy, to his red eyes trained down between your legs. You quickly reach to futilely cover yourself once again.

“Aht!” he scolds, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your body before they can cover your sex again. “Don’t fucking move,” he snaps, inches from your face.

You must have the expression of a small animal being prepped for slaughter as he closely eyes you because that’s exactly how you feel. You watch his face shift as he realizes your features aren’t just girly, you’re a fucking girl.

“Please.” You plead him, but for what exactly?

He exhales into you, ignoring you to observe your body. He lets go of one wrist to slowly raise the hem of your shirt up to your collarbones, revealing a tightly wrapped chest.

As if he needs to make sure, he rips it away and blinks at your bouncing tits. One last look at your pussy and he huffs harshly, gazing into your eyes like he just won the lottery.

“Holy shit.”

You’re mute, afraid and frozen in place as your legs clench around his hips, trying to close them around him even though it’s impossible.

“Why are you here?”

He watches you with equal parts curiosity and amused awe.

“I— I made a deal. A stupid fucking deal,” you breathe in your natural feminine voice. It’s not hard to assume the deal was money for time in prison.

He shakes his head, laughing airily like he can’t believe his eyes. “Now this is so very interesting. A woman in my cell.”

He leans into your ear, making your chest and tummy erupt in goosebumps. “I knew your little asshole was too good to be true.” He nips your ear and you whine.

“Don’t— please don’t tell anyone.”

Your quiet request makes him burst out laughing, head tossing back as he hovers over you territorially.

“Tell them?” A vein in his forehead pops as his gaze manically flicks back and forth from each of your eyes, “No, you foolish little thing. You’re all mine. You’d have to fucking kill me to share this pretty pussy.”

You aren’t sure if you should feel relived or scared. You’ve grown fond of Sukuna’s cock, but that look in his eye is downright diabolical.

“You’re,” you begin with a swallow, “not gonna hurt me?”

“Ohhh,” he breathes cathartically like he’s battling aggression seeing something so small and delicate beg not to be broken. “No, no. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re safe with me.”

You aren’t so sure, if that glint in his eye and tone in his deep voice tells you anything. Like mouse encountering a perfect piece of cheese suspiciously sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, begging to be eaten.

He leans in and lays a soft kiss to your cheek, making you blink.

“See?” he hums smiling, “I know exactly how to handle with care.”

He presses his nose to your neck and starts sniffing you loudly, like a dog— down to your breasts, your tummy, and finally he takes a good long sniff of your pussy.

You slap your hands to your face in embarrassment and he groans loudly on an exhale, jaw pinching as he clenches his teeth. “Fuuuck. Nothing quite like it. Your pussy smells very nice,” he trails off with a manic laugh, licking his lips.

His eye catches on your pinched brows once you hesitantly pull your hands away to grip the sheets and he leans into your face with a careful kiss to your jaw. “Deal still on, baby?”

You absolutely have no choice, you need his protection now more than before. Without this deal, there’s no telling what he’d do— no matter what he says. And even if he keeps his word, who’s to say no one else will find out your secret? It helps that he’s hauntingly sexy with a big dick he knows what to do with.

You gulp, nodding. “Yes, please.”

“Goood,” his lip curls as he drawls the word out, “That’s very good.”

He licks a wet stripe up the side of your face, making you grip his biceps.

“Are we going to have sex? My— You want my—”

He interrupts your stutter by humming against your cheek with amusement. “Oh yes. I want your pussy. I’m gonna take it over and over again.”

You exhale a sigh, eyes slightly rolling back, enjoying his words a little too much for the situation at hand.

“I’m not on birth control,” you warn him weakly as he begins to suck on your neck.

He hums nonchalantly, slowly sliding his hand down your tummy.

Your hips jerk when he cups your entire sex, long cold fingers pressing into your warm folds that are just begging for love.

“We don’t have condoms,” you add, biting your lip as he uses two middle fingers to carefully brush from your slippery hole up to your clit.

He chuckles against your neck, wickedly, like he’s enjoying every aspect of this conversation.

“No, we don’t,” he agrees with a smile you can literally hear on his voice.

Your jaw drops as he starts rubbing leisurely circles against your throbbing clit, back arching to press your abdomen into his hard abs.

“You have to pull out,” you whine in a broken moan.

“Okay,” he agrees with ease, moving to press his lips to yours.

You barely kiss him back, as his lips slide and suck on yours.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to kiss me,” you say, muffled as your legs tremble.

He moves his middle fingers down and slides one into your core, making you gasp into his mouth.

He abruptly shoves his tongue into your mouth, sliding and flicking against your tongue. He peeks the tip of his pointer finger in to join his middle inside you, and once your initial ring of resistance gives, he shoves it in like a glove.

“Oh,” you whine, brows pinching and toes curling. “Your fingers are so— fuck— they’re big.”

“Oho,” he breathes as he unhurriedly rocks them in and out, “You’ve been so unsatisfied, haven’t you? Getting ass fucked with not one touch to your pretty, crying little pussy.”

You nod erratically, “I was just so scared if you found ou— oh god.”

He gradually puts weight behind his thrusts, fingering you at an angle to abuse your g-spot.

“You thought I would want to hurt you,” he assumes with a pitying smile, “No, no. I just wanna fuck the shit out of you.”

You reach down and grip his wrist, but his hand in motion makes it difficult.

“Please make me cum,” you beg, “I’d be really— so grateful.”

“Yeah?” He presses a peck to your lips and crawls down to stuff his face between your legs. “Finally,” he sighs to your pussy.

He glances up at you and pecks your jumping clit. “Gonna eat your pussy. You want that?”

Your eyes roll back and you nod pathetically. “Oh my god, yes.”

He doesn’t waste time. He makes a pursing motion with his lips and basically sucks your clit into his mouth like a vacuum, gently suckling on it with his eyes blissfully closed. His free hand rests around your hip and flat against your lower tummy.

Your brain is fucking buzzing, toes curling in the air as you breathe short, pathetic breaths. You’re delightfully surprised he knows you need your clit stimulated to cum; a man in prison just isn’t the type you’d expected to know what most women need.

You use both hands to gently curl into his pink hair, watching his lips envelop your clit as the motion of his hand rocks into you.

“That feels good,” you affirm, voice shaky, making sure he knows he’s going a good job so he doesn’t feel motivated to stop.

He doesn’t answer you, just flicks his tongue against your clit with horrifying stamina, like his tongue is as trained as the rest of his body. You don’t feel a second of lag in his force behind his tongue and that yummy suction.

You melt when he transitions into thorough, flat tongued licks, the kind that nudges your clit in a way that’s not too overstimulating— but genuinely pleasurable in a sustainable way. You could actually cum like this. You rub his head like a masseuse, kneading the skin affectionately, making his brows and forehead slightly move with your massage.

He eats you like he hasn’t eaten his favorite meal in a long time, and considering the slop in the cafeteria, your delirious mind thinks it makes perfect sense that he’s probably soo hungry. It’s not his fault he’s so eager.

Your toes curl as your abdomen clenches inward, honing your focus to find an orgasm in the distance with every specifically pressurized slide of his tongue.

He tilts his head idly, side to side and the second he finds that perfect angle to the left, you gasp and yank his head impossibly closer.

“Right there, huh?” is the last thing he says before repeating the motion perfectly, over and over and over while his hand continues at ample speed. It’s about 27 licks in when the white blinds your sight and you give in to the ecstasy of an orgasm.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you— fuck!” you stupidly babble the one phrase you can’t seem to stop repeating to the man ever since you met him, voice strained and slurring as your brain short circuits and cuts off the connection between your motor skills and brain signals.

Even when you fall limp with fading euphoria, frailly whining, ‘no more,’ his big mouth attaches to your entire slit like a fucking milk pump, despite acknowledging your orgasm passing by discarding his wet fingers to join his other hand on your hip/tummy area.

It’s an interesting sight— your weak, spasming body jerking in overstimulation as he blissfully hallows his cheeks and enjoys your cunt with all kinds of tongue techniques. The type of techniques a stupidly rich man has learnt after so many wine tastings to get the full taste profile of every berry inside to layer over his every tastebud. Getting his full money’s worth of this favorite thing.

But fuck if it doesn’t feel good to be licked, even with the ultra sensitivity of an after glow.

“Sukuna— please,” you whimper, “Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”

That’s what makes him pause, flicking open his relaxed, heavily lidded gaze.

He unsuctions your warm folds, letting go in one popping motion and you exhale sharply when the cold air hits you.

He crawls up your body like a predator, more than twice your size. He slides his arms under your back to hold you flush to his body, hugging you in a possessive hold. One hand wraps around the back of your neck, fingers almost meeting at the front, and the other massages your lower back.

“Am I popping your pussy cherry too?” he hums, lips brushing yours as he speaks into your mouth.

“No,” you huff, “Is that a deal breaker?”

He nips your lower lip. “I’m gonna eat you whole,” he expresses how deeply he wants to fuck you— how small a concern like being a virgin would be to him.

You shiver, and maybe even start to consider why he’s in prison in the first place. Eat you.. whole..?

“Can we fuck first?”

He licks his teeth as his metaphorical tiger tail flicks behind him— like a bunny has triggered a tigers instinct to play while in the midst of a chase. If he could purr, he would be right about now.

Interrupting your little moment, the breakfast bell rings. Sukuna must have made his move an hour before six while you were reading the night away and neither of you noted the time. Sukuna had thought it’d be a 10 minute ass fuck, but now that he’s stumbled upon gold in the form of a woman, he’s gotten distracted.

You’re expecting Sukuna to be frustrated that you have to stop before you even reached the main event, but surprisingly, he just helps you get dressed and then stands lazily by the cell bars to cover you while you wrap your chest so no one eyes his plaything.

The guard just passes by boredly, doing morning checks, nodding at Sukuna in brief greeting.

Once the guard is out of sight, you huff in exhaustion and sit up on your bed. After all the fear of being exposed as a woman and having an orgasm like that, all you want is to sleep. You literally nod off as you sit there, listening to the ruffle of Sukuna throwing on some new clothes.

Two taps to your cheek makes you startle, slurping up some drool as you open your eyes. Sukuna squats in front of you, holding your knees.

“Breakfast,” he reminds you, “get up.”

You pout at his tone, having hoped he’d soften up to you after learning you’re a woman. A woman he desperately wants to fuck and protect and own.

“Can’t you bring it to me?”

He blinks at you, deadpanning. “The fuck did you just say?”

You flinch a bit, chin tucking into your chest. You grow even more alert as he stands and pushes over you, making you lean back in bed with your palms behind you, supporting your weight right beside his own larger ones.

“Does this pretty little thing want to be punished?”

You immediately bite your lip, smiling as he pushes his head into your neck to nip at it.

“Mhm, keep doing that,” you encourage his panty dropping neck kisses.

Oncoming footsteps leading closer and closer to your cell make your heart jolt, and suddenly he roughly pushes you down flat with a veiny hand tight around your throat.

“Begging for a beating so early in the morning are we, boy?” he rasps, menacingly, as the inmate walks past, peeking at your altercation briefly before scurrying off in fear of becoming involved in Sukuna’s business.

You smile.

Oh. This’ll be fun.

______

SORRY edged you there, didn’t I?

Also not sure if this counts as gender bend? Lmk if I should add it to the warnings!

 “Being in line for Olo’eyktan does not give him immunity from everything.” Lo’ak argues before grumbling under his breath, “especially my right hook.” 

You whack the back of his head swiftly. 

“Ow! Save your aggression for Ao’nung, not me.” Lo’ak hisses. The glare you send back is far less effective when your eyes are still red from crying. So naturally, Neteyam takes over instead, hissing his brother’s name in warning.

“Nobody is hitting anyone,” you remind him before scooping up another chunk of sand to add to your own castle. Well, it more so looks like a shack today. And even that is generous. 

The east shore is quiet in the morning, a welcomed escape from the village and Ao’nung. You had slipped out before the sun had hit the horizon this morning just in case he came back early. A fruitless effort surely, as you know he has patrol for another hour, but your anxiety has a way of getting the best of you. Looking back though, you’re not quite sure if running to Neteyam and Lo’ak to relay the story had been the best course of action. 

Lo’ak had lit like a flame, ready for revenge and retribution in an instant. It’s no surprise, considering he was not the biggest fan of your involvement with the Metkayina prince. According to him, Ao’nung is a player, someone far too harsh for your tastes and not capable of giving what you need. A harsh judgment, especially for someone that Lo’ak had grown to at least be friendly with over the years, but even now you can’t deny there is a flicker of truth there.

Neteyam, on the other hand, had responded with bunched brows and a plethora of questions to get to the bottom of the matter. You love him, both of them truly, but even your surrogate older brothers can not change what has happened. This is your mistake and one that you alone have to live with. 

“I don’t know, tsmuke [sister]. You might feel better after getting a punch in. I’ll even hold him down for you.” 

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam snips.

“Fine,” He groans. “Neteyam can help too.” 

“My kingdom is going to call yours to war and trample your shell tower if you do not shut up.” 

“God, so violent.” Lo’ak mutters but he repositions himself to have his back blocking his sand tower  from his brother’s ire. 

Building sand castles had been their idea. Although, you’ve dragged them into this activity enough times you’re sure Neteyam could probably build one in his sleep. Today, both brothers are nice enough to pretend that this is a request of theirs and not just a suggestion born out of pity. 

“I just want to forget about the entire thing, ok? I was stupid and got ahead of myself. Classic story, nothing left to say.” 

Neteyam lifts his head, finally taking a break from shaving the side of his walls into a perfect line with the edge of his knife. “You were not stupid. The situation is just…complicated.” 

He sounds worse than Ao’nung did last night. No matter how many ways one comes to phrase the truth, nothing makes it hurt less. 

“Agreed,” Lo’ak chimes in while positioning what has to be the tenth seashell he has fit at the top of one tower. “Nothing about being with him was ever going to be simple. You’re a sweet person and he’s an arrogant ass. That’s not your fault.” 

“You truly are the worst help.” Neteyam’s eyes narrow as his tail curls in annoyance. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.” Lo’ak digs out a spare chain of beads from his hair to add as decor for his castle’s entryway. “You’re doing the right thing, cutting him loose.” 

“You’re right,” you hum, tracing patterns in the sand. It’s going to take hours to get the sand and algae from your new baby blue shorts but you can’t conjure up the energy to care. “It was selfish of me to hold on. After all, it’s not like I could have kept him from finding his mate forever.” 

“No that is not what I-”

“I’m taking down the tower.” Neteyam deadpans. 

“Cross our territory line.” Lo’ak points to the line in the sand between them, “and I will shove sand down your throat. And that’s not assault, that’s politics.” 

Watching them wrestle across the sand, simultaneously almost knocking down three of Neteyam’s castle walls, does take the edge off a bit. It’s a good distraction if nothing else. And it reminds you of a time when things were simpler. Before all of you grew up and had to start worrying about mating and responsibilities. Just two idiots rolling around in the sand.

When you were little you could not wait to become an adult and experience romantic rendezvous, find true love, and run off into the sunset together. If only you had known then how complicated love truly is. 

“Okay! Okay! Call a truce.” You demand when their rough housing has them rolling into your space like a tornado. 

“Shit!” Lo’ak yelps, barely jumping over your sand castle just in time and ending with a messy fall. 

Sand embedded in his braids, Lo’ak’s smile fades as Neteyam comes to inspect the damage. 

“You skxawng, you could have wrecked her…” he trails off. Both brothers pause with perked ears and perplexed expressions as they observe your sad little hovel of a castle. Typically you are the master of these competitions, adorning your kingdom with lace, pearls, shells, just about anything you can get your hands on.  Today it is nothing more than a mushy pile of sand with a few sticks. 

“Wow that is…” Lo’ak’s head cocks so the side as he scrambles for the right words.

“Hideous, I know. It’s okay.” You shrug.

“What? No no it’s uh…”

“Unique!” Lo’ak finishes for him. They talk over each other with reassurances as a small flicker of amusement tugs at your lips. 

“Actually this is perfect because we need an impartial judge to score ours.” Lo’ak suggests, sending Neteyam scrambling back to his sand castle for final touches. 

“Wait! Wait!” With the tip of his knife he carves the last imprints of a cobblestone path leading to his castle. Neteyam takes a moment to inspect his handy work, looking at it from every angle to make sure it meets his standards while Lo’ak lounges to the side with his tail lashing impatiently. “Alright. You may proceed.” 

A welcomed distraction indeed, you decide before sitting down in front of the two castles. They could not be more different. Neteyam’s structure is made of perfect lines and sturdy walls while Lo’ak’s is full of vibrant charm, so vibrant in fact that you can barely see the sand beneath all of the decorations. It’s wonky and completely nonsensical but as you observe the makeshift little Na’vi he has made out of blue sea glass, it brings a smile to your face. 

You point at the winner.

Lo’ak lets out a triumphant whoop. Neteyam’s tail drops before it begins thrashing and a stern line curves at his brows. 

“You have to know it would never survive as a fortress. A gust of wind would knock the entire thing over!”

Lo’ak grins ear to ear at his brother’s protest. Attempting to mimic that smile is difficult when a heavy stone still presses at your chest, but watching them squabble feels like a breath of fresh air from your own concerns. It’s nice to focus on little things that don’t really matter like sand castles. Instead of how you are going to live out the rest of your days under the rule of the man you are madly in love with but can’t have. 

“Not my fault you don’t understand the object of the game.” Lo’ak smirks. “It’s called understanding your audience.” He gestures to where you're perched with lace scraps strung into your hair and a light blue matching set. 

For a moment, you are afforded a reprieve from your own heartache. But then you spot a familiar silhouette out towards the horizon. Any semblance of peace you had captured disappears and you sprint off the beach before you can even confirm whether or not it is Ao’nung out there. Lo’ak and Neteyam try to call you back but you’re already gone. 

You need to talk to Ao’nung. You know you do. But the idea of facing him now, facing what an embarrassing idiot you have made of yourself while simultaneously fighting off his charm…well you aren’t strong enough for that. 

Not when it comes to him. 

Ao’nung has lived his entire life on Awa’atlu. He knows this island like the back of his hand and the ocean surrounding better than his own tail. So how is it that you, a tawtute who has lived here only a few months, have found ways to evade him? It’s been three days. Three excruciating days of hunting you down between his duties, only to come up empty handed or find you hiding behind the Sully family. 

You are a clever little minx, yet another quality he adds to the list of things he loves about you. 

But this particular talent is one he admires the most when it is not leveraged against him. Regardless, you can’t run forever. Sooner or later you will have to talk to him and, by Eywa, Ao’nung is ready to do everything in his power to expedite that conclusion. Because spending one more night alone in his marui, or even sitting in your room wondering where you have run off to, may very well be the death of him. 

Things are less than ideal right now. He can understand that. Navigating the push and pull of a woman’s emotions may not be his strong suit but he is smart enough to recognize that you have reason to feel apprehensive now. Whoever spoke to you must have planted a horrible seed in your mind that is now sprouting into an obstacle in your relationship. Exactly why he was trying fervently to keep you as far away from their backlash as possible in the first place. 

But, stars above woman, at least give him a chance to fix it!

If now having an inkling of what half the clan thinks of this relationship has you questioning the feasibility of mating with him, then let him change your mind. Allow him the chance to soothe your concerns and prove to you that he can provide for you in every way possible. Let him hold you close and shower you with praise until it blots out their cruel words. His courtship has been far from perfect, but there is still time to fix things. If you would only let him near you. 

Ao’nung has always had duties that have kept him from spending every waking minute with you but three days apart is no doubt the longest he has gone without you in his arms, and it is agonizing. His entire routine has been warped and twisted beyond repair. There are no impromptu fashion shows to look forward to. No silly ramblings that make his chest rumble with laughter as you struggle to get air in between your stories. And, fuck, if he even lets himself think about how long it has been since he has felt your satin skin beneath his hands or heard your fervent little moans, it will lead to his right hand going numb from all the labor it has done. 

You have him on his knees and you’re not even interested in witnessing it. 

He has tried everything he could think of. The morning after the party he was at your bedroom door the moment his patrol shift had ended, but you were gone. Between hunting, gathering, and shadowing his father he has not only checked your room time and time again but also scoured your favorite places on the island. And when that didn’t work, his search branched outward. Any and every place he could think of, that would not be considered trespassing, but of course you know exactly how to utilize that boundary. 

The tawtute at the outpost are sure to be avoiding him too at this point from how many times he has asked them for your whereabouts. They scatter just at the sight of him and it’s only a matter of time before they change the pin to the door so he can’t keep bothering them. He can’t search their rooms nor can he invade the Sully’s homes, according to his father, but he’s certain at this point that you have been taking refuge there. 

You return to your room periodically. Every day certain things in your room have been moved, clothing taken from the closet or day old clothing thrown on the floor. Eywa, he hates himself for how many times he has had to refrain from picking up one of your freshly worn dresses and using it to get off to your scent. His pride, no matter how injured it may be, still holds onto the hope of finding you in person instead. Regardless, that hope is dwindling by the hour and his pride may as well be damned in the name of feeling some sort of connection to you. No matter how pathetic that may be. 

He can’t keep living this way. Nor can he sleep a wink when he knows that you are out there heartbroken and suffering as well. Everything has gone terribly wrong. It was one thing when he was juggling these obstacles himself but now that you feel their weight too, he can not stand by and be expected to maintain a level of patience. This wedge between the two of you is only driving deeper with time and Ao’nung will not stand by and watch it idly. 

“It was not me, I swear it,” Kel’moro holds his hands up in surrender, his tsurak gliding right along side Ao’nung’s own. He turns his gaze to Veytan on his left who treads water with huffed breath. 

“Don’t look at me! I’m innocent too.” He immediately defends.

“Both of you have shown an annoying amount of interest in her. Perhaps enough to talk to her directly and say something deeply regrettable.” He runs his hand over the saddle handle, stretching his fingers in efforts to expel the surplus of adrenaline that is already building. 

“Interest doesn’t outweigh survival instincts. We didn’t want you to-what was it you said-break and reset our bones.” Kel’moro jumps in with emphasis. 

“I believe I said I would do the breaking and my mother’s trainees the resetting. Far worse.” 

“Exactly! We’re obviously not big enough idiots to risk that.” Veytan huffs out, grabbing onto the saddle of Ao’nung’s tsurak. 

“That’s a matter of opinion.” 

“Come on, brother. You know it was not us. Now can I get a ride? Your mother has had me diving for fish eggs all day and I’m exhausted.” Veytan pleads.

Ao’nung doesn’t respond but dips his chin in permission. His friend wastes no time in hoisting himself onto the creature’s back and catching his breath. Idiots his friends may be, but their claims are sincere. They are not smart enough to lie properly. So the traitor goes unnamed and his precious tawtute unfound. 

“You know how women are. So complicated and unpredictable but I bet if you give it some time-”

“Isn’t that her over there?” Veytan points to shore and immediately Ao’nung’s senses are on high alert. 

Sure enough, there you are in a pink little dress with a basket in hand as you scour the sand for shells, no doubt. You have his schedule memorized, that must be how you’ve been expertly choosing when to go into the village but he had switched shifts with Roxto today for this very purpose. You’ve made a bad play and Ao’nung is not wasting that. 

“Wow, you’re right! So much for her little game of hide and-”

Water cuts off the last of Kel’moro’s response. Ao’nung is beneath the waves and slicing through the distance before his friends can take another breath. The ocean bends to his will, the tide rushing him forward as if it too is routing for him to finally capture you in his arms again. By the time he surfaces onto the shore you are already running. In fact, you sprint through the crowds of people as if your life depends on it. 

This isn’t the first time the two of you have played a game of predator and prey. Both of you have enjoyed the build up that comes with him chasing you down until the inevitable end of tanging limbs and labored breath from several orgasms. Usually, however, Ao’nung dampens his speed to draw the game out and keep from scaring you too much. Today, though, he has no interest in leveling the playing field or worrying about your fear. 

With only a far off glimpse of your pink dress here and there, Ao’nung barrels through the crowd and sprints with fervor towards his little lover. There is no real joy to be found when this chase is not a game. Watching the sheer determination you have to stay away from him is like taking a spear through his chest, and it spikes his pulse. 

Clan members dart out of the way after one look at him, buying him extra time to make up the distance. However, your greatest advantage is your size as you can easily weave between the crowd while hardly being noticed. And so you go from a flicker of pink to vanishing out of thin air, slipping right from his grasp. Turning in every direction, he can’t spot you anymore. 

Ao’nung runs his hands through his curls, nails digging into his scalp. Enough is enough. This strategy is yielding him no results which means it may be time to consider alternative options. One option in particular that he has never been fond of.

Asking for help.

Ao’nung is on the brink of turning around and forgetting this entire thing the second he hears giggling coming from the marui. Yet here he stands, watching from outside the entrance as a forest boy ravages his sister with kisses along her neck and cheeks. Tsireya is already in a fit of blushing and giggles as Lo’ak pulls her onto his lap. Much like watching a battle scene, he can’t get himself to look away. You once called this phenomenon morbid curiosity. Ao’nung’s not so sure about morbid being the right word but disgusting seems to fit just right. In fact, his stomach turns as his tail lowers towards the floor with a slow lash. 

He’s happy his sister is happy, even if that happiness comes from a forest boy like Lo’ak, but that does not mean he needs to witness the details of such happiness.. 

Caught between ripping the male off of his sister and turning around to forget he was ever here, Ao’nung finally opts to clear his throat loudly. Immediately, golden and blue eyes blink back at him. Tsireya’s blush darkens as she shuffles off of Lo’ak’s lap. The Sully male on the other hand looks not the slightest bit bashful or bothered by being caught. Perhaps Ao’nung should have been more cut throat when Lo’ak first started courting Tsireya. The male has gotten far too comfortable groping his little sister since. 

“Ao’nung,” Tsireya smiles, brushing down her messy curls. 

“Now seems to be a bad time,” Ao’nung starts but his gaze is locked with Lo’ak’s. Something brews in those weird yellow eyes that is far from the friendliness they once fostered. 

“No! Don’t be silly! Lo’ak was just about to leave.” 

“I have dinner with my family.” He says simply. Lo’ak takes his sweet time laying a kiss atop Tsireya’s curls and whispering something sappy that Ao’nung has no interest in understanding, before finally rising to his feet. The moment the Omatikaya male is facing him once more, all softness seeps from his countenance and a snarl seems to be on the brink of tugging at his lips. 

Ao’nung holds his ground as the other male passes, watching him with the same intensity that a hunter watches their competition. Whatever has climbed down his loincloth is none of Ao’nung’s concern but that does not mean he has to lie down and take the consequences of his bad mood. 

Tsireya is already sorting her spare shells and jewelry pieces into woven baskets by the time Lo’ak leaves. 

“What’s going on?” She speaks quickly as if moving forward is the fastest way to forget what her older brother has just walked in on. Ao’nung could not agree more. “Did you want me to braid your hair?” 

On occasion he invokes help from his sister to wrangle his curls or situate them into braids but after how you reacted to his new hairstyle last week….

“No more braids.” He takes a cautious step past the tied up flaps of her marui before clearing his throat. “I actually came for…advice.” 

Tsireya’s head whips up comically fast. Her wide blue eyes take in his strained expression with a wave of curiosity and interest. 

“As in, romantic advice?”

Ao’nung fights back a deep sigh, looking out past the entryway. There still is time to escape and leave all of this behind. 

“I suppose you could call it that.” 

Tsireya lets out an uncontained shriek of glee.

Eywa, he is already regretting this! 

“Oh my Eywa, finally!” Her carefully organized jewelry is now being shoved into random baskets and pushed to the side in haste. “Hold that thought! Just wait wait wait!”

Tsireya leaps to her feet and tugs him further into the marui before he has a second to protest. She draws the flaps closed before shoving at his shoulder so he is sitting down on the mat in the middle of the room. Finally, with little giggles she can not fight back and a tail that is flickering in excitement, she drops down on the mat in front of him. She kneels directly across and places her fidgeting hands on her lap. 

“Okay, I’m ready.” 

And ready she is with blown out eyes and ears perked to catch every sound he is about to make. 

“Well?”

“Tsireya,” he warns with a sigh.

“Alright alright. I’m calm. Very calm.” She makes a show of taking a deep breath even as her lips are fighting desperately not to stretch from ear to ear. It is not common practice for him to share details of his very personal romantic life with his sister. In fact, it is not practice at all, despite her offers. She means well but it has never felt natural to talk so openly about the intimate parts of his life, it still doesn’t. But this is his last resort. And Ao’nung won’t lose you simply because his pride bars him from taking the last lifeline extended. 

Ao’nung swallows down the lump in his throat and takes a long inhale through his nose. 

“I am encountering…obstacles.” 

“Alright,” Tisreya drawls slowly. “What kind of obstacles?” 

His ears draw flush against his hair. It’s ridiculous but he can’t fight the urge to shift his position or squirm. 

“I…well it is hard to explain exactly.” Dear Mother above, end his suffering now!

“How about you start from the beginning then? Tell me everything from the point where you think things started to shift.” 

He loves you. There is no other explanation because there is no universe where he would do this for anyone else. Still, Tsireya is surprisingly easier to talk to than he imagined. She takes in every scrambled piece of information that he gives her as if it is valuable evidence to piece this situation together. No matter how long it takes him to stumble through a story, she is there with patient eyes and prodding questions to keep him moving forward. 

And it takes forever. Stars above it takes forever to explain everything. It’s a miracle Tsireya has not told him to shut up yet. Even he is sick of hearing himself speak about this. He will never understand how you are able to ramble for so long when it’s this difficult. Ao’nung can only hope that no one is nearby to hear his humiliating attempts at expressing himself. 

“Okay but what exactly did she say?” 

Ao’nung groans and falls onto his back. He drops a thick arm over his eyes to block out the light. This is turning into a headache.

“I already told you. She says she understands.”

“Ao’nung, I need you to tell me exactly what she said. Word for word.” 

“Why does it matter? The point is that she won’t even let me within a ten foot radius of her. I haven’t seen her in days, Reya.”  

He feels her small hand rest upon his shoulder lightly in attempts to comfort. Tsireya would probably give him a hug the moment he would ask  but he can’t get himself to say the words. Sitting here and openly wallowing feels like accepting defeat and that is the last thing he wants to do. He came here to figure out what it will take to fix it, not to vent to his poor little sister about his stupidity. 

“It’s going to be okay, Nung. You just need to go about this delicately.”

He flops his arm off to the side and stares up at the ceiling.

“Delicately.” He repeats.

“Yeah you need to be gentle in how you go about this.”

“I am gentle.” He defends. If only she knew how gentle he has had to be this entire time. After all, taking care of a little thing like you requires a firm grip on his strength. 

“Not sure if I would list it as one of your strengths, big brother.” There is fondness in her tone even when he turns his head to huff at her. “I know you want to burst in and fix everything now but maybe it’s best to give her some time to process things.” 

“She doesn’t want to process it. She wants to run away.” He sternly corrects her. “I am being dropped as a suitor.” 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” 

The deadpan expression he sends only has Tsireya shifting for a moment before responding gently. “Look, I simply wish you had consulted me sooner. I mean I figured she wasn’t at the celebration because she was sick, but not inviting her? Ao’nung, that is absurd.” 

Tsireya smiles at him sadly but that does little to ease the blow. 

“It would have been a disaster. Whoever has spoken to her has already gotten into her head. Can you imagine what would have happened were she to experience our parent’s ire first hand? Or watched the clan whisper and gawk just for being next to me? No, I wouldn’t put her through that.” 

Silence stretches between them. Tsireya pats his shoulder before letting out a sigh. 

“You two just need to talk it out.”

“It’s difficult to speak to her when I am treated like an Akula trying to sink my teeth into her.” And then an idea sparks to the forefront of his mind. “She confides in others. Your suitor, in fact, is sure to know what is going through her mind.”

Ao’nung wrenches himself back into an upright position but Tsireya already is pushing at his chest. “No, Ao’nung. That is not a good idea.”

“Why not?” His hairless brows knit together. Why not try every avenue at this point? Surely at least one is bound to yield results. 

“Because you two have not exactly been friendly as of recently. So stomping over and demanding answers from him is only bound to cause more trouble than help. For both of our sakes, keep a bit of distance. Please.” 

Ao’nung shoulders draw slack. Tsireya has always been so supportive and sweet, sometimes to a fault when it comes to others taking advantage of that kindness. Understanding her infinite capacity for goodness may not be within his ability but it does mean she deserves kindness in return. So, if his little sister is asking this of him, he will oblige. No matter how reluctantly. 

“Fine.” 

This time Tsireya does not wait for permission before wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. His own response is lagged but Ao’nung places a hand at her back and tries not to think about how badly he needs this. “The two of you will talk it out. I know it. Just try to be patient, give her some time to come to you.” 

Ao’nung has every intention of listening to his sister’s words. And for a couple days he is successful, for the most part. But that was before he knew what he would come home to. Because three days later, after a grueling training and snipping at new hunters who can’t listen to one simple direction, he steps into his marui with worn limbs and a heavy heart only to not recognize it. 

It’s gone. 

Every single one of your possessions is missing. From the tiny figures to extra blankets to even spare clothes that you have left at his place. All trace of you has vanished. In fact, even your scent isn’t here which means that one of the Sully brothers, perhaps both, came in to retrieve your things for you. 

Ao’nung’s blood runs cold. Blue eyes take in the new emptiness that is his home, only hunting gear, the essentials, and a few draped pieces of fabric he had initially put up to lure you that first night. 

That first night….

This entire situation is giving him deja vu. You’re avoiding him. The Sully brothers getting in the middle of his efforts. His marui changing drastically. All of this he has experienced before, yet this time it is so much worse. But if this really is like last time, then there is still one tactic he has not used. A tried and true classic that had you knocking at his marui in that pretty little nightgown. 

Ao’nung storms out of his marui and makes a beeline for the outpost. 

Tsireya may think that this will be solved with patience but it’s clear that you're far too stubborn for that. No, it’s time that he takes things into his own hands. Or rather, one thing in particular.

He makes it to the outpost in record time, ignoring the way tawtute drinking coffee at the entrance instantly scatter at the sight of him. They are irrelevant. He has come for one thing and one thing only. Your room is slightly worse for wear now that you have more stuff to cram it with. It’s clear that your repossession of items could have only occurred a few hours ago, planning it specifically for when he would be busy and out of his marui. 

Parting a path to your bed Ao’nung gets straight to work. 

Sheets fall to the wayside as he digs through the small pile of stuffed animals. It is only when he recognizes a tiny pink dress that he tugs on it and finds your stuffed little bunny. He almost smiles at the sight of it. Like an old friend he remembers. More accurately a familiar captive that had earned him your attention in the first place. 

Tsireya would scold him for playing dirty but you started it, precious. If only you had taken the time to talk to him, given him a chance to explain. But no matter, if he has to use your bunny as bait to have you shuffling towards his marui once more, Ao’nung has no problem with that. 

Satisfied with his successful loot he turns around with the small bunny in hand, ready to leave. But a small light catches his attention. The little on your sewing machine in fact. You are always so careful to not leave that plugged in. Fabric is still caught under the weird stick holding it down and another piece of fabric is only half pinned into place. 

This would only have been sitting like this for a few minutes, meaning you are not far away. Or perhaps you didn’t leave at all. Ao’nung whips around at lightning speed and sure enough there you are trying to backtrack into the hallway silently. A small squeak escapes you when his blue eyes catch you and you freeze in place. 

His training schedule has changed. Something you would not have known since you haven’t talked in a week and so here you are, foolishly believing you would be safe from his perusal today. Finally Eywa has shown good luck upon him. 

“Ao’nung um…hi…I was actually about to-”

Ao’nung is swift, acting before you come up with some excuse or try to sprint from him again. Of course, this time he would easily have the advantage. One arm swoops around your waist to pull you further into the room while his left hand, bunny still pinched between two fingers, closes your silly little door. Your stumbling gives him the perfect moment to station himself in front of the door instead. 

He came to capture a stuffed bunny but you are far more appealing of a prize. 

“Hey! Ao’nung you can’t just…is that my bunny?” Your tiny brows stitch together, a hand reaching out to grab it from him but he swiftly tucks it out of reach. 

Fuck, you are stunning tonight. In a silky little babydoll dress, as you call it, with lace trim and your hair tied up into a bun with a ribbon. It’s been far too long. So long that half of his brain is seeking darker places rather than focusing on the conversation he needs to be having with you now. But it’s been a week. A week since he has had a whiff of your scent. A week since he has admired your squishy little curves or tangled his hand in your strange colored hair. Even watching your face scrunch in annoyance is a beautiful sight to witness. 

Who cares if that annoyance is him. 

“You moved your stuff back,” he accuses. Nails dig into the toy’s fake fur all in effort of keeping himself  from touching you. 

“Well yeah, as you said it’s my stuff.” Your arms cross and you shift from foot to foot, refusing to meet his eyes. He’s made you nervous. Try and hide it  you might, but you’ve come to display yourself as an open book to him. Lying is by no means a strong skill of yours. 

“And so you send the Sully’s to break in and get it back?”

There is a beat where your mouth simply parts and all you can do is scoff in disbelief. 

“I thought I was doing you a favor, getting it out of your way,” you defend, tone sharpening by the second.

“Out of my way?” 

“Are you seriously mad at me right now?” You may not have a tail or moving ears to give you away but the way your little brows shoot up and ears turn red tells him he is entering dangerous territory. And yet, he would much rather be there for as long as it takes if it means no longer being isolated from you.

“Mad isn’t quite the word I would use, sevin.” 

Frustrated, eager, desperate, positively aroused. There are a lot of words one could use to describe his feelings right now. 

“Stop calling me that. Oh my god you are so ridiculous…I just…agh!” Your small hands throw up in the air, your face quickly coming to match the shade of your bunny’s dress. “I can’t do this right now! Get out!”

Now it’s his turn to raise his brows and stare down at you in disbelief. He has spent the last week trying to get into the same room as you. Do you really think that one little pout is enough to make him back down now? 

“I said get out!” Voice raised to a much higher decibel than he has ever heard from you, outside of orgasmic screeching, Ao’nung’s ears perk forward. Suddenly your soft little hands are planting at his lower abdomen as you attempt to push him towards the door. “Out!”

Ao’nung doesn’t have to so much as shift his feet to keep himself in place. Meanwhile you start pushing at his stomach, using your entire body weight as your feet scrape at the floor desperately. He bites his bottom lip. You would roast him alive were he to acknowledge how adorable this little resistance of yours is. And stars above, it is pathetic to even inwardly recognize how much he enjoys feeling your hands on him again. Even when scratching, hitting, and pushing at him in violence, no other touch is as soft and intoxicating as yours. 

Not to mention your dangerously close to lower territory that he is anxiously trying to keep in check. If he pops a boner right now you are going to kill him, or at least try to. At the end of the day it really is your fault though, precious. You’ve deprived him for so long, how is he not supposed to be driven mad by your absence? He never asked to become addicted to you. He never thought he would feel such feral need for a woman but you have twisted his life into something entirely unrecognizable and now here he is, prepared to beg you to flip it upside down all over again. 

“Let me know when you are finished.” 

It comes all too soon, unfortunately. Reeling back with a huff, you glare up at him. A few strands of hair have escaped your bun and now curl against your beautiful face. You are positively flustered and wholeheartedly the center of his desires. 

“I don’t want to talk right now, Ao’nung.” 

“Tough, I do.” He mirrors the way you cross your arms. Two can play at this game. The stuffed plushy is squished into the crook of his elbow and your pretty eyes flicker to it for a moment. To think he is back to being second place to an inanimate object. This is truly the worst way to find he is back to square one. 

“I don’t have anything to say,” You whisper. 

“Well I have plenty so maybe I will talk your ear off for once.” He had meant for it to come out with fondness but instead it digs enough to send you walking to the other side of the room.

“Be my guest,” You mutter before plopping down in front of your sewing machine. 

Truthfully, this is not how Ao’nung saw this playing out. It is only now that he realizes how much he had banked on you spilling all of your concerns and doubts to him so he could soothe them away. You’ve always had a way of making conversation easy. Now, it is just him. Stupid plushy in hand and the entire floor to himself. 

“You did not have to leave.” Throat run dry, he can’t find anything else to say. 

You sigh. “I was just trying to make this easier on both of us, Ao’nung. I didn’t want to be in your way anymore. Thought you might actually be grateful to get me out of your hair.” Thread twists between your fingers. You aren’t even trying to make a show of continuing your project. 

“In my way…” he trails off. Perhaps it is the fact that you are a tawtute or maybe he really does not understand women as well as he thought, but you truly have a way of speaking that riddles his mind. “Precious, whatever they told you. It does not mean anything.” 

You spin in your chair to face him fully. Mouth agape, you're ready to rip him a new one. “Doesn’t mean anything? Of course it does! Were you really never going to tell me yourself?”

Tell you himself? Tell you what? Tell you that half the clan doesn’t approve of his relationship with you? Tell you that even his own parents are giving him alternative options in hopes of splitting you two apart? Why, by the stars above, would he ever crush you like that?

Speech escapes him but you are already on a roll. 

“No one had to tell me anything, Ao’nung. Your actions spoke for themselves. Shutting me away, doing everything in your power to keep your friends and family from meeting me, lying about the mating celebration, dancing with that woman-”

“You saw that?”

A scoff bristles from your throat. 

“It really doesn’t matter what I saw. The point is, you never had the decency to tell me this was over!” 

Shit.

Ao’nung’s lips part as his brain tries to catch up. 

“Over…?”

“Or should I say instead, tell me what this was in the first place! Because maybe, just maybe, if I had known that this was all casual, I wouldn’t have made an entire fool of myself by falling in love with you!” That last line bounces from the walls. No doubt every tawtute in the outpost hears your shout, your chest heaving to take in air as your lips part like you’ve said something wrong. 

Ao’nung’s own heart skips a beat. 

“You love me?”

With a groan of despair you throw both hands over your face. Anger deflating with your shoulders, that tough exterior melts away into a countenance he recognizes far more from you. Still, not one he can truly appreciate when it means he is the source of your heartache. Stars, he is such a skxawng! No one has talked to you. No one has messed this up besides him. He is the center of your doubt. 

“Precious-”

“You know, I never deluded myself into thinking you were going to take a tawtute as a mate but, god, I at least thought you were my boyfriend. That we had something like a real relationship.” Your hands drop and Ao’nung’s head rears back with his muzzle crinkled.

“Boy friend? Do you sleep with your boy friends? Do they touch you the way I do?” He’s getting a migraine. Just when he thought you could not possibly throw his world off axis anymore than it is, here you are insisting you are friends? 

“No Ao’nung, that is not….” You sigh and dig your fingers through your hair. He can tell you are already praying for the patience it will take to get through this conversation. It’s not fast enough though. Because there is no way he is about to go another second as your friend without doing anything about it. 

“I have no interest in being your boy friend, precious. Let us make that perfectly clear.” He squats onto his haunches. Both hands settle at your knees and Ao’nung ducks his head until you are forced to meet his gaze. “I will not be your friend and I will not be just another man that walks into your life. That never has been and never will be my intention.” 

Every word is spoken with intention and a weight that has you staring back at him with wide eyes and baited breath. He finally has your attention, good. 

“All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be mine.” 

Your eyes frantically shift back and forth as if trying to process his words. 

“So then why keep me hidden? Why lie to me about the party? Would it have been that awful to be seen with me there?”

Ao’nung is already aggressively shaking his head before you are even finished. 

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it? Why were you so hell bent on not letting me come?” 

“Because it would have ruined everything!” His voice raises far louder than he means to but every second that passes with you not understanding is like trying to breathe underwater. And Ao’nung is finally ready to reach the surface. “You do not understand the backlash,” he huffs out a harsh breath, “the things they say, sevin. They are not for your ears. And I knew that were I to bring you they would break your heart and then we would never have a chance.” 

“A chance…”

“You would come to realize the hardships that come with being mine and that would poison this courtship. Their judgment would rip you away from me before we would have a chance to mate. Before I could even get the situation under control.” 

His chest now heaving, Ao’nung lets the truth hang in the balance. And hang it does, as you sit there in dumbfounded silence. His hands absentmindedly squeeze at your knees. 

“Mate,” You whisper, eyes staring far off. 

Ao’nung’s nostrils flare, tail lashing back and forth in frustration. 

“Mate,” he repeats firmly. “As in, how do you say it in English…” Sharp teeth dig into his bottom lip. “Marriage.” the word is entirely foreign on his tongue and, knowing his luck, he has most likely said it wrong but he’s willing to say it in one hundred languages if that gets you to understand the depths of his feelings.

A broken laugh escapes you. “No, Ao’nung, I know what mating means but…you…you’re saying you want to mate with me?” 

May the ground open up and swallow him whole. How could that even be a question you have? 

“Why else would I be courting you?”

You blink back at him with big eyes. This is utterly humiliating. His pride takes a deep slashing and Ao’nung has to remember how to connect his tongue to his brain before speaking again. Has he truly failed so horribly in courting you that you haven’t even known that’s what he has been doing? Of course the sky people do many things differently but what else could they possibly be doing in courting that he has not successfully done? 

Which means there is nothing left to do. Nothing left but to cast his pride aside and plead his case.. Ao’nung takes your hands in his and finally drops all the way to his knees. 

“I do not claim to be a perfect man. I am not well versed in the ways of sky people and there are times where my judgment in certain scenarios is…lacking. I do not speak freely the way you do, precious, but I know I can do this. No one can protect you better than I can. No one yearns for your touch with the same intensity that I do. I will provide for you in every way that your heart may desire and more. You will not find another man more devoted, more capable of giving you what you deserve.”

You let out a tearful laugh as your eyes begin to sparkle. He can’t fathom what about this is amusing but Ao’nung basks in the way your small thumb now rubs over the back of his hand.

“Whatever display you require to prove this, I will present. Whatever skill I am lacking for your tawtute standards I will master it. Tell me what you want and it is yours. Just give me some time to prove it to you.” 

You’re caught between crying and letting out short little laughs. You wipe at your tears but Ao’nung beats you to it, thumb brushing them away. There are many different ways that you cry. Before meeting you he did not know there could be more than one, but with relentless hope he prays that this is one of your happy tears spells. 

Reluctantly, Ao’nung tries to implement Tsireya’s advice. Patience is a difficult thing for him, especially when this little sky demon holds his entire world in her hands and he’s desperately on his knees waiting to see which way things will turn. Praying that you are not about to cast him out forever. It’s clear that he has made more mistakes in his courting than he would have ever imagined but with any luck your tender heart will have mercy on him. 

Ao’nung’s hands run down to your hips as he rubs soothing circles with his thumbs there. He tries not to think about the likelihood of this being the last time he gets to touch you. To feel your squishy curves atop silky dresses or tattered lace. 

“You,” a hiccup interrupts your speech, “are such a skxawng.” 

An insult has never felt more rewarding with the way your amusement breaks into fondness. 

“I know.” He murmurs. Tentatively, he leans forward until his lips are brushing your left shoulder, ears folded back against his head. “But maybe you can still keep this skxawng around?” 

You breathe out a sound that is somewhere between a hiccup and a laugh. It’s so endearing it takes a formidable amount of self control to stop himself from sinking his teeth into you right here and now. 

“As if I have the strength to order you away.”

Ao’nung’s runs his nose up the side of your neck and jaw before you are once more face to face. He preens when you cup his face with your hand. It barely spans the width of his cheek. 

“You could have told me. You know you can tell me anything. I wouldn’t have shoved you away. I didn’t want to, I just thought I was setting you free.” 

“I’m happily bound, precious.” No longer able to stop himself, Ao’nung presses a kiss at the column of your throat tenderly. “Don’t ever free me again.” 

Ao’nung savors the way you finally melt against him. Your laugh is so much sweeter than your tears and your kiss far more exhilarating than he remembered. A shiver runs all the way down to the tip of his tail as your lips move against his own and he finally tastes the sweet nectars that he has been craving for a week. 

When the two of you finally break away it’s due to your weak lungs running out of air. He shuffles closer until his torso is spreading your thighs apart and he can settle happily beneath you. 

“You know, you can’t protect me from everything.” You say into his hair as he peppers your neck with soft kisses. 

“I can try.” He mouths against your smooth skin. Still, you won’t relent. 

“It doesn’t work that way. There will always be challenges that come when we are together but you can’t forge forward to face them alone while keeping me tucked away in a box.” When your fingers tug at the nap of his neck and he begrudgingly rears back. “I’ve lived my entire life on this planet as an alien. This isn’t my first time experiencing prejudice.” 

That fuzzy feeling in his chest is tainted by the idea of you facing any sort of torment. Were the Omatikaya not welcoming? He had always figured their clan to be the most accepting of Sky Demons considering they have lived among them for so long. 

Your fingers trail across his shoulders in comforting strokes. “I can be tough too,” you whisper. 

And you are. In a way that Ao’nung has never seen from anyone else. War and hatred have always had a way of hardening people. No doubt it has built him into the man he is today and taught him how to work on the defense without showing weakness. But you have somehow managed to maintain your softness throughout all of these trials. You burst with passion and unbridled joy regardless of receiving first hand experience of others trying to dampen that light. Through it all, you chose to be vulnerable, to let that soft part of you thrive. And that may very well be the toughest thing Ao’nung has ever seen someone do. 

“No more secrets,” he whispers.

“No more hiding,” You vow. 

Ao’nung’s shoulders drop, as if a physical weight has lept from his shoulders. Your gentle touch smoothes that pain away, heals him from the inside out. Here, tucked in your strange room of frills and sweet daydreams, everything beyond the outpost doors drowns into background noise. He can envision a world where nothing matters besides the way you feel in his arms. The scent that now sends his head spinning. And the reassurance that Ao’nung has in fact not lost you forever. 

When his lips caress yours once more, it’s with a softness that he barely recognizes from himself. Now is the time to relearn you inside and out, to confirm that what has been running through his head are in fact memories,and not hopeless fantasies. When your fingers shyly fiddles with the curls at the nape of his neck, Ao’nung grins widely against your lips until his fangs are showing. Only you could hold his body and soul in your hands and still find reason to be nervous. 

You are the only woman he has ever kneeled for. That should be more than enough for you to understand how wholly you have destroyed him for any other, but still he feels the need to wash all of your doubts away. Whispered apologies pass between both of you. They pass in tandem with lips that press against his own with urgency and passion that make it feel like his veins are sparking with lightning. 

Suddenly, going slow loses all its appeal. 

He can memorize you over and over again until the sun rises and his father has to physically drag him away to his duties. But there is no promise he will survive another breath without your skin against his own. He needs to drink in the rampant beat of your heart, infiltrate every sense with your scent until it becomes the only fresh air he has ever known. A drug stronger than this, Ao’nung has never known, but neither has such insanity been more alluring. 

One tug to your hips has you falling from the chair straight onto his lap. Small hands scramble for something to hold onto, messily falling against his chest. Following your squeak of surprise, admonishments are on the tip of your tongue. Ao’nung swallows your protests before they can be uttered. You are more than free to give him a verbal lashing later when he has his head between your legs. For now, you are the air he breathes. 

In fact, you are the air beneath his wings, sending his head into a floating spin as he starts to sway. 

“Ao’nung!” You gasp and suddenly that ridiculous plastic mask is pushed at his muzzle. Despite his initial protests, there is no fighting you on this. Reluctantly, he must admit that the filtered oxygen does have a way of getting his head to stop spinning. 

Yet another reason, Ao’nung has never been a fan of the human’s metal cave. The sterilized air is a nuisance and one more thing keeping him from devouring you whole. 

Rolling his eyes, he tugs your wrist holding the plastic piece away. “Enough,” he grunts and dives back in. There is a war going on inside your head. The contrasting urges to scold him for being reckless and forget everything in favor of losing yourself in this kiss. Unfortunately, your worry for his wellbeing wins out. Soft hands push at his shoulders and you give him a glare that is undermined by the site of your sweet swollen lips. 

“I am not confident in my ability to drag a ten foot tall Na’vi to the infirmary.”

Laughter bursts freely from his chest. You feel its contagious effects too, even as you pout back at him and do everything in your power to fight the smile tugging at your lips. Wide grin putting his teeth on full display, Ao’nung makes no effort to dampen down his laughter as he finally takes the mask from your hand and sucks a breath in. 

After taking in a few breaths deep enough to suffice your worry, he draws your right hand  up over his shoulder followed by the other on the opposite side. With one smooth tug on your hips, he has you settled against him, ducking down so you two are nose to nose. 

“Then come home, precious.”

Your countenance warms even as you roll your eyes at him. Small brushes of your fingertips against his shoulder blades are send a shiver down his spine. It’s nice to know you missed touching him as much as he did you.

“You’re still calling it that, huh?” You jest.

“It’s where you belong. After all, half of the stuff in there was yours before you rudely moved it.” Cerulean eyes narrow but never lose their amused gleam. 

“Sleepover?” 

It’s Ao’nung’s turn now to roll his eyes. Of course you are still making the distinction between moving in and spending the night. Still, he’s is quick to answer. After a week sleeping alone he will take everything he can get at this point.

“Sleepover,” he confirms. 

You’ll yield someday. 

For once, Ao’nung does most of the talking. He asks about your sewing projects and gives his own report of what he has been up to over the past week. Responses that usually flow freely from your lips like an uncapped firehose, now barely trickle out. Your mind is elsewhere as you follow him down the familiar path to his marui. 

In fact it is fixated on one idea you had never dared to let yourself dream of. 

Mating. 

And not just with anyone, but Ao’nung, the future Olo’eyktan no less. If you had been told four months ago that your relocation to Metkayina waters would result in this you would have laughed at the fantasy of it all. That falls under the types of delusions you save for your journal and little daydreams to help you fall asleep. Even as the biggest starry eyed dreamer you know, that concept was never one to cross your mind as a possible reality.  

Yet here you are, stumbling along with your left hand fully dwarfed by one of swirling turquoise skin, pajamas and toiletries in your right, mind reeling over the proposal that has been dropped at your feet. 

Marriage is not a synonym for mating. Ao’nung’s use of that translation only reflects his poor understanding of English, but you know better. Marriage is a certificate,a piece of paper that can be broken by just another piece of paper called divorce. Mating on the other hand is an agreement of souls, something that is recognized beyond the material and set in stone by a Goddess above. Tsaheylu is a bond that can not be broken, one that you do not even have the ability to make without a kuru. 

Regardless, Ao’nung asks for the same terms and conditions. This is far beyond a fun time or summer fling. This is for life. Even for a union beyond the veil of death. You are on the brink of another spiral, all due to the mental gymnastics it takes to wrap your head around this concept.

Yet low and behold, here Ao’nung strolls with a wide grin and the ease of someone taking an afternoon stroll, not a man who has offered to tether his life to a tawtute. Even his tail swishes lazily behind him as he adjust cluster of bedding and trinkets in his arms, glaring down at your little bunny occasionally but still making sure it is not close from falling out and - fuck! You love this man.

There is no way to deny it. You would tie yourself to him in any and every way he would ask and you’re tired of questioning the sensibility of that urge. Mating, marriage, fucking blood oath at this point, it does not matter. You yearn to stay by his side forever. 

Ao’nung is brash and bold, and has a skull thick enough to require bashing in every now and then to knock some sense into him, but he is your idiot. You want to be the one rolling your eyes at his antics and tugging at his tail to bring false promises of behaving from his lips. Until the very end of your days, that is what you desire. 

Neck craning, your eyes trace over the curve of his nose, mapping out the infectious grin that brings a mischievous sparkle to his crystal blue eyes. Ao’nung likes to think of himself as an immovable force unaffected, like the great cliffs that do not turn with the tide. But you know better. His greatest strength is not his unyielding nature, but rather the fierce heart that beats beneath that tough exterior. He fights for the ones he loves, for his home, his people with a tenacity that is unmatched by anyone you have ever known. 

You’re tired of dreaming of what could have been in distant worlds. There’s no need to when your future is brighter than all of those far off tales combined. You’re ready to wake up and clasp what is right before you.

“Remember to blink.” 

“Hu-what?” You sputter as Ao’nung grin sharpens.

Blue eyes suddenly widen and flash at you in mimicked display of the way you’ve been owlishly peeping at him. It startles a little laugh from your throat. The sound only heightens when he adds, “You were the one that taught me staring is rude, precious.” 

Ao’nung gives a sharp tug on the small hand intertwined with his own. It sends you stumbling forward a few steps and successfully molding against his side. God, you have never met a man who acts more touch starved than the one right before you. 

“Considering how much you enjoy attention, I figured I would be pardoned for such an offense.”

“Wrong again, oeyӓ tawtute.” And that is all the warning you receive before Ao’nung snatches away your toiletries and uses his free arm to hoist you over his shoulder. Your hands clamber for purchase against his spine, but you know that there is no danger of being dropped. The real threat, however, is the hemline of your very short dress that is one mild breeze away from exposing your entire ass. 

“Ao’nung!” You gasp.

“Your short legs were slowing us down, sevin.” That boisterous laughter is far too contagious. It wedges little giggles between your pleas to be released and regain some sort of dignity. 

“Put me down! This is not the dress for this.” 

Of course, you’ve learned nothing over the past few months as you’ve expertly drawn his attention towards his next source of amusement. Your hands fight to reach back and tug at the soft hem but it’s no use. The ocean breeze already strokes over your thin panties, followed by a warm hand that smoothes over the curve of your cheeks. 

Blood  is already rushing to your head. You pin point that as the obvious source of the giggling fit that will not ease from your chest. A matter that is only made worse as Ao’nung openly gropes your exposed buttocks for anyone to see. Your laughter rickets into a screech when there is a sudden prick on the left cheek and you realize that this skxawng has actually nipped at the flesh with his teeth. 

“Hey!”

“If you’re so worried about your modesty, I suggest not making so much noise.” His tone is laced with smug pride. Now that the two of you are reunited, it seems his only focus is on planting you right back ‘where you belong’, as he puts it. 

Undoubtedly, this makes for a peculiar scene for any Na’vi in sight. Tawtute over their future Olo’eyktan’s right shoulder while his other arm is cinched around frills and trinkets they could not fathom understanding. It’s ridiculous even to your standards, but Ao’nung walks out in the open without a care. You’re not sure if this change has come in efforts of keeping his new promise or if he’s simply indisposed from making up to care. Either way, it settles a fondness in your chest that is impossible to ignore when, truly, you should feel embarrassed. 

Lucky for you, there are only a few stragglers. Adults pulling in nets or teens sneaking back into their family’s marui after drinking down on the west beach. Everyone else is too concerned with their own business to give the two of you a second glance. 

When Ao’nung finally sets you back on his feet he does not hand back your things. Of course, being the thief that he is, you expect nothing less. Instead he sets about putting things back into their place as your eyes sweep over his home.

It truly does feel bare without all of your silly touches. In fact, you had not realized how many things Ao’nung had managed to smuggle from your room until seeing his home now with everything gone. There are still a few purple drapes and seaglass trinkets he has carved for you over the past few months, but besides that, the space  is nothing but functional. Fire pit in the corner, weaponry stacked on one side, a saddle hanging just outside the entrance to dry, and other essentials that hold no extra frill or pizazz. 

Lo’ak was the one who offered to break in and steal your stuff back, so you never had a chance to take in what a stark contrast your absence would create. No wonder Ao’nung had stomped over to the outpost immediately. This shell of a home is the perfect external show of what you have internally been feeling over the last week. Hollow and bare. 

However, it had never occurred to you that he would be suffering too. Not when you had envisioned him preparing for mating season and thinking of brighter pastures ahead. 

It’s a bittersweet realization to come to, seeing now that he yearns for you just as much as you do him. That he had been in agony too. 

Padding across the room barefoot, you watch the way he fusses with the covers and places your bunny in the center before moving on to shove a handful of your calico critter figurines on the nearest shelf. A short breath flares from his nose. He tilts his head to the side for one second before seeming to decide it’s worth perching each creature on their feet after all. 

He works with urgency, as if that would somehow erase their original absence in the first place. Perhaps he too is more than desperate to put this entire misunderstanding behind him. 

Slowly you curve a hand down each vertebrae of his spine. Or at least, from the top of where you can actually reach. Swift ears peek up from between dark curls and Ao’nung falters slightly from his task at hand. Your fingers map out the bioluminescent freckles, jumping from one to the other like it’s Connect the Dots. The action soothes the giant of a man before you, his tail dropping down to a lazy drawl as his shoulders unwind. 

You brush over his hips and toy with the dangling strings securing his tewng. There is no rhyme or reason to your touch besides enjoying proximity once more. Lacking Ao’nung’s confidence, you are not often the one to initiate intimacy, at least not in ways that are so forward. So for once, Ao’nung refrains from teasing you or provoking a blush. He holds a steady and careful demeanor, as if worried that a sudden wrong move would make you realize your own boldness and scatter away. 

You bask in the feel of velvety soft skin covering hardened muscle and bones that make yours seem like thin twigs. Your left hand pinches a few long curls between your fingers and you smile at the perfect way one strand wraps around your thumb. Ao’nung lets out a breath when you rest your forehead against his spine and begin drawing patterns with the tip of your finger down to the base of his tail. 

Ao’nung has always encouraged this type of exploration but you often hesitate with the fear of doing something wrong at the forefront of your mind. This is your first time being with a Na’vi. Although you've lived your whole life on Pandora, you still find yourself lacking when it comes to understanding their cultures and costumes fully. You know nothing of what it is like to have a tail, and so you’ve operated your whole life cautiously keeping a respectful distance from what you don’t understand. 

Tonight, you allow yourself the luxury of escaping such fear. 

All that matters now is feeling him close. Refamiliarizing yourself with every part of him until this feels real. Until you can fully grasp the concept of him being yours. Of never being alone again. Of waking up every morning to his devious smile and honest eyes that have captured you, body and soul. 

Fascination bleeds into every gentle touch along his wide appendage, watching the way it swishes and curves with expression you have not fully come to understand yet. When you wrap your hand around the underside, closer to the base, Ao’nung lets out the softest groan and cranes his head back. Doing so drops the end of his kuru further down his spine, therefore drawing your attention to it. 

Logic has gone offline as you become entirely enthralled by the way dancing tendrils just barely peak out from his braid. This is the most sacred part of a Na’vi. It is how they connect to the world and each other in a bond that you’ve spent your whole life trying to conceptualize. Consequently, this renders the appendage extremely sensitive as well. Now, however, you’ve thrown fear of retribution aside in favor of satisfying your curiosity. 

And so without any warning, you abandon his tail suddenly and reach out one digit to let swipe through a few of those tendrils. 

Ao’nung’s response is instant. His entire body wakes with the intensity of one being shocked by electricity. A sound that is a strange mixture of a hiss and gasp wrenches from his lips and his tail wakes to the right so hard you almost get knocked over by it. That’s enough to disconnect your fingers from the sensitive area and Ao’nung keens forward with a dramatic exhale. 

He takes a moment to brace his arms against the marui walls and lean his forehead against them. All of the trinkets he had so carefully been situating are now toppled to the floor in a pile. 

“Yawne [sweetheart/love],” he exhales and it’s so stripped down from his usual rich timber that the sound sends a shiver down your spine. The shock of it all finally has your inhibitions returning as you come to realize that you might have actually hurt him. Or at least made him uncomfortable in some way. 

A sputter of apologies start to rain from you endlessly but before any of it can start to make sense, there is a large body encompassing yours. Ao’nung pins you against the opposite wall and swallows every regret that you voice with absolute vicious fervency. Taking in air becomes a real struggle, especially when his lips are quickly dragging you down to the depths of insanity. 

Only when Ao’nung switches to littering your throat with open mouthed kisses do you have a chance to take in oxygen. 

“Warn me next time, sevin.” He murmurs against your pulse. 

A distant part of you recognizes the need to say something, most likely apologize, but that part is fading further and further away the longer you remain trapped in his embrace. Ao’nung surrounds every sense, even blocking out the moonlight coming through the flap entrance with his silhouette. 

“S-sorry I-”

“Don’t apologize,” he nips at your ear. 

Any other time you would press him to explain this reaction. Break it down for you until the intricacies of Na’vi anatomy and their consequences make sense. But now the only thing that takes up space in your mind is the hands on your hips, the curls that tickle at your neck, any and every part of him that makes contact. Finger latching behind his neck, you encourage the onslaught or marks and bites that are sure to be staining your skin already. 

“I missed you,” just a breath that is barely enunciated, but Ao’nung hears it. Ears straight and head finally rearing back, he looks you in the eye. Something is slowly settling in his features. His chest rises and falls with heavy breath and his nostrils flare as he appears to be talking himself back from going entirely feral. You can see the moment he reigns himself in.

The hand right next to your head slowly comes down to brush your bottom lip with his thumb. “You won’t ever need to again.” For a moment the heat of desire burns into something deeper. Ao’nung speaks in a manner almost reverent and it is cast with a vulnerability you have known from him before. 

Large hands curve down the sides of your chest and waist before settling at your hips. He toys with the soft blue fabric of your dress but surprisingly does not bunch it up, at least not yet. Your eyes are drawn to the way his throat bobs as you softly twist the baby curls at the nape of his neck. 

“Let me show you how much I have missed you, paskalin.” 

You know exactly what he means. The offer is less than subtle but it lacks the lofty confidence you are used to hearing from him. It comes out as a plea. Your heart feels as if it could burst from the enclosure of your ribcage. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

When his lips touch your skin again, it is softer. Small pecks that adorn little places you had never paid much attention to before. The dip of your collarbone, the curve of your elbow, the inside of your right wrist. So gentle and sweet that it somehow feels more intimate than the carnal claiming you had experienced mere moments before. Ao’nung drops to his knees in order to lessen the height difference. One hand pushing at the hem of your dress, he exposes your stomach to leave tender kisses there, another one at your hipbone. 

In the dirty books you read there have always been mentions of worshipping a lover physically. In writing it had seemed far fetched and corny but perhaps this is what they had meant. You can tell from the tent in his loincloth that holding himself back like this must be excruciating but reaching a high is not what occupies Ao’nung’s mind. His sole purpose resides in making you feel seen, making you feel loved. 

And that digs at a part of you so soft and raw that you have to blink back tears from your eyes. 

Desperately, you search for some way to return the gesture. Sexual prowess has always been more of Ao’nung’s strong suit than your own, but you grapple for something, anything that will show his devotion is appreciated. Still praying that he won’t look up and notice your shiny eyes, your small hands smooth over his shoulders, neck, hair, any place you can reach. It is uncoordinated and far less intentional than Ao’nung’s own touch. 

Comfort, however, is found in his subtle response. His shoulders drop and tail slows into curving smoothly against his ankle. The hands at your hips travel down the back of your legs and you can feel his smile against your upper thigh now. 

The two of you slowly fall back into a familiar rhythm. Whatever hesitancy had briefly riddled you before has left along with Ao’nung’s need to peek up at you in search of permission periodically. With your blunt nails carefully scraping over his scalp until his ears are twitching, Ao’nung lets his large hands wander without restraint. When they carve a path up the vulnerable flesh of your inner thigh, you are unable to stop the drip of heat to your core. 

You’ve been around Na’vi long enough to know that he can smell your potent arousal. 

With a featherlight touch he skates atop the rounded flesh at the top of your thighs before hooking a thumb under each side of your panties’ waistband. The thin piece of fabric against your cunt is wet enough to stick to you for a moment before disconnecting and sliding down your legs. Ao’nung manually lifts your right foot up then your left so he can fish out the delicate garment. 

You can tell just from the wolfish smile and sparkle in his eyes that he treats this as a pretty treasure he has foraged. 

“And am I ever going to get that back?” You raise a brow at him when tucks it into the pouch at his belt. The Metkayina male is anything but apologetic as he looks up at you through thick lashes. 

“We can talk about negotiating a trade later, yawntutsyip [darling/little loved one].” 

Ao’nung barks out a small laugh when you tug at the roots of his curls in reprimand. He knows there is no real ire there, despite the way you scrunch your nose at him and glare. Keeping up the act becomes impossible the moment his lips are ascending your legs once more. Anticipation curls at the base of your stomach. 

If there is one thing you can attest to from first hand experience, it is that Ao’nung is expertly skilled in the way of pleasing a woman with his mouth. You’re not sure if this is a common skill among the Metkayina due to their breathhold ability, or if it's something unique to your lover, but either way, he has made you an addict to it through and through. 

“I like it better like this,” Ao’nung mouths at your hipbone. 

Your mind stalls for a moment, trying to understand what he means. Finally you huff out an unbelieving laugh before asking, “the dress?” 

“Mm yes,” He hums as his left hand traces up the back of your thigh until reaching your ass. “Easy access.” That devilish smirk is pressed right at your navel, mere inches away from where you desire him most. Ao’nung’s head is trapped beneath your skirt but you continue to dig your nails against his scalp. He purrs at the sensation and you bite back a laugh at the way his tail practically thumps at the ground. 

“So easy to flip this skirt up and find my favorite place.” His words send your own mind spiraling to filthy scenarios. “Could fuck this pretty pussy without even taking it off.” 

It is entirely unfair how aware Ao’nung is of your weaknesses. Within the first night of you two being together he had discovered the effect dirty words had on you and now it has become his favorite pastime. tantalizing you with words so filthy it has your pussy clenching around nothing. Still, Ao’nung is the biggest tease you know as he presses the smallest kisses to your clit. 

This is a weapon he wields without mercy. 

Growing impatient, you push at his head with all of your strength. Of course that means nothing when you are wrestling with a ten foot alien, but it does draw a dark chuckle from him. That sound continues when his lips latch around your entire pussy, those vibrations shooting straight to your core. 

The hand at your ass steadies you in place graciously as you fight not to hump against his face. It’s ridiculous how only one week apart has already turned you into a ravenous little thing. No other lover has made you crave them so thoroughly, but this reaction is one so innate, carved so deep into your bones, that you could not hold it back if you tried. 

Ao’nung’s rough tongue brings you to the edge of an orgasm in record time. So fast in fact, that your thighs clench around his head and you will every part of you not to let go so easily. Not only is it borderline embarrassing, but you’ve learned the importance of keeping Ao’nung’s ego in check. 

Of course the Metkayina prince is having none of that. Utilizing the difference in size and strength, he pries your legs apart and buries his face into your pussy until his tongue has managed to bully its way into your hole. Pistoning in out, that trained muscle alone finds a way to reach that sweet spongy spot inside until you are seeing stars. Ao’nung brings a thumb to your clit when you start to scream. 

Thighs quivering and pussy cinching around his tongue, your release leaves you entirely floored. White hot pleasure bursts from every nerve and your nails dig into his scalp in a far less affectionate manner now. He rides you through it with persistent rubbing at your clit and tongue working as if he is trying to carve you out from the inside out. 

It should leave you satisfied. Most of the time you require a moment to bask in the afterglow before feeling desire coil in your gut once more but it seems that your body has missed him in a way you greatly underestimated. That feral need eats at you from the inside out and suddenly he is much too far away. You need to feel his naked skin against your own. Kiss, touch, lick, and feel every inch of his star speckled skin until there is not a breath of space between you. 

You shove his head away unexpectedly. 

“Rude. I wasn’t done-”

Ao’nung protests die on his tongue when your blue dress falls away and his eyes land on your bare breasts. Alien or not, a man is a man. 

Legs still shaking from the after effects of being brought to heaven and back, you messily situate yourself on his lap. Considering the size difference and how thick Ao’nung’s corded thighs are, it is a stretch to fit a leg on either side but that only opens you up even more for him. Something that Ao’nung wastes no time in taking advantage of. One hand slots itself at the juncture of your thighs while the other shamelessly gropes at your naked breasts. 

You’re borderline delirious, worked up to a point you can’t pull yourself back from. Maybe it’s the time apart. Maybe it’s the fact that you know Ao’nung could be yours forever if you only say the word. Whatever the case may be, there is a yearning stirring within you that can only be tamed by him. You want him in every way that a person can want another. And that means no more going halfway or finding alternative ways to pleasure one another. 

You need him inside you. 

You need to mate. 

Eywa must be a merciful goddess because Ao’nung already starts prodding a digit at your sopping entrance. Your pelvis shifts forward to encourage him and the male simply grins against your ear. “My demanding little tawtute.” 

You’re too busy trying to suck a mark into the beautiful skin of his neck to respond. You choose a spot just atop the winding black ink of one of his tattoos. Unfortunately, the added apparel of such ink does make discoloring his skin far less noticeable, but you are up for the challenge. Even when you mark with him your teeth, those little indents go away after a day or so. 

The prince throws his head back in clear offering as a self satisfied smirk dances over his lips. Your attention is rewarded with a strong hand kneading at your right breast before pinching at your sensitive nipple. It sends a shot of electricity straight to your core as one digit finally starts to sink in. 

Ao’nung is far more careful than you have the patience for today. Naturally even one finger is a stretch that makes your breath shutter, but you can’t be damned with the logistics at this point. All you know is that he needs to make quick work of stretching you out so that you can finally feel him inside of you. 

“More Nung…I need more.” You exhale the second your pussy finally sinks over the last knuckle.

“Shh mawey, sevin. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Your teeth latch at the skin of his collarbone to punish, but that action backfires when his chest rumbles with a chuckle and he delights in the slight sting. It’s unclear what the hold up is. Ao’nung may tease but you can feel his desperation just as vividly as your own. His tewng strains at trying to keep his erection concealed and his pupils are blown out with a hunger you know means he is on the verge ruining you for the rest of the night. 

So why hold back? 

Why, when you're naked and wet and grinding against his fingers, is he trying to be a gentleman and take things slow now? 

He curls a finger against your sweet spot in practiced motion and it’s enough to distract you from the task at hand. Ao’nung coos at the way you tremble and claw at his shoulders, repeating the motion with his thumb rubbing at your clit now. Fuck, this man is going to drive you insane! He is quite literally the biggest tease you have ever met. If he doesn’t do something soon, you are determined to make him pay for it in any and every way you know how. 

That calloused thumb rubs circles against your clit in perfect synchrony with the digit that teases at your gummy walls. A climax is already on the brink of snapping again but right now that is not your primary focus. 

“Ao’nung please,” comes your begging as you clumsily try to undo the ties of his loincloth. As always his eyes brighten at the sound of your pleas. In fact you feel him twitch beneath the fabric. “I’m ready. I want you now. Always…forever…just please.” 

The pressure between your legs halts and Ao’nung’s chin raises to look at you properly. That smug aura is nowhere to be seen as his features contort into genuine inquiry. The very breath in his lungs still as he cups the side of your face. 

“Does this mean you accept?” Voice gravely with anticipation, Ao’nung stares back at you with every one of his senses dialed in. 

It feels like a ridiculous question, considering the way you’ve been clawing at him but it only strikes you then that you have not officially said it out loud. And you don’t know Metkayina customs or how this is supposed to go but you can sense that this is a vital milestone. 

“Yes, I accept.” Such a simple string of words to convey a monumental decision but the male snaps forward as if it is the most grandeur gesture he has ever received. He surges forward and captures your lips in a kiss that is mostly teeth with the way he grins against you. His happiness is infectious, dulling your need for one merciful moment as he switches to peppering kisses along every span of skin he can reach. 

“Want you forever,” You whisper but it may very well be lost on him as Ao’nung is drowned in smothering you with affection. 

“Oeyӓ muntxate [my mate/wife],” he repeats between little nips and kisses. “I will be good to you, precious.” 

A carefree little laugh slips from you at that. “I know,” you assure him. 

That vow seems to be one Ao’nung is eager to fulfill, evident by the way his fingers curl at your sweet spot again and this thumb rubs at you with renewed urgency. But this is not what you had in mind. 

“No Ao’nung, I’m stretched enough. Just put it in, please.” This time your fingers dig into the knot correctly and one side of his loincloth comes undone. Your glee falters when inquisitive eyes catch you.

Well, you should have known better. Ao’nung is a bossy male and the only thing he likes more than teasing you, is making you use your words when you can barely string a sentence together. 

“Fuck me.” 

Curt, short, and straight to the point; that is the best you can manage. 

It strikes through him with considerable force. Ocean blue eyes are swallowed by the black depths of his pupils and his hips ricket when you softly brush at his pelvis now uncovered. You couldn’t be more relieved to see this side of him come out to play. Finally, the two of you will be joined together. Ao’nung’s throat bobs. 

It strokes your pride a bit to see him so suddenly caught off guard at your order. Unlike him, you won’t tease him about it. Instead you opt to aid by reaching down to stark working on the ties of his tewng [loincloth] on the other side. Admittedly, there is a trickle of unease that comes when the fabric is stripped away and you are once more brought to face the size of him. 

Ao’nung is not only of a larger species than your own, but you are confident, well endowed even among the standards of the Metkayina. The length alone would be enough to reach the deepest part of you possible but that is not the real factor that scares you. It’s the width. 

Much like the rest of his broad frame, his cock is thick and burly. Just the bulbous head would stretch you beyond limits you have ever imagined. And then there are the ridges and bumps adorning his member with pretty tahini [star-like freckles] decorating it as well. There is not a greater contrast to your tiny soft pussy than this, but all you can think about is how wonderful those bumps would rub against your gummy walls. How perfectly he would fill you until there is no space left in you to claim, and then take more anyways. 

Logistics be damned, you’re ready now.

Yet right as you start to shift and get Ao’nung to withdraw his finger to make room for something much more desirable, wet digit exiting with a squelch, he grabs your wrist. 

“No.” 

That one syllable has never caught you more off guard. 

“What?”

“Not tonight, precious.” 

You gape for a moment and study his features for any sort of explanation to this joke. Since the beginning of your relationship this has been the end goal both of you have been looking forward to. And now that it’s here, now that he has professed his love and you yours and there is clear agreement that you are to be mated before Eywa, he says no? 

“Wha-what you do you mean? Why not?” 

“Well for starters, yawne, I would split you in half.” He nuzzles against your cheek with an amused grin that has your jaw clenching. 

“Now is not the time for teasing,” You whine into his neck. It feels like an inferno is about to burst inside of you and the proximity of his hard length sandwiched between your pelvis and his, is only making it worse. 

“I would never,” he nips at your earlobe. You exact your revenge by undulating your hips against him until he is biting back a groan. Even without reaching a hand down you can feel his cock throbbing against your soft tummy. 

“I’m being serious,” You stress.

“So am I. Hey hey, play nice.” Ao’nung’ scolding is paired with firm hands that halt your hips. In every other scenario his strength has been a source of delight and arousal, but now you find it the center of your frustration. There is no feasible way to fight against an alien that is double your size and engineered to take down enemies with one hand. 

At least, you have no chance of fighting against him physically. 

“There is a way to do these things, yawne.”

“I thought you said you were going to be good to me,” you pout and a surprised laugh rumbles from him. 

“My precious has teeth after all, don’t you?” 

You simply glare back at him when your next attempt to roll your hips and find some sort of friction for your aching cunt, is once more halted. 

“Be a good girl and take what I can give you now.” 

Sexual frustration has a way of fizzling all logical thoughts from your brain. That is what you blame on your next move. Because when one hand reaches for his cock while the other tugs at his kuru, it sends Ao’nung flipping like a coin on you. 

Within a blink you are sprawled out onto your back and pinned down by a heavy body that encompasses yours entirely. Your wrists are easily gathered by one of his hands and pressed above you into the floor. Legs remaining spread by the width of his torso, Ao’nung settles between there with a force that has your heart thumping wildly. 

“What did I just say, hm?” 

Dark curls hang down to frame his handsome face. With him caging you from above like this, you are forced to face him head on. A strange mixture of adrenaline and arousal mix together as you ponder on how easily he’s manhandled you. Mesmerized by the way he has you trapped against the marui floor by only using a small semblance of his strength. It turns your brain to mush, even as you hold on to the last fibers of stubbornness. 

“I want to be yours now.” You respond, ignoring his question. 

Fingers tighten around your wrist and Ao’nung eyes darken. 

“You are mine now.” He presses his other hand over your heart firmly. “Do you feel the way your heart picks up when you’re around me?” That very heart skips a beat as his hand travels down south. When he cups your pussy, a small moan escapes your lips. “Do you feel how wet and eager this pussy is for me?”

Eyes already starting to cross, you nod lazily at him. His middle finger softly curls to stroke up the center of you. 

“That is what it means to be mine.” His finger slides back down but doesn’t move again. He’s punishing you and it has a whimper catching in your throat. “You gave yourself to me a long time ago, tawtute.” 

“Then give yourself to me now,” you insist. Ao’nung rolls his eyes and his lips twitch in effort not to smile. He can say what he wants but you know that he is loving this. More often than not it is him stubbornly making demands. Sleeping at his marui. Taking swimming lessons. He has a knack for being bossy but he does not understand the depths of your persuasion as well. You know you can break him. Especially now as his cock lays heavily against your inner thigh with precum already leaking from the tip. 

Sooner or later he will have to snap. 

“I’m not as fragile as you think. I can take it.” 

That cracks the stern scowl from his face and he looks up to the sky as if ready to ask for patience from the Great Mother above. Hooking one leg over his thigh, you use that leverage to grind against the palm of his hand. 

“That is very cute, sevin.” Tone laced with dangerous amusement, he repeats this time only to himself, “very cute.” 

The man is only being logical but you’re borderline offended all the same. Desperation has your emotions going haywire and pouting at his audacity. So what if you’re a little small? People have done it before. You know they have. The Omatikaya have come quite a long ways when it comes to interspecies mating. Why should this be any different? 

Ao’nung catches the way your face scrunches up in protest. Eyes narrowing down at you, that smug smile returns before he is setting to work. Your stomach tangles into knots but there is no time to anticipate what devious plans have filled his brain because soon a thick digit is entering you once more while sharp teeth nip at your throat. 

This time Ao’nung is merciless with the curl of his finger. It works with a precision that is near damning as he pinpoints your weakest spot and focuses on that area until your eyes are rolling back. His thumb massages tight circles on your clit and your toes curl in response. 

The real kicker comes, however, when he starts thrusting that finger in and out at a pace that punches the very breath from your lungs. Mouth slack, a whine rings from you.  

“Is this what you mean, oeyӓ yawntutsyip?” His words are heated breath against your jaw, nuzzling his scent into your skin. “Taking one finger like a brave girl.” 

The marui fills with the sound of sloppy juices that are quickly coming to cover not only your thighs, but Ao’nung’s entire hand and wrist as well. Every time he plunges his finger back in, the heel of his hand bats at your small bundle of nerves. 

“Ao-Ao’nung,” you sputter his name into a moan. 

“I know, precious, I know,” he coos. Folding your fingers over the hand that holds your wrist, you search for something to ground yourself. Ao’nung flattens his hand so the palm is pressing your wrists down and his fingers can intertwine haphazardly with yours. “It’s a lot for this tiny pussy.”

You want to refute his point but how can you when your slick is coating down his hand and your walls already carry a satisfying ache from the stretch? The onslaught pauses for a moment and you gasp for air. But then there is a second finger posed at your entrance and you shiver with the inkling of what is to come. No matter which way he positions those two digits, it takes considerable effort to get the first knuckles in. 

With a vicelike grip, your pussy wraps around him and tries to push him out all at the same time. 

“You see, yawne? Your tawtute pussy is already struggling to take two fingers. Can you imagine what it would feel like to take my entire cock?”

You can and that thought is equal parts terrifying and intoxicating. Ao’nung soothes your cries with sweet words and gentle kisses as he sinks down to the second knuckle. The pressure is a constant between your legs and yet there is satisfaction to be found in the dull pain it leaves behind. It brings awareness to his presence. A reminder of how intimately you open up for him and only him. 

“I’d have you sobbing on my cock in seconds.” Ao’nung nuzzles at your collarbones. You faintly recognize that the male has never been so thorough in scent marking you before. 

“But-” the gasp ripped from you cuts off your complaints as those fingers finally fill to the hilt. He wastes no time in scissoring them back and forth to encourage further stretch. 

“You’re not ready for it. Not yet, yawntutsyip.” He kisses the corner of your lips. “But soon.” 

Dampness registers on your cheeks and only now do you realize that tears have slipped out. Not from pain but rather the overwhelming sensations that wrack your small body. Truthfully, you can not fathom what it would be like to take him now, even as everything within you yearns to find out. The length of his cock remains a heavy weight against your thigh that serves as a constant reminder of what will someday soon come. 

“Already crying just from my fingers,” Ao’nung teases but there is a tender fondness infused into his voice. “Sweet thing,” he whispers. 

You nod your head, although you’re not sure at what. Luckily this is taken as obedience and soon that submission is rewarded with mind numbing pleasure. Ao’nung works his fingers in and out of your pussy with the perfect undulations that have every nerve cell frying beyond repair. His thumbs traces teasing lines over your swollen lips and taps at your clit in random order until you can’t quite tell what is next. 

It feels like mere seconds before your voice is aching from the strain of your moans and blinding ecstasy is just within your reach. Reading your body signals like a language he has come to master, Ao’nung switches from teasing strokes at your clit to consistent swipes of his thumb that coordinate with that bundle of nerves being stroked from the inside as well. 

You fall apart for him without care. Blunt nails dug into his thick fingers and thighs trembling around his hips, release roars from every sensory point you can imagine. Sticky wetness pools between your thighs until it is coating your inner thighs. 

He rides you through it until sensitivity has you flinching. 

“Good girl,” he purrs into your splayed hair. Your head drops back to the floor with a sigh and only then do you notice that there is no longer a force holding your hands above you. They are nothing but limp limbs at this point. 

You look down to find his right hand now wrapped around his cock in efforts of subduing the ache there. With the way he twitches and his balls hang heavy beneath his length, you start to wonder how much of the substance on your thighs is not your own spend but instead his precum that has dribbled out. 

“Ao’nung,” you call softly. 

He beckons immediately with a forced grimace and sweet kiss to your lips. Your absence has given him withdrawals as well and it’s a marvel to see how he struggles to hold himself together when his body is begging to take things so much further. 

A thick forearm plants itself next to your head to support his upper body. 

“When we mate it will be done before the eye of Eywa. She will witness our bond and it will bring both of us nothing but great pleasure. It will be perfect. You understand this, don’t you?”

Your heart spasms. How foolish of you to think that Ao’nung would want anything less. Just as mating is stronger than the bonds of marriage, so too is its importance of presentation and atmosphere. There are logistics to figure out but beyond that, there is intention set behind where and how it is done. And if setting up that perfect moment is what Ao’nung desires, then that is what he will have. 

It’s endearing in a way that has your eyes prickling with tears again and wobbly hands pulling him down for another kiss.

Despite the way Ao’nung is borderline humping the ground beneath him, the kiss is not rushed. Sweet devotion sparks at every press of his lips and you return it in kind. 

“I understand.” 

He presses his forehead against your own and breathes through his nose. There is relief in your response but not enough to overshadow the contortions of ache that must be pulsing through his body. Still, something tells you that were you to tell him you’re tired now, he would tuck you into bed without complaint and go take care himself on his own. 

No matter how charming a show of devotion and love that would be, it's the last thing that you want. Luckily, your worn down body still seems to feel the same. 

“I just want to feel you,” His brow bones shift in confusion for a moment. When a small hand traces at his length his eyelids flutter closed. “In whatever way I can. Please?” 

Slowly, his eyes peel open to stare at you. 

“Is that what my yawne wants?” 

You nod and bite at your bottom lip. 

The promise sparks a new wave of energy in him. Already you can see the gears in his head turning, even so spot the light in his eyes when it lands on an idea that has his lips twitching. Something about that familiar confidence has your cheeks heating in turn. 

“Any way?” Ao’nung asks and that is really when you know this is the point of no return. Regardless, there is a thrill in the unknown. Besides, you’ve never been good at denying this man before and so the answer that leaves your lips is instant.

“Any way.” 

Praise falls from his lips without thought. How can it not when you are taking him like this? Those strange colored eyes hold a distant sparkle as little whimpers leave your throat. Ao’nung tightens his arms around your thighs that are pressed together against his chest and it sends a thrilling sensation around his cock nestled between them. 

He bites at the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood every time he feels the slick texture of your folds rub against the underside of his length. It is a blessing that you are dripping wet and have already soaked your inner thighs, making the slide of his cock back and forth against them a smooth, painless ride. On the other hand though, your scent permeates every puff of air he breathes and feeling the way you continue to drench his cock is testing every last fiber of control he has left. 

Truthfully, fucking your sweet thighs is equal part torture and pleasure when he knows that shifting his hips slightly to slip inside of you is not an option he can take. Even more so when you’ve already proven tonight that you would by no means stop him. 

Fuck, you begged for him! You were ready to wrestle a man twice your size to the ground and ride him if that’s what it took. And that conjured up something primal within him that Ao’nung was not ready to face tonight. 

At least one of you has to be the voice of reason and tonight that assignment seems to have fallen on him. It's a task not well suited to Ao’nung when the last week has already wound him so tight that he feels as if he is seconds away from exploding. 

And truthfully, that is how he knows this is not going to last long. Your plush thighs cushion him so perfectly and your skin feels like satin against his hard cock. Looking down, he finds that every forward thrust has his cock pressing past the seam of your thighs and creating a drag along your stomach. It creates a tantalizing demonstration of how deep his cock will reach inside of you, most likely it will create a visible bulge in your stomach. 

A growl rips from him and Ao’nung squints his eyes to concentrate. 

This line of thought is going to have him combusting far too soon and that won’t give him enough time to ring another orgasm from you. Sweet little thing that you are, you don’t expect another one but Ao’nung is greedy and wants to see you fall apart for him one more time tonight. Luckily he has found an angle that has the width of him splitting apart your pussy lips and rubbing at your clit perfectly. 

“Such a good girl, precious." He groans and you arch against him. “Letting your mate use your pretty thighs to get off. Always so good to me.” 

The fire in his lungs and fizzle of his empty brain may make it near impossible to speak, but Ao’nung can’t stop himself when every spew of honey coated praise is rewarded with another gush of sweet slick and that pretty little face scrunching in pleasure. He’ll talk himself raw if that continues to have you weeping for him so pretty. 

“Oh-oh fuck!” You jolt when one specific drag has your clit hood pulled back to leave your raw bundle of nerves exposed. Ao’nung prays to Eywa that you are close because he’s not sure how much longer he can last. 

“I will be good to you too, oeyӓ muntxate. I swear it.” Shifting your legs to be cradled in one of his thick arms, he takes his other hand to press against your stomach. “When I do take you, and take you I will yawne, I will fill you up so nice. You’ll feel my cum deep inside you right here.” He presses at the smooth flesh in emphasis and your eyes roll back. 

It’s hard to imagine that this is the same sweet tawtute that had been too shy to enter his marui without knocking a few months ago. Whatever creature that has awoken inside of you now is ravenous and Ao’nung is addicted to feeding it. He wants to see how far he can fan the flames of your desire. He will persist until slowly he has drawn out every one of your secret fantasies that you are too ashamed to think about, let alone express to anyone else.

That is more than fine by him. Those secrets should only be whispered to your mate, your husband. They belong to him just as you now do too. 

“Would that make you happy, sevin?” Your hair tangles against the floor as you nod back at him. “Your little pussy is crying for me, isn’t she?”

“Yes! Want-want you…want it so bad fuck please!” And what follows those delicious cries are words Ao’nung can’t even understand. At first he’s sure his brain has finally burnt out its last brain cell but then your babbling starts to sound familiar and he realizes it is because you are speaking a language he has never learned. He’s pushed you into babbling English nonsense and Ao’nung has never been more interested in learning the Sky Demon language than now. 

“I won’t stop until she has taken every inch of my cock. Until this pussy has memorized the shape of me and only me.” 

Your grasp at his bicep, finger curling over his arm band as you moan. 

There are going to be marks left behind on your thighs from the ridges and bumps of his length. A part of him almost feels bad for your sensitive clit that has taken such brunt stimulation from being rubbed against him for so long. But you’re close. He can see it in the way your chest gasps for air and your legs are shaking in his arms. Vowing to soothe your tired body later, Ao’nung kicks his hips into high gear. 

“Your body will know me from the inside out. It will crave me. Yearn for my touch, my scent, my seed in your sweet womb. And I will give it all to you, precious. Because finally,” Ao’nung exhales and curves his body down so your legs are sandwiched between your bodies. “Finally you will understand what it means to want someone as much as I want you. As much as I always have.” 

This new angle gives him less leverage to plunge his pelvis forward but the shift does wonders for you. Whether from his words or the sensation, he’s not sure, but your thighs clamp tighter around him and your body shakes with an orgasm so powerful it rips a scream from you. You are stunning. 

Sweaty and softy and pliant in his hold as you finally accept every sensation that ripples through you. And you are his. For now, in feeling, but soon you will be his in every way a person can belong to another. As mates, bound by their Great Mother above in a tie that can never be broken.

Ao’nung propels over the edge. His body moves by instinct alone with his hips stuttering forward in pure desperation. Tail curling along the ground and lips pulled back into a snarl, he releases all over your thighs and stomach. Ribbons of white shoot across your squishy flesh and Ao’nung feels as if he may never stop coming. Ecstasy shoots through him stronger than the waves of the sea. 

You drain him for all that he is worth, your mixed spends painting a beautiful scene across your poor little body. Ao’nung comes down from that high with a gasp and he barely remembers to support his weight with an arm when crashing down atop of you. 

After a long stretch of silence where both of you catch your breath, Ao’nung finally manages to find his voice again. “Precious?”

“m’happy,” you mumble lazily against his shoulder, already knowing what he is about to ask. It may not be a direct confirmation of your wellbeing but it is your own little way of letting him know you are alright. It oozes warmth into his chest. 

A tickling sensation draws at his back that he has come to associate with his silly tawtute. Sure enough, he looks back to find that you are clumsily tracing fingers down his spine and towards that tattoo at his left hip that you love so much. Barely conscious, your precision in following those dark lines is greatly lacking. 

Eventually Ao’nung conjures up the motivation to lift himself onto his knees and shift his weight off of you. He’s surprised to find a deep ache in his pelvis and legs. It creates a challenge when crossing the marui to wet a soft cloth for cleaning you up, but he manages. 

You’re fast asleep by the time he returns, sprawled out across the ground like a sweet offering. It’s a shame to wipe off the essence of him from your skin, especially when it has you masked in his scent from head to toe, but Ao’nung promised to take care of you. A pleased rumble escapes him when he brushes his nose along your throat to find that even with substance gone there is no mistaking the effects of his scent marking. 

You don’t even stir when Ao’nung carries you to the hammock and settles both of you in. For the first time ever, you don’t wake to demand your silly bunny. Ao’nung smirks at the toy in triumph before settling himself half sprawled across you. He makes sure to shift his weight in a way that won’t have you suffocating but also makes any sort of attempt to wiggle out from him near impossible.

You aren’t going anywhere. He knows that. 

Regardless, Ao’nung holds you tighter than he ever has before as he basks in the knowledge that you will soon be his forever.

I don't even know how to calculate how many hours I spent on this update! I need to learn some control but I think I'm happy with how it turned out in the end. If you like this, please share your thoughts! Interaction is what motivates writers and creates community on here<3

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Translations:

Yawne - Beloved

Tìyawn - Love

Tweng - Loincloth

Tawtute - Human

Kuru - Neural Queue

Tsaheylu - Bond, Neural Connection

Swoasey - kava bowl (constructed from seed pods, used for drinking intoxicating beverages)

Kaltxì - Hello

Pxir - Beer

Tsahìk - Spiritual Leader / Healer

Skxawng - Moron / Idiot

Iknimaya - Rite of Passage

Oel Ngati Kameie - I See You

Tanhì - Star

Muntxate - Wife, Female Spouse

Mawey - Calm

He’d only wanted to kiss you. To feel your soft lips pressed against his again. 

It had been so long since he’d gotten to feel them. The mask you have to wear is always a frustrating obstacle. He begs from time to time for you to pull it off, just for a moment, so he can press his warm lips to yours, taste your tongue on his just for a few blissful seconds before the lack of air catches up with you and you have to replace it.

You always say no, always push his hand away from where he has it cupped lovingly around the side of your head, but it never stops him from asking. 

You’re not wearing a mask now though. Instead, a long tube spans one side of your face, curling around your ear and stretching across your cheek before the very end of it forks off into your nostrils. At first glance he panicked, terrified of the thought of you out in the dangerous Pandora environment as a human without your only source of oxygen. It’s silly. He knows that you could have never made it to the village from the lab without some way of breathing. But he can’t help how he reacts, needing to be sure, needing to know that you’re okay. 

He’s at your side in an instant, kneeling in front of your tiny frame, large hands engulfing your head as his eyes searched your face in concern. You smack his hand away, answering his concerned questions of “Ma yawne, what is going on? Are you okay?” with a short “Fine. It’s the new tech the lab guys made,”

He calms, anxiety slipping from his body now that he knows you’re still safe. His eyes flicker over your face, a small smile pulling at his lips as he takes in all your beautiful features in front of him. You’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, he’s always thought that, ever since the very first moment he met you all those years ago. But now here, without the thick layer of glass covering your face, it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. 

“You’re so pretty, tìyawn,” He whispers, fingers unconsciously reaching out again to brush against your cheek. It’s finally accessible, bare and soft under his fingertips before the dull sting of another slap knocks his hand away. 

You don’t like public displays of affection. 

Or, at least, now you don’t. 

You used to not mind it. Back before that night in front of the fire, you would touch him all the time - sweet and gentle touches when you were talking, so tactile in your interactions with him. A quick squeeze to his knee whenever he was able to make you laugh, friendly half hugs as greetings that would make his heart pound in his chest every single time, your intoxicating scent filling his lungs and suffocating him in the best way. 

He’d keep his nose buried in your neck, breathing you in until you were all he could smell or think about for the rest of eternity if he could. 

He used to carry you places when you would tag along on fun adventures with him and his siblings. Excitement coursed through him every time you agreed to join them, tail swishing eagerly behind him because he knew that eventually you would get tired from walking and allow him to carry you on his back. You like to talk, prattling on about whatever was going on at the lab or a fun new piece of tech that Norm and the others were working on. Sometimes you’d talk about the current drama - someone said you talked too much, were too abrasive, but that you thought that they personally needed to grow a backbone. He’d listen to whatever you had to say - soaking up your voice like the most melodic song and committing every detail you provide him to memory. 

But your voice has a physical response on him. But the horrified looks his siblings would send him when they would see the tent in his tewng from where his hard cock had slipped out of its sheath was always well worth the embarrassment. The feeling of your soft skin on his - arms wrapping around his neck for balance, his hands completely engulfing your warm thighs from where they wrapped tightly around his torso as far as they could. He’s spent many nights imagining them wrapped around his waist from the front instead.

You didn’t mind public displays of affection when you drank an entire swoasey of pxir and danced in front of him by the fire. The celebration had wound down, the clan members satisfied in celebrating the induction of The People who had passed their Iknimaya just a few hours ago. Only a few younger adults who seemed to have the same idea as you remained now, each couple splintering off to different parts of the campground to get their much needed privacy. Even Lo’ak has moved away, enamored by the pretty girl sitting on his lap, uncaring about the way his hands slide down to cup her ass and pull her closer. 

The fading glow of yellows and oranges look amazing against your skin, the steady crackle of the fire like a song all on its own as your hips move to the music only your own head and nature provides. Neteyam’s eyes are wide, excitement coursing through his veins as he watches your hips sway. You sway too, your body a bit unsteady from the drink still in your hand, but mostly it's your hips - the sensual swish back and forth, beads from your tewng (a gift from Kiri he suspects) clank together against each other and your thighs. Your pretty thighs, so soft he wants to wrap his entire hand around them, spread them open for him and see you like he’s always dreamed of. You’d be so wet, so sticky and drenched for him that he’d be able to just slide right in. You were made for him. Made to take him. He’d fit between your thighs so perfectly despite your size difference, he knows he would. 

His breath catches in his throat when you dance closer, small body seductive in the way it calls to him with your movements. You toss the swoasey to the side, the little liquid that was left pouring out and soaking into the ground beside you. Your hands find their way to his bent knees, heat filled eyes never leaving his as you push his legs apart so you can stand between them, searing him with their intensity even from behind the glass of your mask.

Your hands slide up his legs, tiny fingers creeping up the insides of his thighs and he can’t help the audible gulp that escapes him when he feels his cock nudge against his already wet slit, threatening to poke out at any moment. 

Great Mother, you’re so gorgeous. The most beautiful woman Eywa has ever created. You must have been created by her - no other god or goddess or being could ever have made anything more perfect and irresistible than Eywa herself. 

Surely, the Great Mother has made you for him. Just for him. 

“Why so nervous, Teyam?” You giggle, leaning up as far as you can towards his face while still keeping your teasing hands on his thighs, dangerously close to the now bulging fabric. “Tawtute got your tongue?”

“I–um–” He chokes out. He can’t breath, can’t breath with you so fucking close to him. He wants you so badly, wants to touch you so badly he feels like he might die if he doesn’t.

And then you're turning in the cage of his open thighs, back pressing against his front as you grab his shaking hand. There’s a satisfied smirk on your face as you drag his arm around you, the large appendage spanning your entire chest as he sprawls his fingers out across your front. His fingertips automatically curl around the curve of your breast while his palm caresses the other through your beaded top, his body subconsciously reacting to your own guidance. 

His heart is pounding so hard he thinks it might explode in his chest, breathing labored as his hard cock digs into your back.

“You can touch me,” You whisper, but his ears flick at your words and catch them loud and clear. “Want you to play with me.”

“Ha-fuck,” He groans, mouth falling open in silent awe as your top shifts underneath his hand and his finger grazes your hard nipple. Without thinking his hand squeezes your chest, gently but firm enough for you to gasp as he greedily gropes both breasts at once. 

He can smell you now, the mind dizzying scent of your arousal filling the air around you both as you gasp and giggle excitedly at his sudden action, both of your tiny hands reaching up to grip at his big one as you press him tighter against you. 

“Come on, Teyam,” You moan, moan, and he’s not even touching you yet. You turn your head to look at him, craning your neck as you stare up at him with wide, lust filled eyes. “Have some fun with me.”

That night he spent with you under the hypnotic glow of the fire will be forever burned into his mind. Every detail, every moan, every sigh, every praise and whine and plea spilling from your lips as he made love to you for the very first time is kept under the sacred lock and key of his heart - a memory he saved with Eywa back at the Spirit Tree the morning after so that he would never have the possibility of forgetting. 

The memory of your gasp as he pushed you down, beads flying across the mossy ground as he tore your clothes off like an animal and how the roughness of it all made your arousal even stronger. His eyes greedy as they took in their fill of your beautiful body splayed out in front of him like a prize before he covered you with his own. Your fingers teased along his bullet wound scar, tracing the raised line with careful fingers, and he thinks that maybe your loving touch will be enough to fully heal it. 

The place between your thighs feels like home, your tiny pussy swallowing him up and holding him close like the most perfect combination of love and safety. Your voice ringing in his ears, sweet and sensual as you whimper and moan telling him faster, Teyam, fuck me harder, oh god, and he whines in return, cock throbbing and embarrassingly close to bursting so fast already, and sending up thanks and prayers to the Great Mother for granting him this amazing moment with you.

It’s the blending of two hearts, two souls made for each other and coming together as one in a bond so powerful that no one can ever break it. It doesn’t matter that you don’t have a kuru, Neteyam can feel you in himself anyway - can feel you wrapping your tiny fingers around his brain and heart and very being, solidifying your bond together without the need for tsaheylu. 

And when you pull your mask off, holding your breath as the hiss of air escapes from the broken seal around your face - he can’t breathe either. The feel of your lips on his, soft and demanding as you kiss him passionately as he fucks you on the forest floor, makes him see stars.

He’s not sure where the change of behavior came from. One day you were affectionate, touchy and giving with your love, surrounding him with your scent and embrace, pussy wrapped around his cock in a hug so tight he thought you might never let go. He wouldn’t mind that, being buried in your heat forever, warm and loved until the day he dies. But the next morning the walls came up, the attitude started, and when he had gone to greet you with a blinding smile and an adoring ‘kaltxì, yawne,’ on his lips as he bent to kiss your cheek, you pulled back and pressed a firm hand against his belly to push him away. 

He thought that your coldness was nerves, just a reaction a human might have to the new soul bond you’ve experienced. Humans don’t mate for life like the Na’vi do, but you’re special, you’re his, and Eywa has blessed your union and made it so even though it should not be possible. Maybe you just don’t know how to handle it. It’s okay, he can be the patient and supportive mate you need.

But the coldness and hostility doesn’t stop, the days go by and the passage of time doesn’t make you calm down. You don’t throw your arms around him like he wants you to, don’t say those three words he longs to hear fall from your lips said with all the love and trust that you have in your little tawtute body. 

Instead, there’s almost anger, a sudden indifference that he can’t seem to place. Had he done something wrong? He doesn’t think so. So, he tries to do the best he can, be the best mate he can be for you during your obvious time of struggle. He’s always there for you, will always be there for you, providing support and bringing you fresh meat, dicing up your favorite fruits and making you pretty jewelry that he knows will look so beautiful on you if you ever just wear it. 

You don’t. You toss the jewelry to the side like it's nothing, you let the food rot exactly where he’s left it.  

You’re not a Na’vi, you don’t understand the implication of your crassness towards his gifts. You don’t see how your refusals break his heart. It’s okay - you’ll learn. Humans are . . . unusual creatures. It will just take a bit more time for you to warm up to the ways of The People.

But his optimism stings with each slight, each indifference you show towards him. Great Mother, you’re so mean to him. Always trying to run from him when he grabs at you, ripping your hand away from his whenever he tries to hold it. You’ve been hiding from him, your trips into the village getting less and less frequent and you don’t let him in when he tries to come to the lab to visit you. 

“You don’t even like being here,” You say when he tries. And you’re right. The stuffiness of the lab makes him tense, and it feels like he can sometimes feel the energy from the machines pressing up against his body. But when he’s with you he doesn’t care. You’re the only thing that matters to him, and when he’s with you, it’s like everything else just falls away. 

The sting from your smack is still on his hand, but he shakes it off as he reaches out to caress your arm instead. “Ma yawne, are you hungry? You should come to my hut. I’ll cook you a fi–”

“No,” You interrupt, shrugging him off of your arm. “I’m not hungry.”

“Oh,” He breathes, disappointment burrowing in his chest but he tries not to let it show even as his fingers reach out to graze against your wrist. “Well then maybe we can go on a walk? There’s a lake not too far from here that I’ve been wanting to show you. It’s beautiful.” Beautiful like you. “I know you’ll love it.”

“No, Neteyam,” You say again, pulling your wrist from his wandering fingers and crossing your arms across your chest. “I’m busy.”

“What are you doing? Maybe I could–”

“No,”

The clipped word rings in his ears. No, no, no, always no. He’s your mate, you shouldn’t have to tell him no. Where you go, he goes. Where he goes, you go. Together. Simple as that. And yet it’s still always no, no, no. You’re turning away from him without another word, walking away with strides he thinks are way too quick for a human, and he can’t help but wonder where you’re heading to in such a rush. 

“Okay,” He calls out, desperate for the conversation not to be over but knowing it will just upset you if he follows you. “I’ll come see you later, tìyawn. I swear it!”

You don’t even look back.

He hasn’t seen you in nearly a week and his patience is running thin. 

Your absence is killing him. 

Where are you? Why won’t you see him? He knows you have to be suffering too without him. Mated pairs aren’t meant to be without each other for so long and he feels like he’s been apart from you for an eternity. 

You stopped coming to the village. He’s been looking, desperately hoping that he’ll see you among the multitude of faces he sees every day. He wants to hear your voice so badly, wants to pull you into his arms and hold you there, safe and loved, while the warmth of your skin soaks into his. 

He wants to push you down again, cover you with his body as he presses you into his sleeping mat - your sleeping mat. Both of yours, together, the way it should be as he plows into your swollen cunt. His hut should be covered in your scent by now, not an inch of it left without your mark on it. 

It’s not, and his understanding for your trouble adjusting to the bond is quickly dissipating. 

He’s tried to come see you at the lab multiple times. A lot. Every day. The lab guys turn him away.

She’s busy. She’s sleeping. She’s too tired. She’s not feeling too well. 

If you're not feeling well, he should be in there to heal you. Give you comfort when you're at your weakest and motivation to get better. So he can keep an eye on you and make sure you’re safe. If you’re tired, let him in so he can wrap his arms around you. His chest is sure to be a better pillow for you than any other one you would be laying on. He would be warm, chest moving with just the perfect amount of rise and fall to lull you into a restful sleep. Your beauty sleep - not that you need it. And if you’re busy . . . what’s the harm in him just being around you? He won’t bother you, but any time just existing in the same space as you is like a dream come true. 

He tries to be nice, tries to be a good person - these are his father’s friends, allies of the Omatikaya - and he’s never been one to act impulsively. But they are keeping you from him. You are his. His mate. 

By the looks on their faces, they know how lucky they are that they got away with only some vicious snarls and a pushed over lab desk. Keeping away someone’s mate should be punishable by death.

At least, that’s how Neteyam feels right about now.

He doesn’t like being angry, hates the disgusting feeling that he feels clawing relentlessly at his chest. But he’s frustrated and heartbroken at your self inflicted absence and the warriors he’s training are his unfortunate victims. He pushes them hard, way harder than he probably should. Two of them have already had to go see the Tsahìk for their injuries and most of them look just about ready to drop from exertion. The anger he lets out on them doesn’t seem to quell any of the feelings still boiling inside him.

But then he sees you and it’s like time stops. The anger and frustration flee his body in a rush of relief. You’re here. 

You’re hiding behind a tree just along the edge of the clearing. Why are you hiding? Maybe you’re trying to surprise him, stay out of sight until he’s done training so as to not distract him with your beauty. You would have. You’ve told him plenty of times that he has a staring problem. But he can’t help it. You’re just so breathtaking that he can’t help but want to stare at you all the time. You’re what he imagines Eywa incarnate to look like - a beauty so alluring and otherworldly that he just can’t bear to tear his eyes away. 

The training session is just about done. He releases a majority of the warriors for the day and there’s only a few stragglers that need a few minutes of one-on-one training before he can send them on their way too. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying to them, letting muscle memory and repetition help him drag these last few minutes along as quickly as possible before he’s able to run over to you. He’s already decided that he’s going to take you out tonight. A date night, just like his father and mother have. It’s a time where you both can get away from the hustle and bustle of village and lab life and just be with each other. You clearly need it and he’s so desperate to spend time with you that he’s just about ready to kidnap you from your duties just so he can get a moment of peace just to stare at your gorgeous, unmasked face more. 

Maybe do some other stuff too. Hopefully. 

His heart hasn’t been the only needy thing of his without you. 

The last warrior he’s with is really pushing his luck. How hard is it to switch a knife from a bladed upward position to a downward facing position with just one hand? It’s a simple wrist movement to perfect a move that might save your life one day and this skxawng keeps. dropping. the. knife. Neteyam’s seemingly endless patience is gone. He dismisses the warrior, words much too harsh to be considered professional but he doesn’t care. His mate is waiting for him and he doesn’t want to waste any more time. 

He turns back to head to where you are, a giddy smile pulling at his lips, mood immediately flipping at the thought of finally seeing you, talking to you, holding you. 

Except when he does it’s like he’s being doused with freezing water. 

Another one of his warrior trainees, Oäpon, is standing in front of you and Neteyam can see how he’s purposefully bulging his muscles a little more to make them seem bigger - an action male Na’vi do when trying to attract a mate. Neteyam wants to rip those muscles out of his worthless body. He should be disgusted with himself with how fast his hand twitches towards the knife on his hip, ready to give no thoughts and just act on his emotions. He’s not impulsive, he’s not. But for once in his life he feels like he might actually kill one of his own clan members. 

Would the Great Mother desert him if he did?

But you catch his attention again, the movement of your small step closer to the other man dragging his furious gaze back to you. Your gorgeous eyes aren’t on Neteyam like they should be, but instead on Oäpon in return. You’re smiling at him, grinning so wide that surely it's fake because you’ve never smiled at him like that before. Oäpon lifts his hand and there’s a deep purple flower between his fingers. The flower finds its way behind your ear and all Neteyam sees is red. 

He’s across the clearing in a second, roaring snarls ripping from his chest as he tears the flower from behind your ear. He can hear Oäpon start to talk, to question what the fuck he’s doing, but the other man’s words are cut off with a pained gasp as he’s kicked to the ground and then he’s shock silent, fear written all over his face as he stares in horror at his kuru and the knife held in Neteyam’s inescapable grip. 

“Don’t! Please, don’t,” Oäpon begs, voice shaking as he struggles to force the words out. “Great Mother, help! Please, don’t!”

“Neteyam, stop!” You yell, tiny fists beating at Netayam’s back, but he barely even feels them. 

“She is mine!” Neteyam growls. “Mine. My mate. You do not touch her!”

“I didn’t know,” Oäpon whimpers. “I didn’t know. Please! I swear!”

He wants to do it, wants to slice through the braid so badly. He doesn’t deserve to have it. Kurus are sacred, the ability to connect to Eywa and her creatures is sacred. Attempting to defile the bond between a mated pair is nearly unheard of. Your screams for him to stop are just making the desire worse. You’re protecting him?! Protecting the thing that was trying to . . . no. No, no, no. He deserves to have it cut off, deserves to die.

Oäpon should kiss his feet in thanks for the mercy Neteyam shows by releasing him. 

“I don’t ever want to see you near her again,” Neteyam shouts. Oäpon doesn’t respond, too busy scrambling away and darting across the clearing, but Neteyam knows he’s heard him. 

“You’re a monster!” You scream, another fist coming down to hit at his back. “How could you do that to him?”

Your hits don’t stop and even through his rage he’s trying to be gentle with you. He catches your flying fists in one of his hands, holding them tight as he crouches in front of you trying to get on your level.

“Ma yawne, did he hurt you?” 

Your eyes are wide as you stare at him in disbelief. “Did he hurt me? Are you kidding me?"

Neteyam’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“You fucking–” You screech, Neteyam’s ears pinning against his skull from the high pitched, angry sound. “You–you–I–ARGH!”

You're so frustrated, so upset you can’t even speak properly. Maybe you are hurt - Neteyam’s eyes scan your body for injury, eyes lingering on the area around your ear where the flower had been. The flower now lays forgotten at your feet, crushed and ruined from his angry grip, and Neteyam can’t find any source of injury that might be causing your upset.

“You don’t have to worry,” Neteyam says, cupping your cheek with his free hand. “He won’t bother you anymore, I swear it.”

You jerk away from his touch. “What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t understand what you mean. Nothing is wrong?”

“No,” You shake your head, wrists still trying to twist out of his grip. “No, there’s something wrong with you. Something is seriously wrong with you,”

“You are upset, tìyawn. Tell me what I can–”

“Don’t call me that!” You scream, nose scrunching with the effort. “Stop calling me that!”

“Oh,” Neteyam’s swishing tail droops in disappointment. “I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t know you didn’t like the name. I only meant to use it to show my love for you as my mate but I can–”

“We aren’t mates, Neteyam!” The words stab like a knife through his heart and his hand loosens around your wrists in shock enough for you to pull them out of his grasp. “We fucked once. A hookup, Neteyam. Sex, that’s it.”

“No,” He whispers. 

Why are you saying this? How could you say this? He was there! He remembers that night more clearly than any other day of his life. You love him. He feels it, feels it with every fiber of his being. You let him into your body, wrapped him tight inside you like a promise that you would never let him go - like he would never have to be alone ever again. You caressed his bullet scar, and he remembers the feel of your gentle fingers silently mourning for it and for all he’s had to suffer. He remembers thinking that being there with you in that moment was worth every other hardship he has to endure. He can take on anything with you at his side. 

“No,” He says again, disbelief coloring his tone. “How can you say that? We are mates! You’re mine!”

“No, we aren’t,”

“We are! I love you, y/n! Oel ngati kam–”

“We are not mated, Neteyam! We fucked. Mindless, hot, means-to-an-end-to-get-off sex. That’s it! Get that through your thick skull,”

He’s watching you as if in slow motion. You turn, stomping away from him as you start to head back into the forest and his brain feels like it’s going a million miles an hour. You’re mates. You are. You have to be - there’s no other way to explain the way he feels about you. The love and utter devotion he has for you. The need to be near you always - looking in your eyes, touching your skin, hearing your voice and the way you’ve always sounded so sweet saying his name. Eywa has blessed your union and he doesn't understand why you don’t feel the same way. Can’t you feel the same inescapable pull that he does? How your soul is tied to his in a way that surpasses even that of tsaheylu?

He reaches out to grab you before you get too far, fingers wrapping around your upper arm. Your own arm flies out around you and the sharp sound echoes through the forest and his sensitive ears before the pain registers on his cheek. 

He’s never seen your eyes so wide before, crazed and panicked as you stare back into his equally shocked amber ones. Your hand is shaking, still raised in the follow through of the slap. The force of your smack is still heating up his cheek, and if he can feel it as much as he is now, he’s sure your hand is probably tingling. 

Any other time he would check you for injuries. You’re so much more fragile than him - you could really hurt yourself if you’re not careful. But you just hit him. Your mate. The man that loves you more than anything. He’s frozen, body cold and not knowing how to react. 

Don’t call me that.

Anger floods through him again. This was Oäpon’s fault. He tricked you, seduced you somehow - out from right under Neteyam’s nose. He should have killed him. 

We are not mated.

You rip your arm out of his grip, wide eyes locked on him as he straightens his body, unfurling out of his crouched position as he rises to his full height. The shadow his body creates over you sends something primal through him. The darkened image of him completely overtaking your tiny figure makes him hungry. Possessive. 

Just sex, Neteyam. That’s it.

He won’t let that worthless skxawng corrupt you anymore. You’re the love of his life, his tanhì. You’re just confused. You’re not thinking clearly. 

You don’t mean it. 

He feels like if he concentrates hard enough, he can hear the sound of your heart racing. Or maybe it's his own, the frantic thump thump thump thump thump of his heart pumping rushing blood into his ears and making him feel like there’s static in his brain. 

When you turn to run, he’s not even shocked. His pupils dilate until there’s barely any color left, predatory gaze marked onto your back as you sprint into the dense Pandoran forest. Everything is so clear to him now. You’re testing him, wanting to see how loyal he is and how far he’ll go to keep you. You’re a beautiful woman, of course you’d have options. But you chose him for a reason, and now you want him to chase you - to prove himself a strong and worthy mate.

You want to play hard to get? Fine. He’ll play. 

He’s a natural hunter, an apex predator - and you, tiny human, have just become his prey. 

It might be fun to hunt you again - sometime in the future when this is all behind you. He’d be sure to make it as fair for you as possible: give you a head start, maybe allow you to rub some mud on your skin to hide your scent just to drag out the game a little longer, give you ample time and resources to find a good hiding spot where you can sit and try to listen with your not that great human hearing for any sign that he’s creeping up on your position. He’d wrap his arms around your waist when he inevitably finds you, smug grin tugging at his lips when your giggled shrieks pierce his eardrums as he pulls you from your oh so clever hiding spot. And then, he’d claim his prize, tearing your clothes from your body right there wherever he found you and fucking you until your giggly shrieking turns into blissful moaning. 

This isn’t fun. It’s not a game. And your headstart is dwindling rapidly. You’re racing through the forest, running as fast as your feet will carry you. He can hear your heavy breaths, the sound of the ground crunching under your clumsy feet. He can smell you, the scent you’re leaving behind in your rush is a direct trail back to you for him to follow. 

He doesn’t need it. He never lost sight of you. 

One of his strides equal close to four of yours, and he covers ground quickly as he closes in on you. He catches you only a little further into the forest than where the chase started and you scream as he tackles you to the ground, the force of his momentum completely knocking you both off your feet. He doesn’t let you touch the ground on the fall, twisting his body enough to take the brunt of the impact. The action still leaves you breathless, dazed for a moment before seeming to come back to yourself and struggling to get off from on top of him.

His hold around your waist is secure and he uses the anchor he has around your waist to throw you on to the ground beside him before climbing on top of you and pinning both of your hands above your head with one of his. 

“Get off me!” You scream, body struggling underneath him, hands pulling in his unrelenting grip as you try to get free, but you can barely move under his weight. “Get off me, Neteyam! Get off, get off, get o–”

His free hand latches around your throat, your words dying on your tongue as his fingers dig into the sides of your neck. 

“Quiet!” He hisses, baring his fangs. “Be quiet!”

The aggressive display makes a small whimper rip from your throat and he can feel the vibrations tickle under his palm. You’re not quiet though, you never stay quiet - ever the talker that you are. You’d talk his ear off if you could. The only time you’ve ever stayed quiet is when you avoided him, and he refuses to let that happen again. 

“Neteyam, please,” You whisper, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re scaring me. Let’s just relax and talk about thi–”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” He growls. “You’ve said enough already, don’t you think?”

He releases your hands, grip on your throat loosening and moving down slightly until it's just a singular hand pressed against your chest to keep you pinned. Your hands immediately latch onto the large hand, one of your own clutching the back while the other curls around one of his long fingers. He feels how you pull at it, trying to get it off of you - and he knows how much harder you could be trying right now if you wanted to. 

He lowers his face to yours, inches away so that his breath fans across your skin as he speaks. “You like to talk, but you don’t like words. You’ve made that clear. My words mean nothing to you.” He can feel how your quick breathing puffs against his face too, the warm air caressing his cheeks. “You need actions - a visual representation of my devotion to you. I see that now.”

In a flash, his hands are balling into her t-shirt, pulling roughly in either direction and the thin material gives easily under the pressure. You gasp as he rips your shirt down the middle, the torn fabric falling on either side of your body as he does the same with your bra with a quick snap of his wrist. 

“What are you doing?!” You shout, but you can’t fool him now. He’s grown tired of your games and your body can’t lie to him. 

“Don’t worry, yawne. I’ll give you what you need,”

The sound of ripping material echoes through the otherwise peaceful forest. Your shorts require just a bit more force to tear, but it’s barely a percentage of his full strength so the fabric comes apart at the seams easily leaving the ruined bottoms still around your waist and thighs, but a large opening right at your center. A rumble of satisfaction builds in his chest when he smells you, the first scent of your arousal permeating the air around you. You gasp when he rips your panties too, leaving nothing left of the light blue material but the thin elastic around your limbs and hips. 

His mouth waters at the sight of your pretty pussy, bare and tempting and already getting so wet for him. 

“Fuck,” You whimper, arms splayed out beside you, fingers gripping into the moss covered ground. 

“You like it when I’m rough, huh?” Neteyam teases. “When I’m demanding and just take what I want from you?”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the way he can see your pussy’s responding clench is damning to your denial. 

“I remember now,” Neteyam’s hand slides down your thigh and caresses your calf, long fingers wrapping around your leg as he presses a nipping kiss to your ankle just above your sock. “You loved how I shoved you down on the ground that night. It made you gush in your pretty little tewng, didn’t it?”

“S-shut up,”

“Hm, my muntxate likes being handled roughly, doesn’t she?”

Your response is a shocked squeal when he snatches your hips, hauling you up off the forest floor, the quick snapping of moss ripping from the ground as you’re abruptly pulled upwards. Your entire world is turned upside down as Neteyam dangles you like prey in front of him. He throws your legs over his shoulders and wraps a secure arm around your stomach to hold your lower back to his chest. The other hand holds onto your thigh to make sure to keep you spread before him as if you had any chance to wiggle away. 

A choked sob rips from your throat as your hands reach for the ground, blood rushing to your head as your fingers stretch as far as they can trying to get leverage and hold yourself up. Your fingertips only just barely graze the soft green. 

Neteyam groans as he enjoys the sight right in front of his face. You’re spread open for him, pussy perfectly framed by the destroyed fabric - dripping and glistening in want against the dimming sunlight despite yourself. He can see how you subconsciously contract and clench it, hole practically begging him to fill it with his tongue. He wants to bury his face in it, suffocate on your smell and taste until it’s all he can think about. 

So he does. 

He digs his face between your legs, tongue lapping at your folds like a man starved. He is. He didn’t get to do this your first time. It was too fast, too desperate. He couldn’t control himself with you. Everything about you calls to him like a siren, luring him in with your beauty and light. You dragged him down on top of you that night. You were already open, you told him - had fucked yourself with that fake cock he had found hidden in your drawers during an impromptu hangout in your bedroom at the lab. You still felt suffocatingly tight when he pushed in, but he had been grateful that he didn’t have to wait.

He had waited so long for the chance to be inside you that he felt like if he had waited another second without you he would have exploded. 

Your back arches as he licks up your slit, moaning loudly as his textured tongue slides across your clit. 

“Oh my god,” You gasp out, hands forgoing reaching for the ground and finding purchase on his thighs instead. “Neteyam, f-fuck,”

He hums in response, his tongue targeting the sensitive bundle of nerves, sliding and flicking relentlessly against the small bud as your moans and gasps get louder and louder. Your sounds are driving him crazy, the taste of you on his tongue setting every one of his nerves on fire. His cock is already hard, already working its way past his wet slit and tenting in his tewng. You taste so good, so perfect for him. He wonders what it feels like for you, how good it must feel for you to be writhing in his grip now, so vocal for him in your pleasure that your voice is already starting to sound a bit raspy from use. He bets his tongue feels better than any other man you’ve ever tried, the texture of it foreign and unique and unlike anything else you’ve ever had before. 

It will be the same way for him too, he’s sure. He’s dreamed about it, fantasized and jerked off to the thought of your tongue, soft and silky, running up and down his cock. You’d torture him with it, be teasing and delicate in your licks, alternating between those featherlight, barely there teases against his lavender tip and firmer strokes down the base of his cock. 

Your nails are digging into the meat of his thighs as he wraps his lips around your clit, panting breaths telling him yes, right there, Teyam, fuck, fuck, yes as your hips try to hump against his face. You’re right there, right on the edge, ready to fall over it with just a little bit more.

But he stops, reveling in your frustrated groan as he pulls his mouth away from your soaked core. His intense golden eyes meet yours when your head forces its way up, raspy voice whining a desperate ‘why’ as you feel your orgasm slipping away from you. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” He demands. He needs to hear you say it. 

“Teyam…” 

He can’t bear to hear you deny him again. Can’t handle hearing you say the words that make him feel like his heart has been dunked in acid.

His lips latch onto your clit again, sucking harshly at the tiny bud and your words cut off with a gasp. He works you back up, your head falling back as he nips at your clit with his sharp teeth before licking down your slit to circle your entrance. You’re so tight, so so so tight around his tongue as he pushes it in. You clench around the wet muscle and then somehow clench even tighter when the hand gripping your thigh reaches over to rub firm circles on your clit.

“Teyam, oh god, Neteyam, please!” You beg, thighs squeezing his head as they try to force themselves closed. “I’m gonna cum. Please,”

You wail as he pulls his mouth away again, your hole clenching around nothing as your orgasm dissipates again. 

“Say it,” He feels your whole body shiver as his words breathe hot air on your sensitive cunt. “You’re mine. Say it, y/n,”

You sob, frustration evident in every sound and twitch your body makes. You’re trying to lift your head again, looking up at him from your spot dangling below him like a puppet, and he wonders if all the blood rushing to your head from being upside down for so long is getting to you. 

“Say it,” He repeats and then digs back in, the flat of his tongue roughly swiping over your clit before latching onto it again.

Your legs kick as he works you up again, overstimulated pussy throbbing as he plays you like an instrument he’s known for years. His cock is throbbing too, desperate to be released from the confines of his tewng and shown some attention. He wants so badly to push inside your soaking hole and feel how it’ll grip his cock within its slick walls. 

“Neteyam, please!” You cry, and he knows you’re so close, right there again as he hurdles you back towards that just out of reach edge. He doesn’t stop the suction of his mouth. You’ll say it, he knows you will. You’ll say it because if you don’t, you won’t get to cum. He’ll keep you here, upside down in his unrelenting hold until you pass out from exhaustion before he’s going to let you go without saying it. 

You’re a stubborn brat. He can see as he looks down your hanging body that you’re biting your lip. You want to say it - you’re just being stubborn. He sucks harder on the swollen bud, free hand smacking your hip and your asscheek just hard enough to make you cry and gush further on his tongue, the remaining remnants of your clothes doing very little to muffle the sting. 

“Okay!” You yell. “Okay, okay, Neteyam! I’ll say it! I’m yours! Please, please let me cum!”

The words make Neteyam’s chest tighten. Finally. Finally, you’ve admitted it, and the excitement from the admission urges him to lick you faster. He’s sloppy and greedy as he eats you out, overeager and face wet to the point of dripping as he devours you for all you have. You cum on his tongue with a choked scream, hands reaching up to grab desperately at his arm encircling your waist, nails digging into the cerulean flesh as your back arches and your thighs clench tightly around his head. 

He swallows everything you offer him, lapping up your juices like his favorite most treasured treat, before placing a protective hand on your back to steady you as he lowers you back down to safety.

“Mawey, yawne,” Neteyam coos, gently brushing away a few rogue pieces of moss stuck to your sweaty forehead. You’re still panting, exhaustion creeping over you as your eyes glaze over and threaten to close. The oxygen tube had unhooked from around your ear at some point during your experience upside down. Neteyam guides it back around your ear with careful fingers. “You’ve been such a good girl for me. Keep being a good girl while I fuck you, yes?”

Your eyes widen at the mention of fucking, shaking your head slightly even as the full bodied shivers of the orgasm’s aftershocks continue to wrack your body. “N-no, Teyam. C-can’t take i-it.”

Neteyam smiles, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss against your lips. The feel of your lips on his is almost enough to make him cum. He’s so worked up already, so high off the taste of your cunt on his tongue that all it takes is the loving press of your lips on his and he’s a second away from exploding in his tewng and ruining the fun. 

“Yes, you can,” He says against your lips, his sharp teeth digging into your plush bottom lip just to hear you whine. 

Last time he fucked you, he took you from the front. It was love making, a bonding of two souls coming together as one - a spiritual experience filled with panting breaths, eye contact, and the passionate coupling that comes with mating with the one your heart belongs to. 

You don’t deserve that right now, not with the way you’ve hurt him - made him work for the love that should have been given freely. The things you said can’t just be forgotten. You need him to prove his worthiness to you? Prove his loyalty? Then fine, he’ll do that by giving you exactly what you deserve.

You yelp when he flips you over on your stomach, large hands grabbing your hips and hauling them up so your ass is in the air and on display for him. The remaining fabric of your shorts still cover nearly half of your ass, but the little coverage does nothing to diminish the amazing view. You try to push yourself up with your arms, but Neteyam is quick to shove you back down with a hand on the back of your neck. 

“No, no, tìyawn,” He says, running a large hand over your exposed ass, his fingers teasing along the creamy slit of your pussy. “You said you’re mine, so let me see what’s mine.”

His teasing fingers find your hole and his teeth dig into his lower lip when he sees your thigh start trembling as he circles your entrance with the pad of his finger. You like it rough, he has to remind himself. You’re a human, so delicate compared to him that he naturally wants to be gentle with you. But that got him nowhere, it got him ignored. You respond to roughness, passion, him taking charge - so he doesn’t give you any warning before he’s plunging two long fingers inside you all the way to the knuckle.

You scream, slick walls squeezing around his fingers, your own hands once again ripping at the moss below you. The scream is agonized, oversensitive and pained from your earlier edging and orgasm. Your thighs are shaking, desperate sobs erupting from your throat. But the way you’re pushing back against him, rocking back against his invading fingers trying to get them deeper inside you tell him everything he needs to know. 

“Look at you,” He coos. His fingers start up a steady rhythm, thrusting inside you with purpose as he stretches you open. “Such a little whore for me, aren’t you?”

Your moans are muffled against the ground, cheek pressed firmly against the moss from his hand pinning you down by his neck. You ignore his question, too lost in trying to push back against his hand and make him fuck you faster - so he rips his fingers from your gripping cunt, drops of your wetness flying from the force of his retreat, and his large hand lands harshly on your backside. 

You howl at the smack, the sound of the slap against direct skin this time cracks through the forest like a gunshot. 

“I asked if you’re my whore,” Neteyam repeats. It’s not as romantic as ‘I’m yours’, but still just as important. 

“Yes, Teyam,” You whine. “I’m your whore.”

“Just for me, right? Only my whore,” Silence again, but your hips are still wiggling and searching for his fingers, so he rewards your silence with another sharp smack. “Say it, yawne,”

“Fuck!” You cry, ass feeling like it's on fire even as more of your slick drips down your thighs. “Yes, yes! Only for you, Teyam. Only for you,”

“Good girl,” Neteyam purrs, and you’re rewarded this time with his fingers sliding back inside your aching pussy. 

He stretches you out on those two fingers, alternating between scissoring them inside you and curling them to rub at that special spongy spot that makes you squeal and see stars. He contemplates adding a third, but decides that he wants to finish stretching you out on his cock instead. 

This time when you cum, it's less of a scream and more of a deep guttural groan that comes from deep inside you. It’s wetter than he expects it to be when you squeeze around his fingers, and the sight of your slick dripping from your mound onto the forest floor beneath you makes him feel absolutely feral. 

He lets go of the back of your neck and pulls his fingers from your abused cunt. The wet fingers work frantically at the knots on his tewng and he feels like he can’t get the fucking thing off fast enough. When the knots come undone and the tan material flutters to the ground, he breathes a sigh of relief, thick needy cock springing from its confines to slap against his belly. 

When he focuses back on you, your exhausted body is already trying to curl in a ball, eyes threatening to close as sleep calls to you. No, Neteyam thinks. He’s not done with you yet.

He flips you back on your stomach, pulling your hips back up high so they’re flush with his. You both groan as he rubs his hard cock between your folds, the tip nudging at your swollen clit. Fuck, you feel so good, pussy feeling like silk against his aching length. His eyes are locked onto where he’s lining his head with your entrance, watching in awe as he nudges himself forward, your greedy hole welcoming him in like you’ve been doing this forever. He can’t control his sounds, grunts and moans of pleasure echoing loudly through the trees as he sinks himself inside your slick walls. You’re so tight, even with the amount he’s stretched you out already you’re still so tight. But you stretch around him like you were made for him, made to take his cock into your depths - like your insides already know the exact shape of him and welcome him back into their warm embrace.

You whimper as he fills you up, back arching and hands clawing at the ground like you’re both trying to get away from him and closer to him at the same time. 

“I fucked you so good, didn’t I?” He gunts, pulling halfway out of your gripping pussy before slamming back in, relishing in the tortured moan it pulls from you. “That night by the fire. Made you cum so many times, over and over again until you were so cock drunk you couldn’t speak.”

He pulls out again, just a little further this time before thrusting back in. He does it again, and again, the rhythm hard and unforgiving and he pulls your hips closer to his. In the back of his mind he fears that he’s being too mean, too rough, but your gasping hiccups and blissed out sighs contain any worry. This is as much for him as it is for you anyway. He’s allowed to be selfish. 

“You’re always so talkative,” He pants. “Where’s that pretty voice now, huh? You were so talkative that night, just endless pleas of my name falling from your gorgeous lips. Like music to my ears. I wanna hear it again. Please, yawne?”

“Mmh, please,” You whine. “Please, Teyam,”

“Please what?”

“Faster,” You beg. “Fuck me faster,”

Who is he to deny such a sweet and pretty thing?

He leans forward, body curling over yours to cover you completely, one of his hands grabbing yours and linking your fingers together as he presses them both against the ground. His other hand is still on your hip, using it as leverage as he fucks your puffy pussy faster, the tip of his cock barreling against your cervix with each snap of his hips. 

He can feel the knot on the base of his cock swelling, the large ball of tissue nudging at your entrance with each thrust. The instinct driven part of him urges him to push harder against you, to force the knot against your tight hole to see if it will fit. 

He didn’t knot you that night, not wanting to risk hurting you or getting you pregnant so fast with such a new relationship. He came inside you with his fist wrapped tightly around his knot instead. Na’vi bonds are forever. Human bonds . . . now he’s not so sure. He’s not willing to risk it anymore. He’s going to bond with you in every way he knows how. 

When he feels his orgasm creep up his spine, he lets instinct take over. His grip on your hip tightens, thrusts halting as he presses the enlarged ball against your soaked entrance. 

You gasp, whimpering as his knot stretches you more. “Oh god, wait, wait,”

But it's too late. With another determined shove, the knot pops inside you and he has you trapped, locked on his cock until time decides to free you. 

“Neteyam, i-it’s too b-big,” You whine, shock evident in your voice. “Hmh, so full,”

Neteyam plants soothing kisses on the back of your head and neck, the hand on your hip smoothing around your belly to caress the large bulge of the outline of his cock in your stomach. “I know, tìyawn. I know. It’s so much, but you’re doing so well. Just a little more for me, okay?”

He can’t thrust now, can't even so much as pull out an inch now that he’s locked inside you. So, he makes you do the work. He keeps one hand on the bulge in your tummy, the other hand coming down to rub relentlessly at your throbbing clit. The stimulation makes you keen, pussy clenching and tightening around him and working his aching length with your wet walls. 

His fingers on your clit are your undoing. He barely hears any noise from you as your orgasm hits, but this time he’s able to see the side of your face as you come undone. Your eyes roll back into your head, mouth opening in a silent scream, but it's like all the breath has been stolen from your lungs. Your body tenses, muscles shaking through the overwhelming pleasure, and he feels as much as he hears how you gush and squirt all over his teasing digits and the ground below you. 

He moans at the sight, the feel of your pussy clenching around his length and the wetness from your orgasm on his fingers and cock makes him tip over the edge. His orgasm crashes through him, tearing him apart as he spills himself inside you. His cum paints your walls, and his knot makes sure to keep every single drop of it inside you. 

Neteyam collapses next to you, shaking as the aftershocks roll through him, and pulls your limp body safely against his. It will be at least an hour before the knot’s swelling goes down enough before he’s able to slip out. You let out a moan of pain as the knot pulls at your entrance as he adjusts you, but he sushes you.

“Relax, ma yawne. I’ll take care of you.” He coos. “Oel ngati kameie,”

You don’t say it back. You don’t even hear him, already dead to the world as your exhaustion finally catches up with you. 

It’s okay. He knows in his heart that one day soon, you’ll say it back.

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He told you he would be gone for a while. A mission in upper Kyoto that took him away from your arms while you stayed safe in Tokyo. He assured you that he would be fine and return to you as soon as possible. If you were a fool, you might’ve taken those to heart and swooned under the pretense of love. But you knew better.

Before Todoroki Shoto came Pro Hero Shoto. You would be a fool to think he would pick the first before the other. You would be a fool to think that you, a citizen with no name, could ever stand by his side. In your eyes, Shoto put his work before himself. Admirable, strong, ever-the-reliable Pro Hero Shoto. The nights he spent with you as just Shoto made you wonder who else got to see his true self.

The second month of his absence came, and you were sick. An illness had overtaken you, leaving you bedridden for days on end. At first, it had just been nausea. You put it off as motion sickness — you often had to take the train to and from anywhere. Perhaps your stomach had simply met its limit and was taking it out on you with lashes of sickness and vomiting.

After a week of being washed away in your bile, you realized that you had yet to bleed that month. Rather, you realized you hadn’t had your monthly bleeding for a while. You weren’t stupid. You knew what it all meant, and you knew the consequences of your actions had finally caught up to you. You hid away from the world, only leaving to purchase tests from the store.

The answers mocked you. PREGNANT. TWO MONTHS+.

You considered getting rid of it. To keep it your dirty little secret. Shoto would never have to know — no one would ever have to know. But as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, your hand resting atop your stomach, you felt at peace for once. As if you finally had a reason to keep going.

Five months had passed since he was gone, and you felt it now more than ever. You never explained to any of your friends or neighbours who was responsible for the swelling of your tummy, nor about the packages of furniture fit for a nursery that showed up on your doorstep. They never asked. No one knew your trysts with Shoto, and you planned to keep it that way.

For his sake.

You wished. You desperately wished that he could stay by your side, that he could support you through this time of anxiety and worry. You daydreamed of welcoming him home, your little bundle of joy wrapped in your arms as you kissed Shoto on the cheek — a reward for working hard as he always did. You thought about spending more than just nights of pleasure with the two-toned man, about wearing his ring and raising your beloved child together.

As a family.

Thirteen months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Thirteen long, gruelling, and lonely months were spent mourning his absence, even though he was still alive somewhere. It felt like the clouds that followed you for weeks parted only when your son was born. He looked like you. He had your nose and your eyes. He had the same rounded cheeks you still adorn, even well into adulthood. His voice was like bells on a clear sunny day, and when he lay in your arms, you declared that you would love him for all you were worth.

Even if the tuft of red and white on his head brought you immense heartache.

A selfish part of you wished that nothing of your son, whom you’ve named Yami, would resemble his father. That way, you could truly hide his origins — your past that you refused to uncover. But the bigger part of you was overjoyed. The moment you laid eyes on his hair, matted down with blood and amniotic fluid, you sobbed uncontrollably. The nurses and midwife recognized the two-toned hair immediately and watched you with pitiful eyes as you clutched Yami to your chest.

You moved away the second you were discharged from the hospital, baby carrier in tow. You wished your neighbours well and thanked them for being so kind to you in the years you lived among them. You were gone within that same week.

You lived peacefully in your new home, tucked away in the countryside of southern Japan. You opted to stay away from TVs and the internet, worried that seeing his face might make you regret the rash decision to pick up and leave. Yami was growing quickly, already large for a four-month-old. His hair grew out, more red than white. 

You didn’t know if Shoto had made it back from his mission. If he did, you weren’t sure how long he had been back or whether he had sustained any injuries. You didn’t know if he went to your apartment to search for his fantasy. You didn’t know if he thought of you at all.

You didn’t know if he was alive.

The longer you spent away from the man, the more your heart yearned for him. Whenever Yami would quiet down for his nap, you stared out the window at the acres of empty farmland. In the vastness of space, you could only think of him. The man who had taken your heart from the tender age of fifteen. The man who possessed your life in his hands, though your essence seemed invisible to those blue and grey eyes. 

The fool in you wondered if he ever had feelings for you — if he ever burned for you the way you did for him. 

You felt like a dessert. Scorched inside and empty. Golden sands represented him—burning to the touch and yet all-encompassing. Even without him by your side, he was always there. He surrounded you, dragging you in, and you let him.

Yami’s babbling would always break you out of your reverie, the pangs of guilt and sorrow gnawing away at your still-beating heart. The routine remained the same, day after day. After he woke up from his nap with an incoherent cry for his mother, you would settle him onto your lap and cry. You sobbed into his soft tufts of hair, apologizing for taking him away from his father, for hiding him away from the world just because you were a coward.

Yami was your darkness. He was your uncovered secret. 

Two years and two months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Yami was seventeen months old and starting to look more and more like his father. He took his first steps earlier than any parenting book had told you he would, and it wasn’t long after when he said his first word. It seemed the world was against you, and the universe was punishing you for keeping Yami away. You broke down for the first time in a while when that first word hit your ears.

“Da… Dada…”

You weren’t alone in your silent, unspoken wishes to be at Shoto’s side. Poor Yami, who had never met his father, spoke Shoto into existence with that one word.

“My baby,” you sobbed, hugging Yami tightly to you as he babbled, repeating those two syllables over and over. “My poor baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Mommy’s so sorry, my baby…” You rocked back and forth, crying endlessly. Yami’s hands grasped at your clothes, hair, and face. His little round features twisted into a grimacing cry as he watched tears pour from your tired eyes for a reason he didn’t yet understand.

The day he spoke his first word was when you showed him a picture of his father for the first time. Recognition flashed behind rounded eyes, recognition for a man he’d never met.

While you were grocery shopping — Yami balanced on your hip, a paper bag full of produce in the other arm — you heard Shoto’s name.

“Didn’t you hear? Pro Hero Shoto is here! In town!”

“Isn’t that weird? Why would such a hotshot be here, of all places? We aren’t even on most maps…”

“Who cares?! Do ya think I can get an autograph?”

You break out into a run without paying attention to the rest of the conversation. You hold Yami to your chest, supporting his head as you run with all your might. The paper bag of fruit and vegetables lay forgotten behind you, surely to be crushed by any passing vehicles. You run until you can’t run anymore, chest heaving in exhaustion. Using your object manipulation quirk, you open the front door to your house without taking your hands off Yami.

You whisper sweetings into his ear, telling him everything would be okay. Maybe you were telling yourself.

Not long after you returned home, the door rattled with a gentle knock. The very door you locked moments ago. You hold your breath, not wanting to see anyone. You didn’t want to see him.

Your name was spoken in that soft voice you missed so much. Before you could stop him, Yami started sobbing, his high-pitched cries alerting the person outside that you were there. You shush Yami desperately, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to calm him down. You kiss his forehead, silently begging him to stop crying.

Your name was called out again, this time panicked and louder. Yami’s cries increase in volume, and you feel your eyes water all the same.

The door hinges begin to frost over, and it’s knocked down in seconds. The loud noise scares your son, causing him to sob uncontrollably as he grasps painfully at your hair. You hide him behind you as you face the intruder head-on. Without blinking an eye, you use your quirk to lift the door off the ground, pushing it against the intruder, hoping to push him out completely.

The door is pushed away easily. After all, you are no match for Pro Hero Shoto.

He has gotten larger in the twenty-six months since you last saw him. His shoulders grew broader, his hero uniform barely hiding the dense but lean muscle that hid beneath it. His hair was longer, falling into his eyes as if he didn’t have time to take care of it. The man in front of you looks different from the man you knew, but it is undoubtedly him.

He breathes out your name, steam rolling off his left side and icicles glistening atop his skin on his right. He steps over the forgotten door, into your house, and into your safe haven, large and commanding of your attention. You try to make yourself bigger, to hide Yami from his eyes, and perhaps to hide your shame as you stare at the father of your child.

“I looked for you everywhere,” he gravels, his voice deep and crackling with emotion. “I came home, and you were gone. Do you have any idea how fucking scary that was?! No one knew where you were, and your apartment was empty. I didn’t know if you were safe, I didn’t know if you were alone…” Shoto steps closer to you, anger seeping into his expression. “For fuck’s sake, I didn’t know if you were alive!”

Your heart hammers in your chest as he grows closer, his fists clenching angrily by his side. His eyes search you desperately, searching for any sign of injury or abuse. They trace over your wrists and ankles, perhaps looking for signs that you were held here not on your own will, that you didn’t leave him just because you wanted to.

You pick your brain for the right words to say. You have thought about this day for years, and now that he’s in front of you, you don’t know what to think. Your mind is a mess of shame and joy, your heart struggling in a fight against itself. Analyzing him, your eyes rake over his body. There were a few more scars you don’t remember, some fine lines on his face that weren’t there before, but it was him.

As your brain wraps around the fact that Shoto was really there after over two years, Shoto collapses to his knees in front of you. He all but crawls over to you as he shoves his face into your thighs. Hot, stinging tears hit your skin as he cries into your lap, his hands reaching to hold you. Large, calloused fingers grasped at your thighs, pulling you closer to him.

“I was so scared,” he admits, his body shaking as he cries silently. “I thought… I thought a villain had taken you.”

Your hands hover behind you, keeping Yami hidden. His cries have thankfully subsided the second Shoto entered the room, but you weren’t sure for how long that would last. You can feel him grabbing at your shirt, trying to peek around you. Resisting the urge to wipe away Shoto’s tears, you grip onto your son tightly.

“How did you know I was here?” You lick your dry lips, wincing at how raspy your voice is. The first words spoken to this man in over two years are painted over with wariness and caution, very unlike the words of encouragement and longing you had given him your last night together. “No one knew I was here. Not even my family, so how did you…” You trail off, unsure if you want to know the answer to this question.

Shoto pulls away from your lap, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “I searched for you every day. I never stopped once I realized you were gone. I was in communication with every hero in this fucking country, hoping that one day one of them would spot you.” He hastily wipes his cheeks, his trembling hands remaining at your side.

“Why did you go?” he asks in a whisper. His voice, low and cracking, is broken as he speaks. “Why did you leave me? Did I do something? Was I…” Shoto swallows thickly as his insecurities taint his mind. “Was I not good to you? Did I make you leave?”

His endless questions send you for a loop. In front of you was not Pro Hero Shoto, but just Shoto. Your Shoto, the one you long for in your dreams. The one who paints your every happy memory and the one whose name you whisper into the dead of night.

And yet, as you feel Yami’s tiny hands grab your arm, you can’t answer any of his questions.

“Dada…!”

The both of you freeze, and the world stands still for a moment. Shoto’s trembling gaze slowly left yours, meeting the eyes of the toddler behind you. The first thing Shoto notices is his hair — bright red with streaks of white bleeding through. He feels his heart stop and start again, his hold on you finally slipping as his body goes somewhat limp. He falls back onto his heels, fully kneeling before you now.

Snapping out of it, you turn around and take Yami into your arms, facing away from Shoto as you shush the poor baby, calming him down quietly. Shoto can only watch as you handle him with a gentle care he isn’t privy to.

Without sparing another glance at Shoto, you start to walk away. He calls out your name hastily, and you can hear him clamber to his feet. Swallowing harshly, you look at him over your shoulder. Shoto looks out of place in your cozy living room, too large for the space. And yet, he appears small. His shoulders are hunched in as he reaches out to you with a face that begs you not to leave.

“He… needs to be put down for his nap,” you whisper, kissing Yami’s temple. “We… can talk after.”

Before you can regret your words, you head into his nursery, painted a soft yellow. You coo at your son, gently resting him in the large crib that took up most of the room’s space. You hum a lullaby to him as you stroke his hair, looking down at him with nothing but love.

Even long after he fell asleep, you don’t move. You stay there for a while, watching Yami so closely you don’t notice the presence at the door.

Shoto’s voice comes in a whisper. “He… He is mine, isn’t he?”

You can only nod, shame filling your soul as tears slip from your watery eyes. “His name is Yami,” you speak, your voice cracking.

Shoto flinches but waits patiently as he watches you come to a stand. He doesn’t rush you as you place Yami’s favourite stuffed animals by his side, leaning down and kissing his forehead before approaching Shoto.

“Let’s talk in my room,” you whisper, glancing at Yami before shutting the door behind you. 

The two of you enter your room, the stifling air suffocating you as you shuffle over to your bed. Shaky hands reach for your pillows as you keep your back to the Todoroki, fluffing them to keep yourself busy. Your throat feels grating as you swallow down harshly. The room feels both hot and freezing, which you assume is his doing.

He doesn’t say anything either as he stares at the back of your head. Your hair looks different from the last time he saw you, and the clothes over your body aren’t articles he can remember you own. He thinks back to that night when quiet goodbyes were whispered between sweaty sheets. He wonders what went wrong.

His eyes wander, his frightful gaze tearing away from you only to look around your room. There are remnants of you everywhere. Family pictures hang from the walls, and old posters he vaguely remembers from your apartment are pasted against grey paint. It was you, but different. It wasn’t as colourful as your old room, and your trinkets are either out of sight or gone altogether.

When his eyes rest on you once more, a million questions run through his mind. Why did you leave him without a word? Images of your child, the very one who bore a striking resemblance to himself, flash in the forefront of his mind.

“How have you been?” you croak out after too many beats of silence. Hugging a pillow to your chest, you turn ever so slightly, only glancing at him from the corner of your eye as if it were painful to even look at him. Perhaps it is. 

Shoto can only stare at you in disbelief, his brows curling upward as his heartache shines through. “How have I been?” he repeats breathily, his low voice raising half an octave. His mouth opens, but the words die on his tongue. Only after an excruciatingly long moment does he find the words again. “I’ve been miserable. You were gone.”

You wince at the strain in his voice, gripping the pillow even tighter. Your knuckles whiten under your tight hold. “I’m sorry,” you whisper pathetically, swallowing the lump in your throat painfully.

“Why?” he asks again, his voice cracking as he takes a tentative step toward you. “Why did you disappear?” Shoto reaches for you, stopping just short of grabbing you by the shoulders. He can’t tell if he wants to shake you until you see sense or hug you and never let go.

“I had to,” you urge, finally meeting his eyes. Your breath hitches, and you regret turning to him, but now you can’t look away. Those mismatched eyes that used to bore into yours with unreadable emotion as he draped his body over yours were tired, dull, and pained.

Shoto is the first to break eye contact, staring at your floorboards as he attempts to string together his thoughts. “Was it me?”

With furrowed brows, you shake your head no. “Shoto—”

“If I knew,” he rushes out, interrupting you. His gaze drops to your stomach, and he imagines what you might’ve looked like, swollen with his child.  “If I knew, I would’ve come back sooner. Fuck the mission, you needed me and I…” He cuts himself off, bringing his hands up to your shoulders. His grip is tight enough to force you to look at him straight on, yet gentle. You think you can feel them trembling over your clothes, but you aren’t sure if you’re imagining it or not. “I’m so sorry,” he almost cries. The pillow in your hands falls to the carpeted floor, but neither of you cares to pay attention to it.

“Shoto, no,” you whisper, cupping his cheeks as you press your lips together. You thumb away his unshed tears. “That’s not why I left.”

“Then why?” he breathes.

You purse your lips, biting at the inside of your cheek as you reflect on those lonely nights spent under cold blankets. “You’re a hero,” you speak slowly. “I never had a place in your life, Shoto, not really. I’m a nobody. If… If I stayed, I would have been holding you back. You deserved more than that.”

Shoto narrows his eyes at you. “I deserve you,” he blurts, his tongue stained with vexation at the mere implication of your words. You watch as his lower lip wobbles momentarily before he steels his expression. “It isn’t your place to decide whether or not you should be in my life. That’s something for me to decide, but you took that away from me.”

“Took what away, Shoto?” you exclaim, raising your voice for the first time that day. “The sex? The comradery? You could have easily found that in someone else.” It hurts to admit, but you know it’s true. During those days together, you were a mere placeholder for someone better than you. Someone who could relate to him more than a nobody civilian could ever hope to.

After all, Pro Hero Shoto could have anyone he wanted.

Any anger left in his body dissipates as his body tenses. His face scrunches into something painful, mouth ajar and eyes wide as his grip on your shoulders tightens slightly. “What?” he whispers, the word dripping from his tongue like ice water. “What are you talking about?” The room feels like it’s dropped a few degrees, and if the frost that clings to his skin is any indication, it might have.

Averting your gaze, you try to wedge yourself out of his tight hold, but he doesn’t let you, taking another step forward. You’re practically chest-to-chest as he shakes your shoulders gently. “What are you talking about?” he repeats with an urgent tongue. “Someone else? What are you talking about?”

You heave a sigh. “Don’t play dumb, Shoto. You’re… you. You could easily find someone to replace me.”

“Is that what you think?” he breathes harshly, steam rolling off his skin, melting the frost. “That you’re just some replaceable body in my bed? Do you really think that lowly of me?” His expression twists as he reaches up to cup your jaw. His touch is burning, and yet you find yourself leaning into his palm.

“Isn’t it the truth?” you murmur, your voice catching. “I’m not anyone special, Shoto.”

“You’re my girlfriend,” he spits out, angry at the notion that you were a nobody. “You’re special to me. Isn’t that all that matters? I couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re not a hero. That never mattered to me, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

Your eyes snap open as you stare at Shoto in shock. You feel your body freeze over, and suddenly, your lungs are empty. “... What did you call me?” you croak.

Shoto stares deeply into your eyes, his own darting back and forth as he tries to read you. “My girlfriend.” His voice wavers as he tries to understand why you look so confused.

“We weren’t dating,” you cry incredulously. “What are you talking about?” You watch Shoto as realization washes over his distraught expression and something within you cracks. “Shoto, what are you talking about?” you ask again with a frantic pull to your voice. Shoto’s hands slip from your shoulders.

“Weren’t we?” he whispers quietly, any strength sapping from his body as he limply stands before you.

With your heart beating faster than ever, your breath leaves chapped lips in uneven puffs of strangled air. “We never talked about being anything more than just…” You trail off, the past couple of years draping over your shoulders, weighing you down heavily.

“You thought I was with you for the sex?” Shoto doesn’t know how to feel or how to act. His face twists as several emotions run through him before his mind settles on heartache. His multicoloured eyes try to meet yours, but you’ve already looked away. He moves his body, craning his neck to take a good look at you. He wants to see you. He wants you to see him. He utters your name in a broken whisper. “It was never just sex for me, baby,” he declares, his voice cracking in sorrow. “You had to have known that.”

He moves closer, cradling your face as he gently forces you to look at him. When he sees the indecisive glaze that’s taken over your eyes, he feels his heart break just a little more. “Please tell me you knew. That you know it was more than that.”

You blink away tears, your chest rising and falling quickly as you meet his intensive gaze. “You’d only come to me at night,” you mutter, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and wanting to pull his hands off of you. “You never stayed. You were always gone in the morning, Shoto. What was I supposed to believe?”

Shoto fights back a wince as he mulls over your words. He sighs, absentmindedly rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I was so busy with hero work,” he murmurs in horror-filled realization, frowning at himself. He shakes his head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “That’s not an excuse. I should have tried harder to be around. But it was never just sex for me.”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, his forehead coming down to rest against yours. His eyes flutter closed, wet eyelashes sticking together as he lets out a trembling breath. “Please believe me, baby,” he pleads quietly. “I’ll be better. I’ll show you I love you. I’ll make sure you know this time, so please…”

Those three words pull the air from your lungs, but when he opens his eyes, you’re left truly breathless. Love, sorrow, and regret swirl in his blue and grey hues. You don’t remember the last time you’ve looked at Shoto like this. “Please come back to me.”

“Shoto—”

“I’ll stop being a hero,” he interrupts you, a deep frown tugging at his lips. “If that’s what it takes.”

You make a face, your brows knitting together tightly. “Don’t be stupid, Shoto,” you hush. “Being a hero is your life. I’d never ask you to throw that away for me.”

“You’re my life,” he presses. One of Shoto’s hands moves to cup the back of your head, carding through your hair. “Our child will be my life. You matter more to me than anything else.”

Sighing, you close your eyes as you lean into his touch. “I’d be even more upset if you gave up,” you murmur. “I understand that being a hero leaves you with little free time. So—”

“No,” Shoto cries out. “Don’t make excuses for me. I should’ve tried harder. I should have realized things between us weren’t clear.” He pauses for a moment, his brow bone tensing as he bites at his lip. “Do you love me?”

With a softened gaze, you knock on his forehead with a weak fist. “You’ve always been it for me, Sho.”

Shoto smiles at the nickname, a slight tick of the corner of his mouth. If you hadn’t been so close and hadn’t known his expressions as well as you did, you might’ve missed it. He leans closer, his nose brushing against your cheek as he kisses your tear-stained skin sweetly. “I love you,” he hushes, tugging you closer. His fingertips trail up your spine until they’re entwined in your hair. “I love you.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the sensation as you curl into him. Your hands trail up his broad chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. Inhaling deeply, you stare at him in hesitation. “Is this real?” you murmur, your mind swirling with the vivid dreams you’ve procured over the years. “You’re really here, right? And you really…”

“I love you,” he says again. He says it one, two, three more times, whispering into the side of your neck and he nudges himself into the empty space. His lips, which are cold against your blistering heat, brush against your earlobe as he all but whimpers your name. “This is real. I’m here, baby.”

You can’t help but believe him, your eyes closing as he presses kiss after kiss on your skin, moving down your neck until he’s reached your collarbones. He nips at the spot, his tongue jutting out to soothe the darkening mark he’s left behind. “Sho,” you scold weakly, your nails scraping against his scalp gently as you brush his hair out of his face.

Shoto grins boyishly at you, his hands resting on your hips as he guides you backwards, stepping over the forgotten pillow you dropped. “Let me show you,” he breathes out, looking down at you with wide eyes until he has you sat on the edge of your unmade bed. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Then, he pauses, a brief flash of bashfulness flickering behind his embering gaze. “Please?”

You’re reaching out for him before you can answer, tugging him down to your height. You don’t reply with words, pressing desperate lips against his as you pull him over you until he’s pinned over your trembling body. Strong forearms rest beside your head, his skillful tongue swiping along the seam of your mouth. You almost moan at his taste—a taste you never forgot.

Shoto slants himself against you, your bodies resembling a mess of limbs. He flips you over with ease, strong hands gripping your hips to seat you atop his shaking lap. The shivers that run down the expanse of his body don’t go unnoticed, and you peck his lips once, then twice, before pulling away. He’s staring up at you breathlessly, lust-blown eyes dark but widened as he takes in the sight of you.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, stroking along the edge of his scar. Shoto leans into your palm, his eyes briefly fluttering closed, relishing in your warmth that he was deprived of for so long.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs back, brushing his lips against your palm. “I’ve just missed you so much.”

Your heart aches at his soft-spoken admission, and you kiss him again to tell him I missed you, too. This kiss is sweeter than the last, softer in its closed-mouth motions. His hand reaches up to palm your jawline, his other remaining on your hip. He sighs into you, breaking the kiss to leave fleeting pecks over your cheeks. “My pretty girl,” he whispers into your skin.

His hand trails up and down your side, as he gently pushes you against his growing erection. You let out a whimper at just how hard he already is, the tent pushing against your clothed cunt teasingly. Grinding your hips down, you relish in the gasp Shoto lets out. Busying his hands with the hem of your loose tee, he pushes himself off of the bed to chase your lips.

Shoto kisses you with a fervour you damned yourself for running away from. He kisses you like he needs your taste on his tongue to live, like you’re a lifeline, and he’s teetering on the edge. Gentle teeth scrape against your bottom lip, just barely grazing your swollen skin. Pulling away to rid you of your top, Shoto bites his lips at the sight of your bare chest. He lays back, propping his head up on your pillows. Tracing a hand down his strong pecs, you tilt your head back at the sight of his complete enamour.

Red cheeks hollow as he takes in a shuddering breath, looking up at you with nothing but love and adoration. “You’re perfect,” he breathes out, his hands tracing your sides so slowly. His thumbs, calloused from years of hero work, barely graze the underside of your breasts before his hands trail back down to your thighs.

“Take these off f’me,” Shoto urges, tugging gently on the fabric of your shorts. Those dark eyes never leave your face, as though he’s committing it to memory. 

You don’t hesitate to obey his request, shifting off of his lap just enough to tug off the last of your clothing, fingers dipping beneath the band of your panties to take them off as well. Shivering, you sit back down on his lap, biting down on your bottom lip as you lean back. Shoto makes it clear how much he appreciates the view you’ve given him, his lustful gaze caressing your entire self. His eyes land on the apex of your thighs, and his bitten lips part in admiration.

A wide hand rests on your tummy, just below your belly button, as he gently pushes your hips back and forth. His other hand finds its way to your ass, gripping and rubbing the skin there in tandem with your movements. 

You let out shallow breaths at the feeling of his rough jeans against your bare clit. You’re sure you’re sopping wet already, soaking the front of his pants with your slick, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when he’s looking at you like he’d cry if you stopped grinding down on him.

His eyes stay glued to where your hips meet, and he whispers your name lovingly. “C’mere,” he rasps out as he sits up with haste, wrapping those big arms around your midsection and pulling you even closer to him. Shoto kisses the tops of your breasts, moving up and up until his lips meet yours again in a searing kiss. 

“Missed you s’much,” he gravels out against your lips, reaching up to cup your left tit. You whimper out when his thumb brushes against the hardened bud, his tongue following shortly after. His lips curl around your nipple as he kneads into you. Breaths leave your throat in shortened huffs as he bites down gently. 

Pushing you gently, you find yourself on your back again with Shoto hovering over you. He lets go of your nipple with a pop, lips shiny with saliva as he kisses down your stomach. Arching into his affections, all you can do is lay there and bask in his gentle touches and sweet kisses.

“Sho,” you whimper out when he mouths your skin lower and lower. Strong hands push your hips up until your dripping cunt is in front of his face, and your legs are dangling over his shoulders. Your back arches deeply, his fingers digging into your sides to keep your bottom half suspended in the air. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you’ve gotten—you can’t recall the last time you’ve felt this aroused. “Please…”

Shoto smiles at you softly, looking at you through his lashes as he brushes his lips against your clit, making you jolt. “Patience, baby,” he chuckled. “I haven’t tasted your sweet pussy in too long. Let me take my time with you, yeah?”

When he asks so nicely, how can you refuse?

He leaves open-mouthed kisses where your inner thigh meets your pelvis, kissing and licking just around where you need him most. Pathetic moans slip through your wobbling lips as you press them together, trying not to be too loud. Your body is goo in his hands, and he knows this well. He easily keeps your back arched up off the bed, his beefy arms not straining at all.

When his lips finally close on your weeping cunny, you cry out louder than intended. “Shh,” he whispers, sitting back just far enough to leave you whimpering for more. “Don’t wanna wake the baby, do you?” Those teasing eyes meet yours again, and his teasing expression softens ever so slightly at your already fucked out look. “Be good and quiet f’me, love.”

“Okay,” you stammer out, screwing your eyes shut when he kitten licks at your slit.

Shoto kisses your inner thigh with a grin. “Good girl.”

Without missing a beat, he attaches his lips to your pussy once more, his skilled tongue licking and prodding exactly where he knows it makes your legs shake in pleasure. He eats you out with such expertise as if it hasn’t been over two years. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had a map of your body memorized.

Long, thick fingers push at your entrance, just barely pushing in before pulling out. “More, please,” you beg under your breath, arching into his mouth. “Please, Sho. I can take it.”

Shoto hums as he sucks on your clit gently, drawing circles over the bundle of nerves immediately after. “I know you can, baby. This pussy was made just for me,” he sighs into you, the loud slurping noises coming from the point of contact making you curl in on yourself. “You were made just for me, baby.”

He finally pushes two fingers in, curling up just how you like it. He groans as his tongue moves with ardour, his eyes rolling back behind closed lids as he savours your taste. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “Missed this s’much.” 

Shoto’s fingers push in and out, in and out, your slick gushing around them as the filthy sound of your clenching cunt fills the room. His lips are glued to your clit, drunk on your wetness as he fingers you deeply. 

“I’m close,” you warn him, gripping the sheets tightly. Your body jerks, your thighs shaking and closing around his head as you feel the string in your tummy grow taught. “Sho—”

“I know,” he growls, kissing your clit again as he looks back up at you. He watches your face twist and scrunch in pure pleasure, moaning at the sight. Pushing a third finger in, his eyes slip closed at the feeling of you clenching tightly around him. “Come for me, baby. Need to feel you come.”

His voice drips with honey, coating your body in its warmth as your back bends. “Fuck,” you cry, slapping a hand over your mouth as your thighs tremble hard. “I—”

Before you can say anything else, you’re cumming around his fingers harder than you ever have in the time away from him. Fat tears line your lashline as he fingers you through your orgasm, lazily licking figure eights around your clit as he continues to push his fingers into you gently. He doesn’t stop, making you come again and again until you’re weakly pushing his head away.

His tongue laps your pussy clean, the lower half of his face covered in your slick when he finally sits back. You watch with lidded eyes as he wraps his lips around his fingers, his tongue jutting out to lick them until they’re no longer soaked with your essence. Moaning, you reach up for him, grasping weakly at his clothed chest. “Need you,” you plea, pushing at his clothes in a sad attempt to take them off.

Shoto only chuckles, leaning over to kiss you. He tastes of mint and musk, the taste of your come on his tongue making your eyes cross. He holds you tight, pressing you against his chest, and his hands run up and down the length of your spine. His head tilts, his mouth ajar as he licks into your wet cavern. 

Leaning back, you kiss and lick at his face, cleaning him of your juices. He only sighs blissfully at your ministrations, stroking your hair out of your face as he presses his lips against your temple. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, do I love you.”

You leave one more kiss along his jaw, settling back onto the mattress as you look up at him. His hair is messy, tousled from the many breathless kisses you’ve exchanged in the last hour. His rouge-tinted cheeks make him look younger than he is, yet you can see fine lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows. 

“I love you, Sho,” you declare softly, tucking his long bangs behind his ears. He gazes at you with more affection than you think you’ve ever seen him express, and it takes everything in you not to combust on the spot. You trail one hand down his chest, dropping down to his tented pants. Palming his clothed hardness, you glance at him pleadingly, smiling at the moan he emits the second your hand grazes his hard-on. “I need you now, please.”

Shoto nods, kissing the crown of your head before leaning back. You watch with careful eyes as he undresses, his hands moving with less grace than he’s known for. As he fumbles off his shirt, you unbuckle his belt, throwing it haphazardly across the room. You barely register the thud it makes as you tug down his pants. His hard cock slaps against his abdomen, coated with precum. 

Fully nude, you sit back to admire Shoto in his entirety. There are many scars you don’t remember littered over his muscled body, and your fingers trace them gently. “I almost forgot how pretty you are,” you say, sitting up to kiss his collarbone.

“Pretty?” he repeats, laughing softly as he grips at your waist.

You hum. “Very pretty, Sho.” 

Unable to wait any longer, he manoeuvres you back onto the pillows, adjusting you as he places one beneath your hips. “Gotta have you now, baby,” he groans into you, reaching down to fuck into his fist. You watch with wide eyes as he rubs himself for a moment more, pushing your thighs up against your chest. 

Pushing his angry cockhead against your slit, he thrusts shallowly against your soaked pussy. A low moan rumbles out of his throat when his head catches on the hood of your clit. He uses a thumb to guide his length to your entrance, a whimper of your name tumbling from those bite-swollen lips once he finally pushes into you.

Your jaw drops as a wanton noise claws out of your throat. Shoto is sure to move slowly, only moving in an inch of his dick at a time before pulling out. You had forgotten how thick Shoto’s cock is, the stretch of your swollen pussy around his length burning through your body. “S-Sho…”

He groans at your voice, dropping his head to your shoulder as he fucks into you slowly. “I know, baby,” he lets out breathlessly. “I know. You’re doing so well f’me.” 

His hips finally press against you after some time, his dick pushing against your pulsing gummy walls. He stills, letting you get used to the intrusion as he kisses you again and again. Propping himself on his elbows, he shakily brushes your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead. “You okay, baby?”

Nodding fervently, you wrap your arms around his neck, pushing his chest flush against yours. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out weakly, barely above a whisper. “You can move—” correcting yourself, you look up at him with pleading eyes. “—please move.”

Without another word, he pulls out slowly, only to thrust back into your hole nice and deep. A loud groan leaves his lips as he settles into a quick tempo, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs as he starts to really fuck into you. 

Barely keeping your eyes open, you watch his expression twist with gratification, his brows tilting upwards as his lips part. With lidded eyes, he watches you, too. “You’re—fuck—so pretty,” he whimpers, pressing his forehead against yours as his thrusts become faster. “Missed you. Missed you s’much.”

Sitting up, he grabs at your waist as he fucks you zealously. His thumb flicks at your clit, rubbing tight circles that leave your legs shaking. His cockhead rubs at that spongey spot in your cunt with every thrust, making your eyes roll back. “Sho,” you cry out, the thought of keeping your voice down long gone in your pleasure. “Sho, Sho—!”

His mouth opens as he lets out a stunted shout riddled with lust and overstimulation. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grins down at you, his stomach flexing with each movement of his hips. “Fuck, baby. Can feel you clenching around me s’tight. Are you close?” His words come out harshly, exertion tugging them from his throat sluggishly.

His thumb never stops over your clit, moving in tandem with his hips as he slams into you. Unable to form coherent words, you can only cry out in vague confirmation, grabbing at his forearms. You can feel your slick dripping down the slope of your ass, soaking into your pillow and the sheets beneath you. 

Shoto’s smile falters as he feels his own orgasm near, his rhythm becoming desperate as his eyes screwed shut. His head drops, his mouth opening slightly as he chases his high. When your cunt grips tightly around him, he’s sure he’s going to lose it. Harsh breaths heave out of him, his flushed skin causing his hair to stick to his forehead. 

“Come for me again, baby,” he begs, barely able to pry his lids open to look down at you. “Please, come, please, please… Gotta feel you…!”

Whether it’s from his words, the whimpering tone that tugs at his voice, or the way his cock throbs inside you as he nears his own high, you feel your orgasm crash over you in waves. “Shoto,” you sob, your body jerking violently as you come hard. He lets out a high-pitched groan as he releases inside you, his thick seed filling you up in seconds. His hips tremble and twitch as he keeps shallowly thrusting, pushing both you and himself into overstimulation.

“I love you,” he mewls, pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss as he wraps his arms tightly around your middle. Without pulling out, he slumps over you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Laughing quietly, you weakly push at his shoulder. “You’re heavy,” you complain, still breathless from the countless orgasms he’s pulled you through. “Get off, Sho.”

“No,” he murmurs into the nape of your neck, cuddling into you tightly. “Don’t wanna let go.”

You roll your eyes. “You can hug me without crushing my ribs.”

Huffing, he rolls off of you, taking you with him as he lands on his back. You both groan lowly at the movement, his dick twitching inside you once you settle onto his lap again. “You’re insatiable,” you comment, feeling him thrust weakly up into your wetness.

Shoto only grins up at you, showing off that rare smile you missed so dearly. “You can’t blame me,” he tells you, wrapping his arms around you. “I have so many years of love to show you.” He kisses your shoulder. “I meant it. Before, I mean. You are everything to me, and I know our baby will be too.”

Your eyes wet again, fresh tears bubbling at the corners before dribbling down your cheeks. “Shoto…”

Looking up at you, he stares with an indescribable look in his mismatched eyes. “I wanna be in your life. I want to be in his life, too, if you’ll let me.” Leaning up, he kisses you sweetly. “So, please, come back to me.”

You only manage to nod tearfully before the shrill cry of your baby echoes throughout the house. Shoto eases you off his messy cock, watching as his release dribbles out of you. He lets out a breath, kissing you sweetly before moving you off of him gently. No words are exchanged as Shoto throws his clothes back on, wrinkled and unkempt. He pauses to wipe you clean, using your shirt, after throwing you an apologetic glance.

A smile reaches your eyes as you watch Shoto bound out of the room to get your child.