I'm alone, not lonely

Little Rhae, scarcely half a year old, sat in your lap as you dined. Your husband, Maekar, and remaining five children sat scattered around the large outdoor dining table as you for once sat in a tranquil calm amongst the soon to be setting sun. A contented smile lingered on your face as you observed your family, the one that you had built with nothing but raw determination and a jealous husband.

You yourself were in your mid thirties. Scarcely. It was a fact that Maekar was subtly insecure about, he was older than you, that was no secret. Yet you had chosen him as your husband out of love not duty, you had chosen that old man and you loved him regardless of others opinions. Your eldest son that the pair of you shared, Daeron, was now seventeen, his nameday now here and a quiet celebration much to the King’s annoyance. He had wanted a grand affair to show his eldest grandson off to the women of the court, hoping to stake an alliance through marriage. Daeron however, had begged and pleaded practically on his knees for his seventeenth nameday to be a quiet affair. We should not even travel to Kings Landing, there is no need. He had said, his sad eyes boring into your own, tears welled in them. And you had caved, in turn pleading to Maekar not to force your son to suffer the event. Not that Maekar took much convincing, travelling to Kings Landing with a small army of children was no easy feat, and one he’d rather not do by dragging the boy of the hour against his will for something he did not care for. So you had remained in Summerhall, sharing a night in the gardens eating cake and watching your children tumble around in the grass.

“Were you content with your gifts, dearest?” You questioned, eyes falling onto your eldest son as he ate the rare meat from his plate. “Yes, thank you Mother.” He smiled. He looked tired, but then again he always did. He had the look of lacking sleep almost always present in his eyes and it pained you to know that was something you could not ease him of. Yet you smiled warmly in return, squeezing his hand gently. You loved all your children dearly, but Daeron would always hold a special place to you regardless of how he turned out because he was your first child. The boy who had been the start to your family, back then you were just three. Now, you were eight.

“Seeing as you are old now, brother.” Aerion begun, you watched as almost all of your children and your husband showed at least some sign of distain at the tone of Aerion’s voice, yet you offered him kind eyes as you cut in, “Your brother is not old, Aerion. Be kind.” Aerion huffed lightly, the boy was fourteen, the size of a twelve year old with the pent up energy of a dog that had spent its entire life in a kennel. The attitude that came out of his mouth more often than not was obscene and he seemed to lack the understanding of watching his words, more-so adopting the mentality of speak now, consequences later. And seemingly for the pale haired boy his tongue always found him consequences later. “Should you not be betrothed already? Mother married Father a year earlier than your age.” Daeron sighed. It was no secret the boy lacked betrothal options, in part due to his lack of presence in court and the fact he chose to hide himself away entirely when in Kings Landing. He had done it to himself, he knew, yet he did not wish for some poor girl to have to put up with the secret state that he was. “Darling, your brother will choose his own path in his own time, as will you. You have expressed not wishing for a wife yourself, instead being a great dragon riding to battle and we have not judged your decision.” Your kindness came with ease towards Aerion, the boy was internally hot like a furnace and the anger that bestowed upon him for seemingly no given reason meant he did not often see kindness from anyone but you. Yes he was a little shit, as Maekar liked to put it, but he was not evil. He was your boy, and like Daeron you would love him regardless. Aerion scoffed, flinging a potato in Aemon’s direction, earning him a swat on the arm from his Father who was sat to his left. “Aemon said I can’t breathe fire so I wouldn’t make a very good dragon, I would call that judgemental.” Aemon was eleven, and far too intelligent for his age, he corrected politely more often than not yet with Aerion everything was a personal offence if it could be taken as criticism. “Actually what I said was you wouldn’t make a very successful dragon, seeing as the fire breathing aspect is what makes them so deadly.” Aemon chided, a childish grin plastered on his face as he taunted his elder brother, “Unless you meant it as a metaphor.”

“What the fuck is a metaphor?”

“Aerion!”

“Mind your tongue!”

Both yourself and Maekar called almost in sync, your voices merging as your son ‘accidentally’ slipped another expletive. “If you cannot watch your words and be polite to your brother on his nameday, you will be removed from the table up to your bedchamber. Am I clear? Aerion?” Maekar scolded, raising an eyebrow in his second son’s direction as Aerion continued to eat his bloodied steak. “It was an honest question.” He raised his hands now in mock defence as blood slipped down his fork from the cut of steak stabbed messily onto it. “Aerion you are flinging blood everywhere, please put your hands down nobody here intends on shooting you.”

“I’d beg to differ.” Daella scoffed. You had to purse your lips to suppress a smirk at the girls attitude. Her appearance was entirely, ethereally, you. But that was the attitude of Maekar Targaryen at its finest. She was seven, and a force to be reckoned with. She was quiet and calculating, a beauty in the eye of all with the foul mouth of her Father stuck onto her like an afterthought. She was perfect, to you, to her Father and to almost all but her siblings who more often than not ended up on the receiving end of her cheeky ploys and attitude. It was also widely known that she had her Father completely and utterly wrapped around her finger, at her mercy, point being actively proven as Maekar cut up her steak for her, removing the fatty bits she refused to touch because they made her teeth feel funny. You couldn’t even be mad at him for coddling her, you knew one thing and that was your girl knew how to stand up for herself and put a man in his place, she could protect herself just fine and that made you feel all the more better about raising girls in this wretched world. However, with three older brother’s and a Father who would go to war for her if she asked, she had no need to defend herself currently, and she definitely used it to her advantage. Because she was your smart girl. You adored her always. “And what is that supposed to mean my darling?” Maekar questioned, pushing her plate back in front of her as a three year old Aegon slingshotted several peas in Aerion’s direction, clearly coached by Daella as there was absolutely no way your three year old had successfully loaded his slingshot with such an abundance of peas. You tried your best with Aerion, there was no doubt in that, to the courts you defended him endlessly but he was disciplined fairly at home for his wrongdoings, he got away with very little except for the foul mouth. But due to this, Daella and Aemon had seemingly formed an alliance against their elder brother, now recruiting young Egg who was still learning his way in the world. It would be adorable if it didn’t cause such problems.

“Oi! Mother you cannot let him get away with that! Control the thing!” Aerion shouted, pushing his chair back and standing as little Aegon giggled in delight at the smushed peas on Aerion’s tunic. “That thing is your brother, and you did worse Aerion, you flung a knife at your Father when you were three. He’s still got the scar to prove it.” You shook your head gently, standing and passing little Rhae over to Maekar who took her with a glad smile as she pulled at his beard and shook with excitement at the familiar face of her Father. You stood in front of your son, brushing the pea residue from his tunic and pushing him back down into his chair, before rounding the table and picking up Aegon and taking him back to your seat, Daeron passing the young boy’s plate across so that is sat in front of you. You fed him quietly as the chatter resumed. He was more than capable, yes, but he made too much mess almost on purpose as if he knew you or his Father would just do it for him. And one of you almost always gave in. So yes, you were both technically being bested by a three year old. “Why did you leave knives lying around then?” He smirked sarcastically, as if he had won. As if you didn’t know the nature of your own boy. “We didn’t, Aerion.” Maekar started, eyes casting over to the boy, “You broke into Uncle Baelor’s solar, into his desk drawer and tried to fend me off from taking you for a bath. I’d show you the scar but I am sure you would not like to see me shirtless at the table.” Aerion grimaced at the thought and shook his head, “Absolutely not.” Maekar nodded his head, “Alright then. Shut up and eat your dinner.”

It was when you were all lounging at the table eating cake when Aerion seemingly could not hold his tongue. The order of the children had chaotically all switched around, Daella had decided to perch herself in your lap, playing with your hair and plaiting it, telling you how good you would look if you just let her do it now. “Maybe later, my angel, we do not want to get hair in our cake- or cake in our hair rather, do we?” You smiled, she giggled in response, “You’re silly mummy.” You nuzzled your nose into her shoulder, tickling her inadvertently causing more giggles to erupt from the girl as she picked at her cake.

“Father.”

“Aerion.”

“You were old when you got married.” The sigh that escaped Maekar was not a quiet one, he anchored his head to eye Aerion, to gage where yet again this conversation could possibly be going. Somehow he had Aemon with a chair pulled directly next to his, the boy nestled into his side under his arm, Rhae now resided in Daeron’s embrace as he doted on her quietly, and Aegon perched atop both of Maekar’s knees, eating from both his and his Father’s plates. “I was older, yes.” He strained. He hated the topic of conversation, he loved you, and how he met you, yet he knew he was considered older than most men when he decided to wed you. You were young and full of life- you still very much were, but he had overheard many women of the court offering you their sympathies when they initially heard of the betrothal. Oh how far from the truth they had been.

“But you’re older than Mother.” Aerion prodded, causing Maekar’s eyes to clench shut, he already knew where this conversation was headed. “Surely Mother could have had any man she wished, she’s beautiful. And she chose an old man. A fourth son at that, claim to nothing. A bit of wasted beauty no? It’s rumoured even the Prince of Dorne vied for her hand and she turned him down, for what? A life in the Storm Lands? Couldn’t say I would do the same- what?Why are you all looking at me like that, it’s an honest question. I am sure I’m not the first to ask.”

Your gaze found Aerion’s with a singular stern look, no words left your mouth. Gently you shifted off of the seat, propping Daella onto it. Grasping Aerion by the shoulder, taking full advantage of his small stature for his age, you pulled him “Get up.” You grunted, he stumbled to his feet as you hauled him up the patio steps into the house, up to his bedchambers. You passed many maids and guards along the way, all looking rather surprised, more often than not it was Maekar dealing with Aerion’s behaviour, not you.

As the door slammed shut behind you, you released your grip on your son, brows furrowed “What, you will punish me for speaking what is in my mind!” Your seething was silent, eerily silent. Never did you see the day you would have to be defending your marriage, your own husband, to the son that you both shared. “Do you truly have no idea the love I have for your Father? Truly do you see none of it?” You questioned, voice painfully quiet as your words flowed freely, willing your son for one more supposed truth tonight. “I mean you have six children so maybe there’s something.” Aerion shrugged. You laughed, physically laughed, fingers pressing into your temples, “Maybe there’s something.” You repeated, another laugh escaping you as it settled into a simmering rage. “If you think, Aerion, what your Father and I share is just something, the world is going to chew you up and spit you out. I was advised against everyone who loved me not to marry your Father, because seemingly he was cold, unlovable, lacks the adoration to be a doting husband was actually a direct quote from one of my previous maids. She was removed from my service for that comment. Regardless, I married your Father because I learned him, and I learned that he was not actually so unlovable because I was actively doing it. And he protested. He said I was too young, too full of life, I needed a Lord my age. But I insisted I wanted him. Being a fourth son? What does it matter, I did not lose him to the courts, you have a more present Father because his status gives him respect and he is entitled to things such as this yet he is not required where he does not will. You should be grateful. The the day he relented and pledged himself to me was the best day of my life. Look at where I am Aerion, I am a proud Mother to six wonderful children, whom I chose to have, I was not forced nor coerced. I chose to have six of you. And because your Father loved me so deeply we had another, and another. I choose his clothing, I speak to the tailors and deal with all that because the faffing irritates him, the same as it does you, I do that for him because I love him as I love you. This house do you think its colours were always purple and gold? No. They were once red and black, yet when I married your Father he had the entire house repainted and decorated so that I would feel more welcome so far from my own family as we begun our own. So don’t you dare ever, ever, suggest that there is no amount of love between your Father and I. Your Father is a great man, great men make mistakes and I know you feel he has done you some injustice by punishing you for your bad behaviour but when you learn one day what some children have to endure at their Father’s hand you will be grateful yours loved you enough not to. You dare speak of him in such a way again Aerion, you dare.” You shook your head, eyes boring into his own violet ones as he stared up at you, ears pink as be chewed at the inside of his lip. You hated feeling anger towards any of your children, but eventually Aerion was going to need to hear it sooner or later.

“You will not leave this bedchamber tonight. You will have some water, have a bath and go to bed. Tomorrow morning at breakfast you will be the first one there and you will apologise to your Father alone and sincerely. Do you understand?” You raised an eyebrow, pulling his hands apart so that he would not pick his nails. “Yes mother.” You nodded, “Good. Do not pick your nails it causes more damage than you’d think. Goodnight Aerion.” You pressed a quick, gentle kiss to the top of his head before departing, closing the door behind you and politely asking a maid to draw Aerion a bath.

You had not realised quite how long you had spent in that bedchamber, for Maekar had managed to put the rest of the young children to bed. You found him in Daeron’s bedchamber, sat in the armchair by the fire as Daeron lounged on the end of the bed. You took a seat next to him silently, “Did you hit him?” Daeron questioned, you couldn’t quite work out which answer he was looking for. You knew he thought Aerion deserved a good smack from time to time, but you also knew he felt guilty for thinking as such because at the end of the day Aerion was his brother, and the Septons say we must love our brothers. “Have I ever hit any of you?” You teased, squeezing his arm. “No, but none of us are Aerion.” Daeron answered, a cheeky grin on his tired face. “I apologise for ruing your nameday dinner, Dae.” You stroked some of his tousled sandy hair back from his face gently as he shrugged. “M’not bothered. Really. This has been a thousand times better than it would have in Kings Landing. So thank you.” You pursed your lips into a weak smile as he leant down so you could hug him tightly, “Happy nameday sweet boy.” You kissed his forehead softly before rising, Maekar too standing and pressing a gentle kiss to Daeron’s forehead, his palm cupping Daeron’s cheek. He admired momentarily. He was now adorning more features of a man than child, no longer was he the chubby cheeked babe that had come into the world singing a gale. “Happy name day, son.” Daeron smiled gently in reciprocation, “Thank you, Dad.” With a nod, Maekar followed to where you had been waiting in the doorway, a lazy smile on your face as your lip quivered lightly. You found every nameday of each child slightly emotional, but Daeron most-so as he was the first of your children to reach any milestone, any age, and any maturity.

The door clicked shut behind Maekar, as he gazed down to find your eyes. Gently he reached for your face, pulling you into a silent yet entirely devoted kiss. He was entirely yours, and he would make it known your defence of him had meant more than anything, just as it had all those years ago.

“Eugh!”

Both your heads snapped to the direction of the sound, finding Daella stood in her purple nightgown in the centre of the corridor, completely and utterly disgusted at the sight of affection between her own Mother and Father. A hearty laugh escaped the pare of you, your hand coming to rest on Maekar’s clothed chest as Daella’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “Don’t you have a bedchamber! Why must my eyes be subjected to this torture! Eugh! Miss Melinda where is the soap I need to wash my eyes!” Daella’s night nurse Melinda hurried out of her bedchamber, feigning dramatics “Oh my darling Princess what is it that has caused you such strife.” You had to burrow your head, stifling giggles, into Maekar’s chest so you did not seemingly offend your daughter further. “Unfortunately, Melinda, my dearest daughter was subjected to seeing me show some affection toward my wife.” The grin of amusement on his face was unmistakable, as was the twinkle within his eye as Melinda played along with a wink. “Oh you poor thing! No little girl should have to see such things!” Daella’s giggles could be heard all throughout the corridor as she allowed Melinda to carry her back to her bedchamber, “Goodnight mummy! Goodnight daddy!”

“Goodnight Daella.” Maekar called as you made sure to blow her a kiss as she disappeared into her own room. You were giddy like children. “I’ll race you to the bedchamber.” You spoke, unclasping Maekar’s cloak from his shoulders and chucking it onto one of the standing tables of the corridor. “But I’ve already chased Aegon- Wife!” You were already gone, sprinting down the corridors of Summerhall as your Husband chased, paces behind following your giggles that entirely mirrored Daella’s own. Servants and staff alike only watched with amused grins from afar, it was rare they saw the Prince so happy again. They knew he was contented, but with so many children he was tired more often than not, it brought a smile to all to see the great Prince Maekar, The Anvil, chasing his Wife through the corridors of his estate, a childish grin plastered on the pair of your faces.

Slamming your hand into the door you called, “I win!” He stopped, now towering over you. “You only won, woman, because you are a cheat.” You feigned offence, “What a vile accusation! A Lady never cheats, she simply outsmarts the beast that is man!” He pinched your side causing another giggle to escape you as you tried to manoeuvre away from him, “Beast?” He grinned, “Beast? Who are you calling a beast, wife?” A shriek escaped you as he cornered you into the bedchamber, door swinging shut as his fingers didn’t leave your side “Maekar! Don’t tickle me- I’ve had six children I can’t take being tickled!” He stopped with a laugh, a soft smack to your arse as he turned you over on the bed to being undoing the laces of your dress.

When you were bare before him you turned over, his hands ran over your soft stomach gently, settling above your hips to keep ahold of you. “Perhaps a bath?” You asked, cupping his jaw and pulling him lower into a hungry kiss. “You defended me.” He spoke softly, his voice only being capable of going so low made it rasp against your skin. You frowned “Why would I not?” You helped him undress himself, when he too was bare he lifted you further up the bed to settle against the pillows. “Maekar.” You spoke softly, fingers caressing his cheek. “He is not wrong.” He admitted painfully, pressing his cheek against your breasts, his beard prickly against your supple skin, his hands grounding themselves at the sides of your ribs as he allowed for once, his entire weight to rest upon you as the lower half of him was lying between your legs. You wrapped your arms around him gently, tilting your head forward to bring your lips against the top of his head. “He is so unbelievably wrong. He is our spoiled little boy who we’ve practically coddled near every day of his life, he does not seem to understand that what we have is love because he has nought to compare it to. Baelor and Jena are more than content, your parents are the image of love. When compared to them yes we are less flashy, but anyone who understands us understands what we are. And Aerion will, in time.” You felt your chest dampen, you adjusted your head so that you could see his face, his eyes cast downward as silent tears fell down his face, onto your breasts.

“I have spent my entire life in Baelor’s shadow. The fourth son, claim to nothing. Not desired in court, never supposed to have a woman like yourself as my bride. I’ve never not heard the whispers. My home is my home and I became content with that. The staff care for us, not the rumours. I select who works in my service. And yet it was not a stranger, but rather my own son.” You bit your lip to still its quivering, your heart hurt for him. You had heard the admission before but it had been from strangers, for your own son to haphazardly admit he thought his own father unworthy of you was a stab to the gut for Maekar. The court could think it all they liked but for his own son felt like a cruel jest by the God’s. That he was doomed to be forever reminded by the boy he had helped create that even he could see he was not worthy of your love. “Do not let our son. Our son. The boy we created out of love, who has turned out angry at the word since the day he came. Make you feel any less than what you are. You are everything to me, Maekar. Without you I would not be so loved, so cherished. I would be childless, because God’s be damned if I’d put myself through one pregnancy let alone six, for any man but you. You are a loving husband, a devoted Father, a good man. Do you know how many women pray to the God’s for a man like you? Yet I had to beg for you because you thought I was too good for you? That is what makes you so whole Maekar. You are good, you love me, you love our children, you are kind. I just wish sometimes you could love yourself the way that I love you.” You held him tighter, if that could even be possible, legs coming to wind around his waist and cross at the based of his spine. “You love me.” It wasn’t a question, it was an affirmation, as if he was trying to engrave into his very being the truth your words carried what they meant to him.

“I do. And nothing anyone says can change that.”

He pressed his face against your chest, you felt his tongue glide up the valley between your breasts, “You love me.” He panted, his mouth descended upon one of your breasts, his tongue circling the peak of your nipple before sucking against it, beard scratching the skin around your breast. “I love you.” You panted back, becoming breathless as each kiss he lay tickled against your skin, lower and lower until he reached the top of your mound. He layered a kiss to the skin there before delving lower, another grunt escaping him, “I love you.” He parted your folds hungrily with his tongue before lapping up your growing wetness, a languid mewl escaped you at the feeling as you rested the backs of your knees against his shoulders. “That’s it.” He hummed, the vibrations sending shivers through you causing your back to involuntarily arch. “Give your weight to me, wife. Give your everything to me.” A moan escaped you again, longer and louder this time as he delved deeper, his nose bumping with your swollen clit in rhythm with his tongue lapping at your weeping hole. “M-Maekar, I should be making you f-feel better, my love.” You opened your mouth yet no sound came out, your head flinging back into the pillows as your eyes rolled back. He had increased his pace feverishly, gripping you as close to his face as he could possibly get, he pulled back only briefly “This is for me, sweet wife.” He pressed as sloppy kiss to your inner thigh, sucking until it bruised before digging his teeth in bluntly. “Having you, having all of you at my mercy. This is what I desire more than anything. No other man of my Father’s court has ever seen such a sight, nor will he ever know one as beautiful as mine.” He burrowed himself back in, his fingers joining the ever growing sequence as your legs begun to shake. He wanted this, so you held on as desperately as you could, until you were cumming without realisation. The combination of his rough padded fingers inside of you as his soft tongue lapped and sucked at your clit had forced your orgasm to overtake near every nerve that consumed you, a defeated whimper left your lips as you released you grip on his hair and panted for breath quietly. Your eyes took a moment to adjust back to the light from the darkness and speckles of colour from how truly tight you had clenched them shut. “You still with me sweetheart?” Maekar lifted his head, he knew he had pushed you, but now you were near passed out from overstimulation and pliant to his will. He kissed up from your mound to your navel, before following the path up to your jaw.

You smiled lazily, “Hi.” Pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Are you alright?” He questioned, running his hands over you as you nuzzled into his neck “More than okay, my love.” You pressed your lips against his forehead. “Are you going to fuck me now?” He laughed against your skin, lapping and sucking at the crevice of your collarbone, “Still not satisfied? Some might call that gluttony.” You whined lightly, palms pressing against his chest “I’m asking you to fuck me husband, do you need more direction?” Finally giving in, not that it took much convincing, he lined his cock up to your already dripping hole. He thrust in harshly, knocking the air from your lungs in one swift movement. Nothing came out of you save for an incoherent mumble as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. Maekar Targaryen did nothing half bothered, everything was done perfect and proper. Which was why pleasuring his wife was one of the utmost serious matters to him.

He flipped the pair of you, his back now rested against the plush pillows, your thighs caging his waist as he kept his knees spread and bent, giving you all the more access and freedom of movement. “Show me how much you love me.” He commanded, kneading the fat of your arse before smacking it, coaxing a moan from you as you begun to ride his cock. He could not escape the noises tearing from his lips, his head thrown back in bliss as you rode him. He could not release his grip from you, he was utterly enchanted by how entirely you were giving yourself to him, like you didn’t already share six children and had been married over a decade. You clenched your walls around him, coaxing an unrestrained groan from his lips as you joined them to your own, slipping letting your tongues dance with one another as you drew closer to your peak. He pulled his hand free reluctantly to press his finger against your clit, rubbing slow circles as you jolted up and down on his thick cock. “S’too much.” You whined, head falling back as your hair cascaded down your spine entirely free. “Cum for me, wife. Come on my cock, I’ll give you another child if you tell me what I need to know.” He rasped, picking up his thrusts to continue your faltering rhythm. “I love you.” Your voice was breathless, skin sticky, your nails clawing at his skin as you fought against him for your own pleasure. “I know you do. Let go f’me.” Unable to fight back any longer you came with an unruly moan, he grunted, pulling your chest until it pressed against his own, head collapsing under his jaw as he released his seed deep inside of you.

You both remained entirely unmoving, entirely obsessed with one another as you silently willed to never part. “Another girl.” He mumbled against your hair, “Hm?” You lifted your head lightly, your nose pressing to his jaw. “When this one takes. Another girl.“ You just nodded, no room for argument as you surrendered entirely to him, pliant against the hard planes that adorned his body, muscles contracting under you lightly with every breath.

“I love you.”

✴︎

The following morning was a quiet one. You remained curled into Maekar, covered by the thin bedsheets resting in the breezed from the window as you nuzzled against his chest. The knock at the door was so quiet you might not have even heard it had you been truly resting. Adjusting the quilts so that you were both appropriately covered, Maekar called “Enter.” Inside came Aerion, a small envelope in hand. He placed it on Maekar’s bedside table before turning, “I am sorry, Father.” Maekar gave a small nod, “Thank you Aerion.” Aerion wasted no time in exiting the room, slamming the door behind him with a thud.

Tearing the envelope softly, Maekar pulled out a surprisingly neat piece of folded parchment, Aerion’s recognisable scrawl adorning the yellowed page. A small smile rested upon your pouted lips, Maekar letting out a small chuckle of amusement at the heading of the paper.

Reasons that I am grateful for my Father

A/N: this might be my favourite piece i’ve written, the anon request was perfect, it took me a while to start but it just started flowing and i am so so happy, i write my best when im writing about maekar and the maekarlings i swear so if anyone has any other requests for them pls pls pleaseeee send them i adore the entire dynamic

anyway, as always: requests are open, likes, comments, reblogs and any interactions at all are always always appreciated - take care everyone!!

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He flips you over on your hands and knees with ease, kneading the globes of your ass while pulling you closer, “Gonna take it nice ‘nd slow yeah, don’t even gotta work for it like I’ve been makin you all night.”

You can feel it, the crown of his cock smack against your Pearl then through your swollen folds, rimming your gushing hole with his pre that makes you mewl, “mmh- Toji!”

“Desperate fuckin thing, even when I’ve been fucking you all night, still need more.” His breath hitches, sliding himself in your warmth with ease. His head lulls to the side at the way you clamp down on him, biting his lip while he peers down at how he filling your fat cunt, your mixed cum already sticking to his pubes. “Allll you gotta do is lay there ‘nd be pretty, I got you.”

You don’t even have the words to say anything, jaw slack as he starts to thrust himself inside you. Slow, but hard, squeeze your hip as he watches your ass clap, clap, clap again this pelvis. You keen so prettily, clawing the sheets, “O-oh- aangh- my gooood Toji!”

He’s picks up the pace, strokes mean and intentional, heavy and full balls slapping against your dripping cunt while he aims his head against your gooey sweet spots. He’s relentless, watching the way you twitch, your legs starting to shake, “Shit, so good f’me doll, take it so god damn well. Huh?”

You’re eyes shoot open, that feeling in your stomach building again, right, different, you don’t even realize how much your fucking chanting Toji’s name, reaching behind you for relief, but he only takes your hand, interlocking your fingers and holding you still, as your waist, fixing your fucking arch while he drills into you.

“Toj- Toji I can’t- fuck- I can’t! I can’t- ‘s nnngh-“

He scuffing, “Yeah you can, just means you’re gonna squirt.” Just as intended.

And his other hand comes around to your front, finding your pulsing little nub through the thick of juices, flicking it before rubbing those large circles with the pads of his fingers. Then faster small one, watching your hips buck, a heavy sob coming out of your mouth, “S too much Toji!”

“‘S okay, told you you could handle it, ‘nd you can. just feel it, hah- fuck- let it happen.”

He thrusts are hips into you are frantic, matching the exact way he runs your poor cunt before the knot in your stomach pops! Water squirting out of you while you scream, eyes rolling to the back of your head. You’re fucking soaking the mattress, down Tojis thighs. The older man letting out a throaty groan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he throws his head back. Riding out your own high while his thick ropes of cum hit your gummy and spasming walls.

He pulls out, glops of his cum spilling out. The man can’t help but let out a disheveled chuckle, humming in delight.

“See that doll? Knew you had it in you.”

He gently rolls you out your back, coming down to hold you in his arms. You can feel his lips pecking up your shoulder, you’re still shaking, eyes nodded over. Your arms coming around his neck so he can hold you even closer. He squeezes you, nuzzling his face into your shoulder, “Such a good job f’me, perfect girl.”

But he can’t wait for the next time, only wondering how many times he can make you squirt before you pass out.

“Their supply lines are vulnerable here, along the gorge,” Jake Sully was saying, moving a stone on the ridge on the map. “But they’ve got turrets scanning the skies. If we fly in blind, we’re target practice.”

“We need a distraction,” Neteyam muttered, his brow furrowed as he stared at the map. “Someone fast enough to draw the attention away from the ground strike team, but agile enough to avoid getting hit. But it’s high risk.”

“My people are born on the wind,” Ikeyni spoke up. She placed a hand flat on the table, her sharp eyes shifting from Jake to his eldest son. “If you need someone who can deliver what you need, you take my daughter.”

Neteyam’s head snapped up. His golden eyes immediately finding yours from where you leaned against the pillar, as if he knew where exactly you had been standing. A frown instantly marred his handsome face and he turned back to your mother, his posture stiffening.

“Olo’eykte, with respect, the RDA has upgraded those tracking systems,” Neteyam argued, his voice tight with that dutiful edge you loved to mess with. “They aren’t just shooting blindly anymore. It is high risk. A single mistake, and the ikran and its rider are—”

“Are you saying I can’t handle it?”

You purred the words as you finally pushed off the pillar, sauntering closer to the table, tossing your half-braided sheath fiber aside. Every eye in the room tracked your movement, but yours were locked on the Omatikaya’s golden boy. You stopped right beside him, close enough that you felt the heat radiating from him. You tilted your head up, letting a slow smirk pull at your lips as you looked at his clenched jaw.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you murmured, leaning in just a fraction closer, “I’d think you were trying to keep me out of the sky to keep me safe. I didn’t realize you care that much?”

A sudden bark of laughter broke out from an elder across the table and the others followed suit. Meanwhile, your brother shook his head at your sheer audacity. Jake Sully’s lips twitched upward, a faint, amused glint in his eyes as he looked between you two, clearly remembering what it was like to be young and stubborn. Even the older, stern warriors around the table began to chuckle, the suffocating tension of the war efforts breaking open to let a little light in. It was a comforting reminder to the elders that despite the demons coming back, the youth were still acting their age.

Neteyam, however, did not laugh.

He let out a long, slow breath through his nose, his shoulders dropping a fraction as he looked down at you. His ears twitched back in mild annoyance, but he didn't step away from you. He was tolerant, as he always was, enduring your teasing with the patience of a tree weathering a storm. He had always known that you are a lethal asset to the people’s war efforts... But unfortunately, you are also a source of a massive, distracting headache.

“I care about the success of the mission,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a low register meant only for you. His gaze was incredibly intense up close, close to the kind of focus that had made you shiver imagining just moments ago. “We are planning a raid that could cost lives. This isn’t the time for games.”

Partly slighted at his doubt, you frowned. “I am completely serious,” you said, dropping the just enough to show the deadly huntress beneath. You motioned at the map right where the turrets were marked. “These are coastal winds. I’ve navigated treacherous cliff gaps like it’s a playground snce I was a child. My ikran and I will rise to the challenge, you’ll see.”

“Alright, alright, break it up,” Jake intervened, though the grin was obvious in his voice as he tapped the map. “If Ikeyni says she’s the one for the job, then she’s the one. Neteyam, you’ll be leading the ground insertion. That means your timing with the distraction has to be perfect.”

Neteyam tore his eyes away from you, nodding sharply to his father. “Yes, sir.”

But as the council began to break into smaller groups to discuss once more among themselves, Neteyam didn't immediately walk away. He stayed right where he was, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. He looked down at you, the exasperation fading into something quieter, something serious and heavy.

“It really is dangerous out there,” he said softly, his golden eyes searching yours. “The winds in the gorge are unpredictable.”

You matched his seriousness for a rare, passing second, to let him see that you are capable underneath all the flirting. “I know, Neteyam. But I’m faster than them. Trust me.”

He nodded, his jaw hardening. “I do trust you. Just... don't make me regret it.”

With a final, lingering look that left your heart hammering against your ribs, he turned to follow his father. You watched him go, your smirk slowly returning as you realized that for at least a few minutes, you had been the absolute center of his universe.

The next day, you were up before the first light, immediately going to where your ikran was roosting, smiling when you saw her already prepared, like always. “Ready, girl?“ you murmured, stroking her sleek, brightly patterned neck.

She screeched in response, a sharp, eager sound and you chuckled, mounting her back and connecting your kuru to hers, the familiar, rushing warmth of the tsaheylu flooding your senses. Your head swiveled to the side when you sensed a presence, seeing Neteyam stopping several paces away, already geared with his warrior cummerbund, longbow, amd chest knife sheath.

Your head tilted, admiring how handsome he looked as you smiled brightly. “Hi! Good morning,” you grinned. “Came to send me with a good luck kiss?”

He remained serious though, his eyes scanning your form on your ikran. “Be careful out there.” he said in a clipped tone, not waiting for a response before he turned away.

You chuckled, shaking your head. So serious, you thought, smirking. So handsome, too, anyway, the other part of your mind retorted and you rolled your eyes. You clicked your tongue and pulled at your ikran’s reins, making her surge up into the sky. You flew higher than usual, hiding in the thick clouds to scan high above the gorge. The sky was still a deep, bruised purple when the signal came through the comms secured to your ear.

“Pathfinder,” Jake Sully’s voice crackled, steady and calm. “Ground teams, position. You are clear to engage. Eye in the sky, you're up.”

A heartbeat later, a lower, tighter voice filtered through. “Be careful up there. Hit your marks.”

Neteyam.

Your smirk returned, invisible to him but it laced your voice enough for him to imagine it. “I heard that twice already, Neteyam. Are you so worried?” your honeyed teasing voice dripping through the comms.

You heard his groan and it was followed by a chuckle that sounded so much like Jake’s but it was cut short. “Just focus on the mission,” Neteyam’s voice snapped back through the earpiece.

You chuckled. “Watch the skies, Sully. Try not to blink, or you’ll miss me.”

Without waiting for a response, you clicked your tongue. Your ikran folded her wings and dove straight off the cliffside into the gaping maw of the gorge. The wind shrieked past your ears, whipping your braids wildly. Below, the metallic structures of the RDA outpost clung to the valley floor like a parasite. Within seconds, the base's automated defense grid woke up. Loud whirs echoed through the canyon as three massive turrets pivoted, their motion-tracking lasers sweeping the dark sky until they locked onto you.

“Now!” you hissed, leaning flat against your ikran's back.

You maneuvered your ikran in the sky as heavy explosive rounds tore through the air. The blasts should have scared you, but it surprised even you that it didn’t. You pulled sharply on the reins, banking hard to the left. A volley of bullet shattered the rocky cliffside right where you had been a millisecond before, reducing it to a powdery debris. You laughed out loud,  pushing your mount into a tight, dizzying barrel roll, diving directly between the narrow gaps of the cliffs.

The tracking systems couldn't keep up. The automated turrets jerked violently, scrambling to overcorrect their aim as you flew through the blind spots, From your view high above, you watched Neteyam and his ground strike team. While the turrets were completely distracted by your earlier display, they swarmed out of the dense forest like shadows. Leading the charge, Neteyam moved with terrifying precision, breaching the perimeter fencing, dropping two RDA guards before they could even raise their weapons. Behind him, Lo'ak and the other warriors systematically planted charges on the supply crates and fuel lines.

Even from up above, your eyes found him effortlessly, admiring his swift and unyielding movements, completely commanding. He was a force of nature.

“Charges are live! Pull back, pull back!” You heard Neteyam’s voice bark through the comms. He looked up into the sky, his golden eyes scanning the smoke until he caught the bright, unmistakable red of your ikran’s wings looping through the clouds. “Y/N, disengage! Get out of there!”

Swooping low one last time, you let out a victorious battle cry as a massive explosion ripped through the base behind you. You looked and saw an image of a huge ball of fire consuming the turrets and the supply lines. The explosion gave your ikran the motivation to increase her speed, launching you up and out of the fiery gotge into the safety of the skies. The raid was a flawless success.

By the time you got back to Hometree, the adrenaline was still humming under your skin. You hopped down from your ikran, patting her flank affectionately as the other warriors cheered and celebrated the clean victory. No casualties for the party and a massive blow to the sky people. A smudge of black engine soot marred your cheek, your eyes searching the crowd.

Neteyam was standing near his father, catching his breath, his skin glistening with sweat and ash. He looked exhausted, but the heavy tension that usually held his shoulders tight had momentarily melted away. As if sensing your gaze, his head turned. His golden eyes locked onto yours across the clearing. You stared at him, raising your brow and tilting your chind up with a proud, triumphant grin that said, I told you so.

Neteyam watched you for a long moment. Then, slowly, a genuine, breathless smile broke across his handsome face. It was a rare, stunning sight that made your heart do a violent flip against your ribs. He broke away from his father and walked straight toward you, stopping just a foot away.

“You showboated,” he murmured, his voice low but devoid of the seriousness that usually laced it.

“I just gave them a show,” you corrected smoothly, crossing your arms. “There is a difference. And I did it.”

“You did,” Neteyam conceded, his eyes dropping to the soot on your cheek before rising to meet your gaze with an intensity that made you almost forget how to breathe. “It was an incredible show. You were incredible up there.”

Your breath hitched. For all your constant flirting and loud teasing, having his quiet praise directed entirely at you caught you completely off guard that the witty comeback died on your tongue, your cheeks warming under his stare.

Neteyam noticed your sudden silence, and a small, amused smirk, one that looked a lot like your own, as if he had just copied it, pulled at the corner of his lips.

“What's wrong?” he asked softly, stepping just a fraction closer. “Quiet now? I didn't realize it was that easy to shut you up.”

You stared up at him, your mouth slightly open. The proximity was intoxicating, and for someone who usually spent his time dodging your advances, he was occupying a lot of your personal space now.

Your eyes flicked down to his smirk, then back up to his eyes. “I’m just savoring the moment. You’re more handsome up close,“ you smirked, regaining your composure a little. You leaned in, forcing him to maintain that dizzying eye contact. “And it’s not every day the great Neteyam admits I'm incredible. I might just let it get in my head.”

Neteyam’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. Coughing softly, he cleared his throat as he took a strategic step backward, breaking the contact but keeping his eyes locked onto yours. “Don't get used to it,” he muttered, though his tone was lacking any real bite. “Go get cleaned up. My father wants a full debrief within the hour.”

He turned on his heel and walked back toward Jake, though you didn't miss the way his tail swished behind him. You let out a quiet, triumphant laugh, wiping the soot from your cheek with the back of your hand. There was still an armor, but you had managed to crack it... That’s a small victory!

In the following days, the high of the victory had settled into the familiar routine of war. The leaders gathered once again in the pavilion. This time, however, the mood was lighter. The success of the gorge raid had given the rebellion more time to breathe. Your mother pointed at the eastern coast on the map, discussing the movement of RDA sea vessels who was last seen going farther east.

“They are retreating toward the deep water,” your brother noted, crossing his arms. “The destruction of the supply lines has damaged their operations in the coastal outposts.”

“We need to take control of the momentum,” Jake said, leaning over the table. “Neteyam, what’s the status of our perimeter watches?”

Neteyam stepped forward, completely back into his professional, disciplined element. “The forest guards are doubling their patrols. But we need to ensure our aerial scouts are maintaining a strict radius. We can't afford to get complacent just because we succeed in one mission.”

You smiled, resting your chin in your palm as you leaned over the map table, deliberately putting yourself right in his line of sight. “Oh, don't worry, Commander. Our scouts are alwasys in the air. We don't get tired easily.” You paused, letting your eyes slowly track down his body before bringing your gaze back to his face. “Though, if you're so worried about our stamina, you're welcome to come up with me next time. I can show you how we stay energized.”

A collective ripple of amused snickers passed through the council. Your brother hid his face in his hands, muttering something about losing his mind, while your mother let out a small, huffing chuckle. “Daughter...” she said pointedly.

Neytiri smiled, shaking her head at Ikeyni. You watched Neteyam close his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping. He was so incredibly tolerant of you, enduring the teasing with the quiet patience of a palulukan letting a cub bat at its tail.

“Y/N,” Neteyam said slowly, opening his eyes to look at you with deadpan exasperation. “I have to train the youth at the archery grounds after this. I do not have time to be a part of your games.”

“A shame,” you purred, flashing him a brilliant, unbothered grin. “You don't know what you're missing.”

Hours later, you found yourself wandering down toward the village training grounds, hearing the familiar sound of snapping bowstrings and the light thud of arrows hitting bark targets. You stood there, crossing your arms as you watched the scene. Neteyam was in his element. He was surrounded by a dozen young, aspiring warriors, all holding smaller training bows. He was patient and focused, moving down the line to correct their posture.

“Keep your elbow high,” Neteyam instructed a young boy, gently adjusting the kid's arm. “Do not fight the bow string. Let it become an extension of your arm. Look at the center of the mark, breathe out, and release.”

The boy released the string, and the arrow thudded squarely into the inner ring of the target. The kids cheered, and Neteyam offered a rare, warm smile, patting the boy's shoulder.

“Very good. Again.”

“Nice,” you called out, stepping out from the shadows.

The group of young hunters immediately turned, their eyes widening when they saw you. In your clan, you were a legend among the youth, the daughter who flew like the wind and didn't care about the rules. A few of the older teenagers standing nearby immediately started whispering and nudging each other, grinning widely because everyone knew you loved to push Neteyam’s buttons.

Neteyam stiffened, his shoulders squaring as he turned to face you. He gripped his longbow, his ears twitching back. “I am teaching, Y/N. Go find something else to do.”

“I just want to see if I can help,” you said innocently, sauntering closer until you were standing right in front of him, entirely ignoring the giggles of the children behind him. You reached out, your fingers lightly tracing the curve of his heavy longbow. “You see, kids, the Omatikaya are used to shooting on the ground, on their feet. But if you want real precision while moving, you need a loose hip. Like this.”

You fluidly snatched a training bow from a nearby rack, notched an arrow in the blink of an eye, and without even pausing to aim, you spun on your heel and released. The young warriors erupted into gasps and cheers when they saw the arrow hit the center of the furthest target cleanly, totally thrilled by the display. You tossed the bow back onto the rack, turning around to look at Neteyam with a smug, raised eyebrow.

“See?” you murmured, stepping into his space, tilting your head up. “It’s about flexibility, too. Maybe I should give you a private lesson sometime. I can teach you how to loosen up what’s stiff.” you murmured, biting your lip.

Neteyam’s eyes narrowed, his aw practically tightening into stone. His face burned a furious, deep shade of violet, his golden eyes wide as he stared down at you. He knows, with a piercing awareness, how completely trapped he is between his duty and his sheer, chaotic attraction to you, and he shouldn’t like it. But he does, so Eywa help him. He took a deep breath, gripping his bow tightly to keep his hands from shaking.

“Class dismissed,” Neteyam barked out, his voice a strained, tight rumble. “Go practice your stealth skills. Now.”

The kids scrambled away, still laughing and whispering, leaving the two of you completely alone in the training grounds. Neteyam stepped even closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you as he glared down, though the heat radiating from his skin told a completely different story.

“You are impossible,” he whispered fiercely.

You laughed, enjoying the sight of the crack getting bigger each day. You’ve never had this much progress in the past... Perhaps because you don’t really see each other for longer than a few days. Sometimes, your mother gets invited to festivals in the Omatikaya and she brings you and your brother with her, or it’s her who invites the Sullys to come for festivals in your clan.

You’ve always liked Neteyam better than his brother. Lo’ak is a good acquaintance, but it was Neteyam who you’ve always found more interesting. What with his intense focus and unyielding determination on everything he puts his mind to, but you could tell it was also born from his desire to live up to his parents’ legacy.

He is the firstborn, after all. The heir to the Omatikaya leadership. The return of the sky people was the reason why he’s grown even more serious and focused, determined to protect the people, Eywa’eveng, and his family, even more so. You respect that a great deal, but you also think he needs to loosen up a bit before he stresses himself into an early grave.

You wonder if he even has interest in women, or if he only cares about his bows and his arrows. But you don’t like to think of that. It makes you fiercely jealous to think of him directing that intense focus on a woman who’s not you... Or to think of him letting a woman see past the armor you’re working so hard to crack.

But you are too confident. You thought the crack in his armor was getting wider by the day, and you genuinely believed it was only a matter of time before he finally let his guard down.

You should have remembered that in war, the higher you fly, the harder you fall.

More council meetings ensued in the following days, and now, you found yourself back in the sky. The RDA had deployed a small convoy of armored vehicles, and Neteyam’s squad was tasked to do a quiet interception.

“Hold your position above the tree line,” you heard Neteyam’s voice through the comms, crisp and authoritative. “Do not engage until the ground team has disabled their communications. If they see you, they will lock down the area and call for reinforcements. Do you copy?”

You had copied. But as you circled in the grey mist, you saw one of the AMP suits pivoting its heavy cannon directly toward the dense foliage where Neteyam’s ground sweepers were crawling. Your heart leaped into your throat. You waited to hear from him, or for the communication to be cut, but you can’t wait when they could all be gunned down any second.

I am fast enough, you had thought, fueled by that same headstrong confidence that had always served you before. I can take out that suit before it fires.

So, you dove.

But you had underestimated the trees’ density in this sector. Your ikran’s wing clipped a massive branch, throwing off your trajectory by a fraction of a second, and it was all the automated sensors needed. The AMP suit spun, firing a volley of heavy-caliber rounds into the sky. A hot, tearing agony sliced across your thigh, a bullet graze, and the concussive blast sent your ikran screeching into a spiral.

Your sudden, messy descent completely blew the ground team's cover. The convoy opened fire on the forest blindly. Screams of pain echoed through the comms, cutting through your panic. By the time it all ended, the convoy was destroyed, but the cost to the war party was devastating. Blood soaked your leg wraps but you cared little for it, forcing your ikran into the air, flying back to the Hometree with your chest tightening in suffocating fear and shame.

When you landed in the clearing, the celebratory atmosphere of the past weeks was entirely dead. You scrambled off your mount, wincing as your injured leg buckled slightly, and rushed toward the center, catching sight of him immediately. Neteyam was lifting a huntress off the back of his ikran. Her arm was painted in deep, crimson blood from a horrific wound on her shoulder. It was Tarya.

“Get the medical bay ready! Move!” Neteyam roared, his voice cracking with a raw, terrifying desperation you had never heard from him before. He was covered in soot and someone else's blood, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.

“Neteyam—” you breathed, stepping forward, your hands shaking. “Neteyam, I—I am so sorry. I saw the suit turning toward you, I thought I could—”

Neteyam snapped. He lowered Tarya into the frantic arms of the medical healers, then turned on you so fast his tail whipped the air. He closed the distance between you in two giant, looming strides, towering over you.

“You thought?” he asked, his voice drawing the shocked eyes of every warrior present. “I don’t think so! You are entirely, helplessly obstinate! You almost fell! You almost died, did you even think of that?!”

You flinched, stepping back, but he kept coming, his golden eyes blazing with a dangerous, lethal heat that made you feel incredibly small.

“And because you couldn't follow a single, simple order, these warriors are wounded!” He said in a hard voice, his jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grinding. “Tarya might not survive the night! Do you understand that? Do you even care?”

“I do care!” you cried out, tears of shame finally burning your eyes. “I was trying to protect—”

“You didn’t listen! Like always!” he cut you off, his chest heaving as he glared down at you with complete contempt. “You treat this war like a game to win my attention! You are a massive, childish distraction, Y/N! Everyone knows it, and I am sick of it! Do you think people bleeding out in the mud is a joke? Do you think this war is just another festival for you to play around in?”

The words felt like physical daggers piercing straight into your chest, ripping away at your pride and your confidence. You stood frozen, completely exposed and deeply ashamed in front of the people present. Your mouth opened to apologize again.

“I'm sorry,” you choked out, your voice breaking.

“Save your apologies,” Neteyam said, his voice dropping into a cold, venomous hiss that hurt far worse than his shouting. “If you cannot take this seriously, you should just withdraw from the war efforts entirely. Frankly, your behavior is putting everyone's life on the line.”

He didn't wait for you to answer. He turned his back on you completely, jogging alongside the stretcher as they wheeled his warriors toward the human facilities.

You stood alone in the dirt. You couldn't even feel the throbbing wound on your thigh. The numbness of absolute embarrassment and guilt swallowed you whole. He was right. You had been stupid and childish. You had been playing a dangerous game with people's lives just to hear him say your name.

You didn't seek out the Tsahik. You didn't think you deserved her medicine. Weakly, you dragged yourself back onto your ikran and flew away from the Hometree, heading toward the borders of your own clan's territory. You spent the evening in isolation, using bitter, stinging ocean herbs to tend to your own thigh, weeping silently in the dark. You resolved that you would return to apologize to the wounded warriors, and thinking of doing that is already making you feel flayed.

You had been too confident in your abilities and now, you have put people’s lives on the line. You should be ashamed. He was right about you leaving the war efforts, too, perhaps that was for the better. Because of what happened, you don’t think you still have enough confidence to go out there and fight.

You went to your clan, simply to change clothes, but was welcomed by the heavy grief that befell the people. An honored elder had passed away from natural causes, and by custom, the clan had to gather for the burial rites. Your mother and brother returned from the war front to attend, their faces grim.

After the body was given back to Eywa, your brother found you sitting on a secluded cliffside, staring blankly out at the crashing waves of the Eastern Sea. He sat down beside you, sighing. “I heard of the northern ridge,” he said quietly.

You clutched your knees to your chest, refusing to look at him. “Is Tarya... is she alive?”

“She is. Jake’s human friends saved her. She will recover. The others are okay, too,” your brother assured you, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “The war party didn't lose its momentum, sister, if that’s what you’re worried about. But... the injuries could have been prevented. You know this.”

“I know,” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I think I should leave, before I put everyone's lives on the line.” You looked up at your brother, your eyes hollow. “I’ll fly back tomorrow. Just to apologize to those who were wounded because of me. And then... I'm coming home.”

Later that evening, you stood inside your mother's yurt, packing away your combat gear. Ikeyni watched you from the entrance, her arms crossed, as you told her what you told your brother, your voice flat and devoid of its usual spark.

“It would be better anyway if I stay back here, Mother,” you said, tying off a leather pouch. “I can act on your behalf with the local hunters. I'm just a bother to the war council over there.”

Ikeyni stared at you, her sharp eyes assessing your rigid posture, your bandaged leg, and the complete lack of confidence in your eyes.

“Whose words are those?” your mother asked softly. “Are they yours?”

You paused, your hands trembling over your gear. You shook your head slowly. “Mother, he was right,” you said, a lump forming in your throat as Neteyam's furious face flashed in your mind. “I wasn't taking the war seriously. I think it would do the council better if I leave. We have plenty of competent riders to do my job. I don't belong there.”

Ikeyni let out a long, heavy sigh. She walked over, placing a firm, warm hand on the nape of your neck, tilting your forehead up to look into her eyes.

“If that is what you truly want, then so be it,” your mother murmured softly, leaning forward to kiss your temple. “But remember who you are, daughter. You are a child of the wind. Do not let one storm ground you forever.”

The journey back to the Omatikaya clan felt different this time. Usually, you would be racing your brother through the clouds, your laughter wild and loud, but today, you simply flew silently behind your mother. When you landed and entered the pavilion, the change in you was loud. Normally, there was always a sharp, teasing smirk ready for whoever caught your eye, but now, your face was barely moving, your eyes fixed on a permanent point in front of you.

The shame was suffocating and it felt like a huge boulder they tied around you. The council proceeded, discussing territory lines and defensive strategies for what felt like hours, while you stood rigid behind your mother, your eyes watching them move pieces on the map, unknowing of Neteyam’s eyes seeking you despite Ikeyni’s body blocking him from sight.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward into the light of the pavilion when the elders finally paused. Your voice was flat as you addressed the chieftains and the elders, completely stripped of its usual playful edge. “I want to apologize for the failure of my recent mission. I disobeyed orders, and I take full accountability for the consequences. I am even sorrier that it took me days to stand before you and say this; my clan was laying an elder to rest.“

You took a breath, your hands clasped tightly behind your back so no one could see them shaking.

“As you can see, I am unfit for this council. I lack the discipline required for operations of this scale. Moving forward, I am letting my mother decide on my replacement from the Tayrangi riders.”

A heavy silence descended upon the pavilion.

“Y/N,” Jake Sully spoke first, his deep voice carrying a wave of gentleness that surprised you. He leaned over the table, his eyes soft. “The war party didn't lose its momentum. We took out the convoy. You don't need to pin the blame solely on yourself. This is war. Mistakes happen and warriors are always meant to be wounded.”

Neytiri leaned forward next, her sharp, golden eyes searching your hollow face. “Do I understand what you mean, Ikeyni’ite? Are you leaving the council?”

“Yes,” you nodded, your voice firm.

Your mother stepped into the space beside you, her voice steady and protective, supplementing your words before anyone else could question you. “I have asked her to stay back with the Tayrangi. Ruk’e and I are heavily occupied with the war efforts here, and I need someone I trust to oversee the people.”

“Olo'eykte. Tsakarem.”

The voice cut through the pavilion, low and fractured, making your heart seize painfully in your chest. You didn't want him to speak. You didn't want to look at him.

Neteyam stepped forward from behind his father's shoulder. His posture wasn't stiff with the perfect discipline of a soldier anymore, it looked strained, his shoulders slightly hunched. “I wish to speak,” he said, his eyes locked on you, seeking yours, though you kept your gaze fixed somewhere near his collarbone. “I want to apologize to you, Y/N, before the council, for my reaction days ago. I was angry, and I spoke out of turn. You do not need to leave the council because of it.”

You felt a faint ripple of shock go through you, but it didn't revive your heart. Instead, a fresh wave of mortification washed over you. You felt even more ashamed that he felt obligated to apologize in front of the entire leadership just to close the issue gracefully and maintain alliance peace. To you, him telling you not to leave was just something he was saying for the record, a diplomatic necessity.

“You have nothing to apologize for, warrior, and I have nothing to forgive either,” you said, your voice entirely level, devoid of any anger or spite. It was just empty.

One of the Omatikaya elders turned to your mother. “Ikeyni, is this decision final? We would hate to lose such a skilled asset for the war efforts.”

“Yes,” you answered for her, your tone absolute. Nothing could have changed your mind. “If the council pleases, I excuse myself. I wish to apologize to the warriors who were wounded because of me.”

You were already looking at the door, not catching how Neteyam’s head reared back as if something had clawed at him. Without waiting for a formal dismissal, you turned and walked out of the pavilion, the sudden shift to freedom doing nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

You walked straight toward the medical areas, knowing you would find the injured split between the Tsahik’s tent and the human facilities. You went to the Tsahik's tent first, stepping into the dim space. When you approached the wounded Omatikaya warriors, your throat tightened, but they easily brushed your apologies off with tired, warm smiles.

“It is no one's fault,” one of them murmured. “We know what we came there for. Being wounded is expected for a warrior.”

When you went to the human facilities, you found Tarya resting in a clean bed, her shoulder heavily bandaged. When you spoke your apologies to her, she reached out to pat your arm. “Do not carry this weight, sister. We are alive. That is what matters.”

The sheer kindness of their forgiveness almost made you cry. A bitter, agonizing thought crossed your mind, wishing Neteyam thinks the same.

But you immediately caught yourself, mentally slapping the thought away. Stop it. You need to stop thinking about what Neteyam thinks or what he doesn't. You knew it would take time. You had liked him for so long, possibly loved him, but that part of your life was over now.

You walked out to the clearing where your ikran was waiting, ready to leave this place behind for good. You were just reaching for her leather harness when heavy, frantic footsteps behind you, hearing your name being called.

You closed your eyes for a brief second before turning around. Neteyam was jogging toward you, breathing heavily. He had asked to leave the council to follow you the exact moment you walked out, but Jake hadn't allowed him to dismiss himself until the meeting officially concluded.

Now, as he stopped a few paces away, you actively turned off your imaginative mind. You completely shut down that part of yourself that used to over-analyze his every breath, forcing yourself not to read into the fact that he looked almost desperate, entirely at a loss for words.

Neteyam's eyes flickered down, and you saw his face almost crumple, a sharp grimace crossing his features at the sight of the cloth bandaging your thigh. You subtly shifted your weight, trying your best to hide the injury behind the wing of your ikran.

His eyes flickeredup to yours, swimming with a quiet, raw desperation you tried your hardest to ignore. “Y/N, please. I am so sorry for what I said in the clearing. I shouldn't have—”

“It’s alright, Neteyam,” you cut him off smoothly, your voice polite and empty. “You were right anyway. Truly, I should be ashamed of my behavior right from the start. I didn't take things as seriously as I should have, and that only proves how unfit I am for the council. So, you see, you were completely right about me leaving—”

“No,” he breathed, the word breaking from him like a gasp. His shoulders fell, and he took a sudden step forward, his hand reaching out.

Unconsciously, your posture tensed, and you took a sharp step backward, pressing yourself closer to the flank of your ikran as if to seek safety.

Neteyam froze. His extended hand trembled in the air before slowly dropping to his side. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice strained with a deep pain that, once again, you forced yourself to ignore.

“I know,” you said quickly, forcing a small chuckle to ease the tension. “Sorry.” You cleared your throat, gesturing vaguely to the sky. “But just as I said, everything has become much clearer to me now. I want to leave before I put more people in danger. Perhaps, I should even thank you for opening my mind about that—”

“No, Y/N, listen to me,” he stepped closer again, his voice rising in an urgent, pleading rush. “I was just... I was so scared for the wounded. I was terrified. And I said things that I shouldn't have said, terrible things—”

“You said things that were true, Neteyam,” you interrupted softly, your face completely calm as you reached up to ruffle the crest of your ikran's head. “And as I said, I am completely cool about them. I accept them, and I understand. You have nothing to apologize for. In truth, it was just a superior delivering valid criticisms that I needed to learn from.”

“I was unnecessarily cruel,” Neteyam burst out, his jaw trembling as he stared at your polite, unbothered expression. “I was unfair of me to pin all the blame on you. Their tracking systems were upgraded, the terrain was bad—I couldn't tell you how much I have regretted my words every second since. Y/N, please... it is I who needs your forgiveness—”

You let out a sigh and Neteyam stopped abruptly, as if your sigh had put a physical gag on him. He watched you, terrified of whatever words were about to leave your mouth.

“Neteyam. It is over and done with,” you said, your voice shifting into a serious, cold finality that left no room for argument. “I have no hard feelings over it whatsoever. Everything you said that day was true. I didn’t listen, and it put people in danger. I was reckless. I was foolish. You were right, so stop insisting you were wrong, because I’ll start thinking this is just your guilt talking. Stand by your words, and let’s leave things be.”

You reached behind you, grabbing your kuru and connecting it swiftly to your ikran's, before fluidly mounting her back, settling into the saddle with a practiced, rigid grace.

Neteyam stood rooted to the dirt. He had stopped breathing. He stared up at you, his chest aching so violently he wished with everything in him that your ikran’s wings wouldn't work. He wished the wind would die. He wished he could reach out, grab the reins, and drag you back down. His heart throbbed with a suffocating mix of guilt, regret, and something far heavier that he couldn't even name.

He had hurt you. He had completely broken your spirit, and it was devastatingly obvious. Sitting on your ikran, you were unrecognizable. The brilliant, chaotic spark was entirely gone. Your playful confidence was buried deep beneath a layer of careful, polite nonchalance.

“Have a good life, Neteyam,” you murmured.

With a sharp click of your tongue, your ikran surged forward, her powerful wings launching you into the open sky.

Neteyam watched you fly away, your form growing smaller and smaller until you were nothing but a speck in the distance. A sharp, physical spasm ripped through his chest, and his golden eyes stung, blurring his vision. His fingers curled into tight, trembling fists, his teeth gritting together so hard he thought they would crack under the pressure.

He had wanted you to take the war seriously. He had wanted you to stop distracting him. But as he stood alone in the empty clearing, looking up at the empty sky, Neteyam realized he had never been more brokenly, horribly distracted in his entire life.

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The war efforts did not stop just because Neteyam’s world had lost its friction. If anything, the pace of the rebellion quickened after the destruction of the northern convoy. The Omatikaya and their allies pushed the RDA further toward the coastal margins, reclaiming three separate valleys within a single turn of the moon.

Neteyam did his duty with the same cold precision his father had drilled into him since he was old enough to hold a knife. To the common warriors, he was still the golden heir... Unshakable, vigilant, a pillar of the clan along his parents and Mo’at.

But inside his own skin, he was experiencing a slow, suffocating death.

Every hour of every day, his mind raced backward, tracing the bridge he had violently brought down. He missed you with a ferocity that physically brought ache to his gut. It felt like a boulder was placed in his ribs, overcrowding his lungs. Some days, he could barely breathe.

And the worst part was the quiet.

Before his stupidity, every spot of the Hometree was a minefield of your laughter. He had spent months training himself to ignore the sound of that, even though it was the balm to his soul at the end of every exhausting day, the honeyed delivery of your voice, and the way you would lean your shoulder against his, close enough for him to feel the heat radiating from you. He had thought of you as a massive, beautiful distraction. He had braced himself against you like a tree hardening its bark against a persistent storm.

Now, it was just gone. And the silence you left behind was deafening.

Dozens of times during the mid-day meetings, Neteyam would find his head turning instinctively to the left, his eyes scanning the roots or the wooden pillars for a glimpse of your vibrant red paint. At the training grounds, his shoulder would tingle, expecting the sudden touch of your hand.

But there was none.

By the second week, the pressure in Neteyam’s chest grew so immense that he began to lose his grip on his characteristic discipline. He became desperate for any connection to you, any excuse to hear updates from you that he found Ikeyni’s intense focus on war tactics and Ruk’e’s silence very irritating.

Stop talking of war, he thought. Let’s talk about your sister.

So when Ruk’e announced he was flying back to the Tayrangi to retrieve a shipment of leather harnesses and specialized arrows for the coastal hunters, Neteyam didn't even hesitate.

“I will go with you,” he had said, stepping into the ikran roosts before Ruk’e could even clear his mount for takeoff.

Ruk’e had paused, his hand tightening on his reins as he looked at Neteyam. There was no mission along the coast. There was no tactical reason for the commander of the ground forces to waste half a day acting as a pack-beast for supply crates.

“The eastern passes are clear, Sully,” Ruk’e said, his voice carrying that protective, guarded edge that you both possessed. “I do not need an escort.”

“My father wants an updated report on the drafts near the bay,” Neteyam lied, his jaw clenching as he connected his queue to his ikran. His voice was tight, nearly fracturing under the weight of his hidden urgency. “We are moving the division soon. I also need to see the terrain.”

Ruk’e stared at him for a long, heavy moment, reading the dark circles beneath his eyes and the frantic, nervous twitch of his tail. With a slow sigh, Ruk’e nodded silently. The flight to the Eastern Sea was the longest hour of Neteyam’s life. His mind ran through a thousand different scenarios, each one more pathetic than the last. He thought of finding you by the cliff’s edge. He thought of going down on his knees, uncaring of who saw him. He would let you see past his walls. He would let you see that he was nothing but a stupid man who had torn out his own heart stupidly. He was stupid, stupid, stupid.

Your final words had been repeating in his skull like a death chant. Have a good life, Neteyam.

It had sounded like a permanent severance. A final closure. He remembered how, weeks ago, when the realization that you intended to live the rest of your days without ever seeing him again hit him, he nearly doubled over, a physical gasp tearing from his throat as if he had been struck in the gut. Now, as they finally crested the high cliffs of the Tayrangi territory, his hope was crushed into dust. Apparently, you were not around. And he thought he was imagining the smirk that passed Ruk’e’s face.

They were there for close to two hours, gathering everything and securing it on their ikrans. At one point, Neteyam had looked high above and saw the unmistakable, bright red-and-orange span of your ikran’s wings flying down. His heart leaped into his throat, a sudden, violent surge of blood hammering in his ears. He leaned forward, preparing, his mouth already forming your name.

But then, Neteyam watched in absolute horror as your ikran turn back toward the blind side of the cliffs, diving deep into the sea mists until you completely vanished from sight. He looked at his ikran, its recognizable bright blue-green scales... Even from leagues away, you had seen the beast. Even though you didn't really see him, you decided to turn away. Avoiding him. Flying away from him.

Neteyam spent the rest of the supply run standing on the landing platforms, his eyes fixed on the empty horizon, his hands gripping his longbow so tightly his knuckles turned a sickly, pale shade of blue. You never came back up. You stayed hidden in the shadows of the rocks until they had to leave and fly back home to the forest, feeling more like a ghost than a living man.

Many nights later, Neteyam sat on a log near the weapon racks, idly running a whetstone down the edge of his hunting knife when a shadow fell over him. Jake Sully stepped into the light, his large frame blocking out the stars. He watched his eldest son for a quiet minute, taking in the rigid, defensive curve of the his spine.

“You're off your mark, son,” Jake said, his deep voice slicing through the crickets. “During the perimeter check today, you missed three separate trails on the western border. That’s not like you.”

Neteyam didn't look up. He kept his head bowed, the whetstone scraping against the blade. “Just tired, sir. The patrols have been long.”

“It’s not the patrols,” Jake countered gently. He stepped closer, leaning his hip against the weapon rack, his expression softening. “I know what happened after the ridge raid, Neteyam.”

The whetstone stopped.

Neteyam’s hands tried to grip the knife tighter to hide the trembling of his fingers. For the first time in his life, he couldn't hold his mask in place. A small, ragged breath escaped his lips, and when he finally turned his face up to look at his father, Jake blinked sharply from the surprise of seeing Neteyam’s eyes bright with unshed tears.

“I hurt her, Dad,” Neteyam said weakly, his voice breaking. “I was... I was so unnecessarily cruel. I was too stupid, opening my mouth like that. Shouting at her... saying those terrible things.”

He let out a shaky breath, his face crumpling from the sheer, agonizing effort of trying not to cry, but the first tear slipped anyway.

“Have you seen her at the pavillion, Dad?” he asked. “That's not her. That is no longer her because I broke her. I took her spirit and I crushed it with my cruelty. And what’s worse, what is killing me every second, is that she thinks she deserved it. She thinks I was right.” He dropped the knife into the dirt, his hands coming up to cover his face. “I don't know how to turn it all back around. I want her to forgive me. I want her to know... I’d rip my own heart right out of my chest if it means I could take away the pain I gave her.”

Jake let out a long, heavy sigh. His own features crumpled in deep distress for the two of you. He reached down, placing a calloused hand on his son’s trembling shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Have you tried apologizing again? Truly talking to her?”

“No,” Neteyam choked out, pulling his hands away from his face, his eyes red-rimmed from his tears. “I think she doesn't want to see me ever again. I flew to the Tayrangi with Ruk'e last week... and the moment she saw my ikran, she retreated. She dove back into the cliffs... She didn't want to be near me, Dad.”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his teeth. “Have you tried hiding your ikran from view?”

Neteyam shot his father a miserable, exhausted look. “Dad,” he said, his you're-not-helping tone incredibly obvious. “I don't want to force her. If she wants to be away from me, I... I have to respect that. Even if it kills me.”

“Well,“ Jake said slowly, shifting his weight as he stared out into the dark canopy. “Perhaps you should just give her time... The perfect time to talk to her would probably be when she’s mated and having children with her husband—”

“Dad,” Neteyam’s voice rose and deepened, his head snapping up in sheer horror. The tears on his cheeks dried instantly as his heart did a terrifying, sickening dive into his stomach.

“What?” Jake asked, completely straight-faced, though there was a tiny, knowing glint in his eye. “You're taking too much time, son. Men could swoop in anytime, you know? Especially now. She’s back home, heartbroken, and trying to move on from a stupid boy who is too terrified to admit that he belongs to her. That’s exactly when other men take their chances.”

Neteyam closed his eyes, his breathing turning shallow and fast. For the first time in his twenty-two years of life, he felt a wild, primitive urge to beat his own father up.

It wasn't funny, but he knew that his father wasn’t joking either, and as he sat there, his mind began to spin into a dark spiral of jealousy and terror. He had always known that you liked him, that you had liked him since you were children, but because he had been so focused on his duty, he had never allowed himself to measure the depth of it. He had taken your presence for granted. He had assumed you would always be there, annoying him, teasing him, waiting for him to finally turn around.

But you were a chieftain's daughter. You were a legendary huntress, beautiful, fierce, and wild. He knew exactly how many Tayrangi young men watched you with fierce attraction when you flew. The only reason they had stayed away before was because you were down here, making a public nuisance of yourself over the Omatikaya heir.

Now, you were back home. Heartbroken and vulnerable.

Neteyam’s fingers curled into tight fists against his knees, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth groaned under the pressure. The thought of another warrior touching your hand, the thought of another man making you laugh, or seeing that brilliant, wicked smirk return to your face, made his blood run thick.

“She is the daughter of the Olo’eykte,” Neteyam muttered, his voice dropping into a low register. “She would not just choose anyone.”

“No, she wouldn't,” Jake agreed softly. “But she will choose eventually, Neteyam. And right now, you're letting her believe she is better off without you.”

Jake turned away, leaving Neteyam to sit with the desperate fire that had lit inside him. He had broken your spirit, yes. But he would be damned if he let another man be the one to fix it.

With this new fire in him, Neteyam returned to the Tayrangi three more times over the following weeks, armed with a bag of increasingly flimsy excuses. The first time, he claimed his father needed a precise audit of the coastal clan's surplus ikran armor. The second time, he practically forced himself onto a tracking detail meant to map the migration patterns of the sturmbeast herds near the Tayrangi territories. By the third time, he was carrying a bundle of forest herbs from Mo’at that Tayrangi healers hadn't even asked for.

Yet, three times, you managed to dodge him completely.

It was maddening. It felt as though someone was deliberately feeding you a schedule of his arrivals and departures. Every time his blue-green ikran broke through the coastal fog, you were already gone, out on a hunt, or patrolling the northern borders. He even began to suspect your brother, Ruk’e, was secretly warning you through some hidden signal, but he knew for a fact that the man had no way of communicating with you.

You were simply anticipating him. You were treating him like an incoming storm, closing your doors and retreating into a safe place before the first drop of rain could touch you.

By the fourth visit, Neteyam had reached his absolute limit. He didn't bring an escort, and he didn't use the main landing platforms. He left his ikran tethered half a league away, hidden in a dense thicket, and trekked up the rocky coastal paths on foot, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was taking his father’s advice now, though he really hated the thought of surprising you.

He caught you by pure accident near the lower tide pools, where the cliffs formed a secluded cove. You were alone, repairing a frayed net, your long legs tucked beneath you on the smooth stone.When his shadow fell over you, you snapped your head up. For a second, your eyes widened in genuine, startled surprise. But the shock vanished, replaced instantly by that smooth mask of careful, polite nonchalance that made Neteyam’s stomach twist into a painful knot.

“Neteyam,” you said, your voice casual, but your fingers tightened so hard around the wooden netting needle. You made no move to stand, looking up at him as if he were nothing more than a passing trader. “What brings you here? Do you need help with anything, or were you sent here?”

You spoke the words with an easy, detached courtesy, even though your entire posture screamed that you wanted to be anywhere else but in front of him.

Neteyam closed the distance between you, his strides long and desperate. He didn't care about his dignity anymore. He didn't care that he was the commander of the ground forces or the son of Toruk Makto. He stopped just two paces away from you, his breath hitching as his eyes immediately swept down to your thigh. The bandage was gone, replaced by a white scar where the bullet had grazed you.

The sight of it made his throat tighten with a fresh wave of suffocating guilt.

“I wasn't sent, Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, fractured register. He took a half-step forward, his hands twitching at his sides, wanting so desperately to reach out but forcing himself to stay back. “I came because of you. I came because I want to talk to you. I... I cannot sleep, I cannot breathe, and I—”

You let out a sharp, sudden breath, dropping the netting needle into your lap. The polite facade finally cracked, and you stood up, your tail whipping the air behind you in a sudden flash of genuine irritation.

“Aren’t we over this, Neteyam?” you snapped, your eyes narrowing as you glared up at him. “We discussed this already. I thought we agreed to get past it.”

“Y/N, please—”

“No, listen to me,“ you cut him off, your voice rising, hard and sharp. “If this is about your guilt, you can lay it down. I told you before, I have nothing to forgive. I accepted your words because they were true. But if you are going to keep coming here with more pathetic apologies and diplomatic reassurances, you are actually going to make me angry.” You stepped closer. “I told you to stand by your words. If you cannot back your own words, Neteyam, I would be deeply disappointed. You are going to lead your clan one day, and an Olo'eyktan’s words must be solid as stone. If you are this fickle with your own tongue, how can anyone trust you?“

“That is the problem!” He said pointedly, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing emotion as he grabbed your hand, his fingers locking around your wrist before you could pull away, his grip desperate but fiercely tender. “I regret my words, I regret them every single second of every day—”

You tried to wrench your wrist free, but he held fast, his eyes blazing down into yours with a terrifying, weeping intensity.

“I know I cannot take them back,” he breathed, his chest heaving as he stared into your eyes. “I know I cannot magically wipe away the pain I inflicted on you, and I know I cannot just hand you back the confidence that I shattered, but I will work on my hands and knees to bring you back to who you used to be. I will do whatever it takes, Y/N. I swear it to the Great Mother.”

You stopped pulling against his grip, your frame going completely rigid. A bitter huff escaped you, “I don't like who I used to be,” you whispered, and his head moved as if you’d slapped him. “And you said it yourself that day, you don't like it either. You said you were sick of it. You said I was a massive, childish distraction—”

“I was a fool!” he cried, his voice breaking completely. “I was terrified for the warriors, but most of all, I was terrified for you. When you fell from the sky... I thought I lost you. I let my fear turn into venom, and I threw it at the one person who didn't deserve it.”

You stared at him, your jaw tight, your breathing ragged. For a second, just a fraction of a second, Neteyam thought he saw a flicker of the old warmth that used to belong entirely to him. But then, your expression hardened again.

“It doesn't matter why you said it, Neteyam,” you said, your voice flat. “The fact remains that your assessment was correct. I was reckless, and I put lives at risk. Your cruelty was just the mirror I needed to see myself clearly. Now, let go of me. I have nets to mend."

Neteyam’s fingers slowly uncurled, his arm dropping to his side as if it had been cut. You didn't give him another glance, you simply sat back down on the rock, picked up your wooden needle, and began weaving the fibers with steady, unbothered precision.

That day was completely unproductive for him. He spent the remaining hours sitting on a boulder a few paces away, watching you work in absolute silence. You didn't speak to him again. You didn't look at him. You treated him like a piece of rock, completely ignoring his presence until the sun began to dip and he was forced to hike back to his ikran, his heart heavier than when he had arrived.

Neteyam did not give up. In fact, his failure only made him more relentless.

He began flying between the Omatikaya and the Tayrangi almost every single day, uncaring of the brutal, grueling transit on top of his patrols, trainings, and war meetings. He would wake up before the first light of dawn, complete his mandatory border patrols, and then immediately push his ikran through the treacherous mountain drafts just to spend an hour or two on the cliffs.

He became a desperate fixture in your clan. He didn't care how it looked to your people. He didn't care that they watched with raised eyebrows and murmurs of amusement as the proud Omatikaya heir practically degraded himself for a glimpse of their chieftain's daughter. He didn’t know how to fully show you how sorry he is, and how sorry he will be for the rest of his life, so he started with the absolute surrender of his pride.

If you were out in the lower fields gathering ocean kelp for the healers, Neteyam would appear beside you to help without a word. He would haul the heavy, water-logged crates onto his shoulders, carrying them up the steep cliff paths so you wouldn't have to. You would tell him to leave, your voice sharp with annoyance, but he would simply set his jaw, and go back down for another load.

When you were assigned to clean and grease the riding saddles, he would sit on the floor opposite you, taking the rough scraping stones out of your hands. He would spend hours working the stiff leather until his fingers blistered, quiet despite the clear annoyance and suffocating silence you serve him. Some days, you wouldn't even show yourself, your people telling him you went to patrol or hunted, leaving him sitting alone on the rocky ledges for hours.

But he always came back the next day.

One evening, after a particularly brutal afternoon where you had completely ignored his existence while he helped the elders fix something, he caught you as you walked back toward your family's yurt. The sky was a bruised purple, and the bioluminescence was casting a soft light across your face.

He called out your name, his voice light despite the clear exhaustion on his face. He looked terrible, his shoulders were bruised from hauling timber, but there was still the sharp, military crispness of his posture despite the air of a man who was running on nothing but sheer desperation.

You stopped, but you didn't turn around to face him. “Go home, Neteyam. Take the war seriously instead of spending so much of your time here. Your father needs you.”

“My father has other warriors,” Neteyam said, stepping closer. “I will not stop. I will come here every day. I will carry every basket, I will mend every net, I will bleed on these rocks until I’ve proven myself to you.”

You finally turned your head, looking over your shoulder at him. Your face was half-hidden in the shadows, but your eyes were fixed on him.

“You are wasting your time,” you said, though your voice devoid of its usual malice, carrying only a profound, weary sadness. “The girl who would have been happy with all of these is gone, Neteyam. Even I couldn’t bring her back. You cannot bring back something that no longer exists.”

His breath hitched, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow from his father’s training sessions. His ears pinned flat against his head, but he took a deep breath, lowering himself on his knees in front of you. You silently gasped, watching the proud, golden boy of the Omatikaya, who had been raised to hold his head high, lowering himself in the dirt of the Tayrangi cliffs.

“Then who is she now?“ he asked quietly. “Would you let me meet her?” he pleaded, looking up at you soulfully, his chest heaving. “If she is a stranger, then let me earn her. Let me learn the way she breathes, the way she speaks, what makes her laugh now. I do not care if it takes the rest of my life. I will build a bridge over whatever ocean you put between us.”

You looked down at him, your eyes tracing his bruised shoulders, the raw, blistered skin on his fingers, and the deep shadows under his eyes. He looked so tired, what with his duties back home and the tasks he’s killing himself to do here, only to be ignored by you.

“You are a fool, Neteyam,” you murmured softly.

“I am,” he agreed instantly, his eyes tired but fiercely intense. “I am a fool who took you for granted and hurt you, who took too long to realize that my world has no tilt on its axis if you don’t belong in it.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. For many moons, you had kept your heart behind an impenetrable wall of ice, convincing yourself that what had happened broken something inside you that could never be mended. But looking at him now, no armor to break nor wall to climb, and entirely surrendered at your feet, a terrifyingly familiar warmth threatened to crack the frost.

You stepped around him, your tail flicking with a wave of mixed emotions. “The elders need the nets mended by first light tomorrow,” you said, not looking back as you pulled open the flap of your yurt. “If you are going to bleed on our rocks, you might as well make yourself useful.”

You left him outside and he watched the flap shut close with a twinkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there in moons. He let out a long breath, staying on his knees for a moment longer. A fierce, protective spark reignited in his chest. That wasn’t exactly forgiveness, but you had indirectly told him not to leave and tend to the nets, a complete opposite of how you’d pushed him away every single day in the past moons.

He’s not confident yet, but it was a crack in your armor.

Standing up, he wiped the dust from his knees, his eyes watching the flap with tangible longing, before deciding to walk down toward the docks where the torn nets lay waiting.

Days turned into weeks, and Neteyam’s presence in the cliffs before the first light ever crested the horizon has become a constant view. You were drinking your morning tea on a higher ledge when you saw him trekking up the hill, his ikran stubbornly left in a hidden thicket half a league away even though you’d stop avoiding him or fleeing away at the sight of his ikran. You’d seen where he hids his ikran and knew that he had to trek the rocky, miles-long paths on foot before he could even reach your home.

“You should have just brought your mount here instead of trekking that much distance,” you casually said.

He stared at you, as if surprised that you’d suggest that. “Maybe... Maybe tomorrow,” he replied.

Your eyes narrowed at how he was uncharacteristically wearing his warrior cummerbund. It was a gear he wears during missions, but one he rarely wore for casual labor. On top of that, he also looked too pale for your liking, his skin lacking its usual vibrance and his lips almost as white as sea foam.

“Did you come straight here from a mission?“ you probed and he immediately shook his head.

“Just patrol,” he answered, his voice a little gravelly.

Your eyes narrowed, refusing to press for more answers but you watched him almost the entire time, silently going straight to work, lifting heavy timber, hauling supply crates, and helping grease the stiff riding saddles of your clan’s riders. It was past mid-day when he finished, just in time for him to get back for the council meeting, if their schedule is still the same as you remembered.

You caught him just as he was walking down the mountain path. “Neteyam,” you called out.

He turned around immediately and you saw the slight sway that followed that sudden movement, which he tried to mask by shifting his weight.

“You should eat before you go,” you said, keeping your voice even. “I haven’t eaten yet, too... Only if you’d like,” you added.

A look of pure surprise crossed over his pale face. For a second, he just stared at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The exhaustion weighing him down seemed to lift, replaced by a twinkle in his eyes that made you almost smile. Thank Eywa, you were able to stop yourself!

“I... I would like that,” he murmured, his voice soft.

He walked back with you into the communal yurt, aware of your people’s eyes tracking your movements. After all, this was the first time you actually invited him in for anything, knowing how their imaginative minds have long came up with stories of their own to explain the presence of the Toruk Makto’s heir in the Tayrangi.

He sat across from you and you noted how slow he seemed to be moving, having known how efficient he usually is, so you handed him a bowl of steaming soup and a plate of honeyed roasted fish that you’ve already cut into bite-sized pieces. His eyes were heavy on you that your skin seemed to tingle at your every move, too conscious of yourself knowing that he’s watching you.

Your eyes snapped to his, your brow rising. “Eat. The food will go cold,“ you said.

He nodded, redirecting his attention on his food. Despite the pain on his side, a sense of profound peace seemed to settle over him. He was sitting across from you, eating your food, sharing your space. He was so glad he perservered to go today. Whatever agony pokes at him under his tight cummerbund was a cheap price to pay for this single moment with you.

When the bowl was completely empty, he placed it down with meticulous care, waiting for you to finish without speaking, but halfway your meal, your eyes snapped up to his.

“You can go, if you wished,” you said casually.

“Believe me, I do not wish to be anywhere but here,” he replied. “I knew I would have to wait, you were always a slow-eater.”

Your lips pushed forward. He knows that. You tilted your head to brush it off. “I’ve grown faster since I became a huntress,” you retorted.

“Hm. I wish I can see it,” he said, his voice laced with humor.

You stuffed the rest of your food into your mouth, chewing non-stop as your cheeks filled with food bubbling like a syaksyuk eating utumauti. A snort escaped him as he watches you, one that turned into a genuine laugh, though it was cut short, his ears twitching and his jaw tightening as he suppressed a grimace.

“Why?” you asked, your voice muffled by the food in your mouth. He looked like he was pained.

He shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on the low table. He handed you a bowl of water. “Slow down, syaksyuk, or you’ll choke...”

He chuckled when you rolled your eyes before ccepting the water he offered, continuously chewing. Once you were finished, you finally spoke, “You should get moving,” you said softly, reaching over to stack his empty bowl onto your plate. “If you are late for the council meeting, they might think that Toruk Makto’s heir lacks discipline. We don’t want that.”

Neteyam let out a quiet sigh, the humor fading into a weary but profoundly content expression. He slowly pushed himself up from the ground, a sharp, involuntary gasp escaping his teeth before his hand flew to his ribs, but he quickly converted the movement into a stretch. He looked down at you with a lingering fondness.

“Thank you for the meal,” he said softly. “I must head to the council now. I will... I will be back tomorrow. With my ikran, if you meant what you said.”

You went to stand, following him out of the communal space to walk him only until the ledge. “Take care...” you whispered in the wind as you watched him go. Your eyes narrowed, noting how unusually heavy his steps were. He really looked remarkably weak.

You figured you'd ask him tomorrow, but your suspicion was answered much sooner than you expected. In the dead of night, Ruk’e quietly entered your yurt, his expression unusually grave.

“Pack your weapons,” he said, his voice low. “The war council needs you back urgently. The RDA is pushing the western flank, and they need every competent ikran rider back in the air.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Mother agrees it is time.”

He left out the part where Jake Sully himself spoke with him. What you didn't know was that back at the Omatikaya hometree, Neteyam had fallen ill through the night. Yesterday, during a swift ambush on an RDA scout unit, a stray shrapnel had torn into his midriff. It was just a minor injury that required only bed rest, but Neteyam had completely ignored the Tsahik's orders. He had wrapped it tightly, hidden it beneath his cummerbund, and flown straight to the Tayrangi to help haul your clan's imports.

When he returned to the forest, he could barely stand. His wound was bleeding beneath his cummerbund, and his body hot with fever.

Now, he lay on a mat in the Tsahik’s tent, practically delirious. Neytiri sat near him, her tail whipping in a furious frenzy as she scolded him. “You went to the Tayrangi? What did you even do there that you’d managed to have your flesh torn open?! Have you lost your mind, Neteyam?!”

Through the haze of his fever, Neteyam weakly opened his eyes. “Mother... it’s fine. I am fine. Just... do not tell her. She wants me to bring... My ikran tomorrow...” his mouth formed into a lazy smile.

“What?!” Neytiri cried out, her voice breaking in panic. “Neteyam, you could barely open your eyes, and you're flying back there again to do only the Great Mother knows what?!“

“Mother, it’s okay,” he muttered, brushing her hands away.

Jake stepped into the tent, his large hand resting on his wife's shoulder to calm her, though he himself was worried. “You can't do this to yourself, boy. You're going to kill yourself before the RDA even gets a chance to.”

Neteyam let out a long, ragged sigh, his eyes closed. “Have you ever had someone be your entire world, Dad?” he whispered, his voice laced with contentment. “We ate together earlier... And it felt like my entire world was narrowed down on that table... With her sitting across from me. I don't think... I don't think I can miss a single day not seeing her. If I stop showing up... She will think I gave up.”

Neytiri’s fury slowly melted away, her face falling as she watched her son finally drift into a deep, feverish sleep. She turned to Jake and his eyes snapped to her, sharing a look of understanding.

The next morning, you walked with mother and brother to the war pavilion. You had flown back with Ruk’e at dawn, your mind focused on the reports Ruk’e has told you, but some parts of you were thinking about how Neteyam would react seeing you back in the council. Now, he wouldn't have to exhaust himself flying from the forest to the Eastern Coast.

The council welcomed you, asking you about things back home and slowly easing the current climate regarding the sky people into the conversation. You assured them your brother has told you and that you know what you came here for. You turned to the pavilion’s entrance when you heard an entourage enter, freezing at the sight you saw.

Neteyam entered first, his midriff wrapped with a medical woven fabric, and there was an unmistakable fresh smear of blood already blooming through the center of the cloth. He looked very pale. His head casually snapped to your direction, and the absolute shock on his face mirrored your own. Written on his forehead was a huge why are you here?

He instinctively took a half-step backward, his tail twitching as if he wanted to flee the pavilion entirely rather than let you see him like this. But Jake was standing directly behind him. His father placed a firm, unyielding hand on his shoulder, gently prompting him forward into the room. Neteyam swallowed hard, forced his chin up, and continued walking as if everyone in the pavilion didn’t witness his panic at the sight of you.

Well, it’s not like these people are oblivious to his daily trips to the Tayrangi. They had known, it’s only that they didn’t know exactly what for though they had a hunch. And now, he practically confirmed it. He was persistently going there for you.

Meanwhile, the pieces in your mind instantly fell into place. His paleness yesterday, the cummerbund, the obvious weariness... He had been bleeding out while lifting things that normally needed the strength of two men.

“Thank you all for gathering so quickly,” Jake began, clearing his throat as he addressed the elders. “I spoke with Ikeyni and Ruk’e yesterday. We have expanded our flight perimeters, and we drastically need our most skilled ikran riders back in the vanguard. Y/N has agreed to step back into her role.”

As the chieftains murmured their approval, the briefing began. You forced your mind to focus, stepping up to the map table to report on the coastal movements. “The Tayrangi borders are currently stable,” you said, your voice serious and level. “We ran three separate scouts and extended it along the northern reef daily. So far, it's untouched.”

You reached across the wide table for a wooden marker to illustrate the scout lines, but your fingers missed it by a few inched. Before you could lean forward again, a hand moved into your field of vision.

Neteyam picked up the marker for you.

As he extended his arm, a subtle flinch crossed his features. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his neck strained, the simple effort of reaching across the table obviously hurt him. But when his golden eyes turned to meet yours, the pain vanished behind a cool mask of a hardened warrior. He stared at you with an intense, unblinking focus that made your face feel incredibly hot.

The silence stretched for a beat too long. Jake cleared his throat loudly, and from the corner of the pavilion, Lo'ak let out a highly audible, mocking snicker.

You quickly tore your gaze away, your cheeks burning. “Thanks...” you muttered, looking at the map through your lashes.

“You're welcome,” Neteyam drawled, his voice low and smooth despite the sweat glistening on his brow.

You bit your lip, your cheeks still burning as you forced your voice to level to continue your report. The moment the council was dismissed, Neteyam stayed back, lingering by his father's side to converse with the elders. He was very obviously trying to avoid leaving the pavilion at the same time as you.

But you weren't going to let him escape. You walked out with your arms crossed and waited right outside the entrance, your eyes already narrowed into slits. When Neteyam finally emerged, he stopped dead in his tracks. Seeing you standing there like a warden, he took a breath and adjusted his posture, walking toward you with every ounce of military bravado he could muster, desperately trying to hide the slight limp in his stride. The red stain on his white bandage had grown wider.

“What is that?” you demanded without so much as a greeting, gesturing sharply to his torso.

Neteyam stopped two paces away, his expression carefully neutral as he looked away toward the trees. “Just a minor injury from the recent mission. It is nothing.”

“You got shot?” you pressed, stepping closer, your voice rising in genuine disbelief.

“It's a shrapnel,” he corrected quickly as if that made it all better.

“Great! An iron slug tore through your side, and you still came to the coast yesterday? You still did the heavy lifting? You still hiked miles on foot to your ikran?!”

“It was just small,” he lied smoothly, though his breathing was shallow.

“Then why is it actively bleeding?!“ your voice rose slightly.

“It just got strained yesterday, but it’s nothing serious—”

“Are you insane?!” you huffed, your anger finally boiling over. “My father died from a small wound and left my mother a widow, Neteyam! You are not thinking! You have a responsibility to this war, to your family, to your people! How can you preach to me about discipline and taking things seriously when you are out there compromising your own body for something so small?!”

Neteyam listened to your tirade, his ears pinning back slightly against his head. But he didn't flinch away from your fury, instead, he watched you with that stupidly twinkling eyes. He took a step closer, the hardened soldier completely melting away to reveal the raw, aching man underneath.

“What are you calling small? Your forgiveness? Your attention? The chance I was asking for from you? It’s not small to me, Y/N. It is everything to me... And right now, it is all that is holding me together,” he said softly, his golden eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying intensity.

“Must you really put yourself at risk like that?” you cried, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

He groaned, closing his eyes momenyarily, when you could no longer hold your tears back. You are so scared right now, so worried for him, it’s not even funny.

“Just let me, alright? I said I will do everything to earn the right to at least be near you again, and this is me standing by my words. Like what you told me to do,“ he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his conviction. He stepped into your space, ignoring the sharp twinge in his side. “I told you, I will do whatever it takes. I did not want to miss a single day of trying to show you that I will show up. Even if I am bleeding, even if you do not look at me, I will be there.”

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. The sheer, stubborn idiocy of his devotion was infuriating, but beneath the anger, that stubborn wall of ice around your heart suffered another massive, catastrophic crack.

“Well, you don't have to do all that anymore,” you said, looking down at his bleeding bandage, your tone softening into something weary. “I am back on the council now. I will be here in the forest. You don't need to fly to the coast for me.”

“It does not change anything,” Neteyam countered instantly. He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm, close enough for you to feel the heat of his fever, though he refrained from touching you. “Just because you are back in the pavilion does not mean I am done. I will still work for your forgiveness, Y/N. I will still do everything in my power until you can look at me and trust me the way you used to. I am not stopping.”

You looked up at him, your mouth slightly open, completely at a loss for words. You mouth opened again to retort, but before you could even speak, a sudden, frantic rustling erupted from the pavilion entrance. Lo’ak came scrambling out, his limbs flailing wildly as he tried to prevent himself from falling into the dirt.

You and Neteyam quickly turned to him, only to get surprised to see not just Lo’ak, but an entire audience: Jake, Neytiri, Ikeyni, and Ruk’e. They were all standing completely still, their expressions a mix of profound interest and varying degrees of amusement. But because Lo’ak had tripped and completely blown their cover, the privacy shattered instantly.

Ikeyni was the first to recover, clearing her throat with a loud, entirely performative cough. “Ah... Ruk'e, we must go and inspect the riders at the vanguard. Immediately.“

Neytiri smoothed down her braids, her sharp eyes twinkling as she looked anywhere but at her eldest son. “Ah, and I must find Tuk. We have... things to gather. Many things.“

Jake offered a highly unconvincing nod, clapping a hand on a thoroughly embarrassed Lo’ak’s shoulder. “Right. And I have an urgent meeting with the elders about... perimeter lines.”

“I am hungry,” Ruk’e announced flatly to the sky, ignoring the fact that he had consumed a massive breakfast less than an hour ago.

Lo’ak let out a low whistle, backing away alongside the adults. Within three seconds, the entire crowd had vanished, leaving you two alone.

You turned back to Neteyam, your ears pinning flat against your head as you glared at him, trying desperately to mask the raging blush creeping up your neck. “You need to go see the Tsahik. Right now. You are bleeding through your bandage.”

Neteyam nodded, but he didn't move. He stayed standing there, towering over you, watching your fiery exasperation with a soft, maddening look of pure adoration. You groaned, a sound of defeat tearing from your throat.

Reaching out, you firmly grabbed his wrist and began dragging him yourself toward the Tsahik’s tent. “Move, you stubborn man,” you muttered. You figured you wanted to see exactly how small this wound actually was.

When you pulled him into the warmth of the Tsahik’s tent, Mo’at didn't look even remotely surprised to see you practically hauling the clan's golden heir by his arm.

“Ah, and he returns,” Mo’at remarked dryly, setting down a bowl of poultice. “Did I not tell you last night, Neteyam, when you came home violently ill and shaking with fever, that your flesh would tear? Look at this!”

With practiced, firm hands, she unclipped the medical wrap. When the bloody fabric fell away, your breath hitched, and you winced sharply.

The wound was not small. It was an angry tear about as long as your pinky finger, stretching deep into the muscle of his side, the edges raw and weeping fresh blood from where he had strained it.

“You are a liar,” you hissed, the fear in your chest turning into a surge of anger. You reached out and forcefully pinched his shoulder. “You said it was small!”

Neteyam’s hand instantly shot up, his fingers gently trapping yours against his shoulder. His twinkling eyes locked onto yours, completely unbothered by the pinch, and he flashed a rare smile that showed his pearly whites. It was so genuine, so disarming, that the hot anger in your chest simmered down into a helpless flutter.

“There is nothing to worry about, Y/N,” he murmured softly. “I’ve had worse before.”

You merely hissed at him in response, pulling your hand back.

Mo’at wiped the blood away and applied a fresh layer of soothing poultice, wrapping the midriff with tight, clean linen. Once finished, she stood up, turning her sharp gaze directly onto you. “Y/N, I am entrusting this hard-headed man to you. He does not listen to me, to his mother, or to his father. He needs strict bed rest. That wound will never close if he keeps moving and straining himself.”

You nodded with absolute solemnity, crossing your arms. “You can trust me, Tsahik. I will personally castrate this man if he even thinks about lifting a finger.”

Mo’at let out a rare, breathy chuckle, shaking her head as she gathered her bowls and exited the tent, leaving the two of you alone.

You turned to him. “Sleep,” you hissed.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, a soft chuckle escaping him as he sank into the furs with a weary sigh, his eyes half-closed as he looked up at you through his lashes. “No need for castration... that would make you miss your babies...”

The last words were a barely audible, sleepy whisper, but the tent was so quiet that they rang like a bell in your ears. “What?!” you snapped, your entire face exploding in a violent heat.

Neteyam just smiled lazily, turning his head onto the fur pillow. “Sleeping now...”

True to your word, you made sure he took his rest. For the next week, you refused to let him leave the Tsahik’s tent unless necessary, sitting by his side, forcing him to eat, and threatening him with your dagger whenever he tried to sit up too fast.

But once his fever broke and the wound finally closed into a healthy, silver seam, he went back to waiting at your feet, and he became entirely shameless. He would bring you the sweetest fruits before morning drills, sharpen your arrow tips and hunting dagger, and sit quietly beside you during meals, completely content just to exist in the same space. He was still the same as before. There was no pushing or demanding, only working to seamlessly wove himself into your daily routines.

If you are to be asked when exactly did the remaining ice around your heart melted, you’d say it had turned into a puddle long ago. But now, as the Hometree came alive with the people singing and dancing to celebrate a turn of successful hunts, your chest was singing with a familiar hum. One you never thought you’d feel again. You stood near the outer roots, watching the dancers, when a familiar warmth bloomed at your side.

Neteyam stood beside you, wearing his formal warrior gear. He didn’t speak, but his hand hung loosely between you, his fingers inches from yours. You bit your lip, looking at his profile through your lashes, noting his sharp jawline and his beautiful patterns. It was the same image of the boy you swore to make fall in love with you. You wondered what thirteen-year-old you would have thought if she knew that this man literally bled into the dirt just to prove he wouldn't give up on you.

You let out a soft, long sigh. Slowly, deliberately, you moved your hand to intertwine your fingers with his.

Neteyam froze. His head snapping down to look at your joined hands, and when he lifted his eyes to yours, they were bright, watering. “Y/N...” he breathed, his voice trembling.

“What?” you whispered, a soft, familiar smirk finally returning to your lips. “Some would say this is the perfect time for a kiss... Unless you’re scared,” you mumbled.

He blinked, his forehead creasing for a moment before a ragged, breathless laugh escaped him. It was you who moved and tiptoed to press a soft kiss on his lips, and you felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you closer, kissing you better. You smiled against his lips.

“I forgive you, Neteyam...” you pulled away only to murmur, and he chased your lips.

“I love you...“ he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. The sheer, unadulterated happiness radiating from him was intoxicating, and you cannot help but grin.

But the beautiful moment was violently ripped away when a deafening horn blew, shattering the festival music and the celebration.

“Fire! Fire! Fire!” The people announced.

High above, in the eastern branches of the Hometree’s canopy, a terrifying orange glow erupted. Your breath seized at your chest, a cry of panic escaping you as the people frantically ran to and fro in all directions. Neteyam moved, signaling to the nearby hunters.

“All hunters! Gather water from the river! Move!” he roared, crisp and authoritative.

The communal clearing exploded into calculated chaos. You and Neteyam sprinted toward the lower roots, organizing lines of warriors to haul water containers up the massive vines, while flyers are gathering water from the river to splash it to extinguish the fire. At first, everyone thought it was an accident, but as the smoke cleared, a familiar deep thrumming vibrated through the air.

From the clouds, the shapes of sever RDA gunships dropped into view firing blindly into the canopy.

“To the air!” Jake’s booming voice echoed.

You and Neteyam sprinted to the high roosts, connecting to your ikrans in a synchronized flash of movement and flying into the open sky where the warriors on their ikrans were already fighting fiercely. You dove through the smoke to shoot pilots and sent arrows to the exposed underbellies of gunships you happen to get close to. Within an hour, the invading gunships were spiraling into the jungle in balls of fire.

You watched the fire it caused to the forest, your chest aching with fury and grief at the sight of it.

The war party was victorious, but the destruction it brought made all of you grim. The eastern branches of Hometree were charred black, but it didn’t burn the entirety, and fortunately, no one was dead or gravely injured.

The council convened immediately beneath the glowing roots, the air thick with tension.

“It is no longer safe to keep the children and the elders here. Hometree is too big a target,“ Jake said, his face shadowed by the firelight as he leaned over the map.

“We must relocate... for the meantime,” Neytiri agreed, her voice tight with grief.

“The Hallelujah Mountains. It’s filled of magnetic interference, their metal birds wouldn’t like it very much up there,” Neteyam spoke up, placing a stone on a specific grid of the map.

Jake nodded decisively. “We’ll send scouts, then we’ll evacuate those who cannot fight immediately. The warriors will stay on the ground to secure the perimeter and prepare our counter-strike.”

The plan was drawn swiftly. Jake didn’t want to wait longer. As soon as the clan is evacuated, the party will strike back. As you ordered some Tayrangi men to help with the evacuation, Neteyam caught your arm near the edge of the pavilion, his grup firm and his eyes holding a fierce, protective spark in them.

“After... After the battle is over...” he began, his eyes blinking too many times per second as he stammered for the right words to say.

“Hm?“ you prompted.

“Would you like...“ he trailed. “To have me as your mate?” he added, his words stumbling over one another, and even in the dark, you could see how his cheeks were tinted purple.

You blinked, your heart jumping at your throat, causing it to close as your eyes stung with hot tears. “How could I ever say no to that?” you said in a hoarse voice, your hand holding his firmly.

He pulled you close. “Yes?” he asked breathlessly and you nodded. His breath audibly caught in his throat, leaning forward to kiss you and pulling you even closer to deepen his kiss.

Neteyam broke the kiss reluctantly, his forehead resting against yours for one final, desperate second as the chaos of evacuation whirled around you two. He held your face in his hands, pressing another deep kiss. “Great Mother. I love you so much...”

You chuckled, gripping his forearm. “Glad you’ve finally caught up,“ you mumbled, giving him a peck.

“I have always been here, I was just stupid,” he chuckled, his eyes caressing your face.

The tender moment shattered, though, when a loud cough echoed from the shadows. Neteyam stiffened, and you pulled back just enough to see your brother stepping into the dim light. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed at Neteyam that practically shouted an order to let you go this exact second.

Neteyam cleared his throat, his hands slowly lowering, though he kept his fingers loosely holding your hip for just a heartbeat longer before fully stepping back. You bit your lip, stopping yourself from smiling as you took Neteyam’s hand to hold it. Ruk’e looked at you with a look that would normally be accompanied with a snort.

“Mother is looking for you. Right now. She says the Tayrangi scouts need their final instructions for the eastern ridge, and you're the only one who knows the layout of the lower caves.”

You pushed your lips forward. “I'm on my way,” you said, turning to Neteyam and tiptoeing to kiss him again. You bit his lower lip before pulling away, patting his chest. “Later.“

You turned away, your tail moving behind you, its hairy tip brushing his lower abdomen. You heard his gasp and you grinned as you walked away. You brought this small pocket of joy as your ikran perched on a cliff along with the others, waiting for the signal to fight. Neteyam was several ikrans away from you, although Toruk’s big head was almost hiding him from sight. He caught your gaze, giving you a fierce, sharp nod.

The signal came not from a horn, but from the unnatural tremor of distant explosions. War cries from your people and from the warriors from various clans erupted as hundreds of ikran took to the sky.

You plunged off the ledge, diving straight into the smoke. Your ikran, holding a large boulder in its hind legs, flew over a gunship’s rotors and threw the boulder with a force that tilted the gunship before it exploded into a ball of orange flame. You banked hard, narrowly dodging a volley of gunfire directed at you.

You pulled your ikran’s reins up, pulling the string of your bow before releasing an arrow through the glass of the gunship pursuing you. You watched the vehicle spin wildly, clipping another gunship before exploding into the nearest floating mountain. A sharp war cry tore from your throat, raising your bow before flying higher.

Below, you found Neteyam, riding with the reckless bravery of Toruk Makto himself, but with the terrifying precision of Neytiri. He guided his ikran into a dive, sending arrow grenades directly onto the rotors of a Dragon Assault ship, flying upstream before the large aircraft blasted, his war cry echoing over the din of combat.

For what seemed like hours, the sky bled. Whenever you feared you couldn't find Neteyam in the swirling ikrans flying in the air, he’d appear by your side, moving perfectly synchronized with you. Every time a threat closed in on your blind spot, Neteyam’s arrow finds them. Every time gunships threatened to box him in, your own lethal accuracy puts an end to it.

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, the final RDA gunship was on a slow descent in flames. This should be a victorious moment, but the sight of the burning jungle below you filled you with a grief that seized your breath. The adrenaline of the battle took hours to fade, but after securing the perimeter of the clan’s hideout, and convening with the council to speak of the next steps the party should take to completely batter the RDA, you felt Neteyam’s hand catch your forearm again.

You turned to him, your excitement bubbling in your chest despite your exhaustion. You followed him as he navigated some steep edges and climbed a few vines, wondering where exactly you two are going, but when he pulled you up on what seemed like a hidden hollow, the sight of a secluded, bioluminescent pool surprised you. The water glowed with a soft, blue light, casting shifting, watery patterns across the jagged walls.

Your mouth curled into a huge smile, turning to him. “This is beautiful...”

“Found it when I was sixteen aimlessly flying around here. I thought then that maybe this could be a place for dates with my mate,” he said, smiling at you, his face devoid of tension.

“Dates?” you echoed.

“It’s... a human thing. My parents often go on dates. Just the two of them, spending time with each other...” he explained.

You smiled, “I like that.”

His hand traveled up your forearm to hold your elbow, pulling you closer. “Good. Because I’ve always thought of bringing you in this place,” he mumbled.

You looked up at him, the soft blue light from the pool catching the warmth in his eyes. “Even back then?”

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a reverent tone that made your chest tighten pleasantly. He reached down and gently slid his fingers between yours, leading you to the edge of the water. It was you who pulled him to sink into its chilly waters. “Even when I was trying to convince myself that I had to have laser focus on my duty, to be the most competent warrior I could be for my people, you were always the exception... You were always the tilt in my world.“

He held your jaw in his hand, leaning forward to press a soft kiss on your lips. His arms wrapped around your waist, his forehead pressed against yours.

“I know you forgave me. I know you said I didn't have to keep doing... all of that. But I need to say it, ” he paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “I am so sorry. I will always be sorry... For the words I threw at you, for the pain I caused, for making you feel like you had to change who you were. I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again.”

You moved your head slightly, you nose brushing his. The raw, unshielded vulnerability in his golden eyes was breathtaking. The proud, stubborn commander of the Omatikaya was completely laid bare before you, entirely surrendered. You have only ever dreamed of that.

“Neteyam,” You said softly, cupping his jaw with both hands. He stared at you, his eyes bright and swimming with an overwhelming wave of emotion. “The girl who used to be reckless might be gone, but the woman standing in front of you loves you more than she ever did,” you whispered, a soft, tearful smile breaking across your face. “I see you, Neteyam. I see everything you've done to make up for what you did. You don't have to carry the guilt anymore. Lay it down.”

A breathless sigh escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes, leaning heavily into the palm of your hand as if a massive weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders. When he opened them again, the absolute devotion burning within them made your heart skip a beat. “I love you,” he breathed, his words an unbreakable vow. “Baby, I love you so much.”

He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was entirely different from the stolen moments before the battle. This was slow, deep, yet desperate. You groaned softly, your fingers tangling into his braids, he pulled you even closer until there was no space left between you. His hands moved down to your hips, gently stepping you back until you hit the velvety edge of the pool.

He pulled away to look down at your face, his large form towering over you so much now that you’re nearly lying down on the flat edge. Slowly, deliberately, he brought his kuru forward, the glowing tendrils at the tip unfurling, searching for anything to connect with. “Are you sure you want me as your husband?”

You raised a brow, “Is that a warning?”

He pressed a hard kiss on your lips. “It’s only that there is no turning back... You are mine. Forever.” he whispered conspiratorially.

You took your kuru behind you, “I’ve never been one to turn back in fear...” You met him halfway, bringing your kuru forward until the tendrils entwined in a sudden, breathtaking flash of pure energy that caused borh of you to jerk involuntarily. You watched his pupils dilate, the black almost swallowing the gold.

His world felt as though it expanded, then narrowed down to just you, while you could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heartbeat as if it were beating in your own chest. You felt the raw, overwhelming depth of his love for you, the fear he felt he drove you away from him, the desperation that ate at him when you no longer cared for him, the hope that bloomed in him when you were so worried about his small wound, and the pure, weeping joy that had consumed him when you finally held his hand at the festival.

You let out a ragged, trembling breath, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and pulled him down into a deep, bruising kiss. Neteyam groaned softly against your lips, his arms instantly locking around your waist. He pulled you flush against his chest, lifting you slightly off the stone as if he couldn't get you close enough. The kiss shifted from soft and tender, to the desperate hardness of a man who wanted to devour you.

His hands were everywhere on your body, unclasping your beaded top and untying your loincloth behind your tail. You chuckled in his ears when his hand on your tail tickled you, and he angled his head to press a hard kiss on your jaw, shedding your loincloth off of you. He hauled you up to the ledge before following you to hover over you, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, naked under him. The cool blue light of the secluded pool danced across his broad shoulders, making you shiver with awareness about how large of a man he actually is. He looked down at you with a hunger born from years of restraining himself.

His large hands slid down from your waist, his thumbs tracing your curves down to you thighs before firmly pressing your thighs apart. You let out a soft gasp as the cool air hit your skin, but the chill was instantly replaced by the intense heat of his body as he settled between your knees. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and searching, demanding you witness exactly how completely he belonged to you.

Slowly, he lowered himself, his calloused hands guiding your knees wider, draping your legs over his broad shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat as his breath fanned across the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the smooth skin of your knee, then another higher up, tracking a slow, agonizing path inward until you were trembling beneath him.

“Neteyam,” you called, panicking as you pushed him back by his shoulder.

His eyes snapped up to you, his eyes dark and dangerous, as if waiting for you to tell him no, but the heat in his eyes flustered you with a heat on your cheeks. He kissed your inner thigh again, and when his lips finally found the center of your heat, a sharp gasp escaped you, your hand squeezing his shoulder.

He pressed a gentle hand on your chest, travelling a bit sideways to cup your breast. “Lay back,“ he mumbled and you did, propping yourself up on your elbows.

His lips found you again and he groaned against your flesh, his hands wrapping securely around the back of your thighs to hold you steady as he parted you with his fingers. His tongue was warm, broad, and too deliberate, drawing upward, tasting you fully. The connection through your entwined kurus sent a jolt of unadulterated pleasure down his spine, and in turn, you could feel his own arousal spiking through the bond, heavy and demanding.

You arched your hips off the ground, your fingers digging into the thick roots beside your head. “Neteyam...” you whimpered, your head rolling back.

He grew even relentless, his pace quickening, his tongue swirling and pressing harder against your sensitive nub. Your hips bucked when his finger slid inside you, feeling uncomfortable with the slight stretch as his mouth sucked at your heat. The sensation was too noverwhelming, and the bond is only amplifying everything. You could feel his deep satisfaction at your undoing, his pride swelling as your body began to tighten around his fingers, and with a firm stroke of his tongue, you felt a powerful tremor in your body, a loud sob tearing from your throat as your thighs clamped around his head.

Neteyam held you through the tremors, swallowing your heat, his purr vibrating heavily against you until your breathing began to slow. As he dragged himself back up to hover over you, his face flushed and his lips glistening, you caught your breath. “That was insane...” you huffed.

His eyes lightened a bit, the darkness yielding to his curiosity. “Really?“

“You know how good it felt for me,” you smiled, tugging at your entwined kurus. A sudden, wicked spark flared in your chest, traveling straight through the bond to hit him. “I want to do it to you, too,” you whispered, your voice husky, your eyes locking onto his.

Neteyam blinked, a sudden wave of heat washing through his expression as his pupils dilated further. “You don’t need—”

“No,” you cut him off, your hands sliding down his muscled abdomen, until it lowered where you felt him. He breathe sharply when you felt him through his loincloth, your hand gripping the massive hardness. “I want it in my mouth, too...”

He closed his eyes for a moment before giving in with a low, defeated groan, shedding his loincloth off before rolling onto his back on the moss. You chuckled, the sound so womanly to him he felt a currently of electricity running exclusively on the margins of his body, causing his ears to pin back against his ears as he watched you rose on your knees, parting your thighs to straddle him.

His hand moved to touch you between your thighs and you jolted with a loud moan, nearly falling over if you didn’t catch yourself by propping a hand on his chest. His fingers caressed your velvety folds, gathering your fresh wetness.

“I need to concentrate, ‘Teyam...” you groaned and he chuckled. You saw him bring his fingers into his mouth.

“Sorry... You just taste so good,” he licked his lips, reaching to kiss you, but you moved your head to kiss his jaw instead.

You pressed soft kisses on his skin, contrasting his hard and heavy kisses. His hands hovered at your waist, his head falling back, letting you slide down his body. He watched you through heavy eyelids, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as you positioned yourself between his muscled thighs. You bit your lip at the sight of his length fully erect, thick, and leaking a bead of thick pre-cum at its tip.

You leaned down, your braids brushing against his thighs as you wrapped your lips around the smooth, hot head of his shaft. Neteyam’s breath hitched violently. He threw his head back against the moss, his jaw clenching so hard the cords in his neck strained as you took him into your mouth, your hands fisting and moving by instinct. Your tongue swirled around the ridge, your hand wrapping around the base to stroke him as your mouth moved.

He moaned, his hips bucking as the bond flared with a white hot intensity. Through the connection, you felt the sheer, agonizing pleasure ripping through him, the tight, desperate control he was trying to maintain as the wet warmth of your mouth drove him insane.

“Oh, baby, please, I can't—“ he gasped out, his hips lifting involuntarily off the ground as your mouth sucked him harder. He reached down, his large hands tangling into your braids.

You thought he was going to push you away, but he only held your head there with more pressure for a few more desperate seconds that his largeness almost choked you, but then he gently pulled you up, his breathing completely shattered. You groaned, frowning that he had to pull his cock out of your mouth.

He looked you in the eyes, serious and with finality. “No more. I want to come inside you.”

He hauled you up by your waist, flipping you beneath him in one fluid motion. He was completely done with waiting. His large hand pinned both your wrists above your head, his other hand holding your waist in place as he aligned his hard length against your softness, his mouth coming down to capture yours.

With a slow, heavy thrust, Neteyam began burying himself inside you, until he’d sank in entirely. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders , letting out a breathless cry, feeling your walls stretching to accommodate him. The sheer, overwhelming sensation of the fit sent an exquisite pleasure for the both of you through the bond, and it felt as though your souls were melting into one another, leaving no distinction between where you and him stand.

Neteyam paused for a second, his eyes closing as he absorbed the tight, wet heat of your walls squeezing him. A ragged groan tore from his chest before he began to move in a pace that was immediately hard, deep, and desperate, as if he was pouring into you all the pent-up energy he had left from the battle.

He drove into you with a fiercely possessive rhythm, his hips pounding against yours with a strength that had you crying out his name. Every time he pulled back, he returned deeper, marking you, claiming every inch of your body as his own. His arm wrapped under your body, while the other hand hiked your knee up to your chest, making sure you receive each of his forceful thrust.

The bond left no walls or armors to crack, both of you feeling only the pure, intoxicating love, devotion, and absolute surrender you have for each other. The tension in your lower abdomen coiled tighter and tighter until it was unbearable. Neteyam’s pace became frantic, his jaw locked, his eyes fixed on yours with a terrifying intensity as he felt your walls begin to tighten around him.

“Oh, baby,” he choked out, his grip on your thigh tightening.

You screamed his name as your body convulsed around him, the pleasure shattering your vision into a thousand white sparks. Your grip on him triggered his own release, and a deep, guttural roar escaped him as he thrust brutally deep into you one last time and held himself there, his body stiffening as he spilled himself completely inside you.

“Fuck, I’m seeing stars...” he groaned, collapsing against your chest, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his own chest rising and falling in ragged, exhausted gasps. You broke into a weakened laugh, your hold on him loosening up a little as you pressed soft kisses on his temple.

The weeks that followed were a blur of war council meetings, suffocating maps, and aerial patrols around the High Camp. The ongoing struggle against the RDA had left very little time for you and Neteyam to enjoy your first days together, but it’s when you’re high above the sky that everything seemed to be yours.

You banked hard to the left, your ikran letting out a shrill cry as the wind rushed past your ears. Behind you, Neteyam dipped beneath a floating vine, a wild, unburdened laugh tearing from his throat. For a few glorious hours, the shadow of the RDA did not touch you. There were no battles, no strategies, and no bloodshed. There was only the dizzying feeling of flying, the wind, and the intoxicating freedom of racing the Neteyam through the floating mountains and its hanging vines.

He pulled up right beside you, his ikran's wingtip nearly brushing yours. When he turned his head, his golden eyes were bright, his smile throwing all his typical military crispness to the wind. You flashed him a sharp, challenging smirk, diving straight through a cascading waterfall.

“Keep up!” you taunged, leaving him to chase your laughter through the mist.

By nightfall, the adrenaline gave way to the familiar craving for quiet. You returned to the hidden hollow, slipping into the bioluminescent pool. The chilly waters swirled around your waist as Neteyam hugged you sideways, his chin finding your shoulder, bending his large frame to fit himself at your side.

Every night felt different, but tonight was calmer, filled with your soft mumurs and his low, rumbling chatters as you talked for hours about nothing at all, your fingers tracing the faint, silvery marks of his scars, before the talking faded into the slow and heavy rhythm of your lovemaking.

You are a impatient woman, but you couldn’t deny your love for his deliberate, agonizing slowness sometimes, his hands anchoring your waist as he worshipped you. Every thrust was deep and strong, his lips pressed to your throat, whispering your name like a prayer until the sensations from the bond left you both breathless, tangled together in a sweating, blissful heap.

The sky was just beginning to shift from darkness to the bruised purple of pre-dawn light when you woke up, your body singing with delicious soreness and you snuggled closer to his warmth. You kissed the soft skin of his shoulder, you hand caressing his muscled chest down to his abdomen. You smiled when he stirred, pressing soft kisses on his shoulder and neck, until you reach his jaw.

“Wake up, handsome...“ you mumbled. “It’s your turn today.”

He groaned softly, pulling you closer to him. “I hate leaving you.”

You chuckled. “So dramatic, my handsome man. I will be close behind,” you said, patting his abdomen. “Quick, quick. Before they wake up.”

He grunted, hauling you on top of him effortlessly. His eyes, though sleepy, watched you darkly as his hands moved to knead your breasts. You gasped softly, your hand clutching at his bicep as you peered down at him.

“I’m still sore from last night,” you said with a little drama, pouting at him.

He bit his lip, cooing at you. “I’ll help...” his hands moved down to your waist, ready to roll you over to your back but you were quick to sit up.

“No thanks. I know it’s not really help,” you smirked, grabbing your top. “Get up, warrior. You don’t want to get caught, do you?”

Neteyam groaned, a soft smile on his face before getting up, his hand clamping on your ankle to pull you toward him. You smiled when he bent his head a little to level with you. “Kiss,“ he mumbled and you gave him your lips.

You two kissed and kissed, but when you felt him nudging you to lie on your back, your eyes snapped open, pulling away from the kiss with narrowed eyes. “Neteyam...”

He smiled, his head falling dramatically. You rushed him, watching how the sun is almost peeking through the bruised sky, and Neteyam moved as quickly as he could, stealthily slipping back into the camp, walking with a light, quiet stride, a faint smile still on his lips as he neared his family’s tent.

“Out late?”

Neteyam froze, his ears pinning flat against his head. His father stepped out from the shadow, his arms crossed. From just inside the tent flap, Neytiri stepped forward, her sharp eyes narrowed at her eldest son in a way that made Neteyam’s posture instantly snap into military rigidity.

Jake sighed. “Neteyam... I've been meaning to talk to you, boy. I know you’re sort of courting Y/N. The whole clan knows it, everyone knows it, but you cannot just spend nights after nights with her to only Eywa knows where. You are both unmated. It's a small camp, people talk, and it’s not going to be a good look for her reputation.”

Neytiri stepped fully into the dim light, her tail twitching. “Just last night, when you had to sleep here, you looked like you were being sent to war instead of just holding Tuk because she’s asked to snuggle with you,” she pointed out. “You best ask for her hand from Ikeyni, son. Formally. You can’t dishonor her with this fooling around that you young people tend to engage in these days.“

Neteyam opened his mouth to speak and explain, but the look on his father’s face had him turning his head to follow Jake’s line of vision. He then saw you stepping into the clearing, completely unaware of the tribunal happening right in front of the Sully tent. You had planned to quickly slip into the yurt you shared with your mother to change your clothes and fix your hair, but you had taken the wrong turn.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

To say you looked thoroughly ravaged was an understatement. Your hair was a wild, tangled halo of loose braids, your lips were visibly swollen, and your chest was heaving from the hurried walk. You looked exactly like a woman who had spent the last hours being thoroughly fucked. Jake blinked, looking from you to his son.

Neytiri tilted her head, her gaze shifting slowly from your wild hair down to Neteyam’s deeply flushed face. She looked at her son pointedly, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “Neteyam...”

Neteyam looked at you, then at his parents, his chest rising as he took a deep, steadying breath. The boyish embarrassment vanished, replaced by the fierce, unyielding pride of a man who knew exactly where he stood.

He walked over to you, completely ignoring his father’s stunned expression, and firmly wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“I will personally apologize to the Olo’eykte, Mother. Because there is no need to ask for her hand,” Neteyam said, squeezing your waist a bit as he looked at his parents. “We are already mated.”

Your heart jumped into your throat, your cheeks burning.

Jake stared at his son, utterly speechless for three long seconds, before a slow, defeated smirk began to tug at the corner of his mouth. “Well... damn. Congratulations, I guess,” he said. “But you need to talk to Ikeyni about this. Immediately.”

“What is the matter at hand?” Your mother’s voice coming from your clan’s side of the camp.

You startled, pursing your lips. Neytiri watched you, the stern face for her son breaking into a soft smile as she shook her head in comical disbelief for your and Neteyam’s stubbornness.

Baelor

Baelor would never forget the first time he laid eyes upon you at his mother's nameday celebration feast. You were from House Blackmont, sworn in fealty to House Martell, and a close friend to one of his mother's ladies. You donned a black velvet dress embroidered with small golden vultures, wings outstretched. Long, golden rings decorated your plump fingers, curving over the tips to resemble mock talons. House Blackmont was known for being ferocious. Though deep within your ivory shell, beat the heart of a sensitive soul who yearned for the love of a good man.

You were rounder, curvier than your sisters, standing almost as tall as your brothers. As you watched Prince Baelor approach, the old instinct to round your shoulders to shrink away nearly kicked in. Instead, you sat up straighter, making your spine rigid, and offered him a dazzling smile.

"My lady," he smiled, kissing your hand and admiring your rings. Once he was closer, you noticed his mismatched eyes. One of warm brown and one of shimmering blue. How unusual. How magnificent. "Might I have the honor of dancing with you?

"You may, Your Grace," you smiled, letting him guide you and lead in the dance. Feet moved in unison, your arm extending gracefully. A hushed silence filled the hall as all eyes were on you and the prince.

Gazes locked together, and you wanted him more than anything. It turned out that he felt the exact same way, much to his mother's utter delight. There was trepidation on your wedding night when the bedding ceremony arrived, nervous about being stripped in front of the attendees.

"I fear none will undress my wife but me," Baelor stated firmly, and King Daeron agreed.

You felt like a true beauty beneath Baelor's touch, his calloused hands stroking your plump flesh. Your heavy breasts seemed to fit perfectly in his palms, and there was such intimacy in the way he stroked your round stomach, tending to the flesh as if it were the finest silk. His fingers traced over the red and pink marks on your thighs and the underside of your belly, and his mouth pressed against your rounded thighs.

"The Gods have blessed you with such beauty, wife," he murmured, exploring every inch of your body. His words were not a lie as you watched his cock stand proudly between his thighs. Desire burned through him for you. He took his time with you, savoring every moment and dancing you into divine pleasure.

That love for you only deepened as the years passed, and with each son you bore him. Valarr, Matarys, Aelyx, and Baelon. Then, finally, a daughter, Viserra. Each one loved and cherished. Pride radiated through Baelor when he introduced each one to the court.

You wore the marks they left proudly on your body, and Baelor loved to kiss each one.

"No woman should be as adored as the mother, your body bears the beauty of each healthy babe you have given me," he whispered against your flesh, nuzzling your lush thighs before drawing an engorged nipple into his mouth. A lilting moan fell from your lips.

"Careful, husband, or you might fill me with a sixth," you cautioned.

"And they will be as loved as their siblings," he replied with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

After he spilled between your thighs, he placed his head on your chubby belly, enjoying the softness and warmth. The pure love reflected in his eyes as he gazed up at you, splayed between your naked thighs, very nearly made you flush.

"Give me a moment, dear wife, for I plan on worshipping you again," he smiled dreamily, making your heart quicken.

How he would make your body sing with his fingers, tongue, and cock. He mapped every sumptuous inch of you with his fingers, memorizing every dip, dimple, and ripple of skin.

A goddess reborn.

Maekar

The dappled gray palfrey between your thighs snorted as you aimed your arrow at the brown hare burrowing through the brushes. Once you had the mark in your sight, you let your arrow fly, and it landed on its mark.

"Well done," Maekar praised, a grin on his face.

"It's a wonder that horse doesn't crumble beneath her," Lord Cafferen mumbled, though the hunting party heard him, but only a few men dared chuckle at his joke.

The black destrier beneath Maekar stomped his hooves and whinnied as he whipped on the reins to turn him towards the man. A murderous fire filled those violet eyes.

"Husband," you cautioned. You were no stranger to these cruel japes, letting them roll off your skin like harmless droplets of rain.

To everyone's surprise, it was your second son, Aerion, who went for blood first.

"What did you say about my mother?" the seven year old scowled, hastily withdrawing his dagger and running toward the lord's horse.

Daeron ran after his brother, taking hold of him around the waist and pulling him back.

"You apologize to her now!" Aerion demanded, thrashing in Daeron's arms and baring his sharp teeth. Your little dragon.

"Might you get your princeling under control, my lord?" Cafferen sneered.

"I will not, because he is correct. Apologize to my lady wife, you bumbling idiot. How dare you think to insult her?" Maekar growled.

"It was a harmless jest, my prince, I meant not harm. Your wife does not look offended!"

"I was not aware you could read minds, Lord Cafferen," you replied coldly. "Perhaps your mind was elsewhere, concerned over the fact that your wife can not provide you with heirs. Shall I make a joke at her expense? Surely, you would not find that offensive."

Maekar smirked and turned his horse toward you.

"Apologies, my lady," Cafferen said before falling grimly silent.

"You can ride at the back," Maekar growled at Cafferen, pointing toward the end of the hunting party.

Aerion's smirk matched his father's, and he stuck his tongue out at Lord Cafferen, blowing a loud raspberry.

"Aerion," you scolded, yet could not help but laugh.

"Are you alright, mother?" Daeron asked softly after letting go of Aerion.

"I am fine, dear boy," you whispered, stroking his face.

"He is a fool, I could only hope to marry a woman as beautiful as you one day," he smiled.

It warmed your heart to hear those words. You were certain a third son grew in your belly, and you informed Maekar that evening after the tents were raised. He dropped to his knees, kissing your stomach.

"I had half a mind to beat Lord Cafferen to death," he murmured against the fabric of your lilac damask coat.

"Well, I am glad you didn't, as my sons need a father," you said, smiling and stroking his silvery hair.

"You are beautiful."

"As you often remind me, my handsome husband." Your fingertips stroked the pockmarks on his cheeks.

There was that hunger in his eyes, those rough, skilled hands tearing the hunting outfit from your body and standing you before the mirror.

"Our son grows in here," he purred in your ear as his hands stroked your soft, rounded belly. "Gods, woman, you drive me mad with desire." He gripped your fleshy arse, making you moan.

He made you straddle his lap, his strong thighs supporting you as you rode him. You had always been a skilled rider, and after your wedding, he gifted you three horses and watched you ride with admiring violet eyes. It excited him that you wished to join him on hunts and overjoyed when you provided him with two sons in quick succession.

His bearded face buried between your ample bosom. He never wanted a trembling, slight of a woman. He loved and adored every roll of flesh he could lay his hands on.

His voluptuous, powerful wife.

Valarr

Prince Valarr had never seen such beauty before, hardly believing the sight before his eyes. Your rounded figure, draped in vermillion silk, leaving exposed patches of sepia skin, warm and glowing from the sun. Thick curly hair cascaded down your back. The composed prince nearly dropped to his knees before you, wishing to kiss the bejeweled rings that decorated your fingers.

"Grandson," Myriah smiled, gently tugging you forward to make the introductions.

You regarded the prince with a kind smile, amused by his slack jaw and look of bewilderment in his mismatched eyes.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace," you said politely.

"The pleasure is all mine, my lady," Valarr whispered. "W…will you be attending the jousts this afternoon?"

"Indeed, are you participating?"

"I will be."

"Then you must seek my favor, Your Grace."

Myriah smiled slyly as she witnessed the interactions.

"I will do so indeed, for if I have it, I will be certain to win."

Heat overtook your face, and you dropped your head as you smiled.

You sat in the royal box next to the queen and listened to the gossip behind you. The court mistrusted those outside of Westeros; truth be told, they even held prejudice against the Dornish, even if they were part of the kingdom now.

"Prince Valarr cannot be interested in her."

"Look how large she is."

"She comes from strange lands; none will want her here."

Your heart sank a bit as you held the orange and white flower crown in your hand. You thought yourself above such cruel words, but they stung like sharp thorns." The ladies bristled happily behind you as Prince Valarr trotted over on his black palfrey and extended his lance in your direction.

"My lady, I beg the honor of your favour to bring me luck in the lists," he smiled up at you.

"You shall have it, my prince," you grinned, tossing it onto his lance. The ladies behind you fell eerily silent.

When he was declared the victor, he crowned you the queen of love and beauty and kissed your cheek. It made your heart flutter.

"He will never make you a princess," Lady Mallister sneered.

"I would mind your tongue, Lady Mallister. My grandson has better taste than you, judging from the horrid frock you are wearing," Queen Myriah said curtly, fixing the woman with a harsh stare.

You watched Lady Mallister flush and stumble over her words, no doubt scared to reply harshly to the queen.

"You will do well to remember this young lady is a guest at court by my invitation, and if you continue to be rude towards her, I can promise you will all find out how brutish we Dornish can be," Myriah smirked, patting your thigh.

Tongues stopped wagging, and the ladies hung their heads in shame. You had no doubt envy bubbled through them as Valarr danced with you during the celebration feast. He prided himself on being restrained, but that evening, he could not help himself as his hands squeezed you, feeling the warmth of your flesh beneath the silks.

"I must have you for my wife," he whispered, those mismatched eyes drowning in lust. He would not sully you and make you a mistress. You should be his princess and one day queen.

"Your Grace, you barely know me," you chided.

"Then we shall have a long engagement. I cannot let such a rare gem slip away."

"You truly find me beautiful, my prince?"

"Of course! I'm certain every man here has his eyes on you," he grinned.

In the privacy of the royal gardens, you kissed him, letting him unwind the silk from your body. The moonlight bathed your rich, sepia skin. So full and voluptuous. Valarr nearly wept as he caressed your curvy body, nose nuzzling your soft, full belly. In the spring, he made you his wife.

A rare, sumptuous jewel that shone in the Red Keep.

Lyonel

"What a clever little fox you are," Lyonel whispered, sliding his hand under your chin after you managed to trump him in dicing.

"It is mere luck, husband," you grinned, collecting your winnings, a nice pile of silver stags.

"Is it? Or perhaps you rig them in your favour?"

You gasped softly, pressing a hand to your generous bosom, nearly spilling over your tightly laced azure bodice. "How dare you accuse me of such behavior!"

"Mmm, and if I search every inch of you, I will not find any dice hidden on your person?" he mused, tracing one long finger over the large sapphire on your index finger.

"Do so, you will only feel the fool in the end."

He pushed out of his chair and tugged you to stand, towering nearly a head taller than you as a might stag would before a little fox.

"How attached are you to this dress, dear wife?" Lyonel asked, withdrawing his dagger from the scabbard.

"Very little."

He stepped behind you, sliding the dagger through the laces and cutting the fabric away from you until you were left in a simple shift. He picked up the tattered fabric and shook it, frowning as nothing happened.

"I was certain…"

"You have not checked all of me yet, husband," you purred.

He grinned, white teeth sharp and gleaming as he removed the shift from your body and rolled your large breasts in his palms. Still, there was no dice to be found as you stood naked before in all your glory. How he loved the softness of your stomach, your full, rounded hips, and that plush, delectable arse with a dimple in each cheek. Your beauty nearly brought him to his knees. Oh, to bury his face in that round tummy.

"It seems I was wrong, my apologies, sweet wife," he said, bowing his head. His cock stirred between his thighs.

"Come and make it up to me then," you smiled sweetly, pulling him toward the golden, draped bed. "Perhaps a third child will come to us."

His bearded face buried between your plush, dimpled thighs, and you squealed as he pleasured you. He made you ride him after that, those strong fingers gripping your flesh. Sweat glistened along his brow, desire swimming in his deep brown eyes, and a cherry flush gripping his cheeks.

"Is my stag growing tired?" you teased as you rocked on top of him.

"Not at all," he grinned, clicking his tongue and rearranging the position so you were under him. He rutted against you until your large, lush thighs ached. He spilled inside of you, one cheek resting against your ample bosom in the aftermath. "I am certain you'll be with child soon, my little fox."

"And if I'm not, we'll try again until I am," you smiled, toying with his damp curls.

"Gods, I love you, woman. Every delicious inch of you," he hummed, tracing a finger around your pebbled nipple. "The first moment I saw you at the Maidenpool Tourney, I knew you would be mine."

"How gallant you were, riding on your steed with those antlers on your head. You were bold enough to tell my father that you would win my hand," you giggled.

"And did I lie?"

You reached for the soft, red fur and draped it over yours and Lyonel's naked bodies as he rested in your arms.

"You did not, and here I lie beneath you as your wife and mother to our two beautiful daughters. Who will have suitors of their own one day to win their hands," you mused, watching his head rise and fall with each breath you took.

"They will have to be worthy men indeed," Lyonel snorted. "I will not part with them easily."

"I would not expect you to," you smiled.

He rolled to his side, gathering you in his embrace and stroking your supple flesh.

His beautiful, soft, round, little fox.

Aerion

Prince Aerion was known to be vain and cruel. Trepidation set in as you were presented to him by your father, the betrothal arranged by Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar to reunite two Valyrian houses. You donned your best blue silk gown with silver sea horses shimmering on the fabric. A netting of freshwater pearls lay over your silver curls. A bit of nerves caused one foot to land heavier than usual, making your body jiggle slightly, and there were a few hushed snickers. You shook it off and held your head up high before curtseying in front of the princes.

You searched for disgust in Prince Aerion's violet eyes, but found none. However, a scowl overtook his face as the hushed laughter continued.

"If you fools do not shut up, I will have all your tongues!" he roared, wielding his dagger as he shot out of his seat.

"Aerion," Baelor said firmly, touching his nephew's arm.

"They insult my future bride," he huffed.

"Do not concern yourself with the sheep, boy," Maekar replied, and the room fell silent from his remark. Baelor frowned at his brother.

"We welcome you to court and are eager to begin wedding arrangements," Baelor smiled.

"We are honored, Your Grace," you smiled.

Two guards chaperoned you and Aerion as you walked through the gardens.

"You have good hips, you will give me many sons," he declared.

You spun around to face him. "You view me only as a broodmare?"

He shrugged. "It is your wifely duty, my mother had six children."

You huffed, gathering your skirts and hurrying away from him. His boots crunched into the ground beneath him as he followed.

"Seven hells, you can run fast for being so…"

"Large?" you finished his thought for him, hands on your hips.

He faltered for a moment. "I did not…"

"I've been called worse. I was once told I might cause my father's ship to sink."

Aerion winced slightly, taking a step back. "I do not care about your size."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "I find that hard to believe."

"You are the epitome of wealth and status; your frame simply reflects that. My mother was built like you, and my father adored her. As did I."

You had not expected such a reasonable utterance to come from him. He stepped closer, nearly standing the same height as you, and you suspected he might understand a thing or two when it came to teasing.

"It is good to know you can handle a chase," he grinned.

"Do you plan on chasing me often, my lord?" you teased.

"I do, once you are my wife."

His promise held true as he loved to chase you about the bedroom, tugging your clothing off your body and revealing your russet brown skin. You loved when his fingers tangled in your thick curls, his pelvis snapping agaisnt your plush arse as he fucked you from behind. Those teeth marked your plump thighs and hips. You didn't mind when he would trace his dagger over your skin, for he never truly hurt you, not in ways you did not crave at least. You were made of salt and sea, and dragons did not frighten you.

Not long after the wedding, you gave him a son and insisted he be called Daemon, after your ancestors. Aerion sulked, wishing for him to be named Maegor, but you could not give your son such a cursed name. The realm rejoiced as a new prince was born; one of dragon's blood and of the mighty sea. Your marriage helped restore House Velaryon to its former glory.

You gazed down at Aerion's face, buried between your fleshy thighs, his pink delving deep inside your core. How he lived to please you, how he desired you; lust dripping from him. It seemed you were able to quell his unruly ways, helping shape him into a better man.

All he needed was the gentle caress of a buxom wave.

Raymun

Raymun's jaw nearly hit the ground as he watched you dance among the guests in Ser Lyonel's tent. Unbeknownst to him at the time, that you were Lord Baratheon's sister. Though the golden gown you wore, decorated with black prancing deer, should have tipped him off. You hypnotized him with every twirl and elegant, quick footwork. Truly a sight to behold.

You rested at your brother's table and watched the young man stumble towards you.

"Might I offer you some cider, my lady?"

"Please," you smiled, stretching your goblet towards him. He filled it to the brim with the sweet smelling cider. You took a deep sip and hummed. "Delicious."

"Only the finest from House Fossoway," he grinned. He was a bit dopey, but you found yourself charmed by him. He had the sweetest brown eyes. "M…might I dance with you at the next turn?"

"You wish to dance with me?" you asked, surprised.

"I would, my lady," he said, sounding more determined this time.

"Yes, then," you agreed, finishing your cider before standing.

Raymun marveled at how you stood half a head taller than him. You braced yourself for an insult from him to change his mind. Most men were intimidated or turned off by your strong Baratheon frame. Tall and full figured, sturdy and fleshy. It annoyed you constantly that Lyonel was blessed with such a slender frame. Lyonel glanced in your direction, ready to chase the young squire off if needed.

"My lady, forgive me, but you are beautiful," Raymun breathed out.

Your cheeks heated. "You flatter me."

"I only speak the truth," he shrugged, kissing your hand before taking you to the dance floor. He was not very skilled in the endevours, but you found it endearing how he kept up with you.

"Careful she don't squash you, boy!" a man called out.

"Away with you, cunt!" Lyonel bellowed.

Raymun frowned and held your hand tightly. "He's a knave, not worthy of your time or thought, my lady. I will see you on the morrow." He kissed your hand again before flittering off into the night.

"That boy is smitten with you," Lyonel commented as the night began to end.

"A passing fancy, nothing more," you dismissed, waving your hand. Though you had to admit you were charmed by him.

"I know love when I see it. The apple boy only has eyes for you," Lyonel grinned.

You hated it when your brother was right. Raymun followed you around the tourney grounds, either with a fresh basket of apples in hand or an ewer of cider. You detested his cousin, Steffon, and yearned to sink your fist into his face every time he insulted Raymun.

When the tragic events of the Trial unfolded, you were thrilled to watch Raymun deal heavy blows to his cousin. Your cheering rose over the crowd.

"Get him, Raymun!" you bellowed.

How you cradled his battered face in your hands after and got lost in those soft brown eyes.

"I will make an honest woman of you now that I am a knight. I will marry you," he said with determination, a newfound strength, and confidence in himself.

"And I will say yes," you smiled, kissing his bloody lips.

Beneath your golden tent, you undressed him, and he did the same with you.

"I can hardly believe my eyes, perhaps I died on that field," Raymun whispered as his hands stroked your thick waist.

"You are very much alive, sweet Raymun."

"I will worship you every day."

You drew him between your thighs, stroking his back as he buried his way inside you. He nuzzled your neck, breathing in your sweetness and delighting in your warm, pliable flesh. To him, he felt enveloped by a soft, puffy cloud and felt divine. He suckled at your breast before spilling inside you.

A green apple girl was born in the winter.

Dunk

He met you on his adventure to Dorne with Egg by his side. There was a reminder of the one he had fallen for in Ashford, Tanselle. The hue of your skin was similar to hers, and your coarse dark hair was braided down your back. You were nearly her height as well, perhaps a few inches taller, with a thicker frame. He watched, dumbfounded, as you wielded your whip, lashing it through the air and wrapping it around the wrist of your opponent, knocking the dagger from his hand. Even little Egg was impressed and stunned, clapping and whooping for you.

The crowd cheered for you, and you raised your arms in victory, the muscles rippling. Your gaze landed on the tall man with hair kissed by fire and the bald boy by his side.

"I have not seen you around here before," you commented, winding up your whip and tucking the handle into your belt. Despite your muscular arms and thighs, your stomach was softer. A soft roll of flesh rested above your trousers, but you were unbothered by it, comfortable in your skin.

"We are visiting, my lady," the boy smiled. "I'm Egg."

"Ah, because you look like one?" you teased. "And you are?"

"D…dunk, Ser Dunk…err, that is Ser Duncan the Tall," he stammered.

"That seems a fitting name for you."

"I've never seen a woman fight in such a manner before," he said, the stunned look still on his face.

"You will find many things different here in Dorne. Come, let me buy you both a drink with my winnings."

You bought a cup of strongwine for you and Dunk and a cup of chilled lemon drink for Egg as the three of you chatted. You offered to show them around and escorted them to an inn where they could stay. In the morning, you came to collect them, and Dunk's piercing blue eyes lingered on your robust body. The top exposed your strong arms and soft stomach.

"We are not so demure here in Dorne," you winked at him, delighting in the way he blushed.

After a long afternoon, you dined with them at the inn, and Egg fell asleep rather quickly. You seized the moment and leaned in to kiss Dunk.

"Let the boy sleep, I have secured us another room," you whispered. You were not shy, stripping from your leathers as Dunk pulled his tunic over his head.

"I've not lain with a woman before," he admitted softly.

"There is a first time for everything," you said, drawing him close to you. It was not often you could peer up at a man. "Kiss my nipples."

He proved to be an eager student, following your commands, and soon his shyness melted away. However, the flush lingered on his cheeks, neck, and chest. He maneuvered you with ease, not intimidated by your size. The way his hands squeezed your rounded belly made you moan. Your strong thighs looped around his waist, drawing him close. He took no issue with your strength or commanding nature.

"Now you put it inside me, Ser Duncan the Tall," you quipped, a playful smirk on your face.

"That much I do know," he mumbled.

Once he was situated inside you, he began to flex and roll his hips, getting the slow hang of it. It was perhaps a bit sloppy and over faster than you would have wished, but his eagerness made it pleasant. It seemed to awaken a beast in him, and the next night, he held you against the wall as he took you.

"Seven hells, you are unlike any other woman," he panted against your neck.

"And you are not like any other man," you grinned, pleasure surging through your body.

He slept with his face buried in your soft, round belly that evening with his hands furled around your thick hips.

Deciding he could die happy between your strong thighs.

Daeron

Daeron pressed the golden dragon coins into the outstretched hand before being led to a private room.

"Your favorite lady awaits you, my prince," the madame smiled, pulling back the gauzy curtain to give him entrance.

You lay in the middle of the bed, naked as the day you were born, and sliding red grapes between your lips. Your hair fell in loose waves, cascading down your chubby arms and back. A siren waiting to beckon men, ready to enrapture them, and Prince Daeron was more than willing to fall into your enthralling grasp. Just as he had many times before.

"You are a sight for sore eyes," Daeron sighed, drawing in your plump body and supple skin.

You lifted the golden cup filled with red wine and beckoned him closer. His head rested between your full breasts, your warm, plump stomach cradling his side while your thick thighs cushioned the rest of him. Those rosy lips parted, and you dribbled the ruby liquid into his mouth. Your fingers combed through his unwashed, sandy hair. Ruby droplets clung to his chin and the corners of his mouth. Such a messy boy.

"You should let me scrub you up, my prince," you murmured.

"Do I stink?" Daeron frowned, sniffing his gaudy green and gold tunic.

"A bit, but nothing I can't help to remedy," you assured him.

You arranged for a bucket of hot water to be brought and took your time undressing the prince. He was as smooth as marble, but putty in your hands as you washed him up. You paid special attention between his legs, watching his cock stir to life. A good sign, one that meant he hadn't drunk too much that evening. It mattered not; he did not come to you for copulation. He had other needs he wished to be fulfilled.

"There, fresh as a flower now," you smiled, dragging your brush through his tangled hair.

"You remind me of her," he whispered.

"I know, dearest boy," you hummed. "My good boy."

He curled back into your arms, nuzzling his face between your voluptuous breasts, breathing in the sweet jasmine of your oil. You could feel the swell of his cock between your thighs, so you pressed them together, giving him a crevice to enjoy if he so wished. He rutted slowly between the dimpled skin, sweat tears of relief dribbling onto your skin. Eventually, his rosy mouth wrapped around your full nipple to take what it was he desired. Sweet milk spilling forth. You offered a unique service to the men of King's Landing; they were all just boys in search of a mother to fuss over them. Even the strongest of warriors.

You stroked his hair, cooing softly at him, and felt his seed spill over your warm, generous flesh. He shuddered in the aftermath, a warm red glow spilling over his pale skin. The frothy white liquid dripped down his plush mouth, and his periwinkle eyes were blown wide.

"Thank you," he whispered. You stroked his cheek, thinking it was better to be milk drunk rather than wine drunk.

The evening was spent with him alternating between suckling at your teats and rutting between your thighs until he was spent. You cradled him in your arms, humming a soft tune as the lanky man folded himself against you.

"I cannot sleep, or the dreams will come," he murmured.

"I know, dear boy, I will stay awake with you. You needn't suffer when you are with me," you said sweetly.

The night passed on, and he stood on trembling legs, filling a cup with red wine.

"I wish you were highborn, and we could wed." He knelt before you, resting his head in your lap.

"You will find a woman who makes you happy, and you will marry her. You will create little dragons."

But that will not be my fate, sweet boy.

You disappear from the paddock long before anyone realises they should be worried.

At first, it’s subtle — you skip a race weekend because of “family commitments,” then another because of “travel fatigue.” Lando posts a few photos of you at home, curled into his side on the sofa, your face tucked into his hoodie. He captions one “my favourite place”, and the fans melt.

But then the photos stop.

And the speculation starts.

You’re in your third trimester by then, belly round and heavy, ankles swollen, back aching in ways you didn’t know were possible. Lando is glued to your side every moment he’s not in the car, massaging your calves, kissing your bump, whispering to your unborn baby like they can already understand him.

But the world doesn’t know that.

The world only knows you’ve vanished.

And they notice.

---

THE RUMOURS

It starts with a gossip account posting a photo of you from months ago — a tiny bump barely visible beneath a sundress.

“Has anyone else noticed she’s gained weight?”

“She hasn’t been to a GP in ages.”

“Did they break up?”

“Maybe he finally realised she wasn’t ‘trophy wife’ material.”

Lando sees it all.

He pretends he doesn’t.

But you catch him one night, sitting on the edge of the bed, jaw clenched, phone glowing in his hand. He looks up at you with eyes that are too bright, too angry.

“Baby,” you whisper, waddling toward him, “don’t read that.”

“They’re talking about you like you’re disposable,” he says, voice tight. “Like you’re not the strongest person I’ve ever met. Like you’re not literally growing our child.”

You cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “Let them talk. We know the truth.”

He kisses your palm, then your bump. “I just hate that you’re not there to defend yourself.”

“I’m busy,” you say softly, “making a whole human.”

He laughs, forehead pressed to your belly. “Yeah. The most important job.”

---

THE BIRTH

It’s quiet.

Private.

Exactly what you wanted.

Lando cries harder than the baby does. He holds your daughter like she’s made of glass, whispering, “Hi, sweetheart… I’m your dad… I’m so lucky.”

You spend the next weeks in a cocoon — sleepless, messy, beautiful. Lando is obsessed, constantly shirtless with the baby on his chest, humming to her, pacing the house at 3 a.m. like it’s the most sacred duty in the world.

The world still doesn’t know.

And honestly? You don’t care.

Not until you’re ready.

---

THE RETURN

Three months postpartum, you finally feel steady again. Strong. Ready to step back into the world.

Lando is the one who suggests it.

“Come to the next GP,” he says, bouncing your daughter gently. “If you want. No pressure. But… I think you deserve to walk in there and shut everyone up.”

You smirk. “You just want to show her off.”

He grins. “Absolutely.”

---

THE CHAOS

The moment you step out of the car, baby strapped to your chest in a tiny papaya-coloured carrier, the paddock erupts.

People freeze.

Cameras whip around.

Someone screams.

You hear:

“OH MY GOD—”

“IS THAT—”

“SHE HAD A BABY?!”

“LANDO’S A DAD?!”

“THEY WEREN’T BROKEN UP?!”

“SHE WAS PREGNANT THE WHOLE TIME?!”

Lando steps out behind you, one hand on your back, the other adjusting the baby’s sunhat like this is the most normal day of his life.

He kisses your temple. “Ready?”

“Not even slightly.”

He laughs and laces his fingers with yours. “Too late.”

The media swarms, but Lando shields you with his body, guiding you through the chaos. Every driver stops mid‑conversation, jaws dropping.

Carlos is the first to recover.

He jogs over, eyes wide. “You had a baby? A whole baby? And you didn’t tell me?”

Lando shrugs. “You never asked.”

“LAN—”

But then he sees her tiny fist poking out of the carrier and melts instantly.

“Oh my god,” Carlos whispers. “She’s so small.”

“Tell her that,” Lando mutters. “She disagrees at 3 a.m.”

---

THE INTERVIEW

Lando stands in front of the Sky Sports mic, arm around your waist.

“So, Lando,” the reporter says, still stunned, “there were… rumours about your relationship. About your wife’s absence. About her weight gain.”

Lando’s smile drops.

Completely.

“My wife,” he says slowly, “was pregnant. She was resting. She was taking care of our daughter. And anyone who made comments about her body should be embarrassed.”

The reporter swallows. “And how do you feel now that the world knows you’re a father?”

Lando looks at you.

At the baby.

At the chaos around you.

And he beams.

“I feel like the luckiest man alive.”

---

AFTER

The internet explodes.

Fan accounts cry.

Critics delete tweets.

Your name trends for 48 hours straight.

And that night, when the baby is asleep in her travel cot and you’re curled into Lando’s chest in the hotel bed, he kisses your forehead and whispers:

“Thank you for giving me a family.”

You smile against his skin. “Thank you for protecting us.”

He pulls you closer, voice soft and certain.

“Always.”

ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ - ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.

And that was over a year ago.

He busied himself with his work, throwing himself head-first into company matters that he used to find tedious. Late nights were spent holed up in his office, head hunched over a mountain of paperwork, or eyes burning before his too-bright computer screen. He tried to go home as late as possible knowing you wouldn’t be there to greet him anymore.

One night, he wraps up at quarter to eleven at night. The city is still humming with life, but the sky is dark and shadows creep along the pavement as Baelor steps out into the cool air. He inhales a deep breath, smelling rain and cigarette smoke blown in from downwind. He walks out onto the pavement, preparing to call his driver, when he spots you.

A pretty dove fluttering out of the shadows. You have a thick jacket obscuring most of your figure, but Baelor would recognise you anywhere. His heart stops in his chest as you walk towards him, seemingly unaware of his presence as your gloved hands fidget with the canopy of—

A pram.

He freezes to the spot, his breath curling around him in a cloud of white. You wheel a black pram in front of you, your eyes darting from the bassinet to the street around you. That’s when you spot him, and Baelor sees the shock pass over your face as you realise who it was standing beneath the streetlight ahead.

Baelor’s legs move before his brain has any time to catch up. You stop, and he watches steam coil from your breath as you sigh.

He calls your name, followed by a sincere, “Hello, pretty dove.”

You bristle a little, but not out of fear. It’s something like uncertainty as Baelor stands before you, his mismatched eyes soft, a light dip in his brow as he looks you up and down, gaze then lingering on the pram.

“Hi Baelor,” you greet quietly, watching the way his eyes rake down the pram’s facade. He looks up at you when you speak, his lips parted in surprised speechlessness. You chew your bottom lip thoughtfully, heart hammering in your chest. “This is… uh…”

“I’ve missed you,” he says gently, catching you off guard. You can’t help but shy away a little, hands gripping the handlebar as if to steady yourself. He continues. “You look good.”

You swallow, the tip of your nose cold. “Thanks. So… so do you.”

His eyes find the pram again, and then they find you. A silent question that you can’t avoid. You sigh, steeling yourself as you carefully pull back the canopy and reveal a sleeping baby, bundled heavily under thick layers of soft wool, tucked neatly beneath a warm blanket. Baelor’s eyes widen, leaning over the pram and tracing the lines of the sleeping baby’s face, finding it to be a complete mirror of yours.

“She’s six months old,” you tell him, his eyes flicking to you momentarily before returning to the baby. “She’s, uh, meant to be in the pushchair by now, but she couldn’t sleep. I used to walk her all the time when she was smaller, and it… well, it seems to have done the trick.”

Six months old.

Those words clatter around his skull almost painfully as he steps away from the pram and allows you to pull the canopy back in place. You look up at him, wanting to grimace at the pure confusion in his eyes.

“Baelor…” You say softly, and you let him reach for you. He places a warm hand over yours, skin searing even through the material of your gloves. His thumb strokes your knuckles as you rattle out a shallow breath. “I didn’t… It wasn’t meant to happen like this.”

“She’s mine?” He asks you, and you physically see the way his eyes light up when you give him a feeble nod. You catch them growing glassy too, but he blinks rapidly as he peers back down at the pram, his other hand smoothing over the vinyl of the canopy. “You… you didn’t tell me you were—”

“I didn’t find out until I was like three months along,” you confess, watching his hand brushing along the top of the pram. “We had just broken up, and I was upset, so I didn’t think—”

“You don’t owe me any explanation,” Baelor interrupts you, eyes finding yours. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

You laugh bitterly. “I wouldn’t have wanted you there.”

It came out harsher than intended, and you frown at yourself. Shaking your head, you corrected: “I wouldn’t have wanted you to worry about me, that’s all.”

“I worry about you everyday,” he says honestly, hand still atop yours. “Everyday since I last saw you. You’re all I worry about, pretty dove. You’re all I think about.”

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth just as you hear your baby begin to stir. You curse softly, and Baelor takes a step back as you attempt to push the pram on. You give him a sympathetic look.

“I better get her home. It’s getting colder.”

Baelor looks around. “You shouldn’t be walking around the city at this time. It’s not safe for you or for her.”

He says her so gently it almost makes you cry. You sniffle, blaming it on your cold nose, then shrug. Baelor approaches you and, with a silent question in his eyes, he slides his arm around your waist. You sink into it immediately, his familiar warmth heating you from the inside-out as the two of you fall into sync.

“Let me walk you home,” he says, and you nod.

He smiles, his hand a firm protection on the curve of your hip. Your walk home is filled with hushed conversation, and you find yourself giggling like a school girl. He’s saying all the right things; all the right things you remember made you fall in love with him to begin with.

When you arrive at your flat, he lets you go.

You offer him a sincere smile. “Thank you, Baelor.”

Baelor looks up at your flat. It seems a lot smaller than he remembers. Looks a lot colder, a lot emptier than the nights he spent here when the two of you couldn’t make it to his flat on the posher side of town.

“Let me help you,” Baelor says suddenly, and you look at him, puzzled. He gestures to the baby, now silent in the warmth of her pram. “Let me do what I was always supposed to do.”

You sigh. “Baelor…”

“I love you,” he whispers, and you can’t help the pained whimper that leaves your throat at the confession. He closes the distance and takes your hand in his. “I still do. I never stopped, pretty dove, I want you to know that. And I want you to know that I want to help you. I want to try us again.”

You withdraw your hand, and he swears his heart sinks into his stomach.

“Baelor, I don’t know…”

“We can go as slow as you need,” he tells you, his voice as smooth and comforting as you remember. A voice you couldn’t forget even if you tried. He takes another step forward. “I want to be there for you, and I want to be there for her.”

Your eyes dart across his, finding the watery sincerity that wells there in the low porch light. You sigh out, eyes flicking down to where your daughter—his daughter—sleeps soundly in the pram’s bassinet. You think of the overwhelming joy you felt when she arrived, bloody and screaming. You recall the time she opened her eyes, and you recall the moment your heart leapt into your throat when you realised they were two different colours.

“Slowly,” you mutter, eyes finding his again. “We can try again. Slowly.”

“I can do slowly,” he says with a nod, reaching up to place a hand on your warm cheek. You close your eyes and find yourself sinking into it. He wants to kiss you, but he doesn’t. Slowly echoes around his mind. He thumbs your cheekbone instead. “I’ve missed you so much, pretty dove.”

Then, he looks down at the pram.

“Baby dove,” he whispers, smiling to himself.

He has a baby dove.

Maekar

Maekar hasn’t seen you in well over a year, yet he keeps a framed photo of you on his office desk. It faces him, tucked below his computer monitor, and when his eyes stray from his work, they always find you.

It’s a moment he replays in his head when his bed feels too empty and his home feels too quiet. You’re not looking at the camera, you’re looking behind the camera, eyes gazing at Maekar as you hold a flower towards him. It’s candid, and it fills his heart with an unimaginably warm light that keeps him from spiralling.

Spiralling into the man he was before you.

Pessimistic, withheld. Grumpy, as you always used to remark, dragging one of your nails along the dimpled scars on his face, or passing the pad of your thumb across the frown lines on his forehead.

So he mourned the breakup like a widow.

You were moving away. Family. Work. Something that Maekar didn’t really care to listen to, because all he heard was the fact you couldn’t stay. You couldn’t stay with him. He said he’d come with you, but you couldn’t let him do that. He had children that needed him, a company that needed him, and this city had always been his home, and you weren’t willing to take him away from all of that.

So the last night you spent together had you coming three times on his mouth and another three on his cock, before he held you while you cried and then morning came.

And you left.

The months were long. His children comforted him the way children could, but he was a hollow man. He didn’t remove the photos of you from his bedside table, nor did he even take your toothbrush out of the cup in his bathroom.

A few months ago, he found a travel vial of your perfume under his bed. He keeps it in his pocket and rolls it between his fingers when he’s stressed.

So the next time he saw you, months and months and months since you had left him, he could have sworn he was dreaming.

He’s taking a walk on his lunch break, having successfully ignored his pestering assistant and finding solace in a leafy green park a block away from his building. He walks slowly down the pavement, eyes skimming across the shrubs of flowers as he nurses his coffee (fourth of the day, if he’s remembering correctly—and it was only midday). He rounds a corner, and there you are.

Perching on a nearby bench, a pretty smile split across your face. That pretty smile he still so often dreams of. When he moves closer, his feet carrying him instinctively, the shrubs surrounding the bench seem to melt away and reveal a fat, babbling baby bouncing in your lap.

As he nears you, he can hear you cooing at the baby. And the baby is giggling, chubby fingers reaching for your face, clenching weakly at the tip of your nose, at the curve of your jaw, sliding over your lips.

A lump forms in his throat. You looked happy.

He thinks about turning away. He thinks about disappearing before you can see him. He thinks about leaving you happy and unaware in your life without him.

But Maekar is a selfish man, and his feet don’t stop.

Within a few yards of you, he says your name. It was heaven to say it knowing it was going to land on the ears of the person he needed it to.

You look up, your cooing coming to an abrupt stop. The baby garbles some baby gibberish to you as Maekar approaches and your eyes widen.

“Maekar,” you say in disbelief. “I—wow, hi.”

“My love,” he says instinctively. He remains standing. “You’re… back.”

You nod bashfully, still bouncing the fat baby in your lap. “Yeah. I, uh, moved back a few months ago. My new job didn’t… didn’t give me the kind of maternity cover I needed.”

He looks down then. You smile, small and almost embarrassed, as you turn the baby in your lap. Maekar’s eyes narrow as he looks at the baby, appraising happy, healthy features and glistening eyes.

“You… have a baby,” he says slowly.

You nod, then pat the bench beside you. He sits like a trained dog, his movements immediate. The baby watches him thoughtfully.

“I do,” you say, leaning down to press a kiss to the baby’s head. “She’s about seven months. Only just started sitting up properly.”

Maekar looks at the baby. Despite her face being overwhelmed by your features, his heart clenches when he sees Rhae. He sees Aegon and Daella in her round face and gummy smile.

“She’s beautiful,” Maekar says, trying not to sound bitter. “She looks just like you.”

You laugh, and the sound is music to Maekar’s ears. He watches you and the pure joy that dances across your face. He squashes the urge to lean forward and kiss the smile from your lips.

“People’ve always told me that,” you tell him, cradling the back of the baby’s head as you hold her steady in your lap. She’s still watching Maekar with curious eyes. “But I think she looks a lot like her dad.”

Maekar sucks his teeth in thought. He tastes coffee in the grooves, and he has half the mind to pull your perfume vial from his pocket and spin it between his fingers. His hand clutches tightly around his nearly empty coffee cup instead.

He doesn’t want to ask, but you answer for him.

“Our last night together obviously went a little better than I expected,” you say around a laugh. The baby reacts to the sound, cooing up at you, eyes leaving Maekar for the first time in several minutes. Maekar watches the exchange with his heart in his throat. You continue, bouncing your leg slightly. “A month into the move, I thought my morning sickness was just nerves about starting a new job. Turns out—” you plant a kiss on the baby’s forehead, and she squeals with delight. “—you’d left me a present.”

Maekar stiffens. “What?”

You turn to him, a brow cocked. “Come on, Maekar. Do the math.”

He looks between you and the baby a few times before his brain catches up. He was a father. Again. And his baby, a baby he didn’t know existed, was perched in your lap right in front of him, glassy eyes boring into his soul. Slowly, he runs a hand down his face, and he hears you chuckle softly beneath your breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Was the first thing that left his mouth. “Why didn’t you call? Or text? I would have—I would have been with you that fucking moment.”

You shrug flippantly. “We never really talked about kids, and I’d moved across the country, Maekar. I didn’t want to interrupt your life—”

“If I knew you were pregnant, I would have wanted my life interrupted,” Maekar hisses, immediately regretting the annoyance in his tone. The baby makes a little gasp, and you shush her gently. He continues after calming himself. “I would have moved you right back home.”

Home. His home.

You frown sadly. “You knew I had to go—”

“Then I would’ve come to you,” he says. “My love, you should have told me.”

“I know, I know,” you whisper, looking down at your daughter. She’s staring at Maekar like she knows him. The thought makes you laugh through your nose, a small smile spreading back across your beautiful face. You turn to him. “You know, all she’s been saying is dada.”

Maekar’s heart clenches even tighter.

“Isn’t that right?” You bounce the baby in your lap, and she giggles. She might just be the happiest baby Maekar has ever met. Living with you does that to somebody, though. You nod towards Maekar, as if gesturing for the baby to look over at him again. “It’s never mama, is it? Always dada.”

You face him then. “Do you want to hold her?”

Maekar places his cup aside straight away. You nearly laugh at his eagerness as you hand the baby over to him, and he takes her naturally. He cradles her to his chest exactly how he remembers cradling Daeron, and Aerion, and every single one of his children. In that moment, he can’t help the hot press of tears that find the back of his eyes, and he gazes down at the smiling baby as she looks back up at him.

“Hi,” he says softly.

The baby blows a raspberry. But then, she reaches up, and wraps a few chubby fingers around the tip of his nose. His smile is beaming, and he doesn’t have to look over at you to know that you’re smiling too.

“Da…da…da…” The baby garbles, and Maekar has to blink away tears.

You laugh. “See? That’s all she says.”

“I’m here,” Maekar coos, and it’s the softest he’s spoken in a very long time.

After a long moment, the baby finally lets go of his nose and he can shift his head to look you up and down. You recline against the back of the bench, smiling happily, hands resting across your stomach.

“Can I take you out for lunch?” Maekar asks suddenly, the baby tugging on his tie now.

You purse your lips. “It’s a busy time of year for you. I don’t want—”

“I’m free for the rest of the fucking day,” Maekar interrupts.

You can’t help but smile now. “Okay, but I don’t have anyone to look after—”

“She can come,” Maekar says quickly.

You look him up and down. “Okay… yeah, okay, I’d love that. We’d love that.”

Maekar leans forward, almost out of habit, but he stops himself. His eyes go wide, as if he only just realised what he was trying to do. He wants to mutter out an apology, but you lean in and dismiss any doubt in his mind. You press your lips to his and everything feels right again.

You pull away, then giggle behind your palm. “Uh, she’s got your tie in her mouth.”

Maekar looks down, the baby—his daughter mouthing her gums against the triangular end of his navy tie. He looks back at you.

“It’s her tie now,” he says simply, and his heart soars as you smile at him.

Aerion

You and Aerion’s relationship had always been too complicated for you to really enjoy.

Sure, he could do the boyfriend things. He’d take you out on dates, remember the names of your friends, drive you to and from work, buy you flowers every other day. He’d buy you pads or tampons or chocolate or whatever the fuck else you needed when you were on your period (and he ignored the insults you hurled at him when his jokes didn’t land while you were dealing with cramps). He could be caring and attentive and loyal.

And yes, he was a good lover. He’d listen to the noises you’d make and listen to what you needed: faster, harder, slower, deeper. He’d break you apart on his tongue and his fingers, against his kitchen counter or spread out in the backseat of his Merc. He’d have you seeing stars and shouting his name until your voice came out hoarse.

But he was unpredictable. He was a complicated man.

Never toxic, never mean, but his mouth would get him into more trouble than he cared to admit, and there were a few times he felt a pang of guilt when he saw the sadness in your face as you bailed him out of jail. Literally and figuratively.

He never acknowledged it, but he knew you hated when he worked too late, when he came home in the early hours of the morning. He knew you hated it when he took too long to reply to your messages, or when he cancelled your plans an hour before.

He was immature and he needed time to grow.

Which is why you ended it.

At first, he refused. He’d grow with you, he’d said. He’d stop getting into fights and he’d stop working so late. He’d take you out more, post you more, buy you more flowers or jewellery. He’d fuck you better—

But that wasn’t what you wanted to hear.

So you left, and Aerion found himself with a brand new fist-sized hole in his bedroom wall.

And that’s when he promised to himself that he’d get better. That he’d stop being an absolute fuckwit and, as his dad had so often told him, get his fucking act together.

So he stopped drinking. He stopped clubbing. He stopped doing drugs.

He went to the gym more. Went for more walks. Spent more time watching shitty old movies from his childhood with Daeron, and helping Aemon with his homework. He spent more time with Daella, Aegon and Rhae, taking them on outings: taking them to the zoo, to theme parks, to museums. He started spending more time as their brother.

Hell, he even volunteered. Sure, maybe it started off as community service after he had found himself in a drunken brawl, but he actually enjoyed it. So every Sunday, he found himself a few blocks away from his flat, tending to the community garden and teaching kids how not to kill a fucking tomato plant. It really wasn’t that hard.

A few times over the last year, he’d tried to get in contact with you. You hadn’t blocked his number, but you didn’t reply either. So he found himself sending you the occasional message, updating you on his life. Pathetic, he knows, but it kept him grounded. And each time he turned on his phone—his lockscreen still a selfie of you and him—he waited to see if you had responded.

But you hadn’t.

Until one day, you did.

He sits on a park bench, watching Daella and Rhae sprint around the playground with Aegon chasing them with his sword (a stick), when his phone chimes in his pocket. He expects it to be literally anyone else but you, but when he sees your name light up, his stomach swoops in excitement. He opens your message so fast his knuckle cracks.

> I’m ready to talk if you are

That afternoon, he’s sitting outside his favourite cafe—your favourite cafe—when he spots you approaching. He leaps to his feet, a victorious smile split across his pale face. But the smile drops, and it drops hard, when he sees you’ve got a baby carrier strapped to your front.

A fucking baby. The thought is like a migraine in his head, and he watches you smile softly at him as you approach, one of your hands a sturdy support on the base of the carrier. You stop just far enough away that he can’t see the baby’s head, but he can see the covered arms and legs that poke out the side.

“Aerion,” you greet. You sound confident, not nervous, as you look him up and down.

He suddenly feels like he wants to shrink away. “Hi, baby.”

You sit down on the seat across from him, and he leans his elbow against the separating table as he stares at you. His eyes are intense, but there’s a softness there that you can’t remember. The lines of his face seem less sharp too, and even his white-blond hair appears softer as it flicks against his forehead.

“I thought we should talk,” you say earnestly. “I know you’ve been doing a lot better.”

Aerion nods. “So much better, baby, I promise.” He almost whines then as his eyes drift down your body, desperately ignoring the baby carrier. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

You can’t help but grow hot at his words. “I’ve… missed you too.”

“Then come back to me,” Aerion says, not missing his opportunity. “Come back to me. I… I need you back.”

“Aerion,” you slow him down with the gentleness of your voice. “It’s complicated.”

He deems it the appropriate time to address the baby-sized elephant in the room.

“Cause of the baby?” Aerion asks, flicking a casual finger in the carrier’s direction. “I don’t mind stepping up. I used to help dad and Daeron with Rhae when she was born.”

You shake your head. “Aerion—”

“I’m not mad at you,” Aerion continues. “I mean, I would’ve wanted you to move on. So, the baby doesn’t worry me—”

“Aerion!”

He stops.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” you say carefully, then slowly begin unbuckling the carrier. Aerion watches patiently as you undo the clasps and straps keeping the infant secured to you, before you’re plucking the baby out. You utter as you do this, “He’s five months now. Hates to be put down, which is a pain in the arse, if I’m honest. I brought this fancy pushchair and he fucking hates it.”

But Aerion’s not really listening. The little boy, groggy from his nap, blinks lazily up at the sky as you heft him in your arms. He looks a lot like you, but it feels like Aerion’s been shot through the heart, because the baby also looks like him. So much like him it physically pains him: a strip of white-blond through the texture of the baby’s short hair has him feeling sick with guilt.

“He’s mine?” Aerion questions, almost breathless, before you can say anything else.

You nod sceptically, unsure of how your ex will take the news. “Yeah, surprise. My birth control failed and, yeah, you have a son.”

“A son…” Aerion watches the baby carefully.

Bright eyes peered at the world around him. Probably so bright, so colourful, so busy. Aerion watches those eyes move—eyes that look so much like yours—until they come to a stop on Aerion’s face.

The baby frowns.

Aerion wants to scoff. “He doesn’t like me.”

“You’re a stranger,” you tell him.

That makes his heart sting.

“I shouldn’t be a stranger,” Aerion whispers. “I should be his dad.”

You suck in a steadying breath, looking at the pure, unbridled sadness stretching across Aerion’s usually cocky features. He does appear to be a changed man.

“I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to focus on… getting better,” you say honestly, your son lying content in your arms. He’s still looking at Aerion warily though, lips pulled into a frown Aerion has seen one too many times in the mirror. You continue. “You’ve done so well for yourself, Aerion, so I figured now was as good a time as any.”

He nods, more to himself than you.

“I’m not saying we’re ready to be how… we once were.” His heart stutters a little when you say that. “But I want you to be in your son’s life. I want you to be a dad, Aerion.”

Pride fills him.

You want him. That’s all he really hears.

“I want that,” he informs you like it’s the easiest decision of his entire life. Because it is. “But I want you back, baby.”

“Aerion…”

“Please.” Aerion reaches across the table and places his fingers against your forearm, your hands holding your son. “I’m better. I promise you I’m better. I’m a changed man, baby, I need you to see that. And I want to be yours again. I want to be a dad, and I want you in my life again—fuck, I want you both in my life. Please.”

His son is still staring at him.

But he’s not frowning anymore.

You release a shaky breath, and Aerion just wants to hug you. “If you even think about acting the way you used to—”

“Never.”

“—you’ll never see us again.”

“I know,” Aerion whispers. “Please, baby.”

Wordlessly, you hold your son out to him. Anxiety heavy in his gut, Aerion gently takes your son, his son, from your hands and cradles him to his chest, supporting his head with a warm hand. Aerion’s heart swells. The baby stares up at him, not making a sound.

“Look at that,” you mutter, pulling out your phone to take a photo. “You’re a natural.”

It’s the happiest he’s felt in a very long time

Dunk

Dunk had been your best friend for god knows how long.

He’d known you all his life. You’d practically grown up together. But it wasn’t until secondary school that he realised he liked you a lot more than he originally thought. That the way he looked at you became heavier, that his heart beat increased each time you hugged him.

He’d taken you to your secondary school’s last dance, and he’d spend the rest of the year subtly scaring off any boy that looked at you for too long. Because to you, Dunk was your gentle giant, your best friend. But to Dunk, you were his everything.

University is when things changed.

You started sleeping together.

It was a friends with a lot of benefits situation, but you were happy with it. And if you were happy, Dunk was happy. He cared for you like any good boyfriend would: his mass a solid protection, a warm comfort. He was chivalrous and kind and so, so sweet. You loved him endlessly, but it was Dunk who loved you in a slightly different way. But he would never tell you that, never admit to you that his feelings transcended the boundaries of your strongly built friendship. Not then, anyway.

It was a few years later, he remembered, when the words slipped from his mouth. A drunken night with his mouth between your legs, your graduation ceremony a happy memory in both of your minds. He had licked you through your second orgasm when it slurred out of him: he loved you, he loved you so much it hurt.

You sat upright then, and he had rested his head against the plush of your thigh. You told him you loved him too, and he believed you. He believed you so much that he surged up the bed to kiss you, and then took you again and again until he was sure you’d both disappear between the springs of the mattress.

But a few months later, you were leaving him. You were saying goodbye to him.

Why would you leave him if you loved him?

You’d cupped his face on the doorstep of his flat, your bags packed behind you. Your thumbs wiped the tears from his cheeks as you cooed at him that everything was going to be okay. That you’d be back one day. That your time across the sea, in a completely different country, on a completely different continent, would be over before he knew it. You’d be back.

You promised him.

It was hard. Your absence was far-reaching in every little crevice of his mind. It was a hole in his heart, or a cavity in the ivory of his teeth. Empty.

You called him every night. Told him about your day, about your new job, about the friends you had made. You always asked how he was doing, and you always asked a million questions about him. So much so that some nights guilt plagued him as he lay in bed, realising he had talked so much about himself. But you seemed to like it. So he learned to live with it.

As the months ticked by, calls came less and less. You were busy, he understood. Less video calls became no video calls, and phone calls became shorter and shorter, often in the wee hours of the morning. Dunk didn’t mind. As long as he got to listen to your voice, listen to the way you hummed out his name as you bid him goodnight, he would be happy.

A full year came and went, and then some. You called him every so often, apologising. Changes in your schedule, new demands at work. He would shush you, tell you that everything was okay, and then listen to the day you had and how beautiful the weather was.

Exactly 449 days since Dunk had last seen you—yes, he was keeping count—his world shifted on its axis. You told him you were coming home. Told him that the tenure at whatever job you were at—a stupid job, Dunk deduced, because it had taken you away from him—had come to an end, and now you were miserably homesick and were moving home at the end of the month.

So now, here he was.

Dunk waits impatiently in the living room of his flat, pacing the space that has always been just a little too small for him. You had landed a few hours ago, and had informed him that once you were settled with your family, you’d come to visit.

His mind is racing. He gets to see you again.

When his doorbell rings, he leaps over his couch and sprints down the hall. He throws open the door with such excitement that it bangs against the wall, and he all but tosses himself at you. You yelp as he engulfs you in a crushing hug, and you return it as best you can. When he pulls back, he can’t help himself: he presses his mouth to yours, and he delights in the way you squeak and kiss him back.

When you pull away, he cups your face in his hands just as you had done to him all those months ago.

“Dunk,” you say, almost giddy.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he replies, pressing his mouth back to yours. You kiss, then part with a chuckle. He whines and attempts to chase it. “My sweet girl, I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”

“I have some idea,” you say humorously. You manage to wriggle yourself out of his arms, then step to the side with a bashful smile. “Dunk, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Dunk hadn’t noticed it. You step aside and reveal a pushchair behind you, a little mobile hanging from the canopy. And he sees then a pair of little hands reaching for a plush yellow star that bobs just out of reach.

Dunk’s stomach drops. “Oh my god.”

You fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Yeah… surprise.”

“This is your baby?” Dunk looks from the pushchair to you. “Yours?”

“No, I stole her,” you joke, then snort out a laugh at Dunk’s shocked face. “Yes, she’s mine, Dunk. She was born a couple months early, but she’s mine, and she’s healthy—”

Dunk was trying to order numbers in his head. He was having a bit of trouble.

You stop yourself, catching sight of Dunk’s frazzled expression. Gently, you take his hand and lead him over to the pushchair, pulling back the canopy at to reveal the baby. Dunk gapes: the little girl tucked amongst a myriad of pink and purple blankets is big and chubby, with round cheeks and a full head of hair. She makes a noise of surprise—a soft “hoo” when Dunk’s head fills her field of vision—and then starts wriggling under the blankets, kicking her feet.

“She was eight pounds,” you tell him. “If she had been born on her due date, she would have ripped me open. I s’pose that’s what I get when her dad is almost seven feet tall.”

Dunk snaps his head to you. “So—?”

“Yeah.” You hold his hand, as if you were scared he’d run away. But you know he’d never run from you. You peer down at your daughter. “She’s yours, Dunk.”

Dunk gapes down at the little girl. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I know this is a lot,” you begin nervously. “I found out I was pregnant in the airport bathroom when I arrived, actually. I thought about telling you, but I knew you would’ve worried too much for your own good, so I thought it’d be better to just… let it happen and I’d tell you when the time was right.”

Dunk didn’t know what to say.

But then he heard you sniffle. His eyes were on you that very second.

Tears well in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to hide it from you. I just… I was so far away from home, and I was so scared, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you being mad at me—”

Dunk cuts you off by bringing your face into his chest. He holds you tightly, face pressing to the top of your head.

“I would never be mad at you,” Dunk whispers. “Oh, my sweet girl, I’m so sorry you had to do this alone.”

You sniffle against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Dunk says, firm but still gentle. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I just wish I could have been there for you. I would have gotten on the next flight over.”

You chuckle dryly into his chest before pulling away. “That’s what I thought you would’ve done, but it was… better for me to do it alone. I didn’t want to burden you.”

He cradles your face like you were the most fragile thing in the world. “You would never be a burden on me. Ever. But it’s done. It’s behind us now, okay? Now I have you home—” he looks down at his daughter. “—and we’re a family.”

You smile. “We should probably get married then, huh?”

Dunk’s eyes widen and he stares down at you desperately. “Seriously?”

You laugh. “No, Dunk, I’m kidding.”

Dunk huffs. “But I will marry you one day, just so you’re aware.”

“Sure, Dunk.”

“I mean it.”

You smile, standing on your toes to press your lips to his, your daughter babbling happily to herself beside you. “I know.”

Dunk pulls back and sticks a hand into the pushchair. His little girl immediately wraps her hand around his index finger, and she looks so tiny next to him.

A tear rolls down his face and he smiles, whispering to the little girl, “Hi, sweet baby, daddy’s here.”

Daeron

Daeron had been a great boyfriend for a considerable amount of time.

He was incredibly attentive, you’d give him that. He knew you better than he knew himself it seemed, and he always, no matter what, went out of his way to spoil you. Gift giving and acts of service were his love language, and day after day he’d find something new to give you, or something new to do for you. He brought you anything your eyes lingered on for too long while out shopping, and he took you across the world on lavish trips you could have only dreamed of when you were younger.

But he was a tormented man. Always told you it was in his genes. That generations before him were much the same.

And that’s how it descended towards its end.

Daeron fell into a pit of bad habits, the walls steep around him, and you watched as he didn’t even try to dig himself out. He simply dug further and further: alcohol, drugs, anything to make his brain shut up. You tried your best to help him—his perfect girl, his special girl—but there wasn’t much you could really do except clean him up after a rough night, pluck glass and debris from wounds across his hands, and kiss him on his dewy forehead as he toppled into an unsettled slumber.

It was a cycle you struggled to keep up with.

Good days dwindled, and you slowly watched the Daeron you knew, the Daeron you loved, crumble away from you before your very eyes. So, when you found out you were pregnant one stormy evening, Daeron passed out in the living room, you couldn’t help the sobs that tore from your throat. You had no one to comfort you then, which is why you decided to leave.

You told him that next morning, and he had cried.

His arms had reached for you, clutching at the material of your shirt, the cuffs of your trousers, the bend of your ankle as you backed towards the door. You begged him to get help, that you would take him back when he was better. But you couldn’t give him what he needed, which is why you turned without a glance back and left his high-rise flat.

So, he changed.

He got sober. Fuck, it was hard, but he did it. He poured everything he had down the sink, and the smell of it tipping down the drain made him want to throw up with guilt. He blocked his dealer, blocked the number of his favourite bartender, and got better. Hell, he even went to those stupid AA meetings his dad had set up for him—which, by the way, were fucking boring, but he stayed. He sat in that circle of people and he stayed. And he listened.

And he did it for you.

It wasn’t a quick fix. Days trudged by slowly, and months even slower after that. It seemed as though time was dragging itself through quicksand, drawing out every little hurting part of Daeron and stringing it up for everyone to see.

But he got better.

Over a year after he started, he truly felt better. His soul seemed to sit lighter in the hollow of his body, and his eyes were brighter, could see further. He saw then a future with you, a future where everything was normal again. Where he could spoil you rotten, take care of you, smother you with love in every way he thought possible.

He wanted to buy you a big house and a nice car. He wanted to slip a flashy rock onto your finger and he wanted to hear you say “I do” at the altar. He wanted to see you grow round with his child and he wanted to see you chasing a gaggle of toddlers around the house.

He wanted to see and hear you.

He wanted you.

You had blocked his number, but he didn’t see that as an obstacle. You had moved out of your old flat and seemingly vanished, but that wasn’t an obstacle either. He was a Targaryen, after all.

Now, present day, he peruses through the aisles of a clothing shop in the middle of the city. He pauses by a rack near the window, ignoring the triple-figure price tags as he flicks through the items. Over the metal pole of the rack, he spots a flash of movement, his eyes immediately drawing upwards to follow it.

It’s you.

He swears the heavens have opened for him. Here you are, walking slowly past the window of the shop he’s in. He didn’t even think twice before he was dumping the clothes he had already accumulated and hurrying outside.

He catches you just as you pass the door, and he calls your name.

You turn and god you look as beautiful as ever.

Daeron’s knees nearly buckle. “Hi.”

You step to the side of the pavement to let other pedestrians walk by, and he does the same. That’s also the exact moment he notices you’re pushing a covered pushchair. His heart just about drops out of his arse as he stares at it.

“Hi Daeron. It’s been a while,” you greet, looking him up and down. “Wow, you look great.”

Daeron faces you head-on, taking a deep breath. His heart is beating so fast. He’s nervous. “It has… and thank you. I’m sober.”

You smile. “That’s great! I’m so proud of you.”

Daeron fidgets anxiously with his fingers as he checks your own fingers for a ring. No wedding ring, good.

He looks back up. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m, uh, over a year sober.”

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day,” you say with such sincerity that tears threaten to well in his eyes. He watches you smile then, your hand running up and down the handle of the pushchair. “I’m so happy you got better, Daeron. Really.”

He takes a step forward, a small dent in his brow as he speaks around a subtle pout. “My special girl, I did it for you. I got better for you.”

You peer up at him. “I know.”

“Then you remember what you said?” Daeron has to physically stop himself from getting on his knees to beg. “You said you’d come back to me. You said if I got better—”

“I know,” you repeat, sucking your bottom lip nervously between your teeth. Your eyes wander back down to the pushchair, and Daeron feels his heart sink. He waits for you to continue, and you do. “Things aren’t the same as they used to be, Daeron.”

He frowns. “Are you in a relationship?”

You shake your head.

He continues. “Then what’s the problem? I’m here now, sweetheart, I got better. For you.” He points at the pushchair then. “You have a baby? Is that the problem?”

“My baby is not a problem,” you grumble, giving him a pointed look.

Daeron’s eyes widen. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s the father that’s the problem,” you say, leaning back against the wall of the shop. You rock the pushchair gently back and forth. “I never told him I was pregnant, and I never told him I had the baby. I don’t want him to be mad at me.”

Daeron swipes a hand through the air, trying to be nonchalant. “Don’t worry about that. If he loves you, he would never be mad. This should be amazing news, right?”

“I guess,” you say quietly.

“Tell him.” Daeron reaches for you then, placing a warm hand against your arm. “I can help you, if you want? I always thought my mitigation skills were pretty good—”

“Daeron?”

“Yeah?”

“This is your baby.”

He freezes.

You suck your teeth, gesturing to the pushchair. His eyes find it, the blood draining from his face. God, he’s always wanted this, he always wanted this with you, but not like this. Not knowing you did this all on his own. Not knowing he wasn’t there with you.

“My… baby?” Daeron breathes out.

You nod, then bring the pushchair around. Daeron’s heart squeezes tightly beneath his sternum as a gleaming-eyed baby is revealed to him, perched up in the pushchair with a pair of chubby hands gripping the neck of a soft dragon plushie.

“He’s eight months at the end of the week,” you tell your ex, pulling the canopy of the pushchair back so Daeron could get a clearer look. “Fifteen hour labour. I wanted to fucking die, but it was worth it.”

You squat down beside the pushchair and press one of your fingers to your son’s squishy cheeks. He giggles as you coo at him: “It was worth it, wasn’t it, baby?”

The baby continues to giggle as you stand back up, and in his excitement, he tosses his dragon onto the pavement. Daeron bends to grab it, feeling the silky-soft fur and the slight rattle of plastic beads in its tail. Gently, he approaches the pushchair and squats before it, holding the dragon out to the little boy.

The baby looks at him with a straight face—as straight a face as a baby can have—as the dragon is offered to him. A beat passes where Daeron feels he might burst into tears before a wide, gummy smile spreads across the baby’s fat face. He giggles again, reaching for the toy, taking it from Daeron. Daeron smiles as the baby takes one hand and clutches five tiny fingers around one of Daeron’s.

“I found out I was pregnant the day before we broke up,” you tell him, watching your son squeeze your ex’s finger. “I figured you needed to focus on your sobriety. I was planning to unblock you eventually, by the way. He wouldn’t have been kept a secret for too much longer, I promise.”

“My special girl,” Daeron whispers to you, still letting his son hold his finger in one hand and the little dragon in the other. “You owe me no explanations. That was the right thing to do.”

You clear your throat. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry that—”

“And you don’t owe me apologies either.”

You shut up.

Daeron gets to his feet, slipping his hand into yours. He looks to you with teary eyes that seem so much brighter than the last time you saw him. His skin is clearer, his hair is neater. He looks good.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he tells you softly. “Can… will you let me show you how much I’ve changed?”

You look down at your son for a moment. Then, with a shuddering exhale, you grip Daeron’s hand in return and nod before you can have any second thoughts.

“I’d like that,” you utter, and then let your ex wrap you in a tight hug. You listen to your baby giggle as you return the hug, and when you part, you reach up to wipe a tear from Daeron’s cheek. He smiles shyly, then you gesture at your son. “His middle name’s Daeron, by the way. And he’s a Targaryen.”

Daeron’s heart could have exploded right there

———

fern not writing smut is a rarity lol quick take a picture while it lasts

tags 🌿

standing just outside the white chalk lines. shaggy raven hair that never looks styled, stubble he clearly forgot—or chose not—to shave that morning. his infamous scar pulling at his lips as he shouts. he wears the same black team jacket unzipped, sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. when he folds his arms or gestures sharply toward the field, you always catch his muscles shifting beneath the fabric, veins flexing making it so impossible to ignore.

it’s just a photographer’s eye for striking subjects. for sure….

he beautifully contrasts against the chaos of the game…even if he’s shouting, or breaking his clipboard…. still, you capture him mid-shout, mid-thought, jaw clenched as he’s holding the entire team together.

and then later, when the photos run, and his photos dominate the highlights more than the actual goal, well, you pretend not to notice how often your name sits beneath them in a small, neat printed font.

he doesn’t know you. you’re just another person with a camera on the sidelines. you’re just another face in a sea of professional press badges, not just one of the universities many photographers. but you know him. you know the way his brows pinch when one of his players gets injured, the way his mouth twitches when his team scores, and the way he exhales with relief when the game ends.

and you keep clicking the shutter button—

“again?!” the head editor exclaims. “you didn’t get the goal?”

“I did!” you huff, glaring at the senior grad student who basically runs the entire school newspaper.

“not the first one, the final goal! the one scored by the universities ace! sukuna—“

“god forbid i missed a shot, I basically got everything else, plus I’m not the only one taking photos on the pitch. don’t you have other photographers?” you tsk, arms crossed.

he glares at you behind his desk, clicking through the photos you’d uploaded. “you got every single expression of the damn coach,” he mutters under his breath, clicking through one of toji shouting, then another of him spitting on the grass, then another of him scratching his jaw—

you nibble on your cheek, slouching slightly in the seat.

“you hate when we use someone else’s photos,” he adds, licking his teeth as he finally gets to your photos of the actual players. and they were spectacular. the action shots were perfect, you can see the sweat dribbling down their foreheads.

“because it’s my job,” you mutter, glancing at your editor who frowns when the photos return back to the head coach.

“unbelievable,” he mumbles, exhaling slowly as he sits back in his seat. “you’re killing me.”

your heel kicks the floor. this wasn’t a first. this happens almost every time. your lens just happens to drift away from the ball and fall on the head coach.

even with fans shouting in the stands, and the other cameras flashing in the other direction. your camera can’t help but find coach toji in the chaos. he was just as important as the team. he’s acting like toji isn’t mentioned a million times in the articles! god forbid you want him getting his flowers. but your editor wasn’t very appreciative of your sympathies.

“we’re going with these three, and taking one from the other photographers for the final goal you didn’t get,” he sighs, showing you your three photos, one of the team celebrating, another of satoru gojo sprinting across the field with the ball, and of course, the final — and in your opinion the best — of head coach toji standing with his muscular arms crossed at the start of the second half.

your editor rolls his eyes turning his screen back to him. “if you bring another folder and it’s seventy percent of this damn coach, I’ll drop you and pull noah up.”

the threat has you lowering your head and muttering a hesitate okay, because at the end of the day, you were the only photographer that worked full time for the paper, and you go to every single match. the rest are focused on other stories, or working their way to become editors.

while you liked photo-journalism more. it helped, that on weekends, you got someone to admire. and your editor was not the only one that’s noticed.

“what the hell, you’ve got to be kidding me,” geto huffs, snatching the paper from gojo as he sits on the pitch. “why am I never in these damn fucking articles??” he huffs with anger

“score more goals,” gojo sticks his tongue out, just to get kicked harshly by his friend.

“I fucking scored this game,” geto snaps, grumbling even more as he flips through the paper, seeing the team celebrating.

sukuna chugs his water behind them, “my picture sucks ass,” he grumbles, spitting the water right beside their goalie making him jerk back in annoyance. “you didn’t score, but I get the shit picture?” he snaps lowly at gojo.

geto frowns, “I scored, and at least you get a picture.”

gojo chuckles, pointing at the next photo, making the entire team roll their eyes simultaneously.

“some things never change,” one teammate, yuno, mutters. his hands are on his hips as him and the rest of the team glare at the immaculate, pristine, jaw-dropping photo captured of their strict, grumpy, nicotine addicted head coach, toji.

sukuna snarls as geto looks like he’s going to fucking tear out his luscious black hair. “fucking unbelievable.”

gojo snorts even louder, snatching the paper just to wave it from his place on the ground towards toji, who’d just gotten off the phone. “coach! you’re mogging the cameras again!”

toji’s brows pinch until he notices the photo. and it’s always the same reaction from the head coach. his eyes scan over the photo, then they fall down to the same printed name underneath. “not bad,” he casually says, handing back the newspaper like it’s nothing.

but the entire team is seething, with the exception of gojo laughing his ass off.

“I finally figured out who your secret admirer is,” gojo announces, “it’s definitely the cutie with the charm on her camera and stickers on her flashlight.”

geto raises a brow “how d’ya know that?” the rest of the team immediately huddle in.

gojo clears his throat.

“for the last few games I’ve been purposely fixing my shoes or drinking water on the sidelines where they’re all huddled up. obviously I ruled out all the old farts, then I narrowed it down to the ladies. then i crossed out the outside press, but it’s hard since I can’t see all their press badges—but then i noticed,” gojo holds up the newspaper, slapping his index finger on your name beneath the photo. the entire team have basically memorized your full name by now. “she was the only one still photographing the field, BUT it was pointed at coach,” gojo points to toji.

“AND,” gojo continues, “she had this cute little charm on her camera, and this sticker. and it’s definitely your secret admirer,” gojo confidently smiles.

however, geto scratches his jaw, glancing at gojo then the newspaper. “so which one was her instagram?”

oh right, gojo rubs his neck in disappointment.

your name under a majority of the game’s photos started catching the teams attention a couple months ago. your credentials at the bottom of the article was always signed with your first and last name. however, when the team caught on to your not-so secret admiration for their coach, and neglect of the rest of team, they tried stalking you.

yet, they couldn’t find a single social media handle. not your instagram, twitter, tiktok — even your linkedIn was just the default linkedIn pfp. and the school paper website didn’t have a photo for you. either way, the team was on a mission.

“I don’t think her socials are even under her name,” gojo admits, making the team groan.

toji, silently watching the ordeal transpire, claps his hands, breaking the gossip. “enough, continue your drills unless ya wanna stay till sunset!”

once the team finally finishes practice and began packing their gear. neither one of them notices the students enjoying the nice weather on campus, or the girl that take a detours to walk past the field.

your eyes easily fall on your perfect subject. his hand cracks his neck as he stifles a yawn, kicking the soccer ball towards one of the players as they kick it up, tucking it under their arm.

it was a routine….one that you found yourself subconsciously doing on practice days. you would follow the path down from the quad, until you reach the second soccer field on campus, mainly used for practice and training.

your bag hangs off your shoulder along with your camera — the lens was downsized to your fixed 24mm and the flash wasn’t on — that’s usually how your camera is when you aren’t at events, or games.

it isn’t uncommon to watch the schools infamous soccer team practice. especially when half of them are also part of a fraternity. hell, on the other side of the field were a few girls fawning over the sweaty players.

in other words, you don’t stand out. and you’re unbothered by the hot players that glance your way as they pack their bags. well, until a certain white haired player is squinting across the field, before muttering a quiet “no way…”

geto gives his friend a look, lifting his duffle over his shoulder as sukuna wipes his face with the hem of his jersey, “what?” he grumbles.

gojo’s bag hit the grass. he locks eyes with you. then he does the worst thing imaginable. he shouts your name.

the entire team snap their necks in your direction. gojo suddenly leads the pack of six foot whatever college men across the field — their bags drop, cleats half untied, some bare foot. but all on one mission.

you.

the color immediately drains from your face. your body freezes like a deer in headlights. and when the entire team of sweaty, built, hot men crowd the waist-high fence that separate them from you. you’re ultimately stuck.

“you’re-you’re—“ slightly out of breath and pumped full of adrenaline, gojo heaves out your name. not just a first name, no—your full government name. “right!?”

you eyes lazily drag between the men, fixing the strap of your bag, your camera clinking against the side, drawing every man’s attention to the little charm gojo had just described less than an hour ago.

“yeah,” you manage to exhale, shifting your balance. “did you need something?”

“yeah,” the low voice of the hot headed team captain interrupts. he hadn’t ran with rest of the players, instead he walked up, casual and full of loud confidence. finally making his way across the field, energy drink in hand, glaring right through you as he continues. “why the fuck was my picture the only one not taken by you? it looks like shit.”

you exhale, about to answer when another one cuts in.

“why haven’t you taken one of me? the game last month was my debut and you didn’t get me going on the pitch—“

“I liked that shot you got of me when—“

“can you get my good side next time—“

“why did you—“

“can you—“

“you didn’t get my goal!” geto manages to dogpile. all the men yell complaints and compliments, overwhelming you with critiques. until you’re frowning, glaring harshly at the group of men you’d watched from a distance since your freshman year.

“I don’t work for you guys,” you finally snap. your words are cold making the men frown. “I work for the schools paper, and they choose the photos, not me.”

“and yet coach is in every single one of em?” geto bites back, and that’s when they all catch the slight surprise that crosses your face.

gojo smirks, leaning over the fence, getting close as he tilts his head. “seems like a majority of your photos have our coach. it’s like your editor can’t help but be forced to put him in.”

you feel your stomach churn, glancing between the sharp sapphire eyes. “that’s not how it works,” you mutter.

you did not expect your first interaction with the soccer team to be this. accusing you of favoritism. you can practically feel all their eyes on you, like they knew exactly who you are, even if this is your first time speaking to them.

“sure looks like it,” sukuna drawls, smirking wide when he sees you shift uncomfortably. “you like our coach or somethin?”

“of course she does,” geto’s smooth voice cuts in. “do you get all hot lookin at coach toji?”

you swallow thickly, pushing down the heat crawling up your neck to glare at the men. “you guys are disgusting,” you spit, but the men don’t falter, instead they continue gloating and poking.

“we just wanna get to know you. you’ve been takin’ our pics for months, we can’t have a chat now?” geto cuts.

they were quietly impressed with your composure. your poker face would’ve been perfect if not for the slight fidgeting you’re doing with your bag and camera strap. either way, your glare was mean, unwavering until—

“cut it out.”

the sharp voice slices through the team. then, one strong palm shoves gojo into geto, and the rest of the team topple on each other like dominos. the head coach plants himself between the fence, his team, and you.

“i forget you’re all a couple children,” toji tsks, his arms are crossed standing like a lone knight keeping a pack a wolves from a poor princess.

your heart slams against your rib cage. all your composure evaporates into thin air, struggling to catch your breath. this was the closest you’ve gotten to the head coach. you can practically smell the mixture of his cologne and natural musk. your cheeks grow hotter by the second, completely dazed and loosing all other senses, unaware that practically half the team noticed your sudden shift.

gojo elbows geto eyeing the way your pupils basically turn into bright pink hearts. even your lips look more glossy from the drool collecting in your mouth.

they’d never seen anything like it, and for their coach of all people?!

you’re caught up in gawking at the huge man, eyeing his wide shoulders, the veins straining from his compression shirt, his shirt clinging to every muscle that could break you in a blink of an eye — that you miss his short lecture towards his boys to quit scaring off a young woman, all to end with him shouting—

“ten more laps!”

the team’s eyes bulge, jaws dropping in shock, and quickly follow up with a spew of complaints.

“ya heard coach!” sukuna, the hot-headed captain, interrupts. and if the team wasn’t scared of their coach, they definitely had a reason to be with their captain. they ultimately drop their things and start their laps. however, sukuna hangs back at bit, “I didn’t even say sh—“

“you were late to practice, so you were gonna do the laps anyways,” toji cuts, earning a loud tsk from the tattooed captain. his duffle drops on the floor dramatically, eyes flicking towards yours, which — no surprise — haven’t left the coach’s profile, and with his own groan, his cleats hit the grass starting his lap.

with the entire team running laps….you’re left alone.

coach toji doesn’t move.

instead, he leans against the fence, strong arms crossing. you’re barely a foot behind him, close enough that the scent of grass and dizzy cologne reaches you when he shifts his weight. close enough that your brain short-circuits again.

then he looks over his shoulder.

it’s not rushed or sharp. it was an easy turn of his head, his dark emerald eyes flick to you with calm, assessing. and up close, he’s worse. he’s broader than he looks from the sidelines, his stubble shadowing his jaw feels unfair for a sunday morning. sunlight catches the edge of his cheekbone, and the curve of his mouth makes you stare shamelessly especially when it lifts just slightly. he’s amused by something you’re not aware of yet and you don’t even notice.

your heart stutters.

you practically forget how to stand or how to function like a grown ass adult, instead you feel like someone who’s just had their fantasy materialize directly in front of them.

heat rushes to your face, your chest tightens, and you pray, desperately, that your expression isn’t as transparent as it feels. you focus on keeping your hands still, even as your pulse flutters wildly under your skin.

and toji’s gaze lingers. he takes you in like the way someone experienced does, without staring, without shame, just a brief glance that drifts. from your fidgeting fingers, to your necklace trapped between your pretty cleavage, to the tank top that hugs your chest, to the zip up hoodie falling off your soft shoulder. to your lips, wet from the amount of times you’d lick and bit them.

and you still don’t notice it! you’re too busy trying not to melt into the grass beneath your feet. all you register is how hot the space suddenly feels, how solid he seems standing there.

from the field, a player snickers mid-lap. a majority watching the entire interaction, waiting for someone to make a move. gojo snickers as geto analyzes.

you don’t hear any of it, all you know is that the knights are real, and he’s right in front of you, and your carefully maintained composure never stood a chance. especially when his eyes meet yours and his deep, husky, voice sinks into your bones.

“been wondering who was seein’ me like that, sweetheart.”

you were gone.

s-s-s-sweetheart!?

your heart bursts, veins burning through your skin as your lips part, words falling into the void as your brain struggles to reply.

and he finds it adorable.

college girls are cute, but you, you’re a little pervert. how many photos have you taken of him? and for the past year too? he’s wondered just like his team had, who was behind all those photos. who was oogling him while the best team in the nation was playing right before their eyes?

at first, he was bothered, confused even, how big of a stalker did you have to be to take his photos for months and not introduce yourself?

but now he sees it. the way you’re struggling to find words. the way your eyes flick between his — surprised even that you’re not shying away from eye contact, but instead, struggling to just respond. like the words are right there, but your dumb brain is getting fried just by his presence. cute.

“I’ll try an’ wink next time.”

he just hammers the nail straight into your heart. your face bursts into flames as you let out a strangled hum like whine, face burning even more. unfortunately, your audience isn’t as silent. instead a few had caught your reaction and were bursting with laughter. a few whistling at their coach.

“she’s too young for ya, coach!”

“get someone y’er own age!”

“coach, the shy ones are the freakiest!”

the last one — somehow — snapped you back to reality. your glare cut through the field, immediately hitting one of the players making him burst out laughing along with the others around him. your face pulls into a scowl, heart hammering at the teasing you’re receiving from the team. who even are they? they don’t know anything about you!

shy?! you?!!! you scowl in annoyance, eyes rollin—

“ignore em, sweetheart. they’re just being dicks.”

fuck.

your face burns hot again, heart hammering against your ribs as you stutter out another nod, fingers gripping your bag as you glance at the head coach again. his green eyes were unbelievably dark, just staring at them, you felt like you were getting dizzy.

the scar on his lip twitches up, leaning an elbow on the fence, his eyes flick down to your camera. “what kinda camera is that?”

your eyes widen, looking down like you’re surprised it’s there. but it seems like he flicks a switch in your brain with that question, because now you’re fumbling to hold the delicate thing in your hands. then you hold it out for him.

a small puff of air leaves his nose in amusement. you’re cute. he turns, reaching his hand out, just for your small ones to place the expensive camera in his. the same one you’d deny your friends from even holding, afraid they’ll drop it.

b-but if coach toji holds it…if he wants to hold it…who…who are you to stop him!!!

your blush only breaks out across your body once you feel your hands brush his, eyes so bright and big even he can see the hearts explode from your irises, fuzzy pink flowers glowing around your head like a cartoon.

“looks expensive,” he finally takes his eyes away from you to momentarily examine the camera. it was nice, sony. “bought it yourself?”

you nod, smiling as you rock on your heels. “it was…” oh first words, toji’s eyes flick to you, eyeing your glossy lips as they part. “my first big purchase,” you glance at the camera then back up at toji as you point with your manicured index finger, towards the camera. “it’s nice…right?”

well fuck me.

toji chuckles internally. he really can’t read you. from rude (to the team), to shy, to snappy (to the team), to demure, to charming—all while looking up at him like he’s some shinning knight and not a coach, albeit for the best team in the nation, but still.

his lips curl up, his internal switch already flipped when he shooed the team away, and the smooth voice of his poured out like second nature. “very nice, sweetheart.”

you nod, enthusiastically.

god, you were a cutie.

“and you take such good pictures with it too, you’re a natural,” the sweet words just keep pouring from his mouth like honey, and you’re eating up every drop. your feet manage to carry you closer to the fence…closer to him.

you wet your glossy lips, leaning close to point at the camera, “it also takes video here…I initially wanted to do more videography, but I stuck with photos. but it’s a nice perk with the camera…and I can shoot in raw and jpeg, so I can edit them afterwards if I want, and uh and I have other lenses too. this one is a fixed one, so it can’t zoom, but I have two other ones that zoom, I usually use those ones for work…like during your….games.”

your rambling was one of, if not, the most attractively adorable things you could’ve done at this moment. especially when you’re oblivious to the light flush that settles in the coach’s stomach as he eyes you down.

his gaze flicks between your fingers on the camera, and your profile from his height. your hair lightly brush’s back from the wind exposing your neck, your perfume reaching his nose.

“can I try takin’ a pic?”

your face bursts hot, you feel like it’ll melt off as you gawk up at the head coach, before nodding your head frantically, a wide smile pulling at your lips. you try to clear your throat as you turn the camera on for him and take the lens cap off.

“good?” he asks.

you just nod again, biting your cheek feeling how wide you’re smiling it almost hurts, but you can’t take your eyes off the way his big hands handle your camera. your biggest crush ever is using your camera!

you contain a squeal as he stands straight. he brings the camera to his eye, before lowering it again, confused. your eyes widen momentarily before realizing he’s struggling and quickly stepping up again.

you lean over the fence. and toji purposely avoids coming down to your height. instead, he watches you hold the fence to stand on your tippy toes, the other gently holds his wrist to ask him to lower the camera just a bit from his eye so you can instruct him. fuck, the confidence to touch him when you were just a jittery mess a second ago.

“the shutter button is here. if you half press it, it’ll auto-focus for you—“ you move to the front of the camera flipping some switch, “jus’ turned it on. but just press down all the way and it’ll take the picture,” you say, mistakenly glancing up from where you are, just to realize that coach toji’s face is inches from yours. his warm breath fans against your cheek, his scar so close, his lips right there and his eyes….

you were beyond gone. the steam immediately comes off your face as your eyes turn into big giant hearts. you’re so easy to read it should be illegal.

you fall back on your heels, allowing toji to attempt again. what you weren’t expecting was for him to point the camera at you.

well considering the wider lens, I guess he wants to shoot something closer for more satisfaction. but it caught you slightly off guard, your cheeks flame once more, heart stuttering, but your face immediately lights up.

his lips curve up behind the camera, watching you give him a cute smile, angling your head to tip to the side a bit. people that automatically smile when a camera is pointed at them is definitely a cute trait.

he takes a few quick photos, before pulling the camera back. “how do I see ‘em?”

this time he lowers the camera for you, but keeps it close to his body so you’re still leaning over and up beside him, albeit with the fence between you both.

“ah the sun was behind me,” you realize now looking at the photos. toji hums like he knows what that means (he doesn’t) but he clicks the button to go to the next picture and same thing.

“let’s do it again,” he says, already pulling the camera back, but your finger quickly reaches out, easily flipping it back to view mode before moving back. toji watches you glance up at the sky, before moving yourself in front of the sun. “smile f’er me, sweetheart.”

you were smiling, but now—toji chuckles through his nose at your reaction. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he takes one photo, than another.

your smile turns more pose worthy, not so big, but just as beautiful. “you’re a natural,” he comments, with full honesty.

your cheeks flush, waving your hand in front of you, “don’t glaze me.”

toji snorts, “jus’ saying what I see, not my fault you pose like a model.”

a model?!

toji notices the way you bite your cheek and the way your hands fidget with your bag. “put the bag down, sweetheart.”

your heart skips again, the nickname electing a response from you every time. but you oblige, setting your bag on the ground. now without anything to fidget with, your hands carefully clasp behind your back, your navy hoodie completely off your shoulder, exposing the casual white tank top. his eyes glance at the swell of your tits that your bra pushes up. and the sliver of skin that peaks at the bottom.

the wind was like a perfect accessory, blowing a warm spring breeze in your direction brushing your hair again.

you do your best to pose casually, smiling at the camera, eyes low as you stare into the lens, heart beating erratically as you wait for coach toji to finish.

your breath catches momentarily. cheeks stinging and lips parting like a deer in headlights, because you notice it. just briefly, the way toji lowers the camera from his eye, gaze tracking down your figure, eyeing your thighs, then your hips, then your tits.

he’s definitely checking you out.

you glance away, flustered, unaware that toji was now clicking the library to view the photos he’d just taken.

“I think I’m a pretty good shot,” he compliments his nonexistent skills, but the light hits you so well.

you smile watching him look at the photos. eyes glued to his lazy smirk, stomach hot and heart fluttering at his short comments. he’s so handsome, you glance at the curve of his nose, the stubble on his cheek. he’s so so pretty.

your mind was getting dizzy, all because coach toji is in front of you, but it made you completely forgetful that if he keeps clicking next, it’ll eventually reach—

“oh.”

you first notice the slight raise of his brows, then the scar on his lip twitching wider, then the greens of his eyes darkening.

“did ya’ submit these too, sweetheart?”

your brows furrow for half a second, then it clicks. you lunge forward.

this can’t be happening!

you immediately cover the screen and take the camera as you hear the coach chuckle. of course you’d forgotten that you had these on your sd card.

staring back at you is a photo of toji’s fat bulge from the game. you managed to catch the moment he reached down to itch himself, grabbing it. if he saw this one he definitely saw the three before this of the closeups of his lips, his big biceps, his ass when he was fixing his shoes.

your heart is beating in your ears, skin sizzling with embarrassment as your vision starts to narrow. your eyes flick up to the coach in horror, flustered beyond speech. “it’s not—“ you struggle to explain, “you weren’t supposed to see that. I was just taking one—then I someone bumped so like, the camera went down—“

the rambling was unlike the one before, this one was much more uncoordinated, fueled by your humiliation, anxiety, and desperate attempt at defending yourself to him, so that he doesn’t think you’re some creep.

“I wore that shirt from the match two weeks ago. not this one….” his head tilts, arms folded across his beefy chest. “why do you still have ‘em?”

the older man is quite unbothered. instead, his chest grew hot, and his mind wandered off imagining this hot college girl laying in her bed, staring at pictures of his crotch with her small fingers playing with her wet little pussy. his eyes flick to your chest again.

your eyes are wide, glancing at your camera.

“I just forgot to format the card,” you quickly reply, pretty chest rising and falling. “I always forget, and I realize after when I’m exporting the photos or run out of storage—I delete them, i-i swear!”

he snorts, head tilting, “you swear?”

you nod frantically.

his emerald eyes narrow, tongue poking out to wet his lips, touching his scar. his eyes flick to the camera in your hands. you’re quite the actor…

“okay, I’ll take your word then. you wouldn’t lie to me…?” his gaze was intimidating, the darkness of his pupils felt like a black hole pulling you in. but somehow you manage to shake your head.

“no, sir.”

toji holds eye contact, before tearing it away to reach for his phone, “good girl.”

your heart beats in your throat, threatening to tear out, but you step forward, eyes big and sad. “sorry, coach.” there’s a slight waver in your voice, the man’s eyes widen briefly, chuckling under his breath as he brings a hand up to the crown of your head.

“don’t worry about it, keep taking photos of me. ya’ make me feel important,” his comment is punctuated with a flirtatious wink, shooting another arrow straight into your heart.

you were lovestruck the entire trip home. and so unbelievably grateful.

you talked your way out of such incriminating evidence. because how could coach toji know that in truth, you have an entire album of photos just like the ones he saw, that you pull out almost every night to help you cum.

you really should be an actor, you think, blushing at the way he called you good girl. the way he looked at you, the way his fingers brushed yours on the camera —ahhhh, you bury your hot face in your hands.

you were in shock for days, heart slamming against your chest and face heating up every time you thought back to the moment.

you were so in your head that you hadn’t even noticed the two athletes walking up behind you on your way out of class, crossing the quad.

it’s like that thing that happens. when you’re finally introduced to someone for the first time, then you’re suddenly seeing them everywhere. that’s how geto and gojo felt. you’d been under their noses the entire time.

with a lecture of over two hundred students, of course they’d spot you when you entered today. gojo elbowed his friend, nodding in your direction. geto’s eyes nearly popped.

“what the hell?” geto leans forward, the two men closely watch you enter the lecture hall, walking a few rows down before slipping in. geto’s eyes narrow at the camera you carefully place in your lap as you take out your ipad.

it was like the cards were being dealt out for him perfectly.

“wait, I don’t get it,” gojo huffs catching up to his friend as the lecture hall empties.

geto tsks, “what’s not to get? I’m gonna bribe her into taking photos of me next game. I’m fucking tired of being some fucking blur—“

“you’ve gotten some photos man—“

“well i want more. ones where I’m actually scoring,” geto huffs, brushing his bang back in frustration.

once the two men hit the pavement outside, they spot you. gojo is tagging along for the fun, while geto is set on a mission. one he conjured up mid-lecture the second he saw you. it was perfect. genius—

“what?” your face scrunches in mild disgust. the two men baffle at your reaction, especially at the way you’re looking up at them with narrow, and irritated eyes. your expression isn’t hard to decipher, it’s basically screaming, why tf are you talking to me?

geto licks his teeth, exhaling through his nose, “you heard me fine, sweetheart—“

“don’t call me that.”

his jaw clenches, repeating his line without the pet name. “the next two games are the semifinals and then the finals, so I’ll give you access through our manager to join press during the media window two days before the matches—“

“I already have access to that through the school paper,” you give him a look, immediately ticking him off.

“let me fucking finish will you—“

“you’re taking forever and I’m being cornered,” you snap back, rolling your eyes at the pretentious athlete. geto bites his tongue, as gojo gasps.

“you’re not being cornered!” he states, just to exchange a look with geto as they both see that they’ve steered you off the pavement and against a tree. “no—we’re just talking.”

you exhale, glancing back at geto, “whatever, just finish.”

geto licks his lips, continuing, “you’ll also get access to our locker room strategy meeting or whatever, and behind the scenes access — you only do photos, no video or interviews?”

you shake your head, heart beating just a little quicker because now you’re starting to see the perks. bts access is the one thing university teams can deny since they don’t like any outsiders butting into their strategies or taking them out of “the zone.”

that also means you can see….coach toji.

gojo and geto both notice the realization crossing your face, especially when your lips part, much more glossy than before. unbelievable.

“but,” geto snaps you back, your eyes darting up to meet his, “you better take some good fucking shots of me during the game. if I’m not in the fucking paper and insta page, then no deal.”

you gasp, “dude, you’re literally acting like I’m the one in charge of that?? it’s my editor that picks the photos to put in the articles.”

geto tsks, “yet somehow coach is in every single one.” your jaw clenches, stomach heating up. “take more photos of me so it’s inevitable. got it?”

your lip curls in annoyance, eyeing geto, just for gojo to suddenly but in—

“but also take some of me, i look so hot in them and i like reposting them on my insta,” gojo flashes you a smile.

your frown deepens, “there’s other photographers. you guys know that right?”

“yours are the only ones they choose and they look better than whoever took sukuna’s,” gojo snorts, remembering their captains complaints.

nevertheless, geto and gojo wait for you to agree, both men standing with their arms crossed, blocking the spring sun from hitting you.

then a certain captain happens to pass by, noticing his two teammates, and frat brothers.

“the fuck are you guys doing?”

the men whip their heads as sukuna steps up, bag slung over his shoulder wearing a backwards baseball cap. and with a quick explanation from his friends, sukuna tsks glancing at you and adding.

“coach always showers before or after our games.”

and it was that one bit of information that automatically has you saying: “deal.”

—

you don’t rush setting up. you check your flash, bouncing it once off the ceiling to make sure it won’t wash anyone out. your fingers move with muscle memory, standing in these rooms plenty of times for the school paper, along with other journalists from the school paper especially for media days, post-game scrums, pre-season press.

so this isn’t new territory.

the room is packed, though. there’s national outlets mingling with campus press, and clusters of journalists already talking. you hear familiar phrases float past as you move, many talking about the teams unbeaten streak, their goal differentials, their historic season.

familiar names are easily getting tossed around. captain sukuna coming up first, always, and his leadership, and the way he commands the field. gojo’s speed follows after, and his natural talent and eye for goals, then geto’s consistency, his intelligence and composure. someone mentions scouts again, plural this time, and how a few clubs have been hovering around those three all season.

you barely react because you’ve heard all of this before, and it was impressive of course, you enjoy it. however, what does get you, embarrassingly, is his name.

every time coach toji is mentioned—his tactics, his discipline, the way he rebuilt the program and incorporated new strategies —you feel heat creep up your neck. it’s a soft and traitorous blush that you’re grateful no one’s looking closely enough to notice you smiling.

you keep your eyes on your camera, pretending to fiddle with a setting you don’t actually need to adjust, reminding yourself that he’s just part of the team. a very effective, very respected part of it.

then finally, the noise dips and the conversations fade into an expectant quiet as the side door opens.

the players file in first, with sukuna at the front, expression unreadable, gojo already grinning, geto calm and observant as ever. everyone’s cameras lift, and recorders click on. and then he steps in behind them.

coach toji, in a suit.

your face breaks into a hot mess, heart skipping a beat as you eye him through your lens. it fits him too well. dark, sharp, shoulders filling it out like it was tailored perfectly. no team jacket today, no morning stumble. no, he looked clean, with polished shoes, and authority. he guides the team forward eyes sweeping the room calmly.

your flash fires once, professionalism wavering again. how can it not when your knight is walking into the room and reminding you exactly how out of reach he is.

the entire team easily spots you in the front row for the first time. your charm hangs from your camera strap, along with the little sticker on your godox flash. they all know who you are now, so their wasn’t any hiding the way they’d purposely glance at your camera lens, giving you their best shots.

many of the questions are being directed towards the coach, your eyes focus on his reaction, lens zooming close as he rolls his dress shirt over his forearms. your camera flashes and your cheeks warm. you do this every time. acting like it’s your first time seeing the coach in a suit even though he wears one every semifinals press. but you can’t help it!

journalists throw questions without breath, firing rounds until the set time is up.

“photographers only, please.”

the room clears out fast. chairs scrape back, and laptops snap shut. you step forward instinctively, already lifting your camera. the players shift back into place. sukuna straightens, his expression resetting into something stoic. gojo cracks a joke under his breath that earns him a look. geto adjusts his sleeves, calm as ever.

toji moves standing just off to the side at first, arms crossed, smooth dress shirt crinkling over his taut muscles, and unforgiving across his shoulders.

the manager gestures. “let’s get the team all together first.”

cameras flash as the team pose, all in their uniform. you move easily getting their shots, unaware of the emerald eyes watching your every move.

coach toji noticed you the minute he stepped into the room. however, he remained composed, knowing how many eyes were on him. but now, his eyes sweep over your figure.

your grey dress pants hugging that right ass, and those hips. the tight dress shirt hugged your frame, with the top buttons undone allowing some of your cleavage to be revealed along with your necklace stack. business casual, but he’s sure half the team is looking at your tits. your pretty anklet catching the light as you move in your kitten heels.

“coach with sukuna,” the manager says.

toji steps forward.

you track him without thinking, framing the shot as he places a hand lightly at sukuna’s back, guiding him a half-step to the left. your shutter clicks, noticing how easily he steps into your frame, how naturally he fills it. his height just a hair taller than the hot headed captain, at least in your eyes.

“alright, another group photo,” the manager says.

toji turns, motioning the players in with two fingers. his eyes briefly catch yours making your eyes widen. the team clusters around their coach, heads bowed slightly, listening even though there’s nothing to hear. he speaks low anyway. you circle to the side, careful, capturing the curve of his shoulder, the way his jaw tightens when he focuses.

toji’s gaze lifts again, slow and deliberate, landing on you.

why does he keep doing that?!

it’s brief. just a glance that lingers a fraction longer, his eyes flick from your face to the camera in your hands and back again, like he’s remembering the photos he saw on your camera.

you feel heat blooming under your skin, pulse kicking hard enough to throw you off guard. you steady your hands, inhaling subtly, pretending you don’t feel the way the air shifts when he turns slightly…when he ends up closer than before, just at the edge of your frame.

“okay, we’re good,” the manager calls.

the team breaks, the players disperse, but toji stays put for a beat longer, adjusting his sleeve, posture relaxed again, unreadable.

you lower your camera only when it’s over, breath leaving you in a quiet rush you didn’t realize you were holding. you don’t see him glance at you when you step back to check your photos. you also don’t notice the small, satisfied curve of his mouth.

not until you’re feeling a gentle, firm, hand on your waist, and a low voice right against your ear, “say hi next time. you’re not a stranger anymore.”

your body immediately catches on fire, eyes snapping to the man like a magnet, heart slamming against your ribs as you watch him pull back, emerald eyes meeting yours.

“right, sweetheart?”

your face stings, as you nod quickly, heat pooling deep in your stomach, feeling his thumb caress your hip over your shirt. your lips part, mind dizzy as you glance as his strong forearms, he’s towering over you, slightly leaning down to speak to you in quiet whispers.

“I’ll see c’ya tomorrow, yeah,” he gives your waist a squeeze as he greets you with a kiss to your cheek like some gentleman. then he walks away. and if you weren’t a mess before, the casual glance he shoots over his shoulder has a third arrow piercing your heart.

you couldn’t contain it anymore. you were consumed by this man. every waking thought was spent daydreaming about him— his voice, his eyes, his hands, his demeanor. it was intoxicating.

all for you to show up in the lockerroom, the next day, hours before the match. the team is either dressed in their uniforms, or still shirtless, huddling around the white board as they prep for the game.

geto was the second to notice you, after gojo. both their eyes twinkling as they walk up to you. “they gave you the pass,” geto nods to the press badge around your neck.

you nod, glancing around the lockerroom. it felt tense, the aura suspenseful as the time ticks closer to when they walk onto the pitch.

“get your vip shots, but you better get my photo,” geto hushes in your ear.

“and mine!” gojo blurts, just as a certain coach is stepping out of the steam.

and you feel it. the towel wrapped low around his waist, skin still slick with water that traces unhurried paths down his sculpted torso. his hair is darker when it’s wet, heavier, droplets slide from it and disappear along the hard lines of his shoulders.

your eyes catch his muscles moving when he walks, hard mass, that shifts beneath skin without effort. you swallow thickly, body heating up, stomach fluttering as you catch the trail of dark coarse hair leading down from his navel, and disappearing beneath the towel. your eyes follow it to the bulge you know is under there. your cheeks sting at the thought of it.

you were utterly shameless. as if the two men standing beside aren’t still talking to you. but they immediately recognize the shift in your attitude and notice the steam leaving your face. gojo stifles a laugh, as geto sighs. you’re hopeless.

your eyes follow the scars you’ve never seen before. the old pale marks catch the light, etched across his side, his pecs, and back, proof of some life before this one. then he turns just enough and your heart stutters, and your panties soak.

ink blooms along his ribs where the towel dips. the tattoos are sharp and intimate, black against his skin that’s still flushed from the heat. you’ve photographed him dozens of times, from every angle, but you’ve never seen a peak of a tattoo.

“how wet are you right now?”

the comment snaps you back, glaring straight at the crystal ocean eyes narrowed in amusement.

“don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, “I’m working.” your attitude really is night and day when it comes to anyone else and toji.

gojo blushes, “I love mean girls.”

you roll your eyes.

“what’re you two doing? get the fuck over here,” sukuna snaps.

the team huddles as the fifteen minute timer starts. and that’s what you should be photographing, but instead you glance back. toji is now pulling up his pants, wet hair still dripping down the expanse of his back. his eyes catch yours for a second, gaze flicking to your camera, taunting…

his hand subtly cups his crotch, squeezing his girth just to present you with a size, one that has your lips parting with a shaky exhale, heart pounding as you glance between his emerald eyes and the way his forearms flex when he fixes the waistband of his boxers, pulling the material down just a bit that you catch more of the thick patch of hair at his base seeing a peak of it, before he’s fixing himself again.

and once he zips his pants up, glancing at the team as they huddle for some words from the captain before coach steps in, toji walks to you. just a few feet away, your eyes widen in surprise, heart stuttering as you watch him lean down to greet you with a kiss to your cheek, again!

he’s acting like you’re familiar even though this is just your third interaction with him…but maybe you are…

“thought I told you to say hi next time,” he says against your ear, pulling away.

your face heats up, “you were….changing.”

“so?”

you gulp, eyes flicking between his, heart pounding. he’s so close. your breath catches when his scent hits your nose, sandalwood, oak and something deeper under it. his stubble is darker than yesterday, rougher along his jaw, and you realize you’ve been staring for too long when the heat creeps up your neck.

he doesn’t move away though, he stands beside you, attention forward on sukuna as he speaks. focused, and so aware of you’re attention he has to hold back a smirk. and maybe he doesn’t mind messing with you, so his hand remains at your lower back, light, almost absent, but there.

your stomach flips, attention gone. you try to listen, you do. sukuna is talking about positioning, about discipline, about not getting sloppy or something and the room is locking in around you, everyone leaning in. these would be great photos—but all you can think about is how close he is.

how his hand hasn’t moved, every small shift makes your pulse jump. you keep your eyes forward. you don’t trust yourself to look at him again.

and that gives toji the opportunity to take you in. his pupils dilate just a fraction as his gaze travels down your body. his eyes zero in on the multiple open buttons of your tight dress shirt. you’re not even hiding yourself, and the sliver of skin that peaks between your pants and shirt doesn’t help.

his hand remains over your clothes, heat settling in his stomach when you take a deeper breath and your tits push up, and his eyes shamelessly look down your shirt from his towering height. fuck, he wants a look at that pretty ass too—

“coach! you’re up!” sukuna’s voice cuts through everything, snapping toji back. your gaze whips with it, catching him off guard as you wait for his next move like anything he touches is gold.

he controls himself, giving your waist that same squeeze before his hand leaves you just like that.

you push down the feeling that hits immediately, sharp and cold. but now you can finally breathe properly when he steps away. he moves past the players without rushing — a few of the boys let their eyes roam over you— toji adjusts his sleeve ignoring the feeling bubbling up when he notices them. and then he’s at the front.

he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to now, but he usually gets to that point around the halfway mark. but this was the first time you’re seeing him speak in private…and when he speaks, they all listen—every single one of them.

gojo notices, gossip second nature to him. but the quick glance your way already has a grin tugging at his mouth before he nudges geto. geto follows his gaze, then sukuna does too, just briefly—and it’s obvious. painfully obvious. the way your expression softens, the way your attention doesn’t wavers. it’s written all over you.

“she’s actually really hot,” gojo comments.

though you wish you could stand there forever, the time finally comes for the team to head to the pitch, and that’s when the chaos begins.

not just on the field…but off it.

the press box is packed, bodies press against you shoulder to shoulder. the field below is relentless. everything fast, and aggressive, and loud enough that the noise bleeds through everything. you always forget how overstimulating and exhilarating semifinal matches are. but you remember the deal you made with the three stars.

your camera moves with them, tracking their plays, snapping multiple shots of them without hesitation, and then catching the moment when things go wrong...

sukuna gets taken down hard during a penalty shot—and there’s no whistle. no call.

you’re already shooting when the other team pushes, then scores, and the stadium erupts, but sukuna is on his feet, shouting. the goal should be discounted. the captain was known to be a hot head, but even you could see that the tackle he received was completely brushed off by the ref and he was right.

everyone watches as the team moves forward in defense of sukuna, but also holding him back. the other side meets them just as hard. the crowd shouts as they watch the players shove, yell, and slam into each other—and through it all you keep shooting. you catch toji too, voice cutting through the chaos as he orders his players to pull sukuna back.

the press talk amongst themselves as halftime quickly breaks up the argument. your feet quickly carry you out of the press box, towards the locker room.

“no locker room access.”

your jaw tightens immediately irritation flaring hot and sharp.

“I have a different badge,” you show the security guard your press ID. the one geto gave you.

“no press allowed, do i need to repeat myself?” the man snaps.

your irritation ticks at your side. fine. whatever. the second you step back, your mind is already running, already circling back to geto. you scoff under your breath, shaking your head as you pace along the corridor, camera swinging lightly at your side.

seriously? all that talk, all that stupid ass convincing, and for what? you were supposed to be there. that was the whole point! you roll your eyes, heat building the longer you think about it, every step feeding into this petty irritation instead of cooling it. were you overreacting —yes, but whatever—if he’s not holding up his end, then why should you?

by the time you make it back up, you’re done. done thinking about it, done entertaining it, done with their stupid deal.

the second half starts and you fall back into rhythm. camera up, focus sharp, and attention on only one thing now, the ball….

gojo and geto drift near the press box occasionally, clearly expecting something, acknowledgment, a photo, but you don’t even bat an eye. not a look, not a flicker, hell, they might as well not exist.

it’s almost satisfying. almost.

the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts, the first leg ended in a draw, preparing for next game to see who’ll continue. cameras around you go wild, capturing every second of it. the quiet annoyance of both teams, the noise in the crowd. but you don’t. you lower yours, expression flat, already turning away. it’s petty. a little unfair, but still, you walk.

“you’re not coming to the locker room?” gojo’s voice follows you, footsteps quick behind yours as you head in the opposite direction.

“why would i?” you snap, sharp, not even slowing. “am i even allowed,” there’s an obvious clip in your tone that has gojo confused.

“what’re you talking about?”

“deal’s off.”

huh?!????

gojo barely has time to react, before you’re walking away.

baffled and utterly confused, gojo makes his way back to the locker rooms. the energy is stiff, sukuna is grumbling under his breath about how embarrassing it was to end their first leg in a draw, geto is lounged beside his bag scrolling on his phone, and toji is in the corner talking to the managers. ugh, does no one care that their personal photographer isn’t taking photos of them???

they do care.

especially when the next paper comes out and the article is filled with photos taken by other people, not you!

“WHY THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE THAT!??” sukuna shouts, entire body fumming as they all sit outside during practice. sukuna is not the only one pissed, geto is practically seething because there isn’t even a single photo of him or gojo.

“what is this girl’s problem?! i thought you idiots made a deal with her?!” sukuna snaps, already in a foul mood, but now it’s worse.

geto licks his teeth, jaw ticking, “we did.”

“I told you guys she was pissed that she didn’t come in during halftime,” gojo throws, as if anyone was listening to him after their shitty match.

“so she throws a tantrum because she didn’t see coach’s dick during halftime?” sukuna clips.

“she looked super hot when she was all pissed though,” gojo throws, “she’d definitely go for me after she realizes how old coach is.”

“what’s wrong with you?” geto rolls his eyes, confused how gojo can talk about your looks when you screwed them over. even if he maybe also finds you attractive, it doesn’t negate your shitty attitude.

gojo throws his hands up in defensive, “I’m just calling dibs now.”

toji, just a few feet away, strides over after noticing the group no longer doing drills. “what’s the hold up!” he grunts, also in a shit mood because of the embarrassing match and then overheating what gojo had said.

“your stalker fucked us over,” geto snaps, eyes burning into the school paper. “she didn’t even get a pic of you.”

gojo’s eyes light up, “oh shit, yeah—she’s definitely over you!”

the paper then hits toji’s chest, his brows furrowing as he holds it up. his eyes glance over the sports section, and just as geto had stated, there wasn’t a single photo of him, unless you’re counting the wide shot of the field and you see him standing in the corner, but it definitely was a starch contrast from the streak you’d created.

“so?” toji tosses the paper like it’s nothing, “you guys playing for the cameras or because you want to win?!”

the men baffled, gasp and scoff. “we want to win!”

“then get off your fucking asses! I don’t have time to be doing this shit with you all!” he snaps aggressively, uncharacteristically pissed off, whether it’s because of the teams misdirected frustrations, or something else. either way, the school paper is long forgotten beside their bags and the team is splitting into practice teams.

it doesn’t matter…

it doesn’t matter that you made a deal with suguru geto and satoru gojo. and the captain pushed you to seal that deal with the information about coach — and they broke it. none of it matters! you still should’ve taken those photos, especially when you’re receiving an earful from your editor, and then sulking through the week of classes.

“what’s your problem,” your friend, shoko, cuts in, snapping you back to the campus day festival. you were once again sulking on the picnic bench, ice cream melting in the cup as you stare off.

“you’re gonna get annoyed…” you mutter, brows pinched in agony.

for most passing by, they immediately steered clear of you, not only did you carry a lethal rbf, your words of “agony” really translates to, you’ll rip someone’s head off and if looks could kill, everyone would be dead. it was quite funny, considering how you’re pretty sweet when you want to be, shoko quietly thinks. still, most would rather avoid you, thanking the heavens that you stay behind the camera so you don’t interact directly with people.

“don’t start,” shoko groans, piecing together the not so subtle mystery.

you frown, “i didn’t even say anything!” you whine even more, glaring at your ice cream. your pretty camera sits on the table beside you, collecting dust when you should be photographing this event. “I just screwed myself over,” your tongue laps at the dripping ice cream.

“agreed.”

your glare snaps to your friend, to which she brushes off with a shrug.

“you should’ve taken those photos,” she starts.

“I know…”

“then you would’ve made your editor happy,”

“I know…”

“and then you wouldn’t have to do this event.”

“I know.”

“and you’d have more weird pictures of coach toji.”

your heart drops. eyes snapping to shoko. “what?!”

shoko goes mute. suddenly realizing what she said. “nothing.”

“pictures?” you repeat, “I have weird pictures of the coach?? I don’t—why would you even say that??“ you’re not subtle at all. and shoko feels guilty at your horrible lying skills, but still…she confesses…

“you uploaded photos to your drive, when we’d study together,” she tries to hold in her laugh as heat crawls up your neck, “like more than once.”

you glance away, eyes flicking over your camera, “that’s it?”

shoko raises a brow. “yeah…what do you mean?”

you look back, “like that’s how you know, it’s not like you heard from someone else or anything?”

shoko shakes her head, “no, who else would know?”

your cheeks are burning at this point, and it was written all over your face now. the realization hit shoko in seconds. “no…” you’re silent. “does the coach know about your photos?”

you don’t want to make eye contact.

“how?!!”

even though it happened days ago, why is it now starting to feel even more embarrassing. maybe because of your cool headed friends reaction— “it was an accident.”

“how did he find out though?” shoko pushes.

you cringe, “well…” you swallow, “when I first spoke to him, remember…” shoko nods, “I let him use my camera because he was interested.” you pause, reliving the humiliation all over again. “then he kept swiping to see the pics, and just found them…” your hands slap your face, “that’s not bad!”

shoko is getting second hand embarrassment, “dude.”

“STOP IM GONNA KILL MYSELF!!” you cry out, humiliation seeping from your pores.

shoko is trying not to laugh, but it’s quite hard not too, especially when you’re groaning like that. “what was his reaction?”

“I obviously said it was an accident, and he was like whatever and seemed fine,” you explain quickly, trying to cool the situation. “It’s not bad!”

“okay okay!!” shoko laughs, trying to calm your reaction. however, shoko knows about your huge crush, what she didn’t know is about a deal her two friends made with you. heck, she didn’t even know that you interacted with them. not until those two men are standing directly behind you, sweaty and pissed. “what the hell—“

“I guess you don’t know how to keep your word,” geto spits, bag dropping aggressively on the bench beside you.

you jump, then, your eyes flick over your shoulder, immediately rolling them when you see them. you turn back to shoko.

geto snaps. “there wasn’t a single photo of us!”

“not my problem,” you scoff, attitude returning in seconds, shoko completely used to it. but she’s shocked that you know gojo and geto. “not like you guys even played well.”

gojo’s vein bulges, “we played fucking good, we didn’t lose!”

“you didn’t win,” you shrug, cold.

that’s when gojo and geto both glance up at shoko. shock crossing their expressions. “you know her?!” they both point down at you.

shoko raises a brow, “she’s my friend.”

“she’s a bitch—“ geto spits, just to receive the worst glare of his life from you, but he just rolls his eyes. “how the fuck do you know each other?”

“I just told you she’s my friend. you’re the ones that screwed her over.” shoko takes your side.

gojo gasps, “we didn’t screw her over! she screwed us over! you saw the paper this week—not a single highlight!”

you glance at shoko, ignoring the men behind you, “how do you know them?”

“we went to high school together,” shoko throws with a bored wave.

frustrated, geto straddles the bench facing you, his hand falls on top of your camera, immediately making you snap your attention to him.

“hey—“

“listen. our deal was that you get access and then we get photos, you didn’t finish your job,” he keeps a grip on your camera. shoko frowns.

“you guys didn’t give me access—i got like ten minutes before the match, then I couldn’t even go in during halftime where everyone was pissed, so what’s the point?” you snap, getting in his face.

“the point is that has nothing to do with me!” geto shouts, your eyes pierce his in two, but neither of you back down.

“it literally does though!”

“guys,” shoko and gojo attempt at intervening, but neither of you will back down. especially when geto won’t let go of your camera.

“let go,” you seethe, hand on the camera as geto flexes, grip strengthening around it.

your heart pounds against your chest, the hot spring sun beats over the four of you, sweat building on your neck while geto scoffs. “you better take those photos of us this week—“

“or what?” you glare, “are you seriously threatening me?” you were dripping with ego and confidence, except for the fact that your eyes kept darting to your camera, your poor, expensive, beautiful camera—

“is this your first time being threatened—“

“the fuck.”

the deep, intimidating voice breaks the argument in seconds. geto’s eyes widen as he feels the gravity taken away from him and being lifted off the seat. the collar of his jersey tightens around none other than toji’s brutal grip.

your eyes break into hearts, grasping your camera before it clatters back on the table, glancing up to see geto gripping his coach’s forearm.

“since when do you fucking shout at girls. you?!” toji barks, baffled. sukuna sure, gojo maybe, but geto?!

“I wasn’t fucking shouting, we were talking,” geto tsks, neck red from embarrassment.

toji shoves him back. geto slams on the bench. you hadn’t realized it but they all looked like they just finished practice, geto and gojo both still in practice uniforms and duffle bags, and coach toji wearing his usual black cargos, and that compression shirt that left nothing to the imagination.

geto scowls, rubbing his back in pain.

“you were shouting, that’s why i came over—“

“she was shouting at me!”

“so what!?”

the table is quiet. a few passerby’s glance over before quickly walking away. it isn’t a shock to know how unbelievably hot your face is right now. especially when coach toji continues his stern lecture to geto.

“you’re defending some girl that can’t keep her word, mind you,” geto mutters, flashing you a glare—his breath catches. you’re not even looking at him!! shoko stifles another laugh along with gojo, because you really were, truly, unbelievable.

how can you look at someone like that?!? like he’s some idol?! him! a musty ass college coach?!

but none of it mattered, not when toji’s attention shifts to you!!! a warm heat floods between your legs, as your lips part. then suddenly, you glance away…

“I actually did shout too…” you confess, taking accountability. “and kinda screwed them over.”

gojo, geto, and shoko, stare at you in shock.

toji sighs, like some grown ass man (which he is), his hand settles on his hip as the other scratches his hair like he’s surrounded by immature children and figuring out what the fuck to do with you all. so he decides to confess too…

“i told security not to allow any outsiders.”

your heart drops.

“including you.”

oh shit.

the three audience members immediately glance at you, and what none of them, not a single one, expected, is to suddenly see the your eyes tear up.

toji felt a sharp twist in his gut, eyes widening for a moment, before sighing. “it wasn’t personal.”

your throat feels dry, unable to look away until now. a tear hits your camera. “how is that not personal,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling.

shoko’s brows pinch in hurt, at least out of everyone, she knows how much and how long you’ve liked this man. and then sulking and now— she knows you’re absolutely shattered.

“I needed the team to focus, and you’re press,” he states like some cold fact, and that hurt even more.

your grip tightens on the camera. “but…” your not a stranger anymore…. but you can’t get the words out…your heart pounds loudly in your ears, the heat surrounding you felt suffocating, and your head was growing dizzier by the second. and the only thing spinning in your mind was how fucking embarrassing this is.

“don’t be upset.”

you manage a small nod, though another tear falls on the camera, and your body freezes. “how can i not be upset?” your small voice catches toji off guard.

you’re standing up, eyes hot with tears, walking past the esteemed coach.

“wait,” he catches your wrist, “if you have something to say don’t just run away.”

you’re fuming, your pretty chest rises and falls, the disappointment turning into built up anger, “I don’t have anything to say right now, and it’s stupid—“ your hand twists in his grip. “let go.”

he does.

you’re practically heaving, tempted to turn away, especially when the dryness in your throat gets worse. the stinging behind your eyes burns like hell as you try to rip your gaze away from the towering man. you really are stupid…

toji wets his lip, head tilting as if disinterested, but the cooling in his chest says otherwise. why does he have a weak spot for women?

“we can talk.”

his words hang in the air. a silent, open invitation for her. it’s a clear sign of his guilt for making this cute college girl cry. he was too blunt, forgetting she isn’t one of his boys.

your hand comes up to the bridge of your nose, quietly recentering yourself as this older coach watches. your shoulders rise with a deep exhale, then inhale.

pull yourself together…

you nod. cute.

you swallow the embarrassing lump in your throat, clearing your throat. “can we talk while walking…I have to work,” your usual clipped tone used for everyone except him, comes out, but he can hear the slight shakiness.

“sure.”

gojo, geto, and shoko are left in utter shock. it’s not until you and toji completely disappear into the crowd, do they slowly exchange looks.

“what…”

“the fuck,” geto finishes shoko’s sentence.

gojo stares baffled, “did we just set them up?!”

geto’s brow jumps up, “why is he always saving her like some knight?? and he was the one that screwed us all over!!”

gojo shakes his head in agreement, “nah for real, what the hell, blaming us but it’s all him.”

geto slouches back in the picnic table, rolling his eyes. “still,” he tsks, “she didn’t have to be so bitchy and not take our pictures. isn’t it her fucking job—“

“hey!”

“ow!” geto feels a slap upside the head from brunette, her eyes harsh. “what the hell!”

“don’t call girls bitches what’s wrong with you?!” shoko huffs, baffled by geto’s attitude.

gojo snickers beside the man, “he’s been like this since he met her.”

“I haven’t,” he grits, rolling his eyes at the thought of you. “she’s just a—she just gets on my nerves.”

“really because she reminds me of you,” shoko cuts him off. geto’s eyes widen, as gojo breaks into a loud laugh.

“WHAT?!”

“oh god BAHAHA she does!” gojo’s obnoxious laugh sounds like knives stabbing his ears.

shoko hums, “she has that rbf look, intimidating, very blunt, but also so cute with her friends.”

“cute?” geto frowns.

gojo smiles, “it comes out when you’re hanging out with ussss.” gojo and shoko dramatically strike a cute pose. geto tsks.

the campus was packed with students and faculty roaming to booths and small events. it was the university’s 102nd anniversary, and as memorable as it is for the students to enjoy the activities during this nice spring day, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit.

not only did your editor scream at you all week, still pissed about the shit photos you took during the match, he also threatened removal if you didn’t take good photos during this event. and now, after sulking with shoko, then procrastinating some more, you decided you’d be able to take such fanatic pictures while your idol and crush trails beside you….sure.

toji lets out another sigh, hands in his pockets as he stands to your left watching you snap some shots of laughing students beside a booth.

“it’s not a big deal,” you mutter, behind the camera. toji notices the twitch in your fingers. “I overreacted, so it’s whatever.”

toji wets his lip, “sukuna and a couple others jus’ get jumpy with cameras.”

you hum, looking at the photos you just took. “I understand.”

“I didn’t know about this deal you did with geto,” toji admits, hand instinctively coming to your waist and guiding you away from some unaware boys shouting and laughing. your cheeks flush, stepping away from his hand. toji notices. “we didn’t have a good game anyways.”

“I know, so it whatever. not a big deal,” you sigh, heat crawling up your neck. this is so embarrassing, so embarrassing! ugh you really don’t know how to keep a cool head at all when it comes to this coach. you overreacted during the match, then blamed geto for screwing you over, then almost cried because the coach locked you out on purpose, and now—

“I feel bad.”

your heart stops.

toji glances at your manicured nails holding your camera, your cute necklaces dangling on your exposed chest, cleavage glistening from the heat. but then his eyes flick up, and you’re staring at him like he’s holding the entire world.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” his voice is softer, gentler, nothing like how you’ve heard him for months, shouting, harsh. your stomach heats up, face stinging.

his hand, unexpectedly, comes up, feeling your hair between his fingers. “you work hard, and all your pictures come out so nice…” the compliment hits your heart. “but I couldn’t risk the boys getting distracted.”

your face suddenly twists, lips pursing and jutting out just a bit, your brows pinch. your dewy makeup makes you look like a fucking doll, he thinks. “I was jus’ gonna take photos in the corner, not interview them,” you reply harshly.

“you saw how they are when they talk to you,” he cuts in. your brow quirks, noticing his sharp inhale. “sweetheart, you’re hot.”

your face bursts into flames, pupils turning to literal swirls, and brain getting fried in seconds.

what?!

your reaction was priceless. toji controls his smirk, thumb brushing your adorable cheek, glancing at your glossy lips then your eyes. “I know you’re a professional, but most of those boys aren’t, y’ understand?”

you nod, cheeks sizzling, you’re surprised his thumb isn’t burning.

“so you see why I couldn’t allow you in the locker room then, and i won’t next time,” he watches you nod again. god, you’re fucking precious.

then, your tongue wets your bottom lip before speaking… “are they the only ones that would’ve been distracted?”

shit. can a grown man really pop a boner that fast?

toji’s chest heats up, glancing between your pretty eyes filled with hope. this isn’t the first time a younger girl has crushed on him, and it also isn’t the first time he’s nice to one. but what really got him, is the way you’re maintaining eye contact, almost afraid to look away, and you’re holding your ground against him.

“no,” he admits, “they’re not the only ones.”

oh. your lips curve into a smile toji hasn’t seen before, and his hand flexes in response. you look like you’re going to eat him alive right there, and he’d let you, no questions asked—

“that’s good to hear,” you pull away. you touch your heated cheek with the back of your hand, wetting your lip as you glance over the coach’s flushed face. “your cheeks are red.”

what?! his eyes bulge, catching you off guard as you break into a loud laugh.

“tch,” he looks away, his own hand rubbing down his face. it really is burning out here. but even so, his emerald eyes look through his fingers at this pretty college girl laughing at him and he doesn’t know why his chest warms at the sight.

“I can buy you ice cream. I feel bad now that you had to explain yourself when I was just being the unprofessional one,” you start, already leading him to the nearest ice cream booth.

your camera hangs over your shoulder as you point to your favorite flavor than glance up at him, he points at the cookies n cream. “oh! I love cookies n cream,” you say, reaching for your phone to pay.

ding.

your eyes widen as toji pays instead.

“wha—it was supposed to be my treat, man,” you huff, accepting the cone he gives you, hand on your lower back as he guides you away from the booth. neither of you batting an eye to the multiple people gawking at the renowned coach of their soccer team, walking around with the hot, rude, student photographer.

“as if I’d let you pay,” he snorts.

your brows pinch as you take a lick of your ice cream, the cool sensation leveling your body temperature. your eyes narrow at him as he enjoys his ice cream, grateful to have something that cools the heat building up under his skin. “so not fair,” you mutter.

“how come?”

the two of you walk across the quad, sun still beating down.

“I wanted to use it as an apology,” you say, “I said that.”

“you don’t need to apologize,” he shrugs, casual, unbothered. you huff again. this time toji smiles, scar twitching up. “you can pay next time.”

your heart skips a beat, stomach doing a stupid flip.

“….next time.”

toji catches the smile behind your cone, his eyes trailing over the ice cream coating your tongue, your pretty hand wrapped around the waffle as your bracelets clank around your wrists.

“there’s other things you need to apologize for,” he coolly says, finding a bench and dropping his weight, eyeing you as you sit close beside him. unashamed.

your brow quirks, eyes narrowing, full body facing him, “what other things?”

toji shrugs, “we can talk about it next time.”

“but I can’t just be left in suspense, that’ll give me anxiety?!”

toji snorts, loud. his big tongue is finishing the ice cream so quick he’s already eating the cone. “don’t be anxious,” he says with his mouth full.

you tsk, rolling your eyes, and you don’t notice the twinkle in the older coach’s eyes. he can definitely see geto’s point about your attitude, but if he leans over—

your eyes go wide. stomach flipping.

he takes a bold bite of your ice cream, emerald eyes shut, and thick lashes kissing his flushed cheeks. your heart feels like it’ll break from your ribs, then, he opens his eyes. he doesn’t pull away yet, instead his tongue cleans his lips, humming in low delight. the heat around you wasn’t helping your own body temperature as it skyrockets.

“taste’s sweeter than mine,” his voice his huskier than before, catching you by surprise, and the heat pools between your legs.

“i—“ you can’t even form words! your eyes won’t tear away from his lips, and your chest is moving erratically because he’s so close.

“do you want a taste of mine. I took a bite without asking yo—“

his words cut the minute your lips press against his.

shock prevents him from reacting, eyes going wide. you gave in so quick, sure he was teasing, but still. he could feel the certainty in your kiss, along with the warmth, and anxiety. after a long ten seconds you pull away—

you pant against his lips, chest rising and falling, brain scrambled. “i jus’…” your heart is beating loudly in your ears. mind trying to keep up with what your body just did. you kissed him. you kissed the coach. the one you’ve been idolizing and photographing for months—

“we can do it again.” his free hand tilts your chin up, lips hovering over yours again. his breath is warm. “kiss me.”

you do.

this time you’re a little bolder. your lips connect with his, soft again, sucking his bottom lip, skillfully. slowly. he brushes your jaw with his thumb, humming in delight just like he did with the ice cream. but the sound goes straight to your core. completely unbothered by the rowdiness of the uni day activities around you. your free hand rests on his thigh, leaning more into the kiss.

“open,” you murmur against his lips. you can feel the the shit-eating smirk that breaks his face, groaning just low enough to make the heat furiously spread under your skin.

then, his lips part.

his tongue immediately connects with yours. caressing the wet muscle. he tastes the ice cream, delving a little more. it was just so easy taking control, and your little whines are too sweet for him to stop. his jaw opens wider, taking the lead as you follow. his hand cups the side of your face, unexpectedly possessive, ignoring the alarms sounding off in his head.

you had a crush, you’re fucking adorable, and you kissed him. plus, you make these cute sounds when he shoves his tongue against yours, thumb pressing into your cheek. how could he resist?

your grip against his thigh tightens, his back is pressed fully against the bench, while you were practically leaning over him, trying to swallow him whole.

“breathe,” he mutters, lips hovering close, waiting for you to inhale. his scar quirks up, you’re so cute. his thumb brushes your cheekbone again, eyes glancing between your fluttering lashes. “if we keep kissing, I’ll have a problem.”

your face burns, eyes darting down to the tent pressing up near your hand. and unlike toji, you let your second ice cream of the day melt and fall to the ground. you were a mess. you carefully lean back in your seat, the sudden space between you allowing you to take another deep breath. being near coach toji is intoxicating. it’s not that you didn’t feel like yourself, but you definitely throw all common sense out the door when he’s in front of you.

“are you staying to see the booths and stuff?” you clear your throat, trying to ease your erratic heartbeat.

toji finds it cute. his hand once cupping your face, slides down to brush the hair off your shoulder, fingers brushing the multiple earrings that dangle from your piercings. you’re much more stylish than he is…your accessories, the cute tank top that hugs your breasts, and embroidered low rise flared jeans.

“nah, gotta drive back home so i can take my son to practice.”

toji eases, not a single thing can bother him. it was a routine, the subtle throw away line about having a son that scared off many young women, or had them wanting a one night stand with the older dilf. so his eyes flick over you, the second he finishes his sentence.

your freeze.

your blood runs cold, eyes flicking down to his ring finger.

even if you’re looking, you know he isn’t married. you know. you’ve been photographing him for months, and not a single time have you ever seen him daunt a ring on his finger.

“there’s no one waiting for him at home?” you question, wetting your lip.

toji’s fingers slide from your earrings to the dried ice cream on your chin. “nah, if I’m late he’ll go to his friends house.”

you nod, anxiety slowly dissipating. “how old is he?”

“ten.”

your eyes light up, “my nephew is just a year older, that’s when they get really fun to hang out with,” your voice is so light and sweet, toji has to shove down the weird somersault his stomach does.

“really?” toji is not convinced. “all my son does is give me attitude and bully everything i do.”

you laugh, waving your hand, “yeah they get super opinionated, but it’s funny—trust trust he’s just doing it because you’re an easy target.”

“I’m an easy target.”

you nod, waving a hand again, “your his dad, my brothers and i were the same to our parents.”

brothers? toji doesn’t comment how that peaks his interest, but he naturally asks, “how many siblings do you have?”

“three older brothers,” you nod.

damn….toji hums, that explains your attitude and how you can handle geto’s bitchy moods. what also quietly settles in his mind is how your oldest brother would probably be around his age, considering your nephew is a year older than megumi. is that why you’re easily holding a conversation this long…maybe the age gap isn’t that big then…

“they were so freakin bossy, definitely why i pushed to dorm away from them,” you huff, toji zoning back into your rambling. it was cute watching you talk mindlessly, hands waving making your bracelets clank against each other. the sweat glistened across your skin, making you look eternal, which is amusing since you’re just talking.

but still, toji is the one to lean up this time. his hand settling on your waist as a anchor and he presses a firm kiss to your warm cheek.

your glossy lips part in shock, heart stuttering again. unbothered, toji casually stands up, towering over you as his hand gently settles atop your head. “i have’ta get going, but I’ll see you next week for the match. I’ll also let em know you can come in before and after the game, but not during halftime. okay?”

you nod.

“I’ll see ya’ sweetheart.”

and with a wink, he solidifies the fourth arrow straight through your heart.

—

it was very likely that your entire week looked like sunshine and rainbows, all because you had a full on make out session with your idol on a park bench. you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about anything else—well except for your job. you had to scramble to get photos after toji left, afraid of staying on your editor’s bad side.

luckily you pulled through, and convinced him to keep you on for the semi final match this coming weekend.

which leads you to your current blissful state. watching toji speak to the team in the locker rooms. unlike last time, you grabbed different shots, smiling every time toji glanced at the camera, but frowning any time any of the other boys looked.

“surprise surprise, couldn’t stay away too long,” gojo coo’s after the team breaks to finish changing.

“don’t bother me or I won’t take photos of you,” you throw, eyes flicking up at the tall man.

gojo pouts, “but I’m just talking to you,” his words drag.

geto is scowling a few feet away, jaw tightening and relaxing, until he finally comes up to you. your attitude shifts, eyes narrowing up. geto holds eye contact, chest rising with a subtle inhale. but once he exhales, his shoulders ease, and his eyes close, the fakest smile you’ve ever seen graces his naturally attractive features.

“I’m looking forward to seeing your photos after the game.”

your lips purse, brow quirking. “yeah…”

geto leaves. shortly after, the team gets called out. gojo utters the same line geto had just said, but much more cheerfully, all while toji walks up to you. brow furrowing at the two athletes as they walk towards the exit.

“they still bothering you?”

your eyes light up the moment you see him. “s’ fine,” your pretty lips pull into an easy smile, unexpectedly warming the coach’s heart. is it that easy to smile because of him?

“I’ll tell them to fuck off again,” his voice is naturally deep, hand subconsciously roaming up to the strap of your camera.

you smile, “okay.”

god, you’re really cute. his hand cups your cheek, leaning down and easily locking lips with you.

you’re immediately caught off guard, but his hand is so firm on your cheek, you just melt. your lashes flutter shut, leaning in more. he’s so big and tall. your cheeks sting, humming against his lips, trying to fight off the butterflies in your stomach. but it’s worse when he pulls away, and your heart leaps into your throat as he brushes his rough thumb against your lip, dragging the spit across the plumpness.

“I’ll c’ya after.” he winks.

you barely feel your feet when you step back out onto the field. your camera in hand, strap tight around your neck, everything exactly where it should be, and still, your entire body is giddy.

toji….toji toji toji—

you press your lips together, trying to fight it down, but it’s useless. your mouth keeps twitching, threatening to break into a smile and you can’t help it! he kissed you. twice now! like it was nothing—

you snap a shot.

sukuna’s first goal. the team and stadium erupts, and you’re already capturing it, body moving before your thoughts can catch up. you don’t need your editor screaming at you this time, so you shift angles, crouch lower, shoot through. geto lines up for a penalty shot, and you catch that too. the strike, the follow-through, and the way the net snaps back as the ball hits. you don’t miss a second of it.

but…inevitably…your lens drifts…to him. you can’t help it!

toji’s on the sidelines, where he always is. his sleeves are pushed up again, pacing, shouting, running a hand through his hair. you catch the flex of his arm, his biceps bulge and you feel heat pooling between your legs. you catch the drag of his palm across his broad huge chest, the set of his jaw when gojo almost tackles into another player.

you shouldn’t be taking this many photos of him. you know that, but you take them anyway. your chest feels tight with every picture, cheeks still burning, and your smile impossible to get rid of.

halftime comes and goes, and you don’t even try to get into the locker room this time. instead, you linger with the rest of the press, nodding along to conversations, camera hanging loose in your hands. you don’t care. not really. not when your mind keeps replaying it—his hand on your face, the way he looked at you after, the wink.

the second half starts and you’re back in position immediately. getting more action shots of the players—ugh but you keep stealing other moments too…small unnecessary ones. his biceps when he folds his arms. the scratch of his chest. the tilt of his head as he watches the field.

your thoughts don’t stop. why did he kiss you? why did he kiss you again? what is that supposed to mean? is he going to kiss you again??

the spiral doesn’t fully come to an end until the pitch breaks out into celebration. the team is off to the finals!

managers and the rest of the team flood the pitch as the stadium breaks out. you do your best to get the best shots of the team together, and you stay after to capture them talking to journalists, and press. unaware of the coach that slips away.

you follow the team and a couple managers back to the locker room as they continue celebrating. you can’t help the smile about how happy they are, they played well.

“how was the match?” geto corners you quickly.

“good,” you nod casually, fixing your flash. “you guys played really well.”

geto’s brow quirks. that’s nice….his lips purse. “I scored.” he mutters, glancing at the multiple piercings on your ear as you tuck a hair behind it.

“yeah, it was a nice shot,” your eyes flick over your camera before glancing up to meet his eyes, testing, “you wanna see?”

his eyes narrow again, “no.”

he’s quick to ignore your eye roll, as he points over his shoulder. “coach is calling for you.”

you can’t control the way your head whips to geto, then following the direction he’s pointing at. you don’t hesitate, your legs carry you across the locker room, and into the steamed shower room.

your heart hammers against your chest, putting the lens cap back on your camera and carefully sliding it off your shoulder, afraid to step further in until you put it back in your bag.

a single curtain is closed. shower running.

“coach toji?” your voice echos.

there a beat of silence, then…

“that you, sweetheart?”

you flush. controlling the smile that breaks your face as you hum, “yeah.”

the shower is still running, steam collecting in the room. your heart is beating erratically, you barely register anything aside from the fact that coach toji is definitely one hundred percent fully nude just a few feet away. his clothes are laid on his duffle on the bench beside the door.

“sweetheart?”

you jump. “yeah?”

“you gonna come in?”

you blink. again, then once more. then— “WHAT?”

your screech bounces off the tile floors, making you shrink at how loud you are. but it was a normal reaction. he just asked you if you wanted to come in? how else would you react—

“leave your things by my bag,” he doesn’t even react, like what he’s saying is the most casual kind of flirting. the kissing was one thing, but this…

your camera is zipped back in your bag, and in seconds, you’re peeling your panties off standing completely naked in the middle of a shower room. goosebumps break out, necklace and bracelets still on as your nipples harden.

what’re you doing, seriously?

one, this is highly unprofessional (whatever). two, you haven’t even gone a date with this man. and three, w-why would he even ask you to come in?!?! does he like you?! he does—he has too—

your bare feet pad against the steamed tiles until you reach the curtains. your hands won’t stop shaking, face burning hot, and lips parting as you let out a shaky exhale. then, you slowly pull back the curtains—

“come in before someone sees you,” is what you hear just as you’re being dragged into the steaming water, curtain pulled closed behind you.

the steam wraps around your skin instantly, thick and suffocating. your pretty nipples perk up in seconds. and standing right in front of you is the 6’5 two hundred pound man. water cascading down his body in slow, steady streams. you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest tightens, and your hands hover close to his forearm.

you’re so close.

your gaze is eye level with his broad solid chest, rising and falling slow and controlled like none of this affects him. like you standing in front of him naked is something he expected. but your too dazed to care. especially when you follow the droplets sliding over his muscles, catching the shallow lines as you continue going lower, and lower. the heat pools more obviously between your legs as you see the thick patch of dark coarse hair…then you see it.

your face burns hotter, stomach flipping hard making you even dizzier.

his cock twitches under your gaze. your knees almost buckle just at the sight. it’s huge. you have to suppress a whine, lashes fluttering as you feel a strong hand cup your chin.

“say hi first,” his voice is unbelievably deep, tearing your gaze away from the monster between his legs. his dark forest green eyes sink into you.

“hi.”

shit. he bites back a groan, eyes trailing down your naked body. nipples already perky and standing all pretty for him. his hand comes up, cupping the side of your face as he leans down, lips colliding with yours.

you whine immediately. your lips move together, tongues colliding as your hands slide up his muscular chest, feeling the deep ridges of his abs as he holds the side of your face, dominating the kiss.

it was overwhelming, the shower box, his body heat, his cock touching your thigh, it was all making you dizzy in the best ways possible. he pulls away, letting you catch your breath, but he stays close, brushing his lips over yours like it’s not enough. because it isn’t.

“did anyone see you come in?” he husks, hand still cradling your face as the other brushes your naked waist, pulling you closer. your skin is so soft under his palm.

“no,” you shake your head adorably, tongue poking out to wet your lip, “I don’t think so.”

the older coach hums, his hands freely roaming your side as he nudges your nose with his. “good,” is all he adds before he resumes the heated make out.

your tongues collide and caress, jaw falling slack as you moan a little louder when he grips your ass. groaning into your lip when your arms lock around his shoulders, wet chest pressing against his. you were such a sweet tasting girl.

his hand nudges your thigh. “jump.”

you gasp when he easily picks you up, back already pressed against the tiled wall. the hot water cascades down his back as he continues kissing you. “were you mad at me?”

you pull away, breath hot as you glance at his features. he’s so handsome, your hand cups his face, pushing his drenched raven hair back. “why would I mad?”

“because I kept ya out during halftime.”

you shake your head, lips curving as you trace his wet eyebrows, chest rising and falling. “no,” you drawl, wetting your glossy lips again. “I was jus’ confused about how much you kiss me.”

his scar tugs up, biting back a smirk threatening to break free. “you kissed me first.”

“that one time.”

“you started it,” he leans close, lips brushing yours, “so you can’t blame me for getting hooked.” his eyes are lidded. “it’s really hard for me to break bad habits.”

this time you kiss me.

you’re so unbelievably hungry for this man’s affection, you can ignore all the blaring red light going off in your head. he’s so hot, he’s so big, and he’s so fucking sexy! your mind has been completely and utterly fried and you don’t care.

“fuck, you’re dripping,” toji husks, his finger collecting your juices from your pussy, groaning at how turned you are. “kissing me makes ya feel that good? your cunt always dripping like a fountain?”

“yeah-aah—“ your lips part as he shoves a finger inside. he groans against you, chuckling at the choked whines leaving your pretty lips, your nails dig crescents along his shoulder.

his lips trail down your neck, tongue flattening against the wet skin and licking until you squirm a cute whimper. his smirk is impossible to hold back. he sucks a dark bruise as another finger pushes in your fluttering hole.

“c-coach—“ you gasp, lips so wet from spit. you try to look down at his fingers pistoning inside you. every muscle on his body flexing, keeping you up like you weigh nothing, while fingering you against the little shower wall. “fu-fuck, I’m gonna—cu-uhm—“

it really is too much for your obsessed brain.

coach toji’s fingers are inside you. he’s kissing you like he’s hasn’t pleasured a woman in years. and his groans are going straight to your pussy—

“I wan’…coach—“ your whine drawls a little longer, thighs shaking, and arms locking around him, head falling to neck.

the older man chuckles close to your ear, voice deep and husky as you fall apart, in his arms. hugging him like he’s your savior. his fingers curl, slowly pumping you through your orgasm. “that was quick. my baby hasn’t cum in awhile?” he says as a matter of a fact, but you just hug him closer, lips pulling away to trail kisses up his neck. your fingers coarse through the back of his head, grasping them as you kiss the corner of his mouth.

“it’s b’cause of you, toji.” you kiss his scar, panting as he pulls his fingers out and lifts you up suddenly, hooking his arm under your knee.

“you want a good fucking princess?”

you nod frantically, cheeks dewy and stinging, as you glance over his face then his chest, then you feel his cock between your slick folds.

“it’s a big stretch,” he mutters against your lips. “you saw.”

you nod, nervous stirring at the way he’s preparing you. but you don’t break away. you doubt you physically can, when your mind is only screaming his name over and over.

“I can take it, coach,” you nod, determined.

“you’re so fucking cute,” he snorts, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he kisses your lips in quiet reassurance. “ever take a cock this big?”

you shake your head, water droplets falling from the tips of your hair. your pretty necklaces still wrapped around your neck, all wet and glistening between your perky breasts.

“it’ll hurt,” he strokes himself underneath you, thumb running over his tip multiple times before lining it with your pretty clit and teasing you. “then you’re gonna cry.” you gulp, nodding along. “then you’re gonna tell me to stop—“

“I won’t!”

he snorts. “it’s okay if you do.”

you shake your head, “I won’t I’ll be okay. okay coach? I can take it, I wan’ you inside me. please.”

the tug to his heart is immediate. how can it not be when this cute hot girl is begging him to fuck her? but he can’t even formulate this emotional string that’s tying him to you. the only physical response coming out is this fucking erection that feels like the most painful shit he’s experienced, twitching after he first spoke to you and then again when you kissed him. surely it’s disgusting….an older man like him getting that quickly turned on…

but maybe it was the way he’s only felt this tug in his chest one other time in his life, and even if it didn’t end the way he wanted, he never regretted pursuing his baby mama.

so he’s all in right now.

“deep breath, sweetheart.”

you inhale sharply, just as toji pushes his engorged tip past the tight rim of your pussy, and you suddenly clench—

“shit!—“

your eyes widen, “I don’t feel anything,” you mutter, glancing down to see his ears burning a deep shade of red.

“your cunt squeezed me too early and shoved me out,” he wets his lips, as he crashes his lips against you. “relax, baby,” he husks.

you whine against his dominating mouth, lower body relaxing as he lines up again and the moment you ease up, he snaps his hips in.

“angh!—“

your jaw slacks, and he continues kissing, groaning at the unbelievable tightness that’s squeezing every corner of his tip.

“Mmm so warm, took me in good,” he groans, rocking his hips and grabbing a handle of your ass. “you’re gonna make me feel good?”

you nod, lips connecting with his, it’s messy, teeth clashing, spit mixing.

toji’s guttural groan echos through the shower, bouncing off the tiles as he rocks his hips, going in inch by inch, until he’s finally shoving his entire length deep inside your cunt with one mean thrust.

“fhuck—“ he chokes, jaw slacking as you clamp around him again. “full?”

you nod, brain scrambled as you glance at your tummy, cheeks stinging at the obvious bulge. “keep going,” you pant, securing yourself better as he grunts, pulling out and snapping his hips back.

it was mind numbing, toji holding you up with his strong arms hooked under your knees, hands gripping each ass cheek as he ruts into you like a beast in heat. the squelch and clapping was deafening as it bounced off the walls, the steam enveloping you closer as your whines flow right into his ear.

“nghhh—gettin’ me worked up,” thrust. “when you squeeze me,” thrust. “with this tight.” thrust. “fucking.” thrust. “cunt!”

his massive cock is stretching you in ways you never could’ve imagined. his blunt tip slams into your cervix with every thrust. your thighs shake, eyes filling with unshed tears as your nails dig into his tough skin.

“m’ s-sorry—haah ah coa—ahh! it feels s’ fuhh—fuh’me ple-easee—ahh!” your pretty lips were so glossy, drool coming down as water droplets fall from your pretty breasts with each vicious slam of his hips.

he was unforgiving. and his laugh like groan didn’t help your pussy from fluttering and tightening around his chubby cock. you can feel every thick pulsing vein and ridge. it was numbing your brain to mush. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging as he gives your ass a mean, violent, spank!

“angh!” your eyes bulge, a wave of heat crashing into you.

toji laughs, gripping your ass as he quickens his pace. “admit it,” he husks, voice condensing, and eyes dark with lust. “this is what ya’ wanted.” you’re falling apart around his cock, and he’s not slowing down, even as the tears finally break, making you look even more irresistible. you’re gasping like you can’t breathe. “you always wanted the coach to fuck you. taking those dirty photos of my bulge—nghh!” thrust. “imagining how big my dick is.” thrust. “how big is it baby, tell me.” thrust!

you were fucked dumb.

your face is flushed, eyes glossed over, as you whine like a full blown slut. and even with your two orgasms in a matter of minutes. your mind was still screaming one thing: toji.

“c’mon baby, I know you’re still with me,” he snorts, ears red, and body flushed with sweat as he feels his climax edge closer. “tell me—fuck—how big is it?”

your stupid brain catches his words, and your fingers dig into his neck as you gasp and moan, the stimulation of his massive cock slamming into you was ruining you. mentally and physically. it was humiliating. but still…

“haah—fuh its’ it’s so big— i wan’ you to cum in me! please —wan’ your cum so bad, wanna feel your big fat cock cum inside my pussy toji—ahh!”

anothet sharp spank takes your breath away.

toji is at a loss.

his grunts grew louder and thrusts sloppier, until finally, he gave you one final thrust, and stilled. his ass tightens, body pressing you into the tiled walls, face buried in your neck, and teeth sinking into your shoulder. toji completely unravels in the shower, holding up a pretty college girl that whines so beautifully in his ear he thinks he’d never cum this hard again, but sure enough—

your adorable whine has him rutting shallow thrusts into your pussy, like a fucking dog. his cum pumping out as he continued stuffing you full, purposely milking out ever drop as his dark wet pubes rubbed against your puffy clit.

you both catch your breath. your lashes wet from tears, as the water from the shower head fills the silence. after a moment, toji pulls away from your neck, his lidded eyes, hypnotizing as he stares up at yours.

you don’t know why you suddenly feel shy. your cheeks burn as the emerald irises bore into your own. lips parting, and a gentle hand coming up to his cheek. you brush back the raven hair flattening against his features, smiling softly when his full face comes into view.

and he could’ve sworn you looked like an actual angel at this moment.

your eyes twinkled above, face illuminating in the dark shower, and body glistening like you’re an eternal being.

“toji…” the soft call has his heart doing something it hasn’t done in years. and that has his soft cock twitching inside you. “I’m,” you lean closer, arms wrapping around his shoulder, lips hovering near his, breasts smushed against his chest. your confidence comes back the moment you feel the man lean closer..but you continue. “I hope you don’t think…i wanted to have sex…just because i thought your dick was really big.”

toji blinks.

then he does the worst thing ever.

he laughs.

your cheeks sting, watching his head fall back in loud laughter. your hand flys to your face, embarrassed. “I’m being serious!” you yell.

toji laughs louder, body shaking as he lifts you up, his cock slipping out. he carefully sets your shaky feet down on the wet tile. the height difference returns, making you even more ticked off, your little attitude was oozing out, and his slick cock couldn’t help but twitch against his thigh at your pouting.

god, you’re fucking hot.

he brings your attention back to him. hands cupping your face, tilting your head to look up at him. your brows are pinched together, and lips pulled in a subtle scowl.

toji smirks. “don’t worry, I know you also took pictures of my face.”

you flush, rolling your eyes. “those were accidents.”

“so you just wanted pictures of my dick?”

your eyes widen, “no! i told you they were all accidents.”

toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to your level, making your tummy flip “you’re fucking cute, but let’s not lie to adults.”

“I’m an adult though,” you raise a brow, pushing back, and god if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever.

but still, toji’s easygoing smile remains on his playful lips, “it’s embarrassing. i understand,” he softens the blow as your face heats. it was humiliating when he found those pictures, “taking photos of the coach like that. but now’s the time to take some accountability.”

you lick your teeth, eyes boring into him, narrowing. but it’s toji. toji is asking. and you can’t hold back any longer…

you exhale, glancing away, even though he’s still cupping your face. “yeah, obviously I took those photos on purpose,” your eyes meet. “happy?”

water is still running down his shoulders as he keeps your face tucked carefully in his hands like you’re something precious despite the grin threatening to split across his face again.

but then toji smirks. “ecstatic.”

your eyes narrow immediately, “you’re so annoying.”

he huffs another laugh under his breath, quieter this time, thumbs brushing over your heated cheeks. standing this close to him is ridiculous now that the adrenaline’s settling. he’s huge. his broad chest still damp against yours, muscles flexing every time he shifts, towering over you while you stand there completely naked except for the necklaces you’re wearing. the little gold chains glisten under the shower head, delicate against flushed skin, and toji’s eyes flick down to them for a second before returning to your face.

that look in his eyes makes your stomach tighten all over again. he knows he’s not trying to be mocking, or casual like before. it’s fondness.

“those shots were real creative, sweetheart,” he says, voice rougher now. “nice and close too.”

you groan, immediately trying to shove his chest, but he barely moves. “oh my god, can you let it go already?”

“can’t,” he answers easily. “been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”

your face burns hotter. weeks?!

toji watches it happen in real time, watches the attitude crack just enough for embarrassment to slip through, again. and it does something terrible to him. you’re sharp with everyone else—cool, hard to impress. he’s seen it. seen the way you brush off gojo and geto without a second thought. but with him? you melt.

even now, glaring up at him with your brows pulled tight, lips still swollen from kissing, legs trembling from the multiple orgasms, trying so hard to stay irritated while your body keeps betraying you. it’s fucking adorable.

“don’t look at me like that,” you mutter weakly.

“like what?”

“like you know things.”

his grin widens instantly. “but i do know things now.”

what proceeded after was the thirty something year old coach, dropping to his knee and lifting your leg up, burying his face between your legs like a starving man. your lips part in shock.

but still, as toji works your pretty body to another orgasm, tongue shoved inside, cleaning this little pussy up, jaw slack as he gulps down his own cum. your fingers thread through his hair, tugging whenever he’d give your clit a mean rough suck, cheeks hollowing. his hand, grips your ass from behind, squeezing and slapping as he pleased, until you were falling apart.

afterwards, he cleaned you up. this time with some soap. his big hands roamed your body, every crevice and curve, hands massaging your breasts as he had your back pressed to his chest, chuckling when you’d whine. thumbs tugging playfully. hand rubbing between your legs, head tucked in your shoulder as he watches your smaller hands hold his forehead, face hot.

“toji,” you whine, embarrassed, as he teasing a finger against your hole again.

“what,” he smirks, watching your reactions, “I’m jus’ cleaning you up.”

he’s a fucking perv. but still, he teases you through the whole shower, keeping you close to his body and even letting you wash his back, admiring the muscles and ink that decorate his skin.

eventually, he steps out first, keeping you inside so he can grab an extra towel. his own wrapped around his waist.

that was the start of all of it.

three months later….

you and shoko are sitting out in the quad. table covered in assignments and forgotten laptops. all while you explained to shoko how your weekend went.

“no, we definitely got along. megumi is so cute!” you gush about the ten year old, describing how your first meeting went. toji had spoken about you enough to prepare megumi, waiting until the right time to introduce you both.

and now, you’re going to every single one of their soccer games, toji and megumi’s.

and eventually, after another hour passes by. a group of athletes comes walking down the path. covered in sweat, holding their duffles, and behind them is a very hot coach, already breaking into a smile when you jump up.

“toji!”

it was a routine. your arms thrown around his shoulders, as he lifts you up with one hand. zero regard for any pda, as he kisses you deeply. smiling as you hum, pecking him over and over.

“why do you guys look like that?” shoko grimaces, looking at gojo and geto who look far worse than the rest of the team that leave.

geto scowls, glaring at his best friend, “fucking coach overhead him again.”

shoko shakes her head, rolling her eyes, at the white haired idiot. “you need to stop—“

“it’s been three months and she’s not over that old man?!”

“he’s not even that old!” shoko defends.

but gojo scowls harder, glancing over his shoulder at you laughing and talking, hands animated, like the man in front of you was holding the world. “it’s always the mean girls.”

shoko frowns, “you’re messed up in the head.”

but even geto narrows his eyes when toji wraps a possessive arm around you, glaring up at the two players.

it was clear as day.

you’re his.

a/n: this was LOONG overdue, mb guys!!! but i hope you all enjoyed it!!! ahhhh i love coach toji sososososo much—like its a serious problem, i cant make reader behave normally when its toji, like she has to be obsessed with himmm

You were nineteen now. The soft roundness of the fourteen-year-old that your mother will always remember has long yielded to the sharpened lean of a huntress. The same dream had plagued you for years and you knew your entire day would be shrouded with grayness. You stood and grabbed your spear, its blade carved from crystal coral.

You didn't look at your older sister who was still sleeping peacefully next to your hammock. You didn't want Tsireya’s comfort, because it always came with a plea for forgiveness and understanding for the Sullys. The morning mist was thick as you made your way to the docks and saw that you were not the only one up. Near the edge of the water, a figure was preparing his mount.

Even from a distance, you recognized the way the man carried himself with a different strength and grace you don’t see among the men of your clan. “You're late for the patrol check,” you said, your voice cutting through the mist.

He turned, now a man fully grown, his braids longer and his stature a mimic of his legendary father. He simply tightened his grip on his ride’s harness. “The sun hasn't broken the horizon,” he pointed out.

You lifted your chin up, looking down at him who is already submerged in the water while you’re still on the woven pathway. “The sky people don't wait for the sun. I bet you know that,” you snapped. You tried to look past the way the morning light caught the patterns on his skin. The patterns you once thought Eywa had spent extra of her precious time on... You still think that, and it’s annoying.

“I understand. It won’t happen again,“ he said softly. His voice had deepened over the years, becoming a calm anchor that usually soothed others. To you, it only sounded like he was avoiding an argument by placating you with words.

“See that it doesn't,” you said, turning your back on him and walking to the other side of the village to dive into the water.

The cold water of the reef was the only thing that felt honest anymore. As you dove, the pressure against your skin comforted your from your nightmare. You spent the morning in the deeper currents, hunting for a silver-finned fish. It was solitary work, the kind that allowed you to sharpen your focus until the world was reduced to the tip of your spear and the shadow of your prey. But the solitude didn't last.

Breaking the surface for air, you saw them. A patrol of Metkayina warriors moving in a synchronized glide, and right at the center was Neteyam. Even among your own people, he stood out, riding his skimwing with a disciplined, military precision that is so distinct compared to the fluid nature of your people.

You saw his head turned, his eyes locking onto yours immediately despite the distance. You don’t know why he's always had his eyes on you but you felt the familiar heat of irritation rise in your chest all the same. You know that your siblings constantly worry for you, your father even more so, and this heavy, watchful gaze from someone you know had always been the guardian felt like an insult.

He guards you on behalf of your siblings, you have long concluded. So, with a sharp roll of your eyes, you tugged your mount's reins and dove back into the water, leaving nothing but a mocking splash in your wake. Much later, you had returned to the village with a successful haul, but the grayness of your morning had turned into a desperate, hollow boredom and so you found Kxat by the mangroves. He was your second “interest“ just this moon, a boytoy, if you will.

You don’t even like him. He was simply a man with strong arms and a head full of empty flattery. He was merely a distraction, and more importantly, he was a way to watch your father’s forehead crease in silent disappointment and your brother’s jaw tighten with displeasure. You are not your perfect sister, alright. You are just you, the one they left behind when they took on mature duties following your mother's death.

As you led Kxat into the thick shadows of the woods behind the village, you felt the thrill of the hunt. Not for any prey, but for a reaction. You pushed him against a moss-covered trunk, the air thick with the scent of damp soil so different from the smell of the salt air from the sea. He leaned in to kiss you and you kissed him back, his hands wandering with a clumsy boldness toward your chest.

But before he could fully touch you, the sound of a dry branch snapping under a heavy foot alerted both of you to a presence. You can’t help but smirk as you moved your lips away from Kxat. Like clockwork. You pulled away slowly, smoothing your hair with a practiced nonchalance as you turned to find the intruder.

Neteyam stood ten paces away. His face was a mask of stone, his scarred and broad chest on display. He looked like the perfect image of a warrior carved from stone, unmoved by the intimacy he had just interrupted.

“Your brother is looking for you,” he said, his voice dropping into a cold clip. He didn't even spare Kxat a look, as if the other man didn't exist. He turned his back, ready to walk away.

“Can’t that wait?” you called out, your voice dripping with honeyed venom. You leaned back against the tree. “You see, I’m having fun here.”

He stopped, turning back slowly, his eyes narrowing until they were slivers of molten gold. “No, it can’t,” he said, his gaze finally flicking to you. “And I doubt that. You looked nauseous.”

The insult hit like a physical slap, but before you could snap back, Neteyam shifted his focus to Kxat. He simply looked at him, standing there with the quiet, terrifying authority of a commander, a look that always reminded everyone that while the Metkayina were his hosts, he is still the firstborn son of fearsome war leaders.

Kxat, who had been acting so bold with you only a minute ago, withered. He lowered his gaze, his shoulders slumping as he wrangled his hands. “I... I should go,” Kxat stammered, not even looking at you before he scrambled away.

You watched him go with a sneer of pure disgust. Weak. Another one. You turned your fury back on Neteyam, who was already starting to walk away again. “You have no right!” you hissed, stepping after him. “You don’t get to scare off the men I’m with just because you’ve decided to play babysitter!”

Neteyam didn't stop. He didn't even look back to see how angry you are. “I don’t care who he is to you,” he said over his shoulder, his voice firm on. “If he were half the man you pretend he is, he wouldn’t have run. You’re wasting your time on cowards who probably wouldn’t be able to stand in front of your father and ask for your hand. Your brother expects you, princess.”

He left you standing there, your chest heaving with a rage that felt dangerously like something else. He was infuriating. He was so arrogant. And the worst part, the part that made you want to scream, was that he was right. All of those men were weak. No matter how many men you brought to the woods, they all crumbled the moment Neteyam te Suli appeared to remind you who you are to this clan.

You stomped through the village, the woven walkways yielding against the soles of your feet. You didn't care who saw your temper. The gray cloud from your nightmare had turned into a storm cloud over your head. You found Ao’nung near the training sands, sharpening a set of practice spears. He didn't even have to look up to know it was you, the crass way you approached him gave you away.

“Tell your watchman to leave me alone!” you hissed, slamming your hand against the wooden rack beside him.

Ao’nung blinked, looking up with a confused frown. “What are you talking about?”

“Neteyam!“ you snapped, pacing the small space. “He’s a parasite! Every time I turn around, there he is, looming and acting like he owns the woods. Did you order him to watch me? Did you send him? Did you tell him to go find me and ruin my afternoon?”

Ao’nung set the spear down, a slow sigh escaping him. “I didn’t send him to do anything specific. We were discussing patrol routes. He just... offered to go get you. It’s not intentional.”

“Offered to go get me?” you growled.

His eyes narrowed then, his protective brotherly instincts finally catching up to the context of your anger. “Wait. You were with someone? Again? While the sun is still up?” He stood to his full height, his face hardening into an expression that looked like your father’s. “You’re fooling around again?”

“Oh, for the Great Mother's sake,” you groaned, flicking a hand dismissively. “Is it such an issue? I’m nineteen, Ao’nung. Mother was already mated and pregnant with you at this age. I’m just living.”

“That is exactly the point!“ Ao’nung stepped closer, his voice an angry rasp. “Mother was mated! She chose a warrior of honor. You have no interest in actually taking a mate. You’re just fooling around to make a point. You are a daughter of the Olo’eyktan! These worthless, spineless men do not deserve to even stand in your shadow, yet you let them touch you just to spite us!”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, moving past him to sit lazily on a pile of woven mats, looking bored. “Are you done? Or do you have more rehearsed speeches about my virtue? Tell me what you called me for so I can go back to having fun.“

Ao’nung went quiet. He looked at you, then looked toward the path where Neteyam had likely returned from. A strange shadow of realization crossed his face. “I... I actually didn't have anything urgent to say to you,” he admitted slowly.

Your head snapped up, your eyes narrowing. “Then why am I here?”

Ao’nung tried to remember what had happened. Neteyam came to talk to him about the western reef patrols. He couldn’t even remember how the conversation veered to you, but he remembered Neteyam telling him he needed to speak with you for some reason and when he said he’d talk to you when he sees you you next, the man had looked him right in the eye and said, ’You can talk to her now. I saw where she is.’

Ao’nung tilted his head, his gaze lingering on you with a sudden, sharp enlightenment. He remembered how many times Neteyam had happened to be the one to find you, he’d practically lost count of it over the years. He remembered how Neteyam’s jaw would set whenever your name was mentioned in relation to the village boys. You had always been very restless, hot-tempered like Ronal, that Tonowari himself had long given up in his attempts to straighten you up.

They all have, to be honest. You were of age, after all. It was only Neteyam that seemed to still guard you, which is funny, because he doesn’t even guard his own sister. A slow, knowing smirk began to tug at the corner of Ao’nung’s mouth, a look that made you feel suddenly very anxious.

“What?“ you demanded, feeling a prickle of unease. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” he said, his tone suddenly much lighter, almost playful. He picked back up his spear, his anger seemingly vanished. He just found the perfect solution so that your ‘boytoys’ will no longer be a worry for them. It seems you’ve already met someone who has the guts to challenge you. You just haven't realized it yet.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you barked, standing up.

“Nothing. Just...” he looked at you again and stifled a smirk. “Go on with your day.”

He turned on his heels and walked away. If you want to keep fooling around, you might want to find a place where a certain Omatikaya warrior isn't constantly watching your every move. But he doubts such a place exists.

You were with Neteyam and several hunters in the next morning patrol near the reef. You were on a long range scout in the southwest, having parted ways with the team so you could patrol each corner of the reefs, when you heard the familiar groan of engines, a sound that always made you tremble in anger.

You gritted your teeth at the sight of a small gray vessel. A familiar large weapon on its deck, followed by a larger black vessel. They were too close to the tulkun calving grounds.

“Stay low!” Neteyam’s voice commanded over the waves. He was leading the wing, his skimwing cutting through the water toward you. “We observe and report. Do not engage unless they cross the reef line.”

Observe and report. The words grated in your ears and it made you tilt you head. You looked at the metal ships and sniffed, knowing that inside those metals were the same demons who killed your mother. Your vision blurred red.

“Observe this,” you hissed under your breath.

You tapped your skimwing into formation before it drove into the deep water. You have never been a rule follower, but you try. However, you can’t possibly let a situation like this slide... your blood demanded a debt be paid. As the scout vessel turned to track the unusual movements underwater, you broke the surface, locking a spear into your thrower and throwing it with all the force your arm can give.

You saw it punch through the glass of the scout’s cockpit, impaling the pilot and making the boat swerve violently. You saw four men with guns looking for where it came from. One of them saw you, but you didn’t wait for him to aim his rifle, launching another spear, catching the man in the chest.

“Y/N, back off!” You heard Neteyam scream, his mount cutting through the waters with lethal efficiency.

You ignored him to throw another spear for the man on the deck who was trying to deploy a sonar buoy. The kind that deafened the tulkun. The spear hit him square in the neck and you felt a grim satisfaction upon seeing him fall into the water, the water blooming into the same crimson shade as your nightmares.

Your trembling hands reached for another spear but a heavy weight slammed into your side. Neteyam had driven his mount right into yours! Before you could even look at him, his large hand had already gripped the reins of your skimwing to force it into a deep dive. You squirmed in protest but the sight of bullets piercing through the waters like lethal hailstones made you drive you skimwing deeper.

The muffled sound of bullets passing through the water above you made you look back to Neteyam, seeing him drive his skimwing faster to follow you. You both didn’t stop until you were far enough, breaking the surface for air. But Neteyam continued moving until you both reached the shore near the village.

You were shaking, and you know that it didn’t have anything to do with the fear, but from the sheer electricity of the kill. This isn’t the first time, because you had killed a few before, in the battle years ago... But this, it provides the thrill of revenge.

Neteyam vaulted off his mount and waded toward you, his face no longer a mask of stone. It was a mask of fury. You saw his arm bleeding and your eyes widened. “Neteyam—”

“You are careless!” he roared, his hands frantic on your arms, checking for any wound as if he wasn’t wounded himself. He was literally heaving, closing his eyes to calm himself down after he’s checked your arms, chest, and shoulders for anything. “You could have been killed! They had a turret tracking you!”

You were breathing as heavily as he does, shoving his hands off you. “I killed three of them! They were going to the calves!”

“I know,“ he said, his voice calmer now. “But you cannot risk yourself like that. You are the daughter of the Olo’eyktan—”

“I am the daughter of the woman they murdered!” you screamed, your voice cracking with the weight of grief. You stepped closer until his breath fans your forehead. “You can hide behind your discipline, because I know that you're scared, Neteyam. You've been scared since the day you ran from the forest from whence you came. But I will not hide from the demons who filled the sea with my mother’s blood!”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Neteyam’s jaw tightened so hard you heard his teeth gritting. His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back to your eyes, his nostrils flaring.

“You think I'm scared?” he whispered, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble that made the hair on your arms stand up. “You think I don't want to kill every one of those demons until they are all gone?”

He stepped even closer, his presence overwhelming you that you unconsciously stepped back, a move that brought heat to your cheeks. Shame!

“I am trying to keep you alive, you stubborn, arrogant girl. Because unlike those boys you lure into the woods, I actually know what it's like to lose a world. And I will not let you be the next thing the ocean takes.”

Your nose flared. “Stay out of my way,” you hissed, though your heart was suddenly hammering against your ribs for an entirely different reason.

“I can’t do that,“ he said, his voice soft but terrifyingly firm. “And I won’t. I will not obey you.”

He turned away to walk, and you watched him glance at his arm, and probably only saw then the wound on his arm. You heard him hiss and your hands trembled. He is annoying. Infuriating and meddlesome and a parasite. But as you watched him walk with his arm bleeding, you felt a pinch in your heart and some anger for yourself for having caused that.

Neteyam made his way back to the village, going straight to the healer’s tent, walking with a bravado that didn’t belong on a wounded man. He heard Lo’ak’s voice mingling with Tsireya’s, hissing under his breath that the two had to be here at this hour. He was aiming for a random healer to tend to him, so he won’t be asked any questions.

He moved the beaded curtains and walked inside, making Lo’ak snap his head to his direction.

“What happened, brother?” Lo’ak asked, his eyes wide with panic as he saw the state of Neteyam’s arm.

Neteyam didn't answer immediately. He was standing like a pillar, his face still that infuriating, stoic mask even as blood trailed down his bicep. But the moment you stormed in, he whirled around, his golden eyes widening, flickering with surprise.

“Give me your arm,” you commanded, your voice hard enough to crack stone.

“Did you shoot him?” Lo’ak blurted out in horror, his gaze darting between you and his brother.

Your head snapped toward him, a snarl curling your lip, but Neteyam’s voice boomed before you could lash out. “No!”

"Then what happened?" Lo’ak pressed.

Tsireya moved closer, her hands reaching for a bowl of clean water. “It is a bullet wound. Thankfully, only a graze. Let me see it, Neteyam.”

“No. I got him,“ you said, stepping toward him and he met you halfway, his gaze never leaving yours. You reached out and Neteyam offered his arm with a heavy submission that made your heart stutter.

“Does she even know how to treat that?” Lo’ak muttered, his worry making him bold. “She doesn’t have formal healer training.”

“She is a Tsahik’s daughter, Lo’ak. Of course, she had training.” Tsireya whispered, before her eyes met yours with a soft, knowing look. “You got it, sister?”

You nodded firmly and you gave Lo’ak a final, lethal glare until he withered.

“Well, then... I guess we’ll leave you for now,” Tsireya said, her voice laced with a strange, quiet satisfaction as she grabbed Lo’ak by the elbow and dragged him toward the exit.

“What if she purposely causes an infection or something—”

“She won’t do that!” Tsireya hissed, her voice fading as they disappeared behind the beaded curtain.

Then, there was only the two of you.

Neteyam didn't need to be told, he lowered himself onto the mat, and you followed, your knees hitting the floor. Up close, the graze looked worse. There was an angry jagged wound in his skin where the metal had hissed past, leaving the flesh raw. You bit your lip so hard until you tasted a metallic tang. You deserve that.

You worked in silence, cleaning the wound with meticulous care, your fingers, usually so steady on a spear, trembling just enough that you hoped he wouldn't notice. You applied the poultice, the cool herbs to make him feel better. You were so careful, so precise, treating his skin as if it were the most fragile thing in the world.

Meanwhile, Neteyam was so still you wondered if he were even breathing. He watched your face, savoring the fact that he was this close to you. You can’t believe you were a little too conscious about it though, because you could feel his gaze like it was a physical touch. On your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

Finally, you bound it with a gauze softer than it required.

“Thank you,” he said softly, as you were cleaning the supplies. You supposed you were guilty... But in truth, you cannot shake off the anger you have for yourself right now that he was wounded because of your recklessness. You could barely breathe with how tight your chest feels.

“I’m sorry...” You expected the words to feel like stones in your throat, but you didn't feel the weight you expected. Instead, you felt a burn on your cheeks so embarrassingly hot that you couldn't stay a second longer. You didn't wait for his reaction. You stood up abruptly and bolted out of the tent, the beaded curtains clattering violently in your wake.

Inside the tent, Neteyam remained on the mat, his lips parted in a breath of pure disbelief. It was as if a tornado had just swept through and left him in the eye of the storm. He let out a huff of a laugh, his chest deflating as he leaned back. The anger he had felt on the reef, the exhaustion of the patrol... It was all gone. Just two words. You had given him two words, and he felt as though he were melting into the floorboards.

He closed his eyes, his heart hammering a slow, rhythmic drum against his ribs. He had spent years receiving the sharp end of your anger, guarding you, and watching you from the shadows. And now, as the warmth of your apology enveloped him, you got him deeper on his knees on the sand, ready to crawl for whatever you can give.

Remember that seed that sprouted in Ao’nung’s head weeks ago? It didn’t simply just sit there, it took root, and grew vines. Vines that now reached Tonowari, because Ao’nung had not been anything but a constant buzz in his father’s ear, pitching the idea of a union like a trader auctioning a rare pearl.

At first, Tonowari had been hesitant, thinking of your volatile temper and the respect he has for the Sullys. He wanted a good match for you, yes, but the Sullys, no matter how long they had been here, living the ways of his people, are still his prime guests. Neteyam is the firstborn son of Toruk Makto. And you... You had not matured yet, not at all. You loved fooling around and the Sullys are a witness to your behavior.

But then, he started looking.

And he couldn’t believed just how much he missed out on you. And on those who have watched you from afar. One quiet evening, Tonowari had been walking the outer docks, seeking tranquil of the tides when he spotted a figure sitting on the sand far enough that he almost couldn’t recognize who it was. But he knew.

It was you, sitting there with your knees pulled to your chest, staring out at the horizon where the sky met the sea, the spot where your mother had never returned from. You looked small and for the first time in years, you looked like the fourteen-year-old girl who had lost her world. He felt a pinch in his heart.

He had been so blinded with your snappy wit, your laughter, and the temper you’d gotten from your mother, that he didn’t see how lonely you were while he, Ao’nung, and Tsireya all faced a bigger duty than they did before. He thought he’d done his part by making sure you were not burdened with duty and expectations... But you were certainly burdened with something else entirely and none of them had seen that.

Tonowari moved to step forward, fully intending to go to you, and give you comfort. But he stopped when he realized he wasn't the only one watching.

Neteyam was standing in the shadows of a nearby tree. His stance told him he wasn’t going to approach you and he remembered how years ago, when Ronal died, Neteyam tried to hold you and you snapped at him... Blaming him and his family for what happened. Tonowari thinks that Neteyam seemed to know better now, but he was still there, leaning against the tree, his eyes fixed on your back with a look of such profound, aching tenderness that it made Tonowari’s breath catch.

From where he stood, he could see that Neteyam sees past the troublesome or wanton daughter that the village gossiped about. He watched the way you wiped your cheek, and Tonowari saw Neteyam’s hand twitch, his fingers curling into a fist as if he were physically fighting the urge to go to you and pull you into his arms.

The came the day at the training sands. Ao’nung wouldn’t stop whispering in his ears. He had seen it, alright, Neteyam at least. But he wasn’t sure if Neteyam were simply empathizing with you, or if it stemmed from somewhere deeper in him.

He watched you stand at the edge of the training sands, ostensibly there to sharpen the blade of your spear. Both your father and brother watched from the shade of the pavilion as Neteyam led a group of young hunters through spear drills, his blue skin glistening with sweat, the powerful muscles of his back and shoulders rippling with every strike.

They saw the way you stood perfectly still, your eyes traveling shamelessly on the muscles on his broad back, and the strength in his arms. You were ogling him, plain as day, biting your lower lip just slightly when he lunged. But the moment Neteyam sensed your gaze and turned around, wiping sweat from his brow and offering a small, questioning tilt of his head, your face contorted into a mask of pure annoyance.

“What are you looking at, forest boy?” you had barked, loud enough for half the beach to hear. “Correct your grip! You’re swinging that spear like a clumsy child!”

Neteyam had only blinked, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he looked back to his students. Meanwhile, you have sassily turned your back on him, looking over your shoulder probably to check if he looks at you again, and he did. He looked over his shoulder the same time you did. You snarled and Neteyam quickly turned his back like a child caught not sleeping during siesta.

Ao’nung giggled. “You see, Father?” Ao’nung had whispered then.

Oh, Tonowari had seen, alright, and he definitely shouldn’t have, for Eywa’s sake. He wish he had Ronal with him in this moment. He wondered what his wife would have done after seeing her youngest daughter practically ogle a man, and act like she doesn't know whether to kiss him or spear him. And the man? He is the only one who doesn't flinch when she screams.

Several days later, the village was gathered for the communal dinner. The smell of roasted fish filled the air and the fire roared at the center of the circle. You were in the middle of your rowdy group instead of sitting at the dais among your family, being louder than necessary and aughing with your head thrown back.

Ao’nung sat close to Tonowari, leaning in as the firelight danced in his eyes. “Watch,” he prompted.

And so Tonowari watched, feeling a little ashamed with how invested he is with this. Neteyam was sitting with the warriors, his posture straight, and his face impassive. It was in moments like this that showed how beyond his years he seemed to me, a man who had grown up too fast in the shadow of war. He was listening to the warriors talk around him, but his eyes were fixed across the fire, just... watching. Something Tonowari and Ao’nung are both so aware now.

They both felt stupid having not noticed something so obvious before, especially when Neteyam looks as though he is guarding a treasure he hasn't even claimed yet. He doesn't even look at any of the other girls this way. Not even the ones who actually try to get his attention.

Across the fire, you were in the middle of a story, gesturing wildly, but every few seconds, your gaze would break away from your friends, snapping to where Neteyam is, and for a heartbeat, your rowdiness seemed to vanish. Your laughter dying down unconsciously, your hand dropping to your lap. You realized you were staring and quickly rolled your eyes, tossing your hair back and snapping a rude comment to the boy sitting next to you. 

But the effect was clear: Neteyam’s attention had literally made you behave. Neteyam looked down at his food, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I don’t know about you, Father,” Ao’nung said, his voice a low rumble of conviction. “But I see a match. And remember what Mother thought of him? Even when she was wary of the Sullys, she favored him.”

Tonowari leaned back, his massive chest expanding as he took a deep breath. He watched you. His youngest, his wild skimwing, and then he looked at the stoic, unbreakable young man who seemed to be the only one capable of clipping your wings without hurting you.

“Neteyam is a man of honor,“ Tonowari agreed, his voice thoughtful. 

Ao’nung grinned. “Betroth them. It settles her, it secures an alliance with Toruk Makto’s bloodline, and most importantly... it gives her someone she can't scare away.”

Tonowari nodded slowly, his decision solidifying. You, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of what schemes were cooking in your midst. The morning after the communal dinner, you found yourself in the family pod with your sister. Tsireya was the image of Metkayina grace, her hands moving gracefully as she sorted through dried medicinal herbs. She was the good daughter, and sometimes, looking at her felt like staring at a mirror that only showed you what you lacked.

“You were loud last night,” Tsireya said softly, not looking up from her work. “Even for you, little sister.”

“Better than filling it with the silence of the absent.”

Tsireya paused, her eyes lifting to yours, shimmering with a pity that made you want to snarl. “It has been five years, sister... Mother would not want you to live your life like this... She would want you to find peace. Perhaps even... a partner to share it with."

“I have plenty of partners,“ you snapped, standing up and grabbing your crossbow. “Ask Ao'nung. He seems to have a list of them to lecture me about.”

“Those boys are not partners,” Tsireya countered, her voice gaining a rare edge. “They are distractions. You choose men who are easy to break because you are afraid of someone who might actually hold you together.”

“I don't need holding together!” you snapped, your voice echoing as you stormed out before she could respond, feeling both irritated and guilty for feeling it.

Tsireya didn’t deserve your anger. You had both lost your mother and she had to take on a role no fifteen-year-old was ever ready for. You stopped on the walkway, looking over your shoulder and debating whether to go back and say sorry... But you were still angry, and you think it wouldn’t be so sincere to force yourself to do it now.

So you headed for the tide pools, needing the cool water to relieve the heat in your blood. But fate had other plans. Neteyam was there, knee-deep in the shallow water, repairing a broken Ilu pen. He was alone, his long braids slightly pulled back, his brow furrowed in concentration. As soon as you saw him, the irritation from your talk with Tsireya found a new target.

“We have the people for this,” you called out, stalking toward the water's edge. “Or are you so desperate to be useful that you’ve taken up the work of laborers?”

Neteyam didn't flinch or look up. He simply pulled the fibers taut and knotted it. “The pen was broken. I have hands. It seemed a simple equation, princess”

You stepped into the water, the cool waves splashing against your calves, and marched right up to him. You were shorter than him, but your chin tilted high.

“You’re doing it wrong,” you lied, reaching out to swat at the rope he was holding. “The knot needs to be beneath the crossbar, otherwise the tide will fray it. But I suppose a forest dweller wouldn't understand how the sea eats away at things.”

Finally, Neteyam looked at you, still not angry or intimated. He looked at you with that same calm, steady intensity that always made you feel so exposed... As though you were naked.

“Then show me,” he said, his voice low. He held out the rope toward you.

You blinked, caught off guard by his lack of resistance. “What?”

“Show me,” he repeated with challenge in his eyes. “If I’m not doing it right, then teach me the right way. I am a fast learner.”

You stared at him with narrowed eyes and he met you with the usual intensity, making you roll your eyes, grabbing the rope from his hand, your fingers brushing against his skin. The contact sent a jolt through you that you chose to interpret simply as annoyance. You began to tie the knot with aggressive, jerky movements, your breathing heavy.

“You think you're so patient,“ you hissed, not looking at him. “You think if you just stand there and take it, I'll eventually stop biting. You’re wrong.”

He watched you, his head tilted. He knows this. You are the daughter that took so much from Ronal. He knows you will not soften easily. He expects you to sharpen even more.

“I know whose daughter you are,” Neteyam said. He had moved closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him.

You didn’t know why it made your insides shiver. You gaslighted yourself it couldn’t possibly be excitement. But... He wasn't backing down, at all. And you know he will did and he never will. Most men in the village would have retreated by now, but Neteyam stood his ground like a mountain resisting a gale.

“I don't want you to soften,” he whispered, his voice for your ears only. “The sea isn't soft. It’s hard and dangerous. But it also gives life.”

You froze, the knot half-finished. You looked up at him, a sharp retort dying on your tongue. His face was inches from yours, his golden eyes searching yours with a terrifying honesty. “You are a nuisance,” you managed to whisper, though it lacked its usual sharpness.

Neteyam let out a short, quiet breath that sounded like a laugh. He reached out, his hand hovering near your waist before he seemingly caught himself and pulled back. “And you,” he replied, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again, "are not as difficult as you believe you are.”

You let go of your half-knotted ropes and stepped away, the water splashing around you. “You begged me to teach you, but you're doing everything but listen. Finish that. I’ll check it when I get back.”

You turned and whistled for your skimwing, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You didn't look back, but you didn't have to because you could feel his eyes on your back, steady and unyielding, watching his treasure as it tried to run away.

The ride out into the open sea was supposed to clear your head, but all you could feel was the phantom heat of his skin against yours. How dare he move closer to you?! You groaned and dove deep, pushing your skimwing until your lungs burned, trying to drown out the sound of his voice calling you that stupid word you don’t even know the meaning of. Princess. What was that word?

He’d call you that for years and you had no one to ask. Your pride won’t allow you to just go and ask Lo’ak or Kiri about it... Especially because they’d almost certainly know who had been calling you that.

For the next two days, you went out of your way to avoid him, which was nearly impossible in a village built on connected walkways. And now, you found yourself back in the woods at the back of the village, your path lit by the bioluminescence of the plants and the moon filtering through the thick canopy. You held O’nun’s— or was it Ralu?— hand, pulling him closer to you. His hand wounded in your curly hair, leaning down so he could kiss you. Your lips curled before you welcomed his kiss, your ears tuning in for any unusual sound around you.

Ralu’s hands moved lower to your waist, and you pulled away from the kiss, craning your neck, and just then, you saw a shadow detached itself from the darkness. Your eyes widened a fraction and you felt an urge to push Ralu away as his ragged breathing fanned your neck. You watched Neteyam stand there, a tower of solid muscle and silent menace, with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't even look at the man you were with. He looked only at you, his eyes glowing like two orbs of sun in the dark.

Ralu felt the weight of that gaze before he even saw him and his hands froze on your waist. He looked over, saw the silhouette you were seeing, and his face went pale even in the bioluminescence. He looked at you and you rolled your eyes when you saw how he’s almost ready to bolt, and without a single word of apology to you, without even a backward glance, Ralu scrambled away. He practically tripped over a root in his haste to disappear back into the village.

Weak, you thought. You turned your fury on the dark figure still standing in the clearing. You walked to him, “Tell me, warrior, do you take pleasure in this? Or is it just a hobby now?“

You remembered then what the hunters had been whispering. During combat drills, in which Neteyam is the head of, any man who he had recently seen in your company found themselves at the business end of Neteyam’s fist, hitting them harder and more frequently than anyone else. Now, he didn't need excuses to scare them away anymore; he has weeded them out quite successfully. No man in Awa’atlu wanted to be the next one whose ‘defense’ Neteyam pierces through with an elbow to the ribs.

You walked toward him, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm. You stopped inches from him, your breath hot against his neck, and pressed your palm flat against his broad chest. You felt the protruding, hard muscle of his chest jump beneath your touch. 

“Do you want me only for yourself, warrior?” you taunted, your fingers curling slightly into his skin, caressing the heat of him. “You stop me from having fun... you bar me from every experience. Do you intend to provide my fun instead?” You rose onto your tiptoes, your lips nearly brushing his jaw, challenging him to break.

But Neteyam was a mountain. He didn't move until you tilted your head to kiss him, and then his hand shot out like a vine, settling on your waist, his grip firm and grounding.

“Do not kiss me with the same lips you just kissed another man with,” he said. His voice was deep, and vibrating with a possessive rage that made your insides shiver.

You flared instantly, your pride screaming at the slight. You shoved at his chest, trying to wrench yourself away. “Alright! I’ll go find someone else then! I’ll kiss every man in this village if I please! I am an unbounded woman!”

His other hand caught your opposite arm, pulling you flush against him so quickly the air left your lungs when you landed against the hard wall of his body. “Is that so?” he asked. There was no humor in his voice, only a dark, palpable anger that felt like a storm breaking. 

He knows he should feel ashamed with how possessive he’s feeling about you. But it was what he was feeling... And for the first time in his life, he wanted to be selfish. He’s watched you for years, guarded you from your own recklessness... He’s not going to let some spineless boy have what you’ve been promising him with every look you throw his way.

He leaned down until your noses were a hair breadth away from each other, his eyes locking onto yours with a terrifying honesty. “Go on then,” he whispered, his grip tightening. “See if any of them would dare.”

You opened your mouth to snap back, but your voice failed you. You were trapped between the tree and the man who had effectively cleared your world of everyone but himself.

At the same time back in the village, the atmosphere between Tonowari and Jake Sully was much more formal. Tonowari sought Jake out, and now, a look of grim amusement adorned the face of the legendary war leader as he listened to your father’s proposal.

“You're serious?” Jake asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “My son and your daughter? Tonowari, your daughter... She does not take well to my son. You’re sure you’re not thinking of Tsireya and Lo’ak instead?”

Tonowari shook his head, stifling a chuckle. “I have seen it, Jake Sully. Believe me. My daughter... She has a strong personality. But Neteyam sees her, do you know this?”

Jake’s gaze looked thoughtful. He knows that. He knows his son. “Yes, he does. But your daughter... Wouldn’t she be forced into this?”

“No. She sees him, too, Jake Sully. Trust me,” Tonowari replied.

Jake looked out past the village, into the woods behind the mangroves, where he could just barely see silhouettes of two people, one definitely was his first born. You were stomping back to the village, looking back to Neteyam and seemingly snarling at him, but he saw the sheer amusement in his son’s eyes. He was enjoying this.

He sighed, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Alright,” Jake said, holding out his hand to seal the pact. “Let’s see if they survive the announcement.”

You had only just stepped onto the woven floor, your breath slightly hitching when you saw your father and Jake Sully standing together in a way that felt far too intentional. 

“Great. You're both here,” Tonowari said, his voice booming with a finality that made the hair on your arms stand up.

“What is it?” you asked, shifting your weight. You gave Jake a polite nod but your eyes immediately darted to Neteyam, who had followed you in like a shadow.

As Tonowari laid out the arrangement, all the words hit you like a physical blow. “I I have spoken with Jake Sully,” Tonowari said, locking eyes with you. “To secure the future of our leadership and to ensure the blood of our protectors remains strong, you will be joined. Neteyam is the firstborn of Toruk Makto, a warrior of proven honor. Your union will hold our people together against the coming storms.”

“Joined?” you repeated. “Father, what are you saying?”

“I am saying that you are betrothed, daughter,” Tonowari said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The ceremonies will begin with the next high tide.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt as though the floorboards had turned into thin ice, sending shivers up your body, not of anything resembling anger or betrayal, but of surprise. You looked at Jake, who was watching you with a weary, knowing sort of sympathy, and then finally, you let your gaze snap to Neteyam.

“What?” The word escaped your mouth. Again, not from the feeling of betrayal from your father.

You just simply couldn’t believe it. You hadn’t even thought of this as a possibility. Neteyam... Your mate. That is crazy. Jake watched your face. He’s not stupid to not know your dislike of his family, of the chaos they have brought. Compared to your siblings who have taken to his children well, you were distant and sharp-tongued toward his sons. But right now, he sees no actual protest in your eyes. In fact, your eyes were twinkling, and you were stammering, your lips parting to say something that just wouldn’t come out.

“It is a match of great benefit. It is settled.” Tonowari said, testing your waters.

Neteyam cleared his throat, the sound rough and low. He didn't look surprised at all, he looked like a man who had just been given the coordinates to the only destination he ever wanted.

“Can I say no?“ you asked, though the usual sharpness in your voice was wavering, replaced by a breathless tone.

“No,” Tonowari answered firmly.

You looked at Neteyam, and he met your gaze with a challenge that made you roll your eyes.

“Do you agree to this, Neteyam?” Tonowari asked.

“Yes,” Neteyam couldn’t have answered faster. “If it is the will of the Olo’eyktan... and if it is okay with her.”

You let out a dramatic, frustrated huff, throwing your head back. “As if I have a choice,” you said sharply, trying to hold your reputation tightly. “Fine! Do as you wish!” It was delivered so half-heartedly that you had to turn on your heel to march out before they could see the heat rising to your cheeks.

As you disappeared into the night, Tonowari looked at Jake and let out a short, huffed laugh. “You see? If she truly hated the idea, my ears would still be ringing from her screams. She is going to the docks to poute, and to wait for him to follow.”

Jake smiled, watching his son, who was already shifting his weight, eager to give chase. “Go on, son,” Jake murmured. 

Outside, your mind was a chaotic storm. Your were wrangling your fingers, and a ticklish, electrifying heat was blooming in your chest. You wanted to scream, but not in rage—you wanted to scream because the one thing you had been fighting for five years had just been handed to you by decree. When will the mating be? the thought popped into your head, unbidden and traitorous. Also, why are you excited?!

A hand caught your elbow, firm and warm. You were maneuvered around to face him.

“You okay?” Neteyam asked, his eyes searching yours.

You quickly wore your mask. “It is my duty,” you said sharply. “To the clan. To my father. I do not have the luxury of whim.”

You were acting as if you were forced into it, when the fact was clear as day. It took you like a few seconds to agree. His eyes went dark, a predatory heat settling in them. He didn't care about the politics Tonowari was talking about, he only cared that the barrier he’d been punching through for years will finally be gone. You are his.

The communal dinner the next night was a blur. When Tonowari announced the union, the village erupted. Tsireya squeezed your hand, her eyes misty, while Ao’nung leaned over with a smug grin. “This is a long time coming, sister.”

As you and Neteyam stood on the dais, you do not feel any weight on you. In fact, this is the lightest you've ever felt... You could practically float, but you won’t admit that, not even to yourself. Neteyam stood like the dutiful warrior he is, stone-faced but you knew him well by now. There was no denying the smug light in his eyes. He leaned toward you, his breath hot against your ear.

“You are bounded,” he whispered, the words a low, possessive rumble.

“Not yet mated,” you hissed back, keeping a fake, sharp smile plastered on your face for the crowd.

In one smooth motion, he wrapped a heavy arm around your waist, hauling you flush against the heat of his side. The contact making your knees weak. “Do not let me catch you,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a dark, morbid promise, “or this clan will mourn a brother.”

Your eyes widened, snapping to his face. You expected a joke, but his expression was deadly serious. You never imagined him to be this morbid... He was always the upright and no-fun Sully brother to you. Now, you could feel the back of your nape warming from how blown his pupils were.

Before you could retort, a chorus of hoots and whistles broke out from Lo’ak and the other young hunters, demanding a kiss to seal the betrothal and since you were already looking up at him in shock, Neteyam didn't hesitate. He tilted his head and leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a chaste, firm kiss. It was brief, but it electrified your entire body more than every empty kiss you’d ever shared in the mangroves combined. 

You reached down and pinched his side as hard as you could, but he didn't even wince, he just tightened his grip on your waist and gave the crowd a huge smile that showed his pearly whites. 

The fortnight leading up to your mating were a blur of sensory overload. Everyone was on you. Tsireya and Kiri were busy collecting whatever bright seaweed and shells and pearls they could find, and Tuk was begging for the honor to braid your hair because apparently, she has a particular vision for it, said she’ll braid only the front and put an iridescent seashell she had found in the center. She swore it will make you look like a princess.

“What is that word?” you asked her, thinking this was the perfect opportunity. Tuk is only ten, she wouldn’t piece two and two together. “Princess, I mean.”

She giggled. “It means a beautiful girl in beautiful dresses. The daughter of a King, my Dad told me,” she said.

“What is a King?” you asked.

“A leader, I think. Like my Dad, back in the forest. And like your Dad here, I think,” she said, and she did look thoughtful. “My Dad said my Mom is also a princess, you know? My grandfather was Olo’eyktan. Dad used to tell us a story about a warrior who met a princess and fell deeply in love with her.”

You smiled softly, putting a hand over her small head before your nimble fingers continued weaving luminous sea-grass and pearls into your ceremonial shawl. She’s adorable and very talkative besides. “Alright... I’ll trust your vision. Make me a beautiful princess on the day of my mating,” you said.

She squealed and jumped on the balls of her feet, hugging your neck. “Oh, I will not let you down, sister! My fingers are made especially for braiding. I braid my family's hair! All of them!”

“Even Neteyam’s?“ you blurted out. You can’t imagine his large sitting down in front of his little sister, patiently waiting for her to finish braiding all the strands of his hair.

She grinned. “Yes! He's the most behaved, actually. He doesn’t complain at all,“ she said, smiling to her beads.

You pushed your lips forward. Now, that you could imagine. You can’t imagine him losing his cool. You remembered getting irritated with Lo’ak several times when you were young... You’ve seen how Neteyam looks out for him, how Neteyam takes the blame for his transgressions, and how in turn, he would rebuke Neteyam and call him the perfect and dutiful son, as though they were insults meant to slight. And you saw how they did hurt Neteyam, for some reason.

Of course, Lo’ak had grown past that now.

But as you think of this now, you cannot help but think of your own behavior. How your older siblings had done nothing but look out for you, and how in turn, you showed them the lengths of your ungratefulness. You thought you were useless for not having the same duty they had to carry after your mother died, but you didn’t see how hard they worked to not tip the scale on your side, to not burden you with anything.

You are ungrateful. You wallowed in your pain, in your hatred, and in your grief, but you were not the only one who lost a mother. Your head snapped to the beaded curtains when it clanked, seeing Tsireya with a woven basket of whatever she’s collected. She was humming softly, and she smiled at the sight of you. Hot tears pricked at your eyes and you put your materials down to hold her hand.

She was surprised, obviously, but she quickly put the basket down to let you pull her into a hug. You broke into a sob, hugging her tightly, saying I’m sorry repeatedly, like a little kid. Tuk watched you two with pursed lips, not knowing what to do, but she thought she needed to go and join the hug, so she did, her small head cradled on your head.

“Sorry, what for, sister? You have nothing to say sorry for,” Tsireya said softly.

“There are a lot, sister, believe me. I was so ungrateful to you and Ao’nung... To Father. I thought the world should look at my grief, at how angry I was... That I have forgotten to see the three of you...” you said.

She looked at you with soulful eyes, smiling softly. “We all grieve differently... And I am thankful to whatever measure you took to ensure you would still be here. Mother would be happy to know you are in my arms right now, crying as you would always do when we were kids...”

You sobbed even harder, not even noticing that the curtain had once again clanked to signal a new arrival. It was only when Ao’nung’s voice boomed that you two looked up.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his hand immediately on your shoulder to pull you back and check your face. His face crumpled at the your tear-stained face, and then his head reared back. “Does this match bother you so much, sister? Do you not want it? I will talk to Father, we can always stop this— Ow.“

He stopped talking when you jumped in his arms, throwing your arms around his shoulders to sob. “No,“ you sobbed. “It does not bother me and I do want it!” you said.

He hugged you back, his arms tight around you to pull you as close as possible. “Then why are you crying?“ he asked pointedly.

“I am just very sorry... For everything,“ you said. “I am ungrateful. I am so mean to you and Tsireya and Father... I think only of myself...“ you sobbed.

“Err... And I am handsome and hot..?“ he uttered, his voice laced with humor.

“Ao’nung!” Tsireya’s voice boomed with an unusual fire.

“What? I thought we’re listing facts here!” he said, laughing and wiping your tears as you giggled at what he said. “Come on... I mean. You are mean, but only a fool wouldn’t understand. We lost Mother, and you were practically her tail. Losing her, to you, meant losing half of you. And we understand, you know? Besides, it’s not like nothing's new. You’ve always had that mean girl in you.“

You laughed at what he said again, but your tears were still falling. Tsireya smiled softly, riding hug the two of you, pulling Tuk into the hug because the kid was determined to belong. You sobbed and renewed your hold to include Tuk. Eventually, you all calmed down and Ao’nung had to leave for the training grounds.

The skies were beginning to be a battleground between purple and orange by the time Neteyam returned from his long-range patrol. You were now huddled with a sleeping Tuk, while Tsireya continued your work on your shawl, both of you laughing as you reminisced moments when you were children. But as the beaded curtains clattered, your laughter quiet down.

Neteyam stood there, his eyes immediately finding yours, and you saw the exact moment he registered your face. Your eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from the afternoon’s emotional purging.

He didn't say anything, but his jaw tightened, offering a polite nod to Tsireya while a small, tired smile formed on his face at the sight of Tuk huddled next to you, but his gaze were heavy on you.

“Will you walk with me?” he asked softly. 

You glanced at Tsireya and she teasingly smiled at you, making you roll your eyes. Neteyam had subtly been courting you in the past days, and to be honest, the only thing stopping him from going all out was your preference. He wanted to savour the courtship days, and he thinks it was moving too fast, but he also wouldn’t complain, especially because it’s leading to your mating.

You stood up, followed him out onto the beach. For a while, there was only the sound of the crashing waves.

“Your eyes,” he finally spoke, his voice barely louder than the waves. He stopped walking and turned to face you. “You have been crying. A lot.”

“I have,” you admitted, lifting your chin. “It was... a family matter. We were speaking of Mother.”

Neteyam’s expression softened, but still, a look of genuine, gut-wrenching worry crossed his features. “Is that all it was?” he stepped closer. “Y/N, be honest with me. If this is because of the mating... if you feel the weight of my father and yours pressing you into a life you do not want... tell me now.” He looked down at his hands for a second, then back to you. “I can speak to your father. I will take the blame. I do not want you to look at me and see only a cage.”

The thought of him calling off the mating, the thought of losing the very thing that had secretly kept your heart beating for five years, hit you like a physical strike. You didn't even think before your nose flared.

“No!” You hissed, your fangs almost baring as you stepped into his space. 

Neteyam blinked. “I am trying to give you a choice—”

“Are you?” you barked. “Or are you just saying that because you actually do not want to go through with this? You’ve been forced into this duty, and now you’re looking for an exit!“ You narrowed your eyes. “Is it because of some little forest girl you’ve left behind back home? Some quiet, dutiful Omatikaya girl who doesn't hiss when you look at her?”

Neteyam stood there, his mouth slightly agape, looking utterly dumbfounded. He could barely keep up with how fast you’ve turned the conversation a whole 360 degrees, and you’ve thrown in a silly assumption there, too. He tried to speak twice before the words actually came out. “What? A girl back home?” He let out a breathless, confused sound that was almost a laugh. “No, of course not. Where would you even get such a thing? I have spent my life training to be a warrior, I did not have time for that. I didn't leave anyone behind because there was never anyone else.”

He took a step forward, closing the distance until you had to look up at him. “I want to go through with this. I want to be your mate.”

Your face softened, but then you forced a scowl. “Then don’t ask me that question again!" you hissed, though your voice didn’t hold its usual bite.

He stared at you, his heart hammering so hard he was sure you could hear it. He wanted to reach out, to pull you against him and quiet the frantic energy in your body, but he stayed still. He was trying to piece together your outburst. The little forest girl? A part of him wanted to laugh. Could it be possible that you were jealous?

He didn't dare say it out loud. He knew you well enough to know that if he teased you now, you might actually beat him up to a pulp.

“I won't ask again,” he promised, his voice low and steady. “If you are sure, then I am sure. Three days, princess.”

And three days later, you found yourself at the Cove, wading deep into the water to reach the Spirit Tree, mesmerized by its particular glow tonight. The village elders and your families swim in the surface, watching you two dip further into the waters.

Neteyam reached out and you looked at him with a glowing smile, giving him your hand, his fingers lacing through yours with a grip that promised he would never let you drift away. You faced each other by the time you reached the tree, but its glow rivaled the one in Neteyam’s eyes. You smiled at him, reaching for your kuru, your movements a little shaky, but Neteyam held his halfway, waiting with an agonizing, respectful patience. It was you who closed the distance, guiding your queue to meet his.

The moment the bond snapped into place, your back arched as a physical surge of electricity jolted through your spine. Your pupils dilated until the teal of your eyes was nearly swallowed by black and for a moment, your eyes were marred by streaks of white as you felt a large ball of warmth spread through you.

It was an explosion of color and feeling.

You felt him. There was a devotion so deep it felt like the ocean itself, and an attraction that provided you warmth in the chill of the water. Some visions began to flow. In your mind’s eye, you saw yourself through his perspective. You saw a version of yourself from years ago, riding your ilu through the crest of a wave, laughing with a carefree joy you’ve never known since. You were beautiful, radiant, and in that memory, you felt the exact moment Neteyam’s heart had been captured.

But as the bond deepened, you felt as though the waters had flowed into uncharted territories and the golden glow yielded to grayness. You felt his crushing grief for you when your mother died. You felt the weight of his guilt for being who he is, for being part of the reason your world had shattered. Your eyes snapped open underwater, seeing his features crumpling in pain as he absorbed the sheer magnitude of your own feelings.

His heart was beautiful. And you know that yours was ugly.

His end of the bond was flooded with what you had carried. Anger, resentment, and the bitter hatred. It was heavy, toxic, and you felt him taking it all, letting your poison flow into him without a single flinch of rejection.

You let out a breath, forgetting that you were underwater until the air bubbled in your face. Unable to bear the sight of his suffering, you dislodged your kuru. The connection snapped, and you saw a flicker of pure, exhausted relief cross Neteyam’s face before he masked it with his usual warrior stoicism.

He could barely look at you but he never let go of your hand, and shame embraced you like thorn vines. As you two swam back to the surface, the people’s voices boomed in celebration before they began to whistle for their mounts. You didn't call for your skimwing. Instead, as Neteyam climbed onto his, you slipped into the seat behind him.

He turned his head, his eyes wide with a silent question. You didn't give him the fire he expected. You looked at him like a child who was caught breaking something precious. “I’m riding with you,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his thick, muscular waist and pressing your cheek against his broad back.

Neteyam’s posture softened instantly. “Oh,” he breathed, his lips pulling into a small, private smile.

As he led the procession back, his large, warm hand reached back to cover yours where they were clasped over his abdomen. You stared at the back of his head, your heart aching with a new kind of pain. Shame. He had seen the darkest corners of your soul and his first instinct was still to never let go of your hand. Perhaps he was used to ungratefulness; he had faced it from Lo'ak for years anyway. But you realized then that you didn't want to be another burden. You wanted to be his peace.

Later at the village, the celebration of your mating was a riot of colors and music. The drums were louder now and the dancing more frantic. You and Neteyam were seated on the high dais, the center of every gaze. As tradition dictated, you dipped your fingers into a bowl of rich, spiced fish sauce to feed him.

Some drops of it dripped on your fingers and before you could pull away, Neteyam’s hand caught your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick the sauce from your skin. He never broke eye contact, his eyes dark and molten, reflecting a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

It felt like someone had accidentally made a spark in a forest filled of dry leaves. You felt your breath hitch, your earlier shame melting into a fierce, desperate need. You leaned in, your movements no longer a performance for your audience. You reached up, twirling a finger into one of his braids, anchoring him to you so he couldn't retreat just in case he decides to tease you.

You leaned close, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth as you licked a stray bit of sauce away. “I want you...” you whispered, the words trembling against his skin. “Do you want me?”

He let out a huffed sound, a mix of a laugh and a growl. “I’ve always wanted you,” he rasped, his hand moving to your arm to pull you closer. “Since the day I saw you on the docks. I have wanted nothing else.”

You know that now... You know. You pressed a hard, demanding kiss to his lips, tasting the salt and the spice and the promise of the night to come. “Show me,” you challenged, your voice dropping to a seductive tone as you smirked.

You stood up, your beautiful shawl flowing behind you as flawlessly as your curled hair, all of which are extremely captivating for Neteyam. You pulled his hand up, looking back at him with sultry eyes before dragging him away. You don’t even care about the hooting young men and the laughing crowd knowing just what you two will do next.

You dragged him to the eastern side of the village where your new pod is, smelling of fresh weave. The air between you and Neteyam was thick with a tension that made the drums at the festival sound nothing compared to the thrum of your heartbeat behind your ears. You stood in the center of the room, the embers of the fire in the hanging firepots casting a soft, ethereal glow over his dark blue skin.

You watched him as he began to shed his warrior gear. His hands, usually so steady and precise, moved with a slight tremble as he unbuckled the Omatikaya cummerbund he had recently commissioned. He had refused to replace it with a Metkayina chest guard and honestly, you respected his unwavering loyaty.

You reached for the ties of your own top, practically breathless as you watched his muscles ripple with every movement. You let the ceremonial pearls clatter softly as it fell to the floor. Neteyam’s breath hitched, his eyes focused on you with a hunger that made your skin prickle. You are so excited you’re literally a live wire. You walked toward him, and he met you halfway, his large hands reaching out to claim you.

He leaned down, and when his lips met yours, you felt like both of you melted into each other.

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, his hand firm at your nape, tilting your head to gain better access. He was clumsy at first, and you could tell he doesn’t usually do this... or didn’t do it at all, but you didn't mind. He was so cute, because he was just going by instinct, so you guided him, your tongue dancing with his, showing him what you had learned from years of being the rebellious daughter. When he realized how skillfully you were kissing him, a low, guttural groan vibrated through his chest, a sound of both frustration and desperation.

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the soft furs on the floor. His kisses descended, tracing the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, and lower to your chest. You let out a loud moan when his mouth enveloped your pebbled tip, while his hand fondled the other, rolling and pinching your nipple. You shivered at how good it felt, squeezing his large upper arm as you melt into the furs.

While he was busy literally feasting on you, you managed to bring your trembling hands behind him, your fingers wrapping around his tail and caressing it. “Ow!” your back arched when, in shock, his teeth clamped down around the flesh of your breast.

“Fuck, sorry...” he mumbled, his tongue popping out to lick around the flesh and you mewled, your hand gripping his tail.

Your fingers persevered to untie his loincloth despite the fact that you’re literally bordering on delirious with what he’s doing to you. He helped you shed his loincloth, and the weight of his arousal against your thigh made your own breath hitch. Your hand snaked down, your fingers brushing against the heat of him, and his hips buckled.

In the heat of the moment, you reached for your kuru, the shimmering white fibers seeking his. Neteyam stopped at the sight of it, his eyes looking at yout queue as if it were a predator. He let out a ragged breath and you saw the exact moment he was reminded of what your kuru had brought him. He didn't want the shared pain of your past right now; he didn't want the ghosts of your mother or his guilt to intrude. He wanted you and the reality of this moment.

You understood. You let your kuru fall back, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of surrender. He ran his fingers through the strands of your soft hair, his hands caging your head as he kisses you, hard and punishing, for what seemed like eternity. You loved kissing him, and it might just be your new addiction.

He kissed his way down your body again, and when he moved between your legs, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, you arched your back, your fingers tangling in his braids. The first time his tongue flicked against you, a loud, unbridled moan tore from your throat, echoing off the woven walls of the pod. You didn't even care who heard you.

His fingers joined his mouth, determined to watch you come undone with every kiss and suck. You grabbed a handful of his braids, not knowing whether to push him away to relieve you from the bizarre stimulation he’s making you feel, or harder on you to indulge yourself with the feeling.

“Neteyam!” You shouted, pushing his head away, but he won’t budge, his large hands pushing your legs further away.

It was too much, but you find that you wanted it, too. You fisted on the soft furs, moaning louder than you did earlier, your back arching as you felt a knot inside you break and explode. Your foot tried to push him away again when you felt a warm liquid gush out of you, but his mouth only sucked and licked, making sure no drop was wasted.

Your limbs fell on your sides weakly, your eyes a little unfocused until you saw him rise, his large frame covering your view of the hanging firepot. He hovered over you, his golden eyes wide with a mixture of reverence and nerves. He kissed your jaw.

“Was that good?”

You gave a lazy grin, but also, you remembered that he was good. How did that happen? Your features turned a little sharp with awareness, your eyes narrowing. “Who?”

His face previously hazy with lust and desire snapped to attention, “What?”

“You are good. It was good,” you said. “Who’s the woman?”

His forehead creased and a weakened breath of laughter escaped him. “No one,” he said, his lips grazing your cheek. “No one. I do not touch women who are not mine. And I do not let them touch me,” he said, emphasizing the last words.

You pushed your lips forward, catching that stray. “Well...” you pushed your lips forward. “For what it’s worth, I’m a virgin, too, you know? But I know how to kiss. See, it helped us earlier. Your teeth were bumping against mine—”

His forehead fell against yours as he shook with laughter. You groaned.

“I’m telling the truth! No one has touched me where you’d touched me! You don’t believe me?” you said, your voice rising in slight.

He was pressing a kiss against your neck but his head quickly lifted up. “No, no. I do believe you,” he said, his eyes widening a little in his conviction. “I believe you.” he repeated, his eyes softening, lowering down to your parted lips. “And it doesn’t matter, I think. I just need to know names, if so.“

“Names?“ you echoed.

“Names of the men,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

You squeezed his shoulder. “No one,“ you replied. “I mean, beyond the kisses...”

He pressed his lips to yours, his tongue sliding in when you parted your lips, exploring with a tentative curiosity that made your toes curl into the soft mats. As his hands wandered down your body, grazing the curves of your hips before he lifted his head up again, his eyes caressing your features, admiring the intricate tattoos on your face.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured. He can barely breathe watching you from afar, and now, you were under him. His mate. His wife now. He has all the time in the world. With you.

“Then stop looking and start doing something,” you teased, your voice so womanly it made him shiver.

He chuckled, positioning himself properly between your thighs. His cock felt heavy against your pussy. You’ve felt him earlier, felt the weight of him. He was thick and long, and despite your fear, you were more excited for when he finally enters you.

“Tell me if it hurts,” his deep voice grated.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered, spreading your legs. “Now.”

He bit his lip, fisting his cock and pointing it at your pussy and your fingers balled in anticipation. Its wide head nudged you with a slow, agonizing precision, his wide eyes watching your face. You gasped, your back arching as the initial stretch of his girth filled you. Your breathing was jagged, your hand clamped on his shoulder as you clenched around him unconsciously.

He patted your thigh, wincing. “Baby, you’re squeezing me...”

You groaned and tried to relax as he pushes more length into you. Just when you thought it’d be over soon, you made the mistake of looking down and seeing that he’s only halfway in. “This can’t be serious.” Your head fell back on the soft furs.

“Why?” His hand caressed your hip, and when he moved, seemingly to dislodge himself from you, you tightened your legs around him and pushed your hips up.

In that single move, the remaining length of him disappeared in you, making you quiver as if you’d reached the same high he's given you with his mouth earlier. You are incredibly sensitive.

“Oh, Great Mother,“ you moaned loud, the sound ripping from your throat. “You are so big...”

He kissed your jaw softly. “I’m sorry...” He then began to move in shallow thrusts, his lips peppering your face with kisses. Each slide of his shaft sent jolts of pleasure through your core, and as the friction built, loud sounds begun to escape your throat. Moaning and wailing in pleasure. You weren't shy. You had never been shy.

“Yes! Ah, right there! Oh, Neteyam, so good!” you screamed, your voice carrying to whoever knows where.

Neteyam’s face slightly crumpled, a little embarrassed, but a grin tugged at his lips as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming steadier, deeper. You didn't hold back. Every time he thrusts hard, you let out a loud, unabashed shriek of pleasure.

“Neteyam—” you gasped, your voice breaking as he drove into you. “Great Mother. Neteyam... please.” You pressed a palm on his lower abdomen as he continuously hammered into you.

He didn’t slow down. If anything, your pleasured screams only fueled the predatory fire in his eyes. He leaned down, his large hands caging your head in place. His mouth muffled your sobs as be kissed you, and your eyes rolled back to your head, feeling delirious about everything.

“What does my princess want?” he rasped against your lips, his voice thick and dark.

“I don’t know...” you sobbed. “So good...”

He kissed you again before he rose to a kneeling position between your parted thighs, grabbing one of your legs and hiking it up his shoulder, before slamming into you with a series of forceful thrusts that made your screams sound jagged. Scandalous wet sounds filled the air as he hammered into you. You were a mess of sweat and saliva, your breasts bouncing with every thrust.

You were so loud, and so lost in your pleasure, that you didn’t even notice the pause in the rhythmic pulsing of festival drums in the distance. It was only when Neteyam slowed down that you noticed, you looked at him through a hazy vision and saw his head tilting to the direction of the village’s communal area. His eyes snapped at you and you chuckled, still panting.

“I think they heard you,“ he said, lowering his body to kiss you.

“It will serve the clan to know that the newly mated woman is being mounted... hard,” your teeth tugged at his lower lip. “Happy wife, happy life, you know?”

He groaned, his eyes closing for a moment before it opened again to meet yours. The joy in them made you feel like someone offered you a blanket during a storm. “I will make you happy... Always.”

You smiled. “I will make you happy, too, Neteyam... I promise.”

A smile broke through his facade and it made tears prick in your eyes for some reason. “You being mine is enough. I need only to remember that to be happy,” he said.

“I am yours,“ you replied quickly. “In all the ways you could think of.”

He kissed you, losing himself in the heat of you. He pushed deeper, the sound of your bodies meeting creating a wet, squelching noise. You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he hit a spot that made your vision blur. With a deep push, he shuddered, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled his seed. You followed him seconds later, your internal muscles clamping tight around him in a series of violent spasms.

He hugged you, as though you’d slip away if he didn’t. Your hand moved up to caress his braids, kissing his jaw. “I am here with you, Neteyam...“

The next day, you woke up to the sight of morning sun filtering through the woven walls and beaded curtains of your marui, casting a warm light over everything. You didn’t need the weight of the heavy arm draped over your waist to remind you where you are. Neteyam had been awake for an hour. He had spent the time simply watching the way your chest rose and fell, noticing how the bioluminescent freckles on your skin seemed to dim in the daylight, and memorizing the intricate tattoos on your face. He’d admired the blooming purples and reds of the marks he’d left behind on your neck and chest, and wondered if you’d complain about it later.

When your teal eyes finally fluttered open, the instant flash of joy in them made his own heart skip. Without a word, you rolled over witha lazy grin spreading across your face as you draped an arm over his chest to pull him to you for a lingering morning kiss. It felt so natural, if only his heart won’t stop kicking violently against his chest. It was as if you had been waking up in his arms for years instead of just one night.

“Hungry?“ he murmured, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

“Yes,” you yawned and stretched your body a little, your face snuggling in the crook of his neck. Your throat felt raw and your voice came out hoarse, evidence of your screaming last night.

You bit your lip, closing your eyes at how comfortable it felt. He chuckled, his eyes sparkling even if you were not looking. You are a mated woman now... The memory of the night rushed back in your mind in a heated wace. The way he had looked at you like a predator let out of its cage. The way he had held you so devoid of the politeness he’d shown in the past years... The way he mounted you.

Oh, Great Mother. You felt so giddy, you couldn’t help but shiver in his arms.

“Why?” he asked.

“I was just remembering last night,” you said shamelessly.

He softly kissed your foreahead. “Why shiver? Are you getting shy?“ he asked softly.

Your eyes widened. “No,” you lifted yourself up, the soft fabric of the blanket falling off your shoulder and revealing your naked form to him. “What should I be shy about?”

He looked at you with hazy eyes, as if you’d used some booze on him and his eyes were just pupils blown wide now as they caressed your form. “For one, you were so loud last night...”

You raised a brow. “Eh. I’m not abashed... It’s normal to be loud when you’re feeling good,“ you smirked.

Besides, does he know just how many girls and women in this clan wished they’d give them attention? Your eyes narrowed, thinking of all those village women who used to sigh when he walks past. You hoped they’d heard just how good you were getting it from him last night.

“Are you bothered?”

“No,” he said, his voice dropping into that deep, possessive register.

You smirked, grabbing your top to wear it again. He sat up, his muscles flexing from all his movements. His large hands hovered over your shoulder, surprisingly gentle as he helped you tie the fastenings and adjust the pearls over your chest. As the blanket slipped away from his lap, your eyes caught the sight of him. Already hard and erected.

Without thinking, your hand darted down to touch it, but he was faster, catching your wrist. “No. Breakfast first.”

Your nose crunched in a pout. “I just want to touch it. It looks... lonely.”

“Maybe later...” he said, his voice strained as he reached for your loincloth to help you dress.

“But it's hard now,” you pouted, looking at him through your lashes.

Neteyam let out a long, shaky breath, looking away. “It will pass. It’s always like that,” he said.

“Always like that?“ you asked.

“When you’re around,” he admitted, his jaw tight.

Your eyes widened, a triumphant smile tugging at your lips. “Really? Even when I was being mean to you?”

“Yes. Sometimes, even when you weren't around... I’d think of you,” he confessed, his ears twitching in a rare show of vulnerability.

“What? But wouldn't that be painful?” you asked, glancing at his crotch, which he has now hidden beneath the fabric.

“I relieve myself,” he said bluntly, watching you tilt your head in confusion. He then made a quick up-and-down motion with his hand, his eyes locking onto yours. “And I think of you while I do it.”

You felt a surge of heat so intense you thought you might actually turn purple. The idea of the perfect and dutiful firstborn son of Toruk Makto, alone where no one could see him, losing his mind over thoughts of you, was the most intoxicating thing you'd ever heard. “What do you think of? Tell me. I think we can... make it happen now.”

Neteyam leaned in, his shadow towering over you as he whispered in your ear, his voice a dark, detailed rasp. He described a vision of you arched over a forest branch, the way he wanted to feel your hair against his skin while he took you from behind, and the way he imagined your face would look when you’re feeling good. He’s seen it last night, and it beat all the fantasies he had.

By the time he finished, you were breathless and burning.

“We are definitely doing that tonight,” you whispered, leaning toward him to kiss the side of his lips.

Days later after you were more properly settled in your pod, Jake and Neytiri hosted a dinner, inviting your father and your siblings. Now, you knew you were never shy... But also, these are Neteyam’s parents. And they’ve been witnesses to how volatile and difficult to deal with you could be compared to your siblings.

You were never welcoming. You were aloof. And now, you are mated to their most prized son. Because of this, the thought of sitting in the same table as Neytiri filled your blood with cold dread. You sat with your spine perfectly straight at the dinner table, your hands folded neatly in your lap, a sharp contrast to the wild, snarling huntress they usually saw on the docks.

Next to you, Neteyam looked like the picture of the perfect warrior, but there was a glint in his eye that made you uneasy. He knew exactly why you were acting so stiff.

“You look beautiful tonight, daughter,” Neytiri said, her golden eyes scanning you with a terrifyingly intensity.

“Thank you, Neytiri,” you replied, your voice soft. “It is an honor to be at your table.”

Neteyam let out a short, soft huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. He leaned closer to you, ostensibly to reach for a bowl of fruit, but his shoulder lingered against yours.

“She is very practiced at the proper daughter look,” Neteyam murmured for only you to hear. He turned his head to look at you, a smirk playing on his lips as you glared at him.

Tonowari finally cleared his throat, shifting his gaze between you and Neteyam, his expression a mix of fatherly concern and the stiff formality of an Olo’eyktan. “Ah... so,” your father started, his voice a bit forced. “How have you two been?”

You nodded. “We’re having so much fun,” you blurted out without thinking.

Oh, that they know about. It’s not like the marks on your neck or the red nail marks on Neteyam’s shoulders weren’t announcement enough. Neteyam who was sipping water nearly choked. A violent cough erupted from him as he tried to regain his composure, his ears blooming indigo, twitching.

“Do you have everything you need for the household? Nets? Storage?” Jake Sully intervened.

“We have everything we need, Dad,” Neteyam managed to rasp out, finally finding his voice.

You leaned closer to whisper. “Right. My husband is a very... efficient provider. He doesn't leave anything unfinished, does he?” You snickered.

He raised a brow. “Whispering now, huh? It’s hard to believe this is the same woman who was screaming my name so loud in the woods just hours ago,” he whispered back.

Neytiri watched the two of you from across the table, her golden eyes shining. “It is great to see the two of you approaching your marriage life so smoothly,” Neytiri said, her voice smooth. She looked at Jake. “Reminds me of our first nights together. Do you remember, Jake?”

Jake chuckled. He knew exactly what Neytiri meant. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Tonowari who looked like he wanted to dive into the ocean to avoid this conversation.

“Can we talk about literally anything else?” Lo’ak groaned, picking up a piece of fruit and tossing it at Neteyam. “I don't need to hear about my parents’ first nights together or why Y/N’s throat sounds like she’s wounded her throat from screaming.”

“Lo’ak!” Tsireya hissed, though she was shaking with silent laughter.

“What?” Tuk asked, her large eyes moving between everyone. “Why was she screaming? Was there a moonwraith in the new pod? I can go kill it for you, sister!”

The table erupted. Ao’nung, who had been trying to remain stoic and dignified, finally doubled over with a booming laugh. Your father let out a heavy, defeated sigh, rubbing his temples, while Jake just shook his head, a grin finally breaking through his facade.

“No spiders, Tuk,” Neteyam whispered to his little sister while you laughed beside him.

                                                         ₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

In the weeks following your mating, the village began to feel less like a place of grief you moved through with a routine, and more like a playground for the two of you. You found yourself exploring the woods behind the village with much curiosity than you did before, keeping in mind that this was the kind of place your husband grew up in.

You’ve always wondered the way he moved with such a predatory yet quiet grace, able to sneak up on people without making any sound, unless he meant for them to hear him, but as you walk through the forest, you realized that it was because the trees seemed to have eyes everywhere. You couldn’t even walk here without your foot stepping on a dry leaf that makes a crunchy crack, announcing your presence.

Neteyam had told you that it was one of their trainings back in the forest. To walk in the woods silent as a viperwolf, and you’ve seen in it in the way he moves through the brush. “Your people believes in the tranquility of the ocean,“ he mumbled, standing behind you as he helped you adjust your grip on his longbow. “But the forest, it is a living thing. It listens and it watches. There is no current to fight, you only move with it.”

He pressed his chest against your back, his large hands covering yours on the bowstring. He taught you how to breathe into the shot, his heartbeat a steady thrum against your shoulder blades. When you finally released, the arrow thudding perfectly into a distant fruit, your eyes widened and you smiled triumphantly.

You had obsessed over archery for weeks. It is different from your people’s crossbow, which you were really good at. Different compared to a spear, more so. You thought you were simply a bad shot at this thing, but now, you hit the target and you couldn’t believe it! You turned in his arms with a laugh, rewarded by the pride shining in his golden eyes. He leaned forward to kiss you hard, and you melted in his arms.

“That one was good,” he grinned.

You pursed your lips. “Now, I understand why Lo’ak always calls you the perfect son...” you pressed a hand against his chest. “You excel in everything. This was easy for you, a crossbow is easy. A spear is easy. Riding your ikran is easy. Riding a skimwing is easy...” you tiptoed to kiss his lips. “Riding me... so hard, though.” You snickered.

He laughed, a rich and deep sound that warmed your chest as his arm suddenly pulled you to him. “You said you were sore...”

You bit your lip, widening your eyes at him. “I am.”

“Then why are you tempting me?” he asked, raising a brow.

You laughed. “Maybe I want more of that thing where I’m lying on my stomach, and you’re so close on my back,” you moaned in his ears. “That was so good.”

He groaned, deep and long, pulling you to him. “Strip. Let’s do it now, if you want it—”

“Neteyam and Y/N! Yuhoo!” A familiar, high-pitched voice cut through the trees.

You jumped away from him, nearly toppling over. Neteyam’s strong arm wrapped around you like a vine, helping you find your footing as Tuk came crashing through the brush, her large eyes bright with excitement.

“Oh, great! There you two are,“ she heaved, skidding to a halt. She paused, looking at the two of you, you with your hair a mess and Neteyam looking like he was ready to wrestle a palulukan. “Why are you purple again, sister? The forest isn’t hot. In fact, it’s so cold here.” She twirled around.

You chuckled. “Oh, well... I was purple from laughing,“ you chirped, smoothing down your hair.

Neteyam cleared his throat, his ears still twitching violently. “Yes, she was laughing so hard.”

Tuk narrowed her eyes, looking between the two of you. “You guys are weird,” she concluded.

“Wait, why are you here, Tuk?” Neteyam asked.

She pouted. “Lo’ak sent me. He has a question for you, he needs you to go see him,” she said. “Hurry up, you two!” You watched her disappear, then turned to Neteyam who was already shaking his head.

“I'm going to kill Lo'ak,“ Neteyam muttered, though he was already smiling as he followed you. “I'm definitely going to kill him.”

But the peace was never a stagnant thing.

It started with the scouts. Warriors returning, speaking of a metal village rising from the waves near the territory of the neighboring clan. They’ve luckily intercepted a group of hunters from that clan who were sent to deliver a message to Toruk Makto about the sky people’s activities. Jake personally went there with Tonowari, Neteyam, Ao’nung, and Lo’ak to see it for themselves.

When he came back, he told the council about the massive, artificial island of steel that is turning the crystal-clear waters into a murky, toxic sludge. The news grew grimmer by the hour: the neighboring clans had tried to resist, but the demons had met them with violence, leaving the waters beyond the reef littered with the bodies of those who dared to protect their home.

Inside the council marui, the air was suffocating. Tonowari sat with his head bowed, his hands fisted so hard his knuckles were white. Beside him, Jake Sully paced, his jaw set in a grim line that you recognized from Neteyam’s own face during charged encounters.

“They are expanding,” Jake rasped. “If they finish that platform, they’ll have a permanent base for their tulkun hunts. The neighbors are already dying.”

Your arm around Neteyam’s waist tightened and he gripped your arm. “Neteyam...” you murmured, an uncharacteristic fear coiling in your gut.

He pulled you close, his cheek nuzzled in your temple. “It’ll be alright.”

The tension snapped two days later.

A hunting party returned... Not with a haul of fish, but the broken bodies of two warriors. The wails of their mothers reminded you of your own grief but you stayed and prayed over them with Tsireya and the elder healers, carrying their grief for them. Days later, patrolling hunters came back with news that made you rush to the sea, riding your skimwing in a rush, with Neteyam hurriedly following behind you.

You fell over at the sight of your mother’s spirit sister, Ro’a, drifting aimlessly in the waters, her flank torn open by a massive harpoon. She didn't survive the night. You swam to her, hugging her body tightly as you hugged your mother years before. Tsireya cried silently beside you, her face anguished, a contrast to your angered features.

Ro’a was the last piece you have of you mother... And to see her brutally murdered seemed to have brought a shift, even to your father. His face contorted in a grief so sharp it looked like a physical wound and you couldn’t help embrace his unmoving body.

“Send word to our neighbors! We will not wait for the metal to reach our shores.”

As the village fell into a frenzy of preparation for days, you dove into the waters before the sun even rose to get a potent herb. It was poison, you would no longer mince your words. You want no one alive. When you broke the surface bringing a handful of it, you saw Neteyam standing on the shore and you felt a jolt of surprise.

You made sure to not take too long. You have not been gone for more than ten minutes!

“Where were you?” he asked, his hands immediately touching your upper arms to pull you into a hug, uncaring that you're wet and cold.

“I wasn’t gone long,“ you said.

“I woke up with you gone, you don’t know how much that is a stuff for nightmares for me,” he replied, hugging you tighter. “I saw your weapons though. I knew you wouldn’t go anywhere crazy without them. But now, after seeing that you were indeed in the waters, I didn’t like the idea of it. They could be anywhere, baby...”

You sighed. “I just... foraged something.” You lifted the herbs and saw the confusion in his eyes. “It’s poison.” you whispered darkly.

His eyes widened a little.

You tilted your head. “It’s to ensure maximum damage... If the blades don’t kill them, this will do the job.”

His eyes darkened with every word your spoke. He didn’t even flinch and recoil, nor lecture you on the code of a warrior or the sanctity of a clean kill. Instead, he reached out, his thumb grazing your jaw.

“Make it strong,” he whispered, his voice vibrating with a dark resonance that made the fine hairs on your neck stand up. He took the herbs from your hand, his fingers lingering against yours, grounding you even as the storm raged in your chest. “Come. The hunters are gathering at the weapon racks. Your father is calling for the final blessing.”

You followed Neteyam to the central deck, where Tonowari stood like a pillar, his spear held high among the warriors whose own spears they had sharpened for days.

“You are not going,“ Tonowari quietly said when he was done talking to his warriors, his eyes landing on the lethal kit you were preparing.

“Father, I cannot not go. I need to be there. They killed my mother, they killed her sister. My home is being choked by their filth. You tell me to stay, Father, and you might as well tell the tide to stop rising.”

Tsireya stepped up beside you, her jaw set in a way that mimicked your own. You had a hunch he’d told her the same thing. Your father looked at the two of you, both fierce images of the woman who was and is his strength.

Your father let out a long, shuddering breath, the weight of the world bowing his shoulders for a fleeting second before he hardened again. “Fine, but be... careful. I cannot lose any of you.”

You choked a sob and hugged him. You are scared, but you also cannot imagine yourself not fighting out there while eveyone risks their lives.

Inside your marui, the weight of the impending battle had shrunk to just the two of you. The morning sun flickering against the woven walls as you sat between Neteyam’s legs, your fingers dipped in the thick pigment of his war paint.

He was silent, his broad chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that grounded your frantic heart. You traced the line of his nose dowm to his chin with the paint, your touch lingering longer than necessary.

“You're shaking,“ he murmured, his large hand coming up to steady your wrist. He leaned into your touch, his golden eyes searching yours.

“I am not,” you lied, your voice a mere breath. You dipped your fingers back into the bowl, drawing a sharp, jagged line across his cheekbone. “I am just... impatient.”

Neteyam caught your hand, pressing a firm kiss to your palm, his gaze intense. “Look at me. I will be in the sky with my mother. I will see everything. If you are in trouble, I will find you. Do you hear me? I will always find you.”

You stared at him and nodded. “Neteyam... When we did the tsaheylu... I know you’ve seen my ugly heart—”

“Do not speak of it that way!” he cut you off.

“Alright, my ugly emotions. Dark and bloody, full of hatred,” you said.

He tilted his head. “I also saw me. You liked me when I first got here,” he said, smiling. “You find me so handsome.”

You groaned. “I’ve always thought so...” you pushed your lips forward. “I was just in-denial for such a long time.”

“It’s all that matters to me that night, you know? To know that I have at least stirred your heart. I was thinking, I can definitely build on that. I will make you love me as I love you. I will make you so happy as you make extremely happy,“ he said, angling his head to kiss you.

Your face crunched as you felt a pinch in your heart. “You need higher standards,“ you said in a trembling voice. “I was so rude. All the time. I was mean and I didn’t think of your feelings—”

He hushed you, wrapping an arm around you, some of his face paint transferring on your face. “I understand. I understand all of it,” he said in a quiet, devoted voice.

You know that. You’ve seen it in his heart, but still, you couldn't help but weep. “But I can’t understand, ‘Teyam, why I had treated you so badly when you didn’t deserve any of my anger. I don’t want you to forgive me. I don’t even deserve this love you have for me. I cannot understand it,” your tears fell.

Everything seemed to have came up on you and it all culminated to this. “You do not need to understand it. I love you. I love you very much,“ he said, his large hands cupping your jaw so he could look in your eyes. “And my forgiveness is mine to give, only that there is nothing to forgive. Do you understand? I love you, and I love you in any form you show me. You cannot dictate my heart.”

He smiled at you and you cried even harder. You don’t know why you couldn’t stop crying. There is a golden ball of warmth threatening to burst inside your heart and you couldn’t hold it back. You pressed your forehead against his, uncaring that his paint will transfer to you.

“I love you, Neteyam. I love you so much...” you mumbled, kissing him even though you wanted to see more of the surprise on his face. You squeezed his bicep, your heart aching with the force of your love for him.

When you two stopped kissing to breathe, you saw his eyes sparkling with tears, his strong arms maneuvered you so that he’d cradle your upper body like a baby and you laughed.

“I can’t believe how freeing that feels. I love you, Neteyam. I love you, I love you, I love you,“ you said, obsessed with how good it feels to say that.

He lowered his head and kissed you. “I love you so much. More. I love you more, I love you more, I love you more,“ he said, pressing a kiss to your lips nearly with every word.

“We’ll talk again tonight,” you mumbed, caressing his jaw. “And then we’ll do more. I’ll let you do anything you want with me, so make sure you’ll be careful up there—”

“Hey, love birds—”

“Lo’ak!” Neteyam growled so deeply you felt his body vibrated with it, making you throw your head back with laughter.

Later, with all the warriors assembled, the war cries of your people echoed across the wave as the shadow of Toruk’s wings covered almost the entire village as he flew past, leading the vanguard. You saw Neteyam’s ikran along with Neytiri’s follow the beast like predatory birds. With a sharp whistle, you urged your mount into a high-speed plane, riding among the warriors of your clan, holding your spear tightly as war crimes erupted in your throat as your fleet reached the destination.

You saw a scout vessel banking hard, its mounted gunner spraying the water with bullets to aim at your fleet. Your father signalled to disperse and you dove into the water the same time everyone did, swimming on the other side, where you know you can find a weakness. As the vessel’s hull loomed, you broke the water and made your skimwing leap in the air, shooting with your crossbow with a strained scream.

It punched through the reinforced glass of the cockpit and you saw the pilot slumped instantly, before you landed back on the water. The vessel veered wildly, crashing into a large rock and erupting into an orange flame. You smiled, diving deep into the cool pressure of the water. Beneath the surface, your eyes fixed on the mechanical silhouettes of the submersibles moving in the depths, hunting your brothers and sisters.

You propelled your mount toward a sub’s rear rotor and with a practiced strike, you jammed your spear into it, rendering it to a stop, before you strike to puncture the glass. You left it after ensuring that the pressure of the deep would do the rest for the pilot. You did that to more submersibles, and was pursued by some, too, using what you’ve learned from all the times you played underwater.

Breaking the surface for air, the sight that welcomed you was filled of fire and ash. Your gaze instinctively snapped upward, and your heart jumped at your throat when you saw a missile pursuing Neteyam, who dove his ikran into a vertical corkscrew, the missile desperately following him. At the last second, he banked hard, luring the missile directly into the path of a pursuing fighter jet. The jet erupted in a beautiful display of orange and skittered to another jet, bringing it down as well.

A huge smile broke on your face as Neteyam leveled out, hearing his war cry echoing to reach you. The artificial island seemed to have tilted to the side, its steel skeleton groaning as if people were working to dismantle it from below, as it burned from above. It was reduced to a vision of dancing fire.

By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the metal village was nothing but a graveyard of sinking iron. The ocean, though scarred, had claimed its prize. The journey back was silent as you rode beside your father, whose face was a mask of grim satisfaction. As the familiar woven walkways of the village came into view, the village erupted in cheers for the returning warriors, you looked to the sky.

You saw Neteyam’s ikran flying toward the forest, making you vault off your ikran to go there and meet him. The bioluminescence of the forest was just beginning to wake but you paid it no attention, focused only on Neteyam’s majestic form as he descended his beast. You ate up the steps between you and threw yourself at him, your arms locking around his neck with a force that nearly sent both of you back into the brush.

He caught you, his large hands anchoring you against his chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of salt from the ocean before peppering kisses along your jaw and neck, his grip tightening until you were molded against him.

“You okay? Wounded anywhere?” he asked breathlessly, his large hand touching you everywhere.

“I saw you,“ you rasped, ignoring his questions. “In the air. You are so hot,” you pressed a kissed to his lips. “You? Are you wounded anywhere?”

You checked his arms as his face melted into your neck, he shook his head but you still made sure by checking thoroughly. “I wished I saw you in the waters, baby...” he whispered. “But I know you were a nightmare for them.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face, grinning through the smearing war paint. “I know we haven’t weeded out all of them yet... But I’m glad they are gone for now,” you sighed, looking back at the village when you heard the drums. “They are starting the celebrations.”

You were about to turn around and go back, but Neteyam’s grip on your waist tightened, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip with a deliberate, slow pressure that made your breath hitch. “You seemed to have forgotten something...” he mumured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that always made your heart skip.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

His golden eyes burned on you with a focused intensity that made the surrounding forest feel like it was fading away. “Your promise.”

You blinked. What promise— Oh! “Oh... Right,” you cleared your throat. “We’ll talk, yes...”

His head tilted, raising a brow. “That all?”

You bit your lip and laughed. “Alright, I give up. I remember! I’ll... We’ll... do it,” you mumbled, your cheeks burning as if this was the first time when you’d literally fucked each other every day in the past moons.

“And?” he probed.

You huffed. “And you can do what you want with me.”

He smiled, squeezing your waist. “Right.” he nodded once, leaning forward to kiss you.

“Let’s not attend the celebration... There’s somewhere I want to go,” you said, holding his hand and dragging him back to the village. “Call for your mount.”

Tonight, you’re planning to renew your mating. The night of your mating never left your mind. The tension, the ugliness of you unresolved anger, and the way he had taken the weight of your hate during the tsaheylu. You wanted to give him back the love he deserved, pure and unmarred.

He called for his skimwing and you both rode it to the cove. He looked at you when you held his hand, slipping off the skimwing and into the water. “Come,” you told him softly. He slipped off the skimwing and wrapped his arms aroujd you. You smiled and kissed him. “I want to do it again, my love. I want you to see me now. Just me.”

His gaze caressed your face lovingly and you felt your heart burst with warming emotions. “I love you so much,” he mumbled. “I love you.”

You smiled, your eyes twinkling. “I love you more, Neteyam.”

You kissed the side of his mouth before you dove into the water, with him following you until you both reached the spirit tree. You reached for your kuru behind you, bringing it between you. You’re now the one waiting with quiet yet desperate patience, but he didn't make you wait long, he brought his kuru to yours in an instant. As your neural braids connected, the world shifted.

This time, there was no wall of resentment for him to climb. Instead, Neteyam was flooded with the sheer, overwhelming force of your love. He felt the way your heart skipped when he walked into a room, the heat of your attraction, and the deep loyalty you held for him. On your end, you felt how his love grew even fiercer, a golden sun that warmed every corner of your being. But then, the connection pulsed with something else... His anticipation for later.

You think he didn't mean to, but his desires began to leak through the bond, messing with your senses. Without him even moving a finger, you felt the ghost of his hands on your waist, the phantom pressure of his length moving inside you in hard, forceful movements, and the feel of his kisses on your body. You shivered in the water, your eyes blowing wide.

He smirked, watching you with a predatory, adoring look. Your eyes narrowed, signing to him, gesturing to the spirit tree. “I want us to meet my mother first. I want to show her my mate.” you signed.

He looked at you, nodding and gently breaking the connection so you could both connect to the spirit tree. You held his hand and closed your eyes, immediately finding yourself back in the village, seeing your mother’s form standing on the dock. She looked as she always did. Fierce, eternal, and serene. She held no memory of your teenage rage or the years you spent mourning her. To her, you were simply the lovely daughter who got so much from her.

She turned as if she sensed you, her smile brightening, but it faltered into genuine shock when she saw the man standing beside you. “Neteyam?” she asked, her eyes moving to your entwined hands.

“Mother,” you greeted softly.

Neteyam touched his forehead. “Oel ngati kameie, Tsahik.”

“Daughter...” she tilted her head in question, a soft smile touching her lips.

“He is my mate, Mother...” you said, squeezing her hand.

Ronal chuckled, looking between the two of you. “And you agreed, young man?”

Neteyam glanced at you, smiling. “It is a gift to have her in my life, Tsahik. I have loved her since I was young.”

You turned to Neteyam, smiling, when you heard the crack in his voice. Ronal sighed dreamily, a knowing look crossing her face. “Oh, that I know. I’ve seen it.”

“Seen what, mother?” you asked, surprised.

Ronal stared at you, at how unknowing you are. Even then, she knew it would be a problem between you two. She’s always observed how Neteyam always had his eyes on you, how he seemed so aware of you and your presence. She initially thought it was simply a boy being curious, but she didn’t know how she’d known.

You two stayed with your mother for what seemed like hours. But in reality, it lasted only or even less than five minutes. You disconnected from the tree, squeezing Neteyam’s hand and blowing hair out of your nose. He wrapped an arm around you, and swam back to the surface. The water broke with a sudden, violent splash as you both surfaced, gasping. Neteyam gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he swam to a nearby flattened ground. He hauled you up on it, heightening the frantic beat of your heart.

He hauled himself up, and you moved back, giving him space but he grabbed your ankle, stopping you. The cold air gave you chills but it was immediately replaced by the heat of his body fitting itself between your legs, and pressing against you. You pressed a palm against his chest when he lowered his head to kiss you, you parted your lips to welcome it, feeling his tongue expertly plunge into your mouth.

His hand found your breast and squeezed, deepening his kiss and wrapping a muscled arm around you. By the time he left your lips, you were gasping for air. His gaze caressed your features, “Did you feel it through the bond?” he rasped, his voice a jagged edge of desire.

“I felt everything,” you breathed, your hands sliding up his chest to grip the back of his neck. “I felt how much you want me.”

He let out a low, predatory growl, his golden eyes darkening. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot. “You made a promise, baby. You told me I could do whatever I want with you.”

“I did,” you whimpered, arching your back as the hand squeezing your breast slide down to the junction of your thighs.

“I intend to hold you to every word.”

He didn't waste another second. His fingers tore at the simple wraps of your top and loincloths, quickly ridding you of them. He stripped himself with a frantic urgency, his heavy, cock springing free, already glistening with a thick bead of pre-cum just from kissing you and feeling you up. He looked massive, a vein pulsing along the length of his shaft, the head swollen and dark.

“I need to be inside you,” he growled, kissing you hard.

He gripped one of your thighs, hoisting it high and draping it over his broad shoulders while he fold the other to spread you wider. He didn't ease in like he usually does, instead, he aligned the broad head of his cock and lunged forward in one powerful, unrestrained thrust.

You let out a sharp, strangled scream that echoed through the cove, your head falling back against the mossy ground. He filled you completely, stretching your walls to their absolute limit. The sensation was an explosion of pressure and heat, a blunt force that seemed to reach your very core.

“Baby, you're so tight,” he groaned, his voice vibrating through your chest. “So wet for me.”

Your hand hold onto his biceps, squeezing as you clenched around his girth. “Neteyam...”

He kissed you hard, murmuring praises. “You feel so good, baby... So warm and tight. Is it good?”

You nodded, kissing him. He began to move, and the pace was immediately punishing. There was no tenderness here, only the raw, starving need of a man who spent the entire day fried by adrenaline on the battlefield, holding onto the promise you’ve given him. Every thrust produced a loud, wet sound, your juices being churned into a frothy lather. The sound was so scandalous and yet it seemed to arouse him even more.

“Oh, babe,” you choked out, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, leaving red marks in his skin. “Neteyam, please, more...”

He licked the side of your neck, slamming his hips forward again. The force of the impact sent a jolt of electricity through your spine. He began to hammer into you, his cock sliding in and out with a violent friction, every glide of his pelvis against you making your clit scream with pleasure, a delicious ache that made your toes curl. Your pussy gripped him with desperate spasms, milking him as he drove himself deeper and deeper.

His head lowered to kiss your breast, his warm mouth catching a pebbled tip and sucking hard. Your back arched as you moaned in pleasure, not knowing what to focus on. His mouth sucking on your breast, or his cock forcefully sliding in and out of you. You’ve been mated for moons, and Neteyam still doesn’t know what to with everything you’re offering, and yet he always seems to be so extremely thorough.

He’s wanted this for years... And to think that you are his now is driving him mad.

He shifted his weight, his hands sliding under your ass to lift you higher, changing the angle so he could bury himself even further, that you could see him bulging in your lower abdomen. You felt your orgasm building, making you tremble in his arms.

“I’m close,” you wailed, your voice breaking. “Neteyam, I'm—”

“Not yet,” he grunted, abruptly stopping.

You whined, weakly kicking your foot but he had lowered your hips down on the ground, pulling out of you. “Neteyam...” you whined, your face reflecting yoir agitation despite the pleasure in it.

You missed him inside you, but the absence didn’t last long, he grabbed your hips and flipped you over with a sudden, authoritative motion. You landed on your stomach, your face pressed into the soft moss. Your upper body rose by instinct, by Neteyam dropped his weight onto your back, caging you in his massive arms. He pinned your wrists beside your head, his chest crushing your shoulder blades. He positioned himself behind you, the tip of his cock probing at your wet entrance, teasing the opening before he surged forward.

He entered you from behind with a guttural roar, the angle allowing him to penetrate deeper than before. You moaned, your mouth perpetually gaped to make sounds of pleasure as he fold one of your legs, his large hand seeking your clit from under the two of you. You gasped and jolted, moving away from his hand but his hand chased you, caressing your sensitive nub as he teasingly moved inside you.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Pinned under me. Just where you belong.”

He licked your jaw, angling his head so he could kiss you as his thrusts began to gain pace, a relentless, driving rhythm. Each thrust was a heavy blow, pushing your breasts into the moss. The wet sound was louder now, a messy noise of friction and fluid. You could feel the heat of him, the way his cock stretched and molded into you, claiming every inch of you.

“You're mine,” he gasped, his grip on your wrists tightening.

You nodded. “Yes, yes, yes. I am. I’m yours, Neteyam...”

The admission seemed to break the last of his restraint. Neteyam's movements became frenzied, his hips hammering into you. The friction was intense, the heat bordering on pain, but it was the only thing that mattered. You felt the walls of your pussy clenching around him, triggering his own release.

He let out a long, shaking moan, his body stiffening. He drove himself in one last time, burying his cock as deep as it could possibly go, and stayed there. You felt the hot, thick jet of his seed erupting inside you, pulse after pulse of scorching liquid filling you.

At the same moment, your own climax ripped through you, a violent shudder that left you sobbing. You felt the warmth of his cum leaking out around the sides of his shaft, mixing with your own fluids to create a slippery mess between your thighs. Neteyam collapsed on top of you, his heavy breathing making you shiver as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his skin slick with sweat.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his jagged breaths. He’s practically seeing stars but he was already maneuvering your body to face him, slowly pulling out of you so he could roll you on your back.

You mewled at his absence, spreading your legs again once you're lying on your back. He licked his lips wet as he watched you spread your legs, knowing what you want. His cock pressed against the slick and swollen lips of your pussy, and then he eased himself in, feeling every involuntary clenches your pussy is making around his girth. He lowered his head down to kiss you.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice returning to that soft, adoring tone as he caressed your slick inner thigh. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, his hand moving up to softly caressed your breast, his thumb rubbing its tender tip.

You shook your head, smiling lazily, your eyes still hazy from your mind-blowing climax. “No,” you said firmly. “I loved everything you did to me. I love you, Neteyam...” you cupped his jaw, kissing him hard.

“Sure?“ he asked, his hips unconsciously moving between your legs and burying himself deeper in you.

“I’m very sure,” you grinned. “But how was it? Did you feel good?“ your palm caressed his sweaty chest.

“Good? Baby, I was seeing stars,” he chuckled, his gaze caressing yoir features for a long time, before he pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you so much it hurts."

You had been told to go into the woods and hide; that the princes relished the hunt, required it even, to be satisfied. Truth be told, you were quite nervous. It was unusual, but then again the Targaryens had always been such. Ser Willem had reassured you that you would be fine – that the princes would only take as much as they needed. 

Father would not have cared overmuch, you thought, if I had not been fine, as long as the Princes rewarded him.

You were not sure what you’d done to rouse your father ire – you were his daughter, just the same as Gwin – only a handful of years older.

But while she got to be celebrated on her nameday, you had been given the task of entertaining the princes. You would only be responsible for the two elder ones, at least, as their sons were otherwise taken care of. A few pretty maids had been selected for them. Why they could not have done the same for Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar, you do not know.

Had they specifically requested noble blood? If he wanted to please them so much, your father should have offered himself instead.

But it did not matter. You were already huddled beneath the shielding canopy of a low hanging willow, body pressed close to the trunk, a hundred paces into the forest. 

You remembered the princes’ arrival shortly past dawn, their towering forms. You’d been in the background, watching, weighing. Those two were the men who would drink from you.

They were handsome enough, you supposed, though it hardly mattered. You were to be offered either way.

Prince Baelor’s eyes met yours a few times as he conversed with your father, lingering for longer after – you figured – your father revealed that you would serve them. There was a hunger in those eyes, a great beast, though muzzled and restrained beneath courtesies and easy, sharp-fanged smiles. You’d never seen someone with differently coloured eyes. His son, Prince Valarr, shared the trait, though it was not half as pretty on him as it was on his father.

Prince Maekar appeared to be more impatient than his brother. Annoyance was writ on every line of his long body, and you wondered if it was just his nature or whether he had gone thirsty for longer and thus become more desperate. The violet flames of his eyes had certainly tried to devour you with each passing glance, his nostrils flaring as though he were scenting the air for a taste of you. 

Could he actually do that? You realised you did not know. They had told you frightfully little beyond what they deemed necessary. Let them search for you, let them find you. Let them take their fill, and stay still when they do. Someone will be by to tend to you later.

The crunch of feet in the underbrush alerted you to the fact you were not alone anymore. Heart in your throat, pulse thundering in your ears, you suppressed a flinch, any movement at all that might give you away. 

You’d been told to let yourself be found, but you could not help your fear. You had never been alone with a man who was not family before, and now it would be two Princes, stalking you at dusk, hungry for your lifeblood. 

It was a strange condition that the Targaryens suffered from, but you were a daughter of a minor house of the Reach – it was not your place to wonder. Only to provide.

“I can smell her, she’s close.” 

It was Prince Maekar’s voice, and your head swivelled toward the sound, finding his cloaked form much closer than you’d expected. Prince Baelor walked by his side, replying to his brother with a thoughtful hum.

“You’re stomping like a bull, brother,” he told the younger, “You will scare her off.” There was something almost hypnotising about the Crown Prince, his tone low and silky, smooth like gossamer.

You’d been so focused on the elder prince that you had not realised that Prince Maekar had slipped from his brother’s shadow, only to crowd into yours. 

Large hands started wrapping over your shoulder blades, gathering your hair. “There you are,” he murmured against your temple, pressing his nose against your skin and inhaling heavily. “Gods, you smell sweet.”

His sudden touch startled you, and you disregarded everything you’d been told, a primal instinct to flee flooding your body. You scrambled away from Maekar – only able to throw him off due to his surprise, no doubt – and turned, taking off into the opposite direction.

You did not get very far. Barely a few stumbling steps in, your feet caught on the hem of your dress, and you fell. 

But you did not meet the ground. Strong arms hauled you up, a spiced scent filling your nostrils as your face was pressed into a cloaked shoulder. “Easy,” Baelor whispered against your hair. He was amused. By you or the situation, you could not tell. “We would not want you to hurt yourself.”

So only you may hurt me? You thought unkindly. You’d been told it would sting, to start off with.

Another pair of arms, again from behind, slung around you, and you noted, with dismay, that you were utterly trapped. Your heart hammered in your chest. “Please,” you begged. What you were pleading for was a mystery, even to you.

“What did you think would happen, little bunny, trying to run?” Prince Maekar growled above you, “Did you think you might get away?” Something wet trailed a stripe of heat along your neck. His tongue, you realised. 

“We have your scent,” he said darkly, “there is nowhere you could go.”

“And such a sweet scent it is,” Baelor added, tilting your head up with two warm palms at your cheeks. Up close like this, you could see that his pupils were blown wide.

“The most tantalizing one I’ve smelled in a long time,” Maekar finished with a groan, his beard rubbing against your sensitive skin. A strange, foreign warmth settled in your stomach at the sound, at these new sensations you’d never before felt. 

“Maekar,” Baelor warned, sensing something you were not privy to, “we do not play with our food. She’s not here to sate all of our needs.”

“Why the fuck not?” Maekar asked, beginning to mouth at your pulse point, but not breaking the skin. Yet. “She’s pretty enough.” Pretty enough? The offense you felt at those words was quickly smothered when the silver-haired prince shuffled closer, and his pelvis pressed against the small of your back. He was…engorged. You did not know a better word for it. Excited, perhaps.

“And don’t pretend you’re unaffected, brother. Your eyes might as well be black.” Baelor’s mouth thinned into a displeased line, though he did not stop Maekar in his ministrations.

As you breathed in, both their scents filled your lungs. Strangely, it calmed you. More than calmed you. Was this part of their affliction as well? To make you enjoy it? You lost all desire to struggle, your body softening, loosening, growing pliant. 

“Look how fucking receptive she is to us, now that the pheromones have begun their work, Baelor,” Maekar murmured, letting his head drop on top of your shoulder, his rough cheek to yours as he stared his brother down. You wanted to lean into it, rub yourself against his beard like a cat. “She’s compatible.”

One of Maekar’s hands brushed over your chest, seeking out the faint rise of your pebbled nipple. Even through the fabric, his calloused fingers strummed it with expertise, and a whimper escaped you, your core starting to feel molten and slick, hips twitching against the hardness at your arse.  You saw the reluctance in Baelor’s eyes die.

“Very well,” he said. His thumb wiped a streak of dirt off of your cheek, then lingered there. “Do not worry,” he told you softly, “we will not ruin you, you have my word.”

It was meant to comfort you, you believed, but you could hardly think about the contents of his words while his brother’s hand crept between your legs. “Yes, yes, we’ll not breach your maidenhead” Maekar grunted, rucking up your skirts, “fuck– will you help me get this fucking dress off, Baelor, or will you just stand there and make me do all the fucking work.”

Maekar’s litany of curses seemed to spur Baelor into action, and he assisted his brother, large hands sweeping over your legs. Without warning, the Crown Prince dropped to his knees in front of you, his dark head level with your middle. Cool air kissed your thighs as they finally maneuvered the fabrics out of the way. 

Their hands moved perfectly in tandem – neither fumbling, nor getting in each other’s way, like they’d always done so. When you thought about it, they probably had. Hammer and Anvil. 

You squeaked when the bristles of Baelor’s beard trailed down your stomach, lips whispering against your heated flesh. “Will you allow me to drink my fill?” He asked, eyes flickering up to your own as he paused between your thighs, mouth hovering over your sex, still covered by your small clothes. 

Your knees all but buckled – but Maekar caught you, guiding your body into the cradle of his as he lowered the two of you slowly, never quite stopping the fluttery kisses he was pressing against your throat. 

You settled in his lap, your bottom snug against his hardness and he hissed, the hand that wasn’t cupping your breast drawing your legs further apart for his brother, the tips of his fingers deliberately slipping beneath the band of your smallclothes as he did so. “There we go,” he taunted, “there she is. This little cunt is soaked. Soaked for your princes, isn’t that right?”

You tried shaking your head, embarrassed, but his jaw bore down, holding you fast, teeth scraping against your shoulder. “Now, now,” he tsked, “none of that.”

“Maekar,” Baelor admonished, digits playing with the edges of your coverings as he placed a scruffy kiss to your inner thigh, lingering, inhaling the musk of your arousal. “Do not tease. This sweet dove has been gracious enough to grant us use of her body for the night.” For sustenance, some distant part of you implored, not whatever this is. But you did not want to stop, could not stop squirming for more.

Baelor might as well have been speaking in front of a council with how eloquently he articulated himself, though the breathlessness of his voice betrayed that he was not unaffected by the sight of you.

You had never quite answered his question – Will you allow me to drink my fill? But your bucking hips must have been enough of an encouragement, for the Crown Prince did not continue to waste time. With a strength that startled you, he tore your smallclothes in two, leaving you bare from the waist down, spread open for his gaze. 

“Gods.” Baelor dove at your glistening folds, enveloping them with his hungry mouth, tongue gathering as much of your slick as it could. Desperately, you clutched at his hair, seeing his throat move as he swallowed your arousal. “Almost as sweet as your blood will be.”

“Ever the romantic,” Maekar chuckled against your neck, tweaking your nipple until you yelped, and used the opportunity to shove two fingers of his other hand between your lips. Tasting yourself on them faintly, you tried mumbling around the digits. The blonde prince shushed you. “Can’t have you getting too loud, little bunny, don’t want the guards to think we’re killing you.”

Struck dumb, you nodded around his fingers. You expected him to withdraw them, but he kept them buried in the warm cavern of your mouth, absentmindedly petting over your tongue, along the blunt rows of your teeth. Almost on instinct, you began sucking, molding your lips around them. “Fuck, keep going, you’re good at that,” Maekar encouraged, as he began thrusting them in and out slightly, nibbling at your skin more insistently, but still not biting down. 

Was he imagining his manhood in your mouth, instead? You had heard servants talk about acts like those, of whores getting on their knees. 

Impatiently, he tugged at your laces, loosening them enough to slip his other hand beneath your dress finally, your breasts spilling into his fingers. “So soft,” he moaned as he circled the bud of your breast again, this time without barriers. The touch sent a buzzing pleasure straight to your core and you twitched forward, inadvertently pressing yourself into Baelor’s waiting mouth. The older man smiled against you, then began to kiss the top of your sex where your desire itched strongest. 

His tongue swirled around your pearl, and you swore you saw stars, moaning around Maekar’s hand. “She’s not going to last long, I can tell,” the silver-haired prince murmured, “her pulse is thrumming.” 

Baelor’s left hand tightened around your thigh, while his right joined his mouth. A long, ringed finger probed at your hole, and you flinched away from the foreign sensation. “Shh,” he hushed. “It’ll feel good.” His lips shone with spit and you as he spoke. “So good. Only good.”

You nodded faintly, continuing to suckle at Maekar’s fingers as though to provide you solace. Like a babe, in a way.

The finger returned, and this time, it breached you carefully. “Gripping me like a vice,” Baelor panted against your thigh, “You’re doing so well.” He began moving the digit, in and out, crooking it inside you in a way that drove you wild. Absently, you realised that his rhythm matched his brother’s, their hands moving in perfect synchronicity. 

Just as Baelor’s mouth returned its maddening assault on your bundle of nerves, Maekar sank his teeth into you in one sudden move. You moaned, high and broken, half pain and half pleasure. “I couldn’t wait any longer,” the blonde murmured against your throat as he licked at his bite, greedily swallowing down the beading blood. At some point, his hips had begun bucking up into you, his leaking member rutting, desperate for friction.

“Just stay still, let us make you feel good, bunny,” he continued, placing his lips over the wound and sucking.

You’d expected it to feel strange, foreign. Bad. It did not. It felt intimate, the way his lips were suctioned to your skin, whiskers tickling you with every twitch, his throat working as he drank you down. 

And all of it as he penetrated your own mouth with his fingers, over and over, and as Baelor worked at your core with a diligence that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

Something inside your body, something low in your tummy was coiling, despite the distraction that Maekar’s bite had caused. A band pulled taut, read to snap – storm clouds gathering, preparing to burst. You felt it in your arms first, a prickling, then your legs, toes curling. You whined, unsure. 

“Let it happen,” it was Maekar who reassured you.

Baelor, encouraged by your reaction, by the tension he could detect in you, sped up, adding a second finger, thrusting both digits inside of you. There was a wet squelching sound as he moved his hand, your body receiving him eagerly. A moan vibrated against your core, and Baelor’s mouth closed around your most sensitive spot, sucking there like his brother was sucking your blood.

All at once, the band snapped, and you fell, and fell and fell, your muscles locking up as blinding waves of pleasure wracked your body. In the midst of it, you felt Baelor tilt his head and bite down into the soft meat of your thigh where he drank in large gulps, keeping his fingers buried inside of you as you spasmed.

When you came down from your high, both Baelor and Maekar sat back a little, removing their fingers and mouths from you, your blood dripping from their lips. Both wounds continued to bleed sluggishly, though you weren’t worried. You felt light-headed, in the best way. 

You tried to sit up and adjust your dress, only to be stopped by the iron of Maekar’s arms around you. He ground you against his lap, harsh, his long nose skimming along the column of your throat. “Not yet, you don’t.”

You blinked at Baelor in confusion, trying not to notice the slick shine of yourself in his beard. “Did you not…” You trailed off, unsure what you’d even say. 

“Did you think we were finished?” Baelor asked with a small smile, voice kind. 

You blushed. You had thought that. You didn’t answer. 

“Oh, bunny, we’re just starting,” Maekar, in contrast to his brother, was scoffing, licking crimson from his lips as he adjusted his grip on you. “Did you think I would let my brother be the only one to get a taste of your cunt?”

The words made you whine.

It was almost sunrise when they finally had their fill of you. 

As you drifted off, safely tucked against Maekar’s chest – you had trembled like a fawn when you’d tried to stand, and the younger prince had swept you up wordlessly – you heard them exchange a few words. “Will father throw a fit, do you think, if we turn up with her at the Keep?” Maekar started, his voice rumbling.

“We shall have to find out.” Baelor replied with a quirk of his mouth, wiping away a few stray drops of your blood.

“You’re in agreement, then?”

You tried to stay awake for longer, to piece together what they meant, but your limbs were so heavy. The two brothers had sated themselves on you, in more ways than one. 

Why would they take you to the Keep?

“I’d not leave her here, with a father who cares for her virtue so little as to let us do this. We could have done much worse to her, and none would have been the wiser.”

Maekar huffed. “Always so damn honourable.”